Chronicles of Suran, by Catherine N.X. (catherinenx@yahoo.com). Author's
website: https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/holokittynx/www
(ASSM) Story codes: Fg, rom, inc, ped, cons, lac, toys, mast, ScFi, FF.
Vignette codes: Fg, rom, inc, ped, cons, lac, toys, mast, ScFi, FF.
Chapter codes: Fg, rom, inc, ped, cons, mast, ScFi. (Catherine N.X.)
Third person - childlove, lesbian, mother/daughter, semi-utopian.
Synopsis: A fictional island democracy where childlove is legal, as seen
through romantic and political vignettes focusing on the people who live
there.
Copyright notice: This story may be freely distributed provided it
retains all story codes and credits.
Rachel, chapter one.
Saturday, 1st December, 2074.
Sonja woke up, rolling over into a faceful of snoring black hair.
Lifting her head a bit, she identified facing away from her the little
munchkin she distinctly remembered nursing to sleep in its own bed the
night before. This seemed to be happening more often, this odd magical
disappearance of Rachel from her own bed and subsequent appearance in
Mommy's bed. Sonja turned in the other direction to see water still
dripping from the window frame and clouds dark enough to be the remnants of
a thunderstorm she'd apparently slept through. Letting the aforementioned
munchkin continue her log-sawing, and glad that it was Saturday so she
didn't have to dress or wash yet, Sonja made her way downstairs to check
the net news and get some coffee.
She turned on CNN South Pacific. Negotiations with the UN over allowing
citizens from other countries to seek asylum in Sonja's country were close
to a solution. As of that Friday only a few technical considerations
remained to be settled. The Surani government agreed to extradite anyone
charged with violent crimes, fraud, and larceny. All were consistent with
the Surani constitution's basing criminal law on whether an action violated
the individual rights of those it affected. The main points of contention,
of course, were the Surani laws pertaining to sexual autonomy. Adults
charged with violating age of consent laws would only be extradited if
there were evidence of coercion or force, or the child in question accused
them of such. On this, the SDC had wavered little if at all. Sonja turned
away from the coffee pot with her mug steaming just in time to turn the
volume up on the monitor.
"The Suran Democratic Corporate has made clear its position on what
constitutes a criminal offense, and with the United Nations are coming
close to what we believe is a fair compromise in extradition law. The
General Assembly has approved most of the language of this treaty, and most
of Suran's Executive Council has been following the transcripts of each
day's proceedings. I've been in contact with them and they have agreed to
sign this treaty after Parliament passes it. If passed this month, this
treaty will take effect in June of 2075. As for the offenses specified as
such in the treaty, the SDC takes law enforcement very seriously, and
violent criminals can expect swift..."
Sonja slurped her coffee, ready to head back to bed and read until
Rachel woke up and decided what she wanted for breakfast. Her interest in
the negotiations was academic, as she'd been born on Suran and most of her
family was there or on one of its outlying islands. When the subject of
sex came up with her daughter, she could be honest and open, without the
Western world's still somewhat stifled notions about children and sex.
Most of the US and Europe had lowered their ages of consent and enacted
adaptive standards like education and signed affidavits, but there were
still extreme cultural biases in most countries. These led to insanely
harsh penalties, vigilantism, and all sorts of discrimination going
unprosecuted.
Suran was a relatively new nation, having broken from the US and
ratified its constitution only twenty-three years before. But like the
handful of Asian and very liberal European cultures that influenced it and
had themselves abandoned taboos about child sex over the past few decades,
it allowed children who could speak a language to consent to sexual
experimentation and pleasure. Crime was defined in the constitution by
objective harm or extreme impracticality. Children having sex could not
rationally be proven to cause either in and of itself. Transmitting STDs
was illegal regardless of the age of the participants, and prosecuted
according to the severity of the illness. Independent childbearing was
allowed over the age of 20. Anyone under that age would be allowed to live
with their children, but only under direct state supervision and
assistance. The measures were not punitive, but practical - to ensure that
children and their parents got a good start. The only crimes related to
sex were coercion and rape.
