The Revenge of Excalibur (17 page)

Excalibur's chest rumbled as he chuckled. “A few of my Shalits have agreed that after their one-year stent has expired, they will pop up here or there, appearing in their true energy forms, lighting the skies with their spectacular silver bolts. Panth and I agreed he will inform his people these Shalits are under his rule. The Calens and Eilsel's already fear the Teth Rangoons; this just adds another measure of control over the three worlds. Eventually, the people will conform to the new government, and the Shalits will never be seen again.”

Pam nodded her head. “Sounds like a good plan. With his Queens behind him, Panth will lead Teth, along with Calen and Eilsel to a better future. Now, where were we?” she asked with a sultry smile, her fingers slowly wandering down his muscular stomach.

*Ahem! I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but are you and your boyfriend done giving these two horny, old ladies a peep show?*

*You insufferable man!* Olso sputtered with indignation. *Why we agreed to save you, I have no idea.*

*Because you love me. And you know it. Now quit squawking, and let's get going.*

Pam burst out laughing. Ever since
Weesa
absorbed Arthur's life force, he and Olso had been picking and nagging at each other like an old married couple. She didn't know how Daisy and Emeara could stand the constant bickering. Of course, they didn't have a choice. *Father, where are you?*

*We're orbiting Lear. You need to return to Earth, and see your mother. I'm sure she's worried sick about you. I'd really like to see Ruth again, too.*

Pam grinned up at Excalibur. “Looks like we'll have to continue this another day.” She kissed him, fondling his growing organ.

“Oh, you are a tease, my little one,” Excalibur whispered, the breeding lust flashing from his eyes.

“You've done this to me, my love,” Pam whispered back. Then BLIP! she was aboard the
Weesa,
fully clothed, sitting in the captain's chair on Excalibur's lap. Her mind flashed back to the first time she'd sat on his lap, in this same chair. She'd been overwhelmed with all the sexual and emotional feelings he brought out in her, and she ran from them. Now, he was hers, and she was his.

She sighed with happiness. “Okay, let's go home.”

2026 London, England

Ruth sipped her tepid tea as she finished proofreading the latest entry in her journey. The alarm on her watch beeped, startling her from her reading. With a smile, she shut the lid on her laptop. Time for her visit with Arthur and Daisy.

Has it only been ten years?
she wondered, rising from her desk, and gliding to the window overlooking her garden. She frowned, toying with the ring on her necklace. The garden just didn't look the same since Michael retired.

Ten years ago, her daughter disappeared. Ruth had been frantic, not knowing where she went. She couldn't believe her daughter would leave without letting her know. Ruth hoped Pamela went searching for her father, which led to more panic as she didn't think Pamela was up for the challenge. Then, six days later, she returned with an unbelievable story. Ruth chuckled softly. Pam even had pictures to prove it.

Ruth strolled over to her desk, then picked up the latest edition of
Variety
magazine. She studied the front page where a handsome blond-haired man with piercing blue eyes stared back at her. Next to him, a stunning raven-haired woman with a silver, zig-zag streak stood beaming up at him. His name was Cal Foley, the hottest male movie star in Hollywood. Women flocked to his blockbuster movies. Not that she blamed them. He was a hunk.

Ruth shook her head. Every time she saw Cal, she couldn't believe he was the Shalit trapped in the legendary sword, Excalibur. She'd told Pamela her only hope for love was out in the stars, but she never expected her daughter to come home with a Shalit. Ruth smiled. They were so in love. It was obvious from the way they looked at each other, and the fact they couldn't keep their hands off each other, even after ten years.

Because of their love, Ruth had three grandchildren, Frank, Deborah, and Susan. Ruth smiled again, her fingers caressing their shining faces in a picture frame on the desk. They were a handful, and Pamela and Cal adored them. Ruth tried not spoiling them, but it was so hard not to. Even Arthur and Daisy went overboard with their displays of affection. They were always BLIPPING! off to someplace or another with their grandchildren.

Ruth glanced at her watch, frowning. They were late. She sighed. Arthur and Olso must be fighting, again. Ruth still couldn't believe Arthur died. He'd seemed so invincible, larger than life. Now, he was a part of a living ship called
Weesa.
The first time
Weesa
visited her and Greg, she'd broken down crying. Ruth shrugged.
I always thought I'd see Arthur again, some day, just not as a space ship.

Against Greg's protests, Arthur had placed a force-field under his skin, so she could share her long life with her husband. Since then, Ruth and Greg had taken many trips with Arthur and Daisy. Ruth touched her necklace again.
And, the wonders we've seen. I never thought I'd be gallivanting around the universe.
In fact, they were supposed to be visiting Panth and his wives today as they were celebrating their ten-year anniversary. Ruth shook her head. That had taken some getting used to, seeing people with four arms and legs.

The library door opened, and in stepped Greg, a smile lighting up his tanned face. “Are they late, again?”

