Posted by Menagerie on August 16, 2004 at 21:10:45:
ONE HUNDRED AND ONE
Arnie pushed back from the table and belched. Loudly. “I can’t eat another bite,” he moaned.
They wouldn’t let him stand. One firmly pushed him back in his chair; a second carved another slice off the human thigh on the platter before him. A third cooed, “Now, open wide, Arnie, dear; got to keep your strength up!”
Arnie looked around, at Nikki. And Nikki. And Nikki. They looked cross, arms folded. Helplessly, he shrugged, sat back, and let Nikki36 feed him the tender flesh. Nikki55 said, “It’s good for you, Arnie; I cooked it just for you.”
“Who cooked it?” Nikki87 called out.
“Well, I basted it,” said Nikki55.
“Well, I prepared it,” retorted Nikki87.
“Girls, please!” Arnie mumbled through a mouthful of meat. “It’s very good, really. You are all too good to me.”
Nikki36 put the fork down; blonde, busty and beautiful, she wrapped her arms around him and cooed, “It’s my turn tonight, isn’t it, Arnie?”
“No, me,” said Nikki55, stomping her foot.
Nikki8 entered the dining hall from the lift. “No, Arnie promised me tonight; didn’t you, darling?”
Arnie looked around. “Tonight, I think it was—“…he looked around at name badges…”—you, 87.”
The pretty blonde clapped her hands and squealed; the other pretty blondes turned icy. “Really, Arnie,” said Nikki87, “how could you even look at her…when you could have me?” In a moment, she pulled the seal on her suit; it dropped to the ground, exposing her full, voluptuous body in the buff. Huge breasts thrust proudly out, a narrow waist gave way to wide, womanly hips and a promising, straw-colored snatch.
“Frankly,” retorted Nikki8, “I think you’d look better on a platter than in Arnie’s bed, my dear.”
Nikki87 sashayed up to the seated Arnie, those monster tits a millimeter from his nose. “Oh, Arnie,” she breathed, “…what do you think?”
It didn’t seem like a dream assignment at the time. Just him and cool, collected, by-the-book Nikki Johannsen, a colonel in the USAF, on an interstellar mission to chart previously unknown planets in the Beta Crucis system. 4 ½ years away from his wife and kids, playing Scrabble and doing nothing. Sure, Nikki, thirteen years his junior, was flat out gorgeous; she was also flat out married and flat out monogamous. There might as well be a force field between their quarters.
They always chose guys like him for these missions, he knew; stable, reserved. And older; he’d been on the six-month short hops to nearby systems, using the inverse weak-force drive that had revolutionized space travel. They would be testing a new, accelerated drive on this trip, the furthest mankind had ever gone. And as humanity spread out, they needed the likes of 45-year-old Maj. Arnie Kreplewicz to do the more thoughtful stuff. So, away they went; bon voyage.
Reclined in the cockpit, he turned to dazzling blonde Nicki as the ship shifted into inverse and Earth was reduced to a speck. “Looking forward to the trip, Colonel?”
She looked at him and smiled, juicing his libido just a bit. “Yes…the scientific opportunities are extraordinary, Major. I’ll be consumed with them every waking hour!”
Arnie sighed. That’s what he was afraid of. Not even any goddamn small talk; this was going to be a looong 4 ½ years.
They passed dozens of known systems, noted stellar positions, traded information with settlers on those planets. Humanity had come a long way in the 150 years since the inverse system was discovered; entirely new races were springing up on those lonely planets. “Our children,” said the Governor of Aldebaran IV, excitedly, “they can fly! And they can see through solid objects!”
Wish I could see through that space suit, thought Arnie, staring dejectedly at Col. Johannsen as she sat at the console, her legs crossed, meticulously typing notes into the shipboard log. He tried to envision those huge jugs, those sexy legs; it was hard to concentrate with Nikki in the same room.
They usually ate in silence as she pored over the day’s notes. The computerized galley wasted nothing; every bit of protein that went through their systems re-emerged in edible form. They were trained not to feel repugnance; hell, after a year and a half in space, Nikki’s shit was starting to sound good to Arnie. At least it had been inside her. The ship was humming along; they had just pushed it into the newest acceleration level, and would get to Beta Crucis in about 30 Earth days. Arnie chewed morosely, fantasizing about a T-bone…
The shipboard alarms went off, rousing him out of his lethargy, her out of her fascination. They looked at each other and headed for the cockpit.
