WG II - Prima Facie
Prima Facie
...
Prima Facie
By Sovandar
This was written as week two of the Writers' Guild Summer Challenge:
(http://www.sofurry.com/group/1045)
This work contains sex between a man and a dolphin, and some darker adult themes, so be warned. Also, if local laws say you're too young to be reading, then you need to stop here. Of course, at your age, I never did, and there's not a lot I can do to stop you now, but I can make you feel guilty, dammit.
No copying without permission lest the wrath of the great god Copyrictus strike you down, all characters are fictional, and no resemblances are intended.
So, for those who are entitled to read on, here you go...
* * *
To: Arbiter Nathaniel Willis, Phobos Colony
Date: 12/09/99 16:04PM
Subject: Re: Re: Argyll Inquest **CONFIDENTIAL**
Arbiter,
I was under the impression that you had actual copies of the transcripts of Olav Harrison's journal from his time aboard the Argyll. Given the importance of the evidence, I'm surprised you're working with that worthless press summary!
FYI, I attach the scanned copies I was sent. I hope you can make some use of them.
Regarding our past history, without knowing what you've been told, I can't confirm or deny anything. I hope you will invite my side of the tale, if it becomes relevant.
*ATTACHED*
March 13th
New world, new start, new diary. So, dear diary, let me begin by saying that I hate zero-g.
I was sick like a dog after takeoff. Tried one of the pills the doc recommended, but I just threw it up a minute later. After I lost my second one as well, I gave up. Last thing I need now is an overdose less than eight hours out from Earth. My stomach's settled down a bit now, but I know I'll feel queasy for another day or two.
Eranau loves it, though. He's bouncing off the walls - I don't mean that metaphorically - and watching him doesn't help my motion sickness. He's obviously got no idea what motion sickness is like; the bloody dolphin's spent the last hour whistling and chirruping away to himself; something about finally getting those damn 'human fins' off. It gave me a killer headache.
I didn't dare ask what he was talking about - he's so insanely chatty when he's excited, he could teach itching powder a thing or two about being irritating - but I think he meant the robotic legs he needed to wear down on Earth, to walk around above water. He's complained a lot to me about how he couldn't get underwater quarters with the Space Corps.
I guess most places these days, if he didn't get offered them, he'd sue. Funny way to run the world, really; throw money at lawyers until the problem goes away. Sure, dolphins got equal rights and all, but I'll bet the Sentience-Rights law firms were running the world economy for a few years, the amounts that allegedly changed hands.
Suing doesn't work so well with the United Nations, of course. The UN Space Corps' got the ultimate defence on this one: logic.
Thing about water is, it's heavy stuff. Much heavier than air. Fill a spaceship with water and shoot it off into space, it could cost ten times more than one full of air just from the extra fuel costs. Add in the reinforced superstructure to keep it stable, extra insulation for wiring, and the like, and you're talking an awful lot of unnecessary money being spent.
On the other hand, 'phins can swim through air in zero-G, so they don't need as much of the support equipment they usually have on land; in fact, as long as they've got a wetsuit and a set of robotic arms so they can do paid work, they're fine. They'll probably replace us humans in a few years, too; cetaceans can move better in microgravity environments, and don't need as much exercise to stop their bones and muscles wasting away on long space flights. Lucky bastards; I'll be in physiotherapy for weeks after this trip while he's off swimming in one of those new cetacean habitats they've built on Mars.
I'm not sure how to relate to Eranau. One of the mission counsellors came and had a chat with me before takeoff, actually, about that very topic. I probably shouldn't have had those few extra rounds of drinks two nights ago, but hey, it was my last night on Earth before the ship left for Mars. I know I really shouldn't have made those off-colour jokes about being stuck in a small space with an oversexed 'phin, but it *was* just a joke. It's not like its any secret how promiscuous they are; everyone knows the horror stories about the woman on the Florida beach.
I thought it was a bit insulting, actually; I thought she'd come to offer helpful advice, not lambaste me for being prejudiced. I mean, it's not like I'm one of the real bigots or anything; I don't much care what other people do in their spare time, as long as they're not doing it to me.
I know the real reason the counsellor stopped by: ever since Andrews made Commodore, he's been after me. I don't know how he heard about the booze-up; he's probably having me followed. He took the broken nose quite badly all those years ago; just my luck that the one guy whose lights I punched out turns out to be my future boss. I can't believe how much of a grudge that guy can hold; he's got problems.
Anyway, the counsellor assured me that most dolphins aren't like that, and that Eranau was a professional space worker, so obviously wasn't of the delinquents. I know that; I told her so, and she launched off into psychobabble about positive thinking.
I can't shake the feeling that she was setting me up for a good laugh. Laugh for her, I mean, and probably Andrews too; everyone always takes his side, always laughing at me behind my back. They probably decided it would be funny to stick me in a tin can with an aquatic gigolo, see what happens; I wouldn't put it past him. Space Corps ships are so full of recording equipment, he'll have blackmail material for the rest of my life if Eranau tries anything funny.
