Chapter 2 of Assess & Adept
Han van Meegeren
Han Jansz. van Meegeren
I was doing push-ups. Not because I like them, but because I am bored out of my skull being cooped up in this house. Kia (not the South Korean car) proved to be the only one who could motivate me to do some physical exercise. The girls had started with jumping jacks, squats, down-ups and handstands. Imagine the woman at your gym without a shred of clothing on. I know, you already did. So you can know how erotic that was, and once I got the hang of it, I joined them as well. It was good to ease the tension. And there was tension enough in the house. As I was busy pushing my weight up for the twenty-ninth time, I heard the door slam shut with a tremendous bang.
Well, not our door, because the door of our house has turned to ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Our door went to door-heaven. I shouldn’t say this because one of our best friends died in that attack at our house. The attackers finished their job by burning our house down. I would never say this in front of my concubines; they would skin me alive if I made a joke about door-heaven. So anyway, someone slammed my father-in-law’s door. Technically, it’s not his door either, because his door was in door-heaven as well thanks to the same group of people who tried to cremate me in the process.
Waiting feels endless. I was told to prepare to be picked-up, probably with other pre-packs. Perhaps you will agree with me that the circumstances we were currently in were not ideal. Our home was burnt to the ground. We could not go outside of the cramped living space without the risk of being shot at. I wanted to move my girls to the University so I could at least get some work done in my lab, but the University had refused to provide shelter for me and my concubines. They said it was too dangerous. We were in my father-in-law’s girlfriend’s apartment. She was probably the one that slammed the next door to heaven with all the disappointment and frustration in her tiny body.
Angus, my father-in-law, was not keen to see his daughter walking around nude in his house. He did not complain about the naked bodies of Isis or Joyce, though. But it's hard to avoid each other when you're sharing two bedrooms and a living room with eight people. The walls were thin, and Sharon and Isis are not silent when they are making love. Angus once asked me to lend Isis to him. He had seen a couple of her porn flicks and was eager to make a money shot.
I refused. Isis, Sharon, Joyce, Kia and Aislinn; they were mine and mine alone. His score allowed him to take two concubines with him. He only had one; her name was Lauren Dane. Like the writer of smut stories for women. My mother has read all of her books. I don’t know whether she was the writer. Being married to someone with a celebrity-like name teaches you not to judge a book by its cover. We overheard an argument between Angus and Writer Woman about recruiting another concubine. My girls talked with Writer Woman about the necessity of sharing. Two days later, Angus came home with a girl Kia’s age. It explained the way he had been trying to get a glimpse of Kia’s pussy. She was 14 as well, but looked younger than Kia. Much younger. Her figure might have looked boyish, but her mannerisms certainly weren’t. Josephine Baker could have taken a lesson or two from her on seduction.
I consequently called her Lolita at home.
“Autistic boy, can I talk to you for a minute? In the kitchen, please.” Angus said.
“Papa!” Sharon cried in outrage.
“What? Since he does not extend the courtesy of using my women’s names, I see no need to reciprocate.”
I put my hand on her leg to calm Sharon down and followed my father-in-law into the relatively quiet kitchen. I put the kettle on to have something to do and waited for him to say what’s on his mind. He took his time. I just waited without breaking the silence. I’m good at that.
“What is the reason for referring to Charlotte as Lolita?”
“She reminds me of Dolores Haze.”
“Who the hell is Dolores Something?”
“Haze. She is the 12-year-old seductress in Nabokov’s book Lolita.”
“Charlotte is 14, not 12! Besides, with a 14-year-old girlfriend, you might want to chill out.”
“Look, things are tense already, so let’s not overdo things. Writer Woman hasn’t stopped crying since you brought her here.”
“Her name is Lauren, for Pete’s sake, and I have to say that’s a bit strange coming from your mouth, you are the one who crowded my apartment fucking the other women so often that your wife ends op crying in the living room at night.”
I brought the tray of hot water cups into the living room, where the teabags were. All the women, including Agnus’s, looked at me in vain for bruises.
“Joyce, I want you to tell me the honest reason why Sharon is sometimes weeping with you at night in the living room.”
“I think you should ask Sharon that.”
“No, I’m not. I am asking you. Sharon might beat around the bush, but you, as her ‘slave’, are bound to answer truthfully.” I heard some gasps from the Angus corner of the room. Up until this point, we hadn’t been so candid with our hosts on this subject. My mother turned red.
