Planck Tech Venture Ch 02

Lasi, Tal and Cita: Setup.

You have a plan. You have Emma under control, but getting the other three under control will be tricky. You gotta set the stage.

Emma was easy. She was already vulnerable, her mommy issues, her attraction to your voice and personality, and her ill-advised linking of you to her sex bot all conspired to make a giant, you-shaped hole in her mental defenses.

You watch as she crouches on all fours, eating from a bowl on the floor of her room. She's naked save for her collar, your collar, her cute little penis erect and dripping from the tip, her balls dangling against her dick. She's not very vocal anymore, but that's fine.

As four the others, they're still doing science.

They may have spent a significant portion of the last few years less dressed or not dressed, but now they're nervous, afraid, and they dress properly. You could tweak the heat, but they'll notice that, and besides, you have another plan.

You are transferring matter stock from the compressed storage, feeding it into the fabricators to make sure there's enough food.

You start by feeding white noise, altered by one of your basilisk patterns, into the audio feed of the ship. Its mild distractibility. Just enough to, paradoxically, ensure they don't notice as you enact your plan to save them from having to ration stuff too much, and ensure enrichment in the long years it might take for you to penetrate the alien hab cylinder's security.

[]

Lasi

You are Lasi Fan, and you are a systems analyst, plying your trade studying light waveforms and now, alien encryption. Or you would be, if this computer would stop acting up. Strange, distracting patterns keep flickering at the edges of your screen for some reason, disrupting your concentration.

A pile of snacks lies on the table, and you are seated in your quarters at your in-quarter workstation. Not that you need to, but sometimes it's nice to work alone.

It's been an odd week and a half. The thing that tried to eat Solana is gone, apparently; thankfully, despite having a bunch of extra security, you still gotta try to hack into the station.

Emma has been extra cagey, maybe embarrassed about having used a sex droid for a gestalt backup of Solana. Which is pretty clever if you ask you. In fact, you haven't seen Emma in four days.

You reach for a snack, absently noting you gotta reach up, and adjust your sleeve.

You're in your flannel pajamas, the most comfortable clothes you have, and usually the sleeves are just long enough to get to your wrists, but now it's over your knuckles.

There it is again. You grab your chocolate bar and glance at the screen, but whatever pattern it was is not there anymore.

You tear the package open and take a bite, reaching forwards to grip the mouse. Your arms feel slightly awkward, forearms at an odd angle, but you ignore it in favor of these graphs that suggest there's something organic on the other side of the hatch.

You reach for a drink, your sleeve bunching up at your wrist, and have a little trouble gripping the cup, before bringing it to your lips.

You barely notice that the straw is bigger.

The graph shifts, and starts animating. You frown, setting the cup aside and bumping it into the side of your desk before realizing you need to reach up.

You shift around, your boyshorts are loose, as are your socks. The graph patterns are odd, and you stare at them, beginning to crane your neck to try and keep them in sight.

Your pajamas are bunching up around your chest, and the edge of your desk is kind of disrupting your view of the bottom of the screen.

You can't quite reach the floor with your legs. You reach down and adjust the height of your chair, raising yourself up so you can see the pattern.

You kick your legs a bit, feeling the inside of your flannel pants around your feet.

The desk is edging up into your fov again, but worse, so is your clothes. You struggle with them, then a buzzing, whirring sound erupts from your pc. You have a brief moment of surprise and fear as you try to figure out what it is before you get lost trying to process the patterns you hear in the sound... the strange, complicate sound, you think you can hear it, but it keeps shifting away at the last...

The desk is receding. You were so close to getting the pattern, and its moving away from you. You try to reach out, but your arm is weighed down by something. You struggle before pulling your arm in and then reaching your bare arm up, unobstructed, to grab the edge of the desk.

You do the same with your other, and barely notice the comfortable brush of soft flannel as it slips past your skin, as you grab and scramble onto your desk. You're tall enough to see the monitor. There's something... a screensaver playing, a mesmerizing pattern that draws you in. you crouch, dropping to your knees, placing your hands on the desk in front of them so you can see, arching your back a bit to see better...

You crouch there, drooling a bit, as the screen grows larger and larger and...

-

When you come too, your arms and legs feel shaky from being in the same pose for... too damn long, resting on the hard surface of your desk.

Wait, what? You look up. Your flat keyboard comes up to your shin. Your monitor towers over you, and so does your room.

You scramble to your feet, shakily, staring around, until vertigo drives you back onto your butt.

Somehow you have grown tiny. Maybe two inches, at most.

You crawl to the edge of your desk, boobies pulling a bit at your chest, reminding you that you are completely naked, staring out at the pile of pajamas lying in your chair as though you just vanished from out of them.

You struggle to remember what you've been doing the last few hours... something about the graphs?

You're too small to operate the keyboard or mouse now though.

