Galactic Odyssey

We'll pick up where we left off in "Ildarian Hamster Business." Our ethically challenged heroine decides to try an honest job for a change, but finds that old habits are hard to break.

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*

I have never been squeamish, I can take a judicial whipping without making too much of a fuss, but escaping the gallows by just a few days - that had really done a number on me. My tough facade had suffered some serious cracks and unlike my previous run-ins with the law, I wasn't able to shrug it off as easily.

Despite my somewhat hasty departure and the fact that I earned my fare as the ship's whore, the trip to Zesta had been one of my better travel experiences. The crew was a tightly knit group that had worked together for more than twenty years - they treated me well and in exchange for saving my life, I made a serious effort to provide good service. Even though I effectively worked for free in my main job, I was able to make a few credits on the side, helping the cook and doing simple maintenance work.

It wasn't a long-term solution, of course. Back at square one financially and professionally, I longed for a proper, decent job - one that gave my overused assets some rest, with a low risk for prison, enslavement, or untimely death. For the first time in my life, I was looking for a bit of stability and I was willing to take a pay hit to make it happen.

*

"So what's next for you, Lina?" asked Morg after the ship had safely connected to the docking pylon.

"Job hunting, I guess. A girl's gotta eat."

Morg grunted and shut down the engines. He was the first officer of the freighter and I liked him a lot. When he was on duty, I was allowed to hang out on the bridge and he was teaching me all kinds of useful things. Whoring for an eight person crew was not exactly a full-time job, so I tried my best to soak up knowledge whenever someone was willing to share.

"It's my first time here, any idea where to start?" I asked.

"You could try the docks," Morg suggested. "Make some money here on the station before you move on."

"I'd rather get back on a ship. I worked the docks before, I don't want to spread my legs for a few lousy credits."

"That's not what I meant. Why don't you join me at O'Reilly's tonight? That's where pilots and potential clients hang out. Let's have a few drinks and see if we can land you a job."

"You're sweet, Morg," I said and gave him a hug. "I'll be there."

*

The rest of the day I spent exploring the station. Zesta was a city in space with more than ten thousand permanent residents and a bustling trading hub for all kinds of goods. Whether it was grains, engine parts, electronics, or slaves - you would find it here, ready to be shipped to all corners of the quadrant and beyond.

The job market on Zesta turned out to be tougher than I expected. Unemployed and homeless, I knew that if I didn't catch a gig tonight, I would probably have to hitch another ride and try my luck somewhere else.

At the local thrift shop I invested my modest savings in a cheap comlink, some clothes, and a switchblade. Security was a major concern - no matter which part of the galaxy, a space station could be a pretty dangerous place for a woman travelling alone.

On a whim, because I had time to spare, I stopped at a public comm terminal to check on my old net account. There was nothing left for me at home, the only person I really missed was my sister - she and I had still exchanged message once in a while and I was glad that she had been too young to be drafted for the war. It was sad, I hadn't heard from her in more than two years, but being the disgrace of the family, there were not a lot of people who still talked to me. I paid another couple of credits to leave her a short message, then I logged off.

*

I met Morg at the bar and ordered a whiskey, which wiped out half of my remaining money. It wasn't exactly top shelf, but definitely drinkable and a lot better than the cheap booze that had been passed around on the ship.

"What were you up to?" I asked and took the empty seat next to him.

"Nothing much," he said. "Did a pile of paperwork with the station and ordered some spare parts. You?"

"Shopping, mostly. Also checked out the brothels around the docking ring in case this here doesn't pan out. Doesn't look good, there's way too much slave pussy on the market."

"Mhhh," Morg grunted and finished the rest of his first beer. "People don't wanna pay extra for a free woman?"

"Not really," I said. "But hey, you should go there, they have some really nice girls. Freshly collared, too, I bet their asses are much tighter than mine."

"You're fine, Lina. I've been doing this job for twenty-six years and you made this the best trip I ever had."

I grinned. "Awww, that's what a girl wants to hear. But you guys were seriously underfucked. Go get yourselves a new girl, they are really cheap around here."

My advice fell on deaf ears, of course. Morg had an odd sense of morality.

