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  Subsequently, Pumalar males were historically vastly outnumbered by Pumalar females on the planet! They just didn’t live a very long time, compared to females. And the more successful a male Pumalar became in business or from military conquest, the more “mates” he could afford to have in his harem. In Pumalar society, sexual relationships were not necessarily monogamous. A desirable female became mated with a successful male Pumalar based on his ability to support her living in his harem. Though it was also quite common for a lower class male Pumalar warrior or laborer to mate with only one single female Pumalar for life, it was also completely acceptable as well as encouraged for a successful male to have many different females in his harem.

  That’s what attracted homosexual human males to Pumalar in the first place. Not only were Pumalar males incredibly virile, gigantic, gorgeous, and legendarily tireless lovers, BUT… a wealthy Pumalar might simply add a human male to his harem, right along with his female concubines. For a gay human male, that could mean a life of sheer luxury! And it could mean care-free comfort for just as long as the male Pumalar found the human male to be desirable.

  But dueling and constant confrontation in ancient times also led to the tradition of owing a life debt to the relatives or family of the slain. Though there was no greater honor in all of Pumalar culture than to die in personal combat, it was also the solemn responsibility of the victor to compensate the family or relatives of the male they killed in a duel, by at the least paying and arranging for the slain Pumalar’s funeral and the deceased’s elaborate cremation ceremony. However, the life debt one paid to the relatives and family of the dead was predicated by the victor’s position and wealth. Chieftains who were seeking an armistice with rival faction leaders for instance, might simply donate one or several females from their harem to the other leader as a peace offering. And as centuries passed, this gesture became common in business, politics, or even inter-galactic relations.

  Subsequently, many Prides found it wise to develop the naturally instinctive empathic tendencies of their more attractive female members; and this gradually grew over the millennia into the establishment of Empath Academies. The training at those schools was thorough, and females were brought in at age 15 or 16 to begin their tutelage. In this way, every local Pride had an ongoing supply of young desirable empathic females that could be mated to any rival Chieftain, business leader, visiting dignitary, or even as a lure to a skilled athlete to hopefully come play for their local sports team!

  There was only one catch. By age 18, if they were not mated with another male, Empathic females were merely “released” from the programs. That was the official term for it: RELEASE. No shame in it really. It just went that way sometimes, for some female trainees. The goal of each Academy in every Pride all over planet Pumalar, was to present an Empathic female to a male (of whatever species) right at the very “blossoming” of their sexuality: right when their body was most appealing and healthy, and long before they began experiencing the futility, cynicism, and cold realities of adulthood. Those released from the program merely re-entered society and just went on with their lives.

  Many of those rejected Empaths, became concubines in lower class Pumalar harems. Some even became successful business owners, mothers, or public servants. But that was rare. More often than not, those “released” from the Empath Academy program ended up having very tragic lives.

  And that’s precisely what Felina was determined to avoid. She had awakened to a new day, having been denied the opportunity she’d been dreaming of for several years… only to have her hopes dashed. She had to come to grips with it. She had to accept her failure, and find a new path for her life. And she certainly had most every reason to believe things would turn out well for her. She was smarter than most… beautiful, strong, athletic, and highly skilled at the erotic arts. She’d studied not only about the cultures and customs of every planet’s species, but she’d also learned of their physical characteristics and tendencies when it came to lovemaking or experiencing sexual pleasure.

  She’d learned anatomy, learned techniques, learned pressure points and erogenous zones for five different species. No matter who she was partnered with for lovemaking, she could in all likelihood anticipate anything her lover might want or need, before he could even speak the words. Basically, just as fast as any male being could think it… Felina would already be making it happen for him.

  And that’s when it occurred to her! EARTH!!!! That’s where she needed to go! Pumalar Empaths were insanely popular on Earth. Everyone knew that; and she’d heard it long ago, when she was just a kitten. Wealthy Earthmen went absolutely crazy for them; and female Pumalars were said to be able to command an amazing lifestyle in the mega cities of Earth working in the “entertainment” industry, as they called it there.

  On Pumalar there was no equivalent to what Earthmen considered to be prostitution. There was no equivalent to a brothel or even a gentlemen’s cabaret. There were no strippers either, of course. Pumalars didn’t wear clothing anyway. They were covered in fur from head to toe, and if the climate changed or required it, they simply grew a thicker coat. Their coats protected their underlying hide, and on the female, the fangs were far less pronounced than on a male, so they could do most anything in the bedroom that a female human could do. A female Pumalar’s genitalia and reproductive organs were essentially the same as that of any human female too. Everything was in just about the same general location, so the act of lovemaking between male humans and female Pumalars was not only quite comfortable to perform, it was incredibly exotic for the man.

  Empathic female Pumalars were something that common Earthmen had never experienced until just the last few decades. They were a fur-covered living fantasy creature come to life, right there in the man’s bed. Insatiable, attractive, desirable, intuitive, exotic and instinctive… an Empath could do absolutely ANYTHING a man desired, without him even needing to describe it. Just think it, and the Empath could do it.

