A Mistake To Remember Chapter 6 free porn video

Chapter 6: My new home was in Farnham, and my new name was Blanche, the woman in "A Streetcar Named Desire" who "depended on the kindness of strangers" -- one of Harry's little jokes. Farnham was a closed community of isolated houses built around the side of a mountain. Started in the 50's by a group of survivalists, it expanded through the years to include anti-government types, libertarians, and people who wanted to be left alone. Farnham was an ideal setting for it: a single main road a dozen miles long wound its way to the bottom, and real civilization began fifty miles away. The center of town was compact, with a few businesses, a modest grocery store, two small schools, a mayor that doubled as a carpenter, and a Police Chief that everyone called Fred. Besides keeping house for Harry and raising Larissa and Karen, I volunteered at the local church's day care center. Harry Tobias, my boss, shaved his sideburns as if he were still in the Marines. At forty-six, he was more comfortable outside in a flannel shirt chopping wood than at the local high school, where he taught history and algebra. He'd been divorced a half-dozen years, and had lived alone since his son had moved away to go to college, leaving us plenty of room in that wonderful redwood house Harry had built overlooking a mountain range. I spent most of my free time at night with the hard drives I'd taken from the estate. It was mainly a matter of looking for patterns. I found the sector and track markers easily. The Atlanteans used roughly the same error checking we did, encoding the data in triplicate, although it took me months to figure out exactly how to read it. Atlantean characters, like ours, were also based on eight bits, but it was impossible to tell what character set they were using. It hardly needed a Rosetta Stone, though. I used the ASCII set and plugged in Atlantian characters, shifting them around by frequency and usage, until it made sense. It took me another two months to crack the image formatting. But one night in early November, after I put the girls to bed, I ran my translation program on the first file from the first tube I copied, the Atlantean classics, and the screen came to life with a story that hadn't been seen in 4,500 years. "The Opal and the Tiger" was the story of Pyrtis, a singer described in the first paragraph as "a lovely young woman of a hundred and twenty, with honey-hair and cerulean eyes, who preferred flowing garments of serpentine colors, and who dwelled in the Philosopher's quarter of the eastern city of Haryn." I cried when I read the ancient words, and dashed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Crafted by a master-storyteller about the time the first pyramid at Giza was built, "The Opal and the Tiger" spanned five decades set in an age perhaps a thousand years before Atlantis fell. In its simplest form, it was a love story: Pyrtis captured the heart of a dashing prince, but ultimately fell in love with a sea captain she had known as a boy and thought lost for over a century. That was a poor gist of an epic adventure in the background of a wondrously strange society now forever lost to time, a place of dangerous games; intricate obligations to family, clan, and class; a tenth-year festival that enveloped the entire island empire in a month- long party; eccentric public sages; steam-powered airships; telephones; and monorails. I didn't need the coffee to stay awake. The tale swept me through back stabbing, blood feuds, loyal friends, bravery, selfless honor, and betrayal. I finished it at three in the morning, when Pyrtis accepted the silver matrimonial brooch, knelt and joyfully pledged her troth- bond to the handsome Jaset G'Fal, immediately after the heroic captain rescued her from a plot to invest her as a priestess-concubine to the infamous Templer of Isa. By the Gods! It was fiction, and set over 5,000 years in the past, but I could relate to Pyrtis. I had mainly saved myself from the family, but the plot resonated within a girlish part of me, a part that came from who-knows-where. Pyrtis was a lucky woman, and I wouldn't have minded a rescue from the right man. I fell asleep, clinging to my pillow, dreaming of a brave man's arms. The next evening, as usual, I finished washing the dishes and put Larissa and Karen to bed. Harry was in the living room watching the late news. We had a complex relationship. He was gruff, taciturn sometimes, and hard to know, but, like psoriasis, he grew on you. Harry was no saint; he would have taken me to bed in the blink of an eye if I'd offered, but he refused to give in to temptation and try for me for three reasons: first, I was younger than his son, or so he thought; second, he had an on and off relationship with another teacher at the high school that often made him unavailable; and third, and most importantly, because he had told me that sleeping with him wasn't part of the job, and with Harry, a man's word was everything. I went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of brews, and walked into the living room. I sat down on the couch by his side and handed one of them to him. "This is on me," I said. "Thanks," he said. Already, he shifted uncomfortably. I knew how he felt. I'd been the same way around Modesty and Su Mi. It pleased me then to be my shape and size, and that he liked me that way. Normally, I wouldn't tease him because I respected him too much, but tonight, I decided, matters between us would