Still, I should be thankful they let me fly another mission at all, with Andrews on my case; my luck's finally turned with this transfer I talked them into. A one-way ticket out, as a crewman on a supply ship, and once I get to Phobos Colony on Mars, Andrews won't be able to do a thing to me again.
Two more days, then I go into suspended animation. That's the rota; two crew, one in the stasis capsules, one monitoring the ship and the cargo. We switch every two weeks; my turn first, then we swap.
I wish he'd stop fiddling with the damn life support controls. It's so bloody humid, I'm being steamed alive in here. Hope I can get some sleep in all this.
***
March 14th
16:30 PM
Dear diary,
Ship status normal, but we're still under control from the ground until late tomorrow. There's almost nothing to do.
The counsellor, yesterday, all but ordered me to get to know Eranau before the stasis rotation started. They're watching, and they'll know if I don't make the effort, so over breakfast, I got chatting. At least, I said something noncommittal and he launched into his entire life story, for some reason.
I wasn't even slightly interested in his repetitive, warbling tales about life in one of the aquatic slums off Hawaii. I don't know why the 'phins stay in them if it's so miserable. It's not like there's no ocean left anymore, but they all come there looking for work, food, and shelter; just like people, really, crowding in tiny apartments in cities. Sometimes I think teaching cetaceans economics just ruined their innocence - brought them down to our level.
I made the mistake of saying that aloud. He disagreed, and promptly started an argument over it. He's one of the new generations - the ones who don't remember a time when humans were just alien creatures that sometimes played in the water, and sometimes drag-netted whole dolphin pods with motorised trawlers. I suppose it's only to be expected he thinks his generation's the best there's ever been; he's a natural optimist.
He actually accused me of being a 'phin-hater. I don't get why everyone thinks that; I don't get on with them, as a rule, true, but that's not the same thing! People just seem to love labelling me and victimising me. Maybe I've just got one of those faces, or something.
Still, I think we patched things up okay, and agreed to disagree. I've learned a bit of humility since Andrews and I had our punch-up; I've no intention of squandering my second chance. Besides, I don't think I can get Eranau in a good headlock, like I did Andrews; he had a neck, for starters.
22:30PM
Of all the things I'd expected, I wasn't expecting a 'phin to be carrying a deck of cards to Mars. He offered a quick game, but it turned into a bit of an all-nighter. He can play Whist, and Bridge, and even a little poker - not very well, thankfully!
I was surprised that his robotic arms are good enough to shuffle cards and deal them like a pro; but maybe I shouldn't be, the way robotics has come in the last few years. I've not really kept up to date.
I decided not to mention to him that I can see his cards reflected in the polished metal; I persuaded him into some real gambling to 'liven things up', and I'll be damned if I'm going to do all the cooking and cleaning in here. He's a right mark; it's probably best there's no money around, it wouldn't be good for interspecies relations if I cleaned him out on day one!
All told, I think we'll get along just fine.
***
March 31st
Dear diary,
Hardly seems like a fortnight's passed in stasis. It's my first time using suspended animation; waking up is like a combination of a diabolical hangover and falling out of bed in the middle of the night, only multiplied up ten-fold. It took a good hour or two before I felt well enough to move around. Anyone coming out of stasis needs to be kept under observation for about ten hours to make sure there's no complications, even though I felt fine after two and a half hours.
Eranau got bored with just observing me, though, and challenged me to another poker game.
It was after the game it happened; I just knew it would at some point. He tried to come on to me. I thought it'd take longer than this, though, before his sex drive got the better of him.
He told me he'd noticed me staring during the poker game. I kept my mouth shut - God alone knows how he'd react to finding out I was cheating! He said he thought it was quite flattering; and told me all about how he'd never done it with a human before, and didn't often go for men, but he'd be willing to try.
He then confused me a bit by saying he'd heard about me before, and that I wasn't what he expected. I'm not sure what he meant by that, or what he'd heard. Andrews' smear campaign, I expect.
Anyway, I wasn't at all pleased - to put it mildly - and finally managed to get a word in edgewise just as he was about to launch into a detailed account of a time when he'd had a fling with a male bottlenose.
I told him that it would be unprofessional; and that I didn't like to go outside my species; and that I wasn't interested in him in that way; and that I preferred women to men; and that, basically, he'd misunderstood how things were.
He seemed rather upset; but I should confess I wasn't quite as polite as I probably should have been. I put him down a bit too harshly, with hindsight. I mean, it's not like I've never ever considered 'experimenting' before, but life gave me a good lesson about keeping clear of that kind of thing. I got drunk once at a school-leaving party, long before I started keeping a diary, and a queer acquaintance of mine talked me into letting him blow me off. Little scumbag went and bragged about it to some of his queer friends the next day, so next thing I know half my friends have backed off thinking I'm a fag too, and my girlfriend's dumped me for cheating on her. Somehow, everyone always twists things so it's my fault, whatever happens.
