Tiggy
***
Loving your weekly updates on this!
I'll be extremely sad when this does come to an end <3
I'll be extremely sad when this does come to an end <3
BBW Planet XXL - by Marlow
- Thread starter Marlow
- Start date
Help Support Dimensions Magazine:
Chapter 27
The tunnel narrowed. Maura and Zora still fit side by side, but only just. It was a tight enough squeeze that Csilla couldn’t slip past them and was forced to march behind, trying not to stare at their behinds: four wobbling, rippled, almost square-shaped cheeks falling out of battle-skirts that were much too short. The folds of backfat above the skirt’s waistband were no less mesmerizing.
Csilla clutched her jacket tighter and scrunched down as she walked, making herself as small as possible. The floor was wet, the walls were dripping, and the humidity was ruining her meticulously-styled hair. The asteroid and its tunnels were no place for a princess of her stature.
“Can we pick up the pace?” she sighed.
“Not really,” laughed Zora, squeezing past an outcrop of rock. “Noodles tonight, Mo?”
Maura nodded. “Sounds perfect. And some Regulan blood-worms. Hey—remember that mission to Aranea VIII a couple years ago?”
“Oof. I do. We barely fit in those tunnels when we were skinny, eh?”
“And the poison gave me such an appetite for weeks afterward. I was so worried I’d get fat.”
“If you could see yourself now, ha ha.”
“If the cloning techs could see us now, ha ha. ‘We designed you for flight! For agility!’ Oh, getting a little tight, here.” They had to turn sideways to slip through. Csilla didn’t have to angle herself at all.
“Well, if one of us gets stuck, we can just send the princess the rest of the way. And then less work for us.”
Csilla stared at the ceiling. “Oh, thanks.”
“Your highness, I’ve been meaning to ask…” The tunnel began to widen again, to everyone’s relief. They could see a chamber ahead. “How is it you manage to keep so skinny?”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, just about everyone aboard’s put on a little weight, eh?” She slapped Maura’s gut. “Does your species not get fat, or something? Or are you shape-changing it away?”
“No, I don’t need to. And that’s not how it works, anyway. Bodies are mass. I can change color and add an eye or whatever here and there, but not just make twenty pounds disappear. If I could, I probably would.” She zipped up her jacket, suddenly very conscious of a softness so faint and so insignificant it could barely have been called a muffin-top. “No, it’s simply that I don’t spend all day eating everything I see. Maybe it’s my regal upbringing. Maybe I’m just better than everyone aboard when it comes to resisting temptation.”
“Your regal upbringing, Miss Runaway?”
“No matter where I went in the galaxy, whether I was spending time as a warp-fuel magnate’s mistress or hitchhiking with space-knights or dancing on antigravity poles in a space-biker strip club, I always had my self-discipline. Never gave in and let myself go.”
Maura smirked. “You make it sound so bad.”
“You don’t miss this?” Csilla transformed herself into a slender version of Maura and twirled about.
“Not one bit. That was all hard work and unhappiness.”
Zora agreed. “I’ll take a big butt and a full belly any day over what life was in the Company.”
They emerged into an open chamber. Stalactites and stalagmites covered much of the floor and ceiling. Several cracks ran along the cave’s walls; one oozed out droplets of transparent purple slime. Maura and Zora split to investigate the other exits. Csilla tapped her communicator.
“Go ahead,” came Estelle’s voice. The captain was obviously chewing something.
“We’ve found a bigger opening with more tunnels branching away. There’s a full atmosphere in here. Signs of…” She looked at the slime. “…organic life.”
“Mm. Well, Lucine and Io hit a dead end on the far side. Scanner shows you’re getting close to the distress signal. See if the three of you can get a little deeper.”
“I might. Don’t know about these two. Away team out.”
Csilla leaned closer to the slime. A rivulet fell and splattered onto her finger. She recoiled at first, but there was no pain or damage; just a stickiness. She pored over the blotch with her scanner, which reported a non-toxic organic substance. She sniffed, raised her hand to her nose, and sniffed again. It was sweet, tangy; almost fruity. She licked it and found the same quality in its taste. She glanced over her hand and realized the mercenaries were watching.
“The captain’s standing order,” she explained, in a hurry. “One of our secondary objectives, whenever we land somewhere, is to find new flavors for the kitchen.”
They couldn’t argue with this and continued on with their scans. Csilla scraped a sample of the ooze into a vial and tucked it away, but kept tapping her jacket to ensure it was still there.
“It’s a choice for us, too,” said Zora.
“What?”
“We didn’t just ‘give into temptation.’ We made a choice. I can eat as much or as little as I choose. I just happen to choose ‘more’ most of the time. If you find yourself having to ‘resist temptation’ all the time, then maybe you’re the one being tempted. Not us.”
She crossed her arms. “So you could choose to not gorge yourself on worm-noodles tonight? Just like that?”
“And you could eat like us one night and just…go back to normal the next day?”
They glared at each other. “Of course,” Csilla finally declared. “Unlike the two of you, I actually have willpower.”
“Prove it.”
“If I do…will you try my diet for a week?”
The clones traded a glance. “Sure, whatever. We’ll tell you to eat something. You have to eat the whole thing, whatever it is. If you really do it, Zora and I will stick to your royal highness’ diet for…a whole week.”
“Accepted. Get ready to go hungry.”
“Great. Get ready to get full.” Zora turned and pointed to a glob of purple slime that had accumulated on the ground. “Eat that.”
She protested, but they held her gaze. They leered at her as she stood over the blob with a long breath, steeled herself, and dipped her fingers into it. Her scanner still didn’t detect any known toxins, much to her disappointment, and she pushed a handful into her mouth.
Her expression softened. The haughty grin returned. “It’s like a…jelly. Pretty good, actually. You girls are missing out.”
Zora immediately stepped forward to taste it, but Maura held her back. “Zo, if you mess up the bet, we’ll be dieting all week. Let’s just check the next tunnel.”
The next tunnel was narrow enough they had to walk in single file, hips scraping the rocks on either side. It opened into an even larger chamber ahead that led down a slope and around a bend. They shone their floodlights over boulders and holes in the ground and more stalagmites. Dripping echoed in the distance.
“A boot,” said Zora, pointing.
It was alone, unlaced, and half-rotten. “Bipedal,” reported Maura. “Don’t recognize the species. Fit for asteroid-mining, which makes sense. Prospector? Let’s keep—”
Csilla stepped out of the tunnel, walking stiffly, her face unusually blank. Purple jelly dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
“Get all of it, princess?”
She only replied with a hiccup and unzipped her jacket, revealing a genuinely bloated stomach.
“Well done. We may in trouble, Zo.”
They watched her walk past, looking back at neither of them. Csilla weaved between a few of the stalagmites, scanned a pile of stones, and knelt down. She felt along the stones and began pushing.
“What is it? You want a hand? Not sure we’ll really be able to fit back there.”
She didn’t need a hand. The top stone fell away, revealing a cistern filled with the same purple slime. Csilla plunged her hands into it, hiccupped again, and began shoveling it into her mouth.
“Princess, it was just a joke.” Zora squinted in the dim light. “Maybe we are missing out, eh?”
Maura tapped her scanner. “I’m getting something. Must be around that bend. Save some for us, Csilla. We’ll be right back.”
“Hiccup—”
The mercenaries followed the cavern down. It curved and twisted and their heavy breathing echoed through the tunnels. The scanner beeped more and more urgently, until they rounded a corner and found a skeleton clutching a transmitter.
“There’s your distress signal. This looks a hundred years old.” Maura put the boot on its skeletal foot. “Sorry, bud. Well, he’s got a datapad. Let’s see if he left us a clue.”
Zora continued around the bend. “Anything?”
“Not sure…there’s only one entry. ‘The slime…the slime…’ That’s all it says.”
“Slime,” breathed Zora.
Maura rose and followed her. The tunnel opened up again into a cavern hundreds of yards across, sloping down into a deep, vast pool of bubbling purple slime.
A hiccup spun them around. Csilla waddled out from the shadows, clutching a stomach that shouldn’t have been possible on her svelte frame. They had seen her full now and then and, on a few rare occasions, they had seen her bloated to discomfort, but now her skin seemed to have stretched. Her stomach had swelled enough to contain several gallons. It sloshed as she walked and quaked as she hiccupped.
She ignored them as she made her way past. They backed away, stunned, as she knelt at the edge of the pool, her belly settling out onto her thighs. Her hands, covered in slime, fell to her sides, twitched, and then slowly rose to remove her jacket.
The pool burbled. The surface near her moved and swirled. A long dribble of slime rose from the surface, writhing and thickening and bending. Csilla leaned forward and the slime reached itself into her mouth. More flowed up; she could be heard gulping.
Maura set down the datapad. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
The tunnel narrowed. Maura and Zora still fit side by side, but only just. It was a tight enough squeeze that Csilla couldn’t slip past them and was forced to march behind, trying not to stare at their behinds: four wobbling, rippled, almost square-shaped cheeks falling out of battle-skirts that were much too short. The folds of backfat above the skirt’s waistband were no less mesmerizing.
Csilla clutched her jacket tighter and scrunched down as she walked, making herself as small as possible. The floor was wet, the walls were dripping, and the humidity was ruining her meticulously-styled hair. The asteroid and its tunnels were no place for a princess of her stature.
“Can we pick up the pace?” she sighed.
“Not really,” laughed Zora, squeezing past an outcrop of rock. “Noodles tonight, Mo?”
Maura nodded. “Sounds perfect. And some Regulan blood-worms. Hey—remember that mission to Aranea VIII a couple years ago?”
“Oof. I do. We barely fit in those tunnels when we were skinny, eh?”
“And the poison gave me such an appetite for weeks afterward. I was so worried I’d get fat.”
“If you could see yourself now, ha ha.”
“If the cloning techs could see us now, ha ha. ‘We designed you for flight! For agility!’ Oh, getting a little tight, here.” They had to turn sideways to slip through. Csilla didn’t have to angle herself at all.
“Well, if one of us gets stuck, we can just send the princess the rest of the way. And then less work for us.”
Csilla stared at the ceiling. “Oh, thanks.”
“Your highness, I’ve been meaning to ask…” The tunnel began to widen again, to everyone’s relief. They could see a chamber ahead. “How is it you manage to keep so skinny?”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, just about everyone aboard’s put on a little weight, eh?” She slapped Maura’s gut. “Does your species not get fat, or something? Or are you shape-changing it away?”
“No, I don’t need to. And that’s not how it works, anyway. Bodies are mass. I can change color and add an eye or whatever here and there, but not just make twenty pounds disappear. If I could, I probably would.” She zipped up her jacket, suddenly very conscious of a softness so faint and so insignificant it could barely have been called a muffin-top. “No, it’s simply that I don’t spend all day eating everything I see. Maybe it’s my regal upbringing. Maybe I’m just better than everyone aboard when it comes to resisting temptation.”
“Your regal upbringing, Miss Runaway?”
“No matter where I went in the galaxy, whether I was spending time as a warp-fuel magnate’s mistress or hitchhiking with space-knights or dancing on antigravity poles in a space-biker strip club, I always had my self-discipline. Never gave in and let myself go.”
Maura smirked. “You make it sound so bad.”
“You don’t miss this?” Csilla transformed herself into a slender version of Maura and twirled about.
“Not one bit. That was all hard work and unhappiness.”
Zora agreed. “I’ll take a big butt and a full belly any day over what life was in the Company.”
They emerged into an open chamber. Stalactites and stalagmites covered much of the floor and ceiling. Several cracks ran along the cave’s walls; one oozed out droplets of transparent purple slime. Maura and Zora split to investigate the other exits. Csilla tapped her communicator.
“Go ahead,” came Estelle’s voice. The captain was obviously chewing something.
“We’ve found a bigger opening with more tunnels branching away. There’s a full atmosphere in here. Signs of…” She looked at the slime. “…organic life.”
“Mm. Well, Lucine and Io hit a dead end on the far side. Scanner shows you’re getting close to the distress signal. See if the three of you can get a little deeper.”
“I might. Don’t know about these two. Away team out.”
Csilla leaned closer to the slime. A rivulet fell and splattered onto her finger. She recoiled at first, but there was no pain or damage; just a stickiness. She pored over the blotch with her scanner, which reported a non-toxic organic substance. She sniffed, raised her hand to her nose, and sniffed again. It was sweet, tangy; almost fruity. She licked it and found the same quality in its taste. She glanced over her hand and realized the mercenaries were watching.
“The captain’s standing order,” she explained, in a hurry. “One of our secondary objectives, whenever we land somewhere, is to find new flavors for the kitchen.”
They couldn’t argue with this and continued on with their scans. Csilla scraped a sample of the ooze into a vial and tucked it away, but kept tapping her jacket to ensure it was still there.
“It’s a choice for us, too,” said Zora.
“What?”
“We didn’t just ‘give into temptation.’ We made a choice. I can eat as much or as little as I choose. I just happen to choose ‘more’ most of the time. If you find yourself having to ‘resist temptation’ all the time, then maybe you’re the one being tempted. Not us.”
She crossed her arms. “So you could choose to not gorge yourself on worm-noodles tonight? Just like that?”
“And you could eat like us one night and just…go back to normal the next day?”
They glared at each other. “Of course,” Csilla finally declared. “Unlike the two of you, I actually have willpower.”
“Prove it.”
“If I do…will you try my diet for a week?”
The clones traded a glance. “Sure, whatever. We’ll tell you to eat something. You have to eat the whole thing, whatever it is. If you really do it, Zora and I will stick to your royal highness’ diet for…a whole week.”
“Accepted. Get ready to go hungry.”
“Great. Get ready to get full.” Zora turned and pointed to a glob of purple slime that had accumulated on the ground. “Eat that.”
She protested, but they held her gaze. They leered at her as she stood over the blob with a long breath, steeled herself, and dipped her fingers into it. Her scanner still didn’t detect any known toxins, much to her disappointment, and she pushed a handful into her mouth.
Her expression softened. The haughty grin returned. “It’s like a…jelly. Pretty good, actually. You girls are missing out.”
Zora immediately stepped forward to taste it, but Maura held her back. “Zo, if you mess up the bet, we’ll be dieting all week. Let’s just check the next tunnel.”
The next tunnel was narrow enough they had to walk in single file, hips scraping the rocks on either side. It opened into an even larger chamber ahead that led down a slope and around a bend. They shone their floodlights over boulders and holes in the ground and more stalagmites. Dripping echoed in the distance.
“A boot,” said Zora, pointing.
It was alone, unlaced, and half-rotten. “Bipedal,” reported Maura. “Don’t recognize the species. Fit for asteroid-mining, which makes sense. Prospector? Let’s keep—”
Csilla stepped out of the tunnel, walking stiffly, her face unusually blank. Purple jelly dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
“Get all of it, princess?”
She only replied with a hiccup and unzipped her jacket, revealing a genuinely bloated stomach.
“Well done. We may in trouble, Zo.”
They watched her walk past, looking back at neither of them. Csilla weaved between a few of the stalagmites, scanned a pile of stones, and knelt down. She felt along the stones and began pushing.
“What is it? You want a hand? Not sure we’ll really be able to fit back there.”
She didn’t need a hand. The top stone fell away, revealing a cistern filled with the same purple slime. Csilla plunged her hands into it, hiccupped again, and began shoveling it into her mouth.
“Princess, it was just a joke.” Zora squinted in the dim light. “Maybe we are missing out, eh?”
Maura tapped her scanner. “I’m getting something. Must be around that bend. Save some for us, Csilla. We’ll be right back.”
“Hiccup—”
The mercenaries followed the cavern down. It curved and twisted and their heavy breathing echoed through the tunnels. The scanner beeped more and more urgently, until they rounded a corner and found a skeleton clutching a transmitter.
“There’s your distress signal. This looks a hundred years old.” Maura put the boot on its skeletal foot. “Sorry, bud. Well, he’s got a datapad. Let’s see if he left us a clue.”
Zora continued around the bend. “Anything?”
“Not sure…there’s only one entry. ‘The slime…the slime…’ That’s all it says.”
“Slime,” breathed Zora.
Maura rose and followed her. The tunnel opened up again into a cavern hundreds of yards across, sloping down into a deep, vast pool of bubbling purple slime.
A hiccup spun them around. Csilla waddled out from the shadows, clutching a stomach that shouldn’t have been possible on her svelte frame. They had seen her full now and then and, on a few rare occasions, they had seen her bloated to discomfort, but now her skin seemed to have stretched. Her stomach had swelled enough to contain several gallons. It sloshed as she walked and quaked as she hiccupped.
She ignored them as she made her way past. They backed away, stunned, as she knelt at the edge of the pool, her belly settling out onto her thighs. Her hands, covered in slime, fell to her sides, twitched, and then slowly rose to remove her jacket.
The pool burbled. The surface near her moved and swirled. A long dribble of slime rose from the surface, writhing and thickening and bending. Csilla leaned forward and the slime reached itself into her mouth. More flowed up; she could be heard gulping.
Maura set down the datapad. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
(27.2)
Estelle tucked a napkin into her collar and tossed her hair back. One the table before her were two bowls of xeno-noodles in an Estufagemi sauce and an equally large bowl of Regulan blood worms. Her stomach rumbled in eager anticipation.
Her communicator buzzed. She nearly threw it across the lounge. “What now, Starling?”
“Captain, we have lost contact with the second away team.”
She inched her chair out from the table. “Trouble?”
“The last transmission was a confused shouting. The only discernible word was ‘slime.’ Lucine and Io have returned safely from their half of the asteroid. They encountered nothing.”
“Keep them in the shuttle bay. I’ll meet them down there. Stars. Maura probably just got her fat butt stuck in the tunnel…” Estelle headed for the turbolift, casting a last wistful glance at her lunch.
“I’ll keep it warm for you, captain,” said the head of stellar cartography.
“We both know you’re going to eat it all yourself. Just…make sure to pair it with a good wine. Shame to see it wasted.”
The Golden Goose’s shuttle hangar was situated aft, above the engines. It had a high ceiling lined with walkways and lifting cranes and a forcefield in place of a door. As she exited the lift, Estelle could see the surface of the asteroid up close.
“The second team’s shuttle has lifted off,” said Starling. “It is returning to the ship at unsafe emergency velocities. I detect only two life forms aboard…both obese.”
“What happened to Csilla?”
“Unknown, captain.”
Lucine and Io hobbled out from the first shuttle. “What is happening? We encountered nothing in our tunnels.”
Estelle shook her head. “Sounds like the second team did. Get your engines running again. Io, grab some weapons. We—holy nebulas.”
The other shuttle had flown into view, steering erratically. As they stared, a colossal stream of purple slime burst from the surface of the asteroid, stretched toward the shuttle, and took on the vague shape of a hand.
It seized the shuttle. The shuttle’s defense cannons blasted away in desperation and the maneuvering thrusters flared; the slime recoiled and released it. The shuttle swung around, sputtering, and careened into the hangar.
The crash-landing overturned most of the cargo and equipment and bent one of the support beams, but nothing exploded. Maura and Zora tumbled out unharmed. “Slime!” gasped Zora.
“Where’s the princess?” shouted Estelle.
“Slime!” gasped Maura.
The arm of slime had stretched even further and now twisted around toward the ship itself. Bubbles flowed as more slime flooded out from the asteroid. Estelle and the away team backed themselves toward the stairway.
Estelle slapped at her communicator. “Starling, engines—engines—anything. Oh, stars.”
The slime punched into the hangar. It crashed against the ship’s hull and poured across the shuttle-bay in a viscous purple flood. Cargo crates were swept away and sucked inside. The first shuttle was knocked over and into another support beam.
“Up,” breathed Estelle.
Lucine levitated into the air. Io’s tentacles began dragging her up the wall. The mercenaries started up the emergency stairs to the catwalk. Estelle followed behind them, holding both siderails and regretting her wildsnake aperitif. She tripped after a few steps and scrambled to steady her bulk. The slime reached the wall behind her and began to pool around her feet.
The catwalk gave a metallic groan and the stairway suddenly felt a few feet lower. Estelle felt the slime lap at her ankles. She forced herself to climb out, only to feel the slime form another hand and seize her by the leg.
Maura and Zora reached the walkway and turned back. The captain was still at the bottom step, struggling against the jelly. “Covering fire,” hissed Maura. “I’ll go back for her.”
She wouldn’t get the chance. The support beams had taken too much punishment. There was a rending screech and the whole stairway collapsed. Half the catwalk went with it. When the noise was over, Maura and Zora found themselves on the only section that remained out of the flood’s reach.
More slime poured into the hangar. An almost familiar object flowed in with it: Princess Csilla, suspended within the jelly, hair flowing out behind her and a giant gelatinous sac pushing out ahead of her.
