My name is Peter, Peter Duthie.

When my tale starts, I was just seventeen, and a bit of a nerd, I suppose the word is.

I liked studying, learning new things, and quite satisfied with my own company.

Oh, I had a few friends at school, at the chess club for instance, but I was no social butterfly.

I didn’t have a girlfriend yet, as I didn’t think I was old enough to get serious about girls.

I was happy enough in our village in rural Aberdeenshire, up in the Dee valley, and had no desire to go to the big city with all its crowds and crime.

I was able to do much of my studying at home, through the vast resources of the Internet.

My folks wanted me to go to university, but that would be in the city, and I was a country boy, so I tried to dissuade them from that plan.

I was not sure I could stop them pushing me, for Dad wants me to be someone he can be proud of, like a lawyer or teacher.

I had only a few close friends as I said, mostly the cleverest boys and girls at our secondary school, just a few miles from our village.

I can get on the same wavelength as them.

A school bus took us there and brought us home to our villages each day.

My teachers all seemed to think I would do well in the final exams this year, but I was determined to do my best and get top scores to enable me to get to university and do something useful with my life.

Despite my basic dislike of the crowded city, my folks wanted me to get some experience of this urban location, and ignore my preference for the countryside...

“They have a theatre next to the central library, so you could go watch a play after an hour or so in the library,” my mother insisted.

To encourage me to visit the city, my father gave me a new credit card to cover the costs of things like food and bus travel, but with limits on it, he reminded me.

He also mentioned that there would be a pre-Christmas Fayre, as they called it, with all sorts of amusements, special foods on offer and fancy confections.

“You have to do some travelling on your own, my boy.

You spend too much time at home, or mooching around the village.

There is a big wide world out there, waiting for you.

You have to learn to broaden your view beyond the farm, the village and your school.”

I considered my position in response to his urging.

My parents had always done their best for me, so I should not dismiss their request out of hand.

Dad was even paying for travel and food, so that was a bonus.

I could also visit the Central Library and find what might interest me and likely be worth another visit.

It was not a detriment to me, so I ought to fit in for this occasion.

“Okay, Dad.

If you are that keen on me going, I’ll do what you say.”

“Good lad.

That pre-Christmas fair looks like it could be interesting in other ways.

You’ll meet a lot of other young people there, perhaps even a girl that you fancy.

Oh, and if you get a chance, pop in to one of these centres and get a card; they call it a CAP card, whatever that means, but it looks like being an essential if you are to get anywhere in the world of the next few years.” “I did read something about it, Dad.

It gives some people a way off the planet, but you then get into some army and have to be prepared to fight aliens.

That is not my aim, so I have ignored all that talk.”

“Suit yersel, my boy.

It is your life, and your choice of what you do with it.

We can only give you a start.

The rest is up to you.” I agreed in part.

“I’ll go to the Christmas market, Dad, for that is what it will be: a means to sell you lots of stuff.

Calling it a fair, spelled f a y r e, is just a sales gimmick.” “You have it right, there, but that’s how businesses are run, lad. Just ignore the name if you don’t like it.

What’s important is what is actually being sold, whether a product or a service. Make sure the price is not too high.

Just because it is Christmas doesn’t mean the prices have to rise; there are always people trying to make money off Christmas.” So that is why I ended up on a bus to Aberdeen bus terminal, which I was sure would not be very far from the market.

I could ask directions, as I have a good Scots tongue in my head.

Local information was easy got from locals at the bus station.

I at last found my way to the park where the stalls were laid out, and was amazed at all the fancy buildings that I passed in the city.

Some of them were huge! I had a street plan on my phone, but that shows you the locations, but not what is on the location today.

Fortunately, there were posters around the city centre, mostly in the windows of smaller stores, and the posters told you all you wanted to know.

It was inside a large local park.

