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From: simon_48@hotmail.com (Simon Wagstaff III)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 10 Dec 2002 21:48:44 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} HURTLING PLANETS Chapter5 new-wave space opera by Simon Wagstaff III
Date: Tue, 10 Dec 2002 20:10:03 -0500
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He stares in horror from the center of the dark sun. Alien creatures
observe in dismay. REACHER hangs dead in dark space. He is alive again
after centuries of death. Captain Harleigh is reluctant to leave her
cabin. She dreams of a strong man. A moon explodes.

		HURTLING PLANETS
		A NEW-WAVE SPACE OPERA by Simon Wagstaff III
		EPISODE V

	WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: Captain Dennis of HMS REACHER has taken back
the planet Ceres for the Empire of Earth in the ceaseless war against
the Alliance of Planets. He is in pursuit of a small craft in which
Ensign Powter, the subject of his fantasies, has been taken by
escaping Alliance crew. Powter has been drugged and brainwashed;
nevertheless she now controls the craft and the crew are dead. Empire
Captain Harleigh has been spied upon by a mysterious agency which is
now revealed to be Empire loyalists from the besieged planet Diva
which her ship HMS HAMMER orbits. A secret base circling a dark sun
has been found by pirates, who almost freed the entity trapped in the
dark sun. Sabor Grundy, imprisoned for life on 4BWA, has defeated the
entity in a mental struggle and finds he has taken its place in the
sun. A lost planet of barbarians possessing fearsome mental powers
waits impatiently for the predicted landing of a starship, which they
intend to enslave. Aliens known as Dree confer about the advisability
of destroying the human race. A black fleet of living dead men has
attempted to respond to an emergency signal. One by one, a small man
in a tiny ship is destroying planets by sending dead worlds powered by
hyperdrive hurtling into their paths.

	HE STARES IN HORROR FROM THE CENTER OF THE DARK SUN. Sabor now has
the perspective of the thing in the sun, and it terrifies him. He can
see every inch of 4BWA and every thought in the minds of Marka and
Charlie, the only living creatures on the asteroid besides his
unconscious or dead body. He reaches to Marka, undoing the surgical
and psychological processing which make her a slave to any firm hand,
and to Charlie, unlocking his muscles and allowing him to enter the
airlock with minutes left on his airtanks. Charlie has screamed and
begged for help, unable to move as his air ticked away. As he pants
heavily, sweat pouring down his dark face, tearing at his suit, a
voice enters his mind, looking disapprovingly at the wreckage of his
thinking processes. See where you went wrong, it seems to say. Here
and here, and here too. Face yourself now, and see your mistakes. Can
you admit them? Charlie finds his mind unlocking as his muscles had,
the early traumas which make him a human weasel disappearing. He finds
himself born again as a decent man, and weeps in shame.
	Sabor stretches to his fullest, but cannot reach beyond the
protostar. Now he sees why the sun was its prison. He shrugs,
strangely in his new form. He was willing to die anyway; at least
Marka has a companion with decent impulses. He contacts her directly,
shocking her with his mental contact and explaining what he has done.
	"And so I'm trapped down here while my body dies up there," he
explains to Marka. Charlie Soaper is sitting beside her, waiting for
the silent conversation to end. On his face is the first sane smile of
his adult life. He seems taller, straighter.
	Marka is crying quietly as she listens to Sabor's silent voice. "Oh
Sabor," she sobs. "Don't DIE!"
	"It's what we humans do, Marka," he tells her. "We die for causes, we
die for love, or we just die anyway. I died for you; accept my gift
and let this Charlie take you back to humanity. You've paid and paid,
and you'll never kill anyone again."
	Sabor sinks into the depths of the sun and wonders if he is still
human enough to die. He suspects not. Two hours pass; a sharp direct
thought pushes towards him from 4BWA.
	"Grundy! This is Charles Soaper, and I'm not letting you rot down
there. Humans die, eh? For causes, and for love? It's my turn now,
Grundy.
	"You saved a miserable rat from suffocation, then redeemed him from
his sin as sure as any church. I can die clean now and in my right
mind. You were condemned for political murders, she tells me. I've
done every kind but those . . . but you've seen all the trash in my
mind already.
	"This lovely woman and I are determined not to abandon you. My ship
is overpowered; I think I can punch right through that slush you're
floating in. What will that do? I don't know. It may kill us; we're
resigned to that. But it's all we can do."
	Sabor sent back, "I can stop you. I can make you forget I exist."
	Soaper nods agreement. "But unless you do, we're coming for you,
brother. I think if your body gets close enough, you can get back
inside."

