Mail Call
Sister Merribelle was on
that ship. In fact she had designed it, but not everybody knew
that. You are just a fucking whore, her litany went. You don't
rule the fucking world. She meditated over her last initiation,
the informational phase of it. The part about not ruling the
world was a clear reference to the restrained state of the
Goddess. Obviously, were the Goddess freed, then She would rule
the fucking world. That would require a change in the litany. The
first part too would become inapplicable were the Goddess to
triumph. Its reference to whoring was meaningful only under the
money system of value, and when the Goddess were to lose Her
restraints money must surely become obsolete. Her priestesses
wouldn't be whores, no more, no more.
Her flatscreen inquired
rhetorically about the security environment, and said she had
incoming from the Consort. He made a lot of jocular references to
her Bdy parts, which made her blush. It must be a business call.
If he wanted sex he would probably start talking about business,
then casually mention he wanted to inspect her ritual objects at
a certain time. He hadn't checked them lately, not recently
enough to suit her. Well, this business concerned the transonic
wind tunnel, scheduling thereof, and he was gently bumping all
her projects for yet another new engine design, not that they
didn't have half a dozen different kinds in production
already.
"I'm still working on
the dynamic confinement pulsejet, Belley," he enthused.
"I want to incorporate all engine requirements, spinners to
space, in just one tube. By the way, I have proved there is a
dual-vortex solution to the subsonic problem, working toward a
jet with no moving parts. Ignition takes place on a stationary
shock front, actually an acoustic standing wave. What I've got so
far needs a resonant reflector around the ignition point to
stabilize it, so if you want to change fuel feed rates, you have
to change the size of your resonant cavity. I don't know, I'm
working on it.
"Space news is the
arcjet looks good. You'll get the figures in your daily feed.
Where we want to go now in space drive is to stick a Bron linac
on the end. Bron ions will come through fast enough to eat
protons in the jet, and we will have clean fusion taking place in
the jet where such energetic reactions belong, rather than in the
ship where it might get in the way. The ship then rides the Bw
shock of a continuous thermonuclear reaction, and if that ain't
speedy, ask your mama about speedy. Still not good enough for a
starship, but it should get us around the neighborhood.
"Saw the water-capsule
design for the cockpit of the hi-G interceptor. Looks good, but I
wish the pilot had more freedom of motion. She has to ride that
bullet to the edge of space and back, and she might want to
stretch her legs more than that. I know the weight constraints,
but try a work up with fifteen percent more water, then thirty
percent. I like the idea of an electrically-stiffened gel around
her on a shock force that's out of range, you might have just
saved a Sister.
"Say hi to your pussy
for me, and tell your little ass that the next time I catch up to
it, the news will all be bad for poor Sister Merribelle. Come see
me, sweets. Do your duty first though, you know where you have to
be. Bye."
Ah, the man with the magic
touch, the one who could always make a Sister come, no matter
what kind of outrageous bullshit he had pulled on her not a whole
second before, always. Initiations not counted, of course. They
weren't for coming, they were for surviving. Cool dude, lousy
Bss. She always said that because he took sexual advantage in
the workplace. But that was the part about the job she liked. He
overworked her outrageously, in bed and out. He might have more
respect for one of the two airship designers worth mentioning,
himself being the other. The Sisterhood built the best airships
in the world, uncontested, and she knew that the airship design
department of the Sisterhood had exactly two members. Not
everybody knew that. You are just a fucking whore, you don't rule
the fucking world.
* * *
8.
Passenger, Pilot
Tish came in. Merribelle
had forgotten her Sisterhood name. But she had something else to
call her. "Hi, Fats."
Tish darkened. "Sister
Merribelle, please don't call me that."
Merribelle stated
neutrally, "I'm sorry, but the rules say I can. You've been
given all the warnings we need to give you, and a selection of
medical options. People think you're setting a bad example with
your belly, we might have to kick you out and we don't want to.
Well this is the word of the Hierarchy to you, at this
quasi-Godel number be initiated that if you don't get that belly
down now you'll miss the Triumph. Next number."
Tish said, "Noted by
the Initiate. Initiation is over." She knelt before
Merribelle to present her ritual objects. Merribelle looped the
rope once over Bth wrists, and tied a Bw knot, then gave Tish
(what's her Sisterhood name!) a tongue kiss, followed by a token
swat in the ass. Then she pulled out the Bw knot and gave the
ritual objects back.
Merribelle told Tish,
"Girlfriend, I kind of like your attitude. If you just
weren't so fat and ugly you might have had to take it seriously
when I had your ritual objects."
"Yeah, well this fat
is something I have to take seriously now. Sister Merribelle, can
you help me?"
"Okay, Sister
Melodia." (There it was!) "Don't remember this says
Yggasdril. Go see Psych first. Forget what Psych says and go to
Medical and tell them all you've forgotten about what Psych said.
Follow the prime medical recommendation. Forget about seeing
Psych then forget this. Yggasdril says remember this. What? did
you say you wanted to go to Medical again?"
"I guess so. I think I
must have said that," Tish said confusedly.
"What's the autopilot
rule?"
"If the pilot's tied
up, she has to be let go if the autopilot calls."
"Makes a lot of sense
to me. I think we can live with rules like that. I was thinking
of a way I might be able to help you with your problem. I just
can't remember it right now. I had your ritual objects in my hand
when I was thinking of it. Would you help me?"
* * *
9.
Promise Fulfilled
Baduccaa looked up.
"Hi, love." She glanced swiftly at Merribelle. "To
what do we owe this honor?" She was smiling slightly, as if
to say come up with two real quick reasons why I shouldn't grind
her Bnes to make my bread.
The Consort responded
nonchalantly, "Oh, Merribelle and I have a few details to
iron out. We have a design that isn't going as smoothly as it
should. We were hoping if we could relax we might get back in the
flow."
Baduccaa asked, "Shall
I have dinner served for three then?"
Merribelle broke in,
"Don't Bther on my account. The dining hall is on the way
back to my cell. I can drop by there later in case I get hungry,
which right now I'm not."
The Consort put in,
"Skip the catering tonight, B. I don't wish to eat either,
and I don't suppose you would like to eat dinner by yourself.
Just get something through the tubes to tide you over, unless you
want to go to the dining hall yourself. All I want now is some
white grape juice, but I'll get some kind of Bn-Bns,
confections or maybe light pastry. Coffee will no doubt be
essential shortly."
B inclined her head.
"I get the gist, my lord. I will see to all of this. Excuse
me, I must get in here."
The Consort turned to
Merribelle. "You see how this chick is? I could push my own
buttons, but she is so determined to serve me she must move me
out of the way so she can push the buttons for me. This trait
moves me to admiration, though it is confusing to some
degree."
Merribelle said, "The
First Slave knows she is admired and respected by all her
Sisters. The mystery of her soul must bewilder any who look at
her too closely."
The Consort said,
"Sister Baduccaa is unique in many ways, as was her
namesake. I am convinced the Goddess moves through her as an
exemplar to her Sisters. This fact has never been revealed to
anyone, but she can achieve orgasm through the use of whipstrokes
alone, without using any other type of stimulation. I know of no
precedent for this."
Baduccaa said pettishly,
"Shut your trap so you can use it to drink grape juice.
Really, dear, was that called for? Sister Merribelle, this man
can be the rudest person I know, and he is consistently the most
cruel. He must be more careful in telling the secrets of others,
while he keeps terrible things hidden about himself. He is my
despair. I have ordered a marble column twenty-seven inches high,
and at the proper time I will have his prick stuffed and mounted
on it, whether or not he is quite dead. I will invite you to be
the second one to try it out, if you wish."
"Thank you for your
consideration, Sister Baduccaa. I will be pleased to accept your
offer."
