Artemis’ Bow, Chapter 1, Part 6
Foreword
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Regrettably we have no voting options in part 6, the story is approx. 4.6K words long instead. Part 7 will be a lot shorter I think to compensate, and will have more juicy options on what diabolical deeds to inflict upon the poor, hapless crew of the Wayfinder SRE! For now, look at the destruction you have wrought!

As always, this chapter has been edited by  FireFox, without whom this story would be a lot less polished, and a lot less interesting!

The character Texas belongs to  apeshallneverkillape and the character Miranda belongs to  FireFox. I am honoured to have been able to include them in the story! Check out my Patreon options to see how you can feature as a cameo in one of the upcoming parts of this, and other story arcs.

The character Alex is property of  kyofoxe94 and the character Aava is property of  Mallow. These two have been my highest tier patrons for a significant amount of time, and without their help this project would not have been possible. Thank you <3

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“Be ready to breach in ten!”

Jonas could feel his heart racing in his chest. Finally, some action. The weight of a carbon smartfiber rifle in his hands. This was what he’d signed up for, not months of sitting around watching some backwater planet grow mold.

The lights of the armory flashed red and yellow around him, signalling that the other ship had been harpooned. They’d be boarding it soon. Jonas hefted his rifle, feeling the familiar ridges of its grip between his fingers. The roo leaned back, balancing on his tail for a moment as he checked the straps across his chest, counting briefly on his fingers the number of grenades tied there and wondering whether or not he would need more. Five was plenty, he decided; two concussion, three EMP. All around him, various weapons sat neatly on racks built into the wall. Rippers, ABs, shotguns, and worse stared back at him from their perches behind security locks that only the captain could authorise opened. Not that Jonas minded, Rippers tended to make a mess and it was the first ship they’d caught in months. The captain wanted to keep it intact. Mostly.

The roo’s ears perked as he heard the stomping of one of his crewmates approaching.

Texas loped into view seconds later, ducking through the low doorway into the armory and fixing Jonas with a scowl. Jonas had thought Texas attractive once, a long time ago, but that was before he’d actually gotten to know the wolf. Texas stood tall, taller than Jonas or the captain. She was built like a truck, with golden blonde hair and unkempt grey fur. Jonas could see she’d suited up for the occasion, wearing a set of light plated armour atop the yoga pants and sweatshirt that she usually lurked around in. That, combined with the massive cannon she had strapped over one shoulder, leant her a look of intimidation even more severe than normal. Jonas gulped and figured himself lucky she was on his side. For now.

“And just what do you think you’re doing Wetfoot? Taking in the sights while you tour the galaxy?” She snarled as she inhaled, hefting the large, box-shaped cannon in a manner that suggested she wouldn’t mind bludgeoning him with it. “Get your ass to the airlock!”

Jonas frowned. He might’ve been the shorter of the two by at least a foot but technically, there was no rank difference between them. He was certain that the only reason Texas bossed him around was because she felt she could get away with it. Running a hand through his short black hair, Jonas realised she was probably right. Better to do what she said and be done with it. He nodded and, with a few grumbled words of agreement, started to slide past her and out the door, only to have her meaty hands grip the back of his neck like a vice, stopping him in his tracks.

“And get some damn armor on,” she snapped, her mouth inches from his ear. “I’m not dragging your worthless ass to the medbay again, you hatchling nobody!”

Jonas shuddered and nodded, jumping away as soon as her grip on him was released. He hastily grabbed a set of lightly plated armor and began to wriggle into it, fumbling with the smart clasps that released upon contact. Texas watched for a few moments before snorting with disgust, turning and ducking back out of the armory, leaving Jonas to wonder if her being there had only been a way for her to harass him. He finished fastening the plates to himself, trying not to think about his dysfunctional crewmate. As he pulled his boots on, a flash of activity in the corner of his gaze drew his attention. One of the armory’s consoles was printing lines of gibberish. He hefted his rifle over his shoulder and made a mental note to report it to the captain after the mission.

As he walked out the door, Demeter was watching.

- - -


The Wayfarer SRE was generously outfitted with a liberal amount of computerised surveillance. Wayfarer liked to know what its employees were up to at any given time. The cameras in question cameras were for the most part unmonitored - unless something big was happening, it was simply too much effort.

