The Lost Colony

Chapter 38

Only one of the devices appeared to be working. Sparr approached it cautiously, searching the dim space for any sign of a drone, listening for the telltale whine of thrusters. Only the metronomic click of the machine broke the silence. He inspected it. The thing was just as filthy as the others, except that along the rails, the grime had been pushed to either end. As Sparr watched, the robotic arm slid along the rails, clicked as it hit some limit, then returned to where it started. After ten seconds, the motion repeated.

What, Sparr wondered, had set this single machine into motion? He took a step back, looking for anything that might distinguish it from its silent neighbors. In the near darkness, the robotic arm and cluster of wires was next to impossible to pick out. Then Sparr spotted a glint of something at one of the arm's joints. With the pale light from his communicator, he gave it a look. Where the joint connected two sections of the arm, a glob of grey gel was just visible. It covered the side of the joint, clinging to the wires as they passed underneath. The outermost edges of the gel glinted metallic.

ProgGel. Sparr had heard of the technology, but had yet to encounter it in the field. Like the drone, it was developed by the Alliance. Best thought of as a system rather than a substance, ProgGel was a loosely-coupled cluster of nanomachines which could be programmed to behave in one of a myriad ways. A small amount of ProgGel kept on hand could be used to mend damaged equipment, become a tool or a part, even act as a missing extremity. Here it was being used to mend the decrepit manufacturing robot.

Sparr was fascinated. Leaning close, he yanked loose one of the wires passing through the joint. The machine jerked to a halt. Within fifteen seconds the ProGel mutated. Nearest the loose wire, the gel turned pink. A glob broke free and slid up the robotic arm, found the end of the loose wire, and drew it back into the joint. In less than one minute, the machine shuddered back into operation.

"Incredible!" he whispered. The stuff must be fantastically expensive. That some had been carried aboard the Odysseus wasn't surprising, but its use to patch a relic of a manufacturing robot abandoned for three hundred years certainly was. What was so important about the factory?

Even with the gel, the machine still wasn't working. After watching it cycle uselessly, Sparr saw the problem. A vine had curled around one end of the rail upon which the robot arm moved. The arm couldn't quite reach the end. Curious, he cut the vine loose. As soon as he had done so, the machine finally fulfilled its purpose. With a satisfying chunk, the arm reached the end of the rail and locked into place. One of the tubes stiffened, filling with a pale liquid. The arm bent, and, as Sparr watched in fascination, extruded a narrow, thin rectangle of white paste onto the tray. Once it had cooled to a near translucent state, the arm flicked it to a small hopper at the end of the tray. The process began to repeat.

He knew what the pale rectangle was. Sparr had used hundreds of them every day on his last mission, and thousands during graduate school at Hopkins. Each strip could absorb, break down, and preserve DNA from any species of plant or animal. With a handful of strips and a simple field decoder, a biologist could make quick work of cataloging hundreds of species.

While the machine extruded strips, Sparr struggled to understand why. They weren't rare, expensive, or even protected as intellectual property. A student on Earth would be given as many as they needed to get through an introductory biology class. Sparr and his friends had once used them as poker chips. The Odysseus would have had the capacity to fabricate them within weeks of arrival. Why go to so much trouble to produce them with such decrepit machinery?

A sound intruded on Sparr's consciousness. A drone. He froze, cursing inwardly. He had dropped his guard, daydreaming when he should have stayed on alert. The whine drew closer, coming from the open end of the facility toward Sparr and the now-functioning machine. As carefully as possible, he edged back into the shadows.

The drone wasn't military. Though marked with Alliance security symbols, it had been configured for inspection and manipulation, not suppression. Fearing even to breathe, Sparr watched as the drone picked up the recently extruded strips. It floated back. At last he could exhale. The entire planet had turned into a trap.

Sparr turned to leave, then paused. Whoever was printing the DNA strips had also sent the military drone to Shong. They were no friend of his. Before leaving he replaced the vine. As before, the machine slipped into its broken cycle.

***

"You don't know anything about Mineral's mass exception, do you?"

Sparr stood in his suite's living area, watching as Tracee, naked and grinning, dripped water onto his floor.

"Nnnnnnnnope!" she said, smiling even more. "I made. That. Up!" The brunette took a step backward toward the bedroom, then another.

"And you just used my water ration for a shower, didn't you?"

"I... might have?" Tracee took another backward step, then ran, flinging herself giggling onto his bed. "I'm kinda drunk," she laughed.

Sparr watched, equally amused and aroused. Tracee had a sweet, compact body. Short but shapely legs led to a round ass, flat belly, and slim, playful breasts. A messy, brunette bob tossed around her pixie features. Like her, Sparr was at least a touch drunk. Like her, he was ready to f**k.

After dimming the lights, Sparr approached the edge of the bed. Tracee was smiling at him invitingly, but brought up a hand when he got close. She spoke into the hand as if speaking into a particularly decrepit microphone.

"Approaching planet Alain," Tracee said. She mimicked a burst of static, then resumed. "Beginning exploration of the surface." Kneeling on the edge of the bed she began unbuttoning Sparr's shirt. When it was mostly open she pressed her face against his chest hair. "Mmmm," she whispered, before pulling back and resuming her character. "The surface is rugged. Beginning search for natural resources."

Sparr laughed. "Explore all you want."

