A Long Burning Star

On the 100th Anniversary of Fountainhead’s founding, the Sovereign gets a visit from an old friend.


Part 1. Sword Of Lightning 

 
[Fountainhead: Prometheus City, Argon Palace]  

The Sovereign stood alone, and grave out on his balcony, before him, over his Conglomerate’s capital, fireworks exploded in a blare of color. Today marked the 100th Anniversary. A century ago, his people fled Earth, and Anunnaki oppression.

Earth herself existed now as nothing more but a fractured husk, reduced to lifeless rubble, thanks to the destructive collision between itself and the planetship, Nibiru, which having been torn asunder from inside, came crashing down upon Mother Terra in the midst of a last ditch effort to liberate the home planet from Anunnaki dominance.

A 100 years, sighed The Sovereign.


“Has it really been that long?” Asked The Sovereign of no one in particular. Of course, he being a Morningstar, a synthetic being, forged from raidun90, a Robot — Complete with positronic brain, could not ever genuinely forget such information.

Dressed in his black and royal blue armor regalia, his regal sapphire cape billowed behind him in the evening breeze. The broad shouldered, blond haired, goateed Sovereign made for a most impressive silhouette against that of the brilliantly illuminated metropolis.

Not always royalty. Once, nothing but a soldier. Commander of a Lancer-class destroyer, a spaceship, who served his King with honor and distinction, the current Sovereign had been catapulted into power. Thoughts of his lost King, only brought this Sovereign, more, ponderous reflection. Together, they’d conspired to unite brother and sister Morningstars, and in doing so, keep humanity free from a foreshadowed menace. For the most part, they’d accomplished exactly that. Evident by the very existence of Fountainhead and her colonies.

His son, Luc, gave up his life during the initial Exodus. Yet Luc had left behind a legacy, a son of his own, who’d grown into a valiant man, and made history himself, by helping reunite Morningstar and Falcanian.

The Sovereign’s ruminations were interrupted by engine noise. A forward winged jet, a Gunstar, swooped hazardously close to Argon Palace, and came to a hover, red-tipped nosecone inches from his balcony. Two security drones screeched to a halt on either side of the intruding aircraft, weapons armed, prepared to fire.

“I’d expected you sooner.”

“Call off your drones.”

Extending his piercing blue eyesight, The Sovereign gazed into the empty cockpit of the Gunstar. She’d spent these last few years jumping the space lanes alone. Why should he have expected her to pick up companionship now?

The Sovereign motioned at his Mecha guards. “Leave us.”

“Thank you.” Purred the Gunstar.

“Do you intend to just hover there? Come in, have a drink.”

The Gunstar reconfigured. Parts moved around to transform into a sleek, feminine Mecha. Mass shifted down into a humanoid form, that of a beautiful blue-eyed Falcanian woman, whose elfish oval ears, peeked from under auburn tresses, marred by a single strand of white. On her back was a flat armored pincer-tail and mechanical, black and rose-feathered halo-wings.

“Its nice to see you, Guillaume.”

“And you, Nadia.”

“Selita –”

“Gee, isn’t Selita gone?”

The Sovereign looked abashed. “Do you know, I forget nothing?” Reminded. “Of course you do, you’re not only a Falcanian, but a Morningstar like me, the original Morningstar herself.” Exhaled. “Yet,” thoughtful. “For whatever reason, whenever I need something, I find myself calling out for my secretary, Selita. Who went on to bigger, better things.”

Dryly, Nadia Korelia-Drakonis remarked. “If you mean, becoming girlfriend, and later wife to a Galactic Dictator, she sure did.” Though Nadia grinned. She’d personal interest in Selita’s duplicate sister, Sarina. “The Rubik’s are a fascinating family.”

“Indeed, that they are.” Guillaume LaSalle agreed as he recovered his own decanter of alcohol from an antique cabinet, so he could pour Nadia and himself a drink. “But I suppose, you’ve come to Fountainhead to talk about our family.”

“I stopped by Zarhur Station.” Nadia told him. “Sitara and Rene, are doing good.” Her daughter and his grandson. “We’re great-great grandparents now.” She licked lush maroon lips, sipped from the intoxicating beverage. “Central Point is a clamor these days.”

“With the relentless peace, my grandson and your daughter enforce, via that Commonwealth that they’ve built, I’m not surprised. Sitara even tamed the Uluenbas.” Recalling the fierce debate that plagued his government. “There are those in my Concordance, who’d give anything for a chance to eradicate every last Anunnaki.”

“The Asgardians, were not involved in Earth’s enslavement.”

“Regardless.”

“Is that music?” Nadia’s elfish ears twitched. “Jolan’s 7th.”

“There’s a ball going on.”

“Shouldn’t The Sovereign, attend?”

“I did…” Gee took a gulp from his drink. “Needed to get away from all that pomp and circumstance.” Besides pressures of his office, LaSalle missed his wife. Teresa, only reigned as his Matriarch for a short time. Human frailty caught up with her, all too soon. The anniversary ball reminded him of her. “Imogen’s presiding, as mistress of ceremony.”

Nadia grinned. “I bet my sister-in-law, hates it.”

“It took some doing, getting Imogen Drake back on Fountainhead.”

Klaxons resounded throughout Prometheus City. Fountainhead’s thick clouds opened, and revealed a descending vessel. Guillaume LaSalle pushed his balcony doors apart, glanced upward at the giant ship which loomed above Prometheus City. A Dawnstar. Scarred carapace of its hull, oil-black, like hardened lava. Calcified nodular tentacles, appeared as if molten iron were poured over uprooted, ancient tree roots, fashioned into a ferocious prow.

The elongated, menacing Dawnstar, parked itself over Argon Palace.

Scores of Dawnstars orbited Fountainhead, under control of Vautek Guardians, who assembled more such vessels and sent them outward, in order to establish Morningstar colonies. However, this gnarled, battle pitted warship did not belong to Vautek Guardians. RSI Sword of Lightning, was flagship of the Eradicator’s Synchronized Empire.

“Good, he’s here.”

Gee glanced at Nadia, dumbfounded. “You invited that mad man, to my capital?”

 

Part 2. Synchronization 

 

Eradicator, that is what he called himself. Both title and personal designation. Few, if any these days addressed him as anything else. Shrouded in a majestic black overcoat, his Star Chaser uniform, from bygone times, strode purposeful, toward The Sovereign, up on his crystal throne. Below the dais, Eradicator stopped, removed his hood. Bolted over Rust ruined right ear and eye, a black carbon fiber plate served as repair to ramshackle synthetic flesh. The cybernetic component served to make Eradicator’s striking bald head, even more so.

All Morningstar perceived the Universe as design, pattern, and order. A condition of positronic brains that did not permit denial of designer, behind the design. Of course, provided each Morningstar’s idiosyncrasies, such implicit knowledge tended to format rather unusual personality types. In Eradicator’s case, that meant an overwhelming need for organization.

“I salute you, Sovereign.” Said Eradicator in his precise British verbiage.

“Have you come to surrender, Silas?”

The ruined, purportedly insane renegade general laughed cordially. “No. Not today my friend.” Considered, rubbed at his white goatee. “There shall come a time, when we meet in battle, and I shall end our conflict by Synchronizing your Conglomerate, with that of my Robot Empire. But today, is not that day.” Gestured at Nadia, who stood close to The Sovereign. “I return to Fountainhead under truce. To honor Vecron Prime and his daughter. On this, the 100th Anniversary we helped free and preserve humanity.”

“Silas.” Nadia stepped forward. “I believe you brought something, of great import.”

“I did.” Eradicator nodded at his bodyguards. “On a trajectory, close to that of the Terra Sol Remnant, one of my patrol vessels happened across…” Presented. “This.” The Eradicator’s bodyguards, pallbearers actually, hefted a casket. “Not to place a damper upon the celebration, but you really should see who it is that lays at rest here, Guillaume.”

Eradicator opened the casket lid.

Primal force made Guillaume LaSalle rise from his stately chair. “Odin!”

Wrought into a mummified skull, desiccated features yet remained recognizable as those belonging to Odin Battenberg. Emerald eyes were oddly glassed over, but not as one might expect, ruptured from the coldness and vacuum of space. Synthetic flesh, long since became that distinctive metalized tint, lifeless Robot dead were known for.

“Yes.” Eradicator said, solemn. “However, if you doubt, have Dr. Vartazarian examine the corpse to verify that this is Odin Battenberg, our Lord and King.”

Feelings overpowered Guillaume LaSalle. Here lay his predecessor, who during the Exodus went to his demise in order to provide the fleet a chance at survival. Emotions brought memories. Odin naming Gee as his successor, fully aware that he probably would not come back replayed in sharp resolution inside this Sovereign’s positronic brain.

“How’s Selita?”

“Good.”

Eradicator and Sovereign sat across from one another at a luxuriant table during the celebration banquet, which had become a wake.

“There’s no reason for any of this.”

“Eh,” Silas frowned. “You mean, my empire building?”

Gulping his wine, an approximation of a vintage he’d enjoyed in his native France, developed from genetically engineered grapes, Guillaume LaSalle leaned close to Eradicator and studied the Robot Emperor’s damaged face. “Silas Cumberbatch,” said Guillaume using Eradicator’s true name. “Frederika really did, almost kill you.”

“Can’t blame her.” Silas readily acknowledged. “Thought she could rid the Universe of a tyrant. Yet here I am and Frederika von Gotha, is… Gone.”

“Damnedest thing –”

Curiosity raised, Silas questioned. “Speaking of which. Where is Guinevere?”

“I’ve sent for her.” Guillaume answered. “She’ll wish to see Odin, before we –”

“Close the tomb. Yes, I imagine so.”

A funeral was held in commemoration for Odin Battenberg, once King of the United Kingdom and later, Sovereign Lord of the Star Chasers, dedicated to relocating and preserving mankind from Anunnaki rule. His burial chamber resided on Argon Palace’s grounds and a marker stone declaimed Odin, Founding Father of the Fountainhead Conglomerate.

Following the entombment, Nadia made her goodbyes.

“It never fails to astound me, to see her do that.” Guillaume conceded, as he watched Nadia reconfigure. First into a female Mecha, and in a flash, transform herself into Gunstar mode, streak off over Prometheus City, upward, into space.

