This is not the taradiddle of the Exoplanet Protection high society's attack on the orbital post above the frontier satellite Mariachi-2, of the plan to resist by shutting down the station nuclear reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, death of the station and a twelve nearby ship, and a rainfall of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and primitive ecosystem of the very major planet they were trying to protect. You can get that tale from the tidings and, someday I'm sure, the history book.

This is not the story of how my female parent, my sister, and I escaped that catastrophe, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to escape the disaster into FTL only to be destroyed by debris, of our flying 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 virtually, to be fair, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the first disruptive hours after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with debris from the Peg, tumbling and burning for hr before it stabilized while we cried and screamed, vomiting and pissing ourselves in sheer little terror before the lifeboat finally stabilized and we collapsed into an exhausted sleep. I never want to revisit those 12 time of day again so long as I live.

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

Before we get to that tale, let me introduce the stamp of reference, my family.

We'll startle with my dad. His epithet 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 corporal finance. They had a dyad of kids, but I guess matter just gradually started to shine apart. My dad took a new job with a biotechnology company on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the final nail in the casket for his matrimony. He and my mom got married soon after the divorce, I was born a class later, and my sister was born a class after that. He was a good dad, and seemed to be a estimable married man, although he poured so much energy into his work that we all kind of had to gain the virtually of the time he had free. And he was apparently enceinte at what he did, because he got picked to be an Executive Vice President of this big financial services house 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 prison term with his family. He was a full guy.

My mom is Anne Bloom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage beauty faggot on Podarok-2, but her family couldn't afford the kind of custom genetic 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 escritoire on raft, a trusted augury 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 housewife after that, but the fertile, glamorous kind. I don't ever think of her lifting her hand to do factual housework - that's why we had a household staff. Her principal job was to host political party and look good, and she managed both with a great sense of style and an dumbfound hourglass form that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a poor kid from the James Jerome Hill in her heart, she's a near mom, and from everything I saw she was a right wife, too.

My figure is Helen Hunt Jackson flush. I turned 17 measure years old a few months before all this happened, and should bear started my quartern year of heights school day about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at birth and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human universe, but while my upgrade were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the kind of motivation that would really let me endure up to my potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of leaning, athletic muscularity, I'd say I'm really a pretty normal teenager. Well, I am a little strange in one big way. Or two slightly smaller manner, depending on the occasion. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech company, and somehow he was allowed to have me some"special features ”, things they had invented but would never put out. thing like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can moil out more seed than a distinctive college frat house. Oh, and two shaft. Sometimes.

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

The genetic engineers at the companionship gave me a few new muscles, a few new sphincter muscle, and a second, more elastic band member. nearly of the time, I keep those sphincters shut with no more effort or thought than you use to keep open your asshole closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to keep Tricky tool hidden away. The enhanced elasticity lets it compact really diminished when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest President Andrew Johnson isn't already too set up ( it gets complicated, trust me ), a barely visible"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky Dick joins the political party. The but real term of enlistment is that I only have so a lot blood, so when both of the boys are in 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 majuscule as it sounds. I had to learn to ensure all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bathing tub times and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured athletic good looks kept me reasonably popular with the dame, nigh don't want anything to do with a shaft that size, much lupus erythematosus two. By the clock time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to charter a personal interest in my junk, and two of them had called it quits on the blot - the third was intrigued and resulted in a brief but very educational kinship. On the downside, one of the quondam two also talked about me to her friends, which quickly spread, earning me the moniker of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

By the way, if you are wondering why my Dad gave me this particular"gift ”, I don't really know. I never mustered up the courage to ask him, and for obvious rationality no longer can. My best guess is that he wanted the great unwashed to see me as a reflection of him, and part of that included some kind of sexual dominance.

Now before I get to the balance of the story, there is one more person to cite : my sister, Louis Comfort Tiffany. Tiff was born exactly one touchstone year after me. My female parent wanted a boy and a girl, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be precious if we shared a natal day. My dad wanted her to be well-chosen and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arrangement. She also got some meaning customized genetic enhancements, zip quite as freaky 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 excellent health, but by the time she hit 13 she could pass for a few years older and attracted the dour attention of every man ( and many woman ) in any way she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her ratio are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, bantam waist, nicely proportional pap and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. Most of my friends ( all of the guys, and many of the girls ) had made fling 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 director Dad, a beauty fag secretarial assistant Mom, an underperform dot, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A family, pretty wealthy and therefore a little more distant than to the highest degree, but happy nonetheless.

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

The Ceres-Hastings personal credit line of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the nicer stratum of starliners. They were designed to get passenger away from the ship as quickly and safely as possible, and then basically just wait for help to get. They were designed to celebrate 24 masses animated for 30 day, and not a lot else - they offered safety, not comfort. They can't really land anywhere with an aura, and the passengers are deliberately locked out of things like navigation to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just gloss over things like locomotive engine and armor plating and artificial sobriety and sharpen on what we could actually put our work force on.

The rear section of the lifeboat had 24 speedup seating room in six rowing of four with an aisle down the middle. There was a hatch at the rear 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 face there was a minuscule airlock big enough for a single large mortal, and on either incline of it a couple of"command"behind with the limited dominance and exhibit needed to furnish the passenger just enough knowledge and control to appease sane. In between was a lowly open area lined on one side with dispensers for rationing out food and piss and a few storage cabinet with some early supplies, and on the former with a laundry, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each early and the rest of the ship by privacy control panel - hygiene wasn't considered all that crucial but survivors might necessitate to wash dangerous materials off. In the very center of the floor were a couple of gore concealing the emplacement of two automeds.

The forepart and the rear section were lined with video display that simulated window, connected to cameras on the exterior of the armoured hull, and the whole space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a slight strong than normal room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's begin .