The Last Farewell - [BJ]

Chief Wallace was sitting in a chair at the table under the outer rim of the 5-EX, keeping an eye on the dozens of Trog Longshoreman loading the Zenite. The same table Doctor Boyce had used when testing ore samples. Upon seeing Commander Smith, Ensign Bauer, and the two Security Guards from the Central Banking Commission of Merak II approaching, he stood up.

"Guardian Gladden," Commander Smith said, "Give the keys to the cuffs to Chief Wallace, please, and take over out here." As Guardian Gladden transferred the keys, Commander Smith said, "Boatswain, come with us."

The smell of breakfast being prepared greeted Commander Smith when he came onboard and he saw that Doctor Boyce and Commissioner Anderson were sitting at a table on the Mess Deck, drinking coffee. As was Lieutenant Moonwatcher.

Commander Smith retrieved his key from Lieutenant Hammer and opened the Weapons Locker, pulling out a set of combination hand and leg restraints. He handed the handcuffs with the long chain connecting it to leg irons to Chief Wallace, telling him, "Take O'Connell to his Cabin. Attach one ankle-cuff to a leg and one wrist-cuff to the bed-rail. That will give him enough slack to go to the head inside his Cabin. After he is secured, remove the handcuffs he is currently wearing."

"Is that really necessary?" Commissioner Anderson asked, rising from his table and approaching Commander Smith in the Control Room.

Although the stare of the Ship's Captain was cold enough to cause third-degree frostbite, his voice was normal. "It is necessary."

"Listen, Captain," Commissioner Anderson said in a conciliatory tone as O'Connell was led away, "As the Special Envoy in charge of this mission, I have no objections if the man chooses to stay on Ardana."

"Like I've said," Commander Smith replied, his countenance back to normal, "You are in charge of the Mission; I am in charge of the Ship. I can not allow someone onboard to remain behind. That makes him an illegal immigrant."

"But surely the High Advisor would give him permission to stay," Commissioner Anderson reasoned. "After all, O'Connell did save Ishlass's life."

"If this were a passenger ship and O'Connell was a ticketed Passenger, yes," Commander Smith answered. "But O'Connell was placed on here by the Government of Merak II. It is my responsibility to get him, and you other three, back there. As well as the Zenite ore and any left over purchasing funds."

By then, the food was ready and as Petty Officer Dawson was serving the pancakes and sausage patties (along with milk, orange juice, coffee, and toast), Commander Smith told Lieutenant Moonwatcher, "When you finish eating, go relieve Guardian Gladden if you would." The order the Captain issued to the Cook was, "Once everyone else has been served, prepare a tray and take it into the Prisoner."

The word 'Prisoner' hung in the air, dampening everyone's spirits. Even the arrival of Farasha from her Cabin fifteen minutes later did not much brighten the mood.

"No meeting this morning?" Commander Smith asked as she joined Doctor Boyce and Commissioner Anderson at their table. She was wearing a one-piece khaki-colored mining jumpsuit. It was clean and in good repair, but far from the dresses she had worn for the other negotiating sessions. As usual, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Oh, yes," she answered and brought two pancakes over to her plate with a fork. "But after your promise of 'muscle' yesterday, I don't think I need to continue the charade of being a member of the Bourgeoisie." She poured syrup (cane, not maple. Dawson was a 'good ole boy') over her flapjacks. "I can dress normally as a Proletariat."

"You have a remarkable vocabulary for a Troglyte," Lieutenant Hammer observed, adding, "No offense."

More than likely, Farasha had a witty reply, but she never got to make it for a Stevedore knocked on the bulkhead next to the opening into the Mess Deck. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Captain, but we have finished loading. The men are sliding away the cargo ramps now." Holding out a clipboard, he asked, "Could I ask you to sign this?"

