by John Norman
“Let each be as she wishes,” said the older woman.
“But it does not work in that fashion, does it?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. Then she said, angrily, “We know our values! Let the forty-nine be sacrificed!”
“Perhaps men will not permit it,” he said.
She drew back in the chair, behind the small table, frightened, and put her legs more closely together, and gathered the white gown more closely about her slender body. It had never occurred to her before, perhaps oddly, that men might not permit the transmogrification of her gender. That had never occurred to her, that men might take a hand in such things. Men had always been so stupid, so simple, so weak, so easily confused, so easily influenced, so easily controlled and manipulated. Those, of course, were the men of Earth.
“I have upon occasion,” he said, “seen photographs of older women, sometimes very old women, taken when they were much younger, in the bloom of their youth and beauty. One realizes then, suddenly, that once they were young, and so beautiful. How hard it seems to believe that sometimes, knowing them as they are now. But if one had known them then! Ah, if one had known them then! Then would one not have found them terribly attractive? Would one not have wanted then to know them, to approach them, to touch them?”
“Everyone grows old,” said the older woman.
“I promised you that I would introduce you to the individual whom you remembered from long ago,” he said.
“Is he in the house?” she asked, suddenly.
“Yes,” said the young man.
“Please be merciful!” she begged. “If I am to see him, give me clothing to wear! Do not let me appear before him like this!”
“Was he a lover?” asked the young man.
“No!” she cried. “Of course not!”
“I shall introduce you to him now,” he said.
“Please, no,” she begged. “Not while I am like this!”
“But you have already appeared before him, so clad,” he said.
She looked at him wildly, in confusion.
“I am he,” he smiled.
“No,” she said. “You are too young, too young!”
“I am he,” he repeated.
She shook her head, disbelievingly.
“It will all become clearer later,” he said. “Let us now simply inform you, and you may believe this or not, it makes no difference at this point, that our “supposed world,” as we spoke of it, does exist, in actuality. It lies within our very solar system. I have been there. I have seen that world. I have adopted it, and its hardy, uncompromising, fulfilling ways, as my own. I will not recognize the pathologies of this world any longer. I repudiate them. The world is called, after one of its cultural artifacts, “Home Stone.” In the language most commonly spoken on that world the word is “Gor.” Perhaps you have heard of Gor?”
“You are mad!” she wept.
“Have you heard of it?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But it does not exist!”
“Later you will be in a better position to make a judgment on that,” he said.
The older woman looked to the kneeling blonde, if only to corroborate her own consternation, her own disbelief, but Tutina stared ahead, not meeting her eyes.
“Tutina,” said the young man, “is from Earth, like you, but she was taken, let us say, as a guest, to Gor. I bought her there.”
“Bought her?” asked the older woman.
“I, on the other hand,” said the young man, “was, in a way, recruited.”
“You are not the young man I knew,” said the older woman.
“I am,” he said. “Let us return briefly to those medical advances I mentioned earlier, those developed on Gor, or, as it is sometimes spoken of, the Antichthon, the Counter-Earth. Among these advances, or capabilities, if you prefer, are the Stabilization Serums. These ensure pattern stability, the stability of organic patterns, without degradation, despite the constant transformation of cells in the body. As you probably know, every seven years or so, every cell in your body, with the exception of the neural cells, is replaced. The continuity of neural cells guarantees the viability of memory, extending back, beyond various seven-year periods. The Stabilization Serums, in effect, arrest aging, and, thus, preserve youth. Further, the Stabilization Serums also freshen and rejuvenate neural tissue. In this way, one avoids the embarrassment of a declining brain incongruously ensconced in a youthful body. That feature represents an improvement over the original serums and dates from something like five hundred years ago.”
“You said you bought Tutina?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Can you think of any simple way in which I might convince you that I am who I claim to be? I probably remember some of our exchanges in class, some of my fellow students, some of the reading assignments, such things. Would anything like that help?”
“You might have researched such things,” she said.
