Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  Shifting his gaze to the next table, he saw Gloria Muldoon look quickly down at her plate. It wasn’t the first time over the previous few days he’d caught the young woman watching him. She’d become unduly fascinated by his looks, which made him quite uncomfortable. He wished she’d not been added to the crew, but Floyd Sullivant insisted. He prayed she hadn’t become sexually fixated on him. It wasn’t that she was unattractive—on the contrary, she was quite beautiful, and coldly aloof and disturbingly formidable. No, it was that she …

  While taking a bite of savory, braised carrots, Solomon’s thoughts were interrupted by the old woman, Kateling Tarnal, saying, “Surely you can’t be serious, Mr. Waters? Do you contend that personal freedom is a good thing?” The former chancellor looked astounded.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Tarnal,” he replied. “Complete freedom invariably leads to chaos. The human race will probably never evolve to the point where complete freedom is feasible—but we can still hope, we can still dream about a future where peace is the norm and there’s no need for authoritarian regimes to keep the people in line.”

  “Such notions are just that, Mr. Waters: mere dreams. In fact, they are delusions designed to placate the masses with false hope, a hope that only serves to foment discord,” she asserted.

  Lorna Threman added, “As you study this colony’s history, you will find that we too valued freedom … at the outset. Unfortunately, after nearly two hundred years, a rebellion broke out, resulting in a bloody civil war. We put it down, managed to regroup, and then formed the society you now see today: one that has lived in peace for almost two thousand years.”

  “People like structure in their lives, Mr. Waters,” said Kateling Tarnal, picking up where the chancellor left off. “It’s comforting to know that you have a place in society, one where you don’t feel the need to stab another person in the back to achieve success. When society works like a well-oiled machine, it becomes stable, and there’s no need to worry about overpopulation or the other ills that manifest from living too close to the edge of anarchy.”

  “I see your point,” Bram said, drawing amazed looks from his shipmates. “Freedom is messy. If a society wanted to embrace true freedom, it would have to sacrifice an enormous amount of safety. People like being safe, which means that even the freest society is closer to a police state than a utopia. Sadly, however, when too much structure is imposed, creativity is compromised, innovation is stifled, individuality is suppressed, and stagnation inevitably ensues.”

  Bram sensed that his words were causing the desired effect—emotional turmoil in their hosts. Perhaps if their ability to block their thoughts were a physical aptitude, he could rile one of them to the point where they’d lower their guard enough for him to read their mind. Though the chancellor and her two advisers were attempting to stay calm, Bram could tell that all three were angry over his insinuation that New Terra was nothing more than a stagnant police state. Reaching out with his mind, he tried to slip past their mental defenses but again failed. Bram kept butting up against the same barrier he’d run into before. He sensed faint emotions, almost like shadows on a wall, but picked up absolutely no thought patterns.

  There was an awkward silence, but then Jemis Calverton, the High Priestess, began to laugh. “You are quite the philosopher, Mr. Waters. So tell me, is that your role? Is there a great need for philosophers while establishing a new colony? Or do you philosophize in your spare time … as a hobby of sorts?”

  Glancing over at Admiral Axelrod, Bram sensed that she was observing this exchange with great interest. He decided to press onward. “I’d say that philosophers are needed in every society, even a society such as your own … but that’s not my role in the landing party, per se. You see, I’m a psychic detective, by trade.”

  Frightened looks crossed the faces of the chancellor and her two companions. At the tables closest to theirs, the conversation became hushed. Bram realized too late that he should’ve kept this tidbit of information to himself.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you’re a, a mind-reader, Mr. Waters?” hissed Kateling Tarnal as she leaned forward, her thin, hawk-like visage boring into Bram like a raptor ready to strike.

  “You’ll have to forgive my friend, Ms. Tarnal,” the admiral cut in. “He has, shall we say, an unusual sense of humor. As we all know, mind-reading is just a myth fostered by charlatans and Vegas lounge acts.”

