Behind the Steel Veil
Copyright© 2014 by corsair
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A Veil of Steel descended between the Middle East and the rest of the world over the Sa'arm incursion. "Denied areas" such as the Middle East are soft spots in Earth's defenses. Lieutenant T. E. Lawrence wheels and deals to erect an armored umbrella over this soft spot.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft ft/ft Fa/ft boy girl Teenagers Consensual Reluctant Mind Control Slavery BiSexual Science Fiction Space MaleDom Harem Interracial Oral Sex Anal Sex Masturbation Sex Toys Lactation Pregnancy Exhibitionism Body Modification Violent Nudism Military
The official Confederacy line is that the Steel Veil is off-limits. Operational requirements tend to scuttle dogma like that. I was somewhere in the Middle East on official business. My official mission was to coordinate anti-Sa'am operations with a Colonel calling himself Mubarak. Think about it for a moment: letting the Sa'arm get a foothold anyplace on Planet Earth means that they can dig in and multiply. Eurasia is the largest land mass on Earth and the consensus is that the Sa'arm must not be allowed to land a hive ship. When they do land hive ships, those ships must be destroyed immediately. Should that prove impossible, battling the Sa'arm underground was going to be a losing enterprise—battle experience against Sa'arm on the surface demonstrated that the Sa'arm could be destroyed, at a high cost, if they were unable to burrow underground.
"Salaam malickum," they wore combat fatigues and berets.
"Malickum salaam," I responded.
"We won't have any peace when the Swarm arrive," Achmed said in English. "Your accent is as atrocious as ever, friend Thomas."
"I recall that you used to be a mere sergeant, Colonel Lawrence," Colonel Mubarak k new me from earlier American Army missions to the Middle East. I was actually a lieutenant in the Confederacy Navy—sort of. I hadn't much more than sleep trainer learning—the Confederacy was relying upon my raw talent and previous experience. "I have had much respect for you even if you are not a believer. Anybody who can hit silhouette targets at 100 meters with a 9mm pistol has my respect."
"You did well yourself, Colonel," I replied.
"Fifty meters only," Mubarak said. "I know enough to be humble in front of a master. You never made me feel inferior—except for that time you lined up ten silhouette targets at the 100 meter mark, had us examine them, and then fired ten magazines from ten issue pistols using issue NATO ammunition from the standing position."
"There are many who can do that at 300 meters," I countered. "Besides, I only hit the targets 116 times. I missed 34 shots, and my hits were marginal with a low powered weapon. The Sa'arm might not even feel the 9mm NATO—that bullet frequently fails to stop humans."
"Which is why I had you train my bodyguards and why they were equipped with those forty-caliber SIG pistols," the colonel continued. "The Emir used Mohamed to train his own bodyguards, but Mohamed isn't you. You were able to pass on your skills to others."
The Arab way is to socialize before getting down to business. There is method to that madness. In the absence of binding structure, personal relationship is everything. I had been running Army pistol qualification on Colonel Mubarak's small arms range because my own colonel acknowledged the deplorable pistol marksmanship of his own Military Police and officers. I ran a combat pistol school that brought people up to Army marksmanship standards and then taught them gun fighting. My Arabic was very limited, two semesters of night school, but actions speak louder than words. I was better with rifles and machine guns and grenade launchers. At the moment I wore traditional Arab dress with full combat gear beneath—full human combat gear that wasn't out of place in the Middle East. It seemed that the region had dissolved into perpetual civil war.
"So what can you do for us?" Mubarak asked. He meant 'what can the Confederacy do' and not what Thomas Erwin Lawrence could do. I didn't have much to offer.
"Your air defense network could be improved easily and cheaply," I said. "It's more than radars to see with. You need to talk to each other, then guide your missiles and laser beams on target in a coordinated attack."
"We don't have lasers," Mubarak pointed out, "and the Russian missiles are inferior. Chinese missiles are worse. I don't even want to associate with North Korean missiles."
"You could buy French," I pointed out.