Incidentally, the word park, for an open entertainment area within a town or city, is the local Aberdeenshire dialect word for a field of pasture, but it was originally an old French term, a parc, and was probably brought over with the Normans when they invaded England They managed to negotiate favoured status with the king of Scots to come to this country.

We don’t have a king who rules the land, though he might like to; his family was chosen to represent the people of Scotland, so his title when in Scotland is King of Scots, not King of Scotland.

I got to the market not long before lunchtime, so I looked around at the food vendors and what they were offering and at what prices.

Some of the prices shocked me, but then I was not fully aware of price inflation of goods these days, as I kept myself to myself, mostly.

I was standing before one of the food stalls, looking it over, when a teenage girl moved to beside me and nudged me to get my attention.

When I glanced at her, my attention was grabbed: she was good-looking with brown hair and blue eyes, a kissable mouth and a gorgeous smile.

A bit younger than me, though; mid-teens.

She asked, “Hey, do you know anything about this stuff?” “Hello to you too,” I answered brusquely, but responded to her question, “Not a lot, but from what I see, the things on this Italian stall are basically rice dumplings, deep fried.

They might have a few extra ingredients, but I have no idea what.

You’ll have to ask at this stall.

They should be one of the cheaper offerings to buy, as rice is a lot less expensive than meat.” I glanced over at the stall-keeper, moving his next batch around in the cooking oil.

He had listened and commented, “Quite right, loon.

A good price for good food.” I was surprised at him using an Aberdonian word for a lad.

“Loon?” I asked, and he grinned.

“Not my first time at Aberdeen, loon.

You pick up local words by listening.

Nae bad, eh?” I grinned back, saying, “Nae bad ava’.

Good business practice, too.

How about some rice balls for me and this young lady?” “We call them Arancini, young man,” he stated, reverting back to standard English.

He quoted the price, and it seemed not unreasonable, so I nodded, “Fine.

Another new word for me.

We seem to be collecting some Italian words as well as all the French words we already have in our language.” He nodded.

“Probably it started with all the ice cream shops and fish and chip shops of the 19th and early 20th centuries, when Italians started emigrating here to escape poverty at home.” “Probably, but I don’t want to stop you selling your food, so we’ll be off.” I offered an arm to my attractive new friend, and we ambled off with our Arancini portions, but she warned, “I can’t move too far away, or my sister will lose track of me.” “Naturally.

Is she younger than you, and you are looking after her? What is your name, anyway?” “I am Amber, Amber Milne.

No, Denise is seventeen and I am just fifteen.

She likes to think she is in charge just because she is older, but I do well at school, better than she does.

She is a pacifist at heart, so not sponsor material for the alien war.

How do you feel about warfare, Peter?” “I can take it or leave it, but to me, it is mostly a waste of lives that could be more productive in other ways.

In the second world war, it was our research scientists that made great strides in technology and they helped to end the war in their own way, from secretly building the first modern computers to break the German codes, to inventing radar to help guard our coasts from enemy aircraft surprise attacks.

The Germans also invented radar about the same time, but they were less adept at putting it to work on a large scale.

A commando unit mounted a raid on one of their new radar units above a cliff on the French coast and brought back the working equipment for study by the boffins.

They found that in some respects the Germans were ahead of us.

The military did not want to accept that finding; typical staid military thinking.” “Gosh.

I didn’t know that,” she admitted.

“You must be sponsor grade, I would guess.

Are you?” “No idea.

You are talking about these CAP cards, I think, but I have not bothered with getting one of those, as I didn’t fancy going to war.

“Oh.

Pity.

Me and Denise did well, but not Sponsor level.

I don’t know about Tracy and Frieda.” “Who?” “Oh, friends of ours.

Their Mum gave us a lift into town.” “I see.

Do I have to buy Arancini for them as well? See, I am using the Italian word!” “I shouldn’t think so.

Their Mum will pay for them.” “So are they your age, or Denise’s age?” “Tracy is ages with me, and Frieda is more Denise’s age, I think.

