Anzu James Naked in OrbitChapter 3 Monday School
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Anzu James: Naked In OrbitChapter 13: Saturday, Holly-Con free porn video
I'm sparring with Botilda, and I'm beating her. Badly. I can tell she isn't really trying.
Then I'm sparring with Bret. I didn't even know he knew veegeewushu. But he does, and he's good. But I find I'm beating him even worse than Botilda. It's like he's throwing the match.
And then it's back to Botilda, and I know she's throwing the match, and worse than she has to. I suddenly realize that each is trying to get beaten worse than the other. What the hell?
I woke up. It was at least seven o'clock; I could tell by the light coming through my curtains. But it wasn't nine yet, because my clock was set to go off at nine. Maybe I should get up now, and have a head start on the day.
At the exact moment I thought of this, the clock started singing to me. There was a bit of introductory music, and then:
"Who can say,Where the road goes,
Where the day flows,
Only time.
And who can say,
If your love grows,
As your heart chose,
Only time."
I turned it off. Then I turned it back on. This song was beautiful, but the lyrics bothered me. Also, this song was utterly different than anything else I'd woken up to this week. The singer, Enya, sounded nothing like what I would have expected.
When it was over, I headed into the bathroom. I did my business, showered, and freshened the shave. Stubble wouldn't be attractive, so I would have to shave today, tomorrow, and Monday morning. If I wanted to grow it back I needed to do it when I could keep my bald pussy behind cloth until it was a furry pussy again. In fact, I might want to shave it again later today; I'd noticed a bit of stubble last night. I was going to be dancing around strobes tonight, and I wanted to look good. I took my sweet time about it, because I wasn't supposed to meet Botilda and Rashida until eleven.
I took a headache pill, not the one I usually take but one that wouldn't interact with anything later, and started memorizing my list. There were about two dozen names altogether, though I already knew sixteen of them. So it didn't take me as long as you might think to put sixteen names I knew and eight I didn't together into a list. When I was sure I had it down, I went down to breakfast.
"Hey," Mom called out, "You figured out how to do your lights?"
"Lights!" How could I have forgotten? I called up the Program counselor, and got an automated system. Fortunately, today's automated systems can actually help you when you call in. It still took nearly ten minutes to resolve my question where I'm sure a live human being could have handled it in three, but as Susan kept reminding me, human intelligence is more than processing speed. It hadn't taken this long to confirm that the Program was going to be in effect at the Constellation, and that yes, it still applied to me while attending the con there.
"Lighting issue for tonight's dance: solved," I told Mom, and Dad rolled his eyes. Hey, with the way people danced in the 2080s, he's got nothing to complain about the way my generation does it.
Since breakfast was so late, and since Mom and Dad had already eaten, I just had a Granny Smith apple and some iced tea. I recited my list, twice, and found that I had to check it. Both times. Ah well, so I'd have to practice a little on the david over to the Constellation. Half an hour should be long enough, if Botilda and Rashida will either keep quiet or let me practice on them.
Just before eleven, I headed out the door, with Mom asking me to take it easy with the psychtives. I always do, so I don't know what she's so worried about. I met up with the other two girls at Perpetual Pizza Pi, because that's where Botilda's bicycle was, and oh by the way mine too. With what they were wearing, they were likely to draw as much attention as I would.
Rashida was wearing a long white dress and had her blond hair done up in a style that would have been fashionable in the Fifties. The Ninteen Fifties. It wasn't hard to place her as Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch, 1955. Of course, the dark skin didn't match Marilyn, nor to be nitpicky did the golden hair (Marilyn had been platinum in TSYI). I have to say, though: she's got the figure for it.
