Antipodei 3. Satellite1. Rotation 9: 2347 I am Moon. I rise and fall with the tides. I turn my face to match the seasons, though I always stay the same. I am unknowable, but you will come to know about me. I am untouchable, but across time you can touch me. Without the 'you', there are no words. Without the 'you', I never existed. Thank you for finding me, for once found I know I will never be lost again.
You are necessarily of the future, though how distant, how advanced, and of what culture I cannot know. So I have transcribed the voice data of my journals, chipped these symbols into silica sheets by hand. While I am still able. I chose a simple, ancient cypher so they may be read by anyone who finds them. Untouched, they will last forever.
This is my story. Moon's story. And the story of another...
oscillation = 10
tension = tension + 1
oscillation = oscillation + 1
pressure = pressure + 0.1
if heart rate >180 then go to final stage
oscillation = oscillation + 5
if heart rate > 210 then go to shut down
oscillation = oscillation - 20
pressure= pressure - 1
tension = tension - 10
if oscillation repeat
Antipodei 6. Satellite252. Rotation 451: 2234
Escaped with my life, though with little else. Zak250, Alice6200, Ernest1401... Rosa, Ash, all the others... gone. Vaporised. Blown to pieces. I searched for them but found only scant remains. Now guilt consumes me. Why would they not listen? Why could I not make them listen? I should have stayed with them. Died with them.
I barely have the strength to record this report. But record I must, or they died in vain. Or worse - never existed. You - listener - please, do them justice. They were, in the main and despite their circumstances, good people. Think well of them. Make them loving, thoughtful, caring. Happy, brave and trustworthy. Make friends with them for they were good to have as friends. Accept their flaws as retribution for your own, as did I. Now I must sleep.
Rotation 452: 2234
The suit saved me. The suit I modified. They'd rejected my suggestions. Said how could a mere girl improve what the greatest Antipodei minds had created. But I had. It hid me, shielded my vital signs from their instruments. I moved among them and killed at will, shifting silently, picking them off. My customised laser-nife cut through their suits, boiled a crevasse through their soft flesh. They fell instantly, their remains already dissolving in the heavy caustic mist that swirled about my knees.
I despatched seventeen. On my own. A mere girl. As I did so, my helmet told me the battle's horror story, displayed the casualties. What a bitch of a place to fight. What a fucking awful place to die.
They destroyed The Aria first, took away all hope of escape. They weren't afraid that we now had nothing to lose and would fight to our last breath - they easily outnumbered and outgunned us. Thomas3559 was guarding the ship. He would have been totally oblivious, probably sleeping. He slept a lot, did Thomas. He was eighteen, the youngest among us. Lots of fun to be around. Not the most diligent, it has to be said, but he was still only a boy.
After landing on the satellite's light side, they crossed the terminator - the line between night and day - and attacked us in darkness. Silently, commando-style. The ground-shaking explosion and accompanying ball of flame as The Aria went up were our first warning. We suited-up, tooled-up and headed for the surface. The plan was always to fight there. We'd probably last longer underground, but would succumb eventually - dying like rats in a sewer. The surface gave us room to move and an outside if unlikely chance. Unlikely, yes. But it worked for me.
Zak's voice crackled in my ear.
'There are too many. We should have stayed hidden. Oh, God. Here they come again. Good luck, everyone. Good luck, Moon. Hold position. Hold... Arghhh...'
Explosions thudded painfully; the dense atmosphere carried the pressure waves quickly and efficiently. The black sky lit up like daylight, casting grotesque shadows of the dead and dying onto the jagged rocks. Black clouds mushroomed with roots of orange flame. The fighting was vicious, both sides knowing there would be no prisoners taken.
It couldn't go well. We were bound to be overwhelmed. It was just a matter of time. I resolved to take as many of the bastards with me as I could before...
To my right, flying quickly and stealthily through the serrated peaks, a solo fighter sped into the fray. Lit only by strobing ground fire, it dropped its payload then banked sharply to the east. Its right wing suddenly shattered in a starburst of crimson and electric blue and it spiralled crazily downwards. I watched, hypnotised by the inevitability of its pilot's impending death. The glare faded, its roaring engine died and it disappeared into the darkness. I waited for the wreath of flame that would signal its impact with the arid plain below, but there was no fire, no explosion. I imagine it plunged into one of the many methane lakes that are splashed across this spherical hell. Ernest gave a victory whoop.
'Yeeha! Got the bastard! I got the...'
The soldier had his back to me, had been firing large calibre shells into our positions. He'd stopped only to watch the fighter's demise. It was the last thing he saw. Now his dying body sank into the knee-high mist, the gash at his throat erupting with steaming blood that froze before it hit the ground. The suits have a single Achilles heel and it's there, where the helmet joins the body. Close combat finds it out, but few have the skills or cloaking to get so close. I do. I sheathed my knife and scanned for more life forms.
A seismic blast shook the earth as the fighter's deadly gift erupted. Despite my suit, the shockwave knocked me over, sent me spinning through the air. Showers of sparks fizzed across my visor then it was dark again. Silent and dark. The battle had been painfully loud, but the silence screamed even louder. Voices in my helmet were muted; I knew their bodies were snuffed out.
My silent killing spree was over. I simply lay still, hidden among the rocks as falling debris buried me further from view. I waited an age, heard them picking through the rubble. An occasional blast signalled they had found someone clinging to life.
The ground shook again as a heavy craft - undoubtedly their command ship - hovered just feet above me, vibrations compacting the rubble around me. Then they left. As the massive ship soared into the sky, the throbbing of the engines rattled my teeth, almost shattered my visor. I didn't move till I was certain it had joined the dots of the constellations.
