Message-ID: <17987eli$9812130430@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/17987.txt>
From: voyer@notme.com (voyer)
Subject: (Voyer) The Orion Legacy (Part 4) mf mc nc scifi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: voyer@notme.com
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <36730296.7406251@sos.sos.net>
The Orion Legacy (Part 4)
MF MC NC SCIFI
voyer@notme.com
Note #1: This story is a fantasy, contains examples of bad
science, adult language and situations, and fictional
characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to
other fictional characters. If you are under the age of
consent in your community, or find such concepts
distasteful, or try to do these things in real life, please stop
reading now.
Permission granted to re-post this story to any on-line
medium, provided no fee is charged to view the story, and
this disclaimer and the above e-mail address are not
removed.
Copyright me, 1998.
Note #2: Several people evidently thought that part 3 was the end of
this story; I'm sorry that I didn't make clear that there was one more
segment to go; you're reading it now. I'm afraid it's *mostly* pure
plot from here on out. Enjoy, and comments welcome.
* * *
Captain Angelica Phelps woke up. Her training kicked in,
as always, and she lay silent, listening to her surroundings,
feeling them. She was confused; she couldn't remember
exactly where she had been when she went to sleep. Which
meant...
-Trouble. Bad trouble. Someone must of jumped me,
knocked me out with Cortozine, or maybe Zapped me.
Think back. Remember. I had just finished sending my
report about Smith and the others. Went out to talk to that
little dreeb Kolko down at the hoverdocks... Then...-
-The stunbomb.-
Right. She had heard a stunbomb go off. And after that...
things became vague, fractured, as if she was seeing
everything through two sets of eyes, simultaneously. But
one thing stood out. A face. A face, rather thin and tired-
looking, but with compassionate brown eyes and a lovely
thatch of black hair, made even more distinguished by the
Doctor streaks... She felt something for the owner of that
face. He had been talking to her, helping her find the way up
out of some hideous darkness. Back into the light.
She listened, had never stopped listening. Someone was in
the room with her; a human. Male, probably. She could hear
the breathing, feel the displaced air. Somewhere off to her
left. If she had been kidnapped, she might get only one
chance to try something... had to be ready...
"Angelica?"
The voice. The voice she had heard in her dreams. Her
training forgotten for once, she opened her eyes, and looked
at the source of the voice.
Doctor Yanderman... Nathan... stood there, looking down
at her with worried eyes. He smiled, tentatively. He looked
better than when she had last seen him, but still rather
drawn and pale. His caduceus glowed with a soft, steady,
light. Yellow sunlight flowed in the curtained window
behind him.
"Nathan." She closed her eyes again for a moment, then
opened them. Suddenly, something broke open inside her
mind. Poison came oozing out of a deep wound, vented at
last. Tears welled up. "I... I just had the worst nightmare...
it... it..." She started to cry, great heaving sobs. She felt a
hand touch her shoulder, and she rose up, throwing off the
covers, burying herself in him. He ran his fingers through
her hair.
"I know. But it's over for now. It's over."
She abruptly pulled away and looked at him, at the room
they were in, her tears rapidly drying up and her gaze
hardening.
"Nathan? What... what are you doing in here? This is a..."
He smiled, a complex movement of muscles, filled with a
variety of emotions.
"It seems, Captain Phelps, Sir, that I have been drafted."
She stared at him, and then smiled. Speculatively.
* * *
It was a room, somewhere in the bowels of a UEDF
Orbital Fortress floating high above Earth. One of a million
such rooms scattered down through history. A small
podium stood dwarfed in its center, standing in a tight,
bright, circle of light. The light emanated from an enormous
globe high overhead that was connected to the ceiling and
walls by thin fibercarbon strands.
A stocky figure took his place at that podium, standing
alone in the beam of light.
There was a series of flickering hisses, and a half-circle of
figures appeared around him, each standing in another beam
that shot down from the sphere. While not an armored
giant, each of the new arrivals wore a Voidmask, and dark
robes that made them seem to stand ten feet tall. The figure
standing in the middle of the arc additionally carried a long
straight staff carved out of a chunk of some shimmering
grey material. This individual took a step forward, his or her
voice hidden behind an electronic squeal.
"This session of the United Earth Defense Force Internal
Security Tribunal will now come to order. Dated and
Verified, 15:32 UST, October 21, 2354. He who stands
before the Tribunal will now identify himself."
The man in the central spotlight placed his right hand on
a pad before him, and spoke clearly and calmly:
"Nkrumah, Randolph Joseph, Director-General, United
Earth Defence Force, Internal Security Division, United
Earth Sharehold Number 5671-S1-98905."
