“Fuck me running this is so freaking weird!"

Sharon takes another look around the plaza, jumping up on a nearby bench to really get a decent look above the crowd.

"I swear it's like an old twilight zone episode. Jerry is literally the only man I can see and there's thousands of people in this plaza. I can see clearly to the end of this throughway as long as I'm enhancing my vision with axiom. And there’s just… no one. No one male that is. The only people under 20 kilos of titty besides me are daughters out with their moms.”

"There’s more people than that Zombie, don't forget there's branches off of this type of plaza and it goes for almost the entire level of the spire. There's likely tens of thousands of people shopping in this one part of the plaza, and it's of average size for a spire on Centris." Syl chimes in.

Jerry frowns, considering the implications of the admittedly rather pleasant landscape before him.

"And really not a man in sight... honestly I feel for the men of the galaxy. It's a bit lonely out here for me, and I get to go back to the ship and the company of men. I can't even imagine how hard it would be if my only regular male contact growing up was my own father, if that. Cruel Space has its problems, but at least with gender parity you're not deeply isolated like a lot of the men of the galaxy seem to be... small wonder that male ‘obsession’ is a thing. Your life as a man means you barely get a chance to be... well. Anything. Never mind an actual man."

"Oh, and what would an actual man be, oh daring, bold, and cocksure starship captain?"

Sharon's sing-song tone teases as she hops to another bench, seeming far younger and carefree for a moment than the talented aviatrix and electronic warfare specialist Bridger knew Sharon to be.

"Well it's whatever you want it to be really. Manhood's a bit funny like that. So long as you set your own course, what that course is doesn't really matter much. Not everyone can join the Raiders. Not everyone can go to space. You can however, challenge yourself, strive to be something more as a man, as a husband, as a father. To stand tall on your own two feet, contribute to your family if not outright provide. In the wider galaxy, men are not allowed to be men, they can barely escape from their mother's apron strings before they're corralled by their loving and well meaning wives."

Syl watches with some concern evident on her face as she watches her husband deflate slightly.

“From gilded crib into gilded cage, and anything outside that cage is generally slavery and horror like that poor kid Pukey Schmidt adopted, or about half the sorcerers on Serbow that Commander Shay’s done profiles on. Pampered, protected, cared for. Offered endless luxury and pleasure unending at the drop of a hat… and you don’t have to do anything but be born."

Jerry stops for a moment, casting his eyes around the spire.

"Unearned ease and comfort, not even being allowed to do more than be a glorified sperm donor in my own home. Thor's beard, I'd lose my mind in a heartbeat if someone tried to do that to me."

“Hmph” Syl huffs. “I know things are strange out here by human standards, but really you’re being a bit hyperbolic darling. Most cultures give their menfolk roles and authority, soft power frequently, but power all the same. Especially in the family unit. Honestly the girls you’d think would be the most aggressive about “dominating” and sidelining their menfolk tend to be the exact opposite. For example Cannidor make their menfolk more or less priests and soothsayers to their clan matriarchs. They guide their people, and are consulted on all manner of things, as well as being one of the first words on child care. Horchka warrior houses on the other hand have the first husband in the clan as the keeper of the family honor. Judge, jury, and if need be an executioner if a warrior in their ranks, wife or not, fails their honor or disgraces their house. Seramal space is much the same, their judicial system is composed almost entirely of men. Enforced by women of course, but they wield the… what did you call the things human judges use, a gavel?”

"Yep, you got it Syl, a gavel.” Sharon nods. “Nuance in the wider galaxy aside, I think you’re safe from being enslaved by anyone Skipper. Never minding the bevy of badass and beautiful women you’ve surrounded yourself with that a would be slaver would have to survive, so far you haven't met a woman in the galaxy that can whip you in a fight."

"I haven't met one of those Apuk Battle Princesses yet. Though from what the Chainbreaker reports and from what Vernon Shay and his boys are saying... I think I can even the odds. Sorcery or no sorcery. I’d still have to use axiom, mind you, but I don’t need a tree as back up to deal with an admittedly very bad bitch in a tiara and a prom dress."

"...Zombie, is this one of those moments where he's joking and I don't understand it?"

"Nope, Skipper looks dead serious to me."

Syl shivers from the top of her ears to the tip of her tail.

"I can't decide if I'm frightened... or terribly aroused. You humans really are Apex."

"I haven't backed down from a challenge in all of Cruel Space, don't see the point in starting now."

"Well when you put it like that Jerry I know which one I am, and it definitely isn't frightened, I..." Sharon stops dead in her tracks, covering her mouth. "...Shit, I said that out loud didn't I?"

Jerry and Syl exchange a look as they move into a little garden off to the side of the path.

"Something you want to share with the class Lieutenant Graves?"

"I uh. Fuck."

The deer in the headlights look playing out across Sharon's face is host to a riot of emotions, all so wonderfully readable to Jerry. No axiom required. Just good ol human emotion at its most chaotic.

