Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: The Academy
Part: 34 of 88
Universe: The Swarm Cycle
Summary: The Governor of the colony of Nuevo Angelino recognizes that the ad-
hoc educational system in use in his colony isn't producing sponsors -- so he
sends a team to Earth to collect some professional educators with a
Confederacy perspective.  This results in a new and unusual kind of pickup...

Keywords: MF MFF FF M+F mf mF exhib humil inc ir group oral anal toys Mdom
Fdom

The Academy

Chapter 34

Jack:

	In group settings we weren't able to separate the wheat from the
chaff like I did with the Fartblossoms.  Basically, Dr. Atkinson had hourly
addresses in the gym with hypnosis generators running as his background to
prep families as groups.  Then we would direct parents to their child's home
room, where the teachers -- or more likely, a Fleet Auxiliary team supported
by teachers -- would make the pitch, which was, basically, (from one I
attended), something like this:

	"Okay, we promised something big today, and we're delivering on that
promise.  Basically, we're making a one-time offer to extract your entire
family to the colonies.  If you're sponsor-class, we'll be offering you an
extensive selection of concubines in orbit.  If you're not, you can expect to
BE in that extensive selection.  What we would LIKE to do is maintain the
current family groups as much as possible -- but this presents issues in the
case of non-sponsor-class males.  We're going to have a glut of you -- and if
we can't find a sponsor to accept you, we're going to try to offer you a
place to live and work to do and limited citizenship -- but your family will
likely be moved to a sponsor, who will control your access to them.  In any
case, there will be no further children from you borne by your ex-spouse
under those circumstances, until and unless you attain sponsorship status."

	"Ladies, you're all mothers and therefore all precious to us.  We
WILL find a sponsor for you and your children.  We're not doing the usual
twenty-minute 'blow and go' here.  The initial phase will be sorted out in
orbit -- and it will be longer in duration and the sponsors will -- I hope --
be thinking with BOTH heads.  You will have a sponsor, unless you have
serious mental or emotional issues, by soon after arrival at our destination
at the very latest.  As you should all be aware, purely physical issues are
repairable."

	This was a third grade class; there were women there with kids on
their hips and kids in strollers and husbands carrying kids and mothers alone
-- and a couple of fathers with the kids and no mother.  Some guy raised his
hand -- which I considered to be fine indoctrination.  "So, what are the
options again?"

	The presenter -- a Fleet Auxiliary NCO -- sighed.  "Okay.  If either
you or your wife -- or your child, if you have one of age, although I realize
that probably won't be many in this particular group -- is a volunteer with
the proper CAP score, we will do our utmost to preserve the family unit.
We'll ship you and your whole brood -- and the sponsor will be responsible
for the rest of you.  There will need to be some accommodations to some
situations, but it's a pretty clear-cut deal.  Mothers with children in
families where no one makes the cut for CAP score can be evacuated more or
less as if this were a normal pickup -- except we WILL accept you, period --
there is no competition here on the surface.  However, the usual rules apply;
if you can't find a sponsor who will accept you AND your husband, he has a
problem.  We'll find you a sponsor -- and he'll own you -- and depending upon
a number of factors, your husband may be shit out of luck.  Again, that's
more or less like a normal extraction.  Husbands in families without a
sponsor may be evacuated -- we'll take you -- but you're going to need to
find a sponsor or we'll be assigning you to a facility where you'll live and
work with other guys in the same boat.  You aren't going to be full citizens,
and in some cases a male concubine may be better off."

	A woman spoke up, "My husband isn't here."

	"Sorry about that," the noncom replied.  "Usual rules apply.  You can
go or not as you choose -- but we're not hunting him down.  Is he a sponsor?"

	"No."

	"Are you?"

	"No."

	The NCO eyeballed Junior.  "That your oldest?"

	"Yes."

	"Okay, then."  He shrugged.

	Another woman raised her hand, "Mine is."

	"Yours is what?" the NCO asked.

	"He's got a good score."

