Blac Rain

EDITED BY:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANT:

Simply_Cyn

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

-"I've gotten a lot emails about Soniah, the three breasted alien woman and Hessex, the bare breasted female pirate. She's meant to be a tribute to the not-so-subtle sexuality of many older, B-grade science fiction movies from the seventies and eighties that I grew up with. Some of the readers following the story feel that the women here are objectified and around for the simple purpose of sexual gratification, meat for the men as it were. As the story progresses, I think it will become more apparent that the women in this story, particularly Soniah, Tishara and Hessex are the backbone carrying the action and plot forward.

And, the idea of three breasts is morbidly fascinating to me. So sue me. I'm a horny sci-fi geek..." –bluefox07

*

THE COMING STORM

TERRAN EARTH DATE

01.16. 2179

***

"It's been twenty-four hours and the sun has not set yet," Sonny Jackson squinted, looking up into the vast expanse of the alien sky. His brown hair was disheveled, hanging down to the side of his forehead. His blue eyes never left the sky as he reclined back on the broken section of hull that had been plowed into the ground.

"Great, we've landed on Planet Alaska," Tishara remarked as she tended to their captain's wound. She looked down at Ashton, who sat silently beside her and let her work. Tishara would have rather had the medic handle it, but as they had found him in several pieces an hour ago, she figured she would just step up and handle it.

"Sonny," Ashton said, "Give me the report so far."

The thin man grunted and sat up. "The Haven will never fly again. We lost half our ship to that tree about two hundred yards back along with half the passengers. Near as I can tell the port bow was ripped away and came to a rest in the jungle that surrounds this valley. If you go and stand on the engine housing you can see a really big hole in the tree line where the bow passed through. We'll know more if we go looking of course."

"The engines?"

"Good news is the engine core wasn't ruptured in the crash. The ship automatically shut down the relays to the primary power conduits to avoid an overload, so we're good on that count. As long the protective duranium shell holds around the core material, we should be golden. Bad news is all the engine cowlings were shredded and wrecked, so we got no working thrusters... not that it matters much anymore," Sonny said.

"What can we salvage?" Tishara asked as she sterilized the wound and changed the dressing. Ashton winced a little.

"Shuttles are shot to shit," Sonny reported glumly, "Med lab seems to be okay, the engine room is fucked up beyond all recognition, the starboard side cryo-tubes have all been destroyed save for two, the bridge is smashed, primary computer core is gone..."

"I asked if we had anything to salvage, Sonny."

"We have four working blasters, two rifles and a handful of seismic charges for weapons. We have one working computer terminal in the Med Lab that's hooked to the A.I.. I haven't been down to C-deck yet, but there may be more working terminals," Sonny muttered as he hopped down from the wreckage and sat on one of the many blue plastic cargo containers they had hauled out of the ship. He slapped the container and said, "We have twenty three containers loaded with supplies, so food and medicine are not issues. Well, not issues for now, anyway. We got H2O enough to last us a few months, that ain't so good. That's it."

"Could be worse," Ashton said, "What about crew?"

Tishara spoke up. "We lost mostly everyone in the crash. All of our engineers save for Sonny and Gordon, the med techs and support personnel are gone. They all died in cryo-sleep, thankfully. We have Paisley, Harmon and four passengers. Sonny was going to go check up on them in a few minutes."

"And the planet itself?" Ashton blinked his useless eyes.

"Not sure. We're somewhere between Earth and Delta Site on a big fucking jungle planet," Sonny held his hands out wide to illustrate the distance. He then motioned to the space between and said, "We could be anywhere."

"Very scientific, Sonny," Ashton smiled, "What did you do with Paisley and Harmon?"

"Well, first we had to clean Harmon up. He shit himself when you stunned him, Cap," Sonny cringed, "That man is one pudgy block of meat. Tishara and I put them in the latrines... separately of course."

"Are they awake yet?"

"No," Tishara shook her head, "Paisley was mumbling a lot, but she's still out of it. And Harmon is out cold."

"Any ideas on what the fuck they were doing on the bridge?" Ashton rubbed his forehead gently, his face betraying his pain.

"No clue," Sonny tossed a stone at the broken hull of the ship. It rebounded with a metallic clank. "But, if I can get to the flight recorder, we might be have some answers."

"Make it a priority," Ashton nodded.

"Yes sir," Sonny got up and walked back towards the wreckage.

