Epsilon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Commander Mila Tovarich is the only survivor when her spaceship crashes on the deserted and barren planet, Epsilon—alone but for her metal companion, Human Articulated Robot-3RY, or Harry as she calls him, who looks after her every need and carries out the maintenance on the survival capsule.

  Bored with the attention of her fingers, Mila looks for ever more inventive ways of releasing her frustrated sexuality, from electronic screwdrivers that oscillate at 20,000 time per second to the attentions of an entity, invisible to her eyes, that seems to understand exactly what she needs, and of course her faithful companion, Harry, who is always ready to obey her commands, as she waits for a rescue.

  Can she survive until a rescue ship arrives? A rescue that may never come.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Epsilon

  Copyright © 2012 PMJ Downing

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-216-1

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  www.eXtasybooks.com

  Epsilon

  By

  PMJ Downing

  Dee, Always a great inspiration

  Chapter One

  Through the viewing port of the survival capsule, the three graves looked lonely and abandoned. Sitting low on the northern horizon, the young moon threw a hard shadow from the crude cross that stood sentinel over them.

  It could not look more inhospitable, thought Commander Mila Tovarich as she stared beyond the graves at the crumpled wreck of the spacecraft that stood half a kilometre away, a stark reminder of how perilous space could be.

  The crash had turned the four-person mission into a one-woman one. The spacecraft had spun out of orbit to the surface of the planet Epsilon after a meteorite had punctured the spacecraft skin. The crash had killed the Captain and the other two crewmembers.

  Mila realised that she was lucky to be alive, although stranded on Epsilon probably wasn’t lucky at all. She tore herself away from the macabre reminder that she was very alone on this uninhabited and desolate planet, and had been for—she glanced at the digital calendar display—almost eight months. Alone, except for a humanoid robot that catered to her every need, carried out maintenance on the SC, and ensured her survival.

  She stared out of the port at the wreck again, hoping it had miraculously repaired itself, then up at the black sky with its billions of glittering stars, stars so bright she could read her space manuals by their light, if she cared to. She didn’t think there was much likelihood of a rescue. Still, one could always hope.

  As Space Communications Officer, Mila had transmitted a distress call in the brief seconds before the crash, but she wasn’t sure if anyone had received it. The radio had suffered severe damage in the collision and appeared un-repairable.

  Humanoid Articulated Robot model 3-RY or “Harry” as she had nicknamed him, had been working on the radio intermittently since the crash. He had removed it from the spacecraft to the SC so he could repair it. Harry was of a male human design, very accurate in detail. The designers had also provided him with a strong, deep, very masculine voice and hunky body.

  Mila frowned and wondered if she was going mad calling a robot by a human name. Still, the conversations she and Harry had allowed her to keep her sanity—just. The airlock door closed behind Harry as he returned from another maintenance trip to the coldness of the barren surface.

  “Everything alright out there, Harry?”

  If a robot could nod, then Harry nodded. “Yes, Commander. All is as can be expected.”

  “Have you managed to repair the radio?”

  “No, Commander, not yet. There are some damaged parts that I am unable to repair. I am, however, still pursuing suitable replacements.”

  With her elbow on the table, Mila rested her chin in her cupped hand and studied her only companion. Harry looked like a real person. It was difficult to tell he was a robot—his designers had made him muscular, tall, and, she supposed, handsome in a clinical, clean-cut way. His dark brown hair never needed cutting, unlike hers, which was becoming rather long—it now reached to below her shoulders, way below regulation length, and framed her face in an unruly mass of blonde waves.

  Harry’s eyes, although rather expressionless, were also a deep brown. He was very strong, yet his hands had sensitivity and control—he could pinch an egg between thumb and forefinger without crushing it.

  Mila sighed. An egg would be heaven, she thought, instead of the reconstituted pap that the Sustenance Replicator produced on a daily basis. She longed for a good breakfast or a steak for dinner. Looking thoughtfully at her robot, she wondered if Harry’s superior brain would be able to reprogram it.

  “Will there be anything else, Commander?”

  “No, thanks, Harry. Err…Do you want a game of chess?” she asked hopefully. She knew he would beat her—he always did—but it helped her to overcome the boredom.

  “I have some essential work to carry out before I can switch to my recreational circuits.”

  She sighed again. “Alright, Harry, please carry on.”

  “Yes, Commander.” Harry turned and walked out of the comfortable living pod and into the complex machine room, the lifeblood of the survival capsule. The door hissed shut behind him.

  “Perhaps I can reprogram you, Harry,” she muttered under her breath.