Hell, Andrews is probably listening in and laughing his head off. I need to make it clear that there's no way in hell I'm going to bed with a 'phin. I need to make sure he knows he's going to have to Photoshop this one if he wants to try and ruin my life - again. Still, I did feel guilty afterwards. I think I hurt his feelings, and there's not much worse than being stuck in a small area with someone moping around.
Evening meal was pretty quiet. Silent, in fact. So awkward, I thought I'd die.
It's going to be a long trip. At least he's in stasis now, so I've got the ship to myself. God, it's quiet out here alone, but at least that's an improvement over the recent company.
***
April 7th
Dear diary,
Absolutely sod-all happening. It's enough to drive a man crazy.
Radar screen keeps shorting out with a loud popping sound. Nothing serious, thankfully, but it's so irritating! I've taken the damn thing apart five times already, and it still won't work right. It does my head in, just like the damn autopilot with its faux-feminine voice nagging me to stop fiddling with the radar output screen.
I'll bet Andrews set this up just for me. Eranau's not complained about this shit.
***
May 2nd
Dear diary,
Eranau's back in stasis again. My turn for another two-week stint out here. Think I solved the radar problem though, at last.
Eranau seemed to have calmed down, now he's had two weeks to get over it. I guess we both realise it was just a stupid misunderstanding; no point letting it get between us. We do get on quite well, really, just not *that* well.
It might have been my imagination, but I swear he was checking me out when I came out of stasis. Obviously, I was naked at the time; the medical gizmos need complete and unobstructed access to the body, to make sure everything's working properly. Apparently, if any of the electrodes aren't wired up to the body properly, there's a risk the machine might think you're dead, in which case it freeze-dries your 'corpse' to preserve it until the ship's next destination. Survival trumps modesty, even when there's a dolphin wanting to get in my pants.
In spite of that, I wish Eranau didn't have to go; I'm completely isolated and alone out here. I've never been beyond the Moon before, so I wasn't really prepared for this. I can't even have real-time conversations with Earth any more, we've come that far; watching videos of friends and family isn't the same.
I didn't realise just how much I'd miss just having people around, even if all I usually did was ignore them. I even wondered whether I should have taken Eranau up on his offer; if he were a human woman, we'd probably be as good as married by now. All just be a bit of fun, right?
The program Psychs warn all the recruits about this; when people get into extreme situations, lots of emotional turmoil, they have to develop some sort of bond with people around them, or they go bat-shit loco, out of their minds. Plus, Psychs say it's all about sex, deep down, so I guess this is what they meant.
I'll probably have to burn this diary before we land. If Andrews gets a few juicy excerpts, I'll never live it down.
***
May 13th
13:30 PM
About twenty minutes since the accident, I think.
I still don't quite know what happened. I was in Section Three fixing a wiring fault on the Waste Recycler, when the proximity alarm started going off. I started to head back to the cockpit; no rush, though. The autopilot can handle it, I thought.
Stupid low-budget piece of shit couldn't and didn't. The bloody thing's as good as killed us both.
A small dust cloud I'd seen on radar earlier today turned out to be a micrometeor shower, with a few large chunks of rock hiding in the middle, where the radar couldn't get a good reading on the danger. Therefore, the autopilot carried happily on, straight through it.
Of course, with this much empty void to play around in, sod's law demands that we find the only fucking piece of space debris that could actually do any damage.
Nothing left to do now but write this, by torchlight; I'm trying to conserve power.
The shock from the impact triggered the solar panels to extend before we left the dust cloud, so they got an interplanetary-speed sandblasting. No power coming through from any of them; we're on batteries for the rest of the trip.
I've got the fires out, patched the leaky hull as best I can, started Eranau's wake-up from stasis, and taken stock of what's left of us.
Our computers are offline, communications offline bar the emergency signalling beacon, Sections Four through Seven are write-offs, most of the cargo is trashed, oxygen generation and storage was totally wrecked, and - worst of all - we've only got one of our twelve nutrient storage tanks left intact. Without the nutrient broth in those tanks being shot into our veins, we'll starve in stasis as soon as we've used up what's left. I calculate we've got enough for about two months each; metabolic rates in stasis are low enough that our bodies won't be able to release energy from body fat or anything, so we'll be dead within a day of the nutrients running out. With three months to go before we reach Mars, we've got a major problem.
Without the oxygen stores and generators, staying conscious and eating normal food isn't an option either; we'll suffocate in six days, give or take. We might be able to use what little food we've got stored to brew some more nutrient broth; but I'm not hopeful.
But, if we can fix the nutrient problem, then the only other thing is power; right now, we've got enough for four months in stasis each. But, being batteries, their lifespan is dropping like a stone as long as we're awake and consuming it for heating, water recyclers, and the atmosphere scrubbers. I make it about a day less each for every hour we spend out of stasis from now on.
