MANY WORLDS

Postby sarobah » Mon Feb 23, 2015 3:44 pm

MANY WORLDS

So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
— Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam

1. Guardian Angel

The streets were deserted. They always were. But Erynn had never gotten completely used to the stillness and silence of the city. She quickened her pace, and shivered as a sudden gust of cold, dry air wailed through the canyons of concrete and steel. The tower blocks, dark and ugly despite the bright sunshine, loomed over her like brooding giants. Behind their bleak, barren façades, countless sleeping citizens dreamt their latest lives.

She was greeted by the first flesh-and-blood she had seen in… she could hardly remember how long. For the doorkeeper, it was yesterday. He was a small, joyless man whose immaculate suit and impeccable grooming unnerved her. Such preening in the real world was one of the sure signs of the fanatic or the phobic, someone who never left this reality. The overseers must have been getting desperate, to be hiring his kind.

“Welcome back, miss,” he said, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. Yet his eyes lingered hungrily on the contours of her crumpled overalls. They weren’t much to look at, but they were genuine.

“Thanks,” she replied. They never spoke more than a few words. She had not even bothered to learn his name.

Her mission was simple enough. Aberrations like this were rare and easy to fix; but they had to be. Even small program deviations could snowball if left unchecked. Nonlinear amplification was the formal term. The technicians were waiting in the control room, to brief her on the inevitable last-minute updates. They were friendly, but clinically efficient, as they carried out their testing protocols before activating her implants.

There was a flash and a blur. The white sterile walls faded, and she found herself standing in a green meadow. She heard sounds in the distance, getting louder — men’s laughter and the neighing and snorting of horses. She took cover in a patch of long grass. The soft blades tickled, and she realized her skin was bare save for a sliver of gossamer on her loins and a ribbon of fine silk across her chest. A bejewelled collar encircled her throat, golden bands enclosed her wrists and ankles.

A dozen riders passed, close enough that she could smell their steeds. They were returning from a hunt. Twenty or so young women, naked and bound, were trotting beside them, sweating and gasping in an agonized effort to keep up with their mounted captors. They were hitched in a line by the neck and the lead girl was tethered to one of the pack animals.

Erynn lifted her head just enough to glimpse the faces of the prisoners. It took her just seconds to make her assessment. Training, experience and instinct allowed her to quickly distinguish the subtly impassive gaze of the many from the bleak stares and glances of a few. Five of the girls, including the one in front, were unmistakeably sleepers.

Sucking in a deep breath, Erynn stood up and waited quietly for the men to see her.

“Come forward,” one of them barked. Like all of his companions, he was muscular and handsome. Though his clothes were weatherworn, his face was unspoilt. Below the dull grey steel of his helmet, his eyes glittered ice-blue. His beard stubble was dark but peppered with flecks of silver. When she was close enough, he tapped his riding crop on her chin to make her raise her head. He glared at her, squinting and squinching to detect the tell-tale signs of sentience. But she was good at her job.

“Sim,” he said. She sensed disappointment.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded. “Where are you from?”

“Please, sir,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “I am a poor slavegirl from Shanidar.”

The man chuckled, and slid his crop along her shoulder and over her breasts. “Poor? I think not.” He turned to his comrades and they laughed. “Not with those expensive chains.”

She managed a mechanical blush. That was harder than she expected. She’d not been given much time to adjust to this body.

“I belonged in the harem of the Grand Duke…”

“Yes,” one of the other men interrupted. I have tasted the pleasures of the Grand Duke’s seraglio. I recognize you.”

“Liar,” she said, to herself.

“A runaway, I suspect. I’ve heard of it happening. There will no doubt be a sizable bounty for this beauty.”

“With a bonus to be paid this very night.” The men laughed again.

The first man held out his arm. Erynn grabbed hold, and he lifted her without effort to fling her belly-down across the front of his saddle. The horse’s leather tacks and the man’s leather trappings stank of grease and grime. Without being ordered to, she put her hands behind her back and he joined her bracelets with their tiny lock.

