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Catherine the Great, Chapter Three
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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Subject: FTA, _The Life and Adventures of Catherine the Great, (3 of 4)
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FTA, The Life and Adventures of Catherine the Great, (3 of 4)
By: Peter Unicorn (redvane) circa 1992.
Filename: sexnfish.txt
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The Life and Adventures of Catherine The Great
Chapter 3
"Sex and Fish and Rock n' Roll"
Peter Unicorn
"You try to guess the meaning from its tone,
Like a tongue-tied foreigner,
Desperately striving to understand the hermetic
kernel of a language,
The sure clue to consciousness."
Heathcote Williams, "Falling for a Dolphin"
When the Mahatma Texts were compiled in the mid 1990's, that great
document of seven volumes which was to form the basis for human society
after the Anthrax-Parvo IV virus had scoured all but three million
people from the Earth, three of Heathcote Williams' poems: "Whale
Nation", "Falling for a Dolphin" and "The Cetacean Oracle" were placed
in volume one. Even in that time of humanity's apocalyptic rush to
self destruction there were those who had the wisdom or the prophetic
vision to recognise that there was a creature upon the Earth who had
the powers of insight comparable but different from our own. How great
those powers were was revealed on the 24th of October 2091 when the
Delphine Nation finally found the gate that lead to our minds. The
Speedlight Shuttle piloted by Yukihiro Ameratsu and Simon N'doup on
that day's flight from Lunar-3 to Edo Spaceport is encased in
plastiglass in the Adelbaran Museum of Galactic History. Silvermoon
and I went to see it on our last visit, shining white and blue in the
lights of the museum hall; beside it plays a holovid of the events
surrounding the Honshu Incident and that famous tape of the Ms
Ameratsu's paniked conversation with ground control as she brought her
craft in to land:
"Roger Edo Tower, runway two niner on visual, commencing
final approach, turning two eight right."
"Confirm Speedlight 418, clear for final approach"
(burst of static)
"Edo Tower! Edo Tower! Where are you! I cannot see the
runway! I cannot see land! I cannot see land! Aborting
landing! Aborting landing!"
"Speedlight 418 I have you on visual, I can see you clearly"
"I cannot see you Edo. Visual contact lost! What is
happening! Landing aborted!"
The vid went on to show a rostrum montage of Dr Ekome and Tideracer's
meeting in Tokyo Harbour, scenes from the construction of New Atlantis,
Professor Kassander and his partner at the Grand Bahama Research
facility, working on the early delphine-human translation BioSofts.
As I walked from the display with Silvermoon swimming alongside me
in the waterpath, past portraits of Dr Mabuthwize Ekome, Tideracer,
Wavefoam, Sarah Patterson, Peiter Kassander and the other luminaries of
human-delphine relations on the late 21st and early 22nd centuries, I
could feel the near reverence directed towards us among my fellow
humans who had witnessed the holovid; it was wierd.
I have a special affinity for The Mahatma Texts as I'm a direct male
line decendant of the Peter Greenacre who wrote the essay on the nature
of human sexuality and sexual fantasy "The Night Creatures" which
appears in volume four. It's strange that the three members of
Catherine's crew all have claim to famous ancestors among their people.
Silvermoon's maternal great grandmother was the celebrated delphine
poet Tidesmoon, you know, "..In the field of the senses of celebration
of waves..", the one that sounds as good in english as delphine, and
Sliandra comes from a line of celebrated musicians, not that I'm that
keen on Amthren music but it does explain where Sliandra gets her
interests from.
Still, over four hundred years after Mohandas K Ghandi had preached
his doctrine of peaceful civil disobedience to bring about change there
were those who had still to listen to his words; one body of people
were those to whom we now brought the death and destruction which they
had asked and paid for. The inhabitants of Dralasa were the human
malcontents and misfits of the Confederation. Any group that wouldn't
ascribe to the Constitution of the Terran Confederation eventually
found its way to Dralasa. A mob of Christian Fundamentalists set up
there first back in 2157 and immediately seceded from the Confederacy;
attempts to woo them back into the fold failed and, eventually, the
Confederacy washed its hands of the place and opted for a policy of
containment with no armed Dralasa ships allowed into Confederation
Space. In the early days all the odd little enclaves of the old ways
of thought that had lead to the near ecological apocalypse of the late
twentieth century wended their weary way to Dralasa: the "chosen race"
dweebs put out by the dolphins showing that mankind wasn't all that
special, the "pure blood" neonazis equally put out by the dolphins just
when it looked like they might be ready to plunge humanity back off
course again and, of course, the "new messiahs" whom noone wanted to
listen anymore; all the dross ended up in Dralasa.
