© Copyright 2004, 2006 by silli_artie@hotmail.com
This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior
express written permission of the author.
A work of fiction, meant for adults. Read something else if you are
not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content. Then
again, if all you’re looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you
should probably read something else. I welcome constructive comments.
Enjoy.
2
We held each other in the morning. I drifted in and out of sleep in her embrace, wondering how many days this would last.
The sound of rain striking the windows greeted us as we got up. “Alan,” she said, “I’d like to get a complete sample.”
I held her, kissing warm, soft skin. “Want me to sit on the edge of the bed?”
“Is that how she usually did it?’ Rose asked.
I moved to sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yes; please hold me afterwards.”
Margaret took complete samples at least twice a month, first thing in the morning. I remembered a few times it happened out of the blue -- last year, in the spring? Margaret arrived on short notice and did me between tutorials. Intense.
“Alan,” Rose said softly.
I opened my eyes. She was kneeling in front of me.
Her hands touched the sides of my face; she spoke and I fell into trance, my eyes riveted to hers, my body responding to her voice.
Her fingers touching my cock and balls, so intense, stroking gently, getting me so aroused, so close.
She held me at the edge, her touch, her voice, her eyes. She let me come -- my eyes closing and my head resting on her shoulder as I gave my Service yet again, coming, coming to her touch, her voice.
In bed, in her embrace again, my head on her chest, her hands playing with my hair. I moved one of her hands to cradle the back of my head. She squeezed gently and I moaned.
“Oh, I like that too... Did you like that? Would you rather focus on my eyes, my lips, or perhaps a nipple?” she asked.
I kissed skin again, feeling our bodies touching. “Very nice. You could alternate.”
“Is that what Margaret did? What do you like the most?”
“Margaret alternated. Sherry used her breasts.” I took a deep breath as my body remembered. “She squeezed me to a nipple when she wanted me to come.”
“Mmm... That sounds nice. Did she fill in for Margaret?”
“No, she was before Margaret.”
Rose held me, rocking me. “Oh? Feel like telling more?”
“Of course, if you keep holding me...”
She sighed and squeezed me, moving my head around a little.
“But when you do that,” I told her when she’d stopped, “The only thing I can do is hold on...”
“Mmm... I’ll remember that. Tell me about Sherry?”
I continued with a sigh. “Late spring, my last months in Las Cruces. I was at University during the week, all day, either in class, tutorial, or studying in the library. I had a little study room in the library, either it was assigned to me, or I just took it over, I don’t remember.”
“Sherry?”
I gave her a squeeze. “Getting there. They made me take a bunch of liberal arts classes. Didn’t like it at the time, but I’m glad mom and dad insisted. I was having a hell of a time with a lit class. I didn’t have the experience or maturity to comprehend some things. Sherry joined the class, and she needed help with a statistics class -- statistics for the social sciences they called it -- I called it counting for dummies.”
Rose laughed, shaking me. “I’m sure you did. What happened?”
“We studied together. I helped her and she helped me. One day, explaining something in a story, she kissed me. Wow! Of course then I was all shaking and nervous. She offered to help me relax.”
“What did she do?”
“We sat facing each other. She told me to look into her eyes, that’s all I had to do. She touched the sides of my face and spoke to me, softly. Her eyes were so pretty and brown, I think you call it an epicanthal fold, so very pretty... She smelled so nice...”
“What was her name?”
“Sherry.”
“No, her full name, silly,” she asked, jiggling me.
“Shu Lin Wang, something like that,” I told her, snuggling in, remembering.
“Chinese?”
“I guess so. I haven’t thought about her for a long, long time. That first time, after my eyes closed, she took me to a very relaxing place. It was great. The next time it was sort of the same, but she took me up and down quite a bit. Things got more interesting after that -- bringing me up with a kiss, taking me down by squeezing me to a nipple. We were also necking, kissing, fooling around quite a lot. She taught me to eat her, which I really enjoyed. Then one afternoon she took me down, and I felt her hands on my cock and balls, and I never came so hard in my life.”
“Did you have intercourse with her?”
“Twice before I left, yes.”
“And how many times do you think she made you come, other than intercourse?”
“Oh, God -- ten or twelve, I’d guess. I never got to say goodbye to her. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. Do you think she’s still with your Order?”
“Did you and Margaret ever talk about her?”
“No, don’t think we did. Funny, my memory is usually so good -- wasn’t important, I guess. Margaret and the older one, Evalyn, started right in.”
“Right in where?”
“Not where, when -- the afternoon we met at the house. After dad and mom agreed, they took me to the airport. I left with the clothes on my back, not even a toothbrush. I hugged mom and dad. We got into the car and Margaret held me close. From the time they got to the house to the time we left, maybe three hours. I got the feeling mom and dad had talked to them a lot already. I was scared as hell. Two women with guns in the front seat, I was between Margaret and Evalyn in the back. Were they hiding me so I couldn’t be seen? Margaret held me, partially covered me in her habit. We got on a private jet and took off. Of course I was scared, nervous, didn’t know what was going on. First time on an airplane. They offered to help me relax.”
“And?”
“They did -- looking into Margaret’s eyes while she and Evalyn talked to me, touched me, a plastic mask on my face -- God, I went deep! They took me up and down, so many times, and I came I don’t know how many times. I was still drifting when we stopped to refuel, some place on the East Coast, then took off again. Same thing across the Atlantic, landing in London, two days in a medical clinic somewhere, then here, Oxford.”
She held me, rocked me for a while. “The reports were that you responded extremely well to initial conditioning.”
“I guess I did. The only time I’ve ever been on a plane.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’d like to see Las Cruces again, so many other places.”
She sighed. “I’m trying. How do you feel about being conditioned?”
I burrowed in a bit more. “I don’t know. To a certain extent, it’s held me together.”
“But?”
“I don’t know -- I’ve been kept apart.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Favorite what?”
“On top, on the bottom...”
I held her closer. “Like this.”
“I was just curious...”
“And I’m serious -- holding, companionship. That’s what I need. Holding and being held.”
She held me. I held on, and that’s all that mattered.
“Do you have a favorite?” I asked her, looking in her eyes again, such pretty eyes.
She took a breath, her nostrils flaring as she ran a hand over me. “Yes, I do.”
I kissed her on the lips. “Then show me. Use me, please, and hold me afterwards, let me hold you.”
She smiled and growled, moving me to my back. We kissed, feeling and teasing. She took me into trance as she impaled herself on me, my eyes locked in hers. Oh, watching, feeling, hearing, seeing her take her pleasure on top of me added so much to my own pleasure. Coming in her arms, relaxing into her embrace again.
“How do you feel this morning?” she asked as we dressed.
I shook my head. “Awake and alive. More awake and alive than I usually feel until I’ve had a pot of tea.” I moved my fingers. “My hands, my fingers feel different, thin and nimble.”
She nodded, a serious look on her face. “How’s your appetite?”
She hadn’t put on her habit yet, just undergarments. I pulled her to the bed, mouthing her breasts through layers of cloth.
