This is not the storey of the Exoplanet Protection Society's attack on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to protest by shutting down the post nuclear reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, end of the station and a dozen nearby ship, and a rain of orbital junk that devastated the fragile and primitive person ecosystem of the very major planet they were trying to protect. You can get that story from the news and, someday I'm sure, the history book.

This is not the level of how my female parent, my sister, and I escaped that cataclysm, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to escape the tragedy into FTL only to be destroyed by debris, of our flight 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 invoice from the 87 survivor from the Peg, and most, to be honest, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the low gear tumultuous minute after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with debris from the Peg, tumbling and burning for hours 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 eternal sleep. I never want to revisit those 12 hours again so long as I live.

No, this is the news report of the three month after that, the metre between waking up on the lifeboat and getting picked up two month ago by a patrol ship out on the edge of explored blank. The story of what happened with my mother, my sister, and I. It is a very personal story, not to be released before my dying, but one that is very significant to me. Even if no one else ever gets to interpret it, I wanted it to be written.

Before we get to that tale, let me stick in the cast of theatrical role, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His 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 troupe on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the net nail in the casket for his man and wife. He and my mom got married soon after the divorce, I was born a yr later, and my sister was born a year after that. He was a respectable dad, and seemed to be a expert married man, although he poured so often energy into his oeuvre that we all kind of had to make the most of the time he had free. And he was apparently great at what he did, because he got picked to be an administrator vice chairman of this big financial servicing firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our trip. That's why we took it - he was taking a faulting between Book of Job to finally delight some prison term with his family. He was a upright guy.

My mom is Anne peak, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage looker queen mole rat on Podarok-2, but her family couldn't afford the kind of custom genetic improvement 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 secretaire on lot, a indisputable signal that he had already mentally left his spousal relationship. She kept working until after my sister was born, by that point in time Dad was really raking it in. She was a housewife after that, but the productive, glamourous form. I don't ever commend her lifting her handwriting to do literal housework - that's why we had a home staff. Her main job was to host parties and search serious, and she managed both with a great sense of vogue and an amazing hourglass figure that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a poor kid from the hills in her heart, she's a estimable mom, and from everything I saw she was a good wife, too.

My name is Helen Hunt Jackson bloom. I turned 17 criterion long time old a few months before all this happened, and should feature started my quartern twelvemonth of senior high school about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at parentage and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human population, but while my acclivity were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the sort of motivation that would really let me inhabit up to my electric potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of lean, gymnastic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty rule teenager. fountainhead, I am a little unusual in one big way. Or two slightly belittled ways, depending on the occasion. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotechnology company, and somehow he was allowed to give me some"special features ”, things they had invented but would never secrete. things like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can churn out more semen than a distinctive college frat family. Oh, and two cock. Sometimes.

I have a habitue penis. well, not regular - it's about 15cm long when hitch and more than 30cm erect, and a little to a greater extent than 6cm across. I call it Honest President Andrew Johnson. But it is basically a fixture phallus. Underneath it is where thing get complicated.

The genetic railroad engineer at the company gave me a few new muscularity, a few new sphincters, and a second, more rubber band penis. Most of the time, I keep those sphincter shut with no more crusade or thought than you use to keep your whoreson closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to keep Tricky Dick hidden away. The enhanced snap lets it compact really small when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest Johnson isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, hope me ), a barely seeable"international nautical mile"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky hawkshaw joins the party. The merely real hitch is that I only have so much line, so when both of the boys are in play they're only about 24cm tenacious and 5cm midst. But they look and function more or less identically, one stacked over the other.

By the way, this isn't all as heavy as it sounds. I had to get a line to see all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bath clock time and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured gymnastic good looks kept me reasonably popular with the Lady, most don't want anything to do with a dick that size, much less two. By the meter I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to take a personal sake 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 human relationship. On the downside, one of the late two also talked about me to her friends, which quickly spread, earning me the sobriquet of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

By the way, if you are wondering why my Dad gave me this particular"endowment ”, I don't really have it off. I never mustered up the courageousness to ask him, and for obvious understanding no longer can. My best hypothesis is that he wanted people to see me as a reflectivity of him, and function of that included some kind of sexual dominance.

Now before I get to the respite of the story, there is one more than soul to quotation : my sister, Tiffany. pettifoggery was born exactly one measure class after me. My mother wanted a boy and a girl, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be cute if we shared a natal day. My dad wanted her to be happy and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arrangement. She also got some significant customize genetic enhancements, nothing quite as freakish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her features, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, fuss has always been incredibly smart and in excellent health, but by the time she hit 13 she could pass for a few twelvemonth aged and attracted the persistent attention of every man ( and many women ) in any elbow room she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her proportions are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, tiny waist, nicely proportional bosom and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. near of my friends ( all of the guys, and many of the miss ) had made crack at her and I was fully aware of how attractive she was… from a purely academician viewpoint, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a mantrap queen secretary Mom, an underachieving superman, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A fellowship, pretty flush and therefore a little more upstage than almost, but well-chosen nonetheless.

Oh, one Thomas More thing before we begin : The lifeboat.

The Ceres-Hastings line of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty distinctive 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 delay for supporter to get. They were designed to sustain 24 people alive for 30 days, and not much else - they offered condom, not comfort. They can't really land anywhere with an atmosphere, and the rider are deliberately locked out of things like navigation to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just glossary over things like engines and armor plating and artificial gravity and pore on what we could actually put our deal on.

The butt section of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six rows of four with an gangway down the middle. There was a hatching at the behind 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 battlefront there was a small airlock big enough for a single heavy someone, and on either side of it a brace of"command"posterior with the limited controls and exhibit needed to allow for the rider just enough knowledge and mastery to stay sane. In between was a pocket-size capable area lined on one slope with dispensers for rationing out food and piddle and a few storage storage locker with some former supplies, and on the other with a laundry, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each other and the ease of the ship by privacy panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that of import but subsister might postulate to wash dangerous materials off. In the very gist of the storey were a couple of jury concealing the location of two automeds.

The front and the rear incision were lined with exhibit that simulated Windows, connected to cameras on the exterior of the armor hull, and the whole space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little warm than normal elbow room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasance yacht.

Ok. Let's Menachem Begin .