Age of the Orc - 05

Then
17 Aug 2013, Fourth Age
18:12:05

Eevin's toes grabbed the zipper of Zoch's pants. The Hobbit was seated on a Hobbit-sized stool, while the Orc was on the ground, a cold pack over the top half of the face. The cybereye implant surgery had gone well. Mordor Cybernetics' little gift for the successful oral defense. The flesh around the eye sockets was still swollen and sore, though.

Zoch-2990Z of Barad-dûr was now officially the first Orc with a doctorate in theoretical physics. For the megacorp, fixing Zoch's eyes was protecting their investment.

The Hobbit's toes rubbed the Orc's dick through the worn white boxers. Zoch tried to imagine her face. Eevin's teeth biting down on her lower lip as the tip of the cock pushed past the waistband. Boxers tugged down so that the stiffening prick rose in the air. Then her bare feet touched the Orc dick. Hard, leathery feet. Strong toes, the nails carefully trimmed, painted a different color every week. Zoch's chest rose and fell, and the Orc tried to focus on something else, to draw out the moment.

It can be difficult to develop an effective framework of theoretical physics when the prevailing philosophical paradigm is that Eru Ilúvatar created the world only a few tens of thousands of years ago. Real advancements had only occurred during the last three hundred years, as growing atheism finally allowed new ideas to emerge. As people accepted gravity and atomic physics, instead of thinking the Valar kept everything down on the ground. Electricity, X-rays, lasers, fiber-optic communication networks—the world as they knew it—was a new, raw thing, built on an older, more static world.

Temporal mechanics had grabbed Zoch's attention during grad school. It had been the focus of the Orc's dissertation, to Mordor Cybernetics' considerable approval. Zoch's breakthrough had actually come one afternoon at The Last Bookstore, when Eevin showed him an incunabula copy of The Silmarillion, one printed in Far Harad, with added commentary from an Orc scholar-scribe who used the pseudonym Gugavka. As an undergraduate, Zoch had minored in history, and she knew how much Zoch liked old Orc books.

Almost as much as Eevin knew Zoch liked other things.

The Orc could still remember her there, back pressed against the Human-sized table. Zoch had come up and pressed a bulge of trapped Orc dick into her face. The book lay there, open to the story of creation as she nuzzled the Orc's caged cock through Zoch's pants...and that was when Zoch had seen it.

The Music of the Ainur.

It was a myth. One Zoch had long dismissed. There had been papers theorizing that everything that made up reality was really just a three-dimensional hologram of a two-dimensional informational substrate, but no proof and no way to prove it. For a moment, Zoch had forgotten about the warm Hobbit tongue licking the metal cock cage she had asked her lover to wear during finals week. The image came to him of Morgoth's interruption of the flow, the way the music adapted to the interruption.

That had been the key. Zoch had seen it, even as Eevin's mouth swallowed the Orc cock. If Zoch could alter the code into the informational substrate, enact a change, it would prove the information theory nature of the universe. The tricky part was how to perceive the change, since any change to the information would effectively change the entire universe so that it was always as it had been. Like the old legends of Morgoth's influence on the world; there was no way to go back to before the point of Morgoth's taint, because it was baked in, part of the very informational substructure since the beginning of time.

"You're leaking," Eevin murmured. "You've been so good. Maybe you deserve a treat..."

She had pulled the key that dangled on a chain from between her breasts. Zoch had shivered in barely suppressed need, but had chased that line of thought.

But if Zoch could change the data—it would be like a transcription error in sheet music. It would take a massive amount of energy to enact even small changes in the information substrate, and there was no way to "write" information from scratch. Teleportation had too many complications, too many vectors. Trying to move an object in three dimensions, the math was insane. But in one dimension—that might work. And it could leave evidence discernible in the present.

The cage had come off. The line of thought had been fleshed out and formalized Zoch's dissertation. A way to prove the nature of reality.

Through time travel.

In the present moment, Dr. Zoch's cock jerked, unable to hold it anymore, a hot, thick stream of jizz squirting out between Eevin's toes and spattering the Orc's stomach. Eevin stood up from the chair and stepped forward. Jizz-covered toes played at the Orc's lips, the tusks that had been straightened with orthodontics.

"It's not going back to Barad-dûr, Zoch," she whispered, as the Orc's tongue ran between her toes. "It's going forward. Your own lab, your own apartment in the corporate arcology. It's your future."

Our future, Zoch couldn't say. Not while sucking the Hobbit's toe, feel the little soft hairs, taste bitter semen and dirt. The Orc hadn't told her yet about his one request: for a technical assistant. A specific request.

Carefully, Zoch pulled the cold pack away and stared up at Eevin with new eyes. She pulled her toes out of the Orc's mouth. Smiling. Dominant. Zoch gulped, heart hammering. Now or never. This was for the future. Their future.

"Eevin...will you move in with me?" Zoch asked.