	ALIEN CREATURES OBSERVE IN DISMAY. This is terrible, one says, violet
lights reflecting in his topaz eyes. One of them has touched it, and
been consumed.
	More than that, another returns calmly. Look closer: he has killed
and replaced it.
	We must destroy them all, the first grinds. They are a plague.
	THAT one could destroy us all, the calm one tells them. Better we
remain hidden.

	REACHER HANGS DEAD IN DARK SPACE. Captain Dennis feels like a
condemned man. They have hit the last possible place for a powered
turn to have occurred. AMATEUR is on a one-way trip to the end of the
universe, and by now her fuel has run out. She is falling free and
leaving no trail, lost forever in the dark and taking Dennis' last
shred of hope for Ensign Powter's survival.
	Warren is extending the scans; surveying every likely target. A dim
protosun hangs far ahead of them, visible only on the screens. Not
likely anyone but astronomers would have business there. Nothing else
close; far behind them hangs the double star marking Ceres'
neighborhood.
	Ames is talking to fill the silence. "So I figure the crew members
thought they were taking a lifeboat, since they would have mostly been
slow freight crew, you know: space rats. The lifeboats are across from
the crew hall, and they autopilot to the closest surveyed world. The
idiots must have just fired out and never questioned that they were on
auto."
	Warren mutters darkly; everyone had liked Powter. "They're falling
free somewhere, traceless. We've got about three more hours, ship's
time, before the trails are dissipated. They're gaining on us all
along. We've got to." His voice brightens. "Hello! A spin-storm, going
. . . gal-west, follow that back east and, Captain, I've got a trail.
THE trail, it's too small to be anything but a gig or singleship. But
it's going the wrong way."
	Dennis is already at his own boards, pulling up scans. "The
destination: Kriegplatz? The Alliance base!  Or bypass it and safe
home at Royal Crown one system away? But, they've no fuel!" His face
has grown new lines in the past days, lines which will remain. In a
week or so, the new gray at his temples will begin to show. His big
left hand fists, pounds the chair arm.
	Warren grunts suddenly, as if gut-punched. "Another trail, Captain.
This one heading towards Ceres. Same size. Now what?"
	Ames whistles thoughtfully. "I've never seen anything like this
before," he says slowly. "It's like a thousand planets on the march.
Following the first trail."
	They confer, hanging in space as precious time elapses. The anomaly
of the rogue planets must be investigated; it is approaching the
strategic base of Royal Crown, a base worth sacrificing an ensign, or
a captain, to save. Yet Dennis knows he cannot let another chance to
save Powter go by; if the second trail is the gig, it must be
intercepted! Suddenly his heart leaps.
	"REACHER system command," he orders. "Ready captain's gig. Load
command knowledge at gig:system. At gig:cargo load 2 units replacement
gig fuel tank, condition green. Check ifexist EVA gear and TECH gear.
Brevet Warren to First Chair, his codes, on my departure. Callback.
Endit." He is grinning.
	"Warren, go find out what's happening. I'm going after Powter in MY
gig, like someone should have in the first five minutes. We rendezvous
at Ceres; I'll send a torpedo if I'm not there." He is stalking