Silas nodded in agreement. “More Falcanians have gained that ability… To transmutate. A planet populated by near gods – Angels. And we, their worshipers look on in awe.”

“You do know, Silas? The Falcanians won’t ever allow us to destroy one another.”

The Robot Emperor exhaled. “You’re probably right.”

 

Part 3. The Green Witch

 

On a planet, replete with beautiful women, she stood out. Emerald skin, generous breasts, lustrous black hair draped over womanly curves. Among countless supermen and wonder women, Hela was unequaled. Eve of a race, Futureans, cousins to Morningstars, that officially no longer existed. The maroon gown, which she barely wore, did not hide the Vril circuity that pulsed under her exotic flesh and marked Hela Futura as an Arclayht Warlock.

Hela caressed the cool stone tomb. “It will happen, very soon.”

“To what do you refer?”

“Do you not feel the power, Orin?”

Like Hela, Oriole Amirjeen was an Arclayht Warlock. Unlike Hela, Oriole was a Falcanian. His great cybernetic wings, fringed with yellow plumage, and armored pincer-tail were at rest behind him. Oval ears stuck out on either side of a bald head, and made Oriole appear devilish. His forked goatee only added to his diabolical visage. “Yes, I feel it surging through the mausoleum.” Vecron Prime only knew what his apprentice got herself entangled in. “Is this your doing, my dear?”

“No.” Said Hela. “But I foresaw it.”

“Ah!” Exclaimed Oriole. “That is why you cajoled Imogen to return for the anniversary festivities.”

Hela nodded. “He awakens.”

Outside Odin Battenberg’s burial chamber, Star Chaser guards were posted. The platoon wore flawless black and blue uniforms, and faceless chrome helmets. In their war weary careers, they’d witnessed action in space, death, and amazing sights across the galaxy. What they were soon to confront however, they were not prepared for.

An electric hum emitted from the royal crypt. Flashes of blue light pulsed within. The platoon commander stood before the double doors, hand on his sidearm. Stone shattered into a hundred different pieces as the door burst open.

“Where… Am… I…” A lag and mechanical reverberation distorted the abomination’s words.

“You — Live, Odin?” Asked the platoon commander.

The mummified skull responded. “Odin?”

“Oh great,” quipped Oriole, as he and Hela walked onto the scene. “A zombie.”

“No, Master.” Said Hela. “This is not a vacant corpse, reanimated. There exists yet a kernel of the man he used to be.”

That presented an ethical quandary for Oriole, who under different conditions, happily would have thrown Rust at the Morningstar walking dead, and been done with it. The temptation to rid himself of the problem appealed to the Warlock. To history and his loved ones, Odin Battenberg was quite dead. No need to complicate the record. Moreover, this – Skull faced, metalized, abomination could never really be Odin again.

“Gee…” Moaned the skull face. “I must, see LaSalle.”

Hela in her own right was an accomplished, powerful Arclayht. She was correct in her reckoning that a kernel of Odin yet persisted in the desiccated body, that now walked among the living. “We’ll take you to The Sovereign.”

“Hela?”

“As if we’ve other options, Master.”

And so, Oriole Amirjeen set about to reassure the horrified Star Chaser platoon, that all remained well, wholesome even. Not an easy task, even for a wizard.

“There’s an axiom,” recounted Oriole Amirjeen. “’Only Rust, can permanently ruin a Morningstar’.” The Arclayht Master knew of a few other ways to render a Morningstar inoperable, however, the axiom more or less held. “Present company excluded.” Said the wizard to Silas. “My apprentice hypothesizes, even though Odin’s outer chassis is… Um – Blemished, his positronic systems sustained life these past 100 years in stasis lock.”

Oriole believed it just as likely, Odin’s chassis had become corrupted and possessed by some unknown power. The Universe was filled with all sorts of disagreeable things. Hela’s reasoning, for the moment, probably made more sense. The Arclayht Master did not offer his counter hypothesis. There did not seem to be a threat. Yet.

Silas and Guillaume were surprisingly, sedate, if a little confounded and horrified. Only hours before, they’d overseen the sealing of Odin’s tomb. Yet a shadow of that man stood here, in The Sovereign’s drawing room. A cadaverous body, shrouded in funerary garb. Glassed over eyes glinted spectral light, inside that of a gilded skull.

“Indeed.” Stated Silas. “I’m somewhat familiar with your student.” Grinned. “Having first come across her at my own… Momentous, resurrection.”

The Green Witch shot the Robot Emperor a spiteful glare. It had been after that incident, Hela found herself placed under Oriole Amirjeen’s full time tutelage. A powerful Arclayht could not be allowed to wander about untrained. “You got a wife out of the encounter, my Lord.” Responded Hela gritting her perfect little white teeth. “And reclaimed your power.”

“Girl,” said Silas. “If I’d had my way, you’d be my personal witch.” He laughed. “But the Falcanians won’t give me an Arclayht. Too much power.”

Guillaume interjected. “Silas, I think we’ve bigger concerns. Such as, what is to become of Odin?” He’d managed to keep what took place at the tomb secret, at least for the moment. “Do you wish a life here on Fountainhead, my friend?”

Again, the lag and metallike echo. “Not Odin. Not anymore…” The skull eyed both his friends. “This world is literally, and metaphorically yours, not mine. I do not belong here. A century, lost in darkness of space, changes a man.” The skull almost laughed. “In more ways than one.” He nodded at Hela. “This lovely Green Witch suggested to her captain that I go away with them.”

“Imogen, has a fancy, for outcasts and oddities.” Agreed Oriole.

“So, that’s it?” Guillaume asked. “You wake up, only to leave?”

“It is best.”

“What about Guinevere?”

“She is not to see me. Let Guinevere and the Universe, think I lay in that tomb.”

Silas placed a caring hand on Guillaume’s shoulder. “He’s right, Gee.”

“Very well.” The Sovereign relented. “I expect you to remain in contact, Odin.”

“Not Odin.” Replied the skull. “Do the Budjah still exist?”

“They do.” Hela answered.

“I am, Charon.” Said the gilded skull.

Guillaume LaSalle, Sovereign of the Fountainhead Conglomerate, watched from his balcony as the RSI Sword of Lightning, departed. Someday, he and Silas Cumberbatch more than likely would come to blows. Yet not tonight. Guillaume had been very glad to have the Robot Emperor be here and witness with him, their long thought dead King, rise from his grave.

Books I Like: Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider

Blurb:
Candy Calvin has it all. She’s a respected robopsychologist who specializes in the care and feeding of robots, particularly those belonging to Los Angeles’ wealthy elite. Her best friend Susannah helps Candy run her practice. The only thing Candy is missing is someone special with whom she can share her life. Until one day, on a whim, she visits an online dating site. She soon finds a profile she likes: ROBOSTUD2047. They agree to meet for dinner. But when Candy lays eyes on him, she gets more than she bargained for, including a trip into orbit, a midnight ride in a ViperJet, and a revelation that rattles her to her core.


Danny Olivaw is a renown roboticist famous for his books on the inner workings of artificially-intelligent beings. When he’s not writing, he flies his jet and hobnobs with celebrities and movie stars. His roommate Floyd is a screenwriter and actor who convinces Danny to try online dating. EYECANDYPh.D.D. immediately catches Danny’s eye. They agree to meet at Chateaux Pizza and before Danny can get over the statuesque beauty before him, she’s sampling his bruschetta and tasting his wine. Danny knows instantly that he’s head over heels for Candy. But things aren’t always what they seem, and Danny soon finds himself in a downward spiral in his quest to reunite with Candy.

Packed with action, comedy, romance, and an ensemble of lovable characters, EYE CANDY is an uplifting roller coaster ride in the time of robots.

I believe a story should entertain you, inspire you. Make you think. Make you feel. That's why I wrote Eye Candy.

It is now available worldwide.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

OK. Every once and awhile you run across one of those books. You know what I mean - Books that are enjoyable and addicting. Eye Candy by Ryan Schneider is one of those books.

This is a novel which is both entertaining, and thought provoking.

I don't want to spoil anything for you, because following the puzzle of the story is part of the fun. but I will say if you enjoy Battlestar Galactica, you'll like this book. Technically this book is not Space Opera, though it is Science Fiction.

Not everything is as it seems when you first dive into the story. You should ask yourselves: What is human? What is love?

One of the things I also enjoyed about it is, all the quirky characters and there is an almost Truman Show-esque reality to what you are reading. I actually fear that is nearly too much of a spoiler...

My Books I Like posts are not intended to be viewed as reviews. Just me saying: 'Hey, go read this book, you'll like it!' 

Vecron Sequence #3: Killer Robot…

The Shotar, comforts his wife following the bloody incident in Numai’s streets.

Eyes glowed, vibrant electric-blue. 

Behind Nadia, the broad frame of a bucket-head, blood-red ThunderStrike battledroid levitated. Off to her side, an arm gently placed on the Queen’s shoulder, a Valküri adjutant, escorted the distraught Nadia to where her husband Sharr Khan, already had been safely secured in an armored vehicle during the thwarted assassination attempt. 

Sharr Khan leaned toward his wife, her eyes beginning to revert to their normal bright blue state as she stepped up into the heavy transport. Ethereal cerulean gown, a bloody, tattered wreck fell off one shoulder. Shredded from the gunfire that she’d, moments earlier, walked into. As for the blood, none of it belonged to Nadia. 

Nadia got in, and her Valküri closed the door. 

The armored vehicle rumbled as it kicked into gear. 

In all the years Sharr Khan knew his wife, never once did she abuse her superhuman Morningstar muscles against that of other sapient beings. If she so desired, Sharr Khan understood, Nadia could hammer a human into an unrecognizable pulp. What she did to that attacker, bare handed, crushing his skull, hardly touched upon her complete potency. 

Nadia, remote, glanced at her bloodstained, gore covered hands. 

“He, murdered my Papa, wanted to kill you…” 

The Shotar grabbed a blanket, placed it around Nadia, who began to shiver, and lower lip tremble. He’d also never seen her lose control before, ever. In her own words, Nadia considered herself a precisely calibrated machine. 

Tears flooded from clear bright blue eyes, down over her cheeks. 

“It — It will be alright.” Sharr tried to reassure. 