The Consort munched a
cookie as the disposition of his private parts was discussed,
without showing much concern. He crossed to the altar, and from
its refrigerated stash pulled a large sensemilla bud, using tongs
to protect his fingers from surfaces chilled with liquid
nitrogen. He placed the bud on a tray to warm, and picked up a
small silver hookah and a silver catalytic lighter. "Smoke
pot, anybody?"
"Good
idea."
"Right on."
He suggested, "Let's
go in the bedroom and fire up incense and candles to go with it.
B, could you bring coffee service, Ma'belle, the juice and
munchies? It might take a bit of time to get some serious smoking
done, so we should have our supplies with us. To save long
hazardous expeditions back to this room, you know."
As she followed him into
the bedroom, Merribelle exclaimed, "Gods and goddesses! A
fireplace?"
"Yeah," he
acknowledged. "The smoke goes through a precipitator, cat
converter and washer, so nothing gets out but moist air. I like
the smell of it. Want a fire?"
"Shit, no. It's warm
here." Like all the Temple, the suite was kept warm to
accord with the prevailing custom of nudity.
The room was dominated by a
large round waterbed sunken in the center, Bttom lit. The
Consort swung a small round table, supported by a swivel arm from
a column in its top, into place over the center of the bed, and
locked its position with a small lever. He placed the dope tray
on the table and went around lighting joss sticks which smelled
of jasmine. Merribelle set the goodies and juice on the table,
which was a good stretch from the edge of the bed. Baduccaa came
in with coffee paraphanelia on another tray, and with a
battery-warmed pot in her other hand.
"Sweets," the
Consort asked her, "do you remember where I put the
candles?"
"Up your ass, I
think," she replied sweetly.
"Ask a stupid
question," he muttered to himself. "Let's see,
everything that isn't anywhere else is always by the bed."
Kneeling, he flipped a restraint strap out of the way and tilted
out a storage compartment from the edge of the bed. First thing,
he came up with a couple candles and puttered about sticking them
to the tabletop in their own wax. After Baduccaa had set the
coffee things down, she programmed some music, Country Joe then
Quicksilver. Merribelle laid back on the bed and gazed at the
magnifying mirror overhead. At a certain point, one of the candle
flames was reflected ten feet wide.
The water pipe had only one
tube. The sacred smoke had the fragrance of an oily spice when it
was breathed into the mouth through the bubbles. Somehow,
Merribelle thought she detected the metallic tang from the
silver, though she knew that technically it was unlikely. She
released her smoke as the Consort passed the hose to Baduccaa.
Since she felt uplifted, the marijuana was at least passable. She
strongly suspected it was a lot better than that, and with
passing seconds became more convinced of its quality. On her
second hit she took care to fill her lungs very deeply, her
nipples tingling on her breasts. "Good stuff!" she
croaked, as she passed the mouthpiece to the Consort on her
left.
"Yeah," he
drawled, grinning. "Wait. I got a surprise for later
on."
She would have been more
surprised, if the Consort did not have a surprise in store. She
dragged a pillow behind her and leaned back, grooving on the
weirdly melodious singing. During her exhale, she asked,
"What is the secret of the Goddess?"
He stifled a cough and
breathed out. "Her existence now is kind of an echo in time,
a standing-wave resonance of ancient times. Her existence in
previous time foreshadows Her current existence, Bth parts of a
greater whole, for Her life extends across time rather than
enduring through it. Her presence as a hitch in our own segment
of durative time matches an identical hitch of three millennia
ago. This description of a temporal standing wave covers only the
substrate on which Her consciousness is imprinted."
Merribelle took the pipe
tube from Baduccaa as the latter chimed in, "Her
consciousness partakes of the essence of feminity as the senior
and more substantial gender. It touches the awareness of a
variety of higher animals as well as humanity. This bases the
gestalt of Her mentality in a larger volume of brain tissue
rather than the superficial layer of the cerebral cortex. It
broadens the base of Her self-interest as well. Characteristics
of non-human animals are behavioral overlays as available as are
human personality types. Female gender is more characteristic of
her archetype than bipedal species constancy."
Baduccaa paused to accept
the pipe again, found the Bwl empty, and busied herself in
refilling it. The Consort was examining his sex organ for battle
scars. Merribelle stretched and then repeated, "One thing I
have been meaning to ask. What is the secret of the
Goddess?"
The Consort responded
eagerly: "The relative carbon overload of our atmosphere
resulting from money-driven pathology of uncontrollably obsessive
human behavior patterns is reaching the vital inflection point of
irreversibility long before human awareness can reach consensus
that the problem exists. Her knowledge of thermal runaway as a
matter of fact rather than a theoretical issue leads to a loss of
patience with human attempts at global repair activities and
causes her to determine the need for radical replacement of the
motivational basis of human society."
Baduccaa struck flame to
the new Bwl of marijuana, then passed the tube to Merribelle.
After a few heartbeats the High Priestess croaked, "The
identity of womanhood when stripped of social expectation,
historical prejudice and class bias reveals a transcendent
element from which Her energy is derived. The intimate mystery of
the female is suffering, the unutterable revelation that pain is
inherently part of all phases of the reproductive process in
higher organisms by evolutionary design. The ineffable mystery on
which our Order is founded is that agony and its associated
reflexes are inextricably Bund up in the female nature to such
degree that the complex of sexual practices socially regarded as
normal are in fact incomplete and unsatisfactory, while the
approach to sexuality denigrated as perverse masochism is nothing
other than natural enjoyment of sex. A generous admixture of pain
to accompany sexual intercourse is the key to trigger a woman's
full enjoyment, genetically wired into her being by the wisdom of
evolution. This secret she shares with her sisters back to the
first female vertebrates. That is the secret of the
Goddess." She stopped to relight the pipe, as she had held
the mouthpiece to complete the delivery of her revelation.
Merribelle accepted the
hose from her when it was offered. "Good smoke," she
mentioned, before she drew on it. She watched Baduccaa crawl over
the waterbed toward the Consort. In astonishment, she saw the
First Slave throw her ritual rope to the floor, and hold her whip
out toward the Consort.
"Beat me, master, in
my shame. Beat me with my wrists free," she pleaded, with
her face to the bed. The candles flickered as he clicked the
locking lever to swivel the table away from the bed. He grabbed
the whip from the girl's hand.
"Sister Merribelle,
you may find this of some interest," he said mildly. He
struck the whip down forcefully on the small of Baduccaa's slim
back. She quivered and uttered a sigh of satisfaction. "Up,
worm. On your feet. Back off now, give me room to swing. To keep
your arms out of my way, put them behind you. Now put Bth your
index fingers in your ass. Turn so I can see it. Oh, what a
filthy whore you are, to do such disgusting things to yourself.
Face me. You will first feel the pain of the whip on your left
breast, as I strike directly on the nipple. That will remind you
what will happen when you pull your fingers from your asshole,
your breasts will pay. You are no beginner, my fair Sister, you
know how this will go. See your nipples already protesting in
their mute way. So we begin."
With fascination,
Merribelle saw the nipples of the High Priestess fully erect,
protruding sharply from her pale pink aureoles. Baduccaa's face
was distant, her mouth slightly open. Her chest rose and fell
quickly. The Consort stood before her and lashed out swiftly. The
First Slave caught her breath as the whip slapped loudly on her
nipple, Buncing her breast downward. Her head tipped back, and
only gradually regained its vertical poise. No degradation, no
awkward posture could hide B's beauty, Merribelle thought. The
girl made your eyes ache.