  Not just that either. An Empath like Felina could adapt completely to the human male’s personality and demeanor. The great allure of an Empath was just that aspect of their talents. If the man liked to be the life of the party, the empathic Pumalar female would be the hot girlfriend by his side whooping it up with the other boys and men in the bar, yet only interested in “her man”. If the man was studious and intellectual, she’d be the cool and bookish type who could sit and discuss literature or current events. If the man was the sports nut or hunter-type; she’d be the weekend warrior attending ballgames or slogging through the forest tracking game. Whatever he was, she would simply match up with it perfectly, creating for him the most perfect mate he could possibly imagine.

  All she needed to do was find a way to raise the money necessary to afford the ticket to get there; plus maybe a few “months’ worth of rent” (as Earthers called it). After all she couldn’t just arrive on Earth several months later completely broke. She’d need to make some money… a lot of money actually… before she could even make that trip.

  But how? Just how could an 18 year old Pumalar female—only just yesterday released from Empath Academy—come up with the several thousand Galactic dollars necessary for a cross-galaxy journey to Earth to start a new life… in a very short period of time, no less?

  Felina watched the end of the commercial on the video monitor about the new Intergalactic adult pleasure resort called Star Pussy. They were hiring, it said!

  It gave her an idea….

  Chapter 9:

  The End of Warden Ggggaaah

  Though Warden Ggggaaah may very well have underestimated the Rebels right from the start, it was more than anything else due to his own sense of arrogance and pride; rather than mere bad information from his subordinates or poor judgment within his chain of command. It wasn’t their fault at all. His staff had regularly reported back to him all the information about the progress made by the rebels. And Ggggaaah had always known about the technological adaptations the prisoners ha
d devised to survive down in the mines. He knew about Slartigifijians being used by various gangs as Engineers to repair and service machinery. He knew how they had used Acetylene torches to cut into the walls, ceilings and floors of the Food Depots and Guard Stations.

  He knew when they’d overrun the Service Tunnel that the only means of escaping the planet was the Earth Cruiser Unity. And that ship was quickly captured by the Rebels as it prepared to take off. At every stage, right from the initial outbreak of hostilities, his subordinates were keeping Ggggaaah thoroughly informed of the situation below.

  The capture of the first three Guard Stations, the securing of the elevators, the clearly sophisticated military organization of the rebel forces, the technology they seemed to be using... all of this was reported right back to the Warden constantly. For that matter, a lot of what the rebels were doing, he could literally witness first hand from the command bubble at the top of the cavern. But he just refused to believe the Rebels could really pull it all off.

  To Ggggaaah, it just didn't make sense that mere prisoners working in a mine could come up with so many solutions, overcome such formidable obstacles, and for that matter actually unify the entire planetary prison's assorted rival gangs long enough to stage an organized revolt. Ggggaaah kept deluding himself into thinking that the rebels would come apart once they began to starve, once they began to strangle in the thin air, or when they started to run out of clean drinking water.

  Above all, Ggggaaah assumed once the final rebel attack began and the prisoners started taking appalling casualties, that their morale would break and they'd scatter like frightened mice. For weeks, he watched the rebels piling up ore extract and dirt. Wondered at first just how crazy they must truly be, thinking that they could construct a ramp like that. And then when the ramp was nearly done, he STILL scoffed at the rebels' audacity, ordering the command bubble to ready itself for a counterattack when the ramp got high enough for troops to fire down on them. Technically the counterattack was a disaster for the rebels—they took nearly a thousand casualties in the battle. But once again, Ggggaaah couldn't fully grasp the determination of his enemy. A thousand casualties meant nothing to them.

  He had superior firepower, plenty of well-supplied troops, and besides all that he just KNEW that the Interplanetary Authority would fly to his aid, if their highly profitable mining operation was seriously threatened. Then again, he never even expected to seek their help in the first place. He just assumed they'd rush to save him, if it really actually finally ever came to that.

  Yet, every one of his assumptions failed. When he turned off the electricity below, he thought that would stop them. After all, how could they see in the dark, or coordinate a planet-wide rebellion, without electric lighting? How could they operate their water filtration systems either, and replenish their drinkable water supply? When he ordered all the guard stations and food depots sealed off, he figured that would stop the rebels too. The guards, he assumed, would fight desperately to hold off the rebelling prisoners if they knew their lives depended on it. And once the rebels began to starve, he just knew the revolt would fizzle out.

  Instead, his guards (in his view) actually betrayed him. They surrendered depot after depot to the rebels within only a few days of the beginning of hostilities. The commanders at those different guard stations just figured they'd been cut off from central command anyway and they might as well seek terms from the rebels. So in a matter of days, the Rebels were in control of all the Food Depots, each stocked with food that the Rebels desperately needed to continue the revolt.

