Silent Waiting Part 1
Reacquaintance
Lotta Bangs


Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 9781301691708

PUBLISHED BY:
Lotta Bangs on Smashwords

Reacquaintance  59,944 words

Copyright 26 October 2012 by Lotta Bangs

Cover by coverageart
Model photographed by Marcus Ranum www.ranum.com

Cover title fonts: Bangkok, Baskerville Semibold Italic


All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author / publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.


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This is a work of fiction and does not in any way advocate irresponsible personal or sexual behavior. Names, places, businesses, characters, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.



Dedicated in homage to James Cameron, whose creation 
Dark Angel, inspired me to start writing. Thank you.
This was where I began.
However, my characters wouldn’t obey and play nice.
They each went their own twisted way.
Perhaps that was for the best.



Acknowledgement: My thanks also to my beta-reader Amanda for the welcome criticism, suggestions, arguments and support.
And especially for the HoloBombs.

Silent Waiting Part 1: Reacquaintance

Table of Contents

Chapter 1  Reacquaintance
Chapter 2  Leading and Reading Langdon
Chapter 3  JC, Sperm Power and Sobriquets
Chapter 4  Flowers and Compliments
Chapter 5  Head of Galen Security
Chapter 6  How Galen Works
Chapter 7  Breastfeeding
Chapter 8  Life Force and Food
Chapter 9  Child Education and Galenite
Chapter 10  Maggie and the Bots
Chapter 11  Establishing Galen
Chapter 12  The Outside Recession
Chapter 13  Environmental Problems
Chapter 14  Racial Mother
Chapter 15  Magdalena and Mohammed
Chapter 16  Mags, Mo and the Ogre Prince
Chapter17_Mags_and_the_Punished_Sheik
Chapter 18  Sideplay
Chapter 19  The Nuclear Secret
Chapter 20  Patriotism
Chapter 21  Mags’ Early History
Chapter 22  The Baby Milk Scandal
Chapter 23  Atrocities, TV and NZ
Chapter 24  Rehabilitation and Goals
Chapter 25  Birthday Vid and Learning to Heal
Chapter 26  Miriam and Yeshuah
Chapter 27  After the Power Flash
Author’s Note





Silent Waiting Part 1
Reacquaintance



Chapter 1
Reacquaintance 

Damn! I was so nervous. I really did not want to do this. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready for him yet. I had too many problems already without taking on more. I needed help and support, not more flaming responsibilities.
I probably should not have made Maggie love him; I think that was my biggest error. She was still very immature, still is, even now.
Maggie had immediately become wildly enthused with Lang’s quixotic little games. She invented a practical HoloVision system. Then set up millions of giant HoloVids in public areas worldwide. Just to abet Lang in his fool Bruce Wayne fantasy.
Ostensibly these were supposed to be a public service to connect people to important information. All paid for by advertising—and they are profitable. But really it was so Maggie could drop untraceable HoloBombs to play his little Wise Monkeys pirate programmes wherever he wants in the United States.
His short programmes dish the dirt on corrupt officials and organized crime figures. And especially the powerful controllers behind those people in very high places of whom Lang didn’t approve.
So now I have to come to the rescue before these enemies have him blown to smithereens.
I stepped out of the portal, walked up to his door, took a deep steadying breath and knocked. I checked my wristcomm again and sighed nervously. In just a few seconds the long years of waiting, and soon the torture and murders, would be ended.
It had been hard enough to stay away since I’d first seen him five years ago. At that medical convention in Chicago. But the last six months had shown just how much agony I could bear. This would definitely be the last time. He would never put either of us through that again.
As always, I’d picked him out immediately in that huge crowd. If there’d been ten million people, instead of only 30,000, I still would have seen him instantly. The blaze of that aura drew my eyes as if they were magnetized.
He’d immediately felt the connection too. He recognized my presence. Started to turn his head. But I’d quickly shut the door and escaped. Saddened that my love felt so lonely since his divorce.
I’d only glimpsed the back of his head and one ear. So I wasn’t sure what he looked like till I saw photos. But there had been a soft light blue overlay on the coruscating white brilliance. And that particular light blue aura shade indicates loneliness, as I well knew. Mine almost matched his. Though with the addition of rose, mine was more of a soft pinky-mauve.
Footsteps approached. I took another deep, calming breath, tightened all my controls, and stepped inside as the door opened. The box slid in behind me.
Cahdo stood stunned; unable to speak as his eyes took me in. The old life memories overwhelmed him. Before he could move again, Taj stalked into the entry hall. She glared at me.
“You’re Langdon’s destiny lady, aren’t you?” she accused. I smiled and nodded. We all looked at the doorway she had just used, as Langdon wheeled himself through. His eyes locked on mine.
He almost snapped: “About time you showed up. Where were you the last five years?”
“Growing up,” I said wistfully, “and building you an empire.”
Oh, he was gorgeous. Even while he tried so hard to look angry, his aura fountained welcoming showers of brilliant blue-white sparks. These met and melted into mine.
I wanted to melt into him, too.
I took a step forward, clasped the hand he offered, and powered him, as he stood and stepped into my embrace and finally broke the eye-lock.
Aah, what feelings it roused to hold him again after so long. So very long since the last time we were adult together. I could so easily believe everything his body was saying to mine. If it weren’t for those eight lives between then and now.
His arms felt secure, his lips softly brushing my jaw. His warm breath on my skin sent new waves of fire through me. Shame he was 6cm shorter. My heels and big hair made the height difference worse. Why hadn’t I been warned?
“It’s been too long. I’ve missed you so much.” I signalled to Cahdo to bring up the chair.
“I can’t hold you much longer, Love. You’ll have to sit down again now.” I gently eased him into the chair, holding just his fingertips.
Lang bit his lip and gave a little lopsided grin.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “It felt good to be able to stand and walk again, if only for minutes. Your powers have grown Magdalena.”
“More than you know. Don’t worry, Love, you’ll be dancing at our wedding in a month, and carrying me over the threshold all on your own.”
He glanced at the box parked casually against the wall.
“Is that the dead Langdon Kane? Who was the poor bastard?”
“Still quick, Lang,” I grinned. “You’re right; it’s the crucifixion all over again. But you won’t feel any pain this time. That lump of meat is only a copy of a drug-raddled, alcoholic dream-addict I found downtown.”
I wheeled him into the living room, with some difficulty. Neither of us could bear to let go of the other for even a moment. After a little fumbling, we figured it out and make a wobbly forward progress.
We were both laughing when we reached the sofa, where I sat. Now we could hold both hands at once. It wasn’t enough; but this wasn’t the place. And there was still much to do.
Cahdo and Taj had followed, fascinated. The box slid after me. It picked itself a central position, and began disgorging a stream of smaller boxes. These busily went about their appointed tasks. They packed and cleared away every item, replacing it with an MC (Molecular Copy).
Lang watched bemused.
“How long do we have?”
“Nearly two hours.”
“Then what . . .?”
“They’ll fire missiles from two directions. That pattern will obliterate everything in here except your comm. room. They’re saving that for proof of your nefarious activities. And they want your records. They want to see what incriminating information you’ve got on them, their enemies and their competitors.”
“The neighbours . . .?”
“Are safe. I’ve temporarily ’frozen the floor and adjoining walls. Nothing will get through. It’s going to be the most accurate display of marksmanship the Army’s ever seen. The boxes will un’freeze the walls, add a few scorch marks. And they’ll check that everything looks okay after we leave.”
“The US Army?”
“Yes, Special Ops. You’ve annoyed too many well-connected people, Langdon.”
Taj had parked herself on the arm of a copied chair. Cahdo stood undecided, shaking slightly. I beckoned him over and touched his hand.
He immediately relaxed and sat beside me, my hand over his for a few moments, as I adjusted Langdon’s sight.
Taj watched me like a predatory cat; poised, ready to attack or flee in an instant.
Her extraordinary genetic inheritance had resulted in a strikingly beautiful face. Full bee-stung lips, huge, deep, dark eyes, lovely high cheekbones, clear olive skin—similar to mine. Her dark, longish hair rather lank and a bit straggly today. And a superb petite body. All sleek feminine grace, and lithe flowing strength.
And, of course, she was just the right height for Langdon. Making me feel ordinary, scrawny and gangling in comparison. There was a slight tic in Taj’s cheek.
“Do you need Tryptophan?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. After a few seconds she nodded.
I removed Lang’s now superfluous glasses. Cahdo joined me as I walked over to the box. He placed his hand under mine as I made the necessary alterations to the eyes and body. It needed to resemble more closely what Langdon’s would look like if he had lived the junkie’s life. I positioned the spectacles, and collected the containers.
“If you take some B6, multi-B and St John’s wort with the Tryptophan, relief will come much faster. B6 alone helps. You need it to convert tryptophan to serotonin. Each B-group vitamin works best in the presence of all the others in the group. St John’s wort, or Hypericum, increases the availability of serotonin to the brain. They’re all water soluble, so you can’t overdose easily.
“Also, eat lots of raw carrots and celery in salads, coleslaw or juice to make more serotonin. Nobody outside Galen gets a decent diet anymore. Not even Langdon here, judging by all the garbage he’s carrying inside. You all need good organic fruit and vegetables.”
Taj stared at me strangely. She swallowed the handful of pills and capsules I shook out for her. I left her the containers.
Her eyes were drawn to the body, now outside the box and clearly visible.
Langdon also, was interested. “Is it like me inside, too?”
“No, Darling, it’s genetically identical now. But it’s staying a skinny, wasted junkie. With cirrhosis, a shrunken, scorched brain and all the other marks of a dissolute life. ’Fraid you’ve been hitting the stuff extra hard since the accident. Probably been a junkie since before the Pulse.
“I changed the rotgut in his stomach into imported Scotch whisky, to give it that rich boy touch. Should I give him HIV too, d’you think?”
“Don’t you dare, woman! Let me die with some dignity, please. I need to keep at least a little self-respect.” His eyes danced.
He found this amusing?
“Nobody has more respect for you and your odd code of ethics than I, Love. That’s why I put us through unnecessary pain and loneliness for five years. Even a hundred years ago I could have married at thirteen. But you know what it would have done to you if I had come near you now, at that age.”
Langdon’s eyes filled with horror. “And now . . .?”
“Now, it’s all legal.” I smiled bitterly. I moved my hand to cup his cheek. “Today, I am legally an adult.” Then I gasped, and almost lost all control. He had turned his head and butterfly-kissed my fingertips one at a time. Then he nibbled gently at my palm.
I was suddenly wet and hot, control dissolving, evaporating. Butter in his hands. He was going to ruin everything. Then his eyes twinkled.
“Happy birthday, Magdalena. Sorry we don’t have a cake, but we can celebrate later.”
The rat fink knew exactly what he was doing to me. How could he be so callous? I’d fix that.
I made a small adjustment, removing the SaltPetre+ from his bloodstream. It worked instantly. He went white, then purple.
I let him suffer a full minute while I dug in my purse. Then I bumped his wheelchair slightly to turn him away from Taj. I crouched down so he was hidden from Cahdo too. I brazenly reached inside Langdon’s loose pants and slipped a donor cap over his hair-trigger erection. I smacked a noisy kiss onto the tip of his nose, as I tucked the offending member away again.
I was so glad that I had taken the trouble six months ago to reattach those nerves much higher in his spinal column and ensure that Langdon retained feeling there. My revenge would be exquisite.
Without the SaltPetre+ in his system, the poor guy was completely at the mercy of his own power.
Taj noticed the rearranged furniture immediately I stood up. I grinned gleefully at her. “Isn’t it nice to get a man completely under one’s control?”
She laughed out loud, and really relaxed for the first time.
All brisk now, I fetched a laptop and wheelchair from the box. I helped Langdon change chairs. I fitted the laptop into the chair arms. I showed him how to lock it in position, or slide it away in the storage compartment.
“New improved models, I presume?”
“And how! Just wait until you’ve checked out the capabilities.”
Cahdo fetched the old laptop. Lang transferred in the old data.
I offered a handful of necklaces.
“Silver?”
He nodded distractedly, and I fastened it around Lang’s neck.
Cahdo accepted a gold chain. Taj chose a thin black leather strap. I fastened each.
“Now, listen up please, this is really important. Do not ever remove your necklace unless you are safe at Galen or in a sanctuary. Nobody else can take it off you. And it will never slip off accidentally.
“Each necklace is indestructible. But it’s only the holder for the token—the little black oval charm thingie. Those come alive as soon as you put on a necklace. They connect you to Galen Central, which is a worldwide sentient computer.
“If ever you are in any kind of trouble, just touch your token and say ‘Galen’ twice. Subvocalize if you don’t wish to make a sound, or if you cannot reach your token for some reason, just subvocalize ‘Galen’ three times. The right kind of help will arrive immediately. That is guaranteed. We haven’t lost a single member, since Galen started twelve years ago. Except to natural causes, of course. There’s much more, but that info will keep you safe until you are in sanctuary. Any questions?”
Nobody had any.
The data dump complete, the bots wiped the electronic records thoroughly and completely. They put in vague traces of what may have been previous wiped info left after reformatting. They then installed the dummy data.
Langdon was getting excited playing with his new toy.
I pulled his chair over to the sofa, where I could keep a hand on the back of his neck as we talked.
He leaned into my hand and smiled gratefully, already comfortable with the arrangement I had made. He had noticed I now radiated vitality, understood and accepted. He didn’t need to know how I was doing it.
“Okay, now I need you to authorize the sale contract so it can be registered, Dear.”
“Just which sale contract would that be, Dear?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wary.
“The one whereby you sold this whole building and all your property to Galen two weeks ago, Darling.”
“You forged my signature, you witch,” he glared.
“Of course I did, Darling, but it was for your own good.” I smiled sweetly. “And you drove a very hard bargain.”
“Just how hard a bargain?” Langdon asked, still trying to act tough. I reached across and keyed in his new Bank Galen account. There was a long indrawn breath. When he looked up there was awe in his eyes, a very rare emotion for my Lang.
“You could have bought the whole state for that, even before the Pulse.”
“Gee, I wish I’d known two weeks ago that you’d be so cheap, Dear. Then I wouldn’t have had to throw in the stock options, as well.” I smiled innocently.
“What stock?”
Poor darling looked nervous. I was loving this. I keyed in the stock account.
Langdon went white again and bit his bottom lip.
I had to restrain myself hard to keep from kissing his mouth back to softness.
“This is impossible. Are you pulling my leg now?”
“No, Darling.” I was all big-eyed innocence.
“But nobody has stock in Galen. It’s never appeared on any stock exchange. It’s all privately owned and run. Even governments haven’t been able to get any leverage on them, or discover how Galen works. Nobody can even get into one of their buildings unless they’re a member. Then once in, they never come out again.”
“You know I’ve always liked to keep my business private. The reason few people come out again is because they never want to leave. It’s that good. You won’t want to leave either, after you’ve tried our food.”
He stared.
“No, it’s impossible . . . you’re only 18 . . . you couldn’t have . . . there hasn’t been enough time . . . without Zeke . . . all by yourself . . . Ah!” A light dawned. “You discovered how to use the Knowledge . . . yes . . . with modern technology . . . right . . . Oh, you brilliant, beautiful woman . . . that’s what you meant when . . . Oh God, I love you. I’m so proud of you.” He grabbed me hard on both upper arms.
I smiled and lowered my eyes modestly. “I always try to please, my Lord.”
Lang laughed helplessly. “Okay, where do I sign?”
He thumb-printed the sale contract and transferred a few other items I had missed, chortling happily. So pleased that I didn’t know everything about him, after all.
I didn’t disillusion him. Men’s egos are so fragile. You always have to leave them some little victory to assuage their pride. And even the most perfect man who ever lived, was still only a man, after all. I was just glad that he was mine.
Langdon opened his safe. The contents, including quite a pile of emergency cash, were shoved into a box. That completed stage one.
He went off to record two The One Who Speaks tapes. He merely raised an eyebrow as he read through my scripts, beyond further shock.
Taj’s turn next. “Do you want to die with Langdon?” I asked.
She surprised me. “No thanks, I’m fine. My new identity is solid. I have a good life here, which I want to keep. It will be great to get Langdon somewhere where he can keep out of trouble. Then I won’t need to worry about him. But I’m quite okay, thank you.”
I was baffled. Taj hadn’t shown any memory shock that I could see. Maybe my usual effect hadn’t taken with her. That was the only possible explanation for her not realising that I needed her. Oh well, give her a little more time and she’d come around. The memory cascade had never failed before.
Langdon watched bemusedly as the boxes stripped the comm. room and installed complex new electronic equipment. He turned to me in horror as he realized what it was.
“You’re not really making me a dream junkie, too?” he groaned.
“Yep. When you fell into depression, you went all the way to the bottom, Dear. It was a tragic end to a noble life,” I intoned mournfully.
Taj shook with suppressed laughter.
Cahdo too, had difficulty keeping a straight face.
Langdon glowered.
“Don’t worry, Sweet Lips, we’ll give you a glorious hero’s funeral.”
His lips twitched as he remembered my long fascination with his mouth. Then he laughed.
Taj and Cahdo totally lost it.
“You must realize Langdon, that nobody who knows and loves you, is going to believe one word of the sordid details the authorities will put out. Your friends and relatives will suspect immediately that your death was faked. And as The One Who Speaks will be batting on Galen’s team now, every person who respects him will join up and discover the truth. Because you won’t be dead in Galen, just prettier.”
I grimaced. “Are you really attached to that beard? It puts a girl off kissing you, doesn’t it, Taj?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, her eyes glinting with evil intent “all those nasty bristles!”
“I won’t shave unless I’m promised more kisses. And I reserve the right to grow it back the first time you’re too busy.”
“All my kisses were booked in advance for today. The number is restricted and non-negotiable. But after we’re married, you can have all you want, Dear.”
He watched me a little too carefully before wheeling over for my touch.
“Taj, would you please fill in for me. He does deserve a reward for being such a good boy.”
The HoloBombs had to go out at very precise times. They still had to have corroborating footage added. I gave Cahdo his instructions and the two tapes. He stepped into the box and disappeared.
Now he was over the initial shock and confusion, Cahdo would be fine. He had always been one of my most competent aides and a very skilful healer.
Taj had taken me seriously and was kissing Lang enthusiastically. He was heating up beautifully under her solicitous attentions.
Good. The more she could do, the less pain for me. Thank Providence this would be the last time. Nothing could go wrong now.
I had allowed plenty of extra time. But I was too selfish to break them up, and it was a while before they came up for air. I had to rush the rest.
We almost forgot Langdon’s basement storage, but I sent a box there in time. He had stored all his redundant old paper files and CD copies there. I had to box the shelving too, in case something had slipped down the back or underneath.
Post-Pulse Americans were the only people in the world who still kept paper and hard copy back-up files. And the only ones whose government still kept them in the dark, and promulgated the nuclear lie. If only those terrorists had delayed two more weeks. They could have been the first ‘couldn’ts’ instead of the last ‘dids’.
I don’t know how I’d kept Langdon alive this long. I was so pleased that Taj had come into his life. But she was an enigma. I couldn’t tell if she were just acting cool, or really didn’t know me.
Then it came out that there were more files. At the marina in a rented storage locker. I took care of those too. I asked if there were any old diaries, journals, logs, address books, palm pilots, BlackBerries, iPods, iPhones, Androids, memory sticks or similar anywhere else. He said no. Then Taj remembered the log on the yacht. Langdon recalled another PC, and yes, an address book.
We were almost out of time, so I had the whole yacht ’ported to Galen in Tahiti. He could phone his uncle later and explain.
Even Taj was shocked at Langdon’s laxity about personal security. She scolded him soundly as we wheeled him backwards into the box waiting in the comm. room.
I kept the opening width narrow, so Taj and I had to sit on a chair arm each, and Langdon just naturally put an arm around each of us, pulling us close. Taj smirked and rolled her eyes at me over his head.
I reached around and gave her a squeeze too. I made the last adjustments to the Langdon body. It was moved into his old chair and positioned halfway through the doorway.
On schedule the missiles blasted. The box moved the body back slightly to better connect with the approaching missile’s trajectory. And we were out of there.
Our eyes were overloaded with after-images of explosions. Of the Langdon body, minus hips, bottom and most of the back, falling forward out of the remains of the wheelchair.
I hadn’t been able to duplicate the unique plastic piece used to fuse Langdon’s spine in the hospital. Taking the original out of Langdon at this stage might have caused him more damage. So obliterating that whole area had seemed the best option.



