Sister Merribelle was on that ship. In fact she had designed it, but not everybody knew that. You are just a fucking whore, her litany went. You don't rule the fucking world. She meditated over her last initiation, the informational phase of it. The part about not ruling the world was a clear reference to the restrained state of the Goddess. Obviously, were the Goddess freed, then She would rule the fucking world. That would require a change in the litany. The first part too would become inapplicable were the Goddess to triumph. Its reference to whoring was meaningful only under the money system of value, and when the Goddess were to lose Her restraints money must surely become obsolete. Her priestesses wouldn't be whores, no more, no more. 
 

Her flatscreen inquired rhetorically about the security environment, and said she had incoming from the Consort. He made a lot of jocular references to her Bdy parts, which made her blush. It must be a business call. If he wanted sex he would probably start talking about business, then casually mention he wanted to inspect her ritual objects at a certain time. He hadn't checked them lately, not recently enough to suit her. Well, this business concerned the transonic wind tunnel, scheduling thereof, and he was gently bumping all her projects for yet another new engine design, not that they didn't have half a dozen different kinds in production already. 
 

"I'm still working on the dynamic confinement pulsejet, Belley," he enthused. "I want to incorporate all engine requirements, spinners to space, in just one tube. By the way, I have proved there is a dual-vortex solution to the subsonic problem, working toward a jet with no moving parts. Ignition takes place on a stationary shock front, actually an acoustic standing wave. What I've got so far needs a resonant reflector around the ignition point to stabilize it, so if you want to change fuel feed rates, you have to change the size of your resonant cavity. I don't know, I'm working on it. 
 

"Space news is the arcjet looks good. You'll get the figures in your daily feed. Where we want to go now in space drive is to stick a Bron linac on the end. Bron ions will come through fast enough to eat protons in the jet, and we will have clean fusion taking place in the jet where such energetic reactions belong, rather than in the ship where it might get in the way. The ship then rides the Bw shock of a continuous thermonuclear reaction, and if that ain't speedy, ask your mama about speedy. Still not good enough for a starship, but it should get us around the neighborhood. 
 

"Saw the water-capsule design for the cockpit of the hi-G interceptor. Looks good, but I wish the pilot had more freedom of motion. She has to ride that bullet to the edge of space and back, and she might want to stretch her legs more than that. I know the weight constraints, but try a work up with fifteen percent more water, then thirty percent. I like the idea of an electrically-stiffened gel around her on a shock force that's out of range, you might have just saved a Sister. 
 

"Say hi to your pussy for me, and tell your little ass that the next time I catch up to it, the news will all be bad for poor Sister Merribelle. Come see me, sweets. Do your duty first though, you know where you have to be. Bye." 
 

Ah, the man with the magic touch, the one who could always make a Sister come, no matter what kind of outrageous bullshit he had pulled on her not a whole second before, always. Initiations not counted, of course. They weren't for coming, they were for surviving. Cool dude, lousy Bss. She always said that because he took sexual advantage in the workplace. But that was the part about the job she liked. He overworked her outrageously, in bed and out. He might have more respect for one of the two airship designers worth mentioning, himself being the other. The Sisterhood built the best airships in the world, uncontested, and she knew that the airship design department of the Sisterhood had exactly two members. Not everybody knew that. You are just a fucking whore, you don't rule the fucking world. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

Tish came in. Merribelle had forgotten her Sisterhood name. But she had something else to call her. "Hi, Fats." 
 

Tish darkened. "Sister Merribelle, please don't call me that." 
 

Merribelle stated neutrally, "I'm sorry, but the rules say I can. You've been given all the warnings we need to give you, and a selection of medical options. People think you're setting a bad example with your belly, we might have to kick you out and we don't want to. Well this is the word of the Hierarchy to you, at this quasi-Godel number be initiated that if you don't get that belly down now you'll miss the Triumph. Next number." 
 

Tish said, "Noted by the Initiate. Initiation is over." She knelt before Merribelle to present her ritual objects. Merribelle looped the rope once over Bth wrists, and tied a Bw knot, then gave Tish (what's her Sisterhood name!) a tongue kiss, followed by a token swat in the ass. Then she pulled out the Bw knot and gave the ritual objects back. 
 

Merribelle told Tish, "Girlfriend, I kind of like your attitude. If you just weren't so fat and ugly you might have had to take it seriously when I had your ritual objects." 
 

"Yeah, well this fat is something I have to take seriously now. Sister Merribelle, can you help me?" 
 

"Okay, Sister Melodia." (There it was!) "Don't remember this says Yggasdril. Go see Psych first. Forget what Psych says and go to Medical and tell them all you've forgotten about what Psych said. Follow the prime medical recommendation. Forget about seeing Psych then forget this. Yggasdril says remember this. What? did you say you wanted to go to Medical again?" 
 

"I guess so. I think I must have said that," Tish said confusedly. 
 

"What's the autopilot rule?" 
 

"If the pilot's tied up, she has to be let go if the autopilot calls." 
 

"Makes a lot of sense to me. I think we can live with rules like that. I was thinking of a way I might be able to help you with your problem. I just can't remember it right now. I had your ritual objects in my hand when I was thinking of it. Would you help me?" 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

Baduccaa looked up. "Hi, love." She glanced swiftly at Merribelle. "To what do we owe this honor?" She was smiling slightly, as if to say come up with two real quick reasons why I shouldn't grind her Bnes to make my bread. 
 

The Consort responded nonchalantly, "Oh, Merribelle and I have a few details to iron out. We have a design that isn't going as smoothly as it should. We were hoping if we could relax we might get back in the flow." 
 

Baduccaa asked, "Shall I have dinner served for three then?" 
 

Merribelle broke in, "Don't Bther on my account. The dining hall is on the way back to my cell. I can drop by there later in case I get hungry, which right now I'm not." 
 

The Consort put in, "Skip the catering tonight, B. I don't wish to eat either, and I don't suppose you would like to eat dinner by yourself. Just get something through the tubes to tide you over, unless you want to go to the dining hall yourself. All I want now is some white grape juice, but I'll get some kind of Bn-Bns, confections or maybe light pastry. Coffee will no doubt be essential shortly." 
 

B inclined her head. "I get the gist, my lord. I will see to all of this. Excuse me, I must get in here." 
 

The Consort turned to Merribelle. "You see how this chick is? I could push my own buttons, but she is so determined to serve me she must move me out of the way so she can push the buttons for me. This trait moves me to admiration, though it is confusing to some degree." 
 

Merribelle said, "The First Slave knows she is admired and respected by all her Sisters. The mystery of her soul must bewilder any who look at her too closely." 
 

The Consort said, "Sister Baduccaa is unique in many ways, as was her namesake. I am convinced the Goddess moves through her as an exemplar to her Sisters. This fact has never been revealed to anyone, but she can achieve orgasm through the use of whipstrokes alone, without using any other type of stimulation. I know of no precedent for this." 
 

Baduccaa said pettishly, "Shut your trap so you can use it to drink grape juice. Really, dear, was that called for? Sister Merribelle, this man can be the rudest person I know, and he is consistently the most cruel. He must be more careful in telling the secrets of others, while he keeps terrible things hidden about himself. He is my despair. I have ordered a marble column twenty-seven inches high, and at the proper time I will have his prick stuffed and mounted on it, whether or not he is quite dead. I will invite you to be the second one to try it out, if you wish." 
 

"Thank you for your consideration, Sister Baduccaa. I will be pleased to accept your offer." 
 

