Re: Swarm Authors: Access & Adapt chapters 1 - 8

[Mike Omelanuk]

I'm not seeing all 8 chapters here. I suggest that you load all 8 chapters as an rtf file. Mike

On Sat, Mar 28, 2026 at 12:37 PM Han van Meegeren <vanmeeg...@gmail.com> wrote:

Chapter 1: The Duel

 

 

 

“To assess before the attempt is to place wisdom at the gate of fortune.”
Han Jansz. van Meegeren

 

 

Sponsors and concubines filled the hangar bay. We were both handcuffed, Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson and me, with our hands behind our backs. An excited murmur filled the room. Sergeant Victoria Barrett called for silence. No one wanted to get in her bad book, so it wasn't long before you could have heard a pin drop.

 

“As if we didn't have enough problems on this voyage, Mr Giraut has taken one of Mr Bronson's concubines, Elena, as his own. It's a golden rule here on board that the sponsor only concerns himself with his own concubines and leaves those of other sponsors alone. Mr Drew Giraut has admitted to stealing Mr Bronson's concubine and has no intention of returning her to her rightful owner. If it had stopped there, we have procedures on this ship to deal with such offences. The crew and the other sponsors would have distributed Drew Giraut’s concubines among themselves, and they would have recycled him.”

 

“However, Mr Bronson — by his own admission, as an act of revenge — raped Mr Giraut's concubine, Aislinn. Several witnesses and the AI have confirmed this. This has resulted in death threats from both sides. Given the difficult and extraordinary circumstances we currently find ourselves in, and the urgent need for every man and woman to reach Zorath-1 in one piece, I urge both men to reconcile their differences. If Drew apologises to Cade and returns his concubine, and Cade apologises for what happened with Aislinn, then we can resolve this conflict peacefully and maturely. However, we cannot and will not continue with two men who are out to kill each other. We work too closely together for that. We don't need to become friends, but we also don't want an atmosphere on board where people want to snuff each other out. Is that clear, and can we resolve this here?”

 

Sergeant. Victoria Barrett placed her hand on my shoulder and, with her superior strength, forced me to my knees. "Apologise."

 

I swallowed. “I have nothing to apologise for. It's Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson who should be apologising. What I did was what any decent person would have done. What he did to Aislinn is the lowest thing a human being could do to another human being. He...”

 

“Enough!” the sergeant thundered. “Cade, is it possible for you to accept that your concubine has chosen another sponsor and wants to stay with him?”

 

“No way. He must die. And I will gladly kill him, slowly, painfully, and mercilessly. This nerd’s ruined enough, and this broke the camel’s back. And I will break his neck.”

 

“This rapist is a danger to everyone on this ship. No concubine will be safe if this is tolerated. The only solution is for him to leave this ship permanently and immediately. Dead or alive,” I said, seething with anger.

 

“In that case, the protocol leaves me no choice. If both cannot live together peacefully, they will have to fight it out until one of them gives up. Preferably alive, with the promise to accept defeat, otherwise dead. Dead or alive, the loser's concubines will be divided among the crew and sponsor passengers.”

 

“This is madness! How can you allow a fight between a trained soldier and a scientist? That is criminal!” Joyce shouted.

 

“Mr Giraut, please tell your concubine to keep her mouth shut? This reflects badly on you again. This is a final warning to keep your concubines under control.”

 

“Joyce, shut the fuck up,” I said, suddenly tired. I didn’t need to hear that I stood no chance against that incredibly muscular bastard, especially considering his extensive background in combat training. I knew that. But there was no other choice.

 

“You know what? After you surrender, I will rape your ass, just as I did to that she-male of yours, and I will let you live. From then on your pussy will be public property, and everyone who feels like a piece of that soft white ass of yours can have a go at you.” Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson sneered.

 

Sergeant. Barrett held up her hand to Cade 'the Blade' Bronson as if that would stop him. “That’s enough. We will handle this in an organised manner. Each participant can select two weapons they prefer for the battle. We prohibit guns because they are too dangerous for the ship. Before the fight commences, both participants will affirm their readiness to compete. Following that, the rules cease to exist. The battle begins tomorrow at 0600 here in the hangar bay. The mandatory presence tomorrow of everyone on this ship for this fight should serve as a harsh reminder of your singular authority over your own concubines and to keep your hands off those of others. If we don’t, we all will be dead before we reach Zorath-1. Until then, you'll each be locked in an empty pod so you can consider whether this is what you really want.”

 

I was escorted to a pod on the first deck. Just an empty pod with the bare essentials. Of course I knew I didn’t stand a chance of surviving this fight. This guy was a fighting machine. But I would not give Elena back to him. I do not know how people could watch this… person… treat his concubines, but I couldn’t live with myself if I stood there and did nothing. I don’t believe my death tomorrow would benefit her, as the sponsors would probably return her to Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson.

 

How sad it was that just a few weeks ago we'd boarded the ship with such high hopes and dreams for the future, and now look at us! I'd hoped my concubines would be divided among the two men I trusted, but that wasn't likely. I missed them more than ever tonight. I knocked on the door and asked for a pen and paper, but I didn't get any. When they brought dinner, I asked if I could speak to them one last time, but that request was also denied.

 

I'd never felt the need to watch TV shows about people on Death Row, but if I had, I would at least have had some sense of how to behave. Of course, I didn't sleep that night. Staying awake only caused me worry, but I couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. At 5:30, someone knocked on my door. Sergeant Vic Barrett came to ask if I'd changed my plan to commit suicide.

 

"It's not suicide, Sergeant."

 

"Oh, so you think you can win this morning?"

 

"No, that's highly unlikely. But that doesn't mean I can do something against my principles."

 

“Yeah, a man with principles,” she said as if that were the worst thing on Earth. Or in Space. “Come on then, let’s get you killed.”

 

Everyone was already present in the hangar bay. They all stood in a U-shape around an imaginary ring. Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson was already there in the middle.

 

“Although the duel is rarely used any more, it is indeed an ancient ritual with fixed rules. The first rule is whether we can resolve this without violence. Cade, are you willing to apologise to Drew for the brutal rape of one of his concubines?” Sergeant Vic Barrett asked him.

 

“There is nothing for me to be sorry about. If you can’t keep your hands off someone else’s girl, expect the same to happen to you.” The rapist said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

“Drew, will you apologise to Cade and return the woman that rightfully belongs to him?”

 

“I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that.”

 

“You're both a disgrace as sponsors. When we so desperately need our sponsors in order to survive, you two are going to fight to the death. The duel is over when one of you is no longer alive or has surrendered. As soon as either of you shouts "surrender," I will stop the fight. The one who surrenders becomes the other's concubine. An old rule is that the fight must be held naked, undoubtedly to make wounds easier to assess. Strip!” The sergeant walked to the side, and Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson was already taking his clothes off. The guy was a muscle factory. My naked body looked like it was: the body of a man of science.

 

Like a tennis referee, Sergeant Barrett said: “On this table there are objects that are allowed in the fight. Each of you can choose two weapons. There are two of each on the table. Choose wisely.”

 

Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson took a long iron chain and a 60 cm machete from the table. Sharp points serrated the top of the machete. It's an instrument that gives you chills. It did to me, at least. I stood before the table where a second chain and machete lay, neither of which I had any use for. Besides a pair of brass knuckles, there was an assortment of knives on the table. I picked up the woodsman's knife, weighed it in my hand, and set it down again. Then I did the same with the other knives, carefully checking the sharpness of the point and trying to determine the blade's stability.

 

Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson started teasing. "It doesn't matter what you choose, you pathetic little professor, in 10 minutes your head will roll on the floor. Let's just get this over with."

 

I leisurely inspected all the knives again, holding them one by one. Finally, I chose two small but razor-sharp knives.

 

“Can I have one request?” Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson asked Sergeant Victoria Barrett.

 

She nodded. “It’s not unusual at this stage. If it is a reasonable request, we can accommodate it.”

 

“All of this is getting me really horny. Can I ask you to suck me hard? I would like to show all the women here what a proper weapon looks like.”

 

I had silently admired Victoria Barrett, the sergeant, from the day we arrived here for her beauty and the calm she radiated. I had been completely in awe of the ease with which this woman asserted her authority. This Victoria Barrett sank to her knees before Cade 'the Blade' Bronson, took his dick in her mouth and sucked him until he was completely hard.

 

“You are, of course, free to ask a concubine to do the same for you,” Sergeant. Barrett said, looking over her shoulder, with her hand jacking the guy’s prick off.

 

I shook my head at my concubines, who were already about to walk toward me. I had no desire to break my focus. I knew that if he came anywhere near me, my chances were practically zero. I would have to deal with him while I was still out of reach of his chain. I would get one chance, probably not a second. Everything would depend on how he approached me. If he approached me like a boxer, leaping back and forth, agile as a ballet dancer, my chances were gone. The 'independent referee' in our fight took her mouth from the guy’s dick, a hard rod glistening with saliva.

 

“I considered this a last wish, and I couldn't refuse. Both of you take 10 steps back, and the moment I blow this whistle, the fight begins.” The sound in the background swells. A lot of encouragement for the rapist, my concubines made their voices heard for me in the corner behind me.

 

Her whistle cut through the murmur and the cheers. A duel brought out the worst in people, even before Roman times. Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson came toward me, a wide grin on his face. In his right hand, he ostentatiously swung the chain like a standard-bearer doing his tricks. He walked toward me with complete confidence. This was my chance. It had to happen now; later would be too late. I took the knife in my hand, slightly past the point. I was a skilled darts player who threw relatively heavy darts, but 32-gram darts were no match for this knife. I couldn't wait for him to get any closer; the moment he saw my throwing position, he would react. Fortunately, he was so self-assured, focused on himself, that he hadn't yet noticed I raised my hand.

 

I aimed for the largest object in front of me, right in his chest, preferably near his heart. I focused completely on my throw and then, with substantial force but also with some control, launched the knife at him. My eyes were a slow-motion camera following the knife's flight. I was afraid I'd thrown too softly and the knife would land somewhere near his feet. The chain almost caught the knife, but with a satisfying squeak, the sharp point struck him squarely in the chest, penetrating three-quarters of his body, hopefully causing significant damage.

 

Like a professional darts player, I already had my second blade in hand. Ideally, it would have gone straight for his throat, but given the uncontrolled movements, the chances of hitting my target this time were slim. Therefore, less than five seconds later, my second blade landed near the perfect marker I could have aimed for.

 

No one expected the fight to end before the first blow was thrown, least of all Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson. He howled in pain and dropped his chain to pull the blades from his chest. Nice quantities of blood spurted from his chest. I was now defenceless against the machete, and all I could do was stay well clear of him, so I danced to the corner he'd just emerged from. With his machete in hand, he came at me, howling with pain and rage, leaving a trail of blood. I made sure not to slip on all that blood and ran for the chain he'd dropped.

 

The wound in his chest had left none of the speed he'd displayed at the beginning of the fight. From a good distance, I wrapped the chain around his feet, and with a jerk that stung my shoulder, the bleeding lump of flesh fell to the ground. He lay gasping for breath, but still didn't give up.

