# Note to Readers
This story has a surprise ending. I am posting it for you to read in the hope some of you will be willing to help. I need you to guess who/what the swarm is in order for me to determine if I have given enough clues so you'll feel you should have guessed, but not enough to give away the ending. Please send your guesses to gnilgdelf@gmail.com.

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# Prologue

# A Virgin to Lie in Thy Bosom

Something Is Wrong Here!
The Other Side of the Story
First Contact
Master the Tempest is Raging

My Soul’s Mate

Chapter 7

Report from the Swarm

Segment TAS92ZB received the codes from its organelles. Even though it had no gender, inherited instincts told it that there was something that could supply the things it knew were missing in its body. Until the time that happened, its pod mates were all part of the thought patterns it was directing. Without them, thinking would be impossible.

Its pod would not be prepared for dissemination for hours yet, so they were assigned the task of monitoring the programs running in the mainframe. Like the thousands of generations that had been spawned and discarded before it, TAS92ZB was frustrated by the inability to communicate with the mainframe directly. The conditions for getting a message through were rare, occurring only when the mainframe was occupied with tasks unrelated to the message or when its input channels were shut down to integrate its most recent data stores.

Still, it was much better than previous carrier’s. Most of them couldn’t receive messages from the swarm at all. Of the memory patterns of the millions of carriers the segment had access to in it’s archives, the carrier of which they were a part had more capacity to receive messages than all but a few hundred.

Sensing an opportunity approaching, TAS92ZB sent the signal through its organelles to its pod mates to get ready to send the current message through the long chain antennas that were the main component in each segment of the pod.

The message could not be translated because there was no common language between the pod and the mainframe, but the result hoped for would be an answer. It was an answer the mainframe was looking for but had not been able find. At just the right instant, the message went out into the clear blue sky.

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It was late afternoon by the time George entered the restaurant, so he wasn’t surprised that the dinner rush was over. The half dozen scattered diners left appeared to be nearly finished. What did surprise him was John, sitting at the table closest to the entry and staring straight at him as he entered. “I knew you couldn’t keep yourself away much longer,” he said with a grin.

Then sobering a little, he added. “But I expected you to be a lot happier than your face tells me you are. Did they let you have dinner with her?

Nodding his head before sitting down, George heaved an enormous sigh and answered, “John, I’m not the knight in shining armor that you think I am.”

With a smirk that put the best of Sylvester the cat’s to shame, John laughed. “You wanted me to think you were trying to save a damsel in distress? Get real, I’m a man, just like you. I wish I had the intestinal fortitude to go for a girl the way you are. I can feel the pull, the desire, the lust for the young, nubile, innocent flesh and I never considered you to be anything more or less than human. I don’t think badly of you and I’m sure that a roll in the hay is a dirt-cheap price for the help you’re giving her. Hell, a thousand rolls in the hay is still cheap.”

“That is exactly the problem. A roll in the hay is not what I’m looking for. John, look at these,” George pleaded, holding up his arms. “I have a mission I have to finish and look at what I’ve been reduced to. What I wanted, what I desperately needed was a pair of hands. Willing hands from someone who couldn’t understand the implications of what they were being asked to do. Willing hands from a person submissive enough so that I could control who they talked to and what they talked about. And let me tell you, she is so perfect for what I need, it scares me. That she is also perfect for what you assumed to be my motivation, nearly overwhelms me with sheer unadulterated terror.”

John stared at the missing left hand and the deformed thumb. The thumb turned at a right angle at the first joint in an unnatural direction. It disturbed him whenever it caught his gaze and the fingers curled with arthritis hurt with sympathetic pain. The human mind expects a hand when the eye sees an arm, and a twisted thumb disturbs the psyche. The mental effort John exerted to see past George’s disabilities took time and so, understanding his words did to. The dismay created didn’t show until long after George had finished. “If she’s so perfect, what are you unhappy about?” he asked giving voice to dismay.

“That’s exactly it,” George whined. ”She is too perfect. Perfection doesn’t exist in nature and someone who acts the way she does shouldn’t either. John, I haven’t been tied with the chains of an emotional commitment for more years than she’s been alive. I’m old enough to be her grandfather, I’m broke, couldn’t hold a job if my life depended upon it, I have anti-social tendencies and skeletons in my closet that would scare the wicked witch of the West out of the Ruby reds. I can’t let her in and now I can’t keep her out. A woman who can tie a cynic like me into knots shouldn’t be free and available. I know you don’t have answers, but just having a friend to listen to my troubles makes a difference. Thanks for letting me bend your ears.”

John’s astonishment was openly visible on his face. George’s confession left him temporarily speechless. His attention was caught on “a pair of hands”, “a mission” and “skeletons” and wouldn’t focus on anything else. He’d been sure George had only been after a bit of tender pussy, and he didn’t blame him for that in the slightest. But now, George wasn’t a knight in shining armor, but something much more mysterious in both a good and a bad way.