“I think Sharon was upset we had to cut back on the physical stuff. We… we refrained from openly expressing our relationship to prevent any embarrassment to Sharon’s father.”
“Anything else I should know about my crew?” I looked at all of my concubines, and they all shook their heads.
“Does that answer your question?” I asked Angus. Without waiting for an answer to that question, I said to my crew, “Pack all of your belongings. Our host has said that our being here is stressful to him and his concubines. I fully understand what he means, so we are moving into a hotel or something for the time being.”
“No, please stay.” Writer Woman said. Angus just looked at her. When push comes to shove, it was her house, not his.
“We know the Confederacy may come to get you soon. We don’t know when, but they will. You are too valuable not to be picked up. It’s different for us. Master, we should be at their location when the exchange happens, for our own benefit.” Angus was the target of the last Master-bit, not me. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Writer Woman call Angus master. I think Writer Woman had a point there. I kept my mouth shut. Sailing with him to distant shores wasn’t something I looked forward to. The only reason I was still in this house was that I knew how much it meant for Sharon to take her dad with her. Her mother’s departure devastated her, so asking her to leave her father behind would be too much.
Angus was in charge. I am sure he wanted me out of this house as much as I wanted to go, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that he did. “I… I might have blown off a little and jumped to conclusions. If we could go with you if and when you will be picked up, I would very much appreciate it. Please, stay,” he said formally.
“If that’s the case, we gratefully accept your hospitality.” I said. Case closed.
—————————
Two weeks later, a female police officer came to our door. She reminded me of Kat Loveable in ‘The Day My Badge Flashed Me’. I do not know whether you have seen that porn flick. It is really a magnificent film; a pity she was hardly wearing her uniform and was nude most of the time. I like uniformed girls. I’m not saying I wanted to see this policewoman nude, but I wouldn’t mind either.
“Can I help you?” Stupid question. Most of the time, police are there to protect and to serve, aren’t they?
“Mr Gi route?”
“No, Jzi ro, like in French.” Difficult name, Giraut.
“Can I come in? I have an important announcement, but not at the door.”
“Please come in.” If Kat Loveable noticed they weren’t wearing clothes, she didn’t comment on it. Perhaps she thought she had returned to the set of that movie. “A person of considerable authority contacted us and requires your attendance at the mall parking lot tomorrow. They didn’t say why, but this is the first time I am delivering one of these messages, so one of you must be important.”
I just nodded. Message received. The end of a long wait was drawing to a close now.
“You wouldn’t have a spot for a policewoman with two children, would you?” She asked seemingly casually, but I saw her left hand stroke her uniform trousers in a nervous gesture.
“I do not know what you are talking about.” standing up and walked her to the door.
“I understand. Of course not. Well, that’s all, folks. Good luck tomorrow, whatever it is you will do there.”
I let the policewoman out and returned to the living room. The excitement was palpable, as if someone had magically produced tickets to see Taylor Swift.
“You are not taking her to fill Jenny’s spot?” Jenny was the one who died in the attack. And we missed her every single day.
“No, Sharon. We will not replace a team member who is irreplaceable.” I said.
One of my girls had asked the policewoman if she knew the time we had to be there, but she said she had no information about that. Sharon decided we would drive to the parking lot at midnight, just in case the pickup would take place in the middle of the night. Sharon’s dad and his girlfriend went with us as well.
—————————
I felt slightly ridiculous sitting there in the middle of the night in the nearly empty parking lot. It surprised me that even around 2 or 3 am so many people were awake. Who knew so many people walked their dogs at night? Others looked like homeless people, but a bunch of youngsters — my age — clearly drunk, were making a lot of noise to scare the boogeyman away. A guard with the name of the mall on his uniform came to our car and asked us what we were doing there. I said we were waiting for a friend, and he told us we couldn’t park in the parking lot and had to leave. We didn’t, and finally he walked back. We never saw him make another round.
I couldn’t sleep. Kia next to me is asleep. Kia is 14 years, seven months and one day old. She looks older, though. Perhaps I should say she acts older than her age. I think there are a lot of fourteen-year-olds who are different. I mean, a short 14-year-old could look younger than a tall girl of that age, couldn’t she? And a girl with big tits could look older than a girl with small boobies, right? Kia had small breasts, and I mean just minor bumps. She never wears a bra, and I like that. These little bumps that move as she walks or moves her body — I like that. No bra straps under these tight shirts. Of course, in the house she was not wearing anything. Her skin tightly encased her body.
