Stars In Thrall

Stars In Thrall

by

M.Frances Smith

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 M. Frances Smith

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 1

The masseuse-bot was the size of a small human, but it was not humanoid in appearance; it resembled an antique hairdryer, the kind operated in beauty salons on ancient Earth, but it resembled such a dryer only if the domed monstrosities had sported tentacles and defied gravity. It was an efficient, uncomplicated machine with a single purpose encoded in its microscopic, electronic brain—delivering a perfect massage with its artificially heated tentacles.

In a somewhat Spartan bedroom, it hovered over a female body lying prone on a thermal bench, deftly massaging and manipulating target areas in compliance with an exquisitely crafted program. Artificially heated faux-skin covered its tentacles so that the precision metal would not harm the warm, golden skin it caressed. A sub-program mimicking the sounds within a human womb encouraged deep slumber in the woman receiving the massage while a trivial part of the mechanism's program recorded the woman's eyelids fluttering as she dreamed.

Sattyn strode along the dim corridors of her home anticipating a passionate reunion with her lover, Pallaton. The insubstantial texture of her thoughts and subtle lack of detail within rooms she explored revealed to her, even within the dream, that she slept. She paused in the hallway, sensitive ears picking up familiar sounds—sounds she did not expect to hear coming from the bedroom she shared with Pallaton when she was not with him. The low moans and indefinite words indicated passion rather than distress.

Drawing her personal weapon, a dav, and balancing it deftly on three fingers, Sattyn waved her hand through the motion sensor field, opening the bedroom door. Even within the confines of the recurrent dream, the discovery still surprised her.

Pallaton lay in bed with a woman all-too-familiar to Sattyn, her Trader Apprentice, Jolanta. His muscular bulk contrasted aesthetically with the golden brunette's willowy limbs as they moved in passionate synchronicity.

Jolanta's eyes met hers first, the younger woman crying out in dismay. Sattyn! Oh, no, Sattyn! Pallaton's expression sobered, but did not become apprehensive. Pallaton, please! Let me up! Jolanta begged as she struggled beneath him.

Be still, Jo. Be still. His eyes remained locked with Sattyn's, watching her struggle with the instinctive desire to kill in vengeance, but the balancing desire to refrain from killing him. They lived in a universe disdainful of monogamy, yet managed to discover that rare gem in their relationship. Still, that unique sexual fidelity was not one to which they had sworn any oaths to uphold.

Sattyn's mind was a riot of conflicting impulses she couldn't untangle and she loathed the unaccustomed indecision. For a moment she considered killing the amorous pair simply to resolve the conflict, but the expression in Pallaton's dark eyes appealed to the rational portion of her mind. He would accept her judgment of them, whatever it was, as he always allowed her to decide the parameters of their relationship, sensing her discomfort with the level of intimacy they shared. Monogamy in their species was neither expected nor sought, and she would have to decide if their relationship could survive its suspension.

Finally Sattyn's frustration at being unable to decide the fate of her lover or her Apprentice became intolerable for her. She backed away from the open door and beyond the sensor field.

The door closed.

The dream ended.

Sattyn's eyelids fluttered upward as she woke and waved away the masseuse-bot as though it were a mechanical butterfly causing minor irritation. Sliding her bare feet to the floor, she quietly padded over to the door connecting her room with her Apprentice's. She gazed at the sleeping figures in the bed for several thoughtful moments before gathering up her clothes and going inside, activating the lights as she entered.

Wake up, Jo, urged Sattyn, as she dressed. Jolanta lay in bed beside Pallaton, failing to respond, so Sattyn leaned over the man's body in an attempt to reach the sleeping woman.

A strong arm slipped over her back, pulling her against a broad chest. I thought you were asleep, she accused the man.

I am, he told her, his voice husky with sleep—and a desire with which she was familiar. Sattyn, don't go yet. His shoulder length, sable hair fanned across his pillow, inviting her to bury her face in its softness.

She nipped at his chest. Sorry, Pally. We've got a contract to close. Then, because she could never resist, she kissed his full lips soundly, shaking her friend awake with her free right hand.

Jolanta sleepily blinked at the pair next to her. You two are insatiable. She kissed Pallaton's bare left shoulder affectionately and tried to capture Sattyn's hand.

Sattyn reluctantly withdrew from the man. Pull it together, Jo. We've got to see the Thorans.

We work too hard, Jolanta protested, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed.

"I don't mind the work," Sattyn remarked as she pulled on a pair of black, leather gloves then searched for her boots.