change. "Harry, I've been here a year, and you've been incredibly patient with me. I think it's about time that I told you what happened." He turned to me. "I won't pressure you. It's your business, Blanche." That was pure Harry, militant libertarian to the core. "Well ... I owe it to you." "Can't say that I disagree. When a man rescues a woman, he generally wants to know why, but you've been holding it in a long time. If it's that bad, maybe you should be telling a woman." "Thanks for the thought, but it's not that sort of thing. I'll tell you what I can. They call themselves the family. They have a genetic defect that produces only boys, which sets up an interesting dynamic. With no daughters, all the women in the family are outsiders, and the family is very male-oriented. I'll be straight with you: the men didn't physically abuse us, and they have ways to keep their women happy, but we weren't free to leave." He furrowed his brow. "You had girls." "It was unprecedented. Because of that, they gave me special treatment. They started making plans for my daughters. I escaped with them as soon I could. I was lucky to find out about the tracker before I left, else I wouldn't have made it." "That's an insane story, but so's getting a bug in your butt. If half of that's true, then they deserve whatever they get. Is that all of it?" "That's the essence. They're fabulously wealthy, but like to be left alone. For now, I think it's best to leave them that way." "You said, 'for now'." "That project I'm working on has something that could burn them, and I had a breakthrough on it last night. One day, in six months or a year, I'll finish it. When I do, I'll leave, and you'll have my eternal thanks. But in the meantime..." "Yes?" I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I'm older than I look; I'm actually twenty-nine. I know that you broke up with Sarah two nights ago. I like you a hell of a lot, Harry, and I haven't had a man in an entire friggin' year." It is said that Marines "adapt and overcome". I was pleased to discover that this is true. *** It was a year before I was ready to leave Montana. In the meantime, a young woman I knew, a daughter of one of Harry's closest friends, died in a hiking accident in the mountains. Her name was Constance MacGilvra, and she was just nineteen. After Harry talked to her parents, they decided that some good could come of their daughter's death. Instead of reporting her death to the authorities, they buried her in a beautiful place overlooking the mountains that she had loved. Only her parents, Harry and I were there. Immediately afterwards, the dead girl's mother gave me Constance's birth certificate, social security number, and driver's license. I wept at their trust in me. I promised them both that as long as I was Constance, I wouldn't ruin her good name. It would have been too much to ask that I looked like her. The real Constance only vaguely resembled me. She was three inches shorter, stockier, had black hair and brown eyes. I dyed my hair and put in brown contacts, and Constance's mother somehow conned the man at the DMV into accepting that I had lost weight, grown a couple of inches, had a nose job and a face lift. On our last night together, Harry asked me, "Will you ever come back?" I had been dreading the question for weeks. "Harry, I --" "I know you have to do what you have to do. Just tell me straight if I'll ever see you again." "Harry, I really like you, but don't count on me coming back." It hurt him, but a lie would have been worse. He wouldn't have believed that I was thirty at all except that I remembered certain television commercials, and I could pass for twenty with the right make-up. In five years he would be fifty-three, and I would be three months older. If we'd met then, he would have known, and that would have been pure cruelty. Harry was a decent man, a keeper for someone, but not for me. I drove down in the early morning in my ten year-old Blazer, stopping at a hotel outside Boulder after a thirteen-hour drive. The next day I bought a day for Larissa and Karen at a local day care center, drove to the University, and walked to a particular office. I adjusted my business skirt, and knocked on the door, announcing myself. I opened the door enough to peek my head inside. I recognized the sandy-haired man from his faculty photograph. The portly academic was pouring himself some coffee. "Professor Price? I made an appointment a few days ago." His demeanor was friendly but wary; the look of a man who had seen too much horse manure. "Yes, you're the mysterious Vulnavia who emailed me, an allusion to the horror movie and my name. I have a sense of humor, or I wouldn't have given you five minutes. Are you a student? I expected someone older." I reached for the file from my briefcase. "You're a dozen years older than I am, Professor." I put down two wire-bound documents on his desk. "It's taken me two years to translate this. These are basic and intermediate texts on cellular biology. If you examine it, you'll see that the authors took it in an entirely different direction from what you're used to. I have gigabytes more of more advanced material." He smiled at me, more or less, skepticism wrapped in tolerance. "A translation, you say, and this isn't exactly the normal channel to submit a peer review. Are you a biologist?" "No. A good deal of this is out of my depth." "Then how could you possibly translate it?" "With a lot of hard work, a translation program, and a comprehensive