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CHAPTER SIX - LEARNING

When Caroline, John, and Carmen boarded the Falcon, Jinjur was there to greet them as they cycled through the lock.

"We've been watching the flouwen at Agua Dulce on the monitor. Looks like Blue Boy has come out of his trance. Jupiter has taken over the discussion with the flouwen of how best to use the laser communicator for conversations with Earth and they have been talking it over for twenty minutes now. Caroline? Maybe you would like to join in on the discussion?"

Caroline did not need to be prompted further. Her engineer's instincts urged her to examine any new ideas the flouwen might present. Quickly shedding the bulky spacesuit, Caroline climbed clumsily up the passageway that led to the upper decks. After years in weightlessness and then all day in the heavy outside gear, she had trouble compensating exactly for Rocheworld's gravity. John looked after her retreating figure and stretched as luxuriously as a cat. He too, was glad to be free of the suit, but his natural dignity refused to let him show his awkwardness until he had time to readjust to the one-twelfth gee.

"I think I'll go listen in to that conversation too," John said. "But first I'm going to stop at the galley and fix myself a long cool drink of iced tea with a real mint leaf. Dehydrating work, wandering around out there." He smiled at the two women and climbed leisurely off after Caroline.

"Good," said Jinjur, watching him leave. After he had gone, she turned to face Carmen. "I want to talk to you alone."

Carmen was just restoring her suit in its locker. She had tried to disguise her weariness with a meticulous check of the safety equipment, but John's mention of a drink of iced tea had made her mouth water. There had been an odd flavor in her mouth for days now, almost as if her mouth were reminding her that she was made of meat. Now, standing in the low gravity, it seemed as if Jinjur were looming over her, even though she was three inches taller than her commander.

"Jupiter has gotten some very unusual messages from your personal imp lately," Jinjur started in her most authoritative tone. "Your blood sugars are way down, so is your blood pressure and your electrolyte levels. Your reactions have been slow and your temper too quick." She held up a warning hand to stop Carmen's indignant denials. "No, your work has been fine, but still, I am insisting that you visit John in a professional capacity. We have a perfectly adequate sick bay arrangement here on the Falcon."

Anger crept into Jinjur's voice. "If you were having trouble, it was stupid of you to try to hide it! You are endangering the whole mission! You will not be allowed off this lander until you prove to me that you are fit." Furious, Jinjur stomped up the rungs of the passway ladder to the control deck.

Carmen's imp had reported to Jinjur Carmen's exhaustion on the surface. Jinjur just hoped that it was nothing serious. In the back of her mind she kept remembering the plots of unlikely science fiction movies where visiting the surface of a planet caused strange illnesses among the crew. To make things worse, Sam's party was taking too long in coming back. With the mountain hiding them from the lander and the commsat Walter, and Barbara over Roche during this part of its orbital cycle, Jinjur could not just casually check up on their progress. No doubt she was overreacting; she might be the one in command, but she commanded good people. They wouldn't let things get out of hand.

 

"Careful! Careful! Don't drop him, Herb!" Sam shouted to the others. As they crested the hill, they had stopped to shift from pushing the huge red wheel up the slope, to keeping it from rolling down the other side. The drysuited flouwen where having enough trouble maintaining their own balance and momentum on the steep grade and the three humans were struggling with the awkward crystallized flouwen.

"Don't drop it 'Herb'?" Tony had breath enough to ask, as he maneuvered himself around to the front. He had done most of the pushing, since Sam's height was more useful in guiding the awkward crystal around the rocky slope.

"I don't know . it was one of my mother's expressions," Sam explained crossly. Tony might have been doing all the pushing but he had done the steering. Sam just wished that Tony would hurry and get around in front of the wheel to keep it from rolling downhill too fast. Even in one-twelfth gee, a rock the size of a four meter platter was heavy.

Cinnamon was only helping to balance the wheel from the side, but it was tense work. When she realized she was singing 'Old Man River' she decided to try and lighten the mood. "Little Red bounced down this hill before," she said. "Maybe we should just let go and let him bounce down again?"

