Chapter 13 - Week 2: Sunday - Atlantis Bound

As they were now on official business, the newly-extracted sponsors on board Princess Sophia were dressed in the transportation uniform of one-piece overall, to distinguish themselves from the Fleet Auxiliary crew manning the ship. Also in the meeting were Decurion and Sub-Decurion Whitefeather, Sub-Decurion Chan, Decurion Price from the City of Paris, and Major MacAllistor.

"Issue number one is space, as in the acute shortage thereof," Ben announced. "We are an unusually high CAP-scoring group, and we're being crammed into the pods at a positively unhealthy rate, and not all the family groups have filled out their allotment of concubines."

"We actually would normally be using a couple of Aurora-class transports for a group this size," confessed Major MacAllistor. "We don't usually have both spouses as sponsors, which is the case here with almost every household. Most of the teens over 13 have a high enough CAP score to sponsor at least a couple of concubines, and that's without the maximization rules applicable to breeding colonies."

The AI advised, "A second Aurora-class would have just sufficient space. You would not be able to add any further sponsors to the list."

"Can we get a second Aurora?" enquired Bella Catalia, one of the Heywoods' closest friends, prior to extraction a professor at MIT, and now the Lieutenant Governor of Atlantis.

The Targeted Extraction team looked at Tribune Whitefeather, as his face grew that faraway look from subvocal communications. "Yes, it'll work," he announced to nobody. Turning to the meeting, he conversationally announced, "Clara Barton."

"The individual or the ship?" Major MacAllistor asked, puzzled.

"The ship. It's functionally identical to the Auroras, and has to ship out to Atlantis for training anyway. The pods are just configured to be wards and treatment areas, not housing. We'll have her borrow 70 pods from the asteroid belt production facilities, and pick up the hospital ship pods on her way to her duty station."

"Why not 76 pods?"

"They still need six pods to train on at Atlantis. We can't replace those at site just yet, so we don't have a 100% Aurora pretending to be a hospital ship, we'll have a hospital ship partially functioning as an Aurora."

"Actually, functioning 92.10526% as an Aurora," Melodie advised, as if anyone could be expected to do the mental math in a millisecond.

Decurion Price looked at Melodie as if she'd just grown a second head. "Shouldn't she have pointy ears and eyebrows?"

Melodie smirked, definitely not insulted. "Maybe I'll have that done when I get to have my enhancements, although I don't think they can do the copper-based blood thing too." She turned to her father, and affected a much more child-like speech pattern. "Daddy, can I have a twibble?"

"No, not a real one - they breed like bunnies on Viagra, and besides, they're fictional. But why don't you have the AI help you make a prop tribble, the instructions are on the Net." He continued, closing the subject as quickly as possible, "The next thing we have to worry about are those concubines from the abuse shelter. They're mostly too freaked out by that unpleasantness a couple of days ago to make good concubines for anybody, and just leaving them in the pool for the Civil Service to farm out as comfort women will be just making the situation worse. They need to be given loving homes as soon as possible."

"Well, why don't we do this?" suggested Marcie. "We've 16 of them, right? Some concubines who are handling the 'Mommy' role in their pods need to have a place to take the kids to play, a sort of "Mommy and Me" idea. We'll set up a play care centre in each township and use the concubines to provide a resource there."

"And at night? They're going to need someone to look after them, and look out for them."

"I'd point out that I and my sisters have CAP scores high enough to grant us up to six concubines apiece, eight with the rules in place, and you've only allowed each of us two." She shrugged. "That means we're actually allowed an additional 18, when we come of age. We can foster them."

"Foster?" Tribune Whitefeather blinked. "How would that work?"

"Technically, they're still 'sponsored', or 'owned', or whatever you want to call it, by the Civil Service. But as long as they're in our pods, they're treated as family. If they're still with us when we reach 14, we'll consider offering them our sponsorship. Granted that's one year, two months, twelve days, fourteen hours and forty-four minutes from now for me, and more for my sisters, but still that means for some time they can live in a fairly stable environment with a large female factor and a female sponsor."

"And you're going to keep them pregnant with just one guy each?"

"Mommy and Daddy have LOTS of male concubines,' Carrie reminded everyone. "They took three couples each, filling out the rest of their slots with single mothers from the American inner-city school extraction, and as we're still sharing the same household the three of us have access to those males. With our own three, I think we can keep our ladies in lots of loving."

The meeting carried on for another while, until just before lunch. The cue to end the meeting came from Mousie Tongue, who chose that particular moment to leap onto the table and make her way onto Major MacAllistor's invitingly warm and Marine-standard-package large lap. "Tribune Whitefeather. This reminds me. That breeding colony of cats..."

Ben looked at Mousie with some dismay. "Control of the cats will be strictly enforced. Agreed? They're not allowed out of the family's pod unless securely within a cat carrier. Which means that Mousie here is AWOL." He looked at the ceiling. "We need a collar for the cats with an embedded tracking device, similar to the concubine collars. AI, can you provide us with one?"

"Yes, Governor Haywood. A modified version of the collar currently worn by cat Mousie Tongue Henderson is available in the replicator."

"Carrie, could you do the honours? And please, return Mousie to her family's assigned pod."