“I can’t forget it… What I did…” 

Of course, Nadia’s positronic brain wasn’t like that of an organic mind. It never failed.

Tenderly, Sharr Khan went to take hold of his wife’s hands. 

“No.” Nadia moved her hands underneath the blanket. Her Valküri attempted to clean off as much of the blood and gore as she could, yet the stain and specks of brain matter clung. “Don’t get any of it on you.” She began to cry even more. 

The Shotar embraced his wife, stroked her disheveled auburn tresses as she supported herself on his chest and sobbed. 

“I’m…” Cried Nadia. “A killer Robot…”

Vecron Sequence #2: Sterner Stuff

Nadia Korelia exacts bloody vengeance, upon her Father-Creator’s murderer.


[Numai. May 9, 2019] 

“Allahu Akbar, death to all abominations!”

The Kalashnikov, SR-70 Taigan Pistol was an exquisite gunmetal-gray curve. A radical departure from the gunsmith’s classic AK-47. Semi-automatic, the SR-70 Taigan’s four heavy barrels fired a scatter of bullets, that hit with an explosive concussion.

Sikh soldiers, appointed by Raj Naresh Singh, to escort his Falcanian guests, who visited in order to inspect rebuilding efforts which they helped spearhead of the city that before World War III and its destructive bombardments had been named Mumbai. The Sikh, during the abrupt rumble of gunfire placed themselves between the lone attacker, shoulder to shoulder, beside Falcanian Drakorian Guard, ThunderStrike battledroids, and Valküri.


Nadia pushed past her own bodyguards, both Mecha and Valküri. During the salvo of gunfire, among those struck were her husband, Sharr Khan. Drakorian Guard immediately secured their Shotar inside an armored vehicle. Nadia noticed her Papa, Father-Creator, Dr. Turhan Korelia go down in a second hail of ammunition and realized Turhan lay dead, his stylish shimmery blue Nehru jacket reduced to a spatter of blood and gore. Probably the only thing that saved her husband, Nadia concluded, was that Sharr Khan chose to wear his formal armor.

Ignoring urges from her Valküri, to seek cover and the hulk of battledroids that placed themselves between she and the attacker, Nadia advanced on the enraged Muslim, who apparently wasn’t too keen on the genetically engineered Falcanian presence.

Bullets shredded Nadia’s babydoll sundress, slammed hard against her bulletproof body, leaving Nadia practically naked. She moved forward, unbound. Lissome tan synthetic gynoid chassis, turned impenetrable. Heads-up display zeroed-in on the assailant. Almond eyes glistened, bright-blue incandescence.

Wrenching the gun away, Nadia crumbled it and threw the broken SR-70 Taigan Pistol aside. For a moment, she considered the confused assassin. Evidently dumbfounded to discover Nadia to be more than flesh and blood. That’s because, Nadia had been manufactured of sterner stuff. Her embryo hammered from raidun90. A material comprised of no scant quantity of moissanite – Silicon carbide — Machine, given flesh.

The market street turned suddenly noiseless.

Nadia grabbed hold of Turhan’s murderer by his face, forced him onto his knees. Though he tried to fight back, her superhuman strength could not be matched by no less than that of her Morningstar brothers, or sisters. Lost to overwhelming grief, Nadia’s next movements were reflexive. Crush! The slightest pressure of her delicate, precision fingers and the assassin’s skull cracked. Killing him in one agonizing, bloody instant.


FROM: A Stream of Stars… : Starcracker 

Vecron Sequence #3: Killer Robot

Synthetic, Electric Romance (A Story of The Federal Galactic Empire)

|On Smashwords | Retailer Links|


Sarina Rubik, is madly in love. Her guy Cylus, a broke down, Tank-Class Sentinel, loved her back with his every circuit. Yet Sarina, prone to trouble, walks right into a conspiracy on the Morningstar planet Gear. Why are fembots vanishing? Who is the Shredder? Most of all. What are the green skinned Humanoids that lurch around in Volt’s shadows?


Table of Contents
Epigraph
Chapter 1. A Girl, And Her Mecha
Chapter 2. Devil In The Details
Chapter 3. All The Women Came And Went…
Dramatis Personae
TERMS OF INTEREST
Also By…
About The Author



Epigraph 
​

Transition from mankind, into Hybrid, Morningstar offspring, did not come about as an abrupt traumatic occurrence. For a single reason. Homo Sapiens are prone to randomness, which we, as designed Robots lack. Both in our psyche and SNA. This tendency for entropy attracted us to you. Following a continuum, Neo-humans forged ahead, where Homo Sapiens ended. Everything from routine tasks, to falling in love.
— Roark Dallas, The Architect 


Chapter 1. A Girl, And Her Mecha 


[Planet Gear, City Of Volt. The 22nd Century] 
50, 298 beings, many of whom were machines, populated the Fountainhead offshoot colony, Gear and resided inside its shiny primary metropolis, Volt.
There they labored and loved.
Volt, as could be expected from a city manufactured mainly by and for Robot kind, featured numerous modern technological amenities. Pneumatic transit chief among them. Smooth and power efficient, it carried Volt’s citizen’s home and to work, built to accommodate all makes or models. For the populace of Gear came in varied shapes and sizes. From giant construction behemoths, to human-form Morningstar models. Two such organisms were about to begin an adventurous week. Little did they know it. Only because the girl ‘bot just couldn’t keep herself out of trouble. Even by Volt’s unusual standards, they were a very odd couple.
Sarina Rubik fluttered open her glistening, neon-blue eyes. Yawned. Stretched, curled up on her boyfriend’s bulky army green chassis. Sitting up, Sarina brushed away her light-brown hair, naked, aside from a pair of white lace panties, shapely butt cheeks pressed hard, taut onto Cylus’s sturdy arm. She climbed up his mass and smooched his round silver face.
During the Battle of Earth, Cylus had been a heavy munitions ‘tank’. Essentially a semi-sentient sentinel, configured to repel invaders. Afterward, during the Exodus, Cylus had been reformatted for construction. First on Fountainhead and later here, on Gear.
In a universe replete with Artificial Intelligence, that which constituted personhood required a very specific meaning. Merely reacting to stimuli didn’t count. Your pet cat or laptop computer reacted to stimulus, to say nothing of the plethora of working machines. Cylus at one time was no more than a very complex, yet none entity. Until that is, a bolt of lightning seemed to upgrade its — His, programming.
Cylus could now moralize. This fit snugly into the Morningstar definition of person.
“Wake-up, sleepy head!”
A rumble, not unlike that of an engine powering up filled the room as Cylus began to cycle into waking mode. The one-time war veteran and construction Mecha wasn’t much of a talker. Though he could speak, given the right motivation.
“I’m awake, Sarina.” Said Cylus, in his grumbling modulated voice. Vocalizations, which like that of the shell they were housed in, sounded heavy.
Sarina hopped off Cylus, generous breasts jiggled in a most mesmerizing manner. She glanced over her shoulder, grinned toward her lover and made for the shower unit.
Despite an Eastern European surname, Sarina had features which could be delineated as Asian. The surname, a result of her father’s quirky choice after he’d been decanted, for a family name in honor of a 20th Century Earth puzzle. She was a second generation, pure-bred Morningstar. Common, but not so much as 80% of what constituted human these days. Hybrids of Morningstar and Homo Sapiens. All the end product of a forced galactic Diaspora and human destiny being ceded to Morningstars. The cataclysmic destruction of Earth would do that.
In the shower, Sarina could hear creaking as Cylus stood, his joints needed lubricant. It reminded her sadly that he was an old combat model, lucky to not have been scrapped. Who would have been junked, had Fountainhead’s High Court not ruled him a person.
Getting out of the hot water, which loosened up her own high-grade polymer muscles, Sarina pulled on a towel, began to dry and brush her hair. Sarina determinately appeared Filipino, with the exception of her luminous blue-eyes, which were dominant among Morningstars.
Going out into the open bedroom, their apartment, basically a garage subdivided into living and kitchen area, as well as Cylus’s workshop, Sarina went over to her wardrobe, pulled out a maroon bra and panty set. Selected black jeans and a tight gray tank top. She spent a moment after she clothed herself to apply pink lip gloss and atomize a pleasant scented, cherry blossom perfume between her ample cleavage.
Over at a shrine, where a frosted glass illuminated cobalt representation of the Blue Ghost had been erected, Sarina closed her eyes and prayed silently. As always, she gave thanks to The Prime and Its Messenger for endowing sapience upon Cylus. Made sure as well, to bid good fortune for a lucky day.
The old war hammer did not himself worship the Blue Ghost. Strangely, at least to Sarina, her boyfriend preferred the Budjah faith of the scarlet robed monks, who maintained the interstellar communications network. A religion unquestionably Old Earth and Homo Sapien in focal point. But then, Cylus could be quite the slumberous philosopher.
Moving about, Sarina took the lubricant can and oiled Cylus’s creaking leg sockets. Caressing him as she did so. The girl scaled onto his shoulders in order to reach his rotating arm, ball-and-socket joints. “My very own Tin Man.” Nuzzled Sarina. “I love you, big ape.”
The construction Mecha let out a groaning utterance as his girlfriend climbed downward.
Meow! Simba, the gray tabby cat demanded attention.
Felines, and archnemesis, rodents hijacked onto the Morningstar Exodus. Actually, Simba and his compatriots in the Fountainhead Conglomerate, Gear and other such Morningstar colonies were the second feline wave out of Terra, Sol III. The Falcanians brought with them a variety of feline specimens when they themselves fled Earth.
After feeding the cat, the only honest-to-goodness organic lifeform in the whole household, Sarina patted Cylus on his brawny arm, said. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Come straight home –”
“Cy,” Sarina sighed. He could be so damn paternal. “I’m not going to vanish.”
“Sure,” Cylus exclaimed. “Bet those other fembots thought the same before whoever took them, did. Yet they’re no place to be found.” He glumly added, as if speaking were an effort. “Probably got slagged.”
Sarina didn’t hear, as she’d already gone out the garage, onto Tesla Boulevard, Level 30, Grid 9. Across the street construction workers continued Gear’s endless assemblage. New skyscrapers, many rooted into the planets core continued to rise above the early morning skyline.
Pneumatic transit was only a block away from Cylus’s garage. Sarina reached the transport sphere minutes before it departed its station. If she knew what sort of Pandora’s Box she’d be blindly walking into, just by going to work, Sarina would’ve called out for the day. …

Life Itself (Neo-human)

On the evening Sarina Rubik-Tank gives birth to her new daughter, she’s visited by a most unwelcome guest!

