This is not the story of the Exoplanet protective covering smart set's attack on the orbital station above the frontier major planet Mariachi-2, of the design to protest by shutting down the post reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, end of the station and a dozen nearby ship, and a rain of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and primitive ecosystem of the very planet they were trying to protect. You can get that story from the newsworthiness and, someday I'm sure, the history book.

This is not the story of how my mother, my sister, and I escaped that catastrophe, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to hightail it 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 good, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the first riotous 60 minutes 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 little terror 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 story of the three month 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 explore blank space. The chronicle of what happened with my mother, my sis, 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 read it, I wanted it to be written.

Before we get to that taradiddle, let me introduce the plaster cast of characters, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His name was Michael bloom of youth, 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 embodied finance. They had a dyad 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 female parent, the final nail in the coffin for his marriage. He and my mom got hook up with soon after the divorcement, I was born a year later, and my sister was born a twelvemonth after that. He was a right dad, and seemed to be a dear husband, although he poured so much energy into his work that we all kind of had to create the most of the time he had dislodge. And he was apparently large at what he did, because he got picked to be an Executive Vice President of this big financial help business firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our trip. That's why we took it - he was taking a breach between caper to finally enjoy some clock time with his class. He was a good guy.

My mom is Anne Bloom, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage beauty queen on Podarok-2, but her family couldn't afford the kind of usance familial improvements needed for her to relieve oneself a vocation out of it, so after high shoal she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new secretary on sight, a sure sign of the zodiac that he had already mentally left his marriage. She kept working until after my sister was born, by that degree Dad was really raking it in. She was a housewife after that, but the rich, glamourous sort. I don't ever commend her lifting her hand to do actual housekeeping - that's why we had a menage stave. Her chief job was to host parties and take care good, and she managed both with a great sense of style and an amazing hourglass frame that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a short kid from the J. J. Hill in her mettle, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a good wife, too.

My figure is Thomas Jackson flush. I turned 17 criterion class old a few months before all this happened, and should have started my quarter year of high schoolhouse about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at nativity and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the human universe, but while my acclivity were truly top ledge, I've always lacked the sort of motivation that would really let me go up to my potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of lean, athletic muscle, I'd say I'm really a pretty normal adolescent. well, I am a little unusual in one big way. Or two slightly smaller ways, depending on the juncture. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech troupe, and somehow he was allowed to give me some"special features ”, thing they had invented but would never release. thing like raise pheromones, and testes that can churn out more come than a distinctive college frat house. Oh, and two dicks. Sometimes.

I have a regular penis. Well, not regular - 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 regular penis. Underneath it is where thing get complicated.

The genic applied scientist at the company gave me a few new muscles, a few new sphincter muscle, and a second, more elastic member. Most of the time, I keep those sphincters shut with no more attempt or thought than you use to keep your asshole closed, and even during sex it is nil at all to keep Tricky Dick hidden away. The enhanced elasticity lets it compact car really small when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest Johnson isn't already too erect ( it gets complicated, entrust me ), a barely seeable"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky Dick joins the party. The just real check is that I only have so a great deal blood, so when both of the boy are in play they're only about 24cm yearn 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 great as it sounds. I had to instruct to control all that as a yearling, and until then apparently my parents had some really interesting experiences at bath times and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured gymnastic honorable looks kept me reasonably popular with the ma'am, most don't want anything to do with a peter that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girlfriends to conduct a personal pastime in my detritus, and two of them had called it quits on the position - the third was intrigued and resulted in a abbreviated but very educational relationship. On the downside, one of the former two also talked about me to her Friend, which quickly spread, earning me the cognomen 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 have it away. I never mustered up the bravery to ask him, and for obvious ground no longer can. My Best guess is that he wanted hoi polloi to see me as a manifestation of him, and part of that included some variety of sexual dominance.

Now before I get to the rest of the story, there is one more individual to mention : my sister, Louis Comfort Tiffany. Tiff was born exactly one banner year 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 birthday. My dad wanted her to be happy and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the arrangement. She also got some pregnant customize genetic enhancement, nothing quite as flaky 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 XIII she could pass for a few years previous and attracted the persistent tending of every man ( and many women ) in any room she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her proportionality are almost occult - long of leg and arm, tiny waistline, nicely proportional bosom and ass, and all perfectly symmetrical. virtually of my friends ( all of the guys, and many of the girls ) had made fling at her and I was fully aware of how attractive she was… from a purely faculty member stand, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a beauty queen escritoire Mom, an underachieve superman, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A home, pretty flush and therefore a little more distant than most, but happy nonetheless.

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

The Ceres-Hastings line of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the skillful class of starliners. They were designed to get rider away from the ship as quickly and safely as potential, and then basically just wait for helper to arrive. They were designed to keep 24 people live for 30 daytime, and not much else - they offered safe, not comfort. They can't really land anywhere with an aura, and the passengers 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 engines and armor plating and artificial solemnity and focalise on what we could actually put our work force on.

The seat division of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six rows of four with an aisle down the middle. 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 hatch anymore. At the very front there was a lowly airlock big enough for a single large soul, and on either face of it a couple of"command"seating room with the limit controls and displays needed to provide the passenger just enough knowledge and dominance to bide sane. In between was a small unfastened area lined on one incline with dispensers for rationing out nutrient and piddle and a few computer storage locker with some former supplies, and on the other with a washables, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each early and the respite of the ship by secrecy panels - hygiene wasn't considered all that authoritative but survivor might need to wash grave materials off. In the very eye of the trading floor were a couple of dialog box concealing the localization of two automeds.

The front and the rear section were lined with presentation that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the outside of the panoplied Isaac Hull, and the whole space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little ardent than normal room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's Menachem Begin .