downship like a panther as he speaks, Warren behind him. At the
airlock he opens a locker, withdraws two black murderous handguns,
buckles the harness around his big shoulders. He is grinning, but
death is in his eyes. Warren puts out a hand to stop him.
	"Dennis, I know how you feel. She was a good friend to us all. But
she was - is, dammit, an officer. She took her chances like we all do.
No one blames you except yourself," Dennis growls and tries to push
past, "hear me out Den, but I know you well enough to know how you
feel. Your confidence is on the line, the thing that makes you a
leader. Go get her if you can."
	"REACHER callback:gig ready," calls a mechanical voice.
	Dennis hurries to the airlock of REACHER's gig CESTUS, slamming it
shut and firing off without a word. Warren, now Acting Captain, knows
Dennis may face a court-martial for this. He plods back up to the
command bridge and sets a course to follow the trail of the small ship
trailed by hurtling planets.
	Hours later, Dennis finds a message coming in to his console,
uncoded. He directs it to a screen, and sees Powter's face. She is
apparently naked, and drunk. Her words are clear: "This is Ensign
Powter, late of HMS REACHER and now in control of the gig AMATEUR. I
am directing my words to REACHER first, then any other loyalist craft.
I am out of fuel and falling generally towards the double star near
Ceres, and I call upon any craft with tractors to take me in tow."
	She pauses, licks her full lips. Dennis shivers.
	"I am in poor condition and may not be able to assist you by the time
you find me. Personal message follows. Powter out." Her image fumbles
with controls, then looks up, one eyelid drooping. "This is directed
to Captain Dennis of REACHER, and coded by my personal number, which
he can access." The screen blurs. Dennis grimaces.
	"CESTUS system command: get personal ID Karen Powter. Decode incoming
transmission. Endit."
	Koko's face swims into view. "Captain, I'm falling apart. They raped
me, and gave me stuff called Encef, and the little doc here can't help
me." Her face is weirdly ecstatic. "It's rewiring me to be a good
little sex-slave. I want to masturbate all the time, and I can't keep
my mind on things. But I killed them all, and I control the ship, but
I'm, I'm." She smiles, the one Dennis has been dreaming of. "I'm not
really myself. Captain Dennis, when you find me I may be someone else.
I don't think I'll be smart enough to be an officer after this. But
I've dreamed," she swallows, "when it got rough, I thought of you. I
wanted you bad, Dennis. But you were the captain, so I just dreamed.
But whenever I close my eyes now, I dream I'm this . . . sex slave,
that I'm becoming, and that you," she chokes, "keep me in your cabin,
and f-fuck me. And I want that, captain, I want it badly. Dennis, if
I'm stupid when you find me, if I'm not Koko, remember what Koko
wanted. It wouldn't be, you wouldn't be abusing me. Don't let me just
go to a hospital or something." She backs off, breasts bobbing. "Three
little maids from school are we," she sings in a silly voice, then
blinks. "Remember me, captain." The screen blanks.
	Dennis pounds his head on the console. His detectors are scanning for
the gig. The screens are blank. Vivid curses rip through the silence
of his command room.

