Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
- 785
- Points
- 18
I ought to be working on other things, but instead I've started a new story. This one is set in the "tee-pod universe," a setting based on some really cool paintings by Scavenger.
This story is different, though, in that it has a male 'lee instead of the female 'lees of the other stories in that setting.
"Ice and Fire" is the working title, and I'm not really happy with it. Suggestons for a better title are welcome, along with comments in general.
Ice and Fire (working title)
by Sablesword
With all of a planet to choose from, why couldn't the squidcats put their station on a nice, balmy tropical island? The intrusion suit was space-rated, but Corporal Dan Harding still felt a chill as he crept through the ice and snow. Well, it should be warmer once he got inside.
He reached a conduit running along the outer perimeter of the station, and stood up. This was a blind spot in the station's coverage. He spared a smirk for the overhead cameras, unable to depress enough to spot him. Pulling out a sensor-set of his own, he attached probes to the conduit wall, and looked and listened. Clear. Good. And an access tunnel. Even better. He put away his sensor-set and pulled out a tube of cutting paste.
In a couple of minutes, he had a new entrance into the access tunnel. He put the cut out piece back in place, and set down a miniaturized holo-projector to further conceal the opening. Then he moved down the tunnel, slowly, his intrusion suit's passive sensors turned to maximum gain. He was a large well-muscled man, and he had had to train hard to learn to move quietly. That training now paid off, he thought. If he was careful about where he put his big feet, he had an excellent chance of finishing his mission and getting away.
Of course, there was also a damn good chance he'd get caught, as well. Worse, he might finish the mission and then get caught out by the hostile environment outside. Freeze to death, in other words. Except that wouldn't happen. The brass had passed down strict standing orders that any troopers who did get into trouble that way were to activate their scream-for-help beacons. The squidcats would then mount as vigorous a rescue effort for them as they would for one of their own. It was part of their crazy sense of honor.
With all of a planet to choose from, why couldn't the higher-ups put this station in a nice, temperate forest, instead of on this icy rock of an island? Riisa thought as she scanned the sensor readouts. Grade-two Specialist Riisa Daughter-of-Mcharn belonged to the species that humans had misnamed 'leotaur.' She had four arms and two legs rather than the centauroid body plan of two arms and four legs. Nor did she match the long-legged, rangy build of the stereotypical (among humans) female leotaur warrior. Instead, she had the 'nerd' build: Short and rather plump. The only features she shared with the stereotype were her fur, her more-or-less feline features, and her four large breasts.
As the station member currently on duty, she got to deal with the blinking alarm-light. She bared her fangs. An intrusion alert. Probably a drill; the computer threw up such drills three or four times each day. Routing sensor data to her personal display - which looked like an old-fashioned pair of round-lensed glasses - she tried to track down the intrusion source. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing. Hmmm. She tapped in the 'cheat' code that in theory she wasn't suppose to know, and the computer told her that it was not running a drill. Double hmmm. It could be a false alarm - or it could be an actual live real intrusion.
She considered calling in the two other members of the station. They were kraken; tentacled aliens who formed the other half of the squidcat alliance fighting the war against the humans from Terra. More importantly, they were apt to be peeved at having their off-duty time ripped if this turned out to be a false alarm. She'd run another check.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, wait a moment. She zoomed in, and saw an ordinary section of tunnel wall. False alarm, then. She moved the remote further down the perimeter access tunnel. Nothing, but her ears were still twitching. She sent the remote back - and that was when she spotted the holo-projector, and the cut in the wall behind it. Her hand went out to press the general alarm key.
Corporal Harding came to the mouth of the access tunnel and began creeping along the wall of the larger chamber. The lights came on. "Halt!" an amplified voice called, and he froze. Then he bit off an obscenity. One of the squidcat's one-person armored vehicles came forward, a light plasma cannon trained on him. Which meant he was toast. Oh, the armor of his intrusion suit could handle one blast, but that blast would also fry the suit's joints, leaving him stiff and immobile. Helpless, in other words.
"Disarm yourself and raise your hands," the voice commanded. Harding grinned sourly and complied. It was a female leotaur's voice, he noted, and he caught a glimpse of a leotaur's head inside the vehicle. His imagination played out the scenario. He'd be herded away from his weapons, then required to strip. The female leotaur would come out of the vehicle, holding a weapon on him. Either a stun rifle or maybe a grenade launcher armed with w-grenades. In either case, that lean, leggy and four-breasted feline would march him at weapon-point to where a tee-pod projector waited...
