Empress Ria

Chapter 8

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!

Once the helpless victim of a mass uprising, Ria had suddenly become the most powerful being in a distant solar system whose very existence had hitherto been beyond the knowledge of her species. Humiliated and stripped naked, she was exiled into the cold depths of space by the victorious rebel army that overthrew, and then executed, her father, the tyrannical Emperor of their planet. The liberators of Prytkon intended that the dictator's daughter spend the rest of her days in endless isolation; lonely, weak, fragile. And powerless. Above all else, powerless.

But the liberators of Prytkon did not know of the tiny, invisible crack in the universe just beyond the edge of their solar system; a crack barely large enough for Ria's prison-ship to pass through. The crack was a truly bizarre phenomenon: a point were two, staggeringly-vastly distant points of the cosmos touched one another. Quite literally, an intergalactic short-cut. Anything that passed through the Prytkonian side emerged instantly amongst strange stars in a part of the universe so far from Prytkon that it would seem as much another existence as another location.

As her tiny exile-vessel slipped from its original realm into the remote galaxy on the other side of the phenomenon, the naked young woman within became the first of her race to be bathed in the yellow radiation of an alien sun. Radiation which infused every molecule of her ripe, desirable body with immeasurable power. Having fallen asleep a powerless prisoner trapped in a metal box, Ria awoke and found she had acquired enough strength to crush the dense material of the spaceship between her fingers with utter ease.

Soon enough her dainty limbs had breeched the exterior of the craft, causing it to implode. That was the moment she realised that she was now able to think and move hundreds of thousands of times faster than before. Then as she found herself floating naked and unharmed in the vacuum of space she learned that she possessed the ability to propel herself through space in any direction and at any speed she chose, all the while remaining completely invulnerable to the supposedly fatal effects of the freezing void. The discoveries of other suddenly-acquired powers followed. Her senses appeared to have improved almost beyond recognition. She had become an all-powerful goddess.

And then, fresh from learning about the limitless nature of her new abilities, she had found a whole planet, teeming with creatures who seemed to be of the same species as her. Creatures who did not possess the endless strength that now flowed through every fibre of her being. Creatures who were as soft, weak, fragile and vulnerable as she was indestructible.

Intrigued, she had descended to the surface of the planet and discovered that her dominance over these creatures was complete. Their weapons could not scratch her flawless feminine skin whilst their mightiest machines could not resist her apparently limitless strength. Most of the males she had encountered seemed in awe of her stunning beauty, surrendering to her womanly power even before they were forced to submit to her unopposable physical domination. With no effort, she had brushed aside a furious and noisy military attack, letting countless metal projectiles strike her magnificent, naked body; her stunningly sexy flesh absorbing thousands of supposedly-deadly explosions without sustaining so much as the tiniest of bruises. Meanwhile, she had hugely enjoyed destroying weapons, machinery and men with utter, arrogant ease: causing death and mayhem with a casual movement of one of her long, shapely limbs, or a lazy puff of breath exhaled through her rich, pouting lips...

Every passing moment brought her further proof of her untouchable dominance and fresh examples of the vastness of the power contained within her slender, curvaceous body. The planet, she quickly understood, was hers to dominate, to conquer - to rule - any way that she wished. Her physical superiority over its inhabitants was apparently infinite and the inhabitants' ability to resist her apparently non-existent. Far, far beneath her now, as she floated, motionless, in the upper reaches of the planet's atmosphere, the smoking, blood-splattered ruins of the place they called Burpford were a testament to these conclusions.

It had been a one-sided battle, but despite its failure to test the extents of her abilities, it had at least been useful to her as a means of demonstrating her power. Indeed, in that regard, the destruction of Burpford had been a great success. She had even been able to address one of the planet's leaders directly by taking advantage of some crude sound-and-picture-relaying technology. And so, she had announced herself to a creature known as "President". Knowing the fear she would instil, and delighting in it, she had cheerfully informed him of her intention to issue him with commands.

It did not matter to her how much time she gave this "President" and his soldiers to prepare. He would be as powerless to resist her as all the men of Burpford had been. As powerless as all the other leaders of the planet. And all of their armies. Ria was sure. She could not be resisted. It wasn't simply power - endless, unstoppable power - that seemed to fill every last atom of her being. It was confidence too. More than merely having a feeling that there was nothing that could stand in her way, she was convinced; utterly certain of her supremacy.

She smiled. She knew the thoughts of the one called "President" would be completely filled with the events at Burpford and her chilling promise to him. He would be trying to pre-empt her now; making plans, analysing strategies. "Let him plan," she thought to herself, "Let them all plan. It makes no difference. Leaders and subjects, military and civilians.. They cannot stop me. Soon, I shall issue commands to all the creatures of this world."

Her thoughts made her laugh. But it was not a laugh of megalomania, triggered by anticipating the thrill of subjugating a planet. The imminent exercising of her total supremacy delighted and excited her in more internal, more intimate ways. Ways which she could feel as delicious tingles between her thighs and in the perfect, firm pink points that crowned each of her glorious round breasts. Those feelings were the result of her thoughts of global conquest. Her laughter, however, was not connected with the sexual fervour she felt as she considered wielding her unfathomable power. She was laughing because of a separate feeling; a feeling of happy disbelief.

The situation in which she found herself seemed so preposterous. It was almost impossible to believe. She had fallen asleep helpless and supposedly forever alone and awoken in an utterly contrasting reality. Now, suddenly, she was considering, with glee, the most enjoyable way to conquer the teeming world below. So she laughed out loud at the thought of the insane reversal of fortune. A beautiful young girl, isolated from her birthplace by half the breadth of the universe, amused by the idea that she had so suddenly gone from helpless isolation to gaining superiority over an entire planet.

Miles beneath her lay the smoking wasteland strewn with broken buildings, rubble and corpses that had so recently been a military base. She had conquered and destroyed Burpford and now, it no longer interested her. She flew a leisurely circle above the ruins, delighting in the scale of her destruction and the perfect view of it afforded by her power over gravity as she looked straight down, over the swells of her breasts, past her feet, at the carnage she had wrought. Then, she was done with Burpford.

A fraction of an instant later, she was flying at speeds more than double those recorded by the fastest craft ever built on her new home planet. Such phenomenal acceleration placed massive strains on every part of the Prytkonian girl's perfect, naked body; strains which, although powerful enough to crush mountains, were far too weak to dimple her stunning feminine curves or to cause her any discomfort. As she shot through the Earth's atmosphere, the daughter of the last Empower of Prytkon paid a similar lack of heed both to the massive G-forces that should have torn her apart and to the extreme, friction-generated temperatures that should have reduced her beautiful youthful form to ashes.



The live audio-visual link to Burpford Airforce Base was no longer functioning. In the President's office, the four screens that had relayed the images captured by tank-mounted cameras at the base were now displaying a black-and-white blizzard of static interference. The loudspeakers that had briefly allowed the President and his top military and civilian advisers to hear the extraterrestrial's commanding, feminine voice were now silent. A member of the security team had switched off the audio when it had degenerated into white noise.

The men and women in the room knew why the links to Burpford had been severed. They knew the alien had destroyed the tanks containing the transmitting equipment. They had witnessed much of her attack on the military vehicles while the links were still functioning. What they hadn't seen, they were able to imagine. Certainly, nothing they had viewed on the four screens gave them cause to believe that the extraterrestrial was unable, or unwilling, to perform such a series of destructive feats. Every person in the President's office - regardless of his or her background, expertise, rank or beliefs - knew that the quartet of tanks had been obliterated just as everything else at Burpford Base had been: by the unarmed invader from the stars.

"Seeing is believing" according to the clich�, but it was no simple task for the men and women in that room to accept what they had seen. The facts - the inescapable, undeniable facts - seemed to challenge all their accumulated knowledge and experience. For a while, they had been struggling to come to terms with a reality that, an hour earlier, all of them would have considered impossible.

