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Subject: AMAZONIA part 2 of 2 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
AMAZONIA
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Two
Jillian Anson sat at her desk, practising levitation. From the
viewscreen the little wymen chimed in unison the words she herself had
written for them, years ago:
“Sisterhood, for our good.”
“Safety and Community.”
“We love Renno. Renno loves us.”
The slogans regarding Men had been deleted from the curriculum this
year. The littlest wymen no longer needed instruction in that area, it
was felt. Men were almost extinct now. There were a few. All
castrated, of course.
“Thank Goddess the new National Morality legislation banned those awful
pink dildoes,” Jillian breathed to herself. For a moment she almost
lost her ability to levitate, thinking of those. Then it returned, more
strongly. And no, she felt no twinge of desire perking in her nipples,
under her swathing robes, she assured herself. Good Goddess! To commit
a Thought Crime, no, she hadn’t done that. She’d never thought of Men
in that way since she’d lawfully executed her husband, years ago, after
he’d talked back to her. He’d agreed to the execution, of course.
Jillian smiled. The littlest wymen, those just starting primary
school, would never need to learn about such things as Men, and that
outdated institution known as Marriage, thank Goddess. Pope was
scheduled to be executed next year, after he finished his studies.
They’d been cut short. He didn’t know that yet, but he was a Man, after
all, what need did he have of such knowledge. Let him run his stupid
experiments until the Scheduled Day, when he would be executed.
Jillian’s smile broadened. She knew, in the end, Pope would agree to
the execution. All men had to be eliminated from the society, after
all. He’d agreed to that point years ago, over coffee, down in the
Clitwit Lounge. Then he’d gotten an extension for himself, so he could
continue his experiments, on behalf of the Sisterhood.
Well, next year, all that would be terminated. Pope, his foolish
‘studies,’ and his subjects, of course. No use risking the spread of
disease from his handful of animals.
The singsong voices of the little wymen ceased. For a moment Jillian
wondered why. Weren’t they scheduled to sing for half an hour? It was
a beautiful presentation, for the benefit of the Sisterhood. She
watched it every morning, and, sometimes, when she was through
levitating, she even masturbated herself to it.
Jillian opened her eyes. She floated back down to her chair.
Gulf was staring at her. Gulf had big, spectacled eyes, and a rather
annoying set of teeth, irregular. She should have those fixed, Jillian
thought for the the thousandth time. But she knew she shouldn’t think
such thoughts, because being a natural wyman was what all the theorists,
including herself, advocated. Still, Gulf’s irregular teeth were
annoying to look at.
“One of Pope’s animals has escaped,” Gulf said to Jillian.
For a moment Jillian just stared at the screen where a moment ago the
littlest wymen had been singing their morning chants.
“Huh?” Jillian finally managed to say.
Gulf was head of security and she frowned. She didn’t like having to
repeat herself, especially to Jillian, though Jillian was above her in
the Sisterhood hierarchy. They had been rivals for another wyman in
school. The wyman, quite a beautiful one, with fine-meshing scales, had
betrothed herself to Gulf. Even though Jillian was above Gulf in the
hierarchy the fact that Gulf had won the beautiful wyman for herself
made Gulf feel superior to Jillian.
“I said, one of the animals has escaped. One of that Man’s animals,”
Gulf said. She seemed to spit out the word ‘Man’ as she spoke it, and
quite properly, for men were despised by the Sisterhood, even the few,
like Pope, that they kept alive. “Also,” Gulf added. “Pope’s dead.
The animal killed it.”
Jillian felt herself settle into her chair. All 352 pounds of her, not
including her robes, were now settled back into her chair.
“Well, we won’t have to carry out the execution order on him next year,
then, will we?” Jillian smiled. She was not going to let unpleasant
news from Gulf, of all people, spoil her day. She was scheduled to
begin dating a very pretty wyman this afternoon and, for all she knew,
they might go to bed this evening. “Don’t tell Renno, of course,”
Jillian added. “And kill the animal when you catch it. Anything
else?” She reached across her desk to replace Gulf once again with the
singing wymen from the elementary school.
“Yes, there is something else,” Gulf said, scowling. “Five of my
guards are dead. The animal killed them.”
“Impossible!” Jillian frowned. “The animals... there weren’t many
left. Just the old man, the middle-aged, unreconstructed woman, the two
fags, the ten-year-old girl, and...” her voice trailed off.
“And that boy!” Gulf snarled. “The one I said at the Sisterhood
conference last year should be killed. But you intervened and kept him
alive.”
“Oh yes, the boy...” Jillian said. “What was his name?”
“Cum-Andi, plus a number... you want the number?” Gulf asked. She
reached for a sheaf of papers, rustled them.
“No, the number’s not important. There’s hardly any animals left,
now. Well, catch him. Kill him. If Pope’s dead there’s no use keeping
the experiments going. And kill the other animals.”
“He showed his Thing to one of my guards!” Gulf said angrily. “Now
she’s polluted the other guards with talk of it.”
“Oh, God! You mean...?” Jillian asked. She felt her nipples perk up
underneath her clothes but denied to herself that she was feeling it.
“Yes! His... what’s it called?” Gulf shuffled the papers in her hand.
The wyman with the crooked teeth had a curious habit of keeping vital
information on paper. “Here. Here it is. His penis. Yes, that’s it.
