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PrologueCalyTron Galaxy: Cosmic date: 252 Epochs
Tren ot Dmor sat cross legged, on a large, plush cushion, cradled within the serenity of the temple walls. His eyes were closed, his arms were bent, his fingers and thumbs formed the delta, held mere inches from his face. It was the position of prayer, more than symbolic in nature. It summoned the flows of cosmic energies to inspire wisdom, seek tranquility and harmony, and to move into alternate states of consciousness. Revered as the locus to spiritual awakening, the delta was part of all sacred rituals, but the one that Tren desired the most was the Triconjugal ceremony, the first mating between the Trigon males and their virgin female mate.
More than two sun phases had passed since being summoned to the Trigon, but it was a time that Tren remembered well. Rjant ot Pel'r, his Trigon brethren, was young when they first made contact. He was only seventeen phases of age back then and ten phases Tren's junior. At first, Tren worried that Rjant would lack the maturity significant to the Trigon mating. Most warriors his age still had a taste for escapade and craved variety in the carnal flesh. Tren was anxious to claim their female. He had thought of little else since being called forth. It could have taken many phases before Rjant was ready, and Tren was loath to wait.
Tren was pleasantly surprised however, when he learned that Rjant was a noted paragon in battle, leaving his home on Terta Minor, taking up the fight with the fiercest band of warriors known to the CalyTron galaxy, when he was just fourteen. Rjant was a mighty and respected leader among his regiment and demonstrated integritywell beyond his phase age. He had proven his worth as a warrior, working his way through the ranks to become Chief Loyal, second in command, of his fleet. In Tren's mind, it was a perfect match. Tren himself was High Chief, elected to the position by the Mahatma Tribunal. He'd earned the position by merit of his warrior skills, accelerated academic performance and leadership qualities. Tren was the first Commander, leader of the sentry forces from the planet of Tertia. Rjant would fit nicely as next in rank. Not only was he a mighty warrior, he was born on the sister planet in the Third Ward. Rjant was a full-blooded Tertani male, raised within his own culture. His position would be well accepted by the populace on Tren's planet, and their new She'mana should be much pleased to be joined with warriors of such high status.
Presently, Rjant was in the Fourth Ward leading his sentries to impede the advancement of the Krellian radicals who were planning an assault on the planet of Dormoth. One of the allegiant planets on the perimeter, it was still untouched by the devastating disease that was driving the galaxy's inhabitants into extinction. Though Tren agreed that Dormoth needed the protection, he had grown impatient for Rjant's military sect to gain control and develop the perimeter patrols the planet desperately needed.
That dawning had finally arrived.
Tren received word from Rjant's superior that they were overtaking the Krellian radicals. A new Chief Loyal for the First Ward was trained, and the patrols were being established. Rjant was soon to be released from his duties and would return to the Third Ward to take his place.
At last.
They could now claim their woman and bring her home.
Their mate.
Tren's loins ached to be between her thighs and only her thighs. No woman had ever been able to completely satiate his lust, no matter how often he pounded her flesh. His sex urgently needed their chosen female. Only then would he truly feel complete. Such was the nature of the Trigon males, loyal to their She'mana until death. Once mated, they were stripped of desire for any female, save their mate. And it had long been said that the life force shared during Triconjugal mating brought satisfaction like no other. No one had to tell Tren this. The looks of contentment that seemed to always grace the faces of the mated triples in his acquaintance, told him all he needed to know.
His balls tightened just thinking about it.
Rapt in his meditative trance, Tren thanked the Mahatma Divinities for their blessings. He recited the mantra and beckoned the mystics to bring Rjant safely home. In a mighty gathering of power he channeled his benediction across the galaxy to reach his Trigon brethren. Rjant was thick within the throes of combat, and too far away to communicate with, but Tren could sense the violence and death that surrounded him. It was the same dreadful tumult that he, himself, had witnessed and fought against, on more occasions than he cared to recall.
Tren stiffened.
Rjant was struggling, but not against a warrior. It was a female that taunted him. Rjant's shudder reached clear to Tren's bones. He could almost smell it--Megberry, a potent aphrodisiac that not only induced a frenzied lust in any female that ingested it, but caused her to release an excessive amount of pheromones that drove any nearby male into sexual insanity.
And this particular female was drenched with it.
The fruit was used as a combat tactic by the Krellians and their radical supporters, to gain advantage over their foes. It took great might to resist these heavily drugged females who were turned loose on the battlefield. Even the strongest of warriors were known to throw down their weapons to viciously rut on the woman, only to meet their deaths when the radicals quietly crept up and slaughtered them.
Fight it, brethren.
A battle cry pounded inside Tren's head and he could feel Rjant's strength building. A vision of Rjant's talon arc slicing through the woman formed in his brain.
Rjant had killed her, and Tren could feel his brethren's agony at being forced do so. Tren's heart also saddened at the loss. Collateral misfortune was often a bitter consequence of war. Alas, she would have died anyway, being torn asunder by the warriors who lusted on her body, and if that didn't kill her, the drug eventually would have. This was by far a more dignified way to die.