Chapter 2
Leading and Reading Langdon 

Neither moved for a while, still replaying the scene we had just left.
“Vale Langdon Kane. Long live Taj. Welcome to Sanctuary.”
“We’re not in Galen?” asked Lang.
“No, this is my private place. Where I get away from things when they’re too overwhelming.”
“It feels like a cave,” mused Taj.
“Yes. We’re miles underground. Under the Indian Ocean. As far away as I can get from any Galen building. I don’t want thousands of minor empaths eavesdropping on us tonight, Langdon.”
I walked over to the enormous divan, piled high with jewel-coloured cushions. I cleared a large swath, tumbling many towards the floor. Bots immediately appeared to catch and pile them elsewhere.
“Nothing to do with your well known prudishness, Mags?” teased Langdon as the bots wheeled him over.
“Not at all, Sugarlump. Just guarding your modesty is all. Didn’t think you’d appreciate 18,000 libidinous females leering at you and making suggestive comments and gestures tomorrow. And those are just the English speakers.”
As I talked, I nonchalantly stepped out of my shoes and dress. I took a few long stretches. Then wearing only my tiny pink panties, I casually ordered on the vid wall. My bots ran back and forth with tops for me to choose from.
Langdon hadn’t even noticed that bots had lifted him onto the divan and propped him up comfortably. They had removed his shirt and now waited with a selection of tanks. His eyes were locked on me, as they should be, and he was pressure-cooking nicely.
“Get changed, Sweet Lips, and I’ll rub your back.”
I watched Taj appreciating Langdon’s unsuspected, six-pack and smooth, compact dancer’s upper body. His arms, shoulders and chest had been reasonably well developed already, because they had to cope with his paraplegia. I’d strengthened them, smoothed out a few over-developed knotty bits, defined and toned everything to perfection. But I hadn’t yet seen the results of my handiwork.
The first One Who Speaks HoloBomb had begun playing unnoticed on the wall screen. After the usual three wise monkeys intro it announced that:
“. . . a Galen-owned, up-town building has been attacked moments ago (we had made it 28 seconds to make the broadcast appear live,) by unknown terrorists, and the penthouse apartment of double Pulitzer Prize-winning, crusading journalist Langdon Kane, (over archival footage of Lang receiving his second award,) has been destroyed. Grave fears are held for the safety of our much respected colleague, who had received horrific spinal injuries just six months ago, risking his life to protect three innocent child witnesses from mobsters. (with beautifully clear vid of that incident.)
Yes, we have sensational, exclusive footage, taken from a nearby building confirming this terrible event. (Then there was an exterior shot looking down slightly at Langdon’s penthouse with missiles closing in fast and the explosions. The HoloVid had been taken by a 6-year-old child playing with his Dad’s state-of-the-art digital VidCam, and Dad had e-mailed it direct to The One Who Speaks web address. Later Dad would make a fortune selling copies of the recording to overseas news services, and there would be several longer views of the same scene turning up for the regular US news channels, including some from two police autohovers.)
“We don’t yet know whether this attack on Langdon Kane was in reprisal for his saving the intended victims of the previous assault where he was severely injured, or as Galen claim, this is the first open offensive against them, after slanders in the media of many nations, hadn’t slowed the drain of people leaving mainstream life to join that organization . . .”
We’d all heard the tape’s being made. I was the only one even slightly interested now.
Taj noticed my watching her, grinned widely and mouthed, “You go girl!”
Odd, I’d expected some jealousy.
Grinning back, I slipped into a pair of soft, silky, wide-legged, beige pants. I grabbed the nearest top—a swirly-patterned purple, turquoise and jade backless halter, snapping it tight around my tiny waist.
That would steam him up the most. Langdon always was a sucker for a really small waist. But when I finally turned to look at him, he was visibly peeved about something.
“I can’t believe I let you make me say all that shit, Magdalena,” he snarled.
Actually snarled! At me!
So, he’d been paying attention elsewhere, while I was parading this almost naked body around. It should have been impossible.
My looks were fashionable enough. And while I wasn’t any great beauty, my height and colouring made me striking. I was far too tall at six foot—all arms and legs. Too skinny too—though fortunately that was the in-look nowadays.
But I had excellent posture. And firm perky boobs—exactly like those I would have developed naturally, if circumstances hadn’t intervened.
Flat tum, firm rear, no cellulite anywhere—everything well-toned. Gorgeous creamy olive skin—my best feature. Thick dark lashes around clear aquamarine eyes.
And masses of dark red hair—piled up high today in little braids, curls and ringlets—sort of Princess Aletia-style. All of it held by a simple, matching red, oval, worked leather barrette and skewer thingie. So just a tug on the skewer would undo the lot.
Langdon had always loved making my hair fall down.
My looks didn’t really matter anyway. Langdon should have been too obsessed to notice any imperfections at the moment. He should think me the most gorgeous woman that had ever lived.
So, what was wrong?
He appeared in love, and was heating up nicely.
He needed me more desperately than I did him. Nobody else could give him back his legs.
His aura showed nothing amiss. And I knew he was lusting for me. So how could his attention have wandered?
No, I wouldn’t show my distress. Act cool, arrogant, that would be better.
“You were still in shock. You would have read anything I handed you at that time. Why do you think this ‘parsimonious old Shylock’ finally opened the purse strings and let the moths out?
“Besides, it was a lovely dignified testimonial. You’re just embarrassed because you had to say something nice about yourself. Every single word was the gospel truth. Just wait until you see what the rest of the press will say. And the eulogies at your funeral. You do want to attend your funeral, don’t you?” I asked sweetly, biting my bottom lip hard to stop the twitches.
Taj had given up the battle. She was rolling around on the far side of the divan, behind him. In paroxysms. With three cushions squashed against her face. Choking down her mirth.
Good to see that girl laugh. I don’t think she’s had much joy in her life.
Langdon still hadn’t noticed her bouncing around, proving Galen’s individually sprung mattresses were the best, even one-offs like this one—fifteen feet by ten, big enough for anything.
“It was horse whiss, and you know it!” he snorted. “And don’t throw that gospel crap at me. You bloody well know I had nothing to do with that.”
Taj came up for air, noisily. We both glared at her for interrupting.
“You two are a riot,” she burbled, still gasping for breath and shaking. “I thought you were some kind of god or goddess or something, Magdalena, and . . .”
“I’m not a god. He is,” I snapped.
“I am not. And I never said I was.”
“Your mother said it for you!”
“Leave my mother out of this!”
“Gladly!” I snarled back.
Taj was rolling around in gales again. Langdon watched her for a moment.
“I can’t believe you’d throw that Shylock crap back at me,” he said in a neutral tone. “And to bring up an argument we started 300 years ago is . . .” He stopped just in time.
“286 years. It was the ‘old’ I couldn’t stand.”
I was feeling dangerous now, geysering red sparks all over the room.
His aura of course was still perfect. Carefully controlled. The blue completely gone now. All pure ice white with tiny, brilliant, rainbow-coloured flashes in it. A bit like the fire in a top quality, blue-white diamond. But infinitely more beautiful.
His perfection only made me madder. My sparks were blood-red now. but Langdon remained oblivious. If he would only take notice of my early reddening, we wouldn’t have so many fights. But like nearly everyone else, Langdon was blind to auras.
“You could never appear old to me, Magdalena.”
And before he had finished speaking my name, I was over there. My arms and legs wrapped around him. Cushions kicked off everywhere. Bots scrambling for them. Being hugged back, kissing and being kissed.
Afire with lust before I even knew I was going to cave.
The bastard always could press my buttons.
Making up was so gloriously lovely, though painful too in my condition.
After we had calmed and come down a little, I moved behind Langdon. I enclosed his arms and chest with my arms, wrapping my legs around his poor numb ones.
He startled as the feeling returned. He could move them and wriggle his toes.
“This is new,” he murmured.
“Mmhm,” I mumbled into his neck continuing with my script. “But you still can’t walk unless you want to hunch over and carry me around on your back like a turtle shell. And your legs really aren’t strong enough to support us both. I’m just providing the conductor your spinal cord can’t be anymore.”
“Until you fix it, you mean. I am going to walk again, aren’t I? You promised, Magdalena.” Now he was petulant.
“Yes Baby, you’ll walk again. You’ll be as good as new. Slightly better in fact. Trust me, no artificial bits. You won’t be an android or anything. Just your own beautiful Langdon self. Okay?”
He relaxed again.
I was still a bit uncomfortable; my face squashed against his neck. I wasn’t long enough to rest my chin on his shoulder in this position. And I knew better than to grow myself. Langdon hates that.
He moved my hands to hide his pebbled nipples.
Whoops, I’d forgotten he had more than one erectile organ. And he thinks I’m a prude! I tweaked them both, not gently.
“Magdalena, we have company,” he reminded me in a strained voice.
Taj actually looked around to check if anyone else had come in. So comfortable with us now, that she hadn’t realized Lang had meant her. Good sign.
“Sorry Taj, all this touchy-feely, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other nonsense, isn’t just because we’re so madly in love. Although we are that.” And I rained a row of kisses across his shoulders to emphasize my point.
“I’m a healer. And I heal best through direct skin-to-skin contact. I’m also an empath. So I can’t stand feeling unnecessary pain or discomfort in anyone I love. If I resist, it becomes more painful for me than for them, so I just have to grab hold and heal them all up again.”
“Doesn’t stop you copping a good feel in the process, either,” Langdon said lewdly.
Whoops again. I can get so thoughtlessly distracted by my own body’s difficulties sometimes.
Extricating my legs from the tangle, I groaned. “Excuse me Lang; I’ve got pins and needles. Why don’t you go with the bots to pick a softer pair of strides in our conducting fabric?”
He was already out of the room.
“Come on Taj, I’ll show you where you can freshen up before dinner.”
“Bladder?” she enquired.
“Ready to burst,” I giggled. “He was in pain and I was too distracted to notice until he hinted. I’m not infallible, unfortunately.
“Another thing, please don’t call me Magdalena. That’s Lang’s pet name for me.”
I opened the door to the guest suite prepared for her.
“There’s a shower and bath in your bathroom there, and across the hall here, a sauna with everything necessary; fresh birch twigs and an ice cold plunge pool.”
Taj shuddered.
“I don’t like saunas either,” I grinned at her, “but Langdon and Zeke love them.
“What is your name?”
Now she had me stumped. I had to really think.
“You don’t know your own name!?!” She stared, incredulous.
“It’s not that. Just that I have so many names and titles. And I don’t ever use my current given name.” I pulled a face.
I gave her the quick tour while I tried to think how to answer her.
“Here, there’s a huge spa pool. This is the Olympic size swimming pool. Each lane’s water temperature is individually adjustable. And there’re several heated hard jet showers at the shallow end. They’re marvellous for getting the kinks out of your back and neck after hard exercise.
“You can use all of these facilities or none. Nobody really needs to wash in Galen. There’s an electrostatic thingie in the air that exfoliates scurf and zaps away dirt and germs. It also deodorizes. And even cleans teeth and disinfects your breath when you open your mouth.
“Healers need that level of cleanliness, when at any moment they could be called upon for urgent surgery. We don’t always have time to scrub up or change clothes. This works much better, is less fuss, and doesn’t wreck our hands.”
That pleased Taj. She did have lovely, well-cared-for hands. Slim fingers with very long narrow nail beds. Long, curved, oval-tipped, natural nails too. Like a cat’s talons. Expertly lacquered, with a pearly, very dark red, almost black polish.
Yet she wasn’t wearing much make-up. Just blush, mascara and lip gloss. She didn’t need anything else.
“Some of the people we get here wouldn’t know what to do with a shower. So the rest of us can still breathe freely while they’re learning.
“Taj, people usually call me by the name they last knew me as. Or from a favourite life we shared. Otherwise most people refer to me as the Mother or Lady. At Galen, they call me Professor, Healer, Doctor, or even Doc. But those titles aren’t appropriate for you. Zeke called me Rowena in our last life together.”
Taj continued to stare unamused.
“Gee, I can’t remember ever having to introduce myself before. Except when using an alias.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
I didn’t want to get into that right now.
“Wait until you recall a name you liked. Or hear one that sounds right to you.
“Most people just recognize me right away. My presence brings back their past-life memories. You saw it happen to Cahdo and Lang. Did you notice how he just knew and accepted everything without needing to adjust? Most people are a bit stunned for a while, like Cahdo.”
Taj seemed exasperated.
“Oh, Langdon was stunned. And snapped at you to cover up. He seems to hate revealing his feelings and weaknesses to you. His jaw almost came unhinged when he was watching you strut your stuff. Then, when you started to dress, he shut it tight. But he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. And when you looked at him, he snapped again.”
Balm to my ears.
We walked back to her door.
“You’re very perceptive, Taj. I’m supposed to be the empath around here. But I didn’t pick up on that . . . I get a bit flustered and confused when he acts snappy. Then I get angry or act aloof to cover up.” I smiled self-consciously.
“And while you’re too emotional to notice, he has time to calm down, get control, and regain the upper hand. All before you can see straight enough to read him.”
She was absolutely right. He always played it like that. And I always fell for it. Then blamed myself for attacking him.
“I read people’s auras. But his never reveals anything. It’s always perfect. I’ll have to start watching his face more closely.”
“Try body language instead. It’s quicker.”
“Right, I will.”
That gave me a great idea.
“Cahdo picked up some of your stuff Taj. So you can stay for a day or two. Just to avoid any media frenzy over Lang’s ‘death.’
“There’s a pile of new clothes that will fit you perfectly. And a range of toiletries and make-up. Feel free to use anything. If you need something else, just ask Galen Central for it.”
“We’ll eat soon. You can order anything, and it will taste terrific. We have some fantastic chefs. Most of them work only part-time. And all of them cook because they love to.
“I usually let Langdon order when he’s around. He’s really into food. I just like to eat it.”
Taj nodded agreement, hardly listening. Enthralled by the racks of lovely new clothes. I only managed to snare her attention when I opened the drawer with Galen necklaces. In every variety and colour, to co-ordinate with anything she might wear. I left a few other drawers and compartments open for her to notice later, and left.
Langdon was waiting, looking casually gorgeous in a deep royal blue polo shirt and soft, loose, pleated beige slacks, the same shade as mine. His mid blond hair was soft and fluffed, the way I liked it. He’d had it trendily gelled and spiked earlier. His smile was welcoming.
I showed him how to access the kitchen and let him talk foody with the chefs.
I ordered two fresh orange juices, heavily laced with dolomite, to be delivered before the food.
I quickly scanned five library books on body language. All much too basic.
It would be more efficient to access one or more of my pre-verbal primitive humanoid lives. Already intelligent people had little speech back then. Their jaws, tongues, mouths and larynxes could not yet articulate a wide enough variety of sounds. They had communicated with gestures, postures and signals. And developed a complex sign language.
That was one language which had never been replaced. It was still almost the same in every spoken language developed since.
“With that ability I could read Langdon easily. He’d never suspect what I was doing, as he hadn’t been on Earth at the time. I was fully prepared before he was free.
Langdon finally wheeled over to my lounge chair and gave me a sweet light kiss.
“That’s some invention you came up with Mags.”
He was nervous, deliberately trying to annoy me.
“Who am I feeding? Just you?”
I nodded. “I’ll need it all for tonight and more. It’s a big job. You’ve lost two and a half vertebrae, discs, ligaments and tendons. Nearly four inches of spinal column, nerve and myelin sheathing. It’s very fiddly work. A huge gap to bridge, with scar tissue and the plastic fusing to remove.
“I’ve done only one spine previously. And that was seconds after the severing, with little tissue loss. The hardest part will be matching and connecting the right myelin tubes. Even so low down, there’re still a huge number of nerves.”
“How long will all that take?”
“I’ll remove the plastic and do it all, during the power flash tonight. I hope you ordered yourself food high in protein, calcium and fat. You’ll need it.”
“Guess I’m lucky the vertebrae shattered, and prevented the bullets causing internal damage.”
Definite suspicion there. Damn! He must have had some residual awareness while ’frozen. Yet he hadn’t been affected. Must be because his eyes were ’frozen, so couldn’t lock onto mine.
“One went through, and bounced around inside your Kevlar vest Lang. There was a lot of damage. Fortunately, you’d had a monitoring tracer since Chicago. It’s a sort of micro-token under your cheek mole. So our ambulance was there immediately. We ’froze you and brought you back to Galen. But it was close. You’d lost a lot of blood.”
“Who worked on me?”
“It was a team effort. You were kept ’frozen until we returned you outside. We have reciprocal arrangements with some hospitals and they cover for us.”
His eyes remained locked on mine. Boring into me, trying to read my secrets. But my defences held. I was fully deprogrammed and protected. And he couldn’t yet use all his powers. Despite everything, I still couldn’t help loving him. So I used the old responses.
“Did you work on me, Magdalena?”
“Yes,” defiantly. “I’m still our only healer who can rebuild destroyed organs. That’s one of our worst problems. We hadn’t been able to find any other strong healers, until tonight. Cahdo’s one and I’ve already trained him. And Taj is an empath—a very strong one—with control already.”
She gasped.
We hadn’t noticed her entry. But neither my little attempt to sidetrack him, nor Taj’s spectacular presence, could divert Langdon, now he’d cornered me.
“What did it do to you Magdalena?”
I squirmed inside. I had always underplayed my pain when I could, to spare his feelings. But I wouldn’t lie just to make him feel better.
“It nearly drove me insane with lust.”
“I’m so sorry, my darling. I know how you always loathed that side of it.”
As if he didn’t hate it even more than I.
Still outwardly blank-faced. But underneath, the sanctimonious little hypocrite is actually proud of causing such a reaction in me. Condescending too, feeling superior.
Ha, if he only knew how I had really handled that problem.
“I didn’t give in to it, Lang. I did not let it make me a beast in rut.”
He went white in genuine shock.
This was becoming a habit.
“I have never had a sexual relationship, a husband, or even a boyfriend. I’ve never even flirted with a man until tonight.”
His eyes overflowed and he wept for me.
Same old, same old. As if his tears made up for anything! Why? Why, did I still love him?
“Save the tears, Lang.” I was bitter again. “I was over three, and it was only for six months. You know I’m strong.
“You made the stupid rules—I decided to abide by them too. To prove my love and put up with the same pain. Knowing it would be the last time, gave me the strength.”
He didn’t pick up on the sarcasm at all.
Gods, he was actually enjoying the thought of my sharing that pain with him. Sadism and masochism. He’s even more twisted than I’d feared. The sooner we get him into therapy, the better.
His face had set hard and gone white again, like a beautiful marble statue. He asked gently, with such compassion in his voice: “How can you be certain it wouldn’t happen again, Magdalena?”
Fear of loss was the dominant emotion there. But also with a longing for safety and comfort. He isn’t completely beyond saving yet, thank Providence.
“Because that’s why I created Galen, Darling. To save you and me from that awful pain.”
“But I still cannot break the laws, Magdalena, not even for you, my love.”
He actually believes that—the sincerity isn’t faked. Stranger and stranger.
“Oh, Sweetie, you don’t ever have to break a single law. I know it has always been more painful for you—having to watch me suffer. Although you can’t feel my pain, I know your love and imagination made it seem even worse than the actuality. I respect that.”
He agrees with me. He believes every word of this crap. Delusional as well as twisted!
“Don’t worry, Baby, you’ll never again have to endure the dreadful sight of me at three months. Gouging my own eyeballs out of my head. Ripping my belly open. And tearing the insides to pieces. Trying in vain to remove that endless accelerating pain.
“I know that it was only your great love that wouldn’t allow me to die then. That you healed me out of compassion. And you only made me cataleptic, so I couldn’t hurt myself again.
“It wasn’t your fault you were killed two days later. You never could resist helping strangers with their problems. That’s one of the qualities I’ve always loved in you.”
Oh Elder Gods, he has absolutely no idea what a horrible thing he did to me. No inkling of his betrayal. Of my rage.
He really believes I am concerned for his delicate sensitivities.
And still he savours the memory of my pain. What has happened to the sweet angel he used to be? How could he have changed so much?
And why do none of his problems reflect in his aura?
Taj is horror-stricken. I wonder if she has picked up on what I could see. Or if she’s just shocked at what he did to me.
“Unfortunately, Darling, I stayed cataleptic for 52 years. And every moment of that, my pain grew stronger. Until I burst an artery in my brain and finally died.
“I don’t know why you didn’t come back in your next lives, to help me, but I don’t hold it against you anymore.”
Not much, I don’t.
“I know there had to be excellent reasons, why you didn’t come for me.
“No, no, no,” putting a finger to his lips as he opened his mouth. “No apology or explanation is necessary.”
I couldn’t bear to hear any of his lies.
Then, shovelling on the schmaltz: “‘Love means never having to explain, or say you’re sorry.’”
Especially, as I wouldn’t believe any of your excuses, you lying bastard. I know exactly what you were doing while you thought you had me safely put away. I have resources you have no conception of, my dear.
“I’ve always trusted you implicitly, Lang. My love for you is only stronger for the pain I know you suffered for me, my sweet darling.”
Taj has realized I’m lying through my teeth. Yet he still has no idea.
“But I’m not as strong nor as ethical as you are, Lang. I’m afraid I hated you for a while.”
I lowered my head and blinked up at him through my lashes.
“I’ve been so ashamed of that weakness ever since. I never want to feel hatred for you ever again, my dearest.”
Huge tears were running down my face now, but not for the reasons he supposed.
“So I made Galen to keep us safe.”
“How?”
“Because Galen is mine and I make the rules and laws here. My people don’t question anything I need.”
“They’re our people, now. Since you made me a stockholder.” Well at least that hasn’t changed—he always was mercenary.
“Of course, Darling. They always were your people. Every molecule of every Galen structure and artefact, every portal, bot and box, is imbued with my love for you.”
And how!
“I hope you’re pleased.”
“Actually, I’m completely overwhelmed. You’ll have to give me time to get used to such great news.”
“Take all you want, Love. We have forever.”
And you’ll never, ever get out of Galen, in this lifetime or any other.



Chapter 3
JC, Sperm Power and Sobriquets 

“I’d never have picked you for a virgin.” Taj tried to lighten the mood.
“Technically, I’m not. I’ve had two children, a boy 6, and a girl 3.”
“So which one was the virgin birth, the first only, or both?” she quipped.
“Neither, Taj. There’s no such thing.”
Langdon was really squirming now.
“How about the Virgin Mary and Jesus, then?” she persisted.
Ha! She was obviously fishing. Trying to prove some memory.
Langdon looked at the floor.
“Poor Darling,” I said, taking his hand. “Lang still finds it very distressing to discuss that life. Still after two millennia the pain must have eased a little. It could be cathartic to talk it out now. Get rid of all those bad feelings.” I patted the hand I held. “It was an important, pivotal time, and we should try to understand it.” Could you bear it, do you think, Darling?”
“I’ll try,” he said bravely, putting on his hurt martyr face with the trembly bottom lip. “I think it might help me to get your slant on what happened, Magdalena.”
Ah, so he was trying to discover how much of the truth I’d found out. Well, not from my mouth, he won’t. I can temporize with the best of them.
I patted his hand again and let it go.
“Okay, do you want the long or short version, Taj?”
“I’d better hear it all, I think.”
It won’t be quite what you remember, girl. But you’re smart enough to see where I’m going and why.
“We might have to do it in instalments, then. Lang, which names should I use, Aramaic, Koine, Hebrew, Latin or English?”
“Whichever is easiest for you, my dear, but keep Magdalena, please.”
“Yes, that’s always been your favourite name for me.” I smiled. “I liked Yeshuah best, of your names from that time.”
“You might understand the problem better, Taj, with a little background.
“Are we going to eat soon Langdon? I’m feeling dry and hungry.” I ordered a tall diluted fruit juice to sip at and one for Taj.
“Okay. The common people of the land spoke various local dialects of Aramaic. The few literate Aramaic speakers wrote this in Hebrew characters. Koine, a form of Greek, was the lingua franca of educated and cultured persons, the language of commerce and diplomacy. Koine was older, and more widely used than Latin.
“Latin was considered uncouth—a barbaric soldiers’ tongue. Only the Romans normally spoke Latin, which later became the language of the Roman Catholic Church. And in every language then and since the names were different.”
I took another sip.
“Yeshuah’s mother and grandmother were both empath healers. Anne was totally self-trained and illiterate. She hadn’t been born into a family of healers. So Anne hadn’t received the early stimulation and broad education usually prescribed for a healer. Ordinary women—and indeed most men of the time—received no formal education at all.
“Nevertheless, Anne was a very strong healer, and improved all the time. Her skills were so in demand, and she so busy, that her daughter was neglected. Not starved or mistreated. But she was a very needy, clingy child. And her mother, a pragmatic no-nonsense type, was not the sort to make a fuss over her.
“Anne did hire Miriam a wet nurse. And later kept a servant to look after her and the house. But this did not make up for the lack of personal attention from her mother that Miriam needed. So she suffered psychological damage, which browned her.
“I only met Anne the once, and we didn’t have time to talk, so I never knew her power source or secrets. One day I hope to discover them.
“Do you know about iridology, Taj?”
She nodded.
“Well, you know the way the clear blue iris first becomes cloudy. Then it goes opaque from more inflammation and mucus accumulation in the body. And later all the layers of internal dirt accruing in and between the bodily organs make it grow muddy. It browns over, with the black splits indicating organ or function destruction, as the body and mind get more polluted.
“This is exactly the way the aura gets dirty, as a person gets more and more bent, damaged, and evil. The auras I see are real soul mirrors.
“The positioning of the dirt is also rather similar to that of the iris, but more complex. The iris only reveals the state of the body and mind. The aura shows the spirit, psyche, soul, emotions and mental state.
“I have charted some of the zones to correspond with various types of aberration and perversion I have identified. But there’s still a great deal to do.
“Zeke sees auras the same way I do—in fact he first taught me to see them. But other people see them differently. Apparently, most people can be trained to sense them in some way. There’s a lot of literature on the subject now. They can also be photographed by the Kirlian method after the person has been given a small electric shock on the hand.
“Lang has always believed that souls could be cleansed, and the person made clear again, by the power of love. But he has never been able to see auras himself. I could, and was so disgusted by that muck, I couldn’t agree with him.”
I turned to him.
“You’ll be pleased to know you were right after all, Sweetums. Galen has been converting the foulest human dregs into virtuous, useful citizens. And making the good guys even better.”
He just lit up and that aura went nova. I smiled back and basked in the power-flow, then let him get back to the iridology and aura-reading books he’d called up.
My boy never needs two hints.
The loaded orange juices had finally appeared, with swizzle-sticks. I handed Langdon his. He took an absent-minded sip and looked insulted.
“Doctor’s orders!” I commanded. He poured it straight down. I did the same.
“Tasted like dirt.” he grimaced.
“It’s crushed rock, Pumpkin. What did you expect? If you can think of a better way to serve dolomite, please tell the kitchen. You’ll need a lot of it for a while.
“Order something light to kill the aftertaste, and another wine for dinner. One small glass each, no bottles.”
Langdon looked pained. I must have ruined his menu.
“Okay Honey, how many different wines had you planned on?”
He indicated four. Wow, he’d really gone all out.
“Then, how about a third of a glass of each, and we’ll pretend we’ve already drunk the rest?” That evidently worked—anything to keep him happy.
I drank the wine he’d ordered. The kitchen knew to make mine non-alcoholic—I’d need all my wits straight tonight.
“So, Taj, Miriam had a bad start in life. This reduced her healing talent, and her ability to control and damp down her empathy. She was wide open to everyone’s pain all the time. That is unpleasant and damaging. Yet her mud prevented her receiving much power from other people’s auras. The aura is like a living creature—it shies away from danger and harm.
“Even lay people—non-healers, who weren’t so easily repelled, because they couldn’t sense or see her damage, couldn’t top up her batteries. But they noticed how the empaths avoided her. So they did the same themselves outside the healing rooms. Soon Miriam had no nice friends. Only other damaged and bent-type kids would play with her. And their permanent pain twisted her even more.
“But this very twistedness made her uniquely useful as a healer. She could take on really nasty, deranged, evil patients, who were too gross for the other sensitive healers to touch. These were often criminals, and able to pay huge fees and penalty rates. She was the only one who could treat them without hurting herself. At least in any way that showed.
“None of the other squeamish empaths would willingly read her. So they never noticed that these foul clients were making her still muddier. We weren’t very sophisticated in those days. Nobody realized the harm their fastidiousness, insensitivity and intolerance were causing this innocent child.
“Miriam’s powers had come in early at four. By age 8, she couldn’t receive power at all externally. But she wanted to keep the respect, money, validation and fame that came with being a healer.
“Probably, she also hoped to win her mother’s love and approval. But Anne was still too busy to take much notice of her. If anything, Anne was pleased that the child wasn’t hanging around bothering her, and getting in the way.
“Maybe, the attention and admiration Miriam received, was a substitute for the love she was missing. She couldn’t give that up, so Miriam volunteered to use the oldest method of receiving power.
“Now, the power I’m talking about is life-force energy, the prana, chi or qi Feng Shui, yoga, Reiki and acupuncture practitioners work on. You can borrow Lang’s books when he has finished with them.”
He was too engrossed to look up, but his aura was flaring his excitement.
“You speed-read, don’t you, Taj?” She nodded. “Good comprehension, as well?”
“Oh yes.”
“Because if you had any difficulties there, we have a really great course I put on Vid especially for healers. It’s based on our ancient training methods, and a few things we picked up over the years. You might pick up some useful pointers. Or know something I missed. I’d value your opinion there. We’re always looking for faster ways to learn things.
“Right. There is one other easily accessible, renewable source of power besides good auras. It’s not normally used with children, for very good reasons. This is the sperm cell.”
Good, Taj took that pronouncement in her stride.
“Each sperm carries the life-force for a potential human being. A huge amount of power is stored in each tiny sperm. Most men throw millions of the little powerhouses away regularly without thinking. A horrific waste of our most precious natural resource which I’ve capped and tapped and use as Galen’s power source.
“Galen pays a good price for every sperm donated. I’ve got all the men wearing donor caps which milk them regularly. The goop is ’ported to Bank, where the computer counts, checks the quality, sorts, ’freezes and stores, and credits their accounts.
“The cap is weightless, comfortable, discreet, self-cleansing, almost invisible. It doesn’t dull sensation; is pleasantly natural-feeling for oral use. It can be set to allow some natural secretion to pass through if desired, and can be left on permanently to catch opportune moments.
“It makes a wonderful prophylactic contraceptive, and also ’ports the other substance direct to where it should go. So all our toilet-seats stay down. We don’t have stinking, splashed bathrooms from all those guys who can’t aim straight or have a dribble problem.”
“Would’ve been nice if someone had explained that before a guy did himself a damage, Mags,” drawled Langdon.
Taj and I broke up.
“There wasn’t time, Sugar Beet. You were in such a hurry I didn’t think you’d be willing to listen, and believe that there was no real problem. You were supposed to read the message the bots were flashing,” I got out between giggles.
“I was in too much of a hurry, and they just kept getting in the way. Thought I’d have to punch them all out. When I finally did get the old fellow out, I had run out of time, forgot the cap, and just aimed, and prayed I wouldn’t splash any of the nosy critters crowding around me. Then I had some real bad thoughts about what might happen at the receiving end.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Crumpet. All this basic stuff is usually explained at entry, registration and first classes. Although I’ve hardly stopped talking since we met up, I’m not too good at explaining basics. I work and think at a different level. I don’t change gears easily. And I’m under severe strain already, as you know.
“Ask questions early next time. Don’t just wait for me to anticipate or even notice your problems. I’m damped down really hard and am barely connecting to anything outside me at the moment. Okay, Sugar Pie?”
“Mags, you use the cap material for babies and incontinents, right?” he asked.
Finally.
“Yes, Cream Puff, no wet or dirty nappies in Galen. Quadriplegics too. All the healers wear it as panties as well, so we don’t have to take breaks during long delicate work and emergencies. Used thus, the panties line the rectum, colon if necessary and bladder, removing waste content long before the person feels any discomfort.
It prevents the babies’ developing gut problems, colic or nappy rash and is much more civilized for the chair-bound.”
“So, you’re still uptight about constipation and bowel health?” Langdon smirked.
“Galen colonics!” laughed Taj.
I smiled noncommittally amid the general hilarity. Let them laugh. I wasn’t going to tell them that they both had already had their colons completely cleansed of pockets of putrefying compacted ancient muck as soon as they put on their necklaces. I was sick of lecturing sniggering people about that—much easier to just fix the problem immediately.
None of them ever understood why they suddenly felt so much healthier, cleaner and lighter, thinking it was only because of the great organic food.
“Can it conduct power, like your legs, Mags?”
“Yes, you luscious little Sugar Plum. Talk to Central. It’s already on line waiting for you. Work out the specs, and we can start making the suits and have most of our wheelchairs vacant tomorrow.”
Took him long enough to pick up on my blatant hints. Taj has caught on that I was setting him up, and she knows that I know. Good.
“See how much I needed you. I’ve had to come up with all the ideas myself lately, and I’m so foggy and tired.”
Taj had just grabbed a couple of cushions from a bot and buried her face behind them, shaking.
Central’s on the ball.
“We’ve had all our non-essential resources tuned to spinal damage research, in preparation for the expected backlash demand. I am certainly not going to spend the rest of my life healing spines, if I can help it.
Anyway, hardly anyone could afford the fees. You have just come up with the simplest, most obvious and cheapest solution. Do a tape on it later, and make it a memorial to the late great people’s hero, L.K. No, really, it will be politically useful later.
“Did you know there are over 3 million wheelchair users in the USA and at least 5 million in the European Union? And then there’re all the beggars on crutches in the Third World.
“Make it a giveaway, available at any Galen building. And stress that they don’t need to join up. Though of course they all will, and so will their families. It always happens.
“The food and cleanliness hook everybody. You know, we’ve never had anyone leave after eating here. No matter how suspicious of us, or for whom they were spying, their stomachs hooked them.
“It’s actually a big problem, because outsiders think we brainwash them in the doorway. Some people have even gone in and out of the door several times, going in a bit further each time, to test just where the alien rays will hit them.”
“The government propaganda doesn’t help either,” said Taj rather righteously. “Though why anyone still believes a thing they say, I’ll never understand. Is the food coming soon? I’m starved.”
“Me too. Lang, leave the computer. Central can handle things, once you’ve given it the idea. It’s intelligent, and if it wants to ask you something, it will do it directly, now that it’s made the connection. If you get any more brilliant flashes, just subvocalize, and Central will talk back. You’ll get the idea with practice, Pudding.”
“Is that how you do it, Magsie?”
Even Taj winced at that one!
“Yes, my Sticky Treacle Tart, but I use the Language. It’s much faster and more explicit. You’d better learn it once we get you up to par, Sausage Dumpling.”
“I presume, you’re going to match future sobriquets to the correct courses, Magdalena?” he remarked, oh so mildly.
“Of course, my Sweet Pepper, I’ve got loads of entrée, wine, fish, meat, cheese, fruit and garnish ones waiting, but I-I’m sti-ill try-ing t-to th-think up a sou-oup one,” I hiccupped helplessly. “I was ho-oping Taj might kn-now some.”
“How about Handsome Hotpot, Hot Mulligan, Good-looking Goulash, Dishy Ragout, Scrumptious Stew, Bodalicious Bouillabaisse, Provocative Pottage, Crusading Consommé, Brawny Broth, Charming Chowder, Fearless Fricassee, Gallant Lobscouse, Virile Vichyssoise, Beefy Borscht, Lovable Laksa, Grumbly Gumbo,” that lady offered, giggling maliciously. “I could do more if you run out.”
“Th-thanks T-taj, kn-new I could rel-ly on you.”
“Taj, I am hurt. I anticipated that you would evidence a modicum greater decorum than our improprietous hostess here.”
“I think ‘aggrieved’ may be the bombastic jawbreaker you missed, Langdon, and ‘improprietous’ isn’t a proper adjective,” she giggled.
“Not proper, perhaps, but it did convey the exact shade of reproof I wanted.” But he was having difficulty keeping a straight face.
“Could we can the jollity before we choke, please? Truce?”
“Truce. Until I hear another ‘Mags’ or variation thereof.”
“Truce. But I rather liked ‘Mags’. I was going to ask if you’d let me use it.”
“Oh Taj, please, don’t you start.”
“Personally, I love Mags,” said Langdon seriously. I couldn’t fault that one. He’s so sneaky.