Once the Stevedore had departed, Commander Smith asked Commissioner Anderson, "After breakfast, while we are making preparations to get underway, do you and Doctor Boyce want to go up to Stratos and bid Ishlass goodbye?" As he was talking, he arose from his seat, stepped into the Galley, and took the key to the hover-craft off its hook. "Here you go, Comrade Farasha," he said, placing the key on the table next to her plate. "A souvenir from the 5-EX."

"Thank you, Comrade Captain," she replied, accepting the gift. Looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye, she asked, "Do you have the registration? You have to go into town, to the Department of Transportation, and sign it over to me in person."

Commander Smith's brow furrowed. "But the Port Foreman and I didn't do that."

"Yes, but as an off-worlder, you are considered a sky-dweller," she explained. "When property is transferred to a Troglyte, it has to be done in person by the one making the transfer."

"I have a ship to get ready," Commander Smith shot back, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice.

"I can make her ready, Captain," Lieutenant Hammer offered, "while you go into town."

This was Lieutenant Hammer's first voyage as a First Officer. The Captain was about to point out that Lieutenant Hammer had never actually been in charge of that evolution before, although he had participated in the procedures countless times when he was a Second Officer and a Midshipman. Participated, but never in charge. Then Smith remembered something Admiral Thorndike had said to him about an Officer having to grow into a job when promoted. Everybody has to have a first time.

"Whenever you are ready, Comrade," Commander Smith said to Farasha. She replied that she just needed to grab her luggage; she had packed last night. Commander Smith assisted her and as they headed for the access ramp, he said, "You drive."

"Your Second-In-Command is a bit of a bigot, isn't he?" Farasha asked as she drove the hover-craft down the road towards town.

"He's a good man," Smith answered, "A fine Officer. Hey!" he jerked his head to the right as the craft took a fork in the road before they reached town. The same fork he had driven them down two days before. "You missed the turn."

She drove them to the same group of boulders he had driven to, pulled off the road, and parked behind the large rocks. Just like he had done. Killing the engine, she jerked her head to the rear, "Into the back seat, Space Cowboy."

"We're not going to have time for that and do the title transfer," Smith protested, looking into the backseat, towards the direction of town, and then in direction to the spaceport.

"You don't have to make an appearance in person," she told him, exiting the hover-craft and getting into the rear of the vehicle. She was enjoying this. It was the first time she had seen him flustered. Well, except for when he was cumming. But that didn't count. Everyone is flustered when that happens. Male and female. "I just told you that to get you out here."

"Then . . . then I should be back on my ship making her ready to get underway," Smith answered, still sitting in the front passenger seat.

"Lieutenant Hammer can do that," she replied. "He's a good man." She patted a spot on the seat, continuing to invite him to join her. "You told me so just now."

Accepting the fact that he had been out-maneuvered, Smith 'struck colors' and joined Farasha in the backseat.

"Honestly," she said, half-turning to face him and reaching for his belt-buckle, "I have never met a man more difficult to talk into a blowjob than you."

"But I'm worth it," he replied, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her face towards his, his parted lips fully covering hers. His other hand cupped her chin. Her eyes closed and her hands ceased their fumbling with his belt buckle as his tongue probed and explored her mouth.

When he broke the kiss, she said, "Yeah . . ." Her face was flushed as she resumed opening his pants. "I guess you are at that."

In a matter of seconds the two of them had Smith's pants and boxers down around his ankles and Farasha had crawled up onto the backseat, on her knees, leaning over his lap. She did not have to encourage his cock. The kiss and her insistence on doing this had the organ already rock-hard. Smith rubbed his hand over Farasha's back, across her shoulder blades, as she bobbed her head up and down. Her tightly sealed lips slid wetly along the rigid shaft, sometimes pausing on the upstroke to suckle on the head. With her right fist she pumped on the lower half of that meat-pole while her left hand cupped and fondled his balls.

