Chapter 10

**

"So you don’t have to use the implant method?" Erin says. She seems fascinated, but then, she’s got a rather personal interest in it.

"No. It occurred to some paranoid type during the design phase for the Mark III drakensis mods that somehow, somewhere, sometime, Draka might be stuck with access to brooders but without the technology for implant work."

The aircar is banking low over the lush summer foliage of the Appalachians, low and slow and with the top retracted. These hills are like a carpet at this height; you feel as if you could almost run a hand over it, like the pelt of some great sleek green beast.

"How does it… work?" Erin asks.

"Well, the female drakensis egg – if it gets the right hormonal stimulus, which I can do by concentrating – develops a mobile shell with cillia around it. Little lashing tails, in effect. During intercourse, it migrates up the male’s penis and remains viable for a while, a day or two, getting fertilized along the way. Then he seeds the brooder, and with non-compatible seminal material, along goes the egg, which then swims upstream to the uterus – yours, in this case – and implants."

Erin and I look at each other, then begin to chuckle, then laugh aloud. "All right, I admit, it’s a bit baroque," I say at last. "But it does work. For sperm-egg merging, it’s becoming quite popular. Less fuss, and more… personal."

"Not for you, I should think," Erin says.

I look over at her and lick my lips. "Oh, yes it is," I purr, and tell her just how the seeding is usually done. Amazing. She can blush right to the top of her ears…

**

The cheers and the clapping my friends did when Gwen announced I was going to be her brooder again, over dinner, were enough to make a body blush, I think to myself, smiling. And of course, I so did. I wish I was as lovely and dark as Shawonda; then no one but Draka would know that I was blushing, unless they looked really close! Her deep ebony color is lovely, really, like midnight sky lit up from underneath by firelight. I watch her finish her workout, and grin as she winks broadly at me.

"Don’t be wearin’ yo’self out, girlfriend, before tonight," Shawonda calls over to me, as I sit in front of the shoulder press machine. "You’ll need some of that strength, won’t you?"

"Yeah, yeah…" I blush deeply, looking down at my sneakers. "Just keep reminding me, why don’t ya?"

"Hey, you nervous?"

My snicker answers for me, mirthless. Shawonda, a towel draped across her broad shoulders, comes over and sits on the bench with me, an arm surrounding me with caring. "Hey, now, hey… girl, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay; we know Muhmis well enough now…"

"Yeah, I know. And I volunteered, on top of it all. But I’m just scared, a little. Being with two female Draka was one thing, but the males tend to be so… direct."

"Yeah, baby, they are that…" My friend rolls her eyes expressively. "Not that I mind, of course… but I know where you’re coming from, I do. Need something to calm you down before the show begins?"

I shake my head no. "I think a workout will do fine. I just need to get some of this godforsaken tension out, kiddo. That’s all."

"Oh, believe me, tension’ll be the last thing on your mind, after awhile, baby." She laughs, a low, sensuous chuckle, and kisses me firmly on the lips. "Tell me all the wonderful details tomorrow, promise, now, Erin…"

"Hell, you’re as bad as Peter is…" I wince. "Was. You’re as bad as he was. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you some interesting tales tomorrow over breakfast. That is, if I can walk to breakfast."

Shawonda’s dark eyes have gone darker, it seems, for a moment, as she remembers Peter. They were friends before he and I were, I recall, and on impulse, wrap my arms tightly around her neck, burying my face in the crook between shoulder and throat. "Oh, Sha’… I miss him, so much, so much…"

"Mmmmh, baby, I do too. I sure do miss that old queen. He was good people, Erin. I know how close you two were, too. It’s gotta be hard to be without him, after everything…" She returns the hug, kissing me softly this time, her hands caressing my bare shoulders. "I miss him, too."

"Hey, if you two are going to make out, why not go to your quarters?" Jenny stands before us, mock angry, hands on hips. She tosses her thick, dark hair back from her face, and grins at the two of us.

"Tththththththtt!!" I stick my tongue out at her, and Shawonda laughs delightedly.

Jennifer looks down at me, a lecherous smile on her face. "Don’t wear that thing out, my pretty little yentzer!"

"What?" Both Shawonda and I say it at the same time, and Jennifer rolls her eyes, muttering something about "goyim".

"It means sexual athlete, among other things, dahlings… now are you going to use that shoulder press or make out? I need to work out tonight before bed."

"Bossy, bossy, bossy… as well as having a unusual vocabulary, right, Sha’?" I let go of her, after a final friendly squeeze.

"Mmh-hmm." Shawonda does her head-wagging thing, something that’s always made me laugh; her head moves on a level, sideways, while the rest of her sits still. Back and forth; if she’d been serious, and angry, her hands would be on her hips and her eyes would be flashing. But this time, she’s grinning, and her eyes sparkle with amusement. "Bossy ain’t the word I’d use…"

"You two are incorrigible." Jennifer laughs, walking over to the stationary bike and climbing up on it.