He showed his penis Thing to my guard!”
“Well, send her in for Medicinal Psychotherapy,” Jillian snapped.
“Really, Gulf, the mental state of the wymen you choose to hire as your
guards are not my responsibility.”
“No, but when I’ve got half my employees polluted by indecency spread
by one of your protected animals, their mental health *ought* to be
*your* responsibility!” Gulf shouted at Jillian.
“Yes, well, kill the animals. I’ve already said you can do that.
Pope’s dead, isn’t he? So kill them, and catch and kill Cum-Andi. One
loose animal, however adept it may be at knocking off your guards,
should hardly be above your powers to control.”
Gulf glared at Jillian’s visage on her viewscreen but said nothing.
Jillian smiled. She reached again for the knob that would return her to
the chanting wymen at the elementary school. “And no need to tell
Renno. Solve the problem quickly and cleanly, as you’ve trained your
security forces to do,” Jillian said.
“Yes, Mistress Jillian,” Gulf answered. Her voice sounded sullen.
“Toodle-Ooo,” Jillian said. She turned the knob. Gulf disappeared, to
be replaced by a wide shot of the singing wymen at the school. Jillian
zoomed in on a particularly pretty pupil. She lifted her saffron
colored robes and began to massage her clitoris.
“How nice. The poplars are in bloom,” the head said to Cum-Andi.
They were lying in a field, outside the huge, circular building where
Cum-Andi had spent all his life locked up in a cage. Dreaming a life in
Sedgeway, Iowa, that he could still swear had been real.
Cum-Andi peered out at the building from behind a hedge. Looking
between its leaves, he could feel the afternoon sun on his back. The
grass smelled good under his nose. Like Iowa.
Cum-Andi watched as wymen, many of them looking like students, passed
in and out of the building. A sign near an entrance Cum-Andi had fled
from, unobserved, read, “Wellesley College for Wymen,” and, in smaller
letters, underneath, “NOW Medical Research Institute”.
“I’m hungry,” Cum-Andi said, half to himself, as he watched young wymen
stride purposefully in and out of the entrance. Each one carried a
computerized notepad. Some read their notepad as they walked. They had
glossy legs, glossy arms. Their scaly skin had no wrinkles like he’d
seen on some of the creatures who had pursued him. Yet, occasionally,
he’d see what he guessed was an older wyman. It had wrinkled arms and
legs. One wyman who entered the building had gray hair, like Pope. It
was stooped over and walked with a cane. All of the wymen Cum-Andi saw
wore a tunic covering their chest. The tunics were different shades,
different styles. But all of them had bared legs and, curiously,
uncovered pubic areas, as if they were brandishing their cunts for all
the world to see. It would be difficult for a Man to walk among such
creatures without being noticed.
“Well I could use a bit of oil, myself,” Stan the BabbleBot said, lying
on the grass, looking up at the trees.
Cum-Andi sighed. “Shit. I have no idea what to do, except wake up,”
he said.
“I keep telling you. This is no dream,” the head lying in the grass
beside Cum-Andi reminded him. “Look at your arm. How’s it feel?”
Cum-Andi looked at the swath of burnt flesh across his left arm. “It
hurts,” Cum-Andi said. “And I’ve got shrapnel in my right side, but not
too bad. It hurts, though.”
“I hope you didn’t leave them a trail of blood,” the head said.
“No,” Cum-Andi replied. “I didn’t bleed too much.” Hopefully he
looked down his right side, checking for blood. There were speckles of
dried blood along the right side of his shirt.
“How’s your vision?” Cum-Andi asked the head beside him.
“One eye’s gone. Doesn’t hurt anymore, though. The painkillers cut in
and fixed that. I’m robotic, you know.” The BabbleBot’s remaining eye
rolled over in its socket and fixed on Cum-Andi. “Not like you,
animal. You’ve got no painkillers if you lose an eye.”
“Yeah, I know,” Cum-Andi said. He watched the wymen again. Two passed
in saffron-colored robes. They looked quite ancient and their robes
covered them down to their knees. Others, younger, with blouses but no
pants, left the building, passing the saffron-robed ones. The younger
wymen said something to the older ones and gave them a respectful
salute. It was diffidently returned by the two older wymen.
Cum-Andi continued watching the building. Some wymen entered it, some
left. Always there were a few, moving in or out. It was a huge
building and he guessed that in all those long halls, behind the doors,
there must be activities taking place all the time.
“What do you think of the design of the building?” the head asked
conversationally. “It won an award, you know.”
“Really?” Cum-Andi asked. “It just looks like a big round button to
me.”
“Ah, yes, that it does,” Stan said. “But it’s politically correct in
its shape. It’s the groundbreaking, earth-shattering, clitoral design.
Lots of buildings have been built just like it since it was first
designed 25 years ago.”
“Hmmm,” was all Cum-Andi could think to reply.
“Too bad about the other animals,” Stan said. “They’ll never get to
admire the building from its outside, like you.”
“Huh? What other ‘animals’,” Cum-Andi asked. He said the word
‘animals’ rather derisively, as if to remind himself, and the BabbleBot,
that he did not believe he was one.