	The NCO pursed his lips, thinking.  I waved at him.  "See the
Lieutenant," he told her.  Turning back to the crowd, he said, "Okay.  There
are three or four of us available for questions.  Look around the room.
We're going to take those who want to go in ten minutes or so.  Discuss it
among yourselves.  As an aside, you need to be sensible about this -- we
won't put up with any of you guys slapping the old lady around in order to
get your way -- or vice-versa, for that matter.  For you mothers, it's really
your call; your old man's choice isn't yours -- you have to face it
separately.  We won't kidnap you -- but we won't let him hold you here
against your will, either.  Keep it civil."

	Naturally, there was an uproar.  The volume level went up the scale
rapidly -- and stayed there.

	The woman with the sponsor-husband approached me.  "Show me your
card, Ma'am.  What's your husband's name?"

	"Eugene.  Eugene Bradley."  While she gave me that, the AI cross-
referenced the data on her CAP card, confirming it and her husband's
eligibility.

	When the AI gave me the thumbs up, I said, "Where is he?  Somewhere
local?"

	"He's at work.  Some repair thing -- all weekend.  His work is...
important to him."

	"More than you?"

	"Well, no, but..."

	"Yeah," I nodded.  "You're at a school thing and he shouldn't have to
worry about you."

	"Yes."  The third grader next to her eyed me, restive, while she
shifted another little girl on her hip.

	"Let's step outside."  The teacher guarding the door stood aside for
us and we moved into the relative quiet of the hallway.  I handed her my comm
link.  "Call him.  Cell phones don't work here, but this will.  You can't
tell him what is going on here, but any means are justified.  Understand?"

	"Yes, sir."  She put her little girl on her feet and dialed a number.
After a few seconds, she said, "Shit."

	"Voice mail?" I queried.

	"Yes."

	"Leave one.  Urgent.  Tell him it's serious.  Maybe we can find an
office line..."

	"Thanks."  She went on to leave a message begging her husband to
call.

	The guy called back almost immediately; I could hear it all over my
link.  "What's the matter, Hon?"

	"Something serious has happened up at the school, and I need you,"
the woman said.

	"What can go on up there?" Eugene rasped.  "You KNOW I have to get
this in this weekend..."

	"Look, Sweetie, I can't tell you WHAT it is, but it's REALLY
important!"

	"Come on -- at the school?  What did Gina do?"

	"Sweetie, please, PLEASE!"

	"I HAVE to finish this!"

	"Is it life or death?"

	"Well, no, but..."

	"Sweetie, you KNOW I NEVER bother you about stuff.  PLEASE, trust me
-- this is EXTREMELY important!"

	"Okay, I'll break in..."

	"NOW, Sweetie RIGHT NOW!"

	"I can't just..."

	"You CAN!  You MUST!"

	"What the Hell IS this?" Eugene rasped.  "I need to know!  I can't
just walk out on..."

	I'd had it!  "You need to listen to your wife and get down here," I
rasped, "Now!"

	"What?  Who is this?  Kathy?"

	"I'm here."

	"Are you hurt?"

	"No.  Not yet, anyway.  PLEASE come -- right now!  It will be fine if
you just come now!  You can go back, after..."

	"Who was that?"

	"He's a... cop!  Please!  It's BIG, Sweetie..."

	"I'm coming!  Fifteen minutes!"

	Kathy handed me the phone.  "God!  It's like pulling teeth,
sometimes!  Fortunately, I don't try, usually..."

	"Quite the work ethic he has..." I chuckled.

	"Yeah, well..."

	"He's coming."

	"Only because you scared him!"

	"Wait here for him."  I went back inside the classroom.

	The door guard had a questioner, "How bad is this?"

	The teacher sighed.  "I've never been there, but..."

	"What's the question?" I interrupted.

	"We're... not sponsors.  What's the worst case scenario?"

	I frowned.  "This is all kind of experimental, but it goes something
like this -- the worst case is that you just can't find a sponsor who will
accept you as a couple.  If that happens, you'll be split up.  You'll be
working for the government and living in what amounts to a barracks with a
bunch of other guys.  You'll have someone keeping an eye on you, sort of like
a parole officer and unemployment counselor rolled into one.  You'll be a
second-class citizen, unless you can improve your CAP score."