"You make me work too hard. Maybe I should take some time off?" Jolanta allowed Pallaton to pull her head down for a warm kiss. They chuckled at the joke and snuggled farther beneath the blankets.

Watching them with amusement, Sattyn recalled her dream of the first time she discovered them in bed together and felt an unaccustomed chill when she thought of how close she had come to killing them. These were the only two beings in the galaxy for whom she'd sacrifice her life and she could have been the instrument of their deaths.

How about it, Sattyn? Pallaton's face barely showed over the edge of the thick blanket. A little time off for the overworked nymph?

A pair of brown boots landed on the bed, just missing Jolanta's tousled head.

That usually means no, she interpreted for him, dragging her clothes with her as she crawled from the bed. Pallaton piled the pillows behind his back, sitting up to watch the two women dress, enjoying the pleasant torture.

Years of experience in the starfields made Sattyn acutely aware that he stared, and even though it was Pallaton, she didn't like it. Lacing her tunic, she fixed him with the sort of expression that warned him to stare at something other than her hypersensitive back. The practiced glower worked with most beings, but not with Pallaton.

How many times have I asked you not to accept Thoran contracts? he asked.

Every time I accept one.

They're dangerous.

So is Sattyn, Jolanta joined in the playful argument.

This is a business and they're paying customers, like anyone else.

"Not like anyone else, Pallaton contradicted Sattyn. Their appetites are insatiable, their demands are unreasonable, and they're the most treacherous sentient beings in the galaxy because they refuse to restrict their lusts."

And they pay a higher percentage than anyone else. This amiable argument accompanied every Thoran contract she accepted and Sattyn always won.

The non-humanoid Thoran race derives erotic pleasure from torturing and consuming select sentient beings, including humans, Jolanta recited from memory. So they're not all that different from a lot of human males, except for the consumption part—usually. She ducked her head when Pallaton frowned at her observation.

I'm one of only a handful of Traders who will deal with them. They won't bite off a hand that feeds them. Even though she maintained this position, Sattyn was never foolish enough to turn her back on one of the big slugs.

Jolanta returned to the bed to bestow a parting kiss on Pallaton's cheek. It's a short haul. We'll be back for a few maxunits after we drop the payload with Ice.

I don't like the two of you dealing with him either, Pallaton grumbled.

Jealousy doesn't become you, Sattyn teased.

It's caution, not jealousy.

During his years as a Senior Trader, Pallaton dealt extensively with Ice. The man was a superior, severe Trainer, but admiration for the man's skills did not cloud Pallaton's perception of him. Ice was the kind of individual who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted—and Pallaton believed the Senior Trainer wanted Sattyn. Certain forms of territoriality might have become outmoded in the hundred years since Earth joined the Galaxy, but some human males couldn't surrender the possessiveness they felt for their females. Pallaton fought it, but didn't deny it.

Ice often expressed an interest in the woman prior to her becoming intimately involved with Pallaton, but Sattyn considered herself invulnerable to his dark charisma, and thoroughly enjoyed their dangerous flirtations. Pallaton worried she misjudged not only Ice's allure, but also her ability to resist exploring the shadowy areas of her soul to which Ice appealed. He blamed the potential chink in her armor entirely on her hyperactive curiosity and exasperating penchant for tempting Fate.

Come on, Jo. The sooner we're there the faster we're here, Sattyn's call drew him from melancholy reverie.

The trio bid no farewells when they parted. A Trader's life was fraught with peril, and each parting could well be the last. Saying formal good-byes only underscored the possibility and Traders whose lives were relatively happy managed that comfort by living in the moment without dwelling on the possibilities of what might be.

During their brief flight to Pacific Hub Hangar, the women casually discussed the particulars of the Thoran contract, local weather, and personal gossip friends of their intimacy were prone to exchange. When Jolanta snuggled against her, Sattyn didn't protest the affectionate gesture as she usually did—her conscience still smarting from the recent dream.

They left the personnel flyer with an elephantine, cyclopean Muddrah before entering the cavernous commercial spaceship hangar. Sattyn tipped the valet enough to ensure convenient, relatively secure parking.

Humans and aliens of every sort bumped bodies as they hurried toward or away from spaceships equally common or exotic. The amazingly disjointed cacophony of a thousand different alien tongues could drown a person's thoughts and the press of humanoid and non-humanoid bodies would drive a xenophobe mad. As the Traders wended their ways through the crowd, Jolanta felt her elbow tugged and paused, finding a Megrian hanging on. It chittered in its native language, but Jolanta could only shake her head, having learned minimal phrases in its language.