 

The blood bubbling in his mouth showed that he would not recover. With my foot on his wrist, he had to let go of the two-foot-long knife. I quickly picked it up and dodged his hand that was about to grab my ankle. Without thinking, I lifted his penis off with a single blow of the machete. I'm not very proud of it and did it without thinking. The object that had got him into such trouble now lay idle on the ground beside him, and he was bleeding heavily from his groin. When a man is in so much pain, it's inhumane to watch him bleed to death. With a single chop of the machete, I put him out of his misery. I had killed my first human being.

 

Mentally and physically exhausted, I collapsed beside him, my legs no longer able to support me. My concubines surrounded me, trying to drag me away from him, as if he might rise at any moment and harm me. I vaguely heard the sergeant declare me the winner, and the room fell silent. Perhaps I'd robbed them of a good fight, but no one had told me it was supposed to be a fair, heroic fight, with Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson ultimately emerging victorious.

 

“He never meant to keep me alive,” was all I could say to my girls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pushups were just part of the fitness program we had invented to deal with boredom. With Sharon, I tried some basic acro yoga. It was good for the strength of my arms and legs. Sharon was a cheerleader once, so she was flexible and had good core strength. The girls like to watch how I could throw Sharon in the air and catch her with my feet. Yes, we failed the first 100 tries or so, but that was fun as well.

 

 

Chapter 3: On board of the Sleeper

 

 

People don’t trust scientists any more. 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 respond by 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 shops’ employees 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 isolated 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 stepped forward — clearly the sergeant — her voice amplified by a helmet speaker that cut 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 paused. 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 in 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.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4 Aislinn’s Secret

 

 

We walked along a broad hallway. With a little fantasy, this could have been a hotel, with doors on the left and right with numbers on them. On second thought, perhaps it bore more resemblance to a submarine. A whole lot of metal, painted in a grey colour that Christian Grey would definitely disapprove of.

 

“How do we open it?” Isis asked, trying to open the pod’s door. Kia was jumping up and down with her hand in the air, as if a gesture of some sort would trigger the electronic door opener.

 

“Open,” I said, and like on Sesame, the door slid open.

 

“How?” Kia asked with her mouth open.

 

“It said so on the door.” Most people overlook the obvious.

 

The pod itself was very basic. On a ship, this would be the master stateroom, a room with two couches, big enough for all to sit on. A door in the ‘living room’, as the girls called it, gave way to a small toilet on the right and a shower on the left side. An ant-grav personal lift connected the upper and lower decks. The middle door led to the master bedroom, with two smaller bedrooms on either side. Upstairs — without stairs — is the nursery and quarters for children and more concubines. My girls thought the whole thing could have used some paint, and preferably in a different colour. Now that they mentioned it, the pod looked well-used. The paint is faded, the walls show marks and small cracks, and the whole place looks neglected. We were here temporarily, so we just had to go along with it. Lots of people go on holiday in a tent, and that is supposed to be fun. We would probably survive in a pod that looked a bit worn out. 

 

After the ‘tour’, Sharon said, “Glisskissing rules apply in the pod, not outside of it.”

 

Glisskissing is typically a girl thing. It all started when I was very young, and each time I walked past my mom, I had to give her a little kiss. In twenty minutes, twenty times I passed her, meaning twenty kisses. The act of kissing, by its very nature, is intimate, and this holds true even for a kiss shared with your mother. Most kisses need time to be savoured, the duel of the tongues, a kiss goodbye. But there are also kisses that belong to movement. These are glisskisses.

 

A glisskiss happens in passing. Two people cross paths—in a hallway, a kitchen, at the door on the way out—and affection glides between them. It may be nothing more than the lightest touch of lips to cheek, a quick brush that hardly interrupts the rhythm of the day. Or sometimes, the motion slows for a breathless moment, and we pour a little more warmth into it. Then life continues.

 

The term “gliss” suggests a sense of fluidity. There is also a hint of bliss in the word — something light, almost sparkling. A glisskiss is not heavy with meaning. It does not demand attention. It is a heartfelt sentiment; even if it doesn’t say “I love you,” it conveys “I see you. I am glad you’re here with me. We are in this together. I am as scared as you are, but in this moment we’re together.”

 

Over time, these minor acts accumulate. A household like ours becomes a place where affection circulates naturally, where love moves through the rooms as people do. These were the times we needed those simple affirmations of love the most. My girls, I kind of like the phrase “Drew’s crew,” looked at me as if I would protest against the glisskissing rule, but I felt how important this was to them, so I just nodded.

 

“Time to get the show on the road,” I said, “So many times you have driven me crazy by parading in the nude for me in the house. We have moved beyond the realm of acting or pretending; this is the real thing. We are on our way to the stars. Aislinn, you are the last one I have not seen nude yet. Do you feel comfortable enough around me, around all of us I suppose, to show us your bare self?”

 

Aislinn cried. Joyce said in her most motherly tone, “Drew, Aislinn carries the weight of a secret that is more than she can bear. The shock that there is no medical tube on board this ship is perhaps even more devastating than it would have been for Jenny.”

 

Isis and Kia were busy undressing the sobbing girl.

 

“You see,” Mother continued, “Aislinn is one hundred percent woman. She feels like a woman; she acts like a woman; she is a woman. But a cruel twist of nature gave her not only beautiful breasts but also the penis she didn't want, and for which she had no use whatsoever. In her dreams, you would have her gender changed from a man to a woman as soon as we got on board in the med tube. You promised her she would bear your first child, and that gave her the strength to persevere and come with us. She believed with full confidence that nature’s flaw could at last be made right. That she could be not only fully a woman on the inside but also, well, on the outside.”

 

Objectively speaking, Aislinn was not as beautiful as Sharon or Isis. Her short, curly hair framed a prominent forehead, and her slightly oversized front teeth detracted from her beauty, making her resemble any other woman in her early thirties. Her looks were average; your neighbour next door looks. Average girl, average breasts. Not big, or huge like Isis, not small like Kia, but somewhere in between.

 

When Isis removed Aislinn’s bra, her breasts slipped out of the cups and sagged slightly because of their weight and a history of inadequate support. Kia grabbed her wrists to prevent her from covering herself. A bit of a round belly like so many young women these days and a pair of black panties underneath. Isis unceremoniously removed the panties and revealed a not too large penis enclosed by a metal casing. I have seen them in porn flicks, but to see one in reality is quite another thing. This chastity device, hooked behind her or his balls and covering his penis entirely with this … thing. I think they call it a birdcage, but I’m not sure.

 

Aislinn’s knees buckled, and she would have fallen if her friends hadn’t been holding her up. A little bundle of misery, uncertain about her future, perhaps regretting her choice and unable to control the tidal wave of emotions.

 

“Joyce, Sharon, Kia, why don’t you take Aislinn out for a moment to help her calm down a bit, fix her makeup, tell her this is not the end of the world, and come back here. Isis, you stay here with me.” I interpreted Sharon's look at me as a silent reproach — such a typical male thing, sending a woman outside in this situation! Apart from that look, she said nothing else.

 

When Isis closed the door behind them, she said, a bit reproachfully, “She loves you, you know?”

 

“No, I don’t know. And I do not know how to move forward. I think it was in Cockfall that you played with a transgender person.”

 

“I can’t remember.” Isis lied.

 

I walked towards her until I was very close, almost touching her tits with my chest.

 

“This is the last lie you have told me, Isis. From now on, I will not tolerate a single lie from you. You know damn well in which films you have acted with transgender people, because there were only two movies. We are short on time, and I have many questions, so I suggest we don't play games right now. Is Aislinn feeling a man or a woman?”

 

“A woman, of course.”

 

“Does she love me the same way as you do?”

 

“What do you mean by that?” She asked.

 

“Does her dick get stiff when she looks at me, or is it all in the mind?”

 

“You will have to ask her that. Is that important?”

 

“It is. I’m homophobic enough to shudder at the thought of sucking his dick off. Is it not weird if she wants to suck mine?”

 

“Look, she’s very confused and vulnerable right now, and terrified by all the stories she picked up so far, that you can do anything to her. She needs confirmation that you will take care of her, protect her, and she needs you to promise her to change her into a real woman at the first opportunity you get. That’s all. Just be your loving self, and everything will turn out just fine. You already promised all that when you agreed to accept her as your concubine – and the AI knew – it’s in her CAP score.”

 

Someone knocked on the door. Metallica. It sounded different from someone knocking on a wooden door. Isis opened the door, letting the small procession in. Not only did Aislinn look at me as if she were standing before the International Criminal Court in The Hague, but my other concubines shared that look.

 

“We have a problem of epic proportions on our hands. It’s not about Aislinn being a woman or not. A birth defect does not make a woman a man. She’s certainly a woman—she can run three experiments, answer two emails, and remind me what I forgot to do, all at the same time. She can say ‘nothing’s wrong’ in a tone that clearly means something is. So, Aislinn, that is not the problem. Rest assured, at the first opportunity that comes up, I will have you changed into a female who will carry my child.”

 

“No, that’s not the problem. The problem is that all of you and the AIs have kept a secret from me, and in doing so, have put our entire expedition in great danger. If any of you had had the sense to tell me about Aislinn sooner, I could have prepared for it. We would have worked out some kind of strategy about it.”

 

“We are no longer on Earth, and you all know damn well that the rules on board this ship differ from what we used to consider normal. I am responsible for every one of you, and I can only bear that responsibility if you are open and honest with me. Apparently, none of you thought that was necessary. You were all afraid that I would have an autistic fit, and that is why it was safer to wait until there was no turning back and to confront Drew with a fait accompli.”

 

“I hope you all understand that I can just let this slide. Tomorrow I will settle the score with all of you, one by one. I am too tired tonight. I didn't sleep last night, and I can't think clearly right now. Arrange your own sleeping arrangements. Preferably all in one room. Don't let anyone sleep alone tonight. This meeting is closed.” I glisskissed them all on their way out. Sharon made one last halfhearted attempt to stay with me, but soon realised it was pointless.

 

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” A voice asked me after I was alone in the bedroom. I looked at the ceiling. I have no idea where that voice came from, but we tend to look up when we address the unknown. If we talk to God, we raise our eyes to the sky. The AI is not a God, per se, but it’s of a similar enigmatic nature, right?

 

“There is actually, you can tell my concubines how to use those replicator things.”

 

“Are there restrictions on how they can use them?” It asked.

 

“No, any request from them is coming from me as well. They are here to take care of me, so facilitate them as best as you can.”

 

“As you wish.” The Ai answered.

 

“Wake me tomorrow at dawn.”

 

“Technically, there is no sun to rise, but I will wake you at 0600 hours. It’s not really an Ai’s task”

 

“Thank you,” I said sleepily, ignoring criticism from a haughty Ai.

 

———————————

 

The next morning came too early. Before my alarm AI told me to wake up, a knock on my door and Isis’ voice told me breakfast was ready. Without a shower, I dressed in the same clothes as yesterday and went to the ‘living room’. Drew’s crew was waiting for me at a nicely set breakfast table.

 

“Sit down and eat,” I said after I noticed I was the only one sitting at the table, slightly irritated. “Yesterday was the first and I hope the last time that I felt so disappointed in all of you. I am not interested in your excuses or reasons you kept an important secret from me. We are on a dangerous trip and we need unconditional trust in each other. We are not supposed to keep secrets from each other.”