They rode for several hours, until the sun had all but disappeared behind the far-off mountains. They stopped to make camp on the edge of a forest beside a swiftly flowing river. Erynn was dumped on the grass; her body was sore from cramping, bumping and bouncing. The rest of the women, who had been on foot, collapsed with fatigue. They recovered quickly, of course, in time to pitch the tents before darkness fell. After the men had eaten, they entertained themselves with their plunder until the confluence of the two full moons high in the star-blazed sky. Sated by the evening’s delights, the men went to their tents, leaving their captives bound to nearby trees. Strange creatures making strange sounds prowled in the shadows, but the women were safe. In this world, wild beasts never attacked the helpless. Humans alone could defy their program codes.

As soon as the lamps had gone out, Erynn slipped out of her shackles. In the dim glow of the campfire’s crackling embers, she again studied the faces of the five girls she had identified, just to be sure. She freed them from their bonds. They stared at her, astonished.

“Are there any more?” she whispered.

Each in turn looked around and shook her head. The others were awake and watching; but all had been gagged, so even if any tried to alert their masters, the men had made Erynn’s task so much easier. She led the way out of the fading circle of light and into the eerie blackness of the forest. The river was too deep and fast-flowing to cross, so they followed its course upstream until a pink flush on the eastern horizon heralded the coming of dawn. They hid amongst the boulders in an amphitheatre of crumbling basalt. (The crater offered shelter from the bitter highland winds as well as refuge from their pursuers. Erynn wondered if the other women gave it a thought that this extinct volcano had never known eruption.)

They walked for three nights, concealing themselves during daylight. They were exhausted. None had eaten since her capture. Naked, they suffered from the cold and the ravages of the wilderness through which they trekked. Once their path intersected fresh tracks. Only the imprints of hooves showed in the soil. The men had rid themselves of their burden. Erynn had seen flames flickering in the distance the previous night. She guessed it was a funeral pyre. The fate of the women she’d left behind played over and over in her mind. Even after all these years working for the bureau, she still had to remind herself — convince herself — that they would not have felt a thing, neither pain nor fear.

The fugitives reached sanctuary just before sunrise. It was Neryssa’s village. The ramparts appeared new; the place had been fortified since her abduction. A search party circling back from another fruitless expedition gave shouts of joy. A feast was held to celebrate the rescue of a fellow warrior, and Erynn discovered, to her surprise, a new talent as dancing girl. The worldsmiths were thorough in their designs.

After the first good sleep since their escape, the remaining girls were dispatched to their home communities with armed escorts. Erynn accepted once more the thanks of Neryssa’s people. They accompanied her only as far as the crest of a nearby ridge before she bade them farewell. They did not see her disappear. Though some might suspect, they would never know for certain that their world had been visited. The renegade raiders would be dealt with by the overseers.

The technicians were gone when she re-entered.

“Till tomorrow,” the doorman muttered as she passed. She saw him frown. He’d noticed the limp she didn’t have that morning. But the avatar’s aches quickly vanished and she strode briskly through the empty streets to her apartment. It was small and sparsely furnished. If she’d wanted, she could live in the penthouse; she was the building’s only resident since her last neighbour departed a decade ago (or a few months… it didn’t really matter which). But it was not important.

She ate a quick, cold meal, then peeled off her overalls and tossed them into the hamper, on top of the rest. She adjusted the settings on the control panel and plugged herself in. Her husband was waiting for her by the marble fountain.

“Mission accomplished?” he asked.

“Guardian angel now off duty,” she replied. She danced for him across the lawn to show off her new gift. Then she sat beside him, spreading the hem of her dress like a white rosette on the grass. She closed her eyes and sniffed the fragrant air, basked in the mellow breeze, revelled in her children’s laughter, tasted her man’s sweet lips. Everything felt so real.

*

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby sarobah » Mon Feb 23, 2015 4:34 pm

2. Woman’s Work

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” The coordinator’s shrill voice crackled through the interference.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes and rolling off the cot.

“Welcome home anyway. Sorry for the unscheduled call-up, but it’s an emergency.”

“It’s always an emergency.”

“We live in troubled times, and you’re the best we have.”

“Skip the flattery. And switch off the visual until I’m…”

“Too late. Anyway, in this job I need some…”

“How did you get your job?”

“Who else would they find to do it?”

“Good point.”