"VOICEPRINT, BRAINSCAN AND DNA MATCH
CONFIRMED. CLONING FORCE-GROWTH
TELLTALES NEGATIVE." The senatorian computer
voice spoke down from the globe, sounding like the voice
of God, which in this case was not terribly far from the
truth. The Director-General removed his hand from the pad.
"Director-General Nkrumah. You have been Verified. Be
advised that you and your actions are now being recorded
for posterity. Be further advised that your mental processes
are now under veracity scan. Do you wish to have legal
representation, either human or cybernetic-assist, present
for the remainder of this session?"
"No."
"Noted that he who stands before the Tribunal has
refused legal representation. Do you wish the names of the
members of the Tribunal placed in storagelock?"
"No."
"Noted that he who stands before the Tribunal has
accepted whatever judgment the Tribunal will lay upon
him." A ceremonious pause. "Director-General Nkrumah.
You have been brought to stand before the Tribunal in order
to explain your actions in regards to the case of... Phelps,
Angelica Johanson, Captain, United Earth Defence Force,
Internal Security Division, United Earth Sharehold Number
5313-S6-97632." (As he said this, a large head-and-
shoulders hologram of Angelica, staring grim-faced,
appeared near them in the darkness, slowly rotated once,
vanished.) "Do you freely admit that on September 12,
2354, you officially ordered the removal of Captain Phelp's
Supplemental Clone, registration number 5313-V6-97632,
from its cryonic suspension chamber aboard the UEDF
Orbital Fortress 'Laymon'?
"Yes."
"Do you further admit that you preformed this action
without first obtaining the Verified consent of Captain
Phelps?"
"Yes."
"In issuing this order, were you aware that you
contravened Captain Phelp's rights as granted under the
Control of Personal DNA Act, passed into law by the
Assembly of Representatives of United Earth, July 21,
2301?"
"I did not violate Captain Phelp's rights, as granted under
the stated Act."
"Explain your statement."
"The Tribunal is aware of the circumstances under which
I gave this order. However, for the official record. Due to
certain troubling psiscan results from Captain Phelps, and
the psiscan testimony from a witness of impeccable
credentials, one Yanderman, Nathaniel PrincetonHA48,
Doctor, UE Sharehold Number... 5342-D5-98121..." (Like
Angelica, an image of a slightly bewildered-looking Nathan
briefly presented itself for inspection.) "Captain Phelps had
been determined to have been kidnapped and held for
several hours by a man Verified to be the employee of a
man who had been convicted in absentia by a UEDF court
of numerous crimes." First a pixelled black and white
memorypic of a man in a hospital hallway, then a shot of O,
with the word 'REVOKED' blinking beneath him in large,
ugly, letters. "It was further deduced, from information
previously obtained by Captain Phelps and others, that it
was 70% likely that this criminal had in his possession
technology officially classified as contraband by the Orion
Exclusion Act of 2313. This technology allowed its
possessor to manipulate Captain Phelps into attempting a
betrayal of the United Earth Defense Force." A tiny pause.
"The Tribunal is of course aware of the penalty for this
action. Unlike other currently available types of behavior
modification and control, such as nanobots, or implant
cyberviral override, the technology's effects were not easily
detectable. The assumption of consulted experts, both
human and cybernetic, was that Captain Phelps had been
returned to us, in order to test whether we would discover
she had been compromised in this manner. It was further
speculated, based on long-constructed personality
algorithms of the individual in question, that if the deception
appeared to have worked, he would attempt to re-contact
Captain Phelps at the first possible opportunity. On the
strength of this information, I ordered UEDF Medical
Inspector Tomoko Ichikawa" (Inspector Ichikawa's
hologram was even grimmer than Angelica's...) "to remove
Captain Phelps' 'vatdroid' from storage without the Captain's
consent. The vatdroid was programmed and equipped to
take Captain Phelp's place. Algorithms of Captain Phelp's
'controlled' personality were copied into the 'droid, along
with a higher, override personality protected behind a neural
firewall. Since even an individual like the criminal in
question lacks the UEDF's ability to detect the subtle
cellular damage caused by the force-ageing of a vatted
clone, Captain Phelps' 'droid was dispatched to contact the
criminal and learn what it could about the situation. The
arrival on the scene of the Rigellian lawbreaker..." The
director's mouth twitched as it formed the near-oxymoron
"...triggered the override personality's decision to place all
involved parties under immediate arrest, as it was so
empowered under the Non-Sentient Law Enforcement
Authority Act of 2327."
"As you say, Director-General, the Tribunal is aware of
these events. You have yet to explain how your actions do
not violate the CPDA."
