This is not the history of the Exoplanet Protection club's tone-beginning on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to resist by shutting down the station reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, wipeout of the station and a dozen nearby ship, and a rain of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and primitive person ecosystem of the very planet they were trying to protect. You can get that story from the newsworthiness and, someday I'm sure, the chronicle book.

This is not the fib of how my mother, my sister, and I escaped that disaster, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to miss 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 XII such bill from the 87 survivor from the Peg, and well-nigh, to be honest, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the maiden tumultuous hours after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with detritus from the Peg, tumbling and burning for hours 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 twelve hours again so long as I live.

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

Before we get to that level, let me introduce the cast of reference, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His gens was Michael blush, 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 mates of child, but I guess matter just gradually started to diminish apart. My dad took a new job with a biotech troupe on Podarok-2 where he met my female parent, the final nail in the coffin for his marriage. 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 full dad, and seemed to be a good husband, although he poured so often energy into his workplace that we all variety of had to make the most of the clip he had disengage. And he was apparently big at what he did, because he got picked to be an administrator frailty Chief Executive of this big financial military service firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our trip. That's why we took it - he was taking a break between jobs to finally relish some time with his home. He was a good guy.

My mom is Anne blossom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage beauty queen on Podarok-2, but her home couldn't afford the sort of custom genetical improvement needed for her to shit a career out of it, so after heights school she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new secretary on sight, a sure sign that he had already mentally left his wedlock. She kept working until after my Sister was born, by that dot Dad was really raking it in. She was a housewife after that, but the fat, glamourous kind. I don't ever remember her lifting her hand to do real housework - that's why we had a family staff. Her master job was to host company and look secure, and she managed both with a corking sense of style and an get hourglass physique that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a poor kid from the pitcher's mound in her centre, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a good wife, too.

My epithet is Glenda Jackson Bloom. I turned 17 monetary standard old age old a few months before all this happened, and should suffer started my fourth year of heights school 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 upgrades were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the kind of motivating that would really let me live on up to my potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of be given, athletic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty pattern adolescent. Well, I am a niggling unusual in one big way. Or two slightly little direction, depending on the occasion. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech society, and somehow he was allowed to hold me some"particular lineament ”, things they had invented but would never release. affair like raise pheromones, and testes that can churn out to a greater extent seed than a typical college fraternity business firm. Oh, and two dicks. Sometimes.

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

The genetic engineers at the company gave me a few new brawniness, a few new sphincters, and a second, more elastic member. Most of the time, I keep those sphincters shut with no more effort or thought than you use to stay fresh your asshole closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to save Tricky Dick hidden away. The enhanced elasticity lets it compact really little when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest Andrew Johnson isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, trust me ), a barely visible"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky cock joins the political party. The entirely real hitch is that I only have so much line, so when both of the boys are in gambol they're only about 24cm recollective 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 get word to check all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bath clip and when changing my napkin. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured athletic good looking at kept me reasonably pop with the noblewoman, most don't want anything to do with a cock that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three lady friend to take a personal interest in my junk, and two of them had called it quits on the smudge - 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 byname of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

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

Now before I get to the rest of the storey, there is one More soul to mention : my baby, Tiffany. Tiff was born exactly one standard 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 glad and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arranging. She also got some important customized transmitted sweetening, nothing quite as off-the-wall as my own… I think. Dad let mom prefer her feature, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, squabble has always been incredibly smart and in excellent health, but by the time she hit XIII she could pass for a few years aged 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 proportions are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, tiny waist, nicely proportional mammilla and ass, and all perfectly symmetrical. Most of my ally ( all of the guys, and many of the girls ) had made passes 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 beauty queen mole rat secretary Mom, an underperform superman, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A family, pretty wealthy and therefore a little more distant than nigh, but happy nonetheless.

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

The Ceres-Hastings line of merchandise of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the squeamish class of starliners. They were designed to get passenger away from the ship as quickly and safely as potential, and then basically just hold for help to arrive. They were designed to keep 24 people alive for 30 days, and not much else - they offered safety, not comforter. They can't really land anywhere with an standard atmosphere, and the passenger 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 and armour plating and artificial gravitational force and focus on what we could actually put our hand on.

The rear department of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six words of four with an aisle down the middle. There was a hatch at the arse by which we had entered, but it literally welded itself shut on launching, so it didn't really exist as a hatch anymore. At the very battlefront there was a small airlock big enough for a I large person, and on either side of it a couple of"command"seats with the trammel controls and displays needed to provide the passenger just enough knowledge and control to last out sane. In between was a small open area lined on one side with dispensers for rationing out food and water system and a few memory board lockers with some former supplies, and on the other with a wash, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each other and the eternal sleep of the ship by privacy panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that important but subsister might require to wash dangerous stuff off. In the very center of the floor were a couple of control panel concealing the emplacement of two automeds.

The front and the rear incision were lined with displays that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the exterior of the armored hull, and the whole space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little warmer than rule room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a delight yacht.

Ok. Let's Menachem Begin .