Marauder Fenrir: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Mating Wars) (6 page)

T
hey throw
us into some kind of holding cell, which is still somewhere within the endcap and thus in zero-g. Marauders do not typically train in zero-g. We sleep in hibernation while our fleet moves under constant acceleration, and once we enter a solar system with which we wish to conquer and interbreed, the bulk of any conflict happens on the surface of various planets. Or in habitats like this one.

I am different. After my shameful negligence, I and two other Marauders, Minos and Kaius, who had owed great shame debt, were trained as assassins. While the rest of our kind slept, we trained. For two years. And then–as if my shame debt were not enough–precious reaction mass was given to us so that we could reach the human system in advance of the main invasion fleet.

And now I float in a zero-g cell, with a human female’s intoxicating pheromones filling the tiny space. I’m crushed beneath a massive mountain of shame debt, and still I find myself tempted–again and again–to give into my most primal desires.

My cock twitches and beings to harden and grow. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

“Fenrir,” her voice says.

I ignore her, focusing harder on my breathing. Perhaps the humans of New Copenhagen will separate me from this female, and when I’m no longer in close proximity to her...I can forget her and focus on my mission.

“Fenrir!” she says, louder.

I open my eyes. “Yes?”

“Let’s assume you even make it to the Martian surface, which is already a big assumption.”

“I will make it,” I say.

“Okay, so if you do, what is your next step? How do you plan to find a hidden Marauder on a planet that basically worships them? If one person notices you and tells Cygnus, he’ll know you’re coming.”

“I need food,” I grunt.

“I’m hungry, too,” I say, “but answer the question.”

“I have a plan,” I say, “but to execute it, I need a lot of food.”

She looks at me in a peculiar way. Her eyebrows compress together, and she tilts her head. Humans have such small ears, and they have to work so much harder to express their emotions to make up for it.

“What does this look mean?” I ask, referring to her cocked head and squashed brow. “I don’t understand.”

“The first thing they will try to do,” she says, “is separate us. Under normal circumstances, I’d be fine with that, but I have a bad feeling that my only actual value is my relationship with you–.”

“We have no relationship!” I shout, flicking my ears at her angrily. Even without big ears, she must know what this type of gesture means.

“You need food,” she says, “and even if you don’t want to admit it, you know I’d be a huge help to you on Mars. So let’s work together.”

“Why would you work with me?” I ask, crossing my arms.

My eyes cling to hers. I try to look in her eyes as she speaks, but her gaze overwhelms me. So I look down, and the sight of her breasts overwhelms another part of me. I lose control, and suddenly I’m staring hungrily at her body with almost total abandon.

I don’t want to work with her. I want to mate with her. I need to get away from her. I can only resist her allure for so long.

“I’m not going to bullshit you,” she says. “I want to stop the invasion. I don’t really trust Cygnus or Aegus. It feels like a ploy. Get everyone to believe these two–convince humanity that Marauders want to be friends–and then BAM! Hit us with a sneak attack. I won’t help you kill him...but I won’t be sad to see him go, either.”

“You want to stop the invasion,” I say. “I want to ensure it happens and that we eradicate your race. I don’t think this partnership can work.”

“But you are a powerful Marauder assassin, and I’m just a useless female who you can’t even call by name. The benefit I’d provide you would far outweigh anything I could do to work against you.”

I narrow my eyes at her. The primal part of me screams at me to accept her offer. To stay together with her until my body overrides my mind, and until I betray everything I stand for.

“No,” I say.

I turn my back to her and close my eyes.

She starts to speak again, but the airlock begins to hiss.

“Fenrir!” she pleads. “They’re coming. Please, reconsider. They’re going to get you alone, and at least you know you can trust me...even if it’s as your enemy. These habbers will tell you all kinds of lies to manipulate you; it’s what they do.”

The airlock opens, and three tall figures–likely male–wearing strange, sealed orange suits drift in. Their uniforms seem like extremely primitive spacesuits, but the material they are made from seems to be too flimsy to insulate through vacuum. They’re holding what look like weapons, and I tense up in preparation for attack.

I can shift into a bear and claw them apart.

“We’re here to scrub you down,” one says, speaking through some kind of voice amplifier. “It’s not going to be pleasant, but if you cooperate, it will be over faster. You first, Marauder!”

They all press buttons on their belts, and their shoes magnetize, pulling and attaching them to one of the walls.

I growl.

