A Little Bit of Fun

Chapter 9

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All of my stories have been written for an exclusively adult audience. They contain descriptions of violence, some of it of a sexual nature. They also include other sexually explicit depictions. They are in no way suitable for minors. Furthermore it is against the law in many parts of the world for this type of material to be read, either by minors or by minors and adults. Please make sure you are not acting contrary to local legislation before reading on and please do not read any further if you find this type of material offensive in any way. This is a work of fiction and any similarity between the characters and events depicted and any people/events in real-life, past or present, is purely co-incidence. A number of the characters and events portrayed are inspired by, or based upon, existing works of fiction. Although I have made every effort to keep plagiarism to a minimum, I must acknowledge a debt of thanks to the many artists and writers who have shared their talents with the public. I've released my stories to the public domain to make sure that as many people as possible who share my interest in this type of fiction can enjoy them. Please feel free to re-distribute them by whatever means you like, provided you respect the following points: (1) The stories will be re-distributed exactly as they are - unchanged and unedited. (2) No other person will claim authorship of any of these stories or any part of them. (3) The stories will not be distributed for profit, either on their own or as part of a group of other works. Lastly, thank you for your interest in this story. I hope you enjoy it!


"Might I remind the panel that the two miscreants have now been absent without authorisation for a period of over eight diarks. This will soon cease to be a case of truancy. It will be societal abandonment. The Justices will insist on a life sentence."

"No doubt they are already considering that for the offence of non-approved use of a transporter band."

"Well, if it really is societal abandonment, then that would automatically become theft of a transporter band, which itself carries a tariff of permanent incarceration."

"Enough! The Justices will decide on the severity of sentence due. That is not the reason I summoned you all here today. The information that I am about to reveal must not leave this chamber. We have strong reason to believe that the two absentees have used the misappropriated transporter band to travel to a forbidden destination. More specifically, to Planet Earth."

"Earth! Surely you jest, Excellency! Earth does not actually exist. It isn't mentioned in the Histories or the Knowledges. Only in the Stories. It is but a fairy tale, a magical, unreachable place where travellers are endowed with impossible abilities-"

"And that is the truth as far as Society is concerned. But Earth is actually a real place. Our ancestors removed it from the Histories and the Knowledges but they had no control over the Stories."

"But... if it is not in the Knowledges, how would the miscreants have known the co-ordinates for the transporter band?"

"When the ancestors realised they could not remove mention of Earth from the Stories, they created the Forbidden Galaxies to prevent any attempts to search for it. But over the aeons there have been several rogue travellers who have turned their backs on Society and conducted quests for the planet. Few have ever succeeded, and almost all of those were eliminated before they could share the co-ordinate data which they had discovered. Unfortunately, it seems one or two were able to somehow communicate the information. We believe one of the miscreants may have been in possession of a Stories Crystal which has been modified to include a list of co-ordinates within the Forbidden Galaxies, including data for Earth."

"If that's the case, and the Stories of Earth are actually true, then -"

"Then the miscreants might be unlikely to return of their own accord."

"Society could see the most severe of crimes go unpunished!"

"Their peers might seek to emulate them!"

"The authority of Law could be questioned!"

"Precisely. Which is why we must ensure that the two miscreants are brought before the Justices and their punishment be known to all."

"But... we cannot just wait in the hope that they return to face the consequences of their actions. What if they have abandoned Society?"

"Any delay now will not reflect well on the authority of Law."

"Agreed. I propose that we bring about the immediate return of the miscreants."

"Immediate? How?"

"By sending someone to fetch them."



"What do you think that bunch of Earthers is doing?"

"I don't know, Tara."

"But Lyda, it's so unfair! Your bunch came charging up to you. This lot were supposed to be mine and they've just stopped over there! I mean, you're fifty-two to six up in the game. How am I going to get a chance to score any points if my Earthers don't turn up."

"You're so sexy when you pout like that."

"Thanks. You're pretty sexy too. You were really, really sexy when you were destroying all those Earthers. I just want my chance to look that sexy for you."

"You will soon enough, Tara. Look, we've almost made it to them. When we get there, they're all yours. That's what we agreed."

"And what are you going to be doing, while I'm enjoying myself, Lyda?"

"I'm going to be watching you, Tara. Watching you being a sexy, all-powerful goddess."

"Oh, Lyda!"



"I'm sorry sir, but the road is closed to all traffic until further notice." The blonde policeman looked like he was hardly out of school as he bent low to speak through the driver's window of an expensive-looking car.

The be-suited middle-aged driver seemed unimpressed. "But I have an important meeting in thirty minutes. This delay is costing me money! What am I supposed to say to my client?"

"You can tell your client that the road is closed to all traffic until further notice, sir." suggested the young officer.

The business man bristled at the youth's cocky response. 'Give them a uniform and they think they're something special' he thought to himself. But as annoyed as he was, he wasn't one to openly disrespect a law enforcer. "Why is it closed?" he asked. "And when will it be opened again?"

"The road is closed on the orders of the Interior Minister due to an ongoing incident. Please turn your vehicle around and leave the area, sir."

"Can't I just wait here until it reopens?"

"No, sir. You must turn around and leave immediately. Otherwise I'll have to place you under arrest."

The driver sighed. Glancing at his rear-view mirror and noticing the queue of five other vehicles behind him, he carefully turned his steering wheel and executed a sharp U-turn as he'd been instructed.

"What's going on?" asked the woman in the next car. The young policeman repeated the road closure message. "Can you tell me the alternative route?" she asked.

"No, madame. There is no access for the time being. Please head back the way you've come."

"This is ridiculous!" snorted the woman as she began to turn her car around.

Behind the wheel of the fourth vehicle in the queue, a dishevelled man in his late thirties watched as the cars in front were sent away one by one. His instinct was telling him there was something out of the ordinary going on here. Something more than just a road closure. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette he had been holding out of the window, and opened the passenger-side glove compartment. After a few seconds rummaging through crumpled receipts and empty confectionery packaging, he fished out a laminated ID and clipped it to his unironed shirt. The badge read "PRESS. Thierry Beixer. Tele Infos Canal 7" Then he felt in the canvas bag lying on the seat beside him and carefully extracted a small handheld video camera.

"Sir, switch off the recording device," the young officer asked as Thierry pointed the camera at him.

"Press." announced Thierry as the youthful policeman approached his side-window.

"I appreciate that sir, but it is not safe to operate equipment whilst driving."

"But I'm not driving!"

"I'm sorry sir, but you need to leave this area immediately. The road is closed to all traffic. You need to put down the camera, turn around and head back up the motorway."

"You can't block a journalist from keeping the public informed!"

"Orders from the Interior Ministry," the officer explained. "You'll have to take it up with them, sir. After you have turned around and headed back away from here."


"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that, sir. Please turn around and leave."

"But our viewers have a right to know what is going on in their region!"

"That is something you can explain to the Ministry later, sir. Please leave this area immediately."

"No, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why."

"Sergeant Chevalier!" the young policeman called over to his colleague. A dark-haired uniformed man who had been talking to the driver of one of the cars further down the queue, raised his head in response.

"What is it?" asked the superior officer.

"This gentleman is refusing to co-operate, sir."

The sergeant walked over to join his young charge. He rested his hand, very deliberately, on the butt of his holstered pistol and fixed Thierry with a glare. "Kindly place your camera on the seat beside you, and step out of the vehicle slowly," he ordered.

"Are you arresting me? Don't you know about the rights of the Press?"

"Believe it or not, sir," Chavalier responded in clipped tones, "I am familiar with the law. Now get out of the car!"

Shaking his head, Thierry reluctantly started to obey. He was growing ever more certain that there was something going on down the road Something worth taking a risk to report.



Five kilometres down the empty motorway from the Police roadblock, Corporal Fuchinger stared through his binoculars at the columns of black smoke still rising on the horizon. It looked like a small battle had taken place over there. He knew that Colonel Ferraud's men had been engaged by the hostile force that had caused all the local garrisons to be mobilised. He couldn't tell by the smoke if it was the army's vehicles or the hostiles' that had been hit, but he knew that it was very likely there had been casualties.

That incomplete knowledge, coupled with the orders he had subsequently received - orders to stop his convoy and not engage with whoever the enemy was - had left him feeling uneasy. He'd never known a situation like this, especially not on home soil.

"See anything?" asked Private Guardix, who was sitting beside him at the wheel of the motionless jeep.

"Negative." Fuchinger replied. "Just distant smoke and empty... What the hell? Private, hand me the radio." Guardix placed the two-way in his Corporal's waiting hand so that his superior could continue to observe whatever it was that had made him utter the exclamation without having to look away.

"Away party to base." Fuchinger called.

"This is base. Go ahead, Corporal." came the immediate response.

"Base, we have a visual here. Looks like... two civilians."

"Away party, please confirm last message."

"Confirmed, base. I have a definite visual of two civilians, approaching from the direction of the incident site. Do you require us to apprehend?"

"Negative, away party. Hold your position for now. Under no circumstances are you to engage."

"But, base, it's just a couple of chicks. In bikinis. They don't appear to be carrying anything at all..."

"Away party, please repeat the description of the civilians."

"Like I said, just a pair of girls in bikinis. They look young, and, er, hot. No weapons in sight, base. Are you sure I shouldn't send someone to at least question them."

"You have your orders, Fuchinger. Absolutely no engagement. Remain in contact and report any change in the situation."

"Roger, base." the Corporal released the 'talk' button on the radio. He kept his binoculars fixed on the two strangers. They seemed to be strolling towards him, the view in his lenses becoming clearer as they neared. "Fuck, I'd like to get my hands on either of those two," he thought to himself.



"Oooh! I think they've spotted us!" Tara could hardly contain her excitement as she shared her discovery with her lover. "Look, that one with the red hair and the eye-lenses is on his communicator..."

Lyda giggled. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

"Yeah," laughed Tara. "He's asking what they should do."

"Hmm," Tara added, a few moments later. "I don't think he's being very respectful, describing us as 'just a couple of chicks'. Doesn't he know that we're goddesses?"

"Apparently he doesn't Tara. Maybe you should put him right."

The taller girl turned her gorgeous face towards her companion, raising her eyebrows expectantly, the mischievous sparkle in her lovely brown eyes enough to grab her lover's attention completely. "Do you think I should?" she teased.

"Definitely!" said Lyda, almost pleading as she locked her own bright gaze on that of her slightly taller friend. "Unless," she added, "you don't mind if a pathetic Earther disrespects me..." Now, it was the darker-haired girl's turn to pout her magnificent lips in mock disappointment. The effect was exactly as Lyda had hoped.

"Of course not, Lyda. You're my beautiful goddess. I would never dream of letting one of these creatures speak poorly of you!"

"So..." Lyda bit her already-extended lower lip. The gesture made Tara's eyes burn with desire and, in turn, Tara's incandescent eyes filled Lyda with lust. She leant a little towards her friend and breathed "..what are you going to do about it, Tara?"



Once, when he'd only been on the force for a month, Sergeant Chavalier - or Constable Chavalier as he had been then - had let a man wanted for several burglaries pass right under his nose because the crook had flashed him a fake Press ID. They'd mocked him mercilessly back at the station when the story got out. For weeks, more experienced officers would walk up to him in the canteen, saying things like "Hi. I'm Adolf Hitler, here's my Press pass, thanks for letting me through."

Since then, he had never, ever, taken a member of the public's ID at face value. Besides, he really didn't appreciate this so-called journalist's attitude. He was sat in the squad car now, holding the alleged Press card in his left hand as he spoke on the radio with Control.

"I need a check on a Press ID. Name Beixer. Forename Thierry. Serial number 743398."

"Received. Checking that now for you."

"Thanks Control." Chavalier glanced up through his wind-shield at the scruffy owner of the ID, who was standing impatiently by the side of the roadblock. Chavalier's young colleague was with him. It looked like the rookie was trying to engage the jerk in conversation - no doubt some bullshit psychology trick the kid had learnt in training last week or whatever. Probably in a class entitled "Engaging with uncooperative members of the public: meeting hostility with politeness" or some such crap. Back in the day, he'd have cracked the arrogant lefty shit on the head with his baton and told the booking Sarge, and later the Judge, that the commie fucker had launched an unprovoked attack on him as he was trying to protect the public. Instead, his wet-behind-the-ears colleague was probably asking him what his favourite colour was...

"Five-eight, five-eight." the radio cackled, bringing Chavalier out of his nostalgic reverie. He grabbed the mic unit.

"Five-eight receiving." he said. "Go ahead."

"ID check completed, five-eight. Comes up as good and clean." Chavalier swore silently in disappointment.

"Roger, control. Thanks. Out." Then he replaced the mic in its holder, and got out of the car. He walked over to the two men by the side of the road, holding out the ID towards its owner.

"Right sir," he announced to Beixer. "My colleague and I are very busy and we'd prefer not to have to detain you today. I suggest you get in your car and drive back up the road as my colleague has instructed. Otherwise, I will arrest you. And in case you get any funny ideas involving driving in any direction other than back the way you came, please be aware that the Minister for the Interior has authorised me to use any force necessary to prevent that happening. He rested his right hand on the holster by his hip to ensure that his words carried their full intended meaning. "Is that clear, sir?"

"Crystal," muttered Thierry, making no effort to hide his displeasure. He started to walk back over towards his car. He was already thinking about the calls he was going to make, already calculating who was best placed amongst his local contacts to get him the info he wanted. But the calls would have to wait, it seemed, because although the younger cop had returned to the queue of vehicles arriving at the roadblock, the other one had rather menacingly accompanied Thierry to his car and was now standing a couple of meters away, glaring at him.