He had passed the marine's Captivity Endurance Training, but only by the skin of his teeth. He shivered at the memory. Come on Dan, he told himself, you did miss getting washed out of the course, and a miss is a good as a mile. He kept telling himself that as he was marched forward, made to strip to his skivvies, and then marched forward again to a smaller room equipped with a pair of restraint couches and a tee-pod projector mounted high on the wall.
He stood at attention as the leotaur came out of her vehicle. The squidcats sense of honor was an alien one, but they did have honor, and he'd meet it with his own. Then his jaw dropped. This, this kitten was not lean or leggy or athletic at all. She was short. Short, and plump; a furry little butterball. And she wore a goddamn pair of glasses! OK, they had to be a personal computer interface, but they still looked exactly like an antique pair of unpowered glasses. Without them she'd still look like a smart-ass nerd, but with them on her face she looked like a total smart-assed nerd. Well, nerdette, given the four breasts bulging behind her uniform blouse. That uniform, and the short-barreled stun rifle she kept pointed at him were the only things even vaguely military about her. And they just made it worse. She was an insult, a complete parody of a leotaur amazon warrior.
Harding felt himself flush. "Why, you..." He stepped forward, but didn't get to make a second step. The leotaur didn't flinch, but she didn't shoot him, either. Instead she flipped a switch on her belt with one of her lower hands, and a tee-pod squished onto his back.
Amusement played around Riisa's lips as she watched the tee-pod secure her angry human prisoner. Ribbon-tendrils unfolded from the bio-engineered organism, pinning his arms and legs. He tottered, but before he could fall a manipulator darted down from the ceiling to catch him, and carried him to one of the two restraint-couches. He squirmed and struggled as the tee-pod wrapped him from ankles to neck, leaving only his belly exposed, along with his head and bare feet.
She stepped forward to double-check the security straps that supplemented the tee-pod's adhesive in holding her prisoner on the couch. Self-indulgently, she patted his shoulder. "I am Riisa Daughter-of-Mcharn, your formov," she told him. "You are mine, now." His return glare was broken by an involuntary chuckle; one forced from him as the tee-pod began its work. Tentacles thicker than the binding ribbon-tendrils probed the nude skin of his belly and the vulnerable soles of his feet. She stepped back to watch as the tee-pod started the pacification of her prisoner.
Like most females, Riisa found the pacification process a pleasure to watch, especially when applied to a big and healthy male, alien though he was. She heard him laugh deeply and struggle as the tentacles stroked lightly over his belly, probing around - and in - his navel. More tentacles tickled his feet. One grabbed his large toes in a grip he was unable to break, and two more gripped his little toes, leaving the space between his toes exposed for smaller tentacles to tease and stimulate. Not to mention the ones stroking the insteps of his feet, along with the balls and heels. She saw him screw his eyes shut as the tee-pod forced laughter from him.
Of course the tee-pod knew exactly where and how to tickle; it was a psi-active organism. Its ancestors had been discovered by the leotaurs, and their allies the kraken had modified it into its current form. In the course of tickling its captives, it would lower their mental defenses, allowing it to implant pacifying suggestions. It was, Riisa thought, an honorable and civilized method of keeping war-prisoners, entirely preferable to the cruel and barbaric human custom of keeping prisoners at weapon-point for extended periods so that they fretted themselves sick. And it was much more pleasant for the captors too. She pulled a stool from the corner and perched on it to watch her prisoner laugh and squirm as the tee-pod continued to tickle his feet and belly. That was another point on which these humans were thick-skulled: They pooled their prisoners into a bureaucratic mass, making their oversight a bureaucratic duty. As a result, no one was responsible for any particular prisoner. None of them had a formov, a soldier given the individual responsibility (and pleasure) of overseeing an individual prisoner's treatment.
Oh yes. Her ears twitched in amusement as she watched the tentacles switch, for a time, to slow and lazy strokes, alternating between belly and soles. The laughter changed to giggles as the prisoner caught his breath, squirming in anticipation of the tickle-attack's sudden and vigorous renewal. She caught his glare. He was still angry: At her, at himself, at the fortunes of war that had brought him here. Unpacified. But that would change. Oh yes, that would change.
most definitely to be continued...
