“The whats?”
“The Nazi party came to rule Germany in our 1930s. They practiced genocide in the name of improving our planet’s racial composition. As I understand it, they put four groups into their death camps for extermination: the Jews, the Gypsies, the gays—”
“The whats?”
“The gays. Homosexuals. Those who prefer to romance their own gender.”
The Sorceress was surprised. “This is a crime?”
“To some. In some regions the penalty for being gay is death.”
“Our cultures do differ.”
Quiti resumed the thread. “The fourth category was enemy prisoners, especially the Russians. All four groups were being killed wholesale. The Nazis were by no means the only ones who killed minorities; it’s endemic in our world.”
“And in some galactic worlds,” the Sorceress said grimly. “This does not simplify the problem of your lost child.”
“You think Earth would turn against his kind?”
“Yes. The history is there.”
Quiti was uncomfortable. “We are slowly liberalizing. We do not persecute minorities so much any more, at least in America.”
“Surely not,” the Sorceress agreed supportively, though she might have had another opinion. “The Gypsies. Tell me more about them.”
“The story is that they came originally from India. That perhaps Alexander the Great imported them to Romania for labor, but they retained their own culture. That sort of separated them from the local population, the way the Jews insistence on maintaining their own form of worship did for them. Then they were turned loose and had to flee to other nations. They called themselves Gypsies, that is, from the country of Egypt, so as to conceal where they were actually from. They were really more like a race unto themselves, with a separate culture. They would put on shows, do divination, mix love potions and so on, to make their living. They could dance intricately well, and I understand their women could be quite sexy, which helped bring in money. But they were generally in bad report and forced to move on, so they truly had no permanent home.”
The Sorceress nodded, a mannerism she had practiced; she was excellent at emulating the human nuances. “They seem to be a fair model for the situation of your lost child. Originally, these people you call Ghobots are typically welcomed to a new world, and become quite popular there, like your Gypsies with their merriment and pretty dancing girls. But after a time their welcome cools, and finally they are driven from the world. That is surely why they are looking for a new one.”
“But why? Why welcome them, then unwelcome them?”
“That is the mystery. The natives of a number of worlds have been questioned, according to the Wormpedia, but have been canny in their answers, with demonstrably false reasons, as if they don’t really want to give their true reasons. I fear it could be the same on Earth.”
“How can we find out the true reasons, if they’re not simply bigots?”
“There may be a way, but it may be uncomfortable.”
“This whole cruel mystery is uncomfortable!”
“Then try this,” the Sorceress said. “Remember, you can vacate at any point; you do not have to participate beyond your comfort level.”
“I can handle a recording,” Quiti said, unconcerned.
“This one may be more difficult than you are accustomed to. There are elements that run counter to your culture.”
“I can handle it,” Quiti said, dismissively.
“You are sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” In later retrospect, Quiti would remember her friend’s caution, and resolve to be more sensitive to it. She had not been nearly as well prepared as she supposed.
The Sorceress did not argue further. She brought out a small box containing a pebble. She set the little stone on the floor of the sea. “Gaze on this.”
Quiti swam down to its level and eyed the thing. There was a complex array of colors on its surface. As she looked closer, the colors seemed to rise from it in intricate patterns that danced in the water like self-willed ripples. Intrigued, she studied them more closely.
Then the colors swirled larger, enclosing her, and she found herself as a human child in a pretty yellow dress. What was this? Then she realized that her mind was interpreting the signals on its own terms. She was a Ghobot child presented as the mind of the reader saw her, in this case herself, so as to connect without undue confusion. How could she really relate to a creature fashioned from magnetism and iron filings? But with appropriate translation, she was able to see the essence, if not the incidental detail.
“What am I supposed to do?” she inquired somewhat plaintively. It was not actual verbal speech, but magnetic pulses that conveyed the meaning.
“You will dance, dear, as we have taught you. You know how to do it.”
“Yes!” she agreed, relieved. She did know how to dance, including the sexy moves, and when she came of age she hoped to be able to wow men into tossing money at her so she could help sustain her family, exactly as the big girls did. It was the Gypsy way. The Ghobot way, but Gypsy was the Earthly approximation.
“If we are fortunate, that will suffice,” her mother said, a trifle warily.
“I will dance really well, mama,” she promised. “You will be proud of me.”
“But we are not always fortunate,” her mother said. “In that case, we make do the best we can. This too you must learn.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“There has been a request for an innocent child. You are that.” Why did the woman seem sad? “To dance alone for a man.”
“I can do it,” Quiti insisted stoutly. “In public or alone, with others or by myself. Whatever is needed.” She was proud of her dancing ability and liked showing it off.
“Use your best judgment. Remember, we want to please our clients, but there are limits.”
“Whatever dance he wants, I’ll do. I know them all.”
“If you find you can’t handle it, break it off and depart,” her mother said. “We do need the money, but—”
“Okay, okay,” Quiti said impatiently. Adults could temporize forever.