He put the key in the ignition. Something major had to be going on down the road, and he was going to find out what it was, whether the police and the fucking Minster for the Interior wanted him to or not.



The two stunning bikini-girls were still walking towards them. They were close enough now that Corporal Fuchinger and Private Guardix no longer needed to use binoculars to watch them. The two soldiers stared, increasingly awestruck by the astonishing beauty of the young women as they strolled, so fluidly, into ever clearer view. There was something hypnotic about the girls' movements; not merely the breath-takingly sexy confidence of their strides, but also the rhythmic swing of their arms and hips and the mind-melting undulations of their large, firm chests. The orders were not to intercept the gorgeous pair, but nothing had been said about visually feasting on the staggering glory of their bodies. Not that either man would have been able to resist.

Guardix squirmed in the driver's seat of the jeep. His body was betraying his growing lust and he was trying to conceal the evidence by clamping it between his thighs. Fuchinger's attempt to hide his own arousal relied on the weight of the lenses of the binoculars which he had placed in his lap. Had his colleague glanced down, he would have noticed the eyeglasses twitching and slightly rising. But Guardix's gaze, like the Corporal's was fixed, unmovingly, on the twin visions of feminine perfection that were sauntering towards them.

Neither of them had any room in his thoughts at that moment for the other men in the away party. All engines were off, as per the instructions from Colonel Gerbert back at base. The vehicles were still in the single-file convoy formation in which they'd been racing down the highway when the surprise order to stop and hold their position had been received. There were twenty well-armed soldiers in the truck parked immediately behind Fuchinger and Guardix: two in the cab, and a eighteen more seated on the benches inside the main body of the big transporter. In the second lorry, two more were up front and another sixteen in the back. At the rear of the column, another half-a-dozen filled an armoured van. In total, enough man- and fire-power to stop a small invasion.

The thick black smoke still curling skyward from the horizon did little to suggest that such a large group was an inappropriate response to whatever was out there. But the scale of the convoy, not to mention the volume of weaponry it controlled, contrasted absurdly with the two, clearly unarmed, teenage girls who were approaching the front of it. Something, Fuchinger was beginning to realise, didn't add up here.

First, there was the bizarre idea of two young girls, alright - fabulously attractive girls in, there was no denying, magnificently filled bikinis, apparently on their own, out here in an area that had been sealed off to the public because of some major event that apparently involved exploded trucks. Then there was the response he'd had from base when he'd described them. Not laughter, or surprise. Instead a stern instruction not to engage or intercept them. As though Colonel Gerbert had known something about these two, or about the situation in general.

The final piece of the jigsaw of Fuchinger's unease was the way the girls were behaving. If they were innocent civilians who had been caught up in whatever had caused all that black smoke, they should be looking shocked and scared. If they were hostile elements who had been in some way responsible for the thick dark fumes, they would surely be apprehensive about approaching a line of well-populated military vehicles. These two appeared to be on a pleasure-stroll. Or, more accurately perhaps, on some swimwear catwalk.

"Fuck, they're so gorgeous," thought the Corporal. Despite his growing concern, he simply could not tear his eyes away from the duo. The girls were looking at each other as they walked, steadily, calmly, sexily and unhesitatingly ever nearer. Grinning. Like close friends. Or something even closer than that. Such gorgeous, perfect, carefree smiles. Something just did not seem right. They were chatting, apparently oblivious of the smoke behind them or the soldiers in front of them. They even seemed to be exchanging a joke. They were even sexier when they laughed. And even more disconcerting. And they were getting closer every second.



"I think the two up front quite like us," chuckled Lyda. "Look at the way they're trying to hide their erections!"

"Poor boys, they can't help it. You're just so beautiful, Lyda. They're supposed to be fighters but they can't even constrain their own feeble bodies!"

"It's not ALL my fault," the shorter girl pointed out. "They're also staring at you, Tara. Can you hear the way the ginger one's heart is pounding?"

"Yes! And can you smell the hormones in their sweat?"

"Oh yeah. Earther males are so pathetic! You haven't even done anything yet and you're already controlling them."

"Well, I AM a goddess, after all," Tara stated, matter-of-factly.

"Mmmmm" purred Lyda, in agreement, her lovely eyes glowing as she met her lover's own electric gaze. She glanced briefly at the two squirming males sitting in the front transporter and then turned back to her companion. "Tara," she breathed, "I want you to show me just how much of a goddess you are. I NEED you to show me your power."

"Anything for you Lyda!" smiled the taller girl, turning her stunning, still grinning, face to the enrapt males.



Thierry had fired up the engine of his car. He could almost feel the angry stare of the older policeman as he reached for the gear lever and selected "reverse". Despite the menace in the copper's eyes, he could not resist one last attempt at journalistic enquiry. Leaning his head through the open driver's side window, he called out "Can't you just give me a rough clue what's going on over there?"

"Nothing that concerns you, sir. Now go!" came the angry response.

"Of course it concerns me," thought Thierry. "I'm a fucking reporter!" but he kept that to himself. The copper looked and sounded like he wouldn't have appreciated the remark. Slowly, he activated the accelerator, turning the wheel to begin the manoeuvre that would turn his car around.



The taller girl's smile simultaneously disturbed Fuchinger and excited him sexually. Now she had walked closer, the double-effect had become even greater. The two beautiful young women were no more than ten meters away. The Corporal and Private Guardix could now see their physical glory in full detail. The stunning faces, framed by long, straight shiny hair; jet black on the shorter girl, dark brown on her grinning friend. The clear, bright eyes, pretty noses and inviting mouths with rich, full, ripe lips and sexy white teeth. The slender, flawless necks, smooth round shoulders. The large, round, staggeringly firm busts, pressing against the thin material of the brief costumes, prominent nipples clearly evident beneath the magnificently overworked upper garments and, between those, heart-stopping curves of exposed, perfect feminine flesh forming the most desirable, deep cleavage that had ever been seen on Earth.

Beneath those splendid chests, lay flat, unblemished bellies with immaculate navels. The bottom halves of their outfits covered only their greatest intimacies, leaving the magnificent bows of desirable hips on show, and heavenly, creamy thighs that tapered into long, long, exquisitely-shaped legs which, eventually, ended in delicate-looking ankles and gorgeously pretty feet and toes. So much beauty. So much sexual appeal. Fuchinger and Guardix struggled to take it all in. The binoculars on the Corporal's lap tipped beyond the point of balance, slid, and fell noisily onto the floor of the jeep. Guardix's thighs lost the battle to contain his own arousal and his fully-erect organ popped out of their grasp. Both men sat with obviously tented trousers, unable to look away from the visions of female perfection that had engorged their manhoods.

The front of the jeep obscured the two soldier's laps from either girl's eyes. Fuchinger could see that. His brain was overworked, trying to take in the sheer beauty before him, but a small part of his cognitive process did register confusion as the taller girl seemed to glance downwards towards first his and then Guardix's groin. Confusion, because the way her smile broadened even further and her perfect eyebrows raised, made him feel like she had noticed his involuntary erection. The unmistakable, mischievous glint that appeared in her eyes seemed to confirm that. But it was impossible from her angle! The corporal's sense of unease grew. There was something about these girls, the thought, even beyond their astonishing physical appearance. Something extraordinary...



Tara examined the two fully upstanding male organs in turn, her remarkable glinting eyes peering right through the complex layers of the primitive vehicle, and the fabric of the men's garments. The effect of her beauty on the creatures amused her. She knew that Lyda was watching her, anticipating her next actions, and that thought was far more stimulating than anything the Earther males had to offer.

The grin was fixed on her face as she slowly, languidly, approached the front of the vehicle containing the two awestruck males. She made sure that she swayed slightly as she walked, moving with the supreme confidence of someone who is fully aware of the immeasurable power contained within her magnificent body. The undulations of her torso caused her glorious large breasts to bounce a little with every fluid stride, accelerating the two male heartbeats and increasing the levels of hormones detectable in their perspiration and exhalations, just as she intended.

Lyda, meanwhile, stayed still, her arms hanging casually by her sides, her feet planted unmovingly on the vehicle track about a dozen or so paces in front of the vehicle containing the two near-hypnotised males. The girls had agreed that this group of Earthers were Tara's exclusively and the shorter of the pair was more than happy to play the role of observer for a while. She had already started to do just that. The swinging of her lover's hips as she walked away from her towards the primitive transporter and the resulting erotic oscillations of Tara's perfect pert rear added fuel to Lyda's arousal.

Tara was relishing the opportunity to put on a show for her companion. She knew that Lyda would be enjoying the movements of her buttocks as she sashayed towards the front of the Earther vehicle, so she took her time with each sexy, bouncy step. The effect of the front of her body on the two males only increased as she closed the gap to their machine and the mixture of desire and confusion on the two faces thrilled her.

Finally, she reached the transporter. The two men inside were still about two strides' length away, separated from her by the front section of their vehicle which, Tara had noticed disinterestedly, using her ability to see through solid objects, contained the thing's primitive motor. When she gazed right through the intervening metal, she saw that both males' organs were still saluting her pulchritude. Her smile grew and her eyes glinted with delight as an idea formed in her mind.

Moving slowly for the benefit of her audience both in front and behind, she spread her arms as wide as they could go and began to lean forward. As she bent at the waist, the supreme view offered by her increasingly pendant breasts drew gasps from the two males. She made sure that Lyda was not neglected either as she leant over, sticking out her behind and shaking it slightly. She was rewarded with a quiet "Mmmmm" from her lover.

Eventually she was bent almost at ninety degrees. Her hands reached for the sides of the vehicle, immediately below the top of the front portion. Her large nipples, tenting out the fabric of her brief upper garment, were almost touching the vehicle. Her superhumanly firm, big breasts, now displayed at their optimum, made the two males openly pant as they stared, utterly transfixed. She turned to each of them in turn but found that she could not meet their eyes with her own, so intently were both men focussed on her glorious, maximised cleavage.



Fuchinger couldn't help himself. Never in his life had he experienced anything as erotic or as mesmerising as the sight of the taller of the two girls leaning over the hood of his jeep. Lust overrode his thought processes. A small part of his brain was aware that he should've been reporting the girl's uninvited approach to base. Their orders were not to engage with the stunning duo in any way. Nothing had been said about what they should do if one of the beauties initiated the engagement herself. But he was in a kind of deep trance now, lost in the unfathomably sexy valley between the girl's magnificent breasts. If he could have snapped out of his reverie and looked to his right, he would have seen that Private Guardix was similarly under her spell. Instead he just stared and stared whilst the throbbing of his engorged shaft between his legs continued unabated.

Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he became aware of a strange, low, creaking, almost groaning, sound. The noise grew in volume and intensity, demanding his attention, but he remained too enrapt to respond to it. All he knew was that the sound was not coming from the girl's amazing chest, because his eyes were refusing to point at anything else. The bizarre sound continued, if anything getting louder. The tiny potion of his brain that was registering audio detected a definite metallic tone to the noise. Still he did not move his gaze towards its source.



Tara was carefully pushing her flat open hands into the sides of the front of the vehicle. The sounds the metal made in protest as it bent and yielded to her wonderful strength delighted her. She could feel the limitless power in her long, slender arms as she compressed the helpless casing of the transporter. The solid material was surrendering without her noticing any resistance, so complete was her dominance over mere metal. She gently squeezed, effortlessly creating deep dents in the vehicle under her feminine palms.

She knew that it would be easy - supremely easy - to continue compressing the thing, bringing her hands together, squashing and tearing even the solid engine within until her fingers met in the middle, making the material trapped between them boil away to nothing, shearing the front of the vehicle completely in half. But that was not her intention. She merely wanted to crush the sides of the transporter a little. Just enough to ensure she had a good grip.

She almost burst out laughing at the two males who seemed unable to let either the racket of the futilely protesting metal or the obvious damage she was causing to their vehicle distract them from the sight of her pendant breasts straining against her upper garment. She hoped that Lyda, standing some ten paces or so behind her, was not quite as hopelessly engrossed in the view of her rear. She didn't want her lover to miss the next part.

Tara's sensitive hearing picked up voices coming from the front of the big vehicle that was stationed behind the one she was tormenting. Without looking, she could tell that one of the men in the front section was talking into his communicator. Clearly the greater distance from her, not to mention the higher position of the seats, meant that although the speaking male could see her, he had not become too entranced by her to think and act. He seemed to be describing her actions to some remote superior. She paid him no mind. It would be his turn later. Right now, she was playing with the two immediately in front of her.



The Corporal and Guardix seemed too shocked to react. Or maybe, it occurred to Private Dessari, they were completely absorbed by the sight of the girl's incredible tits as she leant over the front of the open-topped jeep. From his angle, up in the truck's cab, he could only guess what the view must've been like. He'd seen the two girls approach the front of the convoy, and watched the taller one saunter up to the jeep, and he had not been able to help noticing the sexy glory of their bodies. Even at his distance - about twenty meters from the nearest of the two - he could appreciate the beauty of their faces. But he was still puzzled as to why neither Fuchinger nor Guardix had informed Base of the latest turn of events.

If he hadn't witnessed it himself, of course, Dessari would never have believed it possible. The windows were shut, but he still managed to hear the sound of steel groaning as the girl seemed to squeeze it with her bare hands. Confirmation came from Private Kircher seated beside him in the form of the astonished utterance "Oh my fucking god! Can you see that? What the fuck is she doing?!?"

Dessari had immediately grabbed the in-cab radio. "Away Party Unit 2 to Base. Away Party Unit 2 to Base."

"This is Base. Proceed Unit 2."

"Sir, there's a girl... er, two girls, but one of them has walked up to Unit 1 and now she's, she's er, she's squeezing the front of the jeep with her hands!"