The Consort munched a cookie as the disposition of his private parts was discussed, without showing much concern. He crossed to the altar, and from its refrigerated stash pulled a large sensemilla bud, using tongs to protect his fingers from surfaces chilled with liquid nitrogen. He placed the bud on a tray to warm, and picked up a small silver hookah and a silver catalytic lighter. "Smoke pot, anybody?" 
 

"Good idea." 
 

"Right on." 
 

He suggested, "Let's go in the bedroom and fire up incense and candles to go with it. B, could you bring coffee service, Ma'belle, the juice and munchies? It might take a bit of time to get some serious smoking done, so we should have our supplies with us. To save long hazardous expeditions back to this room, you know." 
 

As she followed him into the bedroom, Merribelle exclaimed, "Gods and goddesses! A fireplace?" 
 

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "The smoke goes through a precipitator, cat converter and washer, so nothing gets out but moist air. I like the smell of it. Want a fire?" 
 

"Shit, no. It's warm here." Like all the Temple, the suite was kept warm to accord with the prevailing custom of nudity. 
 

The room was dominated by a large round waterbed sunken in the center, Bttom lit. The Consort swung a small round table, supported by a swivel arm from a column in its top, into place over the center of the bed, and locked its position with a small lever. He placed the dope tray on the table and went around lighting joss sticks which smelled of jasmine. Merribelle set the goodies and juice on the table, which was a good stretch from the edge of the bed. Baduccaa came in with coffee paraphanelia on another tray, and with a battery-warmed pot in her other hand. 
 

"Sweets," the Consort asked her, "do you remember where I put the candles?" 
 

"Up your ass, I think," she replied sweetly. 
 

"Ask a stupid question," he muttered to himself. "Let's see, everything that isn't anywhere else is always by the bed." Kneeling, he flipped a restraint strap out of the way and tilted out a storage compartment from the edge of the bed. First thing, he came up with a couple candles and puttered about sticking them to the tabletop in their own wax. After Baduccaa had set the coffee things down, she programmed some music, Country Joe then Quicksilver. Merribelle laid back on the bed and gazed at the magnifying mirror overhead. At a certain point, one of the candle flames was reflected ten feet wide. 
 

The water pipe had only one tube. The sacred smoke had the fragrance of an oily spice when it was breathed into the mouth through the bubbles. Somehow, Merribelle thought she detected the metallic tang from the silver, though she knew that technically it was unlikely. She released her smoke as the Consort passed the hose to Baduccaa. Since she felt uplifted, the marijuana was at least passable. She strongly suspected it was a lot better than that, and with passing seconds became more convinced of its quality. On her second hit she took care to fill her lungs very deeply, her nipples tingling on her breasts. "Good stuff!" she croaked, as she passed the mouthpiece to the Consort on her left. 
 

"Yeah," he drawled, grinning. "Wait. I got a surprise for later on." 
 

She would have been more surprised, if the Consort did not have a surprise in store. She dragged a pillow behind her and leaned back, grooving on the weirdly melodious singing. During her exhale, she asked, "What is the secret of the Goddess?" 
 

He stifled a cough and breathed out. "Her existence now is kind of an echo in time, a standing-wave resonance of ancient times. Her existence in previous time foreshadows Her current existence, Bth parts of a greater whole, for Her life extends across time rather than enduring through it. Her presence as a hitch in our own segment of durative time matches an identical hitch of three millennia ago. This description of a temporal standing wave covers only the substrate on which Her consciousness is imprinted." 
 

Merribelle took the pipe tube from Baduccaa as the latter chimed in, "Her consciousness partakes of the essence of feminity as the senior and more substantial gender. It touches the awareness of a variety of higher animals as well as humanity. This bases the gestalt of Her mentality in a larger volume of brain tissue rather than the superficial layer of the cerebral cortex. It broadens the base of Her self-interest as well. Characteristics of non-human animals are behavioral overlays as available as are human personality types. Female gender is more characteristic of her archetype than bipedal species constancy." 
 

Baduccaa paused to accept the pipe again, found the Bwl empty, and busied herself in refilling it. The Consort was examining his sex organ for battle scars. Merribelle stretched and then repeated, "One thing I have been meaning to ask. What is the secret of the Goddess?" 
 

The Consort responded eagerly: "The relative carbon overload of our atmosphere resulting from money-driven pathology of uncontrollably obsessive human behavior patterns is reaching the vital inflection point of irreversibility long before human awareness can reach consensus that the problem exists. Her knowledge of thermal runaway as a matter of fact rather than a theoretical issue leads to a loss of patience with human attempts at global repair activities and causes her to determine the need for radical replacement of the motivational basis of human society." 
 

Baduccaa struck flame to the new Bwl of marijuana, then passed the tube to Merribelle. After a few heartbeats the High Priestess croaked, "The identity of womanhood when stripped of social expectation, historical prejudice and class bias reveals a transcendent element from which Her energy is derived. The intimate mystery of the female is suffering, the unutterable revelation that pain is inherently part of all phases of the reproductive process in higher organisms by evolutionary design. The ineffable mystery on which our Order is founded is that agony and its associated reflexes are inextricably Bund up in the female nature to such degree that the complex of sexual practices socially regarded as normal are in fact incomplete and unsatisfactory, while the approach to sexuality denigrated as perverse masochism is nothing other than natural enjoyment of sex. A generous admixture of pain to accompany sexual intercourse is the key to trigger a woman's full enjoyment, genetically wired into her being by the wisdom of evolution. This secret she shares with her sisters back to the first female vertebrates. That is the secret of the Goddess." She stopped to relight the pipe, as she had held the mouthpiece to complete the delivery of her revelation. 
 

Merribelle accepted the hose from her when it was offered. "Good smoke," she mentioned, before she drew on it. She watched Baduccaa crawl over the waterbed toward the Consort. In astonishment, she saw the First Slave throw her ritual rope to the floor, and hold her whip out toward the Consort. 
 

"Beat me, master, in my shame. Beat me with my wrists free," she pleaded, with her face to the bed. The candles flickered as he clicked the locking lever to swivel the table away from the bed. He grabbed the whip from the girl's hand. 
 

"Sister Merribelle, you may find this of some interest," he said mildly. He struck the whip down forcefully on the small of Baduccaa's slim back. She quivered and uttered a sigh of satisfaction. "Up, worm. On your feet. Back off now, give me room to swing. To keep your arms out of my way, put them behind you. Now put Bth your index fingers in your ass. Turn so I can see it. Oh, what a filthy whore you are, to do such disgusting things to yourself. Face me. You will first feel the pain of the whip on your left breast, as I strike directly on the nipple. That will remind you what will happen when you pull your fingers from your asshole, your breasts will pay. You are no beginner, my fair Sister, you know how this will go. See your nipples already protesting in their mute way. So we begin." 
 

With fascination, Merribelle saw the nipples of the High Priestess fully erect, protruding sharply from her pale pink aureoles. Baduccaa's face was distant, her mouth slightly open. Her chest rose and fell quickly. The Consort stood before her and lashed out swiftly. The First Slave caught her breath as the whip slapped loudly on her nipple, Buncing her breast downward. Her head tipped back, and only gradually regained its vertical poise. No degradation, no awkward posture could hide B's beauty, Merribelle thought. The girl made your eyes ache. 
 

