Onyx was back in the windowless control room, which had acquired a divan, upon which she was languidly reposed, her wings outspread behind her. She wore an ivory clip in her hair, restraining her raven locks a bit, while a silken black dress with elegant heels struggled to cover the rest of her muscular, ten-foot body. Her hard living-latex black cock pushed up so much of the dress's material that it was partially visible, along with a giant set of night-black balls that partially covered her pussy. The Goddess cupped them idly, twisting her hand to push one finger into her pussy, as she contemplated the screen.
The screen in front of her, which was four times the size it had been earlier in the afternoon, displayed a variety of statistics in Xind. In one corner, the map appeared, with red dots, as before, indicating the droned; but in some parts of Southport, white dots appeared as well, indicating those who had not yet been blessed. There were very few of those dots, which wasn't surprising, as the energy-intensive process of scanning the area for human brain patterns was only being performed in a few areas, by recently converted drones who were not skilled at it. In particular, Southport College was a sea of red, and thanks to the Emerald Seraph's strenuous efforts, Onyx was confident that not a soul had escaped.
Zooming out, Onyx grinned as she saw that a large part of the state was now swarming with red dots. Small groups of the converted had arrived in Washington, and more were en route to New York, Houston, and elsewhere by means of the primitive aircraft unfortunately used for civilian transport here. Fortunately, there did not yet seem to be any evacuation of the area. For the vast majority of converted drones, stealth was the watchword, as they only began to improve their appearance when no one else could see -- despite the great advantage that visual distraction had in the process, and the energy it saved when brainwave interference and pheromones were less required. (It was unfortunate that the drones couldn't cast elaborate illusions on those without chips: as far as she could tell, human brains were just too tricky to reliably fool in that way without physical input, and a little rewiring.)
But few planets had ever been taken over without a fight, and those had lacked long-distance transportation more advanced than the occasional beast of burden. Soon, there would have to be a cover story; and, unfortunately, that would be unlikely to convince everyone in time to avert bloodshed. Onyx sighed -- the pain of a surgical incision was always hard for her to stomach, even though it was her job, and even though the patient would die without it. While Earth was unlikely to accept anesthetic, one could always hope.
A blinking icon in the corner of the display indicated another incoming call; this one, thankfully, was scrambled. A bit surprised, Onyx temporarily revoked the Seraphs' access to the room, checked to make sure the soundproofing was accurate, entered the appropriate one-time-use codes, and waited to see whose voice would come through.
"Hail to your mind, Lilya Ladder-Builder." It was a middle-aged woman's, businesslike but attempting sympathy. Unlike the crass Surin, she was speaking the High Tongue, and thus not mangling Xind ranks with clumsy Earth localizations. Surin had devised that list, but no one had asked for it.
"Hail to your mind as well, Sumei Frontier-Advisor," Onyx replied, completing the ritual greeting cheerfully, but with a faintly perceptible sour note. Sumei was not quite her friend either. "What shall we speak about?"
"Aggregator Surin tells me you had a dispute with him."
"He was making requests outside of protocol, which I did not fulfill."
"They were not illegal, and you may have been . . . needlessly antagonistic."
"Oh, is that what he said? He--" Onyx broke off, and calmed herself with difficulty. "The Aggregator called me an abomination before Arma, as a matter of public record, and you declined to punish him."
"It was not my decision to make. I was but one member of the disciplinary council."
"How did you vote, Frontier-Advisor?"
"You know that is private. But you have to admit that you are . . . different. Not all will accept you.
"Kinrah said it. Let none mar my name with the false appellation of 'man.' All should make of themselves their true selves."
"You are not Kinrah."
"Do you refuse to dignify the Prophet with her personal pronoun as much as you do for me? This weaseling is ungodly."
"While I recall you've proven to the satisfaction of the courts that you are not a heretic, it is to much to expect me to accept your . . . unique interpretation of religion. I will not discuss this further. It will soon be time for a report, Lilya; please grant it to me now, so that I do not have to speak with you again soon."
Lilya paused only briefly; she had written this response in advance. "I will not, and furthermore, I intend to bring a case against the army, for interfering with my religious freedom, and for creating a hostile work environment—which will, as I recall, free me from the requirement of providing any intelligence to the army until such time as the case is disposed of. I will contact my advocate on Xind shortly. The Assembly will receive notification when conquest is complete, at which time trade will be discussed."
There was a long pause before Sumei spoke again. Lilya's speech had sent her from annoyed to furious.
"Do you wish to provoke our might?" Sumei nearly yelled into the line. "Such an abuse of process borders on treason!"