With the world's population problem and in spite of its slight decline
of late, there was a great deal of bias in advanced cultures against having
multiple children, and failing to use contraception was very badly out of
fashion. Like most Surani her age, Rachel was an only child. Her father
was a very close gay male friend of theirs, and Rachel knew that he had
helped Mommy make her. Takeshi and his husband lived in the house (or
mansion depending on your perspective) directly behind theirs, and Takeshi
was Rachel's legal father if anything happened to Sonja. The houses'
backyards combined into one large area, and Rachel was allowed to play with
all of it. Sonja had asked Takeshi because of his rugged yet strangely
effeminate looks, reasonably high intelligence and the relative absence of
any hereditary health risks in his family. His mother had lived to age
107, and his father to age 103.
Sonja looked out over the dewy grass and dripping palm trees as the sun
started peeking out from behind the clouds, and thumbed the controls for
the bedroom windows. As the glass became translucent to diffuse the
sunlight, she opened her copy of Koontz's False Memory, sat down next to
Rachel, and picked up where she left off. As usual Koontz scared the hell
out of her, but this time she wasn't sure what threat the protagonists were
facing - only that they were all losing their minds and there must be a
cause.
Forty minutes later, Sonja was chuckling at the genius of Koontz's
explanation for the dementia, and wondering at the potential this
revelation offered for the story and its resolution. As she turned the
page, Rachel moaned and opened her eyes. When she sat up, her hair flopped
into her face only to be smoothed back by her mother's hand.
"Hey silly. Thunderstorm scare you?"
"No, the storm was pretty. Lots of lightning. I wanted to snore at
you."
Sonja set the bookmarked novel on her nightstand and snuggled Rachel
close. "You're silly. And you've got some lip for a six year old.
Hungry?" Rachel lit up, suddenly reminded that she had a stomach.
"Pancakes? And scrambled eggs?"
"Simple enough. Come down in 15 minutes." Sonja started for the kitchen
as Rachel flopped back onto the pillow. The kitchen was a bit chilly,
which Sonja hadn't cared about when she got her coffee. Rachel would be a
bit more particular, so Sonja turned up the climate controls and started
mixing pancake batter. She prepared half a dozen pancakes and put them in
the convection oven to stay warm while she whipped the eggs and cooked
them. Just as she started shoveling the eggs onto plates, Rachel came down
in cotton pajamas, slippers, and with her heavy terry cloth robe trailing
behind her. Sitting down at her usual chair, she made a show of lightly
banging her little fists on the table and chanting "food, food, food."
"Bite me, kid. I oughta make you cook me breakfast." She suspiciously
eyed the grinning sprite. "No, on second thought, you'd make me fried
banana tofu and chocolate covered roaches."
"Yep. And you'd eat it because I'm your daughter and everything I do is
wonderful."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Cuddly little nutcase." Sonja set
Rachel's plate in front of her next to the blueberry syrup and butter, then
went back to get boba and orange juice. As she moved about the kitchen and
finally settled in front of her own plate, Rachel was eating eggs with one
hand and thumbing through the movie listings with the other. A live action
version of "Ghost in the Shell" had been made, and both Sonja and Rachel
were interested in seeing it.
Cybernetics were not yet so advanced in 2074 as to cause the social
issues addressed in the anime classic, but those issues were becoming more
and more relevant with every new advance in neural interfaces. Most of
these were used to help the blind or deaf when simple nerve repair or
cochlear implants would not work, but they were gaining in popularity for
recreational and business computer users. Computer games could be
experienced in three dimensions, with some rudimentary tactile sensation
from more expensive systems. Everything felt like warm glass in such
games, and delicate sensations like wind, taste, gravity, or sexual
pleasure could not be generated by anything but human nerves. Still, they
could be great fun. Rachel had requested a sensory implant to play these
games and watch VR movies, and the hair on the back of her head had grown
back to shoulder-length over the past three months with the use of
hair-growth cream. Unlike a few kids who liked their jacks showing all the
time, some even connecting decorative lights and glowing fiber-optic
"ponytails," Rachel was rather enamored of her bone-straight black hair and
had wanted it back as quickly as possible.
Smoothing the hard-grown crop back on her head and tucking it behind her
ears, Rachel piped up,"'Ghost in the Shell' is showing at the mall at 13,
15, 17, 19, and 21 hundred."
"How many tickets available for 13:00? I want to do some Saturnalia
shopping."
