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UNDER THE MOONS OF EDEN
Copyright 1996, by Christopher Leeson
(Send notes and comments to cdl25@usa.net)
Chapter 11
*Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun.*
VENUS AND ADONIS
Along with everything else, Dr. Lowry had to address a sort of
hysterical anxiety among the expectant mothers that their babies
might be born mutants with alien DNA, or some other abnormality. I
understood easily enough where such fears could come from -- someone
had played with the women's genetics outrageously, and it was only a
small mental leap from there to begin wondering whether they would be
giving birth to monsters. All Sebastian could do was to keep
reassuring them that, as yet, she could detect no hint of abnormality
in any of the fetuses.
Everything that I learned from the doctor about the physical and
dispositional changes that pregnancy brought reenforced my
predisposition to play it chaste. I found it hard to understand how
any woman could actually want to become pregnant or, if she had
experienced it once, that she would ever allow it to occur again.
But I thought it wise not to take a superior attitude upon the
subject. After all, I had already accepted a male lover and who knew
what other changes of attitude Klink might have programmed into us?
It troubled Dr. Lowry a great deal that we had such a paucity of
pediatric-specific supplies. Forget the pharmaceuticals which we
didn't have. We even lacked baby powder and so faced a future in
which our days and nights would be rived by the cries of sore and
chapped infants. Though we still had a little of the adult
equivalent, its medicated dust, according to Lowry, would be too
harsh for an infant's delicate lungs. Cornstarch would be the best
solution by far, but -- alas -- Klink had no corn.
We were also bereft of much in the way of strong, absorbent
cloth to use for diapers. To meet this crisis, I resolved to pursue
my tree-bark-to-fabric theory as a personal project.
I sought out the advice of everyone who had some botanical
knowledge but, alas, none of our troopers had anything useful to
suggest. Determined to do good nonetheless, I went about, sometimes
accompanied by Alan, sometimes alone, taking samples of bark from
every local species which I could find.
After each day's search, I made a fire and subjected each to
boiling and subsequent beating, just as I had read about primitive
tribes doing long ago. I felt like some medieval alchemist
conducting experiments on the basis of almost zero knowledge. As it
turned out, no amount of boiling and pounding ever reduced any slip
of bark that I found into anything resembling cloth.
In less than two weeks I had ruled out every species of tree --
a term we used to describe any large, trunked Klinkian plant -- which
we had so far identified. But then I recalled having seen many trees
growing up on Woolenska's Hill, and so suggested another sample-
collecting outing to Alan. He agreed -- perhaps because my returning
to Woolenska's Hill bothered him, or perhaps because he realized that
the trip promised to afford us two a little privacy.
#
Alan was unshaven when he called at my hut that morning.
"My razors are all dull," he explained. "Some of the guys are
shaving with utility knives, but I didn't want to turn my face into
hamburger just before meeting with you. Anyway, I always used to
wear a beard in college, before I got drafted."
I nodded resignedly. One by one the amenities of civilization
were falling away from us. But even more disheartening than the
prospect of the 54th turning into a tribe of cave people by inches,
was the thought of kissing someone who might soon have a beard like a
'Forty-Niner.
We hiked up to the hilltop and, being very tired by then, sat
down in the shade of a white stone outcropping and refreshed
ourselves from our canteens. Out of the sun, it did not take Alan
long to become frisky. He sidled up close to me and took my hands in
his. Once more managing to fight down my residual queasiness about
intimacy with a male, I rested my head on his sweat-dampened
shoulder.
Powerful memories came rushing back to us as we sat there
quietly -- memories of our last time upon this bluff. The fact that
I was still drawing breath I owed to Alan alone. I owed him more
than I could ever replay, and also believed that our shared
experience had forged between us a bond stronger than Tosolian steel.
"Alan, what's going to become of us?" I asked suddenly.
"I don't know. It's best to take things slow."
"I guess you have your reservations, too."
"I suppose so. I just wish I had the nerve that Roberts does,
to be open about what I feel, no matter what anyone else thinks."
I looked up at him. "Do you think this business doesn't require
nerve from the women, too?"
"I suppose it takes even more," he conceded thoughtfully. "You
know," he added, "it's getting harder and harder to remember that you
ever were our rangy, square-jawed commander."
"But I was," I sighed. "We've got to work through that fact, as
hard as it is for both of us."
After a moment's reflection he asked: "What do you feel when
you look at me?"
I gazed into his unshaven face, into those soft, powder-blue
eyes, and replied with more lightness than I felt, "I like what I see
-- mostly."
"Mostly? Come on, level with me!"
"It's hell," I confessed as I slumped back against the white
stone. "How can the sight of any male affect me the way you do? I
can't stand the idea of being laughed at for weakness, or being
thought queer."
Alan's expression suddenly sobered. I realized too late how
much my words must have wounded him. "I didn't mean that the way it
sounded," I pleaded.
He nodded somberly. "I know you didn't."
To make amends, I nestled closer. He put his arm around me and
drew me in. His hug felt good, but a kind of internal dichotomy
still told me that I must be doing something wrong.
After a while, Alan grew restless and suggested: "Maybe we
should check out these trees."
Reluctantly, I eased myself to my feet. "It's as hot as Antares
up here, but I came prepared."
I unbuckled my belt and dropped my trousers. Alan's eyebrows
went up when he noted that I had worn a loincloth instead of my usual
baggy shorts. While he watched, I arranged my shirttails and, from
my breast pocket, took out a second bootstring to bind about my
waist.
"Is this an attempt to seduce me?" Alan inquired with a big,
wide grin.
"It's for freedom of movement," I said matter-of-factly, "and
it's much cooler."
"You could sunburn those beautiful legs, Major."
I turned, exasperated. "Don't call me Major! It puts a
distance between us, and -- and I don't want us to have any
distance."
"Like I said before, I'd rather call you Major than Rupert.
It's too unfeminine. It puts another kind of distance between us,
and I don't want that either."
"Don't be so pig-headed, guy! On this planet Rupert will
probably become known as a woman's name."
"I hope not!" he said glumly, then instantly brightened. "Say,
I know -- what was it that your mother would have called you had you
been a girl?"
The question had caught me flat-footed. "I don't know," I
equivocated.
"Come on now, Major, every woman who's ever wanted a child
always has both a boy's and a girl's name picked out. Your mother
must have told you. Mothers always enjoy humiliating their sons that
way. I would have been Diane, in fact."
"On this crazy planet, you could be Diane tomorrow!"
"I hope not. That would spoil a lot of possibilities. But
don't change the subject."
"Like I said, I don't know!"
He took my hand and pulled me down beside him.
"What now?" I scowled.
"I'll show you what now!"
He started tickling my ribs.
"Stop that!"
"Not till you tell me what I want to know!"
I fought down the urge to shriek. "If I told you, you'd start
calling me by it!"
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's not dignified!"
"Would it be dignified if I put you over my knee and paddled you
till you came clean?"
"Don't try it!"
He let me go then. "Look, what's the big deal? All the women
are changing their names."
"Not the officers!"
"Bull! Captain Tritcher is calling herself Jasmine now."
"She is?" I shook my head. "She looks like the king of
Elfland's daughter. If I had her face and build, I'd call myself
Eveleen, or Daphne, or something sylvan like that."
"Do you like one of those names -- Eveleen or Daphne?"
"Don't even think of it!"
"Come on, sexy. If you don't tell me your girl's name, I'm
going to pick one for you myself."
"Stow it, soldier!"
"You know, your hair looks so much like those Gypsy girls in
those old movies that I think I'm going to start calling you
'Gypsy.'"
I gave him a punch in the shoulder. "There, that's what I think
of your damned Gypsy!"
"Gypsy-Gypsy-Gypsy!"
I took another swing at him. He ducked and grabbed me about the
waist. Once he had my arms pinned, he started tickling my ribs
again. I yelled wildly, struggled to get away, but he was too strong
for me. I was breathless with laughter by the time my captor deigned
to show mercy. For a while he just reclined there, gazing down at me
with a long stem of grass between his teeth.
"You hayseed!" I rebuked him.
"Show some deference, woman, or you'll get some more."
"Don't call me a woman, you -- man!"
His fingers were on me again.
"No, stop!" I laughed.
"Then tell me what your girl's name is."
"No!"
He kept at it until I had had enough. A person can only endure
so much torture.
"-- Mom said she'd had 'Katherine' picked out," I gasped, then
added: "Don't you ever call me that!"
"Kathy-Kathy-Kathy!" he started hectoring me until, exasperated,
I swung at him again. This time he caught my roundhouse, pulled me
forward, and pecked me on the nose.
"Damn you!" I cried, "Show some respect to your commanding
officer or I'll have you court-martialed!"
"You've got to decide whether you want to be loved or just
obeyed, Kathy. Besides, who'd ever convict me for tickling the
sexiest girl on the planet?"