Botilda was even more conspicuous. Her already fair skin was whitened, her black hair arraigned above her head in a sort of frizzy beehive, with white hair starting at each temple and going in a wave to the top. She had stitches where her face joined her neck, around each ear, and as she waved I saw that she had them on her wrists as well. What she was wearing looked like a combination of a mummy's wrappings and a bed sheet. Even today, many would recognize her as the Bride of Frankenstein, from the 1935 film of the same name. Elsa Lanchester, who played both the Bride and Mary Shelly in the picture, wasn't Chinese, but with all the whitening and hair and stitches it hardly mattered. Like Lanchester, in make-up Botilda was both ghastly and yet strangely attractive.
"Hey," Rashida yelled, "check this out."
The blonde girl smiled big and exclaimed, in a not-too-bad imitation of the original, "Oh! do you feel the breeze from the subway? Isn't it delicious?" At this point her dress began to rise and swirl about her knees and thighs, as if blown upward by a breeze.
"My quote's a little easier," Botilda chuckled, turning her head to the side and looking up. "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"
Rashida and I chuckled at that. The three of us had watched Bride just last month.
"So who are you supposed to be?" my girlfriend added, looking me over with undisguised lust.
"Give me half of the trip to study," I requested, "and then ask me again."
With that, we were off to the axis where we would catch the david to the Constellation, the Space hotel where the con was being held.
I called it a hotel for you, but we call it a ship and really it is more like a cruise ship than a land-locked hotel. It was a lot smaller than a habitat, but a whole lot bigger than anything put into Space in your time. With seven hundred suites, it's far from the biggest hotel ship, but it was big enough for Holly-Con, which generally has about nine thousand attendees, most of whom do not stay overnight. Botilda and I were staying overnight: another Sapphic weekend. Rashida would return home any time from eleven tonight to two in the morning, depending on whether she wanted to go to the rave. I suspected she would dance, though.
There was the bike ride up towards the axis, the whole tilting thing with Coriolis, and the flying dismount. From there we continued to walk, passing one of the spokes on the way. Spokes don't show inside Mendocino, except where you come across an entry. These spokes connect the Ag Rings to the main habitat. Since they are connected at the 38° point, you could only get to the rings themselves by entering an elevator, of which the five metre diameter spoke contained four. I suddenly had a wild idea and, checking my cell, I saw that we had time.
"I want to visit Ring Five," I announced. They both looked at me like I had lost my mind, and I probably had, with what I had in mind. But they agreed and we were soon descending to the Ag Rings. Not more than a minute after that, we were standing at the entrance to Ring Five Park.
The twelve Ag Rings are separated from the main habitat, but are attached to it. These rotate with the habitat and are the same distance from the axis, and they thus have the same "gravity" as Mendocino proper. The whole separation thing is to keep any pathogen which originates or evolves in the rings from moving into the habitat, and to keep any nasties from the habitat from moving into the rings. In fact, this is one reason the rings are separated from each other: to contain possible pathogens. This also makes it easy to maintain separate climates in the different rings, which is useful for making sure everything is always in season.
Or, in the case of Ring Five, for having a winter park attached to a tropical habitat. Now of course there's High Vail and other dedicated winter wonderland resort habitats; we have a vacation home in High Vail. But it takes at least three hours to get from Mendocino Island to High Vail, and Ring Five is attached to Mendocino. So if you want a winter vacation, yeah, go to a dedicated winter wonderland resort habitat. If you just suddenly get a crazy idea that needs snow and you're strapped for time, go to Ring Five.
"Hello, Program girl," the attendant chirped. She was my age, and so I knew that this was just a weekend job. Teens get stuck with the jobs that pay almost nothing but either can't be automated or customers just like a human face to look at. And to tell the truth, most simple jobs are automated. Teens don't flip burgers at McDonald's anymore, though they do greet customers.
"So," she continued, "are you here looking for an excuse to get dressed, or to run naked in the snow?"
"Run naked in the snow," I answered.
Rashida whipped her head around and stared at me. Botilda laughed out loud.
"I knew it!"
I had to ask the attendant a question. "So, do a lot of Program participants come here to run naked in the snow?"
"Yeah," she answered, "but you always get a few who realize that nobody's gotten around to banning them from Ring Five, and of course they are allowed to wear protective equipment, and here than means the whole bod."