It was, they realized, her stomach, ballooned to the size of her royal luxury bed, enormous and swollen and impossible, somehow still attached to an otherwise slender body. Her arms were splayed out, her eyes were closed, and her mouth was very open.
Io had made it partway up the wall, but was pinned beneath some toppled equipment. Lucine floated back to help. Maura and Zora fired their plasma rifles until they were empty, but the jelly seem unperturbed. Anything they vaporized was just as quickly filled back in.
“We need to get her out of there,” panted Maura.
“It is flowing into the turbolift tube,” cried Lucine. “It will consume the ship!”
Another tendril of slime formed. It arched itself out over the rest of the flood and wriggled side to side, searching. Csilla and her belly floated into it. A hand formed at the end and lifted Estelle into the air.
She still had the napkin in her collar. Csilla stretched out an arm. One of the slime fingers holding Estelle reached up. It extended in a loop over and around Estelle’s head, then back toward her face, and then began pouring itself into her mouth.
Zora grabbed Maura’s arm and pointed. “There’s something behind the princess’ head.”
Maura saw it, too: a discoloration in the slime behind Csilla, a heart-shaped glob of pink within all the purple. A pink thread reached around into Csilla’s mouth.
“Gllrbbbllrrlll,” choked Estelle.
Maura tossed her rifle away. “I’ll get the pink thing. You get the princess.”
“Mo, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but…I can’t fly anymore. I’m too fat.”
“So am I.” She grabbed the railing. “Just means we only get one shot at this.”
They leapt. Their wings flapped uselessly as they twisted through the air. The slime gurgled; they plunged into it at the same moment. Maura tackled the pinkish glob, finding it solid enough to wrap her arms around. Zora landed on Csilla’s belly, sinking into its incredible softness but hitting with enough force to push the princess through the slime. They all fell together out of the arched tendril and crashed onto a floating crate. Csilla’s belly washed over them with a deep, resounding glorp.
The flood of slime instantly lost all cohesion. The arch collapsed. The hand gripping Estelle melted. She got to her feet and grabbed her weapon, but the knee-deep pool of jelly had grown still.
Maura and Zora sat back to back on the floor of the mess hall, surrounded by empty plates and cradling happily gorged stomachs. A noodle dangled from each of their mouths and they sucked it down in unison.
Estelle decided not to interrupt them and continued down the corridor. There would be plenty of time to eat pasta and there would be plenty of pasta for her to eat. She still had the admittedly not unpleasant taste of the slime in her mouth, too.
Strange noises welcomed her to the medical bay, along with a strange sight. Csilla was seated on the end of an examination table, as skinny as ever, but with a belly that spilled out over her legs and past her dangling feet to the floor, where it continued to swell out over the tiles for a few feet. It looked as though someone had tied a balloon to her waist and filled it with a thick, bubbling liquid that would never quite sit still. Several scientist knelt beside it, poking and scanning and looking amazed.
“She’ll be fine,” said the medical officer, as they watched from the other side of the glass. “No toxins, no inorganic matter, no lingering effects from the hypnosis. In fact, there’s not much of anything. The slime doesn’t seem to have any caloric or nutritional content. It’s more of a…mutagenic polymer. Creates quantum elasticity rather than mass.”
Estelle set down her glass of wildsnake. “Are you telling me she hasn’t gained any weight?”
“Well, the stomach is certainly heavy. But she hasn’t put on weight in the…” She glanced at Estelle’s midsection. “…in the traditional sense. The rest of her body remains unchanged, as you can see. No fat deposits. Just bloating. It will probably recede in a few days.”
Csilla had seen them. She gave Estelle a tired smile and a weak thumbs-up, then bounced with a hiccup. Her belly heaved like a rolling wave and the scientists scattered back. A bloop and a deep, deep sloshing resounded through the bay.
The doctor took a reflexive step away from the glass. “Or maybe in a week or two. For now, to put it simply, the princess is just…jelly-filled.”
“As is the shuttle bay,” said Starling. “We have begun our testing on the heart-shaped object Maura recovered. The slime seems to have become inert without it.”
Estelle watched Csilla’s belly ripple. “Have the cleaning crews get started. But let’s, uh, definitely get as much as we can into a storage tank. For…testing.”
--
NEXT WEEK: Lair of the Shadow Baker
Estelle tucked a napkin into her collar and tossed her hair back. One the table before her were two bowls of xeno-noodles in an Estufagemi sauce and an equally large bowl of Regulan blood worms. Her stomach rumbled in eager anticipation.
Her communicator buzzed. She nearly threw it across the lounge. “What now, Starling?”
“Captain, we have lost contact with the second away team.”
She inched her chair out from the table. “Trouble?”
“The last transmission was a confused shouting. The only discernible word was ‘slime.’ Lucine and Io have returned safely from their half of the asteroid. They encountered nothing.”
“Keep them in the shuttle bay. I’ll meet them down there. Stars. Maura probably just got her fat butt stuck in the tunnel…” Estelle headed for the turbolift, casting a last wistful glance at her lunch.
“I’ll keep it warm for you, captain,” said the head of stellar cartography.
“We both know you’re going to eat it all yourself. Just…make sure to pair it with a good wine. Shame to see it wasted.”
The Golden Goose’s shuttle hangar was situated aft, above the engines. It had a high ceiling lined with walkways and lifting cranes and a forcefield in place of a door. As she exited the lift, Estelle could see the surface of the asteroid up close.
“The second team’s shuttle has lifted off,” said Starling. “It is returning to the ship at unsafe emergency velocities. I detect only two life forms aboard…both obese.”
“What happened to Csilla?”
“Unknown, captain.”
Lucine and Io hobbled out from the first shuttle. “What is happening? We encountered nothing in our tunnels.”
Estelle shook her head. “Sounds like the second team did. Get your engines running again. Io, grab some weapons. We—holy nebulas.”
The other shuttle had flown into view, steering erratically. As they stared, a colossal stream of purple slime burst from the surface of the asteroid, stretched toward the shuttle, and took on the vague shape of a hand.
It seized the shuttle. The shuttle’s defense cannons blasted away in desperation and the maneuvering thrusters flared; the slime recoiled and released it. The shuttle swung around, sputtering, and careened into the hangar.
The crash-landing overturned most of the cargo and equipment and bent one of the support beams, but nothing exploded. Maura and Zora tumbled out unharmed. “Slime!” gasped Zora.
“Where’s the princess?” shouted Estelle.
“Slime!” gasped Maura.
The arm of slime had stretched even further and now twisted around toward the ship itself. Bubbles flowed as more slime flooded out from the asteroid. Estelle and the away team backed themselves toward the stairway.
Estelle slapped at her communicator. “Starling, engines—engines—anything. Oh, stars.”
The slime punched into the hangar. It crashed against the ship’s hull and poured across the shuttle-bay in a viscous purple flood. Cargo crates were swept away and sucked inside. The first shuttle was knocked over and into another support beam.
“Up,” breathed Estelle.
Lucine levitated into the air. Io’s tentacles began dragging her up the wall. The mercenaries started up the emergency stairs to the catwalk. Estelle followed behind them, holding both siderails and regretting her wildsnake aperitif. She tripped after a few steps and scrambled to steady her bulk. The slime reached the wall behind her and began to pool around her feet.
The catwalk gave a metallic groan and the stairway suddenly felt a few feet lower. Estelle felt the slime lap at her ankles. She forced herself to climb out, only to feel the slime form another hand and seize her by the leg.
Maura and Zora reached the walkway and turned back. The captain was still at the bottom step, struggling against the jelly. “Covering fire,” hissed Maura. “I’ll go back for her.”
She wouldn’t get the chance. The support beams had taken too much punishment. There was a rending screech and the whole stairway collapsed. Half the catwalk went with it. When the noise was over, Maura and Zora found themselves on the only section that remained out of the flood’s reach.
More slime poured into the hangar. An almost familiar object flowed in with it: Princess Csilla, suspended within the jelly, hair flowing out behind her and a giant gelatinous sac pushing out ahead of her.
It was, they realized, her stomach, ballooned to the size of her royal luxury bed, enormous and swollen and impossible, somehow still attached to an otherwise slender body. Her arms were splayed out, her eyes were closed, and her mouth was very open.
Io had made it partway up the wall, but was pinned beneath some toppled equipment. Lucine floated back to help. Maura and Zora fired their plasma rifles until they were empty, but the jelly seem unperturbed. Anything they vaporized was just as quickly filled back in.
“We need to get her out of there,” panted Maura.
“It is flowing into the turbolift tube,” cried Lucine. “It will consume the ship!”
Another tendril of slime formed. It arched itself out over the rest of the flood and wriggled side to side, searching. Csilla and her belly floated into it. A hand formed at the end and lifted Estelle into the air.
She still had the napkin in her collar. Csilla stretched out an arm. One of the slime fingers holding Estelle reached up. It extended in a loop over and around Estelle’s head, then back toward her face, and then began pouring itself into her mouth.
Zora grabbed Maura’s arm and pointed. “There’s something behind the princess’ head.”
Maura saw it, too: a discoloration in the slime behind Csilla, a heart-shaped glob of pink within all the purple. A pink thread reached around into Csilla’s mouth.
“Gllrbbbllrrlll,” choked Estelle.
Maura tossed her rifle away. “I’ll get the pink thing. You get the princess.”
“Mo, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but…I can’t fly anymore. I’m too fat.”
“So am I.” She grabbed the railing. “Just means we only get one shot at this.”
They leapt. Their wings flapped uselessly as they twisted through the air. The slime gurgled; they plunged into it at the same moment. Maura tackled the pinkish glob, finding it solid enough to wrap her arms around. Zora landed on Csilla’s belly, sinking into its incredible softness but hitting with enough force to push the princess through the slime. They all fell together out of the arched tendril and crashed onto a floating crate. Csilla’s belly washed over them with a deep, resounding glorp.
The flood of slime instantly lost all cohesion. The arch collapsed. The hand gripping Estelle melted. She got to her feet and grabbed her weapon, but the knee-deep pool of jelly had grown still.
Maura and Zora sat back to back on the floor of the mess hall, surrounded by empty plates and cradling happily gorged stomachs. A noodle dangled from each of their mouths and they sucked it down in unison.
Estelle decided not to interrupt them and continued down the corridor. There would be plenty of time to eat pasta and there would be plenty of pasta for her to eat. She still had the admittedly not unpleasant taste of the slime in her mouth, too.
Strange noises welcomed her to the medical bay, along with a strange sight. Csilla was seated on the end of an examination table, as skinny as ever, but with a belly that spilled out over her legs and past her dangling feet to the floor, where it continued to swell out over the tiles for a few feet. It looked as though someone had tied a balloon to her waist and filled it with a thick, bubbling liquid that would never quite sit still. Several scientist knelt beside it, poking and scanning and looking amazed.
“She’ll be fine,” said the medical officer, as they watched from the other side of the glass. “No toxins, no inorganic matter, no lingering effects from the hypnosis. In fact, there’s not much of anything. The slime doesn’t seem to have any caloric or nutritional content. It’s more of a…mutagenic polymer. Creates quantum elasticity rather than mass.”
Estelle set down her glass of wildsnake. “Are you telling me she hasn’t gained any weight?”
“Well, the stomach is certainly heavy. But she hasn’t put on weight in the…” She glanced at Estelle’s midsection. “…in the traditional sense. The rest of her body remains unchanged, as you can see. No fat deposits. Just bloating. It will probably recede in a few days.”
Csilla had seen them. She gave Estelle a tired smile and a weak thumbs-up, then bounced with a hiccup. Her belly heaved like a rolling wave and the scientists scattered back. A bloop and a deep, deep sloshing resounded through the bay.
The doctor took a reflexive step away from the glass. “Or maybe in a week or two. For now, to put it simply, the princess is just…jelly-filled.”
“As is the shuttle bay,” said Starling. “We have begun our testing on the heart-shaped object Maura recovered. The slime seems to have become inert without it.”
Estelle watched Csilla’s belly ripple. “Have the cleaning crews get started. But let’s, uh, definitely get as much as we can into a storage tank. For…testing.”
--
NEXT WEEK: Lair of the Shadow Baker
Tiggy
***
"For Testing" 
keep it up Marlow!
keep it up Marlow!
NZ Mountain Man
***
Looking at the early chapters the Goose is manned by junior star fleet members. All trained and senior members were killed in the original attack. The extra staff acquired on the journey are not human and be confused with people as a human doctor would be with a starfish. There is no qualified person aboard to make judgement apart from Pipi Longstocking Estelle. She is not qualified to run a crew. This is a scenario to scenario story.
Chapter 28
A pair of pink and blue stars in tight binary orbit filled the shuttle’s cockpit with soothing radiance, but Estelle wasn’t looking. An unwrapped ration bar lay on the console, the last of the food she’d packed, and it was taking all her willpower not to tear it open and devour it whole.
She flicked through movies on her viewscreen in the hope of a distraction, but they all just made her hungrier. She knew if she put on a romantic comedy the dinner scenes would be a problem. And the Vesper Virgo erotic film catalogue would put her in a mood that only exacerbated her cravings.
Fortunately Starling had the controls. He steered the shuttle through a meteor field and toward a small tidally-locked planetoid. It was only a barren rock, blasted by solar winds on its light side and swirling with turbulence on its dark side, but above the temperate twilight band, awash with color, floated a smuggler’s haven.
It had taken several visits to seedy backwater refueling stations and supply platforms to get the spaceport’s coordinates. It had taken some long, heated negotiations to get word sent ahead to a potential contact. It had taken three days just to find the system and three more days to get there in the shuttle, but there weren’t many safer options. The Twilight Haven was the largest active spaceport in the cluster, a harbor for all manner of outlaws and ruled by a shadowy crime-lord, but its dockyards asked no questions and kept a whole fleet of smugglers and blockade-runners in working order.
A few days in the shuttle had sounded promising at first. Outside of Starling, who only socialized if prompted, Estelle had the little skiff all to herself and had basked in the quiet. She loved everyone aboard the Golden Goose, but after so many months in close quarters—quarters that seemed even closer the fatter they all grew—it was a relief to get away from the demands of leadership.
The fatter they’d grown, the more their personalities had seemed to swell, too. Lucine’s amorousness was growing more potent and more insatiable and there hadn’t been a night in recent memory that the psi-hiver hadn’t spent in the arms of Estelle, or Lieutenant Caelius, or one of the other officers, or any passing crewman fortunate enough to catch her eye. Straya seemed more intent on filling out her containment tank than in getting out of it and had commandeered several of Estelle’s favorite service arms to do her bidding in the engineering bay. Csilla’s stomach had slowly deflated and returned almost to its former slightness, but she still wasn’t on speaking terms with Maura or Zora and was acting more princess-like than ever. Io was out of control; the hot tub in the lido deck had been found half-empty and Estelle suspected she knew why.
Six days away from the ship had been a blessing. Six days away from the ship’s kitchens, however, had been more of an ordeal than she’d expected. As always, she’d underestimated her appetite and overestimated her self-control. The boxed meals she’d packed were gone by breakfast on the third day, the snacks were gone by the end of the fourth, and now she was down to her last emergency-ration.
“They’ll have something at the spaceport,” she assured herself, voice pathetically weak.
“That is likely,” said Starling.
“We can make this quick. I’ll find the bar they mentioned, I’ll meet our contact, I’ll make the deal. While I’m doing that, you stock up for the ride home.”
“Is there anything particular you would like?”
She traced absent circles across her belly. “I don’t care…as long as there’s a lot of it. Enough to tide me over til we get back to the ship. Because once I’m back, Starling, I’m having myself a big bowl of wind-shrimp—no, a crested spinepecker filet—no, a triple-stacked spaceshroom burger, sloppy as—ooh, and fries—or maybe dessert first—captain’s prerogative, after all.”
The shuttle rocked as it made its landing. Estelle ran her hands along the lower roll of her paunch and lifted it playfully. She groaned, bit her lip, and opened the last ration bar.
“Stars,” she breathed, between bites, “what a glutton I’ve turned into. I’m getting turned on just thinking about the menu.”
The ration bar could never have been enough. Her stomach only complained louder for having been teased and Estelle felt almost faint as she waddled through the spaceport. Having to walk so far and through such an inconsiderate crowd would have been agonizing enough if she weren’t already dying of starvation.
The Twilight Haven was as squalid as advertised and twice as filthy. Dust blew through the streets and starship lubricant leaked from pipes along every wall. Strange tendrils waved out from the sewer gratings. The crowds were made from countless species, all dressed in shabby cloaks and stained jumpsuits, all pushy and irritable, all heavily armed, all glancing around with the characteristic criminal squint.
“Captain, I should stay with you,” Starling begged, pulling her aside moments before a lean, lumbering pachyderm could bowl her over. “This is not a safe place.”
“I’ll be fine. The contact expects me to come alone. More importantly, Starling, if that shuttle isn’t loaded with treats by the time I get back, you’re gonna wish someone knifed me. Now get shopping.”
She ventured alone into the spaceport’s back alleys. The insignias of the crime-lord were on every wall, visible wherever there wasn’t grime or some recent bloodstain. Aliens eyed the fat human from corners and windows.
More eyes turned as she entered the cantina. A band was playing what was clearly its usual song. A runaway and an old man were negotiating terms with a smuggler in the corner booth. Estelle squeezed between the tables with some difficulty and settled her bulk upon a barstool. It creaked unhappily.
The bartender slid her a steaming drink, but otherwise ignored her. She sipped at it and tried to get comfortable, wincing at the stool’s complaints, until something shoved her shoulder.
It was a vicious-looking jellyfish. It waved a tentacle and burbled when she tried to ignore it.
“He doesn’t like your weight,” said the jellyfish’s friend, a scarred three-eyed thug.
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t like your weight, either.” He leaned in. “You need to watch your diet. We’re wellness-men. I have the best weight-loss plan on twelve systems.”
Estelle turned away. “I’ll be careful.”
“You’ll be thin,” he growled, seizing her plump upper arm.
Her other arm whipped around and pressed a pistol to his throat. “This big gal’s not worth the effort. Now, let me get you something—”
The jellyfish warbled and attacked. She shoved the thug away and twisted round; the stool broke beneath her. There was a wet squelch. The three-eyed thug fled, leaving his jellyfish-friend splattered on the floor.
Estelle rolled over. She could feel the bruises forming already. Falling at her new size was growing ever more dangerous. The bartender helped her to her feet and they watched the flattened jellyfish undulate toward the exit.
“Sorry about the mess,” she huffed, leaning on the bar.
The bartender handed her a rag and a fresh drink. “Get you anything else?”
“Maybe.” She massaged her thigh. Definitely a bruise. “I could use something to eat.”
“We’ve got every flavor and chirality of nutrient paste, smuggled fresh every week from Confederation colonies.”
“I was hoping for something a little more…filling.”
He cocked an eyebrow, but folded his arms and waited.
She sighed. “Come on, man. I’m not into the whole secret code-phrase thing. Just tell me where to meet your boss.”
“Rules is rules.”
“Stars. Fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Captain Urrp and this is my favorite bar on the station.”
He broke into a grin. “Perfect. Through that curtain, down the stairs, door on the left. Knock twice.”
She drained her glass. “Stairs?”
A pair of pink and blue stars in tight binary orbit filled the shuttle’s cockpit with soothing radiance, but Estelle wasn’t looking. An unwrapped ration bar lay on the console, the last of the food she’d packed, and it was taking all her willpower not to tear it open and devour it whole.
She flicked through movies on her viewscreen in the hope of a distraction, but they all just made her hungrier. She knew if she put on a romantic comedy the dinner scenes would be a problem. And the Vesper Virgo erotic film catalogue would put her in a mood that only exacerbated her cravings.
Fortunately Starling had the controls. He steered the shuttle through a meteor field and toward a small tidally-locked planetoid. It was only a barren rock, blasted by solar winds on its light side and swirling with turbulence on its dark side, but above the temperate twilight band, awash with color, floated a smuggler’s haven.
It had taken several visits to seedy backwater refueling stations and supply platforms to get the spaceport’s coordinates. It had taken some long, heated negotiations to get word sent ahead to a potential contact. It had taken three days just to find the system and three more days to get there in the shuttle, but there weren’t many safer options. The Twilight Haven was the largest active spaceport in the cluster, a harbor for all manner of outlaws and ruled by a shadowy crime-lord, but its dockyards asked no questions and kept a whole fleet of smugglers and blockade-runners in working order.
A few days in the shuttle had sounded promising at first. Outside of Starling, who only socialized if prompted, Estelle had the little skiff all to herself and had basked in the quiet. She loved everyone aboard the Golden Goose, but after so many months in close quarters—quarters that seemed even closer the fatter they all grew—it was a relief to get away from the demands of leadership.