“Fenrir,” she says. “They are worried you’re contaminated with something. They just want to clean you off.”

“My race’s immune system is strengthened through thousands of invasions!” I bark. “My body destroys all pathogens! Bringing me aboard will destroy any contaminates on the habitat through my highly evolved immune–.”

“Spray him!” one of them orders.

Their weapons open up, and a compressed liquid blasts at me from three directions.

The pressure knocks me down and pushes me into the corner, and since the three humans are anchored to the wall, they stay steady while I am slammed back. I soon realize they’re shooting me with water, though I inhale a faint scent of some chemical. The force of the spray pins me down, and each time I attempt to press back off the wall, it throws me–hard–back into the corner.

One of the spray guns shuts off, and the man walks toward me, his boots magnetizing on and off the wall with each step. He extends a rod, which is actually some kind of brush, and he presses it onto my body. Then he begins to scrub.

His motions are rough, and I can feel it scraping off my skin.

The water is nearly drowning me, but they cut the flow every few seconds, allowing me time to gasp for breath.

They soon cut off all the flow, and the man holding the scrubber shouts through his amplifier. “Will you cooperate, or–.”

I snatch at the scrubber, but before I can grab complete hold of it, the water comes back on and hits me like a tidal wave. I gasp, and a thick lungful of liquid chokes me.

The scrubbing continues as I continue gasping for breath. Finally, it’s turned off.

Once I catch my breath, I see the female waving her hands at them.

“You assholes! You didn’t have to do that, you–.”

“Do not defend me, woman!” I shout. “My shame debt is high enough without you adding to it!”

“Oh, all right,” she says, “Never mind, men. Spray him all you want.”

“We’re done,” one of the men answers.

She grabs the sprayer from his hands and lets loose, turning the water on full blast to drench me.

Just one sprayer is not enough to pin me down completely, and I’m able to kick off at an angle from where I’ve been cornered to evade the blast. For a Turret Woman, her aim is quite poor, and I snatch the sprayer from her hand before she can hit me with it long and powerfully enough to force me back.

I do not retaliate, as it would be cruel and petty to take action against a woman.

“Are
you
willing to cooperate?” one of the men asks her.

“Yes,” she says.

“Great, follow us. We’ve got a pretty pleasant system for people who cooperate.”

“He needs to go with me,” the female says, pointing to me.

“You’ll have to undress,” the man says. “I don’t think you want–.”

“He’s bonded to me,” she says. “If he’s too far away from me, he’ll die.”

A lie! I’ve not bonded to her, and even if I had, my body–the peak of evolution in the galaxy–would not be so frail as to die because of separation from my mate.

“She’s lying,” I say.

They give each other a few looks and start to mutter to each other. I see their mouths moving, but since they are not speaking through the amplifiers and the helmets they are wearing must be soundproof, I hear nothing.

Finally, one of the men moves to the wall with his magnet boots and presses a button. A small compartment opens.

“It’s a small pressure bath,” one of the men says. “Maybe the alien can just...stay close to the door. You can still have priv–.”

“No,” she says. “He goes in with me.”

I start to object, but they raise the spray guns at me.

It would be more shameful to fight and fail. I need to save my strength for another time.

They gesture for me to follow the female into the small compartment, and I do.

The door shuts behind us.

“Welcome to the pressure bath!” a voice proclaims. “What’s your name?”

“Fiona,” she says.

“Great! I’m Sudsley, your bath bot!”

“Jesus,” she says. “Why the fuck do I need a bath bot?”

I squint at it. “It’s a surveillance tactic. They want to make you feel comfortable so you will talk. They are listening in.”

She gives me a wide-eyed look. “Maybe you’re not a total idiot, Fenrir.”

“I assume you brought me in with you to conspire with me,” I say, “but since the bath bot is listening, you’ve wasted your time.”

“No,” she says, “I know you want to kill yourself because of your shame debt. Now that you’re bonded with me, the easiest way for you to end your life is to convince them that you’re able to be apart from me. You’ll kill yourself by separation from me!”

“They’ll not believe your lies,” I snarl.

She looks right at me, smiling wide, and she gives me an exaggerated blink. With just one eye.

Before I can ask her what that expression means, she pulls off her top.

Her luscious breasts spill out, and I’m stunned into silence.

I should close my eyes. I should turn away. Leave the bath.

But no, I stare at her, my eyes bulging wider than ever.

“Sudsley,” she says, “I like a
really
hot bath.”