Dralasa is completely reliant on outside support. It's a desert
world and their income derives mainly from mining and, surprise
surprise, weapons manufacture. The political structure is based on a
seres of loosley collected city-states owing allegience to a single
planetary parliament. This system often breaks down as one group
struggles for supremacy over another and, as the present war testifies,
chaos ensues.
Why do we trade with them after CIST bankrupted Galthus Beta?
Because they pay well and it suits us down to the ground if their
economy is fuelled by them killing each other; eventually they'll all
die out and, frankly, good riddance to the lot of them.
Ah. All this philosophising because I'm trying to sleep next to a
dolphin and my leg hurts and won't let me.
I tossed over with a grunt, splashing ripples across the surface of
the bridge pool. There was a creak behind me followed by a kind of
rattling like dry bones falling together. Their intonation and
phrasing coupled with the burst of Eigen-? projected brainwaves
literally translated to "are you sleeping-with-pictures?". Dolphins
don't have dreams, the concept of "sleeping-with-pictures" is as close
as they come.
"No, not that," I replied, "Just having trouble sleeping."
Silvermoon rolled off the hydrostat and swam around the pool, firing
a couple of bursts of ultrasound at me before coming to rest beside me,
fanning the water with her flippers.
"Your leg hurts," she said in English
I nodded; there isn't much you can hide from a creature with a
built in medical scanner. I reached out to caress her broad back,
propping myself up on my elbow as I stroked her soft glistening skin,
feeling the firmness of the muscle beneath the shining blue grey.
Slowly I ran my hand up the sickle curve of her dorsal fin in time to
her low whistle of affection, pushing it over so that she rocked from
side to side in the pool.
"Do you want me to help?" she asked, the phrasing of the question in
the perculiar downward cackle that distinguishes Bottlenose and
Commerson's Delphine from other dialects of the dolphin's language.
I yawned and rolled of my side of the hydrostat to float on my back
in the slightly salty waters of the pool looking up at the stars.
Silvermoon flipped a psi-command to the bed, firing up its motors to
propel it to the pool edge out of the way for whatever she had planned.
Suddenly I was alone and adrift in a sea of midnight black, floating
helpless in the warm womb of the pool inside the dark universe with her
stars shining all around her edges. Silvermoon's dark shape broke the
surface, breathing in a fine spray of foam that drifted in the air for
a moment, refracting the starlight into a million microscopic rainbows
before they fell back to the waters from which they came; a flipper
brushed my side.
"I'd love you to help," I said in English before stretching my
throat to sound the Delphine phrase which meant "beloved".
Silvermoon clucked back a word meaningless in itself to ordinary
ears but the true dolphin languages are more than just sound, there was a
modulated pulse of projected brainwave ultrasound, Eigen-? on a carrier
wave of Heisenberg-? subquanta. This was the key to their tongue,
their skill, finlly realised on that fateful October afternoon in the
Sea of Japan, was in changing how they projected these natural radio
frequencies to the poor, dumb surface creatures, who could make nearly
all the right noises but didn't speak with their minds, could pick them
up. My sensorium was home to the technology of the poor dumb creatures
that made the nuances of delphine open to understanding. She spoke
again as she turned to brush past me again, the word was "relax".
I did as she bade me, casting out my cares and pains into the seas
that surrounded us, flowing with the grey body that nudged and dived
around me. As she spiralled I felt my whole being become infused by
her prescence: a warm, hot blooded life that resonated with vitality,
filling me to overflowing with warmth and the glorious power of
existance itself. Suddenly I felt a burst of energy, a powerful
bombardment of whistling, screaming intensity as though mighty turbines
were rumbling into life, spinning faster and faster as they whined with
the increase in speed and ferocity. Suddenly the wave of vivid life
broke as Silvermoon lept from the water in a spray of glimmering foam,
powering upwards from the pool with a flick of her tail to hang
suspended in the air above me, motionless for a second, framed silver
and grey against the blackness of the endless night, her beautiful,
sleek outline seeming to flow as the water scattered from her body as
she plunged downards to enter the pool again with a tremendous splash
that sprayed foam all around me.
The waves from her dive reflected from the pool's edges, softly
murmuring as the ripples slapped the blue-veined marble to merge and
dissapear as the waters once more became calm and still save for the
distant hum of machenery. Silvermoon floated beside me once more,
stroking my arm with the underside of her beak in a delphine display of
affection. The pain in my leg joints had gone.