  Mila Tovarich was twenty-six years old, tall, leggy, and very blonde. The skin-tight nylon all-in-one suit she wore accentuated the large breasts, small waist, and curvy hips that had earned her the nickname of “Sex Bomb” at graduate school. Her full, sensuous lips were without make-up—not that she had any to apply, she thought ruefully, or anyone to see it. Her dark, brooding eyes and long lashes dared anyone to mess with her, although right now she wished she actually had someone to mess with her.

  She was not sure why she had signed up for the space program—she had too high a sex drive to spend months exploring the far reaches of deep space, and now she was paying the price for her rash decision.

  The connecting door hissed open. “Do you require some sustenance, Commander?”

  Mila glanced at the time readout on the console. “I suppose so, Harry. What do you suggest, a nice sirloin steak?”

  “Commander?”

  “Never mind.” Harry could be so infuriatingly robot-like at times. “Sure, I’ll have whatever’s on today’s menu.”

  Harry turned to the SR and punched a few buttons. Mila studied his shapely buttocks, hugged
by the thin nylon of his suit, and wondered if the designers had given him male genitalia. After all, they had apparently given him everything else. He turned and she studied the front of his suit. No, she sighed, nothing there, no bulge, no nothing.

  Harry handed her a styrene cup full of thick brown liquid. With a grimace, she sniffed at it. “What’s this?”

  Harry’s expression did not change. “I believe it is called beef stew, Commander.”

  She grimaced again and stuck her tongue out at him. “Yes, of course it is. How silly of me not to recognise it,” she said sarcastically. She sucked some of the stew through the straw. Well, it tasted like beef stew, although it had been so long that she wasn’t sure she remembered what it should taste like.

  “Harry?”

  “What is it, Commander?”

  “Harry, do you think you could reprogram the SR?”

  “Reprogram the Sustenance Replicator? In what way, Commander?”

  She thought it was impossible anyway and a stupid remark to make. “Never mind, Harry. Shall we play chess now?”

  “Certainly, Commander. Do you wish to be white or black?”

  “I’ll be black for a change.”

  Harry won three games in quick succession and Mila switched off the screen. “Thanks, Harry. I think I’ll retire now.”

  “Certainly, Commander. Goodnight.”

  And that was about emotional as Harry got, she thought ruefully as she stripped off her suit and crawled naked into her sleep pod.

  Sleep didn’t come too easily to Mila, for her thoughts of Harry’s buttocks had impinged upon her mind. When had she last been with a man? It must have been just before the start of the mission training almost two years before—although, her Captain had almost joined her in her sleep pod when they were only a week out from Earth. At the time, she hadn’t been receptive to his advances. Not like she would be now.

  Her nipples became hard and tingled. She knew the signs—they would not stop hurting until she had masturbated to orgasm. She gently rubbed her fingers over the hard nubs and sighed. She liked to make herself climax because she enjoyed the warm feeling of peace it gave her. And usually, she slept well following a session.

  She thought back to the last time a man had made love to her. He had been a trainee pilot at the space centre. She grinned as she remembered his massive cock, of which he was justifiably proud. Must have been ten inches long and very fat. She thought of how he had made her feel when he rammed it into her slim body. She had screamed with enthusiasm as he worked it back and forth to produce the embarrassingly copious amounts of slippery secretions that she had when aroused. But then he had ejaculated and it was over, wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

  That really was it, she thought sadly. He had pulled his massive cock from her, muttered a shy thanks, and left to go to his own quarters, leaving her to finish with her fingers what he had started.

  And that was all she had these days, her fingers. She shut her eyes as her hands crept down across the smooth skin of her stomach to the soft hair covering her vagina and jumped when they made contact with her wet lips, even though she knew that’s where they were going. A gush of further wetness coated her vulva and fingers as she roughly massaged her clitoris until, with a whimper of released desire, she climaxed. Contractions in her stomach made her curl up in the restricted confines of the sleep pod as wave after wave of gut-clenching spasms swept through her body until, with a last deep sigh of contentment, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning, Harry,” Mila said brightly as she stepped into the machine room where the robot was busy working.

  “Good morning, Commander,” Harry said. “If I may remark that you look radiant this morning.”

  She looked at the robot in surprise. “Harry? That was almost a compliment.”

  “Commander, I am not programmed to have sentiments, as you know. I was merely expressing a human compliment, as I know how humans like such sentimentality.”

  She was disappointed. “Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “Why did you go and spoil it?”

  “My apologies, Commander.”

  “Keep working on that radio, Harry,” she ordered sternly. She was annoyed with herself for letting Harry’s human good looks get to her.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  She was going up the wall with boredom. Back in the living quarters, she took a drink of water reproduced from the SR and pulled a face. Even that tasted awful. She wished she could take a long drink of pure, fresh water, or better still, a nice cold beer with a white frothy head.

  She stood and she sat. She ran her fingers over flat surfaces and studied the results—nothing. The dust scrubbers were evidently doing their job efficiently.