"Me too. Everything before 17:00 is sold out. Eight tickets for that
show have sold while we've been talking."
"Let me get my debit card." Sonja stepped into her office for a moment,
and came out fishing her debit card from her purse. Rachel had clicked
through the purchase menu on her tablet, and Sonja ran her card over its
scanner just before the ticket count reached zero. She and Rachel would
have to show up early to get good seats. She set her purse on the counter
and went back to her eggs before they got cold. The sun was quickly drying
the windows and backyard as the clouds broke up, and while the weather had
been unusually brisk for a December in the South Pacific, the day would be
a gorgeous one to look at. Clear blue skies and puffy cumulus clouds were
out in force by the time Sonja and Rachel finished dressing and headed out
for the day. Sonja was in a faux leather pantsuit - close fitting, but
warm enough. Rachel wore a bulky, bright blue skirt, wide copper belt, and
matching blue shoulder wrap over her black jumper. The wrap was perfect
with her Asian eyes, bobbed hair, and her mother's pale European
complexion.
Sonja had a minivan for group outings with Rachel's friends or nights on
the town with her own, but when it was just the two of them, they took her
new T-Rex. It was a low, speedy two-seat cross between a car and
motorcycle. The vehicles had been produced since the late 20th century,
but become more affordable and gone through some technical changes. This
latest iteration had a large trunk behind the rear wheel, an electroshaded
glass canopy, and an electric fuel-cell powered engine. For the time, 50
thousand Surani pounds was a steal for such a smart, fun machine. It was
Sonja and Rachel's mischievous indulgence between them. Little more than a
three-wheeled go-kart for adults with money. Sonja plugged in her key, and
the low hum of the engine slowly built as she swung her door shut. Rachel
closed her door, affixed her harness, and slowly the trike rolled forward
as Sonja put the transmission in gear and applied her foot to the
accelerator. The garage seemed to melt away as the trike bounced out onto
the street and turned towards the main street that led to the mall. Sonja
hit the garage door control, Rachel looking back to confirm that it was
lowering. Like the rest of the garage and most of the house exterior, it
was mirrored glass that let occupants see out but allowed no one to see in.
Most of the time, it was translucent white inside and let light in much
like Japanese paper windows. When a current was applied, it became fully
transparent to let one enjoy the scenery. The windows curved upwards in a
quarter circle, meeting the ceiling on the second floor and ensuring that
little artificial light was needed in most rooms.
Sonja had already done her shopping for Rachel's Saturnalia presents,
and Takeshi had taken Rachel to shop for her mother. He had helped her
wrap them at his house, and Sonja had promised not to peek at them in
Rachel's closet. Today they were shopping for Takeshi, his husband Geoff,
Sonja's parents and Rachel's friends. Takeshi was seriously into cars (and
had suggested the T-Rex), so they were eyeing a model of a classic Dodge
Viper for him. Geoff liked his wines, so Sonja had reserved a bottle of
Chateau Louvois vintage 2035 at a posh winery downtown. It was pricey,
almost six hundred pounds, but he was family.
First it was to the mall. They arrived at about 10:00, and immediately
headed to the video store to see what movies and games would suit Rachel's
friends. Then it was off to Zap for jewelry they would enjoy. As was the
fashion, most of the jewelry for sale consisted of fun, chunky synthetic
diamond and metal shapes. Most of the diamonds could be lit from the
inside, and some of the metals changed color while you looked at them.
Rachel was partial to copper and stainless steel, but most of her friends
were into glittery things. So each got matching androgynously styled steel
and diamond necklaces. Sonja thought they were a great idea - fun, a
symbol of friendship, and easily replaced at 40# apiece. They were smooth
link chains half a centimeter thick, with a rounded cube-shaped half
centimeter synthetic diamond pendant. It was on a lit setting, easily
recharged by putting it on a charge pad. When turned on, the diamond would
glow from the inside. Rachel had four friends she hung out with at school,
so she got them each one lit with their favorite color. Sonja made a note
to get Rachel a matching one lit blue.
They finished their shopping, picked up Takeshi's car model, left the
lot of it in the trike, and headed back into the mall to see the movie.