"By the way," she added, "I've gotten used to seeing naked Program kids here, but I never expected to meet the Bride of Frankenstein and ... who are you? I know I've seen you someplace."
"Marilyn Monroe," Rashida stated, in her passable imitation. Then she demonstrated her dress.
"Cool," the attendant smiled. "Now, we're not allowed to let the nekkid chick stay in the cold for more than five minutes, so enjoy. And enjoy the con too. Maybe I'll go some day."
As she spoke she was swinging open the door that led into the entrance chamber. This was a toned-down version of the airlocks which we use to get into Space. It didn't have to be vacuum-safe, it just had to keep the cold air in and the warm air out. I believe they were already in use in your time for restaurants and such.
The three of us stepped in, and I did put on a pair of snow boots. Cold air is one thing; direct foot/snow contact is another. I don't really know why I wanted to do this, but I did. Standing at the doorway, I looked at the fluffy white snow, with all the tracks in it. I looked at the pine trees, with the branches frosted with white.
As I swung the door open, the cold air hit me with a shock. It had been a bit cool for my liking in the entrance chamber, but this was biting. We walked in and I took a couple of deep breaths, and could feel them all the way down into my lungs. My nipples hardened up so much it actually hurt a little. I hadn't been aware that I was a bit moist between the legs, but as soon as that cold breeze hit the moist skin, I was aware of it, all right. Well, I was going to do this or I wasn't.
I did. I ran fast and felt snowflakes landing on my goose-bumped flesh. They melted away, and I felt the chill of the air more than before. I probably didn't run more than twenty metres when I turned around, waved at my friends, and sprinted back to them.
But just before I got there, I pulled off the boots, fell back, and shrieked as the entire back of my body came into contact with the snow. As Botilda and Rashida gaped in disbelief, I moved my arms and legs, making a snow angel. I giggled and squealed as snow fell across my tits, and shrieked as more snow bunched up in my crotch. Bbbrrrrr!!
When I stood up and rejoined the other two women, I was shivering. I picked up the boots and jogged back to the chamber, and heard a few cheers from other park-goers. I returned the boots to the attendant, th-th-th-thanked her, and she directed me to what she called a "hot air shower."
I knew about these machines: they were used when somebody at Ring Five Park became chilled and needed to be brought back up to normal body temperature. They were similar to the hot air blowers that are used in restrooms to dry hands. In fact, those were already in use back in your day. The hot air showers were located in a locker room, because to be effective the person being warmed up had to be nude. Well, no need for such privacy when the chilled person is a Program participant! Nope, the new hot air shower was right in the entrance chamber, where the nude warmee could be seen by all. The attendant told me that these had been put in place last month, when it became obvious that nude snow runs were going to be a permanent addition to Mendocino life.
"You," Botilda announced as I stepped onto the grating, "are one crazy messed up little girl!"
"I, I, I'm hardly a little g, g, g, girl!" I stammered, giving my boobs a Desdemona shimmy for emphasis. A clump of snow fell off the left one and splatted on the grate. They laughed at me, but then I was laughing too.
Then the hot air started. It was gentle, not a blast, and hotter than outside. I thought maybe it only seemed that way, since I was so cold, but since then I've looked it up and these things are above body temperature, about 40°. That's Celsius, not Fahrenheit; it was about 104° Fahrenheit. See, I was nice enough to convert for you. This makes sense, actually, since the whole point is to get the body to a regular temperature.
I shivered and giggled for the first couple of minutes. The air would blow upward from the floor, and a minute later is would blow down from the ceiling. This went on for five minutes, and then I felt warm again.
"Would you like some hot cocoa?" the attendant asked. "The local shop is offering them free to Program kids, and they're thinking of doing the same for former ones if they'll pose for a pic, for ads I mean. But you don't have to do that, since it's your week."
"Yes, thanks," I told her. "I wanna warm up on the inside. The Constellation's gonna be air-conditioned for people with clothes on."
