First Name=(Please Enter) A Male Character's Name
Last Name=(Please Enter) A Female Character's Name
The star cruiser "The Life of Riley", flagship of the New Alliance, careened through the upper atmosphere of Pandabra, cutting through cloud formations of gleaming gold and burnished orange. It was a sleek gray disc with a 400 meter radius, four raised talons that were laser cannons and a spear-like protrusion amidst these cannons that housed the Command Deck. Alarms had been sounding for half a minute before plumes of gray billowed down an emergency vent on the ship’s starboard side.
Helmsman Amber Taylor fought desperately to regain control of the ship through the use of her cybernetic gloves with the drooping wires that made her look like a marionette. Her body was pinned to her station chair, legs askew. Her chest heaved frenetically under the soft restraint of stretchy, silver spandex. Although she thought she might die, she fought to maintain an air of calm as she tapped the side of her red, bug-like immersion goggles and announced, "Helm- can’t keep steady. Planetary crash is imminent. Recommend evacuation."
Her soft voice echoed audibly throughout the command deck and was piped into the earpieces of all senior officers. The Command Deck, three tiered decks comprising Operations Deck, Officer's Deck, and the Security and Tactical Operations Deck, came alive with activity. NCO's – mostly technical specialists in their blue and white spandex uniforms entered via either of the far corner jaunt tubes and synced up their work tablets at any of a dozen open computer stations that ringed the vast communications station that was the centerpiece of Operations Deck. Ensign Artemisia Sekuzi, a voluptuous pony-tailed brunette, glimmered in the black stretchy spandex of the officer class which was detailed with 2-inch wide orange stripes of a communications officer. She swiveled elegantly while her fingers flew across different consoles, casting matrix feeds from all over the ship onto her three oversized view screens which were mirrored on the even larger screen in front of the captain’s chair.
The captain's chair rose theatrically above and behind the Operations Deck and was the plush tan leather centerpiece of Officer’s Deck. To either side were additional observation chairs of gray leather and further to the right was the ship’s helm: a low computer station with a clear swivel chair bounded by two gleaming poles which each held a half of the helmsman's thin, stretchy, barely noticeable harness; various electronics attachments which allowed for her immersion experience and health monitoring; and red immersion gloves and goggles.
To the left of the captain's chair was Lieutenant Julie Hosack, bubbly and sweet, the youngest Lieutenant on board "The Life of Riley" and also the brainiest. Her small breasts teased as they floated, puffed out like robins ready to find a mate. She was a lightly freckled redhead with light curls that draped down to her shoulders and a small nose that made her wide, pleasing face look even more innocent. Her bright, baby blue, latex body suit was a special issue to differentiate the class of officers holding a scientific post, but it was similarly lined with 2-inch stripes, colored black.
Behind and slightly above Command Deck was the Security and Tactical Operations Deck, SATO for short. Commander Throk and three junior officers kept security tight at these stations while also overseeing two flight squadrons totaling 24 warbirds. Harthretch Throk was of the Leonine race, born of a world evolved from lions. He stood six feet tall and was muscled like a body builder.
John, Executive Officer and second in command of "The Life of Riley" rose from the command chair and checked out Helmsman Taylor with an unflinching gaze. She was blonde, small and elegant; her hair straight and short; bangs dangling well past her goggled visor. Pert, medium sized breasts on a very slight frame, nipples seemingly ready to pierce through the thin microfiber spandex – her intense laboring in the cyber-realm caused slow motion crashes as her buoyant cleavage strained against her reckless, jerky arm motions.
"Evacuation? That sounds bad Helmsman." He made a mental note to check out the video eyeball on command deck to see if he could get a better view of Amber’s rack.
"It is bad. It feels like – like the ship’s engine was just ripped right out."
The XO had moved to her station and placed a comforting hand atop the helmsman’s shoulder. Seeing her chest rise and fall so close to his manhood seemed to focus his attention. He felt he could uncover some hidden mystery to make this young woman relax, even smile. "That’s just terrible, Amber. You mean you can feel what the ship feels?"
Ensign Taylor sought for words to express the pangs of pain without belittling the pleasure she constantly felt being jacked in. She was almost ready to collapse; beating her head against a million brick cyberwalls. She scanned the terrain of the planet seeking out unpopulated areas within the most likely trajectory paths.
John applied firm pressure with both hands to Amber’s shoulders. A quick massage from the Master Blaster might be precisely what the doctor had ordered, he thought.
"Captain on the bridge," Commander Throk announced as Captain Doe entered and buckled herself firmly into the command chair. She was hot, enticing and dressed in the sexiest black, latex dress uniform that sparkled subtly.
Doe exuded cool capability.
"As you were," she cooed, allowing everyone to break from attention.
Her eyes were piercingly mesmerizing, otherworldly.
"Ensign Taylor’s a heartbeat away from crashing the ship."
"Really?," Doe sneered. "Did you take the Ensign’s pulse before or after she brought us into freefall? Julie, jettison the nuclear core. Amber, fire up main thrusters. We’re gonna play like we’re back home on Siendalva. The atmosphere’s more stable here so we shouldn’t have any problems. Amber, I’m taking control of the helm. Just concentrate on setting off the secondary thrusters as needed. Commander Throk, what’s the situation? I see security forces have blown open a storage bay door."
"We’re trailing three crewmembers. They sabotaged our engineering section. Master Chief Arnold contained the explosion, but the entire containment chamber is damaged."
"Yes. That would account for the unstable nuclear core. Lt. Hosack, go to flight deck and pull another nuclear device right out of one of the warbirds. Take a security detail with you. Post-haste."
Julie Hosack blinked in surprise but made her way to the jaunt tube as quickly as she could. Doe admired the wiggle of her science officer's tight ass and then turned her mind to the rigors of command.
"Right now I need to attend to a little matter of emergency procedures. Call everyone to order Mr. Throk!"
"Attention on deck!" the commander roared. Quiet rained down across the three decks. Doe took a moment to savor the calm. She stood ramrod straight and spoke clearly as she circled the Officer’s Deck, a sensual vixen, tightly wrapped in black latex trimmed in gold. Her eyes were intense, latching on to her crew with a searing gaze. Despite feeling entirely like a cat in heat, she pushed aside her emotions and focused on her ability to set the right tone for her command.
"Gentlemen, we’ve been attacked. Let me remind you all that when we are attacked, it is a fight for survival. Ensign Amber Taylor, our Helmsman, wasted time and resources trying to reign in a failing nuclear engine."
Tears began to form in Amber’s blue eyes. For a second she lost her poise and shuddered as she felt the glare of eyes cast in her direction. The video eyeball circled her like a satellite. She was cute and lithe, standing 5’ 2”, weighing 94 pounds, breasts like perfect snowglobes, a sensually curved and slight behind. She held her head high as Doe came to a stop inches away from her.