"I said, don't call me Kathy! And don't be so complacent --
officers are bad asses and they'll nail you for me if I asked them
to. Besides -- Ames is much sexier than me."
"No, she's not."
"Give me a break!"
"I don't think that there's anybody on Klink sexier than you."
I had to admit, he had the knack for mollifying me.
I finally got around to asking Alan whether he had felt any of
Dr. Lowry's supposed pheromone effect that night we had been together
during the Madness.
"And how!" he exclaimed. "It was the hardest thing I ever did,
not touching you."
"You could have touched me just a little," I suggested.
"You're crazy!"
"Do you know anyone who has a better reason to be?"
Instead of answering, he kissed me. I knew then that it was
going to be hard smooching with someone wearing a beard. Worse, he
tried to sneak his tongue between my teeth.
I squirmed away with a wry face. "You're moving too fast!"
"Too fast? At the rate we're going, Rip Van Winkle would wake
up before he missed anything. What sort of sex life did you have in
your last incarnation anyway, Kathy?!"
"A sex life a lot different from this one!"
"Well, at least you're learning to answer to your name!"
"Oooh!" I cried, shoving him furiously.
He took that as a challenge and his hands were suddenly all over
my body. When he had worked his way up to my shirt, he opened enough
buttons to slide his hand within. I gasped in surprise as he fondled
my breasts. Not long before, I had been embarrassed to have that
pair of jugs pushing out in front of me all the time, but now I was
fast getting to know their possibilities in lovemaking.
I also was becoming aware of how easy it was for a woman to be
persuaded by someone whom she really cared about to go too far,
despite her apprehension about the well-attested consequences.
#
What to do? By being stubbornly virginal I felt that I was
cheating Alan. I guess he felt the same way, because he suddenly
asked, "How did men control themselves before contraception?!"
"They didn't. They sired a lot of bastards. A few used sheep
guts for condoms, like Casanova."
"Did it work?"
"He only had one bastard -- at least only one that he knew
about. Not a bad record, considering his life style."
Alan directed an intense gaze my way. "Our children wouldn't be
bastards, Kathy. I'd marry you in a minute."
Children? The idea was mind-boggling.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.
"Are -- are you proposing to me?"
"I suppose I am."
I bit my lip. Marriage? Wifehood? Possible motherhood?
"Major?"
I rolled away, shaking my head. "This is crazy, Alan. If I
became a man again tomorrow, all this would seem like weird dream."
"A sexy dream."
"Okay, a sexy weird dream."
He reached out, but I eluded him and got up. "We'd better
buckle down and examine these trees," I proposed, eager for a subject
which I could handle better.
He sagged backwards against the stone. I could almost hear him
thinking, "Women!"
Well, there was no help for that. I turned toward a hilltop
grove to see what I could see. Some species there I recognized,
though most had no names as yet. I suddenly began fantasying myself
as Adam, naming the animals, or at least the trees. To the human
mind names are such important things. Every living creature, object,
or artifact has to have its own name. But aren't names always just
an illusion? For millions of years Klink's trees had grown very
well, oblivious to the fact that they were nameless. Also, calling
me Kathy or Rupert changed nothing about the sort of person that I
was, down deep.
Alan and I took samples of whatever bark appeared unfamiliar,
but they inspired us with little hope that we were close to finding a
source of cloth. Then, getting warm and tired once again, we
returned to the shade of the white-rock outcropping.
Only now as I knelt beside it did I bother to take a good look
at the stone. I pushed my thumbnail into it and noticed how soft and
greasy it felt to the touch. Suddenly I had an idea and asked Alan
for his knife.
He obligingly handed me his utility blade and I dug its point
deeply into a joint, prying off a big flake. Once I held a sample in
my hand, I found that I could easily cut the stone, even chip off
bits with my nails.
"What is it?" the soldier asked curiously.
"I think it's talc!" I exclaimed. "Do you know what this
means!"
Laughing, almost cheering, Alan read my thoughts: "Baby
powder!"
#
Sebastian was pleased with our discovery and I felt elated that
I had finally made a positive contribution to Klinkian civilization.
People suffering from chapping and heat-galling, or from the tearful
cries of unhappy babies, would be thanking me for ages to come.
Afterwards, Alan kidded me that posterity would erect a statue to
"Rupert Breen, Discoverer of Baby Powder." But that would never
happen, not unless we first discovered writing paper to discoveries
as earthshaking as mine.
That night, still euphoric from a day well-spent, I took a walk.
Gazing skyward, I noticed that the moons were at their point of
conjunction yet again, the silvery orbs seemingly separated by less
than the thickness of a playing card. All of a sudden, a disquieting
thought fluttered through my mind.
The moons, I recalled, had also been going into conjunction just
before the first transformations had occurred, and then again just as
the Madness had struck. Both events had had to do with sex, and so
there seemed to be a disturbing symbolism in the orbiting bodies. To
a primitive mind, the conjunction of the moons each thirty-seven days
might have suggested heavenly entities mating. Did Klink somehow
time its weird phenomena to the phases of its moons?
A single coincidence does not a rule of science make, true, but
my insight motivated me enough to cross the trampled grass of the
camp to knock on Alan's barracks-room door. "Gentlemen?!" I called
from without.
Recognizing my voice, the medic met me at the threshold.
"Major, you wanted to see me?" he queried respectfully. Some of
his mates were within earshot and we were still trying to be cagey
about our affair.
"I was hoping I could see you tonight, Kathy," he whispered once
we were off by ourselves.
"That's nice," I said, "but I had a special reason."
"What's up?"
I explained, but he didn't seem to take the matter of the moons
too seriously. In fact, my idea had begun to sound a lot like
astrology and suddenly I felt foolish.
"Well, as you say, the conjunction is tonight," Alan remarked
noncommittally. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see if anything
happens."
"I'd feel better if I didn't have to wait it out alone."
He smiled and, his hand resting lightly between my shoulders, he
guided me to my door. Once inside the hut, I snapped on the lamp,
brought out the cards, and we played a series of poker hands. It was
hard to keep my mind on the cards, and it wasn't the moons which were
preoccupying me.
*******
Chapter 12
*But virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed. . .*
HAMLET
It was getting late and the solar battery was dimming from want
of a recharge. I had begun to feel silly about my alarmism when,
suddenly, a strange shiver ran through me, like a taut cord plucked
'way deep in my psyche.
Alan looked up from his cards. "Major?"
"It's starting again!"
Alan sprang up so quickly that his chair fell backwards. He
grasped me close to his chest, and he meant well, but his embrace
only threw fuel on the very fire that I was trying to suppress.
"Kathy! What can I do?!"
"Don't let go of me!"
Alan quickly realized that he had only one recourse, and so he
dragged me to the bed and began tying me down as before, over my
desperate protests.
How I fought back, knowing from experience the long hours of
torture that lay ahead! Alan only bound my hands to the frame of the
cot this time, steadying my kicking by keeping hold upon my knees. I
withstood my raging need as long as I could, then cried out: "Fuck
me!"
"Kathy, I love you so much," Alan declared, "but you don't
really want that!"
"Drew!?" a woman pronounced suddenly and we both turned toward
the door; Sebastian was standing there. I knew that she must have
heard Alan's avowal of love for me, but, in my state, didn't care.
"D-Doctor," stammered Alan. "Are you all right?"
"The whole camp is going up," she said urgently, "except for the
pregnant ones. How's Rupe?"
"It's bad. I can't leave her alone tonight."
Dr. Lowry nodded. "There's not much anybody can do. But I have
to help Philbrick monitor this thing. You do whatever you can --
whatever you have to -- to pull the major through."
"I will," he promised.
As Sebastian vanished, how I envied her! If being pregnant was
the only antidote for this torment, I wanted to be pregnant!
As the time passed, I was only really conscious of my own
feverish tumult and hardly grasped the magnitude of Alan's dilemma.
Everything he might have tried to ease the suffering of a patient or
friend -- a kiss, an embrace, soft words -- would only serve to
incite my incendiary need.
Standing there, he watched me agonize; it seemed like hours
passing. Then, with grim resolve, he commenced to unbuckle my belt,
stripping me from the waist down. My breathing held in abeyance, I
wondered at his follow-up.
While still holding one of my thighs pinned, Alan slipped a
finger between my nether lips. I gasped at the boldness of the act,
as well as at the physical sensation. He agitated his digit lightly
against my sensitive inner lining and I moaned.
"Does this make it better or worse?"
"Don't stop!" I rasped, too far gone to be ashamed.
My vulva became wet as it entertained his back-and-forth
motions. I felt like there was a tungsten bulb between my legs,
glowing brighter and hotter. My body became covered with a coat of
perspiration. As the beads of it ran down my flesh, tickling me, and
also cooling me in the draft of the hut. The sheet under me grew
progressively more damp.
