Pussy Pirates
Chapter 24
Month 145—January on St. Jeanne d’Arc
“I’M ADDICTED TO YOU,” I whispered in KC’s ear as I moved in and out of her welcoming pussy. “I was addicted to you before you ever got to Anouilh.”
“You didn’t even know me before I got here.” KC’s eyes closed and her pussy tightened on me as she came. I didn’t think she’d hear my response.
“I was watching you in your chatroom nearly six years ago,” I sighed as my own orgasm began to catch up with me. “I’m Papa Bear after all.”
“You’re… Oh, God! Yes! Mmm.” KC panted through another orgasm and I erupted into her. “Yes! Oh, my Papa Bear. I love you.”
“I never wanted you to know I was just a fat geek.”
“Bullshit. Even the first time we came to film here, I thought you looked like a big Teddy bear. You’re a hunk now but I fell for Papa Bear a long time ago.”
“And now you want me for your baby’s papa?”
“Yeah. And more. I know I’m not your one and only, as if that was ever more than a fairy tale anyway. I don’t want to take you away from any of the other girls. When we got here, we all agreed it would only take a dozen guys to keep us all satisfied. Of course, that was back when there were only two hundred of us. Now there are over seven hundred on the island and another four hundred on Papillon, but there are a few more guys now, too. Guys are still few and far between, and I’m not going to hog one of them all for myself. But I want to be your girl. Your child’s mommy.” KC rubbed her cheek against my shoulder and kissed me.
“Ubie says we’ll have a good one. And we’ll make a world where he or she can grow up,” I said.
“We’re committed now.”
We lay together for a while, dozing in the afterglow.
“KC, it’s ready,” a soft voice said in the room.
“Really, Joan? Already?”
“I had a few cycles to spare this week.”
“Thank you! Come on, Teddy. I want to show you!”
“Show me what? What did Joan make for you?”
“A Christmas present. I told her what I wanted and she just said, ‘Okay.’ Come on! We need to jump to the flight deck.” I followed KC to the transporter from her room to the flight deck next to her Hawk. I stepped off the pad and looked at… an Aston Martin DB5.
“I’m officially Pilot 007 now!” KC giggled. “This is my new Hawk.”
“I bet that really flies. Kind of breaks the illusion, though.”
“Teddy.” KC turned in my arms and dropped her chin to look me in the eye. “We’re porn stars, not idiots.” She pointed at the row of Hawks next to us. “We know these never leave the flight deck. They aren’t big enough to hold a hyperdrive, let alone the addition of an impulse engine. And weapons? Even in the big starships, people can feel a railgun discharge. These are our control stations. Outside, mine looks like an oversized version of James Bond’s Aston Martin. Inside, it’s exactly the same as the cockpit of the Hawk.”
“How will the players take it?”
“Joan is covering me with boarding footage. It will still look like I’m getting in my old Hawk. Instead, I’ll be riding around space in a hot, sporty little rod.”
“For my hot sporty girl,” I laughed. “I’m not sure I got that baby planted yet. Let’s go back to bed.”
Month 147—April on St. Jeanne d’Arc
“ATTENTION ALL HANDS,” Dakota said, her voice ringing throughout the ship. “Today we have a live fire exercise with a real target. We’ll do blank runs on the target for practice so everyone has a chance to dive at it and get range. Then we’ll do triad strafing runs with weapons live. Gunners, go to your stations. The ship you are firing on has no air in it, nor fuel aboard. We towed it out to the target zone. Finally, we’ll do one dive bomb run. We don’t expect the target to survive multiple railgun hits. The drill starts in fifteen minutes. Go tinkle and get your crew ready to play.”
“Go tinkle? I’ve never heard that command from a ship’s captain before,” Col. Thom said. “Thank you for inviting me to observe this exercise. I have to say, your bridge looks exactly like the simulator I toured a few months ago.”
“Two differences. This one continues outside the hatches into the rest of the ship. The simulator hatches didn’t open. And out here we operate at two-thirds Earth gravity,” I said.
“How are your ship defenses? You have a lot of space in here, but I don’t see a weapons station.”
“Not in the way you think of it. We really don’t have any armament on St. Jeanne. We have a shield generator based on the same principles as your interdiction field. It creates a bubble around the ship if we need it.”