Although Loud Red was rocked up, he wasn't in hibernation and could hear what was being said. A tiny flab of red flesh appeared near the center of the crystallized wheel.

*No!* protested Roaring*Hot*Vermillion. *Bits of me would chip off!*

«Besides, the disk would very likely tip over on to its side. Out of the water we would have a lot more trouble getting it upright again.»

"Why don't we just leave it on the hillside?" Cinnamon continued, teasing. "What do you want all this extra mass for anyway? Won't it be unmanageable to be so big?"

*Size equals intelligence . besides, I will just make a youngling and pass on the extra.*

‡You'll need to make more than one before your intelligence drops back down to the Loud Red we are used to,‡ Little Purple said sourly.

"Okay," said Tony as he got the wheel balanced in a comfortable spot against his back. "Let's go." Using the well developed muscles in his calves and thighs, Tony began the slow descent, easing the huge crystal down the face of the mountain toward the ocean.

Slowly, with Sam's gentle guidance, they worked their way down the slope to where the waves broke, foaming up onto the sandy beach to greet them. The first wavelets broke over Tony's boots, evaporating with a hiss of steam. As they waded in further, the water reached the dehydrated flouwen. Suddenly, the huge red wheel swelled up and splashed down, leaving the humans sprawled in a pile as Roaring*Hot*Vermillion turned back into his normal shape as a large blob floating in the ocean. Shortly thereafter the other two flouwen were out of their suits and back in the water.

Cinnamon ran splashing into the waves to join the three flouwen. Humming the theme song from Hawaii Five-Oh, Cinnamon ignored her suit's frantic attempts to readjust to the change in outside pressure and temperature. Soon the waves were breaking over her visor, and just as quickly the water was stained with the swirling colors of her flouwen companions.

*What are you doing?* asked the now huge Roaring*Hot*Vermillion. *I can hear you making noises, but your Sound¤Maker doesn't explain what the noises mean!*

"What noise?" asked Cinnamon. In reply, Loud Red made the water around her vibrate with the tempo of the drum solo Cinnamon had been humming moments before. The song had been repeated in exactly in the right tune and tempo.

"I was singing. I do it all the time . whatever song matches the mood. The computer knows that I don't mean it to be transmitted to others, and has adjusted itself to ignore it."

*I do not understand 'singing'. Explain it to me!* It was odd to hear the human word resonate through the water from the red flouwen.

Cinnamon was confused and puzzled by Loud Red's reply. Jupiter had been unable to translate the word to the alien's satisfaction, so that must mean that the flouwen didn't know anything about singing. But, in that case, how could she go about explaining the concept of music to a creature that normally used sound to see with? On the other hand, how could a creature as intelligent and as sonically talented as the flouwen not enjoy such art forms? If humans enjoyed pictures, then surely the flouwen would enjoy music.

"Singing, or music really, is an art form of ours. It is basically the combining of tones . pitches? . frequencies? in a way meant to appeal to the emotions of others." It was hard to pick words that she knew the computer would be able to translate clearly to the aliens. "We divide up our range of audible tones into eight basic intervals." Cinnamon remembered that the flouwen used a base eight counting system, so at least that wouldn't be hard for them to grasp. Hoping that her relative pitch would be able to handle it, she self-consciously began to sing "Do Ra Me Fa So La Ti Do!" Jupiter, aware of her intentions, corrected the tones during the translation through to the suits outside imp and Cinnamon adjusted herself into pitch. "We also recognize many half tones .

." This time Cinnamon sang the whole scale, including the sharps and flats. "Then the whole thing is repeated, only one octave higher." Cinnamon started as low as she could and let Jupiter guide her up note by note.

"There are twelve notes," Jupiter picked up, rescuing the levibiologist. "The frequency of each note is higher than the previous note by a factor of the twelfth root of two. After twelve notes, or an octave, the difference is exactly two, which is the harmonic of the first note."