“True,” he admitted. “What if I described your clothing, or manner, or such?”
“Such things were muchly the same,” she said. “I know!”
“What?” he asked.
“Once, and only once,” she said, “I wore jewelry to class. You could not know what it was. You would have no way of knowing what it was. Your data, your records, the roster, the familiarities of my garb and demeanor, could not give you that information.”
“You wore two narrow bracelets, golden bracelets, on your left wrist,” he said.
The older woman was aghast, stunned. The bracelets were precisely as he had stated. She had never forgotten that class. She had only dared once to wear them, to that class and none other. And she remembered how she had sometimes moved her wrist, as though in the most natural and apt of gestures, in such a way that they would make that tiny, provocative sound.
“They contrasted nicely with your prim couture,” he said. “They reminded me of slave bangles. They made small sounds, sometimes, as you moved your wrist. I suppose you know you did that on purpose, to present yourself before me, as a female slave.”
“No!” she cried.
“I recall thinking that it would be pleasant to have you remove those severe garments, slowly and gracefully, and then kneel naked before me, except for the two bracelets on your left wrist.”
The older woman cried out in misery, and hid her face in her hands.
“There has been a new development in the Stabilization Serums, or, better, I suppose, serums rather analogous to the Stabilization Serums, a development which has occurred in my own lifetime, indeed, within the last few years,” he said. “In this development, though there are dangers associated with it, and it is not always effective, it is often possible to reverse the typical aging process, to an earlier point, and then stabilize it at that point.”
“You are mad,” she said.
“I had never forgotten you,” he said, “and so, naturally, when I learned of this possibility, I thought of you, and, indeed, several others, in this regard.
“You may now ask about your clothing,” he said.
“Where is it?” she said.
“It was destroyed,” he said. “You will not be needing it anymore. You are going to be taken to Gor.”
“You are mad,” she whispered.
“Not at all,” he said.
“You never forgot me?” she said.
“Do not mistake our intentions here,” he said. “This is a business venture. We are interested in profit. There is a rich harvest to be had now, with this new development, only recently available to us for commercial exploitation. There is now, suddenly, an entirely new, rich, untapped area which is ripe for our endeavors, an area which we may now use to supplement our routine work.”
“You remembered me,” she whispered. “You were interested in me.”
“A nice word,” he said.
“You found me of interest —?”
“Certainly.”
She was in sudden consternation.
&n
bsp; Interested?
Surely she had misspoke herself. Surely she had gone too far!
Was she feminine?
She must not be feminine!
Surely it would be wrong for her to be such, to be so female, so simply, so radically, so vulnerably female!
Was such not a mere social artifact?
But what if it were not a mere social artifact?
What if it were something very different, what if it were something very real, something natural, precious, important, and beautiful, something utterly independent of her wishes and indoctrinations, something which, whether she or others approved or not, or wanted it to be or not, she was?
And could it be wrong to be what one was?
And what might be the consequences of becoming what one was, truly?
Could it be so terrible?
Or might it not be the most welcome and glorious of liberations?
She looked at the wall, to her left, at a picture, a landscape. It seemed a strange landscape, in its way, with gentle yellow trees nestled in a valley, and, in the distance, a range of scarlet mountains. One could almost smell the breeze, the freshness of the air.
A strange picture!
Surely there was no such place.
But what if there were?
What would it be to be in such a place?
Would not things be different?
Perhaps very different?
She looked away from the picture.
“But how could that be?” she asked, lightly. “In what possible way?”
“You are not stupid,” he said. “Do not pretend to be stupid. In precisely the sense you had in mind when you used the word ‘interesting’.”
“— As a female?” she said.
“Of course,” he said.
“How horrid!” she said.
“You are actually quite pleased,” he said.
“I decry the very thought,” she said. “I reject it as insulting and repulsive!”
“No, you do not,” he said. “You are very pleased. And I assure you that you will come to hope, and soon, with all your heart, and every fiber of your little body, that men will find you interesting as a female — for your very life may depend on this.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“In a few days, perhaps weeks,” he said, “you will understand.”
