Through the Looking Glass

"You're stuck in my heart like a song in my head.
A familiar old memory I can't forget.
I'm doing my best but your memory keeps playing on,
Like a song in my head."
-Country song from Ancient Earth

Telemachus groaned as her tongue moved down his chest, licking, kissing, caressing. She took a nipple in her mouth as her nails raked over his abs. Moving up to bite at the junction of his shoulder she then finally pressed her lips to his as he moved her hips where he wanted her most.

She surrounded him. Her body, her scent, her presence. His head fell back as he felt her slide onto his erect manhood, gripping him tightly as she started to ride him.

Grasping her hips he reversed their positions to have her writhing beneath him as he thrust himself into her warm body. The feel of her, her skin slick with their mingled sweat, moving against him, with him...and those eyes...blue crystal...
He ran his tongue up her neck and buried his face into her fiery hair as he inhaled her scent.

Telemachus bolted upright in his bed breathing heavily. He looked around the room to find nothing out of place.

He was alone.

Damn dreams...

"I have to get over this," he muttered into the dark.

Lying back down, Telemachus threw the covers aside to take care of his straining erection.

>>>

"I said move!"

Telemachus shoved one of the planets inhabitants into one of the lines, when the man fell, he delivered a brutal kick to his ribs and back before moving on his way and letting the other soon-to-be slaves help their fallen comrade.

"Fucking kludges..."

He forcefully pulled another two and shoved them into new lines. The men that attempted to fight back thought better of it when the Nietzschean leveled them with a death glare.

Telemachus was in a very bad mood.
Another frustrated night with a face that wouldn't go away had left him with not much sleep. Luckily, he was on a raid so he could take his anger out on any unfortunate Oberon civilian that got in his way, although it looked as if everyone was doing their best to avoid him by doing what he shouted and keeping their eyes lowered to the ground.

Did these people have no backbones? What he wouldn't give to...

He was bumped from behind.

...crack a skull.

Lashing out, his elbow connected to the face of the one who bumped him. Turning around he saw the disoriented human trying to collect his bearings. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Ah well, it was good enough.

Advancing slowly on the young man Telemachus's foot connected hard with his stomach as he then reached down to haul him up by the front of his shirt.

"You think it's smart to hit a Nietzschean from behind?" he gave the Oberonian a twisted grin.

"I didn't mean-"

"Too bad."

Flinging him away, the human flew past screaming civilians and into a number of wooden crates. Telemachus walked towards him, boneblades twitching for a fight. He slammed a booted heel into his victim's back before hauling him up to plant a knee in his stomach and throwing him back down into the dirt to cough up blood. Terrified citizens watched wide-eyed and helpless and the larger and more powerful Nietzschean growled and circled one of their own. Telemachus waited for him to get up slowly before delivering a sharp uppercut under the Oberonian's chin and watched as his head snapped backwards and he fell onto the ground twitching and chocking.

"If I tell you to calm down will I get killed?"

"Calm down?"

"I know, I know," said Cyrus raising his hands in mock surrender and walking forward, "Normally I'd be laughing my ass off, but I've rarely seen you this...worked up. And especially beating the hell out of someone for what you usually describe as a 'minor offense". Not that I mind the efficiency, I mean, did you see that guy's head snap up?"

"What do you want? I'm busy."

"Yeah he's choking on his own blood. Come on, we have work to do."

Telemachus growled.

"Come on boy."

Giving one last glaring look to the man on the ground, Telemachus stalked off leaving Cyrus to follow him.

"Remember kiddies, don't bump your overlords!" Cyrus shouted behind to the terrified witnesses.

Following after his brother-in-arms, the Nietzschean chuckled as he watched Telemachus push and shove a few more people. He was finally starting to act like a real Drago-Kazov when he did this.

"So really now, what's your problem?"

"Frustrated."

"So grab a woman, there's plenty of them."

Cyrus shoved a man who got in his way as he tried to keep up with Telemachus's strides, with all of the people milling about and not doing as they were told it was making it a lot harder to do.
That was one of the things he hated about being on clean up duty after a raid: Organizing the bloody sheep.

But then again there were two types of slave planets. Those that were productive and those that weren't. Earth wasn't productive in the least whereas Midden did exactly what they were told. And for the latter you needed organization. Oberon IV was to be another supply planet.

"I said form a fucking line! Don't any of you kludges listen? You're going to be dead very soon! Women on the left, men on the right if you want to live, SO MOVE!"

And there went Telemachus shouting off orders again, at least he was productive when angry about something.

"Frustrated over what? Rough night? Rough morning?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I'm concerned."

Telemachus stopped and snorted, "No you're not."

