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  1. Hi everyone! You probably know me as the one half of Sophie & Pudding, and if you do it means you've probably read some our work we've done together. You've also probably read some of Sophie's solo works, too, and if you haven't, you really ought to, she's great! And I'm not just saying that 'cuz she's my best friend, she writes some of the best fiction in this field. Enough preample-ramble, though. Today I'd like to start sharing with you one of my solo works, something I've been working on these past few weeks; a space opera sci-fi featuring little themes. This is going to be a slow build up and release, and all that I ask is that if you get bored early on, please consider checking back in when more is posted and see if it hooks you then. To say this isn't the usual affair to be found on DD or in this community in general would be a massive understatement >//< Um... So anyway, please like, comment, give thoughts or feedback, even if it's not that much to say, and otherwise enjoy the ride and I hope you all find something you like. I'm gonna do my best bestest to update this daily, hopefully not this late tho! Special thanks to Sophie, Kimmy, Chloe, Selphie, Ana, Ruka, Kerry, Ollie, Trip, and all of my other supporters that have read along with this so far as I've written and given valuable insight and love and support, I couldn't write without you!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1 There are things you bring with you, there are things you leave behind, there are things that chase you, and those that slip your mind. -Lt. S. B. Danyka, Accounts of the Third Revolutionary War, Vol. II *** I would always remember the smell of blackcurrants. On the day the sky fell dark and rained fire from the clouds, the fields lit up and burned in solidarity to the end of the world. We - both the collective, and the personal - had never seen anything so dreadful, not during our fiercest atrocities we bandied upon one another at the end turn of the century, and not during the sixteen major revolutionary wars that followed. Conflicts so fierce and awful, so passionate and important, that they dissolved borders and governments alike, wars that burned away what had brought us upon ruin’s doorstep and left behind only the scarcest beauty left to rise from the ashes. We were the children of global revolution. We wouldn’t make the same mistakes. We wouldn’t turn on one another, we wouldn’t squabble over land disputes, or taxation. For the first time, the planet earth saw eye to eye. If only we’d known we should have been watching the sky, instead. Irony would have had it, then, that if we were still at war we very likely would have seen them coming in our global state of paranoia. We may have stood a chance. I would always remember the smell of blackcurrants. It had been 2:18 Global Time when the sky darkened, and it had been 2:21g when the fields had burned, licking flames and the sickening scent of fruit boiling with never the chance to leave the branch. It had been 2:46g when I ran through the fire without the courage to steal a glance behind me, knowing to myself that anything left of my life had burned with the berries, caught in the brimstone that swept the surface and cleansed what was left behind. At 3:01g and at ten years old, I became an orphan of the human race. The ragged crimson edges to the thick dark ichor that had once been all there was in the world, land that had once been homes, lives, countries, futures, was oddly beautiful from above. Back then you might have been born in one town and lived there your entire life, existing only to further a bloodline, the very definition of a pointless futility, and yet in those days we clung to our ephemeral existences like they were the most important thing in the world. The screen hissed a microsecond of staticky protest as I fumbled for the kill switch and the image of our scorched Earth disappeared like a long-forgotten ghost. Those fires would burn forever, but my tea was growing cold. *** My feet swung three inches above the floor when I was sitting, even though Skippers were supposed to be appointed quarters and furniture sized proportionately, so when I stood up the cold steel of the floor caught me by surprise the way it always seemed to. I didn’t think many other people would have felt the chill of the metal; conduits beneath the floor kept the entire station at a Comfortable-as-Designated-by-Committee™ temperature. I felt it, though. I felt the cold of the steel, I felt the warmth of the conduits, I felt the warm pleasant buzz of RF interference from the endless bundles of wires that crisscrossed the station like some approximation of a nervous system. I felt us moving, too, despite the fact the inertial dampeners should have suppressed that sensation. That wasn’t to say that anybody else felt it. But we were moving. “Have they found us?” I asked, hoping the answer would be no. One thing the architects had gotten right were the height of the comm panels on the wall - although the prefabricated nature of the station was obvious from the mismatched steel that filled in the hole where the screen should have been, to the overly shiny nature of the screens bezel where it was at eye-level to me. Not much was new around here. “It’s only a routine maneuver, Cadence. Are you poking around in systems you shouldn’t be? You should have known it was routine.” Laurent replied teasingly. He couldn’t help the way he looked down on me, but his face wore the memories of his story in scars that crawled up one cheek giving him the almost comforting appearance of rich mahogany tree bark, and a glassy, contrastingly white eye that served only to fill the hole. He’d paid his price, like I’d paid mine, so I didn’t hold it against him. “I can feel it, Laurent.” “I’m telling you, Cadence, the dampeners are working fine. There is just no way you can feel the station moving, Skipper or not,” he assured me, exasperated. I grinned at him, and he caught himself, either from the sight of my angelic little smile or the fact that it highlighted certain facets about how I looked. Where he resembled chocolate taken halfway to the grater to garnish a birthday cake, I more closely compared to the birthday girl. Porcelain skin so pure it might have looked like a doll to a distance observer, eyes that were violet with inner machinations within their irises that moved the way that clouds did on the stillest of days. Side effects of the fact I was inherently his commanding officer. “You forget yourself, Special Technician Laurent Larson.” “Oh no no, Cadence, don’t even pretend you like that. Are you dressed?” He could only have seen my head and shoulders, making the question one of validity and not perversion. “Should I be?” I shrugged. “We don’t have any Runs today, I double checked the roster, I was going to visit the pool.” “The pool? Well that’s just perfect, Cadence. You’re vetting a new recruit for the Skippers