But it was not impossible. It had happened. An entire army base, with all its men and all its weapons, had been overpowered, defeated and destroyed in minutes. By a single being. A girl. A young, slender, beautiful girl, her flawless skin entirely uncovered. A vision of female perfection, an erotic siren with a stunning face and a figure that could have been plucked from the combined sexual fantasies of a billion men... This girl, alone, and without weaponry, had destroyed Burpford.

Her naked, irresistible, nubile body had withstood a million bullets and a thousand explosions without sustaining a single scratch or bruise. Her long, slender arms, so feminine in appearance, had cut through dozens of men, thrown dozens more to their deaths and tossed sixty tonnes of military equipment from one side of Burpford to the other, apparently with consummate ease. Her shapely legs had propelled her across the dusty ground faster than the human eye could follow, and then killed with just a kick. Her gorgeous head had smashed through concrete and steel, her skull and the long, straight brown hair that covered it more effective than any demolition worker's wrecking ball. And she could fly without engines or wings, moving through the air with astonishing agility at speeds that were simply incalculable.

It defied all logic that a slim, petite, devastatingly sexy teenaged girl could be the possessor of so many remarkable abilities. How could that beautiful, lithe body contain such seemingly unlimited physical power? Her amazing strength alone was formidable enough, but in combination with her apparent invulnerability to military weapons it became a million times more terrifying. What could they do - what could anyone do - faced with a hostile enemy who was capable of causing unending destruction and who, so far, appeared utterly immune to all forms of counter-action?

The extraterrestrial's breathtakingly beautiful face and body were no longer on the screens, but she dominated the thoughts of all those present nonetheless. They were thinking not just of the amazing and horrifying acts they had already seen her commit but also about the further supposedly-impossible outrages she might yet perpetrate. These concerns for the future were well justified. Everyone in that room had heard the girl's chilling promise, spoken, amid the carnage and destruction, directly into the lens of one of the Burpford tank-cameras. Everyone was aware of the implications of her words, and the terror-inducing certainty with which she had delivered them. Everyone was afraid, although none more than the man to whom the statement was directly addressed.

The President sat at his desk, facing the men and women assembled in the office with him, well aware that all of them were just as stunned and as awed by the situation as he was. He summoned all his experience and his qualities of leadership, feeling the weight of responsibility. It was not simply his country's response to the events at Burpford - in itself, a devastating and unprovoked attack by an extraterrestrial force on U.S. soldiers on U.S. territory - that he had to address. There was also the matter of the verbal threat made by that extraterrestrial force. No matter how much he concentrated on matters such as the logistics of protecting his people, his thoughts were dominated by the alien's words. Over and over they echoed in his mind, spoken in that confident, haughty feminine voice with its strange, slightly foreign accent and imperfect grammar:

"I am commander of all. I kill all who fight me. I give you instructions soon."



Ria's words were also fresh in her own mind. Although only moments had passed since her pretty feminine feet had been on the blood-soaked soil of Burpford, she had already passed beyond even the uppermost traces of atmosphere and out into space. She was no longer moving now, having stopped her extraordinary ascent as suddenly as she had begun it. The frozen vacuum of the cosmos caused her as much discomfort as the weapons she had effortlessly brushed aside down on the surface. Every instant that passed, the brilliant white glare of the nearby yellow star bathed her with radiation that would have been deadly to any unprotected native of Earth. Ria, however, was a daughter of a planet in a distant galaxy and the unfiltered sunlight saturating her perfect naked skin merely brought her power. Endless power.

She could feel it in every part of her stunning body and the sensation was almost overwhelming. She had travelled so far up that beneath her, the Earth curved. Unbound by the forces of gravity that ruled the rest of existence, she maintained her position in space merely by means of her subconscious will to do so. With her fixed vantage, she could see the slow rotation of the globe and, without realising it, began to build a map of her new planet, its axis and its orientation in her superhuman mind. Her bright, clear, brown eyes gazed down, seeing through the clouds shrouding the world below. "I am commander of all," she echoed internally, enjoying the sounds of the newly-acquired alien language in which she had spoken them. Unthinkingly, she began to move through the near-void, covering a vast distance in the time it took to repeat the phrase. She came to a halt high above the cloud-covered northern pole. From there, she felt she was truly looking down upon the world.

"I am commander of all," she thought once more. And then, she thought it again, but this time using her birth language. Stripped of the distraction of translation, the full significance of the phrase combined with the view below to cause a tingling between her thighs so intense that she found herself biting her full bottom lip with her stunning top teeth. The idea of ruling an entire planet was stimulating her erotically. Stimulating her to a degree which surprised even her. Having power, having so much power... unlimited power... power over not just hundreds, or thousands or even millions but thousands of millions... The concept was so sexy to her, she could not resist the way it made her feel. Each of her already-prominent nipples expanded slightly, reddening from the palest pink, gently throbbing with pleasure, demanding attention. Her hands came up to caress them idly, fuelling the fire of passion within her as her fingertips brushed her chest. The incomprehensible strength that inhabited every fibre of her slender sexy body now served her lust. If a diamond the size of her fist had found itself at that moment between her hands and her breasts it would have been crushed out of existence against her flawless, exquisitely-rounded skin. She would barely have noticed the brief-lived obstacle as she indulged her nipples.

Her eyes had briefly closed as she lost herself to desire, but she forced them open to look down on the planet below. Her powerful, beautiful eyes saw through the clouds, scanning with rapidity and detail incomprehensible to any other living being. She wanted to see the millions of creatures that her power extended over. But something else caught her eye.

Directly below her feet was the planet's pole. She had no trouble seeing into the dark liquid water deep beneath the layers of cloud and the thick snow and ice of the surface and there she spotted it. A large device... a machine of some kind, almost at the bottom of the ocean. She spotted it immediately, despite the distance. It was shaped like a long cylinder with a rounded front. Intrigued, she examined it, identifying a crude propulsion system at one end and an access point on top, about halfway down the length of the craft. Her fantastic visual abilities allowed her to peer not only through the casing material, but also to accurately judge its thickness and composition: an arrangement of metal and other materials designed to keep the interior free of water. Inside, she saw males, fourteen in all, eight dressed in uniforms walking around the various sections of the vehicle, and six others asleep on bunks clustered in the remaining section. She did not recognise the clothing from her encounters on the planet to date, but she presumed it to be military in nature.

She tried to tune her ears to the conversations taking place within the vessel, but the depth of water, the thickness of the ice and the thudding of the thing's primitive, comically inefficient engines meant she could detect only muffled voices. She could make out enough to know that the males in there were speaking a language she had not yet heard, but not enough for her to begin learning it by picking out recurring sounds. Still idly caressing herself, she wondered why they were there, in their strange, phallic-shaped pathetically-slow-moving contraption, so far beneath the frozen surface.



This was no mission for rookies. In fact, the total experience of the fourteen men on board was huge. Only the best recruits were selected for the submarine fleet, and only those who excelled on their early voyages were deployed on long-term missions. But to be chosen as part of the crew for a massively sensitive, top secret mission under direct government orders meant you were considered the very best. There were none who combined the qualities of physical fitness, mental strength and total loyalty better.

Who else could be trusted to spend six months, trapped in a big cigar-tube in waters that their leaders had promised would never be encroached upon? Who else would carry out orders to the letter, even in the knowledge that should they be discovered, they would be officially disowned and effectively abandoned by their commanders? Who else would stay effective under the constant threat that, should anything go awry, they would be trapped near the bottom of the sea with ten meters of solid pack ice completely denying any possibility of surfacing...