She held me, laughing happily. “I’d say it’s good.” She gave me a delicious squeeze and slipped away from me.
“Let’s drop these off, then get something to eat,” she told me, now dressed and holding two sample kits.
I was fine until we stepped outside. It was clear, cold and unseasonably sunny out. I stepped into the sun and the cold and staggered as if someone hit me in the head.
“What’s the matter?” Rose asked, moving closer, holding me.
I grimaced as I shielded my eyes. “Sharp sudden pain in my head.”
“Can you walk, or should I call for a cart?”
“Let’s walk,” I told her. “It’s not that far.”
By the time we got to her offices, I had a pounding, throbbing pain arcing from the back of my head to behind my eyes. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” I explained to her as we were ushered to one of the medical rooms.
Soon I was stripped down and wired up. I covered my eyes with an arm -- that seemed to help. Rose stepped away with two of the other Sisters for a few moments.
Sister Kathryn, one of the resident medical doctors, returned and quizzed me about how I felt. Adding to the pain in my head, muscles in my calves and feet felt like they were on the verge of cramping.
Rose returned with one of the other sisters, and a metal cart festooned with stainless steel fixtures, valves, gages, and such. The other Sister hooked a hose to a fitting on the wall while Rose and Kathryn conferred.
“Alan,” Rose said, taking my arm from my eyes again. “Look at me, please,”
I opened my eyes; the light hurt. She moved my head a bit. “What’s happening?” I asked. I was scared.
Rose was frowning. “Our suspicion is that the sudden withdrawal of the medication is causing these symptoms. We want to take some samples, then return you to a low dose to see if that alleviates your symptoms. What do you think?”
I was confused. “I have a choice?”
Even though I was squinting, I saw her jaw muscles tighten. “Yes, you do!” she said forcefully. Then softer, “Alan, that’s our recommendation. That’s what I’d prefer to do. Performing these tests will help us learn more what’s been done to you and how you’ve responded, adapted.. Your alternative is to tough it out -- we can give you something for the pain, and monitor you for other symptoms. Those are the alternatives. The choice is yours.”
“Thank you,” I told her. “Let’s proceed with your recommendation.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Alan. Look in my eyes, darling...”
I was filled with her voice and her touch again, relaxing me, my eyes closing once more. I was on my side, and felt something in my back, pressure, but knew not to move. Then I was on my back again, and opened my eyes to see a pink plastic mask descending to my face.
“Deep breath and relax, Alan,” Sister Kathryn told me. After a few breaths my eyes closed.
A soft kiss on my forehead, Rose saying, “Let’s get you dressed again.”
I opened my eyes cautiously; she helped me sit up.
“Sister Rose?” a Matron queried gruffly and accusingly from the doorway. She was one of the older ones; I seldom spoke with her.
“You have my response,” Rose replied in a strong voice.
The older Matron frowned, turned, and left.
“What?” I asked.
Rose smiled, a somewhat forced smile. “We can still make lunch -- are you hungry?”
My stomach growled in reply. “Yes,” I responded.
“How are you feeling? How’s your head?” she asked as I dressed.
“No pain in my head,” I told her as I buttoned my shirt. I shook my hands.
“My hands -- this morning when I woke up, my fingers felt thin, nimble. Now they feel fat and stubby again. God, I’d forgotten how much I hate that! It’s so frustrating!”
Rose gave me a pensive nod, then glanced to Sister Kathryn. Sister Kathryn nodded as well. “So much for ‘no side effects,’” Rose added in emphasis.
“Musculature?” Sister Kathryn inquired.
I moved a bit, standing up on my toes. “That almost-cramping feeling is gone. But it’s that same sort of thing -- this morning I felt so alive, nimble. Now it’s leaden, soggy, or something. Again. I’d gotten so used to it.”
“We gave you about a quarter of the dose you’ve been receiving. We’ll cut that tonight, and taper from there. You need to tell us when you feel adverse symptoms, though. It’s important,” Kathryn told me.
I nodded. “I will. I understand.” I turned to Rose. “Let’s get lunch.”
We had the usual high overcast when we stepped outside. I took an experimental breath, then a long, deep one.
“Are you okay, Alan?” Rose inquired.
I took her arm in mine. “So far, so good. What was that exchange with the older one?”
Rose sighed and held my arm tighter. “Alan, I declined to do something the Order requested.”
I stopped and faced her. “Disobeyed an order?”
She smiled. “Let’s say rather that I’m keeping my word to you.”
“What? Tell me, please.”
She nodded and started us walking along the path again. “Once I’d gotten the samples I wanted, I spoke with Geneva. I ... Raising a fuss doesn’t even come close. I shocked them, I told them they’d been wrong, and I gave them proof.”
“And?” I asked.
She squeezed my arm again. “Some of them are upset with me, but others are more upset -- with the way things have been done. In one sense, I’m doing exactly what I told them I would do, delivering on promises I made, but a lot sooner than they expected, and in more detail.”
“Such as?” I asked as we approached the dining hall.
“I verified that they don’t have audio coverage in your residence. We can talk there.”
On the steps of the hall, I turned to her once again, and held her close. “Does this mean you’re on my side?” I whispered to her.
She squeezed me closer, kissed my ear, and whispered, “Yes!”
“What took almost three hours?” I asked after we were seated.
Rose took a sip of water. “The spinal tap and other work took an hour. The remainder of the time you rested and I raised hell.”
“My notebooks?”
She nodded. “That’s part of it. If you could travel, where would you like to go?”
She was changing the subject -- vastly. My hands were on the verge of trembling.
“Please don’t tease me,” I said softly but seriously.
She held my hand. “Alan, I’m not. We still have concerns for your safety, but I think it would be good for you to travel. Where locally would you like to go?”
That was easy. “Stonehenge, the Roman ruins at Bath, Salisbury Cathedral, London, the other place, Greenwich Observatory for starters.”
“Other place?” she asked.
I had to smile. “Cambridge.”
She nodded and smiled. “Those all sound quite reasonable to me.”
I was catching on. “But to others?”
She nodded, a serious look on her face. “There are those who fervently believe you should be in a bunker outside Geneva.”
“Are they going to take you away?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Only you can send me away, Alan -- I gave you my word.”
I held her hands. “I don’t know what I could do to revolt -- spend a lot of time in really hot baths? I’d think of something.”
She smirked and smiled. “Thank you, but it won’t come to that.”
We had lunch and walked back to my quarters. Once inside, I hung up her cloak and my coat.
“Where to start,” she mused.
I started by pulling her into a kiss.
“You have a wonderful smile,” I told her afterwards.
She hugged me briefly. “Oh, thank you -- let’s check your office.”
We walked to my office. She sat down and pulled up my keyboard, holding her right wrist over the authenticator. Using mouse and keyboard, she entered a URL into the machine, and up popped the usual “not there” display.
With a frown she picked up the phone and punched a local number. “This is Sister Rose. I am to have unfiltered access at this location. ... No, that’s completely unacceptable. We both know it only takes a few seconds to make the change. Either do it now, or we’ll go use a public machine -- very public. It’s your choice.” She hung up the phone.