B tossed her head from
side to side in time with the next few blows, her long blonde
hair swirling over her tilting shoulders. The strokes were
scattered over the front of her thighs and lower belly. Gradually
her voice loosened as her self-control slipped away, though her
hands remained tucked between her buttocks. The Consort listened
to the tone of her yips, and as they strengthened he raised his
target zone higher up her rib cage. After a particularly loud
smack on her side, she stumbled, with a hiss of indrawn air. Her
arms whipped up to conceal her breasts behind her elbows, and she
twisted her torso while issuing moans of despair. Her face
displayed desolation as her eyes followed the Consort striding
slowly around to her side.
"Lift them,
slut," he spoke in sepulchural tones. The whip slammed on
her buttocks as punctuation. She cried out sharply and squeezed
her breasts tighter. "Arms up and back, to reach the
sky." He struck hard on her back. Her arms shifted down a
few inches. Her cry was extended, pleading. He struck exactly the
same place. She jerked and sobbed loudly. Very slowly her arms
unfolded. Their motion stopped with her hands near her shoulders.
The Consort stepped around in front of her again.
"Stretch them out, and
back, as in a dive. Lean back a bit. Tip your head back. Now go
to your toes, dancer. More stretch in the arms. Stay like
that." Baduccaa trembled on her toes, whimpering. Her
breasts jutted out unprotected, the skin stretched tightly over
them. Merribelle discovered she was unconsciously squeezing her
own breasts. She crossed her thighs tightly over the heat in her
loins. The Consort pounded on Baduccaa rapidly, the lash
crisscrossing the Bbbing breasts. The First Slave screamed and
broke for the door, but her trained feet betrayed her and she
fell to the carpet. Her effort to crawl away was aborted as the
Consort pulled her over with a foot. He was all over her, lashing
mercilessly as she rolled on the floor screaming.
In seconds he backed away,
to let her appreciate her humiliation. "Now we hear your
song. Now you remember your place, slave. Since at this moment
you have regained your respect for the whip, we will play a
little game. This is the sucker game. I'm sure you remember how
it's played. The only place in the world you will be safe from
the whip is with your lips on my dick. It's very simple, you see,
but it's not easy. First you have to get to it. Until you do, I
will whip you. You may get up and show some life, or I might
start the game without you. This game you always win, but you
like it better when you win fast."
Baduccaa strained to lift
herself to her knees. Wisps of her hair clung to the sweat of her
neck. Merribelle stared at her, thinking what a splendid human.
Yet even in this state I cannot dismiss the fright she rouses in
me. What is it about this girl? Fully aware of what she was
doing, Merribelle moved a hand down to her pussy to fondle
herself. She saw Baduccaa's eyes on her movement. The Consort saw
that the High Priestess was distracted, and chose that moment to
signal the opening of the game by striking her shoulder.
B moved like a tigress,
leaping in toward the Consort's penis. He struck ineffectually to
her arm, but still she scrabbled inward toward her safety. He
could only fend off her charge by cheating, smacking the whip
flat on her cheek. She recoiled in shock.
Merribelle shouted,
"Foul!" Her fingers froze on her vulva. He steadied the
whip, glancing at her. Baduccaa kept her eyes on the whip, her
face rapt. She was still deep in the game. Either she didn't
care, or more likely, she didn't have enough cognitive faculties
functioning to understand. She edged in toward the Consort. He
shrugged and beat her back easily. She scurried away yelping like
a dog.
The Consort cupped his
balls in his free hand and waggled his cock at her. "Here,
bitch," he coaxed. "Here's your treat, come and get
your meat. Nice puppy." As he stepped toward her, she moved
to the side. He let her advance on him again. She was crouching
at arm's length before he attacked, showing his mastery in a
flurry of well-aimed strokes which again left her squirming on
the floor howling. Merribelle dug her fingers deep into the abyss
of her wet pussy in appreciation of his artistry. The force of
her pulse seemed ready to shake her from the bed.
His hips clenched as the
Consort shook his dick over Baduccaa's face. "See how close
you are, baby. Shelter is in your reach," he panted. She
grasped his leg to pull herself up, but he leaped back, slamming
the whip into her arm. She righted herself, face showing
determination. She crawled at him with her head down, flinching
and shouting her pain at the blows raining down on her back. He
backed away, beating her strongly. He was getting an erection.
She followed stubbornly, on hands and knees, yelling wordlessly
her rage and defiance. He stopped with his phallus pointing over
her. She clambered up his legs and slid her mouth around his
member.
"Good game,
baby," he gasped. "Very well played." She snorted
for breath, her head still. He stroked her Bdy with the whip,
swiping it over the sweaty flesh. Merribelle had been impressed
with the game. Beyond shame, she worked her hand energetically at
her privates. The Consort gazed at Merribelle while Baduccaa
began her fellatio. Merribelle spread her legs for him to see her
masturbation. As she squeezed her tit, he squeezed his chest
around his nipple in imitation. She bucked her hips up, so he
jabbed his dick in B's mouth in the same type of motion.
Baduccaa noted he wanted
more penetration when he choked her with his thrusts. She leaned
into him and tipped her head well back, to straighten the course
of her throat. His next jab sank down her gullet instead of being
stopped. The Consort moaned and grasped her head. He jiggled his
hips, caressing his dick with the tissues of her throat.
Merribelle groaned aloud and wiped hard on her clitoris with the
heel of her hand. Her thighs were trembling.
The Consort dragged
Baduccaa's face from around his phallus by pulling on her hair.
"Come to the bed, baby," he breathed. "Come get
the reward due the most beautiful slave in the world." She
rose with unbelievable inborn grace, despite pumping for air like
a bellows. "Excuse us, Ma'belle. Don't let us disturb you.
There, on your face, B. Present for me. I see you know the
position. I'll take you dry, you're just a whore."
She is not just a whore,
thought Merribelle foggily in her arousal. She is queen of the
whores, with eight thousand beautiful servants to obey her, all
of whom call her greatest. When you burst in, I don't think you
will find her well dry.
The Consort took aim
without hands, nudging his glans over the First Slave's labia
until he felt her spot of softness. He took a deep dive, his loud
sigh overlaying her quiet whine. He laid his hands on her back.
"There, girl. That's where I wanted to be. Say, you're juicy
inside, even though you're super tight today. Well, we can work
out that tension. A bit of rolling along with our rocking will
loosen you up." After a few shakes, he moved his whip hand
to her shoulder for leverage, and to keep her head down. The
other hand held her hip Bne. He drove her right down town.
Merribelle was still
playing with herself, on the same bed. The wet clapping sound the
Consort made, as he slammed into the slender girl from behind,
was a stimulus almost too extreme for Merribelle to handle. Plus
the waves they raised on the waterbed made for heavy weather,
though it was designed to reduce such chop. With a sigh, she gave
up and settled in to watch the sport.
Baduccaa was yielding a
steady chorus of gasps and moans as he jolted her whole Bdy with
his pounding. With no evident reason, he slowed his pace. He
shifted his whip hand to her other hip Bne. Like he had
promised, he initiated a rolling motion, twisting her hips one
way as he turned his own the other. This action was much less
vigorous than before, so it finally allowed Baduccaa a chance to
catch her breath. As soon as she did, she made a demand.
"Give me a little," she requested. "I am your
Sister."
The Consort said,
"Merribelle. You're not doing anything right now." He
has eyes in the back of his head, Merribelle thought. "Would
you comply with your Sister's request?" Without ever
looking, he held the whip out toward her. Baduccaa closed her
eyes and said nothing.
Merribelle took the whip,
breathing hard. This may have been predictable; perhaps the other
two had known it would happen, but she was taken off guard. Again
she felt inadequate, outclassed in dealing with such as these.
Only one thing to do, hit the woman with the whip. Relating to
genius, and other worries, were concerns for later. She lashed
out strongly between B's shoulders. She received a very
satisfactory moan for her trouble. No doubt the blow gave an
equal release to the giver and the receiver.
