# 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!

Chapter 2

The Nest

Like the Swarm, the nest was a semi-independent sentient being. But it was as different from the swarm as night is different from the darkness of interstellar space. It was composed of about a hundred thousand individual components similar to gametes that each had 23 information processing lobes. One of the more radical differences was that its processors could not operate in parallel. It was actually more intelligent than the swarm because its processors operated on a number system with a base of 46. (The left digit of a two-digit number represents the digit times 46 as opposed to 10 for humans.)

Each gamete was also sentient and about as intelligent as a normal 8 year old. The ability of the gametes to share information was dramatically slower than the segments of the swarm, so the nest tended to be less capable of logical reasoning and more creative. The tendency towards creativity was enhanced by a long life span.

Even though the nest did not enjoy the same type of immortality that the Swarm possessed, it could pass on a portion of its memories to any new nest it helped establish. The establishment of a new nest was a process similar to the way bees form a new hive.

The partial inherited memory forced the nest to focus on non-linear or creative thought processes because there was always information missing for the formation of solutions using logic. Fortunately, a nest could exchange information with a swarm when the two were in close proximity for an extended period of time. This tended to form a bond or need to continue the association.

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Shaking his head in amusement over the value of pies, George sat down and pored over the police report. Even knowing how rotten the legal system was, his last shreds of faith were shaken by the details. The report started by stating that after Courtney had been transported to the hospital and identified (a nurse recognized her), a deputy had been sent to her home. It was clearly written to focus on Courtney instead of the burglary.

The officer had been told by Courtney’s mother that Courtney had asked if she could go out to celebrate the day before her birthday and had been told no. After an argument, Courtney had pointed out that she would be 18 and that after midnight, she could do as she pleased. Her mother’s response was, “Go ahead then. But if you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back. This won’t be your home any more.” In spite of the fact that she had no money and nowhere to go, she’d promptly walked out. The time she left was about 4:15 PM.

According to the police report, Courtney wouldn’t say anything about what happened after that, but it didn't say why. Now the deputy described how the incident had started in response to an anonymous 911 call reporting headlights and that officers had been dispatched to an unoccupied cabin at 1 AM on the 20 th. They found the door ajar and after entering, discovered Courtney unconscious on a mattress just inside. She was naked and there were several empty baggies of the type commonly used for drugs scattered around her. The report also noted that her clothes were missing.

After noting evidence of sexual intercourse, the officers had covered her with a quilt and called for emergency transport. Even though the quilt was there, she'd been left naked. The report actually claimed she'd taken more than one type of illegal substance as reported by the hospital and evidenced by a blood test. It didn't say what drugs they were, nor how they knew she'd taken them. There was a warrant for her arrest, but no supporting documents. There wasn't even a subpoena, so the drug test couldn't have been legally obtained.

The rest of the report described the damage, vandalism and thefts. The only part of the vandalism that George took note of was the observation that the vandalism appeared to be methodical as opposed to the random type of destruction that most juvenile delinquents consider fun.

George set the report down and leaned back. He’d been looking for a case of justice run amok, but this was both the worst injustice he’d ever seen and the best possible scenario for his own plans. The charges were so egregious that as soon as the prosecutors detected a hint of resistance, they’d probably fall over themselves trying to get out from under the hammer they were using before it landed on their own heads. They’d probably cut a deal with the public defender and were confident he’d convince her it was the best she could hope for.

A premonition swept over him. The glaring faults he'd found made the case seem a little sinister. His intuition of something wrong was bolstered by several disturbing facts. Even if Courtney' mother hated her daughter, why would she confess to treating her daughter so callously? It wasn't that her uncaring attitude was unusual, there were lots of rotten parents, but normally, they didn't brag about it. And why hadn't the police followed up with the property owner to find out who had keys? How did they know the entry had been unauthorized? How did they determine what was stolen? Why wasn't there any mention of the owner? How could the county attorney file charges without a complaint?

Why had Courtney been left right in front of the door? With the door open, he was sure someone wanted to make certain she’d be found. Maybe they’d been afraid she was dying and this was the best way to get medical attention without becoming involved. That didn’t seem likely because they hadn’t covered her with the quilt. And why leave the drug bags? Did they want her to be blamed? And what are the odds that someone would notice headlights at 1 AM? How did they get into the house? There wasn’t any mention of forced entry in the report.