 

“I want to hear from each of you: ‘Drew, I will keep nothing secret from you.” Each of them obediently recited the words. “Somehow, this still doesn't feel like enough. I don't want to punish you for abandoning me, and therefore you shouldn't perceive what I am about to say as a punishment.”

 

“Aislinn, you first. You have been my lab assistant for years. And a good one, or at least good enough. You could have, should have known, that I would have taken you along regardless of the spare parts on your body. It is your job, Aislinn, to get Joyce pregnant before we reach Fiditon-1.”

 

“Sharon, you are to maximise the conditions for fertilising Joyce. Isis, Aislinn will entrust her key to you, making you its keeper. The cage stays on during the day, and you will unlock it at night. It’s your job to make her excited enough to ejaculate inside of Joyce.”

 

“Aislinn, I want you to come inside Joyce’s womb every single day until we reach Fiditon-1, on fertile and non-fertile days. Every night will be dedicated to the singular purpose of getting Joyce pregnant. I will ask the AI to monitor Joyce and to confirm if and when she will be with child.”

 

“Confirmed,” the AI interrupted. All the women at the table looked at me as if I had gone mad.

 

“Aislinn, I know this isn’t easy for you. You know how I feel about impregnating Joyce, and I consider this a personal favour. I know very well I will be the one to give her the second child, but this buys both Joyce and me time to adjust to our new reality.”

 

“Kia, as the others are all busy in the other room, you will keep me company until we reach our destination.” I said, turning over to the girl who looked back at me like a proverbial deer in headlights.

 

“Sharon. Out of everyone, you are the one who has let me down the most. I feel you have betrayed my trust in you. You will have to work hard to regain some of that trust. Perhaps it’s my fault for depending on the honesty of my wife too much in the past. Consider yourself to be at the lowest position within our community. You are not only my ex-wife but also my ex-confidante.”

 

Sharon broke down crying. Even though I felt terrible about it, I had no intention of retracting those words. I don’t believe any of them enjoyed being away from Earth. When you reach for something for a long time, it becomes illuminated in your imagination, smoothed by hope and what you expect. It’s more than just a goal; but when the long-awaited moment arrives and you’re here on a cold ship, the feeling becomes strangely hollow. What once drove you eagerly now leaves you a bit disheartened, as if the process was more satisfying than the outcome. The thing you craved so intensely is harsh and unforgiving; your longing, however, was vast.

 

“Everyone hurry; we have to be in the cafeteria at 0800 hours. Because we have hidden so much from each other, you will wear your birth suits and nothing else. Well, Aislinn will wear her cage and nothing else. I want everyone’s makeup to be immaculate and make sure you’re ready at 0750 hours.”

 

Sharon spoke on behalf of all of them, as was to be expected. “I beg you, Master Drew, to let us wear our concubine shifts. I think most, if not all, sponsors will allow their concubines to wear their shifts. Why would you humiliate us all by being nude and think for a moment how Aislinn would feel about wearing nothing?”

 

I sighed. Everything was a fight. “Sharon, just do what you’re told—no carryin’ on, Sharon. Kia, bring my uniform, will you?”

 

“Uh… what uniform, sir?”

 

“The uniform you asked the AI to prepare for this meeting today with the other sponsors. Those people who were also wearing their uniforms because their concubines made sure they were ready for them in time.” I walked back to my cabin and took a shower. Ever since I had come aboard, a feeling of unease had filled me. Perhaps it is better to say that my body reacted as if danger were imminent. It was nonsense, of course. The only danger was that I would feel uncomfortable in a large group. That was probably what was bothering me.

 

I yearned for the calm of my laboratory, where my accountability extended only to my research outcomes. The responsibility for five women I could not rely on weighed heavily. Perhaps I was too strict with them. But I’d rather be too strict now than wish later that I had inculcated the new reality from the beginning. The life of a concubine was no life. Having to do what someone else says all the time was something I wouldn’t be able to endure for long myself. Today was going to be a challenge for them. Today was the real litmus test.

 

One by one, the girls came outside. Even though I had only had sex with two of them, I had seen them all naked for months. Except for Aislinn, but her body held no secrets since yesterday. It was therefore even more striking that both Joyce and Kia held their hands in front of their bodies. It showed how uncomfortable they found it to expose themselves naked to strangers. I don't think they felt uncomfortable with me; I think it was a harbinger of what was to come. Why shouldn't I just dress them in a simple dress to protect their dignity? Why did I dismiss that thought as soon as it crossed my mind? There was a reason for the rule requiring new concubines to enter service naked, but no matter how much I denied it, were petty feelings of revenge at the root of this after all? Had this environment, where everything revolved around power, already crept into my ego system? Was I required to show my superiority at the expense of others, and from what did I derive that so-called superiority? Did a CAP score provide a well-rounded picture of a person, or did it merely show the extent to which a person contributed in the fight against the Sa'arm?

 

The Ai ​​warned us we had an appointment in the officers’ mess three minutes ago.

 

My feelings of doubt would only reinforce my crew's doubts about my leadership. Many times they had emphasised that they expected leadership from me; now was the time to show it. My Blue litmus paper turned red; let’s hope those of my concubines remained blue.

 

“Follow me, always in this order: Kia, Aislinn, Joyce, Isis, and Sharon. Learn to walk as close as you can to another, without contacting the person before you. Kia, remain a metre behind me, so if I stop abruptly you won’t bump into me. Let’s go.”

 

I opened the Pod’s door. I am unsure if heaven would permit this door. It looked more like a Hell’s gate. The purpose of the goose step with military precision was to distract their thoughts from their entry into the canteen. And no; It didn’t work. In a room where every concubine was wearing a shift, however simple and revealing, five women in the nude mercilessly drew all eyes towards us. Maybe I had already known from the start that this wasn't a good idea, but there hadn't been enough time to properly map out the consequences of my impulsive idea.

 

Aislinn and Isis attracted the most attention. I understand that. Suddenly, a woman comes walking up whom you’ve only seen in movies until now. And she’s wearing a costume she always wears when she acts in films. And her breasts are so beautiful and such attention-grabbers that the only thing you can think of is grabbing them. To grab, squeeze, bite, devour, caress, and admire them. You are in awe of them, and perhaps also of her. You cannot believe she’s here, and yet you are in the same room. I know how you feel; I feel it every single day.

 

And Aislinn. You would swear she was a woman. There is nothing muscular in her face, her hair, her tits. Okay, they are not Isis’ breasts, but Isis is Isis, a class of her own. Not a woman on Earth or beyond could compete with that. And yet Aislinn’s tits are full of promise. Proud, well-shaped, and proportionate. Any man would love to suckle on those nipples; they are two invitation cards on her chest. But perhaps you immediately noticed the grotesque metal thing between her legs. It’s almost impossible to ignore: the only piece of clothing on an otherwise naked body.

 

The combination of what you have always seen as masculine and what you have seen as feminine, that you cannot help but look at it, whether or not you want to. It is so contradictory, so unnatural, so non-naked. The image evokes a person you know; her face disfigured by burns. Perfect flesh framed by glaring imperfections. Neither one nor the other belongs here.

 

 The murmur grew louder; the glances of the men, and of the women too for that matter, were directed first at Isis. Accustomed to people staring at her, she did not flinch or blush. Or not batting an eye, whatever you prefer. She didn’t do that either. Bat an eye. Being judged your whole life on what you do instead of who you are, does that to you, I think.

 

“Hey, you is that metal thing filled or is just decoration?” a guy shouted, the one with tattoos everywhere, even on his neck. In darts, tattoos are quite common; besides, it’s hard to find a blank canvas nowadays. Everyone, male and female, has one or more things written in ink on their body. Think for a minute about what this signifies for humanity – the urge to permanently engrave something onto our skin. Aislinn had several tattoos and Isis as well.

 

“Hey, I asked you a question, bitch.” Yeah. One of those.

 

“Perhaps she is not answering you because I ordered them not to talk.” I said, remembering too late that I had actually wanted to give them that assignment, but had forgotten. I could only hope that they would take up the order in retrospect.

 

“Well, you tell me, tough guy, is she a freak of nature or not?”

 

“This is Aislinn, who won a prize for best-looking foetus in the womb of her mother, beautiful as a baby, a toddler and a teenager. Smart enough to become the lab assistant of the nastiest and most demanding scientist in the world. So, she is a lot of things, but freak is definitely not one of them.” I said.

 

“Why don’t you take that thing off, so we all can see how freakish she really is.” The guy challenged.

Chapter 5: Nice To Meet You

 

 

I chose to ignore the elephant in the room and sat down at the only available table with six chairs. The tables were all arranged in a semicircle, and before us stood Sergeant Barrett in all her glory.

 

“Welcome everyone, this is the first day in the room for you. Now that Mr Giraut has finally joined us as well, we can begin. Mr Giraut, I think I speak on behalf of us all when I ask you to be on time from now on, otherwise we will all be waiting for one sponsor. That said, we will spend time together for about three weeks. It is therefore nice to get to know each other a bit. Part of the fixed schedule is that until we reach Fiditon-1, we will be here in the mess every morning from 0800 until 1200 hours. Regardless of whether you stay at Fiditon-1 or continue on, it is good to make new friends. Please use the morning for that purpose. After 12:00, you are free to do as you please.

 

Let me first introduce our crew and also tell you something about the ship you are on. Our crew’s home base is on Fiditon-1. You have already met Captain Holt. The captain does not appreciate it if you approach him with simple questions. Therefore, I request you direct all questions of any nature to me; naturally, I will discuss matters with the captain if necessary.

 

The standard crew of a ship like the 'Sleeper', as we affectionately call her, comprises thirteen. The five crew members currently on board are an exception that I have not encountered in all my years as a Marine. Because we are making a brief trip back and forth from Fiditon to Earth, such a minimal crew is justifiable. On the bridge, you will find Hans Vandervoort, First Mate. I doubt you will see him much, though. His task are the most arduous on board. Two of our valued crew work are in the engine room, and will introduce themselves.

 

A short guy with a grey crew cut hair stepped forward and said, “People call me Mr-there-is-nothing-I-can’t-fix. I’m the greatest mechanic that ever lived. I’m the man. Dan the Man, that’s what they call me. That’s what they call me. If you’ve got a problem and you have nowhere to go, visit Dan the Man in the ship’s belly.”

 

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “It’s not quite clear to me what people call you. Are you, Mr-there-is-nothing-I-can’t-fix, or is it Dan the Man?” People laughed all around me. “It’s a legitimate question; I want to make sure I use his correct name.” I defended myself.

 

“Just call him Dan or Dan the Man, and know he can fix anything,” Sergeant Barrett intervened. “Zara, can you introduce yourself, please?”

 

“Zara Korrin, second mechanic.” And stepped back. A greater difference between those two was hardly conceivable.

 

Unperturbed, Sergeant Barrett continued. “You may have noticed that the Sleeper is an old ship. It is a ship built by the Tu’ull and centuries old. Originally they had been owned by clans, not individuals. It made one long voyage and was away for twenty-five years. The all-Dutch crew mockingly nicknamed the ship 'The Flying Dutchman'. The ship was designed for a relatively small crew and for long voyages. Probably because of a malfunction, this ship lay idle and chained up for a very long time. The vessel’s inherent tendency to drift marginally when docked led them to secure it, and it subsequently earned the designation of the Somnambulist.”