today - you can take them along with you.” I groaned, fingertips running down my cheeks and pulling down the bottom of my eye lids like an overly dramatic child as I breathed out in annoyance, a gesture that only made my honey strawberry hair decide to rebel from its station in much the way I wanted to. I huffed and blew strands of hair back out of my eyes, muttering to myself first, and then to the man on my screen. “Can’t someone else do it? Like Caesen? Or Kisnus? They both love interviewing, and they don’t do anything on their down days except for Skipper things. I want to go to the pool, Laurent. I want to feel the water on my skin,” I cut him off with a finger. “Don’t even start with me, Mister.” His barky cheek folded in on itself as he smiled, and his laugh made me feel like I’d just drank a long glass of warm hot chocolate instead of the blackcurrant tea that now pooled in small cold puddles in the bottom of my glass. “I’m afraid this one’s just for you, Cadence. Special request.” Special request? From who? “There’s something you’re not telling me, I can see it in your eyes, Special Technician.” I called him by rank the same way that parents call wayward children by middle name. I wasn’t sure it had the desired effect coming from a girl who needed a stepping stool to brush her teeth. “It’s classified, Skipper Cadence Cassandra.” Wow, that actually didn’t feel so good thrown back at me. “An order straight from the top of Skipper Command.” I was sure he could see the defiance of my face falling to reluctant acceptance, the dreams of my downtime day at the pool being pulled down the drain hole as though the pool itself was emptying and filling in with standardized questions and personality probing lines of conversation. I knew six languages, and there weren’t words in any of them… wait, maybe German… mm, no. No, there weren’t even words in that dead tongue to represent how crestfallen I felt. So, I just pouted. “Whateveerrrrr,” I sighed dramatically. “7:30g?” “6:30g, actually,” he responded, pointedly not amused. “Argh!! Really?! Laurent!” I cried. “That’s in like half an hour, are you for real right now?” “Have fun, Skipper.” The screen flickered from color to greyscale to one central line and then nothing. A gesture I vastly wished I could replicate. *** I’d been a Skipper for twenty-five years, with some of my uniforms old enough to prove it, and although I could never wear the older models on an actual Run because they wouldn’t be up to code in today's safety charter, they made nice keepsakes all the same. In the old wars, the ones before we learned to know better, pilots would decorate their aircraft with tallies of death that they’d inflicted upon their enemies. Conversely, I kept my old uniforms as a much more somber reminder of how many deaths I’d cheated. The third-generation style was so cute, with the solid boning around the hips, as though deliberately weaving a shape into the fabric was enough to preserve the dignity of the Skipper when the entire populace knew what we were trying to hide. I pushed it aside to seek something newer. It would still fit - I’d not grown since becoming a Skipper and I’d never grow again - but it wouldn’t have been professional. Who would ask for me by name, anyway? I simply wasn’t that special. I got into my underwear, then pulled the lilac colored uniform up over my body, snapping the buckles together in place between my legs and wriggling to make sure the neural interfaces running all throughout the fabric had good clear connectivity with my skin. I didn’t know why I bothered to wear clothing - the air felt the same to me once I was dressed, I always felt naked. I guess that’s why I liked being barefoot on the station. And how else would people see that my toenails matched my fingers? I smirked to nobody but myself as I stepped onto the stool to brush my hair in the mirror, and made some final adjustments to my uniform, before I left my quarters for the foul air that the masses were forced to breathe. In fairness, only a Skipper could have told the difference, which I always figured was why they didn’t invest the additional energy into further purifying the air for the rest of the station - if they couldn’t tell the difference, and it was considered safe, then why waste the energy? It was a pragmatic approach, if not a particularly nice one.
  2. Planets and Pacifiers By Horatio Husky Ion engines engines efficiency at 87% Cooling system: normal Internal atmospheric composition: normal Navigation system: active Radiation shield: active Cargo Hold temperature: 282.9 degrees kelvin Cockpit temperature: 293.9 degrees kelvin Bridge temperature: 293.4 degrees kelvin Exterior temperature 2.7 degrees kelvin Complete system diagnosis: nominal Current Coordinates: 14.22524 tesseracts, 1532.24642 leths, 35.99946 endons Nebula Location Adjacency: Iago’s nebula “Yeah yeah yeah, stuff it.” A light orange fox lounged in a pilot’s seat, designed to be sat in in an upright, rigid position in order to maximize alertness in its user. Apollo did not seem to be so keen on respecting the design of the chair, for his posture gave off every impression except one of attention. He rolled his eyes and twirled a finger in his thick, yellow-dyed headfur. Did the machine really have to recite the information out loud every hour he thought to himself, as he yawned and stretched his arms and legs lethargically. A little shorter and light furred than most orange foxes his age, the 20 year old pilot was bored of his freight mission. “Work in the space fleet they said. It’ll be an adventure they said. You’ll rise through the ranks quickly they said.” he spoke aloud in a mocking tone, scrunching his face up and bringing his lip back, wagging his head in mock chipperness. The fox once again rolled his eyes, and glanced up at the various monitors in front of him, his well trained eyes picking out the pertinent pieces of information before him amongst the myriad of pointless stats and figures. The fox was driving a standard issue military freighter, loaded with food rations, armor supplies, energy cells, hygiene products, and other various necessities required by the military. A crucial job to keep the military sane, but still a very boring one. Apollo wished he wasn’t still such a low ranking pilot, and getting assigned a two month mission of just going from system to system had been taking a serious toll on his mind. He had grown tired of video games, movies, and even the virtual reality simulator, which unfortunately for him, had only demo access on the ship model he’d been stuck with. Cheap bastards. A notification appeared on one of the 9 monitors displayed on the glass in front of him, behind the glass a dual star system was fast approaching, the twin suns each radiating their light, as if to welcome the pilot to their system. The ship itself was shaped like the tip of an arrow, with a larger cylindrical portion hitched to its back, containing the various supplies. The