He persevered. I felt the muscles of my thighs quiver like
jelly and my vagina expanded and contracted in spasms, alternately
hugging Alan's fingers in welcome, and then relaxing to invite them
deeper still. My clitoris felt hard and stiff, giving me the
illusion of possessing a male erection. Warm pulses were being sent
from the very center of my being up to my shoulders and down into my
toes. My breasts had become twin pyramids of blood-suffused
excitement, sensitive against the coarseness of my shirt.
Then, after a period of ecstatic build-up, there came a release
-- a surge that swept through me, from end to end, like a warm wave
in a pool. The torrent scudded me into a swirling backwash, and I
went suddenly limp. Relief.
"Are you better now?" Alan asked hopefully.
"I don't know. Don't leave me!" I murmured.
Despite my best hopes, no sooner had my original craving eased
off than it started mounting yet again. "It's coming back! Do
something! Please!"
"I don't want to take advantage of you!"
I began to sob, to tear at my bonds. I pulled my knees up, as
if to go into a fetal position.
Maybe it was Alan's desire to help me, maybe it was the
pheromones assailing his resolve -- probably it was both -- but he
suddenly changed position, urged my knees apart, and I beheld him
through the V of my open thighs, bowing his head as if to humble
himself before me in prayer.
"Y-Yes!" I yelled as his tongue touched me and my hips reacted
electrically. As much as I wanted it, the very act of cunnilingus
served only to turn up my sexual heat, like a burner on a cooking
range. Possessed by erotic madness, I attempted to tear my hands
from my bonds, until my wrists burned and my shoulders ached.
As his mouth ministered to me, I could feel my juices begin to
flow once more. Blood pounded in my temples and my breath came in
short, ragged gulps.
My incited pelvis ground my sex against Alan's mouth. It felt
something like fellatio, but it was evoking a wider, more all-
encompassing, response. His actions were hurrying me on to a second
orgasm. I shrieked at the top of my lungs as a renewed wave,
stronger even than the last, sloshed through me like a tsunami.
I finally sank back, softened like heated and beaten metal.
Alan drew away, allowing my mind time to clear. "I shouldn't have
done that," he said roughly, as if his throat was parched.
"No, it was good."
"How -- is it now?"
"Better," I whispered, "but, God, I -- I think it's coming
back!"
Alan groaned softly, unsure what to do.
In mere moments the desire had rebuilt itself enough to be
uncomfortable. "Please," I pleaded, "I have to touch you."
"You shouldn't. You could lose control. . . . I could, too."
"Please!"
I think his sense and his compassion wrestled in desperate
urgency.
"Please. . . !"
Resolvedly, his hands went to the cords that bound my wrists.
In but a minute I was free.
I got up on my knees and then threw my arms around him, pulling
him down upon myself. I frantically fumbled open the buttons of his
shirt, then crushed my mouth against the blond hair of his bared
chest. Then I got an idea -- or the compulsion of instinct -- to
kiss every square inch of his entire body.
"Please, Kathy. I'm your medic."
"You're my lover!"
Reluctantly, Alan allowed me to press him to the cot while I
painted his torso, arms, neck, and shoulders with kisses. I began to
tongue-bathe him, my saliva flowing like a fountain. I could taste
his human flavor, the salt of his perspiration.
Images of the women whom I had been with filled my mind. In a
strange way, they had prepared me, like unintentional teachers, for
this hour. I had not only received pleasure, but also, instruction
in giving it to another.
My hands went to Alan's belt; he tensed, but let me strip him to
his briefs nonetheless. I lavished my kisses upon his legs, tracing
a trail of osculations down over his knees, along his shins, down to
his feet. I especially kissed his feet, assailing them as if I
thought I were the most abject of oriental odalisques.
Now I passionately repaid the tickling that Alan had given me up
on Woolenska's Hill. He shivered as my tongue teased at his feet,
his fists clenching large handfuls of the bedclothes reactively, his
heels digging into the tick. I culminated my pedal assault by
putting his big right toe into my mouth and sucking it with long,
deep pulls. I kept at this lengthily because it met a need within
me, to have him inside me, but it was still not enough.
I looked up. Alan's erection, still constrained by his
skivvies, had tented the material strongly. A feral urge now swept
through me as his manhood proclaimed itself a shrine that called out
for worship. I had been taught well by those I had been with before
him, and so I put one knee on the bed and began pulling his shorts
down. Then, as if by afterthought, I started taking off my own shirt
with its piping of superior rank. I wanted nothing to remind him
that I was anything other than what I needed to be for him tonight.
He tried to hold me off. "You'll hate me tomorrow if I let
you."
"I'll go insane if you don't," I warned -- and at that moment
believed it, too.
With parted lips, I captured the crown of his manhood and
stroked its under-side membrane with my harlot tongue. His pelvis
shifted in natural response and he let loose with a keening breath.
A penis, I found, did not have much taste to it -- a fact which made
performing my first fellatio all the easier. I took in as much of
him as I could, then applied friction by bobbing my head up and down,
swishing him with my firmed-up tongue. Fantasies of my male self
making love to the Nameless One returned while I worked, especially
the fantasy of the barbarian princess brought to a warlord's tent.
Then stripped naked, cowed, and she was made to serve upon her knees,
on pain of death. And serve she did. I did.
My hands were clenched around the lower part of his manhood,
their heels resting in the forest of his pubis. I had supposed his
organ to already be as large as Nature allowed, but I could feel it
getting larger yet within the confinement of my mouth. Encouraged, I
began working the point of my tongue against its tiny slit, as if
trying to enter it.
Alan's moans let me know that I was achieving what I sought. He
commenced to thrust his hips involuntarily, making me lurch back lest
I choke on his vastness. Then I started pulling on his organ with my
hands, pumping it back and forth, experiencing a strumpet's pride in
the cries he uttered into the close, humid air.
My right hand at least released his cock to massage my own
stiffened clitoris. I was rapidly approaching my second climax by
now, driven by a frenzy that all but bereft me of conscious thought.
My lips had by now sucked in his phallus in all the way to the
back of my throat and Alan could no longer constrain himself. The
hundreds of millions of the microscopic spermatozoa that defined his
virility were suddenly rolling over one another in a mad rush to
freedom, filling my mouth with a tumultuous burst. I coughed,
swallowed reactively, but in such a state of erotic excitement I felt
no repulsion.
The culmination brought my own orgasm on and I spasmed, savored
its throes, then fell aside, gasping for breath. By the time our
mutual release had quelled, Alan was sunk breathless in the tick and
I had rolled gasping upon him, my head pillowed upon his hard, firm
abdomen.
#
Like a caring physician, Alan stayed with me all through the
dark hours. Never properly conquered, my infernal need fiercely
rebounded, like Antaeus, again and again, but each time it waxed less
pitilessly because Alan and I met it dauntlessly, sating it together.
Then, sometime in the night, driven beyond my limit and utterly
spent, I passed into slumber.
I woke up in the half-light of dawn and I looked down from my
too-narrow cot to see Alan asleep on the floor. The buzzing bee of
shame waited for only just a moment before it stung. I sprang up to
flee away, but Alan had just awakened.
"Kath -- Major!" he exclaimed.
I froze, but was unable to turn and look at him. What was he
thinking as he looked at me? What should I be thinking about myself?
Tears burned my eyes.
"Don't," he said gently, though his tone was strained. Then,
rising, he pressed up against my back and stroked my hair.
"Don't hate me!" I muttered, knowing that I had betrayed and
demeaned him.
"It's all right, Kathy. That wasn't you last night. I don't
know if it was me either."
I broke down entirely. He turned me about and held me close,
until at least some of the hurting had gone away.
#
As the light grew stronger, we belatedly remembered our
responsibilities and, with a supreme effort, pulled ourselves
together. Hurriedly dressing, we ran to the infirmary to get Lowry's
report. Philbrick was already there. Simultaneously confronting the
two people whose esteem mattered most to me, I was suddenly afraid to
glance Alan's way, lest some guilty look incriminate us.
Irrationally, I swung toward the mirror on the wall, worrying that my
aspect somehow betrayed exactly how I had passed the night. I only
appeared disheveled and a little red-eyed.
"I hope you're all right, Major," Philbrick remarked.
I turned sharply. "What do you mean --?" Then I settled down
by shear force of will. "Report," I said.
The second Madness, it seemed, had been very much like the
first, except that this time we had had more than a dozen sane women
on hand to help our men resist the passionate advances of the others.
This they were glad to do, especially when the man involved was their
own husband or lover. The males, better prepared this time, had
displayed sturdier discipline, also.
The Madness allowed a couple new pregnancies to be discovered,
obviously having occurred between one Madness and the other. We knew
we could expect even more pregnancies now, since a good deal of sex
had occurred, despite all.
When I told Lowry and Philbrick about my moon-conjunction
theory, neither scoffed. Two incidents might just represent a
coincidence, but three presented a subject for serious inquiry. But
now, accepting the hypothesis, we had to address the knottier
question: if the moons were somehow involved in Klink's sexual
phenomena, how and why?