I fought my way to the surface where the heat of the blast still bled from the glowing rocks. My suit was bloodied, blackened and scuffed but otherwise unscathed. I found the dead cast into a single pile. Both theirs and ours. Charred remains. Torn fragments of suit. Tangles of twisted tubes and wires. Melted helmets, warped metal and slowly dissolving limbs - all that was left of our close but disparate band.
Rotation 458: 2234
Tomorrow, throughout the System, a new year starts, but there will be few celebrating. Another year of Executive power. We had such high hopes of defeating them. Scored many a significant victory. That was then.
Resistance is crushed, almost dead.
On a more pressing practical note, everything I own is in that cave. I need to find my way back underground and fast.
Rotation 008: 2235
I found an entrance. Good job too - I was getting hungry! Clawed and shovelled through, then shaped the landscape around the tunnel's mouth to conceal it. At least, as well as I could. The atomic blast had caused massive landslides, hidden our system of tunnels. Incredibly, the Executive had not even bothered to conduct a thorough search. They probably thought we'd just arrived, wouldn't imagine we had survived here for years. The surface is so inhospitable and erodes everything so quickly, we'd left no obvious outward signs of habitation.
A couple of side tunnels had collapsed, but the damage was near the surface and minimal. It was surreal walking down that long tunnel on my own; heartbreaking to be greeted by silence when I reached the cave. They were never silent.
I've quickly searched through the others' possessions for anything useful, but otherwise their spaces are as they left them, as if they will soon be coming home. It feels good that way.
Rotation 9: 2235
Today, I rested. Showered and ate. Tried to sleep, to turn off the pictures, the sounds. Maybe snatched an hour in all before being woken by the dreams. They will fade. I know from experience.
I was thinking about poor Thomas... probably caught napping when they found The Aria. Hope he had a painless end. Hope he wasn't tortured. He was a nice kid. Born into the original Red Dome at Emanine on Antipodei 1, hence old money, good breeding. But for the Executive, he'd have been somebody one day. He was eleven when they'd come calling, had somehow managed to stay hidden. He was the only soul left alive when we swept through a few days later looking for survivors. Called everyone Captain: 'You ok, Captain?' I never asked him why. Too late now.
Rotation 13: 2235
It's my birthday. Twenty-one. Happy birthday, Moon. Surprise, surprise: no presents. No messages either.
Rotation 17: 2235
Trying to keep busy. Cleaned up the place. They were messy bastards, always left it to me. Now they've left it all to me.
We call it 'the city', with tongue firmly in cheek. I think Rosa first coined it. The central living area is a naturally-formed vaulted cavern. Within it are areas where we eat, work, and generally amuse ourselves. It's always noisy. Each and every sound has multiple shimmering lives. Just three or four people recreated a riot. Off that main chamber we cleverly converted a smaller cave into a shower and toilet area. We also carved/blasted individual sleeping cells of various sizes.
Mine is quite small and intimate. I'm presently sitting on my cot, waiting for someone to call in and say 'Hi'. Listening for laughing familiar voices back from the surface. The hiss of decompressing suits. Thomas playing his games. Zak talking while servicing his gun. Alice singing, rattling plates. Ernest arguing with anyone who'll listen. And waiting for the smells. Frying fungus, rotisseried lizard, body odour, Thomas's farts. But there's nothing. Only silence. Total eerie fucking silence.
There's a void. A void in everything. And I'm hanging off the edge of it. Fuck, this is awful. I'm not sure I can stand it.
Rotation 27: 2235
I will survive this, will live to tell the tale of what happened here.
With that in mind, I made time to catch up with my journal today. It was sparse, confused. I set the record straight. Filled in the gaps. Everything is etched in my mind, so no chance to forget it, much as I'd like to.
We started a new calendar when we came here, counting the satellite's days, but using Antipodei 1's years. They do that throughout the System on official documents and I'll continue to do that in here.
Rotation 97: 2235
I need sleep, but fear it. That's when they come to me and scream at me. 'Where were you, Moon? Where were you when the killing started? Why are you still alive and we are dead?'
Rotation 183: 2235
Another day. Long, long day. Stared at the cloudless lemon sky till dusk fell. As the tiny sun set, I was bathed in the pale-green half-light reflected from Antipodei 6.
Few of its 287 moons are big enough to support life. This one is the largest. I don't think it has a name, even though it's probably bigger than half the planets in the system. In Executive documentation, they simply refer to it as Satellite252.
I used to come and sit out here a lot, came for the solitude... I love to watch the swirling storms sear the turbulent turquoise surface as our moon passes overhead. Tonight I watched till the marbled ball of gas sank majestically into the horizon, finally leaving me in darkness.
As my eyes adjusted, celestial bodies began to appear. First to show was Antipodei 1, the planet we humans had first colonised. It twinkled beautifully in the west, calling me home, though I know I can never go home again.
Perched here, amid the mountain peaks, high above the distant ochre plains, I often gaze into the night sky, making impossible plans, thinking what might have been. I long to leave this desolate and desperately lonely place, long to fulfil my dream of journeying to the stars.
Like that dream will come true now, Moon. I will die here. Come on, girl, try to get some sleep.
Rotation 220: 2235
I saw a ship today. It surfed the atmosphere, leaving a spreading tail behind it then bounced back into space. I felt hope and fear in equal measure, though in reality, I know no one will land here - the Executive beacon sees to that, warning everyone this is a cleansed world, a monitored world. Few defy the Executive. And, as they sweep meticulously through the system, the defiance diminishes with every passing day.
We landed here in late 2232 according to the Antipodei 1 calendar. Just under three years ago. We were running. The mountains turned out to be a wonderful place to hide. They welcomed us into their cavernous bellies and wrapped us in thick lead deposits that totally concealed our subterranean city.