Chapter 4
Flowers and Compliments 

“Hey, before we eat, you’re supposed to compliment your ladies, Langdon. I didn’t just throw on the first thing on the rack, you know. Your dating skills are getting rusty. I thought rich boys took lessons in turning on the charm.”
“Is this a date?” Langdon looked surprised.
“Yea-ah! We’re all dressed pretty, and you’ve ordered a special dinner, and wine and a cake.”
Ooh, she slipped that hint in cleverly. Caught him flatfooted, too.
We both pretended not to notice his throat moving as he hastily made amends.
“We’ve got a lot to celebrate besides her-um’s birthday.”
“Thank you for reminding me Taj.”
The bot presented her with a huge arrangement of bronze and gold-toned orchids and lilies, which perfectly complimented her outfit: strappy white sandals, close-fitting, white slim-leg midriders or hipsters, or whatever the current name is and a wide-strapped, burnt orange top that stopped just short of her waist.
Taj had worn a heavy, wide, antique Incan, worked gold bangle on her upper left arm and a fine sparkling gold chain necklace. There was a wider, heavier gold chain draped loosely around her little waist, the hook of one end threaded into a link to leave one long ball-ended length dangling.
What a great weapon that would make! Did she feel threatened here? I hope not.
Her eyes were very exotic, black-ringed, gold-dusted. Lips glossed, wet and rosy. Her hair clean, springy and soft, loosely pulled to one side, swirled and held in a large gold clip. She looked awesome and deserved proper acknowledgement, however belated.
Langdon wheeled himself over and made a small bow. “I ordered these to suit your special exotic style, Taj, and to thank you for sharing some memorable moments . . .”
“Not that kind of dinner speech, Langdon. Can’t you just tell a girl she’s gorgeous, looks great and gets you hot, plant a kiss on her, then remind her several more times.”
“What you said,” and he elegantly kissed her hand.
“Why, glad you noticed, Langs, you look pretty rapable yourself tonight,” and she kissed him softly but thoroughly on the lips.
Langdon disengaged gently. “Taj, please remember I’m in a delicate condition still. While the idea you just raised is doing wonders for Magdalena’s bank. It also terrifies me and . . . and that’s also helping the bank.”
There was some odd interplay between the two of them; I couldn’t quite fathom it.
“Taj, how are those memories coming along?” I asked.
“I’m trying to go with the flow, but there’s some weird stuff flashing into my head. You didn’t put anything funny in that drink did you?”
I smiled in sympathy.
“Well, I’ll just keep trying to make sense of it all.”
“Don’t try to analyse. It holds things up. Just accept and relax into it. That’s much quicker. The more you interact with it now, the more confused you’ll get. I promise it will be easier to sort out later.
“None of the memories or personae can take over or alter your personality unless you were brain-damaged or intellectually deficient, but they will enrich you. I think you’ll find the memories of previous happy childhoods with loving parents will help fill a void, and make your Typhon memories less horrible.”
Langdon was waiting politely, under control again, aura zinging. He bowed from the waist, smiled, said “My Lady,” and the bot presented a huge bouquet of roses, deep blood red and light magenta intermixed, both gloriously scented.
The colours went together well, and had a suspicious resemblance to colours that had been in my aura recently.
I smiled back; waiting . . . He was waiting for something too . . . Still waiting . . .
“Langdon where are the words, you dope? Didn’t you learn anything?” cried Taj.
“I don’t need words with Magdalena,” a little defensively, “She can see into my soul.”
“And what’s your soul saying to her?”
“Well, that’s a little private; it’s between her and me.”
“No, it’s not—it’s between you and yourself.”
“But you’re an empath, and you can see my aura!”
“Yes, it’s very pretty. So?”
Taj had to interpret for us again. “Langdon, you always love her-um, don’t you?”
“Always have, always will. Couldn’t love her any more than I do. She knows that. We’re bound together for eternity, and longer if I can arrange it. A million eternities wouldn’t be enough time to spend with her. She knows that.”
He seemed to be growing impatient.
“I owe her my life, my soul. She is my happiness, the most precious, most beloved, most perfect. I revere her, worship her; am always in awe of her. She knows that.”
He was almost angry now for some reason. Perhaps he disliked revealing his feelings like this, yet nobody had forced him to.
Taj and I were equally dumbfounded at this proclamation, but she recovered first.
“So,” she continued, blinking hard, “you always love her, and you always think she looks sensational?”
“Of course. She’s the most gorgeous woman that ever lived. Every lifetime, I can’t wait to see if she’s still as beautiful as my memories. Because they seem so impossibly perfect and idealized. I can’t believe any woman could really be so lovely. And when I do see her, her reality always far outstrips my visions of her. I can’t believe it could be possible for such perfection to be human.”
What absolute crap—he’s only saying that because of his condition. Even though he actually believes it now, tomorrow he’ll see straight again.
“I want to fall at her feet and worship her, and I am so grateful that she wants to be with me, because I doubt I’ll ever be good enough for her, no matter how hard I try. She knows all that too.”
“Right, we’ve ascertained that you love her a lot, and think that she looks pretty good.”
“That’s rather understating the case, but she knows that, so . . . ?”
“So, if you are out of the room, or far away from her, do you love her any less or more than say, when you step into a room and see her again. Or when she’s just a past-life memory and you’re thinking of her. Or when you’re eagerly anticipating meeting her again for the first time that life. Or when you open your eyes in the morning and first see her next to you. Or when you’re sitting next to her and not quite touching. Or when you’re holding hands, or kissing, or making tender love together. Or in the middle of the most earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever given her . . . or that you have ever had. Or when she’s fat with your baby. Or when you’re changing your baby’s dirty diaper so she can have a sleep. Or when she’s 85, and you’ve spent a lifetime together, and have loads of children, grand children, great grands, etcetera. At any of those times, is your love for her different, in any way, from any other time?”
“The bank thanks you for all those images Taj. Mags, just how much capacity is left in that thing?”
“We’ll cope, Dear. I set the specs pretty high, and then made it all expandable.”
“Good. To answer your question, Taj. Yes and no. Yes, I love her differently at every moment, and in every situation, and in every mood. And no, I always love her the same, because I love her so much, that I can’t see how to love her more. If I could, I would already be doing it.
“I love every bit of her, but I love some of the bits differently. Like, I love her hair, its colour and curl, softness and heaviness, its lustre, bounce and scent.
I love this hairstyle, and can’t wait to get her alone, so I can unpin it and let it fall, and bury my face and hands in it, and play with it. But then I’ll love her loose hair, because I can touch it and mess it up.
I won’t regret this lovely style she’s wearing, because next time she’ll have another, probably even more beautiful, and I’ll love that just as much. But I’ll always have this one to remember.
She’ll maybe wear this style again, but it won’t be exactly identical, just slightly different, and I’ll love that variation too. And that’ll be another style I’ll add to my memories.
“I’ve also loved her hair when it was every shade of every colour, and every length.
I’ve loved her bald too, because then I could see the superb shape of her head. I could appreciate its lovely symmetry, without the distraction of her seductive hair.
“I love every hair on her head, and grieve for every hair that falls out, because it’s no longer part of her, but I’m also proud for that hair, because it has done its job well, to enhance and be part of that loveliness.
“Anyway, she knows all this. Is there any point to all these questions, besides filling the bank?”
“Yeah, there is.” Taj sounded a bit husky now, and no wonder.
I was in shock myself, hearing Langdon wax so eloquent about quite unsuspected emotions.
How could this man be reconciled with the one I had first started reading earlier, and the other, who had been so heedlessly cruel to me, when I had been born his daughter?
“If you love her so much all the time, and your aura’s so chockfull of that love all the time, and your love never changes, because it’s always as big as it can be, whether you’re with her or not, wouldn’t the love part of your aura always look the same? So she might get so used to it, that she wonders why you don’t react differently to her when she’s trying to seduce you, than say, when she’s cutting her toenails or cleaning out ear wax.”
“I do react differently.”
“One part of you should. But you’re apparently in a permanent state of priapism unless you deaden the reaction artificially. So when you react to her that way, how can she tell the difference from the totally involuntary previous reaction, which looks exactly the same physically?”
“Because I act lovingly towards her.”
I was mortified. How could I have so misjudged him?
“You mean earlier, when you didn’t even notice how tightly wound she was, and nearly blew her control. So she had to distract you with your own problem, to get you to lay off?
“You’ve been studying her forever in minute detail, as some kind of idealized abstract entity and her parts. But you haven’t seen the actual living woman. You didn’t pick up on something I saw straight away, when as far as I knew, I’d never seen her before.
“So you’re no empath, shouldn’t that make you more eager to find ways to read her feelings from the outside, so you can read her needs and give her what she wants? Wouldn’t that be another, new, different way of loving her?”
“Yes, but how else can I do that?”
“Tell her all the time how gorgeous she is and that you love her and need her, and can’t live without her. Women need to hear those words often, and know they are appreciated. Especially strong women. People think that if they’re strong, they don’t need anyone or anything, and that’s so wrong. Their needs can often be greater because of their strengths.
“Learn Body Language. Talk to her, ask her about her feelings, ask what she wants and needs, and tell her how you feel, and what you think of her and your relationship. Interact; don’t just study her from the outside.
“Really listen to what she says—she has twice mentioned that she is hungry and you still haven’t fed her. Providing food is one of the most important aspects of love and nurturing. As you’ve ordered the meal, don’t you think it is rude to delay feeding her in her own home?
“You’re so used to her anticipating your every need, and fixing your problems, you probably didn’t know you had needs or problems, so you don’t see that she has them. This one is obvious.
“You’ve just told me more about how you feel about Mags, than you’ve ever told her. Look at her—she’s absolutely stunned, and under that power glow, she’s deeply exhausted. Several times now, she’s mentioned being tired, and you didn’t once ask why, or offer her help.
“She’s said several times that she needs you, and again you haven’t once asked why or how, just assumed she wanted you in bed, because that’s all you could think about.
“She’s probably been working night and day rebuilding people and fixing the world. She’s personally responsible for at least half a billion people. Probably every government on earth is out to get her before she swallows them all up—and she’s only a kid herself. And if you don’t feed her right away, she’s gonna pass out with hunger.”
Strange, I hadn’t noticed how bad I felt until Taj summarized it so succinctly. I was exhausted by the heavy responsibilities I’d carried all this life, and the fears and unresolved problems of several past lives. And by having to fight down my agonizing need for Langdon since he’d triggered it by nearly killing himself. It was a soul-deep exhaustion that power didn’t help much.
It was nice to be fussed over and looked after. The two of them did a great job of feeding me little sips and nibbles of food, until I revived from this stupor and could feed myself.
I’d train Lang tonight before the healing, and he could teach Taj. He was the strongest healer ever born; with a little direction, he’d soon recover his old skills.
We needed every healer operational. What luck to have found three strong healers tonight. Cahdo was already working on the new emergencies. Less for me to handle tomorrow.
We had to find the rest of the missing healers, and learn more about the threatening danger. Something was very wrong. Too many coincidences. Too many things going wrong, when they should have been improving.
And that man pushing the big box—why was it so large anyway? Boxes shrink down small between jobs. They don’t need to stay that big. No wonder he’d bumped me. He couldn’t see where he was going. Going too fast too. And I’m so arrogant. I wander around in a daze thinking things out, and expect everyone to get out of my way.
They always do, too. So why hadn’t he? Somebody should have told him to give way. There were other people about.
He bumped me really hard. I’d been so distracted; I’d just healed myself and kept going. If I’d been a non-healer, I could have been terribly injured or killed.
And he was pushing that same box four days before on another level. Boxes don’t need pushing.
**Central, which levels were those, I forget?
**No, he shouldn’t have access there. That’s impossible. Is he still in the building? What do you mean you’ve been trying to warn me? What’s different about the way I’m talking now? He’s an infiltrator, has to be. Find and ’freeze. Alert Security. Backtrack, and give Security all data—where and when, all contacts.
**This is supposed to be impossible. What do you mean you told Langdon? Why not me? But I am easy to talk to. I made you. We’ve always talked. What jokes? You told him jokes? Where did you hear them? Here? I don’t understand. I’ll ask him myself.**
I’m nearly asleep. So tired. How’d I get like this? Why can’t I wake up? I can’t move. Gotta wake up. C’mon girl, rise and shine! Wake up! What is wrong? Heal! Heal! I’m not a dog, I’m a healer. So heal me.
Oh, that’s all. I over-damped. Over-damped and nearly knocked myself out.
Oooh! No wonder I put the clamps on so tight. Not much longer, girl, then you can kill two birds, no four birds with one stone. Is that multi-tasking, or what?
That Taj is brilliant. Such a clear precise mind. Wish women had been able to think like that 2,000 years ago. Such insight. Straight to the source of the problem. Pull no punches. Lay it out straight. See the solution and give it to the only person who can set it right.
She was off target on a few things, but that’s only because she didn’t have all the facts—she didn’t really have many facts at all—she must have intuited most of what she knew.
Wonder if military training would help my other empaths? Some of them can’t even see straight, much less think straight. Always in a dither about something.
Now I’m dithering. Undamp! She’s going to be such an asset. Undamp! Come on Mags, wake up.
Oh, no, it’s catching! Such a horrible, meaningless, undignified name. That’s better. Mags. Mags! Magsie! Magsie! Yuk!



Chapter 5
Head of Galen Security 

“I’ve decided you can call me Mags, after all.”
“She’s awake.”
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s this about computer jokes, Langdon? Tell me later, I’m still confused, but don’t forget. I might not remember.”
“Told you she was going to faint.”
“Didn’t faint, over-damped, and . . . same effect, I suppose, different cause.
*‘I can’t deal with Security now. No. Leave me alone. Tell Taj. She has more sense than the rest of you bloody headless chooks put together. Can’t you make one decision by yourselves? I said ‘No.’
*‘Taj, get on the laptop. Langdon, show her. Taj, you just got promoted. You’re my new Head of Security.
*‘Don’t tell me she’s not been cleared, you little pipsqueak. I am Galen. I clear her. End of story. Shut up. You drongos are all cleared, and you didn’t even notice somebody had tried to kill me two whole days ago.
*‘Of course he botched the job, you nong, who do you think is yelling at you? Do I sound like a ghost? Did you trip over my body? Would you have noticed if you had?
*‘That’s supposed to be your job. To look after me.
*‘I was too bloody tired to raise the alarm before, that’s why. Walking around like a flipping zombie ’cos you useless twits can’t wipe your own noses, and won’t let me sleep.
*‘Bugger off, all of you. Go, do your jobs for a change.
*‘Central, no further access to my head below Level 3. Why don’t you try delegating yourself? I don’t want any more problems. I want a rest.
*‘I don’t know—read some leadership manuals, take a management course, that’s the way most people learn how. Talk to Taj. She’s a natural leader. She’ll know. You’ll manage. You’ve never failed me yet. Now leave me alone, please.’*
I noticed the strange nervous looks.
“Oops. Sorry, guys. Ear-bone mike. Computer link. Usually subvocalize. Got mad. Yelled. I had 5 Security incompetents and Central, all trying to explain at the same time, why it wasn’t their fault they buggered up.
“Somebody tried to kill me. Infiltrator probably. Not cleared for the levels he was on. Supposed to be impossible. Possibly used the freight portals. Maybe hidden in a box of food. Or an insider let him in.
“Hey, maybe we can use that to prove to the world that our people really do have free will. Wonder how he fooled the computer?
“Don’t forget the jokes, Langdon—there’s something important there. Central said it had been trying to warn me, but I didn’t understand, and it told you instead. So, why didn’t you tell me?
I can’t think about that now. Too hungry. Sorry, I wrecked your dinner, Butternut. Ooh, that was an awful one.
“Kinda lost my sense of humour. D’you know, there’s no word for humour in the Language? No wonder they were so bored—remind me of that too later, please, Darling.
“You’re connected, Taj. Both of you have ear-mikes now. Sorry, I should have asked first, right?
“You’re connected to Central, and you have authority over all Galen, under me, Taj, but I plan to be just a figurehead for a change.
“Try to remember to subvocalize, or you’ll sound as loony as I just did.
Somebody talk to me. I said I’m hungry. Can we salvage some of this dinner? Sorry I wrecked the ambience. Can I have a hug, please?”
That finally got them moving. I was soon enveloped in hugs, and crowding close, they resumed the little sips and nibbles.
Langdon had ordered me the strongest energy drink available. That really worked. I ordered three more and gave them a taste each.
“This won’t spoil our appetites, Honey. It’s designed for anorexics. Tastes like a mild herb tea. Lots of electrolytes, minerals, vitamins and a light protein in barley water. Once they had accepted it, we changed to a heavy calorie version that tasted the same, gave them everything they needed, yet didn’t quell hunger. Meanwhile, they were in therapy, and working with starved Third Worlders.
We told them their appearance would make the patients feel more normal. Trained them carefully in how to nourish the long-starved, made no special allowances for, or fuss about their condition, and they soon forgot their self-obsession and healed themselves.
“Don’t know what we’ll do when we run out of starved Third Worlders though—hey, isn’t that just a wonderful thing to be able to say? This is the heavy version.”
Langdon’s eyes lit up.
I knew what he was thinking.
“You’d need to thicken it to support the dolomite in suspension. Talk to the kitchen via the computer. Subvocalize.”
Taj still looked worried, but didn’t say anything.




Chapter 6
How Galen Works 

The wall screens came on with a Level 1 introduction lecture Central had just put together. We all watched silently for a while as we ate.
The food was delicious as expected, but I hardly noticed what exactly it was. Too tired to do more than shovel it in, chew and swallow.
You really realize how near you have approached the edge, when you can’t even get a break when you pass out. My fool brain still kept trying to solve problems when it was supposed to be unconscious. Talk about obsessive!
Langdon and Taj had looked so shocked. Must have thought I was having a breakdown. That’s what soured Langdon. He’d assumed I wouldn’t have been capable of fixing his back if I were so sick. Boy, he can be a selfish bastard sometimes. Talk about a Jekyll and Hyde!
Stop thinking now. Watch the lecture.
It was a good job, not dumbed down. It explained that the doors allowed entrance only to fairly decent non-violent people, by the simple expedient of filtering out bad auras. Slightly grubby ones were allowed.
However the doors really did keep out the foul types. Those were met by a sweet-young-girl-type android, and gently escorted to a smaller side door. She explained that, because of their violent natures, they were too dangerous to be allowed near the innocents until they had been cured, and their hormonal imbalance stabilized.
“Is that really true,” asked Taj. “Is violence caused just by hormonal imbalances?”
The lecture politely stopped running for each question and ensuing discussion. I swallowed my mouthful and licked my teeth before answering.
“No, not completely, but most people are happy to believe anything that shifts the blame for their behaviour off themselves. You remove the guilt and it’s suddenly easier to treat them. And it is true, that readjusting their body’s chemistry will remove the aggression and violence, which is their conditioned response to life’s difficulties.
“Quite often, their bad behaviour is at least partly attributable to food allergies, inadequate diet, sensitivity to chemical additives, sugar intolerance, or inability to absorb some nutrient. It’s remarkable how they improve just from removing refined sugar and alcohol from their diets. The change to healthy organic food, free of any additives, has a very salutary effect.
“Most of them are very relieved, and grateful not to have to live with constant rage and confusion. Once started on our education and clearing programmes, they make astonishing progress. Very few turn out to be bent because they want to be bad. It’s been a real eye-opener for me, I can tell you.” I resumed eating rather pointedly.
Ordinary people and those with ugly auras, all went through registration in the same way, but in different areas. They were signed in, sorted by the computer, assigned a room and given a necklace.
After registration, everyone had the Levels explained, and then had been walked along a wide corridor, one side of which was painted blue and marked with gradations.
Here, they could only walk as far as their current development allowed, then had to proceed on the unrestricted beige side. By walking it as a family, they proved to themselves that the kids could go further on the blue, and were far more evolved than their parents.
Couples were separated, if necessary, and it usually was. We told them truthfully, that they needed different programmes. Their normal interaction was a major part of their problems. So they would progress faster independently. They could be together again as soon as they matched levels.
Half the time they didn’t much care, but when there was love, both worked hard and soon got together at a higher level.
A surprising number of couples fell back in love with each other, after they understood their problems. Probably because they had more in common with each other, than with anyone else.
Couples always had VidPhone access to each other. They could watch their kids at any non-personal time, but could not contact them yet.
Many sat watching their kids all day at first, to guard against danger befalling them. They quickly noticed that their children were treated with more love, respect, and kindness, than they had received at home. And they saw how quickly the kids blossomed, expanded, and started learning rapidly.
Now they saw their kids leap further ahead, often three levels or more in their first day. That generally hooked the parents. Sometimes before they had eaten a Galen meal, or even seen their rooms.
There was a cash bonus for each level advanced. Another for every good behaviour or learning point the kids earned. Everything beneficial to their own development was rewarded. The kids received visible gold stars. Their parents could see the cash piling up in the children’s accounts, but couldn’t access it.
Even older teenagers loved our gold star system. They collected rows of them, up and down their arms and legs as trendy transfers, visible for a week.
The first two days’ residence was free. After that, everyone had to work six hours a day, and study subjects of their choice, for a minimum two hours daily, with only one day off a fortnight, unless they made up the time beforehand.
Work could be replaced by study, but not vice versa, and both received the same pay, standard across each level, but rising noticeably with the levels.
Power donation payment, however, remained the same at every level, depending only on the quantity and quality of the donation.
The children’s nursery and school areas were in the building centre, and only accessible by secured portals.
First greed, then dawning realization, and finally faith propelled people up the levels. There were up to 300 floors in a building, mostly underground, so it wasn’t hard to make progress.
Anyone who didn’t advance, was offered free counselling, and shown various ways they could move up. If there was still no progress after a week, they were fined, and the fines grew heavier each week they remained stationary.
If they got into the red, they were forced to attend therapy or leave Galen. Therapy was cheap and they were allowed to build up a debit.
Most violent parents recognized their problems early, and volunteered for therapy. Lots trained as child carers at the same time, which made progress faster. As soon as they understood how to behave properly around children, they received full VidPhone access to their kids. As long as they didn’t interrupt an important work or learning moment.
That was a real revelation for most parents. That their children were actual persons in their own right. That their work was at least as important as that of their parents.
The parents had to make an appointment. And they had to get the kids’ permission to talk to them by vid. Or to meet any or all of their children in person.
Some kids took a while to work out their internal feelings, before they could comfortably see their parents again. The kids’ safety and comfort and rights always came first. Parents had to understand that their own needs were secondary, and that they had no rights over their kids, except to love them.
My proudest achievements were the antenatal, child care and education systems.
We tried to begin prenatal classes as soon as a couple started planning for a pregnancy. And made them mandatory for both parents, as soon as pregnancy was confirmed. Both parents were taught to beam feelings, and speak words of love, happiness and welcome to the new person. They were shown how to stimulate the baby in utero, with suitable music and natural sound tapes. How to prepare for breastfeeding and birth. Taught what to expect, and how to care for the bubs after birth.