Little White came closer and joined the conversation. «We understand the mathematical relationship between the notes, they are just tones with different variations of frequencies. But how can this have anything to do with emotion? Anyone can see the emotional state of another. Since my research is the study of humans, I have even learned to see some of their emotions. I can tell, even through your suit, by the configuration of the skin wrinkles on your forehead and the change of your pulse rate, that you are now feeling confused. It may be harder to see up in the thinness of the air, but I still do not think this music will do what you think it will.»

Cinnamon thought about the reply. With their extreme sonic sensitivity, it was highly likely that the flouwen could indeed read in another flouwen whatever physical reactions that their emotions produced. At least that helped to explain their lack of politeness. What good would polite fiction be, when all one's emotions were legible to all? All lies would be impossible, even "I'm sorry". If you were truly repentant, it would be seen and needn't be expressed verbally. Still, she gave it another shot.

"With music you can influence emotion, at least in humans. Certain keys and rhythms make us feel happy, others inspire sadness or fear ."

*Why would you want to inspire fear? Is this for self-defense or hunting?*

"Neither, but we humans enjoy tiny doses of fear, we find it exhilarating. Just like you like to go surfing!"

*Surfing is fun! It has nothing to do with loudness and pitches!*

Cinnamon turned to the men who had come into the water behind her and were quietly listening to the conversation. She shrugged helplessly at them. "Can you guys explain? I am never going to get this through to them. For smart creatures they can be really dense."

"Why don't you try just singing to them?" suggested Sam. "Pick one sad song and one happy one. At the least they will be able to see your emotional reactions."

All of a sudden Cinnamon's mind went blank. "Help!" she called to them. "I can't think of a single sad song!"

"How about the "Streets of El Paso"? That one always made . my mother cry," Sam offered.

Cinnamon was delighted at the suggestion. She launched into the ballad without inhibitions, and before the second verse, Cinnamon felt her heart ache with the tragedy of the story. By the time the outlaw was lying in his lover's arms, she could hardly see through the tears that the light gravity left brimming in her eyes. When she finished, the three flouwen were silent. Obviously the music had done nothing to them. Finally Little Purple spoke.

‡Very intriguing. But is it the story of failure that makes you sad, or the music?‡

"It's both. The music sets the mood so that the listener will be more receptive to the story," Tony explained. He had always thought very little of the song. No woman was worth a hard ride through a dessert, much less facing a posse. Still he had to admit that it pulled at the heartstrings. He was glad that Cinnamon had not chosen the aria from I Pagliacci. That song ripped the old heartstrings out with both hands!

For contrast, Cinnamon launched into a rousing rendition of "Roll Out the Barrel" and soon had the men doing a slow motion polka in the water. The dance was interrupted by the sudden return of the free portions of the three flouwen that had stayed behind in the water while their drysuited portions had explored the island.

Dainty~Blue~Warble had been impatiently scanning the shallow coastline with his long range sonar, awaiting the return of the other flouwen, anxious to be free of baby-sitting duty. Once that he sensed that the exploration party had returned, the light blue flouwen roused the small "free" portions of the adventurers and sent them to join the rest of themselves, then swam rapidly in the opposite direction. As much as it wanted to learn all about the travels of the other three flouwen, it didn't want to risk the elder's reaction to the way the smaller portions of themselves had been treated in their absence. He didn't want to be around when they realized that most of the day had been wasted in trying to determine if pi ended in a repeating sequence. Indeed, as he vanished around the ridge that separated the beach from Agua Dulce cove, Dainty~Blue~Warble heard the indignant squawks of Roaring*Hot*Vermillion, Clear«»White«»Whistle, and Strong‡Lavender‡Crackle as they shared awareness with themselves. Forgetting all about the music lesson in their sudden need for revenge, Clear«»White«»Whistle and Strong‡Lavender‡Crackle streaked off in search of the presumptuous youngling.

"Well?" asked Cinnamon rather bruskly, more annoyed than surprised at this response to her performance. "What was that all about? Are you going, too, Loud Red?"