I keep telling myself there's got to be a way out of this. Maybe. We'll see. I just know Andrews is going to blame me for this somehow.
15:45 PM
Eranau's awake, but still pretty sick. He seems to take waking from stasis much worse than I do; I wonder if it's a personal thing, or a species thing.
He's just staying strapped to the recovery table in the antechamber for a while. We've talked things over, so he knows the situation. We'll just have to start getting some of the systems repaired as soon as possible if we want to have a chance.
Which means, basically, it's up to me. He's not in any state to try.
22:15PM
Eranau's skin got dry, which made him very uncomfortable. I felt a bit stupid; I should have thought of getting his wetsuit earlier, but I've had a lot on my mind. I had to admit to him that I didn't know where it was; which was sort of true. I *do* know it was in Section Four first thing this morning, but now?
Water is cycled through Section Three, so we're not short on that. I offered to get some for him. We're not supposed to have water floating free aboard ship, but I don't think there's any systems still working that could short-circuit. So, I floated aft, got one of those squirty-lab bottles to carry the stuff, and used one of the sterile bandages as a sponge.
I wasn't going to put anything down on paper, but to hell with it. If I live through this, I'll just burn the damn thing. Writing this out is better than thinking about what could go wrong tomorrow.
It wasn't exactly intentional. His artificial arms were in several pieces and didn't have the battery in them yet, so rather than leave him for an extra half an hour or so to fix them, I volunteered to do it for him.
I've never touched a dolphin before; not directly on the skin, anyway. It felt like the rubber on his wetsuit. It wasn't what I'd expected; but then, I'm not sure what I did expect. I'd not really thought about it.
Anyway, I was rubbing him down, to wet the skin, when he turned pink around his midsection. I should have thought a bit better about where I was rubbing, really.
I got a bit worried - I thought something was wrong, as anyone would - but he tried explaining that it was normal when his species got aroused, and before he'd finished, he was already poking out of his genital slit.
I was trying not to stare - it's only polite - but I didn't manage it. I mean, with communications off, it's not like Andrews could be watching any more, so I didn't much care. Eranau wasn't much bothered; 'phins have no modesty.
His cock didn't look anything like I expected it to; I'd sort of thought it would just be like mine, only maybe coloured blue or white like his skin was. It was still flesh-colour, though, and looked more like a tentacle monster from a Hollywood B-movie than a sex organ; a long thing, thick at the base but tapering to a clearly defined tip.
Anyway, I realised that I'd started staring after all, and tried to shrug it off with some sort of jovial remark about how he seemed pleased to see me. I think he said something jokingly back, about me taking more care not to start things I don't plan to finish. I just had this sudden impulse to do something to wipe the bloody grin off his face, so, I grabbed hold of his dick, and gave it a good hard squeeze.
He gave this weird little half-squeal of shock, and it was so funny that I started laughing. But then I sort of realised that I was floating there in zero-g with my hand around a 'phin's prick, so maybe this was a joke too far.
But then I thought, why not? I sure as hell needed some relief after all the drama of the day, and if he was half as pent up as I was, he'd really need some sort of release too. Besides, in this sort of situation, it hits home that this might be the last opportunity. Ever.
So I started pumping it. It was really slimy, and the way he kept squirming didn't make it easy; plus, floating free in zero-g doesn't give much purchase for jacking someone off. But hey - I should get marks for trying.
He started asking what I was doing, once the surprised chirping had died down. Obviously, we both knew what I was doing - beating off a dolphin, floating in a half-ruined spaceship that I was supposed to be fixing, hurtling out of control towards the red planet - but that got me thinking why I was doing it. I can only guess it's the stress. Life and death situations can really screw up common sense; but, maybe the situation was just my wake-up call. I decided I should have done this earlier. Then I really got into it.
He started panting and gasping, and saying that this wasn't really the time or place, and he thought I'd said I didn't do this sort of thing, and how surprised he was that humans could use hands like this, and why hadn't I said yes before, and some other junk I didn't really listen to. The straps kept him secure on the medical table, of course, or we'd both have been ricocheting off the ceiling; as it was, I kept drifting off to one side, and accidentally gave his dick a few twists that it probably could have done without, judging by the pained squeals and curses he threw at me when I did it.
I was mesmerised by the way his precum just sort of collected at the tip of his dick, in a big globular drop, like he was wearing a condom or something; no gravity, of course, so it just sort of stayed where it was until something moved it away. Whenever I gave his hard-on a squeeze, though, he did a sort of frantic jiggle that threw the collected drops all over the place. I got pretty covered in it, and so did he. It smelled like a cross between a recognisable male musk and fish oil - a bit nauseating, frankly, but hey, nothing's perfect, right? Fair's fair, after a few months cooped up in this humid coffin with only the piece-of-shit zero-g shower cubicle for washing, I doubt I smelled of roses either.