"Solana?" you ask. No answer. You try again: "SOLANA!"

She can't hear you, you're too tiny.

Shit. Gonna have to find another way...

You spend the next twenty minutes laboriously shifting your mouse and jumping on your keyboard, composing a text message to Cila.

Before you can hit enter, you find yourself exhausted, and slump onto your mousepad, sweating profusely. At least this way you aren't soaking your clothes, you suppose.

You walk to wear your snacks lie on the table. Thankfully, the open candy bar is still there. You walk to the bitten end, the chocolate comes up to your shins. You crouch. It happens to be soft enough to scoop up, though it gets on your hands.

You scoop up a little, and take a bite. Then another. There's so much and you spend a few minutes eating...

Until you sit down, uncomfortable because your entire body is covered in chocolate.

The immense whoosh you hear startles you, and you look up...

to see a naked, matronly woman made of soft silver polymer walk through your door, towering over you.

[]

Tal.

You are Tal Corta, and you're in the gym, on recreation, trying to keep in shape.

You are on your way out, casually pulling off your sports bra, which for some reason feels unusually loose, as you step into the shower.

Now that you're docked to this weird station, water can be used for a lot more things, as artificial gravity is on and you have power spare for un Planck-ing the water.

You chuck your shorts and sports bra on a bench and step into the shower.

The hot water feels good. You may have overdone the exercise, but the soreness is a distraction at least.

With your eyes closed, you completely miss that you are shrinking, bit by bit the shower handle slides up, and your six feet dwindles away.

Six foot becomes five and a half.

Five and a half becomes five.

Five becomes four and a half.

The shower head is farther away from you now, and you are shrinking, your muscle isn't quite as impressive at this size.

Down to four foot.

Three and a half.

You are barely a meter tall when you finally open your eyes, going from luxuriating in the hot water to reaching for the faucet that is now above your head.

You struggle to reach it.

"What the fuck?" you say.

"Solana? Something is happening..." you say.

No response. "Solana? SOLANA?"

no response.

You're shrinking pretty quickly actually, and you can see the world growing larger and larger.

You bolt for the door, struggling to open it. Too bad your hand-com is in your room.

You get it open and run down the hall, tits bouncing uncomfortably, but not nearly as uncomfortably as they should be.

Two and a half.

You're too small to reach the door handles.

A cleaning droid trundles by, and moves towards the galley.

The door opens for it and you follow it, hoping to find one of the others.

The room looms over you, the counters and cupboards vast, towering edifices as you cross the one foot mark.

With each step, now, you make less ground. Lose another inch until finally, your size stabilizes.

You are a bit less than one and a half inches tall. Smaller than a mouse.

The noise of the cleaning bot is immense and you scream and flee under the counter from the immense machine.

[]

Cila

You are Cila Sharis, science officer on the Venture, and shit has gotten pretty bad. Your engineer is probably sleeping off the last few days of desperate work to reactivate Solana, so it falls to you to run the ship.

You wake up to darkness. You are buried in something soft, pressing down on you from all sides. You climb out, wriggling through a space following the light, to discover that you are naked, atop a pile of dark fabric, atop a tall structure with a huge back panel, facing some kind of towering edifice.

It takes you a minute, because the conclusion is so absolutely peculiar, but you realize that you are in your office. Standing on a pile of your dark jumpsuit.

Your desk, looming over the top of the chair you're on.

You fearfully look over the side.

You are a bit under two inches tall now. Tiny.

Theoretically, you should be fine if you drop that far, you feel a lot lighter.

Practically, you head to the back of your chair and struggle to shift the entire clothing pile off instead, so you have something to land on.

The sleeve you're pushing at goes first, then, following it, so does your uniform, and you with it. You scream.

You stare up at the monolith your door has become from beneath your chair, where you've struggled out of your uniform for the second time.

A booming sound echoes from beyond, footsteps of someone unimaginably huge. You instinctively hide among the bolted feet of your chair.

The door swings open. Someone walks in. immense feet hit the ground, moving at a slow walk for them but immense distances for you.

Legs thicker than buildings, rising up and getting thicker still. An expanse of pale skin that is immense and vast, from you perspective you can see up, as she comes closer, you can see a prominent ass between her legs, the shadow of enormous breasts projecting out from further up, but also, from between her legs, is an immense penis and ballsack, hanging partially erect as she looks around.

Then the shadow moves, and an immense hand grasps the pile of fabric you just crawled out of and lifts it.

You can see Emma's neck, and the odd collar and headset that is the only clothes she's wearing.

"I don't see her." she says, her soft voice booming and loud to you. You pull yourself more deeply into the shadow of the chair.

Emma looks around.

"She must have run somewhere... Yes Solana, I will."

she says. Shit. She's compromised.

As she walks out the door, you scuttle after her.