Category: Space Princess

Space Princess – Chapter 3

Chapter 1 – Love’s Luther’s Lost
Chapter 2 – Chins up

Why I Stabbed that Guy

“Everybody’s a critic” I told Raffi once I’d cleared the floor.

“Don’t thank me or anything.” He affected a sulk as he followed me in the general direction of the medical ward.

“Raff,” I said “I was the one who told you to report me missing.”

“And I agreed to do it, and you should at least thank me for being complicit in your deceit.”

“That wasn’t deceit” I said “It was absolutely the truth. SP General has a wide-on for the Formizos. Everybody knows it.”

His fans whirred and his servos clicked angrily as he processed my full intent behind having him follow the rules for once and report my extended lunch. “Well, it’s wrong!”

“I agree” I said with mock sincerity. “A woman her age should be more discriminating. But I’m not one to judge.”

He turned on his axle and headed to the infirmary at top speed without responding.

I followed at a slower pace. This was the kind of questioning I’d get more mileage out of while the painkillers were wearing off. I also needed to think this thing through. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get off with just a talking to if I stabbed him again.

When I showed up to the space-port to find the Hot Dog on Your Stick closed for “lunch,” the busiest time of the day for sex work, I knew she’d been tipped off. I couldn’t wait for back-up, not while the trail was still hot. And who knew what would be repeated to the information black market before we could get a lid on everything.

The door was locked, so I took stock of my surroundings. The security system was nothing, I disengaged it with a common subroutine, but the damn bell over the lintel would give me away as soon as I tried to come in. I reached in my hair and withdrew my panomnitool. I whispered “entry” and it punched a Princess-sized hole in the display window, complete with plenty of room for my impressive puff of curls. I noted this last development with pleased surprise. So Luther had remembered to modify my tool after all.

Through the hole I could hear frantic scrabbling in the office at the back of the shop. With the system off and the glass vaporized instantly, my quarry had no idea I was on his tail. Not that he was keeping an ear out, or anything. The man in question was practically yelling a steady stream of curse words in a minimum of twelve languages, some of which my translator could only interpret literally. At least one dialect had very strong feelings about fish penis.

Folders were scattered all over the office. One wall had been stocked all the way across with file cabinets. The contents of the room alone could send my quarry to a maximum security penal colony for at least fifty years. Paper stink clung to every surface. This rat’d been in business a long time.

Criminals like old fashioned pen and paper docs because they’re the only sure way to keep records off the Uninet. But tree pulp paper had been banned in the Conservation Wars, and an ounce of the stuff could get you six months easy. Poundage like this would mean extra penalties for attempt to distribute. This guy was in trouble. He knew it, and I knew it.

It didn’t take long for me to press the barrel of the panomnitool to the back of his head. He froze, mid-fish penis.

“Back away from the pulp, pimp.” My tone was cold, and my hand was steady. This wasn’t my first paper party.

As soon as I got his hands together, I restrained them in front of his chest, checking quickly for extra limbs or prehensile implants. As a Princess alone, it was a dangerous balance between not letting him go for a second, and being thorough enough to prevent anything that might get the jump on me. I’d taken a thrashing from a guy with an aftermarket piranha-tail my first month on the job. That was definitely not going to happen again.

All he said was “how’d you find me, spink?”

The derogatory term for our order rolled off me. I’m not easily rattled by a little foul language. He should have already known that, the fish penis eater. “Lucky guess.” I answered, while signaling for backup on my panom-tool.

That’s when I’d told him not to move. I distinctly remember saying “I’ll stab you.” Alone with him and hundreds of pounds of pulp, I knew no Internal Affairs agent would dare touch my case. The man clearly had no regard for the very planet he stood on. He was dangerous, mad, hopped up on tree corpse.

So, when he leaned forward with a leer and asked me if I kept the knife in my tits, I unsheathed the knife I keep in my tits and I stabbed him with it. He crumpled to the floor and cried.

“Don’t be such a bitch.” I said “I didn’t even collapse your lung.”