"Repeat that Unit 2"

"There's a girl in a bikini and she's crushing the front of Fuchinger's jeep with her hands! I just saw it. Kircher saw it too! She just walked up to it and put her hands on the side and started to cr- Oh my god! She's... she's lifting the jeep up! She's lifting the whole fucking jeep up with her hands!"

"Fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell!" cried Kircher beside him.

"Unit 2, get out of there now! Repeat: get out of there now! Away party all units. Evacuate immediately! All units evacuate immediately! All units evacuate immediately! Immediately!"

Dessari was already firing up the truck's engine.



When the creaking of tortured metal stopped, Fuchinger and Guardix barely registered. When it started again, at a different pitch, they were only dimly aware. When they felt the floor of the jeep begin to shift they started to notice. When the view in front of them shifted, they became fully aware. The girl was straightening up. They could tell by the way her chest was moving. But her enchanting breasts were not rising relative to their eyes as they might have expected. That's when they both realised that the jeep was moving. It was rising. Along with the girl's torso. Finally, the spell was partially broken. Enough for both men to turn their gaze to one side and then the other and for their brains to start to piece together the puzzle.

The noise... that had been the girl squashing the sides of the front of the jeep with her hands. And the movement now... that was the girl lifting the vehicle with those same hands. The whole jeep! With nothing but her hands! Her beautiful, slender, long feminine arms did not look like they could manage even a fiftieth of its weight but, as her body straightened, with only the subtlest glimpse of muscle under the flawless skin of her upper arms, they were rising into the air.

Guardix peered over his side of the vehicle in panic, and saw the road surface further away than it should have been. Further away and getting further still. He turned back to the girl, looking at her pretty arms, searching for a sign of some mechanical device or crane and finding none. Shocked, terrified and confused, he fumbled for his service pistol.

Beside him, Corporal Fuchinger leant over his side of the jeep, certain that if he got his head far enough out, he'd be able to spot the hydraulic jack that he was sure the girl had somehow slipped unnoticed underneath the vehicle. What he saw shook him to his core. There was nothing. Nothing but air between the bottom of the chassis and the road. The radio was cackling. Orders to evacuate immediately. He brought his head back in and turned his neck. There had to be some kind of forklift behind them. But no, there was nothing. Just a few meters of empty road and then Dessari's truck.

The evacuation order was repeated. He heard the big lorry's engine revving up. He turned around, and found himself face to face with the girl. So beautful. So delicate-looking. How... how was she doing this... She was smiling! As if picking up a jeep with two men in it didn't even cause her strain. Fuck, what was he supposed to do? How could he follow the evacuation order if the wheels of his vehicle were hovering a meter above the road? He glanced over at Guardix and saw that he was releasing the safety on his pistol. "Shoot her!" he yelled.



The transporter and its occupants felt as good as weightless to Tara. With her freshly-installed, improvised grip points, she would happily have held the whole thing out in front of her until the end of time. She'd giggled as the two males inside seemed to take turns checking over the side of the vehicle and then looking back at her, unable to comprehend her strength. She completely ignored the communicators barking out instructions for the men to leave the scene. Whoever this "Base" creature was, its orders were irrelevant. It was she, and she alone, who decided who would leave. It didn't matter if the other vehicles started their engines and tried to flee. She knew she would be able to out-run them. When she chose to do so.

The only urgency she felt was in carrying out her plan for the two males. She thought Lyda might appreciate what she had in mind for them. But the panic now gripping them might start to have an undesired physiological effect on the pair if she waited too long. She was aware of the weapon being readied by one of them and the desperate calling of the other for that weapon to be used on her. She let him activate the useless noisy device twice, paying no heed at all to the two pathetic pellets that bounced worthlessly from her face. Her hesitation was worthwhile just to see the stunned expressions of both men as they realised the ineffectiveness of the firearm. She hoped Lyda could see them too. The two girls shared a love of seeing Earthers pull shocked "my-weapon-doesn't-even-scratch-her" faces. Behind her, the dark-haired girl's familiar laugh served as reassurance that Lyda had not missed the moment.



She was fucking bulletproof! Fuchinger had seen the sparks as two bullets had ricochetted from the girl's gorgeous, grinning face. She could pick up a jeep and she was bulletproof! What the hell was she? He knew one thing, and that was that he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. His mind was racing. He thought about the black smoke of burning vehicles he'd seen on the horizon earlier... had she caused that? Suddenly, it seemed more than possible. Was the jeep about to end up in a smoky wreck? With him inside it? Shit, he had to get out... Now!

Guardix had also seen the two flashes as the shots hit the girl. And he was sure he'd heard the other girl laughing immediately afterwards. His brain was struggling to get to grips with what his eyes and ears were reporting. He could hear the engines of the rest of the away party. Evacuation. Yes, that was what he was going to do. Bail.



Thierry had completed the first curve of the three-point-turn that would place him on the road headed away from the two cops and their roadblock. Under the unceasing stare of the older of the two enforcement officers, he pretended to be struggling with the gear lever whilst stealing one last glance at the stretch of highway on the other side of the temporary barrier. Was that... smoke he could see? Like from a fire? Was that the 'incident' that had brought about the road closure?

If it was a fire, it was exactly the kind of story he should be reporting. Then again, a fire wouldn't normally lead to this much security. Not this far away, anyway. And surely, he would have heard or seen the fire brigade responding... No, this was something altogether more... interesting than just a fire. The fire, he guessed, was just a part of it.

"Go!" shouted the older cop at him, furiously. Thierry put his car into forward gear and completed the manoeuvre. He began to drive away, as slowly as he dared, eyes darting between the road ahead and the faint traces of black smoke he could just make out in his rear view mirror. He wished he knew what was going on over there.



Tara noticed the two males beginning to try and gather their feet, presumably so that they could jump out of the vehicle she was holding so easily in the air. The ungainliness of Earthers still amazed her. So slow. So clumsy. She was pleased to note that they were both still displaying the most evident sign of their lust for her. "Lyda will like this," she thought, slightly lowering her arms, and with them, the men and their vehicle. Then she raised them sharply, keeping her hands firmly in place on the front of the transporter.

It was an easy motion for her, the most casual of fluent movements, but the force she transmitted through her long, shapely arms was more than sufficient to launch the machine skyward. If only she hadn't been gripping it so securely. Instead, the vehicle only rose as far as her hands moved. But she had no hold on the two males inside. The momentum her slender arms imparted transferred through the transporter and into the stunned duo. They screamed as they shot directly upwards.

Now that the vehicle was empty, its amusement value had plummeted. Tara glanced briefly at the sky, noting that, although the two dislodged men were finally beginning to slow, they were still gaining height, the astonishing power of her toss not quite yet exhausted. She had plenty of time to get rid of the transporter. A flick of both her wrists sent it away from her, rocketing parallel to the ground, travelling many times faster than its engines had ever managed. It remained airborne, travelling a distance of several hundred strides before crashing to the ground, bouncing, hopping a further dozen strides and then crashing down again, this time with a flashing crimson explosion that scattered burning debris over a wide area.

Meanwhile, the two males had finally begun to descend. She'd flung them straight up, so now they were falling towards the same spot from which they had been launched. Tara took a step forward and carefully followed the two descents. The redhead was coming down slightly to the left of her, and the other one slightly to the right. As the screaming pair were just above her head, her two arms flashed out, faster than an Earther could follow. With deliberate precision, she closed her left hand over the redhead's groin, a mere instant before he hit the ground, curling her fingers around his still-erect shaft through his garments, letting her arm drop slightly to absorb just enough of his momentum and avoid the sudden stop that would very likely have amputated his masculinity. A fraction later, she performed an identical manoeuvre with the other male using her right hand to trap his engorged organ and sharply slow his fall.

Both males were yelling frantically. They hung helplessly, bent backwards, their hands almost touching their heels as Tara held them fast by their penises. She lifted her hands over her head, effortlessly raising the two men until they were both dangling with their upside down faces in front of her delighted grin. Turning gracefully on her pretty bare heels, she whirled around to proudly show Lyda her screaming double catch.

"Impressive," commented the shorter girl. The sight of Tara, holding the two males by their organs, showing off her power and her complete dominance over the Earther men, hugely aroused her. She wanted to see more. "But the others are getting away," she reminded.

"Oh Lyda," sighed Tara in mock admonishment. "They're only Earthers. They won't get far. Besides, I'm not finished with these two yet."



Private Guardix screamed. He screamed in terror. He screamed in agony. He screamed in the vain hope of attracting rescue. He screamed because there was nothing else he could do.

He'd been about to jump out of the jeep when the incredible girl had tossed him and Fuchinger into the air as if the vehicle was as light as a frying pan and he and the Corporal were nothing more than a pancake. He yelled in shock as he saw her dwindling ever further below. After a while he'd started to fall and his cries became those of fear. Fear of dying when he hit the ground. And then, just as he'd closed his eyes anticipating his final moment, something incredible had happened. A sharp pain from his sexual organ as his descent, instead of ending with a hard impact, slowed sharply as if his fall had been broken by a cushion of dense air. That was when he'd started to scream in pain. Opening his eyes he saw the cause of his agony. The girl had caught him by the erection she herself had inspired moments before. Now she was dangling his entire body by her one-handed grip on his shaft, raising him to her face as though he was weightless, and smiling at him! The smile terrified him. With what little air he had left, he continued to yell.

Fuchinger had suffered the same experience. Being pitched violently into the sky. Falling apparently to his death, only to be saved from becoming a splat on the road by a petite, feminine fist gripping his manhood horrendously tightly. And then being hoisted by that grip, helpless, his whole frame hanging painfully from it. Like his colleague, the Corporal's only response was to scream.

They were both dimly aware of their captor spinning around as she held them. Neither man heard the other girl speak above their own yells. Nor did they see her because they were both dangling in front of the one holding them, helpless to move in any way other than the one in which their tormentor chose. They were right in front of her grinning face, so the two of them clearly heard her say that she was not finished with them. Their screams were hoarse now, nearly exhausted. They felt themselves being carried through another half-turn, and just about saw the girl's smiling lips reconfiguring into a kiss-shape. They both felt a sudden, strong, warm breeze, followed by an easing of the crushing intimate grip on their organs. Then they each experienced a ferocious jolt, almost like being hit by a speeding train. Then nothing.



Lyda was right, of course. The other Earthers were trying to escape in their primitive transporters. Tara knew it was time to say goodbye to the two she was holding and go and play with some fresh ones. Still dangling the screaming duo in front of her face, she spun away from her friend, until she was facing along the long vehicle track in the direction of the fleeing machines. She pushed out her full, ripe, sexy lips and began to blow, softly, enjoying the way the creatures in her grasp swung away from her in the wind she created.

She released her twin grips on the males' organs and simultaneously increased the force of her exhalation. The pair shot away from her, carried by her breath, spinning and soaring. The roar of air that she channelled through her desirable mouth was loud, but she could tell that the men had stopped screaming. She continued to blow, forcing their now lifeless bodies further, faster, higher - effortlessly propelling them into the distance, over the cluster of escaping vehicles and beyond, towards the horizon. Then she stopped the jet of her breath, letting her lips shape themselves into an irresistible smile once more.

Tara turned to see her lover's reaction over her shoulder. Lyda caught her eye and erotically licked her lips. Tara raised her eyebrows suggestively. "Wait here," she breathed, "I'll be right back with some more."

"Good," approved Lyda, lustfully. She watched in delightful anticipation as Tara spun on her heels and set off down the vehicle track after the group of three moving transporters.



"That column of smoke wasn't there a moment ago," Thierry thought as he flicked yet another lingering glance away from the road and towards his rear-view mirror. "Something must've just exploded over there. And it's a long way from the other smoke-sources..."

Not for the first time he wondered what the hell was going on. He was about two hundred meters down the highway from the road block now. Far enough, he figured, to be able to pull over and stop without the angry old cop noticing, at least for a couple of minutes. Enough time to try and grab some video of the smoke, and maybe make a call or two. He eased the car to the side of the road, cut the engine and snatched up the handheld video camera from the front passenger seat. Then he climbed out and rested the camera on the roof, switched it on, and rotated it towards the fresh black column of fumes on the horizon.

At first, he thought the grey specks were birds. The two shapes emerged from the obscurity of the pillar of dark smoke, travelling, it seemed, more or less parallel with the ground. But as each second went by, the specks grew in size. The were not grey, they were dark green. They were not birds, they were... they were... fucking hell! He instinctively checked that he was still filming, still capturing the incredible sight. There was no doubt about it, the two shapes were people! In military uniforms. Flying through the air, from at least a couple of kilometres away. He carefully moved the camera to follow the trajectory of the two soldiers. They were losing height now, getting closer to the ground. As he turned the video recorder, the police roadblock came in to view.

Even from two hundred meters away, he heard the smashing of glass as one of the mysterious soldiers crashed down onto the front of the parked police car. He was glad he did not hear the noise of the other one impacting with the road a moment later.

There were distant screams. Thierry grabbed the camera and jumped back into his car. He headed back towards the roadblock. Two or three private vehicles passed him at speed, heading in the opposite direction. He recalled the reporters' cliché about having to run towards what everyone else is running away from.

When he reached the roadblock he saw what had become of the soldier who'd landed in the road. He resisted the urge to vomit, and continued on to the police car. The roof had been caved in, the body lying on top a twisted mess of bizarrely arranged limbs. The younger of the two cops he'd seen earlier was crouched beside the damaged vehicle. As Thierry drove past, he saw what looked like the arm of the older officer sticking out of the wreckage.

