This is not the story of the Exoplanet auspices lodge's attack on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to protest by shutting down the place reactor, leading to the meltdown of the nuclear reactor, destruction of the station and a twelve nearby ship, and a rain of orbital dust that devastated the fragile and primitive ecosystem of the very planet they were trying to protect. You can get that story from the news and, someday I'm sure, the chronicle book.

This is not the story of how my female parent, my sister, and I escaped that cataclysm, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to get off the disaster into FTL only to be destroyed by dust, 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 twelve such accounts from the 87 survivor from the Peg, and most, to be reliable, are more compelling.

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

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

Before we get to that fib, let me preface the cast of characters, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His name 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 duad of kids, but I guess thing just gradually started to precipitate apart. My dad took a new job with a biotechnology company on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the final nail in the coffin for his marriage. He and my mom got matrimonial soon after the divorcement, I was born a year later, and my sister was born a year after that. He was a good dad, and seemed to be a good husband, although he poured so much energy into his employment that we all kind of had to make the most of the clip he had free. And he was apparently gravid at what he did, because he got picked to be an executive director frailty President of this big financial overhaul business firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our slip. That's why we took it - he was taking a break between Book of Job to finally enjoy some clock time with his family. He was a good guy.

My mom is Anne Bloom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilo. She was a teen smasher queen on Podarok-2, but her menage couldn't afford the kind of custom genetical improvements needed for her to make a career out of it, so after high schooling she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new secretary on deal, a trusted sign that he had already mentally left his marriage. She kept working until after my baby was born, by that point Dad was really raking it in. She was a lady of the house after that, but the rich, glamorous kind. I don't ever call up her lifting her hand to do actual housekeeping - that's why we had a house staff. Her primary job was to host parties and look good, and she managed both with a outstanding sensation of elan and an amazing hourglass public figure that was probably 80 % raw and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a poor people kid from the hills in her heart, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a just wife, too.

My figure is Helen Hunt Jackson Bloom. I turned 17 standard years old a few months before all this happened, and should stimulate started my fourth class of high school about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at birth and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human population, but while my climb were truly top ledge, I've always lacked the kind of motivation that would really let me live up to my potentiality. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of lean, athletic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty normal teenager. wellspring, I am a little strange in one big way. Or two slightly smaller ways, depending on the juncture. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech company, and somehow he was allowed to turn over me some"special feature of speech ”, things they had invented but would never issue. affair like enhance pheromones, and testes that can churn out more ejaculate than a distinctive college frat house. Oh, and two dicks. Sometimes.

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

The transmitted engineers at the company gave me a few new muscles, a few new sphincter muscle, and a second, more pliant member. most 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 retain Tricky cock hidden away. The raise snap lets it covenant really belittled when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest LBJ isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, commit me ), a barely visible"Calidris canutus"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky shaft joins the party. The only rattling hinderance is that I only have so much roue, so when both of the boys are in turn 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 expectant as it sounds. I had to learn to verify all that as a bambino, and until then apparently my parents had some really interest experiences at bathroom sentence and when changing my napkin. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured athletic good looks kept me reasonably popular with the ma'am, most don't want anything to do with a dick that size, much LE two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to take a personal interest in my dust, 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 sometime two also talked about me to her supporter, 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"gift ”, I don't really know. I never mustered up the courage to ask him, and for obvious reasons no longer can. My expert guess is that he wanted people to see me as a rumination of him, and voice of that included some variety of sexual dominance.

Now before I get to the ease of the taradiddle, there is one more person to mention : my sister, Tiffany. spat was born exactly one standard twelvemonth after me. My mother wanted a boy and a fille, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be cute if we shared a birthday. My dad wanted her to be happy and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the organisation. She also got some significant customized inherited sweetening, zilch quite as outlandish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her characteristic, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, tiff has always been incredibly saucy and in fantabulous health, but by the time she hit thirteen she could pass on for a few age quondam and attracted the persistent attending 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 relative titty and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. virtually of my friend ( all of the guys, and many of the girlfriend ) had made passes at her and I was fully aware of how attractive she was… from a purely academic stand, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a beauty pouf writing table Mom, an underachieving loony toons, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A house, pretty loaded and therefore a little more distant than most, but felicitous nonetheless.

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

The Ceres-Hastings crinkle of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the gracious course of study of starliners. They were designed to get passengers away from the ship as quickly and safely as possible, and then basically just wait for help to get. They were designed to keep 24 hoi polloi alert for 30 days, and not much else - they offered safety, not quilt. They can't really set down anywhere with an air, and the passengers are deliberately locked out of affair like piloting to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just gloss over affair like locomotive and armor plating and unreal solemnity and focus on what we could actually put our hands on.

The rear section of the lifeboat had 24 quickening seats in six rowing of four with an aisle down the midsection. 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 hachure anymore. At the very front there was a low airlock big enough for a single large person, and on either incline of it a couple of"command"seats with the limited ascendancy and show needed to provide the passengers just enough knowledge and ascendancy to persist sane. In between was a small out-of-doors surface area lined on one slope with dispensers for rationing out food and water and a few storage lockers with some former supplying, and on the other with a wash, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each other and the rest of the ship by privacy panels - hygienics wasn't considered all that important but survivor might take to wash dangerous materials off. In the very center of the trading floor were a twain of panel concealing the location of two automeds.

The battlefront and the stern segment were lined with displays that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the outside of the armored Kingston-upon Hull, and the unanimous space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little quick than normal room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's begin .