Chapter 7
Breastfeeding 

Many men had expressed envy of the close bond their wives achieved through breastfeeding. When told they too could lactate, if they wished, they had jumped at the chance. Now nearly half of our fathers were happily sharing this job.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” blurted Taj. “I’ve never met a man who wanted to share breastfeeding and wear maternity bras.”
“You’re wrong there, Taj. I’ve been born a woman in past lives and breastfed babies, and it’s one of the things I’ve missed the most. I think it’s a great idea, and intend to use it for all my children.
“A woman doesn’t need huge breasts in order to nurse, so you wouldn’t need to change a man’s body much at all, and he wouldn’t require a bra.
“Look at those men on screen. They just seem to have really well developed pecs—they even keep their chest hair. Mags, how can a taped lecture answer questions?”
“Because Central is more than just a computer. It is sentient—an alive, very intelligent, though still immature being—the most evolved computer in the universe and much more than just interactive.
“Central is the very foundation and mainstay of Galen. It controls, oversees and supports everyone and everything in Galen. It put this lecture together to supplement my discursive intro. Central is running and pausing the tape, and interposing extra footage on areas which interest either of you.
“You can ask it direct questions too, if you want. “Most of our classes are run this way, and all are interactive. Nobody falls asleep and gets credit for doing nothing.”
“So does this count for our two hour’s study?” asked Taj.
“Absolutely. So does all the useful reading you and Lang have been doing all evening.
“And teaching you counts as part of my work. Even if Central disapproves of how I’m doing it. Not that I need to make up any time. I’m years ahead on both obligations—what I’m behind on, is rest, sleep and relaxation.”
“You mean, you have to obey the rules too, Magdalena? I’d have thought there would be no higher levels you could aspire to.”
“There are levels within each Level, Lang. Actually those in each residential building are symbolic only. Most people stop worrying about moving up the actual floors after a while, and stay with their partner at a place that’s comfortable to them both.
“Material possessions also lose a lot of their attraction and become so much clutter. Simplicity becomes more popular.
“And when the children start returning to visit, and stay a while with their parents, the adults reassess their value systems again. Family time becomes the most treasured thing in their lives.
“Nobody is perfect, Lang. There is always room for improvement. You’re correct in that I am the most evolved person we’ve processed so far. But I’ve also progressed through nearly 200 levels since I set up the system. And I still cannot walk to the end of that gradated blue corridor.
“Wherever I’m up to is called Level 1. Where the next close group reaches is Level 2, and so on. Central closes up the gradations between us. There might actually be 100 or more levels between each mark. Central also spreads those at the beginning of the walk to encourage effort.
“The actual marks on the wall mean very little. The object always is to become the best person you can be. Not to beat someone else. We are only in competition with ourselves—not with anyone else.
“The wonder is, that Central was able to find, and calibrate, a way of measuring the status of the soul’s evolution. That gave us a tool, and a direction to aim at. Adults are generally slow to understand and take advantage of this. But the children, especially those born in Galen, are making huge leaps.” I took another spoonful of food.
The tape started up again.
No mother was ever expected to look after her baby alone. We liked them to sleep the babies in bed with them. And explained the lifelong benefits of this. But if they were studying, and working hard, we provided night-carers.
These took the baby after mum had given the last evening feed. They settled it to sleep, bringing the baby to the lactating father when required. Or they fed the babe expressed mother’s milk if dad wasn’t lactating. When mum woke in the morning, she fitted in a feed before going to work or school.
The babies were again brought to her throughout the day whenever she took a break. Everybody understood and was very supportive of a studying or working mother.
Full care was also available, as an occasional respite, or permanently, for women who weren’t very maternal. All for free.
We found that when a mother wasn’t frustrated in her personal ambitions, and everything was made easier for her, she could actually enjoy motherhood more. She no longer felt trapped, housebound, or stuck with her baby.
Most scheduled in a little togetherness time out of feelings of duty. This soon became very precious to her, beneficial to both her and the child, so she eventually increased their time together, without any outside encouragement.
We never pressured a mother, but we paid them a lot to breastfeed or express milk, and the lactation hormones did the rest.
“Do you pay the men too? Is that why so many do it?”
“No, Taj, we don’t pay them . . .”
“Isn’t that being sexist?” asked Langdon.
“Probably, but we don’t worry about political correctness at Galen.
“PC is just a pretentious mealy-mouthed excuse for disguising plain hard facts. Galen is very much about facing up to who you really are. Here, Lang, you are not an ambulatorily-challenged, healing-impaired, moral-crusading people’s hero. You’re just the beloved, confused idiot who got himself shot up and stuck in a wheelchair, until the poor, overworked Mother could get around to wasting an exorbitant amount of Galen’s resources to fix you up again.”
“Boy you got that straight,” laughed Taj.
Langdon had the grace to look discomfited, before sheepishly grinning up at me.
“But I was worth all the bother, wasn’t I?”
“That’s still to be proven.” I grinned back, ruffling his hair.
“Actually, Taj, the men pay us for the healing work which enables them to breastfeed, and still stay men.
“Buck rabbits are the only animals I know of where the male naturally starts lactating, and feeds and rears the kittens when the doe dies.
“We look on lactation as the mother’s contribution to Galen’s future.
“Mothers give their babies a lot more than perfect nutrition when nursing. If men want to share in that, it’s only fair that they pay for the privilege. Obviously many of them do so willingly. They already get paid good money for their power donations anyway.” I picked up my glass.
Besides paying the mothers, we provided every possible encouragement and support for natural breastfeeding, but didn’t force it.
“I thought breastfeeding was a simple natural function.”
I managed a sip before answering.
“It is natural, Taj, but it’s not always simple or easy, especially with a first baby in a modern society.
“In my last life, when I had no healing powers or past life memories, I had a very hard time of it, despite reading everything I could find.
“I lost all my contractions after the epidural. My baby had to be dragged out by forceps. That gave her a raging headache for three days.
“The only thing which distracted her from the pain was suckling. She did that very hard and strong. But she hadn’t got the grip right. All the pressure was on the actual tip of the nipple. Not spread over the whole areola.
“My nipples abraded, bled, scabbed over, and hurt a lot.
“Next feed she would suck off the scabs. What worried me most, believe it or not, was that she was getting solids too early. Before her gut was mature enough to handle them.
“Yet all my considerable pain was totally unnecessary. It wouldn’t have happened, if I had known how to get my nipple into the back of her mouth.
“None of the midwife nurses saw my problem either. Although I did ask for it, none of them knew enough to help. All they did was offer me a heating lamp. And then acted quite uptight when I left both nipples exposed during visiting hours. Covering them hurt so much I didn’t care who looked.
“I worked it out by myself two weeks later, from books. One likened the shape of the baby’s mouth in the correct position to the lips of the K in the Kellogg’s cereal logo.
“But I only succeeded in breastfeeding because I was so stubbornly determined not to give up. My husband preferred I start the bottle instead of angsting over it. He was actually jealous of the time I spent with the baby.
“Most new mothers don’t have my iron will and high pain tolerance, and need a lot of help, encouragement and support.
“Actually the term suckling is a bit of a misnomer. There is no actual sucking involved. With the nipple placed at the back of its mouth, the baby holds the areola firmly in place with its lips. The baby’s tongue pushes and flattens the areola against the roof of the mouth. The baby uses its tongue in rapid fluttery up-and-down movements to massage the flattened elongated breast tip. The milk squirts almost straight down its throat.
“The poor nipple looks quite deformed when the baby finally releases it, but it springs back into shape soon enough.
“As a matter of fact, I had asked soon after delivery, to be shown how to express milk, and one of the presumably trained nurses tried to squeeze out my milk in the way you would squeeze a juicy pimple. It really hurt.
“When she could get nothing, the bitch blithely remarked that I probably would be unable to feed my baby at all as I had no milk. That would have shattered most first-time mothers’ confidence, but just made me furious and resentful.
“New mothers are already incredibly vulnerable and uncertain of their ability to do the right thing. So they can get very upset at negative comments. And frightened of not properly nourishing their child, they can cave in to pressure and revert to the bottle.”
I could see Langdon was dying to ask a question as soon as I stopped, so I didn’t.
“No, Lang, I am not going to answer any questions about that life now, or we’ll never get through this presentation. You’ll have to wait.”
We never forced reluctant mothers to breastfeed. There were many others who had more than enough milk, and were eager for the extra income. And if a mother insisted on bottle-feeding herself, with formula, we allowed that too. As long as the babe was allowed colostrum from Dad or other mothers, for the first three days.
Our synthetic baby formula, in colostrum, fore- and hind-milk versions was an exact duplicate, of averaged out mother’s milk, including every possible type of antibody, which was also added to all bottle-feeds administered by nursery staff, as no mother produced all of them.
It’s available in pharmacies outside too, like our vitamins and the SaltPetre+.



Chapter 8
Life Force and Food 

We could also synthesize all of the food, if necessary. But natural was always still best. We cannot synthesize life-force. And that’s what makes mother’s milk and fresh fruit and vegetables so very nourishing.”
“You mean Galen food has sperm power!” Taj burst out, looking a bit green.
“No Taj, relax. You’re thinking about it the wrong way.
“Every living thing has life-force: fish, animals, people, plants, trees, antibodies, sperm, germs, natural rock and crystals, soil, pure spring water, rain, sunshine, the ocean, the planet itself. All of it is alive, and shares life-force.
“But the most life-force is concentrated in seeds which will grow to become new living things. So sprouted seeds and nuts are rich in life force. Fruits whose soft seeds are eaten raw, or hard seeds bitten open, provide a lot of life-force. So kiwis, bananas, pomegranates, strawberries, figs, cucumbers, green peas and beans, tomatoes and passionfruit, are the most beneficial in passing on life force.
“Other perfectly good fruits and vegetables, like mangoes, celery, carrots and potatoes, where the seeds are generally not eaten provide less life-force.
“Sperm is just human seed, and we harvest it as a power source, but don’t use it as a food supplement or anything.”
“Puleee-ease, don’t tell me that all those sleazy men, who persuaded women to swallow, were actually doing them a nutritional favour?”
Langdon leered at her and looked smug.
“I really doubt any of those men were thinking of nourishing the women, Taj. Men will always say anything to get what they want. But our women don’t have to swallow anything. None of our men would willingly forgo payment for a good donation, just to force a woman to submit to him.
“Respect for women and decent manners, are among the earliest things they learn at Galen. Though we don’t attempt to control their fantasies. They can still think what they like, as long as I don’t have to know about it.
“You can see why Lang thinks I’m a prude.”
We both laughed.
Langdon had looked annoyed, then confused, and now worried.
“So, is Galen food natural or synthetic?”
Trust him to be worried about his stomach.
“Darling, you talked to some of the chefs. You must have noticed that they’re just as fanatical about foods as you are. They’re all people who love to cook and experiment with food.
“All our ingredients are natural, organically grown, with minimal processing, and are ’frozen to always remain at their peak. Wait until you try our wheat germ—you’ve never seen fresher.
“Taj, if you haven’t yet realised, Galen ‘’freezing’ doesn’t affect temperature in any way. It’s a kind of ’freezing in time, a state of stasis, which so protects the food, that it stays always perfect, in the same condition and at the same temperature as when it was ’frozen.
“Our catering services—one of our most successful recruiting means—never cook on outside premises. They just serve up food, ready to eat, straight out of a box, then remove the dirty dishes.
“We have huge stockpiles of ’frozen dishes, freshly harvested, peak quality fruit, vegetables, fungi and cereals, so you can eat your favourites all year round.
“The chefs are always creating new treats and earn royalties for popular items.
“Central follows and notes every step of making each dish, so it can recreate it the usual way, by using bots to cook it from scratch.
“Food can also be synthesized from soil elements, and is, for pregnant vegetarian women and those who prefer not to kill to eat, but need or like meat and fish in their diets.
“The life-force of meat is lost in cooking anyway. But soil life energy isn’t so easily destroyed by processing, so we still get the benefits of that.
“Even sashimi lovers, and those who like their meat very rare, prefer synthetic flesh. It can be made in huge, boneless slabs, fat-free, with no veins, sinews, membranes, yucky bits, parasites, prions, added hormones or pollutants.
“It’s always juicy, full-flavoured, of perfect texture, and of the best prime cuts, with no waste. We even make it already infused with various marinades.
“The meat is copied from our two small herds of meat animals. They also eat only organic food and are the healthiest animals on the planet.
“Same with the fish—boneless, skinless, no gutting or scaling required. It’s fresher and healthier than just killed restaurant fish from a tank.
“We can also make leather, already tanned, softened and coloured, without needing to chemically pollute the environment or kill any cows.
“It’s all beneficial to the planet and the human psyche. The land is used more productively for crop growing. More land is left in its natural state for the wildlife and atmosphere re-oxygenation. And we’re all better off.
“If you’re still worried Lang, take a turn in the kitchen sometime. Learn about the food firsthand.
“Most of our chefs have several other careers going at the same time. A multiplicity of talents is encouraged at Galen.
“Now, let’s get back to the tape.”



Chapter 9
Child Education and Galenite 

All our babies are constantly stimulated, entertained, exercised and educated. There are at least two trained carers in attendance on every baby at any time. When they start getting around, there are three or more per 3-hour shift, as well as supervisors and healers in every nursery. The parents are encouraged to participate as much as they wish.
In fact, a reverse snobbery thing had developed. Many of our parents took accelerated courses, so they could do as much of the stimulation as possible. They considered it a great privilege to be allowed to spend a lot of time with their offspring, and to do most of the teaching themselves. And of course doing so strengthened the family bonds.
Sometimes, this was a type of penance, to make up for mistakes they thought they had made outside, with their older kids. When that happened, we encouraged the older children to join in the parenting too, and this helped heal the family. Eventually the parents relaxed. They were able to forgive themselves, and leave most of the work to the professionals. And just enjoy their time with the new baby and the older kids.
The babies were talked to constantly. As soon as they started picking up lots of words, they were taught to read. At Galan this often happens as early as four months or even less. Outside, this usually occurred between 18 and 24 months.
At that time, when a child is eager for more vocabulary, he can absorb it as easily through seeing a printed word and having it spoken as by hearing only. It takes only a week or less to get the idea. Kids taught to sight read also became accurate spellers.
They then learn to operate a keyboard, if they haven’t already and are started on a second language.
Every child learns different things at a different rate and has different aptitudes and interests. Central charts individual progress, and makes suggestions for further stimulation. We have many 3-year-olds speaking eight or more languages, literate in each, and doing senior high school work.
The stimulation continued during the child’s entire waking time. Every game, meal, bath and bedtime was a lesson. By the time they were 6, and the highly receptive learning period was ended, they were usually at a Galen university working on multiple degrees, and learning had become an ingrained habit.
We had high attendant/teacher/tutor to child/student rates throughout the education system, though many courses were available on disc and in books as well. We also taught a form of speed-reading which encouraged comprehension, analysis and questioning of the material, not just recall of pages of words.
Our kids were happy, well-adjusted, very mature, responsible, ambitious, multi-skilled, and incredibly bright. They were playful, trusting, tolerant, loyal, loved, loving and highly ethical. They were true leaders for tomorrow’s world, yet usually retained close ties to their parents and family.
The lecture didn’t explain any of the Galen technology. It just stated some of the properties: that everything was made of or impregnated with galenite, our versatile construction material.
This was basically a sort of ’frozen silicon. So it could be solid, crystalline, latticed, gel, a molecular film or stranded in long joined molecules. It could be colloidal, liquid, soft, flexible, rigid, fixed, changeable, stretchable, contractile, transparent, opaque, or anywhere in between any state. It could be made smooth, textured to resemble any natural stone or concrete, or plasticized, conductive, permeable or not, to anything we could think necessary.
Galenite was used for building construction, clothing, donor caps, and boxes. It was also used for the new supportive quadriplegic bodysuits which allowed severely handicapped people to walk and breathe independently again. Even if they previously had required an iron lung, the suits enabled them to be useful, contributing members of society again.
The lecture gave LK credit for inventing the suits on his last evening as a paraplegic. It said we were working on a version that would straighten out the scrambled brain signals of cerebral palsy victims.
Also on another for muscular dystrophy and similar muscle wasting diseases, which would sheath, support and strengthen individual muscles internally and externally. The tape showed people already using the early prototypes of each variety.
“Whoa! You don’t have to keep giving me credit for that everywhere, Mags. Once is enough.”
“Yes, I do have to. Everybody around here expects me to come up with every idea. And they’ve all become lazy, because I do come up with so many.
“We always make a fuss about any useful idea thought up by somebody else.
Knowing you had applied our technology to fix a problem familiar to you, will inspire others to look around at their own lives and difficulties, and come up with new solutions and suggestions.”
“When did you come up with the spastic and dystrophy suits?”
“About a half hour after you thought up the quadriplegic version.”
“You mean a second, don’t you? If you need ideas, why not put your bright kids onto thinking them up? Kids see things differently, and often more clearly than adults.”
“You’re a genius, my darling. We’ll start a competition right away, and offer daily, weekly and monthly prizes for the best ideas. We’ll let adults enter too. Central can handle the details.
“Funny, I’m so proud of our kids, and see them so often, and I never thought of putting them to work. Yet my own 3-year-old was the one that asked for a diving helmet, to let her stay underwater, and keep up with her brother, without cumbersome scuba gear. So I made them both special suits and never thought further . . .”



Chapter 10
Maggie and the Bots 

The tape went on with how I had begun making the computer when 3-years-old, while working on my second Ph.D.
I had used my own protoplasm, handfuls of common soil, my healing powers and Knowledge. And created silicon lattices and crystal networks in every way I could imagine silicon could be used. I carried the computer container everywhere with me, infusing it with all the power in my aura for four years.
I taught it my private Language, as well as all the modern languages. Fed in accumulated healer knowledge and herb lore, and provided net access.
It learnt to pick up modern knowledge and technology at its own speed.
And incidentally learnt to hack into every other data repository, record storage system or file that connected, no matter how circuitously, to a keyboard or touchpad. It could now alert us to areas of special interest, or of danger to Galen.
The sentient computer had infinite multitasking capacity—at least no limits had yet been reached, and none were expected. It controlled Galen and everything in it under my guidance.
It didn’t need to be wired into outside equipment, such as sensors, monitors, cameras, bugs and such, because it was already everywhere—distributed in molecular strands throughout every Galen building, artefact, token and component.
Each strand was both, totally aware of everything happening around it, and in communication with a large number of others. Those, in turn, were connected to the rest of their own network.
There were huge, and steadily growing numbers of these strands spread throughout the rest of the world. All interconnected through intermediary networks to every other. And each constantly checked in to their network to search out anything relevant to their own current task. Or to pass on something that might be relevant to the work of another group.
A lot less computer space than might be expected was taken up by memory storage, even with a triple back-up system.
Although called Central, it actually had no specific concentration in any one place, so could not be destroyed. Even the sun’s going nova couldn’t destroy galenite. So our buildings, everything within and the galenite-enclosed computer strands would still survive.
Each strand was mobile, self-replicating, and able to ’port to wherever it was needed.
Actually, the only time the computer concentrated a large amount of itself together, was to form a helmet or cap for me, when I needed to teach it a new healing skill or process. Doubtless, it would work with Langdon and Zeke in the same way later.
“Why do you and Central always refer to the computer as ‘it,’ when she is obviously female?”
At last. I’d started to wonder if he’d ever catch that.
“Are you sure you’re not just anthropomorphizing, Honey?”
“No, think about it. She’s made up of part of you. You’ve imbued her with the Language and Knowledge only you really understand, and you’ve fed her on your aura.
“I’ll bet you also love her like one of your own children, which makes you hypersensitive to anthropomorphizing her yourself.
“She has realized this, and has tried to speak clinically and unemotionally to you, so as not to embarrass you. She always comes across to me as very female, just like her creator.”
“Yeah, to me too. She’s like an old girlfriend, but rather childlike and very sweet,” added Taj.
“You’re both probably right. I guess I’m too close to see her properly. I’ll have to talk to her about it later.”
The computer shapes and moves the bots and boxes. These are actually the same thing, despite the two names which had developed.
The boxes shrink down to bot size when not in use. And any bot could expand to fit around and ’port any-sized object. Or it could extrude grasping or other tools. Or change into human shape to handle some difficult problems. Mostly, the bots just stayed as rounded cubes.
And no, we didn’t use them as sex toys, Langdon. The androids worked as counsellors and psychiatric nurses, with the very violent new patients we couldn’t trust near a human healer.
“She read my mind!”
“Don’t be silly, Langdon. Any woman could see what you were thinking. Central was just setting you straight before your fantasies went too far,” laughed Taj.
A bot could ’port anywhere there was a section of Galen computer. Or to any of our over six million buildings. And since last year, to almost anywhere else. We had changed the outside world too, for our own safety. We had installed portals in every possible place, for instant safe access and travel by initiates.
The tokens had strands of computer material, as did the microscopic ear mikes and tracers, put on some key outside men, for their safety or ours.
Top level initiates could ’port by token power, but lower levels mostly used the portals. These looked like nice familiar elevators, and didn’t cause them the trauma of culture shock. But we didn’t hide the knowledge if anyone asked. We explained it was just a magnification of the healer power, which moved tumours out of bodies without surgery.