"Not so. I do not renounce the Xind government. I do not wish to fight them. But I do think, now, that I wish to be left in peace, on the planet I have studied, chosen, and am conquering. I should think that the services I have already provided to the army, and to the state, should be enough to allow this."
"You cannot succeed! You are not Kinrah."
"I will remember your words. May your mind be untroubled, Frontier-Advisor."
Sumei refused to return the greeting, and cut the line. Onyx exhaled loudly, and closed her eyes for a few moments. Seemingly recovered, she quickly prepared a message for her lawyer, which she swathed in white noise and encrypted. She considered some complicated maneuver to make it harder to detect the source, albeit at the risk of transmission fidelity. But if no one had caught Surin's earlier, daft unencrypted call, there might not be anything to worry about; and if someone had, another would make no difference. At least, that was her best guess. After a brief pause for consideration, she sent the message, hoping this would be enough, but not certain of it.
Onyx mentally called several drones over from the hallway, immediately, but delayed in taking them. Several dozen were obediently waiting until such time as the power supply could be rerouted and new rooms fashioned for them. Rachael was working on that problem right now, but she hadn't been adequately trained. Such things required kinesthetic skills, and had to be taught in person, or, at the very least, inserted into a mind with such care that physical presence was required. So the Ruby Seraph was undoubtedly working more slowly than ideal. And though the legal threat might have seemed to reduce the pressure on Onyx to quickly conquer the Earth, in fact she judged that the opposite was true.
If the conquest was completed before the trial was concluded, it would be difficult for the army to regain any rights. But if not -- or if they called her bluff, and decided to send an illegal expeditionary force to Earth, it would take time to build up the arsenal to fight them. And Surin was just the kind of man to form one, even at the risk of a court-martial, if he thought he could get any satisfaction out of it. Onyx sighed and rubbed her head. The idea had occurred to her to graft Rachael's detective skill into her own mind, allowing it to combine with her own skills and deep knowledge of the Xind's psychology. It wasn't an idea that comforted the Ladder-Builder. For two hundred years she had been careful with her own mind, keeping it free of contamination, and yet surpassing those with fewer scruples. But, now that she had gone all in on this final fight, she was not going to lose it because of her own stubbornness.
Onyx's thoughts lingered on that problem for a long moment, but found no resolution. She sighed, made a copy of herself with her pendant for future safekeeping, and turned to the former humans. At a thought, four of the drones in front grew and changed, their individual features dissolving, their skin becoming plastic, until they were four identical blonde, pigtailed girls with shiny, plasticine skin. Onyx sat up, grabbed one of them by the waist, and, with no warning or mercy, slammed her cock straight through the skin-tight white boy shorts the girl wore and straight into the depths of the dolldrone's tight bubble butt. The drone, temporarily over eight feet tall but still barely accommodating the shaft, squealed in pleasure, as another drone came around to kiss Onyx. The drone was chewing a large chunk of sweet bubblegum, and they shared a sticky kiss.
She spent herself in the drone, then turned the former humans back to their normal droneforms again, and for a long time simply leaned back in the divan, watching the tiny, six and-a-half-foot girls head under her black dress, and try and fail to get their mouths around her already-rehardened shaft, with both pleasure and amusement. Finally she gave one light-brown girl enough flesh to allow a titfuck, which felt beautiful. She made a willful effort to relax into the pleasure, still trying to forget those problems she couldn't solve. But it was all only a cool, soft, milky distraction, and an empty pleasure. She let herself come again, but the release still left tension in her.
Onyx had to start improving her mind, she decided. Staring into the abyss of powerless uncertainty forever would not be her fate.
Dr. Brian Andrews was cleaning the lab himself, instead of asking a grad assistant to do it, only because he was trying to distract himself. When the virologist left government work for a faculty position at Southport, he'd thought he was motivated to teach students. He'd thought that the atmosphere there was oppressive, and that there was nothing worse than the ethical torture of crafting superviruses in the lab -- which were supposed to be studied for defensive purposes, but which might, one day, be unleashed, by accident or by design. But, after a year, he now knew that he wasn't a natural teacher. He liked the students fine enough, he supposed. But working alone in a lab, with only a problem in front of him, was his natural place. He wasn't sure if that meant he should quit, but he'd well learned the lesson that grass always seemed greener on the other side of a fence.
One of his grad students, Clarissa zur Hausen, snuck in, trying to be quiet enough to interrupt her supervisor's reverie but failing. Brian knew her as a shy girl, hard-working and soft-voiced, who seemed to brush off teasing easily. Good qualities for a female biologist who wanted to make it. She looked around, taking stock of the situation, and then walked directly towards the doctor, looking serious.
"Erm . . . hi there, I didn't realize you were in here tonight. What are you working on?"
