Page 9 of The First Omega Made
We followed my indicated path, feet echoing and clanging on an esplanade that circled around the central power pylon and a transportation elevator. We took the stairs, instead. Lopsidedand alternating, the thing reminded me of ancient lore about witches’ stairs. It worked better for quadrupedal beings.
Once on the ninth floor, a soft glowing light above the hall drew us in, and if the way Noel shielded, his gaze told me anything—he could see colors we couldn’t. Vil seemed equally put off, but to me, it only seemed a pale lavender in color.
Noel snagged Gorm’s gun and aimed for the light, shooting it with little hesitation. “Space seizure machine.”
Yep. On brand for Noel.
Vil didn’t bat an eye anymore.
I aided Vil in opening the door for the wing and we pressed in, activating lights that hadn’t been turned on in so very long. They sputtered to life and hummed, whining electricity through the lines, spluttering and popping in places. If the place had enough oxygen, it would burn.
“Gods alive.” Gorm swore under his breath and stared as the lights clicked on one at a time down an enormous hall, from floor to ceiling, spanning thousands of stasis chambers.
“I’m gonna be sick,” one of the men said as he peered into a chamber that looked suspiciously like Naleucian tech. A sunken shell of a Revulon lay within, eyes hollowed into his sockets, his once-green nacre-like shell nothing more than a grayish dusty hue. Like a mask of something somewhat human, most of its face sat in cold relief, its mouth a segmented part like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Empty eye sockets hollowed out with crumpled, withered protrusions hanging from the circular holes.
A curled-up mass of legs covered in fine trichobothria, sensory hairs lay beneath the lolled head.
“Thank the progenitors I can’t smell.” I huffed a low laugh as we paced the hall. One line after another, after another, all bearing withered, old, frostbitten, and sunken bodies of the once-great people.
Out of curiosity, I recalled the gas exchange for the systems being a series of flat electrolytic panels coated in gold. A quick pry at the respiratory unit and air cycling system confirmed my suspicion. “Gold.”
“Gold?” Gorm stared at it with wide eyes. Near worthless to the Revulon—it was a good conductor, but most planets lacked the material. It was far more valuable in preservation tech than it was as artistry. Though, still very valuable. As far as jewelry went, there were far more valuable metals for it, those days. Palladium made beautiful jewelry that only the wealthiest wore.
“Guess I know what we’re harvesting. Merriel, get the crew set up and ready to pull a few tons of gold. We need to do that thing Doc suggested, first. The hypochlorite bomb?” Vill reached over to tap his finger on the thin gold panel inside the stack.
I nodded.
“This is why I like you,” Vil said as he grasped and jerked the whole mechanism out and studied the form. He peeled the gold plate of it away and studied the other layers. “Rhodium and Osmium, too.”
How he could tell by looking, I wasn’t sure, but Noel leaned over and scraped a nail curiously, eventually agreeing. The two had better senses than I did.
Without warning, Noel froze, shoulders tightening. Vil swung his head around, and Gorm seized up, all three of them alarmed to a degree I’d never seen them before. So, when Noel took off running at full force down the hall, toward a bolted door, Vil followed and Gorm did too.
Being so slow was a headache as I jogged after them, lagging behind. The door crumpled, as best I could see. Both Noel and Vil had at it, and Gorm followed. They didn’t need words, but I did.
“Guys?”
“Progenitor,” Vil said.
“Alpha Naleucian,” Noel clarified.
Fuck.
Chapter Five
Doc
I sat by the coms, listening in with Merriel as I tossed tiny bits of a shista fruit peel into the trash incinerator port in the wall. Every other one went in; the rest lay littered across the floor. All the while, I shoved one after another of the grape-sized berries into my mouth while peeling the next.
Despite what Vil thought, I tuned into their video feed. Long ago, I told Vil I had him on mute, but I never really did. I chose not to answer him. After all, they needed me on standby. Besides, he was less raunchy with me since he had Noel. How the omega kept up with him, I couldn’t imagi—no, I could. In detail.
Merriel had loose lips when it came to Vil. Probably because Vil didn’t care.
I was no better since my percentage increased, as I’d grown increasingly aroused at times, even more so since Noel’s last visit. It never boded well, though. My cock always seemed to shrink a little, leak too much, and my ass wept its own lubricant. Just thinking about it made my groin tingle. From the feel of it, I was only days away from my cock retreating inside my perineal cavity. My testicles already had, the gentle pouch of them all that was left. I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I was going to. I hadn’t sat on them funny once, since.
Win-win.
I wanted sex so very badly, but Sarge was the only male I trusted—and Sarge couldn’t. Instead, he watched. Usually, it was Gorm. We fucked like rabbits, but it was only good when Sarge was there, when he approved and watched with heated eyes full of longing to do the same. It wasn’t cucking, exactly. That would imply that I had exclusivity. It was more…voyeur. Having sex felt more like a display for Sarge to show off than it didperformance-art interpretive-dance cheating. With extra steps. Not to invalidate anyone with open relationships or who were into that sort of thing, but our mental gymnastics were different.