dragon sperm was the nickname Apollo had unaffectionately dubbed his ship which he was more and more beginning to see as a prison of little stimulation. He waved a paw lazily, the dashboard registered his lackadaisical movement and opened the notification. A green x-ray image of what looked to be an abandoned station appeared in front of him, along with coordinates. His eyes glanced to them, and then excitedly sat up in his seat, boredom and self-pity forgotten. “It’s in the upcoming system, along the way!” he said aloud, ecstatic at finding such a relic. Running a quick diagnosis he was told that the station’s power system was in sleep mode as well as the on board AI, for how long it had been deactivated wasn’t specified, but the exterior looked as if it had taken a few decades of being beaten by the radiation pouring out by the sister stars only around 19 million kilometers away. Its primary objective for construction was also stated as infant care, which took him aback for a second. Recovering quickly, Apollo stuck his tongue out to the side of his maw, and excitedly concentrated at overriding the ship’s commands to continue on its passage, just for a quick stop to explore this obviously very important case of spatial exploration. He scratched at his white chest fur with a paw absentmindedly as he flipped a few switches, and pressing a button a semi-circle attached to a bar appeared, grasping the steering wheel he began to gently guide his ship towards the abandoned space station. “Haha!” he grinned to himself,”Finally I can actually use this piece of ship!” Grinning at his stupid pun, he approached the station. As he grew closer he noticed that it was larger than he expected, with a wide array of solar panels that seemed mostly intact, and surprisingly large ship loading and unloading docks. It’s gravitational anchor was a small, red looking planet which Apollo knew from his space class was probably due to oxidation of iron with the soil. Ignoring the planet he synced up his speed to the velocity of the station and chose a smaller landing area that seemed best sheltered from the radiation pouring from the center of the solar system. “Easy does it, come on you’ve done this dozens of times, YES!” exclaimed Apollo, as with a resounding noise the ship docked with the docking area, and the all too familiar hiss of an airlock engaged, connecting with the station. The scrawny fox giddily hopped out of his pilot’s seat and scampered his tail swishing excitedly over to his space suit. Almost shaking with glee, he quickly stepped into his space boots and allowed the system to place the rest of the suit on him. It couldn’t do it quick enough, however after a minute his helmet had set in place, and, clicking his heels together, the static adhesive pads activated on his boots and he stepped into the airlock. More hissing followed and the sounds of heavy metals moving was heard, and with a shudder, the airlock opened to reveal a more colorful spectacle than he had expected. A green light appearing on his helmet as he entered, he clicked a latch on the side of his space suit neck while also pressing a button on a wrist terminal on his left arm. With a sharp hiss, the helmet came off, and Apollo breathed in deeply. A strange yet oddly nostalgic smell entered his sensitive nostrils, and he frowned sniffing further, trying to identify the smell. “Is that… talcum powder?” he mused to himself, as he took a step further into the station. Along the walls were various infantile patterns of little cubs, kittens, puppies, and other children, some of them wearing little space suits and diapers, while others slept on crescent moons or floated through space, attached by a lifeline on a spacewalk exploring the galaxy. Cute, thought Apollo to himself, as he tapped his shoulder to activate a flashlight on it and after moving his eyes up and down and side to side, its beam synchronized with his own focused vision. He continued to walk through the facility, which was only lit by some of the twin star’s lights coming through windows that appeared every once in a while spanning from floor to ceiling, the red gravity anchor planet also reflecting the starlight into the station, giving it a soft, almost pinkish atmospheric light. On his way he passed a particularly sophisticated looking synthetic arm, hanging from the ceiling presumably via magnetism, for there seemed no obvious mechanic for it to be able to move from its spot as it hung dejectedly from the ceiling. “Aww man, is there going to be any loot in here? I really want to be able to show off to the others that I had an actual adventure!” Apollo complained, as he rounded into a corridor with several entrances. Picking the closest one to his left, the door opened automatically when he stepped in front of it to his great surprise, and revealed to him what looked like a room to change an infant’s diapers. A changing table with a menagerie of baby products stood as the centerpiece in the room, along with more depressed looking yet highly futuristic mechanical arms hanging above it, their skin a shiny white color and their exposed wire and machinery parts a glistening black. He noticed that the floor he’d been walking on was a rather soft looking blue carpet, and looking back the way he came he also observed that everything seemed to be designed with comfort in mind, for the safety of the children being taken care of here presumably. Clicking his wrist terminal, he tapped around until he found a locator, and followed the instructions on his monitor through a series of doors and corridors. Seeing much more of the cutesy tyke space exploration mosaic, he finally arrived at a hallway where he saw what looked like a terminal at the end. Striding over to it, he tapped experimentally on the large black screen. To his delight the screen illuminated, and he tapped through various windows until he arrived at an inventory and functionality list. His trained mind perusing quickly behind the boring details, he arrived at the description of the station’s purpose. “The primary objective of this institution is the cultivation and upbringing of infants through the first few stages of development; giving them an opportunity to develop stronger immune systems through systematic control of inoculation as well as stimulated development via exposure to an environment such as this space station, where the air, food, and lifestyle are all designed with the healthy and happy development of the child in mind. After the period of post-birth incubation is over, the children are then shipped out using a state of the art long-term space travel system to arrive at their final destination with highly stimulated beginnings and a matured immune system. As of this past century, the entire system has undergone a success in complete automation.” “Huh, a retro-nursery. Sure wish my parents stuck me in one of these before I turned 2, maybe then I could have become a cyborg engineer,” the fox muttered to himself