We are in similar classes at school, Tracy and me.” “So is Denise with them, and you have to stick around here for them to find you later?” “Hmm... more or less.

I didn’t want to be bossed around by their Mum as well as by Denise.” I chuckled.

“I can see the problem.

I take it none of them are as bright as you, and you resent them putting you down just because you are younger?” “Yeah.

You are clever, I can see, and seem to know about people, Peter.

You are probably the life and soul of the party at school.” I huffed, “Not at all.

I am more studious; can’t abide all the frivolous talk and actions that amuse other folk.

I have well-educated parents who talk to me as if I was an adult, and I spend a lot of time on-line, looking up information.

You have to be savvy about the amount of rubbish out there on the Internet, and be selective in what you read, watch, or listen to.

Stupidity is rampant in the media universe, and some of these conspiracy theories... well, stupidity is a major understatement about their followers, imagining opinions as facts.” “Nice to hear that, Peter.

You have wisdom, it seems, so I think I am safe with you.

Can you wait until they turn up?” “Sure.

I am on my own today.

My parents wanted me to mingle more in the urban environment, and suggested I visit this market, or FAYRE as they call it.” “Is it the wrong name, then?” “No, it is just a fad for using old and odd spellings to make something appear older and more reliable, the notion that traditional means better: which is rubbish! The old spellings existed back then solely because there were no dictionaries available to give you a definitive and recognised spelling.

Standard spelling is a relatively modern aspect of English, which is why the Americans were happy for a guy to devise a dictionary with simpler spellings.

The Americans loved it! Possibly because so many were new to English and therefore anything simpler was better for them.

It makes sense, even if we in Britain see it as mere independence antics designed to assert their differences.

The Australians and Canadians were more sensible and didn’t see any need to change word spellings for the sake of change.

Change happens all by itself, over centuries of time.” “Gosh.

You come out with the most curious facts.

I don’t think they told us this stuff in English class.” “I am not surprised.

Teachers pass on the current use of language, not the older stuff which is a matter for academics to ponder.

You may have heard of Chaucer, the early English writer?” “Oh, yes, I remember the name: The Canterbury Tales, yes? Raunchy stuff!” “Exactly.

Well, he wrote using Middle English, and 99.9 per cent of folk today would not understand his 14th century version of English.

Chaucer stole some of his material from the Italian writer Boccaccio’s “The Decameron”.

Language changes all the time; never stops.

Shakespeare wrote his name with various spellings, but he also invented many words we still use today.” “Really? For example?” “Oh: Traditional, obscene, rant, critic and gossip are a few.

He is supposed to have made up hundreds of new words; some by turning verbs to nouns, or combining two other words, or by adding prefixes or suffixes, such as tradition becoming traditional as an adjective.” Our interesting conversation was interrupted by a shout of “Fire!”, and this was made evident by a narrow column of smoke rising from near the outskirts of the market stalls.

To me, it looked like a minor blaze at a single stall, but such blazes can spread rapidly if unchecked, depending on wind direction and speed, so I took hold of Amber’s hand and said, “If we have to move, Amber, keep hold of my hand and we’ll have a better chance together.

Any sign of your sister?” “No...

Umm... not in sight... oh, dammit, yes! There she is.” She pointed towards the supposed fire, and there was a tall teenage girl waving her hand as she strode towards us, three other females of various heights trailing her.

Soon they reached us, and Denise embraced Amber.

“Good girl – staying here as I said.” she said, and Amber glared at her, then looked up at the sky and gestured to me to show that what she had been saying was now proved.

When Denise glanced at me as the man holding Amber’s hand, Amber explained.

“Peter was talking with me, and decided to protect me until you girls got here.

Wasn’t that kind of him, very gentlemanly?” I got glared at in turn, this time by Denise.

“You hitting on my little sister? Watch it, mister, for I am her protector.” I raised my hands defensively and faced her.

“No way! I was merely being a true gentleman, guarding her honour as she had been left alone.” Amber butted in with, “Denise, this is Peter, my hero.