  She went back into the machine room and stood looking over Harry’s shoulder. “What are you doing, Harry?”

  Harry stood to his full five foot ten inches and faced her. “I am undertaking your last instructions, Commander. I am attempting to repair the radio.”

  Was that a hint of frustration in his voice? But no, that would be silly. “Very well. Carry on, Harry.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Mila wandered about the machine room. It was alien to her, because normally she left this area to Harry. She looked at the various bits of machinery and wondered what each piece did. All, of course, were essential to the wellbeing of the survival capsule. The pod could sustain a stranded crew for a number of years, but nothing helped to stop the boredom.

  A small workbench stood to one side and she stared at the jumble of bits lying on it. She picked up a tool. It was about ten inches long and very thick. The end was rounded and she could see no purpose for it. It oscillated at twenty thousand cycles per second, or so a metal plate on the handle stated.

  “What’s this, Harry?”

  Harry turned from his task. “That, Commander, is a sonic screwdriver.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she muttered, wondering what a sonic screwdriver was. Before she could ask what it did, she pressed a button on the side and it came alive in her hand. The vibrating shocks travelled up her arm and into her brain, where they rattled around inside her skull. She squealed and dropped it on the bench, where it squirmed about with a high-pitched buzzing and a scattering of loose components.

  A hand reached from behind her and turned it off.

  “Thank you, Harry,” she murmured, her face hot with embarrassment, although why she should feel embarrassed in front of an unfeeling robot she did not know.

  She picked up the screwdriver again and studied it carefully. It reminded her of her dildo back on Earth— naturally, she’d been unable to bring with her—although her passion stick didn’t vibrate anywhere near this fast.

  “Does this have adjustable speeds, Harry?” she asked curiously, a glimmer of excitement appearing at the back of her mind.

  “Yes, Commander,” Harry said in his clinical voice. He showed her the little rotating knob on the end of the handle, and the machine gave a gentle purr of just one thousand cycles per second, according to the digital readout on the handle display. He rotated it fully and it became a blaze of vibrations so fast that the end actually became invisible to the naked eye.

  That could be interesting, she thought. “Do you have a spare one of these?”

  “Yes, Commander, but maintenance is best left to me to deal with.”

  She hoped he would not see the subterfuge in her eyes. “Yes, I know, Harry. I just want to experiment with it for a few minutes. Please give me the spare.”

  “Yes, Commander,” Harry said, ever the obedient servant. He opened a locker, extracted the screwdriver, and handed it to her.

  She turned it over in her hands. “How does it work? There’s no bit.”

  “It is done with a sonic vibration that vibrates the screw loose, Commander. The screwdriver is capable of forward or reverse.”

  “Is it fully charged?”

  “Of course, Commander. It is always kept at full charge, should it be requ
ired.”

  She left Harry to work on the radio and went to her pod. Sitting on the side of her bunk, she tried the switch and the screwdriver began vibrating as though it wanted to shake her to pieces. It shook itself out of her hand and landed on the bunk.

  Picking it up, she turned it off and studied it carefully. “Wow,” she muttered. “What a vibe this is.” With her heart beginning to beat faster, she flicked the switch and touched it to her nipples through the nylon of her suit. Immediately, they erected into sensitive and aching pleasure spots that instantly radiated out from her breasts to the tips of her toes and top of her head. With a gasp, she snatched the screwdriver away, and stared at it as it rumbled in her hand, shaking her arm. “God, that was so quick,” she murmured. “And it’s only on the lowest setting.”

  Taking a deep breath, she moved it down across her body to her navel. The tingling vibrations spread rapidly across her skin and buzzed into her brain in a blaze of intense sensation. For several seconds she endured it until, at last, she could stand it no longer, switched it off, and placed it on her side locker, built into the bulkhead. “I could make a fortune selling these on Earth,” she murmured. Of course, they would need a different shape to be practical, perhaps like a delicious and wonderful penis with a big head and thick veins.

  For three hours, Mila wandered back and forth, each time returning to her sleep pod to stare at the screwdriver before going back into the living compartment again. When she wandered into the machine room for the tenth time, Harry looked up from his work, and remarked, “You seem unusually restless, Commander. Is it something I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you, Harry, I am just incredibly bored.” How could she tell a robot that she wanted to try the screwdriver against her body again but was frightened of the awesome power it contained? Nor could she say that she wanted to try it between her legs, where her vagina was pulsating in eager anticipation. Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she turned away lest he saw the intention in her face.

  Back in the sleep pod, Mila stretched out her hand, touched the screwdriver with a finger, and then snatched her hand away as though it was alive. Feeling stupid, she took a deep breath, picked it up, and ensured it was still on the lowest setting. She switched it on and once more it pulsated in her hand. The vibrations that had frightened her before now seemed innocuous and modest.