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I didn't mean it to be Cat Girl Porn . . .
Oct. 5th, 2018 10:18 amComments and nit-picks welcome.
Trade 10
The habitat was called “Moderate Gravity, Moderate Oxygen, Moderate Water.” Which was fine as a guide to which of the Hub’s hundreds of cylindrical worlds would allow me to breathe and do other little life-sustaining things, but the O2 was just a little low, and the sun tube running down the center of the hollow cylinder was just a touch too bright.
But I wasn’t here to settle down. The Hub was where traders from across the Auzurach Empire came to do business. I was hoping to finally find a way back to Earth after far too long away. Even though the bazaar I had been directed to after some searching was crowded, I had no problem making my way through the narrow alleys between stalls and tents.
Maybe it was that humans are a bit bigger than most intelligent species. Maybe it was the military-grade prosthetics that had replaced my right arm and the right side of my head. There was a good chance that many of the aliens recognized the flames tattooed around my left eye and the short cutlass and dagger I wore as a sure sign that I was a Legionnaire, and not to be messed with.
Whatever the reason, I wasted little time finding the pavilion of one Su5tre3cath1, a merchant prince who was gathering cargo and crew for a trade fleet that was at least heading in my general direction. I stopped outside their stall to double check their Trade Language sign.
Along with being really good at conquering, the Auzurach were pretty good at running their empire. Long ago they create the Trade Tongues, constructed languages that allowed species to speak to each other. I could speak 49, 63, and 112, although that last one had a nasty accent. Luckily, the sign had the lips, tongue, and teeth symbol of Trade 49. Mustering my best “hire me” face, I stepped inside.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the tent’s dim interior. There were a handful of Kylean trade brokers seated on cushions working frantically on tablets, whistling to each other in what I recognized as Trade 15. At the back, a giant ball of snot was resting on a rock. Well, if snotballs had eyestalks and a forest of spidery arms.
While I was considering how I should address the snot, a voice speaking Trade 112 came from behind me.
“Do not speak to Su5tre3cath1, honored guest, he is of high caste, and it would be an insult.”
I turned and found myself facing an alien of a type I’d never seen before. At least nine feet tall, humanoid but with extra sets of elbows and knees and deep red skin that darkened to brown and black in places. Two golden cat eyes regarded me cooly.
“I didn’t mean any insult,” I said, switching to Trade 49. I bowed politely. “I am Franklin Hughes, formerly an Assault Band Sub-Leader in the 173rd Frontier Legion. I am looking for a working passage to my homeworld, Earth. I understand that the exalted Su5tre3cath1 is organizing a trade fleet.” I tried to sing the snotball’s name properly. I probably failed.
The big alien smiled, revealing a shark’s mouth of teeth. “I am Turridan, honored to be chief secretary to the exalted Su5tre3cath1, eclipsed only by the Great Emperor of the Auzurach!”
At that, we both bowed and said the prayer of praise. It was the safe thing to do, as you never knew when the Tavrchedl, the secret police, would be listening. Besides, praising the throne was a habit after so many years in the service.
“So, Franklin Hughes . . . are you a deserter? There is a bounty on those who flee the service of the empire.”
“Never! I served my time, 40 years, and I was discharged honorably. I have my discharge file for your inspection.”
It waved in dismissal. I noticed that the hands had four fingers and two opposable thumbs. “Very few live to see their release from the Emperor's service. It must have been hard, not seeing home for decades.”
“Centuries, actually.” Turridan’s eyes widened. “When a Legion isn’t needed it is put into stasis. I figure it has been 230 Imperial years since I saw home. That’s about 300 years in my calendar.” Turridan motioned that I should find a seat on one of the cushions then folded its legs into a cross between the lotus position and macrame.
“Working passage. What can you do for the exalted Su5tre3cath1? Why are you willing to labor for just food and a sleeping berth?”
“Obviously, I can work as a security officer. Beyond that, 40 years in service means I’ve picked many skills in repairing machines and electronics. I can fly most standard small craft, up to a cargo shuttle.” I spread my arms wide. “Take me as I am, and I will perform any task given to me.