Ashton sat for a long time quietly, trying to see anything through the dark that hid his eyes. From time to time, he thought he saw bursts of light, and that gave him some fleeting hope that his condition might be temporary. He sighed and held his hand out. Tishara smiled and grasped him firmly.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"The sky is violet and pink," Tishara said, craning her neck up towards the alien atmosphere. Thick, bruised clouds were coalescing above them slowly, joining together and somehow metastasizing like living organisms. Their movements were erratic, following no air stream or wind pattern Tishara had ever seen. There was a slight breeze sweeping through the valley, but it couldn't have been anymore than five miles an hour. She inhaled deeply, and noticed a strange odor she couldn't quite identify.

"Violet sky?" Ashton raised his brows, "Let's hope there's not a whole lot of U.V. filtering through."

"The ecosystem appears somewhat similar to Earth with all this vegetation," Tishara said, "I'm guessing that the U.V. levels are comparable to Earth's. Otherwise, it'd be more barren. It's muggy as hell here."

"No shit," Ashton agreed, wiping his brow. After a moment, he then said, "You're going to have to be my eyes, Tishara."

"I know," she looked at the ground, knowing in her heart she did not want to be in charge of this mess.

"Whatever happened here, it wasn't an accident."

"Harmon and Paisley had better have some damn good answers," Tishara said.

Ashton squeezed her hand, "Keep your eyes open."

"Of course."

Tishara looked back at the still smoking hulk of what remained of the Haven. She said, "We have a bigger problem than that, though. We're in the middle of nowhere, we won't be declared over due for three months, and then it'll be another three months before a search party can get here... and even then they'll have no idea where to start looking."

"We have the beacon up there."

Tishara didn't feel much comfort from that fact. "True."

"Well," he said, "We may as well set up camp. We're going to be here for awhile."

***

Sonny made his was through the mangled corridor that used to lead from the bridge to the head. The deck plates were popped out at awkward angles from the warped support beams beneath them. The strong beams of duranium alloy had bent and twisted in the crash along with everything else on his ship it seemed. Ruptured power lines and atmosphere control nodules were sparking and hissing throughout the vessel. Thin jets of steam spewed from the broken oxygen lines as sparks fell to the broken floor.

"Rest as easy as you can, baby," Sonny consoled the Haven and grasped onto the bulkhead for support. The Haven was the first star cruiser he had ever served on as chief engineer. He had been so proud of his ship. The attachment he felt was genuine and unwavering. For twenty years he traveled with the vessel to the outer reaches of known space and back again. Sonny had come to think of the ship as an old girlfriend, a trusted companion that understood when the others didn't. Though Haven was silent to his words, she had always brought him home. She always listened every time he had prayed for one more miracle to avoid a disaster, one more miracle to bring his crew safely home.

He finally reached the head compartment. Sonny positioned himself, bracing his legs against the bulkhead to compensate for the 45 degree angle the ship had taken to rest after the crash. The lights flickered on and off as he disengaged the magnetic lock he had placed on the door after imprisoning Harmon inside.

"Harmon, you rat fuck," Sonny muttered as the door opened, "What did you do?"

The smell of refuse water attacked his nose through the sound of flooding water. The doors slid open smoothly and revealed the latrine, water still spilling out of the row of ten toilets on the far wall and pooling in the corner. Sonny didn't worry about it flooding. The water tanks only had so much in their reserves at a time. Even then, the refuse water system didn't have anything anyone cared to drink, whether it was purified or not.

Sonny flashed his light down into the latrine and called, "Harmon?"

There was no answer.

"Harmon, listen up," he said simply, "If you're awake, you need to hear this."

"What?" came a thoroughly disinterested voice.

Sonny smiled ruefully, "Nice to see you're awake. Where are you?"

"Sitting in shit water, you fuck," Harmon called back. Sonny swung his light around, trying to see his shipmate. "Did Ashton order this?"

"No, this was my little improv," Sonny smiled. His dislike of Harmon was dripping from every word with sarcastic delight. "Before you go for a log ride in there, I just wanted to ask if you remembered what happened?"

"No."

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

"Because I'm gonna go get the flight recorder," Sonny said, "And if there's anything important you can add to your defense, better you say it now before the captain looks it over."

"Fuck off," Harmon snorted.

"Is that your official statement?"

"Blow me."

Sonny nodded. "Yeah, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin."