Aislinn in the car’s backseat was awake, aware of every movement in our surroundings. Aislinn is my lab assistant and one of the few people in the world I trust to be accurate. She has a great eye for detail. Aislinn was the only girl who walked around the house fully clothed. Why the other girls allowed her to be an exception to the nude-rule, I do not know. It’s one of those female secrets that I didn't delve into any further. If I were to uncover all my women’s secrets, it would consume all my waking hours.
Next to Aislinn sat Isis. If you know Isis Thames, you have watched a lot of porn. She is the queen of the blowjob, the duchess of anal fucking and the princess of the rough fuck. Her tits won her Adult Actress Awards. Her gentle demeanour won over people everywhere, amassing a massive following. She was my favourite actress ever, and she is mine. Sleeping in the backseat of my car. I still couldn’t believe it. Mine. I don’t know if you noticed, but I feel very possessive of her.
Two more of “my” women — concubines — were in the car next to me. If I could take just two women to go with me to the stars, Kia, Isis and Aislinn would remain here on Earth. In the backseat of my father-in-law’s car were two women who understood me better than anyone I have ever met. You will not be surprised that my mother is one of them. I have to call her Joyce now. The other one I consider my wife. Sharon Stone, you know her; the one who was not wearing panties in that movie. Kidding, my Sharon is not the movie star, but her name is Sharon Stone. She is prettier. She is 205 days older than I am, but sometimes she understands me better than my mother does. I have no idea what she sees in me, but when I asked Sharon to be my wife, she agreed. She seems to be happy.
Sharon’s dad and the writer lady are sitting in front, and I can see them talking. I hope they don’t keep Joyce and Sharon awake. I can see the outline of Lolita’s pale skin looking at me from the back seat of the car next to me. Unlike the women, I have no friends to leave behind. The one friend I have, I am taking with me. I won’t be missed when I leave, and I will miss no one. Tomorrow, all my concubines will sever the bonds they shared with those they once shared laughter and tears. A scary thought.
It’s not that I am fearless about what will happen after tomorrow. After tomorrow, I will be responsible for all their actions. The girls are teasing me already by calling me their ‘master’. I have enough trouble mastering my own feelings. I approach social interaction as if it’s a complicated recipe I’ve already ruined, and it’s bound to end in disaster. Failure to keep them in check could cause their deaths. Even if I don’t like it, I will have to keep them all on a short leash.
Of the five women I am taking with me, I have been intimate with two: Sharon and Isis. Kia is too young; Aislinn is a co-worker, and Mother is my mother, of course. I will not be intimate with my mother. If that is what you were thinking, get your mind out of the gutter. I do not know whether Kia or Aislinn is still a virgin. It doesn’t matter. I will have sex with them both and make them pregnant. I will start with Aislinn. Months ago I promised her my firstborn.
Time stretches endlessly when fear shadows tomorrow, as if even the garden holds its breath. Sharon’s dad and his writer friend in the car next to me appear to be asleep. One look in the mirror confirms Aislinn has given in as well. I can’t sleep. And I have asked none of them to stay awake with me.
gr...@novadigitalfilms.com
Han van Meegeren
People don’t trust scientists anymore. We are an arrogant, ivory-tower elite who look down on ordinary people. We fabricate or exaggerate our findings to secure lucrative grant money from governments or corporations. Our experiments lack ethical consideration, as we play God and create monsters. Going to space to do research with a lot more advanced technology than we have here, just to fight the Swarm, is a good reason to kill me while I am still here on Earth.
To avoid getting killed by Aliens, I try to stay alive long enough to board a Confederacy ship to do some experiments I cannot do here. I would love to explain to you in detail what that research would entail, but my concubines would never allow me to write a 200-page booklet on the subject. They think you would not understand it, or at least you would not even bother reading it. And that’s a pity, because we all could learn so much from it. People rave about how I am 17 and how special that is, and I am simply referring to Luke Littler, who won the World Championship of Darts when he was 17. There is nothing magical about that age. I have ASD, and if you don’t know what that is, good for you. Keep it that way.
