Angel 6.0 Episode I Concubine: Chapter 1

“We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Dancing in zero G is like virgin sex – scary, exhilarating, nauseating, awkward, yet liberating. I only danced during lights-out when the white coats are sleeping. They don’t like to be reminded of how different I am, and I don’t want them reminded.

Ear buds turned all the way up, I moved with the flow of my music. Fast, I spun, twirled and leapt off the crossbeams. Slow, I glided into the gradual sensation of gravity at the outer edge of the station’s central hub. The edges of the two hundred meter hub cylinder had a mild one quarter G. Zero G is only at the exact center of the hub, absent the seventy kilometer-per-hour centripetal spin of the station. Only in the center am I truly free, nothing to hold me back.

D’Anton has tried to stop me from dancing several times in the last two years. He complains that people were not meant for zero G. But I’m not like other people. He says it affects his readings on my biorhythms and blood chemistry. I say that if I always dance at lights-out his test results would be the same every morning. Doctor D’Anton Pascal doesn’t like to lose arguments, although it’s been happening more frequently.

I had appealed to Carver, the Liaison to the Gran. Carver struts around as if he owns the whole station. At first he agreed with D’Anton that “I shouldn’t be flying all up and down the hub like a maniac.” After I showed him what I’d learned to do with my tongue, he agreed I should have freedom to dance when I wanted.

After a year of dancing without incident, D’Anton stopped complaining.

My music hit a grungy bass and I dived through the centripetal gravity well and flipped between the girders and cross beams, faster, harder and faster still. The hollow plastisteel thrummed with my impacts as my hands and feet slapped in time like a drum. I launched off the last beam into dead-center zero G, and let my momentum carry me to the gravity well on the other side. The trick was compensating for the opposite direction spin. I’d been doing it so long it was second nature, but not at first. I never told anyone about the time I broke my arm on a crossbeam. Nothing major – I was back in form by the next evening at lights-out.

All my attention focused on my music, and the wondrous euphoria of flying free as a bird, I didn’t immediately notice my audience. It wasn’t until I smelled their musky animal scents that I saw them watching me from the catwalk below.

The Gran.

They weren’t due for three more days – must have arrived early. By the time I saw the three Cats led by Carver, they were already pointing at me, halfway across the catwalk, thudding along in their magboots. I floated through the air and touched down on the other side of the hub. I turned off my music to better hear them as the tallest Cat gestured to me a second time and yipped a question to Carver.

D’Anton would be furious they had seen me.

I dropped straight down the access hallway and let gravity take me into a full slide away from the hub. D’Anton and Carver had warned me repeatedly to stay out of sight when the Gran were on tour of the station. They said I was too different, that I’d attract unwanted attention. Though Carver pretended he was the man in charge of the station, he couldn’t hide his fear of the Gran from me. Everyone feared the Gran.

The path of my fall brought me to another access corridor and my maglatch caught the edge of the opening in the steel wall long enough to send me swinging hard into the narrow passage. I demagged and sailed through the side corridor like a bullet. Not much room to maneuver, but I’d done it a million times. I slid off the smooth wall, letting the friction slow me enough to land on my feet. On touchdown, I broke into a full run and dived left down another access point. This was my playground. The maintenance passageways intersected across every level of the station. I had memorized the tunnels and their varying directions of grav-spin since year one.

Finally I found them, coming off the catwalk into the hallway leading to the elevators. I settled in quietly and focused on slowing my heartrate and respiration to a quiet stillness. I needed to hear every detail. The vertical slats of the air vents let me see the Gran as they walked past.

The tall, slimmer Cat sounded agitated, growling and yelping loudly. “I will have to report this breach to my commanders! This is an outrage! We demand the highest quality and performance from our workers, in accordance with the treaty!”

I had learned to speak Gran in the three days that I borrowed Carver’s personal tab and memorized all his sociology files on the Gran Empire. He hardly noticed the tablet was missing before I put it back in his quarters.

A look of fear passed over Carver’s eyes and I heard his heart beat pounding hard and fast. “Not what you think. The subject is … expedient, not for sale.” Carver was only moderately fluent in the growl-click-snapping language of the Gran. I knew he meant to say the subject is an experiment.

When I’m in the room, D’Anton and the other white coats avoided distasteful words like ‘subject’ and ‘experiment.’ They tried not to make me uncomfortable about what I am. Carver Liddell, Liaison to the Gran Traders Guild, was less tactful. If he knew I was listening, if he knew I understood what he said, he might have spoken differently. Many people speak differently when they know I’m listening.