"The CPDA clearly states that a UEDF member's
Supplemental Clone can be revived and used without their
consent if it is the only way to save the life of the original
DNA supplier, and the supplier is not in a position to give
their informed consent."
"While the Tribunal sympathizes with Captain Phelp's
situation, her life was not in danger."
"I respectfully argue that it was. We could not remove the
mental programming without access to the original Orion
technology, and the man, who installed it. If we could not
remove the programming, we could not allow Captain
Phelps to continue with her career in the UEDF. We could
not, in fact, allow Captain Phelps to continue at all, and
would have been forced to either place her in cryonic
suspension until a 'cure' could be found, or to brainwipe the
Captain, which has been defined on at least three separate
occasions by the United Earth High Arbitrator to be the
legal equivalent of a death penalty. In addition, if we had
done either of these things, it would have left the criminal in
question in possession of the Orion equipment, which was
not an acceptable option."
"You argument has been noted. Are there any other facts
you wish to offer for the Tribunal's consideration?"
"Only to remind the Tribunal that Captain Phelps has
signed a Verified statement in which she absolves me of any
guilt in this matter, and announces that she has no desire to
pursue personal charges against me." A copy of the
statement flashed in the darkness, the Verification hologram
at the bottom glowing a dim yellow.
"Since you are her superior officer, this fact does not hold
as much weight as it might otherwise. However, the
Tribunal will consider it in its deliberations."
One of the other judges spoke up, the scratching voice
shifted down a degree or two from the first speaker, but still
grindingly powerful and impersonal.
"What is the current state of Captain Phelp's vatdroid?"
"With the Verified consent of Captain Phelps, her
supplemental clone's memory banks were purged and its
body was returned to cryonic suspension on October 3 of
this year. It is currently in storage aboard the UEDF Orbital
Fortress 'Levin'."
The central figure turned, and looked at its fellows.
"Are there any further questions for he who stands before
the Tribunal?"
One by one, the lights around the other judges winked
out. The figure faced the Director-General again.
"The Tribunal will now retire to consider its verdict. Be
advised that your words and actions are no longer being
recorded. Be advised that your mental processes are no
longer under veracity scan. He who stands before the
Tribunal is dismissed until we return from deliberation."
And the Director-General was standing alone once again.
He stepped off the podium, and left the room.
* * *
"You don't have to do this." The man in the Doctor's
uniform shuffled his feet on the floor as he spoke.
"Yes I do, Nathan. You have no idea how much I have to
do this. And the Director-General knows it, too. Otherwise,
this would have been done already."
"You... you're making a mistake. At least let me go in
there with you."
The woman in the Internal Security uniform leaned over
and brushed her lips across his.
"That's the worst thing I could do. This won't take long.
Stay here."
He sighed, and stepped away. Leaned up against a nearby
wall, and crossed his arms tightly.
"I'll be right here if you need me."
She smiled. "I know."
She turned, and pushed the pad that opened the hatch. It
tested her DNA, approved, and a black hole expanded out
before her.
The room beyond was long and lit in a checkerboard
fashion. As she walked down it, passing through the spots
of light cast by the globes overhead, her black uniform made
her almost disappear, her blue/green UE insignia seeming to
float in the darkness.
The man sat in a chair at the far end of the room. Empty
space stretched off on three sides of him. He was strapped
into the chair by leather bands, well tempered by age. Real
leather, which was a both a sign of how long the chair had
been in use, and how stubbornly humans will stick to
tradition. Behind him loomed a ominous complex of
equipment.
Angelica approached, silently, her boots muffled on the
thickly-matted floor. Even so, as she neared him, he opened
his eyes, and looked over at her. He couldn't turn his head,
because it was held firmly in place, along with the rest of his
body.
"Ah. My dear Captain Phelps. I was wondering when
you'd be along. And so we are both ourselves again." He
smiled.
The wound on his neck was starting to fade.
Angelica held up the black lawchart in her hand, which
was already scanned to the appropriate page. She began to
speak.
"Oneemith, Tavier Guilume. Criminal. United Earth
Sharehold Number 5541-X5-96710. You have been tried
and found guilty of the following crimes."
"You can spare me the list, Angelica."
"Numerous violations of the Control of Personal DNA
Act of 2301, including Production of Unauthorized Non-
Sentient Beings. Sixteen known violations of the Orion
Exclusion Act of 2313. The willful purchase, transport and
sale of unVerified goods. Unauthorized establishment of
indenture. Theft of United Earth Defense Force property.
Destruction of United Earth Defense Force property.
Kidnapping of United Earth Defense Force personnel.
Trespassing on United Earth Defense Force territory.