"Incorrigible Twins…"

"The Infamous Incorrigible Twins!"

"You two ‘ain’t’ twins, unless your families are… well, nontraditional…" Ms. Feinberg sings out, legs pumping.

"Of course we’uns iz twins, missy… why, jest lookit us’ns!" The two of us grin widely at her, and she laughs so hard she almost falls off the bike. "Sister, she’s a’laughin’ at us’ns!"

"She shore iz, Sister…" answers Shawonda, giggling.

"Ach, my god, you two are crazy, you know that?" Jenny says, trying to concentrate on working out and maintaining her balance.

"Crazy as a fox, girlfriend." Shawonda gives me a final kiss, and blows one at Jenny, who ‘catches’ it. "See you ‘round, and hey, Erin…remember your promise to me, tomorrow morning!" She walks smoothly from the gym, muscles gleaming deep ebony under the lights.

"What’s that about, or do I want to know?" asks Jennifer, eyes on me as I fight off another blush attack.

"Oh, she just wants juicy details from tonight. I told her if she was very good, and if I could walk to breakfast, I might tell her some interesting stories…" I lay back on the bench and begin doing press-ups.

"Congrats, again… I sure hope you have more fun than I did, with Felice Vashon. Thank all the gods Gwen was there, too. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been any fun at all. That woman, that Draka, scared the shit outta me, dahling…" Jennifer’s brow creases in a rare frown, and I watch her from my upside down viewpoint.

"That bad, huh?"

"It was just… well, you know how helpless you end up feeling when Gwen’s really, well, turned on? When she’s, um, going to town with you?" I nod, and Jenny continues: "It was like that, I’m sure you know what I mean, but with Vashon, it was like she would take that way, way, too far. She sort of got off on my discomfort, my fear… and I was afraid, even though Gwen was there, and it was sort of ritualized, anyway…"

"I’m sorry, Jenny." I look over at her, serious now. "It was overwhelming with Gwen and Tamarindus, but she didn’t seem to like hurting me, or frightening me too much. Sometimes she’d want to go way too fast, or too strong, and Gwen would, like, remind her that I’m human. That kept things under some sort of control, even though I ended up feeling like a piece of catnip being worried over between two big cats…"

"Gwen stopped Vashon a couple of times, when I cried. She’d start making out with her, instead, trying to take the edge off, I guess."

"Did they, you know, do it before doing you?"

"Yeah, and that was amazing to watch. And experience. I almost fainted, watching and I guess scenting them go at it. It was much more intense, more of a physical match than anything I’d seen before, even during the party we had here." She finishes on the bike and walks over to the abdominal machine.

"That was like watching a cat fight, pardon the expression. They scratched and bit each other, and tore up the bed… when they circled each other, growling, before all that, it was fascinating. Afterwards, with me, they just took me. I had no more control over that than I’ve got over an earthquake. And it shook me up like a 7 or 8 on the Richter scale, I can tell you!" I sit up, sweaty now, and begin doing shoulder presses. "They’re very different that way than we are."

"In some ways, yeah… but haven’t you ever felt that with a lover, that you could devour them, or hug them forever, or a combination of the two? I have," says Jennifer, puffing with exertion as she moves up and down, leaning back to push the weights down.

"Hmm. Yeah, I guess so. They just seem so much more intense than I’ve ever been with a lover."

"You’re pretty damn intense, lover-girl," Jenny blurts, laughing, wiping sweat from her olive-tan face with a white fluffy towel. "Pretty damn good, too."

"This from a straight woman? Oy, vey, gevalt! What’s this world coming to, I want to know?" My laughter makes me have to stop the motions of the exercise for a moment, and I catch a deep blush rising on Jennifer’s face. "Hey, now—no big deal. You know how we’re getting used to each other, and everything. We’ve talked about that before…"

"I know. It’s just that I get a little embarassed. I didn’t realize what I was saying…" Jenny looks down at the floor, resting a moment on the red leather seat of the exercise machine. "But that doesn’t mean I take it back, or mean it any less, Erin. You are a wonderful lover."

"All these compliments, and cheers, and what-not are gonna make my head swell, so quit!" I grin, standing up and stretching. I walk over to the rower and program in my workout, using my transducer as interface. The machine sets up the workout for me, and I go to it, legs pumping, arms pulling, back straight. I feel sweat trickling down my sides, and down my hairline. I watch Jennifer, still wearing her blush, as she begins doing shoulder presses. Her top fits so damn well, I think… oh, great, I’m horny for her, but I have tonight to think about, too… what to do, what to do?

There’s a knock on the door, which surprises both of us. "Come on in, unless you’re the big bad wolf," I call, and the doors swing open as Bret walks in, nervously. "Bret?"