The fatter they’d grown, the more their personalities had seemed to swell, too. Lucine’s amorousness was growing more potent and more insatiable and there hadn’t been a night in recent memory that the psi-hiver hadn’t spent in the arms of Estelle, or Lieutenant Caelius, or one of the other officers, or any passing crewman fortunate enough to catch her eye. Straya seemed more intent on filling out her containment tank than in getting out of it and had commandeered several of Estelle’s favorite service arms to do her bidding in the engineering bay. Csilla’s stomach had slowly deflated and returned almost to its former slightness, but she still wasn’t on speaking terms with Maura or Zora and was acting more princess-like than ever. Io was out of control; the hot tub in the lido deck had been found half-empty and Estelle suspected she knew why.
Six days away from the ship had been a blessing. Six days away from the ship’s kitchens, however, had been more of an ordeal than she’d expected. As always, she’d underestimated her appetite and overestimated her self-control. The boxed meals she’d packed were gone by breakfast on the third day, the snacks were gone by the end of the fourth, and now she was down to her last emergency-ration.
“They’ll have something at the spaceport,” she assured herself, voice pathetically weak.
“That is likely,” said Starling.
“We can make this quick. I’ll find the bar they mentioned, I’ll meet our contact, I’ll make the deal. While I’m doing that, you stock up for the ride home.”
“Is there anything particular you would like?”
She traced absent circles across her belly. “I don’t care…as long as there’s a lot of it. Enough to tide me over til we get back to the ship. Because once I’m back, Starling, I’m having myself a big bowl of wind-shrimp—no, a crested spinepecker filet—no, a triple-stacked spaceshroom burger, sloppy as—ooh, and fries—or maybe dessert first—captain’s prerogative, after all.”
The shuttle rocked as it made its landing. Estelle ran her hands along the lower roll of her paunch and lifted it playfully. She groaned, bit her lip, and opened the last ration bar.
“Stars,” she breathed, between bites, “what a glutton I’ve turned into. I’m getting turned on just thinking about the menu.”
The ration bar could never have been enough. Her stomach only complained louder for having been teased and Estelle felt almost faint as she waddled through the spaceport. Having to walk so far and through such an inconsiderate crowd would have been agonizing enough if she weren’t already dying of starvation.
The Twilight Haven was as squalid as advertised and twice as filthy. Dust blew through the streets and starship lubricant leaked from pipes along every wall. Strange tendrils waved out from the sewer gratings. The crowds were made from countless species, all dressed in shabby cloaks and stained jumpsuits, all pushy and irritable, all heavily armed, all glancing around with the characteristic criminal squint.
“Captain, I should stay with you,” Starling begged, pulling her aside moments before a lean, lumbering pachyderm could bowl her over. “This is not a safe place.”
“I’ll be fine. The contact expects me to come alone. More importantly, Starling, if that shuttle isn’t loaded with treats by the time I get back, you’re gonna wish someone knifed me. Now get shopping.”
She ventured alone into the spaceport’s back alleys. The insignias of the crime-lord were on every wall, visible wherever there wasn’t grime or some recent bloodstain. Aliens eyed the fat human from corners and windows.
More eyes turned as she entered the cantina. A band was playing what was clearly its usual song. A runaway and an old man were negotiating terms with a smuggler in the corner booth. Estelle squeezed between the tables with some difficulty and settled her bulk upon a barstool. It creaked unhappily.
The bartender slid her a steaming drink, but otherwise ignored her. She sipped at it and tried to get comfortable, wincing at the stool’s complaints, until something shoved her shoulder.
It was a vicious-looking jellyfish. It waved a tentacle and burbled when she tried to ignore it.
“He doesn’t like your weight,” said the jellyfish’s friend, a scarred three-eyed thug.
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t like your weight, either.” He leaned in. “You need to watch your diet. We’re wellness-men. I have the best weight-loss plan on twelve systems.”
Estelle turned away. “I’ll be careful.”
“You’ll be thin,” he growled, seizing her plump upper arm.
Her other arm whipped around and pressed a pistol to his throat. “This big gal’s not worth the effort. Now, let me get you something—”
The jellyfish warbled and attacked. She shoved the thug away and twisted round; the stool broke beneath her. There was a wet squelch. The three-eyed thug fled, leaving his jellyfish-friend splattered on the floor.
Estelle rolled over. She could feel the bruises forming already. Falling at her new size was growing ever more dangerous. The bartender helped her to her feet and they watched the flattened jellyfish undulate toward the exit.
“Sorry about the mess,” she huffed, leaning on the bar.
The bartender handed her a rag and a fresh drink. “Get you anything else?”
“Maybe.” She massaged her thigh. Definitely a bruise. “I could use something to eat.”
“We’ve got every flavor and chirality of nutrient paste, smuggled fresh every week from Confederation colonies.”
“I was hoping for something a little more…filling.”
He cocked an eyebrow, but folded his arms and waited.
She sighed. “Come on, man. I’m not into the whole secret code-phrase thing. Just tell me where to meet your boss.”
“Rules is rules.”
“Stars. Fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Captain Urrp and this is my favorite bar on the station.”
He broke into a grin. “Perfect. Through that curtain, down the stairs, door on the left. Knock twice.”
She drained her glass. “Stairs?”
(28.2)
There was only one short flight of them, at least, and the handrail wasn’t as grimy as others she’d seen. She knocked twice and shushed her desperate stomach.
The door finally slid open and Estelle stepped from the sordid harbor district into another world. The vaulted ceiling of an opulent mansion welcomed her, its ceiling cut with skylights for each of the twin suns. The walls were decorated with paintings and holo-tapestries so rich and so lewd she might have been back aboard the Golden Goose. A voluptuous, vaguely familiar music was playing.
At the center was a grand dining table, set with a single chair and a single dish. Estelle moved as quickly as she had in weeks and fell harder into the chair than she probably should have. A note beside the plate invited her to refresh herself while she waited.
This was more invitation than she needed. Oysters—huge, sumptuous oysters—an amazing new flavor—the first was down her throat in the blink of an eye. Yes, she admitted, she had become a glutton. Yes, she was getting turned on just thinking about the next bite. Yes, there would be a next bite. The whole plate of oysters vanished, sometimes two or three at a time, all sense of decorum forgotten.
Before she could lament the sight of the empty plate, a faceless robot appeared to replace it. Now she had a sizzling, juicy steak in front of her. It disappeared almost as quickly, followed without hesitation by the bed of tubers it had sat upon and all its garnishes. Estelle’s head swam with relief. Her stomach swelled with ecstasy.
She took a moment to admire the third dish the robots brought out, but only a brief moment. It was a bowl of curious wobbling fruits in a thick cream; a very delicious and very filling cream. She devoured every last fruit and eagerly, messily spooned out the remaining cream until the bowl was spotless.
Estelle loosened her tunic, leaned back, and kneaded the upper swell of her belly. Her eyes drifted shut. She heard the robots returning and smiled, wondering what they would bring next. Part of her regretted being so sloppy in such a fancy room, but more of her was ready to be much worse. She lounged further back. The chair-legs snapped.
Two of the robots hoisted her up. They carried Estelle to a nearby couch and made her comfortable. They were surprisingly attentive and doting.
When they departed, she found herself staring at another woman. She was as opulent as the mansion, a svelte, hourglass-shaped humanoid with pink- and blue-streaked hair, each vibrant under the light of the binary stars. Her elegant dress revealed a great deal of her body, including the panels, seams, and tiny lights of several cybernetic augmentations.
“Your first course,” she said, sashaying closer, “was a selection of proplyd oysters from a star beyond the galactic barrier. Only one expedition to the ionized disk is approved every decade and only the wealthiest can legally acquire them. Even they only eat one oyster per season, preserving the investment for as long as possible.”
Estelle blushed. They had lasted her a matter of minutes.
“Your buggalo steak was marinated in Essence of Pure Flavor, an extract over which three separate wars have been fought. To taste it is considered a once in a lifetime experience for only the most elite of elites. Many do not even swallow it, considering themselves unworthy.” The woman was oddly familiar. “And your dessert was the fruit of the Blubber Blossom, which is cultivated in only one hydroponic garden in the galaxy, flowering once a century. It is permitted only to heads of state and space royalty, and only in small bites.”
“Urrp,” replied Estelle, who had not eaten it in small bites.
The woman prodded Estelle’s stomach. “And still you aren’t full?”
“Oh, I could do more.” She glanced around for the robots. “Is there more?”
“I am sorry for testing you, captain, but I had to be absolutely sure it was you. I’m pleased that you…live up to your reputation.” The robots were back, but they weren’t carrying food. Equipment was being brought in; one had a camera. “We live in a dangerous galaxy. In my position I cannot afford to bring just anyone into my house. But what is that brings you here? What is it you desire?”
“A lot.” The woman was very, very familiar. “Um. Right. No, I asked for this meeting because my starship is in need of repairs and we can’t go to the Confederation stations. Major repairs. We suffered some damage in a…slime related incident…”
“Our dockyards are very capable.”
“And our ship is very…” She stifled another belch. “It’s the kind of ship that would need discretion. If I’m going to bring it here, I’d like to know that the Twilight Haven’s most respected leader is willing to vouch for its security.”
“Then you picked the right leader to get in bed with. If I say a ship that docks here is not to be touched, the ship will not be touched.” She turned over her wrist. A panel of skin flipped over to show the crime-lord’s insignia. “And are you prepared to meet my desires, captain?”
“I have cargo pods full of—”
“Yes, your message said as much. But are you prepared to meet my desires, captain?”
Estelle had by now traveled enough of the galaxy to recognize when an alien was flirting with her. “What is it you had in mind?”
The insignia disappeared. “Before I took over here, I lived another life. I wonder…do you recognize me?”
“I…I do. Holy nebulas.” Estelle flushed even redder. She’d seen the woman over and over again and in so many amazing different positions. “You’re cybernetically-enhanced astro-porn superstar Vesper Virgo.”
The classic smirk she’d seen in a hundred holo-vids. “Something told me you were a fan. Yes. And I won’t be modest about it. I am the most awarded erotic artist in the history of holographic cinema. My species’ pheromones are a universal aphrodisiac. My augmentations allow me to stimulate any and all erogenous zones in every known sentient species.” She slipped a hand beneath Estelle’s tunic and caressed the softness of her belly. The fingers vibrated and electrified Estelle’s skin with a tingling pulse. She watched Estelle shudder. “My neural implants give me total distributed control over the sex-bots who have been serving you. I am configured to satisfy all genders and non-genders, all eccentricities, kinks, and fetishes. For years, I was the best in the business and the talk of the galaxy. I was the best there had ever been.”
Estelle found herself panting. “Was?”
“Was. When the new oligarchs came to power in the Confederation…their laws against pleasure and hedonistic practices ruined my market. I was denounced. I was exiled. I lost everything. They took it all from me and kept it for themselves aboard their private cruise-ships.”
“And I’m commanding one of them. What can I do to help?”
Vesper straddled her in one smooth motion. “I want to be back on top. I want to make a comeback. But I need something new. I need something people will be clamoring to see, no matter how illegal. I need something…big.” She grasped Estelle’s rolls. “I want to do a movie with the famous, the infamous, the fascinating, the controversial, the fabulously sexy and criminally, defiantly indulgent Captain Urrp, Scourge of the Outlaw Rim.”
Estelle took a shaky breath. “You want…with me…you…the Vesper Virgo…”
“Hot and heavy,” breathed Vesper. Everything was tingling. “Show the Confederation they can’t keep us from our pleasures, no matter how hard they try. Captain—Estelle—how would you like to be a star?”
There was only one short flight of them, at least, and the handrail wasn’t as grimy as others she’d seen. She knocked twice and shushed her desperate stomach.
The door finally slid open and Estelle stepped from the sordid harbor district into another world. The vaulted ceiling of an opulent mansion welcomed her, its ceiling cut with skylights for each of the twin suns. The walls were decorated with paintings and holo-tapestries so rich and so lewd she might have been back aboard the Golden Goose. A voluptuous, vaguely familiar music was playing.
At the center was a grand dining table, set with a single chair and a single dish. Estelle moved as quickly as she had in weeks and fell harder into the chair than she probably should have. A note beside the plate invited her to refresh herself while she waited.
This was more invitation than she needed. Oysters—huge, sumptuous oysters—an amazing new flavor—the first was down her throat in the blink of an eye. Yes, she admitted, she had become a glutton. Yes, she was getting turned on just thinking about the next bite. Yes, there would be a next bite. The whole plate of oysters vanished, sometimes two or three at a time, all sense of decorum forgotten.
Before she could lament the sight of the empty plate, a faceless robot appeared to replace it. Now she had a sizzling, juicy steak in front of her. It disappeared almost as quickly, followed without hesitation by the bed of tubers it had sat upon and all its garnishes. Estelle’s head swam with relief. Her stomach swelled with ecstasy.
She took a moment to admire the third dish the robots brought out, but only a brief moment. It was a bowl of curious wobbling fruits in a thick cream; a very delicious and very filling cream. She devoured every last fruit and eagerly, messily spooned out the remaining cream until the bowl was spotless.
Estelle loosened her tunic, leaned back, and kneaded the upper swell of her belly. Her eyes drifted shut. She heard the robots returning and smiled, wondering what they would bring next. Part of her regretted being so sloppy in such a fancy room, but more of her was ready to be much worse. She lounged further back. The chair-legs snapped.
Two of the robots hoisted her up. They carried Estelle to a nearby couch and made her comfortable. They were surprisingly attentive and doting.
When they departed, she found herself staring at another woman. She was as opulent as the mansion, a svelte, hourglass-shaped humanoid with pink- and blue-streaked hair, each vibrant under the light of the binary stars. Her elegant dress revealed a great deal of her body, including the panels, seams, and tiny lights of several cybernetic augmentations.
“Your first course,” she said, sashaying closer, “was a selection of proplyd oysters from a star beyond the galactic barrier. Only one expedition to the ionized disk is approved every decade and only the wealthiest can legally acquire them. Even they only eat one oyster per season, preserving the investment for as long as possible.”
Estelle blushed. They had lasted her a matter of minutes.
“Your buggalo steak was marinated in Essence of Pure Flavor, an extract over which three separate wars have been fought. To taste it is considered a once in a lifetime experience for only the most elite of elites. Many do not even swallow it, considering themselves unworthy.” The woman was oddly familiar. “And your dessert was the fruit of the Blubber Blossom, which is cultivated in only one hydroponic garden in the galaxy, flowering once a century. It is permitted only to heads of state and space royalty, and only in small bites.”
“Urrp,” replied Estelle, who had not eaten it in small bites.
The woman prodded Estelle’s stomach. “And still you aren’t full?”
“Oh, I could do more.” She glanced around for the robots. “Is there more?”
“I am sorry for testing you, captain, but I had to be absolutely sure it was you. I’m pleased that you…live up to your reputation.” The robots were back, but they weren’t carrying food. Equipment was being brought in; one had a camera. “We live in a dangerous galaxy. In my position I cannot afford to bring just anyone into my house. But what is that brings you here? What is it you desire?”
“A lot.” The woman was very, very familiar. “Um. Right. No, I asked for this meeting because my starship is in need of repairs and we can’t go to the Confederation stations. Major repairs. We suffered some damage in a…slime related incident…”
“Our dockyards are very capable.”
“And our ship is very…” She stifled another belch. “It’s the kind of ship that would need discretion. If I’m going to bring it here, I’d like to know that the Twilight Haven’s most respected leader is willing to vouch for its security.”
“Then you picked the right leader to get in bed with. If I say a ship that docks here is not to be touched, the ship will not be touched.” She turned over her wrist. A panel of skin flipped over to show the crime-lord’s insignia. “And are you prepared to meet my desires, captain?”
“I have cargo pods full of—”
“Yes, your message said as much. But are you prepared to meet my desires, captain?”
Estelle had by now traveled enough of the galaxy to recognize when an alien was flirting with her. “What is it you had in mind?”
The insignia disappeared. “Before I took over here, I lived another life. I wonder…do you recognize me?”
“I…I do. Holy nebulas.” Estelle flushed even redder. She’d seen the woman over and over again and in so many amazing different positions. “You’re cybernetically-enhanced astro-porn superstar Vesper Virgo.”
The classic smirk she’d seen in a hundred holo-vids. “Something told me you were a fan. Yes. And I won’t be modest about it. I am the most awarded erotic artist in the history of holographic cinema. My species’ pheromones are a universal aphrodisiac. My augmentations allow me to stimulate any and all erogenous zones in every known sentient species.” She slipped a hand beneath Estelle’s tunic and caressed the softness of her belly. The fingers vibrated and electrified Estelle’s skin with a tingling pulse. She watched Estelle shudder. “My neural implants give me total distributed control over the sex-bots who have been serving you. I am configured to satisfy all genders and non-genders, all eccentricities, kinks, and fetishes. For years, I was the best in the business and the talk of the galaxy. I was the best there had ever been.”
Estelle found herself panting. “Was?”
“Was. When the new oligarchs came to power in the Confederation…their laws against pleasure and hedonistic practices ruined my market. I was denounced. I was exiled. I lost everything. They took it all from me and kept it for themselves aboard their private cruise-ships.”
“And I’m commanding one of them. What can I do to help?”
Vesper straddled her in one smooth motion. “I want to be back on top. I want to make a comeback. But I need something new. I need something people will be clamoring to see, no matter how illegal. I need something…big.” She grasped Estelle’s rolls. “I want to do a movie with the famous, the infamous, the fascinating, the controversial, the fabulously sexy and criminally, defiantly indulgent Captain Urrp, Scourge of the Outlaw Rim.”
Estelle took a shaky breath. “You want…with me…you…the Vesper Virgo…”
“Hot and heavy,” breathed Vesper. Everything was tingling. “Show the Confederation they can’t keep us from our pleasures, no matter how hard they try. Captain—Estelle—how would you like to be a star?”
(28.3)
The Golden Goose limped into Twilight Haven a week later. A parade of armed hover-cars escorted it to the dock and a hover-limo arrived to carry the away team through town. Crowds had turned out with palpable excitement.
“Are we sure this is the right station?” murmured Zora.
“It is an unusual mood for a smugglers’ refuge,” Lucine agreed.
“An announcement was made after the captain and her host reached their agreement,” said Starling, driving the hover-limo and outfitted in an impressive suit. “The populace has been reinvigorated. It has been a busy week.”
He dropped them in front of a mansion. The team stepped out onto a red carpet and found themselves cheered by crowds on either side. Searchlights swayed. Holo-cameras floated about and reporters in the crowd leaned over the ropes to shout questions. Were they excited for the preview? Were they going to be in the film? Could any of them comment on their relationship with the captain? Who was the giant flabby monster-woman with the tentacles and did she have an agent?
“Were we supposed to dress up?” whispered Maura.
“I could’ve worn my sequined gown,” whined Csilla. “Especially now that I fit in it again.” She shook out her hair. “Alright. Follow my lead, everyone. I’ve been famous my whole life.”
The mansion was full of people, too. The sector’s socialites, social climbers, and criminals pretending to be one or the other; humanoids in tuxedos and fabulous dresses, more alien types in robes, wraps, exo-suits, and ceremonial armors: they mingled about the enormous room, sipping expensive wines and pondering the lewd artwork. A table at the center of the hall was lined with chairs and stacked with enough food to satisfy the whole crew. All eyes would have been fixed upon the feast if they had not immediately fixed on Estelle.
She crossed unsteadily toward them, glowing with delight and clearly a bit tipsy. The whole team gaped. Their captain was wearing a scandalously intimate blue hole-dress and it was much more hole than dress. It was too tight for her, too, barely reaching from the bottom of her chest to the tops of her thighs. The criss-crossed bands dug into her flesh along every curve and diamonds of softness bulged out through the openings. The strained fabric squeezed her belly like a net over a balloon, the pasties weren’t quite big enough to cover her nipples, and one of the shoulder straps had already broken.
“You made it,” she cried. “I am so—so—so excited to see all of you.” Lucine was the nearest; Estelle pulled her in for a fiery kiss. “Oh, Lucine.” She stumbled over to Csilla for a second kiss. “Oh, Princess.” She kissed each of them in turn, leaning her considerable weight against them. “I missed you all so—so—so much. Mm. Mmm.”
“I take it things worked out?” asked Csilla.
“Worked out? Me? Not in months. Unless you meant…” She took another glass of wine from a sex-bot waiter. “Oh, the ship. The deal. Yes. Yes! It’s been such a weird, weird, amazing, weird week. Whatever. What matters is you’re here. You’re all here. We’re back together and I am so—so—so happy to see you girls. I have—I have amazing weird news.”