Unfortunately, I had collapsed his lung. One of the problematic side effects of working on a well-trafficked planet in such a technologically advanced age is that sometimes it’s unclear who keeps what organs where. How could I have known he’d had his scales bonded in order to pass for human? Consider it an internalized species-ism tax.

Which is why is was in the medical ward.

I still walked slowly, trying to formulate my case against him. He had been posing as the manager of the Hot Dog on Your Stick, selling the information the hookers got out of their high level clients on the black market. When I broke into his shop, he’d been frantically searching for one file, rather than destroying both the evidence of his paper use, and the secrets he’d clearly already sold or was at least about to sell. He’d had more than a gig of sensitive information in those things. All he’d have had to do was to set a strategically placed fire, and all traces of his involvement would have gone up in smoke. Judging by the contents of the supply closet, that was definitely the intended next move.

But what was so important about the file that cost him his freedom, and could still cost him his life if any of what he was selling got back to it’s various agencies? And, where was the Manticarn I’d been tasked with tracking down? Had she bailed, had he killed her? Who was the bigger fish, pimp or prostitute?

All these things I resolved to figure out as I closed in on his hospital bed.

Space Princess Diaries – Chapter 2

I’m thinking the way this will work is that every time I want the hero to do something other than what they do in a game/book/tv show, etc., I’m just going to write a Space Princess story where they do what I want. Because I can.

Chapter 1 – Love’s Luther’s Lost

Chins Up

Sweat gleamed on the Space Princess General’s second chin. Just last week Raffi and the other techs were speculating as to whether or not she’d had it done while on leave. The consensus seemed to be that her sudden growth had been quite unlikely to be naturally occurring. Unless it was a tumor, which was also unlikely.

It looked uncomfortable, and it was way out of proportion with the rest of her face. I wondered if it felt like a real chin. My fingers twitched against each other in my lap. With her original chin so nearby, it seems like it might lead one to comparison. But it was the earth fashion to have two chins and a slim neck, owing to a popular new song that expressed a passing preference for the anomaly.

Chin augmentation aside, I understood the General was upset, but her reasoning was as much a mystery as her sudden chin growth.

“You stabbed a civilian” she said again, as if that would make it more clear.

“I told him not to move” I answered. “And he’s not a civilian, he’s a suspect. He’s in custody as we speak.”

“HE’S IN THE MEDICAL WARD BECAUSE YOU STABBED HIM.” She punctuated this by slamming her hand on he desk. Her chins shook, and I strained to see if the new one shook properly. I wondered if it was still swollen from surgery.

“Space Princess General, I told him not to move, or I would stab him. He made a crack about my breasts, and so I stabbed him. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming.”

Her eyebrow rose.

“Talking is moving” I said, before she could object.

“You should not have told him you would stab him in the first place.”

I started to object, but she shut me up with a sharp “let me finish, God Damnit.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be talking to him, you were supposed to be at Hot Dog on Your Stick arresting the God damned Mantacarn, her head is a foot fucking tall and glows bright cunting green…”

“Eight inches tall” I said, adding a quick “ma’am” in response to her look of rage.

“HEAD HEIGHT” she shouted “IS NOT THE POINT AND YOU KNOW IT. You let the suspect get away.”

“With all due respect” I began…

Suddenly, but calmly, she raised her hand, an uncharacteristically polite-looking request for silence. Her words were curt.

“You had one job, and that was to bring me the shitting Mantacarn who’s been selling state secrets to every thug in the galaxy from the back of a space-port fuck booth, and instead you bring me some asshole with a hole in his chest. Do you think that this is a fair substitute for my perp?”

Well, that’s a trick question.

“And before you answer me, Space Princess” she enunciated my title with disgust “Please be aware that your AssisTech reported you missing for an hour and a half on the day of the bust. What were you possibly doing that was so important that state fucking secrets could wait?”

I crossed my arms and sat forward in my chair.

“This is bullshit, General, and you know it. I’m the only Space Princess on Earth to get within a mile of this operation, and you’re giving me shit for stabbing her pimp instead of her?! That’s one degree of separation. The next blood on my knife will be Manticorn green. I can see it as plainly as the chin on your face!”

I’d said it before I could stop myself. I slumped back again.

