BEGIN TRANSMISSION (Orbital Period 73442 – Spring)

I was old, fifteen winters, fifty-one children. By Earth years, I’m not sure, but my hair had turned white five winters back and I felt like a prune. Even with all of Bob’s toys shoved in my genes and decent Mylth health care, I was becoming a burden. Grace never said anything but i saw it when he held me, when he touched me. I broke too easily now, I wasn’t able to keep up with him on his wanderings. A burden to be sure.

Caitlyn, Ella and Rylld were all reared now and hunting their own food. I was almost too frail to gather. So with false cheer I bid my family a quiet goodbye and wobbled my way to the shore. Dale came along to carry my supplies as usual ask me endless questions about the species I’d fucked. In some ways he was the most human of my children, curious and excited. In other ways he reminded me of Bob.

Dale had come back two winters ago after watching my old Xenography recordings. He in some ways, knew more about the animals I’d mated with than I did. What he lacked was my insights and feelings at the time. So he’d returned with a head full of questions and spent all summer making me relive my worst nightmares.

Now his interests had shifted, “I saw the flat recordings of you on Earth too, you know? Tell me about your home and—humans.” So I did, all the way to the sea. He asked me questions I couldn’t answer, questions that left me confused and upset. He had questions about xenography recordings of me, that did not exist in my memory. He asked me how I had survived the tree beetles, for I’d certainly undergone severe brain damage due to oxygen starvation. He asked me where my scars were, from the slugs and the insects, and things I didn’t remember. I had no scars, I had no answers for him. I told him I will explain when I returned, before fall.

So I left him upon that shore, most of his questions unanswered, and he watched me sail away. Next spring, he would go to Earth he said, meet his extended family. I told him to be careful. I had another destination in mind, for myself, and knew I’d never see him again.

This planet was a nature reserve, a park, and the Mylth who lived here were half back-to-nature hippies, half park rangers. But I wasn’t Mylth, so the technology interdiction didn’t exactly apply to me. One of the concession made—aside from the solar heater to keep me warm through the winter—was a data link to the outpost library. At a whim, I looked up Bob, his proper name was “Kluptetsstlikhushlpshthap,” but I stuck with Bob. He had been released three winters back and was now working in a Fsshalushthepian shipyard, in sales. It fit, Bob’s used spaceships. I cackled at my own wit. By accident I ran across the case files from the trial and learned the nature of my last commission, something called the Yartethe, a native lifeform of the planet Ayyalpt 4, this planet.

The data link had very little information on the species, why the commission had been made in the first place. I knew they lived deep in the mountains of the proving grounds, were highly dangerous, and had survived the terraforming process against all odds. Maybe it was Dale’s questions, maybe it was an old woman’s nostalgia, maybe it was the old suicidal impulses returned. I just got curious.

Betty Human, Xenobiologist, setting off for strange and alien shores one last time. Wryly I thought the truth; Betty Holmann, Dog fucker, pervert to the stars, off to kill herself, in shame. Really, my only shame was raising my children in depravity as well. Grace claimed it was genetic traits, but nature vs nurture, I felt nurture had done more damage. The worst were pronouns and stereotypes, I felt I could never shake them. Mylth didn’t have gender, but somehow all my kids did.

I’d never put much stock in original sin, or religion in general. Maybe I was wrong, maybe we Humans were… are inherently tainted. Maybe I now sailed in search of absolution, to excise my depravity… or maybe to exercise it! I worried about Dale as well; off on his own Quixotic quest to discover what it meant to be Human. He wouldn’t find it on Earth.

The other shore was a lot like I remembered. Beautiful beaches, tall trees, endless mutterings of wildlife in the canopy. I sailed along until I found a river, figuring it would unerringly lead me to the mountains. I beached the craft, dragged it into the trees, and wedged it in place. Grace would find it if he really wanted, when he learned I was gone.