  The former chancellor eyed the admiral suspiciously. “I’m not exactly sure what a ‘Vegas lounge act’ is, but I take your meaning.” She turned her attention back to Bram. “It’s a good thing you’re not a mind-reader, Mr. Waters—because if you were, it would do you no good. The Lord protects us from anyone or anything trying to subvert the holy human mind.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Waters,” inquired Lorna Threman, “what exactly is your function in the landing party?”

  Bram thought fast. “I’m … the official civilian representative. A landing party should contain more than just military, scientific, and professional types, right?”

  The chancellor glanced at the others. “I suppose there’s a place for that.” Her eyes stopped on Richard Allison and lingered.

  The commander was looking at his plate and didn’t notice. Bram didn’t need psychic powers to know the chancellor found the dashingly handsome pilot attractive. She appeared ready to ask him a question, but Solomon spoke first. “Ms. Tarnal, a moment ago you said the Lord protects the people of New Terra from mental intrusion. How is that accomplished?”

  The former chancellor had been studying Lorna Threman, noting her fervent interest in the commander. She was anything but happy. “I’m sorry, Dr. Chavez, what were you saying?”

  Solomon repeated his question.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “It began after the rebellion that nearly tore our society apart. A plague came about that prevented the conception of children, so the Lord stepped in and took over the process. After that, the Ghosts of Yggdrasil no longer lured us to our deaths, and as a result, the population has been steady ever since.”

  “Yggdrasil … why does that name sound so familiar?” asked Karen Albans.

  Bram said, “In ancient Norse mythology, a towering ash tree called Yggdrasil—the Great Tree of the World—overshadowed everything, binding together heaven, hell, and the Earth. There was also something about two or three animals … but I forget what they represented.”

  Jemis Calverton, the High Priestess, noted, “The Lord says that an eagle sat at the top of the tree, a serpent coiled itself around the tree’s base, and a squirrel ran between the two, causing strife. I must admit, the Norse had an odd belief system.”

  Dr. Singh dabbed his mouth with a napkin, wiping a creamy gray sauce from his thick black mustache. “Being a man of science, I don’t ascribe to religious dogma,” he said disdainfully, his remark causing the High Priestess’s eyes to narrow with anger. “However, I’m quite intrigued by the plague your chancellor claimed was at the root of your infertility. It sounds fascinating.”

  The admiral groaned softly and Solomon was shaking his head. Most of the people at the table, other than Singh himself, had picked up on the doctor’s insensitivity, including their hosts.

  “I say, your people must have suffered through quite an ordeal before you found a cure,” he continued. “How long did it take before your populace resumed giving birth?” He speared a roasted asparagus tip with his fork, placed it in his mouth, and began to chew.

  Jemis Calverton’s anger turned to sadness.

  Lorna Threman, a pained expression on her face, reached for her glass of juice.

  Kateling Tarnal was gazing off in the distance—likely remembering something from her past.

  Regaining her composure, Jemis Calverton replied to Singh’s inquiry. “As former chancellor Tarnal said, we can no longer give birth. The Lord provides us with children as She sees fit.”

  “What?!” The doctor’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He
was stunned, and he wasn’t the only one: his shipmates were staring at the High Priestess in open astonishment. “B-but, I don’t understand,” he sputtered. “Are you trying to tell me that no one has given birth in the last two thousand years?”

  Jemis Calverton nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid that’s the case, Doctor. But don’t worry. Babies are still produced on a regular basis.”

  “But … how is this possible?” pressed Singh. “Are you using cloning techniques, or—”

  “All will be explained tomorrow,” the High Priestess declared. “As for tonight, let us abstain from unpalatable topics. This is a night for pleasantries and camaraderie, not painful reminders of a past we can do nothing about.”

  “So true, so true,” the chancellor added, brushing a lock of golden-blonde hair behind her ear. “Tell me, Commander Allison, what is it like piloting such a magnificent ship as the Arrow?”

  She seemed truly interested in the subject matter, though more so in Richard, who hesitantly launched into the mechanics of piloting a starship. From that point on, the night’s conversation shied away from anything serious, though Bram’s unease remained steady.

