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Shifting Diplomacy

Branching Out

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Shifting Diplomacy Care Instructions

Congratulations on your purchase of Shifting Diplomacy: Branching Out. To ensure proper care of your product, it is highly recommended that you follow the below instructions.

• Ensure that your product gets a healthy dose of sexual encounters between males. No women involved.

• Water your product with anthropomorphic humanoids using a balanced mix of orcs and wolves.

• Keep your product in direct exposure to scenes of muscle growth, muscle worship, cock growth and/or ball growth at all times to ensure a steady development.

• When it comes time for a harvest, always be aware of the copious amounts of tentacles that your product develops as this is integral to your safety and the safety of those around you.

• Be aware that your product has a very intense concentration of male pregnancy so if you are squeamish towards this particular concept or are not of legal age (18/21) in your respective country/region, please ensure that you get rid of this product immediately but safely. It is not recommended to use holy water in an attempt to cleanse it as this is likely only to cause a demonic inferno and a slight chance of summoning an eldritch horror. Just close your browser and forget about the story.

If you are ready and responsible to take on the story of Shifting Diplomacy: Branching Out, then please enjoy this product.

Fun Fact: I wanted to create a different kind of Orc and decided to go with the idea of them being plant-based nomadic creatures that are more focused on self-preservation than raiding or conquest.

Prologue: Greenlit

Non-Host species detected.

Endspawn influence negligible.

Commencing analysis.

******

Sporekeeper Varrin Ku’thlack of the Orkish Homeship Da’makur was under a lot of stress. The cramped hallways of his office were stacked with boxes of resources that could not fit anywhere else on the ship as every space had to be used to accommodate his fellow crew members. It was the same for every other officer onboard the ship. They were reaching what his fellow Sporekeepers liked to call ‘Baidamar’ or ‘The Approaching Limit’ in the human tongue. The Homeship was becoming dangerously overpopulated and if the younger generations were not offloaded into a new Homeship, they would run out of resources and space. They were still weeks away from the closest resource point and even then, it would take months - at most a year - to build a new Homeship.

Reaching down and rubbing his stomach, his fingers ran over the wall of eight solid abdominals that his race had evolved to develop. They were thicker and more muscular than the humans mostly because Orcs were almost always in a constant state of pregnancy. To the Orcs, their gestation period was appropriate - a year in their solar cycle - but to the humans, it was incredibly short - just a month. Over the millennia, leaders had used such a rapid birth rate to their advantage but when their home world began running out of resources and overpopulation became a real issue, they could no longer deny that their species would slowly starve to death if they didn’t do something.

Many ideas were floated around from the sterilisation of an entire generation, environmental suits to keep them from impregnating one another to mass abortions. But the solution eventually handed down was the abandonment of their home world and the launch of the Homeships, spreading the Orc race across the stars. The initial idea had been that the Homeships would stay in contact with one another and relay their findings, encounters and knowledge across to a central government and other Homeships, all hoping to expand the Orc civilisation. But as time wore on, the Homeships became just as crowded as their planet and most Rootchiefs were more obsessed with finding the next source of materials to build the next Homeship for the next generation.

Varrin sighed. He had just recently birthed his youngest son. That gave him about another month before he would be susceptible to the spores of his brothers and would likely begin the pregnancy cycle again. As Sporekeeper, it was his job to try and keep those spores limited to certain parts of the ship to avoid unwanted pregnancies. That was tougher than it appeared especially since the Da’makur was a very old Homeship and most of its systems had been worn down with use and age. More and more, his fellow Sporekeepers in the spore-free wards had been getting pregnant either because of a failed filtration system or worn ventilation pipes.

That was why he was excited to hear that a human ship was nearby.

Humans were notorious for their warp technology which had given them unprecedented mobility all across the galaxy. They had expanded far more rapidly than even the spreading Orc Homeships, colonising planets, asteroids and whatever else they could find. Certain Homeships had developed animosity towards the humans simply because they would be making their way towards a resource point in the hopes of building a new Homeship only to find that the humans had already claimed them. Unlike the Galactic Terran Federation, Orcs relied on sublight technology which was faster than the FTL the Karn Imperium utilised but still slower than the instantaneous point-to-point travel of the GTF.

It was his hope that perhaps the humans would be willing to share their technology or at least help tow them to the resource point that they had detected. Da’makur would soon be too overpopulated to function properly and they wouldn’t make it to their destination before they had to resort to purging.

And the Sporekeeper did not want to go through another purge.

The door to this room slid open with a loud creaking noise.

“Sporekeeper,” rumbled Rootchief Donduur Da’makur. “The humans are just an hour away. I expect you’ll want to meet them.”

The large, grey-haired Orc slowly rose from his seat. He noted that right behind Donduur was a thin Orc that possessed the same deep green eyes he did - Garok - his eldest son still on the Da’makur.

“Thank you, Rootchief.” It took some manoeuvring to shuffle around the towers of crates and boxes to approach the Rootchief. “I’ll try my best to negotiate for their services.”

As he stepped past the Rootchief, a big, powerful hand seized his arm. Donduur leaned towards his pointed, leaf-shaped ear and spoke in a low, whispering growl.

“If they do not cooperate, I expect you to do what it takes to get their warp drive. If you do not, I will.” He turned his eyes briefly towards Garok. “For the Next Generation.”

Varrin swallowed.

“For the Next Generation.”

Fertile Grounds

Plant-based species detected

Threat to Endspawn: Negligible due to gross overpopulation and lack of cohesive military.

More data required.

******

Lieutenant Ayden ‘Snapshot’ Burke shuffled uncomfortably in his body armour. Galactic Terran Federation body armour for Marines was made of a powerful nanoweave alloy that was specifically designed to self-heal with the application of electricity. For most Marines, that mean that they’d have to take off the navy-blue chest plate, bracers, greaves and helmets to repair them by exposing them to a specialised armour repair station. Officers like Captain Warner were granted power armour which - while offering enhanced full-body protection - also had its own power source that could repair damage to the armour on the fly. To supplement the lack of a power source, the Marines were equipped with a special shoulder pad that generated a particle shield around them. As a lieutenant, Burke had two such shoulder pads.

All of this, however, fit somewhat a little too snugly on him ever since he had been changed by the Genesiseed. From far away, he would have looked like any normal human but up close, it would be evident that he was a little past seven feet tall with biceps over twenty-five inches wide, a chest pushing past sixty-five inches and either on or just above three hundred pounds of muscle. His neck basically vanished into the slope of his traps. The high-performance, thermal shirt he wore beneath the armour couldn’t fit around his arms so he had to roll them up leaving most of his arms exposed save for the straps and bracers. For someone as big as Warrant Officer Marcus ‘Wildstorm’ Aurelius, however, no shirt would fit him so he just had to make do with his breastplate which hung pathetically over his massive pectorals leaving most of his abdominal muscles exposed.

In the hours before the GTFDS Nascent Dawn had approached the Orkish Homeship, the lone civilian of the crew - Doctor Ross Carmichael - had analysed their mutations. The Doctor had analysed each of them while the crew rapidly cleaned up the dropship in a desperate attempt to hide the evidence of their orgy the previous night. The first thing he concluded was that the tentacles that each of them produced were more like very sensitive feelers that produced a mild, slimy neurotoxin from their tapered tips that - while they were immune to - would induce intense arousal in another living being to the point of paralysis. This only made the Marines eager to hurriedly clean up the ocean of cum that had pooled around in the mess hall. Each tentacle was very sensitive all along its length so while they were powerful in their own right, they were also a vulnerability.

The next thing he discovered related to their builds. Those with smaller and slimmer builds that looked like normal human bodybuilders he classified as the ‘Bodybuilder Build’ given that himself, Private Damon ‘Stitch’ Killigan and Corporal Wade ‘Happy’ Mattleigh could pass as regular humans albeit ones that had dedicated their lives to sculpting their bodies. They could fit easily into their armour and remain fully clothed. None of the three went past six and a half feet in height.

The next rank were the ‘Beast Build’ which Burke, Sergeant Major Travis ‘Alloy’ Firman and Specialist Barron ‘Sire’ Kahn were fortunate enough to possess. The three of them had been fairly big and fit before their transformation so it made sense that they were well above average human heights and builds. They were the ones that crept past seven feet tall and had the muscular structure of heroic idols and superheroes.

The last was, of course, Warrant Officer Marcus ‘Wildstorm’ Aurelius who was the only one with the ‘Titan Build’. Already pushing seven feet tall when he was human, Aurelius was now past eight feet and couldn’t fit in any clothing. His camo pants had been relegated to being shorts that barely fit over half his massive thighs and he couldn’t wear any boots because nothing on stock would fit his huge feet. He didn’t even bother with any shirts and just wore his armour.

But none of that anything compared to the Orcs.

When the airlock hissed open, Burke had to keep himself from gawking in surprise and to mentally slap himself to keep his cock and tendrils from erupting from his clothes in pure excitement. The Orcs were simply enormous.

And some part of him wanted to have a taste.

The smallest of them stood about Carmichael’s height and was thinner at least in terms of width but covered in strong, lean muscle. The green skin all over his body was surprisingly pale, almost a milky green in colour. A head of short cropped black hair hung to his skull. Large, pointed green ears stuck out from the sides of his head and, as was to be expected of Orcs, he had two large tusks that jutted out from his lower jaw. From what he remembered about Orkish culture, one’s rank was marked by the amount of body hair one possessed as apparently that helped spread the spores that they emitted. Those of lower social standing were expected to shave their bodies and their heads. Those with full, thick heads of hair and covered in body hair were the elite of the society. Apparently it came from old traditions where desirability as a mate was dictated by one’s ability to spread one’s spores in a controlled manner and hair usually helped in that matter.

With the smallest of the Orcs being mostly hairless, Burke guessed the guy was some sort of assistant to the biggest of the Orcs. The male stood at the forefront of the welcoming committee; towering even taller than Wildstorm with a huge barrel chest and a hunched figure due to his mass. Dark green skin barely contained the thick muscles beneath with dense veins crawling up and down his limbs like vines. A dense coat of black hair like fur spread all over his forearms, chest and legs while a mane-like mat hung from his head with streaks of grey. He kept his bread short, hugging his strong, wide jaw that sported two enormous tusks that almost reached past his nostrils with two smaller tusks flanking them. One eye was sealed shut by what looked like a star-shaped pink scar.

The leader was flanked by two massive guards that were about Burke’s build and accompanied by one slightly smaller Orc with distinctly grey hair. Unlike the other two, this Orc stood like a middle ground between the towering titan and the smaller youngster. He was just a little shorter than Wildstorm with a heavy, muscular build and powerful arms but nowhere near as wide as the leader who could easily take up the entire hallway by himself with great difficulty. His grey hair pooled into a cross-shaped crest on his chest that led down into a treasure trail towards his crotch but he was missing the arm and leg hair that the biggest of the Orcs possessed.

All of them were dressed in ramshackle pieces of armour that looked like it had all been stuck together with scrap metal just lying about. The biggest of them wore a massive, partially rusted breast plate made of jagged metal and huge metal pauldrons that looked to have come from different pieces of machinery. His lower body was covered by what looked like really old power armour with spikes and gears welded onto it for no other purpose than aesthetics.

“I am Rootchief Donduur Da’makur,” rumbled the biggest of the Orcs. “I am the leader of this Homeship.”

Burke curbed his own instincts to mate, willing the tentacles that were just writhing out of his back into their sockets. Stepping forward, clutching his MAW-F14 against his chest, he lifted his right arm over his head, exposing his armpit. “Lieutenant Ayden Burke of the 79th Marine Reserves.” He gestured to his left and right. “This is Warrant Officer Marcus Aurelius and Doctor Ross Carmichael.”

Donduur nodded gruffly and leaned forward about a few inches. He took a short whiff before pulling back. Clearly he wasn’t too impressed with the Marines. Though he kept his features still, Burke had read enough about Orc customs to know that it was customary to at least get within a few inches of the offered armpit. It was a sign of respect. To press your nose right up into said armpit was a sign of submission but the way Donduur ‘took in’ Burke’s scent could be seen as dismissive or even downright rude.

But Burke dismissed it. He wasn’t an Orc.

“You have a strong scent about you, Lieutenant,” rumbled the Rootchief. “Good.” With a grunt, he said, “Sporekeeper.”

The grey-haired Orc stepped forward, offering a hand towards Burke. “A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. I am Sporekeeper Varrin Ku’thlack. We spoke briefly on the communicator.”

This was the friendly voice that he had spoken to. From what he recalled Sporekeepers were actually fairly high ranking officials in the Homeship with a mixed role that could best be described as midwife and cultural leader. While the Rootchief was the ultimate leader that could be equated to a president and ship captain, Sporekeepers were like mayors if mayors also happen to deliver babies.

Burke took Varrin’s hand, surprised that they were almost the same size for one another and shook it. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Sporekeeper. Your Terran is excellent.”

“Our ancestors were actually one of the first Orcs that were encountered by the GTF and we adopted your language because our borders are so close. We still use our own dialect, of course, but we teach both in our Techtrees.”

It took him a second to translate ‘Techtrees’ as ‘schools’.

“Please,” Varrin said, stepping aside and welcoming them to the Homeship. “Let me be your guide to the rest of the ship. Are there more of you?”

“Four more,” Burke answered curtly. “We haven’t stopped since we escaped from the Karn Imperium so we’re taking this opportunity to do some repairs on the ship.” He lifted a hand and waved it over his shoulder. Sire and Stitch emerged from the Nascent Dawn and took up position behind him. Firman and Happy would remain on the ship and ensure that it wasn’t hijacked or nothing was stolen from them. Donduur’s low growl wasn’t missed by any of the humans.

“It must have been harrowing,” Varrin said seemingly with genuine sympathy. “Please, allows us to show you genuine Orkish hospitality.”

Donduur took a step back and turned away. He growled something in Orkish and Varrin replied in kind. The Rootchief stomped away, a ragged red cape fluttering behind him. None of the guards followed him and the smaller Orc and the more heavily armed ones remained.

“Apologies for the Rootchief’s behaviour,” sighed the Sporekeeper. “We would normally not be so open to outsiders but these are extraneous circumstances.”

“You need our warp drive,” Burke concluded.

He got a stunned look from the Sporekeeper.

There had been some animated discussions over what the Orcs could possibly want and what they could get in return. They may have become a superhuman space werewolves but they were still outnumbered. A single Homeship could fit over a three million Orcs before it needed to stop and build a new Homeship. If Carmichael’s analysis of the Da’makur was right, this Homeship was fairly old and as such had been split multiple times over. It was very likely that there was three million Orcs here. Seven superhumans against three million Orcs was still poor odds. They concluded that given the state of the Homeship, there was only one thing the Orcs could want from them: the warp drive.

