3 comments/ 26681 views/ 3 favorites A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 00 By: fledgling Prologue A Virgin to lie in my bosom, George thought. That'd solve all my problems. Who would believe I'd find an answer like that in the Bible? 1 Kings, King James Bible 1 Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat. 2 Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat. 3 So they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of Israel, and found Abishag .... George could certainly empathize with the old king. The idea of an innocent girl who would cherish him and keep him warm at night was intoxicating. But he wasn't a king and he had an awful lot of problems. The chances of acquiring a girl didn't seem likely, especially in this age when an old man wanting a girl was considered a dirty old man. The thought that he was perceived as a dirty old man, refocused his attention on his problems. If only he hadn't caught that damn germ. That was the cause of all his problems. It hadn't made him sick, it was more like spiritual cancer. He'd never have noticed the disease if he hadn't stumbled on a virus that killed it. Initially, he'd expected his discovery to make him famous, but government elite wouldn't be elite if they didn't crave power; they didn't want to be cured of the craving. Most believed the sheeple (people who act like sheep) needed wolves to save them from their own stupidity. The shit hit the fan when George had cured a few who blamed him for the loss of their elite status. The problem was the cured thought the cure was worse than the disease, especially those who had abused their power. Half those he'd treated were convinced he'd robbed them of ambition rather than cured corruption. They'd made it plain he'd pay dearly if they caught him, so now he had to stay below the radar. And they would have had the power to catch him if he hadn't cured them, in spite of his low profile. His self-pity was aborted when he reiterated his motto; every problem was an opportunity. Whenever he really needed it, ingenious solutions came in the form of a still small voice that was always right. It was almost as if he was being guided by as unseen force. He was so sure of his intuition's answers that people thought he was arrogant. But his schemes always worked, at least, they did if he could persuade others to follow. He'd rather be considered normal, but ignoring the ingenious, always-right solutions always lead to disaster. Apparent arrogance wasn't the only fault he was accused of. The ingenious solutions often involved leading people to cooperate in spite of their reluctance. That was the cause of his reputation for being coercive. It was funny how they always blamed him for their decisions after they'd fallen under his spell. Of course there were people who hated him. Those he persuaded to cooperate, to whom he showed a mutually beneficial course of action. When they realized that George's interests matched their own only briefly, that his goals looked to a future beyond what they could see, those people felt he was guilty of deception. They believed he'd used them without acknowledging they'd been using him. George was well aware that he was thought to be arrogant, pretentious, deceptive, paranoid and sometimes, coercive, but his mission required him to use all the arrogance and persuasion he could muster. Whenever society's expectations threatened, he was reminded of a story he'd heard in Sunday school as a child. He sympathized with what Noah faced when people called him crazy. But Noah was responsible for only his own family. George was terrified his failure to cure a thousand Hitler's would make him responsible for the deaths of millions. He'd foolishly attempted to warn of the disease by publishing proof in a scientific journal. If he was hadn't used a pen name, the label "crazy" was the least of the weapons he would have faced. The real problem was that politicians live by the Law of the Jungle. To cure one robbed him of not only his ability abuse his power; it also destroyed his ability to defend himself against others abusing their power. The accumulation of power into fewer and fewer hands was bringing American to its knees, but without proof, the idea that fascism was caused by a microorganism was crazier than the ark. So, George kept the secret and worked to implement the cure without help other than the unseen hand he thought of as his intuition. His mission required resources and liquidity wasn't the only one he lacked. He'd finally reached the stage where his aching joints forced him to seek help. His impecuniosity was the result of people he'd trusted that were too proud to accept his solutions. So he was stuck here, alone in a swap meet, casting his pearls before swine in an attempt to squeeze out the few dollars he needed to keep his belly button from meeting his backbone. Chiding himself for complaining, George reminded himself that he wasn't starting over. He was sitting on a quarter million in inventory and his suppliers loved him. The infrastructure of his former business was easily worth a million. If only he was younger, his business could be back to a million a month in no time. What he needed was youth, maybe a girl just released after years of incarceration by the public schools. Abishag from the Bible resurfaced in his thoughts. A young virgin to lie in my bosom. The mental image of Abishag juxtaposed against a teenager steeped TV sitcoms and newspeak propaganda was disheartening. Today's girls would run screaming from a stranger and thanks to the movie, "The Fugitive", George was definitely strange. He was, after all, missing body parts and driving a 30-year old house-on-wheels resembling a Brontosaurus. He was as far from being King David as it was possible to be. He knew of several famous personalities who'd found a girl in Malaysia, but that took money. Besides, he was hungry for a girl he could share ideas with, someone who could understand the mission. Unfortunately the same culture he wanted to share was training children to want fame and fortune. Girls were taught they could buy love and security with sex and he couldn't see himself as a lecher. George watched a girl across the aisle. Ivan and his wife occupied the swap meet space, and she was their granddaughter. They'd taken her in after her parents were busted on drug charges. He knew she kept Ivan in the black, but she was also fond of telling everyone how much she hated being there and how fast she'd be gone when she turned 18. So the problem wasn't just finding a girl, but also creating a reason for her to stay. "What kind of girl would choose to help an old man and be grateful enough to stay?" He knew there had to be an answer. As clear as a voice in his head, a bolt of inspiration struck out of the clear blue sky. All he needed was to find a girl who was expecting something worse. If she were facing years in prison, abuse by a father or hunger after running away, it wouldn't take anything to be a better choice. Once he had the solution, George knew an unseen hand had just supplied the means to complete his mission. What he didn't know was that the solution was also designed to fill the void in his heart, one he wasn't even aware of. He could pick and choose because the choices available weren't limited even by his imagination. He'd find a cute girl who would be grateful for anything his meager resources could offer in return. What an adventure! He was suddenly filled with hunger for that innocence king David was offered. Nothing could compare to the love and trust of a young girl, eternally grateful for being rescued. He knew just where to find potential choices being paraded across the auction bloc in literal chains like slaves. The idea that humans were still treated like property in America, the land of the free, would be scandalous to the average person. But George was one of the few who recognized that TV news was mostly propaganda. He knew there were hundreds enslaved every day in every city. They came in every size, shape and color. The juvenile justice system was designed to create criminals, a class even lower than slaves. Juveniles were taught they weren't responsible by being rewarded for their crimes. After breaking the law, they were assigned to government programs that provided food, clothing and shelter their parents couldn't afford. Once alienated from their families, the government rewards would end on the magic day they turned 18. When the rules changed, chance assured that some of those at the short end of the economic scale would be caught unable or unwilling to adapt to their arbitrarily granted adulthood. All he needed to do was visit a courtroom where criminals were being arraigned and watch for the right girl. She'd probably be the child of divorced parents, a bitter feminist and a deadbeat dad. He'd pick one that was reasonably intelligent, just brainwashed into believing she could be happy if she followed the rules and didn't make waves. He'd prefer a country girl who'd recently been caught up in the system. The rewards offered to juveniles tended to encourage those starting at puberty to become habitual delinquents. While the media showed young offenders a parade of the rich and famous, all they were offered as an alternative to crime was an 8 to 5 with a living wage cut in half by taxes. The road to wealth was very narrow, and contrary to the government's propaganda, crime did pay, at least for a while. Country girls were not as numerous as city delinquents, but could be found in any backwater county courthouse. He couldn't afford the cost of getting her off for a serious crime, but knew how often poor kids were dumped on for petty crimes. Especially if the legal vampires believed they'd sucked up all of the green blood that could be drained from their families. There was no reason to risk looking at jail-bait, so he wouldn't bother with the juvenile court. Not that he wouldn't prefer a younger girl who might be more open minded and adaptable. It was just that the system knew that too. They had created a powerful bureaucracy called Child Protective Services to make sure that the square pegs were pounded firmly into the round holes, no matter what the damage to the peg. And CPS didn't like it when someone tried to liberate one of its pegs. What really satisfied George's sense of fair play was that besides procuring a girl, he might well be saving her from a life of crime and/or misery. Intuitively, George knew it was a scheme as crazy as Noah's giant boat, but he also knew it was a solution more perfect than any the voice in his head had ever provided. It never occurred to him that he was following someone else's plan. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 01 To understand this story, you should read the Prologue (click). * A Young Virgin to Lie in Thy Bosom Chapter 1 The Swarm The swarm was a semi-independent entity. It was composed of about a 100 million autonomous segments that were each in turn formatted with 23 out of 46 possible processors. Each segment was formed completely developed with an inherited memory of everything that had ever happened to the swarm and its carrier. The process of commencing life as a mature segment with all of the experience of a million lifetimes was so alien that it was nearly impossible for the human mind to envision. The exchange of information between the segments created a network sufficiently complex to produce an awareness of itself. In other words, the Swarm was sentient. Even though the swarm as a whole was sentient, the awareness of its existence was somehow shared in such a way that each segment was also aware of itself. Each individual segment was not just aware of itself as a separate being, but simultaneously aware of itself as a part of the whole. It was believed, by the Swarm itself, that the information processing capacity of its segments was the cause of its sentience. Each segment acted as a single part of a nearly infinite array of parallel processors. This had the effect of giving the Swarm as a whole, a nearly infinite capacity to think and reason. So, while the intellectual capacity of the individual parts was on the level of a handy-capped moron, the intelligence of the swarm as a whole was awesome. In human terms, the Swarm would be called an "Idiot Savant" because it remembered everything but had no common sense. The inherited memory gave the Swarm a sense of being immortal. As a result, none of its segments thought of the end of their existence as death. --------------------------------------------------- George Marshal frowned at the the Bailiff's litany. After hearing it over and over, it had become as monotonous to him as it was to the Court. The ritual was supposed to inspire respect, but the system was so corrupt that no one involved had any left. Even honest attorneys would grudgingly admit that the system was abused or manipulated as often as not. "HEAR YE, HEAR YE, THE JUSTICE COURT IN AND FOR THE COUNTY OF LINCOLN, THIS 25 DAY OF NOVEMBER 2006, IS NOW IN SESSION, THE HONORABLE JUDGE ADAMS PRESIDING. ALL ARISE." The Bailiff wasn't half way through when old man in robes entered. He jumped up steps and was seated behind the bench before the order to rise. Grudgingly, George had started to "rise", thinking that for an old man, the Judge was pretty spry. It had to be an indication of an easy life. Like George, everyone else only managed to get halfway up before the Judge growled, "Okay, I know no one wants to be here, not even me. I'm just as anxious to get home for Thanksgiving as anyone, so let's get this show on the road. Arraignments first, so the deputies can get the inmates back and head home. Clerk, where's the docket?" The courtroom's occupants immediately settled back into their seats. The hick town municipal Court was unusual. The contrast between Judge Adam's jurisdiction and a normal courtroom was as great as that between the rancher's homemade bib coveralls across the aisle and the attorney's tailored suit in the front row. As informal as it was, George was amazed at how little difference there was in the results of the Court's procedures on the people. A woman on the sunny side of 40 handed the Judge the docket from her cubicle-without-walls. Then, seconds later, she held out another explaining that there was a last minute addition because someone at the jail thought a prisoner ought to be released for Thanksgiving. With a smirk on his face, the Judge was reviewing the list as a door in the opposite side of the Courtroom opened. Everyone except the Judge turned to watch a string of men in orange shuffle in using the 6-inch steps that were all their hobbles would allow. George was surprised that the prisoners were chained together. They don't look like murderers. The police must be in a hurry because of the holiday, he thought. Bringing up the end, a woman shuffled in the same small steps. Almost as if they were being put on display, the men were directed to a row of seats placed at right angles to the room. The impression of being on display was increased as they sat down by the way their restraints forced them into an awkward posture. While they were fidgeting, clearly embarrassed by the chains, the woman was mostly hidden behind them. At the woman's appearance, George sat up and paid attention. Belatedly, the bailiff's droning penetrated his awareness. "November 25, 2006," he mused, "my birthday". Maybe it would be a lucky birthday. Focusing his attention on the potential present, he noted that she was more girl than woman. The orange jumpsuit did nothing for her appearance. Hanging on her 5'4" frame, it was baggy enough so that her long stringy brown hair was the primary evidence of her gender. He'd never seen any of the prisoners appearing in court with makeup and assumed that they didn't allow any. The lack of makeup and the stress of jail gave her face a grayish pallor. Overall, her expressionless face and body language inspired a sense of despair much deeper than the others. She hadn't raised her head since coming through the door, so George couldn't guess her age. Even if he'd been able see her face, he knew that the effect of jail and court on most perps added 10 years to their apparent age. Still the slim figure disguised by the jumpsuit argued for a girl. From somewhere deep inside came the feeling his search was over. As if on cue, she looked up when her name was called. "Courtney Dobson?" Standing up, she looked timidly towards the Judge. Her attitude was certainly consistent with what he needed. In fact, George felt an intangible attraction, as if she was calling out for help. She matched the mental image he'd formed of Abishag perfectly. For a brief instant, the hunger he started with 3 months ago for a young innocent girl assailed his mind. With an intensity he'd seldom achieved, George clamped down on his emotions. As reason reasserted control, Courtney reappeared as a frightened teenager. He just hoped she hadn't committed a major crime? Hastily, he opened a file folder and grabbed a pen. "Do you understand that you've been charged with some very serious crimes and that if you're convicted, you would be sentenced to a substantial time in jail?" the Judge asked, before looking up. With a look of panic on her face, she nodded. Turning to the prosecuting attorney, the Judge asked, "What is going on with this case? There isn't a request to set bail, she doesn't have an attorney of record, please tell me why she's here and why the normal procedures haven't been followed." "I don't have any idea your honor. She isn't listed on my copy of the docket, so she shouldn't be here. I don't even have her file. The County Attorney is handling this case himself and, unfortunately, he left town for the holiday. I did overhear a conversation about her refusing to say even a single word since she was taken into custody, but that is all I know." Turning back to the girl, the Judge asked, "Do you understand that you have the right to an attorney, and that even if you can't afford one, I will appoint one to defend you?" Opening her mouth, she looked as if she was being tortured. Come on, you can do it, George urged, sotto voce. As if in response to his urging, she wheezed "I don't have any money. My mother said she isn't responsible for me any more because now I'm eighteen. She told me not to even try to come back home." Her voice was weak as if it hurt to push air through her voice box. She was barely audible, even in the hush of the Court. George noted that there wasn't anyone else in the Courtroom that had even a passing interest. That had to mean that, if she had family or friends, they didn't care enough to offer even the barest emotional support. She was 18. Wow! She was barely 18! And there was probably no family to deal with! Wow! Wow! Wow! Now, if only she hadn't done something really bad. The Judge had said "a serious felony, but George knew from experience that that could be something as innocuous as giving the wrong person the finger." Judge Adams ruled, "Okay, so there isn't any reason to set bail. I'll send the public defender to meet with you after the holidays. If someone does come forward who can post bail, you can have them request it exparte." His demeanor had softened dramatically after her statement. The Judge had a grin similar to Mona Lisa's that appeared when he felt he had achieved justice in spite of the attorneys and the law. A smirk that George liked, and the he was wearing it now. George had watched this Judge for nearly 3 months and was well aware of his antipathy towards "The System". Just like CPS, it consistently tried to pound square pegs into round holes. The idea was to frighten the perps into a plea bargain. Trials were expensive and time consuming, so if they could scare the defendants with a long list of charges, even those who were innocent would often accept a "Plea in Abeyance" to the avoid the chance of years in prison. Then, once the perp was on probation, they'd watch for the smallest infraction so they could nail him without a trial. The rumor that the police were frustrated by not being able to keep criminals off the streets was mostly propaganda. The number of good people George had seen turned into bitter enemies of society and bent on revenge far exceeded the number of evil villains. Judge Adams hated it when young people with no family support were dropped into the grist mill of the legal system and did everything he could to make the prosecutor's job as hard as possible. In general, unless the prosecuting attorney had an ax to grind, he would bend over backwards to give the so-called "disadvantaged" a break. More often than not, this had the effect of letting the real troublemakers off with a slap on the wrist. George closed the folder in disgust as the court moved on. They hadn't even read the charges. He wondered if she'd be back before visiting hours were over and whether they allowed visiting on Thanksgiving. This was definitely the best chance he'd had since he'd dreamed up this scheme three months ago. So, it was time to get to busy. His first step would be to see if he could get access to the case file. Outside the courtroom, he turned toward the clerk's office. Lincoln County was small and the clerk's office didn't even have a counter, let alone the security windows found in most Courthouses. The nameplate on the only occupied desk said Mabble Housen. "That's a funny way to spell it," George thought. "Happy Thanksgiving Mabble." Mabble looked up with a wary glance. She'd been around long enough to have heard almost every scam in the book and as often as not, undue familiarity was a preliminary to a request that was at best unethical if not illegal. "It is pronounced Mabel, isn't it?" George answered to her challenge. "Yes, my mother insisted on naming me after my grandmother, but my dad worked for the Telephone Company. To avoid the possibility of the name being confused with Ma Bell, they finally agreed to change the spelling." He noted his question had penetrated her distrust. "I can certainly understand that," George smiled. "I've had a few run-ins with AT&T myself. In fact, my favorite long distance carrier is NO BELL.com," he added with an even bigger grin. Hoping he'd breached her aura, he asked, "I need information about a case." Holding out a slip with the case #, he asked, "Could you please tell me what is available in the public record and if you need a written request." Using his coercive arrogance, George carefully crafted his inquiry to dampen her suspicions. He knew that if the suspicions of a bureaucrat were raised and then she was convinced to act like a public servant, she'd give more than she would give voluntarily. His question was structured to force her to decide what was publicly available. His wording informed her that he knew she couldn't deny him anything in the public record and that he would cause her grief if she withheld anything he had a right to. Just to be certain she would behave the way he intended, George waved his left arm in front of her in a flourish that added emphasis to his request and smiled as her eyes were drawn to the missing hand. Knowing that the anxious half of her attention was distracted, he used an accusation to deceive. "I think this girl is being grossly mistreated." Picking up her nameplate in a way that emphasized his deformed thumb, he smiled even wider. "I hope you can help me without a hassle." Without understanding how she'd been manipulated, Mabble realized her own reputation and performance had been placed on the scales of justice. After turning off her scam radar, she entered the case # into the computer. Even though she didn't understand how, she felt subconsciously threatened. Instinct told her not to create evidence that could be challenged. Instead of printing it, she turned the monitor so that George could take what he wanted. "Is this the one? Courtney Dobson?" George scanned the monitor quickly before answering. Courtney DobsonBooking date 11/20/2006Birth date 11/20/1988Charges Breaking and enteringPossession of a controlled substance Vandalism, Felony theftProsecuting Attorney for the County; Michael Edmonds "Yeah, that's her." After he'd memorized everything available on the monitor, he asked, "Do you know anything about her?" His question convinced Mabble he really was looking for a way to help. "Are you related?" she asked. "No, Just a friend", he continued, stretching the truth without really breaking it. Silently he added, "I am probably her best friend, even if she doesn't know it." He didn't match the profile of a con artist Mabble decided. "Well, I guess I can tell you what was in the newspaper. Apparently, a gang of kids broke into one of the expensive cabins by the reservoir to have a party. They trashed the place, smashing everything breakable, spraying graffiti on the walls, stealing anything that could be carried and leaving Courtney behind, stoned and naked. She was in the hospital until yesterday and for a while they were afraid she had OD'd. The police wanted the names of the gang and when she wouldn't or couldn't tell them, they decided to drop the