Such a talented group required an exceptional commander, and in Sergey Kirovsky, they had one of the most experienced and decorated active submariners in the world. A beast of a man, who enjoyed his reputation as a formidable wrestler in his free time, his intimidating frame was matched by an electric intellect and an iron will. He had taken the responsibility of the mission, which was, as Admiral Dubrinsky had put it, to "guard the roof of the house from nosy neighbours" in his stride. He was proud to be undertaking covert surveillance for his motherland. Proud and well prepared.



The daughter of the last Emperor of Prytkon told herself that it was simple, idle curiosity that was compelling her to investigate the bizarre contraption. In truth, however, it was the insistent tingling of the most intimate parts of her glorious body and the sexual rush brought about by the mere contemplation of her staggering power that drove her. In her already-aroused state, the shape of the craft had permeated her subconscious, and it was that part of her mind that convinced her that she wanted to approach it, touch it... and dominate it. Gripped by overwhelming desire, she found herself not descending feet-first towards the planet below as she had done on her previous landings, but rather diving, headlong, straight for the submerged craft.

The almost-vertical angle of her approach caused her beautiful face to take the brunt of the fiction of atmospheric re-entry. Unaware of the heat warming her stunning features until they, and then the rest of her body, began to glow, she descended faster than any meteorite in the planet's history. As the air she rocketed through began to thicken, her fantastic pace did not slow. She was too powerful to be affected by the resistance offered by gases. Moments later, she slammed into the thick ice on the surface, her perfect skin by now so hot it would have instantly boiled away any material it touched. The force of her impact at that speed instantly smashed a hole in the packed ice that was twenty times wider than her arm-span and equally as deep, displacing a plume of frozen debris, chunks of which were still crashing back down on to the surface when she was already half-way to the bottom of the sea. She had penetrated and passed through the solid surface as if it simply had not been there.

The icy water fought to cool her incandescently hot body, boiling away furiously wherever it came into contact with her. The vastly greater density of the liquid and the increasing pressure as she descended failed to affect her speed, just as the planet's atmosphere and its thick polar ice cap had tried without success to slow her. Nothing in this solar system seem capable of resisting her, even fractionally.

Finally, she did decelerate. Not as a result of the forces of nature that bound everything in the galaxy. Those forces might have controlled the mightiest objects in that part of the Universe but they could not rein in Ria. She slowed because she chose to, effortlessly exercising her superhuman muscles with what to her was a tiny effort of thought. A tiny effort that was sufficient to cancel her astonishing momentum in less than an instant. She knew that her speed of approach was more than the metal vessel she was targeting could withstand, and, as atomising it in the blink of an eye was not her plan, she brought herself to a complete halt about a hundred body-lengths above it in the water.

She still had much to learn about the effects of her vast power. At over a hundred of her paces in length and nearly ten paces wide, the big metal contraption was huge compared with her slim, lithe body. Yet, despite her care not to get too close too quickly, the shock-wave she had already generated travelled beyond her stopping-point and buffeted the vessel with enough force to knock it sharply downwards a distance of about four times her height.



The sweeping line on the radar scope took under two seconds to complete a rotation of the circular screen. The two men on duty both heard the tell-tale beep from the attached loudspeaker and turned as one, displaying impressive levels of both concentration and reaction, to study the display. They both observed the small green dot that indicated an object had been detected overhead. In accordance with their training, they waited for the tiny instant to pass during which the scan would sweep around again. When the line reached the dot, one of two things could happen: either the dot would be confirmed as something requiring further investigation or it would vanish from the screen meaning it could be dismissed as a bird or other insignificant passer-by.

The glowing radar line had completed three-quarters of its crucial second rotation when the observers were suddenly thrown, or so it felt to them, directly upwards from their fixed seats. Neither had the time to even utter a cry of shock before the top of their heads impacted with a horrifying clang on the steel girders of the low ceiling. The force of the blow was more than either of the two skulls could withstand. As the two corpses fell back to the floor, the dot, now far bigger, glowed on the display.

In his tiny quarters, Captain Kirovsky fought to open his eyes. He'd been sitting at his desk when the depth charge or whatever it was had gone off. It had felt as if he had activated the ejector seat from an airplane as he shot upwards, but instead of sky, he'd met with a low metal ceiling. His hat had been destroyed, but it had saved his life. Nonetheless, a trickle of thick blood was making its way from a deep gash in the crown of his head.

He must've landed on his desk, because he could feel the broken pieces of what he assumed was his laptop computer under his back. He took it as a good sign that he could feel anything at all. Now he had to call on all his reserves of strength to check the crew, find out what had hit them and then decide whether to fight back or run away. Provided, of course, they were in any position to do either. He'd been on the wrong end of a depth charge in a sub once before. Either this one had gone off a lot closer than the first time it had happened to him or the explosive was a lot more powerful this time because that was one hell of a jolt. One thing he was certain of: he did not want the experience for a third time.



She watched, penetrating the thick solid casing with her gaze, as the men inside were tossed from their chairs and bunks and thrown against the ceilings above them to crash down on the metallic floors. Only a few showed any signs of movement in the following moments, writhing in obvious pain. None seemed willing or capable to try and regain their feet. She could hear the moans as she leisurely closed the distance to their craft.

The primitive propulsion system at the rear of the thing appeared to have survived the jolt. She ignored it completely, certain that whatever momentum it could generate was beneath her concern. Instead she approached the vessel from above, opening her arms and her legs as she made contact, as if trying to take the whole thing in an intimate embrace. Her arms, although long and beautifully shapely, were not wide enough to properly hug the craft. Neither could her legs gain a purchase, so she opted for merely draping herself on the top of the large machine.

The smooth, cold, hard metal felt good. It felt good against her forearms and her palms. It felt good against her knees. It felt fantastic against her tingling thighs and breasts. She could feel the weak throb of the engine transmitted through the casing and it stimulated her. She felt the points of her chest responding, swelling against the steel and the sensation filled her with lust. Without thinking she pressed her large round breasts into the metal and heard it groan as her softest parts began to overpower it. Her nipples began to burrow insistently into the solid surface of the craft, forcing the thick material to yield to their lust. Lost in the delicate but delightful feelings that filled her conscious, she thrust her hips forwards, opening her thighs wide until she felt the delicious contact of metal against her indestructible labia.

Muffled by the water, the sound of her most intimate flesh pressing into the steel was like a lover's moan of pleasure. She wanted more. She needed more. Her grip was not wide enough to draw the entire craft towards her as she wanted, so her fingers began to curl and carve into the steel, eliciting further moans as she sought to create improvised holds that would give her the leverage she demanded. Her knees, too, were deforming the metal, bending it as they tried to close against it. Thinking only of increasing the pleasant sensations she was experiencing, she pushed her body ever more forcefully into the thick casing, her nipples now buried deep within it, her breasts following, refusing to allow their perfect roundness to be compromised by mere steel but instead forcing the metal to take on increasingly severe imprints of their glory.



For a few instants, it was all very quiet. Kirovsky slowly sat up, blinking his eyes. The room swam around him, and he fought the urge to vomit. His head hurt like a bitch. He raised his fingers instinctively to touch where the pain was worst, and felt the wetness of blood straight away. He took his hand away immediately and brought it to his eyes for the crimson confirmation. He would need stitches but there was no time for that now. He had to check on the crew. His back twinged with agony as he tried to stand. Immediately he sunk back down. Perhaps if he tried from a different angle. If he rolled to one side and then... A searing bolt of pain shot through his spine making him cry out. He lay back on the desk, panting, sweat beading on his face.

Then there was a sound. Dull at first but rapidly intensifying. A sound like metal groaning. He turned his head to try and see its source. For a moment he thought he saw one of the exposed steel beams above him move. Then he was certain. Something, clearly something enormous, was above. The metallic screeching became more persistent. Whatever it was, it was pressing into the top of the ship, right above his head. His mind raced. What could be heavy enough to deform a submarine? An iceberg, perhaps? But how did an iceberg sink? What the hell was up there?