“Sure thing, Fiona!” the bath bot says.

“Do you like it
really
hot, Fenrir?” she says, her voice suddenly changed.

Her voice has become softer. It seems like some kind of auditory pheromone, because even with her miraculous breasts pointing out, right at me, her voice seduces me even more.

Then, she drops her pants to the floor, and my cock springs to attention. It’s bulging and vibrating so hard, that I worry the veins could burst. Through thousands of generations of conquering and invading and interbreeding, my cock has not evolved to be
this
hard.

It’s the Seraphic Form, naked before me. Blasphemy has manifested itself, and its name is Turret Woman.

Her hips are impossibly wide, and her curves pull me deeper and deeper into temptation.

I begin to reach up, but a glass panel slams shut in front of me. It separates us.

The bath bot’s voice says, “Oops! Sorry! Looks like you already got cleaned, friend!”

“I am not your friend,” I growl. “Open the glass and allow me through.”

“No fucking in the pressure bath!” the robot says. “You can watch, but don’t jack off or you’ll make a mess!”

“I will jack your face off, you stupid robot! Open the glass!” I roar.

“Yikes!” Sudsley says. “I don’t think you know what ‘jack off’ means!”

I slam the glass using my full strength, but it just bends and absorbs my punch. I hit it over and over until my fist bleeds, but it doesn’t even crack. There’s not space inside here to shift to bear form, and even if I could, I don’t want to reveal that I can. I might need to save that ability to surprise them later.

And then I stare through the fogging glass at the female’s body in all its glory. She’s not only naked, but she’s rubbing her body with soap. When she rubs her breasts, I can see them moving and jiggling. It’s hypnotic.

Somewhere, buried in the depths of my mind, I am still aware of my mission, but under the influence of this divine body, I cannot look away.

I
almost feel bad
. Almost.

I see the way he looks at me. I know what his race is built to do. To invade and breed with the species it invades.

He claims he doesn’t want it, but he’s hard-wired to want it.

I look through the glass at his massive and erect teal cock.
Hard-
wired.

I don’t want to exploit him like this...but I have to tempt him enough so he will stay with me. I saw it in his eyes just before the scrubbers came in: he wanted me gone, and he was going to make a clean break.

But now? Now he’s staring blatantly through the glass at me. He can’t take his eyes off me, and I blush as I realize just how often I’m looking down at his naked and rock-hard body as I scrub myself.

Why? I’m not actually going to...do anything with him. Right?

No. Of course not.

I just need him to protect me from the habbers, and I need to get him to agree to take me down to Mars. Once I’m bundled up for Martian atmosphere, he’ll be less tempted by me, and I’ll make sure his cock stays in his shapeless pants. I’ll help him find Cygnus, and then I’ll get the hell away while those two to do whatever it is they want to do to each other. Kill each other, conspire together? Whatever their real plan is, it’s nothing I can stop on my own or by myself.

Once I’m free of him, the Empire and New Copenhagen...I can try to find my sister Aura. We can find a way to fight back against the invasion, or at least try to stop the pointless war between the Empire and Mars-Venus.

He’s still staring at me. What happened to me
corrupting
him? What happened to me being the end of his race? Is he testing himself? Is this some form of religious flagellation?

“Fiona!” Sudsley chirps over the sound of the rushing water.

“Yes?”

“You’re free of contaminants!”

The water cuts off.

“We wouldn’t want to waste any water,” he says.

I look down, and there are still soap suds dripping all down my body.

“Can I get another few seconds to wash away the soap?”

“Nope!” Sudsley says. “You’re not a citizen! Thanks for using the pressure bath; New Copenhagen appreciates your cooperation.”

The glass pane slides back up, and suddenly I’m standing dripping wet and soapy in front of Fenrir’s naked body. I can hear his big teal cock vibrating as it stands impossibly tall and erect, right in front of me.

He’s grinding his teeth and his ears are twitching.

“Here’s a towel!” Sudsley says.

A rack shoots out of the floor between us, and the towel positions itself between Fenrir and me.

I grab the towel off the rack and quickly wrap it around myself. “Do you mind?” I ask.

I see him sigh visibly as the towel covers my body, and he turns around, away from me.

“Why were you staring at me the whole time I showered?” I ask.

“It’s part of the bonding,” he says. “I must look at you when you are naked, or I will die.”

Oh, so he’s going to play along with me now? And not only that, but he’s going to embellish the lie?