	I eyed him.  "This is where it could become untenable.  Your wife is
going to belong to someone else, and she's going to have his kids -- and
whether he lets you hang out around his place is totally up to him.  I'm sure
you can see that in some cases, if he feels threatened at all, or you have a
poor attitude, it's not going to be in his best interests -- or your wife's."
The guy looked angry.  "Look, I know this is a lot to absorb, but a lot of
this stuff is in the standard system already.  You get a break, actually, in
that you go off-world, too, and in some cases will be able to see the wife
and kids.  But I wouldn't expect any more than that, if I were you -- her new
sponsor isn't under any obligation to allow conjugal visits, and you won't be
allowed any more offspring, in any case."

	Another guy was standing there.  "What works?  What could I say
that...?"

	I shrugged.  "Maybe nothing.  We're going to look at giving sponsors
an extra slot to take the husband.  But YOU'RE NO LONGER HER HUSBAND!  If a
sponsor takes you both on, she's HIS woman and any sharing goes from HIM to
YOU, not vice-versa.  He's doing you a big favor -- and if you spit in his
face, you might wish you'd never been born!"  I eyed them both.  "Frankly, I
think we're asking for a lot of trouble -- we should split EVERY family to
keep people from getting stupid.  Something like forty percent of concubines
who screw up radically and get dead in the first twenty-four hours after a
pickup are concubines who had been their sponsor's wife before pickup.  They
think they still have a sacred relationship and are Numero Uno and they get
jealous of the other concubines or do something stupid.  Can you imagine how
much WORSE it will be with husbands?  Think about it," I asserted, waving at
one of the guys' wives.  "What would you want to do if I took..."  I waved my
hand at her.

	"Alice," she supplied.

	"Alice, here, over there and proceeded to fuck her brains out in
front of you?" I finished.

	"I'd want to kick your ass!" the husband asserted.

	"You need to stay home," I told him, "because you would get dead,
right then and there.  The minute I accept her as a concubine, you have no
rights -- and if you touch me, you're dead -- the review board will close the
case in less than thirty seconds.  Stay here."  I turned to Alice.  "That
makes it your choice.  Which is more important to you?  Your husband?  Or
yourself and your kids?  You two can discuss it -- you can argue about it --
but in the end, it's your decision.  If you join the outbound group, you're
going, and he has no say in it."

	The second guy said, "If I do whatever and I have the right attitude
and I get a sponsor to take me, too, can I...?"

	"Male concubines tend to continue to father children, although you
may get told no, or you may be told to concentrate your efforts on another
female," I told him.  "Once again, the sponsor dictates -- but male
concubines left at home usually keep the ladies happy while the sponsor is
elsewhere."

	The other husband was sneering at him, so I added, "You might have a
shot."

	"Why don't you just bend over and take it up the ass?" the sneering
one said.

	Time to break out a stinger...  The look on nasty guy's face was
priceless as he collapsed, and I got a lot of attention from the room.  I
turned to Alice, "Now you don't even have to discuss it.  You can be here
when he wakes up in a few hours, or you can be gone -- end of story."
Turning to the other husband, I added, "You could get asked for that -- or
worse.  Define your limits.  Would you suck a black guy's cock to get him
ready to impregnate your one-time wife?  Some sponsors might debase you like
that -- and some just might be bisexual.  You could get a great guy who let
you sleep together and have more kids and wants very little from either of
you -- or you could get a bastard who gets big kicks out of making you both
do things that will hurt your relationship.  Unfortunately, a CAP score of
six and change doesn't make you a saint.  As you move up, things get better,
but aggression is big."

	"Thank you."  The guy backed away, thinking.  I raised my voice and
announced, "I'm going to throw this out in the hopes some of you are
listening!  Gentlemen!  A bad attitude will get you your nervous system
scrambled, a long nap, and a headache when you wake up -- and perhaps the
loss of your wife and kids.  Ladies, hubby doesn't get to say no!  He can ASK
you to stay, but he can't TELL you to stay!  If you join the group leaving,
he has two choices -- he can join you or he can watch you leave!  You don't
have to worry about what will happen if you don't get to go, because you can
ALL go, so there are no long-term consequences if the old man is a little
heavy-handed, shall we say?  Time's getting to be short -- you need to make
up your minds and get ready to act!"

	A couple of minutes later, we got under way -- and you could almost
hear relationships tearing in some places.  On guy got stung trying to drag
his woman back across the line; later it was discovered that while they had
kids together, they weren't married.  Three additional women crossed the line
after that, one husband following.  There were ten unescorted women -- nine
of whom crossed the line.  Eight couples committed despite the risks; seven
women crossed solo, and five elected to stay.  One woman waited until the
transport pad was running to dash across the line.

