Stonerager Chronicles - Bk. 2, Ch. 3 (Beta)

Stonerager Chronicles

By 2Charlie

This is a science fiction series that happens to include occasional erotic scenes. If you have not yet read previous chapters of this series, I highly recommend going back to do so before you read this chapter.

This is a Beta version and may undergo changes prior to final release.

All characters in this story are of the age of majority.

Book 2, Chapter 3 (Beta)

****Space, above Ashvire, Capital World of the Lyserion Bastion****

“Ash and Clay! Ash and Clay! Ash and Clay!” rang out over the holovid that was displayed aboard the assault fleet’s command ship, the Aegis Fury, and throughout the fleet.

“Cut that feed,” Admiral Vayn Solenn ordered, and the holo ceased immediately. Reaching down to the control pad at his fingertips, Solenn activated the fleet-wide address system. A boatswain’s whistle sounded, and then he could be heard throughout his assault fleet. “Attention in the Fleet! This is Admiral Solenn. The time for our long-prepared strike against Rigellia is upon us! Our planet is dying, but Rigellia is ripe, fertile, and rich with opportunity! While Archmarshal Voxtar deals with the last of the iShan’tal, we have been tasked with securing the future of our race!”

Pausing, Vayn allowed his gaze to sweep across the men at their watch posts throughout the Command Sanctum. All were listening attentively. There was no trace of the foolish zealotry that Voxtar loved to cultivate. No chanting. Sober gazes returned his own. Solenn had trained his officers to maintain their military bearing and not allow emotions to interfere with critical thinking or the execution of orders. He expected them to remain dedicated to the vision and not become swept up in emotion.

“We must punch through whatever paltry defenses the Rigellians possess, so that our landing forces can quickly establish a beachhead, and our invasion can strike quickly and decisively,” he continued. “All ships, report in. Countdown to jump, mark! All ships, jump to designated coordinates in ninety seconds!”

Cutting the broadcast link, he entered another command to open a private circuit to the Commander of the Assault Legions. “Seyra, are your forces prepared?”

The grizzled face that appeared before him looked like it belonged in some fantastical historical novel. A jagged scar ran down from the man’s hairline, across his right eyebrow, ending at his mouth. His right eye was a biomechanical replacement, a substitute for the real one, which had been lost in some long-ago conflict.

“We’re ready, Vayn,” he growled, his jaw working oddly, as if it were at war with his face, a reminder of some long-ago injury. “You just get us close. We’ll drop from orbit, and the rest will be history.”

Seyra Dal’Korr and his commandos had been adept at violating the forced isolation the iShan’tal had tried to place upon them. Once they’d slipped past the quarantine, they sought out opportunities as mercenaries. For decades now, Lyserion warriors had been working under whatever flag would hire them, interstellar sell-swords, until recently, when the Archmarshal had put an end to such practices.

“We have to consolidate our strength,” Theran Voxtar had exhorted his fellow leaders. “Our system is dying, and we will die with it if we do not conquer somewhere else, and soon.”

Eventually, they’d struck up an accord with the Noraxi Syndicate. The Noraxi had attempted to prey upon the Lyserions as they’d done with other Terran colonies, but had taken quite the beating for their efforts. Realizing their error, the Noraxi instead sought to recruit the warriors of the Lyserion Bastion, employing them in their various campaigns.

In the end, however, Voxtar’s efforts had turned the tables, making the Noraxi heavily dependent upon the Lyserions for their success. Lyserion warships, weapons, and warriors gradually displaced the Noraxi versions until the Noraxi had largely replaced all of their materiel with Lyserion craftsmanship. At Theran’s insistence, Lyserion mercenaries began to charge exorbitant prices, engineering a transition to more ‘advisory’ roles, thus preserving their numbers for today’s campaign.

Bringing his attention back to the here and now, Vayn checked his fleet status board. Seeing all indicators displaying a fleetwide state of readiness, he gave the command to open the jump portal.

With what he was sure was a subliminal hum, the jump engines warped space, twisting reality to make a far-distant point become directly accessible through an oddly spiraling event horizon. Nodding his head at the ship’s commander, Vayn watched his status display as forty warships quickly moved through the jump gate.

On the other side, the Lyserion warships appeared in an unoccupied region of the Rigel system, between Bella and Rigellia. Vayn’s tacticians had reasoned that, since recent assaults by Noraxi forces had begun further out toward the system rim, a fleet entering the system closer to their primary star would be unexpected. Intel indicated that planetary defenses all seemed to face outward, which again supported an incursion from closer to Rigel.

In the end, the advantage was sufficient. Forty Lyserion warships, a mix of dreadnoughts and assault carriers, moved unchallenged for nearly a hundred million kilometers before they were confronted. “Admiral, we’re being hailed by a Rigellian ship,” his communications officer called out.

“On screen,” Vayn said calmly, a slightly bored look on his features.

“To the commander of the alien fleet,” an incredibly young-looking female addressed him. “This is Commander Faith O’Connor, of the Alliance Starship Majestic Horizon. You are trespassing in Rigellian space, and under Section Three, subsection twenty-one alpha of the Treaty of Ganymede…”

“The Lyserion Bastion does not recognize the Treaty of Ganymede, Commander,” Vayn replied in a low, ominous tone. “And as for your… Alliance… I doubt that they will save you today. I am Admiral Vayn Solenn, Fleet Commander of the Second Offensive Core. We are here to liberate your planet, and you, from your wasted existence in thralldom to the iShan’tal, and return our kind to their rightful place as rulers of the stars.”

“Well, Admiral, I’m afraid you’re a little confused,” the young Commander rejoined him stalwartly. “We Rigellians aren’t anyone’s ‘thralls’, and we certainly don’t need the likes of you - disgusting traders with slavers like the Noraxi - stinking up our system. So, last chance… leave peacefully, or I’m gonna have to make you. Please, please, choose option two.”

She’s got spirit, Vayn realized begrudgingly. Too bad it will cost her so dearly.

Signaling to his comms officer to cut the channel, Vayn addressed the commander of the Aegis Fury, Captain Maevis Thorne. “Captain, send word to the rest of the advance squadron – remove the Majestic Horizon, and any other Alliance Ships, from my skies.”

*****

“Well, that seemed to piss him off,” Davis McIntyre grinned ruefully.

“Jansen, send word to the rest of the fleet,” O’Connor calmly ordered her COMMS officer. “We are engaging the enemy. Last one here gets the leavings!”

“Message away, sir,” Jansen confirmed.

Around them, the Majestic Horizon shuddered, her shields awash with a bombardment like none they’d experienced before.

“CIWS running hot, sir!” Lt. Ainsley called out from the Auxiliary console, from where she was coordinating the ship’s defenses.