Demeter found them quite handy.

The Wayfarer vessel used a protected local Net that was decently integrated with the system’s relay. With the Jackal in such close proximity (tethered as she was by the Wayfarer vessel’s harpoons) it was a simple matter to track incoming and outgoing data-packets and recover the ship’s access codes. After that, not only did she have access to all the ship’s records, but she could also access its security protocols, internal systems, and drones.

Every console in the Jackal’s cockpit lit up with new information, a stream of data cascading across any available surface. Artemis was beyond impressed. If she had known that ship-bound AI were capable of mounting such a sophisticated IT based offense, she felt certain that she wouldn’t have dragged her feet about installing one. The AI had been able to do in seconds what it would have taken any of the crew days to accomplish, and more importantly, it had potentially saved their lives.

Demeter pulled Artemis gently from her thoughts. “I could turn their life-support systems off,” she said, in her cold, synthetic voice.

“N-no... if we can avoid it, I’d like to do this without flushing a crew into space.” Artemis shivered. Space was cold and unforgiving, and it seemed like unnecessary cruelty when the AI could simply shut off the other vessel’s engines. “Can you stop them breaching our hull? I’d like to have a word with the captain.”

“I’m not saying I would,” Demeter clarified after a moment. “Simply that the option was available to you.” One of the panels in front of Artemis flashed green as the AI cut power to the Wayfarer vessel’s boarding systems, so that it would bump harmlessly against the Jackal’s hull. “I will prepare the crew for interrogation.”

“I’ll grab Alex,” Artemis said, nodding and pushing herself out of her seat. “She’s better at this than I am.”

She reached the hatch and paused, glancing back nervously at the looming shadow of the Wayfarer vessel, reflecting on how its size and stature had moments ago felt like they completely dwarfed the Jackal. She still felt in awe of her AI, that Demeter could so completely disable another vessel like that. In the stillness, she listened to the echoes of her blood pumping in her ears and wondered:

What else could Demeter do?

- - -

Jonas scratched his head and set down his rifle. He stood in front of a tall metal door, tapping his free hand on its command panel with increasing frustration.

“Captain?” the roo asked, taking a step back and surveying the portal in question. “ Captain, why isn’t the corridor C2’s door opening?”

It looked perfectly fine, it should’ve opened upon his approach, but even hammering his fist on the open switch was doing nothing and he needed to be on the other side. Texas would have his ass if he didn’t meet her in the breaching bay, sharpish.

“Captain?”

His neck-mounted comlink didn’t respond. He found it strange that neither the captain nor Texas had anything to say. He’d at least expected Texas to belittle him in some way, but the sudden silence was unnerving.

Jonas took one more look at the door before grabbing his rifle and turning away. He knew that if he headed down through the cargo hold, he could take another corridor to the breaching bay, and that if he hurried he could do it before Texas made a note of his absence. The stainless steel hallways were empty in a way Jonas never liked. He’d always held that the ship felt more like a hospital than a home. But then, he’d never been very comfortable in space as it was. Wondering if his crewmates were apparently otherwise engaged, Jonas made his way down a set of metal stairs to the cargo bay with only the echoes of his boots against the floor to keep him company. The bay’s lights were off, Jonas noted with a frown. The bay’s lights were never off. In the gloom, he could make out a couple of crates of supplies and the flickering lights of the cargo bay’s loading drones. They floated ominously in the shadows.

“Captain?” he asked once more, the ongoing silence striking a spark of panic.

Jonas tugged his comlink off his neck, examining the device that usually buzzed happily from his collarbone. He’d never heard of comlinks malfunctioning. They were built to withstand the vacuum of space. Even if it were faulty, it wouldn’t explain the uncooperative door, or the dimmed lights of the cargo bay.

Something was up. Resolving that Texas would know what to do, he pressed on.