"How do you do that?" I asked.
"Secret," she replied in a conspiratorial tone.
I rolled over to take a hold of her dorsal fin, pulling myself up to
sit on her back, my legs astride her; I took a deep breath and she
began to swim around the pool. As I relaxed my grip she turned
under me so that now we lay belly to belly and she began to dive into the
black depths of our ocean. I reached out to take hold of her flippers,
fearful that our contact would be broken, clinging to her warmth and
softness against the rush of the current. She surfaced on her back for
me to breathe.
"Is this part of the treatment?" I asked as I gulped for air,
"Of course," she replied, "you should know that by now." She
wriggled her body agaist mine, a beautiful sinuous movement that
brought us to the brink of our most intimate contact. "Healers
orders," she said as she again twisted her body agaist mine, her frame
vibrant with desire. I reached up to stroke her beak with my
fingertips and she sighed a dolphin's sigh, a tiny, gentle sound like
the mewling of a newborn kitten. Slowly I entered her, her warm folds
wrapping themselves around me with a soft caress of silken blessing.
We sighed in pleasure both then, the two sounds so different and yet so
alike as she opened herself beneath me. We lay still in the warm
waters, relaxed and silent; our hearts beating a rhythmic pattern. I
wrapped my legs around her tail and my arms around her neck, laying my
head against the pale slate-grey and silver of her skin. Her muscles
tightened around me, then realeased, playing a teasing motet of desire
which I echoed with tiny movements of my own; she whimpered with
delight as I moved for balance, grasping me tight within her, seemingly
fearful of losing me.
"Is that nice?" I asked in her tongue,
"Oh, beautiful lover," she whispered in reply, "It is, oh it is."
I caressed the line of her smile with my hands and she arched under
me, pulling me deeper into her before twisting again, pulling and
playing on my cock which lay deep within her.
"Oh, Beauty, oh My Beauty" I gasped, spluttering through the water as
she twisted below and then above me, spinning through the water as I
grasped her body closely, her puissant muscles tugging me tight into
her sleek and agile frame, my hands firm against the velvet sleekness
of her skin. She pushed hard against me once more, my cock slipping
deep into her blazing ocean, deep into her seas of fire; and then,
diving deep into the pool, she began to push upwards with powerful
strokes of her tail, propelling us skyward with all her strength. I
clutched her tightly and we lept from the pool together, arching
towards the stars in a burst of water, hanging suspended in the depths
of the ocean of stars; suns and planets like jewelled islands in the
darkness, before, together, we fell towards the watery ocean with a
great echoing splash.
We twisted and turned through the the deep purple blackness of the
universe's endless night, blazing like a twinned comet in our headlong
and euphoric rush to a burning climax, our bodies each playing
arpeggios of soaring chords on that of the other, diving and rising in
a blissful harmony of giving and receiving, soaring in crescendos of
power and beauty to crash upon the shoals of ecstacy in a towering,
screaming release; crying to sky in our joy, our bodies so close they
were one as we merged our hearts and souls in a climax so equisite that
its pain was almost too much to bear.
In the denouement of our lovemaking we lay side by side in the
water, each touching the other from time to time, needful of the
reassurance that we were still together. In time I came to loop my arm
under her chest as I floated on my back, gently caressing her warm
skin, soft in the afterglow of passion. She returned my touches with
her own: slow movements of her flipper against my side, tender touches
of her head against mine. The universe seemed to breathe as slowly as
we did, the shine and twinkle of starlight casting pale shadows and
reflections from the ripples of water.
Just touching we lay together; nothing more, nothing less.
Just touching we drifted into sleep.
Silvermoon woke me gently, nudging my shoulder with her beak. I
reached out for her and slipped off her supporting flipper, rolling
away into the water.
"Hello beautiful," she said in Delphine, turning herself to face me
where I now trod water, "You haven't learned to swim properly yet have
you."
"Hello Fishface," I replied, "What time is it?"
"Seven fifteen shipboard and we have a priority transmission from
Filght."
"Oh dear."
"Precisely."
"Ride?"
I nodded. Silvermoon dived below the surface and executed a tight
circle, surfaceing beneath my spread legs to carry me to the side of
the pool. Still dripping water I hurried up the steps to consult the
comms monitor, its angry red screen flashing the single word
"PRIORITY".
They weren't kidding either:
PRIORITY TRANSMISSION!! ATTENTION ALL SHIPS DRALASITE SECTOR!!