The moans of helpless metal intensified in volume but she paid them no heed. Her fingers were now embedded to the knuckles, wadding up chunks of compressed steel and she used these as grips to try and draw the entire, massive machine towards her hungry nubile body. She began to move her hips, slowly rubbing her nether lips against the smooth casing, making it shriek as she carved out ever deepening grooves with her intimacy. The steel displaced by her unopposable breasts compressed, building up in the cleavage between them and in the diminishing space between their glorious outer curves and the smooth perfect flesh of her forearms until it could compress no more and it began first to glow, then to melt, and finally to boil despite the freezing water all around.

Still, she had to have more. Using her ability to propel herself through space, air and water at will, she began to rotate her body, moving from her torso being parallel with the ocean floor towards being perpendicular to it. With her hands, her chest, her groin and her knees now so deeply embedded in the solid casing, and the strength of her body so vast, she barely felt the extra effort as she began to move not only herself but also the entire hundred-stride-long contraption.

The engines were still functioning. The gentle throbbing they induced in the metal she was hugging was pleasing but that was the full extent of their effectiveness. Although sufficient to push such a huge machine through water at the extreme pressures found at such depths, their power was meaningless against Ria's intimate embrace. She had overpowered their thrust the instant her delicate-looking hands touched the contraption. The craft was moving now entirely according to the desires of the young alien girl's slim, sexy body.

The groaning of surrendering steel crescendoed to a near-scream as she effortlessly subjected the massive craft to forces that its designers could never have imagined. She opened her eyes and raised her head to watch as the giant cylinder began to tilt according to her whims. The sight of the rounded front end of the vast contraption raising towards upright high above her under her incalculable power both delighted and excited her in turns.



The sound of tortured metal echoed inside the ship until it was almost too much to bear. Captain Kirovsky made one final attempt to raise himself only to be forced back down by an agony that not even he could ignore. Even shouting for help seemed futile, given the deafening groans and screeches of the steel above him. He was powerless to do anything but stare at the ceiling, watching it now deform before his eyes, small bulges appearing in several places above him. He knew how thick the metal was, and the thought that he was at the mercy of a force powerful enough to make such impressions was frightening, even for a man who had very little time for fear.

The ceiling wasn't just deforming. It was also warming. He could feel the heat radiating from the most affected spots. His mind raced, trying to think of something - anything that could be responsible. Huge chucks of burning rocks raining down? But from where? Surely the ship's sensitive seismic equipment would have detected if there was volcanic activity in the area. Pieces of meteorite? That seemed a better fit.

His thoughts were interrupted by the metallic noise reaching a new peak. He became aware of something moving beside him. Pens. Rolling off his desk. Then some pieces of broken laptop sliding off too. The desk was moving. No... the whole ship was moving. It was tilting! Pieces of meteorite shouldn't have been able to cause that... And then he was sliding, inexorably at first but soon quicker and quicker. He was sliding. Off the desk. "Oh no!" he thought. "My back!" He felt the moment his fall began. In that instant, time seemed to stretch. He could feel himself descending. And above him, at the centre of the source of the noise and heat, he saw a hand bursting through the ceiling with a spray of ice cold sea water. A small, human, female hand. Widening his eyes in shock was his final act.



Ria could see the dead and injured men inside her toy begin sliding and rolling along the floors of the vessel as gravity asserted itself in a way it seemed incapable of doing with their conqueror. Soon enough, those floors no longer qualified for the name as the huge contraption turned ever more towards vertical. The men slumped down on to what had once been walls. Their sheer helplessness only fuelled Ria's passion further as she continued both to turn the whole vehicle towards the vertical and to pull its suffering, deforming casing towards her lustful body. With a low thud, her right hand finally pushed aside the overworked remnants of steel in its path and penetrated the interior. She could feel the water rushing in through the gaps between her fingers. A moment later, her other hand followed suit.

Now she had two holes she could thrust her arms through. She hugged the protesting, doomed steel against herself with even greater force, thrilling in the sensation of thick metal stretching like fabric in a futile attempt to accommodate her magnificent chest. Her knees closed slightly, tearing two further breeches in the casing whilst her labia continued to cut into the material every time she drew them up and down. Finally, inevitably, the steel surrendered entirely to her breasts. She had crushed and deformed a large section of thick metal entirely out of existence with her feminine power.

Gone was the pleasurable feeling of supposedly-hard material against her erect nipples but she still had the wonderful feeling of the still-intact section between her thighs as it slowly yielded to her sex. The ocean flooded into the various tears in the vessel, dramatically altering its weight and balance but she held it in place with her arms and knees, her sexy, lithe, superhuman muscles barely registering the extra effort that was now required keep it upright. She continued to rub her intimacy against the battered metal beneath it until it, too, gave in, the remaining, now thin, bits of material boiling away under friction and pressure that would have defied belief.

Without the steel casing to pleasure her, she needed to use her own, massively more powerful fingers. She did not bother to remove her arms from the holes they had made in the sides of the defeated vessel, but simply brought her hands directly to her crotch via the shortest possible route, her slender forearms carving through the few intact bits of metal that stood in their way. She found her intimacy with well-practised expertise, opening her knees and letting the massive machine slip from her last remaining grip. Millions of bubbles of displaced air rushed upwards along its length towards the surface as the behemoth slowly sank towards the ocean floor below her.

By the time the propellers of the up-ended craft touched the bottom, she had pleasured herself towards the peak of a orgasm more intense than any she had ever experienced before. By the time the rest of the thing had finally settled on the seabed, her release had broken, filling every part of her being with a pleasure so torrid she could never have dreamed it possible. In the end, her dainty little fingers had succeeded where vast quantities of thick steel had so abjectly failed.

Her recovery from the fabulous orgasm was almost instant. No tiredness affected her since her transformation. There was no gasping for air; the concept was ridiculous given that she had just travelled from outer space to the bottom of the ocean without needing to draw a single breath through her sexy lips. She did not even glance down at the massive, destroyed vessel or the dead males inside it as she rocketed back towards the surface. It had served its purpose as a brief, pleasurable distraction. Its contents, meanwhile, had barely even registered in her mind.

As she carved upwards through the water, immune to the sudden extreme changes in environmental pressure that would have instantly killed anyone born on Earth, her thoughts had already returned to her impending conquest of the planet.



Everyone was looking to him for answers, but there seemed to be only questions filling the President's thoughts. Questions such as 'How was it all possible?'. And 'Can it be stopped?'. And dozens more leading up to 'What does "I give you instructions" mean?' and the scariest one of all: 'How long is "soon"?' If he was to determine the best course of action, he needed some information. Someone in this room full of egg-heads, generals and ass-lickers had to know something! He looked up from the notebook that was opened on the desk in front of him, making sure his features showed determination and calm rather than the bewilderment and unease he was feeling and found himself looking at a wall of expectant faces. They were all waiting for him to speak. For the first time since his election, he realised the true implication of the phrase "the burden of Office". His gaze fell upon a familiar face and he took comfort from the dark green uniform that accompanied it.

"General," the President finally broke the silence, "are your men tracking the alien?"

"We had the extraterrestrial on scope at Burpford, sir," General Rogers began with the good news, but he quickly moved on to the bad: "...however all traces vanished off our systems shortly after we lost the audio-visual link from the tanks."

This was far, far removed from the sort of concrete information the President craved. He did not prevent his exasperation from colouring his tone as he asked "Surely the alien didn't just... disappear?" He dismissed the thought that flashed through his conscious as he formed the question; namely that, in the context of all the astonishing feats already attributed to the extraterrestrial, the ability to simply "disappear" suddenly didn't seem so inconceivable.

