Chapter 12: Regulations

Samantha emerged slightly bleary-eyed from her bedroom that Monday morning to find her pod filled with angry words of recrimination. Melodie's voice was one of outrage, and Clarisse was sounding defensive. Samantha tugged on her duty uniform jacket as she placed a serious visage on her face. "What's the problem?" she demanded, mentally adding, 'as if I couldn't guess.'

Melodie turned to her sponsor, tugging her shift down to cover her crotch as she did so. "Clarisse's behaviour last night was indecent! Table dancing!" She sniffed indignantly. "I expect better than that from her!"

Samantha had granted the concubines in her pod permission to watch a video feed of the Foxhound Fleet's going-away orgy. She'd anticipated just this reaction from her newest concubine mother, indeed wanted it. Melodie's attitude up to now was still too Earth-centric, and needed to be dragged into that of a proper Diaspora concubine mother's. Penny Deschenes, for example, had cheered on her daughter, thinking the performance cute.

"I gave her permission," Samantha advised the outraged mother, her voice dangerously even.

"But she didn't have MY permission!" Melodie protested.

"Oh?" Samantha got right in her face, "Who is the sponsor in this pod? You, or me?"

Some of the lectures Melodie had sat through during her trip to Thule came to the forefront. "Ah, you ... you are." She then added in frustration, "But she's still my daughter!"

"And who is the concubine here?"

Melodie gulped a few times before stuttering out, "I ... I am..."

"Exactly. The concubine can enforce the rules, but it's the sponsor who sets the rules. If the sponsor says it's OK, then it's OK. In this case, I said it was OK. Do you know why?"

Melodie, worried that she'd overstepped her bounds, shook her head.

"First, because occasionally bleeding off a little of that tension caused by puberty means that she'll be able to postpone doing 'The Deed' until she's actually fourteen. Understand?" Samantha had raised her fingers to indicate quote marks around The Deed. Melodie understood.

"Second, it was to show her – and, not incidentally, you – that one's sexuality is to be embraced, not feared and hidden under taboos and guilt trips. I don't know how often I've had to say this, but whether you're a concubine or a sponsor, job number one is to breed. Some concubines never get this. Some sponsors don't either. But as one of the senior Civil Service officer's concubines, you have to get this through your thick head, and as soon as possible. You are now under explicit orders to take advantage of as many opportunities as possible."

Melodie looked over at Vickie, hoping the vet would offer her sister concubine some support. Vickie's support, however, was thrown wholeheartedly to Samantha. "My daughter and niece were there too, and I didn't see anything I found objectionable. I would have if I were still on Earth, but there was nothing out of the ordinary for us here in the Diaspora."

"And finally," Samantha went on remorselessly, "it was to rub your nose in the fact that you are a concubine. Just as I have to follow the rules for a sponsor, and Clarisse has to follow the rules for a dependant, you need to follow the rules for a concubine. You haven't really clued into that yet, and that's a potentially fatal issue for a concubine. Understand?"

Melodie's eyes had grown large during the harangue. Samantha could see that some comprehension was dawning. It probably wasn't one hundred percent yet, but hopefully it would do for the nonce.

"Now, you've got a goalie class from nine to ten with a couple of strapping young Marines as your assistants, and then a dancing class with Candy from eleven until noon. Between those classes, I want you to take at least one of those strapping Marines and have him show you the Bunny Hutch. See you at the Beauty Saloon at noon." She paused to observe Melodie's shift. "You're overdressed."

Melodie blinked at the sudden change of topic, looked down, and rapidly ditched the shift. "Like this?" she asked timidly.

"Much better. You've got a bod to show off now, you should be happy to do so. You'll have to wear pads while on the ice, but other than that, go nuts." Samantha leaned in close and gave Melodie a comforting hug. "I want you in the pole dancing exhibition next weekend. It'll really help you feel like a part of Thule. I hope you'll be eligible by then."

There was that pole dancing eligibility again. Melodie's brow furrowed inquisitively.

