Cyclops returned to her own body to find alarms sounding and the noise of her officers issuing orders with calm experience tinged with a current of fear. The klaxons had been silent and the officers had been relaxing at the end of battle, and of the war, when she had entered the astral for the meeting with her Queen. But even disoriented by the return from her telepathic threesome and the sounds of preparation for renewed battle, she could tell there was a false note on the bridge.
“Check sensors for malfunction or technosorcerous mirage.” “Outer pickets confirm visual sighting!”
Alarmed that a militant faction from the Gen worlds was staging a last futile resistance or that unexpected allies had arrived after their surrender, Cyclops quickly surveyed the holo-readouts floating around her command chair. No, only a single small ship had transitioned into the system from hyperspace. But it had done so impossibly close to the planet, inside the fleet’s sphere of patrolling frigates that it should have taken an hour of in-system travel to reach. And now it was accelerating at a speed more like a missile. Despite this a number of the nearest warships were already declaring their weapons ready to engage the intruder at the War Consort’s command.
“Confirmed!” A junior officer was speaking loudly over the low noise of her comrades. “Idents and visuals match HMS Quicksilver.”
“Signal the fleet. For Her Majesty, protect the Quicksilver at all costs,” Cyclops ordered.
The same junior officer repeated her order, ensuring that all heard it. That was the false note on the bridge. One of her daughter-adjutants - Ruby, Megan or one of the Twins - should have repeated the order. They should have taken charge the moment it was clear that the War Consort’s mind was elsewhere.
Cyclops’s eyes scanned the bridge, locating each of her four daughters sired by the White Queen. All of them were acting like mindless fools: giggling to themselves, playing with their breasts and even drooling stupidly on their exposed titties or uniforms. Cyclops knew at least some of the passengers arriving aboard the HMS Quicksilver.
“Hello, Cyclops. I hope our mother hasn’t tired you out. We do hope you will have the energy to properly celebrate our arrival.”
The central holoscreen had sprung into life, obediently answering royal techcodes. It displayed the superior haughty smiles of the five gorgeous blondes who had spoken in perfect unison. Each was completely identical to the other. The White Princesses, the daughter-clones of the White Queen.
Cyclops ignored them, prioritizing checking the disposition of the fleet. The largest battleships and cruisers were dangerously overextending their shields to make a safe corridor for the Quicksilver to reach Cyclops’s flagship. The smaller and faster frigates and destroyers were moving at top speed to place themselves between the Quicksilver and known warsats and surviving surface weapons of the Kingdom of Gen. And great flocks of starfighters dotted with X-alts were launching from carriers to support these operations. Despite the temporary telepathic bimbofication of key members of Cyclops’s command staff the fleet was reacting with perfect precision. Satisfied, Cyclops returned her attention to the main holoscreen.
A more than familiar redheaded beauty had taken her place among the White Princesses. Dressed in figure-hugging green and gold she was a splash of color against the pale blonde princesses in their slutty white outfits.
“Perhaps we could celebrate your victory a little more physically too,” Jean Grey - Vizieress and First Consort - told Cyclops with a laugh and a wink. “But first our beloved Queen asked me to make you presentable for formal occasions such as taking princesses prisoner.”
Cyclops was wreathed in Phoenix fire as Jean put forth a tiny fraction of her cosmic power. Cyclops’s simple uniform grew more ornate, though still not as ostentatious as her full formal uniform. It seemed slightly wasted effort, however, as the jacket and what lay beneath were soon ripped in the front. For Jean’s power wasn’t just transforming Cyclops’s clothes. Her pert breasts swelled with unnatural speed, the force ripping fabric, till they were the same oversized funbags she had had in the astral orgy.
“Mmm, so beautiful, so big,” the Cuckoos declared in unison, their blue eyes burning with lust. “We will be with you as fast as ever the Quicksilver can. Out.”
The main holoscreen returned to displaying the status of the fleet.
Cyclops cupped a hand cautiously to one of her expanded exposed breasts as the last of the Phoenix fire extinguished. Normally Cyclops forbade such displays on her bridge; they caused too much distraction and sometimes slutty competition between the officers. But this was by the Queen’s command. Cyclops moaned as she tested a nipple. Jean had made these breasts not just bigger but more sensitive, though thankfully not in proportion. It would be impossible to cover them, the sensation of fabric rubbing against them would be maddening, even the cool air of bridge was arousing. The bridge crew were watching which just made the sensations of fondling herself all the more pleasant.
“Duty officer?”
“Yes, War Consort!”
“The senior crew may take turns playing with the Queen’s gifts to me. At their discretion and as their duty allows, until the Quicksilver has docked.”
“Yes! I mean, yes, War Consort.”
Cyclops glanced at her daughter-adjutants. They were desperately trying to reach their pussies, faint stains already visible on the crotches of their uniforms. Still nearly mindless, they couldn’t work out to get out of their clothes. This was the doing of a telepath (or five) and thus beyond reproach but that didn’t mean that Cyclops couldn’t help her daughters till Jean and the Cuckoos arrived and could be prevailed upon to return their minds to normal.
“Junior officers may take turns using my daughters as a telepath has allowed and intended. Duties allowing, no more than four officers at a time for any adjutant, oral and fingering only. I don’t want delays for strap-ons if general quarters is sounded.”
“Yes, War Consort!”
As the bridge crew began to celebrate the unexpected fruits of victory, praising the Queen and Her Consorts and Her Princesses with more than usual fervor, Cyclops was already considering. The White Queen might have sent the HMS Quicksilver here to collect the new sluts for Her harem, but the presence of the Cuckoos and Phoenix meant something much more was up.
Already Cyclops’s keen mind was considering the White Queen’s objectives, and how to achieve them, as the flagship's chief engineer began to kiss her way down the impressive slope of one of the X-alt's melons. No matter how dangerous or unwise the pursuit of Emma's lusts might prove this time.