And then there was the description of the patterned vandalism. All in all, it didn’t sound like a bunch of kids having a party. The police report was full of holes. Briefly, he felt subconscious twitches of warning, passing like shadows on a moonless night. There was something wrong with the picture he was trying to assemble from the facts he had collected. The pieces didn’t fit the pattern that the police report was trying to paint.

Just as George finished his review, Deedee opened the door and ushered Courtney in. The hobbles had been removed, but her hands were still fastened at her waist. The tracks of fresh tears were still in evidence and George felt his own eyes flood when she tried to lift a hand to wipe her cheeks. He couldn't ever remember seeing anyone who looked more innocent.

Her innocent appearance somehow transmitted her intangible plea for help. Blinking quickly to keep his own eyes from spilling, George begged. “Deedee, is there any way you could release her hands?” Rationally, he knew he was spending all of the good will he’d purchased with the pies, but the girl’s mute cry was making him act emotionally. With a bit of irrational anti-cynicism, he realized he wasn’t just trying to trade his credit with Deedee for a higher balance with Courtney; he really liked the girl and desperately wanted her to like him.

The look Deedee gave him reminded George of a nature video of a mother bear, wounded and no longer able to protect her cubs. When she spoke, George understood that she’d paid her debt for the pies and that he’d pushed as far as he dared. “Well, it’s absolutely against the rules and I’d get fired if I did,” she said glancing at the video camera in the corner, “but maybe I could cuff her to the table,” she continued, this time speaking to the camera. George noted that a red telltale on the camera blinked twice, as Deedee moved to release Courtney’s hands and then fasten cuffs between her right arm and the table leg with a chain.

Addressing Courtney who was staring at George’s missing hand with wide eyes, Deedee warned, “Now Courtney, don’t do anything stupid. Remember, you’re being watched. You don’t need any more problems than you already have. And listen to your friend, he wants to help.”

Thank you for the warning, George thought. As soon as the door was closed, he cautioned, “Courtney, please don’t say anything for a minute.” He opened his folder, inserted the police report and began writing. When he finished, he moved the file holding up one side to block the camera and pointed to a note that said, “shake your head to answer is yes, nod for no.” “Do you understand?”

After seeing her shake, he asked aloud, “Do you know how much trouble you’re in? Without some help, you’ll probably spend 10 years in jail.” He watched her nod and wipe at the fresh tears. As she smeared them across her face, George caught a whiff of fragrance that reminded him of honey and bitter apricot pits. On impulse, he reached out to wipe at one.

The instant he touched her, a sharp smell exploded until it was strong enough to taste. An odd compulsion forced him to bring his finger to his own tongue. In spite of his senses being nearly overwhelmed, his intuition fit the pieces of the puzzle together. The expressions on her face in court, the attorney’s comment about her unwillingness to speak and even her wordless answers all fit into a pattern. The insight eclipsed his curiosity while he tried to confirm it.

Acting under another compulsion he would normally have fought to the death resisting, he wrote another question with words that weren’t his own. They won’t let me help you unless they think I’m your friend. Will you let me be your teacher so I can help you?” Pointing again to the shake your head for yes answer in the file, he looked up. Even though he was expecting her answer, her smile caught him by surprise.

His intuition was usually more subtle. The compulsions he was dealing with felt as if there was another person present who was manipulating him like a puppet dancing on strings. If he hadn't been so curious and anxious over the anomalies in Courtney's behavior, he would have been seriously reconsidering his own sanity. His concern vanished faster than it came, banished by the mystery before him.

“Have you been in contact with your mother?” he asked while pointing to the “nod for no” answer. As she nodded, he reached across the table and took her hand. The bittersweet smell and taste returned stronger than ever when he felt her un-dried tears.

“If you’ll help me, I can get you out of this mess,” he added, punctuating his statement with the most open smile he could produce and a gentle caress of her fingers and palm. “But you must obey me without question as if I was your father.” The radiant smile she answered with reflected her age and communicated a promise as heartfelt as any commitment of “I do”.

Curiosity returned, so he brought her hand to his lips to verify that the smell was not a reaction between her tears and his skin. When he touched it to his tongue, it filled his nose until the taste threatened to choke him. In spite of the overpowering sensation, he licked her fingers. Briefly forgetting his paranoid method of communicating, he asked, “Can you talk now?”

