Saturday, January 23, 2016
Conquering the Phobe Click Your Country to Read the Preview!
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Eidolon's Conquest
The Eidolon’s Conquest
The elite Eidolons were genetically engineered to have a lust for conquest, but after decades of war, peaceful trade with their enemy is now required for their survival. Since they have the upper hand, the Eidolons demand the custodianship of particular enemy soldiers to ensure the terms of their truce will not be violated.High Lord Deandred now possesses Rand, a cocky stealth fighter who caused him no end of trouble during the war. Deandred needs to satisfy his potent lust for conquest during the truce. Conquering Rand will be just the diversion he needs.
Surrendering to become a prisoner was never in Rand’s service contract—especially not when he’s being handed over to the super-human deviant who’s been trying to catch him for years. Now he’s just supposed to turn himself over? The Eidolons are known for doing things to prisoners that Rand would rather not experience. A thrilling sci-fi BDSMerotica tale by the author of UnPrison!
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Excerpt ~
"This
is an all frequencies message for the Rendono refinery saboteur."
Rand turned down the
volume on his communicator from where he hung upside-down in the abandoned
mine. The voice coming through was
human—not robotic. One of the elite
Eidolons was reaching out to him directly.
He felt mildly humbled.
"I'm
High Lord Deandred."
Rand's eyes
bulged. Whoa, the High Lord?
He
adjusted his grip on the metal loops he'd fused into the massive mine's
ceiling. A quick glance through the
night vision setting of his goggles confirmed his camouflage cloak was still
perfectly sealed against the rock. Even
if the robot soldiers looked right at him, they wouldn't detect him.
"We
know you're in the derelict mining cave.
All our forces are converging there.
We will find you. There's no
chance for you to escape. Given this
fact, I would like to negotiate for your surrender."
Rand swallowed down
some thick spittle. He wanted to take a
swig from his canteen, but the amount of movement that would cause might lead
to his detection. He nudged a button on
his communicator with his chin.
"If
you're so sure you're going to catch me, then why negotiate?"
Silence
followed for a few moments. Rand kept his ears perked for any movement in the cave. The mine floor was fifty feet below him.
"To
whom am I speaking?" Deandred said.
"Stealth
Fighter Rand." Rand said it without hesitation. He
didn't care if they knew who he was.
They'd still never catch him.
"Rand, it's my preference to take you alive.
However, since you're clearly the same saboteur who destroyed Krot-Den,
Hiver-1, and the machine factory in Chalbenex..."
Rand grinned as his
resume was ticked off. What a shame
Rendono's refinery couldn't be added to the list.
"...I
must stop you by any means necessary. Here's
what I offer: surrender and you will not be executed, you'll be provided a
comfortable cell and palatable food, and you will only suffer mild
torture."
The
word torture put an incredulous expression on his face. Rand wondered if this
was a sincere attempt to gain his surrender, or if High Lord Deandred was just
trying to throw him off his game. He'd
already impressed Rand with an ingenious booby-trap in the garbage chute
of the refinery's main building. The
fact Deandred not only knew Rand would strike
their most heavily guarded refinery, but also knew how he'd planned to
infiltrate it, blew Rand's mind.
For
the first time since he was drafted he'd finally found an Eidolon he considered
a worthy opponent.
He
decided to humor him.
"You
should have left out the torture part, High Lord."
"I
respect you enough not to lie to you."
Deandred had a smooth aristocratic voice. Rand could picture his
big Eidolon silhouette sitting coolly at a com station, legs crossed and his
long fingers coiled around a mic.
"Don't let the torture prevent you from making the proper decision,
Rand. I've
promised you it will be mild. Someone
with your level of physical and mental stamina will have no trouble enduring."
"Torture
is kind of a deal-breaker, High Lord."
"Torture
is the word your superiors use to describe our preferred method of dealing with
human prisoners. You know exactly what
I'm referring to. It will simply be
that, but performed without undue cruelty or injury to you."
Rand chuckled. Oh...so you want to fuck me. That's not what he would call torture, but
the Eidolons probably encountered straight soldiers most often. A rendezvous with one of the big muscly
Eidolons sounded appealing. He'd been
going through a daddy phase recently—well, for the last 6 years. If it was just pretend he'd be down for some
'mild torture.'