Twenty-seven known violations of the Extra-Solar
Archeology Act of 2281. Violation of the Tachyon
Communication Privacy Act of 2297. Rape." Throughout
her entire time in the room, only on the word 'Rape' did
even the tiniest sliver of emotion creep into her voice.
"Murder. Piracy in deep space. Plotting the violent
overthrow of the chartered government of United Earth and
associated corporate entities. Crimes against sentience." A
ceremonial pause. "For these and other crimes, you have
been sentenced to immediate and total erasure of memory
and destruction of personality, followed by deportation of
your remains to an official UEDF rehabilitation colony,
where your physical body will spend the rest of its existence
paying back to the society from your mind has stolen. Dated
and Verified, October 15, 2354. Presiding United Earth
Defense Force officer: Phelps, Angelica Johanson, Captain,
United Earth Sharehold Number 5313-S6-97632."
"Are you quite through, my child?"
"If you have any final words, before sentence is carried
out, speak them now. Be aware that you and your words
are being recorded for posterity. Be aware these are the last
words you will ever speak." Angelica lowered the 'chart and
looked directly at the man in the chair, standing stiffly erect,
eyes and mind unwavering.
"You'll never be rid of me. I mean, you, personally,
Angelica. Society has already flushed me out of its system.
But a part of you, even now, wants to be strapped back into
that machine, feel those tentacles crawl... over... your...
body. Wants to become a slave again. Remember how
*good* it felt, to be my loving, obedient, slave? You could
feel that way again. Not from me, of course. I'm not going
anywhere except an... approved rehabilitation colony. But I
know the UEDF. They still have my device somewhere.
They'll stash it away in some dark vault... on some
asteroid... and hope everyone forgets about it. You could
probably find it again, if you tried hard enough. Remember
that, Angelica. Remember that, when you're lonely, or
scared, or your lover of the moment doesn't live up to your
expectations. Remember." He smiled one last time and
rolled his eyes up into the darkness overhead. "You can...
what is the old phrase? Throw the switch? now. I have
nothing more to say."
"Your words have been duly noted and recorded for
posterity."
Angelica executed a sharp spin on the heel of her boot,
and walked towards a bank of controls which stood nearby.
"Au revoir, my dear."
She stopped and turned back towards him in the same
fashion as she had turned away.
"Thank you, Mr. Oneemith."
He stared.
"You've made me strong. You have no idea how strong.
Just be glad that it was my vatdroid that caught up with
you, and not me. Now. So, thank you. And one more
thing."
He continued to look at her, unspeaking.
"Rot in hell."
She moved to the control panel. Pushed the button (an
actual button which clicked loudly in the silence) that
started the brainwipe, and left the room. Behind her, the
machinery came to life.
That night, she opened herself, and Nathan entered her,
and she did not think of the tentacles.
Not even once.
* * *
He didn't have to wait for long, never even leaving the
small, utilitarian, antechamber in which many people had
sweated out hour after hour of nervous apprehension. (And
in which four people had, over the years, killed themselves.)
In this case, the vast bell soon sounded again, summoning
him back into the Tribunal Chamber. Again he entered the
equally vast room, stood on the podium, and the judges
reappeared. Once again he was scanned inside and out by
the biocomputer, and found to be worthy. The central judge
stepped forward, still wielding the staff.
"The Tribunal has reached its verdict. Is he who stands
before the Tribunal ready to receive it?"
"Yes."
The central judge held out his arm, straight to one side,
and spread apart his fingers. The staff remained in place,
hanging unsupported in space.
"Randolph Joseph Nkrumah, Shareholder of United Earth,
Sharehold Number 5671-S1-98905, the United Earth
Defense Force Internal Security Tribunal hereby clears you
of any charge of wrong-doing in the matter currently under
discussion. You are free to leave." The staff slowly spun
around his hand once in a wide circle, like the propeller on
an old-style airplane. As it did so, its color slowly changed
from grey to white. The judge's gloved hand closed around
it as it slid back into position. "Is there anything you wish to
say, before this session of the Tribunal is declared closed?"
"I thank the Tribunal members."
"This session of the United Earth Defense Force Internal
Security Tribunal is declared officially closed. All records of
this session are hereby classified Orange 7 and sealed until
October 21, 2404." The judge banged the staff on the deck
beneath his boots, and the bell rang again overhead.
The Director-General bowed to the figures before him,
and left the chamber. The light shining on the podium
winked out. The judges all stood until he had left the
chamber, and then vanished once again, until only the
central figure remained. He stood for a moment longer, then
left the chamber in a more conventional fashion, opposite
the direction of the Director-General.
Darkness fell.
* * *
"I just saw the official announcement that our trouble-
making friend has been dealt with."
"Yes. He was far too trusting for a man in his profession.
Such an unpleasant end."
