After Party
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It was quite a fiery debate and Tiff found herself increasingly confused as it went on. Partly it was the fact that they were even considering an offer from the bloody Confed, for gods sake, partly that it was Rajata herself who was, increasingly firmly, arguing for the idea and ... partly ... it was the realisation that Tiff herself was coming round to accepting it. She tried to rationalise this rather starling concept and couldn't ... OK, she acknowledged, guiltily, she had a personal loyalty to Raja that went far beyond the rigidly impersonal pragmatism that she consciously espoused, but ... It was more than just that: Looking round, you could see the effect played out on all of their faces, the dawning recognition that this was an actual opportunity, one which might even allow them to put some of their ideas into practice and which didn't, apparently, involve subjecting themselves to military discipline and regimentation.
Or perhaps it was just the wider context of the offer to which they were reacting, even though no-one had addressed the matter directly: Come right down to it and ... well, the alternative was getting eaten by aliens ... or just trying to maintain their principles in what would inevitably be an increasingly militarised and coercive society. Unless it all just fell apart, of course, but, well ... wasn't it at least worthwhile considering what seemed to be a startlingly generous offer?
Or maybe that was all just self justification on her part, she thought. Ever since she'd received the card with her 6.7 score on it ... well, she'd been tempted...
Decurion Wallace watched proceedings with declining interest, the minutiae of political debate to a large extent passing her by, even though she had the benefit of a sotto voce commentary from Sonja ... and the occasional earthier remark from SSG Baker. It was clear, however, that the argument was going only one way – "her" way, she had to admit, given that it looked increasingly likely that she'd 'get' her quota of politicos. In fact, of the group in front of her, only Johann appeared to be holding out, becoming increasingly truculent – and increasingly isolated – as things ground on. It was a shame that he was one of only three potential sponsors present and, possibly more relevantly, that his scientific abilities would have made him a valuable recruit even without his political interests. C'est la vie, though, she thought, turning to accept Sonja's offer of another glass of wine ... and maybe the powers that be would actually respect his right to decline their offer...
For Sonja, the debate was frustrating and, to her eyes, ridiculously protracted. Oh, it was gratifying to see Rajata blossoming like that, becoming – as things went on – more and more like her old self, the Raja that Sonja remembered single handedly galvanising their Uni anarchist group, producing a cadre of dedicated and effective Hunt Sabs, as just one example, purely by force of personality – and physical example – but...
She knew that Rajata had reinvigorated herself by thinking in terms of theory, immediate political necessities and the need to engage in direct, confrontational debate. All of which she was, undoubtedly, good at – you might even say they were her safe places – but none of which addressed the central issue. Raja was still, Sonja thought, avoiding the crucial point: If she – and they – were to go, some of them would be going as Masters ... and the rest ... as Slaves.
Simple fact, kid, she thought, looking longingly at Rajata, but ... how will you handle it? Because handle it you are most definitely going to have to do...
She'd just reached this rather depressing stage in her thinking when the big guy she'd been introduced to as SSG Baker growled a comment, sensing, too, that a consensus of sorts had been reached.
"OK," he said. "so these intellectual fuckwits finally appear to have decided not to be Swarm fodder. So, who gets to remind them about the concubine/sponsor side of things? You know, do the Extraction?"
Sonja laughed out loud. She knew these people – maybe only Rajata personally but the rest ... she knew them by type, could recognise the egos, the vulnerabilities, the contradictions in their various positions.
Like someone once said, she thought, there's nothing fair in love, war ... or politics.
Rajata found herself flying, not in the physical sense but certainly in the mental – the psychic – one. She was, she knew, blatantly manipulating a bunch of people she thought of as comrades – if not exactly friends – and had basically imposed herself on them, using politics and theory, for sure, but also humour, empathy and, hell, simple bloody minded strength of personality.
And while she felt a niggling twinge of anxiety about that – she did have principles, after all – she also ... well, she thought she now knew how a butterfly feels on emerging from its chrysalis. After the past couple of weeks, when she'd so ignominiously collapsed, imposed herself so much on Sonja and been utterly, by her own lights, pathetic ... to feel like this ... was a revelation.
She was also uncomfortably aware of a downside to it all, the idea that, despite the adrenalin rush she was experiencing here and now, there had been very good reasons for her recent near breakdown. Thinking this, she automatically turned to Sonja – a friend she'd neglected for too long, she realised – and saw her pouring a glass of wine for that Decurion. Rajata felt that she'd like some wine, too – and preferably given to her by Sonja – even as the realisation hit her that the argument was over, that she'd 'won', that this stage of proceedings was at an end ... whatever that might mean. She was still gazing at Sonja as her friend pulled herself to her feet and walked calmly into the center of the room. One of the Confed guys came with her, Rajata noticed, not to control but to protect, she saw, and then Sonja was speaking, and in a tone Raja had never heard her use before.
"OK, people," she said, not quite smiling, "you've had your discussion and I hope you all enjoyed it because it seemed like mostly bollocks to me."
"However, it also seems that you've all – well, nearly all – come to the conclusion that this is an offer that you'd be complete idiots to turn down. Well, good – intelligence does still exist within the intelligentsia. Hooray for that."
She paused, looking around and Rajata noticed, almost abstractedly that both Sonja and her 'protector' focused particularly on Johann as she talked, while the man himself bristled, looking defiant – but carefully not threatening – and generally acting ... well, she thought, just like a five year old denied an ice cream. Rajata was disappointed – she'd never liked the guy but he had one hell of a brain – but quickly turned her attention back to Sonja. However complete her own domination of the room had been, only minutes before, she knew, definitely, that it now belonged to Sonja.