 

“For many years, no one paid any attention to the ship. The order to get the Somnambulist in working order again came unexpectedly. First, they removed the old propulsion system and replaced it with a very modern ‘engine’. One that can reach high speeds, requires limited maintenance, and, more importantly, can function for years with no need to stop. It is evident that much work remains before they can fully put it into service. This ship is not equipped with weapons; we have nothing that could fight back against a real warship. Don’t worry, we don’t expect to encounter any enemy ships on this voyage.”

 

“It really is a ship that will probably make long voyages again. We do not know why HQ deployed it to make a quick trip to Earth and back. Perhaps it is a test to see if the ship can still successfully make the round trip with a smaller crew. Who knows? It doesn’t matter. In three weeks we will reach Fiditon-1, and if that planet is not your final destination, you will move on with another ship. But enough about us, let’s talk about you. May I ask you to come forward, table by table, from left to right, to introduce yourselves, your concubines, and any dependents? Tell us why you are here, and what you hope to contribute to the Confederation.” She nodded towards the table next to ours.

 

The man is almost 2 metres tall; he has to bend a lot to prevent bumping his head all the time. He is also muscular. A mountain of a man.

 

“Hi, I’m Marcus Álvarez. I’m 31 years old, and after my time in the Army, I worked as a personal trainer in an exclusive gym. My clients were people who could easily afford a personal trainer. I like to work with people. Setting goals, however small, is very rewarding if you work on them as a team. I have always dreamed of becoming a Marine, and with my CAP-score I got my shot at it. I like all kinds of sports and watch a whole lot of them. You can say I’m quite competitive,” he smiled. He smiled a lot. A well-liked and approachable man.

 

“I am proud to present my two concubines: Samantha Peeters and Holly Vandergast. Perhaps it’s best if you girls present yourselves.”

 

Two girls of the same height, one with blond, the other, brown almost black hair, both wearing cheerleader uniforms, tight tops, short skirts that locked their nimble bodies quite accurately. Both danced as one, yelling with their high girlish voices: “WE ARE A TEAM: POD 1 IS NUMBER 1. GO POD 1!!!” Mountain Man burst out laughing. It was a happy team, Pod One. Not a trace of tension or awkwardness to be seen. Two girls my age and a man they appreciated and admired. An example of how well things could go. Not all combinations of sponsors and concubines are a disaster. One girl was more flexible than the other, maybe jumped just a little higher. She reminded me of those girls who do all kinds of tricks in the air with a muscular guy. I called her Flyer and the other Dancer, who was perhaps just a little bolder, just a little more provocative, more mature than Flyer.

 

“Thank you, pod one was number one in our lineup. Next, we invite the members of Pod 4 to the stage.” Sergeant Barrett said as if we were taking part in the Oscars. My crew already stood, and with justified reluctance, I stood as well. We walked to the geometric centre, which functioned as an improvised stage without gold-plated statuettes.

 

“I’m Drew and I’m a scientist. I left Earth because we lack the knowledge and the equipment to fight the Sa’arm. Every moment I’m sitting here doing nothing is a waste of valuable time. I cannot do any of my research here on board. What I am hoping to find at Fiditon-1 is a decent lab facility so I can get back to work. Aislinn helps me document my procedures and findings. It will help all those involved in this project to get us all on the same page. Well, not literally on the same page, of course, because the documentation might be over 500 pages…” I felt my crew looking at me, sending a silent stop sign. I sighed. Even the most basic form of education was apparently already too much of a good thing.

 

“Anyway, To make a long story short, my concubines are not my inferiors. They are my equals, my source of inspiration for new ideas, and my source of energy. Being so close together isn’t usually great for getting along. So, if I am strict with my concubines, it is because I want to bring them to Fiditon-1 in one piece. On the left is my mother Joyce, next to her my ex-wife Sharon, beside me Isis, the movie star most of you will probably know, and on my other side next to me Aislinn, who is anything but a freak, and finally Kia. Thank you.” Without waiting, I walked back to my table, followed by my crew members.

 

“Next table, please?” The sergeant said.

 

“I am Chloë Nguyen. My parents are Vietnamese, as you can probably guess from my name. I stopped trying to teach English-speaking people the most used last name in Vietnam correctly. Just call me Cloë or Win, please not N guy en or something like that. I come from a rich family and my parents arranged a marriage with Anh Lê.” She pointed at the last guy in the row. He looked ten years older than Miss Vietnam. “My husband was the CEO of our company back on Earth. Unfortunately, he took the CAP test and failed miserably. I will ask all of you for a little clemency with his behaviour. He’s used to being the boss in the house, and is having a hard time with the attitude change.” This guy shouldn’t have come with her. He doesn’t look happy.

 

“To my right is Javier Morales with his sister, Fernanda. Javier has been a good friend and now he is my good friend. My first child will be his. Next to Fernanda is Saima Saario.” She just kept on chattering when Barrett asked why she wanted to become a Confederacy member. I had never seen eyebrows like those of that Saario woman. Well, more of a girl. Browsie. That was a good name. Like Isis had her breasts, the first thing about this girl you noticed was her eyebrows. Browsie.

The Javier character was a rather small, stocky man. Probably one solid mass of muscle in a small package. It only just dawned on me who he reminded me of. Maradona. Same build, the same fierce look in his eyes. If he was Maradona, then his little sister was Madonna. I think that later on, people will make figurines of her likeness so that people will worship her on a small altar in their homes.

 

The guy with the tats came on stage. With four women at his side. “I’m Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson. I have been in professional wrestling for four years, and that’s when they called me ‘the Blade’. Because I’m sharp as a knife and smart as a blade.” It took this guy in his thirties five full minutes to tell us all how great he was and about his successes on the mat.

 

“My CAP-score of 7.4 allowed me to take four concubines. My wife, my secret-until-now mistress, the teacher of my daughter, and a waitress we picked up in the mall.” These women had no use for names, I suppose. I named them Poor Girl I, Poor Girl II, III and Poor Girl IV.

 

The next man was more interesting. It was Twin Man; I had seen earlier on. With his red-haired twins. There are bodily differences between Jade and Josie, but they are small. You have to look for them. The right tit of Josie sags a little more, I think. Full breasts, very nice. We were told the twin children were Josie’s. No mention of the father. Perhaps it’s Twin Man. The way he looked at them?

 

“Two more sponsors to go, people. Your attention, please, for Tyler Johnson.”

He looked big. Enormous. Shoulders and arms that could probably lift your car, a chest so wide it looked like a permanent roadblock. He moved with the confidence only a football star could carry — heavy-footed, as if gravity itself respected him too much to argue. His face was… well, it was there. Square jaw, chin jutting as if it were daring someone to call him out. Clear skin, a straight nose, and a grin that somehow was both too wide and completely clueless. His eyes, though, were the giveaway — bright, sure, but with that vacant “is anyone explaining the rules to me?” look, like his brain was still in the locker room doing push-ups. A Brainless Unimpressive Man. A bum. He dressed like he wanted everyone to know he was someone, but without actually putting in any thought: tight T-shirts stretched over his biceps, sneakers sparkling suspiciously clean, and flashy watches that screamed, “I lift things and sometimes count money, I think.” He laughed a lot — booming, unnecessary, and perfectly timed for maximum annoyance. BUM, in every sense.

 

The two women at his side I instantly renamed Mammoth Tits and Monumental Tits. You didn't have to wonder if Bum was a bum or a tit man. Mammoth Tits had two kids; the boy looked nine, and the girl looked older than 14. She was a dependent, so she had to be younger, but if someone had told me she was 16, I would have believed that instantly. Monumental Tits had three boys, one four, the other six I think, and the one on the right looked seven. Difficult to say. They looked all happy though. Perhaps he was a family man; all the kids looked happy. Children are a good indicator of domestic happiness. In an area where Isis had never faced competition, there were now two serious candidates vying for the prize of the biggest tits. Our own private BTC, Big Tits Club.

 

When I looked up again at the sergeant who kept announcing a never-ending stream of new people, I saw Angus walking back to their seats with his Writer Woman and Lolita. Apparently, they had come and spoken without my noticing. So nothing missed.

 

“And last but certainly not least, your attention for Amir Hassan with his concubines,” said Sergeant Barrett.

 

A Pakistani man in his forties walked confidently and without rushing to the middle of the hall, followed by two women who, if this were a beauty contest, would both have won. Ex Equo number 1. The one on his left was the spitting image of Scheherazade. The one on his right has to be Dunyazad, Scheherazade’s sister. I was glad they were not my concubines. If they had been, I would just sit there and stare at them all day in utter devotion. I would not get any work done; I would admire them all day long. My wives were certainly not ugly, but these ladies were in a league of their own. The revealing concubine shifts did not do justice to their beauty. Women like them should walk in a traditional dress, perhaps with long trousers of the same fabric underneath.

 

When the man started speaking, he only looked at me. That was quite confronting. It was as if the rest of the room didn't exist, and he was just staring intently at me. Maybe that wasn't the case, but that's how it felt. I'm not one for making eye contact. But those black eyes more or less forced me to look back.

 

“I am Amir Hassan, and this is my story. I was born in Pakistan,” he said, as if his coat hadn’t already revealed it and he had been raised in England. “I have served in the Royal Airforce for almost twenty years, and now the time has come to defend my motherland and my homeland against the enemy. It’s time for us all to step up and do whatever is needed. All of us, as marines, fighter pilots, or scientists, will do what is required. So I am thankful to be in the midst of you all, and I wish you all a blessed, long and safe life. I brought two of my good friends with me, Madison,” he pointed towards Scheherazade, “and Alexisis. Madison played in two Bollywood movies, and Alexisis was her hairdresser on the set. We will honour the customs of the Confederacy outside of our home, but inside we live by our own rules, as I am sure you all do. Thank you for being our travel companions.”

 

With those words, they walked back to their chairs. This humble man looked at the people on this ship in a respectful and completely different light. I felt impressed.

 

“That was all for this morning. You are free to go to your pods, or if you feel like getting better acquainted with another, please feel free to stay awhile.”

 

I saw how BUM was the first to leave the hall with his children. Mammoth and Monumental’s tits gently rocking in their shifts with every step they took. Hajji left with Sheherazade and her sister. I was sad to see them leave so soon. Angus found a connection with Mountain Man and their concubines were already busy talking to each other. Twin Man and Miss Vietnam seemed to have found each other as well. Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson came up to my table, undoubtedly seeking negative attention. It didn't take long before he got that too.

 

“Hey, queer boy, do you like fucking your tranny in his ass?”

 

“What you do in your pod is up to you; what happens in my pod is my business.” I replied.

 

“What in heaven's name possessed you to bring this guy along?”

 

I sighed. “That’s the difference between us; you see her as a man, whereas I have never doubted Aislinn's femininity. It might be worth reflecting on what that suggests about you.”

 

“Are you accusing me of being homosexual?” he said so loudly that anyone in the room noticed. Some stopped talking, perhaps hoping for a front-row seat if a fight were to break out.

 

“No, I tried to sharpen the blade of our mind a bit. Come on, crew, let’s get back to our pod.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6: My favourite Car model

 

“You can use the bedroom upstairs; Kia and I will be in my bedroom,” I said when we were back in the pod. “Kia, come with me.” I closed the door. My Kia was shaking all over her body and she looked at me as if I could rape her violently at any minute now. It’s one thing to talk abstractly about trust, loyalty and love; alone with a man in his bedroom, appeared to be something else.