This is a free follow-up, to Synthetic, Electric Romance.



Epigraph

Our buildings and machines will fall to ruin, the systems and the names of the great will fall like leaves, but you, love, you flourish in the ruins sow the seeds of life in the wind. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation seen salvation through love – and life will not perish! Will not perish! Will not perish!

— Alquist, Clerk and last human. From R.U.R. by Karel Capek





[Gear, City Of Volt. The 22nd Century] 

“Push, Sarina.” Implored the voice.

Sarina Rubik-Tank took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and indeed, pushed, summoning all her Morningstar capability and might.

The labor lasted hours. For Sarina, it began to feel as though she lay, legs up in stirrups for days on end. Yet her time-sense assured Sarina that it’d only been three hours since her water broke. If anything, at this moment, every bit of her sensory input had reached a crescendo.

In the midst of her parturition, Sarina could perceive her collected friends – Family. Not only in the birthing chamber with her, but those outside, beyond the doorway, also. The eager chattering of Diesel, Thorium, and Octane, she and Cylus’s adopted boys. Impatiently waiting for their new sister to at last arrive, reached Sarina’s ears, in a clarity that only a mother could understand.


A miracle.

Praise Vecron Prime!

Yes. There could be no doubt. Nothing short of wizardly intervention, divinely inspired, made it even achievable for Sarina, a Morningstar and Cylus, a Mecha able to cultivate progeny, which incorporated bits of both she and him. Unlike the first Morningstars, synthetic beings themselves, an artificial womb just wouldn’t properly incubate this baby.

“She’s almost here, Sarina.” Assured the soothing voice.

Suddenly, Sarina’s positronic brain changed her reality. Sarina found herself once more returned to her wedding day. They’d done the extraordinary, transported every friend they had on Gear to the very center of the Morningstar Conglomerate, Fountainhead – Even Snowball/Sparkplug, the white Persian and good old Simba, their household felines.

It helped to have friends in high places.

For a flash, Sarina recalled Selita, her duplicate sister, newly promoted as The Sovereign’s personal secretary, catching her bouquet of tiger lilies as she’d tossed them from the grand Tabernacle of the Blue Ghost’s steps. They’d yet to usher in Selita’s own nuptials. Sarina’s duplicate, not herself nearly as lucky in love as either Sarina or their other duplicate, Sheena.

Hand pressed tight onto Cylus’s giant, firm mitt. Sarina was glad for her husband’s sturdy Mecha frame. It made the labor pains, almost tolerable, to press, with all her innate muscle power, like a clamp on Cylus’s ceramic alloy hand. An expletive, hurled at their Designer, just about loosed from Sarina’s lips. He’d upgraded the plumbing innumerable other ways, hammered Morningstars into demigods. Yet, Morningstar women continued to endure pain in childbirth. Why?

“You’re doing just wonderful.” Cylus encouraged. Truthfully, slightly disoriented, here in this birthing chamber. Biology, synthetic or otherwise, wasn’t exactly his wheelhouse. At the moment Cylus felt like a voyeur, watching his wife, legs opened, while down on that end, another person, indeed an honored friend, helped convey their daughter into the world. But what mattered to Cylus most of all; Sarina needed his hand to hold.

Sarina blinked and realized she stood outside of her body. A hallucination? The positronic brain was an extraordinary piece of hardware. It offered tremendous benefits, yet also was filled with many quirks. “Am I dead?”

“Hardly.”

“You.”

“Did you think I’d miss this?”

Sarina rolled her blue eyes. “Why are you here, Iblis?”

The Vril grinned, his fanged grin, curiously paternal. He wore the same golden visage that Sarina originally encountered him in. An approximation of a Falcanian’s mammalian winged frame and plated-tail, pointed ears, basic, well muscled humanoid shape. “For the same reason she is.” Iblis Jinn nodded toward the auburn haired woman, who guided Sarina through her labors. “You’re about to bring a novel new life into the Universe. I wanted to see it. Just like Nadia.”

Sure. Sarina knew that she and her family were somewhat, she hesitated to say ‘famous’ but they were well known. She was after all married to the only known sapient Mecha, and of course, the incident on Gear with the Futureans brought with it much scrutiny from those in power. Selita and her Mum working for The Sovereign didn’t help out much. But really, Sarina didn’t need Iblis Jinn peeping in on her giving birth. How could that not be bad luck? “Just what I always wanted. The Devil, Shaitan himself, visiting me while I give birth to my daughter.”

“Harsh words.” Chided Iblis Jinn. “I mean you no harm. Morningstars are named in my honor for good reason. Who do you think whispered into Dr. Korelia’s ear, as he toiled away in his lab? Without me, there’d be no raidun90.”

“That’s not true!” Protested Sarina. “Dr. Sen named us for Prometheus.”

Iblis Jinn winked. “Exactly.”

LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB, LUB-DUB. Heartbeats, both Sarina’s own and those of her daughter boomed, like a steady clockwork in her ears.

Sarina reentered her body, only murkily conscious that Iblis Jinn watched the proceedings. All at once, her Morningstar blue eyes illuminated, and she let rip a screech, followed by a pregnant second of hush, soon broken by healthy cries from a newborn baby.

“Cylus, would you like to cut the cord?” Asked Nadia Korelia.

“Ah… OK.”

The new, proud father took the proffered shears and severed the umbilical cord, which tethered mother and baby for so long.

“She looks just like you.” Remarked Cylus.

“Maybe, a bit.” Agreed Sarina, baby cradled in her arms.

Actually, though the newborn did have her Mum’s Filipino coloring, and hints of Asian features, baby Tank inherited Mecha traits too. Unknown circuitry and metallic enhancements, purposes not yet clear studded the baby girl’s chassis. Her most striking attribute however, were tufts of magenta hair, which matched up nice with big adorable, blue Morningstar eyes.

Shulamit ‘Sula’ Arcee Tank. Named for Sulla, from Karel Capek’s R.U.R. (Rossum’s Universal Robots), was surrounded by love. Sula would prove to have a most adventuresome life. Even joining and employing her uncommon talents in the Star Chaser Corps, which supplied the young woman a chance to view the Universe. What mattered to newborn Sula currently was that she rested in the loving embrace of her parents.


End of line.

Vecron Sequence #1: Unicorn Star

Sharr Khan, and his wife enjoy a private carnal moment during an official event.



Sharr Khan drank his tea, its smoky bite and citrus tang stimulated his taste buds. The Shotar considered, he’d need to commission more of this succulent blend. Gathered for a casual brunch before going off to inspect Numai, the Shotar sat beside Raj Naresh Singh, inside the Kuras mansion’s comfortably furnished lounge. Sharr Khan took notice of Damianus Vorskrai, and followed the Guilthari lord’s lustful gaze.




Ear tips peeked out from beneath twists and ringlets of her elaborately arranged auburn hair, which hung suggestive, over bare shoulders and back. Nadia Korelia’s magnetic presence commanded the room. Scandalously short, flirty, blue babydoll Summer dress clung to her every contour. Nadia’s bountiful breasts heaved at each regular breath, seemed as though they just might pop out. Knee-high, chunky black claw-boots, made the ensemble, combat chic. Nadia couldn’t help but ooze sex appeal, she’d been manufactured that way.


Oh yes, Sharr Khan recalled earlier in the morning, Dr. Ambika Sen, Nadia’s Mother-Creator hadn’t been pleased by her daughter’s wardrobe selection. The flirtatious Summer dress was in Dr. Sen’s mind, improper apparel for an official function.

The Shotar put down his mug, and excused himself.

“I agree.” Said Nadia, to Naresh Singh’s technological adviser. Brains and beauty. “The scientific method is the bedrock of authentic advancement. So much the pity, that in the last century and up to our current time, ‘scientists’ favored ideological agendas, when they could have instead offered pragmatic solutions to real problems, rather than pursue unsupported ecological Doomsday scenarios. Which, more often than not were proven wrong by uncorrupted data.”

Nadia turned, plated tail swished, hem rode upward, revealed a hint of white, lace panties.

“I need you.” Sharr Khan said, took his wife’s elbow, and abruptly escorted Nadia away from her discussion. Good thing for Naresh Singh’s technological adviser, as Nadia was about to share her thoughts on Darwinism.

Outlined by dusky kajal, luminance blue eyes peered teasing toward her husband, who’d removed she and himself from the lounge proper, off into a side sitting room, really, almost a closet. The bindi, a three point star and diamond, glistened between her eyes, as she grinned. Nadia called it, her ‘Unicorn Star’. An embellishment, reserved for posh occasions, which at the moment, tremendously added to her naughty coquette look.

Nadia giggled.

The Shotar backed his wife against a wall, which induced her to let out a breathless sigh. “Are you aware,” asked Sharr Khan. “Damianus Vorskrai was overtly leering at you?”

“Jealous?” Nadia quipped and felt his fingers creep up under her abbreviated hemline.

“No.” Sharr Khan pushed his mouth onto her lush pink lips. “You’re mine.”

Under her dress, the Shotar moved his thumbs, found the elastic of her white panties, clutched her rump as she lifted a claw-booted leg to wrap around his armored body. “You’re going to bang me, here in the closet?”

“That’s the idea…” Sharr Khan trailed off.

Luckily, his formal Jodtok armored vest wasn’t overly complicated to unlatch. Nadia busied herself with the zip of his jodhpurs and gripped Sharr’s hardened, pulsing phallus, guided it upward, to meet where her underwear had been moved aside. He slid into her.

Following an exquisite climax, which in all probability, those gathered out in the lounge got an earful of, Sharr Khan let go his wife, who reached for a Kleenex, in order to clean herself up as best as she could. Nadia straightened her panties and Summer dress and exited.

“Your Grace.” Said a Valküri upon eying Nadia. “Dr. Korelia, is looking for you.”

“Thank you, Rekha.”