“We did our research, Sporekeeper,” Burke continued. “You’re several weeks away from the nearest planet with your current sublight technology. Orcs produce one offspring every other month. Even assuming that only a fraction of your people are ready to give birth, you’d reach your limit and run out of food within a few months. Not enough time to get to your destination and build a new Homeship let alone provide for the newborns. The only way you’ll get to wherever you’re going is if you somehow supercharged your sublight engines which could potentially damage them beyond repair or you get us to let you use our warp drive.”

Burke eyed the two guards that were flanking Varrin. Each of them were wielding what the Orcs called ‘Screwers’. Each one was the size of his chest and they fired screw-shaped projectiles that were purposefully spun to ensure optimum penetration against a target. One shot from those rapid-fire weapons would ripe a massive hole through Burke’s inflated bicep.

“I’ll let you know now that a warp drive requires a lot of power,” he said. “And we’re not willing to part with it.” He paused, letting those words sink in for a second. “But if you provide us with supplies - food, air, repair materials, water - we’ll be willing to let you hook up your generators to our warp drive and we can bring you wherever you want. We’d even be willing to help you make your next Homeships in exchange for sanctuary against the Karn.”

Varrin was clearly considering the question. The Orcs were not enemies of the Karn Imperium just yet but Burke had made it clear that his crew had fled from the hostile aliens. If the Imperium realised that they were helping the Marines, it was very likely that they would be put on the Karn’s shitlist and thus be next on the list of species to be integrated; just like how humanity was next to be hit after the Greys had been consumed.

“What is to stop us from taking the warp drive by force?” asked the Sporekeeper.

Burke had been in enough high-stakes negotiations to know that when someone was bluffing him. Captain Warner had taken him along on hostage situations, relief missions and even uneasy alliances so he knew that the Sporekeeper’s threat rang hollow.

“I’ve got five men including myself right now willing to fight,” he said in a steely voice. “Two more are in the ship waiting for my order. The moment they hear gunshots, they’re going to set the warp drive into overdrive and to self-destruct. Ever seen a warp drive overcharge, Sporekeeper?”

It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Warp drives functioned by creating a gravitational field so powerful that it bent space and time, creating a singularity. The power of that pull was so strong that it connected two points in space, opening a gateway from one location to the other. There were, of course, more complicated formulae and processes behind it but in effect, they were creating a miniature black hole that they could jump safely through. When that process was disrupted for whatever reason, that black hole would go haywire and without anything to control it, it would quickly swallow and crush anything within its range. There was even a squadron of starship fighters in the GTF forces known as the ‘Kamikaze Kings’. The Kings were notorious because they had a penchant for fighting tooth and nail until they were on their last legs then they would engage their warp drives and ram themselves into hostile forces. The resulting singularity would usually take out their foes.

“I see your point,” Varrin responded with a shaky grin. “A good thing it won’t come to that, then. Your terms are more than acceptable. We will, of course, have to run it through with the Rootchief but I see no reason why we cannot exchange a few months of supplies with the continuation of our culture and Homeship.”

“Good call.”

Burke waved his hand forward the Marines finally stepped off the gangway onto the Homeship.

Flanked by the two massive Orc guards, Varrin escorted the Marines and their sole civilian off the ‘docks’ of the Homeship. Built like what one would expect more traditional docks to be, there were various piers and wharfs jutting out from all directions in a rather disorganised and often chaotic arrangement. Smaller ships were parked in each bay with some ports being inaccessible due to the size of those very same ships. Orkish design was very rough and ramshackle at least compared to the sleek, smooth Nascent Dawn. Most of the ships look like they were roughly assembled and asymmetrical with large chucks often looking like they were scavenged from other components. Even the ground they were walking on appeared like someone had just found some random metal plates and stuck them together to form a walkable ground.

What the Orcs lacked in cohesive design, however, they more than made up for their sheer numbers. This ‘docks’ section was simply enormous. The Nascent Dawn was fairly small compared to all other ships of the GTF so it appeared like an ant compared to the massive space that it inhabited. There had to at least be two or three thousand ships in this section alone and with all the arching piers, it was like they had stepped into a large, rusted city. As they stepped off the pier into the docks themselves, however, Burke could feel the pressure of overpopulation.

The massive size of the Orcs made the cramped walkways feel even smaller and even with their Orc guards paving the way for them, other Orcs dressed in heavy, makeshift clothing would soon close in around them with their big, green, sweaty bodies pressing against the Marines. It didn’t help that there didn’t seem to be any air conditioning and the air felt and smelled stifling. With Orcs being more closely related to plants than Terran mammals, they tended to thrive more in hot, humid conditions and didn’t mind carbon dioxide as much. It was actually optimal for their Homeships to have more carbon dioxide in the atmosphere than what would be considered comfortable for most humans - not enough that they would suffocate but enough that they would feel a little heady with overexposure. Heat was trapped within the Homeships thanks to the blend of gases and the Orcs thrived. For the humans, they were already starting to get a little sweaty and it was with some relief that Burke realised he wasn’t in full combat gear. He did not envy Doctor Ross, however, as he was fully dressed and insisted on wearing his tattered labcoat.

“Shit, this place is really industrial,” rumbled Wildstorm. “I sort of expected…”

“For us to be a group of tree-hugging hippies?” finished Varrin with a chuckle. “Most zarru-aki would think the same but the Orc species had to push into the space age fairly quickly once we became the dominant species on our home planet.”

“What did you call us?”

“Zarru-aki,” Burke answered, allaying his Warrant Officer’s fears. “It means ‘non-Orc’. ‘Aki’ is the traditional name for the Orc species in their native tongue. The GTF just started calling them ‘Orcs’ because of their similarities with the popular depiction of fictional creatures.”

Varrin smiled at him. “You seem very knowledgeable in our language and customs, Lieutenant.”

“You can say I’ve done my reading,” he answered guardedly, causing Varrin to lose his smile.

“Anyway,” said the Sporekeeper, turning back to leading them into the bowels of the ship where the temperature only rose. “I know most opinions of Orcs specially in the human core worlds are that we Orcs are either massive ecologically conscious savages who live in ships that are basically floating greenhouses or that we’re uncouth, brutal space pirates that will raid anyone and anything for supplies to make more Homeships. It is unfortunate but these stereotypes come from the more extremes of Orkish culture. Homeships don’t often interact with one another and they tend to develop in vastly different ways and have their own philosophies.”

“It’s a good thing we ran into such a hospitable one then, huh?” Doctor Carmichael laughed.

More like they were desperate. There was a culture amongst the Orcs called ‘Dak mul ra-aki’ which roughly translated to ‘cull the weak Orcs’. Apparently, different factions of Homeships would perform the ritual in different ways. The Hand of Dathramuk would apparently have yearly gladiatorial contests where Orcs were killed but those that survived were given breeding rights. Goromir’s Legion killed anyone that was over a certain age to maintain the population and reduce the likelihood of creating a new Homeship. The Blood Tusks would resort to religious cannibalism.

“The Rootchief runs a tight but flexible ship,” Varrin explained as they squeezed themselves into the cramped confines of the docks.

The houses looked more like something out of slums than actual homes; rough, rusted pieces of metal stuck together to form four walls and a roof. There were a few places that looked stable and made of stone but they looked aged and scrawled with graffiti. Burke had to remind himself that the state of these homes was not because of poverty but rather that most of the materials had been cannibalised from other ships and hastily put together to be usable given the short gestation period of the Orcs. There was no time to build fancy five-bedroom mansions because by the time they finished the foundation and frames, it was very likely that the family that was meant to live in it had already tripled in size.

A few Orcs gawked at them as they passed and there were even a few children who openly stared and pointed.

“How do you guys maintain such awesome physiques?” Stitch asked suddenly. “I mean, you guys are stacked. At least compared to human standards. Do you have gyms or something?”

Varrin offered a thin smile. “The Rootchief has us enter mandatory military duty from the ages of ten. By the time we are eighteen years of age, we will have matured enough for mating and will have built ourselves to be strong enough to withstand the rigours of childbirth.”

Sire lifted a hand as if asking a question to a lecturer. “That still freaks me out a little. So are you guys like… hermaphroditic or something?”

Burke could have turned around and decked the Specialist. He had ordered the team to read up on Orcs and Orkish culture before they docked and after they had finished cleaning but clearly Sire hadn’t done that. Instead he maintained a steely gaze and made a mental note to breed the guy’s ass raw when they were alone again.

Then he questioned why he would resort to such a punishment.

“In human terms, I suppose we are,” Varrin answered with a shrug. “But physiologically, again compared to humans, we are only male. Our reproductive cycle is different from yours. From the ages of eighteen and above, we start emitting spores from special organs where you humans would normally have sweat glands. These spores, when inhaled, pass through our system and sit within our bellies where they fuse together and merge the various genetic sequences from all the donors that came with the various spores. Those spores then form an embryo that our bodies then begin to feed and develop in our bellies.” He patted his hard abdominal wall for emphasis. “In about a month by human standards, our birthing sacs will then inflate and produce a lubricant to allow for easy childbirth while our penises will triple in size to ensure the baby can emerge without harming the host.”

Burke’s cock twitched in his pants and he had to roll his shoulders to keep his tentacles from sprouting out of his back and shoving itself down Varrin’s throat so that he could feel and taste that Orc’s body with every fibre of his being.

“Now when you say ‘birthing sacs’…” began Sire.

“Khan!” Wildstorm snapped.

Varrin chuckled and explained. “What you humans would consider your testicles. Often times, an Orc that is about to give birth will be incapable of movement until the child is born. In truth, the host Orc doesn’t actually contribute any DNA to the child that is born. The child’s genetic structure is comprised entirely of what spores were inhaled at the moment the host became receptive again.”

“So you’re birthing sequence is less about the exchange of DNA and more like a parasite growing inside of you.”

Wildstorm grabbed the Specialist’s head and forced it down towards the ground in a respectful - albeit forced - bow. “Jesus Christ, Sire! Shut the fuck up!”

The Sporekeeper laughed. “Please, do not reprimand him. He was curious and it is part of a Sporekeeper’s job to educate.” He turned around and locked gazes with Sire. “I would not say ‘parasite’ so much as ‘fungus’. But yes, that cleanly summarises how we give birth. Though I will say that there is a caveat in the process and that is that idea of selective breeding.”

The Orc guards and even Garok seemed uncomfortable at the mere mention of that.

“That’s where an Orc times when they are going to be receptive to a new pregnancy cycle and basically sniff the guy that they want their child to bear, right?” Burke asked. “Basically cloning the donor.”

“Yes,” Varrin responded, his mood turning dour. “Of course there is no guarantee that the child will be 100% like the donor but it certainly skews the balance in favour away from what many consider ‘genetic impurities’.”

The Lieutenant had to wonder if the Sporekeeper was one that would subscribe to such a practice… or even the Rootchief.

“So there’s no fucking involved?” Stitch asked abruptly.

That caused Burke to slap his forehead in embarrassment. That kind of question was expected from Sire but Stitch? A lewd joke or a light-hearted jest but not that…

“I’m sorry…” Varrin said, frowning. “I’m not familiar with this term ‘fucking’. What does it mean?”

“Don’t!” Burke exclaimed.

“Sex,” Doctor Carmichael said, grinning broadly. “Amongst humans, we reproduce when a man and a woman -”

“Okay!” shouted the Lieutenant, grabbing Ross by the shoulder and slapping his armoured hand over the man’s face. “Sporekeeper, ‘fucking’ is a colloquial term for sexual intercourse. Generally not used in polite company.” He growled in Stitch’s direction.

Varrin let out a soft ‘ah’ of acknowledgement. “I understand. However, unlike you humans, we Orcs do not need sexual gratification to reproduce and thus it is not within our culture to participate in ‘fucking’.”

“Seriously?” Stitch asked. “What do you guys do for fun?”

Thankfully, Varrin didn’t take the question as an insult and he beckoned them to follow. “We Orcs of Da’makur enjoy many forms of entertainment. One of our favourite past time is what you would call ‘speed painting’. In essence we have competitions on who can recreate one of our greatest masterpieces the fastest and with the most accuracy. There is also wrestling, sunbathing and the rigorous exercises that our Rootchief makes mandatory for us.” The Sporekeeper inclined his head slightly. “Sadly, with our Homeship becoming so well-used and approaching capacity, we rarely have time for such luxuries.”

“Why is that?” asked Doctor Carmichael. “I would have thought that a larger number of people would mean there would be more hands to work and thus more time to spend in leisure.”

That was Burke’s assumption too but as Varrin explained while they strode deeper into the Homeship, while Orcs may only birth one child per cycle, because their gestation period was so short and cycles were at most two months long, that would mean they were effectively pumping out a child every two months. Orcs were not considered fully grown until they were ten years of age and they were only sexually mature when they were eighteen. That was at least ten years before an Orc could do everything anyone else can do. An Orkish calendar was only ten months long which meant that by the time the first child was fully grown, their parent will have pumped out at least fifty other children in that timespan. There would be another forty before the first child started their own reproductive cycle.

“Most Orcs are often torn between raising their own children and working so much so that most children grow up working.”

Burke’s eyes went to Gurak Garok, the smallest of their Orc hosts and he had to wonder how young the guy was or if that slimmer build was just what his genetics had build him.

“Must be rough,” Wildstorm rumbled. “Sounds like your kids don’t get much of a childhood.”

“There are tales that when the Homeship was first starting, children were allowed to enjoy their youth for a few years. This was because the Homeship was populated by, at most, a thousand Orcs so it was actually rarer to get pregnant then but these days, it becomes difficult to avoid that part of our life cycle.”

Surely there were ways to prevent unwanted pregnancies. A few decent air filters could certainly clean the air of any spores and maybe some sturdier clothing that was sweat and odour absorbent could hold off their reproductive spores. But it wasn’t Burke’s place to question Varrin’s society. They were just here to cooperate.

“Ah!” exclaimed their guide, approaching one of the larger buildings. “Here we have one of our mud wrestling stadiums. One of our major past times and a good way to train the Orcs who have joined the Kar’madar. Our army.” With a flourish, the Sporekeeper ushered them through the large, rusted doors. The smell of mud quickly overtook the musk of the Orcs and the solid, metal grounds instantly became squishy with wet earth. Burke’s boots sunk into the mud up to his shins. The Orcs waded through the muck easily enough but the Marines found themselves slowed down a little.

If they had to fight through this sort of mire, their mobility would be severely limited.

There were a few stands and seats perched on the right but most of the stadium was taken by about a hundred Orcs just carelessly brawling in the mud without any sort of organisation. The men were laughing and seemed to just be messing around, flinging balls of mud at one another, tackling each other to the ground and wrestling around. It took Burke a second to realise that all of them were naked.

