Authors: L. J. Kendall
She tore her clothes from her body as the dance built to its climax: shredded them with an ease he found profoundly disturbing. The sight, together with her beautiful curves, beaded and glistening with sweat, flushed and urgent with passion, sank into him like knives, slicing away the last tatters of his reserve and detachment, awakening the power of his own libido. He was painfully aroused. But it was arousal laced with fear as she at last stood before him. He found himself on his feet.
'Sara, no, we shouldn't do this. I've changed my-'
'Who's
Sara?'
she demanded, cutting him off and pressing her naked, fevered body up against his. She guided his hands to her breasts, moaning in ecstasy at his touch.
Then her hands were clawing at his clothes, tearing and pulling, sliding and stroking, then forcing him down. She saw his eyes widen in surprise at her strength, and it pleased her. Together they fell to the floor, where she made a second blood-sacrifice in a moment of delicious pain.
In the smothering moment of pleasure, it felt to her as though she were tearing open in many ways: opening up on levels whose existence she could only dimly perceive.
She was Life. She was Death.
She was
Leeth
.
Later, by her side in her bed – and hadn't
that
been a strange thrill, darting naked from his office to her rooms? – Harmon lay awake, profoundly troubled. This was wrong, on so many levels. Immoral. Illegal. Any court in the land would see it for what it was: abuse, even rape. He wanted to blame
her
, but he knew the fault lay with himself.
He
was not the one who had been drugged.
Should word of this leak out…. He would need to Suggest they keep this private moment private.
It must never happen again.
Couldn't I
have found some other way?
I
should have stopped her; found someone her own age. B
ut I didn't want that, did I?
Even the
thought
of sharing her….
At least this way, she hadn't gone out and killed anyone. But now that the goal had been achieved – his theory, vindicated! – there was no need for any further indulgences.
At least, not until she's a little older, eh Alex?
a darker, still-hungry part of him whispered.
I should leave
now. R
eturn to my own bedroom.
Instead, he lay propped up in the dim light, emotions and thoughts churning darkly within. He knew he should get up. Part of him urged the departure; but a part wanted to stay. In the warmth and comfort of her bed. He liked her, and suddenly it seemed possible to more than like her. She was almost beautiful; and so open and demonstrative….
He forced the weakness away, while he pondered. She had Unfolded, he was sure; yet there had been no display of magic at all. No spontaneous levitation; no uncontained outpouring of damaging energies; no uncontrolled astral excursion. Clearly, she still needed his supporting framework of psychic stresses to push her forward and onward to her full Unfolding.
Besides, he had the uncomfortable feeling that despite all his manipulation and preparation, despite the drugs and all the effort he'd expended on directing her to this point… in a way, at the very end
she
had seduced
him
. Had taken control at the key moment.
He had to stay strong. Had to remember she was so very self-centered, so very selfish – except when it pleased her.
So very appealing.
But wasn't that exactly the danger? He gazed at her clinically, finally seeing her beauty for the trap it was. A trap through which she would gain control, just as she'd tried so many times before. Always, it was a battle with her. Always, a contest of wills. But he was, after all, her creator. The architect of this whole experiment.
Yet see how easily she had overturned his detachment, how nearly she had ensnared him? How long had she been tempting him, after all, flaunting her body, her sexuality?
You
drugged
her; removed her inhibitions
, a small voice cried. Well, perhaps he had… but she
could
have resisted had she wanted. He knew, better than anyone, just how very well she could resist when she
wanted
to.
Indeed, had she not in fact engineered the entire situation exactly that way: by resisting, by making the experiment stall, by
forcing
him to resort to chemical intervention? Was Godsson right, seeing the shadow of the archetypal seductress, Lilith, in her?
He drew back, shakily. For a while, had she not even managed to confuse
him
, preying on his animal urges? As if that could be enough to sway him for more than a moment! Well, he
had
fallen, yes. Had let his animal urges take control. Had
let
her seduce him.
Should this get out, it
would
ruin his career. Ruin
him.
But he would not allow that. The work was too important.
Well, if that was how she wished to play the game, it would fit nicely with the next, necessary steps.
Perhaps she had even somehow sensed the ordeal she must soon begin to suffer to reach her full potential. Now that she had finally Unfolded, he could bring the experiment to a new level of intensity. She was stronger, now, more resilient.
Yes.
Gently, he eased out of her bed. She made a small sleepy sound of loss. For a moment, his resolve weakened as he stared down at her. But then he straightened. He had to stay in control.
She
was the one who would benefit most from the experiment, after all.
He left the room.
Chapter 38
It was now five months after her seventeenth – and as usual, uncelebrated – birthday. Only a month until the summer solstice. But Harmon had decided it was time for her to start meeting people, interacting with strangers. The last time he'd taken her anywhere had been only their second expedition, what was it, two years – no,
three
years ago? Hmm. While it was far simpler to leave her here when he visited the city, perhaps that was a false convenience. Raising her almost entirely in isolation at the Institute could have untoward effects. Suppose she developed a fear of strangers, or crowds? So for today, he had decided they should again venture out into New Francisco. He had planned a steady escalation of contact with other people, culminating in dinner for the two of them at a nightclub.
They set off at 9 a.m for the Golden Gate Park: a gentle introduction. Parklands, much like those the Institute possessed – except this park was much larger, and populated. He himself had been surprised at just how populated it was, even when they first arrived at nine thirty. Joggers, picnickers, groups of people playing various ball games, couples strolling about. How different from even ten years before.
A fresh breeze brought the scent of recently-cut grass. In the distance, a compact robot mower traversed its area-filling path through the grassy areas, patiently stopping when a child ran up to it, before the mother dragged the boy away.