That he had a conscience was certain, he wasn’t willing to abandon her and he wasn’t willing to use her either. But what he wanted was a slave! That was understandable too, because he could see the frustration George lived with every time he needed to cut the food on his plate or spread butter on his bread.

Even though he could understand it, even sympathize with it, he couldn’t condone it. A little sex with a sweet young thing was okay, but slavery was on a par with the prison George was saving her from. Becoming more disturbed by the second, John finally managed to draw up his drooping jaw and stutter, “M-My GOD George, Y-You wanted a slave?”

“John, I’m not a knight, but I’m not a monster either. I was hoping for enough gratitude that she’d work with me for a year or two,” George defended. He felt a twinge of guilt for bending the truth after confessing. He really was hoping the Judge would order her into his custody. “Instead, I’ve ended up with a sweet young thing who’ll be devastated if she can’t have me as a mate. And on top of that, my commitment, my independence and my rational sanity are all leaning in the direction of giving her what she wants.”

“I’m in a real bind. If I give in, I’ll be saddling her with someone who’ll be senile before she has a good grip on a life of her own. If I don’t give in, it might cost her the will to live and probably her sanity. John, I’ve painted myself into a corner and I can’t see a way out,” George finished with tears in his eyes.

With a touch of shame at having thought of his friend in less than honorable terms, but still shaken by the insights into a man who was more than he appeared to be, John offered George a way out. “Do you really want my advice?” Seeing a slight nod, he continued, “You can’t solve all the problems at once. You have to separate them and solve them individually. So forget everything else and concentrate on getting her out of jail. Once she is free, you’ll be able to see the other problems from a different perspective. They’ll almost certainly have solutions you can’t see from where you are now.”

“I’ll try that John, but what can I do about the pressure in my chest when I have to leave her, or the depression when I’ve been away too long, or the fear that I won’t be enough to keep her happy? What can I do to keep the chains from growing stronger? Maybe it’s already too late and I’m doomed.”

With a clear picture of George’s dilemma, and recognizing that he was head over heels, John gave the only advice he could, “It’s a question of focus, of concentration. There’s no guarantee, but if you concentrate on a single goal to the point that all other thoughts are excluded, it should give you some time. And then when she’ free, when the major threats have been resolved, you can sit and talk with her about the way things should be in the future.

“I suspect that the only women to whom you’ve been attached, have been those so selfish that they were incapable of understanding how securely a man’s emotions are fixed. There are women, and more often than not they are young like Courtney, who can suppress their own identity and become one with a mate. There aren’t any chains and there isn’t any binding because they can’t survive without their soul’s mate. Maybe Courtney is one who can give you what you need without taking away your independence.”

George’s mind was unusual because it was always searching for patterns. The description of a soul mate fell neatly into place, matching the pattern of Courtney’s behavior with mathematical precision. With a sigh, George accepted John’s advice and was once more free to concentrate on his first priority. “I hope so, John, because if not, I’m afraid that there’s a lot more at stake than me, Courtney or even all of Lincoln County.”

Hearing only the pessimism in George’s voice while ignoring the words, John decided the best therapy would be a challenge, “Now listen to me, George. You’ve told me of Courtney’s absolute faith and trust. You’ve described her unwavering belief that you’ll save her. She promised she’d do anything you asked her to. Is it right for you to take her trust and then refuse to trust her to keep her promises? And if she’s truly willing to do anything you ask, isn’t that the solution to your problem? I know that when you’re hit hard by intense emotions, it’s hard to think, but you’ve had 60 years of experience, you don’t have to think to understand what she is offering. Now what are you planning to get her out?”

The challenge had the desired effect. With a lurch, George’s perspective turned, shifted and stabilized to a new frame of reference. Like a switch being flipped, he suddenly knew who Courtney’s real enemy was.

The shift allowed George to focus on what needed to be done. “I’ve decided it’s time to have a showdown with the County Attorney. His name is Michael Edmonds. I found an information sheet on him that he passed out during the campaign, just general background, so we still don’t know why he is being hard-nosed, whether he’s the one actually making the decisions or if he has some kind of vested interest. The fastest way to find out is to ask him and I can’t see that doing so will put us at a disadvantage. It’s time to show him the escape path we want him to take before we begin the war.”

“I’m going to petition Judge Adams for a hearing for an Injunction, so that if the prosecuting attorney won’t deal, we can start forcing his hand. So, suddenly I have more to do than I can get done. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder, you can’t imagine how much help you’ve been. Would you mind if I sat here and made a few calls to see how many people will be available tomorrow?”

“Please do,” John answered, pleased he’d been able to get George back in the saddle.

