Matters of State (Space Portal Vector Book 2) Read online

  Matters of state

  By A. Phallus Si

  Text copyright © 2017 A. Phallus Si

  All Rights Reserved

  For my believers and friends

  Blurb:

  Situated at the edge of the galaxy, Space Portal Vector 7Z-218 is the last stop before the Void of Between. Primarily accessible via a wormhole, it attracts a clientele of merchants, adventurers, and mercenaries. Hidden beneath its battered exterior, SPV houses a vibrant community of free-spirited species who adhere to a live- and-let-live policy.

  Damien Altamura has spent his whole life on SPV7Z-218, and as the Captain’s son he’s reaped the benefits and rubbed elbows with all the influential clients moving through this end of the galaxy. Self-assured, he’s never been at a loss until Hayden Ferrier, captain of the Rebellion. Suddenly, nothing’s clear at all.

  Cultural Logs – Species index

  Bauman: Arboroid. Bipedal species of tree shifters, massive in scale. Origins unknown. All contacts have been with mature entities since seedlings don’t leave their base tree. Upon maturity some males choose to wander the universe, reasons unknown. Prized as prisoners of war for their strength and as objects of phallic worship.

  Caurentian: Caninoid. Hierarchical species with prestige and honor based on trading, wealth, and allegiances. Origin: Sirius System. Observance of strict protocols is critical in successful negotiations. Aka. Golden Jackals

  Cirrinia: Cephaloid species that frequently presents in its octopedal form. Origin: Volans System. Often either shy or overly aggressive. Use ink as a defense mechanism or to express excitement. NOTE: Subspecies Haplo’s ink is lethally toxic to all humanoid species.

  Feldoonae: Felinoid species that reproduce solely via artificial means. Origin: Regulus System. Most form prides and genetically design their offspring when mature, selecting for litter strength and diversity of skills.

  Fraxian: Humanoid shipbound species. Nomadic traders willing to handle any and all deals for a price. Flexible morals. Origin of the species unknown. Homeworld destroyed when their sun went supernova; the Fraxians have been nomadic ever since. Lead ship of the fleet, Taraxicum.

  Freed: Data incomplete. See Hetaerae.

  Hetaerae: Humanoid. Little is known of this mysterious race other than they are prized as genetically desirable and seemingly of unending sexual appetites. Never observed outside of brothel or harem settings. Addendum: Race name is in question due to events on SPV7Z-218, per the Galactic Commerce Commission. Please refer to the species as Freed until further notice.

  Human: Species originating from the planet Earth. Coloring and attitudes vary significantly by colony. No set hierarchy or belief structure, political and social stability is an issue with less diverse colonies.

  Phos: Entry needed. Species name recorded, but details not known.

  Thlyacine: Caninoid. Bi-gestational species, both male and females reproduce. Polyamorous by nature, group bonding is the norm. Highly social, and often boisterous. Origin: Gamma Crucis System.

  Cycle One

  Tugging his sleeves down, Damien adjusted his jacket and attempted as much with his mood. He sighed at his reflection, perfectly coiffed and attired for the evening’s festivities. His eighteenth cycle celebration and instead of carousing with friends in the Pleasure District, he was stuck attending the Trade Gala.

  Sometimes, being the captain’s son really wasn’t the advantage everyone thought. All right, most of the time it was great. He’d managed to sneak out of attending the last several official engagements, but he wasn’t so lucky this time. He’d been lectured consistently about the increasing responsibilities with his studies. Tonight was a learning experience, and while he agreed with his father, why did the gala have to be tonight of all nights?

  Every spiver, SPV kid, dreams about when their subdermal chips won’t trigger the Pleasure District’s security alarms and they finally get to see and try everything. Heck! Get to walk through without having to worry about being hauled out by the behemoths in black. Sure, everyone thinks they’ll beat the system and then ends up in Detention—once. Damien is certain that there are provisions against that room somewhere in the Galactic Charter.