He's having trouble with the Infoport, Sattyn translated, stepping around the pair and entering the half-circle of blue light out of which the Megrian leaned. Cue present info, she seemed to speak to the air. A three-dimensional image sprang to life and a placid voice spoke in her head.

Experiments in faster-than-light speed were abandoned when Megrian scientists discovered interstellar travel possible via Resonance and invented the Fork. The machine program spoke to her in Terranese, having sampled her mental pathways when she entered its field of use.

Sattyn shook her head. I hate space travel history. The Megrian chirped and waved a fuzzy, multi-jointed arm. He doesn't like it either which means this must have replayed quite a few times. I've never known a Megrian to tire of hearing about itself or the contributions of its race.

Can you fix it? Outside the blue light, Jolanta neither heard nor saw the images and sounds perceived by Sattyn and her stocky companion.

"I think so. Infoport, direct access." Several orange lights, like gossamer filaments, snaked out of nowhere, seeming to attach to various places on Sattyn's head. She closed her eyes while the voice continued to drone about the invention of the Fork, the Personal Fork, the radius of each Resonance Field, how it made interstellar travel possible... Then the blue light suddenly arced outward in a sparkling curtain that momentarily enveloped, then retracted from, a startled Jolanta.

The Megrian waved its digits in what Jolanta recognized as gratitude and Sattyn replied with a human approximation of the same. She exited the blue light while the Megrian remained contentedly within.

What did you do? Jolanta asked as they continued on their way through the hangar toward the berth where Sattyn's ship waited.

Kicked it.

Jolanta suspiciously examined what she could of her mentor's face, failing to ascertain whether or not the woman was kidding. Sattyn could work directly with many machines, via a direct mental link generally accessible by only a handful of aliens adept at telepathic manipulation, always impressing Jolanta, but it also made her wonder whether her mentor was entirely human—she was never bold enough to inquire. Then she smiled because, without looking away from her mentor, she knew that Sattyn had caught sight of her ship.

Sattyn didn't know it, but whenever she approached her ship her back straightened a fraction more, her stride lengthened, and her face glowed with unmistakable, almost maternal, pride.

Designed for practicality, Mistress, Thrallship 669-3 was nonetheless aesthetically pleasing. Sattyn often compared its design to a boomerang, though the blue black ship possessed an aura of power, speed and deadliness incomparable to that ancient Earth weapon. Relatively diminutive for its class, Mistress stood barely over sixty feet in height, the general V of its body sweeping over six hundred feet in either direction.

The two women entered the Mistress' antechamber, waiting brief microunits while the ship security computers examined their retinal, DNA, and EEG patterns. Only upon positive identification did the inner door rise, allowing them into the body of the ship. A few paces along the corridor and they stepped onto a small circular pad. Touching a pressure-sensitive panel, Sattyn instructed the lift to ascend to tier one.

They rose past tiers five, four and three, which were dedicated, in one form or another, to Mistress' profession, Thrall Trade. They also passed tier two where the bulk of her computers, the Trader Law Library, and the engines vied for room. Finally they arrived at tier one, the ship's nerve center. Poop deck and crew berths alone occupied this level.

When the lift stopped the women stepped off, Sattyn moving to the left, Jolanta to the right. Each woman seated herself in an enfolding black chair facing an apparent wall of glossy darkness. Sattyn laid her left arm on top of the left arm of the chair and the ship flight control mechanism closed around her slender appendage.

Seated in her own chair, Jolanta lay her right arm on her chair's right arm, having it similarly engulfed and linking her to the internal operations of the ship. Panels in each of their walls sprang to life, relaying information they requested through minute muscular movements of their arms and hands.

Flight prep? Sattyn automatically asked, examining the panels, her voice emanating from the area where Jolanta's chair curved around her head.

Prime, Jolanta responded.

Manual ascent. The ship rose smoothly from the ground as if lifted by Sattyn's words. No one in the hangar took notice of the ship as it ascended through the roof using standard, passive, silent counter-gravity.

While the average ship owner did not know how to pilot a vessel, preferring that others or computers handle the intricacies and dangers of flight, Sattyn knew how to fly her ship. She relinquished control to the computers only during intersystem travel and never to another living being. Jolanta sometimes joked that Sattyn was more possessive of her ship than their lover. The only reply Sattyn ever gave was that Jo shouldn't joke about a subject as serious as her ship.

Resonating, Sattyn announced tonelessly once she'd piloted Mistress into a computer-determined safe zone.