The young policeman, completely absorbed in the task of trying to help his trapped, wounded colleague, did not notice Thierry slowly driving past, riding his car off the highway into the wild grass verge and circumnavigating the roadblock before rejoining the empty road on the other side, heading for the source of the smoke and whatever had caused the two soldiers to be thrown thousands of meters through the air.



"Oh my god! Did you see that?!" Private Kircher had yelled in response to the sight of two uniformed men flying through the air high over the truck. They were driving back up the road in the direction they had come from originally, eating up the highway at a shade over a hundred kilometres an hour - as fast as the lorry's engine could manage with twenty men inside - but the two airborne men had soared past overhead so quickly, it was as if they were still parked. "Is that... Fuchinger and Guardix? Fuck, what did she do to them?"

Both Kircher and Dessari watched though the windscreen in shock as the two figures continued their bizarre flight, passing high over the top of the truck in front. Now that their convoy, minus the lead jeep, had turned around, they were at the back of the line of vehicles, behind the armoured van and the other truck full of men.

"Those girls must be aliens! You saw the way that one picked up the jeep... I mean, how can a chick like that do that?" speculated Dessari, trying to come to terms with what he had just witnessed, his eyes flicking from his rapidly-vanishing colleagues shooting through the air to concentrate on the road in front once more.

"Or robots," suggested Kircher.

"They didn't look like robots to me," Dessari commented, recalling the sight of the two sexy, bikini-clad young women.

After a pause, during which both men contemplated the sheer beauty of the mysterious duo, Kircher asked "Don't you think it's strange that Colonel Gerbert didn't sound shocked when you told him about the jeep... he just issued the evac command... you know, like he knew something he hadn't told us."

"Yeah, now you mention it... Oh jesus! All that smoke we saw... that was from Colonel Ferraud's team! It must've been those girls! That's why we suddenly got the do-not-engage order! That's why Gerbert told us to run when we told him about the jeep! He knew those chicks would attack us too if we didn't get away from them..."

"Fuck, man, what the hell is going on?" asked Kircher.

Whatever the answer to that question was, both he and Dessari were glad to be travelling away from it at top speed.



The line of fleeing Earther vehicles had never been far enough away from Tara to have left her sight, but now that she was jogging after them, the distance was closing with every stride of her, beautiful long legs. The primitive engines were so weak, she did not even need to hurry to out-pace them. She was no more than about two hundred paces from the back of the nearest transporter, one of a pair of the larger, elongated machines. She could clearly see the uniformed males seated in the big rear container section, each clasping one of the useless weapons that the creatures seems so fond of.

Peering through the thin fabric partition at the far end, she spotted two more men in the smaller cab that housed the vehicle's control mechanisms. Her lovely, bright eyes saw beyond them, too, examining the identical big vehicle full of males in front, and a third, smaller machine at the head of the column. In total, there were forty-four men spread over three vehicles.

She thought of her lover, waiting for her to return, as she'd promised, with another batch of Earthers. She thrilled at the idea of showing off her limitless power in front of Lyda, anticipating the reaction she would provoke as she did so. She pictured herself, grabbing a handful or two of helpless creatures and carrying them back, having fun with them, then heading off once more to collect the next group. How many journeys would she need to empty the trio of vehicles? Would Lyda enjoy watching her fetching them back in instalments?

As Tara jogged comfortably along the Earther vehicle track, rapidly gaining on the three transporters, her mind filled with the possibilities afforded her by her amazing power. She knew that in moments she could reach the nearest big machine. She'd already counted the eighteen men seated in the large rear compartment. Too many to carry by hand at once without destroying them before she got them back to her lover. Was there another way... something that Lyda might find even more impressive... Perhaps a way she might gather them all in one go...

Tara could not help but smile. Being on Earth meant she possessed so many extraordinary abilities, so much sheer power, that she could achieve almost any feat that her imagination could dream up, no matter how astonishing. Now, she had thought of an idea, a method for bringing all the fleeing men she was chasing down back to her waiting lover in a single trip. Lyda wanted to see a demonstration of her power, and she would oblige. Yes, she knew what she was going to do. Effortlessly, she increased the pace of her stunning legs, doubling the speed of her astonishing run, racing towards the three speeding vehicles, closing the distance as though they weren't moving at all. Oh, this was going to be fun!



"What the... Oh, fuck! No!" Kircher cursed as he spotted the tiny, partially blurred, figure in the side mirror. He didn't need a second look to confirm all his initial fears, but he took one all the same. The blood drained from his features as he turned to his companion.

"What is it?" Dessari demanded. The panic on Kircher's face told him that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"The girl... the one who picked up the jeep..." blurted the Private.

"What about her?" Dessari prompted, as a feeling of dread began to crystallise in his stomach.

"She's... she's... following us! She's running after us!"

Dessari glanced away from the road to check the view in the far-side mirror. The colour faded from his features as his eyes verified Kircher's claim.

"How's she moving so fast?" Dessari wondered out loud, his growing fright evident. "What the fuck is she?"

"She's gaining on us!" Kircher announced after another brief view of the side-mirror. "Go faster! Go faster!"

"We're flat out already!" responded Dessari, exasperatedly.

"Fu-" Kircher began, but he was interrupted by the voice of one of the men from the main portion of the lorry before he could complete the expletive.

"Dessari!" Private Baillis had thrust his head around the loose canvass sheeting that separated the driver's cab from the main container where the bulk of the men were seated, "there's a girl sprinting behind us! She's running faster than the lorry! She's going to catch up with us!"

The girl catching up with them was precisely what Dessari and Kircher were most afraid of at that moment.

"Shoot her!" yelled Kircher, now close to panic.

"But, the order was not to engage. Colonel Ger-" Baillis queried the instruction from his fellow Private.

"Fucking shoot her!" screamed Dessari, flicking his eyes momentarily to the mirror beside Kircher before turning his head over his shoulder and barking through the canvass to the men behind "All of you! Shoot her! Shoot her now!"

Baillis immediately withdrew his head to join the other men in the back of the vehicle, shifting into position, readying their weapons, those nearest the back of the lorry crouching, those nearest the cab standing. For a few seconds the truck filled with the clicking of safety catches being released as eighteen men raised their guns and pointed them at the rapidly nearing figure of the gorgeous young bikini-adorned woman who, somehow, was sprinting along the road in superhuman pursuit.



By the time the first of the eighteen males in the back of the closest transporter had finally spotted her approach, Tara had already studied the faces of each one of the creatures in each of the three vehicles she was chasing. Even whilst running at almost twice the speed generated by the noisy engines - a pace which her shapely long legs found effortless to achieve and equally untaxing to maintain indefinitely - she was able to leisurely view her prey. Her remarkable bright eyes saw through metal and fabric, allowing her to examine, in as much detail as she wanted, those males located in the front two transporters, supposedly hidden from her view. She continued to jog after the column of vehicles, certain of her vastly superior speed, waiting until she was close enough to be noticed.

They moved so slowly! She was certain that the transporters were being driven at their maximum velocity. She was just as sure that the men in the closest machine, having at last become aware of her presence, were preparing to assault her with their pointless weapons as rapidly as they could. But, compared with the speeds at which Tara could operate, both the vehicles and the males inside them might as well have been stationary. Whenever she chose to, she could out-manoeuvre them all before any of them could react. Instead, she opted to hold back, patiently waiting for the dozen-and-a-half firearms to be laboriously aligned with her and, eventually, activated.

She lifted her face to the men staring at her along the lengths of their weapons, and smiled a broad, radiant grin that complimented her stunning features and showcased the sexy perfection of her teeth. Her beauty momentarily overwhelmed those with the clearest view of her. Her cheerful expression contrasted the determined faces of the males pointing their supposedly lethal devices at her, and she could tell that it unnerved them. Her smile remained fixed.

Tara knew that those weapons would soon be active, spewing out streams of hot metal in an attempt to kill her. Her sensitive ears had clearly heard the yells of "Shoot her!" But her smile was not in anticipation of the imminent barrage. She was not grinning at the thought of experiencing the almost-non-existent effects of Earther weaponry against her stunning body. She had faced these creatures' supposedly deadly force on enough occasions to know, with complete certainty, that any sensations generated by the impending hail of ammunition would be insignificant to her. Reacting to such a pathetic barrage, let alone to the mere expectation of it, was beneath a goddess like Tara.

But the confusion and horror of Earther males as they discovered how useless their normally-lethal weapons became when directed at her and Lyda was a delightfully stark reminder of her and her friend's total superiority over everything and everyone on the planet. Seeing the disbelief and panic - not to mention awe - that the two of them provoked whenever they demonstrated some small aspect of their seemingly limitless power always thrilled her. With eighteen of the creatures poised to open fire on her, she could not help but beam at the prospect of the collective shock and terror she was about to witness.



Considering the speed at which the truck was moving and the confusion caused by both the girl's superhuman running and her astonishing beauty, they had done well to have taken up firing positions so quickly. Her gorgeous but totally inappropriate grin made Private Fernandez and his colleagues in the back of the lorry uneasy. Why would anyone, least of all an unarmed young woman in a bikini, smile so happily - and, he had to acknowledge to himself, sexily - when faced with a dozen-and-a-half men aiming rifles and machine guns? In such a moment of bewilderment, the certainty of a repeated, shouted instruction was welcome. From the cab, Dessari and Kircher were screaming at them to shoot the girl, and Fernandez, along with seventeen others in the back, obeyed.

The noise as so many weapons fired was deafening. The girl was matching their top speed with just her glorious legs, and she was close enough that Fernandez could see where some of the bullets hit her. He saw the flashes and blurs as she was struck, over and over again, tens, no... hundreds, probably thousands of times. He saw shots pinging from her lovely face, from her bright, open eyes, from the surface of the perfect teeth displayed in her glorious smile. He saw slugs bouncing on her smooth, bare shoulders and from her knees and thighs as she ran. He saw bullets rebound after hitting the exposed curves of her glorious, large, firm, round breasts. And he saw her still upright, still running, still smiling throughout, as if they weren't shooting at all. But he was shooting. They all were. And they were hitting her constantly. He stared as he sprayed his own ammunition over her magnificent face and body, his mind unable to process the information his eyes were providing.

Private Houlot was stood at the rear of the group, near the centre of the men, behind Ferndandez and several others who were crouched in front. He too could spot some of the countless impacts against the girl's lovely skin. From his more elevated perspective, Houlot could see more of her breath-taking chest than Fernandez. He stared downwards along the barrel of his rifle, telling himself he was aiming for her heart as he kept his aim and his eye locked, unwaveringly, on the spectacularly deep, and overwhelmingly erotic valley between her two glorious breasts, firing off shot after shot, hopelessly lost in a cocktail made up of lust and befuddlement. Lust at the perfection of the girl's body, and befuddlement at the way his bullets, and those of the other men, were failing to leave even so much as the tiniest scratch or bruise on that perfection. He was sure he had seen one of his shots ricochet from the luscious inner curve of her right breast. He was just as certain that he'd observed another spinning away from the top of her other, identically magnificent mound. But there was no wounding, no blood, no blemish of any description on her sexy glory. Unable to think of anything else, he continued to shoot, again and again, and to stare, awestruck and entranced.

A streak of glinting silver, lasting no more than an instant, so brief it had to have been at the very limit of his ability to perceive, flicked up between the top edge of the left cup of her superbly stuffed bikini and the tip of her raised chin before vanishing, another tiny glimmer of proof that the soldiers' ammunition was finding its intended target. Houlot fired at her unworldly chest again, this time without being able to observe the trajectory of his shot. All he noticed was the complete lack of effect. He squeezed the trigger once more. Was that a spark he momentarily spotted on the irresistibly rounded, bare flesh just above her brief upper garment? If it was, it had left no trace. He activated the rifle again with no noticeable result. Had he been able or willing to tear his gaze away from its fix on the girl's incredible chest, he would have seen her dazzling smile, undimmed and unaltered since he and the others began shooting.

None of them had stopped firing. Houlot sent two more killer bullets at his chosen target, failing to spot either impact. The road was smooth as the lorry continued to speed along, but the vibrations from the flat-out engine made consistent shooting a challenge. He paused for a moment to refine his aim before his next effort. This time he did see the bullet. Not as a flash or a streak bouncing from her, but as a stationary, undeniable, solid object, wedged between her twin glories, trapped immovably in her amazing cleavage. The speed and power of the shot had been overpowered by her feminine curves, leaving the defeated slug stuck fast in the heart-stopping space bordered either side by her perfect, perfect breasts. It remained in place, held by the superhuman firmness of the girl's mounds, even as she ran, through an unceasing rain of other bullets, at over a hundred kilometres an hour, grinning all the while.



Tara followed the ridiculously slow Earther vehicle, carefully regulating the pace of her jog so that she remained a constant distance behind it, well within sight of the creatures within and comfortably inside the range of the noisy and ineffective weaponry they were deploying. There was no urgency; her sexy, long superhuman legs were capable of matching the output of the transporter's engines indefinitely, with no chance of tiring. Likewise, there was no limit to the ability of her goddess' body to withstand the barrage of ammunition striking its flawless skin without sustaining even the tiniest blemish. The countless metal pellets that hit her head, her face, her magnificent torso and her legs with every stride caused her no discomfort.

Her only sensation was delight. Delight as she observed, individual by individual, the shock and disbelief etched on the features of the males inside the vehicle. Delight as she slowly took in the multiple displays of panic, confusion and horror. And delight in the knowledge that those desperate expressions were provoked by the collective realisation of the utter ineffectiveness of an assault that would have been instantly fatal to every living creature on the planet bar herself and her waiting lover. Tara loved being on Earth. Above all, she loved being completely and unchallengeably superior to anything it could offer.

