by Rick K. Reut
After some deep deliberation, he finally cooled off enough to deliver the following:
“There is a way for you to go to the Mainland, Mister Marx. If that’s what you’re really after. I mean, with a fine-looking face and hairless hands like yours. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. Why?”
“A bit too old, I’m afraid,” said Swinesteiger, rubbing his coarse chin with the back of his hand. “They generally prefer much more tender ages for their sick experiments as far as I am aware. But I’ve heard of men, I mean not real men like me, but sick perverts like themselves having been taken away that advanced in years.”
“Taken where?!” exclaimed Adam, unable to hide his excitement.
“What do you mean – where? To see the world, of course!” the warden snorted with scarcely concealed contempt. “I mean, I myself wouldn’t mind spending a night or two with one of those freaks of gene-engineering for my horn’s sake. Just to know what it’s like, you know. But to actually become one of them – no, thanks a lot.”
“Become one of whom?” wondered Adam.
Ignoring this last question, the warden opened the window and wordlessly tossed out the burnt-out butt of his cigar. Then he wandered back to the writing table, took his seat and opened a small brown, wooden box, revealing a neat row of long, fat Cuban cigars that looked a like a line of uncircumcised cocks quite similar to the one the stub of which he had just been sucking.
Thoughtfully, Swinesteiger took out one of the cigars – straight from the former Freedom Island, as he was fond of saying to his subordinates, implying that, unlike most other Islands, Cuba had never had to be changed into a concentration camp, for it had always been one. Having fondled the cigar between his fingers for a second, he shut the box, bit off the butt and brutishly spat it under the table. Still without a word, he touched himself a few times around his breast pockets as if looking for something. Finally finding it, he fished out an old-fashioned gasoline lighter and lit the cigar, leaning back in his creaky chair and exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke.
Adam watched his ritualistically rehearsed motions with impatience. Staring at the ceiling with his smoking cigar stuck between the stubby fingers, the warden drummed on the edge of the writing table with his dirty nails.
“So, you really want to see the world, son?” he asked airily.
“More than anything else in it,” answered Adam.
“So I see,” said Swinesteiger, turning even more serious. “Well, what can I say? You might as well get your chance. But then don’t tell me that I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn me of what?” wondered Adam.
“Of what?! Of losing your manly dignity!” exclaimed Swinesteiger, with exaggerated pathos, which suited neither his grunting voice nor his overall hoggish looks.
Who the needs manly dignity when it makes one miserable? Adam thought, challenging the warden with a defiant stare.
“Very well then,” said Swinesteiger, reading Adam’s mind. “As they say, suit yourself.”
He then took another long drag from his smoldering cigar, stood up and once again drifted to the window. He stood there for some time, surrounded by still silence, smoking, staring out, and apparently pondering over something. Adam waited patiently, determined to do anything in his power to leave the Isle of Man at any cost.
Finally, the warden broke the surrounding silence with the following smoke-screened words:
“There is a special program called “Trans-Cultural Conditioning Correction Course”; also known as “T triple C”. It works on an exclusively voluntary basis. According to the terms, any young man between fifteen and twenty five can sign in and take part in a special selection session. If you pass the session as a suitable candidate, you’re taken to the mainland for studying purposes.”
“You mean, as a student?!” cried Adam, excitedly.
“No, not as a student! As a subject! An experimental lab rat, to be perfectly precise. And just like any other experimental lab rat, you will be subjected to all sorts of sick tests on both your body and mind. In addition to that, you’ll also be exhibited at public lectures in universities and schools. Let alone all kinds of perverted in and out of class activities. You might even be put in a cage like a slave or some other human zoo animal. As I’ve said, it’s all very humiliating,” added the warden, taking another puff at his penis-shaped cigar.
“However, nothing will be done against your so-called free will and written consent. You’ll have to give the latter before leaving the limits of the Island. In return, you’ll be given an opportunity to remain on the Mainland for an indefinite period of time. Possibly for the rest of your biological life. But only under certain conditions, which I am not authorized to divulge at this stage. Still, off the record,” the warden lowered his voice and turned to Adam, aiming his most extinguishing stare at the young man’s burning eyes, “I think that this whole thing is totally wrong, and if I were you, I’d never consider going there even for a second.”
“Going where?”
“What do you mean – where?! To the Mainland, of course!”
“No, I want to know where I can sign in.”
“O, you already want to sign in then?” smirked the warden, slightly surprised. “Well, suit yourself. After all, it’s your body and so your business. But I really recommend that you don’t do it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s sick!” cried the warden, with a newlywed snapshot of scorn and disgust freeze-framed on his flabby face.
“That doesn’t sound like much of an argument.”
“But it goes against nature!”
“It also goes against nature to deliver mail! And especially in a devil’s den like this one five times a week with jerking off before bedtime being the only entertainment!” the young machine-gunned in a barely restrained rage.
“Delivering mail, ha? So you must be a mailman, Mister Marx,” the warden commented in cool contrast, quickly collecting himself.
“Alas!” acknowledged Adam.