“I think you are mad,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he smiled.
She drew the pristine, starched white of the hospital or examination gown more closely about her.
“How lovely you were,” he said, “and how lovely you will be again, when you are what you should have been, from the very beginning.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
He laughed, and she felt frightened.
She trembled in the small, starched gown. It was too short! On her left ankle was a puzzling, inexplicable ring of metal; it was a stout, sturdy little ring, and it closely encircled her ankle; it was closed and locked in place; she could not remove it; it was fastened on her, snugly, effectively, inescapably; it was warmed now from her body.
She had never worn such a device.
She did not understand such a device.
What could it mean?
There was writing on it.
He had spoken of records.
Such a device, she thought, in its obduracy and beauty, is inappropriate for me. It is the sort of thing which should be on the body of a young woman, a coveted, desirable female, one who must wait fearfully to learn its significance, a significance already half suspected, and in what plans she might figure.
“I do not understand,” she thought to herself. “I do not understand!”
“Yes,” he said, “I was interested in you. Certainly I was interested in you. But you must clearly understand that I was interested in you in only one way, in one way alone. I thought of you with only one purpose in mind, the only purpose in terms of which you could possibly be of any value. And you must understand, too, that that is the only way in which you are of any interest or ever will be of any interest whatsoever. That is the only interest, and the only meaning, you will have, ever, for any man.”
“I do not understand,” she whispered.
“In what other way might one be interested in one such as you?” he asked.
She looked at him, wildly.
He smiled.
“No,” she said, “no, no!”
“I wonder what color cords would look well on you,” he said. “White, yellow, red?”
“I do not understand,” she cried. “I do not understand!”
“Doubtless any,” he said. “They are all nice. I think you will be very pretty, later, of course, not now, later, when you are luscious, helplessly bound in them.”
“Luscious, I?” she said. “Cords? Bound?”
He then drew from the center drawer of his desk a small, rectangular leather case, from which he withdrew a syringe, and a vial. “You are going to be given an injection,” he said, “which will, in a few moments, produce a lapse of consciousness. I would rather that you did not resist. If you choose to do so, I will have Tutina, who is considerably younger and larger, and stronger, than you, hold you.”
The older woman said nothing, but wept.
Meanwhile, Tutina had, from a cabinet to the side, to the right of the desk, as one would face it, taken what appeared to be a bottle of alcohol, and, from a small white sack which had been beside the bottle, what seemed to be a cotton swab.
“Lie down there,” said Tutina, “on the rug, before his desk, on your right side, with your knees drawn up.”
Awkwardly, and with unsteadiness, and some pain, the older woman, tears in her eyes, humiliated, went to her hands and knees, and then to the position to which she had been directed.
“Hereafter,” said Tutina, “when you hear the command ‘Injection position’, in whatever language, you will instantly, and unquestioningly, assume this position.”
The older woman whimpered.
“Be quiet,” said Tutina.
The older woman cried out, softly, in sudden protest, as the gown was thrust up, rudely, above her waist. She felt the cool touch of alcohol, applied from the swab, at her waist, on the left side, above the hip, a swabbed area of some two square inches. Then, a moment later, as Tutina withdrew, taking with her the alcohol and swab, she sensed the young man crouching beside her. Then she felt the entry into her body of the syringe, sharply and precisely penetrating the alcohol-cooled area, and there was a small, growing, painful, swollen fullness in her side, as the liquid was forced under the skin.
Chapter 5
THE YOUNG MAN VISITS HER,
PRIOR TO THE FIRST PHASE OF HER TRANSFORMATION
“Do you find your quarters pleasant?” he asked.