Vecron Sequence #2: Sterner Stuff

A Stream of Stars...: Starcracker

|On Smashwords | Retailer Links|

Vecron, and Veritraan Prime wage a game of Go. Openly, reconfiguring both the Falcanian and Morningstar peoples, so that they might become Lords of the Universe. Humanity’s future isn’t human and the Falcanians and Morningstars are tools to that end. The Falcanian Shotar has been assassinated and the Star Chasers have begun to rise up. A new player, Eden Rhys enters onto the gameboard, yet to her complete frustration, Eden discovers herself to be everyone else’s pawn.


Table of Contents
A Stream of Stars…
Series Note
Epigraph
Prologue: Sterner Stuff
Chapter 1. The Fallen
Chapter 2. The Specter of Veritraan Prime
Chapter 3. Mecha Girl
Dramatis Personae
Terms of Interest
Also By…
About The Author





Prologue: Sterner Stuff 


[Numai. May 9, 2019] 
“Allahu Akbar, death to all abominations!”
The Kalashnikov, SR-70 Taigan Pistol was an exquisite gunmetal-gray curve. A radical departure from the gunsmith’s classic AK-47. Semi-automatic, the SR-70 Taigan’s four heavy barrels fired a scatter of bullets, that hit with an explosive concussion.
Sikh soldiers, appointed by Raj Naresh Singh, to escort his Falcanian guests, who visited in order to inspect rebuilding efforts which they helped spearhead of the city that before World War III and its destructive bombardments had been named Mumbai. The Sikh, during the abrupt rumble of gunfire placed themselves between the lone attacker, shoulder to shoulder, beside Falcanian Drakorian Guard, ThunderStrike battledroids, and Valküri.
Nadia pushed past her own bodyguards, both Mecha and Valküri. During the salvo of gunfire, among those struck were her husband, Sharr Khan. Drakorian Guard immediately secured their Shotar inside an armored vehicle. Nadia noticed her Papa, Father-Creator, Dr. Turhan Korelia go down in a second hail of ammunition and realized Turhan lay dead, his stylish shimmery blue Nehru jacket reduced to a spatter of blood and gore. Probably the only thing that saved her husband, Nadia concluded, was that Sharr Khan chose to wear his formal armor.
Ignoring urges from her Valküri, to seek cover and the hulk of battledroids that placed themselves between she and the attacker, Nadia advanced on the enraged Muslim, who apparently wasn’t too keen on the genetically engineered Falcanian presence.
Bullets shredded Nadia’s babydoll sundress, slammed hard against her bulletproof body, leaving Nadia practically naked. She moved forward, unbound. Lissome tan synthetic gynoid chassis, turned impenetrable. Heads-up display zeroed-in on the assailant. Almond eyes glistened, bright-blue incandescence.
Wrenching the gun away, Nadia crumbled it and threw the broken SR-70 Taigan Pistol aside. For a moment, she considered the confused assassin. Evidently dumbfounded to discover Nadia to be more than flesh and blood. That’s because, Nadia had been manufactured of sterner stuff. Her embryo hammered from raidun90. A material comprised of no scant quantity of moissanite – Silicon carbide — Machine, given flesh.
The market street turned suddenly noiseless.
Nadia grabbed hold of Turhan’s murderer by his face, forced him onto his knees. Though he tried to fight back, her superhuman strength could not be matched by no less than that of her Morningstar brothers, or sisters. Lost to overwhelming grief, Nadia’s next movements were reflexive. Crush! The slightest pressure of her delicate, precision fingers and the assassin’s skull cracked. Killing him in one agonizing, bloody instant.


17 Years Later 


Chapter 1. The Fallen
​

My Morningstar children call me Vecron, the Blue Ghost. Falcanians denote me as Ishbol, Guardian of Char’s watchtower. I stalk the electrical-quintessence, and exist within infinite, in-between space. Messenger of The Prime, by my skilled hands, did I recall It’s Kraksang back from oblivion. Now, the ‘Sunroids’ once more walk the Universe, albeit in a different configuration. You need only know me to be representative of that which is holy illumination.
— Concordance of Vecron Prime 


[Falcanian Mobile Command Platform. January 1st 2035] 
Imperial Strato-General Shuriken Kra stood at his conning station, and glanced across banks of monitors. His men dutifully prepared Intel. Data filtered into his large goggles, integrated into the various systems. Almost two years, he’d overseen the war as Supreme Commander. Ever since the new Imperator, Gaius Trajan fired the shot that restarted a conflict ended by a masterfully orchestrated peace treaty.
“Sitrap.” ISG Kra said.
“Sub-Strato General Temujin Sardur, reports forward movement in siege of Moscow.” Responded Sub-Commander Israduith Jarok. “City’s defense shields still holding, however, General Sardur is confident he’ll very soon break their lines.”
Shuriken Kra greatly missed Frederika, who’d long since left the field to help Sharr Khan recover from the odd cybernetic illness he suffered from. Yet, honestly, Shuriken felt more comfortable knowing Arshira was safe in her post as Commander of Homeland Security. Yes, he understood full well that the woman could take care of herself. That didn’t change the fact he worried for her. Perhaps Frederika might even convince herself it would be okay to have that baby she’d been wanting? Sharr, he knew would be more than pleased to help her out there.
The Russian theater occupied Shuriken Kra’s thoughts. Dmitri wasn’t half the tactician that the Morningstar portrayed himself to be. Temujin’s little war, provoked at Sharr Khan’s behest, in order to capture Natalia Antares, and the so called ‘Mecha Girl’, Eden Rhys thus far proved to be going well. Victory appeared impending. Shuriken Kra’s bigger problem, was yet another Morningstar, who fought proxy for the Imperium: General Mufasa Taharka.
“Sir! Code Purple alert!”
“I’ll take it in the war room.” Odd, Code Purple was a highly secure channel. The Shotar ever only used it for the direst of situations. Shuriken punched his ID number into the computer and the holoscreen came to life with Chancellor Trakan’s typical dour image. “Shreik. I expected Sharr –”
“Shuriken, it’s my sad duty to inform you, our Lord,” he stumbled, reluctant to say the words. “Sharr Khan Mingh Drakonis, has been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Shuriken pulled off his goggles, lurched backward into a chair. “By who?”
“The clone, Aria…” Chancellor Trakan wearily told Shuriken. “Purely a domestic matter. We are keeping the details, hushed.”
That didn’t much surprise Shuriken Kra. Aria and Sharr Khan’s relationship, had been destined from the start to go wrong. That she murdered him, somehow did not shock Shuriken. The ISG thought he himself should have dispatched the clone when Oberon Kreis, brought her to Vorkrür Island as a ‘gift’ for Sharr. But, what’s done, is done.
“You’re to be recalled to Vorkrür, at least for the duration.” The Chancellor nodded. “There are affairs of State which need my attention. I shall see you soon.”
Shuriken pressed a button on his desk: “Sub-Commander Jarok.”
“Yes Sir.” The Mobile Command Platform’s XO answered.
“Have a transport ready, I go to Vorkrür.”


[Narshin Thryak Palace] 
“Never thought we’d lose him like this. Und soon, after Oberon…” Whenever she became upset, Arshira’s German accent thickened. “I always thought, Sharr Khan would be an old man, dying surrounded by a bevy of young women und his brood.” That thought caused Arshira to almost half-smile. “Or walking off into some great wasteland, to become stuff of legend.” Sighed. “This, it’s so banal. Unbelievable.” Nervously Arshira bit her lower lip. She hadn’t yet allowed herself to cry, not like Nadia and Shalimar at least. The Valküri felt she must remain stoic. Sensed major changes ahead. Anger built up in her heart. As each hour transpired, Frederika became colder, and began to fear her own fury. …

To Aldebaran…

A Gunstar, relishes her ability to traverse the cosmos, and takes pleasure in her planetfall.


Warping-out to normal space, the Gunstar orgasmed.


Forward-swept wings, tipped by lethal pulse cannons, extended from a flat angular fuselage. Four tail-wings were orientated at right angles in order to achieve atmospheric stability. Silver-blue hull plates deflected sensors, also displaced various sorts of weaponry. Reflective golden canopy glinted, awash in Aldebaran’s bright rays. The Gunstar’s red nosecone veered toward the second planet. Yet, no pilot could be seen helming her advanced instrumentation.


Light from the legendary orange giant, Aldebaran washed over the Gunstar. The sensation tickled her, and she gently sighed. Telecommunications from the inhabited planet, officially labeled Aldebaran II — Known locally as Kurgardstan, registered on her scanners. But the Gunstar wasn’t in any hurry to land. Humans had no idea, and most Morningstars, or even Falcanians themselves, only just on the cusp of perceiving the resplendence that existed beyond their limited awareness could properly appreciate what it felt to ride the stellar winds. The Gunstar, in her numerous journeys had seen Gamma Rays, tasted dark matter, and heard X-rays.
The Gunstar glorified in being a machine.

A whisper of gravity pulled her closer.
Aldebaran II’s atmosphere became flame on her ceramic alloy skin. But it did not burn. The Gunstar felt a thrill as she navigated a guided drop. The violet hued planet raced upward. Breaking-thrusters discharged. Almost hitting hard deck, she banked, and swooped to face a walled city — Tantalon. There she lingered, above tarmac lined with lights.

The Gunstar’s configuration changed. Ornithological correctly described her Mecha body. Sort of, humanoid-bird. Nosecone became powerful legs and talons. Recurved wings rested on her back. Even a pointed tail stub could be seen at the join of her plated, shapely bottom. Given the rather generous proportion of her curved chest plates, there’d be no doubt, this Gunstar was intended to be all female. Bright-blue almond eyes dominated the Gunstar’s elliptical head, crested by crimson plumage. Coppery wires dipped mid back. A bump for a button nose and a pleasant slit served for mouth, on an uncomplicated, yet graceful face.

The Mecha strode toward the city. Each step, she assumed characteristics and dimensions of a gorgeous, voluptuous, halo-winged woman. Plated pincer-tail flexed proud, like that of a cat’s. The Gunstar acquired skin, hair, and other humanoid features. Auburn curls marred by a white streak flowed ethereally in Aldebaran II’s warm evening breeze. Enhanced blue-eyes pierced darkness of night. Elvish ears tuned into the city ruckus. Anyone who might have been watching for a moment, probably might have believed her nude. Yet only for a second. A sleek cerulean one-piece, that looked as though it were painted on soon, clothed her form, completed by stylish, yet functional claw-boots. The Falcanian woman, both a Mecha and Gunstar, entered Tantalon City.

