I came back over and sat back down by him. I took a good pull from my drink and stretched out with my head in his lap. He began trailing his fingers lightly over my bare midriff, then slid his hand under the loose bottom hem of my blouse and rested it on my breast.
“If I got a chance to go on a starship, would you go with me?” I asked. I looked up into his face where a faint shadow of whiskers was growing. A beard was one thing I didn't miss now that I was a woman.
“Why don't we wait and see what develops first? Russ, how long do you think it will be?"
“Oh, a year or two, I should think, then you'll be seeing all kinds of spaceships being built."
My heart jumped with excitement. “How fast will they go?"
For the first time that evening, Russell didn't either smile or grin when he answered a question. “Trust you to put a finger on the one thing we're not sure of. We're certain the theory works. We're certain that FTL will work. What we don't know, and can't predict until someone actually goes out and comes back, is what the upper limits are. I may have erred when I said something about other galaxies. Then again, maybe not. I'm optimistic, but why worry? We'll know soon enough."
* * * *
As it turned out, Russell was indeed a little optimistic. It took almost four years before the first starship took off from earth, disappearing instantly from its berth at the Gila Bend testing facilities. The delay was caused by the need to develop pinpoint accuracy in the guidance mechanisms. America's lead in nano-electronics helped enormously in getting our craft off first.
Other governments, racing to catch up, launched other ships. They should have waited. None of theirs ever returned. A few private consortiums, more interested in near-space, built smaller and simpler ships, and they worked fine. Others began building, and the competition to exploit the solar system and nearby stars began to get under way.
In the meantime, Russell's other predictions were more on the mark. The new computers were low-priced and quickly replaced the old phones. I wore mine on a neck chain disguised as a gold sand dollar. They were amazing. It took some time to get used to having a display instantly available wherever I wanted one, but eventually it began to seem normal. I was even beginning to think of getting one implanted.
Fourth Worlders all over the globe snapped up the old phones, which were distributed free in some areas like our own country, and Rez's analysis proved to be pretty much on the mark. Crime and unrest began decreasing and some Fourth Worlders began doing any kind of work they could find to earn the money to convert from phones to bodycoms.
By this time, I was making so much money from my writing that we could all live comfortably without leaving home unless we wanted to. Russell did go back to work as soon as a temporary lab was erected, and helped design the new permanent buildings. Rez continued his research, and I continued to write stories about the gates simply because I was still so fascinated with them.
I did one serious program on the Seconders. It was informed speculation, and Rez helped on it. We noted the statistics: only about one in a hundred thousand persons managed a successful second passage. We got into the mental orientation of those who did. There wasn't much positive correlation with any particular aspect of a person's personality, and what little there was could still be wrong, given the small sample population and the reluctance of Seconders to be interviewed. One thing became clear, though: a rigid belief system of any kind seemed to preclude passage. That made me wonder how serious Messilinda had been with her new religion. Had that hundred-year-old man played a huge joke on the world after coming back as a woman? I put that in as a teaser.
Negative correlations were many: psychopaths, criminal mentalities, very low intelligence, an excessive number of harmful genes, either recessive or dominant, extremes of physical endowment, and (I thought) any kind of dogmatist propensities. I couldn't prove the last one; I simply extrapolated from the fact that extreme religionists never passed through the gates a second time.
When that fact became general knowledge, two conflicting trends emerged: some people begin to loosen up on their religious convictions, embracing a broader, more tolerant faith, while others attributed the gates to the work of the devil trying to lead the faithful astray and became more rigid than ever. It would have been laughable if the reactions weren't thousands of years old, repeated over and over in various guises.
There were fewer wars now, but some were still fought, mostly due to conflicts over control of the gates or their supposed origin and purpose. I commented about it one day while Rez and I were researching a story.
“I guess the gates have become a normal part of the world,” I said, “Even though people still fight over them once in awhile. But there aren't nearly as many wars now. At least they've done that much for us."
“Indirectly."
“How so?"
“You're still a man inside, but try to guess anyway."
I rolled my hips in a teasing way. “You should know better than me what I am inside."
That earned me a big grin. “True. Never mind about guessing; I'll tell you. The female psyche never has been as territorial as the male's. Since the arrival of the gates, a lot of women have become men—which makes it easier for them to get elected. The result is we now have male leaders who are still female in attitude, and consequently, less squabbling over territory. Simple, huh?” He tilted my chin up for a kiss.
“It sounds logical.” I put my arms around him and leaned against his chest. “Why not go further, though? Males changing to females might be losing some of the territorial instinct."
“Do you think you have?"
“I'm not a proper judge.” I felt the beginnings of an erection against my belly. “Had enough research for awhile?"
Rez chuckled. “You haven't lost much. You're still always making the first move."
I put my hand on his erection and squeezed. “Come on, and bring your tea."
I guess I proved him right, not that I hadn't already many times before. As a female, I was as sexually aggressive as I had always been (after getting used to a particular woman). The talk had stimulated me, and I rode him to exhaustion.