The main holo displayed the tactical situation, zooming in to better inform the crew of the closest threats. O’Connor watched as the blue graphics turned red, indicating bogeys that had fired upon her ship. There was a lot of red, she realized. Time to change that.

“WEPS, you are free to fire,” she ordered. “I want you to focus on these two dreadnoughts,” she poked at the two avatars that appeared to be closing on them. “Take out their weapons with grav torps, then use a pair of HE torps on their propulsion. I want them out of the fight, now!”

Lt. Santonia’s hands swept across multiple three-dimensional holo’s of her systems, and the tactical view displayed a swarm of outbounds converging on the two targets. Neither image changed significantly. “Sir, their shields absorbed more than estimated. Firing another salvo.”

As a second wave of torpedoes streaked away, the Horizon rocked heavily, coming under more fire.

“Shields are under heavy strain, sir!” Ainsley called out. “This much incoming is surpassing their refresh rate. They need more time to rebuild.”

“HELM, time to do some of that fancy flying you’re always bragging about,” O’Connor declared. “If I lose shields before I’ve taken out at least five of those fuckers, I’m docking your pay.”

Lt. Quintos grinned silently from the helm, hands working magic on his console as the Majestic Horizon suddenly launched into a slurry of violent maneuvers, corkscrewing between enemy ships at seventy percent of the speed of light.

“Looks like the Aurora Dancer and Boundless Voyager have finally joined the party,” McIntyre offered.

O’Connor glanced at the tactical display, then barked, “COMMS, set up a secure tactical control channel. I want to coordinate with the Dancer and Voyager.”

“Channel established, sir,” Lt. Bishop affirmed from COMMS.

“Fallon, Charizzo, took you guys long enough!” O’Connor ribbed her peers. “Let’s start taking them out. Focus your fire on,” she poked a target, its name suddenly flashing. Fucking idiots are still running Terran Identify Friend or Foe transponders! “the Iron Resolute. Let’s knock them out.”

She watched in grim pleasure as a swarm of dots extended from the three Rigellian ships to converge on the Lyserion vessel. It flashed for a moment, then went grey.

“Booyah, bitches!” she cried aloud, pumping her fist. “Okay, let’s get to work!”

“Shields at thirty-five percent, Commander!” Ainsley cried out in alarm. “We’re still taking a beating!”

“Fuck,” O’Connor hissed, shaking her head. “HELM, what did I tell you?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the young helmsman shook his head slightly as he tried every trick in his repertoire to evade the enemy fire. “You seem to have really pissed them off.”

“Give us a little distance,” she relented, shoulders sagging slightly. “WEPS, cover our back with sappers and grav torps. But be ready with one of those new ones, just in case they don’t get the message.”

Lt. Santonia didn’t bother with a response. She let fly another round of special torpedoes, expecting to see this wave destroyed by defensive fire, the same as the last. To her surprise, one sapper and one grav torp made it through, reducing the amount of fire directed at the Horizon significantly.

“Shields firming up, Commander,” Ainsley called out. “Climbing back up to forty-five percent…”

Suddenly, the ship took a heavy hit, sending it careening off course and tumbling as klaxons they’d never heard before began to sound.

“Report!” O’Connor shouted, fighting hard through a bout of nausea.

“One of the other ships that had hung back suddenly rammed us at point nine-nine cee,” Lt. Cavendish shouted from OPS. “Our shields are all but gone, and we’ve got a breach in the hangar bay. Looks like the impact tore off our port shuttle. Emergency bulkheads have sealed off that section of the ship.”

“Shut off those damned alarms!” McIntyre demanded.

“CIWS is down to plasma beams! Kinetic rounds are at zero!” Lt. Ainsley called out, somehow managing to sound relatively calm. “Shields are below ten percent and falling.”

O’Connor stared hard at the tactical view for a beat, then another, before she said in a clear and steady voice, “NAV, plot me an intercept course with the… Crimson Dominion. I want you to take us out of the ecliptic by a stretch, then back in. I want you to target that big bitch amidships.”

Lt. Pierce blanched but did as she’d been instructed. “Course laid in, sir.”

“HELM,” O’Connor said in a slow, even tone. “Take us to light speed. Ainsley, boost shields to the bow. Santonia, as soon as she’s in our sights, pound the Dominion with everything we’ve got. I want a hole in her big enough to fly through. Execute!”

The inertial dampeners groaned with the strain as the Majestic Horizon healed over, accelerating to light speed as she arrowed up and out of the system ecliptic, appearing for all the world to be in full flight, until she vectored back down, returning to the fray.

High-energy torpedoes streaked away, barely outpacing the ship. Quantum cannon spat salvo after salvo, their brilliant balls of death passing blindingly from beneath the bridge’s forward bulkhead and zooming straight into the massive Lyserion dreadnought.

The dreadnought grew larger at a frightening pace, but Quintos held his course, a savage growl escaping his lips as he leaned into his console.

McIntyre sounded the collision alarm, alerting those not on the bridge to hang on to something.

Amazingly, a nanosecond before impact, the hull gave way on the Lyserion ship, and a hole opened up all the way through the keel. Not quite big enough, but almost.

The impact was jarring as the Majestic Horizon punched through the jagged hull of the Crimson Dominion, shearing off the horizontal decks that swept back from her bow. The resulting series of explosions throughout the Lyserion ship, which had absorbed much of the impulse from the collision, broke her in half.

Had the emergency bulkheads not already been in place, much of the crew of the Majestic Horizon would have been vented into space. As it was, many of her systems overloaded from the stress of the impact, leaving her tumbling, powerless, and out of control. Fortunately, her trajectory quickly took her out of weapons range of the attacking ships.

*****

“Oh my god!” Samel Bruen cried out in shock aboard the Boundless Voyager, as he witnessed the Majestic Horizon’s plight through their forward view..

“Stay focused!” Munez Charizzo barked. The two of them wrestled with their ship, her guidance systems failing after their last run against the Sovereign Blade. They’d done some real damage to the dreadnought, but its lateral array had shredded the Voyager’s shields with thousands of micro torpedoes, and its one remaining cannon had heavily damaged their propulsion systems. The plasma arc had sent a surge of energy pulsing through the Voyager’s control systems, and half the bridge crew lay writhing in agony from the severe burns they’d received.

Charizzo strained to get his ship under control. “Oscar!” he called out to the ship’s AI. “Get some medical holobots up here, now!”

“I think I can get the quantum pulse cannon back online,” Bruen claimed through gritted teeth. “Just… one.. second… there!”

“Coming about,” Charizzo groaned, physically willing the ship to turn. “Be ready. We’re only going to get one shot!”