"Buy a poor young thing like cattle? I don't think so. And these brothels - don't get me started, it's a disgrace. They chain these slave girls to their beds, it pisses me off."

"It's not just the slaves," I said and took a gulp from his beer.

"What do you mean?"

"A lot of places chain you up when you sign a contract. I spent three months like that after my release from slavery. It sucks, but you get used to it."

He just shook his head in disgust.

"Come on, Morg," I said, rubbing his shoulder, "when you go on a deep space mission as a pilot, it's not like you can leave whenever you like. You have to fulfill your contract, it's pretty much the same thing."

It was a shame that the universe didn't make guys like him anymore - I remembered how I had to drag him into my cabin and swear a holy oath that I was doing it voluntarily. We continued our conversation, but he was not convinced. For me, the situation was much simpler - back in penal, when they made me do back-breaking field work, I would have given my clit or other essential body parts for such a sweet deal.

*

Time passed and unfortunately, it was a slow night at the bar. Only a few people were hanging out, nursing their beers, and with nothing better to do, I soon joined their conversations. Down to a couple of credits, I got a few drinks out of telling the tale of my Ildarian adventure and another one for flashing my boobs. I probably could have made some money by sucking dicks, but decided against it as long as there was a chance of catching a real job.

From time to time, a prospective employer came by, pitching an open position. For most jobs, I simply wasn't experienced enough and others required a commercial license that I didn't have. One would have fit my profile nicely - a co-pilot's position on a grains transport with decent pay. Unfortunately, one stop on the way was Massanas where I still had an outstanding warrant.

I had almost given up hope when a guy in a badly fitting, worn-down suit entered the bar. He was short, balding, and hadn't shaved in a while.

"I need a pilot for a cargo mission," he shouted. "Two months, interstellar. Anyone here who can fly a Hemmingworth Mark IV? It's just engine parts, all perfectly legal."

"Where to, friend?" a fat guy on the other side of the bar asked.

"Somewhere in the Riva nebula, you'll get the details when we're on board."

The pilot shook his head and turned back to his beer, and none of the other guys seemed to be interested either.

I took a sip from my whiskey and raised my hand.

"I've got a few thousand flight hours on a Mark III. Nav systems and jump drive are basically the same, there's just a difference in payload."

It was close enough to the truth. Back home, I had completed two years of a three-year commercial pilot program before I was drafted into the military. And as for practical experience, I had taken the helm on many occasions when my former Boss, master smuggler Morrisson, was passed out drunk, which happened regularly, three to four times a week. His ship, the Mariah's Virtue, had originally been a Hemmingworth Mark III before he enhanced it with a lot of extras that were useful in his line of business.

"What's the pay?" I asked.

"Union wage."

"Plus commission?"

"Maybe on the next trip. We can discuss a bonus when we get there."

So no commission and probably no bonus, I thought. You couldn't get rich on union wages, but tonight I was looking for "boring" and "honest."

"Got someone who can vouch for you?" he asked.

That is a very good question, I thought, I could ask you the same thing. But before I could make up a story, Morg interrupted.

"Hey, pal. I'm Morg, first officer of the Noru. Just completed a mission with her, she's smart and hard-working. You'll be in good hands."

Shit, I thought, I have a really bad influence on people. Morg is the most honest guy I met in a while and now I got him to cover for me. It really is time to move on before I corrupt him completely.

Honest or not, Morg's testimonial seemed to be enough for my prospective employer.

"Okay, I think you'll do."

"I need one month's wages in advance," I said, "then you've got a deal. Oh, and one more thing: I don't put out. If you so much as show your dick in my vicinity, I will cut it off and toss it out the airlock."

He pondered for a minute then he nodded and we shook hands.

"Fair enough. I'm Stanley."

"Pleased to meet you, Stanley. I'm Cassidy."

We paired comlinks and he quickly transferred the money we had agreed on.

"Alrighty," he said, scratching his balls. "Meet me at the ship, docking pylon forty-seven in fifteen minutes. And now excuse me, I got to take a leak."

*

Morg grinned after my employer had left.

"What's your name now, Lina? Evangeline or Cassidy?"

"Neither," I said, downing the rest of my whiskey. "But you've got my number."

