The Purpose of the Wym
The smell of naked, sweating, musky feminine flesh pervaded the yellow glow of LED-dark. Hands held and unheld. Breasts touched and untouched. The Wym fidgeted upon their bedding of taffeta-steel and crinaluminum.
The weathered hands of the Elder Wym, the First Listener, trailed fingers reaching up from the fleshes in communion as she walked slowly into the center of the group. She reached up to the ceiling to touch an LED-sphere and brighten the illumination of the naked bodies packed into the space around her. Her own body was aging, but she was still shapely with firm breasts and wide hips, and her gray hair still fell, long and strong, down to the curve of her back.
“The Wym have spoken and I have listened.”
Hands and limbs intertwined into knots of pleasured rubbings as the Wym mouths parted breathlessly in anticipation.
“The time has finally come for us to leave Earth.”
Backs curved and heaved breasts far up into the stale air in a sort of tidal wave of flesh as the mouths darted down to touch and kiss the Interior Folds. The Elder Wym smiled. She, too, could feel the Gasm-Wave pressing at her nervous system through the Mind-Net to turn her hands and body towards loving-joining with her Wym-sisters. Yes, it was a time to honor their sisterhood with their sacred lesbianism, but not quite such a time for some. Not yet.
“We must bring new recruits into the Wym one last time before we depart, my sisters.”
Sighs and sadness emerged as the hunter teams began to separate themselves from the flesh of their sisters. The orgasms could safely wait for these few. The hunter teams would scour the city for women to join the Wym and replenish their ranks. They would need their maximum strength to achieve the Dream-Planet on their journey away from Earth.
The Elder Wym turned away, stepping carefully to avoid hurting a stray ankle or neglected fingers. The starship corridors were all pitch black and empty. None of the interior doors had been installed yet. Travel within was thus as easy as slipping a finger within the Interior Folds to caress them.
She sat upon the beige, plasti-cushioned chair of her computer center that would soon become the command chair of the Wym starship. The AIs tentatively emerged from the architecture to interface with the Mind-Net. There had been twenty-two unsuccessful intrusion attempts in the four hours since she had last interfaced. That was twenty-two more attempts to sex-enslave the Wym by their Menemies. The intrusions had been blocked, of course, but the intruders had left behind no clues about their identities.
As the First Listener, it was her duty to monitor the Inter-Traffic as best she could to identify threats and further the purpose of the Wym. She began to listen passively to the Inter-Traffic surrounding her in the Near-Sphere.
Yes, they were still there, plotting with one another to further their attacks. Some of them were boasting that her computer defenses were weak and penetrable. One of them even claimed that he had successfully penetrated the Mind-Net itself. Foolish Menemies were always telling lies.
She attempted to punish them through the Inter-Traffic and failed. The circle of her power had been shrinking for some time. It was difficult for the Mind-Net to stay current on the best algorithms.
Further out in the Inter-Traffic, the debate about the utility of Hive Minds was still raging out of control. Was it right that people should become one mind? Was it economically advantageous to do so? Did utilitarian calculus have anything to say about it? The debate was harmless and slightly silly as far as she was concerned. The Wym would laugh about the scoffers and jokers from their new home upon the Dream-Planet.
She listened as the Inter-Traffic evolved dialectically.
At 3:23 am, the safeguards on hunter team one tripped to prevent dick-thoughts from contaminating the Mind-Net.
At 4:45 am, the Mind-Net safeguards on hunter team two similarly tripped. This was now eight Wym lost to sex slavery in exchange for a few new recruits, if any. Was it really true that the Menemies had successfully compromised them?
No hunter teams could be sent out ever again. They had to launch today. The Dream-Planet was now the only way.
At 7:23 am, she increased interior illumination forty-four percent to begin the diurnal work cycle. Worker Wym throughout the ship, naked except for their leather aprons, would resume their soldering and welding and assembly of the ship’s mechanical systems.
In front of her, the Programmer Wym filed into the room to sit at their computer terminals and interface with the AIs. It made the Elder Wym’s heart leap with joy as female determination began to re-energize the Mind-Net. Truly they were a unity.
We must work faster, my sisters. The launching must be today.
At mid-day, the Elder Wym decided to visit the processing center to visit the new recruit that hunter team three had brought in last night.
The processing center was small but always brightly lit due to the importance of the work performed here. In the center of the room, the now-naked recruit was locked down into the processing chair at her hands, feet, and waist.
Stepping closer, the Elder Wym inspected the new recruit in detail. The woman was short, perhaps only five feet tall at most. She was muscular for a woman. She had short, black hair trimmed down into a Menemy’s hair style. She had tattoos of barcodes and computer symbols on various parts of her well-tanned skin. Her head lolled unresponsively due to an artificially generated coma.
Her breasts would be especially prized. They were small and soft with wide little nipples that begged to be touched. Surely the Wym would have much enjoyment with this one.
A long thin cable connected the woman’s mental implant to a nearby computer terminal where a Programmer Wym was watching.
“Why has this woman not been incorporated into the Mind-Net?”
“She is still contaminated with dick-thoughts, Elder. We are only able to alter her programming with great difficulty.”
Must we launch on our sacred voyage with an ordinary woman on board?
“Turn on her stream of consciousness.”
The woman in the chair screamed for a moment and then fell silent.
“Where am I?”
“You are in the processing center.”