All around them, the ship was shuddering violently, as if her keel were broken. Bridge doors opened and sealed again to admit medical bots, which began to deploy medical holograms to treat the injured crew, which was pretty much everyone else.

With agonizing slowness, the Sovereign Blade hove into view, fires raging across her upper hull. The immense, spearhead-shaped vessel canted slightly to port, seemingly adrift. As Bruen opened fire, beams of plasma reached out toward them, as the dreadnought’s close-in weapons attempted weakly to fend them off.

The quantum cannons spewed their bolts for a dozen salvos before they went silent, completely expended. But it was enough. The Sovereign Blade broke in half, her aft segment exploding in a brilliant ball of fire. The shock wave struck the Voyager like a giant club, slapping the tiny ship off its course. Bruen slumped over his controls as tunnel vision overtook Charizzo. Not sure if he imagined it or not, he thought he heard Edmund Piccolo attempting to contact him from the Infinite Zephyr. Then all faded to darkness.

*****

“Where the fuck is Dutch?!” Charlise Griffon worried, clinging tightly to the arms of her chair. “We could use his savage innovation right about now!”

“Where the fuck is the rest of our fleet?!” Fallon retorted, looking for options.

Several Lyserion ships had gotten past them. The tactical display revealed, to their dismay, landing ships headed down to the surface of Rigellia. They could do nothing about that just now, Griffon reminded herself.

The Aurora Dancer shuddered once again as she shunted aside huge amounts of energy from that damned trailing dreadnought’s weapons. The Tempest Fortress was hurling massive javelin-like kinetic projectiles at them, each one travelling at just below light speed.

“We need to get out from under that motherfucker’s fire!” Bryce Fallon half-shouted. “Time to try what Dutch would do. OPS, get that tractor ready. I want you to grab the Titan Vanguard on our next pass. Trail her behind us, in case the Tempest Fortress launches another spear at us!”

The Aurora Dancer’s helmsman, Ian MacDougan, uttered something in Gaelic – at least, it sounded like Gaelic – as he took their vessel through gut-wrenching turns, avoiding swarms of micro torpedoes and arcs of plasma as he dove toward the Titan Vanguard. A half-dozen drones sped through the space between the two ships, pulverizing the Lyserion dreadnought’s shields, then wrenching many of her weapons blisters into useless hunks of twisted metal.

As the Dancer sped above the giant Lyserion warship, Madison McKinley grabbed the beast with their tractor beam. “Got it!” she cried out in triumph, amazed at doing such a stunt in real life.

“Bring us about, HELM,” Fallon urged in a steady tone. “Get us up to point eight cee, then launch the Vanguard straight into the Fortress. Steady… steady…. NOW! Cut it loose!”

The Aurora Dancer angled slightly down from her original trajectory, which likely saved her from being destroyed. As it was, the Titan Vanguard absorbed a hideous amount of kinetic energy from the javelin-like projectile that the Tempest Fortress had fired a split-second earlier. The closing velocities of the two masses were stupefying, and the energy released from the resulting impact was biblical.

Unfortunately, a small piece of shrapnel glanced off the Aurora Dancer at light speed, causing catastrophic damage as her shields were overcome.

The impact was directly against the forward hull. The transparent bulkhead was demolished, and the shrapnel sped clean through the vessel, piercing multiple bulkheads before it exited aft of the hangar bay. The loss of atmosphere was contained after a few moments as emergency bulkheads closed, and a force field sprang into place where the transplaz forward hull had been.

Charlise Griffon looked to her right, prepared to express relief to her captain, when she saw the exploded gobbets of flesh and red mist where Fallon had been sitting next to her only a moment prior. Following the path of destruction aft, she saw that McKinley had been similarly savaged, her body missing everything above the waist.

The ship shuddered as it took another round of fire, though O’Connor could not tell the source, as the tactical display had failed. Consoles behind her were overloaded, and the surviving bridge watch had to grab for fire extinguishers.

Slapping her hand against her comm badge, she prayed the ship’s AI was still online and capable of establishing comms with the Odyssey, wherever she was.

In front of her, the holoscreen attempted to display the bridge of the Odyssey. There were several clones on the bridge, all in iShan’tal armor, as Dutch stepped large into the view.

“Dutch!” she cried out, wishing he were there with her. “We need your help! The Lyserion Fleet punched through our defenses, and a strike force has landed on Rigellia! We’re taking a hell of a beating here!”

“Get clear, Charlise! We’re on our way, now!” her former Captain and mentor assured her before the holoscreen failed. It didn’t matter, as Charlise felt herself losing consciousness, the loud hissing of atmosphere bleeding out into space slowly fading into silence.

*****

Space twisted as a kaleidoscopic swirl formed, then enlarged, as the Odyssey emerged into the midst of a pitched battle, towing the rent hulk of the Ember Crown behind it. The Odyssey quickly accelerated into an arc, heading up and out of the system ecliptic, only to heel about and dive right back down into the midst of the Lyserion fleet, picking up speed at a frightening rate.

As soon as he spotted the mammoth ship bearing down on the crippled Aurora Dancer, Dutch knew who his first target would be. “Justine, that one!” he pointed at the battered dreadnought that was relentlessly bearing down on the crippled Dancer.

“OPS, as soon as you drop big, red, and ugly, grab the Dancer,” he called out over his shoulder. “She’s damaged and adrift. We need to tow her out of the fight.”

“On it!” Alisia confirmed, already preparing to release the Lyserion warship.

“WEPS, if it’s under power and Lyserion, fuck it up,” Dutch barked over his shoulder.

Behind him, D’narius smiled grimly as she spun through her options, setting up a slew of staged weapons tasks, then committing them, sending a wild spray of death and destruction flowering out in all directions. “Fucking them up, aye!”

The tactical display confirmed the complete and total annihilation of the dreadnought that had been pursuing the Aurora Dancer. Amazingly, a sizable chunk of the Ember Crown remained, so much larger was it than the other vessel. Dutch shook his head, pondering the morale value of reusing it against yet other Lyserion vessels.

“Dutch,” Alisia called out from OPS, “We need to get the Dancer to safety. She’s about to come apart.”

Leaning forward, the Grand Admiral tapped Doherty on the shoulder. “I suggest you roll to starboard, helmsman.”

With only a slight hesitation, Justine rolled the Odyssey as suggested, just as a massive jump portal flowered open along their original flight path.

The tactical display indicated multiple jump portals forming all along the path of the battle, as dozens of iShan’tal warships entered the region, with the ISS Dominion’s Wrath leading the way.

“Looks like the cavalry is here,” Danielli called out from her station at SCI.

“I thought you might want a little assistance,” Xyphara shared, looking deadpan at Dutch.