A shrug.
"Anyone whose security set-up is so lax deserves
whatever he gets."
A pause.
"And now?"
"We have all of the information. If you're willing to
continue your financial support, we can begin."
A smile.
"Of course."
* * *
Although not a room in the traditional sense, it resembled
M's living quarters, writ only in two dimensions. Large
'holoscreens' lined the 'walls' from non-existent floor to
invisible ceiling. There were no doors. Overhead and
beneath, the stars burned brightly, cold and unwavering and
profuse.
The Director-General, or a reasonable facsimile thereof,
appeared in the room, his face impassive. 'Harris' turned
from his position near one bank of 'screens, 'walked' closer.
"We just got the word down here dirtside.
Congratulations, sir."
"Eh? Oh. It was a formality. Cross all of the Ts. Dot all
of the Is. The man who occupies the office of the Director-
General is always on a first-name basis with the Tribunal. So
to speak."
"Congratulations never the less, sir."
Nkrumah's cyberextension sighed. "Thank you, Harris."
A voice spoke up from one of the screens, causing it to
ripple and flux in time with the words. It was a slightly more
humanized and modulated version of the computer in the
Tribunal Chamber.
"TACHYON MESSAGE FOR DIRECTOR-GENERAL
NKRUMAH. MEDICAL INSPECTOR ICHIKAWA,
CALLING FROM TARQUAIN VI."
"Activate link." The Director-General faced the
appropriate screen.
"CHANNEL CONFIRMED. CHANNEL SECURED."
Inspector Ichikawa's face appeared, looking as always
like she had just sucked down an entire lemon. Then the
screen expanded around her, made her image three-
dimensional. She joined the two men in their chunk of
cyberspace. The screen deflated back into the wall. The
Director-General spoke to her.
"Inspector. Greetings."
"Director-General. I wished to call you and offer my
congratulations."
"Thank you, Inspector." A warning glare shot at Harris
who drifted backwards a few 'meters', his expression
carefully bland.
"And to inquire if all has gone well with Captain Phelps,
and Doctor Yanderman." The inspector's cyberextension
stood as stiffly and formally as her physical body.
"All turned out quite well, Inspector. Another success for
your unblemished record. They should make an excellent
team, once Doctor Yanderman gets through his training."
"I am glad. What was their final compatibility rating? I
ask merely out of curiosity."
The Director-General glanced at Harris, more congenially
this time.
"84%, Sir. Inspector."
"Yes. Their genetic match-up looks very promising as
well. Speaking of which, Inspector..." A slight rumbling.
The Director-General looked almost embarrassed. "Have
you had a chance to consider my proposal?"
"I have studied the test results you sent me. They were
most... compelling." A slight hesitation. "I will be coming
home in EarthJan... in flesh... to attend my Reunion. I would
not be adverse to combining possible pleasure with duty. If
you are available at the time, we can discuss it further." She
almost smiled.
"I look forward to it. Good day, Inspector."
"Director General." They exchanged bows, and her image
was sucked back into the screen, and disappeared as she
disconnected from the dataworld.
"Are you sure this is wise, Sir?" Harris asked.
Another glare.
"Oh..." Harris continued hastily. "Nono. Not you and the
Inspector. That would be an excellent pairing. Sir. I meant
Doctor Yanderman and Captain Phelps, sir."
"Of course it was wise. You know if you have anything
over 80%, they're usually copulating like Farkoids inside of
a week. If they had just met on the street, we would have
had to probably pry them apart with a forcebar, which is
always bad for morale. This way.." He smiled, another
genuine smile, even if he didn't form it with his physical
face. "He's a bright lad. Should go far. And besides, as the
Inspector would have no doubt told you if you asked her,
we need more Doctors in the service."
"Yes, sir."
"But, even if none of that were true, we didn't have much
choice. When we cleaned out Oneemith's ship, we got him,
and the information and equipment we needed. But even
before that, when we saw their psiscans and the obvious
compatibility, we knew that Doctor Yanderman's help
would greatly facilitate the deprogramming of Captain
Phelps Thanks to that help, the Captain is well on the road
to recovery. And Senator St. Clair's problem was solved as
well, rendering Smith's Orion datacore information
harmless. Beauty out of ugliness, Harris. Remember that."
"Yes, sir." A careful pause. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"I read the 'droid's memorylogs. Did we... you... know
about the Orions, Sir? Not that they had spies, we suspected
that, I know. I mean, that they had been bioengineered by
those rogue Rigellians solely to slip us that training
machine?"
The Director-General was silent for a long time, watching
one of the 'holoscreens' flash a scene from the recent
Presidential debate. Finally, he spoke, with seeming
irrelevance.