It’s one thing to have a CAP-score that is high enough to get you off of Earth. But not even a perfect 10-score means you have a guaranteed ticket to a spaceship. Unlike with a train ticket, you cannot complain if the train is too late, or doesn’t show up at all at your station. Think about all those poor people with a high enough CAP-score that were not at the right place at the right time to be picked up by the Confederacy. Those people must feel a bit like all the people who died before the Death of Christ. Before he died on the cross and the temple curtain tore, there was no heaven. In both cases, I guess life doesn’t hand out participation trophies after all.
——————————
By eight in the morning, the employees of the shops and the cleaning staff parked their cars in the back of the parking area. The girls went to the restroom. Two at a time. Sharon’s dad and I had to go as well. Separately. Staying constantly in contact with our phones as they went felt excessive to me. Cars come and cars go. They do that in a parking lot. Waiting takes forever. Nothing happened until 14:00 hours.
We were expecting them, and yet they surprised us. Suddenly, the car park was surrounded by a grey, opaque energy barrier. It isolates the parking lot from the outside world, blocking vision, sound, and even physical access. We have seen it on TV; people recorded it on their phones. People record anything with their phones.
I like women in uniform. She looked big, armoured, and only on second glance curvier. Helmet down, weapon slung but ready. The woman steps forward — clearly the sergeant — her voice amplified by a helmet speaker that cuts through the noise of the crowd.
“Attention!” She barked. “This is a limited Confederacy Marine extraction. If you all stay calm and listen carefully. We will soon be gone, and you can carry on with your business.”
The parking lot was three-quarters full now. A few screams. The sergeant raises one hand, palm out, commanding silence.
“I am calling upon the citizens, whose names I will read aloud, to come forward and stand before me. Cade Bronson, DrewGiraut, Marcus Alvarez, Amir Hassan, Angus Stone, Margaret Finley, Tylor Johnson, Cloë Nguyen and Ethan O’Connor. Bring your concubines and dependants with you. On the double! The rest of you move towards the mall in an orderly manner. Do not interfere. Give these people a bit of space, please.”
She pauses. A ripple of nervous movement spread as some stepped forward; others looked around in confusion.
“Hey, I have a CAP-score of 7.5 but you didn’t mention my name.” A guy shouted. At least five of them shouted the same from various places from the crowd.
“Please stand back now. All will be explained. Let’s process these people first, shall we? DON’T come any further. I will not harm you, but I will meet disobedience with force.” The Marine shifted her grip on the sleek rifle; the gesture was enough to quiet the restless crowd.
“Mrs Nguyen. CAP-card please? Four concubines and three dependants. Check. Entering the green circle teleports you to the ship. Please continue walking as you go. Another marine will be on the opposite side. He’ll hold your hand or arm, ensuring you continue moving. Brace yourself for that. Your sponsor will come after you are done. Please stay calm. Once the circle turns green, all of you should proceed one at a time. Move.”
This was not what we had seen on TV. Why the rush? Where were the other Marines? Why this group first? No solemn declarations from concubines confirmed by an AI?
“Mr Johnson. Two concubines, five dependants. CAP-card?”
The big black man handed over his Card.
“Thank you. Move behind these people waiting for the teleporter. Don’t be afraid, kids, it’s really wild. Please hurry, kids first. Next?”
My father-in-law moved forward and handed over his card. Writer woman and Lolita in his wake.
“Angus Stone. Welcome, sir. Two concubines? Stand in line behind me, please. Next?”
I gave her my card.
“Ah, young Mister Giraut. We have been looking forward to getting you on board. Sorry it took so long. Six concubines?”
“Five, actually.”
“You can take six with you, sir.”
“I know. But I will leave with these five.”
“Seems a shame to leave someone behind, as so many people dream of leaving the planet. But it’s your choice. Line up. Next.”
The sound of discontent in the crowd behind us grew louder. The Marine went through the admissions process even faster than she had with us. Now that the children had passed through the teleporter, it went much faster. Sharon went through first, then Joyce stood in the green circle. It seemed as if the circle turned green even faster than before. Aislinn was already gone; Isis followed. Kia was in front of me, and behind me people were pushing me in the back again. I kissed Kia on her cheek.
"I'm right behind you, nothing to worry about."
One moment Kia was in the green circle, the next she was gone. I stepped up, and a second later, someone gripped my hand and pulled me away to the side. To my right stood my girls, my concubines. It's a strange word, really, when you think about it. Suleiman the Magnificent’s concubines who bore him a son became extremely influential. He chose his concubines for fertility, beauty, alliances, and status. Drew the Magnanimous also had one official wife and multiple concubines. For me, they had sacrificed their fertility and beauty, their freedom and their past, with the only prospect of bearing me children of any gender. All those women were stronger than I was. My heart ached at their scared, confused expressions, and I instantly swore to keep them safe.