All of a sudden, he started squealing differently; it was so high-pitched I only heard the first exclamation. The rest went above my hearing range, and I could only tell it was loud thanks to the weird pulsing sensation in my ears. His translator contraption - he doesn't speak English, of course, though he understands it fine - couldn't seem to work out what he was trying to say, so it starting saying, "Translation Error" in this computerised female voice, over and over like it was having a fit or something. It normally speaks with a customised, gender-appropriate voice; it was so absurd to hear, I started laughing again.
I stopped very quickly when his cock went off like a rifle, and I'm not using the phrase lightly. I've not actually masturbated in zero-g myself, but I doubt anything I could produce would have such impressive momentum. The off-white, viscous stream he shot first actually rebounded off the wall before it got stuck to the ceiling on the far side of the room. The second one wasn't quite as powerful, but it still had enough momentum that a fair chunk of it bounced away from the wall and started floating lazily around the room. The third was a sort of continual trickle for perhaps thirty seconds, with a lot less power behind it, although I'm impressed with the duration. It filled the room with a rather sour, fishy smell, which I found very unappealing.
Still, I kept pumping his cock until he had enough composure to tell me he'd had enough now.
Amidst all the novelty of it, I'd sort of forgotten about my own needs; I suddenly realised I was solid as a rock and still fully clothed, but the idea of stripping down and jerking off right then and there - though I'm sure he'd have understood, given the situation - felt like it would just be weird, as my social senses reasserted themselves. I should have started on myself earlier, I guess, so I just stood there rather gormlessly, letting my underwear wrestle with the problem.
I didn't know quite what to say. I mean, I couldn't just dust myself down and pop along to check on the Carbon Dioxide scrubbers without another a word. On the other hand, what could I say that wouldn't just have been awkward and embarrassing?
He actually broke the silence, by asking me to go find his arms, and get them set up so he could move around on his own. I asked him if he felt better, and he said yes, he did. He thanked me. People don't often do that.
I tried to rinse off a bit, to get the fishy smell to go away, but it hasn't quite worked. Guess I'll have to live with it; I'll clean myself and the place up later.
I sort of hope that he'll ask if we can do it again. If we can't get the ship fixed, we've got about a week to live; he's not my ideal choice, but damn it, I want to have a good time before I leave this world, if I'm about to.
***
May 14th
Dear diary,
I should really get some sleep, but I'm still too hyped up.
A moderate success, at last - while I was seeing if I could find a way to eke out the nutrient supply a bit longer, Eranau took a spacewalk to see if there was anything that could be done with the solar panels. He says he thinks he can get one of the panels repaired; if he can, we'll easily have enough power to keep stasis running until we reach Mars.
I'm quite happy, to put it mildly, even though I didn't get a lot of success with the nutrition. It was a long day's work, and there's going to need to be more tomorrow. I think we can actually do this, if we can find a way to come out of stasis every couple of days and eat a decent meal, to supplement the nutrient tubes. Eranau's more pessimistic; I'm not sure he realises how serious it is that unless I can work out how to keep us both fed, we'll only be alive for two-thirds of the journey.
I decided something during the day, while he was outside. I feel closer to Eranau than I've ever felt to anyone before. I hope he feels it too. Maybe it's just that extreme-situation-bonding thing kicking in. I don't know whether to hope that's all it is - or not.
Eranau evidently doesn't mind my company. He'd no sooner got back inside from his inspection of the hull, when he asked me if I'd join him in a celebration - he wanted to repay the 'favour' I'd done him yesterday.
No contest; I'd still not taken care of myself after yesterday. I'd been too busy, then too exhausted, then asleep, then too busy again. So, naturally, I said, hell yes.
Taking a spacesuit off is a bit of a process, with the number of catches, safety catches, seals and joints that each need taking apart. I watched while Eranau disassembled the spacesuit; a striptease it certainly wasn't, but by the end of it, we were both hard as rocks from the anticipation.
He grabbed my fleshy arm with his robotic hand, and airswam with me to the antechamber again. I was confused at first, but then he pointed out that I hadn't cleaned it yet; and there was no point soiling another room as well. I suppose that made sense.
I've never had my clothes stripped off by a set of robotic limbs wielded by a cetacean before - and technically, I still haven't. I suppose he's never really considered the mechanics of human dressing and undressing before, so I have to cut him some slack for the rather inept job he made of it; I did most of it myself, but I tried to be subtle so it seemed like it was his efforts. He appraised me for quite a while, in silence; he probably hadn't ever seen a naked human before.
Anyway, I wasn't sure what he had in mind, so I just sort of hovered - literally - and waited for him to do something. I've never been good at waiting; I quickly got tired of just getting stared at, and took the lead instead, grabbing his arm and pulling us closer together, until our skins were in contact. It felt like hugging a warm, rubber pool toy; weird, but only weird enough to make things a bit spicier.