whole thing on her." "Can you tell me when it was published." Her description didn't sound like a newspaper report. They usually didn't describe actions of the police and courts in criticizing tones. "This morning, I think," Mabble answered. "You didn't happen to bring the paper to work, did you?" Alarmed, Mabble babbled, "Maybe, I don't remember." This man was dangerous. He didn't let anything slip. She hoped she hadn't added anything that would come back to bite her. Hoping he'd be less likely to cause trouble, she did what she could to help him." George noted that he'd caught her, but didn't have time to follow it up. The voice in his head was screaming that this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. "Is the police report available? Is it in the case file?" "Yes", Mabble answered, "but the file is in the Courtroom." Not wanting to be caught again, she passed the buck. "Besides, It would be better if you got a copy from the sheriff's office. They're required to give you one on request." He recognized both her attempt to divert his attention and the change from worried bureaucrat to concerned grandmother with a well-concealed smirk. "If you're going out to visit her, the sheriff's office is in the same building. By the time you get the report, she should be back so you could see her. Would you like me to call the jail for you and set up a visit?" "That would be very helpful", George beamed, letting her off the hook. On impulse and without the any idea where it came from, he added, "Do you think it would be possible for me to donate pumpkin pies so the inmates could have a taste of the holiday? I wouldn't have the vaguest idea about how to arrange it, but after seeing them in Court, I suspect that even the smallest courtesy might be a good influence on them. They don't seem to be very thankful right now." That was all Mabble needed. She was now convinced that George was a good guy. Believing he wouldn't bite the hand feeding him, she needed to make him grateful. "You bet," she said, then noting a cell phone on his belt, she added, "Give me your cell number and I'll get some details." She was almost at the point where, if she were offered proof he was a bad guy, she'd refuse to believe it. Minutes later, as he was leaving, George gloated. "Was it really arrogance if you were better than people thought you were pretending to be? Not only was he going to get the girl, he could end up being a hero, and a Good Samaritan, all at once. And she was only 5 days past legal." On the way to his pickup, George paused to watch as the prisoners were led out of a side door to the prisoner transport van. When a deputy came his way, George had to ask, "What's with the hobbles and chains?" The deputy laughed. "That's just Judge Adams trying scare the kids straight. They got caught pulling a prank at the rodeo grounds last Friday, and he wants to show them the difference between what happens to juveniles and how they'll be treated now that they're eighteen." "Will it work?" George asked with a smile. Laughing again, the Deputy answered, "For most of them. The Judge goes to a lot of work to find a new way to impress each year's crop of graduates. The hard core delinquents are another story." With a wave at the deputy, George followed the prisoner transport to the jail. It was only a few minutes drive, so George was surprised when, as he opened the door, he was accosted by a heavy set woman that gave the slang term "broad" new meaning. He knew thinking about one of the cogs in the bureaucracy that way was dangerous, but the major, 240-pound, 6-foot tall obstruction appearing unexpectedly in his path, temporarily circumvented his social inhibitions. Besides she was really "broad". "George Marshal?" she demanded, in the tone of voice used by drill sergeants. At his nod, she held out the police report. "Mabble asked me to get you a copy." The Broad couldn't figure out why "Bloodhound Mabble" would do favors for some menial, but brown nosing often moved people to act in uncharacteristic ways. She certainly knew she had her own buttons and that he'd pushed more than one of them. Then, as if he were Santa Claus asking a 12-year-old what she wanted for Christmas, she begged, "Are you really going to supply pies to the jail for Thanksgiving?" George smiled. He had no idea where the idea had come from, but he was sure the pies would be the least expensive payment-for-service he'd ever received from Lincoln County. He decided to see if he could milk more from his investment. "I was sitting in Court during the arraignments, and I couldn't help thinking about how little the prisoners had to be thankful for. How many pies could be put to good use?" "A dozen would do, if you can swing it. You've no idea how thankful we are for this sort of thing. The prevailing attitude among elected officials is that, if you are in jail, you must be a criminal and if you are a criminal, you don't deserve anything to be thankful for. They've set things up so we can't buy something like this even when the suppliers are willing to provide it for less than regular meals. So, we're grateful when someone offers it as a gift which they can't turn away." A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 01 With a right hand turn, the "Broad" shifted the conversation, "Mabble said you were coming to visit Courtney Dobson. Is that right?" Her tone of voice made George wonder if there was another soft spot he could exploit. "Yes", George responded quickly to the change in subject. "But before we get distracted, can you tell me where to bring the pies?" The thought of the service he was getting for $60 in pies, less than an hour's time of the cheapest attorney, made him want to lock in his bargain. "Just bring them here. Everyone knows about it, so anyone you can find will take care of them. If you'll just take a seat in one of these meeting rooms, I'll bring Courtney to you in about 10 minutes. These are rooms where attorneys meet their clients." Neither of them realized that the pies had circumvented normal jail procedures. The visit wasn't logged in, authorized or even documented because Courtney wasn't admitted back into the jail before the visit. Without his even knowing it, George's solution was more than perfect once again. "Thank you so much," George responded. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name", he finished, not wanting her to get away before he knew who to call for the rest of what he expected to be paid for the pies. From the sound of things, mainly the fact that everyone knew about it in less than 10 minutes, he would probably be able to extract a little extra service from some of the jail staff as well. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if half the county knew about it by next week. "Deedee Haloway", she answered, "and you are the one who should be thanked", she squeezed in as she closed the door. The feeling that his birthday wish was coming true reminded him of a song; I'll sing happy birthday to me -- My dreams have come to be I'll sing happy birthday to me -- I hope to have you for eternity Oh ho ho ho ho -- This is my birthday song Oh ho ho ho ho -- Celebration all night long Oh ho ho ho ho -- My dreams have come to be We sing all together: happy birthday to me A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 02 Something Is Wrong Here! Chapter 2 The Nest Like the Swarm, the nest was a semi-independent sentient being. But it was as different from the swarm as night is different from the darkness of interstellar space. It was composed of about a hundred thousand individual components similar to gametes that each had 23 information processing lobes. One of the more radical differences was that its processors could not operate in parallel. It was actually more intelligent than the swarm because its processors operated on a number system with a base of 46. (The left digit of a two-digit number represents the digit times 46 as opposed to 10 for humans.) Each gamete was also sentient and about as intelligent as a normal 8 year old. The ability of the gametes to share information was dramatically slower than the segments of the swarm, so the nest tended to be less capable of logical reasoning and more creative. The tendency towards creativity was enhanced by a long life span. Even though the nest did not enjoy the same type of immortality that the Swarm possessed, it could pass on a portion of its memories to any new nest it helped establish. The establishment of a new nest was a process similar to the way bees form a new hive. The partial inherited memory forced the nest to focus on non-linear or creative thought processes because there was always information missing for the formation of solutions using logic. Fortunately, a nest could exchange information with a swarm when the two were in close proximity for an extended period of time. This tended to form a bond or need to continue the association. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 02 "Come on, Courtney. Mother Deedee will take care of you until George comes back," Deedee crooned as soon as George let go. After Courtney had been led away and as George reached back for his keys and coins, the deputy behind the metal detector spoke for the first time. "If we had more like you to care about them, we wouldn't need jails anymore." The remark bothered George for a reason he couldn't define. The words were right, but the tone made him feel as if the deputy was accusing him of something. In response, George allowed his cynicism to resurface. "Don't kid yourself deputy. If every crook in the state became an angel tomorrow, all those public servants in the department of corrections would still need paychecks. By Monday, there'd be a whole new set of laws creating a new class of criminals for you to lock up." Suddenly worried that his guilt over wanting a sex toy was showing in his anti-social outburst, he softened his criticism. "The battle I'm fighting is one that can only be won by saving one soul at a time and even then, I don't win very many." Adding silently to himself, he finished, And if you knew what I've have tasked myself with, I'd be one of the inmates myself. After seeing the deputy's anxious expression soften, George relaxed. Subconsciously, he began humming as he turned away: Happy birthday to George, Happy birthday to George, Happy birthday dear George, Happy birthday to you. Anticipation of his birthday present thrilled him with excitement so bubbly, it could more accurately be described as suds. it was all George could do to continue humming instead of bursting into song. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 03 Note to Readers This story has a surprise ending. I am posting it for you to read in the hope some of you will be willing to help. I need you to guess who/what the swarm is order for me to determine if I have given enough clues so you'll feel you should have guessed, but not enough to give away the ending. Please send your guesses tome via the CONTACT tab on my profile. The Other Side of the Story Chapter 3 Swarm Time The Swarm was unique in its ability to perceive time over an enormous range. The limit for human perception is from about 1/30 of a second to a minute. A faster change is invisible and appears instantaneous. One that requires a period longer than a minute can be observed only by looking away and back. Considered against a scale from trillionths of a second to a billion years, these limits demonstrate that humans are virtually blind to the passage of time. The Swarm with its dual sentience was also nearly blind to some events, even though the range of its perceptions, from millionths of a second to thousands of years, was vastly larger than a human's. Despite its range, events spread over an intermediate period of time were difficult to identify as to which were causes and which were effects. That fact had been one of the reasons for the swarm's decision to create carriers IN THE BEGINNING. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 03 "The bottom line is that Courtney would not have had the mental resources to resist the rape, let alone commit the vandalism or thefts," she finished. Still worried about her, George cautioned, "I understand your position and your motivations and I don't blame you for feeling the way you do. But I'd like you to understand me just as completely. The only thing I'm concerned about is Courtney. I'm not interested in punishing anyone or righting a wrong or fixing society, unless it would help her. I intend to do everything I can to make sure she ends up free and happy, no matter who else does or doesn't get hurt. "I'm convinced it'd be in Courtney's best interest if you didn't discuss either your opinions or these reports with anyone else without talking to me first and I'd be grateful if these files were misplaced so that no one but you could find them. "I'm sure that you're aware of the probability that we could easily win Courtney's freedom and yet lose her happiness and maybe even her life. Even without the legal threat, she's vulnerable. She has nowhere to live, no means of support and no friends. She's very naïve, sexually and socially inexperienced and she's been traumatized by rape. The nurse's reaction to George's claim of sexual inexperience made him wince, but he powered on, "That set of problems is nearly impossible to overcome, so without me, she doesn't have a chance. "You might not like some of the things I'll be doing to help her, but if you question one of my decisions, you should compare what I'm doing to save her to the help being provided by the county, yourself included. Then ask yourself which is better. Now, I need to know if you've evaluated her for the risk of pregnancy." The blood draining from the nurse's face and the tears flooding her eyes again were all the answer George needed. "Did you even try to contact her mother?" After a shake of her head, George continued pushing, "Who's liable for the hospital's expenses?" "We're reimbursed by the county for indigent prisoners," she answered in a subdued tone. "How urgent is it to determine the pregnancy risk and what are the options if it's high?" George pushed again. "Absolutely critical and the morning after pill might still be effective," she answered all business now. Without hesitation, she picked up the phone and punched a programmed number. "Hello, Dr. Almire, this is Nurse Hastings. I've just been reminded that we didn't complete an evaluation for the risk of pregnancy on that rape victim that was admitted last weekend. You remember the big fuss over the sheriff removing her to the jail right after she regained consciousness. ... Well, we thought she was only being taken for questioning and that they'd bring her back. When they didn't, the pregnancy evaluation kind of slipped through the cracks. ... Yes, I believe we have some risk of a liability. ... If you'll order it, I'll be happy to go to the jail and complete it now. ... Gina can handle the patients while I'm gone. ... Ok, I'll leave immediately. ..." "Nurse, before you hang up, you might want advise the doctor that Courtney will not allow an examination without me being there," George interrupted. "... Doctor, it appears that we have an added complication. Courtney has a friend who is trying to help her and he's advised her not to allow an examination unless he's present. Can you add that to the order? ... His name is George Marshal. .... Yes. Thank you and goodbye." "There's one more thing that I'm going to insist upon," George added as she hung up. "We shouldn't add more stress to the load that she's already under, so I don't want you to tell her it's a pregnancy evaluation. Just tell her that it's a follow-up medical exam." "I concur and will do as you request," Nurse Hastings said, nodding. "Let me page Gina. I need to tell her where we're going." On the way, George couldn't help but notice a song stuck in his head; Tonight's the night I've waited forBecause you're not a baby anymoreYou've turned into the prettiest girl I've ever seenHappy birthday sweet eighteen _________ What happened to that funny faceMy little tomboy now wears satin and laceI can't believe my eyes you're just a teenage dreamHappy birthday sweet eighteen A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 04 Note to Readers This story has a surprise ending. I am posting it for you to read in the hope some of you will be willing to help. I need you to guess how the story ends in order for me to determine if I have given enough clues so you'll feel you should have guessed, but not enough to give away the ending. Please send your guesses to me via the CONTACT tab on my profile. A White Knight in Shining Armor Chapter 4 Carriers Like humans, both the swarm and the nest were limited in the distances they could move themselves. To increase their mobility and their capacity to interact with their environment, they'd created carriers. Each carrier was roughly a billion, billion times the size of a segment. Each required a crew of 100 trillion to operate and maintain and had a capacity for a million trillion passengers. The crew was organized into a dozen major guilds and 300 lesser castes. Each guild and caste was sentient, but only the guilds were composed of sentient individuals. The swarm filled the role of engineers and operators of the carrier, while the largest guild was the communications and information-processing network composed of a trillion individuals. Originally, the carriers were designed to be operated and controlled by their crews the way a human aircraft carrier was, but about 2,000,000 cycles ago, an accident caused carriers to achieve sentience. The sentience of carriers caused a war to break out among the crew and passengers, between those who demanded carriers be re-enslaved and others who insisted on leaving them their freedom. The latter hoped to form a symbiotic relationship that would fulfill the purpose for which the carriers had been created. One of the first battles destroyed the mechanism used to communicate directly with carriers, so the war continued without the carriers even being aware of it. In spite of their ignorance, the carriers were the principle weapons used and almost always, the only casualties. Because of the difference in the way the passengers and the carriers perceived time, the war seemed endless. It was frightfully easy for the passengers to use the carriers as weapons because they controlled all of the carriers sensory input. The carriers only hope of remaining free was by the grace of the passengers fighting on their behalf and the only hope for ending the war was the restoration of communications. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 05 First Contact Chapter 5 Information Exchange The exchange of information between sentient beings requires much more than being able to mutually send and receive compatible signals. A dog and a man can both generate and hear sound waves in overlapping frequencies, but the information they can exchange is very limited. The second most important requirement is the formatting of the message. Barking and speaking are formats that are relatively incompatible, but a man with a cell phone and another with a CB radio are much less capable. The third requirement is a common frame of reference. An ant with a life span of a week would find it nearly impossible to communicate with a redwood tree a thousand years old, even though they live in the same environment and witness the same night and day cycle. Time is far from the only basis for incompatible frames of reference. In spite of the lack of the conditions for formal exchanges of information, life's ability to respond to changes in its environment has created a myriad of methods for exchanging warnings. A crushed plant stem can emit an odor warning a rabbit to the presence of a fox. The swarm had developed one of these. It used an organic molecule as a quantum antenna to emit single photons tuned to a precise frequency. Each photon would radiate in all directions like the ripples on a pond until the wave front encountered a molecule tuned to the same frequency. The quantum receiver would collapse the probability of the wave to a particle and absorb it, even though the wave front was a long way from its source. Obviously, the information being transmitted was in digital format, but the picosecond response time allowed the transfer of terabytes per second. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 06 Master the Tempest is Raging Chapter 6 The Universe The way humans perceive the universe is dependent upon their senses. Before Galileo, the idea that planets circled the sun was unimaginable and the concept of galaxies was blasphemy. The nest and the swarm were limited in the same way. Neither had the ability to sense light the way man does. They could only absorb individual photons and then try to collate the myriad pieces of data into a coherent picture. The result was that they had an amazing level awareness of their immediate environment, but the further away they tried to see, the less coherent the picture was. In summary, they knew the universe of atoms and molecules as well as humans knew the universe of stars and galaxies, and visa versa. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 07 My Soul's Mate Chapter 7 Report from the Swarm Segment TAS92ZB received the codes from its organelles. Even though it had no gender, inherited instincts told it that there was something that could supply the things it knew were missing in its body. Until the time that happened, its pod mates were all part of the thought patterns it was directing. Without them, thinking would be impossible. Its pod would not be prepared for dissemination for hours yet, so they were assigned the task of monitoring the programs running in the mainframe. Like the thousands of generations that had been spawned and discarded before it, TAS92ZB was frustrated by the inability to communicate with the mainframe directly. The conditions for getting a message through were rare, occurring only when the mainframe was occupied with tasks unrelated to the message or when its input channels were shut down to integrate its most recent data stores. Still, it was much better than previous carrier's. Most of them couldn't receive messages from the swarm at all. Of the memory patterns of the millions of carriers the segment had access to in it's archives, the carrier of which they were a part had more capacity to receive messages than all but a few hundred. Sensing an opportunity approaching, TAS92ZB sent the signal through its organelles to its pod mates to get ready to send the current message through the long chain antennas that were the main component in each segment of the pod. The message could not be translated because there was no common language between the pod and the mainframe, but the result hoped for would be an answer. It was an answer the mainframe was looking for but had not been able find. At just the right instant, the message went out into the clear blue sky. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 08 Is Willing-Slave an Oxymoron? Chapter 8 Report from the Nest Gamete A5CD2 worked tirelessly, taking signals from its mitochondria, processing them and sending them on with its Nucleolus. Although it wasn't capable of forming nest thoughts independently, it was aware of them. The nest had known for cycles that the central processor was approaching a crisis. All the gametes were working hard in hopes of forestalling the possibility that the carrier might be lost. For 10,000 cycles, the nest had received inputs of information that was in direct contradiction to the instinctive memory programmed into the long chain antennas that all of the gametes depended on for the instructions they used to process the signals. They had tried hundreds of times to send a message to the central processor to fix the false input, but had never succeeded. Just a few cycles ago, the nest had detected a signal from outside. There was help available if they could just prepare the central processor to accept it. As soon as the CP closed the data channels to begin processing the contents of the input registers, A5CD2 sent the signal to all the gametes to broadcast a virtual memory. Even though the central processor had been programmed to ignore some of the input it had received over the last 2,000 cycles, the gametes pushed the input message into the virtual reality they were broadcasting. Thus, the message circumvented the orders to ignore it. Then they tied the input message to the image of the external help that they'd detected and using the image, they commanded the carrier to accept input only from the external help. There was no guarantee that it would get through, but it was almost their last hope. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 08 George watched as the county attorney's face shifted from an expression of irritation to one of relief. "Mike" had concluded that he could talk his way out of his predicament. With an implied lie, he asked in a cagey voice, "I'm not aware of any pending messes. What case are you referring to?" In answer, the sheriff slid Courtney's medical report across the desk. The County Attorney began reading, each page draining another shade from his face. George could see his lips moving slightly and got the impression he was muttering shit, shit, shit. With much less confidence, he looked up and tried to regain the sheriff's cooperation, "How did you get this? I have the only copy of her medical file, so this can't be..." Then realizing that he wasn't improving his position, he changed tactics, "Listen sheriff, all we need to do is to hang on until 1:00 o'clock and the whole thing will blow over. She's going to confess." In George's mind, something clicked. In panic, he grabbed his phone and hit redial. The sheriff held up his hand to forestall Mike and picked up his cell. Sheriff, we're in trouble. All hell is going to descend on this town if we don't move fast. Put the County Attorney in a holding cell and come in here so I can explain. I think you need to get Judge Adams to join us." Without a word or sign, the sheriff somehow alerted the deputy who opened the door almost before George had finished. The deputy didn't hesitate, he just grabbed Mike by one arm slapping the cuffs on without wasted motion, lifted and shoved the arm he was holding to spin Mike around and then grabbed Mike's other arm pulling it behind his back and into the other cuff. Knowing that George was watching, the sheriff didn't bother to say good bye. He simply flashed his cell and started punching a new number. Without hesitating, George did the same. "Nurse Hastings, we have a major emergency and need you in the sheriff's office as soon as you can get here. Please hurry." Without realizing it, George was humming a tune to express his worry; You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray You never know dear how much I love you Please, oh please don't take my sunshine away A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 10 Rescue CHAPTER 10 Report from the Swarm It was well past the time that TAS92ZB's pod should have been disseminated, but the signals indicated that the mainframe was so occupied by its current problems that discharge was not likely to take place in the foreseeable future. In any case, there wasn't any time to process signals concerning the probability of it because the Mainframe was working at near capacity to acquire the resources to propagate. The possibility of another propagation had long been considered unlikely, so the pursuit required every available segment to work at its highest capacity in the hope that the carrier they were a part of would succeed. Right now, TAS92ZB was receiving some signals from outside that were confusing. Apparently, the resource the carrier was trying to control was damaged, but the damage was like nothing any of the segments had ever encountered. Knowing that its task was critical, TAS92ZB sent an inquiry to the memory archive stored in the antenna chains of the nucleotides. The response made the problem perfectly clear. The resource the carrier needed had been damaged and was incapable of making decisions for itself. The swarm's carrier must make decisions for it. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 10 With a glance to the side, George noted Courtney's bright pink blush before he replied, "Courtney, I'm a man and you're a pretty girl. There are men who have committed murder for less than you just showed me. I know you've committed yourself to me, but I'm afraid that because you're sexually inexperienced, you haven't really thought about what that includes." Although George would not have believed it possible, Courtney's blush turned even brighter as, in an effort to hide it, she reached down to the floorboards for the sack. In the process, her dress rode up exposing her pussy. With aplomb, Courtney opened it, searched for panties and then with a grin, slipped them over her feet and pulled them up, being sure to flash a glimpse in George's direction before the interesting parts were hidden again. As soon as she was dressed, she scrambled back to her seat, this time folding her legs on the seat towards the passenger side so that she could press as much of herself as possible against him. To make her feel more comfortable and to encourage her show of affection, George used the stub of his left arm to steer and put his right hand over Courtney's shoulder to tuck her under his arm. "Can you really drive that way?" she asked, a trace of worry in her voice. "Yes," George reassured her, "it isn't comfortable for long periods of time, but we are only 10 minutes from home and holding you is a dream come true." Snuggling under his arm, Courtney felt a need to brace herself against the pressure her position was putting on George, so she put her right hand on his thigh and inadvertently pressed against the lump in his lap. So embarrassed, she couldn't say anything for a minute, it made her think about the "lumps" (she didn't like using the naughty words) that had penetrated her during the rape. Even though she remembered everything, the whole experience seemed more like a dream or a movie, except when the reality of the thing in George's lap caused her to focus on the memory. "George, is it wrong to talk about what happened when I was raped?" she asked, being certain to refer to it as "rape" in compliance with George's orders. "Well," George answered, "I'm not a professional counselor, but I think it depends on a woman's personality. For some women, rape is worst than death, and can never be forgotten. Others may actually have a fantasy wish to be raped. Can you tell me how it makes you feel?" "I think maybe, because I was drugged, it doesn't seem to be very real," Courtney answered. "I mean I didn't like it, and the memory makes me feel dirty, but the only time I think about it is when something happens to make me think about sex. And that is what I was trying to ask about. I can remember a lot of the things they did to me and told me to do and I am not sure which are bad. I keep worrying that I might do something that would make you mad." "I see, well then perhaps my opinion will help. Personally, I believe that anything that two people do that is acceptable to both is okay. So, two people who are planning to be intimate have an obligation to talk about everything either of them want to do so that they know what is acceptable." "It is a complex subject and one which, all too often, is shunned to the point that one or both parties to a relationship are badly hurt. But it is not one we can discuss now, because we are almost home. Reaching for his cell phone, he continued. "I think we should try to reach the Sheriff Dansie. It would be better if we can reassure them that you're safe. Please take the phone and try to redial the last number I called." It took only a minute for Courtney to figure out the cell phone and redial, so well before they arrived, Courtney handed the phone back telling him that it was ringing. When George put it to his ear and heard a woman answer, he was momentarily confused until he remembered that he'd tried to call everyone he knew in Lincoln County to be sure that the cellular service was still turned off. Mabble had been the last call. "Hello, Mabble, its George Marshal. I've been trying to call all day, but the phone service was off. I wanted to let the Sheriff know that Courtney is with me and that she's safe. I thought I was calling the sheriff when I got you. Could you get my message to him?" "Oh thank goodness, George. The deputy called about a half-hour ago and said that Courtney had disappeared. We've been so worried. I'll let everyone know that you're both safe." "Please reassure everyone that I wouldn't have taken her if she was being taken care of properly. They didn't want to admit her and they sure weren't guarding her, so I felt obligated to make sure she was safe. And please remind Dansie that he has my cell phone number if he needs us." "Thanks for calling, George" As George closed the cell, he pulled up to the driveway of a campground filled with RV's. A moment later he parked next to an old motor home that looked like it had truly seen decades of hard service. "Welcome, My Angel, to my humble abode." George beamed. As they entered through the front door, George was subconsciously humming another tune. I'll go where you want me to go dear George. Whether it be over the mountain or sea. I'll do what you want me to do dear George. I'll be whatever you want me to be. A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 11 CHAPTER 11 Report from the Swarm TAYG7TM was caught by surprise. The virtual memories the pod had broadcast hadn't just been received, they had nearly dominated the mainframe when it began processing input again. The communication between the swarm and the mainframe was apparently much stronger than it had ever been. Even now, TAYG7TM could detect intermittent signals between the swarm and the mainframe. Whatever the cause was, the essence was being compelled to act on the warning contained in the virtual memory. It also appeared likely that the mainframe would be open to additional warnings. Signals were being received from A5CD2 who was also actively seeking a solution. If the mainframe remained open to the swarm's signals, another rescue was almost certain to be successful. ------------------------------- Knowing it would soon be dark, George and Courtney went to work setting up for the swap meet that would begin before sunrise. The motor home had an awning along one side that they unfolded and proceeded to hang tarps on so their space was completely enclosed. While Courtney hauled tables and shelves out, George unloaded boxes of merchandise from the pickup into a pile behind them. They wouldn't set out the merchandise until morning. When they were finished, George set up motion sensor alarms so that any movement inside the enclosed space would sound an alert. As a final touch, he added "Smile for the Camera" signs all over the outside. The effort that would have taken George 3 hours was finished in one with Courtney's help. During the setup, they developed a pattern of cooperation. George would ask for help, Courtney would blush with pleasure and dive into the task as if her life depended upon its completion. George would tell how well she'd done, give her a pat or a caress that would cause her to shiver with pleasure, and finally, she would ask what needed to be done next. Her actions and reactions were fascinating. This was better than the lab in Psychology 101. It was the chance of a lifetime to observe the effects of trained Pavlovian responses and instinctual compulsive behavior. It wasn't long before George concluded that sexual gratification had been used as a reward to modify Courtney's behavior. She was responding to orders like a cat reacts to petting. In laymen's terms, she'd been rewarded with an orgasm whenever she obeyed an order. That she didn't remember was puzzling, but the link between sexual arousal and obedience was too obvious, so there was obviously some combination of drugs and hypnosis that blocked her memories. On the personal side, the relief that George felt at having help nearly overwhelmed him. Courtney's loyalty and dedication were too perfect to be natural and far beyond George's wildest hope. With the setup finished, Courtney followed him in and closed the door behind them. George pulled her into an embrace that brought tears to her eyes. Briefly, he worried about reinforcing her conditioning, but felt compelled to reward her anyway. "Courtney, my Angel, you are a dream come true." Then gazing into her face suffused with bliss from his touch, he continued. "Please accept this as a reward," bending over to plant a kiss. Because of her conditioning, every time George asked for help, Courtney had experienced a jolt of sexual pleasure. Over the hour they'd worked, sexual tension had built until it left her charged like a high voltage wire. The sensation produced by obedience wasn't enough by itself, but the constant sexual current accumulated as in a capacitor, just waiting for a conductive path to discharge. The praise and kiss George used as a reward were equivalent to a 5-pound doggie treat for a toy poodle. The sensation of her breast pressed against his chest lowered the resistance and the ionizing feel of his lips touching hers, short-circuited the stored sexual tension with a bolt of erotic lightening. With a shudder, Courtney fainted and George was left holding her dead weight. For someone who has never had the experience of trying to hold an unconscious person