Jolanta tensed involuntarily at the feather touch of initial resonance. Her molecular speed followed the ship's lead, replacing her view of the outside starfields with blinding whiteness. The stars finally revealed by this brilliance were unfamiliar, confirming their arrival in another dimension.

Although she felt normal Jolanta knew her molecules artificially resonated, allowing her existence in a reality that was not her own. If she left the Fork's field of influence, or if her Personal Fork was removed, her atoms would scatter back to Real-space. The horrible implications always made her queasy.

Alter-fall executed, Sattyn's unimpressed announcement reassured Jolanta. Hand sail to Garohn. The starfields appeared to move past her viewing panels but Jolanta knew the ship actually moved, banking effortlessly toward the planet, Garohn.

The planet did not specifically exist in the Traders' reality, not this version of Garohn, and Jolanta felt uncomfortable whenever she tried to wrap her mind around the subtleties of dimensional/spatial travel. Examining the clouds and chaos on the viewers, she wondered if this stormy world resembled Earth at the same point in reality, but her curiosity lacked strength enough to lure her to Earth's alternate. The idea was oddly disturbing on some instinctive level. This generic unease kept most natives from exploring their home world alternates.

Mistress sank into the gaseous, chaotic atmosphere until it was embraced in the planet's gravitational arms.

Resonating, Sattyn said again, and the Fork returned them to their own reality, orbiting the Garohn of their native dimension. System check.

Jolanta examined the flashing images on her wall panels. Prime.

Resonating.

This time, when the blinding whiteness gave way to stars, Jolanta knew they orbited pre-Garohn, perhaps hundreds or thousands of years in the past, in a time legally designated as safe to harvest members of its dominant life form.

Manual planet fall, was Sattyn's only warning as she sent Mistress plummeting toward the planet surface.

Cloud cover parted and Mistress skimmed over the landscape less than a heartbeat after Sattyn's warning. The Senior Trader's ease with the controls at such velocity never failed to impress Jolanta. Sattyn once attempted to teach her how to manually pilot a ship, ending the lesson with a disparaging remark and terse advice to invest in an excellent in-flight computer.

Pre-Garohn village located, Jolanta announced. Coordinates on screen.

A three-dimensional map appeared on one of her viewers and its twin appeared on one of Sattyn's. Obediently, the ship suddenly banked starboard like a dark bird of prey, darting over a large body of yellow water.

Snare Team to tier five, Jolanta ordered. Seventeen units, female, horn nubs showing not sprouting.

This order was for that part of the crew responsible for capturing pre-Thralls, Snare-specialists. Jolanta didn't like the Snare-specialists, thinking them cold, insensitive, callous beings of a like kind no matter what their species. She supposed their separatism made them superb Snare-specialists, but poor company.

Snare-specialists seemed of the same opinion about anyone who didn't follow their vocation, but oddly enough, their clannish behavior did not exclude Sattyn. Jolanta was no longer dismayed to discover the Senior Trader drinking or gambling with the Ss. Team that worked for her and she noticed the woman often sought the company of other Snare-specialist teams when visiting Carnovan's.

When Jolanta once queried her mentor's choice of companionship Sattyn told her, 'I like their company for the same reason I like Cajun food.' Having no idea what Cajun food was, Jolanta didn't understand what the one had to do with the other.

Landfall executed, Sattyn announced, settling Mistress to the ground with experienced finesse.

Free to leave her seat, Jolanta made her way to Sattyn's station. Good flight.

"Quite a compliment, coming from you, Sattyn teased, then examined her Apprentice's expression. Anything wrong?"

Why do you ask?

"You seem...somber. I don't see you in somber very often."

The younger woman sighed. I'm just trying to figure out why Thorans want immature, female Garohns. They're not one of their preferred species.

We're better off not knowing, I'm sure.

I mean, Garohns are so placid, especially the females—

All right, Sattyn interrupted, swiveling her chair and rising. You shouldn't have brought it up and I will not be dragged into a guessing game about Thorans and Garohns. She clapped a comforting arm around Jolanta's shoulders and gave her a bolstering squeeze. What do you say we go to my niche for a game of Buy the Galaxy? Appropriation of the cargo won't take long, but I'll still have plenty of game-time to steal a solar system from you.

You're deluding yourself, Jolanta argued, happily abandoning her dark musing to play the hologame with her friend and mentor. She fell into step beside Sattyn as the older woman led the way to her berth. "I've been practicing."

CHAPTER 2

"Do it, Nova! Do it now!" the redhead exclaimed breathlessly, pink tongue flicking out to moisten full red lips.