  Even when the rioting prisoners made it into the Service Tunnel and began slaughtering Security Troops—troops armed with advanced weapons and trained at riot control—Ggggaaah refused to believe he should order an evacuation. When rebel prisoners slaughtered unarmed Mining Engineers, and even the crew of the Earth Cruiser Unity, Ggggaaah showed little compassion—merely ordered the air system cut off to the tunnel, and smugly observed, "S-sssee how long they can last with thin air...." And yet, the Rebels just kept battling on. They built the ramp, they organized into military assault units for the attack, they armed themselves with captured weapons, and then they surprised everyone by actually blowing a massive hole in the wall of the terminal.

  By then it was far too late to start taking them seriously of course, as they poured troops through the breach. It was also far too late by then to request any kind of massive rescue effort from the Interplanetary Authority! Up until then, Ggggaaah had been sending reports to his superiors claiming that the prison riot was a “minor uprising” and his forces had it “mostly contained.”

  His final few hours in command were spent holed up in his own private office at the very top of the main terminal facility, looking out at the barren planet surface and the striking desert landscape. From his office which was a small bubble sitting atop this massive glass dome; he could look out at the acres and acres of solar panels which charged his generators and gave almost infinite electrical power to the main terminal.

  Vaguely hearing the fighting going on downstairs; he focused his view on the sky while his staff sent out distress calls to any passing space ships who might land and rescue the beleaguered garrison. Meanwhile... the massacre of his troops, his employees, and his staff was soon going on literally right outside his door (as well as throughout the entire headquarters complex which was almost five square miles in size). Watching the sky through his tinted windows wondering what options he had left, he deluded himself into thinking help would soon arrive. But none came.

  He'd assumed so many things in the past thirty Earth days that just didn't materialize. And as the last elite unit of his troops protecting his stronghold was butchered, Ggggaaah became paralyzed with the confusion of a person who simply can't believe his own fate... can't believe everything is going to end soon... and can't believe it's all going to end like this. Yet, his arrogance and delusion continued right up until the very end, many would say later.

  When the rebels finally burst into his command center office, he arrogantly sat and glared at them coolly, holding a ceremonial Zorgolong dagger with one hand while he manipulated the tip with his other hand's long lizard-like fingers. It almost unnerved the rebels who captured him. How could he just sit there so calmly amidst all the killing and death going on all around? It was like he knew something they didn't yet know; or he was expecting something to happen that no one was yet aware of.

  "Yield or fight!" was the challenge yelled out by the Pumalar warrior who first entered the office. And yet amazingly, all the Warden did was simply lay the dagger down on the desk he was sitting at, and slide it across toward the Pumalar. The now-captured Warden just clasped his hands and awaited the Pumalar's next move, with a cold blank look on his face. Ggggaaah finally just hissed, "I yield." The Pumalars in that raiding party who'd made it finally to his office wondered why he didn't just fight them... and die honorably! What could Ggggaaah have been anticipating? Was he expecting them to ransom him to the Interplanetary Authority? Was he STILL actually expecting relief to arrive? If so, he was sadly mistaken on both accounts....

  The Nausties rampaged uncontrollably for days, killing and mutilating, capturing and torturing to death, as well as pillaging and vandalizing the terminal storage facility. There were occasional pockets of resistance; and in a few cases, Security Troops did make some heroic last stands. In the main lobby of the Terminal complex, fully a thousand Nausties were mowed down by Electrical Impulse Cannons mounted on balconies. In thousands of offices and meeting rooms; inside the barracks and inside kitchens or warehouses, Security Troops could barricade themselves and decimate the assaulting rebels. But there was no stopping the Nausties. Bloodlust and rage; suppressed in these violent beings for so many years, was all being released in one big orgy of frenzied violence.

  Most non-prisoners attempting to surrender were summarily executed when captured; but some of the Nausties went way too far with it. Atrocities were quite common. Clearly no on
e was in charge anymore, and in the absence of control, soldiers of most any army (especially rioting prisoners) can become ravenous beasts in the aftermath of a violent engagement. Whereas central command had been both felt and recognized prior to Perry’s and Hicks’ suicide mission, now it was apparent that no one was really running the show at all.

  Corpses of the slain Mine Engineers, soldiers, and office staff were violated grotesquely and certain species were offended by some of it; because in some cultures there were specific rules regarding the treatment of the dead. Suddenly Zorg Nausties noticed Human Nausties making helmets and bizarre hats out of the severed skulls of their dead Zorg counterparts who’d been working for the mine or serving in the Security Force. This was offensive, because only in ancient Zorg tradition, did a Chieftain ritualistically lop off the head of a slain rival warlord and then form a hat out of the top of his skull. A common soldier was not allowed to; and a Chieftain in ancient times would only do that if he personally slayed the other Zorg warlord.

  And other acts were culturally offensive to some species, especially the Pumalars who believed that all warriors had a duty to defend themselves to the death in combat, and should never be expected to surrender. If wounded and captured, a Pumalar warrior by tradition could and usually DID request execution to avoid shaming their family breed.