John Ringo - Emerald Sea

She had taken Megan to a small chamber off the main room. The chamber had a low desk, designed for a person sitting on the floor or, as Christel was, on a cushion. And it had more of the ubiquitous cushions found in the main room. Megan had taken one of these and was sitting cross-legged with her back against the stone wall.

“Thank you,” Megan replied, coldly. “Okay, where am I? I can guess what this is. Given the way the world is run these days I won’t ask ‘by what right’ but I will ask ‘what council member keeps this harem?’ ”

“Smart and pretty,” Christel said, smiling thinly. “Don’t be too smart for your own good. Did you notice the young lady out there that didn’t seem to care if it was night or day?”

“Yes.”

“She was… too smart for her own good,” Christel said, giving that thin, humorless smile again. “This is the… seraglio of Paul Bowman.”

“ ‘We feel the same way,’ ” Megan said, nodding. “And he even called himself Paul.”

“It is not just for his idle amusement,” Christel added. “I was one of Paul’s… biological consorts prior to the Fall. We made a child together, using replicators of course. After the Fall he ensured that I and Jean, who is a grown man now, were provided for. As he did with his other four consorts.” She paused and looked up as if bringing some rehearsed speech to mind and then nodded.

“Paul’s purpose in trying to bring a new age to this fallen world is just,” Christel said, primly. “He was terrified that, given current trends and the way that the world was slipping into lotus eating, that the human race would simply wither away. Since the Fall he has worked incredibly hard to ease the suffering of his people. But he feels it important that there not only be breeding, but good breeding. And therefore he has established this retreat for the purposes of breeding a finer quality of human. You are here to be one of his consorts. Your purpose, from his point of view, is to breed good children. When you become pregnant you will be moved to another area where you will be pampered and cared for carefully until the birth of the baby. You will then move to the creche for two years so that your baby will develop a good early infancy bonding. At the end of the two years you will return here.”

“And never see them again?” Megan said, perhaps more aghast at that than the rest of the litany.

“No, you will visit them from time to time; they will be well cared for, I guarantee it. And when they reach an age where they are amenable they may visit the seraglio from time to time. When Paul is not here. He… believes in the importance of children but… does not care for them as children .”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Megan snapped. “He wants babies bred but doesn’t want to be bothered with them himself. Some leader. Some visionary. What a hypocrite.”

“Watch your tone,” Christel said, dangerously. “We are here for Paul’s pleasure and needs, not the other way around. He is a very important man, to the world and to us. Keep that in mind. I will add that Paul works very hard. And the other purpose of this group is to make him happy when he has the time to visit us. If you find it impossible to make him happy, steps will be taken.”

“Such as a mind-wipe?” Megan said, coldly.

“There are preliminaries,” Christel replied. She held out her hand languidly and mouthed a series of syllables.

Megan’s whole body was suddenly seized by pain and she couldn’t even gasp, much less scream at the agony. In a moment the pain stopped and she was left panting and sweating in reaction. There was no side effect except a lingering memory, but she felt as if she was going to throw up her good supper.

“Paul has given me access to a small amount of power and a few programs,” Christel said, smiling thinly. “I use the power sparingly. Don’t make me use it on you.”

“I won’t,” Megan said, trying to act meek.

“Why do I suspect you’re lying?” Christel said. “Megan who watches everything as if she were the predator rather than the prey. But you’ll learn your place. Everyone does eventually. One way or another.”

Megan stumbled out into the main room still feeling the tingling aftereffects of the pain lash. Most of the girls ignored her quite pointedly but one, who was sitting beside one of the mind-wiped, smiled at Megan and patted a pillow next to her.

“Isn’t she just dreadful?” the girl whispered when Megan collapsed on the pillow.

“It wasn’t fun,” Megan admitted.

“I’m Shanea,” the girl said. She was a short, heavy-breasted blonde with a happy but vacuous expression. “Shanea Burgey.”

“Megan Sung,” Megan replied, holding out her hand. “Your name is actually Shanea?” Megan continued.

“Yes,” Shanea said, looking at her sideways. “Why?”

“Your parents gave you that name?” Megan asked with a faint smile. “Did you kill them in their sleep?”

“No, silly,” Shanea said, smiling. “I like it. This is Amber,” Shanea continued, turning to the girl next to her. “Say hello , Amber.”

“Hello,” the girl said, softly. Amber was a tall, absolutely exquisite brunette with slender hips and waist but very firm, large breasts. Megan had already noticed that Paul seemed to be eclectic in his taste for women except on the order of breasts. Amber continued looking off into the distance while her hands worked at the knitting in her lap. It didn’t seem to be intended to be anything; she was just making a long piece about as wide as the knitting needle was long. The wool was lovely, a light gray shade that looked as soft as silk. From time to time the girl would stop knitting and stroke the fabric, a look of pleasure crossing her perfect features.

“Her real name is Meredith,” Shanea said. “But she likes to be called Amber. She doesn’t talk much. She… had some problems adjusting.”

“I can imagine,” Megan said. She wondered what the girl had been like before. In a way she’d rather be dead than mind-wiped. And most mind-wipes didn’t leave the person a relative vegetable as Amber seemed to be.

“Really, it’s not that bad,” Shanea said, earnestly. “Paul’s actually rather sweet in his own way and we don’t have to worry about… other men. It’s much worse on the outside.”

“I’d love some more clothes,” Megan replied. “Even panties for God’s sake.”

“You can make them,” Shanea said, perkily. “Come on.”

She led Megan down one of the corridors to a side door and opened it up to reveal a small storeroom just about crammed with fabrics. There were bolts of lace and silk, some of them woven so sheer as to be transparent.

“And, look,” Shanea said, opening up a basket, “there’s all sorts of needles and things.”

“I’ve never… done any sewing,” Megan said, looking at the room and thinking in terms of rope ladders. Silk could be awfully strong, especially if you braided a section of cloth. She also didn’t know much about braiding, but somebody in the harem probably did. Not that a rope was going to do her much good if she couldn’t even find a window she could fit through.

“I’m not that great but I’m learning,” Shanea said happily. “Come on, we’ll work on some shorts for you.”

“Not pants?” Megan said. “A shirt? Maybe a dress?”

“No, not pants,” Shanea said, for the first time with a serious tone. “Megan, please don’t say things that don’t make sense, okay? Did you see anyone wearing pants ?”

“No,” Megan said, slowly. “I guess that was pretty stupid, huh? I guess, maybe, a halter top? Short shorts? What was that thing they used to wear, I’ve seen it sometimes. Oh, yeah, a mini skirt?”