	Eugene Bradley was interrogating his wife Kathy when I exited the
room.  "There you are!  Step inside, please."

	"What's going on?" Eugene looked around, aggravated.

	"We're all operating under the impression that you're planning to
make pickup when called, Son," I said, chuckling.  "Your wife damned near
broke her hump trying to get you here for it."

	"Pickup?"  Eugene's face went white.

	"You're late.  The transport pad is over there," I said, pointing.
"You can thank Kathy, here, for begging us to be allowed to chase your silly
ass down.  If you don't want her, I'm sure we can find someone who values
that kind of loyalty..."

	"I want her!" he yelped, clutching her to him.  "She's my wife!"

	"She's your concubine," I corrected, "not your wife!  It would be
wise if you both got that through your heads, very clearly, because
remembering that might save her life!"

	"Yes, yes, of course, of course..." Eugene looked around, dazed.  "I
was working on something..."

	"Important?"

	"The customer will think so..."

	"Can you give me a number to call?  We can't tell them what's up, but
we can tell them to find a new boy..."  Eugene nodded and gave me a number,
then gathered his family and stepped onto the transport pad.  I got a kick
out of calling the number and saying, "Hello?  This is to inform you that
Eugene Bradley has been taken into custody and will not be returning to
work..." -- and hanging up.

                       ----------------------------------

	Later, things got more interesting -- but were sometimes easier to
unravel.  The students had been generally trained in pickup implications all
along; eighth and ninth graders knew their status as they hit fourteen.  They
were eligible to lug the family along -- but they weren't obligated.
Besides, there were the usual complications, which have been covered before
-- but in case you were asleep, the big one is incest...  Picture, if you
will, a horny tenth grader with a seven point five CAP and a big sister who
is a Senior in the concubine track and making straight As.  Mama either has
the same skill set or can acquire it rapidly, and dear old Dad is out of town
on business.  I COULD be talking hypothetically, but I'm not -- we're
discussing Johnny Tafarelli.  Mama Gina is a dark Italian goddess and big
sister is 'Moaning Mona' Tafarelli, a legend in the boys' locker room.
Johnny didn't bother to mention Family Day to his dad, Marco 'Snake Eyes'
Tafarelli -- who would have presented us all with embarrassing issues,
anyway.  Mona briefed Mama, but not in-depth, as it were.  So Johnny could --
and did -- play the incest card twice -- and could still draw two.  Mama was
going to be surprised in orbit, but Mona knew the score...  Conditioned as
she was to 'shut up and do as you're told,' Mama would undoubtedly roll over.
Johnny stepped onto the transport pad grinning from ear to ear.

	Seniors were all over the place; more than one left their families to
fend for themselves to collect a pre-pack of fellow students their own age.
There was one case of a girl who put her mother on the street for
'irreconcilable differences' -- but kept Dad and both parents of an eleventh
grade male she'd taken a fancy to.

	About three, Beth hunted me down.  "That woman from the lingerie
store is outside.  She's got another woman with her.  They can't seem to
figure out what they should do."

	"Go invite them in," I directed.  Things were to the point where we
could handle a little invitational activity.  "As a matter of fact, if you
two want to hang out in front and invite selected passers-by inside, do it."
As luck would have it, Frieda went out to engage them in conversation -- and
was recognized by Jolene -- so they'd hung around.  When Beth popped out and
invited them in, they were more than willing.  A couple of minutes later, I
was reassuring some woman that sex with teenage males would be educational
for them and rewarding for her and no one would get arrested when Frieda
tugged at my elbow, "Hey, Master, remember Jolene?"

	"Sure..."  I turned and took her hand.  "Welcome!"

	Jolene looked around.  "Want to tell me what this is?"

	"Confederacy pickup.  We're taking anyone qualified who wants to go,"
I explained.

	"Really?" Jolene gasped.  "Am I qualified?"

	"Got a pussy?" Frieda asked.  "You're qualified.  She is too," she
added, pointing at the other woman with her thumb.

	"That's the sister?" I asked.

	Jolene nodded.  "Bernice."