"Well," General Rogers replied, unaware of his supreme commander's doubt, "No, sir. My men say the being was moving too fast to track. We, ah, also lost her in a similar fashion just before the attack on Burpford commenced..."

It seemed the General had not been the right choice for useful, up-to-date information. Rogers' answer was neither helpful nor reassuring. The President decided to find out if there was anything to be gleaned from what his most trusted military advisor did actually know.

"General, how fast is 'too fast' for your equipment?"

"I'm... I'm not sure, sir..." The leader's heart sank. He listened to the rest of the General's words with little hope of his frustrations being ended. "Nothing we've ever tried to track within the Earth's atmosphere has ever been too fast for this equipment. We've followed fighter aircraft, rocket launches, meteorites... even ICBMs in flight. I guess the alien is a bunch faster than any of those..."

The Commander-in-chief was almost angry now. Although it wasn't wise for a leader to display exasperation at such a critical time, he found himself speaking in clipped tones nonetheless. "Well, you know more about this than I do, General, so give me your informed estimate: How fast can it - er, she - travel - er, fly?"

Now he was stumbling over his words. He knew that was bad: he mustn't reveal his inner uncertainty. He had to be clear in his thoughts and his speech. Why had he hesitated? Why had he changed his mind about his wording, mid-sentence? It had happened when he'd referred to the alien as "it". He'd felt a compelling need to go back and change "it" for "she". For a brief moment, he had recalled that the "extraterrestrial force" at the centre of his thoughts was also a "she". A girl. A beautiful, sexy, naked young girl...

No! He had to keep his mind clear. Concentrate on the General's answer to his question. Numbers... Facts... Calculations... not Thighs, Lips and Breasts...

"I would think," declared the General, "that the minimum speed necessary for an object to appear to vanish completely from our all our tracking systems would be well over 4,000 miles per hour, sir."

Over four thousand miles per hour... The statistic entered the President's conscious, but it did not make any noticeable impact on his thought processes. Mostly because the bulk of those processes were otherwise engaged. "Extraterrestrial BEING" the Chief of Staff told himself. "Not a girl. She... No, no NO! IT. IT is a BEING. And I will not think about ITs breasts anymore! I will not waste vital moments on the perfect roundness, the magnificent ripeness, the -" His internal monologue was interrupted by the nervous, hurried voice of one of his political team. The urgent delivery helped the leader recover the full use of his brain for matters of State.

"Sir," warned the aide, "at those speeds she could get here inside ten minutes! We have to get you out of here - now. Sir."

"I am aware of that," the President snapped back, simultaneously annoyed at the use of the word "she" and relieved that someone else had performed the mental calculation whilst he had been distracted. At least a course of action now seemed to be crystallising. A course of action that focussed on his personal safety. His politician's instinct told him that it was a course worthy of pursuit. "That speed is only a minimum," the Commander-in-Chief pointed out, adding to the aide's sense of urgency. "It may already be too late. Given what we already know of this..." (No! Don't use the "g" word! That was close! Concentrate!) "...this being's capabilities, who's to say it can't move twice as fast as that..."

"That's why we have to go immediately sir," the advisor concurred. "We should use Plan Scarlet... Mr. President?"

Anyone who'd attended a top level security meeting knew that 'Scarlet' was the last line on the colour-coded list of Presidential Evacuation Plans. There wasn't any quicker way out of there.

"Let's go." The President gave the evacuation his blessing.

"Everybody, follow me!" announced the head of the security team, leading the way out of the room.

For the members of that select group who had heard of, but never actually seen the emergency elevator, the sheer size of it was impressive. It comfortably held nineteen men and women, including the Chief of Staff, his top general and his most trusted advisers. Its huge doors closed over the view of government offices and the cabin plunged downwards at stomach-churning speed, coming to a controlled halt seconds later. The doors slid open to reveal an underground railway platform on the far side of which a state-of-the-art, windowless subway-style train stood with its sliding doors open.

The President followed his top security man on board. There was a seat obviously meant for him, located behind a desk-like table and he headed towards it. As the chair and table were more-or-less centrally-positioned inside the train's single, exceptionally long carriage, he was still en-route when the hydraulic doors hissed closed. Instantly, the train lurched forward, almost knocking him off his feet. Certainly, he couldn't have any complaints regarding the efficiency with which Plan Scarlet was being executed. In fact, he was still recovering his balance a few seconds later when the escape vehicle accelerated into the long, dark tunnel ahead.

He felt no reassurance despite the impressive speed of the train. No matter how fast his transport shot along, "it" - the extraterrestrial being - could move faster. If only he knew where "it" was now! Where had "it" gone from Burpford? Four thousand miles per hour! Or, maybe, even faster than that! But... in which direction?



Ria had not given much thought to the speed at which she was travelling, under her own wonderful, endless power. Such normally staggering statistics were barely noticeable achievements for a being who possessed countless supposedly "incredible" abilities. Once she had indulged herself with one final circumspection of the death and devastation she had caused to Burpford, she had taken to the sky as effortlessly as she had destroyed men, weapons and buildings. From there, she had flown to a different part of planet Earth as quickly and with precisely the same ease with which she might have crossed from one side of a room in the Emperor's palace on Prytkon to the other. Now, mere moments after the subaquatic vessel she'd found beneath the polar ice had ceased entertaining her, she had already shot away through the thick Arctic cloud and beyond into the stratosphere.

But although she did not share the leader's preoccupation with her precise velocities or location, Ria knew that he would undoubtedly be thinking about her and this knowledge delighted her. The hapless Burpford soldier whom she'd torn from one of the machines known as "tanks" had informed her that her effortless, crushing victory there had been witnessed by the one they called "President". It pleased her greatly to know that this supposed leader had seen for himself just how ineffective his military had proven against her. Now there could be little doubt in "President"'s mind that her superiority over his forces was total. He would know that he could not protect himself, or his people, from her. He would have realised that he could not challenge her with the types of weapon used at Burpford. He would have seen for himself that he, and his armies and his populations were helpless before her. Such an understanding on his part would make her eventual direct encounter with him so much more entertaining.

She recalled the terror of the commander of Burpford as he had sat in his underground chamber, dreading her arrival. The girl from Prytkon smiled as she thought of how "President" must now be experiencing similar fear as he awaited the instructions she had promised to give him. She already knew where his residence was located. Briefly, she considered flying to him immediately, sorely tempted by the idea of humiliating a male who supposedly enjoyed power over so many millions of others.

After a few moments' consideration, she decided to delay her visit to the leader. She recalled how enjoyable it had been to leave the commander of Burpford to sweat whilst she had toyed with the rest of the creatures in his building. She resolved to do likewise with this "President". He would wait for her, increasingly anxiously, and she would go to him at the moment of her choosing. Let him sit with his fears, she reasoned to herself. Let him suffer the agony of delay before the moment he must be dreading finally arrives.

Noticing that she had already flown clear of the planet's atmosphere altogether, she turned sharply without slowing, exhibiting staggering control of her movements as she began to follow the curve of the globe below, travelling away from the icy pole, heading over the blue oceans and the green and brown landmasses that were the bulk of her new home. She saw the continents, spread beneath her as if they had been laid out purely for her benefit. Her gorgeous eyes twinkled, their limitless power allowing them to effortlessly focus in on the thousands of cities below.

Ria stared down at one population centre after another, studying the buildings and vehicles with ease, despite the vast distance between her and the objects of her observations. Her eyes shone with mischievous pleasure as they adjusted to look deeper still, revealing the people teeming about. So many of them! And all of them, it seemed, so weak, so pathetic, so fragile... All of them hers to conquer, to dominate, to rule. A feeling of sheer joy erupted in her soul. The whole planet below was hers for the taking.