Stars, Only Visible in Darkness

Frederika von Gotha, on a mission to the cult like, Techatron Union has an unusual encounter with a bucket headed, possibly mechanical bishop and finds herself entangled in long existing designs, which she knows nothing about. Frederika, is both a weapon and unwitting victim of the circumstances that resulted in her creation.


Authors Note

Though this is a direct prequel to Starblade, there exist many connections to both published Neo-human stories, and those yet to be released.




Epigraph


I see angels, angels in this very room. Now, I may be mad, but that doesn't mean that I'm not right. Because there's another force at work here. There always has been. It's undeniable. We've all experienced it. Everyone in this room has witnessed events that they can't fathom, let alone explain by rational means. Puzzles deciphered in prophecy. Dreams given to a chosen few. Our loved ones, dead, risen. Whether we want to call that "God" or "gods" or some sublime inspiration or a divine force we can't know or understand, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It's here. It exists, and our two destinies are entwined in its force.

--- Doctor Gaius Baltar, Battlestar Galactica: Daybreak Part 3






Part 1. Machine Cult


[Argentina, Ushuaia. Techatron Union. June 1, 2029]

Eyesight, digitized. The world became an ugly lime green, pixelated fog, as her heads-up display tried to compensate for the recursive feedback, induced by the node jacked into her right temple. The node worked perfectly with most human interfaces. Yet, thanks to Frederika's 'enhanced' nature, it presented a conflict. Oberon Kreis, her guardian, assured Frederika, those very superhuman improvements however allowed her entree, and the skill to avoid Omicron.

She just wished that the shrill buzz would lay off inside her brain.

Omicron attempted to align Frederika to its overmind. Only passively aware of her, its next scan, Frederika could be sure, the great machine would accomplish its connection. Not a whole lot of time to pilfer those gel circuits.

Frederika harrumphed, ran her fingertips across the cool ceramic alloy wall. HUD restored on retinas, that belonged to big emerald cat-eyes. Thus far, she'd managed to avoid both humanoids, or Techla. Sooner or later, she'd encounter a member of the Techatron Union. That's why she wore the implanted node, so as to appear as if she were a novice cultist.

The beginnings of Omicron were shrouded in rumor. Far as could be determined, Omicron predated The Singularity. Which didn't make much sense. Those so called, self-aware computers that followed were not at Omicron's level. There were no true AIs. Only extremely good mimicries of the human brain. Sentient, but not sapient. Tantamount of beast to man. Nothing like Omicron. The technological rapture itself well-nigh obliterated Omicron and its followers. The event scarred, or killed many members of the Union. Those who hadn't yet uploaded into Techla bodies were said to have been resurrected by Omicron. Living dead, animated by nanites.

Two pallid, bald humanoids, known as Tors, garbed in utilitarian gray overcoats, eyes hidden behind thick black lenses, went by, gave no acknowledgment to Frederika's person. A male and female. For whatever gender counted among these people. Neither so much as ogled Frederika's generous cleavage, or admired her honey blonde mane, that she presently wore in Punk braids, a plait loose, over her left eye. To be remade into automatons. The whole idea offended Frederika. Yet the Techatron Union seemed never lacking recruits, eager to join up and get the First Stage Node. What for? What did they get out of it? A near loss of individuality.



Heads-up display presented a schematic that guided Frederika down a descending, labyrinthine passageway. Lower into the complex, it became colder. Advanced eyesight aside, at her every exhalation, Frederika could behold streams of her own breath, coming out in crystalline particles. Temperature variations seldom bothered her. yet, she'd an aversion to genuine iciness, as her advanced body tended to lock up, heat proved much less of an issue.

Beyond a side archway, Frederika glanced in, and eyed a hive of Techla. Ovular tentacled bodies hovered, and burst with gel synapses, congregated close to a giant, levitating black globe, that brandished a fiery red eye. The Omicron core. Bright scarlet caught her attention, jarred with the otherwise dull silver decor. A Budjah Monk? What was a Budjah, doing here? They were hardily affiliated with the Techatron Union.

The monk moved, and talked at the Omicron core, in a grating, synthesized voice, surrounded by Techla, hands inside the folds of his voluminous, crimson frock. From a thick beaded rope, swung a hefty crucifix. Yet most striking to Frederika, his golden robotic bucket-head, that featured a singular black rectangular sensor plate. Could this Budjah, be a Mecha?

Neither the Omicron core, or this odd, perhaps, mechanical monk, were why Frederika had come to Argentina. She required the gel circuitry.




The Techatron, were shockingly open. Given their preference for a collective, which functioned as a literal Communist system, it made sense. Techatron also maintained a rather open door policy. Even inside their complex. Gel circuity was stored in a public warehouse, so any cultist, Techla, or Tors could go about self-repairs. Only necessary to gain access, a valid node. And her own node had been hacked, in order to make it register as a Second Stage Node – Tors, even though it was really a novice, First Stage implant.

Frederika paused outside the warehouse vault, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the automatic doors – Which promptly parted, once the security scanner validated her node. Relief however remained short. Inside the silent vault were a number of Techatron. All keeping to themselves, but for a disinterested glance at her, as she entered.

Silence, that was one of the most upsetting features about this place. Its absolute hush. Of course, everyone partook in the overmind. No need to gossip.

Unusual technology, of various sorts crammed the vault. Frederika needed an NT5 ClusterPak, standard to both Techla and Tors. Of course, Oberon's Blackeagle Knights (really, her Blackeagle Knights) had acquired their Intel from a disaffected Tors, but the latent technology in his body proved most useless, since it already imprinted onto his nervous system. That is why she'd come, they required a tabula rasa gel circuit, to study and replicate.

Frederika went to the locker labeled: NT5 ClusterPak, It scanned her node. She tapped in the numeral 3. and it dispensed three, quarter-size discs, each in a protective seal. Nonchalantly, Frederika placed the gel circuits into her thigh sack. Exiting the vault, Frederika reminded herself, the Techatron were a cult and not a paranoid government, bent on keeping secrets. Oberon had been right. This was a milk run. Just in and out. All she needed to do, get to the hover bike, stashed outside and make the extraction point in time for retrieval.



There were no alarms. No blaring klaxons.

Only, foreboding silence.

Frederika quickened her stride. Soon confronted by a palisade of Tors, that looked on in that disinterested, chilly manner all seemed to have assumed. None however, made an aggressive move. They just blocked the path. Behind, an aggregation of Techla barred her way.

Icy tendrils of an all-powerful intelligence stretched out to its many followers. And in its deep vocalizations, issued a command. “Bring her to us.”

Superhuman agility propelled Frederika. She ran up the nearby wall. Tors grasped at her limbs. She punched and flailed, and somersaulted over them all. No doubt inflicting grievous injury to those whom her rock hard fists rained down upon.

Soon, Techla were upon Frederika. Many tentacled appendages, clasped onto her arms and legs, slowing her advance. Frederika tore wiry extremities off many a floating ovular body. Yet Omicron did the math. Numbers proved enough to overcome Frederika's superhuman strength. It had an inexhaustible army of drones to send at her.

Whether Frederika understood it or not. She wasn't, as a being, completely 'Switched On'. All because the man who brought her up, did not grok her true nature. If anything harmful befell Frederika, Oberon would be at fault.

Omicron, did have an idea. Which proved to be its advantage.






Part 2. The Face of Rao


Frederika struggled against her bonds.

“Those fibers, will tighten up, harder you fight.”

“Yes. Best to relax. Omicron selected them, just for you.”

“Naturally.” Quipped Frederika.

On either side of the restraining bench, were two Tors. This duo were known to Frederika. Torling, the female, and Torlock, the male. Out of place among all the rest of their kind. What with being overweight, compared to most, gangly, almost malnourished Tors. These were the human founders of the Techatron Union. Who they'd been before, none could be sure. Biographies, long ago misplaced to the depredations of World War III and its near desolation of society. Omicron's overmind, since supplemented Torling, and Torlock as leaders of the Techatron Union. It, if nothing else, proved to be a more honest, if not more God-like ruler.

“Go Torling, Torlock. We desire to speak with our guest alone.” Omicron's disembodied voice said while its intense red eye burned hard. “There is much We must come to understand. For her singular being interests us.”

Great! Thought Frederika. A supercomputer that thinks of itself in the royal plural.

The room darkened after Torling, and Torlock left. Only the bench Frederika had been latched against remained lit. Also the temperature further dropped. “You – Should – Not – Exist!” Omicron declaimed, both indignant and yet betraying concern.

“Neither, should you.” Frederika answered back. “Und yet. Here we are.”

The surge jactitated her body. Not electric, rather, Omicron manipulated her neural structure, impelling undulations of pain, or pleasure throughout Frederika.

“What do you want to know?” Frederika gasped when the last wave hit. “I'm just an augmented human.” She felt another surge coming on. “Nothing special. Genetic engineering is common place since The Singularity --”

Omicron shot her with another jolt of extreme pain.

Profound pleasure soon followed.

“This is not the brain of a hominid.” Omicron stated, with condescension. It spent after all a great deal of its time cohabiting hominid minds. “Least of all, that of an augmented human.”

The hologram of what Frederika guessed to be her very own brain hovered before her. No. It really did not resemble any brain she'd ever seen. Not with its fibrous, blue crystal lattice and pulsing blips, which were more electronic, than organic.

“That, is a positronic mind.”

“You're saying, I'm a gynoid. A robot.” Frederika didn't think it herself. It didn’t make any sense. “Positronic minds are the insurmountable, uncanny valley. The impossibility. The reason there is no, true Artificial Intelligence. Only facsimile.” Frederika guaranteed Omicron. “I bleed, I eat, I excrete. I fuck.” She proclaimed. “I am a living being.”

“Primitive, inaccurate summation.” Omicron mused. “What you are. If you are, what We suspect. Only God could construct. We've some acquaintance.”

Frederika thought the overmind, might have gone insane.

“Sure --”

Another round of pleasure and pain. Frederika writhed, arched her back, which only caused her constraints to tighten. On the brink of, what could only be described as an orgasm, she fell into darkness.