Regarding her briefly, unable to tell if she was pulling his leg, he finally nodded. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he said in his best Kentucky drawl. Taking a moment to review the tactical display, he checked off the Alliance ships. To his dismay, the Boundless Voyager seemed to be adrift on a vector taking her out of the system ecliptic.

“Admiral,” he looked to his right, “do you have combat search and rescue capabilities?”

Peering closely at the tactical display, the Grand Admiral gave a series of orders at a surprisingly low volume into her comm set. Glancing up at Dutch, she nodded. “I’ve dispatched a CSAR element to go fetch that ship… the Majestic Horizon. Such an odd name for a warship.”

“Like I tried to tell you before,” he commented absently, “we don’t think of them as warships. They just happen to pack a helluva punch.”

“Indeed,” she replied, giving him an unbelieving glare. “And scraggs fly!”

In front of them both, Jjan’tira snorted.

“COMMS, open a channel. Unencrypted. I want the Lyserions to hear me.”

“Channel open, sir,” Torres replied, nodding in his direction.

“This is Captain Stonerager of the Alliance Starship Odyssey,” he began, standing as he spoke. “To the remaining Lyserion warships, stand down. Cease fire. Your Archmarshal is dead. His ship… what’s left of it… is still big enough for me to whack the shit out of more of you if we don’t stop fighting. Your battle with the Rigellians and with the iShan’tal ends today. You can stop fighting, collect your wounded, and go home, or I’ll make certain history never remembers any of you ever existed!”

Pausing, he looked around. Torres nodded, confirming that his message had been broadcast.

A calm, calculating voice finally responded. “We have your chancellor,” it said. “Surrender, or she dies.”

Dutch balled his fists, looking around for a moment. “Which ship sent that last?” he asked aloud.

“Sir, that last transmission came from one of the trailing dreadnoughts,” Carpizzi responded. “Its transponder identifies it as the Aegis Fury.”

“To the commander of the Aegis Fury,” he said, voice icy, “you should know, she’s not my chancellor. But make no mistake, this fight will end. Now!” He grit his teeth, waiting for a moment for a response that was not coming, before he added in a louder voice, “Or, by the gods, when I’ve finished destroying every last fucking one of you here, I will take this ugly red and black hulk back to your home world and drop it on your capital from orbit, right before I open a jump portal in the heart of your fucking system primary, causing it to fucking nova!”

*****

Aboard the Aegis Fury, Vayn Solenn tracked the ebb and flow of the battle. Thus far, he had lost only a handful of his ships, but to his dismay, they had been taken out by one lone opponent! He was truly stunned to learn the inept Rigellians had managed to come to possess such impressive warships. This Stonerager, of whom they’d heard so much, was proving to be more concerning than their intel had led them to conceive. For the briefest of moments, Solenn wished they could know how events were transpiring above Mars, but comms would have been secured the moment battle was joined.

Another massive series of explosions, rocking the nearby Blood Oath, returned Solenn to considering the problem at hand. This tiny ship was more than an annoyance. Its power-to-size ratio was unprecedented. This one tiny ship, barely a corvette class, packed more power than a Lyserion dreadnought! Had they not come with superior numbers, Solenn would have been truly concerned. As it was, he expected that his fleet would suffer significant losses, but in the end, they would achieve their objective.

Concerned about reports of more of these pesky powerhouses approaching, Solenn was forced to reconsider his strategy. “All attack fleet captains, engage Rigellian defense craft in rotating wings of three. Their shields are impressive, but can be overwhelmed with sufficient, sustained abuse. We need to make way for the ground assault craft to get through, then we will destroy these vermin!”

All remaining captains, he should have said, wincing as another of his warships slewed off course, heavily damaged, on fire, and adrift. Solenn briefly considered breaking comms silence to summon combat search and rescue forces from home world, but that would be an indelible stain upon this already disappointing campaign.

The weapons these ships used were effective. Their torpedoes, when they were permitted time to use them in the correct combination, were strategically sound. Reflecting upon the order and effectiveness, Vayn considered how, after this battle was over, he’d commission a study to identify options to combine all three elements into a single delivery platform. Shield attack, weapons neutralization, massive damage, in a single delivery platform would be truly overwhelming.

His attention was drawn back into the conflict as he observed the ship which had initially engaged them make a heroic plunge, directly into… no, he corrected himself… through! Through the hull of another of his dreadnoughts. The Crimson Dominion was a loss after such an attack, but to his amazement, the Rigellian craft somehow survived, more or less intact. Solenn was forced to reevaluate the enemy. Their ships were a serious matter, and their crew appeared well prepared. This conflict was going to be a much closer test than any had anticipated. Doubt began to gnaw at him. Had they pushed too fast? Should they have brought in the Noraxi for additional support?

Vayn shook his head. No, they were committed. He must focus, use what is at his immediate disposal, and find a way through. The two new arrivals continued to press their attacks, but he could see that one was already crippled. Its dance with the Sovereign Blade was rapidly drawing to a close. The Blade had heavily damaged the craft, and by all rights, the fight should be over. The Rigellian commander should be withdrawing to attempt to save his ship.

To Vayn’s stunned amazement, the Rigellian craft swung about, lubberly to be sure, but in a long, slow arc. The Sovereign Blades' weapons should have made short work of it, but fires and explosions erupted across the hull of the titanic warship, while the tiny Rigellian craft somehow managed to dodge and weave, its flight path stuttering and shuddering, until it was lined up on a heading straight into the Lyserion warship. In a clash worthy of David and Goliath tales, the tiny vessel unleashed a torrent of quantum hellfire from near point-blank range, breaking the Sovereign Blade in two. The tiny Rigellian craft sailed through the wreckage, appearing on the other side, but it was spent. Broken.

Two down, but at a heavy cost, Vayn thought grimly.

One of his tactical officers alerted him to long-range telemetry. A half-dozen more of these insidious Rigellian warships were racing to the fight! They were mere moments from being in range. He gave the order to send the ground assault force immediately, hoping enough of those ships got through to Rigellia to dispatch the landing forces. Seizing the sitting government was victory. Everything else was but a dance.

Another spectacle unfolded unexpectedly, as the sole combat-effective Rigellian ship in the current fight used a tactic new to Solenn’s experience. He’d heard reports of the Stonerager using this in the after-action assessments from the Noraxi, but it was nonetheless amazing and terrible to watch. The tiny ship had somehow grappled the Titan Vanguard and was towing it behind, using it as a shield to protect itself from the Tempest Fortress's deadly Valkar Spine, the massive central spire that launched huge javelins at near-light speed.

As he observed passively, watching in morbid fascination, the tiny vessel swung up and out of the ecliptic – these ships tended to take advantage of all attack vectors, he realized – only to dive back at the Fortress, having pushed the much larger Vanguard ahead of them, clearly intending to hurl the Vanguard at the Fortress.