The tall warrior’s clawed hand settled on Carver’s shoulder and pulled their procession to a halt. Sharp teeth bared, he hissed down at Carver with disapproval. Almost three meters tall, with carmel and black striped fur, fingers and toes tipped with nasty, sharp claws, the Gran gave the impression of slim, angular cats standing upright. Unlike the cheetahs and mountain lions I’d seen in holovid archives from Earthside, the Gran had an unmistakable intelligence in their eyes and an array of facial expressions. The Cat smiled at Carver. The Gran do not smile from pleasure – it’s a predatory show of teeth.

Carver’s heart rate jumped higher and I heard him swallow. The poor guy was sweating hard under the scrutiny of the Gran. One of the many complaints about these cat-like creatures was their tendency for domination stare-down contests. The Cat was doing it now to Carver. He stared intimidatingly, expecting submission. Carver should have nodded, in acceptance of dominance – but he was holding the Cat’s gaze like an outright challenge.

I could see Carver found it disconcerting, and it put a smile on my face. I doubted they would eat him for dinner. The Cat was simply pushing for control, or acknowledgement of status. Carver started stammering, and his Gran speech devolved into gibberish.

The Cat cut him off. “An experiment of this potential should be discussed openly. This stock is far more capable. I want her. I will sample this stock.”

Carver pumped up his chest full of Liaison authority. “Captain Cronin, she … unique. She not production model. She not designed for serve Gran Empire. Her body, her mind, not to Gran specifications. She not suitable for work requirements. She rare, expensive … medical research.” Carver waved his arm out towards the catwalk leading across the hub. “You see, she not easily controlled. Not programmed docile. Not accept work orders. Fail Gran standards.” He put on a good front and had a smooth line of bravado, but the quiver of his hands and breakneck pace of his heart told the truth. I wondered if the Cats could see his fear as readily as I did. Supposedly their senses are more developed than ours.

Captain Cronin’s talons never left Carver’s shoulder as he leaned in close, blowing Cat-breath in his face. “The Traders Guild decides which stock is suitable. You are to provide the highest quality labor stock you can produce.”

Sweat streamed down Carver’s brow and wet stains crept from his armpits. I smelled his distress from up in the ductwork. Surely the Cats had noticed by now. Carver wiped away the perspiration and tried to put on his best diplomatic air. “I understand, Captain. Need time speak with superiors. I repeat, she no good laborer. Nugene not sell unrefined product to Gran Empire. Nugene not liable for damages … if something wrong.”

I’d never heard this kind of talk from Carver before, the way he spoke of me as a thing, a research model, an unrefined product. He must be trying to talk his way out of the situation. I had created this mess by being seen, and Carver was forced to make excuses. Now I understood why they always insisted I hide in my cabin when the Gran arrived.

The Captain finally let go of Carver, and he sighed in relief. He must have thought they were going to eat him. I almost laughed aloud. Carver continued leading them down the hallway and into the elevator. I don’t think he wanted to be alone with them any longer than necessary. I caught one last snippet from Carver before the elevator door closed and cut me off from the conversation. “Doctor D’Anton collecting data. Doctor not give permission to release specimen.”

* * * *

Specimen, subject, stock, product, medical research – as Carver would say – bullshit. I was none of these things to D’Anton or Carver. The only truth to Carver’s argument was that D’Anton would never let me go.

As I raced down the ventilation ducts through turn after turn, trying to beat the elevator down to Carver’s Level One office, D’Anton’s words of praise rang in my head. “Angel, my beautiful Angel, someday you will change the world. Thank god these corporate fools don’t know how valuable you are. You’re the answer, Angel, the key to solving humanity’s problems. You’re the next step in evolution, the final step we must take as a species if we are to survive and thrive.” I’d always found it awkward when Dr. Pascal spoke like that.

Then there were other times when he’d rage against the news and research articles from Earthside media. “Idiots! Imbeciles! I can’t believe they still haven’t lifted the ban! We’ve over a century of data on genomic enhancements, and these ignorant religious bastards refuse to allow a single improvement beyond a genocleanse! We build fleets of jumpships to explore the galaxy, but we cannot see past our pigheaded arrogance and fear to improve upon ourselves. One day they will see your sublime beauty, Angel. The things you are capable of, your intricate genius, your grace and flawless design. On that day they will forget their mindless debates over god and the human sould. They will race to the genetic finish line as fast as they can spend their credits.”

I was D’Anton’s golden girl, his ticket to the Nobel Prize. He’d said it so many times, it must be true. No way he was letting me ship off with the latest batch of laborer clones destined for a hard rock mine out in the deep space of the Gran Empire.

No way.