Our cocks came into contact, and I had a good thought - why not just grab the handful of dicks down there and start whacking off, both simultaneously? It's probably been done before, but I'm no expert. I feel quite proud at having thought of it, in fact.
My efforts didn't last long before one of his robotic hands pulled mine away, while his other replaced it and carried straight on. He was supposed to be repaying me, he complained, and he needed some practice, since this wasn't a use he'd thought of using hands for before. I didn't have anything to complain about - forget that I was floating there with a 'phin, and a man at that, it was like I'd died and gone to heaven.
I closed my eyes and hugged him. I think I moaned a little, too. Not very macho, I know, but I think I gave up any pretence of red-blooded manliness with Eranau when I voluntarily gave him a handjob yesterday. He hugged right back; the exposed metal of the other arm was a bit cold, but I didn't mind.
Well, it was more or less inevitable that two gyrating and free-floating beings in microgravity would end up drifting a bit. We bumped into the wall, which startled us both, and he stopped his hand action from the surprise. I complained then - well, I think I groaned something anyway, and I'm pretty sure there were words in it - and he gave this amused chirp, and told me that neat though hands were, he'd got something far more fun in mind.
I wasn't sure what he meant, but he kept hold of me with one arm and reached up with the other to collect some of yesterday's mess from the wall - the humidity, with the life support monitors offline, was so high that his cum was still liquid, although rather sticky. I was still a bit unsure what he was doing, when he pushed me away from him a little, and started rubbing it on my dick. That seemed a bit odd, and a bit kinky, even by the day's standards; I made to pull away. That was when he stopped, grabbed me by both shoulders, and brought our bodies together again.
I tried asking him what he was doing; I had the impression he was trying to line us up for something, but the way his head's aligned meant he couldn't actually see. I felt like a bit of a dunce when he gave a snort, and expressed some surprise at my ignorance. I told him, a bit crossly, that I hadn't done this sort of thing before; he explained, rather unnecessarily steamily, about how much he was aching to feel me under his tail.
I expressed some uncertainty; I mean, it didn't seem hygienic. He seemed disappointed - then he suggested I take his blowhole instead. That freaked me out; I mean, I couldn't think of many things less appealing than having sex with the back of a guy's head. At least the alternative entrance was sort of in the right place, if he'd been a woman.
So I decided, why not? Being adrift in deep space with perhaps a few days to live, and after months with nothing more than idle daydreams to relieve the tension, I challenge anyone not to be willing to try absolutely anything.
I wriggled out of his arms a bit, and tried lining myself up, since I could see our mutual nethers better than he could. Then I embarrassed myself further by having to ask where I was supposed to stick it; how was I to know he'd just have the one 'slot' for everything? Dolphins don't exactly come with a user manual, and even if they did, I'd not have read it.
I think my ignorance and repeated questions had killed his mood a bit, judging by the way his organ was retreating back into its slit. I felt rather offended; it sort of felt like a challenge to my virility, so I started prodding quite hard around the rear end of the genital opening.
I wasn't even sure I was pushing against an actual sphincter, or if I was in the wrong bit of the slit, at the wrong angle or something, and about to humiliate myself. But, he started shouting encouragement, saying things like, 'harder', and, 'more', and 'give it to me', and so on, so I figured I was probably close enough to doing it right, and carried on.
I'd sort of expected that my dick would sink in slowly. Maybe, if I were a bit more practiced at having sex with male dolphins, it would have. But of course, I'm not, and it didn't; once I'd pushed hard enough for the sphincter to give way, I was buried half-way into him almost instantly. He gave one of those ultrasonic squeals again - I'm happy he feels good, but damn it gives me a headache - and my reluctance not only evaporated, it went into full reverse.
The passage was vaguely moist, a bit rubbery; the cum he'd coated my dick with made a surprisingly good lubricant. His interior was also very hot, which felt nice, and was tighter than anything I'd felt before, which felt utterly fantastic. He kept shivering and chirping as I put my arms around his back, and rubbed tenderly at his dorsal fin. The socket implants where the wires of his arms plug into his spine got in my way a bit, but he didn't seem to mind at all; he hugged me back, tighter than before, but with his arms around the small of my back, and pushed at the moment he pumped his tail, forcing me in even deeper, almost to the hilt. The friction of the movement was out of this world, and I started trying to work out how I could get some leverage to take charge of my movements.
That was a tough one. It's not easy to get a proper rhythm in microgravity; if you can't get a good grip on your partner, with some leverage to push back and pull forth, then you're stuck. Even when you can, it's awkward to get more than slow, shallow thrusts, otherwise you end up somersaulting head over heels thanks to angular momentum - nothing can ruin the perfect evening quite like getting motion sick during sex. There's not really any good alternatives; no good using a solid surface nearby, or you just launch the pair of you off across the room. A few painful high-speed bumps ends the evening just as surely as nausea can. Plus, with a person, it's hard to get a good grip without squeezing pretty hard; for most people, that's a bit of a romance-killer too. I sort of envy the bondage-fetishists out there; those straps would come in really handy. Space might have been made for them.