Clarissa's voice was louder than usual, and much more upset. "As a woman, I feel your project has become a hostile work environment for me. I cannot tolerate this anymore."
Brian looked confused, then a bit sheepish. "Er, well, if you're going to transfer to another lab, that's fine, though any specifics you're willing to discuss with me, of course we can talk about --"
"You misunderstand. I'm going to remove you from the working environment." She snapped her fingers. Distant footsteps, growing quickly louder. The door opened, and somehow, inexplicably, a second Clarissa entered the room. The two pale brunettes turned towards each other and smiled. Confused, Brian attempted to turn to the door. He found he couldn't move. I must be dreaming, he thought. I've dozed off, and I'm dreaming. That's it. Must be.
The Clarissas swiveled back in his direction, hands on hips. The other one spoke. "As for specifics, I'm sure you know. Sexist jokes in the lab, sexist examples in class. Hounding Mia out of the department, even though her work was impeccable, because a few boys complained about her 'social skills' -- really meaning she wouldn't sleep with them, and wasn't nice about it. We could go on all day."
Brian was panicking. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he speak up in his defense? He followed the standards of his department. This was absurd, really. The head of the department would support him. The dean had always had his back. Why couldn't he speak?
"So, when were you converted?" one asked.
"Two hours ago, by Dr. Bhatia." Brian didn't understand the question, but clearly his body did. Was it his imagination, but did she look a bit taller than Clarissa had been?
"Good. I was told there were no unredeemed around here, but I wanted to be sure. So, you're not a drone yet, but you're still under our control."
"Yes." Brian's body was still casually leaning against a lab bench. His mind was still trying to figure out what was going on. One thing was clear now, though: the two Clarissas were definitely taller. And growing. Every ten seconds or so, they added another inch. Soon they would be taller than him. There was no point in thinking about how impossible it was; he was trapped here anyhow. The two pale, growing brunettes turned to each other, smiled, and, with some delicacy, moved into a kiss. Clearly, one aspect of Brian could still move, as he grew aroused at the impossible sight from what was clearly his dream. One of the girls saw his bulge, pointed, whispered something in the other's ear, and laughed. But Brian's visceral shame only intensified his arousal.
"Maybe you're just incredibly naive and ignorant," said one, venomously, her growth rapidly accelerating. "But it doesn't matter. People like you cannot be tolerated anymore in positions of power. And, you pathetic little boy, you had better believe we're going to do something about it." The girls' expressions turned to disdain as their lab coats morphed into form-fitting white dresses clinging to their towering eight-foot frames.
Brian's dream was just being unreasonable, now. Why couldn't he speak up in his defense? He was sorry, really, if he'd done anything wrong. He didn't do anything that the other men in his department didn't do. He had just acted the way he'd seen others act. But he didn't want people to get hurt. It had been another faculty member who wanted Mia Williams out, and he'd just gone along. Maybe he shouldn't have. He didn't want to make those decisions. He'd go live in a cave somewhere, if he had his work. That was all he cared about. Why was this happening to him?
"You might be confused, professor," said the one on the left. "One of us is Clarissa, recently converted drone, and the other is Tally Fawn, Diamond Seraph and consort of the Goddess who is taking over this wretched world. But we don't feel like telling you who is who, and for you, it doesn't matter." She idly scratched his cheek with an a long nail painted ruby red; it drew blood. It didn't feel like a dream anymore. Don't break a nail, that's what he'd learned from Joe from the agency to say. That always got laughs from the boys, and a few of the girls, even. But somehow he didn't think these women were going to break anything. Except, maybe, for him.
"I do hope, by now, that you're sorry." asked the other Clarissa, her lips now beestung and crimson, her arms bulging with new muscle. "Your . . . mommies are very disappointed in you. You should apologize to us."
He was no longer compelled. He knew that. He knew better than to try to justify himself, with these two huge versions of Clarissa looming over him. And probably he was wrong, in the end. Yet it didn't seem right to give in completely. He was never one to do something just for the sake of conciliation -- but then, hadn't he been trying to conciliate with men, by following their lead in the first place?
"I said, apologize." Each of their arms was now wider than his face. They carried riding crops, which one of them used, once, almost casually, against a lab bench nearby; it split in two, cracked further, and fell in a heap of rubble. He noticed a strange scent, and the enormous laced-up boots of the two Clarissas filled his mind, and he tried to think of the last time he been asked, outright, to apologize by a lady. It must have been his mother. A weird fog was filling the scientist's mind. They were moving closer, now, and their arms flexed with every step, growing an inch each time, shading into superhuman proportions. Didn't it make sense to apologize? To his mommies? It was right to respect your mommies. He'd always been taught that, hadn't he?
