Author's note; first, though this story will not be submitted in the incest category, there are sexual scenes involving incest. It is not what this story is about, but for those who find that subject distasteful; be warned. Secondly, to all you grammar and spelling Nazi's out there, Literotica has thousands of other stories, please go read one of them. And finally, as usual, all characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older.
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The Imperial Fleet
Commodore Zonig looked quite preposterous standing on the bridge of the flagship, Reliant. The corpulent Commander festooned in his dress uniform, complete with gold braids on his shoulders and a bicorn hat, was conspicuously opulent compared to the rest of the crew, dressed merely in their duty gear.
Zonig had at the onset of the rebellion resurrected the antiquated rank of Commodore, and as the son of the Emperor, appointed himself such, so as to outrank any general or admiral who had the audacity to presume themselves superior in military knowledgeable.
Believing himself a boy genius, though he failed out of not one but two universities, and had never attended any classes at the elite Starfleet academy, anointed himself the superior of men and women who had in fact taught for years at those prestigious establishments.
Many of the seasoned officers in the fleet saw him as a child playing at a man's game, but despite his lack of military acumen, or maybe because of it, he had surprisingly won several daring battles against generals who were supposedly greater strategic minds.
He was still seen as a pompous ass, but the jury was still out, at least amongst the junior officers. They didn't know if he was smart or just plain lucky.
The Imperial First fleet, with Zonig at the helm, was comprised of starships ranging from corvettes to heavy battle cruisers, with several squadrons of strike craft providing reconnaissance and support. At that point in time, the fleet was on patrol off The Shoulder of Orion in a vain attempt to draw out the rebels who for the past year had been conducting raids on this system.
Despite Zonigs efforts, the expected great battle that would break the rebel alliance, and in so doing immortalize him, hadn't materialized, and therefore the fleet was left languishing in interstellar space.
In an effort to ferret out the rebels, scores of scout ships were sent out to all the nearby universes, but with scant results. Every day a contingent of scout ships would return from their sorties with negative reports, leaving Zonig frustrated and his generals grumbling. Another week of this, Zonig knew, and he would have to fall back on his home base to deal with his father's dissatisfaction.
With that, as if on cue, one of the scout ships appeared without warning materialized perilously close to Zonigs command ship. Without a hail, the ship's communication speakers were abuzz with high pitched, panic ridden chatter from the scout ship.
"Hold on officer," the captain on the bridge of the Reliant, a tall quiet man and a thirty-year veteran with gray hair at his temples, yelled in response to the gibberish filling everyone's ears. "Calm down and report your status."
"We found them, sir. We found the rebel fleet."
"What? Where?"
"In the Lanteran system, two days hard ride from here. We were driven off and pursued by three rebel corvettes. I still don't know how we were able to make the jump back, sir. We should be dead."
Zonig's ears picked up at this disclosure. "What was that? They found them?"
"Apparently Sir, in the Lanteran system."
"You were only pursued by three corvettes, you're positive of that ensign?" Zonig asked over the air.
"Yeah," the ensign replied not realizing that he was talking to the heir apparent. "Holy shit, sir. I don't know how we got away from them."
"Captain," Zonig commanded. "Prepare the ship for a jump to the Lanteran system."
"You're not waiting for the fleet?" The captain responded incredulously.
"It'll take too long. We need to neutralize those corvettes before they can report out position. Inform the fleet of our intent, and have them rendezvous with us post haste."
"With all due respect, sir. What if it's a trap?"
"Are you saying this ship can't handle three little corvettes?"
"No, sir, but what if their whole fleet is waiting for us once we make the jump?"
"Ensign?" Zonig addressed the pilot of the scout ship.
"Yes sir," the ensign responded now knowing to whom he was addressing.
"Did you sight any other ships besides those three corvettes before you made your jump?"
"No sir, but..."
"Captain," Zonig cut off the young pilot and addressed the thirty-year veteran with gray hair at his temples. "You have your orders, and let the devil take the hindmost."
"Yes sir," the captain replied reluctantly.
The big battle cruiser took several minutes to power up and bring its Universal Jump Sequence to full functionality, while simultaneously calculating its course, but much less time than the fleet could so spontaneously. A coordinated jump by the fleet could be brought off mind-numbingly fast, but not without lengthy communications and logistics.
The Reliant was powered up in less than ten minutes, though to Zonig it seemed like a lifetime.
"On my mark, helmsman," the captain barked after all preparations were seen to. "Make the jump. Five-four-three-two-Mark!"
The jump to another universe, which took the creation of a wormhole, was an anticlimactic event. It was as if a curtain in space had been pulled aside, revealing a hole, which the great ship just lumbered through.
But when they got to the other side of that curtain, much to Zonigs surprise, it wasn't just the three corvettes that were waiting for them, but two whole wings of corvettes.