Thankfully, dolphins are quite bulky, and those robotic arms don't feel pain in any case, so I just grabbed a hold of one of the exposed struts, wrapped my legs around his tail, and started pounding away at his anus like we were the last people alive. With hindsight, I guess that's sort of true, stuck out here.
The sensation was intense; if I was in heaven before, this was like I'd died there too, and gone on to some sort of super-heaven. He kept whistling my name in ecstasy while I pushed as deep as I could into him. At least, I hope it was ecstasy; it's hard to tell with the translator-box, it's as if they didn't design the damn thing with sex in mind.
If he'd been a human woman at that point, I'd probably have kissed him. Being a dolphin, though, not only did he not really have a kissable mouth, but his head as a good foot or so above where I could reach and oriented at the wrong angle; I was somewhere under where his chin would be. I tried just kissing the skin of his torso instead; but that just felt weird, like kissing a salty, damp eraser, so I gave up.
I could feel his erection jutting up against my stomach, sort of pinned there haplessly. I thought it'd only be fair if I worked it over for him, but as soon as I tried loosening my grip on his arms, I lost the leverage to continue thrusting, so I had to abandon the idea. I settled instead for trying to rub my body up and down a little at the apex of my thrusts, to give him some feeling too.
He told me afterward that the slight change in angle meant I was slamming right into his prostate each time I hilted fully. I actually apologised, before he told me it was a good thing.
Anyway, it only took a few deep thrusts like that before he gave an ultrasonic scream of pleasure, and his dick bucked as I dove in hard again. His cum hit me in the chin, and the force actually stung a little, like being shot with a water pistol. In my state, though, the twinge of discomfort was just exciting and exotic.
His rectum clamped down like a vice with each new shot he fired; hard enough I actually had trouble keeping my rhythm going through the pressure. My orgasm jumped up on me so fast it felt more like some sort of mugging than the usual slow, steady sensation I prefer. Not that I can complain though, it was fantastic!
Almost before I knew I was on the edge, I'd gone over it, and my last few thrusts were lubricated by my own cum as I shot weeks of pent-up stress into my cetacean crewmate.
We came down from the high quickly; the exuberance we shared at the ray of hope had been thoroughly sated, and the reality of the shipwreck settled back in. Now there was work to do.
We stayed there, held tight in each other's arms, for a quite while. I'm not sure how long exactly; I've found from experience that it's bad practice to check my watch during sex, but that's another story. We ended up perfectly seriously discussing a strategy for conserving food supplies, despite us both being covered in cum, and with my softening dick still lodged a long way up his backside. It was surprisingly relaxing.
We parted eventually, though, and Eranau suggested I get some shut-eye. He says he'll make a start on some of the cleaning while I sleep - in fact, he said, he'd got half a mind to clear the place up right now. I didn't get the joke at first, so he had to explain; 'phins only sleep with half their brain at a time, of course, which is handy when there's some menial chores that need doing. Explaining it kind of killed the humour, though.
I didn't know how to respond after that, when he said he thought he loved me. It's ridiculous. We're not even the same species. We're just good friends. So I left without saying anything.
I can't shake the feeling there's something more there, though. This doesn't feel like just an extended one-night stand.
I guess he's earned it; I'll think about it tomorrow.
***
May 15th
06:45 AM
Dear diary,
I've never felt this bad before, helpless and adrift.
I probably should have seen it coming. I mean, I've heard lots of stories about how altruistic 'phins are, but, I never paid them any attention. People just aren't that good, are they?
Eranau evidently thought he was. People always do this to me; get me to open up a little, then break whatever they can find in me. I should have known better than to get attached, but I never knew how much this could hurt.
He's gone and tried to do the honourable thing, and though I think he's still alive, there's nothing I can do but hope. He's taken as much of the medical morphine as he could find; a massive dose. He probably reckoned it would kill him before I woke up from my nap. But, I had trouble sleeping. When I got up in the small hours of the morning and went to see if he could use a hand with anything, I found him adrift, semi-conscious.
He said there was no way there were enough supplies to get us both to Phobos; and he'd decided that I should be the one who carries on.
I don't have a fucking clue how to treat an overdose, and while I was desperately hunting through the incomprehensible toxicology handbook, he lost consciousness.
There was nothing else I could do; I've got nothing to treat him with. I put him in stasis, on the off-chance that he's still healthy enough to survive the journey to Mars so he can get help. But I know, deep down, that's not going to happen.
I'm writing this before I go into stasis myself. The repairs aren't done, but I don't care any more. If I reach Phobos alive, great. If I don't, we'll die together, and that'll be that. Fuck it.