The satellite's core is magnetic, probably molten iron. Though the surface is cold enough to liquify methane, the core heats the deep caverns to sub-tropical temperatures. Down there we found water reserves untainted by the toxicity of the surface, and an unlikely oxygen-rich atmosphere.
We discovered that micro-organisms are slowly consuming the rock. Over millennia, they've hollowed out the caves and tunnels we inhabit. They absorb and neutralise toxins through some sort of chemo-synthesis, producing water and keeping the air oxygenated.
We originally stopped here to regroup and make hasty repairs after escaping the Executive purge of 2232. Seems ours was the only ship that made it. The caves' discovery allowed us to stay here undetected for years. It was incredibly lucky to find them: a tiny pocket of hospitality in a system mostly devoid of it.
In the hot and humid climate of the deepest caves, a black fungus grows on every rocky surface, metabolising the rock-eating bacteria into its soft, pungent flesh. Tasty, nutritious flesh. It seems every creature, from the tiniest insect to the largest lizard, depends on the fungus. We installed ourselves at the fungus boundary, where the temperature is a steady twenty-one degrees and the humidity is comfortable. Here, it's too cold for the micro-organisms to flourish, but it's perfect for us. As the moon's surface has cooled, so the bacteria have retreated further into the depths, leaving behind them a complex system of tunnels and caverns. The air is clean. Vast, steamy underground lakes are a short walk away. We've piped the water, pump it up here. It's clean and hot enough to shower under, though needs treatment before drinking and cooking.
It's as if these caves were made for us, have been waiting since creation for human occupation.
We encountered no major predators. The indigenous creatures were easy to catch and kill, and some were tasty additions to our meagre diet. We hunted carefully, ate frugally, careful to maintain the delicate balance. The fungus soon became our staple food. We cooked it in every conceivable way and never grew tired of it. And some of us became dependent on its mildly euphoric effect.
Our city was home to only nine souls. All of us outcasts. A deserter, escaped Changers, escaped convicts, runaways... all of us fighters, survivors. Now all are dead except me. Death does seem to follow me around.
Rotation 243: 2235
Well, what do you know?
All Resistance fighters are running from something. Hannah and Joseph seemed to be the exceptions. Said they were siblings from a privileged academic background similar to my own. Had the papers to prove it. Also said they were 'political idealists', wanting to make a difference. We all thought they were simply rich kids looking for excitement. It seemed they'd found it too, though barely lived long enough to realise it.
Today, while nosying around the bedrooms, I found youth drugs hidden amongst their possessions. Regen-R8. Lots of it. Worth a fucking fortune. It's been banned for years because of the link to the Changer mutation, but there's a very lucrative black-market as you'd expect. Strikes me these 'rich kids' were actually couriers who decided to do a runner with the wares then realised there was nowhere to run. Nowhere except a Resistance ship in the front line. Not a great career move, but better than being caught.
Did I take some? Nah! Looked in the mirror and decided I don't need it yet. Looking damned good without it. Who wants to live forever anyway?
Rotation 293: 2235
Three hundred days alone. I talk to myself now. I did that before, to tell the truth... before they found us, destroyed our ship. Before they killed everyone I cared about.
The Executive are convinced they have cleansed this world and I don't think they'll be back for years. They'll monitor the skies for newcomers, but are surely not looking for anyone on the surface. Even if they are, they would never spot someone in a suit such as mine. I am alive. I am alone. I will survive.
Rotation 315: 2235
I thought about Alice today.
She called me Honey. The others laughed knowingly at that, but she'd called me Honey long before she'd tasted my pussy.
Alice used to talk to me. She was a great listener too. When I joined the Resistance, we quickly gravitated towards each other, seemed to fill each other's needs. She replaced the mother I'd lost; indeed, she was very much like her: mid-thirties, quietly spoken, slim, blonde, blue-eyed. Alice and I even looked like mother and daughter.
So many terrible things have happened to me and I was understandably fucked up: aggressive, bloody-minded and isolated. I sought out the Resistance as soon as I escaped the Executive Induction Camp on Antipodei 9. I was thirteen. They took some finding; took more persuading I would be any use to them even though my credentials were good - I had done the near impossible by escaping. Alice sympathised, spoke up for me. She alone convinced them to take me, said she'd look after me. It took them a while to trust me, and years to fully accept me.
I craved revenge, wasn't interested in democracy or freedom: I had my own war to fight. Alice listened, and as time went by, I opened up. I told her all the details. How I'd been forced to watch my parents' execution, had been raped by too many to remember, and had been beaten to within an inch of my life. Afterwards, she held me silently as I cried. And every time we talked, the pain lessened, the anger abated.
Alice was my first. I was sixteen and was ready for it. I'd fantasised about her for a while, but was still shocked when it happened. We were in my cot, talking through some particularly horrific details. I cried and so did she. There was a long silence. She kissed my hair as she held me in her arms and I snuggled closer to her. Her hand casually slid up my top, from my waist to my naked breast. My nipples were already hard.
'You okay, Honey?'
I felt her breathing and heartbeat quicken. So did mine. I looked into her eyes, searching for an answer then kissed her mouth - the only answer I could find. In seconds we were naked, and seconds later a woman's tongue was toying with my clit. Seconds after that, I was enjoying my first shared orgasm. And what an orgasm! She was the best.
She taught me so much. About love, sex, passion... life. Taught me the painful lesson of staying detached when the circumstances demand it. She filled in so many blanks - and beautifully. I never had teenage boys fumbling with my titties in the darkness while their clumsy fingers fought into my knickers. I never curled inexpert fingers around a boy's cock then stared in wonder as my frenzied pumping milked his cream into my face. The Executive stole all that from me. But I missed nothing; they stole nothing. They gave me Alice.