"Son of a bitch." Sharon takes a breath, settling herself. "I uh. I've been. You know. Thinking about stuff. About the universe as it stands. About you... and me. And Syl. And the rest of the girls. I uh. Was thinking maybe I wanted in on that. Your marriage, that is. Seems like the thing to do these days, and it's an exclusive club apparently so better to get into the VIP now right? Besides, as the cocksure captain of a spaceship, you need to be nailing at least half your bridge bunnies right? Haha."

On second thought, Sharon looked like she was about to puke, but there was some palpable relief in her eyes at having gotten all that off her chest. Before Jerry can say anything however, Syl, ever the comforting, caring, matriarch, has sprung into action. She slides her arms around Sharon's shoulders and guides her to a nearby bench.

"Well that was very brave of you to say Zombie, I know Jerry and I are both flattered... but you seem more sickened than happy. I'm not adept at reading human emotions entirely... but you almost seem scared. Not exactly the Marine I've come to adore as my dear friend. I know you're being honest. Speaking truly with what you want... but if your whole heart isn't in it, if you aren't giving us everything without reservation as we will give you everything without reservation, then as first wife, I must refuse your request. You're not telling us everything Sharon. What troubles you?"

"I... it's silly. This is just how the galaxy works but it's not... how I work. I'm. Afraid of being left behind I guess. Of being forgotten. Of being just another face among dozens. That was always the nightmare after I realized what the world looked like outside of cruel space, knowing full well I hadn't ever planned to go home. I had been crushing on Jerry since that stupid Marines only launch party for the Dauntless. You know why Syl. Same thing that's charmed the panties off all you girls. Solid. Dependable. Reliable. Charming. Funny. Not bad looking if you squint a bit. I thought I might take a crack at Jerry, assuming, you know, we didn't get eaten by horrible space monsters."

Sharon chuckles, a slightly bitter look passing over her face and fleeing as quickly as it came.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"And then well. I mean fuck it kinda does a girl some damage you're keyed up for a fight to the death and instead you find out that you've literally been moved to the bottom of the galactic food chain looks wise. Then the guy you like gets jumped by not one, but over a dozen beyond busty babes with centuries of combined life experience.. They're all these great warriors, talented engineers, or strong leaders like you Syl. It’s one of the reasons I want to join the family honestly, but it’s… everyone’s amazing and I... I'm just Zombie. Just Sharon. I'm not used to being this self critical. This... out of sorts. I'm a Marine for chrissake! Arrogance is one of our founding principles."

The raven haired beauty sighs. "I dunno, I don't think I'm all that scared. Just. Anxious. Self conscious, it's such a weird change from how most humans do business. Not just sharing with one, but as many as a hundred wives... it's just. A lot."

Jerry nods solemnly "Don't I know it. That's why I've put a hard limit on twenty wives. A lot maybe, but still few enough that I think we can all still be a proper family. Not some clan, but a family."

Jerry slowly reaches out and takes Sharon's hand, with Syl mirroring him and taking the other.

"As for forgetting you... even in a family of hundreds Zombie, that's simply not possible."

"Quite right darling, we're only taking the best in this family after all, and one simply doesn't forget the best do they? We're all in this together... if you want to be."

Sharon pushes a little axiom into her limbs and pulls them both into a hug, anxiety turning to giggles as butterflies clearly continue to churn in her stomach.

"Okay. Phew. That's uh. Fuck. Okay. I uh. Hmm. This hug's kinda distracting actually. You both smell great. Pheromones? Cologne? Perfume?"

The group separates a bit, still standing closer than friends would as lingering hands rest on each other's forearms.

"So uh... I guess this is happening then."

"If you want it to happen."

"Yes."

"Then you're in. That easy. Assuming the boss agrees."

Jerry jerks his head at Syl, who quickly nods.

"No Jerry, you’re the final word on this type of matter. That said, we would be honored to have you join us."

"Well. That's. Great. That's great! Holy fuck that's a load off my chest. Even if I'm not smuggling watermelons like the average girl around here I..." Sharon stops dead for a second. "Uh. Stupid question... but uh. What comes next? I don't actually know what happens after this whole 'Hey I like you, and apparently that's how the galaxy kicks off relationships?' part."

Syl nods sagely, now this was a subject she knew a fair bit about.

"Well you can perform an oath dance, sign a marriage license, have a ceremony with the religious officiant of your choice, or one of a few thousand other recognized nuptial rituals, and provide that documentation to the appropriate galactic and Undaunted agency. Then we move your things into the family quarters. You can pace most of this as you please, but once the marriage is consummated, galactically it's all pretty much done and dusted."

"Oath dance... yeah I remember the briefing, it ranges from a full on stage production to a straight up lap dance in the most scandalous lingerie money can buy. My singing voice sucks so I think I can skip the stage production. Fitting a chorus in a bedroom seems challenging on a good day and... Shiiiit."