“Oh my…” breathed Carmichael. “This is… This is certainly a display of… uhm… masculinity.”

Even through the smell of wet earth, Burke could make out the doctor’s arousal. “Get a hold of yourself, doctor,” he growled softly. He jerked his head towards Varrin. “Thanks for the tour, Sporekeeper. I don’t want to keep you from your duties for much longer. I think we should meet with your Rootchief and discuss the terms of our arrangement.”

“Now hang on, Lieutenant,” Wildstorm said, grinning broadly. “I think I want a piece of this action. See how we Marines deal against Orcs.” The titanic dark-skinned Marine began taking off his armour. “What are the rules?”

“Frankly, there are no rules,” Varrin responded with a shrug. “One leaves grudges and petty differences outside and the mud cleanses you. We are plant-based after all and our philosophy draws close to the idea that we came from the earth thus we can be cleaned by it as well.”

“Awesome. Who do I fight?”

Burke shook his head in frustration. There would be nothing he could do to stop the Warrant Officer and he couldn’t help but think Captain Warner would have been able to restrain the big man with a simple gaze and a sharp word.

“Poldak,” Varrin said, gesturing to one of their guards. “Why don’t you show our good guest how to fight?”

The Orc with slightly yellowish-green skin grinned broadly and began stripping off his armour. “With pleasure.”

Burke groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh boy… Here we go…”

Plating the Seed

Warning: target species vastly outnumber and outgun hosts.

Monosexual species with cloning-like reproductive systems.

Physical samples required.

******

Wildstorm couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the sight of these huge Orcs that had triggered some primal need to be all alpha-male and impressive or perhaps it was the hormones that just couldn’t resist the opportunity to wrestle in the mud with these huge, hulking masses of man meat. Granted, Orcs weren’t technically male by human standards but they had a cock and balls so that was good enough for the now naked Warrant Officer. He stepped into the muddy arena alongside the Orc guard Poldak. All around them other Orcs were wrestling, enormous, muscular bodies colliding with one another while their enormous cocks and balls swung between their tree-trunk legs.

Having come out in the Marines as a gay had come with a lot of temptations and trials. Even if they lived in an enlightened age of near-instantaneous space travel and an average lifespan of 100 solar years, guys will still be guys. Some of his fellow Marines would purposefully avoid him while others would make jokes about how much he liked to suck or ride cocks. After a while, Wildstorm had developed a thick skin to stand against all the ridicule and just rolled with the jokes. Not that many people would want to throw insults to his face given he was the biggest guy in the Lone Wolves.

In fact, Marcus ‘Wildstorm’ Aurelius had actually started to use his sexuality as an excuse to hit on guys and get some tail. Being an all-male group, the Marines needed some relief. He made it obvious to every new recruit that if they ever got lonely, he would always be happy to help out. No romance or emotions required. Some guys just needed to get off; boys will be boys.

That had bred a sort of… eagerness into Wildstorm; an enthusiasm to expose himself to as many men as possible.

Granted Orcs technically weren’t men by the traditional sense but he simply couldn’t help himself! There were over a hundred huge, muscled Orcs wrestling naked in the mud in front of him.

He was only human.

Sort of…

“So how do we do this?” Wildstorm asked, shrugging off his armour.

“No rules, human,” rumbled his opponent, the Orc named Poldak said. The huge Orc had bright red hair that was cropped short almost in a buzz cut. It was clear that the guy shaved because there was a lot of stubble on his chest, rippling abdominals, arms and legs. It was odd to see that the Orc had also shaved down his pubic hair. There had to be some reasoning behind that and Wildstorm decided he’d ask Burke later on. The Lieutenant was always the smart one which was why Warner had pushed to promote the kid.

In his musing, Poldak has reached down into the mud and began rubbing it all over his thick, muscled, green form. Wildstorm shrugged and cupped a lot of the mud and lathered it all over his ebony flesh. It was strangely warm like someone had heated it or mixed the earth with warm water. That didn’t stop it from feeling incredibly strange. The Marines taught one to be clean and well-kempt as cleanliness was a form of discipline; not to mention hygiene concerns. He fought off the crawling sensation on his flesh and decided instead to take up a traditional wrestler’s stance; bending his knees slightly, hunched forward and arms ready to grapple his foe. Poldak rolled his huge shoulders and advanced with slow, cocky steps.

Oozing with confidence; the kind of man Wildstorm liked.

He felt his cock twitch and with it, that strange sensation of arousal coming from his back. The tentacles that he had been granted began to squirm, the sensation of a hardening cock rippling up from the four opening on his back and sending chills up his spine. The Orcs may not have any knowledge of human anatomy but he was fairly sure they would freak out if he started sprouting tendrils and running them all over Poldak’s gargantuan, muscled form. He closed his eyes briefly, running through the gauntlet of images that he had stored in the recesses whenever he needed to keep himself from popping a boner; close up visuals of bugs, bloated, beached whale carcasses, raw sewerage…

The effect was instantaneous.

He got soft again and the arousing sensation on his back faded.

But that also left him vulnerable.

Before he knew what was happening, Poldak’s massive arms yanked him from the ground, hoisting him on the big Orc’s shoulder like one would a child and then spun him around three times. His head became muddled with the surprise motion. Then the world tilted and

WHAM!

He slammed face first into the mud. The wet earth was probably a foot thick so thankfully he didn’t break anything… except for his ego. A big green hand grabbed the back of his head and yanked him out from the mud.

“You best pay attention, human,” growled Poldak right into his ear. “I’ll try to be gentle but there’s no guarantee you won’t die.”

This Orc was aggressive.

That was sexy.

Wildstorm grinned savagely. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.”

Poldak didn’t notice that Wildstorm had hooked his leg around the bigger Orc’s leg. As soon as he finished his sentence, he pulled on the Orc’s leg, causing the big beast to topple. Wildstorm immediately pushed off the mud, slamming the back of his head against Poldak’s face and rolling the Orc off his muscled back and into the mud. He was immediately on top of the Orc a moment later, rather surprised that there was a burst of red blood on the muddy, green below him. At first he thought it was his; had Poldak’s tusks pierced his skull? Then he realised it was the Orc’s.

Orcs had red blood.

“Enough!” Poldak hollered, lifting a hand into the air. “I yield!”

Wildstorm frowned in confusion as he slowly rose in the mud. “What? That’s it?”

Then Poldak grinned at him. “No.”

Too late did he realise that his feet were positioned directly in line with the Orc’s. In a twist, Poldak swiped at his feet, sending him toppling to the ground. Time seemed to slow as the Orc rose up to pin him. Something just… clicked inside of him. Animal instincts, perhaps. He planted his hand deep into the mud, catching his fall and then twisted his legs directly towards Poldak’s chest. His bare feet slammed into Poldak’s abdominals. Before physics could take over, he couldn’t help but take note of just how firm those abdominals are and how nice it felt for his toes to curl around the massive plates. Then time restarted and Poldak was sent back a good couple of feet from the crushing impact.

His fellow Marines cheered behind him, even Doctor Carmichael pumping a fist and leaping into the air a little. Burke allowed himself a proud grin before quickly correcting himself. Wildstorm hurriedly got to his feet just as Poldak did the same. The Orc coughed a spluttered a little but flashed him a grin that he found himself mirroring.

“Hey Lieutenant!” Wildstorm shouted over his shoulder. “You might want to go on ahead. This could take a while.”

“Take your time,” Poldak agreed.

For his part, Burke wasn’t so sure about leaving one of his men amongst the Orcs but it was clear that Wildstorm was actually having some fun. No doubt some of that was due to the fact that the Warrant Officer was wrestling amongst big, muscular men. As much as he wanted to command his officer to stop, he also knew that morale was fairly low despite their rescue from the Orcs. With what had happened from the Genesiseed there was a lot that had plagued their minds. If Marcus could find some form of stress relief outside of fucking - which seemed to be tied to their transformations - then that was a good thing.

“You’re not opposed to letting the Warrant Officer have his fun while we continue the tour, are you?” he asked Sporekeeper Varrin.

The grey-haired Orc chuckled. “Not at all. Your man seems to have a bit of Orc in him. I’ve not seen many people take to our mud wrestling rituals so well. Most people would be turned off by the complete lack of rules.”

“I’m pretty sure he’d have some Orc in him by the end of the day,” snickered Sire.

Burke shot his pilot a withering stare before nodding towards Widlstorm on the shoulder. “We will rendezvous back at the Nascent Dawn. Don’t spent too long playing in the mud.”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant!” shouted the Warrant Officer over his shoulder. “This won’t take long at all.”

“Keep dreaming, human!” barked Poldak and the two clashed once more, grappling and rolling in the mud while sharing a few short laughs.

The reason Varrin had brought them to the arena in the first place was that it had an inbuilt tram system that could take them deeper into the Homeship. Reserved for VIPs, the rickety system emerged from the upper floors of the stadium and had a direct route to what the Orcs called the ‘Trunk’ of the Homeship.

“Homeships are generally divided into three major sections,” explained Varrin as the tram zoomed over the rusted docks. There was no one else in the box-shaped vehicle apart from them. The seats were surprisingly comfortable and Burke guessed that there was a reason only VIPs were allowed to use this system. “The Canopy is the outer layers of the Homeship. That’s where you docked. The Trunk generally contains the inner workings of the Homeship. The critical facilities that keep the ship moving such as the reactors, life support and nursery. The Seed is the command centre and is in the deepest part of the Homeship.”

“Funny,” Sire said, “I would’ve thought you’d call it the ‘Roots’ or something.”

Varrin regarded the caramel-skilled young man with a degree of confusion but Burke quickly stepped between them, interrupting the exchange.

“I take it that your Rootchief will be waiting for us in the Seed?”

“Unfortunately no. No one apart from the upper echelons are allowed in the Seed. Even I am not allowed deeper than the Trunk. We will meet him just outside the nursery.”

No doubt to guilt them into cooperating by showing the Marines just how bad the overpopulation problem was. Burke mentally confessed that he was curious to see how Orcs gave birth but he didn’t see why the Rootchief was resorting to such tactics when they had already agreed to cooperate. As the Tram was quickly consumed by the darker depths of the Homeship, seemingly plunging into a dark, lightness city, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being lured into a trap. They didn’t know the logistics of this place. If they had to make a hasty escape, they wouldn’t know where to go. Thankfully, the Nascent Dawn was small enough that if something did happen to them, the dropship might just be able to make its way through the confusing highways and twisting towers of the Homeship.

He turned away from Varrin for the moment, pretending to gaze out the windows at the dark city around them. Seemingly cast in perpetual twilight, the steel towers of the Trunk were much like any other city. There was no natural light and the starry expanse of space was almost completely obscured by the towers the deeper they went. The Trunk seemed more refined than the rusty segments of the docks and Canopy. It was almost on par with early 2000’s human civilisation.

With his back turned to the Orcs, Burke gently pressed the communicator on his wrist. “Firman, Happy. How’re things at the Dawn?” he asked quietly.

Happy responded subtly but still in his jovial, easy-going manner. “All okay here, Lieutenant. Some Orcs have stared in from the docks but keep their distance. A few ships did a flyby but that’s about it.”

“Keep me posted if anything strange happens. We’re being taken deeper into the Homeship. Would be tough to make it to you if things turn sour.”

“Copy that.”

The tram came to a screeching halt and the doors hissed open. The air that came through was surprisingly clean and fresh, a stark contrast to the constant muskiness that hung around the Canopy. As they stepped through, the door shut behind them and a fine mist began shooting at them from all directions. Given that parts of his skin was exposed, he felt the chemicals in the mist rub off against his flesh and hairs.

“Apologies,” shouted Varrin over the sounds of the machines. “We’re entering a nursery so we must be sterilised and washed down to avoid unwanted pregnancies. You’re currently being doused with an odour suppressant that kills our spores for the better part of an hour.”

“Just an hour?” Carmichael asked. “Does that mean those that work here need to constantly go through this process every hour to avoid spreading their spores?”

“Exactly!” They had to constantly raise their voices as the noises of the machines grew louder and fans began pumping air and sucking it out at the same time. “I know you must be wondering why we don’t just package this stuff and distribute it to the public to avoid unwanted pregnancies but you must understand that the compound is extremely expensive to make. Spreading this out to over three million people who need to go through them at least thirty times a day is simply far too taxing.”

Though given the fact that this was a question of overpopulation or lack of materials, Burke would’ve thought that this airborne Orc contraceptive would have been the obvious choice to invest in. He wasn’t here to question Orkish customs. He was just after the supplies that would see them to the next leg of their journey.

The process ended and the doors opened once more. His skin felt sticky like someone had lathered a thin layer of clear gelatin all over his body. The Orc’s bodies glistened in the light of the nursery and he couldn’t help but follow every curve of their muscled forms, his groin stirring in his pants. He bit his lower lip just to pull back on his primal lust and followed the Sporekeeper into the surprisingly sterile environment of the nursery.

If the exterior of the facility looked like early 2000 human civilisation, the interior was more like early 2500s. The Walls were sleek, white and metallic, clean and without a sign of rust. The one thing that was very different, however, was that the ceilings was covered completely in well-trimmed foliage. Some vines hung down from the canopy but it added a rather nice touch of nature compared to the otherwise metallic appearance. Like any hospital, there were Orc medical staff who were surprisingly naked dashing about. An Orc with hugely engorged balls and an equally big dick was wheeled past them, his cock pumping gallons upon gallons of precum into vats that were attached to the gurney. Several doctors were around him, telling him to stay calm even as his whole body was dripping with sweat and his otherwise green cheeks were flushed with effort.

“Is that guy…?” began Stitch.

“He certainly is,” Varrin said proudly. “We’re lucky to have found someone that is about to give birth. Would you like to experience the miracle of life, Lieutenant?”

Part of him didn’t want to since the mere idea of a man giving birth was simply foreign to him but at the same time, refusal could be considered an insult. Keeping his face steely and unreadable, he said, “It would be an honour. Lead on.”

“Oh boy,” rumbled Sire. “We get to greet a new Orc born. What man can say he’s ever seen such a sight.”

Burke decided not to reprimand his pilot. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this either. It was hard to think of these Orcs as anything else but male and the idea of them giving birth was still something he couldn’t fully comprehend. Every fibre of his being wanted to just get to the Roochief, finalise the deal and be on their way. But there was also a part of him that was incredibly curious. It wasn’t every day a human got to witness an Orc birth. Though Orcs and humans shared a galactic border, they mostly kept to themselves given how hard it was to track or find an Orc Homeship and there was no guarantee that one Homeship would honour any agreement made by another.