Aboard the Clarke, now well on its way to Hesperus with its escorting corvette, the crew had long ago discovered that despite the eccentricities of the Science Division, the eggheads were as focused and hard-working as any sailor on any ship in the Confederacy's fleet. Proof of this could be found by the simple expedient of walking through the labs at any time of the day or night, which seemed to be constantly occupied by at least half the Division.

Toddy walked into the ship's mess for lunch. To his astonishment, all of his Science Division were present, for once. Every scientist wore a white lab coat – the concubine scientists wore only the white lab coat, without buttons, the concubine collar and sandals. As he sat down and his shift-clad concubine Trudy placed a napkin across his lap, he took in the conversation. All of the others present were silent as a loud and vigorous debate took place concerning requirements for atmospheric particulates. One of the Science concubines finally started using her finger as a pen, drawing immensely complex formulae on the table in front of her that the AI projected on the wall behind her. She had lost Toddy before she'd finished writing the first line of the formula.

"Gentlemen, please!" Toddy demanded. "Must we talk shop during our meals?"

Lieutenant Payne turned to Toddy and quietly, politely advised him with that Virginia patrician's accent of his, "Unfortunately, we are under a time crunch. Once we get back to Thule we'll be able to relax a bit." He considered his response for a second. "Maybe." With that, he turned to the mathematical maven and asked a question of the formula. The discussion sailed even higher over Toddy's head, and the AI was soon adding a rotating 3D animation showing a planet's weather patterns.

Payne finally turned back to Toddy. "You've got my request for orbits?"

"Yes," Toddy confirmed. "I don't know if you can get them or not. You're asking for some strange ones, and we'll have to get some co-operation from the Fleet commander on the scene."

"We kind o' need them. Do you know if that Absecon class ship's been assigned to Hesperus? We need at least one o' that, too."

"I understand we've got two," responded Toddy.

As Payne went to return to the discussion of the physics of the atmosphere of Hesperus, Toddy interrupted him. "Can you tell me the plan?"

"Broad outlines, anyway. We are tryin' to be flexible." Payne considered his next words before he spoke. "First, as this is an experiment, we're checkin' to make sure there are no potentially intelligent life forms we might destroy. We don't think there are, but we have to be sure."

"Ah, and how long should that take?"

"A couple or three weeks. Then we try to create a winter wonderland. That's what we need an Absecon or two for."

The radar had been up on the other crew. One bolted upright. "Winter wonderland?"

"Yep," Payne responded. "We're gonna try to create an ice age on the planet."

The Mess erupted in consternation. "But ... but why?" demanded one sailor.

"If it works here, we can use it anywhere," Payne explained, as calmly as if discussing a topic of no importance.

"Anywhere as in ... another planet?" suggested the sailor.

Payne nodded without saying anything.

"Another planet as in ... Earth?"

Payne shrugged. "It could work there, but really it's for any Swarm-infested planet with a gaseous atmosphere that either has already or to which we can add lots of the contaminant dihydrogen monoxide. It's sort of the ultimate Doomsday Tactic, for when the Swarm's overwhelmed the last of the planet's survivors."

"What about this 'dihydrogen monoxide' stuff? Is it poisonous?" Toddy fretted.

"Don't worry," Payne assured him with a straight face. "It's water-soluble."

Toddy's Executive Officer, Barry Bothington, mused worriedly, "And what of any surviving humans if you were to launch this 'Doomsday Tactic' on Earth?"

"Those survivin' humans will probably include my mother-in-law," Payne responded calmly, appearing to consider the issue. "That means Old Scratch will get his due at last. I don't know if that's good or bad for either him or her."

The laughter was somewhat strained.

"But if you're thinkin' what I think you're thinkin', then you're right. That's the choice facin' Central Command: let the Swarm get 'em, or let the cold do it. Helluva choice, helluva way to die either way. Either way, I doubt if they'll pull the trigger until after we can't get any more off."

The Mess went silent at that point. Soberly, one by one, the crew and concubines left the compartment to the Science Division and their continued discussions on how to disrupt a planet's natural climate controls.