 

“Lie down on the bed and spread your arms and legs in an X-shape.” I said. Despite clearly feeling uncomfortable, she lay down in the desired position.

 

“I will not tie you up, but whatever happens, keep holding onto the bars above the bed and spread your legs as far apart as you can without it hurting.” Her legs relaxed slightly and moved a little closer together; apparently, in her enthusiasm — or panic — she had spread her legs a little too wide.

 

I took the pillowcase off the pillow and folded it in half over her face. Only her chin was still visible. “Relax, you are much too tense. Nothing is happening that you don't want. Question 1: Can you see anything? And question 2: can you breathe normally or are you short of breath?”

 

“I can make out light and dark, and the light source, but no shapes. And yeah, of course I can breathe.” Although her voice was muffled, I could still hear what she was saying.

 

“Good. That's perfectly fine. Now lay your arms alongside your body, as relaxed as possible, in a position you can maintain for a long time.”

 

“Relax. That’s a good girl. There is still tension in your shoulders; gently lift your shoulders up toward your ears and roll them back. Now let them drop naturally. That’s it. Now close your legs and keep them nicely relaxed together. That’s what I mean, Kia. Well done. Let the breath move low, not high; breathing into your belly, not your chest.”

I removed a second pillow from its cover and folded it carefully so that the white cover up to just above her breasts covered her neck. Then, I folded a sheet, covering her body from her toes to the bottom of her breasts. Now a layer of fabric covered her entirely, except for her young, small, perky breasts.

 

“Concentrate on breathing, deep in and out.”

 

“What is this, the Yoga for seniors class?” Kia giggled.

 

“Shhh,” I said. I sat next to her, still in my uniform. “Tell me about the first time you noticed your breast was swelling, even a bit.”

 

“That’s very personal, Drew.”

 

“That’s why I asked, Kia.”

 

She sighed. Slowly I moved my hands over her small breasts. Not the breast buds of a twelve-year-old, but still growing like the rest of her body was. With as little pressure as possible on my fingertips, my fingers followed the contours of her breast, from top to bottom, from left to right, from top right to bottom left, and from bottom right to top left. I didn't dwell on the nipple that was hardening, but ignored it as much as possible. Slowly downward from the centre of her breast, I moved in circles, only to return in the opposite direction.

 

In a small voice, she said under the pillowcase, “I was only eleven when I suddenly saw little bumps in my swimsuit. I was one of the first in my class. Also, the first to get my period. That was, well, let's just say, not pleasant. I became very self-conscious. I mean, I was twelve when my body was that of a woman, but my mind wasn’t ready for that.”

 

My hands on both sides of her left breast were pushing the tissue up by putting a little pressure on my hands gliding towards the top of her breast. Only to release her breast after I reached the top.

 

“Mmm, that feels good. Do that again, please?”

 

“What are their names?” I asked while I carefully scratched them with my nails.

 

“Names?”

 

“Yeah, I named my cock Tarzan. King of the Jungle, you know? What are the names of your titties?”

 

Kia was cracking up. “That’s such a male thing to do, naming your cock. Tarzan, really?” I adjusted the cloth on her face again. “No, they don’t have names, King of the Jungle.”

 

“That is a shame,” I said, completely serious. “Because the left one is bigger than the other, did you know that? That’s strange because Isis’s right breast is fractionally bigger. Okay, since you haven’t had the decency to name them, I shall call the right breast K4 and the left K5.”

 

“What?”

 

I took the cloth off her head. AI, please project the South Korean car Kia K4 onto the ceiling.

"Replace the K4 with the K5 please."

“AI, please compare those two cars.”

The monotone voice of the AI filled the room. “The Kia K5 is approximately 8 inches longer and offers a more spacious interior, especially in shoulder and hip room. However, the K4 offers slightly more rear legroom at 38 inches compared to the K5's 35.2 inches. The K5 is the more powerful option, even with its base engine. It also offers available all-wheel drive for better traction in poor weather, a feature not offered on the K4. The K4 is the more affordable choice and is more fuel-efficient, making it an excellent option for budget-conscious buyers or those who primarily drive in the city.”

“You see, they both are great for different reasons. This one,” I squeezed the nipple of her left breast, “is the K5, slightly bigger than the K4. I kissed the smaller nipple of her right breast. The difference is subtle, but I want you to remember their names. It’s important to give them a name; it makes them an important part of your body. Your body is not only something to look at; it’s the home you live in. It’s okay that your tits are not symmetrical, that they are not perfect. It’s not about which of my concubines has the largest tits, or has the best hourglass shape. That is not what it’s all about. I know you look at the other girls and think your tits are inadequate. You don’t have to tell me that; I know that just by looking at you. Yes, if we compare breasts with cars, Isis’s breasts are in the Jaguar category. But guess what car most men prefer: a Kia or a Jaguar? AI, can you tell me how many were sold last year?”

“Kia America achieved record sales in 2025, reaching 852,155 vehicles, up 7%. K5 sedan had the highest sales growth, up 57%,” the AI rattled.

I planted small butterfly kisses on K4 first, moving on to K5.

“Women can use insecurities about their breasts to undermine each other. Comparing ourselves to others, engaging in gossip, and the competitive nature of attractiveness lead to internal divisions. This means the struggle isn’t just between men and women, but also within the female group, since women themselves adopt and pass on the restrictive norms.” I heard the voice above my head as I was still busy kissing K5.

Kia still had more to say, “Breasts are probably the biggest sign of being female-bodied, but they’re also wrapped up in secrecy and shame. This tricky situation, where you can see it but can’t talk about it, means a lot of girls deal with their breasts alone, like in dressing rooms, at the doctor’s, or by themselves looking in the mirror. There’s a big difference between how it looks to you and all the other males on this ship and what it’s really like.”

“Is it possible I can convince you I like your titties as much as I like Isis’s breasts?” I asked

“No way,” she laughed, “but I love you for trying it.”

————————————

Many sensible men *can* control themselves, no matter what everyone’s saying online. So, Kia and I slept and nothing else. Yes, I held K4 in my hand as I was spooning her, but that was about the extent of our physical interaction. She’s simply not ready for more. I will just have to be patient. You learn to be patient in science. I slept so much better than yesterday, and awoke fully refreshed.

“AI, give me a rundown on yesterday evening’s events in the other bedroom.”

“They did not succeed in impregnating Joyce, but that is not because of a lack of effort. Eventually, after three hours, they gave up but are determined to make another attempt tonight. They are also a little afraid of how you will react to this news.”

Kia and I joined the others at the kitchen table. “Don’t look at him as if he’s a monster or something”, Kia laughed at the expression of the others, “he’s still Drew, you know. He knows you’ve tried and will try again. That is enough for him, you know?” One night in my bed, and she knows everything about me. How do women do that?

With that, the topic was closed, and we discussed the remaining passengers. We didn't need to spend time on the ship's bully; we would ignore and avoid him as much as possible. Sharon didn't have a good feeling about Miss Vietnam either. Sharon and I often shared the same instinctive feelings about new people we met. Isis thought Twin Man was 'cute,' and Aislinn didn't really have an opinion about the passengers yet, except for Cade 'the Blade' Bronson, of course. Joyce remained remarkably quiet.

Fifteen minutes for all of you to get ready. Be on time, because we don’t want to be late today. I don’t think I need to explain that 15 minutes was an impossible task for my crew. I also don't think you want to hear all the excuses they insisted on telling me about why they were late. The fact of the matter was that my entourage of five naked women, neatly in line behind me, were the only ones to arrive late at the canteen again.

The omnipresent Sergeant Barrett took the floor. “Now that everyone has managed to find the mess, I think it is good for everyone to get to know each other better. I therefore suggest that we mingle a bit — sponsors, concubines, and dependants alike — so that we better understand each other's backgrounds and motivations. This could be very useful when we arrive at Fiditon-1 and perhaps end up living and working together or travelling on together. Feel free to talk to anyone you would like to know more about.”

People walked around, looking for friendly faces. It seemed Mountain Man, Angus and BUM had found some common ground, it seemed. Their concubines sat at another table, chirping away. My crew looked at me. “Kia, you stay with me; the others can mingle.” Kia and I headed for Hajji, while the others went to Twin Man. We shook hands, and he made a small bow as if I were royalty.

“It seems we have much in common, sir. Perhaps it’s best if we talk in private for a moment.” He looked at his concubines, who stood up instantly.

I looked at my youngest concubine. “Kia, I want you to remain completely silent.”

To Hajji’s concubines I said: “Don’t worry, she’s an excellent listener.” Hajji nodded, and they moved over to another table.

"Don't worry, once my girls start talking, all they need is a listening ear," said Hajji, and he seemed to be right, judging by the high-pitched voices next to us.

“We seem the only ones present on this ship who regard it as hostile territory.” Hajji opened the conversation.

“It’s not like anything’s wrong, but I’ve got this weird feeling I can’t get rid of,” I confessed.

“I think we are both worried about protecting what is ours. Hamila and Bushra are of the Muslim faith, as am I. They are used to wearing a Hijab. Sometimes you hear people say that women are forced to cover their hair and neck, but for Hamila and Bushra, it’s a deep-rooted act of faith. They were both raised to dress modestly. You can imagine how humiliating it is for them to walk in this shift that barely covers them.”

“Why did they decide to go with you if this is all so offensive to them?” I asked.

“I asked them to.” He said.

“Right. Of course.”

“The trip to the colonies is the worst part. When we arrive on our planet, they will remain at home for a large part of the day. There we live our lives as we want to, but here… we will just have to survive. Like you.”

At the table next to us, we heard boisterous laughter. The three girls figured out a way to chat where Kia didn’t need to speak; just shaking her head for yes and nodding for no made it seem more like a two-way street.

“It’s not just Aislinn, you know.” I said. “It’s just the…”

“Responsibility,” Hajji added.

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“It’s easier for me. I have a bit more life experience under my belt. Just try to keep a low profile, Drew.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have Blade Runner behind your back every time you turn.”

“I know. But we will have to protect them, of course. Women don't know what honour is to a man. That to a man honour is doing the right thing no matter what you feel. No matter how you feel, you do the right thing. We have learned from a young age that we are the strongest and that we must protect the weaker ones. It is so ingrained in our DNA that we consider it completely normal. But for women, that is not at all self-evident. They think we think we’ll only protect them if we like them. They think we'll protect them if we're attracted to them. In their view, we will only safeguard them if we aren’t upset with them.”

He looked at me with those dark, almost black, eyes and said, “Watch what happens.” He raised his voice a bit and said to Sheherazade and Dunyazade, “No more talking.” The sound of girls having fun, giggling, and talking faster than the speed of sound stopped abruptly. Without being slightly fazed, Kia continued her 'sign language'. With both hands, she sketched the shape of a car, pointed at herself, and wrote the number 4 on the tabletop with her finger.

I looked at Hajji, because I already knew that story.

“You are like me,” he said, “you like it that you own them. That is why you forbade Kia to talk. You chose the right woman, by the way, to start with. She is closest to your own age of all your women, I think, sufficiently malleable to do what you say, and she respects you.”

“Respects me? Why do you think that?”