I followed the river, an easy walk along its mossy banks. I slept in the roots of the trees, ate whatever I felt like, and drank straight from the stream. It was my past all over again with some nostalgic urge, I stripped my clothes away, keeping only my walking stick and shoes.

I had a moment of Deja Vu as I climbed over a boulder. I had been here before, half a lifetime ago. The river, wide and broad with late spring melt, could have once been a late fall brook. This was were I first rested with Grace.

The hills were steep, the ground rippled with treacherous roots, I moved along slowly with the stream kept to my left. Its banks were no longer pathable, it cut through stone with deep ravines and gushing falls, but it was always within earshot.

Food became scarce, even with my tolerance for toxins that would kill a dozen Mylth. In my last climb through the foothills, the day was spent hungry and cold. I regretted throwing away my clothes. I was starting to regret coming at all. Things were always distorted in memory, I had glossed over much of the discomfort involved.

Then I was in a cold rocky pass with my little river cascading icily off the boulders to my left. The mist, whenever the wind was right, dampened my skin and left me shivering. How much farther, I wondered, until I met my first Yaltethe.

I activated my data link and started taking notes. The signal was weak, this far from the outpost, but it was enough for text. Not that anyone could read English, the Mylthe didn’t use a written language anymore.

After hundred feet further up the pass, I found a dry hollow, worn by centuries of glacial melt. The river had changed course some time ago and left this eddy dry. There I rested, waiting, both afraid and excited.

I was awoken in the middle of the night. I didn’t know what by, but I woke with a bone trembling shiver from the cold and a racing heart. It would be just my luck if I died from a heart attack or hypothermia before the Yaltothe got to me. So I stretched, climbed to my feet, and paced to work some heat into my old bones.

I stopped dead as a weird clatter, like stone chimes, reached my ears. It was that which had woken me, I’m sure. I strained to hear more but there was only the wind and the distant roar of the river. So I sat with my knees to my chest to keep warm and stared into the dark.

It was cloudy, likely raining in the forest below and snow on the peaks above. Here it was blissfully dry. I couldn’t see my hand before my face, though, without the brilliant starlight. The clatter happened again and this time it didn’t stop. I couldn’t see what made it, but in seconds it was all around me.

Cold rough hide, jagged teeth and claws, hard, impossibly heavy bodies. That was my first impression as they took me down like a pack of hyenas on a gazelle. I bled, I screamed, I was dragged into the mountains—alive. I did hope those were the Yaltethe, I didn’t want to be dragged naked over jagged scree for nothing!

Ch.2

I woke with a jarring thud as they dropped me from their teeth. I couldn’t use my right arm, the tendon was cut. My back felt raw and bloody. And my foot was broken where one had stepped on it. All in all, I was a mess. At least it was warmer here, well out of the wind. A cave I thought by the clattering echo. There had to be thousands of them around me.

Dawn came on dim and gray. I found myself in a sandy pit underground. My first sight of one of my new captors was a surprise. He looked like a stone dog crossed with a Gila monster and a Shetland pony. If not for the craggy face and snaggle-toothed maw, it was almost cute. It was also clinging to the wall like a gecko on glass, staring at me.

I looked up to see hundreds more clinging to the walls and ceiling. Different sizes and colors, some with shards broken off or gouges taken from their sides when they moved, they clattered like a bag full of slate. When they stood still they were silent and nearly indistinguishable from the nearby stone.

As one, they bulged their throats and crooned, like some sort of bullfrog. The sound was felt more than heard but so loud I was sure my skull would crack. The croon stopped and one stepped over the lip of the pit and walked down the wall. He never touched the sand, just stopped short.

He was huge, as large as a donkey, and the others made room for him. Their pack leader perhaps? Head toward the floor, he lifted his hind legs and draped his tail over himself, exposing his backside. The hard rocky flesh cracked, a penis, or something like it emerged. It glowed faintly, as if hot, and it curved back, following his tail until it pointed in my direction.