"Humanity, as a species, finally goes out into space." A
gesture at the simulated stars overhead which shimmered
for a moment. "We meet other races like... the Rigellians.
The Githriks. The Zill. Even the Farkoids. None of them
remotely humanoid, or interested in warfare, at least in the
traditional sense. And why should they be? There's
ultimately plenty of room, plenty of everything, enough for
anybody. All we have to do, is keep all of the plates
spinning until we've learned enough, grown up enough, to
truly take advantage of it all." A pause. "Then, suddenly,
out of nowhere, the Orion Pack Raiders. Green, Bug-Eyed
Monsters..."
"Isn't that a better description of a Rigellian, Sir?"
"Don't they teach classical literature anymore at the
Academy? ...Green, Bug-Eyed Monsters that want to kill
earth men and have sex with earth women. And even more
perversely, are humanoid enough to do the latter. The
ultimate Other. Humanity's worst collective nightmare
suddenly brought to life. Why do you think we played down
the Orion War to the general population? Because it was a
hard war? Because of the spies? Because we are sexually
squeamish? Do you think that we are that petty?"
"Some of us still are, Sir. As you yourself just implied."
"Yes. But if an individual makes it this far in service to
UE, I'd like to think that he or she can aspire for more. We
classified much about the War because... we didn't know.
But we suspected. We wondered. And now we *do* know.
And the Rigellian Hierarchy is still apologizing about it." A
shrug, which coming from the Director-General was always
impressive. "Any more questions, Harris?"
"Yes, Sir."
The Director-General showed an 'I'm listening' expression.
"Is it really over, Sir? This whole mess?"
The older man looked at his subordinate.
"When they're not apologizing, the Rigellians busy are
rounding up the rest of the followers of the 'true way', and
dealing out their usual punishments for corruption and
moral deviancy. We've got every woman who was
programmed by Oneemith under treatment, although most
of them were long-time *willing* employees of his, and are
headed straight for brainwiping and the rehab colonies
anyway. Oneemith has been captured, his... network... is
headless. Our friend... 'N'... is back at work in a new Sector,
building new contacts, now with the additional help and
advice of Oneemith's direct-copy personality simulation.
They just found what was left of Smith on Proxima, and it
was no vatdroid this time. We're working our way through
the remaining female Orion War veterans, clearing out their
relatively crude Orion programming where we find it."
Harris' image stood silent for a moment, then:
"Is it really over?"
A sigh.
"Son, nothing is ever over. For one thing, we already have
serious debate rising about whether or not to exploit those
'training tendrils' for more legitimate purposes. They're just
heavily modified C-gangs, after all. The medical and
rehabilitation applications alone could net the UE millions in
profits..."
"Why would anyone object to that, Sir?"
"Because... because people are *clever*, Mr. Harris. And
if we let those things loose on society, someone,
somewhere, will figure how to use them for their original
purpose. And they are incredibly dangerous. I glossed it
over to the Tribunal, but if that employee of Oneemith's
hadn't Zapped Doctor Yanderman, we probably wouldn't
have realized what had happened. Even now, psicanning is
still not an exact science. The 'scans on Captain Phelps were
odd... but far from conclusive. The programming was able
to hide itself too well, even from our best psiscans.
Oneemith came very close to succeeding in his plan. Too
close. So... I think we're going to have to bury those
training tendrils. Bury them deep, until we've all grown up a
little bit more. Someday we'll be ready to use them. But not
yet."
"I see, Sir. What's the other problem?"
"Eh?"
"You said, 'for one thing'. Sir."
ISD Director-General Randolph Joseph Nkrumah again
looked at the man next to him, his expression suddenly a
good match for Inspector Ichikawa's.
"You're getting too smart for your own good, Harris."
"Yes, Sir." Harris smiled.
"The other problem is..." His cyberfingers tapped his
barrel-like chest in a distracted fashion. "While I have no
evidence, I have a gut feeling that... something has slipped
through the cracks in all of this..."
* * *
The stimjoint was crowded, acrid white mist drifting in
from the dark street outside as the tachspacers streamed (or
in a certain percentage of cases, staggered) in and out. A
wide holoscreen mounted behind the bar flashed and
scrolled and blared the words ST. CLAIR BLOC WINS UE
SHAREHOLDER VOTE over and over, in a variety of
languages. The constant, teeth-rattling, roar of the nearby
spaceport's arriving and departing orbital shuttles was only
partially blunted by the establishment's cheap dampening
screens.
The woman who finally figured out how make "antigrav"
work for truly large objects, Yolanda thought, was going to
become incredibly rich.
