This work is copyright 2000-2004 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum. It may be reformatted to match the forum's look and feel, and the forum editor may make minor spelling and grammer corrections. Otherwise it must be posted in its entirety, including all warnings and copyright notices. It may not be sold, or included in any compilation that is sold, or posted on any forum that requires a fee for access, without my written permission. My permission will require payment, terms to be negotiated. For purposes of this notice, sites guarded by Adult Check or similar packages are considered pay sites. Posting on any site must include this copyright notice.
Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.
Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I'm not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren't. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Don't make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.
Story codes: (MF, FF, ponygirl, SF)
There are (currently) two stories in this series:
1. Read What You Sign
2. Jill's Ponygirl (in preparation)
The name New Babylon has no relationship to any other use of the term by any other author. No connection should be assumed, either derivative or as a base for parody.
OK - now on to the story -------
Chapter 4. The training stables
Chapter 5. Yvonne wakes up, and it�s still there.
Chapter 6. Yvonne becomes a lawnmower
Chapter 7. The Second Day Dawns
Chapter 9. Yvonne meets a Sulky
Chapter 13. Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot?
Chapter 16. Backstage Maneuvering.
Chapter 17. What are Golf Courses For?
Chapter 20. Higher (?) Education
Chapter 23. Excursion on the Bridle Path
Chapter 24. There�s no Place Like Home
Chapter 25. At the Student Union
Chapter 26. All Students Must Take Phys. Ed.
Yvonne slouched along the gray street, navigating between the stinking pile of vomit where some wino had deposited his bottle of Ripple, and a decrepit street person doing the unmentionable against the building wall, looking for anyone she could touch for a handout. Yvonne, at 6� 1�, wasn�t bad looking, but she�d never been an outstanding looker either, and the last couple of months after her parents had financially flamed out and died in a spectacular murder / suicide, leaving her with nothing, had not improved her looks either. The expensive college her parents had installed her in had promptly expelled her before she could make any connections.
The proctors had made it very clear that they would not permit her to maintain any contact with their students. Their students were from the upper flakes of the upper crust; all she had was her father�s money, which wasn�t the same thing as being rich. As soon as it vanished, they made her vanish, much like a conjuring trick. She sometimes wondered if any of her fellow students even noticed her absence.
She was sure that Sally had. Sally had been her roommate. She was never quite certain how close they were. Sally helped her keep her head above water academically, and she did everything Sally didn�t particularly want to do. Which was all the housekeeping, laundry and so forth. She also kept Sally�s schedule, for which Sally had at least appeared to be genuinely grateful. Sally occasionally teased her that it was a pity that her family had all that money (which was very carefully distinguished from rich); she would do very well as a personal assistant.
However, by the time she managed to call, the phone had been disconnected without a forwarding number. She�d never had Sally�s home address or phone number. And the college switchboard blandly hung up on her as soon as the robot identified her voice. They really did want nothing more to do with her.
The same thing had happened when she tried to get in touch with home. All of her family�s phones had been disconnected, and she had been hustled out without being able to take her PDA, which she was totally lost without. She vaguely supposed that they had confiscated it because it might contain phone numbers of some of their precious students.
She had found out what had happened to her family from the newspapers. By the time she recovered emotionally from the shock, she found herself totally out of her depth in a genuine slum. She was trying to learn street smarts quickly enough to survive. So far, she�d managed it.
The slum was one of the districts where society�s rejects drank and drugged themselves to death, or were addicted by pimps and had their asses peddled on the street until they burned out and died from whatever was going around. She�d gradually found out where she could get handouts, and where she could get temporary jobs to pay the rent.
This was a street she had not explored before. As she made her cautious way among the hazards, she spotted a storefront with the simple title �Jobs� displayed on the window in peeling characters. She shrugged minutely. She knew that the jobs it offered, if it was still in business, were temporary one day affairs, if that, that paid well below minimum wage. In fact, they paid only what would keep the laborers alive for the next day, and that grudgingly. She looked through the grimy window, and raised her eyebrows slightly. The man was actually behind something resembling a desk, and it looked like there was real office equipment. The factors she was used to, here in the ass end of hell, usually came equipped with a clipboard and a possibly working pen. Besides, it was mid morning, and the usual run of job centers were done for the day hours before.
She pushed her way inside, noting idly that the door opened the wrong way for the fire codes, not that anyone cared about the condition of the buildings here. Once she was inside, she noticed another man sitting back on a chair, doing something with a real computer. Amazing!
�I take it you want a job?� the man behind the desk said, a ripple of amusement barely perceptible in his voice. Or maybe it was irony.
�Whatcha got?�
�Lots. Sit down and tell me what you can do.�
Something about his manner triggered her to tell her story, at least the edited version that she had to drop out of college for lack of funds. He nodded. It wasn�t exactly a new story. He leaned back and considered her.
�Well, the Hot Stuff, the Blazing Tits and the Steaming Stew are always looking for exotic dancers. You up for that?�
She shook her head.
�Probably a good call. You go to work there, and some pimp or other will hook you sure. Then you�ll be turning your earnings over to him, and letting him peddle your ass on the side until you burn out and die of whatever�s going around.
�Got a question. Why don�t you just take whatever clothes you�ve still got, put them in a knapsack, and walk whatever direction you�re pointed until you get out of this cesspool?�
�What�s the use?� she shrugged. �At least here, I can sometimes get handouts. Out there, they�ll put you in jail for trying.�
�Girl, staying here is exactly that stupid, though. Well, if you don�t want to take a good piece of advice, then you don�t. What did you do for athletics in college? Any cheerleading?�
She shook her head. �Was never pretty enough for a cheerleader. Ran a lot. Golfed and caddied some.�
He cocked his head. �Get up and turn around so I can see you. I just might have something.�
She looked at him, startled. Then she stood and turned slowly, expecting him to take her apart with his eyes. To her surprise, he didn�t seem to be looking at her tits, ass or other assets. He looked at her more like her running coach did, a sexless machine that might earn him some credit for turning out an athletic star.
�Siddown. It pays 20 grand a year, five year contract. All expenses paid, nothing deducted from your salary. That�s after taxes, adjusted for inflation.�
�Who do I have to kill?� she asked, astonished.
�Nobody, probably. Ever hear of New Babylon?�
She shook her head doubtfully. �Rumors here and there. Sex trade. Some kind of classy whorehouse?�
�You could call it that. If you�re in the habit of calling a skyscraper an outhouse. It�s the sex business, of course, and they�re always looking for workers. The contract prohibits any of their clients from damaging you beyond a short stay in the hospital.�
She nodded almost unconsciously. She knew that if a pimp caught her and started peddling her ass around, she wouldn�t have even that guarantee. �Five years, and I come back in good condition with 100 Gs?�
�That�s the deal. I won�t guarantee it will be a bed of roses, but they do stick to their contracts. There are too many people after them for them to fudge that.�
She looked at him a moment. �Where do I sign?�
He turned to the console of the ancient PC on the desk, called up a form, and checked a few boxes. �ID,� he said, sticking his hand out without looking. She put her expired driver�s license in it without a word. He entered her name and license number, and then put it face down on a scanner. In a moment, the contract came out of the printer.
She looked through it quickly, picked up the pen he held out to her, and signed where it said. He scribbled his signature, and held it out to the other man, who added his.
�OK,� the second man said. �Let�s pick up your things. I�m Frank, by the way.� He walked out the back door without looking to see if she followed. She hesitated a moment, and then picked up her purse and walked through the door.
Frank stood by the passenger door of a non-descript sedan. She scooted in and gave him directions to the apartment hotel she was currently staying at. Apartment hotel. That was a laugh and a half. He double parked the car, and they piled out. The landlady hurried out to see who was ascending the stairs, and then followed them screeching about the overdue rent. Frank turned calmly.
�She�s moving out. How much does she owe?�
The landlady named a figure.
�For that price, I get the title and any strings you got on the tenants.�
She spat at him. He looked back calmly. She named a more reasonable figure. He pulled out a roll and pealed off a few bills. �Get lost. We weren�t here. Yvonne left this morning; you don�t know where she is. She didn�t come back, you sold her things.�
The landlady took his money and smiled, displaying a mouth full of broken teeth and bad breath that would do instead of mace.
Yvonne came out, hauling an overstuffed suitcase.
�That all?�
�That�s it. Nothing else there worth keeping.�
He jerked his head toward the door. They piled into the car, which had miraculously not collected a ticket, and he drove down the street. He drove for a while, until they found themselves in an abandoned warehouse district. Then he pressed a button on the dash.
Yvonne clutched the dashboard and bent over, face green. When she came to, the warehouses had vanished, replaced by a short blacktop road lined with a forest dominated by palms. She noticed that the road didn�t seem to go anywhere; it ended about a block in front of the car, and a block behind it.
�Get out.� Frank nodded toward the dull red building set in among the trees. �Go in there and hand them your contract.� She looked at him in confusion until he handed her a manilla folder.
The first thing she notice when she opened the car door was the sound of the jungle. Then she noticed the smell, or rather, the lack of smell. The omnipresent smog of the cities she had lived in all of her life was gone like it had never existed. She drew a deep breath, picked up her luggage, got out and closed the car door behind her.
Frank drove away as soon as the door slammed. Her eyes followed the car down the short strip of blacktop, until it suddenly vanished in an eye-twisting whirl that caused her stomach to convulse in sympathy.
�Well, are you going to stand there all day?� a voice said from behind her.
She spun around, startled.
The speaker was a young woman who was dressed in a short tunic, sandals and a snugly fitting golden collar, which said Karen 6 in contrasting black cursive letters. She smiled and said: �This way, please.� Yvonne followed her, fascinated by the glimpses of the collar that peeped around the sides of her long, honey blond hair. She also noticed that the girl had a very flowing, sexy walk, that gave the impression of being both totally unaffected and calculated to excite any male (or lesbian) in the line of sight.
The blond vision lead the way into the building, past a cross-corridor that looked like it faced a number of offices, to a large, open room. Yvonne looked around, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. After a moment, she managed to sort out the confusion of people and equipment into four identical sections. Each of the sections had a short pole in the center, with what looked like a backrest and foot rests. The rest of the section was made up of different kinds of equipment. One of the poles was occupied by a nude young woman who seemed to be propped against the backrest; her legs spread apart on the footrests. It looked like it should be uncomfortable, even though she was smiling as if she enjoyed the attention.
While Yvonne gaped at the sight, a tall man dressed in a lab coat picked her contract out of her hand, and her guide took possession of her suitcase and purse.
�When you�re done lollygagging, disrobe and get up on that stand,� he told her as if the command was the most natural thing in the world.
She looked at him like he was insane.
�Do it,� he snapped. �I haven�t got all day.�
She took another look at the girl on the other pole, and then bent over to pull her shirt over her head. In a moment, she had discarded her pants, bra and panties, and padded over to the pole, stark naked except for the blush of embarrassment that suffused her skin. She looked at the pole, and then put her feet on the red footrests. Her guide came up behind her, and adjusted the backrest so that it nestled in the small of her back. Then the pole rose slowly, and the footrests separated, taking her feet with them. The man in the lab coat looked at a device in his hand, looked up, and looked at it again. Then he wrote something in the air above the device. Meanwhile, the footrests kept getting farther and farther apart, until Yvonne felt like she was ready to split apart. The man nodded at something only he could see, made a gesture, and the footrests stopped, and then came back together until her legs were spread at an exact right angle.
She heard a rustle of paper behind her. The man called out: �Anything different about the contract?�
�Not really. Standard five-year street sweepings, with the usual FTPG, LTPG and PEO clauses.�
�Those are usual for a gutter contract?�
�It is when it�s from recruiter 64.�
The lab technician chuckled. �He does like the ponies.�
He turned to Yvonne. �What�s your name, dear?�
�Yvonne Livingston, sir.� The honorific just seemed to pop out.
He looked at the almost featureless mechanism he held in his hand for a moment. �Forget the last name. You�re Yvonne 8.�
�I�m what?�
�Yvonne 8. Residents have last names. Slaves only have one name, and a number that lets us tell them apart. Consider yourself lucky. When we started, we gave all the slaves different names, but they found it too confusing. Now we mostly let them keep them.�
As the technician talked to Yvonne, his beautiful assistant entered the details of the contract into the system. Its uncaring program digested them, and then started a detailed body and genetic scan of the new slave. After a while, the program moved from data collection to analysis, and then began laying in a standard program of genetic modifications. All slaves got these changes. One protected them from the sun without changing their skin tone, another fixed most of the simpler genetic diseases. A third made a carefully chosen set of improvements to stamina and sexual functioning. A final series of changes conferred immunity to the most prevalent illnesses, and also made her proof against being addicted to most recreational drugs � although she could still enjoy the effects if she had the opportunity.
None of the changes were noticeable from the outside, although an up-time gene scan would identify her as a different person than the one who was on record with the more advanced governments. At least, it would if it could get past the first level of changes. She now had an extra chromosome pair, and her genetic code had been altered to the point where normal DNA would create nonsense proteins, rendering her totally immune to all viruses.
New Babylon simply didn�t care whether their former slaves could be identified or not. They left the changes installed when the indenture expired and the former slave returned. One of the quiet agreements between New Babylon and the various governments was that they would update their records.
The blonde walked up with a tape measure, and wrapped it around Yvonne�s throat while this conversation was going on. Then she walked back to one of the pieces of equipment, and entered a number. She picked up two semi-circles off the wall behind Yvonne, and came back.
�Hold still, dear.� The man held Yvonne�s hair out of the way while the girl pressed the two semicircles around Yvonne�s neck, and twisted a latch that held them together. Then she picked up a large syringe and proceeded to inject the contents into the metal band that enclosed the new slave�s throat.
�In case you�re wondering,� the man said, �we actually mold your slave collar around your neck. Once it sets, it will need power tools to take it off. It does a number of things beside identify you. Its got a little device that lets us know where you are at all times. It�s also got a lie detector, and various things that will facilitate training.
�Don�t try to escape. You won�t succeed, and the managers are very � creative in their punishments.� The way he emphasized the word �creative� stirred a primitive fear in her belly.
He turned his head to his assistant. �Warm her up.�
The blonde dropped to her knees in front of the girl straddling the pole, and started teasing her slit with her tongue. Above her, the new slave looked shocked, and then drew in her breath as the sensations spread. She felt herself getting wet. The blonde hummed slightly as she got into her work, and the new slave�s skin flushed, and glistened with sweat. She started panting faster and faster, and then shook in the throes of an orgasm. The watching man caught her before she fell off of her perch.
He looked at his readout. �Not bad. Stone cold to orgasm in two minutes. How did she taste?�
The blonde wrinkled her nose. �I�ve tasted worse.�
�Well, she hasn�t been eating right.�
�That�ll do it. Feed her right for a month, and she might be worth eating.�
�Minx! Let�s see how long she can hold out.�
The blonde made a face, and then thrust her head into the subject�s crotch and began lightly teasing. Eventually, the girl above her shook in orgasm again.
�Fifteen minutes,� the man said. �Not bad. She�s responding very well to oblique commands.�
Yvonne came out of her daze long enough to mutter �huh?�
�I didn�t tell you to hold out, dear. In fact, I wasn�t talking directly to you at all. You picked up on my comment, and did your part nicely. Sometimes that�s a good thing in a slave, and sometimes it�s not. We�ll see whether you can make the distinction in a little while.� He patted her cheek lightly, and then walked away as the blonde brought out a basin of soapy water, a sponge and a towel, and proceeded to clean the sweat-soaked girl on the stand.
The examiner then began asking her questions and giving her things to think about. It put Yvonne in mind of psychological testing, although she couldn�t make anything out what he was doing. In fact, the procedure was intended to be deliberately confusing; it was no part of New Babylon�s program that their slaves knew what the collars were capable of. As the examiner droned on, the newly installed collar sampled her brain activity until it associated the various activation patterns that its target used to accomplish her thinking. Toward the end, it began interfering with those patterns, deliberately shifting her thinking. It left Yvonne totally confused.
Then the examiner put Yvonne 8 through a series of stretching exercises, ending with her arms bound crosswise behind her, hands on opposite elbows. He massaged her shoulders, checking some kind of readout all the while.
Eventually, he seemed to wind down. �It�s done,� he announced suddenly. �Take it off.�
The blonde took a tool and pried the metal cover off of the band encircling the poor girl�s neck, revealing a light gray circlet, with �Yvonne 8� boldly scripted on the front.
�Do you know what a ponygirl is?� the examiner asked suddenly.
�Uh, no.�
�You�ve lived a sheltered life,� he said with mild amusement. �A ponygirl is a girl that�s been trained to act like a horse. She�s ridden, she pulls things, she lives in a stable or a meadow, and she whinnies and snorts instead of talks. Your contract specifies long term ponygirl bondage. You did read it, didn�t you?�
She shook her head, wide eyed.
�Well, you signed it. That recruiter always puts long-term ponygirl bondage in the contract if the recruit doesn�t check. He does like his ponies, and he gets a better commission. Our clients like ponygirls, and we never have enough of them. Or enough good ones, anyway.�
�Take her to the conditioning ring.�
His assistant snapped a leash to the ring on the front of Yvonne 8�s collar as the two leg supports came back together. She tugged lightly, and Yvonne 8 followed her out the back door.
The area in back of the building held three circular sawdust covered arenas below an open wooden canopy. Each of the arenas had a pole in the center, with two booms sticking out horizontally, each with a counterweight to balance it. One of the booms was about six feet off the floor; the other was about four feet high. A number of other vertical poles held various leather and metal accessories.
Karen 6 led her charge to the arena on the left, and looped the leash around a ring set in one of the poles. �Don�t worry, little one. We�re going to test your stamina next. Here�s your harness.� She selected a black leather waist cincher from one of the poles, and held it in front of the tethered slave. Then she wrapped it around Yvonne 8�s waist, drawing the buckles tight enough to keep it from falling off. Next, she ran the leather laces through the bottom eyelets, and, taking an odd looking tool from the post, applied it to the bottom of the corset. The tool set to work with a low buzz, pulling the cords through the eyelets all the way up the back, leaving them snug, but not tight. Karen took another tool, and ran it up the corset several times. Each time, it tightened the laces a bit more, until the girl was forced to breathe into her chest to get enough air.
�I�m glad they invented these tighteners. Pulling the laces by hand is such a drag.� She turned back to one of the posts and selected an assemblage of straps. �Here is your bridle. See? It goes on like this.� Then she fit the leather around Yvonne�s head, tightening the buckles until it was snug enough to be immobile.
�See? All comfy.� All Yvonne could do was nod. Karen took up a brush, and brought the tangle of hair to the top and back of the girl�s head, and then fastened it with a gaily decorated band.
She then looked over the bits arrayed on the pillar. �See,� she said, holding it out in front of Yvonne. �Size 8; you�ve got a bigger mouth, it needs a big bit.� Yvonne�s eyes bugged out as she looked at it.
�Please�� she whimpered.
�Please what?� asked Karen.
�Why are you doing this to me. I thought I was going to be a sex slave.�
�Well, your contract specifies FTPG and LTPG, you know. It�s kind of late to decide you don�t want that.�
�What do those mean? I never heard of them?�
Karen shrugged. �It�s in the contract you signed; if you didn�t read it, that�s your problem. FTPG means full time pony girl; you get to be a horse all day, every day for some time. All female slaves do a stint as pony girls, we can�t write it out of the contract. Mostly it�s for three months, although it could be longer if a guest likes you or you�re part of an act.�
�On the other hand. LTPG is long term pony girl. That lets us keep you as a pony girl for the full length of your contract. You�ll probably like it once the genetic modifications kick in. Most of the real ponygirls seem to be quite happy.�
Yvonne looked at the bit again. �What was that other set of letters? PEO?�
�Permanent Enslavement Option? At the end of your contract, it lets us convert your contract to permanent without asking for your consent.�
Yvonne�s eyes bugged out even more. �Permanent?�
�Oh, don�t worry so about it. We have to let most of our contractees go, or people uptime would get very upset at us.�
Yvonne opened her mouth to say something else, and Karen adroitly stuffed the bit into it before she could get a word out. A couple of quick flicks of her fingers attached it to the bridle rings on each side of the girl�s mouth.
�There, that isn�t so bad,� she said brightly as Yvonne grunted around the intruder in her mouth. �Let�s get you harnessed.� She picked up a pair of long, thin leather straps and snapped them to the curved metal pieces that came down from the sides of the bit. Then she unsnapped the leash and pulled the girl after her by the reins, which she held close to the bit. In a moment, Yvonne found her reins attached to the end of the higher of the two bars. Karen walked behind her, and attached a pair of thick leather straps between her corset and the lower of the two bars; she was now between them.
Karen 6 opened a control box on one of the pillars and pushed a button. A set of low barriers rose from the ground. Then she pushed another button, and the boom with the reins began to move forward. Yvonne was forced to move with it, picking her feet up to avoid the barriers. As she moved, the other boom moved behind her. Karen watched for a while, and twisted a control, moving the barriers up and down, and watching how high the ponygirl brought her legs. When she was satisfied, she closed the control box with a snap. She watched Yvonne walk around the circle for a few minutes, and then turned and walked back inside.
The monitors in Yvonne�s collar sent in their data on her heart rate, blood sugar, lactic acid level and a dozen other measurements. The computer that controlled the post and the rotating boom decided to move to the next level, and put a brake on the trailing boom. The straps connecting Yvonne to it grew taut, and she almost stopped until her reins jerked her ahead. She pushed harder, and the boom came along. Her world narrowed to following the reins in front of her, and drawing enough air into her upper chest to function. When she started to flag, a thin whip flicked out of a box on the end of the following boom, and cut at her ass and thighs, leaving a thin red weal behind. The load she was pulling changed occasionally, and the speed that the reins pulled her changed. The boom moved her in and out to test her natural stride.
She never noticed when her overloaded bladder simply gave up, and she let go while she was moving. The monitor inside blinked red for a moment, and the technician looking at it smiled. The ponygirl�s pace never varied.
The computer that was monitoring her noticed that she had passed the basic strength and stamina requirements for ponygirls. It chuckled to itself, and triggered a transformation program that was latent in the extra chromosome pair. These were longer term changes; Yvonne 8 would notice some of them in a few days, others would take longer to become obvious. Her hair would grow into a coat of short horsehair and a mane, her neck and lower back would reshape themselves slightly, she would grow a tail, and her feet would transform themselves into hooves.
Yvonne 8 never knew that she had passed a test; in fact, no one bothered to ask her if she thought passing it was good or bad. She was now officially a ponygirl.
After another hour, the machine finally thought she had had enough. It gradually slowed her down, and let the barriers sink back into the ground. The drag on her harness let up. She never noticed the lack of barriers, and kept bringing her knees up to her waist as her speed slowed to a walk. It led her around another ten times as she cooled down. Finally it stopped, and she stopped before it, reins drooping, eyes glazed with fatigue, feet spread slightly in a waiting stance since her reins didn�t have enough slack to allow her to fall to the ground.
As the minutes passed, she gradually recovered from the stress test. She straightened up and began taking an interest in her surroundings. The forest beyond the canopy was a riot of different colors, lots of green, but flashes of red, yellow, blue and other shades. After a while, she noticed something. There were huge numbers of birds of all kinds, some flying, some walking. Everything seemed decorated with flowers. However, she had not seen any animals. Nothing with fur. It looked tropical, but there were no monkeys. Curious, she began looking closer, trying to spot something as elusive as a squirrel or a mouse. Still nothing. It was quite strange.
It didn�t occur to her to notice something else that was very strange. None of the insects took the least interest in her. If she had noticed, she would have been puzzled, since there was no obvious reason it should happen. The reason, however, was very close to her, in fact, it had just been molded around her neck. One of the functions of the equipment in the collar was to keep insects and other small vermin away from the neck it encircled. Of course, it didn�t stop at the neck; it took the rest of her body just as seriously.
A ponygirl emerged from the forest, pulling a chariot. The girl was moving at a trot, her legs moving with a flowing economy of motion, her tail and mane floating behind her in the breeze of her passing. Her driver guided her to the conditioning pavilion with a brief tug of the reins, and then drew back on them to stop the �girl. The ponygirl pulled the chariot to the side, stopping before one of the hitching posts. This particular post was a two foot high statue of a 19th century groom, hand held out to hold a horse�s reins. The other hitching posts were similarly fanciful figures.
Her passenger left the chariot and pressed her draft animal�s shoulder lightly. The ponygirl sank to her knees, and then sat on her heels. The chariot tilted forward behind her as the shafts descended. �You do like that statue, don�t you?� the rider said in a rich contralto. The ponygirl looked up at her and whinnied, nuzzling the outstretched hand.
The rider strode toward the pavilion, the skirt of her mid thigh length tunic flowing in precise time with her movements. Other than the tunic, she wore black leather riding boots and a golden collar, with the name Rinda 1 emblazoned on the front. She walked up to the novice ponygirl still attached to the exerciser. �You must be Yvonne 8,� she said brightly. Yvonne made a strangled sound through her bit.
Rinda laughed. �I bet nobody�s taught you how to whinny yet, have they?�
Yvonne looked at her, wide-eyed, and shook her head no.
�Well, here�s how. Watch what I do, and make a sound in your throat like �he he he�� she said. She opened her mouth wide, stuck her lips out and produced a whinny. �Now you do it.�
Yvonne made a grimace around the bit, but obediently tried the sound.
�Bring your tongue back a bit, that�s a good girl.�
Yvonne tried again, this time producing a passable whinny.
�That�s good. Notice how your throat kind of vibrates?� Rinda asked.
Yvonne nodded, and then whinnied again.
�Even better!� Rinda praised. �Now, let�s change that bridle for a nice, comfortable halter.� So saying, she took the bit out of the pony�s mouth, and unbuckled the straps of the bridle. Then she took a rope halter from the pole and fastened it around Yvonne�s head.