“Why do you think she hasn’t said a word to my two blabbermouths over there? She obviously respects you too much to go against your order; perhaps she even loves you.” He said.

“No, she’s just a good kid, you know? Her parents left her all alone on Earth when they got picked up. Apparently, they had forgotten that their child was already fourteen. But I don’t own her.”

“Yes, you do. The current connotation associated with the word ‘own’ is negative. The challenge is that ownership presents both positive and negative aspects. To own an item is to have it, thereby making it yours. In reality, this refers to the beneficial dimension of possession. It is an inclusion-based concept. This implies that it unequivocally pertains to you and is thus yours. To truly own something is to see that thing as a part of yourself. Now, if something is a part of you, you can’t hurt it without hurting yourself. You can’t usurp its free will without hurting yourself. And so the well-being and the best interests of that thing are of the utmost concern, with genuine ownership. When we don’t own people as part of ourselves, we feel no responsibility to them; we think of them as others.”

He allowed the words to sink in. “For thousands of years, women were seen as property. Just like a man owning land. And as such, that man had ownership over the woman. But most men did not take women as part of themselves, in this ownership. They did not consider the best interests of their wives or daughters, or even sons, for that matter. They just took possession to mean they get to control them however they want. Just like men are doing here on this ship. You can control a woman, or a man for that matter, for a limited amount of time until they rebel against it. If you own them, really own them, they will be yours for life.”

Raised voices distracted us on the other side of the room.

"Kia, here, now," I said, pointing to the chair behind me. I looked for my concubines and found them at Twin Man's table, behind us. Reassured, I looked at the two deafening beauties who also took their places behind Hajji.

“Maradona is claiming poll position, I think, with Miss Vietnam.” I said to Hajji.

“Maradona?” he asked.
“Sorry, I give people nicknames so I can remember them.”

He smiled. “And what are our names?”

“She is Scheherazade, and you are her younger sister Dunyazade,” I said, nodding towards the younger woman.

“I’m kind of afraid to ask. You didn’t make the vizier, did you?”

“No, Hajji.”

“A respectful title. Hajji is used as an honorific title for Muslims who have successfully completed the Hajj to Mecca. I didn’t, but I would have if I had had the time.”

“You bitch,” suddenly screamed the man I recognised as the ex-husband who had stood there so sadly just yesterday when his wife expressed her preference for Maradona. He struck her face several times with force and kicked her in the abdomen, making Miss Vietnam stumble back a considerable distance. Suddenly, the room was filled with noise.

Chapter 7 Got myself a cryin', talkin', sleepin', walkin', livin' doll

 

The sound of the blows to Miss Vietnam's face had not yet echoed away when three guys, Mountain Man, BUM, and Angus, managed to restrain Miss Vietnam's ex-husband. The sergeant was there immediately as well.

 

“Everyone to their own pod, on the double. Cloë and Anh, you come with me to the captain’s pod.” She shouted, and people started to move. There was no reason to rush, in my opinion, so we walked back in formation: Me, Kia, Aislinn, Joyce, Isis, and Sharon. She was the last and brought up the rear. One might think that Sharon’s place last in line was a symbolic penalty for what happened earlier. It wasn’t. The last person ensured that no one was left behind. She helped to ensure the pace set by me isn’t too fast for the slowest members of my crew. She could keep an eye out for hazards from behind and closed gaps so my crew doesn’t stretch out too much. No one on my crew was as trustworthy as Sharon for these responsibilities.

 

After we arrived at the pod, all the girls talked at once, all mixed together. All those emotions just had to come out somehow.

 

“Silence,” I said quietly. “One at a time. Tell me what happened from your perspective. Sharon, you start. The others can add.”

 

“I think I saw what you saw too; we were sitting quite far from Cloë.”

 

“Miss Vietnam.” I corrected. “Did anyone see anything unusual prior to the incident?”

 

“Just that she was flirting with Javier…”

 

“Maradona.” I interrupted.

 

“With Maradona, shamelessly. Something probably snapped inside her husband at some point, and he lost his temper.”

 

“Is there anyone in this room who thinks Miss Vietnam’s husband is still alive tomorrow?” I asked them.

 

“The concubine Anh Lê has been recycled three minutes ago,” the Ai confirmed.

 

That cold announcement left us all silent for a moment.

 

“If someone gets angry with me and needs to hit me, please do it in the pod and not outside,” I joked.

 

“That would make no difference. I would have to report any form of violence against a sponsor.”

 

“Don’t worry, Drew. It won’t come to that. We resolve disagreements among ourselves,” my mother said.

After dinner, we watched a movie, and I took Kia with me to the bedroom. “I am sorry.”

 

“About what, sir?”

 

“About forbidding you to speak earlier today. I shouldn’t have done that. I isolated you from the rest of the crew, and on top of that, you couldn’t speak to Scheherazade and her sister.”

 

“You shouldn’t feel bad about that, sir. I think Scheherazade kind of admired you for that.”

 

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

 

It was quiet for a long time. I thought she had already gone to sleep, but when she replied, there was no sleep in her voice; on the contrary. It was with conviction she said, “I think all the concubines are in a way submissive, sir. Perhaps that is the reason they have the CAP score that makes them concubines. I noticed the sponsors are much more assertive, way more accustomed to taking the lead. If you look at your own crew, we are all submissive. Joyce openly looking up to her Mistress, Isis being called the princess of the rough fuck in her movies. Do you think that if she had a dominant bone in her body, she could have made so many films playing the submissive role? Of course not. Aislinn is so in love with you she argued with Jennifer for weeks because she was afraid Jenny would take her place. Sharon is perhaps the most dominant woman of us all. You see that immediately from her CAP score. And what does Sharon do? She throws her CAP score in the trash and travels with you as a concubine.”

 

“A concubine with zero rights, completely dependent on the whims of the sponsor. We have seen that once again today. Sharon has this enormous need to serve you, sir. It is she who points out to us time and again that we must call you 'Master'. She is also the only one among us, I think, who consistently calls you that.”

 

“And you, Kia? How about you?”

 

She turned around to look me in the eye. “I think I want to find out, sir, if you don’t mind. It felt kind of natural to obey you today without overthinking. I know I can learn a lot from Scheherazade; she worships the ground her Master stands on. I think she could teach me to do the same to you.”

 

“That’s very unexpected, Kia. We haven’t even made love yet.”

 

Kia grabbed my hand and laid him on K5. I crawled behind her until we were spooning. "That can wait until you are ready for me, Master," she whispered.

 

—————————

 

The next day we were on time in the canteen. My girls were still the only ones naked in the room; the rest wore those ugly shifts, even Maradona. He looked utterly ridiculous.

 

“On almost every trip, we have one or more concubines who cannot adapt to the new reality. Yesterday, we all witnessed an incident of violence against a sponsor. Let this be a warning to all your concubines: we have a zero-tolerance policy towards concubines who use violence against their sponsors. I think it is good to state that clearly once again. How many exes do we still have in the room at this moment?”

 

Sharon and Poor Girl I from Cade 'the Blade' Bronson raised their hands.

 

“I want to stress to both of you that, regardless of how much frustration might occasionally accumulate, and even if someone provokes you, you must not allow your emotions to control you. I really hope this incident was the last one before we reach Fiditon-1. You can now split up into your self-formed groups. It is preferable to take a different group than the one you were with yesterday.”

 

No one heeded that last piece of advice. Mountain Man, BUM, and Angus had bonded, and so had Hajji and I. He came to my table, followed by Scheherazade and her sister. You spotted the two attractive women before you noticed the man, despite them walking behind him.

 

"You may speak," I said to Kia, who immediately sought a table next to ours with Hajji's concubines. Joyce and Sharon, along with Writer Woman, headed for Miss Vietnam’s table. Meanwhile, Aislinn and Isis found themselves at the Twin Man’s table.

 

“He was a fool for going with her, you know?” Hajji said. “He probably went along to avoid losing face with the family if he had stayed on Earth, but he should have known better. It only took her two days to get rid of him.”

 

“You think she did this on purpose?” I asked naively.

 

“We cannot rule out that he tormented her on earth so much that she prioritised his death.”

 

“I haven’t trusted her from the moment I laid eyes on her,” I admitted.

 

“I think the greatest danger has passed now. She can enjoy, what did you call him, Maradona?, now.

 

I nodded. Dunyazade brought us coffee. Black for Hajji, more milk than coffee for me, just the way I like it. Kia must have told her, though I wasn’t aware that she knew my coffee preference. I told Hajji about Kia’s theory of how she thought all my concubines were submissive and her request to experiment with her as well.

 

“It makes sense.”

 

I waited for more. He drank his coffee.

 

“That’s it? Is that all you’re going to say, Mr Miyagi? Paint the fence, it makes sense?”

 

“I said yesterday already that Kia was the best choice for you to practice your leadership. Leadership, my friend, does not come with having a dick or a high CAP-score. A leader, a man your concubines will gladly follow, comes with integrity and reliability. Integrity is all about being honest and consistent in your actions and values, while reliability is about being dependable and keeping your promises that not only you make to other people but also to yourself. Integrity makes a man more dependable. When a man consistently does what he says he will do, it's going to create trust.

 

“Being someone that others can count on involves taking responsibility. Owning up to your mistakes and being willing to make amends is necessary. Take responsibility for your role in the relationship's dynamics and work on self-improvement. You really want to recognise when you're wrong or when you have something to work on and actively work on the problem instead of pointing fingers at others.

 

“These women you have on your team are tough cookies. It seems they are all very driven and passionate women. Perhaps I’m wrong, be they sure seem to me this way. With one exception. Kia. She’s smart enough to become a fit partner for you in the future.”

 

He reacted immediately after I sat up as if a bee had stung me. “No, no, I’m not saying she should become your wife; I was talking about someone you own. If you succeed in completely owning her, it will set an example for your more mature women to follow. You don’t want to be led by them all your life; you’ll want to lead them. That is your role in life. Be honourable, lead them with integrity and reliability. Earn their respect as a man, not as a boy.”

 

“I do want to stay true to myself; I don't think I would feel comfortable pretending to be someone I am not.” I hesitated.

 

“Okay, another question. Bear with me. What are your goals?”

 

“I want to continue my research and hopefully find something that wipes out the Sa’arm, of course.”

 

“I haven’t heard a word about your concubines. What are your goals with each concubine, except for the pleasant job of making them pregnant, of course, because that’s in essence a Confederacy goal, not yours.”

 

“I have none.” I confessed. “Where would I begin?”

 

“If we were in the real world, I would say build it up slowly. Start with something small and, above all, build it up together. But we are here on a ship where one man has already been executed, and more are to follow. So the old rules no longer apply. See if she can obey you of her own free will. Evaluate how that suits you both. If it doesn't work, you can always come up with an alternative goal. Perhaps your goal is to make her your shadow; wherever you go, she goes. Everywhere. Where you are, she is. If it suits you both, you can always consider making her your protector. Have someone teach her martial arts, and she will ensure you are less vulnerable.”

 

“And if she doesn’t want to obey me?”

 

“State your goals clearly, and she will work with you to achieve them.” He looked around. “I need to talk with Cloë, your Miss Vietnam, for a moment, do you mind?” Hajji said.