I can't decide if I love him or hate him for doing this. I wish I'd answered him yesterday.
So long, diary. I probably won't write again.
* ATTACHMENT ENDS *
*****Original Message*****
To: Commodore J Andrews, Frontier Station
Date: 11/09/99 17:11PM
Subject: Re: Argyll Inquest **CONFIDENTIAL**
Good evening Commodore,
That's quite a bold set of recommendations. I appreciate that you've taken the time to look into the matter, but I should warn you that I am well aware of your past history with Mr Harrison.
I'm afraid I cannot discuss ongoing investigations nor what courses of action I do or do not intend to take.
Since the diary transcripts are confidential and were held not to be pertinent, given Mr Harrison's witness statements, I do not have a copy beyond the summary in the press release. Since you seem - somehow - to have copies, please forward them to this address and I will consider them.
Arbiter Williams
****Original Message****
To: Arbiter Nathaniel Willis, Phobos Colony
Date: 10/09/99 11:58AM
Subject: Argyll Inquest **CONFIDENTIAL**
Many thanks for your recent correspondence, Arbiter; I am pleased to learn that both of the crew survived. I would be grateful if you would send Crewman Eranau my best wishes for his swift recovery, and extend my personal congratulations to the captain and crew of the Horizon; if they hadn't picked up the emergency beacon and investigated, I'd have been reading a pair of obituaries.
I note with some concern that Crewman Harrison's version of events is now being treated as the official version. Since I have also been informed that Crewman Eranau suffered minor brain damage and has few memories of the weeks leading up to the accident, it seems that Crewman Harrison's diary and witness statements form the only prima facie evidence available. Harrison is known to be deeply paranoid and adept at spinning his own version of the truth.
Crewman Harrison, according to the psychiatric reports I have seen, has for a long time suffered from a violent streak, and his repressed homosexuality appears to be one of the major triggers of his violence, as I discovered once to my cost. Our psychiatrists have labelled him a mild sociopath with paranoid tendencies; I have long believed that Harrison is in fact a full-blown psychopath, and I caution against letting him set your investigative agenda.
I note that the power surge caused by the meteor impact corrupted a good deal of information in the flight data recorder; this in itself is unusual, given the failsafes intended to prevent exactly that. I strongly suspect that Harrison himself was a primary cause of the accident; if he decided to disable the radar output that was irritating him, he may also have accidentally cut off the feed to the flight computer, preventing autopilot from taking evasive action around the debris field. To cover his tracks, he then deliberately damaged the flight data recorder to conceal his gross negligence, before Crewman Eranau was removed from stasis.
I have also been asking myself why Harrison - who freely admits in his diary to paranoid suspicions about it being found and read - would record events in such detail, and leave the book openly when he must have known that the rescue crew would spot it. I believe that this is an attempt to divert suspicion from the truth, by distracting investigators.
I have been reliably informed that a lethal dose of morphine, based on guidelines for humans, would be too low to cause rapid death in a cetacean of equivalent body mass. Further, if administered as one would a human, the injected drug becomes trapped in sub-dermal fat, and is released slowly into the bloodstream without reaching a lethal concentration. It seems to me that the medical report on Crewman Eranau suggests that this is most likely what happened; and that it was this mitigating effect that allowed him to survive the journey in stasis.
The version of events I suspect is that Harrison, before reviving his crewmate, calculated that if Eranau were to die, Harrison would be able to reach Mars without any further repair work being required. Harrison administered what he believed would be a lethal dose of morphine, mistakenly basing it on the human toxicology data he had to hand, and then spent some hours concocting a story that he believed would make Eranau's self-sacrifice more plausible. He probably decided that if Eranau's body disappeared entirely, it might rouse suspicion; and he instead opted to wait until Eranau was dead, or near enough, before attempting to preserve the body in stasis, reasoning that it was what an innocent man might do, and that it would not affect his own survival. The Horizon's intervention was all that stopped his miscalculation being fatal to both crewmen.
Has any physical evidence been found of their liaison? If it has not, then the question of why not, should be asked; if there is, I do not either rule out the possibility that it took place while Harrison believed Eranau unconscious and dying; perhaps because he took an erotic thrill in claiming power over life and death; perhaps in some form of twisted revenge for Eranau propositioning him earlier in the voyage, or perhaps even a calculated effort to ensure there would be forensic evidence at autopsy stage to support his diary entries.
Since Eranau survived, largely thanks to the Horizon, Harrison is faced with Eranau's amnesia being perhaps all that stands between him and the death penalty. Under such circumstances, I can only recommend that Eranau be kept in protective custody, and that crewman Harrison is arrested immediately on suspicion of attempted murder - or I fear the worst may be yet to come.
I have no jurisdiction over Phobos Colony, so the matter rests entirely in your hands, Arbiter. I wish you luck with your investigation.
Commodore John Andrews,
Commander, UN Space Frontier Station