#
Needing rest after such a harrowing night, I returned to my hut
alone and flopped down on the cot. I slept for an hour and a half
before waking again, to consider how to face the world as a perhaps-
changed being.
As little as I liked it, I had to face Sebastian.
I reached the infirmary door feeling like a guilty cadet about
to call upon his superior for reprimand. I found Dr. Lowry in bed
with her sleeping-room door open, which caused me to wonder whether
she was only exhausted by her sleeplessness, or whether pregnancy was
taking a lot out of her.
"Come on in, Rupe," my comrade beckoned wearily. At least she
hadn't called me 'Kathy.'
"What's on your mind?" she asked.
"You didn't mention what happened last night."
Sebastian regarded me keenly. "I didn't know you wanted me to
bring it up at a staff meeting. Are we going to have to worry about
any serious -- aftereffects?"
"No!" I exclaimed, flushing hot. Then, collecting myself once
more, I said, "But it would bother me if you started looking down on
me."
She gave back a weary grin. "What are you talking about? Can
anything be worse than what I did myself last month?"
"I don't know," I replied contritely. "What I did was pretty
bad."
She sat up and extended a compassionate hand. I accepted it and
sat down beside her.
"Rupert, don't be embarrassed. People are taking lovers all
over the place and we've got to accept it. Somewhere along the way
you picked up the idea that you're the only one of us who's made of
steel. Nobody believes that except you."
"I just wish I were a little less human."
"But you're not and, that's a good thing -- believe me."
"What should I do?"
She took my hand and squeezed my palm. "I say hold on to that
guy. He's a prize. In fact, I admire your taste in men."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation!"
"Am I to understand that you're calling yourself Kathy now?" she
queried wryly.
"You know how it is," I hedged, glancing away.
"It's a good name. I'd even say that you look like a Kathy."
"Oh, great! I'm a Kathy!"
"Don't sweat it, Rupe. I'll probably be changing my own name
one of these days. If I have a son, he can be Sebastian."
"You could call him Stanley instead," I quipped painfully.
"Oh, please!"
I put one arm around her. "I'm sorry you don't have anybody
yet, Sebastian. It's hell when you do, but I think it's even worse
when you don't."
"You're probably right. I'm keeping my options open, though,"
she assured me. "I'm such a good catch that I can afford to be
particular."
We both laughed at her display of mock-conceit and then moved on
to other topics -- topics which weren't quite so sore and personal.
Lowry ventured the theory that the moons may have once been
sacred to an indigenous race, which perhaps still lived unseen, or
which was now extinct and represented by nothing more than a lot of
automated equipment left behind. As I had suggested earlier, perhaps
the "mating" of the moons of Klink had represented the sexual cycle
in their culture, a kind of St. Valentine's Day love-fest which was
held every month. The Klinkians could easily have timed their sex-
and sex-drive-altering equipment to follow celestial rotations.
I thought about that proposition. A Klinkian month. Thirty-
seven days. That was all the time we had until our next little
plunge into Hell.
I was at just that moment that our appreciation of Klink changed
forever after. Alan burst into the infirmary, crying, "Major!
Doctor! Crawford and some of the detachment are back -- and they
have strangers with them!"
Chapter 13
*There's place and means for every man alive.*
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
Crawford's party was just outside. My first impression was of
strange clothing that some of them were wearing -- a kind of off-
white, pull-over tunic on most of the women and one of the men. My
next eyes next lit upon a couple of short-haired, quadruped pack
tethered animals standing behind the returnees.
Crawford, to my relief, still wore his familiar, craggy shape.
On the other hand, I knew none of the women by sight, correctly
assuming that they were transformed soldiers -- with the possible
exception of a pair who stood out from the others. These were
elderly and, so far at least, none of our men had ever transformed
into old women. There was also an old man, the one in the tunic, who
certainly never had been part of our group.
Philbrick, now arriving, saluted Crawford, and then the two of
them grasped hands in camaraderie. "Ted," blurted the former, "it's
been four months! Where in hell did you find other human beings?"
"There's a whole village of them, Ben -- more than one, in fact!
I have to talk to Major Breen."
I stepped forward. "I'm Major Breen, Captain," I informed him
tonelessly.
Crawford swung my way and I saw the surprise writ large on his
face. I sighed silently. Authority figures were supposed to be like
bronze statues -- constants, unchangeable -- adjectives which simply
didn't fit reality.
"I've turned command over to Captain Philbrick," I explained in
a flat voice. "For health reasons."
"Yes, Major," acknowledged Crawford with a sharp salute.
I glanced uncomfortably toward the remainder of his party and
Crawford took that as the cue to begin the introductions, commencing
with the three strangers: "This is Casimir," he explained,
indicating the one unknown male, "and this is Irina and Natalya.
They were originally from the Protos II agricultural colony, which
was mostly Ukrainian. Only Casimir speaks English."
"You're all very welcome," Philbrick assured the newcomers with
a cordial nod.
"Thank you, General," Casimir responded, his English thickly-
accented.
"I'm Captain Philbrick," our camp commander corrected the man's
error politely.
At that point Crawford reintroduced us to our transformed
comrades. Given leave by Philbrick, Ames stepped up and welcomed
back the women -- most of whom looked uneasy, probably from all the
attention they were attracting. The female captain coaxed them away
for debriefing, but the returnee males and the three Ukrainians
remained clustered behind Crawford.
We had long suspected that Klink might hold other human
prisoners taken by the Asymmetrics, but here at last was the proof.
I had a thousand questions, and so I invited my senior captain, along
with Philbrick and Dr. Lowry, into my hut to confer. The captain
quickly filled us in on what all had befallen his detachment during
the nearly four months since we had last seen it.
As anticipated, the daily disappearance of men had proven to be
the bane of the journey. Whenever a pair of troopers vanished,
Crawford left volunteers behind to wait for their reappearance. At
first, the auxiliaries were instructed to escort the transformees
back to our base camp, but before the first week was out, the
increasing distance had rendered that option impractical.
Subsequently, Crawford's volunteers had to bring the
transformees forward to rejoin the main group with all possible
haste. But transformation was not his only problem. With his
detachment so fear-ridden, Crawford had to walk a narrow line, not
yielding too readily to his subordinates' panicky whims, while yet
trying to avoid such conflicts as might provoke a blow-up.
Before too long, the captain had exhausted his stock of
auxiliaries and chose to remain behind with the last of them himself,
while Lt. Morrow took the main body forward. Crawford had conveyed
instructions that should any of the men be transformed thereafter,
they must wait along the marked trail until he and his group,
advancing from the rear, arrived to assist them.
Thereafter, encumbered by a growing number of traumatized women,
Crawford proceeded in the wake of the detachment at a deliberate
pace, watching for the stakes left behind by Morrow to indicate where
additional soldiers had disappeared. During its progress, Crawford's
group was being steadily augmented by volunteers coming up from the
rear with earlier transformees.
After a couple weeks, Crawford's band finally reunited with the
main detachment. These, he discovered, had utterly given up,
demoralized by their inability to find any geographic limit to the
transformation phenomenon. Morrow, it turned out, had persuaded them
to cease their pointless flight and to wait in place until Crawford
should catch up.
Crawford reorganized the camp and waited for the last stragglers
to come in, until the whole original party was accounted for. By
that point the sex-ratio had been equalized at "Camp Reunion" and the
transformation phenomenon suddenly ceased.
Not understanding what had happened, but grateful anyway,
Crawford was about to lead his detachment back to our camp when his
foragers found signs of unknown human life. This spoor was carefully
followed, and the captain's scouts discovered four strangers --
Earthers -- two males, two females. These spoke only Ukrainian, but
were decidedly friendly. Crawford quickly grasped the idea that they
came from a village, and so he and the entire detachment accompanied
the Ukrainians to their home, reaching it after a march of days.
The settlement, as it turned out, was one of five in the area,
established seven years previous by the evacuees of Protos II. Like
the 54th, the Ukrainians had soon became acquainted with the
phenomena of transformation and the Madness. But, fortunately, they
already had a high proportion of natural-born females and so the
occurrence of transformation, while startling and mystifying to them,
did not devastate their community psychologically, as it had
devastated ours.
Transformation, in fact, still afflicted the villagers
occasionally, whenever a population imbalance toward the male side
arose, or when too many men inadvertently congregated at too great a
distance from any sexually-balanced enclave. As a preventative, the
Ukrainians had learned to travel only in sexually-balanced groups.
Over the years, the Protos II colonists learned that only
transformees were affected by the Madness, though those who were
pregnant or suckling infants were seemingly immune. Interestingly,
the colonists had observed, transformation did not strike male
children before puberty -- and, previous to puberty, Klink's
phenomena seemed not to include male youngsters into the sexual-
balance equation at all. Women, contrariwise, were never transformed
(neither into males nor into more nubile women), and males who
wandered alone and lived as hermits remained unchanged. Crawford was
able to add the observation that in all their several years upon the
planet, the colonists had not so far seen any transformee revert to
his original sex.