glossary of terms. Skip the academic quiz for the moment. I know how it sounds, but I'd like you to look at it. It's important enough that I'd sleep with you if that's what it takes." His eyebrows jumped like toads at that, then he decided I was joking. "Thank you for your potential sacrifice, but I'm married. Your current state of chastity will remain as is. Why so circumspect? What do you desire in return, recognition, fortune?" "For me? Anonymity. For the knowledge it contains, everything. Before I go into how and where I obtained it, I merely ask that you examine it on its merits." He nodded slowly as he chewed it over. "Intriguing. In the interest of pure science, then, I will disregard the nature of its appearance and have a look, at least the first page or two." The professor was giving me the impression that he was doing me some grand favor. "Wonderful, Professor. Don't take too long, though, or I'll ask for it back and give it to someone else who really will look at it." "Hmm. Why do I have the feeling that you're the one evaluating me?" "Because I am. I chose you for your reputation for integrity, but you're not the only one on my list." "You really aren't a student, are you, 'Vulnavia'?" "No." Professor Price called back a couple of days later, wanting to see more. I showed him a list of two-dozen topics, of which he selected two. A week later he called me into his office again. He offered me a seat and a cup of fresh morning coffee, then began to roam the confines of his office. "I'm nearly convinced that this isn't a hoax," he said after a dramatic pause. "They're like textbooks from a future vastly ahead of us in what we like to think of as leading-edge gene manipulation. What you've given me so far is enough to create dozens of research grants. You must tell me how you came by it, and give me the rest." "Well then, let me tell you a story." I repeated what Evalyn had told me about Atlantis without mentioning the Mengstroms. "Atlantis," he said, chuckling, "Well, at this point, I don't care where you say you got it from, a legendary civilization or flying monkeys. Have you actually seen this tree the documents mention, or do you think that it's a fanciful myth?" "I was inside one of its pods for three months, and it did precisely what it was designed to do. I have a few of its seeds right here. To me, they look like giant walnuts, but I'm sure that a competent botanist would know the difference." I reached into my purse and handed one to him. "If the records are correct, you should be able to plant it, and in the right soil, it will grow into a duplicate of the original. I'll also give you a sample of my blood." He examined the seed for a moment, then put it on his desk. "Your blood would be fastest. Knowing what genetic markers to look for, we could resolve this this afternoon." After the blood test, we returned to his office to wait for the results. Presently, he took a phone call and brought up the report on his computer. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, looking at me, balancing my wild claims with the evidence. "Good Lord," he said finally, "the implications if all this is true." "You've seen enough, I think." And now for The Question: "Professor! If you had the power to extend life, what would you do?" He blinked at my tone, surprised. "Why, I'd give it away, of course." The light of understanding flickered in his eyes. "So that's where you're going with this ... and why you came to me instead of going to the usual authorities. It's a sticky problem requiring great trust, isn't it?" "I don't trust anyone completely, including you. There will be conditions. The goal must be longevity for humanity; it must be accomplished as quickly as possible without any leaks; and I have to be kept informed of your progress. I'll be all over this project like fleas on a mutt's butt." "If that's the requirement," he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement, "then you, 'Vulnavia,' shall be my personal assistant." "Say, what?" "I believe we have similar goals, and I have nothing to hide. As my assistant, you would be at the center of everything that goes on. No one would know your identity except me. Since you don't have a suitable degree, you must earn one, but you can work alongside me as you go along." "That's impossible." "You're intelligent enough, and I have the contacts to get you into a proper biochemistry program." "Professor, I can't do it. I have two small girls, three and two." "I commend your spirit, but I'm independently wealthy. I have a sizable ranch with a guest house outside of Boulder. It's private, and it would be my pleasure to make living arrangements for you and your children." It wasn't what I'd planned, but I couldn't think of a good reason to say no -- and there were a few reasons to say yes. Biochemistry wasn't my field of choice, but I had centuries to live and intended to learn something along the way. Plus, the hard sciences were loaded with guys. "I accept, Professor," I said, and we shook hands. "And please call me Connie." The professor's ranch was large enough that the main house and the guest house were out of sight of each other. His wife, Evaliina, was an accomplished cellist from Finland who had led a glamorous life before settling down in her early thirties. I knew her slightly. She knew my relationship as her husband's assistant, of course, and surprised me a few times at home, I think to see if I was anything more, but she wasn't really a jealous woman. Steven, her