“There were several others,” Stan said. He gazed up at the trees that
shaded them from the sun as they lay in the grass behind the hedge. “An
old man, locked up in a cage that he thinks is the Greenwood Senior
Haven. All adults. No children.” Stan smiled. “He hates Nirvana,
though he doesn’t know the name of the group. Then there’s the
middle-aged woman. She thinks she lives in New York in the 21st
Century. Time’s very precious to her, and she’s hoping to make Vice
President at the bank she works for.”
“Shhhh!” Cum-Andi said. A wyman, carrying a notepad, but gazing
suspiciously around herself, passed close by the hedge they were lying
behind. When she had passed, walking slowly, Cum-Andi told the head,
“Okay. Who else is in there? The other animals?”
“Oh, yes,” Stan said. He gazed up at the trees. They rustled overhead
as an afternoon breeze picked up strength. “There’s the gay
congressman. Can’t remember his name. He’s frank about his
homosexuality. He lives with a gay prostitute, who he keeps out of
sight in his basement. Only the congressman is real, though. Then
there’s another, gay, in another cage... Shit. It’s starting to rain,”
the BabbleBot said. “A raindrop hit me in my good eye. That stung.
And I’m picking up your language.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna get wet out here,” Cum-Andi said. He felt large
raindrops begin to spatter across his back and down his legs. “Inside,
we die, outside, we...”
“Catch pneumonia,” the head said. “Or, rather, you do, anyway.”
“Are there any other animals?” Cum-Andi asked. He rose to his knees.
They would have to go someplace. They couldn’t just lie out here in the
rain. He sniffed the air and glanced up at the clouds. They were
growing dark. There seemed to be a major rainstorm coming.
“There’s a girl. Ten years old,” Stan said. The BabbleBot was
wincing, lest it get hit in the eye with a raindrop again. Cum-Andi
froze. He remembered Bethany, his sister.
“How old did you say the girl was?” Cum-Andi asked.
“Ten,” Stan replied, squinting against the rain. “Say, take me
someplace or put me under something, would you? Or at least turn me
face down in the grass. I don’t want to lose my good eye to some...
well... fucking rain.”
Cum-Andi scooped up the head and stuffed it protectively under his
arm. “We’re going back in,” he told the head.
“What?” Stan cried from under the boy’s arm.
“I said we’re going back in,” Cum-Andi said. “For the other
‘animals’.”
“It’s suicide!” the BabbleBot protested. “The place must be crawling
with Sisguards by now! Every entrance, every hallway. I’m surprised we
haven’t been found out here, lying stupidly close to the building behind
these bushes.”
“Well, we haven’t,” Cum-Andi replied. “I can only run so far at once.
I’m not Iron Man.”
“Get ready to run some more, then,” the head answered. “And a lot
faster, ‘cause you’re going to have the whole Sisterhood on your tail.”
“I don’t have a tail and I’m not an animal,” Cum-Andi said
confidently. He stepped cautiously out from behind the bushes. “And
neither are those human beings locked up in cages inside that giant
clit.”
“Wait!” Stan cried. But Cum-Andi strode forward, rapidly. A group of
wymen moving toward the building gazed at him, startled. Cum-Andi
nodded to them. His eyes scanned them for weapons but saw only
notebooks.
“Safety and Community,” Cum-Andi said to the wymen. He passed them.
“Sisterhood, for our good,” one of the wymen answered.
“Are you the Primitive Man?” one of the wymen asked in a voice that
sounded fresh and young and naive. She had shiny scales stretched tight
along her legs and arms. Her hair hung freely down her back. She wore
no helmet, no body armor. Just a bright pink tunic.
“I’m dressed as him,” Cum-Andi said, even as he memorized the slogan,
‘Sisterhood, for our good.’ He’d seen a sign inside the building, on
his way out, that read “Safety and Community.” He was building up a
wyman vocabulary rather quickly. “If you see anyone who looks like
this... who... uh... smells like this, please notify security.” The
wymen nodded at him, though one of them looked at him with something
less than complete belief.
“Safety and community,” Cum-Andi said. Then he turned and walked
quickly up the cement walkway to the building’s entrance. He went
inside. He passed through security equipment that looked old and
outdated. It had probably been active, years ago, but seemed to be off
now. It hadn’t alerted the building to his presence when he left it.
And it didn’t seem to be doing anything now, when he walked back inside.
Jillian finished masturbating and shut off the viewscreen. No sooner
had she done so than it flickered to life again, of its own accord.
“Gulf here,” a voice identified itself.
“Yes, Gulf,” Jillian said with a sigh. The visage of the
crooked-toothed security chief filled the screen. “Have you captured
the animal?” Jillian asked.
“No, not yet,” Gulf said. “We’re trying to reactivate the building’s
security but it’s been so long since there were Men--”
“One man,” Jillian corrected. “One boy, really. I’ve been reading his
file. He’s only 15. Offer him candy and baseball cards. He’ll come
running.”
“Well, we’re looking for him,” Gulf said. “Though I’ve had to send
half my security team to Medicinal Psychotherapy.”
“Whatever,” Jillian answered. She tried to levitate to reduce the
strain of the discussion. “You trained them. Don’t bother me with your
failures. Just catch the animal and dispose of him. You’ve taken care
of the rest?”
“I have a team on the way to do that,” Gulf said.
“Fine,” Jillian replied. “And there has been a Minimal Alert, for the
students on campus?”