sarcastically. He tabbed through more information screens, which just displayed various shipment records of supplies as well as a few analytics on the function of the energy system. Apollo was a little confused why the station was in a state of hibernation, for as he clicked through he realized that all of the systems in the place were running smoothly with no need for any major repairs. He frowned, and tried accessing an administrative tab to see if he could see if the station had been turned off intentionally. Something squeezed his shoulder and Apollo yelped loudly, ”BWAH!” His helmet which he’d been toting with him under his arm fell from his grasp, and landed softly on the carpet. Whirling around he found that one of the mechanical arms was firmly grasping his shoulder, tapping its index finger expectantly. He brushed away at it, but before he could try and get away from it it released him and pointed down the hallway to the right of the terminal, as if saying,”Come on bub, this way.” The fox blinked, then leaned down to pick up his fallen helmet, cocking his head to the side curiously,”I thought this place was in the hibernation mode.” As if to directly prove him wrong, the hall he was on became illuminated with cheery yellow lights, and he could hear whirring and clanging, as well as what sounded like a generator firing up somewhere in the institution. He looked around, bewildered but a little excited to see the station coming alive again. His excitement turned to a startled feeling however as the arm, seemingly rather impatient, grabbed his wrist and began tugging him down the hall at which it had pointed. Apollo protested, and tried yanking his way out of the arm’s grasp, but found himself comfortably yet firmly trapped in its vice, and all he could do was keep up with wherever it was leading him. His heart rate increased and he tried getting to his wrist terminal, but found that the jostling rate of the arm’s tugging didn’t allow him to punch in the code for a distress signal back to his ship. “Let go you piece of scrap! I’m the captain of a ship! Even though it’s a one man ship… Still a ship!” The arm utterly ignored his indignance as they rounded around a bend and the fox found himself back at the familiar hall with multiple entrances on the left and right. He was half lead half dragged into an entrance to the left, where he found himself faced with five more arms all expectantly holding various physician’s items and forms of measurement. Apollo was seriously starting to panic as the arm that lead him in released him only to immediately click a button on a panel next to the entrance and shut the door behind him. Two more arms descended from the ceiling and grabbed him by the upper arms, he thrashed and kicked, dropping his helmet once again and flailed, trying to get away from the metal captors. The arms began to assail their poor victim with the various instruments, looking inside his ears, forcing his jaw open to inspect his teeth with the instruments, grabbing at various muscles and one arm even had the gaul to gently squeeze his unspeakables. He yelped and twitched a little bit when that happened, yipping at an arm as it passed his head, furious with being manhandled without any consent. The arm that he had snapped at stopped moving, and quickly reversed direction back upwards into a surprisingly high ceiling. Noting that it seemed to reach for something high above him, it quickly descended back towards him and before he could react popped some sort of rubber bulb in his mouth. He tried spitting it out, but found that another arm was fastening something behind the back of his head which pulled on his cheeks, and with a muffled gasp he realized he was being gagged. Not just any gag though, as he moved the alien structure around in his mouth and attempted to suck on it, he realized the arm had stuck a pacifier in his mouth. “Em nawt a ba-MMM!” the bulb in the pacifier suddenly inflated in his mouth substantially, and Apollo found to his dismay that he was not longer able to open his mouth enough to even attempt to say words. He huffed into his pacifier, but before he could further reflect on his situation a panel appeared in the wall in front of him approximately a yard wide and tall, and looking closer he saw that a conveyor belt appeared to be moving inside of the panel opening. Jostling him the arms pushed him towards the conveyor belt and then lifted him onto it, he thrashed and flailed but to no avail, as he was deposited on the conveyor belt the panel shut behind him, and the only illumination was the flashlight on his space suit, which still followed wherever he gazed. The company which had designed the clever device warned strongly to never have it synced with in total darkness, for only seeing light in one’s central vision but never in their peripheral vision could cause bad paranoia and even hallucinations. Given the situation the fox seemed to have landed himself into, his paranoia was already sky high. He got himself up to his knees on the moving belt, only to have something thump him on the back back onto his stomach. He growled into his pacifier gag with frustration, and then began to panic as he felt something unzipping his space suit and grabbing the wrist with his personal terminal on it. The flashlight switched off, and the poor vulpine was thrown into complete darkness as the suit registered it was being taken off. Helpless and blind, the fox soon was being completely stripped of all clothing he wore. He shivered, terrified as his naked body continued to progress on the belt. He felt more things touching him, the machine examining every nook and cranny of his body, leaving him feeling completely helpless. Suddenly another panel opened, and he found himself being thrust unceremoniously into a pool of bubbly water. He spluttered, his thick yellow hair in his face. He tried to clear his eyes of hair but once again found his arms restrained and felt several brushes assault various parts of his body. Surprisingly pleasant, he was able to see past a break in his sopping wet hair that he was being scrubbed head to toe by more mechanical arms in what he guessed was a large bath. Unable to do much but allow himself to be cleaned, Apollo cursed his stupidity at not being more careful. “Still,” he thought,”once the system does whatever this integration protocol is or whatever, I’m sure when it’s satisfied I’ll be able to get back to my ship.” Confident in this assumption, he reluctantly allowed the arms to finish cleaning him, lifting him out of the tub and blasting him with air from vents below where they had deposited him. As the air shut off, his hair fluffed out. He groaned, he must really looked like a little kid with all his fur all over the place. He reached back to try and unfasten his pacifier gag, but wasn’t quick enough for once again an arm grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the room, down the soft carpet, which the still naked Apollo now