Eridani Prime Chronicles

PART 1: "Shattered Sky"

The sun was a blistering, pale orb, obscured by the vast and flickering HoloSky. High above, the illusion of clear blue skies and fluffy white clouds glitched sporadically, revealing the metal panels of the Solar Shield. Below, Ironmarsh surrounded the Eridani Prime Intergalactic Space Station. The city was a mess of rusted buildings and neon lights shrouded in a polluted smog.

"Move your ass, Dax!" shouted Cutter, a burly man with a scar that split down the middle of his face. His voice was barely audible over the sounds of gunfire and explosions.

"Fuck off, Cutter! We’re moving!” Dax Thorn growled back, ducking behind a crumbling wall as bullets whizzed past. He checked his weapon—a battered, old plasma rifle—and peeked over the edge. Across the street, a group of thugs from the Black Serpent gang were firing their blasters and piling into small aerocruisers.

"We're sitting ducks here!" Cutter yelled, returning fire with his own rifle. "Where's that backup you promised?"

"Should be here any second," Dax muttered, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. This part of Ironmarsh was a no-man's-land, where law and order were as scarce as clean air. The gangs ruled the streets, and survival was a daily battle.

A sudden explosion rocked the ground, sending debris and smoke into the air. Dax shielded his eyes and glanced up to see the HoloSky flicker again, revealing more burnt-out panels. "Fucking piece of shit," he muttered. The once-great marvel of technology had become a crumbling relic, much like the rest of the world of Eridani Prime.

"Thorn! Over here!" A woman's voice cut through the chaos. Dax turned to see Lyra Voss waving from the entrance of a dilapidated building. "I've got a way out!"

"About damn time," Dax said, sprinting towards her as Cutter provided cover fire. He slid into the building, breathing heavily. "What's the plan?"

"There's a maintenance tunnel that leads to the space station," Lyra explained, her eyes darting nervously. "It's our best shot."

"Great, more shit to wade through," Dax grumbled. "Lead the way, let’s go."

They moved quickly, navigating through dark, narrow corridors filled with the stench of decay and chemical pollution. The city’s infrastructure was a monument of years of neglect and corruption. Everywhere they turned, there were signs of decay—cracked walls, leaking pipes, and flickering signs.

As they descended into the maintenance tunnel, the air grew cooler and even more stale. The tunnel was a maze of metal and grime, with faint echoes of distant machinery.

"Just like old times, huh?" Cutter remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, except now we're older and the world’s even shittier," Dax replied. "Keep moving."

They emerged into the lower levels of Ironmarsh, where the city's poorest inhabitants eked out a miserable existence. Here, the neon lights of the upper city gave way to darkness and desperation. People huddled in makeshift shelters, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow.

"Almost there," Lyra said, leading them to a hidden entrance. She punched in a code, and the heavy door grunted open. “Extraction point is dead ahead."

She led them into a clearing just beyond the outskirts of Ironmarsh. Just ahead by a few hundred steps was the warehouse that contained the shipment of hostages to be smuggled off-world by the Black Serpents.

Lyra pulled up an iridescent map with a flashing yellow coordinate. “This is definitely the spot,” she breathed.

"Another beautiful day in paradise," Cutter said dryly, surveying the rundown facility.

"Shut up and keep watch," Dax ordered, as he and Lyra moved towards the building across the debris-littered field.

Lyra worked quickly, her fingers searching her wristband for the entrance codes to the building. Another light flashed on the hologram. "Boys, they’re firing up the ship,” she said, her voice tense.

"Fuck," Dax spat. "We need to get down there now."

As they approached the storage decks, Dax signaled for silence. They crept forward, weapons at the ready. The sounds of the Black Serpent gang reached their ears—laughter, rough voices, and the occasional scream of a hostage.

"On my mark," Dax whispered. "We go in hard and fast. No mercy."

Cutter nodded, gripping his rifle tightly. Lyra readied her own weapon, a compact yet powerful blaster. The three of them moved like shadows, inching closer to the source of the ruckus.

"Now," Dax commanded.

They burst into the room, guns blazing. The gang members were caught off guard, and chaos erupted. Dax took out the nearest thug with a well-placed shot to the head, while Cutter's rifle spat plasma bolts, tearing through flesh and bone. Lyra's blaster crackled, stunning the thugs and reducing them to a smoldering heap of remains.

"Get those girls out of here!" Dax shouted, moving towards a group of frightened young women huddled in the corner. Their eyes were wide with terror, and their wrists bore deep, bloody ligature marks

"We're here to help," Lyra said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Follow me."

The hostages hesitated, but the sound of another explosion nearby jolted them into action. They stumbled towards Lyra, who led them towards the exit.

"Move, move, move!" Cutter yelled, covering their retreat. More gang members poured into the room, but Dax and Cutter held the line, mowing them down with brutal efficiency.