"Um, hey, Sera Erin. Good evening, Sera Jennifer." He stands, twisting his cap between his gnarled fingers, looking everywhere but at our sweaty bodies. I realize he’s shy about nudity, and I quickly slip my top back on. I keep my shorts on while I work out, but the top tends to come off when I get really hot. Sorry, old boy, I think, embarassed for him.

"What’s up, Bret? Come over to work out some?" I joke. He continues looking down, shaking his head no. "Did Gloryrose have her foal yet? Is that it? I was hoping to be there for it…"

"Nope. No, ma’am. Um, could I talk with you for a second, out here?" He nods his head toward the doorway, and the terrace beyond. I wipe myself down as much as I can, and shrugging at Jennifer’s raised eyebrow of inquiry, I follow Bret outside.

Two of the younger stable hands, George and Li Peng, are standing there; another young man droops semiconscious between them. "Patrick?!"

"Yes, ma’am…" Bret makes a motion to the boys to stand my son up straighter, and I gasp with horror. His left eye’s swollen shut and grape purple. Dried blood speckles his face, and a new, red trickle lazily drops from one nostril.

"Jeezie petes, what the hell happened, Bret?" I go to my son, to hold his head up, to check out his injuries, and the smell of beer slams me in the face. "Whew! How much has he had?"

"Too much, Sera Erin. Way too much. Down at the Prancing Pony Pub, tonight. He said some worrisome, angry things, and the boys here, and me, well, we sort of shut him up before the trouble got… too big for us to handle." Bret’s voice is a bit frightened, I realize, with surprise. He’s always been so in control, so self-assured. This must have been pretty bad, I think, noticing for the first time marks on the stable boys’ faces and on Bret’s ham-sized fists. I take Pat’s hands in mine, and his knuckles are bruised and torn.

One of them shakes his head. "Man, this guy, he’s only fourteen? He’s got a punch like nine miles of bad road! And he fights dirty. And his head, it’s like a cinderblock wall."

"Let’s take him over to Shawonda’s; maybe she can patch him up right quick, and you guys as well. What started all this?"

Bret looks at me, straight on. "Your being the Muhmis’ brooder, I expect. That’s what he got babbling about, after drinking too much. I told Henry the bartender to cut him off, and then Patrick got in my face. The boys here didn’t like that much, and we took it outside, round back. Your boy can fight, that’s for damn sure, but he can’t drink and fight."

"What? Why’s he upset… oh, man. This sucks, royally. Shit, come on, let’s take him over to the clinic," I grind out, the veins starting to stand up in my neck.

"Um, ma’am…" Bret puts a gentle hand on my arm, and I turn to face him, looking up into his weathered, seamed face and ageless eyes.

"What’s with all this formal crap, Bret? I’ve always been just Erin to y’all…"

"It’s just that… listen. Why don’t we take him down to the east stable, and then we can talk for a minute, while he comes to. He’s close to it now, and I’d really rather not have to involve the clinic. Or anyone else, Erin."

I stare at the old man, wondering what he’s trying to get at. I wonder if Patrick said some rather dangerous things… "Okay, let’s go, then…"

The two young men hoist Patrick between them in a four-armed carry, and we quickly move down the paths by the House, taking one that leads away, towards the east stable and the creek. Bret and I walk in front, and the boys, puffing, follow us quickly with their semi-conscious burden. As we approach the barns, Patrick wakes up and tries to punch his way free. The two of us, Bret and I, turn immediately at the curses and thuds, and Bret reaches in, yanking Patrick off Li Peng.

"Boy, I done whupped you once tonight; you wantin’ another?"

"Lemme the hell go, you old motherfu—" He stops in midsentence, seeing me blearily for the first time. "Ma?"

"Shut up, Patrick, and stop fighting this instant. I mean it. We’re going to go sit down here by the barns and have a talk, and you’re going to sober up. Li Peng, you okay?" The slight, sallow boy nods, holding his jaw and glaring at my son.

"Like hell. Let me go, now. I don’ have to obey you, too… I gotta obey enough shit as it is, I don’t need this crap, lemme go!" He tries to shrug free of Bret’s hand, and then swings wildly at the older man. Bret catches Patrick’s fist in one of his, and squeezes, brutally. The cords and tendons pop up in his workman’s arm, and my son’s suddenly on the path, on his knees, squealing. "Nnnnhhhhh—"

"Oh, please, guys, come on, we don’t have to fight like this. Patrick, Pat, stop trying to fight Bret, I mean it…"

Bret relents a bit, and Pat stumbles to his feet, holding his fist to his chest, and cursing with a steady, inventive if repetitive, stream of obscenities. The two youngsters look horrified, but Bret merely crosses his arms and waits until Patrick has to take a breath.

"Boy, you’re about this far" Bret gestures with two fingers, "from me whupping the pure d. hell outta you, whether or not yo’ momma here approves of beatin’s. So do us all a big damn favor and shut up, now!"

Patrick stops cussing and looks at the older black man for a long moment. He’s so drunk, my son is, that he’s having trouble standing up without swaying from side to side, I realize, and feel sick. Patrick, what’s wrong?

