Opportunities and escalations

by BRK

 Brothers Coren and Pranam are diverted from their usual slightly roguish pursuits by an accidental teleport to a highly secure space station. Facing potentially dire accusations, Coren’s pilfering skills put them in possession of a device that might just alter the balance of things—and give Coren a chance to indulge in a bit of mischief aimed at his attention-loving brother.

Added: Apr 2023 2,564 words 1,392 views No votes yet This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.


Space Station Zutalors was one of the most secure advanced research and intelligence facilities in the entire Lamaran Integration. Its fifty-three gleaming levels teemed with scary-smart scientists, sinister secrets, steel-sinewed space marines—and two scruffy zgerf-trading civilians who definitely, absolutely did not belong there.

Coren resolved to keep up a calmly defiant expression, no matter how unnerving Station Commander Mondiu’s triple glower got. He stood stiffly, his face placid and unmoving, as the livid, stone-clad Uouammian leaned over his desk at them, looking like he wanted to tear them apart and literally paint the walls of his tidy office with their warm, still-spurting blood.

“You,” he seethed in a growl, eyeing each of them in turn before singling out Coren for some reason, “do not belong here.”

“Definitely,” piped up one of the tiny, walnut-sized but otherwise identical and equally enraged-looking heads bobbing at the ends of his antennae. “Absolutely,” said the other, glaring just as hard as the proper head below.

“It’s not our fault,” Pranam protested from beside him. Coren glanced over and noted the fire in his brother’s eyes with approval. Pranam’s best skill was drawing all attention to him, leaving Coren to work out the score unnoticed. This separation of functions had come in handy on multiple occasions, and by this point he and Coren fell into the routine more or less automatically.

Pranam, for his part, loved nothing more than a good fight, be it words, fists, or Vilnian gut-melters. “We told you,” he persisted hotly, anger giving his handsome features a dangerous look. “It was—”

Mondiu seemed to get even angrier, his shoulder-armor shifting like tectonic plates. “There’s no such thing as a teleporter dialing a wrong number!” he roared, cutting him off.

“And I’m telling you there is!” Pranam shot back, with all the conviction of an inveterate charmer who for once found the truth to be his best way forward. Coren shook his head inwardly—where had their father found that transmat systems temp, anyway?—and started surreptitiously casing the little office, keeping up his end of the m.o. as best he could.

Most of it seemed unremarkable: wide, oblong viewport looking out over the manta-ray-esque port wing of the station toward the glimmering belt of the Ozarian expanse; a shelf full of souvenirs and commendations; standard-issue ultra-ceramo desk with utility data padd and—hey, what’s that?

While Mondiu and Pranam argued about the subtleties of intraspastial organic transfer, Coren focused his attention more closely on the bulbous, thumb-sized object near the edge of the commander’s desk, sealed in a small, clear plastic bag. His guess was that it was device of some kind; its smooth, rounded onyx surface was interrupted by a capsule-shaped red button on the side and a flat metal surface with a grille on top. A voice recorder? But the technology and design looked Scuyrrian, which to Coren suggested cunning and illicit functionalities. Etched in the side was a circle joined to a slightly larger circle, the Scuyrrian pictogram for “change.” Interesting. He glanced over the plastic bag it was contained in and saw that it was marked EXPERIMENTAL CONTRABAND in hand-written Uouammian lettering.

Coren didn’t even hesitate. He took a quarter step to the left, which signaled Pranam to “cover me.” Without seeming to take any notice he instantly obliged, ramping up his argument and gesturing widely while shifting slightly away from me, drawing the angle of the commander’s fury just that little bit away from me. In a practiced move Coren stepped forward, snatched up the little bag and its curious contents, and had it pocketed before he was even pack in place. It was good he’d honed his speed and dexterity on moves like this—the second Coren was back in position the nearer of the commander’s tiny auxiliary antenna-heads whipped around in his direction. Coren smiled and gave it a cheeky wave, which only made it frown harder.

Minutes later they were being marched to the brig pending “further investigation.” Coren didn’t even care.

“You found something weird, didn’t you?” Pranam whispered as they were paraded down a long back corridor, sandwiched between two android guards built like tanks.

Coren just grinned.

Our cell was as expected. Square, with three gray walls and the fourth left open to the hallway, with softly thrumming energy barrier preventing their egress. A ripped-looking, starstream-rifle-wielding robot guard was planted just outside, its back to them.