I didn’t make it to Carver’s office before he locked his door. From the duct grating I could see The Gran where Carver had left them standing in their waiting room. They had helped themselves to the supply of strong-smelling liquor and were sipping from large mugs. The only thing more intimidating than a company of armed Gran soldiers was a drunken company of armed Gran soldiers. I’d heard the stories of the fights the Cats got into, how they almost beheaded one of the cleaning ladies as they argued over something no one understood.

I couldn’t chance walking past them and garnering anymore unwanted attention, so I backtracked to the other passageway across to the ventilation duct that lead to Carver’s office.

He was on a call, wearing his headset and talking to someone Earthside on a holovid. “Sir, I told them. They don’t care. They’re like monkeys with a shiny new toy. They want her. Regardless of anything I say, they want her. They think she’s some sort of upgrade.”

He paused, nodded his head over and over, wiped his hand across his face, and nodded again. Perspiration had wetted the collar of his shirt. “I have told them repeatedly that she’s not designed for laborer specifications. She’s not suitable. This Captain Cronin isn’t the most reasonable creature to deal with. He’s been obstinate before. Can’t you use a diplomatic channel to go over his head?”

Carver paused again, listened, and wiped more sweat from his brow. “I see. We don’t have many options.”

The man said something, and Carver nodded. “I understand. We can’t afford to have this escalate to involve the Defense Council. You can trust me sir, I’ll handle it.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I knew nothing of the intricate politics. All I knew was that I had to do something – now – to convince Carver not to hand me over to these drunken slave traders. As soon as the screen went dark and Carver removed his headset I popped the grate off the ventilation shaft and dropped from the ceiling into his office.

“What the?” His words stopped as he looked me up and down. I had been dancing in zero G in my thin sleep shirt and panties. There was never anyone around to see me at lights-out, so it didn’t matter what I wore. Carver’s eyes warmed with arousal as he tracked my slim, bare legs up to my crotch. He liked black panties, and I made sure I always wore them, for him. We had met in his office during lights-out thirty three times this year. I remembered every moment spent with Carver like it just happened. The intensity of our connection was branded into my soul.

I nodded towards the sitting room outside the door. “I know they saw me.”

His eyes flashed in the direction of the door, to where the Gran awaited.

“Not here. In the hub. I heard you arguing with the Captain of the Gran cruiser.”

Guilt crossed his face, and he stood up from his chair. “Look, the situation has become serious. They want to take you, Angelina. I don’t know how to stop them.”

I moved in close. Before I knew what I was doing my shirt was off, and I had stepped out of my panties. “I told you to stop calling me that. My name is Angel.” I hated the sound of Angelina, a famous film star from old holovid archives, and my DNA donor. I’d seen some of her films – entertaining but crude.

I rubbed my naked breasts against Carver’s thin shirt and kissed him the way he liked it, my tongue deep inside his mouth, caressing his tongue, savoring his flavor. He responded as I hoped, and his eyes glazed with that searing look he always gave me right before he fucked me, hard and fast. He had an edge few people in the station ever saw, but I had tasted that edge and rode it many times. He pulled away from my kiss and started to speak. Before the denial hit his lips I unlatched his belt and opened the fly of his pants.

“We can’t do this now…”

“I’m showing you why you need me. You need me here on the station, with you.” His warm shaft hardened in my cold hands as I stroked him. I loved seeing the dark skin of his engorged cock contrasted against my pale hands and body. Carver was my first and only lover, and I wanted no one else.

“You know I care for you, Angel.”

I jerked his pants down, dropped to my knees and sucked in his cock. He was silenced by his gasping intake of breath. He liked it when I used my tongue all the way up and down the length of him, and then swirled around the head of his cock. After teasing with my tongue, I swallowed him whole.

His hot erection throbbing in my mouth, I recalled each of the hundred and fifty three times I’d sucked his cock, and every way I knew to pleasure my lover. I’d almost gagged the first time he insisted I swallow him. I’d since learned to suppress my reflex to take his hard length all the way in. As his warm, soft head pressed into the back of my throat and he groaned, his fingers curled into my hair and pulled me in tighter, pushing harder into my mouth.

Studying male anatomy diagrams yesterday, I read a fascinating thing about the prostate gland. I showed my lover what I’d learned when I slid my index finger into his anus and curled back in to find that ultrasensitive area. Carver bucked and tried to pull away, but my free hand clamped tight around his legs and I sucked his cock harder.

He stilled, yet complained. “Angel, no. What … what are you doing?”

I found it then and gently massaged the soft lump of his prostate. He bucked in my mouth and strange grunting noises came from him as his hands tightened on the back of my head.