�Now, I�ll bet that�s more comfortable, right?� she asked.
Yvonne started to open her mouth to reply, and Rinda swiftly put her finger across the �girl�s lips. �Ponies don�t talk. Whinny or reach your head forward and nuzzle me. Like this.� Rinda took the girl�s head in both hands and stretched her neck forward slightly until her nose was just touching her trainer�s face. �Just brush my cheek, that�s a good girl.�
��I bet you want to go to your stall so you can be watered, fed and collapse for a while. Right?�
Yvonne�s eyes got big, and then she sighed and whinnied again.
�Well, lets just get you unhitched,� Rinda said, soothingly, as she unbuckled the straps that attached the �girl to her load. Then she picked up the lead from the halter and tugged gently. Yvonne followed her out of the pavilion, bringing her knees up as she had been doing for the last two hours.
�That�s very good,� Rinda praised her. �We�ll be going at a trot, so you don�t have to high step. We�ll be moving too fast.� So saying, she tied the lead to the back of her chariot, picked up her ponygirl�s reins, and got in. Her ponygirl, Carol 2, rose to her feet in a single flowing motion, and then slowly backed away from the statue. Yvonne hastily backed up to avoid being run over by the chariot. Rinda deftly guided her ponygirl to the path they�d just come down, and flicked the reins. �Trot.� Carol 2 leaned forward, and the chariot sped up. Yvonne managed to speed up in time, without getting her lead jerked.
The two ponygirls and their driver vanished into the forest, leaving Yvonne 8�s old life behind them.
After a short trot, the trio came out of the forest into a largish clearing. They continued along the path, past immaculately kept up lawns, to a large, long building surrounded with packed dirt. Rinda guided her �girl to one of the hitching posts on the side, and settled her in front of the post. This one was a simple wood post with an iron ring hanging from an eyebolt in the front. Carol settled to sit between the two adjacent chariots, each with its harnessed ponygirl. Rinda unhitched her prize from the back, and led her to the large door in the center of the stable.
Rinda 1 led Yvonne to a low trough filled with water, and pressed her on the shoulder. �Kneel when I do this,� she instructed. Yvonne sank to her knees, thankful for the opportunity to get off of her feet, if only for a moment. �Drink slowly, now.� Yvonne looked at the trough in front of her, and then bent over, plunging her head into the water and slurping it up greedily. Rinda watched the �girl�s head bob up and down as she alternately took a mouthful of water, and then came up to swallow and breathe.
�Enough,� Rinda commanded, her hand pulling the �girl�s shoulder back. �Up.� She tugged on the lead from the now thoroughly soaked halter. Yvonne staggered to her feet. �Now that,� Rinda laughed, �is something we�re going to have to work on.� Yvonne blushed, and then, surprised at her reaction, blushed even deeper.
�We�ll have the time,� Rinda said, soothingly, scratching her charge behind the ears. �Come on.� She led the way into the stable building itself. Then she led the girl down one passage and another, to end up standing in front of a stall.
�This is your stall.� The stall was about one meter wide and two deep, with a shelf in back that had a depression that contained several fruits and vegetables. The sides were about a meter and a half high, as was the door in front. The back went up a good three meters. The sign had her name on it: Yvonne 8. Rinda swung the door open, and gently shoved the ponygirl into it. Then she pressed on her shoulder; this time Yvonne sank to her knees instantly. �Good girl. Let�s get that harness off of you.� She took a tool off of the shelf, and pressed it to the laces. It hummed, unlacing the corset. In a moment, it finished, and the corset fell to the ground. Rinda picked it up and hung it on a hook on the wall outside the stall door.
�Now look at me, girl.� Yvonne looked up at her trainer. �There are several ways we can do this. If you�re a nice, obedient mare, and stay in your stall until a groom comes to get you out, I�ll let your have your arms free. Would you like that?�
Yvonne whinnied back at her.
�Remember, if you use you hands for anything, I�ll just leave your arms bound behind you.� Rinda said, menacingly.
Yvonne nodded soberly.
�All right. Turn around.� Yvonne turned her back, presenting her pinioned arms. Rinda swiftly unsnapped the hooks that held the cuffs closed and welded them together into an immobile mass. Yvonne moved her shoulders back and forth, grimacing with the returning circulation and the complaints from strained muscles and ligaments.
�One more thing,� Rinda said. �Practice eating your food just with your lips and teeth. You�re not always going to have hands available.
�Also you�re not allowed to talk to any of the stable attendants. You can talk to the ponygirls on either side, but only quietly, and not when any attendants are present.� Yvonne looked at her with wide eyes and nodded. Rinda smiled back. She knew that the ponygirls talked even when there were grooms walking by. Nobody minded as long as the conversations were quiet, and the �girl�s answered immediately when called.
Rinda turned and walked out of the stall, closing the door behind her. Then she noticed another woman standing in the aisle. �Mistress Lucy,� she said, flicking her eyes downward in a gesture of respect.
�So this is Yvonne 8,� Lucy said to Rinda as she walked up to look over the stall gate. Yvonne was on her knees in front of the feed bin, trying to grasp a pear in her teeth firmly enough to bite into it. Just as they walked up, she managed to get a grip on the yellow fruit, and her teeth sank into the luscious flesh.
�Yes, mistress. For a freshly captured mare, she�s been a delight. Quick and obedient.�
�Most of them are,� Lucy said. It was simple truth. What Yvonne didn�t know was that the gene modifications had made changes to her brain, and the collar was triggering them. New Babylon was a profit making enterprise, and it knew that profits came from satisfied customers, and the way to satisfied customers was paved with workers who liked their work, were good at it, and went about it with good cheer. This didn�t happen when slaves were broken in with a whip.
The mechanisms in the collar had analyzed Yvonne�s brain patterns while she was being interviewed. It had identified the patterns that meant obedience and disobedience, and the patterns that distinguished between cheerfulness and grumpyness, as well as many other emotions.
It was programmed to see that the lump of gray matter riding the neck it circled spent more of its time in cheerful obedience than otherwise. It could even spot repetitive patterns that led to undesirable patterns of brain activation, and guide them into new channels.
�Well, we�ll see if it stays that way when she wakes up,� Lucy said. �I didn�t get a chance to review the inspection dossier. How did she come to volunteer for five years full time?�
�The recruiter that got her tries to slide the ponygirl clauses in, and she didn�t read the contract before signing it.�
�Tough on her,� shrugged Lucy. �I hope she works out; we need more ponygirls that we can use with our clients. They do like them so.�
Behind them, the ponygirl picked up a piece of coconut with her teeth, shoved it farther back with her lips, and began chewing.
Yvonne rolled over on the thick cover of straw on the floor of her stall, and then opened her eyes, peering fuzzily around her. Then she straightened up in one spasm, hitting the stall door with her feet. �Ouch!� She drew one knee up to rub her foot, and looked at the wooden wall in front of her. Yes. It wasn�t a bad dream. She was in a stall. A ponygirl stall, and she was a ponygirl. She sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to think back. How had she gotten into this mess? Oh, right. Down and out, and that creep dangled a hundred Gs in front of her.
Well, she had no one but herself to blame. She reached back to sweep her hair out of her face, and her hand touched her collar. She froze momentarily. She remembered them casting the collar around her neck. They said there was no escape. Don�t even try, you won�t succeed.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She got to her feet and looked around. There were more stalls on either side, and a corridor in front, with lots of leather and steel tack and implements hanging on it.
�You�re new, aren�t you?� a voice said from the side. She whirled to see a shapely brunette standing in the next stall, arms hanging loosely by her sides. �Yvonne 8. That�s a pretty name.�
�Who? What? You can talk?�
�Of course I can talk. They did tell you that we�re allowed to talk to each other?� The brunette tilted her head back so the name on her collar was easily visible. �I�m Millie 6, although it�s good form to read someone�s name from her collar. That�s what they�re for, after all.�
�Oh. Hi, Millie. How do you get out of here?�
�You don�t. They�ll pick you up immediately.� She tapped her collar significantly. �Its frustrating. You get your arms cuffed behind you for the first couple of attempts, then they start getting nasty.�
�What�s bad about having your hands cuffed? It�s not like there�s anything to do with them. Besides, I don�t want to escape, I just need to go.� She practically crossed her legs in frustration.
��Well, squat by the door. There�s a channel in the concrete under the straw. You�ll figure out how to keep your stall clean after a few accidents. I don�t know which is worse, the grooms that think it�s funny, or the trainers that are so saccharine sweet about little accidents.�
A little while later, a beet red Yvonne asked: �Where are we, anyway? I know this is New Babylon, but I don�t have any idea where it is.�
�Hawaii. Specifically, Maui, although there are some places on the Big Island.�
�I thought Maui was overbuilt.�
�It is. In our time. We�re 24 thousand years in the past. There are no human beings anywhere in Hawaii. Anywhere in the islands, as a matter of fact. It�s all wild. That�s one reason escaping isn�t a real good idea. Nowhere to go, and lots of things in the woods that would just love having you for lunch.�
�That�s weird. Time travel is impossible.�
�Well, we�re here. And there�s this big red thing in the sky where Sirius is supposed to be. It�s certainly not a red giant anytime in our history. It�s so bright you can see it in broad daylight. And I know enough astronomy to know we�re at the right latitude, at least.�
��So nobody ever tries to escape?�
�Most slaves are sensible and don�t try once they figure out there�s no percentage in it. A few do. Most are captured immediately. The owners don�t make a big deal of it the first couple of times. If you can�t learn from not having the telly for a couple of weeks, they figure you�re either a slow learner or just being difficult. Then they start getting nasty.� She grimaced, apparently remembering something.
�Nasty?�
�Most of the time they condition the poor girls so they can�t think of escaping. Sometimes it does improve them, but sometimes �� she paused. �I�ve met a couple with holes in their minds. They couldn�t imagine anything outside of here.�
�Yuck. I want to get out when my indenture is up. What else do they do?�
�They�ve let a few think they escaped. Then they set up a hunting safari to track them down. It was wildly popular. The hunters were restricted to knockout darts, of course. Now they�re kept in the wild girl section of the zoo. Next to the wild ponygirl herd. When they want to set up a hunt, their handlers make a deliberate mistake and let one of them escape.�
�How�d you know about that?�
�I was a bearer on one of the hunting safaris. It�s great fun. Maui is beautiful, but slaves usually don�t get away from the settled places.�
Yvonne�s eyes narrowed. �How were you out there, and now you�re here?�
�All female slaves spend time as ponygirls. It�s in the rules somewhere. I�ve been here two years, three to go. You spend a couple of months training, and then around three as a ponygirl. Then you�re assigned to something else. Unless you�re long term?�
�I guess I�m long term. I was just recruited this morning.� Yvonne sighed. �So, what�s there to do? Just stay in my stall until someone comes for me?�
�Essentially. That�s what horses do, and we�re horses now. That, and watch the shows.�
�Shows? I don�t see a telly.�
�It�s not obvious.� Millie reached over the partition and pointed to the opposite wall. �See that plastic rectangle that looks like wood? Its got two little holes on the top.�
Yvonne looked and then nodded.
�Well, there�re earplugs in the bottom. Sit in front of it and look at it. A laser draws pictures in your eyes.�
�Cool. Daddy had a car with displays like that. Expensive. How do you control it?�
�Wave your finger in the air in front of it. Hey, I�m serious. It�ll project menus and stuff into your eyes, so all you do is poke your finger into the boxes. That�s why you don�t want to misbehave. They cuff your hands behind you, and then all you can do is sit there and watch the main menu.�
�Well, I see you�re enjoying yourselves,� the voice said from the corridor. Both ponygirls jerked around in their stalls; they hadn�t heard the trainer walk up.
The trainer held out a halter to Millie, who promptly walked to the front of her stall. That let Yvonne get a good look at her next stall neighbor. Millie was tastefully attired in collar, corset and boots. The boots kept her feet in full extension, and ended in a solid block that was apparently supposed to be a horse�s hoof. She thought she glimpsed a horseshoe under one of them, but she wasn�t certain. Yvonne wondered how soon they�d fit her for boots. That full extension looked painful, but Millie certainly didn�t seem to be in any distress from it.
She also had a tail. It matched her hair, which was shoulder length and pulled back into a ponytail. The tail seemed to be an extension of her spine, although there was something just a little odd about it. The extension didn�t seem quite natural. She thought it looked cute. If she had to be a ponygirl, she hoped they�d give her a pretty one.
Millie leaned forward, allowing her trainer to slide the rope around her head and tighten the slipknot. The trainer grasped the lead just under the mare�s chin, and led her down the corridor, legs pumping up and down in a high step. Her tail swayed back and forth in time with the roll of her hips.
Yvonne stopped looking when they vanished around a corner, and went to look in the stall on the other side. There was another brunette lying on her side, knees flexed slightly, and hands cuffed behind her. She seemed to be dozing, and Yvonne decided not to wake her.
Then she turned to the food bin. She reached for another pear, and then stopped. She wasn�t supposed to use her hands. So she knelt before the tray and sank her teeth into the pear. In not too long a time, she managed to work her way through most of the food, and take her fill of water.
She looked up again. There were several ponygirls standing in their stalls, but most of them were talking in pairs, and none of them were close enough for her to join in. She sighed. What was it Millie had said about the telly?
She looked closely at the wall, and was rewarded to see two holes, about ten centimeters apart. She dropped to her knees in front of them, which brought them to eye level. In a moment, words appeared in midair. It was a menu with a number of entries: Movies, Music, News, Games and Courses. She poked her finger at News. The words dissolved, and more words appeared. It said: �There is no news. Were you expecting any?� and there was an OK button below it.
She shook her head, causing the vision to vanish momentarily. When it came back on, she was back at the original menu, which had shrunk to four items.
She decided to try Games. This time she was rewarded by a list of further choices. A little poking around showed her that there were literally thousands of games. They must have every game ever put on a computer! Then she smiled at herself, amused. If New Babylon was as big as it looked from the very limited view she�d had so far, it stood to reason.
She�d had a couple of friends that were into gaming, big time, and who had sworn that there was nothing like the old Zork games. She selected one called �Grand Inquisitor,� and soon she was wondering what to do with a fish that kept insulting her.
In the middle of her perusal of the latest insult, her stall door opened. She twisted around to look. There was a young man, dressed in a short skirt, leather boots and the ubiquitous collar, carrying a pitchfork.
�Stay where you are,� he said, waving at her. �You�re new, right? I�m just cleaning the stable.� So saying, he dug the pitchfork under the straw in the corner of the stall where she�d evacuated, and threw the mess into a bin. Then he threw down some more straw, and closed the stall gate. She got up and walked to the front, where she saw a ponygirl harnessed to a wagon. He picked up the reins and flicked them once, and the �girl started walking forward, pulling the refuse wagon behind her.
She went back to figuring out what to do about the insulting fish.
She�d finally figured that one out, and gotten killed by the grue, when her stall door opened again.
�I see you�ve found out how to amuse yourself,� Rinda said. �It looks like you�ve recovered.� She held out the bridle. Yvonne sighed and held her head out for Rinda to buckle the device around it. Rinda looped the lead around one of the posts between the stalls, and then opened the door.
�Let�s see your feet,� she said. Yvonne lifted her left foot when Rinda touched it. Rinda probed the ankle and foot bones, and nodded thoughtfully, putting the sandal back when she was done. Then she did the same thing for the right foot.
�Turn around,� she commanded. Yvonne turned, managing to wrap her lead around her throat. She spun to the other side, turning bright red in embarrassment.
Rinda chuckled. �That�s a good girl. Now bend over just a little.� She ran her finger over the end of Yvonne�s spine, in the space between the two globes of her ass cheeks. The area felt tender.
�Not bad for a few hours,� she said to herself. �Now, let�s see.� She went to the wall and picked a piece of shaped plastic. Then she brought it back and slid it in the space she�d just probed.
�Good enough,� she muttered. In a moment, Yvonne felt something cold.
�Hold still while the cement sets,� Rinda commanded. A couple of minutes later, she told the ponygirl she could unbend. Yvonne flexed her ass cheeks, and felt the bulk of the plastic intruder at the base of her spine.
�Now, let�s just give you a nice tail,� Rinda said. A moment later, Yvonne felt the intruder press upward, and then heard a click. The tail brushed between her legs, tickling her thighs.
A minute later, Rinda grasped the reins just below her chin, and led her down the corridors. Yvonne almost stumbled when she noticed herself doing a high step without thinking about it. �They�ve really got to me,� she thought. Then she recovered and kept walking next to Rinda.
They came out the front, into the parking lot where Rinda had left her ponygirl and chariot. Rinda marched her prize to the back of one of the chariots and tied her reins. Then she untied the sitting ponygirl�s reins from the hitching post and got in. The girl rose to her feet in a smooth motion. Rinda flicked the reins, and the girl started walking backwards, still looking straight ahead. Yvonne backpedaled quickly as the chariot came toward her. Then Rinda flicked the reins, and the girl stopped. A moment later, they were going down one of the paths through the emerald lawns.
A few minutes later, Rinda stopped her ponygirl next to a young man sitting on a contraption that looked like a lawn mower with two shafts in front.
�Yvonne�s a novice,� Rinda told the man, whose collar proclaimed him to be Fred 5. �That�s fine,� he said. �Doesn�t take much training to pull one of these things.� He untied the reins and guided the ponygirl to the center of the shafts. Then he lifted them, and buckled the straps to her corset. He stepped back to admire the view. Then he shook his head, and took a bottle from the tool case on the back of the mower.
�You�ll broil in this sun, girl,� he said, holding it out in front of her. �Sunscreen. You�ll tan up nicely, but we don�t want you to burn. Takes too long to heal.� He poured a little onto his hand, and methodically proceeded to work it into her face, under and around the bridle. Then he continued on down to her neck, her shoulders, and her arms, making certain he got in between where they were held together by the shackles.
He slowed down over her breasts, making very sure that he had the goop rubbed in thoroughly, slowing down even more as her nipples slowly hardened. He grinned as he thought he heard a slight whimper from behind her bit. Then he continued on down, rubbing it in over her ribs and under the edges of the leather girdle. Once he was done, he proceeded to the other end of the girdle, and rubbed the lotion over her hips and ass, into her crotch where it gleamed over her thatch, and finally down her legs and over her feet. He noticed that she was really a novice; she was wearing sandals rather than the hoof boots most of the ponygirls wore. Finally, he put the top back on the bottle, and rubbed his finger between her legs and over her sex. �You liked that, you little minx, didn�t you?� he laughed, teasing the erect nub of her left breast. �Well, let�s get going. There�s grass needing to be cut.�
He straightened his skirt as he got back onto the machine, said �Giddyap!� and flicked the reins. Yvonne strained forward, and was rewarded by a whir of blades as the mowing machine moved with her.
Fred spent a few minutes feeling out how she responded to the reins, and then brought the mower in a wide sweep to the strip where he had left off. Yvonne plodded along, getting used to the feel of the bit in her mouth, pulling her head forward. After a while, she just let the feeling of the bit take over, and started moving right and left to the pressure. Fred nodded to himself. This one might make it to Guest Services in time. Meanwhile, he�d have some fun with her.
An hour later, Fred and Yvonne had mowed a large swath of the lawns. He pulled her left onto grass that he had just mowed, and then tugged both reins. Yvonne stopped, the silence loud after the incessant whir of the mower blades. Fred pulled out a bottle of water from the box on the back, and then walked around to his draft animal and took her bit out of her mouth. He held the bottle up, and let her take a long drink. Then he picked a banana out of the cooler, peeled it back and held it in front of her. She looked at it and then opened her mouth, taking a neat bite out of the end. He fed her the rest of the fruit, and then bitted her, noticing the way her nipples expanded at the attention.
They spent another hour mowing another section of the lawn before Fred called a halt. This time after watering his pony, he held up a small candy on the palm of his hand. Yvonne looked at it, and then took it between her tongue and upper teeth, rolling it into her mouth. Fred scratched her behind the ears. �Time for some more sunscreen, girl.�
He took the bottle and rubbed the lotion thoroughly into her skin, paying particular attention to her breasts and pussy. By the time he was done, she was panting slightly. He swatted her ass lightly, and with a flick of the reins, started his thoroughly frustrated pony mowing another section of lawn.
Two more breaks, and he had finished the quarter that had been scheduled for mowing that day. �You�ve been a good girl,� he said. �I think you need more sunscreen.� By the time he finished up the bottle, she was definitely panting, her skin flushed to an extent that could not be accounted for by the late afternoon sun.
�Well, if you insist,� he said, and took the bit out of her mouth. He lifted the front of his skirt, showing the beginnings of an erection. She promptly knelt before him and took the shaft into her mouth, teasing it with little flicks of her tongue until it stood straight and stiff while he teased her breasts, with occasional excursions to tickle her ears. Finally, he had enough.
�Stand,� he commanded, voice husky with desire. She stood, legs spread, as he crouched before her and grasped her ass in his hands, and then impaled her with a single swift motion of his hips. She gasped, and then spasmed in the throes of orgasm. He pumped a couple of times, and then came, catching her as she descended from one orgasm and driving her into another.
He withdrew slowly, and then watched his pony totter on her legs until she managed to get her balance after the unexpected climax. �You�ll do,� was all he said as he straightened his skirt again and mounted the seat of the grass cutter. He flicked the reins, and she strained at the traces, getting it started on its way to the groundskeeper�s shed.
At the groundskeeper�s shed a groom picked her up and led her, hand holding her reins just under her chin, to a row of metal poles behind the stable. In between the metal poles were sturdier wooden poles covered with tack and various implements. He stopped her in front of one of the poles, which turned out to be a water pipe ending with a showerhead on a length of flex piping, and wrapped the reins around the pipe. Then he bent down and locked a shackle around her left ankle, taking off her sandal at the same time. He took the other sandal, and then stood, looking at her. He took the now familiar untying machine and removed her waistband and unshackled her arms. Then he took off the bridle, leaving her standing there tethered by her left foot.
Once he got everything stowed to his satisfaction, he took the showerhead and drenched her from head to toe. Then he shampooed her hair, and covered her entire body with soap. A second pass with the showerhead rinsed her off. He finished the job with a hair drier, and put it up in a perky ponytail. He noticed her erect nipples, and lightly flicked one with a finger so that it stood out even further. �Slut,� he said with a chuckle, �you already got it from the mowing man, if I know him! Besides, if I wanted you, I�d have to do it before washing you down.�
�Are you going to be good?� he asked. She whinnied at him, a question in her eyes.
�What I mean is, do I have to shackle your arms, or are you going to be good on the way back to your stall?�
She whinnied at him and nodded. �I take that as a yes.� He took a rope halter off the pole and slid it around her head, wrapping the lead around the water pipe. Then he unlocked the leg shackle, and, throwing her discarded tack over his shoulder, pulled her after him, holding the lead rope just under her chin so that she had no freedom of movement. He led her into the stable, and then paused, looking briefly to the side and making a gesture in the air. The display checked his eyes, identified him, and presented the list of ponygirls and their stall assignments. Then he walked her down the corridors to her stall, opened the gate, and stripped off the halter, giving her ass a swat before he closed the gate and shot the latch.
Yvonne looked at him as he hung the tack on the wall, absently rubbing the spot on her bottom where he had landed the stinging slap. It looked like his skirt was already drying out after the drenching it had taken while he scrubbed her down.
The ponygirl to her right was nowhere to be seen, but the girl on her left was standing up, looking disconsolately around, hands still shackled behind her back. Yvonne remembered the conversation, and noticed that she was Fatima 6.
�Why so glum, Fatima?� she asked.
�Nothing to do, dammit!� Fatima shot back. �I can�t make the telly work with my hands like this.�
�What did you do to make them shackle you?�
�I tried to get out. All I wanted to do was see how the stable looked, and where things were,� she said, sounding put upon.
�Well, if you can�t keep your hands out of trouble,� Yvonne shrugged. �The rules are the rules.�
�But�� Fatima wailed.
Yvonne cocked her head slightly. �I take it you signed up for five years as a ponygirl,� she threw out.
Fatima�s eye�s widened. �Five years?� she squeaked. �My master told me I�d be here until I learned how to be a ponygirl.�
�Oh? You�re not on a contract with New Babylon?�
�Contract? Master owns me. I like being his slave.�
�And I bet he lets you get away with lots of stuff.�
�He�s so � masterful � when he gets angry with me.�
Yvonne looked at her. �Let me share a suspicion with you, Fatima. He�s lost his patience for the last time. That�s why you�re here.�
�Really? I�d wondered. He�s never cared for heavy bondage. Will he sell me once I�m trained?�
�Who knows?� Yvonne spread her hands in a gesture of futility.
�More getting acquainted?� Rinda commented dryly from the corridor. Both �girls jumped back from the partition as if it burned. �Getting to know your neighbors isn�t exactly forbidden, but please keep an eye or ear out for us.� The threat hung in the air, no less real for being unstated.
Rinda walked into Yvonne�s stall. �The mowing man likes you, girl. Here.� She held up her hand, palm up and out. Yvonne bent her head to look, and saw the confection. She brushed her tongue over Rinda�s thumb, and then took it daintily between her lips. Rinda brushed the line of her jaw. �He says you�re a hot one. You like him?� Yvonne nodded and whinnied excitedly.
Rinda brushed a hand over Yvonne�s right breast, hesitating at the erect nipple. �Looks like you want another one,� she said in a sultry voice. Yvonne drew a shakey breath. Her tongue flicked out to touch her upper lip. �I guess you do at that,� she said as she put her hands on Yvonne�s shoulders and pressed down. Yvonne fell to her knees and looked upwards in puzzlement. Rinda drew the skirt of her tunic up, and Yvonne gasped at the partially erect penis it revealed. Rinda drew Yvonne�s head in with her other hand, and Yvonne took the member into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. Rinda drew a deep breath as her member thickened, and then another as she smelled Yvonne�s juices. Her dick got thicker and tighter as Yvonne continued teasing it, alternating flicks of her tongue with deep sucking. Just when she thought she couldn�t stand any more, she pushed Yvonne over, gasping �Down!� between inhalations.
