I consider there to have been three phases to my life after meeting 15226. I am writing this now, of course, in the third phase, but the bulk of this journal consists of the first and second. Without better terms to describe them, I label each phase by the part of my body that saw the most use in it. Phase one -- well, phase one was all about my dick. My first task was to make hominus girls out of human girls, which, in hindsight, I may have dragged my feet on.
The second phase was all about having to actually use my brain. I stepped into a position of leadership - never formally, just sort of a de-facto leader of our kind, especially after Project Elysium got rolling and devoured a colossal amount of everyone's time and energy. Entire days went by without me having sex!
Well, not that many, but there were a few.
The third phase, which began a few decades after our exodus from the Vault, is defined by my heart. My people no longer really need me as a leader; in fact, I think it's best I not lead. Emily filled in for a while, but she, too, handed power off to later generations, those who didn't grow up in the old world. We have a somewhat different way of seeing things, one that's... dated.
As everyone knows, we did pick our site for Elysium - not far from Lake Baikal, in what was once - in my youth - Siberia. Our best guesses said that the number one hardest thing to come by in a sun-scorched world with molten polar caps, insane weather, low oxygen, and an almost-extinct biosphere would be lots of fresh water - and Baikal was sitting on twenty percent of the world's supply, and far above sea level where it might be overrun.
I glanced over at some of the floating schematics that were always running in between the three workstations in the den - constantly monitoring the whole project, along with the location and task of every automated constructor. They were mostly still working on the foundations and framework - the skeleton - that would ultimately become the Elysium superstructure. So much had to be done before a single person could live there; power, water, sewer, transportation, all of it had to be planned decades in advance if the place was to be livable centuries later.
Late at night, even in the summer months, it grew cold in Siberia. Even I, who generally didn't mind the cold air, right then was wearing a thick black sweater and heavy pants and boots. I leaned forward, against the railing on the outer observation deck of the Foxtrot. The night sky here was always a sight to see; the auroras were one thing, but just the clarity of the stars themselves was always incredible. The closer you looked, the more you saw.
I couldn't believe that I was more than seventy-five years old already. Had I not met 15226, would the time have passed more slowly? Would I have taken things at a different pace - or did normal humans wake up one day and realize fifty years had passed, and wonder where the time went? Would a hominus' centuries-long lifespan be no different, in the end, from a human's, with it all coming down to perception?
Well, no matter how often I drifted into its territory, I was never much of one for the higher levels of philosophy. Too easy to get caught up in ideas so abstract that language is useless to describe them, and no two people talking about it ever actually understand each other. The language of sex and fucking was my specialty, one that none of the old species truly spoke... but plenty of my girls - more than fluent in it - were close at hand.
Chilled air swept by, but I ignored it, taking another sip of my coffee. On the horizon to the south, I could see the occasional flash and even hear a distant thundering noise once in a while... I tried not to think too much about them. The Chinese civil wars were a whole new kind of horror. With the way biochemical and neutron weapons were being deployed by all five players involved, it wouldn't be long until huge swathes of the Middle Kingdom became uninhabitable - some of them even now.
Above and about the horizon, I could see a handful of circling, blinking lights; that would be Sasha's drone fleet, filling the air with the jamming signals that kept foreign drones from spying - or worse, attacking. That and Wren's maser batteries - um, I guess we don't build many large-scale weapons like that, so think of a laser except made of microwaves - were enough to keep us safe... so far, anyway.
The Foxtrot was perched atop the highest completed floor of the west tower, where we had line-of-sight command access to all of the orbiting drones - and, in turn, the whole AC fleet. The bulky habitat's six legs each attached with both magnetic and hydraulic clamps to standing girders, and it had numerous defenses as well as a limited autonomous intelligence that could react far faster than any human - or hominus, for that matter.
The tower we were occupying was one of three independent units that would comprise the bulk of Elysium's above-ground component; one mostly above ground and towering above the land around it, one a sprawling complex over several square miles and protected by a canopy, and the third one completely underground. They would be connected, but each would be capable of independently sustaining itself on an oxygen-less, lifeless Earth for the four hundred years we'd set as the goal for a maximum-populated unit.