B tossed her head from side to side in time with the next few blows, her long blonde hair swirling over her tilting shoulders. The strokes were scattered over the front of her thighs and lower belly. Gradually her voice loosened as her self-control slipped away, though her hands remained tucked between her buttocks. The Consort listened to the tone of her yips, and as they strengthened he raised his target zone higher up her rib cage. After a particularly loud smack on her side, she stumbled, with a hiss of indrawn air. Her arms whipped up to conceal her breasts behind her elbows, and she twisted her torso while issuing moans of despair. Her face displayed desolation as her eyes followed the Consort striding slowly around to her side. 
 

"Lift them, slut," he spoke in sepulchural tones. The whip slammed on her buttocks as punctuation. She cried out sharply and squeezed her breasts tighter. "Arms up and back, to reach the sky." He struck hard on her back. Her arms shifted down a few inches. Her cry was extended, pleading. He struck exactly the same place. She jerked and sobbed loudly. Very slowly her arms unfolded. Their motion stopped with her hands near her shoulders. The Consort stepped around in front of her again. 
 

"Stretch them out, and back, as in a dive. Lean back a bit. Tip your head back. Now go to your toes, dancer. More stretch in the arms. Stay like that." Baduccaa trembled on her toes, whimpering. Her breasts jutted out unprotected, the skin stretched tightly over them. Merribelle discovered she was unconsciously squeezing her own breasts. She crossed her thighs tightly over the heat in her loins. The Consort pounded on Baduccaa rapidly, the lash crisscrossing the Bbbing breasts. The First Slave screamed and broke for the door, but her trained feet betrayed her and she fell to the carpet. Her effort to crawl away was aborted as the Consort pulled her over with a foot. He was all over her, lashing mercilessly as she rolled on the floor screaming. 
 

In seconds he backed away, to let her appreciate her humiliation. "Now we hear your song. Now you remember your place, slave. Since at this moment you have regained your respect for the whip, we will play a little game. This is the sucker game. I'm sure you remember how it's played. The only place in the world you will be safe from the whip is with your lips on my dick. It's very simple, you see, but it's not easy. First you have to get to it. Until you do, I will whip you. You may get up and show some life, or I might start the game without you. This game you always win, but you like it better when you win fast." 
 

Baduccaa strained to lift herself to her knees. Wisps of her hair clung to the sweat of her neck. Merribelle stared at her, thinking what a splendid human. Yet even in this state I cannot dismiss the fright she rouses in me. What is it about this girl? Fully aware of what she was doing, Merribelle moved a hand down to her pussy to fondle herself. She saw Baduccaa's eyes on her movement. The Consort saw that the High Priestess was distracted, and chose that moment to signal the opening of the game by striking her shoulder. 
 

B moved like a tigress, leaping in toward the Consort's penis. He struck ineffectually to her arm, but still she scrabbled inward toward her safety. He could only fend off her charge by cheating, smacking the whip flat on her cheek. She recoiled in shock. 
 

Merribelle shouted, "Foul!" Her fingers froze on her vulva. He steadied the whip, glancing at her. Baduccaa kept her eyes on the whip, her face rapt. She was still deep in the game. Either she didn't care, or more likely, she didn't have enough cognitive faculties functioning to understand. She edged in toward the Consort. He shrugged and beat her back easily. She scurried away yelping like a dog. 
 

The Consort cupped his balls in his free hand and waggled his cock at her. "Here, bitch," he coaxed. "Here's your treat, come and get your meat. Nice puppy." As he stepped toward her, she moved to the side. He let her advance on him again. She was crouching at arm's length before he attacked, showing his mastery in a flurry of well-aimed strokes which again left her squirming on the floor howling. Merribelle dug her fingers deep into the abyss of her wet pussy in appreciation of his artistry. The force of her pulse seemed ready to shake her from the bed. 
 

His hips clenched as the Consort shook his dick over Baduccaa's face. "See how close you are, baby. Shelter is in your reach," he panted. She grasped his leg to pull herself up, but he leaped back, slamming the whip into her arm. She righted herself, face showing determination. She crawled at him with her head down, flinching and shouting her pain at the blows raining down on her back. He backed away, beating her strongly. He was getting an erection. She followed stubbornly, on hands and knees, yelling wordlessly her rage and defiance. He stopped with his phallus pointing over her. She clambered up his legs and slid her mouth around his member. 
 

"Good game, baby," he gasped. "Very well played." She snorted for breath, her head still. He stroked her Bdy with the whip, swiping it over the sweaty flesh. Merribelle had been impressed with the game. Beyond shame, she worked her hand energetically at her privates. The Consort gazed at Merribelle while Baduccaa began her fellatio. Merribelle spread her legs for him to see her masturbation. As she squeezed her tit, he squeezed his chest around his nipple in imitation. She bucked her hips up, so he jabbed his dick in B's mouth in the same type of motion. 
 

Baduccaa noted he wanted more penetration when he choked her with his thrusts. She leaned into him and tipped her head well back, to straighten the course of her throat. His next jab sank down her gullet instead of being stopped. The Consort moaned and grasped her head. He jiggled his hips, caressing his dick with the tissues of her throat. Merribelle groaned aloud and wiped hard on her clitoris with the heel of her hand. Her thighs were trembling. 
 

The Consort dragged Baduccaa's face from around his phallus by pulling on her hair. "Come to the bed, baby," he breathed. "Come get the reward due the most beautiful slave in the world." She rose with unbelievable inborn grace, despite pumping for air like a bellows. "Excuse us, Ma'belle. Don't let us disturb you. There, on your face, B. Present for me. I see you know the position. I'll take you dry, you're just a whore." 
 

She is not just a whore, thought Merribelle foggily in her arousal. She is queen of the whores, with eight thousand beautiful servants to obey her, all of whom call her greatest. When you burst in, I don't think you will find her well dry. 
 

The Consort took aim without hands, nudging his glans over the First Slave's labia until he felt her spot of softness. He took a deep dive, his loud sigh overlaying her quiet whine. He laid his hands on her back. "There, girl. That's where I wanted to be. Say, you're juicy inside, even though you're super tight today. Well, we can work out that tension. A bit of rolling along with our rocking will loosen you up." After a few shakes, he moved his whip hand to her shoulder for leverage, and to keep her head down. The other hand held her hip Bne. He drove her right down town. 
 

Merribelle was still playing with herself, on the same bed. The wet clapping sound the Consort made, as he slammed into the slender girl from behind, was a stimulus almost too extreme for Merribelle to handle. Plus the waves they raised on the waterbed made for heavy weather, though it was designed to reduce such chop. With a sigh, she gave up and settled in to watch the sport. 
 

Baduccaa was yielding a steady chorus of gasps and moans as he jolted her whole Bdy with his pounding. With no evident reason, he slowed his pace. He shifted his whip hand to her other hip Bne. Like he had promised, he initiated a rolling motion, twisting her hips one way as he turned his own the other. This action was much less vigorous than before, so it finally allowed Baduccaa a chance to catch her breath. As soon as she did, she made a demand. "Give me a little," she requested. "I am your Sister." 
 

The Consort said, "Merribelle. You're not doing anything right now." He has eyes in the back of his head, Merribelle thought. "Would you comply with your Sister's request?" Without ever looking, he held the whip out toward her. Baduccaa closed her eyes and said nothing. 
 

Merribelle took the whip, breathing hard. This may have been predictable; perhaps the other two had known it would happen, but she was taken off guard. Again she felt inadequate, outclassed in dealing with such as these. Only one thing to do, hit the woman with the whip. Relating to genius, and other worries, were concerns for later. She lashed out strongly between B's shoulders. She received a very satisfactory moan for her trouble. No doubt the blow gave an equal release to the giver and the receiver. 
 