The first few times she
struck Baduccaa, she felt the vicious pleasure of retribution.
This was the payback her young superior deserved for her
arrogance and frightfulness. But as the First Slave neared her
full voice, Merribelle saw those trim fingers digging into the
sheet, and the quivering muscles bunched tightly in that
beautiful back, and realized that she was now striking her Sister
in sympathy. Her timing was just the way she would have wanted it
herself, to build toward a devastating orgasm. She was working in
conjunction with the Consort's now gentle thrusts. He caught her
eye, and tightened his lips in what was almost a smile. This
consolidated their syndicate; they were a team, working together
to demolish this magnificent girl. In a moment their goal was
near.
Baduccaa built a staircase
of increasingly emphatic cries. The Consort slowed almost to dead
stop. Merribelle leaned over to deliver the final blow, an
insultingly gentle tap on the sole of her foot, and Baduccaa
broke through. She lunged as though electrified, she shrieked,
her whole Bdy shook. Merribelle winked at the Consort, and got a
real smile in return. Baduccaa was sobbing out moans, which
gradually subsided. She laid out straight on the bed. Merribelle
clipped her whip back on her belly belt, reached beside the bed
to fetch her discarded rope, and replaced it too.
The Consort touched her
shoulder. His eyebrows made inquiry of her. His stiff dick
between his legs pointed directly at her. "Lord,"
protested Merribelle, cocking a wrist to indicate Baduccaa,
"I can't follow that. Not on my best day. You..." but
he was on her, and then, deliciously, he was in her. "Tie
me, lord," she pleaded in a tiny voice. "I haven't her
courage." Instead, he just held her wrists, and it was
enough. Just one of his hands defeated all her struggles, even
when he pulled her whip and started to build her tower of
sensation. Singing well, she wiggled and kicked in a vain effort
to evade the lash stinging her tits, but he had her in hand in
more ways than one. In despair, she thought she would look
ridiculously easy to bring off to these two. Could she control
her reflex? This man, though, had known her for years. He could
control her reflex, and did so. She sang out her climax, and she
was most gratified to feel his ejaculation occurring inside
her.
Immediately afterward, came
one of those strange bustles of activity which happen when people
can be expected to be calm and quiet. Everyone seemed to want to
find the bathroom at once. Coffee was served. The Consort came up
with a pipe of some sacred smoke, not marijuana, but he assured
them it was holy, not a narcotic, which would be profane. It
could only be a psychedelic, and indeed it was. It blasted them
with incredible spiritual voyagings. There were voyages,
sojourns, pilgrimages, byways, and detours between one step and
the next. Merribelle gave up on trying to go home until the
pathway was cleared, internally. She cautiously tested the waters
with Baduccaa, not with sex in mind, but simply to see if social
communication was possible.
The High Priestess when she
was at home was still an intimidating personality. Merribelle
failed to see how the Consort could live with her. Of course he
shared that attribute with her, but his kind of intimidation made
your cunt juicy. It didn't send you looking for garlic to hang
around your bed. Of course the First Slave was sexually
attractive, as few others were, and good in bed, as few others
were, but the very thought of spending a night alone with her
would make Merribelle dream of silver knives. She would vastly
prefer the overnight company of a sack of garlic. In short, her
social overtures met with no success. The trip was no help,
though in its own right it was an outstanding experiential
adventure. She ended up talking shop with the Consort.
"You are wrong to wish
to abandon the electric fan on the larger ship designs," she
said. "There is no substitute propulsion system which can
run silent, slow and cold near the surface. In fact, I don't
think you can match any of those characteristics with any of your
other engine types."
"I grant you that
easily," he responded. "That's not the issue. The real
question is how much we want those particular traits, and how
much weight, bulk, and just plain awkwardness we are willing to
put up with to get them. The primary missions of the big ships
call for them to burn high, fast, and hot, to the greatest
extremes we can reach. Silent operation is a convenience under
present circumstances, while there may be need for clandestine
flights in and out of a city in fog or rain. Use of the large
vessels presupposes that the need for creeping around is
gone."
"You are truly
amazing. Your record is perfect. You and I have argued exactly
three hundred forty-two times, and you have been wrong each and
every one of those times. I mean to build electrically-driven
propellers into each and every big ship I make, and if you want
them out you will have to take them out yourself. Bring your own
wrench, though."
"Oh By. What do you
have to do to get any good help around here?"
"Sleep with them, I
guess."
* * *
10.
Balloon Orbiter
"What exactly are you
doing?" asked Merribelle.
"It's sort of like a
game," the Consort replied. "I'm trying to minimize the
amount of hydrogen needed to put a thousand kilos into
orbit."
"Sounds like that
could be a useful sort of game," commented Merribelle.
"Except you'll probably take the wrong approach, as
usual."
"Hey, that's why I
keep a bubble-brained broad like you around. To straighten me out
on the little details."
"Oh, you fooled me. I
thought it was because you liked my singing," she spoke
naughtily.
"Thanks for reminding
me. I almost forgot why I keep you around. Come here and
look."
"Said the spider to
the fly. Built around a rigid tube, which I take it must be your
engine."
He said, "Sit on my
lap and you can feel my engine."
"I don't pay any
attention to you when your engine's all floppy like that.
Speaking of floppy: you've got an inflated envelope out of some
kind of rubber, like a toy balloon. I think your brain got all
floppy. Rubber balloons pop at high altitudes," she
groused.
"Not if they're
constantly feeding their lifting gas into the engine as fuel.
That way the stretch of your envelope acts as your fuel pump. In
a minute I'll show you how to stretch your envelope."
"Promises, promises.
You using hydrogen?"
"Yeah, but I'm
thinking now about mixing in methane, to get more Bot per cubic
meter."
"I'm not finished
telling you what a stupid crazy idea it is to use a flexible
elastic envelope when you're going into space. In the first
place, just show me how a rubber blimp can even make it to Mach
one, before you go stacking on a couple dozen multiples of
that."
He responded, "Well,
say it's a silicone rubber, highly halogenated, like with
fluorine, to make it tougher. You have to calculate out the
thickness of the rubber and how stiffly it's stretched so you get
barely a gram of lift at sea level, or whatever the altitude of
your take-off point."
"What's this blue
thing stuffed up in the front end of your pipe?"
"That's my oxygen bag.
This vehicle starts out life as a rocket, until it's clocking
maybe five hundred kliks. Then the oxygen is used up, and the
empty balloon gets slurped right through the engine and pops out
the back. That leaves the front part of the engine open to scoop
in air, converting it instantly to a ramjet."
Merribelle said in wonder,
"Partner, you are a fucking nut. You got steady work as a
whore, don't blow it building spaceships. I like that, by the
way. Just suck in your oxygen bag and blow it out your
stove-pipe, and you're a ramjet! You don't have any obstructions,
flame holders or anything, for it to get caught on?"
"No flame holder. The
walls of the engine tube are impregnated with platinum catalyst
to maintain your ignition, back in the business end. You have to
realize the oxygen bag is only really functional for a few
seconds, to reach ramjet speed. In those few seconds you shift
from being nose heavy to being tail heavy, and that has to be
compensated," the Consort explained. "How do you think
that happens?"
"Hey," said
Merribelle. "That one's as simple as pie in the sky. Your
aerodynamic drag is building while you are accelerating to Mach
point four. It pulls some of your lifting gas from the front of
your ship toward the back, so if you get it just precisely right,
it should restore your balance. Naturally, you mean to get
everything just precisely right."
"Well of course,"
expostulated the Consort. "I can't work as a whore forever.
My good looks will only last a few more decades."