“Yes. Hopefully Renno won’t hear of it,” Gulf said.
“I should hope not,” Jillian agreed. She forced a smile. “Do catch
the animal, dear.” She wanted to add, ‘and get yourself braces,’ but
didn’t, because it was considered impermissible to make such an uncouth
statement.
“I wish I could quarantine the building,” Gulf said. “Just until the
animal is caught. He’s dangerous, you know! He could have diseases.
He’s a Man!”
“Yes, I wish we could too,” Jillian agreed. “But you know we can’t,
not without Renno hearing of it. We’d be executed as Substandard
Biomass, and rightly so, for letting an animal escape. Capture him,
kill him, do it now.”
“I just wish it had been a primitive wyman, instead of a primitive
man,” Gulf said. “You know, the Thing, the Thing he’s carrying around
between his legs. It’s well, it’s unsettling my security forces.”
“Medicinal Psychotherapy, dear, just send them there,” Jillian replied.
“I have but--” Gulf said.
“How many guards do you need to catch one loose, immature male animal?”
Jillian asked.
“Lots, considering he’s killed five already,” Gulf replied.
Jillian stared hard at the crooked-toothed wyman on her screen. Her
attempts at levitation ceased. She settled hard into her chair. Then,
reaching for her chair arms, she tested her ability to lift her bulk and
stand. Yes, she could do it. She was overweight, she’d not walked in
days, but she could do it if she had to. Damn! Gulf herself had been
infected by those stories some indecent wymen still circulated about
Things, and Men, and Men with Things that got big and hard. Damn
crooked-toothed wyman probably had an illegal pink dildoe in her
bedroom.
“Gulf, I’m relieving you of your command,” Jillian said in a voice of
false gentleness to the face on her desktop viewscreen.
“What?” Gulf shrieked.
“You’re infected. Report to Medicinal Psychotherapy,” Jillian said.
She added, emphatically, in a voice that allowed for no disobedience,
“That’s an order.”
“No!” Gulf shrieked.
“And turn in your goddamn pink dildoe to your chief of staff,” Jillian
added.
Cum-Andi stepped onto an elevator with a gaggle of young wymen. They
stared at him.
“Uh, safety and community,” Cum-Andi intoned piously to the wymen. He
lifted his hand, uncertainly. He made the sign of the cross.
“Sisterhood, for our good,” the wymen answered.
“Are you the primitive man?” one of them piped up.
“Just a wyman dressed as a primitive man,” Cum-Andi replied. The head
in the crook of his arm smiled in benign agreement.
“Show us what the primitive man’s Private looks like,” of the wymen
urged, even as the whole group of them moved back from Cum-Andi. He
speculated to himself that they looked, except for their scaly skin and
their crocodile faces, like girls afraid of getting cooties.
“He doesn’t have a private, he’s a man,” Cum-Andi answered. He felt
the elevator lift upward from the ground floor and wondered how far he’d
get before he ran into security guards.
“Show us his Private!” one of the wymen students shouted. Her voice
sounded enthusiastic.
“He, well... it’s too immoral to show you,” Cum-Andi answered.
“Besides, I don’t have one. I’m a wyman, just like you. Dressed like
the primitive man, of course, and travelling round the building to warn
everyone to stay away from him.” Cum-Andi swallowed. Hard. “He’s
obviously an animal,” Cum-Andi added. “And diseased.”
“Show them,” the BabbleBot said, whispering, and Cum-Andi knew that,
despite the softness of the head’s voice, the wymen could hear him.
“Damn fucking... you’re gonna be a football yet,” Cum-Andi swore at the
head. Then, realizing he was still sharing the elevator with the wymen,
he added, “That’s how he talks, girls! That’s how the primitive man
talks. Just to let you know.”
“Show them,” the BabbleBot hissed.
“Show us his Thing!” two wymen cried. The group of wymen began to move
toward Cum-Andi. One of them touched his shirt.
“You have blood!” one of them remarked.
“Yes, excellent observation... he was wounded and I felt it necessary
to imitate the wounds as best I could,” Cum-Andi said.
“Unzip yourself,” the BabbleBot said to Cum-Andi. The wymen began
pulling at Cum-Andi’s shirt.
“Damn! It hurts,” Cum-Andi swore to himself. The shrapnel had dug
into his flesh and his blood had dried so that his shirt was sticking to
his right side.
“Unzip!” the BabbleBot under his arm demanded, like some weird talking
urinal. Certain he was in a dream, but with the wymen practically
tearing at his clothes, Cum-Andi bellowed:
“Stand back, girls! It is the height of indecency!”
The group of young wymen drew back from him. They clutched at their
notebooks once more, instead of his clothes. For a moment he hesitated,
gazing at them. Then, with the BabbleBot hissing at him to Do It,
Cum-Andi grabbed the zipper of his pants. He pulled it down. He dug
into his crotch and produced, a moment later, his penis. He hoped it
was big enough. He presented it to the wymen and they gasped, in
unison, like nuns witnessing an apparition of Jesus without the benefit
of his loincloth.
Instinctively, Cum-Andi’s penis stiffened to its full length. He’d
never been observed by this many eyes except in the boys’ locker room.
But these eyes were different. They were female eyes, even if the
females did have scaly arms and legs and crocodile snouts for mouths.