But the General had been caught in her own bluster. She knew I was right, I could see it in her eyes. Which she promptly covered with her hands as she slowly rubbed her forehead.

“And the hour and a half?” she sighed?

“Formizo Enforcing, ma’am. I had a… little problem. The boys helped me with it.”

She removed her hands, the hint of a smile played on her lips. “Those boys are great at what they do.” She spoke with significance, but then she seemed to lose steam. All the fury had gone out of her as easily as it had come.

She looked down at her desk and brought one hand back up to rub at the space between her eyes. “Get something out of the pimp.”

I got up and turned to go.

“And for Chrissakes, when you catch the Manticorn, don’t fucking stab her. We need her alive to tell us what she sold and to whom.”

“I will do my best” and then added “ma’am” as I walked out the door.

Chapter 3 – Why I Stabbed that Guy

Space Princess Diaries – Chapter 1

Friday I promised a story where the lady protagonist is the one who fucks the entire population of the book while the male love interest stays celibate, pining away for his lost love, waiting for her to come to her senses. I decided to make my female protagonist as much like the stereotypical pig-headed arrogant misogynists that serve as male love interests in a lot of books with strong female leads.

You guys voted for it to be set in the future, which is good, because I already started writing it set in the future, and I had a lot of fun with this one.

Love’s Luther’s Lost

afro girl – BlackBookTWO013-02 by ~vkonzack on deviantART

I am Clarity Kell Jackson, only daughter of the Fifth House of LaBeija, Holder of the Sacred Blades of of Barbagnell, and Heir to the Legendary Mother of the House of LaBeija.

If we were on LaBeija, the appropriate answer to that introduction would be “All hail our beautiful mother.” But since we’re on Earth, it’s not necessary.

Like the majority of Space Princess Warriors, I have been sent here on a diplomatic mission of peace. But I’m also here to make my mark. As the sole heir to The Legendary Mother herself, I have a lot to live up to before the people will accept me as their new Mother. I must return home with an impressive resume and a thirst for justice. Not to mention an equally impressive partner to call my consort. Being so far away from other, more trafficked systems, the people of LaBeija consider genetic diversity our most valuable import.

Which means I must find a consort who represents the most diverse sample of genetic material I possibly can. And I have. In the pursuit of justice, I found and lost, the perfect consort. Fortunately, he’s only missing in a spiritual sense. In the physical sense, he’s standing three feet away from me, being stubborn and pig-headed and refusing to see reason. As usual.

“Out all night again, Space Princess Jackson?” Luther asked.

He knows perfectly well I’ve been out all night. I’m trying desperately to find someone in even the same universe as his impressive genetic make-up. And failing badly.

“That’s none of your concern.” I answered. “Besides, you have a new girlfriend, as I recall.”

“The Celestial Light Empress is not girl. She is the essence of womanhood here to reclaim the realm. And she is not my friend. She is my eternal spouse to whom I am bound both body and soul.”

I leaned down, closer to his eye level. “Can’t we worship her together?”

Luther snorted and turned away. “Joke all you want, Kell, I’ve found my true calling. It’s only bittersweet because you’re still so lost.”

I snatched my lab results off the table and sashayed away. What living, breathing, fallible woman could compete with a Goddess? An Empress Goddess at that. I’m just a lowly Princess from a backwater system at the far end of the territories. I’d offered Luther a place by my side as Consort. I told him that every pleasure of LaBeija would be his. Our beautiful gardens, delicious foods, every sight and feature of our system, all at his command. I even extended an invitation to take equal part with me in the royal harem, a score of the most skilled lovers LaBeija had to offer. Being from Earth, I understood that his people have a sharing culture. I thought he would appreciate my consideration.

But he refused me, said I don’t understand him. I tried to point out that we would have years of togetherness as Queen and Consort to understand one another. Besides, why would I need to understand my Consort? The Queen is the decision maker. A consorts contributions are genetic, not tactical. This upset him even more, and now he refuses to return to LaBeija with me. What’s worse, he refuses to have sex with me anymore. He even refused to provide a sample for the Clonemaster General to use in our breeding force. The man is completely unreasonable.