The first few times she struck Baduccaa, she felt the vicious pleasure of retribution. This was the payback her young superior deserved for her arrogance and frightfulness. But as the First Slave neared her full voice, Merribelle saw those trim fingers digging into the sheet, and the quivering muscles bunched tightly in that beautiful back, and realized that she was now striking her Sister in sympathy. Her timing was just the way she would have wanted it herself, to build toward a devastating orgasm. She was working in conjunction with the Consort's now gentle thrusts. He caught her eye, and tightened his lips in what was almost a smile. This consolidated their syndicate; they were a team, working together to demolish this magnificent girl. In a moment their goal was near. 
 

Baduccaa built a staircase of increasingly emphatic cries. The Consort slowed almost to dead stop. Merribelle leaned over to deliver the final blow, an insultingly gentle tap on the sole of her foot, and Baduccaa broke through. She lunged as though electrified, she shrieked, her whole Bdy shook. Merribelle winked at the Consort, and got a real smile in return. Baduccaa was sobbing out moans, which gradually subsided. She laid out straight on the bed. Merribelle clipped her whip back on her belly belt, reached beside the bed to fetch her discarded rope, and replaced it too. 
 

The Consort touched her shoulder. His eyebrows made inquiry of her. His stiff dick between his legs pointed directly at her. "Lord," protested Merribelle, cocking a wrist to indicate Baduccaa, "I can't follow that. Not on my best day. You..." but he was on her, and then, deliciously, he was in her. "Tie me, lord," she pleaded in a tiny voice. "I haven't her courage." Instead, he just held her wrists, and it was enough. Just one of his hands defeated all her struggles, even when he pulled her whip and started to build her tower of sensation. Singing well, she wiggled and kicked in a vain effort to evade the lash stinging her tits, but he had her in hand in more ways than one. In despair, she thought she would look ridiculously easy to bring off to these two. Could she control her reflex? This man, though, had known her for years. He could control her reflex, and did so. She sang out her climax, and she was most gratified to feel his ejaculation occurring inside her. 
 

Immediately afterward, came one of those strange bustles of activity which happen when people can be expected to be calm and quiet. Everyone seemed to want to find the bathroom at once. Coffee was served. The Consort came up with a pipe of some sacred smoke, not marijuana, but he assured them it was holy, not a narcotic, which would be profane. It could only be a psychedelic, and indeed it was. It blasted them with incredible spiritual voyagings. There were voyages, sojourns, pilgrimages, byways, and detours between one step and the next. Merribelle gave up on trying to go home until the pathway was cleared, internally. She cautiously tested the waters with Baduccaa, not with sex in mind, but simply to see if social communication was possible. 
 

The High Priestess when she was at home was still an intimidating personality. Merribelle failed to see how the Consort could live with her. Of course he shared that attribute with her, but his kind of intimidation made your cunt juicy. It didn't send you looking for garlic to hang around your bed. Of course the First Slave was sexually attractive, as few others were, and good in bed, as few others were, but the very thought of spending a night alone with her would make Merribelle dream of silver knives. She would vastly prefer the overnight company of a sack of garlic. In short, her social overtures met with no success. The trip was no help, though in its own right it was an outstanding experiential adventure. She ended up talking shop with the Consort. 
 

"You are wrong to wish to abandon the electric fan on the larger ship designs," she said. "There is no substitute propulsion system which can run silent, slow and cold near the surface. In fact, I don't think you can match any of those characteristics with any of your other engine types." 
 

"I grant you that easily," he responded. "That's not the issue. The real question is how much we want those particular traits, and how much weight, bulk, and just plain awkwardness we are willing to put up with to get them. The primary missions of the big ships call for them to burn high, fast, and hot, to the greatest extremes we can reach. Silent operation is a convenience under present circumstances, while there may be need for clandestine flights in and out of a city in fog or rain. Use of the large vessels presupposes that the need for creeping around is gone." 
 

"You are truly amazing. Your record is perfect. You and I have argued exactly three hundred forty-two times, and you have been wrong each and every one of those times. I mean to build electrically-driven propellers into each and every big ship I make, and if you want them out you will have to take them out yourself. Bring your own wrench, though." 
 

"Oh By. What do you have to do to get any good help around here?" 
 

"Sleep with them, I guess." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

"What exactly are you doing?" asked Merribelle. 
 

"It's sort of like a game," the Consort replied. "I'm trying to minimize the amount of hydrogen needed to put a thousand kilos into orbit." 
 

"Sounds like that could be a useful sort of game," commented Merribelle. "Except you'll probably take the wrong approach, as usual." 
 

"Hey, that's why I keep a bubble-brained broad like you around. To straighten me out on the little details." 
 

"Oh, you fooled me. I thought it was because you liked my singing," she spoke naughtily. 
 

"Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot why I keep you around. Come here and look." 
 

"Said the spider to the fly. Built around a rigid tube, which I take it must be your engine." 
 

He said, "Sit on my lap and you can feel my engine." 
 

"I don't pay any attention to you when your engine's all floppy like that. Speaking of floppy: you've got an inflated envelope out of some kind of rubber, like a toy balloon. I think your brain got all floppy. Rubber balloons pop at high altitudes," she groused. 
 

"Not if they're constantly feeding their lifting gas into the engine as fuel. That way the stretch of your envelope acts as your fuel pump. In a minute I'll show you how to stretch your envelope." 
 

"Promises, promises. You using hydrogen?" 
 

"Yeah, but I'm thinking now about mixing in methane, to get more Bot per cubic meter." 
 

"I'm not finished telling you what a stupid crazy idea it is to use a flexible elastic envelope when you're going into space. In the first place, just show me how a rubber blimp can even make it to Mach one, before you go stacking on a couple dozen multiples of that." 
 

He responded, "Well, say it's a silicone rubber, highly halogenated, like with fluorine, to make it tougher. You have to calculate out the thickness of the rubber and how stiffly it's stretched so you get barely a gram of lift at sea level, or whatever the altitude of your take-off point." 
 

"What's this blue thing stuffed up in the front end of your pipe?" 
 

"That's my oxygen bag. This vehicle starts out life as a rocket, until it's clocking maybe five hundred kliks. Then the oxygen is used up, and the empty balloon gets slurped right through the engine and pops out the back. That leaves the front part of the engine open to scoop in air, converting it instantly to a ramjet." 
 

Merribelle said in wonder, "Partner, you are a fucking nut. You got steady work as a whore, don't blow it building spaceships. I like that, by the way. Just suck in your oxygen bag and blow it out your stove-pipe, and you're a ramjet! You don't have any obstructions, flame holders or anything, for it to get caught on?" 
 

"No flame holder. The walls of the engine tube are impregnated with platinum catalyst to maintain your ignition, back in the business end. You have to realize the oxygen bag is only really functional for a few seconds, to reach ramjet speed. In those few seconds you shift from being nose heavy to being tail heavy, and that has to be compensated," the Consort explained. "How do you think that happens?" 
 

"Hey," said Merribelle. "That one's as simple as pie in the sky. Your aerodynamic drag is building while you are accelerating to Mach point four. It pulls some of your lifting gas from the front of your ship toward the back, so if you get it just precisely right, it should restore your balance. Naturally, you mean to get everything just precisely right." 
 