The little metal pellet that had buried itself between her breasts was merely the latest manifestation of that superiority. She knew where it was trapped without having to drop her gaze. She could feel it being squeezed by her perfect feminine flesh as she continued to run, her grin and her bright, clear, beautiful eyes fixed on the increasingly panicked men inside the vehicle all the while. The sensation created by the still hot pellet as it rested, enveloped by her curves, was pleasant, just as the sensation when it had initially struck her at speed had been. Or when each of the thousands of other similar bits of ammunition had hit her face and body over the past few moments.

She had felt each and every impact in much the same way she was experiencing the sensations generated by the heated pellet stuck in her glorious cleavage: as a source of delight. It was as if the entire universe had moulded itself around her and Lyda, its physical laws and rules modifying so that the two girls could feel only pleasure. They were far from immune to sensations here on Earth, they were merely incapable of experiencing them any other way than as pure enjoyment. Nothing could hurt them or cause them discomfort. Everything... from supposedly-deadly impacts to exposure to extreme heat, from the pathetically weak futile struggles of fragile Earthers to the incalculably powerful passionate embraces of each other... everything on this planet was pleasure for Tara and Lyda.

There was no need for Tara to look away from the men she was chasing in order to locate the piece of metal lodged in the wonderful valley of her chest. She merely let her fingers be guided by the enjoyable feelings it was generating, reaching for it with deliberate slowness so that the Earther males in the vehicle would have little difficulty following her movements. The projectile had been twice deformed - firstly when it had initially struck the invulnerable inner curves of her breasts at speed, and subsequently when it had been compressed by the natural movements of her superhuman chest as she ran. She extracted it in a languid, supremely erotic manner, dragging the defeated metal out of her cleavage and then around the perfect arc of her right breast, teasing her audience before finally, unhurriedly, holding it up, between her thumb and forefinger, in front of her gorgeous, still smiling, face.



Houlot had been momentarily stunned by the sight of his bullet stuck in its supremely feminine resting place. He'd assumed that she hadn't even noticed it. If so many hundreds and thousands of other slugs hadn't so much as bruised her lovely skin, and her unchanging grin suggested that none of them had caused her any form of pain, it didn't seem much of a leap of imagination to conclude that she wasn't even feeling them. But then, without bothering to glance down, she had fished it out. So she must've been aware of it... she must've felt it... it just didn't make sense. The way she slowly traced the curve of her breast with the bullet briefly made him forget his confusion, his fingers frozen on the trigger of his weapon as she held up the spent shot between her own digits. He found himself emitting a gasp, partly from shock, and partly from lust.

For a few seconds the Private just stared at the bullet and the stunning female face behind it. Some of the men around him seemed to be as stunned as he was, their weapons temporarily silent as they struggled and failed to come to terms with what they were witnessing. Others were still firing at the remarkable girl, their on-going attempts at wounding her equally as ineffective as those of the men doing nothing but gawking. They might as well have been showering her with confetti rather than bullets.

Houlot couldn't work out what he should do. Should he resume firing in the hope that one of his bullets could achieve what ten thousand others could not? Should he let the absurdity of the situation overwhelm him and resort to crazed screaming? Or should he just continue to look at her and allow her astonishing beauty to finish the job of scrambling his mind? Her hand holding the bullet obscured part of her face from his perspective, but he could still see most of her smile - the rich full lips that she was parting and her perfect, dazzling, sexy teeth. And her eyes! So bright, so clear, so... Oh God... Was she looking at him? Directly at him amongst all the men in the truck?

She was! There was no doubt now. Her sparkling, captivating eyes were locked onto his own, astonished eyeballs. He felt the spark, the jolt of excitement and nerves he always felt when a beautiful girl met his gaze, only many times stronger than he had ever experienced before. His heart thumped. He could swear she was smiling even more broadly now, smiling for him in particular. His mouth was dry. The big gun he was still pointing at the incredible girl began to tremble very slightly. Could she really be interested in him? Surely not in that way... she was too beautiful, too sexy, too perfect for him... He felt his knees weaken. There was a flicker of movement in front of her face. A split-second later Private Houlot ceased feeling anything at all.



Tara enjoyed seducing the male who had shot the pellet that wedged itself in her cleavage. She made certain that she had him completely enrapt before, with the most effortless of tiny movements of her slender middle finger, she flicked the misshapen bit of metal towards his bulging eyes. When the thing had been fired towards her, it had boasted an aerodynamic shape and had been propelled by powerful explosives. Now, mutilated, and pushed by a casual gesture from a delicate-looking female finger, it travelled a dozen times faster. When the male had sent it her way it's force had been entirely absorbed and defeated by her chest, causing her nothing but a passing pleasant sensation. Now, as she sent it back, it tore a rough hole right through the male's face, its trajectory unaffected by the Earther flesh and bone in its path.

The semi-crushed little projectile passed unhindered through the fabric roof of the vehicle, continuing to rise as several of the shocked males inside where splattered with blood from their murdered colleague. Panicked cries of "What the hell?" and "Oh god!" reached Tara's pretty ears amongst the continuing racket of weapons futilely firing and shots pinging uselessly from her stunning body. Her grin briefly became a delighted chuckle.

For a moment, she considered selecting another male and repeating the trick of capturing and then lethally returning a piece of his ammunition, but then she recalled how the distance between her and Lyda was growing with every passing moment as she continued to chase the trio of single-file vehicles. She could play that game another time. Right now, she decided, she was going to carry out her plan to bring the Earthers in the three vehicles back to her waiting lover.



Fernandez hadn't seen Houlot's demise behind his back, but he had felt a splash of blood on his neck, and he'd heard the gasps of the other men, not to mention the thud of his colleague's body slumping to the floor. When he saw the beautiful, bulletproof girl laughing, he realised that she was responsible for the kill and felt the fear in the pit of his stomach grow. More in desperation than hope, he continued to fire his weapon at her. Then, suddenly, far too quickly for him or any of the other men firing around him to react, she seemed to become a barely visible streak that moved sideways for an instant and then vanished from view. Startled by this latest, seemingly impossible development, and with no target in sight now, he and the other men in the truck stopped shooting.

"What the fuck just happened?" asked Fernandez, in disbelief.

"She... she just disappeared..." Private Dupont hesitantly observed.

"She overtook us!" declared Private Lacron, his voice betraying more than a hint of panic. "She ran round us and overtook us! I swear! Like we were standing still!"

"No way!" Fernandez dismissed the claim. "We must be doing a hundred..."

"Which side?" asked Dupont.

"Eh?" Fernandez responded, his mind now too confused to follow.

"Which side did she overtake us on, Lacron?" Dupont clarified both his question and the identity of its intended target.

"She went outside us," Lacron answered. "Like a fucking missile. I swear I saw her!"

Dupont stepped to the edge of the back of the truck and, holding on for balance, leaned his head as far around the indicated side of the vehicle as he could. He saw the flank of the lorry, and some of the side of the truck in front. The smaller lead vehicle was hidden from his view. He could see the tarmac racing past below. But he could not see a girl in a bikini. Carefully, he swung himself back inside.

"Are you sure you saw her go that way?" he pressed Lacron.

"I've never been more sure of any-" Lacron's protest was cut short by the sound of an explosion. Before anyone could say anything else, the lorry's brakes were slammed, hard. All of the men in the back lost balance. Several tripped over the bloody corpse of Private Houlot, falling into others as they were all thrown towards the cab-end of the truck. Yells of pain told of bones being broken in the chaos.



It was still thrilling for Tara to pit herself against Earther machinery. She took two steps to the side and then effortlessly increased the pace of her jog, revelling in the sensation of her power as her sexy legs propelled her at several times the speed of the noisy vehicles' engines, passing first the big transporter that she had been chasing, then the near-identical one in front within a dozen strides. Even as she shot past the huge machines, so fast in comparison that they might as well have been stationary, she knew that she was using only a fraction of the speed available to her. Neither Earthers themselves, nor their most powerful machines, could even begin to challenge her physically. All they could offer her and Lyda was the opportunity for fun.

Four more superhuman strides carried Tara beyond the smaller vehicle at the head of the convoy. Whereas the long sections behind the engines of the two larger machines were covered on three sides by nothing more than fabric, this front-most transporter was encased entirely in metal. Even the transparent panels at the front, through which the controller could observe the track on which he was travelling, were protected by a diagonal criss-cross of thick metal wires.

The beautiful brunette from a different dimension had no need for special transparent materials, however. Her lovely bright eyes could peer through metal and view what lay on the other side without any difficulty. She observed how the smaller vehicle had been constructed with thick solid plates around a frame of tubes. She guessed its builders had intended to make it more resistant to the kind of weapons that the Earthers in the rear vehicle had used so ineffectively on her.

That guess, though, was merely a disinterested observation. The realisation that the transporter was armoured did not cause her to adjust her plans. She knew enough of Earth and its materials now to know that even the thickest metal would not be able to withstand her strength. Happily, and with the supreme confidence that comes from being a goddess in a mortal realm, she calmly stepped across the track into the vehicle's path. She had been running at over four times the speed of the convoy, yet she decelerated to a complete stop within a single stride, her perfect balance constant.

As Tara had come to expect, neither the male controlling the machine, nor any of the five inside with him, had sufficient time to react as she intersected with their path. To them, she supposed, she would simply have materialised from nowhere. If that is, there had been long enough for their brains to process the information from their eyes. But so slow were the functions of Earthers, the processing never happened.

Before any of the six could see her, the front of the vehicle, travelling at its top speed, had slammed into her thighs. The leading portion of the machinery, with its thick metallic protection instantly began to fold around her stunning, invulnerable body. Inside the transporter, the men were thrown forwards. The two nearest Tara slammed face first into the transparent panels which shattered but the metal grill covering them held firm long enough to reduce them to gore. More solid material pressed up in vain against her smooth flat belly as the males in the back were crushed up against the remains of those from the front.

Still, the vehicle's momentum fought its hopeless battle against the beautiful girl. The front of it wrapped itself around her middle, as though it were trying to take her in an embrace. The carnage within was complete, but the machine itself continued to be crushed against her flawless skin, pushing in vain against her groin, until the engine itself was compressed to such an extent that it tore into pieces, its fuel escaping and, inevitably, igniting, blasting the crumpled remains of the front of the transporter, along with the rest of the thing, and its gory contents, into a fiery fountain of red-hot chunks of metal.

Large pieces of the explosion slammed into the underside of Tara's large round breasts from point-blank range, dissolving into tiny fragments against her invulnerable feminine perfection. Flames surrounded her, heating her gorgeous face, her long, straight, silken dark brown hair and her magnificent body to extreme temperatures, even as shards of metal clattered into her at enormous speeds as the deformed embrace of her waist and hips ended with the defeated, compacted metal being shredded to fragments by the blast.

Through the lowering flickers of fire and the thickening clouds of black smoke, she could clearly see and hear the long vehicle that had been following the one she'd just destroyed now screeching to a halt, its primitive stopping mechanism struggling to slow the huge behemoth before it, too, would hit her. She could see right through the two panicking men in the front part of the transporter, and watched the sixteen males in the back portion being thrown off their feet by the sudden stop, crashing painfully into one another. Then she peered beyond them to observe the same chaos taking place in the big vehicle behind - the one whose now unbalanced, tangled men had been using their weapons against her moments ago. She couldn't help but laugh at their helplessness.



"Fucking hell!" screamed Corporal Montard as the armoured van he'd been following at one hundred and ten kilometres per hour exploded without warning. Instinctively he hit the brakes as hard as he dared without overturning the truck full of men he was driving. Did he see something hit the front of the van in the instant before it blew up? It all happened so quickly, he couldn't be sure if his eyes and his brain had deceived him, but it seemed as if the armoured vehicle had stopped as if it'd had crashed into a wall across the road a split-second before it became a fireball.

A burning piece of van whistled millimetres away from Montard's side window as he fought to keep control of the truck and slow it down before it hit whatever was left of the destroyed vehicle. He shut his eyes in self-preservation as another bit of shrapnel came spinning towards his wind-shield, heard the crack of impact and felt a sharp sting across his cheek. He could feel the blood from a fresh gash pouring down his face. When he looked again, he saw that the glass in front bore a jagged hole surrounded by a complex network of cracks.

He held his nerve, concentrating on maintaining the lorry's balance as the tyres skidded on the road surface. Although their speed was decreasing steadily, he realised quickly enough that the distance to the remains of the van was insufficient to achieve a complete stop. Experience told him that there was no chance of steering the long vehicle around the wreck without tipping it over.

The bright orange flames and thick black smoke now beginning to rise obscured his vision, so that he couldn't tell what might hit the front of his truck, or where any impact might occur. He could only hope that they would have slowed enough for any collision to be survivable, if not for him or for the Private seated beside him, then at least for the sixteen men in the back. Gripping the wheel tightly, keeping his foot pressed on the brake, he braced himself, and began uttering a silent prayer.

As the fire and fumes filled his view through the busted wind-shield, he thought he could see something, no - wait - someONE moving. A humanoid figure. Female. Yes, he was sure now. It was a young woman. Standing. In a bikini. In the middle of the burning wreckage. A stunningly attractive young woman. Walking calmly through the smoke and flames towards him. "Oh shit," he thought, resignedly. "I'm already dead and an angel is coming to take me to the afterlife." That seemed the only possible explanation for what he was seeing.



What was that? Thierry saw the flash of light dead ahead on the horizon moments before he felt his car being briefly buffeted by some kind of shock-wave. He peered into the distance and saw what looked like flames around a kilometre down the road. Another explosion!