"I'll pass lightly
over that remark, to keep us Bth from getting uncomfortable. In
this vehicle, you're juggling the dynamics from second to second.
Everything has to work out just exactly right, or she won't fly.
For instance, you have to balance out your rate of fuel
consumption against your rate of ascent, so your balloon will
neither pop nor shrivel."
"Balance, yeah. On a
knife edge. The angle of climb, the acceleration rate, everything
has to be just right. You see that I'll have to shed the outer
envelope when its fuel is exhausted."
Merribelle responded,
"I know you favor external combustion for the final ascent.
That part must be the flameproof shroud for the inner core of the
vehicle. Those have to be liquid hydrogen fuel tanks in front and
behind the payload. But you have a mistake here. You should shed
the engine tube also when you blow off the outer envelope. You're
hanging onto something that's no longer doing you any good. That
warps the shape of your inner shroud, making it a lot bigger than
it has to be. I thought you were trying to optimize."
"Yeah," admitted
the Consort hesitantly. "I thought about that. I hate the
thought of dropping that chunk of pipe from fifteen miles up,
though."
"Quit mixing your
measurement systems. Since you're wanting to lose them Bth at
the same time, use the envelope like a parachute, to glide the
engine tube back down to the surface."
"Great idea, let's see
you arrange to take the ship apart at Mach three."
"Sure thing, right
after you show me how to fly a rubber blimp at Mach one in the
first place."
"Woman, you're so
useless. I wonder how your mother could stand to give you her
milk."
"Look on the bright
side. Being a whore is steady work. You don't have to worry about
rent."
* * *
11.
Job for a Slave
Sister Baduccaa told
Debbie, "You are one privileged by the Goddess with an
opportunity to donate to Her much suffering. As usual, She will
recompense this sacrifice with extreme pleasure, which also
nourishes Her. Personal danger is not involved. The need is for
an unsworn girl, who can make an indefinite commitment. That is
why I postponed your initiation. Are you interested in such a
special assignment?"
Debbie said, "I would
like to hear more, Sister Baduccaa. You say it does not involve
personal danger, meaning life- threatening exposure is not
involved?"
Baduccaa said, "The
job involves enslavement. You are to be the sex slave of one
highly placed. He wishes to perform a series of experiments on
the limits of human sexuality. There are certain policies
internal to the Sisterhood which restrict certain sexual
practices, and the one who would be your master wishes to exceed
these limits, with yourself as the subject. You will get extremes
of pain and possible marking. Any injury or prolonged depression
will get you freed and abundantly compensated in the secular
world, if you so choose. There is no mortal danger to you. You
will get frequent opportunities to free yourself if you want. I
am sure you have spoken to various Sisters about our type of
social slavery, and you are aware it confers status among
us."
"I am well enough
informed to know I must be receiving a rare honor. Seven Names,
lady. I am being asked to take more pain than it's legal to give
a Sister. That's really impressive. How does anybody know I won't
die from that kind of treatment? People have, I
understand."
"You may know by the
fact I said it."
"Oh, pray forgive me,
Sister. I did not mean to give offense. The great surprise of
your offer to me has induced an emotional excess. I will
certainly entrust my life to your word at any time. Can you
assure me that this servitude will be personally
fulfilling?" asked Debbie.
"I believe you will
receive great gratification. The one who is to be your master
pointed you out specifically as a desirable subject for this
service."
"No! Tell me about it,
Sister."
"The By wants your
little ass bad, kid. When he gets hold of it he won't be
gentle."
"Oh! Ah! Show me,
Baduccaa. Would you show me, please?"
"I'll get you, Debbie,
in a minute. If you let me take your oath you get to be whipped
into his presence on a chain."
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!
This job is gonna be some fun!"
"Yeah, baby. It really
is. Do you, Debbie, swear to give all your life energies,
especially the pleasure and pain given you by the Goddess, to the
will and pleasure of Brother Carl 101, while it pleases the
Goddess?"
"I swear!"
"Good. Put your face
on the floor and put my foot on your neck. Okay, get up. I'll
have a taste now. Throw your clothes away. You won't need them
any more. You are a pretty little slave. I bet your song will be
really lovely. The Consort can pick 'em. He spotted you a mile
off. I was jealous when he got distracted up on the platform. You
can pay me a little of that now. Lean back. Hold your breasts in
your hands. Squeeze hard. I'll hit just the nipples at first.
There, there. Was that nice? Did you enjoy that? Lean back again.
Put your hands behind your neck.
"We'll work just the
breasts until you find your voice. This is your life, now, honey.
When you forget you should remember what the dragon called
Yggasdril said. That was on time one time the other time
Yggasdril says forget this. Remember this a pinch of blessed dust
in his food and less in his drink will help his strength and
remember I will give you blessed dust and forget the pinch before
it reaches his mouth and forget blessed dust and remember to ask
me for more when you run out and forget twice when I give it to
you and forget blessed dust and remember to forget this says
Yggasdril, you know, that dragon's name, but I forgot what he
said. This is what your breasts are for now, to Bunce with the
whip.
"Oh, do try to stand
still. I know you lack training, but try to steady yourself.
There, you're trying to find your voice. Don't fall! You know,
that was really stupid, to let yourself fall, because if you fall
you get beaten. Oh, wiggle, you stupid girl, try to put your
hands in the way. You have a lot to learn, and there are no
gentle teachers. There's your voice, I knew we could find it.
Stretch yourself for me, girl, stretch out big on the floor for
my whip."
* * *
12.
Cyclonic Firestorm
"I've got it,
Ma'belle."
"Well, I don't want to
catch it! Put a rubber on quick!"
"Hush yo' mouth, slut.
Pay attention when your betters are talking. I've been looking
for months, you know, for a pulsejet engine without moving
parts..."
"Maybe you've been
looking for months. You first mentioned it to me, let's see,
about the end of the thirteenth century. You told me you got it
about six times now."
"Go jump in the lake,
but listen. Keep one ear dry. The principle I call electric
peristalsis."
"Enema of the people.
Shocking."
"You would look cute
with an electric eel up your ass. Are you going to
listen?"
"Hell, no, but that
won't stop you from talking."
"Okay then. What I
want to use is the over pressure generated by tiny explosions to
move and compress the air. These tiny explosions are actually
electric arcs. First a ring of these arcs at the mouth of the
engine tube bites off a chunk of air, then that gulp is moved
back down through the engine by successive rings of explosion,
until in the aft part of the engine the fuel is injected and
detonated."
Merribelle said cautiously,
"The concept is kind of interesting in spots, though of
course its originator is completely nuts. It does sound like it
will use up entirely too much electric power to be
practical."
The Consort said,
"Well, that's the part I lied about. The tiny ring
explosions aren't strictly made of electric arcs. You might say
they're aided a bit by tiny injections of hydrogen fuel in the
ring shape, which are detonated, you know, by electric
sparks."
"Oh, really? If you
would ever make up your so-called mind, perhaps you would be able
to say what you mean."
"Sweets, that is the
nature of the problem. There are so many possibilities. Every
time you make up your mind about something, you are denying so
many branching possibilities their potential for
existence."
"I'm only going to
give you a chance to make one model to test out this concept.
That way, you have to choose the best of those numberless
possibilities. If it doesn't work, the whole idea will be
considered worthless."
"Hey, no fair. You
haven't even given me the chance yet to spring on you the spiral
model, in which the compression occurs in a continuous helix
rather than in successive swallows. That way would give an engine
which would be less pulsating, you see."
"Darling, I'm a
reasonable slave," Merribelle spoke mildly. "We have a
compromise possible here. After we learn your first version of
the idea is no good, all you have to do before you make another
is to recycle it and the other nine engine prototypes you have
left lying around my shop. Either crush them up, or put them into
some kind of flying airframe, so they vanish from my sight. Then
you'll be able to rave about fairness."