She looked down at the man as he smoothly slid through
the milling mob and onto the threadbare hoverstool beside
her. He looked almost relentlessly bland, as if he'd made a
special effort to be sure you'd forget him five minutes after
you saw him. Even the forest-green streaks in his brown
hair were muted. There was something about his eyes,
though... a spark of sharp intelligence lurking in there,
somewhere, which was more than she'd seen in any of the
usual assorted surfaceclingers and dreebs who had been
vectoring in on her since she had first hit dirt on the Strip.
And of course, there was the box. He set the largish,
crude-looking, rectangular item down on the bartop with
the same exaggerated care a man would show with a crate
stacked full of fresh eggs. (Not that there was a fresh
chicken egg within sixteen light-years of their present
location...) Yolanda pursed her wide lips, examining the
object. It was almost certainly being employed a deliberate
conversation-starter. What the fark. It had worked. It was
clear this cloddy dirtball of a stopover didn't have anything
else of interest to offer at the moment. And, if it proved
necessary, when it was time to head back to the shuttle and
then the gigantic Tachfreighter currently in orbit somewhere
above their heads, she could give this dirttreader the brush-
off with one hand tied behind her back.
"What's in the box?"
The man looked at her, his finger still aiming a 'come-
hither' gesture at the Githrik stimdealer behind the bar, who
ignored the blandishment with stereotypical stoicism.
"Hmm? What's in the box... Well... my dear Miss..." a
glance at her jumpsuit's Guild insignia... "Tachship
Navigator... one of my deepest held personal philosophies is
that you should never tell the whole story to *anyone*.
Even... heh... even to yourself."
She arched an black eyebrow. "Profound. So what is it?"
He sighed. "I am surrounded by Philistines. Ah well. I'll
show you part of it." He carefully positioned the box so that
it was in front of him on the counter, and tapped a couple of
pads on the object's side. A slot slid open on the top, and
something rose into the bar's dim dirty light. A tendril of
lavender. It twisted with slow, smoky, grace, dancing a slow
tango with the air currents, a finger that seemed to beckon
at her.
Come hither...
"Is it a holoemitter?" She stared at the color. Her hands
suddenly itched to touch it, feel it slipping through her own
fingers, back and forth. Back and forth.
"Not exactly. It's a bit more... solid."
"Is it safe? I mean, safe to touch?" She couldn't tear her
eyes away from the dancing filament.
"Of course." He negligently passed his hand over it. It
flickered around his splayed fingers, and seemed somehow
to withdraw in disgust.
"Can... can I touch it?" Yolanda's eyes were very wide
now.
He shrugged.
"If you want."
Even before the words were entirely out of his mouth, she
reached out. The strand wrapped around her dark fingers.
Stroking. Caressing.
"Ooooohhhh..."
Another stand immediately slipped out of the slot,
wrapping firmly around her wrist and pulling it close, as if
to keep her from escaping.
But she had not the slightest desire to escape.
A third tendril appeared, and discretely disappeared into
the sleeve of her jumpsuit, quickly twining its way up her
arm like an blood infection crawling towards her heart.
Then a fourth.
And a fifth...
* * *
"Hey, Maureen."
Maureen looked up from the disassembled innards of the
shuttle's navicomputer in surprise, holding a rack of new
Moran biochips in one gloved hand. Cyberganglia spewed
everywhere. Yolanda was standing in the chamber's
hatchway, holding a large box in her arms.
Maureen disconnected the clinging diagnostic probe from
her biocircuitry implant, and automatically shook her long
ribbed hair back into position, the vibrant red-green-and-
orange strands glowing and popping. She carefully set the
biochips back in their nutrient bath and pulled off the
antisept glove before speaking.
"Yo? Back so soon? That's a bad sign. I was going to go
hit dirt myself once I finished the last of the skipper's farking
upgrades. Doesn't this farking flyspeck have *anything* of
interest?"
Yolanda smiled widely, her teeth very white.
"Oh, yes. In fact, I found... a little toy... down on the local
Strip that you just *have* to see." She stepped the rest of
the way into the room, and punched the hatch closed with
one elbow.
* * *
It was a room, somewhere, one of a million such
anonymous rooms scattered down through history. A large
metal table dominated its center, standing in a tight, bright,
circle of light. The light emanated from a large globe high
overhead that floated free of the ceiling and walls.
The room was not empty, however. The two nameless,
naked, pieces of meat crouched on hands and knees on the
table, facing away from each other, two pairs of toes almost
touching. Between two sets of long, widely-spread legs,
two exposed cunts throbbed and glistened. And between
those two cunts, a largish box had been carefully positioned
in the center of the table, framed by a neat diamond of flesh,
half ebony, half pale white.
A voice spoke, bland and ordinary.
