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The Nobility of Now

123

Colonist No. 4051, Guadalupe Salazar, awoke from her slumber with a start. The stimulants pumped into her bloodstream intravenously had done their job well, taking her from deepest sleep to absolutely alert in an instant. She felt the stiff, cool plastic of a hospital bed under her. That was a good sign but still, nervously, her eyes darted around, looking for signs of struggle or upheaval: it wasn't unheard of for rebellions and revolutions to take place on slow-boat generation ships. But there were no such indications, only a half-bored collection of individuals around her, attired in the Medical Corps' white with the Red Cross emblazoned on their breasts. Guadalupe breathed a heavy sigh of relief and wordlessly raised her right wrist to accept the smart bracelet she knew was coming. Her thoughts were on the reason for her awakening, so focused that she was startled when her smart bracelet chime sounded in her head.

She exhaled slowly, reaching forward and ignoring the disapproving pleas of the medical staff as she grabbed a handhold and climbed out of the stiff hospital bed, setting her shaky, pseudo-atrophied legs on the ground for the first time in thirty full years.

***

She noticed wearily that, as usual, fashion and style for women had changed dramatically in the last three decades, meaning she had a choice between appearing either extremely old-fashioned or a poor mimic of contemporary styles. Meanwhile attire for men remained simply variations on the previous themes – men never had to come out worrying about what their clothes would say about them, something that annoyed her.

As Guadalupe browsed through the clothing store, she thought back to her youth with its peasant styling; plain white blouses and wide, ankle-length skirts, always conservative colors and never showing off more than shoes and perhaps (if one were daring) an inch or two of calf not covered by socks. Looking around at the tight, short and brightly colored attire of this era's girls – much of it adorned with hanging strips of bright, reflective plastic – she couldn't help smile at what a scandal it would have been to her elders.

Naturally, the fashions clashed horribly with the sedate greys, whites and blues of the generation ship, itself a living testament to the triumph of cold pragmatism over warm aesthetics. Supposedly, in the ship's records, there were accounts of periods where the Crew fell delinquent in their duties or were overthrown from their position resulting in anarchy; a tell-tale sign was always a sudden and inconceivable shift in the ship's colors. But those events were far in the past, long before even Guadalupe was taken aboard. She half-suspected they were mere fairy tales told to scare the children. At any rate, the contrast between citizens and background at least made for interesting visuals, Guadalupe thought. She browsed the aisles, wavering between her choices for a few minutes before deciding that playing it safe and coming off as old-fashioned would be better. Perhaps it would even offset the effects of her youthful appearance as well.

With the issue settled, she swiftly moved between racks, picking up this skirt and that blouse, those shoes and these accessories. It wasn't her first time doing this and by now she had it down to a science, curtly ignoring the helpful questioning of store assistants and stepping into the nearest dressing room, shedding the chrysalis of plain white pseudo-paper hospital garments for something with a bit more class.

Just then a priority new bulletin flashed across the wall-strip, delivered by an attractive brunette who looked too young for the job: an explosion of some sort in a nearby district, casualties unknown. Guadalupe frowned. Shipboard accidents were supposed to be rare; at least rare enough there wouldn't be a fresh-faced anchorgirl breaking the news to the populace, spouting off about the Yellow Legion or some such other riff-raff. Guadalupe couldn't care less that it happened – issues like this were the Crew's responsibility – but the frequency suggested by the anchorgirl's tone and bearing did give her a flash of caution.

The feeling didn't last however and she quickly put on new clothes, restoring a sense of normality. As she looked in the mirror, scrutinizing her appearance, Guadalupe felt the gravitas of her situation. She sighed and tried to fix her hair a bit; she eschewed makeup but her hair (glossy black and worn straight down a bit past her collar) was important as it covered up her stuck-out ears and low forehead. She fretted over it for a few minutes before deciding punctuality trumped perfection, giving her best smile as she looked in the mirror, "I hope they consider me presentable," she thought.