Shot scene for scene to match the original, it was 82 minutes long and
worth all of them. Neither Sonja nor Rachel could stop talking about it as
they headed out into the waning daylight, and downtown to pick up Geoff's
wine and see the sights. Leolua Street, the center of culture and
nightlife in downtown Tashkana, was lit up like a circuit board with
holiday lights. They hung by the hundreds and thousands from every tree,
palms and imported alike. All of them twinkled in unison with each other
and with their reflections in the glass and steel skyscrapers, like stars
singing to the patrons and tourists. This yearly spectacle had no small
role in contributing to the bustle of the street as an attraction in and of
themselves. Sonja found parking, and they began walking along the street
hand in hand to enjoy the hum of the season.
Over the past sixty years, the Suran islands had become a hub of
business, international trade, tourism, and research easily rivaling
Chicago, London, or Tokyo sans population density. Small, out of the way,
its population had exploded in the 2010s with the discovery of a vast
supply of uranium ore and rare metals like neodymium just offshore. The
US, upon whisperings of the fortune to be made and potential security
ramifications, had purchased it just before this news broke worldwide.
They were right about its importance. Mining companies all over the planet
readily invested billions of American dollars to build enclosed areas of
dry seabed for mining operations, and these billions had built a vital
economy in a few short years. Thousands of workers and engineers moved to
Suran, and for their trouble were afforded all the amenities of home.
Which in most cases was Japan, the US, or western Europe. With them came
families, and cultures, and the willingness to make a home on the temperate
island chain. As the world's phone system was replaced with broadband
video connections and satellites, the islands seemed less remote from
friends and family, making staying that much easier.
Suran was also within a single flight of several Antarctic cities and
research stations with similar promise, serving as an easy waystation
between them and Asia or Australia. As techniques for mining through ice
improved, surely the shipping and air traffic through Tashkana Harbor would
follow suit. Most of the population was Japanese and European, with a
large smattering of Americans who'd stayed after the islands had seceded.
The government was a model for others to follow, with many advantages of
American or Canadian democracy but more efficient. The bridges connecting
the islands were engineering marvels the likes of which even Japan had not
attempted, and the megafloat airstrips off Tashkana Harbor were larger than
any in Tokyo Bay. From space, the tiny avant-garde nation looked like a
glittering spiderweb, with Tashkana in the middle and the capital just to
its west. The bridge connecting them was an eight lane highway ten
kilometers long and thirty meters above the bluest seas in the region.
Down its center ran a maglev track for speedy transit between the chain's
two largest islands.
Besides the bridges and trains, another amenity perfected to a science
in Suran was municipal air transit. Helicopters were cheaper, safer and
quieter than ever. Antigrav vehicles were becoming available to very
wealthy consumers. But far more numerous were dirigibles. With the
advancement of tough, ultralight plastics and metal/polymer composites,
they could be made for maneuverability and easy piloting, and streamlining
was the rule. Hundreds of such airships moved about the skyscrapers and
between the islands, many for sightseeing but most for commuters. Slung
between buildings were landing pads allowing the country's engineers and
programmers and bankers, thirty or forty at a time, to enter their
workplaces on the 20th floor, or 30th, or 200th. A few buildings were
variations of the Japanese "Sky City" concept, hollow inside and a
kilometer or more tall, with trains and inclinators connecting the hundreds
of floors and multilayered parklands. The proliferation of these
self-contained communities had cut the flow of traffic relative to the
country's population of over ten million, and there were fewer passenger
cars in Suran than in Los Angeles or New York. The few truly massive
buildings, like Tashkana One, had populations in the hundreds of thousands
apiece, and were connected by trains and highways. Rarely were these
thoroughfares moving anywhere near their capacity, and the roads were built
to evacuate each building's maximum occupancy in under two days if
necessary.
