Beneath the Stars of Setara

James Abraham Carter

Warning: Erotic Content. Adults only

PREFACE

This story is an experiment that was undertaken to explore the capabilities of AI generated literature. I wrote a detailed outline and pasted it into the text field of the story generator. Three versions were produced by Toolbaz using the same plot. I then I combined the best elements from each version into the final iteration below. Approximately 80 percent of what follows was produced by AI based on my input. The remaining 20 percent is human editing to correct errors the software made, to seamlessly join the various elements together and add extra details that I felt were necessary.

My overall conclusion concerning the story and artwork is this: There are two ways of looking at the results. From a technological perspective it is amazing what AI can do considering that it isn't conscious and has no real understanding of what it is creating. However, from the perspective of a writer it does fall considerably short. I had to produce three versions of the story, combine the best elements from all the variants and do a reasonable amount of editing to produce something passable.

In my opinion, at the time of writing (August 2024) human authors and artists have nothing to worry about. But in 10 years' time when the technology has advanced further? Who can say.

**********

I had always wondered, even as a young boy, what lay beyond Earth, the vast expanse of the universe holding unimaginable mysteries. As an astronaut, I was trained to confront the unknown, yet nothing could have fully prepared me for the moment I found myself tumbling through the atmosphere of an alien world, my one man scout ship Pathfinder on the verge of breaking apart. I tried to stabilize my descent, but the cockpit erupted in a cacophony of alarms, warning me of the inevitable. The last thing I remember was the fiery embrace of the planet's atmosphere before everything turned to darkness.

When consciousness returned, I was down on the surface of a dry and parched landscape, my ship nothing more than a smoldering wreck several miles behind me. I opened the canopy of the ejection pod that formed part of the cockpit and levered myself out, wincing at the dull ache in my shoulder. The sight that greeted me sent shivers down my spine. Strange silvery cacti loomed around me, resembling ancient Grecian columns jutting from the rocky mesas that punctuated the golden desert. The horizon was painted with hues of crimson from the fading sun, casting long shadows that danced across the stone.

I had crash-landed on an alien world that felt more akin to a forgotten realm of fantasy. My suit’s sensors indicated that the atmosphere was breathable, so I removed and discarded my helmet and inhaled the air, which was tinged with the strange spicy scent of the golden desert.

“James Carson, astronaut,” I whispered to myself, trying to steady my breath and my emotions. I turned and had another look at Pathfinder and knew even from a distance that she was utterly wrecked. I was marooned on this unknown world without hope of rescue. Mission control, of course, knew my flight-path. But hyperspace is a tricky dimension to navigate. If you exit it at the wrong moment, which I had done due to a drive unit malfunction, then you can literally end up anywhere in the universe. I put aside these depressing thoughts. I needed to focus on survival - to find shelter and, most importantly, locate anyone who could help me.

I set my sights on the hazy outline of what looked like an ancient metropolis some miles away. The shimmering silhouette stood against the blood-red horizon, beckoning me like a mirage. What kind of beings had built the city? Of that I could not be sure, but with the universal translator embedded in my skull I would be able to communicate with whatever intelligent life existed on this unknown world. My feet crunched on the stony earth as I trudged forward, determination fueling each step. If civilization existed, hope might still flourish.

As I approached the crumbling city whose weathered walls brooded ominously over my presence, an unusual silence enveloped the air. The metropolis seemed abandoned, decaying with time but still holding a haunting beauty. I pressed on, desperate to find warmth in its stones for the cold of night was coming. Yet, just as optimism began to bloom, for I had seen a building more intact than the others, a blood-curdling scream filled with fear and pain shattered the stillness.

Instinct kicked in; I sprinted toward the source of the sound, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through my veins. Rounding a partially collapsed structure, I stumbled upon the scene — green savages, grotesque and scaly, had captured a young woman whose garment they had torn asunder. The brutes had her pinned to the ground, her legs spread wide. Several savages thrust their violating fingers into her slit and anus, electing further screams of pain and terror from the girl while others painfully squeezed and bit her generous breasts.

Unlike her horrid tormentors the young woman was an ethereal beauty, her long coppery tresses, which were more like feathers than hair, cascaded down her back, reflecting the flickering flames of the savages’ camp fire. Her chartreuse eyes sparkled with both fear and defiance as she struggled in the grip of her fiendish captors. But at only four foot seven inches in height she had no chance against her towering muscular tormentors. All this I took in in mere seconds. Those wild green beasts, with their scaly skin and primal features, were on the verge of raping her. My heart raced; I had to act.

As I leaped towards the brutes, a stone crunched beneath my boots, alerting the savages to my presence. They turned, their crimson eyes burning with rage and surprise. Unfazed, I drew my weapon and shouted, “Let her go!”