Looking up, he was surprised to see a look of pleasure on her face had replaced the pain. “Yes, teacher.”

In writing, he asked, Do you know why you couldn’t talk?

After she pointed to the “nod for no,” he probed. “Why wouldn’t you talk to the police?”

“I tried, but it hurt so bad that I couldn’t get any words out.”

Hoping the watchers wouldn’t realize the importance of what she’d said, George warned, “Okay, we can’t talk about your case until I can bring an attorney. In fact, don’t answer any questions or let anyone examine you unless I’m with you. The rest of what we need to talk about has to be confidential. We need a lawyer so we can be sure they won’t listen. But there are other things I’d like to know.”

How long? he wrote.

“It’s been that way for years.”

Still worried, he handed her a pen before asking, “Who else can you talk to?”

Just my mother and my teacher at school.

Her answers sent a chill up George’s spine. Needing time to absorb her explanation, George asked, “Will you tell me about yourself and your parents?”

The smile disappeared as she sucked in and released a huge gulp of air. As if reciting a poem, she proceeded to follow George’s order to the letter. “My parents divorced when I was 10. Dad lost his job and after a few months mom started nagging him saying that if he couldn’t or wouldn’t get a job, he wasn’t worth anything. She kept saying she could get more from welfare by divorcing him. I think he tried for a while, by working temporary jobs for anyone, but every time he brought home a paycheck, she’d tell him again how worthless he was and how she could get more from the government. After a while, he sat me down and apologized that he couldn’t take any more, he had to get away.”

“Courtney, I missed something. Would you start over?” George’s intuition prompted. When Courtney repeated her recitation word for word, another chill went up his spine. “Okay, please go on,” he prodded.

“Mom filed for divorce and sued for child support. I don’t know much about what happened after that, except that I heard they put him in jail for 30 days when I was 13 because he couldn’t pay. After that, I never heard from him again. Not having dad around didn’t seem to make a difference until I was 14. That was when I decided I wanted to be one of the popular girls at school. I started hanging out with 3 older girls who everyone thought were the most liked.”

While she talked, George felt compelled to wipe at the tear tracks on her cheeks. Every other minute, he’d moisten a finger and wipe a bit more. And every time, the taste would stop his breath and an erotic image would flash of what had really happened, what her words were carefully crafted to hide.

This time, it was Courtney as a newborn taking milk from a bottle shaped like a penis.

“I know I was really stupid, but they told me that to be one of them, I had to steal some makeup from Walmart. They said it was like an initiation. No one had ever told me about the detectors that Walmart has, so of course, I was caught. My mother had to pay a $500 fine, and that was when all the trouble started.”

Now he saw Courtney as a toddler laying on a man's legs sucking on a real penis.

“She grounded me, wouldn’t let me use the telephone, wouldn’t let me have anything but bread and peanut butter for a month and for the last 4 years, she’s complained about every penny she spent on me. For a whole year, I had to go to this weird psychiatrist that was supposed to help me resist peer pressure.

A four year old sleeping with her back to her father's chest, his penis between her legs.

I expected to be kicked out as soon as I turned 18, so last week wasn’t a surprise. She always treated me the same way she treated dad. She kept me around as long as she needed to for the government checks and tax credits, but when those ran out, she didn’t have any use for me.”

An eight year old under the breakfast table giving her father a blowjob.

“Mom didn’t let me wear makeup, have nice clothes or even date, so after the shoplifting, I never had any friends. When I left home, I had nowhere to go. Everyone believed I was one of the bad kids and wouldn’t even talk to me.” The words she’d spoken were not those of an 18-year-old and didn’t offer a clue about her inability to talk to anyone.

Not wanting her jailors to become suspicious, George interrupted again. “Courtney, I’ve heard it all before.” The mental images he’d received told him the words were mostly false, but they created only a partial pattern in his mind. The biggest problem was that the innocent young girl in front of him and the erotic flashes of her childhood he'd seen were totally at odds. It was almost as if she were two separate girls. With a gentle squeeze of her hand, he continued for the camera,

“You’re in the same boat as thousands of other kids who are victims of Big Brother. I know your situation looks a bleaker than most, but if you’ll trust me, we can restore the future that they’re trying to steal. Try to put on a smile and be more positive and I’ll come back and visit you tomorrow.” Even though his words sounded patronizing to his own ears, Courtney didn’t give any sign she’d noticed.