I was a little worried about the Constellation. Running in the snow for two minutes is one thing, but ten hour of air-conditioning? Buildings in Mendocino aren't kept that cool, because everybody wears light, cool clothing, as you would expect in a tropical climate.
As Botilda, Rashida and I walked back to the spoke I drank the hot liquid as fast as I could without burning myself. Just before stepping back outside I took a last throat-burning gulp and put the cup into the trash can that was provided.
It sure felt good to get back out into the sunlight. I soaked up the warmth reflected into Mendocino by our mirrors. I had one last shiver when we got to the axis and floated into the concourse. We were at the North Pole, on the opposite side of the habitat from the Rubenstein Sports Complex, which is (duh) at the South Pole.
Botilda checked her cell and assured us that we were traveling in the right direction. We pulled ourselves along the handrails and soared across to the line of people already boarding the david.
It's only as I type this that I realize that it would seem exotic to you. We're so used to this sort of zero-G thing that we don't give it any more thought than you give to the fact that you move your legs a different way when you climb stairs than when you are walking a level floor.
So finally, we were aboard the david. Technically, we were aboard the commutesphere. The david is what propels the commutesphere. What you have, basically, is a ten metre sphere with seating, cargo nets, and life-support inside. There was even a tiny little restroom, which nobody used unless they had to. The sphere has some little attitude-control jets, but no big rocket engine for propulsion. In fact, it has no propulsion of its own, getting all of its velocity from the david.
And what's a david? Well, it is basically an electric motor attached to the radiation shield, with a strong cable. The cable is attached to the commutesphere. The electric motor whirls it up to speed, and at the precise computer-controlled moment, the commutesphere is released, and goes zipping out into space as if thrown from a giant sling-shot. No, not "as if" thrown from a giant sling-shot; it IS thrown from a giant sling-shot.
Sling-shots and giants naturally suggest the Bible story of the shepherd boy who, armed only with a sling, slew a giant and later became a king. The shepherd/king was named David, and so what flings commutespheres like so many stones is called a david, though officially it is known as a "rotary kinetic launcher." I don't think I've ever actually heard it called that, though.
During the spin-up we were subjected one and a half Gs, which isn't bad for a little while when you're lying on your back. After a little more than a minute of that, we were moving at the one thousand Km per hour that is standard for this form of transportation, and let go at the perfect moment. Suddenly we were weightless again. In less than two minutes the thirty passengers had gone from zero G to 1.5 G and back to zero G. Even life long residents of Space sometimes feel a bit sick with that sort of thing, and tourists from Earth and Mars are notorious for throwing up time after time. It usually didn't bother me, but this time I had a moment when I thought I was going to hurl. I didn't, but it was a close thing. It was probably because I'd just shoved a quarter-litre of hot cocoa into my stomach, and then there was the temperature shock from my snow run, and the excitement of going to Holly-Kon. And, to be honest, I was still a little nervous about how many people were going to see me naked.
Which reminded me that I needed to study my list again. I called it up on my cell and my friends were able to hold it down enough so I could actually learn something. The trip took half an hour, and I was chatting with them like always when we got to the Constellation.
I thought about calling up the outside view on my cell; it's always exciting to watch the approach, and to see the david ready to sling off one commutesphere just as it catches you. This is necessary so that kinetic energy coming in matches kinetic energy going out. Otherwise the Constellation could be rotated out of its proper alignment. It's always a little scary for me. The thought is always there: what if we miss? Of course that hasn't happened in about nine years, and even then it wasn't any huge disaster; it just meant that the cummutesphere kept on going and a fueled ship had to go and fetch it at a high cost in propellant. Still, watching the approach always gives me butterflies, and considering my reaction to launch, I decided against watching.
We were suddenly at 1.5 G again, and were slowly reeled in and slowed down. I had a moment of queasiness, but was in no danger of barfing. We floated into the concourse, and I felt like I was where I belonged. There were Chicago gangsters and Confederate soldiers and bikers in leather jackets.