But sexually aggressive or not, especially with Donna, I found that watching our amateur recordings of myself making love with any of my partners stimulated me like nothing else. I still had the male voyeuristic tendency—even looking at myself in the mirror, was a titillating experience. The woman in the recordings didn't even seem like me; rather she appeared to be an extremely attractive, almost-redheaded exhibitionist, with firm, pink-tipped breasts any man would go crazy over. I always admired her antics, especially with Donna, or in a three or four-way combination, and that night was no exception.
* * * *
While we still knew almost nothing about the gates, I did write a speculative piece where I wondered if the controlling entities might be preparing the human race for some as yet unknown future status. Membership in a galactic society? A world without privation or war? Preparation to replace some other race as rulers of the universe? Partnership with the originators of the gates? I let myself go wild, knowing that nothing could be proved one way or another.
Or so I thought.
About the time it was getting a good play on the web, our first interstellar ship came home.
Their report was disconcerting. The ship traveled hundreds of light years to several stars with marginally inhabitable planets and a couple which looked suitable for human colonization, but no extra-solar intelligence was discovered on any of them. No intelligent life at all, as a matter of fact. If the gate entities were out there, they were sure as hell keeping out of sight.
We all gathered in the great room to watch the documentary on the exploration. Russell and I were both as excited as boy scouts on their first camping trip, Rez and Donna less so.
The marginal planets didn't sport much in the way of higher life, and what was there was seemed to be antagonistic toward humans. Several of the explorers were k
illed. The unfamiliar vistas and exotic flora and fauna were disconcerting, like watching a science fiction webadventure, yet at the same time knowing that the settings were taken from real life; no graphics here.
Two of the promising planets did have higher life forms, some of them similar to mammals in some ways yet wildly different in others. One in particular got to me. There was no precautionary warning; kids saw much worse violence in graphics almost indistinguishable from reality every day. The alien creature had an elephant-like head, complete with trunk, set atop a squatty body with crab-like appendages, which it used to get around and grasp objects. It moved slowly, almost as if it didn't care about its surroundings.
As we watched, two men edged up to it. The creature stopped and waved a few of its limbs. It made no sound. Both men inched closer, keeping out of reach of the three-clawed pinchers. When the creature made no hostile moves, the men let down their guard and began examining its body parts. The alien beast remained still, letting them run their hands over it like an aloof cat permitting a bit of petting. This continued for some time, until I wondered when they were going to show something else.
The men grew careless. One was standing near that appeared to be the creature's front, doing the recording, while the other was clipping off bits of a shaggy mane resembling a cross between feathers and pork bristles. Abruptly, the trunk shot straight out, knocking away the recorder pointed at it and attached itself to the other man's chest. He screamed as he tried to drag himself away. Within seconds, the trunk bulged with blood being sucked from his body. He gurgled as he collapsed, and the trunk followed him to the ground still attached to his chest.
The other man backed away, fumbling for his handgun. He pumped shot after shot into the alien life form before it sank down with its legs tucked beneath it, like a huge dead spider. His partner was beyond help by that time.
The scene switched to a dissecting table set up in the camp. The spaceship was visible in the background on top of a small rise where spike-like vegetation was growing.
The trunk was sliced open, starting at the tip. The orifice showed a black tearing-and-grinding apparatus concealed beneath the glabrous covering, leading on to a muscled tube used for sucking out juices from its prey.
I turned away, not wanting to see the rest. I felt sick, as though I had eaten a meal of boiled caterpillars.
Rez faced me, her own face twisted with revulsion. “Still want to go colonizing?” Both horror and concern were mixed in the question.
“Not there, and not right away. God, that was horrible."
He gripped my hand tight enough to hurt. “Good. I don't want to even think about it. Not now."
We turned back to the screen. (Big screens were still in use for group viewing or when one needed or wanted views larger than the bodycomps could provide as yet.)
The rest of the program was tame by comparison, but that one episode had made a believer out of me. If ever I did go into space, to another planet, I wanted it to be very thoroughly explored first. I had horrible dreams that night.
* * * *
The year after our narrow escape from the Gater death squad, I bought up the land surrounding the house and placed sensors in various spots, tied into our home security. I also paid to have the place fortified so even if the security system were broached; it would still be difficult to get inside. I made certain that we kept weapons, ammunition and a good store of supplies on hand. I didn't ever want to have to run from our home again. I was prepared for anything—except a nuclear war.
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* * *
Chapter Twenty-three
With his work now reality, Russell finally decided to take a short vacation. All four of us drove over to the Creative Anachronism Festival about an hour's drive toward San Antonio to relax and enjoy ourselves. We reserved a double luxury suite in the castle, one with all the modern conveniences rather than realistic anachronistic accommodations featuring corn shuck mattresses, chamber pots, and the like. The festival was a fascinating experience as always, but when I get ready to turn in for the night, I want all the comfort money can buy.