This was not fastidious fellatio she was performing. It was as if she was going out of her way to make it wet and sloppy. Her saliva coated his column, causing her hand to make loud, squishy noises as it stroked him. Drool covered his hairy ball-sack and matted his pubic hair. On occasion, she would entirely remove her mouth from his peter to spit on it. A violent, head-jerking hoicking of mucus, making his wet cock even wetter. Then she plunged back down, slobbering on him like a woman possessed. She rocked her head from side-to-side, like a dog shaking a blanket.

Smith sat up straighter, amazed by her attack on him. The woman was acting like an addict needing a fix and his sperm was the ****.

"Oh, Farasha," he groaned, beginning to rotate his butt. "I'm getting close . . . I'm already getting close."

He sounded confused, bewildered, by how quickly she had brought him to the edge. She, in turn, lifted her head to tell him, all the while still pumping on his stalk, "Yes, Richard. I want you to cum. I want you to cum and fill my filthy mouth with your hot, nasty spunk. Cum in my cock-sucking mouth, Richard. Cum in it!"

He gripped her head, his right hand on her forehead, his left grabbing the base of her ponytail, and shoved her head down. Forcing her open mouth back on his hair-triggered prick. She willingly accepted him back into her mouth, bobbling her head up and down. He 'helped' her by jerking her noggin, using her ponytail as a handle.

"ARRRRGGGGHHHHhhhhh!" he screamed into the desolate morning air, knowing that no one was around to hear. Farasha's loud gulping announced that she was swallowing his spunk as fast as he gave it to her. Each blast plastering her palate, coating her tongue, splattering the insides of her cheeks. He thrashed about under her, his back arched, his entire body tensed.

Until he collapsed into the cushions of the backseat, his hands falling away, his eyes glazed.

"Wh-what was that all about?" he wheezed as his careening brain settled and his soul returned to his flesh.

"That," Farasha straighten up and snuggled next to him, "my big, handsome Spaceman, was incentive for you to come back to me."

"I . . . I don't even know if I have . . . whew . . . the strength to leave," he murmured.

She scurried from the backseat to the front, starting the engine and 'abandoning' him to his own devices. "Don't worry about it," she giggled, rather pleased with herself, "Lieutenant Hammer will take care of getting the ship home. He's a good man."

During the drive back to the Spaceport, Farasha kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, watching the still befuddled Smith trying to make himself presentable. Just before they reached the parking area for the containers, she stopped the vehicle so that he could get up front with her.

"Richard," she said, her green eyes serious, "I meant what I said about returning to me."

His eyes were equally serious and he answered simply but truthfully, "I will."

Putting the hover-craft back in gear, she returned to her normal, cheerful self, wanting him to remember her that way. "And back there in the desert I meant to . . . how do you say it? . . . rock your world."

Meanwhile

After the Captain and Farasha had departed the ship, Commissioner Anderson commented, "He could let O'Connell stay on Ardana. I am certain that High Advisor Ishlass would give him full legal immigration status."

"That's not the real reason the Captain is refusing," Lieutenant Hammer answered. "Do you think that O'Connell is the first young man to be far away from home for the first time to fall in love with a foreign girl? But if they are to stay together, one of them has to leave his or her home. Abandoning it. Probably forever. And then what? The one who leaves ends up in a strange land. In a strange culture. Having a heritage and customs he or she does not understand. With no family of his or hers around."

The First Officer slowly shook his head. "It is a recipe for heartbreak. For tragedy. That is why any man assigned to a ship has to obtain his Captain's permission before marrying a foreign woman. That permission is very, very . . . very . . . rarely given. Ofttimes the man is reassigned to a ship that does not visit that port. Although that is never given as the official reason for the transfer."

Walking over to an entertainment station, he turned it on and pressed a few buttons. "Just to show you how old this problem is, take a listen to this song from . . . um, I think it was the Twenty-First Century. Maybe even going all the way back to the Twentieth. It is called, 'The Last Farewell'."
[A YouTube Video]

As the song started to play, Lieutenant Hammer said, "The Captain did not try to explain all of this to you, as he knew you would not understand."