At the very last moment, the Tempest Fortress’s Valkar Spine fired a final bolt, shearing the Titan Vanguard in half, but also managing to damage the Rigellian craft. The halves of the Vanguard continued along their trajectory, reduced somewhat by the impact with the javelin, but it was too little, too late. The collision between the remains of the Vanguard and Tempest was horrific, releasing blinding amounts of energy from the combined explosion.

Solenn was still blinking away the stars in his vision when he observed another of his ships, the Warrior’s Eclipse, vectoring to attack the wounded Rigellian craft, which was heavily damaged and struggling to move under power. Suddenly, his tactical display zoomed out.

From nowhere, a jump point formed and a ship – no, two ships – hurtled through at nearly light speed. The pair sailed up and out of the ecliptic before doubling back on their course and diving straight back in at a staggering velocity. At the last moment, Solenn realized with a tremendous shock that the second ship was not a ship, but the remains of a ship.

He stared in stunned dismay as the crumpled remains of the Ember Crown, her black and red hull mangled and twisted horribly, nearly unrecognizable after what must have been a titanic struggle, slammed with god-like wrath fully onto the Warrior’s Eclipse. The resulting explosion dwarfed everything he’d witnessed yet during this godawful mess.

As Solenn contemplated his next move, the tactical display zoomed out once more, as dozens – no, hundreds – of new jump points formed, with scores of iShan’tal vessels now entering the sector. How can this be? His mind whirled with doubt. There weren’t supposed to be any numbers this large, let alone ships of this class remaining in the damned iShan’tal forces!

Suddenly, a voice boomed aloud over his communications. “This is Captain Stonerager of the Alliance Starship Odyssey.” No! How could this be? Staring at his tactical view, he could see the Stonerager’s ship showering his remaining forces with fire, and there, for all to behold, the Ember Crown drifted dead, and the iShan’tal appeared to be aligned with Stonerager!

The transmission continued. “To the remaining Lyserion warships, stand down. Cease fire. Your Archmarshal is dead. His ship… what’s left of it… is still big enough for me to whack the shit out of more of you if we don’t stop fighting. Your battle with the Rigellians and with the iShan’tal ends today. You can stop fighting, collect your wounded, and go home, or I’ll make certain history never remembers any of you ever existed!”

Admiral Vayn Solenn, Fleet Commander of the Second Offensive Core, sagged in his ring-chair, struck numb by these turns of events. What more could he do? To return home was a slow death. To stay seemed to be a more certain death.

Just then, a status update flickered across his tactical display, giving him hope. Dal’Korr and his Assault Legion had stormed the capital and taken the Rigellian Chancellor and her advisors captive. This day might yet turn out as planned!

Opening his comms, he responded to the arrogant Stonerager. “We have your chancellor,” he said. “Surrender, or she dies.”

He waited to see how the man responded. Surely, he would stand down to negotiate!

Solenn didn’t have to wait long. The speakers once again spat forth this most hated of foes' vitriol.

“To the commander of the Aegis Fury,” came his infuriating voice. “You should know, she’s not my chancellor. But make no mistake, this fight will end. Now!”  There was a short pause before the final gauntlet was thrown down. “Or, by the gods, when I’ve finished destroying every last fucking one of you here, I will take this ugly red and black hulk back to your home world and drop it on your capital from orbit, right before I open a jump portal in the heart of your fucking system primary, causing it to fucking nova!”

Solenn sat back, considering his options. Witnessing the savage fury of which this man was clearly capable, he did not immediately discount his threat as empty. Also, based on the intel he’d seen from the Noraxi encounters with him, Vayn had no doubt that, backed by the iShan’tal, Stonerager had the means and will to destroy them all here, today.

With a heavy sigh, he opened a channel to Dal’Korr. “Seyra, old friend, if this were only a battle, I would be content playing things out, just on the chance that some of us might prevail. But too much is at stake. We have to take the long view. We must survive this day, and perhaps we can snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in some other way.”

Solenn paused, waiting for his long-time friend to answer, hoping that the man could still see reason. “Is there then no hope?” the raspy voice replied at last.

“There is always hope, Seyra, so long as we keep our heads and survive this day,” Solenn replied, his tone soft, yet stern. “What is important are the many lives on Ashvire, as well as the outer moon colonies. All are depending on an outcome today, which leads to them relocating to a new system. That objective may still be possible, albeit by other means than we had planned. This Stonerager,” Vayn paused, collecting his thoughts. “I have heard that, while he is a savage in battle, he is also forgiving and capable of compassion. Perhaps if we were to attempt to reason with him…”

“I did not come here to die in vain, Fleet Commander,” the gravelly voice of the grizzled veteran warrior rasped. “I do not fear death, but I prefer victory. If you believe that is still possible, through some alternative option, then I will stand down. Give me a moment to pass the word.”

The line went dead, and Solenn sat back, waiting. A few moments later, an open broadcast from the Rigellian Chancellor broke the silence.

“To all Rigellian forces, stand down. This is your Chancellor. We are entering into negotiations with the Lyserions, during which, a general cease-fire shall be honored.”

Solenn nodded, then passed the word on to his fleet captains. “All ships are to cease fire. Commence standard rescue and recovery operations at once, for any ship in need.”

Pausing, he considered his next words carefully, then opened a channel once more. “Captain Stonerager, this is Admiral Vayn Solenn, Fleet Commander of the Second Offensive Core. I believe the time has come for you and me to meet in person. If you will honor the flag of truce, I volunteer to come aboard your vessel, alone and unarmed.”

A moment passed, and then the circuit clicked. “Admiral, I accept your offer, with the additional condition that you may bring no more than two of your fellow officers. Let’s talk turkey, shall we?”

What an odd turn of phrase, Vayn thought. “Acknowledged. We shall shuttle over shortly.”

“That sounds fine,” the Stonerager responded calmly. “We’ll leave the porch light on for you. Odyssey, out.”

Porch light? Strange, indeed. Checking his tactical display, Vayn was hardly surprised to note that each of his surviving warships now had an escort of one or more iShan’tal warships. He could also see several smaller iShan’tal vessels scouring the region, along with many of his own smaller craft. Undoubtedly serving the same purpose – rescue whomever they could.

Sorren summoned Captain Thorne. The man presented himself smartly moments later, a subtle frown on his face. “Admiral, to surrender without having been damaged,” the man began, but Solenn cut him off.