Whatever makes you meltdown, the dangerously handsome man replied, stoically bending to his appointed task.

Naked and immobile, a male Jilir lay on his back on an equally bare table, stuncuffs around each wrist and ankle. He stared mutely up at Nova from a single glazed eye, his tongue and two of his eyes sacrificed earlier to this couple's aberrant interpretation of foreplay.

Nova guided a metal tube over the helpless Jilir's genitals, smiling when the woman moved close, pressing her full, bare breasts against his muscular back.

No nerve-block, she panted, sliding a hand between Nova's taut thighs. She pushed her pelvis against his buttocks, gyrating insistently as he slid his finger toward the blinking light on the cylinder's smooth surface. The Jilir screamed incoherently when the cylinder hissed, and the woman grasped Nova's manhood firmly when he faced her, the cylinder in his hand. They kissed ferociously, drawing blood from each others' lips, tongues entwining. He allowed her to pull him down on the metal floor and guide him between her thighs.

Show it to me, she begged.

Accustomed to her unusual appetites, his eyes still narrowed at this request. Laying the cylinder beside her head, he examined her face closely as she turned to view what the cylinder ejected. Her green eyes went wide upon seeing the hard, seventeen-inch-long organ and she gasped as Nova plunged into her.

How...How long will it...stay like that? she managed to ask between violent thrusts.

Nova smiled grimly, draping her legs over either of his shoulders and reapplying himself to his task.

Three hours, Bootsy. Later he would do other things to the woman—with other things. On the table beside them, the mutilated Jilir continued to keen in agony.

***

Real-space executed, Sattyn's calm words touched every part of the ship via the comlinks. Computer docking at Training Station QKA. Snare Team to tier four to transfer cargo to station.

Stretching, Jolanta strolled to Sattyn's post. It's good to be home.

Sattyn's elegant eyebrows arched. "We're two billion, eight million, eight hundred thousand Basic Miles from home, more or less."

Jolanta winked. But it's only a three maxunit flight.

We've hardly been away.

Three billion years or so.

That was Alterhistory. All the time we were away we'd never gone, so technically— Sattyn argued.

I'm sorry I brought it up. Jolanta hated discussing the nuances of Resonance travel, it made her nervous.

"Mistress, welcome to QKA."

Sattyn looked up at her monitors where a familiar, three-dimensional image regarded her with enigmatic brown eyes.

Thank you, Ice.

You're off-schedule.

By midunits.

Why didn't you save time and delegate the training portion of the contract to Pally?

And miss an opportunity to visit my second favorite Trainer? Besides, the Thorans specifically requested you even though I told them Pallaton could train Garohns in his sleep.

Probably because I know what they require of their Thralls—and it's unpleasant. Jolanta felt a shiver at his casual statement. I doubt Pallaton would be willing to train Garohns to Thoran specifications, his morality is better developed than mine.

I didn't realize you had a sense of one at all, underdeveloped or otherwise, Sattyn joked.

Like the arctic shadow of a looming iceberg, he smiled. I have one, of a sort.

I'll take your word for it, having never seen evidence. Listen, anticipating an easy train, could you drop everything and push my cargo? As you pointed, out I'm a little off-schedule, and you know how fussy the Thorans are.

That might be arranged, given the proper incentive. Why don't the two of you off-board and join me for a meal? Perhaps your cargo will be ready by the time we've finished dining?

We didn't bring appropriate attire. Sattyn smiled at Jolanta, who did not return it, frowning instead.

Don't concern yourself. In fact consider the invitation clothing-optional.

And someone said you lacked charm. Give us a few midunits?

All the time in the galaxy. His image disappeared from the panel.

Why did you accept? Jolanta demanded immediately. "You act like you forget everything Pally warns us about him when you two get together. You didn't even ask me for my opinion."

"You'd have said no, and I'm hungry, Sattyn retorted, removing her gloves and running her fingers through her long black hair in a gesture Jolanta recognized as mild irritation. Is this need to be my conscience a compulsion?"

Damn right. Pallaton said to stay away from him and I don't have a problem with that. He may be attractive, but there's something about him that makes me—edgy.

"It's called, charisma, and he's loaded with it. Pallaton's probably right, you should stay away from him, far enough so that he can't seduce you, anyway."

I couldn't be seduced by anyone who unnerves me the way he does.

Sattyn fixed her with an amused, deeply knowledgeable expression. You're still very young, Jolanta. Sometimes I forget that.

Jolanta hated it when Sattyn spoke in riddles. "What does that mean?" She