Project Centaur, Pt. 6: Philoxenia (718 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: centaur_series scifi
Rating: 2 on 21 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Coyote (View user info) at 2006-04-01 00:37:14 EST
Previously, on Space Opera Theater:
Part 1: http://www.ubersite.com/m/83617
Part 2: http://www.ubersite.com/m/84066
Part 3: http://www.ubersite.com/m/84442
Part 4: http://www.ubersite.com/m/84880
Part 5: http://www.ubersite.com/m/85242
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Day 35, I think. You want more precision that that? Join the fuckin army; I gotta get this recorded before the details go. They got me penned up in this hydroponic vegetable garden, of all fuckin places, and they took the suit and the palmtop and the plans to the ship, but they left me the important shit: my flask, and the voice recorder. Search me why they got me locked in the hothouse with the lettuce and carrots. Maybe they want me to use my alien magic on their rotten fucking orchard and turn the water into wine for them, those stupid cunts... Hell, they leave me here long enough and I probably will. It's not like I'm exactly about to run for it, not while they have my gear stashed away wherever they took it.
I'd fucking kill to have that suit back. Check that—I'd kill just for the camera on the helmet. And a second round with that commander. First contact and all you poor bastards are gonna get is whatever you salvage off this recording. Heh.
So, yeah, first contact, where should I start? I hate walkin out on the surface of an alien moon, the low gravity feels like shit, the light and shadow is always disorienting, and there you are trapped out on the flats like a bug waiting to be smashed. If I wanted to get my feet dirty in the slush and break my ass falling down a goddamn crevasse I'd move to Mars and live in a trailer with all the other trash. Only good thing was the damn helmet kept me from seeing whatever it was they had circling up there overhead, so I could make like it wasn't there.
Time I got here, the whole thing was seeming less and less like a good idea—this goddamn ship is huge, it's a fucking luxury yacht for their management team, and armed to the teeth, I mean seriously bristling with fucking guns. Woulda turned around and headed right back home but I didn't want to give those assholes the satisfaction of seeing me beaten. I get about a hundred meters out from the Behemoth, wishing to hell I'd decided to bring that weapon after all, when the airlock on the thing opens and three of them trot out towards me.
Heh. I stopped dead in my tracks, it was so fuckin funny. You wanna talk comic relief? Picture one of those balloon-animal horses they get birthday party pervert-clowns to make, all puffy segments and splayed limbs, and set a nice grey-green one cantering out through a slushy, cratered hydrocarbon cryoscape kicking up little sprays of liquid methane with its hooves. Even with the half-assed gravity and the obviously weird shape—human torso protruding up above the horse body—they didn't quite look right. When I figured out why I almost threw up in my helmet from laughing so hard.
They're fuckin tiny. Ito's notes had 'em standing like 9 feet high, proportioned like you'd think of a draft horse, or something you'd put in front of a plow—I almost had to sit down from losing my balance when I got a weird-ass perspective shift as they ran out of their ship to collect me. Convinced my eyes to readjust their focus and when the trio ran through the shadow of a big crater rim wall I got the scale right and it hit me—they're fuckin' tiny, they're miniature.
Don't think ponies, I know you're thinking ponies, and that's totally fucking wrong, wipe that image right the hell out of your mind. I know you're thinking "Shetland ponies with furry feet and big stupid coarse faces like the people you see down at the government office waiting for a handout", because that's exactly what the fuck I was thinking, but you're wrong as hell. If I ever get the video from the camera in my suit back, you'll see. It's important you're not thinking ponies, because God have mercy on me I'm wasting good drinking time telling you every fuckin thing that happened and I don't want anyone thinking they're these shaggy half-hobbit things.
So there I was, jaw dropped down into the boots of my EVA suit, gawking like a tribesman at a rocket launch, and of course they prance into position around me with their big-ass rifle things levelled at me. Just for the record, their primary weapons seem comparable to our standard issue beamthrowers, but they had sidearms whose working I couldn't even begin to guess about. And yes, horses—okay, midget centaurs if you fuckin insist-- look fuckin retarded in pressure suits, but those jetpacks looked like serious ordnance.