That was the spot.

Now that I knew where to find it, and how it affected him, I slid my finger out and pulled against his grip on the back of my head. After a moment he let me up for air.

“Shit, how did you…”

Before he could finish, I leapt up into him, shoving him back against his desk. I wrapped my legs around his torso and reached down to guide his, hard, slippery erection into me. I was wet and ready, but I still gritted my teeth as he filled me. I never complained – the pain would quickly go away. As I seated myself atop his length, his burning thrust inside me turned to euphoria. Took three seconds to flip my pain switch. The chemical buzz always made me wetter, even more ready for him.

At one point I enjoyed the euphoria of pain so much that I’d started cutting myself with a utility razor. The white coats forced me to stop, with the threat of tying me down.

In his desire to make me the perfect human being, D’Anton had altered my pain reflexes to allow me to function better in moments of distress. When he explained why I couldn’t cut myself anymore, he said this was a mistake he hadn’t anticipated, the strange euphoric high I got from pain. It didn’t matter that my skin healed in hours, it didn’t matter that I only lost a few drops of blood. D’Anton insisted that I was creating an addictive cycle of immediate gratification, and it could not continue.

It still felt awesome when I cut myself, but now I made sure no one saw me doing it.

Even when Carver fucked me that first time, the fleeting pain of lost virginity had quickly sweetened to wondrous euphoria. Carver had no idea how much I enjoyed being hurt by his large cock.

This time it would be extra special, for him.

I ground down onto him, letting him split me in two and fill me to bursting. If D’Anton ever found out, he’d probably make us stop. The white coats never let me enjoy anything for long. I had kept our secret for over a year. What Carver and I shared was no one else’s business. We developed a clandestine routine, meeting where the station cameras didn’t reach. He’d make love to me long and hard, and when he finished I cleaned the blood off my thighs and slipped away into the ducts. It was our special relationship, and no one needed to know. No one would ever understand how it was between us – we trusted each other.

We shared something beautiful and unique. Alone together, I experienced a side of Carver no one else knew. When we made love, his dark eyes stared into my soul as he rammed me hard, and painfully fast. I knew he loved me, though he’d never said the words. I loved him too, silently. But now I had to convince him to protect me, and ensure that I remained here, with him, together, always.

Soon Carver’s hands trapped my hips and his pelvic thrusts hammered up into me. His murmurs started. “Oh god you’re so tight, so beautiful. Oh god, Angel!”

I knew he was about to peak, so I grunted hard and seated all the way down, taking every last inch of him, and reached between his legs to find his anus once more. Completely impaled on him, I dug two fingers into the warm squeeze of his rectum and curled back into the round, delicate nub of his prostate. I massaged him and ground my hips down, stroking his cock inside me as I stroked the male g-spot hoping to gift him with a profound experience that equaled the love I felt for him.

He bucked against me again and started to protest. His fingers dug into my back and ass, painfully hard, scoring my flesh as he clawed at me from the intensity of the moment. The male physiology diagrams I’d memorized were very clear on this point. A prostate massage led to an explosive orgasm. Carver jerked beneath me and yelled. His teeth latched onto my shoulder and hands clawed at my ass. The warmth of his squirting seed filled me inside and I knew I’d done it.

I had given him the moment of a lifetime, an orgasm like no other, and he would realize how much he needed me, how I alone was capable of pleasing him. I was the only one who could do this for him. I was the only one who loved him so much I’d let him hurt me over and over again, just to please him.

His hands squeezed my ass in a painfully hard grip, and I slowly withdrew my fingers from his anus. He convulsed around me, inside me, and groaned as his tears and sweat trickled down my breast.

He let go his hard bite on my skin and looked up. His wet, dilated eyes held the wonder that said so much more than words. He loved me. I had never known love until Carver seduced me. People talk of loving their parents, their siblings, their husbands, even their cats and dogs. I’d never experienced those relationships, but I had Carver. He alone taught me the meaning of love.

“This is why you need me, Carver.”

He rested his head on my shoulder and spoke quietly near my ear as he fought to control his breathing. “What do you mean?”

“There is nothing I won’t do to keep you, to make you happy, to please you. Nothing. I love you, Carver. And I know you love me, too. You must convince the Gran to leave me alone.”

I pulled his head up to see his eyes. There was so much depth of communication in the eyes, and I hated speaking to someone who wasn’t looking at me. “You can do it. I have faith in you, Carver. I know you can find a way for us to be together, forever.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, then the look I hoped for settled in, the look of love. He finally nodded. “I’ll find a way, Angel. I promise.”

The male prostate gland was a mysterious and wonderful thing.