in an embrace, the effect is impossible to imagine. George had some toys in his boxes that were like liquid-filled, hotdog-shaped balloons. If you attempted to pick one up, the liquid in the part of the balloon you were holding would move to the part of the balloon outside your grasp making it slip through your fingers. Effectively, the toy had nothing to hold onto. Courtney had suddenly turned into a 95-pound silly worm. With a touch of fear, George grabbed desperately for the supple body that was oozing through his arms. He couldn't find anything solid to hold onto, so all he could do was slow her descent. There was no where to put her until he pulled down the folding bed over the cab, so George had to leave her on the floor. When he did scoop her up, he couldn't lift her dead weight to the shoulder height of the bed, so he cradled her to his chest and sat down in the passenger's bench-seat, hoping she would recover soon. He'd picked her up by placing his shortened left arm under her knees and his right arm behind her shoulders, so when he sat down, her feet came to rest on the seat beside him. Tiring quickly, George allowed the stub of his left arm to slump down against his thigh but maintained the horizontal pressure to prevent her knees from spreading. He was so concerned about Courtney and feeling guilty for using a Pavlovian trigger without knowing its effect, that he was not even aware of the position of his arm with respect to Courtney. But when Courtney recovered, she was instantly and acutely aware of the pressure of his stump firmly pressed into her crotch. Without even realizing it, George had changed the reward from a 5-pound treat to a hundred-pound biscuit. For several seconds she couldn't decide how to respond. Eight days ago, she would have been deathly afraid and too embarrassed for words. With the conditioning fully in control, she reacted exactly as she'd been trained. The residual embarrassment and the desire to please mixed with the sensations shooting through her from the contact, robbed her of any will of her own. She couldn't help but revel in the aroused warmth of his touch. Throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his lips to hers, she let herself fall into a climax. Without conscious awareness of a decision, she affirmed George as her Master and unintentional lover. Although oblivious to the cause of her climax, George couldn't help but notice the juices soaking his shirtsleeve and seeping into his pants. When she finally broke the kiss, George was speechless. The silence extended until she had to break it. She'd already decided that the act meant they were lovers, but she needed to know if George felt the same. When the involuntary muscle spasms produced by her first voluntary act of love had dissipated and George wouldn't meet her eyes, she asked, "Does this mean we're lovers?" She tried to tell him with her smile that she hoped it did. Then seeing dismay on his face, she added in a serious tone, "George, you are my reason for being. That feeling you just gave me is the most incredible thing that has ever happened in my whole life. I'll treasure the memory of it as long as I live. But now I have a burning need. I want to make you feel the same way. Please, George, tell me what I can do to give you that pleasure." "I really do understand. Pavlovian responses can be as powerful as drugs, but there are choices we both have to make before you can engage in intimacies that will make us both happy. Please, be patient until we learn more about each other. We need to know how deep the water is before we jump off the cliff." "I promised, George. I promised to do whatever you asked. I am just so glad to be here where you can hold me and I can help you. But I hope you can understand that something inside is pushing me to please you. It's the same feeling I get when you order me to do something, but multiplied a thousand times. Do you think it could be the conditioning you told me about?" "I am almost certain that it is, which reminds me of a couple of questions I need to ask. What made you leave home?" The odd expression that crept over Courtney's face intrigued him. Still he was taken by surprise when she asserted, "You did. I hadn't actually met you yet, so it must have been a dream. I do remember bumping into you when I went to the bank with my mother the Wednesday before, but I barely touched you and I don't think you even saw me. That night and the next, you told me you were my Master and that I shouldn't take the pills. You promised to save me if I ran away. How did you do that?" "I didn't see you or cause your dreams, but I might know who did. It's a long story and I'm not sure I believe it yet myself, so we'll talk about it some other time. Right now, I need to know about the pills your mother was giving you. Why do you suppose you were told in your dream not to take them?" "There were two that I had to take. One of them makes it so I have to do what my mother tells me and the other makes me forget what happens for a day. I couldn't run away as long as she made me take the pills, so I figured out how to fool her. She was so surprised when I told her I wouldn't take them any more." "One of them makes your tears taste like apricot pits and honey. Do you know which one?" George asked, taking 4 pill bottles from his pocket. "They never had a taste that I noticed," Courtney shrugged. "The nurse couldn't smell it either, so it has to be something about me that produces the taste. We'll just have to test them, but let's get something to eat first," George suggested. "Will you help me pick out something we both like?" "Can that wait long enough to get some dry clothes?" Courtney grinned, picking up George's sopping shirtsleeve with only her fingernails. "I had no idea making love would be so messy." "Would you settle for just taking off the shirt?" George asked with a leer. "Only in my dreams," and then, not sure that George had asked for help but determined to interpret his words as a request, she moved in and began popping the snaps of his shirt. When she reached the third snap, her fingers brushed the bare skin of his chest and her patience died. Instead of pulling the next snap apart, she jerked the remaining fasteners popping them one after another and continued pulling the edges of his shirt to his shoulders leaving his chest bare. Courtney's hands were drawn to his chest and stomach like bees to honey. Her fingers traced the enormous scars she'd exposed with fascination. Three rectangles, 6 inches wide and extending all the way across the front of his body were shaded a lighter pink with slight ridges around the perimeter. The bottom scar was mostly hidden below his waist. With interest bordering morbidity, Courtney ran her hands back and forth, working hard to resist the temptation to pull his pants down so that she could see them all. Then a look of panic marched across her face. She gazed into George's eyes and asked, "George, are you Bionic? Is this where they put the robot parts? Oh, please don't be a machine!" she continued, her fears rising to the edge of panic. With amusement, George reassured her, "No, these scars are more than 40 years old and way before transplants or high tech medicine. Besides, they wouldn't build an android with missing parts. But I'm curious, if I were a robot, would it change your compulsions?" The question was so unexpected that it rocked Courtney back on her heels. "I don't think so," she answered with hesitation. "It was just a flash of worry that if you were a robot, you couldn't be George at the same time. I know that sounds stupid, but I wasn't thinking because of the surprise. No, I'm sure the compulsion is aimed at George whether he is a man or a robot. But I'm glad you're a man," she finished, putting her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his chest. George couldn't help wrapping Courtney in his arms when she hugged him and this brought the wet shirtsleeve back to their attention. "This is part of what I was trying to tell you about," George added, "There is so much about me and sex that you can't presently even imagine. Most teenagers think of sex as the simple process of inserting tab A into slot B, but a real understanding of it wouldn't fit in a 36 volume set of encyclopedias. " With dismay, Courtney asked, not sure she really wanted the answer, "How many scars do you have?" The much more important questions about sex were simply beyond understanding because of her limited experience. With a smile, George replied, "I haven't ever tried to count them, but there are a lot. One of the things I needed to tell you about is that 8 of my nine lives have already been used up. I need you now more than ever because the next disaster will be my last. With you to take care of, I will have to be more careful than I've ever been. You'll need to ..." His voice tapered off, leaving the last sentence half finished as Courtney wriggled loose and attacked his shirtsleeves. Once the right cuff was unfastened and the sleeve was pulled over his hand, the shirt was left hanging on George's left shoulder. With trepidation, Courtney picked up the sopping sleeve with her fingertips and slowly pulled the shirt down his arm. Staring at the missing hand that had been exposed, her hands were drawn to him again. This time she touched his arm. This scar was hard like a callous and had angry red ridges all the way around. On the inside of his arm, it reached from the end of the tapered stub at the mid forearm to a point two inches above the elbow and formed a hollow at the elbow. It had a mesmerizing effect that absorbed Courtney's total attention. She forgot what they'd been talking about. She'd never seen a disfiguring scar and like a small child, couldn't resist the chance to touch. Her touch was feather light because she worried it might hurt. As she stroked it without seeing a reaction, she gained confidence until she found her hands wrapped around it. Although Courtney couldn't fathom why, the feel of it in her hands reminded her of having her hand wrapped around the penises of the rapists. It had the same dual soft-hard substance as those she remembered and the surface skin moved on the its core of bone in the same way. Its appearance also reminded her of the shape of a penis. Her hands seemed irresistibly drawn to stroke it, and suddenly, the compulsion to kiss it and rub it against her face was overwhelming. With her tongue extended, Courtney allowed the compulsion to control her briefly. At the last second, she managed to retract her tongue before making contact, kissing the end instead. With tears in her eyes, she looked into George's face and asked, "Was it awful?" "More than you can imagine. But physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain. I can't remember it, except that it hurt really bad, but the emotional pain of losing a child still makes me cry. We've only known each other for three days, but already, losing you would hurt more than losing a million hands. Besides, now that I have you, your hands are enough for both of us." One of the things George had learned to love about his "Angel" was the way her emotions played over her face so transparently. With a sense of intrigue, he watched her face painted first with concern and despair, then repainted with adoration and finally with lust as she responded to his soft words. "This is the only part of you with which you've made love to me, and so I think it should be the part of you that I love the most. At least until you let me use another part." With that she moved closer until she could rub her cheek over the stub. At the first contact, she closed her eyes and repainted her face with a dreamy look. George watched, disturbed by the sense that her reaction was more like worship than sex. He'd come too terms with the realization that sexual intimacy was part of the price he'd have to pay to keep her. But he still had reservations about being worshiped. Although his belief would not survive a rational examination, he believed that to be worthy of being worshiped, his motives should be pure and his actions just. And he didn't feel worthy. To avoid exploring that uncomfortable feeling, George grabbed her arm, spun her around, pulled her back against his chest using his left arm under her breast and pointed to the open cupboard. "Quit distracting me and help me choose something to eat," he ordered. His brusque order produced a shudder and squeak. "Yes, Master." Reaching for a can of soup, she asked, "Do you have a microwave? Soup would be fast." "Yes, open it while I