  15

  “Lorna, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  The dinner was over, and Lorna Threman lay on her bed, thinking about the muscular, dark-skinned pilot. Her right hand had slid down her silky, white belly and disappeared beneath her panties when the husky female voice sounded in her head.

  She gave a start and sat upright. “Of course, Lord, whatever you wish.”

  “I have noticed that you find the dark-skinned man attractive.”

  Lorna felt her cheeks turn bright red. “If you mean the dark-skinned man, Lord … um, he, uh, possesses a certain appeal, yes.”

  “He is not like the other men you have coupled with, is he?”

  Lorna could barely find her voice. “No, Lord,” she whispered.

  “Commander Allison possesses an intimate knowledge of the starship known as Solomon’s Arrow,” the voice observed. “I want you to seduce him and gain his trust. You can then attain valuable information from him, specifically, the command codes that control the ship’s helm. You are well aware of how important it is for me to gain this knowledge, correct? You must not fail in this mission which I bestow upon you.”

  Lorna’s pulse began to quicken at the prospect of bedding the commander. “When would you like me to institute this plan, Lord?”

  “Tonight,” the voice replied. “He has returned from a meeting with his commanding officer, and is in the process of preparing for bed. The time is ideal for you to seduce him. It should not be difficult. The men of his era were renowned for their potent sex drive. Do not be swept up in the moment and forget your purpose; men such as he were celebrated for their abilities in bed, primarily due to their large sex organs, so steel yourself against his physical attributes.”

  “Yes, Lord,” she murmured, feeling a delicious quiver in her belly. She’d finally be able to fulfill a long-held sexual fantasy: to achieve orgasm with a well-endowed man instead of by self-manipulation or by mechanical means or from the good graces of other women. She’d slept with New Terra’s pathetic excuses for males on several occasions, but had always been disappointed. Perhaps this time would be the exception. Commander Allison was unlike any man she’d ever met (or seen), and the prospect of feeling his manhood inside her was making her head swim.

  Lorna slipped out of her clothes, dabbed a few drops of pheromone-laced perfume on strategic regions of her body, and shimmied into a red, low-cut, body-hugging dress she hoped would appeal to Richard’s prurient interests. She then accessed the code for his room and placed the call she’d been fantasizing about all night.

  •

  Having set his PID to wake him at seven in the morning, Richard was pulling down his bed sheets when the apartment’s transceiver beeped. He pressed the talk button on his night stand’s control panel and answered, “Hello?”

  The caller’s voice was unmistakable. “Hello, Commander, this is Chancellor Threman. I was wondering if I could speak with you about a few things.”

  “Sure, Chancellor,” Richard said, clearing his throat. “What would you like to know?”

  “Please, call me Lorna,” she cooed. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk face-to-face.”

  Richard looked down; he was wearing nothing but his military issue boxer/briefs. “Can’t this wait ’til morning?”

  There was a pause. “I suppose so,” she replied. “But, I was hoping to speak with you alone. Please don’t deny me this simple request, Commander. I promise not to keep you up too late.”

  Richard realized this would be a perfect opportunity to pump her for information. “Give me a few minutes to dress and I’ll be ready. Where would you like to meet?”

  “I’ll transmit my apartment code to your foldway. Whenever you’re ready, press the enter button.”

  “Thank you, Lorna,” he said, feeling unaccountably nervous. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  As Richard hurriedly threw on his clothes, he realized he should let Admiral Axelrod know about the forthcoming meeting with the chancellor. Once dressed, he established a link with the admiral’s PID and received this response: “Admiral Axelrod has retired for the evening. Unless this is an emergency, please try again tomorrow morning … thank you.”

  Was this an emergency? No, he should let the admiral sleep.

  Richard activated the foldway and stepped across the threshold. He barely registered the spacious, ornately decorated room. His eyes were locked onto the chancellor. She lounged in a lightly padded armchair, her low-cut, red dress having a slit up the side, one that revealed a perfectly sculpted leg, easily draped over the other in a pose of casual sensuality.