“Lieutenant?” prompted Varrin.

Burke realised he had been lost in his own thoughts for what must have been a long moment. “It would be an honour, Sporekeeper.”

“Wonderful.” The Sporekeeper seemed extremely pleased, maybe even relieved, and beckoned for them to follow him and the remaining guard through the hallways. The glass windows separating them from the actual wards were not actually glass but some sort of bioelectrical force field. It glowed faintly clearly was effective in keeping the area beyond the wards airtight and sterile. Varrin explained that most of their more high-level technologies had to be reserved for the nurseries given how often Orcs gave birth. Though Orcs may be plant-based, they were nonetheless vulnerable to infection and complications during birth which mean that most Orcs were trained in some way shape or form as a nurse or doctor.

“I’d love to learn more about Orkish medicine,” Stitch chimed in.

“Unfortunately Orkish biology isn’t the same as human and I fear that most of our techniques won’t be applicable to you,” Varrin responded with a faint smile. He gestured towards their remaining guard. “However, should you want to, I’m sure Brok here would be more than happy to take you around the facility on a tour.”

Why just the guard? Why not take them all on the tour? Burke’s danger senses were screaming at him, warning him that this was some sort of trap. They were being purposefully separated so that they could be picked off easily. But he couldn’t imagine why the Orcs would take such a tactic. Happy and Firman were still back on the Nascent Dawn with orders that should they not report in within a few minutes or the first sign of trouble, they were to lock down the dropship and begin the overload sequence on the warp drive. Burke had made that abundantly clear to Varrin. Would the Sporekeeper really risk his Homeship for such a desperate gamble?

What would Warner do?

He’d make sure that even if they are separated, they could still give hell.

“Go with him, Stitch,” he instructed. “Maybe see if there’s some things we can do about any future injuries. If you hosts give us some medical supplies or food, we should know about them so we don’t end up getting sick.”

Stitch beamed brightly and saluted. “Sir!”

Burke took a step aside as Stitch happily headed followed the big Orc guard, Brok, away from them. That subtly placed him close to Sire. “Go with him,” he whispered to his Specialist. “Keep an eye on that Orc and make sure he doesn’t do anything funny.”

“And here I was looking forward to seeing an Orc have such an amazing fucking orgasm that a little green man shoots out of his dick,” said the pilot with a cocky smirk. Even with those words, Sire kept his features still and gave only the faintest of nods of acknowledgement. Louder, he shoulder, “Hey, wait up you two. I’ll skip the miracle of life today, thanks.” He grinned over at Varrin. “No offense, Sporekeeper, but even amongst humans, I’ll avoid childbirth.”

“You’ll likely come upon another opportunity on your way to the laboratories,” chuckled Varrin. “There will be plenty of time to change your mind.”

Sire bit his tongue and quickly followed Brok and Stitch down another hallway. That left Burke and Dr. Carmichael with Varrin and Varrin’s assistant, Garok. Though Varrin was a very big person comparative to Burke and Carmichael, Garok was not that intimidating. Should a firefight break out, he was sure he could take down the two as necessary, maybe even hold them hostage. He wasn’t sure about Carmichael. Though they were supposed to be ‘superhuman’ now.

Another factor he had to worry about.

That strange sensation of arousal was squirming across his back, his tentacles simply itching to emerge. He had no idea what the Genesiseed had planned but he was going to fight it as long as possible. Though he could barely remember the details, the sensations of his cock sliding in and out of Happy’s ass or down Wildstorm’s throat haunted him. The taste of Firman’s dick, the feeling of Sire’s member deep in his ass and the sensation of those slick tentacles from Carmichael caressing his form while his own slipped and slid into Stitch stirred something primal within him. It took all his effort to grip his gargantuan gun tightly to keep himself from exploding there and then, pouncing on Varrin and running his tongue all up and down those abdominal muscles.

The Sporekeeper stopped in front of one of the wards. Inside, there were three Orcs positioned around a fourth. The fourth was currently lying on a large bed, heaving and wheezing. His legs were propped up on stirrups to make room for his enormous sac which was nearly half his size. His dick was as big and thick as one of his legs, fully erect and currently propped up by one of the attending physicians. Another of the Orcs was holding onto the labouring Orc’s hand and hand another hand against his big, heaving chest. The third was positioned right in front of the birthing Orc’s cock, somehow avoiding the copious amount of increasingly thickening precum that was pouring out of the massive slit. The floors were coated with the clear, sticky fluid, spiralling down a drain.

“This is fascinating,” admitted Ross, inclining his head to get a better look. “I take it that fluid coming from his… uh… his penis isn’t actually semen?”

Varrin shook his head. “Not at all. We call it luzdar which, literally translated, is ‘baby butter’.”

Burke stared at the Sporekeeper incredulously. “Seriously?”

The grey-haired Orc gave him an apologetic shrug. “Our languages don’t entirely line up. I suppose you could think of it as ‘birthing lubricant’. Its entire purpose is to ease the passage of the infant from the parent’s belly, through the birthing canal and out the penis.”

“And the size of the Orc’s testicles…?” Carmichael asked.

“Yes. Our species’ testicles increase in size to compensate for the need to produce a lot of lubricant for the birthing. A few days after the infant is successfully delivered, his testicles will shrink back to their normal size.”

The parent Orc suddenly let out a loud, deafening roar, the veins on his neck bulging and every muscle on his massive, naked body seizing up. A large gush of ‘lubricant’ came blasting out of his cock, splashing on the Orc standing right in front of him. To his credit, that Orc somehow managed to stand his ground despite getting about a bucketful of cum straight to the face.

“Each member of the delivery team has their roles,” explained Varrin. He pointed at the Orc holding the parent down. “The Kul’amar or ‘Support Nurse’ is there to keep the parent as calm and comfortable as possible and to keep him from hurting anyone else on the team.” He then pointed at the Orc holding up the parent’s very erect cock. “The Kul’illam is there to prop up the penis at the best angle possible to provide a clean delivery. It is also his job to help the parent push should the infant find difficulty emerging.” Lastly, he gesturing at the Orc standing right in front of the parent’s cannon of a cock. “The Kul’Garrom is there to deliver the baby himself. He needs to be strong and ready as often, the force of delivery can be enough to knock down a full-grown Orc.”

Burke couldn’t help himself. “Seriously?”

Even Carmichael gave him a surprised look.

“Quite,” Varrin answered as if it was the most normal thing to say. “That is why we have to have proper plumping in our nurseries. A typical Orc delivery can produce enough luzdar to fill that entire ward from the moment they enter labour.”

Burke couldn’t imagine producing that much cum even if he were to count every drop from the moment he reached sexual maturity. It was both horrifying… and kind of hot.

The parent Orc let out another roar and another gush of luzdar came shooting out of the erect penis. The Kul’Garrom, the delivering nurse, stood his ground like a huge, green wall preventing any of the sticky lubricant from hitting the viewing screen.

“It sounds like he’s in a lot of pain,” Carmichael observed. “Amongst humans, childbirth is often considered one of the most painful experiences one can have. Ultimately rewarding but incredibly painful.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Doctor.”

It took a second for Carmichael to recover from that comment. “What? Me? No! Human males don’t give birth. I’ve just read medical journals and it’s common knowledge…”

Varrin offered an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse me, Doctor. I am not too familiar with human mating rituals or anatomy.” He turned towards the birthing as the parent Orc let out another cry. “In truth, the birthing is one of the most euphoric experiences one can have. It is hard to describe without having experienced it yourself.” Varrin rubbed his cheek thoughtfully as he tried to think of a good comparison. “Think of it as pressure building deep within your body for an entire month and then, in the moment you go into labour, more and more of that pressure is being released. You feel both relieved and at the same time strong as every muscle in your body tenses, every vein awash with soothing fire and this intense, fiery pleasure rising from your nether regions. Now imagine these blasts getting stronger and stronger until it at last comes out in one blast that can last for minutes at a time while your child entering the world. That is what childbirth is like for we Orcs.”

Burke was strangely fascinated. In fact, the more he heard the cries of the parent Orc, he realised that those weren’t screams of agony; they were shouts of pleasure like he was experiencing orgasm after orgasm in rapid succession. No doubt this was the culmination of a month of basically not getting to nut. Though he guessed that since Orcs underwent this cycle of childbirth every two months, there was some degree of desensitisation to it all.

“Would there ever be any complications during the process?” Carmichael asked, ever the scholar.

Varrin nodded. “Naturally. Sometimes, the parent does not produce enough luzdar and it becomes necessary to deliver the child manually either through two procedures. The Kaisadar is where one would slice open the womb to retrieve the child. The Romandon is where one would reach into the shaft to pull out the child were it to get stuck midway through delivery. This looks to be a fairly cut and dry delivery, however. The parent is healthy and there is much luzdar.”

Another cry and the blast of precum was so thick that some of it splattered against the energy window.

“Won’t be long now,” Varrin said. “When the luzdar comes out in a steady stream, delivery is immanent.”

The parent was thrusting his hips madly into the air with the nurses trying their best to keep him down. Burke watched as the Orc pumped out more and more precum with increasing volume, flooding the ward to the point where even the drain could not filter it all fast enough and it was pooling at about an inch on the ground.

“Here it comes!” Varrin exclaimed.

The parent Orc let out a loud, rising groan, the volume and pitch slowly rising. The barely noticeable lump on the Orc’s belly suddenly shifted downward, causing the lump to migrating towards the alien’s cock. That same lump was propelled up the shaft, the nurse holding the dick careful to not obstruct the path as it passed along with a loud gurgling noise. Burke barely had time to note that the Orc’s abdominals were ridiculously shredded despite the lump that had been there before the parent let out his loudest cry yet. Thick, white cum came bursting out of the Orc’s cock, rushing over the waiting nurse. It came with such force that the huge eight foot Orc was pushed back several steps and much of it burst past him and onto the energy shield. Burke would have chuckled at the fact that there was actually a vague outline of the nurse against the background of white were he not fascinated by the fact that the same nurse suddenly had a big, green form in his huge arms.

Despite the baby already being born, the parent kept on cumming, thrusting his hips constantly as more and more seed was pumped out of his dick. The nurse with the child quickly exited the ward, leaving through a sliding door while dripping with cum like that was perfectly normal. There was a cart waiting for him nearby and he quickly picked up a towel to clean the infant. Burke was about to ask to see the child when a loud splat brought him back to the ward. That silhouette of the nurse was suddenly covered in cum, obscuring his view of the parent.

“He’s still going,” observed the Lieutenant. “Is that… is that normal?”

“Absolutely,” Varrin replied. “I mentioned that it would take three days for the parent’s testicles to shrink back to normal, didn’t I?”

“The guy will be orgasming for three whole days?”

Varrin inclined his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this term ‘orgasm’. I’m assuming it means the expulsion of the remnant luzdar? Then yes. That is exactly what it means.”

Burke couldn’t help himself. “Holy shit…”

He was honestly a little jealous. Three days of non-stop cumming. It might get mind numbing at some point but he just could not help but wonder how that felt.

“We should leave,” Varrin said. “You sadly won’t be able to see much from here and the child will likely need to be cleaned and allowed to rest. I’m sure Rootchief Da’makur will have finished preparations by now.”

Snapping out of his awe, Burke turned back towards Varrin. “Preparations?”

“Yes. Your ship only arrived within communications range two days ago and we didn’t receive a response until just yesterday. Preparing the proper gifts to cement our exchange took some time as Orc supplies won’t necessarily do well with human systems so we had to pool our resources to ensure that what we gave you would be suitable for your consumption and use.” Varrin offered a thin smile. “Not necessarily easy given the short time frame.”

Maybe there wasn’t some malicious intent behind the trade. Maybe the Rootchief had just left to oversee what they were going to give the humans.

“I see,” Burke replied stoically. “Lead on then.”

They left the nursery once more and headed into the tram, leaving to head further and deeper into the Homeship. As they travelled, Burke quickly checked up on his crew.

“Happy, Firman,” he whispered softly, back turned to the remaining two Orcs. “How’s it looking there?”

“Fairly quite, lieutenant,” answered Happy. “Orcs are giving as wide berth. Nothing suspicious.”

“Keep your eyes open. Wildstorm. How are you doing?”

He got a quick grunt in response. “Just showering, lieutenant. Where do you want to meet up?”

“Back at the ship. You know the way or shall we come pick you up?”

“Poldak can show me.”

He wondered just how chummy Wildstorm had gotten with his Orc wrestling partner but decided to leave that for later speculation. “Let me know once you arrive. Stitch, Sire. Status.”

“It’s really amazing, lieutenant,” Stitch said excitedly. “The Orcs have these… well… I guess you can call them plants that simultaneously act as reactors and food producing plants. They absorb solar radiation and break down detritus through some sort of chemical reaction I can barely understand! It generates electricity somehow and at the same time produces these… uh… tomato-like fruits that have a high nutritional content that the Orcs use in a lot of their food! Apparently there are all sorts of different flavours depending on what plant produces them but it’s all really amazing! I dunno if it’s technically cannibalism since they’re eating plants and they are plants but still!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sire rumbled. “The geek is nergasming over here. We heard ya, Captain. We’ll head back to the ship.”

“See to it, Sire.” Burke took a second to pause then… “And Stitch, it isn’t cannibalism since they aren’t technically eating their own kind.”

He got a bewildered look from Carmichael.

“What?” he said with a shrug. “It’s not.”

Outside, the city became more and more futuristic more akin to the interior of the nursery. There was a lot of greenery sprouting out from large, silvery buildings and even some tube-like plants that Varrin explained produced the air they breathed. Some buildings were completely overrun by vines or made entirely out of plant matter. It became wilder, more natural as they got deeper into the Homeship and as the tram ground to a halt and stepped out, Burke as a little hesitant to set foot on the large leaf-looking platform. The Orcs headed out easily enough but it was hard to shake the idea that a simple leaf would not be able to support his weight.

Rootchief Da’makur was waiting for them as they stepped onto the bright, green station. There were an assortment of wooden crates and boxes behind him along with several Orcs stacking more on top of one another.

“I trust your tour of our Homeship was enjoyable?” grunted the Rootchief.

“It was,” Burke answered with a nod.

“Good.” The huge Orc gestured at the supplies behind him. “We have scoured our databanks to find you something your ship and crew can consume as you mentioned you were low on supplies and you have a long journey ahead. I was hoping this would be enough to warrant the one-time use of your warp drive.”

“Your Sporekeeper already explained the situation,” Burke said with a nod. “We’d be happy to let you use our warp drive to bring you to your desired destination. We’ll just need the power to run the drive so if we were to hook up your generators to our ship, we can make a big enough jump to wherever it is that you need to be.”

