Chapter 11 - Saturday Pickup

Extraction Day, or "E-Day" as the Haywood daughters had been referring to it, dawned cool but clear. By 9:00, Marianne had finished with the checklist, confirmed that all members of all the families were present and accounted for. By 9:30, everyone was hearing the momentous news: a scoop type extraction. Everyone who wanted to go was going immediately, without the usual "cattle call". The sorting out of which concubine belonged to which sponsor would be done in orbit. A quick poll determined that everyone present definitely wanted to go.

As a squad of Marines came marching down the footpath from the visitors' parking lot, the cry rose: "We need to celebrate!" By the time the Marines were actually able to identify themselves, disposable plastic wineglasses had been broken out, filled with the high-quality contribution from the Haywood cellar, and distributed to the assembled throng. Other glasses and bottles of champagne and orange juice were opened, to create the delightful Sunrise Surprise. The nonplussed Marines were offered a libation, but demurred as they were presently on duty - and on what was considered hazardous duty at that. One bottle of Côtes du Rhône was reserved for the Marines to uncork when they went off duty - and another for the ship's replicators to pattern for future consumption.

The crowd then paraded ('marched' would be too generous a description for the partially-pickled party) back down the footpath the Marines had just come from, to enter the nexus and head up to Princess Sophia.

Before the Marines boarded the nexus, the corporal shook his head and asked the sergeant, "You ever see a lot like this one?"

The sergeant shook his head in bemusement. "Don't know what they're going to make of them up on the Sophia."

"Tribune, sir? Just how are we supposed to tell the concubines from the volunteers?" The sergeant nodded toward the knot of people sorting themselves in the large room.

"Ah..." Tribune Whitefeather whirled around, as did Major MacAllistor and Sub-Decurion Chan. All three could see the issue right away.

"Ah..." the Tribune blinked, mouth agape.

"Jesus H. Christ." Major MacAllistor had never seen the like of this before.

In an effort to keep the concubines psychologically off-balance and to drive home the fact that they were now the volunteers' property, it was standard procedure on the typical pick-up to make the concubines strip before boarding the colony ship - not necessarily followed in all instances, but most of the time. Usually that worked quite well, as most people grew up in a 'textile' environment, with nudity being 'different' and thereby acutely embarrassing for the naked individual. The volunteers under this scenario would usually re-dress as quickly as possible, and the dependants would never be nude in the first place. The three men gazed at the calm sea of sky-clad sponsors, concubines and dependants and realized that with a naturist group like this one, the most efficient tactic in the Confederacy's arsenal just would not work. They were all nude, but not naked: physically bare but not psychologically bare.

The ship's bells struck twice in quick succession, as the three officers tried desperately to reboot their organic computers. Behind them, a few of the Marines started to snicker as the implications sank in.

The ship's bells struck twice again.

"The next man to laugh will be transferred to a platoon of penguins at the South Pole!" barked the frustrated Major. The snickering was instantly swallowed, but the smiles could only be hidden.

"Four bells on the First Watch and all is well!" intoned the ship's AI.

"No, all is bloody well not well," muttered Sub-Decurion Chan.

"AI, can you tell the difference between sponsor, concubine and dependant when they're all nude like that?" Tribune Whitefeather demanded.

"Affirmative, Tribune Whitefeather. I am tracking each individual."

"Can we use tan lines, maybe? The ones without tan lines are the sponsors?" suggested the Major in desperation.

"While almost all sponsors in this pick-up lack tan lines," advised the remorseless AI, "so do almost all dependants and concubines, Major MacAllistor. Using the presence or absence of tan lines is not a reliable way of visually separating the three classes."

"Gunny, we'll just have to get the concubines into collars and the dependants into wrist bands as fast as possible." Whitefeather shook his head. This continued to be the strangest extraction he'd yet been on - and considering that they WERE the Office of Targeted Extractions, that was impressive.

As the Major was about to mount the small podium and start giving the Extraction 101 lecture, he noted yet another anomaly, on a pick-up loaded with anomalies. "What the Hell is that?" he demanded, pointing to a small case being carried by a very young girl.

"It appears to be a specimen of the species Felis catus," Carrie Haywood advised the Major, appearing as if from nowhere. She took a closer look in the cage. "Short-haired mackerel in colour phase."

"Thank you, Linnaeus. What I meant by my question is, what is a cat doing on this ship?"

"She's mine," the youngster said, serious-faced. "I asked if I could take Mousie. That voice said I could!"