Just as I'd been thrown inside, the room filled with more and more people. We heard the Marine's voice on the ship's radio. In the background, we heard increasingly loud chants of “Earth first, Earth first.”
“We've got them all inside, Captain Holt, except Margaret Finley. I called her twice. I don't think I can control this crowd much longer. Permission to return. Over.”
Apparently, the Captain gave that permission because the sergeant stood with us in the reception room within a few seconds.
“What a mess! Captain, if we are going back for the Finleys, we will have to wait for backup. I barely got this lot in without the crowd lynching me.”
“Take them to the mess; I’ll talk to them there.” We heard a voice echoing through the room, presumably the captain's. The Marine headed out, and we accompanied her with the sort of loyalty usually reserved for people carrying maps. If the aisle to the cafeteria was an indication of the condition of this vehicle, it certainly wasn't what I'd imagined a spaceship to be. It looked more like a submarine from a World War II movie than a modern spaceship. Significant rust spots were visible; cables above us were partially detached—it was quite disconcerting, to say the least. The cafeteria looked little better. Tables and chairs from the 1980s, the cosy atmosphere of a prison that should have been closed a few years ago.
—————————
BARRETT was printed in big letters on Sergeant Barrett’s chest. She took her helmet off and shook her short brown hair into submission. Perhaps she had played Ana in ‘Fifty Shades of Yay’, or it was her twin sister. I had to restrain myself from asking her. Maybe she doesn’t want to be reminded of her movie days. Perhaps I was wrong. Ana’s eyes always carried a quiet vulnerability, and Sgt. Barrett looked tough. Both her eyes and her uniform. She walked to our table first.
“Can I see your CAP-cards?” She asked my girls. See what I mean? She could have stayed in character and snapped at us: Give me your CAP-cards. But she didn’t. If that’s not a good sign, I don’t know what is. I gave our CAP-cards to her. They were like golden tickets in a chocolate factory: necessary to enter, useless the moment you were inside. She was busy looking at the cards. It gave me time to study her eyes. Her irises were a solid brown, darker near the pupil, lighter toward the rim, the way polished wood shows layers of grain. I don’t enjoy looking people in the eye when I’m talking; it distracts too much.
“Only 5 concubines, is that correct?” She asked. Good memory.
“Yes, these five are mine.” It sounded possessive. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.
“Good, you are pod 4. On your left, three doors from the end. Your number is on the door. Welcome aboard the starship Somnambulist. You all stay here. The captain wants to talk to you all.” She went to the table right next to us.
It wouldn't be hard to remember the people sitting next to us at the table. A man in his early forties, an ordinary man, with nothing special about him. The two women with him certainly were. Special. They sat on either side of him, but you only had to look at one of them. The other was her spitting image. Twins, Sherlock. The first image that stuck was their reddish-red hair. Curly from the tops of their heads to mid-chest. They both had their arms folded across their chests, likely pushing their breasts up; confirmed the impression that they were well-proportioned. There seemed little wrong with the other proportions as well.
Across from them sat two girls, somewhere between ten and twelve, I think. Much redder hair than their mother's. Fire-engine red. Their curls were more natural than their mother's curling-iron curls. I guessed that the right one was their mother, the one sitting on the left of twin-man was their aunt. Twins, Sherlock. Their hair fell halfway down their stomachs, their navels visible beneath the short T-shirts they were wearing.
It took a while for Sgt. Barrett to check and collect all the CAP cards. Maybe she collected them, just like we used to collect Pokémon cards when we were young.
“I am Commander Holt. Welcome to the S.S. Somnambulist. You might have noticed that you have embarked on a small ship. Ships like these are made for long journeys. The Somnambulist could survive for over ten years without calling at a port. Designed as freighters, they have heavy storage capacity and, as you might have noticed, a bit of a no-nonsense interior layout. You will not find a medical tube on the Somnambulist. If you are in a hurry to increase your concubine’s bust from AA to DD, I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you; you will have to wait until we reach Fiditon-7. None of you seems to have an urgent medical need that needs attention. You will all be checked when we arrive at the home base of the crew of this ship.”