Since
he'd tripped a booby trap he was sure he'd been caught on security
cameras. Deandred had a chance to drink
in his lean body. Rand's eyes were concealed by goggles, but the rest of his face, red pouty
lips, a shapely chin with a thin goatee, and a blond pile of sultry tresses on
his head, must have looked good to him.
"All
right, you win. I surrender."
"Excellent."
The
two soldier robots who'd been searching below him moved too far away for Rand to hear their footfalls. He
turned off the communicator to move the hooks holding up his feet one at a time
so he could crawl forward on the ceiling.
"I'm all the way in the back of the mine, down the old elevator
shaft that's caved in. I did that. You have to dig through."
"Understood."
While
Deandred answered he placed his foot where his hand had been and moved another
hook forward to continue crawling upside-down.
"I'm
three floors down. I'll meet your robots
in front of the elevator. Then I'll hand
over my weapons."
A
sleek ship flew into the mine, destroying an old fence blocking the entrance as
it did. Rand scampered out onto the side of the cliff after the nose passed him.
"I'm
extremely pleased. I shall reward your
cooperation."
Rand rock-climbed down
and towards the right where the remains of a dead forest met the bottom of the
cliff. He only checked his trajectory
once, and then kept his head hidden beneath his camouflaging cloak. He moved fast, but with the rhythm of a leaf
bug, bandying from side to side so that he merged into the fluctuating shadows
the smog clouds caused. The sun was
finally in the right position to cover his movements.
"Okay,
High Lord. Remember your promise to
uh...you know, be gentle with me."
He clicked off his communicator to laugh. As if he'd sign on as a sadistic eidolon's
fuck-toy; he was far too skilled to actually get caught.
"Rand, I hope you're not so foolish as to be trifling with me now."
This
got rid of his smile. Damn this guy is
good.
"Even
if you think you've found a means to escape, your people have no chance of
winning this war. You'll be my prisoner
eventually. I have your face mapped,
Rand Kalyx. I don't forget those who've
slighted me."
Deandred
impressed him once again by discovering his last name so quickly.
"I'd
never trifle with you, High Lord."
His
feet touched the ground, but he remained camouflaged to scan for soldier
robots. The only ones visible were in
the distance, heading for the trail that led up the cliff.
Rand bolted at an
immediate sprint away from the mine. He
hugged the cliff bottom for half a mile, then ran deeper into Eidolon
territory. They'd search for him in the
direction of the border once his ruse was discovered. By going deeper into the wasp's nest he knew
he could hit a ship depot. Once it got
dark he could steal a ride out of there.
Maybe
he'd plant the bomb he'd meant for Rendono-5 there while he was at it. Since he'd already pissed off the High Lord
he might as well go big.
* ** *** * *** ** * * ** *** * *** ** ** ** *** *
*** ** ** ** *** * *** ** *
Two
months later. Delphi Headquarters.
Rand stood in the
doorway of a giant lecture arena crammed full of new draftees. His arms were crossed and he leaned against
the doorjamb while only half listening to the aging sergeant on the central
stage below.
"Delphi's advantage has always been numbers," the general with
noncompliant shaggy facial hair said.
"For all their robots, machines, and mech vehicles, the Eidolons
are only 500 individuals. Probably less
than that now. You've heard of
Gizmoidon, that super computer piece of shit.
Gizmoidon made all his elite super soldiers all male. They can't breed with humans, so they can
only be made, and word has it Gizmoidon is out of the resources he needs to
make any more of them. They're tough to
kill, what with super strength and bodies that handle trauma better than any of
our armor, but it's not impossible. We
wipe out 500 of these bastards and we win this thing. Then blow up Gizmoidon and it's all over. We get to turn the clock back 50 years before
these fuckers started ruining everyone's lives."
A
major general named Skip tapped Rand's shoulder. Rand glanced briefly
at the olive-skinned man, then looked back at the stage.
"What
are you listening to this for?" Skip said.
"You know it inside and out."
"I'm
waiting for him to get to the part about Gizmo-fuck programming his super-twats
with a 'need for conquest'. I want to
see if he's going to mention the fact that it turned them all into
perverts."
Skip's
mouth screwed to one side. "I
wouldn't say perverts exactly. Some
people are into the same kinks on our side."