In any case, the monitors were never turned off. The bureau needed to keep a constant watch on their agents. These were indeed troubled times. She was briefed as she dressed. On her way out she locked up the apartment. There was no reason for it, except as one of those little rituals to preserve the façade.

The captured tower was not far away. Flanking the entrance were two heavily armed guards, decked head to foot in combat armour. Erynn found it hard to maintaining a straight face as she approached under their wary gaze. Even as they raised their weapons, she kept her cool.

“What do you want here?” one of the men demanded.

“What do you think? To rescue the hostages.”

The man smiled and shook his head. Ready to repel commandos, he was not expecting a skinny girl with lank hair and gaunt, pallid face. His finger twitched on the trigger, but his pause gave Erynn more than enough time. She leapt forward, her hands flashed and the two black-clad forms slumped on either side of her. That was the fundamental weakness with luddites. Being wilfully ignorant, obsessed with physicality, they could never understand that martial prowess was mostly a mental thing, a matter of reaction and reflex. What you acquire and practise in the other worlds stays inside you when you return.

In the lobby, half a dozen men and women lay squirming on the floor, bound, gagged and blindfolded. She could not stop to free them all, so she released one of the technicians whom she recognized, and he gave her access to the emergency elevator before going back to tend to his colleagues. With an ease that was professionally beneath her, she took out the saboteurs, six in all, before they had done too much damage. They had split up into pairs, which lightened her load. Just as she finished hog-tying the last of them, the rapid response team stormed in.

“Thanks for leaving us to clean up,” the burly commander growled. “What’s the mischief?”

“A few consoles wrecked, some pods interfered with. No sleepers woken, no broken dreams. Sorry you got pulled out of your beachside bliss,” she called back as she headed for the exit. “Must go now. A woman’s work is never done.”


3. Dragon Slayer

There was a large cave on the side of a stony mountain that overlooked a fertile valley. Down in the valley was a village. There the people lived in perfect peace and harmony, never knowing hunger or disease. The work was hard but fruitful. Their children would never grow up, but no one would ever grow old, so it seemed a small price to pay for paradise.

Then one day a dragon appeared. It swooped through the valley and plucked up one of the maidens, carrying her off to his cave. Next time it was one of the young men. This happened again and again. The villagers trembled and hid, but eventually they overcame their dread. They stormed up the mountainside to rescue their people. The monster hissed fire and they fled in panic. Despairing, they cried out for a champion.

“Are you all they sent?” the villagers asked in disbelief.

“You did say just the one dragon?” Erynn studied her reflection in the polished steel of her broadsword. Her glistening mahogany skin bore outlandish tattoos; gold-streaked purple hair flowed down her spine like a river in torrent; sensuous curves strained against the confines of a tiny metal bikini. A lacy veil concealed all except the eyes, but the face was hers. She was still herself, only… enhanced. These fantasy worlds had their own rules and traditions.

Two of the more intrepid villagers accompanied her halfway up the mountain, to a cleft in the rock face that allowed her to get within earshot of the cave without detection. Even so, it took all of her stealthy skill. She hid near the entrance for a day and a half, until the dragon had set off on his latest foray into the valley. Inside the den, a dozen dudes and damsels were bound to pillars carved from the stone. They were arranged in a rough circle about a nest, inside which was a cluster of eggs, each the size of a man’s head. Erynn had arrived just in time. The first of the hungry hatchlings was about to emerge. A web of fine cracks covered the green mottled shell.

Erynn smashed the eggs with her sword. A searing blaze of white light exploded from each as it broke open, momentarily blinding her. As her sight recovered, she heard a roar of anguished rage and the violent flapping of leathery wings. Still bound to their posts, the captives could only watch in abject terror as their voluptuous heroine fought the scaly beast. It spat fire and flailed with lethal talons; but her blade proved swifter and deadlier than flame and claw.

She freed the captives and returned them to their village. As her reward, she chose the three most handsome young men and the prettiest girl. (They were all so fine, it was hard to decide.) That night proved more gruelling than any duel to the death with a mere dragon.

Garlanded with flowers, drenched in perfume, adorned with gems, she left the villagers to carry on with their enchanted lives, giving nary a thought to their next crisis a hundred years hence.