"Okay mostly true but please, indulge my curiosity then. It's not normal for you to fly off the handle like this."

"I'm just in a bad mood. Everyone has them. Hell, the last time you were upset about something you killed four men."

Cyrus snorted, "Not that they were worth anything mind you."

"Look I'm just..."

"What?"

He watched as Telemachus trailed off and became distracted with something before he started walking briskly into the crowd. Trying to find what he had been looking at, Cyrus groaned.

"Man come on...not again!"

>>>

Keeping his steady pace, Telemachus remained focused on the red head almost directly in front of him. Ever since that day, he had kept an eye out for that specific hair colour. He didn't know why but he just did.

Her hair.

Her body, her eyes, the fire she had held behind sapphire spheres when she had found out he was Nietzschean and even before. There was something in the way she acted that told him she was not a native of that planet, she had stood up to him. She had attacked Cyrus for someone she didn't even know.
Foolishly brave and passionate, she had given herself over to him.

He missed that.

The majority of slaved women would just lie there and take it, already giving in to his dominance. The ones that responded to him were already conditioned and used to their new lives as concubines for the Drago-Kazov.

But Red had spirit...

Finally reaching the woman, Telemachus grabbed her arm and spun her around. She gasped in shock and stared up at him with fearful brown eyes.

"Mama!" A small child gripped her around the waist. Looking them up and down, Telemachus shoved her back with a growl and stalked off out of the crowd. Finding himself near the side of a half-destroyed house he punched the wood before leaning his head against it and taking a deep calming breath.
Not her. It was never her.

"You know you've been doing this since Avilan."

"So?" Telemachus hadn't heard Cyrus catch up with him.

"So that was eight years ago and this...obsession of yours...is distracting you from the more important things in life."

"Like what?"

"You could have been a husband and father how many times over now?"

"I've been busy."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. You're pissing off the females you know that? This whole 'career orientated' whatever the hell you call it...you have strong genes Telemachus, very strong. You are the genetic reincarnation of Gaheris Rhade, a Nietzschean who had a pivotal role in the Old Commonwealth's downfall. If there's any proof in the theory that Drago Museveni himself will one day be genetically reincarnated it's you. Your birth made that legend a fact. Do you know how many women would kill to carry on your genes?"

"I haven't the time."

"I didn't hear that either. We all strive for it, yet you're always out there playing the soldier and chasing after...something...instead of finding yourself a few wives."

Cyrus crossed his arms as a thought came to him and gave Telemachus a disconcerting look, "You're not...sterile...are you?"

Telemachus set him with a glare and growled. "The only reason you're still standing is that I've known you since we were five."

"Just asking."

"I am perfectly capable of reproducing thank you."

"Whatever you say buddy..." Cyrus held up his hands as Telemachus growled at him again.

"Can I ask you something else then?"

"Ask yourself if it'll get your head separated from your body first."

"It was the cherry red head wasn't it? Sweet little thing I threw at you?

"It's just...it's like she's mine."

"You always were a possessive bastard."

"Was not."

"Oh really? You remember that time back on Corthon?"

"...Oh yeah. That didn't end well."

"Pretty messy," said Cyrus before getting back on topic, "So why didn't you slave her then? Hell if she didn't smell like you so strongly I would have up against that..." he stopped as a warning growl interrupted his sentence and started again.
"Why didn't you slave her? You would have avoided this whole headache, gotten bored with her when you were done, and then handed her off to the auction. See? everyone would have been happy."

Telemachus leaned his back against the wall and watched the civilians march solemnly passed them.

"Feel better?"

"What was this...a pep talk?"

"Whatever your problem or obsession or whatever that kludge did to you is, get over it, you don't need the distraction and if I've noticed the others probably have too, especially within your family. You've always been the odd one but really now, this has gone on long enough..." Cyrus trailed off as he spotted a stumbling blonde on the outskirts of a line. "Now I think, if you'll excuse me I have an ever increasing ache to get rid of."

Telemachus rolled his eyes as the other Nietzschean walked off to claim the woman and use her for his own needs. Completely predictable.

Feeling the anger and tension leave him, Telemachus just stood and watched the masses, whatever was going on in his mind he had to get over it. It was this preoccupation that had led him to lose the Co-Commander position next to Fleet Marshall to his step-brother Cuchulain. Within a few years, the elder Nez Pierce would become full Fleet Marshall and direct everything. Telemachus had the strategy and the leadership, just not the concentration. All because of a simple kludge that was most likely dead, slaved by another, starving to death, diseased, living out life on a planet somewhere, or wandering the universes ever out of reach.

As Telemachus continued to muse, a branch was clipped from a bonsai in the dark backward. It was a big universe out there but at certain times it was in the habit of becoming quite small.