She was certain now. She would make the one called "President" wait. And in the meantime, she grinned to herself, she could give him, along with the rest of the planet - her planet - another little demonstration of her power. Ria blinked, instinctively altering the field of her astonishing vision, so that she was looking down on entire continents once more, seeing the myriad cities like enticing jewels scattered over the various land-masses below.

As a child back on Prytkon, when her father was the supreme ruler of that planet, she would sometimes be offered her choice from the spoils of his tyranny. During the years in which she blossomed into adulthood, the Emperor frequently gave his ever-more beautiful daughter lavish gifts as a substitute for the love he was incapable of feeling, let alone sharing. Always, after the murder of yet another opponent of his dictatorship, he would command his soldiers to gather all of the victim's family's possessions. The lands, weapons and money that were seized would be immediately added to his own, vast fortune. Any jewellery or precious gems would be gathered in a chamber in his palace that was set aside purely for that one purpose.

Occasionally, once every new piece had been laid out on display, the Emperor would invite his teenaged daughter into the Treasure Room to choose her share of the spoils. Ria loved those moments. She adored the excitement of seeing the new trinkets and examining a fresh batch of stolen objects of beauty. Most of all, she delighted in knowing that whichever piece she chose, no matter how rare or how expensive it was, no matter whom its rightful owner had been, the moment she announced that she wanted it, the item would be transported to her quarters by servants and become part of her possessions.

The thrill of acquiring yet another article whose value was far, far beyond the wildest dreams of almost every other inhabitant of Prytkon never seemed to diminish. It was of no significance to her that her new trinket had come into her possession by means of oppression, robbery and murder. Nor was she in any way affected by the fact that she herself had done nothing to earn it other than pointing and announcing, like the spoilt Princess she was, "I will have that one." Of course, the new piece would quickly lose its special interest and become just one more item in her massive collection. But she still felt the same tingle of excitement whenever she was invited to come to the Treasure Room and make another selection.

After her father the Emperor had finally been deposed, all his possessions were seized by the rebel hordes. Some items were returned to the descendants of their original owners. Ria's father suffered the indignity, shortly before his execution, of seeing his magnificent palace and its Treasure Room being opened up to the general populace so that his former subjects could come and gawk at some of the more tangible excesses of his rule.

The victorious rebels also took away all of Ria's belongings. Her jewellery, her trinkets, her vast wardrobes crammed with the finest clothes... It was one of the very few occasions of her life that she had shed tears. Not for the death of her father, but for the loss of her wealth and her endless privileges. The humiliation of being stripped naked and exiled, alone, into the vast emptiness of the Universe had seemed a secondary wronging compared with what she felt was the ultimate injustice of losing her countless beautiful possessions...

The Prytkonians surely would have chosen a different punishment for her, if only they had known what was to become of her. Had they been aware of the minuscule tear in the fabric of space that her cramped exile vessel would fall into, transporting both ship and passenger to a distant, uncharted region of another galaxy, they would have sent the craft on a different course through the stars. But they were as ignorant of the worm-hole as they were of the astonishing transformation that any member of their race would undergo once exposed to the alien solar radiation on the other side. It was never their intention that the girl they were banishing for all eternity would become an indestructible, invulnerable goddess with unlimited strength and countless other wondrous powers.

But, regardless of the plans of the liberators of Prytkon, the exile ship had fallen through the tear. And Ria had, indeed, become the very personification of unstoppable might. No longer was she helplessly drifting in solitary isolation as her captors had intended. Her newly acquired powers had released her from the confines of her prison ship, and given her the freedom of a far-flung galaxy. Now, she hovered in space above a strange, inhabited planet and felt endless sensations of power - unstoppable, unlimited, unquestionable power - pulsating through every last fibre of her being. She had lost her right to the throne of Prytkon and all her possessions. But, she reflected, it appeared that she had gained mastery over an entire world in return. Her broad, perfect, gleaming smile told of her satisfaction with the exchange.

As Ria looked down on the thousands upon thousands of cities on the surface of the planet beneath her, she felt the same excitement she had felt as a young girl entering her father's Treasure Room. The gleaming population centres below, each one crowded with tens or hundreds of thousands of inferior beings, reminded her of the jewels and trinkets laid out for her by the palace servants of her youth. But each of those cities, just waiting for her to descend and conquer, was far more desirable than the shiny treasures of her home-world. Jewels were not full of people for her to subdue and dominate in any way she pleased.

Making a selection from the Treasure Room had always been thrilling. But this feeling - the sensation of absolute power over an entire solar system - was a million times more intense. Her unique privilege as Emperor's daughter back on Prytkon was to be able to choose just one of the stolen trinkets on display. Hundreds of days would pass before her father would next invite her to take her pick from some new looted horde. But, now, unlike in that magnificent chamber in the Imperial Palace, she was not limited to a choice of just one of the gleaming cities below. The cities were all hers, and hers alone. Hers to help herself to, whenever she wished. Hers to do with as she wanted.

All of it was hers. The cities, the continents, the populations... All hers. The whole planet was her Treasure Room. And on this world, there was no rebel army that could depose her and no Emperor - paternal or otherwise - who might restrict her to only the surplus spoils. She could choose a city now, and once the novelty of doing as she pleased with it faded, she could pick another. And then another. With the unending powers she now possessed, there were no limits to what she could take. And no limits to what she could do. She needed no armies to impose her will or to carry out her designs. In her stunning, desirable, youthful body she possessed many thousands of times more might than all the armies of both Prytkon and her new planet combined. Her father, at the height of his rule, might have dreamed of holding such power over his world. She already held it over hers.

Her smile widened still further as she thought of the one called "President" nervously waiting for her to come and command him according to her whims. First, though, she would spend some time in one of the myriad cities below. She told herself that giving the leaders - along with all the populations of the planet - another demonstration of her phenomenal might was all part of her conqueror's strategy. In truth, she was far, far too powerful to need to be concerned with concepts like strategy. If she had been more honest with herself at that moment, she would have confessed that her decision to visit a population centre owed very little to military-style plotting but a great deal to the attraction of exercising her power over thousands upon thousands of helpless inferior creatures. And so, with child-like glee, she began the process of selecting a city.

For a moment, as she made her selection, Ria's thoughts wandered back to her memories of the Treasure Room on Prytkon. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of sadness; a pang of nostalgia for the life and the world where she had grown up - a world now forever lost to her. She had nothing to link her back to her past. No souvenirs, none of her treasures. Not even her clothes. The planet beneath her now, her new home, was alien to her. Other than the people teeming on its surface, nothing else about it was like her home-world. The clothing, the architecture, the vehicles, the languages - some of which she was already beginning to learn - were all different. All so very, very different. Nothing seemed familiar to her. No, nothing.

Nothing, that was, except for... Maybe she had, at some subconscious level, been searching for things that reminded her of Prytkon. Maybe it was simply pure chance. But at that moment her eyes fell upon a familiar shape. It was an object. Or rather part of an object. Not down on the surface of the planet, but actually up in space, not far from her current position. The object containing the subject of her interest was about twice her size. It was clearly manufactured by the inhabitants of the planet below. She instantly recognized the clumsy, primitive technology.

Somehow, those creatures had managed to place the thing in orbit around their world. She assumed its purpose had something to do with passing information or data from space back to the planet. Or, perhaps, it was used to pass signals from one part of the globe to another, the inhabitants' technology limited to line-of-sight transmissions that required devices stationed beyond the atmosphere to overcome the obstacle presented by the curvature of the surface. Curious, she floated effortlessly up to the thing. At its extremities, it was about twice her height and three times her girth, but the surface was far from smooth. All kinds of objects and panels extruded from what appeared to be some type of central electronic mechanism. It was deep within that middle section that the item which had originally caught her eye was located. In fact, it had only been her ability to see through the solid metal casing - not to mention through dozens of cables and other pieces of equipment as well - that had allowed her to spot the target of her inquisitiveness at all, so deeply was it buried inside the overall device.

