'Medic,’ she whispered. The others didn't look their way, but she knew they received everything she was thinking, saying.
'Yes, Strat,’ he said turning to face her.
'If I'm still in control, can I order myself deleted from the system?’ As she said it she thought of something else, something she learnt during training.
'I can't tell you,’ he smiled. ‘But SYM will surely be able to help you.’ SYM immediately stood up and approached. Medic, likewise, stood and returned to his seat. SYM sat cross-legged before her, his face impassive, his eyes soft.
'No,’ he said.
Ruth stared at him for a long moment, thinking, planning, hearing the thoughts of SYM run through her like a river of light. After what felt like hours the SYM smiled wide and stood up.
'You have exactly twenty one minutes before I am no longer under your command,’ he said, offering a hand to help her up. ‘The Commander has loaded the unit and will attempt download in twenty minutes. If he is late ...’ He looked hard into Ruth's face. ‘I am sorry. I would have told you but...'
'My fault SYM, I should have followed protocol.’ She hugged him, but the sensation felt empty, unnatural. The exchange with SYM revealed that she would lose most of her emotional profile once full integration had begun. SYM would start deleting unnecessary files as soon as the window closed. She stepped back from him, held one of his hands in her own. ‘This is how you became a part of the Sendec, isn't it?'
He nodded. ‘That is classified information.'
A red flashing time indicator appeared in the ether in the centre of the room. Countdown to full assimilation. Seven seconds remained and still the Commander hadn't installed the personality files into his own unit. Given time to recover the unit, get back to his cabin on board the Free Spirit and insert the disc, he should just about be ready, Ruth thought, as she sat against the wall, her hands balled into fists. Her bottom lip was sucked in hard over her teeth. SYM had explained time was irrelevant in a Sendec and that seconds could pass like hours and hours like seconds. She thought she understood, but deep down she just hoped Be'Laen didn't understand what she was doing. Ruth gazed over at the vacant seat, the one she didn't want to take, the one she started to believe she had no choice in sitting in.
SYM stood up. ‘Connection made,’ he said looking at Ruth. ‘I await your order,’ he said smiling.
The wall time was now on six seconds. ‘Download personality file for Strat Ruth Verenge into Commander Be'Laen.'
'Commenced.’ SYM stared at her for a moment. ‘Conflict in the system. Up-load personality of Commander Be'Laen for rectification of protocol breech.'
A smile spread across Ruth's face.
The white room blinked out, the world disappeared, Ruth became nothing in an instant, nothing within an endless sea of light. The room returned. Ruth found herself standing at one end of the room staring at the large figure of Commander Be'Laen at the other. He was dressed in military finery, ribbons hung from his chest.
'Unprecedented, Ruth,’ he said softly, as he studied his hand. ‘It all feels quite real, doesn't it?’ He looked over at the seated personnel. ‘I'd never pictured them as sitting in a waiting room.'
'Why did you ... you...'
'Kill you?’ he laughed. ‘Such a strange situation isn't it?’ Be'Laen pulled down on the hem of his short jacket. ‘You were the best Strat, I needed you in my Sendec and I wasn't prepared to wait until a natural death made you available. It is a common practice these days.'
With a look over at SYM, Ruth felt sadness for the man.
'What I want to know,’ Be'Laen said stepping toward her, ‘is how you managed to get me in here?’ He looked up at the wall. ‘Four seconds.’ He looked back at Ruth and smiled.
Four seconds and she had to time things just right otherwise her time would become eternity. The way he stared at her, Ruth knew he was considering if he could do her in this place. His transparency frightened her. ‘It all may seem real in here, Be'Laen, but the physical sensations are not very stimulating.’ She fought the urge to step back, to show any fear.
'How'd you get me in here, Ruth?’ he said harshly. ‘I know you are clever, so what have you done?'