I let 'em surround me and they kinda prodded me toward the Behemoth, which was fine by me since that was kinda the whole goddamn point. Now, you can't tell much through an EVA suit, but I could already tell they were all chicks, just like Ito said to expect. Not that I'm any kind of a fuckin horse-gender expert, but there was something about their gait that gave it away. I don't care whether it's on the Damrak, Dirtside or halfway across the fucking Universe, a broad is a broad is a broad. So I take that long quiet walk at the muzzle of a gun, and I figure whatever math Ito hadda do to get to her measurements, she went too high by just about 50%. I kinda got the idea they mostly keep the stallions around for muscle, so the fact I'm dealing with chicks is a sign they might not be about to atomize me.
Shit's weird shipboard, but not so weird I don't recognize just about everything for what it is. Form follows function, and nobody gets a ship functioning like me. If I got Dougie over here to help out and Ito to translate the labels I could probably fly this bucket home. Except for the whole outnumbered and outgunned thing. And that other ship overhead. We get in the airlock, and it's pretty clear what their opinion of me is, because there's always at least one weapon stuck right square between my shoulder blades. Watching the soldier girls clamber out of their EVA suits was a whole nother Mongolian clusterfuck—imagine your arms aren't long enough to reach past about halfway down your ribcage, and you've got a bulky, fifty kilo pressure suit to climb out of, and you'll get the idea.
But.
Holy fucking christ if it wasn't like watching butterflies coming out of their fucking coccoons. These bitches—and I'm already thinking of them in my head like biker bitches, Hell's Angels all integrated with their rides, some weird photoshop montage of Dungeons & Dragons fantasyland after one two many hits off the bong—are fucking hot.
Seriously.
I saw them first. First contact is fucking mine. Live or die, make general or get thrown in the lockup for the rest of my life, get fat and rich back home or rot here, I fucking saw them first, and the Corps couldn't ask for a better recruiting poster than the intrepid hero pilot standing in the airlock of an alien vessel surrounded by three 6-foot tall flowing-haired centaur mares built like the greatest Arabians you ever saw crossed with feral American mustangs crossed with something out of a swimsuit issue. These three were obviously picked for brawn, and even so... damn. So, there they are—muscular, elegant, graceful. Not quite delicate, because I'd seen them run, and I could see sleek muscles rippling under their coats (two black, one chestnut). But definitely, oh, what's the fucking word... eldritch. No, elfin. Remember the horse part is only like... jesus, I don't know, ten hands high say. Fuck you, my great-grandparents were from Kentucky, you measure horses in hands. The horsey part is about waist high, ok? Not only that (and this is where great-grandad would say "go outside boy, and cut me a switch to punish your unholy abomination"), their asses are round and elegant and... jesus. Their hair (mane?) matches their tails. Heh. I had my mind on the mission the whole I time, I swear to fuckin shit.
Now they've got some kinda uniforms on, their human part anyway, and I can't make head nor tail of what it means—it's got some kind of correspondence with the way they've got their tails braided. Whatever. I'm standing there like an idiot wondering how to break the ice here—"take me to your leader" is way too cliché-- when the chestnut smacks me in the helmet to get my attention. She whips out something too tiny to be a weapon and points it at me... at least, I was hoping it was too tiny to be a weapon. Turns out it was a pipe. She tamps some black old scraggly leaves into the bowl and digs a little laser lighter out of one of her pockets and blazes up.
Great, I'm thinking... I can put in the official record that we jumped 86 light-years, navigated a loppfall with more kinks than a Castro Street gigolo smack dab into a gas giant's gravity well, and made contact with sentient aliens all so I could bring back video for zoophilia-smoking fetishists. That's your tax dollars at work right there. I still might enter that in the record just to piss off Control, but when chestnut smacked me in the helmet again and pointed at the little flame in the pipe, and then tapped on my faceplace, I got the idea. Fire, flame, oxygen, air, breathe, helmet off. Okay, I'm not a total pudwhacker.
Their air tastes funny, and I don't know if it's the foul shit they like to smoke, or whatever they do to process the horseshit they must be filling up their Behemoth with, or just some annoying fuckin mix of gases they wanna put in the air to remind them of home. Whatever. I can live with it, so I went ahead and stripped off the suit like they wanted. That's where you're gonna see the video cut out, or at least, stop making any sense, cuz they whisked all the gear away and left me with just the shit in my pockets.
