Chapter 2 – Interview

You're sure you're OK now?” Lyn asked for the umpteenth time as she steered Mobile Three toward the CAP testing centre. She pulled the visor down against the early morning sun.

Sandy sat miserably in the passenger seat of the battered old SUV. “Yes, I'll be OK. It's just a flu bug or something.”

"Or something is right. You got it all over George.”

George had not been happy about that. Before they left for this early-morning interview, he'd tried yet again to drag out exactly what this “big news story” was all about. WWNN had been very pointed in their questions to him – the news channel couldn't afford to promise their audience a big story and then not deliver, and wanted confirmations and comforting levels of detail. In the end, his office reeking of vomit, he'd shoved them both out the door.

"It isn't something you ate, is it?”

Sandy shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"You know what the rumour is?”

Sandy looked at Lyn timidly. “What?”

"Morning sickness. Who's the lucky guy?” Lyn smirked lasciviously.

"Nobody – it couldn't be morning sickness.” Sandy gripped her hands tightly together, and added in a whisper, “I'm still a virgin.”

Sandy almost lost the contents of her badly-abused stomach again as the truck came to a screeching halt. Behind, horns from the cars of a couple of startled morning commuters blared to indicate the occupants' displeasure.

"You – you're a virgin? You're what, twenty?”

"Twenty-two.”

Blinking in amazement, Lyn slowly resumed her drive to the CAP testing centre. Only half of her attention was now focused on the road ahead. “I don't believe that. We have parents openly boasting of their mid-teen kids' sexual skills, and you're a virgin. What were you planning on doing at an extraction? Do you even give head?”

"I've never had to,” Sandy confessed in a little-girl voice. “I didn't have time for relationships in college – I was spending too much time studying to allow for those frivolities.”

"Geez,” Lyn sighed. “Look, my brother has this friend. Let me set you up. He's supposed to be a pretty good cocksmith. He can help you over the, ah, hump.” Lyn actually knew from firsthand experience that her brother's friend was a pretty good cocksmith. She'd spent last weekend at his apartment, screaming her approval of his skills to the residents of the unit one floor above.

"Right. Let's get this over with first,” Sandy suggested, desperate to change the topic away from her embarrassingly non-existent love life. “There's the CAP testing centre.”

The SUV pulled into the parking lot and stopped at a convenient spot. As they got out, Lyn wondered idly if they'd be done by noon. She was saving up for a deposit on a condo, and as a result routinely brown-bagged it. Lunch was in the refrigerator at the lounge at work.

Tribune William Whitefeather was waiting for them inside, bearing brown paper cups of take-out coffee from a certain popular Canadian chain. Both women accepted the peace offering gratefully.

He led the pair to the same interview room he and Sandy had used the previous afternoon. Gesturing to the guest chair, he settled his impressive bulk behind the desk. Lyn began setting up the tripod to hold her video camera.

As they sipped on their coffees, the imposingly tall Tribune addressed the pair. “I think the best thing to do is to treat this as much as possible as a routine extraction.”

Lyn stopped dead in her efforts to set up the tripod. “We're being extracted?” she asked uncertainly. She didn't know whether to panic or cheer.

"No, silly, it's just for the purposes of the story. We aren't really becoming concubines,” Sandy reassured her co-worker.

"Oh, it's real,” nodded Whitefeather.

"See?” Sandy turned to Lyn, her smile brilliant. “Realistic.”

"Yes, I see. Very realistic.” Lyn was now extremely glad she brought her CAP card with her wherever she went. She kept it behind her official KROA-TV ID, in a plastic pouch dangling from her neck by a lanyard. Under her breath she muttered, “Clean your ears out, Sandy....”

As the camera came on, Whitefeather began his presentation. It was a slightly less brutal one than the version given at the typical extraction. “All right, where to begin? First of all, let's talk about concubines at the time of pickup. They're usually not unassigned, but rather have a sponsor. The only rights they have are those the sponsor grants them. It's not marriage – it's been compared to chattel slavery, and frankly there's no practical difference. The sponsor is expected to have at least two concubines and to keep all female concubines popping out babies at least every third year, preferably more often.” He paused to see if Sandy actually absorbed this information.