The distant echoes of his boots against the cold, treadplate floor of the cargo bay did little to ease his nerves. Walking in the dark, lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the loading drones closing in on him until it was too late. With a quiet whir, its huge metallic hand clasping roughly around his shoulder. The roo winced and spun, jamming the barrel of his rifle against the drone’s optical sensors. Before he could fire off a round one of the drones many other hands clamped down on the rifle, breaking it into pieces before his eyes. Jonas gulped as the massive robot engulfed him with its limbs, pulling away his sidearm and grenades before he could even think to grab for them, bringing him into an uncomfortable embrace. He could do little more than scream and struggle as it dragged him, further into the darkness of the cargo bay.

A million thoughts ran through his head, but Jonas felt as though he couldn’t hang on to any one of significance. Instead of thinking up some way of freeing himself from the horror-movie he’d stumbled into, Jonas’s mind latched onto simple, mundane facts.

There are several models of cargo drones employed throughout the galaxy. Cargo docks and space stations often used great, heavy, drones as big as a car, with long arms and multiple, thick legs. Tripod and quadruped designs were popular as, even in low gravity environments it helps to have a stable center of gravity. Most spaceships, including the Wayfarer SRE vessel used smaller, eight legged drones equipped with lev-pads which harnessed the ship’s own magnetic field for rudimentary flight based mobility. Each drone had a central body the size of a soccer-ball, and a leg-span wide enough to rival Jonas’s own height. For smaller cargo, they were ideal. In flocks, they could lift several tons of weight at once. They were each equipped with optical, sonic, and tactile sensors. They could, in theory, be piloted by the captain, a drone specialist, or anybody else who had the necessary experience and access to the ship’s mainframe.

The question on Jonas’s mind, as he was pulled - struggling against the iron-grip of the drone holding him - was who could be behind the attack. It the captain, punishing him for some wrongdoing he’d long forgotten about, or more likely it was Texas, playing some sort of cruel prank.

It was pitch black in the back of the cargo bay. Jonas couldn’t see a thing with his non-augmented eyes, though he suspected whoever had control of the cargo drones had perfect vision. He could hear other drones whirring around him, the metal against metal as they rooted through the ship’s survival provisions. He struggled against the machine holding him, tugging at his arms and legs, but for every limb he possessed, the drone that held him down had two ready to suppress him.

“Atmospheric convertors. Nutrient pods. Survival rations.” The drones voice was metallic and cruel. It sent a shudder down his spine. “An awful lot of provisions for a short range vessel, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He said back through gritted teeth, not wanting to show Texas or the captain just how scared he was, how painfully aware of how easy it would be for the drone to snap his body like a twig.

“It is,” The drone replied, not missing a beat.

All around him Jonas could hear the other cargo drones as they dug through Wayfinder crates. He had to admit that whoever was controlling the drones had to be good, to be able to easily maneuver a small flock with such ease.

“Dehydrated food.” One of them said, its normally expressionless voice sounding almost excited. The one holding Jonas shifted, a spare arm coming up to clamp across the sides of his muzzle and force it open. “You look hungry, Jonas Siltwater. You should eat.”

Again, Jonas shivered; this time he couldn’t stop the panic from rising in his chest. A fearful yelp was cut off as the drone’s claw pushed what felt like a handful of kibble into his mouth before clamping it shut. Between that, and the increased pressure on his nose, Jonas had no choice but to swallow or suffocate. The dehydrated food was dry and stung his throat as he choked down the heavy, unwieldy payload into his clenching, churning stomach. Just as he opened his mouth to pant for breath, another handful was pushed into him. Again, and again, as Jonas squirmed and struggled in the dark, taking gasps of air around the dusty mouthfuls of what he knew to be heavily dehydrated rations. One or two pellets alone was usually enough to last a person for two days upon rehydration, he lost count of how many he’d swallowed after the first mouthful.

He knew it couldn’t be the captain controlling the drones. She wasn’t so perverse as to force a crewmember to swallow months worth of dehydrated food in the space of a few minutes. Even Texas wouldn’t be so unhinged. Probably. The kangaroo couldn’t see it, but he could feel his stomach take on a convex shape for the first time in his life. It bulged with every forced bite, every unwilling swallow.

The other cargo drones sounded as though they had stopped what they were doing. Their bodies, silhouetted against the doorways out of the cargo bay, slid one by one further into the ship.

