~BBW, sci-fi, action, ~xwg - We return to outer space with a bigger budget, better special effects, and a whole galaxy of delicious food.
Chapter 1
Laser fire tore into the flagship. Jets of plasma fire sprayed from the hull. The Confederation warships pressed their attack, blasting away with every weapon they possessed. The human ship crumpled inward, broke in two, and exploded.
A flurry of shuttles and escape pods raced away from the flames. Most were quickly cornered and captured, but a handful, hidden by a lucky piece of debris, managed to crash-land on the docks of a nearby spaceport. Human survivors scrambled out, dragging all the equipment and footlockers they could carry. Their prim, skin-tight, brightly colored uniform jackets were an absurdity amidst all the wreckage and destruction.
“What in the stars just happened?” cried an ensign.
“I don’t know what the diplomats said,” grumbled a lieutenant, to one of the ship’s armored guards, “but you were right. Negotiations were short.”
The guard motioned to the other guards and they gathered around her. The lieutenant buttoned up his uniform and rallied the surviving crewmembers. They were supposedly the fleet’s best and brightest, but they were all young. The admiralty had seen the mission as a photo-op and had sent their most conventionally attractive, rather than most experienced. For most, it had been their first trip through a spacegate.
“We can’t just stay here,” panted a cadet. “We’ll be captured…like all the rest. I’m just a kitchen steward. I’m not—” The shorter, stockier commander of the guards set a hand on her shoulder.
The lieutenant agreed. “What shape are the shuttles in?”
“Mostly wrecked,” said an engineer.
“And they’d only get shot out of the sky.” He glanced around the dockyard. Local aliens were fleeing into the corridors. Civilian ships and personal transports were blasting off in a hurry, eager to be away from the fighting.
The shorter guard nudged him and pointed. A loading ramp at the far end of the docks was unattended. They couldn’t see much of the ship it led to, but it had Confederation markings. The cargo bay door was wide open.
“Star-troopers,” gasped another ensign. Armored soldiers poured into the spaceport, firing wildly.
“Make for that ship!” bellowed the lieutenant. The cry was taken up throughout the crowd.
They sprinted across the dockyard, knocking over kiosks of alien food and barrels of alien drinks. More survivors crawled from the wreckage and joined in. The guards fought a fighting retreat all the way, holding off the star-troopers until everyone had hauled themselves and their equipment up the ramp. The stocky guard commander was the last aboard; she took a glancing blaster-shot to the thing and collapsed into the ship just as the door slammed shut.
“I’ve sealed it,” said the engineer. “I think. Alien tech is weird.”
“What do we do?”
The crowd milled about in the darkness. “Find the bridge,” someone suggested. “Commandeer the ship.”
“Yeah. They’ll think we’re just another freighter or whatever trying to get out of the way.”
“Slip away in the confusion?”
“You’re going to just power this thing up and fly it away? We don’t even know what kind of ship it…” The lights flickered on. “…is…”
“I have located the lighting controls,” reported an android.
They stood and stared. They had entered through the cargo bay: an enormous cargo bay that had to be half a mile across, if not more. It was packed wall to wall with crates, casks, tanks, containment cubes, and polymer sacks. The labels were in alien script, but their intent was clear.
“Food,” said the kitchen steward. “And not nutrient paste, either. Holy nebulas…Thalassian cream, salted Taochian stew…it’s real food. Years’ worth.”
“What kind of ship is this?”
The android scrolled through a console. “It appears to be a privately owned vessel. It is configured and stocked for several hundred passengers, in addition to a full complement of crew. I would tentatively classify it as something not unlike a ‘luxury cruise-liner’, though on a much grander scale.”
“A galactic scale,” breathed the lieutenant.
“Its name appears to be a idiom in the alien tongue. The nearest equivalent would be the ‘Golden Goose.’ The ship is full prepared for flight.”
The engineer opened an access hatch and discovered a long, carpeted corridor, lined with erotic alien paintings and sculptures. “So our plan,” he scoffed, “is to escape the battle in a stolen cruise ship? Are we serious? Who’s in charge here?”
“Good question,” said the lieutenant. “How many other senior officers made it? I’m only an operations lieutenant…I’ve never commanded a starship.”
They looked around. The captain and most of the senior staff at been at the diplomatic meeting when the firing started. Almost everyone who’d made it was an ensign at best.
“Following stated interstellar naval protocols,” said the android, pointing, “I believe the guard commander to be the highest-ranking officer remaining.”
Every eye turned to the door. It was the short, stocky guardswoman. She was slumped against the door, treating her wounded thigh and paying them no attention. But there, on her armor, were the four glowing rings of a commander. A crowd began to form around her and the cargo bay went quiet.
Estelle pulled off her helmet. “What?”
Episode II
ATTACK OF THE SCONES
After generations of unsustainable terraforming and subprime hydroponics,
humanity’s far-flung space colonies were on the brink of starvation.
It was only contact with the Confederation of Species which saved them.
This collection of wealthy alien races supplies planets all across the galaxy with food subsidies.
But in exchange for survival, the human colonies have given up their independence.
They are completely reliant on the Confederation’s supplies and powerless against its might.
The rule of the alien oligarchs has been nothing short of oppressive.
And the enriched nutrient paste they supply doesn’t even taste good.
The flagship of the human navy has traveled to the galactic capital of Cunaxa to negotiate a fairer treaty.
The diplomats aboard are optimistic.