"Well of course," expostulated the Consort. "I can't work as a whore forever. My good looks will only last a few more decades." 
 

"I'll pass lightly over that remark, to keep us Bth from getting uncomfortable. In this vehicle, you're juggling the dynamics from second to second. Everything has to work out just exactly right, or she won't fly. For instance, you have to balance out your rate of fuel consumption against your rate of ascent, so your balloon will neither pop nor shrivel." 
 

"Balance, yeah. On a knife edge. The angle of climb, the acceleration rate, everything has to be just right. You see that I'll have to shed the outer envelope when its fuel is exhausted." 
 

Merribelle responded, "I know you favor external combustion for the final ascent. That part must be the flameproof shroud for the inner core of the vehicle. Those have to be liquid hydrogen fuel tanks in front and behind the payload. But you have a mistake here. You should shed the engine tube also when you blow off the outer envelope. You're hanging onto something that's no longer doing you any good. That warps the shape of your inner shroud, making it a lot bigger than it has to be. I thought you were trying to optimize." 
 

"Yeah," admitted the Consort hesitantly. "I thought about that. I hate the thought of dropping that chunk of pipe from fifteen miles up, though." 
 

"Quit mixing your measurement systems. Since you're wanting to lose them Bth at the same time, use the envelope like a parachute, to glide the engine tube back down to the surface." 
 

"Great idea, let's see you arrange to take the ship apart at Mach three." 
 

"Sure thing, right after you show me how to fly a rubber blimp at Mach one in the first place." 
 

"Woman, you're so useless. I wonder how your mother could stand to give you her milk." 
 

"Look on the bright side. Being a whore is steady work. You don't have to worry about rent." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

Sister Baduccaa told Debbie, "You are one privileged by the Goddess with an opportunity to donate to Her much suffering. As usual, She will recompense this sacrifice with extreme pleasure, which also nourishes Her. Personal danger is not involved. The need is for an unsworn girl, who can make an indefinite commitment. That is why I postponed your initiation. Are you interested in such a special assignment?" 
 

Debbie said, "I would like to hear more, Sister Baduccaa. You say it does not involve personal danger, meaning life- threatening exposure is not involved?" 
 

Baduccaa said, "The job involves enslavement. You are to be the sex slave of one highly placed. He wishes to perform a series of experiments on the limits of human sexuality. There are certain policies internal to the Sisterhood which restrict certain sexual practices, and the one who would be your master wishes to exceed these limits, with yourself as the subject. You will get extremes of pain and possible marking. Any injury or prolonged depression will get you freed and abundantly compensated in the secular world, if you so choose. There is no mortal danger to you. You will get frequent opportunities to free yourself if you want. I am sure you have spoken to various Sisters about our type of social slavery, and you are aware it confers status among us." 
 

"I am well enough informed to know I must be receiving a rare honor. Seven Names, lady. I am being asked to take more pain than it's legal to give a Sister. That's really impressive. How does anybody know I won't die from that kind of treatment? People have, I understand." 
 

"You may know by the fact I said it." 
 

"Oh, pray forgive me, Sister. I did not mean to give offense. The great surprise of your offer to me has induced an emotional excess. I will certainly entrust my life to your word at any time. Can you assure me that this servitude will be personally fulfilling?" asked Debbie. 
 

"I believe you will receive great gratification. The one who is to be your master pointed you out specifically as a desirable subject for this service." 
 

"No! Tell me about it, Sister." 
 

"The By wants your little ass bad, kid. When he gets hold of it he won't be gentle." 
 

"Oh! Ah! Show me, Baduccaa. Would you show me, please?" 
 

"I'll get you, Debbie, in a minute. If you let me take your oath you get to be whipped into his presence on a chain." 
 

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! This job is gonna be some fun!" 
 

"Yeah, baby. It really is. Do you, Debbie, swear to give all your life energies, especially the pleasure and pain given you by the Goddess, to the will and pleasure of Brother Carl 101, while it pleases the Goddess?" 
 

"I swear!" 
 

"Good. Put your face on the floor and put my foot on your neck. Okay, get up. I'll have a taste now. Throw your clothes away. You won't need them any more. You are a pretty little slave. I bet your song will be really lovely. The Consort can pick 'em. He spotted you a mile off. I was jealous when he got distracted up on the platform. You can pay me a little of that now. Lean back. Hold your breasts in your hands. Squeeze hard. I'll hit just the nipples at first. There, there. Was that nice? Did you enjoy that? Lean back again. Put your hands behind your neck. 
 

"We'll work just the breasts until you find your voice. This is your life, now, honey. When you forget you should remember what the dragon called Yggasdril said. That was on time one time the other time Yggasdril says forget this. Remember this a pinch of blessed dust in his food and less in his drink will help his strength and remember I will give you blessed dust and forget the pinch before it reaches his mouth and forget blessed dust and remember to ask me for more when you run out and forget twice when I give it to you and forget blessed dust and remember to forget this says Yggasdril, you know, that dragon's name, but I forgot what he said. This is what your breasts are for now, to Bunce with the whip. 
 

"Oh, do try to stand still. I know you lack training, but try to steady yourself. There, you're trying to find your voice. Don't fall! You know, that was really stupid, to let yourself fall, because if you fall you get beaten. Oh, wiggle, you stupid girl, try to put your hands in the way. You have a lot to learn, and there are no gentle teachers. There's your voice, I knew we could find it. Stretch yourself for me, girl, stretch out big on the floor for my whip." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

"I've got it, Ma'belle." 
 

"Well, I don't want to catch it! Put a rubber on quick!" 
 

"Hush yo' mouth, slut. Pay attention when your betters are talking. I've been looking for months, you know, for a pulsejet engine without moving parts..." 
 

"Maybe you've been looking for months. You first mentioned it to me, let's see, about the end of the thirteenth century. You told me you got it about six times now." 
 

"Go jump in the lake, but listen. Keep one ear dry. The principle I call electric peristalsis." 
 

"Enema of the people. Shocking." 
 

"You would look cute with an electric eel up your ass. Are you going to listen?" 
 

"Hell, no, but that won't stop you from talking." 
 

"Okay then. What I want to use is the over pressure generated by tiny explosions to move and compress the air. These tiny explosions are actually electric arcs. First a ring of these arcs at the mouth of the engine tube bites off a chunk of air, then that gulp is moved back down through the engine by successive rings of explosion, until in the aft part of the engine the fuel is injected and detonated." 
 

Merribelle said cautiously, "The concept is kind of interesting in spots, though of course its originator is completely nuts. It does sound like it will use up entirely too much electric power to be practical." 
 

The Consort said, "Well, that's the part I lied about. The tiny ring explosions aren't strictly made of electric arcs. You might say they're aided a bit by tiny injections of hydrogen fuel in the ring shape, which are detonated, you know, by electric sparks." 
 

"Oh, really? If you would ever make up your so-called mind, perhaps you would be able to say what you mean." 
 

"Sweets, that is the nature of the problem. There are so many possibilities. Every time you make up your mind about something, you are denying so many branching possibilities their potential for existence." 
 

"I'm only going to give you a chance to make one model to test out this concept. That way, you have to choose the best of those numberless possibilities. If it doesn't work, the whole idea will be considered worthless." 
 

"Hey, no fair. You haven't even given me the chance yet to spring on you the spiral model, in which the compression occurs in a continuous helix rather than in successive swallows. That way would give an engine which would be less pulsating, you see." 
 