The commanding presence of my voice held their attention, and for a fleeting moment they hesitated. But the leader, a towering brute with a snarl carved into his ugly features, pointed at me, rallying his comrades with guttural cries. I fired a shot, the blazing beam lighting up the scene and hitting the nearest savage in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, and wild chaos erupted.

The ensuing melee was a blur of brutal motion. I swung, dodged, and fired again, my training kicking in as I fought for the freedom of the woman. Each stabbing ray took down another savage, and soon it was just me and the bestial leader remaining.

Breathing heavily, I faced him, my blast pistol’s charge depleted. His weapon - a foot long dagger - glinted in the firelight, but I was driven by a desire to protect. I threw away my useless gun and drew my survival knife. We fought fiercely, the sound of metal clashing and primal roars filling the air. I ducked under his swing and delivered a powerful strike to his ribs. He staggered, and finally, with a swift motion, I lunged forward, taking him down with a killing thrust. In mere minutes, the last savage lay lifeless, revealing the naked girl trembling among the ruins.

“Are you badly hurt?” I crouched beside her, my concern evident in my voice and features. Her eyes, wide with a mix of fear and gratitude, sparkled in the dim light.

“I… I’m fine,” she stammered, yet her shaking frame suggested otherwise. I fished a medical kit from my utility belt and treated her wounds, and gave her an injection of psymorphalon to prevent the scarring mental trauma her horrid ordeal would otherwise cause. Fortunately, according to the kit’s genetic analyzer, her physiology was sufficiently similar to humanity for the medications to have a positive effect. Slowly, her breathing steadied and her mind calmed.

“Thank you. Who are you?” she finally asked, her voice soft and melodic like a nightingale as she wrapped what was left of the tattered white robe about her lissome form.

“I’m James Carson, an Earth astronaut. I crashed here.”

I then elaborated, explaining what an astronaut was and the nature of space travel also. I knew that to someone from a nonscientific culture the story would sound incredible. But my fear that I wouldn’t be believed was laid to rest by her expression. She was an intelligent woman. My weapons and clothes were all evidence that I could not be from her world.

“I intend to help however I can. What happened to you?” I concluded.

“I am Princess Iona of Yeruva. On my way home from the city-state of Parthos, my caravan was ambushed by the Thak, those creatures you saved me from. They killed my guards and dragged me off into the desert.” Her gaze sharpened, resolving into determination. “I must return home. My father, the king, will be very worried.”

I felt something stir within me — something deeper than mere pity. “I will help you,” I promised. “We can leave now if you feel sufficiently recovered.”

Iona assented. Together, we searched the grounds and found the savages’ riding animals — scaly beasts called ungors roughly resembling a camel but adorned with ornate patterns across their robust backs. With Iona’s knowledge of Setara, her world, and my training, we made a plan. We scavenged what we could from the remains of the savages’ camp. We chose the strongest of the ungors. Its wide, fierce eyes regarded us with a mix of curiosity and wariness as I led the princess to its back and, as we climbed atop the creature, I was struck by the warmth radiating between us. Together, we set off through the alien desert, the crimson sun dipping into darkness behind us.

Night enveloped us, a tapestry of stars glowing overhead and the desert landscape transformed into a play of deep shadows and mysterious forms by the light of two moons. Our bond deepened as the hours passed. We shared our dreams, fears, and laughter, transcending the chasm of difference between a human astronaut and an alien princess. I stole glances over my shoulder, watching the way her feathery hair whipped in the wind as her laughter echoed over the terrain. It was disarming — I found myself falling for her, captivated by her spirit and bravery.

At what must have been near to midnight I called a halt to our journey. We needed rest and protection from the chill of the desert night. In the dim light of the stars and the moons I had spotted the entrance to a substantial cave in a nearby mesa. We entered the formation, which was large enough to accommodate us and our mount, and as I hobbled the ungor I could see Iona shivering. Her flimsy rags were no protection against the growing cold, and I wanted to avoid lighting a fire that might attract another band of scaly savages. I removed my space suit and handed it to her.

“Here,” I explained. “My suit will keep you warm. Put this on.”

“Then you will be cold,” she replied, looking critically at the skintight garment that I was left with. “We can drape your strange clothes over both of us if we lie close enough together.”

I was a little hesitant, but since Iona had made the offer I accepted. She trusted me, and I wasn’t about to violate that trust, so we snuggled up under my spacesuit, the bulky garment barely covering both of us. With the warm press of her full breasts against my back and her left arm about my chest it naturally took me some time to go to sleep.

**********

At dawn, we arrived at the outskirts of Yeruva, its gates imposing as they loomed ahead, crafted of intricate stonework above which could be glimpsed the tops of towering temples of architectural splendor. It was like ancient Babylon reborn - a vibrant gem in the setting of the lush oasis surrounding it. Yet serenity soon turned to chaos; guards from the gatehouse surrounded us, weapons raised.

