This is not the fib of the Exoplanet Protection guild's attack on the orbital station above the frontier satellite Mariachi-2, of the plan to dissent by shutting down the station nuclear reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, destruction of the station and a XII nearby ship, and a rainfall of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and rude ecosystem of the very planet they were trying to protect. You can get that history from the news and, someday I'm sure, the account book.

This is not the storey of how my mother, my Sister, and I escaped that calamity, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to escape the disaster into FTL only to be destroyed by debris, of our trajectory to and rendezvous at the lifeboats, of the 24-person lifeboat jettisoning with just the three of us aboard. There are at least a dozen such accounts from the 87 survivors from the Peg, and near, to be honest, are more compelling.

This is not the history of the starting time tumultuous hours after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with debris from the Peg, tumbling and burning for hour before it stabilized while we cried and screamed, vomiting and pissing ourselves in sheer terror before the lifeboat finally stabilized and we collapsed into an exhausted sleep. I never want to revisit those twelve hours again so long as I live.

No, this is the news report of the three calendar month after that, the time between waking up on the lifeboat and getting picked up two months ago by a patrol ship out on the edge of research space. The taradiddle of what happened with my female parent, my sister, and I. It is a very personal story, not to be released before my death, but one that is very important to me. Even if no one else ever gets to read it, I wanted it to be written.

Before we get to that write up, let me introduce the cast of fictional character, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His public figure was Michael bloom, and he was 55 when he died down on Mariachi-2. Long before I was born, he grew up on Hestia-3, went to college, got his MBA, got married, and started working in corporate finance. They had a couple of kids, but I guess things just gradually started to fall apart. My dad took a new job with a biotech society on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the final nail in the coffin for his matrimony. He and my mom got married soon after the divorce, I was born a year later, and my sis was born a year after that. He was a good dad, and seemed to be a good husband, although he poured so much energy into his work that we all kind of had to get the well-nigh of the fourth dimension he had absolve. And he was apparently enceinte at what he did, because he got picked to be an Executive vice President of this big financial divine service firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our trip. That's why we took it - he was taking a break between chore to finally enjoy some time with his house. He was a good guy.

My mom is Anne peak, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage beauty female monarch on Podarok-2, but her kinsfolk couldn't afford the kind of usage genetical improvements needed for her to make a career out of it, so after high school she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new secretary on sight, a indisputable signaling that he had already mentally left his marriage. She kept working until after my Sister was born, by that point Dad was really raking it in. She was a homemaker after that, but the rich, glamorous variety. I don't ever remember her lifting her hired hand to do genuine housework - that's why we had a household staff. Her master job was to host political party and look in force, and she managed both with a enceinte sense of style and an amazing hourglass figure that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a short kid from the hills in her ticker, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a good wife, too.

My gens is Jackson Bloom. I turned 17 standard years old a few months before all this happened, and should have started my fourth year of high shoal about a calendar month ago. I was genetically engineered at birth and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human universe, but while my acclivity were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the kind of motivating that would really let me live on up to my potential drop. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of lean, gymnastic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty normal teenager. wellspring, I am a fiddling unusual in one big way. Or two slightly lowly ways, depending on the occasion. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech society, and somehow he was allowed to fall in me some"special features ”, thing they had invented but would never give up. Things like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can moil out to a greater extent seminal fluid than a distinctive college frat house. Oh, and two cock. Sometimes.

I have a regular member. wellspring, not regular - it's about 15cm long when limp and Thomas More than 30cm erect, and a little more than 6cm across. I call it Honest Johnson. But it is basically a veritable penis. Underneath it is where matter get complicated.

The genetic locomotive engineer at the ship's company gave me a few new musculus, a few new sphincter, and a second, more elastic member. most of the time, I keep those anatomical sphincter shut with no more effort or thought than you use to keep your motherfucker closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to keep Tricky putz hidden away. The enhanced elasticity lets it compact really small when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest Andrew Johnson isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, entrust me ), a barely seeable"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky Dick joins the political party. The solitary actual hitch is that I only have so much blood, so when both of the boys are in child's play they're only about 24cm long and 5cm thick. But they look and function more or less identically, one stacked over the other.

By the way, this isn't all as gravid as it sounds. I had to read to control all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bath meter and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured athletic good tone kept me reasonably popular with the ladies, most don't want anything to do with a putz that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three lady friend to hold a personal interest in my junk, and two of them had called it quits on the spot - the third was intrigued and resulted in a brief but very educational relationship. On the downside, one of the former two also talked about me to her friends, which quickly spread, earning me the cognomen of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

By the way, if you are wondering why my Dad gave me this special"gift ”, I don't really know. I never mustered up the courageousness to ask him, and for obvious intellect no longer can. My best dead reckoning is that he wanted people to see me as a rumination of him, and part of that included some sort of intimate dominance.

Now before I get to the rest of the narrative, there is one more someone to mention : my sister, Tiffany. Tiff was born exactly one standard twelvemonth after me. My female parent wanted a boy and a miss, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be cute if we shared a birthday. My dad wanted her to be happy and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arrangement. She also got some pregnant customized familial enhancement, nil quite as outlandish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her feature of speech, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, Tiff has always been incredibly smart and in splendid health, but by the fourth dimension she hit thirteen she could fall for a few year older and attracted the relentless attention of every man ( and many char ) in any room she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her balance are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, tiny waist, nicely proportional tits and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. most of my friends ( all of the cat, and many of the girls ) had made passing game at her and I was fully aware of how attractive she was… from a purely academic viewpoint, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a knockout pouf secretary Mom, an underachieve loony toons, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A category, pretty moneyed and therefore a little more distant than well-nigh, but happy nonetheless.

Oh, one more thing before we begin : The lifeboat.

The Ceres-Hastings argument of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the nicer class of starliners. They were designed to get passengers away from the ship as quickly and safely as possible, and then basically just wait for supporter to arrive. They were designed to sustain 24 hoi polloi alive for 30 days, and not much else - they offered guard, not comfortableness. They can't really land anywhere with an atmospheric state, and the passengers are deliberately locked out of affair like piloting to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just gloss over matter like locomotive engine and armour plating and artificial gravity and focus on what we could actually put our manus on.

The derriere segment of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six rows of four with an aisle down the middle. There was a hatch at the tush by which we had entered, but it literally welded itself shut on launch, so it didn't really exist as a hatch anymore. At the very front line there was a small airlock big enough for a individual large person, and on either face of it a couple of"command"seats with the limited controls and displays needed to cater the passenger just enough knowledge and control to stay sane. In between was a small opened area lined on one side with dispensers for rationing out food and H2O and a few computer storage lockers with some early supplies, and on the other with a washing, stool, and shower that could be isolated from each other and the residuum of the ship by seclusion panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that important but survivor might take to wash unsafe materials off. In the very marrow of the floor were a duo of panels concealing the location of two automeds.

The front and the raise part were lined with displays that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the exterior of the armored Kingston-upon Hull, and the altogether space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a minuscule warmer than pattern room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's Menachem Begin .