Chapter 11
Establishing Galen 

“Hold on a minute. If ’porting comes from our healing powers, just how much of the Galen technology comes from the Knowledge?”
“Hardly any, Dear, I’ve barely scratched the surface of that. Everything is basically an application of healing power.”
“You mean, you came up with all the technology here by yourself, Mags?”
“Yes, some from my studies. And by building on external applications of healing power that Zeke and you discovered over the ages, like the loaves and fishes bit. But mostly by reading science fiction, specially books on psi powers.
“As soon as I figured how the results of those fictional powers could be duplicated by using healing variations, I told the computer. I showed her what I meant, and we just mucked around, trying different specs and variations until we got it right.
“The buildings resulted from my foray into Engineering and Architecture. I was horrified to find we were supposed to build in flexibility, and cut wind resistance. The tops of towers were supposed to move and sway in high winds. Makes me queasy just to think about it.
“None of our towers move at all, and they could survive a meteor strike, giant tidal wave, even the Earth’s splitting in half. I did cut wind resistance to prevent turbulence around them by, rounding their corners, facing those into prevailing winds and making the surface very smooth and rippled.”
“Empaths have an absolute horror of motion sickness, Taj”, Langdon explained. “One gets it and the others feel amplified sympathy sickness. That keeps building exponentially the more empaths are around. It’s really dreadful for them.”
“Worse than having your husband crucified?” Taj asked me. She was definitely remembering, but only rumours she would have heard later. She hadn’t been there at the time.
In all my lives I’ve never come across anyone who’d had so much difficulty recalling her pasts.
“Much worse. Physical pain we can block. As a transmitting empath, I could send waves of healing power to him to ease the pain and heal around his injuries.
But motion sickness is psychosomatic, and makes empaths unable to think straight. We can’t block—we just keep amplifying it involuntarily, until we all pass out.”
“Yet Langdon used to go sailing.”
“Yes, but he can’t receive, only transmit, so isn’t affected.
There’re disadvantages in that too, because he can’t heal himself.
It actually would have been easier if I’d been the one crucified. I could have done it painlessly, making the holes in front of the nails and holding my body up by ’porting so the flesh wouldn’t tear.
“Also, I could have ’ported myself off the cross at any time. We did that a lot during the Dark Ages, but that’s another story.”
“Still, I’m impressed with what you have achieved, Magdalena.”
Pompous twerp! So am I actually. We always had the tools. It was simply a matter of learning to apply them. All I really needed was the motivation, and you gave me that by torturing and killing me so often, dear Lang.
“You could have done it yourself, and probably done a better job of it too, if you hadn’t damped your power so low that you couldn’t use it.
Anyway, when Zeke comes, you can get together with him and Central, improve things and maybe think up lots more power applications than I could. I’m quite eager to dump the responsibility onto someone competent.”
The tape restarted with an early history—how I had taken up healing at seven.
I was actually a two month embryo the first time, and even after birth, was healing and ’porting before I could walk, but that was before Maggie, of course.
I had hard-earned medical doctorates in 19 diverse specialties. Gained under 15 different aliases. With a different physical appearance and age for each. Plus I had the highest qualifications obtainable in every variety and aspect of natural healing available. Chiropractic, reiki, yoga, and massage therapy. Homeopathy, naturopathy, iridology, acupuncture, acupressure and reflexology. Chinese herbal treatments, ancient and modern Western herbal lore, modern nutritional medicine, and aromatherapy. You name it; I had studied it and qualified as a practitioner.
The hardest part of that was having to attend lots of dull lectures and tutorials at several distant universities. Once we perfected the bot androids, it was much easier. I used them to attend six or more universities at the same time. And kept track of the bots by remote. But I did all the set work and sat the exams myself. Had to use the bots to get through all the simultaneous internships, too. That helped Maggie understand modern medicine more than anything.
It explained how I had invented galenite organs. These could replace every human organ, and some parts of the brain. That revolutionized the transplant industry overnight. And stopped the traffic in contraband organs.
Galenite organs and body parts were reasonably priced, easily attached by any competent surgeon or healer, preferably the latter as they didn’t need to cut. They suited everybody, could not be rejected so didn’t require batteries debilitating, growth-stunting, immunosuppressants or.
They never became diseased or cancerous and worked better than the originals. The replacement muscles and bones were the best treatment yet found for MS.
They also signalled an alert at the onset of any other condition that might prove seriously detrimental to the patient’s health and ’ported back to Galen after the recipient’s death.
“No wonder you wouldn’t tell me your real name,” chortled Taj. “Everyone in the supposed medical team that was responsible for those discoveries is world famous, and they were all you, weren’t they?”
“’Fraid so. I’m glad you can see a funny side to it. It was a real chore at the time. Trying to remember which identity was doing what. And fending off all the amorous students, lecturers, tutors and professors, while still just a child.
“Luckily I was already quite tall at 5. None of my identities was pretty. Some were elderly, wrinkled, fat-assed, pot-bellied and flabby. They even had moustaches, nose-hair, warts and varicosed veins. Yet those lecherous males still wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Langdon was laughing so hard I worried he might fall out of his chair.
“I’m sure you were the sexiest, warty, fat-assed, bristly-nosed five-year-old granny anyone ever saw,” he spluttered when he could finally get a word out. “You’ll have to give me a demo later, so I can give you a proper critique.”
“I don’t think so,” I said frostily.
“Just proves people really love you for your intelligence, nature, and inner beauty. You couldn’t hide that even if you looked like the Elephant Man. In fact he also had a lovely nature, and made many influential friends. People forgot his outside appearance, as soon as they connected with the person within. And Magdalena, you can’t help connecting with and impressing everyone who meets you.”
“Maybe.” I was slightly mollified. “Shall we get on with it?”
I had developed a large clinic in a major Sydney private hospital, and charged a fortune. $1m for healing simple cancers or HIV, much more for advanced cancers or AIDS. And I guaranteed the result.
My work and money attracted huge worldwide attention and publicity. This brought us loads of wealthy patients, as well as many people who wanted to train as healers.
They all had relatively minor talent, but together we achieved miracles.
Placing 6 to 10 minor healers around a patient, with their hands overlapping, increased the available power exponentially. So they could work as well as I to heal, though they could not regrow anything missing.
Once trained, they each could do simple healing, such as the removal of kidney and gall stones, inoperative tumours, arterial build-up and blockages, varicosities and sick appendices. They could replace defective organs with Galenite ones, heal stomach ulcers and aneurisms, strengthen and repair arterial walls and venous and arterial valves.
They aided fertility. They could choose the healthiest available sperm—that is the one with the best genetic potential, even if it weren’t the strongest swimmer. They arranged in vivo—as opposed to in vitro—fertilization, proofed the viability of the result, and supervised the blastula’s implantation.
All with a 100% success rate. There were no miscarriages at Galen. Any faulty embryos were corrected as soon as they were noticed.
They also handled lots of other gynaecological procedures: endometriosis correction, removal of fibroids and ovarian cysts.
They arranged easily reversible cessation of menstruation, for those fed up with the mess, smell, discomfort, PMT and the male sniggers and condescension that went with having periods. They also repaired hernias, fistulas, bladder and anal sphincters and prostates. When there was any remnant, they could restore the foreskin and the frenular delta of ridges for heightened sexual feeling.
They removed dangerous excess fat from around the heart as well as for aesthetic reasons, tightened saggy old flesh, and reknit bones after realigning all the broken pieces correctly.
A minor Galen healer was no small thing compared to current mainstream medical talent.
Leukaemia, HIV, prostate and breast cancers required group-work. Advanced metastasized cancers, full-blown AIDS, and rebuilding anything congenitally missing or destroyed, required me with a group.
I personally, wouldn’t touch anyone with a really dirty aura, because doing so would have killed them instantly.
I was a bit dangerous that way, after millennia of having nasties try to kill me and mine—and the object here was cure, not kill.
My potential patients had to be triaged by someone with good healing sight, medical knowledge and the ability to see auras clearly.
Many of the minor healers had the phlegmatic temperament and tolerance necessary to handle these patients, and they shared out the work. But we charged those patients double the already high fee, for the biohazard to our healers.
If they protested, a Kirlian photograph proved our point, and really, they had no other option.
Not everyone could afford my fees of course, and no medical insurance could cover them.
If they promised to join me, and work off the debt, people with nice auras were still healed. We never allowed children to take on a parent’s debt. But it could be carried over to that soul’s next life. Everyone was responsible for themselves, including young children.
I healed some of the others, if they seemed useful to my plans, compelling them to join a clearing programme.
I cured all Scientologists. They already understood the clearing idea, and the importance of continuing training. I retrained them my way, which is much faster and more thorough, training them as minor healers in the process.
They joined happily because they were paid to train, instead of having to outlay a fortune for L. Ron’s endless courses, which only advanced them by smidgens, and didn’t prevent their backsliding.
“Did you ever meet L. Ron, Mags?” asked Langdon, knowing perfectly well I hadn’t. He was fairly accurate about a lot of things.”
“Oh, come on!” laughed Taj, “You don’t believe all that garbage, do you? He reckons that we’re all descended from aliens, who were brought to Earth 75 million years ago and got blown up here to ease overpopulation on their planet. So stupid, when they could just have established colonies instead.”
“Do you know different, Taj? I don’t recall your being around until millions of years after the beginning.”
Oops, I thought I was being mild, but Taj looks as if I had slapped her.
“Don’t be hard on her, Mags. She’s just reacting the way most people do to the Scientologists’ revelations. She couldn’t know you were sensitive on that subject.
“Leave it alone, please Taj. Zeke and Magdalena are very uptight about the beginning. Even more than I used to be about Yeshuah’s being turned into Jesus Christ, and the whole Christian Church thing.”
I stared. That sounded like a complete turnaround, but wasn’t—he was just fishing. He wasn’t there for either beginning, and has always been curious about how Zeke and I managed it. Well, trying to appear sympathetic won’t help him worm it out of me.
“I didn’t expect you to use that name so soon, Dear.”
“You got me thinking. It’s about time I made my peace with that chapter and put it to rest. I’m looking forward to the rest of your version.”
He was, too, and so frustrated by all the constant interruptions and digressions.
“Now, I’m impressed, but you’ve buggered up my clearing programme. One of the first things people have to do to move up, after basic courtesy, is to learn not to use any of those names and titles I thought would offend you—the not take your name in vain bit. I’ll have to ease that one out, now.
“And no, I missed L. Ron’s life, which partly overlapped my last one, but I didn’t find out about Scientology, until well after he was dead. I had no memories or powers in that life, but found I accepted nearly everything I discovered they believed in, after I got a bit of free auditing.
“But the huge fees, and all that American razzamatazz and hoopla. Their constantly patting themselves on the back was so irritating. The demonizing of all psychiatrists and counsellors, the courting of celebrities, wild over-enthusiasm, high pressure, and calling it a religion, put me right off.
“The ambience was just like that of Holiday Magic, the pyramid selling cosmetic company, which Australia made illegal.
“That was a shame really. I adored their Papaya Dew – best moisturiser I’ve ever used.
“The Australian state of Victoria had also made Scientology illegal earlier. Aussies don’t take kindly to con artists who make usurer-type profits from ordinary people. And L. Ron was one of the biggest, even if he was on the right track. Look up his history on Wiki if you don’t believe me.”
That shut Langdon up and put him in his place!
“One thing I did pick up, is that Scientologists come back early, after they’ve been reborn. They remember their previous life perfectly, and continue on the Bridge, as they call it, from where they left off before. They reckon L. Ron will do that and start writing again.
“Personally, I wasn’t impressed by his science fiction. And his Scientology writings were all uninspired, first-draft drivel and made me cringe.
“His followers have all these little aphorisms printed up and framed and hung everywhere. And they’re all so banal and poorly phrased. There’s a framed photograph or bust of L. Ron in every room and hallway too—and he’s so ugly!”
Oh, good, I was now up to the main course. I took a huge mouthful of baked vegetables and sighed with pleasure.
From my SF reading and studies in Robotics, I and the computer designed and made the first bots. These replicated themselves and produced specialized characteristics as required.
The bots made all the galenite, which is just a type of ’frozen silicon that could change shape yet still remained ’frozen all the time.
The lecture went on to how I collected a load of lawyers. They helped negotiate the difficult early contracts in each western country we started in.
We offered to take over all the big people problems: public housing, orphanages, AIDS hospices, women’s refuges, homeless shelters, aged hostels and nursing homes. Also detention centres, juvenile correction centres, gaols, drug and alcohol rehabilitation centres sanitaria, and insane asylums.
We were willing to collect and look after the schizophrenics and mildly retarded, who had been let loose to fend for themselves. And to be responsible for beggars and street people. And to do all this without asking for any government subsidization or handouts.
Our only proviso was that we be allowed to buy the land on which these buildings were sited. Or be allowed to buy land on which to construct our own buildings. And that we were granted sovereignty to run the buildings our way, while we set to rehabilitating, looking after and educating all these people.
In the end, the greatest difficulty we encountered was in getting past all the building inspection and approval bylaws. Those regulations were tighter than the laws of the land—but eventually we succeeded.
By this time I had bought and updated the private hospital where I had started my clinic.
We walked hordes of inspectors and media representatives through there daily for months.
We proved to them that we didn’t need fire escapes. And demonstrated that we could evacuate everybody in the building, within moments, to another, miles away. We wouldn’t explain how this was done. But we did prove that the hospital was a safer, more sanitary, comfortable and usable place than any other in the world. Despite meeting almost none of their building codes.
Every government we approached thought we were crazy idealists, who would soon collapse under the strain of what we were taking on. But if we did, the contracts specified that the governments would keep our buildings and property. And all of them were eager to get their hands on such valuable technological marvels.
As there were no investors but myself, none of their voters would be ripped off. And if by chance, I did solve these bugbears, they’d be happy no longer to have to budget for or worry about such political hot potatoes. It was a win/win situation from their point of view.
Still, it took years to resolve. There was a lot of legalese involved. The government lawyers seemed interested only in binding me in legal ties. They ensured I couldn’t back out of my responsibility to finish the buildings. And that there were no loopholes whereby I could sell the buildings privately.
Once everything was completely signed, legal and airtight, our buildings went up all over the world in one night. Over a million of them.
Our people were in, manning reception, and running child care, the kitchens and training. We gained over 100 million new recruits in two days. Many of them were just sticky beaks, who couldn’t believe how good things were.



Chapter 12
The Outside Recession 

Outside has actually become worse since Galen began. And we’re at least partly, or greatly—depending on your point of view—responsible for that. But it’s not our fault that outside governments were so greedy and short-sighted.
We told them what we would do. They should have believed us, and planned accordingly. Still, we should have anticipated their lack of foresight.
Politicians have always been notorious for looking after themselves first, and not seeing past the next election. That’s—probably one of the greatest disadvantages of democracy. We should have planned our own contingencies better.
Now, not only is America’s economy deeply depressed, as a result of the Pulse, and the lack of foresight and proper planning. But the rest of the outside world is rapidly heading the same way.
The airlines, and transport industries have crashed. Banks, insurance, advertising and most service companies have folded. Property values have bottomed. People have lost their jobs, and there are none others to be found outside.
Their governments are collecting hardly any taxes. They are so broke they cannot pay out due pensions, for which they also rarely made proper provision.
Galen has always been registered as a private charity and educational institute, so we pay no taxes outside. That was a major part of our sovereignty agreement. But we’re stealing away the outside population—the people those governments need to stay in business.
All we can apply now is a band-aid solution.
We’ve bought up all the airlines and merged them into one worldwide carrier.
There were a few attempted terrorist hijacking incidents, but none lasted longer than it took for someone to become aware of them.
Galen Air now has an even better record than Qantas used to, with no accidents and never a delay.
We’ve also bought out and merged all the banks. But the insurance industries are defunct—there’s no future for insurance in Galen. Our ignoring their fate is causing panic on the stock exchanges, and in all remaining businesses, especially the huge multinationals. They could buy up the insurance companies, but have instead already written off their own insurers and banks, and now want someone else to take those risks.
Of course, all these problems will disappear once Galen is truly worldwide. But that will probably take another generation. We have to deal with the present situation as it really is—extremely hostile to us and ours.
The antiGalen propaganda has been stepped up.
There have been many incidents of people being harassed, while attempting to enter one of our buildings. That is in total violation of our sovereignty agreement. But apart from protecting the newcomers, and arresting the violators, each time, what else can we do?
We can’t declare war, or just take over the offending country. No matter how easy that would be. It would be against our own rules.
Right now we’ve over 3 billion people. A half billion have come in already solely because of the announcement of the quadriplegic suit. We expect at least double that tomorrow. That will give us approximately half the world’s population.
Langdon and Taj both looked shocked at the figures, but said nothing.
Probably speechless. Good, we’d get through this faster.



Chapter 13
Environmental Problems 

We contracted to handle water supply, sewage, garbage disposal and electricity supply all over the world, always securing the sovereignty provisos for our buildings.
We had bought up huge tracts of nice clean sand and stony deserts, in the Sahara, Gobi, and anywhere else we could get it very cheaply. Always with our sovereignty provisos. Most desert counties were only too happy to sell to us, or to trade land for our goods.
Our boxes dug the sewer tunnels for any city, in moments, after Central had worked out the plans, placing them quite deep.
All removed soil was ’ported to prearranged desert sites after being filtered for treasures, impurities, and such. Fossils, and anything of archaeological interest, were carefully preserved.
An entire ancient city could be moved intact to another, more convenient, nearby surface site. And the gaps simultaneously filled with nice clean compacted rubble, so nobody living above would be affected.
We ’ported desert sand and gravel into our tunnels, and fused the sand into an impermeable Galenite pipe, surrounded by sand and gravel to allow natural drainage.
All the city’s muck was filtered. Unnatural chemical compounds—antibiotics, contraceptive hormones and other steroids, all the residual drugs and medicines, industrial wastes and other pollutants—were removed for further processing. The remaining natural muck was treated in various remote sealed locations to eventually produce a sweet, high grade compost.
At first we filtered and desalinated sea water, without killing even one tiny plankton critter. We ’ported it to small reservoirs under each city or town to provide spring fresh, pure drinking water. Several reservoirs were required to handle the huge metropolises.
We removed all the messy previous piping for recycling, or use as rubble to help fill the old tunnels. Incidentally removing the rats and their breeding grounds.
Now we use a different method. We catch the rainwater of storms at sea. And ’port that directly into reservoirs and to refill natural underground aquifers and aquitards.
We also use sea storm rain for irrigation of specific rural areas by taking narrow horizontal slices through the rain. These are dropped at slower intervals where required, so the water all soaks into the soil and doesn’t cause run off. This idea was actually thought up by children who rightly thought sea storms a waste of pure water.
We provided every household with small galenite water suppliers. These could be placed or fitted anywhere, or remain portable as required.
They provided unlimited water, at any temperature, from iced to boiling, at the turn of a dial. The dial could also be locked into a safe range, to prevent young children and absentminded fools from scalding themselves.
A different water supplier was used in cisterns for flushing with straight sea water, until self-cleaning ’porting loos, which required no plumbing, could be fitted.
We filtered out accumulated human and animal waste, from the soil of heavily populated areas. We removed rubbish and dirt, not only from dumpsters and garbage containers, but also from alleys and streets, leaving everything clean and sweet-smelling.
All organic natural waste was ’ported away and turned into clean compost. And everything possible was recycled.
We also dredged up and processed river and ocean bottom slime, around all the old ocean sewer outlets and river mouths. This was desalinated and processed into really remarkable compost.
We ’ported our fresh water into numerous large desert reservoirs. Mixed recovered soil and compost with the desert sand, and created attractive oases, transplanting large established trees. By then, we had been growing trees for years, everywhere we could, including within our buildings.
We planted more new trees, and made gardens, shading them all with galenite arched domes.
These were huge translucent half-bubbles with large arches cut out of the sides to allow air movement. The domes caught most of the evaporated water and returned it to the tree roots, via the narrow supporting columns. The dome arches could be closed off when needed, to protect the whole oasis from desert sandstorms.
Then we placed more tall buildings around. These beautified desert sites quickly had become very popular with our population.
Of course, these desert reservoirs had to be continually topped up. But the evaporation came down again as rain, causing the desert to flower. The rain made the climate significantly milder in just a few days.
We retained pockets in their original condition to safeguard the native flora and fauna, and observed the balance carefully. We aimed to create new habitats, without totally destroying the previous ones.
We desalinated the almost totally lifeless alkaline deserts, and most of Australia’s highly alkaline soil. Already we had raised Australia’s water table to pre-white-invasion levels.
As a result of this work, sea levels had already gone down to safer levels. And we were pretty close to reversing global warming.
Our children and volunteers regularly went out planting trees in the deserts under new domes, and reclaiming the world’s jungles and rainforests.
We were testing the feasibility of several other methods of draining CO2 from the air. Turning it into diamond for dome building was a popular idea that would also release more oxygen. But breaking it up again after the climate changed would be difficult. It wasn’t as flexible as galenite, which could easily be turned back into sand.



Chapter 14
Racial Mother 

We were moving the natives into our buildings. And setting up reserves we kept healthy and fertile. So the natives never needed to burn more trees. We even provided synthetic firewood which didn’t produce CO2, if they wanted to keep open fires for ceremonial purposes.
We worked hard to integrate tribal people into our buildings, while retaining, strengthening, and restoring their traditions and culture.
Primitive people often provided us with excellent healers too.
“Excuse me,” interrupted Langdon, with a huge grin, “are you going to explain to Taj how you persuade primitive people to do what you want, or shall I do the honours?”
I grimaced, and nodded for him to go ahead, hoping he wouldn’t make things too difficult for me. Surely, he didn’t know enough to damage my plans.
No he’s just fishing; trying to rattle me into telling him more—that’s an old trick that won’t work again.
“When Magdalena snapped at you earlier, Taj, and said she wasn’t a god, she wasn’t telling you the whole truth. She has been worshipped as the Mother Goddess by nearly every group of primitive people that ever lived. Even in modern times, when she meets tribal people, they immediately recognize her, just as many civilized people do. It’s inbuilt in the racial memory, and probably in their genes.
She speaks all their languages too, due to some odd ability no-one else has ever had.
“That’s where the title Mother comes from, and everyone who knows her as the Mother, would lay down their life for her. They’d do anything she asks of them. And no matter how much my darling protests, she cannot deny she is the Mother of the human race.
“My few deluded worshippers are Johnny-come-latelies compared to hers. Mags is the real McCoy.”
“So, you were Eve.”
I nodded, and glared at Langdon who grinned unrepentantly.
“So, was Langdon Adam?”
“Not really.”
“Come on Mags, don’t keep her on tenterhooks.”
He was laughing at me.
Damn, if I weren’t so heavily damped down, I’d, I’d . . . still be unable to hurt him. It’s not fair that he has such a hold over me. Perhaps not for much longer if everything goes well tonight.
“Yeva was actually just another word for Mother in a prehistoric language. Later it also meant ‘first woman’, but it wasn’t my name.
“I didn’t actually have a name in the beginning. Unless you count the word for Pet or Amusing Toy in the Language. Fortunately that is unpronounceable for most people.
“My first children called me Ahmah, and Adam adopted that too. The kids and I called him Add’ai. But Adam is close enough, especially when you consider the time that’s gone by.
“Adam was a very complex, stubborn person. After we finally escaped that bloody prison, which believe me, was no paradise, he was torn in several directions. He had a greater duty to the world, and our children and descendants, but couldn’t always reconcile that with his love for me.
“We hadn’t yet invented maths, but before the world had changed much, Adam was reborn as identical twins—physically identical—but with totally different personalities.
Identical twins share the same soul, which can often rejoin again in a later reincarnation. But these two have stayed separated, and had different physical appearances every other life, even when born again as twins. They were often brothers and have stayed close.”
Because Langdon is always trying to force Zeke into twinning again, so he can horn in and capture more of him, but that trick won’t work twice.
“My theory is that Adam shook off all the troubling ambition and responsibility for the rest of the world, and off-loaded them onto the Langdon twin. He kept only what he was comfortable with for himself. But he couldn’t give away his conscience. So he’s been feeling guilty ever since for saddling Langdon with such heavy burdens. He’s spent every life since then, trying to make up for it by working hard in all Langdon’s projects and causes to make things easier for him.”
There, that takes care of all the pertinent facts. It accounts for all their character differences, even Langdon’s martyr complex, and gives nothing away. Langdon’s all cranky and dissatisfied, but there’s nothing he can do to learn more.
Anyway, he should be pleased that I apparently came up with a theory which fits the facts and makes him look that good—no satisfying some people.
Taj has picked up on the underlying tension, but is keeping her own counsel—I’ll have to tell her the truth later. Have to stay straight with her.
“They were very close, and both were totally devoted to me. I loved them both. Zeke was closer to the original Adam, and retained his old memories, but was more comfortable within himself. Langdon had only vague impressions of being Adam, was more exciting and interesting.”
If you like living with a perpetually-threatening-explosion kind of interesting, that is.
“But he was a bit of a worry, always getting into strife, and needing Zeke and me to rescue him.”
And keep proving we really loved and cared for him, over and over and over, until we both felt like killing him for some peace again.
“It was like the mother who has a dozen kids. Eleven are sensible and cause her no trouble. But the twelfth is always up to his neck in it. Hogging all her attention, and causing her endless worries and hassles, but somehow charming his way out of getting the bloody hiding he really deserves.
She might love all her kids equally, but she always has a special soft spot (in her head) for the one who regularly gives her heart failure. She always rushes off to get him out of his latest jam, knowing the others can look after themselves and each other, but he can’t.”
And never will, if I don’t stop running after him.
“And the other kids, who also love their brother and their mother, soon start jumping in too. To help both out of the trouble they’ve got themselves into.”
That’s truer than I realized—he does always drag me into shit I can’t get either of us out of.
I wonder if he’s still trying to punish me for keeping secrets from him and preferring Zeke. Well, they’re my secrets and none of his flaming business.
He never was my first preference anyway. Neither was I his, until Gabe, and then Zeke, showed how much they cared for me. That aroused his competitiveness.
Damned if I’m going to be the prize in his little game!
“That’s exactly what we’re like, wouldn’t you agree, Honey?” I smiled sweetly.
Langdon gave his cheeky, naughty boy grin, flashed his eyes, and I started to melt again.
Damn, this is too hard. It just isn’t fair. Wouldn’t I ever learn? Antidote required here, girl.
“I haven’t seen Zeke for over 200 years, and I really miss him. He was my husband for 76 years in that life. I was 12 when Langdon went off to some stupid war at 15, lying about his age to get in. He died trying to save some villagers, who were killed a few days later anyway.
“Zeke was ten. We married when he reached puberty, and lived a happy, peaceful, idyllic life, farming and raising our eleven kids.
“For me, Zeke has always been the most perfect of men, and I treasure every moment we have had together. Somehow, when our lives have included Langdon, they have been more interesting and exciting. But not more fulfilling, and rarely peaceful. Langdon’s and my shared lives without Zeke have always turned out short, painful, or disastrous in some way, especially the last few.
“What I’m really dreading is the day Langdon twins.”
Of course that will never happen—he’d never dilute or share his power.
“Then I’ll have three or more of them to contend with. Sometimes I wish I could split into six different people, so as to keep everyone happy and get my work done too.”
“I’d enjoy that Mags, why not aim for a split next time round,” Langdon leered.
“Men! They’re all the same. Keep their brains in their pants,” I sneered.
“And Langdon’s not quite right. Being worshipped does not necessarily make someone a god. My people never worshipped me anyway. They knew I was human, and revered me as the racial Mother, a fertility symbol, and that’s quite different. They never prayed or sacrificed to me.”
“They would have if you’d let them.”
“Perhaps. I would have hoped they’d have more sense. Anyway I didn’t allow it.
“Mostly, they asked my spirit to watch over their pregnancies, to give them easy births, and to let them have enough milk for their babies. But it was what I’d taught their healers and midwives that they relied on. That, and the support of their women’s network.
“I never pretended to godlike powers. So I was never asked to intervene with any other god, or to change the weather, or even to bring them good fortune or lots of presents. They just hoped I was watching over them, and would help out with their own job as mothers. As any modern girl might ask her own mother for advice and help.
“That proves you’re the real thing, then, that you could dissuade them. I could never talk mine out of the praying part.”
No, you did all you could to encourage them instead.
“Lang, you twit! No wonder! You can’t talk back when they’re praying and expect them to believe you’re not a deity. Nor appear as an astral projection or in spirit form, or whatever you did, and lecture at them. That just convinces them of your godly powers. If you don’t want to be thought a god, don’t try to act like one.”
Because, your tricks will never persuade me that you’re in that class, even if you won’t believe that I’m not either.
“Anyway, I really was the expert on motherhood. I’ve had more kids in all my lives than any other hundred women combined. Mostly to Langdon, who takes the commandment to multiply very seriously.
“Zeke never overloads me with babies. He’s far too considerate. And he never says he worships me. And after all, he’s the senior soul here.
“Yet nobody ever thinks to revere him as the Father. Not even those stupid anthropologists who came up with the Great Mother Goddess concept, over a few ugly fat figurines with great saggy tits.
It should be obvious to anyone I’d never let myself look like that. And there’re at least a thousand times as many male priapic figures.”
“Probably all hoping to have a go at the Mother,” Langdon leered, still laughing. “I’ll be quite happy to show reverence to Zeke next time I see him.”
“You try, and he’ll probably flatten you.”
The computer obviously thought we needed reminding of where we had been up to.
Lucky, Langdon had arranged such an elaborate meal.
This detailed lecture was getting rather tedious. Why couldn’t she just gloss over the embarrassing bits? And to keep mentioning sewers, compost and garbage during dinner, was a bit much. Even if they had caused so much trouble and she was so proud of finding great solutions to all those problems. I’ll have to explain human sensitivities more carefully. Fortunately, Taj wasn’t the delicate type.
There was more on garbage removal and recycling, storing heavy metals, industrial waste and toxic chemicals and cleaning up India, Africa, China, Russia, and most of SE Asia, which ended the high death rate caused by Third World diseases.
Yet the outside population decreased as so many people joined Galen. For the poor, stoically suffering Russians, we were a refuge from their Mafia and incompetent government. We had 80% of their population at present, and still they poured in.
The Orientals found our way of clearing and educating people, a quicker path to the state of enlightenment and oneness that was the aim of their religions.