  Instead, here he was shaking hands and smiling at a never-ending parade of dignitaries. Contacts, as his father referred to them. Invaluable assets and ones he needed to start cultivating. Sowing the seeds of his future when he’d rather be sowing some oats. Blah, blah... blah.

  The reception had been going on for T-units upon T-units. Empty glasses littered trays, balustrades, and the planter housing some exotic floral monstrosity that Damien was sure had nipped him earlier. After his second glass of effervescence, he lost interest in the environmental recycling discussion Engineer Grayfeld was trying to have with his father between greetings with officials from Vector 7Z and various shipping conglomerates.

  He was far more interested in the solitary figure that had just entered the hall. Damien tracked him as he traversed the concourse. As he strode forward, a path appeared as others drifted clear of his trajectory. His presence was commanding enough that he didn’t have to pause once. Damien sighed quietly.

  “Yes, I agree that we will need to re-examine our organic recycling capabilities, Jansen. Bring it up at the governance meeting, and we’ll decide which option to procure in the next trade manifest,” Captain Altamura said as he turned to greet the approaching party.

  “Captain Ferrier, always a pleasure to have the Rebellion docked.” The grin on his face was warmer and wider than any other Damien had seen his father extend thus far.

  There was an air of untamed elegance, ferocity evident in the way the man moved, powerfully, yet relaxed. If Damien had been in the Pleasure District, he would have wasted no time in making his interest known. But playing the SPV’s most influential citizen’s son at a public event meant that falling to his knees in supplication was not appropriate. Damien tried not to stare, but up close, the captain was even more impressive. Unusually young for the class of ship he commanded, not even a hint of gray yet. Then again, maybe he wasn’t human. He was still trying to determine if Ferrier spent a great deal of time planetside or his ancestors were genetically blessed with that deep golden skin, when he noted that he had become the object of attention. And if Damien thought his perusal of the captain was invasive, then he felt assuaged when those eyes turned to inspect him.

  Amber ringed with ebony, the eyes were warm and piercing at the same time. Damien felt their progress as they slowly catalogued their way from the silver spikes on top to the glossy scarlet of his boots. It was as if each aspect of his personage was individually noted; did he count the eyelashes? Damien licked his lips when they finally passed on to his throat, and tried not to swallow or check his collar. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when his father interrupted the captain’s survey.

  “This is my son, Damien Altamura. Damien, this is Captain Hayden Ferrier of the Rebellion, the Argonaut-class vessel that you were admiring the schematics of this week.” Damien bowed as his father elaborated. “He was assisting in docking assignments for the gala when he became intrigued by your dimensions.” Damien almost missed his quirked eyebrow as Captain Ferrier smiled and bowed slightly.

  “May there always be a port left to you and a star right ahead,” Damien offered the formal greeting as Ferrier recommenced his avid examination. Straightening, he tried to ignore the effects of the captain’s unrelenting attention and the quiver beginning in his gut.

  “SPV7Z-218 is not just any port, but the premier portal in Centaurus A. On behalf of the Esplendent League, I thank you for safe harbor,” he responded formally. His voice
was cool, and if Damien weren’t presently being visually assaulted, then he’d almost think that Captain Ferrier was bored. His clothes felt tight, and he had to resist the urge to fidget.

  “It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your father speaks of little else but trade and you.” And just like that, the laser focus was gone as Ferrier launched into a discussion of the Rebellion’s cargo and what his father might want priority bidding on.

  Overwhelmed with the desire to be the subject of the captain’s attention again, Damien waited and let his mind run free with the possibilities. He wanted to feel more than the captain’s eyes on him. Those hands, they were beautiful and strong. Their grip would be unyielding, commanding... bruising. In the last couple cycles, Damien had begun to realize that he enjoyed when his bed partners got a little rough, aggressive. It wasn’t hard to imagine how Captain Ferrier would feel pressed against him, holding him down. A man in his prime with such a powerful build could subdue him physically no doubt, but it was the way Ferrier watched him that excited Damien. Here was a man for whom commanding was instinctual. Damien wouldn’t have to lead him to take control; Ferrier would never release it.