He could feel the adrenaline start to flow through his heart as he pressed ever harder on the accelerator pedal beneath the sole of his shoe. Something major was going on, and he was going to get the exclusive scoop on it. This was going to be his ticket out of regional news and into the big time. He narrowed his eyes at the road ahead, noting the fresh pall of black smoke that was beginning to climb skyward. It wouldn't be long until he got close enough to see. And to film.



Tara knew at once that for all the noise of the big vehicle's deceleration systems, the thing wasn't going to slow down enough to avoid hitting her and the remains of the exploded transporter. She'd seen enough of these primitive transport devices to calculate that contact with the fire all around her or, indeed, forceful contact with her herself, would probably cause the huge machine to blow up like the smaller one had done. That would instantly be the end for all the Earthers inside. But her plan was to bring as many as she could back to where Lyda was waiting for her, so that her friend could observe her having "fun" with them at close quarters.

It was clear that neither the male controlling the vehicle nor the mechanisms that he was operating were capable of stopping in time. She would have to do their work for them. She realised that she needed to bring the thing to a halt before it reached the heat and flames that continued to caress her perfect skin. Although the blaze left her untouched, she knew that it might well destroy the vehicle. So she took a couple of languid, easy steps towards the front of the huge transporter, strolling out of the fiery wreckage, and casually straightened her right arm, holding out her palm towards the on-coming behemoth.

The thing had already slowed significantly, but she did not take the risk of holding her arm out rigidly and allowing it to slam into her petite hand. That might have caused enough damage to the transporter to have triggered another explosion. Instead, she relaxed her slender arm, withdrawing her palm slightly as the vehicle impacted to absorb most of the force of the collision. With immaculate precision and fluid, feminine grace, Tara's long, shapely arm overpowered the massive machine's momentum, bringing it to a complete halt in the space of a single stride.

The only damage sustained by the vehicle was a series of small dents left by her pretty fingers, but despite the perfect control she had exhibited, the deceleration was sharp enough to cause the two men in the front portion to be launched forwards out of their seats, their skulls simultaneously smashing through the brittle window that had been in front of them, showering her in tiny sharp fragments.

The shards had no effect on Tara but the two males received countless cuts as they passed through the remains of the transparent panel. The sharp stop had thrown the pair clear of the vehicle on a trajectory that would have ended with impact with the vehicle track about five paces behind her, had she not chosen to intervene by raising her arms and catching them both, one with each hand, by their armpits. The duo screamed in unison as her fingers closed on them, her effortless grips enough to crush the muscles of their upper arms.



Montard had seen the angel walk out of the fire, not even a single, gorgeous hair on her heavenly head singed by the inferno. He'd seen her appear to reach for the truck as it slid towards her. Then he'd felt a sudden jolt that pitched him Private Clement through the windscreen. He had braced himself for the inevitable impact with the road, only for his brief flight to be unexpectedly cut short as a horrendous pain at the top of his right arm made him cry out.

It took him a moment to recover his abilities to look and think. The angel was close now, really close. Her stunning face was only about thirty centimetres from his own. Clement was close by too. She was holding them both by the arm! The pain... the terrible crushing pain was being caused by her. He glanced momentarily across as his colleague, and saw from his contorted expression that she was hurting him as well. What kind of a welcome to the after-life was this?

Montard tried to free his arm and realised he couldn't. The angel looked so slender, her hand so feminine, it didn't seem possible that she could maintain such an inescapable grip. And the agony! Surely, there should be no more pain if he was with the angels now. Maybe... maybe he thought, I'm not actually dead. Maybe I'm still alive. But how do I explain the angel... Unless... unless she isn't an angel. But she certainly looks like an angel. And I saw her walking unharmed through fire... and this grip, this crushing, painful grip she has on me...

"Let me go! You're hurting me!" Clement's desperate cry beside him focussed Montard's thoughts. With his free, undamaged arm, he reached for the pistol holstered on his hip. Meanwhile his colleague's frantic efforts to secure freedom continued. Having failed with a plea, Clement balled his untrapped hand into a fist and drove it at the centre of the sublime face of the angel - or whatever she was. Montard heard the sound of his companion's bones disintegrating on impact, instants before the inevitable scream that accompanied this latest injury. For her part, angel or not, their tormentor did not even blink as the futile blow landed.

Total panic overwhelmed both men. Clement continued to yell as he stared at the remains of his fist. Montard freed his pistol, released the safety and, with the end of the barrel barely five centimetres from the glorious smooth flat plane of the mysterious young woman's exposed belly, fired off a shot. Instantly, his colleague fell silent. Montard saw gushing blood. It took him a couple of seconds to realise the source of it was a new huge, gaping wound in Clement's chest. He knew at once that the other Private was dead.

But.. the gun had been pointing the other way when he shot. At the angel's stomach. Yet when he looked there wasn't even a hint of redness on her sexy belly. How had his pistol malfunctioned so badly? He quickly examined the weapon. It looked completely intact with no sign of a misfire. What the hell was happening? He turned his gaze from his weapon and found himself face to face with his stunning captor.



When the male in her left hand had extracted his pathetic Earther weapon and activated it less than a hand-span away from her middle, Tara easily predicted the outcome. She had already resolved to silence the screeching creature in her other hand, so she opted not to intervene. The little metal pellet duly performed exactly as she had anticipated, first pressing itself against the warm, silky perfection of her belly, its shape changing as it grew shorter and wider, the result of utter defeat in the battle first to penetrate then to mark her beauty.

Once the shot could flatten no further against her sexy stomach, its remaining force sent it recoiling away from its conqueror, directly towards the chest of the shattered-handed screamer. In contrast with Tara's exposed midriff, neither the male's uniform, nor his skin nor what lay beneath could provide any meaningful challenge to the now disc-shaped projectile. It carved a channel deep into his body, silencing him forever.

Tara waited whilst the still living member of the duo looked from his dead companion to the weapon in his hand and finally back to her. His feeble Earther mind clearly hadn't been able to process the events of the past few moments. She burst into laughter at the mixture of confusion, fear and awe on his face.



She was laughing! Clement was dead and the incredible young woman in the bikini was laughing at him! This was not how Montard believed angels were supposed to behave. But... she was so beautiful. Her mouth was open now as she chuckled, her perfect sexy teeth fully visible. She certainly looked other-worldly. And yet her behaviour and the agonisingly crushing grip she was maintaining on his upper arm were much more consistent with the actions of a demon than an angel.

He stared at her stunning face, his terror and confusion and the overwhelming power of her beauty all leaving him unable to look away. There was something in her gorgeous eyes, a glint of pure joy that hinted at a mocking quality to her laugh, as if she was merely toying with him for her own amusement. As if she had something planned for him. Something unspeakable.

Was she reading his thoughts? Or was it just the growing fear that must've shown on his face as they raced through his mind? What prompted her to chose that particular moment, as her maliciously glinting eyes looked deep into his own, to wink seductively? Montard would never learn the answer. Nor would he struggle with the question for long.



Tara could not help winking at her latest conquest. It symbolised the moment her superiority would become complete. The precise moment, chosen by her, that the male's awe- and terror-filled features would be permanently preserved. The moment she had decided his fate.

She barely needed to adjust her laugh. She merely allowed an effortless, gentle exhalation of her coldest breath to waft over him, instantly cooling everything it touched, turning the liquids of his body into ices in less time than it took his heart to complete a single beat. The wonderful expression on his face was frozen, immediately, along with every cell of his body.

Tara took a moment to admire her work as it continued to hang from her grip. She was aware that there were two huge vehicles full of men in front of her and was reminded of her plan to bring them all back to where Lyda was waiting. The distant sound of a vehicle engine far down the track behind her gave her an idea what to do with the two dead ones she was currently holding.

Using only her ears to judge the location of the single, far-off, approaching vehicle, she tossed the two corpses, one still warm and bloody, the other completely frozen, over her smooth round shoulders. Her slender, long arms imparted incalculable force as she released the bodies, her graceful, casual-looking double fling more than powerful enough to launch the pair on a five-hundred-paces-long interception course.



For a split-second, Thierry tore his eyes from the road ahead to glance to the seat beside him and guide his right hand into the passenger glove compartment where he had stashed his camera. He wanted to be ready to start capturing whatever it was that he was headed into, as soon as he got there.

When he turned his gaze back towards the ever-nearing black smoke, it was already too late. He barely had enough time to figure out what the twin objects were. Two soldiers, flying like rockets, right at his car. Instinctively, he tried to protect his face with his forearms before the bizarre missiles simultaneously impacted with his wind-shield.

The glass cracked and caved but not before one of the soldiers had dissolved into a shower of gore and the other had smashed like brittle pottery into a thousand chunks. Thierry's arms successfully saved his face from serious injury. They also shielded him from the horrific sight of the double collision.

He let his hands retake their positions on the steering wheel, his eyes now open, the sight of blood splashed all over the front of the car making him momentarily nauseous. He slowed to a short but controlled halt, still in shock. Ahead, he could see nothing but red gore and cracked glass. He needed to get out of the car.

Grabbing the camera, he realised it had been splashed with the same red sticky wetness that covered much of the remains of the windscreen. Desperate now for fresh air, he pulled at the small lever beside him and pushed, expecting the nearside door to fly open. But nothing happened. He tried again, and then, nearly reaching full panic, for a third time. Still, he was unsuccessful.

If he had been able to achieve clarity of mind at that moment, he would have deduced that the horrific impact of the two bodies had distorted the frame of his car, resulting in the door becoming jammed. But the frantic nature of his thoughts obscured the bits of his brain that handled logic. All he knew was that he had to get out and he couldn't. He began to push increasingly desperately with his shoulder against the door.



Tara looked at the big, now driverless, machine in front of her, with its jumbled cargo of still-entangled males in the back, and then beyond, through the helpless men, to the identical transporter with similar contents behind it. Without realising the fact, she was becoming an expert on Earther vehicles. In only a few days, she had already discovered and mastered ways to overpower engines, to immobilise all kinds of transporters, lift them, tear them in half, make them explode and to launch them into the air.

As she walked up to the front of the behemoth, she moved with even more assuredness than normal, utterly certain that her intended actions would have the exact results she intended. She knew how to move the two massive machines without destroying either in a fireball. She was certain she could bring both vehicles to Lyda without excessively damaging either the containers or their weak, fragile contents.

She moved in an efficient but unhurried manner. True, she needed to carry out her plan before any of the men inside the machines had enough time to pick themselves up and climb out. But Earthers were so slow and clumsy that she was aware she did not need to rush. Her urgency stemmed from her keenness to be beside her lover.

With her hands now free having disposed of the two males from the front portion of the nearest vehicle, she stepped up to the thing's engine housing and placed her open palms against it. There was no change to her stride as her long slender arms instantly overpowered the huge machine's inertia.

She pushed the vehicle backwards, at a brisk walking pace, until she felt the jolt as it hit the front of the second transporter. The task was easy, her sleek arms generating the required power without any hint of exertion, the demand on her body only a miniscule fraction of its phenomenal capability.

Her acquired knowledge of the planet's primitive technology told her that if she had pushed the first machine any faster or harder, the ensuing collision risked provoking an explosion that might've destroyed both sets of men. And Tara did not want them destroyed. Not until she was back with Lyda.

Once the impact had occurred, she was free to use a little more force in her arms and to move her fabulous legs with more speed. With the lead vehicle pressed up against the rear one, the two machines behaved as a single object. Twice the weight to move, twice the inertia to defeat. She failed utterly to notice the added challenge as she started to accelerate from walking speed to an easy jog.



Private Dessari was slumped on the steering wheel. Beside him, Kircher was similarly bowed, his forehead resting on the passenger side dashboard. Unlike his companion, Kircher was conscious. He moaned with the pain in his head and his neck, trying to recall the events leading up to his current predicament.

He remembered the eerie, sudden silencing of the guns being fired by the men in the back of the truck. He had been about to turn around and shout at the guys to ask what was going on when something - presumably the armoured van leading the convoy - had exploded on the other side of the lorry in front.

Montard, the driver of the truck in front, must have slammed on his brakes dangerously hard because Dessari had no warning before he too had to smash his foot down to avoid slamming into the men in the back of Montard's vehicle. That was when both Dessari and Kircher had been flung forward. It was also the last thing that Kircher could recall. It explained the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his neck.

He lifted his head, wincing as his neck protested strongly. Slowly, he turned towards Dessari. His colleague, he gathered, had struck the top rim of the big steering wheel with his forehead. Kircher could see a small trickle of blood where Dessari and the wheel had come together. He could also see that Dessari was still breathing. Knocked out cold, but breathing.

In the back of Dessari's truck, Fernandez was still trying to regain his feet having been thrown off balance along with all the others by the same sharp stop that had wounded Kircher and Dessari. Dupont was still on the floor of the truck, unable to stand, gritting his teeth as he clutched his leg. Someone had fallen hard into it, and he didn't need a doctor to know that he'd broken a bone.

Nearby, Lacron was trying to push the ever-bloodier corpse of his former colleague Houlot off his chest. In the chaos, he'd ended up at the bottom of a pile of men, pinned by the dead man and someone else on top of the heap. Whoever it was whose weight had been pressing Houlot against Lacron had taken a while to move off. Now, at least, he could start getting the corpse off him.

But before Lacron could complete the unpleasant task, the lorry was jolted from the front, causing quite a few of the recovering men to lose their footing once again. Someone slipped in Houlot's blood and tripped over Lacron and a flailing arm caught Fernandez across the waist, winding him, sending him staggering back until he in turn collided with another man.