1:25 PM Eastern, New York City:

Doctor Lillian Garcia, DVM, had finally nailed down a job interview. The vet in question seemed quite young, in maybe his early 20's, but Tony was enthusiastic. She herself needed a job; being newly-qualified meant that she was up to her eyeballs in debt and had no chance to build up her own practice. Her current employer had let her know that as she was fully-qualified, she now needed to find a non-student position.

It was unusual to be interviewed at a coffee shop. It was even more unusual to be interviewed at a coffee shop on a Sunday. Tony explained that his practice had been growing and today had been insanely busy. He needed the break from the office as quickly as he needed a new vet.

"Now, my last question: if you had a chance to get extracted, would you?"

"My CAP score is six point eight; I'd like to be extracted. But I'm no warrior, and you can only get extracted if you fight or want to be a concubine." She grew concerned. "I hope that my wanting to be extracted doesn't go against me."

"I think not," Tony advised her. To Lilian's astonishment, the view to the outside of the coffee shop turned grey. "Just a second, I have something I have to do."

Three big burly Confederacy Marines came strutting out of a storage room at the back of the coffee shop. Tony stood up and acknowledged their presence, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Sub-Decurion Anthony Chan of the Confederacy Civil Service, and I am here with these Marines to extract three volunteers and their concubines. Now, while I'm calling out their names, can those who do NOT wish to be extracted please go to the back of the store while those who DO please make three lines here - couples, single ladies and single gentlemen. I note the lack of kids here..."

He turned to Lilian apologetically. "You were the high-priority. We need a vet on a colony world." He grinned ruefully. "On the bright side, you get your school bills paid for. Now, shall I help you choose a couple of concubines?"

8:50 PM GMT, London, England:

"Halt! Halt or I'll shoot!"

"Um, we happen to know for a fact that you're not armed, Ma'am." The young-looking man and his female companion stepped out of the shadows, covered by a dozen heavily armed and battle-armoured Confederacy Marines. This time, Sub-Decurion Chan wore his Civil Service greys.

The office phone rang behind the woman. Not taking her eyes off the intruders, she fumbled with the phone. "Southwark Animal Shelter."

As she listened to her boss' voice on the other end of the line, the young lady's eyes grew big. "Yes, Ma'am, yes Ma'am, will do, Ma'am...." She turned to the Sub-Decurion. "You want our cats?"

"If you want to go too, just give me your CAP card."

She proffered her CAP card, showing a six point five - sponsor level, if only just. "My daughter. She's with my mother."

"A team will be showing up at her door in about thirty seconds. We'll extract your daughter, and your mother as well if she's got her CAP card on her."

"Who will be my mother's sponsor? She's a five point eight."

"You can be," advised the woman with the Brooklyn accent. "I'm Lillian Garcia, DVM."

"Marilyn Robson, volunteer at the shelter, and studying to be a veterinary surgeon. I get a second concubine?" She was so nervous, her voice squeaked. She must have been holding herself as tight as a drum.

"None are here, but after we get into our new home in orbit, there are some nice men to choose from in the concubine pool. In the meantime, let's evacuate the cats. I understand we have 41 cats here at the moment. Are any reserved for anyone?"

She shook her head, still petrified. "As far as I know, they are all available for adoption."

"Well," assured Lillian, "as astonishing as it sounds, they will still be available for adoption, just... not on this planet." She pointed to a pile of cat carriers. "Shall we get going? We have a few other animal shelters to hit tonight."

10:45 Eastern, Confederate Systems Ship John Cabot

Tribune Whitefeather was enjoying a nice hot cocoa and the comfort of his concubine Della as he sat behind his desk in his office. His former concubine, now Sub-Decurion Callie Whitefeather, was snoozing on the couch, quite exhausted from her day's workload. Sitting on the couch across from her was Sub-Decurion Chan, who wasn't much more energetic. Major MacAllistor came in, bearing a peace offering of coffees, teas and a package of 48 Timbits - he'd sent a Fleet Auxiliary rating on a Timmy's run.

William took his double-double gratefully. "How are our charges on the Atlantic Clipper?"

"Doing well, all things considered. We still have a large number of available pods we can release for general pickups. No problems reported from the Barton or the Sophia, they should enter the Atlantisat system in about a month. I bet you're glad to get those three girls out of your hair?"

"While I still have hair. I was sure I was going to tear it out faster than the nanites could get it restored." William inhaled a mouthful of coffee and popped an apple fritter flavoured Timbit into his mouth. "Fleet called. It looks like Mount Olympus will be finished her space trials on schedule, in three weeks. We'll be able to do the MIT scoop before the general graduation."

James nodded approvingly. "And after that, General Acquisitions can start large-scale extractions. It'll be out of our hands. I'm sure the battalions assigned to the MIT scoop will end up with some fascinating stories to tell." James settled himself in a large leather chair, and was now regarding William over a glass of Glenlivet. "And I hear you've made it official: your home colony is now Atlantis?"

William nodded, feeding Della a chocolate Timbit.

"Then you'll be interested to hear this. They've decided to make the place the Cap d'Agde of space. Everything except the Confederacy military areas. Apparently it was Marcie Haywood who suggested it."

"The what of space?" William subvocally asked the AI to fill in the missing pieces as the grin grew on James' face.

"Oh, bloody hell." William put his hand to his forehead.