"Since cheap fusion power replaced petroleum power we have had no influence," Mubarak commented. "That wasn't what destroyed our leverage on European governments. Freezing our financial assets disrupted our government. We could no longer purchase Western politicians. How are we going to get lasers? Steal them? And then what? Who will operate these lasers?"
"You have competent teachers," I remarked. "Who's to know where they learned their craft? Just remember that it is fire control more than artillery systems, and you need to have the logistics chain to back you up."
"The Imams will take credit," Achmed said. "They always do, Thomas."
"So?" I said. "You and Colonel Mubarak can handle that. We have to deal with the Sa'arm if there is to be anything left for us humans to fight over. There isn't a viable alternative."
"No," the third man had been quiet until now. "I saw what you Crusaders did when we Arabs didn't cooperate. You simply bombed everything, killed everybody. When the Swarm lands you Americans will simply bomb everything, just like you did to Iraq twice."
"The Americans were using restraint, Soloman," Achmed objected. "I was in Thomas's world history class. Believe me, when they lack restraint, nothing will survive. The only nation to use nuclear weapons on civilian populations was America. The Imperial Japanese government sought peace but got two atomic bombs."
"Imperial Japan and their god-emperor had a credibility issue with the United States," I countered, "one that began with bombing Pearl Harbor while still making peace noises. And during the last year of the Pacific war Japan was trying to broker peace through Joseph Stalin and the Soviet Union. Stalin had another agenda. The two atomic bombs were unmitigated horrors, but there were sixty other Japanese cities destroyed by B-29 bombing raids, and starvation induced by unrestricted submarine warfare, and then the United States Navy and the Army Air Force began tearing up internal communications with fighter sweeps and mining the inland water ways and bombing railroads. If not for the atomic bombs, plans were to unleash chemical warfare on Japan. The American Navy had been testing captured German V-1 buzz bombs launched from Navy four-engined bombers at what was left of Japanese cities. Don't forget that Hirohito stepped down from godhood at the end of the war."
"Americans are arrogant," Colonel Mubarak said, "and they are stupid little children, but they play the war game well when their political masters stay out of the way. What Colonel Lawrence is offering is little more than an umbrella to keep the Swarm from landing hive ships in our soil. The alternative is to watch the Americans and off-worlders fight in our skies, and when a hive ship puts down, they will destroy that hive ship. That will result in every living thing within a hundred kilometers perishing."
"I remember being hunted by the Americans," Soloman remininced. "I got rid of my cell phone. I learned that my SUV had a computer that they could locate. Killer drones roamed the skies at will."
"You can fight your own battles," I said, "all we offer are the means to fight more effectively. I do not doubt that you will acquit yourself on the battlefield, but the Sa'arm are the most formidable foe we humans have ever faced."
"You offer little," Soloman objected. "Cast off weapons."
"That is correct," I admitted. "I do not deny that. We need you—but there is mutual distrust between us. It's our legacy to mistrust each other. I don't deny that you won't be given everything you want because there is fear that those weapons will be used on us and not the Sa'arm. The Confederacy is even more distrustful. They don't have the disadvantage America has—you basically look like us, and Arab culture did preserve knowledge during the Dark Ages. But it's the 21st Century and Earth will be invaded in a few months to a decade at most by what amounts to tool-wielding land sharks. The can't be reasoned with or bought off. They can and will eat you and yours."
"As pointed out," Achmed said, "the Americans won't let the Swarm use our land. They'll fight here without us. I will do my duty and that includes pointing out that we cannot survive both American bombing and the Swarm."
"And they will then mop up on land," the colonel added. "Our choices is to accept whatever crumbs we can beg or be helpless. I trust Colonel Lawrence's assessment that the Swarm will land here. The other areas are too well defended."
"Personally, I expect that the arms and training you receive will be used to enforce your independence from the west," I said. "I don't have a problem with that. This is not my country. I'm only here out of selfishness—I don't want the Sa'arm to have Disneyland."
They didn't laugh. Perhaps Soloman didn't understand. Achmed did—he wasn't laughing because I wasn't joking. I served as an unofficial tour guide at Disneyland for the colonel and his family.