"Hey, listen, Pat, let’s just go sit by the barns and talk, okay? Want something to drink, some water, I mean?" My voice is shaking and I curse inwardly at it. This wasn’t in the parenting books, folks. Now what do I do?

"Sheee-hit! Don’ tell me wha’ to do, you…" Patrick makes a slapping motion toward me, and I bounce backwards out of range, my reflexes doing me some good this time. "Nothin’ but a damn brood mare, an’way… bit—"

Bret’s fist sinks into Pat’s stomach, and air whuffs out. Patrick folds in half like a card table, and crumples to the pine needle-covered path with a soft thud.

"Sorry ‘bout that, Sera Erin," Bret says, grinning, not one iota sorry at all. "Let’s jest carry this ole boy down to the barns, and then we’ll try to talk some sense into him, an’ pour some coffee down his gizzard." He hoists Patrick over one shoulder like a bag of oats and starts down the path. The three of us, me and the two stablehands, follow in his wake like destroyers following the Nimitz, I think, and shiver. What the hell am I going to do with Patrick?

**

"Patrick," I say. "You know, you can be annoying sometimes, when you just emote instead of thinking."

We’re alone in my study; it’s dark, polished wood and books and night outside the windows, a low fire and a few glowglobes. Patrick is looking sullen and frightened at the same time. His eyes go wide as I pour two brandies and hand him one.

"That metabolite pill should have sobered you up, so this is just a mild relaxant," I say, and examine his spectacular collection of bruises. "You look like you could use it. Lose any teeth?"

"Don’t think so, uhmis," he says, forgetting to sulk for an instant, fingering his jaw.

"You did very well, considering the way the alcohol was slowing you down and screwing up your balance," I say, reviewing the fight through the transducer records of the participants. "I like your style, there –" I link and relay a sweep kick that segues into a spinning back "—and there. Aggressive but precise. Of course, it didn’t help that you were seeing double."

"Ah… you aren’t angry?" he says tentatively, sitting down gingerly.

"More annoyed," I say. "Alexa, now Alexa was angry – that’s why I pulled rank. She loves your mother, you know, and didn’t like the way you insulted her. For that matter, I love your mother, but I’m older."

"You do?" he blurts.

"Well, we more or less decided that was a good definition of our feelings," I say, swirling the cognac and taking a sip. "I thought you and Alexa had arrived at a similar understanding?"

"Well…sort of… yeah."

"Now, you’re upset about Erin brooding for me again, I gather?" His face closes in, and I sigh. "Patrick, do you like Ariadne?"

"Ari? Sure, she’s OK – sort of testy sometimes."

"Well, in case you don’t remember, Erin brooded her. Patrick, she wants to do this, and it’s high-status."

"Yeah, I suppose so," he mumbles.

"You’ve always been uneasy about the sexual aspects of her being my saafn, haven’t you?" I say.

"Well –" he gropes for words. "She’s my mom."

"Yes, and she’s also my bedwench," I say. "Patrick, you mother’s never going to get physically older than she is now. You don’t really expect her to stop having a sex life because the thought embarasses you, do you?"

"Well, um, when you put it that way, no, not really."

"And you don’t think she’s unwilling, or that I hurt her, do you?"

"Ummm – no."

"Good. You serve Alexa’s pleasure, and I don’t think you mind that at all, right?"

An unwilling grin. "Yeah, uhmis, no complaints on that score."

"So, then… what’s the expression: cut your mother some slack."

"Ummm… OK. It’s just hard to remember, you know?"

"Oddly enough, I do know," I say, and grin. "Perfect memory, remember?"

We sit silent for a while; I can feel some of the tension gone from the air. "I suppose you’re having difficulty adjusting to your own status as saafn still," I say. His silence is eloquent. "Well, that’s natural enough," I go on. "Patrick, did you know that the original plan was to convert all the humans here to servus – their children, that is?"

"Yes," he says. The unspoken so? is plain.

"Patrick, this sort of thing is the reason we Draka planned to do that. Your mother talked me out of it."

"Oh. Yeah," he says. He’s got a good brain there somewhere, when he comes out of his hormonal fog.

"Now, think about this. If you were in an all-human society, do you think you’d never have to accept someone else’s authority?"

He flushes and looks up at me. "Not because they were another species."

"True. But you’d still have to do as you were told now and then. And you wouldn’t be Patrick Wayne d’Ingolfsson, who gets to train with the Space Force, who has the ear of the planetary ruler, who from what I hear really enjoys his… what did Erin call it? Rock-star status?"

His blush gets fiercer.