Roaring*Hot*Vermillion didn't want to explain to this human how Dainty~Blue~Warble had taken advantage of their temporary ignorance. "With this latest addition, I am now much too large! I am going to find some others to make a youngling with and get rid of some of this bloat!*

"One of us should go along and get more pictures of the mating process," said Sam reluctantly, "but we should get these samples back to the ship first." During their long expedition to the lake, they had collected several rocks that might be disguised life and he was anxious to get back to the lab in the Falcon so he could examine them.

"I'm going to go with Loud Red and watch," said Cinnamon, hoping that she wasn't being too pushy. She knew that Nels would want samples of the new youngling tissue at various stages of its formation and hoped that Loud Red would agree to this, now that the flouwen knew the humans better.

"I'll help you winch up the samples, then follow Cinnamon out. OK, Sam?" asked Tony. He had a hard time accepting that a woman could be capable without a man around.

Sam appreciated the offer and took Tony up on it. He knew that Cinnamon would probably be all right with Loud Red until the others caught up with them again.

"Promise that you won't rock up no matter what the provocation, until we are all back safely in the ship," Tony demanded of the red flouwen. He remembered the trouble caused when White Whistler had rocked up in mid-journey during the first expedition to Rocheworld and left Shirley stranded in the open ocean. She had almost died from the cold when the power for her suit heaters ran out.

*Okay!* agreed the flouwen cheerfully. Cinnamon handed over her collection of specimens and took the small portable videocamera. Jupiter loaded a subset of the translation program into her suit computer, set up an optical communications link from her suit imp through the commsat Walter and back down to Falcon, and she was ready to go. Surrounding the small human within its huge red body, the flouwen moved quickly away from the shore. As the ocean floor sank out of sight beneath them, Roaring*Hot*Vermillion asked, *What does 'promise' mean?*

 

Carmen slammed through the privacy curtain on the crew quarters deck of the Falcon and threw herself into the nearest bunk. There was nothing visible that would identify the owner of the bunk. Even through the Sound-Bar door and the insulated walls afforded some privacy, Carmen felt too inhibited by the unseen owner to give in to the tantrum that she felt building inside her.

How dare the computer tell Jinjur that she was having trouble filling her role! Sure she had felt a little weak, a bit lightheaded, but damn it, she was a professional! So her blood sugar was low—she had gone for days with little food or water back in 2018 when she alone commanded the only radio station in Central Mexico able to communicate with the rest of the world. Why should she see a doctor? She wasn't sick! Besides, John was always more interested in sex than he was in her health. Or at least he used to be. Long ago it was like a challenge to the two of them to see who could think of new creative ways to please each other. Finally they let up and became good friends—each recognized that the sex, while nice, wasn't really satisfying. Both preferred to please their partner more than themselves, and so they really weren't enjoying the competition anymore. They hadn't slept together in years and both knew the perpetual teasing and flirting was a sham. Carmen felt that John was probably the only one of the crew who knew her, truly knew her, and she did not want to go to him with Jinjur and Jupiter's ridiculous allegations.

Carmen took a compact mirror from the pocket of her coverall and tried to repair the damage to her makeup the tears had caused. Then she noticed the twinkling comb-shaped imp on the side of her head. She had used it to hold up her curls into a bouffant pile on the top of her head for so long that she no longer even felt it nestled against her scalp. Now, she was reminded of its constant monitoring of her vital signs, and its new-found habit of interfering with her life. How dare a piece of machinery try to dictate to her! To think that every time she made love or used the head—even when she thought she was safe in the privacy of her dreams, it was there—watching her, taking readings, making assumptions, judging her. Pulling out the imp so roughly that it took with it several strands of hair, she opened the Sound-Bar door and threw the handful of twinkling metal twigs down the narrow corridor toward the privacy curtain.

Shirley came through the curtain just in time to see the sparkling comb come flying towards her. The ex-pro basketball player caught it easily. Then she peeked into her bunk see Carmen's rage swollen face glaring at her from the pillow.

"Surely you must be used to it by now? You've been wearing this thing for over forty years!" She offered the imp back to its owner.

Sheepishly, Carmen reach out to take it back. "I just couldn't stand it all of a sudden . and my name's not Shirley."

Shirley smiled dutifully at the weak joke. "What's got you so upset any way?" she asked.