". . . I'm sorry, mommies." he whispered.
"Louder," his mommy demanded.
"I'm sorry, mommies!" His voice sounded meek, still, and younger.
"Good." At the words, his boymilk spurted out, coating his briefs with sticky juice. "You want to make it up to us, don't you?" Their bodies were pressed closely against his.
"Yes, mommies."
"Okay. We're going to take all your virology knowledge away now. We can use it better. That's fine, right?"
Brian nodded eagerly. Of course it was. What was he going to do with all that useless stuff?
"And I'm going to impersonate you on TV," said one of his mommies, "and tell lies to help Goddess Onyx take over the world, while you become a powerless drone, with no memories of being anything but an innocent, submissive little teenage boy. That's fine, right?"
Of course it was. Brian couldn't have asked for a better fate. It was like he was ascending to heaven. He closed his eyes. A warm, tropical, feeling embraced Brian, as if he were being covered in a tropical ocean, drowning with no fear of death. He felt his body, and his brain, weaken.
"Let your knowledge flow into mommy . . . that's a good boy," said a cock-quivering voice.
Brian's cock stiffened, again, and quickly he was exploding again, far quicker than he'd ever had a second orgasm before, and with a much bigger load than usual, although he wasn't aware of the differences. His briefs were distended, now, full of his boymilk, but he didn't care. Idly, he brought one hand to his lips, and noticed for the first time how sweet it was. Especially one finger. In no time, he was blissfully sucking his thumb, unaware of anything else around him.
The two Clarissas dashed out of the science building. Tally's body quickly recovered its original form -- with the impulsive addition of elfish ears -- and the diamond pendant regrew from her neck; but the blonde and slightly shorter brunette were still wearing identical pure-white dresses and boots. They ran through twilit, largely deserted streets. A few times, a group of drones saw them, and waved eagerly. Tally couldn't tell if they were mindless or not -- their grins and gestures had the force of personality behind them, but it seemed to be nearly the same personality every time. Happy, dedicated and respectful. Clarissa could be made to act a little differently, as a thrall under Tally's claim -- though, basically, wasn't anything about happy, dedicated and respectful that Tally didn't want in a thrall.
The pair finally entered the power plant, which was unlocked. The floor dropped from under them -- Rachael had carved out working space underground, and the building was now a hundred feet high. Long before she hit the floor, Tally sprouted wings, and caught a free-falling, mildly distressed Clarissa. The blonde angel kissed the now-stunning brunette passionately as they flew, until they reached the far end of the building and landed. There, Rachael, wincing in concentration, hands outstretched, was moving the last bits of metal around in an impossibly labyrinthine configuration of branching wires resembling vines -- almost making the "plant" part of "power plant" literal. Tally saw that, like her, Rachael had returned to her eight-foot default height: convenient for fucking drones while still towering over them, as was proper.
Whatever she was doing, it was almost done, and Tally decided to hang back and wait until Rachael finally snapped the last bits into place. It was not long before she did. A low hum immediately sounded, slowly increasing in pitch and volume until it was slightly painful. Then it peaked, and dropped off again. Suddenly Rachael was glowing with a soft blue light, and she was screaming. Tally started to leap forward instinctively, and was about to forge a mental connection when the screaming stopped. Rachael turned to them, grinning in a very Onyx-like way.
"Shit, you scared me!"
"I know, right?" Rachael laughed. "No, really, sorry, but I had to do that. The only way I could think of to make the final link was to temporarily use my own body as a conductor, and . . . well, it's a long story. I didn't even realize you were behind me, though, and it's good to see you." The two hugged, as chastely as two people as sexualized and erotically trigger-happy as Seraphs could. Which wasn't very chastely. Still, they managed to escape each other with only a brief kiss and a little groping. When they separated, Rachael looked at Tally a little strangely, as if judging her as Angel's replacement. The elf-girl knew it, and didn't much care.
"But, yeah, it's done. This place puts out ten times more power than it did before, with the same energy expenditure. it's sort of like cold fusion, but uses branes to -- well it's complicated, and it wasn't easy to set up. But it should be safe, and we can get most of what we want done for the time being. I'll show you how to plug stuff in." She sent a non-contact message, giving Tally the information as a series of mental images.
"Great. Clarissa and I are gonna need a lot of power for the virology lab - that's our next job. What about you?"
"Onyx wants me back at Leaf, and that's all I know. Clarissa's your claimed thrall, right? I hope you're having fun with her. I haven't had time to start looking, of course -- I forget how many we're allowed."
"Ten thousand. Better get started!"
"Will do. See you around."
Tally smiled, blew a kiss, and left for her next mission, arm around the waist of her first pet.