His throat had become incredibly dry. He felt parched, and his lips had begun to crack. He was uncomfortably aware of the incredible amount of dehydrated food he’d been forced to consume and just how much space it was taking up in his stomach, the organ having been unhappily stretched into the shape of a beer belly that contrasted the rest of his slender, lithe appearance. The cargo drone holding him had for now ceased its force-feeding and for that at least, Jonas had something to be grateful for. His thoughts turned back to the prospect of escape, followed immediately by getting to the bottom of why he had been stuffed like a roast bird and who he’d have to pummel for revenge.

There was a glint of silver in the dim light, and a brief flash of pain. “Fuck!” he rasped, the words struggling to leave his throat. He realized a moment later that he’d just been stung by a syringe. “W-what the fuck was that?!”

“That was concentrated nanoserum E-72,” the drone replied, discarding what was left of the syringe atop an overturned crate.

“W-why?!”

The drone had loosened its grip enough that he could actually rub his shoulder where it had injected him. If he tried, he might even be able to escape. He felt his muscles tense with anticipation.

“That’s a... an... anti-venom, isn’t it?”

“E-72 was designed to ward against severe infection, heavy laceration and help metabolise unwanted toxins,” the drone replied, matter of factly. Its grip had now loosened completely. Jonas nearly fell to the floor, wobbling beneath the weight of his stomach. “You will soon digest approximately one hundred and twenty four weeks worth of dehydrated rations. This is approximately two point three nine six six years, or, two billion, one hundred and eighty million calories above your recommended, daily intake. E-72 will prevent any unintended rupture and assist with any metabolic requirements, over the next couple of hours.”

Jonas staggered backwards, and echoed, “U-unintended rupture?!”

He hoped that the drone was speaking nonsense, but it had given him the perfect opportunity to escape. Not looking a gifthorse in the mouth, he turned on one heel and, clutching his wobbling, burbling stomach, bounded for the nearest door out of the cargo bay. He needed a drink. He needed a medic. He needed something, anything that might help him regain control of the situation. The stairs beyond the cargo bay door were an almost dizzying prospect to try and climb. His stomach lurched at the thought and, for a moment, Jonas prayed that he’d void his gut then and there. His throat clenched around the rising tide of bile, much to his annoyance, and he resolved to waddle his bloated gut upstairs and find some help.

Taking the cool, metallic, staircase one step at a time, Jonas fancied that this must be how pregnant women felt; cradling the heavy weight in their stomach, wincing with every lurch, every motion that jostled their precious cargo. In this case he felt less like he was caring for the protection of a new life within him, and more as though the slightest misstep would rupture his stomach. He did not want to put the drone’s anti-venom rambling to the test.

A day ago he could’ve run the length and breadth of the ship without issue. Now, as he crested the top of the staircase, Jonas’s lungs burned and his knees shook, unused to such a shift in his center of gravity. Worse still, the roo’s mouth felt like a desert, his body aching for water. Even a small sip might begin to expand the veritable mountain of dehydrated food that sat within, cramping his poor, groaning stomach. On the other hand, the sensation of being dehydrated himself was agonizing. He knew it was a bad idea, but the cafeteria was just around the corner..

With a gentle hum the door to the cafeteria opened, Jonas paused for a moment and draped himself against the doorframe whilst he caught his breath.

The room was a mess. For a second, Jonas wondered if the ship had been attacked by pirates in the brief time he’d been held captive. Food packages lay scattered everywhere, empty plates were smashed where they’d been dropped, with pools of grease and rivers of crumbs spread between everything like some culinarian crime-scene.

In the middle of it lay Texas, her stomach rising like a bloated, wobbling, grease stained mountain. Jonas had never seen anyone so fat. He wasn’t aware that someone could get that fat.


She’d always been stocky and something of a glutton for the entirety of his acquaintance. Now, her appearance bordered on self parody, like some sort of parade float. Her cheeks were so large that they’d merged with the tire roll of blubber that had swallowed her neck. They pressed up against her eyes, causing her to squint as she feebly shifted her wide, saddlebag hips and bloated thighs, trying to get comfortable on the cold, metal flooring. Her bosom had burst out of her armour, nipples stretched wide across her swollen breasts. Jonas could see the remains of the nano-weave mesh practically buried beneath rolls of canine adipose. Those huge breasts struggled against even greater stomach, almost as tall as Jonas was himself. Only an hour ago, she’d been the strongest and most agile member of the crew, but this turn of events had rendered her such a behemoth that she visibly lacked the dexterity necessary for mobility.