They watched her savor her drink. “Well?” prompted Maura.
Estelle giggled to herself. “I’m a star!” She spread her arms with a theatrical flourish, lost her balance, and tripped back against the table. “Come on—come on, let’s eat. She said I could feast until I bust out of this thing. You’re all gonna love her. And she is gonna love you.”
--
NEXT WEEK: The trouble with truffles
The Golden Goose limped into Twilight Haven a week later. A parade of armed hover-cars escorted it to the dock and a hover-limo arrived to carry the away team through town. Crowds had turned out with palpable excitement.
“Are we sure this is the right station?” murmured Zora.
“It is an unusual mood for a smugglers’ refuge,” Lucine agreed.
“An announcement was made after the captain and her host reached their agreement,” said Starling, driving the hover-limo and outfitted in an impressive suit. “The populace has been reinvigorated. It has been a busy week.”
He dropped them in front of a mansion. The team stepped out onto a red carpet and found themselves cheered by crowds on either side. Searchlights swayed. Holo-cameras floated about and reporters in the crowd leaned over the ropes to shout questions. Were they excited for the preview? Were they going to be in the film? Could any of them comment on their relationship with the captain? Who was the giant flabby monster-woman with the tentacles and did she have an agent?
“Were we supposed to dress up?” whispered Maura.
“I could’ve worn my sequined gown,” whined Csilla. “Especially now that I fit in it again.” She shook out her hair. “Alright. Follow my lead, everyone. I’ve been famous my whole life.”
The mansion was full of people, too. The sector’s socialites, social climbers, and criminals pretending to be one or the other; humanoids in tuxedos and fabulous dresses, more alien types in robes, wraps, exo-suits, and ceremonial armors: they mingled about the enormous room, sipping expensive wines and pondering the lewd artwork. A table at the center of the hall was lined with chairs and stacked with enough food to satisfy the whole crew. All eyes would have been fixed upon the feast if they had not immediately fixed on Estelle.
She crossed unsteadily toward them, glowing with delight and clearly a bit tipsy. The whole team gaped. Their captain was wearing a scandalously intimate blue hole-dress and it was much more hole than dress. It was too tight for her, too, barely reaching from the bottom of her chest to the tops of her thighs. The criss-crossed bands dug into her flesh along every curve and diamonds of softness bulged out through the openings. The strained fabric squeezed her belly like a net over a balloon, the pasties weren’t quite big enough to cover her nipples, and one of the shoulder straps had already broken.
“You made it,” she cried. “I am so—so—so excited to see all of you.” Lucine was the nearest; Estelle pulled her in for a fiery kiss. “Oh, Lucine.” She stumbled over to Csilla for a second kiss. “Oh, Princess.” She kissed each of them in turn, leaning her considerable weight against them. “I missed you all so—so—so much. Mm. Mmm.”
“I take it things worked out?” asked Csilla.
“Worked out? Me? Not in months. Unless you meant…” She took another glass of wine from a sex-bot waiter. “Oh, the ship. The deal. Yes. Yes! It’s been such a weird, weird, amazing, weird week. Whatever. What matters is you’re here. You’re all here. We’re back together and I am so—so—so happy to see you girls. I have—I have amazing weird news.”
They watched her savor her drink. “Well?” prompted Maura.
Estelle giggled to herself. “I’m a star!” She spread her arms with a theatrical flourish, lost her balance, and tripped back against the table. “Come on—come on, let’s eat. She said I could feast until I bust out of this thing. You’re all gonna love her. And she is gonna love you.”
--
NEXT WEEK: The trouble with truffles
Chapter 29
With the shuttles gone the hangar could produce stunningly loud echoes. The kitchen steward heard her stomach rumble several times over. She flushed and stared at the floor as everyone turned to look.
“Cadet,” said Lieutenant Caelius, by way of distraction, “I came across something in the archives that might interest you.”
“Me, sir?”
“And the crew at…large.” He forced a smile and offered her his datapad.
She had to hold it up to see it past her chest. “Academy IDs? I don’t understand. Who’s this supposed to be?” Receiving no answer, she scrolled to the listing. “Cadet E. Gorlois. Wait. That can’t be her. Are you saying her ID was faked?”
“Of course not. She and I were at the academy together. I know she’s for real. Look closer.”
The old headshot showed a slim, bright-eyed young officer with striking cheekbones. Her uniform was freshly-pressed and fit just tightly enough to suggest some muscular shoulders. Her hair was in a perfect battle-bun and not a single hair was out of place.
“If you flip to the next page,” added Caelius, “you’ll find a photo from her days as a smuggler, just before she was arrested and sent to LV-237.”
It was a lower-quality image, taken from a distance from a security-camera, but it was clearly Estelle. She was running—running!—up the ramp of a space-freighter with a crate of medical supplies over one shoulder. She was half-turned and firing her plasma pistol at the horde of advancing guards. There was no uniform this time; only a short-cropped tank top and flight pants. The muscular shoulders and the contours of a taut, well-toned abdomen were on full display.
The steward shook her head. “That’s gotta be someone else, sir. Is Gorlois a common name?”
The lieutenant only laughed. Docking alerts chimed and lights began to flash through the bay. The command shuttle had returned.
It floated out from behind the engine array, listed awkwardly for a moment, and after two halting attempts lurched sideways into the hangar. Here the docking clamps took over and everyone breathed out an involuntary sigh of relief. The hatch hissed out a pneumatic sigh as it opened.
“…because it’s hard to see the controls over all this,” came Estelle’s voice. “Not my fault I carry everything out front. Just help me up, will you?”
The steward gave the image on the datapad one more look and then watched, with renewed awe, as her captain arrived aboard.
Estelle handed her overnight bag to Starling and started slowly down the shuttle-ramp, breathing loudly and wincing whenever a foot landed too heavily. The ramp was clearly steeper than she was comfortable with and she shuffled at a cautious angle. A service arm reached out to support her. Her own arms gingerly reached out to cradle a distended stomach, rounder than usual from a recent meal.
She was in her uniform, or what remained of it, and from the looks of things she might never force herself into it again. The jacket was reduced to an absurd little blue vest that could only hang limply open to each side of her bosom, covering nothing. Her undershirt reached only to the first fold of backfat and made no attempt at all to reach over her stomach. Her trousers were wide open and lined with slits and patches in an increasingly fruitless attempt to create space.
Her hair was past her shoulders now and thoroughly tousled. Her makeup was smeared. The fabric of her uniform was more sauce-stain than regulation blue. The service arm delivered her to the bottom of the ramp and guided her to Caelius. He saluted; she scratched the underside of her gut.
“Welcome back, captain. How were the negotiations?”
She belched. “Satisfying.”
“Should I give orders to proceed?”
“Tomorrow. They…oof. Their harvester fleet will be shifted to the far end of the season in ten hours. Then we can activate the hyperlane junction without…disturbing the crops…or whatever. I don’t remember what they were harvesting, but they’re delicious.” She winced and gave her belly an absent caress. “Where’s the kitchen steward? Call the steward.”
“Right here, captain.”
“Thank the stars. Cadet, I need something to settle my stomach. They insisted on a feast. Insisted.”
The steward had brought a selection of fizzing herbal beverages. She gestured to one of the service drones, which promptly delivered the first glass to Estelle.
She sucked it down. “Ah. Urr-hurrp. Perfect. Any updates on the film?”
“Miss Virgo sent a message this morning,” said Caelius. “Post-production is completed and she expects to begin broadcasting next week. Early reviews are ‘scintillating,’ apparently. She says you’re a natural.”
“And she sent over a gift-basket,” added the steward, “full of her favorite aphrodisiac spices.”
“Can’t wait to see it. And can’t wait to try those. Any business here?” She reached for another glass, but not very far. The drone delivered it to her outstretched hand. “What’s ahead?”
“Starling anticipates we face prolonged negotiations at each of the next four junctions.”
“More diplomacy? Ugh.”
“Also, we’ve received several engineering requests to widen the hatchways on decks seven and nine. Io has grown too large to go from her cabin to the armory without doing damage to critical systems.”
Estelle nodded wearily. It wasn’t a surprise. “I’ll look over the schematics in the morning. Can’t think straight enough right now…need some time to digest all this. And a nap.” She glanced back to the steward. “And maybe something sweet. Send some dessert up to my cabin.”
With the shuttles gone the hangar could produce stunningly loud echoes. The kitchen steward heard her stomach rumble several times over. She flushed and stared at the floor as everyone turned to look.
“Cadet,” said Lieutenant Caelius, by way of distraction, “I came across something in the archives that might interest you.”
“Me, sir?”
“And the crew at…large.” He forced a smile and offered her his datapad.
She had to hold it up to see it past her chest. “Academy IDs? I don’t understand. Who’s this supposed to be?” Receiving no answer, she scrolled to the listing. “Cadet E. Gorlois. Wait. That can’t be her. Are you saying her ID was faked?”
“Of course not. She and I were at the academy together. I know she’s for real. Look closer.”
The old headshot showed a slim, bright-eyed young officer with striking cheekbones. Her uniform was freshly-pressed and fit just tightly enough to suggest some muscular shoulders. Her hair was in a perfect battle-bun and not a single hair was out of place.
“If you flip to the next page,” added Caelius, “you’ll find a photo from her days as a smuggler, just before she was arrested and sent to LV-237.”
It was a lower-quality image, taken from a distance from a security-camera, but it was clearly Estelle. She was running—running!—up the ramp of a space-freighter with a crate of medical supplies over one shoulder. She was half-turned and firing her plasma pistol at the horde of advancing guards. There was no uniform this time; only a short-cropped tank top and flight pants. The muscular shoulders and the contours of a taut, well-toned abdomen were on full display.
The steward shook her head. “That’s gotta be someone else, sir. Is Gorlois a common name?”
The lieutenant only laughed. Docking alerts chimed and lights began to flash through the bay. The command shuttle had returned.
It floated out from behind the engine array, listed awkwardly for a moment, and after two halting attempts lurched sideways into the hangar. Here the docking clamps took over and everyone breathed out an involuntary sigh of relief. The hatch hissed out a pneumatic sigh as it opened.
“…because it’s hard to see the controls over all this,” came Estelle’s voice. “Not my fault I carry everything out front. Just help me up, will you?”
The steward gave the image on the datapad one more look and then watched, with renewed awe, as her captain arrived aboard.
Estelle handed her overnight bag to Starling and started slowly down the shuttle-ramp, breathing loudly and wincing whenever a foot landed too heavily. The ramp was clearly steeper than she was comfortable with and she shuffled at a cautious angle. A service arm reached out to support her. Her own arms gingerly reached out to cradle a distended stomach, rounder than usual from a recent meal.
She was in her uniform, or what remained of it, and from the looks of things she might never force herself into it again. The jacket was reduced to an absurd little blue vest that could only hang limply open to each side of her bosom, covering nothing. Her undershirt reached only to the first fold of backfat and made no attempt at all to reach over her stomach. Her trousers were wide open and lined with slits and patches in an increasingly fruitless attempt to create space.
Her hair was past her shoulders now and thoroughly tousled. Her makeup was smeared. The fabric of her uniform was more sauce-stain than regulation blue. The service arm delivered her to the bottom of the ramp and guided her to Caelius. He saluted; she scratched the underside of her gut.
“Welcome back, captain. How were the negotiations?”
She belched. “Satisfying.”
“Should I give orders to proceed?”
“Tomorrow. They…oof. Their harvester fleet will be shifted to the far end of the season in ten hours. Then we can activate the hyperlane junction without…disturbing the crops…or whatever. I don’t remember what they were harvesting, but they’re delicious.” She winced and gave her belly an absent caress. “Where’s the kitchen steward? Call the steward.”
“Right here, captain.”
“Thank the stars. Cadet, I need something to settle my stomach. They insisted on a feast. Insisted.”
The steward had brought a selection of fizzing herbal beverages. She gestured to one of the service drones, which promptly delivered the first glass to Estelle.
She sucked it down. “Ah. Urr-hurrp. Perfect. Any updates on the film?”
“Miss Virgo sent a message this morning,” said Caelius. “Post-production is completed and she expects to begin broadcasting next week. Early reviews are ‘scintillating,’ apparently. She says you’re a natural.”
“And she sent over a gift-basket,” added the steward, “full of her favorite aphrodisiac spices.”
“Can’t wait to see it. And can’t wait to try those. Any business here?” She reached for another glass, but not very far. The drone delivered it to her outstretched hand. “What’s ahead?”
“Starling anticipates we face prolonged negotiations at each of the next four junctions.”
“More diplomacy? Ugh.”
“Also, we’ve received several engineering requests to widen the hatchways on decks seven and nine. Io has grown too large to go from her cabin to the armory without doing damage to critical systems.”
Estelle nodded wearily. It wasn’t a surprise. “I’ll look over the schematics in the morning. Can’t think straight enough right now…need some time to digest all this. And a nap.” She glanced back to the steward. “And maybe something sweet. Send some dessert up to my cabin.”
(29.2)
The steward was right about the uniform. A few days later it was nowhere to be seen when Estelle received the Gryphitean ambassadors. She instead greeted the visitors in an interpretation of their own garb, wrapping herself in strands of seashells and space-kelp. The outfit covered very little and clattered whenever she jiggled, but at least it wasn’t pinching or squeezing in the usual uncomfortable ways.
The Goose’s reception hall looked its best, though. Every metallic surface gleamed and every cushioned surface promised a deep, inviting comfort. Garlands hung from the walls and alien music twinkled overhead.
Estelle adjusted the shells over her nipples as she sat down. She found herself staring at the kitchen steward’s chest, poured into and overflowing a woefully insufficient coconut bra. The flesh curling over the edges rippled as mesmerizingly as waves lapping at a beach.
A fresh wave rolled through as she continued her list. “…then the sauteed sand-snake with pajato is traditional for this season on their homeworld.”
“I like the taste,” mused Estelle, wiping a dribble of cheese from her lip.
“Oh, but I forgot to mention that the flay-fish and the sea-pumpkin are considered royal delicacies. They’re signs of wealth and power and are expected when entertaining dignitaries.”
“I liked those, too. What was the other option?”
“Lava-baked Cadimonel prusket with a dusting of silk-sugar, served with a Rutan roulade. It’s associated with good luck.”
“Then I’m the luckiest girl in the galaxy. Well, they’re all good. Have the Gryphiteans made any requests?”
“No, captain. Only that no dish leaves the table uncleaned. Which one do you want me to serve tonight?”
Estelle folded her arms over her stomach and frowned at the empty plates. “I’m still not sure. I’d better try them again.”
The Gryphiteans were amused by the amount of effort their host put into the gala and amazed by how much food their host put into her gullet. They tried to keep up and had to be carried back to their ship, moaning and groaning; she wasn’t even feeling full yet.
But while she nursed her after-dinner drink their envoy returned with a signed treaty. She’d won them over. The Golden Goose was free to pass through their territory and refuel at their depots. Estelle caught the envoy leering at her, offered her a drink, and later invited her to bed.
The next hyperlane junction, however, required much lengthier and much less pleasant negotiations. Estelle once again tried to wear appropriate local attire and honor all the local traditions, but the two rival civilizations occupying the cluster were too busy with their rivalry to be so easily flattered.
They never even came aboard, despite all the preparations. Estelle hosted an all-night holo-conference from her ready-room, trapped in the increasingly cramped chair behind her desk. Shouting and arguing could be heard through the walls.
The kitchen steward exhaled as the morning watch began and the noise finally stopped. She took one last lick of cookie-dough and pulled her uniform back on. The only button willing to reach was the one below her bosom, serving only to push both her cleavage and her gut more prominently forward, but she wasn’t ready to give up on it. She directed the service arms to switch from washing dishes to making breakfast while she fidgeted with her waistband.
“Captain to kitchens,” sighed her communicator.
“What can I get you, captain?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know. I’m too tired. Just bring something big.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She was there in ten minutes. And she was pushing a cart. Drones floated over to arrange a place-setting on the desk and plate the captain’s meal.
Estelle was slumped over and staring past them. “Thank you. We’re just taking a short break. I’d better make the best of it.” She loosened one of her outfit’s belts. She was bound in a series of studded black leather straps in the local fashion, her supple flesh bulging out wherever it could.
“Any progress?”
“Not yet. The space-vampires are willing to support us, but only if we prove our loyalty by blowing up the space-werewolves’ lunar magnification satellite. And if we refuse, they’ll drink my blood. They’re very excited by how much blood a body like mine must have.”
“Well, maybe this can cheer you up.” The steward nudged a drone, which uncovered the last dish. “Poached leg of mire-beast in a reverse-polarity marinade. And I’ll be right back with—well, this drone will be right back with a drink.”
“Cadet, you’ve brought me back to life.”
That life only lasted until negotiations resumed. They continued on and off all the next night and much of the day after, with no sign of improvement. The steward stopped in every few hours with snacks or meals. The whole ship was feeling the stress of suspense and the kitchen drones remained hard at work throughout. The steward felt all their exhaustion for them.
The buzzing of the communicator woke her late on the third night. She’d fallen into a half-doze on the couch, uniform on the floor and a tub of ice cream perched atop her gut. It was empty. “Yes, captain?”
“We’ve got a break again. Long enough for a real meal this time, if you’ve got everything ready.”
“I’ll be there in ten—oof—fifteen minutes.”
She was there in twenty minutes, still groggy and half-dressed, but she made up for it with the size of the meal. The drones pushed the hover-cart in themselves.
“Any progress, captain?”
“Not yet. The space-werewolves are willing to support us, but only if we prove our loyalty by blowing up the space-vampires’ hydroponic orbital soil-vault. And if we refuse, they’ll eat me. They’re very excited by how much meat I’ve got on my bones.”
“Well, maybe this can cheer you up.” The drones were already serving. “Fungus cannelloni with a flank of marsh-ox. And I added a bowl of that aphrodisiac spice you like, since Vesper sent us so much with the gift-basket.”
“The pink and blue stuff? You know me so well, cadet. Have you tried this?”
The steward blushed, but couldn’t keep a dreamy smile from her face. “Oh, yes. Last week I…me and the xeno-linguistics officer…we added just a pinch to…mm. ” She tugged at her collar.
The next morning, the button wouldn’t close. The steward hefted her chest up further and sucked in her gut again, but it was no use. She let the uniform jacket hang open, all the way open, and let everyone aboard ogle her swaying chest.
The captain didn’t call for her all day. There was some frenetic confidential activity going on elsewhere in the ship, but the steward kept to her kitchen. It was hard work directing the drones from one task to the next. She rewarded herself—and staved off boredom—with an occasional cake-slush or Zaffie pie. She lounged back in her bunk and drummed her fingers on a full stomach, daydreaming of growing to the captain’s size.
Her watch ended for the night with still no word, so she handed the kitchen off to another cadet and allowed herself an evening off. She parked herself in one of the ship’s many onboard bars and treated herself to a Vesuvian-fried kronkburger. Her chest rested on the bar, half-spilled from the reinforced bra, and the other patrons were happy to buy her beer.
As she staggered back toward her cabin, mischievously pondering dessert and wondering when she’d taken off her trousers, she stumbled bodily into a trio leaving yet another of the ship’s many onboard bars.
It was Maura and Zora, carrying Estelle between them. The mercenaries were dressed in their most alluring outfits. The captain was still in her leathers, but most of the straps and belts had been loosened or snapped. She was smiling for the first time all week.
“Captain,” managed the steward, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”
“Cadet! Don’t be. Great news. Finally sorted things out with the space-vampires and space-werewolves. That aphrodisiac spice worked wonders. They’re having themselves a big old space-orgy. Peace in the sector for the first time in centuries.”
“Congra—hup—gratulations, captain.”
“We’re going to make good use of the rest of that spice,” said Maura, running a finger along Estelle’s arm.
“Care to join us?” asked Zora, running a finger along the steward’s arm.
“Dessert’s on me,” added Estelle.
The steward was right about the uniform. A few days later it was nowhere to be seen when Estelle received the Gryphitean ambassadors. She instead greeted the visitors in an interpretation of their own garb, wrapping herself in strands of seashells and space-kelp. The outfit covered very little and clattered whenever she jiggled, but at least it wasn’t pinching or squeezing in the usual uncomfortable ways.
The Goose’s reception hall looked its best, though. Every metallic surface gleamed and every cushioned surface promised a deep, inviting comfort. Garlands hung from the walls and alien music twinkled overhead.
Estelle adjusted the shells over her nipples as she sat down. She found herself staring at the kitchen steward’s chest, poured into and overflowing a woefully insufficient coconut bra. The flesh curling over the edges rippled as mesmerizingly as waves lapping at a beach.
A fresh wave rolled through as she continued her list. “…then the sauteed sand-snake with pajato is traditional for this season on their homeworld.”