appreciated, and into the room he had first seen. Before him stood a changing table. “That is a big no from me,” thought Apollo, as to his dismay he was lifted up onto the table and had his wrists and ankles strapped to the corners. The poor fox whimpered, unhappy that he seemingly had lost all freedom and trust to do anything for himself. He winced and tried moving away from an arm that began to spread a white cream into his fur around his groin, on his bottom, and, tensing, around his sensitive bits. Another arm gently slid a hand under his lower back, and lifted him upwards. The fox looked down at himself, and saw that one arm was rising up clutching a thick, dark blue diaper with constellation patterns adorning it. The solar sailor squirmed and moaned in objection as the diaper was unfolded and slid gently under his quivering bottom. As he settled down on it he was surprised at the incredibly softness of the material against him. Another mechanical arm began applying generous amounts of baby powder in his diaper area, causing him to sneeze and shiver. Putting away the various infantile cosmetical supplies, the arms folded the front of the diaper over Apollo’s front, and snugly taped it in place, three tapes on each side. Apollo flexed his thighs and his buttcheeks, realizing that the soft padding was firmly in place. The corner restraints released, but before he could attempt to escape where previously the restraints held his wrists and ankles arms grasped him, lifting him out off of the changing table and unceremoniously carrying him out of the room, much to his displeasure. Trying to thrash and twist out of their grasp, the fox suckled nervously on his pacifier gag as he was carried into yet another room, inside of which were various mirrors and cabinets from the floor high up into the tall ceiling. The arms carried him to the center of the room, where he was able to see his pathetic state in one of the mirrors. His cheeks reddened, the fox was already a little bit on the small size, but the pacifier and the diaper did little to make him look like the adult he was. The poor pilot had gone from commanding his own ship to looking like he able to do little else than use his own diapers and suckle his pacifier. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some more arms that had appeared from above shuffling through the cabinets. The four arms that had carried him in still firmly holding him in the air, and the arms that had been searching through cabinets soon descended on him with various items. He felt a pressure on his ankle, and looked down to see a slim black bracelet placed above his footpaw. A small red light appeared on it, which turned to green and quickly vanished. His tail curled around his thigh, right under his diaper. “I’ve just been tagged! Am I going to be imprisoned here? Why would they need to track me?!” he thought apprehensively. Something went over his ears and onto his head, then fastened underneath his chin. He looked up into the mirror to see what was being put on him but was blinded by yet another thing being pulled over his head. The arms meandered their way into releasing and grasping his limbs once again as he was forced into a piece of clothing. His head emerging, he saw in the mirror that he was garbed in a thick, and rather heavy infant gown with a bonnet fastened over his hair. Feeling incredibly humiliated and infantile, his indignance was further increased as the arms thrust his hands into blue rounded mittens, and locked them in place with a touch of a finger on the wrist cloth, a lock symbol glowing briefly, telling Apollo he was not getting out of them any time soon. “Blasted station! How on earth is such a sophisticated looking system mistake an adult for a newborn infant?!” he once again thought to himself in frustration and panic. He moaned desperately into his pacifier, realizing that he may not be able to get of his situation as soon as the machine was done babying him. He’d have to wait until the machine left him alone with some time and he could figure out somehow how to get his gag and mittens off. Seeing how his clothes and wrist communicator had been confiscated by the machine, he’d have to do some exploring through the facility to voice activate it. In an all too familiar motion the arms grabbed his limbs and raised him up once more, parading him out of the room and down the hallway. They traveled for a longer period than previously, and Apollo was able to marvel at the true size and infantile design the station sported. It really made him feel as if he were inside a giant nursery, designed to make the environment as soothing and babyish as possible with the patterns on the wall, soft curves of the corners, and the ever persistent smell of baby powder lingering in the air. Or maybe that was just him,”Ugh…” thought the fox to himself,”Where on earth are these things taking me?” After a minute more of being carried through the various passageways they arrived at a large arch, above which was written ”Incubation Pods.” Apollo’s pacifier would have dropped from his agape mouth had it not been snuggly strapped in. The room they entered was gigantic, several hundred meters from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling, with wide pathways in the center allowing access to both mechanical arms and any bipeds or quadrupeds wanting to admire the space and walk through it. Between tall, narrow windows revealing the gorgeous outer space outside were several spacious pods, around three meters long and two meters wide. Apollo’s question of what was inside of the pods lining the walls was soon answered as the arms magnetic rail connection clipped onto a vertical rail line and he began to ascend upwards. Although a pilot, Apollo still was rather uncomfortable with large heights and with no titanium and carbon fiber vessel to hold him securely in place he tensed with apprehension as the arms carried him upwards. Maneuvering towards a pod in the center of the room, a few pods away from the nearest vertical window the fox saw that the interior was lined with soft, blue padding, a thick fleece blanket covered the middle, and several large fluffy pillows and a few choice large stuffed animals were contained within the pods. The upper half was made of a clear substance, and one of the pods lifted this translucent lid slightly with as hiss as the arms approached with their prey: the poor, rather babyishly garbed fox pilot. Presuming that he’d be put in one of the pods Apollo once again resumed his struggles, now in bigger earnest than before. He kicked and thrashed, yelling into his gag in anger as he exerted himself. His elbow connected with something hard, and he felt a rather nasty pain coming from his arm but realized with delight he must have succeeded in causing some damage. He glanced down, just in time to see one of the arms shattering into a million pieces on the walkway below. Looking up, he saw the end of what remained of the arm, sparking