The elevator came to a stop. Three of the wymen dropped to their knees
and began praying to him. The rest stood immobile.
The doors to the elevator slid open. Cum-Andi felt like asking, “Going
down?” but they were up, high up in the massive, clit-shaped building,
and a quick scan of the numbers revealed that they’d ridden to his
floor, the one he’d wanted, and he realized then that none of the wymen,
entering the elevator, had ever pushed for any of their own floors, but
had let him choose the floor and had ridden all the way up with him.
Seeing a primitive man, riding with one, was apparently of much greater
importance, when the opportunity presented itself, than getting to class
on time.
Cum-Andi heard the footfall of open-toed boots in the hall. He
turned. He presented himself and his erect penis, quite involuntarily,
to a host of approaching guards.
“Look! He does have it!” a guard shouted. She pointed.
“He’s invincible!” another guard cried. She fell to her knees, despite
holding a gun that she had pointed directly at Cum-Andi’s crotch.
“Five dead already!” another guard agreed. “More than in the War with
Sisterhood Blasphemers!”
“Damn pants!” Cum-Andi swore, for in trying to run from the elevator he
found his legs getting tangled in his half undone trousers.
“Take them off,” the BabbleBot said. “You’ll do better without them.
They fear your penis!”
Somehow, Cum-Andi managed to approach the guards in the hall, quickly,
and relieve himself of his pants at the same time. When his testicles
swung clear of his underpants the wymen guards still standing dropped to
their knees.
“He is Man. He is Lord,” two of them murmured.
“Praise the Lord!” another wyman, a guard but now prostrate on the
floor of the hallway, shouted.
“Save us from Renno,” Cum-Andi heard one of the wymen murmur.
Jillian drifted on a LiftChair into the building’s security office.
She was saluted as she entered. The chair moved slowly. She wished she
had one of the new models that floated more quickly, but it had been cut
from this year’s budget. Perhaps next year she’d get one. Andrea
already had one, but Andrea was a Theorist, and Jillian was in charge of
more mundane matters.
Now, in addition to her other duties, she was having to take over
security.
“Let’s do this quickly and efficiently,” Jillian told the assembled
guards. She scanned the room. Everything was in order. They were all
clad in their proper blue uniforms, their heads protected, their chests
covered, their thatches exposed, as Feminist Theory demanded. No
penises here. And no thoughts of penises either, Jillian hoped. “Has
someone seen Gulf to Medicinal Psychotherapy?” Jillian asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” a guard replied.
“Good. Now let’s go find this damn animal,” Jillian said. She turned
her chair. She floated back out of the office. The guards followed.
The Com-Guard stayed close, linked by direct visual to the banks of
internal security viewscreens that the guards who stayed behind were
monitoring. Not all the screens worked. With so few Men about, and
none of them uncastrated, it had seemed extravagant to keep the whole
building under observation. Screens that had died had not been fixed or
replaced. The Walking Patrol had seemed enough, plus Fast Response in
the sector that housed the animals. Now, Jillian wished all the screens
had been kept up, plus the extra surveillance at the building’s
entrances and exits, to monitor who came in and who left. And she
wished she had a faster chair. Jillian sighed. Everything could be
called a budgetary extravagance, until the day you needed it. Then it
was a necessity.
She was counting Lucky Charms while a Casper video played in the
background. Cum-Andi wished she wasn’t sitting so close to the T.V. He
lifted the mop and rammed it into the glass. He hoped none of the glass
hit her. He’d have used a gun (he wore three holsters now), but he was
afraid he might kill her. He was trying to save her.
“30, 31, 32... oh! Here’s another blue moon!” the girl announced.
Suddenly she cringed as Cum-Andi’s mop handle burst the screen of her
T.V. set. It was a large television, for which Cum-Andi was grateful.
“Sorry to barge into your little world,” Cum-Andi announced. He
stepped into a living room that quickly dissolved around him into
shadows and hissing, dangerous-looking wires. Somewhere a woman shouted
but her voice faded, quickly, and she was no more.
“Mom!” the girl cried. But she was looking at Cum-Andi. Then she
screamed. He wasn’t wearing any pants and his cock was hard.
Cum-Andi grabbed the girl by her shirt. He wanted to say, “Cum with me
if you want to live,” but it seemed ridiculous. He hoped he’d wake up.
The girl was staring at his penis, still screaming, and she didn’t have
scales or a crocodile nose. This dream was getting quite embarrassing.
With a tired sigh Cum-Andi yanked the screaming 10-year-old through her
television.
“You have a wife now, if you live,” the BabbleBot said unhelpfully.
“Shut up!” Cum-Andi said, both to the screaming girl and the head lying
on the desktop in the laboratory. He could see dried blood on the
shattered computer where he’d shoved Pope head first through his own
equipment. And the cage he’d escaped from was nearby, all darkness now,
Susan nothing but a memory of loose wires and half-emulsified limbs,
made for the moment and forever broken now, unable to redissolve into
his Dad or his Mom or his kid sister.
The body of Pope had been removed by guards but Cum-Andi had killed
anew. Entering the laboratory, he’d found new guards within, and he’d
blasted them to bits, not waiting for them to pray to his penis or
decide to shoot him instead. The BabbleBot had been right. Not wearing
pants had been a big help. The wymen guards seemed to think he was
invincible, some resurrected Lord who’d save them from their own leader,
Renno, who apparently killed them for disobedience.