"Now, you could think about emigrating to Samothrace, with this offer they’ve made." He tries to control his face, and I laugh gently. "Of course you’ve thought about it, what human on Earth/2 hasn’t? Think about this, though, Patrick. You’d be a distinctly second-class citizen there; unclean, because you’d grown up in a drakensis household. Regarded as a pervert, never allowed anything but drudgework. And in a maximum of a hundred and twenty years of an extremely boring life, you’d be dead. Whereas here, you can expect to live indefinitely – also your mother’s doing – and go everywhere and do everything. Planets, stars…"

He nods. "Yeah," he admits. "I had thought about that."

"Good," I say. "It’s true you’ll always be Alexa’s, but I don’t think you find that too gruesome most of the time. So consider the alternatives. She’ll have cooled down by now; you can go and talk about things with her, if you want. And say something to your mother."

"Ah… that’s it? No punishment?" he says.

"Bret hit you a lot harder than I’ve ever done," I say, and shrug, smiling. "Consider it a learning experience. Push the annoying past a certain point, and someone will object."

**

Patrick, thinfilm medpatch shiny below his eye, and on his lower lip, waits for me, leaning against a planter. "Okay, let’s get this over with, Ma. I’ve been fussed at by Uhmis Gwen, yelled at by Muhmis Alexandra, and now you… anyone else standing in line?"

I sit down on the planter, not saying a word. How do I say what I need to, I wonder silently, looking up at the broad shoulders of my son. He’s got quite handsome in the past few months, filling out his tall frame well. Not muscle-bound, just lean and powerful-looking. Hazel eyes, jet black hair, smooth fair complection… moves like a dancer, too. Apparently he fights pretty well, for someone who was as drunk as he was tonight. ‘What do you want me to say, Pat? You’ve been a naughty boy, go to your room and think about it?"

"That sounds about like what you usually say. Want me to?"

I sigh. "No. That’s the point. What I usually say and do won’t work anymore, honey. You’re a man, now, at least physically. The emotional maturity part will follow, I hope. Or you’ll end up in more fights, and one of them is gonna be bad enough not even my Muhmis can pull you out of the shit."

His eyes widen as he hears what I’m saying; I don’t cuss in front of him or the other children as a general rule. When I do, it’s usually a clear signal to pay attention. I go on:

"Patrick, this is the growing-up time. It’s not an easy time, and sometimes it’s as much fun as juggling handfuls of squid in a laundromat. But it’s something you’ve got to work out. I can help you as a friend, but basically my authority over you as your mother has become nil. You’ve got to answer for your actions; I can’t shield you anymore."

"So you’re saying I’m up shit creek without a paddle from now on, is that it? I can see where your loyalties lie…" He turns away, crossing his arms defensively. I watch the muscles in his back flex for a moment while I count, mentally, to ten. I have to stay calm about this, old girl, I tell myself. Calm.

"Turn back around here, face me, and let’s talk like adults, not spoiled kids. Or enemies. I’m not your enemy, Pat. Never have been, never will be. But turn around and listen."

He spins on a heel, and crouches to face me. "I know I was an accident. I know I happened cause you and Dad got it on together with her. I know there was a hell of a lot more planning for Araidne than there was for me, and now you’re doing it again. Over and over, you’re telling me I’m worth less to you than those Draka children she implants in you. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?"

My ire rises, and I lean toward him, grinning wickedly. "Oh, yeah, like I enjoy being a slave? Dream on. I don’t. And I have no fucking idea where you get the ‘they’re more important than poor little me’ crap. I’ve always given you just a tad more affection than I did them, even when I wasn’t thinking about it. I’ve given you opportunities, bent the rules for you… and you turn around with this?"

He starts to say something and I cut him off coldly. "This is grown-up time, Patrick. Listen. You’re important to me, like the air I breathe. But treat me like you are, and you’ll end up with nothing. I have dreams, mister, for the whole damn human race, and you’re not going to throw a spanner in the works. You’re not going to embarrass me, or cause uproars here at the Estate. I won’t tolerate that."

"Oh, you won’t? All you’ll do is get down on your knees to her and beg, like you always do."

"Not any more. That’s what I’m trying, somehow, to get through your thick skull. Not any more. How can you say things like what you just said? You don’t seem to respect me much as a person, Pat. If you can’t, then we can’t maintain a friendship."

"How can I respect you? You want honesty, right? You’re always carping about it, you and Alice and Jennifer. Here’s some. How can I respect the woman who helped them take over the world? Who made us all slaves? That’s what we are. Slaves. They control everything, and it makes me sick sometimes. I know they’re listening, she’s listening, right now, probably. And I don’t care. That’s honesty, too. I don’t respect you, Mama. That’s the problem."

"You’re damn right that’s the problem. And it’s yours. Not mine. I can’t talk with you if you’re not willing to listen. Jesus, you’re my flesh and blood, Pat. You’re part of Peter. You have no idea how much you mean to me, how much this hurts to say. God…" I choke back a sob, angrily. "Patrick… yes, we’re slaves. And yes, I helped her by running her computer networks. But I didn’t engineer the Arrival; I didn’t make us slaves. It would have happened, regardless of whether I helped or not. I made my decision, Patrick, when faced with two alternatives: live and serve, or die. I want to live. I want the most humans possible to live. That’s part of my plan."