Texas groaned, and with what little mobility she had left, she grabbed overflowing handfuls of her own blubber. Her bloated paws worked her flesh like dough, and another groan burbled out of her as she licked her lips. Jonas squinted slightly, gawking out of sheer morbid curiosity. Moments later, the lupine landmass’s gaze happened to drift over him.

At first, there was barely a spark of recognition as she saw Jonas. Then she gasped and did a spit take that sent a ripple through her entire body, while a blush streaked across her face and muzzle like a wildfire. She tried to lift her arms, feebly reaching for her exposed breasts, but failing to get them more than a few inches from where they rested atop the stacks of her massive love-handles.

“Wash you lookig at?!” she growled, her words muffled and slurred by the sheer volume of blubber pressing in around her mouth.

“Wh—” He fell into a vicious fit of coughing, reminding him of the pressing need for a drink. Giving the elephantine wolf a wide berth, he stepped around and towards the cafeteria sink, one hand supporting his stomach. He took a deep breath and rasped, “What the fuck happened to you?”

Texas’s chest heaved as her lungs struggled to draw enough breath to speak. “Cergo dronshe ambushed me,” she managed, between wheezing pants. “Shtuck me wiv a needle... forshed me to eat.”

“Ah,” Jonas wheezed, nodding, but otherwise at a loss for words.

He filled up a glass with water, reflecting on the situation. Whilst it shouldn’t be possible for anyone to gain that much weight in such a short amount of time under normal circumstances, he understood that with the right chemicals, the body could be forced to do magnificent and horrible things.

He shuddered and took a sip of water, swishing it around his mouth and fighting the urge to swallow. His mouth felt better, but his throat continued to burn. Frustrated, he let the water to trickle down his gullet.

All at once, his stomach began to tingle and ache. His pot belly of a gut positively lurched forward as even that minute amount of water hydrated a sizable portion of the incredible amount of dehydrated food he’d had shoved down his throat. The kibble-like pellets were expanding into full dishes. Pies, spaghetti, rice; whole meals were practically materialising in his bulging stomach. No longer a slight bump, he looked to be full term with twins, and still growing.

Jonas yelped. He quickly came to terms with the fact that if he didn’t get emergency assistance soon, he’d be rendered unable to, so he did the only thing left to him.

He ran.

“Where the hellsh are you go-ig?!” Texas barked, craning her neck as much as she could to see the roo, clutching his ballooning stomach in both hands, waddling fast towards the door.

Jonas paused at the doorframe, the swelling in his stomach serving as a constant reminder that he didn’t have much time to leave before he became as massive as Texas. Perhaps bigger.

“Escape pods!” he said, glancing down the corridor that opened up before him. It was free of any lurking shadows, and if he was lucky he’d make it there before the cargo drones caught up with him. “I’d carry you if I could, Texas,” the roo added, glancing back to the squirming, quivering wolf. “But, well, you know. You always said I was too puny to be of any use to you. How’s that working out for you now, fatass?”

He didn’t pause to listen to the slew of expletives that erupted from the wolf’s mouth in his wake. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to poke fun at Texas without immediate and painful repercussions. His guilt was minimal. It seemed like whoever was commandeering the drones was going to great lengths to keep the crew alive - if somewhat heavier than they had been. Jonas told himself that Texas would probably be alright, but he didn’t plan to find out why they were being fattened. He was going to jump into the ship’s lifeboat and head back to the local Wayfarer station. The higher-ups would sort this mess of a mission out.