“There are larger considerations at stake, Maevis,” he gently scolded the man, understanding all too well his angst. “Whether we could have prevailed today or not was decided the moment the Stonerager entered the fray, backed by a vastly superior iShan’tal fleet. Now, we must make the hard choices which, in the end, result in the salvation of our people. Go now, secure the ship, conduct all necessary operations to return her to full battle readiness, but you are not to fire unless fired upon. Do I make myself clear?” This last sentence was said in an icy tone that promised final consequences for anything other than absolute compliance.

The man snapped to attention and barked, “Sir! Yes, sir!” With a quick nod, he performed a crisp about-face and went to do as he’d been told.

Satisfied that the captain would perform his tasks as ordered, Vayn turned to his next matter. Glancing across the ship’s comm channels, he selected a private, secure channel and summoned an old friend and ally, a former peer from the academy.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” the man asked in a quiet, subdued tone, a devilish grin permanently prominent on his otherwise stoic features.

“Glad to see you, as well, old friend,” Vayn replied. “I’ll get to the point. I’m taking a shuttle over to meet this Stonerager and take the measure of the man. Hopefully, this will lead me to better understand how I should navigate the waters in which we find ourselves. I’d like you to accompany me.”

“Well, if this Stonerager drinks like he fights, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” the impish man declared. “Meet you in the shuttle bay?”

Nodding, Vayn added, “Two minutes,” then closed the channel.

Releasing his safety harness, Admiral Solenn stood from his ring-chair and stretched. “Captain, mind the fleet for me. I’m going to go meet this Stonerager fellow in person. See what he’s all about. I’ll check in periodically, but my last orders stand.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the captain acknowledged, returning to his duties.

****2030 Ship’s Time, Day 72****

The Starboard Airlock cycled open, allowing the shuttle occupants to enter the Odyssey via the Quarterdeck.

A service droid rang the ship’s bell twice. A boatswain’s whistle sounded across the ship’s all-stations circuit, followed by Prime announcing, “Lyserion Bastion, arriving.”

The two men, wearing simple uniforms bereft of medals and regalia, stepped across the brow onto the Odyssey’s quarterdeck. Solenn’s attention was immediately drawn to the ship’s bell. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, hearkening back to a tradition that originated on seafaring vessels of old Earth, but the date inscribed on its waist was a curiosity. Next to the ship’s bell, a portrait had been hung, depicting an ancient Earth spaceship of similar lines to the Odyssey, a tiny bronze placard identifying the vessel in the picture as the USS Odyssey.

Stepping forward, Dutch extended his right hand. “Welcome aboard the Alliance Starship Odyssey. I’m Captain Bram Stoenager.”

The two men turned to regard Dutch. The one who appeared to be in charge was tall, with hair in a short crewcut, of medium build, possessing razor-sharp features and a dark, calculating look. The other man was slightly shorter, with glossy hair pulled back into a topknot, a pencil-thin mustache, and epicanthic folds above his eyes, making it difficult to make out his eye color, let alone guess his true age.

The first man stepped forward, grasping Dutch’s offered hand. “Admiral Vayn Solenn, Captain. My comrade is Commander Lysor Quenn. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

Dutch nodded grimly, reminding himself that he must think of the bigger picture, of a possible future that included the Lyserions as allies, not adversaries. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go to the Odyssey’s briefing room, where we can all talk freely and sort today’s events out.”

Turning, Dutch led the procession the short distance inboard until they reached the briefing chamber. Within the chamber awaited Pheebs, Grand Admiral Xyphara, and Senior Captain Soritha. The iShan’tal officers were no longer wearing their battle armor, but had changed into simple uniforms, similar to what Dutch had seen worn on Rigellia or Methos.

Several droids were standing by to bring refreshments, but on balance, those in the briefing room had been deliberately kept to a small number.

The remainder of the Odyssey crew was busy working on ship-wide repairs or coordinating efforts to recover survivors from both sides.

Xyphara’s other companions had taken their shuttle back to the Dominion’s Wrath in order to convey to the rest of the commanders the events that had transpired prior to the arrival of the Lyserions, as well as what had occurred back near Mars.

The iShan’tal fleet that had hung back near Mars was in the process of dispersing back to their colony worlds or gathering here in the Rigel system. It was generally agreed that these events would take time, and their outcome would be announced when the Grand Admiral was ready.

Motioning for Solenn and Quenn to take seats at the table, Dutch took his position next to Pheebs, briefly taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before returning his attention to the gathered host.

Sighing, Dutch shook his head. “I’m in uncharted waters here, but there’s no reason for me to be anything but open, so I’ll begin. We discovered your spyware a day or so ago, and manipulated its data feed to mislead you into believing that the iShan’tal forces were a small fraction of what they really are. In short, I baited you, and you took the bait. Now, what I want to know is, why? Why have you been spying on the Rigellians and me and my ship ever since we came to this system? Why have you been working with the Noraxi? And why did your other fleet – the one that attacked me near Mars, choose death over surrender, but you made a different choice?”

Grand Admiral Xyphara raised an eyebrow at Dutch’s admission to manipulating the Lyserions, but remained quiet, apparently content to hear more before she spoke.

Solenn clenched his jaw momentarily, looking down, then glanced at his companion, who merely shrugged. Returning his gaze to meet Dutch’s hard stare, he began with, “Captain, as you said, we’re in uncharted territory. Let us begin with events before our birth. When the war between the Terran Empire and the iShan’tal hegemony peaked, and Earth was destroyed, the Hegemony satisfied itself with isolating the remaining Terran colonies from one another. When they disabled the jump network, destroyed all jump-capable ships, and forbade the construction of any new ones, they effectively stranded each of us within our local systems and prevented us from communicating with each other.”

Dutch nodded, “Yes, that story is consistent with what I’ve heard from the Rigellians and Methosians. But that does not explain why you worked with the Noraxi Syndicate, nor why you were plotting against Rigel, your fellow humans, or why you chose to attack them. I get why you’d want to take a shot at the iShan’tal, but I’m betting you don’t know the whole story there.”

Momentarily intrigued by that last statement, Solenn considered pursuing it to see where it led, but he dismissed it as a gadfly. “Let’s start with the Noraxi. Almost a century ago, the Syndicate began raiding the remnants of the fallen Terran Empire. In the past, our military had been a major threat to them, keeping them at bay. But, as soon as we were isolated and bereft of our mighty fleet, we became appealing prey.”

A serving droid placed a large tumbler of water in front of each of the Lyserions, and Vayn gratefully took a sip before continuing. “I can’t speak for the other colonies, of course, but we Lyserions managed to erect sufficient defensive capabilities to dissuade the Noraxi almost immediately. Once we learned how to do so without the iShan’tal detecting it, we returned to building warships. However, we needed materials, components, and eventually, other things in order to continue.”

“Couldn’t you simply fabricate what you needed using raw materials within your system?” Pheebs asked.

