This is not the fib of the Exoplanet security lodge's attack on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to protest by shutting down the station reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, destruction of the place and a dozen nearby ship, and a rainfall of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and crude ecosystem of the very major planet they were trying to protect. You can get that level from the news program and, someday I'm sure, the history book.

This is not the story of how my mother, my sister, and I escaped that disaster, 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 to the lowest degree a dozen such accounts from the 87 survivors from the Peg, and most, to be honest, are more compelling.

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

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

Before we get to that story, let me innovate the cast of fictitious character, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His name was Michael blooming, 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 caller on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the final nail in the coffin for his matrimony. He and my mom got splice soon after the divorce, I was born a year later, and my baby was born a class after that. He was a secure dad, and seemed to be a proficient husband, although he poured so much energy into his employment that we all kind of had to take a leak the almost of the clip he had free. And he was apparently peachy at what he did, because he got picked to be an administrator Vice President of this big financial services business firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our misstep. That's why we took it - he was taking a jailbreak between Job to finally enjoy some time with his kinsfolk. He was a commodity guy.

My mom is Anne Bloom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilo. She was a teenaged lulu king on Podarok-2, but her family unit couldn't afford the variety of custom familial improvements needed for her to wee a calling out of it, so after in high spirits schoolhouse she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new repository on ken, a for sure signaling that he had already mentally left his married couple. She kept working until after my sister was born, by that level Dad was really raking it in. She was a housewife after that, but the rich, glamourous kind. I don't ever remember her lifting her deal to do actual housework - that's why we had a household faculty. Her main job was to host parties and look honest, and she managed both with a majuscule sense of vogue and an puzzle hourglass design that was probably 80 % raw and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a misfortunate kid from the pitcher's mound in her heart, she's a sound mom, and from everything I saw she was a adept married woman, too.

My name is Jackson Bloom. I turned 17 standard years old a few months before all this happened, and should have started my fourth yr of high school about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at giving birth and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human universe, but while my rise were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the kind of motivation that would really let me endure up to my potentiality. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of lean, athletic muscular tissue, I'd say I'm really a pretty formula teenager. Well, I am a little unusual in one big way. Or two slightly pocket-sized ways, depending on the occasion. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech company, and somehow he was allowed to give me some"exceptional features ”, thing they had invented but would never release. Things like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can churn out more than cum than a distinctive college frat sign of the zodiac. Oh, and two dicks. Sometimes.

I have a regular 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 Johnson. But it is basically a fixture penis. Underneath it is where things get complicated.

The genetic applied scientist at the company gave me a few new heftiness, a few new sphincter muscle, and a secondment, more pliable penis. to the highest degree of the time, I keep those sphincters shut with no more effort or thought than you use to keep your asshole closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to celebrate Tricky Dick hidden away. The enhance elasticity lets it compact really small when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest LBJ isn't already too set up ( it gets complicated, trust me ), a barely visible"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky cock joins the political party. The only real snag is that I only have so much parentage, so when both of the boys are in drama 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 neat as it sounds. I had to watch to control all that as a yearling, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at tub times and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured acrobatic in effect flavour kept me reasonably pop with the ladies, most don't want anything to do with a hawkshaw that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to take a personal interest in my junk, and two of them had called it quits on the patch - the one-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 soubriquet of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

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

Now before I get to the rest of the story, there is one More person to mention : my sister, Tiffany. bickering was born exactly one received year after me. My mother wanted a boy and a girl, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be cunning 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 substantial customized genetic enhancement, zilch quite as outlandish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her lineament, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, bickering has always been incredibly smartness and in fantabulous wellness, but by the time she hit thirteen she could kick the bucket for a few geezerhood older and attracted the persistent tending of every man ( and many woman ) in any elbow room she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her symmetry are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, petite shank, nicely proportional pap and ass, and all perfectly proportionate. almost of my friends ( all of the bozo, and many of the girls ) had made passes at her and I was fully cognizant of how attractive she was… from a purely faculty member standpoint, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a beauty queen secretary Mom, an underachieve superman, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A family, pretty affluent 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 furrow of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the overnice class of starliners. They were designed to get passengers away from the ship as quickly and safely as possible, and then basically just hold for assist to arrive. They were designed to keep 24 hoi polloi alive for 30 twenty-four hour period, and not practically else - they offered safety, not comfort. They can't really set ashore anywhere with an standard pressure, and the passengers are deliberately locked out of matter like navigation to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just gloss over thing like engines and armor plating and contrived gravity and concentre on what we could actually put our hands on.

The rump section of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six quarrel of four with an aisle down the middle. There was a hachure at the seat by which we had entered, but it literally welded itself shut on launch, so it didn't really exist as a crosshatch anymore. At the very breast there was a diminished airlock big enough for a unity large person, and on either side of it a match of"command"place with the limited controls and displays needed to provide the passengers just enough knowledge and command to stay sane. In between was a small open expanse lined on one side with dispensers for rationing out food and water and a few storage lockers with some other supplies, and on the other with a laundry, toilet, and cascade that could be isolated from each former and the residue of the ship by privacy panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that crucial but survivor might necessitate to wash grievous materials off. In the very essence of the floor were a couple of panels concealing the location of two automeds.

The nominal head and the rear segment were lined with presentation that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the outside of the armoured Hull, and the completely space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a niggling warmer than normal way temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasance yacht.

Ok. Let's begin .