He chuckled. Of course he had seen my slave registration number, tattooed above my pubic mound - it was impossible to overlook. The tattoo didn't bother me much, I was hardly the only woman who had it, but that part of my life was over and as soon as I had the money, I would have it removed. It was about time.

"You'll always be Lina to me. But listen, I don't like this guy. A scoundrel like that's gonna get you in trouble."

"It's just for two months and he pays in advance. You know I really need a job, I can't be picky right now."

Morg sighed. "Just be careful, alright? I don't trust him."

"I will," I promised. "Hey, before I go, one last blowjob for old times' sake?"

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were done with that?"

"I am. It's not work, it's a parting gift for a friend."

Morg took another swig of beer, then he shook his head.

"Nah, it doesn't feel right. Drink's on me, Lina, you take care of yourself."

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, Morg, I'll miss you."

*

With five minutes to spare, I arrived at the designated pylon, carrying a bag of clothes, which was my only luggage. I looked through a window outside and saw the ship, which really was a bit larger than the Mariah's Virtue and from the looks of it, it was in decent shape.

Stanley was nowhere to be seen, so I entered through the passengers' airlock and took the lift to the bridge where he was sitting in the captain's chair, beer in hand with his feet on the engineering console.

"Crew's already on board?" I asked.

"It's just us."

"Just us? Two pilots and no engineer?"

"One pilot. I'm an entrepreneur, I have no idea how to fly this bucket."

So I'm the only one who's going to work around here, I thought. What a cheap bastard. With no second pilot, I'd be on call all day every day and without an engineer, this entire mission could easily end with us drifting or stranded in an escape pod. Girl, next time ask more questions before you accept a job!

But with no better option in sight, I took a seat at the nav console and started pre-flight checks, with a special focus on the escape pods and other safety features. While the self-diagnosis was working, I checked the manifest and it was in fact engine parts. At least he had told the truth about that and maybe this gig was actually legit.

"Why does it take so long?" Stanley asked, walking up and down the bridge. "Can't we speed this up a little?"

What a start, I thought. We haven't even launched and he already wants to cut corners.

"We can't," I said firmly. "I'm going to go through the entire checklist. There's already a large enough debris field around the station, I don't want to become part of it. Why? Are we in a hurry?"

He evaded my eye contact. "No, just asking."

"Five more minutes," I said, running an extended diagnosis on the reactor core.

*

Fortunately, all systems were fully operational. One out of three escape pods was missing on the top deck, but since there were only two people on board, I figured it didn't matter.

Zesta Control cleared us for take-off and I steered the freighter away from the station, towards our first jump.

*

The first two days of the trip passed without any problems. Most of the time I was alone on the bridge, keeping an eye on things while reading a book from the ship's digital library. Stanley didn't seem to be very interested in day-to-day operations, he left me in peace, only sometimes he stopped by, drinking a beer in the captain's chair before wandering off again.

Once in a while though, he wanted to talk.

"It's a shame you're a lesbian," he said, which was an odd way to start a conversation.

I looked up from my book. "Who told you I'm a lesbian?"

"Nobody. It's the haircut, I guess. And the fact that you threatened to cut off my dick."

"None of that makes me a lesbian."

He said nothing. I checked the sensors and the engine status while he played around on the engineering console, doing god knows what. I decided to ignore him and turned back to my book, hoping he wouldn't break anything that I would have to fix later. Truth be told, I was more interested in finding out whether Roberta accepted Guillermo's dinner invitation. The girl's inner monologue had stretched over four pages and at this point, I half wished she would go back to her fiancé.

"So you wouldn't necessarily be opposed to fucking," he started again, trying to continue the weird discussion. "When was your last time?"

I remembered the round of good-bye fucks with Morg and the other guys three days ago, before we docked at Zesta Station. After thinking for a minute, I realized that this had been the longest I had gone without sex in years. And I hadn't missed it one bit.

"Forget it, Stanley, I'm not going to fuck you."

"For a fine piece of ass like you I'd even pay," he mused. "Think about it, a nice fuck with yours truly and afterwards you'll be a few credits richer."

"I'm your pilot, not your whore. If you're bored, why don't you go and check on the cargo? Or clean up your mess in the galley?"