Yvonne fell onto her back, legs spread as far as the walls of the stall would permit, and Rinda fell on top of her. She slid into the welcoming channel to a gasp of pleasure, and then both of them rocked back and forth, building the waves of sensation higher and higher. Yvonne came with a convulsive grunt, followed immediately by Rinda�s blast of cum into her womb. They both drew several deep, shuddering breaths as they came down from the peak.
Finally, Rinda levered herself to her knees, and drew her finger from Yvonne�s nose, across her mouth and down her throat, crossing the collar on its way down her sternum between her breasts to finally rest in her navel.
She stood. �The mowing man was right. You are a hot little slut. Well, not so little.� She grinned at the prone ponygirl. �That�s good.�
Rinda pulled down the skirt of her tunic and ran her hands through Yvonne�s hair, restoring some semblance of order to the chaos. She closed the stall behind her and walked down the corridor. A very puzzled ponygirl followed her swaying hips until she vanished around a corner.
�I see she got to you,� a familiar voice sounded from the adjacent stall.
�Millie! What is she? With those breasts, I thought she was a woman!�
�She is, basically,� Milly said. �Although that came later. The powers that be seem to like she-males, so any male on a permanent contract that isn�t absolutely locked rock solid into masculinity has a good chance of ending up as a hermaphrodite. The ones with bigger breasts present as female, the ones with smaller breasts are a mixed bag.�
�Is this place crazy, or what?� Yvonne muttered.
�Or what, mostly,� Millie replied. �Every time I think they�re crazy, it turns out there�s a reason, so I�ve quit thinking about it. So. Tell me about your day.�
Yvonne 8 came awake slowly, the straw of her stall prickling her skin in unlikely places. She stretched as the tag ends of a bizarre dream dissolved into gossamer wisps and faded away. Then her feet hit the stall door, and she froze. It had been the most unlikely dream; she�d been in a harness, pulling a lawn mower, of all things! Then as she squirmed around, her elbow hit the partition wall, and she almost panicked as she came fully awake. It hadn�t been a dream! Her hands went to her throat, only to feel the obdurate material of the collar that had been irremovably molded around her neck.
She almost curled up into a ball as her situation sunk in. Then she told herself to relax. She needed to plan. Then she laughed at herself. Plan what? She�d do whatever the people running this place told her to do. For the next five years. Well, for the next four years and 364 days. If she managed to survive it.
She stretched again, sat up and looked around. She could see a little; the lights in the rafters were glowing softly, just enough to see by, not enough to cast any kind of shadow. She propped herself on her hands and took a sip from the water bowl on the table at the head of the stall. Then she nosed the leavings in the food bowl, and found an uneaten pear. She picked it up and hefted it, and then put it back. The lesson of the girl in the stall to her left didn�t really need to be hammered home. She bent her head, got the pear positioned properly, and took a bite. Then she took another. And another.
She knelt in front of the twin holes of the telly, and saw the menu draw itself in midair. Today it was up to six entries: Movies, Music, News, Games, Courses and Facilities. She poked News experimentally. To her surprise, it came up with a selection of headlines from around the world she had left so precipitously. She sampled a few, and found, not to her surprise, that none of them interested her very much. The world seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket, but it had been doing that for as long as she could remember, and her history classes had confirmed that it was not a recent phenomenon. Either they had mislaid the handbasket, or Helen was not accepting deliveries. She kind of thought it was the latter.
What was Facilities? She poked it experimentally, and was rewarded by a long menu; most of the entries had red lines drawn through them. The only entries she could access were Maps and Staff Information. She looked at Maps for a while, and found that New Babylon was much more extensive than she had thought, but the only information she could get on any of it was the names. She couldn�t find out what was inside any of the buildings, except for the training stable, where her stall was marked with her name. Staff Information also had a number of entries, most of which were lined out. Standard Indenture Forms was available, as was Staff Records. She tried Staff Records, and was rewarded with an entry box and a Go button. She hit the Go button, and was rewarded with another menu, headed �Yvonne 8�. Again, most of the entries were lined out. The only available entry was named Contract.
Hum. They certainly hadn�t made it easy to find. She poked at it. Up popped a screen headed with: �Five Year Renewable and Transferable Indenture of Yvonne 8 to New Babylon.� That did look like what she had signed. Had she been so stupid as to not notice Renewable and Transferable? Apparently.
She scrolled through the terms. Interestingly enough, they were in reasonably understandable English, not thick legalese or the baby speak that passed for �Plain English� in insurance documents. A few clauses stood out.
Section 1. Paragraph 1. Yvonne 8, identified by copy of hir former identity card photocopied below, indentures herself to New Babylon for the term of five years. The indenture may be renewed for additional terms of five years, or may be made permanent, by agreement of the parties. If made permanent, ownership of the indenture may be transferred to another party at the discretion of New Babylon.
Gleep. Did that mean I could be sold to someone else? It sure looked like it.
Section 1. Paragraph 2. At the end of the first term, Yvonne 8 will be paid the sum of US$100,000.00 after all applicable taxes, fees and other expenses, plus accrued interest, to be calculated as specified below.
That was more or less as I remembered it.
Section 1. Paragraph 3. At the expiration of the indenture, Yvonne 8 will be returned to the place where she signed this document, in a physical state no worse than she might reasonably expect of any other resident of that place.
And the average life expectancy in the slum where I�d been living was, what? I�ll bet it was less than 5 years.
Section 1. Paragraph 4. The indenture may be renewed for additional terms of five years at the request of Yvonne 8 and with the consent of New Babylon. Each additional term shall be compensated at the same rate as the first term.
Section 1. Paragraph 5 (Permanent Enslavement Option). New Babylon reserves the right to extend the term of the indenture at their convenience, without consent or notification.
Most of the rest seemed to be what I could expect. A couple more leaped out at me.
Section 3. Paragraph 6 (Full Time Ponygirl Option). Assuming Yvonne 8 passes the physical requirements for the position, New Babylon will train her to act as much like a horse as possible. She will be treated as, and will perform such duties as may reasonably be assigned to a horse. This assignment will begin immediately and last for the duration of the indenture.
New Babylon may assign Yvonne 8 to other duties. Those other duties may be temporary, or may result in Yvonne 8 no longer being required to perform as a horse.
Section 5. Paragraph 4. In the event that Yvonne 8 attempts to escape, NB may condition her against such escape attempts, may take other measures to insure against a repetition thereof, or otherwise utilize the escapee to the benefit of New Babylon. Conditioning may result in the inability to refuse a request to renew the indenture.
Section 6. Paragraph 1. This indenture shall be administered under the laws of New Babylon.
And I�ll bet they don�t allow judgments against themselves, either.
Yvonne sighed and broke the connection with a wave of her hand.
�Problem with your game?� Millie said over the partition between the stalls.
�No,� Yvonne stood and turned to her, �I just looked at the details of my contract.�
�And you feel like you�ve been kicked in the guts,� Millie filled in. �I know the feeling.�
�How?� Yvonne said disgustedly. �You�re not from the asshole of the city.�
�True. And I did read it carefully and negotiated what I thought were beneficial provisions. Then I got here.� She let the silence make her point. �So what part is eating you?�
�All of it. Well, the part that makes it look like the only option is to renew and stay a ponygirl forever.�
�Or until you�re too old and they put you down,� Millie filled in helpfully. �Actually, it�s both better and worse than you think.�
�Oh?�
�Well, the scuttlebutt is that saddle ponygirls always renew, and that most long timers are used as saddle ponygirls. The experience is supposed to be highly addictive.
�On the other hand, I noticed something when I was in Housekeeping � cleaning, repairs and so forth. One of our supervisors, that was Sabrina 7, had a mane, hooves and a tail. We used to make jokes about not wanting to stand there when she put her hoof down. Then I went to personal service, and did housekeeping when I didn�t have a client. A few times they put me in as a housekeeping team leader. And I saw her pulling a chariot a few times when she wasn�t being a supervisor.�
�Huh?�
�She was definitely a long term ponygirl. They don�t give us short timers hooves or a real tail like you�re going to get.� Yvonne�s hand unconsciously went behind her, to rub the piece of plastic that joined her tail with her tailbone. �The word is that it�s simply too much effort to regrow feet once they�ve changed them to hooves.�
�You�ve got a tail,� Yvonne said; clearly not ready to deal with the curve Millie had just thrown her.
�It�s pasted on with medical glue like yours is for the moment. Yours will grow naturally. You�ll be able to swish it like a horse; the only way I can get mine to move is to sway my ass.�
�Which you do very prettily,� Yvonne 8 said. �What I don�t understand is why they�d promote?�
�I don�t really know either, but I suspect that they can�t get as many team leaders and supervisors as they�d like. I know they tried most of the slaves on my cleanup crew, and only two of us were told to be team leader a third time. And that makes sense, because the others didn�t have whatever it takes to lead.�
�So. What you�re saying is that if they drop a team leader slot in front of me, grab it and run.� She cocked her head. �What would a team leader slot look like for a ponygirl?�
�I haven�t a clue, girl. All I really know is that Sabrina seemed to have made it.�
Yvonne was still picking at breakfast, supporting herself on hands and feet, when Rinda arrived. Rinda looked at the ponygirl in amusement. Trying to be four footed was certainly an innovation, and indeed, it made a certain amount of sense for eating. At least, she didn�t have to crane her head forward to eat while she was kneeling in front of the depression containing her breakfast. She also didn�t have the use of her hands, but then, ponygirls weren�t supposed to use their hands while eating, although nobody punished minor infractions of that rule.
�Well girl, let�s get you harnessed,� Rinda said over the stall door. �Stand up and keep facing away from me.�
Yvonne swayed back on her hind feet and stood up.� Rinda inspected the ponygirl closely, noticing that she hadn�t burned at all from yesterday�s outing. The mowing man�s bottle of sunscreen was notorious: it was just skin lotion with no special properties. What had protected Yvonne was a gene modification that all of the slaves and residents got as a matter of course. Their skin had been modified to produce a series of enzymes that absorbed all ultra-violet sunlight and converted it into glucose, which was excreted into the bloodstream. The enzyme absorbed slightly into the blue, which gave Yvonne�s skin a slight, almost unnoticeable reddish tinge, like a permanent blush.
There was a second set of enzymes that absorbed in the infra-red, but only if the body temperature went above normal. A third set covered the visible range, but was only active if the skin was naturally dark. The total effect was that the lighter skinned people didn�t tan, there were no problems with sunburn, and the food bill went down substantially.
�Your mane seems to be coming in, girl,� Rinda said. �Feel back there.� She guided the �girl�s hands to the middle of her spine, and let her feel the stubble herself. Yvonne�s eyes went wide. She�d noticed that several of the �girls harnessed to the chariots had manes, but she�d thought that it was just a hairstyle. She hadn�t realized that it was a permanent gene modification. �Well,� she consoled herself, �it ought to be easy enough to reverse when my indenture is up.�
�Arms back.�
Yvonne folded her arms so she touched the opposite elbows.
�Very good,� Rinda praised her. She attached cuffs to the girl�s arms above and below the elbow, and to the wrists, and then joined them with a short chain, making them all but immovable. She clipped the chain together with a simple spring clasp. This was a sign that she thought Yvonne wouldn�t make any attempt to unclip her arms; some ponies were supple enough to reach the clasp and unhook it. If they tried, there was an alternative: the chain loop would be closed with a small circle of steel, clamped shut with special pliers. It needed another tool to remove.
Rinda preferred not to make the extra effort; besides, she wanted to see which of her trainees were trustworthy, and which weren�t.
Now that her pony�s arms had been immobilized, she bent down and tapped the side of Yvonne�s right foot. Yvonne lifted it slightly, shifting her weight, and Rinda lifted it, inspecting it closely. It looked like the bones had shifted slightly, but she wasn�t certain after less than one day. She slid a sandal under it, lacing the footwear tightly so it would not slip. She did the same to the left foot.
Then she wrapped the corset around the ponygirl�s waist, and used the lacing machine to tighten it. Yvonne expelled her breath to help the process along. Rinda frowned in mild puzzlement. Most ponygirls took several days to understand that they had to do that to seat the waistband properly. Well, she certainly wasn�t going to punish her for cooperating!
She took a brush and smoothed out her subject�s hair, removing snarls and not a little straw in the process. Then she did it up in a ponytail, snapping a colorful band around it to hold it in place. The bridle came next. Yvonne stood still as Rinda tightened the straps around her head.
Rinda reached around the standing ponygirl and showed her the bit. Yvonne promptly opened her mouth, allowing her trainer to slip the device in and attach it to the side rings with no objection. Finally, Rinda clipped reins to the steel posts depending from the sides of the bit. She backed up a moment and looked at the �girl. Pretty good, she nodded to herself. She already looks like a proper ponygirl.
She added three feathers to the crest of the bridle and then stood back and nodded. Even better. The other pieces could come later. She reached around her charge and gripped the reins just under the �girl�s chin, and pulled her around. In a moment, the two of them walked down the corridor, Yvonne automatically doing her high step.
This time she led Yvonne to an area filled with circular arenas, separated by small grass borders. Rinda led her charge into one of them and walked to the center, paying out the reins. She adjusted the reins carefully in her left hand, so that Yvonne faced the outside of the circle, and small twists of her wrist would shift the ponygirl�s head one way or the other. She unlimbered her whip into her right hand, and said: �Walk.�
Yvonne started walking, pulled into a circle by the constant leftward tug the reins exerted on her bit. Rinda looked at the way she lifted her legs, and the consequent roll of her hips, and frowned in concentration. �Stop!� Yvonne stopped. Rinda clipped her whip to her belt and consulted her communicator. She nodded.
�Bring your right leg up slowly. Now roll your hips right. Back down. Roll them dammit! This time start with the hip movement. Now back down.� After a while the ponygirl seemed to get the movement down.
�Start.� Yvonne moved forward again, this time moving her hips back and forth in time to the leg lifts. As she did, her tail swayed in time with the movement. Rinda nodded. Much better. In fact, not only better, it actually showed the beginnings of a very natural flowing movement. However, better to leave that for tomorrow. Cementing this much in would be enough for today.
�Trot!� Yvonne broke into a run. �Slower, dammit. You�re not sprinting!� Yvonne slowed down a bit. Rinda started calling a cadence, and Yvonne slowed still more, falling in pace with the simple beat. �Much better. Now, roll those hips!� Yvonne almost stumbled, startled, as the attempt destroyed her long practiced running style. Eventually, the sweating ponygirl regained the cadence, rolling her hips enough that her tail described an S curve, the movement rippling down the length of the appendage.
�Walk!� Yvonne slowed down, remembering to high step. Rinda noted that she was still rolling her hips.
�Trot!� Rinda kept up with the pace shifts at random intervals until she was satisfied with her charge�s ability to switch gaits smoothly.
�Stop.� Yvonne almost stumbled as she tried to halt from a trot too swiftly. Then she recovered, standing in place and panting slightly. Rinda walked toward her, maintaining the tension on the reins until she grasped them a few inches under the ponygirl�s chin. She twitched the reins slightly and then walked between other exercising ponygirls and their trainers to a second section. This one had the same poles and crossbars as the induction station, but they were set close together, so that the crossbars would almost touch. She selected one that wasn�t occupied, and swiftly harnessed the �girl to the two bars. However, this time the high crossbar holding Yvonne�s reins was in back, rather than in front. Instead of two staples, the crossbar had levers that could pull on each rein individually. It also had a directional speaker, aimed at Yvonne�s head. Rinda walked over to the control pole, and pushed the start button.
�Trot!� The speaker snapped the command at Yvonne, and she lunged forward against the pull of the lower crossbar. Rinda nodded, satisfied. She remembered the proper cadence, and was still rolling her hips properly, even under load. As her charge went through the outbound part of her circle, the trainer walked away. Yvonne didn�t see her go, she was just there on one pass, and not there on the other. It made absolutely no difference; the ponygirl�s pace continued smoothly on.
Some time later, the passionless computer noted that the ponygirl still grimly pulling her assigned load had reached the optimum limit for maximum conditioning. Any more exercise would start destroying muscle tissue that would have to heal; that would not be efficient. Consequently, it released the brake that provided the load, and let the ponygirl go around another ten times, at progressively slower paces, to cool off. Finally, it pulled back on the reins, and the speaker blared out the single word: �Whoa!� The sweat-soaked Yvonne stopped, standing shakily in place as a blinking light signaled the end of the session.
After a few moments, a groom walked up to check. He released the ponygirl from both crossbars, and then led her to the washing stands, holding her reins just under the bit. All of the trainers and grooms in the training stables did this; it was the easiest method of retaining control. The pony had no choice but to move immediately where the handler directed. Yvonne would not be led on a loose rein until she left the training stable, and not always then.
The groom washed her down thoroughly and led her back to her stall in the stable. She stood patiently while he removed the halter, and then practically collapsed onto the straw, and fell asleep immediately.
Two hours later, Yvonne woke refreshed, and ate a light lunch. This time, her lunch had included a banana. It had taken her a while to figure out how to peel the thing with only her teeth, but she had managed, and thoroughly enjoyed the fruit. She backed away from the food bin, staying on all fours for some reason she couldn�t define, and slowly wiggled her ass back and forth, enjoying the feel of the tail against her legs. Finally, she stood up and checked the stalls on either side. Neither Fatima nor Millie was home. She considered whether to spend some time looking at the telly when she saw Rinda walking down the corridor in her stall�s direction, so she simply stood there, watching her trainer, and idly shifting her hips so she could feel the brush of her tail against her legs.
Rinda stopped in front of the stall. �Well,� she smiled. �I see you�re all recovered and ready to go.�
Yvonne whinnied at her. Rinda stood closer, and Yvonne brought her head forward, brushing Rinda�s face with her nose. Rinda laughed and reached into her pouch for a treat. When she held it out, Yvonne bent her head to the outstretched hand and picked it up between tongue and teeth, being certain to brush Rinda�s palm with her tongue in the process. Rinda laughed again, and scratched the ponygirl behind the ear as Yvonne sucked on the candy, letting it slowly dissolve in her mouth before swallowing.
�Turn around so I can put your tack on,� Rinda commanded. Yvonne turned around and stepped forward to the middle of the stall, bringing her hands behind her without being told. Rinda put the tack on, and then led the ponygirl out to another area, one that had a number of small sulkies standing in a row. She maneuvered the �girl between the shafts of one of the sulkies, and fastened the traces so that she was unable to move without moving the sulky.
When she entered, she set her communicator on a stand in front of her, and placed both reins in her left hand so that a simple twist of her wrist would shift the pressure from one side of the ponygirl�s mouth to the other. Then she unlimbered her carriage whip and told her pony to walk.
Yvonne jerked the sulky as she started. Rinda was expecting this, so she wasn�t thrown, although she did sway back and forth, but she managed to keep her balance without using her hands. However, Yvonne wasn�t so lucky: the jerky start caused Rinda to saw on the reins, and Yvonne whinnied in protest as the bit cut at her mouth.
In a moment, however, she had the load under control, and walked forward until Rinda tilted her hand, causing her to slew left. Then her driver shifted her to the right, and stopped her with a backward tug. Rinda nodded. The mowing man had gotten her used to the signals, all right, and she was responding well. She gave a light tug, and Yvonne stepped forward, this time starting the sulky much more smoothly. Rinda only had to flex her knees slightly to maintain her balance, and she managed to keep the tension on the reins steady. She gave another light tug, and noticed that nothing happened. Yvonne kept moving forward at the same pace, doing a high step.
�Each tug means to go up one pace,� Rinda called. Yvonne whinnied. Rinda tugged lightly, and Yvonne shifted to a trot, managing to keep the sulky stable as she did so.
Rinda nodded, satisfied with her control. She guided the ponygirl down a path to a practice field, and spent a half hour turning her, stopping and starting, getting her thoroughly used to a sulky. When she was done, she brought the sulky back to the lot, unhitched her lightly sweating ponygirl, and returned her to the stable, leaving her tack in place, although she released the �girl�s arms.
That afternoon, Yvonne was introduced to the roller. This was mostly a large, horizontal concrete cylinder. It rotated around a shaft through its center. Other shafts went along the front and back, joined so that it looked like a sausage on a fork. Or it would have, if the fork were closed at both ends. One of the outside shafts had three shafts extending out from it, with leather straps dangling, waiting for the matching buckles on a ponygirl�s harness. The other shaft had a seat pushing up like a toadstool.
One of the grooms came for both Yvonne and Milly, and led them out, holding a pair of reins in each hand. He hitched Yvonne on the left, and Milly on the right of the roller. Then the driver got onto the seat behind the thing. The groom handed the man both sets of reins. He sorted them between his hands, both left reins in his left hand, both right reins in his right hand, and made certain he had even tension. Then he flicked them and watched the �girls strain to move the concrete load. Once they had gotten it under way, he deftly guided his machine out of the groundskeeper�s lot onto the extensive lawn, and began going back and forth, pressing the ground and evening out various bumps and ripples.
The groundskeeper kept an eye on how his infernal device was rolling, and flicked a light whip at whichever of the hapless ponygirls was slacking at the moment. He could tell because the roller would tend to go off course if one or the other of the �girls was not putting out the same amount of effort.
After about two hours of this, the girls had red strips all down their ass cheeks and legs, and he had rolled about an eighth of the lawn. However, most of the stripes had been earned in the first hour. When he stopped, he had not had to correct either of them for well over half an hour.
The grooms led them back from the groundskeeper�s lot, washed them down, and put them back in their stalls. Both of them collapsed, completely tired out.
Yvonne sat in her stall, massaging her feet. They still hadn�t come to measure her for the hoof boots that both of her stable neighbors sported, and she was beginning to wonder what was going on. Rinda had put her in heeled sandals this morning, replacing the flats she had worn for the previous week. She�d finally noticed that she now stood naturally with her heels in the air. Just an inch or so, but she hadn�t even noticed it happening until Rinda had put the new sandals on her.
Her toes seemed to have grown together, and even stranger, her toenails also seemed to be growing together. They formed a seriated plate, a single nail separating into the five nails that had been there originally. And the top of her feet seemed to be curving up. She had this awful suspicion. What had Milly said a week ago, when this entire mess had started? Something about her getting real hooves and a tail? She�d let it go by without thinking.
She ran a hand through her hair, and winced as more strands came out. She wished, not for the first time, that she had a mirror to see what was going on. Then she wished she didn�t, because she was afraid she knew. She had noticed that several of the ponygirls had manes. Unlike Milly, who still had her full head of hair, and seemed likely to keep it.
She thought back. What did she know about horses� hooves? Only that they had to be shod. Except that several of those oh so superior fellow students had occasionally discussed barefoot horses as opposed to shod horses. She wished she�d paid more attention to polo, but running was her sport. It might even have helped to break the ice. Not likely, she snorted.
Hooves and tail. What was that little piece of plastic hiding? She reached back and felt around the tail Rinda had plugged in a week ago. A moment�s probing found the catch, and she unsnapped it. Then she felt behind her again, and found the thin finger, covered with short fuzz that peeped from under its plastic cover. Touching it tickled!
They really were turning her into a horse! If they could do this, what else was going to happen? For just a moment, she was overwhelmed by despair. Then the black mood seemed to drain away, and she straightened with newfound optimism that she could meet whatever challenges they threw at her.
It never occurred to her that her mood shift was caused by the mechanisms that held her neck in their obdurate grasp.
The groom walked up to the stall and checked the nameplate. Yes, it was Yvonne 8. Tall brunette, hooves almost fully formed. He knocked on the stall door politely, and watched her flow to her hooves, tail streaming out momentarily from the motion.
�Well, girl,� he asked. �Do you want to learn how to take care of your own hooves?� He watched the startled expression on her face. �You can answer me in English.�
She snorted and nuzzled his face. Then she backed up a half step and looked at him strangely. �I didn�t think it was permitted. Horses don�t shoe themselves, do they?�
�And you wouldn�t either. That�s a job for a farrier. What you can do is picking and trimming if you go barefoot.�
�What difference does it make? I�m not refusing, mind. For once around this place, I�d like to know why.�
�There are more things we can do with you if you can handle most of your hoof care. And most of the �girls seem to like them better than the rest of the tasks.�
�I suppose you�re not going to tell me,� she sighed. �Well, I�d like that. Anything to get a little more of a feeling that my life is under my control.� She didn�t understand why he chuckled.
They spent an hour as she learned the parts of her hoof, and how to manipulate the pick to remove stones. He came for an hour a day for the rest of the week, showing her more of what she had to do to keep her hooves in good condition. On the last day, he left a hoof pick hanging on the side of her stall.
Rinda led the haltered ponygirl down a path she had not been on before, hands cuffed behind her back. Yvonne felt a great deal of curiosity; this was something new. This was the first time she�d been let out of her stall with her hands cuffed. Usually, she had them shackled crosswise behind her. The grooms sometimes led her back to her stall from grooming with her hands cuffed, and sometimes with them free, but she had never come out of her stall that way before. And she�d not been this far from the stable this way, either.
They walked around a hill, and came upon a meadow that wasn�t visible from the stable. Yvonne stumbled as she almost stopped in amazement. There were several dozen ponygirls in the meadow, walking around, lying down, talking to each other in pairs and groups. Some of them had their hands free, some of them had their hands cuffed behind them. There was a water trough, and a shallower trough loaded with food. There was a mixture of short timers and long timers.
�Well, girl,� Rinda told the stunned ponygirl. �Enjoy yourself until you�re called.� She opened the gate and ran the lead loosely around the ponygirl�s neck a couple of times, tying it off so it wouldn�t snag. She watched as Yvonne trotted into the meadow and found another �girl to talk to.