“Why didn’t you use a combat shield? Or even a nav shield? I know those technologies have been available to you and things could get hairy out here.”
“Trade-offs. We really depend on looking benign. Powering up shields would light us up for everyone to see. Your ships see us because they know we are here. We’re counting on being in low visibility with no more power signature than it takes to maintain systems. If we light up the interdiction shield, it’s for one purpose only: Disruption of laser fire or other energy weapons. As you know, the interdiction field is opaque - unlike the nav shield or combat shield. If we have to light it up, it will be because someone already knows we’re here. We still depend on the Hummingbirds for defense against solid ordnance.”
“That’s putting a lot of faith in remaining invisible. I hope the dickheads can’t detect you,” Thom said.
“So far, your systems can only detect us by the IFF signal. I’m sure your systems are more advanced than the Swarm.” Dakota glanced around the bridge. Her crew was looking at her. She nodded. “Sound Battle Stations. It’s time to get this show on the road.”
The klaxon sounded and the Pussy Pirates went into action. The screens lit up 360 degrees around the saucer dome with a view that immediately explained the distance between the stations. Thom and I had observer chairs, though I had a VR helmet that kept me linked into Ubie and the Hawks. Thom discovered he could swivel and tilt the chair to see all the way around him and above him. And the view was as if we were looking down on Earth. He watched the Hawks deploy and saw the dummy light up, 50,000 kilometers below the ship.
“Is that an airplane?” he asked no one in particular.
“I managed to buy a derelict 747 and had it towed out here. It would start a bunch of conspiracy theories if we showed pictures of it out here!” I laughed.
“Alpha Flight, commence strafing run,” Dakota announced. The display highlighted the Alpha triad accelerating across the field. It looked too far away to strafe the target, being half the sky distant. Suddenly, it blinked out and reappeared near enough to begin firing on the ‘enemy.’ A readout pinned to the triad said, ‘10km.’ After ten seconds of firing on the derelict, the triad blinked out and flashed in behind where Thom and I were sitting. By this time, the second flight was shooting at the derelict. Pieces of the plane could be seen spinning away from it.
“Regroup and hold station,” Dakota commanded when the last flight had made its run. Her crew quickly tabulated and displayed results. She turned to us and raised an eyebrow at Thom. I pulled off my VR helmet and waited for his questions.
“I know I’m supposed to ask a question. I’ll start at the beginning, I suppose. Fifty-one ships, according to the readout, strafed that target in less than three minutes. Impressive. But I saw that they all accelerated for at least five minutes or more before they engaged FTL and flashed into shooting range. I’ve seen them and the Hummingbirds flash in and out of FTL without accelerating first. Why here?” he asked.
“Momentum. When the Hummingbirds flash in and out of FTL, they are static. It’s as if you stepped on a transporter pad and were on another transporter pad somewhere else. But until you move, you are still on the pad. In a strafing run like this, we don’t have time to initiate thrust when we flash in. In order to be in motion at the other end of the run when we pass over the target, we need to be in motion at the front end.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Thom said, embarrassed. “I guess the big question is, ‘Why have a strafing run? It seems like it’s too light to do serious damage.”
“It’s another of the repetitive attacks the gamers came up with,” I answered. “Each hit weakens the shields. If we can sweep run after run of the strafers, we might get a kill but that would be a surprise. What we want are shields weak enough that the triad moving behind can punch in with one railgun blast from close quarters. That’s what comes next.” Thom nodded his understanding and Dakota returned to her crew.
“Prepare bombing run according to supplied coordinates. All flights on my mark.” The image above had changed with all the Hawks gathered far to our left. They seemed to be static as the airplane opposite the display from them.
“This should be good,” he mumbled, looking at the fifty-one bombers prepared to make the attack.
“Mark!” Dakota shouted.
One triad blinked out from the left and reappeared a second later at 10km from the target. They were spread out around the target and each belched a rail projectile and disappeared again before the shot had even hit the bogey. When the flash of impact cleared the screen, nothing was left.
“Target eliminated,” Joan said.
“Pilots, stand down and return to base,” Dakota said calmly. “Relax from battle stations. This drill is complete.” She spun in her chair and faced Thom. The two-thirds gravity of the ship put her breasts into a slow motion bounce I personally found delightful. “Will you join us for a drink on Anouilh, Major?” she asked.