Distracted by the larger contraption for a moment, she found herself pondering its purpose. She wondered if it was another gadget for relaying images, like the ones the men at Burpford had used. Flying a quick, but relaxed loop all around the entire thing, she searched for lens-based, image-capturing machines like the one she had stared into to address the leader known as "President". But there were no lenses; only antennae and big flat panels whose purpose she could only guess at. Clearly, the thing did not transmit pictures taken in space to the surface, but rather some other kind of data.

Her interest in the overall machine was exhausted. She turned her attention back to the smaller object contained within: a solid-looking, shiny, almost golden spiral, made of thick strands of some metal which had been wrapped tightly around another object to make a semi-circle of coils. If it had been a full circle, it would have almost exactly resembled the Prytkonian Emperor's crown as worn, for so many years, by her father. The shape of the thing had grabbed her imagination the moment she had first noticed it, because of its striking similarity with the silhouette of her father's headpiece, a design that had been used on her home planet to symbolise Imperial rule and power.

Did the inhabitants of the world below use the same symbol in their own culture? If so, why had they cut a crown in half and incorporated it within their primitive data-transmitting device? Perhaps closer inspection of the thing would provide some answers. She reached out towards the metal casing that stood between her and the object of her curiosity. Her petite, slender fingers punched effortlessly through the outer covering, followed by the rest of her hand. Various pieces and blocks of solid material were smashed, crushed and brushed aside as she plunged her arm deep inside the contraption until her fingers closed around her target.

The intriguing coil of metal was attached to the rest of the mechanism by thick bolts and a series of cables. Ria merely gave it a casual tug, ripping it free of all its restraints with ridiculous ease. A series of electrical sparks erupted as her pull tore the cables apart. At the same time, a series of small illuminated circular indicators on the central section of the machine quickly faded to dark. The brilliant sparks momentarily bathed the front of her naked body, but they caused her no discomfort. She ignored them completely as she carefully separated the semi-circle of metal from the core it was wrapped around.

It really did seem like she was holding half of the Crown of Prytkon. If only there was another just like it, she realised, she would be able to join the two pieces together and recreate an emotive symbol from her home. A quick glance revealed no more half-crowns inside the machine she had just ripped open. Taking the next logical step, she started to look at the space around her. If there was another of the strange, bigger devices in orbit, it might well contain the same components, perhaps including the other part of her royal headgear.

It took mere moments to conclude her search successfully. Out of what might be termed "normal" sight, behind the curve of the planet, but presenting no challenge to her amazing visual abilities, was another almost identical machine, hovering in a similar orbit. Holding onto the semi-circle of metal she'd already extracted, she set off, propelling herself towards the second contraption.



"We're ten minutes from the airfield, Mr. President," announced a member of the security team, looking up from a display screen mounted in a desktop in one corner of the huge main carriage of the evacuation train.

The Chief-of-Staff was seated in the centre of the mobile office, behind a large table. The unsolicited time-check had disturbed a heated, semi-whispered discussion with a key advisor, and the President's curt "Thank you," did not hide his annoyance. He turned back to resume the debate, only to be interrupted once again. At least this time, the information being passed on was more useful.

There was a small communications desk in one corner of the carriage. General Rodgers was hunched over it, holding a telephone handset to his ear whilst a technician seated at his side typed frantically at a small computer keyboard. It was the General who provided the latest interruption, all thoughts of protocol lain aside as he turned his head over his shoulder and shouted "We've found her! Mr. President! My men have tracked the alien!"

The man he was addressing momentarily held off from delivering the argument he was about to present to his advisor, and turned sharply in his swivel chair to face the General. "Where is she?" he demanded. He couldn't help shooting a nervous glance in the direction of the train roof.

"A major commercial communications satellite over Winnipeg just suffered a sudden total failure," the General explained. "Our technicians are reporting a scan reading of an object of the same size as the alien, apparently in an identical orbit alongside the failed satellite."

The Commander-in-Chief couldn't conceal the concern in his voice as he asked "So, the object you're scanning is still up there... with the satellite?"

The General rephrased the question into the mouthpiece of the telephone he was still holding to his face and frowned as he listened to the answer. The President squirmed uneasily as he waited for Rogers to relay the response.

"Ah, she was there until about thirty seconds ago, Sir," the General eventually said. The emphasis he placed on the word "was" told a story all by itself.

The leader's frustrated sigh was audible to everyone on board. "What happened?" he demanded.

"She... she went off-scope again, Sir."

"Off-scope, General? Where the hell is that? Tell your men to find her again as quickly as possible and to do everything they can to keep her movements tracked," The President's exasperated tones made his displeasure clear.

"Sir," Rogers began in reply, speaking in clipped tones as he tried to keep his own anger in check, "it's nigh-on impossible to maintain tracking vigilance. She's just too goddam fast."

The Chief-of-Staff scowled. "Well, do your best," he instructed before swivelling to face his advisor once more, turning his back on the General. "Frank," he started to explain, "I take your concerns on board, but I just don't believe your idea would work here. What we need is..."



At that very moment, far above the upper limit of the world's atmosphere, Ria was completing her intercontinental voyage. Having set off to investigate another of the artificial satellites orbiting the planet, her odyssey a quarter of the way around the globe had taken exactly as long as the brief conversation between the President and his General far, far below her. So powerful were her self-propulsion abilities, she was able to fly comfortably at such spectacular speeds and yet slow to a complete halt in the tiniest fraction of an instant, coming to a perfect, sudden stop. Now she was floating motionless in space, her flawless body precisely half-an-arm's length from the main hub of the second orbital device.

Moments earlier, when she was still the width of a continent away from the contraption, her sparkling eyes had already penetrated its mechanism. She had long since located another semi-circular metallic coil amidst the numerous other components inside; not an exact match for the "half-crown" she had ripped from the first of the primitive contraptions, but close enough for her intentions. Now, without a thought, she slammed her petite hand through the metal cover and plunged her slender forearm deep into the machine, brushing aside whatever she encountered until her fingers carefully curled around the coil. She removed it with the gentlest of tugs, pulling it clear of the rest of the device amidst a brief eruption of sparks.



Twenty seconds later, inside the Presidential train, General Rogers stood up sharply. "Where?" he demanded, half-yelling into the telephone handset he was still holding. "Exactly when? How many seconds after the first one? Are you sure?"

The President immediately held up his hand, halting his advisor mid-flow, before muttering a quick apology and then turning his chair around yet again. "General!" he shouted. "What's happening?"

"Sir, another commercial satellite seems to have suddenly stopped functioning," the General reported, breathlessly. "Above South-Western Europe. The, er, moment of failure occurred approximately fifty-two seconds after the North American satellite went down."

"Fifty-two seconds!" the President exclaimed. "My god, either there's more than one force attacking those satellites or that... that..." It was too late. He had to utter the forbidden word. The 'G' word. "...that girl can travel five thousand miles in under a minute!"

If the Chief-of-Staff himself, along with every last member of his entourage, hadn't fully appreciated the insurmountable scale of the challenge facing them, this latest speed-of-movement calculation finally made it stark. There was a noticeable increase of anxiety around the room, along with an equally evident lowering of spirits in response to the leader's numerical conclusion.

General Rogers' habitual brisk, military manner meant that the level of his personal spirit was a perpetual secret. Had it occurred to him at that moment to reveal the state of his private thoughts, he would have told of despondency and pessimism due to events at Burpford where top ground and air-based equipment, and a lot of good men, had been lost trying and failing to stop the alien. He might also have mentioned the anger he felt towards his Commander. Since the current crisis broke, Rogers felt the President had repeatedly demanded the impossible from both him and the forces under his command. His men were doing all they could! Wasn't the number of dead in the last few hours proof enough of that?