Drawing his thoughts away from Rjant, Tren deepened his reverie. He stretched his mind toward their outer galaxy female, to a planet discovered three sun phases back--her home world, tucked into the far-reaches of the universe, innocent to the tragedy of his dying galaxy and unaware of the catastrophe of the epochs-long war.
They had prior knowledge of her planet and its location, because of the previous Trigon males who embarked on the arduous task of charting the intergalactic route to the distant star system. The planet was in unexplored hinterlands well beyond the Wards, well outside of the CalyTron galaxy. The existence of her planet was a well guarded secret known by only a privileged few. It was imperative to keep it safely hidden from the grips of the radicals who would wreak havoc on it if its presence was revealed.
Now that the stars had been properly mapped, it would take only four sept-dawnings to reach it, a lunar cycle--one month. Originally it had taken three lunar cycles to find the planet, but it seemed well worth the effort. The Trigon males returned home with their woman, a beautiful, feisty female who gave them exhilarating pleasure during the Triconjugal hunt. Tren did not partake in the ceremony, reserved only for mated males, but he'd heard that the Tina Karen eluded her Sh'em for three dawnings before they finally captured her and won her heart. Tren hoped the Tina Alea would prove to be just as spirited.
The vibration resounded along Tren's fingertips. His breathing moved rhythmically with his heart. He released his physical being to the ebb and flow of transcendental consciousness. His pulse beat hard and steady as the essence of their future She'mana hummed through him, but without Rjant he could not reach her thoughts. The first time he and Rjant yoked in transdelta meditation, they'd located her. Several times afterward, while Rjant was in reprieve from battle, they'd entered her mind as sleep images. The next time Rjant returned, he and Tren would finally be able to fully engage her. The link would be weak, given the vast star systems that separated them, but nonetheless, she would feel their presence, and it would grow stronger as they neared her world. They could complete the Edification, the priming of the Tina--virgin female--to receive her Trigon mates.
Tren looked forward to the Edification, a period during which the triad became acquainted before the marriage took place. It was a necessary ritual, particularly with otherworld females whose experience and knowledge of the Tertani customs was limited. It was not unusual for the female to become hysterical with two overpowering warriors intent on ravaging her untouched body. The ritual served to accustom her to her mates' touch, and to decrease her apprehension of the upcoming Triconjugal ceremony--to prepare her for her first sexual breaching. During the Edification, the Trigon males, Sh'em as they were called, would become familiar with their Tina's body, come to understand what pleasures she enjoyed, and how she responded to their fondling. Bringing climax to the female was highly encouraged. Kissing, licking, stroking and suggested acts of copulation were allowed, but actual penetration and nudity was not.
Tren released a controlled breath as he allowed his body to return to full awareness. He tensed as he rubbed his crotch. His cock had swelled to an agonizingly rock hardness with the thought of actually touching their female. Grabbing the rhyton at his side, he took a long, hard swallow of grata, a favored brew of many Tertani dwellers. Tren stood, ignoring his arousal, and stretched his muscles, shaking out the stiffness from sitting motionless during his long meditation. He pulled on his boots and approached a rack along one of the temple's walls, lifting his baldric and buckling it into place.
"Commander."
The voice behind Tren startled him. With quick reflex he yanked his talon arc from the sheath at his back, and spun around, ready to strike. The figure in the temple's doorway took one wary step back. "Sir?"
Tren relaxed and sheathed his weapon. It was only his steward. "Forgive me Gorsch. I'm not yet fully dispelled of my trance."
"Of course, sir."
"Why do you seek me here?"
Gorsch slithered through the door. Tren watched his steward as he walked, his eyes following the strange lateral curvatures that Gorsch's body formed. With long, slender bodies that snapped from side to side in an S-pattern as they moved, the inhabitants of Junpar were odd looking creatures, but they were a gentle breed and they made excellent servants.
Forming the delta with his hands, Gorsch nodded. "I beg your pardon for the interruption, but three Tertian warships are docking. I thought it best you be informed."
"Yes, good man. Thank you." Tren nodded as he brushed passed the Junparian and out into the open air. He straddled his hover cycle and revved the engine. Within a quarter dial he arrived at the depot. Tocol, one of his top-ranking warriors, was helping the healthteks disembark the wounded.
"All ranks!" Tocol shouted when he spied Tren approaching the platform. Several hundred sentries fell into position. Tocol stood rigid, presenting the delta salute as Tren came to stand before him. Tren returned the gesture and then scanned the squadrons. They looked weary, but otherwise, well.
"How many dead, Chief?"
"Twenty-two, Commander."
Twenty-two. Tren closed his eyes to absorb the information. Twenty-two mighty warriors gone. And for what? A mass of radicals who could not think beyond their madness.
Tren opened his eyes and refocused his attention on his Chief-at-Arms. Tocol was charged with maintaining discipline aboard ship and on the battlefield. In addition to his field duties, he was also senior ranking officer aboard one of the warships that just arrived. He was one of Tren's most trustworthy and capable warriors despite the fact he was Krellian. Not that Tocol cared much to be reminded of his ancestral bloodline. He had never been to the planet of Krell and kept no desire to be linked to his origins. Tocol was raised on Tertia, in one of the several villages established two epochs past to give refuge to fleeing Krellian citizens--those who escaped from the grips of that wretched virus.
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