After another 20 minutes of careful questioning to determine the extent of her programming, and a dozen flashes of sexual torture and perverted acts, George was deeply disturbed. He wasn't just hungry for an innocent girl any more, he felt a yearning for the sexual plaything he'd seen. Not wanting to submit to any more temptation, he stood up and addressed the camera. “What is the procedure for ending a visit?”

Seconds later, the door opened and Deedee entered. “Deedee.” George asked, “I don’t have a clue as to the rules, so please, if I’m asking for something that isn’t allowed, don’t be offended. Are visitors allowed on Thanksgiving?” Seeing her nod, he continued, “Would it be possible for me to bring a thanksgiving dinner and share it with Courtney?”

Deedee’s smile was back bigger than ever. “Believe it or not, that’s a question I’ve never been asked, so I can’t give you an immediate answer.”

“Before you go looking, would you mind if I try a couple more that might have answers in the same place?” Seeing her nod, he continued, “How many other women are incarcerated? And if I'm not allowed, would it be possible for Courtney to share a dinner I provided with them?”

The cynicism George was suppressing suffered a near fatal aneurysm when George noted the tears threatening to overflow Deedee’s eyes. “Where were you 20 years ago when I was looking for a man?” she asked in a joking but wistful tone. “I’ll find a way by hook or crook. Including Courtney, there are three.”

Without being obvious, George glanced at Courtney and noted that her radiant, full of commitment smile was back. Normally, he’d have smirked at the soft spot the hard as nails prison guard had exposed. Instead, he silently thanked her for the birthday present her emotional question had moved a little closer to his heart. He vowed to cherish his present for as long as it was humanly possible. He’d spent years cultivating and nourishing relationships and had no illusions about the chances of holding on for the rest of his life, let alone forever, but he’d no doubt about holding on for as long as Courtney would let him.

Deedee had reattached the cuffs holding Courtney’s hands to her belt and was directing her towards the door when George asked one last question. “Am I allowed to give her a hug before you take her back?”

“Yes, if you’ll step through the metal detector first,” Deedee answered. George followed, removed the keys and coins from his pocket and stepped through the gate. When no chime sounded, he folded Courtney into his arms.

The effect of the hug was unexpected. Although George didn’t know it, this was the most intimate contact Courtney’d had in years. With her hands clipped to her waist, she was helpless, so George could feel the embrace overwhelm her uncertainty as she surrendered and was filled with trust and security.

George was also overwhelmed by her trust. The way she surrendered to his embrace gave him the impression of holding a helpless newborn and an aroused beauty queen wrapped into the same soft package. All traces of the sex toy were gone. Abishag was there to cherish her king.

Her face fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder and his greater height allowed him to look over her head. But the main effect was the feel of her breasts against his chest. The sensation reminded George of the way a piece broken from a china doll mated perfectly with the body when glued back into place. The thrill of her body pressed against his almost robbed him of his voice. Finally, he managed to whisper, “Trust me, it will all be over soon.”

“Come on, Courtney. Mother Deedee will take care of you until George comes back,” Deedee crooned as soon as George let go.

After Courtney had been led away and as George reached back for his keys and coins, the deputy behind the metal detector spoke for the first time. “If we had more like you to care about them, we wouldn’t need jails anymore.” The remark bothered George for a reason he couldn’t define. The words were right, but the tone made him feel as if the deputy was accusing him of something.

In response, George allowed his cynicism to resurface. “Don’t kid yourself deputy. If every crook in the state became an angel tomorrow, all those public servants in the department of corrections would still need paychecks. By Monday, there’d be a whole new set of laws creating a new class of criminals for you to lock up.”

Suddenly worried that his guilt over wanting a sex toy was showing in his anti-social outburst, he softened his criticism. “The battle I’m fighting is one that can only be won by saving one soul at a time and even then, I don’t win very many.” Adding silently to himself, he finished, And if you knew what I’ve have tasked myself with, I’d be one of the inmates myself.

After seeing the deputy’s anxious expression soften, George relaxed. Subconsciously, he began humming as he turned away:

Happy birthday to George,

Happy birthday to George,

Happy birthday dear George,

Happy birthday to you.

Anticipation of his birthday present thrilled him with excitement so bubbly, it could more accurately be described as suds. it was all George could do to continue humming instead of bursting into song.

Chapter 3 The Other Side of the Story

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