Darth Vader drifted over towards us and boarded the elevator to the main level. We had to hear his heavy mechanical breathing all the way down, and Rashida and I couldn't help giggling.
As soon as the doors opened and we were out, Vader turned to us. "I recognize the Bride of Frankenstein and Marilyn Monroe," he said, in that deep echoing voice, "but who are you supposed to be?"
Time for my list.
"I'm Shirley Mills in Child Bride," I announced, "and Shirley Temple in Curly Top. I'm Brooke Shields in Pretty Baby. I'm Olivia Hussey in Romeo & Juliet, Jenny Agutter in Walkabout. I'm Kate Maberly in The Secret Garden. I'm Olivia D'Abo in Bolero, Melanie Griffith in Night Moves, Tatum O'Neal in Circle of Two and Daniella Edmund in Alien 3. I'm Mischa Barton in Lawn Dogs and Thora Birch in American Beauty."
"Most impressive," the fanboy-as-Sith-Lord nodded, "but Obi-Wan never told you what happened to Shirley Temple."
I tried unsuccessfully to keep the grin off of my face. Botilda was chuckling out loud, and Rashida just stood there looking confused.
"He told me enough!" I accused. "He told me that YOU killed her!"
"No!" the Dark Lord exclaimed, drawing his light sabre and igniting it, "I am Shirley Temple!"
"NNOOOOO!!!!!"
I fell to my knees and buried my face in my hands. There were several onlookers by now, and they all laughed. Several wanted pictures with Vader, the Bride, Marilyn, and me. I found that I was much more comfortable posing for pictures and just with being seen in general, now that it was a con thing.
"OK," Rashida asked after that group dispersed and we were walking along the main lobby, "I've, like, heard of Star Wars, right, and I recognized, you know, Death Vader, but what was, I mean, that whole 'NNOOOOO!' thing?"
"It's DARTH Vader," Botilda corrected, "not DEATH Vader. And you really don't know anything about the Skywalker family tree?"
"Should I? Skywalker's the hero, I know that."
Botilda and I grinned at each other.
"We're buying you the saga before we leave this con," Botilda promised her, and I nodded.
Another few people wanted pictures, and one of them was dressed as Marilyn too, only she was wearing the red dress from Niagara. Then Frankenstein's Monster wanted a pic with his Bride.
After that we took a few pics of our own, and that went well. Rashida took one of Botilda and me, and we posed so that it looked like she was "menacing" me.
"You know," the lovely Melanesian girl said after that, "we should get some 'party favors' for tonight's rave and then get some lunch."
Well, at least now I was sure she would be dancing with us.
"Absolutely," I agreed, "except can we get lunch first? We can place an order and pick out the fun stuffs while we wait. I haven't had anything today but an apple and that hot cocoa."
Since food and psychtives are generally sold in the same place or very near to each other, there was no objection, and we were soon seated at a table awaiting lunch while we looked over our psychedelic options.
There was a good selection: X3, PLeaSe-D, Waski, and Mesk. These are chemical descendants of, respectively, MDMA (Ecstasy), LSD (Acid), DMT/MAOI (ayahuasca), and mescaline. For the "natural is better" crowd, there were psilocybin mushrooms, salvia divinorum, peyote (active ingredient: mescaline), and of course that old standby marijuana.
I've found that plants have a fuzzier, mellower feel to them, but I prefer the quick onset of the synthetics, and synthetics also have a quick fall-off. When the trip or buzz or roll is over, it's over. The natural stuff may be mellower, but the after-effects are something I generally prefer to avoid.
Since psychoactive drugs have been legal (though regulated) in most of Space since before Mendocino was founded, the chemists have had a lot of time to tweak the molecules until most of the negative effects were eliminated or minimized and the pleasant effects were enhanced. The naturals, well. They could be bred to be milder, or faster, or to have fewer side effects, but breeding is less effective (and takes a lot longer) than tweaking molecules.
Jo
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