The alarm meant radiation; this ship had been tested against everything that had ever been detected out there. Something unknown was permeating the hull. Lights on the console flashed blue.
Nikki consulted the computer. She was losing her usual cool; beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. She turned to Arnie. “The computer doesn’t know what it is!”
Arnie was scrutinizing the readout on the mechanical systems, then life forms. He looked up. “It’s coming from inside the ship; it must be the new drive—Colonel! You’re changing!”
She was. She started to scream, shrilly, as her body seemed to widen…filling the entire cockpit. Arnie watched in horror.
Suddenly, a flash of light, blinding them. Arnie gasped, then took a long, slow moment to regain his vision.
“My god!” said Nikki. A hundred times. In unison.
Arnie blinked. Sure enough, there was Colonel Johannsen. And Colonel Johannsen. And Colonel Johannsen again, one hundred gorgeous, blonde spacewomen—looking around at each other in astonishment. “Major—help me!” they shrieked, a little less in unison.
“OK, OK,” said the stammering Maj. Kreplewicz. The thought flashed through his mind—a hundred Nickis! A dream come true! He’d lost track of their location, checked his instruments, swallowed nervously. “Colonel, uh, Colonels…I don’t know where we are.” The ship’s navigator was blank; the star configuration was unknown.
The Nikkis were becoming more agitated; their actions became less and less synchronized. Arnie figured whatever had duplicated the Colonel had left one hundred identical clones…but from that split-second, their experiences were slightly different, they were becoming more independent. “I’m going to try to reprogram the navigator manually, using the optical scan,” he said to the hundred, hand-wringing blondes. “Why don’t you go about your business, and”—it suddenly occurred to him.
What would they eat?
The ship’s rations had been planned down to the microgram; their metabolisms had been calculated, their needs over 4 1/2 years plotted. Suddenly, they were not two people, but 101. He checked provisions, changed the use rate by a factor of 50, got the answer he expected. “Ladies,” he reported, grimly, “we starve in three weeks.”
It took two days of laborious, manual inputs; and two hours for the ship’s navigational computer to rifle through its memory banks. Neither Arnie nor the hundred Nikkis had even heard of the star cluster it finally came up with…68,000 light years from Earth. Somehow, the experimental accelerator had found a fold in the space-time continuum. Even if they fired it up again—and they didn’t dare; 10,000 Nickis?—it would be a 650 year trip. They were doomed, utterly.
But that wasn’t their most pressing problem. Arnie had no idea how to feed himself and 100 Nikkis. He used lasers to scour the deep space ahead of them for planetoids, anyplace there might be life, there might be carbon-based nutrients. He was doing that in the cockpit when one of the Nikkis approached him. She was wearing a badge, “18”; he’d never be able to tell the 100 identical, beautiful women apart any other way.
“Major,” said Nikki18, calmly—the Nikkis had slowly gotten over their initial panic—“we have a solution, both short and long term.”
Arnie blinked; Col. Sorensten was a biologist, a geologist, an anthropologist--not an astrophysicist. “To get back to Earth? How--?”
“No,” she responded coolly; “there’s no way we’ll make it back. But future generations will; you will inseminate us, and our progeny will continue the voyage.”
You will inseminate us. He was starting to like this plan already. But—
“How about the short term?” he asked. “In a few weeks, none of us will be alive, anyway.”
Nikki18 smiled. Barely. “We’ve figured out a way,” she said, “to enhance the food supply. The same way stranded sailors did in the 18th century.
“We’ve drawn lots,” she continued. “The loser feeds the rest of us.” She turned and walked out of the cockpit.
Arnie was stunned. What? He jumped up, charged out after Nikki18. “You can’t be serious,” he shouted down the gangway.
She paused, and turned to confront him, hands on hips. “Have you got an alternative?” she demanded, then turned into the old Nikki again, fascinated by knowledge for knowledge’s sake. “I’m thinking about this mission. We’ve been where no one else has gone! Earth technology is advancing so rapidly, they may be able to send a ship to intercept us in a matter of years. Or months. What a waste, if all they find is our dust! We’ll simply eat our own, one at a time, to stay alive until we can re-establish communications.”
Arnie was doing some calculations. Each Nikki massed about 55 kilos; even with the protein recycled…“That won’t be enough to sustain the survivors more than a few years. What if your timetable is off?”