Sharon's eyes boggle a bit at the realization that the situation she's gotten herself in will go 0 to 60 in the literal blink of an eye.

"That's all... kinda intense. Maybe we can date... just a bit first?"

"Heh. Not going to try to get into the baby race? You have good odds of presenting my first son to me."

"Pfft. Oh god no. I'm not ready to be a mom just yet... though I dunno. If you're as good in bed as I think you are, I might ‘accidentally’ leg lock you and catch a hot shot anyway. Actually. I'm lying. I'm definitely leg locking you. You'll just have to see if your swimmers can beat modern chemistry.”

Jerry smirks, Sharon was clearly still nervous, and taking refuge in audacity as only a Marine can.

"I have been getting a lot of practice these days."

Syl smirks, resting a hand on her now visibly doming stomach.

"I'd say he knows how to get the job done."

"With six damn kits on board I sure as shit bet he does."

A strange look crossed Sharon's face as she considered that number for a second.

"Syl, how many babies do Volpir have in a go usually?"

"Six is the high end, but happens regularly enough. Two or three are standard in a litter, single births happen, but usually calls the health of the mother into question, eight like Firi is almost completely unheard of. Why?"

Sharon let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Whew. Okay. I was wondering if all the insane baby on board numbers was a Jerry thing or a you thing. One kid at a time turning me into a blimp is enough I think."

Jerry softly socked Sharon in the shoulder.

"Heh. On the plus side Zombie you'll finally get bumped up a cup size or three. No boob job required."

Sharon blushes red hot. "Shit I forgot you were there for that particular drunken rant at that damn party."

"Tequila does terrible things to your mouth."

"Shut up, sir. Err. Honey?"

Sharon gets a kind of confused look on her face, and the three all break into laughter.

"Seriously though Zombie don't worry about your tits self esteem wise. B cup Zombie's plenty pretty if my opinion counts for anything."

"It does actually considering we're dating now. Or something. Or getting married. I guess it's getting married by galactic standards. Hooooo fuck that's gonna be a hell of a video home. "Dear Mom and Dad, I wanted to tell you all that I'm getting married! I'm really excited and my fiancee is a great guy. I'll be wife number... what number am I?"

"Let's see..." Syl makes a show of counting on her fingers. "Fifteen."

"Wife number fifteen, in a universe where having only fifteen wives might as well mean Jerry's still a bachelor. My sister wives include what appears to be an orc war chief from a video game, a giant ten foot tall shark woman who uses vehicle scale weapons like I use pistols, a bunch of painfully pretty foxes that have learned how to walk, a tiny dragon with a medical degree and the fucking predator. Literally and figuratively."

"To be fair, fifteen wives does more or less make Jerry a bachelor!" Syl protests with a smile. "We have an embarrassment of riches few women could dream of outside Cruel Space with Jerry, especially because he's intent on closing applications as he said."

"You girls have no idea. Boot camp is keeping the Horchka busy but even with them reduced to snail mail letter writing I've gotten more marriage proposals than we have Horchka by a factor of at least two."

Sharon nods. "I mean you did kick their leader's ass in hand to hand combat in front of them. Considering they're a warrior culture, that'll moisten some panties. Hell, I thought it was hot too."

"Well you're from a warrior culture yourself Zombie."

Syl holds up a hand. "Actually I found it extremely enticing as well, displays of martial prowess from one's mate are... oddly feminine, as so many things with you humans are, but very enjoyable all the same. Plus you do that sweating thing..."

"Forget our own spaceships, we need to invent a better anti-perspirant." Jerry grumbles.

"Nah, we need to work out a way to get you boys to sweat more. Look at Syl, strong independent businesswoman, entirely wrapped around your finger. Sweat is the secret to conquering the galaxy for humanity."

Sharon offers, dodging a playful swipe from Syl in return.

"Back on my tits for a minute."

"So to speak."

"Shut up Jerry. Anyway... I think I'm going to talk to our new master Adept. Cascka right? Maybe she can help me open myself up to axiom... without ending up mega stacked. Like. The Apuk reshape their bodies more or less at will right? Surely I can do that to just be pin up model grade Zombie instead of bimbo Zombie."

Sharon gropes herself again for emphasis.

"I know the axiom helps and all that, but my frame just isn't made for galactic standard issue F cups. I'd look ridiculous."

Syl nods solemnly "With only human F cups? I've seen your sizing charts, you'd look like you'd just finished puberty, so slightly ridiculous for a woman your age."

Sharon groans slightly as Jerry gives her an appraising look. Her new fiancée neatly sidesteps the blow as she lashes out with a half hearted kick.

"What?"

"You thought about it!"

"I mean, guilty as charged, but you wanted to talk about your breasts, so I'm thinking about your breasts. I think you could pull the Galactic standard issue off."

"You just have a bimbofication fetish."

"If I didn't before the galaxy certainly seems to be trying to encourage one... and then I run into something like a Mrega and realize there is definitely such a thing as too much of a good thing."