"That's
how they learned it all. Spankings and
nipple-clamps." He turned to Skip
with a brow raised. "You into that
shit?"
"Who,
me?" Skip incriminated himself by
laughing nervously. He cleared his
throat abruptly. "Are you here for
that meeting with High Command?"
"How
do you know about that?"
"Brigadier
Hornet sent me to sit in for him. He's
doing maneuvers on the equator islands."
"Huh." Rand pushed himself
off the door jam to start walking.
"Must be some big shit going on if they're calling in brigadiers."
Skip
kept stride with him. "There's been
rumbles about a truce."
"There's
always rumbles. Shit never
happens."
They
went to the end of the broad corridor. Rand opened a panel on the wall and leaned down for his eyeball to be
scanned. A capsule elevator came up from
the clear cylinder in front of them and sleek metal doors slid open. Rand and Skip entered.
"You
better have clearance, you little twerp, riding on my eyeball ticket."
"Hornet
called ahead for me. I was his highest
ranking subordinate on base." He
shifted his weight. "You know,
technically, I outrank you."
"No
one outranks me," Rand said while
staring straight ahead. "I'm the
only one in this fucked up army that gets shit done."
The
elevator descended seven floors and then opened to a lighted corridor walled
with steel. Rand led the way toward forbidding doors at the end.
Another
eyeball scan caused the left door to pop open.
They entered into a long conference room with a table that seated
thirty. All the chairs were full of
their highest-ranking officers except for the two empty seats nearest to their
rotund Master General, Sidmory Gray.
Standing behind each chair, causing Rand to hesitate in the doorway, were armed soldiers. To the untrained eye they might have appeared
to be low-ranking infantry, but Rand recognized enough
faces to know they were all stealth fighters, like him.
Sidmory
stood and scowled across the table at them.
"Finally."
Rand entered, followed
sheepishly by Skip.
"You're
late, you dumb fuck," Sidmory said to Rand.
Rand pulled out the
chair kitty-corner to the General and sat.
"I was hoping to miss the boring shit."
Skip
took the chair beside him. The General's
wizened eyes moved to him.
"Why
the fuck couldn't your brigadier make it?"
Skip
fidgeted with his hands. "He
uh...he's doing maneuvers down by the equator."
Sidmory
resumed his seat. "No
shit." He gestured to the man on
the other side of him, seated across from Rand. "And Brigadier Hern was in
South Quadrant." His hand moved
toward another man. "Jeck was up in
Moors Bay. He should have took a fucking hover jet and
got his ass in here."
Skip
turned up his hands and shrugged.
The
General snuffled at him with a sneer.
Then he placed his entwined fingers on the table and looked out toward
the rest of them.
"Fine. I'll get right to it. Gentlemen, we have a truce."
Rand's eyes bulged. The gathering erupted into cheers. Most of the men rose from their chairs to
give celebratory handshakes to each other while bursting with happy expletives.
Rand used the
commotion to draw a blade out of his thigh pocket. He prepared it in his clenched fist between
his ring and middle fingers.
Sidmory
remained stone-faced in his seat.
"Sit the fuck down. You
haven't heard the terms yet."
Only
a few smiles erased as the gathering resumed their chairs.
Sidmory
opened a plain white folder. "For
the last few weeks the word from our spies has all been the same. The Eidolons are running out of
resources. Their mines are tapped-out,
their seas have gone dry due to last year's drought, there's only 500 of them
and they're even running low on food.
They've been cannibalizing their own shit just to maintain the border."
"That's
what our scientists said would happen for years," Brigadier Jeck said. "They were plundering the land like
there was no tomorrow, speeding up their own desertification in the
process."
Sidmory
flipped a page in his folder.
"Yeah, well it's finally happened.
We always say our best advantage over the Eidolons is our numbers. It's more than that. We hold the wet side of the world. We've got all the planet's resources. Now they need them. They've gotten desperate."
"So
they have to play ball," a colonel major Rand didn't remember the name of said.
"Why the Hell can't we celebrate?"
Sidmory
slammed his fist down on the papers.
"Because the Eidolons never have to play ball! They've got the fucking bomb, remember? They can end this war any time they want by
blowing our cities to smithereens."
"Then
they'd destroy all our resources...the stuff they need," Skip said, almost
too quietly to be heard.
The
Master General looked at him.