  Release. Ferrier tying him down would set him free. This man could make him fly. Damien let out a shaky breath; youth and excitement were getting the upper hand. He still only had erratic control of some reactions, so unless he wanted to embarrass himself, it would be better if he stopped thinking about that, right now.

  Ferrier’s nostrils flared and his eyes darted over and quickly glanced down Damien’s body. Too late. A smile played at the edges of the captain’s lips as Damien felt heat rush to his face.

  Ferrier was addressing him when he caught the drift of their conversation again. “Felicitations on reaching your majority, Master Altamura.”

  Cycle Two

  Gyrating against warm bodies under the spinning lights, Damien felt free. Free from expectations. Here he wasn’t the captain’s son or the port master’s apprentice, just another body writhing en masse. The throbbing music and hands on him were more relaxing than T-units of massage. He leaned back, rubbing along the massive Bauman who had closed in behind him. Damien dipped his head back and smiled.

  “Hello, pretty one,” smiled the behemoth with a hand on his hip as he moved against him.

  “Hi.” It came out more breathless than he felt. Damien recognized him as part of SPV’s security team. He’d seen him patrolling in uniform before, though they’d never done more than cross paths. Tonight that would change. Honestly, just knowing those large hands could snap him in two excited him.

  “You have an admirer at the bar,” said his dance partner. Damien hummed in disagreement. “Perhaps he’s something more. Would he like to join us?” He asked as he gently plucked a nipple.

  “Unf...” Damien shook his head. Impossible. There was no one he shared more than a night or two with, but curiosity had him searching the long stretch at the back wall.

  Finally, Damien caught sight of whom the Bauman was referring: Captain Ferrier. The Rebellion was back. If Damien thought he was hard before, that was nothing compared to how he felt knowing Ferrier was watching him.

  Damien grabbed the hand wrapped around his chest and pulled it lower. The Bauman understood and slid it down over his trousers to fondle him. Gently rubbing, tracing the hardening length trapped inside.

  “Harder,” he begged. The pressure increased. Damien was torn between wanting release and balancing on the edge of ecstasy, between the hand on his cock and the eyes watching. Never once losing sight of Ferrier who moved forward, stopping at the edge of the dance floor.

  His shirt was yanked up in the back, and Damien felt a thick cock rubbing in the furrow of his spine, sweat and precum letting it slide. He rode the pleasures of a hard male rutting against him as he thrust into his warm hand. All the while, Ferrier watched.

  Those eyes never stopped touching him as Damien was brought to orgasm, nearly blacking out. Hearing a groan and feeling the hot splash on his back trickling down, he took deep breaths to clear the white spots dancing across his retinas. When he looked around, Ferrier was gone. Where was he?

  Cycle Three

  “On behalf of SPV7Z-218, I am willing to offer concessions to both you and the Esplendent League, if you are able to obtain and supply the requested shipment. Incentives have been earmarked for early delivery, substantial ones that will benefit you personally and professionally. As a Caurentian, I’m sure you’ll find the compensation worth your while.” Captain Altamura pushed a sheaf of papers across the table.

  After his disastrous attempts at vying for Ferrier’s attention during dinner, Damien sat quietly observing as the captain reviewed the papers between sipping his Grogian fire. If there was ever a lubricant in negotiations, it was his father’s reserve of liquors. He nursed his glass as Ferrier hissed through the sweet burn of another mouthful.

  “I think we can come to an agreement, but this will not be simple.” “The rewards wouldn’t be so high if it was.”

  Cycle Four

  Lights swirled, the music thumped, and the bodies undulating all around Damien never lost contact. Immersed in this vortex of sensation, he floated, part of everything and nothing. The subvocal growl was unexpected, as was his sudden release and the whines from the group. Damien stumbled backwards into a familiar figure. Without a word, Ferrier hauled him up by the arm and out the door of Stripes. The cooler air slapped him awake.