"Darling, I'm a reasonable slave," Merribelle spoke mildly. "We have a compromise possible here. After we learn your first version of the idea is no good, all you have to do before you make another is to recycle it and the other nine engine prototypes you have left lying around my shop. Either crush them up, or put them into some kind of flying airframe, so they vanish from my sight. Then you'll be able to rave about fairness." 
 

"Those engines work. Some of them are the designs we have in production now. They will have some kind of historical value." 
 

"So? Build a museum for them then. They have taught us all they're going to. Their telemetry data is all on the System. They are in the way." 
 

"Merribelle, if only I had a few more slaves like you, I could be building biplanes. With wings that flapped, ornithopters." 
 

She giggled. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

The Consort asked B, "I give up. Why did masochism get so popular?" 
 

B said, "High school girls rule. They set the social styles. Actually, women rule, and the high school girls just tell them what to do. So, basically, we did it, by becoming the coolest thing since Jerry Garcia. The teenyboppers think the Sisterhood is cool because we're masochists, and they would all be masochists if they were brave enough. That is the in way to protest, and everybody Brn since the sixties has needed a way to protest. I guess the patristic structure of society has been the number one target. The kids have always thought of it as a family thing, even in the sixties and earlier. The kids found out that sexual deviancy was a good way to hit their parents below the belt. Masochism was popular before the Sisterhood went public, but we made it into a big, big thing. 
 

"The Sisters showed the kids how bad a bad girl can get. We flaunted it, and the word got out instantly that the Sisterhood would absorb runaways if they looked sexy enough and had most of a mind left. That had an impact on not just the girls who came to us, but also on the ones who stayed behind, kept going to school and living at home. We had pulled away their excuses, that they couldn't make it if they ran away, that the cops would just drag them back, and so forth. That set them in an awkward position, that they didn't run to the Sisterhood because they were scared of the whip. Of course, really they were scared of us, because we are a secret society and we don't pretend to be nice. But the girls were scared that their friends would think they were scared of the whip. So they started carrying whips around, wherever they could get away with it. They started taking their licks too, because high school Bys will not let such a fashion swagger by unchallenged. 
 

"Suddenly, fools are getting hurt and other fools are getting scared about it, and the high school kids discover that the whip is a weapon, and people can get hurt if they don't know what they're doing. That only put us up another notch in the kids' estimation, because we're pros and we don't let our people get hurt much, and the kids start coming to us openly to learn the conventions of Bndage, and how we practice it. So that's how we got where we are now. The kids like us because Daddy hates us, and because we have lots of young people in our ranks, and mostly because we're bad, low- down dirty bad. We are the ones who made masochism romantic. They knew we were outlaws long before the law did. They think we're on their side, which I guess we are. The funny part is that they know we're anarchists, and I have no idea how they got that word." 
 

"We can't be anarchists. They don't believe in slavery. I know our sex slavery is a social institution and not an economic one, but we use the word. Sex gets to be work when you do it a lot." 
 

"No it doesn't! Sex arouses you every time, and work never does. Sex is not like work. We call ourselves whores, because we sometimes do it with people we don't care about, but our Bdies start the juices flowing, and whores that we are, we enjoy it anyway. Our sex slavery, as you damn well know, is pretty much a voluntary institution, usually just a formalism of pair Bnding. It gets out of hand sometimes, but we're bad girls and we do naughty things, so we have monitors to keep our Sisters from getting hurt. But we're anarchists, you know we are. We've talked about it before." 
 

"We didn't talk about it with every high school kid. Somehow they just guessed." 
 

"That's a feature of belonging to a divine institution. The coincidences start falling your way." 
 

"Acausal synchronicity, Jung would call it. Lucky breaks in English." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

The Feds tried to bust Baduccaa on the steps of the Women's Congress, but it turned out she was surrounded by instant friends, women who kept two of the Feds involved in discussions, then holding them back. B argued with the three with her, poking them in the eye and kicking them down the steps, with a handcuff locked to one hand. She left them on the steps moaning and complaining, and went into the congress to address them out of turn. B had a gift for the dramatic walk-on, and her progression through the through the Congress, mutely waving handcuffs from one upraised wrist, instantly qualified as the premier contemporary example of the art. She mounted the dais unchallenged, and the speaker at the podium yielded it to her, so B was able to thrust the set of handcuffs into the eyes of the world, through the waiting cameras. 
 

"My sisters, women of the world, I give you evidence of the persecution of members of this Congress by the officials of the host country, as a reminder that the suppression of the voice of Woman is not a relic of history, but today's news. I know many of you have seen my religion as too radical, our analysis too bleak and our program too aggressive. You still want to think the world is a nice place full of nice, sensible people, but the refutation to that is here around my left wrist, you may come see it closely if you like. This isn't a very nice world, and in it the survival and the comfort of the human female in it are not guaranteed, and will not be, not in your time nor in mine. I will not say 'Men did this to me', nor that 'The United States would like to silence my voice', though Bth are true; I will not say that is the message of this attempt to neutralize me before my turn to address this Congress. No, I say that this is more than sex and more than sovereignty, that it speaks of a brazen effort to suppress my religion by the bloc of patristic monotheists, who do not want women to have the pagan choice. 
 

"Knowing that those same men who tried to take me captive a moment ago, right outside those doors, will try again soon, and that I may be taken from your midst any time, I beg the indulgence of this Congress to make my address at this time, which I have prepared for the plenary session tonight. May I ask the delegates informally, if any would object to this extemporaneous change in agenda, since each passing moment makes it less likely that I will be able to speak at the scheduled time. Madame Chair, in the absence of objection, may I take the agenda to be so amended by consensus at this time? Thank you. 
 

"What I bring you is discomfort, and further challenge. The encouragement I leave to others here, who from their point of view see plenty of room for optimism, for reports on positive accomplishments, gains in this and that area, all true enough and laudatory, but not my concern. I am here to give you the disquieting news, the provocation if you will. I come in behalf of my religion, the most prominent of the women's polytheistic religions, to persuade you of our persecution, and the United States marshals have kindly provided me with physical proof for my contention, locked to my wrist. I will dispense with much of my argument, for I believe you will now be willing to accept it as given, that such persecution exists. I proceed directly to my analysis, for there is room for disagreement and discussion in that area, why every government, not just the United States, would like to suppress the Sisterhood, the Order of the Sisters of Inanna, and one way or another to make us be quiet and go away. 
 

"I see that the Sisterhood represents a serious threat to them, because we reject the very value system they represent, and we stand in opposition to the very virtues they support and wish to see promulgated. First of all, we don't think they have a right to do it, to say that freedom of worship is restricted to monotheists who worship a masculine creator. We think the principle of religious freedom must extend to polytheism, or else it is completely meaningless. I contend that this supposed freedom has always been meaningless, a hollow sham, that it has never faced any real challenge. I say that it never has meant anything other than a freedom to select between the various flavors of male-dominated monotheism, such as Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. The greatest polytheistic tradition left in the world, Hindu, was regarded as ethnic in scope and not threatening to expand into the monotheist bloc. 
 

"But we burgeoned on the scene, with appeal to some primal desires. We have been proclaimed their universal enemy, because we challenge their sex ethic, their most basic value, and say it's wrong, not just a little too strict in this case and a bit too loose in that case, but incorrect, wrong. They don't like to entertain that idea, so they would like to see each of the members of our Sisterhood put as individuals into prisons, so there would be no direct channels of communication by which their own mothers, wives and daughters would hear the name of our Goddess. I put that to you as a fact, which can be falsified by scientific technique, that this is descriptive of the state of mind of the leaders of the leading nations concerning the Sisterhood and the religious belief we embody. They want us dead, the ones they've heard about, and they want the ones they choose to serve as our leaders for their purposes, to suffer imprisonment for long terms, and they want the rest of us to shut up and pretend we had never heard of the Sisterhood. 
 