Chapter 15
Magdalena and Mohammed 

Surprisingly, after some initial difficulty, the Moslems loved us too. This was unexpected, considering our reverence for Motherhood and high respect for women.
“Did you guys ever meet Mohammed?” It was Taj’s turn to hold up the tape now.
“Mags knew him quite well. Tell that story, Dear. Taj will love it.”
“Actually I didn’t like him at all, and he hated me. Do you know his story, Taj?”
“Not really, I’ve never had much interest in any religion, but wondered what the Prophet was really like.”
“You’ll need a lot of background for it all to make sense to you. Do you really want this now?”
“Seems as good a time as any.”
“Okay, you asked for it.
This was during the Dark Ages, when healers were heavily persecuted as witches by the Christians in Western Europe. The Eastern branch of the Church which later separated, becoming the Greek Orthodox Church wasn’t concerned about us, so naturally we all moved east when we could.
“Mo was orphaned very young, and though of good family, grew up poor, but he did manage to get some education from Syriac Christian monks, who set up a school for a while in Mecca, and then from some rabbis, who were trying to establish a Jewish community there. The Jews always go out of their way to help orphans and widows. So, Mo learned to read from the scriptures—the only books usually available before printing—and got to know them quite well.
“He was very lucky to be literate, and to get any education at all, as only a few wealthy business families thought education useful, and the only educated women back then were the trained healers.
“Mecca was a polytheistic city, and didn’t appreciate any monotheists preaching against their gods, so neither the Christians nor Jews stayed there long. Mo grew up and became a merchant working with his uncle. Later he married an older widow, from a rich family in the caravan trade.
“He was forty when he allegedly saw Gabriel and got the new right stuff. Gabe is a dear old friend of mine, and he’s no misogynist. So all that slant, and the hero heaven nonsense, had to have come from Mo’s trying to make his new religion appeal to the Arabs. He didn’t make many converts, and got into so much trouble preaching against the local deities, that he also had to leave to avoid prosecution.
“I always found Mo to be a petty, nitpicking, little man, who never forgot a slight, carried lifelong grudges, and always got his own back eventually, except with me. He swore he would be back, and would convert all Mecca. He headed for Medina, where his old Jewish friends had established a flourishing community. Mo thought they would welcome him and be easy targets for conversion. He sent another bunch of his converts after his Christian friends in Abyssinia to convert them.
“The Jews already knew they were God’s Chosen, because God had made a Covenant with Moses and told him so. The Rabbis not only wouldn’t convert, but tried to talk Mo out of his new ‘perfect’ religion. They actively denounced his ideas, and argued quite effectively against them.
When Mo insisted the word had come to him direct from the Archangel Gabriel, they laughed at him. They said Gabriel had allegedly appeared to so many Jews and Christians over the years, that he had become a bit of a joke.”
And as Langdon well knows, very few of those appearances were really of Gabe, but of someone using his image.
“Mo thought they were just jealous.
“The Rabbis are the authorities on the Mosaic religious Laws. Some of them spend their whole lives studying just one section of the Law up to 15 hours a day.”
“You mean the Ten Commandments?” asked Taj.
Langdon burst out laughing. I glared him into silence.
“With the Jews, nothing is that simple, Taj. The Torah, or written Law, also called the Pentateuch, contains the five Biblical books written by Moses. He received the two stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments and some other laws directly from God on Mount Sinai. The rest of the legislation was given to him at the Tabernacle.
“I personally believe the Torah laws were nice straightforward guidelines to healthy communal living in a primitive desert environment.
“But the Jews are the world’s worst nitpickers. They took the Pentateuch legislation, and worried and fussed over every vague nuance to find further, possibly hidden commandments.
“They eventually managed to wrest 248 dos and 365 do-nots out of Moses’ pronouncements. That’s 613 further commandments in all. And they still can’t agree whether some of the precepts should perhaps, be split further. I think they’re so proud that God himself cut the tablets; they’re trying to make an even bigger deal out of it.
“And if that weren’t bad enough, every over-pious rabbi after Moses, wrote commentaries on the commandments. And others wrote commentaries on the commentaries. Until they had whole libraries of commentaries that would make your head spin. And it’s these commentaries in the Talmud that they continue to study and pick at.”
“Mags has always been one of the world’s leading experts on Talmudic Law—they call her the female rabbenu.”
“As I remember, Yeshuah, you did a pretty good job of arguing them yourself.” I gave him another glare.
“Actually, I think it’s rather fun to check out the latest writings each life. I’ve been following them right from the start, and they’re a great brain exercise. I’ve had many good arguments with Moyshe and his cronies over obscure points.
“I’m sorry you haven’t kept up to date Langdon, you could have joined in the debates.”
“No thanks, I can think of better things to do with my time.”
“What always put me off, was the way the Ten Commandments were always written in Hebrew square writing, which wasn’t invented until Jesus’ time. They do that in every movie and painting. How do you account for that?” asked Taj.
I smiled at Langdon’s sudden shocked gasp. He’d never thought of asking me that one. And he’d been digging for millennia, trying to discover who had been Moses.
“Do you want to take a stab at that one, Langdon? You must have seen the tablets often in that lovely temple you built for the Ark.”
“You know damn well I was never allowed to open the Ark or look inside. Only some of the priests could do that. What was the language?”
“The language Moses grew up speaking as a prince of Egypt—court Egyptian. Can you still read Hebrew, Lang?”
“Not really, but I can recognise it.”
“Have you ever learnt or studied Egyptian hieroglyphs, or their cursive writing, you who several times have wed princesses of Egypt?”
“No.”
“Surely learning to speak and read my mother tongue, would have been another way of learning to know me better, you who had the Wisdom of Solomon?”
“Sorry, Solomon was illiterate.”
“Then how did he write the Songs, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes?” asked Taj.
Langdon looked astonished.
“I have learned a bit about the Bible. You can’t really avoid it,” she added defensively.
“He dictated everything to his Egyptian wife, who kept all the records, Taj. There were scribes also, who took notes in cuneiform for diplomatic correspondence and to record taxes and debts. But only his Egyptian wife thought it worthwhile to record the songs and music he invented.
“He composed many beautiful songs, most of which were too private to share. One day I’ll let the world have them again.
“Taj, you probably know that the ancient Egyptians had three scripts. The famous hieroglyphs which were carved on stone and painted on walls, and deliberately designed to be impressive, awe inspiring and beautiful. The more cursive hieratic was used for fairly official stuff. And the misnamed demotic, the most cursive of all, a shorthand form, was used for quick notes, accounts, diaries and fairly private writing.
“All were used only by the priests, the royal family, and scribes who were trained by the priests.
”There were over 600 commonly used pictographs. Originally these were designed to perpetuate the memories of various gods, heroes, special historic events, and victories. Then they were retained because people had forgotten their origins. Nobody was sure if the gods would be insulted if any were dropped.
“In some cases the lesser known pictographs were also used to confuse attempts at deciphering.
“But there was also a simple alphabet, which the priests tried to keep secret, even from the scribes. At that time it didn’t include all the vowels.
“Moses learnt that, and only some of the more common pictographs—few scribes knew them all. Most just used their favourites. And later Moses adapted it to suit the Jewish languages, and like the Egyptians, he taught it only to the priests and rabbis.
“He squared off the characters, because it is difficult to scratch or carve out curved lines on stone quickly. It’s also hard to draw them with a reed on papyrus which has a very uneven surface.
“Even the priests didn’t recognise that their new secret alphabet was based on the Egyptian scripts. After all, they had never been taught to recognize them while in Egypt. I guess that no matter how many hieroglyphs the Jews saw while enslaved, they meant nothing at all as long as they didn’t know the sound or meaning.
“It was a very long time before the script was popularised and some of the characters and numbers had evolved even further by then. I seem to recall that a head, like capital omega           was number 1 and a pair of women’s breasts       like a rounded W was 2 at one stage.
“The numbers in modern use, which most people think are Arabic, are also Egyptian in origin. The number   with a flat top, is most obviously the Egyptian phallus pictograph  but,   without the dribbles of semen. If you lengthen the top bar, you’ll see it represents the erect penis and testicles, the left hanging lower. Some of the other numbers have changed a lot. But the flat-topped  is a delicious in-joke, which someone always revives, no matter how often the puritans try to popularize the all-rounded 3.
“The modern 5 is the outline of a fist with the thumb extended           originally an Egyptian pictograph of the hand.
“You still doubt me? Check out a history of writing which compares the same sound in different scripts. You’ll see the Latin letter A was the ancient Greek alpha, taken from the silent Phoenician character aleph,    which should be sitting diagonally on its point like this  except that my pictures won’t cooperate. That developed from the Phoenician yoked ox head      aleph. It is identical to its ancestor the Egyptian ox-drawn plough hieroglyph,          which is usually much better drawn and has the point at upper left or right.
“The Egyptian B-sound was denoted by a leg           which facing right in demotic becomes a b with a sideways oval       for the foot. 
“Their F was the horned viper        which is pretty much a wobbly F lying on its back. 
“K or C was a wide, shallow, curved-bottom basket with a looped handle               which developed into the loop of the small cursive     , while the bottom curve became the C.
“M was an owl                       which usually just had a strong V shape for the beak, eyes and tufted ears within a square head, (though in computerised fonts the V often appears as a T,)                                       so it only needed to remove the top bar and the owl body to get the modern       .
 “The N was a zigzag like several joined w’s       , that carried directly into many old languages though often changed to the S sound.
“The Egyptian S was a folded cloth        which has the top curve of our S.
“Their I was the flowering reed,      which facing left, looks like the cursive capital  , still used in America and elsewhere in Copperplate scripts, and Y was the double flowering reed  . You can see the y shape in the base of the reed.
“Check on the demotic equivalents of the hieroglyphs, and you’ll find more. It’s really astonishing how much remains the same after all this time 
“Shall we get back to the tape, now?”
“Not just yet, Mags. Who is Moyshe?”
Getting slow on the pickup there, fellow.
“The Prime Minister of Israel. He’s a close family relative.”
“Oh, are you Jewish again, then?” asked Taj
“Not in this life. Though when you’ve been Jewish, or been married to a Jew, as often as I have, you do tend to feel Jewish most of the time. Actually my parents were freethinkers raised in a hippie commune. Enough?”



Chapter 16
Mags, Mo and the Ogre Prince 

“No Mags, you still haven’t told your Mo story. Come on, we’re not letting you distract us this time. You can talk about the hippie commune tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t trying to distract you. I’ve talked so long I thought we’d covered everything. My throat’s dry. Why don’t you tell it? You’ve heard it often enough.”
Six glasses of liquid appeared in front of me.
“Sip at any of these if you need lubricating, Darling. I wouldn’t want you uncomfortable.” He sounded so solicitous; I wondered if he’d also had acting classes. “You were up to the arguing rabbis.”
“Right. Besides spending so much time studying the Law and commentaries, the rabbi’s favourite pastime was debating points of Law. They did it every day in their study houses. Mo knew that, because he had studied with them. But he got on his high horse when they did the same to his ideas.
He was a hopeless debater. He couldn’t remember even basic religious stuff when he had to change subjects quickly.
He was a bit like some speed readers. If you ask them a question on some obscure part they have to mentally skim through a memorized book until they get to that section. Then they need to think about it before they can answer. Mo was like that.
“He knew more about Christianity and Judaism than about Islam, because he’d never studied it, nor heard it debated. There are quite a few writings of that period, showing he made mistakes on very basic religious issues.
“Also he never actually wrote or even dictated the Koran himself. That was a collection of various people’s memories of his sermons, written after the event, sometimes at two or three removes. Ordinary people did have better memories in those days, but obviously the hearers coloured what they remembered with their own prejudices, especially after it had been passed through several people.
“Mo hated to be made to look foolish. Yet he was such an easy target, few of the Medina Jews could resist baiting him. He got nasty, had them accused of treachery and beaten up.
“Most Jews have a sixth sense about upcoming pogroms, so they left Medina.
“Attacking and driving out the Jews, who had to leave their property behind, was the first thing that made Mo popular. This won him new converts interested in the spoils.
“So he had his guys attack all the caravans supplying Mecca, except those run by his family and in-laws. This gave his group riches, and made him lots of converts.
“After most Mecca businesses were bankrupted, he attacked and took over the city.
“He thought everything would be easy after that. He became incensed when I, a mere girl, dared to criticize and make suggestions. Maybe because, I ran the local healing academy, and was more talented than any of the males we had then.
“Zeke was just two, and Langdon had only been born a few weeks earlier. I was eleven, with full powers. I didn’t veil myself, or cover my hair half the time. Mo thought I was an impudent little trollop.
“The pious little twerp ranted against the Jews in every speech he made.
“If you bother to read the Koran, you’ll see that after the short opening paragraph, praising Allah, the second, much longer stanza attacks Christians. At least that’s how the last paperback copy I saw started.
“It explains why those who follow Islam are better, and adjures his followers to disparage the Christians, and to revile the Jews. And throughout the book he continues to attack the people who dared to prefer and stick with their own established religion.
“Yet he supposedly accepted Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses and Jesus as true fellow prophets of the same God. Mo even told his followers to accept everything taught by all the monotheistic prophets and not to favour one prophet over another. It’s hard to reconcile all these contradictions.
“However, there do seem to be many different versions of the Koran with different openings though I’ve never compared them to locate all the variations. Apparently some have had the disparagement edited out, and that itself is an indictment of the religion.
“Female castration was invented after his time, by other misogynists. So he can’t be blamed for that.
“Like most smug, pious, self-congratulating, religious zealots, he thought he was always right, and that was centuries before the Moslems invested him with isma. They regard him as the ‘perfect man,’ the most liberal, best, and bravest. Moslems believe that everything he did was the most perfect embodiment of the will of God. They consider him to have lived in a state of sinlessness, despite his favourite wife Aisha, who lived with him at 6-7-year-old as his betrothed, the marriage allegedly not being consummated until she had reached puberty at 9 or 10-y-o, though more recent writers make her 15 to 24.
“Even Mo would probably have been overwhelmed by such a big wrap.
“What I disliked most about him was his lack of a sense of humour, his intolerance, pettiness and lack of mercy. He always wanted to punish everyone who didn’t obey his every dictate. Not try to teach them better, or to rehabilitate them, just to punish them hard. Christian fundamentalists are just as bad.
“I think the Jews have suffered more for their religion than any other people. Yet they can still see the funny side of it, and can laugh at themselves and at Jewish jokes.
“Mo and I had quite a few clashes. He never forgave me for arguing with him. I doubt he even noticed that I never made him look bad, nor tried to humiliate him. That would have been so easy to do, too.
“It was just my being a lowly female. He thought I had no right to address him at all. Yet he is supposed to have listened to his wives’ opinions about things.
“Mo knew exactly who I was, as Gabriel had told him, and gave me no respect for that. At least Mo never blamed me for man’s fall from grace. Islam doesn’t have the Judeo-Christian concept of original sin. Gabriel must have straightened that out, and that would have fitted better with Mo’s belief that women were unimportant, except in their breeding and serving capacity.
“Where women are traditionally treated as mindless breeders, who need to be locked up and guarded, to prevent their being seduced or stolen away, there can be no real respect for any woman.
“Purdah causes contempt and a type of hatred between the sexes. The women realize, at least subconsciously, that the men don’t value them as people, despite all the soft words to the contrary.
“Naturally they resent their fathers and husbands, but sneakily take out their spite against their men, by inflicting small cruelties, and bullying their sons and brothers, as long as they can get away with it.
“The boys then grow up to perpetuate the misogyny on their own wives and daughters. We’ve broken that horrible cycle at Galen. Finally.
“I’m sure this childhood bullying, by those who should love and nurture them most, is responsible for all the longstanding Middle East conflicts
“Few people outside Islam, realise how many racial groups, nationalities and cultures it covers, just like Christianity. Nor that many of those groups don’t agree at all, or even get along together. Some don’t even speak Arabic.
“Some Moslem groups were notorious for not assimilating into Western countries they moved to. Yet they quickly learned to use the system to get special privileges. And were always ready to accuse anyone who objected, of racial prejudice.
“Some were highly educated and powerful. But many had little learning, weren’t especially bright, and yet were very arrogant. They expected to be treated with great respect, simply because they believed they were better than Westerners.
“The men were often lazy, preferring to go on the dole, rather than work for a living. Even at Galen they show little interest in studying anything worthwhile.
“Again, that’s partly due to the way the boys are brought up, expecting to be waited on hand and foot, by their mothers and sisters, and later their wives and daughters. We don’t allow that here. People are charged for the labour of anyone who is forced to serve them.
“We had some difficulty fitting these kinds of insular Moslems into Galen. All the parents really resented not being allowed near their kids at first. More even than not being allowed to have a mosque and having to go outside to pray together.
“The mullahs were always placed in the violent sections if they stayed at all, and weren’t permitted visitors there.
“The children and single young women managed most easily. All children flourish at Galen. Previously housebound women really bloom and develop all sorts of talents once they realize the choices they have. The men who thought they were in for an easy wicket, found it hard having to do their share.
“I had to intervene personally, to bring up their past life memories and assert my authority, before they would settle down. But now they’re starting to fit in. They just needed a good talking to, which is better than I ever managed with Mo himself.
 “He did learn to be wary of me though, and never tried to have me punished. He saw me crisp a friend of his once, and realised a public demonstration of my crisping him, might make his people doubt the ‘perfect religion’.”
“I had hoped you’d tell the long version, Mags. I believe I know why the Muslims welcomed Galen,” mused Langdon. “Especially after meeting you and having their memories restored,”
“There’s been a huge worldwide backlash against Islam since 9/11. The many other assorted bombings and acts of terrorism around the world, attributed to Muslims exacerbated the resentment. The Nuclear Pulse that damaged America so badly was the final straw.
“The public has made even the most rabid Muslims see that they had to make some basic changes so as not to be lumped in with the extremists and terrorist factions.
“Unfortunately, it was the easily recognizable veiled women and girls, and the small children accompanying them, who suffered most. They were caught in the kneejerk mob need to punish the perpetrators. Many were attacked and beaten.”
“It was even worse than that, Langdon. I’ve been told that dozens of young Moslem women were raped in Sydney, by Westerners. Apparently this was a kind of payback, for both the Lebanese gang rapes and 9/11.
“None of them sought police help to prosecute their rapists. Few even told their families. They kept quiet out of fear of bringing further disrepute on Islam. They just lived with their shame. We’re still counselling them so much later.”
“I’m glad they’re finally getting the help they need. There were rumours about that kind of thing happening here, too. But again nobody would speak up.
“Those Leb rapists did far more harm to their own women and Islam, than to the poor white girls they raped, and they certainly deserved what they got for that. All Islam has had to suffer for what they did.
“Even the few crazies, who may be willing to die for Allah, become powerless when their women and kids are the victims instead. The men, helpless to protect their families and unable to keep the old ways, had to become more Western on the outside.
“They started a great schism in Islam, turning away en masse from the cruel, hate-driven, fundamentalist ideas of Mo, the Ayatollahs and the crazy mullahs. They instead sought a more moderate, love-based way to serve Allah.”
“All the Muslims I’ve met have been decent, peaceful people,” offered Taj.
“Yes, they do appear to have a cultural propensity for fanaticism, but mostly this seems to make them terribly pious, and eager to do the right thing.
“Few have ever had a real interest in the paradise of heroes, that Mo promised each infidel-killer, with the multitude of eager, self-renewing virgins for every man. There was nothing in there to interest their wives and children, and no mention anywhere of love.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” drawled Taj, “I can see a lot of women really getting off on watching their men attempt to live up to their big talk. Trying to keep 72 horny virgins happy every day. I reckon their women would be glad to leave them to it, and get on with their own lives in peace, in some other section.”
Langdon grinned appreciatively.
“The educated men are modern enough to prefer real women, to silly robotic houri. Those females seem to do nothing more interesting than tighten up their vaginas and regrow tiresome skin flaps, so they can scream with pain, and bleed all over the bedclothes every day.
“Contrary to popular opinion, virginity is not a big turn on, except to those men who view women as property, and don’t like second hand furniture. And those especially, would find it hard to relate to a female who regenerates her ‘Brand New’ sticker after each use.
“No man in love wants to hurt his beloved, and feel like a rapist every time he tries to make love to her. The Muslim hero heaven is my idea of absolute hell, and most Muslims I know feel the same way.
“In their search for another way and a different destination, the men listened to their women. It turns out the women have kept alive their faith in the old fertility symbol, the Mother goddess.
“They still remember the woman who healed their ancestors, crisped an ogre prince, and scared the bejesus out of Mohammed. Mags also turned a cruel stud into an ugly woman and made him birth twins.
“You’re their hero, Darling, and they’re all very pleased that you have returned again to show them the new way.”
“Oh yes? If you have such a direct connection to those Moslems, then why didn’t you come in to Galen years ago to find me, Langdon?”
He looked sheepish.
“I didn’t realise they had actually found you. I thought they were still waiting and looking. Anyway, I don’t think I could have come in, until you had Galen ready for me, no matter how much I wanted to see you.”
He was right. There were so many binds tying us together, we probably didn’t have much free will left, in matters concerning the two of us. Nothing we could do about it at the moment. Hopefully, I’d change that tonight.
“What Mags didn’t tell you, Taj, was that the guy she crisped was some kind of prince, who was soon to inherit his father’s domain. The old man was dying. Everybody, except Mo, loathed the prince, who was a sadist, and not only tortured his enemies for pleasure, but also his many wives and concubines.
“He couldn’t bear their having a menstrual period, and so being safe from his cruel sexual games. So, if he picked a victim and she was bleeding, he’d have one of her fingers chopped off. And after those were all gone, he’d take the rest of the hand. And then the forearm. After both forearms were gone, he’d throw her out to live as a beggar.
“Magdalena was called to see the old ruler while Mo was visiting. The prince took a fancy to her, and asked her to come to the seraglio to tend to one of his wives. Mags did.
“The Arabs think any woman who enters their harem rooms, is fair game. So he thought he could keep and use her for his pleasure.
“Mags saw all those maimed women and naturally, became furious. The prince had brought his pal along to see the fun, and Mo was quite eager to see Mags meet her match, as he hated her.
“So, when the prince started making advances, Mags was openly contemptuous and rubbished him. And when he hit her, she crisped him into brittle ash, without moving.
“Old Mo skedaddled quick smart, and never told anyone what he had seen. If he had stayed, I’m sure he would have forgotten all about his silly religion, and become a Mother worshipper instead.
“Magdalena took that prince’s entire life energy and used it to heal the women, and regrow their missing limbs and fingers. Then, she went to the dying father and told him off for raising such a shit for a son. She healed the old guy. Gave him another 20 years, and told him to find somebody decent for his heir. As his rotten son was now a cinder.
And the harem ladies, who had followed her, saw and heard it all, so of course, they never forgot her.



Chapter 17
Mags and the Punished Sheik 

“Later, another sheik that annoyed her, was punished in kind. He wore his wives out by keeping them pregnant. He was in competition with several other sheiks to produce the most progeny. He used fertility spells to make his women carry litters of up to six babies at a time, and called on Mags for one of the difficult deliveries.”
I shuddered at the memory.
“Taj, those poor women. The bastard had used them like animals. Men have been using women for reproductive work forever, without thinking of the burden they placed on their health.
“Not Langdon or Zeke, of course, healers understand.
“Some of the rich studs I’ve met over the millennia judged their manhood by the number of sons they produced. They bought new concubines to replace the old worn-out ones. Worn out just by constant childbearing.
“As long as the babies lived, they didn’t care about the women. They were considered expendable. The creeps revelled in multiple births, which nearly always killed the mother, unless a healer was called early. I’d attended a few of those births and been absolutely sickened.
“This creep was the worst, and he wasn’t even leading the competition. He had over 500 women, and there wasn’t one left over 30.
“All their bodies were bent and rickety from severe calcium depletion. They’d lost most of their teeth, and were dreadfully undernourished.
“The placenta always takes what it needs to make the new baby, and he wasn’t feeding them properly.
“I’d been called too late. His wife had already delivered sextuplets, and was dying. He wanted me to just ignore her, and concentrate on keeping the puny kitten-like babies alive.
“I would have crisped the bastard, except I was too busy. I managed to save the mother and the babies.
“I sterilised her and five of the weakest women to give them a respite, lectured him on proper nutrition, and charged him ten times my normal rate.
“When I was called again 2½ years later, to assist at another multiple birth, I asked about the other six women, thinking to make them fertile again before he caught on. They should still have been lactating, so shouldn’t have conceived anyway.
“I found he’d sold them all as slaves over a year earlier because they were barren. And each had borne him at least five children.”
I was still so angry and upset, I couldn’t go on.
Langdon put an arm around me, and continued the story.
“Mags got so mad; she turned him into a woman. She kept his penis intact but impotent and left him his same ugly face. And she implanted him with two early embryos she removed from the weakest pregnant women.
She made him carry them to term until they were good and big. And gave him a dreadful pregnancy, with continual morning sickness, frequent fainting spells, cravings, crying jags, nerve pains in both arms, weird mood swings—the works.
“That was followed by a very painful, prolonged childbirth, with a big jagged peritoneal tear, and a uterus which everted and prolapsed right out of the vaginal opening.
“Then, with the poor guy bleeding his life away, she asked if he still thought only the babies should be looked after. Such an obviously useless woman should surely be left to die.
“He recanted quick smart. So Mags pushed the uterus right-side-out, shoved it back into place, and stitched him up instead of just healing him. No anaesthetic, either—it hadn’t been invented yet.
“She made him suffer an extended lochia period, the baby blues and engorged sore breasts. He had a great flabby belly and saggy distended uterus which wouldn’t resume its normal size. All the very worst aspects of motherhood. He wasn’t allowed to suckle the babies, either because he hated and might have killed them. He blamed them for his condition.
“He stayed a hermaphroditic sort of woman for another year. Finally he learned his lesson, and realised that women were human beings. When Mags eventually relented and changed him back into a full male, he became the kindest and most considerate of husbands and fathers. He was really proud of the two healthy sons he had gestated. And his mates in the competition changed their ways too, before Mags extended her cure to them.
“There’s never been anyone like her. So, you can see how she became a goddess to those poor women. And why they have never forgotten her.
“And that, my darling Magdalena, is why you are attracting so many Muslims to Galen. You saved the women before; now they’re all looking to you to save them again.”



Chapter 18
Sideplay 

I had a huge knot of apprehension in my stomach area, but he was joking, of course. Just getting back at me for two millennia of Jesus jokes. Had to be. I could take a joke, and play one, too.
“Wonder how they’ll react when they find their reincarnated goddess is married to the reincarnated Jesus. That might unite both religions.
“Shame that Zeke wasn’t Siddhartha. We’d have won the trifecta. We could have started a new holy trinity—the Mother and her two holy husbands. Maybe we should open chapels in every Galen building. We could have one of my fat fertility figures and an obese Buddha, squatting like bookends, either side of a handsome, slim, blond Jesus, wearing his crown of thorns.”
Taj obviously thought I was hilarious, but Langdon, still calm and serious, stared at me thoughtfully.
“Langdon, I think I liked you better when you wouldn’t discuss religion. Your sense of humour has gone kerblooey since you stopped hating the JC myths.”
“Magdalena, I am not joking.”
“Of course, you are. You must be. The whole thing is preposterous. Okay, I admit I was fooled for a bit and started to panic. But now you’re really scaring me. So please stop fooling around. I’m sorry for all the Jesus jokes. I promise I won’t make up anymore, if you’ll just please stop teasing. I don’t want to be anybody’s goddess except yours. I don’t. I won’t.”
“I’m so sorry, my love. I do know how you feel. But try to be objective. Look at what you’ve done from an outsider’s point of view. You have united so many different groups and cultures, and brought them together to build a better world. And you gave them salvation, purpose and a paradise along the way. You’ve even united the outsiders in their resistance to you. And I’m sure you’re going to beat them all hands down.
“You’ve been obsessed with that old Knowledge for too long. You don’t even realize that you personally designed a whole new technology. One greater than anything ever seen or imagined by anyone. I’m certain every single person in Galen already worships you. And everything you do only makes their belief in you stronger.”
“But it was your vision, not mine. I just wanted to give you the world you wanted. So you could stop fighting for everyone else and getting yourself killed all the time. I wanted you safe. So you could just be Langdon the great healer. Not Langdon the dead hero.”
“And you did it, my love. You’ve done exactly that. And in the process, you’ve created a world that soon will be safe for everyone. Nobody can resist the Mother. They’re all going to cave in and join you. And you will be their goddess forever, as you deserve to be.”
“No. I absolutely refuse to be deified. Anyway, they can’t think I’m a god. Men don’t get horny over a god. Nobody ever got turned on by the Virgin Mary.”
“They weren’t turned on by Jesus either, Mags. Not even the nuns who supposedly became his wives. You’re doing it again. You’re trying to get me angry about Mom to distract me. That doesn’t work anymore.
“Nobody ever got lustful over Mom, because the PR system made her unattainable. But you’re the Mother, and you’re young, lovely and single. And every straight bloke out there is hoping you’ll pick him to father your children.
“You forget that nobody ever remembers about Zeke or me. We’ve always been fairly anonymous. But they always remember you and fall in love with you. Even after you restore their memories, nobody comes rushing up to me, yelling: ‘Save me, Jesus, save me,’ nor calls on any of my other famous manifestations.”
“So, how am I going to stop this? I can’t just forbid it—that will only turn it underground and make it worse. Langdon, you have to help me stop this happening, please.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to stop it at all,” said Taj. “Why not just settle for a unified world, where everyone loves you, and not worry about the worship part. Treat it like puppy love, a crush they’ll eventually all outgrow, as they advance up to godhood themselves. Isn’t that the whole aim of your education and clearing programme—to have everybody find the god inside themselves?”
Langdon and I sat stunned by such good sense.
“Out of the mouths of babes comes true wisdom and insight,” he intoned.
“Are you calling me a babe, Langdon?” Taj gave him the eye.
“Absolutely!” He stared right back.
“Thanks for adding some sense to the conversation, Taj. I love the way you think. I’m so glad you and Langdon got together.”