The room, or what one might even think of as an apartment, was large, comfortable, attractive, and well-appointed. There was furniture not too much unlike furniture with which she was familiar from her first world, an attractive rug, two easy chairs, a small table, a chest at the side, for clothing and small articles, such things. She might have preferred that there had been a separate bedroom, as she did not much care for her bed to be visible when the room was entered, but that, as it was, was not the case. There were no pictures on the wall, or tapestries, or representations of any sort, which might inform her more accurately as to the nature of her larger surroundings, those beyond the room. There was a large mirror, in which she could see, not that she much cared to, her small, frail, wrinkled, flattened, aged, tired body. The furniture, including the bed, was fastened in place. She could not change its position. It was thus impossible, for example, to try to barricade the door, to protect her privacy, or move it to the wall and attempt to use it to obtain a glimpse outside, through the small window, high there in the wall, well over her head. She could see the sky, and occasional clouds, and, at night, the darkness and some stars, through the window, which views, though reassuring, were not particular
ly informative. More informative, perhaps, was the fact that the window was barred. That detail seemed somewhat incongruous, given the pleasant, genial, comfortable nature of the room, but it does, she believes, warrant mention. It was barred. There was one door. It was a heavy door, of some dark wood. Oddly, it lacked a handle on her side. When it was opened, as it frequently was, usually to admit respectful young ladies, who seemed incredibly beautiful to her, who wore long, sedate gowns, who brought her food and drink, she could see the hallway outside, which, contrasting with the pleasures of the room, seemed quite dismal. It was walled and floored with heavy stone; it might even be damp; it was surely dark and forbidding. There was a man outside sometimes, a doorman, or guard, who attended to the admittance, and egress, on a signal, of the young ladies. She did not see much of him, but he apparently wore some sort of short robe, and bootlike sandals. His mien frightened her. Something about it made her feel unusually vulnerable, and feminine. The young ladies would not speak directly to her of this world in any detail but she had gathered something of it from the lengthy, intensive language lessons, hours in length, which they administered to her, lessons in a language whose name she did not even know. There were five young ladies. Two of them, happily, spoke English, one with a French accent, the other with a German accent. The other three, she suspected, did not know English. She did not know what might be their native language. She suspected that they were native to this new world. The language apparently contained no words for hundreds of the most common objects on her former world, such as automobiles and radios. On the other hand, it contained many words for implements; artifacts, items of apparel, botanical forms, comestibles, and such, with which she was unfamiliar. In such a way she had begun to suspect something of the nature of the world which must lie beyond the enforcements of her current horizon, a horizon limited by four walls, a patch of sky detected through an inaccessible window and an occasional glimpse into a forbidding corridor. To be sure, her most widely ranging, and far-flung, and ambitious speculations and conjectures, of necessity under the circumstances, must fail to prepare her for the reality without. They could not even begin to scratch at the foot of a high, majestic wall, beyond which there lay a world. The realities of such a world, at the moment, understandably, were simply beyond her ken. The young ladies were barefoot, and their sedate gowns, while long, were sleeveless. She was dressed better than they, which perhaps suited her age. Her own ankle-length gown was of finer material, came high, modestly, about the neck, and had long sleeves. Too, unlike her fair visitors, she wore soft, attractive, embroidered slippers. She did have at least one thing in common with them. Each, they and she, on her left ankle, wore a closely fitting, closed ring. All, she and her visitors, were apparently ankleted. She wore the same anklet the discovery of which on her body had so disconcerted her on her first world. The encirclements of the ankles of her fair visitors were various in nature and appearance, but all were sturdy, and, she conjectured, locked. Although her garmenture was lovely, and modest, one detail troubled her. She had been given nothing in the way of panties, or pantyhose. Curious, after the first few days, and apprehensive concerning this presumed oversight in the inventory of her issued garmenture, she had tried, delicately, to inquire whether her visitors had been permitted the trivial modesty which she, apparently, doubtless due to some oversight, had been denied. When the two young ladies who spoke English had finally discerned the nature of her inquiry, they had laughed merrily, and translated it delightedly for their companions, who, too, then, looking from one to the other, two clapping their hands with pleasure, burst into laughter, the older woman having apparently made some fine joke.