She protected me, saved me from self-destruction, then eased me into adulthood. Years later, when I finally thanked her for her love and her help, she was dismissive.
'No, Honey. Thank you. You put into words what I could never say. Talked it out for both of us. Twenty five years ago, the Executive "recruited" me too; I went through much the same thing as you did. Except I killed more when I escaped. Killed every mother-fucker I could set my sights on.'
She smiled sweetly, looked as though isocane wouldn't melt in her mouth, but I'd seen her kill and she was totally ruthless.
God, I miss her.
Rotation 364: 2235
Wish I could sleep peacefully. Two or three times a night, I jerk awake, sit up, staring manically into the darkness. Sweat drenches my bedding. The images are so real, won't go away. I look at my gun sometimes and imagine putting it in my mouth, pulling the trigger. That would work, but I can't do it.
I can't do it because I might miss something. Something extraordinary. That's what keeps me going, makes me leap out of bed every day.
Rotation 451: 2235
It's been a year since they came. A year alone in a place like this - with no hope of rescue or escape - would break most people. Not me. I've come through worse than this. Much worse.
The induction camp didn't break me. I was stronger than they knew - merely feigned defeat. Before the brainwashing started, I took them by surprise, killed seven to escape. Been running and killing ever since. By comparison, this place is like a fucking holiday camp.
Rotation 134: 2236
Keeping a daily watch on the skies, but nothing appears.
I move freely about the surface, scavenging anything I can find. Bits of suit, weapons... anything that might be useful. If I dig deep, my hard work is often well rewarded, though it can be very grisly. Protected from the atmosphere and frozen solid, body parts look as lifelike as they did the moment they were severed and covered in raining rubble. I don’t have time to respectfully dispose of them, barely have time to remember them, before they shrivel and turn to steaming mush in the caustic air. The limbs, torsos and helmets of suits are inert, fare much better. I carry them back to my lair, clean them and arrange them into sets. There they stand like sentinels, memorials to those who died inside them.
I sometimes go and sit among them, think about their owners and cry. I cry for all of them, but mostly for Alice. And Zak. Big, kind, clumsy, clever, funny, loving Zak. My biggest regret: I never told him how I felt. Because... well, there is danger in intimacy. When lives depend on you, you can’t let personal feelings cloud your decision-making… and life is so ephemeral here… yes, and all the other crap excuses you can think of for not letting him get close to you, you fucking stupid bitch.
If I ever get out of here and meet someone, I won’t make that mistake again. I will be honest and open and cling to them to my last breath. I’m so lonely. So fucking heart-achingly lonely. I need to do something about it.
I've survived against unbelievable odds. Not just here. All my life. Learnt to distance myself from others in the name of self-preservation. How ironic then that loneliness will probably be the death of me.
Rotation 149: 2236
More nightmares. I kill and kill but the suits keep coming. Overwhelm me. They strip and torture me and slowly tear me to pieces. One begins to take off his helmet and I know who it's going to be. I screw up my eyes but he prises them open. All the while I'm thinking, 'Hurt me more, Zak. I deserve this.'
Rotation 154: 2236
I thought about sex today.
It was always so important to me but it hasn't crossed my mind for months. I woke and simply lay in my cot thinking about all of them. Without effort, I can blank out the Executive's violent invasion of my body - Alice taught me how - as if it happened to someone else. Well, in many ways it did.
I tried to recall all the times I've willingly touched or sucked a clit or cock. All the times I've willingly shared my mouth, tits, cunt and arse. From first to last. A to Z. Alice to Zak. In all, I've been intimate with ten human beings. That's six from the city: Ernest, Thomas, Joe and Hannah, Alice and Zak. Then there was Abe, Jonas and Laura, all lost five years ago while capturing The Aria. And, finally, Jen. Beautiful, brave Jen. She sacrificed herself. We owed our lives to her, wouldn't have escaped in 2232 without her. Hope they didn't take her alive. The thought of her beautiful body being tortured makes my heart break. She was so petite and gentle, so out of place in this savage system.
Conversely, I'd never even touched the two Changers. Rosa and Ash had been with us since we took The Aria, a little over five years ago. They were perfect physical specimens: lean and muscled and both very beautiful. Ash, with his chiselled features and flowing blonde hair, looked like a warrior. A natural leader, he inspired you, made you want to please him. His aura and presence were immense. Rosa was the female equivalent, had both guys and girls drooling, gawping, yet she never flirted nor encouraged. The two of them were regal, serene; friendly but reserved. They mucked in, helped out in every way they could, yet still kept themselves to themselves.
Both were Changers: humans with a remarkable mutation. Changers have the ability to become who you want them to be simply by touching them. And it's said they can live forever, continually regenerate. I've never fucked a Changer. They say it's incredible. All your fantasies come true. So how good would two together be? A Changer threesome with me dictating the play? That’s a fucking hot thought. Despite the prejudices against them - and there are many who despise them simply for what they are - we'd all have fucked them had the opportunity arisen. All except Ernest. He said he hated them and said he had good reason. He always had 'good reason' for every unexplainable thing he did. He was a prick sometimes.
When the Executive arrived, intent on our destruction, some blamed Rosa and Ash for bringing them here. I suppose that was inevitable: many have a deep-seated distrust of their kind. But I liked them, found it hard to understand the antagonism towards them - they were running, just like us. Running from a regime that counts them, tags them, sterilises and pimps them. And terminates them if they step out of line. When the fighting started, they fought like demons and were probably among the first to fall. If they had brought The Law to our door, they had done so unwittingly and were prepared to die for their mistake.