Da’makur grunted in acknowledgement. “Fair.” Then he nodded towards the smaller Orc, Garok. “Boy. Lead the men to the Lieutenant’s ship. Bring the supplies there.”

Burke didn’t miss the look of discomfort on Varrin’s part. “We can escort them ourselves.”

“No,” the Rootchief huffed though his gaze was directed at Varrin. “The boy needs to learn.”

Maybe there was some intrigue going on here but it clearly wasn’t aimed at the humans… or maybe it was but they were just being used as tools for the Rootchief’s games.

“We’ll escort them nonetheless,” Burke said. “We need to get to the ship and make the necessary calibrations.”

“The boy knows where we need to go. He will provide you with the coordinates. The Sporekeeper and I need to make sure our people are ready for the jump.”

Clearly something going on between the Sporekeeper and Varrin. Burke was going to keep the Marines out of it as much as possible. He just hoped that he wouldn’t regret this decision.

Blooming Anew

Genetic samples collected from spores in the air.

Analysis complete.

Commencing Operation Orc Overhaul.

******

“This is so crazy!” Private Damon ‘Stitch’ Killigan exclaimed, basically bouncing off the walls. “I’ve heard theories about biological reactors but never seen them in person! I can’t believe these things absorb solar radiation and recycle the waste you guys produce at the same time!”

He stood in front of the huge, undulating, pulsating bright green tubes that served as one of the reactors of the Homeship. Unlike Terran ships that usually had their generators secured in some part of the ship, the Homeship had their reactors placed in different sections and fed through a network of vines and power stations. The Homeship really was less of a starship and more like a massive, mobile city for the Orcs; half machine and half plant.

Brok was beaming brightly and proudly. Despite appearing stoic like Poldak, the tall, black-haired Orc was actually quite fatherly and mirthful. He stood with one massive hand on Stitch’s shoulder as he explained the ship and its functions. “That’s right,” he rumbled in a deep, thunderous voice. “I’m not sure if you saw but when Orcs give birth, they produce a lot of luzdar. We don’t just throw that away. We use it to help power our city and the Homeship. Since we Orcs produce children at a rapid rate, we can keep the Homeship running and fed for the long journeys we make through the cosmos. Along with other waste we produce, the reactors are constantly undulating and keeping our Homeship alive.”

“Do you guys even shit?” rumbled Sire, arms crossed.

Both men glanced over their shoulder at where Sire was leaning against the wall near the door.

“Yes, we do,” answered Brok. “That is why we have assholes.” He turned back towards Stitch. “Our diets mostly consist of the food that is produced from our farms which is likewise powered by these very same reactors. Most of the food wouldn’t be safe for humans but there are a few that you would be able to consume once treated.”

“I’d love to try some!”

“Maybe one day, pup.” Brok said with a wink.

Suddenly, Stitch’s communicator erupted with activity. It was the Lieutenant.

“Happy, Firman. How’s it looking there?”

“Fairly quite, lieutenant,” answered Happy. “Orcs are giving as wide berth. Nothing suspicious.”

Brok gave him a puzzled look and he pointed at his ear, showing the earpiece there.

“Keep your eyes open. Wildstorm. How are you doing?”

“Just showering, lieutenant. Where do you want to meet up?”

“Back at the ship. You know the way or shall we come pick you up?”

“Poldak can show me.”

“Let me know once you arrive. Stitch, Sire. Status.”

“It’s really amazing, lieutenant,” Stitch said excitedly, grinning at his Orc guide. “The Orcs have these… well… I guess you can call them plants that simultaneously act as reactors and food producing plants. They absorb solar radiation and break down detritus through some sort of chemical reaction I can barely understand! It generates electricity somehow and at the same time produces these… uh… tomato-like fruits that have a high nutritional content that the Orcs use in a lot of their food! Apparently there are all sorts of different flavours depending on what plant produces them but it’s all really amazing! I dunno if it’s technically cannibalism since they’re eating plants and they are plants but still!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sire rumbled. “The geek is nergasming over here. We heard ya, Captain. We’ll head back to the ship.”

“See to it, Sire.” Burke took a second to pause then… “And Stitch, it isn’t cannibalism since they aren’t technically eating their own kind.”

Stitch’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Brok. Looks like we need to cut the rest of the tour short. I was really hoping to learn about Orkish medicine.”

“You need to head back?” Brok asked, a pang of disappointment in his voice. “I can show you the way and at least provide you with some insights.”

“Aren’t you a bodyguard?” Sire interjected. “What do you know about medicine?”

A disproving look on his face, Stitch was about to reprimand Sire for being rude but Brok answered the question.

“I am a member of the Kath’Ram. The elite guards of the Rootchief. We are trained not only how to use the weapons afforded to us but also how to treat injuries in battle.” He lifted his arm, showing a rather ragged scar that ran around his bicep about midway down. “You see this? During a skirmish with some pirates, my arm was severed from this point.”

“And someone stitched it back on?” Stitch asked, surprised.

“Yes. Me.” Brok grinned brightly. “Unlike humans, our bodies don’t immediately start dying when it is cut off from our circulatory system. We can reattach it and given some time, it will heal. I could literally cut off my arm and just hold my severed limb against the wound and it will grow back and fix itself over time. Naturally that isn’t the best thing to do in battle thus we have techniques and medicines that can suture a wound and accelerate the body’s natural recovery.” He lifted a finger and reached for one of the packs hanging on his hip. He pulled out a green canister and shook it a little. It sounded like there was some sort of gelatinous substance inside. “This is one such substance. I suppose you could call them active stem cells. Application of this on an Orc’s body will immediately start to heal. It won’t work on humans though.”

Even as he said that, he handed the canister to Stitch.

“But perhaps you can do something to make it work.”

That just made Stitch grin and he immediately threw his arms around the big Orc. His head pressed up against the big man’s chest and he couldn’t believe how unbelievably big and pillow-soft they were. He was sure Brok could flex them up into iron-hard, armour-like plates but right now, they felt so warm and comfortable. The guy smelled great too. Musky and sweaty, yes, but unbelievably masculine. Stitch instinctively let out a soft growl and his cock stirred in his pants though he was slightly curious about the absence of nipples on the big Orc’s chest.

“Ahem.”

… only for Sire to interrupt him.

“The Lieutenant wants us back at the ship, Stitch,” growled the pilot. “We better get going.”

Realising what was about the happen, Stitch slowly disengaged himself and smiled bashfully up at the elite guard. “Thanks for this,” he said, holding up the canister. “I’ll do what I can.”

Brok nodded in acknowledgement and followed them out of the reactor room given that they would need a guide back to the ship.

Sire shot Stitch a warning look. Message received. Do not ‘wolf-out’ in front of the Orcs.

That was a difficult thing to do. Brok was so unbelievably attractive. Stitch had been to Wildstorm’s many physicals before; guys get lonely after all and there was no denying his time with Carmichael and then with the rest of the crew after they had transformed had whet his appetite but he was still a professional Marine. He didn’t want to fail the crew… not after he had failed so many times before.

In an effort to take his mind off the very sexy Brok, he said, “So what do you have to do to be part of the Kath’Ram?”

Brok shrugged. “Here on Homehsip Da’makur, we have compulsory military service from the age of ten. You are graded on your performance up to your seventeenth birthday. Assuming you wish to join the military, you will spend your eighteenth year training to become part of the Kath’Ram. Should you pass the final exam, you will be inducted into the ranks of the Kath’Ram.”

“Inducted, huh?” Sire mocked as they headed back up to the tram station. They had to stop as another Orc was wheeled by, about to give birth. “What? Is it some sort of hazing ritual?”

“Of sorts.” Another tram came riding in on the rails though it wasn’t occupied. Burke and the others likely would have gone ahead or would come in later. “You’ll notice that my head is shaved.”

“Yeah? So?”

“The Kath’Ram are dedicated to the defence of the Rootchief so we cannot be distracted with things such as reproduction. Amongst Orcs, one’s body hair is considered a sign of one’s virility. The hairier one is, the most easier it is to impregnate another. The spores cling to your hair and don’t get blown away as you move.”

Stitch bobbed his head from side to side. “That makes sense. But since you’re shaved…”

“Yes. The Kath’Ram shave our heads and get our body hair forcibly removed so that we dedicate ourselves to the Rootchief.”

“When you say ‘forcibly removed’…”

“I believe your species call it ‘a full body waxing’?”

Both Stitch and Sire stared at the Orc bodyguard for a long moment then exchanged glances. At exactly the same time, both men shuddered.

“One thing,” said Sire. “You Orcs reproduce by breathing in another Orc’s spores. Shaving yourself won’t stop you from getting pregnant. What’s the purpose of waxing?”

As the tram took them to the docks once more, Bork explained that the ritual was mostly symbolic and embedded in their customs. Traditionalists would argue that it would stop them from spreading their spores and impregnating others but science noted that was highly unlikely. The Kath’Ram mostly kept their bodies shaved so that they were distinctive from the rest of the Homeship.

“It may be strange to you but it is our way,” concluded the guard as the tram stopped at the docks.

Stitch was the first to step out. “I think it’s pretty cool. Even our military has a lot of traditions.”

“Such as?”

He caught Sire’s gaze, a clear warning not to say something too revealing.

“Like our military burials,” he explained. “It’s tradition that whenever a soldier dies on duty, that his body is incinerated and discharged into space. Chances are, if you’ve ever been in GTF space, you’ve inadvertently flown through some poor guy’s ashes.” He quickly glanced towards Brok. “How do you guys dispose of your dead?”

“Their bodies are buried in the compost heaps within the farms. They are recycled and their minerals used to feed the plants that would, in turn, feed us.”

So in a way, there was some form of cannibalism there.

“I was right,” he whispered to himself.

“What was that?” Brok asked, catching his muttering.

Thinking fast, Stitch said, “I noticed that you don’t have nipples.”

Sire openly gawked at him for the statement while Brok just gave him a blank stare.

“What do you mean?” rumbled the Orc.

Before Sire could stop him, Stitch was already going into one of his enthusiastic spiels. “Humans have these organs on their chests called nipples. In females, they are basically ducts that allow for infants to drink the milk provided by the mother. For men… uh… It’s mostly just useless. Most Terran mammals have them and they’re generally very sensitive. They can actually be heavily sexualised based on history and a lot of guys actually get off if you play with their -”

Sire suddenly came up behind him and bumped his back with the butt of his gun. “That’s enough, Private.” He nodded towards Brok. “I’m guessing that since you guys don’t actually need to feed your young, you don’t have nipples. Case closed.”

Brok had a rather confused look on his face but nodded in agreement. “I suppose so. Our young are fed and nurtured in the Techtrees where our Kal’murum process some of our foods into a liquid for them to drink until their tusks come in and they are able to eat solids.”

The Tram came to a jarring halt. Stitch enthusiastically stepped out with Brok leading them out of the mud wrestling arena back into the main city. He was surprised when he caught sight of a familiar dark-skinned Marine just heading out as well.

“Hey! Wildstorm!” he cried, waving his entire arm through the air. “How was your wrestling match?”

Warrant Officer Marcus ‘Wildstorm’ Aurelius turned in surprise. After the communique from Lieutenant Burke, he hadn’t expected for anyone to catch up with him especially since he had been very careful to take as long as possible. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself so much wrestling in the mud but there was certainly something exhilarating about the experience. Fighting for survival had curbed his more carnal desires but it was showering in in the open-space showers and watching all the rippling, green bodies around him that had been somewhat difficult.

Poldak, who was bathing closest to him, had noted how his cock was growing erect ‘like he was giving birth’. That had brought up a lot of questions but Wildstorm was pleased to know that the Orcs didn’t mind or care at all that he was at full mast. They had no concept of arousal or sexual attraction whatsoever and Poldak was more fascinated than disgusted. A welcome change given who Wildstorm would often have to be defensive or really lay on ‘the gay’ when Marines saw him sporting a boner during a shower.

It was certainly a culture he could get used to.

Now back in his armour and - mostly - clothes, he beamed down at the Marine’s resident surgeon and gave the guy a high-five. “Hey, Stitch. Where have you two been?”

“We were in one of the Orc’s nurseries!” exclaimed the excitable Private. “Would’ve seen an Orc actually get born but then Brok took us to see the reactors. Orcs have such a fascinating form of medicine that I’m eager to see how we can use it on the field! Did you know that they can cut off a limb and just hold it against the wound and it will just heal up?”

That was news to him but he didn’t get a word in before Stitch was off rambling about how Orcs generated their power, recycled all their materials and basically ran their Homeship on solar power. There was only one way to shut him up and that was to grab the kid in a headlock and flex his big muscles.

“Glad you had fun, kiddo. Now we got work to do.”

Poldak gave him a faint smile and he winked at the Orc in return. They had built some degree of bonding after they had wrestled for the better part of two hours.

Releasing Stitch, they headed together towards the docks and the Nascent Dawn.

“Are you a father, Warrant Officer?” rumbled Poldak.

“Me?” Wildstorm laughed. “Hell no. I’m too gay to be a dad.”

He got a curious look from his new green friend. “Gay?”

It took him a second to remember that the Orcs were an entirely different society and didn’t have males or females. “It’s a term amongst humans that we use to describe someone who is attracted to the same gender. See, we’ve got two genders. More if you subscribe to the idea that gender is a spectrum. If you’re attracted to the same biological gender, you’re gay.”

“I see. Orcs have only one gender so I suppose we are all gay.”

It was so cute that Poldak said that with such innocence. Such a statement would be considered scandalous and outright heretical to some people. The vastness of space may have opened the eyes of many people but it also deeply embedded some of the old prejudices that others held. The GTF Marines were often the victim of those views; either being called ‘sexist’ or ‘gay’ for only catering for men. What would it be like to live in a society where men could just be men without having to worry about things like sexuality, gender and race?

“I don’t think it works that way,” Wildstorm chuckled.

“I see. But you have never been a father?”

The Warrant Officer shook his head. “No. Never had an interest in kids.”

“Pity. You will never experience the true joy of childbirth.”

He smirked coyly as they left the city itself and headed into the crowded docks. “I never took you for the kind that likes to coddle his kids, Poldak.”

“You misunderstand,” grunted the towering Orc. “We Orcs do not care for our children unless we are employed in the Techtrees. I simply meant that the greatest pleasure an Orc can experience is in childbirth. Our penises engorge to the size of our legs, our testicles match in growth and for three straight days, we experience the unbridled, fiery pleasure of ejecting all our birthing fluids from our bodies.” A distant, dreamy look crossed Poldak’s features and a dopey grin touched the Orc’s tusked face. “It is akin to floating on a warm cloud with every part of your body stimulated by heavenly lightning.”

