Under the light of Kolar and Nelsa
Her very first childhood memory was the smell of smoke. Acrid dust settled on the narrow slit of her not-yet-fully-opened eyes, making them stream with tears. Coughing convulsively from the poisonous smog entering her virgin-pure lungs, she panicked and pressed herself against her mother's warm, soft belly, seeking salvation and comfort. To the deep, steady purring, a rhythmically moving rough little tongue washed her tear-stained little face, smoothing down the fur that stuck out every which way. Burying her nose in the soft fur of her mother's chest, she heard her name for the first time—Randala...
Most of the time she slept, and upon waking, the first thing she did was
search with her lips for her mother's large nipple, dripping with rich, sweetish milk. For some time longer, she lived in complete darkness—her sight awoke slowly, and she had to explore the world by touch. There were no smells in her tiny world—or rather, there was one, but only one, which rewarded her with a dull headache. Her small fingers cautiously touched her mother's face—the sharply defined cheekbones, the small, round chin, the cool, rough nostrils of a nose that smoothly, without a bridge, transitioned into a sloping forehead. The ridges of her eyelids covered her eyes; when she accidentally touched them, she kept releasing sharp little claws from her fingertips—conscious control over them came somewhat later. Exploring the slightly flattened head, she came across protruding, sharply pointed ears—they were constantly in motion, evading her eagerly searching little hands.Marid pushed aside a thin curtain woven from narrow strips of young bark with his hand and cautiously peered into the semi-darkness of the huge old hollow. The females hissed at him in unison, wrinkling their upper lips and baring a row of sharp teeth with large white incisors. He shook his head regretfully but nevertheless resolutely stepped inside. The little ones had been desperately sneezing and coughing from the very first minute of their lives—he had known no peace for the third night now because of these terrible sounds, searching his extensive memory for a way to alleviate their suffering.
The furious hissing intensified, diversifying with a guttural growl—but he couldn't risk his children's lives because of inconveniently awakened protective maternal instincts, even if intervention would cost him a few extra scars on his hide. He approached the first, the youngest of them, Rilika, mother of Kiara. Immediately, a blow from sharp claws burned his thigh, leaving a series of long, deep scratches—this was just her warning him. Without a moment's delay, he lightly touched the child's nostrils with a finger smeared in tree resin and deftly stuck a green leaf with yellowish veins to them. Immediately following this came another, this time a full-fledged blow to his left arm, deeply tearing its muscles. Clutching the oozing, bleeding wound, he stepped aside—the deed was done. Looking closely at her child, who had stopped coughing and was breathing calmly for the first time, Lirika hissed something loudly. Marid found no meaning in the sounds she uttered, but the other mothers immediately calmed down and no longer hindered the father as he approached each of them in turn.
Randala squealed in fright—suddenly she saw a huge silhouette looming over her. She stretched her hands out in front of her in an attempt to push away the palm reaching for her. The stranger's hand was also covered in fur, though much coarser. And besides, her mother's hand was smooth, while this one was covered in hard bumps that appeared and disappeared under the skin. It left something on her little nose, and her mother stopped her hand as it tried to tear off the object tickling her face. A minute later, she felt how much easier it was to breathe. The stench was replaced by an unfamiliar, pleasant smell, leaving a sensation of coolness and freshness. For the first time, she didn't lose herself in a half-dream stitched from ragged patches of visions but, falling asleep calmly, saw good dreams.
Marid, anxiously examining his torn bicep, climbed out. There he was met by two worried-looking females who had not become pregnant this cycle. Each of them sympathetically licked his face. The male slowly lay down on a sun-warmed branch, stripped of bark. Kneeling down, women half his size treated his wounds with a carefully chewed paste of fresh buds.