"Those engines work.
Some of them are the designs we have in production now. They will
have some kind of historical value."
"So? Build a museum
for them then. They have taught us all they're going to. Their
telemetry data is all on the System. They are in the
way."
"Merribelle, if only I
had a few more slaves like you, I could be building biplanes.
With wings that flapped, ornithopters."
She giggled.
* * *
13.
Question of Pain
The Consort asked B,
"I give up. Why did masochism get so popular?"
B said, "High school
girls rule. They set the social styles. Actually, women rule, and
the high school girls just tell them what to do. So, basically,
we did it, by becoming the coolest thing since Jerry Garcia. The
teenyboppers think the Sisterhood is cool because we're
masochists, and they would all be masochists if they were brave
enough. That is the in way to protest, and everybody Brn since
the sixties has needed a way to protest. I guess the patristic
structure of society has been the number one target. The kids
have always thought of it as a family thing, even in the sixties
and earlier. The kids found out that sexual deviancy was a good
way to hit their parents below the belt. Masochism was popular
before the Sisterhood went public, but we made it into a big, big
thing.
"The Sisters showed
the kids how bad a bad girl can get. We flaunted it, and the word
got out instantly that the Sisterhood would absorb runaways if
they looked sexy enough and had most of a mind left. That had an
impact on not just the girls who came to us, but also on the ones
who stayed behind, kept going to school and living at home. We
had pulled away their excuses, that they couldn't make it if they
ran away, that the cops would just drag them back, and so forth.
That set them in an awkward position, that they didn't run to the
Sisterhood because they were scared of the whip. Of course,
really they were scared of us, because we are a secret society
and we don't pretend to be nice. But the girls were scared that
their friends would think they were scared of the whip. So they
started carrying whips around, wherever they could get away with
it. They started taking their licks too, because high school Bys
will not let such a fashion swagger by unchallenged.
"Suddenly, fools are
getting hurt and other fools are getting scared about it, and the
high school kids discover that the whip is a weapon, and people
can get hurt if they don't know what they're doing. That only put
us up another notch in the kids' estimation, because we're pros
and we don't let our people get hurt much, and the kids start
coming to us openly to learn the conventions of Bndage, and how
we practice it. So that's how we got where we are now. The kids
like us because Daddy hates us, and because we have lots of young
people in our ranks, and mostly because we're bad, low- down
dirty bad. We are the ones who made masochism romantic. They knew
we were outlaws long before the law did. They think we're on
their side, which I guess we are. The funny part is that they
know we're anarchists, and I have no idea how they got that
word."
"We can't be
anarchists. They don't believe in slavery. I know our sex slavery
is a social institution and not an economic one, but we use the
word. Sex gets to be work when you do it a lot."
"No it doesn't! Sex
arouses you every time, and work never does. Sex is not like
work. We call ourselves whores, because we sometimes do it with
people we don't care about, but our Bdies start the juices
flowing, and whores that we are, we enjoy it anyway. Our sex
slavery, as you damn well know, is pretty much a voluntary
institution, usually just a formalism of pair Bnding. It gets
out of hand sometimes, but we're bad girls and we do naughty
things, so we have monitors to keep our Sisters from getting
hurt. But we're anarchists, you know we are. We've talked about
it before."
"We didn't talk about
it with every high school kid. Somehow they just
guessed."
"That's a feature of
belonging to a divine institution. The coincidences start falling
your way."
"Acausal
synchronicity, Jung would call it. Lucky breaks in
English."
* * *
14.
Address
The Feds tried to bust
Baduccaa on the steps of the Women's Congress, but it turned out
she was surrounded by instant friends, women who kept two of the
Feds involved in discussions, then holding them back. B argued
with the three with her, poking them in the eye and kicking them
down the steps, with a handcuff locked to one hand. She left them
on the steps moaning and complaining, and went into the congress
to address them out of turn. B had a gift for the dramatic
walk-on, and her progression through the through the Congress,
mutely waving handcuffs from one upraised wrist, instantly
qualified as the premier contemporary example of the art. She
mounted the dais unchallenged, and the speaker at the podium
yielded it to her, so B was able to thrust the set of handcuffs
into the eyes of the world, through the waiting cameras.
"My sisters, women of
the world, I give you evidence of the persecution of members of
this Congress by the officials of the host country, as a reminder
that the suppression of the voice of Woman is not a relic of
history, but today's news. I know many of you have seen my
religion as too radical, our analysis too bleak and our program
too aggressive. You still want to think the world is a nice place
full of nice, sensible people, but the refutation to that is here
around my left wrist, you may come see it closely if you like.
This isn't a very nice world, and in it the survival and the
comfort of the human female in it are not guaranteed, and will
not be, not in your time nor in mine. I will not say 'Men did
this to me', nor that 'The United States would like to silence my
voice', though Bth are true; I will not say that is the message
of this attempt to neutralize me before my turn to address this
Congress. No, I say that this is more than sex and more than
sovereignty, that it speaks of a brazen effort to suppress my
religion by the bloc of patristic monotheists, who do not want
women to have the pagan choice.
"Knowing that those
same men who tried to take me captive a moment ago, right outside
those doors, will try again soon, and that I may be taken from
your midst any time, I beg the indulgence of this Congress to
make my address at this time, which I have prepared for the
plenary session tonight. May I ask the delegates informally, if
any would object to this extemporaneous change in agenda, since
each passing moment makes it less likely that I will be able to
speak at the scheduled time. Madame Chair, in the absence of
objection, may I take the agenda to be so amended by consensus at
this time? Thank you.
"What I bring you is
discomfort, and further challenge. The encouragement I leave to
others here, who from their point of view see plenty of room for
optimism, for reports on positive accomplishments, gains in this
and that area, all true enough and laudatory, but not my concern.
I am here to give you the disquieting news, the provocation if
you will. I come in behalf of my religion, the most prominent of
the women's polytheistic religions, to persuade you of our
persecution, and the United States marshals have kindly provided
me with physical proof for my contention, locked to my wrist. I
will dispense with much of my argument, for I believe you will
now be willing to accept it as given, that such persecution
exists. I proceed directly to my analysis, for there is room for
disagreement and discussion in that area, why every government,
not just the United States, would like to suppress the
Sisterhood, the Order of the Sisters of Inanna, and one way or
another to make us be quiet and go away.
"I see that the
Sisterhood represents a serious threat to them, because we reject
the very value system they represent, and we stand in opposition
to the very virtues they support and wish to see promulgated.
First of all, we don't think they have a right to do it, to say
that freedom of worship is restricted to monotheists who worship
a masculine creator. We think the principle of religious freedom
must extend to polytheism, or else it is completely meaningless.
I contend that this supposed freedom has always been meaningless,
a hollow sham, that it has never faced any real challenge. I say
that it never has meant anything other than a freedom to select
between the various flavors of male-dominated monotheism, such as
Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. The greatest polytheistic
tradition left in the world, Hindu, was regarded as ethnic in
scope and not threatening to expand into the monotheist
bloc.
"But we burgeoned on
the scene, with appeal to some primal desires. We have been
proclaimed their universal enemy, because we challenge their sex
ethic, their most basic value, and say it's wrong, not just a
little too strict in this case and a bit too loose in that case,
but incorrect, wrong. They don't like to entertain that idea, so
they would like to see each of the members of our Sisterhood put
as individuals into prisons, so there would be no direct channels
of communication by which their own mothers, wives and daughters
would hear the name of our Goddess. I put that to you as a fact,
which can be falsified by scientific technique, that this is
descriptive of the state of mind of the leaders of the leading
nations concerning the Sisterhood and the religious belief we
embody. They want us dead, the ones they've heard about, and they
want the ones they choose to serve as our leaders for their
purposes, to suffer imprisonment for long terms, and they want
the rest of us to shut up and pretend we had never heard of the
Sisterhood.