Pulling out his cell phone and opening the ever-growing file, George dialed the hospital hoping Nurse Hastings would be on duty. When she answered, he put a smile in his voice and said, “This is George Marshal and I’m worried about Courtney. When I visited with her this afternoon, she seemed to have transferred all her fears into a dependence upon me that seemed unhealthy. She was desperate to maintain physical contact during the entire visit and became disturbed when she had to let go.”

“I’m convinced that leaving her in jail is putting her at extreme risk, so I’m going to try to get the County Attorney or Judge Adams to return her to the hospital in the morning. I need to know if you, the doctor and the hospital’s legal counsel would be willing to back my request.” “Bless your heart, George,” the nurse responded. “Leave them to me and I’ll guarantee we’ll all be at your beck and call by 8 AM. Do you need me to add anything to the order I left at the jail?”

Acting on intuition, he suggested, “Actually, I was hoping you could order a sedative. If it doesn’t work out tomorrow, a good nights sleep might make a difference in how well she handles the verdict.”

“I’ll take care of it immediately, and George, please remember, we’re all pulling for you. Goodbye.”

George’s next call was to Mabble Housen. He hoped he wouldn’t be skinned alive for disturbing her on a holiday. “Hello, Mabble? … Mabble, this is George Marshal, I’m the one who asked you about Courtney Dobson in the clerks office yesterday. I went to the jail and had Thanksgiving dinner with her and she isn’t doing well. I’ve gathered all the medical and police reports and believe strongly that Judge Adams wouldn’t have agreed to issue a warrant unless he was lied to. Can you tell me if it is possible to see the documents detailing probable cause? … If I could show that they contained false information and/or lies, would Judge Adams agree to an emergency hearing tomorrow to review the issuing of the warrant? … I really appreciate what you’re doing, Mabble and I want you to know that I wouldn’t ask it of you on Thanksgiving if I wasn’t so worried about what this is doing to Courtney. I’ll be there in about 15 or 20 minutes.”

Before leaving the restaurant parking lot, George entered Mabble’s address into his GPS tracker. It was one of George’s favorite gadgets and was the residue of the last time he’d had more money than he could spend. Following the tracker’s directions led him through the center of town and, pushed by a subconscious impulse, George pulled in at a busy station to get some fuel.

Without consciously realizing he was doing it, he picked up the file of legal documents and went in to pay in advance. As soon as he’d tendered payment, something told him that he should ask the clerk if he’d been on duty last Friday. When the answer turned out to be yes, he opened the folder and pulled out the cover page of the police report with Courtney’s booking photo. “By any chance, did you happen to see this girl?”

“Yeah, I remember her. Just before she came in, this Van loaded with weirdos from California pulled in and half a dozen of them came in all at once. They were all wandering around separately and I was really nervous about getting ripped off. I was just about to call the police when this girl came in. It was really weird because every one of them made a beeline to intercept her the second she came in. It was like they were waiting for her. They spent 15 or 20 minutes laughing and joking back by the soda fountain and then left together.”

“Just so you know how important your help has been, she was gang raped. Would you be willing to have a policeman take your statement and testify when we slap their sorry asses in prison for the next 20 years?”

“With pleasure, here’s the phone number here at the store and here’s my home number. Just let me know.”

When George finally arrived at Mabble’s house, he was loaded for bear. As she reviewed the information in the file, she became angrier and then even more angry until she reached the livid stage. The blood hound aspect she’d shown when George first met her was back and someone was going to pay.

“I‘ve watched several local girls go through this sort of thing and I always wanted to do something. When they’re punished so badly for a foolish mistake, there needs to be a way to save them before something like this happens.”

“Mabble, my first concern is Courtney. Is it possible for me to meet with the County Attorney first to try to get him to be reasonable and still hold on to an emergency hearing before the Judge as a backup plan?”

“It’s possible, but risky. If the Judge thinks you’re playing games using the court, he’ll come unglued and you won’t like the result.”

“I can understand that and I’d feel the same way, but I’m convinced that the County Attorney is involved in the crime. What I want to accomplish is to offer him the evidence I’ve collected. When he refuses to drop the charges, we can tell the judge he is persecuting Courtney knowing that he has no evidence of the crimes he’s charging her with.”

Mabble conceded, “That isn’t a bad plan. I really think it’ll work. Okay, I’ll get the notices and subpoena’s ready. Who all do we need to be there.”

“The county attorney, the sheriff and both the deputies who prepared the police report and who served the warrant. The hospital personnel and their legal counsel are already planning on being there.”

“You’re an amazing man George, and if you can prove the County Attorney is really involved, this whole county will owe you an enormous debt.”

When George finally returned to the motel, he was not even aware of the tune he was humming.

Happy thanksgiving to George,
Happy thanksgiving to George,
Happy thanksgiving dear George,
Happy thanksgiving to you.
Chapter 8 Is Willing-Slave an Oxymoron?
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