She smiled, drumming fingers on the desk for a while, then retrying. This time we heard a chirp, and an authentication request screen popped up on the display.
“That’s better,” she said as she waved her right wrist at the authenticator once again.
The display changed. She navigated quickly. “We’re in the Order’s archives. If we look over here...”
A window opened up on my display, showing most a page from one of my notebooks. The scan quality was very good, but... “Can you make it bigger, to show more of the page?” I asked.
She looked at me and beamed. “Does that mean your notes are in a portion of the page they didn’t scan?” She clicked and the window expanded to fill the entire display. “This is all they have.”
I looked at the edges of the page. I’ll admit that I smiled, too. “Not going to learn much from that,” I told Rose, “other than physics.”
I was standing; she was sitting in my chair. She turned and threw her arms around my midsection, hugging me.
“A win for our side, then?” I suggested.
“Oh yes,” she assured me. “When I told them you correctly deduced the onset of medication within a few days by looking at your records, they wanted -- no, demanded -- that I immediately get all the information they’d need to decode them. I told them we’d discussed the issue, and that information would only be forthcoming if you were included in the process.”
I thought about it. “It would be so easy,” I said softly, thinking out loud. “Take me into trance, walk me through it...”
“Yes, but I won’t do that without your permission,” she told me, still holding on.
With a sigh she turned back to the keyboard and mouse. With a few clicks, she brought up some correspondence. I looked over her shoulder, read one note, then another, and laughed with her. “Too much trouble to go outside a standard format,” I said, repeating what one note recorded, “and the standard format captures everything we need... Well, not quite everything.”
“What would you like to do about it?” Rose asked.
I sat on one corner of the desk. “I’ll give it to them because I want to know, but I want someone to come here and do it. The books don’t leave, and I want to know what they find. Even when I explain, I’m going to be needed for interpretation -- little things like what I mentioned about holidays being the worst. Without context, they are just ink stains on paper.”
Rose stood up, her eyes taking in mine. “That’s what we’ve been telling them, Alan -- we need you to supply context. They’ve been so narrowly focused, blinded by their own dedication.”
I nodded, holding her.
Her expression changed, becoming more determined. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but paused. Her features softened. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Do you have any more of those capsules?” I asked.
“We’re tapering you off, gradually,” she told me with a frown.
“Oh, I mean for you,” I replied.
She shook her head. “I get what you get. When I started abusing them on side effects, none of them admitted to any first-hand knowledge of the drug.”
Upstairs, she slipped out of her habit while I visited the plumbing. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear of differences of opinion, internal politics,” I suggested.
“How about witch hunts?” she said, standing in the doorway wearing her gray undergarments.
I wiped, flushed, and stood. “Really?”
She went quickly, stripped, and took me to the bed. “Oh, yes, and I put an end to one today.”
We snuggled in, sighing and moaning at the joy of skin against skin, reveling in sensation.
“Witch hunt?” I prodded her, not lifting my head from between her breasts.
She moved slightly, running fingers through my hair.
“What do you know of your genetic makeup?”
“Other than clean? Oh, a lot of American Indian -- both mom and dad were half Pueblo.”
“Right. And to a geneticist, there are a handful of genetic markers that scream out your Pueblo and Mexican background. Some we call super-dominant. Have you studied the Plague Years, the politics around that period?”
I gave her a squeeze. “I’d love to, but it’s been off-limits to me.”
“I thought so. That’s changing. There are people here at Oxford who would love to interview you.”
“What’s stopped them?”
“How about threats of dismissal, expulsion if they came within ten meters of you?”
“That has to change. I thought this institution was about academic freedom.”
“It will change; we’ll change it. For now, I’ll tell you a story about the Chinese.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, kissing the side of a soft, warm breast.
She chuckled and squeezed me. “You don’t feel all ears... . Oh, if you’re going to travel in wider society, we should say, ‘The Change Years.’ The P-word is not used in polite company. Let’s see... While it’s not my specialty, I know the outlines. China has oscillated between being an open and a closed society for millennia. In the years immediately prior to the Change, they’d been moving toward openness. But that changed... We, the world outside China, still aren’t sure how many died in China and lands under her control. Oh, your arms around my waist feel so good. You are so warm... Perhaps the Chinese don’t know either, but we suspect they have information which could improve our estimates and understanding. Even though we know the family of viruses we call the Plague originated in the region that brought us SARS at the beginning of the century, they’re still very closed about it. Gentle, darling. As we learned more about the Plague, and the genetic devastation it left behind, we also learned about, and discovered male genetic clears and their rarity in the population. That era also saw the founding and recognition of our Order under the auspices of the United Nations.”
“I smell politics,” I muttered, pulling away from a breast momentarily.
“Oh, do you?” she chuckled. “Possession, control of clear genetic material became the next cartel, supplanting oil, diamonds, illicit drugs, copper, tantalum, you name it. I think the world was quite lucky that the first few male clears came from other than the old superpowers, enabling world-wide cooperation to develop...”
“Cooperation encouraged through controlling the availability of that material,” I suggested.
“I knew you were bright,” she suggested, squeezing me and kissing my head.
“And where do I fit into this picture?”
“Ah, as you suggested, availability of clear genetic material was, and still is, a powerful tool. Especially when you appeared, Alan. By then we’d learned, and had time to discover that some of those we considered ‘clear’ wouldn’t even make third tier now. Back to China -- they’d been, let’s say reluctant to join international convention, providing information in exchange for access to clear genetic material. We knew, everyone knew, that they went to some lengths to obtain material from non-Chinese clears.”
“The Buckeye scandal?”
“No, that’s a story for a different day. Actually, we were all very lucky on that one.”
“Really?”
“Yes, very much so. By the time you came on the scene, we, my Order, thought we were so good, so secretive in making identifications and restricting availability of material to those in the club, so to speak. The Order was especially proud of how you’d been handled.”
“Until?”
“Yes, until indeed... It shouldn’t surprise you that in addition to implanted identification chips, that was pre-Change, genetic verification is required for international travel. Alan, you should be proud of the fact that one of the things you’ve passed on to your offspring is your brilliance. China was one of the last countries to give in on genetic verification, allowing their citizens to be profiled as a condition of entry into many countries of the world. Everyone assumed their reluctance was due to some chicanery on their part. International conventions gave assurance that this genetic information was used only for identity verification, and that such information was not retained or used for other purposes...”
“Until...”
“Yes, until we got word from an unnamed source in Singapore that quite a few Chinese passing through Singapore or attending scientific conferences in Singapore carried a very interesting set of genetic markers.”
“My markers, perhaps?”
She held me tightly for a while. “Oh yes, yours. Couldn’t have come from any other source. You can imagine the inquisition that started! First came denial -- those results must be wrong. When they received profile after profile clearly and unambiguously showing those markers, when blue eyes would suffice, the inquisition started. From the ages of the individuals involved, it had to have been a very early sample, within the first year you were here. The Order scoured their records, and thought they could account for every sample taken from you, so they started tracing where those samples had gone, accounting for those, then started at the beginning again, with the first samples ...” She paused.