She slowly stepped away and turned away from the mirror, gathering the other bags of clothes in her hands and stepping out of the changing room, her bearing and countenance as drastically changed as her clothing, smiling and greeting the people around her as she approached the register. The attendant was a honey blonde older woman with an easy smile and soft voice. Guadalupe didn't say anything, didn't have to really, she just keyed her smart bracelet subvocally, which then transmitted to the scanner attached to the register. The woman blanched, "I'm so, so, so sorry ma'am! You look so young... I didn't expect—"

Guadalupe silenced her by placing her a hand on the woman's shoulder, "It is quite alright dear, I understand," then slowly walked her fingers inward, dancing closer to the neck, "As for payment, you are familiar with Colonist's Right?"

The woman, frozen in place, nodded slowly as a wry grin spread over Guadalupe's face.

***

Five minutes later, the two of them were inside a dimly lit storage area around back. The woman was bent over a box at the waist, her purple and gold short pants tugged down to her knees, face down and gripping the plastic sides with knuckles white from exertion. For her part, Guadalupe was naked (she had no desire to soil clothes she was in the act of purchasing) and standing behind the woman, hands on her butt as she held her yellow panties to one side with a thumb, her other hand maneuvering her into position. Guadalupe licked her lips, thinking of all the ways she could use this woman, right here and right now, if it weren't for her pressing engagement elsewhere. She let her cock slide back and forth against the woman's slit, digging fingers in deeper as juices began to lubricate her member. The woman was breathing heavy under Guadalupe and she decided to move on to the next step, prodding her pussy a few times before lining up just right and penetrating her with all the poise and grace expected of a Colonist.

Guadalupe took her time, setting an easy pace on account of the woman's age, her pussy lips flipping inside whenever Guadalupe thrust, causing the sound of wet suction as the two were joined. But she was aware the clock was ticking and did absolutely nothing to hold herself from cumming, feeling balls slowly pull tighter in spite of the placid sex. It wasn't quite good sex for her, but Guadalupe had other things on her plate.

The minutes passed without words being spoken, only the wet slap of two bodies coming together, another, far lewder, sound of sticky-wet pussy being fucked and the mutual grunts of effort. But it was clear to both participants this was a transactional act, not a loving one, and Guadalupe grew frustrated at how much time it was taking. Thinking quickly, she stopped thrusting for a few seconds, kicking the woman's feet a bit more apart and moving her hands upwards, causing her back to arch more. With just a few shifts, she had a much better angle and set about fucking the woman more aggressively. She started to pant in under a minute while the woman squirmed under her, attempting to find a new equilibrium.

Guadalupe liked the movements and the renewed feeling of pleasure as her wet meat slid in and out, but her orgasm came up on her unexpectedly. One second she was looking up at the crest of her pleasure, the next second she was halfway downslope, filling the woman's pussy with her hot seed. She gave her two more hard thrusts, then grabbed her hips again and went to the hilt – holding herself there until she'd finished cumming and her cock wilted inside the woman.

"Remember, I'm No. 4051. Thank you for your service," Guadalupe said politely but mechanically, quickly dressing and hauling up her bags as she walked out of the storage area, leaving the woman bent over, breathing heavy and leaking cum down her thighs.

***

Guadalupe had arrived to the expansive mansion ten minutes early, anxiously watching the smart bracelet's radiation readout. Ambient radiation was, of course, acceptably low for the route they took, but the occasional chime to indicate unplanned spikes in exposure levels – almost always extremely localized and temporary – set her on edge, even while riding inside the shuttle's shielded interior. And it seemed like every time she was brought awake, the "acceptable" ambient limit was raised higher and higher. Still, she had to do what she had to do and couldn't beg off just because of an irrational fear of temporarily elevated levels of radiation exposure.

"Of whom great glory is given, much is expected," she thought wryly, stepping out of the shuttle, lifting her skirt a bit to keep it out of the usual muck on the deck. Outside the mansion, in the driveway, there were only two professional greeters; in this case a boy and a girl barely in their teens, both wearing a garish mix of white, yellow and orange with the girl's ensemble being completed by thick amber rings on four fingers and the boy's by a set of green sunglasses. Nevertheless, underneath the fashion disaster they were both cute and as they launched into a synchronized greeting spiel, Guadalupe idly wondered if the taboos and assumptions regarding greeters had changed over the last thirty years.