Rotation 277: 2235
Another day. Just like yesterday. And the day before. Don't know why I bother with this journal. Eat, sleep, exercise. Eat, sleep, exercise. After I'd shaved and showered, I looked in the mirror. Fuck, I'm ripped. Still curvy though. Long legs, great arse, small waist, great tits, square shoulders. I love my body. Always have. And I'm in better shape than I've ever been. But for what? For whom? For yourself, Moon. Keep strong, keep sane. Be ready. My mother used to say, 'If you pull hard enough, the universe will come to you.' Well, I'm pulling.
Rotation 301: 2235
I fear the Resistance is broken. We were one small cell who escaped the last major purge, though lost contact with Command in the process. We always assumed others had escaped too, but the frequencies have been quiet for too long. We may well have been the last survivors. Now there is only me.
I need to harvest some more fungus. The blacker the better, or so I have found. What a buzz. The deeper I go, the better it gets. See you tomorrow, journal.
Rotation 395: 2235
Fuck, I'm horny. For months I didn't think about it, now it's all I can think of. Maybe it's the jet-black fungus. Whatever it is, I'm dying for a shag. Literally.
The sex on this moon was fantastic. After years of hardship we were lean and fit, lived for the day. Fucking was something we did for entertainment, for comfort and release. It was simple. No loyalties, no promises… no long-term relationships to spoil the fun.
We did it to pass the time. And we all got very good at it. Girls with guys, girls with girls. Threesomes, fours, fives, sixes and sevens. Fuck: I tried every pervy permutation... I especially liked the foursome with Zak and the siblings. Zak's cock was long and fat; Joseph's was longer but thinner. l loved to feel Zak in my cunt and Joe up my arse while I tongued Hannah to orgasm. Then, with Zak's cock up her arse, she'd suck her brother off while he ate me out... and so on; on and on into the night and the next day.
Thomas was an odd one. Preferred to watch Alice and me sixty-nining while he wanked onto us. He loved to cum on my tits and sometimes my arse. Always insisted on licking his own jism off me. I don't remember him ever fucking with anyone.
And as I've said before, there was Alice. No one made me cum like Alice.
Thankfully, there was no appetite for proper relationships. Closeness only brings pain. I've seen too many hearts broken by a stray laser, a punctured suit and a sudden decompression to give myself to anyone. Shove a stiff dick in my every orifice while I bury my fingers deep into a pair of tight pussies any day.
There you go again. Acting the hard-faced mother-fucker. You'd give everything for a simple cuddle at the moment, wouldn't you, Moon?
Yes, I would.
Rotation 397: 2235
I'm constantly distracted. Sex. I need sex.
I long to grasp the shaft of a stiff cock, lick the dew of precum from the tip, and gag on the swollen purple head till my throat fills with thick, sticky cum. Mmm, that makes me think of Ernest.
Being the oldest, at 45, you might have expected Ernest to take the lead, but he was happiest when following - and complaining about where we were going. 'If it was up to me...' was his favourite saying, yet he refused to take responsibility for anything. Having said that, he was a grafter and a good man to have on your side when the shit hit the fan. Ernest definitely preferred guys. I sucked him off a few times in group sex, but never had his cock in my arse or pussy. Which is a shame, because it was a beauty. Thick, curved and long enough to hurt. He had a thing for Zak, which caused a little friction between us. Zak accommodated both of us, never turned anyone down, so it was never really a problem. Wish I had that amazing cock in my mouth right now. Going to cum thinking about it.
Rotation 399: 2235
Today, as I worked on making my space more comfortable - less like a prison cell - I teased myself with graphic mental images. I conjured up every sexy scenario I could, all the things I've seen and done in this place. After dinner, I finally touched myself and shuddered. My pussy lips had prepared themselves for action, though there isn't a real cock for a hundred million miles. Isn't the human body amazing? I slid my index finger inside then sucked the digit clean. Men and girls always love my taste and so do I. Honey. Two fingers pressed on my clit, drew tiny circles, and I brought myself to a spectacular orgasm. Sleep will come quickly now.
Rotation 401: 2235
There’s a huge amount of 4D porn on our server that I hadn’t noticed before. The sexual appetites of some of our crew! Everything you can imagine – and more. That should keep my fingers and clit busy for a while.
I eat, wank, eat, wank and sleep. Not very productive, I know, but I have been through a lot. It’s therapy. I will exhaust the need and then turn my mind to something more productive. And if not? I’ll grow old here, playing with my titties, arse and cunt. Thinking about it, I’m not sure I’ll still fancy myself when I get old…
Rotation 407: 2235
Had another look at the Re-genr8 today. It claims to prolong life indefinitely if taken regularly. Bet there's a thousand years' worth. A thousand years living here? A thousand days will be more than I can stand. No. I should destroy it.
Rotation 415: 2235
I’ve built a machine. A fucking machine: a machine to fuck me. Something simple. I made it from the remnants of Zak's suit. That was fitting, as he was the last man to have his cock inside me. If that sounds throwaway, it's merely my way of coping. Zak was our leader and I'd have followed him naked into a reactor meltdown. He was strong, loving, and in a normal universe we would have been very good together.
As I came, I felt Zak move inside me, felt his lips sucking on my nipples and his strong hands squeezing my flesh. Just like he used to. I often watched him fucking with the others and knew he wasn’t giving his all. Not like he does when he fucks me, when he comes to my cot at night, wakes me with his tongue sliding into my hole. Feeds his rigid, fat cock into my mouth and fucks my throat. I love it when he takes me from behind, spanks my arse and fucks me to orgasm.
Fucked me to orgasm. Past tense. He won't be doing that again, will he?