husband's first name, and the one she always used when referring to him, wasn't the most attractive man. He was slightly above average height, but heavy around the middle, a little like Big Bird on Sesame Street. The professor had been good-looking in his youth, but a knee injury in high school had made him sedentary. Evaliina deemed her husband "safe," not the sort a pretty woman in her early twenties would consider. Evaliina was correct. I respected Professor Price more than I let on, but we kept a professional divide, and he was always faithful to Evaliina. The few men in my life, by contrast, I chose to be temporary. I didn't see anyone except seniors and graduate students, those who wouldn't be in the university the next year, and I never brought them home. One day, just before I started my junior year, when the project was in full swing, we were in the guest house together. I handed Professor Price a manila packet, explaining, "Professor, please open this only if I suddenly go missing." He held it in his hands, turning it over and bending it as if he could divine the contents by touch. "Does this concern the group you told me about some time ago, using the vaguest possible terms?" "Yes. This is only a precaution, but ...." I glanced towards Larissa and Karen, who were playing in the corner. "They would do you, or your children harm?" he asked, as serious as I'd ever seen him. "They would do us harm if they knew where we were. I don't think opening this will become necessary. My identity here should be ironclad, but there's a remote possibility that they might find me." "Thank you for trusting me, Connie. I sincerely hope that I never have to open this." I had to smile; his expression was so grim. "Professor, you look like the Pope in a San Francisco bath house. Lighten up! It's like flight insurance -- it never pays off." *** Professor Price's team never numbered more than thirty worldwide, but he selected for brilliance as well as discretion. Regardless, it took a few years before they learned the new concepts and developed the appropriate tools to duplicate the ancients' achievements. In the meantime, the professor used one of the seeds to grow a tree in a greenhouse on his ranch. With the proper fertilizers, the tree grew swiftly, in a few years threatening the glass walls. A biologist in his fifties on the project, who had always had a secret desire to be a woman, couldn't resist temptation. He left us a note, then stripped and entered one of the pods, emerging three months later as a fairly pretty young woman. Cellular analysis showed that because she had entered the pod so late in life, she would "only" live another hundred fifty to two hundred years, and age a maximum of ten. Professor Price was door-kicking furious, and gave the new woman an earful for risking her life and the project's secrecy, for we had to find a way to conceal the former man's "disappearance," but her joy was infectious, and it was a morale boost, for it demonstrated beyond any doubt that long life was possible. Eight years years after we started, the team created its first tree, a duplicate of the male to female tree we already had. The first run through the pod was a member of the Mexican Mafia, where the black hand mark he bore could have only been obtained by killing someone. We took her from the pod unconscious, a short Hispanic woman, and dressed her. After a few tests, she was pushed out of a van onto a street in Ciudad Juarez, bewildered and terrified. We partied that night like there was no tomorrow, which was exactly the opposite of the truth. From there, it was a relatively short step to create trees that would lengthen life for men and women. Working feverishly, the team did it in a month, shipped the seeds to several locations around the world, and planted them in fresh soil. After that it was mostly a matter of waiting for them to grow. Towards the end of that last summer, I used the opportunity to take the kids to Florida for a three-day vacation. By that time I was using make-up to make me look older. Both Larissa and Karen had grown embarrassingly large for a mother in her early to mid-twenties. On our last day there, while Larissa and Karen were on the beach, I went to my room at the hotel, changed into a blonde wig, washed off the makeup that made me look older, and took out my brown contacts. Then I brought my laptop down to the hotel lounge, a Wi-Fi hot spot, and set up a call. David answered Leonard's old number. I had expected that it would be still active, kept open just in case I called. "Hello, David," I said. He made a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like something that could pass for a smile. "Charlene, I'm glad that you're still alive. How are Larissa and Karen?" "Thanks. The kids are fine. Honestly, I would love to catch up on the old days, but I'm sure that you're tracing this connection. Rest assured, I won't stay around long enough for anyone to get here. Could you put me through to Leonard or whatever her new name is?" "Hold on a moment." David disappeared. About a minute later, a young woman about my age popped onto the screen. Leonard wore her blonde hair short, about halfway to her collar. She was tan and looked athletic, and wore just a hint of make-up. She was as much handsome as pretty, and with that rack, no one would say that she was anything but female. "I see you've finally decided to call," she said, as cold and pleasant as an ice cream headache. "You have a lot of nerve. Not