“Then,” said Nikki18, “we’ll turn on the accelerator, and make some more.” She added, “Don’t forget; I outrank you.”
Nikki97 strode toward them quickly. She paused, smiled flirtatiously at Arnie, then reported: “Nikki43 has drawn today’s lot. She is being converted into food as we speak.”
Arnie shuddered. “’Converted into food’? What are you doing, running her through the galley’s protein recycler?”
“Not at all,” responded Nikki18. “We’ll do that with the waste; it’s not necessary with the whole product. In fact—“and here, she looked down, reddened and giggled, looking much younger than 32, “considering our plan to man the ship with future generations, we decided you may find an alternative dining experience more appealing.”
Indeed, it was a candlelight dinner that greeted Arnie in the galley. Nikkis18, 67 and 90 would join him; they had been chosen for the first evening’s efforts to preserve the species. On the table was a succulent standing rib roast, complete with full, oven-browned breast. Nikki90 carved a bone-in chop from what had been the lower rib cage of Nikki43; Arnie stared at it on his plate.
“Now, eat up, Major!” commanded Nikki67. “You have a busy evening ahead of you!”
Arnie did. The meat was sweet, softer than he would have expected from the clone of the solidly-built air officer. He chewed carefully, afraid he was going to be sick; instead, he found the flavor…very agreeable. Nikki90 explained, “A little tarragon and sage. Pass the salt?”
Arnie found himself greedily gnawing the flesh from Nikki43’s bones; the other Nikkis giggled and elbowed each other. “Your table manners are outrageous, Major!” one of them laughed.
He arched an eyebrow, wiped Nikki grease from his mouth. “Colonel…uh, Colonels…I thought you wanted me to enjoy myself.”
Nikki18, who seemed to be in charge, said sexily, “And you shall. Ladies? Shall we retire to the Major’s quarters?”
By the time the shipboard clock hit 2200, Arnie had forgotten all about impending doom, about starvation, about being 248 quintillion kilometers from home. In fact, he didn’t have a care in the universe. There were three gorgeous, naked, busty blondes…all identical…lining up, one at a time, to ball him. “Are you ready yet?” purred Nikki67 as she lay next to him, rubbing her breasts against his arm and reaching down to fondle his cock. “Can I help?”
He was 45; they, biologically, were 32 (Technically, of course, 99 of them were two days old). It was likely some or all of the “insemination” wouldn’t take. Where it did, the expectant mother would be exempt from the “Larder Lottery”. Arnie spent the next day in a daze, trying to concentrate on the search for life on the astral bodies ahead; periodically, a Nikki would enter the cockpit, make sexy eye contact with him. take readings and depart, sometimes glancing over a shoulder to see if she’d gotten his attention.
The end of the day came; Nikki06 entered the cockpit. “Time for a meal, and then intercourse,” she announced.
“Hold on a second,” he said. “Whose number did you draw this time?”
“Nobody’s,” said Nikki06. “There is plenty that remains from Nikki43 for a couple of days. And then, if no help arrives and our numbers become fewer, each of us will last longer yet.”
Arnie was losing his appetite. “So, you just ran what was left of 43 through the recycler?”
“Oh, for the other Nikkis, we did,” Nikki06 smiled sunnily, “but we felt it was important to keep you happy; our meal will be much more attractive.”
This time, it was saddle of Nikki43’s loin, with a tangy basil and dill sauce. Nikki06 was joined by Nikki51…and Nikki01. He eyed her curiously. “Are you the real Nikki?” he asked; his dick was ready to burst out of his spacesuit.
She carved him a chop from her clone’s lower back, looked him in the eye. “Are any of us anything less than real? At the time of the multiplication, we each were as real as the other. We are each different now; who’s to say what the first Nikki would have become?”
This was all too philosophical for Arnie; besides, he was starving. He cut the eye out of Nikki43’s loin chop, chewed and swallowed it voraciously. “I feel stronger already,” he announced, and they all laughed, even Nikki01.
Arnie was a wreck, but a happy wreck. He spent all the shipboard day scouring the galaxy for relief from their plight, and all night screwing beautiful Nikkis, with sumptious feasts of human flesh in between. His feeble, middle-aged sperm took hold in a few of the Nikkis, whose bellies were swelling noticeably; meanwhile, the lots were still drawn, and the number of Nikkis continued to shrink.