“Till tomorrow,” the doorman muttered as she passed. She saw him frown. He’d noticed the limp she didn’t have that morning. But the avatar’s pain quickly vanished and she strode briskly through the empty streets to her apartment.


*

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby OldTUGger » Mon Feb 23, 2015 7:03 pm

Wonderful writing, as always. Very "Matrix-esque," fast-paced and action-packed!

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby sarobah » Tue Feb 24, 2015 1:00 am

4. Deep Cover

I once dreamt that I was a butterfly, flitting and fluttering around, happy with myself and doing as I pleased. But suddenly I woke up and was myself again. But now I wonder, am I a man who dreamt he was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming I am a man?
— Master Zhuang [i] Book of Zhuangzi


“Good morning, Chief,” he said as he strode into the office discarding his overcoat. “What’s the big…?”

“Don’t call me Chief! Agent Lanier, meet your new partner, Agent Fynn.”

The boss was, as usual, sprawled in his oversized armchair and chomping on an unlit cigar; but perched on the front left corner of the desk was a stunning woman in a little yellow dress showing off both splendid décolletage and delectable cleavage. Her long, bare, silky smooth legs were swinging in a slow, graceful rhythm. Her flawless olive skin glistened honey-gold under the glare of the overbright lights; her hair and eyes were as black as midnight.

“Hello, Agent Fynn.” Her voice had the delicate chime of fine crystal, but strong with self-assurance. She held out her hand to shake. The fingers were slender but her grip was firm. The woman was almost too good to be true.

“Nice to meet you. And it’s Errol.”

“Errol Fynn? Really?”

“Parents with a sense of humour.”

“And I am Jessica.”

“I know. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I hope I live up to your expectations.”

“You already have.”

The woman’s face reddened, ever so slightly, and without thinking, she tugged at the hem of her skirt to draw it down over her thighs. It made no visible difference.

“Okay,” the boss barked, “enough of this festival of love. The reason, Ms Lanier, you haven’t heard of Agent Fynn is that he’s our best undercover operative. That cell of wreckers broken up last month…”

“That was you?” she interrupted with wide-eyed admiration.

“It was nothing.”

“Nice to know,” the old man snarled. “I shall put that down on your next appraisal. In the meantime…”

The boss wasted no more breath. He described how the bureau was facing a new enemy — long anticipated but never, until now, encountered.

“What we have is a volatile situation. Discretion is essential. You’ve been hand-picked for this mission. Agent Lanier, yours will be especially… precarious.”

“I understand… Chief.”

The boss growled.

Fynn smiled. He liked this woman.

They set up in a suburban bungalow, not far from their target, a nondescript research lab on the edge of the city. So far as anyone could ever know, they had been occupying the house for six months. As they went over the plan once more, Jessica’s eyes kept shifting in the direction of a large, upright, wheeled steamer trunk in the corner of the room. On top of it lay two coils of rope and two black satin scarves.

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as ever,” she said with a sigh. She took off her dress and flung it casually onto the sofa. Fynn gave her a look and she just blinked.

“Have you any idea how hard it is to get nice clothes these days? Oh, how would men know about these things?”

He just smiled.

Naked but for expensive French knickers, she placed her hands behind her back. Fynn bound her wrists and elbows, being gentle but firm.

“Snug enough?” he asked.

“Don’t hold back.” She grunted as he drew the ropes tightly over and under her arms and around her breasts. He secured her knees and ankles with the second rope, blindfolded her with one scarf and tied a large knot in the other for a gag.

“Can you breathe properly?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Show me.”

She took several deep breaths. Her magnificently bare bosom heaved.

“Happy?”

“Not unhappy.”

She smiled and shook her head. She was not at all self-conscious. Fynn wondered if she had suspicions. Since joining the bureau, he wondered if even he knew the truth any more.

He rolled the trunk into the middle of the room and opened it up; she crouched and he helped her to fit inside. There were air holes, but it must have been horridly hot and cramped. He lightly tapped the roof to let her know it was time to depart. He trundled his luggage and its exquisite contents out of the house and down the street and past several blocks. The briefing had been… well, brief… and he hoped that Jessica’s information was accurate and the preparations thorough. The job was simplified, of course, because his clandestine activities made him a phantom. In his line of work, personal identity was little more than a skin graft.

