Every day there was a new one.
Hof hated his job most of the time. The intermittent loneliness and isolation killed him. Nominally, he was there in case the robot freighter ever malfunctioned. But it never did, none of them hadn't in the hundreds of years that his planet's merchant fleet had ever functioned. But still, regs were regs, and if it meant a boring half a year for one man so cargo could be delivered on time, so be it.
There were some benefits. When Hof had signed up for this gig, he was mostly happy that it got him off the streets for six months. Benbar was getting too hot for him, the whole moon. He owed people money. Odds are, by the time he got back, they'd be dead or have forgotten. If he ever came back.
As the sole person aboard the vessel, Hof was afforded a small wooden cot tucked into a hollowed out bulkhead, a full electronic entertainment system, and no real duties to speak of. He had sneaked in some liquor and snacks, but that lasted about a day. He was forced to try the ship's food. Once he did, it had been like eating gray paste. He'd held off for a day until his hunger had finally made him cave in. But by now, five months, 29 days in, Hof was so accustomed to the artificial stuff that he barely remembered the difference. Mealtimes consisted of a mug of a lukewarm and bland liquid and a flavorless gray mush of something approaching solid that he just nicknamed "Nutrition." Not much in the way of taste, but it filled his belly.
No matter what he ate, or how much or how little, he was putting on weight, even more so than usual. He supposed it was the complete lack of activity, besides the sex. Hof had never been exactly svelte, but there was very little room to get any exercise on the freighter. Slowly, his stomach encroached on every pair of uniform pants he had. There was no way of getting any more clothing. Finally, he had to go completely pantsless and simply draped towels everywhere he tended to sit or lie.
He had the sum of human knowledge at his finger tips with the computer and entertainment system, but like everything on Benbar, it had been stolen. The entire database had been lifted from a Capital Navy officer's cruise ship. The entire of his reality, in written or video format, had a distinctly nationalistic, pro-human, Centralia driven bent. After a week, Hof had tired of all the old newsreels, books, and anthems from even an ironic point of view.
He was looking forward to seeing his home again, in an abstract kind of way. Hof had somewhat forgotten Benbar, that hostile, poor moon he had the bad luck to be born on. The freighter job had seen like the only way out.
At first, it had been liberating. He'd shaved a wide, fat strip in his hair, drank himself sick, and stayed up until all hours blasting his music. After sleeping in, he would eat hot Nutrition, and if it wasn't fancy at least it was free. Unlike his various criminal enterprises back home, he never had to worry about enough to eat, money, where to stay. Hof had gone from a street hustler to a prosperous employee of the Benbar Merchant Fleet in days. It was glorious.
Now, not so much. Six months is a long time to go without hearing another voice, seeing another face. It would be enough to drive a person insane. Perhaps for that very reason, his employers had arranged for a proper diversion.
One "hatched" every six days, 19 hours. That was how Hof thought of it. In reality, a new sex slave, completely human, left the conical maturation chamber. The first time, it had been a beautiful woman, black, coltish with long legs, a narrow waist and small, firm breasts. The week after that, a chubby, pale redhead with large natural breasts and wide hips. A week later, a fine boned young man with gracile features. And so on.
None of them spoke, even when called names or ordered to. They either didn't see the need to or weren't designed that way. They only had one purpose, to give pleasure, and they did at that.
After the six days, they would not come to his beck and call any longer. They'd return to the chamber and disappear. No amount of prying into the chamber with any of the tools aboard would do make its large, human sized hatch budge an inch. Attempting to restrain one of them to going inside had left him with a stinging backhand red mark upside his face, from a squat, muscular woman with short blonde hair. That had been enough to satisfy his curiosity, and instill a little fear. The clones seemed deaf, dumb, and mute. But not dangerous, unless he should attempt to interfere with their life cycles. And he wouldn't, not ever again. Suppose they should stop coming? How was he supposed to get through his last days here?
Hof was using the latest one, the last one, now that he thought about it. That's how he thought of them, as a useful item, things without gender or need. This clone was a long haired blond woman, generous on the hips and bum, with sensually dark lips and blazing eyes.
He was glad the last one was a woman. Hof preferred women, but had resorted to other men before, when they would have him and there was no alternative. He supposed the ship was giving him a variety, and frankly he appreciated it. That was another good thing about being on this bucket: boring or no, it afforded him plenty of sex partners. Far more than he'd ever enjoyed before this job.
The clone was bent over the table in the dining area, a spot that Hof had found through a lot of experimentation was the best place for a doggy style romp. "She", if it could be called a she, was being taken for perhaps the third time that day. It was becoming more and more difficult to see them as anything resembling people. She had all the parts of a woman and performed well, but she didn't make a sound, talk dirty, or make the first move. Hof still found it disconcerting, but he endured it. Small pride to pay for utter obedience.
Hof had his now ample belly stacked onto the clone's backside, nearly covering it, and a mug of whatever flavorless, warmish the ship dispensed on the table next to her. Had he thought it would stay, he'd have put it on the clone's back for convenience as he thrust. This was the only bit of exercise he ever got, and he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.
"Throw it back," Hof told her absently as he rested, standing there, out of breath. Obediently, the clone braced herself, hands down on the table, and energetically pushed her ass back onto him, making a characteristically fleshy sound. Glancing down, he idly noticed that this one's pink cunt gripped his shaft to the point where she could pull away and still envelop him slightly. Like some kind of ooze. He looked away, faintly disgusted.
He was thirsty. He'd been working hard, after all, and he was a big boy these days. His mug was far away. Hof thought about telling the clone to stop so he could refresh himself, but felt himself beginning to climax and couldn't be bothered.
He made a sound, a grunt with three distinct notes, like someone's stomach after a large meal. Hof caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny bulkhead opposite of him: a tall man whose belly was far wider than his shoulders, a thicket of ash blond hair, a dimpled chin, and a ruggedly handsome face now gone ruinously to fat, but still retaining some kind of brutish attractiveness, he liked to think.
The clone had stopped moving. Hof knew if he didn't say anything else, she would remain there, bent over into the table, until it was her time to return to the chamber. He had done it, let one do the things lay there for days. He had done other things, too, unspeakable things. The first few times had been hard, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. After it had been done...what did matter? No one saw, no one remembered. Not even him. Hof could do whatever he pleased to the clones, say whatever he wanted. And once it was done, so long as they could make it back to their chamber on the sixth day, it was if they never existed.
"Get out," He said. Hof wondered what kind of reception was waiting for him, back home. Benbar was just a day and a half away, but with how little he did, he couldn't be sure. Sometimes the ship landed then blasted off, other times it flew for days without reaching any port. Loading, unloading, it all happened on a far away part of the vessel he couldn't reach. He did have access to the maintenance areas and his own bulkhead and living area, but that was it.
"Where do you want me to go?" The clone asked him. She had stood and was frankly regarding him with dark eyes.
Hof nearly jumped out of his uniform blouse, and braced himself against the bulkhead. When he recovered, he was goggling like an owl. He felt an absurd urge to cover his still throbbing crotch.
"You...can talk!"