“I’d be delighted, Captain.”
“It will take Dakota a few minutes to make sure the crew is settled and stations are shut down,” I said. “Captain, we’ll meet you at the resort.” Thom and I stepped onto the transporter and flashed to Earth.
Month 147—April on Anouilh
“I have to ask; what are you using to strafe with and is it being fired from the underwater base like the railgun?” Thom sat with his gin and tonic, now comfortably naked with most of the rest of us, relaxing around the pool. Ganja Queen, a thin brunette with a large onion tattoo on her thigh and roses and skulls on her left arm, had taken a liking to the Confederacy officer and was lying draped over him on his lounger. Thom was definitely appreciating the attention.
“They work on the same principle as the railgun, but they aren’t fired from the Atlantic Basin Station. Our… Marines, for lack of a better word… or snipers fire from a shooting gallery in the basement of the hotel. And we had no idea how effective it would be. We modified the Hawks to have an underbelly transporter pad, set at an angle with visuals directed to the firing range. We currently have a hundred qualified gunners. They use our version of an M2 machine gun with the equivalent of .50 caliber explosive rounds. We know they do damage against unshielded vehicles, even armored vehicles, but we don’t know how they’ll affect the Swarm’s shields.” I took a sip of my drink and kissed Rainbow, who had attached herself to me as soon as we settled down next to the pool. It seemed the flight crews had adopted me as their special mascot when KC revealed I’d visited them all as Papa Bear.
“I’m detecting there are a lot more people in your company than I thought. You had about 250 citizens resident at the resort when you started this island nation six years ago. You must have more than that now. A lot more.” Thom stroked Ganja Queen’s back as she worked her way down his body to suck his cock. He moaned.
“We continue to pick up rescues on an ongoing basis. In fact, after the success in the Mojave, we put together a strike team devoted to disrupting Earth First cells and rescuing their slaves. We have been most active in California, but do a lot of work in South America, too. Some of the hundreds we’ve rescued have requested extraction by the Confederacy, and so far, very few have been turned down. There are some who insist on being returned to their homes. I’m sorry to say that a lot of those don’t survive long enough to get rescued again. But we don’t hold anyone captive here.”
“That has to spell hundreds,” Thom breathed.
“Some we pick up just aren’t attuned to warfare but help in administration, management, and maintenance, both here and at the expanded resort on Papillon. We’ve even picked up some men, though nowhere near the number as women. A lot of the guys who contact us aren’t interested in defending Earth. They either think they’ll move to paradise and have an unending supply of pussy, or they are the equivalent of draft dodgers who are attempting to avoid service in Earth Defense. We don’t take them.”
“So, the number?” Thom asked.
“There are currently 643 residents of the Anouilh resort hotel and St. Jeanne d’Arc,” Ubie said from someplace near us. “That includes sixty-seven children under the age of fourteen.”
“Sixty-seven kids?”
“Mostly the younger ones who can’t be separated from Mommy for long. We have another fifty older kids boarding at the school on Papillon. They are often home on weekends, though,” I said.
“That doesn’t sound like as many as your number of rescues would indicate.”
“The island of Papillon currently has a population of 8,331,” Ubie said. “The Pussy Pirate Raiders, a cadre of 180 women, occupy Papillon Base and have temporary housing for the rescues while they are sorted out. The base has expanded with long-term housing for women doing support work for the Raiders or infrastructure work for the island,” Ubie concluded.
“We’ve collected women from every walk of life, not just porn stars,” I explained. “We have teachers, lawyers, accountants, doctors, laborers, carpenters, programmers, engineers, and a whole bunch who were aimlessly wandering when they got caught up in a sweep by Earth First. People of every walk of life. We have a much bigger development team than the twelve of us who started. The crew of the St. Jeanne are encouraged to spend a week a month ground-side to maintain physical fitness. The gunner crew for the railguns also rotate from being on-station in the Atlantic Basin or their homes at Papillon Base,” I said. By this time, Rainbow had assumed the same position on me that Ganja Queen had on Thom. Cali’s face was buried between Dakota’s thighs. Thom groaned as he exploded inside the Queen and she squeaked out a high-pitched orgasm of her own.
“Thank you, Major,” Ganja Queen whispered. “If we have a son, I’ll name him after you.”
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