  Wait... Ferrier is Caurentian. How did he even get into the club? The rift between the Thylacines and the Caurentians was well known. They weren’t precisely adversarial, but they didn’t mingle either. Active disinterest was a better way of describing their relations. Yet somehow, he’d gained admittance to the private club.

  “How did you... Why—”

  “Say nothing.” He growled as he pinned his arms and steered him. Damien couldn’t decide if he wanted to fight this manhandling or revel in it as he was frog-marched back to his quarters. Which, by the way, how did Ferrier know where he resided?

  “Open the door, Damien.” Ferrier was pressed up against him.

  He raised his recently liberated hand and disengaged the lock with a scan of his chip. Stepped inside and waited, but Ferrier didn’t move. Now what? Damien gestured for him to enter, but the captain just looked, refusing to cross the threshold.

  “Goodnight, Damien. And don’t go back to Stripes, they won’t let you in.” With that admonishment and cryptic message, Ferrier left and Damien stared at the shut panel.

  What in all the galaxies was that about?

  Cycle Five

  His team scattered to their assigned sectors. The sound of pressure locks and crowbars filled the hold as their inspection began. The weight allowances and crate ratio was off, way off for what was documented in the manifest. The Versyllians were attempting to trade more than barrels of klahouffe and bolts of Lyra silk. While no port could completely eliminate smuggling, Damien wanted to know what was going through his station, his quadrant.

  He was investigating the rear of a container for false paneling when he heard a rapping on top. What? Banging his head, he crawled backwards—into a set of legs. Turned and looked up.

  Captain Ferrier.

  Funny, in all the times he’d imagined being on his knees for Ferrier over the cycles, and trust him, it was a lot, it was never like this. In all those fantasies fueled by a healthy, young male libido, in not one of them was he tired, covered in unidentifiable bits, and in the middle of a bustling cargo bay. Not that he had a problem with an audience. Clearly, dancing at Roots pretty much assured him that he was more than slightly inclined towards exhibitionism. Well that, and his participation in the Wheelbarrow Races.

  Ferrier raised his hand towards him; Damien leaned in, wanting those fingers in his hair. But at the last moment, it dropped back to his side.

  Sigh.

  Damien rose and stepped to the side to give them more room. “Captain Ferrier, I trust your mooring is
adequate.”

  “As always.” The silence afterwards lingered. What was he expecting? What did he want? Ferrier had tracked him down and now nothing. Nothing but these stares, these looks like the captain was one minute away from ripping off his uniform and bending him over the crate beside them. If only.

  Damien huffed. He was about to—

  “Our schedule is tight and the Rebellion won’t be here longer than it takes to unload her and restock.”

  Fuckstars! He was leaving. This wasn’t hello; it was good-bye. Not even a drink or dinner. No time to flirt or feel the pull of being visually undressed. No new fuel for the next cycle’s fantasies. Damien tried not to let his disappointment show.

  “I know my father will miss seeing you.” He wasn’t the only one.

  Ferrier cleared his throat. “Yes. I was told he was in meetings and wouldn’t be available. Please, convey my regrets.” Great. Now he was their lackey. After enduring some more awkward silence Damien gave up.

  “I should probably get back to this, and you need to head out. See you next cycle, Captain.” Damien turned to go.

  “Wait.” A warm hand wrapped around his bicep. “I—Here.” Ferrier thrust a small box into his chest. “Twenty-three cycles, felicitations. I found this in a market on Timbango.” He waited for Damien to grab hold of it before letting go. “I thought of you.”

  A present. Had he really thought of him? Seemed unlikely. Every cycle it was the same. Damien could feel the tension, the desire between them, but each time he was too timid to do anything, and Ferrier only looked. Maybe if the captain said something, gave more indication of interest, he would have pursued him. Damien wasn’t shy, but with Ferrier he felt at a disadvantage, like an infatuated puppy constantly gamboling behind him.