This story is different, though, in that it has a male 'lee instead of the female 'lees of the other stories in that setting.
"Ice and Fire" is the working title, and I'm not really happy with it. Suggestons for a better title are welcome, along with comments in general.
Ice and Fire (working title)
by Sablesword
With all of a planet to choose from, why couldn't the squidcats put their station on a nice, balmy tropical island? The intrusion suit was space-rated, but Corporal Dan Harding still felt a chill as he crept through the ice and snow. Well, it should be warmer once he got inside.
He reached a conduit running along the outer perimeter of the station, and stood up. This was a blind spot in the station's coverage. He spared a smirk for the overhead cameras, unable to depress enough to spot him. Pulling out a sensor-set of his own, he attached probes to the conduit wall, and looked and listened. Clear. Good. And an access tunnel. Even better. He put away his sensor-set and pulled out a tube of cutting paste.
In a couple of minutes, he had a new entrance into the access tunnel. He put the cut out piece back in place, and set down a miniaturized holo-projector to further conceal the opening. Then he moved down the tunnel, slowly, his intrusion suit's passive sensors turned to maximum gain. He was a large well-muscled man, and he had had to train hard to learn to move quietly. That training now paid off, he thought. If he was careful about where he put his big feet, he had an excellent chance of finishing his mission and getting away.
Of course, there was also a damn good chance he'd get caught, as well. Worse, he might finish the mission and then get caught out by the hostile environment outside. Freeze to death, in other words. Except that wouldn't happen. The brass had passed down strict standing orders that any troopers who did get into trouble that way were to activate their scream-for-help beacons. The squidcats would then mount as vigorous a rescue effort for them as they would for one of their own. It was part of their crazy sense of honor.
#
With all of a planet to choose from, why couldn't the higher-ups put this station in a nice, temperate forest, instead of on this icy rock of an island? Riisa thought as she scanned the sensor readouts. Grade-two Specialist Riisa Daughter-of-Mcharn belonged to the species that humans had misnamed 'leotaur.' She had four arms and two legs rather than the centauroid body plan of two arms and four legs. Nor did she match the long-legged, rangy build of the stereotypical (among humans) female leotaur warrior. Instead, she had the 'nerd' build: Short and rather plump. The only features she shared with the stereotype were her fur, her more-or-less feline features, and her four large breasts.
As the station member currently on duty, she got to deal with the blinking alarm-light. She bared her fangs. An intrusion alert. Probably a drill; the computer threw up such drills three or four times each day. Routing sensor data to her personal display - which looked like an old-fashioned pair of round-lensed glasses - she tried to track down the intrusion source. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing. Hmmm. She tapped in the 'cheat' code that in theory she wasn't suppose to know, and the computer told her that it was not running a drill. Double hmmm. It could be a false alarm - or it could be an actual live real intrusion.
She considered calling in the two other members of the station. They were kraken; tentacled aliens who formed the other half of the squidcat alliance fighting the war against the humans from Terra. More importantly, they were apt to be peeved at having their off-duty time ripped if this turned out to be a false alarm. She'd run another check.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, wait a moment. She zoomed in, and saw an ordinary section of tunnel wall. False alarm, then. She moved the remote further down the perimeter access tunnel. Nothing, but her ears were still twitching. She sent the remote back - and that was when she spotted the holo-projector, and the cut in the wall behind it. Her hand went out to press the general alarm key.
#
Corporal Harding came to the mouth of the access tunnel and began creeping along the wall of the larger chamber. The lights came on. "Halt!" an amplified voice called, and he froze. Then he bit off an obscenity. One of the squidcat's one-person armored vehicles came forward, a light plasma cannon trained on him. Which meant he was toast. Oh, the armor of his intrusion suit could handle one blast, but that blast would also fry the suit's joints, leaving him stiff and immobile. Helpless, in other words.
"Disarm yourself and raise your hands," the voice commanded. Harding grinned sourly and complied. It was a female leotaur's voice, he noted, and he caught a glimpse of a leotaur's head inside the vehicle. His imagination played out the scenario. He'd be herded away from his weapons, then required to strip. The female leotaur would come out of the vehicle, holding a weapon on him. Either a stun rifle or maybe a grenade launcher armed with w-grenades. In either case, that lean, leggy and four-breasted feline would march him at weapon-point to where a tee-pod projector waited...