The personnel along the wall had gained extras. Commander Be'Laen's team integrated itself with her team. Three seconds remained, the Commander stood over her, his arms stiff at his side. ‘You interrupted me, Ruth, I'd hoped to bring you forward the moment I started on some new sport.’ His smile was wet, wide. ‘Maybe all is not lost, after all. Now, what have you done?’ he screamed as he slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. She fell to the floor but the pain was detached, distant. ‘How about I test out this sensation theory of yours,’ he made to undo his trousers. ‘Tell me what you have done, now, or I'll make you spend eternity with a memory nothing could erase.’ He pulled her to her feet by her collar and then ripped open her shirt to reveal her bra.
'No,’ she said softly, fighting the urge to give in.
'What makes you think you can stop me in here? You couldn't stop me in reality.’ He waved his hand around the room. He gazed at the personnel on their seats, against the wall. A grin showed a new idea emerging in his mind. ‘It will be fun to do you in front of an audience for a change. What do you think? Want to whimper for our watchers?’ Be'Laen grabbed the centre of her bra and pulled hard and down to reveal her breasts. ‘I'll delete your personnel afterwards, of course.'
Not yet, not yet, Ruth chanted to herself while fighting the urge to run, to scream, to vomit. One second, one long, painful second.
'You're going to tell me now, or I'll make you wish you'd never been a woman!’ he stepped back. ‘A Sendec woman would live this scene every moment forever.’ He smiled.
'Don't rape me, please,’ she said softly, deliberately.
'Don't rape me, please!’ Be'Laen shouted in her face. ‘I'll do what I've always done to you, only now I don't have to remind you of why I can.’ He undid his trousers, dropped them and then kicked them aside.
Ruth turned her face away, the guilt of the past flooded over the plans of the future. Now was the time to expel both evils. ‘It was an accident,’ she hissed at him. ‘Only you wouldn't let it go, you had to use it to get what you wanted you foul, vile creature.’ She pulled her bra up and over her breasts defiantly. ‘I should have told the Major I killed his son then and there.'
Be'Laen laughed out loud. ‘You didn't kill that snivelling nit.'
'I ...’ Five years of pain, torture and torment pushed against her chest.
'Blackmail is never what it seems. You've been my slut for all these years because I made you believe you killed him. Now how dirty does that make you feel, slut?’ He laughed at her as he removed his underwear. ‘Blackmail is rarely based on truth. I killed him by remote while you were attempting to fix his regulator.’ He advanced, ready. ‘Seeing as you were quite pretty I thought I'd get me some action while I was at it.’ He reached forward and grabbed her bra again. ‘So, you going to tell me what you did?'
The wall time had vanished. Ruth began to feel the ebbing of emotions, the systematic deletion of un-required data.
'I confused the program during the window period,’ she gasped as his free hand did something she didn't like. ‘A Sendec can't have two controllers so I had you uploaded.’ She gasped again.
'Why?’ he growled. ‘What could you gain from such an action?'
'I want you to download me into your body. Download Ruth Verenge into Commander Be'Laen,’ she whispered.
'Download Ruth Verenge into me!’ he laughed.
SYM stood up and nodded towards Ruth. ‘As you have ordered Commander Be'Laen. Download commenced.’ SYM smiled at her. ‘Only two point three nano seconds to spare.'
'N...'
The room vanished, the world exploded into pain, light and the mixed sound of voices swam about her like yellow slush. Minds clashed, darkness and light, blue and grey. She screamed, or thought she screamed, as a hand of steel spr
ang toward her. Then it came.
Pain, him, pain, her, pain, pain. She stared inside, looked outside, above, below, seeing, feeling, screaming. Her again, pain, hurt, him.
Her mother sang beside her bed. He came at her, pants down. Him, her, unified, separate; full of pain. Pain, the same pain over and over again.
Father hitting, father laughing, father ordering away, pain. Him behind her, on her. His pain not hers. Memories flashed. Dark rooms, dark hearts, dark eyes, black hands clapped with doom. Pain and kisses. The pain was his not hers. Black hands, black heart, black eyes. Him. A child weeps, the sobs distant, her, no him. It was her, him in the darkness with the pain. It came at her as a shadow and it swallowed.
NO!
The smell, the odour of a male body came at her, as the light flashed then faded to become the soft glow of a ship's cabin wall strip. She fought with a sickness that pressed against her lungs. Desires, strange and powerful tried to strangle her, punched her, forced their way into her soul.