Lacron lifted his head and shoulders, digging his elbows into the floor to try and get enough purchase to pull himself out from under the remains of Houlot. He caught a glimpse of the road through the back of the truck. They were moving. In reverse. And accelerating. Really quickly. Too quickly. But... the engine was off! And they were going fast... Way, way faster than he believed any lorry could ever move.

Fernandez, Lacron, Dupont and all the others who were still conscious could feel the gravitational forces increase as the truck they were in, inexplicably, incomprehensibly, moved with increasing speed back down the road they had driven on minutes before. The men were being pushed, hard, towards the front of the lorry by the sheer velocity making movement almost impossible and escape entirely impossible.

Not that anyone could survive jumping from a truck travelling at.. what? Lacron tried to estimate their speed from the blur of landscape. Two hundred? Three? More? There was a series of metallic pings on the floor under him as they rode over some of the ammunition that they had poured futilely from their weapons onto the mind-bending girl in the bikini. This all had to be a dream. A horrid, terrifying nightmare.



Moving the two huge vehicles, backwards, at nearly four times the maximum speeds their engines could achieve, was no challenge at all for Tara. She ran comfortably as she pushed the machines, knowing that she could call on the endless internal reserves of pure power that filled her beautiful body and increase her pace at any time.

But she took care to judge her pace precisely. After all, getting the things into motion without destroying their frail contents was the easiest part. Slowing them down again, bringing them to a halt exactly where Lyda was impatiently standing, all the while keeping their cargo intact, required a fraction more skill.

She'd forced the two machines just over half of the way from their furthest point back to Lyda. Her other-worldly judgement told her this was the moment to hand over control of the two massive machines to the forces of momentum, gravity and friction. Taking her palms from the front of the transporter she had been pushing, she immaculately side-stepped it and effortlessly accelerated her run.

Tara shot past the two machines as they were just beginning to slow from their peak velocity. In no time at all she was sprinting away from them, racing down the vehicle track followed by the ever more distant vehicles. Her eyes were locked on those of Lyda, the two girls grinning adoringly at each other as their reunion grew closer with every stride of Tara's glorious, superhuman legs.



Thierry had finally conceded defeat to the car doors. Neither the driver- nor the passenger-side would open no matter how much he pushed or battered his fists against them. He clambered awkwardly into the back of his car, crawling over various newspapers and documents that he had strewn on the back seats. The right-hand rear door didn't open at the first try but after a few more attempts and a shove that bruised his shoulder, it finally yielded.

He was so anxious to take fresh air and get away from the gore coating the front of the vehicle that he did not notice the unusual debris scattered on the road as he clumsily climbed out. After two uneasy steps, he felt something under his foot and glanced down just in time to recognise the shape of part of a human hand.

He was not in time to stop himself transferring a significant portion of his weight onto that foot. Confusingly, the hand shattered like crystal glass under his shoe. He knew enough about anatomy to be surprised by this. Staring in shock at the resulting fragments, he noticed another piece of body, possibly a section of an upper arm, a few centimetres from his toes.

Professional curiosity triumphed over his natural disgust and he bent low to investigate the body part. After the strange crumbling of the hand he'd stepped on, he reached for the piece of arm, hoping to test its texture and gain some understanding of what the hell might have happened to its ex-owner.

Before he could touch the thing, he snatched back his outstretched fingers with a sharp intake of breath. "Fuck, that's cold!" he thought. Tentatively, he moved his palm towards the bit of corpse. The coldness made his palm burn from several centimetres away. He gave up the idea of touching the macabre object.

A flash of memory hit the front of his mind from somewhere deep within. Back in school. In Chemistry. The teacher had wheeled in a container of liquid nitrogen and dipped a piece of flexible rubber tubing into the smoky pot. Thierry remembered the whole class gasping as the teacher then smashed the tube with a hammer. This poor guy's body must've been dipped in something like that.

He had to find out what was going on. The police seemed to have some idea, and the Interior Minister had to be in possession of enough information to order a road closure. He was going to get to the truth on behalf of his viewers. Not to mention his career. With the video camera clutched in his hand, he started to walk, as quick as he could, down the highway towards the thinning pall of black smoke dead ahead.



Lyda's irresistible smile broadened as Tara came trotting up to her. She could see the two big Earther vehicles trundling down the track behind her lover, but her eyes were fixed on the vision of beauty far in front of them. Tara. Her fellow renegade, the awakener of her volcanic passion, her only equal in this dimension.

They had only been apart a short while, but Lyda thrilled at the thought of once again embracing the lithe body that was moving so majestically towards her. "Oh, Tara!" she sighed, opening her arms as the other girl finally came to a halt, her final step carrying her into the waiting hug.

"Lyda!" grinned Tara as the two girls wrapped their long arms around each other. Tara bent her knees very slightly to compensate for her slight extra height. Their two, magnificent full, round busts came together with enough force to crush diamonds out of existence, the incalculable pressure registering only as lustful warmth to them both. They kissed, hard, deep and long, their tongues clashing with the same astonishing power as their chests.

All through their passionate initial coming together, the two big Earther vehicles continued to approach, much less quickly now than when Tara had been pushing them, but still carrying enough of the force received from the taller girl's sexy body to keep them moving as fast as their noisy engines had ever managed.

"I loved it when they were all using their weapons on you," panted Lyda, when they eventually broke off their kiss long enough for either to talk. Her lips were still just a finger-width from Tara's as she spoke. Beneath their upper garments, each of the girls' excited nipples pressed insistently into its counterpart.

"I thought you would like that," breathed Tara, her eyes glinting mischievously. Lyda caught the sparkle, and almost shuddered with pure lust.

"And when you were pushing them," Lyda continued her commentary, "I was looking through all those helpless men, watching you, seeing your power... Oh Tara!" The shorter girl had ran out of ways to express her feelings.

"I know you were," responded Tara. "I was looking through them at you, too."

The confirmation of what Lyda already suspected pleased the darker-haired beauty. "I love watching you being an all-powerful goddess." Lyda confessed, unnecessarily. She knew that Tara already understood her feelings. She also knew that Tara enjoyed watching her demonstrating her own power just as much.

But, for now, it was Tara's turn to show off and Lyda's to observe. The two big vehicles still on the approach and the Earther males they were bringing were the physical embodiment of that agreement.

"Would you like to see some more of my power, Lyda?" teased the taller girl as the slightly slowing transporters closed to within a hundred paces, now moving at about four-fifths of the speed that the engines had achieved earlier.

"Very much," Lyda exhaled, lustfully.

"Would you like to see my power over this bunch of Earthers coming towards us right now?"

"Yes, Tara. I'd love to see that."

"What would you like to do with them?" Tara enquired.

"I want you to destroy them, Tara."

"Do you promise you'll be watching me the whole time, Lyda?"

"Oh, I promise. I promise."

"Well, if you promise..." Tara let the sentence remain incomplete as she turned away from her lover and strolled over to meet the onrushing transporters.



They were still moving too fast. Bailing, assuming he could stand up and walk to the edge of the lorry, would mean certain death. But, even with that knowledge, the sight, through the back of the truck, of the girl standing still in the middle of the road as the truck hurtled towards her, convinced Lacron that jumping out was the best option. He made one final attempt to get to his feet.

An acute pain shot the length of his left leg as he tried to put weight on it. Under any other circumstances, he would have given up. But somehow, from somewhere, he found the last scraps of inner strength to take an unsteady step. They were closing on her fast, perhaps eighty kilometres an hour, and he had to hurry. Another, limping stride. More agony. He had to go faster. But the pain!

Lacron screamed in an unsuccessful attempt to release the hurt from his body. He could see that he was running out of time. The girl, the terrifying, slim young woman who had come to be the object of all his fear, loomed nearer and nearer. He made a final, desperate effort to fling himself out of the back of the truck and fell short, onto the hard metal floor with a thud that brought a fresh wave of unbearable pain.

A second later, the rear fender smashed into her pretty knees and Lacron, and all the men in the truck with him were helplessly pitched, like dice from a backgammon shaker, into the air towards the open back of the vehicle. Almost all of them were thrown to one side or the other of the slender girl, sailing through the air beyond her to come crashing down, rolling uncontrollably over the road surface. Almost all of them.

Lacron himself was tossed by the collision face-first towards their unlikely tormentor. As he flew, he caught a glimpse of her smile but quickly his field of vision narrowed. He was heading straight for her amazing chest. And there was nothing that he could do about it. There wasn't even enough time for him to scream.

An instant later, he slammed, face-on, into the erotic glory of her other-worldly breasts. The impact crushed his nose and caved in his features, but he was spared the horror of feeling his skull give way. By that point, his neck had broken and he was dead. His lifeless, bloodied body rebounded from her perfect bust to finish crumpled inside the suddenly emptied lorry.



Merely by letting the big vehicle hit her, she'd managed to dislodge all the males from the transporter. Tara could hear them, rolling to a halt, some groaning on the ground behind her. The one that had hit her front no longer mattered. She'd enjoyed with the way he had met his end, the angular features of his supposedly tough, masculine face crumbling against the rounded curves of her feminine body. But now he was done.

There had been two more males in the front portion of the transporter. But the impact of the convoy against her knees had sent the twenty males in the furthermost vehicle flying backwards, just as it had done with those in the other machine. Whereas the men in the nearer transporter had been thrown clear, those in the farther vehicle had been tossed at the front of the one behind.

Now there was a jumble of men, some inside the front bit of the near machine, shattered transparent material sprinkled over and between them. The majority of those who'd been inside the father transporter had ended up piled in a heap on top of the engine housing at the front of the other vehicle. Tara's remarkable senses detected multiple signs of life amongst the chaos.

She decided to complete the task of separating men from vehicles. Bending low, she could not resist sticking out her fabulous rear and shaking it from side to side for Lyda's benefit and she took a hold of the back of the nearest transporter. Then she straightened up again, lifting the end of the huge machine as if it were weightless.

Taking a step back, Tara pulled the massive transporter away from its companion as easily as if it had been nothing more than a fallen leaf from a tree. Having opened a gap between the two vehicles, she raised her lovely long arms over her head, tilting the vast contraption at an ever steeper angle.

The corpse in the back rolled away from her. The pile of men slid from the front of the machine to tumble the short distance to the ground. Her remarkable eyes could see that there were still six males inside the front portion. She began to move her hands back and forwards, shaking the entire vehicle until four of those had been dislodged and tossed out on top of their comrades.

Sufficiently satisfied with her work, she decided not to bother with the remaining pair. Instead, she opted to discard the vehicle. She hadn't raised the front wheels from the track they were resting on, yet when she flung her arms to the side, the sheer power they imparted was sufficient to raise the whole massive transporter, rotating as it left the ground, spinning off to the side.

The giant contraption travelled nearly twenty paces before any part of it made contact with terra firma. Then it bounced twice, twisting with each impact before it broke it half and, a moment later, erupted in flames. Pieces of it rained down all around, some hitting the track. A few chunks of burnt twisted machinery came down onto one of the two clumps of males strewn on the ground, instantly killing those unfortunate enough to be hit.

Another piece of exploded vehicle descended directly onto Tara's head. It rebounded, vertically, from her invulnerable skull, once, twice and then a third time before sliding over her silken crown to crash down by her feet. What had proved fatal for several of the men proved to be incapable of singeing a single one of her lovely long brown hairs.

She cast her gaze over the two distinct groups of prostrate men, selecting one still breathing male at random and, without looking down, flicked her pretty toes at the newly-landed piece of debris. The casual movement sent the twisted lump of metal rocketing away from her, never rising more than a hand-span from the ground.

Her aim, as always on Earth, was perfect. Tara's improvised projectile obliterated the body of the target she had chosen and continued to travel far beyond what was left of him before it eventually came to rest over fifty paces away. By then, she had already strolled towards the nearest group of scattered men.



Through the viewfinder of the camera, at maximum zoom, he could see what it was now. An army van of some kind, horribly mangled at the front and completely burnt out. It was still smouldering. But there was no sign of any life anywhere around the wreck, no sign of any liquid nitrogen tanks, no sign of the full story Thierry was so desperately seeking.

He walked on, towards the destroyed van, hoping that closer inspection might reveal a scrap or two of information. A distant flash of yellow and orange caught his eye and confirmation of a new explosion came in the form of first a rumble of sound and then a growing thickening column of fresh black smoke.

He felt his pulse quicken, and his feet did likewise, breaking into a jog. Whatever had blown up the van had just now blown up something else further on down the highway. This was big. He could sense it. And whatever it was, it was still going on.



Private Fernandez had been only half conscious when the truck had finally, and way too suddenly, come to a halt. The jolt of the abrupt stop, and the sensation of air rushing over his body as he was flung out the back along with all the others, had shocked him into a more alert state just in time for him to experience the pain of landing onto the tarmac, his already bruised belly taking the brunt of the impact.

He'd rolled, over and over, knocking against other soldiers, along the hard road surface, feeling new agonies with every passing instant. Still, somehow, his brain had remained aware. When he finally came to rest, he lay, battered, unable to get up, helpless to do anything but watch as the girl they'd all been shooting at to no effect calmly lifted and then, even more unbelievably, tossed aside the truck in which he'd been riding.

"That thing must've weighed about ten tonnes!" Fernandez thought, "But she's just chucked it away like she was discarding a T-shirt!" Instinct told him he needed to move, to get as far away from her as he possibly could. But when he tried to gather his legs, they failed to respond. Only pain returned from his lower body, not the movement he sought.

When the thrown lorry had exploded, he did his best to cover his face with his hands as debris started to fall all around. Even bending his elbows was agonising. He heard, rather than saw, something landing nearby with a sickening crunch that could only have been flesh and bone. Peering through a crack in his fingers, he saw the top half of Dupont, soaked in blood. He had to look away when he realised how little was left of his former comrade's middle.