calling is called self-preservation. You know, you make an attractive woman, Leonard. Oh! I'm sorry; I don't know your new name. Is it Molly, Francine? Owa is it somethin' lahk Peggy Sue, since y'all are livin' in the Sa-outh." "It's Diana," she said through clenched teeth. Her red-faced anger cooled my jets a little. "Diana. All right, time for some straight talk. I don't regret pushing that old bastard Henry into the pod, but I don't feel as right about doing it to you -- at least you tried to make my last days more meaningful than 'squeeze 'em out once a year.' But you will forgive me for not feeling too badly. Damn it, Diana! A husband isn't supposed to hide plots to kill his wife, he's supposed to save her from them!" She snatched up her hand, palm facing me. "Now wait! I don't blame you for running, knowing what you knew, but you could have trusted me. I wouldn't have let you die." Diana may have believed it now, but I didn't. Leonard had shown me nothing while we were married, and that old dog called trust wasn't going to get off its ass today. "All right! Believe whatever you want," she said when she saw I wasn't buying it. "Are Larissa and Karen all right?" At least that was a safe subject. I had no qualms about talking about the kids with her. Diana lapped it up like honey, and asked questions that meant she'd been thinking about them for years. I lost track of the time until the first warning timer on my screen flashed. I clicked it off. I said, "I haven't said anything to the kids about us except that we were divorced, so you're an open slate to them. I can't be specific now, but someday soon, I hope, I expect you'll be able to see them in person. How are you getting along? Are you married, seeing anyone?" Her laugh had a harsh edge to it. "You know how the family is. The men have no idea what to do with me. The wives are just as bad. I'm not really one of them, am I?" "I guess not. What about your mother? Has Evalyn helped you adjust?" "She doesn't understand," she said in a controlled voice. "I believe I do." Diana's eyes flashed anger. "I am not making fun of you." I said. "I didn't want to be a woman either. We could talk about it if you'd like." She considered me before replying. "After you escaped with the children, we had a very close look at your wake-up recording. You say we made a mistake. Maybe, but you managed well enough. Don't presume to think that your circumstances and mine are the same." "Well, yeah, the family was behind me all the way. There was always that lovely encouragement following me around, drugs to warp my brain or a swift death if I didn't measure up. You think I didn't have sufficient incentive to become a passable woman?" "Regardless of what you say, it's not --" "I agree. I'm not saying it's the same, but ... Diana, there was another factor, a major one: You were a hell of a lover. That may be a key for you, too. If you haven't tried it already, you should. There's nothing like a man between your legs to help put it in perspective." "Charlene," she said evenly, "I'm not going to be your girl friend, and I'm not going to talk about guys and getting fucked!" I raised my hands in protest. "All right, that might be too weird, but I'm not your enemy. If it's possible, I'd like a clean slate between us, and then we could go from there. I'd like to help you out if I can. By the way, is Henry still alive?" "She lives, and becoming Henrietta was no improvement." That, I could imagine. The screen started blinking red, the final warning. "I have to go now before your family comes here and tries to kill me, but I'll write you from time to time." "Thank you for that. Goodbye, Charlene." "Bye," I said, and shut down the laptop. After I became Connie again, I stopped by the beach to recover the kids. Both were on beach towels on their stomachs, somnolent blonde lizards soaking up the mid-afternoon rays. Now that I'd seen Diana, I could see the resemblance to Larissa. Larissa, at thirteen, was filling out rapidly. She liked boys, but wasn't quite sure what to do with them except to try out the budding equipment. Karen was a little shorter, her hair lighter, but there was too much resemblance between them for them to be anything else but sisters. Larissa and Karen, the only pure blood Atlanteans on Earth. In another decade, their aging would slow to a crawl, and they would live for several centuries, although neither of them knew it yet. "Come on, girls, let's take a quick shower and then we go." Larissa raised her head, and opened her mouth, about to say something about staying longer. "School, remember?" I said. "Get ready; it's a long drive." She rose to her feet and stretched. "Well, how about we stop to get something to eat?" "We'll have dinner at the border. Make sure that you and your sister are ready in twenty minutes. That's when I'm checking us out." Not far out of Panama City we slowed to a bumper to bumper creep. According to the traffic report, a rig had jackknifed up ahead, backing up traffic for twenty miles. It made an hour trip to I-10 take three hours. I didn't think that it was that important. I'd figured on a leisurely evening before turning in the car and boarding our plane in Mobile. It was just going to be more rushed than usual. I made a call to a team number to check in and explain what was going on. Once across the line into Mississippi, I looked for the nearest buffet. The girls by then were moaning and gasping in the back seat as if they were starving to death. It was getting dark by