"You are not to move now. You are not to move or
speak, see or hear, unless I give you explicit permission to
do so. Do you understand?"
No response, eyes and lips half-open, all showing white.
>From one set of those lips, a last drop of something equally
white and milky slowly rolled down, hung by a thin strand
for a long moment, and finally splatted onto the table top
below.
"You may answer the question." The man, his face
matching his voice, ran his finger up the sealseam on his
brown trousers as he spoke, closing the links between the
molecules.
"Your slave understand, Master." A chorus of two female
voices, both low, soft, and blankly joyous.
"Excellent." He casually slapped a firm white ass that rose
high into the air, producing a small involuntary squeak of
pleasure from the cum-dripping mouth to which it was
attached. He turned to an invisible audience and smiled.
Kicked aside a hastily-discarded TachNav jumpsuit with
one low red shoe. "I believe the cycle is proven to work. I
think the... recruitment process speaks for itself. Are you
satisfied with your investment?"
"Of course, Mr. Jones." The holofield resolved itself from
blackness into a fetus-like man, floating in micro-gravity at
the edge of the table. Floating one hundred and forty-two
light years away. He smiled as he spoke, his eyes goggling.
"I'm very satisfied. As I knew I would be once I read your
first message. I'm glad we could put our differences behind
us and work together on our little project."
Jones gave a short bow, tinged with only a trace of irony.
"Nevertheless, I do once again want to apologize about that
bit of unpleasantness on Sirius S-3 with my predecessor.
However it *was* unavoidable. One has standards to
maintain."
"Sirius S-3 was a minor inconvenience. Certain of my
more... enthusiastic... boys wanted to string someone up
after what... Smith's 'droid did to Esherick and his fellow
morons, but it was simple enough to make them happy. And
now even the UEDF thinks that Smith is dead. I'd be willing
to pay extra if you'd tell me how you managed that."
"Mr. M, please. Mr. Smith *is* dead. As for how it was
accomplished... Let us just say that I have always believed
in planning ahead."
"Of course. Of course." M's hologram waved its
weedcigar in the general direction of the box. "The new
generation of devices contains the extra security features we
discussed before?"
"Oh, yes. Why our dearly departed Mr. O discarded the
Orions' sensible use of a trigger phrase, I'll never know. But
then, he seemed to have something of blind spot about such
matters, as Mr. Smith's 'droid could have told you. He didn't
even keep his tachyon relay separate from his biocomputer
banks, and even the best encryption can be cracked. With
our... doubly-improved device, you can now either hardwire
a password into a new slave, without the use of which a
command will not be accepted, or you can wire her to
respond only if she can smell her master's pheromones. Or
both. Not perfect security, of course, but then, is there such
a thing?"
"We're working on it, Mr. Jones. Always working." M fell
silent for a moment, puffing thoughtfully.
"Is there something else?"
"Just something I still don't understand about the entire
affair, and I don't like farking loose ends, however minor.
Why did O kidnap and program that *particular* UEDF
officer... whatshername..."
"Captain Angelica Phelps."
"Yeah. It's been bothering me ever since some of his
people contacted some of my people with a request for
something that... caught my interest. I started keeping an
eye on him. At first, what I didn't know was why he was
kidnapping *any* UEDF officer, since it looked like he was
going to just replace her with a vatdroid, which we know
always ends up being farking pointless, especially when it
comes to the UEDF. Of course, when your message told me
he already had that Orion gadget, that part of it suddenly
made sense. But why her, particularly?"
"Perhaps, someday, she will tell us."
M flashed a thin, unpleasant, smile. "Yeah. Perhaps. But
that won't happen for a while, if ever. Another of O's
failings was thinking too big, too fast. We'll have to move
real slowly and quietly, for now. Both the UEDF and the
Rigellians will be all farking over this for a few decades.
We'll start out on the frontier somewhere, maybe move in
on some of O's old business territory. His main line of goods
offers some obvious ideas for the use of that thing."
"I'd suggest we try a little test. On the new terraforming
colony at Ankar III."
"Oh?"
"I did a little research. For one thing, it's on the opposite
side of UE space to the Rigellians. Secondly, it's where my
two new..." A wry glance at the table and its two
occupants... "...helpmates' ship is heading next. And lastly,
word on the... ah... street... is that Moran Interstellar will be
awarded the colony's municipal governance contract. And
although it may be a bit gauche of me to mention trade
secrets, am I correct in understanding that you are not...
without influence... in regards to the Moran board of
directors? Mr. M?"
A laugh from the man in the holofield.
"Mr. Jones. I think this is the start of a... most
productive... friendship."
The end...
Voyer
voyer@notme.com
http://members.xoom.com/voyer
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>