“That Sherry took,” I suggested.
After a long pause, she said softly, ‘What if Sherry wasn’t part of the Order?”
That was a big shock! “But her techniques -- the same as Margaret and Evalyn used, that you use! You’re telling me the first samples they thought were the ones taken on the plane?”
“Yes. For years our Order fervently believed your first sperm samples were the ones taken on the plane and offloaded at the Newark airport while your plane refueled. There was such debate about letting you fly at all before samples were taken, let alone fly trans-Atlantic, but the faction wanting you out of the United States won. They were convinced one of those first samples taken by Sisters Margaret and Evalyn got away.”
“Why didn’t they know about Sherry?”
She sighed. “Would you believe I’m the first to ask?”
I moved in her embrace. “That doesn’t feel right.”
She held me close for a while. “Oh, Alan -- your instincts are good. Yes, from what you described, Sherry used techniques that were undoubtedly derived or outright copied from the Order. I strongly suspect that she also gave you suggestions to cover her tracks -- you used the phrase ‘not important’ a few times, and remarked yourself that it ‘wasn’t important to remember’ some details. Those phrases are highly suggestive to me. If you want, we can explore that, and try to learn more. I’m sure we could, but it’s something we’ll only undertake if you want to undertake it. We’ve learned enough to understand where and when the Chinese got your material, and place an upper limit on how much of it they obtained.”
I sighed and held her. “We should explore it. The whole thing still feels uncomfortable. How many Chinese offspring could I have?”
“Oh Alan, we don’t know. Now that we know the source, the time period, some feel we’ll be able to get at least some admissions, and perhaps additional information... If they were stingy and used in-vitro techniques, the number could be staggeringly large, but as you yourself have suggested, one needs to be aware of the risks of monoculture. We expect the number is quite large; they had enough material for their own uses, and perhaps enough to start a secondary market. That would explain other anomalies.”
“But isn’t that a natural outgrowth of a cartel?”
“Secondary markets? And I thought you were a physicist... Yes, and that’s one of the problems a number of us have with the Order and how we’ve been used to promote and further certain political agendas -- deciding what bloodlines, what families or social groups should continue, which groups should die out. There are schisms within the Order.”
I moved up, putting my head on her shoulder. “Really? That Machiavellian?”
She nodded, looking at me. “Did you know you have a son at Cambridge?”
“Only one?”
She raised an eyebrow. “A special son -- the son of a very powerful Arabian head of state, a king who was rendered sterile by the Plague, cutting off his bloodline. Not only did you give him a child, you gave him a son, a prince who will not only take over the kingdom, but a son who will continue the family name.”
I frowned. “I’m confused -- I know I’ve benefited quite personally from some groups’ objections to in-vitro techniques, and I’ve heard tales of, well, men altered to deliver someone else’s semen, but still, doesn’t that give the kid questionable heritage?”
She smiled. “Not if the king declares you his son. Not if the king sends his favorite wife, who is a full-blooded princess to London for a week...”
A tingle went through me. I closed my eyes and remembered.
Rose pulled me closer, cradling my head magically again. “Alan, tell me, please, if you can...”
“Oh, I remember her... I was what, sixteen or seventeen? Yet I remember her so well... Most of the time, Margaret takes me to a woman who is in trance, medicated, or both, and she takes me under and uses me, oh God, uses me so well, hours or days of incredible erotic dreams for us both. But this woman was different. Margaret took me to an estate outside London, a huge house. I remember meeting her -- she must have been in her mid twenties, so tall, so full, so beautiful. I remember the color of her skin, a little darker than mine, her long, oval fingernails, her beautiful dark hair, the robe she wore that hid and accented her figure at the same time. We had dinner together, a meal served by servants wearing diaphanous veils, women who would have been so beautiful anywhere else, but paled in comparison to her. She seduced me -- I remember my hands shaking with desire as I helped her undress. The perfume she wore -- I’ve never experienced anything like it. We made love for days, morning, noon, and night, so joyful. Except for meals and bathing, it was just the two of us -- I never saw Margaret, just her, and her servants. And I remember the look on her face as we parted, both of us leaving the estate. She knew she was pregnant, and she was so happy, so proud...” I snuggled into Rose, hungry for her warmth again.
“What did she do that was special for you?”
I almost cried, the feeling hit so hard and so fast. “She treated me as a person, as a lover,” I managed to whisper.
“Oh Alan,” Rose whispered, holding me, then moving me to my back.
I could see the tears forming in her eyes.
“You are a person to me,” she whispered, “and my lover as well, if you want to be.”
Looking in her eyes, I stroked the side of a breast, watching her gaze waver and her nostrils flare. She smiled and moved a hand to caress the inside of my hip, stroking gently.
We kissed, teased, and explored. I invited her on top of me, an invitation she accepted, sliding down to tease me with her breasts, enveloping my cock in softness. I pulled her up and helped her impale herself, raising my knees to support her. She took her joy, leaning forward to hold me to a nipple, holding me and rocking us both to delirium.
Afterwards at her side, she held me and sang to me, softly, filling me with warmth.
I awoke to her sitting next to me, her hand on my side, smiling.
“Should I get the sample kit?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Already did it.”
“I don’t mind,” I told her.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “Neither do I.”
“What’s he studying?”
“Who?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.
I reached up and touched her forehead. “Don’t frown. My son, the prince.”
She smiled again. “Political science and economics.”
“I’d like to meet him. If he’s interested, of course.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really -- although I suppose it wouldn’t be considered ‘safe’ by some.”
She nodded. “He asks to meet you.”
“He does?”
“Oh yes -- he sends a formal request once a week, first thing on Monday.”
My turn to frown. “I guess I’m not surprised I’ve never heard of his requests.”
She nodded. “For your protection.”
“Bollocks. Sorry, I’m tired of that. It needs to change.”
“It will, within reason. Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Not our first outing, but we’ll do it.”
“Really?”
She leaned forward, almost nose to nose. “Alan, I promise.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, lifting my head to kiss her nose.
She smiled and giggled.
“Is there a danger?” I asked.
Her smile vanished. “Yes, there is.”
Her reaction was visceral, and spoke of something personal. I pulled her to my side. “What is it? Tell me?”
“Two ... have been assassinated in the last decade,” she said coldly.
Too coldly for such a statement, I thought. I held her head to my shoulder. “Is there something else?”
After some silence, she whispered, “Yes.”
I held her, cradling her head to my shoulder. It was a new feeling for me, protecting her, but I drew on my feelings as a tutor, and then on something deeper. “Tell me, if you can, if you want,” I whispered to her.
“I’m one, too.”
“One what?”
“A genetic clear. There are more females, but not that many.”
Something told me there was more. “And?”
She sighed, a sobbing sigh.
I held her close. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I should. I need to. I was twelve. My brother was nine, and my mom was pregnant again, with a girl. We went to Brisbane, a few hour drive for us, to see some special doctors, mom, dad, my brother, and me. Australia had only started mass-screening, and was just getting around to follow-ups. We were one of the first families called. I didn’t understand it, only that we were special.”
