Search Party - [HJ]

When Chief Petty Officer Abram Wallace returned to the ship after his brief visit to town . . . Or his start into town, he was surprised by two things:
1) Everyone was awake
2) They were all huddled around the Communications and Navigations Station in the Control Room.

After the Comm-Link Conference ended, Commander Smith stood up, and upon seeing Wallace said, "Ah! Good. You're back onboard. That only leaves Lieutenant Hammer unaccounted for. Lieutenant Moonwatcher," he turned to the Second Officer who was now sitting in the chair the Captain had vacated, "See if you can raise the First Officer on his Comm-Link."

"Working on that now, Sir," Moonwatcher replied, pressing a few buttons and speaking softly but distinctly into the microphone mounted on an extension arm.

The Captain quickly brought the Boatswain up to speed. There had been an incident on Stratos. Three Troglytes, two of them not authorized to be in the City of the Clouds, had attempted to execute what looked like a **** plot. High Advisor Ishlass was the intended target. Guardian O'Connell had stopped it. One Troglyte was dead, one seriously wounded, and the third had jumped off a balcony and to his **** rather than being taken alive. Ensign Bauer and Guardian O'Connell were to remain on Stratos with the Special Envoy and the Doctor. Bauer would contact the ship at 0800 Hours, and every eight hours after that.

"Lieutenant Hammer is not responding," Lieutenant Moonwatcher called out from his station. "Maybe he has his Comm-Link turned off or did not take it with him."

Smith frowned at that. Both were against regulations. "Well . . . keep trying."

"Maybe he is unable to respond," Chief Wallace suggested. The Captain looked from the Boatswain, to the Second Officer, and then back to the Boatswain.

"I know you just got off watch, Chief," Commander Smith said, "But I'm going to have to ask you to assume command for a while."

"Lieutenant Moonwatcher," the Captain called as he headed towards the small arms locker. As Commander Smith strapped on a holster-belt with a weapon, he told the Second Officer, "Lieutenant Hammer said that you and he were in a local bar last night." The Captain handed a holster-belt and sidearm to the Second Officer, "Let's start by looking there."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Lieutenant Moonwatcher answered. "He was there a couple of hours ago when I left the place to report back here for my watch."

"Activate the robot," the Captain told the Second Officer. The device had been in the 'standby' mode since they had touched down on Ardana.

Guardian Gladden approached the small arms locker, saying, "With your permission, Sir, I would like one of your sidearms as well." He patted the blaster on his right hip. "This energy plasma weapon is designed to be loud. Part of its 'shock value'. If this turns into a snatch-and-grab operation, I'll need something quieter."

"What about the funds in the cargo hold?" Smith asked. Nonetheless, he handed him a belt and a weapon.

"They can be replaced," Gladden answered while moving the neural disruptor to the other side of the belt. He then had two side-arms of different types, one on each hip. "A man's life cannot."

It was then that Commander Smith became aware that the nineteen-year-old Petty Officer Dawson was standing nearby, waiting to be issued his weapon. "Dawson, uh, I want you to stay here with the Boatswain," the Captain said, closing and securing the locker. The look of disappointment on the Cook's face was obvious. Smith continued, "To, you know, give him back-up."

"How are you making out?" Commander Smith asked, walking over to the robot and Lieutenant Moonwatcher, who was reading from the Technical Manual, trying to figure out how to turn the damn thing on. The robot's chest was an array of buttons, dials, and meters.

"Lieutenant Hammer always handled this," Lieutenant Moonwatcher answered. "I guess I'll have to learn how to operate it as well."

"Well, it is his baby," Commander Smith replied as he took the manual from Lieutenant Moonwatcher to see if he could make heads or tails of it. The Captain had referred to the fact that during the last overhaul when the robot was being modified for shipboard use, the First Officer had been the 'point man' for the project.

"Or, at least his Godson," Lieutenant Moonwatcher commented with a smile. The personal relationship between the robot's designer, Professor Denise Sandstorm, and Lieutenant Hammer was an 'open secret'.

"Captain, if you don't mind," Petty Officer Dawson said as he slipped in between the other two men. The cook pressed three buttons on the robot's chest, flicked a switch, and turned one knob all the way clock-wise. With the whirl of gears and gyros, 'Standing Bear', as the robot was codenamed, came 'alive'.

Commander Smith passed the manual back to Lieutenant Moonwatcher, stared at the Cook for a moment or two, then went back to the small arms locker, using the key on his ring to re-open it.

"Here," the Captain said, holding out a holster-belt and weapon to the Cook.

ABANDONED MINE TUNNEL

Inside one of the numerous mines that dotted the country-side, within one of the numerous abandoned branch tunnels, Lieutenenant Hammer's Comm-Link was persistently going off.

Hammer was sitting on an old wooden bench. He had on a pair of handcuffs, leg-irons around his ankles, with a longer chain connecting the handcuffs with the leg-irons. The length of the connecting chain was such that when standing, he was unable to lift his arms. When seated, of course, he could raise his hands to about shoulder level.

He had on nothing else. His captors had stripped him of all clothing to insure he did not have a concealed weapon.

"What the hell is this thing!" a tall, burly man with an ugly scar running from his temple to his jawline shouted. He was wearing a khaki-colored one-piece jumpsuit as he stood towering over the Spacer, shoving the small square box towards his face.

"That's my Comm-Link," Hammer answered, lifting his hand to retrieve the device. "My ship is trying to contact me."