with electricity. Using his now freed arm he reached to attack the others that held him, but almost wet his newly acquired padding instead. Two dozen arms were now surging towards him, they grabbed his arms, legs, torso, and head, with the firmness increasing more and more as he attempted to resist them. They deposited him into the pod, pulling back the heavy looking blanket several arms pulled out several straps and folds hidden within the seams of the internal bedding. A harness with straps thick enough to almost constitute as clothing were drawn across his torso and crotch, tightly fastening them by what looked like velcro the fox. He tried moving and pawing at the restraints with his mittens, but found that it held him tightly in place in the center of the pod. He threw his head back and harrumphed in frustration as the arms retreated from the pod, the glass covering sealing back into place leaving the pilot to his own thoughts. He squirmed, pathetically tring to his use mittened paws to grasp at his secured torso, his pacifier, and the bonnet on his head tied under his chin. “This is humiliating,” he thought to himself,”I’ll never be able to live this down if anybody finds out, but how the hell am I supposed to escape if every time I do anything I get swarmed by those wretched arms!” He gasped slightly, and suckled on his pacifier a few times before consciously stopping himself when he realized what he was doing. “That’s it! I just have to do exactly what the system wants me to do and behave like a baby, then pull a fast one at the last minute!” Had he not been limited in his mobility, Apollo would have patted himself on the back for such an ingenious idea. Before he could further congratulate himself on being the smartest space pilot in the entire galaxy he jumped with surprise as a panel in the side of the bedding of the pod appeared out of nowhere, and more arms appeared. Gods above he was getting really sick of him he thought, as he wearily watched them approach him. Unstrapping the pacifier gag behind his head, the fox had hardly an opportunity to say anything until another rubber stopper was deposited firmly in place. He frowned, biting down on it. A squirt of sweet liquid came into contact with his tongue, and he looking down he saw a large baby bottle had been placed into his maw, patterns of stars, comets, and planets adorning it. The liquid inside of the container was a slight pink color, and as the fox took an experimental suckle on the thing, realized it was flavored strawberry. Apollo loved strawberries, and against his better judgement listened to the anguished growl that arose from his stomach as he realized he had not eaten in quite a while. Mentally shrugging, he allowed himself to be fed from the bottle, the contents tasted like a creamy strawberry milkshake, one of his favorite treats as a young kit back on his home planet. His eyelids drooped, and the interval between each suckle on his baba lengthened. A soothing female voice suddenly began to filter into the little crib pod, whispering little nothings into his ear, cooing and admiring on how incredibly cute and sweet he was. Apollo’s ear twitched and and a drol smile spread across his face, feeling surprisingly content albeit the situation. He wondered why he’d been so worked up just a few minutes ago. Why fuss? He was snuggly secured in his little crib, and his belly was full of delicious strawberry flavored milkshake! He wriggled comfortably, feeling almost fuzzy with coziness. He hardly noticed as the arms withdrew the bottle from his milk stained lips to be once again replaced with the pacifier gag, pulled the heavy blanket onto him, moved a pillow under his head, and placed a large, red dragon plushie in his arms, which he sleepily hugged tightly to himself with both arms. The little pilot’s consciousness dripped, then ebbed, and then slowly sank into a deep sleep, his breath slowing and his mind set at an ease he hadn’t experienced since he had been a little kit oh so many years ago. Apollo would barely remember this occurring later, but after what must have been only a few hours he woke up, but still felt incredibly sleepy from his deep sleep. He squirmed uncomfortably, and found that his surroundings were dark. His mind still in the clouds of hypnos, he tried to get up to empty his bladder. For some reason he wasn’t able to, and his still incredibly sleepy mind didn’t want to put forth more effort than it had to. He settled back down, and as he drifted back to sleep he felt a warm dampness spreading near the front of his crotch. His previously very full bladder now relieved, Apollo snuggled his cheek against the dragon plushie he hugged tightly, his padding now a little bigger and more tightly pressed against him than it had been previously. Apollo let out a sigh, and went back to sleep. ~ ~ ~ His vision was blurry and the light too harsh for his dark-accustomed eyes. He raised a paw to shield them from the brightness, and as his eyes went back into focus he saw the locked mitten still fixed on his hand. The events that had recently happened to him came flooding back, and suddenly he was wide awake. Shifting around to check if he was still secured in the straps, he felt something damp in his diaper. A feeling of shock and slight dread filled him, as he moved around further. “Did I wet myself when I slept?!” his mind screamed, as he brought his thighs together. To his dismay the absorbent material inside his diaper squished and crinkled, confirming his suspicions. His stomach gurgled, and his anxiety intensified as he realized that he had not used the toilet in a very long time. A pressure began to form on his lower abdomen, building up and pressing on his furry behind. Groaning he covered his face with his mittened paws and unconsciously suckled on his pacifier, he clenched his cheeks together, refusing to give up this aspect of his adulthood. The battle was waged for several minutes, but Apollo saw how it would eventually end. He whimpered, the pain beginning to register a higher intensity as he tried not to mess himself. A tear welled up in his right eye, and with a defeated cry muffled from his pacifier the contents of his bowels thundered into the backseat of his padding. He leaned forward slightly, bringing his legs up only to be hindered by the heavy blanket still weighing down upon him. The warm messed ballooned into his diapers, spreading out slightly into the front of his diaper. His release had been complete, for along with the back he had also wet the front even more. Apollo, military space pilot, captain of the ‘dragon sperm,’ had helpless used his diapers like a baby. No readjustment or movement allowed him to get away from the mess in his pants, the crinkling was muffled by the blanket as he shifted, the restrictive straps further pressing the padding onto his body as the material had swelled with his multiple instances of wetting. He lay there for what felt like an hour, during which he