He had passed the marine's Captivity Endurance Training, but only by the skin of his teeth. He shivered at the memory. Come on Dan, he told himself, you did miss getting washed out of the course, and a miss is a good as a mile. He kept telling himself that as he was marched forward, made to strip to his skivvies, and then marched forward again to a smaller room equipped with a pair of restraint couches and a tee-pod projector mounted high on the wall.
He stood at attention as the leotaur came out of her vehicle. The squidcats sense of honor was an alien one, but they did have honor, and he'd meet it with his own. Then his jaw dropped. This, this kitten was not lean or leggy or athletic at all. She was short. Short, and plump; a furry little butterball. And she wore a goddamn pair of glasses! OK, they had to be a personal computer interface, but they still looked exactly like an antique pair of unpowered glasses. Without them she'd still look like a smart-ass nerd, but with them on her face she looked like a total smart-assed nerd. Well, nerdette, given the four breasts bulging behind her uniform blouse. That uniform, and the short-barreled stun rifle she kept pointed at him were the only things even vaguely military about her. And they just made it worse. She was an insult, a complete parody of a leotaur amazon warrior.
Harding felt himself flush. "Why, you..." He stepped forward, but didn't get to make a second step. The leotaur didn't flinch, but she didn't shoot him, either. Instead she flipped a switch on her belt with one of her lower hands, and a tee-pod squished onto his back.
#
Amusement played around Riisa's lips as she watched the tee-pod secure her angry human prisoner. Ribbon-tendrils unfolded from the bio-engineered organism, pinning his arms and legs. He tottered, but before he could fall a manipulator darted down from the ceiling to catch him, and carried him to one of the two restraint-couches. He squirmed and struggled as the tee-pod wrapped him from ankles to neck, leaving only his belly exposed, along with his head and bare feet.
She stepped forward to double-check the security straps that supplemented the tee-pod's adhesive in holding her prisoner on the couch. Self-indulgently, she patted his shoulder. "I am Riisa Daughter-of-Mcharn, your formov," she told him. "You are mine, now." His return glare was broken by an involuntary chuckle; one forced from him as the tee-pod began its work. Tentacles thicker than the binding ribbon-tendrils probed the nude skin of his belly and the vulnerable soles of his feet. She stepped back to watch as the tee-pod started the pacification of her prisoner.
Like most females, Riisa found the pacification process a pleasure to watch, especially when applied to a big and healthy male, alien though he was. She heard him laugh deeply and struggle as the tentacles stroked lightly over his belly, probing around - and in - his navel. More tentacles tickled his feet. One grabbed his large toes in a grip he was unable to break, and two more gripped his little toes, leaving the space between his toes exposed for smaller tentacles to tease and stimulate. Not to mention the ones stroking the insteps of his feet, along with the balls and heels. She saw him screw his eyes shut as the tee-pod forced laughter from him.
Of course the tee-pod knew exactly where and how to tickle; it was a psi-active organism. Its ancestors had been discovered by the leotaurs, and their allies the kraken had modified it into its current form. In the course of tickling its captives, it would lower their mental defenses, allowing it to implant pacifying suggestions. It was, Riisa thought, an honorable and civilized method of keeping war-prisoners, entirely preferable to the cruel and barbaric human custom of keeping prisoners at weapon-point for extended periods so that they fretted themselves sick. And it was much more pleasant for the captors too. She pulled a stool from the corner and perched on it to watch her prisoner laugh and squirm as the tee-pod continued to tickle his feet and belly. That was another point on which these humans were thick-skulled: They pooled their prisoners into a bureaucratic mass, making their oversight a bureaucratic duty. As a result, no one was responsible for any particular prisoner. None of them had a formov, a soldier given the individual responsibility (and pleasure) of overseeing an individual prisoner's treatment.
Oh yes. Her ears twitched in amusement as she watched the tentacles switch, for a time, to slow and lazy strokes, alternating between belly and soles. The laughter changed to giggles as the prisoner caught his breath, squirming in anticipation of the tickle-attack's sudden and vigorous renewal. She caught his glare. He was still angry: At her, at himself, at the fortunes of war that had brought him here. Unpacified. But that would change. Oh yes, that would change.
most definitely to be continued...