Sandy nodded; this was common knowledge in the Era of the Swarm. “Concubines' first duty is to breed, right?”

"Exactly. They keep the home clean, which with nanite support isn't hard.”

"What's a nanite?” Sandy demanded.

"Microscopic robots. Some are inside us, protecting us against medical conditions and providing support when we're injured. Others build things, or maintain ships or colony structures, that sort of idea.”

She wasn't so sure she wanted that in her, but didn't press the point.

Whitefeather continued his presentation. “Usually there are only two reasons for a concubine to become unassigned: the sponsor became irritated with her and decided to place her in the Unassigned Concubine pool, or her sponsor died. Widows are regarded favourably, and are usually placed pretty quickly. Those whose sponsors kicked loose are tougher to place, but still have to breed. Breed, or be recycled.”

"What does 'recycled' mean?”

Lyn winced at the stupidity of the question. What else could it mean?

"They are put down,” Whitefeather advised her, some sadness in his voice. “Euthanized.”

"Oh....”

"There's a third way that a concubine can become unassigned, though.”

"Really?”

"Really. It's what we're going to do now, as an example for your viewing audience. We have certain colonies where the number of kids turning 14 is large, and so is the percentage of those kids getting CAP scores above six point four. You know that anyone with at least a 6.5 is a sponsor, and gets at least two concubines?”

Sandy nodded. “And if it's seven point something it's four, and eight point something it's six, and so on.”

"And at breeding colonies we grant them at least one additional concubine if the nurturing factor is high enough – a combination of a high enough nurturing number in their CAP score, at least three kids, plus the kids' ages. Plus, on the typical colony, the sponsor can have any dependant that scores under the magic number as an additional concubine with no impact on their head count, which means one fewer concubine for the Unassigned pool. Between those three situations, we occasionally find ourselves with colonies that are woefully short of available concubines.”

"Ah, I see.”

"Now we also have colonies where the attrition rate is such that we have surpluses of unassigned concubines, so we do occasionally ship the excess from one colony to another using a Haskell-class assault transport. We're also trying to extract the maximum number of humans from Earth, so we've set up a new program called 'Filles du Roi'. It takes suitable concubines, assigns them to the unassigned concubine pool of a particular colony, and away they go. They won't know who their ultimate sponsors are until they get there, but they are assured that they're needed at that colony. If they're not required right away, then they'll be assigned in the very near future.”

Sandy nodded, although she was a bit uncertain if she grasped the concept.

"Now, if I were to offer you both the chance to be extracted as Filles du Roi, what would your answer be? Do you agree to be extracted as Filles du Roi, concubines to be assigned to a sponsor when you arrive at a colony that the Confederacy sends you to? Yes, or no?” Whitefeather leaned back in his chair benignly.

Sandy blinked. “A chance to go to the stars? Yes! I've wanted to go since I was a kid watching the stars in the planetarium!”

Whitefeather tilted his head slightly and addressed the camerawoman. “Lyn?”

Lyn now knew for certain: this was an extraction. Her CAP score being 5.2, she was going to be a concubine. She'd be popping out babies, just like her mother wanted her to. As, she realized, she herself wanted to. “Of course yes!”

"Then why don't you just hand over those CAP cards, ladies,” Whitefeather suggested, his voice as calm as milk.

Sandy thought that a great idea. “Just like the real thing, huh?” she whispered to Lyn.

"Do we get naked now?” Lyn fretted as she handed the precious CAP card over.

"No. Not until you're aboard ship,” the tribune informed her, nodding affably.

Sandy interposed, “They wouldn't make us do that, not for a sample extraction like this.”

"Sample extraction? Is there any Egyptian in you, Sandy?” Lyn wanted to know.

"Not that I know of, why?”

"Because you're swimming in denial.”

Lyn caught the tall Civil Service officer's grin. At least one person in the room got her joke.

"The next step in the extraction process,” Whitefeather continued, “is the trip to the ship.” He added to Lyn, “You'll want to shoulder that camera.”

In a trice Lyn had the tripod folded up, bagged and hung from her webbing. Just as she was about to switch the camera on again, she turned to her host. Patting the camera, she asked, “This belongs to KROA-TV, will they be getting it back?”