I held her as she took a few long, deep breaths.
“We were greeted like royalty, and taken off individually for all sorts of tests. I was treated so well, especially by these pretty women dressed all in gray. Together again in a conference room after hours of tests, we were talking about everything that had happened, about to leave, when one of the doctors came in and took my mother and father off to the side. They glanced over to me, and suddenly I was so worried. Was something wrong with me? Wasn’t I special any more? I didn’t know. They came over and the doctor bent down to talk to me. He was really sorry, but one of the staff had dropped some of my samples. They needed to take them again. It would take about an hour. I told him that would be okay, even though I was really hungry. We hadn’t had anything to eat since dinner the night before. I looked to my mother and father and told them they should go get lunch, and take my brother too. We hugged, they left to get lunch, accompanied by some Sisters, and I went back with the doctor.”
She held me tight. I held her, rubbing her back, holding her head, doing the things I found comforting.
“We were in a medical centre a few blocks from a public plaza. I didn’t know, we didn’t know, a demonstration started, led by a fundamentalist hooligan -- I can’t call him a preacher. He was rallying a mob against the Eugenics Acts, and someone spotted the Matrons and my family. I was in the conference room, looking out the window, waiting for them to return. I saw the mob chase them down the street. I screamed, watching as they caught and killed them -- the Matrons, my father, my mother, even my little brother.”
I held her as she sobbed.
She managed to continue in a softer voice a while later. “I stood there, looking out that second floor window, screaming and crying, beating my fists against the thick glass. I can remember the smells of that room, how my clothing felt, the way the glass bounced as I struck it. Two Sisters grabbed me. Someone gave me an injection that turned me to jelly. They bundled me into the boot of a car and took me to the Order. And that bastard was never charged; none of them were. They killed my family.”
I held her, thinking but not speaking, they killed my family as well. I remembered the afternoon Margaret told me about my parents. She held me while I cried. I often wondered why she didn’t take me into trance, why she just let me cry until I couldn’t cry any more. I guess those tears just have to come out. I held Rose, an arm around her body, one hand on her head, holding her to me. “I’ve got you,” I told her, “and I’m not going to let go.”
Gradually the tears stopped. I held her. Then the sniffling stopped, and still I held her. I noticed her breathing had slowed. I closed my eyes, holding on gently.
“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing my forehead.
I blinked my eyes open, turning to her. She had a slight smile now.
“It’s getting easier to talk about it.”
“That was easy?” I blurted out.
She made a sniffle-snork noise and told me, “Believe it or not, that was easier. I think you understand.”
I pulled her head to my shoulder again. “I hope so, I should, better than most.”
We snuggled again and she told me more of her past. She grew up quick, graduating from Medical school at an early age, following the suggestions of her Order to specialize in Psychiatry. The training had helped her enormously, she told me. She’d done major projects on me, “the Brazilian,” as well as working within her Order. She became determined to work with me, determined to learn more about me. It took her a while, but she convinced people. Margaret had been a big help. She told me she hit them with their own ignorance, asking very simple questions that they couldn’t answer, asking them over and over again.
We slowed down for a bit, resting. We got up, showered, and walked to the dining hall to eat -- lamb night, and it was delicious.
The air was cold when we left. We walked around campus, stopping at the Bridge of Sighs.
We were cold when we arrived back at my residence. We knew the best place, and the best way to get warm.
“Ugh! How could you stand it for so long!” Rose exclaimed as we left my residence late the next morning.
I put an arm around her and squeezed her waist. “Wasn’t I attentive enough to you this morning?” I inquired.
She turned and hugged me, sighing in my ear. “Oh Alan, yes you were.” She kissed me on the neck, the warmth of her lips a contrast to the chill of the air. “I was referring to the drug -- I understand what you said yesterday about feeling soggy and leaden! And that’s at 20% of the dose you’d been on!”
I tugged her along the path to her Order’s offices. “But at this level I don’t feel as, well, pacified -- mentally, I still feel sharper than I’ve been in quite some time.”
“Hard to tell,” she muttered as we walked along. “Maybe I should try the full dose.”
I made harumpfing noises, disagreeing with that suggestion.
She chuckled. “Oh, wouldn’t you like that? Have me all docile and compliant for a day or two?”
I squeezed her hand sharply. “I would not!” I told her strongly. “You forget,” I added in a softer tone, “that’s how I’ve experienced most of my assignations -- my partners so docile and compliant.”
“But I understand it amplifies sensation as well -- you have a reputation for taking very good care of your partners.”
“Eh?” I didn’t understand.
She sighed. “You went down on me this morning, treating me so well. Why?”
This was confusing. “I hope you enjoyed it; you certainly seemed to...”
“Oh, I did darling! You’re marvelous! But, why did you do that?”
I shook my head. “Well, I actually enjoy it, and you seemed to as well.”
“I’m glad to hear that -- and I’ll ask again, why?”
I started to speak, but decided to think for a bit before answering -- something I challenge my students to do, and something most of them learn, eventually. “Ah, if you’re looking for a physiological basis for such behaviour, Margaret taught me that female orgasm greatly facilitates conception. Besides, it’s fun for both involved. It also prolongs our time together.”
She laughed, her arm around my waist holding me. “Very good, Alan -- and something else we have to thank Margaret for; she’s somewhat of a bte noir, as am I -- I don’t suppose it would surprise you to know that few of your counterparts share your outlook, behaviour, or interest in your partner’s enjoyment?”
I shook my head. “She taught me to slow down and enjoy it. I wanted, no, I needed, to please her as well, to give back some of the joy she gave me. When can I see her again? I have so much to thank her for.”
Rose sighed. “In a few weeks, I hope. We’ve been so lucky with you...”
“Bollocks,” I muttered not quite under my breath.
“Alan -- you’ve been quite lucky. I should show you records on some of your fellows; many of them have essentially been kept at an adolescent stage, quite useful for repeated mating, but for very little else. They...”
“My God, that’s horrible!” I interrupted. “Why? Why do that to a person?”
“Alan, do you realize how close we were?”
“Close? To what?”
“Extinction, Alan -- the extinction of the human race! That’s what drove the Order, Alan, and what still drives many of them. Survival first and foremost, insuring our survival. If the burden falls more on some than others, what of it?”
I looked around. “I didn’t know. Are we still in danger?”
“I think not. A lot of us think we turned the corner about five years ago. If it wasn’t for the stupid ban on IVF in some countries, we’d be doing much, much better.”
I shook my head. “That’s something I never understood. Why, oh why, especially in the face of extinction as you say, would people object to using the most effective ways of using genetic materials and spreading genetic diversity?”
“From a psychological perspective, I could go on at length, but it comes down to pride, greed, and fear.”
“What was that old religious order in the States, the Shakers? The ones who believed in celibacy? A self-fulfilling prophecy of extinction...”
“Yes, but they had faith, and belief in their ways. The modern psychopathology is nowhere as simple or clear-cut.”
“So I’ve been the beneficiary, knocking them up one at a time...”