once again wet his diapers. “I must have been drugged, why would my body be reacting like this just because I’m dressed in baby clothes?” He shook his head, cursing himself for being so stupid as the puzzle pieces fell into place. They must have given him quite the cocktail to have completely incapacitated him to the point of being unable to keep his pants clean. “Good morning piddlepants!” a voice rang through the pod, jumping Apollo out of his revery. He looked around confused, the voice behind the exclamation was the same as the AI announcer voice he had heard before his rather lengthy nap, and it surprised him to be hearing it addressing him so directly. “How’s our little baby boy today! Did we use our diapers last night? Good little babies use their diapers and let their mommies and daddies love them for it!” Blushing at the infantile talk, Apollo saw through the glass that several arms were approaching his pod, clutching various changing supplies they approached, reaching into it as with another hiss the upper dome opened. Moving the blanket off of the little pilot they worked at unstrapping him out of the bundle and unclothed him until only his used diaper was open to the air. The smell hit his nostrils and he whimpered, a feeling of complete helplessness coursing through his mind as the arms held his own above his head and untapped his diaper. Cool, soothing baby wipes began wiping his messed fur, and he was slightly relieved that the arms were doing a good job at cleaning his accident from his body. The diaper was wrapped up, and a cream and powder was once again generously applied to his diaper area, his boy parts and cheeks rubbed with the substance to ensure maximum coverage. Cringing at the infantility of it all, he was both glad and dismayed when another, even thicker, diaper was placed beneath his raised behind, and he was securely fastened back into thick padding, the tapes snuggly ensuring he was nice and comfy inside of his thick underpants. The arms did what they did best and grabbed and lifted him up, his heart falling somewhere into his thick padding as he was retrieved from inside of the pod and carried back down onto the walkways in the middle of the vast space. At the bottom he saw what looked like a carriage, and found himself being placed into a thick, cushy bag of sorts. His arms were wrapped around himself and his knees were brought up to his chest. The fox squirmed, not uncomfortable but confined in what the fox took to be an oversized bunting bag. The arms placed and secured him into the carriage, strapping the bunting bag in over his chest and legs. Apollo could only suckle on his pacifier still lodged in his mouth and squirm as he was lead out of the giant room and further into the station. Something about the structure of the station where he was traveling through rang a bell, and he realized that they must be heading towards the main docking station he had spotted earlier when looking for an appropriate entrance. One of the arms delicately pushed the carriage through the station, and after what seemed like the longest hallway in the entire facility they emerged into another open space, smaller than where the pods were kept but still impressively large. The docks overlooked the vastness of space and were separating the bubble of air that Apollo relied on by a pink force field which buzzed quietly. Apollo was lifted out of his carriage and saw out of the corner of the force field window about half of his ship, still docked where he had left it. His heart leaped up in excitement, as he began to struggle even more against his bonds, hoping the ship would register his distress through the force field and send a signal for help. Help arrived at that very instant, but not the kind that the pilot expected. Another military freighter arrived, decelerating as it approached his docked ship, and Apollo whooped into his pacifier as he saw it approach his ship. His vision was blocked as the arms placed him into a small ship he hadn’t noticed. Seeing his reflection in one of the arm’s shiny white limbs he saw a picture of a stork in a spacesuit flying a ship with the words, ”Baby on board” written across its side. A glass seal then slid in front of him as arms located inside of the little space vessel secured him into a small baby seat, like the carseats he had seen kits being placed in when going on car trips. His pacifier gag was removed, and a bottle was thrust in instead, he bit down on the nipple of the bottle clenching it shut, he refused to be drugged again, he refused to be babied, he wanted release! A sweet, tinkling melody began playing from the speakers in the ship, and the voice of the AI once again began to coo at him, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright, that he was just a little helpless infant, and that he was well loved and comfortable. The ship rumbled, and the engines fired. As the little vessel rocketed out of the station, he saw way off in the distance the new freighter that had arrived, towing his old ship behind it as the ion engines reached maximum velocity. Apollo looked up in dismay and frustration at realizing that the new ship had not noticed his plight, and saw that a mirror was placed above him. He gawked at his appearance. The pilot was small for his age true, but now he looked even fluffier, shorter, and younger than he had before. With a bit of effort, he pulled his arms out of the bunting bag and examined his mittened paws. It was true, they seemed stubbier and shorter for some reason. The arm holding the bottle in his mouth squeezed it, and the fox found he was no longer able to contain the liquid from entering his mouth. As the liquid poured into his mouth the effect was almost immediate, he relaxed, his arms laying down by his sides as the babyseat began to rock forwards and backwards slightly, a slight vibration starting at the front and back seat of his diaper as the seat worked away at his tense nerves. The stars outside of his window twinkled, and the voice informed him that he should be excited for the future. His new mommy and daddy were waiting for their new baby. Apollo felt a release happen, and uncontrollably wet the front of his diaper. The sweet, strawberry solution tasted rich and creamy as allowed himself to be fed. His mind felt once again at ease, why should he care about his freighter? He was only a little kit! Piloting ships was something big furs did, not little baby ones! His eyelids grew heavy, and the fox began to doze contentedly; the ship cruised through the ethers of space, gently rocking the little fox to a pleasant sleep. The last thing his eyes saw before they dropped were the twin suns, their bright light still warmly radiating into space, now as if to wish him a farewell. ~ ~ ~ Do you enjoy reading my content? Check out my other stories on my page or follow me on Twitter or FA! Twitter: https://twitter.com/horatiohusky FA: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/horatiohusky/