Somewhere down a hallway, near an elevator, he hoped the guards he’d
first met were still praying to him, as he’d ordered them. He’d taken
the guns from three of them, left the others as they were. There was no
time for anything more complicated than that. He’d ordered them to
think of his cock and pray to it for an hour.
“Now if we could only leave,” the BabbleBot said. “Of course, it’s
probably raining outside...” It squinted, as much at a loss as Cum-Andi
was as to what to do next. He held the 10-year-old girl by her shirt.
What to do? Where to go? Everyone was dead, all the ‘animals,’ except
the two of them. The guards in the laboratory had killed the old man,
the middle-aged woman, and the two fags before Cum-Andi burst in. He’d
saved the girl just in time. Another minute’s delay, disarming the
other guards back by the elevator, would have cost the girl her life,
and made his whole mission useless.
Now they had to get out of this place. Without any more shrapnel
wounds, he reminded himself, looking at the one-eyed BabbleBot.
“You know this place better than I do,” Cum-Andi said to Stan. “And
your ass is on the line as much as mine is, even though you don’t have
one.”
“I’d flip a coin but...” Stan replied. He smiled benignly. Cum-Andi
frowned. They had to think fast! He moved his grip to the
10-year-old’s arm. She was the one creature still in this world like
himself, who didn’t have scales and who didn’t have a crocodile snout.
But she was trying to pull away from him.
Cum-Andi had a mop in one hand, a 10-year-old girl in the other. A
bodiless head with one eye stared at him balefully. Around him lay dead
crocodile women. If this wasn’t a dream, he was probably crazy, he told
himself.
“Up, then,” the BabbleBot said. “It’s like, we can go round and round
in this clit-shaped building, or up, or down. They’ll expect us to go
down. So let’s go up. That’s my contribution.”
“And when we get to the top?” Cum-Andi asked. The girl struggled,
trying to break free of his grip. She was sobbing, quietly. She stared
back at the cage from which she’d just been liberated.
“I want my Lucky Charms,” she said.
“There are no Lucky Charms,” Cum-Andi snarled at her. “There never
were any goddamn Lucky Charms... just emulsion, in an emulsion cage,
computer-controlled... never mind, there’s no time to explain.” He
glanced back at the head, then at her. “And your mom’s not dead,” he
added. “You never had a mom, or, if you did, she died long ago, a
common animal, like your father.”
“My dad’s not an animal,” the girl said, frowning.
“Good. Keep believing that,” Cum-Andi said. He turned his head to the
Bot. “Okay,” he said. “We go up.” Cum-Andi dropped the mop. He
unholstered one of the three guns wrapped around his waist. He had no
pants anymore but, by God, he had three guns, and enough ammo to blow a
hole in the top of this clit-building’s roof if he had to.
“Get up!” Jillian screamed at the prostrate guards lying on the floor.
Someone had pulled the emergency stop on the elevator behind her and
there were students in it, praying to some idiot animal’s penis.
“The Lord has come,” one of the guards murmured. Unsteadily she rose
to her feet.
“Disarm her. Send her to Medicinal Psychotherapy--” Jillian said. She
paused. This loose animal called for extreme measures. “No,” Jillian
growled. She grabbed a gun from the guard nearest her. Floating in her
LiftChair above the floor, she trained the gun on the guard who had just
risen to her feet.
“You are Substandard Biomass,” Jillian snarled at the guard. She fired
at it. It was hit in the face, below its helmet and above its blue
chest padding. Blood splattered across Jillian as the guard tumbled
backward on top of other guards who still lay on the floor, praying.
Jillian fired six more times.
“Now I have killed more than the animal,” Jillian said. She looked at
the remaining guards. “Safety and community,” she said.
“Sisterhood, for our good,” the guards replied.
“We love Renno. Renno loves us,” Jillian said to the guards. They
gave a salute and repeated the slogan back to her. “Now let’s go find
this Goddess-be-damned animal,” Jillian said. Then she muttered, “May
the Goddess forgive me for taking her name in vain.”
“Goddess be praised,” the Com-Guard following close behind Jillian
agreed.
“Anything from the lab?” Jillian asked.
“No ma’am, that viewscreen’s out,” the Com-Guard replied.
“Well, Goddess-be-damned, I know it’s out. Are they trying to fix it?”
“The manual proved to be outdated, Mistress Jillian,” the Com Guard
replied in an apologetic voice. “They’re trying to find an update to it
downstairs...”
“Tell them to roll up their sleeves and fix it like a Goddess-be-damned
Man would,” Jillian swore.
“Huh?” the Com Guard asked.
“Nothing,” Jillian replied.
“There he is!” one of the guards screamed. She stuck out her scaly arm
as a figure, with another, smaller animal with long blonde hair, and
carrying something under the crook of his arm, darted past them in one
of the cross halls.
“Fire! Kill it!” Jillian screamed. Her blubbery arm lifted up the gun
she’d taken from the guard and, still feeling the wet blood of the
guards upon her, she fired at the apparition that had passed in the
hall.
She hit one of her own guards in the back of the head. Its neck was
severed and it fell to the floor. Its head rolled away from it and lay
lifeless on the floor.