Rinda took a moment to admire her. She trotted naturally up the slight hill, light brown mane and tail flowing in the breeze. She seemed utterly unconcerned that her hands were cuffed.
Horses are herd animals, and New Babylon had included a herd instinct in the genetic changes it had imposed on its ponygirls. This was actually her final examination. How she behaved in a herd would determine what she would be assigned to do.
One morning, a groom came and harnessed her as usual, using a halter and leaving her hands cuffed instead of shackled crosswise. Instead of taking her to exercise or work, or taking her to the meadow, he left her standing in a corral with a number of other ponygirls. Yvonne 8 promptly joined in the chatter. She knew most of the �girls from her time in the meadow.
She automatically noticed the �girl with a fan of peacock feathers in her headdress. She was the herd mare. Yvonne had been introduced to corral and herd discipline a week earlier when she�d been let loose in the meadow. She�d shown no tendency to stray, and had not even discovered the invisible electronic barrier that kept the ponygirls there.
Finally, the grooms seemed to be done adding �girls to the corral. Two of them rode up on ponygirls and opened the gate. The herd mare trotted out, following the lead groom, and the remainder of the �girl herd followed her. The other groom brought up the rear.
Yvonne maneuvered herself close enough to the front of the herd that she could see the ponygirl under the saddle. The �girl was trotting along with a firm stride, hips and tail swaying as she moved. The saddle seemed to be nestled in the small of her back, with a lot of the weight resting on her hips. Her torso came out from between the groom�s legs at a 45 degree angle. Her head tilted back so she looked forward. Yvonne nodded as she examined the saddle girl. She had proper hooves, not the hoof boots the short timers wore. The groom sat his saddle easily, knees drawn up so that his legs didn�t foul his mount�s legs as they ate the distance. He maintained a light tension on the reins with his left hand; his mount had no opportunity to turn her head to look at the scenery.
She also noticed that his mount was a fairly big �girl, and he was a bit smaller than average. She wondered whether they were going to train her to the saddle. The couple of saddle �girls she knew said that there was nothing like being ridden, other than maybe an orgasm that went on and on, without either wearing you out or leaving you frustrated. They were big �girls too, easily matching her own 6�1�.
The girl herd trotted down a path through forest and meadow for about fifteen minutes, until they came to a very large meadow. It must have contained several hundred ponygirls. Yvonne stared at it in amazement. The �girls seemed to be milling around, talking, lying down, playing games and eating. There seemed to be more long timers than short timers, just to judge from the number of �girls with manes as opposed to those with full heads of hair.
There were several water troughs and several food tables. On the other side, there was a covered pavilion of some type, a little too far away for Yvonne to make out clearly.
The other thing she noticed was that most of the �girls wore halters, without any other tack. Some of these had their hands cuffed behind them, and some had their arms free. A smaller number were fully tacked out, with bridles and corsets, and with their arms shackled crosswise.
The herdsmen sent their small herd into the meadow, and then rode off, not looking behind to see what they would do. Yvonne trotted in with the rest, automatically noticing the mare toward the center with the headdress of brilliant blue and green feathers. She must be the herd mare.
Yvonne paused a moment to catch her breath, not that the trot had tired her significantly. If she remembered the map, this was the golf course. She picked a spot and sat on her heels, noting with amusement that her new tail lay along the grass. It tickled.
Shortly after they arrived, a man rode out on a stunning looking redheaded ponygirl and called for silence. Then he read off a list of all 18 holes at the golf course, with their tee and hole placements. Yvonne noticed that most of the ponygirls were paying rapt attention, so she tried to catch them as well. He repeated the entire list a second time, and then most of the �girls clumped into groups to recite the instructions to each other. Yvonne joined one of the groups: if the ponygirls who belonged here were memorizing this stuff, it might be important. Besides which, it was something to do, and it wasn�t as if she didn�t know golf. Her parents had played all through her high school years, and their fancy country club membership had made it easy to learn. It was also one of the few things she shared with her college roommate, Sally, where she was the acknowledged superior.
Every few minutes, some grooms came out and called out between four and seven names. The ponygirls would trot over to them. Sometimes they would lead the �girls off, and sometimes they would stop under the canopy and change one or more of the �girl�s tack. Finally, Yvonne 8 heard her name called as part of a group of six. She joined the other five �girls and followed the groom along another path to the clubhouse. She noted peripherally that two of the �girls were fully tacked out. The grooms cuffed the other three ponygirls and lead all six of them to the clubhouse.
He led them to a group of four guests, two men and two women. The guests talked among themselves for a moment, agreeing on which �girl each of them wanted. Then the grooms bitted the two fully tacked out girls and hitched them to chariots. The other four, including Yvonne, were outfitted with shoulder harnesses.� They attached a golf bag to the harnesses, and then tethered the �girls to the chariots.
The golfers got into the chariots, and drove them to a short line of other golfers waiting for their tee time. Yvonne noticed that some of the foursomes had chariots, and some of them just had bag carriers. It seemed that they preferred the exercise of walking.
The bag girls sat on their heels behind their chariots, waiting. Yvonne noticed that some of the pairs of bag girls were talking to each other in low voices; apparently it was permitted.
�Yvonne!� the other bag girl on her chariot said, voice pitched low so it didn�t carry. �Is this your first time out?�
�Yes, they just brought us over from the training stable. You�re Nancy 2?�
�Unfortunately,� the brunette replied. �Mr. Syndler is a right bastard. He�s taken a liking to me, and asks for me every time. Fortunately for you, his wife�s a doll, and she�s also the better golfer. You�ll see. Oh, and you�re allowed to talk to your client.�
�So we just act like caddies?�
�Up to a point. I�ve had some golfers that have uncuffed my hands so I can wash their balls for them, but most don�t. I�ve even had one that had me keep his scorecard. And you can�t go onto the greens.�
�Not with hooves. I take it they ask you for advice?�
�Some do, some don�t. Mr. Syndler doesn�t. I�ve seen his wife ask hers a few times.�
�Well, this is my first time on this course.� Yvonne tried to shrug, which proved difficult under the weight of the golf bag. �I golfed and caddied for five years before this happened.�
Eventually, their foursome got to the head of the line, and then drove off to the first tee. After two months of training, Yvonne no longer had to think about following a chariot. She did it as easily as breathing, maintaining the correct distance automatically.
The foursome parked their chariots by the side of the men�s tee. The bag carriers dropped to their heels behind the chariots, leaving the bags out so the golfers could get to their clubs.
The first hole was a long par 5 with a dogleg. Mr. Syndler drove first, taking a mighty swing, and unfortunately slicing it. The ball rattled off several trees before falling to earth. Yvonne nodded slightly as she tracked it. If it had been straight, it might have been in the crook, perfectly set up for the second shot. As it was, he was going to lose a stroke getting back to the fairway, possibly two. The second man drove straight, but wound up short and on the wrong side of the fairway.
The two women walked down to the women�s tee. Mrs. Syndler detached Yvonne�s tether and took her along, parking her on the side. The other woman just brought her driver, ball and tee.
Mrs. Syndler took her bag girl�s chin and pushed it up so she could read the collar. �You�re Yvonne, right?�
�Yes, ma�am.�
�How should I play this one?�
Yvonne lifted an eyebrow at the question. �This is my first time on the course. Depends on how long you normally drive. If you can�t make the dogleg, I�d try to keep it to the left to cut the angle on the second shot.�
The woman nodded and pulled the driver out of the bag. She hit a nice, clean shot and wound up just short of the dogleg, on the left, in an ideal position to get some distance around the trees without having to take a chance on going over. The fourth golfer hit her shot into the rough on the right.
Mrs. Syndler came back, dropped her club in the bag, and then looked at her bag carrier. �Do I have to keep you on the lead?�
�Not if it pleases you, ma�am.�
�Very well.� She walked back to the chariot and slid in behind her husband. Yvonne took up her position behind the vehicle, and they were off down the fairway.
A few hours later, Yvonne reflected that it had been a very good round. Mrs. Syndler had unbent enough by the fifth hole to ask to be called Sarah. They had discussed a number of shots, and Sarah had taken her advice on a couple of them. Mr. And Mrs. Syndler had come in dead even after 18. He�d have won handily, except that he�d done the same thing on all the par 5�s that he�d done on the first hole. He�d tried to drive too far, and had wound up in the woods, the lake, sand traps, and once in the middle of a pineapple. His wife, meanwhile, played methodically, not taking chances but making most of her shots exactly where she wanted them.
Nancy 2, she reflected, had been absolutely right about Mr. Syndler. She�d had to tramp through the woods several times, looking for the ball. Mrs. Syndler, on the other hand, simply didn�t make that kind of mistake except by accident. Yvonne had the distinct impression that accidents were something that happened to someone else.
A groom led all six ponygirls from the foursome back to the meadow, where they relaxed until the last party had finished. Interestingly enough, he released the four �girls whose hands had been cuffed, but left the other two with their complete tack, arms still shackled crosswise. Yvonne noticed that neither of them complained about unfair treatment, however.
When the last group came back, the same man came up riding his redhead. He surveyed the field, and then called out in a loud voice. �Grounds cleanup. Assemble by crew!� Most of the ponygirls sorted themselves out into half a dozen groups, with the new ones looking on in puzzlement.
Next, he called six names, and a �girl came running up from each crew. He put an ornate headdress on each one and sent them back to their crews. Yvonne nodded almost unconsciously. The crews now each had a herd mare. Then he pulled out a list, and assigned each of the new ponygirls to one of the crews. Yvonne 8 wound up in crew number three.
She looked at her fellow crewmembers. Tina 6 was the �girl with the headdress, so she must be the herd mare, Yvonne decided. Once the head groundskeeper finished with the assignments and a number of special orders, the herds of ponygirls headed out to various parts of the course. As Yvonne discovered shortly, Crew 3 was responsible for the 7th, 8th and 9th holes, and the forest around it. They started at an equipment shed. The �girls who were still in full tack positioned themselves between the shafts of the refuse wagons while Tina split the girls further into work teams, assigning each of the new team members to an experienced worker as a guide. Each team went to their wagon, finished harnessing up their ponygirl, and moved out. Yvonne�s work group was assigned to the left edge. They cleaned the rough, removing the occasional fallen branch, leaves, cigarette butts and everything else in their path that sullied the pristine beauty of the course. As Yvonne bent to her task, she barely noticed Tina 6 trotting among the crews checking on progress, or the herd mare and the groundskeeper coming by occasionally.
Finally, they were finished just in time for the sun to begin going down. The tired herd headed back toward the meadow. The �girl�s with bridles and corsets lined up in front of grooming stations, where the grooms processed them with relentless efficiency, unlacing their corsets, removing their bridles, and unshackling the arms of the �girls who still had them bound. Then they soaked each one, soaped her thoroughly, rinsed her off and dried her hair with a blow-drier. They finished by straightening the short hair on her head and between her legs with a currycomb, and then brushed her mane.
The rest of the �girls headed down to the river and lined up, grooming each other to the accompaniment of many giggles. When they were done, they spread out into the meadow and fell into small groups, either talking in low voices or lying back and going to sleep. By this time, Yvonne was totally puzzled, but she went along with the herd. She picked a likely looking piece of meadow and stretched out, tail between her legs, and watched the moon slide between the stars. After a few moments, she fell asleep.
The next morning, she woke as the sky began lightening. She rolled up, being careful not to wake her neighbors, and knelt before the water trough. By the time she got to the food table, she found several other ponygirls there, each with her head in the trough, munching away. Once she had her fill, she headed for the river. She noticed the girl she�d been paired with the previous night looking around, so she joined her.
�Hi, Cassie,� she called from behind the �girl, startling her.
She spun around. �Oh, Yvonne, I was just looking for you. I�ll bet you�re totally confused by now. Let�s groom each other and talk.�
They picked up the soap and waded into the river.
�So, what�s your impression?�
�Well, I used to golf, so that part�s ok. Being a bag girl is kinky, but this is New Babylon, I should expect normal? What�s puzzling me is cleanup last night, and sleeping in the open.�
�They�re the same thing. They wanted a world class golf course, but they don�t have the staff, so they make us do the work. There are only five groundskeepers and twenty grooms.�
�Wow,� was Yvonne�s only comment as she soaped Cassie�s torso. �Aren�t they afraid we�ll run off?�
�Fat chance,� Cassie responded. �Look at it logically. How likely are you to run off?�
�And leave the herd?� Yvonne responded automatically. Then she almost dropped the bar of soap as she realized what she�d said, and that she meant it.
�Exactly. They�ve got you wired so you can�t run off. And if, by some chance, you did, they�d simply catch you and put you in a stable with your arms cuffed all the time. Not fun.�
�Not fun at all,� Yvonne agreed. �One thing I noticed was the crew chiefs. How�s that done?�
�They�re always looking for supervisors. The groundskeeper chooses the herd mare from the crew chiefs, and the crew chiefs from the work group supervisors. He keeps rotating them to avoid favoritism. The crew chiefs select the work group supervisors from the workers that don�t make trouble or screw up. They�ll try you out as a work group supervisor once you�ve been here long enough to know how the grounds keeping works. Then they�ll keep dropping you in that slot until they figure you�ve learned it, or you�re not going to. If you�ve learned it, they�ll try you on crew chief.�
�Then what?�
��Then the good ones get poached,� Cassie said. �The scuttlebutt is they need good supervisors.�
�This is the only place to advance?�
�Pretty much. The other places they use us are too structured. Some of them have herd mares, but they�re mostly for show.� She shrugged. �They rotate most of the long timers through here to see if they can find supervisory talent.�
��What about you?� Yvonne said, a bit skeptically.
�I like to stir up trouble a bit much,� Cassie said, not at all repentant. �That�s what got me shackled the last couple of times. I do get put in as crew chief every once in a while, and I like to think I�m learning what to do, but I�m going to be old and gray before they let me be herd mare.�
�And that doesn�t bother you in the slightest,� Yvonne noted as Cassie finished soaping her down.
�Nope. One of these days it might, but I like being a ponygirl. Being ridden is addictive.�
�I�ve heard that,� Yvonne said, a bit skeptically.
�Well, it�s like this. Pulling a cart and feeling your driver�s hand through the bit in your mouth is, well, it�s what being a ponygirl is about. It gives me a sense of place. However, feeling your rider keeping the reins taut so your bit forces you to keep your head back, well, it�s addictive. I can�t describe it. It just sits there in your mind, glowing. When he dismounts, it�s like you�ve lost something important. It�s like being in love.�
Yvonne looked at her strangely.
Once they finished with their grooming, the head groundskeeper rode up on his redheaded ponygirl, and started the crews on their way.
This time, the herd mare for each of the work crews told off several of her herd, who dutifully trooped up to the pavilion, where grooms put their tack on. Then they streamed out to follow the rest of their work crew at the equipment sheds. Once they got there, they positioned themselves between the shafts of the grass cutters and rollers. The work crew chiefs buckled up the traces, assigned a driver, and they went off, clipping the grass of the fairways. As they worked, the grounds crews trimmed the greens and selected the hole positions for the day.
Once they finished, the drivers unhitched their work ponies, and the herds eddied back to the meadow. When they got there, the herd mare called out several of the �girls and proceeded to cuff their hands behind them. This time, Yvonne wasn�t all that surprised. She�d been pulling a grass cutter, with Cassie as her driver. Cassie had screwed up spectacularly, driving a cutter set for the fairway into the rough. She�d been mildly surprised that Cassie hadn�t been pulled off the cutter right away.
Now that things had sorted themselves out, Yvonne decided to do a little exploring. She�d noticed that a number of ponygirls wandered up to the pavilion and back, apparently without either orders or censure, so she trotted up there herself. She noticed amusedly that Cassie had certainly been right; it took a definite exercise of willpower to tear herself away from the rest of crew three!
Once she got there, she figured out soon enough what was interesting. Most of the equipment walls had tack, neatly labeled by the ponygirl it was fitted to. They all had girdles, bits and bridles. Some of them had saddles; others had places where saddles could be hung. She recognized the arm shackles, and puzzled over several sets of cuffs joined by half-meter light chains. �Those must be hobbles,� she mused. �For ponygirls that like to wander off.� Another reason not to leave the herd, she thought.
One of the equipment walls had flat strips of black material, about 10 centimeters by two centimeters by one centimeter. The two little openings eye width apart showed that they were portable tellys. They were in recharging bays. The other interesting thing was the hoof picks and trimmers. She nodded to herself. It was good to know where the hoof care was. She�d had a couple of stones in her hooves, and it hadn�t been pleasant. She trotted back down again; thinking that getting to know her herd was more important than the telly.
That day, Yvonne got Mrs. Syndler again. It seemed that she liked her caddy, and had asked for her specifically. In fact, Yvonne got Mrs. Syndler for the next few days.
A few days later, a rider rode into the meadow on a perfectly stunning yellow blonde, and dropped a rope around Yvonne. Then she laughed, cinched the lead from the startled ponygirl�s halter to her saddle, and led her off to the clubhouse. She dismounted, tethering her ponygirl to one of the taxi hitching posts, and led Yvonne back to the tack shed.
�Bend over,� Dora 8 commanded.
Yvonne, startled, obeyed. The trainer guided her to the right angle with hands on her belly and shoulders. In a moment, Yvonne was standing with her torso at a 45 degree angle. Her head had come back on her shoulders so she was still looking forward.
The trainer probed her lower back muscles with a finger, checking for any sign of weakness. After a moment, she was satisfied.
�Hold that position while I saddle you,� she said.
Yvonne whinnied in mild alarm. She hadn�t noticed that a saddle had appeared on the section of wall where her tack was kept. She didn�t think she wanted to be ridden! However, she didn�t have any choice in the matter, so she just stood there, knees flexed to keep her balance.
The trainer started with the corset, draping it over her waist and then tightening it with the lacing machine. Then she shackled the ponygirl�s arms, and stripped of the halter, replacing it with her bridle. She slid the bit into the �girl�s receptive mouth, draping the reins over a convenient ring.
Finally, the trainer took a saddle off the wall, trailing leather straps. She dropped it over Yvonne�s back, where it nestled firmly over her waist, extending backwards to cover her hips. The trainer buckled one of the two straps that held it over her waist, drawing it tight enough to elicit a gasp from the ponygirl. Then she buckled the other one, and shook the leather seat, making certain it was immovable.
Once she had checked it, she drew another strap around the back, lifting Yvonne�s still growing tail so it was out of the way before she tightened it. That strap pulled the saddle firmly down around the ponygirl�s hips. She tried to twist the saddle again, and nodded, satisfied.
��That�s good,� the trainer praised. Then she took the reins, fist just under the ponygirl�s chin, and led her out away from the girl herd.
�I hope you�ve been ground trained,� the trainer said, conversationally. Yvonne grunted in puzzlement at the new term. �Ground training means that if I drop the reins like this, you act like it�s tethered to a hitching post.� The trainer�s tone left no doubt about what would happen if she wandered off! Yvonne whinnied, like she was going to go anywhere anyway, except maybe back to her herd.
The trainer dropped the reins, and then walked around her pony, nodding as she inspected the hooves and the mane.
�Next,� the trainer said unexpectedly, �I�m going to mount you. Spread your legs and shift your weight to the right to compensate while I swing aboard.�
She lifted her foot into the stirrup, and swung onto the �girl with practiced ease. Yvonne swayed under the sudden strain, but remembered to shift right and then back as the trainer climbed aboard. In a moment, the trainer found her seat. She put her communicator on the �girl�s arms, and then bent forward and picked up the reins.
�Good girl,� she praised as she combed her right hand through the ponygirl�s short mane. �Now when I squeeze you like this,� she squeezed her thighs together, �start at a walk.�
Yvonne tried to step forward with the unfamiliar weight on her back. To her surprise, she found that her body automatically compensated by shifting her weight to the other foot.�
�Good girl! Just keep walking, you�re doing very well Yvonne!�
The ponygirl�s hesitant steps gained confidence with each stride. As they approached the edge of the field, the trainer shifted her wrist, putting more pressure on the left rein. Yvonne turned left, apparently without thinking.
�Good girl!� The trainer flicked her eyes downward to look at her readouts. Apparently she was satisfied with what she saw, because she squeezed again, causing her mount to stride forward across the field. They went back and forth over the field for a while, practicing turns. Eventually, the trainer frowned slightly as she looked at the monitor, and then turned her ponygirl back toward the stable.
She�d had enough. She walked the sweating �girl up to one of the grooming stalls and pulled back on the reins to stop. �Now girl, I�m going to get off. Remember your weight is going to shift to compensate.� She slid her right foot out of the stirrup, and swung off, as Yvonne shifted back and forth. Then she tossed the reins to a waiting groom.
�Groom her and send her back to the herd. She�s been very good, so leave the cuffs off.�
As the groom busied himself with removing the saddle, the trainer walked around and removed Yvonne�s bit. Then she held up a sweet. Yvonne licked the candy off of the trainer�s hand, and then gently kissed it before she took it back. The trainer chuckled, and Yvonne whinnied back at her. The trainer scratched under her chin, behind the ears, and then ruffled her mane before walking away. Yvonne looked after her, aware of a sudden feeling of loss.
The groom had finished taking off the saddle. He shackled one ankle to the equipment post, and then used the unlacing machine to take off the corset. Then he took off her bridle and unshackled her arms. As Yvonne stood, feet apart, and rubbed her shoulders to work out the kinks, he took the water nozzle and drenched her. Then he soaped her, rinsed her down, and dried and brushed her mane. Finally, he put a halter on the �girl, draping the lead around her neck. Then he swatted her lightly, and watched her trot down the incline to her part of the herd.
The next couple of weeks went quickly. As Yvonne 8 gained strength, Dora rode her for longer and longer periods. She taught the ponygirl how to trot with a rider, and then added a full gallop. Some days, she also did a round of golf as a bag girl, and occasionally pulling a golf cart.
One day, they did something different. As usual, Dora had one of the grooms saddle her steed and leave her in the reserved section of the clubhouse parking lot until she was ready. She thought this taught the ponygirl her place quite well; besides, some of them would be going onto taxi service anyway.
However, after picking her up today, she had the �girl trot to one of the many paths leading from the clubhouse. Dora, as usual, held the reins in one hand, and kept up sufficient pressure so that her mount couldn�t turn her head. Yvonne trotted along the path, perfectly under control. They went through various forest and meadow paths until Yvonne had totally lost track of where they were. It didn�t bother her overmuch; she had fallen under the same spell that all of the saddle ponygirls were under, and thought the sun rose and set on her rider. Whatever Dora wanted her to do was not only perfectly all right, it was her most heartfelt desire: at least, until the next thing she wanted her to do.
Eventually, they came out on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley with a hidden lake. Dora looked at the communicator she had clipped to Yvonne�s arms and smiled secretly to herself. She deftly guided her mount into a secluded hollow and waited patiently.
A few minutes later, a girl wearing a grass skirt showed briefly at the edge of the forest. She looked around carefully, and then walked down a game trail. Dora took three balls tied together with one knot, swung them over her head and threw them in the girl�s direction. The dusky brunette stopped, startled, as the balls wrapped her legs in leather straps. She fell to the ground, a resigned look on her face.
Donna squeezed her legs, telling the startled ponygirl to advance. Yvonne walked out, and stood beside the waiting captive while her rider dismounted. Dora reached down, touched the girl, and said: �Tag. You�re it!� Then she laughed.
�Dammit! I didn�t know I was being hunted,� she complained.
�You weren�t being hunted,� Dora said cryptically. �Following you wasn�t all that hard. You left a trail a mile wide. You need to improve your woodcraft if you want to live out here.�
�What do you mean?� the girl asked, sitting up and beginning to unwrap the balls from her legs.
�Let�s cover the basics. You thought you�d escaped a while ago. Then a hunting party caught you and raped you. They brought you in for the zoo, and then you escaped. Pretty clever, the way you did that, by the way. Then another one caught you, and you escaped. Then another one. See the pattern?�
The girl stared at her a moment, and then sighed. �I haven�t really escaped, have I? You�re just toying with me.�
�Well, it might be closer to say we�re playing tag with you. You�re it, and you can stay out here doing whatever you want as long as you make it hard to catch you.�
�You�d let me go?� she exclaimed, obviously surprised.
�Who said anything about letting you go? One of the services we offer is for our guests to play great white hunter, hunting the most dangerous game. We need game to hunt, and the powers that be think it�s just peachy keen that the game selects itself by attempting to escape.�
�What if I start hunting them?� she said, apparently trying to be obnoxious.
�Go right ahead,� Dora replied to the surprised girl. �It�s a war game. If you can count coup and escape, the person will be taken out of the hunt. Of course, you have to be in the vicinity of the hunting party to do that, which increases your chances of being caught.�
The girl rocked back on her heels. �Now that could be interesting. Any other rules?�
�They�re not supposed to damage you. You�re not supposed to damage them. You can pick a safe area that they can�t come to, but you�re not allowed to stay there during a hunt. And you don�t get any points taking out the livestock.�
�Livestock? Oh.� She looked at Yvonne.
�Exactly.�
�Then what happens?�
�Whatever you want, within limits, of course. If you want to stay out here until you fall over, feel free. If you want to come in and be a good little slave girl, come on in. We won�t hold the escape attempt against you.�
�And if I don�t play your silly game?�
�You�re an escaped slave. When we run out of patience, we�ll either condition you so you can�t even think of escaping, or put you in the zoo. Consider this your first and last warning.�
The girl made a face. �Yuck. I�d rather pick bananas. At least they get the telly.�
�If you work out and pick a home base, we�ll install one for you.�
�The comforts of home,� she sighed. �It�s a deal. I think.�
��In that case,� Dora said, reaching out and stroking her face, �I might just consider a reward.� She chuckled as she tweaked one of the girl�s nipples. �Look what we have here! You really do want it, don�t you?�
�Yes, dammit!� the girl moaned.