“For some reason unknown to me, the Confederacy has sent this ship to get all of you pre-packs from Earth. Each of you has received a message to be at the right date and time in that parking lot, with all your dependents. I hope you have all your kids with you, because we are not going back. I have no idea why HQ wanted you all picked up in a hurry, but there must have been a good reason. We had to leave before Dr Margaret Finley and her concubines got to the parking lot. When we received news from them, the situation on the ground had already escalated to such an extent that it was irresponsible to go back and take them on board.”
“Is that Dr Margaret Finley, the biologist?” I asked. I hadn't known she would come on board as well, but her knowledge would be very welcome in my research.
The captain looked annoyed at being interrupted. "Yes, I believe so. She's a scientist." He spoke as if he were talking about a cockroach.
“Dr Finley is vital to my research. Therefore, I urge that an alternative method be found to bring her on board.”
The captain stood up and walked over to my table. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes, I do,” I said simply. I just said so, didn’t I?
“And do you also think it's important enough to let Sergeant Barrett die for that?”
I didn't have an answer for that.
“Because that's the choice I face, little boy. I'm responsible for the lives of my crew. And that carries a bit more weight than a scientist who left home too late.”
He returned to the table. “This trip came as a surprise to all of us. Although the ship had not been used for a long time, it was good enough for a quick snatch-and-dash. To send a big ship like the Aphrodite would be too expensive for such a small group, so they brought this oldie out of its stable again. As this is a quick taxi job, we sailed with the minimum crew: two bridge, two in engineering and a Marine. We will reach Fiditon-7 within three weeks. I have no idea if Fiditon will be your final destination. Perhaps some of you will have to travel further on another ship. You will stay at least a week in Fiditon for medical and administrative reasons.”
“The big ships take their own sweet time to reach destination, mainly to accommodate sponsors and concubines to get used to their new surroundings and roles. I can assure you that will use our maximum speed to reach our home base at Fiditon. Wherever you came from, you are not a citizen of some town or country on Earth; you are a citizen now of the Confederacy and subject to the Confederacy’s laws. And you will need some time to get used to them. Are there any married people in the room right now?”
Three hands were raised. Mine, Miss Vietnam and the loud guy, Cade or something. The captain continued, “OK. Two out of eight is a low number, and that is good. You know that your marriage has ended the moment you set foot on this ship. Spouses who cannot get used to their new roles as concubines with zero rights often have trouble adjusting to the new reality. I have made over 60 trips on large vessels from Earth. On every trip there was at least one concubine that had to be recycled or thrown out of the hatch. I hope all you concubines behave on this brief trip.”
“Are there sponsors here in the age from 14 to 21?” I raised my hand.
“Just one. That’s wonderful. You can always go to Sgt. Vic Barett for advice. It’s extra difficult for young sponsors, so don’t be afraid to ask for advice.”
“One last thing, I guess. Dependants. How many children under 14 do we have on board?
A big guy with two women shouted five. Twin man, a man with two twin concubines, raised two fingers, Miss Vietnam 3.
“Ten kids. Those are the 10 children we keep our hands off. We have a zero-tolerance policy against sexual acts against children. How many of them are 13 now?” Two hands, Miss Vietnam and Monumental Tits. This guy was clearly a tit man. I nicknamed the other girl Mammoth Tits.
“Please ask your sponsor to answer for you.” The big guy shouted, “One!”
“Regarding 13 years olds, special rules apply. The keep-your-hands-off rules still apply, but to prepare them for adulthood, they may initiate oral sex activities. Only on their own initiative, not forced into anything. Is that clear?”
One last thing. We did not get you from Earth just to save you from the Swarm attack, or to allow you to have sex all day with your concubines. Yes, get them pregnant within a year. But that is because we want humanity to survive. The real reason you are here is that we need you to fight. This is not a space holiday. As a Confederate civilian, your duty is to fight the bloody Sa’arm until your dying breath.
“That’s all. Have a pleasant trip.” Commander Holt stood up and left the room.
“Alright, sponsors, listen up,” the Marine Sergeant shouted. “Every day we start the day here at 08:00 ship time. Ask your AI for your uniform. Your concubines wear concubine shifts or nothing at all. Civilian clothes are not allowed, except for children. Get used to asking your AI for guidance and ask it for things you might need from the replicator. You can go now to your pods, and we will see you tomorrow here at eight hundred hours sharp. Dismissed.”
Mike Omelanuk
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Han van Meegeren
Mike Omelanuk
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