"Good justification, as they say in school, Ma." He turns away, dropping his eyes to the tesselated patterns of tile on the floor. A breeze shifts the limbs of the trees nearby, and a hoot-owl calls once, then twice. The Estate is quiet, now, and it’s late. As if I needed this tonight, of all nights, I think to myself.

"Whatever you want to call it… listen, they could have popped through here, launched a biobomb, and waited a few months for the bacteria they’d release to clean up the mess. Pop, boom, swish—no more pesky humans. How’s that sound? Or how’s it sound that all children born after the Arrival are made automatically into Servus? One generation of pesky humans, and then no more. Poof! Sound fun? Those were, and still are, to some extent, viable options for the Draka."

"I know, I know… she told me about you talking her out of that last one. Big deal. We’re still slaves."

"That’s the way things are right now. In the future, who knows? That’s something I’m working on." My voice is calm now, cold. "But that’s missing the main point. We’re human because one very powerful Draka happened to listen to one very powerless human. If she can listen to me, how come you can’t?"

"Cause I’m not as good as a Draka, I guess. I was an accident, remember?"

I stand up and stare into his eyes. He tries to look away, and I grip his chin, pulling his head back around to look me fair and square in my face. "Listen to me, you silly young pup. Yes, I didn’t plan you. But I kept you. I would have fought to the death to keep you. Peter loved you, so much. He was so damn proud of you, so protective. Maybe somewhere along the line you missed that message. I don’t know how, since we told you so many times that we love you, and I did the same, all the time you were growing up. You’re not as good as a Draka in many things, Patrick. None of us are. But we have something else going for us—creativity, a sense of being able to adapt. That makes all of us special."

I shake his chin lightly for emphasis. "I don’t love being a slave. I don’t want to live like this—it’s not fun. But it’s sure as hell better than being dead. I’ve seen that, with my own two eyes, my ears… I’ve tasted it, and it sucks. Dead is dead. You want to be dead, keep going the way you’re headed. You’ll get there faster than you can imagine."

Dropping his chin, but not his eyes, I continue, in a softer tone: "And what a waste that would be. You’re a wonderful young man, just starting out. Don’t blow everything you’ve got out ahead of you… you’re able to go places and do things I only dreamed of. And what you dream of, your children will be. That’s why you have to wake up, smell the coffee, and decide to be a rational person, rather than this angst- ridden, hormonal monster you’ve become."

"Monster?"

"Well, yeah, at times…" I smile, a little, still staring at him. "I want you to have all you can dream of, Pat. I’m working on it. I’m even working on the slavery thing. That will take time, if indeed I can fix it at all. There’s a limit to how much the Draka can adapt. And another thing… Gwen has a name, and a title. If you can’t bring yourself to call her by name when we’re talking, call her by her title. Not just ‘her’. Ok?"

"Yeah."

"I think a lot of this missing respect issue boils down to jealousy or something. I’m no psych, no shrink, but part of me is telling me that you’re jealous of Gwen."

"Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. You are, aren’t you? You want Mama to be there 24 hours a day, seven days a week, whenever you need her. You still haven’t gotten the idea that I’m a woman, with needs, desires and a life of my own, apart from yours. Have you?"

"I guess you’ve got this all figured out, huh? More stuff she told you to say?"

"GAAHHH!!!!" I raise my hand to slap him, and stop. No way, won’t do it… wouldn’t be prudent, just wouldn’t be prudent… but what do you do? My mind races as I try to find a way to break through this crust of his.

"Giving your Ma more probs, then, are ya?" Alice’s voice cuts through my mental rat race, and both Pat and I turn in surprise. She’s standing in the doorway of the patio, a cool linen dress ruffling slightly in the breeze. Her blonde hair, free, moves in the air as she walks over to us and faces Pat, arms akimbo.

"You listen, old boy…" she begins. Patrick mumbles "shit" and starts to walk away. Alice’s hand snakes out and slaps him squarely across the mouth. "I’ve had enough of that from you. I’ve bathed you, burped you, and cleaned up after you, and you act like this? No way. Maybe Erin didn’t come down hard enough on you. Maybe she’s lived a sheltered life, compared to mine. You’re going to respect her, and me, and the others, or you’ll leave. It’s as simple as that."

"Hit me again and see how much I respect you." His voice is trying for Clint Eastwood, but it is shaking with fear, anger and embarassment. Close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes, old boy, I think to myself. My heart is thudding, aching, against my chest from the effects of the conversations and seeing Alice, my wife, hit Patrick, my son.