"Yes,” Whitefeather reassured her. “As good as new and better. We intend to replace the battery pack with one from Confederacy technology. They could run that camera non-stop for at least ten years without needing to recharge the pack.”

Lyn nodded happily as they walked down the hall to the transporter nexus.

Lyn emerged into the transporter room on board ship with just a touch of disorientation. A tall man in a light-blue uniform stood in front of her. Whitefeather popped out from the nexus behind her a moment later. Lyn quickly started up her camera.

Tribune William Whitefeather and Filles du Roi concubines Lyn MacDonald and Sandy Hause requesting permission to come aboard, Captain.”

The blue-uniformed officer returned the salute. “Granted, Tribune. Welcome aboard CSS Arctic Princess.” He turned slightly to face Sandy. “I am Major Hendricks, Confederacy Fleet Auxiliary, Captain of the Aurora class colony transport CSS Arctic Princess, AP019.”

"Thank you – Captain? Major? Which is it? And isn't Major an army type rank?”

"A few years ago we consolidated the ranks between the Navy and Marines, with some levels taking the Marine rank and others taking the Navy name. My actual rank is Major – the rank below mine is Commander. There is no rank of “captain”, it's actually the position of ship's commanding officer regardless of actual rank. You should address me as 'captain', as long as I'm assigned to command a vessel.”

Sandy gave a surprised “Oh!” and continued to stick the microphone in Hendricks' face. She couldn't think of what to ask next – she was quite out of her element.

Whitefeather came to her rescue. “So you've accepted an offer of concubinage and you've been transported up to the ship that will take you to the stars. The next stage is to get you settled in to your quarters for the trip. For a typical extraction, we take both sponsors and concubines, with any dependants in tow, into the next room.”

He led them into a large, empty room. “Here, you'd sort yourselves into family groups – sponsor, surrounded by his or her concubines. We'd ask your sponsor if any of his group had any medical conditions or any dependants that haven't been picked up. We go above and beyond the call of duty to pick up dependants wherever they may be, assuming the sponsor wants them. We strongly encourage sponsors to accept dependants. By the way, do either of you have dependants to pick up?”

Sandy shook her head, blushing. Lyn joked, “Just a two-month-old kitten.”

"It's not fixed?”

"Not at that age.”

"All right. It's at your home address, I take it. I'll send someone round to get it. This colony is accepting certain pets.”

Sandy stared at Lyn. Something wasn't going according to her mental script – why would they need to pick up Lyn's kitten? Wouldn't she be home by the end of the day? Maybe they'd be gone more than a day – that was it. This was a big extraction, maybe they'd be too far away to get home tonight. It didn't strike her that the nexuses could get her home in seconds.

"We'd take the CAP cards from the sponsors and their concubines and feed them into this bin here.” He proceeded to match actions to words, dropping the two CAP cards into the wall slot. “Next, off to Medical while the Marines on board carry out the dependant pickups. He turned meaningfully to a Marine sergeant in battle armour, who saluted and left for the transporter room. Whitefeather turned to the two ladies.

"Now if you two would just strip down, we'll be off to Medical.”

"Strip?” asked Sandy, shocked.

"What?” demanded an equally shocked Lyn.

"To emphasize the status of the concubine, we have them strip naked. It's standard operating procedure. Nothing I haven't seen hundreds of times.”

Reluctantly Sandy took off her jacket.

"You realize that the slower you take, the more like a strip-tease act it is? Take my advice and treat it like a Band-Aid: rip it off quick and get it over with. It's less painful that way.”

"You really are making this sample realistic, aren't you?” observed Sandy as the last of her clothes hit the floor. “What do we do with these?”

"A crew will be along shortly to gather them up,” Whitefeather assured her. He didn't say that it would be a crew of nanites “gathering” them up, nor that the togs would be “gathered” in their constituent elements.

Lyn handed the camera to Sandy, to Sandy's surprise, and stripped down. As she did, she noticed Sandy's thatch of pubic hair. “I always thought you were a natural blond.”

Whitefeather snickered. “We already knew. We analyzed her for hair colouring yesterday.”