Right now, though, it was all just a mess of standing metal, crawling with faceless mechanical ACs building the basic structure. Elysium wasn't habitable yet, and wouldn't be for years. We had to build it to weather incredible punishment; not only did it have to be sustainable for centuries with no outside resources, but it had to be able to withstand earthquakes, radiation, super-canes, atmospheric poisoning - the list went on. For the next decade or so, Wren, Sasha, and I would be lost in the endless details of building the place. The rest of the girls were involved at many points, but it was we three who lived it day and night.
There was still plenty of work to be done, and tonight was another late night. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing Wren and Sasha tangled together on the bed - likely having clung together for warmth when the cool air blasted them as I stepped outside. I'd been sleeping in between them, but I wouldn't be able to again unless I manhandled one or both. Strange - asleep, they seemed like a perfect, loving girl-couple.
Wren's tattoos - still as sharply defined as seventeen years ago, how she did that I had no idea - and her pure white hair were the only distinguishing feature between the two from this angle; they were nearly identical in their shades of skin and virtually every other aspect. They'd passed for twins on more than one occasion, and when Wren dyed her hair and they were dressed from head to toe, they'd fooled even me - if for only a few moments.
The two would rest for a few hours, like me, then get back to their workstations - probably arguing again. I sometimes felt like I was only there to keep the two of them from killing each other sometimes, but they made love to one another with the same passion only an hour ago.
Neither had punched out any children in the past few years; they'd decided to make Elysium their baby. I was as wrapped up in it as they were, of course, but it wasn't stopping me from pumping big, virile loads into fertile pussies that availed themselves... Rain and Nadine would both be swelling up pregnant again soon, and I'd sunk my cock into Naomi's tight, defenseless snatch the night before last to make our newest recruit pregnant as well. That was only my own work - my sons were, in turn, each busy with their own generations of girls, producing even more of us.
Naomi, my gorgeous half-Chinese, half-Canadian math-whiz princess was off to the Vault now, probably still en route - it would be her first time seeing the place. I hadn't been back in nine years; I was told Melody and Hannah's work to spruce it up and make it seem more like a home and less like a dim, cavernous realm of echoes and silence had been successful... to everyone's surprise. I hadn't thought it possible either.
A month ago, I'd become a grandfather... for the twenty-sixth time. Blake and Zoe's second, Chalcedony. You're probably wondering why you never heard of her - it's because you all know her as Francesca or just Franna. She's gone to some length to make sure everyone calls her by one of those two names. The little fad for naming the third-generation girls after gemstones started to get a bit weird after they ran out of the more commonly known examples.
Fortunately, her grandfather swooped in hours later to wisely give her the middle name that she now goes by. That ended up becoming a hominus tradition, on our side, now; the mother picks the first name, the father the middle... or, more accurately, backup... name in case the mother was having a 'special moment' when she picked the first one.
A few more images from the previous night floated through my head; my cock was half-erect in my pants soon, bulging along my thigh where my heavy pants confined it. Sasha and Wren make the most beautiful sixty-nines, really; it's hard to tell where one begins and the other ends. Two pairs of smallish breasts squashed against each other's stomachs as they clung together tightly, noses and mouths buried lovingly in each other's most intimate places.
I saw a group of three ACs group together to do something - oh, right, the tertiary network hub was going to be installed, so they were putting in the mounting brackets and housing. Two of the bulky, four-limbed monsters clamped themselves to nearby girders, suspended perilously twenty stories above ground, and held the main housing mount in place perfectly still as the third set to work with his welding beams.
Their yellow-and-black striped bodies were only decorated with panels and a few green lenses for their eyes, but when the flashing light of the welders glinted just right, sometimes it looked like they were staring at me. A bit creepy, really. Wren told me that the eyes on them were nearly an afterthought. The ACs worked almost completely off ultrasonic sonar, and the eyes were more to provide the operators with a camera feed than because the machines needed them.
I saw the approaching lights on the horizon, and waited the few more minutes it took for Nina's angular hyperfan to come up alongside the Foxtrot. She'd told me she would be in soon, and I'd recognize her bright yellow paint job anywhere. I supposed it might have been camouflage - had she been flying directly out of the sun.