“I like the taste,” mused Estelle, wiping a dribble of cheese from her lip.
“Oh, but I forgot to mention that the flay-fish and the sea-pumpkin are considered royal delicacies. They’re signs of wealth and power and are expected when entertaining dignitaries.”
“I liked those, too. What was the other option?”
“Lava-baked Cadimonel prusket with a dusting of silk-sugar, served with a Rutan roulade. It’s associated with good luck.”
“Then I’m the luckiest girl in the galaxy. Well, they’re all good. Have the Gryphiteans made any requests?”
“No, captain. Only that no dish leaves the table uncleaned. Which one do you want me to serve tonight?”
Estelle folded her arms over her stomach and frowned at the empty plates. “I’m still not sure. I’d better try them again.”
The Gryphiteans were amused by the amount of effort their host put into the gala and amazed by how much food their host put into her gullet. They tried to keep up and had to be carried back to their ship, moaning and groaning; she wasn’t even feeling full yet.
But while she nursed her after-dinner drink their envoy returned with a signed treaty. She’d won them over. The Golden Goose was free to pass through their territory and refuel at their depots. Estelle caught the envoy leering at her, offered her a drink, and later invited her to bed.
The next hyperlane junction, however, required much lengthier and much less pleasant negotiations. Estelle once again tried to wear appropriate local attire and honor all the local traditions, but the two rival civilizations occupying the cluster were too busy with their rivalry to be so easily flattered.
They never even came aboard, despite all the preparations. Estelle hosted an all-night holo-conference from her ready-room, trapped in the increasingly cramped chair behind her desk. Shouting and arguing could be heard through the walls.
The kitchen steward exhaled as the morning watch began and the noise finally stopped. She took one last lick of cookie-dough and pulled her uniform back on. The only button willing to reach was the one below her bosom, serving only to push both her cleavage and her gut more prominently forward, but she wasn’t ready to give up on it. She directed the service arms to switch from washing dishes to making breakfast while she fidgeted with her waistband.
“Captain to kitchens,” sighed her communicator.
“What can I get you, captain?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know. I’m too tired. Just bring something big.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
She was there in ten minutes. And she was pushing a cart. Drones floated over to arrange a place-setting on the desk and plate the captain’s meal.
Estelle was slumped over and staring past them. “Thank you. We’re just taking a short break. I’d better make the best of it.” She loosened one of her outfit’s belts. She was bound in a series of studded black leather straps in the local fashion, her supple flesh bulging out wherever it could.
“Any progress?”
“Not yet. The space-vampires are willing to support us, but only if we prove our loyalty by blowing up the space-werewolves’ lunar magnification satellite. And if we refuse, they’ll drink my blood. They’re very excited by how much blood a body like mine must have.”
“Well, maybe this can cheer you up.” The steward nudged a drone, which uncovered the last dish. “Poached leg of mire-beast in a reverse-polarity marinade. And I’ll be right back with—well, this drone will be right back with a drink.”
“Cadet, you’ve brought me back to life.”
That life only lasted until negotiations resumed. They continued on and off all the next night and much of the day after, with no sign of improvement. The steward stopped in every few hours with snacks or meals. The whole ship was feeling the stress of suspense and the kitchen drones remained hard at work throughout. The steward felt all their exhaustion for them.
The buzzing of the communicator woke her late on the third night. She’d fallen into a half-doze on the couch, uniform on the floor and a tub of ice cream perched atop her gut. It was empty. “Yes, captain?”
“We’ve got a break again. Long enough for a real meal this time, if you’ve got everything ready.”
“I’ll be there in ten—oof—fifteen minutes.”
She was there in twenty minutes, still groggy and half-dressed, but she made up for it with the size of the meal. The drones pushed the hover-cart in themselves.
“Any progress, captain?”
“Not yet. The space-werewolves are willing to support us, but only if we prove our loyalty by blowing up the space-vampires’ hydroponic orbital soil-vault. And if we refuse, they’ll eat me. They’re very excited by how much meat I’ve got on my bones.”
“Well, maybe this can cheer you up.” The drones were already serving. “Fungus cannelloni with a flank of marsh-ox. And I added a bowl of that aphrodisiac spice you like, since Vesper sent us so much with the gift-basket.”
“The pink and blue stuff? You know me so well, cadet. Have you tried this?”
The steward blushed, but couldn’t keep a dreamy smile from her face. “Oh, yes. Last week I…me and the xeno-linguistics officer…we added just a pinch to…mm. ” She tugged at her collar.
The next morning, the button wouldn’t close. The steward hefted her chest up further and sucked in her gut again, but it was no use. She let the uniform jacket hang open, all the way open, and let everyone aboard ogle her swaying chest.
The captain didn’t call for her all day. There was some frenetic confidential activity going on elsewhere in the ship, but the steward kept to her kitchen. It was hard work directing the drones from one task to the next. She rewarded herself—and staved off boredom—with an occasional cake-slush or Zaffie pie. She lounged back in her bunk and drummed her fingers on a full stomach, daydreaming of growing to the captain’s size.
Her watch ended for the night with still no word, so she handed the kitchen off to another cadet and allowed herself an evening off. She parked herself in one of the ship’s many onboard bars and treated herself to a Vesuvian-fried kronkburger. Her chest rested on the bar, half-spilled from the reinforced bra, and the other patrons were happy to buy her beer.
As she staggered back toward her cabin, mischievously pondering dessert and wondering when she’d taken off her trousers, she stumbled bodily into a trio leaving yet another of the ship’s many onboard bars.
It was Maura and Zora, carrying Estelle between them. The mercenaries were dressed in their most alluring outfits. The captain was still in her leathers, but most of the straps and belts had been loosened or snapped. She was smiling for the first time all week.
“Captain,” managed the steward, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”
“Cadet! Don’t be. Great news. Finally sorted things out with the space-vampires and space-werewolves. That aphrodisiac spice worked wonders. They’re having themselves a big old space-orgy. Peace in the sector for the first time in centuries.”
“Congra—hup—gratulations, captain.”
“We’re going to make good use of the rest of that spice,” said Maura, running a finger along Estelle’s arm.
“Care to join us?” asked Zora, running a finger along the steward’s arm.
“Dessert’s on me,” added Estelle.
(29.3)
Peace finally reigned between the creatures of the space-night, but politics in the next sector were only more fractious. As the Golden Goose exited the hyperlane every planet in range hailed to issue a challenge. None would allow the ship to pass until a representative had upheld the ancient rituals and faced the local warlord in a challenge of honor.
“Fortunately,” Estelle explained, looking rather pleased with herself, “unlike at Mildendo, the challenge doesn’t have to be combat.”
And so instead of her armor, which was by now nothing more than another decoration on her wall, she had donned a loose-fitting ensemble of translucent silks. They fluttered and she wobbled as the shuttle touched down.
“So what kind of challenge is it?” wondered Csilla.
“That’s the best part. As the visitor, I get to choose.” The drones helped her out of the chair.
Csilla grimaced. She knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “And what did you choose?”
Estelle threw open the hatch and led her bulk toward the ramp. “I challenged him to an eating contest.”
The ramp settled and creaked as she tromped down. She stretched her arms, breathed deep, and looked around with unusual confidence. She looked up. She looked further up. The confidence faltered.
The local warlord was twenty feet tall and at least that around. “Greetings, Captain Urrp,” he boomed, shaking a stomach that could’ve fit Captain Urrp within it several times over. “I, Brobdingrag the Tiny, accept your challenge.” A dozen other rotund ape-like aliens even taller than him cheered.
Estelle gulped. “Well, that serves me right.”
Estelle groaned. “Oh, you always serve me just right.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the steward assured her, arriving with a tray.
The spa on deck eight was one of the smaller spas aboard, but it was generally quieter than the larger ones on other decks and it boasted two features important to Estelle. Firstly, it was only a short waddle from the captain’s cabin. Secondly, it was the only spa aboard with a Circinian mud-bath. The gentle, sweet-smelling turquoise mud was infused with not only moisturizing curatives but also a variety of pan-dimensional neural-soothing elements that were making Estelle feel wonderful inside and out.
And after the week she’d had, she’d needed a long, thorough soak. Fortunately she had more surface area than ever before to absorb the infusions.
When Estelle had first come aboard and reluctantly tried out the spa, she’d shared the mud-bath with Caelius and Straya. Now, alone in the tub, her belly seemed to fill the space all by itself and any movement she made would slosh more mud over the rim.
Her belly rose through the turquoise surface like an island. She wasn’t feeling quite stuffed yet, but she’d reached a comfortable fullness at lunch and it was beginning to take on its usual post-meal roundness. She kneaded its upper swell and smeared more mud across what wouldn’t sink below the surface. The kneading proceeded downward, but she soon came to the limits of what she could reach without bending and grunted for the service arms to take over. They instantly obliged.
She caught the steward staring, but smiled. “What’ve you got there?”
“Oh! Something special,” the steward finally blurted, remembering herself. She uncovered the tray. “Sudarian truffles.”
Estelle purred with anticipation. The steward set the tray at the edge of the tub. It was easily within Estelle’s reach, but she bent down herself and fed the first of many truffles to her captain by hand.
“Perfect,” Estelle grunted, between morsels. She drained her glass of wine and laid her head back against the edge of the tub. “This is just what I needed. You know—hup—it reminds me of a pool back on LV-237.”
The steward refilled the glass and poured one for herself. “Captain, may I ask you something?”
“Keep feeding me truffles and you can ask anything you want. Mm.”
She did. “What really happened on LV-237? There are rumors, but no one seems to really know. Starling just keeps telling me he can’t breach admiralty protocols.”
“Sounds like him.” Estelle turned slightly, allowing the service arm to massage a lower fold of backfat. “Well, it was before we made contact with the Confederation. The colonies were starving, so they sent an expedition into deep-space in search of a new food source. LV-237 was an exoplanet that seemed like a viable can—hic—didate. But then we did meet the Confederation and it turned out LV-237 was very, very off-limits. So, to avoid a diplomatic incident with our new best friends, an expendable space-pilot was sent to bring the expedition back.”
“You,” the steward realized.
“Me. And the way travel worked back then, the expedition had been there two years or so by the time I found them.”
“Were they okay?”
“They were more than okay. They were right about the planet being a viable food-source. The whole thing was literally made of food. Every rock, every tree, every body of water, every clump of dirt…it was all edible. And it was all delicious.”
The steward gaped. “It sounds like paradise.”
“It was a miracle. Whatever you dreamed of, there it was. The survivors of the expedition were fat and happy. And, soon enough, so was I.” She pondered her stomach. “Well, relatively. Little did I know.”
“A food planet. How could you ever leave?”
“Well, to be honest, I still regret not taking—hic—taking bigger advantage of it. Just imagine. But also the planet was full of gigantic squirming man-eating monsters. They killed the expedition’s commander and destroyed the settlement. It was terrifying. We barely escaped. But…I still dream sometimes about the good parts.”
“A planet like that could feed the galaxy. No wonder the Confederation put up a wall around it.”
“They do seem to hate sharing. There was no way for them to exploit it, so they made sure no one else could.” She licked her lips. “Are there more truffles?”
The steward had sat down on a nearby bench. Her back was grateful for the break, but it had meant neglecting her duties. She gestured to the service drone, which happily took up the task of feeding the captain. The steward blew out an exhausted sigh, unclasped her bra, and slouched back. Service arms immediately unfolded from the wall to massage her shoulders where the straps had pinched.
Estelle swallowed the latest bite and watched her. “You work too hard, cadet.”
“Want me to stop, captain?”
“Nope. I want you to keep bringing me truffles until I can’t get out of this tub.”
--
NEXT WEEK: The honeypot
Peace finally reigned between the creatures of the space-night, but politics in the next sector were only more fractious. As the Golden Goose exited the hyperlane every planet in range hailed to issue a challenge. None would allow the ship to pass until a representative had upheld the ancient rituals and faced the local warlord in a challenge of honor.
“Fortunately,” Estelle explained, looking rather pleased with herself, “unlike at Mildendo, the challenge doesn’t have to be combat.”
And so instead of her armor, which was by now nothing more than another decoration on her wall, she had donned a loose-fitting ensemble of translucent silks. They fluttered and she wobbled as the shuttle touched down.
“So what kind of challenge is it?” wondered Csilla.
“That’s the best part. As the visitor, I get to choose.” The drones helped her out of the chair.
Csilla grimaced. She knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “And what did you choose?”
Estelle threw open the hatch and led her bulk toward the ramp. “I challenged him to an eating contest.”
The ramp settled and creaked as she tromped down. She stretched her arms, breathed deep, and looked around with unusual confidence. She looked up. She looked further up. The confidence faltered.
The local warlord was twenty feet tall and at least that around. “Greetings, Captain Urrp,” he boomed, shaking a stomach that could’ve fit Captain Urrp within it several times over. “I, Brobdingrag the Tiny, accept your challenge.” A dozen other rotund ape-like aliens even taller than him cheered.
Estelle gulped. “Well, that serves me right.”
Estelle groaned. “Oh, you always serve me just right.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the steward assured her, arriving with a tray.
The spa on deck eight was one of the smaller spas aboard, but it was generally quieter than the larger ones on other decks and it boasted two features important to Estelle. Firstly, it was only a short waddle from the captain’s cabin. Secondly, it was the only spa aboard with a Circinian mud-bath. The gentle, sweet-smelling turquoise mud was infused with not only moisturizing curatives but also a variety of pan-dimensional neural-soothing elements that were making Estelle feel wonderful inside and out.
And after the week she’d had, she’d needed a long, thorough soak. Fortunately she had more surface area than ever before to absorb the infusions.
When Estelle had first come aboard and reluctantly tried out the spa, she’d shared the mud-bath with Caelius and Straya. Now, alone in the tub, her belly seemed to fill the space all by itself and any movement she made would slosh more mud over the rim.
Her belly rose through the turquoise surface like an island. She wasn’t feeling quite stuffed yet, but she’d reached a comfortable fullness at lunch and it was beginning to take on its usual post-meal roundness. She kneaded its upper swell and smeared more mud across what wouldn’t sink below the surface. The kneading proceeded downward, but she soon came to the limits of what she could reach without bending and grunted for the service arms to take over. They instantly obliged.
She caught the steward staring, but smiled. “What’ve you got there?”
“Oh! Something special,” the steward finally blurted, remembering herself. She uncovered the tray. “Sudarian truffles.”
Estelle purred with anticipation. The steward set the tray at the edge of the tub. It was easily within Estelle’s reach, but she bent down herself and fed the first of many truffles to her captain by hand.
“Perfect,” Estelle grunted, between morsels. She drained her glass of wine and laid her head back against the edge of the tub. “This is just what I needed. You know—hup—it reminds me of a pool back on LV-237.”
The steward refilled the glass and poured one for herself. “Captain, may I ask you something?”
“Keep feeding me truffles and you can ask anything you want. Mm.”
She did. “What really happened on LV-237? There are rumors, but no one seems to really know. Starling just keeps telling me he can’t breach admiralty protocols.”
“Sounds like him.” Estelle turned slightly, allowing the service arm to massage a lower fold of backfat. “Well, it was before we made contact with the Confederation. The colonies were starving, so they sent an expedition into deep-space in search of a new food source. LV-237 was an exoplanet that seemed like a viable can—hic—didate. But then we did meet the Confederation and it turned out LV-237 was very, very off-limits. So, to avoid a diplomatic incident with our new best friends, an expendable space-pilot was sent to bring the expedition back.”
“You,” the steward realized.
“Me. And the way travel worked back then, the expedition had been there two years or so by the time I found them.”
“Were they okay?”
“They were more than okay. They were right about the planet being a viable food-source. The whole thing was literally made of food. Every rock, every tree, every body of water, every clump of dirt…it was all edible. And it was all delicious.”
The steward gaped. “It sounds like paradise.”
“It was a miracle. Whatever you dreamed of, there it was. The survivors of the expedition were fat and happy. And, soon enough, so was I.” She pondered her stomach. “Well, relatively. Little did I know.”
“A food planet. How could you ever leave?”
“Well, to be honest, I still regret not taking—hic—taking bigger advantage of it. Just imagine. But also the planet was full of gigantic squirming man-eating monsters. They killed the expedition’s commander and destroyed the settlement. It was terrifying. We barely escaped. But…I still dream sometimes about the good parts.”
“A planet like that could feed the galaxy. No wonder the Confederation put up a wall around it.”
“They do seem to hate sharing. There was no way for them to exploit it, so they made sure no one else could.” She licked her lips. “Are there more truffles?”
The steward had sat down on a nearby bench. Her back was grateful for the break, but it had meant neglecting her duties. She gestured to the service drone, which happily took up the task of feeding the captain. The steward blew out an exhausted sigh, unclasped her bra, and slouched back. Service arms immediately unfolded from the wall to massage her shoulders where the straps had pinched.
Estelle swallowed the latest bite and watched her. “You work too hard, cadet.”
“Want me to stop, captain?”
“Nope. I want you to keep bringing me truffles until I can’t get out of this tub.”
--
NEXT WEEK: The honeypot
Tiggy
***
I seriously can't get enough of Estelle
Look forward to the next episode! X
Look forward to the next episode!
XChapter 30
“4-6-2,” announced Estelle, dancing into the turbolift.
“Good morning, captain,” said Starling. “Do you mean to tell me your current weight?”
“I do.” She pushed out her stomach. “Four hundred and sixty-two human pounds. That’s officially heavier than Selena was back on LV-237.”
Starling considered. “Being shorter than her in height, I expect you have also therefore eclipsed her in circumference.”
Estelle nodded, but grew contemplative as the elevator slowed.
“Having observed Commander Jolan extensively during that time,” Starling continued, seeing this, “I feel qualified to express, as much as an android is able to comprehend such things, that she would have been very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Starling. That means a lot.” She wrapped him in a pudgy hug.
“How do you intend to celebrate your milestone?”
The lift chimed. “I haven’t decided. But it’ll probably involve eating an irresponsible amount of food. You may want to keep me off the duty roster for a few days.”
“Acknowledged.”
They stepped out into the labs. “Alright, science team: why make me drag my fat butt all the way down here?”
“We have made a discovery,” replied Lucine’s voice, from around a corner.
“Let me guess: Antinian fudge-pastries are delicious.”
“Did you bring more?” begged Straya. She swam—or at least lazily drifted—to the other side of her tank. The engineer seemed to have lost interest in rebuilding her exo-suit and seemed happier than ever without it. Less burdened by gravity in her aquatic containment tank, she had grown as wide as she was tall and was getting rounder by the day.
Estelle wiped a dribble of fudge from her lip. “All gone. Sorry.”
“I’ll order some more. Anyway, we called because we’ve made contact with that heart thing they pulled out of the slime.”
“The asteroid slime? Csilla’s completely back to normal, by the way. All skinny again. Once upon a time I would’ve been jealous.” She rested her paunch on the console and studied the readouts. “A heart, huh?”
“It is only shaped like one,” Lucine explained. “It is, in fact, a sentient living crystal. A psionic being. It had attempted to commune with Csilla’s mind, but Csilla is not psychically-attuned. The curious mutagenic and elastic properties of the slime also exacerbated the confusion. I, however, have used my own telepathic skills to allow the entity to be safely reconstituted.”
“Is that safe?” Estelle’s eyes darted to the sealed containment-vat of purple jelly in the corner. It was only one of many vats aboard and the thought of another gelatinous tidal wave consuming the ship made her shudder.
Straya fiddled with the console she’d installed in her tank. “Maybe. But don’t worry. We decided it seemed risky to put it back in the slime, but the entity needs a viscous medium to control. So we tried something else. Say hello, honey.”
A different vat in the corner opened. It was a familiar vat: far too many of Estelle’s breakfasts had been slathered in Psi-Hive honey. But now the honey was moving on its own, rising up, bulging out, and taking a shape.
A feminine figure made of honey stepped out of the vat. The liquid was translucent enough that Estelle could see the pink crystalline heart floating in her bosom. Below the bosom hung a sizable pot-belly.
“I have shaped myself,” said the honey, in a sweet voice, “to resemble exemplars of your kind. I thank you for receiving me. I apologize for coming aboard in unwelcome force.” She held out a honey-formed hand.
Estelle shook it. “I think it all worked out,” she ventured, wiping the sticky residue on a nearby rag. “Are you alright? Do you want your, uh, slime back?”
“I do not. Please understand that I am not the jelly. It was merely a host; the latest of many. It is through viscous substances that I am able to interact with the material plane. And I must apologize for what happened to your princess. I was not whole; a mind-prism was needed. And the jelly on that asteroid has an effect upon living creatures I could not have predicted. It is a remarkable substance.”
“But now?”