"How many are there?" Dax growled, reloading his rifle.

"Too fucking many," Cutter replied, slamming a fresh battery into his weapon. "We need to fall back."

"Roger that," Dax said. "Lyra, get them to the tunnel!"

Lyra nodded, urging the women to move faster. They crossed the field and entered the drab tunnel, the sounds of battle fading behind them. They navigated the tunnel quickly, emerging back into the lower levels of Ironmarsh. The city was still in chaos, but they managed to avoid most of the gang patrols. Dax led them through a series of back alleys and hidden paths until they reached the spaceport. Dax and Cutter followed, providing cover fire until they were safely inside.

"Seal the door," Dax ordered. Lyra punched in the code, and the door slid shut with a satisfying thud. They were safe, at least for the moment.

The space station floated like a ghost above the city. It still served as a layover point for intergalactic travelers and a center for trade, but its glory days were long gone. They climbed the access ladder and entered the station, the air thick with the smell of burnt wiring and ozone.

They made their way through the station, moving past grimy eateries, shabby hotel rooms, and the occasional escort offering their services. The station was a melting pot of species, all mingling in a desperate bid to survive and make a living in the decaying orbit of Eridani Prime.

"Everyone okay?" Dax asked, scanning the group. The women nodded, though their faces were pale and drawn.

"We need to get them to the authorities," Lyra said. "They'll be safe there."

"Safe as it gets in this shithole," Cutter muttered. "Let's move."

"Stay close," he instructed the women. "We're almost there."

The spaceport was a hive of activity, with travelers and traders bustling about. It was dingy and overcrowded, but it offered a semblance of security. Dax spotted a group of armed Port Enforcers near one of the entrances and approached them.

"Next time we gotta come to Ironmarsh, it’s gonna cost you double," he said, gesturing to the women. "These girls were kidnapped by the Black Serpent gang. They need protection, and maybe a ride home."

The guard captain, a grizzled veteran with a cybernetic eye, nodded grimly. "We'll take care of them. You did the right thing bringing them here."

Cutter grunted in agreement, though his expression remained grim. Lyra frowned, her concern evident.

“What happens to them now?” she asked, her voice steady.

The Enforcer glanced at her impassively, handing each of them a data chip containing their reward—ten thousand units each. “We will be in touch should we require your services again.”

Lyra’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing more as the Enforcers escorted the women away. Dax sighed heavily, feeling the weight of their world-weary existence settling in once more.

"Sounds like a plan," Dax responded, knowing they were too far away to even hear him. "But first, I think we’ve earned ourselves a cold one."

“Dax, my boy!” Cutter slapped Dax on the back, breaking the tension. “I gotta get home to my wife and Nihila. You understand.”

Dax nodded, offering a tired smile. “Of course, Cutter. Give them my best.”

Cutter nodded and headed off, leaving Dax and Lyra standing alone amidst the bustling space station.

"D'you wanna grab a drink?" Dax asked, trying to lighten the mood. "My treat."

Lyra smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "You trying to get me drunk, Thorn?"

Dax chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. "Just trying to celebrate a successful mission with my favorite partner in crime."

Lyra nodded, scanning the bustling space station around them. "Well in that case… Why the hell not?"

They navigated through the station, a cacophony of alien languages and clinking glasses. Dax found a secluded corner seat at a rough-and-tumble bar, manned by an angry-looking alien with multiple eyes serving a colorful array of inebriates.

Lyra settled onto the stool opposite Dax. Her expression was guarded, yet there was a hint of playfulness in her eyes. Adjusting her tactical gear, she unzipped the top of her uniform, revealing a bit of cleavage and heaved a deep sigh.

"Here's to surviving another day," Dax said, raising his glass of dark blue liquid.

Lyra clinked her glass against his, her smile now more subdued. "And may the shadow of mercy carry us through the night."

They drank, the harsh liquid burning their throats, momentarily drowning out the noise around them. The weight of their grim reality hung heavily between them. This was their first mission together in over two years, but she had lived rent-free in his mind every day since.

“I’m surprised you took the job, to be completely honest.” Dax stated as he ordered another round.

“What? You didn’t think I could hold my own with a few little smugglers?” She scoffed.

He rolled his eyes, remembering how arrogant she could be when it came to missions. But being one of only a few women in the mercenary field, he couldn’t really blame her. “It’s not that at all,” he began. “I just didn’t think you’d have much interest in being in such a close vicinity to me.”

“Oh don’t kid yourself, Thorn. You’re not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she paused for a moment, “some things just aren’t supposed to last too long.”

"You ever think things could have been different between us?" Dax asked quietly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Lyra's gaze softened, but her face remained stoic. "Sometimes I do, Dax," she admitted. "But we can't change the past, and the future... I refuse to waste my time on anything so uncertain."