“Rather than what others have done, including the Chinese, we believe, using one of your samples and IVF methods to impregnate thousands or tens of thousands of women. We’ve had successes in some areas, but still incredible pockets of resistance.”
“Then why save them? Why go to the trouble? It seems to be a malady which will cure itself over time.”
“Never that simple, I’m afraid. There’s an old joke in mental health circles about a woman who comes in and says, ‘Doc, I’ve got a problem -- my cousin thinks she’s a chicken.’ The psychiatrist counsels her that such issues can be addressed, but the cousin has to want to address them. The woman interrupts and says, ‘That’s not the problem Doc -- the problem is we need the eggs, and she’s all in a funk and stopped laying.’”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re still too close to the edge to let them go?”
“In many sectors, yes. While from a genetic standpoint many of us believe species survival is assured, from a cultural and societal perspective, things are still dicey. We’re still reliant on particular countries, regions, and even cultural groups for our survival worldwide, a very complex web of interdependence. So we must be tolerant of them.”
We were at the entrance to her Order’s office. We entered and dropped off a handful of collection kits, and picked up a fresh box. The young Sister behind the desk held my gaze and even smiled as she handed them over.
Then she turned to Rose. “Sister Miriam would like to speak to you. Should I call her?”
Rose gave a momentary exasperated look. “Yes, get her on the phone.” She squeezed one of my hands.
The conversation was brief and fairly one-sided, with Rose saying, “Yes ... Yes, I understand. ... Yes, perhaps that would be best. I’ll be there momentarily. No, under no circumstance will I allow that!” She hung up the phone.
“Alan,” she told me in a strong voice, “Go back and wait for me. I shouldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Go now, please.”
With the look of determination in her eyes, I nodded. I hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll wait for you -- and if you’re not back in an hour, I’ll come looking for you,” I whispered.
Her response startled me. She stepped back and said, “NO!” quite forcefully. “Alan, you must never, ever, enter this building without me. Is that clear?”
I felt cold, frightened, and alone. “Yes, it is,” I managed to say. I was scared for her as well.
“Then go, please darling -- I’ll be back within half an hour.”
I nodded and left the building.
I wasn’t safe there without her? Did we now have a schism so deep within her Order, the Order that had put me in the position I was in today, and all that entailed?
When I returned to the cottage, Alex was busy tidying up.
“I hope ye didn’t mind me, Sir, but the place needs it,” she told me, cheery as usual.
“Thank you, Alex, that’s fine.” Time to start changing things and break it to her early. “We’ll see, but I may have more permanent companionship here.”
The look on her face -- joy and tears? “Oh Mister Grant, that’s wonderful news! It’s not right that a man such as yourself be livin’ all these years alone. I ...” she paused suddenly, looked away, and went back to cleaning.
“Alex, I agree. Thank you for being here and taking care of me.”
She remained turned away from me.
“Oh, there’s a stain on a wall in the study,” I mentioned.
With that she did turn, wiping her eyes.
“That I’ve seen, Mister Grant, and it won’t be coming off,” she told me crossly.
I nodded. “Don’t try -- it’s a new piece of history for this place. I’ll explain later.”
She nodded, still looking at me crossly. “As long as we don’t get too many more pieces of such history,” she said gruffly.
“I promise to behave, Alex,” I told her. That brought small smiles to both of us.
“Will ye be canceling tutorials for early in the week?” she asked.
“Oh no, we’ll be back on schedule, thank you -- you can let them know they’ll have no such luck!”
She managed a laugh. “Oh no, Sir -- most of ‘em are cross about being canceled!” In a softer voice she added, “They love you, Sir.”
I caught the clear implication in her voice. “Thank you, Alex, for everything.”
Her smile returned, but vanished quickly. “I’ll be gettin’ back to me work then, Sir...” she gave me one of her looks.
I smiled and nodded. “And I’ll get back to mine as well, so I don’t disappoint our students.”
She smiled a bit more, satisfied, and left the room.
I sat at my desk, picking up my latest notebook to review where we were in tutorials.
My heart wasn’t in it. I heard Alex puttering happily in the kitchen, going up and down the stairs. I kept glancing to the clock over the mantle, worrying...
The sound of the door opening -- she was back! I hurried to the door.
And almost collided with Alex in the foyer. I rushed to Rose, hugging her.
She held me, whispering, “It’s all right. I’ll explain.”
As we parted, I glanced to Alex. I’d never seen her so focused, so attentive, so ... on the edge?
“Alex, this is Sister Rose. Rose, this is Alex, my assistant, manager, and saviour,” I intoned, introducing them.
Alex forced a smile and bowed. “I am honored to meet a Matron of the Order.”
Even I could taste the dripping sarcasm in that, sharp and bitter.
Rose’s eyes opened wide, and so did her mouth.
“Stop!” I called before she could say a word. Both ladies looked at me, surprised.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s going to stop. Rose, Alex has been my assistant for many years. More than an assistant -- an organizer, a help, so much more. Alex, if my students love me, it’s because you organize and run my life so I can spend time with them. Rose, in matters relating to the College and this house, Alex runs things. Her word is law. Do you understand?”
Rose looked at me, eyes wide. “Alan, I understand.”
I looked to Alex. “Alex, in matters regarding the Order, and my duty of Service, Rose is in charge. Is that clear?”
Alex nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said in very precise, even tones.
Too precise, too even tones -- something was going on here. I glanced from one to the other. “And when the two conflict, I expect you two to work things out. I will not have you squabbling like students vying for my attention. I expect you to treat each other with professional courtesy -- no, far more than that. Rose, Alex, I expect, no, I want you to treat each other as friends. I know that’s a lot to ask.”
They both nodded.
Rose looked down. “Perhaps it would be best if I were to pack my ...”
“NO!” I interrupted loudly. Both of them jumped. I took one of Alex’s hands and one of Rose’s, pulling us closer.
“Rose, look at me,” I asked.
She lifted her head, crying silently.
“You gave me your promise that you would not leave until I ask you to. I am NOT asking you to. I am asking, begging you to stay. Please.”
Her chin wobbled more. I dropped Alex’s hand and hugged Rose to me, holding her while she cried.
When she finally stopped, I kissed her face, bringing back a slight smile.
“Thank you, Alan,” she whispered.
“You are quite welcome,” I told her, shaking my head slowly. So many things I didn’t understand all of a sudden.
She straightened up. “I should go talk to Alex.”
“Please -- I need both of you!”
She nodded, smiling, eyebrows raised. “Yes, you do,” she said softly. She kissed me on the nose, and walked into the kitchen where we could hear Alex puttering.
I shook my head again and returned to the study, to physics, to something I could understand.
I heard them in the other room, talking, even laughing. I felt better.
“Thank you so much, Alex,” I heard Rose saying some time later. I looked up to see the two of them in the foyer, smiling. They looked to me.
“Alex, at your convenience, please brief Rose on our schedule,” I told her formally.
They looked at each other, and laughed!
Rose put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and said to me, “Alan, we’ve gone over that already.”
“If that will be all, Sir?” Alex asked.