"Oh, Jinjur seems to think that I'm coming down with something and wants for me to go see John. It's stupid! There is nothing wrong with me that a little sleep wouldn't fix."

"Well, John's the last person one goes to for sleep."

"I don't want to go through an exam . and I'm tired of this imp literally on the back of my neck. It's always telling me 'Eat this.', 'Don't eat that.', and, 'Are you sure you want to do that Carmen?'! It sounds like my mother. Concerned over every little thing, but God forbid you should really have a problem. Then it's 'You're not hurt, don't make such a fuss, it happens to everyone sooner or later.' I'm an adult now and no one can force me to do anything!"

Shirley was taken aback. She and Carmen had never been close, but this behavior was very odd. Carmen was obviously walking a fine line. What could be troubling her so? Psychology was not the blonde's fort, and unfortunately their doctor-psychologist had died on the trip out. Shirley tried to look objectively at what she could remember of the plump seorita's actions since they left Earth. Carmen's promiscuity was almost legendary, as was her obsession with her looks, but that hardly jibed with her rapid weight gain and her crude sexual jokes that drove men away, rather than attracting them to her.

Then Shirley had a flash of insight. Maybe Carmen's problem was simple. There could be a very obvious reason that she was picking now to open up, and why it was Shirley that Carmen was opening up to. Maybe Carmen didn't really want the men she claimed she wanted. Her weight, her lewdness, even her promiscuity, could be subconscious ways of protecting herself from their interest. But it was clear that if Shirley's idea were true, then Carmen was still in denial about it, even to herself. Maybe these mood swings and temperamental fits were only the truth slowly dawning on her. Shirley had acted the same way when she first came to terms with her own sexuality back when she was a teenager.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to go to John with anything," Shirley said softly, moving slowly closer. "Men never truly understand us." She took the imp and gently combed Carmen's hair back up into place.

Carmen seemed to relax under the caresses, and after Shirley carefully placed the imp-comb securely into position, she let her hand trail slowly down around Carmen's softly rounded neck. Her creamy skin was like fleshy magnolia petals and Shirley held her face in her hands.

"Only a woman can," Shirley said as she kissed Carmen softly. Carmen exploded beneath her.

"No miagarras, pecada marimacha!" she screamed, oblivious to Shirley's confusion. Fury, rage, and disgust were all mixed with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. A whirling spit-fire of anger, Carmen was hardly aware of Shirley, as the tall muscular woman cowered back from Carmen's hysterical wrath. To Carmen, the bigger woman was some how interposed with another large figure, reaching out from her memories, demanding that she submit. Her memory released her, and Carmen became aware of her surroundings again, only to see Shirley gazing down fearfully at her and her own voice screaming in her ears, "It's a sin! It's a sin. It's a sin!"

Shirley backed out of the sleeping quarters. Carmen had gone completely off the deep end! Jinjur and the computer were right. Carmen need to see a doctor and soon. Shirley ran off to find John.

Carmen didn't watch her leave. She was not mad anymore, but terrified at her own actions. What was wrong with her? She was possessed—or insane. Even the thought of loving another woman disgusted her, but where had all those other thoughts come from, of helplessness, hurt, and violent rage? Maybe she should go see John. Maybe she was sick with something that was making her have all these confusing feelings, and memories of things that could never have happened. Carmen got up from the bunk and headed down the short corridor through another privacy curtain, where the other half of the sleeping quarters area had been turned into a temporary sick bay.

She entered the tiny room with all its sterile, impersonal instruments, and took a moment to pull herself together. Then Carmen spoke into to the imp still fastened in her hair. "Please let Jinjur know that I am in the sick bay, and I'm ready to see John just as soon as he can get in here."

 

Cinnamon was floating deep inside the streamlined flouwen, her view of the seascape hazily colored with the flouwen's translucent red flesh. Although its massive size slowed the flouwen down, Loud Red had assumed a wedge-like swimming shape and moved through the water like a giant manta. Cinnamon's teeth vibrated with the ultrasonic sounds of Loud Red calling to any others that might be willing to help it lose some bulk.