For three days we had a rousing good time, watching the jousting, sword fighting, bow and arrow shooting, eating medieval food and washing it all down with dark English ale. The participants in the various feats and exhibitions were experts at the arcane arts and put on good shows. They were all real practitioners; there were no hired actors. I admired their dedication, though I had no desire to emulate them. Give me an automatic handgun with Kevlex cutter loads any day in place of a yewbow. I carried my gun with me, and kept plenty of re-loads in the car and on my person, and made sure that Rez and Donna carried theirs as well.
A couple of times I had trouble concealing my gun, because of the way I dressed. It was warm and over the years since the change I had become comfortable in scanty clothing; in fact, sometimes I wore less on purpose; I had learned to enjoy showing off my body. I got plenty of admiring glances and some outright leers, but I was still faithful to Rez and Russell, with no desire to try out other men. Women were something else. I saw a few who reciprocated my admiration, and I would have loved to try out a tumble with them. I figured that most of them were changers like me. Despite the attractive diversions, I never got around to forming a liaison there, and my family kept me so busy I didn't miss getting a little on the side.
After a fun but exhausting day of walking around the fair, sampling the pleasures, we were all eager to get back to the suites and luxuriate in the big hot tub before piling into the huge beds. My only complaint is that the castle didn't provide us with quite enough hand towels, but both bathrooms had bidets, so it wasn't that great a problem.
The last evening we went to a huge outdoor dinner celebration. It drizzled a bit, but the area where the rough-hewn wooden benches and tables were set up was covered with attached canopies, open at the sides to allow the breeze to come through, so it didn't matter. Dinner featured big joints of beef and pork and mutton seared over an open wood fire.
While the show was taking place on a wooden stage, the serving wenches hurried to keep us supplied with tankard after tankard of dark warm ale, and then added to the entertainment by sitting in our laps and fooling around as if they were dying to take us off to bed. Maybe they were for all I know, but none of us were interested in doing anything more than enjoying their company. They topped the evening by dancing on the oaken table, shedding most of their clothes as they did.
Once we got back to our suite, we were ready for fun and games in the hot tubs and beds. It was very late when we finally went to sleep.
* * * *
It was pitch dark in the room when I woke up. As I rolled over in the bed, I could feel the castle shaking and swaying. A rumbling sound like an avalanche coming down a mountain penetrated the walls. I was still half-asleep, wondering whether I was dreaming, when a loud crash from the bathroom shocked me wide awake.
Beside me, Rez sat up and grabbed me to keep from being shaken off the bed.
“Li, what is it! What's happening?” I could hear fear in his voice.
Damned if I knew. I told the lights to come on while I tried to get myself together. Earthquake? They were a rare event in Texas, but the rising seawaters were upsetting isostatic pressures almost everywhere on the globe. It was possible. A bomb? God, I hoped not.
The rumbling stopped. Rez and I got up, looking around for a clue. Except for some items that had fallen off of shelves, the room seemed normal.
After throwing on my clothes, I tried to pull in some webnews. All I got was the eerie sonic wail of an emergency broadcast signal, like a jet plane descending too fast. As I was pulling on my boots, the wailing stopped and a male voice began to speak. Whoever was speaking, he totally lacked the usual calm confidence of an announcer. His voice wavered as he shouted his message.
“Emergency warning! Emergency warning! This is not a test! Explosions, probably nuclear in origin, have been detected over several A
merican cities. Emergency warning! Take shelter immediately. Take shelter immediately, wherever you are. Stay tuned to this website for emergency news and information. Repeat! This is not a test. Nuclear explosions have been detected in the United States. The country is under attack. Take shelter immediately."
The wailing began again. If I hadn't felt the castle shaking and heard the rumble of the ground shockwave passing, I wouldn't have believed it. I wasn't sure I still did until I heard shouts and screams outside our doorway. Then it finally began to sink in.
I lowered the volume on my bodycomp while I strapped on my gun, in plain sight now. Russell burst into the room.
“Li, Rez, did you hear? We're being—oh!” His voice cut off as he saw that we were already dressed.
“Get Donna dressed,” I ordered. “Grab any luggage you can't spare, and let's get out of here. That must have been San Antonio that was hit. We may be in the fallout pattern."
Those were my first thoughts: get away, back to our securely fortified home, like an escaped pet fleeing back home after it found that the outside world held terrors never dreamed of. I had to repeat myself to be heard over Russell's wailing phone.
Donna came in, dressed and wearing her weapon openly as I was. A voice on the emergency website began repeating its urgent message.
“Ready?” I asked. They nodded. I cracked the door and peered cautiously out into the hall, bag in one hand and my pistol in the other. I looked in both directions. The two or three persons I could see were hurrying on errands of their own and didn't appear to be armed. While I watched, one gave up on the elevator and ran for the stairs.
I took that as a signal that the elevator wasn't working. We were on the fourth floor of the castle; getting to the ground floor shouldn't be a problem.
The Sex Gates Page 24