	"We discussed her, as I remember.  We can help."  Bernice was
painfully thin, and dressed like a hooker.  From Jolene's description of her,
the outfit didn't lie.

	"What do I do?" Jolene asked.

	"Step on that," I replied, pointing at the nearest pad.  "The meat
market will be in orbit -- we're not doing it here.  It's a free ride in that
you don't have to compete for a seat.  You'll end up doing the same thing,
though."

	Jolene nodded.  "I owe you, big time!  Come on, Bernice!"

	Bernice stirred herself.  "Where we going?"

	"Somewhere you won't have to hook," Jolene replied.

	"How am I gonna eat?" Bernice worried.  'How am I gonna get drug
money?' might as well have been printed on a sign above her head.

	"We'll get you all hooked up," Jolene assured her.  "Everything you
need."

	Bernice eyed her sister distrustfully.  "It's not some hospital..."

	"No, not a hospital," I interjected.  "You'll be working for me --
entertaining.  You're good at that, right?"

	Bernice eyed me.  "I've got a pimp."

	"You're changing neighborhoods," I told her, "Upscale."  Bernice
looked mulish, so I frowned and added, "I'm not asking."

	"Oh."  That resolved things -- clearly, she DID have a pimp -- and
she knew what happened to girls who argued.  "What do you want?"

	"Go step on that," I pointed at the pad, "then step off.  I want to
see you move."  Bernice did as she was told -- and promptly disappeared.
"She'll step off the pad in orbit.  Go chase her down and keep her under
control.  Tell the transport crewman Lieutenant Harper said to get her to
medical."

	"Bless you!"  Jolene kissed my cheek and stepped on the pad.

	"You're too sweet for your own good, Master," Frieda observed.

	"Yeah, yeah," I grunted.  "You two go out front and do some very
selective recruiting.  Try to keep the number of low CAP males to a minimum.
If you can figure out a way to collect high CAP males, let me know..."

	Frieda grinned, "Okay, Master!"

	About that time, Maureen came by and said, "Jack!  Mark says you've
got a special in room 210!"

Gonzalo:

	My name is Gonzalo Amador De La Cruz Cuatrecasas.  I come from a
country, well, somewhere to the south.  Except for periodic trips home, I
have been living in the United States for six years.  My son Antonio and my
daughter Isabella attend the Seifort School.

	In my country, I am rich; in the United States, I may only be well
off, but I think I may be rich.  My current wife, Marie, is not the mother of
my children -- she is a blonde Anglo who is very decorative, very adept at
lovemaking, and knows when to keep her mouth shut and her eyes open.  No, my
ex-wife is not dead; she is pretending to be a widow in a little village at
home, because good Catholic women do not get divorces in my country.  My
being out of the country most of the time is a help to her charade, but she
knows better than to cross me, for money is power in my country.

	In my country, if you are rich you were either born rich or you are a
criminal; there is no legitimate way to become rich.  The entrenched rich
merely have criminals in their family tree in the more distant past than the
nouveau riche.  I am nouveau riche; my father was -- is -- a criminal.
Technically, perhaps, I am a criminal, too.

	You see, I participated in the family business -- in an
administrative capacity, not like my father did in the bad old days when men
had to be terrorized and murdered to ensure that no one impeded his climb to
power.  We are established; brute force is no longer required, although
periodically Papa waves the sword to remind everyone that he still holds it.
I play chess with inventory and funds and stock, defeating my enemies via my
business acumen rather than by lopping off heads.  Papa admires this in me,
but feels that one must be able to back up any threats with force.  What he
does not realize is that it is unnecessary to threaten someone; in most
cases, you can utterly destroy them without warning -- and a threat is a
warning.  I don't threaten my competitors -- I merely beat them.

	But that is all in the past, for today, my life changed.

	It all started with 'Family Day' at my children's school.  During the
week leading up to this event, both my son and my daughter approached me very
seriously about this event -- and Marie, although mildly amused by it, agreed
that we should go, if they both felt so strongly about it.  In any case,
Marie found the letter of invitation from the Dean Atkinson to be vaguely
disturbing.