  “Hello, Commander,” she said, slowly uncrossing her legs and standing.

  Richard had to force himself not to gulp. “Please … call me Richard.”

  “I’d like that,” she responded, moving toward what looked like a bar stocked with liquor.

  “Would you like a drink, Richard?” she asked, casting a sultry look over her left shoulder.

  “Yes, I would.” He was beginning to think she had more on her mind than his piloting skills.

  Richard had been faithful to his wife and had slept with only one woman since her death. He was so nervous his stomach was tangled up in knots.

  The chancellor carried two glasses containing a dark-red liquid. “I hope this suits your taste, Richard. It’s made from a local berry that’s one of the few foods on this planet safe to eat,” she said, handing him the glass. Lorna sat on a light-blue divan and patted the cushion beside her. “It’s a seventy-nine year old vintage reserved for the chancellor alone. It’s quite lovely, I hope you enjoy it.”

  Sitting, Richard took a sip of the strong, sweet wine and smiled. “It’s very good, better than I expected.”

  Lorna scooted a bit closer. “I was hoping you would say that,” she replied, lightly placing her hand on his forearm.

  Richard could barely catch his breath. “You, um, said that the berry is, uh, one of the few foods on this planet that humans can eat. Why is that?”

  Richard noticed Lorna’s brow crease momentarily—she obviously didn’t want to talk about agricultural products, or much else.

  “Yes, well, this planet is almost devoid of selenium, without which humans cannot survive. Also, most of its plants are toxic when eaten, and Earth plants won’t grow in the soil, due to the planet’s incompatible anaerobic bacteria. We’re forced to use hydroponics to grow most of our food. The one exception is protean. Owing to the fact that there is very little animal life on this planet, we had to improvise.” Richard could tell she was growing bored with the subject. “Not long after the colony was established, the settlers grew tired of soy products and went looking for a replacement. They found a fungus growing in the forest that could be cultured into an almost perfect facsimile of meat.”

  “Was that what I mistook for la
mb, during tonight’s dinner?” he asked.

  “Yes … the first colonists remembered the differences in flavor of many Earth meats, so they developed additives to flavor the fungus cultures. We can prepare steak and pork—and lamb as you already know. Also, we’ve come up with a few others over the intervening centuries that suit our own particular tastes. We have names for them, but I won’t bore you. As for the selenium, a few weeks after arriving on this planet, our ancestors discovered a nut similar to the Brazil nut, containing the only form of selenium on the planet. This nut, which we call the ‘Chili Nut,’ because of its distinctive cumin-like flavor, is found high in the forest canopy. But enough of this; I’d rather talk about other things … or not at all,” she said, coquettishly.

  This time, Richard scooted a little closer to her. It was obvious that she was attracted to him, and the feeling was mutual. He’d have to be a eunuch to pass up a chance like this. “Right now, I’m not feeling very talkative.”

  Seeing her eyes dart down to his lips, Richard caressed her cheek, slid his fingers into her golden-blonde hair, cupped the back of her head, and gently pulled Lorna in. When their lips met, a fire ignited within him, an intense passion he hadn’t felt in over two years. Her arms wrapped around his neck and a guttural moan escaped her throat.

  Moments later, their hands were on each other’s bodies, moving frantically, pulling at each other’s clothes. When his underwear came off, Lorna gasped, her eyes growing wide, her body giving a slight shudder of anticipated pleasure.

  Richard ached with an overpowering need to be inside her, so he took her right there on the couch … and again later on the bed.

  •

  The next morning, Lorna woke Richard with her lips wrapped around his quickly engorging manhood. She couldn’t get enough of him. Naturally, he responded as she hoped … by pulling her on top of him and entering her like a man possessed. He filled her up (and more so), making her head swim with ecstatic agony. Within minutes, he brought her to a crashing orgasm—just as he’d done on several occasions the night before.