"I haven't forgotten those video tapes you gave me," Achmed changed the subject. "You even left your tape machine. Highway Patrol. Sea Hunt. Have Gun, Will Travel. I still watch them. You acted so much like those heroes that I know to trust you."
"Colonel, do you have a wish list?" I asked. "What would you want, if it could be granted? What equipment and support would you ask for?"
"I want all forces under my command," Soloman butted in. "I am wise enough to know that I am not worthy to command those forces. You know our ways. I want something personal from you. Then you give us what you can. I understand that some of us will be smuggled to the West for training."
"The training can be done here," I said. "The systems are easy to learn, don't require a decade in school to lay the knowledge foundation. It will take a few weeks but can be done in a secure compound that you provide. I'll have additional security measures so that the weapons remain under your control. Who will command?
"Colonel Mubarak, of course," Soloman said. "I am humble enough to recognize greatness in others. What I want from you is to marry my daughter. She'll have to convert, of course. Different religions make for a disharmonious household. One thing you Americans do is spoil your women, so I know she will be safe. I have asked Colonel Mubarak and your friend Achmed to give you one of their daughters. That will make you family—even though they won't be of the faith any longer."
"My Zara is the eldest," Achmed said. "She's 11. I understand that when she becomes your wife, she is your dependent and under Confederacy law she is still a child. I can't imagine that you aren't a citizen--"
"He has to be or he wouldn't be here representing the Confederacy," Colonel Mubarak pointed out. "Under Confederacy law they are your children. Under our law they are your new wives."
"I can trust family," Soloman said. "I cannot trust outsiders."
"I'll have to practice my Arabic," I said. "I accept."
That's how a secret agreement put advanced weapons in Arab hands. That's how I wound up with three young girls in my family. Zara was 11. Jasmine was 10. Soloman's daughter Fatima was 9. The first human lawyers may have been Arab! The AI accepted the three as my daughters and they were off-limits as sex partners—but regarded themselves as my wives. I had two adult concubines and their children and still had slots to fill on my dance card—but I have been busy!
We humans over-complicate our lives. I think we need drama as much as we need vitamins. The adult concubines were Karo and Petra. Karo was named after the syrup because she was sweet but not 'honey.' She was fond of her name, so I didn't change it. Karo had two small children, Tom and Tina. Petra was the surviving concubine of an abusive sponsor—he's somewhere else now. Petra used to have five children, but only Tracy and Lynn survived. It isn't my business to speculate why Petra's sponsor survived when six children and a concubine didn't.
In the Confederacy Navy I was Lieutenant Thomas Edwin Lawrence, or El Tee Tee El behind my back. If you don't get the joke, I thought the palindrome was appropriately humorous. Karo and Petra were nude—if it were practical, if it were safe, they'd never wear clothing. I had their bodies modified to my taste. Petra was also pregnant. After introducing my dependents, the children who were legally my "wives," I reported to the ARAB DAGGER task force commander.
"I hear you picked up a few dependents, Thomas." She insisted on first names, used to be a top prosecutor in California before Georgia was picked up as a sponsor. "Like them young?"
"It was a favor," I met her gaze. "It won't be easy demonstrating that I value them while complying with Confederacy sexual mores. Not that I'm hurting for sex, just I will have to feel my way around and make it work out. I'm going to tell the girls that I want them to grow up a certain way and that as the man, I am in control of their sex lives. I hope that works—but I have some good concubines. I'm glad that Mother Superior—er, Signifier Tessa—connected me with those two women. They have issues—we all have issues—but they complete me. And the three girls are part of an ancient tradition. Not quite hostage. They make me part of their family. I'm almost embarrassed to have impersonated an American Army colonel."
"What makes you think that your rank was fake?" Georgia asked. "We got you a valid commission in the United States Army so that we could conduct joint operations with our Earthly enemies when the Sa'arm arrive."
"Combined operations," I corrected. "Joint operations are using different branches of the United States. Combined operations involve other national governments. I guess you could call this combined joint operations, but that's bad Army jargon."
"Don't be a smart ass!" Georgia grinned when she scolded. "You do realize that you've just made yourself too valuable to ship out."
No good deed goes unpunished!