It is the furthest a human ship has ever ventured into alien space.
ATTACK OF THE SCONES
After generations of unsustainable terraforming and subprime hydroponics,
humanity’s far-flung space colonies were on the brink of starvation.
It was only contact with the Confederation of Species which saved them.
This collection of wealthy alien races supplies planets all across the galaxy with food subsidies.
But in exchange for survival, the human colonies have given up their independence.
They are completely reliant on the Confederation’s supplies and powerless against its might.
The rule of the alien oligarchs has been nothing short of oppressive.
And the enriched nutrient paste they supply doesn’t even taste good.
The flagship of the human navy has traveled to the galactic capital of Cunaxa to negotiate a fairer treaty.
The diplomats aboard are optimistic.
It is the furthest a human ship has ever ventured into alien space.
Chapter 1
Laser fire tore into the flagship. Jets of plasma fire sprayed from the hull. The Confederation warships pressed their attack, blasting away with every weapon they possessed. The human ship crumpled inward, broke in two, and exploded.
A flurry of shuttles and escape pods raced away from the flames. Most were quickly cornered and captured, but a handful, hidden by a lucky piece of debris, managed to crash-land on the docks of a nearby spaceport. Human survivors scrambled out, dragging all the equipment and footlockers they could carry. Their prim, skin-tight, brightly colored uniform jackets were an absurdity amidst all the wreckage and destruction.
“What in the stars just happened?” cried an ensign.
“I don’t know what the diplomats said,” grumbled a lieutenant, to one of the ship’s armored guards, “but you were right. Negotiations were short.”
The guard motioned to the other guards and they gathered around her. The lieutenant buttoned up his uniform and rallied the surviving crewmembers. They were supposedly the fleet’s best and brightest, but they were all young. The admiralty had seen the mission as a photo-op and had sent their most conventionally attractive, rather than most experienced. For most, it had been their first trip through a spacegate.
“We can’t just stay here,” panted a cadet. “We’ll be captured…like all the rest. I’m just a kitchen steward. I’m not—” The shorter, stockier commander of the guards set a hand on her shoulder.
The lieutenant agreed. “What shape are the shuttles in?”
“Mostly wrecked,” said an engineer.
“And they’d only get shot out of the sky.” He glanced around the dockyard. Local aliens were fleeing into the corridors. Civilian ships and personal transports were blasting off in a hurry, eager to be away from the fighting.
The shorter guard nudged him and pointed. A loading ramp at the far end of the docks was unattended. They couldn’t see much of the ship it led to, but it had Confederation markings. The cargo bay door was wide open.
“Star-troopers,” gasped another ensign. Armored soldiers poured into the spaceport, firing wildly.
“Make for that ship!” bellowed the lieutenant. The cry was taken up throughout the crowd.
They sprinted across the dockyard, knocking over kiosks of alien food and barrels of alien drinks. More survivors crawled from the wreckage and joined in. The guards fought a fighting retreat all the way, holding off the star-troopers until everyone had hauled themselves and their equipment up the ramp. The stocky guard commander was the last aboard; she took a glancing blaster-shot to the thing and collapsed into the ship just as the door slammed shut.
“I’ve sealed it,” said the engineer. “I think. Alien tech is weird.”
“What do we do?”
The crowd milled about in the darkness. “Find the bridge,” someone suggested. “Commandeer the ship.”
“Yeah. They’ll think we’re just another freighter or whatever trying to get out of the way.”
“Slip away in the confusion?”
“You’re going to just power this thing up and fly it away? We don’t even know what kind of ship it…” The lights flickered on. “…is…”
“I have located the lighting controls,” reported an android.
They stood and stared. They had entered through the cargo bay: an enormous cargo bay that had to be half a mile across, if not more. It was packed wall to wall with crates, casks, tanks, containment cubes, and polymer sacks. The labels were in alien script, but their intent was clear.
“Food,” said the kitchen steward. “And not nutrient paste, either. Holy nebulas…Thalassian cream, salted Taochian stew…it’s real food. Years’ worth.”
“What kind of ship is this?”
The android scrolled through a console. “It appears to be a privately owned vessel. It is configured and stocked for several hundred passengers, in addition to a full complement of crew. I would tentatively classify it as something not unlike a ‘luxury cruise-liner’, though on a much grander scale.”
“A galactic scale,” breathed the lieutenant.
“Its name appears to be a idiom in the alien tongue. The nearest equivalent would be the ‘Golden Goose.’ The ship is full prepared for flight.”
The engineer opened an access hatch and discovered a long, carpeted corridor, lined with erotic alien paintings and sculptures. “So our plan,” he scoffed, “is to escape the battle in a stolen cruise ship? Are we serious? Who’s in charge here?”
“Good question,” said the lieutenant. “How many other senior officers made it? I’m only an operations lieutenant…I’ve never commanded a starship.”
They looked around. The captain and most of the senior staff at been at the diplomatic meeting when the firing started. Almost everyone who’d made it was an ensign at best.
“Following stated interstellar naval protocols,” said the android, pointing, “I believe the guard commander to be the highest-ranking officer remaining.”
Every eye turned to the door. It was the short, stocky guardswoman. She was slumped against the door, treating her wounded thigh and paying them no attention. But there, on her armor, were the four glowing rings of a commander. A crowd began to form around her and the cargo bay went quiet.
Estelle pulled off her helmet. “What?”
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