“As to why I need to travel working passage, my accumulated pay was lost in a bank crash. Waiting for the paymasters to recover the data may take years. Rather than wait, I jumped the first ship that would take me. I cannot pay the guild fee to become a full crewmember, so I find any means I can to make my way between the stars.”
Again the smile. “Leave your data with me. I shall consult the exalted one and his captains. Wait for my call. There is one thing, the exalted Su5tre3cath1 requires that the final contract be negotiated in Trade 10 and he must be present to witness. You may leave now.”
I hastily agreed and scrambled to my feet and exited the pavilion, blinking a few time in the bright sunlight. I had my ride, probably, but I had never even heard of Trade 10. When I asked around in the bazaar, all I got was laughter and hoots of derision.
--
The one nice thing about an artificial world is they announce the time and duration of rain well beforehand. So I was able to sleep the next two nights in a park and remain relatively dry and comfortable. Charity kitchens kept me fed. I spent a handful of dwindling hoard of credits to do a data search. What I found made me twitch.
TRADE 10: Trade language using the passing of genetic material from one sentient being to another. Usually involves sexual acts or erotic stimulation. Information density low, Effectiveness low. Not recommended for negotiations.
So when I got a message telling me to come back to the pavilion when the sun tube dimmed, I was damn close to panic. I’d faced death a thousand times in the Legion, but contractual sex with a big red alien with too many joints? This was something new.
With my usual perfect timing, I arrived just as the sun tube went dark and the only light was the constellations made by the city lights on the other side of the cylinder. Steeling myself as if I was getting ready to drop into a combat zone, I marched in. If the tent was dim in the day, it was dark as pitch at night.
“Welcome, Frank Hughes.” Turridan’s voice growled like a big cat. I turned my artificial optic to low light mode, and my jaw dropped. Turridan was seated in that impossible lotus. It was wearing something that looked to be a flimsy as tissue paper. And Turridan had breasts. Nice ones. I barely noticed Su5tre3cath1 on his rock.
I pointed. “You did not have those when we last met.”
She, I guess I had to call her she now, made a growl-click sound that I figured was laughter. “My race is what you call ‘sequential hermaphrodites.’ We change between our three genders almost at will. We’ve also mastered the ability to form our own bodies to a limited extent. This is why we had to wait, I needed to study and form.” She extended her hand to me. “Shall we begin?”
I needed no further encouragement. I shed my clothes like they were on fire and joined her on the cushions. Negotiations began in earnest.
--
I woke the next morning stiff and sore and utterly drained. Even my right arm was sending low power warnings. The previous night was a blur, but all things considered, I think I did the human race proud. I have to say it had been an acrobatic night, and oy, what she did with her teeth! I’ll have a new set of scars to go with combat related ones.
Beside me, Turridan stirred. She looked at me with her big cat eyes. “The negotiations are completed.” she purred. Lifting herself from the cushions, she looked to where Su5tre3cath1 was still oozing on his rock and sang to him. He sang back. Satisfied, she turned back to me.
“It is settled. You have been accepted as a crewman in the exalted one’s fleet. You will receive a small loan to buy appropriate gear.” She leaned in close and growled in my ear. “I shall see you assigned to the lead ship. I may keep this form. It has many . . . possibilities.” She then dragged those razor-sharp teeth over my shoulder while I quivered in ecstasy.
--
As it turned out, the closest the trade fleet would be coming to Earth was 720 light years, to a cold but habitable planet called Niflheim, which had a good-sized human colony. But I had changed my mind about Earth. Reading what was available in the ship’s library, I learned that Earth was still a defeated world, chafing under Imperial Auzurach rule. Screw that. Becoming a fisherman on Niflheim sounded far more interesting, especially when I learned that the “fish” were sea serpents that could reach 300 feet long and the serpents won the fight against the fishing boats about one time in five.
But first I had to get there, and that was going to take two long Imperial years. Being a contrary sort, I was eternally arguing my contract terms. Which meant Turridan and I had to renegotiate frequently. Always in Trade 10.