Peter, this is my big sister, Denise,” and then she added, gesturing to the others as she pointed them out, “This is Tracy, Frieda, and their Mum...

“she tailed off as she did not know what name to use.

The mother, a stunning blonde who looked to be in her early thirties, helped out by stepping forward and shaking my hand.

“Helen Buchan, Tracy and Frieda’s mother.

Your own surname, Peter?” “Duthie, Peter Duthie; a ferm loon fae Auchleven, otherwise kent as Premnay.” “Oh, yes: Premnay parish.

Nice to meet you, mister Duthie.

Now, this fire we hear about; how do we get away? Which direction is best to avoid it, do you know?” As she spoke, the public address system burst noisily into life.

“Attention, please.

The fire is being extinguished as we speak.

Will all sponsors and those with them, move towards the greenhouses, and report to the tall soldiers near there.

They will escort you to safety.

Others can stay put for now.” The only thing that percolated through my churning, female-filled mind was the word safety, so I announced, “Right, as that is where to go for safety, let’s go, girls, assuming you all want stay with me.

I should ask you, really, instead of assuming.

Do you want to come with me, ladies?” Surprisingly, they all agreed they would remain with me, and followed my lead, the mother shepherding her offspring and the other Milne sister as I pulled Amber in the direction of the greenhouses – the other word that had percolated my thick head.

The crowd thinned out a little, leaving only a narrow queue pointed in the right direction, so I followed it.

People seemed to be dispersed away somehow, ahead of us, and we found ourselves in front of this very tall soldier.

I felt intimidated by his massiveness, but Mrs Buchan was more robust and direct as the adult in charge.

“We’re with him,” she declared to the monster, and he reacted immediately with his standard order.

“Step onto this mat, one at a time, and step off as soon as you arrive,” he instructed.

We unthinkingly followed this order, me leading again, and I found myself inside some structure, and quickly stepped off as instructed.

It must be a teleport of some kind, was what went through my mind, instead of being astonished at the transformation.

Amber followed me and grabbed my hand again as soon as we were through.

“Got you!” she exclaimed happily, and was bumped from behind by her sister, and we had to move out of the way for others to arrive, wherever it was we now were.

A loud voice demanded from hidden speakers: “Move to the wall and stand still.

Stay with your sponsor until we are ready for you.” “What...?” I started, but Mrs Buchan pushed us all to the nearest wall, some metres away.

Getting there, she glared at me and demanded, “Get your CAP card out.” “Eh?” I burst out.

“What CAP card?” She blurted out, “You can’t be that stupid.

The one you get at the testing centre, of course.” “Oh.

The testing centre? Where is it? I need to go, don’t I?” I mumbled in confusion.

As she stared at me in shock, astonishment, or unbelief, another very tall soldier came over to us whilst I was noting that the ambient temperature around us was somewhat mild, and no longer the wintry pre-Christmas conditions we had just left.

He demanded officiously, “One of you has not been through a testing centre.

Who is it?” Mrs Buchan said tersely, “Him: Peter Duthie, he says his name is.” The tall soldier peered at me and said conclusively, “That’s the name I was told.

I am to take you to one of the med tubes.

The AI is interested in you for some reason.” I was frogmarched away from the others, who were instructed to stay put, and taken to a nearby room where several machines with clear curved lids stood like great open coffins.

The tall man took me to one of them, and ordered, “Strip and get in.

NOW.” It was not my day.

Stunned and overcome by all this officious military procedure, I stripped wordlessly and climbed into the machine, which had a mattress to lie on.

I laid myself down.

I felt a puff of air on my face, then oddly I felt sleepy.

He pulled the clear top over as my eyes closed and peculiarly I drifted off to dreamland.

What seemed like a few seconds later, he opened the top again, and told me, “Get dressed.

Your card will be ready shortly.

Congratulations.” Congratulations for what?, I wondered, but got my clothes on anyway, and he had other things to do.