I'd thought they were a little cool towards me at first, but once they caught a good look at me in just the shipsuit it was like another goddamn ice age. I had the rifle pointing at my face now, and chestnut C cup was chattering a mile a minute into her phone. Pretty soon the brawnier of the two blacks is frogmarching me up the corridor to this frickin garden.
That's where I saw her, the commander, the alpha mare, whatever you wanna call it, standing between a pair of huge fucking tomato plants, looking out onto the surface. The commander is a dapple-grey, absolutely perfect specimen, with her tail and hair braided up in these intricate braids that I thought only existed in Swiss tourism board ads. She turned around when the chestnut cleared her throat to announce our entrance, and it fucking floored me that I could read her expression perfectly, right off the bat: a vicious little mixture of umbrage and defensiveness, in a solution of contempt, with a sprinkling of curiosity on top for flavor. Oh yeah, and fear. Heh.
She clicked her tongue and the minions vanished with a clatter of hooves. I kinda leaned up on a fertilizer tank and said "So, now it appears you have me right where I want you." What the hell, right? I never read the suggestions from Control on how to represent the United Republics to an alien race, and Ito's cheat sheet on their language was wadded up in the pocket of my suit anyway, so I figured I should just be myself. Got me this far, didn't it?
That got me such a frosty glare I thought she must be related to my ex-wife, and she glided forward so quickly that I didn't have time to react before we were face to face. Not many women are tall enough to stare me right in the eye with a level gaze, so it didn't seem all that weird that one who could was sporting two extra legs but six fewer toes. Now I don't like being stared at like a lab specimen, so I took back the initiative by moving out of the way... not retreating, just circling. She tilted her head and watched me with a little of that contempt still showing.
I moved behind her kinda slow, doing some studying of my own, and I gotta say if Ito had asked me at that point I could have said that the xenocentaurs choose their leaders by which one has the most amazing ass. Couldn't help but chuckle to myself when I got the image of that round ass all encased in a nice sleek pair of riding pants. Wondered how she'd react to a riding crop. Even without any mutually understandable language, I knew better than to say that one aloud. Still, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face before I'd lazily kind of circled back up along her other side, and this time her expression was unreadable.
I'm not gonna pretend there was this big long flirtation and seduction that happened, in fact I can't quite figure out how exactly we got to where we did so quick. I can read a fluttered eyelash and a sidelong glance as good as anyone though, and she was definitely coming on strong. Kinda caught me off guard coming so quick after the bit with big gun turrets pointed at my ship and the brawny minions with hand cannons between my shoulder blades.
There's so much that sticks in my memory, but it's all disconnected images. The sensation itself was indescribable, and I don't know if it's cause mechanical R&R with the same frickin crew week after week had me really hankerin for something new, or if these centaur chicks are just built to fuck like nothing else in the universe.
God himself couldn't have matched the species better as far as height goes, and the sight of her standing there on all fours tossing her head back and running her fingers through her silvery hair is going to live with me forever. There was the sharp intake of breath, multiplied tenfold by that horrific lung capacity, and that little gasp and moan was so deep and rich it was like liquid sex dripping off a latex honey dipper. The strength in those hindquarters when she ground back at me almost knocked me off my goddamn feet, those bitches are fucking strong. And the whole time, there's her tail, silken and light and switching over my belly and thighs over and over again, and that perfect round grey ass with that silken, just-slightly-coarse hair, rippling and quivering in my hands as I held onto her.
Fucking unbelievable. What's that species of chimp that has sex like, all the time, whenever they need to negotiate or communicate? Reckon these guys must be a lot like that, and since the stallions seem to want to spend their time off marauding and attacking shit, the mares wait and take it out on whatever REAL stallion happens by. Fucking amazing. First I thought she was all stretched out, wasn't feeling anything much at all, but the longer we kept going the tighter she got, and when I reached out and smacked her flank and made a grab for her mane, this whole other thing started that I've never felt before, like an entirely separate set of muscles kicking in, so fucking tight it was almost painful.
OK, so I didn't last too long after that, but for first contact I think the centaurs got pretty lucky all things considered. Hell, I wasn't even armed, and I brought my own liquor, it's not like I threatened to demolish their planet or steal their resources. Well, maybe the second part, just enough to get home. She looked at me with a sideways grin and said something totally incomprehensible in that language of theirs and pranced out, locking the door behind her.
