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To:  story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us
From: morg105829@aol.com
Subj: "Kathy" Book III, Epilogue (M/F) (155 lines)
January 22, 1998

This is about the 42nd and last section of "Kathy".  Although this is
substantially more tame than many postings on A.S.S.M., the usual disclaimers
apply.

Permission is granted to repost, but only on non-commercial sites.  Please
inform me if you do so.

"Kathy"

(c) 1991, 1998 by Morgan.

Book III

Epilogue

Kathy was lying in her bed when she received the memento from Julie.  She had
been saddened to learn of the woman's death.  Since that time so many years
ago, she had seen the woman only once, and that was only a few months earlier.
At the time the woman who had kept the house had not looked well.  Kathy had
visited her with Susan shortly after learning Susan had been accepted at Yale.
Julie had commented again on how beautiful the two girls looked, but now she
was dead.  Kathy had learned that she was the beneficiary of Julie's estate
and was amazed to find it was worth over $2 million, all in negotiable
securities and certificates of deposit.  In addition, there was a memento.
She opened the package and found a lovely little music box.  She opened the
lid and heard it play a strange but lovely tune -- a tune she had never heard
before.

Then something truly remarkable happened.  She watched in astonishment as her
fingers appeared to take on a life of their own.  With no apparent guidance
from her brain, her fingers moved across and around the little box as if it
were a child's puzzle.  She was pushing, pulling, and turning at different
points on the box.  Suddenly, it was in two pieces.  Inside it she found a
small metal container shaped like a cigarette case, but smaller in all its
dimensions.  Without stopping to look at the case closely, her fingers began
to move again.  Although it was absolutely plain, her fingers pushed and
pulled and probed at apparently known locations.  Suddenly, the container
popped open like a clam.  Inside was a carefully folded sheaf of papers.
Kathy unfolded them, realizing they had a different feel from anything she had
ever touched before.

She smoothed them out.  It was a letter to her!  She began to read:

My darling Kathy,

Your mother and I are delighted you have received this.  If any person ever
reads this letter, dear Kathy, it must be you.  Our scientists have programmed
your brain to react to the music the little box plays.  I have watched them
rehearsing our little girl and watched your fingers fly through the puzzle.
They tell me the knowledge you have is permanently embedded in your brain.

We are both happy and sad.  We look at you now in a strange state.  The scien
tists call it "suspended animation" but to your mother and me it appears our
golden-haired child is in a coma.  Your mother is in tears.  You are leaving
us forever here and going to a planet its inhabitants call Earth.  Since you
are reading this, it must have succeeded.  Your trip combines things we know,
things we suspect, and frankly, things we hope.

Arrangements have been made for you to be placed in a strange place.  It's
called, we understand, a "whorehouse," a place where men come to take
advantage of the women sexually.  Your mother cried when she learned her
darling daughter would be subjected to such treatment.  I'm sorry, darling.
We did it for two reasons.  First, we have been told people -- and the women
in them -- come and go quickly.  A strange girl is unlikely to be noticed.
Second, we believe their sexual customs are similar to ours, but we can't be
sure.  You will learn those customs quickly.  You may wonder about this
strange location we have selected.

There is one more thing: The woman in charge will have her memory somewhat
altered.  If you were to ask her, she would say you were always in the house.
It is with her we are leaving this little music box.  We are told the tune it
plays is unique, and considered to be very melodic.  We want her to keep this
safe for you without knowing what it is.  When you hear the music, you will
act.

In this connection, there is a difference between here and Earth.  Women here
are prepared for sex almost instantly.  They secrete a great deal of vaginal
fluid which releases quickly.  The doctors tell us you are unlikely to suffer
great pain from your sexual experiences.  Now you may wonder, "Why Earth?"
The reason is -- and in this we combine hope with some knowledge -- the people
of Earth are near-duplicates of us, genetically.  We believe you will be able
to mate and bear the children of Earth people.  At least we devoutly hope so.
But this is a hope, not a scientifically established fact.  There are only two
other things they know to be different between us and the people of earth.
The first is our ability to combine bio-mechanical analysis with bio-kinetics.
Basically, we have the ability to analyze physical motion, break it down into
its bio-mechani cal pieces, and then replicate exactly what has just been
observed.  You may find -- or may have found -- this ability useful.  The
second is an ability that seems to be concentrated among our women.  It is a
phenomenon for which we have no name.  Basically, it's the ability to make
yourself light.  If a man picks you up to carry you, you can be almost
weightless in his arms.  We have found no practical application for this
talent, honestly, but there may be one on Earth.  Your mother insists I tell
you, "Because," she says, "It's fun!"