By the time I had finished dressing, he had walked over to a wall outlet and returned with what I presumed was a CAP card.

He handed it to me.

I had no idea what to do with it.

“Take this and return to your group for further instructions,” he ordered and pointed.

“That way.

Follow the yellow line on the floor.” Hmm... no yellow brick road for me; a yellow line instead.

I followed it in the direction indicated, as I had lost my bearings on the way here.

I soon found myself back in the wide reception hall, and looked for the women.

They were still there, but three were stretched out on the floor, asleep, and two others were sitting against the wall, half dozing.

More time must have passed than I assumed.

Going over to Helen Buchan, as the adult person with responsibility and one of those not sleeping, I said, “Hi.

I’m back, Mrs Buchan.” “Ah, Peter.

They said you were off for a test, so I expect you have a CAP card now.” I scrabbled in my pocket and produced the card I had been given.

“This it? What does it do?” “Let me see it, Peter.” She stretched out her hand and I gave it to her.

She did something with it, and gasped, “Good grief! This is quite something! You are most definitely a sponsor with this score.” “Damn!” I retorted.

“Does this mean I have to join their army? Do I have any choice?” “I have no idea, but it seems that you get to keep us, all of us.” “How do you mean; keep you?” “We all agreed to go with you, right? Well, that means we are now your women, what do they call it?... concubines, and we all go off-world together.

According to my understanding of the legal aspect, you are now the owner of us... effectively your wives in this new society, but with less rights.

Oh, and that means you should now call me Helen, not Mrs Buchan.

I am no longer a married woman in the old sense; I am now your woman.” “What? Without your agreement?” “Oh, but we agreed to come with you, earlier, remember? You asked if we wanted to come with you, we agreed, and these words are enough to constitute a legally binding social contract in the society we have now arrived in, wherever that is.” “That is so, Peter Duthie,” said a voice in my head.

“Your woman seems wise and well-informed.

You chose well for a mother figure.” I was astounded at someone talking in my head, or was it me talking to myself? Was I mentally unbalanced? I chose her, did I? That didn’t make much sense to me; but the voice was speaking again, responding to my asking if I was talking to myself.

“No, I am the ship’s mind, running the operation that brought you here.

The link to me was installed during your test.

You have a good selection of concubines.

A mother figure helps young sponsors such as yourself by running your family for you while you are away on duty.” “My family?” I queried, and the voice told me,”You are their sponsor, so you are in charge of them, and responsible for their actions.

They are your concubines, the future mothers of your children, and they have to obey you in everything.

That is what was agreed with humanity in the contract you made with the Confederacy.” “So it is true, that their prime function is to bear and raise children?” “That is the correct definition, although many humans claim that emotional support and wellbeing is part of it.

The contract with humanity does not stipulate anything more than the numbers involved and the target to produce future soldiers qualified to fight; the rest is human perception; a matter of choice of what human society means.

The Confederacy is not interested in human society norms.” “I see,” I stammered.

“So a sponsor is a soldier, and the women now... belong to me? Do I have it right?” “Yes.

The pact made with your species is that Earth humans agree to fight the Sa’arm for us, and those selected soldiers get a designated number of females for breeding new soldiers, based on what score they achieved in the CAP test.

More details can be accessed at a later date if requested.” “Oh.

Does my score entitle me to all five of these females, as Helen said?” “Your score is 8.5, thus you have an allocation of six concubines.

At present you have chosen five.” “My God! I am expected to have children with all of them?” “Yes.” “Good grief! But I have also got to do your fighting for you?” “Not quite; not directly.

Helping the Confederacy to win is a better definition.

Humans, despite their aggressive behaviour, have shown a talent for improvisation and invention, so we encourage a few suitable sponsors to work on improvements to weapons, techniques and forms of strategy; basically anything that aids us in defeating the Sa’arm.

You were identified as expected to fall into that category, thus the need to have you tested on arrival.