It ejaculated a stream at high speed across the pit and I tried to push away. I used the wrong foot and gasped in pain. The hot splash landed on my thighs, dripped between and over my, old, ragged, naked sex. That gasp turned into a scream as my skin burned from both heat and something chemical; I grabbed a fist full of sand and tried to rub it off but it was as thick and sticky as tar.

The big one crooned, and the rest lifted their tails. I had only seconds to make sense of what was happening. A hundred alien genitalia all aimed my way. The burn in my loins enough to tell me, I was totally and utterly fucked. Then nearly in unison the tribe released. I was immediately drenched, no room to evade, no cover to protect myself. Head to toe, I was introduced to the burning fires of hell.

My stay was not brief. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t think for weeks on end. The wax and wane of daylight was a dim frail memory. Only the occasional return of a hellhound and his spray of burning spunk made an impact. Eventually even my outer flesh grew numb to the pain, it only came as a wash of sensations.

When I dragged my mind back from the small, dark, terrified abyss it had been; I found no discomfort. The hellhounds still came came regularly and the pit was full of murky gray sludge, ever rising. But I was fully submerged. I’m not sure when, but I had stopped breathing. I’m not sure how, but I was still alive.

I felt strange, distant, detached, I swam through the mud, breathing it, drinking it. But it seemed somehow disappointing. I had breathed in fluids before, without drowning, but this was different. When my keepers came, for a moment I felt excitement, and as their release hit the mud I felt a burst of sensation. It was always a stark disappointment as the sensation faded. An addiction I perpetually needed more to satisfy, but perpetually was granted less.

Then the day came, I rose from the mud, drawn to the pack leader. His tail hung in the air over me, waving slowly. He clung to the wall, snout up, penis out, erect and glowing. It was to that glow I was drawn. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but my mind had forgotten how. Instead I swam up, rose belly first to the surface and lifted my hips.

My legs had long ago fused into a tail, there was only a hint of pelvis and cleft of labia left. I pushed myself up, offering my gray skinned sex to him. He took me, hanging from the wall. When his penis parted my folds and kissed my entrance, his light went out. It went out with a jolt like a car battery to my clit but no pain.

With that shock, my hunger, for that’s was it was, was sated. He thrust, I swallowed him into my womb. A connection formed and I felt heat, energy and his his scalding hot, viscous semen pouring into me. No orgasm in my life had ever felt so satisfying as that gift of his essence!

When he was gone, with my protruding belly full, I slept and sank to the bottom of the pit. My dreams were filled with stone dogs. I was playing, fighting, and even coming to feed the pit. I was, in my dreams, the aliens, and felt their endless love and desire for me.

When I woke again, I was bigger. Or the pit at least seemed smaller. I ached, a familiar ache, an ache I had felt every spring. One by one I birthed rough shelled eggs, my new children. I felt them keenly, dim awareness of quiescent minds fast asleep. I also felt the pack, though in contrast, they were distant and cold.

A memory surfaced as I laid my eggs and I touched the data link. It was still active. I checked the time and found it was spring again, a year since I left, For a while I took notes, feeling almost myself..then the pack returned.

My eggs were floating on the surface of the mud like clumps of foam. I stayed close to them, watched them from below. The pack came and began to steal them. I swam up and bit at the lowest, he scooted back, then sprayed me with ejaculate. For a time I relaxed as the soothing flow of warmth and energy calmed me. When I roused again, my babies had all been stolen and the pit was empty of all but me.

Weeks passed, then the leader came again, calling to me, crooning his desire and an offer of satisfaction. Cognitively I knew it was a trick, I knew he would just steal my eggs again. Cognition was poor counter to lust and instinct. I swam up and near leaped to take his glowing member in my mouth.

The pleasure was better than I remembered. I also felt his pleased satisfaction as I began to suckle. The initial spark left me quivering, as his semen began to flow and empty its charged reward own my gullet—I was one long powerful orgasm. The xenobiologist in me noted the system of reward and training, like I was a dog doing a trick. Still, I swallowed that gritty, sour ooze and wanted more.