I was flabbergasted. “Yes, thanks again.”
The two ladies closed and whispered. Alex left.
Rose sat across from me, hands folded in her lap, trying to look prim and proper, except for the smirk on her face.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked in exasperation.
“With what?” she responded innocently.
“At your offices, for one -- you scared the hell out of me!”
She sighed and sat back in the chair. “Yes, where to start... I’m close to ovulating; the time change and the stimulation you’ve provided may have changed my timing. In a week, Tuesday perhaps, I’ll be spending a few hours having eggs harvested, and will be uncomfortable for a few days.”
“Part of your Service?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes; part of the price I pay. Some times I think it’s so unfair -- you produce so much seed, and I produce only a few eggs a month.”
“And your eggs, once harvested?”
She smiled. “Will be sent to Geneva, so we can have another child.”
I frowned and sat back.
“Unlike your sperm, the eggs don’t keep. Oh yes Alan, you and I have two dozen children so far; nineteen girls and five boys. The eldest are fourteen now. I’ve never met them, but I do check on them from time to time. They are all happy, healthy, and loved. I’ve had hundreds of children, so far not carrying a one.”
I looked at her with I’m not sure what feeling. Our eyes met, a connection made. So far?
She changed the subject. “As to the other matters, I report to Geneva, not to the people here. I do not take direction from them. Quite the opposite, in fact. They need to understand that, and now they do, at least a little. We made progress.”
“Evasive and nonresponsive,” I replied curtly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Very well. The locals are still in a snit that I haven’t dragged more information out of you, on your notebooks as an example. They think I’m withholding information from them on that and other matters, and I am.”
“Such as?”
She shook her head and made a dismissive gesture. “The note you received is one -- I won’t tell them about that, as they’d interrogate all your students to find the poor girl who gave it to you, at the very least. I know their orders, but I will not violate confidences. We’ve been far too intrusive as it is.”
“Orders? What orders?”
She frowned. “Your students are very carefully instructed as to their behaviour with you, what they may and may not discuss outside the areas of your tutorials for example.”
My turn to frown. “And I expect that they’re grilled about such things as well?”
“Oh yes.”
“That will stop, and it will stop now. I will not have such interference in the tutorial process. Please inform your superiors.”
She nodded, smiling slightly. “I will. But if the response is not to your liking?”
I shrugged. “By Monday morning I’ll have a set speech which I will give to each student, telling them I’ve been made aware of these rules, and that I do not accept them. What goes on between tutor and student is confidential. I expect my students to feel free to ask me absolutely anything under the sun, moon, or stars, and I will endeavour to give them the best answer I can, knowing that such discussions are confidential between us.”
She smiled more. “I’ll be happy to help you, but what you’ve said is very good.”
I mulled things over -- a lot to think about in a short while. “Why did you want me out of there? I would have waited for you. Am I not safe in that building?”
Her smile vanished. “No, not at this time. Until they understand clearly and completely that I lead decisions with respect to you, and I report to Geneva, you are not. I have no doubt that if you’d remained, as soon as we were separated, you’d be taken into trance, drugged, or both, and the information they want taken from you, at the very least. I caused quite a snit doing what I did, and I did it quite deliberately. You are a person, Alan, and must be treated with respect. A part of that, as I have explained and demonstrated to them, is the process of informed consent. You are to be informed -- they don’t like that. You are to be asked for your consent, which you may or may not give -- and they really don’t like that.”
“As long as you are here,” I suggested softly.
She nodded. “Yes, there is that.”
“How solid is your backing at Geneva?”
“Strong, and stronger with Margaret there, and the cloud over her finally lifted.”
I looked around the room. Such a nice nest, a nice prison... “Somehow I get the feeling that there are factions who don’t care if my participation in their programs is consensual or not.”
“Unfortunately, you are quite correct. The Brazilian may have done us all a grave disservice.”
Another frown. “Who or what is this Brazilian, and what is the relevance?”
She sighed. “Can we sit on the couch? Please?”
“Of course,” I said, standing.
She stood and removed the outer layers of her habit, leaving on her undergarments. We sat together on the couch.
“Alan, this is another area which has been kept from you. When we, in the Order, in the field, talk about you, we refer to you as ‘the Indian,’ from your Pueblo heritage. It’s a somewhat ambiguous term, misleading even, and I think that’s one of the reasons it’s used, to confuse outsiders. Another male genetic clear is a man born in Brazil, hence, ‘the Brazilian,’ eight, no nine years older than you. After being compromised by the Chinese, he was essentially cloistered -- I believe that’s the term you used earlier. He led a very sheltered existence, and was given very little opportunity to mature socially, psychologically.”
“I’m confused -- is he alive or dead?”
She held my hands. “A little over six years ago, he attempted suicide -- for the second time.”
I nodded, thinking of the timing. “And part of the response was to drug me, and I expect others, my colleagues?”
“Yes, rather than seeking to understand why, look for commonalities, identify and address problems, they turned to chemical straitjackets. A lot of good it did them -- four months ago another successfully committed suicide.”
I shook my head. “And the Brazilian? He has a name?”
“Alberto. His second attempt wasn’t completely successful. Essentially, he’s brain dead, in a permanent vegetative state. But the rest of his body is kept alive and functioning. Like to see?”
I contemplated. “I think so.”
She led me to the computer, authenticating into the Order, through some lists, and bringing up a video window. A hospital room, a body in a bed, wires and tubes. Data displayed on the sides of the window.
“What’s the motion I see?” I pointed to the display.
“Air cushions in the bed in constant motion, to prevent sores, assist in maintaining mobility and provide some proprioceptive stimulation,” she answered clinically.
“So he has become testicles with a life support system.”
“Exactly -- and there are those who find him far easier to deal with.”
“If they could clone or support my testicles, they wouldn’t have any use for the rest of me -- I’d be free.”
Her eyes widened. “Correct on the first part -- and they tried, with the Canadian, to preserve his testicles, but the poison he used had caused irreversible damage. But as to the second -- you would not be free.”
She sat there, silent, making me ask.
“Why?”
“Because if you were free, you could bestow your gift outside the Order’s control, and that could upset the balance of power.”
I held her closer. “Wouldn’t the United States Government protect me? I’m still a citizen.”
“Look,” she told me, bringing up a different window.
The screen gave her history -- who she was, where she was born, an amazing amount of information -- education, you name it. “Citizenship,” she said, pointing.
That was easy to spot. In bold red letters it said her citizenship was United Nations/Swiss and that she was a Category 1B Protected Person, Special Provisions Apply. More red text followed that, but before I could read it, she cleared the screen.
“Let’s see what it says about you,” she said, hitting the keyboard and mouse again. “Try.”
I waved my right wrist over the authenticator. I knew I had, everyone had an identification chip implanted at birth.
My window was far shorter, showing only my identification, name, date of birth, and in bold red letters United Nations/Swiss citizenship and a Category 1A Protected Person. After a blank line I read in more bold red letters “INTERFERING WITH OR DETAINING A CATEGORY 1A PERSON IS A CAPITAL OFFENCE UNDER UNITED NATIONS LAW.” The following lines, in bold red text, I guessed were translations of the same dire warning in other languages. Yes, I recognized the French, and the German.