  3. Urges ‘Mitchell’ was worried. It had been many years since he’d last felt the urge, indeed, since his brain had been the driving force of SP4NK, his reinvention as the Automnibot X max, all his thoughts had been aimed at a much higher level. Solving the BIG questions, developing new theories, inventing the Quintillion Expergerator, justifying the universal laws of Quandramic Function… these were just some of his vast achievements over the past centuries since his brain was taken from his redundant body and given this plasmetal form as its host. SP4NK was now his name and reference and he was surprised that his ancient name ‘Mitchell’ had suddenly entered into his thought process but at the moment, his head was full of strange and disturbing needs, urges. Urges he had given up even when he was a full human, and who knew how many hundreds of years ago that was. Time, as he once knew it, just didn’t ‘compute’ in his current form. It started seven specral days ago as the craft SP4NK was piloting from Globulus 69 encountered some strange ‘space goo’ that his onboard equipment simply couldn’t analyse. The spacecraft had slid effortlessly into it but the miasma surrounded his craft held it suspended in space making the power thrusters and counter-thrusters only operable in short bursts. However, the strange dipping and vibrating, the slight stabbing forwards and reversing of his craft had been very unnerving. SP4NK remembered it was at the final release and massive boost that shot the craft beyond this space ‘stuff’ that the very first thoughts of ‘Mitchell’, a name he’d dumped eons ago, entered into that vast collection of cells, neurons and synaptic connections. His thought process was interrupted. He also remembered the terrific shudder and groan the craft made as it freed itself from whatever it was that held it, controlled it and eventually shot it into space. It was like… it was like… erm… his brain was thinking… what was it like? Somewhere at the back of his mind he had an idea that it meant something, a memory tripped but not yet focused. But now, with the passing of time, ‘Mitchell’ had come to mean something more to him. Despite his attempts at analysing the stuff (the goo) from space he’d encountered and the theories he postulated… none seemed to take his mind off ‘Mitchell’. In fact it was very specific. It was ‘Mitchell’ as a youthful 18 year-old; fresh from the Molecular Advancement University where he’d developed his very first none-quintential theory of G’netic Panathorus. He was on such a high after it had been published that he and his best friend… erm… it was coming back to him… Blaze, yes that’s right, Blaze had gone out to celebrate. After consuming too much Regulo100 they had returned to their shared rooms and had the most amazing… what was it called? Oh, this was getting frustrating… what was it that they’d had… SEX. That was it. They had incredible sex… Blaze taking Mitchell on a journey into the wild side of carnal education that he’d simply not known about. SEX, that was it. A simple word that meant everything and now it explained so much. The ‘goo’, the space craft vibrating, the thrusting, the pitching and tossing... it was all amalgamating into one experience… the sheer pleasure that the first night with Blaze had given him. SP4NK looked down at his plasmetal frame. The silky smart liquid body shone with a purple luminescence. It replicated the perfect toned body of an Olympic athlete… copied from the ancient marble statues that filled the GlobalMuseum in the capital. His brain may have been hundreds of years old but his body was that of an 18 year-old gymnast. Now his thoughts had returned to that time in his past, his needs and desires creeping into his mind and obliterating his theory on… damn it… he couldn’t remember what he was theorising about. His body shook as sensations that had not been part of his quantrillion-cell brain for years blasted into his every thought. His left plasmetal hand reached up and touched his silvery breast, while his right plasmetal hand ventured down to his slim glowing hips. SP4NK/Mitchell moaned in anticipation. Alas, his searching right hand found nothing but the silken plasma crotch, a bump in the shape of his body, an idea of something, but in fact zilch. There was nothing ‘down there’ to help with those intense urges that had completely over taken every aspect of his being. Once his body was made up from scores of elements, nerves, electrical pulses, bones, flesh and blood… what a time to realise that, in this advanced and highly developed state, he couldn’t even have a simple wank to relive all that built up tension. A distant memory showing him as a toddler scattered through his mind. The toddler was all smiles and cuteness but there was more. The image was not lost; the bulky diaper that protected him left him looking childishly impotent… not unlike now. …………………………………………………………………………………………
  4. Hi all, I ordered some ABU space diapers and could have sworn I ordered the small ones earlier in the ABU Europe store, but unfortunately as I found out I ordered the medium sized ones before and unfortunately the small sized ones are too small for me. This means I have 7 packs of unopened ABU Space diapers (size S) for sale. As I bought them in bulk, one pack is only $22 AUD, instead of the $37.99 AUD you pay for a single pack from ABU (that is, without shipping). My preference goes out to someone willing to buy all the 7 packs (I'd be up to make some deal with you), or else you can buy a pack for $22 AUD from me. If you want me to ship it to you, then you'd also need to cover the shipping costs. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask :). Best wishes, PartyDiaper
  5. From the album: evilengine's diaper packs

    my usual schtick of showing off my resupply.
  6. Mirical is a young girl at the age of 18 years of age. She is african American with light brown skin and green eyes with black hair going down her back. She is a pretty immature but she knows how to do her job. Her job being many different things depending on what job she takes. She and her partner are independent explores. They have their own ship that they use for exploration, mining, and scanning. They call their ship named Mater Et Filia. They go from station to station going around taking jobs and turning them in. They are completely independent contractors. No alliance, no allegiance, no full time employer. They make their own hours as long as the job doesn't have a time limit. That doesn't matter though when they are frequently on the job. She is a good scanner while her partern is an excellent pilot and navigator.
  7. From the album: evilengine's diaper packs

    New shipment. Time to finally see what all the fuss is about.
  8. Rosy,a girl around 24 losing her job as a space flight engineer, and having to return to her birth planet:
  9. Katelyn Ann


    From the album: Diapers and Dresses~

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