"Hey!” protested an indignant Sandy.

He walked them down to one of the sick bays. Lyn still had her equipment belt, but was otherwise dressed as naked as the day she was born.

"This is a standard medical tube. Hop in, and we'll give you a scan to see if you have any medical issues. We'll get them fixed and get you to your quarters.”

When Sandy woke up, she found a Fleet Auxiliary corpsman standing beside her pod. The pod next to hers held a small ball of black fluff.

"Lyn's cat?” she guessed.

The medic nodded.

"He's OK?”

"Ear mites.” Clearly this medic bought his vocabulary retail, and couldn't afford to waste a syllable.

"Do I get anything to wear?”

The corpsman looked her from the top of her blond pageboy haircut to the polish on her manicured toes. Sandy blushed furiously under his appreciative gaze. “Hope not.”

Tribune Whitefeather strode into the medical bay. “Sergeant, you are relieved,” he ordered.

"Sir,” acknowledged the sergeant. Having uttered only five words in Sandy's presence, the sergeant saluted and left.

"So, do we get anything to wear?” came Lyn's voice from behind Sandy.

"Yes, but you may not want to wear it.” Whitefeather went to the replicator near the corpsman's desk and took out two grey shifts. “There you go. The latest from Fug-Ugly Fashions Incorporated, the concubine shift. As seen on the runways of Paris. Specifically, the runways of Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, not the runways of the fashion houses.”

Lyn and Sandy both looked at the shapeless shifts with some distaste.

"I think I'd rather stay nude,” Lyn finally opined, after several seconds of pondering her options.

"I think that can be arranged, once you have an owner. For now, let's get you bedded down. Then you can edit the tape and finally we can discuss tonight's mass extraction, Operation Bawdy Check.”

"The tape!” exclaimed Lyn. She raced over to the camera. “It's still working! It just recorded us standing around in the buff!”

"And also recorded your rather attractive race over to the camera to shut it off,” added Whitefeather. “Nice breast bounce.”

Lyn reddened, but there was nothing she could do now.

"Now, ladies, remember, you're concubines now and you have to obey orders. Here is your first order: you can't erase that tape. And your second: leave the tape running.”

Lyn checked the camera, disconnected it from the tripod and hefted it over her shoulder. “It's lighter,” she noted.

"We replaced the battery as we promised, and changed the video feed. It's sending its signal to the AI right now.”

Both girls responded by pulling the shifts over their heads post-haste.

"Now, come with me and let's see where you're going to be staying for the next two weeks.”

The two shift-clad concubines, one with a camera over her shoulder and the other hefting a cat carrier, nervously accompanied the Marine-tall Civil Service officer as he led them to their pod. Despite the relative simplicity of the layout of an Aurora, the ladies felt quite lost. Finally, Tribune Whitefeather stopped at a red door with the number “4” painted on in gleaming white.

"This is your place, until you get to your destination. I'll tell you exactly where that is when the actual extraction happens.” He led the way inside.

"The AI will NOT open the door for you, that will be done on orders from the duty officer. He or she will only be letting you out to go to meals and lectures, although as most of your shipmates will have had training to some extent, much of the lectures will be for you two alone – and any other last-minute additions to this ship's complement of Filles du Roi from the general Earth population.”

"So this is real, isn't it?” Sandy asked.

"And far too late, the penny drops,” muttered Lyn.

"Oh, quite real. It's a sample, but it's not a drill.” Whitefeather advised the young cub reporter.

"And my story?” Sandy demanded, concerned that she would no longer be able to report it.

"Oh, we can have your station run it. Why don't we have the AI help you edit it, and we'll see to it that it gets delivered to KROA-TV. AI, please create a video editing station here in the corner.” Whitefeather pointed to a corner of the pod's common room. The table and part of the wall began to convert to a simple but functional editing station.

"I'll check in with you after lunch and review your story. If you don't give away too many Confederacy pickup secrets, we'll send it to your station and they'll have their story.”

Over the next ten minutes, the AI finished creating the station. While it did so, an invisible force-field held the two concubines back for their own safety – and thoroughly confused Lyn's kitten Charlie, who couldn't fathom why he was being stopped by an invisible force.