“Goddess be Damned!” Jillian swore. She didn’t bother to mutter an
apology to herself, her Goddess, or the guards surrounding her for
taking the Great Goddess’ name in vain. “Chase it!” she ordered.
“Chase that goddamn loose Man-- that animal!” Jillian threw her
floating chair into Maximum Forward but it puttered along at the
reasonable, safe pace its designers had set for it.
The 3 o’clock shuttle was leaving on schedule. Its rotor blades
scythed the air. Across the roof a fierce rainstorm blew, rocking the
ship, making the young wymen nervous as they waited in the plexiglass
tube to board it. They clutched at their computerized notepads and
whispered among themselves about the rumor than a male animal was loose,
somewhere in the building, a male with a penis as long as a foot. And
as wide as a knockwurst sausage. All agreed, aloud to each other, that
he should be caught and castrated, at the very least, but internally
their thoughts were quite different. They were secret, forbidden
thoughts. Dreams of prostrating themselves to the Man, of worshipping
him.
Suddenly, one of the wymen saw a figure running across the roof. What
in Goddess’ name was that wyman doing out in the rain? She’d get her
hair wet, her blouse, her...
There was something dangling between the wyman’s legs. It was hard,
and long. And the wyman seemed to have another, smaller wyman running
beside it. A young wyman with an indecent covering over her loins,
hiding her glorious thatch.
“The Man!” a wyman screamed suddenly.
“Nonsense. There is no Man,” a second wyman said.
“No! Look! It is He. Him!” a wyman said. There was reverence in her
voice.
And then there were gunshots. Somewhere behind the wyman, or whatever
it was, whatever they were, running toward them, there were others,
wearing regulation blue helmets and vests.
“It’s the animal!” a wyman screamed. Wymen began falling prostrate in
the plexiglass tube. The ship, waiting to lift off, shuddered in the
rain that buffeted the roof.
“You’ve got quite a head on your nonexistent shoulders,” Cum-Andi said
to the Bot he was clutching under his arm. The girl, half-dragged,
stumbled beside him, too scared not to run, given the closeness of the
gunshots to her body, yet not wanting to be with Cum-Andi either. He
kept a fierce grip on her, yanking hard, running fast, demanding that
she keep up with him.
“Just dumb luck... guesswork,” the head observed. It squinted at the
chopper in the distance. “I figured a building this big had to have a
rooftop shuttle.”
“Let’s pray it doesn’t wise up and take off before we reach it,”
Cum-Andi gasped. Raindrops spattered his face. They entered his mouth
whenever he spoke.
“With any luck the pilot will pray to you,” the head under Cum-Andi’s
arm said. He wasn’t breathing hard, like Cum-Andi was, because he had
no body and couldn’t run.
“Do you know how to fly one of those things?” Cum-Andi asked.
“I could... guess,” the Bot said. “Just point my good eye at the
controls.”
“Yeah, okay,” Cum-Andi said. He yanked on the arm of the 10-year-old
girl running beside him. “Come ON, bitch!” he swore. The girl was
still half-trying to run away from him, even as he tried to save her.
He felt like abandoning her to the good graces of the guards behind
them. Let her hang out with wymen for a change. But then she wouldn’t
exist anymore, just like Bethany didn’t exist. That he couldn’t have on
his conscience.
The wyman pilot on board the helicopter peered out the boarding door
into the rain. She could see a figure running toward her. It was an
odd figure, with something shaped like a sausage wobbling stiffly in
front of it. It was pulling along beside itself a second figure, with
long hair, like a wyman would wear, but with obscene clothing covering
its private parts. Gunshots, fired from somewhere, were striking
dangerously close to the aircraft.
“I must protect the ship,” the pilot said. She adjusted her helmet.
“Shut the doors,” she ordered the orderlies who were helping the
passengers board. “We’re taking off.”
“No,” a voice said. It was low, cold, yet feminine. The pilot whirled
about.
A figure materialized in the hold of the ship. First the mouth, then
the eyes, the crocodile snout, finally the entire head and body. The
wyman was splattered with blood. She trained her gun on the pilot.
“Get out of my Goddess-be-damned way,” the wyman said. She was
floating, without the benefit of a LiftChair, in the middle of the ship.
“Yes, Mistress Jillian!” the pilot cried.
The wyman trembled with the effort of keeping herself aloft. It was
difficult work and she was perspiring profusely. She held her blubbery
arm straight out, pointing it at the approaching animal. She could feel
half of herself still back across the roof, in the slow-moving
LiftChair. But her other half was here, levitating, teleported to this
spot. This perfect spot for killing the animal.
“Come on,” Jillian breathed. The gun could explode in her hand if she
fired it too soon, half-teleported to this spot, half not. It was an
almost impossible task, teleportation, combined with levitation. She’d
not been prepared for this sort of feat, much less with a weapon. Even
Renno herself would have trouble doing this, if she could do it at all.
The legends of her doing it might be just rumors, churned out by her
Washington publicity machine.
Cum-Andi panted hard. They were almost at the chopper. The girl still
pulled at him, trying to free herself from his grasp.