MESSAGE STARTS:
At 06:25 07/9/32 GST, passanger vessel "Austin Osman Spare" attacked
by Dralasite based fighters. Dralasite Military Government has
declared that all vessels entering Planetary Space subject to attack
on assumption that aid is being supplied to rebel factions. Flight
reccomends all Confederation ships to avoid Sector; all ships cur-
rently in sector should NOT approach within 0.5 AU's of Dralasa.
Confederation orbit stations are at Conflict Alert and closed to all
ships except for emergencies of grade 3+. Armed trading vessels in
sector are further reccomended to hold position and await escort or
further instructions; unarmed ships should make all speed to
nearest safe jump zone and leave the sector as soon as possible.
Dralasa N.R. is now rated as H3.
MESSAGE ENDS ****
"Oh Fuck!"
It seemed a pretty good response at the time.
I relayed the news to Silvermoon as Sliandra dashed onto the
flight deck and read the monitor's message of doom; my captain's and
my lover's responses to the news of the destruction of an unarmed and
innocent passanger ship were similar to my own.
"How many victims do you reckon?" asked Artrath McReid when we
summoned her from the cargo bay.
"Five hundred, maybe more," I replied, "She was a Magus Class
liner, probably doing the trans-galactic tour."
"Where are we now in relation to Dralasa."
"Five million clicks and holding planostationary orbit." chirped
Silvermoon from below. "At full power we can make reccomended minimum
approach distance in fourty minutes."
"Anything in the vicinity," asked the Cumragan, her voice betraying
concern, not at the danger we were in from attack but at the prospect
of having to renege on her contract.
"Nothing squawking within 1 million clicks, nothing on active
detection within decimal three," voulenteered our navigator; she was
already in psi-harness, monitoring the space around us for any signs of
activity, "I have a Dirac linkup with the station, they won't take us
unless we are under attack or in distress, they are telling us to leave
as soon as we can."
"We have our own weapons systems," Sliandra said, "Not much and
certainly not enough to run a planetwide blockade and anyway our
contract didn't say that we'd have to take on..."
The scream of a klaxon cut the air.
"However," shouted Silvermoon, "we may have to."
The klaxon shut down to be replaced by the whinnying scream of our
McKinley outboards powering up.
"Emergency upsynch!" ordered Sliandra as we both leapt to our
stations, "Battle systems on line, all weapons to ready status and
let's get the fuck out of here!"
I threw myself into the pilot's chair, one hand keying for forward
thrust, the other fastening the terminal connector behind my ear.
"Ready!" I shouted, Silvermoon whistled her affirmation, Sliandra
shouted "Now!"
There was a sickening lurch as my brain somersaulted inside my
skull before the computer grabbed a hold of my conscious and insinuated
itself into my biological brain and that of the SysCyber. I was
suddenly alone on what seemed to be a pedistal, the space all around me
interwoven with the faint tracery of cooordinate grid lines. Before me
Catherine's helm controls floated on a dull grey background. It was
quickly apparent I was not alone, the computers were linking the crew's
minds together and Silvermoon was speaking.
"Twin attack formations, Golf 1, Golf 2," she spoke calmly, her
words translated into the precise English of a realtime digital
language co-processor; at her words the two groups of attacking
vessels lit up in vivid yellow with their designators, Golf 1 to the
upper left, Golf 2 to the central right of my position. Blue lines
joined a brilliant white diamond just to the fore of the console, pale
turqiose linesof potential attack and defence vectors wove between the
computer generated images of ships, Silvermoon was using all her
abilities to wring every last byte of information from the sensors, her
powers of multilayered communication interrogating computers and
passing on information simultaneously. The purple trail to the
relative safety of the spacestation wound its way forwards and upwards,
close to one of the attacking packs of ships; far too close.
And we were heading straight for them.
I swung the nose of our ship downwards, the purple trail blinked in
chagrin and Sliandra's voice came over the link.
"Vector for attack, terminal course, laser guard rear sector."
Nonsense to your average starship passanger whose only experience
of space travel is the yearly shuttle to Lloret, but with a calm
"confirm" I swung the ship to present our rear end to Golf One whilst
laying in a smooth bank to take us under Golf Two, arcing towards the
space station.
Silveroon didn't even need to say anything to say she'd replotted
our course, our minds had been together like this many times in the
silent communication of lovers in ecstacy. In many ways this was
almost the perfect menage a trois, three minds in unity, a common
purpose of devotion to the other, but there was a difference.
We were trying to stay alive.