Your resulting CAP assessment indicates you will be more useful and productive in that capacity than as a physical soldier.” “That takes a load off my shoulders.

I was never an enthusiast for the killing aspect of warfare, even if the enemy are insects.

How do I go about enlisting for this job?” “You don’t.

You will be assigned to a particular unit or planet, where specialist tasks have been allocated, or where a general course of action is envisaged.

Manufacturing of ships and weapons are already fully automated, so the requirement is the development of new items from the idea stage to where manufacture can commence.

You will be assigned to a world where such a unit or units are already established or are in the process of being set up.” “Interesting.

I assume the manufacturing will be located where the raw materials are readily available for the factory to utilise.” “You have the general concept, though our nano-based machines can convert resources more directly into the material required.

The technical details are very complicated and most humans see no need to have such data available unless essential to their work aim.” “Neither do I seek details at this time,” I informed the AI.

“What do I do now?” “Your family unit has been allocated a temporary residence nearby, pending transfer to a colony ship later.

I can direct you to your temporary residence.

Bring your concubines with you.” I was still wary of the term ‘concubines’, but accepted that it referred to the group of women who had joined me here.

I spoke to them, “I am told we have to walk to a place for us to stay.

We should move now, I think.” Helen Buchan gathered the four girls to her, “Come, girls; we have to go.” They all followed her directions, but I noticed that Denise was the most reluctant of them to move.

She was still the bossy one, but over-ruled by the adult status of her friends’ mother.

That was fine by me, for I was unfamiliar with ordering girls about, particularly teenagers.

Not having a sister, my girl experience was very limited.

Amber was a dear, being all lovie-dovie with me, so she should be easy to work with.

I should have thought she was close to Sponsor level as a bright one, and so might get there before very long, if I understood things rightly.

If I was expected to give them all children, I could do with some instruction in love-making.

Perhaps Helen could help me in this; I hope so, for I coukln’t consult my parents and I don’t have a library I can refer to.

As she has already borne two children, she should know the ins and outs of lovemaking.

We were directed to a door, and my internal guide informed me that only I had the power to open or close it, unless I gave some of my concubines permission to do so, on my personal responsibility for the results.

I guessed that Helen would be the first to merit that control.

When I asked why this rule, since we were only at a temporary accommodation, the AI explained that it was a standard procedure so that all the concubines were aware of their limitations from the start.

“Once a transport is available, you and your concubines will be sent up to it and allocated a pod for your exclusive use until you arrive at the destination.

The pod will be flown down to the settlement site and once it is ready for re-use, you will occupy it again and it can then be configured to your family unit’s need.” “Sent up to it? Where are we, exactly?” “This base is on the far side of Earth’s moon and situated under the surface for a multitude of reasons.

It acts as a way station for humans moving out to their new habitats.” “So we are safe from radiation from the Sun, and stray impacts from space?” “Certainly, up to a very large impact, but these are extremely rare so not a concern for a few centuries.” “And safe from attacks by these aliens you are fighting?” “It would appear so.

They take over planets that have the basics for life to exist and so provide them with sustenance.

There is none of that on your moon.On top of that, they tend to ignore anything that does not attack or otherwise interfere with them in their activities.” “In that case, I assume the Moon can be used as a defensive structure to protect Earth and your bases on the Moon?” There was a sudden lapse of communication from the AI, and when it came back, it sounded less sure of itself.

“It is rare for anyone not schooled in military tactics o makethis observation.

The utilisation of this moon as a fortress in space has not been adequately considered.

The defence of a planet is looked at as a planetary question, and any natural satellites without life on them are regarded merely as locations for transit bases or a resource source; nothing more, as such moons have no interest for the Sa’arm.

Your question suggests a future in defensive planning.” I explained, “It was simply that I thought that the Moon is large enough to easily withstand attacks by an enemy, and provide a location for defensive missiles to be situated beneath the surface and so not be obvious to an attacker.