And now Sonja appeared to be looking directly at her as she continued, "Thing is, if you want to take up the offer, there is this small technicality, in that not all of you qualify for a ticket in your own right. In fact, given that Doctor Van der Maar has ruled himself out, only Tiffany and Rajata do. Looking on the bright side, though, between the two of them they can, if they wish, take up to eight of you with them. Which is a little unfortunate, given that there are – again excluding the petulant Doctor – ten of you here. But I didn't make the rules and neither did any of the Confederacy people currently helping out, so live with it. You're supposed to be anarchists, for crying out loud, so do the spontaneous self organisation stuff and get it sorted out, OK?
Rajata heard what her friend said, saw the wide grins spread across the across the faces of Sonja's guard and the other – she presumed – hired guns. Even the Decurion looked amused, she noticed, just as she knew that the speech had been aimed at her, that it was primarily her that needed to make choices.
She felt herself sag, again. Not physically – there was still too much adrenalin around for that – but, mentally, she had a sudden urge to cry and, indeed, to throw toys out of her pram, to protest, wailingly, about life's inequity. Except that she didn't – before the idea had so much as coalesced in her mind she was aware of a large, masculine arm around her shoulders and a rough but strangely kind voice guiding her over to a corner of the room. Where she found Tiff – her fellow sponsor – the Decurion and another woman – a guard, too, she assumed, though this one was wearing a rather odd pink tafetta dress.
Pulling herself together by sheer effort of will, she wondered where Sonja had got to, even as the big bloke squatted down in front of her – well, equidistant between her and Tiff – and, slowly, carefully, began to speak. It was a bit like being lectured by the Big Friendly Giant, she thought, absurdly, before realising that actually listening might be a good idea.
"OK, ladies," he was saying, oblivious to the effect that such a form of address would normally have had on either member of his audience, "this is how it goes. Between the two of you, you get to select a maximum of eight concubines. Which is to say, slaves. Or maybe romantic life partners, if it works out ... except that in this case, only your opinion counts as to what works and what doesn't.
"Whatever. The others in this room, you might want to remember, will probably get eaten by aliens if you leave without them; while you, as sponsors have an obligation to produce progeny. So, I'd suggest taking at least one male each, given that that makes the whole procreation thing a whole lot easier. Also, too, you might want to think about the longer term – whoever you take is going to be your family, so try and balance strengths and weaknesses, basically, sufficient to keep things ticking over nicely for decades."
Having said which, he concluded, "But its up to you. And, god knows, I've seen some bright people make some god awful decisions in this sort of situation..."
He stood up, and, giving them what he probably hoped was an avuncular smile – Rajata found it unnerving – went back to his seat. Raja looked around for assistance – or for Sonja, if she was being completely honest – but found only the sympathetically concerned looking Decurion Wallace, heading her way.
"Look," said the Decurion, "this isn't a conventional Extraction ... and there are systems in place – after a fashion – to, umm, hone your decisions over the coming days or weeks. So, well, if you want to do 'Test Drives' and stuff, go right ahead. But if you don't..."
She left that thought hanging, even as Rajata was looking round the room at her ... at her comrades, that was the word, and seeing them as if for the first time. And seeing Tiff differently, too, as she made a bee line for Steve and Pasquale and, before Raja could bring herself to look away, was examining an already erect penis and supervising a rapid joint striptease. Or strip, anyway, there being little tease about quite so rapid a disrobing...
Raja shuddered but realised that this was where it had all been headed, from the moment she'd agreed to talk to the Confed – or from her decision that they all ought to get CAP tested. So she metaphorically shook herself down – actually, she physically shook herself down – and went to talk to the remainder of the group.
Jas, of course, was looking longingly at the wine, sitting hunched up and seeming pretty desolate. Actually, Rajata was a little surprised that he hadn't made sponsor grade, being bright, creative and, in his way, quite a capable leader. Of course, she thought, being both a promiscuous gay man and a complete degenerate might have counted against him somewhat, but ... but he would be useful, she decided, giving him a mental tick.
As for the others, well ... well, who the fuck was she to be judging them, she thought, revolted ... until the praxis hit home. She was the one with the 8.7 score and by the nature of the Faustian deal they'd just struck, she was the one who got to decide. She sat down on the edge of their circle and looked at each of them in turn. Bev – a single mother who'd joined the group after both of her sons had been killed in a 'police action' – and AB – or Annabelle, if you wanted to live dangerously, a veteran revolutionary who possessed more 'common sense' than anyone Rajata had ever met – were givens, for their maturity and dedication ... and the fact that Raja liked them.
Conversely, there was Craig, a guy who'd half stripped before Raja had been able to stop him. He'd been useful 'muscle', at times, but ... family member? No. Count him out.
Which left Marvo, loyal to his bones but with the brain of a shrimp, Leroy, fit, athletic and entirely self-educated, but with some underlying 'issues' with women, and Zach and Karin. Zach, again, might have been sponsor grade – how quickly she'd adopted their heirarchical bullshit, she realised – were it not for his amazing inability to make decisions or hold a consistent opinion, while Karin, well ... She didn't really know what to make of Kaz, knowing something of the appalling abuse she'd experienced from her father, brother and at least two husbands, but, still, she found the woman's mercurial temper and borderline bipolar disorder hard to cope with.
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- 23.10.2021
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