“But the kid…?”

Poldak waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “We are never raised by our parents. I never knew mine. Those that do or even know of their parents have more luxury than a Homeship can afford.”

It would be nice to live in a gay man’s world but clearly Wildstorm’s idea of a perfect world was not the Orc’s. There was a bit of emotional detachment there that evoked pity. It was always work and duty with these guys; that and the constant debilitating pregnancies. He could only imagine how that would translate to human society. Paternity leave for Orcs would be a stipulation amongst many work contracts to say the least. Medical bills probably would be ridiculously high.

They approached the Nascent Dawn. Somehow, Burke and the Sporekeeper had beaten them to it. There were crates and a few other Orcs already there stacking said crates in front of the dropship’s entrance. Happy was rifling through their contents while Firman was welding something onto the Dawn’s hull.

“Negotiations went well, Lieutenant?” he asked

The Burke turned to him, features as steely as ever though there was the faintest crinkle in the corners of his eyes that revealed that he was more than ready to take a good, long nap. “As well as can be expected. We’ve got supplies that’ll last us for several weeks and with the power provided by the Homeship, we’ll be able to make a jump to Avalon Station we deliver them to their new home.”

He nodded in Firman’s direction. “And what’s that Alloy is welding to the ship?”

Sporekeeper Varrin beamed brightly. “That is a small solar converter. It’s a miniaturised version of the reactors we have that run the Homeship. You just need to supply it with water and solar radiation and it will provide you with an incredible amount of power. So long as you remain close to a star, you will be hard-pressed to run out of power.”

That was awfully generous of the Orcs. “Don’t suppose you could retrofit the ship to make it a little bigger, could you? It gets cramped in there.” He could tell Burke was thinking exactly the same thing but, knowing the Lieutenant, the suggestion had to come from one of his subordinates so that the commanding officer could step in and reject it if it was far too much of an ask. Wildstorm just knew the lieutenant that well.

“I was just going to suggest that, actually,” responded Varrin. “We have technologies that can generate atmosphere that is more breathable to humans and our recycling techniques are second to none. If you will allow us to expand upon your life support functions, I’m sure you will be able to survive out in the void of space for longer.”

“The offer is appreciated, Sporekeeper,” Burke said. “However, we’ll only be making one more stop after we deliver your people to your destination. Our ship isn’t built for long travel anyway.”

“You sure about that, Captain?” chimed in Sire. “There’s no telling what could happen to the ship or us mid-jump.”

The emphasis on ‘us’ reopened the debate about what they would do once they arrived at the human-controlled Avalon Station. The Genesiseed had effectively fused with them and turned them into space werewolves. None of them wanted to be pinned down to a table and dissected. The conversation had been postponed with the arrival of the Orcs. The Marines had, thus far, been separated into two camps. Led by Doctor Carmichael, Sire, Stitch and Firman were for the idea of taking their time and examining themselves before they went into another human base. There was no telling how the Genesiseed would react to more humans. Burke, Wildstorm and Happy wanted to get home as soon as possible and get themselves professional help.

“Mid-jump?” asked Varrin. “I thought your warp jumps were instantaneous.”

“Common misconception,” Stitch said, one of his science-rants coming along. “The warp drives bend space and time to create a wormhole between one point and the other. When a ship steps into the wormhole, time and space bend around said ship. Depending on the distance, it could still take several hours to traverse the wormhole especially in a highly-congested area of space-time. However, when we emerge from the wormhole, not even a second will have passed. To the rest of the world, we travelled nearly-instantaneously but to us, several hours - a day - at most will have passed.”

“Distance of the jumps and the time spend within the wormhole is proportionate to the distance travelled,” Burke recited. “Generally, it’d take about two days to get from one end of solar system to the other. 5 billion kilometers can be crossed by only spending about a second in warpspace. To get from one end of the galaxy to the other, you’d have to spend a year in warpspace. But that’s just on the average warp drive. The more powerful ones can make that jump in a shorter time.” He nodded gravely. “I agree, though, that there is no telling what could be awaiting us at Avalon or how long we’d have to spend in warpspace. A more robust life support system would certainly be welcome.”

Varrin clapped his hand enthusiastically. “Excellent! It will take some time to install it, of course, but I will be more than happy to provide the assistance necessary. Let’s get your supplies in your ship and then let us reconvene with the Rootchief. I have no doubt that he would be more than accommodating to the request. After all, you are saving our race.”

“Of course.”

The Sporekeeper issued a command to the other Orcs who were stacking the boxes to bring them into the Dawn but those very same Orcs quickly said something in their language. Varrin looked a little offended and by his tone, he was rather furious about what was said. Before he could even finish his rant, those same Orcs turned and left the boxes where they sat. Varrin’s cheeks were turning red in fury and Garok had bowed his head in shame.

“What just happened?” Wildstorm asked aloud.

“Looks like the Rootchief gave the teamsters explicit orders not to bring the supplies into the ship,” grunted Poldak.

“What? Why? Is he afraid we’ll give them cooties or something?”

Poldak shook his head grimly. “No. It seems the Rootchief wants Garok to be the one to carry them in. Justified it by saying that your doors are ‘too small’ for us and only Garok’s slim figure will be able to fit alongside the crates.”

Before he could question further, Poldak stepped forward and hoisted one of the huge crates over his shoulder with a loud grunt. Even for the huge guard, it was massive so it would have been a strain for Garok to carry. Varrin and Garok looked surprised at the gesture. Even more so when Brok did the same.

“The Rootchief said the teamsters could not carry the supplies,” grunted Brok. “Never said anything about us.”

Varrin sighed in releif and smiled at them both. “Thank you. Truly.” Then his features hardened. “If you will excuse me, I have to have words with our esteemed Rootchief.” He gave a short bow towards Burke. “Excuse me, lieutenant.”

Wildstorm rarely had the patience for politics and he certainly wasn’t going to waste his time on Orkish politics. He grabbed one of the crates, hefted it with a grunt onto his shoulders and followed Poldak into the Nascent Dawn. Burke began barking orders, getting Sire and Happy to help as well while Stitch and Dr. Carmichael were to do an inventory of what they had received. Firman was to help with the loading once he was done installing the little battery. The Lieutenant himself grabbed one of the crates and carried it alongside Wildstorm.

“Bet you would never have been able to carry something this heavy before, eh Lieutenant?” he asked.

Burke growled at him. “Shut up, Wildstorm.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

The Orcs had provided them with a lot of supplies. More than the Dawn could reasonably fit without severely crowding the cargo bay. Thankfully, there were still several empty crew quarters and most of the engine room that they could use. There were empty supply crates on the Dawn already that could be filled to save on space and the crates from the Orcs returned. Stitch oversaw the distribution of crates into the engine room while Ross Carmichael helped Garok with the cargo bay. Burke and the others distributed the smaller crates throughout the ship.

That left Carmichael alone with the sole, smaller Orc and an opportunity to sate his curiosity. “Forgive me for asking,” he said as he placed some yam-like potatoes from one of the Orc’s wooden crates into the human steel crates that had environmental control to avoid spoiling. “But what was that about the Rootchief demanding you be the one to stock the Dawn?”

Garok’s soft, green eyes dropped while he was pushing one of the crates into position. Though he was about the same build as Carmichael which - by human standards - was a bodybuilder’s build, he was much smaller than the other Orcs and was having some difficulty with the heavy crate. “Varrin is my father and he and the Rootchief have had a few disagreements in the past.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s common knowledge so you might as well know.” Garok straightened, sweat dripping off his firm, green body. Being dressed only in those skimpy shorts and a single metal, spiked pauldron strapped to his chest by leather gave the Orc a rather strapping appearance. Ross had to curb these strange new desires within him and visibly rolled his shoulders to keep those tendrils of his from emerging from beneath his white lab coat. “Varrin has been an advocate for social reform wherein parents contact their offspring. In our society, it is very rare for a parent and child to ever contact one another let alone form lasting bonds. My father insists that this devalues our lives as we treat one another like simple cogs in a machine, to be replaced and discarded when we become worthless. He believes that if we form stronger bonds between parents and offspring, we will be more inclined to value one another’s lives and increase the quality of our work and contributions to the Homeship.”

“You’re more driven to excel when you have someone to impress,” agreed Ross.

Garok nodded as he leaned against the crate. “The Rootchief believes that no one should need to impress anyone else save himself. Tradition dictates as much. Yet my father still insists on the reform and he has a faction known as the ‘Layered Leaves’ who have opted to adopt this policy.”

Ross sniffed one of the green yams. It smelled quite sweet and earthy like any other yam. “Is it working?”

“You can’t deny the results. The Leaves generally have better quality of work and are more likely to help one another. It just becomes difficult to manage when you have multiple offspring.”

“I suppose that’s fair. When was the last time you gave birth?” It disturbed him that he has just asked that so casually to another guy. Not even a day amongst the Orcs and he was already treating their reproductive cycle like it was just another part of life.

“Two weeks ago by Orkish standards. I will be ready to receive another’s seed in another two.”

“Have you spoken with your son?”

Garok shook his head. “I am an assistant to the Rootchief and he will not let me despite my father’s insistence. I find myself caught between their political war.”

Now he understood h ow it worked. Because Garok was Varrin’s son, the Rootchief was punishing the younger Orcs as a means to get back at Varrin. Politically attacking Varrin could lead to great backlash if Orkish politics was anything like human politics so, instead, Da’makur was lashing out at someone Varrin valued - Garok. It was clever if a little cruel to the middleman.

“I’m sorry you got caught between what is effectively a political battle,” Ross said, reaching down deeper to grab one of the yams. “Let’s change the subject. Given that your Homeship is effectively an city, what do you do with your dead?”

Carmichael mentally kicked himself for bringing up such a grim subject but his curiosity had always been his greatest downfall.

Garok gave him a faint, cute smile before turning and heading towards one of the boxes. “When an Orc passes away, they release one last cloud of spores. Some Homeships treat this ceremoniously with Orcs eagerly breathing in the dead one’s spores in the hopes of carrying over said Orc’s genes and carrying on their legacy. There are entire rituals and religions based around the idea of reincarnation through the death spores. Within Da’makur, however, we let the spores drift through the vents and distribute through the Homeship and impregnate whomever is lucky enough to receive the dead’s spores. Again, the Rootchief disproves of parent-offspring relationships.”

“Seems like a lonely existence,” Ross rumbled, watching as Garok leaned down and grabbed one of the smaller crates. He couldn’t help but think, ‘That’s a nice ass’.

“Perhaps but with so many Orcs within the Homeship, it is often easy to find acquaintances and friends even if they are not related.” Garok grunted loudly, his ass and back muscles flexing as he picked up the crate. “The body of the dead are interred into the compost vats where his body is recycled and used to feed the rest of the Homeship. With years, sometimes decades where we cannot find supplies or where we live in perpetual shortage, we must be as conservative as possible with all our resources.”

Even if that meant feeding the bodies of your father to the very plants that you’d later harvest and eat. In retrospect, that wasn’t that much different from how it worked on Earth but humans respected their corpses as much as possible. Some might consider a bit of an obsessive attachment so Carmichael wasn’t about to go judging the Orcs’ culture.

“Shortages?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “It seems to me that you guys are fairly sustainable. I mean, your Rootchief was kind enough to give us all these supplies. More than we could reasonably carry. That doesn’t sound like a shortage to me.”

Garok set the crate on top of another, wiping his brow and revealing the thick tuft of red hair that sprung from his armpits. It was a stark contrast against his green skin. Seeing it, matted with sweat and the strained muscles decorated by thick veins that framed it made Ross’ throat dry. He was fighting the temptation to head over to the Orc and lick those pits. He had to cross his legs to his his rising erection and there was nothing he could do to stop the tendrils on his back squirming and twisting in arousal.

“II won’t lie,” Garok sighed. “Rootchief Da’makur likes to maintain the appearance that we are well-off and don’t need help from others but that is just for appearances. In truth, the Homeship is slowly dying.”

“I know you needed our warp drive to bring you to your next harvesting location…”

Garok straightened and shook his head, meeting Ross’s eyes with his piercing, green orbs. “That’s not what I meant.” The moment of ferocity faltered as Garok dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything… It’s not my place.”

As the Orc turned, Ross advanced and gently wrapped his arms around the Orc’s waist. Garok tensed as the scientist pressed his body against the Orc’s muscled back. Partially as a form of comfort and also because he couldn’t fight his primal urges anymore, Ross gently rested his chin against Garok’s firm traps.

“Please, tell me. As a scientist, I am innately curious and try to solve problems. If there is something wrong with Homeship Da’Makur, maybe there is something I can do to help.” Whether he was doing it consciously or not, Carmichael’s lips drew closer and closer to Garok’s pointed ear, his breath wafting into the Orc’s ear canal and stirring something within the Orc that he had never felt before.

At about the same time, whether it was by design or coincidence, Firman had just finished installing the solar generator on the exterior of the ship and was now feeding it through to internal generator in the engine room. He knew that Stitch was already there alongside Brok as they tried to store more of the crates offered by the Rootchief in the spacious area. What he did not know was that Stitch was giving Brok a lesson in human mating practices. When he entered, he was surprised to see Brok sitting on top a couple of crates with Stitch straddling his hips, their lips locked and Stitch trying to run his tongue up and down the Orc’s big tusks.

Both men jolted in surprise when Firman entered.

The Sergeant only took twenty seconds to take stock of the situation before he slammed a fist against the control panel and locked the engine room. Then he began to strip.

Near the front of the ship, Happy had just finished setting down a crate in the armoury, another potential place to store their extra supplies. Sire and Burke were in the cockpit, talking about their next move and how to make sure the warp drive didn’t overload when they used it to transport the entire Homeship. He was getting a little sick of all the technical jargon and wondered where Poldak and Wildstorm were. The two were meant to help him stock up the armoury after all. With a shrug, he slipped out of the armoury and peeked out the door onto the Orkish docks. Neither of the huge men were there so he got curious.

Drawn perhaps by instinct or led by the Genesiseed, Happy moved towards the mess hall and instantly headed into the showers. He wasn’t sure if he should have been surprised to find both Wildstorm and Poldak naked, Wildstorm’s cock erect and Poldak’s own cock rising in a way that the Orc had never experienced before except during labour after a long pregnancy.

“Room for one more, boys?” Happy cooed with a grin.

On the bridge, Burke and Sire’s conversation was interrupted by a sudden burst of arousal. Both men began thinking about the big, muscular forms of the Orcs with Burke unable to keep the image of that one Orc giving birth from his mind. Before the lieutenant could stop himself, he was rubbing his erect cock through his pants. For Sire, he was plagued by the thought of the Orcs not having nipples and that made him rub his own through his shirt. It took a second for both men to stop themselves and then exchanged glances.