There was a grim-faced guard stationed outside; but otherwise the security seemed lax. The man waved a scanning device about and appeared satisfied. He never bothered with the human-sized trunk as it rattled past him into the building. These people were either very confident or rank amateurs. Fynn hoped it was the latter.

He was met by two technicians, a young man and a middle-aged woman, both clad in dirty dungarees and spotless lab coats. The man’s eyes bulged when the door of the trunk was flung open. Beads of sweat speckled Jessica’s lustrous, luscious limbs and torso. Fynn untied her legs, gave her a minute to stretch and then took her arm to hurry her along as they were taken to a nearby room. Jessica put up a convincing fight as she was strapped down onto a table; but she writhed in genuine pain as electrodes were embedded into her skull with some kind of staple gun.

Fynn was shown to one in a line of coffin-like capsules. He lay down and a cap with wires attached was fitted onto his head. Suddenly the scenery was different.

They were standing in a stark, alien landscape, which had a sort of out-of-focus fuzziness, like a half-completed painting. Tiny, shimmery objects danced at the edge of perception. Fynn had been taught to use averted vision, staring straight ahead but concentrating on the periphery to bring out faint details, and this resolved the lights into a foam of minuscule, hexagonal, multi-hued, jittering prisms.

Jessica had changed. She was no longer gagged or blindfolded. She was also somewhat shorter. Her face bore distinctly Eurasian features; her hair was close-cropped and pure white. She was wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit made of some sort of blue metallic thread. But she looked her partner up and down and laughed.

“What’s the…” Fynn began to say. The words came out in a high-pitched tenor.

“Now you’re one of us.”

He looked down… no, she looked down. On the chest were fleshy bumps where there had been rippled muscles. Further down, below the belly, there was no longer a bulge. She had on the same costume as Jessica. It showed off well her new curvature.

She shrugged her slimmed down shoulders. “I’ve had worse. And you’re still my prisoner.”

Jessica’s grin faded. Her arms remained pinioned tightly behind her back. She said no more, because they were not alone. A reception committee was waiting, all females. They looked precisely the same as Jessica.

“Welcome to the future,” one of them said. “As you can see, it’s still a work in progress.”

“Professor Moravec, please accept our apologies for your treatment. We hope you will eventually understand why we have resorted to such measures.”

“And Doctor Ragle, I offer you an apology of a different kind… for your… er… emasculation. Because our work is ground-breaking, we are working with a limited number of templates. Down here we don’t eat, we don’t expel wastes and we don’t… well, you won’t miss your….”

Had it been programmed, the woman would have blushed, Fynn was sure. It was strange, after all this time, to be dealing with people who’d only lived in one world, experienced a single reality.

Fynn could tell by the nuances of tone and inflexion that this was the woman who had greeted them on their arrival. She did not have time to guess about the others, because she and Jessica — the Professor — were ushered into a large white dome. The interior was bare except for a table, at the corners of which were attached metal restraints. Jessica was untied but placed on the table, on her back, and shackled in a spread-eagled position. Fynn was taken outside. She heard screams.

“This is regrettable,” the woman in charge sighed. “Professor Moravec has the data we need to continue our experiments, and we don’t have the time or the resources for subtle methods. At least down here the damage won’t be permanent.”

“Not the physical damage.”

“I’m sorry, I truly am. But we have no alternative. It was not our choice to become criminals. We can erase the memories, if it’s done at this level. However, it’s natural that you have feelings of guilt…”

“Of course I do. I betrayed her…”

“For a good cause. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I do. This is fantastic, what you’ve accomplished.”

“The authorities — those stupid luddites — want to stop us, to halt the course of human progress. They’re afraid, and Professor Moravec, such a brilliant pioneer, fell for the propaganda. Thankfully we still have visionaries like yourself. Simulated reality will be a…” She smiled. “Well, a reality. But come, let’s explore. You can see for yourself the worlds we’re building.”

The world-building was indeed impressive, and Fynn did regret what had to be done. She had no trouble overpowering her opponents. Inside the dome, Jessica had already freed herself. She was standing over the unconscious technicians waving her hands. She appeared to be plucking the tiny coloured lights out of the air.