"'That voice', eh?" Major MacAllistor swung around to Tribune Whitefeather. "Would 'that voice' be the AI, do you think?"

As the Tribune guessed "Probably," the AI responded with "Affirmative, Major MacAllistor. Arguments were presented similar to those for rabbits. The girl was permitted to bring her pet along. As it is pregnant, we will soon have additional pets for the colony. Samples of cat food have been entered into the replicator data banks, as have cat toys, dishes and ancillary gear."

Major MacAllistor glared at the Tribune. "This is your problem. Find me a breeding colony of domestic cats, and a vet." As he mounted the podium, the girl gave a "Yay!" Carrie agreed with her own "Yay!"

"Yay," muttered Whitefeather with considerably less enthusiasm. "I'm supposed to be extracting humans, dammit." He stared at the young girl. "'Mousie'?"

She nodded, holding the cage up for his closer perusal. "Mousie Tongue!"

"Of... course... why... not...." Whitefeather winced and rubbed his forehead. "Say, would either of your parents be a professor of political science?"

The girl nodded affably. "Both of them, at Boston University."

"Ah, that explains the name."

Sub-Decurion Chan wrinkled his nose in puzzlement. "I don't get it."

The girl was only too happy to explain. "It's a pun on the name of the Chinese Communist leader Mao Zedong, the Communist Chinese dictator who lived from 1893 to 1976."

"You should know this better than any of us," needled Major MacAllistor.

"I was born and raised in Atlanta," Chan replied indignantly. "My parents were born and raised in Atlanta. My grandparents were born and raised in Atlanta. Ask me about Sherman's march through Georgia, that's part of my cultural history. China in the Twentieth Century is not."

The youngster hadn't stopped. "His father was a poor peasant who had become a wealthy farmer and grain dealer. At age 8 he began studying at the village primary school, but left school at 13 to work on the family farm."

'Does this girl have an 'off' switch?' Chan subvocalized to his superior.

'Apparently not.'

The barrage of Communist Chinese trivia continued as the perplexed Civil Service officers blinked at her. Surely this little wisp of a thing had to take a breath sometime?

The voice of the AI finally broke in with, 'This female evidences an unusually high level of intellect. It might be useful to have her submit to an experimental CAP score.'

'I don't think so,' Chan replied hurriedly.

'No, AI. Just... just no.' Whitefeather had had enough AIs get curious over hyper-intelligent young naturist girls for one month, thank you very much. As he had the most experience with this bunch, he turned to the Major. 'I think I should take charge of this little cluster fuck,' he subvocalized. 'Do you object?'

'Object? I'm bloody delighted. Go right ahead.'

Tribune Whitefeather mounted the podium, activating the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard the Aurora class colony transport Princess Sophia. Please get into your family units and we'll get this process started. First, appoint one sponsor-class member the leader of your family unit, preferably the adult with the highest CAP score." Insisting that the leader be an adult, he hoped, would keep dealing with the Haywood girls to an absolute minimum. Predictably for this herd of rather eccentric cats, it took a few minutes for the noise level to die back down again. "Have that leader come forward with the family's CAP cards. When you get up here, let us know of any and all medical conditions, like diabetes or asthma. We'll have them treated first, and then start cycling the rest of the households through the medical pods for an initial check.

"Right now, we are in the forward part of the Princess Sophia. Half of you will be housed in the after part of the ship, so we'll send those families there right after we get the CAP cards collected. Both ends of the ship are identical, don't worry about that.

"When you get out of Medical, all concubines will be wearing collars, and all dependants will be wearing wristbands. The wristbands and collars allow the AI to talk to you individually, and to track your whereabouts at all times. Do not try to wear someone else's collar or remove your own, I can guarantee you that you won't like the results. Sponsors will get implants that allow you to talk to the AI subvocally."

"You will then be assigned a pod. Note that the AI will only open the door for the sponsor, by default it will not obey the concubines or the dependants. I recommend you instruct the AI respond to information requests from your concubines and dependants, and to open the door to permit entrance by them.

"Your pods will be dropped off with you, they are now your homes. You can modify them to a certain extent while they're attached to Princess Sophia, and expand them to full size when you reach Atlantis.

"Once everyone's located their pod, we'll have lunch in the dining halls. Then we'll have our first 'Life in the Confederacy 101' lecture."

Everyone stared at him, overloaded with information. "Well, people? MOVE! CAP cards and emergency medical conditions, NOW!"

They moved.