�Well, warm me up,� Dora commanded, lifting her skirt to display a partially erect penis. The girl sat on her heels, and Dora took a step forward to allow her to bend her head to her task. After a few moments, she became absorbed in her task, teasing and sucking the organ to full, throbbing erection. As Dora warmed up, they both began to pant in unison. Finally, Dora gently pushed back on the wild girl�s shoulders. She obediently fell backwards, cushioning herself with her arms, and Dora slid into the waiting channel. A minute later, they came together.
Dora picked herself up and smoothed the skirt of her tunic. �Just remember,� she said, wagging a finger, �that was an advance on performance.�
�That got you all hot and bothered, didn�t it?� she asked her ponygirl as she ruffled her mane. �Well, let�s head on back. If you behave, I just might let you have some.� Yvonne whinned excitedly as Dora put her foot in the stirrup and swung back into the saddle.
�Hiyo, Yvonne,� she called as she waved goodbye to Gillian 3.
For the next few days, Dora took her mount through various parts of the island. They didn�t do anything quite as interesting as capturing a wild girl, but Yvonne got lots of experience in being out in the wilderness with a rider, learning different kinds of uneven ground. Then one day she learned that her trainer was satisfied with her performance as a saddle ponygirl.
Like all days, she mixed with her part of the herd until her name was called. Then she trotted up to the tack shed for the groom to put her tack on. The groom saddled her and led her toward the clubhouse, but rather than leaving her in the parking lot, he brought her to a twosome, adding her to the other three ponygirls they were looking at.
She recognized Mrs. Syndler immediately, and looked at her with a bit of puzzlement. Then she recognized the younger woman, indeed, almost a girl, standing next to her. It was her old roommate, Sally! She almost stopped dead, and only discipline kept her walking toward the group. She hoped that Sally wouldn�t recognize her. She would just die!
Unfortunately, luck wasn�t with her. The young woman turned from talking to her mother and looked at the approaching ponygirls, a frown on her face.
�That can�t possibly be Yvonne?�
�It just might be,� her mother said. �I thought I recognized her when I was here last, and she certainly is a good caddy, just like your roommate.�
�But�� Sally almost stuttered before she regained her aplomb. Then she walked over to the flustered ponygirl and touched her on the breast. �I recognize this mark. You are my old roommate, aren�t you?� she asked Yvonne directly. Yvonne wanted the ground to open up under her, but she whinnied anyway.
Sally backed up a bit. �They certainly did a good job on you.� She ran her hand through the blushing �girl�s mane. �The number of times I�ve wanted to do that! At least, when you still had a full head of hair.
�Mama, which way should I use her?�
�She�s supposed to be trained to the saddle, but if you want to talk, take her as your bag girl. You can always take her out on the bridle paths tomorrow.�
�I think so,� Sally said. �We can get another saddle pony for right now.� The grooms led Yvonne and one of the other two ponygirls away, and stripped of her saddle and other tack, leaving just the halter and harness of a bag girl. In a moment, they brought her back with another saddle ponygirl. The two golfers mounted their saddle ponies and joined the waiting line, keeping a firm hand on their respective bag girl�s leads.
On the first hole, the two golfers dismounted by the side of the women�s tee, leaving their mounts ground tethered. Sarah went first, driving her ball to the left, just about where she had put it every other time Yvonne had seen her play the hole. Mrs. Syndler was one of the most consistent golfers the ponygirl had ever seen.
�How should I play this?� Sally asked her bag girl.
�Well, if you�re feeling accurate today, go for the dogleg. That should give you a good three wood to the green. Otherwise, your mother put it just right. You can go around the bend and then shoot the green in three.�
Sally grinned. �I�m feeling competitive today.� She slid the driver out of the bag, and hit a perfect shot to the middle of the bend. She slid it back in, swung onto her ponygirl, and followed her mother down the fairway, keeping a firm grip on her bag girl�s lead.
They played three more holes before she wound up on the other side of the fairway from her mother, who was in the rough with a difficult shot.
�So, Yvonne, what happened? All I knew was I came back from classes, and you were moved out. Nobody would talk about it.�
�Daddy�s company flamed out. I guess it was a heck of a mess, once the auditors got done. He came home, shot my mother, tried to shoot my little brother, and then killed himself. The proctors just threw me out without giving me a chance to talk to anyone. They changed your number and blocked the phone exchange so I couldn�t get to you, either.�
Sally frowned a moment trying to remember. �What was going on then? Oh! So that was your father�s company. I suppose I can see them getting rid of you; that would have been an ugly scandal. But I don�t understand them doing it that quickly. If it was just a matter of keeping up appearances, they could have negotiated first.�
Mrs. Syndler had gotten herself out of trouble with a beautiful shot, and had ridden up leading her bag girl. Sally picked a club, and chipped onto the green, about five feet from the hole.
They played several more holes, just talking about the course and planning shots. Eventually, they wound up away from Sarah again.
�So. Do you want to stay a ponygirl, or do you want me to rescue you?�
Yvonne almost fell over. �I want to be rescued, of course. Being a ponygirl is more fun than I thought at the beginning, but it�s no way to spend my life unless I absolutely have to.�
�I can�t promise anything. Mother will go ballistic. She�s already read me the riot act about rescuing strays. Several times.� Sally smiled reminiscently.
�So you need to strategize,� Yvonne said. �There might be a trust fund or two sitting around that they couldn�t get to.�
�Now, that�s a thought. I�m not sure whether she�s more mercenary on or off the course. Meanwhile?�
�You�re a guest of New Babylon, and I�m your ponygirl. Whatever you want to do, as long as it�s within the contract, of course. Enjoy yourself, girl. You were always too serious.�
Sally giggled. Then her mother came up again, and Sally selected a club and put her next shot on the green. �I�m up three,� she giggled again. �You always were good for my game. Can you keep score for me?�
�Sure. Just unclip my hands. I also wash balls, and clean clubs.�
They played out the course without talking about anything except golf. However, that didn�t fool Mrs. Syndler for a minute. As Yvonne was being led back to the meadow, she heard the argument start.
�You are not going to rescue another stray!�
�But Mother! You haven�t even let me explain my plan.�
�Plan? What�s a plan got to do with it? And when did you learn to plan?�
The rest of the argument was lost in the distance.
�What was that about?� Faith 3 asked as soon as they had taken the bit out of her mouth. Faith had been Sally�s mount. �You�ve got a way out?�
�Only the goddess knows, and she�s got a vile sense of humor,� Yvonne said. �Those two are old money. The way that whole crowd talks, I think they sold Noah the timber for his boat � and then sat out the flood high and dry, counting their profits on the deal.�
�And probably claimed they owned the land the Ark landed on, as well,� Faith added. �So your family was new money?�
�Worse than that. I had no idea what daddy did for a living. It�s his karma, though, not mine. I hope.�
The next morning, a groom came up and called both Faith 3 and Yvonne 8. The puzzled ponygirls were led to the tack shed, saddled and brought out for their riders, who turned out to be Sarah Syndler and her daughter Sally. Sarah mounted Faith with the practiced swing of an expert horsewoman; her daughter mounted with somewhat less grace, but found her seat readily enough. The two women rode their ponygirls down one of the many paths leading through the forest from the golf course.
After a brisk trot, during which time Sally became familiar with the way her mount handled, they arrived in a pleasant glen dotted with cottages set among the immaculately manicured verdant lawns. The two ladies rode their ponygirls up the paths to one of the cottages, where they left them tethered to hitching posts. They walked into the cottage side by side, a strained silence uniting them.
A few minutes later, a groom rode up, hitched the two girls to his saddle, and led them down one of the winding paths to a tack shed and meadow discretely hidden behind a low hill. The two �girls were groomed and turned loose in the meadow.
Yvonne looked at his retreating back for a moment, reflecting on what had happened. Clearly, Mrs. Syndler was not happy with her daughter. Yvonne chuckled quietly to herself. Her old roommate had complained long and loudly about her mother, but she seemed to get her own way in the end, at least much of the time. Only time would tell.
Yvonne looked around the meadow. Most of the �girls seemed to be busy, so she decided to settle herself for a few minutes. Then she noticed a sable maned beauty trot down from the grooming station, a petulant look on her face. Her collar proclaimed her to be Gina 5, and Yvonne figured that she might just be unhappy because her hands had been cuffed behind her back.
�Would you bite my head off for saying hi?� Yvonne broke the silence.
Gina sighed. �Not really. It�s my own damn fault that I�m cuffed, and I tend to get cranky when that happens. Which makes them keep me cuffed.�
�That�s a real pain,� Yvonne sympathized. �I�m new here; where is this and what�s going on?�
�This is the real hoity-toity guest area,� Gina said. �The rich bitches and the stuffed shirts. They tell me I don�t have the proper attitude to our lordly masters.�
�You mean fawning adulation?� Yvonne giggled �Although it seems to be hard for a saddle pony to have anything else for her rider.�
�Excuse me!� Gina sneered, �You�re a saddle pony. Let me worship your shadow.�
�So,� Yvonne ignored the invitation for a spat, �What is it you do?�
�Pull a god-damned lawn mower. All day, every day.�
�That�s got to be boring,� Yvonne sympathized again. �The lawns do look real well kept up, though. You must be doing a good job.�
�Boring doesn�t do it half justice,� Gina sighed. �I�d watch the telly except that I�m cuffed.�
�Well,� Yvonne shrugged her shoulders, �I suspect that�s the whole point of leaving you cuffed when you misbehave.�
The next morning, she woke up as the sky brightened, and joined the rest of the herd for her morning feed. The grooms called her out and saddled her, and then one of them rode out, leading three saddled ponygirls. He dropped her off at the hitching posts in front of the cottage Sally had vanished into the previous night. Yvonne sat on her hooves, letting her mind wander watching the birds and the insects lazily perform their mysterious errands in the air.
A little while later, Sally walked out and looked at her, frowning slightly. Then she relaxed, and walked up to her ponygirl and ruffled the beast�s mane. Yvonne responded by nuzzling her rider, caressing the shiny fabric of her blouse over her breast. Then Sally unhitched Yvonne�s reins and swung into the saddle. In a moment, they were off down another of the paths into the woods. After a brisk walk, she joined a group of riders and their ponygirls. Yvonne immediately recognized it as some kind of a tour: two of the riders had the standard tunic and golden slave collars of high level servants, and were undoubtedly tour guides.
The morning passed pleasantly, as the little party of tourists wandered through some of the more beautiful parts of Maui. Around noon, they came to a meadow where a picnic lunch had been set up. The guests ate, and grooms took care of the ponygirls. They spent the afternoon coming back a different way.
Yvonne quite enjoyed the jaunt. Part of it was the high she got from having a rider, but part of it was the pleasure of learning about the island. They were moving slowly, and Sally did not maintain a tight rein, so Yvonne took advantage of the opportunity to sightsee.
The next few days passed similarly. Sometimes Sally went on sightseeing jaunts, and sometimes she played golf with her mother. While Sally took her as her bag girl on those occasions, she never opened the subject of a rescue again, and Yvonne didn�t broach the subject, either.
After a week, Sally took her on an overnight tour. This was just like the other tours, except that they stayed overnight at a campsite where all the facilities were provided. The ponygirls were released into a meadow, with the leads on their halters staked into the ground. The �girls talked to each other in low voices, until one of them made up a silly ditty about a ponygirl and a wild stallion. Then they put their heads together and invented a song about the beauties of being ponygirls. By that time, night had fallen, and they fell asleep on the emerald grass.
Then they went on an overnight jaunt to an unsupported campsite. They brought along several pack ponygirls to carry supplies. Yvonne enjoyed this outing just as much as the other ones. She had her rider, and that made everything right.
Several of the guests pitched in to help groom and feed the ponygirls. Sally was one of them; she used the opportunity to groom Yvonne and incidentally inspect every inch of her �girl�s skin. Yvonne blushed for the first time in months; she was supposed to be beyond embarrassment at being handled, but she knew Sally, and that tapped a reserve of shyness that she thought she had forgone.
One day, Sally rode Yvonne to the ranger station, and picked up a pack ponygirl and started out without anyone else. They stayed on one of the regular trails for part of the day, and then took off into the wild. The pack ponygirl snorted when Sally left the beaten path, but quieted down swiftly and followed her lead.
That night, they camped in a jewel of a grotto, near a small waterfall. Sally fed and groomed both ponygirls, and tethered them to a nearby tree as she rolled up in her sleeping bag. Once the pack girl was fast asleep, Sally woke Yvonne and motioned her to sit on the other side of the fire.
�So, have you made up your mind about whether or not you want to be rescued?� Sally asked.
�I�m afraid it�s still a maybe. I don�t know if they�ll be able to put my feet back together,� Yvonne answered. �And I�m afraid I�m getting addicted to being ridden.�
�Addicted to being ridden?� Sally asked. �I�ve noticed that you seem to like me riding you, but I didn�t think I was addictive. At least, my boyfriends don�t seem to think so.�
�It must be something they do to us. Being ridden is a high like nothing else. When there�s someone in my saddle, and a firm hand on my reins, it�s like the entire world is right. It doesn�t even need a firm hand, really, although that helps. If it weren�t so corny, I�d say it was what I was born to do. Except that I know that it�s something they�ve done to my brain. I�m finding I�m looking forward to my next rider, which I never did for pulling a chariot or carrying someone�s golf bag.�
�I didn�t know about that,� Sally said. �That could be a problem if you don�t want to give up being ridden. The hooves may also be a problem; I haven�t talked to the powers that be about whether that change can be reversed at all, let alone how much they�ll charge.� She shrugged. If money couldn�t buy happiness, it had never occurred to her that it wouldn�t at least buy the way out of problems.
�On the positive side, Mother has given me her very grudging approval to look into rescuing you. Provided, and she made sure I understood that, I got my share out of the deal. No more Ms. nice girl.�
Yvonne laughed quietly. �I�ve been thinking about that. Do you want a personal assistant? I was keeping your schedule when we roomed together.�
Sally thought a moment. �You know, that just might work. We do mesh well. I�ve ridden several ponygirls, and we seem to have more of a rapport than I had with the others. I never minded you keeping my schedule; you may not know that I threw out the last three people mother stuck me with.�
�I can imagine. You do have a temper when you get irritated. Besides,� Yvonne said, �If I�m your assistant, you might not have to worry about the hooves. There are leather overshoes to avoid damaging floors.�
�And a reputation for being just a little unusual goes a long way,� Sally grinned. �I think it�s a deal. Mother might go for it; servants are servants, and as long as they do their jobs and otherwise stay out of the way and out of trouble, she�s happy. I�ll work on it; no promises though.�
�I heard enough about your mother when I was your roommate. You can�t succeed if you don�t try.� Yvonne reached over to kiss Sally lightly on the lips. The kiss turned a bit deeper than they imagined. Finally, Sally pulled back.
�I think we�d better not tonight.�
Yvonne pouted at her.
�I don�t want to wake my pack animal and cause all kinds of rumors. You�d better go back there. Now.�
Yvonne walked back to the spot where she�d been sleeping, and stretched out as Sally replaced the tether.
Yvonne lay relaxed against the rough ground, head cradled on her arms, looking at the silent stars wheel overhead. She heard her mistress� breathing quiet and finally fall into the rhythms of sleep that she knew so well from the time they had been roommates. And she wondered what she really wanted to do.
A good part of a year ago, she had been a student at a posh private college that catered to the upper crust; people that her father had desperately wanted to be accepted by. Thinking back, her life had been a rush, from this class to that tutoring seminar, all to attain some goal that may have made sense to him, but never had to his daughter. She�d gone along with it, for lack of anything better to do.
Then, the bottom dropped out, and she found out how unprepared that life of preparation had been. She�d spent two miserable months in one of the worst slums in the country. Then she�d signed her life away without looking at what she was doing.
Was she even human any more? Being able to wiggle her toes was a long ago, fading memory. Today, she had hooves. She had a real mane, where once she had called her chestnut hair a mane. She had a tail that had only recently finished growing.
Even more subtle, but somehow much more final, she had a herd instinct. She could no longer even imagine being alone if there were other ponygirls around. And she had some kind of bonding with her riders. On reflection, she supposed that Sally was no different than Dora in that regard. At least, the other ponygirls didn�t think so � whoever her current rider was, that was who she was bonded to. And that made so little sense from her previous life that it must be instinct.
Sally had offered her the opportunity to go back. Go back to what? The last time she�d looked at the news from uptime on the telly had been � when? Maybe the first and only time. It had seemed stupid then. Now? She grinned quietly to herself. Human foolishness. She wasn�t at all sure she wanted to immerse herself back in it. There was an advantage to not being human any more. No more homo sappy. Homo ponygirlus? No, there was a better word. Equus. Homo Equus.
She laughed quietly to herself. She didn�t think that Sally would even notice. Sally�s attitude was very clear. Yvonne was an animal, not human. But then, that had always been her attitude; it was just obscured by all of the conventional lies that kept the common herd in line.
She watched the stars wheel, bringing the brilliant red pinpoint that was Sirius into view. She knew that now, and that was one of the surprising things. The news had never attracted her, games just seemed futile busywork, but she had gotten involved in some of the courses. Without any goals, without anybody standing over her shoulder demanding that she had to do better, without grades, evaluations and sneering classmates, she had found some of them interesting. And chasing down what had happened to Sirius had been, in its way, fun.
Did she want to go back? She watched the cold, distant stars wheel above her, and fell asleep.
�Just a moment, Mrs. Syndler. I�ll see if the managing director is ready for your appointment.� The managing director�s secretary bent slightly to gesture over an otherwise featureless part of her desk, causing her luxurious hair to shift in its apparently artless fall over her shoulders. �Yes, he is.� She rose to open the door to the managing director�s office. Mrs. Syndler didn�t see the secretary�s swiftly erased grimace of distaste as she walked into the inner room.
The managing director was a tall man, dressed in impeccable slacks and turtleneck shirt, whose luxurious brown hair belied his age. He turned from the window overlooking the beach and ocean, and greeted his not quite welcome guest. �See if Mrs. Syndler wants anything, Sherry,� he commanded.
The blonde who had been sitting on her heels in the corner rose to her feet. She was dressed in the ubiquitous short tunic and yellow collar of a personal slave. Mrs. Syndler looked at her strangely for a moment.
�I�ll have coffee. Cream and sugar, please,� she told the girl.
�She looks like she could be your daughter,� the matron remarked after the girl had left the room.
�She is,� the man replied. �I really didn�t mind when several of my children didn�t want to continue in the business, but working actively against me was something I wouldn�t allow. She didn�t listen, so��
�Quite.� Mrs. Syndler agreed with him, noting the implied threat in passing.
In a moment, the blonde returned with a coffee service, and knelt while Mrs. Syndler took the cup of steaming brew and seasoned it to her taste. �I see she�s quite well trained.�
�Our trainer�s reputation is well deserved. So,� he steepled his hands, �How do I come into your problems with your daughter? She�s old enough to make her own decisions and mistakes, I would think.�
�First, I�m not certain where she�s gone,� Mrs. Syndler said.
�She�s out on a several day camping trip by herself,� he replied. �That�s part of the problem?�
Mrs. Syndler almost dropped the coffee cup. �By herself? In that wilderness?� She was too well bred to actually screech.
�Calm down, Mrs. Syndler,� he soothed. �She�s perfectly safe. She took a riding ponygirl and a pack ponygirl with her.�
�That does not sound at all safe.�
�As long as she takes reasonable precautions, yes. The islands don�t have large land animals. They�re too far from anything to migrate. Besides, we�ve got several little gadgets keeping track of our guests and keeping them safe from other hazards. I suppose she could trip over her own feet, but outside of that, there�s not much that could get to her to hurt her out there.�
�But she�s out there with that � ponygirl.� Sarah almost spat.
�There�s a problem with,� the director�s eyes flicked to a hidden readout, �either Yvonne 8 or Teri 5? They�ve both got very good efficiency ratings. Including from you,� he said pointedly. �What is the problem?�
�Well,� Sarah sat down, calming herself with an effort. �Yvonne 8 was my daughter�s roommate in college for a while. Until she got thrown out. I�m not certain why; all they told me is that they had to do it to avoid a scandal.�
�We picked her out of a rather nasty slum. That doesn�t fit with her being in the kind of college your social class would gain entry to.� He made some gestures over his information tablet and then gave a wintry smile.
�Well, well. So she�s George�s daughter. That explains a lot.�
�George?�
�Someone we had business dealings with that you would not consider to be a fit associate. I can quite understand their wanting to get rid of her once her father committed suicide. However, that leaves me with a problem, and it�s not something I can make a snap decision about.�
�What kind of business associates?�
�Not your kind of people at all. Nobody that would cause major trouble for New Babylon either, but then it never pays to irritate people unnecessarily. You can�t know all of the connections.�
He steepled his hands again. �One of the problems is that we don�t encourage real intimacy between our guests and our slaves. It�s impossible to prevent some emotional attachments, people being what they are, but maintaining some distance is healthier for all concerned. Since Yvonne 8 was your daughter�s roommate before this situation arose, there may be more of an entanglement than is, strictly speaking, wise.�
�That�s what I�m afraid of,� she sighed.
�Well, I dislike being dictatorial, but I don�t intervene in disputes between guests. The other issue is that George�s old associates may want a say in what happens to Yvonne 8. They tend to put a lot of importance on family ties. They may very well want to consult Yvonne 8 for her desires. So whether your daughter gets what she wants isn�t necessarily under her control, either.�
�I see,� Mrs. Syndler said. �One other thing. Is it even possible to rescue Yvonne 8? That�s what Sally wants, after all. To get her out of here.�
�Now that is an interesting question. Normally, after five years as a ponygirl, a slave is not going to want to go back. So the question of changing her hooves into feet simply hasn�t arisen yet. The tail can be amputated, and changing her mane back to a normal head of hair is relatively easy. The rest of the changes? I doubt very much if she would care.�
�Well,� Mrs. Syndler said, �It does seem that there are rather too many factors for me to get upset. I do trust that you won�t find an easy way to change hooves into feet?�
�I don�t believe we�ve looked at it, to be quite frank. It would probably take a significant bit of work.�
�I think that�s satisfactory,� Sarah told him. �Thank you for your time.� The blonde got up and held out her silver tray ready to receive Mrs. Syndler�s coffee cup.
Yvonne 8 lay sprawled on her stomach in the meadow, staring at a short strip of metal lying in the grass in front of her, and occasionally poking holes in the air with her finger. As she sprawled, the breeze occasionally played with her chestnut mane and tail, blowing the hairs now one way, now the other. She didn�t notice as a dragonfly lit on top of the hoof she had sticking in the air behind her. After a moment, the dragonfly spread its gossamer wings and took off again, equally unaware of its close brush with instant death. The equipment in Yvonne�s collar couldn�t be said to relax as the insect turned its attention elsewhere, only because it couldn�t be said to have tensed up. It was just performing one of its minor functions: that of keeping the body whose neck it circled free of small pests of one variety or another.
Several grooms walked up to the edge of the meadow and looked over the herd. One of them looked at a piece of paper in his hand, and called out: �Faith 3! Yvonne 8! Denise 6! Tara 2!�
Yvonne waved her hand in the air, and then sat up, picking up the strip of metal and plastic she�d been staring at. A moment later, she trotted up to the group of grooms, telly in hand. One of them said: �This way, Yvonne,� and she followed him into the tack shed.
The tack shed was an open roofed space filled with tack covered walls. The groom led the way to the section that contained Yvonne�s tack. She dropped the telly into the recharging rack, and held her arms up as the groom fastened the corset around her waist. He pulled it snug, and then picked the lacing machine off of the wall and very carefully ran it up the back of the corset from bottom to top, letting it thread the laces and pull them tight. Then he ran it up a second time, and a third, letting it pull them a bit tighter each time. When he was done, the corset had pulled Yvonne�s waist in by a good three inches, leaving her with a 36 � 22 � 40 figure. Yvonne, like all of the ponygirls, was very heavy across the hips and thighs. None of it was fat; it was all bone and muscle.
Next, he took a leather harness off the wall and draped it over her shoulders. A moment later, he had the horizontal bands above and below her breasts buckled, and the vertical bands buckled to her corset.
He took a pair of light cuffs off the wall and held them out. Yvonne brought her arms behind her, and the groom quickly cuffed them in the small of her back. Then he dropped the rope halter around her head and tightened the friction latch under her chin.
�Done,� he pronounced. Yvonne snorted. Of course he was done. He�d done this enough times he should be able to do it in his sleep. Grooms, she decided for about the hundredth time, weren�t the brightest people in the world.
He picked up her lead and walked off toward the clubhouse, Yvonne trailing along obediently as she idly wondered who they�d assign her to today. She knew she was one of the better bag girls; they usually gave her to someone who could use an experienced caddy.
They led her toward a foursome. The two men and one of the women were talking earnestly to each other, the other woman stood there looking out at the course. She recognized two of them immediately. They both golfed here often enough that she figured they had to work here, although they usually didn�t golf together.
She knew she wasn�t going to be assigned to either one. They both brought their own personal slaves and ponygirls. She didn�t know what Ted did, but his slave girl, at least, was quite good at judging the course, although she didn�t have the extra course knowledge that came from living in the course�s ponygirl herd. Maeve�s personal slave, on the other hand, usually didn�t seem to know one end of the club from the other. Yvonne often thought she would be better off leaving the guy behind in the clubhouse and renting one of the ponygirls to carry her bag.
The other difference was equally striking. His personal slave looked like she could be his daughter. Yvonne didn�t think so, but then, nothing about New Babylon would surprise her any more. She hoped. There was no way the other one could be his mistress� son, however.