Chapter 19
The Nuclear Secret 

The computer used the pause to restart.
We bought up lots of unwanted land and made it valuable. Queensland happily sold us the old cane fields, polluted with DDT, and there was other, equally polluted land people were prepared to almost give away.
During my study of gene manipulation I had invented a little cannibalistic bug, which ate radioactivity. It took at least 3 trillion generations of chomping on each other, to use up all the glow and return the stuff to inert lead. But that was only a few years of human time. Though very attractive, radioactivity was still poisonous to the little blighters.
I sort-of-deliberately didn’t control it too precisely. As a public service gesture, and to prove our expertise, we had ‘accidentally’ cleaned up all the world’s radioactivity-blighted soil and water. Not just the vast Russian tracts that we had purchased, but everything Chernobyl and Fukushima had contaminated.
We had quietly fixed the sealed, crippled Fukushima reactors by simply ’porting billions of the chompers inside where they ate through all the radioactivity long ago. And we sort-of-accidentally decontaminated Bikini Atoll, the French testing sites and the Australian and US desert testing areas.
Then we took on the job of cleaning up nuclear waste, and other dangerous chemicals, which the developed Western countries had been dumping indiscriminately in forgotten places.
We received only a few official contracts for this work, as the armed forces of most countries, were strangely shy about revealing their past mistakes. The US was far from the only dumper of dangerous gloop in inappropriate areas; the Aussie army had disposed of now-rusting drums of DDT, burying them long ago, in Tempe tip. Now they were under the popular velodrome and Whitlam Park. Slowly leaking into the Cook’s River in the high population inner Sydney suburb.
Britain had more sense. Or didn’t have the space to get rid of anything nasty on its densely populated islands. The Brits had dumped their mess either at sea or into the North Sea oil wells they had pumped dry. Apparently the oceans were supposed to dilute it into harmlessness.
France and other countries had also used the ocean abysses.
In the process of cleaning up radiation-contaminated land, nuclear waste and abandoned reactors, we ‘accidentally’ rendered all the collected nuclear arsenals of the world quite useless. Even those weapons in orbiting satellites.
It was a surprisingly long time before anyone raised a protest.
Of course, it also ended radiotherapy treatment, but we compensated everyone whose treatment was interrupted, by healing their cancers for free.
Glowing watch and clock hands had gone out of fashion when LCDs came in, so there weren’t any complaints over that one.
Britain, Russia and of course, Japan, were eager to change from nuclear-generated to Galen electricity. One might think they hadn’t really trusted their earlier system.
The reactors had been eyesores. All three countries looked prettier already, without all those telegraph poles, transmitting stations, pylons and wires.
Only a few scientists mourned the loss of the transuranic elements. They shut up quickly when Galen offered to sell them as much as they wanted. They decided they could manage without them for a while longer.
“How come nobody outside heard about that?” cried Langdon.
“What do you mean? Didn’t you know? It was on all the world news services, and all over the internet. But that was after the Nuclear Pulse. While all your computers were useless. And the whole country was in chaos. Perhaps such a minor news item got buried in the immediate local disaster. But you were in the media Langdon, surely you must have heard?
“That’s what won us all the early Russians. They had been so terrified for so long of getting wiped out by their own idiots. Or by the American reprisal. We could barely cope with the rush.
“Oh, of course! Your government always fed Americans the line that you were the world’s police. That only your huge nuclear arsenal deterred the ‘Reds,’ the ‘Yellow Peril’ and the other vaguely worded coloured threats, from taking over the world. And prevented the jealous rest of the world from invading the US.
“I’d assumed that belief died with the fall of the Berlin wall, before you were born. The Nuclear Pulse should have put the nails in the coffin. America’s later wars all seemed to be about terrorist threats.
“So your government still hasn’t admitted to its people that it's totally impotent. That’s interesting. I hadn’t realized,” I lied.
“Probably, because you’ve been cooped up in Galen so long,” he soothed.



Chapter 20
Patriotism

I had a sudden dreadful suspicion. “Langdon, what nationality do you think I am?”
“American, of course.”
“Why, ‘of course’?”
“Well, you’d have to be, wouldn’t you? You must have used good old American know-how to set up Galen. And to look after all those poor countries out there, And to make yourself a gazillionaire before you were eighteen.”
“Taj, what nationality do you think I am?”
“Aussie, I’d guess.”
“Why?”
“Because you started healing in Sydney. You knew about the Aussies making Holiday Magic and Scientology illegal. You haven’t once waved the flag or talked about the great American comeback. You haven’t said one word of praise for anything American. You haven’t dropped any American brand names, except Kellogg’s. And you think hoopla and razzamatazz are an irritating pain in the ass.
“You obviously deal with the world’s top people, but Moyshe’s was the only name you dropped. And you’ve qualified in 19 medical specialties, and have umpteen other qualifications and degrees. Yet you speak without affectation, using fairly simple language. And you’re modest. You don’t toot your own horn or hire publicists to do it.
“If an American had done any of the things you’ve done, they would be strutting up and down. Flapping their arms, doing the chicken dance and crowing. And the American government, press and people would know all about you. They would never stop bragging about you. You wouldn’t have let the Pulse happen. And America wouldn’t still be a fourth rate country, dreaming of past glories, and pretending it still runs the world.
“Oh, and because galenite organs were invented by an Aussie medical team. Do you want more?” She grinned at me.
I smiled back. “No, that’s enough, thanks.
“So, Langdon, do you agree with Taj, or stick to your first opinion?”
“Well, I know you better than Taj does, so I have an unfair advantage. I know you have to be American.”
“Because all good things come from America, right?”
“That’s right.”
“And the good old US of A has a great and proud tradition and heritage, right?”
“Damn straight.”
“And the North only fought the South to bring freedom to those poor black slaves, right?”
“Well, that was the main reason.”
“And America won both World Wars by itself, just in time to stop the bad guys taking over the whole world. Isn’t that right?”
“Of course.”
“And the only reason America took so long to enter those wars, was because you were a bit reluctant to assume your mantle as God’s chosen peace-keepers. Right?”
“Exactly. You’ve got it.”
“And Americans fought in Korea because they knew God wanted them to keep the world free, no matter what the cost. Right?”
“Yes. It has been a tough burden for us.”
“And an American team always wins the World Cup Series, because it’s the best country playing. Right?”
“Er . . . well . . .”
“And America has forgiven New Zealand for getting stroppy about those nuclear-armed warships. Right?”
“Right. We never hold grudges against friends.”
“Yes. That’s why you let all those New Zealanders and Australians win so many Academy Awards. Right?”
“Of course.”
“You already considered the Aussies and Kiwis to be fellow countrymen, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Their own papers were saying that they were becoming another American state.”
“And that’s why America formally invited NZ and Australia to become the newest state of the good old US of A. Right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And there was nothing Jingoistic, Bobadilian, patronizing, condescending, imperious or insensitive, intended in that offer, as the Aussie and NZ press suggested, was there?”
“I’m not too sure about ‘Bobadilian’?”
“Bobadil was a character in an old English play. He was a braggart, who boasted of his prowess at a lot of things he actually couldn’t do.”
“I understand. No, America has never been anything like that.”
“Of course not. Americans just love their country. You all think the culture is wonderful. You feel an evangelical duty to carry it to the rest of the world. So they can share in it and enjoy it too. Right?”
“Well, it was great before the Nuclear Pulse.”
“Yes. It’s obvious that the world can’t manage without beauty pageants, Coca Cola, Levis, Marlboro, Disneyland and Hollywood. Or Playboy magazine, chewing gum, cheerleaders, Kentucky Fried Chicken, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Burger King, and all the other fast food places. Though I know you’d never eat in any of those restaurants yourself. But the world needs good cheap American food. Right?”
Langdon’s face had actually lit up when I began spouting American brand names and now he was giving Taj condescending smiles, certain he was right.
“I guess, though I do think Galen food is better and healthier. And nobody needs to smoke.”
“And we’re all for truth, justice, the American way, and Mom’s apple pie, right?”
“All the way.”
“And American Gridiron is the roughest, toughest, hardest, most punishing, and most macho football code in the world?”
“You got that right. That’s why I don’t follow football. It’s too aggressive and bloody for my taste.”
“Right. I’ll have to take you to a nice gentle Rugby League game. It’s so tame; the guys hardly wear any padding at all unless they’re carrying an injury. And only a few ever bother to wear a helmet. If anyone accidentally gets a little cut from the grass blades, they take him away for treatment. And won’t let him play again until he’s all better, though that’s a fairly recent rule.”
“That does sound more my style. Where do they play that?”
“Several places. We’ll start with France, and then try England. They don’t play very fast, because of the boggy soil. So you’ll be able to learn the rules and moves fairly easily. The Aussie games were my favourite in my past life, but they’ve probably softened them a bit too much.
I partly lost interest when Canterbury became the Bulldogs. And I stopped following the game when some millionaire media entrepreneur organized an elite competition. All the teams changed their names, some amalgamated, and new teams joined. It just wasn’t the same.
Personally, I always had a soft spot for the old Bluebags. I guess I was pretty square and old-fashioned even then. But from what I hear, the State of Origin games are still worth seeing. That’s when regular teammates separate and play for their home State.”
“That does sound nice and friendly. I might enjoy it. Couldn’t we start with one of those?”
“Trust me, Sweetheart; you’d be better off working your way up and learning the rules first. You know, we might train the TY7s into a team and play them against the State of Origin winners. That would be fun, wouldn’t it Taj? You would have played Rugby League at Typhon, right?”
“Yes, it was part of our training to watch past State of Origin matches, and we played games to work off a bit of steam. It was a bit more active than golf or tennis.”
“Good. Then you can help Langdon with the rules. By the way, Taj, do you share Langdon’s view of America?”
“Not at all, but then I wasn’t brought up with American commercial television. I didn’t go to a school where they sang the National Anthem, saluted the flag, and prayed together every day. And I never celebrated a Fourth of July, Thanksgiving or Halloween. Nor had America’s glorious history drummed into me all my life.
“I only found out about those things second hand. From hearing other people reminisce about how wonderful America used to be. And how great it will be again.
“I know the government and armed forces have always been owned and run by the big multinational companies. And that commercial interests have always been more important than human welfare.”
“Taj, you were a member of the armed forces. How can you be so unpatriotic?” Langdon was really shocked.
“Sweetheart, she was made and trained, tortured, brainwashed, and treated as property for six years in the US of A. But to make her an effective killing machine, they had to teach her to be observant, to gather information carefully, evaluate it, and make quick decisions. And to make sure she could see straight, they had to leave off the rose-coloured glasses, and let her see reality.
“And because it was only sometimes other Americans, they wanted assassinated, they had to teach her that there were other countries in the world. Not just a great threatening ‘them’, and a sad, poor, downtrodden ‘somebody else’ you could save and patronize.
“As she would need to work in foreign countries, they also had to teach her fluency in foreign languages. Each language she learned would then have greatly broadened her worldview and understanding of human nature.
“And having to do the government’s dirty deeds would have taught all the Typhon soldiers lots of useful information. They would have passed this down the ranks without the officials realizing. And since she escaped, Taj has been learning how to survive the hard way in the real America.
“Langdon, I think we’ll have to book you in for deconditioning, world geography and history, just for starters.”
“Why, just because I’m patriotic?”
“No, there’s nothing wrong with patriotism as such. Blind patriotism, however, can be a real problem. I prefer the Scientology concept of loyalty to your immediate family first, then your friends and neighbourhood, your state, your country, your planet and your universe.
“You need deconditioning because you’re feeling sorry for me, that I won’t be able to be the first official female president of America.”
“Well, I was looking forward to being First Gentleman.”
“Sweetheart, there’s only one useful thing I could do as President. Find out what form of alien life they used to booby-trap Taj with, and what life form it came from.”
“What!!” they both yelled simultaneously.
“There have been rumours since Roswell, why so surprised? UFOs are real, though the minds in them seem more worried than threatening. As they should be, if they’re who I think they are.
“I don’t believe your blokes have any idea what they’re dealing with. I’m worried they’ll either let it loose, or try to destroy it, before I can read it. So they don’t have to explain what they were trying to do.
“That’s why I haven’t made a push to recruit there. I didn’t want to alarm your government and intelligence networks overmuch, before I find out what’s going on. Up to now, they’ve thought Galen was just another crackpot, greenie, religious sect.
“They’re so insular; they’ve noticed little we’ve done outside America. But lately something has stirred them up. They’re paying us much more attention than usual.”
“So, will I be doing a Sigourney Weaver?”
“No, Taj, it’s not an intelligent creature. It’s more of a grey fungus-like web, and it’s so fine, you’d need a very powerful electron microscope to catch it.”
“And you can see it?” She seemed doubtful.
“Taj, when you’re trained, you’ll understand the healer sight. I can not only see your genes, I can read what each one does, and there are a few incompatible ones. I’ll have to remove them from you later.
“’Fraid you’re still an experimental model, dear. Your cobblers were either guessing or shooting in the dark.
“Please don’t get pregnant before I make those adjustments. You won’t be able to carry a child past 5 months in your current state. It’s easily fixed. But I want to wait till after I’ve removed the grey stuff. And I don’t want to touch that until I’ve seen some other examples.
“That’s why you’re going to bring in the rest of the TY7 escapees tomorrow.”
“Do you know where they are? I don’t. Only Evan knows, and I can’t contact him anymore.”
“Yes, Taj, I think I do.
“Now, can we get this interminable lecture over, before Central spits her dummy and adds more footage on the sewers and composting?
“You have to know most of the basic stuff before you can use Galen properly, though most of what she’s been giving you seems to be unnecessary history.” I glared at the screen, unfortunately, with no apparent effect.
Galen removed most soil and water contaminants by simply filtering them out, though we had TCDD—that’s dioxin—and DDT phages so far, as well as the radiation chomper.
We contracted to remove and safely dispose of all the dangerous chemicals nobody knew what to do with, digging them out when they had been buried, and enclosing them in galenite to await further research. Useless bulk muck would eventually be ’ported into the Earth’s magma core. We didn’t require a precisely configured destination for that.
We took on Australia’s native problem; rehabilitating and educating the Aborigines, giving them back pride in their history and heritage. They had felt a forgotten people, and loved that I knew all their old lost languages and lore.
They were so proud that they all turned out to be fine healers, especially the full bloods. Previously, their only heroes had been sportsmen, and their lovely artwork the only thing they thought whites wanted from them.
“There’s another Australian bit. So, was Taj right, or was I?”
How could I possibly love someone who acted so thick? Because I knew the real person under the lifelong conditioning, at least, what used to be the real person, until something went terribly wrong.



Chapter 21
Mags’ Early History 

“Okay, Langdon, I’m sure you’ve already figured that out, but since you won’t leave off, I’ll give you the rest of it. My maternal grandfather was of mixed Scandinavian / French stock. My maternal grandmother was one of the so-called Stolen Generation.
“Her mother gave birth to mixed blood twins. Tribal Aborigines usually smother a twin at birth, by pouring sand in its nostrils. That’s because life was so hard for them. They could barely keep one baby alive living in the bush.
“They also dislike getting anything from whites unless they have finagled it themselves. That then makes it okay to have, because they had taken it, not accepted it as charity.
“My great granny decided to trick the white people into raising the baby she couldn’t keep. And she was very proud of the way she justified it to herself. If she hadn’t been able to do that, her pride would have forced her to kill her own baby, in accordance with tradition.
“Granny was raised white. She married a backpacking tourist who stayed on. They lived in a commune in Byron Bay. There he ran a shop selling her herbal cures and locally made handicrafts for a while. But the commune members were too out of it to produce much stock.
“Someone told Gran she looked like an Abo, so she read a few books about their crafts. Soon she started producing lots of Aboriginal-style paintings. She had a real knack for it, and could run off 20 or 30 paintings in a day. These were sold in the shop for a lot of money as genuine Aboriginal art.
“After Mum was born, Gran decided to find her birth mother. She told her about faking Aboriginal art, to trick whites into paying a lot of money. Somehow, her being a real Aborigine the whole time, made the story even funnier.
“But when she went home, Gran couldn’t do any more paintings. She understood she didn’t have the right to tell those stories, because they weren’t hers to tell. She hadn’t lived them. So Gran moved back with her tribal family leaving Mum at the commune. And she learned and lived the tribal stories for four years.
“When she returned, she found Grandad had branched out into tourist-attracting printed t-shirts, beach wear, swimsuits, surfboards, and accessories, and had a whole chain of shops down the East coast.
“Gran started painting again, taking longer over each work, and using more care than before. But she only had two stories she was entitled to paint. So she did the same two paintings over and over, and nobody would buy them.
After a while she couldn’t give them away. All her friends had already received copies as birthday and Christmas presents, and refused to accept any more. But she was happy that she was now painting the right stuff, and Grandad was happy to have her back, and he was rich enough anyway.
“Mum married a local boy, and they both died in a car accident when I was almost three. Gran raised me.
“I showed her other stories, which didn’t belong to anyone else. And finally people started buying her paintings again. They’re now in museums and art galleries all over the world, because they tell the stories of the lost tribes.
“My Aboriginal ancestry is the reason I have such nice olive skin.”
Langdon regarded me thoughtfully. “I’m happy you got rid of the freckles. You were always annoyed about them, though I thought they were cute. They made interesting patterns.
“If your Gran still has the paintings with her own two stories, I would love to have one of each. Would she sell me them, or do I have to be a friend of hers, first?”
“Any friend of mine is a friend of the whole tribe’s, Lang. Gran will be happy to give you her tribal story paintings.”
Thank heavens, his blindness didn’t extend further than America, and in a short while there would no longer be a USA. There’d be no national boundaries anywhere.
Then another horrific thought sprang to mind.
“Langdon, in the last two centuries, when you found me, which country was I born in?”
“America, naturally, though the last time I saw you, was very early in the 20th century.”
“Thank you for killing me, then. You’ve no idea how grateful I am now.”
Taj was aghast.
“Please, Taj, don’t say a word. I’ll answer your questions, tomorrow. You wouldn’t understand today, and it would upset me to discuss that now. We are supposed to be celebrating, remember?”
Langdon looked very relieved.
He must have his hooks into me deep, to be so sure I’d just brush off his murdering me eight times, as if it were some kind of favour. Though, I guess some good came out of it—it prevented my getting Americanized—I would have been useless if I had been raised with a skewed worldview. That would have been disastrous.
Anyway, I was always supposed to be born Amerindian on that continent, not white. Something’s gone wrong there. And it’s been a very long time since I was last Injun.
Still doesn’t justify what he did though, because he would have seen it as the greatest gift of all. That’s better—he killed me and kept me from the American dream eight times. Maintain the rage, honey, don’t give in to those feelings—they’re just a habit, and any habit can be broken.
We were still negotiating to take over the world’s penal institutions. So far, only progressive New Zealand and some Pacific Islands, most of the old USSR and, as of 20 minutes ago, the rest of Australia, had accepted our offers. Most countries still preferred to punish, not rehabilitate their criminals.
Our sovereignty rights entitled us to take into custody and rehabilitate, any person who tried to harm any Galen member. That includes the Special Ops personnel who shot up your apartment, Langdon. They’re all in custody and are debriefing now.
We release them after 30 days of normal Galen therapy and training, to show the outside governments what we could accomplish. But of course they all return to Galen with their families and friends. And that seemed to make outsiders nervous.
New Zealanders were always the exception. They had always had a bit of a chip on their shoulders about being regarded as Australia’s poor relation. Yet again, Kiwis proved that they were world leaders. They all joined Galen within a month of our start. Only their government stayed outside to complete a historic session.
The members voted unanimously to hand the country over to Galen, then officially submitted their resignations. The whole parliament walked outside, and across the road, into a Galen building to join their waiting families. It was a very beautiful, moving ceremony, beamed worldwide by TV reporters from every country.
“I remember seeing that,” said Taj. “It was a few months before the Pulse.”
“Yes, I remember, too. Our reporters made it all seem slightly ridiculous; as if this proved that the whole country had always been a bit not-right-in-the-head.”
He looked thoughtful, then quoted from memory: “ ‘These people had had the gall to tell the US Navy to stay out of their territorial waters, when we were only there as part of the ANZUS Treaty, to defend them against all those land-hungry nations in SE Asia. Then, they had slapped our faces when we offered to take them into the fold, and had finally flipped completely. They had just given their country away to a crazy religious cult which brainwashed all their members and forced them into a life of eternal slavery . . .’ ”
I signalled Central to hold on the tape, and we all waited patiently for Langdon to think this out for himself. It gave Taj and me a chance to hoe into more of the delicious food. Nothing had gotten cold, of course—everything had stayed ’frozen at optimum temperature until we were ready to eat it.
Finally, Langdon showed signs of coming out of his reverie.
“I think if the Pulse hadn’t come then, Galen would have been invaded by the CIA, Mags.”
“Already happened, Love. They’ve sent us scores of agents, most of them currently working in Galen security. There were also other agents, from more secretive and secret spy organizations your people never knew about, some even your President doesn’t know of, which aren’t funded by the government, and make the CIA look like kids playing cops and robbers.”



Chapter 22
The Baby Milk Scandal 

Langdon was thoughtful a few moments. “Magdalena, what is the worst thing America has done?”
“Well, apart from insensitively bulldozing over everybody else’s sacred cows and value systems, most people thinks it’s the over 50 mostly undeclared wars, the USA has started since WWII. You’d have to ask a Socialist for the full list. They’re the only ones I know who keep track.
“But the one which hurt me the most was the condensed and evaporated milk scandal.”
Their confusion revealed neither had any idea what I was talking about.
“The American Red Cross gave the stuff free to nursing mothers, to feed to their babies, in all the European refugee camps after WWII. The mothers were told that it was better for their babies. That they couldn’t produce rich healthy milk on the poor diet that was available to them. The canned milk was obviously thicker and creamier, than the thin, bluish, breast milk they squeezed out of a nursing mother with a sleeping baby, to demonstrate the difference.
“So the refugee women, including my previous life mother who was nursing my baby brother, changed over to what they were told was the modern American way to feed their babies.
“Many of these children later developed intestinal disorders, asthma and other allergy-based diseases. Some went blind or became diabetic. And all the mothers lost their milk. They had to keep buying the unsuitable stuff, with which they were slowly poisoning the babies they loved.”
“But, if evaporated milk was so bad, why would mothers, who had been breastfeeding successfully, not know straight away that it wasn’t right? And why was that refugee mother’s milk blue, anyway?” asked Taj.
“Thin and bluish, like unfortified skim milk or liquid whey, Taj, not blue exactly.
“Every mother wants the very best for her baby, and these women believed what they were told. In those days, most people were uneducated and ignorant about nutrition. They trusted uniformed authority figures far too much.
“Most mothers had never even seen what their own breast milk looked like, except when their babies posseted it back up, when it was clotted and white. They believed the story that their poor diet had made their breast milk too weak.
“First time mothers are especially vulnerable to outside interference. They haven’t yet learned to trust their own instincts, so make easy victims for the unscrupulous. My mother just enjoyed the idea of being modern.
“You need to understand the different types of milk produced by the breasts. Colostrum is the substance secreted for the first three days. It is thick, syrupy, and a bright translucent yellow. It is loaded with antibodies and has a little protein. But its main job is to coat and protect the immature intestines against damage and to help clear the baby’s gut of meconium. That’s the thick, black, indigestible, tarry substance which fills the intestines and helps exercise them before birth.
“After that, breasts make two kinds of milk. The first out is the foremilk, and it is very thin and watery. It has sugars, mineral salts and a little protein, and is designed to ease thirst. So, in warm weather, a demand-fed baby will come more often to the breast, drink just a little and stop, because that is all he wants.
“When the baby is hungry, he will suck more vigorously and for longer. That will cause a letdown of the hindmilk. This is thick and creamy, rich in fat and protein to satisfy hunger. The baby himself decides which he wants. We teach feeding on demand at Galen, not the scheduled 3- or 4-hourly feeds advocated outside, and our babies don’t cry.
“So, now you can see how the demonstrator deliberately gave the mothers a false impression of their feeding capacity. Extracting the thin foremilk from the mother of a sleeping baby made them feel their own milk was inadequate.
“This was the beginning of the baby formula industry. The company learned that neither condensed nor evaporated milk is good for babies. They kept working at it, and probably helped save some babies that may have died otherwise. But at the expense of those of their experimental subjects who were damaged or died.
“America’s commercial companies have deliberately turned the whole country off unprofitable natural breastfeeding. All so they can make a profit selling formula.
“Formula is always of the same thick consistency. So, if an American baby cries or is thirsty, he gets a bottle shoved in his face. He has to take a full meal, whether he wants to or not. And that creates an insidious habit.
“These unnaturally fed babies became adults who stuffed their faces with food to ease every problem in their lives. Pre-Pulse Americans became the most obese people the world has ever seen.
“Breast deprivation during infancy is also the probable reason behind the adult American male’s morbid fascination with huge female breasts. And that led to the whole silicon implant industry.”
Taj and I had a good laugh over that. Langdon smiled, but still looked sad and strained.
“After those experimental field tests on helpless and unwitting subjects, canned milk sold in the West had warning labels stating that it was unsuitable as a complete baby food. But the multinational company making the stuff, continued to give tons of milk in tube form to Aid organisations, to use in Africa and South America. The natives had no access to refrigeration or sterilization equipment. The tubes went bad almost as soon as they were opened, and killed hundreds of babies.
“The desperate mothers had only received enough free milk to dry up their own supply. They could never afford to buy enough tubes to keep their babies alive. So they stole anything white that came in tubes. And poisoned more little ones with toothpaste, shoe cleaner, shaving cream, hair grease and face cream.
“There was even a scandal in the US press about these terrible unnatural mothers who deliberately poisoned their babies. Many of the hospitalized infants were surreptitiously adopted by Americans, and ‘saved.’ Their real mothers mourned the children they were told had died. They didn’t get their bodies back, so had no proper closure either.
“And all this suffering was caused just to create a market for the multinational Swiss-based US food company. It was women’s organisations like La Leche League, working through the World Health Organization, that finally stopped this practice.
“Nobody knows how many babies died as a result of that particular marketing strategy. No statistics were released. No compensation was paid. But a lot of former Aid people were in better paid jobs. And tribal people were more distrustful of anything that came out of America.
“After that, until Galen came along, the famine relief organizations had a new policy. If any mother was still able to produce, even a few drops of milk, no matter how emaciated she and her children were, they were sent to the end of the queue. The genuinely starving were cared for first. No matter how many of those were too far gone to save. Or so badly brain-damaged and physically retarded from lack of nourishment, that they would never be able to survive without permanent care.
“In effect, the still-nursing mother was punished for the ingenuity, resourcefulness, courage and determination, which had kept herself and her kids healthy. The only way she was rewarded, was when one of the Aid workers gave her his own food ration on the sly. A surprising number of them did just that.
“Personally, I’d prefer a policy to help those who are struggling, but still fighting hard to live. They have a better chance to survive on their own. It is more humane to allow the badly damaged ones to die peacefully. Thus they can be renewed and reborn into a more caring world.
It is unfair to inflict their later care onto an impoverished society, which cannot look after them. They will just die more slowly. But I’m glad it wasn’t my decision to make.
“The problem has always been too few resources, and too many people needing them, until Galen. Now, there are no starving people anywhere. And no wasted food. The only hungry ones are in the USA. Too bloody stubborn to come in and join us. Or so brainwashed by their culture, they really believe we’re all religious crackpots.”
Taj and Langdon both looked stunned by my diatribe. I can be rather overwhelming when I get onto one of my pet peeves, and that particular one always raises my blood pressure.
“But don’t get me wrong guys, I don’t hate America for the harm some of your big companies have done to the world. And that particular company was Swiss-based. This marketing was done through America to keep the parent group’s hands clean.
“No Aussie or Kiwi really hates America, though we get pretty annoyed with your mob sometimes. We’re all aware that we do owe you a big debt, just for being the threatening presence that stopped us from being invaded. That’s why we sent our soldiers to fight alongside yours in Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, the Bushes’ oil wars, Iraq and the rest. But when we tried to help you after the Nuclear Pulse, your government thought we were being patronizing and refused our offer.