 

“No, I see my girls are all with Twin Man. I should go over and check how they are doing,” I said. “Kia, follow me, please.” We walked over to the Twin Man. His concubine twins were sitting on either side of him, and my concubines were talking with them. The red-headed daughters of Josie were sitting at the end of the table.

 

“Kia, watch my back. If anything happens or anyone’s coming behind me, warn me, will you?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

The twins giggled. “She is as old as you are, and she is calling you, sir.”

 

“You are wrong, Samantha.”

 

“Now you are wrong; I am Mathilda, she is Samantha.”

 

“I am not wrong. She is Fire and you are Flame.”

 

“I am Mathilda and my last name is not Fire.”

 

“No, you are Samantha and you are a Flame, not your last name, but your first name. Fire could heat a room, but Flame could guide a traveller through the dark. You could cook with Fire, but Flame kept the hearth alive long after the sparks died.”

 

I looked at Fire. Fire in her eyes, fire in her soul. This girl would step aside for no-one. This girl would burn her way through life. Made to be a sponsor and fight for the things she stood for. “People will fear you, Fire, but they will depend on Flame’s gentleness. You can destroy like a wildfire, and you will someday, but a candle flame can save a lost soul.”

 

The two girls looked at each other. Communication without words between two people with 100% the same DNA. They ran out of the canteen and came running back less than ten seconds later.

 

"Hello, I am Mathilda."

 

"No, you are still Flame. Fire is across the table."

 

“How do you know?” came out of both mouths at the same time. “Even my mom often can't tell us apart.” Asked Fire.

 

I shrugged. “Dunno. You feel different, I guess.”

 

I felt a hand tapping on my shoulder.

 

I turned around and saw Cade ‘the Blade’ Bronson coming my way. From a distance, I saw Sergeant Barrett coming our way as well.

 

“If it isn't our little young professor? Maybe gone a bit off course? Have you run out of things to talk about with your Muslim friend?”

 

“What exactly is your problem?” I stood up.

 

“Any problems, gentlemen?” the sergeant asked.

 

“No, the professor here needed the little dick of his 100% female friend to guide him to the proper table.” Both BUM and Angus saw the humour in that.

 

“Haven't we had enough trouble yesterday? Everyone to your own pod. Now. Some people here cannot play by the rules, and therefore playtime is ended with immediate effect. Come on, guys, let’s break it up!”

 

So we went back. “Kia, come to my room, please.”

 

“Oh girl, you need to see to his needs in his room the moment we come in,” Isis teased.

 

“Kia, I have been thinking about what you said last night, and I have talked about us with Hajji for a while.

 

“Kia, were you once a Barbie-girl?”

 

“What do you mean, sir?”

 

“Did you play with dolls a lot when you were young?”

 

“Dunno. Some, I guess.”

 

“Looking back on it now, what was the most fun part of playing with your doll?”

 

She looked pensive. After a while she said, “She did what I wanted her to do; if I wanted her happy, she was happy, and she was angry when I was angry. I could dress her, style her and even change her name if I didn’t like the old one.”

 

“So you could say that you were in complete control of your doll?”

 

“Well, as a kid, you have to do everything an adult tells you to. And with my dolls, the roles were reversed; they had to do and say everything I wanted them to act.”

 

“What would you say if I told you that you are going to be my doll for the next two weeks?” I asked with a pounding heart.

 

“I would say that I don’t know what you mean by that.” Kia replied.

 

“Could your dolls dress themselves, or did you have to dress them, Kia?”

 

“I did, of course.”

 

“Could your dolls eat, drink, stand or sit by themselves, or did you have to make them do that?”

 

“You’re not thinking that…”

 

“I am not asking you to be my doll, Kia. I’m telling you that you are. You’re my doll for the next seven days. I want you to stop thinking, stop reacting, even stop moving until I tell you to. Give it a shot, even if you don’t enjoy it. I want you to put your heart and soul into it. Can you do that for me?”

 

She looked at me with enormous eyes, mouth open in silent protest. I had been asking a lot of the rest of my crew in the past. I had taken my rage over the death of Jennifer out on Isis, and she never complained about it. Out of jealousy, I had forbidden the relationship between Sharon and my mother. I was still humiliating poor Aislinn by ordering her to wear her dick locked away. Until now, Kia fulfilled the role of Daddy’s little girl. I felt little like a Daddy now.

 

Unlike Isis, for instance, you could see every emotion coming and going on Kia’s face. Her expressions changed quickly; if you don’t pay attention, you could miss it easily. Her brows lifted above those wide eyes, an almost childlike expression, followed by a short, hollow exhale of laughter. A ‘this can’t be real’ waiting for me to admit I made a mistake. A tightened jaw as her eyes sharpened, shifting from confused to calculating. In her throat and cheeks a flush rose. Her chin diped almost imperceptibly in a reflex before she corrected it, forcing her head back up. Finally, she showed the face she chooses to show me. The skin smooths, the eyes go carefully neutral or even pleasantly composed. Kia had decided.

 

“I will try to be the best doll you’ve ever had, Sir. I gather you played with dolls as well when you were young?”

 

“My mother firmly believed that it was healthy for girls to play with toy soldiers and boys with dolls. And you know what I did when I wanted my doll to stop talking?”

 

She just looked at me without giving an answer.

 

“I locked her mouth.” I twisted my wrist before her lips; turned an invisible key on her lips, the international symbol of locking your mouth and being silent. “And of course I would undress her. Even at that age, most of my dolls were naked. And then I would touch her titties. Barbie had the Isis size breasts, but cheaper dolls often had small breasts, like K4 and K5, I suppose.” I took my time to caress both models. I noticed the nipple on the K5 reacted slightly faster than the K4. They tasted the same, though. My mouth wandered downwards toward her centre. Taking my time for a close inspection of my doll’s body. When I reached her hairless slit, I feasted in a way I had never done with a doll before. After she was panting heavily, I raised my hand and unlocked her mouth on her lips, without stopping for a second, working on those nether lips.

 

The first two orgasms I could still make sense of what she was saying. Variations of ‘so good’, ‘don’t stop’ and synonyms for the Almighty, which I had not heard until now. After those two orgasms, which seemed to follow each other increasingly rapidly, making it seem as one long explosion of lust and longing. My tongue was getting tired, and I replaced my tongue with my hard dick. She was wet enough for me to enter her in one stroke. I was now merely selfishly seeking my own pleasure. The softness of her body absorbed problem-free my hard, brutal thrusts. The fantasy of complete control over a doll, a living, breathing doll, made me horny like nothing before. Perhaps it would turn out to be a disappointment, I thought, but at least we would have tried. It didn’t take long to come into Kia for the first time. While I was still buried inside her, she came violently too. I was kissing all over her face. She kissed back. Our tongues duelled for a long time until she surrendered. I celebrated my victory by exploring all of her mouth, her teeth, her gums with my tongue.

 

I wanted to roll off her, but she held me tight. “It’s a delightful feeling to have your weight on me,” she whispered. “Stay like that for a little while.” I did until her body beneath me showed that it no longer appreciated the weight pressing her into the mattress.

 

"I'm going to take a shower," I said. She stayed lying down.

 

"Unless I issue an order indicating otherwise, I want you never to be more than an arm's length away from me. Follow me wherever I go."

Chapter 8 Rules

 

“Do you want me to call you ‘Master’ now?” Kia asked.

 

Good question. I have always vehemently opposed the title of Master because it did not feel sincere. I did not feel like a teacher, as I was being taught, instead of teaching myself. It was easier to follow than to lead. I wouldn’t deny that I’ve sometimes felt a sense of flattery when that magical “M-word” came up. Like so many people, I really wanted to be what I wasn't. Obese people want to be thin; emaciated people want to get fatter. Poor people want to get richer; rich people want to get richer. I wanted to take the lead, but maybe it just wasn't in me. Every so often, I felt like I had postponed growing until I came on board here. Be honest, not only with others but also with yourself. Kia waited patiently for my answer.

 

“Yes, from now on call me Master.” I swallowed the ‘please’ at the end of the sentence with difficulty; without ‘please’ it sounded more masterful.

 

Kia bowed her head in an unmistakably submissive gesture. “As you wish, Master.”

It still didn't feel right, but I let it go.

 

“Let's see what the girls learned from Miss Vietnam,” I said.

 

Three of my concubines sat on the large, worn leather sofa watching the screen opposite them; my mother was busy preparing dinner. I wisely kept the thought of a recycled Anh to myself. I sat down between Isis and Aislinn because there was still room there. I placed my arm on the backrest behind Aislinn as a silent command for arm's length, but Kia went the other way.

 

"Can I sit next to the... Master?" she asked Isis.

 

“As far as I know, you have been with him all day; I think I would like to sit next to him for a moment now.” Isis said.

 

Kia just looked at me.

 

Before I could regret my hasty decision to make Kia my little doll and get out of the situation with some lame excuse, I said, “I told Kia that she has to stay within arm's length of me for at least seven days. As much as I enjoy having Isis sitting next to me, I still have to ask you to make room for Kia.”

 

With strange looks directed at me, Isis silently made way for Kia, who snuggled close to me.

 

“What do we know about Miss Vietnam so far?” I asked them.

 

Aislinn, businesslike as always, gave me a summary. “Madonna was officially her fitness coach and outside business hours her lover, I suppose. Miss Vietnam has a huge crush on him and probably doesn’t even notice that she is being manipulated. He forced her to take his sister with him.”

 

“Madonna.” I interrupted.

 

Aislinn smiled despite herself. “An apt nickname. Anyway, it seems that Miss Vietnam was on Earth the one with the money and the brains behind the family business, and that her husband was taking all the credit for it. I know she can be ruthless. You only have to look at what she did with her husband, and that might also explain her high CAP score in part.

 

“Do we know yet how she managed to get her husband to attack her?”

 

“Rumour says she has been playing with Maradona’s dick in public, and made rather disparaging remarks about the length and thickness of her husband’s member compared to the thing she was holding in her hand.”

 

“Really?” I said. Not that I doubted the truth of her remark, but more to keep the conversation going, so to speak.

 

“Yes, she must have known that his wounded ego was no match for that. On Earth, we would say this was an assassination attempt. The woman who was with her, what is her nickname again?”

 

“Browsie.”

 

“Of course, the eyebrows. I think our Miss Vietnam likes her nether lips dusted with that Swiffer Dusters quite a bit. You only have to look at Browsie to know that she is completely, head over heels in love with Miss Vietnam.

 

“What about Twin Man? You all seem to like him?”

 

“He’s just a nice guy,” Sharon said. “He was the publisher of a small newspaper on Earth. Jade, or Josie, he still doesn’t know — or doesn’t want to know — worked there as his secretary. She told him she had too much work and that he needed to hire a second secretary. It was perfectly clear that the small publishing house didn't need two secretaries at all, but when Josie walked in, the man who is clearly doting on the twins never let her go. We haven't found out yet whether Josie's children are his too, but that is likely.”

 

“Fire and Flame.”

 

“What?” Aislinn interrupted.

 

“One is Fire. You only have to look her in the eye to know she is the tough one of the two; the other is flame. She’s softer, probably will end up as Fire’s concubine. How old are they?”

 

“Twelve. They are a handful, alright,” Sharon said. “But this whole family breathes harmony, and that’s a pleasant exception if you look at all the other pods.”

