Chapter 19: A New Start

The first test of the AI's (and the Confederacy's) intent to honor our contract came as a fully armed group of sixteen popped through the portal. Marines, unwarned and caught off guard, started to react, but the AI sent them an <all clear, stand down.> A sputtering butter bar raced towards us shouting, "You can't bring those guns aboard! Those conks need to be naked!" and he reached towards Patricia.

"Touch one of my companions, and you'll spend time re-growing the hand I remove!" said Hannah sweetly as she stepped between them. "And they may never find your gonads."

She added for effect, "And these aren't guns, these are rifles. Where the hell did you do your boot camp?!" Then she recited a variation of every drill sergeant's mantra. "'This is your rifle; this is your gun. This is for fighting; this is for fun.' Maybe you should just go read Battle Cry."

Matthews stood at our rear watching the shocked officer and a gathering of snickering marines. He appeared quite pleased with his new acquisitions.

Rachel took charge and turned to our assemblage. "Let's not get these poor boys too stirred up. All companions get naked, and anyone who still has it, pass us your CAP card. Patricia, naked is optional for you. Stuff those undies into your packs along with any weapons that will fit. Pile the packs and stack everything else against the pile."

She turned to the stunned lieutenant, ensign, whatever (we needed to learn the ranks) and said, "Okay, except for a few stolen CAP cards, problem resolved, what's the normal procedure from here on out?"

"Well," the recovering officer responded, "the next step is to verify the status of the missing cards, then run everyone through medical for an initial screening. That would include you volunteers as well. Since we have some missing cards, we might as well include a retest for those CAPs while we are at it. The next extraction isn't planned until this afternoon, so we should be finished in time for you to see your quarters and have lunch. Aside from your initial sponsor and concubine briefings, you'll be free the whole afternoon and evening."

Cathleen stepped up to the plate - God I love this teamwork - and directed. "Listen up folks. Anyone with a serious health issue tell the technicians before they put you into a med tube. Any simple cosmetic changes like scar removal and the like, go ahead. Significant changes like height or boob modification need to wait for our review and approval. Rest assured, we will ask for your input, but we want you to remain you. I'm directing that you ALL be re-tested to see if your CAP has changed."

After a moment, "AI, we want to know if anyone is pregnant, but ensure all others are sterile until we can sort things out and tell you otherwise."

Patricia raised her hand. "Cathleen, can they give me back my cherry? Those horrible men stole it, and I want to give it to Michael on my fourteenth birthday."

Cathleen smiled, gave permission, and made a mental note to tell the technicians to ensure that any requested and restored hymens were thin enough to prevent pain when given up.

After assurance that our pile of goods would be delivered intact to our quarters, one of the NCOs led our parade off to medical. We were followed by a goodly number of interested eyes, not the least were those of Centurion Matthews.

I woke with a voice in my head. <Good morning Michael James. I'm pleased to tell you that your CAP has been reevaluated to 7.9. Rachel Smythe is now rated 7.2, Cathleen Cassidy is also rated 7.2, and Hannah Masters is also rated at 7.9 and should achieve at least an 8.0 by the time she reaches her nineteenth birthday. Only former concubine Carole Wilson improved her score to sponsor level. She is rated at 6.6 and has been informed.> The AI 'sounded' smug. <Your joint household is now under your authorized number of concubines.> I groaned. I had planned to discuss organization with my ladies, and propose Carole as our household mother, head bitch, whatever. Now she was on her own and we were going to further increase our numbers.

A solution popped into my head, and I couldn't wait to discuss it with my ladies. As it turned out, the repair of my bum knee took a little longer than I had expected. Most of my family was already in our new quarters.

I gathered up the remainder of our companions (couldn't yet think of them as concubines) and followed the AI's directions to our quarters. I couldn't help but appreciate walking without the pain in my no longer bum knee.