I sigh and nod. It’s what I was trying to make happen with this stunt: get him stuck with me to protect myself. Mission accomplished...but I realize that I really am stuck with him.

And his big teal boner.

The towel is clean and fresh, but the soap suds are slimy, so I don’t feel totally clean. But after several days aboard the
Cygnus’s Bane
without a shower,
I’m sparkling clean compared to how I was before.

“Now,” Sudsley says, “here are some clothes!”

The rack sinks back into the floor, and pops back up with a utilitarian jumpsuit for me and a super-trendy, high-fashion outfit for Fenrir.

“Sudsley,” I say, looking down at the gleaming platinum buttons and the smart-fabric tie. “Why am I wearing a glorified prisoner outfit, while Fenrir gets to wear...
that.
”

“He’s too tall!” Sudsley says. “None of our...erm...
guest
outfits will fit him. We had to give him some citizen clothes. Enjoy!”

Habbers are, on average, a few feet taller than surface dwellers. Not because of gravity or anything like that–habs spin and generate Earth-like gravity–but they are taller simply through superior nutrition and genetic modification. They’re
almost
as tall as Marauders. Almost.

“I will not wear clothes,” Fenrir says.

His cock has fallen and is hanging between his legs, still semi-hard. I do my best not to look, but there’s only so much I can do to stop myself from staring.

I point to the clothes.

“Put them on,” I say.

* * *

W
e wait at the airlock
, fully dressed, me in my prisoner outfit and Fenrir in his fancy threads.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, looking down at his tie.

It’s transparent when he looks down, but as he furrows his brow and bats his ears, the tie starts to turn teal.

I roll my eyes. “I guess I know what you’re thinking about.”

“Yes,” Fenrir says. “My penis can barely fit in these ridiculous pants. Do human males really have such small cocks?”

I blush, realizing that compared to him, they do have small cocks.

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” I say, “they will give you something more comfortable to wear.”

His pants are tight on his muscular calves, but poufy on his thighs–typical habber fashion–and they tighten again as they reach his waist. I can see his cock bulging through the right pant leg. It really does look uncomfortable.

“Nicely?” Fenrir says. “But I’m angry! Why would I be nice?”

“You want pants that won’t squeeze your dick, right?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“So if you rage and throw a fit, do you think they will give you what you want?”

“I may have to kill a few of them first,” Fenrir says, “to show that my rage is more than a bluff.”

I sigh. “You can’t kill anyone here, Fenrir. You might be able to take a few down, but they will make sure you never walk free again if you start killing people.”

“So what do I do?” he says.

“Say please?”

“Please?”

“Yes,” I say. “You ask for something, rather than demanding it. Then you say ‘please’ to show you are being polite and respectful.”

He looks at me with furrowed brows. “I need pants that can hold my penis. Please.”

Suddenly his tie blinks, and a voice says, “Coming right up!”

He looks down at his crotch, and I see the pants loosen around his dick, until I can no longer see it bulging through the pants.

“Jesus,” I say. “They really have it made up here…”

“Interesting,” Fenrir says. “It’s like a primitive biosuit. Suit! I would like a bladed weapon the same thickness as my forearm, and I would like you to begin converting solar energy into producing as many kilocalories of chocolate as possible. Please.”

“Sorry!” the tie says. “We’re a peaceful habitat. No weapons allowed.”

Fenrir grabs the tie and holds it up to his mouth like a microphone. “Please make chocolate.”

“Uh,” the tie says, “I can make your clothes a nice chocolate
color
, but I can’t make food! Sorry!”

“I am hungry, Turret Woman,” Fenrir says.

“Can you please just call me Fiona?” I ask. “Please, Fenrir.
Please.
”

“No,” he says. “It may confuse the other Fionas on the habitat.”

“The other...how do you know there will even be another Fiona on the habitat?”

“We’ve seen one already, so it’s safe to assume there is an even mix of genders aboard New Copenhagen.”

“That was a Lisbeth, not a Fiona,” I say.

He narrows his eyes at me. “I see. I’ve made a mistake. This is not a dialect...it’s a blasphemous practice where childless women have names. ‘Fiona’ does not mean ‘female,’ it’s...your
name.
”

I almost laugh, but I worry that if I insult him, he will go back to calling me ‘Turret Woman,’ which is even more annoying than ‘The Fiona.’

I keep a straight face and say, “Yes! Now could you please call me by my name?”

“No,” he says. “I will call you Turret Woman.”