Ruth nodded, gliding over to her husband, and wrapping her arms around his trim waist. He folded his arms around her, pulling her close. She took a deep breath, loving his scent. Every time he came back from the golf course, he smelled of sunshine, fresh air, and sweat. A combination she found irresistible.

She tilted her head back, offering her lips for a kiss, which he claimed with his own. Their kiss deepened, and Ruth felt Greg's response pressing into her thigh.
Maybe we should skip our trip, and stay home.

*Sex, sex, sex,* said Arthur in a mocking mental voice. *Is that all you think about?*

BLIP! They were gone.

Karrin: Warrior Child

Chapter One

The Year 2516 - Planet Earth - London, England

“And this one's name?” a high, whinny voice demanded with impatience.

“Ah, it's Karen Number 1685,” stammered a woman as she peered down at the reader in her hand. She licked her lips, glancing up at the woman who overshadowed her slight frame.

“Damn, another number,” said the whinny voice in a huff. “Don't people have last names anymore? Where is her damn family?”

“Well, it says here this one's family don't want her, Matron.” Her eyes darted to the little girl standing next to her. Her head was bowed, a curtain of dark, curly hair obscuring her face.

The girl's head jerked up, defiance flashing in her strange blue/silver eyes. “They weren't my family,” she retorted, chin held up high.

With a loud slap, the towering, pudgy Matron backhanded the little girl. She smirked with glee as the unwanted waif bounced off the gray wall, into a cabinet, then fell, face-down on the cracked, green tiled floor.

Hands on beefy hips, Matron yelled, spit flying, “You, little bitchy. You don't talk unless I tell you to. You don't move unless I tell you to. You fucking don't even breathe unless I tell you to.” She violently nudged the small, limp body with her steel-toed shoes. She paid extra credits to have them made just for this purpose. “Now, get your ass up here on this line, and keep your mouth shut.”

As the small child slowly pulled herself to her feet, Matron rubbed her right hand with a grimace.
Damn! Either I'm getting soft, or these little bitches are getting harder.
She grinned when the child pushed her hair off her face, revealing blood running from her nose, and the right side of her mouth. The red welt of a hand print was clearly visible against the pale skin on the girl's cheekbone. Matron chuckled.
Looks like I haven't lost my touch after all.
Twenty years of backhanding insolent, little bitches had given her a lot of practice.

“Guard!” Matron yelled, making the other people in the room flinch. “Take this useless piece of shit to a cell, and read her the rules of the Home.” Glaring around, she continued, “And if I see any of you pansies going soft with her, you'll be doing the sewer detail for a year.” She snatched the reader from her cowering assistant's hands, and slowly read the information displayed there. “This one's a real loser,” she said with a sneer. “Even her own family don't want her. Says here she's also retarded. Carp! Another dummy. I hate dummies. Go on, get her out of my sight.”

An evil smile broke out on her pasty, pockmarked face as Matron watched the frail girl being hauled down the hallway by her collar. As the helpless child stumbled along, trying to keep up with the longer strides of the female guard, she was body slammed from doorway to doorway.
That'll teach the little bitch. No one talks back to me
. In all her years as Matron, she'd only had one bitch that tired it twice. Matron fingered the trusty nightstick at her side. That mouthy little twerp had met her end with a hard whap up along the side of her head. Since these bitches died all the time, one more was no big deal.

Matron stomped back into her office, where she notice her assistant cowering in the corner.
God how I hate weaklings.
Of course, if Mavis weren't, scared of her, she would've already been transferred to another Home. Matron stared down at her secretary. Mavis had been an orphan here herself, and she'd learned early how to make herself useful. Matron had a taste for young boys, and occasionally, young girls, so when a fresh, perky Mavis had offered herself in exchange for special privileges, she'd jumped on her.

Once she hit puberty, Mavis no longer appealed to her, so she'd trained her to be her assistant. A job she performed very well. Now, with her wrinkled skin and premature graying hair, she looked sixty instead of thirty-five.
She's a constant reminder that age is creeping up on me, as well.
Matron signed. Well, there were plenty more where she came from. She'd contact Warden, and see if he wanted her for his boys.

Hmmm. Not a bad idea.
She was ready for some younger boy-toys as the older ones had outlived their usefulness. Matron knew she had several girls who were just turning sixteen. They'd either be turned over to Warden, a farm on the marshes, or prison. He could choose whether to keep them for his boys, or take them to his yacht. Matron chuckled to herself.
The fools.
The girls thought if they were chosen to serve on Warden's yacht, they were on easy street. Little did they know the true fate of those girls. Once Warden impregnated them, they were either left on some obscure island to fend for themselves, or tossed overboard. No one would miss them. No one cared.

Matron licked her lips in anticipation of breaking in some new playthings as she stared at her tit-for-tat assistant. “Mavis, dear,” she said sweetly, softly patting one pale, thin check with her chubby hand. “See if Warden is available. I have a sweet trade for him. One I think his boys will thoroughly enjoy.”