Once, he hesitantly asked Nikki12 how they felt about being sacrificed just to keep him alive. Her response was instantaneous: “It’s the only way for the mission to survive.” How were the Nikkis being, er, slaughtered, he asked. “Very quick. A laser through the ear. She never feels a thing.”
Any guilt he felt was erased come suppertime. He was actually starting to crave Nikki meat! Nikki leg with mint jelly; Nikki ribs in barbecue sauce; Nikki stewed; Nikki broiled. Timidly at first, and later with a grin on his face, a swagger in his voice, he started placing his order for the evening meal. If Nikki18, who still appeared to be in charge, thought he was being gauche, she didn’t show it, keying in each of Arnie’s new favorites to the galley.
After six months, though—and after 36 Nikkis had been turned into entrees—the unexpected happened. Nikki18 broke the news to Arnie.
“Nikki67, this morning,” she told him. “Spontaneous abortion.”
“Why?” he asked her. “You’re a biologist; are we incompatible?”
“No,” she said grimly. “We’ve checked all that. We’re wondering if it has anything to do with the radiation that caused the multiplication to begin with. We’re conducting tests in the lab right now.”
Arnie saw his daily orgy of sex and gluttony slipping away from him. “So what do we do in the meantime?” he asked, his voice taking on perhaps just a trace of a spoiled child kind of whine.
Nikki18 looked at him, exasperated, and said, “We continue with the plan. At this point, we can’t afford to lose any time…or potential offspring.”
And so it went on, even as the fetuses kept aborting. Nikki poached, Nikki steamed, Nikki chowder, Nikki pate. Nikkis who had lost potential offspring were first in line in the lottery; some of them—six months of different experiences had them thinking a little bit differently than Nikki01—weren’t thrilled with the concept of being on the menu. The others, those whose ova hadn’t yet been found wanting, started playing up to Arnie, asking the major if he could pull a few strings, maybe get them moved ahead on the mating list--? Arnie hadn’t had so many bosoms in his face, legs on his lap, since college. He started feeling like a performing animal; he thought he was debauching his way into oblivion.
A year later. None of the pregnancies had worked out; some had gotten very late term, only to fail, and the 27 remaining Nikkis—each one now lasted about three weeks in the larder and processor—were closely studying the results. Their hopes of maintaining the human presence on the ship were growing dimmer.
But Arnie didn’t care. He’d gained thirty pounds from his Nikki meat, and as the clones grew more desperate to save themselves and be the mothers of his children, they had taken to gallivanting around the ship in various states of undress, loudly discussing their female charms in Arnie’s presence. Whenever one Nikki tried to seduce Arnie, another would start telling him how good her rival would taste. Arnie was starting to feel like Nero, or maybe Caligula.
Besides, enjoying the depravity on board beat thinking about the loneliness of space. They were only 150 light years closer to home; every star they’d come upon had been barren—not a single planet, no way to seek out organic components. Oh well, he yawned, dragging himself out of his seat and padding toward the galley, dinnertime.
Nikki31, wearing just panties and grav boots, smiled cheerfully as she tied a napkin around Arnie’s triple chins. Unlike Arnie, the Nikkis were strictly eating rationed reprocessed protein; they were all as trim as the original had been. Nikki09, wearing a tattered, peek-a-boo jumpsuit, carved a slab from Nikki19’s buttock, oven-roasted and garnished with parsley; “Open wide,” she said huskily, as Arnie popped his mouth open…
And the alarms went off again, just as they had one-and-a-half Earth years, 550 quadrillion miles ago. The Nikkis dashed to the cockpit; Arnie, huffing and puffing, got there in time to see…the Nikkis changing again; their bodies widening, filling the room…that flash of light…
Arnie was knocked to the floor by all the femininity. 270 Nikkis were crying in anguish, staring at each other in amazement. Lying on his back, eyeing all that flesh, a slow grin spread across Arnie’s face—I’ll eat and screw into eternity! he thought. Then, one of the Nikkis shouted, “Look, on screen!”
They all looked. It was Aldebaran IV. Arnie scrambled to his feet; their bizarre journey was over. He was quickly joined by Nikki01, the original; she was five months pregnant, and looked directly into his eyes for a long moment, finally saying in a low voice, “What am I going to tell my husband?”
Arnie thought. “Tell him,” he said, “it was a helluva ride.”