"They'd destroy a big chunk of what they need, but not all of
it. They'd have enough to get by until
the scorched areas recovered. That's
what they were headed for. Spies
reported they were melting down mech vehicles to make warheads. Big ones." He closed the folder. "When the Eidolons get desperate, we all
have to get desperate. That's just how
it is. They'll always outmatch us on
weaponry."
All
the smiles were gone now.
"How
did this lead us to a truce?" Jeck said.
The
anger lines on Sidmory's face deepened.
"Because we begged them. We
got down on our fucking knees and begged.
Don't bomb us. Let's open up
trade. Ore is out of the question, but water, food, wood, all
that shit we got plenty of and they got none of, we'll open trade with them for
it. Our trucks will haul it in to their
territories. Get them out of panic mode—their
finger off the button. Get ourselves a
truce in the meantime."
"They're
not going to open the border to Delphi
vehicles," Brigadier Hern said with his dark eyes opened wide. "We'd sneak in every stealth fighter,
every bomb, every spy we have!"
Sidmory
lowered his eyes. "They're asking
to hold collateral for the duration of the truce to make sure we don't pull any
shit like that."
Rand hid his knife
clenching hand in his pocket and shot up from his seat. "You know...I just remembered there's
somewhere I need to be."
The
stealth fighter behind him placed a strong hand on his shoulder. Rand darted him a
seething glare.
"Sit
the fuck down, Rand," Sidmory said.
Rand shifted the glare
to him. Then he took a quick glance around
to see that the rest of the stealth fighters had all fixed on him. The hands not on their weapons were close to
the pockets where their stunners were housed.
Rand fumed through his
nostrils. "Well, fuck." He lowered back into his seat. The stealth fighter removed the hand on him,
but stayed close behind him.
Sidmory
eyed him a few seconds before continuing. "We're going to let them hold 4,986 of
our men for the duration of the truce."
Gasps
and groans passed through the gathering.
"We
violate their trust in any way, they decide how many men they get to kill in
return."
Jeck
clenched his teeth. "Fuck!"
"They've
agreed to humane internment for 4,500 of our men. No torture.
We get to approve the prisoner encampments before handing over the
soldiers. The men who volunteer to be
prisoners will get traded out for new prisoners at the end of their service
contract. They'll be prisoners five
years max, and then get to go home."
"You
think this truce is going to last more than five years?" Hern said.
"We
want this truce to last forever, to turn into a treaty." He moved his gaze over each of them
slowly. "This war isn't sustainable
for the Eidolons. Over fifty years we've
proven that. They're never going to have
enough resources to beat us with robots and machines. Either they finally bomb us to oblivion or
they sign a lasting treaty. I'm saying
it's worth going for a treaty no matter what the cost. Even if we have to cede the balance of power
to them. If that's what it takes then
let them call the shots. The war isn't
sustainable for us either. They lose
robots—hunks of metal—every time we battle.
We lose men. Human lives. Tens of thousands of them every year. We are taking the gamble on lasting peace,
letting them know we're willing to bow down if that's what it takes to end the
war. We're going to make peace too good
for them to give up this truce. And
we're going to do it with a fucking smile, because this is what our people
need. It's got to end. Let's end it."
Rand scratched a circle
into the patina of the wooden table.
"Gee, sounds great. I just can't
help but notice—"
"You're
expecting our men to volunteer to be prisoners?" Jeck said.
Sidmory
looked at him. "Yes. That's right.
Twenty percent of funds earned in trade with the Eidolons will be put in
a bonus fund for the prisoners. We're
talking about an astronomical amount.
Each prisoner will get that bonus at the end of their service contract. They won't have to work a single day as a
civilian."
"That
just leaves one tiny detail," Rand said.
"I'll
get swamped with volunteers from my unit alone," Jeck said. "It won't be for the money, either. If this is something that will end the war
they'll put their asses on the line for it.
It's worth it."
"I
want men from all of your units. An
equal amount from each. I don't want any
of you seeing an opportunity with the trade vehicles and making a gamble that
might cost us lives. We're playing
nice. By their rules. We're not going to fuck this up."
"Even
if we have a chance to blow up Gizmoidon?" someone else Rand didn't know the name of said.