Trade 10
The habitat was called “Moderate Gravity, Moderate Oxygen, Moderate Water.” Which was fine as a guide to which of the Hub’s hundreds of cylindrical worlds would allow me to breathe and do other little life-sustaining things, but the O2 was just a little low, and the sun tube running down the center of the hollow cylinder was just a touch too bright.
But I wasn’t here to settle down. The Hub was where traders from across the Auzurach Empire came to do business. I was hoping to finally find a way back to Earth after far too long away. Even though the bazaar I had been directed to after some searching was crowded, I had no problem making my way through the narrow alleys between stalls and tents.
Maybe it was that humans are a bit bigger than most intelligent species. Maybe it was the military-grade prosthetics that had replaced my right arm and the right side of my head. There was a good chance that many of the aliens recognized the flames tattooed around my left eye and the short cutlass and dagger I wore as a sure sign that I was a Legionnaire, and not to be messed with.
Whatever the reason, I wasted little time finding the pavilion of one Su5tre3cath1, a merchant prince who was gathering cargo and crew for a trade fleet that was at least heading in my general direction. I stopped outside their stall to double check their Trade Language sign.
Along with being really good at conquering, the Auzurach were pretty good at running their empire. Long ago they create the Trade Tongues, constructed languages that allowed species to speak to each other. I could speak 49, 63, and 112, although that last one had a nasty accent. Luckily, the sign had the lips, tongue, and teeth symbol of Trade 49. Mustering my best “hire me” face, I stepped inside.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the tent’s dim interior. There were a handful of Kylean trade brokers seated on cushions working frantically on tablets, whistling to each other in what I recognized as Trade 15. At the back, a giant ball of snot was resting on a rock. Well, if snotballs had eyestalks and a forest of spidery arms.
While I was considering how I should address the snot, a voice speaking Trade 112 came from behind me.
“Do not speak to Su5tre3cath1, honored guest, he is of high caste, and it would be an insult.”
I turned and found myself facing an alien of a type I’d never seen before. At least nine feet tall, humanoid but with extra sets of elbows and knees and deep red skin that darkened to brown and black in places. Two golden cat eyes regarded me cooly.
“I didn’t mean any insult,” I said, switching to Trade 49. I bowed politely. “I am Franklin Hughes, formerly an Assault Band Sub-Leader in the 173rd Frontier Legion. I am looking for a working passage to my homeworld, Earth. I understand that the exalted Su5tre3cath1 is organizing a trade fleet.” I tried to sing the snotball’s name properly. I probably failed.
The big alien smiled, revealing a shark’s mouth of teeth. “I am Turridan, honored to be chief secretary to the exalted Su5tre3cath1, eclipsed only by the Great Emperor of the Auzurach!”
At that, we both bowed and said the prayer of praise. It was the safe thing to do, as you never knew when the Tavrchedl, the secret police, would be listening. Besides, praising the throne was a habit after so many years in the service.
“So, Franklin Hughes . . . are you a deserter? There is a bounty on those who flee the service of the empire.”
“Never! I served my time, 40 years, and I was discharged honorably. I have my discharge file for your inspection.”
It waved in dismissal. I noticed that the hands had four fingers and two opposable thumbs. “Very few live to see their release from the Emperor's service. It must have been hard, not seeing home for decades.”
“Centuries, actually.” Turridan’s eyes widened. “When a Legion isn’t needed it is put into stasis. I figure it has been 230 Imperial years since I saw home. That’s about 300 years in my calendar.” Turridan motioned that I should find a seat on one of the cushions then folded its legs into a cross between the lotus position and macrame.
“Working passage. What can you do for the exalted Su5tre3cath1? Why are you willing to labor for just food and a sleeping berth?”
“Obviously, I can work as a security officer. Beyond that, 40 years in service means I’ve picked many skills in repairing machines and electronics. I can fly most standard small craft, up to a cargo shuttle.” I spread my arms wide. “Take me as I am, and I will perform any task given to me.