Then her smile vanished abruptly as she recognized the other man and woman. No! It couldn�t possibly be! But it was Uncle Andy and Aunt Bess, and neither one looked at all happy to be here. That, at least, wasn�t surprising given what she knew of their background. When they got back, Aunt Bess would probably go to confession for a week, at least if they could find a confessor to listen to her tale of woe!
Aunt Bess spotted her at about the same time. �Why, it is Yvonne!� she cried, almost as if she were a hound.
Andy looked around. �Why, I do think you�re right, love.� Then he said, �I had hoped they were wrong,� in a softer voice. Andy being Andy, Yvonne could still hear him clearly.
Yvonne suddenly felt naked, a feeling she hadn�t indulged since the first time Sally had spotted her a couple of months ago. She took as deep a breath as she could manage in her harness and kept walking forward.
�Which one is mine?� Bess asked as the grooms brought them up to the foursome. �Yvonne!� she almost wailed.
Yvonne had to work to keep from cracking a smile. That was so Aunt Bess. �You should take Denise and Tara,� she replied in as professional a voice as she could manage. �They are both very good with novice golfers.� She knew Denise would have glared at her if she could, but Tara would appreciate the warning.
The grooms looked around in confusion at this breach in the normal state of affairs. Ted nodded to them, as if to say: �Do it.� They hustled around, getting the two golf bags settled on Tara�s and Yvonne�s shoulder harnesses.
�Can she keep my score?� Aunt Bess asked the empty air.
�Certainly,� one of the grooms replied. �I�ll just unclip her hands for you.� He knelt down and reached under the golf bag to unzip the Velcro cuffs. A moment later, he had them off and hung on a hook on the back of the �girl�s harness.
Tara brought her hands forward while Bess handed her the scorecard and pencil. Tara slid them into small hooks on one of her harness straps.
�How cute! You�ve thought of everything,� Bess said as she saw where Tara had put her card.
�We do try, Ma�am,� Maeve said. �It�s all part of the New Babylon Experience.�
�Now what?� Andy asked in the quietest voice he had used yet after Yvonne clipped his scorecard and pencil to the same place on her harness.
�We discuss the course, what else do you do with a caddy?� Yvonne replied as they moved up in the starting line.
�Humph,� he snorted. �It does look like a real interesting course, at that.�
�And your golfing buddies would probably think it very strange if you�d played it and couldn�t tell them all about it.�
�Cover stories,� he sighed. �One question first. Do you want to come back?�
�I don�t really know?� she answered him. �Like I told Sally a few weeks ago, the way they�ve got it arranged being a ponygirl is actually fun, but it�s no way to spend a lifetime. I suppose so, but I have no idea if they can change me back. I take it you�re here to make arrangements?�
He nodded cautiously. �Well then, have me assigned to you for your stay, and go on some nature hikes. We can talk to our heart�s content once we�re out in the wilderness at a campsite.�
�Sounds like a plan,� he said. �They said the course condition was damp.�
�It always is this time in the morning,� she answered. �Don�t expect a lot of roll until we�re about on the fifth hole. The greens will have dried out, though.�
�Damp means the traps will be wet?�
�Absolutely. If your club doesn�t hit the ball before it goes into the sand, you might as well not bother.�
�Humph,� he replied. �Well, it looks like we�re up.� He swung into Faith�s saddle, and they trotted toward the first tee.
The small safari of ponygirls and riders trotted single file out of the forest into a gem-like clearing.
The lead groom held up his hand and pronounced: �We�re here, folks.� He rode his ponygirl around the hearth that dominated the center to a place where a long, straight tree branch had been set horizontally on two posts, and stopped her in front of it. She dropped to sit on her heels. He dismounted and flipped her reins around the branch.
Sally followed him, riding Yvonne. Sally had showed up the day that Andy and Yvonne had been golfing, and had promptly attached Yvonne as her personal ponygirl. The first Yvonne had known of it was when Sally, rather than Andy, had come out of the cottage where she had been hitched that morning.
Andy and then Bess followed them, with Maeve, the other woman from the golf foursome, following on her personal ponygirl. Then four pack ponygirls followed in turn, and finally the other groom trailed the pack on his ponygirl.
The grooms bustled about getting the pack ponygirls unloaded, then the four �girls set about unpacking and preparing a picnic lunch while the grooms unsaddled the riding ponygirls and prepared to move them to a spot on the meadow away from the picnic.
�Uncuff Yvonne and leave her here,� Maeve directed the lead groom. He grinned and removed the Velcro cuffs that held her arms crossed behind her back.
In a few minutes, four of the ponygirls were tethered on the other side of the meadow. The grooms then unpacked a low table and filled it with fruits and vegetables; some of which they picked right off the surrounding trees.
When the four pack ponygirls finished setting up the picnic, they retired to the other side to join their temporary herd. The pack ponygirls were short timers; they still had a full head of hair, and wore comfortable boots that only looked like horse�s hooves. Their tails were inserted into an inconspicuous plastic widget that was attached with surgical glue. Since they didn�t have the back adaptations, they couldn�t be ridden.
Once all five picnickers had started eating, Maeve broached the question.
�Well, Yvonne, do you want to go back or don�t you?�
Yvonne thought for a moment, a small wedge of sandwich part way to her mouth. �I want to go back, but I don�t see how to manage it.�
Maeve nodded. �That being the case, there are some special circumstances here. Without them, we�d simply say no. We�ve got a valid contract, and we�ll enforce it. However, there is an overriding circumstance.�
Andy and Sally nodded almost simultaneously, both convinced they knew the circumstance.
Maeve fused and dropped her bombshell. �Yvonne�s father, George, was a shareholder in New Babylon.�
Andy recovered first. �How big a shareholder, if I may ask?�
�Big enough that we didn�t consider buying his share, and small enough that he didn�t have a significant say in the management of the enterprise. In fact, he left his proxy for management to vote.�
�Isn�t that normal?� Sally said. �If you don�t trust management, get out and invest in something else.�
�That�s the investor�s viewpoint,� Andy said. �Some people like running things themselves.�
�People do have different viewpoints on that,� Maeve said. �However, this is an inheritance case. George left instructions with us for the disposition of his share in the event of his death. It was to go to Yvonne. He made that instruction before his son was born, and never updated it.
�This gets administered under the laws of New Babylon; we don�t regard national courts as having jurisdiction. I assume you�re aware of what happens when national courts get involved in our affairs?�
�Only from a distance,� Andy assured her as both Sally and Yvonne looked blank.
�At one time,� Andy clarified, �interference tended to result in dead bodies. These days intelligent, or at least prudent, people tend to negotiate first.�
Maeve added. �Our policy on that is very simple. There are winners and losers. We intend to win, and we have certain, let us say resources, that give us the high ground if force is needed. If the other party also wants to win, we�ll do anything reasonable to negotiate a mutually satisfactory solution, but we simply don�t recognize the validity of many so-called legal procedures. Since you�re an owner, our bylaws protect your financial dealings from arbitrary confiscation, whether under the color of national law or not.
�Your father,� she said directly to Yvonne, �left a major mess behind him, and the fact that we converted you to a ponygirl before we knew who you were simply complicates things. It�s been argued that we should simply leave you here and forget that your father�s share even existed. It would be simplest.
�However, Sally discovered you here, which foreclosed that option before it ever got off the ground. We didn�t discover who you were until Sally�s mother made a few suggestions as to how to handle the matter to the Managing Director. Then the information came together.
�The legal nastiness has gotten to the point of trying to get you declared dead so they can confiscate your inheritance. You�re probably going to have to appear in court personally to confirm your identity.�
Andy nodded. �The next court date is in two weeks, and you most likely need to be there unless we can settle first.�
�Exactly,� Maeve continued smoothly. �We�re engaging Mr. Chatham from our own law firm to handle the estate. They have quite a good track record, but they�re going to have to have you in order to establish their interest.
�Even if it was possible to reverse the ponygirl transformation, there�s no way it could be done in two weeks. It took several months to reshape your feet into hooves, and any hypothetical procedure to reverse the process ought to take the same amount of time.
�This means you�re going back as a ponygirl. Normally, ponygirls simply aren�t happy without a herd; they get quite despondent. We�ve quit trying to separate them after a couple of, um, unfortunate incidents. In your case though, we�re going to replace the collar with a set of implants. They�ll allow you to avoid the worst of the herd instinct.
�The main thing we�re missing is clothes. Effectively, you�re a representative of New Babylon, and we�d prefer you appear in public suitably attired. The problem is we�ve never made up a wardrobe for a ponygirl, and our fashion designers are still figuring out how to handle your tail. They�re also trying to figure out a look, considering your mane and hooves, and the fact you�re thicker through the hips than is currently fashionable.�
�Where does that leave me?� Sally asked.
�That�s between you and Yvonne,� Maeve told her. �What our owners do, as long as it isn�t directly against the interests of New Babylon, isn�t our concern. If she wants to keep being ridden, and I�d imagine she will, and she wants you as her rider, that�s her business.
�What does concern us is that at the time your college expelled her, her father had died, so she was an owner and under our protection.�
�I never did like the provost,� Sally said to no one in particular.
�Well, it may not come to that,� Maeve told her. �Most people discover all kinds of grounds to forget their principles and act reasonably when their personal survival is at stake.�
�We�re probably better off without the ones that don�t,� Bess spoke up for the first time. �I�d like to talk to the fashion designers. I�ve got some ideas,� she continued, changing the subject.
�I�d appreciate that, Aunt Bess,� Yvonne said. She reached over and put her hand on Sally�s knee. �And I do want to be your personal assistant for a while, as long as you intend to keep riding me!�
Sally scooted over to kiss Yvonne. �Pet, I�ve missed you.�
�Likewise.�
�Well,� Maeve cleared her throat, �I think that takes care of the main issues. Sally, since Yvonne seems to want you to continue riding her, we�d like to show you a few things about grooming and harnessing ponygirls. Outside of that, Yvonne�s schedule is going to be quite full for a while. There are a lot of things she has to know to function on her own as a ponygirl.�
Sally pouted for effect, and then laughed. �So I don�t get to ride her as much as I want right now. We�ll work it out.�
�The Honorable Abner J. Witherspoon. All Rise,� the bailiff intoned. �The case of Livingston Industries Employees Retirement Fund, et.al. vs. Estate of George V. Livingston.�
The judge walked into the courtroom and looked out at the people assembled before him. Compared to the last session, the room looked positively empty. Not only that, of the few people there, many were completely new. He remembered Dave Chatham, of course. Cases where he appeared seemed to settle with startling speed. This was the first time he�d seen the young woman sitting next to him in person. She matched the pictures of Mr. Livingston�s daughter in the court filings. She had unaccountably vanished on the day of his death, causing a good deal of perplexity and legal maneuvering. She did look interesting! He hoped that hairstyle wouldn�t catch on among the current crop of teenagers; his two were positively lemming like in following all of the least sensible fads. The young man next to her was mundane by comparison. He, at least, had appeared before; he was George Livingston�s minor son.
�We have a proposal before us for a summary settlement of all issues in the case,� he said. �Is that correct?� Three attorneys stood up.
�Dave Chatham, of Dewey, Chatham and Howe, representing the heirs of George Livingston. The proposed settlement is satisfactory to us.�
�Dean Tolliver, representing the Livingston Industries Employees Retirement Fund. It looks like what we�re going to get, and it�s more than we expected, so we�ll take it.�
�Jean Parlier, representing the remaining plaintiffs as a group. The proposed settlement is more than most of our group members expected. We�ll take it.�
The judge looked at the three lawyers. Surprising what happened when New Babylon stepped in. All the high priced talent that had been swarming around the case had vanished as soon as it appeared that they wouldn�t get their fees. Dean was well known for taking pro bono cases, and Jean was new on the block; the experience would be invaluable. Not that they wouldn�t get theirs. The settlement provided for their actual time spent vetting the document. However, less than two hundred hours at a not entirely exorbitant hourly fee was peanuts compared to the actual size of the estate.
In any case, with the jackal�s legal fees out of the way, it did appear that all of the actual plaintiffs were going to get more than they�d expected. He nodded.
�So ordered.�
They all rose as the judge left the courtroom. The judge sat down swiftly so he could look at the courtroom monitor. Yvonne Livingston not only had a mane, she had a tail! He shook his head. He hoped that the newsies wouldn�t catch on and play her up. All he needed was his daughter to start sporting a horse�s tail.
In the back of the courtroom, a stringer for one of the news services watched the case and shook his head. He�d expected some legal fireworks; the case had certainly generated enough of them to date. What he didn�t expect was three completely new lawyers to show up and sign on to an out of court settlement, and for the judge to rubber stamp it without any comments.
When the woman with the Mohawk haircut stood up, he almost dropped his jaw. She�d looked tall sitting down, now she absolutely towered over everyone else. She must be at least two meters! He moved out quickly so he could intercept one of the attorneys for a quick interview.
He made sure his press badge was visible as he walked in front of Dave Chatham and waved. �Federated News, would you say a few words about the settlement? I�m Ben Peake.�
Dean leaned into the microphone and boomed: �It�s really satisfying to see what happens when everyone is working to see justice done, rather than trying to pad their legal fees.�
�It�s been a truly interesting experience,� Jean added. �It�s one of the few times I�ve actually been proud to be a lawyer.�
�Dave, how does a case this messy suddenly get settled quickly? Can you let us in on your secret?�
�Only that New Babylon suddenly discovered that it had an interest in the case. People seem to be more reasonable when that gets out. I can�t imagine why,� he continued with such an obviously false air of innocence that Ben was hard-pressed not to laugh.
He aimed the microphone at the woman who, he now saw, had a tail. �Can you tell us anything, Miss?�
�Not really. I�m George Livingston�s daughter, Yvonne, and that�s about all I really know about the case.�
�I think that�s enough for you,� Dean boomed out, and the little party walked away from the reporter.
Ben took a deep breath and reached for his cell phone while considering how to phrase his report. He sure hoped the pictures worked out; the last thing he wanted was for his chief to ask him for a case of whatever he�d been drinking!
�Different apartment this year?� Yvonne said, a bit redundantly as she surveyed it.
�Yes,� Sally answered. �This one is for the horsy set. We can go from the patio right to the stables and the bridle paths.�
�Good thinking,� Yvonne said as she walked over to the glass door to the patio. She studied the path critically for a minute. �I suppose I�ll have to have the farrier change my shoes. I imagine the groundskeeper would have a fit if I pranced all over the lawn.�
�A dirt path? It shouldn�t matter, but you�re probably right about the lawn. The farrier�s the guy who shoes horses, right?�
�Exactly. I suppose we�ve got one somewhere. With what we�re paying for tuition, we ought to!�
�Well, let�s get unpacked and get registered; then we can explore a bit.�
An hour later, they had most of their things unpacked and stowed in more or less appropriate places. Yvonne was shaking her head in amazement. �I didn�t remember how disorganized you were last time,� she chuckled.
�That�s why I want you,� Sally riposted. �You�re the only organizer I�ve ever been able to work with. By the way, aren�t you going to set up your workstation?�
�It is, don�t you recognize it?�
�What? That little strip of whatever you�ve got on the wall?�
�That�s part of it,� Yvonne said. �The rest is that box I connected to the data line.�
�So give,� Sally commanded. �That�s something you imported from New Babylon, isn�t it?�
�Yep. The strip on the wall is something we call a telly. It�s like a HUD.�
�Oh! I�ve heard of them. Expensive.�
�And not very good unless you�re sitting right in front of it,� Yvonne agreed. �The box on the data line is more important. It�s got the connection to the uptime New Babylon servers, the guts of my workstation and my base station. The telly works off of the base station.�
�Don�t we need to coordinate the base station?�
�Not this one; it works on some secret technology that doesn�t interfere with anything else. It�s got a 20 kilometer range, too.�
�20 klicks. Where have I heard that before? Oh! Don�t tell me your implants are hooked into it, too!�
�Ok, I won�t tell you my implants are hooked into it.� She gave her roommate a slightly malicious grin.
�Seriously, if I was still a pony slave, and I got more than about 18 klicks from one of the base stations, I�d get this irresistible compulsion to return. Since I�m an owner, it simply tells me I�m out of range. It�s a security thing. Uptime control always knows where I am as long as I�m in range, and I can arrange to have them page my phone if I go out of range to verify that I�m all right.�
�Irresistible compulsion? That doesn�t sound pleasant.�
�I�ve never experienced it, and I�ve never run into anyone who has. It�s supposed to be impossible to do anywhere on Maui; it�s only possible on the safaris to the American continents.�
�What happens when we need to go shopping?�
�I�ve got one in my car, and I�ll install one in yours. That should pretty much cover it.�
Sally snorted. �Now I�m feeling insecure! Let�s go register.�
�I�m not sure that this was such a good idea,� Yvonne muttered to Sally as they stood in the registration line.
�Cold hooves?� Sally giggled.
�Not that,� Yvonne replied. �I�m just remembering the differences between classes here and in NB. No tests, no grades.�
�Sounds like heaven,� a soprano voice spoke up from behind them. �Sal, who�s the beanpole decked out like a horse?�
The two girls turned to look. �Hey, Trina, you made it back!� Sally exclaimed as Trina gasped in surprise. �That can�t be Yvonne? Can it?�
�It can be and is,� Sally giggled again. �She�s changed a bit.�
�At least six inches,� Trina said accusingly. �That�s too big even for a boyfriend! I have to crane my neck to see her chin!� She stood on tiptoes.
��So,� Trina�s voice dropped to a whisper, �why are you made up like a New Babylon ponygirl?�
�Because I am a New Babylon ponygirl?� Yvonne answered reasonably.
�You�re what!� Trina exclaimed. Then she calmed down. �Let�s get registered, and then you can tell your Aunt Trina all about it,� she seized Yvonne�s arm in a death grip and cooed. �This is the most exciting thing that�s happened around here since you vanished!�
�I don�t care about that,� a new voice chimed in. �I want the name of whoever designed that outfit.�
�Hey, Joanne!� the three of them turned to look at the newcomer. �So you can avoid her?� a fifth voice asked.
�She�s got to be some kind of creative,� Joanne shot back. �The way she�s got that V coming down from the belt to the tail is just awesome.�
�It does work at that,� Stephanie admitted. �I suppose tying a bow on the tail would be just tacky.�
�GIRLS!� a voice said from the front of the room. �Would the next one in line PLEASE step up so we can get moving sometime today?�
�I guess that�s us,� Sally and Yvonne chorused and turned to face the window.
In a moment, the two friends� heads bent looking at the schedule the registrar pulled out of her file.
�Overlay Yvonne�s on mine,� Sally told her. The surprised woman tapped a few keys, and the display changed. The two young women looked at it and frowned. �Is there another section of Finance 201?� Sally asked. �I want to block out at least two hours for both of us on the bridle paths at least three days a week.�
�Ohhh�� Trina breathed from behind them. �This I want to see!�
�You and most of the college,� Yvonne told her. �I expect you�ll get your chance.�
�I want to see it first!�
�Just wait,� Yvonne said, and then turned back to the registrar. The two friends looked at the schedules for a couple of minutes.
�OK, this looks good,� they decided. Then they pulled out their id cards and ran them through the machine, which deducted the school tuition and fees.
�So, what�s next oh keeper of the agenda,� Sally asked.
�Well, give me a minute to dump all this into the system,� Yvonne replied absently as her fingers danced over the apparently empty desk. �Your password is still �Lets!Party�?
�Of course,� Sally giggled.
�That should do it, then. Check your schedule.�
Sally sat down at her own workstation and pulled up the schedule Yvonne had just entered.
�What�s this exercise thing first thing in the morning? That�s too early.�
�I figured we�d go out for a ride, get the blood moving.�
�You would. Oh. You mean that�s when I ride you.�
�Yup. Knowing the students around here, we should have the bridle paths to ourselves.�
�Not entirely. Some of the polo players are obsessive. What happens if we tangle with a real horse?�
�I can outrun any horse in a distance race. Horses have to stop to cool down or they founder. Real ponygirls don�t need to stop.�
The door chime tinkled.
�Who�s that?�
�Probably Trina,� Yvonne guessed. �Chasing down a juicy piece of gossip.�
�As usual,� Sally laughed, moving toward the door.
�Hi, girls,� Trina said as she came in. �When can I ride Yvonne?�
�Riding me is Sally�s job,� Yvonne riposted quickly. �What are you offering?�
�A carrot?�
�Do I look like Bugs Bunny? Seriously, I figure my dance card is going to be rather full, and part of the deal with Sally is that she�s my rider. I�d have to fit anyone else in the spaces.�
�Well, lets go talk to the stablemistress. I want to see her expression when she sees you.�
�We should be doing that anyway,� Sally interjected into the flow.
�Give me a couple of minutes to change,� Yvonne flung back over her shoulder as she vanished into the bedroom.
Two minutes later, she came out again, wearing a form fitting scarlet leotard and her boots, and carrying a corset.
�Can you help me with this,� Yvonne asked. �Getting it started is a pain.�
�That�s going to take an hour!� Trina wailed, looking at the dozens of eyeholes on the back of the corset.
�Here,� Yvonne handed her the lacing machine. �Use this. Sally learned how it works while we were practicing on New Babylon.�
�It�s simple,� Sally said. �Just run the laces through the bottom two holes, and then run them through here on the machine. Set it to lace, and press the button.� The two girls watched as the mechanical insect crawled up the back of Yvonne�s corset, threading the laces crosswise through the holes and pulling them snug. Then it crawled back down and started making a second pass, tightening the laces as it went.
�That�s awesome,� Trina breathed.
�It�s diabolical is what you mean,� Sally said. �If people ever found out about it, corsets might come back into fashion!�
�But look what it�s doing to her waist. Heavenly!�
�I�m not that interested in an hourglass figure,� Sally demurred.
�I�ll bet Steve is.�
�Steve is just going to have to take me the way I am.�
The mechanical insect reached the top for the third time and stopped, beeping plaintively.
�It means it�s done,� Yvonne said, reaching behind and plucking it off of her back.
�Ready?� Trina asked.
�Let me put a tunic and belt on over it, and we�ll go.� Yvonne put on a loose tunic that had a slit in back for her tail, and cinched a broad leather belt around her shrunken waist. They walked out onto the patio.
�One more thing,� Yvonne said. �I�m going to leave my boots here.�
�I�ve been thinking,� Trina said.
�That�d be a first,� Sally needled her.
�About what I could offer so I could ride Yvonne. You know she�s going to be an instant celebrity, right?�
�Why?� Sally asked.
�You�re na�ve, woman. The only way to control the rumor mill is to steer it the way you want.�
�I suppose you�re right,� Sally grumphed. �Oh. You want to do that tedious chore.�
�Who better,� Trina said modestly.
�It�s still a stable,� Yvonne said as she surveyed the building. �Lots of horses and lots of grooms. My stable never smelled this bad!�
�More like eau de Locker Room, I�d think.�
�Well, yes,� Yvonne laughed. �Although they did wash us down before they put us back in our stalls.�
�Well, here�re the offices,� Sally said. �Let�s see the stablemistress.�
The woman behind the counter looked up as they walked in. �Can I help y�� she drifted off as she took in Yvonne.
She recovered quickly. �It�s too early for even our students to be doing pranks yet, so you must be Yvonne Livingston.� She said it as if it had the force of a mathematical theorem, complete with three dots in front of the conclusion.
�I was the last time I looked,� Yvonne said.
�None of you have a horse here,� she said. �I think I�m going to call my boss.� She picked up the phone on the counter and punched a couple of buttons. �Daisy Mae to the office,� she said. They heard the echo of the page coming in through the doors to the stable.
�Daisy Mae?� Yvonne asked aloud.
�Our stablemistress believes in attacking things head on,� the clerk confided. �She�s never quite forgiven her parents for that name, so she flaunts it rather than burying it.�
�That�s good to know,� Trina said.
A few minutes later, a tallish brunette walked through the door from the stable. Her motif seemed to be leather; she wore a fringed kidskin blouse and an ankle length split kidskin skirt.
�What�s the prob�� she asked as she walked in. �Oh. You must be Yvonne Livingston,� she continued smoothly. �I wondered if you were going to wander into my domain. I doubt if you want stall space, so what else can I do for you?�
�Well, two things really. First, I need to make arrangements with your farrier for hoof care. I can do most everything for myself, but I�d really prefer having an expert do shoeing and trimming.�
�Our farrier comes in twice a week. You can make an appointment unless it�s an emergency.�
�I can do it on the system, or I come here?�
�It�s on the system. We�ll have to get you authorized for stable services.� She nodded at the desk clerk, who suddenly found something to do.
�The other thing is that Sally and I will need to use the bridle paths when she takes me out for a ride.�
Daisy Mae cocked her head to one side, considering. �How will you be tacked up?� she finally asked.
�Like this.� Yvonne undid her belt and handed it to Trina, and then shrugged out of her tunic. �We decided that what passes muster in New Babylon needed a bit of toning down, so we added the leotard.�
�Hummm�� the stablemistress looked at it. �I take it the buckles are for carriage traces?� She walked behind Yvonne and suddenly grabbed them and tugged. Yvonne staggered a moment, and then steadied.
�You�ve certainly got it on solidly,� she said. �What�s your weight limit in a carriage?�
�I don�t really know? The only things I�ve ever pulled were landscaping stuff: grass cutters, rollers, equipment and waste wagons. And most of those I was part of a two-pony team. We all did the same stuff.�
�Well, find out. It�s always better to know than otherwise. You can never tell what�s going to come up, even if you don�t intend to pull anything ever again.
�So what about a saddle? None of the saddles we�ve got here would fit you.�
�I�ve got my own, also bridle, bit and reins. They�re back at the apartment.�
�Well, go get them, girl! I can�t decide if I want you on my bridle paths without seeing you and your rider together. Oh, and come in through the stable; I don�t want your hooves in here without whatever you use to protect floors. That�s what the window in back of the desk is for.�
�How does the saddle go on?� Trina asked a few minutes later when they�d repaired to Sally and Yvonne�s apartment.
