Welcome back to the sanctuary of logic. Or as the rest of the crew calls it, the place where things bubble and smell like burning circuitry.
It has been exactly eight weeks, three days, twenty hours, fifty-nine minutes, and one second since the incident on Gyra, where Captain Ragia received severe injuries when the two of us attacked the Krall gathering point.
I am currently studying an anomaly.
The anomaly is sitting on the edge of my examination table, swinging his legs and wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"It is just..." Capt sniffs, his voice a soft, melodic alto that vibrates with unnecessary emotion. "I saw a vid-clip of a kitten falling off a sofa, Prof. It was so sad. It tried so hard, and then... gravity just won."
I stare at him.
Capt is currently in his female form, and before you ask, yes, the transformation is complete. The biological limit was breached two weeks ago, and due to a Felt with Private today, the cooldown period has glitched.
He is stunning, objectively speaking. Long, silky black hair that cascades down to his waist. Skin that looks like it has been airbrushed. Breasts that defy standard gravitational pull, sitting high and firm on a chest that used to be broad and scarred. He is wearing one of his oversized shirts, which only serves to highlight the fact that he is not wearing anything underneath.
"It is a cat, Capt," I say, adjusting my glasses. "Felines have a terminal velocity that allows them to survive falls from significant heights. The kitten was fine."
"But the emotional damage, Prof!" Capt wails, throwing his hands up. "Think of its little ego!"
I sigh. I turn back to my console where a centrifuge is spinning a sample of... well, let us call it 'genetic material'.
"Your cortisol levels are spiking," I observe, glancing at the monitor. "Estrogen dominance is wreaking havoc on your emotional regulation centers. You are essentially experiencing severe pre-menstrual syndrome without menstruation."
Capt hops off the table. He paces the small room. His hips sway with a natural rhythm that he seems completely unaware of. It is fascinating to watch. The male psyche trapped in a hyper-feminine vessel.
"It is not just the cat," he admits, leaning against the wall. He wraps his arms around himself. "It is everything. I feel... heavy. I keep thinking about the Queen. The big ones."
"The Krall Queen?"
"Yes." He shudders. "I keep having this nightmare. I am fighting one, and... I try to punch her, but my arms are like noodles. Then she eats me. But she doesn't just eat me, Prof. She eats the crew. She eats Vice. She eats Shorty. And I am just watching, useless."
He looks at me, his large, dark eyes swimming with tears.
"I am scared, Prof. If I die... if I fail... you all die. You need my fluids. You need my power. I am just a battery, aren't I? A walking, talking, sex-crazed battery."
I stopped working. I turn to face him completely.
This is the side of the Inquor they do not put in the recruitment brochures. The crushing weight of responsibility. The knowledge that you are the linchpin of survival for seven women who have sworn their lives to you.
I walk over to him. I am taller than him in this form. I look down at him.
"You are not a battery," I say softly. "You are the primary variable. Without you, the equation collapses. That is true. But variables can be stabilized."
"How?" he whispers. "I tried meditating. I tried eating chocolate. I even tried reading one of Mommy's romance novels, but it just made me horny and sad at the same time."
I smile. It is a rare expression for me, but the data supports its use in comforting distressed subjects.
"You are suffering from tension overload," I explained. "Your body is flooded with energy it cannot release in the traditional male manner. You need a discharge. But a passive one."
"A passive discharge?" He tilts his head. He looks so innocent. It is almost deceptive.
"You need to be overwhelmed," I state clinically. "You need to surrender control completely. You spend every waking moment being the Captain, the Inquor, the provider. Right now, you need to be the recipient."
I reach out and press a button on my belt.
The air behind me shimmers.
One by one, my clones step out of the shadows. One. Two. Three. Four.
There are five of me now. Five tall, pale, silver-haired women in lab coats.
Capt's eyes widened. He looks from me to the clones, then back to me. A flush starts to creep up his neck.
"Prof... what are you proposing?"
"I am proposing a stress relief protocol," I say. "Gangbang variant."
My clones step forward. They shed their lab coats in unison. Underneath, we are naked. And fully aroused. Our Iritas are erect, standing proud from our groins. Five thick, pale shafts that mimic the male anatomy perfectly, yet retain the sensitivity of the Alumos physiology.
Capt stares at the rows of erections. He licks his lips. His biological imperative is fighting with his emotional distress.
"That is... a lot of science," he murmurs.
"Do you trust me?" I ask.
He looks at me. Really look at me. "Always."
"Then let go."
I nod to the clones.
Two of them move instantly. They flank Capt, taking him by the arms. They guide him back to the examination table. They lift him up, laying him back on the cold metal.
"Wait," Capt gasps as one clone spreads his legs. "I... I haven't prepared..."