then and it was darker still when we'd had our fill at the all-you-can-eat trough. We never made it back to our rental. Three men leaped out from behind parked cars, so fast I didn't have a chance to move more than a step. One heavy mitt pressed a cloth over my mouth so I couldn't scream, and lifted me off my feet, so all I could do thrash around like a chicken. I heard Karen cry out in pain. A needle stabbed my arm, stinging like fire as the contents spread, and then all the strength in my limbs drained away like yesterday's bathwater. The men carried my girls, now limp as over-cooked spaghetti, into a nearby van. Whoever had a hold of me propped me up in the rear corner. Whatever drug they'd used kept my brain a dozen or so IQ points higher than a fern, and I had to force myself to stay awake. The three men were family guards; the one in front of me was David. I lolled my head towards the front of the van, where a blonde babe sat in the passenger side. She looked back at me and leered in a way that mocked her feminine features. This was so wrong! What they were doing was a waste, a stupid, useless waste! I leaked tears. David lifted my face and wiped them away. "You'll want to know how we caught you," he said. "It wasn't anything you did. There are dozens of ways out of Florida. We picked a place and waited. It was just your bad luck." David looked sympathetic, but as an indicator of what was to come, it only made it worse. I gave up fighting and passed out. The prick of a needle brought me around. As my sight cleared, I first noticed that I wore a plain brown dress, like something from a women's prison. Shaking my head and blinking my eyes, I made out what was around me. I was bound into a chair in the council chambers. The council sat behind the desk in front of me, with Diana to the side. David and another guard flanked my chair, although I couldn't see a point to it, I wasn't going anywhere. "Charlene," the-woman-who-had-been-Henry enunciated with a satisfied smile. Henrietta made a mockery of her incredible beauty. The ex-man too obviously despised herself -- and me. There was nothing I could do about that. I looked to the others in the room. "You're making an enormous mistake. The reasons you needed me and my children are as obsolete as a Brontosaurus." "Let's get this over with," Henrietta said, and the oldest woman in the world flicked her wrist towards the guard with the needle and then extended her elegant finger at me. "No!" I knew better than to appeal to her, and glared at the rest of the council, willing them to believe. "Please, you have to listen to me! You must know by now that I took a few seeds from the tree. I also took hard drives with the Atlantian data from the cylinders. I translated the science and gave it to a team of biologists. We made another tree! We've made trees that give men and women the same life spans as Elowin. Soon everyone will live as long as the family. You can blend in! You don't need my daughters or me anymore! Don't do this!" "You may inject her, now," Henrietta said. The council member to Henrietta's right, Sergei, placed his hand on her forearm. "A moment, if you don't mind. I want to hear what she has to say." Henrietta winced at his touch, the contrast of a man's hand on her soft woman's skin, no doubt. "She's only trying to delay us, " she said in controlled fury. "She'll say anything at this point to save herself." "Nevertheless. I'd like to hear what she has to say before her mind is dimmed under the drug." I didn't wait to be asked. I told them everything. I wasn't selling the team out. They had contingency plans for this, and I wouldn't have been able to hide it anyway; the drug would have had me spilling everything I knew with hearts and flowers attached. They asked me a few questions; I answered. And I pleaded with them, always aware of the needle only a few inches away: "Don't you see? There's no need to use me anymore!" Henrietta shrugged, as if it were all a tedious exercise. "It's all a ridiculous lie. The decision has been made. Drug her now." The guard stabbed me with the needle, and squeezed. "You stupid bastards! My kids will hate you for doing this to me. Damn you, you old bitch, I've never seen anyone who needs to be fucked more than you do!" Henrietta collected her hands together in glorious anticipation, and smiled. "We're going to mold you, Charlene. When we're through with you, you'll beg us to impregnate you every year, and you'll worship me -- and the council -- from your knees. We'll be using your daughters, too. Girls their age are so pliable. Add a mother figure and a pair of loving, sympathetic boyfriends with a hundred years of experience, and they'll do exactly what we want. Larissa can begin having children immediately. Karen may have to wait a year. But in the end, our plan will be kept." "F ... Fuck you, you..." I gasped. The fog was already pushing everything that I was into the background, suppressing the part of my brain that processed information critically, so that I would believe any perverse thing they wanted me to. I could still feel horror. I fought for control, but it was like battling smoke. "Charlene," Henrietta said, her blue eyes aflame with the fire of the beast. "Yes," my body responded, without thought or will. In the smallest corner of my mind, I shrieked. I struggled to move, cry, anything. While I still could, I wailed inside for my children, because the next few words would destroy me! "Charlene, listen closely..." ~No! Please, no!~