Continuing, the brunette popped loose the last few buttons. As Sparr wriggled out of his shirt, she got to work on his belt. She fumbled with it. "I've encountered resistance," she said, laughing so hard now that remaining in character was impossible. Tracee worked at his zipper. "Multiple defensive systems. Might have to use my- oh, s**t!" Sparr's c**k swung free.

"Target in range," Sparr said, grinning.

Tracee flopped backward onto the bed, pressing her hands against her face and laughing. "I mean, s**t, Alain!" Her breasts jiggled.

Sparr tugged off his shoes, trousers, and boxer briefs. His c**k was half hard, laying against his thigh at an angle. "Abort mission?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Space cadet Rask never aborts a mission," Tracee said defiantly. "Come here, Planet!" She rolled to the far side of the bed, making a space.

Sparr joined her, settling onto his back. He stretched out, resting his head on his hands. "Resume exploration then."

Tracee rolled back to lay close to Sparr. Teasingly, she drew her fingers from his shoulder to his chest, then across his abs, stopping just short of where his organ lay. She repeated, this time stroking his arm. She squeezed his bicep. "You should play Thraxx the Thrasher next time."

"You're saying I have brooding eyes?"

"Brooding eyes are overrated," Tracee said. She wriggled lower on the bed. "This thing though..." She stroked his c**k. "You're kiiiiiiinda big."

"You say that to all the guys."

"I do, actually." She shot Sparr an unreadable expression, her lenses dark. "But sometimes it's true." She crept lower. Before Sparr could think up a witty response, Tracee's mouth found the head of his c**k and swallowed it.

"Faaaawk!" Sparr groaned. Warm, wet pleasure shot through him.

"I'm gonna get this thing," Tracee said. The brunette popped him back in her mouth, sliding her lips as far as she could. She pulled free again. "This fat thing."

The next several minutes were a storm of delight as Tracee licked, sucked, and teased Sparr's c**k. Facing away from him, she first encased the head of his c**k in her small mouth, popped it free, then circled the head with her tongue before repeating the process. Just when he thought she would continue, the brunette turned to face him. Keeping her nearly opaque lenses focused on him, she gave his c**k a long, slow lick.

"Mmmh," Sparr muttered. "That little mouth."

"Small? You want me to stop?"

"No, no, f**k, don't stop," Sparr gasped, hastily. "So good right now."

"I know," she said, smiling wickedly. Wriggling lower yet, Tracee nudged Sparr's legs apart. Her tongue flicked forward.

"Shiiiiiit!" Sparr groaned, as sweet, wet, warmth found his sack. He dared a look down. Tracee, her lenses still focused on him, drew one ball into her mouth. Somewhere hidden behind her lips, the girl's tongue darted and probed. "Oh fuck."

"So... you like my small mouth?" she asked, coyly. The brunette blew a gentle breath across his balls, already damp with saliva.

"Yeah, f**k, do the other one, too."

Tracee complied, drawing the other ball past her lips, sucking and tonguing it gently. After she let it pop from her mouth, the brunette slid and flicked her tongue all around his sack. Sparr was nearly delirious, his chest heaving.

"They're plump," she said. Again, she ran her tongue in a wet circle around his balls. "How much c*m is in there? When's the last time you popped?"

"Nhhhh," Sparr groaned. "Two weeks, I think."

"Ooooh, you're ready to unload, aren't you?"

"Overdue." Sparr was ready to jump her, but didn't want to interrupt the magic she was working on his balls.

"Mmmm," Tracee moaned softly. She crawled to lay alongside him, one hand gripping his c**k, her lips pressed against his ear. "You want that p***y?"

"Yeah," Sparr groaned. Her skin was soft and inviting, the swell of her breasts warm against his chest.

Tracee flicked her tongue into Sparr's ear, jolting him with pleasure. "You gonna f**k me good?"

"Yeah," Sparr repeated, delirious with lust

"You're going to," she said, her body grinding against him. "You wanna go deep with that thing? Work me over hard?"

"Fuuuuuuuuuck!" Sparr moaned. Her small hand stroked and fondled his c**k with exquisite skill.

"You wanna hit it?" Again, her tongue darted sweetly into his ear. "Bend me over and-"

"Yes, yes, goddammit!" Before Tracee could tease him further Sparr flung her onto her back. He loomed over her.

The brunette opened herself to him. She bit her lip suggestively. "Take it."

Groaning with lust, Sparr plunged forward. He was barely in control, teased to the brink by Tracee's oral talent and filthy talk. His c**k found her, the slick, welcoming center. He pushed, withdrew, and pushed again. In fewer strokes than he could have imagined possible, he impaled her.

"Owwwwwww!" Tracee's head snapped to the side, her hands clawing at his chest. "Oh, you bastard, f**k!"

Even through the fog of lust, Sparr caught a note of distress. "What? I'm sorry, did-"

"Don't you dare stop!" Tracee's brow was knotted in pain, but her mouth opened to a perfect O.

She was impossibly slick. Sparr pulled almost entirely free, staring in disbelief at his already saturated shaft, bursting with veins. Again he drove forward as Tracee writhed beneath him. "Fawk," he groaned. "That thing is tight."

Their session transformed from its playful, laughing start to something more primal. As the witty banter melted away, the pair embraced and consumed each other. Tracee clutched and scratched at Sparr, pulling him ever harder into her, encouraging his selfish use of her body. Sparr tore into the brunette, happily burying his shaft as deep as her petite frame would permit. She was helpless to do more than offer her body.