I took in this last bit of intelligence with a sharp sense of
disconsolation. Though I had taken it for granted that I'd have to
face the rest of my life just as I was, this experimental
confirmation served to dash my every hope of ever returning to
normality. On the other hand, the news that normal children were
being born to transformees on Klink would serve to set our worried
mothers-to-be at ease.
Regarding other matters, the Ukrainians, like us of the 54th,
had not been revisited by the Assies since landing. Nonetheless, the
colonists had occasionally stumbled across other parties of human
evacuees and POWs. Whenever possible, they exchanged goods and
skills with the strangers, but it was the civilian groups which had
the most to offer. Soldiers were good at short-term survival,
naturally, but were generally devoid of the skills that communities
needed to thrive over the long term, being largely composed of young
males with narrow life-experience.
The arrival of Crawford's party naturally caused a great
excitement in the villages. Their hospitality was effusive, and the
Ukrainians also dealt sympathetically with the transformees.
Crawford filled his new friends in on the fate of the 54th, and the
community leaders debated the best means of extending aid our way.
When the first Madness struck, the villagers saw to it that the
transformees did not suffer more than was absolutely necessary.
Crawford discovered that the villagers had been domesticating
wild plants and animals, and had also acquired new ones from humans
who had been dwelling on Klink even longer. It was a European Union
group which had provided a beast that the Ukrainians had rechristened
the "byerblyood" -- the species of draft animal which was even now
grazing on the camp grass outside. At this point, Crawford mentioned
that the sex-change phenomenon never seemed to affect animals, not
even the dogs and cats that had accompanied the colonists from Protos
II.
Once things had settled down, Crawford at last felt free to
return to our camp. The village council had already voted to send
three of its citizens back with him. Crawford, for his part, had
decided to leave most of his detachment behind, since a significant
number of the women were still seriously traumatized, while others,
both male and female, had been offered schooling in a large array of
homely skills which the captain recognized would be of great value to
us in the long haul.
#
Now back where he belonged, Crawford accepted command from the
more junior Philbrick and, as his first act in his new role,
requested that I, Lowry, and Komisov (who happened to speak a little
Ukrainian) take charge of our visitors. After renewing our
acquaintance with them, we stored their packs, broke out some rations
for their refreshment, and escorted all three to a shaded grove for
rest and debriefing.
Casimir was a small, wrinkly man with white hair, but he was
spry for all that. Irina, a woman of about fifty, was plump and
motherly, while Natalya, leaner and a little older than Irina, gave
the impression of a keen practical intelligence.
After the initial courtesies and homilies, our conversation
turned to the subject of what assistance our communities might
exchange. The women's enthusiastic flood of words had to be
interrupted sometimes by Casimir, lest they race too far ahead of his
plodding efforts to translate.
It didn't take us long to realize that the villagers offered us
much more than we could ever reciprocate. What they most needed was
drugs, medical knowledge, and training. While the planet had so far
disclosed very few diseases which affected humans, there were some
minor infections that the colonists had brought along with them, or
had picked up from other exiles, and which had persisted in the
population. Beyond this, there was the occasional accident and
degenerative illness, such as heart disease and cancer. But they
were most of all interested in reducing birth- related losses.
Interestingly, it was the transformees who seemed to suffer the
fewest childbed complications and miscarriages, and fewer of their
children seemed to be afflicted with birth defects. Apparently,
Klink knew how to build a topnotch child-bearing machine.
Because of our own group's need, Dr. Lowry explained that she
could not soon visit the Ukrainian villages. We would, nonetheless,
share some drugs and medicines, though these were scant and precious.
But Sebastian conjectured that Alan might profitably spend some time
in the villages, instructing our new friends in first aid and
battlefield surgery. I grimaced. If my lover found himself amid a
bevy of natural-born women, I wondered if I might not end up looking
very second-best. If Alan were actually sent away on such an
assignment, I was bound and determined to go him.
That we could offer so little to these generous people made us
seem like mendicants. Besides material things, there was the
knowledge that our visitors offered to share. Casimir himself was a
farmer with a knack for coaxing yield from stubborn land, while
Natalya was primarily a midwife, and Irina a woman possessed of many
useful domestic skills. Our "girls," the latter said, must begin at
once learning to support our "village" with food preservation,
gardening, making of yarn, as well as weaving.
I smiled, knowing that "woman's work" wouldn't sit well with any
of the soldiers. In a subsistence economy, however, men's strength,
speed, and endurance were best applied to such tasks as hunting,
plowing, and lumbering. Women, physically weaker and often burdened
with children in need of continual supervision, logically assumed the
work of processing raw materials, becoming in effect the "industrial
arm" of the community. When you thought about it without prejudice,
there was nothing undignified or demeaning about this mutually-
supportive division of labor.
The detachees who still remained back at their villages, the
Ukrainians told us, would be returning in the spring, educated with
skills which would allow them to take the place of the volunteer
teachers -- teachers who would be joining us in a few weeks. It
amused me, if only slightly, to think that our formerly-panicky and
near-mutinous detachees were away at "college" learning to be good
housewives.
"Most important of all," Casimir went on, translating for
Natalya, "we came because we wanted to help the young mothers."
I perked up and made inquiry upon this point: "You were so
dead-certain that we would have mothers that you came all this way?"
Before the detachment had departed, I knew, not even Hitchcock had as
yet been discovered pregnant.
Natalya laughed and Casimir translated: "Dear little
dyovawchka, there are always many, many young mothers wherever you
soldiers are!"
I grimaced, the observation being well-taken.
At that juncture, the midwife approached Sebastian and proceeded
to feel her breasts, her belly, and hips. The Ukrainian woman then
cheerfully announced "Byepyemyennaya!" Sebastian looked my way
perplexed, guessing correctly what the word meant. Perhaps she was
chagrined that a stranger could tell how "byepyemyennaya" she was,
even though it had not yet begun to show in her girt.
The midwife next turned her attention my way, her fingertips
playing lightly over my body, just as they had over Sebastian's. Her
thoughtful expression brightened, and she tripped out a long string
of incomprehensible syllables.
"Natalya says that you are not pregnant now," explained Casimir,
"but thinks that you will have an easy time of it. Your baby shall
have good room to grow, and you shall make much milk."
Swallowing hard, I told Lady Natalya that this was very good to
hear. The woman then hugged and kissed me as if I were a child of
her own. Ukrainians, as we were learning, tended to be very
demonstrative in their affections, affections which they seemed to
extend very generously.
In the course of that same conversation, we also discovered the
name by which the colonists knew Klink. "We call it, 'Ray,'" Casimir
remarked. "In your English, 'Eden.'"
I nodded, contemplating the irony. Eden had been the mythic
garden country where God had made the first woman from the body of
the first man. As it worked out, "Eden" was soon accepted by us as
the best name for the planet, while "Klink" was demoted to being
merely the name of our camp.
The exchange had been so intriguing that before we realized it
twilight had darkened into night. We escorted our guests to those
huts already set aside for them, and the Ukrainians bade us to tarry
there for just a moment until they returned. To our surprise, they
reappeared with gifts. Casimir presented Captain Komisov with a
bronze dagger, while Sebastian received from Natalya a large shawl
decorated with vegetable-dyed, crocheted flowers. Irina gave me a
tunic much like the one she, Natalya, Casimir, and some of our
returnees were already wearing.
We accepted our gratuities gracefully and the Ukrainians sent us
off amid another barrage of hugs and kisses.
#
Walking with Sebastian to the infirmary, my friend started
talking about her idea for eradicating infectious diseases on Eden.
"If no one incubated an active contagion of, say, flu," she
explained, "flu would utterly vanish. As long as the population
remains small, circumstances present us with an incredible
opportunity."
Well, that might have been true, but I had more immediate
matters on my mind. I cut short my friend's excited chatter by
asking her to wait a quarter hour and then send Alan to my hut. She
flashed back a wondering smile, not at all reluctant to do what I
asked.
Still thinking about all those Ukrainian girls that Alan might
soon be meeting, I changed my clothes, arranged my hair, threw on my
robe, and then waited for my invited guest. When Alan arrived, he
looked just a little unsure of himself -- and maybe a little unsure
of me -- after what had happened in the night. Much to my relief, he
began his conversation nonchalantly, asking about the interview with
the Ukrainians. Perhaps he thought I had only sent for him to fill
him in on that subject. After giving a quick summary, I pointedly
mentioned that I had received a gift.
"What would that be?" he inquired innocently.
I opened my robe and let it drop to my feet, displaying the
Ukrainian tunic I wore. "How do you like me in peasant-girl chic?" I
asked with a nervous smile.
Alan gave a breathy whistle. "You make one hell of a fine
peasant girl, Kathy!"
"Thanks -- I guess."
"-- Except for one little thing."
"What?"
"That hem could be higher."
That irritated me. "The hem's high enough!" I flung back, but
then softened my tone: "You don't really want me giving those
baboons out there everything that I'm giving you."