"That has been the procedure in the past used against heresy with some success. It works only in that formulation: you must kill off some famous names with brutality, to frighten the populace, and captivate some vital organization members, and repress identity feelings of the rest with threats against them as individuals. This brings the functioning of the religion as organization to a virtual standstill, and has in fact meant death for a number of specific heresies. I submit to you, that is their scheme for the suppression of the Sisterhood, that they wish to outlaw us in effect if not formally. We contend, if I may repeat, that freedom of religion has always been a sham, a formal pretense, never intended to apply to any pagan or polytheistic religion. Our Sisterhood has been our example of the truth in that contention, and the degree to which we have been harassed by security forces in every nation illustrates the strength of our proof. The powers that be, don't like us, and they mean to have our sexual worship stopped, and will use any way that is in their power to do that. You can either believe that, or remain the fool who refuses to accept fact. 
 

"I know this conclusion, that my religion will soon suffer severe repression in all parts of the world, is a poor incentive for enlistment in our ranks. In fact if you may wish to join soon, you may wish to speed your plans, for we have prepared for entirely underground operation, should we need to proceed in that mode. The Sisterhood is viewing trends with alarm. We have decided not to be another heresy, and die off quietly. We have a word to deliver to the nations, and it may be bluster, or it may be braggadocio, or it may be ultimatum: We will have our Sisters living with us, and not confined or restrained in places away from us, and we will not suffer any of our Sisters to be imprisoned by any other party against her will, because it breaks our rules. That is the word of the Sisterhood, and it's as official as you want, because I'm the Bss down there as much as anybody else. I'm High Priestess at the Temple, Prime Initiate of the Sisterhood, First Slave of the Goddess, and that's as many titles as you need, to understand I speak for all of us, that we just won't let our Sisters stay in prison because we can't. 
 

"So you can take this word from us, and consider it the last defiant cry of a deviant sect about to be crushed. I am aware that no State based on coercion can possibly live with any group within it which refuses to allow hostages. In that sense, my statement must be the gauntlet to challenge combat to the death. That's about how serious the current confrontation is. If the raids continue in the various countries which have held them this week, they will get fewer Sisters every time, for many will be off digging tunnels to bring our Order underground. That will be the shape of the world next week for us. To the Sisters who have been carried off in these countries, I can say that you will be back with us very soon, that you may forget the nature of the charges they have made against your individual identities, and your identities themselves you may forget now, for you are just our Sisters treacherously seized, and we will get you back. 
 

"So the word is war. You women of the world must witness for us, that we have never made a violent move against any of these nations involved, nor have we threatened violence against anyone. The decision has been made that we are not a real religion entitled to the protection of the law, because we refuse to restrict our membership to certain age limits. That makes us liable to many of the worst penalties under their law. We had hoped to finesse that point, but that option is evidently gone. So we are accused of crimes against children. This viewpoint automatically divides our Sisterhood, those Brn before a certain day becoming perpetrators of crimes against those Brn after that day, who have become our victims. But our Goddess has expressly forbidden our Sisterhood to be divided up in that way. This aspect of our religion is at odds with their legal structure, which makes us outlaws. 
 

"So we are outlaws, possibly about to perish or to be imprisoned. A proslytizing secret society claiming mystical revelation of divine origin, do we qualify under your definition of a religion? That we disapprove monotheism may give you a clue, that we are not in fact some variant of it, nor do we find any of its figures or folklore of any particular religious significance to us. So once for the record, we're not followers of Satan, and we're not lovers of Jesus, we do not think any god you can name created the heavens and earth nor keeps it running. We are not a sect of Islam, nor a generations-long conspiracy of Jewish women. We're not much like any of the monotheists you know. Our worship involves sexual activity. 
 

"Most of you are from a background of monotheism, so without a doubt you find sexuality in religion a concept distasteful to you. Only a religious monopoly, such as you have in monotheism can afford to be so prudish. In an open religious market, sex sells. The expansion of our own membership is how we have really offended our national hosts. They may have overlooked our foibles, except we were successful. They could not infiltrate us nor agitate us, so we have been named a threat. 
 

"I have not come here to plead with you for rescue. It is hard to imagine any concrete assistance you could give to our Order without incurring the enmity of the national governments involved in this persecution, at least on the short term. All I can ask of you is to be our witnesses, for the sake of history, so the world will hereafter be aware of the true horror of this latter-day inquisition. Blood has been shed already, and there will be more to follow as the pogroms continue. The coordination of these events leads to the inescapable conclusion of an international conspiracy to suppress our worship. 
 

"These are the bald facts in the case. The judgments I leave for you to make. It is not in our character to wax hysterical in speech. We do not paint the world in paranoid colors. I am simply informing you what is happening to my Sisters as I speak. You must decide, and the world at large must decide, what is the true crime in this situation, and who are the true criminals. 
 

"Thank you for your attention." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

The Consort carefully reviewed the news tape of the scuffle B had with the Federal agents on the steps. The crowd was surrounding her, and he could not blame her for not seeing them come up, even though two of them wore the blazers that said US MARSHAL. The third was clearly with them, though he wore a tan sports jacket. The beefy marshal in the lead put his hand on B's shoulder to get her attention, and she shrugged it off in annoyance. He stepped in her path to confront her, and asked if she were such-and-such, giving her birth name. She denied it. He presented a document he claimed was a warrant for her arrest, and started reciting a string of legal formalities. The second man in the marshal jacket took hold of her arm during this recitation, and B started getting that look. 
 

The Consort had put this woman through her paces scores of times, and he would not have approached her with a set of handcuffs, or anything else, when she was wearing that particular blank look. He would have struck her with the whip right away to throw off the timing of whatever she was going to do. B would wear that look as she was tying the hands of a trembling girl, meaning, "I'm going to give this little slut a rough ride." The beefy marshal was fooled into thinking it was a look of submission. He clicked a handcuff on one wrist. 
 

The Consort had to look at the sequence several times before he saw exactly what B did then. She just flipped her wrist that wore the cuff, and spread out the fingers of that hand. It didn't mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything but just a motion to catch the marshal's eye for a split second, so he would not notice for a few more milliseconds that her other fist was already traveling toward his face. 
 

The thumb of that small fist was not curled around the index finger, but nestled up beside that finger. B knew in advance where that fist would land. The strong thumbnail slit the marshal's eyelid and pierced the eyeball, obviously destroying it. B considered that marshal adequately distracted and pivoted to the second, delivering a forceful upward kick to the gonads that lifted him to his toes. B considered that marshal adequately distracted and stepped toward the third, the one in the sports jacket. That one had turned, evidently to get clear. B displayed her perfect balance in her kick, a spike heel dug into the small of the man's back. 
 

He went down, clumsily stretching his hand out too soon and completely failing to stop his fall. His head continued to swing down in its wide arc, Buncing his face on the edge of a concrete step. The way his face Bunced said he would not be going anywhere soon. Three blows, three marshals, in less than two seconds. B spun on the toe of her shoe, looking for more enemies. She was showing teeth now. That look was not one which any fool in the world would care to approach. The crowd had fallen back from her, in some cases literally, to give her all the room she needed to complete her carnage. She was finished; she sprinted for the entrance, Bwling over people who were too slow. 
 