	Marie championed this particular school to me -- and I saw the wisdom
of it.  If the Cuatrecasas name were to go to the stars, Antonio would no
doubt have to carry the torch -- and if that were the case, then his
preparation should be meticulous.  I had barely missed the desired score with
a six point three; Antonio had it in him to make the cut.  Isabella, for all
her spirit and fire, was a woman -- and that is clearly a handicap where CAP
scores are concerned.

	We arrived for the afternoon session and immediately I had the sense
that Marie was right; something was going on -- something unseen, but
momentous.  There was an air about the place...  I could not put my finger on
it, but I sensed it.  We made our way to Isabella's homeroom, but outside the
door, I was met by a man whose authority was an aura about him, presented
discreetly -- not boldly, like the police.  "Mr. Cuatrecasas, if I may have a
moment of your time?" he asked.

	"Is there a problem?" I asked.  "I am about to see my daughter's
class project."

	"You will miss nothing, I promise," the man returned, smiling.  "We
would like to discuss a few specifics regarding her efforts."

	I knew that this response was less than accurate -- but it was also
clear that I was not going to avoid this interview, so I smiled and nodded
and followed the man into a nearby room.

	There was another man already there, frowning at me as I entered, but
he held himself silent.  The first, however, settled himself casually on a
teacher's desk and considered me.  "We have a problem."

	'Straight to the point, this one,' I thought.  "And?"

	"It concerns what we are doing here -- and what we should do with
you," he replied.

	"You'll forgive me if I profess ignorance," I offered.

	"Just about everyone here today can be categorized, one way or
another -- and we have various options, based upon those categories," the man
related.  "You, well, you're a fringe element.  Some of us want to place you
in one category, and some in another.  You see, some of us -- well, most of
us -- disapprove of what you do for a living."

	"I see," I mused.  "This is not a new thing.  However, I am unaware
of any laws that I have broken in this country."

	The other individual -- by comparison NOT a gentleman, rasped,
"That's irrelevant.  A snake is a snake, whether he manages to conform to the
letter of the law or not!"

	I returned my attention to the first gentleman, ignoring the
outburst.  "Am I to be arrested, then?  On what charge?"

	"This isn't about law enforcement," came the reply.  "It hits closer
to home, perhaps."  The gentleman at the desk flashed a look at his
colleague.  "Suppose you describe your job..."

	"I am employed by my family's business," I replied, "in an accounting
and management position."

	"You manufacture and distribute illegal drugs!" the bad cop -- for
that is what appeared to be happening -- we were playing 'good cop, bad cop'
-- snarled.

	"That is perhaps our primary business," I admitted.  "I am more
concerned with asset acquisition here in the United States."  I eyed the 'bad
cop.'

	"So you're a businessman," the 'good cop' mused.

	"Exactly."

	"Does it bother you that your product causes untold suffering here
and in other countries?" the 'bad cop' snapped.

	"This is akin to blaming a beer distributor for drunk drivers," I
reposted, "or weapons manufacturers for murders using a firearm.  It is
foolish to attribute blame or guilt to a product; the chain of guilt only
stretches so far before the links become invisible."

	"The drugs are illegal!" the 'bad cop' protested.

	"So was alcohol, for a period in this country," I retorted.  "And
bootleggers were blamed for all manner of ills, including poor product.  But
many of them are now legitimate distillers..."

	"We would be better off without your poison on the street!" the 'bad
cop' snapped.

	"Would you?" I replied.  "Without the product of my family's company,
the supply here would tighten considerably, but not disappear.  Prices would
go up dramatically, and conflicts would ensue.  The weak and the desperate
would contend with the strong and violence and blood would result."  I cocked
my head.  "While I do not participate in that arm of the business, I may
inherit it.  If that should happen, and if I were to cut off the supply to
your country out of misplaced altruism, I would damage the local economy back
home -- and would undoubtedly be called to answer for it -- and my
replacement could well be considerably more rapacious than I am."  I shook my
head.  "In a perfect world, those poor souls who are dependent upon the
product would reach out for treatment and be cured, and the market here would
balance itself -- but we live in the real world, do we not?  Many would die
from having purchased poison masquerading as the product they desire due to
the greed of the distributors -- something else I have no control over."