“Why so much less than yours? Why this difference between 1A and 1B?” I asked, pointing at the warning.
She put a hand on my back. “If we ran one of your students, we’d have to scroll through many windows of data, showing essentially their life history. Almost everything about you is classified, unavailable except to a very few. As a member of the Order, I can see more information about you. To anyone else, you’d probably show up as a U.N. diplomat and nothing else. A little more is available on me, as clear females are far more in number, more every day.”
I shook my head. She blanked the screen. We returned to the couch, holding each other.
“How do you feel, Alan?”
I moved my head between her breasts and my arms around her waist. “Shocked, somewhat numb. Is it safe for me to go outside the walls again?”
She held me. “Yes, I believe it is, if we’re careful. There are a few places I wouldn’t take you to, Rome for instance, or the States, but I think it’s safe for you travel.”
I closed my eyes, retreating into her warmth. “I was more worried about walking to the dining hall, or the Science buildings.”
She chuckled and squeezed me. “Oh Alan -- I hope I haven’t scared you that much. So many of these things are tempests in a teapot.”
“Still not good for the teapot.”
“True, very true.”
“You said there have been assassinations -- tell me more?”
“The last were about five years ago. One to a systemic poison, the other a bomb. Many people died in each incident. The more interesting one, an unsuccessful attempt, was on our friend the Brazilian, about ten years ago now. A sordid political tale -- a so-called noble woman of a Spanish family was sent to him to produce a clean heir. A rival family found out about it and made a fuss in the press, playing the Catholic religion card. In doing so, enough clues to his location surfaced so that Brazilian religious fanatics attempted to take him out using a truck loaded with explosives. Leveled a city block, if I recall correctly. He escaped -- he was being watched by the Chinese, who ‘rescued’ him and had him for almost two weeks before he was recaptured or returned, or whatever you might consider it. Significant changes were made as a result of that incident.”
“That’s about the time Alex joined me,” I mused.
She squeezed me deliciously, slipping off her top and taking me to a nipple, cradling my head. “That’s enough excitement for one day, darling...”
Yes it was -- I needed her comfort, warmth, and safety. After a while on the couch, she took me upstairs. She told me she needed it too. She melted me into her, and later took us both to the heights of passion.
We made it out of bed in time for lunch on Sunday. That afternoon we both worked, preparing for the week ahead. We also discussed the matter of my notebooks, and Rose proposed an approach which I found acceptable.
We placed a call to Geneva shortly before supper. Once we were assured the line was secure, Rose jumped into it. The spying on my students must end. I was going to travel. Rose gave them the ‘proposal’ for my notebooks, which sounded more like an ultimatum. She requested that Sister Deev from Johns Hopkins join us to work on the notebooks with me; I would make time available every day to assist her. She would keep me informed as to what she and others learned.
They actually spoke directly to me as well, asking if I would work with Rose to get more information about Sherry. I glanced to Rose, who smiled and nodded. I thanked our callers for asking, and told them we would have time to do that during this next week. Another person asked how I was feeling. I couldn’t help but be cynical, expressing surprise that they were interested in my feelings. As soon as I’d said that I regretted it, until Rose put a hand on my shoulder, smiled and nodded. After a somewhat lengthy pause on the other end, they told me that my feelings and psychological well-being were very much important to them. Was there anything I needed? I asked that they tell Sister Margaret that I missed her very much, and couldn’t begin to thank her for all she had done for me; I looked forward to seeing her again. Rose gave me a hug at that, and someone at the other end of the call said they’d be very happy to pass the message along.
All in all, the call was more cordial than I’d expected. If anything, the local Order was in for heat, excuse me, “a better understanding of their roles and responsibilities.” I jotted that phrase down for the next time I had to speak to a student who had fallen off the path.
We arranged to speak again in a week. They told me specifically to call if I felt issues were not being addressed. Rose smiled at that. She smiled more when I told them I had full faith in Rose.
When we ended the call, Rose threw her arms around me. We started necking on the couch, and ended up pulling down two of the cushions so we could make love on the floor. Afterwards, I propped up her bottom with another cushion so I could run upstairs for a sample kit; I brought down three, putting two in a desk drawer.
We walked to the dining hall for a late supper, which was positively ghastly, British cuisine at its worst! I told Rose we could go back and have Alex fetch take-away for us, we had very good Chinese and Indian available, but she insisted in suffering through it.
Monday went surprisingly well. I woke early, or was almost awake as Rose led us to mutual delirium. I showered alone, dressed, and kissed her on the forehead before returning to my usual Monday - Wednesday - Friday exercise regime. When I got back, my initial panic dissipated -- while Rose wasn’t there, her bag was still in the bedroom. I gave my little speech to my students; the younger ones listened with wide eyes; the older ones nodding appreciatively. One of my doctoral students told me that she hadn’t cooperated with “them” for years.
At dinner I asked Rose how she’d spent her day. She laughed and shook her head -- she had a great deal of work to do, let alone smoothing out the ‘rough spots’ with the local Order. She told me that was going well, with only one call to Geneva today.
Walking back, she asked if I had anything special I’d like to do.
“We could dig into Sherry,” I told her as we walked hand in hand. “Answer some questions and give people some information, let them know we’re not totally defiant.”
She chuckled and squeezed my hand. “Yes, it would help on a number of fronts.”
“I need about 45 minutes to get ready,” she told me when we were in my residence.
“Good -- I’ll review notes for tomorrow. Give me a shout.”
Even though my research area is quantum field theory, particularly gravity in what’s commonly called the “revised model,” I really enjoy teaching. One of my favourite subjects is thermodynamics; that’s what I have Tuesday. I spent time reviewing and planning. Such bright students! I really was quite lucky.
“Ready?”
I glanced up to see Rose standing in the doorway, wearing her gray undergarments.
“All yours,” I said, standing and leaving the books for tomorrow.
“Why don’t you get ready for bed,” she suggested as we walked up the stairs.
I went through my routine in the bathroom. When I returned to the bedroom, she’d put a large towel in my reading chair. I took that as a suggestion, and had a seat.
She pulled up the footstool, then picked up a notepad and a little gadget.
“Alan, I’ll be recording this, for my own use later on. I will delete the recording when I’m done with it; it will not leave this building. Is that acceptable? I can work without it, but would prefer to have it to reference later.”
I nodded. “That’s okay -- go ahead with the recording, and thank you for asking.”
She smiled and set the gadget on the little table by the chair. “You’re quite welcome. You get the easy part -- all you have to do is relax and let it happen.”
I leaned back, taking a breath, letting it out and relaxing.
“That’s good, Alan -- another breath and relax...”
She touched my forehead as I exhaled. A tingle ran through me as I let her voice take me deep into trance.
End of Part 2
Rev 2006/10/05
A Life of Service
By silli_artie@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/artie/www
© Copyright 2004, 2006 by silli_artie@hotmail.com