Chapter 11

Megan Sion took a quick gulp of her cup. She shut her eyes and winced, shivered, then gasped.

"Owh!" she grimaced. "That's the real deal!"

"The boys distill it from barley and oats in Winter," Rasida explained. "They call it 'poiteen.' 'Real' poiteen is made from potatoes, but I think they were stuck for a name way back in the day."

"Moonshine?" Megan suggested.

"Yah. Another?"

"Hoa-oofff! Packs a punch," she gasped.

"So, Megan, can I ask you a question?" asked Rasida.

"Shoot."

"Your husband was killed, right? So, why have you never taken another? Good, grief, you're young enough."

"It's against the law to marry again," she explained.

"Who said anything about marriage? You never wanted to play again? I gather money wasn't an object. They tell me you can take a cruise."

"And wind up with someone like de la Perriere?" she laughed.

"Hand him back, shit! You buy every piece of fruit you squeeze?"

"Haha." Megan leaned back in her chair as the alcohol clearly took effect. "I guess," she sighed. "After Lance was killed, I sort of gave up. There were a few men who were interested, but they only wanted to spend my money. The Government were very generous to me."

"Huh? That would be a first," Rasida replied, sarcastically.

"Hmm. Armin said Lance was a clone. He told me they can't reproduce, but I'm certain he was Heather's father. A woman knows these things."

"Sure," Rasida agreed, belting back another shot. "Sounds like this Armin has altogether too much classified information in his head. Reminds me of Schecter."

"Armin fought for the Eastern Alliance - in their Special Forces."

"Did he? Hell, he must have been young. He couldn't be forty, could he? That would've made him a teenager - and in the Specal Forces? Must have been an exceptional soldier."

"Squared-jawed, alpha male. Heather is infatuated with him. He seems lifted out of a holo-novel. Reminds me a little of Lance. My daughter will learn."

"No doubt," Rasida chuckled. "It will be a hard job keeping the old dog on the porch. Like Schecter, they like to stalk off with a club over their shoulder. Not exactly the stay at home, babysitter type."

"Don't mention babies - I'm not ready to be a grandma."

"Not your choice, I'm afraid. Anycase, in Ark society, kids are everyone's responsibility. I had about four women I could cheerfully call 'mum' and about the same number of 'dads.' My family are the whole Bluefields community. If Heather gets pregnant, and you come to Bluefields, you'll see. You'll have to fight off a dozen women who want to be 'nanas."

"So your biological mother is, who?"

"Sean-Beth. Her and Roger practically run the place. I have a brother, George, and my little sister is Sian. She's with the Black Guard at our camp."

"A soldier? At how old?"

"13, just. At 13, an Ark has autonomy. They please themselves. At 13 they usually get their own autorifle, but most kids learn to shoot from the time they can hold a gun. You and Heather need your own firearms and training. It's expected we all take responsibility for defending our homes."

"From who?"

"From whoever," Rasida replied. "This is still a harsh land and everyone needs basic survival skills. Unlike Euro, we have no central government to make laws nor a police force to enforce them. That throws everything onto individuals and communities to look after themselves. There's no point in calling a cop and waiting because no-one's going to come."

"So what happens to your thieves and murderers?" Megan looked skeptical.

"Theft? What's the point of stealing anything? You want something, just ask. Most things are owned collectively. The only exceptions are those things you make yourself. You want a new gun, go to the Nins and ask for one. Now, it's sensible to offer them something they need in return, because, if no-one gave them food, for instance, then they couldn't make guns so there'd be no point in asking for one. As for murder? As we have no prisons and Ark doesn't kill Ark, all a band can do is banish them. Likely, they'd have to live the life of a 'vag, ' an outcast."

"What about other crimes?"

"What other crimes? Remove laws on property and you've instantly disposed of 90% of ancient case law. Replace that with the complete autonomy of the individual, and you've taken care of most of the remaining 10%. You want to take dangerous drugs, go ahead? Likely your community would try to stop you and work out what's going on in your head to make you want to do that, but, if you really want to kill yourself, how's anyone going to prevent you? Anycase, serious drug taking suggests a deeper problem, a symptom of something else, a form of avoidance. Often depression, often coming down to sex," Rasida grinned.

"Yes," Megan sucked in her breath. "Your young people are very free about such things."

"Why not? It's a basic right to enjoy your body. 200 years ago, we endeavoured to remove all the taboos about sex. Some say there used to be much more swapping of partners, casual sex, orgies, that sort of thing. But, y'know, take away the interference and most kids settle down and act responsibly. The vast majority choose one, maybe, two partners in their entire life. You let them choose freely and experiment at an early age, they grow up very fast."

"I can't see how a 13 year old could be a good mother," Megan scoffed. "Least, the 13 year olds I know."

"Maybe?" Rasida thought. "But, then, they're never left alone to raise a kid by themselves. Remember, children are a gift to everyone, to the community, band, and Ark society. Without kids, we wouldn't be here. Anycase, the percentage of unplanned kids born outside of a close, loving relationship, has remained the same for a hundred years. Laws, injunctions, moral pressure, makes little difference either way, from what I can see."