Now, you wonder, why did we send you on this great voyage when you're so
young and vulnerable?  We face the total destruction of our home.  There is no
doubt it will happen; the only question is when.  I would like to tell you
some thing of your people, but I cannot.  I have been told by our scientists
that they have cleansed your brain -- you will have no memory of your life
here.  How ever, they are afraid of the chance of even a small mention
triggering a chain reaction and causing you to remember your home.  It is a
chance they have ordered me not to take.

There is one other thing I should tell you.  Although I know you are reading
this, I don't know when it will be.  I should have mentioned this fact before.
The reason I can be so sure you are reading this, dear Kathy, is there is only
one correct way of opening the box and this container.  Any other way of
attempt ing it will result in the paper's destruction.  But I interrupt my
narrative.  The thing I wanted to tell you concerns your ability to have
children.  Our physi cians have implanted in you a long-release birth control
device.  It has an active duration of about ten years.  It is our devout hope
that within that time you will have found your way out of the house where you
are being placed and into a better life.  Clearly, with so many uncertainties,
we can have no great confidence in the full period of its activity.  If you
are within the period and feel you are barren, please don't give up hope.
Although you are still very young, our doctors assure your mother and me you
will bear children very easily.

My darling, there are only three final notes.  The first is, in spite of what
the scientists want, I must tell you if you wish to know what your mother
looks like, just look in a mirror.  She is the loveliest woman I have ever
seen, and you will look exactly like her.  The second -- and your mother
insists I tell you this -- is the likelihood you will find a mate to whom you
will give your whole heart and soul.

Kathy stopped reading for a moment to dry her eyes.  The tears were running so
much she could no longer read the writing.  'Mom, you sure got that one
right,' she thought, reflecting on her adoration of Ken.  'Darling,' she
thought, 'Mother's right!  It *is* my whole heart and soul.'  She dried her
eyes on the bed sheet and went back to the letter, a letter with answers she
thought she would never learn.

...The third is you have a baby sister, Susan.  We hope we will be granted
enough time to send her after you, but we don't know.  Kathy, you are sixteen
years old in Earth time as we send you.  You will remember nothing of your
past life.  You will feel you were always in the house.  We pray that we're
granted the time to send Susan.  We cannot send her before she's about
fourteen, and she's only six now.  If you ever meet her, you will know her.

Finally, darling, the reason for all of this: Our people face extinction.  We
hope you -- and your sister, if we last long enough -- will be able to have
children on Earth.  You carry the very best of our gene pool.  In your
children, you will carry on, at least in a small way, our people.  We have
reason to believe our genes may be dominant.  From what we understand, you
will be considered to be as beautiful where you are going as your mother is
considered to be here.

Darling, we pray for you.  You have all the love your parents can bestow.  We
hope that it may be enough.

This paper will destroy itself in less than thirty minutes.  It could be
analyzed, and we do not wish it to be.

We love you, darling Kathy --

				Mom and Dad

Of course Susan was her sister.  Who else could she be?  And she had made it
away from the place in time.  Tears flowed from her eyes, thinking of her
parents who loved her.  Minutes later the paper disappeared before her eyes.

Just then a nurse appeared with a tiny bundle.  "It's feeding time, Mrs.
Stark," the nurse said, carefully handling her the small bundle.  Kathy held
the bundle in one arm while she opened her pajama top to expose a milk-laden
breast.  She looked at the tiny baby and watched his hands wave.  His eyes had
not yet focused.  When she gently put her nipple in his mouth and watched him
feed hungrily, Kathy found the sensation marvelous as the newborn nursed at
her breast.

"Hello, Darling.  You're a lovely addition to Earth's gene pool," she said
softly.

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