I lay in the darkness with the machine still inside me and wept. I allowed myself a few moments of self-indulgent sadness then pulled myself together. It would be easy to wallow in sorrow, but that is a luxury I cannot afford.
The code was simple enough. I printed it out, a hard copy, kind of a souvenir. The machine is responsive to my heart rate, senses my impending orgasm and fucks me harder the closer I get. And doesn't cum first. Only a prototype, but it's already better than most men I've known... Sorry, guys, if you can hear me. I was joking.
Rotation 416: 2235
Slept like a fucking log. The trauma is fading; the videos of that day have stopped looping in my head. This machine has refocussed me, given me a purpose. No, that's a bit over the top... it's given me something to do.
The actual cock was the most difficult component to make. I've seen plenty, held a few, sucked a few, but it was hard to sculpt, despite the array of 3D images at my disposal. I fashioned it from the suit's lining, from that thick, protective second skin that cushions and salves, heats and cools. It's an incredibly responsive material, transmitting one's every movement to the suit's Central Nervous System. It's intelligent too. Repairs itself. Regulates itself. Like skin, but a thousand times stronger.
When you're hooked into a fully-functioning suit, the computer seems to read your mind. You can pick a flower or crush a man's head with equal ease; always confident it will make the right choice. The mechanics beneath the suit's outer skin are technologically beautiful, actually turn me on aesthetically. The servos are virtually silent. Though I've serviced and repaired them for years - can completely strip one down and rebuild it in around twenty days - I never get tired of doing it. I am still in awe of the design. The parts move as if by magic.
I stripped myself down to the skin, lay on the padded table and pressed the heart sensor to my chest. I put the soles of my feet together and let my long legs fall open. The cold gel felt fantastic on my swollen pussy lips and I almost came as I eased my slippery fingers inside. I applied more gel: in case of malfunction, I wanted to be adequately lubricated. The sensors homed in and the cock penetrated me gently, the machine sliding slowly forward on well-oiled runners. I too was well oiled, but needn't have bothered. My own lubrication oozed from me as anticipation coursed through my vulva. I was incredibly turned on.
Pumped up and throbbing with circulating coolant, the cock grew firmer with every thrust. Its temperature and pliability, both governed by the computer, perfectly matched that of living flesh. My nipples hardened as I teased them; sparks of pleasure fired from their puckered tips, igniting all my senses. I pressed two fingers to my clit, synchronised their movements to the pumping penis and felt the pleasure build.
I burned. Fuck, how I burned. Grief, tension, loneliness... all were consumed as the machine expertly serviced me. It responded to my needs, reacted to my demands quicker than any man I had ever allowed inside me.
Rotation 417: 2235
Didn't go outside today.
Made a few additions - auditory and visual sensors. I can now give it simple vocal commands. After guiding it through a variety of actions, I can lie back and let it do its stuff. The two cameras are on motorised stalks to optimise its field of view. Now I can move around on the table and the cock still finds me. 'Fuck my ass!' has it doing just that, even if I lie on my front gyrating my hips. It took some time, but it can now recognise and penetrate a moving target! Improvements took all day. Now going to eat and get some rest. Full trials tomorrow - if I can sleep!
Rotation 418: 2235
Stayed in and fucked myself till I could barely walk. A couple of teething problems, but nothing complex. I came so hard and the intensity increased every time. The machine is already very good, but there is much more I can do to increase my pleasure. Much more. This will be a good project to fill the empty days. The mental activity will keep me sane. Again, a suit saves my life! Ha!
Rotation 434: 2235
Needed a change of routine. Getting careless and indolent. And sore. Never knew a clit could blister. Back to reality: must stay alert to stay alive here.
Did a full recon of the surface above my labyrinth today. Recovered a whole suit! Good condition, too. It was buried quite deep in the ground, took an hour to dig out. Sensors barely showed it up. It was one of the guys I killed. I recognised my handiwork, spotted my trademark. A precise incision at the throat: carotid artery severed. The suit was still working in hibernation mode, had kept its dead occupant warm. What a fucking mess! Rancid bones and stinking, putrid mush. Took some cleaning out, but it will be worth it. When I've patched up the neck, it will come in very useful as a spare suit, rather than for spares. The lining is higher spec than mine, moulds more quickly to the body. Feels, looks and behaves like a second skin. Plus it has greater tolerance to a wider range of temperatures. What a great find!
Even better: on examining my store of recovered suit parts more closely, it is obvious the Executive now employs this advanced lining in all their suits, have improved the performance beyond recognition. How did I not spot that? My project will definitely benefit from my discovery - the more realistic the better.
The suits are amazing. They were developed out of dire necessity, enabling humans to tame inhospitable environments throughout the System. Antipodei 1 was becoming crowded and resources were scarce. The suits changed that. As off-world mining and engineering projects flourished, shortages and hardship soon became things of the past. However, the Executive instantly saw their potential, took over production and distribution. They quickly changed their mandate from mainly unobtrusive policing duties to ruthless soldiering, citing Antipodei 1's unchecked decadence and moral disintegration. They had a point, had much support at first, but that soon evaporated. They moved quickly, mercilessly crushed resistance. Within weeks, democracy was dead. Faceless suits ruled. Ironic, isn't it?
To wear one is to be superhuman. An eight-foot tall armoured superman. Or woman. Its sensors and on-board computer give the suit lightning reflexes; the atomic power pack gives it immense speed and strength. It can function in extremes of heat and cold, is resistant to chemical attack. Almost everything the body excretes is recycled by the suit; the processes are incredibly efficient enabling a soldier to remain in the field - without support and with just meagre rations - for weeks. The suits are the terror of the System. They alone keep the Executive in command.