“As to why I need to travel working passage, my accumulated pay was lost in a bank crash. Waiting for the paymasters to recover the data may take years. Rather than wait, I jumped the first ship that would take me. I cannot pay the guild fee to become a full crewmember, so I find any means I can to make my way between the stars.”
Again the smile. “Leave your data with me. I shall consult the exalted one and his captains. Wait for my call. There is one thing, the exalted Su5tre3cath1 requires that the final contract be negotiated in Trade 10 and he must be present to witness. You may leave now.”
I hastily agreed and scrambled to my feet and exited the pavilion, blinking a few time in the bright sunlight. I had my ride, probably, but I had never even heard of Trade 10. When I asked around in the bazaar, all I got was laughter and hoots of derision.
--
The one nice thing about an artificial world is they announce the time and duration of rain well beforehand. So I was able to sleep the next two nights in a park and remain relatively dry and comfortable. Charity kitchens kept me fed. I spent a handful of dwindling hoard of credits to do a data search. What I found made me twitch.
TRADE 10: Trade language using the passing of genetic material from one sentient being to another. Usually involves sexual acts or erotic stimulation. Information density low, Effectiveness low. Not recommended for negotiations.
So when I got a message telling me to come back to the pavilion when the sun tube dimmed, I was damn close to panic. I’d faced death a thousand times in the Legion, but contractual sex with a big red alien with too many joints? This was something new.
With my usual perfect timing, I arrived just as the sun tube went dark and the only light was the constellations made by the city lights on the other side of the cylinder. Steeling myself as if I was getting ready to drop into a combat zone, I marched in. If the tent was dim in the day, it was dark as pitch at night.
“Welcome, Frank Hughes.” Turridan’s voice growled like a big cat. I turned my artificial optic to low light mode, and my jaw dropped. Turridan was seated in that impossible lotus. It was wearing something that looked to be a flimsy as tissue paper. And Turridan had breasts. Nice ones. I barely noticed Su5tre3cath1 on his rock.
I pointed. “You did not have those when we last met.”
She, I guess I had to call her she now, made a growl-click sound that I figured was laughter. “My race is what you call ‘sequential hermaphrodites.’ We change between our three genders almost at will. We’ve also mastered the ability to form our own bodies to a limited extent. This is why we had to wait, I needed to study and form.” She extended her hand to me. “Shall we begin?”
I needed no further encouragement. I shed my clothes like they were on fire and joined her on the cushions. Negotiations began in earnest.
--
I woke the next morning stiff and sore and utterly drained. Even my right arm was sending low power warnings. The previous night was a blur, but all things considered, I think I did the human race proud. I have to say it had been an acrobatic night, and oy, what she did with her teeth! I’ll have a new set of scars to go with combat related ones.
Beside me, Turridan stirred. She looked at me with her big cat eyes. “The negotiations are completed.” she purred. Lifting herself from the cushions, she looked to where Su5tre3cath1 was still oozing on his rock and sang to him. He sang back. Satisfied, she turned back to me.
“It is settled. You have been accepted as a crewman in the exalted one’s fleet. You will receive a small loan to buy appropriate gear.” She leaned in close and growled in my ear. “I shall see you assigned to the lead ship. I may keep this form. It has many . . . possibilities.” She then dragged those razor-sharp teeth over my shoulder while I quivered in ecstasy.
--
As it turned out, the closest the trade fleet would be coming to Earth was 720 light years, to a cold but habitable planet called Niflheim, which had a good-sized human colony. But I had changed my mind about Earth. Reading what was available in the ship’s library, I learned that Earth was still a defeated world, chafing under Imperial Auzurach rule. Screw that. Becoming a fisherman on Niflheim sounded far more interesting, especially when I learned that the “fish” were sea serpents that could reach 300 feet long and the serpents won the fight against the fishing boats about one time in five.
But first I had to get there, and that was going to take two long Imperial years. Being a contrary sort, I was eternally arguing my contract terms. Which meant Turridan and I had to renegotiate frequently. Always in Trade 10.