"I sure don't!" he exclaimed, letting me know by his emphasis
that I had put my foot into my mouth yet again.
He but his hands on my hips and drew me up against him,
whispering: "After last night, I was expecting a bawling out and a
court-martial."
"Rupert Breen might court-martial you," I said lightly, "but I'm
just his dizzy sister Kathy."
"That's exactly who I want you to be," he murmured into my ear.
Chapter 14
*For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.*
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
Just a few weeks and one Madness later, our camp welcomed
eighteen more visitors from the Ukrainian villages. Intended to act
as instructors in home crafts, animal husbandry, and agriculture,
they even brought along livestock -- small beasts which could be
raised like rabbits, flyers with clipped wings to be bred for meat
and eggs, and several more of that miniature, camel-like beast that
the Ukrainians called the "byerblyood."
Though not a pupil myself, I spent a great deal of time
monitoring our guests. Early on, Irina located a patch of the
"pahlatnaw" plant, a native growth which the Ukrainians had learned
to harvest for fiber. When the seeds ripened in autumn, we would
gather them for springtime cultivation. Pahlatnaw, our guests
informed us, was the source of the light-colored cloth that the
Ukrainians wore. Anyway, now that we had the raw material for making
yarn, we required looms for its weaving. Marduke's carpenters did
yeoman work constructing several of these under Irina's supervision.
One problem that confronted us was that none of our women liked
the idea of accepting domestic chores for their daily routine. It
wasn't that these duties were so outrageously disagreeable in
themselves, nor even in many cases different from work which had been
expected of the soldiers since basic training. It was just the idea
of being stereotyped into a role that they were still psychologically
resisting. Fortunately, our expectant mothers were somewhat more
obliging; it had already dawned on them, if not yet on all the
others, that they would be needing plenty of new skills before they
could confidently rear a needful infant.
While I fully understood the rejectionist sentiment, what was
the alternative? If we tried to join the men at their heavy labor,
erecting additional huts and sheds or grubbing land, we really would
have felt like weak sisters and a lot of important work would have
gone undone. I envied the future girl-children of Eden, who would
grow up without their mothers' ambivalence about "women's work."
Crawford finally issued an order requiring the troopers to
accept the craft-training assigned to them whether they liked it or
not. His stern decision resulted in some grumbling and indignation,
but I appreciated the need for it and so tried to smooth things over.
Counseling was not a role which I had practiced much before, but
under the straits of necessity, I discovered that I had an aptitude
for it.
Besides merely jawboning the women, I learned the basics of
weaving myself, to mollify the dissidents by example. The best one
can say of weaving is that it allows one's mind time to wander. No
wonder that history continually referred to women at the loom -- it
just takes so much time to make even a single diaper-sized item. But
as the months passed and the waistlines of some of our comrades grew,
we were all conscious of the importance of our work.
While many of us studied, a few were engaged in teaching. Dr.
Lowry began training four of the colonists in medical procedure. One
of these, a personable Ukrainian, had been a veterinarian on Protos
II and so already possessed a solid background. To everyone's
amusement, he seemed to take to our lovely young doctor from the
first day, and every time Sebastian turned around the man was there
at her elbow -- and neither tact nor bluntness seemed to put him off.
Another Mad Moon, as we now called our monthly affliction, came
and went -- and that was the last straw for me! I was sure there had
to be a way to deal with Eden's curse without giving in. So,
inspired by my past reading, I decided to take a page from the lurid
book of Casanova, at least as I remembered it.
I appropriated a few entrails from the carcass of our first
butchered byerblyood and proceeded to boil them sterile. After that,
I cut them to length and sealed one end of each, first by tying it
off, then searing it with fire. Full of anticipation, I presented my
creations to Alan. He seemed to share my enthusiasm for empirical
experimentation and so we decided to embark on the study together.
I was all jitters. While the two of us had already engaged in a
lot of foreplay, the idea of offering a male lover coitus still gave
me pause. It seemed to imply a kind of submission, a rite of passage
into a way of life which I was instinctively reluctant to undergo.
Yet, if I wasn't able to give 100% of myself, Alan might eventually
find another who would.
My guy began his lovemaking by running his fingertips lightly
across my breasts. My nipples stiffened at the touch, tingling with
tiny pin-pricks. Sensing my excitement, he buried his face in my
hair, nuzzling my scalp. Alan always loved my curls, so I had kept
them longish, though they were forever a terror to wash and comb.
"My Gypsy," he whispered, spreading kisses over my forehead,
temple, and cheeks, savoring the scent I wore -- flower petals soaked
in distilled spirits, a concoction of Natayla's. He took little nips
of my ear lobe, gradually making my body ache with building need.
But I was too overwrought to be much more than passive. Alan's
weight pressed me deeply into the narrow cot, his muscular arms
engulfed me, flattening my breasts against his chest and my lips
against his mouth. I released a small cry as I felt his index finger
probe between my thighs. I writhed and, as if obeying some
unconscious dictum of Nature, spread my legs wide both in submission
and invitation.
At last Alan, with his lips still held fast to mine, took his
penis by its midsection and rubbed the tip of it along the length of
my vulva. A shudder ran through me and after a couple minutes,
sensing that the moment had come, Alan inserted himself carefully. I
gasped; this was the crisis that I had for weeks feared and delayed.
He grew harder, pushed himself deeper, began to move inside me.
I wasn't sure whether I liked the feeling or not, but his endurance
was something to admire as the process continued. He slowly brought
me along, like a fire-maker coaxing flame from the merest smolder,
and Alan's lovemaking waxed ever more intense, more kinetic as he
went along. Finally, I began to respond to him in earnest. He
wouldn't let up until suddenly a hot rush went through me.
Alan permitted his own release at that point, and feeling him
spasm deep inside me registered as a shock. Even so, I knew that I
was cheating Nature with my condom and so felt quite safe.
Afterwards, we lay panting, arm-in-arm, overcome by a euphoria which
still pervaded our bodies, leaving us breathless.
"I can't get enough of you" he whispered.
"I've got plenty more byerblyood guts," I reassured him.
"There aren't enough byerblyood guts in all the world for the
way I feel about you."
I smiled, closed my eyes, then slept peacefully against him,
like a tabby cat, for the rest of the night. If this was part of
being a woman, I thought, the future didn't seem half so bad.
#
I took a good hard look at myself in the morning. Who was this
clear-complected young woman reflected in the shaving mirror -- she
with the aquamarine eyes and the cascading curls? Was she nothing
more than a two-dimensional fantasy dreamed up by a teenager and
brought to fruition inside the mind of a career soldier? Were those
feelings, desires, and drives which moved her real? Was she just an
alien creature imposed upon me, or was she my twin? Was he just an
emotional complement of myself? Had she existed for only these last
few months, or had she always been with me in spirit? Were those
qualities which defined her new, or were they only the expression of
a second nature which had always been with me?
I sighed with resignation, but without much understanding, and
tried to give the woman in front of me some sound advice: "Your
emotions are out of control. You trust too easily. You take risks.
You could get hurt."
She wasn't listening. She had stars in her eyes.
#
Alan and I continued experimenting with our byerblyood entrails
every day, until the supply went bad. I had saved just one makeshift
condom, in a bottle of distilled spirits, as an antidote for the
torture of the next Mad Moon when it came.
Alan kept proposing to me, but I couldn't agree to marry him --
not as long as I was unwilling to commit to its every implication.
Taking a lover was only an emotional and physiological safety value,
and so it came fairly easily. Accepting wifehood, on the other hand,
was tantamount to promising to be something that I was not yet
prepared to be. Still worse, the idea implicit in marriage, the
establishment of a family, was so alien to my outlook that my every
instinct revolted against it. But it was even more than that. It
was a sense of inadequacy. I felt that a mother had to be a pretty
terrific someone. I just couldn't believe that I was good enough or
smart enough to make the grade.
When the Mad Moon came, our fifth, numerous other women about
the camp went spontaneously crazy, as expected. But, to my surprise
and horror, I wasn't one of them.
At first we couldn't understand it, didn't want to understand
it. When the terrible truth could no longer be denied, I was
thunderstruck. Alan held me close, tried to reassure me, told me
that he'd love and care for me always, no matter what happened.
But not only was I frightened, I was infuriated. To have my
life turned on its head by something as trivial as condom failure!
Damn those rotten byerblyood guts! I had been cheated, double-
crossed by Fate. I talked urgently to Sebastian the next morning.
"Why didn't you ask my advice before you went into the condom-
making business?" she admonished me sternly. "Even the best
materials have a sixteen percent failure rate. Using a makeshift is
like playing Russian Roulette."
"I don't need this!" I protested.
"All right, Rupe, no use getting unstrung until we know the
worst. Get under the scanner."
She checked me out, shook her head, then wished me her hearty
congratulations.
"Is that all you have to say?!" I snarled.