Thinking of the casualty statistics, the General found himself momentarily stunned by the apparent absurdity of the situation. It was astonishing to think that the military had sustained such losses. Only a few hours ago, all this had seemed such a minor problem; a single being the size of... Well, the size of what she seemed to be: a teenaged girl. A single being, not a gigantic monster, not some massive, muscle-bound, vaguely-humanoid warrior, but a girl. Nothing but a young, skinny... Alright, dammit... not skinny but slim and curvy and unbelievably sexy, but still... a girl! Just one girl! How was his army - and his airforce - not able to destroy her? How had she torn his men apart with such ease and such impunity? She was just a girl! A naked, gorgeous girl! This had gone on long enough. Surely it was time to end it now. Time for bold action. Time for the pig-headed President to grow some balls and sanction the use of his non-conventional arsenal.

Of course, General Rogers kept all those thoughts to himself. He was not the kind of man to share feelings. He banished all trace of emotion from his voice as he spoke into the telephone. "Understood. Continue to monitor and stand by." Then he turned away from the communications desk, covering the mouthpiece of the telephone handset whilst keeping the earpiece pressed to the side of his head. It was time to interrupt his beloved Commander-in-Chief once again.

"Mr. President!" the general called.

"What is it now, General?" inquired the leader, far from pleased with yet another disturbance, and already expecting further bad news or, at best, more useless information.

Rogers' words mildly surprised him: "Sir, we have a tracking lock on an unknown object of appropriate size next to the European satellite."

"OK, General. So, I'm guessing it's safe to assume that the same entity is responsible for the failure of both satellites?"

"At this moment, sir, all the data suggests that is correct."

"I wish I knew what the hell she's doing up there," the President muttered, loud enough for most of those present to hear him.



Ria was playing. She had brought the two semi-circular coils towards each other and had welded the ends together by moulding the metal between her phenomenally strong fingertips. Then she had placed the counterfeit crown of Prytkon on her head. To keep it in place, she had pulled it down so that the metal had no choice but to stretch and yield, adapting to the contours of her invulnerable skull.

There was a large, smooth, rectangular and - crucially - shiny flat panel attached to the orbiting device from which she had torn the second half of her crown. Using a single hand, she grabbed hold of the nearest edge of the oblong protrusion and tore it free from the rest of the contraption with an effortless movement of her dainty-looking wrist. With no more use for the main machine, she disdainfully dismissed it from her presence with a casual kick of her long right leg, her pretty toes slamming into the side of the unit with enough force to severely dent the metal casing and send the whole mass rocketing away into the emptiness of space.

Turning her attention back to the shiny rectangle she had torn free, Ria rotated it until it was perpendicular to herself, adjusting the panel until she could see her own reflection in its surface. Alone in the cold near-void far above the planet, the daughter of the last Emperor of Prytkon studied the image of her ripe naked body, its perfect natural beauty and the crude, imperfect adornment on her head. Out here, so distant from the planet of her birth, floating above the atmosphere of a brand new world, the crown looked out of place. Somehow, it did not seem, as she had thought it would, a natural adornment. Despite her upbringing, despite what she had for so long believed was her birthright, despite the familiarity of its shape, the headpiece did not look to her as though it unquestionably belonged on her head. It was as though, for some reason, she was not meant to wear it.

And yet, she felt no disappointment looking at her reflection. It was true that destiny, in the form of the rebel uprising on her home planet, had robbed her of the chance to wear the crown of Prytkon as her father had done. But destiny had also gifted her something far more exciting: the unstoppable physical might of a goddess and a whole new planet on which to exercise that might. She required no crowns, be they real or copied, indigenous or alien, to rule this world. What need could she have for mere symbols of power when every molecule of her stunning, flawless body was full of real, unopposable, limitless power?



"-Are you sure?" General Rogers' anxious tones were addressed to his telephone contact, but they served to interrupt every conversation and train of thought in the carriage, including the President's. The leader frowned as he listened intently to his top military man's next inquiries: "Those things can't move like that by themselves can they? Have you cross-checked with Central on these fig-"

"-General!" This time it was the President's turn to interrupt. The tone and the line of Rogers' questioning unnerved him. The General immediately looked towards the Commander, who wasted no time demanding "What's going on?"

"Sir, we still have a lock on what we believe is the alien," explained Rogers, "but the European satellite is moving away from its orbit out into space at..." He spoke into the telephone mouthpiece "..you're certain about that speed?" and then paused, awaiting an answer, before finally completing his sentence to the President: "...about fifteen thousand miles an hour."

The Commander-in-Chief was not greatly concerned about the movement or location of satellites orbiting over foreign continents. The speed quoted by the General was not noteworthy at that moment. He had other, much more immediate, concerns and he wasted no time voicing them. "And the alien?" he asked. "Where is sh- er, it?"

The General spoke into the phone again. "Is the primary target still holding in its previously reported location?" A second later, he looked up, catching the President's eye and announced, "Yes, sir."



Hovering miles above a different portion of the globe, Ria was unaware of the men and machines on the surface of the planet that were desperately trying to track her location. Having already released her mirror-like panel to drift in the almost-vacuum, she pulled the improvised crown from her head, the metal tearing like the softest of materials between her all-powerful fingers. Turning the damaged replica over in her hand, she realised that souvenirs of her former home were irrelevant now. She could never return to Prytkon. Its traditions and symbols no longer mattered to her.

She closed her feminine hands over the solid metal coil, crushing it flat in her smooth palms, permanently destroying the fake ceremonial headpiece. Then she tossed it unthinkingly away. Powered by the limitless strength of the discrete muscles in her long, sleek arm, her casual throw sent the deformed lump of metal travelling away from her faster than a comet trapped in the gravity of a giant sun. All thoughts of her birth-planet faded from her mind even before the temporary crown had disappeared from sight.

This new world, with its countless, shiny cities lying helpless at her feet was her home now. Down there, she thought, there were new crowns and jewels and other beautiful objects. A whole planet, just waiting for her to help herself to its treasures. She narrowed her clear brown eyes and scanned the surface of the globe beneath her. Her gaze settled on one of the larger population centres, a city on the edge of a large land-mass. In her former existence, making her selections in the Treasure Room of her father's palace, she would point at a gleaming jewel and announce "I will have that one." Now, a few years older, she looked down on a entire metropolis and silently thought "I will have that one... first."

She could wait no longer. Grinning in excited anticipation, Ria descended through the atmosphere at speeds many dozens of times too great to be measured by any of the tracking devices on the planet. She barely registered the friction that heated her silky skin until it briefly glowed red. Dawn had broken down below, but, for a moment until she began to cool, her incandescent body was visible in the sky as a shooting star. Anyone noticing the light from the ground below might have wondered why the bright dot that had seemed to be falling so rapidly suddenly stopped when it was still as high as a cloud, and why it appeared to hover in the sky, slowly dimming until it was invisible to the eyes of any ground-based planetary native.



"What?" yelled General Rogers into the telephone. "When?"

The President's face fell once again. He was mid-conversation with the head of his personal security team when, once again, he felt compelled to halt his dialogue-partner half-way through a sentence with a mumbled, monosyllabic apology. "General!" he barked, attracting the military man's attention, "What's happening?"

"Sir," Rogers replied, casting his gaze down to hide his irritation, "We lost her again."

The President's exasperated sigh was heard by everyone in the train carriage. How, he wondered, was he supposed to formulate a response to something that moved so fast, no-one knew where it was most of the time! For all he, or the General and his expensive equipment knew, she could be thousands of miles from her last known position. She could be back at Burpford, or on the White House lawn or even, he realised with a shudder, sitting on the roof of his train... "Where is she?" wondered the Commander-in-Chief. "Goddammit, where is she right now?"


Conceptfan, Jan. 2015.