She watched with amusement, and mounting excitement, as understanding and horror slowly crept across Mavis' once beautiful face. The tingling of sexual pleasure started building between her massive thighs. She knew her six boys were roaming through the Home, terrorizing which ever girls caught their eyes. They might be too old for her tastes, but they knew how to scratch her itch. And she was feeling very itchy.

“Yes, Matron,” Mavis whispered, her head bowed, shoulders slumped in defeat. She turned and shuffled out the door, looking as if she were heading toward her execution.

She most likely is
, Matron thought with a shrug. She doubted Mavis would last two weeks. Not after the repeated gang banging those horny boys would subject her too. Especially if Warden took a fancy to her. She'd heard rumors he had some kinky sexual practices. He took BDSM to the extreme.

As Matron squeezed her round buttocks into her padded chair, her vid beeped. With a grunt, she removed the weighted nightstick from her hip, dropping it on top of the gray, metal desk with a thunk. She punched a button and Warden's face flickered to life. As usual, he had a frown marring his craggy, handsome looks.

“Matron, I've received some disquieting news from the Master of the Boy's Home.” He narrowed his eyes at her further. “It seems your credits aren't adding up. You're claiming more bodies than the Home can handle. I thought we had an understanding not to get too greedy. As long as we don't raise any red flags through the Central Registry Computer, no one will check that the credits allocated our facilities don't match our body counts. Your greed is jeopardizing years of flawless planning.” He pursed his lips at her.

Matron squirmed, sweat trickling down her rolls of fat, making her uniform shirt stick to her back.
Damn that ass kissing Master of the Boy's Home.
Each month she'd been padding her inventory by one or two more bodies. She didn't really think she'd get caught, or that Warden would care.
He's probably doing the same thing.
Ever since Public Welfare went into law, they'd been inundated with orphans. All a parent had to do was sign their kid over as either a retard, or an unwanted. Once the brat got into the system as an orphan, they never left. Even when they turned sixteen, they were either sent to a Prison colony, a farm, or to Warden's yacht.

Warden glanced down at a reader he was holding. “It says here you're claiming 730 girls, but you know the Home only has room for 700. And it looks like you just received more credits for an additional teacher.” He looked back up, cruel eyes glaring at her. “The last time I was there, I counted 312 girls, so you're receiving 700 credits each for the 388 girls you don't actually have. Isn't that enough credits to fund your offshore account? Don't forget, I'm the one who set up your account. I know how much you have hoarded away.”

Matron's heart stuttered in her chest.
Shit! How dare he keep tabs on my credits.
She hadn't realized he had that type of authority. She licked her lips. “Ah, it's them damn unwanteds. You know if'n they're under five years old I gotta hold them for at least six months, just in case their parents want them back. Like that would ever happen,” she scoffed. “And I just got another one today, plus she's a dummy to boot. Between them and the little bitches that keep dying, my bookkeeping gets all messed up. I'll have a talk with my assistant, and see if'n we can't get this resolved.”

“You do that,” Warden said with a sneer. “This is your last warning.” Reaching out with his hand, his image disappeared.

Matron slumped back in her chair letting out a loud sigh.
God, I hate licking his balls. I can't wait until I have enough credits to retire.
She already had her eye on a yacht she wanted to buy. Better and bigger than the one Warden owned.

With a loud squeaking of her chair, she pushed away from her desk.
It's time to make my rounds, and see how many bodies I lost overnight. It might be time to clean out the incinerator.
Rising, she snatched her nightstick off the desk, slamming it into the holster on her tire-sized waist.

Stomping out her office, Matron proceeded down the dismal, gray corridor. The farther she walked, the angrier she became.
How dare Warden dictate to me? I'm doing the best I can.
She had to keep a constant eye on her staff just to make sure they weren't skimming her credits. She'd caught a few of them before trying to help some of the orphans. Matron humphed.
Why would anyone want to help them?
No one outside cared, so why should they? She certainly didn't.

She also ran the very profitable synthetic drug refinery in the sewers. That was her idea, and Warden loved it when she approached him with her suggestion.
But did he lend any help? No
.
All he wanted was his share of the profits.
She should've kept the idea to herself. Though she had to admit, the threat of working in the sewers was a great punishment tool. Not only did she get free labor, but most of the girls didn't live past a year, so she received credits for bodies she didn't have to spend resources on.

As she proceeded down the hallway, she caught sight of a ten-year old deformed girl scrubbing the floor. Matron knew this girl. Her name was Alice and she was also a retard. Gritting her teeth, Matron removed her riding crop from next her to nightstick. Stopping where the girl labored away washing the floor, Matron started beating the child about her head and shoulders.
God, how I hate dummies.

Alice didn't acknowledge the whipping as she kept scrubbing back and forth with her brush. Infuriated, Matron beat her harder and harder, until the girl finally fell over, legs pulled up to her chest, whimpering in pain and fear. Breathing heavily, with a malicious smile, Matron glared down at the bleeding girl.
Yes. I'm God around here and nobody will ever forget it.