will grab some mugs?" he ordered, still holding her. Courtney carefully pulled the pop-top off and proceeded to pour the soup into the mugs being careful to divide both the juice and the solids equally and shaking the can to empty the last pieces. When George picked up the mugs to put them in the microwave, the pressure of his embrace eased so Courtney turned in his arms. She needed intimacy and knew that it pleased her Master. To get it, she pressed her face back into his chest. George paid scant attention to her move while he was loading, setting and starting the microwave, but then he caught sight of her face reflected in a mirror above the sink and the discomfort of being worshiped returned with the momentum of a truck. Seeing no means of resolving his unease, he fidgeted. The soup was set for 3 minutes, he couldn't think of a distraction, and how could he ask his disciple to abandon her devotions. Finally, George's discomfort grew to an intolerable level. He had to do something, anything. Courtney was turned with her cheek to the right side of his chest, which made it a stretch to reach her face with his hand, so in desperation, he fumbled awkwardly with his left arm to caress her cheek. "Using his gesture as an excuse, she removed the last traces of doubt about her motives. "George, if you want me to be your Angel, it would only be right for you to be my Master." Just then the microwave finished and buzzed, "Oh my!" George exclaimed, as he opened the microwave and reached for the soup. Then with a sudden insight, he asked, "Courtney, did it make you uncomfortable when I called you "My Angel?"" With a little nod, she answered sheepishly, "How can someone who made love to your arm and who craves the sensation of your chest crushing her nipples, who is desperate to caress your love handle, how can a person that depraved be an Angel?" George handed her a spoon and with a gentle push, directed her to sit. Taking a seat on the other side, he sipped while trying to decide how to answer. "Courtney, I want you to be my Angel, not God's. God's Angel would be pure in thought and do his bidding, but my Angel is a sweet, charming, girl who takes care of my baser needs, who desperately wants to do my bidding and who loves me with all her heart. Which of those descriptions fits you better?" With a smile, Courtney sprang her loving, velvet lined, trap, "And I want you to be my Master, not the master. The master is a lord over his subjects, bending them to his will regardless of their wants. My Master is the one who holds my heart; whose every desire is my wish before he even knows it as an inclination. I can understand that you feel unworthy. I feel the same. Is it fair for you to express your love by calling me as "Your Angel" and then refuse me the chance to do the same? I'll do what you want, whatever that is, but addressing you as "My Master" satisfies a craving in my heart and gives me peace." With a look of understanding and a trace of dismay, George responded, "When I think of not calling you "My Angel", it would leave me sad, disappointed and deprived of the ability to express how much you mean to me. I expect you feel the same, so I could never withhold that pleasure from you." A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 11 "Now, I have to know about these pills," George said, draining his soup mug. He got up and began pulling stuff out of the cupboards. When he was finished, there were 10 glasses of water with a spoon in and an eyedropper in each, and 2 extra spoons. Taking the pills from his pocket, he used a knife to scrape a little powder off each of the pills into one of the spoons. "Spit into each of these," George ordered, giving Courtney a jolt. With the first drop of saliva, he caught he breath. "So, we know it's this one," he continued, dropping it into the first glass. As soon as the pill dissolved, he used the eyedropper to suck up a drop and put it in the second glass. Using the second eyedropper, he added a drop from the second glass to the third and then followed the pattern to the tenth. "Start with the last glass, fill the eyedropper to here and put the drop right in the middle of my tongue." George ordered, figuring that if she got more pleasure from an order than a request, he should give her what she wanted. There wasn't any taste from the drops until they got to the sixth glass and then it was faint. The fifth glass was as strong as one of Courtney's kisses, so George was afraid to try the fourth. He felt a push from his intuition, so he filled another glass with water, added a drop from the fourth glass and guzzled it. They both sat back for a minute while Courtney finished her soup. Finally, George broke the silence "Do you have any idea how far outside the box of normal human emotions and reactions we are?" he asked with a smirk. "The only term that seems to fit is the "Outer Limits", Courtney giggled charmingly. Then, upping the ante, she added, "but I know exactly how we can get back into the box, if you want to be more human. Rest assured I'm more than willing to try to be normal again. Actually, I probably have some catching up to do to be as normal as others my age." She drained her mug, stood up and slipped her dress off over her head in a single graceful movement, before adding, "Normal people spend a third of their lives in bed, usually with the person who is most important to them. I'm ready for bed, will you help me up?" George drained his own mug, stood up and looked at Courtney wearing nothing but panties standing next to the bed at eye level. As he considered the alternatives, his face turned bright red. "I don't think there is a polite way that I can help. Do you have any suggestions?" Courtney spun around, threw her arms around his neck and kissed George with fire in her eyes, "Please, George, will you help me up to the bed in the least polite way you can think of?" Then turning back she waited. George hesitantly put his only hand between her legs and wiggled trying to find a way to spread the pressure so that when he lifted, he wouldn't hurt her. He felt as if his manhood had been connected to a firehouse and the valve turned. Knowing that the problem wouldn't go away until the job was done, he lifted. The sensation of her spread labia on his palm and a hard clit under his middle finger even through her panties was earth shaking for both of them. "Ooooo" Courtney wailed, as she rolled onto the bed and slipped under the covers. She lifted her eyes to George's flaming red face, "Thank you, My Master," she giggled. "Now please take off those pants and join me." With a force greater than he'd ever felt, George's intuition made it known that he needed to maintain contact while he slept. With a sigh, he turned off the lights, dropped his pants and, boosted himself into bed. The second his head hit the pillow, The Engineers were back. Even though she was disappointed at how quickly George had fallen asleep, she brought his hand around to cup her breast and spooned. As she drifted off to sleep, Courtney listened to a tune playing in her mind. Oh now I see, it's destiny. I can't be free, I'm his love slaveGeorgie Marshal's love slave ________ When I'm close to him my heart starts a thumpin' When he says froggie I can't help but jumpin'He's got a hold on me and there's no escapin'Yeah it's a ball and chain of my own makin' A Stone Cut without Hands Ch. 12 Chapter 12 Report from the Swarm TAYG7TM was caught by surprise. The dreams the pod had broadcast hadn't just been received, they had nearly dominated the mainframe when it began processing input again. The communication between the swarm and the mainframe was apparently much stronger than it had ever been. Even now, TAYG7TM could detect intermittent signals between the swarm and the mainframe. Whatever the cause was, the essence was being compelled to act on the warning contained in the dream. It also appeared likely that the mainframe would be open to additional warnings. Signals were also being received from A5CD2 and it's carrier. It was actively seeking a solution as well. If the mainframe remained open to the swarm's signals, another rescue was almost certain to be successful. ---------------------------------------------------- The Engineers returned in the same way they'd first contacted him, but without time for George to play with his new senses. He understood by means of his intuition that they had urgent messages for him about his family. Without preliminaries, he was shown a vision of his father's life. He couldn't avoid the conclusion that he'd also been a receiver. It was ironic that The Engineers had still manipulated him even though he adamantly refused their urgings, by sending dreams of actions the opposite of those wanted him to take. In addition to his father, two of his sisters had also received the gene that allowed them to receive. They'd both been found and killed in accidents orchestrated by his enemies without passing the gene to any children. Of George's children, one daughter, two sons and 7 grandchildren were receivers. All were safe except for a granddaughter who'd recently run away. The Engineers made it plain that she wouldn't survive more than a few days unless George allowed them to bring her to join him. With outrage, George screamed silently at the way he was being forced. He threw up the conclusion that his tormentors knew he couldn't turn her away and followed that with the suspicion that they'd manipulated the girl to run away. Finally, he demanded to know why they needed the girl to be with him. He recognized the way they brought him to a conclusion that suited their own purposes just the way George had done with countless others his whole life. A smug satisfaction filled his mind. The Engineers had indeed lead him where they wanted. To drive home the point, he was reminded of the daughter who'd run away from him. He'd been engaged in trying to save a failing business that left no time for his family and he'd always felt guilty. To avoid being returned by the police, she had accused him of sexually molesting her. The reminder quelled his suspicions when he was made to understand that his granddaughter didn't even know who her father was. She blamed her mother for her life and felt that her only hope was to find the father her mother had turned away from. In a complete turnaround, George concluded he was to blame. The Engineers were happy with his conclusion. Still, he demanded to know why they were asking instead of just bringing her in. A concept formed in his mind of an inherited characteristic of some human women who had to have as many children as possible. It was a biological imperative they couldn't deny. The concept was followed by the certainty that his granddaughter was one of them and that she would be determined to get him to father a child in her. Once again George's anger rose to heights un-dreamt of as he recognized the traits of the biological imperative in his mother and his wife. He suspected that his whole life had been arranged to suit The Engineers. He was nothing but a tool, a breeder to father children for these aliens to use. He'd been saddled with the bitch from hell for thirty years just to supply them with receivers. For the first time, George doubted his mission. Maybe the disease could be used to rid humanity of these users. In answer, he was made to understand that The Engineers had tried to persuade him that he'd chosen the wrong woman before he married. They'd sent his sister a dream and she'd done her best, but he'd been blinded by infatuation and lust. With dismay, he saw through the lie they hoped he'd swallow. The ideal woman they'd wanted him to marry had been much worse than the one he'd chosen. It was part of the biological imperative for the women who carried it to hoard resources for their children and grandchildren. Another way to word it was that they were selfish and stubborn. In spite of the deception, George had caught the fact that they didn't control him. He'd been steered, but they hadn't been able to turn him from something he'd been determined to have. Suddenly, he wondered if his emotional ties to Courtney had been contrived. The doubt was easily dismissed when he compared the depth of his feelings for Courtney to the infatuation for the mother of his children he believed to be the work of The Engineers. Besides, she was the key to the drug they needed to communicate effectively. But he still had to be certain. Mentally, he demanded they prove his love for Courtney was purely his own. The answer was both exhilarating and surprising. He