“Interface established,” she calmly announced.

The laboratory was dismantled; all those new brave worlds would never exist. Although the destruction of the lower level meant her memories of torture could not be erased, Jessica recovered quickly. For the artless idealists of the synthetic reality project, there was no need for punishment; their actions could be wiped without a trace.

The boss congratulated his agents on their mission accomplished. He pressed a button under his desk. The office dissolved. They were lying on cots in his downtown headquarters.

“They will never know, those people down there. They were creating new worlds, never aware of how theirs came about. He pointed out the window towards the towers, row after row, receding to the horizon. We couldn’t let them. Simulations consume energy, and sooner or later, if we allow them, the simulants will start building their own simulations, consuming more energy, and then their simulants will. The number of worlds will increase exponentially, and then the exponential growth will increase without limit. Professor Moravec — our Professor — realized this and ended her work. The catastrophe would have come, she calculated, in less than three years. So well done, you two. We are working to save the world… many, many worlds.”

Fynn took Jessica back to his apartment. As they undressed, she stopped and laughed.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s still working, I see,” she said, pointing to below his belly.

“It wasn’t gone for that long. Anyway, I’ll show you how well it works.”

He surprised himself. It was not quite what he expected. He would have to go undercover this way more often. Afterwards, they lay together in the semi-dark. He was more than satisfied with his performance. So was Jessica. She had no idea that it was his first.

When he heard the soft, steady breathing of deep sleep, Errol reached under the bed and touched the controls, and the walls of the apartment dissolved.

Erynn felt sorry, in a way, for the gorgeous Jessica. For all she knew, her lover had left in the middle of the night for some new secret mission. For all the boss could ever know, Errol was his best agent. In the meantime, her report to the overseers was bound to create a stir. Professor Moravec might not be real, but her predictions were.

*

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby xtc » Tue Feb 24, 2015 3:57 am

Nice to have you back again. The change of direction is interesting.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby Matthewtheman » Tue Feb 24, 2015 7:00 am

I agree wholeheartedly with xtc.

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby sarobah » Wed Feb 25, 2015 4:47 pm

I wish I had the time to write more.
This may be one of my weirder series, but it is also a commentary on one of the big online controversies of recent times.


5. The Sidekick

“Wake up, sweetheart.” The coordinator’s shrill voice crackled through the interference.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. She looked around. She was not in her apartment. She was standing in the middle of a large, empty chamber. “Where in hell am I?”

“Not hell… your classroom.”

“Same thing.”

“You’re in a bad mood…”

“I can’t help it when….”

“Master your moods, or they will master you.”

“You’re a philosopher now? How did you get your job?”

“Who else would do it? We are living in desperate times.”

“Good point.”

The crackle disappeared, and a section of one of the blank walls became fuzzy. Out of the blur stepped a young man, slim but athletic, fresh-faced good-looking. He had piercing eyes, pale green under a high brow. He wore a skin-tight, black-and-gold unitard with matching cape and boots.

“Do I look ridiculous?” he plaintively inquired.

“No more than me, I’m sure,” she mournfully replied.

“Well, I’m not… sure, that is.”

She looked down. She was wearing a barely-there leotard of iridescent blue and spangled silver. It clung precariously to those few bits of her it managed to cover. She was perched loftily on stiletto-heeled, knee-high boots. Opaline bands encircled her wrists, and about her throat was a broad collar of some velvety metal.

She shook her head. “Enough sightseeing. We have a mission.”

It was his first excursion into this world. She taught him the basics of flight, sufficient to take off and land and avoid collisions with the local birdlife. Taking to the skies, they spotted Mephisto’s lair easily enough. The dark gothic towers were a dead giveaway. The henchmen were no trouble either. A traitorous minion showed them the dank passageway down to the dungeon. Chained to the roughhewn rock walls were a dozen muscled young men and statuesque young women in brightly coloured costumes ripped and dishevelled. Hope sparkled on their faces as Hyperman and Sapphyre relieved them of their shackles; but fear flickered once more in their eyes as a grotesque shadow slithered across the stone tiles towards them.

