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Omega 9 is where I’ve always wanted to retire. Most Hyrrokin dream of a nice cabin in the wildlands or maybe retirement in a charming beach house in Perth. No. I like Omega 9 and I know this station like the back of my hand. This is where I was first jailed and by the time they were loading me onto the prison transport ship I’d already planned how I’d escape if they ever brought me here again.
The guards plan to securely transport me to Omega 9 and guide me straight to the courtroom. Easy. I try not to laugh. A detonator was long-ago planted in my head which has worked wonders at keeping me deferential towards the warden and prison employees, but now that they’ve given me a sliver of opportunity, I’ll take it.
Do they not remember my former career as a professional thief?
Escape is my specialty.
The lights in the room blink, letting us know the transporter is powered up and ready. The guards assume their favored positions and finally, we’re arranged correctly on the transporter disks. “Hit it,” the front guard announces.
I stand tall in my scratchy orange jumpsuit, infused with excited energy at the thought of leaving 149, forever. I will miss nothing, especially my noxious roommate and the hungry Cannibals that roamed the halls.
A tickle forms in my stomach. The location around me darkens and I’m separated into a scatter of atoms and shot across the known universe to the most famous and civilized space station in the entire four sectors. My body reconstitutes on the new disk in the transporter room on Omega 9.
Finally, I’m back.
The initial transport blindness fades, and I focus on my surroundings, waiting patiently for the right opportunity to present itself, because it always does. Two Creekan guards stand near the exit and three Gravian staff members attend the equipment. It’s common to see a variety of species working together in various positions on this intergalactic space station.
The Surrellian guard on my right steps off first to stand in front of me. They’re all moving, gesturing for me to follow, ready to put my restraints back on. “Off the disk, now,” the senior guard barks, waving the detonator switch at me, to confirm my compliance.
A growl rumbles in my chest.
And suddenly the dormant disk to my right hums to life. I blink and glance over and see a curvy female shape starting to take form next to me.
“What’s happening?” someone shouts. “Stop the transmission.”
I continue to stare in amazement. How is this even possible?
Fights start amongst the staff, confirming this new arrival is entirely unexpected. Transporter travel is normally cost prohibitive, so I haven’t used it often, but even I know there’s a very strict schedule per room. The next individual or group to arrive is not allowed to transport until the prior group has exited, this is a standard safety procedure across the four sectors.
And yet someone new is arriving in the midst of a prison transport?
I’m very annoyed at this lack of security. Luckily, I’m not here to cause harm to civilians and I’m not actually a murderer. But why are the guards being so cavalier with this being’s safety? What if I wasn’t innocent and instead a dangerous convict who’d actually killed dozens of individuals? What then? This female could easily have been in very real danger.
She solidifies and my jaw drops open in amazement. The female is delicate and yet thick in all the right places, with heavy breasts, wide hips and a large ass. I stare at her eagerly, taking in every gorgeous shape and curve, loving what is revealed. Her dark pigment isn’t Hyrrokin-red or even Surrelian-red. Maybe she’s a royal pigment Xylan from Chronos? But then I notice she’s much shorter than most Xylan and lacks fangs or claws. Dark follicles shine down in a straight fall from her head to her shoulders. And now I know she’s human. Not that I’ve ever met a human in real life, but I have seen them on the net channels.
She smells terrific, which immediately causes my shaft to thicken under my jumpsuit. And that’s when I remember I haven’t been alone with a female in over a year.
The staff and guards ignore her, busy yelling and blaming each other for their mistake.
Ridiculous.
Meanwhile the human stands very still, blinking rapidly as her eyesight refocuses, then there’s a sharp intake of breath as she sees the Surrelians and the Creekans shouting at each other in the room.
“Welcome to Omega 9,” I greet.
She turns toward me and lifts her chin. Her eyes dart from my smoking, fang-toothed grin, to my shiny black horns and down the front of my orange jumpsuit and she lets out an ear-splitting scream that could wake the dead.
The guards realize trouble when they hear it and start to shift toward the female. I headbutt the nearest one, who also happens to be the asshole holding my detonator switch. He topples to the ground and that all-important switch falls out of a hand and I step on it, cracking it into oblivion.
Heh. I’m free.
The female screams harder.
Chaos ensues in the transporter room.
Perfect. Now’s my chance. I couldn’t have planned this better myself. “I know I look like a convict,” I tell her, “but I promise I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.” Then I headbutt another guard and he falls against the Surrelian behind him and they both topple over.
“What are you doing?” she cries.