"We
don't do shit, you understand me? We
want peace. We are not going to violate
their trust in any way. If that changes
in the future the order will come straight down from me. For now, going forward, you bow the fuck down
and do everything it takes to keep the Eidolons happy."
Rand placed his
forehead in his hand. "Aw, geez."
"Spit
it out, Rand," Sidmory said without looking at him.
"4,500
soldiers get to take a vacation in a nice little prison camp. What about the other 486?"
"4,985
men are going to be handed over as collateral prisoners. Every volunteer is going to be told up front
that there's a ten percent chance they might be chosen to become the comfort
slave of an Eidolon. These prisoners
don't get to come home after their service term is up. They'll stay prisoners as long as a truce or
treaty is in place."
Rand put his face in
both his hands now and let out an exaggerated sigh of anguish.
Jeck
started to talk, but Hern cut him off.
"Comfort slave? What the
Hell does that mean?"
"It
means exactly what you fucking think.
It's what we're willing to do to keep the Eidolons happy. We needed to give them a way for them get
their conquest programming bullshit out of their system so they wouldn't be
itching to go back to war. It was the berry
on the cake that got them to agree to the truce—the only way they'd do
it." He paused to swallow. "Some of our men are going to end up
being sacrifices. It's just what it took
to get it done. And you're going to tell
them that before you ask for volunteers.
They have a right to know."
Rand heard movement
and darted to look. The stealth fighters
were slowly converging on him. If he
stabbed the one behind him in the neck, then threw Sidmory into the three in
front of him, he could hop the table and—
"Rand," Sidmory said, "Put the knife away. We talk first, understood?"
Now
the knife was no longer in play—they'd probably disabled the elevator,
too. He could take Sidmory as a
hostage...but...no. They all had to have
sleeper darts for him.
He
buttoned the knife back into his thigh pocket.
An icy numbness started spreading through his middle.
"That's
4,985 accounted for," Rand said. "What about the 4,986th?"
Sidmory
signaled with a tip of his chin for the other attendees to back off. Skip quietly exited the seat next to
him. All the officers grouped by the
door, the furthest distance away from him allowed by the room. The stealth fighters now surrounded him and
Sidmory. Two climbed onto the table to
block his final avenue of escape.
"You're
Mister 4,986. You're the only one they
asked for by name."
Rand met his
eyes. Nothing in his voice indicated how
cold his spit had gotten. "So I get
to go to a nice prison camp and relax for the rest of my contract?"
Sidmory
shook his head.
Rand had to start
breathing through his mouth. His chest
was shaking; his hands trembled with the dire urge to launch an attack. He tried to draw up enough spittle to form a
word.
"Deandred?"
"He's
their leader, Rand. If you can keep his
need for conquest satisfied he's not going to want to restart the war. It's his call. You're going to be able to influence
him. You could save hundreds of
thousands of lives."
"He'll
torture me until I'm half dead!"
"That's
not how he wants to use you. Don't make
me force you, Rand. You've been my best
asset for three years—but think of what's at stake."
He
dropped his head and shoulders onto the table while letting out another
anguished sigh. "Just fucking dart
me."
He
saw Sidmory nose a signal to the stealth fighter behind him. A second later he felt a prick in his
neck. Then, blissful unconsciousness.
* ** *** * *** ** * * ** *** * *** ** ** ** *** *
*** ** ** ** *** * *** ** *
"Hey."
Someone
was speaking over the noise of an engine.
The sounds made Rand dream of being
back at the flight school he'd lied his way into at age 15. In the dream he was abandoning the pilot's
seat to leap off the plane with a parachute.
He had a strong need to get away.
He didn't remember why.
"Come
on, Rand. Wake
up."
A
pungent stench assaulted his nostrils. Rand jolted awake. He immediately
became aware of his constricted movements.
His wrists were belted to the armrests of a cabin seat. His ankles were bound together. Tight seatbelts made an X across his
shoulders and torso.
He
jerked to test the restraints again.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck! What's going on!"
"Calm
down."
He
looked in front of him while hyperventilating.
Master General Sidmory and another soldier Rand didn't know were seated side-by-side across from him.
"Everything's
going to be okay," Sidmory said.
"Just take a deep breath and calm yourself down."
"What...what's
going on?"
"You're
on the transport to take you into Rendono to deliver you to High Lord
Deandred."
"How
is that okay!"
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