	HE IS ALIVE AGAIN AFTER CENTURIES OF DEATH. Rakkar Gandat, supreme
commander of the black fleet, awakens on the deck, face-down. He
stares at his hand as if he has never seen it before. How long?
	He pushes to his feet, sees a skeleton at a console, shakes his head.
Sirens are howling. Wisps of gas swirl about his feet. Red Alert, he
thinks. Rebirth. Anda! He runs now, towards the engine rooms. He
passes a fresh body on the way, a fellow zombie unable to survive the
cranching gas that restored his body. He flies down the ramp, turn the
corner, sees Anda sprawled upon the deck.
	"No!" He kneels, clutches her, finds her warm and soft. She blinks
awake in startlement, see his living face, smiles. They kiss, then
begin to clutch each other.
	Rakkar rips his uniform away, his cock springing erect. Anda touches
it, grinning, then removes her own shirt and trousers. Rakkar fondles
and tongues her small round breasts, flicking the nipples. Still
kneeling, she licks the end of his cock for a moment, then lies back,
spreading her legs. Rakkar teases her clit with his cock's head as he
works it into her tiny cunt, then begins to work it out again. Soon
her juices are flowing and they fuck faster and faster, alive again
and strong, stoned on rebirth and heedless of emergency. Anda begins
to cry, tears of joy and pleasure streaming down her face as her
husband pumps her into a state of intoxication. She touches his dear
face and comes with a happy scream. Rakkar pumps her on and on,
mindlessly enjoying the feel of her smooth dark flesh, until he
suddenly releases a load of years, grunting as he sags forward onto
her breasts. They hold each other and murmur happy phrases, there on
the engine room floor. Soon the sirens whooping throughout the dark
ship rouse them, and holding hands, they stagger towards the control
room. Others join them, often in pairs and grinning, having celebrated
as Rakkar and Anda have. He takes the command chair and surveys the
thirty or so crew of fifty who have responded to the sirens, which he
turns off from his chair arm.
	"We celebrate in the midst of tragedy. Many have died on this ship;
yet we are alive. Alive to do our duty," Rakkar tells them. "We are
the only ship who responded. Perhaps the others are all dead; perhaps
too long preserved to understand. The signal is clear; a ship of
dangerous size has entered the Star Cage. If we are slow, Ob may be
freed again."
	They mutter together, appalled. The crew are gray-skinned,
dark-haired and of odd facial proportions. They belong to no race
known to mankind, yet are obviously human and not a similar species.
Rakkar Gandat raises his harsh voice again. "This ship of the Dark
Fleet, perhaps the last, is now committed."
	He slams his palm against a button on his chair-arm. The dark ship,
cruising in the normal space between stars for so long, activates
hyperdrive motors and bursts into the same hyperspace used by Empire
and Alliance alike, suddenly appearing upon the stage of our story as
it becomes visible to human detection. It begins to power desperately
towards the protostar of the 4BWA system, strange weapons charging up
for a fight.

	CAPTAIN HARLEIGH IS RELUCTANT TO LEAVE HER CABIN. "I'll be out in an
hour," she tells the intercom lazily. "I'm working on something right
now." She goes back to working on it, sucking the head as she runs her
strong, short-nailed fingers up and down the shaft, flipping off the
intercom as she floats past it. Joan's antigravity sleeping pad is
being used for the only thing it is actually much good for: acrobatic
sex. Her legs are wrapped around the head of the president of the
planet Diva, who is loudly and enthusiastically sucking her clit, arms
wrapped around her waist as they spin.
	"Now that wasn't very diplomatic," she murmurs around his cock. "What
if they heard you making those noises while the intercom was on?" She
teases his cock head, running her tongue around the curves of his
little helmet, causing him to gasp. They spin slowly around in the
pad's antigravity field, Mars orbiting his Venus, teasing each other's
pleasure points as they squeeze and fondle. Joan's ass is a shining
moon; his is pocked with craters and lean with muscle. The president
has a short cock for such a tall man. Joan can swallow it to the root
without gagging. She swallows, causing Richard to moan between her
legs and eat faster. They begin to spin faster. Richard has a way of
sizzling his tongue around her clit that makes her lose track of time.
She zones out, all her problems dissolving in bliss. Long minutes
later she comes quietly, then pumps the president dry again.
	"Pad field stable please," she mutters and they slow, then stop. Joan
grins tiredly. "Mr President, you have my vote. If I get you back your
planet, will you do that some more?"
	Richard Bonforte looks amused. "I'll demand you be stationed here
permanently, you goddess. But it does bring up our real-world
problem."
	"Actually, I ve been planning it in the back of my mind, between
cocksucking and being fucked silly. We drop the paralyzers on the main
troop concentrations, then begin blowing up the command centers. I've
got a battle-plan for the ships already, just no reason to use it.
I'll tell you a secret, my new lover, since I think you 're cleared
for security. But only the officers know: we have the codes for both
of these Alliance battlewagons. We can land 'em or blow 'em up by
remote.  As soon as we use them, they'll be trying to do command
overrides. Within days the Alliance will know and change their codes;
we'll have thrown away a big tactical advantage. But this is worth it
with a planet, and my ass, on the line."
	Richard strokes the ass in question reverently. "Then, my dear, we
shall have to keep my planet and your ass safe. I couldn't bear to
lose either one." He sighs. "Time to leave our cozy cabin and face the
shocked faces of your crew."
	Joan giggles, producing interesting ripple effects in her weightless
tits. "I wonder how they're going to take this."