"When do I get out of here?"

Sonny sat quietly for a moment, and then thoughtfully said, "You'd think I'd have answer for that."

Harmon heard an electronic beep as the heavy doors to the head slid shut. He listened for the sound of the magnetic lock Sonny had placed there to keep him in. He was hopeful for a moment, thinking maybe the Kentucky-fried piece of shit engineer would forget all about the lock. Harmon looked to the door from his perch. His foot was planted in one of the sinks basins that lined the wall next to the entrance. He had locked his arm around one of the many large pipes that ran the length of the ceiling and was hanging there in the dark, just out of view of the entry.

Another few seconds passed, and Harmon began to believe that Sonny had forgotten.

"That's new," he whispered in the dark, his voice drowned out by the running water.

An electronic chime and heavy metallic *clank* on the other side of the closed doors signaled a lock had been engaged.

The intercom box fizzled and hissed. "You didn't think I had forgotten about you, did you?"

Harmon only stared into the shadows.

"Fuck you," he whispered impotently.

***

Sonny continued aft.

The large doors that had once sealed off the cryo-chamber bay were open and unlikely to ever move again. Damage to the internal structure of the ship had caused the doors to bend and shift in their hydraulic tracks. The metal was still creaking and moaning under the strain as the starship settled into the alien soil ass first. Sonny wasn't very sure at all he wanted to be near the fifteen-foot tall, five hundred pound slabs of metal. He could very easily imagine the metal finally giving way to the incredible weight above it and collapsing, the hundreds of bolts that secured the plating to the doors popping off like bullets.

"Fuck," he shook his head.

Inside the disaster area that had once been a state-of-the-art cryogenic holding bay were five people. Four of them were in cryo-sleep underwear, three women and one man. They all looked upset and disoriented save for the large, muscular bald black man behind them. Sonny smiled and waved to him, "Hey Gordon!"

Gordon turned and cracked as much of a smile as his scarred face would allow. To anyone else, his smile would have been considered a grimace or prelude to a volley of curses and foul language. But to Sonny, it was a welcome sight.

"Sonny," Gordon replied, his deep voice rumbling through the bay.

Sonny worked his way over to him and slapped him on the shoulder, "How the hell are ya?"

"How the fuck do you think I am, man?" Gordon raised a quizzical brow as he bandaged his arm. Sonny could now see a large gash on his engineers mate left forearm.

"Shit, what happened?" Sonny winced as Gordon poured disinfectant over the wound. It bubbled and fizzed loudly as Gordon pulled a length of white bandage out from a nearby first aide kit.

Gordon shrugged his massive shoulders and began wrapping his arm, "Computer pulled an emergency thaw on us just before the crash. My tube shattered just as I woke up."

He turned his face a little to the side and Sonny could see a series of small gashes on Gordon's neck, all looking bloody and painful. The big man impassively completed his first aide and stretched out. He had always reminded Sonny of a hairless ape, intimidating and impossibly strong. Gordon ran his hands over his bald scalp, tilted his head one side and then poured the alcohol over the wounds on his neck.

"How bad is the ship?" Gordon closed his eyes as the gashes fizzed.

"FUBAR," Sonny sighed, "We are fucked, my friend."

"I don't know what I was expecting," Gordon admitted, "Crew?"

"There's the cap, Tishara, me, you, Harmon and Paisley..."

Gordon stopped his first aide and looked at Sonny with more than a hint of irritation, "You're fucking kidding."

"I'm not, big guy."

"Fuck," Gordon growled, "Of all the men and women on the ship, Harmon had to survive?"

"That's everyone's opinion, I think," Sonny smiled half-heartedly.

"What's the word from the captain?" he asked.

"Ashton and Tishara are working to take stock of what we got," Sonny replied, drumming his fingers on the rim of his flashlight, "When you're done here, take these people out through the main corridor. Be careful, it's really fucked up. You go through the bridge access to get out. Then join me at the head."

Gordon laughed. "Plugged toilet?"

"Nah, we got Harmon locked in the boys room," Sonny looked over at the other four people standing nearby, "Paisley's in the girl's room."

"Why?"

"Not sure. But Harmon is acting funny. He might have caused the crash."

"There's some news."

"We gotta take him somewhere we can keep an eye on him."