The backhanded blow the man delivered was as powerful as it was unexpected, hitting Hammer across his face and sending him sprawling to the floor. Hammer's first reaction was to lunge for his Captor, but he checked himself, realizing it would accomplish nothing.

"KEVEX!" a woman's voice screamed as she rushed from behind the big miner to stand between him and Hammer who was still on the ground. "You're getting as bad as they are."

Noticing that she was carrying a metal bowl of water with a washcloth in it, he growled, "I told you to ignore his injuries."

"Like they ignore ours?" she shot back. Although she was nearly a foot shorter than he was, she stood her ground, staring up at him with her eyes flashing. "This man is from another world. We have no grief with him."

"He's here for the Zenite," Kevex growled. "As long as other planets buy the ore, the Airheads will maintain their wealth and power." Still she did not move. When the Comm-Link beeped again, Kevex flung it to the ground in anger and stomped it with the heel of his heavy boot. Crushing it and then storming out of the tunnel.

The woman sat her bowl down in front the bench, helped Hammer up to sit on the bench, and knelt down to ring out the washcloth. As she applied the damp cloth to the fresh cut on his cheek, Hammer wenched while asking, "So you guys are the Disruptors?"

"No. We are the Sons of Freedom," she answered, dunking the cloth again to clean a cut on his wide chest as she knelt between the naked man's legs. When she addressed the contusions on his side, bruises where the skin was not broken, she pressed down, trying to work the medicine into the muscle. It was a home remedy, made from local herbs. But it was all they had. Only in Stratos was modern medical treatment available. Grinning up at him, she added in a low, conspiratorial voice, "And Daughters."

"You know people will die without the Zenite?" his brown eyes stared into her green ones. She had high cheekbones and a celestial nose. Her hair was dark and long, tied back in a ponytail.

"The way my people are dying now to mine it?" she replied. While doctoring an area on his upper thigh, her wrist accidentally brushed across his privates. Hammer, without really thinking about his action, scooted slightly forward on the bench. The woman did not look up at him, she kept her head lowered to hide a smile. Again she 'accidentally' brushed across his genitals. Longer this time. With a certain amount of pressure. His phallus began to respond.

"We are not stopping all production," she plopped the washcloth back into the water, but did not retrieve it to wring it out. Instead, she placed her open hand over his crotch. Casually. As if she was resting her hand on his knee or thigh. "Although we would if we could. But by reducing the output, eventually the rest of the Galaxy will put pressure on the Cloud Dwellers."

"That will take years," Hammer pointed out while lowering his gaze from her face to her hand. His cock was swelling underneath it and as she felt it swell, she squeezed into it. His eyes briefly closed before adding, "Decades, even."

"Stratos was built centuries ago," she replied, sliding her hand to the side and curling her fingers around the rapidly expanding shaft. Slowly and rhythmically she began to stroke it. Lifting her hand before sliding it back down with a twisting motion of her wrist. "The leaders that built it gave their word that all inhabitants would live there. The Troglytes are still waiting."

"Besides," her other hand came up to cup his balls, holding those full testicles as she continued pumping on his shaft. "I heard your friend say in the bar that your ancestors were held in chains for Centuries."

"That was because we were vastly out-numbered," Hammer told her, starting to hunch his hips. Seeing his reaction, she smiled and started pumping more forcefully. He moaned when she did that and spread his legs wider, giving her better access to his private parts. She took him up on that, sliding in closer on her knees and pressing his balls up against his abdomen, rolling them around as she jerked him off.

"The - the Troglytes are in the vast . . . are in vast, vast majority. If . . . oh, my gosh . . . if you have not taken over by now, then . . . then," Hammer squirmed around on the bench, "you should accept that . . . that you never will. S-some races are just n-n-n-naturally superior to others."

The woman tried not to laugh at the man's reaction. She had been able to turn him into a mindless, stammering, animal of lust with just her hands. She released his cock to quickly dip her hand into the water. It was not much of a lubricant, but it was better than nothing.

Opening his eyes and panting heavily as his 'nurse' gave him a brief reprieve, he held up his hands, displaying the backs of them. "See this color?" he asked. "It originated in Central Africa. We only represent . . . Ooohh . . . " Her hand was back and working furiously on him. He wanted to finish his point, and tried to rush through it while he was still capable of forming somewhat coherent thoughts. "We only rep-represent fourteen percent of Earth's population. Yet in the fields of . . . oooh, that feels so good . . . of, of, of the Military, Law, Education, Medicine . . . We are in positions of leadership far greater than that number. On Earth . . . mmmm, baby . . . black skin is a sign of s-superiority. On Adrana . . . the . . . the Cloud Dwellers are superior."

She nodded down at her own hands, as she could not lift them at the moment. Her hands were busy. Very busy. "But have not Troglytes and Cloud Dwellers the same skin color? The same hair color? The same eye color?" The faster she talked, the faster she pumped, "Have we not the same hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, and passions? If you cut me, will I not bleed?"

"If you stroke me will I not cum!" Hammer cried out as he arched his back, his cock shooting out thick, rapid pulses of long, ropey sperm. Splattering across the top of the woman's jumpsuit. Flying up in the air to fall back onto her hands, wrists, his thighs, and belly. His hips were bucking and he grunted with each contraction. "Ughn . . . ughn . . . ughn . . ."

Thus giving their political conversation a 'happy ending'.