“Our replication technology has only recently been capable of doing so,” Quenn informed them in a quiet, thoughtful tone of voice. “Previously, our technology had been hampered by the growing… effects of our sun’s demise.”

Dutch leaned forward at this last bit. “I’m sorry, but can you explain that last part?”

“We settled our system a millennium ago,” Vayn explained. “However, during our war with the Hegemony, our system's primary began to exhibit erratic behavior, which our scientists eventually deduced was indicative of a long, agonizing stellar demise.”

Quenn spoke up once more, adding, “Of course, part of the effects on humans was somewhat mutagenic. Our males became more… aggressive. But our females… those with the typical XX chromosome pair began to die out. Within the past decade, the last of our women simply… died. No female child has been born in decades.”

Vayn took over once more. “When we realized we needed to do something, we turned to trading with the Noraxi. We supplied them with mercenaries, weapons, and ships. They provided us with females from their slave raids. This was intended to be a stopgap measure, but it failed. None of the captured females brought to our world could conceive a child. All eventually fell sick and died. We were faced with a terrible dilemma. Remain in our home system and die off, or escape, to take root elsewhere.”

Quenn added, “And, it wouldn’t have been sufficient to simply relocate our remaining men. Without breeding stock, we were still doomed, no matter if we found a new home or not. So, we had to fall back on our baser historical tendencies and invade another established human colony. The closest, and most attractive, was Rigellia.”

The two fell silent, having revealed their darkest shame to these strangers. On the one hand, the experience of sharing had been cathartic. But Vayn was still uncertain what, if any, leniency this news would gain them.

Dutch, for his part, sat silently, contemplating what he had just been told. His sense was that these men had told him the unvarnished truth. Given all that had been said, he truly could not imagine any possible advantage deception could give them at this point. From the sound of it, the Lyserion Bastion was one generation from extinction.

Dutch shifted in his chair as another thought occurred to him. Barring the continued use of iShan’tal cloning technology, the million-plus ginger clones who made up the surviving iShan’tal forces faced a similar predicament. As he mulled these two sets of data, his thoughts were interrupted when the Grand Admiral broke her silence.

“Gentlemen, you should know that the iShan’tal have signed on to the Treaty of Ganymede,” she informed them, solidifying the bond that Dutch suspected had been forming. “This means that the former Terran colonies, assuming they also sign on, will become a part of the new Alliance, and will be free to once again roam the vastness of space and seek their fortunes where they may. This can be expedited by restoring the Terran Jump gates to service.”

Dutch nodded, his thoughts still churning. “The Admiral’s correct. You can now make your situation known to the other colonies as they sign on to the treaty. I’m sure some accommodation can be reached peacefully to ensure you don’t simply die off.”

Solenn glanced at Quenn, who merely shrugged before voicing his thoughts. “Better to live on as refugees than die out in such a wasteful way.”

“Captain, when can we meet with representatives from the other treaty signatories? Assuming we can extricate ourselves from our current feud with the Rigellians,” he nodded deferentially toward the Admiral and her companion, “I’m anxious to finally meet with delegates from the iShan’tal,” Solenn stated.

Dutch grinned to himself. He doesn’t know!

Before Dutch could say anything, Grand Admiral Xyphara spoke up. “Admiral Solenn, I believe you are operating under the misunderstanding that Senior Captain Soritha and I are from the Rigellian forces. That is incorrect. I am Grand Admiral Xyphara, Supreme Commander of the iShan’tal Forces.”

Solenn examined the older officer closely. It was true that he had assumed the two women were Rigellian officers. Hell, they might even be sisters; the resemblance was obvious once he noticed it. But iShan’tal? “How is that possible, madame, if I may ask? You look… human… if I may be so bold.”

Dutch couldn’t help but shoot an ‘I told you so’ look at Xyphara. She merely rewarded him with her typical raised eyebrow look. The same look Dutch often encountered when one of his wives opted not to call him out on some bit of his bullshit.

“Admiral Xyphara, if I may,” Dutch offered. The admiral nodded, content to observe how this man handled delicate political matters, having already observed him in combat.

Dutch called out to Prime, and together they began sharing images from his months of experiences with the iShan’tal. From the recovery of Alisia to the rescue of D’narius and Jjan’tira. He even played the recorded message from the Tao Alliance. All of which eventually enabled him to convince the two Lyserion officers that the entire iShan’tal fleet was manned by… well… by women. Beautiful, intelligent, and courageous women. All cloned from the same source, a Methosian scientist from centuries in the past.

 The Lyserions were stunned at the revelation. That a century of the fiercest combat in human history had, in all actuality, been fought against other humans. Vayn’s head spun at the realization that these clones… no, these women… had been deprived of their humanity as surely as the Terran colonies had been deprived of their place among the stars. The injustice of it all was staggering beyond words.

The speaker above rang out with eight bells. Midnight.

Stifling a yawn, Dutch stood. Addressing the Lyserion officers, he suggested, “Gentlemen, I believe we have a great deal of work ahead of us. There is battle damage to redress, as well as a quarter-million-strong invasion force occupying New Concordia.” Beginning to pace out of habit, he continued to speak. “I suggest the following: First, Admiral Solenn, please reach out to your forces down on Rigellia and encourage them to bivouac outside of the city. Treat their wounded. I don’t know what you do with your dead, but work with the Rigellians to find a proper solution. Up here, let’s continue to patch things up. Tomorrow is another day, and we should all re-engage in negotiations once we’ve had some rest and time to recuperate. How does that sound?”

The Lyserion officers stood as one. Striding around the table to offer his hand, Solenn commented, “Captain, you’ve been a civil host and an effective diplomat. I appreciate your bluntness and find your candor refreshing. I’m sorry to report that you’re not at all the savage, mindless quisling reports had led us to consider you. I agree to your terms. The ceasefire shall be maintained. I will instruct our ground assault forces to stand down and withdraw beyond the city limits. I have one question: where should we continue these discussions next?”

“I’ve been giving that some thought,” Pheebs interjected. “I believe that Antares Station, in orbit above Rigellia, will serve as the closest we can come to ‘neutral ground’. Assuming we can locate a willing venue, that seems like a good option.”

Dutch nodded, scratching his beard. “I’m sure that Admiral Bearing can reserve a venue that will serve.”

“You seem to be surrounded by Admirals, Captain,” Quenn observed. “How is it that this does not intimidate you?”

“That’s simple, Commander,” Dutch responded with a twinkle in his eye. “First, none of them… of you,” he nodded in acknowledgement to Xyphara and Solenn, “are in my chain of command.”

“And second?” Solenn asked, still confused as to how this man fit into the whole mosaic of this new Alliance.