'NO!’ she cried out, as she grasped her head between her shaking hands. Big hands.
Sweat ran into her eyes; it stung. She struggled, something evil gripped her heart. Ruth's tongue was fat. Her lips bled copper into her mouth.
Medic, she thought, as a black beast invaded her mind, its hot, naked flesh lusting after her. The sensations vanished, the visions slipped gently away, as her breathing softened to a steady rise and fall.
'I have stabilised most body functions, Ruth,’ the Medic said. She opened her eyes and saw him sitting beside her on the brushed metal of the ship's deck. ‘I will need the assistance of the Neuro-geek to help you adjust to your new environment.’ He waved his hands over her.
Ruth raised one hand before her face. A man's hand, Commander Be'Laen's hand. It hung before her in the air. ‘I am him?’ she said. The sound of the deep voice startled her.
'In body only,’ Medic said. ‘You won the struggle of the mind, but more work needs to be done in order for you to understand and adjust to the male body.’ He hesitated. ‘I have been informed SYM is now preparing the Commander for deletion. It will not be long until he works out what you had done and try it himself.'
'But I was told deletion wasn't possible.’ Ruth looked down at herself, trousers and underwear down around her knees. She/he was sitting on the floor, back to a cabin door. The view of the male appendage looked strange, felt even stranger. Revulsion seeped into her mind but the urge to touch it was stronger.
'It appears the Commander had access codes to Sendec software. Highly classified files and punishable under military law, but you will have to check with the Legal on that.’ The Medic stood and waited for her/him to stand. ‘How do you feel?'
'Sick,’ Ruth sighed. ‘It's unnerving to wake in the body of your abuser, the man you have hated with all your being.’ She looked about the room, as she pulled up her trousers, wincing as she tried to position her new self so she wasn't uncomfortable. She saw someone else in the room, laying on a bed. A woman. She lay curled up, naked, on the bed, her hands and feet tied behind her back. ‘I really do feel sick,’ Ruth said, as she studied the woman. She looked to be unconscious. There was an emerging bruise on her forehead. ‘He was inserting me while about to rape this woman. This is what he meant about my interruption,’ Ruth said aloud to Medic. The woman moaned and stirred. ‘He's a monster!'
'You are him, now,’ Medic said carefully. ‘You have much to undo by the looks of things.'
'But ... But I don't want to be him!’ she yelled. The woman opened her eyes and stared with fear and hatred at Ruth.
The Medic approached, his face unreadable. ‘We will help you, Ruth. Help you be a better person than this body held before.’ With that he blinked out.
SYM came forward as soon as Be'Laen/Ruth ordered. ‘Yes, Commander Ruth.’ A wide smile spread across his face.
'Thank you,’ Ruth/Be'Laen said. ‘Please call me ...’ What did she want to be called. She couldn't really change the Commander's name, it would be out of place, and questionable. ‘Call me Be'Laen,’ she conceded. ‘You saved me, SYM.'
'I simply followed orders, Commander,’ he said. ‘Remember, orders are what makes us work effectively together.'
Be'Laen smiled, the sensation strange on his broad face. He raised his hand and touched the stubble, it was coarse. ‘You have the Commander's file?'
'Yes.'
'Can he be utilised?’ Be'Laen asked, as he licked his lips and ran a hand over his cropped hair.
'In time it may be possible. We only just managed to save you,’ SYM replied. ‘If you check your memories there are a few blanks. Sorry, but as the window neared closure I systematically removed unnecessary files as per assimilation protocol.'
'I remember every ...’ He thought for a moment. He could remember that Commander Be'Laen was cruel to her, but why? He had a blank spot in his mind. ‘You deliberately took those memories,’ he said harshly. ‘Why?'
'They were the files of least priority, they were deleted in natural order.’ SYM looked to the floor. ‘The Neuro-geek thought it best,’ he added quietly.
Be'Laen took a deep breath, touched the side of his head and felt the slot of the Sendec. He sucked his bottom lip over his teeth and bit down gently. He looked to the woman on the bed, now crying. There were going to be a lot of things he would have to change and a lot of women he had to heal. He even understood a little of the pain that had driven Be'Laen, maybe this would help in the healing. He sat on the bed beside the woman, carefully undid the bonds and covered her with a blanket. SYM stood beside the bed.