“Wait here,” her mother said, showing her to a private chamber. “He will come to you soon.”
The client arrived. He was a jolly older man, a bit stout but healthy. “Well, hello little girl!” he exclaimed as he sat on the comfortable chair. “Aren’t you the pretty one!”
“Thank you,” Quiti said, forcing a cute blush. She knew she was pretty, especially in this outfit, but had a role to play. Children were cutest when innocent.
“What is your name, child?”
“Quiti.” Again, her interpretation of the original.
“Delightful,” he murmured. “Show me your best dance.”
Quiti happily flung herself into a solo show, stepping smartly, whirling so that her hair and skirt flung out, kicking her feet high so as to flash her thighs. She knew that when she was a big girl that would be really sexy. For now, she was satisfied to know that she had it down perfectly.
“Marvelous,” he said when she finished.
“Thank you.” She was pleased herself, as she breathed a little harder from the effort. That, too, would count for more when she had a quivering bosom to rise and fall.
“Now can you do it again, without your panties?”
Without? That was curious, but if that was what he wanted, why not? Sometimes they even did naked dances. She had practiced every kind of variant. If he thought this was a special challenge, she would handle it. She removed her panties and set them aside, then did the dance again, aware that now the high kicks showed her unfurred cleft.
He watched intently throughout, as if it were phenomenally compelling, though he had just seen the dance. “Terrific! You dance really well, Quiti, and you have nice legs.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, blushing again. She was glad she was making a good impression.
“Now come sit on my lap.”
That
was easy. This, too, was a part of some dances. She went to sit on his lap, her bottom bare under the skirt.
He ran his hands over her legs, gently stroking them. “Yes, really nice.”
Why was he complimenting her? She knew her legs were nothing special.
Then one finger tickled her crotch. She stifled a giggle. Sometimes she had played tickle games with other children, seeing who could make whom laugh first. But this was generally not a game adults were interested in.
He squeezed her cleft, then used his fingers to open it wide. “Do you know what I would like to do next?”
Then she caught on. He was thinking of sex. She knew what sex was, having seen it performed by adults. “I am underage for that.”
“My dear, there is no age limit for your kind, for anything. It is part of your appeal.”
For her kind. Now she knew how he truly regarded her. As a member of an inferior species. Civilized rules did not apply to such folk. “My appeal?”
“The young can be especially titillating, when they are pretty, like you.”
She had been warned that some men liked women really young. Before they were women, even. She had heard stories. “I have never done it.” That was true. “I wouldn’t know what to do.” That was false: she knew exactly what went where. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” True again. She simply lacked the evocative equipment of a grown woman, such as breasts.
“You won’t disappoint me. Will you do it?” His finger stroked the length of her cleft, stirring an interesting feeling.
He had to have her agreement, so it wouldn’t be rape. If she balked, the session would be over, and there would be a bad report. “Maybe,” she temporized.
“Let me slide my pants down.”
She got off his lap and waited while he did that, revealing his standing member. Now there was no question: when a member stood, it wanted entry.
“Come sit on me again, Quiti. I think you know how.”
She did know. It was one of the standard positions, where the woman had nominal control. No force, by definition. There might not be an applicable age limit, but it had to be voluntary, and thus not rape. He wanted her to fit his member into the hole in her cleft and slowly take it inside her body. It might be uncomfortable, but it could be done; the hole expanded to accommodate it.
This was the point where her mother had told her to depart if she couldn’t handle it. When she discovered what the man really wanted of her. But that would be failure, and it was not penetration but failure she couldn’t handle.
“You do want to do it, don’t you?” he asked. It was no question; it was a threat. She had to say that it was her choice. Otherwise, her “dance” was over, and there would be a black mark against both her and her family that could put them into poverty. She wanted to protect her family.
“Yes,” she whispered. That was a partial truth.
“You Gypsy girls like doing it.”
“Yes.” They both knew it was a lie, but a necessary one.
“Come sit,” he repeated.
She got back on his lap, then pretty much blanked out on what followed.
When the man departed, her mother looked at her. “You pleased him. He paid a nice bonus.”
That was the tip-off: the bonus. She was hurting, physically and emotionally, but she knew she must not say so. “He liked my dance.”
Her mother nodded, understanding perfectly. “You used your judgment.”
“Yes.”
“You did what was necessary. That is all that needs to be known.”
“Yes. I danced very well for him.”
“You’re a good girl. Now go clean up and rest.”
Good girl? She was a child prostitute! But this was merely another aspect of her loss of innocence: not the uncomfortable sex, but learning to be a skillful liar. She knew her mother did not like this reality but had no more choice than Quiti did. What good was innocence if they starved to death?