Blue sparks, stars, brightened the dark which surrounded Frederika. They twinkled and pulsed.

“Tell me.” Coldly demanded Omicron. “Who, made you?”

Awareness restored to her wracked body, yet, far off, twinkled those blue stars. “You don't care that I came to steal your technology?”

Omicron repeated. “Who, made you?”

“As you've demonstrated.” Frederika answered. “My mind is an open book --”

A bombardment of pain/pleasure. Along with it, a hint of information that intrigued Omicron. A known corporation's name: Genetic Konnections INC.

Biographical data related to Frederika began to scroll across the domed curve of the chamber: Frederika Gisela von Gotha, Duchess of Saxe-Coburg. Heiress, to Duke Magnus and his wife Gisela Gotha, née Drossel.

In the shadows, the scarlet robed Budjah witnessed Omicron interrogate its prisoner, careful to go unnoticed. The monk hadn't ever seen Omicron quite so troubled, as it had, when its overmind locked onto Frederika's node.

Omicron frantic, if you could characterize a stringently glacial, dispassionate intellect as such, hunted every available network for hints related to Genetic Konnections INC. Nothing, but ghosts, where information should have been, yet wasn't.

“Tell me, about Veritraan Prime.”

“I don't know what Veritraan Prime is.” Frederika truthfully said.

It wasn't the pain that bothered Frederika, so much. She could endure that. Omicron had discovered a chink, forcing her to near orgasm and pulling it away. That agitated her. Frederika could have sworn Omicron was getting depraved enjoyment from inducing such reactions out of her lithesome chassis. Yet, he – It, was an asexual machine.

Blinking out, under more torture, Frederika again beheld those blue stars. Orbs of light, in interminable darkness. Their vibrations, and light provided warm solace.

When once more, Frederika was fully present in her body, Omicron amazingly offered. “We shall tell you, of Veritraan.”

Frederika understood, Omicron only shared its guarded accumulation of knowledge, in order to cajole more out of her. But this seemed worth it. “I'm listening.” She bit off. “You und your royal self, can entertain me.”

All holograms, ceased. Leaving the room empty black.

Before Frederika, a gargantuan face materialized. Dominated by red lidless eyes, the static-y hologram of a burnished, gilded countenance, employed a simple downward mouth, over a pointy chin. No nose, and an ovular head. Where ears should have been, were domes. Very mechanical, robotic looking. Frederika's own imagination completed the details. Guessing a slight frame and that head supported by a thin neck. Disturbingly, alien.

“We, are Rao.” Explained the gilded face in Omicron's voice.

“Oh...” A moment of insight. “Alien? But that's absurd. There are no extraterrestrials. Not yet. Only varied human types, each moving off into a new branch, thanks to technology --”

“You,” said Rao. “Are not in error. We are not alien, as it is commonly comprehended on this planet.” The face of Rao leaned closer, and continued in a whisper. “Once, before time, as measured by you, a civilization roamed the stars. The FIRST civilization. Given a spark of life by the Ramahite Crystal – Shard of a hyperintelligence.”

“Und you, Rao, or is it Omicron?” Frederika speculated, Omicron might be really two different computer minds. “You're the aggregate intelligence of this now dead species?”

“An orb,” said the Face of Rao. “The incipient Omicron core, crashed onto this planet. Generations, buried it slumbered. Humans, expelled from their garden paradise, soon built a civilization above it. Flourished. Until one day, it was unearthed by a man, a human who called himself, Veritraan Prime. He sought immortality and used the orb to construct for himself a Cathedral in the stars. There, Veritraan placed Thirteen Watchmen to guard his citadel.”

That didn't explain Rao's other personality.

“Und, Omicron?”

“We are Rao, We are Omicron.” The face of Rao explained. “Omicron, is the consequence of Veritraan's contact with the core.”

“Many minds, made one. Yes, I think I understand --”

Omicron/Rao hit her with a wave of pain. “You are of the Ramahite Crystal. How?”

“Rao...” Now, Frederika started to lose her temper. Whatever the truth, Omicron must have been damaged in its history. Probably by The Singularity. “My guardian, Oberon Kreis, only ever told me I am an advanced human. Born in his own Father's corporation’s, genetic research labs. I've never heard of Veritraan Prime, or this Ramahite Crystal.”

Omicron implored. “You are forged of it. Just as We, the Rao were.”

“Perhaps...” Frederika exhaled.

She didn't often feel fatigue. It took much to break Frederika's endurance. The trance overcame her consciousness. Darkness surmounted Frederika's existence. Out there, a multitude of blue stars oscillated heavenly light. For the first time, she beheld them for what they genuinely were. Embryos. Others like herself. The blue silhouette approached. A cloaked figure, extended a finger to her temple, and an electronic ping, brought Frederika, furious out of the vision. Emerald eyes, illuminated neon-blue. Breaking her bonds, Frederika became an instrument of destruction.



Fists, drenched in blood, and goo. Woozy, Frederika, whose skull pounded, slumped against the hover bike that seconds before she uncovered from underneath a tarp.

“Despite its abhorrent handling of you.” The bucket-headed Budjah Monk remarked when he traipsed out of the hole Frederika tore, barefisted, in the Techatron Dome's wall. “Omicron, does have, or at least, keeps, the possibility for, moral agency.” He moved closer, studied the node embedded in Frederika's temple. “Here, let me help.” Produced a tool from his robe. “Fascinating.” Yes indeed. The wound where the node had been, began to at once mend. “There. The buzz should go away, and Omicron won't be able to trace you.”

“What's a Budjah doing here?”

“Omicron, and I have a history.”

Blonde brow raised, Frederika asked. “Are you its confessor?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“It claims to know, God.”

The monk hummed. “So I've been told.” Explained. “My grasp of Omicron's meaning is, it has accumulated enough data, to be confident, that a transcendental Creator exists. Not so different from others who've undergone such a religious breakthrough.”

“I don't think Omicron, ah or is it, Rao --”

“You came for these.” The monk thrust a bundle into Frederika's hands.“NT5 ClusterPak, gel circuitry. Trust me Omicron won't miss them.” Urged. “Now, best to go. They'll regroup soon and there will be many more Techla to contend with.”

Frederika revved up her hover bike, steered toward the Atlantic Ocean, and skimmed over the boundless, moonlit water.




[Falkland Islands. 90 Minutes Later]

The hover bike, slipped along, only to halt in an abrupt thud, as it reached a rocky coastline. Frederika thrown off, landed a good fifteen feet away from her steed. Laying in the surf, on her side. “So… Cold...” The icy mind of Omicron didn't entirely vacate her brain once the node had been removed. “...Enough to make my systems blow...”

Overhead, a gunship levitated, and shone a bright spotlight onto the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, slowly lowered and touched down on the island.

Frederika blinked, faltering, at the edge of unconsciousness. Before she yielded to sleep, Frederika glimpsed the war weary, eye-patched, and bearded visage of Oberon Kreis, her guardian. Mighty hands, raised Frederika up off the sand and carried her onto the gunship. “I've got you” A thick, Prussian accent, paternally soothed. “I'm here, my child.”






Part 3. Ciji



[The Veste Coburg, Germany. June 12, 2029]

Days, Frederika slept, while her body repaired. When it came to medical concerns and the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, her guardian came to understand, it was best to leave Frederika's body to take care of itself, as it seemed geared toward self-repair.

Helpful, Frederika never got sick.

She dreamed, of the glowing blue embryos, and the cloaked figure. In a start, Frederika sat up in her snug antique bed. Mused. “At least its not that damnable golden dragon dream.” Meaning a recurrent vision she'd experienced since childhood.

As she got out of bed, Frederika smoothed her nightgown down her leg and went to a window so she could gaze outside at the brightly-lit courtyard. Nighttime. A tarp hid Oberon's latest project. The prototype Nemesis jet. Why she'd stolen Omicron's gel circuity.

Her thoughts kept returning to that ghostly cloaked figure she'd seen in her mind's eye. Had that been Veritraan Prime? No. That felt wrong. For some reason, dwelling on Veritraan – Whatever his connection to Omicron, brought her a sense of dread.

Omicron messing with her brain, Frederika remained unfulfilled, sexually. What to do about that? Seize a footmen, and bang him in her rooms? That hadn't gone so well for either herself, or the hapless footman last time. Thinking of it, she rubbed at her pert bottom. Coburg, the city kept up a booming nightlife. There were biergartens and nightclubs regularly filled with young people. Surely, Frederika thought, she could find a worthwhile fuck in the city.

Showering. Frederika selected her most scandalous dress. A gossamer, green item with an exceedingly minimal hemline. Dispensed with a bra, which left nothing much to the imagination. Chose white lace high cut panties, so as to preserve her modesty. Completed the sexy outfit with pricy open-toe, high heel clogs. Frederika picked an alternate identification card. A persona that resonated for her. It read: Ciji Maria Drossel. Residence: Hanau. Age: 18. Becoming others, this is what Frederika did. Ready to party, the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, slunk out of Castle Coburg.




Clogs clacked on ornate cobblestones, Frederika smiled and watched the busy progression of people around her. You'd never know that the planet recently endured a nearly calamitous World War. Of course, Genetic Konnections INC., had done its utmost to reconstruct the tiny Nation-State of Saxe-Coburg, into a thriving anchor of civilization.

Germany itself had been moving toward national self-annihilation a long while before the global conflict erupted, which if anything halted the invasive deterioration, and let Oberon and his Blackeagles sweep in and clean up the carnage.

A few guys gave Frederika the once over. Mostly fascinated by her hardened nipples beneath the semitransparent fabric of her dress. Too intimidated by her beauty however, to try a proposition. She sighed. On the one hand, in all likelihood they had no idea who she was. Oberon, for an assortment of reasons, guarded Frederika's image and kept it from being plastered everywhere. This, among other things, didn't help her social life.

Frederika ducked away, into the shadow of a building. A unit of Blackeagle Knights, outfitted in sharp black and silver uniforms went by. She grinned, Frederika had a female version of that uniform, only trimmed in gold, complete with an awesome hat. Now, Blackeagle Knights would know her on sight. They were probably already aware Frederika, very much without permission, absconded from Castle Coburg. She might be the Duchess and Saxe-Coburg her duchy, nevertheless Oberon's Counsel of Blackeagle, with military proficiency, governed the daily affairs of state.

