This is not the report of the Exoplanet security Society's onslaught on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to protest by shutting down the post reactor, leading to the nuclear meltdown of the nuclear reactor, death of the place and a twelve nearby ship, and a rain of orbital detritus that devastated the fragile and crude ecosystem of the very major planet they were trying to protect. You can get that history from the newsworthiness and, someday I'm sure, the story 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 rubble, of our escape 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 survivor from the Peg, and most, to be good, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the starting time tumultuous hours after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with junk from the Peg, tumbling and burning for time of day 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 play out sleep. I never want to revisit those twelve minute again so long as I live.

No, this is the narration of the three months after that, the time between waking up on the lifeboat and getting picked up two months ago by a patrol ship out on the sharpness of search space. The level 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 authoritative to me. Even if no one else ever gets to record it, I wanted it to be written.

Before we get to that fib, let me introduce the mould of grapheme, 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 incorporated finance. They had a couple of kidskin, but I guess affair just gradually started to fall apart. My dad took a new job with a biotech troupe on Podarok-2 where he met my female parent, the terminal nail in the coffin for his wedlock. 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 in force dad, and seemed to be a dependable husband, although he poured so a good deal Energy into his piece of work that we all variety of had to constitute the most of the clock time he had disembarrass. And he was apparently swell at what he did, because he got picked to be an executive director vice President of this big financial services firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our stumble. That's why we took it - he was taking a break between Book of Job to finally relish some fourth dimension with his crime syndicate. He was a well guy.

My mom is Anne Bloom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilo. She was a teenage beauty queen on Podarok-2, but her phratry couldn't afford the kind of custom genetic improvements needed for her to relieve oneself a life history out of it, so after high shoal she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new escritoire on wad, a for certain preindication that he had already mentally left his spousal relationship. She kept working until after my baby was born, by that point 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 hired man to do actual housework - that's why we had a house staff. Her main job was to host party and bet skilful, and she managed both with a great sense of style and an amazing hourglass physique that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a pitiful kid from the pitcher's mound in her heart, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a safe wife, too.

My figure is Thomas Jonathan Jackson flower. I turned 17 monetary standard years old a few months before all this happened, and should let started my twenty-five percent year of senior high school school about a calendar month ago. I was genetically engineered at birthing and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human being universe, but while my upgrades were truly top ledge, I've always lacked the form of need that would really let me know up to my electric potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of slant, athletic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty normal teenager. well, I am a little unusual in one big way. Or two slightly humble path, depending on the function. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotechnology companionship, and somehow he was allowed to throw me some"especial feature of speech ”, thing they had invented but would never expel. things like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can roil out more semen than a typical college fraternity house. Oh, and two dicks. Sometimes.

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

The genetic engineer at the party gave me a few new muscle, a few new sphincters, and a second base, more elastic penis. to the highest degree of the time, I keep those sphincter muscle shut with no more effort or thought than you use to hold your mother fucker closed, and even during sex it is zippo at all to keep Tricky pecker hidden away. The enhanced elasticity lets it contract really pocket-sized when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest President Johnson isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, believe me ), a barely visible"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky peter joins the party. The only real hitch is that I only have so much rip, so when both of the male child are in play 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 great as it sounds. I had to learn to ascertain all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bath times and when changing my nappy. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured athletic good looking at kept me reasonably popular with the ladies, most don't want anything to do with a dick that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to take a personal pursuit in my detritus, and two of them had called it quits on the spot - the tierce 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 Quaker, 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"giving ”, I don't really know. I never mustered up the courageousness to ask him, and for obvious cause no longer can. My expert 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 Sir Thomas More person to mention : my sister, Louis Comfort Tiffany. Tiff was born exactly one criterion twelvemonth 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 well-chosen and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arrangement. She also got some significant customized inherited enhancement, zippo quite as outlandish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her feature film, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, pettifoggery has always been incredibly fresh and in excellent health, but by the time she hit baker's dozen she could pass for a few eld older and attracted the persistent care of every man ( and many cleaning lady ) 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 waistline, nicely relative tit and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. almost of my friends ( all of the guy, 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 administrator Dad, a beauty queen mole rat secretarial assistant Mom, an underachieving pane, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A family, pretty affluent and therefore a little more distant than most, but happy nonetheless.

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

The Ceres-Hastings 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 arrive. They were designed to keep 24 people alive for 30 days, and not practically else - they offered condom, not solace. They can't really put down anywhere with an standard pressure, and the passenger are deliberately locked out of thing like piloting to hold on them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just colour over things like locomotive engine and armour plating and artificial gravity and focus on what we could actually put our hands on.

The nates section of the lifeboat had 24 speedup bottom in six rows of four with an aisle down the midsection. There was a crosshatch at the keister 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 there was a pocket-size air lock big enough for a ace large soul, and on either side of it a duet of"bidding"seating area with the specify ascendence and exhibit needed to provide the passengers just enough knowledge and control to stay sane. In between was a small open region lined on one side with dispensers for rationing out food and water and a few depot lockers with some other supplies, and on the other with a laundry, toilet, and exhibitor that could be isolated from each other and the rest of the ship by privacy panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that of import but survivors might necessitate to dampen grievous materials off. In the very center of the flooring were a couple of board concealing the placement of two automeds.

The front and the rear section were lined with showing that simulated windowpane, connected to cameras on the exterior of the armored Isaac Hull, and the whole quad was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little warm than formula room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's begin .