Can only assume the smile meant negotiations are going well. I just hope she brings my camera with her when she comes back. Til then, it's just me and the flask and a bunch of hydroponic alien tomatoes. Hope those assholes distilling the fuel appreciate the sacrifices I'm making here.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Diary
Near Mining Colony 13
Ayin Moon Gas Giant 2 System 7
The greenfly (Neysa's word, because the interloper is quick, crazy, and irritating) sent over an emissary today and it was a stallion. Or half a one, anyway: I was warned they were bipedal but it was still a shock to see it in person. He hadn't the faintest notion of etiquette or communication, which was a little bit disappointing given just how much information Friya fed them when they first appeared. Still, he was unarmed and appeared to be attempting to establish contact; Friya suggested that the bipeds may actually go so far as to delegate responsibility for their herds to the stallions, in which case we may be best off turning the 9th cohort loose to defend our territory. Although, it must be said that or all his primitive qualities, the biped somehow knew the ritual of social mating and joined enthusiastically. So enthusiastically, in fact, that he took the liberty of marking me with his trace just before disengaging. So adorable, like a colt with his first mare. And yet, he was no stripling, for he knew well the language of pleasure and it was strangely satisfying to couple without feeling the constant nipping of teeth at my shoulder and the weight of sweaty forequarters pressing down upon me. Friya and Neysa tell me it is improper to mate with the aliens, but how else then are we to establish hierarchy and bring the herds together?
I believe I may safely indulge myself further and attempt a more extensive communication before we move to swat the greenfly.
User Reviews
Submitted by Alter (user info) at 2007-09-26 20:32:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No, Comment.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-04 16:40:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I should have put "contains beastiality" in the title to get more hits.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-04-03 19:30:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-01 12:19:11 (#)
Ranking: 2
Xenobeastiality! That's got to be a first.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-04-03 15:04:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ahahahaha holy shit.
I'm going to watch that video of the donkey with the boner chasing down the hillbilly with a whole new outlook now.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-02 23:38:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2006-04-02 22:01:43 (#)
They have, you know.
...---... ...---... ...---... ...---...
*shifty eyes*
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2006-04-02 22:01:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That second sentence was the important one.
They have, you know.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-02 21:37:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2006-04-02 21:28:25 (#)
Bonobos. They're matriarchal, too.
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But have yet to master interstellar travel.
That I'm aware of.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2006-04-02 21:28:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Bonobos. They're matriarchal, too.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-01 22:38:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Everything you ever wanted to know about bart
User id: 1
Registered on or around: 1999-11-30 02:06:04
# Messages posted: 125
# Reviews written: 5416
# Times these posts have been reviewed : 5736
# Hits: 1000249
Average rating of all messages: 0.96
ONE MILLION HITS
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2006-04-01 20:11:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I love it when shit explodes.
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-04-01 15:44:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Can't say I saw this coming. Keep it up.
Submitted by Durae (user info) at 2006-04-01 13:58:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Heh, I love this series.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-01 12:19:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Xenobeastiality! That's got to be a first.
Submitted by fried-green-potatoes (user info) at 2006-04-01 11:06:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-01 10:46:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
That's not the *human* mission log at the end.
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oops... got it and sorry.
Should have waited for a second cup of coffee and my own perspective shift to kick in.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-01 10:46:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by fried-green-potatoes (user info) at 2006-04-01 10:33:53 (#)
Is this the official diary drifting into a conversational tone? Is it a prohibited personal log? I'm missing something here.
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That's not the *human* mission log at the end.
Submitted by fried-green-potatoes (user info) at 2006-04-01 10:33:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Is this the official diary drifting into a conversational tone? Is it a prohibited personal log? I'm missing something here.
Submitted by Istaros (user info) at 2006-04-01 02:32:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
well surprise surprise
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2006-04-01 02:19:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-01 02:06:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
What Circe said, too.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2006-04-01 02:03:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh jesus.
Nothing good is gonna happen to him, is it?
Meanwhile, I'm not going to be able to look at a horse without feeling uncomfortably like a pervert for a very, very long time.
This really is an awesome series - don't be discouraged by the scarcity of reviews. The apes are too busy looking at emus and flinging poop at each other, is all.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-01 02:01:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, come on, man, that's just fucking gross.
Good story. I wait for these, you know.