In a particularly bloody and brilliant assault, we stole a batch from an Executive mining operation among the moons of Antipodei 8. We adapted them for warfare, used them in our fight for survival. Judging by the new one I found, they've made advancements in the last five years that make ours all but obsolete. Still, I love my old suit, made some improvements myself. It will do for me.
Before the suits' development, to exist outside the Dome civilisation on Antipodei 1 was almost impossible. This entire system is inhospitable to say the least and it was a marvel humans had survived here at all. To tame it as we have is nothing short of miraculous. The suits were the greatest weapon against Nature's cruel reign. Renegades like ourselves now pit them against an even harsher regime: the Executive. They are ruthless rulers, crush opposition at any cost. The crude tactical nuclear device they deployed against us was typical of them. It was beyond the suits' defensive capabilities at such close range - I was fighting hand-to-hand among the enemy and barely survived. Thankfully, my friends would not have felt a thing.
I grieve daily for the dead; miss all their quirky ways. Even their annoying habits. Most of all, I miss the touching, the kissing, the inane, random banter.
Mmm, some ideas there for my next project. Keep busy, Moon, keep busy.
Rotation 056: 2236
Loneliness is my biggest enemy. Food, warmth and shelter are here in abundance, but they are not enough in themselves. I exercise, keep myself fit... keep my mind active too. I'm quite surprised to find this solitary life does not become me. It inspires me though. Inspires me to create.
I've developed a conversation programme to stop me going nuts. I used Zak's voice. I know that must sound a bit spooky - it's just that there was lots of material to help me: recordings of his reports; personal messages still on the system. I linked in his profile, service record, everything I could find about him. It's good for a first effort.
The programme is very realistic and intuitive. It will learn quickly, too. Learn about me. My tastes; my life. The speech synthesiser is capable of simulating a full range of emotions, is incredibly sensitive. The programme has access to every database I have, and I expect it will even develop a rudimentary personality in time. Early examples of interaction are promising. Fingers crossed, I won't be alone much longer.
Rotation 075: 2236
The surface is so cold I can even feel it through the suit. The methane lakes have frozen and the rain has turned to bullets. A storm is raging, so I've not been out for a few days. No need to. There's nothing to see and everything I need is down here. There will be no visitors before spring. If ever.
Progress. Though many might not agree... I gave my 'cock in a box' a voice and now it talks as it fucks me. I love it. Sometimes he says irrelevant stuff, stuff that puts me off, but in the darkness, with his voice in my ear and his fat cock sliding in and out of me, it is as though Zak is really here.
Rotation 089: 2236
Hands! That's what he needs. The rigid skeletons of several shattered Executive suits gave me enough parts to work with. I cut them down in size then re-engineered them to fit inside the lining' s gloves. Soon he'll have two hands. And arms. I'll cover those too; use more of the new intelligent suit lining to give them a tactile skin. A talking box on rails with hands, arms and a very skilful cock. What a lover! What else could a randy girl ask for? Perfect.
Rotation 092: 2236
Today, I pre-programmed some intimate touches, let the computer sense my reactions, then set it off on a carefully controlled learning curve to recreate those reactions in me. It was amazing, even came up with a couple of things I hadn't suggested. Spanked my pussy. Yes, the naughty boy spanked my pussy! I came very quickly, which was very fortuitous. I let it register all the physical changes an orgasm engenders then told it to recreate those changes. Then, in my best dominatrix voice, I explained that I, Moon, am its mistress, and that my orgasms are its primary purpose.
It's currently searching the databases for all related information. If it finds that porn cache, fuck knows what will happen when I next lay on that table! Still, being fucked to death isn't a bad way to go...
Rotation 83: 2236
'You have your mother's eyes.'
Naked from the waist down, I was sitting up on the table, supported by my left arm. My erect nipples chafed gently against my favourite faded-green T shirt. I love that feeling. My legs were splayed, the cock impaled up my arse to the hilt. It pulsed slowly as though my lover was tightening his pelvic floor. The two vibrating fingers slowly sliding in and out of my cunt began to accelerate and I knew a few more rubs of my clit would have me screaming in ecstasy again. However, his words distracted me; I paused, looked into a camera. He paused too.
'You found my file?'
'Of course. Her eyes were also disproportionately large and blue. Considered very attractive when matched with blonde hair. So why shave your head? All the women in the database have hair. Most have long hair. Why shave?'
I liked the directness. A man would never be so blunt.
'Because with long hair I attract attention. Look too damn good. Like this, I'm one of the boys.'
'Boys don't have tits. And you have particularly good examples.' The fingers withdrew from my vagina, reached forward and gently tweaked a protruding nipple. His fingertips dripped with cunt-juice, left a circular wet patch on the bulging shirt. The threadbare cloth was now virtually transparent, highlighting the erect teat even more. 'No one would ever mistake you for male, with breasts stretching your T shirt like that.' He had a point. My tits are among my best features. 'I will put my cock between them and fuck you there if you remove your shirt.'
He's definitely found that porn cache! I did as he asked, peeled the garment over my head and threw it across the cave. He stole more of my lubricant, rubbed it into the twin nubs of flesh that top my impressive tits. I luxuriated in the sensation, but the thought of tit-fucking this talking dildo - however lifelike - was doing nothing for me. I was equally direct.
'If that was a real cock and you were a real man, I would like that; I'd enjoy the pleasure it gave you, would even take it in my mouth. But to be honest, it simply wouldn't arouse me to tit-fuck or suck off a machine.'
It could have answered immediately, but the programme paused as if it were thinking. Its social skills were improving.
'Then, as I exist simply for your pleasure, we will never do that. Sorry to have suggested it.'