They had been traveling only a short while when Cinnamon realized that they had been joined by the greenish-orange flouwen that the humans had named O.J. They reduced speed and finally stopped as Cinnamon slipped out of her protective spot deep inside the huge red flouwen. She listened to the two flouwen talking through the translating program in her suit computer.

†You are huge! No wonder you are asking for a mating!† Bitter†Orange†Chirr was impressed. †I didn't really believe it when I heard you call. After all, it was only last season that you helped make Dainty~Blue~Warble.†

*Some of us can grow faster than others.* Roaring*Hot*Vermillion preened.

†Grow? You are practically† Cinnamon's suit translator struggled for a moment. †.cancerous!†

"Jupiter?" Cinnamon asked the computer, "Cancerous?" There was a pause as Jupiter passed its more sophisticated translation back through the optical link.

"Rapid and uncontrolled exponential growth of a flouwen that is dangerous to the health of the pod," the computer elucidated.

*I will not hear such nonsense!* Roaring*Hot*Vermillion snapped. Cinnamon smiled to note how much Loud Red was talking like Deep Purple now that it was larger and smarter. The reaction of the normal-sized Loud Red to such an insult would have been a more succinct, 'Dumb!'.

*Do you know of any others that are large enough to want to join us?*

†Even when small, Warm§Amber§Resonance is always ready to make a new youngling in order to have someone to teach, but other than us two, I don't think anyone else in our pod is big enough to want to join in.†

*You are not suggesting that we mate outside the pod!?* The flouwen's voice was lowered a few octaves in disapproval. Cinnamon wondered again how such sonically-based people could have failed to discover music.

Bitter†Orange†Chirr persisted. †Well, it is not unheard of. How badly do you want to slim down? We can go with just three, but if the youngling is twisted then you have to eat it. I would rather we ask the counter-spin pod. If we agree to take responsibility for the care and feeding of the new one, they will most likely send one of them over.†

*If the youngling stays with us, then we keep all our knowledge and gain whatever of their ideas that get passed to it. Why would they give up bulk and get no fresh insights?*

†With all your weight, we could make twins .†

*Good idea! You go talk to the other pod and bring back here any one who wants to join us. The humans want to watch and collect samples again, so we will go back closer to where their pets are.*

Watching Loud Red and O.J. change into their swimming shape from the outside, Cinnamon was reminded of the shape of a large dolphin or killer whale. She pushed her way back into the thicker fluid of Loud Red's body and once again the ocean slipped away with no feelings of resistance. Now that Loud Red was no longer broadcasting its needs into the open seas, Cinnamon was able to question it on the details of the recent exchange.

"Do you need to have more than three to make a youngling?"

*No, it is possible to make a youngling with only three. But with my present size, I would be giving up much more mass than the other two would be able to give, and too many of my memories could harm the youngling. Too much of it would try to be me and it would be confused—twisted. A twisted person might hurt itself or others, and it is best to destroy it. As the largest, I would be able to absorb the youngling with the least amount of risk to my personality, but then, I would be in worse shape than before. Not only would I be bigger, but I would be weakened with sadness at the death of a youngling.*

Cinnamon could sense the tragedy that the destruction of an sentient being would be to these intelligent creatures. No longer did she see them as insensitive and cold. They just had limited experience with death and sorrow. Unlike the complicated body of a human with its many critical parts and its built-in death wish, death rarely occurred to the uncomplicated flouwen and so they rarely thought about it. But they found the idea of death just as sad as a human would.

"Why would you hesitate to mate with those outside the pod then, if it made for a healthier youngling?"

*Mating is such a personal thing. When it is within the pod, within the family, it is wonderful, natural, reaffirmation of all that each member of the pod shares with the others. You can taste the memories that the pod has passed to each of the younglings throughout time. Both your originality and your similarity are augmented. It feels good all the way to your . soul.*

"Jupiter? Did he really say soul?"