Turning his neck brought a new dimension to the hurt that was filling his entire existence. But he could not bear to see what had happened to his colleague. He fought back tears as he moved his head to the other side, blinking his eyes open once more. He saw heels. Naked, pretty, female heels and above them delicate-looking ankles. "Oh fuck!" he thought, "She's standing right next to me!"

If he had looked up he would have caught sight of the girl's sexy pert seat. Instead he stared at the heels as they were joined by a pair of hands. She was bending over. Reaching for something on the ground. It was a leg. A man's leg in torn, blood-stained army trousers. Her other hand was also seeking out something, just beyond the limit of his vision.

The hands rose, affording him a glimpse of a second leg clutched in the right grip, along with the original wounded limb held fast by the left hand. Her closed fingers left his sight. Two seconds later, a pair of heads appeared beside her ankles, dropping from above like emergency oxygen masks in an airplane. He realised immediately that she had lifted two different men by their lower legs, letting them both hang upside down from her twin grips.

One of the dangling men was screaming. Fernandez could feel the force of the yell on his face. He recognised who it was, the knowledge serving only to make the living nightmare he was experiencing even more horrific. The other man's mouth was open as if he too were shouting, but only a strange gurgle came out of it, followed by a thick trickle of blood that dripped onto the road.

The still-unfolding horror coupled with a strange function of his survival instinct prevented Fernandez from closing his eyes. As he continued to watch, he saw the two heads begin to swing like pendulums relative to the girl's slender ankles. Each swing was larger than the previous one. On the third swing, the heads left his sight and did not return. He heard the screams that had been so close a moment ago fading away into the distance.

Now he could see just the two heels again. One of them lifted slightly. He got a brief glimpse of the sole it was attached to before that, too, left his field of vision. Then there was a hint of smooth, creamy flesh in the periphery of his sight, quickly followed by a new, terrible agony as something pressed down on his belly. The pressure increased rapidly. He wanted to scream. Fernandez tasted blood. It filled his mouth. He couldn't breathe. The view of the girl's single heel faded to red and then to black.



Tara had walked over to the nearest cluster of stricken men, reached down and taken hold of a different male's lower leg with each of her hands before raising her twin catches and letting them dangle from her petite fists, the two heads almost brushing against the vehicle track beneath her feet. She swung the pair a few times, not because she needed to generate sufficient power to toss them away but because she hoped Lyda would enjoy the show.

She released both legs, and the helpless men attached to them, with a easy flick of both her tiny wrists that caused the unfortunate duo to spin rapidly as they were launched skyward. The two sets of limbs flailed spectacularly as both bodies twirled end over end away from her. Tara's sensitive hearing detected Lyda's tiny, excited gasp about twenty paces behind her, confirming that her display had achieved the desired effect.

She did not even have to bend down to finish off her next victim. He was lying right next to where she stood, so she simply raised her dainty bare foot and lowered it onto his middle, pressing down slowly, enjoying the sounds of frail Earther breaking beneath her sole. Then she removed her foot, replanting it on - relatively - solid ground.

Tara looked around her. A couple of the men, somehow, were starting to get up. The nearest of these was three steps away to her left. Tara, however, took six strides, walking in a unrushed three-quarter circle so that she was facing Lyda directly as she started the seventh, raising her left foot theatrically over the shoulders of a man who had pulled himself up onto all fours.

With his palms still planted on the vehicle track, the male turned his face upwards towards her. His features were drained of blood, a combination of terror and supplication, wordlessly pleading with her to spare him as she held her flawless sole motionless only the width of a finger above the top of his back.

For her lover's benefit, Tara placed her hands dominantly on her hips, thrusting out her wonderful big chest, her beautiful face tilted slightly skyward, her nose arrogantly in the air and her lips parted in a sexy sneer of superiority as she posed.

"Oh yes, my sexy Goddess!" exclaimed Lyda, barely able to conceal her passion as she voiced her enthusiasm. Tara did not move. Her slightly raised upper lip remained in place, as did her hovering foot. She waited, silently, letting the instants pass, teasing her black-haired friend and tormenting the man under her toes with her refusal to acknowledge either of them until both were desperate enough to give voice to their contrasting wishes.

"Do it, Tara!"

"Please, no! I beg you!"

Tara's head remained still, her gaze directed at the clouds. Tara's top lip remained still, her sneer fixed. Tara's foot did not remain still. It came down, slowly, onto the Earthers back. She pushed him relentlessly until his arms splayed out and his knees gave way and she was pinning him flat against the ground with just the tips of her gorgeous toes. Then she pushed some more until she heard his ribs begin to crack. His mangled hoarse scream was cut short by the snapping of his spine.

She stepped haughtily off the dead man, hands still resting on her shapely hips and, fixing Lyda with a stare, mimed a kiss at her. Lyda responded in kind.

Tara kept her palms on their station just below the level of her navel as she strolled through the cluster of men from the destroyed vehicle. One by one, she dispatched them with her feet. Some, she kicked in the belly as they crawled, launching them high into the air. Others, she hit with her toes in the rear as they tried to stand, sending them flying twenty, thirty, even forty paces away before they crashed down. Those who had not managed to get to their knees, she trod on, crushing them where they were.

The power of her exquisite legs made short work of the males. Not once did she break her stride as she kicked them, and not once did her hands leave her hips until she had destroyed every member of the group. Only then did she let her arms hang loose by her sides.

She walked away from the dead men, moving leisurely, swinging her hips so that Lyda would see her rear in irresistible motion as she headed towards the second batch of Earthers.



The burnt-out van had given Thierry no real clues to the big picture. Inside, he'd found a couple of charred skeletons but nothing else. He'd quickly abandoned the vehicular remains and continued his journey along the highway, aiming for the site of the most recent explosion.

After a few minutes' semi-brisk-walk and semi-jog, he began to notice the road becoming littered with bullet-casings. "A lot of guns were fired around here," he thought. Then, as he looked ahead and realised that the carpet of spent shells extended along the road into the distance as far as he could see, he updated his initial conclusion: "A hell of a lot of guns were fired from at least one moving vehicle for a pretty long time."

Thierry tried to envisage a scenario that might have left debris like he was witnessing. Two cars, racing, with the passengers firing automatic weapons at each other. There were too many bullets. It looked more like an army platoon had been spraying ammunition as it chased a target. But what kind of a target needed to be shot at that many times?

He felt his excitement becoming ever more tempered with nervousness. He glanced rapidly from one side to the other as he continued to follow the highway, ignoring the discomfort of the discarded metal underfoot.



Tara was about five paces away from the nearest of the remaining males. She'd spotted a weapon which one of the men must've dropped, probably when she'd caused them all to be thrown out of their vehicle onto the front of the one behind. Or maybe when she had moved and tipped the backmost vehicle to dislodge the heap of Earthers that had ended up piled on top of it...

The weapon was one of the two-handed type with the longer metal tube at the end. She wasn't particularly interested in distinguishing between the different classes of firearm used by the men. They all had the same effect on her. Or rather, they all failed to have any effect on her. But she was drawn to the long cylindrical portion.

She snatched up the weapon in her left hand and, with her right, pinched the tube between her girlish thumb and forefinger. The metal groaned as it instantly yielded to her strength, bending to her whim. Tara did not register any resistance as her two digits met, compressing the material trapped between them to liquid, gas and then, apparently, nothingness as the weapon was cut in two.

The half with the activating lever fell by her feet, but she held on to the tube. Lifting one end of it towards her mouth, she parted her lips and slowly, erotically, pushed it onto her tongue. Then she closed her beautiful jaws over the metal, her perfect teeth effortlessly slicing off a short length inside her mouth.

Her lips sealed, she began to chew, using her tongue, molars and incisors to break the single piece of hollow metal into countless tiny fragments. Turning her head, she selected two men who were crawling, side by side, away from the cluster, perhaps aiming for some kind of shelter behind the surviving, empty transporter.

Tara opened her mouth, and blew its contents towards the pair. The little fragments of metal became deadly projectiles when driven by the power of her lungs, tearing through the men and embedding themselves deep in the surface of the vehicle track.

She took another bite from the rod in her hand and picked another Earther. His legs were already so badly damaged that he was trying to slide away by dragging himself along the vehicle track using his elbows. This time she elected not to chew, instead spitting out the length she had cut with her teeth whole, watching as it drilled through the back of his head and emerged in a shower of gore from the other side.

She raised the tube in her hand to her lips once more. This time, she took a smaller chomp and manoeuvred the piece between her teeth. Tara walked over to a man lying helplessly on his back. She used her tongue to push the lump of metal out of her mouth, firing it through his heart with a force that the builders of the original weapon could only have dreamed of.

Spotting three Earthers in a jumbled heap about ten steps away, she flicked her wrist, releasing the remainder of the metal cylinder from her hand. The power and accuracy of her casual throw were evidenced by the path the piece of tubing carved through all three bodies, obliterating the face of one, piercing the neck of the next, and ripping through the chest of the last.

Tara walked past the trio, her lovely bare feet leaving red prints on the vehicle track as she stepped through the ever-growing puddle of Earther blood.



"Colonel Gerbert, how is it possible in this day and age, that you can lose contact with an entire platoon?"

"Madame Minister, I have explained the facts as I understand them. Having spoken with Colonel Ferraud, and having seen the preliminary reports of possible explosions, I can only assume they have been engaged by the same unknown hostile elements as Ferraud's men and, although it is too early to say, it seems highly probable that both platoons have been neutralised by those elements."

"I gave you strict instructions to tell your men NOT to engage with those, er, elements, Colonel."

"And I relayed those instructions as orders, Madame. From the last communications I received, it was the elements that engaged my men, and not the other way around."

"So these, um, elements are acting in a hostile manner without provocation?"

"That does appear to be the situation."

"And you believe that your men have been killed by the elements, just as Colonel Ferraud believes his men have been too?"

"At this stage, Madame Minister, it is difficult for me to imagine any other outcome."

"And the, er, elements themselves... You have no description of them, other than what I have received from Colonel Ferraud? That there appears to be two, er, apparently unarmed young women working with them? Any reports of weapons or vehicles or snipers or... or... anything else?"

"Madame, following my conversation with Colonel Ferraud, and having analysed all relevant communications from his men and mine, I can only conclude that the two young women are the entirety of the elements."

"You realise that that is not possible, Colonel."

"I can only state the facts I have. From what I can gather, no-one else is involved."

"But, surely, Colonel, you do not believe these reports of bulletproof girls in bikinis picking up jeeps."

"I believe my men reported what they saw, Madame. As does Colonel Ferraud."

"Very well, Colonel. Please remain in situ for now. We should have aerial reconnaissance shortly. I will ensure you are kept informed as necessary."

"Thank you, Madame Minister. Goodbye."



Thierry felt as if he'd been walking on used ammunition for ages. From time to time, he'd spot an actual bullet, rather than the casings that were strewn everywhere along the road. Some of them were barely recognisable, flattened almost into coin-shapes. A couple had been bent nearly in half.

He tried to piece it together. There had to have been a group of soldiers in a van or a lorry, or maybe a bus-load of gangsters... definitely a large group of people shooting multiple weapons simultaneously as they travelled together down the highway. And whatever they were shooting at, well, when they hit it, their bullets bent or squashed up.

What would you chase in a bus that did that to bullets? Maybe an armoured van. No, these slugs looked liked they'd been fired into a block of solid steel. Maybe even something harder than that... Whatever it was, the guys with the weapons had been desperate to stop it or kill it. It was all getting a bit weird. In a scary way. Especially when he factored in the explosions, the flying corpses and the frozen remains...



Very few of the remaining Earthers were conscious and none of them were moving any more. Tara set to work quickly. Far too quickly for a native of the planet to follow her movements as she began picking up bodies by their arms or legs, not discriminating between those that were dead, unconscious or merely too wounded to move. As she reached each one, she tossed it with one hand towards a point midway between the two clusters. Rapidly, she tidied the vehicle track, clearing the two patches of scattered Earthers and creating a single, large pile.

The only other being capable of following her actions watched her carefully. Lyda soon understood what her companion was doing and walked over towards the new, huge, heap of men. "That was great, Tara!" she commented, her appreciation of her lover's display of power entirely genuine. "But what's this big pile for?"

"It's for you, Lyda."

"Oh Tara! Thank you. But they're all destroyed already. Or as good as destroyed.." Lyda pouted.

"Well, when I say they're for you," began Tara, enjoying the view of Lyda's pout getting even poutier, "I mean they're for us."

"For us?" asked Lyda, raising an eyebrow sexily. There were over thirty Earthers in the pile. In places they were stacked five deep. The shorter girl caught the gleam in her lover's eyes. Suddenly, she thought she understood what Tara was intending. "You mean," she asked, slowly, "they're going to be our bed?"

"Uh-huh," confirmed Tara, grinning.

"But I don't feel like sleeping, Tara."

"I know you don't Lyda. Neither do I."

"Oh Tara!"

"Oh Lyda!"



"We have selected you for this task because the Panel of Society need a person of trust, who will be able to bring the miscreants to the Justices as efficiently as possible."

"I am honoured to be given the duty, Excellency."

"Do not spend any longer than necessary locating them. Do not allow yourself to be distracted by... by being on Earth. It is imperative that you avoid engagement with Earthers and Earther technology."

"Of course, Excellency."

"Once you have located the miscreants, you may use this transporter band to return them and yourself to this chamber. I will instruct the Representatives of the Justices to be ready. Do not let me down!"

"Of course not, Excellency."


Conceptfan, Dec. 2017.