Safe, Frederika emerged back onto the cobblestones. The aroma of food grabbed her attention. A leberkäse vendor. Hungry, she went and purchased a sandwich, and a small bottle of apple Schnapps. Her meal quickly consumed, Frederika put her mind to find a club or biergarten to spend her evening and choose a fuck buddy.




Reverberation of song, music, and chants of: ‘Ziggy zaggy, ziggy zaggy, hoi hoi hoi!’ Lured Frederika to a cacophonous biergarten. Rounding a corner, promptly she slammed face first into the bare chest of a perfect wall of a man. And oh, was he some male! Muscular broad torso, forked goatee and long red hair tied back in a ponytail. Garbed only in pants and dusterjacket. More remarkable to Frederika, his golden sheen and bright blue eyes. Genetic modifications, guessed Frederika, who tried to push him aside, yet discovered him to be astonishingly unmovable.

“Careful, little Duchess.” Said the Golden Man in a beguiling baritone.

He recognized her!

Managed. “I'm sorry.” Thwarted from entering the biergarten by his baronial presence. Ah, nein!, Frederika thought. Bikers aren't my type.

“Not a problem, little Duchess.” He leered.

“I'm,” Frederika asserted. “Ciji. Ciji Drossel.”

“Sure.” He half-growled, not buying it.

“Und, you are?”

“The Devil” Not joking. “But you can call me, Iblis Jinn.” His nostrils flared, and Iblis let out an amused laugh. “You're in heat, little Duchess.”

Great, Frederika thought. Not only does he have cosmetic improvements, he can detect pheromones! Suddenly, she found herself pondering, what other parts of Iblis might also be enhanced…

Frederika tried to get a grip. An indicator on her heads-up display registered that she churned out mass quantities of pheromones. This wasn't ordinarily an involuntary function, yet could be triggered by horny moods. Every male in range soon would bow at her feet.

“Let me sate your passions, little Duchess.” Offered Iblis Jinn in his seductive baritone.

“No, thanks.” Frederika twisted out of his dangerous embrace and entered the bustling biergarten. Not the smoothest blow off, yet it however got her away. Inside, among the rowdy crowd, Frederika placed hands to her temples and considered. That guy, Iblis, he'd have dominated her. Not what she required. She needed to dominate, not be rode by some testosterone addicted gang member – Even if he was a great specimen of a man.

Over the biergarten's incessant din, Frederika's precise hearing picked up a BBC News report playing on a holoviewer. “… His Majesty, King Odin Battenberg recently appointed Baron Silas Cumberbatch to oversee a committee, in regards to working with the American Imperium on a joint space mission.” The BBC reporter didn't hide his snobbery toward the upstart king. “Our controversial Sovereign continues to test the bounds of his power. Though, it must be pointed out, Prime Minster Bludd completely endorses his undertaking...”

Ah yes, Odin Battenberg, Frederika's improbable cousin. The adopted son of Edward VIII and his Queen, Wallis Simpson, who childless, and being natural radicals, very late in life, elected to fulfill their royal obligations in a most innovative manner. A fact, according to Oberon Kreis, that didn't change Frederika's literal relation to the upstart on the British throne. They were blood kin. She could never quite get past the weird feeling a soundless revolution took place, and that she were but a cog in the machine that built the uprising.

“Here, little Duchess, drink.”

Frederika gaped, Iblis Jinn pushed a sizable stein of frothy beer into her hand. Automatically gulped on the brew. “Danke...” She stammered, and glanced at him over the rim of the stone mug. Had to concede, he was persistent, and good looking.

“Pleased to… Serve, little Duchess.”

Things got a bit hazy, after each gulp of beer. Frederika’s brain warned, that didn’t make sense, given typically she could drink Oberon under the table. One stein of beer didn’t normally get her buzzed, never mind giddy. Yet it felt good, to let go and just be. Whatever, Frederika found herself dragged into this titan of a male’s gravity and magnetic attraction.



Later, in a rented room Frederika rode Iblis Jinn.

The modifications, and enhancements improved every part of his incandescent anatomy, including his cock. She’d never seen a gold phallus before on a living man, until now.

To her surprise, Iblis allowed Frederika to control their encounter. Permitted her to be on top, when he so easily could, and usually would have, bent her over and dominated. But Iblis Jinn understood that’s not what his ‘Little Duchess’ required this night.

A few hours later, the rented room’s door burst open and in stormed a burly cadre of Blackeagles. It hadn’t taken them that long to discover her absence from Castle Coburg, or her whereabouts. Frederika awoke, yawned and stretched, let the blanket slip away from her lush bare body, which prompted the Blackeagle commander to disapprovingly harrumph. “Madam, Colonel Kreis would care for a word.”

Unashamed by her nudity, Frederika got off the bed, irritated her sexual companion seemed to have vanished. Probably heard the troopers and thought it best to depart in haste. Likely a good idea, the Blackeagle would have tossed him in a dungeon for violating their Duchess – Even if it had been her pleasure. “Of course he does, Captain Roth.” Licked her lips and made a point as she gathered her belongings to bump into the Blackeagle commander, in all her nude glory.

Captain Roth simmered. Frederika von Gotha, could be difficult. To be sure, she’d get much more then a stern lecture. Well deserved, thought the Blackeagle commander. Not the first time Frederika had gone rogue. It was however part of his job to keep track of the Duchess, even if she didn’t care for it. “Kindly dress yourself, Madam.” Otto Roth said and brandished Frederika’s slinky gossamer green dress in her direction.

Stepping into her lace panties, and placing her feet into her clogs, at last Frederika draped her barely-there dress over her lithe body. Hand on hip, asked. “I trust there’s a car?”

“You’re most familiar Madam, with our armored transports.” Otto Roth crustily responded. Were the Duchess his daughter, he’d already have tanned her backside, but alas, that duty exclusively belonged to his superior officer, Colonel Oberon Kreis.



Recalcitrant and arms folded over generous bosoms, Frederika waited, a few feet from Oberon’s monolithic oak desk. Her guardian had his grumpy face on. So much disapproval could be conveyed by that one-eye of his. On the desk, rested his thick leather strap, which Frederika was all too accustomed having whipped across her bare butt. “Yet, another unsanctioned, late night jaunt. We’ve discussed this, repeatedly.” Oberon got up from his chair.

“I have a question, about my last mission.”

That caught Oberon off guard, he recovered. “Jah?”

“Omicron, it showed me what it claimed to be my brain – It was, positronic?”

Soon, they’d need answer Frederika’s emerging doubts regarding her superhuman existence. Even Oberon didn’t altogether comprehend her true nature. The one whom he served, did. At present, Oberon more was concerned about chastening his disobedient ward for leaving Castle Coburg without authorization, or escort. So he evaded. “A ruse to confuse. Do not be deceived by the Machine’s lies. You’ve experienced how inhuman it is.”

Not quite satisfactory, but Frederika implicitly trusted her guardian. Omicron had every reason to lie.

Lower lip, quivered, Frederika sighed. “I suppose, we should get on with it...”

Oberon grunted. “Jah, my dear.”

Braced against his desk, in a graceful movement Frederika bent, and reached up under her dress, to slide her panties down and out of the way. The gossamer gown, rode up, leaving her taut posterior unprotected. Resigned. “Ready, Sir.”

The reinforced lash cracked hard across her buttocks at full force. Oberon determined, an over the knee, paternal spanking just didn’t make an impact upon the obstinate girl. To begin with, Frederika proved too physically tough. Yet her resolute personality did respond best to corporal punishment. When genuine tears began to tumble from Frederika’s emerald eyes, along with pained grunts and yelps, Oberon finally allowed his ward to stand. She clutched at her ruined buttocks, covered in overlapped, wide purplish welts that reached her thighs. Contrite, and weeping, Frederika dabbed her teary eyes with the palms of her hands.

“You’re dismissed, young lady.” Oberon said.




Oberon’s office doors bolted behind Frederika as she left, clutching still onto her injured rump. The lights muted. Oberon removed the stolen Techatron gel circuits from out of his desk and closely examined the fantastic technology. Now they could move forward. The one whom he served would be most pleased. Mused. “That girl, is headstrong – “

“My son. You persist in misunderstanding her to be human.” Proclaimed an unfathomable voice.”Despite Frederika’s chassis, she and her Morningstar brethren bear no connection to your – Our, hominid forerunners.” A blazing, singular red eye coagulated in the shape of a hologram, belonged to that of a gargantuan mechanized figure, colored purple, verged on black. “You worked beside one such as her. Why do you not fully grasp, they are not human?”

“Father,” said Oberon to the hologram, which wasn’t representative of the beings real shape, but rather a self-idolized concept. Uric Kreis currently existed only as a discorporate brain, housed in a preservation canister. “We ran a genetic engineering company. Und, besides, I’ve always just been a soldier. I am not a scientist, like you.” Gestured with an open palm, revealed the gel circuits. “These shall further your goals, Veritraan. Though Frederika thinks they’re meant for the Nemesis, they will help us construct your dragon body.”

Veritraan Prime, heartily bellowed. A troubling demonstration from the holographic mechanoid. “Yes. Though my interaction with the Rao proved disastrous, gravely causing me to become ill, and demanding I abandon my human body. It has also reaped many benefits.” Veritraan rubbed at his mouth-less chin, blazing eye, pulsed. “We shall soon need to place Frederika on the pathway to truth. I think she could be a delightful beguilement for your half-brother.” Veritraan’s other son, indirectly reached achievements that would service his own agenda. “Besides. I think its long past time, we reunite ourselves with Dr. Korelia.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes, Oberon.” Even dead, Dr. Turhan Korelia continued to be an obstruction to Veritraan Prime and his agenda. The good doctor had attained apotheosis. “I mean, Dr. Nadia Korelia, his daughter. The first Morningstar.” Veritraan’s silent instruction produced a thousand points of holographic blue light. “Out there, in the vast darkness, within my star-born Cathedral, my Lucifer's Watchtower, each of these is a Morningstar, yet unborn. When the time comes, I shall unleash this Neo-humanity upon the Universe and rule as its master.”

CONTINUED IN… STARBLADE (NEO-HUMAN #1)