	SHE DREAMS OF A STRONG MAN. Koko lies on the bed in the cabin, eyes
vacant. Her mind is enmeshed in fantasy; her fingers slowly twiddling
her clitoris. In her dream she is dressed in a sheer red teddy as she
dances before Captain Dennis in the privacy of his cabin. She sings to
him, silly songs from her school days, and his face is warm and tender
as he holds her and tears away her clothes. She turns away, rubbing
her buttocks against his crotch, then reaches to open his pants. But
his pants are gone and he lifts her effortlessly, swinging her around
and impaling her upon his huge cock. He stares into her eyes as he
fucks her endlessly, saying desperately, "Hold on, Powter. Don't give
up. You are yourself, still loved and valued. You will be saved even
if you suffer damage. Hold on, Koko, I'm coming for you," and she
comes wildly at the thought of Dennis coming. Her eyes fly open and
she groans. "Dammit," she husks. "Stay alert, Koko." Her hand goes to
the glass of noxious fluid she has drawn from the ship's autodoc. It
is a brew of brain chemicals that is the ship's best effort to
counteract the damage done to her brain. Fighting a desperate
rear-guard battle, Powter gulps it down, wishing it was Dennis' semen.
God, she thinks, all I can think of is sex. She wanders through the
darkened corridors of the powerless ship, cringing from the rotting
bodies of her victims. Really ought to clean this up, she thinks, but
the thought is gone where all her thoughts go now. Down the drain, she
thinks, my mind's a sewer. She imagines Dennis' cabin, the dark
sleeping pad under her buttocks. She dreams as she sleepwalks the
stinking halls of the dead ship.
	The air is getting very thick.

	A MOON EXPLODES. The inhabited world of Opal finds it has been
granted a stay of execution when the night is shattered by the
explosion of one of its larger moons. A powerful beam carries the
message to the cowering colony:

	A MESSAGE TO THE EMPIRE AND TO THE ALLIANCE

	THE WAR HAS GONE ON TOO LONG. I GAVE YOU A YEAR WHILE I MOURNED. YOU
CONTINUE THE USELESS CONFLICT BETWEEN LEFT AND RIGHT, UP AND DOWN.
DIVIDE THE GALAXY AND CEASE FIGHTING OR I WILL DESTROY ALL YOUR
WORLDS. YOU DESTROYED MINE WHEN SHE DIED AT CASSANDRA.

	TO THE PLANET OPAL

	YOU HAVE ONE YEAR TO EVACUATE BEFORE THE SECOND ROGUE PLANET STRIKES
YOUR WORLD. CARRY MY MESSAGE BEFORE YOU AS THE WORLDS DIE.


	 They graze the atmosphere of the dark sun. His tractor beams can
hardly stop her ship. All the news is bad. On a lost planet, a mystic
points to the sky in fear. The crew gape as the president strolls in.
A planet whizzes towards REACHER at hyperdriven speed.

	HURTLING PLANETS
	A NEW-WAVE SPACE OPERA
	END PART V

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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