However attractive and optimistic was the Suran of today, its exact
opposite had stood there 23 years before. Its initial industrial
development had been short-sighted and aimed at efficiency rather than
sustainability. After the gloss of new careers and corporate perks had
faded, the workers and engineers who had moved to the islands had seen
labor shortages and safety concerns go unaddressed as the demands on them
increased. The United States government was long on money to throw at its
protectorate, but short on ideas for using it wisely. The resources needed
exploiting, but the workforce and equipment to do so could not be crammed
onto the islands by traditional Western means. Eventually the Japanese
partners, with experience in massive industrial undertakings, were afforded
the discretion and money needed to apply their expertise. Workers were
gradually relocated to Australia, and mining operations ran skeleton crews
while new vertically-oriented living spaces were constructed and roads were
widened. In a given area where 30,000 people had lived, now could safely
and comfortably live 150,000. The drop in industrial output cost money in
the short term, but began paying off hugely once work could resume. In
just over ten years, Suran went from being overcrowded by a relative
handful of people and machinery, to comfortably housing vast amounts of
each with wilderness to spare. By the mid 2040s, most development on the
islands was for recreation and scientific endeavor, with little remaining
support from the US financially, and a divide between Suran and its parent
country becoming apparent.
Saturnalia 2051 had not been as happy as this one. Sonja remembered
being her daughter's age and watching Leolua Street during the rainy
season. But that year the street had been bustling with military aircraft
about tasks slightly more dangerous than shopping. To defend its
interests, the United States had assigned Suran some of the most advanced
(and island-friendly) warplanes money could buy. It was these craft which
had used Leolua Street as a runway when war broke out. It was necessary,
as in those days, megafloats were easy to target and sink, which was
exactly what the Americans did to prevent the use of their planes against
them. Another thing they had counted on until then was that the Suran
state assembly would defer to them when the Asian and European sponsors
wanted to take over, having contributed ever larger portions of the cost
for the development of the chain's resources and potential. Washington
somehow didn't think that legislators, pilots, and Guardsmen who had been
born and raised on the islands might side with their friends and families
over foreign interests. Foreign meaning Americans as much as Britons,
French, or Japanese. Knowing better than to get into an open conflict with
the US, the Europeans and Japanese decided to support Suran's independence
from any other power, both politically and industrially.
To an American sitting at home watching the news, the Suran conflict
might have seemed like an interesting news story - somewhat more
titillating than Iraq or Afghanistan or Colombia. To a Surani, there was
no sitting at home watching the news. Outside communications were jammed
and cables cut, usually for months at a time. Air battles to get traffic
in and out of the country were constant, and it was only PR concerns that
kept the American navy from targeting the cities. This fact, as much as
the willingness of the average Surani to take up arms, allowed Suran to
mount an effective defense. After three years of conflict, nearly a
hundred thousand Surani deaths, and the near collapse of the Surani
economy, the combined expertise of its native engineers ended the war
literally and politically. Antigravity technology was in development
before the war started, and with smuggled supplies from their overseas
sympathizers the Surani government had constructed the first antigrav
warship, with the class name Nemesis. Most of the American planes used in
the conflict were a bit older and less advanced than Suran's, but with
constant maintenance and reliable weapons stores were slowly outclassing
and outgunning the Surani force.
On February 20th, 2054 at 9:20, eighty-two Surani warplanes, more than
could normally be spared for one mission, took off from various parts of
Tashkana Island, heading in the direction of the outlying island where the
US Marines had established a foothold twenty thousand strong. Five minutes
later, a pale gray shape nobody had seen before roared from beneath Adanji
Falls, hull so smooth that water sheeted off of it. Weighing essentially
nothing but for inertia, Nemesis was accelerated by its scramjets to Mach 2
within a few minutes of clearing the rocks. Three hundred miles away, out
of range of Surani land-based plasma weapons and Tesla coils, the American
carrier group was nestled too closely together. With their planes having
launched at a rate of one every 15 seconds, nearly the entire American air
wing was off trying to protect the suddenly threatened Marines. The
half-dozen protecting the carrier were in no position to intercept or
outaccelerate Nemesis. The slightly insectoid craft wasn't heavily armed,
but didn't have to be for its objective. Essentially a bomber, it carried
a defensive plasma cannon, some electronic countermeasures, short-range
conventional explosive rounds...and one tactical EMP warhead secretly
donated by the Sino-Russian Federation. The warhead was delivered too
quickly for the carrier's close-in weapons systems to target it in time.
By the time it detonated over the group, Nemesis was over a mile and a half
away. Seven thousand sailors were leaving breakfast, operating reactors,
or charging catapults when all the lights went out. Even the group's
submarines were affected by the pulse. Suddenly sixty American warplanes
were less concerned about shooting down Surani than about where they would
land. The island held by the Marines was fit for landing on by VTOL craft
and little else.