The park brimmed with trees, many of them quite old, surprisingly few freshly planted or transplanted. He pointed out the modern concrete paths, laid to replace those that had either been smashed during the Big One, or shattered by the ice of the Second World Storm at the end of ’44. They'd been passing by Stow Lake at the time.
'This whole area remained underwater for five years, from the combined effects of the sea level rise back then and the deluge from the Storm. It would have been much worse, too, had not the Antarctic re-icing not been so well-advanced by then.'
Sara giggled, but stopped the instant he frowned at her.
'Don't you mean the
Newtopian
re-icing, Uncle?' she asked, eyes wide.
'Bah! The fool politicians should have
at most
given them a ninety-nine year lease, not-'
At the pleased gleam in her eyes, he stopped himself, realizing she had been baiting him. He took a breath. 'I suppose they did have other disasters on their hands, after the collapse of the net and the Second Storm.'
'The
net
collapsed? For real? I didn't think it
could.
I thought it was indestructible!'
'We
have
covered this in your History lessons, Leeth.'
'Did we? I don't think you ever…'
'Yes. We did. Apparently some Universal Constant wasn't.'
She waited, then saw he'd stopped. 'Wasn't what?'
'Constant. Something to do with quantum mechanics and how the Packed-light Effect simply stopped working.'
He had lost her again, he saw. He also now recalled exactly the same glazed look the last time he had covered this topic. He had noticed that tendency before – her attention seemed much stronger if he could couch such information in dramatic terms: as a collapse, battle, or calamity.
Ah, well.
They continued on, simply enjoying the weather. Now noon, he slumped on a park-bench in the sun, resting.
He wasn't sure
how
it had happened – he'd planned to spend only half an hour or so here – but she'd dragged him backwards and forwards all through the park. It was her infectious enthusiasm, he supposed: her delight had been palpable. Somehow, she had sensed his decision that this was to be a special day for her. And so they had traversed kilometers of the park. She had invented a game of sprinting up to joggers, running alongside or just behind them for a while and then sprinting back to him. He had to smile: somehow the picture of a sheepdog herding sheep was irresistibly summoned to mind each time she did this. The men, for the most part, didn't seem to mind but the female joggers clearly did. Sara –
Leeth
, dammit! – Leeth seemed to enjoy both reactions.
Then she'd spent ten minutes hunting ducks
in
the duck-pond. The docile ducks were disturbed by the unusual occurrence of a human wading amongst them. By the time he had caught up to her, she had already caught one bare-handed and was gleefully on her way out to present it to him. She was quite cross when he made her put it back into the pond. It took wing instantly, of course. Leeth had looked at him reproachfully as it flew away.
After that, she'd wanted to find a swimming pool to rid herself of the smell of the slimy pond water. Fortunately, she was wearing only a thin halter and a pleated miniskirt, all in black. Luckily too, the pond had only been thigh-deep.
Harmon checked his map, and sighed. The pool of course was beyond the other end of the park.
He sighed, as she looked entreatingly at him. Besides, he could hardly take her to the restaurant he had planned if she smelled of duck pond.
-
Disten suspected there was a magical component to the Call. It had taken two years to slowly, uncertainly, identify the New Francisco or Oaklands area as the place where the solution would be found. For a year, now, he had lived quietly in a suburban backwater. Waiting.
And today, at 09:01:13 precisely, interrupting his study of research into means of altering mental states, awareness of the other had flared into awareness.
It had brought him to the northern boundary of the Golden Gate Recreation Center.
Disten's car parked itself. She was in there. Close.
Outside the car, the sunlight was very bright.
Narrow the eyes.
So many things to remember: eyes were easily damaged if exposed too long to too much light. A cost of having total control of the autonomic nervous system.
The car finished locking and Disten moved to enter the park.
'Excuse me, sir. This your vehicle?'
Disten turned. Two officers, one inside and one outside the police vehicle.
This again.
'Yes.'
'And your name is?'
'Marc Disten. The registered owner. You have already checked the license and know this. You wonder why the expensive vehicle has suffered damage to its paintwork which has not been repaired.
'The damage is cosmetic. Repairs would take time, and waste money since a pristine finish merely attracts further assaults. Is there anything else?'
'Well, yes, sir, we
have
had a complaint about this vehicle.'
Disten waited.
'Offensive language and indecency.'
'That is incorrect. When was the complaint made?'
'Ten minutes ago. Are you claiming you are unaware of the message on the back of your vehicle, Mr Disten?'
'There are numerous scratches on the rear. Has something new been added?' Walking to the rear of the vehicle, an inspection was made. Amongst the indecipherable gouges a new message had been added – “Kill all Muties,” perhaps – as well as a new abstract diagram consisting mainly of large ellipses and circles.
He pointed to the fresh “Muties” graffiti. 'That is new, as is the diagram.'
'Diagram, sir? You mean the enormous dick and pussy, sir?'
'Is it? Ah. This is the penis, yes? And this, the vulva.' Disten considered the idea. 'Yes. This would be seen as offensive.'
'Well, yeah, clever of you to realize that, sir. And I might add, there are parts of the city where that anti-Mutie sentiment would get you into trouble, too. Serious trouble.'
Disten thought about that. 'Understood. You recommend removal. At the earliest convenience?'
'Well, yeah, Mr Disten, that might be a good idea.'
'Do you have a permanent marker pen? Black?'
The officer who had remained in the police car had been shaking her head. At his question, though, she bent down out of sight, then sat up and flung a slim cylinder across the cruiser's roof toward her partner.
Disten caught it and turned, efficiently blacking out the deep score marks. He handed the marker to his interlocutor.