“Halt!” one boomed. “By the order of Jadrax, your uncle, you are to be arrested and brought before him, Princess! During your absence he has taken the throne and imprisoned your father.”

Fury coursed through Iona’s veins as she looked up at me, her eyes blazing with outrage. “We cannot allow this! We will confront him!” Then to the guards: “Take me to my uncle. Now.”

In silence, the stone-faced guards escorted us to the grand audience hall of the magnificent palace, resplendent in its ornateness, where Jadrax awaited, arrogance radiating off him like heat from the desert sun.

“Welcome home, dear niece,” he sneered from Yeruva’s golden throne, leering at her like a famished wolf.

“Release my father!” Iona shouted, her fierce spirit shining like a beacon amidst the darkness of treachery. “He is a good king, not a tyrant to be cast into prison. You have no right to snatch his throne away.”

Jadrax laughed cruelly, “A king is no king who cannot hold his throne. You know our ancient laws. Might rules, and I have proven myself the stronger man. I’ve always admired you, Iona,” he boldly admitted. “I propose you marry me, and then we can discuss your father’s freedom.”

The words hung heavy in the air. “Be damned the law - it’s wrong,” cried Iona. “And as for our marriage - impossible,” she declared, horrified at the perversity of the offer. “My father wouldn’t want that to be the price if his liberty. Besides, I’m in love with this man, James. I could never love a creature like you, let alone wed one.”

A pause followed, thick and heavy, before rage and jealousy twisted Jadrax’s face. He leaped to his feet, weapon drawn, glaring hatred at me with all the venom of a spitting cobra — “No man can stand between me and my desires. Let us settle this with steel!”

Iona gasped. Her rage had made her incautious, and now she realized the danger she’d placed me in. But for my part I was glad to face the fiend. He was the enemy of the woman I loved, and therefore mine as well.

At Jadax’s command the guards presented swords. I chose one, finely balanced and razor sharp, and I felt my heart race in tandem with the tension gathering in the crowded hall. The duel was fierce. Each swing of my sword rang out like thunder, a battle of wills between love and lust. With a final thrust, I found my mark, and Jadrax fell, lifeless before the throne he had usurped.

Iona rushed to me, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I thank all the gods you’re still alive,” she whispered, collapsing against me. “My uncle was no mean swordsman.”

“I fought for you, for love” I replied, cradling her close. “Your wicked uncle is dead. The nightmare is over.” She looked up, taking my hands into hers, and I realized the weight of those moments — the future that spread out wide before us.

“But it means you are now the king by right of victory,” her voice faltered as the guards and courtiers submissively prostrated themselves before me in conformation of her words.

But I had not sought power. I did not want a bloodstained throne. I ordered the release of her father, returning his title and city to him. The rightful king welcomed me with open arms, his gratitude overwhelming. When he heard the tale of my heroism from Iona, he proclaimed, “Not only have you saved my daughter and restored my throne to me, but you have also proven yourself worthy of her. It is fitting that you unite in marriage in celebration of the triumph of love, goodness and strength over evil.”

The day of the wedding dawned, and as I stood beside Princess Iona at the sacred altar in the Temple of Love, I felt a sense of belonging I had never known before as the jubilant population joined in the nuptial festivities. The ceremony was grand, and I could see the pride and joy cross her features as the vows were exchanged.

Later that night, we retired to our chambers. The light of the two moons spilled through the lavish bedroom’s circular window, casting a soft radiance on the low bed upon which Iona knelt. She pulled the ties on the diaphanous robe that she wore and it slid down her smooth body in a cascade of silkiness. Her smile was warm and sensuous, an invitation I needed no prompting to accept.

My own clothes fell away. I came to her as she lay back upon the bed, her small but delightful figure arranged in an erotic pose. We kissed. I slowly explored her body with lips and tongue and hands. She responded passionately to my caresses, her quickening breath coming in gasps and her wetness flowing, scenting the air with a fragrance reminiscent of the finest of musk perfumes.

At Iona’s urging I entered her, my manhood enfolded by the delightful moistness of her loins. The warmth of her nakedness pressed against me and the sensation of being deep inside her sent shivers of delight through every fiber of my being. Her arms tightened about me and her body trembled in wordless encouragement as I quickened the pace of my vigorous thrusts. We climaxed together, the explosion of pleasure igniting a thousand fires in our souls.

Later, as we lay exhausted in each others arms, I realized that I had not merely crash-landed on an unknown world. I had found my purpose, my love, and my home among the silvery cacti and the distant roar of the desert winds beneath the stars of Setara. I was no longer just James Carson the astronaut; I was James Carson, the man destined to be by Princess Iona’s side, an adventure forever intertwined.

THE END