“The daughter of the Psi-Hive has lent me enough psionic energy to retain my focus in this substance instead. It will suffice until I am made whole.”
Estelle sat. The lab stool made a foreboding sound beneath her and she stood back up. “Made whole?”
“Yes. I was separated from my mate. I was marooned on the asteroid and would not have survived if that visitor had not discovered the jelly within it. For many years I have called out to the stars for rescue. You have my gratitude. If I can be reunited with my mate, my existence in this plane will be stabilized once more.”
“I’ve tracked the mate’s energy signature,” said Straya. “Here it is on the starmap. We aren’t far…Honey here really just needed someone to stop in and pull her out of the slime.”
Estelle studied the map. “Looks like a pretty small planetoid. Is it inhabited? What do we know?”
Lucine gave a nervous cough. “It resembles a psi-hive cluster, much like my former home.”
“Cousins of yours?”
“Possibly. I delayed my ascension and thus never learned the secrets of that rite, but I know that those who achieve ascension travel into the uncharted spaces. Perhaps this planet is where they are called to reside.”
“Alright. The shuttle’s yours for the day, if you want. You and Honey can head over there. And take Io, just in case you run into any trouble.”
“4-6-2,” announced Estelle, dancing into the turbolift.
“Good morning, captain,” said Starling. “Do you mean to tell me your current weight?”
“I do.” She pushed out her stomach. “Four hundred and sixty-two human pounds. That’s officially heavier than Selena was back on LV-237.”
Starling considered. “Being shorter than her in height, I expect you have also therefore eclipsed her in circumference.”
Estelle nodded, but grew contemplative as the elevator slowed.
“Having observed Commander Jolan extensively during that time,” Starling continued, seeing this, “I feel qualified to express, as much as an android is able to comprehend such things, that she would have been very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Starling. That means a lot.” She wrapped him in a pudgy hug.
“How do you intend to celebrate your milestone?”
The lift chimed. “I haven’t decided. But it’ll probably involve eating an irresponsible amount of food. You may want to keep me off the duty roster for a few days.”
“Acknowledged.”
They stepped out into the labs. “Alright, science team: why make me drag my fat butt all the way down here?”
“We have made a discovery,” replied Lucine’s voice, from around a corner.
“Let me guess: Antinian fudge-pastries are delicious.”
“Did you bring more?” begged Straya. She swam—or at least lazily drifted—to the other side of her tank. The engineer seemed to have lost interest in rebuilding her exo-suit and seemed happier than ever without it. Less burdened by gravity in her aquatic containment tank, she had grown as wide as she was tall and was getting rounder by the day.
Estelle wiped a dribble of fudge from her lip. “All gone. Sorry.”
“I’ll order some more. Anyway, we called because we’ve made contact with that heart thing they pulled out of the slime.”
“The asteroid slime? Csilla’s completely back to normal, by the way. All skinny again. Once upon a time I would’ve been jealous.” She rested her paunch on the console and studied the readouts. “A heart, huh?”
“It is only shaped like one,” Lucine explained. “It is, in fact, a sentient living crystal. A psionic being. It had attempted to commune with Csilla’s mind, but Csilla is not psychically-attuned. The curious mutagenic and elastic properties of the slime also exacerbated the confusion. I, however, have used my own telepathic skills to allow the entity to be safely reconstituted.”
“Is that safe?” Estelle’s eyes darted to the sealed containment-vat of purple jelly in the corner. It was only one of many vats aboard and the thought of another gelatinous tidal wave consuming the ship made her shudder.
Straya fiddled with the console she’d installed in her tank. “Maybe. But don’t worry. We decided it seemed risky to put it back in the slime, but the entity needs a viscous medium to control. So we tried something else. Say hello, honey.”
A different vat in the corner opened. It was a familiar vat: far too many of Estelle’s breakfasts had been slathered in Psi-Hive honey. But now the honey was moving on its own, rising up, bulging out, and taking a shape.
A feminine figure made of honey stepped out of the vat. The liquid was translucent enough that Estelle could see the pink crystalline heart floating in her bosom. Below the bosom hung a sizable pot-belly.
“I have shaped myself,” said the honey, in a sweet voice, “to resemble exemplars of your kind. I thank you for receiving me. I apologize for coming aboard in unwelcome force.” She held out a honey-formed hand.
Estelle shook it. “I think it all worked out,” she ventured, wiping the sticky residue on a nearby rag. “Are you alright? Do you want your, uh, slime back?”
“I do not. Please understand that I am not the jelly. It was merely a host; the latest of many. It is through viscous substances that I am able to interact with the material plane. And I must apologize for what happened to your princess. I was not whole; a mind-prism was needed. And the jelly on that asteroid has an effect upon living creatures I could not have predicted. It is a remarkable substance.”
“But now?”
“The daughter of the Psi-Hive has lent me enough psionic energy to retain my focus in this substance instead. It will suffice until I am made whole.”
Estelle sat. The lab stool made a foreboding sound beneath her and she stood back up. “Made whole?”
“Yes. I was separated from my mate. I was marooned on the asteroid and would not have survived if that visitor had not discovered the jelly within it. For many years I have called out to the stars for rescue. You have my gratitude. If I can be reunited with my mate, my existence in this plane will be stabilized once more.”
“I’ve tracked the mate’s energy signature,” said Straya. “Here it is on the starmap. We aren’t far…Honey here really just needed someone to stop in and pull her out of the slime.”
Estelle studied the map. “Looks like a pretty small planetoid. Is it inhabited? What do we know?”
Lucine gave a nervous cough. “It resembles a psi-hive cluster, much like my former home.”
“Cousins of yours?”
“Possibly. I delayed my ascension and thus never learned the secrets of that rite, but I know that those who achieve ascension travel into the uncharted spaces. Perhaps this planet is where they are called to reside.”
“Alright. The shuttle’s yours for the day, if you want. You and Honey can head over there. And take Io, just in case you run into any trouble.”
(30.2)
The planetoid’s surface was covered in enormous hexagons. Their edges stretched for hundreds of miles, each a different color, and within each were nested dozens more. The whole world had been converted into a honeycomb.
Lucine gazed through the shuttle’s viewpane. “They sought to build something perfect and beautiful. Perhaps they have succeeded.”
“Do you dislike your chair?” asked Honey. “I sense a continued discomfort.”
“I dislike most of the ship’s chairs. They are too small. And I particularly dislike chairs with armrests. As you can see, the bottom half of my body has grown quite wide and it resents restraint.” The rolls of her lower back pressed out over the armrests and the quaggy flesh of her thighs bulged out below wherever they could make space. Many of the gems had been completely swallowed by her folds.
“Why do you not reshape yourself?”
“My body is not liquid. It is a body. It is made of specifics. This can lead to discomfort, but it is also much of the joy. To make my thighs grow so large, I had to ingest large amounts of food. I had to engage in a pleasurable process. I had to live an experience. I do not simply inhabit the material world, but consume and make the material world a greater part of my being. That is pleasurable to me. Other bodies have other experiences. See how my companion takes pleasure in hers.” She gestured aft.
Io’s corpulence filled most of the shuttle’s rear compartment. She waved and continued eating her box of quantum cupcakes.
“When I am reunited with my mate,” said Honey, “I will experience pleasure. I sense him below, in that hive-cluster.”
Lucine brought the shuttle down. The honeycomb opened and they landed within a dimly-lit chamber.
Only one hiver came out to greet them. It resembled Lucine in color and frame, but its body hung limp, frail, and malnourished from that frame. It was more gemstone than skin and floated about without moving its limbs.
Lucine, who had always been more flesh than gem and had only continued to add more flesh, found herself suddenly nervous as she waddled down the shuttle’s ramp. “I greet you, cousin. I am Lucine, apprentice honey-maker and seventh speaker of Hive 1138. I have traveled here as guide and guest to the captain of the Golden Goose, which waits in orbit."
"Your arrival is unasked and unannounced,” it replied, face blank. “Do you come to seek ascension to the enlightened super-hive?"
"Oh, there is nothing light about me, cousin, ha ha."
Her host wasn’t amused. "Your material form’s corpulence has not escaped our notice. Do you come to seek ascension to the enlightened the super-hive?”
“I was selected for the rite, but, no. I have delayed it.” She waved for Honey. “I have come to return this psionic entity to her mate. They have been separated. Her mate is here. I presume he inhabits your reserves of psi-honey.”
The gems glowed and pulsated, but the super-hiver’s withered body just hung limp. “You may not return the entity to its mate. It was we who divided them.”
“By the queens, why? They were hurt by this division.”
The super-hiver turned. “You will follow me.”
It floated across the chamber and through a hexagonal door. Lucine took a few ponderous steps, grimaced, and levitated herself the rest of the way.
“When the entities were merged,” her cousin continued, “they inhabited and enriched our honey. Their presence caused it to flow too abundantly. It caused us to have too much body. As you can see, we aspire to have less body.”
“Less? But why?”
They floated into another chamber filled with other hivers, all merely gems with limp, vestigial bodies hanging from them. “The body is a hindrance. It is an obstacle. It limits the search for higher things. It weighs the higher things down and holds them in the world, which is imperfect.”
“That is not true at all, cousin. Bodies are wonderful. They are the means by which we experience. Even this entity,” she added, watching Honey slide into the room, “prefers a host in the material plane.”
“You have allowed your philosophy to be diluted and dirtied by your human captain, who is a servant to her body’s whims. Bodies are a disruption. They experience pain and discomfort. They experience limitation. They fail. They change and they are changed. Consider how your time with the human captain has changed your body: you have more than doubled its mass since leaving Hive 1138.”
“Double?” Lucine hadn’t weighed herself in months.
“We are the ascended. This is the ascension. If you are truly prepared, you may ascend and join us. You shall move your consciousness from your body into your psi-gems, as we have. You will be freed from your body’s gross limitations.”
Lucine recoiled. “But my body is wonderful.”
“Then you have forgotten the purity of your teachings. You have been perverted by the importance of the body. You have let it reign over you. You serve its whims and its ease rather than your mind’s challenges and triumphs. See how your excess rolls and folds over itself all the way down your thigh, covering your gems. Consider your companion, who has come here to protect you but who cannot pass through the entrance.”
Io was stuck fast in the door. One tentacle had made it through before her girth filled the hexagon. All her wriggling only seemed to be making things worse.
“We object to your claim that bodies are wonderful,” said the super-hiver. “Your corpulence does not compute. Join us and abandon it.”
“But it makes me happy.”
“That is highly illogical.”
Lucine put her hands on her broadened hips. “Can you not compute my joy?”
“Happiness is in ascension and in achieving perfection, separation from the world’s discomforts. We cannot conceive how you could experience joy.”
“Then you are more limited than you admit. You cannot know the joy of my experiences if you separate yourself from them. My experiences are beyond your powers. You are not whole.” She floated her stomach closer to it. “You are not full.”
It paused. The others murmured. “The human captain has altered your thinking. If you continue to follow her path, you can never ascend.”
“Cousin, I cannot prove my happiness to you. I can only wish to share it with you. That is what my captain has shown me. That is why I shall remain with her.”
The super-hiver’s gems flashed. Lucine doubled over. Her vision filled with an image of herself, shrinking, wasting away, while her fellow hivers congratulated her.
She shook her head and fought back. She made the image of herself grow again, grow larger and larger still until it fell onto her plump backside, pinned down by its glorious corpulence. She saw the hivers behind her grow, too, and join her in liberated joy.
“Unexpected,” said the super-hiver, as the image died away. “Your psionic strength is not at all diminished. It has…expanded.” It floated away and conferred awhile with the others, gems pulsating feverishly. Finally they slowed, flared in unison, and approached Lucine together.
“We will ponder your words,” they announced. “The entity may return to its mate. I will call them to receive you.”
A hexagon in the ceiling opened and a blotch of darker honey dropped out. It pooled on the floor, wriggled, and stood, shaping itself into another humanoid figure. A blue crystal glowed within his breast. “Honey,” they cried.
“Sweetie,” gasped Honey, rushing forward. “Lucine, our friend and rescuer, you have our everlasting favor and gratitude.”
The beings embraced, flowed into one another, and formed into a larger, fatter being of swirled dark and light honey. They waddled over, took Lucine’s hands, and gave her a long, sticky kiss. She returned the kiss and they washed lovingly over her.
The super-hiver lifted its frail arm. “Farewell, cousin. We wish you prosperity. But know that if you continue on your path with this human captain, you can never ascend. It is a path of danger.”
She smiled as the viscous beings pulled her into the pool of honey. “I choose the danger.”
Lucine floated through the corridors of the Golden Goose. Her feet hadn’t touched the floor since landing the shuttle. She was sticky from head to toe and her belly was gloriously full.
She smiled at everyone she passed and each smiled back. Satisfied laughter echoed out from the mess hall and the bar. Music drifted out from the entertainment hall. Csilla was dancing on the stage.
It was late and there was only one person in the officers’ lounge. Lucine followed the sounds of shallow breathing and indigestion to the rear alcove and lowered herself onto a couch, cherishing the sensation of her thighs spreading over the cushions.
On the other side of a low table sat Estelle, taking up most of her own couch, her engorged stomach packed beyond its usual already considerable limits and pushing her legs apart. Her face was purple with blissful agony and her fat arms lay draped along the backrest while a pair of service-drones massaged her belly.
Lucine smiled at the assortment of empty dishes piled on the table. “Good evening, captain.”
“Lucine…hey…hi. Welcome back. I’d open my eyes or wave…or something…but I’m too—hurrp—way too stuffed. Ow. How did it…go?”
“As sweetly as could be hoped,” she recalled, reaching a hand toward the kitchen. A pastry floated out to her. “Our guest is reunited with her mate and together they have brought a new glow to my cousins’ honey. The hive will be quite fertile.”
“Wonder…ful…”
“I would have returned sooner, but it took some lubrication and a considerable telekinetic effort to dislodge Io.” Honey and Sweetie has also insisted on a very physically intimate farewell. Lucine licked her still-sticky lips. “As for the rest, captain, I will only say what a joy it is to serve with you. I would not trade it for anything. How was your milestone celebration?”
Estelle winced and patted her churning stomach. “Just finished…the first course.”
--
NEXT WEEK: Chiseled abs
The planetoid’s surface was covered in enormous hexagons. Their edges stretched for hundreds of miles, each a different color, and within each were nested dozens more. The whole world had been converted into a honeycomb.
Lucine gazed through the shuttle’s viewpane. “They sought to build something perfect and beautiful. Perhaps they have succeeded.”
“Do you dislike your chair?” asked Honey. “I sense a continued discomfort.”
“I dislike most of the ship’s chairs. They are too small. And I particularly dislike chairs with armrests. As you can see, the bottom half of my body has grown quite wide and it resents restraint.” The rolls of her lower back pressed out over the armrests and the quaggy flesh of her thighs bulged out below wherever they could make space. Many of the gems had been completely swallowed by her folds.
“Why do you not reshape yourself?”
“My body is not liquid. It is a body. It is made of specifics. This can lead to discomfort, but it is also much of the joy. To make my thighs grow so large, I had to ingest large amounts of food. I had to engage in a pleasurable process. I had to live an experience. I do not simply inhabit the material world, but consume and make the material world a greater part of my being. That is pleasurable to me. Other bodies have other experiences. See how my companion takes pleasure in hers.” She gestured aft.
Io’s corpulence filled most of the shuttle’s rear compartment. She waved and continued eating her box of quantum cupcakes.
“When I am reunited with my mate,” said Honey, “I will experience pleasure. I sense him below, in that hive-cluster.”
Lucine brought the shuttle down. The honeycomb opened and they landed within a dimly-lit chamber.
Only one hiver came out to greet them. It resembled Lucine in color and frame, but its body hung limp, frail, and malnourished from that frame. It was more gemstone than skin and floated about without moving its limbs.
Lucine, who had always been more flesh than gem and had only continued to add more flesh, found herself suddenly nervous as she waddled down the shuttle’s ramp. “I greet you, cousin. I am Lucine, apprentice honey-maker and seventh speaker of Hive 1138. I have traveled here as guide and guest to the captain of the Golden Goose, which waits in orbit."
"Your arrival is unasked and unannounced,” it replied, face blank. “Do you come to seek ascension to the enlightened super-hive?"
"Oh, there is nothing light about me, cousin, ha ha."
Her host wasn’t amused. "Your material form’s corpulence has not escaped our notice. Do you come to seek ascension to the enlightened the super-hive?”
“I was selected for the rite, but, no. I have delayed it.” She waved for Honey. “I have come to return this psionic entity to her mate. They have been separated. Her mate is here. I presume he inhabits your reserves of psi-honey.”
The gems glowed and pulsated, but the super-hiver’s withered body just hung limp. “You may not return the entity to its mate. It was we who divided them.”
“By the queens, why? They were hurt by this division.”
The super-hiver turned. “You will follow me.”
It floated across the chamber and through a hexagonal door. Lucine took a few ponderous steps, grimaced, and levitated herself the rest of the way.
“When the entities were merged,” her cousin continued, “they inhabited and enriched our honey. Their presence caused it to flow too abundantly. It caused us to have too much body. As you can see, we aspire to have less body.”
“Less? But why?”
They floated into another chamber filled with other hivers, all merely gems with limp, vestigial bodies hanging from them. “The body is a hindrance. It is an obstacle. It limits the search for higher things. It weighs the higher things down and holds them in the world, which is imperfect.”
“That is not true at all, cousin. Bodies are wonderful. They are the means by which we experience. Even this entity,” she added, watching Honey slide into the room, “prefers a host in the material plane.”
“You have allowed your philosophy to be diluted and dirtied by your human captain, who is a servant to her body’s whims. Bodies are a disruption. They experience pain and discomfort. They experience limitation. They fail. They change and they are changed. Consider how your time with the human captain has changed your body: you have more than doubled its mass since leaving Hive 1138.”
“Double?” Lucine hadn’t weighed herself in months.
“We are the ascended. This is the ascension. If you are truly prepared, you may ascend and join us. You shall move your consciousness from your body into your psi-gems, as we have. You will be freed from your body’s gross limitations.”
Lucine recoiled. “But my body is wonderful.”
“Then you have forgotten the purity of your teachings. You have been perverted by the importance of the body. You have let it reign over you. You serve its whims and its ease rather than your mind’s challenges and triumphs. See how your excess rolls and folds over itself all the way down your thigh, covering your gems. Consider your companion, who has come here to protect you but who cannot pass through the entrance.”
Io was stuck fast in the door. One tentacle had made it through before her girth filled the hexagon. All her wriggling only seemed to be making things worse.
“We object to your claim that bodies are wonderful,” said the super-hiver. “Your corpulence does not compute. Join us and abandon it.”
“But it makes me happy.”
“That is highly illogical.”
Lucine put her hands on her broadened hips. “Can you not compute my joy?”
“Happiness is in ascension and in achieving perfection, separation from the world’s discomforts. We cannot conceive how you could experience joy.”
“Then you are more limited than you admit. You cannot know the joy of my experiences if you separate yourself from them. My experiences are beyond your powers. You are not whole.” She floated her stomach closer to it. “You are not full.”
It paused. The others murmured. “The human captain has altered your thinking. If you continue to follow her path, you can never ascend.”
“Cousin, I cannot prove my happiness to you. I can only wish to share it with you. That is what my captain has shown me. That is why I shall remain with her.”
The super-hiver’s gems flashed. Lucine doubled over. Her vision filled with an image of herself, shrinking, wasting away, while her fellow hivers congratulated her.
She shook her head and fought back. She made the image of herself grow again, grow larger and larger still until it fell onto her plump backside, pinned down by its glorious corpulence. She saw the hivers behind her grow, too, and join her in liberated joy.
“Unexpected,” said the super-hiver, as the image died away. “Your psionic strength is not at all diminished. It has…expanded.” It floated away and conferred awhile with the others, gems pulsating feverishly. Finally they slowed, flared in unison, and approached Lucine together.
“We will ponder your words,” they announced. “The entity may return to its mate. I will call them to receive you.”
A hexagon in the ceiling opened and a blotch of darker honey dropped out. It pooled on the floor, wriggled, and stood, shaping itself into another humanoid figure. A blue crystal glowed within his breast. “Honey,” they cried.
“Sweetie,” gasped Honey, rushing forward. “Lucine, our friend and rescuer, you have our everlasting favor and gratitude.”
The beings embraced, flowed into one another, and formed into a larger, fatter being of swirled dark and light honey. They waddled over, took Lucine’s hands, and gave her a long, sticky kiss. She returned the kiss and they washed lovingly over her.
The super-hiver lifted its frail arm. “Farewell, cousin. We wish you prosperity. But know that if you continue on your path with this human captain, you can never ascend. It is a path of danger.”