Power & Equality

When I returned to my desk I dropped the lab results into the data basket on my terminal for compiling and decided that I’d be taking a long lunch. I needed to clear my head, and I had just the thing.

Or things.

On my way out the door, I passed my AssisTech Raffi. “Don’t wait up, I’m meeting the Formizo twins for drinks.” I said, ignoring his bitter expression. Poor beautiful Raffi. He couldn’t understand. A woman has needs.

Formizo Enforcing was a small security firm down the street from Space Princess Warrior headquarters. We contracted with them on some of the bigger jobs in the system, and most of the Space Princesses had at least a friendly relationship with the boys. Domino and Cosimo were fraternal twins, but they always came as a pair. D was tall and dark with a wide expanse of hairy chest and biceps the size of pony kegs. I knew from experience that he could lift 6 feet of woman into the air above his head with a single, powerful arm, and maintain the hold for at least 20 minutes. C, on the other hand was fine boned and delicate. He must have been borne without tendons, because the man was basically half cat. I was going to get Luther out of my head by force, and Formizo Enforcing was exactly the kind of muscle I needed.

When I got to their office, the boys were sitting at their desks, ties already untied and hanging around their necks. After the door announced my arrival, Domino leaned back in his chair to take me in.

“We ordered a pizza.” he said.

“Should get here in an hour.” Cosimo added.

“I see you boys are well prepared.” I answered, reaching for zipper on my standard issue catsuit.

An hour and a half later, I was back from lunch. Freshly fucked, fueled, and feeling good. Raffi was quite upset.

“Space Princess Jackson, you’re thirty minutes late. Your data finished compiling ten minutes after you left. Your progress in this case has been delayed while you attended to personal business during work hours.”

“Raffi,” I said “My body doesn’t run off the Earth’s gravometric weave like yours does. I need sex and pizza to keep going. I’m not a machine. Speaking of, could I get some coffee?” I looked at the data on my terminal. “This is going to take a while.”

As Raffi dejectedly whizzed off to get my coffee, I hit the display button, and a clear picture of our perpetrator blinked onto my holomat. Her genetic markers showed that she was a Mantacarn, and that she likely had an 8 inch lift to her skull that, on Mantac, would be polished to a high gloss in order for people to better see the magnificent green brain inside. Brain size is very important to the people of Mantac, even though it has no relationship to real world skills. Mantacarns like big brains, and I can’t lie, Ms. Perpetrator had a big ‘un, as the earthlings say.

Since she was hiding here, she likely had to cover her assets. I swiped the holomat through a series of different disguises. A beehive hairdo, popular with the young people of the Bouvier District, a Blessed Order of the Black Santa wimple, even my own impressively poofy, bouncy, but structurally stable natural failed to cover her expansive head height.

I tapped my golden nail against a brilliant white front tooth. At eight inches, her head was one of the largest I’d ever seen. It was impossible for Mantacarns to alter their head size, which is one of the reasons it was such a sought after trait. Eventually, I realized the coffee Raffi got me was going cold at my elbow. I took a long gulp.

“Raf,” I said “I need a list of every earth hairstyle or headwear item taller than eight inches.”

As the list populated my display, I saw exactly what I’d been looking for: The ten inch tall penis hat of the Hot Dog on Your Stick uniform.

“Please confirm that there is a Hot Dog on Your Stick at the Transporter Terminal where we last saw our Mantacarn.”

“There is.” Raffi said.

What better place to trade international secrets than in the private fuck booths of the Hot Dog on Your Stick? And inside the Terminal, she could catch an agent on a layover from anywhere to anywhere else in the universe. Maybe there was something to the cranium size myth after all.

As we prepped for the bust, I glanced down the hall to Luther’s lab and desperately wished that everything in my life was as easy as fighting crime.

Lady Afro by ~topher00001 on deviantART

Will Space Princess Jackson get her Mantacarn?
Will Luther come to his senses?
Will Raffi finally get that kitten he’s always wanted?

Find out next time on Space Princess Diaries!!
Same Space Princess Time, Same Space Princess Channel.

Chapter 2 – Chins up
Chapter 3 – Why I Stabbed that Guy