“Run with me, not against me, bitch!” Cum-Andi screamed at the girl
beside him. He clutched at the head under his arm. At least the
BabbleBot was cooperating. A gunshot burst the pavement behind him and
the girl screamed. She tripped. “God-Damn!” Cum-Andi yelled. He
picked her up, noticed her leg was bleeding. But they were almost at
the copter now. He ran up to the open door, where wymen had been
stepping aboard, and threw her at it.
The girl landed in the metal hold of the ship. Above her floated a
blood-spattered wyman. She was pointing a gun directly at Cum-Andi.
Her image seemed to waver, then solidify. Cum-Andi realized she was
enormously fat, and he thought he could smell her, despite the rain
hitting his face.
“Die, animal!” the wyman snarled.
“No!” Cum-Andi instinctively lifted the BabbleBot, which seemed most
displeased by the gesture, to ward off the blast from the wyman’s gun.
The wyman fired, but she hit a young wyman, still clutching her
notebook, who threw herself in front of him.
“Damn you, bitch!” Cum-Andi heard the fat wyman scream as the wyman
who’d saved his life by leaping in front of him was blown apart by a
laser blast.
Cum-Andi dropped the BabbleBot head and tore two guns from his three
holsters around his waist.
“Yeeeow!” the BabbleBot cried as he hit the cement roof.
“KA-BLAM! KA-BLAM!” Two bursts from Cum-Andi’s gun tore into the
cabin of the chopper. He fired again, and again, and the other side of
the copter seemed to tear open like a tin can.
“Yeeeek!” the 10-year-old girl shrieked. Cum-Andi saw the ship rock
and heard a thud. He lowered his guns. The fat woman had fallen from
the air. She’d landed on one of the girl’s legs.
Cum-Andi bent and reflexively dropped his guns and scooped up the head
of the BabbleBot. He left the two guns on the rooftop. There was no
time to reholster them. He leapt aboard the chopper. He glanced
around. He saw a wyman with a helmet on. It looked like a pilot’s
helmet and he whipped out his remaining gun.
“Take off!” Cum-Andi shouted at the wyman he guessed was the pilot.
“Yes, Lord,” the pilot replied. It scurried past Cum-Andi and plopped
down in its seat.
A groan escaped from the lips of the wyman lying on the floor of the
chopper’s cabin. Cum-Andi glared down at the blood spattered figure.
It was enormous, and he was wondering how he’d get it off the
10-year-old girl’s leg when it began to disappear.
“I’ll get you, animal,” the wyman, wounded but apparently not dead,
grimaced. Then the entire, huge wyman was gone. Cum-Andi glanced round
the cabin of the chopper, but saw it nowhere. Young wymen had
prostrated themselves on the cabin’s floor and were praying to him. Two
had been hit by shrapnel and lay moaning, flooding the floor with blood.
Gunshots rocked the helicopter. Unsteadily it began to lift off from
the roof. The rain buffeted the craft, yet it lifted into the air,
slowly at first, then more rapidly. The giant clit-shaped building
began to fall away.
Cum-Andi looked at the 10-year-old girl. Her leg was bleeding. It
looked like it might be broken. But she was alive, and that was enough,
for the moment. He glanced at the head under his arm.
“We made it!” he panted. His lungs burned from running so hard. His
legs felt like they would collapse.
“Yeah,” the head answered. “Keep the pilot believing in your divinity
and we may actually get to land.”
“Okay, whatever,” Cum-Andi said. “But, like, is it okay if I wake up
now?”
The head smiled. “You still don’t believe, do you?” it asked. “You
were born here. In the 23rd century. Not in the 20th. That was just a
dream... a dream in a computer-controlled emulsion cage. You’re not a
citizen of the United States, or whatever that place was called. You’re
in Amazonia. The perfect feminist state. Safety and Community.”
“Sisterhood, for our good,” Cum-Andi said, half-drunk with fear, with
weariness. He was glad the girl at his feet had something wrong with
her leg, for she still looked like she wished to escape him.
“You’re an animal,” the head told Cum-Andi.
“Yeah, well, I’m an animal with a Second Amendment,” Cum-Andi
answered. He waved his gun at the head.
“Huh?” the head asked.
“Never mind,” Cum-Andi said.
“Lord, where are we going?” the pilot asked Cum-Andi over the scream of
the chopper’s engines.
Cum-Andi regarded the pilot. “I don’t know,” Cum-Andi said. “Take me
to your leader.” And for the first time in the whole crazy dream-like
experience, he laughed.
“Mommie, I had a horribole dream!” the girl said, stretching out the
word ‘horrible’ so that an extra syllable got added to it,
inadvertently.
“Nonsense, dear. Dreams can’t be horrible,” her mother replied. “This
is the 24th century. We don’t have horrible dreams in the 24th century,
just pleasant ones.”
“But mommie, it was a dream about a Man!” the girl said.
“A mythical creature, dear. They never existed,” her mother assured
her.
“Are you sure, mommie?”
“Quite sure, dear.”
“What’s she babbling about?” Jillian’s lovely new betrothed asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Jillian answered.
“You should have her seen at Medicinal Psychotherapy,” Jillian’s
betrothed suggested.
“Nonsense,” Jillian answered.
“She told me yesterday that there are Animals, and they’re breeding,
out in the wild places,” Jillian’s betrothed said.
“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Jillian asked, in her voice that
brooked no disobedience.
“Yes, Mistress Jillian,” the beautiful young wyman answered
submissively.
THE END
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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