"We have lubricant," a clone says, holding up a bottle of synthesized gel. "Relax, Capt. Surprise me."
"Surprise you?" Capt laughs, a nervous, breathless sound. "You are the one with the army of penises."
"Correct."
I step between his legs. I apply the gel to my Irita. It glistens under the lights.
"We will begin with oral stimulation to induce relaxation," I announce.
Two clones position themselves at his head. They lean over him, their breasts brushing against his face. They offer their members to his lips.
Capt doesn't hesitate. He opens his mouth. He takes one in, sucking greedily. His hand comes up to stroke the other one.
"Good boy," the clone praises, stroking Capt's silky hair.
I focus on his lower half. His vagina is a beautiful shade of pink, wet with his own excitement. I position the head of my Irita at his entrance.
"Entering," I warned him.
I push inside.
"Oh!" Capt cries out, his voice muffled by the flesh in his mouth.
He is tight. Different from a Melito. His internal structure is muscular, gripping me with a strength that is distinctly Inquor.
"Accept the data," I whisper, leaning forward to kiss his stomach.
I start to thrust.
Another clone climbs onto the table behind me. She positions herself.
"Double penetration protocol initiated," she states.
Capt's eyes go wide as he feels the second tip pressing against him. He tries to close his legs, but the clones holding his ankles keep him wide open.
"Prof!" he whimpers. "I can't... two is..."
"You can," I assure him. "You are the Captain. You are infinite."
The second clone slides into him alongside me. We stretch him. We fill him completely.
"Aaaah!" Capt screams, arching his back.
It is a tight fit. The friction is incredible. I can feel the pulse of my clone's member against mine through the thin membrane of Capt's vaginal wall. We are rubbing against each other inside him.
"Move," I command the hive mind.
We establish a rhythm. One thrusts while the other pulls back. A sawing motion that targets his G-spot from two angles.
Capt is lost. He is thrashing his head, drool escaping the corner of his mouth as he services the clones at his head. His hands are gripping the edge of the table so hard the metal is bending.
"More!" he begs. "Don't stop! Fill me! Wreck me!"
This is what he needed. Not soft words. Not reassurance. He needed to be obliterated by sensation. He needed to be reminded that he is flesh and blood.
I signal the fifth clone.
She climbs onto the table, straddling Capt's chest. She lowers herself, rubbing her Irita base against Capt's nipples.
"Sensory overload in three... two... one..."
We increase the pace.
I drove into him deep, hitting his cervix. The clone beside me matches my depth. The clones in his mouth thrust deeper.
Capt is sobbing now. But they are not sad tears. They are tears of pure, unadulterated release.
"Prof! Prof!" he screams.
"I am here," I grunt, my hips moving a blur. "We are all here."
"I'm coming!" Capt wails. "I'm breaking!"
He clamps down on us. His internal muscles spasm violently. He squirts, a powerful jet of fluid washing over my stomach and the clone beside me. It is hot. It smells of lilies and musk.
We ride out his orgasm, pounding into him until he goes limp.
Then, and only then, do we allow ourselves release.
The psychic feedback loop screams through the hive mind. Five orgasms trigger at once. We groan in unison, a chorus of pleasure echoing in the lab. We spill our fluids onto him, coating him in a glaze of our affection.
Silence returns to the room.
I dismiss the clones. They fade away, leaving me standing there, panting, legs shaking.
Capt lies on the table. He is a mess. His hair is plastered to his face. His body is covered in sweat and fluids. His legs are still spread, twitching slightly.
But the fear is gone from his eyes.
He turns his head slowly to look at me. A lazy, satisfied smile spreads across his face.
"That..." he whispers, his voice hoarse. "That was a valid hypothesis, Prof."
I grab a towel and start to wipe him down. "Science rarely lies, Capt."
"I forgot," he murmurs, closing his eyes as I clean his thighs. "I forgot about the Queens. I forgot about dying. For a minute, I was just... there."
"That is the point," I say.
I help him sit up. He wraps the oversized shirt back around his body. He looks small again, but lighter. The heavy crown of leadership has been set down for a moment.
"Prof?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you." He leans forward and kisses my cheek. "For the data."
"You are welcome," I reply, fighting the urge to smile.
He hops off the table. He stumbles slightly, his legs jelly, but he catches himself.
"I am going to sleep for a week," he announces. "Wake me up if the ship explodes. Actually, don't. Just let me explode with it."
He walks to the door.
I watch him go.
I look at you.
You found that intense, didn't you? You are wondering about the mechanics. You are wondering about the logistics of fitting two Alumos members into one cavity.
Stop overthinking it.
Sometimes, you do not need to understand physics. You just need to appreciate the chemistry.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have a mess to clean up. And a lot of very interesting data to categorize.
Dismissed!