"That was my rough condensation of the phrase, 'That thing which is found in the set which comprises yourself that cannot be proven or disproven to exist.' This is the first concept that the flouwen have admitted cannot be handled by logic or numbers . yet. I think it might have something to do with the Gdel undecidability theorem."

 

Carmen lay back on the table. John's gentle hands and soothing voice washed over her, relaxing her completely. This was John's real gift, thought Carmen to herself. He could make you forget that you were in a medical lab, that your legs were being strapped into stirrups, that your arms were being velcroed securely down to your sides .

Carmen started with alarm. "What are you doing!? Let me up from here!" Before she utter further protests, John had placed a sticky gag over her mouth. She fought against the bonds, but she knew from experience it would do no good. Long ago, during the many times when she had willingly played this bondage "doctor" game with John, he had made sure that the bonds would hold all during the roughhouse "treatments" that would follow.

But this was different! This time, she did not want to play this or any game. All she wanted was to get away, away from his probing fingers, away from his insistent mouth. She tried to get free, to scream from behind the gag, to beg him to stop, to make him let her go. She rolled her eyes back, trying to get the attention of the imp still in her hair.

"Jp-tr! Hlp!" she cried in a muffled voice, but even as she called out, she realized in dismay that it would do no good. The first time they had played this particular game back on Prometheus, James, monitoring their activities through the imps still riding on their naked bodies, had become concerned and had called out through their imps, imploring them to stop, and threatening to call in Jinjur if they didn't. Both Carmen and John had reassured the computer at the time that it was all in fun, and now Jupiter, like all the computers, was programmed to ignore Carmen's protests, no matter what she said or did, even if she called out to it.

John watched Carmen buck against the bonds and heard her mewling protests; clearly he had chosen the right game. Carmen had always played her roles with enthusiasm. John threw himself into his part and entered her brutally. Carmen's struggles aroused him and John tried to distance himself so that he would not disappoint his partner and ruin his reputation. He was glad that Carmen had decided to come to him; no matter what Shirley had said, all Carmen really need was a good fuck. That was all that most women needed to feel better about things. Living with women must have been terrible back in the old days before the AIDS vaccine, when the women couldn't all get their daily dose of love. John remembered the stories told by his old Uncle Willie about how you risked your life if you slept with a woman who was willing, and how sleeping with a women who wasn't had its own risks.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, John spent himself inside her, lying his head against her heaving breasts. Carmen was shaking violently, sweat and tears mingled as they ran down the sides of her face. He stroked her face, but her eyes were closed, and she refused to acknowledge him when he spoke her name. What was wrong with her? Could he have let her down? Impossible! He had never failed to please her before. Perhaps she was still coming down.

"John? You're needed on the bridge," Caroline's voice called through his imp.

John ripped the straps lose on Carmen's right hand and slapped her on her sweat-slick rump. "You got what you came for," he said lightly. "You can free yourself; I'm needed elsewhere."

John took only a moment to pull on a jumpsuit. Long practice made perfect his routine, and he left looking freshly groomed.

Carmen lay still, unable to move. All her muscles ached from the long struggle. Finally she manage to release the rest of the straps that had restrained her. She half fell in the week gravity and she wrapped her clothes around her body, not bothering to put them on properly. She staggered away and down the passway to the airlock. She pulled her spacesuit on over her bare skin and cycled through.

Automatically Carmen's feet took her to the Dragonfly and she cycled into the aeroplane. She left the suit in its locker and walked naked through the privacy curtain and collapsed into her berth, meeting no one. The Sound-Bar door slammed shut.

Part of Carmen's mind screamed at her to get out of her bed and climb in the shower, to scrub and scrub until the whole experience could be washed away. Part of her wanted to strike out to hurt John, to hurt Jupiter, to hurt God, for letting this happen to her. Part of her wanted to cry, to rant and rave, to scream out all the anguish that the gag had muted. But there was a tiny little part of Carmen's mind that pierced through all the others. Sharp as a needle, it pricked Carmen's will and kept her from crying, from moving, from thinking of anything else. It was John's voice, coming in through the memory of her uncle's laughing face. It danced in Carmen's ears .

"You got what you came for."

 

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