�Like this,� Sally put one hand on Yvonne�s shoulders and the other just above her hips and twisted. Yvonne bent forward, her trunk at a 45-degree angle, and her head came back so she was still looking straight forward. She whinnied in surprise, and brought her arms back, hands on opposite elbows.
�I don�t think she expected me to be quite this quick about it,� Sally said in a conspiratorial whisper. Yvonne snorted. �The saddle sits on her rump and fits right in the curve of her back.�
Sally took the saddle and laid it down on the ponygirl the way she had described. One of the straps hanging from the front ended in a five-way buckle with two other straps hanging from it. She pulled one of the straps up to the other side of the saddle and fastened it. Then she pulled the long strap between the girl�s legs and up. That strap split just under her tail; the two ends buckled to the saddle. Another strap came around the side from the five-way buckle, through the back strap and back to the buckle from the other side. She spent a few minutes making sure that all of the straps were in firmly. Finally, she attached two short straps that anchored the sides.
Tania looked at the leather seat with some trepidation. �That�s on solid. What if she needs to take a leak?�
�She just does. The strap has a hole in the right place, and so does the leotard. The designers made sure of that.
�Normally, the next thing would be to secure her arms behind her, but we�re not going to do that to her � ever. I�m not even going to show you the restraints. She�ll keep her arms there without it.
�Now we come to the bridle.� Sally took an assemblage of leather straps off the wall and dropped it over Yvonne�s head. �It�s custom crafted for her, so all we really have to do is buckle the chin strap and the strap around the back. The rest fits snuggly enough.�
Next, Sally took a piece of metal from the wall and held it up in front of the �girl. Yvonne opened her mouth, and Sally inserted the bit. The two ends fit against the rings that held the sides of the bridle next to her mouth. Sally snapped the bit into the sockets that waited for it.
Finally, she took a long leather strap and fastened one end to each of the metal posts hanging out from the ends of the bit.
�Well, that�s all it takes to saddle her. Let�s go!� She put her left foot into the stirrup and swung her right leg over, Yvonne swaying in time to the motion. Trina slid the patio door open, and Yvonne stepped out and then stopped while Trina slid the door closed.
�Why a bridle and bit anyway?� she asked. �I�d think that Yvonne would be perfectly capable of following directions.�
�Partly it�s the ponygirl shtick for the customers, and partly it�s that it gives the rider something to do with her hands. Mostly though, it�s that when she�s being ridden she�s on some kind of a high, and that interferes with remembering complex directions or understanding things said to her. I�m not sure why that is, but that�s the way she tells it.
�Anyway, even if she could understand directions clearly, reins are more efficient. I just leave them fairly loose, and twitch them when I want her to go in a different direction. Now if we were doing something fancy, it would be different, but I�ve never done that, and she�s not that well trained in it either.�
Sally squeezed her knees, and Yvonne started out down the path at a walk. Then she shook the reins slightly, and her mount shifted to a trot that left Trina hurrying to keep up. In a couple of minutes, they were back at the stable.
Daisy Mae walked up from the depths of the stable. �So that�s what she looks like tacked up. Get off and let me look at the arrangement.� Sally swung onto the ground.
�I wouldn�t have thought so, but between longer legs and that built up saddle, it does look like the rider�s at about the same height as a small pony.� She spent a few minutes fussing around the saddle, checking the various straps and shaking things to check whether they were tight enough.
�Well, that certainly looks like it should work,� she allowed. �That�s the same harness she�d use on New Babylon?�
�Except for the leotard, yes.�
�That leotard is a good thought. Will it keep her warm enough in the mornings?�
�That shouldn�t be a problem. Ponygirls are supposed to be perfectly comfortable down to a chill factor of 20 below.�
�That�s amazing. I take it you don�t know how they manage it?�
�All I know is that it�s supposed to be a skin modification of some kind. They normally sleep outside with their herd and without any protection except during storms.�
�Simply amazing. We shouldn�t have to worry about that until January at least, and maybe not this year at all, if the weather bureau is halfway accurate.�
�I don�t know about her, but I have no intention of being out in a storm, ma�am.�
�Are you sure you�re a student here?� Daisy May asked. Yvonne snorted and Daisy Mae laughed. �I think I�m going to enjoy this.
�Well, take her out for an hour and bring her in. You know what the bridle paths are like?�
�I�ve never been on them,� Sally admitted.
�Well, I wouldn�t think it was possible to get lost, but I�ve seen some mighty bewildered students in my time. Fortunately, most of the horses know how to get home if you let them. Yvonne doesn�t, though. What to do��
�Hey, Dave!� she yelled. �You up for guiding a newbie around the bridle paths?�
�Give me a minute,� a male voice shouted back. �Which horse does the newbie want?�
�She�s got her own pony,� Daisy Mae yelled over the stalls. �You take Ranger.�
�Ranger could use the exercise,� he yelled back. �Have her meet me outside in five minutes.�
�I�d like to come, too,� Trina put in. Daisy Mae threw up her hands in a very Italian gesture. �Saints preserve me! HEY DAVE! Saddle up Rosie, too. You�ve got a second newbie.�
�Wilco,� he shouted back. �I�ll have Jack saddle her up.�
�While we�re waiting,� Daisy said, �both of you look at this.� She held out a pair of maps. Yvonne unfolded one of her arms and stuck her hand out. �All right. All three of you look at one. The thing you need to know is that all of the paths have these colored sticks at the places the trails fork. The stick is always on the right, and the color is on top if it�s away from the stable, on the bottom if it�s toward the stable.�
�In other words, to get back, just follow the sticks with the colors on the bottom,� Sally said. �That�s so simple I wonder how anyone can get lost.�
�Pranks,� Trina said without looking up from the map she was studying.
�It should be too soon for pranks, but you never can tell.�
They studied the maps for a couple of minutes.
�Hey, where are you guys?� Dave called from in front.
�Well, that�s our call,� Sally said as she folded her map and put it in her shoulder bag. Yvonne swiftly folded hers too, and tucked it behind one of her bridle straps. Then Sally swung into Yvonne�s saddle, just barely giving her steed time to fold her arms behind her, hands on elbows. �Let�s go.� She pulled on the reins, guiding Yvonne out of the alcove in the stable to the front.
�Holy Mary! Saints preserve us!� Dave looked down from Ranger, who was a fairly tall chestnut gelding. �I guess they weren�t pulling my leg.
�I take it that�s Yvonne and you�re?�
�Sally. And this is Trina.� Sally nodded at the other girl who was looking very doubtfully at a bay mare that was standing placidly at the hitching rack.
�Well, climb aboard if you want to come,� Sally told her.
Trina sighed and stuck her left foot into the stirrup, and then swung onto the mare, leaving her hitched at the rack. Yvonne snorted. Before either Sally or Trina could do anything, she walked over to the hitching rack and untied the mare, throwing the reins up to the surprised girl.
�What are her limits, Sally?�
�She should be able to keep up with you at a fast trot.�
Dave laughed hollowly. �Ranger would enjoy stretching his legs, but Rosie wouldn�t know a fast trot if it came up and started gnawing on her haunch.�
�For which I will be eternally thankful,� Trina muttered.
�Let�s go,� Dave said. �The entrance is down this way.� He clucked at his gelding and shook the reins, and Ranger started walking down the path he�d taken so many times before that it was engraved in his brain cells.
�You want me behind you or beside you?� Sally called.
�Come up on my left unless we need to let another horse pass,� he said.
Sally twitched the reins, and Yvonne lengthened her stride until she pulled even with the big gelding. She edged over a bit to avoid getting his elbow in her eye.
�You�re a bit taller than I thought,� Dave said, turning to check on Trina. �She does look like she�s got a smooth ride.�
�It�s smoother than you�d think with only two legs,� Sally said. �She won�t stand on one leg with any kind of a load, though.�
�I�d think not,� Dave commented as he checked behind again and then held up a hand to signal a stop. �Here�s the first fork. We�re going to stop here while all three of you locate the stakes, both in the ground and on the map.�
�All three of us?� Trina asked from behind.
�Look,� Dave said turning to look at her directly. �I don�t know exactly what�s going on with you and Yvonne, and frankly, I don�t want to know. She�s a student here; therefore it�s my job to make sure she knows what she needs to. Whoever�s riding her could be injured in any number of ways; some of our horses will make their way back without a rider, some won�t. As much as she looks like a horse in some ways, and as much as she acts like a horse in some ways, she�s not a horse. She�s as responsible for the safety of your party as the rest of you, and if you don�t want to play by those rules, you�ll stay off of these bridle paths.�
�Then I guess I�d better dismount for a moment,� Sally said, suiting her actions to her words.
�Huh?�
�When there�s someone in her saddle, she�s on a high that interferes with her thinking clearly. If you want to make sure she understands something, I can�t be mounted at the same time.�
Dave shook his head. �So now we locate the stakes. Yvonne, you first.�
Yvonne looked around and then took the bit out of her mouth and handed it to Sally. �Red stake over here means path #1 outbound. That goes to campsite #1, right?�
�Exactly.�
She turned around. �Then this must be the inbound marker,� she pointed at a stake just to her left that had a red base and an unpainted wood top.
�Sally, you next,� Dave instructed.
In a moment, Sally had located the stakes for the other path.
�We�ll check Trina on the next fork,� Dave said. �Let�s get going.�
Sally turned to Yvonne. �Are you cool with not having your bit in?�
�I�ve never been ridden without one, so I really don�t know? Let�s see how it goes. How are you going to do the reins?�
Sally looked at her mount�s bridle, and then clipped the ends of the reins to the rings on either side of her mouth. �Let�s see if this works without chafing.� She swung into the saddle, and they proceeded up the red path toward the campsite.
�I don�t know how you guys do it,� Trina said as they arrived at the patio. �My thighs are killing me!�
�You should get out more,� Sally said as she dismounted from Yvonne. �You�ve just got to know how to sit.�
�Gingerly.�
Yvonne laughed as Sally led her inside, still bent over under the saddle. �Time to unsaddle her and get cleaned up.� Sally bent to her task, first taking the saddle off, and then dropping the lacing machine at the top of the corset. Yvonne straightened up and stretched while the mechanical insect was making its way down her back. A minute later she removed it and shrugged out of the corset and dropped it on the floor. She unbuckled the bridle and hung it on the wall.
�See you, girls,� she said as she headed for the shower.
�Who cleans up?� Trina asked as she looked at the saddle and corset lying on the floor.
�Yvonne. She�s very particular about making sure that her tack is squeaky clean and well oiled before she puts it on. She�d probably go for someone else doing it, but only if they did it right.�
�Makes sense,� Trina shrugged. �I�ve got a personal question.�
�Well, ask away, you will anyway.�
�Are you two sleeping together?�
�What brought that up?� Sally asked, curious in spite of herself.
�Well, I noticed two makeup tables in the master bedroom, but only one bed.�
�You would notice that! No, we�re not. She sleeps on the floor.�
�Huh?�
�It�s not what you�re thinking. The beds aren�t long enough for her, and anyway her hooves would shred the sheets in no time.�
�Oh. Now that you mention it, I�d pity anyone who had to sleep next to those hooves of hers.�
�You got it. I tried. Once. I had bruises on my legs for a week.�
�Ouch!�
�Anyway,� Yvonne interjected, having returned from the shower unnoticed in the middle of the exchange, �I slept on the ground in a meadow for several months. At least here I�ve got a pad and a pillow, and I don�t have to worry about hitting someone when I get rid of a rock.�
�But why the same room?�
�Trina, I�m a ponygirl. Ponygirls are herd animals. I sleep a lot better around people. The more and the closer the better, as long as we�re not stacked on top of each other.�
Trina shook her head. �Things are sure going to be different.�
�That�s a fact. How about we head over to the student union?�
�And see what Yvonne stirs up?� Trina smiled in anticipation.
�Might as well,� Yvonne agreed. �The last term I was here was miserable because I wasn�t one of the elect and people thought I was trying to horn in. This term anyone who thinks I�m trying to be something I�m not needs their head examined.�
�Doesn�t that describe most of the student body?� Trina said, gazing at the ceiling with a patently blank expression.
�I didn�t mean by their hair stylist,� Yvonne shot back.
�Well, let�s go,� Sally said, heading for the door.
Frankly, Xaltatun hasn�t figured out what happens at the Student Union. It wants to turn into low farce, and he prefers something slightly closer to high drama, or at least reasonable decorum. There�s an arm wrestling match in there somewhere (which Yvonne wins, of course,) and the startling discovery that hooves aren�t really that good for dancing.
So we�ll let that scene pass. (It gets about a C+, somehow.)
Yvonne slowly shook her head as she listened to the voice in her phone. �What part of �all students must take Phys. Ed.� don�t you understand?� the voice asked in tones that suggested that its patience was not only not infinite, but was rapidly approaching exhaustion.
�I explained that on the registration,� Yvonne said for about the fifteenth time.
�I read that load of bullcrap, and I don�t believe a word of it,� the voice repeated. �I don�t care what kind of disability or special need you have. Just get yourself down here right now and we�ll figure out where you belong.�
�But��
�Right now means right now. I want to see you in my office in ten minutes, dressed in whatever you use to work out, assuming you work out at all.�
�You asked for it,� Yvonne replied and thumbed the stop button on the phone. She shook her head and then changed into her red leotard, putting a short tunic on over it for decency. She shoved a basic harness into a duffel and trotted out the door, bag slung over her shoulder.
A few minutes later, she trotted into the Phys. Ed. departments� office.
The secretary stared a moment as she took in Yvonne�s close to two meter height and mane. Then she did a double take as Yvonne swished her tail, lifting the hem of her tunic in the process.
�Uh,� she said, gathering her thoughts. �I didn�t think you�d be taking Phys. Ed.�
�Old Firebreath thinks differently,� Yvonne told her.
�Oh, was that you she was yelling at a few minutes ago? Go right in, Stephanie�s expecting you.�
�Don�t be surprised at anything,� Yvonne said, sotto voice, as she walked around the secretary�s desk.
A moment later, the athletic director looked up from the phone she was snarling into and saw Yvonne. �You!� she said, slamming the phone down without bothering to tell whoever she�d been yelling at goodbye.
�At that height, you�re going to sign up for basketball. Right now.�
�Can�t.� Yvonne said.
�And why not?�
�Title IX, Section 12, Subsection 4, Paragraph 16, subpart iv prohibits me from taking part in any competitive sport.�
�That�s the section on performance enhancing drugs. You can�t be that stupid!�
�That�s subparagraphs i through iii. Subparagraph iv is the one against performance enhancing gene modifications.�
�That�s impossible,� the seated woman snorted.
Yvonne swished her tail. �I wish you�d have told that to New Babylon before they did this to me,� she said coldly.
�It�s still impossible!�
�Maybe a slight demonstration is in order,� Yvonne gave her a toothy grin as she walked around the desk and hauled the hapless woman out of her chair by the shoulders.
A moment later, she held the athletic director against the ceiling, one hand on her midriff.
�PUT ME DOWN!�
�All right.� Yvonne shrugged and dropped her onto the floor, making a slight attempt to insure that she landed feet first.
Stephanie dropped onto her feet with a bit of a bounce, and came erect, hands on hips. �Well, I suppose that stunt does say something or other. You certainly don�t look like you�ve got that kind of muscles.� Her eyes narrowed.
�How about ballet?�
�You want to have your feet stepped on by an iron shod hoof?�
�Good point. Besides, there probably aren�t that many ballets you could fit into without ruining the choreography.� She righted her chair and sat down.
�Well, one thing is obvious,� she said after she got herself settled. �We�re going to have to think about this.�
Yvonne very carefully didn�t say that they should have started out thinking about it. She looked at the available chairs in distaste, and then spun one around and sat on it backwards. �My tail hates normal chairs,� she said as Stephanie looked at her strangely.
�Oh. How much exercise do you need a day, and what do you do for it?�
�Two hours is a good minimum. I�ve got an arrangement with the stables; my roommate takes me out riding in the morning.�
�Horseback riding isn�t that physical.�
�I didn�t say horseback riding. I�m a ponygirl. She rides me. Beyond that, I�m going to look into contributing an hour or so a day to some worthwhile project.�
Stephanie narrowed her eyes. �I�m not even going to ask. I take it you�ve got everything squared away with Daisy Mae?�
�Yep. Did that yesterday.�
�Good. As far as heavy labor is concerned, we�ve certainly got enough to do around here, and our students on athletic scholarships aren�t exactly enthusiastic about doing it.�
�I didn�t even know we had athletic scholarships.�
�Partly diversity, and partly the alumni.�
�They want to see winning teams, right?�
�Exactly. You don�t know how hard it is to find jocks that will keep their grades up and have the right social background for this madhouse while still satisfying the PC mafia.�
�Tell me about it,� Yvonne said dryly. �I�ve already met a couple that need a reality check.�
�I�ll bet. Did you give them one?�
�I�m a ponygirl, not an amazon,� Yvonne deadpanned.
�Huh?�
�The reality chick is in the mail is an amazon thing,� she answered.
Stephanie looked blank for a moment, and then held onto the desk, attempting to stifle a guffaw. After she recovered, she said: �I didn�t even see that one coming.�
�Occasionally even I manage to score,� Yvonne said modestly.
�What�s just occurred to me, though, is that I can do golf. Strength really only counts on the first shot, and I can always drive off the men�s tee.�
Stephanie cocked her head, considering. �The rest should come out of the handicap,� she said. �Let�s see how that mix works.�
Yvonne listened to the babble of the little waterfall at the head of the stream that made its way through the little clearing in the wooded park. This was one of her favorite get-away-from-it places when she had to catch up on studying without the distractions of her college. While she liked her roommate and rider, Sally, the constant chatter of the social whirl tended to preclude really studying. So Yvonne had found this out of the way nook and appropriated it as her private spot.
A few minutes after arriving, she shed the boots she used to protect people�s floors from her steel shod hooves, and neatly folded her skirt and top over them. She stretched luxuriously as she felt the gentle breeze play over her bare skin. If there was anything she missed about New Babylon, it was the opportunity to ditch the clothes. Of course, she considered with a bit of an internal chuckle, she hadn�t thought so then!
A few minutes later, she had her work table set up on the green, and settled in front of it, sitting on her hooves. She spread her book and notepad out on the desk and quickly became absorbed in the attempt to find the simplicity behind what the textbook author insisted on obfuscating. So far, he was succeeding admirably.
A slight �pop!� startled her for a moment, then she felt a prick in her shoulder. She reached back to scratch it, and felt something. A moment later, she looked dully at a feathered dart. Then she fell over on her side, out cold.
�Now that�s what I call an easy collection,� a tall man said to his companion as they hurried out of the woods to their prize.
�Let�s not count her before we get away,� the lithe brunette responded. She bent down and slid a pair of plugs into the girl�s nose; then she put a leather helmet over the sleeping ponygirl�s head and drew the opening tight around her throat.
The man picked Yvonne up in a fireman�s carry, and walked to one of the forest paths as his companion hurriedly shoved all of Yvonne�s belongings into a sack and then looked around. She slung the sack over her shoulder and followed her teammate out of the meadow, picking several small electronic monitoring devices off of trees as she passed. Those monitors were key to getting away safely: they would have told the pair if anyone stumbled into their path, either accidentally or on purpose.
The path ended in a small parking lot.� The monitors had done their job. The only car in the lot was the SUV they had come in. The woman dropped the sack and opened the back, and then opened the lid on the floor. They put their prize into the space beneath the floorboard, and shoved the sack in next to her. The woman bent over for a few moments, attaching various tubes and other instruments to her sleeping charge, and then stood back up. �Well, close it up and let�s get going,� she said.
�About time,� he responded.
�So, you always get itchy. We�ve got everything covered.�
The pair got into the front seat, and then he drove it off down the access road toward the highway.
The man drove a while, finally going up the on ramp of one of the computer controlled highways. He punched in a destination, and the car maneuvered itself into the traffic flow, settling down to a steady 150 kph.
Half an hour later, the black SUV with its drugged ponygirl traveled out of range of the last of Yvonne�s base stations. An alarm showed up on a monitor screen in a ready room. The operator looked at it irritatedly, and then dismissed it as unimportant.
Sally sat at her desk, head propped on both hands staring at the lesson on her computer screen as if a baleful expression would cause it to yield up its secrets. Where was Yvonne when she needed her?
Her phone buzzed.
�Sally?� Trina exclaimed. �Do you know where Yvonne is?�
�Huh?� Sally answered. �She�s not here, and I want her. Now!�
�Well, she didn�t show up in her Finance 130 class, and we were wondering if anything happened. She�s got such an, interesting, slant on things. And she isn�t answering her phone, either.�
�That�s weird. She�s real anal about that.�
�Tell me about it. Not showing up without telling someone just isn�t like her.�
�True. I�ll see what I can find.�
A moment later, Sally had verified that Yvonne�s system didn�t know where she was either. All it knew was that she had gone out of range several hours before, and it couldn�t contact her implants using the regular wireless network.
Sally frowned, and then dug out a number from her address book.
�New Babylon Security. How may I help you�?� the bored professional voice answered the phone.
�I�m Sally Syndler,� she told the voice. �One of your people, Yvonne Livingston, seems to have vanished, and we�re worried. We can�t pick her up either on her locator or the network.�
�Just a moment,� the voice said, no longer sounding bored. After a pause she heard a bit-off expletive. �Sorry about that; she certainly does seem to be off our network. Let�s see�� he trailed off.
�Damn. The log shows she may have been drugged. In any case, she dropped off the wireless network a good half hour before she got out of range of ours, a few minutes before the medical incident.�
�That doesn�t sound good.�
�Oh, it isn�t,� the security tech agreed. �We�re on it now, and we should have her back shortly.� He didn�t finish up with �I hope;� it seemed to be superfluous. �You�re her roommate?�
�Yes.�
�Well, notify whoever needs to know that she�ll be away for a few days, and we�ll take care of finding her.�
�Thank you,� Sally said, relieved.
The black SUV traveled onward at a speed that would have been unthinkable before the days of computer control of the expressway system. The man and woman lounged in their chairs, alternately watching the countryside pass by, reading and watching the 3V. Occasionally they stopped to refuel, stretch and relieve themselves.
When they passed Boston, Sally�s implants showed up briefly on New Babylon�s locator. The monitors noticed, and notified one of the security team.
An hour later, they had a car a kilometer behind the SUV, traveling in the exact lockstep that the computer maintained on the expressway. Since they weren�t an authorized emergency vehicle, the computer wouldn�t allow them to shift around in the traffic flow.
�Now what?� Billi Holliday asked her team, looking for inspiration. �We�ve got her located, but we can�t get her without causing a scene.�
�At least we know she was kidnapped,� Neil said. He was the security technician who had handled the original call. �The medical monitor is quite clear on that.�
�True, but we don�t want the national police to know about out capabilities.�
�Besides,� Jeannette said, �by the time we got a warrant, they�d probably be wherever they�re headed.� Jeannette was a middle-aged blonde who got called in when they needed to act quickly but without causing a fuss.
�Which gives us the opportunity to find out who ordered it.� Jeannette grinned nastily. �We need to start putting together a rescue squad. They can�t be too many hours away from wherever; the country just isn�t that big.
�Then again, we may not need a squad. Whoever set this up is clearly a professional.�
�And most of them roll over with their little feet in the air when we talk,� Billi added. �Let�s hope.�
A few hours later, an alarm went off in the SUV, and the pair woke up, noting that they had crossed another three states while they slept. They stopped at a rest area that rented showers to professional travelers and freshened up. After another hour or so, they got to their off ramp, and the man took over the controls. They didn�t notice the green sportster that came off the expressway right after them.
The SUV traveled down a twisty series of ancient two lane blacktops until it arrived at a dirt side road that led through an opening in a fence, apparently no different from any of the other fences that kept cattle and sheep from wandering off their owner�s property. The vehicle rumbled over the grate and shortly vanished from sight of the road around a small hill.
Once it got around the hill, it pulled up in front of a much more businesslike fence, with a gate and a guardhouse. The only thing different about this guardhouse that separated it from the many similar installations that protected various facilities was the bored looking naked woman sitting on her heels in front.
Well, an almost naked woman. She wore a tight waistband that connected her to the shafts of a chariot, and a leather binder that kept her arms crossed behind her back. She also had on a thick black collar. A workmanlike bridle and bit encased her head, with the reins loosely draped over the chariot seat. The little bells that hung from her ears and nipple rings complemented the ring in her nose.
She turned to look incuriously at them as they drove up, and then turned back to gaze at whatever had caught her interest on the sage covered hill.
A man stepped out of the guardhouse, and then waved the SUV through. It was clearly expected. His ponygirl turned her head to watch it vanish down the road around another hill, and then looked back at the sagebrush with a small sigh.
�So this is what a real ponygirl looks like,� Nora said, running her gaze up and down Yvonne�s bound frame. Yvonne had been released from her imprisonment beneath the floorboards of the SUV, and now stood in front of the little group, her arms bound above her and her head encased in a bridle and bit. The lead rope on the bridle went to a ring on a nearby post. They�d also put cuffs on her legs to force her to keep them apart and prevent her from kicking anyone.
Nora took her time inspecting her newest acquisition. She ran a hand through Yvonne�s mane, tracing the line from her brow across her head and down to the point just below her shoulder blades. Then she looked at it closely. �It doesn�t look cut,� she mused. �However did they get it to grow that way?�
She walked around and fingered the girl�s breasts. �Good, solid set of breast rings,� she noted. �Not nipple rings, though.� She flicked one and noticed that it swung back and forth easily, as if it was loose in a shaft drilled through the flesh of her breast.