She smiled as the viscous beings pulled her into the pool of honey. “I choose the danger.”
Lucine floated through the corridors of the Golden Goose. Her feet hadn’t touched the floor since landing the shuttle. She was sticky from head to toe and her belly was gloriously full.
She smiled at everyone she passed and each smiled back. Satisfied laughter echoed out from the mess hall and the bar. Music drifted out from the entertainment hall. Csilla was dancing on the stage.
It was late and there was only one person in the officers’ lounge. Lucine followed the sounds of shallow breathing and indigestion to the rear alcove and lowered herself onto a couch, cherishing the sensation of her thighs spreading over the cushions.
On the other side of a low table sat Estelle, taking up most of her own couch, her engorged stomach packed beyond its usual already considerable limits and pushing her legs apart. Her face was purple with blissful agony and her fat arms lay draped along the backrest while a pair of service-drones massaged her belly.
Lucine smiled at the assortment of empty dishes piled on the table. “Good evening, captain.”
“Lucine…hey…hi. Welcome back. I’d open my eyes or wave…or something…but I’m too—hurrp—way too stuffed. Ow. How did it…go?”
“As sweetly as could be hoped,” she recalled, reaching a hand toward the kitchen. A pastry floated out to her. “Our guest is reunited with her mate and together they have brought a new glow to my cousins’ honey. The hive will be quite fertile.”
“Wonder…ful…”
“I would have returned sooner, but it took some lubrication and a considerable telekinetic effort to dislodge Io.” Honey and Sweetie has also insisted on a very physically intimate farewell. Lucine licked her still-sticky lips. “As for the rest, captain, I will only say what a joy it is to serve with you. I would not trade it for anything. How was your milestone celebration?”
Estelle winced and patted her churning stomach. “Just finished…the first course.”
--
NEXT WEEK: Chiseled abs
I must confess, the mention of psychic space honey made me hope to see Estelle end up greatly stuck in the classic Pooh scenario. I really liked when that lucky lab stool made a concerning noise beneath her though.
Chiseled abs!? The horror! Let's hope nobody loses any precious weight!
Chiseled abs!? The horror! Let's hope nobody loses any precious weight!
Tiggy
***
It sounds as though Lucine has had a revelation and is beginning to love her curves
Great chapter!
Great chapter!
Chapter 31
The Golden Goose boasted over two dozen shipboard bars, not including what was available in the luxury passenger cabins. The most popular among the crew was the starview promenade in the ship’s forward section, possibly because it also featured a full kitchen. During the evenings it buzzed with activity, crowded with both humans and aliens.
In the mornings it was often host only to Maura and Zora. They were late risers and had taken to eating their breakfasts in comparative peace while the crew was out performing what duties they weren’t yet too fat to perform. The morning bartender was a service arm, which allowed for even more quiet. It brought them their grox bacon and gantha-root rollups and disappeared while they ate and gazed out at the stars.
Usually the only sound was their chewing. They both looked up in sudden mercenary alert, therefore, when they heard a deep, powerful noise echo in the corridor. They tensed as the doors slid open.
A swollen balloon filled the lower part of the doorway and flounced into the room, carried by two crewmen. They were the two strongest crewmen available, but struggled with its liquid-filled mass. A few moments later Csilla followed her stomach in, head craned to see above it. Maura and Zora gaped; when they’d seen the princess the night before, she’d been celebrating the swelling having fully receded at last. She’d been her usual skinny self.
Now two men were hauling her belly like cargo and she was walking carefully and daintily behind it. The rest of her body hadn’t changed and she was still wearing one of her favorite skimpy outfits. Fortunately it was an outfit that left the midriff exposed. Maura and Zora couldn’t help but stare, slackjawed, at the impossibility of a 150-gallon belly attached to an otherwise 150-pound woman.
They watched the marvel parade slowly past, their faces growing redder at every resounding glorp, bloop, and borble. The crewmen steered her stomach to a corner booth and allowed Csilla to pivot around them. She sat herself on the bench and propped an elbow on the table. They gingerly lowered her belly outside the booth; it promptly flowed out over the floor.
“Grab lunch, boys,” she sighed. “I’ll probably be here for a while.”
They thanked her profusely and shambled out, pressing their hands to their overworked backs.
The service arm slid over. Csilla pondered a menu and ordered a bloody Mary with ploin-juice. Maura and Zora put their spoons down, unable to look anywhere else.
“Well, ladies,” she said, watching the drone make her drink, “my adoptive father will be thrilled. There’s finally a family resemblance.”
The mercenaries traded a glance, pouted, and made their way over. She bounced with a hiccup as they approached and they watched the bounce flow all the way to the floor. She was smiling and it wasn’t her usual haughty royal smirk.
“Csilla,” Maura began, “Princess, your majesty…we…we owe you such an apology.”
Zora nodded. “It was a stupid idea for a bet. We had no clue what that stuff was or what might happen. Or that it would…come back like this. We were so stupid and we’re so sorry.”
Csilla studied them awhile, absently stroking her belly, or at least what little of it she could reach. “Can I tell you two a secret?”
They traded another nervous glance. “Of course.”
“This has been—hiccup!—the best couple weeks of my entire life. Oh.”
Maura watched Csilla’s navel surge out and back on the subsequent wave. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I should really be thanking you.”
“Huh,” Zora managed. “We, uh…when we saw you last night, we figured it had all gone away. No lingering effects. Skinny old Csilla again, eh? But…”
“Oh, no. It had all shrunk away, like the doctor said. Back to normal. But, if I’m being honest…I missed it.” She lowered her voice. “Captain said we’d kept a lot of the jelly. So, last night, I snuck down to the science lab and had myself a little refill. A big refill. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Glug, glug, glug. Hic! Ooh, oh…”
Maura blinked. “Clip my wings. A refill. You’re serious.”
“I’m serious. This is the best I have ever, ever felt. You wouldn’t believe how it tingles. Every little movement, every bubble, every slosh is a…is a wave of pleasure. Try it. Give it a slap.”
She hesitated, but reached down and nudged the swell near Csilla’s knee. It rippled and gave out a deep, reverberating gurgle. Csilla gasped in sudden, shuddering ecstasy. She hiccupped again, the belly sloshed again, and somewhere behind it her toes curled.
“Your eminence,” said Lieutenant Caelius, “I apologize for the delay in returning your hail. We hadn’t expected to rendezvous with you for another week, at least.”
The gravelly voice that rumbled through the bridge speakers wasn’t impressed. “I am the appointed and revered vice-sub-administrator for this region of the Collective. We have achieved illumination through the perfection of commerce. Efficiency and immediacy are my essence; you should not be surprised.”
Caelius glanced back, glad he he’d opened a channel rather than activating the viewscreen. The bridge of the Golden Goose wasn’t currently a model of efficiency or perfection. Half the reason it had taken them so long to reply was the comms officer’s difficulty seeing the controls past his midsection. “Of course, your eminence. We apologize. What did you wish to discuss?”
“I would speak with Captain Gorlois.”
Another nervous glance. “The captain is on leave at the moment. May I pass along a message?”
“You may pass along that my shuttle will be alongside your ship within the hour. I intend to come aboard and satisfy myself that Captain Gorlois is the same that was described to me. I cannot do business without trust. I cannot have trust if what I see is not what I was promised. And if we cannot do business, you may not cross our territory.”
“Of course. We understand entirely. She’ll be so…thrilled to receive you. Did you say you know the captain?”
“I had the pleasure not long ago of speaking with a human smuggler who had served with Captain Gorlois before her arrest. It was this smuggler’s description that piqued my interest. To speak candidly: without this endorsement, I should never have considered speaking with a fugitive of the Confederation, with whom we do so much business.”
“A smuggler,” repeated Caelius, putting his face in his hands. “You’ll be in here in an hour to make sure she matches this smuggler’s description?”
“Yes. If she differs at all from the person I was promised, no bargain shall be struck. This is the way of the Cepheid Commercial Collective. I hope this will not be a problem?”
The channel closed. The communications panel went dark. Caelius slumped into his chair. “No, not at all.”
The sensor technician munched on her chips, infuriatingly oblivious, infuriatingly at ease. “What’s the problem, sir?”
“The problem,” said Caelius, once he’d gathered the other officers outside the lounge, “is that the captain is on day five of her milestone celebration.”
They peered through the doorway. Estelle was beached upon her favorite couch, head lolling back, legs splayed, belly so tautly distended that no folds or creases remained. Behind its heavy swell and her flabby bosom her barely-visible face was flushed and glistening with sweat. Shallow, uneven breaths and the wet noises of her stomach echoed through the room. They’d never seen her so glutted.
“Is she even awake?” asked Maura.
Zora shrugged. “Even if she is, I doubt we could talk her into getting up.”
“She can still walk. She isn’t that big.”
“No, but she is that stuffed.”
“By the queens,” breathed Lucine. “What did she have?”
“For second lunch?” asked the kitchen steward. “Uh, some appetizers, a few layers of Catachan face-eater, a slab of chaos-corrpted grox-steak, a bottle of Katline Malmsey, three intoxi-gels…and a pot of terraforming noodles we’d made as an experiment.”
Caelius cocked an eyebrow. “Terraforming noodles?”
“Oh, yes. High-yield proto-grains and mutagenic proteins, all steeped in a decadent selection of…” Her voice shrank. “…of highly volatile terraforming catalysts.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Maybe. It’s definitely delicious. She was really hungry, sir. And insistent.”
“She’s always hungry, cadet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. We may be in trouble.”
“What’s the deal?” wondered Maura. “It’s not like she hasn’t been too full to do captain-y stuff before. And she’s been gorging like this all week.”
“Starling, tell them what we know about these Cepheids.”
The android was all too happy to explain. “The Collective governs border traffic in this part of Confederation space. They are known to be highly superficial beings, pursuing conventional standards of aesthetic beauty in all things…particularly bodies. Their obsession with the idealized body has made their chain of fitness franchises into the Confederation’s third-most profitable industry.”
Zora turned up her nose. “Are we sure these are the people we want to be dealing with?”
“We cannot reach the New Kansas spacegate without crossing the border. This would be our only chance to do so without alerting Confederation battlefleets.”
Caelius stared at Estelle. “And the picture this guy has of her is from her smuggling days all those years ago…from before she even went to LV-237. She was maybe one-third this size. I think that’s a difference he would notice.”
The mercenaries traded a glance. “So the only way to charm this guy,” mused Maura, “is to show him a skinny version of the captain?”
The Golden Goose boasted over two dozen shipboard bars, not including what was available in the luxury passenger cabins. The most popular among the crew was the starview promenade in the ship’s forward section, possibly because it also featured a full kitchen. During the evenings it buzzed with activity, crowded with both humans and aliens.
In the mornings it was often host only to Maura and Zora. They were late risers and had taken to eating their breakfasts in comparative peace while the crew was out performing what duties they weren’t yet too fat to perform. The morning bartender was a service arm, which allowed for even more quiet. It brought them their grox bacon and gantha-root rollups and disappeared while they ate and gazed out at the stars.
Usually the only sound was their chewing. They both looked up in sudden mercenary alert, therefore, when they heard a deep, powerful noise echo in the corridor. They tensed as the doors slid open.
A swollen balloon filled the lower part of the doorway and flounced into the room, carried by two crewmen. They were the two strongest crewmen available, but struggled with its liquid-filled mass. A few moments later Csilla followed her stomach in, head craned to see above it. Maura and Zora gaped; when they’d seen the princess the night before, she’d been celebrating the swelling having fully receded at last. She’d been her usual skinny self.
Now two men were hauling her belly like cargo and she was walking carefully and daintily behind it. The rest of her body hadn’t changed and she was still wearing one of her favorite skimpy outfits. Fortunately it was an outfit that left the midriff exposed. Maura and Zora couldn’t help but stare, slackjawed, at the impossibility of a 150-gallon belly attached to an otherwise 150-pound woman.
They watched the marvel parade slowly past, their faces growing redder at every resounding glorp, bloop, and borble. The crewmen steered her stomach to a corner booth and allowed Csilla to pivot around them. She sat herself on the bench and propped an elbow on the table. They gingerly lowered her belly outside the booth; it promptly flowed out over the floor.
“Grab lunch, boys,” she sighed. “I’ll probably be here for a while.”
They thanked her profusely and shambled out, pressing their hands to their overworked backs.
The service arm slid over. Csilla pondered a menu and ordered a bloody Mary with ploin-juice. Maura and Zora put their spoons down, unable to look anywhere else.
“Well, ladies,” she said, watching the drone make her drink, “my adoptive father will be thrilled. There’s finally a family resemblance.”
The mercenaries traded a glance, pouted, and made their way over. She bounced with a hiccup as they approached and they watched the bounce flow all the way to the floor. She was smiling and it wasn’t her usual haughty royal smirk.
“Csilla,” Maura began, “Princess, your majesty…we…we owe you such an apology.”
Zora nodded. “It was a stupid idea for a bet. We had no clue what that stuff was or what might happen. Or that it would…come back like this. We were so stupid and we’re so sorry.”
Csilla studied them awhile, absently stroking her belly, or at least what little of it she could reach. “Can I tell you two a secret?”
They traded another nervous glance. “Of course.”
“This has been—hiccup!—the best couple weeks of my entire life. Oh.”
Maura watched Csilla’s navel surge out and back on the subsequent wave. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I should really be thanking you.”
“Huh,” Zora managed. “We, uh…when we saw you last night, we figured it had all gone away. No lingering effects. Skinny old Csilla again, eh? But…”
“Oh, no. It had all shrunk away, like the doctor said. Back to normal. But, if I’m being honest…I missed it.” She lowered her voice. “Captain said we’d kept a lot of the jelly. So, last night, I snuck down to the science lab and had myself a little refill. A big refill. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Glug, glug, glug. Hic! Ooh, oh…”
Maura blinked. “Clip my wings. A refill. You’re serious.”
“I’m serious. This is the best I have ever, ever felt. You wouldn’t believe how it tingles. Every little movement, every bubble, every slosh is a…is a wave of pleasure. Try it. Give it a slap.”
She hesitated, but reached down and nudged the swell near Csilla’s knee. It rippled and gave out a deep, reverberating gurgle. Csilla gasped in sudden, shuddering ecstasy. She hiccupped again, the belly sloshed again, and somewhere behind it her toes curled.
“Your eminence,” said Lieutenant Caelius, “I apologize for the delay in returning your hail. We hadn’t expected to rendezvous with you for another week, at least.”
The gravelly voice that rumbled through the bridge speakers wasn’t impressed. “I am the appointed and revered vice-sub-administrator for this region of the Collective. We have achieved illumination through the perfection of commerce. Efficiency and immediacy are my essence; you should not be surprised.”
Caelius glanced back, glad he he’d opened a channel rather than activating the viewscreen. The bridge of the Golden Goose wasn’t currently a model of efficiency or perfection. Half the reason it had taken them so long to reply was the comms officer’s difficulty seeing the controls past his midsection. “Of course, your eminence. We apologize. What did you wish to discuss?”
“I would speak with Captain Gorlois.”
Another nervous glance. “The captain is on leave at the moment. May I pass along a message?”
“You may pass along that my shuttle will be alongside your ship within the hour. I intend to come aboard and satisfy myself that Captain Gorlois is the same that was described to me. I cannot do business without trust. I cannot have trust if what I see is not what I was promised. And if we cannot do business, you may not cross our territory.”
“Of course. We understand entirely. She’ll be so…thrilled to receive you. Did you say you know the captain?”
“I had the pleasure not long ago of speaking with a human smuggler who had served with Captain Gorlois before her arrest. It was this smuggler’s description that piqued my interest. To speak candidly: without this endorsement, I should never have considered speaking with a fugitive of the Confederation, with whom we do so much business.”
“A smuggler,” repeated Caelius, putting his face in his hands. “You’ll be in here in an hour to make sure she matches this smuggler’s description?”
“Yes. If she differs at all from the person I was promised, no bargain shall be struck. This is the way of the Cepheid Commercial Collective. I hope this will not be a problem?”
The channel closed. The communications panel went dark. Caelius slumped into his chair. “No, not at all.”
The sensor technician munched on her chips, infuriatingly oblivious, infuriatingly at ease. “What’s the problem, sir?”
“The problem,” said Caelius, once he’d gathered the other officers outside the lounge, “is that the captain is on day five of her milestone celebration.”
They peered through the doorway. Estelle was beached upon her favorite couch, head lolling back, legs splayed, belly so tautly distended that no folds or creases remained. Behind its heavy swell and her flabby bosom her barely-visible face was flushed and glistening with sweat. Shallow, uneven breaths and the wet noises of her stomach echoed through the room. They’d never seen her so glutted.
“Is she even awake?” asked Maura.
Zora shrugged. “Even if she is, I doubt we could talk her into getting up.”
“She can still walk. She isn’t that big.”
“No, but she is that stuffed.”
“By the queens,” breathed Lucine. “What did she have?”
“For second lunch?” asked the kitchen steward. “Uh, some appetizers, a few layers of Catachan face-eater, a slab of chaos-corrpted grox-steak, a bottle of Katline Malmsey, three intoxi-gels…and a pot of terraforming noodles we’d made as an experiment.”
Caelius cocked an eyebrow. “Terraforming noodles?”
“Oh, yes. High-yield proto-grains and mutagenic proteins, all steeped in a decadent selection of…” Her voice shrank. “…of highly volatile terraforming catalysts.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Maybe. It’s definitely delicious. She was really hungry, sir. And insistent.”
“She’s always hungry, cadet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. We may be in trouble.”
“What’s the deal?” wondered Maura. “It’s not like she hasn’t been too full to do captain-y stuff before. And she’s been gorging like this all week.”
“Starling, tell them what we know about these Cepheids.”
The android was all too happy to explain. “The Collective governs border traffic in this part of Confederation space. They are known to be highly superficial beings, pursuing conventional standards of aesthetic beauty in all things…particularly bodies. Their obsession with the idealized body has made their chain of fitness franchises into the Confederation’s third-most profitable industry.”
Zora turned up her nose. “Are we sure these are the people we want to be dealing with?”
“We cannot reach the New Kansas spacegate without crossing the border. This would be our only chance to do so without alerting Confederation battlefleets.”
Caelius stared at Estelle. “And the picture this guy has of her is from her smuggling days all those years ago…from before she even went to LV-237. She was maybe one-third this size. I think that’s a difference he would notice.”
The mercenaries traded a glance. “So the only way to charm this guy,” mused Maura, “is to show him a skinny version of the captain?”
(31.2)
Maura and Zora hauled Csilla’s belly into the ready room. She followed in after, looking unimpressed. They maneuvered her behind the captain’s desk and began the process of pushing the sloshing, uncooperative balloon beneath it.
“Ow,” she whined. “Oh. You know—oof—you know this will never work.”
Zora grinned. “Wanna bet?”
Enough belly had been shoved under the desk that Csilla could lower herself into the chair. “I’m not sure I would survive another one of your bets.”
The mercenaries fell back from the desk and helped each other up—a not inconsiderable task. They padded around the room, catching their breath and viewing Csilla from several angles. “We’ll need a rug or something,” said Maura. “I can see a roll trying to peek under that panel. And close the shutters. The reflection in the window is…a lot.”
Zora squared her hands in front of her face. “Here we are. If the chair’s right here, you’d never know there was anything below your chest but more skinny princess.”
It was more or less true, as long as Csilla didn’t turn too far to one side, or lean backward, or slide her chair in any direction at all. The deep, resounding sounds of bubbling and gurgling still came through, though. She hiccupped and everything on the desk leapt an inch to the left.
“This isn’t going to work,” she assured them. But she sighed, shimmered, and transformed into Estelle.
They gaped a moment in unrecognition at the slim version of their captain—slim, at least, from the chest up. Lucine helped the princess into Estelle’s jacket; it was enormous on her shoulders, but could only button so far down. Shimmying into the sleeves set the belly rippling again and Csilla bit her lip.
“He’s coming,” said Caelius. “Starling and a couple of the less fat cadets are bringing him up. Remember, your highness: short and professional. Stick to the story. Be careful.”
“Go away.” She practiced a couple of the captain’s facial expressions and tried again. “Sorry. Uh…dismissed, lieutenant.” He blinked and retreated, waving everyone else out with him. Maura and Zora backed into the closet and discovered, much too late, that their hips took up too much space for the doors to fully close.
A literal marble statue strode into the room. The Cepheid visitor had been sculpted into a perfectly exaggerated replica of a lean and muscular humanoid. He wore only a loincloth, so most of these muscles were in full view. He flashed Captain Gorlois a charming marble smile and flexed his biceps for good measure.