As Gordon worked on fixing himself up, Sonny turned to the other four survivors. He smiled broadly and tried to keep a happy, upbeat disposition as he addressed them, "Ladies and gentleman, my name is Sonny Jackson. Mr. Gordon and I are the engineers for the ship. Captain Ashton has requested that everyone gather up outside the ship."

One of the women, a blue skinned Denavian looked to Sonny with her feline yellow eyes and asked, "How bad is the damage, Mr. Jackson?"

"Pretty bad, Miss-" Sonny prompted her.

"Soniah," the alien woman replied.

"Soniah," Sonny repeated, her name like a sweet sugar on his tongue, "Please call me Sonny."

Sonny had never actually met a Denavian before. They were the silent half of the Terran Exploration Wing, alien backers who had shared their technology a hundred years ago to help humanity branch out. Denavians were well known for their exotic beauty and iridescent cerulean blue skin. They were bipedal like humans, and reproduced in much the same way. The typical Denavian male was about a foot taller than average human man, muscular and quietly reserved.

But the women... Denavian women were considered to be the most exquisite examples of feminine beauty in the known universe. Of the sixteen known species of bipedal aliens, they were the only ones that all could agree were beyond the normal context of beauty. And Soniah was no exception.

Her face was graceful and yet strong, her eyes a potent yellow with gold speckled black corneas. Her hair was more a feathering of thick emerald greens and deep saturated blues that swept back from her face and hung down to the space between her shoulders. Her lips were warm lavender and her teeth were stunningly white. In the revealing standard issue cryo-sleepwear (which was a simple set of small underwear and a tank top) he could see her elaborate body tattoos. Only slightly darker than her skin tone, they snaked all over her body in specifically beautiful lines and waves.

The lines of the tattoos were fluidic and curved with her voluptuous form. Another difference between humans and Denavians was that the women had three breasts instead of just two. It was a cultural gem of humor between the males of the two species, and many jokes had arisen from this additional breast. As Sonny admired the three heavy, fleshy orbs under her shirt and counted three very much-erected dark nipples poking the fabric out, he found himself losing concentration on the task at hand.

"Engineer Jackson?"

"Pardon?"

"You were saying?" Soniah reminded him.

"Yes," Sonny cleared his throat, "I was saying that we've landed on an uncharted planet about two and half months short of Delta Site."

"Two and a half months?" the thin man with glasses standing behind Soniah repeated, his face drained of color and copper hair hanging over his eyes.

"Yep," Sonny nodded, "That's all I know."

"Jesus," the thin man cursed.

"Could I get all your names and jobs? The computer manifest is down," Sonny asked and pulled out his pen and wrinkled notepad of paper. The Bic pen and the yellow notepad were relics of another day and era, but Sonny could never quite switch over to the D.A.D.'s (Data Access Device) that most engineers in the fleet used nowadays. He knew that with or without power, the pen would write and the paper would be there.

"Jared Cole, colony construction unit," the wiry man with copper colored hair said as he leaned against his shattered cryo-tube.

"Soniah Anij-Delphi, colony administration," the blue skinned Denavian looked at Sonny.

A redheaded woman sat on the tilted deck, her knees pulled to her chest, just past Soniah's slender, muscular legs. A long gash had marked the side of her face in a bloody trail. Her skin was pale and freckled, her build petite and delicate. Sonny wondered how she had even survived the reentry. She looked up with wide green eyes and said, "Cara Howe, colony biologist."

Sonny wrote the names down and then looked to the woman sitting beside Cara. She was quietly standing with her arms crossed over her chest. Her black hair was short and cropped, her uniquely Hispanic features worn and worldly. She looked at Sonny with hard black eyes and said, "Chastity Barrera, colony construction unit."

"Okay," Sonny finished writing, "Listen up. Mr. Gordon is going to find you all some clothes and escort you outside. The good news is we're on an oxygen friendly planet, and aside from some funky high-humidity and a few smells, it's hospitable."

"For the moment," Cara remarked.

Sonny turned back to Gordon and sighed, "Alright big guy. They're all yours."

"Cool," the engineer smiled.

***

Ashton felt the long, deep wound on his head with his fingers. In his blindness, he imagined the ridges and depth of the gash to be along the lines of something from the Grand Canyon back on Earth. He winced as he gingerly felt along the surface, nerve endings and pain receptors firing and raging. He supposed it might not be as bad he thought, but he had no way of knowing for sure. That was problem with everything here. He couldn't tell anything for certain.