When he left, I began crooning to the others, offering to satisfy them, just as he had crooned to me. One, small and young, came close and presented himself. I lept and knocked him from the wall, dragged him to the bottom of my pool and impaled myself on his penis.

I could feel his heat and energy being pulled out of him into the mud. I could feel his panic as I rode him. I could also feel his helpless bliss as he came and came. The leader always pulled out too soon, before he was empty. My new lover didn’t have that choice. He clawed at me, he cried for help, he bit...But my hide was much too thick and he was deep under the mud.

I fell asleep, lost in the orgasmic bliss, his penis still weakly emptying into me as I drank the life from him. He was the battery and I was the ground. I slumbered happy and full.

Ch.3

They stole my eggs again before I could imprint on them. I came to realize, the pit was a trap, so they could enslave their queen. They shared a mental song, a oneness, a state I only glimpsed and was not invited within. My babies would, if imprinted, give me that oneness.

When the leader game again to impregnate me, he didn’t look so big. I tried to knock him into the pool, to make him mine, but he held fast. I relented to baser instincts and let him breed me again on his terms. I did add six more stonedog corpses to the one at the bottom of my pool before drifting back into dream. Next year, they won’t steal my eggs! I vowed to drain every last drop from their leader and crush his skull in my teeth.

Under me, the last remaining stonedog, thrashed as his fatal orgasm neared its end. I flicked my tail, crushing him under my thighs, and felt him shatter with a sickening cry, then go forever still. It took me a moment to tear his broken penis from my sex using my teeth.

Ch.4

I was hungry, I felt cold, I woke with the discomfort of birth well underway. The surface of the pool was already scummed with eggs by the thousands and they had been collecting for days while I slept and starved. In my dreams I ordered to be fed, demanded, but they were not of my dream; they did not obey.

I was so weak from laying and hunger. I couldn’t knock any stone dogs free to feed upon. I just stared at them from my back at the bottom of the pool as my last strength went into expelling the froth of eggs. They bobbed to the surface and were collected.

When it was over, I lay half in, half in torpor, half in aware agony. High above I watched the leader stand, his silvery brightness mocked me. He sat back on his haunches, exposed his shining spire, and crooned at me his lusty offer. I squirmed, too weak to even surface while instincts wanted to mate.

He ejaculated into the pool above me. That hot, glowing, murky fluid cooled and faded into the pond, only a tiny taste of fresh energy in the thousands of gallons of stale, cold semen. I knew it for what it was, a final insult, a mockery. It was his seed that had made me, his would be the last I tasted as I died.

In desperation I crooned to the pack, but the cave was empty. I couldn’t even feel the periphery of their dream as my pool cooled and I slipped deeper into torpor.

Alone, I longed for Grace, or even Bob to come rescue me. It was a hopeless thought. I had wanted this, i knew what it would cost me, but I had wanted this. With my last ounce of dignity, I wrote a final, detailed entry on the link. The last act of a fake Xenobiologist,

“If anyone out there ever reads this, know, I died doing what I loved most in life.” (note, Orbit 73446)

“I wonder if there are dogs in hell?” (Note, Orbit 73448)

“Bug, probably bugs.” (Note, Orbit 73452)

“...Lava cum spiders.” (Note, Orbit 73453)

“Motesy strands last squash?” (Note, Orbit 73456)

“T...slg m`t ipy^qu!” (Note, Orbit 73468 – Fall)

END TRANSMISSION (Orbital Period 73469 – Winter)

Note: The account does appear to be of the Yaltethe. From the account they seem to be an inorganic life, perhaps silicon and take primarily electrochemical sustenance. Perhaps even pure electricity. This may also indicate they are a sentient, if pre-tool use society. I now understand how they could have survived the terraforming process.

~Xwbiologist Olnodaln (Dale) Human

04/02/2019

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