 

“What about Writer Woman? She doesn’t look happy.”

 

“She isn’t. My father is behaving like a lovesick jerk. I don’t know what it is with these fourteen-year-olds, but men turn into jelly when they fuck them.”

 

There were two fourteen-year-olds on this ship as far as I knew. One was Lolita, Angus’ concubine; the other was Kia. No way I could ignore this.

 

“Sharon, come and stand before me, please.”

 

She did without a word. “On your knees and look at me.” Don’t think that I cannot look people in the eyes, but talking and looking them in the eye for the length of a conversation was just too much. I still wasn’t able to do both. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look at Sharon to find out if there is a real problem or that she is just jerking my chain. Of all the women, Sharon is my soulmate. Sharon is my everything. I wouldn’t have coped with all the problems these last few years if it hadn’t been for Sharon.

 

“Sharon, would you be so kind as to remind me why you have put so much time and energy into creating a team of women around me that would get along with each other?”

 

“I know, Master, and I’m sorry. It’s just that… It’s hard to see my father keeping his distance from us, behaving like a jerk. I always had a soft spot for my father, you know, and seeing him like this…” Sharon started crying.

 

“I understand,” I said, “But Kia here did nothing wrong. She is just obeying orders. Orders she might even dislike. So I think you should apologise to Kia for hurting her feelings.”

 

“I’m sorry, Kia,” Sharon blubbered. “You know I didn’t mean any of it; you are wonderful. It’s just that you are calling him Master as well… It broke something with me, you know?” Apparently they both knew it, because this incident ended with stereo crying and chaste make-up kisses back and forth.

 

At the dinner table, I fed Kia spoon by spoon. Isis asked: “So, what’s going on with Kia? It’s not just curiosity, well, a lot of it is curiosity, I admit. But it’s also more. We are all affected by your actions. Could you do us a favour and fill us in, Drew?”

 

“I’m learning.” I said. “It’s easy to learn at school or at university. But it’s tough learning to lead a group of women. I want to learn to lead and stop being led. All of you are older than I. All of you have people skills. And all of you — I have to be honest here — know how to manipulate to get your way. So I asked the one who is younger than me, the only one, to help me be a better leader. And she has graciously accepted this challenge. It’s going to demand a lot from her; we are talking about unconditional surrender here. And I will fuck that up someday. We all know that. So does Kia, and yet she still agreed to be my doll. My own doll to play with, to make her do whatever I want. You all know that takes courage. And I want you to support her in any way you can. Because I know that if she makes me a better leader of this crew, my crew, Drew’s crew, you will all benefit from it.”

 

“And helping her eat is going to make you a better leader?” Isis asked, clearly not impressed.

 

“Isis!” Joyce warned. My mother, the keeper of peace on Earth and goodwill toward men.

 

“No, it’s a fair question. For a week, I am going to make all decisions for Kia, and she will depend on me. So if I don’t feed her, she will starve.”

 

I could see Isis wasn’t convinced, but the others sent her several warning looks, so she let it slide.

 

——————————

 

“Master, do I need your permission to go to the bathroom?”

 

“Don’t be daft, Kia.”

 

“Master, do I need to be in the bathroom when you need to go, arm’s length and all?”

 

“Stop being foolish, Kia…

 

“I do want you outside the bathroom door, though.”

 

———————————

 

“Have you noticed something about the crew?” Hajji asked me the next day.

 

“Can’t say that I have.”

 

“Who do you see here, playing school-ma'am?”

 

“I see the omnipresent Sergeant.” I said.

 

“Exactly. When was the last time you’ve seen the Captain of this ship?”

 

“Captain Holt? Only on the first day, I guess.”

 

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Hajji asked.

 

“Nah, he’s probably busy flying this baby.” I assumed. “He already said they were heavily understaffed on this trip.”

 

“He isn’t on the bridge.”

 

“How do you know? We only have access to this canteen; that’s all we go to every day and back to the pod. That’s it. He might be anywhere on this ship, for all we know.”

 

“His pod is next to mine.”

 

“You should write detectives. At least those writers leave a clue every ten pages or so.”

 

He smiled. “I know that because when he leaves his pod, his door makes this very annoying shriek. So I hear him come and go. And when he goes, he’s back within ten minutes.”

 

“So, he has a good crew. Like the good sergeant over there. Don’t worry. With a bit of luck, we will be on Fiditon-1 in two weeks’ time.” I said. I told my new friend about the arrangement Kia and I had made for the next week, just to take his mind off those things that are out of our control.

 

“That’s a good start.” He said. “Now reach out your hand and see if you feel your doll.”

 

Instead of reaching out, I looked around. Kia sat at another table with Scheherazade and her sister. Dunyazade was laughing; she always laughs a lot. I think of all the concubines here, she’s the happiest.

 

“She’s right by me at that table.” I said, relieved.

 

“Is she within your arm’s reach?”

 

“No, but she is close enough.”

 

“You are making excuses for her behaviour. It saves her the trouble of coming up with an excuse if you already did that for her. You made a simple rule: stay within my arm’s reach. How long is your arm? Let’s say about 80 cm. Let’s also give her the benefit of the doubt and say she should be within one metre reach of you. What you are trying to do this week is to give her the chance to obey your rules, right?”

 

I nodded, a little wary; I didn't know where this conversation was going.

“And we just noticed that she is sitting well over three meters away from us, and therefore far outside the boundary you set for her.”

 

“I’m sure she just wanted to sit with her friends for a while.”

 

“You are still making excuses for her, young Master Drew. Let’s wait and see if she can make her own excuses, so you don’t have to do them for her, shall we? Do you mind if I ask the questions, and you concentrate on her behaviour?”

 

“One more question before we begin this experiment, Master Drew. Do you think it is fair to punish her for not obeying your rule?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. She is not within a metre of me, but she’s not too far away that I cannot see her. So, I think a simple warning will be enough.” I said what I meant.

 

“Interesting. Let’s see what happens, shall we? Would you be so kind as to make her kneel before the table so she can watch both of us. That means, I will do the talking and you will do the watching.”

 

“Kia, come here, please, and sit on your knees before our table.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“And you girls, sit behind me and learn,” Hajji said to his concubines.

 

“Kia, I have talked to your Master, and he gave me permission to ask you a few questions. Now, I am not your Master, nor do I want to be, so if you can’t or won’t want to answer my question, you are free to do so with no retribution from me or your Master. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes… I don’t know how to call you. Should I call you Master as well?”

 

“Good question, Kia. No, just call me Amir, or Hajji, as your Master has named me.”

 

“Yes, Hajji,” Kia rephrased obediently.

 

“Good. Ask if something is not clear to you, just as you did. It’s very important that you understand the rules completely, and it’s your duty to ask for clarification if something isn’t clear, now or anytime later.

 

“Let’s start with the basics. Your Master gave you an order last night. Do you remember what that order was?”

 

“Yes, he told me to stay within arm’s length of him.”

 

“And was that rule clear for you, and did you understand that was a rule he wanted you to obey?”

 

“Yes, Sir. It was clear to me that he wanted me close to him at all times. That is why I went to sit with him yesterday at the cost of him sitting with his other concubines.”

 

“Good. So we know you understood the rule of being close with Master Drew all day, and that he considered closeness as his arm’s length, is that correct, Kia?”

 

“Yes, Hajji.” As she began to worry visibly, the relaxed expression vanished from Kia’s face.

 

“Young Master Drew, would you be so kind as to stretch your arm as far as you can towards that table where Kia and my concubines sat moments ago?” I obeyed him and stretched out my arm. The table was approximately three arms away from me.

 

“We have established objectively that Kia didn’t follow the rule her Master gave her. The table is further away than his arm’s length. Now we all know that rules aren’t worth the paper they are written on — assuming they are written rules — if they aren’t enforced. If hygiene rules are ignored, they can cause infections. Breaking traffic rules can cause accidents.”

 

He looked at me and asked, “Young Master Drew, good rules are specific, simple, relevant, easy to find and easy to explain. Do you think your rule was a good rule?”

 

“Were you a lawyer in your past life?” I tried to joke my way out of it.

 

He remained focused and very serious. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was a lawyer on Earth.”

 

“Oh. There goes my joke — naked and afraid.” I said. “Yes, I thought it was a good rule at the time. It’s simple; I could explain it in those terms. It’s relevant to my future goals with Kia. We don’t need to search for it, since I made it up yesterday, so findability is not an issue. So yes, I think the rule was good enough.”

 

“Good enough. Do you think you could have made it a bit more specific?”

 

“Yes, I could have mentioned the rules don’t apply to bathroom breaks, hers and mine. I made that up later.” I said, blushing a little.

 

“How about sitting with her fellow concubines at a table next to you? Would you consider that an exception to the rule as well?”

 

“No, I didn’t think of that. It’s hard to think of all exceptions when you are making a rule on the fly, you know.” I defended myself. You know what they say about defending yourself in court. Don’t do it.

 

“So the lesson for the Master is: don’t make rules before you have carefully thought them through. Think about whether she can comply with the rule. Rules that are only fun or sexy serve no purpose if she cannot do in any situation what you want her to do. Think about what the consequences are if she disobeyed. Are you going to punish her for that, or will you turn a blind eye to that?

 

“Master Drew, can you explain to Kia why this rule exists?”

 

“I’m a lover, not a fighter. If Kia would like that I want her to be my bodyguard in the future. I think about what happened on Earth. There is no reason I would be safe on a planet outside Earth. I could learn how to defend myself, but it would be much more efficient to train one of my girls as my protector. And yes, she would have to take self defence lessons instead of me. As I am not interested in martial arts, I could concentrate on my research, something I would prefer a thousand times more.”

 

Hajji turned to Kia again. Her face looked a lot paler now. “Kia,” Hajji asked her, “would it make any difference to you if Master Drew had explained why it was important for you would obey this rule to the letter?”

 

“Of course it would. I would consider it a profound honour and a truly worthwhile aspiration to contribute to our team. I often wondered what my place and role within his concubine crew would be. This puts an end to doubt if my role could be significant enough.”

 

“Kia, we have established that you were not complying with an order of your Master. Do you think you deserve to be punished for this? I don’t have to tell you that you have to give an honest answer, because I know you will do so anyway. I will repeat my question so you’ll have a few seconds more to think about your answer. Do you think you deserve to be punished for this?”

 

“Yes, Hajji. I will accept any punishment.”

 

“Will you? Be careful with those words. Through the ages, people have invented such cruel punishments that the recycling of poor Anh is pale in comparison. What if I told you that young Master Drew thought a mere warning would be enough punishment, because he could imagine you would want a nice quiet chat with my concubines and that he knew you were close to him in the first place?”

 

“I think I should be punished, Sir.”

 

“Tell us why, if you can, Kia. Take all the time you need to choose the right words for your response.” She did. Very serious. Scheherazade and her sister were watching her breathlessly.

 

“I would feel cheated if I did my utmost best to obey the rule all the time, and there would be no consequence for me if I didn’t. Why should I even try? I think a punishment that fits the crime would make me work even harder to prevent it happening once more. It doesn’t feel right to have disappointed him and got away with it. If there aren’t consequences, why would I bother?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[Mike Omelanuk]

Oops. It just took forever to download. An rtf file still might be useful to some. Mike