Dull light burst into the hollow on the fourteenth day—the curtain torn down by Marid flew, swirling, to the roots of the giant tree. The other children barely managed, yawning desperately, to get to their feet, but Randala was already running outside. Her life hung by a thread, which would surely have snapped if not for the lightning-fast reaction of the leader, who barely managed to catch her as she, failing to stop at the edge, was already falling into the abyss. From the blow to her stomach by a hand as hard as iron that suddenly grew in her path, her breath caught: she barely had time to glimpse the "bottom" of her world, shrouded in gray haze. Thrown back and falling on her back, trying to regain her breath, she saw the sky for the first time.
One night, she was awakened by a terrible crash from outside. Immediately, the silhouettes of Marid and two of her brothers appeared in the opening of their dwelling, illuminated by the silvery light of merciful Nelsa. He ordered them, the girls, to stay inside and not come out, and the adult females to follow him. She looked fearfully at her mother—she only pressed her to her chest for a few seconds and then disappeared into the night with the others.
The survivors died in their arms. None of them endured the long ascent. None of them saw their home again. The next day, she descended here again to plant beautiful red-blue flowers in the cooled ashes. This became
a ritual for her for many years.
Contrary to expectations, their lineage did not die out. At the end of every twentieth appearance of blessed Kolar, Marid examined the gradually maturing girls. More than one year passed before he, with pain in his soul, selected Randala and two more of her sisters. They lay side by side on a pile of fresh foliage, plucked and brought to this secluded place filled with the rustle of wind tangled in the interweaving of fresh shoots. The enormous Marid stood before them, explaining, as in childhood, the essence of the trial awaiting them. Randala listened attentively and in her heart fully agreed with him—he truly couldn't wait any longer, weakening faster with each passing day—and yet she was in shock upon hearing how IT would happen. Taking a deep breath, Marid relaxed, releasing his member from its fur sheath. Approaching Randala, lying at the edge and shocked by what she saw, he knelt down and began to caress her young body with his strong, yet so gentle hands. Inside, she trembled all over—experienced Marid, alternately caressing her stomach, breasts, thighs, neck, and face, awakened an instinct in her, filling her vagina with thick, colorless lubrication. He spread her legs and, settling between them, entered her very slowly and carefully. She screamed. She howled and scratched, forcing her frightened sister to roll away from her. Marid pressed down on her with his whole body, embracing her with his arms, never ceasing his smooth, powerful movements for a second. She bit his neck, chest, and face, while he only purred steadily and licked the fur on her face, as her mother had once done. Finally, the sharp pain passed, replaced by a dull, pulling sensation in her groin. Marid discharged inside her, and Randala's insides were unexpectedly filled with a hot, liquid mass. He carefully extracted his tool from her, and she watched detachedly as a white stream flowed out of her. In due time, she gave birth to a child in agony. Now there were two boys in the tribe. As already said, the lineage survived.
On the tenth year after her mother's death, she was caught. They jumped out simultaneously from all sides and moved toward her, breaking stems and crushing the buds of the flowers she had planted. To the first, the most careless and brazen, she broke his neck, badly scratching herself on the sharp growths on his scaly neck. The rest surrounded her, but Randala still had time to send another attacker into a brief flight with a strong kick. With an unpleasant crunch, his body collided with the trunk of a tree that had only just begun to heal its wounds. One, then another, a third, touched her with the ends of metal rods. Numbness enveloped her, followed by unconsciousness.
Shackled with manacles welded to the metal deck, by an effort of will she sent the Wrath of Kolar upon the strangers standing before her. The weakest among them fell without a sound.
— Do not be angry, Great One," words of repentance and submission sounded in her mind. "We do not know who you are, but we share your goals. We, born slaves, ask for your help.
Shuddering with disgust, she took the cold, slippery member into herself. The reptile rolled back the pupils of its eyes, covered with a cloudy film, and opened its mouth slightly, with a narrow forked tongue darting back and forth.
— We have plotted the death of the Master, and are already doomed to long torment and death. It is inevitable, though distant. But this child will live and give our tribe a chance to survive. We will teach you everything we know and help you take revenge, and you will carry it to term, yes?