"It's going to get a lot of getting used to," Megan sighed. "And I have no holo-novels, no ordering food by autocourier, no controlled environment ... I've replaced that with 'survival', heat and dust, kids younger than my daughter fucking on the beach..."

"Freedom?" Rasida suggested.

"Yes," she sighed. "I didn't think 'freedom' was, ah, so, well, free."

"Aye," laughed Rasida. "Can I top up your cup?"

"Please?" she said.

Behind the cabin, in the caravan Armin made his living area, Heather Sion gazed furtively through the brown, barely opaque, window.

"I think mama's getting drunk," she told Armin.

"That Black Guard woman there?" Armin asked. He brought her a freshly brewed coffee - the beans grown by the Garcians and roasted with much ceremony.

"Yeah, why?" Heather turned to him with a sly look.

"She's cute," he replied, looking through the window.

Heather punched him lightly in the ribs. "They say she's partnered to that guy, Schecter," she told him. "He'd flatten you if you hit on her."

"Why'd he do that?" he asked. "Arks aren't supposed to be possessive."

"Maybe, but he isn't an Ark, so they say. They say he's a Euro."

"Yeah?" Armin raised his eyebrows. "What, an adventurer, explorer, settler?"

"Dunno," she shrugged. "But he's built. Y'see those muscles of his?"

"No," he replied. "Didn't look."

"Oh, I know what you were staring at," she said, knowingly. "I could have tits like hers. Mama said I just need a few months of good, healthy food."

"Maybe, but either way, it doesn't matter. I keep telling you you're beautiful the way you are."

"You say that, Armin, then your eyes pop out on stalks every time you see a girl with nice tits..."

"And it's different when you ogle Schecter's muscles, how?" he snapped. "You're allowed to check out guys, but when it comes to..."

"Okay, okay," Heather interrupted. "I suppose there's no harm looking, is there?"

"Of course not," he grinned, and slipped an arm around her waist. His hand drifted down to cup her left butt cheek.

Heather's arm encircled his waist and she rested her head on his upper arm. "I like you touching me," she told him. "I like sex with you, of course, but, most of all, I like the feel of your hands, of your strong arms around me. It makes me feel there's no power in the world that will harm me. I just feel this strength, this closeness..."

"Temporary lowering of ego boundaries?"

"Huh?" she laughed. "Do you actually know what that means?"

"No, not really," he replied. He kissed her and she responded with growing passion. Armin slipped his hands under her loose top and up her bare back. He then guided her towards the bed. Heather pulled down her own pants and presented her thatch for Armin's attention. Grinning, he bent to the task, as Heather caressed the back of his head.

A little later he watched her playing with his cock. She looked at him with enquiring eyes, waiting for direction. 'Is this how you like it?' she seemed to be asking. She reminded Armin of the willing whores from the fringes of Euro City who, for a few black guilders, performed whatever the client requested to feed their children. The red light area was industrial in scale and the customer had almost an infinite variety to choose from. Would he have looked at Heather twice, if she'd offered herself from those picture windows? Likely not, he thought - too skinny, too innocent and unversed. He would've chosen the busty one with the round hips.

Heather shuffled up to break into his thoughts. Her eyes fell to his lips and he kissed her. Rolling her over, her long legs flew open in expectation and he felt down to her gaping, wet pussy. That pussy, and her pretty face, were her best assets. 'Perhaps her cute arse?' he thought, as he teased her briefly with the knob of his penis. She smiled a little and the sensation, before he slipped in. Her smile vanished as he thrust insistently, to be replaced with gasps and moans. She rode him willingly to wherever he chose to take her, wrapping her arms and legs around his body.

Next door, Rasida heard the unmistakeable sounds of passionate sex carried on the still and quiet air of Twin Olives. She smiled and her thoughts immediately flashed to Schecter. Suddenly, she wanted to find the man and a place of privacy.

Across the table, Megan sighed and her eyes followed the sounds. She had an itch that needed scratching, but there were so few candidates in this little jewel amid the desert winds.

Down South at Mountain Camp, George watched the closed door for a full minute. Pfeffer Diep had just left and he was still in shock from what he'd just heard. He snapped back and looked at the remaining faces around the table. Rada was staring into the middle distance - John, his boots as if spotting for errant muck. Pol, his aide, watched him carefully as if expecting some immediate orders, or 'recommendations' in Black Guard lingo.

"John?" he gained his 'General's' attention. "You believe all that? What if this is more of this 'disinformation'?"

"I think the odds are it's true," he replied.

"What corroboration do we have or are we take this man's word?"

"None," John conceded. "Except my own sensibilities, my observations over the last year, my gut instinct..."

"Precious little for such far reaching consequences?"

"Exactly!" With that John fell silent.

George put his head between his hands - his eyes darting back and forth - deep in thought. Eventually, he looked up. "Four possibilities," he announced. "The first: this is a crock, and we do nothing and de la Perriere and Schecter are who they say they are. Schecter and Rasida have babies and live to a ripe old age. Fladomir is nothing but a Bakhunin with a bad attitude."