She squatted so she could examine the tail. She tried to run her fingers through the silky chestnut strands, and watched as it flicked out of her way. �That,� she said almost accusingly, �looks like a real tail!� She pointed at the base of Yvonne�s spine and spoke to the man squatting on Yvonne�s other side. �It feels like the spine just keeps on going.�
�It certainly does,� he agreed with her. �That light coat just above it is a nice touch.�
�Now, this hoof,� Nora said as she wrapped a hand around one of Yvonne�s legs and gently tugged upwards. Yvonne obediently brought her hoof up as far as the restraint allowed.
�That�s a real hoof,� she said. �Where�s a hoof pick?�
A girl standing by her side fetched one from the wall and handed it to her. She spent a moment probing into the hoof. �A real hoof,� she said almost as if to herself. She stood up and brushed herself off.
�Why do I have a bad feeling about this?� she asked.
Yvonne snorted behind the bit. The other two remained silent.
�I asked a question!� she snapped.
�Because whoever lost her is going to want her back?� the blond girl hazarded.
�Of course they are Terri,� she said caustically. �So what? That�s never been a problem before.�
�Creating her had to be a lot of work,� Terri responded hesitantly.
�That�s true. I�d love to know how they do it. Or maybe I wouldn�t,� she continued with one of her mercurial mood changes. �It�s probably horribly complicated.�
Nora was the owner of Nora�s Hideout, which was, to all outside interest, a hobby ranch that raised a few head of cattle and a small herd of horses. She entered the horses in various local races, where they upheld her reputation as somewhat of a dilettante. They were good enough to avoid the dog food factories, but they seldom managed to show, let alone win a race. All in all, exactly the kind of racing pony that the track managers loved to have to safely fill out a card. No real danger of winning, and the long odds attracted enough bettors to sweeten the pot.
�Put a collar on her and see if you can get her calmed down enough by this afternoon so I can take her out for a workout,� Nora told the man who had helped her inspect the suspended filly.
�Shouldn�t be much of a problem,� Wally, the head groom, answered. �Looking like that, she�s probably quite well trained already.�
�Oh, she�s undoubtedly trained,� Nora said. �What it looks like she needs is a firm reminder of who�s boss. Which shouldn�t be at all hard once you get the collar activated,� she added, looking at Yvonne meaningfully.
�It�ll be so much easier on her once she figures that out. Wasn�t it, pet?� she asked the naked girl squatting by her side. The girl squatted with her knees tucked up under her breasts, and her two paws flat on the floor in front of her. She wore some kind of a glove or mitten on her hands that made them look like cat�s paws, and a helmet that gave her a muzzle and pointed ears. Her long, furred tail curled around her body to her left.
Nora had clipped her pet�s leash to a loop on her belt, where it curved down to attach to the thick black collar around her neck. Her pet looked up at her mistress, and stretched to rub her head against Nora�s thigh as she gave a credible imitation of a purr.
Yvonne looked back at Nora thoughtfully. The last half hour had been confusing, as she had come out of the drugged haze to find herself strung up and being pawed over by a bunch of strangers as if she were a piece of livestock. She�d now regained her mental equilibrium, and didn�t particularly like what she was discovering.
She�d done some exploring of the ponygirl scene with Sally, and found that it alternated between being fun and being boring. The people were nuts, but at least they weren�t particularly harmful. This group, however, seemed to be more nuts than usual. Oh, well, she thought, right now the best thing would be to roll with it; things should clarify shortly.
Especially as she seemed to be in range of a base station. She focused her attention and began the mental exercise that would allow her to send a message via her implants. It wasn�t the swiftest process in the world, but it was definitely better than nothing.
After doing that, she thought a moment, and decided to make another preparation. She began a mental exercise that, until now, had remained theoretical. It was something that had been covered in her briefing on how her implants worked, but she�d seen no particular need to practice right away.
The man who had examined her with Nora ran a tape measure around her neck, and then walked over to the wall, whistling tunelessly. He looked at several thick black hinged collars hanging open like figure threes, and selected one.
He took it and slid it around her neck, closing it with a definite click. Yvonne�s mouth twitched as she frowned in concentration.
Nora walked over to a computer display set in the wall, and pressed a series of buttons. The screen showed a complicated looking status display. Suddenly, most of the items on the display turned red, and a flashing red message appeared: �Critical Fault.�
�What�s that mean?� Nora asked.
�Something just burned out.� Wally replied.
�Equipment,� Nora said disgustedly. �Never obeys when you want it to.� She spun as Yvonne gave a most unponylike snort of laughter behind her bit. She looked at the suspended ponygirl suspiciously.
�You couldn�t have�� she muttered.
�Well, get on with it. Try another one.�
Wally unlatched the failed collar and found another one on the wall. A moment later, it adorned Yvonne�s neck.
Nora pressed the buttons again. The monitor showed its display, and then the red �Critical Fault� screen appeared, followed a moment later by a blue screen with a grinning skull in the center.
�I do not fucking believe this,� Nora growled. �Any ideas?�
�Why not ask her if she did it?� Terri simpered. Yvonne looked at her with a frown. That voice didn�t seem to be quite able to make up its mind whether it was a low alto or a high tenor. She looked more closely at Terri and a lip quirked around the side of the bit. It wasn�t like transsexuals were exactly unknown. At least half of the supervisors around the ponygirl stables were true hermaphrodites, and most of them could give a girl a much better time sexually than the true males.
Nora rounded on the girl. �That�s the most asinine suggestion I�ve heard.� Then she smiled in spite of herself. �Good work. You�re getting the blond bubblehead bit down perfectly.�
Terri shrugged her shapely shoulders, blond hair falling in artful disarray. �I meant it seriously,� she said.
Nora stared at her. �Humph! Ponygirls should not be allowed to talk. You know that!� Then she shrugged. �It�s my rule.� She walked over and yanked the bit out of the suspended girl�s mouth.
�So, talk. Did you do that?�
�Yes.� Yvonne said simply.
�How?� Nora asked.
�I�m afraid that�s proprietary,� Yvonne said regretfully.
Nora�s face set in a scowl. �So I�m just going to have to break you the hard way,� she said.
�Don�t be stupid,� Yvonne said. �What makes you think I�d let you?�
Nora smiled like a tiger. �And who�s going to stop me?�
Yvonne shrugged as the suspension cuffs fell apart, releasing her hands. �I am.�
Nora stepped back as Yvonne�s hands came down. �How�d you do that?� she managed to get out.
�Proprietary,� Yvonne said, returning the grin with interest.
�Let�s be serious for a change,� Yvonne continued. �You wanted a real ponygirl. Now that you�ve got one, I�d think it would be a good idea to find out how she works.�
Nora backed up another step and scowled at her.
�Calm down,� Yvonne said amusedly. �You need to know what I�m about, and I�d like to avoid being damaged in the process of your finding out. I take it you�ve never visited New Babylon?�
�Is that where you�re from?� Nora asked. �I usually don�t pay much attention to my competitors. So what is up with you? I always thought the idea of secret genetics labs turning out horrible mutants was claptrap.�
�As far as I know, it mostly is. New Babylon does a thriving business in fixing genetic illnesses, but we�re the only new species they�ve turned out. I�m told nobody else is even close to their level of capability, and in any case, I�m the only ponygirl uptime.�
�So, what can I expect out of you?�
�Well, for one thing, we, that is ponygirls in general, are really only happy if we�re doing hard work that benefits their owner or community. And we�re designed so that we feel that hauling things in harness, or being ridden, is perfectly natural. In fact, it�s enough of a high that I arranged to be ridden every day.�
�So if I harnessed you to my chariot, you�d give me a good ride?�
�Probably. I don�t have a lot of experience with hauling people conveyances; when I pulled things around, it was mostly agricultural equipment.�
�This is too easy, and you�re too confident by half. What aren�t you telling me?� Nora asked suspiciously.
�New Babylon knows where I am. You�re going to get a call shortly from someone who wants to discuss this with you. I don�t know exactly when. Day or two, maybe later today.�
�Those two guaranteed me you couldn�t be traced!� she said angrily.
�Well, it�s not their fault, really. There are things we don�t advertise. I�ve got an implanted communication device using a proprietary technology, and it also has a direct link to my brain. I know when I�m in or out of contact, and a few other things. Right now, I�m in contact, and it�s telling me that they�re arranging to talk to you shortly.�
Nora looked at her suspiciously. �How do I know you�re telling me the truth?�
�All you have to do is wait. It�s not going to cost you anything. Meanwhile, if you want to take me out for a spin in a pony cart, feel free. I�d really like some exercise after being drugged that long.�
�It�s still too easy,� Nora said.
�Why? Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly. Ponygirls like to be ridden and pull people around. The designers didn�t create us in a vacuum; they knew exactly what they wanted us to like doing.�
�The things I get into,� Nora muttered to herself. �OK. Let�s do it. I do want to find out how you handle in a chariot.�
�This ought to do,� Yvonne said, checking the way they had her tacked up. �I must admit it looks pretty, but I think I�ll wind up preferring my usual tack, though.�
Yvonne�s harness consisted of a solid black leather waistband, held down by a crotch strap that they�d had to hurriedly modify to avoid her tail. Thick black leather straps that crossed both in front and in back held it up; the front straps crossed between her breasts. Another strap ran around her body just above her breasts; a pair of shoulder straps with thick pads topped off the entire assemblage.
She stood between the shafts of a small sulky. More thick leather straps fastened the shafts to her waistband. Her hands rested lightly on the front of the shafts; they had discussed having them cuffed to the shafts, but decided to leave that detail of tack for later.
The front part of the sulky shafts ran horizontally, and then dropped at an angle to where they were level with the large bicycle wheels.
�I think so,� Nora said as she stroked her ponygirl�s mane. She smiled to herself when she noted that Yvonne leaned slightly into her strokes. This, she thought to herself, might actually work out.
She climbed into the sulky and sat, noticing the way the harness took up the strain. Wally handed her the reins, and she flicked them lightly. �Giddyap!� she said.
Yvonne leaned into the traces, the sulky following obediently behind.
�Nice start!� Nora called, as she pulled the right rein lightly. Yvonne obediently turned to the right. Nora spent a few minutes turning her steed one way and then another around the yard, getting a feel for how Yvonne handled. Then she turned the ponygirl to a path that led out of the yard to the back part of the property, and flicked the reins again. �Trot!� she commanded.
Yvonne fell into the ground-eating stride she could keep up for hours.
Nora admired the ponygirl trotting ahead of her, with the breeze playing with her chestnut mane and tail, and her muscles rippling under the skin with the look of smooth power. She shook her head. Suddenly, all the girls she�d trained seemed clumsy by comparison. This wasn�t the patchwork job that was a staple of the 3V horror shows, this magnificent animal showed an altogether admirable attention to detail.
Animal? She snorted at the thought. If she managed to keep her, they would have to come to an agreement! It did rankle a bit to ask livestock for its opinion, and she wasn�t going to change her attitude there if she could help it. She had a gnawing suspicion that she wasn�t going to have any choice, though.
For right now, though, the magnificent chestnut pulling her sulky promised to be the high point of a day that had more than its share of frustrations.
She came to the marker that was as far as she usually took her ponygirls. Any farther, and she ran an unacceptable risk of being seen by people on the adjacent property. She chuckled again as she pulled on the reins, bringing Yvonne to a halt. To tell the truth, this was as far as she usually came with a pair; one ponygirl simply wouldn�t have made it with enough strength to come back. This one, on the other hand, didn�t even seem to have been working hard!
She turned her pony back and brought her up to a trot. They came to a straight stretch, and Nora frowned in thought. Then she smiled and shook the reins. �Gallop!� she commanded. Yvonne broke into a run, almost jerking the sulky enough to unseat her surprised passenger. �Slow down!� Nora called as they passed the copse of trees that marked the end of the easy path. Yvonne dropped back to the gentler trot she had been using, this time making sure that her passenger wasn�t jerked around.
A half hour later, they arrived back in the yard. Nora climbed out of the sulky and walked around to look at Yvonne.
�You�re not even sweating after that run,� she said, accusingly.
Yvonne took the bit out of her mouth. �That�s one of the changes,� she said almost apologetically. �We don�t sweat. They engineered in a different method of dumping excess heat. It�s a lot more efficient, and saves water.
�Would it make you happier if your grooms unhitched me?� Yvonne asked the nonplussed woman. �I�d like to get out of this harness and shower down after the run. Then if I�m going to be here for a while, I suppose someone needs to assign me a stall.�
Nora shook her head. �Terri!� she called. A moment later the boy-girl came running up. �Groom her and put her in her stall. Find out what she needs to eat.�
�And you,� she turned back to Yvonne. �Keep your mouth shut around the rest of the ponygirls. I don�t want to upset them.�
Yvonne whinnied at her, amused.
New Babylon�s negotiator, Nora thought, definitely looked the part. Not too tall, not too short, and solidly built. Those shoulders looked, well, comforting. She idly scratched her kitty-girl behind the ears as she considered him.
Yvonne, on the other hand, definitely looked different dressed up. Somehow the narrow waist and flared skirt disguised the width of her hips so she looked mildly erotic rather than overweight. And it made her tail look like a fashion accessory. If she came out of this, she definitely wanted the name of her designer!
�Well, enough chit-chat,� she said. �I suppose we�d better get down to it.�
�That would be best,� Edgar said, placing his cup precisely in the center of the saucer.
�What�s got me baffled is why we�re sitting here acting civilized. You got me dead to rights for kidnapping, if nothing else.�
Yvonne shrugged. �I can�t say that I liked being kidnapped, and if you�d been nasty you�d be in real trouble. As it is, I�ll just write it off as an eccentric invitation to make a sales call.�
�Sales call?� Nora said, confused.
�You want ponygirls,� Edgar said. �We have ponygirls, and when it looked like you weren�t going to damage the merchandise, we gave you an opportunity to see for yourself what our product is like.�
�You�d sell me some? How much?�
�Let�s just say that we want to explore the opportunity. There are some, ah, circumstances that might give you a bit of trouble.�
�Yvonne is certainly a good deal more forward than I like. Hopefully your regular product is more disciplined.�
�Well, that�s part of it, certainly. You don�t expect dogs to act like cats, or horses to act like birds. Our ponygirls do their own thing; there are a lot of ways they don�t act like humans. They don�t normally act like horses, either, although we train them to fake it. It�s good for the tourists.�
�Now you�ve got me confused. Yvonne told me she liked pulling me around in my sulky!�
�Of course,� he grinned at her. �Horses aren�t the only animals we use to pull things; they�re just the most convenient. They aren�t the only animals we ride, either. Ponygirls like to pull things and they like to be ridden. That�s the way they were designed, but that doesn�t make them horses in other ways.
�One way they are like horses, though, is that they are herd animals. A ponygirl by herself is probably not going to be real happy.�
�Well, there are exceptions,� Yvonne added, �but by and large it�s true. You won�t find me going off by myself for days on end. I need people around most of the time.�
�So what you�re saying is that I can�t buy one ponygirl from you. I�d have to take a dozen.�
�Well, half a dozen. And we�d have to throw in a couple of grooms and trainers as well to keep them balanced.�
�Humph. With all of that, I suspect I�m going to have to compromise. There�s something I�d like, though,� she said, scratching her cat-girl behind the ears.
�Oh?�
�Could you turn Bouncy, here, into a real cat?�
Bouncy, Yvonne was amused to note, stiffened suddenly and then relaxed again. Her tail twitched in the universal cat signal for �don�t even think about it.�
�I see you�ve got her very well trained,� Yvonne said. �She doesn�t like the idea at all, but she�s not showing it.�
�Yes, we had to work on it, didn�t we, kitty?� Nora said.
Bouncy�s tail twitched again, but she showed every evidence of being delighted with the arrangement, going so far as to rub her head against Nora�s leg and give a fake purr.
�I don�t see why you�d want to turn her into a real cat,� Edgar said. �What do you have in mind? I can ask, but I don�t know how far you�ll get. I�ve never heard the slightest interest in anything other than our ponygirls.�
�Real ears and a real tail. That�s an amazing piece of equipment I got for her, but it took a long time to train her to use it, and it breaks down occasionally.�
�Well, mine�s as real as it gets, and it took me a while both to grow it and to learn to use it,� Yvonne said. �It�s actually prehensile, which a horse�s isn�t. It�s just too short to be very useful.�
�I�d also like her to have claws, fur and fangs. And fix it so she�s four legged.�
�The fur shouldn�t be hard,� Yvonne said. �They�d have to research the claws and fangs. I think walking well on four legs is more a matter of leg length and hip configuration than anything having to do with the brain, so it probably wouldn�t be that hard either. I take it you�d like that pose she�s in right now to be more natural?�
�Definitely. I�d also like to be able to ride her.�
Yvonne laughed. �A pony-cat-girl? Or on all four paws? I�d think she�d need to be a couple of sizes larger than a lion for you to manage that! On the other hand, a real riding cat would be striking. Add a wild girl outfit, and oh, wow!
�One other thing we could add to the mix. How�d you like for Terri to be a real hermaphrodite? Fully functional male and female sex organs.�
�There�s got to be a catch,� Nora said. �Well, let�s think it over, I�m finding the proposition intriguing. But I�m wondering what you get out of it. Besides a lot of my money, of course.�
�Well,� Edgar said, picking up his cup for a sip, �you�ve got a nice, out of the way place where some of our up-time personnel can come now and then. Yvonne was quite interested during our preliminary discussion in having a ponygirl herd handy.�
�It will also give our researchers an opportunity to see how a herd functions under different conditions,� Yvonne added. �They�re chomping at the bit for the opportunity.�
�Are you sure you aren�t from one of the tongs?� Nora asked, a slight smile playing around her lips.
�Not the tongs,� Edgar said. �But it does my heart good to know that there�s still someone who doesn�t know how New Babylon negotiates. Granted, we don�t advertise, but the word does get around.�
�So you�re like the legendary Bill Gates. It doesn�t matter what the contract looks like, somehow it works out to your favor.�
�Very perceptive comment, young woman,� Edgar said. �We do work at it.�
�Well, just add those two sweeteners, and you�ve got a deal,� Nora said, standing up.
�Deal,� agreed Edgar, also standing up. �We�ll be back in touch for the arrangements. We�ll probably change Terri around first. It will take a while for Bouncy, though.�
Bouncy watched the three of them leave the room. Then she lifted a paw, licked it and began brushing one of her ears. As far as she was concerned, they could take all the time they wanted. Forever would be just about right.
The staff, Yvonne reflected, had provided her with a very nice interview room, tailored to her requirements. Her chair was probably the oddest thing about it; unlike a standard executive chair, it had a separate seat and back, with a wide opening for her tail.
The office receptionist knocked on the door.
�Come in,� she called.
�Your appointment is here, Ms. Livingston,� she said, ushering a man and a woman into the room.
They made their introductions. The couple was Jeff and Suzy Franks; both of them had been indentured slaves on New Babylon, which is where they had met. When they left, they had decided to get married and raise a family, and were having difficulty with the latter.
�So,� Yvonne opened the conversation, �I understand you�ve had a great deal of difficulty starting a family.�
�We have,� Frank said. �The doctors are finally admitting that they don�t know what is going on. They started out telling us that the gene modifications wouldn�t be a problem.�
�After all,� Suzy said, �They shouldn�t be. We both have the same ones. Or do we?� she suddenly sounded suspicious as if the idea had never occurred to her before.
�You have the same changes,� Yvonne told the couple. �There�s only one set. They prevent you from being fertile with unmodified humans, which is part of the problem.
�It�s fairly unusual for any of our ex-slaves to meet and marry in the first place, and the few that do have just accepted the fact that they can�t seem to have children. You�re not the first couple that�s pursued it with enough determination to get here, but you�re in a very small minority.�
Suzy�s brow furrowed. �Why do I suddenly have the notion that there�s a lot that nobody told us?�
�Because after what you�ve been through, you�re justifiably suspicious,� Yvonne told her. �You�ve been persistent enough to make New Babylon grant you an interview, and you discover that it�s with the only ponygirl that�s uptime. That�s probably enough to make anyone suspicious.
�There is more going on, though, and you�ve got a choice. If you want to know about it, I�ll explain. But you�ll have to sign a non-disclosure first. I assume you�re aware of what�ll happen if you break it?�
The two of them nodded.
�If you don�t want to sign the non-disclosure, I�ll just do what�s needed for you to have a baby, and that�ll be the end of it. What�s your choice?�
Suzy frowned slightly. �Is there anything else besides keeping our mouths shut?�
�Smart girl! Yes, there is, but I can�t tell you any details before you sign. All I can tell you right now is that there�s nothing that you�ll be obligated to do; you can still just forget it and keep quiet, and there won�t be any repercussions.
�On the other hand, it will open up some possibilities that you might find you want to follow up on.�
Suzy looked at her husband. �I�d rather know what�s up, even if I can�t talk about it,� she said slowly.
�So would I,� Frank contributed.
Yvonne got two sets of papers from a file and slid it across the desk. �Here�s the paperwork.� She looked on while the two of them read through it. Then she handed them a pen. They signed, and she put the agreement back into the file.
�Well, the big issue is that the changes are extensive enough to make us a different species. We�re calling ourselves Homo Equus for starters. Without going into a lot of detail, any member of our species can change sex or change from hominid to pony or back at any time.�
�Whoa!� Frank said. �You mean we�re the same species as you are?�
�Exactly. What it means is that you could trade off on which one of you gets pregnant with each of your children, or you could decide that one of your children will be a nice little ponygirl foal.�
�I don�t think the neighbors would approve,� Suzy said, wide-eyed.
�Exactly the problem,� Yvonne nodded. �That�s one of the reasons we had you sign the agreement.
�Another part of the changes is that we�re herd animals to a much greater extent than normal humans. That�s quite obvious with ponygirls, but it applies to you as well, although to a lesser degree. That�s one reason why a lot of our ex-slaves decide to come back to us, or never leave New Babylon in the first place.
�Part of that is that herds have herd councils, and it takes a member of your herd council to do certain things with you. Those things include allowing you to become pregnant.�
�I think I see,� Suzy said thoughtfully. �You�re saying that we have to become members of a herd, and then the people in charge can induce pregnancy? Why is that?�
�I�m told it�s population control. The designers didn�t like the way humanity tends to expand to where it overstresses its environment. Since you�re not part of a complete herd at the moment, you�ll become part of mine. As the herd authority, I can turn you on so you ovulate, and so a male�s sperm becomes fertile. Part of the package is that you�ll spend the next week or so madly in lust with each other.�
�I see,� Frank said. �That�s why they told us to arrange for a vacation.� He frowned. �It seems very cold-blooded.�
�It does, doesn�t it? I don�t know all the reasons for why they did it that way.� She shrugged and spread her hands. �It�s just the way it�s been explained to me.�
�What�s being part of your herd involve?� Suzy asked.
�That�s where it gets interesting. On one level, not a whole lot. We need to keep in touch and see each other occasionally. On another level, quite a bit. We turn on your implants and train you to use them.�
�Implants?�
�Yes. There�s a bit of a story behind that. Back when New Babylon started, all the equipment was in the slave collars, just like you were told. Later, they found a way to implant the equipment directly in your skull, where it doesn�t show on most types of scan. They�re gradually transitioning from the collars to using the implants; eventually those slave collars will mostly be for show; the implants will actually do everything. All the slaves that have left in the last half dozen or so years have a full set of implants. They�re reset on exit so that you�re off the network and so that the herd instinct isn�t all that overwhelming.
�There are a lot of capabilities there which you were never told about. After you come back from your week of wild lust, if you want to explore what they can do for you, I�ll activate them and show you the basics of how to use them. Then you can practice on your own.
�The basic consideration is that you�ll be back in the New Babylon network. That�s got good and bad points. You get access to the telly, and some communication and scheduling things. It�ll never replace a really good PDA, but it�s better than the runner up. The downside is that you�ll have to maintain regular contact with the other herd members. Some people like it, some don�t, but you don�t have an option once the implants are activated.
She saw them look doubtful. �I really recommend it. I�ve been kidnapped twice by idiots that thought a real ponygirl would be a nice addition to their stable. The link in my implants let Security trace me promptly. Besides, it keeps the insects off.
��I could go for the telly,� Frank said thoughtfully. �It�s got the same courses?�
�And more,� Yvonne confirmed. �There�s a lot of stuff that only makes sense here.�
�So, what do we need to do?� Suzy asked.
�Decide what sex you want your new baby to be. I�ll do the rest. There�s no ceremony involved.�
�It seems like there should be something more,� Suzy said. �The stork just pops in and waves its beak? Somehow, it�s an anticlimax.�
�Well, there�s no one to have a ceremony with yet. Once you get acquainted with the rest of the herd members, we can do something meaningful for your second child, though, and we can do the usual baby shower and birth ceremonies.�
�Why do we have to choose?� Suzy asked. �I�d kind of like not knowing until the doctor tells me.�
�I could let it be random, but there�s no way to do half measures. You�d have a fairly large chance of getting a pony foal rather than a human.�
�That could be fun,� Suzy said a bit regretfully. �But there�d be too much conflict with the neighbors.� She turned to her husband. �How about a girl first?�
�Fine by me,� Frank said.
�Let�s do it,� Suzy answered him as she pulled him over and planted a lingering kiss on his lips.
Yvonne frowned in concentration while the two lovebirds were kissing.
�It�s all set up. Now go and have fun making sperm meet egg.� She shoved an envelope at them. �Here are your reservations.�
Frank opened the envelope and looked at them. �Wow! Couples Playground is expensive!�
�It�s not like we�ve got enough of you to even show as a minor budget item,� Yvonne smiled. �Consider it a conception present.�
�Thanks,� Suzy pulled Yvonne in for a quick hug. �I just wonder what it would be like to be part of a herd.�
�If you�re still wondering, ask me afterwards. Right now, you�ve got an assignment. Go make a baby.� She moved to herd the two of them toward the door.
If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans, and it does provide some motivation to continue writing this stuff. Of course, if you've got a business deal, please let him know!