This is nowhere near done! I put it online to work on it and now I'd better figure out where I'm going with it. My Muse has the disturbing quality of existing outside me...so I have NO IDEA what is going to happen until it happens. I think it's part of being Manic Depressive. All the little demons exist by themselves and peep out when they feel like it. If you're highly religious you probably won't like this.

HOW WE GOT HERE

"What do you mean...Limit my class to 500?" I complained. "How do you expect me to do that? I've got over ten thousand applications! I HAVE to give first seating to Anthropology Majors."

The class is getting popular.

"Look, Dr Dave. There's some politics involved. The Light Gravity Group is getting to like the idea that their girls are 'goddesses.' They want to exploit that. The Process insures prophecy so they want to set up oracles and charge for soothsaying."

Oh my.

"They have a planet on your list that they want you to stop the Process at the Alcohol stage. Just into Civil but still neolithic. We will set up a regular, boring ANTHRO 101 with a textbook and lectures and even a classroom for the rest of the students."

Double oh my! Everyone knows that alcohol is the onset technology for the invention of cities. One of the reasons for my class is to prevent City and the attending corrupting influences.

"Do this for them, just once. One class, one semester, all Airheads, and they'll endow the school forever and fund the rest of your research and pay for your Anthro 101 Classes until you retire."

Hmmm?

"Ok. I'll do it."

I have a feeling this is going to be a mistake but WTF. How much mischief can 500 women make on a planet of millions? One class of 500 Airheads and my life is paid for...you bet! I mean...it's just one planet...what can it hurt!

Why is it? Administrators do better schmoozing than Administrating. If it weren't for the people in the cubicles nothing would get done. I've never seen a single CEO worth a penny, but the bright young thing with the cheap desk and awful chair can produce an organization ten million bucks a day and her Admin boss gets the credit...and makes sex mandatory. A Schmoozer can get into more trouble faster than a hound can chase a raccoon and they can pass the blame quicker than my Uncle Jim can pass gas. I Know this....why do I let them talk me into things? It's certain to bite me on the ass eventually!

The Bite!
All the girls, and I do mean all, had the same mindset. I didn't figure it out until it was way too late.

The class made the first breeding in the normal manner.

(If you're really, really, really interested in human evolution, Wikipedia has that information. Wiki There's been extensive research since I went to University and I didn't know about a lot of it: my field of endeavor being paleoindian the really old shit doesn't matter too much to me.)

Well...we finally got to the point where the harvester set the grain outside and went for a snack and it rained. Well shit! But wait...there's more. The grain sprouted and some kid was hungry and ate a bit....hmm...sweet! This went on for a few centuries. Sprout the grain...feed the kid. But one day the sprouted grain was in a hut that burned. BINGO! Roasted Barley...all the sprouts burned off! Bunch of crap, what do we do with that? Put it in a cracked clay jar and pitch it. And it rained again.

There's wild yeasts everywhere. So...naturally, the water in the jar fermented and some poor fella came along, got thirsty, drank the water and got happy and passed out. He loved it! Ah...there it is...the cusp of Alcohol. Just what my class of Airheads was looking for!

Instead of staying the weekend and breeding to improve the species, they whacked me on the head and stayed long enough to establish religion.

Beautiful flying women who could predict, in a general sort of way, the future. Beautiful flying women who could seduce a man in a second. Beautiful flying women who could zap a man dead.