Jack:

	That, in a nutshell, was the problem with Gonzalo Cuatrecasas.  It
was easy to dismiss him as a criminal, and we could leave him on Earth while
evacuating his family based upon those criteria -- but were they accurate?
While perhaps technically illegal, funneling drug money into other business
pursuits was not the same as actually bringing drugs into the country.  And
he presented a reasonable case for their existence in the first place; in my
humble opinion, the war on drugs was a joke!  We spent a lot of time and
trouble interfering with a situation that would fix itself -- through
Darwinism, if nothing else...

	One reason for this interview was to determine how Gonzalo
characterized his role himself.  Without a doubt, Gonzalo's father was a
murderer, an extortionist, a direct trafficker in illegal drugs, and a
laundry list of other things -- but was Gonzalo?  He insisted that he wasn't
-- and the AI reported that he believed in those claims, implicitly!

	Did we have to care?  Maybe not.  But Gonzalo was by all accounts a
shrewd businessman and an able administrator.  Who pointed that out, you ask?
The AIs, actually.  According to the AIs, Gonzalo was a product of his
environment -- and no more tainted by it than was necessary to survive.  In a
different environment...  <The subject is not dealing in falsehood, and his
assessment of the situation is logical and untainted by emotion,> the AI
insisted.  <Several Confederacy firms produce pharmaceuticals that produce
pleasurable responses to the detriment of the host body -- to include at
least one that causes paroxysms of pleasure that result in death.  The
individual's right to do whatever it likes with its body is upheld by
Confederacy regulations, even though some few races legislate otherwise at
the local level.>

	'So from a Confederacy standpoint, Gonzalo's family's business is
legal,' I confirmed.

	<Affirmative.>

	"I'm going to take a while to get used to it!" Mark snarled, and
slammed out of the room.

	"Such anger," Gonzalo mused.

	"He has his opinions," I replied.  "I disagree with them regularly,
but your case resulted in a split decision."  I got up.  "I could just let
you walk out of here and join the herd, but your case continues to be
borderline, one way or another.  Please, sit, if you like."  I stood,
vacating the desktop.

	Gonzalo crossed to seat himself in the teacher's chair.  "I assume
that all will be made clear?"

	"That's the plan," I agreed.  "The long and short of it is that a
Confederacy extraction team is in the process of extracting the entire
student body -- with families, where applicable.  The school will be
reconstituted as the nucleus of the educational system on a colony world."

	"Ah," Gonzalo mused.  "I have been on trial for my life, then.  You
were deciding whether to extract me with my family, or leave me, ostensibly
to the aliens."

	I nodded.  "Just exactly."

	"You realize, of course, that I am ill equipped to be a concubine..."

	I nodded.  "Which is why we're still here talking.  The AIs believe
that you will attain a sponsor-level score in the near future -- particularly
if you are placed in other work in a different environment.  We know that you
are an able administrator, and we have, well, needs..."

	"Yes?"  Gonzalo cocked his head.

	"We are being forced by the situation to accept a number of non-
sponsor-class males by the nature of the pickup," I explained.  "These males
will be employed and entertained as best we can organize it -- but they will
be second-class citizens -- not allowed to procreate.  We currently organize
a number of colony support functions under a government department called the
Support Directorate; these men will be integrated into this structure.  As a
part of the package, we see each of them being assigned a pseudo-sponsor -- a
kind of mentor and parole officer, if you will.  Creating and administering
this structure in such a manner that it manages not to resemble a prison will
be a huge undertaking."

	"I begin to see..." Gonzalo murmured.

	"I can't really offer to MAKE you a sponsor -- but I can offer
certain... privileges... based upon the AIs' assessment of your potential.
For one, until you attain sponsorship, I can't allocate you two concubines,
but I can allow you to continue to possess your current wife in that role and
keep your family together.  You'll be treated as a sponsor, and we won't be
making it obvious that you are NOT a sponsor, if you understand my meaning.
In return, we would ask that you create the necessary structure to support
the population I described."

	"I'm to be... warden, then?" Gonzalo asked.

	"I'm hoping you can put together something a whole lot more
permissive," I replied.

	"Yes, yes...  This could be very difficult..."

	"You appear to be qualified," I assured him.  "What we DON'T want is
a disaffected group of crazies with nothing to lose disrupting things.  We'll
be trusting you not to create your own little empire, too."  I grinned.  "Oh,
and did I mention that you'll be working for the gentleman who just left?"

	Even Gonzalo saw the irony in that...