Once again, it was just Jonas and the silent, cold, stainless steel corridors of the SRE vessel. This time however, the echoes of his footfalls sounded a lot heavier, and the kangaroo was far less preoccupied with the feel of the spaceship. The feeling of panic induced by the straining of his clothes and the sound of his zipper as it was slowly forced down by a burgeoning, ballooning stomach occupied his thoughts. He was becoming eerily accustomed to the sound of his own expansion; the constant sloshing, the gentle churning, and the soft tearing of stitches. Not wanting to find out just how much pressure his own lightly armoured suit could take, Jonas began undoing the clasps that held it together, letting individual plates fall to the ground behind him as he made his hurried, wobbling, sloshing journey to the escape pod. His gut had grown significantly already, approaching the size of a beachball, though dramatically heavier. It lay across the top of his thighs, slapping uncomfortably against them with each step forward.

The kangaroo gave a startled yip as he realised it wasn’t only his stomach that was growing.

As his fingers closed around a clasp, he realised they had a sausage-like quality to them that they had distinctly lacked until moments ago.. His arms were gaining weight too, forearms swelling and upper arms sagging. A result of the nano-syringe he’d been injected with earlier, no doubt. This apiphany was followed immediately by the very real threat that he was going to blow up like a balloon.

Jonas redoubled his effort, grunting and groaning as he picked up the pace, his massive stomach wobbling this way and that with his every, lurching step. A wave of relief came over him, knowing that the lifeboat was nearly in sight.

The kangaroo skidded around the corner, expecting to see the entrance to the escape pod, but instead found that a sensation of deja vu overtook him. Once again, remnants of some great feast lay scattered about. In lieu of plates, massive trays lay spread at random across the floor, spattered with puddles of grease and gravy but otherwise clear. Barrels of nutrient paste and boxes of military grade rations were strewn in piles, torn open and emptied.

In the middle of everything was the door to the escape pod. And the captain.

Captain Miranda had been a goose. Now she was a mound. A great, heaving blob of fat and feathers that was wedged thoroughly in the entryway of the escape pod. Like Jonas, she’d had the bright idea of leaving whilst the going was good, but unlike Jonas, she’d been accosted in the middle of the act and the results were unbelievable. Her head, torso and arms were visible, though massively swollen parodies of their former selves, but the rest of Miranda was lost to sight, blocked by the entrance hatch to the escape pod that she so completely occupied. Besides Miranda, in the act of stuffing the final mouthful of nutrient paste into the goose’s fat, wobbling face, was a cargo drone that hovered serenely as it surveyed the utter defeat it had a cold, metal hand in orchestrating.

It would undoubtedly take a team of drones with welders a good couple of hours to free her from the hatch, and at least half as long to repair it so that it could be used. Those same drones were currently in the final stretch of incapacitating the crew. Jonas’s heart sank as he reflected on the futility of it all. It was clear that at this point, neither Miranda nor Texas could even fit inside the escape pod. By the time the morbidly obese goose could hypothetically be freed, Jonas very much doubted he’d be able to fit in it either.

“Mmph!”

Miranda’s voice was muffled, but she sounded equal parts shocked and horrified to see Jonas, or to have Jonas see her in such a condition. As though it hadn’t noticed, the drone simply continued its job, making sure the overstuffed goose swallowed her meal.

For his part, Jonas considered his options.

He could run, but there was nowhere to go. The ship was full of drones being operated by a madman. He knew that eventually he’d be found, and that even if he could prolong his capture, whomever was controlling the drones had won. Jonas’s gut was too full and too heavy for him to try and fight anymore. He slumped to his knees, cradling the massive, wobbling sack of slowly re-hydrating food, feeling it push against his hands and into his newly formed moobs.

Maybe being fat wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself. Before Texas had spotted him, she had certainly looked as though she were enjoying her predicament.

He could feel his massive gut gently brush the floor, and then spread across it. He tried and failed to remember how many weeks worth of food had the drone said he’d eaten, much less how many calories. As the weight began to tug down on the muscles of his back, he wondered how big he’d be when he finally stopped growing, if he would ever stop growing at all.

“You look thirsty, Jonas Siltwater,” said the drone that had been feeding Miranda.

It had hovered silently across to where the roo had slumped, defeated, on the floor. A few of its arms carefully tucked themselves under his and pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s get you something to drink.”

It began to lead him away from the escape pods and back into the ship. He didn’t bother fighting it, pushing forward with wobbling, unsteady steps. He was desperately thirsty, he was tired, he was fat, and he suspected he would become a lot fatter.

In fact, he knew he would.

- - -