Pranam turned to his brother and lifted an eyebrow. Thus prompted, Coren retrieved the purloined device from my pocket and freed it from the bag, which he handed to Pranam. He stowed it in a side pocket as Coren showed him the mystery object, turning it over in his hands. “Change?” Pranam said, noting the symbol. Coren nodded, and they both puzzled over it for another minute.

“Maybe it changes reality,” Pranam joked.

There was one way to find out. Coren lifted the grille end toward his mouth and clicked the button, eyes on their captor. “The robot guarding our cell,” he said carefully and distinctly, “is malfunctioning.” When nothing happened immediately, Coren added, “Really badly.” He released the button and waited, letting a bit of excitement brew within him. Despite recent advances univ-alt tech was supposed to be impossible, according to all the theories he’d heard in across years of interest in the topic—but he also knew that if any race were going to crack it, it was the Scuyrrians.

“Coren—” Pranam started to say.

Just then the robot started to scream. It started low, like a distant avalanche, but rapidly built to a sustained cry of horrified insanity. This was all the more creepy as its simplified, hard-molded facial expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“Shit,” Pranam said, alarmed. Coren watched in fascination—either this was a massive coincidence, or the “change” device was working!

Even as he was thinking this, the robot jerked its weapon up to firing position, set it to “fry,” and started firing crackling bolts of pure atom-destroying energy in random directions as though the now-schizoid robot were seeing enemies everywhere. Every ray drilled a neat hole in the titarium bulkheads of the labyrinthine brig complex, and those beyond that, and those beyond that, sparking distant alarms as force fields contained hull breaches punching through the skin of the station itself. Despite the still-constant blank expression its scream had now crescendoed to what sounded for all the world like a constant, full-throated shriek.

“No no no—” Pranam said suddenly, waving his arms at the malfunctioning guard as it swiveled to aim its firearm directly at them. The weapon discharged, sending a long bolt of pure lavarian energy directly at them. It struck the barrier, filling the doorway momentarily with a blinding yellow light cascade, before the ludicrous amounts of energy rebounded back on the robot in a catastrophic explosion. There was a deafening crack of thunder and then it was raining gears, chips, and servos for a solid fifteen seconds, until finally the charred hallway outside their cell looked like a post-explosion jumble sale at a robot parts factory.

Coren stared, blinking the floating lights away, then turned and beamed at his brother. He was actually a kind of turned on by what he’d just done, and Pranam’s grumpiness daunted his excitement nary a whit.

Even so, his darker, handsomer brother sure seemed willing to give it his best shot. “Nice job, numb nuts,” he said, gesturing at the mayhem beyond still-sparking cell barrier. “Instead of just a couple of accidental interlopers, you’ve managed to make us look like a genuine threat. Oh, and you managed to accomplish this with us still trapped on the wrong side of that door!”

A klaxon sounded nearby, and from somewhere not far off came the tromp of fast-moving metal boots. Coren only smiled wider. “You know what day it is today on the Lamaran calendar, brother?”

Pranam looked skeptical. “First of Pranck. Why?” He narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you planning?”

By way of answer, Coren lifted the alien device and clicked the button. “My brother Pranam,” he said distinctly, “has the ability to walk through any wall or energy barrier—”

Pranam lifted his chin, weighing the possibilities of this unexpected twist—clearly without prejudice to his sustained concerns about Coren.

Coren eyed him maliciously for another second, then added, “—but only when he’s completely naked.”

“You neutron-fucker! Give me that!”

Pranam made a grab for the univ-alt device, but Coren, who had longer arms and a lot of practice keeping things away from his older brother, fended him off easily. “Better hurry and get undressed, brother,” Coren taunted, nodding his head toward the noise of the klaxon and, below that, the clatter of the approaching troops. “You can get me back later.”

Pranam knew his priorities and was already simultaneously pulling off his shirt and toeing his shoes off. “Oh, trust me,” he hissed as he dropped his pants.

Coren couldn’t help himself. As he watched his fit, slightly hairy brother pull down his briefs he raised the univ-alt device again. “One thing about my brother Pranam,” he said mischievously. “He loves getting naked.”

“Coren—!” Pranam growled, already at the energy barrier. He’d put up a hand experimentally, and sure enough, with a bit of concentration he was able to bleed his arm right through the glimmering, hand’s-breadth-thick artificially-generated barricade.

Just watching that and knowing he’d done it was making Coren hard and prickly with heat, and damned if he’d be the only one. “In fact,” he said into the grille, “Pranam gets a big, forearm-sized boner every time he’s in the raw.”