She went to the bathroom and washed out the blood and goo. She knew she would soon heal, and it would not be as difficult in future times. She had to admit that the man had been as gentle as he could manage, letting her take it in her own time and manner. He had been a good client, in that respect. She appreciated that. He, too, was locked into the quiet requirements of his culture, where his particular passion could not be advertised. He, too, would admit only to seeing her dance. It was part of the protocol, a conspiracy of silence by all parties.
She realized, now, that she had been carefully prepared for this throughout her innocence. It had not been coincidence that she had seen adults perform sex in different ways; that she had seen the processes of seduction, the motions, the looks, the words. She had been educated in the ways that counted, without realizing it, so that her overall innocence was preserved. Setting her up for this moment. Because innocence was the single most valuable quality a girl had, and once it was lost it could never be recovered.
In the evening her mother came to her. “Are you angry, dear?” Because her mother knew she had figured it out.
“Furious,” she said. “But not at you. I know you had to use your judgment too, and make a difficult choice.”
“You do understand. That bonus was huge: it will pay our way for a month. But it was not just for money I did it.”
“It was because you had to teach me how to keep a secret,” Quiti said. “And how to be a successful Gypsy.”
“Exactly. I learned similarly, at your age.”
Then they hugged each other, and cried a little.
Quiti became quite popular as a child dancer, because of her prettiness and the skill of her performance, and contributed handsomely to her clan’s welfare. Police did not raid them, though sometimes there was cause, because one of the clients she danced for was connected, and she was known to be absolutely safe with a secret.
Then she grew breasts, so that stage of her life was over. She moved on to a new clientele, those who liked their girls young but not that young, and continued to do well. Meanwhile, she developed expertise in their other services.
One man watched her dance, then broached a different matter. “Our interaction is private,” he said.
“Yes. Nothing that is said or done here will be spoken of elsewhere.” Not directly, anyway.
“I am looking for something other than sex.”
She took it in stride. She had no official position to handle anything other than dancing, but that was the point: there was no record of their dialogue. He was officially just here for slightly illicit sex. “What is the venue?”
“I owe money to a person. I am ready to pay, but the debt is illicit and may not be paid openly. Can you help me?”
“Yes. You understand that we must verify that you are not a shill for the police.”
Silently he handed her his ID card. She took her spot scanner and recorded it. He was clean, at least in that respect. She returned the card. “How much money, to what person?”
He named the figure and the person.
“There is a fee of five percent.”
He handed her the fee in cash.
“Go down to our casino. Play roulette. At first, you will win small amounts. Then bet the large amount, in several installments. You will lose. The money will be deposited in that person’s account without attribution. You need have no further communication with him. He will know the debt is acquitted.”
“Thank you. I am relieved.” Then he paused.
“Yes?”
“I did not come here for sex. But I think now I would like to have it, in celebration of my relief at handling a difficult matter. Is that still an option?”
“It is part of the dance you paid for. Nothing else happened here.” She threw off her dress and came at him naked. In moments, they were in the throes of it. It was almost fun for her, because his passion was in some respects like love.
In another instance, she accepted a small box of potent drugs to be delivered anonymously to a certain party, then
sealed the deal with more sex. Some Gypsy women merely handled those other matters, but Quiti was too pretty for that. The clients always wanted the sex too.
When the occasion to marry came, she had no trouble landing the man she wanted. He had been a handsome boy whore, and had risen through the ranks as she had. They were equivalently skilled in their trades and understood each other perfectly.
Time passed in a seeming moment. Now Quiti was an administrator in the clan, sending her virgin daughter to her first private dance. She ached privately for the girl’s coming loss of innocence, but it had to be done.
Another moment, and it was her granddaughter's innocence at stake. That was almost as hard to bear.
Then, as a senior executive, she had to cast her vote in a key decision. Things were slowly turning bad, as a new planetary administration came to power and labored to reform the corruption of the old, and the welcome of the clan on this planet was rapidly eroding. It was considered to be part of the old order, and therefore evil. Meanwhile, things were happening as vigilantes got into the act and were not curbed. The climate was becoming bleak.
Should they seek another world? She thought they should, but the vote went against her, as too many of the other leaders had too many ties to this world and did not want to give them up. It was a bad decision. Covert prejudice flowered into open hostility, as the Gypsies were blamed for all manner of societal ills. It didn’t matter that the Gypsies were not guilty: the point was to take their frustration out on a convenient minority. Blaming minorities had one huge advantage: they could not fight back effectively. Soon they were being hunted down and caged in concentration camps. Her husband was killed, her children and grandchildren died fighting, and she survived as much by luck as by skill. She could not escape the planet, but did record her story as a warner for whoso would be warned. She sent it via Worm to other tribes, then planned to drink the final potion. Her day was done.
And to you, Quiti, she thought. I thank you for your interest, though you are not one of us. Please do what you can. We do need your help.
Quiti came out of it as the colors swirled back into the stone. “Oh, my,” she murmured.
“It does have its moments,” the Sorceress agreed.
Hair Peace Page 3