“And second,” Dutch pondered how best to state this part. Opting to keep it simple, he shrugged and stated flatly, “My date of commission predates everyone else’s by more than eleven hundred years.”

“That ship in the painting…” Solenn began.

“That was this ship. Back before all of the upgrades. I designed and built her from her keel to her engines,” Dutch informed them in a matter-of-fact tone. “I told you my name – Bram Stoenager. The date on the ship’s bell is accurate. If you have access to old Earth records, look me up. Perhaps, someday, I may tell you how I got to be here and now. For tonight, gentlemen, let us part in peace, and see where tomorrow takes us.”

****0045 Ship’s Time, Day 73****

“The CSAR teams rescued or recovered the survivors and crew from the Aurora Dancer, Majestic Horizon, and Boundless Voyager,” D’narius informed Dutch and Pheebs as they got ready for bed. “The Rigellians lost quite a few good friends. Bryce Fallon, along with several of his junior officers from the Dancer. Fortunately, Charlise Griffon will recover. On the Voyager, only Charizzo and Bruen survived. The rest of their crew was lost. Casualties were minimal on the Horizon, but the ship itself is pretty fucked up. All three ships will need extensive repairs and refit, assuming they don’t just scrap them and fabricate new ones.”

“There’s a lot to be said of a battle-tested ship,” Dutch mused, running his hand along the nearby bulkhead. “But, if the keel was broken, the ship’s never the same afterward.”

“The Odyssey did quite well, all things considered,” Pheebs noted as she stripped out of her uniform. “We were outnumbered twenty to one by ships that out-massed and outgunned us by many orders of magnitude, yet you, my dear husband, somehow managed to pull a victory out of your hat like it was magic.”

“Truly,” Alisia contributed, joining them from the water closet, “it is amazing that he’s humble, and doesn’t need a second ship to serve as chariot for his overgrown ego.”

“I’ve got a place for his overgrown manhood,” Jjan’tira purred as she knelt before him, taking hold of him and breathing a hot breath across his glans.

The door chimed, interrupting things. D’narius, still wearing her bra and panties, slipped into a robe and went to the door, closing the frosted glass panels that isolated the sleeping vestibule from the rest of their quarters. When the door opened, she stepped back to reveal Grand Admiral Xyphara and Senior Captain Soritha, standing in the companionway.

“Ah, D’narius, I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Xyphara explained hesitantly, “but the Captain and I wished to address one final matter with you and your husband before we retire to our most excellent of guest quarters.”

A knowing smile crept across D’narius’ features as she stepped aside, allowing the two iShan’tal clones to enter.

“Darlings,” she called out, “we have guests.”

The frosted panels parted, and Dutch stepped out, followed by Jjan’tira, Alisia, and Pheebs, all wearing robes.

“Admiral,” Dutch addressed Xyphara with uncertainty. “How can I help you? I thought we’d wrapped things up for the day.”

“Well, there is one minor matter which we have yet to resolve,” the elder clone officer informed them. “The captain and I need to… inform you that, prior to the events of today, we did not believe you. All that you discussed with us, aboard the Dominion, sounded unbelievable, especially coming from someone whom we associated with a lifelong enemy.”

“Yes,” Soritha stammered, adding, “the other members of Xyphara’s command staff all agreed that you were not to be trusted, not to be believed.”

Dutch nodded. “Were I in your place, I would likely feel the same,” he admitted. “I can only hope that my actions, some of which may seem barbaric, have backed up my words. I wish for you to treat with me openly and honestly. Whatever outcome is meant to be, will be.”

“Yes, well, that’s fair, I suppose,” the Admiral admitted, looking down for a moment before once again meeting his stare. “Nevertheless, I feel very strongly that we prejudged you, and in doing so, maligned you unfairly. As such, we came here tonight to offer you an apology.”

“You see, Dutch,” D’narius shared, a wicked twinkle in her eye, “before the Lyserions arrived, I was telling the Admiral and Captain here how much importance you place on apologies, and how thorough you had been when you apologized to us. I think, perhaps, this may have influenced them to admit that they desired to… apologize… to you.”

Dutch looked back and forth between the three clones in disbelief, as Xyphara and Soritha smiled and nodded, each reaching for the fasteners at their uniform collars.

Blinking in astonishment at his continuing fortune, Dutch was slack-jawed for a moment before he finally nodded sagely at the two new women. “Of course, Xyphara, Soritha, if you feel so strongly about this, it would be rude of me if I were to be anything other than gracious and accept your… apologies.”

*****

Xyphara lay back, supporting herself on her elbows as D’narius feasted between her thighs. “Gently, my dear. Your husband was quite enthusiastic in his… understanding.”

Nearby, Jjan’tira snorted. “You’re lucky it wasn’t him apologizing to you! I couldn’t sit right for days after he apologized to me!” The younger clone wiggled her hips as, beneath her, Soritha found a particularly sensitive spot. The latter clone was also getting railed by the ‘offended party’, as Dutch gave her a good lesson in human sexuality that none of the iShan’tal were familiar with.

Stepping up to the bed, sporting a glistening strap-on, Alisia tapped her husband on the shoulder. “Dear,” she whispered in his ear, “I think the Admiral may be about ready for round two. If you don’t mind, I’ll take over here.”

Pulling out of the captain’s quim with a sloshy plop, Dutch stepped aside to watch as Alisia lined up with her target and slowly, inexorably filled the woman until their sparse pubes met.

Stepping over, he knelt down behind D’narius and hilted himself within her from behind, forcing a long, low moan to rise from down between the Admiral’s quivering thighs.

“You seem to be goading her on, Dutch,” Xyphara panted. “Do, please continue. I am quite close.”

Rutting his dear D’narius from behind could never be mistaken for tiresome work. Dutch set a pace quickly, then pistoned in and out rapidly, knowing that D’narius enjoyed the play when it was rough. In no time at all, her moans changed pitch, and he felt her muscles clenching at him vigorously as she climaxed.

As soon as he pulled out, Pheebs bent down to lick Dutch clean, preparing him for another round with the Admiral, who had reached her peak with D’narius. Xyphara, no longer propped up on her elbows, moaned when Dutch grabbed her legs and brought them up over his shoulders, slowly running the head of his cock back and forth between her slick folds.

As soon as Xyphara opened her eyes and met his gaze, he stroked himself deep within her, nudging his cockhead at her cervix. With a grunt, she wiggled her hips, her head lolling back as she reached for him, pulling Dutch down upon her. “Fuck me, Dutch. Please, fuck me like you fuck your wives. For tonight, use me.”

Never one to disappoint a beautiful woman, he did as he’d been asked. Again, and again.

What little rest was to be had came many hours later for them all.

*****