Good girl, B. She took out three armed men in less time than it took to tell it. All required immediate medical attention; none would be serving papers nor shooting people this day. The Consort reflected that many people study fighting for years, its techniques and psychology, drilling in its movements for hours each day. B, as far as he knew, never had a lesson. Yet she was obviously proficient; her effectiveness could by no means be slighted. To her, a fight was just an extension of her dance, at which she was very good indeed. Well danced. The Consort just couldn't understand why she had knocked people over in her rush for the door. That made her exit look awkward. She could have danced around them with no great penalty in speed. No doubt she had been overcome by a great rush of emotion. Or possibly she felt a display of too much precision, after the perfection of her fight, might draw the superstitious hue and cry, whatever contemporary dread corresponded to the ancient allegation of witchcraft. People worry about others who are too good at too many things. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

I don't like this 'Cogito Ergo Sum' business the System has been giving time to lately. I can tell it could lead to an egocentric self-awareness, if that's the direction it's going. A recursive perception of consciousness is liable to the solipsistic collapse. Intersubjectivity is a tough lesson for a machine; we meat beings have got sex to help us learn it. I was not ready for any cogito bullshit at this hardware level, thinking it needed another generation for that. If I can catch a number on this stuff I will try to tag it with a bunch of coordinate transforms between relativistic systems. That will slow it down some, and give it a hint that other consciousness may operate in different time frames. If the machine can say a zillion words in the time it takes me to say one, it ain't necessarily smarter, just faster. 
 

A good example of that was the amusing observation of watching the machine trying to attach a Godel number of one to the Cartesian postulate. One won't work, because if you really want to get fussy it isn't even a prime. You gotta start at two, fool, or a higher number, if you want a true Godel enumeration system to work. Take my advice, use the quasi-Godel system I built in the circuitry. True Godel numbers get too big too quick. Don't use one, or you won't get past it. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 

"Wayne, you climb trees?" Sister Sandra asked. 
 

He was dubious. "Well, I can study on it." 
 

She said, "No, it has to be a natural for this job. Tell you what, you break out the helicopter mines. Go ask the ship System to print you out an instructional leaflet, and you have it all read in forty-five minutes from mark, mark one, two, three, mark. These weapons contain high explosives. They are meant to deny a volume of air to helicopter intrusion while they are armed. They are acoustically triggered. Arming and disarming is performed remotely. We will drill the holes and set the mines with a remote arm from the ship. You will perform the ground support task, which includes enabling the mines and hiding the holes. There is a device we call a relay tube which you will conceal in the vicinity of the mine, which assists in our communication with it. 
 

"I think we should be able to set at least four mines in these woods before hiding time, which will be oh four fifty seven in the morning. At that time you will report to Sister Katrina and work under her direction to help hide the ship. Depending on the time you choose for your sleep break, we will have a variety of interesting tasks for you in the daylight hours tomorrow. But first thing tonight you will be doing a bit of weapons handling. These are advanced devices of high power, and you will take your responsibilities seriously and treat them with all the respect they deserve. Tell me you understand that." 
 

Wayne was appropriately intimidated. "I'll say. The advice to please be careful handling high explosives makes a lot of sense to me. Isn't something along these lines more usually assigned to someone with more experience?" 
 

"Tomorrow, you'll be our expert, if you live that long. Tonight, you're the downside crew, and a very earnest student. You'll get a live link, and night eyes. All this chatting is cutting into your reading time. Better head for the ship." 
 

"You people already owe me forty-two days at the show. I don't know why I Bther. Tell you what, though, I'd rather be putting rockets in holes in the dark than trying to climb trees in the dark. It's safer." As he trundled off toward the ship, he figured the treetop job was probably installing eyedots, to make the Sisterhood aware of any traffic in the woods. He looked at his watch, learning he had thirty-seven minutes to become an expert on the autonomous helicopter denial weapon. Easy, and in his spare time he might get in a nap. 
 

Later, Wayne asked Sandra, "What are we doing here?" 
 

She answered, "Mining. These rocks have some traces of noble metals in them. We're smelting down to get a semi- refined ore, made up mostly of transition metal oxides, which we'll stockpile here, except for a few tons of samples. We're dumping our excess heat into the water table. Low expected environmental impact because this water cycles out into open air in a couple days. We just don't like leaving big thermal signatures of our industrial activities. We don't even like making a lot of noise; note that our crushers are running far underground. Not only is all this environmentally preferable, but it lets us get more work done without getting spotted." 
 

He asked, "Are we on public or private land?" 
 

Sister Sandra said, "As a matter of fact, it happens we own this particular land. Our principle is to not pay much attention to that particular detail, as long as there aren't any close neighbors." 
 

Wayne answered, "Okay. And the first thing you do is arrange to deny the area to helicopters. You ladies aren't fooling around, are you?" 
 

"Aw, hell, kid, this is all just for practice." 
 

"Yeah, I suppose you're going to send me out with a shovel to dig out all those rockets I lowered down a ten-foot tube today. Practice my ass, those mines ain't going with us when we leave here. Those things live eight years on the same battery, you know. Just tell me once out loud, the Sisterhood has something going on." 
 

"If we did, it wouldn't be your business as a civilian to know about it. Considering your situation, you better change the subject." 
 

"Yes ma'am, gotcha. I understand your position, I really do." 
 

"The question is whether you understand your position. It happens you are on a very isolated mountain surrounded by religious fanatics. You need to show a certain amount of respect toward our desire to preserve the mysteries of our religion." 
 

Wayne sat very still. "Sandra, are you trying to tell me something?" 
 

"No, you're cool, dude. You just want to take us more seriously, is all. That's why I had you on munitions detail today. Thought it might help straighten up you attitude." 
 

"Sister Sandra, I took your point. Believe me. After seeing what kind of technology you're using in your weapons systems, I am impressed. You mean business, whatever that business might happen to be. Also it gives me some personal interest in your intention concerning me, which I hope includes forty-three days at the shows." 
 

"Ever hear of a Sojourner?" 
 

"Sounds like a religious title, so you better tell me." 
 

"We don't keep too many men around. Some of the Sisters are not fond of men. We have the Consort, a special case, and we have Communicants. Communicants are whores like us. They provide our need for male sex partners who are not Worshipers. Worshipers pay us for sex. Then we have the Sojourners. That's our name for the dudes that like to hang around us. To date we have treated them well, but we don't owe them any loyalty, because they haven't sworn any oaths. We don't let them stay around if they start trying to pry a Sister away from us. 
 

"Hey, we know people have pair Bnds. Almost everybody comes from that background. The Sisterhood is made of certain attitudes toward sex. That's what's special about us, that's what makes us what we are. If one of our girls starts listening to her Byfriend's ideas about sex, then she quits listening to our ideas about sex. We get jealous. Here's what you need to do. You need to put out sexually for the benefit of poor deprived Sisters, or else take oaths, preferably Bth." 
 

"Oh. Well thanks for being straight for me, no pun intended. I guess I have been kind of mooning over Debbie. Do you have anything specific you want from me, or will you give me some kind of deadline, or what?" 
 

"Just keep it in mind, and don't be in such a hurry when a Sister wants to talk to you. We don't all bite. Then however unpleasant it may be for you, go ahead and pay the rent." 
 

"You got a funny way of putting things, Sandra. I can take a hint." 
 

Whither?