Chapter 2: At Home With Family

There were many excellent excuses to segregate the Arab trainers being trained to operate their counter-landing umbrella: technically the Confederation was at war with Islam, the operation was a secret, and unfortunately their standards of hygiene were offensive to westerners, especially the sponsors harvested from Planet Earth.

Sleep learning was the norm. Rather than risk sleep learning equipment compromise—and the CAP test process—all training took place on Ares Colony. For those not versed in Greek, that's the fourth rock from our sun. Mars wasn't likely to see a Sa'arm invasion simply because there was nothing organic to eat. Sa'arm landing on Mars would starve—if they didn't suffocate first. There were other planets and asteroids that could be populated with perhaps a quarter of Earth's people—and these places were inhospitable. The Sa'arm seemed to infest only habitable planets. If my hypothesis was correct, Earth-at was going to be a death trap for Sa'arm. Still, the only people in the section containing the Arab trainers were myself, my commanding officer Georgia, and a few select concubines under the control of Signifier Tess, formerly Mother Superior. The 72 hand-picked concubines were there for sex—of course—and were expected to become pregnant from the trainers, the best of the Arab world. They were also there to clean up after them, keep the trainers entertained, tuck them into sleep trainers...

"Do not abuse my houris," I told the 24 trainees. "They are 72 virgin houris and they are here to serve you while you train. In six weeks you will return and begin training others."

Confed medicine was so advanced that I was able to procure 72 women who were modified to my specifications. The Arab Dagger artificial intelligence styled itself as Ricardo Corleone. Richard Lion-heart. Islam, specifically Arabic Islam, wasn't very popular with the Confederacy—yet my hare-brained scheme struck a note with the assembled AI (Artificial Intelligence, not Arabic Islam). The women were rebuilt according to the Golden Rule, and I had a variety of genetic backgrounds—even though they had the same basic bodies. There were many different Islamic empires in the Caliphate and women were traded like bubble gum cards. Basically, every racial group was represented in the harems of the rich and famous right up to the Twentieth Century. My 'houris' represented that. They all had intact—and fragile—hymens. Every time their trainees went under sleep training, the houris on this assignment would be re-virginized.

"Hand-picked" was performed by Signifier Tess from two sources. The pool of unclaimed concubines was expected. Officially "surplus to requirements" and doomed to recycling, I argued that valuable resources were being squandered: their labor, their minds (even though not sponsor quality as measured by CAP tests) and their bodies. I don't know if I put my foot in my mouth or had the gift of Blarney, but I was granted a pool of 72 women and given the resources to train them and configure their bodies. They ranged in age from 14 to 54—and six were sponsors! The mission was for six weeks of training for two dozen Islamic warrior-technicians. My friend Achmed led the trainees—and he was "assisted" by a spiritual adviser who called himself Osama. A few years ago my dalliance would have been unmitigated treason. Most of the secrecy now had to do with the persona non grata status of those claiming to follow the prophet Mohammed.

There were two reasons for the houris—first of course was to motivate and control the trainees through their lusts. The second was collection and preservation of genetic material the old fashioned way—these women would become mothers to orphans abandoned by sperm donors. Perhaps the Machiavellian aspect tickled AI Ricardo's fancy—fellow "Italian" and all. No sentient being can stereotype like Confederacy Artificial Intelligences! I had to remind Ricardo of Arab Dagger's mission goals to get the AI to stop piping the theme from "the Godfather" everywhere; now we get Middle Eastern "country" music everywhere.

After I gave the short welcome and "don't abuse the houris" speech, Achmed gave a short speech on the Mission: learn to operate and maintain the systems well enough to teach others. Finally, Osama gave his presentation: follow the five pillars of Islam. Osama astounded me by thanking me for the use of my houris. It's a common trait among God's Chosen, no matter what book they follow (if any)--whatever they want is their god-given right.

The houris wore clothing that they designed themselves. I prefer my concubines to be naked—when it isn't illegal, when there's no issues of health or safety. I expect that they'll want clothing—and I expect to work something out that will please both them and me. Most men, I've learned, prefer their women gift-wrapped. A significant fraction have a fetish about that "gift wrapping." Used panties? Shoes? I admit that I'm blind to the attraction—so I ordered the houris to gift wrap themselves. They didn't disappoint me.

After the briefings Achmed and Osama supervised houri distribution. I had a three-to-one ratio and figured that even with enhanced sex drives the men would be unable to keep up with the women. Arab society disapproved of lesbianism, but I required bisexual women because as houris the women would be focused on satiation of their assigned man—and any itch that the women had afterward, they would have to scratch themselves.

"Satisfy the men," I told them, "and during these six weeks you'll have to help each other."

Ricardo had inhuman patience as the 24 men acted like kids in a candy store. Perhaps the AI found that amusing. We humans create drama when bored—gossip, rumors, gambling, fighting...

At the end, twenty-two men were led to their quarters by sixty-six women. Achmed and Osama had their alloted three houris each. Oddly enough, they each wound up with a sponsor-level woman in their mini-harem. I led the eight people to my home. For convenience the two leaders would have their quarters in my home.