"Ah yes, our darling, the esteemed Ms. Guadalupe Salazar has arrived everyone! Line up everyone and let us begin the introductions!" a woman at the top of the stairs announced in a lilting tone, drawing out her annunciation of "darling."

This woman, the hostess, was herself much older than the greeters, probably in her forties or fifties at least, with blonde hair in a tight crown braid around her head, sparkling with bright adornments, a hawk-like face and slender build. She was also wearing something less assertively offensive than the children, but only marginally so: a flowing dress, red and upturned on itself at bottom, orange and peeled down symmetrically at top and all of it separated by a transparent mid-section with clear plastic streamers attached to the sides. All and all, Guadalupe thought she looked horrible, but wisely kept her mouth shut. She was here to do a job.

Guadalupe handed her bags off to the greeters without a word and gracefully ascended the stairs, becoming self-conscious about her own plain attire as the foyer came into view, packed with people, all of them equally gaudy in their choice of attire and color. There were close to three dozen people awaiting her, with candidates lining up in no discernible order. That instantly told her it was impromptu social ranking more or less, but at least a good mix. She counted four girls and a boy, perfect for her purposes. On the far side of the room, near a wall covered by lavishly embroidered carpets, were the on-lookers for the spectacle at-hand; parents, teachers, bosses, relatives, perhaps even a few boyfriends and girlfriends. Guadalupe put them all out of her head and focused on the five before her.

The hostess moved back in front of her, the songlike speech cutting through the air, "We are all so honored to have you with us, Ms. Salazar and hope that these sedate accommodations are to your preference," ending with a slight smile at the false modesty.

Guadalupe nodded demurely and motioned to the line of youth in front of her, causing the hostess to turn slightly an extend her arm, presenting them as a whole, "Ah yes, the introductions," as she quickly rattled off their names, walking down the line with Guadalupe following at a distance slightly greater than protocol called for. She looked every one of them over, observing closely for signs of any kind congenital defects or manifestation of radiation sickness. One girl in the middle had eyes that were suspiciously small and wide-set and Guadalupe stopped in front of her, taking a step closer to place her face inches from the girl's and carefully looking her over – the auburn-haired girl standing stiff before her inspector, blood rushing to her face and eyes watering – before deciding it was simply an odd feature rather than an ill-omen. Guadalupe smiled at her to alleviate her fears and ran a finger up her chin, "Your name?"

The girl scarcely got the words out, her voice barely rising above a soft whisper, "Cassandra. Cassandra Walters."

Guadalupe broadened her smile and answered back, "Cassandra... that's a lovely name," letting her smart bracelet key to the girl's biometric records; a necessary step to avoid what was called in polite company "incompatibility." She knew it by a far less polite term. It was a relief to hear the approval sound of a compatible match keyed directly to her ears by the bracelet. Guadalupe raised Cassandra's head as she spoke, "You'll be my first."

The girl broke into her own relieved grin and then looked back down at her feet as Guadalupe continued down the line. As expected, the remainders were completely defect-free and compatible, and she nodded to the hostess, "I stand in awe of the selection before me... I do not believe I can favor only a single among them."

The hostess nodded slowly as well, smiling as the well-worn phrase was spoken, then spun around and clapped her hands daintily. The line broke apart, with watchers converging from all sides. Guadalupe sighed internally. The post-selection festivities were always a challenge to get through; throngs of people she didn't – couldn't – know, all of them seeking favor she wouldn't grant for reasons she wasn't supposed to care for. Transit was the responsibility of the crew. The Colonist's duties were a provisional measure, dictated by circumstances beyond anyone's ability to predict. Still, the pomp and circumstance was necessary, a reminder to all of the rules by which civilized society remained stable. However, the pageantry was made much worse by the anticipation of what was to come afterwards, and Guadalupe's fixed smile and forced pleasantries only belayed her base desires. Desires deferred by tradition.

Still, she curtsied and chit-chatted and danced and gossiped and nodded and entertained the usual steady stream of sycophants drawn to such events, each one equally transparent behind the thin veneer of naiveté. They all took her for a simple rustic, in spite of her status as a Colonist. While dancing with one man – he claimed to be vice governor of somewhere and bore an uncanny physical resemblance to a frog – Guadalupe idly wondered if any of the Colonists were so silly to be taken in by such people. She shook her head, thinking to herself, "No, it couldn't be. If any were so gullible they'd be kept awake and the rest of us slaughtered in our sleep."