'I can fix SYM systems, but I can't fix that,’ SYM offered. ‘But if you file share Medic with her she will understand your change and may accept your assistance in undoing the horror she has lived.'
Be'Laen looked up at the small Asiatic man and saw the kindness that had saved him. He heard the frightened sobs of the woman. ‘Thank you SYM,’ he said, somehow feeling glad there was a blank spot where the Commander had been. She looked up at the SYM. ‘Delete the Commander from the system.'
'As you order.'
* * *
THE SPIFFY CULT (non fiction)
Sonny Whitelaw
On the island of Tanna, in the Republic of Vanuatu, a group of islanders known as the Jon Frumms are of the belief that western material produce comes from the land of the gods known as the USA. These Cargo Culters developed their beliefs during WWII as a consequence of economic and political conditions prevalent at the time.
During this period, Vanuatu, then known as the New Hebrides, was jointly ruled by both the French and British. This insane form of government—known as a Condominium—required a duplicate government and bureaucracy. Sort of like Siamese twins who didn't get along, put in charge of an entire nation. Two sets of customs and immigration formalities to pass through, two sets of postage stamps on the postcard home, two bureaucracies, two police forces, two judicial systems and two jails. There was, however, only one court, which was presided over by a Spanish judge who understood neither English nor French. This thereby ensured fair trials.
With the Japanese tearing down into the Pacific during WWII, France having capitulated to Germany and England looking none to healthy, the bureaucracies in the colonies were more or less having to fend for themselves. Prior to this state, the rule over the indigenous New Hebrideans was understandably somewhat schizophrenic. On the one hand, the French wanted to turn everyone into good little Catholic Froggies and teach them the language and what it was to Be French. On the other, the Poms were ramming Protestantism down their throats and chopping down every sandalwood tree in sight.
Prior to 1912 or so, both sides of this farcical arrangement were in agreement on one point: the slave trade to serve the Australian sugar plantations was vital and if they could not get the co-operation of the natives, then introducing plague organisms like smallpox and measles was Really Cool. So cool, it reduced the population from 2 million to around 40,000 by WWII. When the traders weren't kil
ling or enslaving them, the missionaries were stomping all over their culture, which was not just a nice thing for anthropologists to study but a means of existence that could not realistically be replaced by Western culture, because the technological infrastructure didn't exist.
Like cyclones, tidal waves and volcanic eruptions, the indigenous population put up with the situation as another natural disaster befalling their lives. And from such things do religions grow, for what is a god except someone to appease and make your life less miserable?
So in come The Americans like a thousand Lone Rangers on their shining Silvers (planes). A British diplomat (whose name escapes me) once described America as a big, friendly dog in a very small room. Every time it wags its tail, it knocks over the furniture. Now in all fairness to all concerned, there was a war going on and nobody was paying too much attention to a handful of natives perched on a volcanic island.
Actually, it was a little more than a handful and the effect was on considerably more than one island but that's another story. And it was true that the cultures of these people had already been torn up and stomped on by Christian religions. Fire and brimstone was not something that did anything for these people as they were already perched on the sides of volcanoes. So they were ripe, as it were, for a religion that made more sense.
So, as I was saying, in come The Americans. Lots and lots of ‘em. LOTS of ‘em, because the fighting might have all happened up in Guadalcanal but their base of operations was this little country called New Hebrides. Anyone out there remember Tales of the South Pacific, Bali Hai, McHale's Navy or the Black Sheep? Yep, same place. In fact over two million allies were stationed here during the final push into the Pacific. Anyway, in come the Yanks. And they disgorged from their planes in the thousands, and they Took Over.
SeaBees built runways in a week for more planes. They talked into black boxes with string going up poles and called in yet more planes. And in the bellies of these great beast were sooooo much stuff, so very, very much stuff, goodies, cargo, that was just, well, THERE. And with them were men of the same colour as the indigenous New Hebrideans, and they were treated just like their erstwhile white-skinned colonial masters.
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