“He’s all yours,” Sapphyre shouted to her sidekick as she freed the last of the prisoners and hustled them past the monstrous, misshapen mass of malevolence that was the archnemesis Mephisto. As they reached daylight, the very parapets of the castle tremored to the furious battle being waged beneath their feet. When he emerged, Hyperman jubilantly bore the scars of a hard-won triumph. Thanking their rescuers, the young superheroes and heroines took off to continue their never-ending struggle against evil and villainy.

“Good work,” she said.

“Could do better,” he sighed.

“Of course.” She smiled. “You will learn. Some never do.”

“Eh?”

She pointed at the crumbling ramparts of Mephisto’s lair. “They demand worthy adversaries who will test and challenge them; and then they call us in to clean up the mess.”

“So this is not your first assignment here.”

“Last time it was giant mechanical spiders.”

“Do they even know?”

“Most of them, not anymore.”

Her apprentice dolefully massaged various parts of his battered body.

“Don’t worry. The bruises will soon be gone.” She clicked her fingers and the bruises were indeed gone.

*

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby sarobah » Fri Feb 27, 2015 3:17 pm

6. The Prince

“I’ve been here before,” she said.

“Of course you have,” he laughed. “Many times.”

“It’s getting hard to remember. Is it ever different?”

“The beginning… no. The end… you still decide.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why should it? It can be however you want.”

“And what do you want?”

“My turn will come.”

“I know. But don’t you want more?”

“This is enough, for now. We’ve been through a lot, and you’ve taught me so much.”

“So when do you want your turn? Will it be different?”

“You decide.”

“We’re going in circles.”

Eryssa halted halfway up the stairs. She peered past the edge into the gathering mist, beyond which sprawled her empyreal domain. She sighed. She was old — older than the hills and the valleys and the forests and the sea. She had lived a thousand lives, walked in ten thousand worlds. Her body, which changed but never aged, had felt much, been shared with countless men... women too, though not as many as there might have been. But there was still time, all the time in the world, and in others. There really was no end, only new beginnings, forever. There was something in those worlds which impelled her. She had to go on.

“We cannot stop here,” he whispered. “No more talking.”

She lifted her foot, raised her head and straightened her body. She would march the rest of the way with pride. At the top of the grand staircase, a host of dignitaries in resplendent vestments waited in uneasy silence to hail their new lord and dispraise their fallen queen. At the base of the great terrace her unfaithful subjects were cheering and jeering. The moon had not passed once through its cycle since she had led them on the field of battle to victory, against the foe they now acclaimed as their prince.

He tugged at the chain which dragged at her collar. Impulsively she tried to reach up to pull on it and ease the strain. A sharp twinge reminded her (for she was still dazed) that her wrists were clamped behind her back in golden fetters. A second chain attached to her collar ran down her belly and between her legs; joined to her manacles, it pressed into the soft folds of her womanhood. With each step she took, a spasm of pleasure and pain surged through her naked body — a contrariant symbol of power’s infidelity.

Once they had reached the platform, she knelt before the throne as the suppliant citizens of Peirene made obeisance to their latest sovereign; and then she was taken into the palace, to the royal boudoir. Prince Hyperion arrived some time later. Without his dazzling armour, heavy boots and sweeping cloak, his was not an imposing figure — slight of build and boyish in visage. But he pierced her with his spectral green eyes. And after he’d released her from the foot of the bed where she had been tied awaiting him, he consummated the union of conqueror and captive.

She was permitted to rest alone on the silk pillows for the remainder of the day. That evening, she was taken to what had become the harem quarters. She took her place on the cushions with the other women, who greeted her with curious gazes. Beyond the tapestried walls was the world she had made, which she had ruled through many reigns, whose throne she fought to defend in many wars, whose crown she had never lost through force of arms. That now seemed so far away. Yet she felt at home here — an unfamiliar feeling. Perhaps it was time to change the game…

The room dissolved.

“Rise and shine.” The coordinator’s shrill voice crackled through the interference.

The apprentice yawned and stretched. Somewhere in the city his mentor still slept; but it was time to go to work. His kingdom could wait.

*

Re: MANY WORLDS

Postby jsherwood » Sat Feb 28, 2015 6:21 am

lovely story