Dax sighed, leaning back in his seat. "What happened to us, Lyra? We used to have so much fun together."

Lyra's expression hardened slightly, her fingers tapping impatiently on the bar. She snapped her fingers for another drink from the bartender. "No, Dax. You had so much fun," she retorted, taking a large gulp from her new glass. "You had enough fun for you and me both... and the Verispellian, and the Reptilian…” her voice began to rise defiantly. “Shall I go on?"

Dax winced at the reminder of his mistakes. "I know I fucked up, Lyra. I was young, stupid... I made mistakes."

Lyra's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sadness. "Mistakes? Is that what you call it?"

Dax reached a hand to hers. "I'm not asking you to forget, Lyra. Just... forgive me."

She met his gaze, her demeanor softening slightly. "Forgive you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I forgave you a long time ago, but I don’t think I can give you what you want."

He nodded, crumbling under the weight of her words. "I know. But maybe... we could start over. Take it slow. See where things go."

Lyra hesitated, her resolve wavering. "Maybe," she finally answered, her tone uncertain.

Dax's heart skipped a beat, hope flickering in his eyes. "Really?"

She sighed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Maybe," she repeated softly.

Dax leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe we could find a hotel room around here. They do those rent-by-the-minute deals. Could be just what we need for... some relief."

Lyra laughed sarcastically. "You're incorrigible, Thorn. Let me know next time you need my help covering your ass." She finished her drink in one smooth motion and rose from the bar.

Dax watched her go, a mix of disappointment and hope swirling inside him.”In all fairness, I paid extra to have the Verispellian shifter look like you.”

"Take care of yourself, Dax," Lyra said curtly, casting a final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the bustling crowd of the space station.

Dax sat back, his mind racing with thoughts of what could be. As he nursed his drink, the bartender approached him. “Tough break,” he started as he wiped a clean glass with a dry towel.

“What? Oh her,” he chuckled. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I’ve got something here that’ll cheer ya up. We’re running a special tonight.” The bartender typed a code into a handheld device.

Within a few moments, Dax felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was met with the uncanny sight of a pleasure bot. It’s exaggerated feminine features were striking yet artificial, with synthetic skin stretched tightly over its metal musculature.

"Hi, I’m B3LLA," the robot said in a soft, mechanical voice. "If you are interested in a good time, tonight I am offering discounted half-hour massage sessions, room included, at an amazing discount." She was a third gen model of the five-series Bio-Emotive Lifelike Leisure Automaton, still functional and fairly maintained despite the visible wear from years of use.

Dax hesitated, glancing around the bar uncomfortably. B3LLA stood patiently, its expressionless face gazing slightly past him. Its body was adorned with a bondage bodysuit made of iridescent nanofibers that crisscrossed strategically across its humanoid figure.

"Fuck it—how much?" Dax finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Two hundred units," it responded as a slot opened on its sternum, prompting him for payment.

Dax transferred the units without another word. The robot nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for him to follow it towards discreet door at the far end of the bar. Its hips swayed side to side with weightless grace as it walked. They entered a small, dimly lit hallway lined with small room. Each was furnished with minimalistic decor—a bed, two chairs, retractable nightstand and a soft glow emanating from hidden sources along the ceiling.

"Please make yourself comfortable, I will return shortly."

Dax slumped onto the padded cot. He’d been through hell and back in Ironmarsh, and now he just craved a moment of respite. A low hum filled the room as the door slid open, and B3LLA glided out of the room. Minutes passed before it returned with a stack of crisply folded towels. It helped Dax undress with deft hands, and from a subtle compartment in its palm it dispensed the lubricant. From the back of its head, a small projector produced a vivid pornographic hologram on the wall behind it.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“I guess so,” Dax muttered gruffly, closing his eyes.

B3LLA proceeded with clinical precision, fulfilling its purpose without deviation. The session went by in a haze, B3LLA's soft synthetic hands working his manhood with graceful efficacy.

Suddenly, to Dax’s discomfort, it began to moan as its hands moved in a rapid rhythmic motion up and down his shaft. “Your cock is so big in my hands. Try to imagine some other places I could put it,” it’s soft voice droned. “Don’t try to hold back, baby. I want you to come for me.”

B3LLA kept pumping its hand, moaning and whining as its outfit shifted to reveal an anatomically accurate female body. Its breasts jiggled as it continued its cycle of lewd phrases.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally released a few disappointing squirts of cum, and the thirty minutes was up. The robot’s nanotech ensemble crept back across its form before silently leaving Dax alone with his thoughts once more. He wiped down and dressed quickly, a mix of dread and relief washing over him.

As he exited the room and returned to the terminal complex, he found himself searching the crowd for any sign of Lyra. But she was gone, so Dax ordered another drink, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

A messaged flashed across his wristband that read: “Get some rest while you can, soldier. We have work to do.” Signed at the bottom, “—Broker.”