Golf 2 was beginning to change course as a tiny block of information
appeared beside its yellow dots identifying it as three Hornet class
fighter/bombers travelling at 0.2c and with tracking diracs running. A
sublimnal whisper of conversation preluded my entry to Sliandra and
Silvermoon's debate, "Standby Fox 1, target is Golf 2" was my captains
order.
"Confirm Fox 1," The order was a prelude to a missile launch, Fox 1
the code for what we in the killing people trade termed "Stallion's
Kick", our main missile armament. I fed a portion of my mind to
Silvermoon as I performed the launch manoeuvre, picturing myself taking
her by her flipper and rolling her onto her back as I put our ship into
a hundred degree lateral roll to place her ventral side towards the
attacking ships, Silvermoon spared me one of her brain's twelve or so
parallel speech channels to giggle back and whisper a hurried promise;
"Helm ready," I said, holding our roll.
"Tracking ready," affirmed Silvermoon, "Optimum launch in seven
seconds, mark."
"Confirm, launching on manual release, navigator's discretion,"
ordered Sliandra.
For four seconds silence held the bridge in its thrall than the
voice of a dolphin broke the quiet.
"Fox One," a tiny pause, "Away".
The roar of the Kriegmann Delta-7 missile leaving its launching
cradle could be felt even through the hallucinations of the Upcom.
A green needle, a black widow's sting, was now banking away from the
bridal gown whiteness of Catherine, slowly at first, but then accelera-
ting with incredible rapidity.
Sliandra's check of "Radiation shields full." mingled with
Silvermoon's "Delivery in fifteen seconds." bringing be back to the
job at hand; a new course took us in a deeper arc, further from the
missile's intended targets; that area of space was soon to become very
inhospitable indeed.
"Full power in twelve seconds," I requested.
"On line," confirmed Sliandra.
"Ten seconds," Silvermoon's countdown continued. The rear hoof of
Catherine's stallion was closing on the attackers at over half the
speed of light, they were starting to seperate, their manoeuverability
hampered by their high speed.
"Five seconds," Blue and yellow indicators pulsed under my left
hand, impatient to be caressed into commanding speed from the ship.
"Four," the local area of space around Golf 2 magnified before me,
the computers sparing no details of the destruction to come.
"Three," I could imagine the panicked conversation of the leader to
his wingmen as they tried to seperate their ships as far as possible,
the pride of the attacker turning to cold, hard fear.
"Two," They would be able to see the needle of the Kreigmann now,
blurred and distorted into the blue as they closed at almost light
speed.
"One," Ishtar blew me a kiss and grinned inanely as she rode the
missile towards the doomed pilots.
"Impact!"
The green dart merged with the lead yellow ship, a livid red circle
extended from both, quickly engulfing the other two as the stallion
delivered his ten megaton nuclear blow.
Silvermoon spoke the Dralasite's epitaph in impersonal tones, "Fox
One: delivery complete." I had a subliminal flashed picture of a grey
dolphin defending a hapless human swimmer from a shark, I never saw the
swimmer's face but I knew who he was.
I grinned from ear to ear and tapped the shadow-console with my
fingertips, "Ion drives to 130% rated output..... NOW!"
Ten minutes later eight Panther persuit ships of the Confederation
Navy sped past us in the opposite direction after our persuing foes
who, three minutes later, started the long slow drift to the Dralasite
sun as just so much more space debris. Twenty minutes after the klaxon
first yelled its warning we were berthing and surveying the rather
ratty state of the port side ion drive on the engineering monitors and
Silvermoon was complaining about the NavComp again. Ms McRied had gone
back to the cargo bay to hide with her mercenaries who would soon be on
an equally hazardous trip to the surface in a rebel city's orbit
shuttle; she did offer us all a permanent place in her outfit. We
turned it down and made very sure that our fee had been credited to our
accounts.
"We deserve a celebration!" said Sliandra as the mooring cradles
locked us into place and the Autoloaders linked with the cargo bay
doors.
"We deserve a proper break," I voulenteered, "but some of that
vintage Dom Perignon you ripped off that Acturan wine merchant will do
nicely in the interim."
We fled Dralasa with an escort of Panthers within the hour. Dralasa
was not a safe place to be near once the word that a CIST freighter had
nuked some government ships has filtered down to that planet's High
Command. We were limping a little with one ion drive only managing
fourty percent power and we made the charm jump at under minimum safe
distance but we made it to the calm of our next destination.
The third planet of the star didn't look as beautiful as some I've
seen over the years but it had a magic and a beauty all its own.
It was Earth.
It was Home.
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