“Well, what can I say then,” said Swinesteiger, slowly drifting back to his armchair. “In that case, the address I am about to provide you with won’t be that hard to find. For you have already made up your mind, as far as I can tell.”
“Yes, I have,” Adam declared with conviction.
“Since such is your final choice,” the warden continued with official composure, “and I couldn’t change it no matter how hard I’ve tried, I guess I’m just going to have to give you one of those little leaflets I’m bound to distribute among my subordinates. That is, even though I don’t personally approve of it. But then again, orders are orders, right? And especially when you’ve got a hungry mouth to feed.”
Adam nodded slowly and stared at the warden in anticipation. The warden stared back.
“Well, here is your ticket to paradise lost,” said Swinesteiger, breaking the eye contact as he bent over to open the bottom drawer of his writing table, producing a picturesque-looking little leaflet.
“All you need is in there,” the warden laid the leaflet on the table, taking another puff of his penis-shaped cigar as he rose in a thick cloud of smoke. “And now, have a nice day,” he said, drifting back towards the window and intentionally ignoring the young man. The latter took the leaflet and, having thanked the warden’s smoke-screened back with another nod, started for the door.
“Oh yeah, one more thing!” said Swinesteiger.
The young man halted with his hand on the handle and his head half-turned to the warden. Swinesteiger was still staring out of the window, smoking.
“If you do get there, don’t tell them what I told you, will you?” he said.
“Tell whom and what?” asked Adam.
The warden turned his head and looked at Adam out of the corner of his button-shaped eye.
“Anyone and anything,” he scowled. “Not a word. Get it?”
Adam shrugged in silence.
“Alright, I won’t,” he promised.
For a moment the warden looked at him wordlessly, as if checking whether the young man was telling him the truth, and then, turning his head back to the window, told him to get lost.
As it turned out, Adam was more than willing to obey the warden’s last order.
Chapter Seven
The Annual Summit of the Chief Caretaking Continent Controllers’ Council was to take place in New York City on the same day Adam Marx took his time to visit the Warden of the Isle of Man.
The official opening speech was scheduled for one o’clock in the afternoon sharp. Almost as sharp as the Transcontinental Rocket that took the European Chief Caretaking Continent Controller across the Atlantic in almost no time at all. About eighty minutes – that is exactly how much time it took to travel around the world these totally globalized, neo-modern days of daring nana-technological progress. Gianna Globe, therefore, needed no more than twenty to get from London to New York. Roughly half an hour if one counted the fornication with the flight crew that took place in the cockpit afterwards.
The truly breathtaking speed of nearly twenty thousand miles per hour the Trans Rocket was capable of exceeding most easily also happened to be a most effective natural aphrodisiac. As a result, such flights rarely occurred without a subsequent she-male orgy on board the ship – a most imposing T-shaped phallic symbol one single look at which was more than enough for some hormonally imbalanced transsexuals to become aroused before coming into any desired hot spot of the planet swifter than an infant’s orgasm.
The European Continent Controller entered the Central Cabinet of the Chief Caretaking Committee on the top floor of the two-hundred-storied, T-shaped Trans Tower – the tallest building in New York City as well as in the Whole New World State of both body and mind – at a quarter to one.
The Central Cabinet was a colossal round room right below the building’s rooftop. The walls looked like one giant round window intermitted with thick T-shaped columns supporting the ceiling. (Each column had plenty of hollow space inside to serve as an elevator shaft for so-called floating lifts. The key difference between them and traditional elevators was that the former could move not only upwards and downwards but also sideways within the walls of the structure.)
In the middle of the round room, there was a massive black and white one-legged table. The table was also round and divided, like a cake, into ten even alternating triangles with a candle-like “T” letter of the opposite color depicted on each one of them. Before each triangle, there was a chair with a T-shaped back. Its color was also opposite to the one of the triangle, thus completely conforming to the color of each of the “T” letters. Above the table, hung a huge electric chandelier in form of an overturned “T”.
The Controller’s Council consisted of ten members. Most of them were already present when Gianna Globe walked into the Central Cabinet. Apart from the Current Chairtran and Controller for North America, Its Freudship Freudina Fordy, there were seven other Continent Controllers: Controller for Central America – Conchita Carman, Controller for South America – Victoria de Vega, Controller for North Africa – Roxana Ra, Controller for South Africa – Liona Lulu, Controller for West Asia – Tatiana Trahova, Controller for East Asia – Huy Hee, and Controller for Australia and New Zealand – Diana Dry. The only absentee was the North and South Poles Controller Freezena Frost, who was running a little late.
As all those who had ears could easily hear and all those who had eyes could just as easily see, all the Continent Controllers had alliterative names. There was nothing uncommon about that fact. Everyone in the New World State had an alliterative name. Such names were given to the state’s citizens at the moment of decanting for purely perfectionist reasons. The only people who weren’t always given alliterative names were the inhabitants of the Isolated Islands.