Naturally, the thought of going back into cold-sleep and never waking was in many ways even more dire and it sent an actual shiver down Guadalupe's spine. Even though she kept in step, it had been noticeable to her dance partner, "My dear, are you well? You seemed a bit distraught for a second there," Vice Governor Frogman chimed in, concern wrapped around his words.

"Ah, yes, just a bit of... indigestion. Please Vice Governor, if you'll excuse me..."

"But of course, young miss!" he answered, gently releasing her from the grip of his oversized hands and pointing the way to the ladies' room. Guadalupe gave a short nod and curtsy of thanks and left the Vice Governor to pester some other, less influential but probably more attractive, young girl for a dance, making her way through the mass of phony social friends and real political enemies to the door of the ladies' room and shutting it behind her before taking a breath of relief. "Enough is enough," she said to herself, "I've spent enough time mingling with the snakes."

***

The room they'd provided for her stay was, as she anticipated, elegant to the point of absurdity; covered in soft blue carpet, gold-trim and conspicuous displays of wealth in general. There were paintings of landscapes and goddesses, bejeweled utensils and shimmering mirrors on the walls. And the bed! Completely ridiculous to use such a massive structure to sleep, it was easily twenty-five square meters in area! Guadalupe stared at it for a good minute, focusing, trying to reason the mind of one who'd build such a thing – or the one who'd purchase it – and what could possibly be missing in their life that they would think this was something suitable for display. "At least when the farmer shows off his prize pig, one could eat the damned thing later," she thought to herself.

But Guadalupe realized she was simply being overly-harsh towards her hosts: the bed's size, after all, did serve at least one purpose. Although not for her first, no; Cassandra came alone into the room once called, still ridiculously overdressed in the clothes that Guadalupe had first met her in. She meekly opened the door, first poking her head through, visibly nervous as if crossing the threshold into Hell itself. Guadalupe was already naked, standing at the foot of the bed and motioned for the girl to come to her. Cassandra stepped forward slowly, on unsure legs, stopping in front of Guadalupe's nude form and curtsied. Guadalupe merely rolled her eyes and stepped forward before the girl could embarrass herself any further, taking her head in her hands and kissing her boldly. Guadalupe appraised her technique unfavorably: too passive to heat the blood and excite the senses, it was clear just one person would be doing all the work here. Not that she particularly minded, letting a hand fall to the small of the girl's back and undoing her brightly colored – but oddly formal – dress before planting a wet kiss on her neck and sliding the garment off her shoulders.

With her abundance of unnecessary clothing gone, Guadalupe could take a nice, long look at what was going on underneath. Besides the hammerhead eyes and stringy, rust-colored hair, Cassandra was quite alright to look at: taller than Guadalupe courtesy of a lean frame that avoided the worst excesses of being underweight; small but firm breasts with inverted nipples; almost translucent skin that was patterned by veins and dotted with freckles around her shoulders; just enough curve to her hips to suggest womanhood-in-bloom; and a thin but long cock with a seemingly oversized shovelhead along with a set of balls that seemed to mix right into her rather prominent mons and labia; it was difficult to distinguish where one ended and others began. No one would ever call Cassandra a great beauty of her time, but she was certainly attractive enough. More than attractive enough really – once she gained her full measure, she'd probably be quite the temptation to those who knew her.

Guadalupe gently stroked her arms, keeping a light touch as she questioned the girl, "Is this your first time?"

"Ma'am, I stand ready to perform—"

Guadalupe's face twisted into a deep frown, clear enough that the girl stopped speaking. It was obvious the moment between them had passed and required several seconds for Guadalupe to return her expression to something approximating boredom rather than outright revulsion. "Every time I wake, the ones they bring to me are ever more cowed into timidity," she thought, pushing the girl on the bed and pushing her knees apart before settling between her. Guadalupe was careful handling the girl's testicles/labia, cautiously lifting them out of the way before working the head of her cock between her nether lips.

123
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