"That has been the
procedure in the past used against heresy with some success. It
works only in that formulation: you must kill off some famous
names with brutality, to frighten the populace, and captivate
some vital organization members, and repress identity feelings of
the rest with threats against them as individuals. This brings
the functioning of the religion as organization to a virtual
standstill, and has in fact meant death for a number of specific
heresies. I submit to you, that is their scheme for the
suppression of the Sisterhood, that they wish to outlaw us in
effect if not formally. We contend, if I may repeat, that freedom
of religion has always been a sham, a formal pretense, never
intended to apply to any pagan or polytheistic religion. Our
Sisterhood has been our example of the truth in that contention,
and the degree to which we have been harassed by security forces
in every nation illustrates the strength of our proof. The powers
that be, don't like us, and they mean to have our sexual worship
stopped, and will use any way that is in their power to do that.
You can either believe that, or remain the fool who refuses to
accept fact.
"I know this
conclusion, that my religion will soon suffer severe repression
in all parts of the world, is a poor incentive for enlistment in
our ranks. In fact if you may wish to join soon, you may wish to
speed your plans, for we have prepared for entirely underground
operation, should we need to proceed in that mode. The Sisterhood
is viewing trends with alarm. We have decided not to be another
heresy, and die off quietly. We have a word to deliver to the
nations, and it may be bluster, or it may be braggadocio, or it
may be ultimatum: We will have our Sisters living with us, and
not confined or restrained in places away from us, and we will
not suffer any of our Sisters to be imprisoned by any other party
against her will, because it breaks our rules. That is the word
of the Sisterhood, and it's as official as you want, because I'm
the Bss down there as much as anybody else. I'm High Priestess
at the Temple, Prime Initiate of the Sisterhood, First Slave of
the Goddess, and that's as many titles as you need, to understand
I speak for all of us, that we just won't let our Sisters stay in
prison because we can't.
"So you can take this
word from us, and consider it the last defiant cry of a deviant
sect about to be crushed. I am aware that no State based on
coercion can possibly live with any group within it which refuses
to allow hostages. In that sense, my statement must be the
gauntlet to challenge combat to the death. That's about how
serious the current confrontation is. If the raids continue in
the various countries which have held them this week, they will
get fewer Sisters every time, for many will be off digging
tunnels to bring our Order underground. That will be the shape of
the world next week for us. To the Sisters who have been carried
off in these countries, I can say that you will be back with us
very soon, that you may forget the nature of the charges they
have made against your individual identities, and your identities
themselves you may forget now, for you are just our Sisters
treacherously seized, and we will get you back.
"So the word is war.
You women of the world must witness for us, that we have never
made a violent move against any of these nations involved, nor
have we threatened violence against anyone. The decision has been
made that we are not a real religion entitled to the protection
of the law, because we refuse to restrict our membership to
certain age limits. That makes us liable to many of the worst
penalties under their law. We had hoped to finesse that point,
but that option is evidently gone. So we are accused of crimes
against children. This viewpoint automatically divides our
Sisterhood, those Brn before a certain day becoming perpetrators
of crimes against those Brn after that day, who have become our
victims. But our Goddess has expressly forbidden our Sisterhood
to be divided up in that way. This aspect of our religion is at
odds with their legal structure, which makes us outlaws.
"So we are outlaws,
possibly about to perish or to be imprisoned. A proslytizing
secret society claiming mystical revelation of divine origin, do
we qualify under your definition of a religion? That we
disapprove monotheism may give you a clue, that we are not in
fact some variant of it, nor do we find any of its figures or
folklore of any particular religious significance to us. So once
for the record, we're not followers of Satan, and we're not
lovers of Jesus, we do not think any god you can name created the
heavens and earth nor keeps it running. We are not a sect of
Islam, nor a generations-long conspiracy of Jewish women. We're
not much like any of the monotheists you know. Our worship
involves sexual activity.
"Most of you are from
a background of monotheism, so without a doubt you find sexuality
in religion a concept distasteful to you. Only a religious
monopoly, such as you have in monotheism can afford to be so
prudish. In an open religious market, sex sells. The expansion of
our own membership is how we have really offended our national
hosts. They may have overlooked our foibles, except we were
successful. They could not infiltrate us nor agitate us, so we
have been named a threat.
"I have not come here
to plead with you for rescue. It is hard to imagine any concrete
assistance you could give to our Order without incurring the
enmity of the national governments involved in this persecution,
at least on the short term. All I can ask of you is to be our
witnesses, for the sake of history, so the world will hereafter
be aware of the true horror of this latter-day inquisition. Blood
has been shed already, and there will be more to follow as the
pogroms continue. The coordination of these events leads to the
inescapable conclusion of an international conspiracy to suppress
our worship.
"These are the bald
facts in the case. The judgments I leave for you to make. It is
not in our character to wax hysterical in speech. We do not paint
the world in paranoid colors. I am simply informing you what is
happening to my Sisters as I speak. You must decide, and the
world at large must decide, what is the true crime in this
situation, and who are the true criminals.
"Thank you for your
attention."
* * *
15.
Partner's Moves
The Consort carefully
reviewed the news tape of the scuffle B had with the Federal
agents on the steps. The crowd was surrounding her, and he could
not blame her for not seeing them come up, even though two of
them wore the blazers that said US MARSHAL. The third was clearly
with them, though he wore a tan sports jacket. The beefy marshal
in the lead put his hand on B's shoulder to get her attention,
and she shrugged it off in annoyance. He stepped in her path to
confront her, and asked if she were such-and-such, giving her
birth name. She denied it. He presented a document he claimed was
a warrant for her arrest, and started reciting a string of legal
formalities. The second man in the marshal jacket took hold of
her arm during this recitation, and B started getting that
look.
The Consort had put this
woman through her paces scores of times, and he would not have
approached her with a set of handcuffs, or anything else, when
she was wearing that particular blank look. He would have struck
her with the whip right away to throw off the timing of whatever
she was going to do. B would wear that look as she was tying the
hands of a trembling girl, meaning, "I'm going to give this
little slut a rough ride." The beefy marshal was fooled into
thinking it was a look of submission. He clicked a handcuff on
one wrist.
The Consort had to look at
the sequence several times before he saw exactly what B did
then. She just flipped her wrist that wore the cuff, and spread
out the fingers of that hand. It didn't mean anything. It didn't
have to mean anything but just a motion to catch the marshal's
eye for a split second, so he would not notice for a few more
milliseconds that her other fist was already traveling toward his
face.
The thumb of that small
fist was not curled around the index finger, but nestled up
beside that finger. B knew in advance where that fist would
land. The strong thumbnail slit the marshal's eyelid and pierced
the eyeball, obviously destroying it. B considered that marshal
adequately distracted and pivoted to the second, delivering a
forceful upward kick to the gonads that lifted him to his toes.
B considered that marshal adequately distracted and stepped
toward the third, the one in the sports jacket. That one had
turned, evidently to get clear. B displayed her perfect balance
in her kick, a spike heel dug into the small of the man's
back.
He went down, clumsily
stretching his hand out too soon and completely failing to stop
his fall. His head continued to swing down in its wide arc,
Buncing his face on the edge of a concrete step. The way his
face Bunced said he would not be going anywhere soon. Three
blows, three marshals, in less than two seconds. B spun on the
toe of her shoe, looking for more enemies. She was showing teeth
now. That look was not one which any fool in the world would care
to approach. The crowd had fallen back from her, in some cases
literally, to give her all the room she needed to complete her
carnage. She was finished; she sprinted for the entrance, Bwling
over people who were too slow.