“You are so dead!” Pranam yelled over his shoulder. Knowing they had precious little time, though, he kept up with his work, pushing himself steadily through the barrier until he was through to the other side and gingerly stepping around the pieces of exploded robot, all the while desperately pretending he wasn’t sporting a raging, enormous hard-on that listed comically to the left—as if even its own adamantine stiffness was not enough to support the massive weight of Pranam’s suddenly impressive tool.

Quickly, Pranam found the controls—fortunately, they hadn’t been damaged in the robot’s brief bout of pandemonium—and disabled the barrier, beckoning Coren through. “Hurry!”

Once clear of the remains of the guard they pelted into a run, taking the nearest turn and then pursuing a random course through the warren of the brig deck, until the marching of the robots seemed securely distant. They found an ordinary bulkhead door to what looked like a storage room, and Pranam, not one to discard an advantage however arrived at, pushed himself through the door and opened it from the other side, pulling Coren into the room and shutting the door swiftly behind them, muffling the klaxon and giving them a sense of respite and relief.

The storage room was only dimly lit by a low-power standby light strip, but it was enough to see his handsome brother was still angry. Time to be conciliatory. “Look, Pran—” he started, only to let out an ooof! as he was shoved up hard against the back of the door, his shoulder rammed against the cold titarium.

He was so shocked by this he hadn’t even realized the shove was a distraction—not until Pranam triumphantly brandished the little black univ-alt device with its dangerously alluring red button.

“Oh no you don’t,” Coren said, lunging toward him. Pranam stepped back and spoke into the device. “My brother Coren,” the naked rapscallion said with a smug smile, “loves cock so much, he can’t help stroking his own massive hard tool whenever he sees mine.”

“Arrrgh!!” Coren yelled, forced to free his rapidly inflating cock from his trousers. They both watched as it got as big as Pranam’s (and maybe a bit thicker), and Coren literally couldn’t stop himself from gripping the hot, steel-hard organ in both hands and bathing in the pleasure of slowly stroking himself.

Pranam was still watching, mesmerized, his own fist twitching as if wanting to emulate his brother’s. Coren saw that Pranam’s thumb was still pressing down the red button, and he took his chance. Still stroking, he leaned in quick and shouted into the device. “Pranam loves sex so much, he instantly sprouts a second body whenever he’s hard just so he can fuck himself!”

Suddenly a second Pranam appeared behind his sexy brother, looking surprised but wasting no time in humping his equally naked original self. Pranam’s eyes fluttered at the feeling of that enormous cock riding his crack, but with a visible effort he focused on what was important—retaliation. With fire in his eyes and a feral grin, he held Coren’s agitated gaze and leaned toward the univ-alt. “Coren,” he said, “is so about cock, even his tongue turns into a cock when he’s hard!”

Coren blazed with anger and lust in equal measure. “Fug you,” he cursed, before the needy look in Pranam’s eyes demanded he do just that. Eradicating the remaining distance between them, Coren shoved his thick, protruding mouthcock deep into Pranam’s mouth and down his eager, cock-hungry throat.

They’d pushed each other almost to the brink of orgasm when a familiar voice suddenly broke through the speakers. “All right, open her up!” it said.

With a series of clangs and hisses the walls fell away around them, dissolving into an orgy of pixels until they’d completely dissipated and the brothers found themselves in a sprawling, brightly-lit, and very familiar holochamber. Surrounding them were an equally well-known crew of techs and fellow traders, all of them applauding and hooting merrily, and at the center of the unexpected audience was their beaming, square-shouldered father, Stannar. He moved toward them, still clapping, as the others cheered.

“Whah—?” Coren said indistinctly around his mouth-boner.

Stannar put his fists on his hips and grinned at them. “Happy First of Pranck, boys!” he boomed.

Coren gaped at him, then hung his head, still slowly two-fisting his enormous meat. “There never was a space station,” Pranam said in realization. “It was all a trick,” the extra, just-for-butt-fucking Pranam added. They both sounded a little awed, and Coren couldn’t blame them.

“Here, I’ll take that,” Stannar said. Coren looked up to see him take the univ-alt device from Pranam’s unresisting grip. Stannar wagged his finger at them, a glint in his warm amber eyes. “You three have been very naughty,” he said, not without relish. “I’ll have to think long and hard about how to catch up.”

With a wink, Stannar walked off with the device, collecting the rest of the audience. The others all filtered out of the vast holochamber, leaving Coren and the two Pranams behind. They all looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Fuuug,” Coren said.


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