"You ass," the captain said insubordinately to Zonig as he saw the twelve ship facing them, armaments at the ready. "You've killed us all."
When the fleet finally made the jump to the Lanteran system, they didn't find the rebel fleet, only the flotsam, and jetsam of what used to be The Reliant.
House Trieste (thirty years later)
Genevieve lay awake in her bed staring up at the ancient, ornately decorated ceiling. Failing to fall asleep, she had brought the room's lighting up to low, leaving her to contemplate how the Byzantine patterns high above her mirrored her own inner turmoil.
This castle was their ancestral home, erected by her family over a thousand years prior, even before man discovered steam power, and despite the fact that they lived in an age when men flew to distant universes in great starships.
Despite having all of that power, all of that technology, she was still on the horns of a dilemma, tormented over decisions that would soon have to be made, and dreading the outcome of any which one of those decisions. One led to a union with a man known for his cruelty, the other to disgrace and shame for her entire family. The former was untenable, the latter unthinkable, and yet it appeared that one of these scenarios would be her fate.
Frustrated, she arose from her bed, donned her dressing gown, and sat in the large upholstered chair before the fireplace. Earlier a huge fire had been raging, but now only embers remained from the past conflagration.
Reaching into her pocket she pulled out the pink ribbon she had left there before going to bed, and with it, she tied her auburn hair behind her head. Then pulling her legs up, she sat curled up in a ball, hoping beyond hope that something miraculous would save her.
She felt like she should cry, but she had shed so many tears earlier in the evening after her father, the sorrow and hesitancy clearly evident on his face, informed her of who was to be her intended. He knew that he was sending her to a life of misery, but their house was beholden to the Emperor, and the Emperor demanded a hostage to House Kleet.
With her dressing gown on, she wasn't remotely cold, but in her distracted state of mind, and for want of something to do, she rose and grabbed the poker from the stand and started stirring the ashes in the huge fireplace. While she turned the embers over in the hearth, she also turned her thoughts over in her head.
If only Paolo hadn't come home, making the last six months so wonderful, and yet so confusing. If only he had stayed a captive in the Emperor's Palace until the day when she would take her leave of House Trieste, maybe she would have been able to bear her coming suffering with quiet dignity.
Now all she could think about was him, thinking about him in ways she shouldn't, wanting him in ways that were forbidden, and yet thinking and wanting anyhow.
She had prayed for strength in resisting these temptations, but while deep in prayer her mind would wander, and wander onto him. Even now she was thinking about him, wondering what every woman who, naive to the ways of carnal love, wonders about the man she desires.
She wondered how he would feel embracing her, how he would feel kissing her, and how he would feel...
No! That was verboten. That would not, not could, ever happen. She chastised herself. She was to be betrothed to Hendricks Kleet, the man who was rumored to have, in a fit of intoxicated fury, raped and murdered a Holy Sister.
That would be her life, forever exiled to the Kleet' s castle on Braxs, chained to Hendricks' s bed, at least figuratively. May the gods help her.
The marriage was a political one between two great houses, the Kleets of Braxs, who were relative newcomers to the Empire, and Genevieve' s house, The Triestes, which at one time had been the greatest house in the Empire. But that was before her grandfather rebelled against the Emperor, and in so doing had been betrayed by a friend, and then treacherously cut down.
This marriage, two generations later, was to guarantee the loyalty of House Trieste, and in so doing, guarantee its continuation.
A year prior, on her seventeenth birthday, her marriage had been agreed to, in secret, and it was just that marriage agreement that allowed Genevieve's brother, Paolo, to return home after serving some twelve years as a ward of the Emperor.
The rumor before his return was that he had become a dandy, affected by the power and wealth of the capital, and in truth when he entered their house he was not the same boy that she remembered. How could she, in all honesty, remember him at all, having been only five when he left.
And when she finally met him again, she realized that he was more than she could have imagined, so much more. He was more handsome, more capable, more clever, more gentlemanly, and many more "mores," than she could say. Before long, and behind his back, she and her maids had taken to calling him "The Moor". Not for his dark coloring, but because he was more of a man than anyone had ever expected.
Now, six months later, after living side by side with him, taking every family meal together, hunting on horseback with him, she knew she was in love with him. But how could that be? He was her brother. A brother who she hadn't known for more than a decade, but still her brother.
She felt like he was more of a cousin than a brother, she would rationalize, and first cousins could marry, but then she knew she was being foolish.
She could, and would, fall out of love with him, she admonished herself, just as easily as she had fallen in love with him, and she would marry whomever her father had chosen for her. Besides he, her brother Paolo, couldn't possibly feel then same way about her.
She explained it all as a crush, which in itself was irrational, that's all it was, and would soon be forgotten.