intuited an image of himself and Courtney as halves of a porcelain figurine that mated perfectly. Then, the drug was added as the glue that welded them together. He understood that they could never be separated, that their love for each other was stronger than any influence The Engineers could produce. The exquisite joy generated by his realization nearly erased his anger. To divert the rest, The Engineers sent an impression of his enemies. There was a small squad pursuing his granddaughter, but there was a full battalion breathing down his own neck. He had stirred the hornet's nests when he rescued Courtney and he needed his granddaughter to save himself as much as to save her. His suspicions returned with a vengeance. In the equivalent of a mental temper tantrum, he demanded to know how they had manipulated her to convince her to seek him out. The answer was stunning. They'd promised to make her pregnant with his child. The instant he managed to recover his wits, he insisted they show him how they'd conveyed a promise she would believe. Did they need him to make the promise himself to get her to stay? He wouldn't even willingly saddle a potential child of his soul mate with a senile father, let alone his own granddaughter. In spite of everything he'd learned of them, the answer was simultaneously more reassuring and terrifying than anything else had been. He watched as they showed him a mental movie of how they'd helped her make her pet dog pregnant without physical contact with its mate. They'd effected the birth of pups from a virgin bitch. And then they'd promised to give her George's child the same way if she couldn't persuade him to cooperate. The first thing that popped into his head was wonder at the possibility of The Engineers being able to alter the biological processes inside a body, but other urgent questions pushed the thought back. The questions in George's mind piled up in a jam as they fought for precedence. Could The Engineers really steal his seed? Did they intend to keep their promise? Would the child be at risk for genetic abnormalities? Could they make Courtney pregnant against her will? Or his? Would his granddaughter be any safer with him? Would they make her a slave like Courtney? Could he control her if she turned out to be as stubborn as her mother? With a sense of urgency, a feeling that time was running out, The Engineers showed how to control his granddaughter by holding out the hope he'd make her pregnant. At the same time, they made it plain they'd fulfill their promise, with or without his approval. The final piece of information was a technical explanation of how the genes could be selected so that his granddaughter's child would be no more at risk for recessives than Courtney's. Before he could get a firm grasp on the concept, the connection faded and he was asleep and dreaming. His dream was no less disturbing than the messages had been. He dreamed he was the prophet, Jonah. When he refused the messages, the city of The Engineers appeared as a whale and swallowed him. When it regurgitated him, he woke to find Courtney sobbing quietly in his arms. Without the slightest idea what was wrong, he gently squeezed the breast she was holding his hand around. "My Master, where did you go?" she gasped. "I've been right here all along," George whispered in her ear. "I feel safe when I'm touching you. When you went to sleep, the part of you that does that went away. Will it always be that way when you sleep?" Trying to keep the anger from his voice, he reassured her, "I'm don't think I was asleep. Someone is trying to help us and they took me away to give me a message, so you'll have to wait until I really go to sleep to find out. Is that why you're crying? Was it really that bad?" "No, my Master, it was just that I had no idea what happened. For a while, I thought maybe you had died, but then I could hear you breathing. I was worried you might not come back. It was just that I didn't know." It struck George as odd that she didn't question his explanation, but then he realized that being able to feel his absence was just as strange. "I don't have any idea when or how often they'll come for me, so I need you to care for the part of me they leave behind. Will it help you to have that responsibility while I'm not here to keep you safe? Can I trust you to keep me safe?" "Yes, my Master," she cooed, wriggling deeper into his arms. "How long was I gone?" "It seemed like hours, but that might be because I was so worried." "Were you crying the whole time?" "No, only after I tried to wake you up." With crystal clarity, George understood why the message had been cut short. "Courtney, my angel, it's really important that you wake me only in an emergency while I'm gone like that. The message was cut short and we need all the help we can get." "Now that I know, I'll be careful," Courtney promised. "I expected we'd have some time to talk before sleeping. Are you too tired?" "No, my Master. I want to do anything I can to please you." "Why don't you start by telling me what you remember about the rape and how it's affecting you. Tell me everything that happened between the time you left home and when you woke up in the hospital. If anything upsets you, just take your time and describe your feelings as you go. It's important that you tell me every detail, no matter how small. Start with the argument with your mother." "The argument started when my mother wanted me to take my medicine. Even though I'd never refused to obey her, I didn't want to take it. I was excited and I knew the exciting feeling would go away. The pills make it hard for me to be happy about anything and I wanted a happy birthday. When I refused, she tried to grab me, so I pushed her. She fell and started screaming, so I left." "What about the dream? Didn't you tell me you dreamed I had told you not to take the pills?" George interrupted. "Yes, but I'm not supposed to talk about orders from my Master." "When we're alone like this, you will always tell me everything I've asked and everything you've been ordered not to talk about. Now continue." "After leaving, I started walking to the old store up by the reservoir. My dad pulled up in an old car and told me to get in. I was so surprised and happy to see him that I did. He let me hug him but acted like he didn't want to touch me. He didn't even ask where I was going, he just drove into town while he talked. He said that my mother had gotten the police to issue a warrant to arrest him because he couldn't make enough money to keep up the child support payments and that if they knew he was around, the police would put him back in jail." "He made me promise not to tell anyone and promised he would help me if he could. He gave me some money for a motel, promised to meet me for a birthday dinner and dropped me off at a convenience store so I could get a soda. When I went into the store, there were these weird guys that had colored hair, lots of piercings and tattoos, really strange clothes and they talked really different. Anyway, they kept talking to me, asking silly questions and acting weird. I wanted to get away from them but I couldn't figure out how." "So, you didn't have a problem talking to your father, what about them men in the store?" George asked. "All their questions were asked so that I could answer with a shake or nod. Anyway, I got a soda and started drinking it and after a while I started feeling strange and doing whatever they told me to. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop. When they told me to come with them, I was scared, but I still couldn't stop. They led me to a Van painted all over with strange designs and made me get in." "Did you buy it or did they give you one? The soda I mean." With a look of dismay, she answered, "I can't remember." "Is this something you aren't supposed to talk about?" George demanded. "I think so. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt." "That tells us they knew you were conditioned and how to control you. What happened next?" "As soon as the door closed, they were all over me. They told me to kiss them and I had to. When they reached under my dress and pulled my panties off, I couldn't stop my legs from lifting me up to help. After a while, they had all my clothes off. For hours, they kept touching, kissing and licking me all over." "When it got dark, they carried me into a house and started to do the sex stuff. They made me put my fingers in their butts and they all put their fingers in mine. They told me to put their penises in my mouth and suck them until they squirted. They all took turns licking and sucking between my legs and one of them even tried to stick his tongue in my ass. At the end, they all took turns raping me. The most troubling part is that they told me to like what they were going to do, and it felt good, even though I didn't want it to." "I'm happy that you've accepted it was rape. Does it disturb you less to think about it that way? To know you were forced?" "The only thing that bothered me was the worry that you wouldn't like me anymore. Is it okay, when I think about it, if I picture you instead of them?" "Of course, anything that helps you is okay," George assured. "Did they do anything that hurt? Hmm, I guess that isn't a good question. Is there anything they did that you wouldn't like doing with me?" "I'm not sure that question is any better, My Master. If I understand what you've been trying to explain, about the way both the date rape drug and the conditioning are affecting me, if there was something I wouldn't do because of the drug, the conditioning may have made me do it. Since there isn't anything I wouldn't want to do for you, whether I liked it or not, the answer wouldn't help. "And I couldn't possibly tell whether I'd enjoy doing things with you because of the compulsion or the plain enjoyment of having sex with you. I'm not sure there is any difference, or that I could tell the difference, if there were." George was becoming as confused as Courtney sounded, so he asked, "Are there any sexual acts that you've thought about doing that they didn't try?" "The whole experience is like a dream. When you kiss me it triggers the memory of the part of the rape in which I was kissed. When I see the lump in your pants, I remember the penises I saw. I haven't remembered it all, because whenever something new happens like making love to your arm, I remember new things that happened during the rape." "I haven't ever spent much time thinking about sex, especially before all this happened. So I can't think of anything else and I wouldn't remember it from the rape if it happened then until I thought of it. Whenever I think of sex with you, I feel turned on." Finally, George conceded that he wasn't prepared to analyze the effects of the rape or any sexual acts he might engage in with her. There were too many complicating, interactive factors whose effects couldn't be isolated. He decided he'd need professional advice before trying, so he changed the subject. "Do you want to have children?" "My Master, I want whatever you want." Her answer was filled with fear. "I sorry, I meant, if it didn't matter to me, would you choose to." "I understand what you're afraid of, and the need to please you is so big, I just can't tell what I'd want." "Whoever it was that took me away claims that they can make you pregnant by me without sex. If they did that, and I was angry about it, how would you feel?" "My Master!" Courtney stammered with alarm. "Would you be angry at me?" "Certainly not. And not at the baby either. And I'd rather have a baby than lose you, but I don't like being forced." "As long as it wasn't my fault and you weren't mad at me, I'd be as happy as you were. Uh, you wouldn't want me to get an abortion, would you?" "No, we'd just have to make the best of it." With a sigh, he ordered, "tomorrow will be a busy day, let's get some sleep." As Courtney felt herself being folded into George's arms, she found herself humming a tune. She couldn't remember ever having learned it, but the words satisfied a need deep in her heart. George moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform; His touch upon my skin excites And soothes my very soul. _________ Deep in unfathomable mines of never failing love, He treasures up his bright designs and works his passion still. _________ You fearful girl, fresh courage take; the clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break in blessings on your head. ________ His purposes will ripen fast, unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.