"What else should I say?"
"Tell me what to do!"
"Take things easy, eat well, and get plenty of exercise."
"I don't mean that!"
"Do you mean you want to terminate?"
No, I didn't; I was aghast at the very suggestion.
"Pregnancy is only phase one," Sebastian commiserated. "In nine
months your problems are really going to begin."
"Thanks a lot!" I growled, swinging to my feet to dress.
But soon anger was gone and worry was back. I was absolutely
staggered at my fate, but once I settled down I realized that I was
actually much better off than those women who had been shanghaied by
the Mad Moon. I was pregnant only because I had made love to the man
of my choice -- and not just once but many times over. Even so, how
could I resign myself to motherhood when I had never even given
serious thought to becoming a father?
On the positive side, Alan and I could now make love any way we
wished, as often as we wished. Thus, though in bondage to my
biology, I also found in the situation a kind of liberation -- or at
least a freedom to practice my proclivities with abandon.
During the following weeks I came by insights which had always
eluded me before. As a man, I had always marveled at a woman's
capability to bear a child, but from my current perspective that
seemed to be like nothing compared to the sorcery which a man could
effect over the life of the woman who loved him. I found myself
nursing a kind of awe of Alan, and, indeed, of the whole male-based
creative power.
But sorcery was one thing and everyday practicalities another.
We both agreed after a week's time that there was no longer any
reason to put off the inevitable. We asked Ames to arrange our
marriage.
Somewhat to my exasperation, Ames decided that the major's
wedding had to be the best ever. Besides, she said, we were long-
overdue for a party to honor our Ukrainians friends. No sooner had
the news of my impending nuptials been spread around camp than people
began to speculate upon whether or not I was knocked up. "Is she or
isn't she" even became the subject of a drawing.
All right, so it was a circus. I would have preferred to have
had just a quiet little ceremony, but Ames wanted an elaborate
program featuring song, dance, Shakespeare, and comic skits. And she
also wanted to hold that oldest of army traditions -- a drag show.
Of course, that was only a euphemism for what it really amounted to -
- a girlie show.
When the Ukrainians heard about our upcoming espousals, they
treated the earthshaking news as something to gladden the heart, but
nothing out of the ordinary. I felt they were trivializing the whole
thing, but, worse, I couldn't hide from Natalya the fact that I had
become slightly "byepyemyennaya." But now that that was up front, I
at least felt free to pump her for advice about enduring a pregnancy,
and also the care and feeding of a child once it came.
#
Irina make me up a veil out of bug-netting and Casimir requested
the privilege of giving me away. I invited Sebastian to be my best
man -- or, I should say, my maid of honor. All that was left to do
was to tie the knot officially.
On the morning of the big day, Natalya helped me prepare,
arranging my hair, adorning my gift-tunic with flowers, scenting my
flesh with perfume, and applying a simple makeup to my face (mainly
talcum powder and red-berry stain for lipstick, with a bit of
vegetable-oil-and-malachite eye-liner). I felt silly, but if I
wasn't willing to do this bride thing all the way, I might as well
have been married in my uniform -- and that would have embarrassed
Alan. There was no point spreading the mortification around; I was
already toting around so much that a little more couldn't hurt me.
Alan got a clean shave that morning from Pvt. Sandrino, who had
already demonstrated wonders with a utility knife, and who seemed to
be turning into the village barber.
With butterflies, among other things, in my stomach, I was led
to the officiating Captain Ames on Casimir's arm. Alan was already
there, at the side of Pvt. Harrison, his best man, both of them
dapper in their best togs. Sebastian pushed a bouquet of white and
violet flowers into my arms, and my husband-to-be took my hand while
I stood there more or less dazed.
Ames commenced the "We are gathered," part, but I wasn't really
listening until she got to: "Do you, Katherine Breen, take this man,
Alan Drew, to be your lawfully-wedded husband, to have and to hold,
to love, honor, and cherish, until death do you part?"
I did and he did.
"You may now kiss the bride."
The battle group still had some photographic film left, so
wedding pictures were taken. When I looked at the prints immediately
afterwards, they only made me cringe -- like viewing the evidence of
one's own fiendishly-contrived initiation. But it was not many days
before I came to regard them in a very different light, as
irreplaceable keepsakes to preserve with the greatest of care.
Afterwards we partied. The Ukrainians led us in a frenetic
dance that they called the "prizawek," and we retaliated by roping
them into a square dance. Only a single round of "vinawe," as the
Ukrainians had named their fermented beverage, was served before the
main show began -- the supply of it being much too small for a
congregation as large as ours.
As far as the performances went, the Ukrainians, who loved to
sing and dance more than any other people I'd ever encountered, gave
us of the 54th a tough act to follow. Our guys put on series of
celebrity impersonations, some pretty good, some absolutely awful.
Cheers went to our "chorus line," some of our girls taking a fling at
the can-can.
With the help of a couple Ukrainian ladies, Ulad Jami, now
called Sonja and married to Nathan Michaels, had thrown together a
little belly-dancer outfit and her earnest undulations almost did
justice to it.
Following Sonja's performance, there were presented three comic
scenes from Shakespeare -- including the famous quarrel between Kate
and Petruccio from THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. After that, a local
writer presented an original skit involving a wife hiding her lover
when her husband comes home unexpectedly. Let's just say that
Shakespeare was scarcely put to shame.
The showstopper had to be Ames' act. Billing herself as
"Melissa," the captain emerged dressed in her best uniform and then
ground out a striptease. (Her fantasy girl, it seemed, had been an
ecdysiast.) Some of the officers looked uneasy as Melissa did her
thing, but the privates loved it. Still, I wondered how Ames
expected to ever again function as a figure of authority after such
an exhibition. And I also wondered what Crawford would have to say
to her afterwards, or for that matter, what did her lover, Philbrick,
thought about it all.
Next it was Alan's turn. A born ham, he had volunteered to
sing some of those old-time songs of his. I squeezed his arm to
encourage him, but to my surprise he took a firm hold of me and
dragged me up to the stage behind him. When he let go, I immediately
attempted to run for cover, but Alan would have none of that. He set
me down upon a stool and drew up another for himself.
"Just sit there, honey," he told me. "I'm going to serenade
you."
"Wait till I get you home, you snake!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," Alan addressed the assembly, "I guess
you don't need to be introduced to our other guest of honor, Major
Rupert Breen. But, excuse me, we've got to get used to calling her
Major Kathy Drew now. Anyway, I want you to know that this little
lady has gotten to be a large part of my life, and that she's getting
larger every day." The mob tittered evilly. I could have punched
Alan out just then!
"When a man loves a woman as much as I love Kathy," my new
spouse went on, "plain words just can't say it all. A fellow has to
have poetry. So, here's a song that expresses I just exactly what I
feel about the person who means everything to me. It's called 'The
Heather and the Broom.'"
He took his seat and balanced his instrument -- a sort of guitar
that one of the Ukrainians had been teaching him to play -- on his
knee. Smiling across my way, he began to strum and his song was the
one that I had heard him practicing all week:
"I come from the land
Of the primrose and ling.
I saw the fleet falcon
And heard the lark sing.
I mimicked the warbler
And whistled its trill;
I watched the clouds drifting
As I climbed up the hill.
"You loved me so kindly
You loved me so well,
You showed me the magic
You could weave with your spell.
Your grace stilled the storm,
Your kiss quelled my woes,
And your eyes mirrored the gleam
Of the stars as they rose.
"We journeyed together
Through seasons of love,
As proud as the eagle,
As calm as the dove.
We felt our joy growing
Through trials forlorn,
I stood by your bedside
When our child was born.
"You loved me so kindly
You loved me so well,
You showed me the magic
You could weave with your spell.
Your grace stilled the storm,
Your kiss quelled my woes,
And your eyes mirrored the gleam
Of the stars as they rose.
"We'll pale like the hoar frost
That withers the rose.
We'll fall like the leaves do
When life finally goes.
But remember, my darling,
The heather and broom,
Whose beauty in springtime
Shall spread o'er our tomb.
"You loved me so kindly
You loved me so well,
You showed me the beauty
You could weave with your spell.
Your grace stilled the storm,
Your kiss quelled my woes,
And your eyes mirrored the gleam
Of the stars as they rose."
As he sang the last reprise, my eyes misted. His song had
driven home to me the surety of loss and bereavement, the fact that
one of us must go on alone some day. Such was the mortal's common
fate and it could never be avoided, but I vowed then and there not to
let even a single day of the life we shared be wasted -- especially
not these precious days of our youth.
His serenade finished, Alan gave me a hug. The crowd clapped
quietly in empathy.
I thought the act was over and so stood up, but Alan nudged me
back into my seat. Addressing the audience again, he said:
"I can't sing any more sad songs -- I'm just too happy. But
there's an old tune that'll fit this occasion much better. I've
written some new words to it and I hope that all of you, and
especially Kathy, will enjoy it. I call it, 'Major Breen.'"