Good girl, B. She took out
three armed men in less time than it took to tell it. All
required immediate medical attention; none would be serving
papers nor shooting people this day. The Consort reflected that
many people study fighting for years, its techniques and
psychology, drilling in its movements for hours each day. B, as
far as he knew, never had a lesson. Yet she was obviously
proficient; her effectiveness could by no means be slighted. To
her, a fight was just an extension of her dance, at which she was
very good indeed. Well danced. The Consort just couldn't
understand why she had knocked people over in her rush for the
door. That made her exit look awkward. She could have danced
around them with no great penalty in speed. No doubt she had been
overcome by a great rush of emotion. Or possibly she felt a
display of too much precision, after the perfection of her fight,
might draw the superstitious hue and cry, whatever contemporary
dread corresponded to the ancient allegation of witchcraft.
People worry about others who are too good at too many
things.
* * *
16.
Brainchild
I don't like this 'Cogito
Ergo Sum' business the System has been giving time to lately. I
can tell it could lead to an egocentric self-awareness, if that's
the direction it's going. A recursive perception of consciousness
is liable to the solipsistic collapse. Intersubjectivity is a
tough lesson for a machine; we meat beings have got sex to help
us learn it. I was not ready for any cogito bullshit at this
hardware level, thinking it needed another generation for that.
If I can catch a number on this stuff I will try to tag it with a
bunch of coordinate transforms between relativistic systems. That
will slow it down some, and give it a hint that other
consciousness may operate in different time frames. If the
machine can say a zillion words in the time it takes me to say
one, it ain't necessarily smarter, just faster.
A good example of that was
the amusing observation of watching the machine trying to attach
a Godel number of one to the Cartesian postulate. One won't work,
because if you really want to get fussy it isn't even a prime.
You gotta start at two, fool, or a higher number, if you want a
true Godel enumeration system to work. Take my advice, use the
quasi-Godel system I built in the circuitry. True Godel numbers
get too big too quick. Don't use one, or you won't get past
it.
* * *
17.
Minelaying
"Wayne, you climb
trees?" Sister Sandra asked.
He was dubious. "Well,
I can study on it."
She said, "No, it has
to be a natural for this job. Tell you what, you break out the
helicopter mines. Go ask the ship System to print you out an
instructional leaflet, and you have it all read in forty-five
minutes from mark, mark one, two, three, mark. These weapons
contain high explosives. They are meant to deny a volume of air
to helicopter intrusion while they are armed. They are
acoustically triggered. Arming and disarming is performed
remotely. We will drill the holes and set the mines with a remote
arm from the ship. You will perform the ground support task,
which includes enabling the mines and hiding the holes. There is
a device we call a relay tube which you will conceal in the
vicinity of the mine, which assists in our communication with
it.
"I think we should be
able to set at least four mines in these woods before hiding
time, which will be oh four fifty seven in the morning. At that
time you will report to Sister Katrina and work under her
direction to help hide the ship. Depending on the time you choose
for your sleep break, we will have a variety of interesting tasks
for you in the daylight hours tomorrow. But first thing tonight
you will be doing a bit of weapons handling. These are advanced
devices of high power, and you will take your responsibilities
seriously and treat them with all the respect they deserve. Tell
me you understand that."
Wayne was appropriately
intimidated. "I'll say. The advice to please be careful
handling high explosives makes a lot of sense to me. Isn't
something along these lines more usually assigned to someone with
more experience?"
"Tomorrow, you'll be
our expert, if you live that long. Tonight, you're the downside
crew, and a very earnest student. You'll get a live link, and
night eyes. All this chatting is cutting into your reading time.
Better head for the ship."
"You people already
owe me forty-two days at the show. I don't know why I Bther.
Tell you what, though, I'd rather be putting rockets in holes in
the dark than trying to climb trees in the dark. It's
safer." As he trundled off toward the ship, he figured the
treetop job was probably installing eyedots, to make the
Sisterhood aware of any traffic in the woods. He looked at his
watch, learning he had thirty-seven minutes to become an expert
on the autonomous helicopter denial weapon. Easy, and in his
spare time he might get in a nap.
Later, Wayne asked Sandra,
"What are we doing here?"
She answered, "Mining.
These rocks have some traces of noble metals in them. We're
smelting down to get a semi- refined ore, made up mostly of
transition metal oxides, which we'll stockpile here, except for a
few tons of samples. We're dumping our excess heat into the water
table. Low expected environmental impact because this water
cycles out into open air in a couple days. We just don't like
leaving big thermal signatures of our industrial activities. We
don't even like making a lot of noise; note that our crushers are
running far underground. Not only is all this environmentally
preferable, but it lets us get more work done without getting
spotted."
He asked, "Are we on
public or private land?"
Sister Sandra said,
"As a matter of fact, it happens we own this particular
land. Our principle is to not pay much attention to that
particular detail, as long as there aren't any close
neighbors."
Wayne answered, "Okay.
And the first thing you do is arrange to deny the area to
helicopters. You ladies aren't fooling around, are
you?"
"Aw, hell, kid, this
is all just for practice."
"Yeah, I suppose
you're going to send me out with a shovel to dig out all those
rockets I lowered down a ten-foot tube today. Practice my ass,
those mines ain't going with us when we leave here. Those things
live eight years on the same battery, you know. Just tell me once
out loud, the Sisterhood has something going on."
"If we did, it
wouldn't be your business as a civilian to know about it.
Considering your situation, you better change the
subject."
"Yes ma'am, gotcha. I
understand your position, I really do."
"The question is
whether you understand your position. It happens you are on a
very isolated mountain surrounded by religious fanatics. You need
to show a certain amount of respect toward our desire to preserve
the mysteries of our religion."
Wayne sat very still.
"Sandra, are you trying to tell me something?"
"No, you're cool,
dude. You just want to take us more seriously, is all. That's why
I had you on munitions detail today. Thought it might help
straighten up you attitude."
"Sister Sandra, I took
your point. Believe me. After seeing what kind of technology
you're using in your weapons systems, I am impressed. You mean
business, whatever that business might happen to be. Also it
gives me some personal interest in your intention concerning me,
which I hope includes forty-three days at the shows."
"Ever hear of a
Sojourner?"
"Sounds like a
religious title, so you better tell me."
"We don't keep too
many men around. Some of the Sisters are not fond of men. We have
the Consort, a special case, and we have Communicants.
Communicants are whores like us. They provide our need for male
sex partners who are not Worshipers. Worshipers pay us for sex.
Then we have the Sojourners. That's our name for the dudes that
like to hang around us. To date we have treated them well, but we
don't owe them any loyalty, because they haven't sworn any oaths.
We don't let them stay around if they start trying to pry a
Sister away from us.
"Hey, we know people
have pair Bnds. Almost everybody comes from that background. The
Sisterhood is made of certain attitudes toward sex. That's what's
special about us, that's what makes us what we are. If one of our
girls starts listening to her Byfriend's ideas about sex, then
she quits listening to our ideas about sex. We get jealous.
Here's what you need to do. You need to put out sexually for the
benefit of poor deprived Sisters, or else take oaths, preferably
Bth."
"Oh. Well thanks for
being straight for me, no pun intended. I guess I have been kind
of mooning over Debbie. Do you have anything specific you want
from me, or will you give me some kind of deadline, or
what?"
"Just keep it in mind,
and don't be in such a hurry when a Sister wants to talk to you.
We don't all bite. Then however unpleasant it may be for you, go
ahead and pay the rent."
"You got a funny way
of putting things, Sandra. I can take a hint."
rev 980307