“Rock-hard,” choked Csilla, tearing her eyes from his abs. She cleared her throat, pretended to type something, and looked up again. “Welcome, your chiseled-ness. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m reviewing our crew’s latest fitness tests. The average has fallen below two-hundred pull-ups per session and I am beginning to lose patience. Please, sit.”
He took the chair, thankfully one step before he could have seen past the desk. “I saw very little of your crew as I came up from the shuttle bay. Is something amiss?”
She continued typing at random. “When we heard you were coming, we took the opportunity to park the ship over a small planetoid. I have sent the majority of the crew to its surface for additional punitive fitness training. They will return only when I am satisfied with their progress.”
“Captain Gorlois, it seems you’re a woman after my own heart. I cannot tell you how often I see command of a starship causing great warriors to go soft. I’m encouraged to see that this fate has not befallen you.”
“Never, sir.” She spoke up, just in case Estelle was conscious and listening. “Never would you find Estelle Gorlois on her couch in an overindulged haze when duty calls.”
“I knew I would like you, captain. Your smuggler friend spoke very highly of you…said he’d seen you carrying cargo aboard over your shoulder in the middle of an ion-storm while under fire…and that you were still moving faster than any of your crew.”
“Oh, yes, ha ha. I don’t like to boast, but, that does absolutely sound like the sort of thing I did and absolutely still would do. Holy nebulas, do I like running around and jumping and carrying things and…well, I’m not happy unless I’m heavy-laden with cargo.”
“I’m pleased to discuss terms with a fit soul.”
“Well, our request is as—hmmp—as we communicated. We are hoping to reach the New Kansas spacegate and would like to cross the border without alerting the entire Confederation battlefleet.” She suppressed a shiver.
He produced a datapad. “I am pleased to present our offer. We cannot pass any goods to you in person, as this would be a public violation of our treaty with the oligarchs. But, if we come to an arrangement, we may leave a package on a planet at the edges of our territory. This package could hold falsified identification codes, forged manifests, registries, files, and masked IFF signatures…everything a ship might need to pass unnoticed in Confederation space.”
“We would be very grateful and of course very discreet. Our people are indistinguishable from other humans and humanoids in the quadrant.” This had been one lie too far and she had to recompose herself. “In exchange, we can offer some of our captured cargo-pods. Foodstuffs from all over the Confederation.”
“No, no,” he cried, appalled. “We Cepheids adhere to a prescribed and prefabricated pill-based protein and mineral diet. We would have no use for contraband like that. But perhaps a selection of the ship’s many erotic statues? They would suit us…very well.”
“We accept,” blurted Csilla. She leaned forward to shake his hand. The desk shifted dangerously and a glugging noise echoed out.
He had turned to gaze at a nearby piece of art, fortunately, and missed the peek of belly. But when he did turn back, he didn’t accept the handshake. “Captain, I would be enormously grateful for a tour of your ship. I have heard of the oligarchs’ pleasure-barges, but have never beheld one in person.”
She paled. “And I would be enormous…ly happy for you to see it. Starling, get in—Starling, come in, please. My android will show you around.”
“Don’t be absurd. No modesty is needed on my account. You take great pride in your vessel. I must have the tour from you. As captain, it is your happy prerogative to ‘show it off,’ as it were. Let us marvel at your prize! And when I have seen my fill of wonders, we will sign our agreement.”
“Perfect,” she managed, through gritted teeth. “Starling will take you to the bridge. I…I will join you momentarily, once I have finished my report.”
“I admire your dedication, captain.”
“Very clean,” he mused, gazing about the empty bridge. “I can sense the unwavering diligence and fastidiousness of your officers.”
Csilla peeked her head out from behind the ready room door. She could lean fairly far over, counterbalanced by the weight of her belly. “Oh, yes. We have very strict regulations against eating, loitering, or fraternizing on the bridge.”
“Of course. Then let us also fraternize elsewhere, so as not to disturb them. Is your weapons array controlled from the usual center on Deck 17? Yes? Well, this looks to me like a manual access tube. I’ll race you!”
He vanished into the tube. The sensor technician and comms officer exhaled and unbuttoned their uniforms, stomachs swelling back to their proper girth.
Csilla turned to Maura and Zora, hiding behind the wall. “You heard him, gals. Get carrying.”
“Such power,” gasped the Cepheid.
The turbolift had been faster than his climb, but Csilla had barely made it in time. Fortunately the effort of staggering around behind her belly and the mercenaries even for so short a walk had her breathing hard and beading with sweat, which leant some credence to her story about ‘alternate access-tubes.’ “We sourced many of the weapons ourselves, hoping to keep the ship as, um, light as possible.”
She stood behind a rack of ion torpedoes. As he paced and inspected the bay, she sauntered up and down it with him, sliding a large torpedo-casing up and down the rack as she went.
“It’s no wonder the oligarchs have made you such a priority,” he continued. “The price on your head is now the highest for a bounty in Confederation history. I congratulate you. Come, show me your engineering department.”
He bounded out into the corridor. Maura and Zora wobbled out from behind a desk, panting, and hefted Csilla’s belly out from the torpedo-casing.
The Cepheid glanced around, growing visibly concerned. But, looking up, he caught sight of Csilla leaning over the edge of an aquatic containment tank.
“There you are!” she sang, out of breath. “Welcome to our science and engineering bays. In the tank here is a specimen we have been researching.”
“It is enormous. It almost appears to be composed entirely of…blubber. I wonder if it can swim at all. What in the galaxy is this?”
“Oh, its size is merely for buoyancy. Our scientists believe it may have implications for…hydrodynamic…gravitic…ergonomic…borborygmus.”
Fortunately, he seemed to have stopped listening. He tapped the glass and grinned. “I hope you will have a larger tank for it when you reach home. It clearly requires more exercise. The engine core is through here?”
She watched him go. “Thanks, Straya. I owe you one.”
Straya uncurled and drifted up. “Whatsat? I was napping. Can you have the service arms bring down a snack?”
Maura and Zora heaved Csilla’s belly out of the tank and poured it down from the ladder, stumbling under its mass. While they raced to towel her off, Csilla found she could step close enough to the containment casks that stored her jelly. Giving into the stress of the situation and desperate for some comfort, she grabbed a thermos, filled it to the brim with jelly, and gulped it down.
The sensation of more swelling in her stomach almost overcame her. Maura and Zora fell back in horror as it grew another inch or two rounder before their eyes. They watched her refill the thermos and grabbed it out of her hands before she could make their job any harder.
Maura and Zora hauled Csilla’s belly into the ready room. She followed in after, looking unimpressed. They maneuvered her behind the captain’s desk and began the process of pushing the sloshing, uncooperative balloon beneath it.
“Ow,” she whined. “Oh. You know—oof—you know this will never work.”
Zora grinned. “Wanna bet?”
Enough belly had been shoved under the desk that Csilla could lower herself into the chair. “I’m not sure I would survive another one of your bets.”
The mercenaries fell back from the desk and helped each other up—a not inconsiderable task. They padded around the room, catching their breath and viewing Csilla from several angles. “We’ll need a rug or something,” said Maura. “I can see a roll trying to peek under that panel. And close the shutters. The reflection in the window is…a lot.”
Zora squared her hands in front of her face. “Here we are. If the chair’s right here, you’d never know there was anything below your chest but more skinny princess.”
It was more or less true, as long as Csilla didn’t turn too far to one side, or lean backward, or slide her chair in any direction at all. The deep, resounding sounds of bubbling and gurgling still came through, though. She hiccupped and everything on the desk leapt an inch to the left.
“This isn’t going to work,” she assured them. But she sighed, shimmered, and transformed into Estelle.
They gaped a moment in unrecognition at the slim version of their captain—slim, at least, from the chest up. Lucine helped the princess into Estelle’s jacket; it was enormous on her shoulders, but could only button so far down. Shimmying into the sleeves set the belly rippling again and Csilla bit her lip.
“He’s coming,” said Caelius. “Starling and a couple of the less fat cadets are bringing him up. Remember, your highness: short and professional. Stick to the story. Be careful.”
“Go away.” She practiced a couple of the captain’s facial expressions and tried again. “Sorry. Uh…dismissed, lieutenant.” He blinked and retreated, waving everyone else out with him. Maura and Zora backed into the closet and discovered, much too late, that their hips took up too much space for the doors to fully close.
A literal marble statue strode into the room. The Cepheid visitor had been sculpted into a perfectly exaggerated replica of a lean and muscular humanoid. He wore only a loincloth, so most of these muscles were in full view. He flashed Captain Gorlois a charming marble smile and flexed his biceps for good measure.
“Rock-hard,” choked Csilla, tearing her eyes from his abs. She cleared her throat, pretended to type something, and looked up again. “Welcome, your chiseled-ness. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m reviewing our crew’s latest fitness tests. The average has fallen below two-hundred pull-ups per session and I am beginning to lose patience. Please, sit.”
He took the chair, thankfully one step before he could have seen past the desk. “I saw very little of your crew as I came up from the shuttle bay. Is something amiss?”
She continued typing at random. “When we heard you were coming, we took the opportunity to park the ship over a small planetoid. I have sent the majority of the crew to its surface for additional punitive fitness training. They will return only when I am satisfied with their progress.”
“Captain Gorlois, it seems you’re a woman after my own heart. I cannot tell you how often I see command of a starship causing great warriors to go soft. I’m encouraged to see that this fate has not befallen you.”
“Never, sir.” She spoke up, just in case Estelle was conscious and listening. “Never would you find Estelle Gorlois on her couch in an overindulged haze when duty calls.”
“I knew I would like you, captain. Your smuggler friend spoke very highly of you…said he’d seen you carrying cargo aboard over your shoulder in the middle of an ion-storm while under fire…and that you were still moving faster than any of your crew.”
“Oh, yes, ha ha. I don’t like to boast, but, that does absolutely sound like the sort of thing I did and absolutely still would do. Holy nebulas, do I like running around and jumping and carrying things and…well, I’m not happy unless I’m heavy-laden with cargo.”
“I’m pleased to discuss terms with a fit soul.”
“Well, our request is as—hmmp—as we communicated. We are hoping to reach the New Kansas spacegate and would like to cross the border without alerting the entire Confederation battlefleet.” She suppressed a shiver.
He produced a datapad. “I am pleased to present our offer. We cannot pass any goods to you in person, as this would be a public violation of our treaty with the oligarchs. But, if we come to an arrangement, we may leave a package on a planet at the edges of our territory. This package could hold falsified identification codes, forged manifests, registries, files, and masked IFF signatures…everything a ship might need to pass unnoticed in Confederation space.”
“We would be very grateful and of course very discreet. Our people are indistinguishable from other humans and humanoids in the quadrant.” This had been one lie too far and she had to recompose herself. “In exchange, we can offer some of our captured cargo-pods. Foodstuffs from all over the Confederation.”
“No, no,” he cried, appalled. “We Cepheids adhere to a prescribed and prefabricated pill-based protein and mineral diet. We would have no use for contraband like that. But perhaps a selection of the ship’s many erotic statues? They would suit us…very well.”
“We accept,” blurted Csilla. She leaned forward to shake his hand. The desk shifted dangerously and a glugging noise echoed out.
He had turned to gaze at a nearby piece of art, fortunately, and missed the peek of belly. But when he did turn back, he didn’t accept the handshake. “Captain, I would be enormously grateful for a tour of your ship. I have heard of the oligarchs’ pleasure-barges, but have never beheld one in person.”
She paled. “And I would be enormous…ly happy for you to see it. Starling, get in—Starling, come in, please. My android will show you around.”
“Don’t be absurd. No modesty is needed on my account. You take great pride in your vessel. I must have the tour from you. As captain, it is your happy prerogative to ‘show it off,’ as it were. Let us marvel at your prize! And when I have seen my fill of wonders, we will sign our agreement.”
“Perfect,” she managed, through gritted teeth. “Starling will take you to the bridge. I…I will join you momentarily, once I have finished my report.”
“I admire your dedication, captain.”
“Very clean,” he mused, gazing about the empty bridge. “I can sense the unwavering diligence and fastidiousness of your officers.”
Csilla peeked her head out from behind the ready room door. She could lean fairly far over, counterbalanced by the weight of her belly. “Oh, yes. We have very strict regulations against eating, loitering, or fraternizing on the bridge.”
“Of course. Then let us also fraternize elsewhere, so as not to disturb them. Is your weapons array controlled from the usual center on Deck 17? Yes? Well, this looks to me like a manual access tube. I’ll race you!”
He vanished into the tube. The sensor technician and comms officer exhaled and unbuttoned their uniforms, stomachs swelling back to their proper girth.
Csilla turned to Maura and Zora, hiding behind the wall. “You heard him, gals. Get carrying.”
“Such power,” gasped the Cepheid.
The turbolift had been faster than his climb, but Csilla had barely made it in time. Fortunately the effort of staggering around behind her belly and the mercenaries even for so short a walk had her breathing hard and beading with sweat, which leant some credence to her story about ‘alternate access-tubes.’ “We sourced many of the weapons ourselves, hoping to keep the ship as, um, light as possible.”
She stood behind a rack of ion torpedoes. As he paced and inspected the bay, she sauntered up and down it with him, sliding a large torpedo-casing up and down the rack as she went.
“It’s no wonder the oligarchs have made you such a priority,” he continued. “The price on your head is now the highest for a bounty in Confederation history. I congratulate you. Come, show me your engineering department.”
He bounded out into the corridor. Maura and Zora wobbled out from behind a desk, panting, and hefted Csilla’s belly out from the torpedo-casing.
The Cepheid glanced around, growing visibly concerned. But, looking up, he caught sight of Csilla leaning over the edge of an aquatic containment tank.
“There you are!” she sang, out of breath. “Welcome to our science and engineering bays. In the tank here is a specimen we have been researching.”
“It is enormous. It almost appears to be composed entirely of…blubber. I wonder if it can swim at all. What in the galaxy is this?”
“Oh, its size is merely for buoyancy. Our scientists believe it may have implications for…hydrodynamic…gravitic…ergonomic…borborygmus.”
Fortunately, he seemed to have stopped listening. He tapped the glass and grinned. “I hope you will have a larger tank for it when you reach home. It clearly requires more exercise. The engine core is through here?”
She watched him go. “Thanks, Straya. I owe you one.”
Straya uncurled and drifted up. “Whatsat? I was napping. Can you have the service arms bring down a snack?”
Maura and Zora heaved Csilla’s belly out of the tank and poured it down from the ladder, stumbling under its mass. While they raced to towel her off, Csilla found she could step close enough to the containment casks that stored her jelly. Giving into the stress of the situation and desperate for some comfort, she grabbed a thermos, filled it to the brim with jelly, and gulped it down.
The sensation of more swelling in her stomach almost overcame her. Maura and Zora fell back in horror as it grew another inch or two rounder before their eyes. They watched her refill the thermos and grabbed it out of her hands before she could make their job any harder.
(31.2)
“There are several food-service stations throughout the ship,” Csilla panted, trying to look flirtatious. She stood behind the bar and fidgeted with her jacket. “We have every menu under—hmmp—under very strict control. No foreign recipes at all. Only predetermined rations.” She slid a dessert menu off the bar and onto Zora’s head.
The Cepheid wandered through the tables. “Is that so? Such commitment. I applaud you.”
“Of course. We account for every last calorie consumed. There are many ugly trends aboard so many other ships that you’ll never see on the Golden Goose. No snacking while on duty, no ice-cream parties between watches, no cheese wedges dropped into the core-conduits that force us to stop for a two-day engine diagnostic, no contests to see who can eat the most rotgut-soaked ember mushrooms during gunnery drill, no—” She put a foot wrong and tripped over her stomach. Maura propped her back up before the Cepheid could turn.
“Thorough,” he finally declared. “I am impressed. I am satisfied. You are everything that was promised. It will be our pleasure to assist you. We will leave a package as I have described for you in an abandoned bunker on Ceti Alpha VII.” He reached across the bar to shake her hand.
“You have our thanks. And it was a true pleasure to have you aboard, your bicep-ness. My android will return you to your shuttle.”
“It was a true pleasure, yes,” he added, lowering his voice. “I hope to have the pleasure again.” He began leaning over the bar, gazing into her eyes. Maura and Zora held their breath.
Csilla panicked. “And—and—and allow me to send you home with a gift.” She scrambled below the bar. “In this drink-cylinder is a bio-engineered…high-performance…sustainable-energy…fitness…smoothie. Our own design. Please try it in your training studios.”
“I will,” he said, looking impressed. He accepted the thermos, bowed, and finally, finally departed.
She threw her head back and transformed back into herself. Maura and Zora slumped over with exhaustion and refused to get up until the service arms had roved over to help.
Estelle woke to a rumbling. For the first time in many hours, it hadn’t been her stomach.
Her own was still hopelessly bloated and noisy as she rolled over, too firmly-packed to even wobble. But now there was another stomach on the bed, filling her vision. “Csilla,” she groaned happily, reaching across to pat the jelly-filled blob. “Hi…there…”
“Captain,” said the princess. “How were your noodles?”
Estelle belched. “A little spicy.” Her other eyelid drifted open. “Ah. The steward…filled me in. I’m so sorry. It sounds like…I really owe you one.”
“You do. Don’t worry—I’ll let you finish your celebration week. I know you’ve still got two more days planned.”
“Two even bigger days, princess. Mm.” She caressed her gut.
“Good. But after you’re recovered…you’re mine. I’m gonna go down to engineering and fill myself with so much jelly. And you’ll be the one that has to help carry this thing around for a few days.”
Estelle rolled onto her back. Her stomach didn’t flatten out at all. “You know I won’t actually be much help, right?”
“Maybe. But I’ll enjoy watching you try.” She danced her fingers across the slope of her belly and shuddered. “And I’ll enjoy feeling you try.”
--
NEXT WEEK: It’s bigger on the inside
“There are several food-service stations throughout the ship,” Csilla panted, trying to look flirtatious. She stood behind the bar and fidgeted with her jacket. “We have every menu under—hmmp—under very strict control. No foreign recipes at all. Only predetermined rations.” She slid a dessert menu off the bar and onto Zora’s head.
The Cepheid wandered through the tables. “Is that so? Such commitment. I applaud you.”
“Of course. We account for every last calorie consumed. There are many ugly trends aboard so many other ships that you’ll never see on the Golden Goose. No snacking while on duty, no ice-cream parties between watches, no cheese wedges dropped into the core-conduits that force us to stop for a two-day engine diagnostic, no contests to see who can eat the most rotgut-soaked ember mushrooms during gunnery drill, no—” She put a foot wrong and tripped over her stomach. Maura propped her back up before the Cepheid could turn.
“Thorough,” he finally declared. “I am impressed. I am satisfied. You are everything that was promised. It will be our pleasure to assist you. We will leave a package as I have described for you in an abandoned bunker on Ceti Alpha VII.” He reached across the bar to shake her hand.
“You have our thanks. And it was a true pleasure to have you aboard, your bicep-ness. My android will return you to your shuttle.”
“It was a true pleasure, yes,” he added, lowering his voice. “I hope to have the pleasure again.” He began leaning over the bar, gazing into her eyes. Maura and Zora held their breath.
Csilla panicked. “And—and—and allow me to send you home with a gift.” She scrambled below the bar. “In this drink-cylinder is a bio-engineered…high-performance…sustainable-energy…fitness…smoothie. Our own design. Please try it in your training studios.”
“I will,” he said, looking impressed. He accepted the thermos, bowed, and finally, finally departed.
She threw her head back and transformed back into herself. Maura and Zora slumped over with exhaustion and refused to get up until the service arms had roved over to help.
Estelle woke to a rumbling. For the first time in many hours, it hadn’t been her stomach.
Her own was still hopelessly bloated and noisy as she rolled over, too firmly-packed to even wobble. But now there was another stomach on the bed, filling her vision. “Csilla,” she groaned happily, reaching across to pat the jelly-filled blob. “Hi…there…”
“Captain,” said the princess. “How were your noodles?”
Estelle belched. “A little spicy.” Her other eyelid drifted open. “Ah. The steward…filled me in. I’m so sorry. It sounds like…I really owe you one.”
“You do. Don’t worry—I’ll let you finish your celebration week. I know you’ve still got two more days planned.”
“Two even bigger days, princess. Mm.” She caressed her gut.
“Good. But after you’re recovered…you’re mine. I’m gonna go down to engineering and fill myself with so much jelly. And you’ll be the one that has to help carry this thing around for a few days.”
Estelle rolled onto her back. Her stomach didn’t flatten out at all. “You know I won’t actually be much help, right?”
“Maybe. But I’ll enjoy watching you try.” She danced her fingers across the slope of her belly and shuddered. “And I’ll enjoy feeling you try.”
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NEXT WEEK: It’s bigger on the inside