'Major Breen'? My ears pricked up. This sounded like a dirty
trick on me, and so I braced myself for the worst.
"Tra-la-la-la-la la-la-la
Happy Birthday, Major Breen
Happy Birthday, Major Breen!
"Tonight's the night I've waited for,
Because you're not our C-O anymore
You've turned into the loveliest gal I've ever seen.
Happy Birthday, Major Breen!
"What happened to that stiff hardcase?
Our camp commander now wears paint on her face.
I can't believe my eyes
You're just a soldier's dream!
It must be magic, Major Breen!
"When you were on our backs,
You were worse than ague.
Then when we hit Helene,
We thought we'd have to frag you.
"Every night and every day,
You made us toe the line.
But Fate's gone and changed you,
Life's rearranged you,
From now on you're going to be mine!
"So, if I smile with sweet surprise
It's just because you've filled out
Right before my eyes.
You've become the only woman I could love,
Thank you angels high above!
"If I smile with sweet surprise,
It's just because you've filled out
Right before my eyes. . . ."
The music trailed off and Alan finished his song softly and a
cappella:
"You've turned into the prettiest girl I ever knew . . . ."
I'll never forget the look he was casting into my eyes.
". . . Let me tell the world I love you -- Kathy Drew."
I let Alan draw me close, and then, with the whole world
watching, we kissed a kiss that shut out everything else in the
universe -- everything, that is, except ourselves.
*******
Epilogue
*True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.*
KING RICHARD III
With only a few more pages in my journal, I should bring this
memoir to its close. But my decision to end it here is more than
just a matter of writing material. Were I to go on beyond this
point, my narrative would cease to be the story of a man of Earth
named Rupert Breen, and become, seamlessly, that of Katherine Drew, a
woman of the planet Eden.
It is not that I believe that Katherine's life must be an
uninteresting one -- far from it. I have, in fact, begun recording
the chronicles of the 54th upon clay tablets, using a space-saving
shorthand which I have developed. But Kathy's story would be
impossible to present except as a kind of diary. Unlike Rupert's
life, Katherine's has only begun to unfold -- at least I hope that
that is true.
I shall now summarize the more important events of the last few
months. Except for a few detachees who chose to marry and remain at
the Ukrainian villages, all of our people have returned to us. Klink
is just one of several hamlets about this area now. Casimir
convinced us that it would be wise to establish a number of different
settlements, so that our men would not have to journey so far each
morning to reach the fields. And it takes many large fields and a
wide hunting ground to provide for over five hundred people.
A new spring has come around and, though it seems as if they
arrived only yesterday, most of our Ukrainian friends have already
departed for home. Among those who have remained behind are Casimir,
Irina, and Natalya. These three have no families to return to, and
perhaps they understand just how much we still need them. They have
become the grandfather and grandmothers of all of us, and we consult
with them often -- whenever the wisdom and good sense that comes with
a long life is called for. One can scarcely believe how often that
is.
Another Ukrainian staying with us is Mikhail Chatilov. Widowed
childless after five years on Eden, Mikhail has dearly wanted a new
wife and family. His efforts have won the hand of one of our women,
she who now chooses to call herself Rachel. I have to confess that I
played a matchmaker's role in this affair, advising Mikhail on the
subject of his beloved's tastes and how to get on her good side. My
intervention must have helped, for his courtship flourished after
that, despite its very rocky start. It was hard to suddenly have to
start calling Sebastian Lowry 'Rachel Chatilov' -- but, no doubt,
accepting me as Mrs. Katherine Drew had been equally difficult for
her.
I think that the match will be a good one for Rachel. So far,
at least, she has voiced no complaints about her partner, either as a
companion or a father.
Yes, a new Sebastian Lowry is now with us. I think, and I pray,
that this gift of Eden will heal the wound that Rachel has endured
since the loss of her original family. Anyway, between her husband,
her infant, and her work, she will have little time to think beyond
the moment.
But the first child born in Klink was actually Lucy Roberts.
Mary and Harold still hope for a son and have decided that should
they have more than one, the first should be a Roberts and second a
Hitchcock. Otherwise the name of Hitchcock would disappear forever,
and that would not be fair. Alan likes their plan and suggests that
we should do the same. So, God willing, there may yet be established
a house of Breen upon the planet Eden. I might also add here that
Mary's little girl has never lacked for milk, though her mother once
feared her starvation.
Melissa lately got pregnant and she and Philbrick were married.
Crawford seems to be serious about a Ukrainian woman named Nadezhda,
whom he met during his stay at her village. Alan and I, by the way,
passed some months in the Ukrainian hamlets ourselves, training their
best and brightest in medical procedure. My technical role there was
as an official liaisons between our settlements, but I was pretty
much obligated to act the part of Alan's nurse-assistant all that
while. In result, I probably learned more about medicine than any of
the students whom Alan had come to teach.
Living away from the battle group was quite an education in
other ways, too. For one thing, there was the novelty of observing
and interacting with youngsters of all ages. Sebastian was right it
now seems; there is an undeniable magic in children, one which must
be experienced to be appreciated. Then, too, I learned a lot about
how real women think by sharing in their society from day to day, but
yet I have to say that I still feel more comfortable in the company
of men.
Alan attempted to realize Sebastian's -- Rachel's -- program for
eliminating infectious illness upon Eden. We may actually have made
some progress in this regard but, despite all we do, who knows when
the population may be reinfected by a new batch of exiles dropping
down from space?
Anyway, Alan and I are now back where we belong. Despite my
early fears, he was not lured away from me by any Ukrainian
temptress. There is much that binds us together after all, not least
of which being the child whose tossings and turnings I feel within me
even now. Soon, very soon, I shall behold my son or daughter face to
face -- and then I shall know that particular pride of the life-giver
which has decided the course of so much human history.
Even if I were not facing imminent child-rearing, there still
would be no lack of things to do. Though I'm sure that Crawford
would return command to me for the asking, the privileges and burdens
of rank no longer hold any special appeal for me. Life seems full
and rich enough without them and, besides, Crawford fits the image of
an all-purpose "tribal chief" than ever I could -- at least the way
that things have worked out.
I hear hail-fellow voices and laughter all around me. Yet it is
never far from my mind that sorrow must from time to time turn joy to
mourning. Our cemetery so far holds but two graves, but with the
march of time there shall be more -- many more. The closer I come to
bearing life myself, the more conscious I am of death's overawing
shadow, even though it seems small at this moment, like the shadows
cast by the noonday sun. The more my contentment grows it appears,
the more I recognize that sadness and separation is the inescapable
destiny of all mankind.
When I visit our little graveyard, as I sometimes do, I think of
all the future families of Eden -- the Breens, the Lowrys, the
Chatilovs, the Hitchcocks, the Drews, the Roberts, and so many
others, but I feel a deep, dull ache to know that there shall be no
Olsons, no Woolenskas. These two young people didn't have to die --
at least not so soon, so foolishly, and so uselessly. They never
knew, and no one of us was as yet wise enough to tell them, that they
feared only the unknown. It is an awesome thing, the unknown, but
while it must be faced, it never should be feared. The unknown which
destroyed these fine soldiers turned out to be nothing more terrible
than the possibility of immortality.
I speak not, of course, of the immortality of the individual.
The grave must eventually receive the whole of the 54th, since, as
Xerxes once lamented, the greatest of armies must quickly turn to
dust. It is not armies, but families which are eternal. My
generation shall pass away, as have all others before it, but we will
yet live on in our children's flesh, and in their memories. If we
live well, then perhaps we shall be remembered well.
None of us expected to leave a legacy when this strange
adventure began. We of the 54th had been like sterile seeds fallen
upon dry and barren ground. But, as if by magic, that has ceased to
be true. We have become instead the seedlings of a mighty forest
that is yet to be. We have, in fact, discovered ourselves in the
midst of a miracle -- the miracle of Man in partnership with Woman.
Today we plant whatever we find at hand, but who knows the name
of the harvest? Not four thousand years separate the farmers of
Jericho from Earth's colonies in the stars. In four thousand years
more, what will the seeds of Eden have yielded? Villages, city
states, kingdoms, nations? Another empire in the sky? The
possibilities are too awesome to contemplate.
I, Katherine Drew, Rupert Breen, or by whatever name I might
call myself, wish that I might live those four thousand years, might
see it all happen before my eyes. But, sadly, my fellow castaways
and I may do no more than lay the foundations upon which others must
build. There is much we can do in the short span granted us, of
course, and much that we must do. But we should never forget
precisely what we are building, and whom we are building it for.
Now my log is nearly full. Let me end the story of Rupert Breen
with this single thought:
Nothing that we dream, nothing that we aspire to, nothing that
we achieve has any purpose -- unless its purpose extends beyond
ourselves, unless it seeks for the well-being of future ages, unless
it strives to reach out and clasp the hand of Destiny. . . .
. . . . Unless, I mean, it is for the children.
THE END
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