"Not even for, let's say, fifty credits?"

"Fifty up front," I heard myself say and regretted it immediately. There it was again, my greatest weakness: my brain was hard-wired for making easy cash. For once I had landed an honest job and here I was, falling back into old habits.

"Deal," he said, typing on his comlink and transferring the cash to my account. He was probably worried that I would change my mind.

A year ago, I might have even been proud of myself. I was now officially a fifty-credit whore, which was a major milestone in this line of work, where anyone making as much as twenty credits per fuck was considered a top earner. When I worked the docks, I usually charged five for a blowjob and ten for everything else, sometimes pushing it to twelve on a good day. This here was good money.

"And I want proper service, so don't act like a frigid bitch."

"Sure," I sighed and stripped out of the uniform pants that I had bought at the thrift shop. I turned around and bent at the waist to let him ogle my ass, while rubbing myself to work up some lubrication.

He whistled. "Going commando, nice! And a slave tat, who would have thought. Contract or penal?"

Like I would ever sign a slavery contract. I had sunk to lows in my life that I never thought possible, but voluntary enslavement - there were places even I wouldn't go.

"Enough with the questions. I thought you wanted to fuck."

"Alright, alright," he said. "But take off your shirt, I want to see your titties."

It was a reasonable request. For this kind of money, I was all about customer satisfaction.

"That's some decent knockers," he commented, weighing my breasts in his hands, while using his thumbs to stroke my nipples. "And no bra either. Naughty girl."

Naughty my ass, I thought. I couldn't afford a bra even if I wanted to wear one. Maybe I'll buy a couple from my whore money - that and a pair of panties.

He pulled out his dick, which had a good size, but paled compared to his ego.

"You like that, huh? I'll make you scream, slave slut."

That was not very likely, considering his semi-limp dick, so I dropped to my knees in front of him and used my mouth to get him ready, all while working my clit to get myself wet. I could tell that he hadn't taken a shower or washed himself in a while, but in this line of business, most clients skimped on personal hygiene. It was one of the things you got used to over time.

"Where do you want me?" I asked, when he was hard enough for the main event.

He looked around the bridge, trying to find a good spot.

"Kneel on the captain's chair."

I did as I was told and a moment later, I could feel him enter me from behind with a single powerful stroke. He settled into a good rhythm, making my breasts swing with every thrust, and sometimes giving my boobs an unpleasant squeeze.

"Take ... my ... dick, you cheap ... fucking ... whore," he grunted.

I was amused. "You mean 'expensive fucking whore.' If you want to talk dirty, at least be accurate."

He continued to call me all kinds of names and it took a lot of self-discipline not to laugh. Buddy, I thought, if you want to humiliate me, you're wasting your time. There's nothing you could say that I haven't heard before.

The combined sex and comedy program didn't last long, after less than five minutes, he shot his load. He groaned like a dying Andarian walrus and for a short moment I thought I might have killed him.

"How was it for you, darling?" he mocked me, pulling his dick out and slapping my ass.

"Best fuck of my life," I said and climbed off the captain's chair. "I was so carried away, I even forgot to scream."

"Very funny."

"Well, you got what you wanted," I said with a shrug. "Happy now?"

"Don't get me wrong, you're a hot piece of ass, but you're definitely not worth fifty credits. That cunt has seen way too much traffic."

I scoffed. "Supply and demand, my friend, right now I'm the only game in town. If you want to go again, you know my rates."

*

Before I was able to get myself dressed, the ship's proximity alert chimed. A small ship was heading towards us on an intercept course at high speed.

What the fuck, I thought, sitting back down on the navigator's seat, while Stanley's cum was still seeping out of me. The ship didn't respond to hails via radio and they were not emitting a transponder signal. When I changed course, they immediately matched it, getting back on their intercept course. Fuck, I thought, so much for a low-risk job.

I raised the freighter's shields and checked the status of our jump drive. As a former smuggler, I always had an emergency jump solution ready and kept the drive warmed up. Whatever these guys wanted from us, it couldn't be good. Nervously, I stared at the status of the engine, which still needed thirty seconds to charge for a short-range jump.