"Threaten me again, and you’ll be on your way out the door. I’m head honcho here. Don’t ever, ever forget it. I’m the Household Manager for Planetary Archon Ingolfsson. You’re the serf of her daughter. Who has more power here? You’ve been insulting the Planetary Archon’s Prime Counselor. Who’s got more power there?" Alice walks closer to him; he backs away, but she follows him, until she’s got him pressed up against the marble wall. "You want to act like a mad dog, we have ways to deal with that. You don’t want to learn about them. Your mother has been tryin’ to give you loving, caring, sensible advice, and you treat her like shit. No more. I won’t tolerate it. You’re not only insulting a serf who is way to hell above you in rank, you’re insulting my partner. And that won’t fly, me bucko."

"Great. Everybody’s pissed at me. Thanks a lot." His face’s turning crimson, and I know from experience that he’s close to crying. As close as he’s gonna get, I think, and gently touch Alice’s arm.

"Honey, honey… calm down. Please."

"You’re always fixin’ things for people, Erin, and you let him walk all over you with boots on. No more. I mean it. The next insolent thing that comes out of his mouth is the last thing he’ll say in this House, if I have to sit on top of Alexandra to get it. And I will, too."

"I know. He knows. Please, I don’t want this to come down to a confrontation like this. Pat, please—apologize to Alice. Let’s work this out. I am tired, too, of all the crap. No more is right. We’ve got to work this out, so everyone will be satisfied."

Pat hangs his head, sniffling, wiping angrily as one tear slides down a cheek. "Pat, please?" I touch his hand, and he jumps a little.

"I’m sorry," he mumbles. Alice opens her mouth to say something, and I put a finger to her lips.

"Hey, great. Let’s go inside, get some coffee, and sit down. This will work out, I know it will. We can still be friends, Patrick. Let’s give it another try. I was madder than hell a minute ago, but now I’m calming down. We can talk this out." I take hold of Ally’s hand and drag her inside, leaving Pat to regain his composure.

"You let him off way too bloody easy, woman," hisses Alice, and I shush her with a kiss.

"There’s only so far you can push a guy, or a gal, for that matter. If we had pushed right then, while he was feeling so vulnerable, he’d be likely to just explode. Give him a minute, and us, too, and then we three will sit down and hammer things out. This has to stop, tonight, Alice. I can’t keep going through this with him." I sit down on a couch. "I never knew it would be so damn hard."

"Not only are we going through the pangs of adolescence, honey, we’re going through it with a generation who’s grown up under the Draka. That’s got to change things. Does he want to emigrate?"

"God… I hope not. Haven’t asked him. Jeezie petes, Ally, what if he does? I couldn’t… I don’t know that I could… stand it, losing him like that…" I sniffle, and drop my head into my hands. I’ll be in freakin’ great shape for later tonight, I wince. Lovely. I feel gentle arms surround me, and then Ally’s kissing me, firmly. I relax into her arms, feeling safe within them. No matter what, she’s stuck by me, through thick and thin.

"Okay, can we… um, well, are you guys busy, now?" Patrick enters the room and stops, looking away. Alice laughs and chucks me under the chin, kissing me one last time.

"Naw… come in, sit down, I’ll order some coffee and cake, and we’ll bloody well work this out. Your face okay, cobber?"

He strokes the red patch. "Yeah. I deserved it, and more. I’m sorry, Mama, and Mom Alice. Really. I want to work things out—I don’t want to leave, really and truly. Can we talk, or have I been too much of an asshole?"

"Never, dear boy. Sometimes close, but never there. Sit down here with me, and give me a hug," I command, and grinning, he does so. It’s a real hug, not a fake one, and I feel his strength grip me in love. He whispers, so softly only I can hear:

"I do love you, Mama. I do respect you, now… after this. Forgive me?"

I nod, my grey-brown-blonde hair mingling with his jet black. Alice leaves us to ourselves for a few minutes, fetching coffee and cakes. The conversation wends into the night, between the three of us, talking as friends, now, mostly, not enemies…

**

"Thanks for putting this off," Erin whispers, rising from her knees and coming to us after we finish the ritual commands.

Her skin sheens damp, and her body is responding well to the combined pheromones and what she’s been watching. A little wide-eyed, but she’s had over a decade to grow used to a saafn’s role in pleasure now. I can see her surrendering to the wash of sensation, and it brings out my own hunger, sharp and direct.

"No rush, sweetlin’" I say. "The egg stays viable for several days."

"It also itches," Schalk grumbles, grinning. "I’m damned sure that it was a female who designed this system."

I grin back and kiss him. "Odd you should say that; I was convinced only a male could have come up with an idea like this. Let’s seed her first, then move on to recreation…"

Schalk and I take her scent, a deep open-mouthed inhalation, and she giggles a little. "Oh, lordy, I feel like a piece of catnip in the lion’s den," she says.

"You are," I say, growling softly. "A declicious wiggling scrap. And we’re going to devour you very thoroughly. Looking forward to it, aren’t you?"

"I can scent she is," Schalk says, teeth showing, and touches her.

"Eeeek!"