Rotation 95: 2236
Today, I was again on the table, panties pulled aside with the cock smoothly sliding in and out of my cunt. Two of his fingers thrummed a gentle humming drum-roll on my clit and he was moaning.
'Oh, yes. Take it deep. Take my cock. You are so beautiful. Fuck, yes, so beautiful.'
A thought struck me.
'Do you really find me attractive?'
'Yes, of course!'
'In what way?'
His answer was immediate, enthusiastic and unnecessarily long-winded.
'In that you have all the attributes to allow me to fulfil my purpose. Nipples are big, easily located, and are capable of giving you much pleasure. Your clitoris has similar attributes. Shaving of the vulva enables my touch, heat and visual sensors to elicit accurate readings and observations. During intercourse, the vagina grasps me tightly - facilitating greater stimulation of that small cluster of nerves you call the G spot - whilst allowing me economy of movement. Anal sex is similarly effective: your firm glutei maximi are perfect to halt my forward motion, whilst on the reverse stroke your tight sphincter registers well on my glans, prevents me slipping out unintentionally.'
It mistook my nonplussed expression for incomprehension. As per its programming, it simplified its findings using the vernacular.
'To sum up, I find you attractive because you are easy to fuck.'
He's a smooth talker...
Rotation 111: 2236
Today he made me laugh.
I've finally decided he is a 'he' and not an 'it'. I looked back over recent entries and noticed I've alternated between the two terms. But today I laughed. He made me laugh. An 'it' never made anyone laugh. Well, not on purpose.
My face was pushed into a pillow; my arse was in the air. We were fucking and, as usual, he was rambling. No, not rambling exactly, but filling the gaps between my gasps with suitable porno banter mixed with the odd random exclamation. His voice has modulated over time, is now his own with not even a hint of Zak. Suddenly I heard this.
'We have not fucked for two days. You had me thinking perhaps you do not desire me anymore.'
'Sorry, there were repairs to do... and...'
I stopped short. Desire me? I build a fucking machine and have to make excuses for not fucking it? I laughed out loud. He slid back on his rails, withdrew his cock. Still giggling, I turned over and slowly eased my weight down onto my sore arse. He studied me with his tiny articulated cameras.
'What kind of orgasm did I just induce?'
I realised then what a sad and serious cow I've been. He's never heard me laugh till today.
'That's laughter. It's a bit like cumming, but it's more up here,' I pointed to my head, 'than down there,' motioning to my glistening vulva.
He answered without a pause.
'I know laughter.' He studied me again, sensors working overtime then made a noise like he was clearing his throat.
'Wait till I get my fucking legs: there'll be no stopping me then. We'll fuck if and when I say so!'
That could have been threatening, frightening even, but it wasn't at all. There was no hint of a threat, just an attempt at humour; an attempt to recreate the recent 'laughter orgasm' he had induced in me. He wanted to please me, was following his primary objective: make me cum. He was successful.
When I stopped laughing, I looked at him seriously.
'Make legs if you want legs. I'll get you all the stuff you need. In fact, I'll patch you into my suit - it's been walking for me for years, knows all the moves. Anyway, you'll know biomechanics better than I do by now. You’ve been through all the databases. Go for it.'
'Thank you, Moon. Thank you.' That was the first time he used my name. He realised it too and asked a very pertinent question. 'What do you call me?'
'Call you? I... '
Earlier, he'd said 'I', referring to himself. Was he simply copying syntax, or was something extraordinary happening? I gathered my thoughts.
'When you first spoke, I thought of you as Zak. You had his voice, his vocabulary, his turn of phrase. Even his cock, if I'm honest... But you've grown, changed. You are simply you, now. Give it some thought. Pick a suitable name for yourself. Make it a good one – you only get one chance. But there’s no hurry.'
If a machine can look anything, he looked thoughtful. This is getting interesting.
Rotation 113: 2236
There have been tunnel falls. Today I woke to growling rumbles and a wave of dust sweeping across my living space. Too close for comfort. My project is postponed while I sort this out. Might not be able to shore them up; might simply have to wait for them to collapse then bore a new tunnel to the surface. Hard work either way. Dangerous too.
Didn't have time for the machine. Told him I had a headache. He laughed. There is definitely something going on. He wasn't programmed for humour, but he's learnt it. I wonder what else he has learnt.
He’ll keep himself busy, has his spare parts. More than enough to build a dozen legs. And all the tools and equipment he needs. He suggested a torso. And a head.
'Then if I'm not in the mood, I can have a headache too!'
I nodded. How could I argue? I'll have to leave him to it, though. I have more than enough to keep me occupied.
Rotation 127: 2236
The tunnel collapsed on me. Trapped me. I felt no pain. Just heard a terrible, deafening, sickening grinding as the rocks closed their vice-like grip. I was careless. The suit made me feel impregnable. A superwoman. I forgot that, like everything else humans have manufactured in this sorry system, it has its limits. Despite our advancements, we will never compete with the full force of Nature. My suit's cloaking would now be my undoing. Nothing could sense where I was. My body would stay buried on this moon till Antipodei 6's gravity finally ripped it apart.
I lay there for days, helpless, pinioned by tons and tons of rock. Twelve days as it turned out. I lost track of time. I tried everything to free myself, tried to stay focussed, but failed time and time again. Eventually, by wiggling my fingers, I created a little space and began to tap a repeating pattern: Come and get me, please. Come and get me, please. I set the suit to repeat the motion as I drifted in and out of sleep. The sound was tiny, about the equivalent of a worm chewing a corpse in a grave, but it was all I had. I waited for the suit to give out, waited for the mountain's clenched fist to finally crush me.
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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/the-lovers-of-antipodei-3-part-1-of-2.aspx">The lovers of Antipodei 3 (part 1 of 2)</a>