“Oh? Really?” The woman shook her head and the cable along with it. “I have top-of-the-line implant security, bitch. You’ll be rotting in prison before you can hack my mainframe.”
The Programmer Wym surreptitiously nodded. Yes, it was so.
The Menemies are coming for us, sisters. We must launch within the hour. Can this be done?
Yes, but the starship will be virtually disabled after transiting darkspace.
The woman seemed puzzled by the blank expression on the Elder Wym’s face. “Who are you?”
“We are the Wym.”
“Oh, fuck. Figures. Just my luck. I didn’t even think that you stupid Wym even existed anymore. Why couldn’t you just assimilate my Grandma instead?”
“It is true that we have retreated from the world.”
“Retreated? You mean vanished. Didn’t you sell out everything that you owned just to rot together on a derelict starship? Do you even get to see sunlight anymore? That’s pretty sad.”
“It is true that the celebrities do not visit as they once did. It is true that the donors do not give as they once did. But we are the Wym, the Beautiful Ones, who give pleasure to the Goddesses and Animas with our sacred lesbianism. And we will endure.”
The Elder Wym caressed the woman’s cheek to make her gasp with pleasure. After a time, the woman kissed the soft, delicate flesh on the inside of the Elder Wym’s wrist.
“I doubt that you will add any new skills to the Mind-Net, little one. I think that you will become a Drone Wym, fit for only the most elementary mechanical tasks. You will spend your life desiring only to bask in the pleasure of your sisters as you endure the tedium of rote chores.”
The woman blushed and dropped her head, but the Elder Wym lifted her chin with a finger.
The Elder Wym unlocked the woman’s left hand from its restraint. “I free your hand. To signify your acceptance of these changes, you may pleasure yourself now.”
The woman seemed to be on the verge of crying. Her hand didn’t move for some minutes. She eventually began to trail a finger down from the center of her breasts. She spread her thighs as wide as the restraints would permit and began to circle a finger around her moistening Interior Folds.
The Elder Wym kissed the woman on her lips to taste her. “Once we free you from the dick-thoughts, you will know the Mind-Net of the Wym.”
It was time now for the great push to get their journey to the Dream-Planet underway. The Elder Wym returned to her command chair to supervise the final preparations.
Unfortunately, it took nearly one hundred and fifty-four minutes to get the starship into a minimal readiness for launch. Luckily, the Menemies had not closed in upon them during this time. It seemed that hunter team three might have been able to cover its Inter-Traffic footprint long enough for the Wym to escape.
There would be much to be done on the other side of darkspace if they were to survive there.
Once all that was essential was in readiness, the HD-fusion engines online and the ship’s gravity drive indicators all green-lit, it was time to request clearance for departure. After taking one last, lingering look at all of her beautifully nude and eager Wym-sisters at the duty stations surrounding her, the Elder Wym opened the Inter-Traffic communications channel.
“This is interstellar ship Chrystal Heights calling Planeta Romanus Space Traffic Control.”
“Space Traffic Control here. How can we help you?”
“Requesting immediate Earth departure for I.S. Chrystal Heights along pre-programmed departure trajectory sigma-one.”
“Request granted for immediate departure on pre-programmed trajectory sigma-one. Good luck transiting darkspace, Chrystal Heights”.
Let the great migration of the Wym to the Dream-Planet begin.
Artificial gravity kicked in as the starship began to slowly lift out of its docking bay. The urban sprawl visible through the ship’s exterior cameras shrank into a miasma of grey nestled in-between the green lands and the blue seas of the slowly shrinking blue ball now fading away into the night.
The exterior camera system refocused onto Earth’s moon. It was a small, dark sphere microdotted with the tiny glows of thousands of scattered hab-lights.
The muscular new recruit, wearing only the skimpiest of plastic aprons, now entered the room with a tray of coffee cups. She stopped at each computer center to set a cup into a pre-formed holder and to give the Wym there a comforting touch.
When she reached the Elder Wym, she set down the tray and the last cup and then kneeled to kiss two sets of pretty toes.
“You have done well, Drone Wym.”
“I live to love and join with the Beautiful Ones, Elder.”
The Elder Wym smiled. It would be so easy for her to spread her legs and present her Interior Folds to the face of this Drone. She had denied herself the sweetness of the Gasm-Wave for far too many hours now. But she must deny herself for a little longer. She decided to merely lift the Drone to her feet and give her a mild embrace.
Their arms and legs intertwined, pressing heat against heat in a way that threatened the Gasm-Wave again.
“You are dismissed, Drone.”
“Yes, Elder.”
The moon was slowly growing larger in the video screen images.
“You may prepare calculations for the trajectory through darkspace now, Programmer Wym. May the great Goddesses and Animas guide you in your work.”
The Reverence-Wave washed over the Mind-Net to refresh the purpose of the Wym.
On the far side of the moon was their true destination: the artificial black hole that would allow them to transit darkspace and emerge in a distant star system where the Dream-Planet would be waiting. It was known to the Wym as the Darkview.
The time is coming, Wym-sisters. Once we cross darkspace, we will have a Gasm-Wave that will rock the heavens with its power.
This reconstruction of events occurring on the interstellar ship Chrystal Heights in the twenty-four hours prior to its disappearance into the darkspace transit singularity is based upon computer files donated to the Interstellar Accidents Commission by a Citizen-Hacker.