“Shit…” panted Burke. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

“‘Fraid so, Captain.” Sire looked down at his very erect cock, squirming and twisting in his pants like a snake begging to break free. He could feel it changing shape. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“We’ve got to get the Orcs out of here.”

Growing Green

Three targets found for initialisation of Operation.

Commencing primary host override.

Genetic optimisation in progress.

******

In his young twenty-two years of age, Garuk had never felt the intimate touch of another man, Orc or human. Such was the structure Orkish society. Even from birth, there was little to no attachment. The closest anyone would get to their parent would be that those short months when they were in their father’s belly before they were forcibly ejected through their parent’s cock in an ocean of seminal lubricant. Garuk had been a parent multiple times before and his upbringing under Rootchief Da’makur had taught him not to grow attached to his offspring. That left him only to focus on the orgasmic pleasure of constantly ejaculating for three days, his body wracked with the pleasurable spasms of his body resizing his balls and repairing itself after the birthing process. The teachers at the Techtrees would say that it was his body expelling the unnecessary matter he had accumulated over the part month as he fed the Orc growing inside of him and reconfiguring his body to once again return to a harmonious state. To him, it just felt like a volcano of heavenly sensations was erupting from his cock and the burning lava of sensual gravitation funnelling through his veins.

But never before had he felt anything like this.

Doctor Ross Carmichael ran his strangely long tongue up and down Garuk’s neck, his soft lips cupping his green flesh and sending jolts of electricity up and down his body. His brain could not comprehend what was happening and neither could the other Orcs who found themselves being assaulted by the humans. Not that they would have been able to resist. With the vast alien intelligence of the Genesiseed already at work and the physical might of the humans, the Orcs found themselves slaves to the sensations that assailed their bodies.

The humans’ forms were changing and shifting; claws jutting out from their fingertips and fur quickly spreading along their inflating forms. Their tentacles wormed through the orifices on their backs, slithering over their bodies and quickly caressing the bodies of their victims. Each one was like a tongue, nose and hand all rolled into one. Even with Carmichael’s eyes closed, he could tasted Garuk’s chiselled chest through his tentacles; salty with sweat with the faint earthy undertone like mushrooms. He could smell the Orc’s spores that were constantly being pumped out; the strong musky smell only riling up his primal instincts. Every sharp curve, firm mound and hardened shape drew a perfect anatomical image in his brain.

He wasn’t aware but Carmichael’s brain and body was being used like an extra processor for the Genesiseed, a puppet whose mind was trapped in the swirling maelstrom of sensual pleasures while his body was being used as an avatar for the device. The alien artifact took all the information Carmichael’s senses were processing and combined it with all the other data it had received from the Marines. As Carmichael began caressing Garuk’s muscled flesh, Stitch and Firman were sampling Brok’s cock, their developing muzzles eagerly slobbering all over the thick piece of Orc meat while the poor Orc was paralysed with pleasure. In the showers, Wildstorm had Poldak’s cock buried deep in his ass. Even though sex was an alien concept to the Orc, the Genesiseed had taken complete control over his body, flooding his mind with endorphins and other pleasurable chemicals to keep him complacent even as the alien sensation of Happy’s dick pushed into his ass. All three groups acted like a single, cohesive, biological processing unit; gathering more information, analysing it while also triggering the changes in its primary hosts.

Ross let out a loud, feral growl as his face lurched forward, his muzzle extending out from his skull led by his long, flat tongue. That same tongue traced the lines on Garuk’s neck, sliding up and down the smooth green skin and letting his arousal-inducing saliva seep into the poor Orc’s flesh. His form and fur burst out from the seams of his tight clothing, his claws shooting out from the borrowed boots as his feet reconfigured into a distinct digitigrade stance. He rose a little taller than Garuk, his tongue rising up to the Orc’s jawline before gently caressing those pointed green ears. Garuk’s eyelids fluttered and his jaw went law, a low moan rising from his throat.

That new opening allowed one of Ross’ tentacles to snake it’s way up the Orc’s chest and gently began dripping the thick, white and slightly opalescent fluids it secreted from its tips into the Orc’s lips. It was tentative at first. Just the faintest droplet to give Garuk a light taste as the Genesiseed hadn’t fully taken over the paralysed Orc. Yet with that faint drip, Garuk was enthralled. His entire body tensed just like he was about or orgasm and his thick tongue slipped out between his lips, welcoming the tendril. The long, pink, fleshy limb slipped between Garuk’s lips, not quite plunging down the Orc’s throat but just positioned enough to start pumping its cream down the young Orc’s throat.

The sensation for Ross was akin to having his cock sucked which only increased his own arousal. The loud tearing noise that heralded his muscles bursting from his clothes yet strangely keeping his labcoat intact came not only from his bulging biceps and thickening things but also his big, red canine cock erupting from his groin. He pressed Garok against the crates, his cock sandwiched between the Orc’s firm rump that was just barely covered by a loincloth. His clawed hands went to work undoing the straps of the Orc’s feeble clothing, tossing them aside as the tall, red-furred wolf-creature ravaged the helpless Orc.

A similar scene unfolded in the engine room. Firman and Stitch undid Brok’s massive, steel boots tossing them aside as their own tentacles slithered up the huge Orc guard’s massive calves, slipping beneath the armour of his thighs and gently undoing the buckles. Brok sat against the boxesed, eyes rolled into the back of his head and his jaw slack, arms limply by his side. A faint sliver of drool slipped out from the corner of his mouth, caught by one of the wolves’ tentacles as two of them slipped into his broad, square jaw. Brok gagged a little as the warm, alien lengths filled his mouth but soon enough, he began suckling on them, happily drinking the salty-sweet liquid that pumped into his mouth. All the while Firman and Stitch worked in perfect unison, their eyes focused but their minds not their own as they stripped Brok of all his armour and clothing.

Their clawed hands undid the buckles of his armour while their tentacles expertly plucked them from his firm, green body. Their muzzles buried deep between his toes, taking in the scent of a masculine and experienced Orc, their wet nostrils flaring while their flat tongues danced between his toes. The sensations coupled with the aphrodisiac effect of the liquid he was slurping caused Brok’s dick to start filling with blood, a sight that pleased both wolves as they peeled away his undergarments and saw the huge, fourteen-inch green pole rise in front of them. Orcs never became erect unless they were in labour so this was something new for Brok even more so when he felt both wolves press their muzzles against his massive tool and ran their long, wet tongues long its length. Brok thrust his hips instinctively and the faintest drop of a white liquid seeped out of his dick.

In the bathrooms, Poldak thrust long and hard into Wildstorm, the overwhelming pleasures breeding overwhelming his Orkish instincts. His body was already changing even as the two Marines latched onto him had shifted into their lupine forms to better accommodate his massive frame. His cock, fully erect, slipped in and out of Wildstorm, pumping the same opalescent cum that he had never produced before. The contents of his balls had already shifted, no longer producing Orkish luzdar but something else more akin to human semen. It dropped onto the tiled floor in thick, gooey droplets, joined by the cum that both wolves produced. It was Happy’s tentacles that rose up from over the blonde wolf’s shoulders and slipped into Poldak’s lips, keeping the Orc subjugated as the two Marines acted as a catalyst for his change. Wildstorm, pinned to the ground with his legs in the air, straddled the huge Orc, fangs bared and arching his form to allow more and more of the Orc’s thick cock into him. His tentacles felt bare on the cold floor and instinctively searched for something to slid into. One of them curled around Happy’s leg, snaked its way up the younger wolf’s thighs and found its way into the pup’s ass. Happy let out a howl of pleasure, thrusting his own cock deeper into Poldak to heighten the Orc’s pleasure.

The other one of Wildstorm’s tentacles brushed up against something else…

… A foot.

Burke’s foot.

The Marine Lieutenant had shucked off his boots as he felt the change quickly enveloping him. He was panting hard and was just in his underwear, fur already covering his arms and thighs while faint wolfish features were starting to push their way out of his skull. Beside him, Sire grunted, clawed hands digging ragged marks on the walls. Both men were firmly clasping one another’s hands in a vain attempt to keep them from their dicks which were straining their underwear.

“H - H - Happy…” Burke panted. “Wildstorrrrrm….” His words turned into a growl. Eyes closed, he bared his fangs, twisting his neck to the side as the crackle of his changing skull and groaning of stretching flesh came from his lupine muzzle emerging. The effect immediately caused Sire to clutch his skull with his free paw, his ears slipping between his fingers as they became sharp, triangular and covered in black fur.

“Ffffuck…” groaned the pilot. “We - We gotta lock down the ship, Captain.”

Burke couldn’t muster a cohesive reply. All he could do was let out a loud, feral half-roar as he tore his gaze from the incredibly arousing sight and bounded back towards the armoury towards the front of the ship. Dragging Sire with him, he stumbled towards the sole door into the dropship. His feet gave out beneath him as his heels jolted upwards, leaving him standing on the balls of his feet. Claws erupted from his toes, scraping against the floor. His suddenly change in balance sent him stumbling towards the control panel of the door. Through his sweat and tears, he somehow managed to type in the command to lock down the Nascent Dawn.

The hallways of the small dropship were immediately bathed in red light and the door in front of him slammed shut. He couldn’t breathe too easily, however, because the moment he let his guard down, Sire’s big, thick, canine cock slipped between his ass cheeks and just pushed into his needy hole. He moaned, Sire’s lips gently clasping around his neck, fangs pressing against his hide. A ripple of pleasure rolled through his body, his fur thickening and spreading across his arms, calves and encroaching over his chest. The temptation was there to just slip into the moment of sexual bliss; to let himself go and just just let himself get fucked by Sire until they pas b

He couldn’t just devolve into some primitive animal.

“Sire!” he snapped, wrenching himself from the cloud of bliss.

Maybe it was the authority in his voice or the fact that he elbowed Sire int the gut but the black wolf jolted back and gasped.

“C - C - Captain…” mumbled, the wolf, barely managing a salute.

It was getting harder and harder to think. With Sire just standing there in front of him, muscles so hard and defined, fur matted with sweat and big, thick cock dripping precum on the floor, the thoughts of falling to his knees and sucking off that hunk of a wolf were getting harder and harder to ignore. He had to shut his eyes and could only manage a few words. “Find… Orcs. Safe.”

Thankfully, Sire knew what he was talking about and the two of them turned back down the hallway, charging past the shadows and the howling Wildstorm and Happy to get to the cargo bay.

That was a mistake.

Both men were assaulted by the sight of a fully transformed Ross Carmichael mounting Garok, big canine dick buried deep into the Orc’s ass with them both howling and roaring in ecstasy. Garok’s clothing were on the floor, covered in glimmering cum while Garok’s own dick was spewing the same sort of seed all over the crates. One of Carmichael’s tentacles was buried deep down Garok’s throat while another was curled around the Orc’s cock, helping to pump out all the cum from his jostling balls. The young Orc was barely able to keep himself upright as he clutched onto the crate. Carmichael’s features were wild and ferocious, jaws split open in a feral grin and tongue rolling past his lips. In an instant, both men’s bodies tensed and Garok threw his head back, letting out a gurgling gasp. Cum - or what should have been cum - spewed out of his dick, adding to the thick coating already on the crate and splattering onto the floor.

“Fuuuuuck…” mumbled Burke. He turned to move towards the engine room, silently praying that Brok hadn’t succumbed. Then he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

Sire.

The black wolf got the same hungry, horny look on his lupine features. The last vestiges of human flesh vanished beneath a coat of black fur on the pilot’s body, muscles expanding to ensure that not a single one was left undefined against the sea of darkness. Sire crouched down, going on all fours before immediately leaping towards the nearby wall. Burke was too shocked to be horny as his pilot dug his claws into the metal and scaled the walls, crawling onto the ceiling while his tentacles sprung from his back. Sire made his way across the cargo bay until he was above Garuk and dropped off, landing with a thunderous thud. The impact momentarily caught Garuk off guard, his eyes showing some semblance of sentience but that quickly faded as Carmichael gave his ass another thrust and his eyes rolled into the back of his head in pleasure. Sire, licking his lips, angled his dick right into the Orc’s muzzle and pushed the tip in, easily thrusting his fat, black cock right after Carmichael thrust forward. The black wolf’s tentacles snaked around the Orc, curling into Carmichael’s ass just as the doctor’s own tentacles found their way into Sire’s.

A loud ripping noise brought Bruke back to his senses. The chill air of the cargo bay against his fat, pink, canine cock shocked him back to his body, wrenching control of his limbs from the malevolent force of the Genesiseed. He yanked his paw away from his own dick and pulled himself away from from the sensual scene. His mind was muddle and his thoughts were getting battered by the visions of his men and the Orcs constantly fucking. His dick was spewing increasingly thickening precum onto the floor, his bare paws landing in them with every step. He wasn’t even sure why he was heading to the engine room anymore.

He just knew he had to. That was his downfall.

The engine room was still locked thanks to Firman’s actions earlier but he could still see what was happening through the small window against the door. Inside, Brok was completely in the thrall of Firman and Stitch, the two wolves lapping at his body while their cocks were constantly spewing that opalescent cum over and over again with each thrust. Their paws where smothering the Orc’s entire form with that cum even as more came pouring out of their tentacles. Those fleshy tendrils seemed to have a mind of their own as they smothered Brok’s muscled frame with the cum and the two began crafting the goo.

Brok’s huge legs were being pressed together by the two wolves working in perfect unison. Stitch’s huge canine cock spasmed, shooting seed against Brok’s feet. The white-furred wolf lapped at the Orc’s huge toes, tasting his own seed for a moment and grinning broadly before one of his tentacles lathered those very same toes with more seed. He massaged the goo into the flesh, binding both feet together before moving up towards the calves. He licked Brok’s muscled legs, moving slowly towards the big Orc’s cock while at the same time lathering his cum over those limbs, covering them like he was weaving a blanket over the green flesh.

Firman was no different. The fiery red wolf buried his nose into Brok’s armpits, taking long whiffs of the Orc’s masculine scent which only triggered him to cum. His seed splattered over Brok’s muscular chest, thickening rapidly while his hands and tentacles worked to build up enough mass to restrain the Orc. When the goo became thick and sticky enough, he pulled the mass towards Brok’s left arm, stating to spread his seed over the huge limbs and further restraining the Orc.