They were all too happy to be forced down one by one, detonating their
weapons over the ocean before landing wherever they could to be placed
under arrest. The carrier group was in no position to help them, and using
it as a bargaining chip had been the point of the Nemesis' attack. The
surface vessels could only last for a few days without power, and the
submarines were already sinking. The Surani Executive Council was eager to
explain this to the American president via satellite, and in less than an
hour he had sworn the withdrawal of American forces from the region in
exchange for Surani assistance in berthing the crippled surface ships and
surfacing the submarines.
One of the planes protecting the carrier had fallen into the ocean (sans
ejected pilot) from the EMP, and its reconstructed form sat in Independence
Square. The curvy, somber monument was just barely visible to Sonja in the
distance as she walked out of the winery with a sleepy Rachel straddling
one hip and a very expensive bottle of hooch in her shoulder bag. Rachel
seemed to be tiring out earlier than usual of late, and had mentioned not
getting much sleep for one reason or another. The drive home was quicker
than Sonja expected, but driving was always fast once one cleared the city
and got to the freeways cutting through the forest-smattered suburbs. She
got the trike into the garage, and let Rachel snooze in her harness while
she carried the presents into the kitchen and put Geoff's wine in the
refrigerator. Carefully she extracted the cuddly little blueberry-attired
girl from the cockpit, getting her halfway up the stairs before Rachel
awoke and hugged her, whispering "Mommy."
"Hey, silly. Do you want to take a bath before you go to bed?"
"Okay." Sonja carried her into the bathroom and turned the water on,
removing the silver clip holding back part of her hair and gradually
extracting her from her blue and black ensemble as the tub filled.
Gradually Sonja's own clothes joined her daughter's on the dressing bench
as Rachel soaked in the sweet-scented water and bubbles. She moved forward
as Sonja sat behind her, with one leg on either side for easy scrubbing and
shampooing. Not many kids were interested in old movies and comics, but
Rachel always liked quoting young Pasquale from the 1990s American comic
strip 'Rose is Rose.'
"Never settle for shampoo. Demand REAL poo!" she lazily quipped as her
mother laughed, checking to see that Rachel's jack had a seal in before
reaching for shampoo and working her hair into a fruity lather. Water in
the neural jack wasn't dangerous, but would interfere with its use and take
forever to dry out. Sonja was too engrossed on keeping the bubbles from
Rachel's face to immediately notice her slight squirming. Not at all an
uncomfortable movement, more like that of someone enjoying a warm blanket
or exquisitely hot shower. What she did notice while rinsing the shampoo
out with the hand sprayer was Rachel closing her eyes and rubbing her
thighs together. Between them was her tiny right wrist being pressed
inward, hand flat against the warm porcelain.
Unsure what to do and not realizing this subject might come up so soon,
Sonja slowly inched closer to her baby, slowly caressing her tiny shoulders
with a fluffy sponge. Rachel began rocking back and forth a bit, and Sonja
decided not to rush things or make her talk about what she was feeling yet.
She snuggled up to her daughter, rubbing her tummy and letting her soak for
a few minutes before asking if she was ready for bed. Rachel smiled and
nodded, and Sonja stepped out of the tub, drying herself off before
standing Rachel up to dry her. Rachel stepped out of the tub onto the
fluffy bathroom rug, and her mother kneeled before her. Smiling, Sonja
wrapped the towel around her and slowly rubbed it up and down,
concentrating on her sides and legs. Rachel's eyes drooped a bit, and she
sighed as her mother dried her neck, back, and bottom. Setting her up on
the counter with the towel wrapped around her body and tucked under her
arms, Sonja got a smaller hand towel and tousled Rachel's hair dry with it
before donning a thick robe. She left the robe open, snuggling Rachel to
her pale chest as she picked her up.
"Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?" Sleepily, Rachel nodded, and
was carried into Mommy's room and put in bed naked. The room was
reasonably warm, so the comforter would prevent any goosebumps. Sonja
wanted to ask Rachel if she needed to nurse, but the girl's snoring
answered that question. Sonja slipped on a satin nightie and slowly
wrapped its matching robe around Rachel, then pulled the covers up and put
one arm around her. In a matter of minutes the snoring became a team
sport. And the house was quiet.