We lift Erin between us; she gives a groan as we start our taking of her, but she’s smiling as well as panting when we lay her on her back and spread her open. The bed is tousled, but there’s not much blood on it; Schalk has excellent self-control, and besides, he’s much younger than me and used to my authority; I’m alpha here, and for now he’s comfortable with that… A squeak as Schalk enters and begins; another, muffled as I lace fingers behind her head, mount her and then lean back against him. Hands move, and bodies sway with the rhythm.

"Let’s ride this pony," I laugh over my shoulder…

**

The dawn seems to explode past the horizon, bringing with it the calls of multitudes of birds, both natural and some of the newer genengineered ones. A family of peacocks parades past the balcony I’m sitting on, wrapped in one of Muhmis’ bathrobe things, loungers, she calls them, I remember. It’s silky but warm, and I wrap it more tightly around my shoulders in the cool breeze. The mist bleeds off the land before me as I sit and try to collect my thoughts.

Last night had been… delicious. Not scary, not really much at all. I don’t know how much I can coherently tell Shawonda, though, I grin to myself. It got all sorta blurry there near the end. Too many hormones, or something… They keep going like energizer bunnies, I think, as I hear a groan and then a hawk-shriek of pleasure erupt from the bedroom beyond. The birds startle at the noise, and scurry off into the hedges, the male’s tail dragging absurdly behind him. He leaves a feather, too; I’ll have to see if I can cadge it from the gardener for May. She loves stuff like that; must’ve inherited the pack rat gene from me. I know she got the shopping gene from her darlin’ mother, Alice! Not me!

My body feels all tingly and stretched out; amazing what hours of pure, unadulterated, imaginative sex with two Draka can do, I muse. Actually, I’m damn surprised I can walk! Schalk was very nice, though; very sensitive and positively as thorough as Gwen has ever been. And Gwen was… the best I think I’ve ever had with her, to be honest. My hands stray down to my flat stomach, tracing it softly through the silky material of the lounger. I wonder how long it’ll be before I start showing? Jenny’s not, yet.

I hear the sound of laughter, and then conversation, behind me and turn to look. Gwen’s kissing the serving wench soundly before smacking her firmly on the ass, sending her on her merry if somewhat dazed way; Schalk De Lange is laid out naked on the bed, relaxing as he watches the young human leave with her empty breakfast cart rattling. Gwen sees me peeking in and calls to me:

"Come on in, younglin’… breakfast is… was… here," she laughs, her clear, bell-like voice ringing in the morning light. She pours some juice for her and De Lange, and perches on the bed. Her tan merely highlights the muscle tone, I think, watching how gracefully my Muhmis moves. I enter and go down on my knees, bowing formally.

"No need to be that formal, honey," Schalk chuckles. He sits up, sipping his juice, and winks at Gwen. "I’d say the need for that level of formality went out the window last night, with all those moans, and that charming little squeak when you…"

I blush, crimson red, and rise; I feel my ears burning hot. The two drakensis, at their ease with their chosen brooder, laugh together at my embarassment, and finally I join them. I walk over to where the breakfast dishes have been set out, and find myself possessed of a ravenous appetite. Gwen comes up behind me and strokes a hand down my back, between my shoulder blades.

"Not such a frightening night, or morning, now was it, my pretty-girl?" she murmurs into my ear, her tongue flicking in and out so fast I’m not quite sure what I felt, until she does it again, more slowly this time, teasing. I shiver under her hand, in delight, and putting my plate down, I turn into her embrace, squeezing round her neck with my arms, having to stand on tiptoe to reach up there.

"Oh, Muhmis… it was lovely… thanks, thanks for everything…" I whisper, softly, my lips against her hot skin, feeling the pounding of her pulse beneath them. Her arms tighten around me, carefully, and she nuzzles against my neck, nibbling her way to an earlobe.

Schalk joins us, and I’m sandwiched, as I was many times last night and this morning, between two Draka, their strength supporting me, amazing me, thrilling me. "Hmmm… perhaps we should have this wench for breakfast, too?" De Lange says into my hair, his hands exploring my back, down further…

I stiffen, just a little bit; I’m sore, from all the various (and sometimes novel) activities of which I’ve engaged in the past few hours… Gwen chuckles. "Let’s let this little pony rest for a bit; we can always take her later in the day, or tonight, as well. It was an enjoyable experience, I think, for everyone involved." She releases me, and I giggle as her hands fondle my breasts gently. She kisses De Lange, over my head, and I hear their mingled purrs of contentment.

Picking up my plate, I duck out between them before they change their minds, and walk over to the table. There’s a package there, with my name scripted onto it. I heft it, wondering, and catch Gwen’s eyes on me. She grins, and nods toward the package. "Go on, sweet, it’s for you—something Schalk picked out the other day…" Muhmis begins loading her china plate with food, and Schalk does likewise.

I sit down at the table and untie the silk ribbon.