As if the icy breath of winter filled her insides. Waiting for her consent, the lizard freed her and bowed before her as she stretched her numb limbs.
— Now decide, Great One, whether I live or die...
She split his skull and threw the body overboard into the dark depths of the Ocean.
— Hello! How did you sleep today, any wishes, requests?
Over many months, it had become a habit for Sairon Carter to converse with HER, though she never once showed that SHE was interested. He knew that SHE most likely understood him, possessing a telepathic gift, but that was all. Just the mundane words he spoke every day helped preserve his sanity while working with the TRANSCENDENTAL.
Three years ago, upon first seeing planet RCX74MN on the shuttle's view screen, the then still very young bioengineer immediately forgot its cumbersome number. His predecessor had been Jonathan Size, a specialist biochemist temporarily assigned to the crew of the long-range reconnaissance cruiser "Prayer," flagship of the Imperial Fleet, which still hung in geostationary orbit over the planet he had discovered. Now he held in his hands the first and last report written by Size, which he had read dozens of times—declared violently insane, he had been taken to Earth, where he died in a psychiatric hospital ward. Composed by a professional, it had only one drawback—it contained no description of the planet's only intelligent species, which also happened to be the only animal life form.
The newsreel footage was never shown to the general public, though triumphant words about another successful operation of the Star Fleet sounded from every crack.
... The agonizingly slow separation of the landing module with thousands of people on board from the cruiser's bulk, a successful landing, the solemn moment of opening the airlocks, filmed by automatic robots. On the black soil—pure black earth, recognized as a standard of fertility—grew only one type of plant, which, for lack of a better term, was called hyper-trees. Adult specimens reached hundreds of meters in diameter and mind-boggling heights, often exceeding a kilometer. A completely different cellular structure was, nevertheless, based on chlorophyll synthesis. Hundreds of representatives of this strange world's flora lived on them, connected to their life system, bringing benefit or harm. "A plant planet!"—the settlers decided and allowed themselves to relax. Only later was the extreme xenophobia of these beings proven to them, beings who had known only themselves for millions of years. And back then, the cruiser's crew helplessly watched the slaughter, filmed by those same impartial robots...
He didn't know if SHE looked at him when he wasn't looking at HER, but as soon as he even glanced sideways at the creature under the indestructible transparent dome, emerald, cat-shaped eyes, without the slightest sign of pupils, immediately began to devour his soul. Looking into them, he gazed into eternity itself.
The paradoxical star, with amazing constancy, had given light to this world for over 10 billion years. The course of evolution ground all fauna into dust, for unknown reasons sparing only the bearers of reason. He saw immortality with his own eyes, no, not of an individual, but of a species, unchanged for tens of millions of years.
The green eyes looked at him unblinking, or blinking simultaneously with him. SHE approached the barrier and placed her palms on the insurmountable barrier. Her slender body, as if cast in a fiery crucible from pure gold, easily arched at the spine. "She is beautiful!"—flashed involuntarily in his head for the umpteenth time.
... SHE is looking at him again! Her magnificent breasts, calling to taste the heat of the living Sun, swell with each day! Could she be a telepath to a much greater extent than he assumed? How else to explain her seductive poses, which became an echo of his inflamed imagination? Those eyes beckon him... No, not today! Tears streamed down his cheeks. Tonight she would come to him in his dreams again, seduce him with a movement of her hips, and torment him until morning with unearthly caresses... Sooner or later he would enter her, or go mad...
— — ———————————————
— God, what a fool I am!"—Sairon was continuously nauseous as he trudged down the cruiser corridor leading to the radio room, roughly pushed in the back by a paw with the sharpest claws. All his clothes were slashed by them, he was bleeding, oozing from one huge cut into which his body had turned. The first mistake was that he had entered her chamber after all. The second—that even under the threat of imagination-defying torture, he agreed to deliver her to the ship. "She played with me like a cat with a mouse!"—He was horrified, looking at the crew's corpses with blood oozing from their ears. Reaching the required door, he turned to HER, dying of terror...