But that was because all the islands’ inhabitants were naturally born and were, therefore, barely considered either citizens or even people at all. Unless of course by their parents, who named them and then ruined the rest of their excruciatingly painful lives by incorrect conditioning. Some took them to local childcare centers or orphanages, which did the ruining job for them, for those centers were also run by naturally born men and women, an overwhelming majority of whom had no idea what they were doing.
In the trans-humanistic society of the present future past, those people were more like living dead anachronisms, and, as almost every true trans-humanist tended to think, deservedly so.
As soon as all the Controllers gathered together and took their respective seats at the round table (seen as a symbol of everyone’s enduring equality), the council could be considered commenced. It was finally pronounced to be so by Its Freudship Freudina Fordy, who, using Its official position as the Chairtran of this year’s Controllers’ Committee, was the first one to stand up and address the audience with an account of the annual agenda. The agenda, as always, consisted of several important issues that needed to be discussed before the beginning of the Trans Time, which would then ooze into a customary she-male cocktail sex party.
According to the protocol of the summit, the first and foremost question on the agenda concerned the current situation on the Isolated Islands and its inhabitants. The aggressiveness of the latter had already resulted in several terrorist attacks in some of the reservations, and now threatened to turn into a full-fledged rebellion. Some Controllers claimed that these destructive tendencies needed to be choked in the bud before they got completely out of control.
After the Chairtran’s address, the word was taken by Tania Trahova, a ten-foot tall Controller from West Asia, who was well-known for Its extremely large member and equally extreme methods of solving problems.
“I suggest that we give them an honest choice they don’t even deserve,” stated the West Asian Controller, sharply. “Either they all agree to take a compulsory chemical treatment that will reduce the level of their aggression hormones to an officially acceptable one…”
“Or…?” purred Roxana Ra, scanning Its colleague with cat-like, Egyptian eyes.
“Or we should simply wipe them off the face of Earth like so much smut” the West Asian Controller concluded with dramatic determination.
“Come, come, Tania,” cut in Liona Lulu, who was sitting by Its side. “This is not a civilized way to cope with the situation.”
“And what is a civilized way to cope with it then?!” cried Controller Trahova, challengingly.
“Well, we could all just assume an anticipating position and see what happens,” suggested Conchita Carman.
“Indeed, why don’t we all just sit back and relax?” chirped Victoria de Vega.
“Don’t worry, you’ll both have enough time to assume an anticipating position, let alone sit back and relax on my meaty rod as soon as the Trans Time starts,” said Tania Trahova, scornfully.
“Darlings, darlings, please, be gentle,” intervened the Chairtran. “Watch your aggression hormone level. We don’t want to turn into the animals we are currently discussing, do we?”
“Why, they’re always gentle! And so I’m always the one doing all the hard work.” complained the West Asian Controller.
“Like you don’t like it,” cried Conchita Carman.
“Yeah, maybe it’s you who ought to have Its testosterone level reduced to an officially acceptable one?” suggested Victoria de Vega, vindictively.
“Since when have you become my personal endocrinologist?!” Tania Trahova fumed back in fury. “You two just wait till the Trans Time comes and I have you both reduced to an officially acceptable one.”
“No, this is totally unacceptable, my friends,” exclaimed the Chairtran.
“O, it’s really okay, hostess. There is nothing to worry about. In fact, we even like it that way,” smiled Conchita, licking Its lips and leering at Controller Trahova. “Don’t we, Tania?”
“Sure we do,” the latter smiled in return, “since it’s so much sexier afterwards.”
“I’m warning you for
the very last time, my dears,” cried the Chairtran, trying to control the aroused part of the party. “No playing before the Trans Time. We’ve still got some serious work to do.”
“But really,” Huy Hee joined in, “Tania may be right. Why don’t we just put them all before an ultimatum and ultimately punish them in case they don’t comply. I mean, what other options do we have?”
“Well, we could just send them all to my place,” suggested the snow-white-skinned Freezena Frost, casually. “I would be more than happy to cryogenize them there. Just in case we need their organs or protoplasm for further research in the long run.
“To the Poles?” wondered Diana Dry, doubtfully.
“What, you’ve got something against the poles?” Controller Frost’s face froze in a frown.
“No, not against your particular pole, I don’t?” Diana smiled in haste to melt the ice.
“And what about mine?” purred Roxana Ra, playfully.
“I prefer your pyramids and poses of the Sphinx,” came a cryptic reply.
“How is that?” wondered Conchita Carman and Victoria de Vega in unison.
“That’s when you lie down on your belly and…”
“But my dears,” cut in the Chairtran, “we’ve really got some serious matters to discuss!”
“Oh well,” droned Dianna Dry, disappointedly, “never mind.”
“Serious matters, serious matters,” muttered Controller Carman, scowling. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a prudish prick?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are an undisciplined tart?” interposed Gianna Globe.
‘Sure. Many a time! But never being so protective of someone! Should I take it in as a compliment?” teased Conchita Carman.
“Only from behind!” snapped Gianna Globe.
“Ooh, right up the back door! Or, should I say, brown hole?!” chuckled Controller Trahova “Don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ll discipline them both come Trans Time.”