Elora Ch 01

**All characters in this story are eighteen or older.**

**The following is a prologue to what will be a very long, chaptered story. It is my first real exploration into science fiction. This is not a quick-fix sex story but is suited to those looking for science fiction with occasional sex!"

Elora

She's moving slowly, just her hips. She's on top of me, moving back and forth gently, slightly, but pleasurably. She moans as she grinds her body into mine. It's barely audible, its always barely audible, but she always moans. Her long hair is tangled and a mess, damp from sweat. The tangles obstruct her stunning face. Through the strands of hair I can see she's biting her lower lip and her eyes are looking into mine. Her small hands cup her large breasts. Her nipples and bare curves overflow. She pushes her nakedness together, squeezes and massages them. No woman has ever looked more feminine. She removes both hands to pull the hair from her face, revealing herself entirely. Stunning. She smiles softly as she pulls her hair behind her shoulders. She always teases that when she's topless I'll never look at anything else in the world. She's mostly right, but I do notice her smile. When my gaze drifts back, she jiggles them for me and I know she's grinning as she does it; forever amused by my lust. Then she leans forward, her breasts compressed against my chest, and kisses me. For a few moments, she just looks at my face. Then she leans back, places her hands on my abdomen, and begins to push into me harder. As she cums, her eyes never leave mine. It was the last time I'd ever make love.

Prologue

I wonder what it felt like to love in the days when men never left earth. I know that most slept in the same bed with the one they loved every night and they woke together the next morning and that there was no foreseeable end to this in sight. Love had to have had an almost entirely different meaning back then. It must have felt very different. It surely was different. There was no ship waiting to rip you apart from the one you love, at near light speeds. There was no set date at which your love would become forever a memory.

In the last moment of my life I know my mind will carry me back to this moment, my last moments with her. I often find peace in believing this. I even let myself imagine that, as my heart stops, my mind will forever rest in that memory. Even now, when I wake, and my eyes have not yet opened, I let myself trick my mind into pretending to be back in those last hours staring into her caring eyes.

I hadn't slept. I had watched the darkness chased away by the sun's rays. It shined bright into the room through the large windows above the bed, lighting up the white sheets and her bare skin. I watched her sleep, watched her steady breathing. I didn't close my eyes but, if I had, I would have felt her presence next to me without touching her. I inhaled her scent with every breath I took. I tried to describe it to myself, so I could remember it and maybe close my eyes one day and pretend I had never left. I tried to study the curve of her back, the color of her hair, the mole on her right shoulder blade, and the shape of the scar on the back of her right arm. Forgetting what laying next to her felt like sounded worst than dying.

She had hardly slept the night before, instead speaking so assuringly to me of all the strength she knew I had and all the greatness I was going to carry with me from our world. Before the sun came up I had already repeated her words of faith in me a hundred times in my head. But as the clock inched closer to eight, I thought of less and less. I watched her peacefully sleep for the last time. I had not then, nor do I now, the words.

A part of me knew I would not wake her. Our last shared moments were behind us. I tried to ignore the clock. An hour went by as if it was being stolen from time itself. I listened to her peaceful, steady breathing and tried to steal time back. Still no words, no thoughts. The enormity of change before me was beyond my grasp. As kids we had fantasied about the warriors leaving to fight the great war. As teenagers we'd seen our friends and siblings leave. But in the hours that led up to my own departure, reality was surreal. The grief of truly realizing my loss was still before me.

At 7:59am I slid from the bed and switched off the alarm before it could wake her. At 8:00 I walked out the door and left the love of my life forever.

They should have constructed a new word for love when they started sending us off into space. They could have defined it as "the feeling of longing for a life you lived long ago on a distant little blue planet." As I walked down the hall I silently vowed that this would not be for nothing.

They will pay an unknowable price for having started this war. For taking everything from me, in return I will leave anger, justice, revenge, compassion, love, and understanding all behind. I will stand before them as something more dangerous than a soldier. I am their alien and their soon-to-be-discovered being of superior intelligence. I am the unnamed architect of the 102nd fleet dispatched from Earth to Elora. Generals have failed, soldiers have fallen short, but I am neither. I am the blacksmith who forged the silver bullet and who will travel trillions of miles to pull the trigger and watch the beast shrivel into a lifeless heap.