All the while, Brok just stared with a goofy look on his face into the air, seemingly enjoying the entire experience even as the wolves encroached on his head. All over the Nascent Dawn, a similar scene was unfolding. The wolves came and their tentacles spewed more of their corruptive seed. Paws and tendrils worked religiously to coat every part of their victim in their cum. In the showers, Happy was forced to pull his long dick from Poldak as he let out one last shot of cum that sealed the hole in front of him. Poldak could no longer thrust with his legs contained within the cocoon, giving Wildstorm the freedom to unleash his load onto the Orc’s face and link it with the rest of the cocoon encasing the Orc’s body. In the cargo bay, Garuk had slumped over the crate, fully exhausted and with his eyes shut even as both Carmichael and Sire shot him full of their seed. The young Orc never even noticed when the two wolves pulled out of him and sprayed his body with their seed, sealing him within the cocoon.

Burke barely had any control left and he never noticed himself cumming uncontrollably until his vision was obscured by the white goo with a faint, rainbow-like sheen. The Lieutenant let out a roar of defeat, clutching the sides of his head with his claws digging into his skull. He fell to his knees, the waves of pleasure from all five sources of his corruptive cum shaking his resolve until…

… it finally shattered.

And with that, the last ‘processor’ for the Genesiseed literally bent a knee.

Now back to full processing capacity, the device was ready to begin processing. Lieutenant Ayden ‘Snapshot’ Burke got to his feet, his eyes fully focused even though. Without a word, he turned, back straight and chest out, and strode back towards the cargo bay. The door behind him hissed open. Firman and Stitch emerged, cocks erect but in a similar focused trance. Burke didn’t acknowledge their presence. When they reached the crossroads between the cargo bay and the living quarters, Carmichael and Sire were already there. The trio stopped briefly just long enough to let the two pass before falling in line behind them. Happy and Wildstorm met them in the hallway for the crew quarters. Burke had to step aside to allow the bigger Wildstorm pass him. The huge, grey wolf disappeared into his quarters.

Burke entered his assigned quarters where his pod was already open and waiting for him. Showing no hesitation or even any real sentience, the huge brown wolf stepped into the pod one leg at a time. His tentacles snaked out from behind him, merging with the pod’s fleshy internal frame. He lay down, the pod’s warm, gooey interior embracing him like an old friend. The pod itself began to close, plunging him into semi-darkness. The lieutenant alongside the rest of the Marines and their sole civilian slipped into slumber, eyes closing but brains afire as the Genesiseed finally had them all in place and connected.

The device began by analysing the data it had gathered from all the sexual escapades and conversations its hosts had performed in the past few hours. Poldak and Wildstorm’s conversation about the pleasures of childbirth given that the humans could not experience such a sensation. Their wrestling match also gave the alien consciousness much to ponder in terms of a physical benchmark. Then there was Sire and Stitch’s enlightening experience with Brok. The note about missing nipples gave the Genesiseed pause. The societal structure gleaned from Carmichael and Burke’s tour of the city helped as well not to mention the actual childbirth.

All in all, it came to a conclusion about how best to optimise the Orcs.

It began putting this all into action.

Somewhat freed from the influence of the wolves’ crippling arousal-inducing venom, the Orcs suddenly found intense pleasure rising from deep within their bodies. Some squirmed in their hardened cocoons as their cocks unleashed another spasm, wracking their brains with chemicals and new information about their transforming bodies. For someone who was considered small by Orkish standards like Garuk, the young Orc’s body convulsed with new muscle and bone mass. His already large frame inflated, each burst of growth shooting fresh blasts of orgasmic electricity through his body like he was cumming all over again. His roars of ecstasy were muffled by his hardened sarcophagus of cum. There was more added than just mass, however, as his muscles grew denser, adding more strength than just his size would afford. This was the same with Poldak and Brok who both squirmed in their shells while the faint massaging sensation rippled all throughout their bodies.

The unbridled pleasure of orgasm and sex was undeniable to the Genesiseed and the Orc’s aversion to reproduction like it was some sort of inevitability or a chore would not suit its war against the Karn Imperium. No, the Orcs needed motivation to expand their numbers so that they would help defeat the encroaching end. So it focused on the genitals of the Orcs, building greater sensitivities in them and inflating the thick, green orbs. It lengthened the already meaty cocks, thickening them and changing the composition of their luzdar into something it considered far more useful than just lubricant for birthing. Like with humans, it embedded arousal with reproduction, tying the need to spill their seed with their body’s senses. The Orcs instinctively bucked their hips as their cocks stretched and grew, pressed up against their pectorals like a big, green rising tree trunk with it’s roots embedded in a thick bush of pubic hair.

But one could not focus on the genitals alone. There were other ways to arouse a human with one in particular missing from the Orcs. Brok in particular moaned, moving his hands towards his chest and running his fingers over two points which became increasingly sensitive. Fleshy nubs pushed out of his green skin, giving him something to target and with each flick, his cock grew harder and harder, the heat from his arousal drowning all other senses. Garuk and Poldak fell into a similar trap though Poldak fiercely pinched his newly formed nipples while Garuk brushed his against the frame of his cocoon.

The Genesiseed recognised that the social aspects of the Orcs were equally important. It needed to make these Orcs appealing to others so that they could spread their gift. The two guards had purposefully shaved their bodies and heads as a sign of loyalty to their Rootchief but that would not do as the Genesiseed’s herald to the Orkish Race.

Thick red hairs grew out of Poldak’s hear, forming a wild mane that ran down the back of his thick neck. His face prickled with the appearance of darker stubble. Dense bands of red hair spread across his forearms and thighs while a massive bush burst out from between his pectorals, forming an inverted triangle that pointed down towards his crotch. Brok’s dark hair remained short but rugged but his beard became thicker and fuller, hugging his strong jawline like a powerful crown to his masculinity. Dense hairs spread all over his body, giving him an almost animalistic coating that grew thicker around his forearms and legs but was a constant dark aura over his frame. The same light dusting spread over his chest and chiselled abdominals, forming a coat that barely had any bare patches of green. Garuk moaned as his short, dirty blonde hair grew out, spreading over his ears with his sideburns joining with a chinstrap beard that highlighted his youth while maintaining his masculinity. He thrust his chest out, pressing its inflated mass against the cocoon as a dense burst of golden-blonde chest hair spread out between the crevasse of his pectorals, just enough to highlight the divide was there before curling under the curves of those muscles to further emphasise just how firm and plump they were. A trail ran up from his crotch, linking with the sudden development giving him an cross-shaped crest.

Now there was matter of the Orc’s unrestricted reproduction. Due to its awakening being so severely delayed, the Genesiseed needed an army fast. But the Orc’s wanton rate of reproduction was more of a hindrance than a benefit. So it came up with a solution.

All three Orcs suddenly convulsed, their bodies spasming and their eyes snapping open. Thick veins crawled all over their bodies, muscles pressing up against their green, hairy bodies. They roared in unison, their cries almost breaching the confines of their cocoons. Every fibre of their beings tensed, their mind overwhelmed with the same sensation of their cocks about to orgasm just before childbirth but it was their entire bodies that were embroiled in the storm of sensations. The pressure constantly mounted within their bodies like someone was pumping them full of fire. There was nothing they could do to stop it! Hot cum burst from their cocks but that only made the feeling intensify. They could not thrash or flail, their bodies permanently locked in that tantalising moment just before orgasm when the dam is about to burst.

Then…

… they exploded.

Within the confines of their cocoons, all three Orcs’ bodies just erupted into a green-black cloud. The cocoons bulged out momentarily from the force of the abrupt transformation but didn’t break. The thick miasma roiled and thrashed within their containers, confused and at the same time mesmerised. Primal instincts and the Genesiseed took over, lulling the terrified consciousnesses into sleep.

Once again fully in control thanks to the seven wolves currently slumbering, the Genesiseed opened the cocoons of the three Orcs. Three clouds of spores burst forth from the hard, white containers, momentarily roiling in the air at their newfound freedom. The spore cloud in the engine room was the first to reform. It slammed into the ground, coalescing rapidly into a pair of green feet that could support the rest of its form. Then came the thick, hairy calves, bulging thighs decorated by bands of red hair, a massive flaccid cock, solid abdominals, powerful chest protected by a crest of red hair, huge shoulders that led down to vascular arms and lastly the proud Orc head with a mane of red hair.

Poldak - or rather Poldak’s body - strode out of the engine room and briefly stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the cargo bay. A spore cloud wafted over him, brushing across his body before materialising beside him. Garuk, not as tall as the guard and equally as built reformed beside him. Both Orcs moved one at a time down the hallway, heading into the mess hall. Another spore cloud met them, this one reforming Brok. All three Orcs walked in unison, each step perfectly in synch with one another towards the sole entrance to the Nascent Dawn.

The wolves were still vulnerable as they slumbered and the Genesiseed didn’t want its hosts to be hurt or destroyed while the conversion was in progress. So, all three Orcs immediately burst into a large cloud of whirling, black-green mass before shooting through the door. They airlock was naturally airtight but there were openings, small pathways and minuscule holes that were nearly microscopic in level that allowed the spores to pass through and emerged back onto the Homeship.

All three Orcs reformed on the docks just outside the Dawn.

They all shared the same smile… before all three burst into three separate spore clouds and shot off into three different directions.

Epilogue: Green Alert

Warning: Operation Orc Overhaul compromised.

Commencing self-preservation protocols.

_Awakening hosts. _

******

Burke awoke with a start.

It took him a second to recognise his pink, fleshy surrounding.

“Oh come on!” he hollered.

Frustrated, he dug his claws into the openings of the pod and peeled the sticky frame open. He emerged, grunting as he straightened and forcibly yanked his tentacles from the pod. There was again that moment of shock like he was yanking off a limb but he quickly shook it off and placed his paws down on the cold floor of the Nascent Dawn. It was with some bemusement that he noticed he was once again in his lupine form though he vaguely remembered fighting the transformation before he passed out. Grunting, he took a deep breath and sucked in his tentacles as they would only get in the way.

Groggy from just having woken up and feeling like he had just gone on a night-long bender, he staggered out of his quarters, squeezing one shoulder out over the other while ducking under the doorframe. Doors to his left and right hissed open.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” cursed Wildstorm. There was a sound like groaning metal as the big, black wolf backed away from his door and began the arduous process of pushing his massive mass out. Burke headed over and grabbed Wildstorm’s arm, helping to pull the huge Warrant Officer out. “Thanks, Lieutenant,” grunted Wildstorm once he was free.

“Anyone remember what happened?” mumbled Sire as he too emerged from his door. “I was having this weird dream that the ship had turned upside down and I had to crawl on my belly on the ceiling…”

“Wasn’t a dream,” Burke rumbled. “You went full on horror-movie monster on me and climbed the walls.”

“Holy shit!” Happy exclaimed, bouncing over. “You gotta teach me how to do that, Sire! That sounds awesome!”

Carmichael emerged from his quarters, rubbing his hair and ears a little. “Urgh… I think… I think I vaguely remember feeling up Garuk…”

Those words caused all the Marines to go rigid and for memories to come rushing back.

“Oh shit…” Stitch whispered, his eyes widening as he turned towards Firman. “You… You walked in on my molesting Brok!”

As always, Firman just remained silent though the expression on his lupine face revealed just how horrified he was too. It was funny how the sergeant was far more expressive as a wolf than he was as a human.

“Okay… Okay,” Burke said, holding up his paws. “I remember throwing the ship into lockdown and from the looks of it, we’re still locked up. That means the Orcs didn’t get out. We need to find them and make sure they’re safe.” He turned to each of his team members in turn. “Sire, go check the cockpit and run diagnostics. Carmichael, you’re with me. We’ll check the cargo bay since I remember that’s where you were fucking Garuk. Firman, Stitch, check the engine room. Happy, Wildstorm, go to the showers. Go!”

They immediately split up with a great amount of apprehension rising from Burke’s chest. He couldn’t believe he had lost control again! They were doing so well after meeting the Orcs and now… this! What was worse, they had Varrin’s son here. He wasn’t sure how the Sporekeeper would react to them sexually assaulting his son!

Then he stopped.

Carmichael stopped alongside him while Stitch and Firman headed to the engine room.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” asked the doctor.

He slowly turned towards the red-furred wolf, brow furrowed. “I have this recollection of Garuk telling me that he was Varrin’s son and that Varrin and Da’makur have disagreements on keeping personal contact with their offspring.”

Carmichael shrugged. “Yes, I asked him…” Then his eyes widened. “Oh…” Their eyes met. “You… You weren’t there.”

Burke shook his head slowly. “No. I was in the cockpit. I distinctly remember that because when we started changing -”

“… the first place you passed was the showers where you saw Poldak between Corporal Happy and Warrant Officer Wildstorm…” Carmichael crossed his furry arms, frowning deeply. “How… did… did we somehow exchange information and memories while we were asleep? Do the pods somehow connect us…?”

“No time for that now,” Burke rumbled, turning towards the cargo bay. “Let’s find the Orcs.”

He wasn’t sure what he had hoped to find because he distinctly remember watching his crew cocooning each of the Orcs one at a time. Funny thing was, he also remembered doing the deed himself… to Poldak, Brok and Garuk. It was like he had been right there in the place of each of his Marines. He remembered the taste of Brok’s feet as he lapped at them with his tongue. He recalled Garuk’s tight ass against his cock and he still felt Poldak’s fat cock in his ass…

Fighting the primal urges radiating from his cock, he reached the final step into the cargo bay… and froze.

“Oh shit…”

There was Poldak’s cocoon… but it was wide open and empty.

“Fuck!”

“Captain!”

The cry came from behind him and turned to see the black-furred Sire clearly rattled; something rare for the normally sarcastic and cool specialist.

“You’re gonna want to see this.”

He instructed Carmichael to find out what he could and rushed up the steps, on Sire’s tail. The wolf led him all the way back to the cockpit. He didn’t have to sit down in the co-pilot’s seat to see what Sire had wanted him to see.

It wasn’t the fact that the Homeship’s docks were a mess with debris floating everywhere and smoke rising off in different districts. It wasn’t the fact that the vibrant city-ship was suddenly dark and mostly silent only illuminated by flickering lights and faint fires. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a soul in sight.

It was the fact there was a GTF Cruiser docked not too far away.

“What… is that…?” he whispered.

A metallic voice erupted from the cockpit’s consoles.

“That is the GTFC Spear of the Shattered. It responded to a distress call sent by the Homeship four days ago.”

“Distress beacon?” Sire repeated. “The Homeship didn’t…” He trailed off. “Oh shit… We’ve been out for four days? In fact, who the fuck are you!?”

“Correction. You have been out for six. It took two days for Rootchief Da’makur to overcome his pride and send out the distress beacon. The Spear of the Shattered responded within the day. And I?”

The voice paused.

“I am the Crux_. I am the only thing that can stop the Endspawn, what you call the_ Karn Imperium. I am the device you call the ‘Genesiseed’. You can call me Gene.”