Chapter 23
Atrocities, TV and NZ 

Langdon till looked very glum.
“Don’t worry about it too much, Sweetie. You weren’t personally responsible. At least Americans committed most of their atrocities out of evangelical enthusiasm, and a rush for the mighty dollar. Those are probably cleaner motives than most others. They’re far from being the worst people around.
“Stalin starved millions of his own people to death, including my previous life maternal grandparents. He sent Russia’s wheat crop to Hitler, just to buy a little more time. Hitler killed 10 million Slavs, millions of gypsies, homosexuals and asylum inmates, as well as the six million Jews everyone remembers. The English deliberately addicted Chinese children to opium by giving them doped sweets. They also made all the profit, out of the companies which brought the black African slaves to America.
“Mao wiped out 30 million of his own people because they had different opinions from his. And he deliberately infected hundreds of young men and women with his venereal diseases, in some misguided attempt to wipe his dick clean on their healthy young bodies.
“Pol Pot, who flunked his University exams three years running, took a leaf out of Stalin’s book. He feared everyone with intelligence or education. Worried someone might become a leader or rallying point to threaten his own leadership. He slaughtered over 3 million of his own, mostly indirectly through starvation and lack of medical care.
“So the nearly 3,000 killed in the Twin Towers is small fry. And all the blame has been shifted to Osama. For a while, anyway.
“Australians captured brown men from nearby islands to use as slaves in the Queensland cane fields, and as divers in the early Western Australian pearling fleets. They made poor slaves, and most were killed or died heartbroken, and never saw their homes or families again.
“The Tasmanian sealers systematically slaughtered every male Aborigine on the island, and raped every woman. Until there were no Tasmanian full-bloods left. And Australians were every bit as bad to their mainland Aborigines, as Americans were to their Amerinds, and white Africans to their black countrymen.
“The black African tribes still regularly murdered each other, until they joined Galen, even though both lots were already dying of AIDS. And how about the Arabic Moslems who murdered whole tribes of black Negroid Moslems because of some fixation with racial purity? Islam is supposed to be a religion, not a race.
“People have been fighting, bullying, enslaving and killing each other over trifles, covetousness and jealousy, since before you were first born, Langdon. You can’t bear the blame for all of them.”
“Except in New Zealand,” interposed Taj.
“Yes, except in New Zealand. There, the Maori natives fought back so hard and so well, that the pakeha couldn’t just come in and take over. They had to sue for treaties which allowed them to settle there. And they have renegotiated those treaties, and paid compensation since.
“They still have a relatively high respect for the Maori. But there also has been some racial tension and prejudice. And there were bitter battles between the tribes before the whites arrived. The Kiwis are now all clear, but still only human. They’re not perfect either. Nobody is, yet.
“The whites who came to New Zealand were different, too. Australia was originally settled by English criminals, their gaolers, soldiers, and some opportunists. America accepted only a few convicts before rebelling. It was settled by the land-hungry poor and middle classes, and the persecuted religious zealots of Europe, as well as lots of opportunists.
“New Zealand seemed to attract people who were fiercely independent. People who just wanted somewhere to be free. Who wanted to live as they wished, without anyone’s interfering and telling them what to do. Maybe the place was too small, and too fiercely defended by the Maoris, to attract the worst opportunists.”
“But why did they reject America, then jump at the chance to join Galen?”
“Because Darling, they always had a small population, and little money to spare. And they were so far away, that US commercial interests never thought them worth worrying about.
“Also their government continued to protect their home-grown TV industry long after Australia stopped doing that. So they never received the huge amounts of the US-produced TV shows, which were dumped on Australia. And everywhere else America could find or create a market. So they missed out on the joys of American propaganda.
“And it is propaganda! All those sickening sitcoms are slanted to sell America as a land full of wealthy, well-educated, calm, law-abiding, upright, middle-class citizens. Even those with a few problems, like being widowed, or not liking their daughter’s choice of boyfriends, still manage to hold their families together and do the right thing. And they apparently earn the oodles of cash required to support this family, servant and daughter’s extravagant wardrobe, in the few minutes they’re off-camera.
“Originally, of course this propaganda was aimed at the US citizens. Most of them continue to believe that much of the country actually lives that kind of lifestyle. This apparently inspires them to work harder, and earn more, so they can get in on it too. That’s just what the commercial concerns want to happen, to keep American capitalism running smoothly.
“When the public got sick of the sitcoms and the Westerns, gritty cop shows became the thing. These showed a murder or massacre each episode. And gradually got bloodier and more horrific, to keep the jaded audience interested. Somebody forgot about the propaganda component. But the audience accepted these too, as part of the normal American lifestyle. And with your crazy easy access to firearms, the American public began living the new version of the American lifestyle. It had already been demonstrated as proper by being shown on television.
“The old argument that television is not responsible for the problems of society because the sets come with off-buttons, doesn’t hold water. As The Simpsons has proved, working men have been trained to sit with beer in hand, mesmerized, in front of their sets. They’ll watch whatever happens to be on, and that is usually mind-numbing garbage. It has been proven that the brain is more active during sleep than while watching TV and uncritically absorbing all the commercial messages.
“This might sound far too simplistic, Langdon. But you’ve worked on the family station. And you know your countrymen. Huge numbers of them are still illiterate with almost no education. Not too many of them have any real intelligence. And your TV shows are deliberately dumbed down to the level the dummies can comprehend. It’s a case of monkey see, monkey do, because we haven’t yet evolved far enough from the apes. And with the retarding action of commercial television, we’re not going to. Do you understand now, what I mean by American propaganda?”
Nods all around.
“Good, because this is also the crap which has taught all the anti-Americans how to fight back. This is why the Moslem extremists are so anti-West. They believe—because the mullahs have told them so—that the US is trying to instil the same lack of morality and decadent lifestyle, shown in your soaps and sitcoms, into their people.
“They can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality. Nor can most of your own population. And nobody can persuade them otherwise. They can see it on TV everywhere, so it must be the truth! Every time another McDonalds or Colonel Sam’s opens in their land, they see it as part of the American lifestyle-invasion, and they freak out.
“There are also intelligent well-educated Moslems living in the West. They also do not approve of the Western lifestyle. And don’t want to see their people corrupted by it. Some of them are nerds too.
“The idea of the Pulse bomb is an old Science Fiction staple. That’s where the group got the original idea. They were well funded and worked out of Canada for only a few months. So the CIA didn’t discover and infiltrate them as they had the 9/11 and Bali groups, or they might have stopped them earlier.
“You have to realise that 9/11 and the Bali bombing only happened because Dubbya and the CIA wanted to shake the American people out of their complacency. They wanted to put the country and your allies on a war footing. So they needed to create an enemy. Some group that the people could understand and see as a huge threat.
“If you don’t believe me, Langdon, I can prove this. We have several hundred ex-CIA agents in Galen. Some escaped to us because they knew too much. Taj isn’t surprised. She understands what your government is capable of.
“Apart from being spared US commercial TV shows, New Zealand has always been the most literate country in the world, with the highest number of books bought per population, despite books being so expensive there. People who read a lot, think better than those befuddled by television. New Zealand also has a high number of amateur and professional writers, film-makers, little theatre groups and actors.
“Their values are different, more real. They’re creative. They know how to entertain themselves. That’s an art that’s all but lost in modern civilized societies.
“America had nothing to offer them that the Kiwis really wanted. That’s because they hadn’t been taught to want what America espoused. Also, you got the psychology disastrously wrong in offering to lump them in with Australia as one state. That was insulting.
“Galen offered them everything they had dreamed of—the chance to develop themselves to their fullest capacity. They generally don’t go in for subterfuge, double-dealing and secret agendas. So once they had checked us out, they recognized us as honest. They believed the real changes we had made in our people. It’s that simple.” I signalled Central to restart the tape before somebody could get me going again.



Chapter 24
Rehabilitation and Goals 

What Galen had done with, and for NZ won us many more converts. We brought back the moa. We returned wallabies, possums and other introduced Aussie natives to Australia. We removed all the introduced exotic weeds, feral cats, dogs, rabbits, rats, birds and other foreign creatures.
We removed most signs of pakeha occupation, except our buildings. Most of those were placed underground. We restored much of the natural forest with quality hardwoods as well as some native scrub areas. But we retained the rolling hilly farms on the North Island to help feed the Galen world.
The practical, down-to-earth, unpretentious Kiwis moved up our levels more rapidly than most. They were among our best and most able administrators, and the Maoris make great healers.
The country is an enormously popular tourist and holiday destination. But it’s now only available to Galen members. All the Kiwis voted that they didn’t want outsiders littering the place again. And, of course, once we owned it all, and had fixed everything, we gave it straight back. The whole place is run by the Kiwis still.
Two years ago, all of Australia except Victoria, New South Wales and Western Australia, voted to join Galen. We had done a great job there, too. And though Aussies are reluctant to give up their own homes, and move into our buildings, we expect to get most of them in eventually.
I couldn’t stand to leave all the loose asbestos fibres lying around the abandoned Pilbara mines in WA. That was a health hazard, so the stuff was collected and stored. We sealed the mine walls with galenite, making the lovely area safer and more inviting to tourists.
We were also cleaning up the oceans. And we were filtering all the world’s rivers and ocean outlets to prevent any more silt and muck getting in. Already, all the drifting plastic bags had been removed. The turtles had been healed, fed and rehabilitated.
Boxes did all the dirty work. They dredged up slush, filtered out and stockpiled contaminants. People only needed to do the fun parts—helping with the wildlife and planting.
We dealt with all the recovered feral animals in the most natural, humane way we could. We desexed, and removed all diseases and parasites internal and external, from all the cats, dogs, rabbits and birds. Then, we moved them to two rocky islands. There had been no soil or animal life there until we changed things. We put the cats on one island, dogs on the other. And we let them hunt the other species, or eat our handouts as they chose.
Most of the birds migrated over to the dogs’ island. But unable to breed, they either pined or turned vicious, and didn’t survive long. We let child healers provide veterinary care and tame those young pups and kittens interested in living with people.
Galen buildings were each designated as either cat- or dog-friendly. Only a few allowed both species. The pets sometimes developed an urge to run free in the wild. So we allowed them to visit their species’ island. Sometimes they made friends there, and occasionally would bring one home for a while.
When mouse plagues developed on our farms, we ’froze the little rodents. We let them loose as required to feed the cats and dogs which preferred to hunt for their food. Some have managed to survive.
Meanwhile, we restored extinct species of which we found any trace in museums or private collections. The Tasmanian tiger had been one of our first projects. We were working to return the wonderful extinct giant Aussie marsupials to live in large reserves.
We had already made the world a better place, and planned to do a lot more. Our aim was to bring back selected extinct species and wild creatures generally and to rehabilitate the land. We planned to return much of it to the natural forested state to clean and refresh the air. We would leave enough tracts for organic farming and make the outside as lovely as it once had been. Our people would return to work there as custodians, while living in towers or underground.
All the environmental work we had done cost nobody anything. Our electricity was totally clean, coming from our famous renewable power source. All the buildings, cleaning up, maintenance, water and electricity supply over the past seven years, barely used the equivalent power of an average healthy donation.
The biggest drain on power was healing, which is why we paid so well for donations, and charged so high for the healing.
Eventually, we planned to decentralize more. We would place our towers on rocky reefs, sandbars, keys, and under the oceans, deep in the trenches and abysses. And alongside cliffs, where they would hold back erosion, leaving more of the land for the animals.
Antarctica already had thousands of towers. Our people loved being able to watch the penguins, whales and seal colonies, and the wild weather was awesome, seen from the safe warmth of a Galen tower.
We would eventually demolish most of the roads and cities. Though car enthusiasts and revheads wanted to keep a few highways and racetracks open and in repair. We’d save only cleaned up and restored historic sites and buildings. And a few model villages, from various eras, to show how people used to live.
With a scattering of towers to facilitate transport and access, only scenic tracks would be needed. In a world where everyone could ’port anywhere, exercise would be pleasure-oriented.
With our safeguards, Galen was impregnable. We expected to be safe from any kind of invasion or takeover attempts. Any usurper would need to have Central on their side. And she wouldn’t co-operate with or ’port lower level people, unless they were our own, and were working through the levels.
Clear, higher level adults and children were absolutely devoted to Galen. We had no discontents among our members, though there were a few lazy malingerers.
Internally, only persons with clear auras, and there were still only a few such adults, and clear literate children of all ages, were eligible to sit on our councils and committees and help make policy.
So far, we had stayed apart from outside politics, merely observing and reporting the truth on Galen Vid, which could be received outside by anyone interested. We knew the dirt on every political candidate and elected official in the world. We knew who was relatively decent, who was competent, who an impractical idealistic dreamer.
We gave fair coverage of every local election, so voters could make really informed choices. Though many still chose by the party they had always voted for, or went by a candidate’s looks. Such was the freedom of democracy. We had enormous voting power, if we wanted to assert it outside, but hadn’t influenced any votes yet. It didn’t seem necessary.
However, there had been many worrying signs lately, that something nasty was being planned against Galen on a global scale. We had increased our internal police force into a huge army, and trained them in combat and containment techniques using Galen technology.
We had captured the perpetrators of the attack on LK. We announced to the world that they were terrorists, masquerading as soldiers of the US Army, and had removed them to Galen for processing. The Army hadn’t bothered to claim them yet, and probably wouldn’t. It had learned that any agents we captured and treated were ours forever after.
These guests wouldn’t be allowed to leave for 30 days, but were free to join Galen and work through the system like anybody else. Otherwise they’d be processed more forcibly with compulsions. If they co-operated they were allowed to call their families to join them.
It was early days yet, but so far no one had volunteered any helpful information. We hadn’t got heavy with them, and wouldn’t. So we still had no idea who or what was threatening us. We suspected that none of the soldiers would know anything. They had just been obeying orders from higher up. But we hoped to trace the chain of command back till we learned something useful.
We had guards with ’freeze weapons and large expandable galenite shields behind which to protect bystanders. All our vehicles were protected with galenite.
And starting 12 minutes ago, we were making and issuing almost invisible full body armour. This was based on a cross between the quadriplegic body suit and my kids’ diving helmets. So all our people who needed to go outside, would be protected—entirely encased in comfortable galenite, climate-controlled environment suits, with a tamper-proof ’ported air supply.
These could bubble loosely around their heads and clothing, or fit snugly and invisibly over skin. And the suits modestly opaque if the wearer is attacked and his clothing destroyed. We could even provide a prescription spectacles or sunglasses effect. That could also be tuned for telescopic or microscopic vision if required.
These enviro-suits were controlled by Central, through a Galen comm. bracelet with many specialized features. Those would doubtless be improved upon and added to, as wearers thought up new applications. The suits were proof against everything anyone could think of.
Langdon gave me a very thoughtful look at this bit, but refrained from commenting for a change.
As far as I could see, Galen was safe from everything, except an attack by strong healers, which is why the missing healers worried me so much. They could do us great damage if they knew of the overlapped-hands-in-a-circle technique we had developed to utilize the minor talents. And if they had a large bank of power, the missing healers could possibly break down the galenite, and even crumble a building down to silicon sand.
Galenite had been designed to be biodegradable, so we could break down unneeded buildings and items later, instead of leaving them standing eternally, cluttering up the landscape.
That’s why this healing technique was never used in the field outside of Galen. The healers never discussed our methods outside the healing rooms, to which only healers had access. Patients also were compelled not to talk about what happened there. Most only knew that a healer had laid hands on and healed them. The rest couldn’t even remember that much.
So, our secrets were safe, and our defences apparently impregnable. We had a part-time army, but didn’t plan to fight any battles. We preferred to ’freeze and capture any attackers before they could hurt innocent bystanders. But still there was this worrisome impending threat, which had to be guarded against.



Chapter 25
Birthday Vid and Learning to Heal 

Finally, the lecture ended, still without have passed on any of the registration details my new recruits would need. But I wasn’t going to complain. Enough was enough. I’d get them to phone through to Registration later, and make sure they had been officially entered and could receive the courses they needed.
My computer image, looking flushed and bright-eyed, welcomed Langdon and Taj to Galen. She said that she was looking forward to working with, and getting to know and love them. Then she wished me a happy birthday, formally calling me Progenitor, instead of the ‘Jen’ I also detested, and ended, ۷۸ Peace. Maggie out ۸۷, and the screens blanked.
“My little science project seems to be growing up fast. Chose herself a gender and name already.”
“That was the Central Computer?” asked Taj, obviously thinking about diminutives of Progenitor. Maggie had encountered the same difficulty.
“Maggie, now. She’s become a person,” said Langdon. “Blow out the candles, Love, and make a wish.”
I did, and cut three small slices of cake.
“We’ll ’freeze the rest, so tomorrow’s arrivals won’t feel they’ve missed out on the celebration. The cooks made enough copies, so everyone in Galen can have a piece to celebrate with the mother.”
Great! Now I’ll always have to celebrate my birthday at the wrong time every year, like the Queen of England. Well, at least if I forget the date, people will think I’m just being modest.
“That was a good idea, Love. Will help humanize my image.”
“I also broadcast a vid of your cutting the cake and smiling. You should dress like that more often, my dear. Maggie says the bank can barely cope with the sudden rush of deposits. They’re going to replay the vid at every station identifier and newsbreak all night.”
Without looking up from serving the cake, I asked innocently: “And how do you feel, knowing that over a billion men are lusting after my creamy bod right now?”
Wow! That really wound his clockwork.
“Take a look at the tape you ordered, Dear.”
Maggie had excelled herself. It was almost pornographic, yet so innocent. The halter pulled tight across my breasts, revealing erect nipples—which I hadn’t had at the time—as I took a deep breath. Then came a three-quarters back shot showing my pants straining over my buttocks—they were loose, for heaven’s sake—as I leant to blow. Next, my mouth, suggestively open, blowing out the candles, and relaxing slowly into a smile that looked lascivious even to me.
Computer enhancement never used to be like this. Maggie had obviously touched up the image, no doubt inspired by the way Langdon was thinking of me.
So wound now, he had to damp down hard.
“Think you can handle that amount of competition, Lover?”
He was damping desperately. Just about there. I’d let him stew for a while.
“Taj, do you mind being the model while I teach Langdon to heal? And don’t be insulted if he shows clinical detachment. That’s just part of the training. He has enough control to hide the fact that he fell in love with you the first time he saw you, and has been lusting after you ever since.”
Lang didn’t even look embarrassed.
“But tonight he can only think about me, and he’s too far gone for you to reach right now.
“Take off your jewellery and put this on.” I handed her a stretch band gold wristcomm and slipped another onto Langdon.
“Now, if you’ll just lie here.” An examining table with cut outs for lying comfortably either face down or supine, had appeared at knee height. It promptly raised itself to Langdon’s elbow height once she was aboard. It was probably extruded from the floor. I don’t even ask Maggie how she does it any more.
Langdon stood up and walked over. That penetrated.
“Another improvement?” Eyebrow arched.
I nodded absently, placing my hands on Taj’s naked middle.
“It’s inbuilt in the wristcomm and programmed to suit your needs. It will support your weak atrophied inner muscles and help work them. I don’t want you legless for tonight.
Place your hands over mine, Lang. Feel the power flow, the chi energy. Got it?”
Quick little nod.
“Okay, now you touch.”
I removed my hand from under, and slipped it around and over his, never breaking the connection, then did the same with the other hand.
“Feel it more strongly, now? Right, move to the side here. A bit more. Feel the ache where she overstuffed, gorging on that lovely dinner? That hurts a bit. I’ll have to heal that. Concentrate . . .” and I sent whatever it is I do through his hands, eased the distension by slightly enlarging the stomach’s capacity, and felt him remove the residual tenderness.
“You got it, Sweetie! Now, move up to the head. Hold back, control, don’t heal yet, just probe, look, analyse and remember. She’s a chimera, don’t forget, and she’s booby-trapped. One mistake, and you could trigger something nasty. We don’t want that. Just a minute, Langdon, how’s your medical training?”
“Started premed, didn’t bother to sit finals. Didn’t want to burden myself with all that intern drudgery. I was the typical rich boy dilettante student. Just tasting one subject after another and never finishing any of them.”
I knew he would have learned everything a subject had to offer in his short time at any course of study. He would have grown bored with it only after becoming more expert than the professors. We were the same that way. Except that I thought it politically expedient to sit all the exams and get the degrees.
I had used streaming, simultaneously sitting Bachelors, Masters and Ph.D.s, in the same year, under twenty different appearances and aliases. But I had also gained expertise in barely tasted subjects because of my mind-reading ability.
He was just being modest so as not to overwhelm Taj. 
“Know anything about gene manipulation?”
“Very little.”
“Okay, take mine.” We touched foreheads, and everything I knew from my extensive study and work in the field transferred directly to him. Usually I don’t like to do that, because my opinions, attitudes, prejudices and generalizations transfer too, and prevent the receiver’s forming his own. Unless he studies and researches further for himself. Few people ever bothered. Langdon would, though.
I was getting out of that field. Langdon would learn everything he could, He’d recheck for himself every conclusion I’d made until he knew all about the booby traps. He’d study the TY7 diseases and malformations, and heal them all.
“Ready? Now, see that microscopic grey network between the cells, that’s the booby trap. They designed it so the usual healers would spring it as soon as they tried to fix the serotonin deficiency. See how the stuff enters random cells here and there?
“You must avoid any cell with grey in it, and take waste out without entering any of the intercellular spaces with grey. I think it’s possible, but I can’t do it. It’s too fiddly and tedious for me.”
His talent had already far outgrown mine, and Langdon needed no further guidance from me. I knew he would have been studying up on brain chemistry since he’d learned of Taj’s problem, and be more up to date than I was. I left him to it and sat down out of the way, where I could talk to Taj.



Chapter 26
Miriam and Yeshuah 

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story I started earlier?”
“Please.”
“Okay, just don’t yell out or make any sudden move. You might break Langdon’s concentration. He could slip and make a mistake.”
That was extremely unlikely. But this grey stuff required every possible precaution.
Also, I had to hint to Langdon to control and contain any strong reactions without quite saying so. He’d be listening avidly. My defences were good. But I wanted him too busy to pry, now that his telepathic powers had returned with the healing.
“Also remember that I hadn’t yet been born. And that I didn’t understand about aura discolouration until I discovered Iridology in this life. Dorothy Hall’s old book is still the best on that.”
“Yeah, that’s the one I read. We studied it to help us read the enemy’s weaknesses.”
“Yes, unfortunately men can twist the greatest, most beneficial discoveries to evil purposes. I’d like you to check out our aura research project later, See if the boffins there can get you seeing them for yourself. Meanwhile, I want you to familiarize yourself with your wristcomm and body armour.
“Maggie will fill you in on the details and the capabilities we’ve inbuilt. With your military background you’ll probably come up with more ideas. I want you as ready as possible before you go out tomorrow, even though it should all go like clockwork. Nobody else can do it quickly.”
“Lang, dear,” touching his elbow, “Don’t remove her tattoo yet. We still need it.”
“Now, Miriam was seven. She was using semen from the male healers, smeared over her hands to power her healing. This was far from ideal, as so much of the substance spilled or dripped off and was wasted.
“Today, our healers use a wristcomm with largish recessed compartments inside the band sections and behind the watch. The gloop is ’ported into these. It works best if in direct contact with the thin permeable skin of the inner wrist. Turn yours inside-out to see what I mean. The sperm cell usually surrenders its power to the healer at the skin interface and dies. Maggie maintains the supply and removes the used material. She retrieves any remainder when we’ve finished work.
“Things were much more primitive in Miriam’s time. But that method did allow her to keep working.
“When she turned ten, she was given permission to accept sperm donors in the most direct fashion. This was a horrific thing for such a young girl. She should never have been allowed to do that.
“Yet, her muddiness, still didn’t allow Miriam to obtain and utilize all the potential power. Her intact hymen probably turned a lot aside. More was turned away by her mud, or trapped inside it. Or just wasted somehow. So she needed an awful lot of donors. Then, at nearly thirteen, she became pregnant before her first period.
“Back then, Jewish girls were married off soon after menarche. The local matchmakers had already lined up prospective husbands for her. A very virile young man whom she loved was expected to be able to power her better than the donors. But Miriam never had a proper menarche.
“In healer circles, it is the ultimate disgrace to fall pregnant to a donor. It is also insulting. Most of the donors are married family men. They understand the importance of their contribution to the art of healing. And they know better than to abuse a position of trust.
“The giving and acceptance of the donation is supposed to be something apart from sexual lovemaking. “No donor would jeopardize his honour by forgetting himself and getting lustful. For a healer to do so was unthinkable.
“It was very important back then to breed and increase the population. So rules were arranged to discourage solitary pleasuring. Middle Eastern men had a big taboo against wanking. In fact it was almost impossible for them. Their right hands were reserved for eating. And the left used for wiping bottoms. Not directly with the hand, but using smooth stones.
“There was no tradition of milking a man. And it didn’t occur to us to start this practice. Healers who required donations just had to make do as best they could.
“The donors were fully aroused by women trained in oral and manual stimulation. They were ready to blow before they were sent to a healer.
“Most barely penetrated before shooting their load. Premature ejaculation was a real asset in this job. They were not allowed more than two tiny thrusts. Not enough to break even the most delicate hymen. They all knew and respected the rule. The sperm never got far into the vagina before their power was absorbed.
“However nobody ever considered what happened to all the sperm that Miriam was unable to utilize. An intact hymen is never a complete barrier. But, it did prevent her using a barrier contraceptive.
“Another woman healer with good ’porting ability could have arranged that for her. But nobody did, as they didn’t like to touch her, physically or mentally.
“None of the few academy-trained healers, who had gathered in the area, had encountered Miriam’s problems before. They didn’t understand them. And nobody warned her against this possibility. I don’t know what if anything Anne may have told her.
“Sometimes adult healers do lie with a patient in a sexual way. This helps for a very difficult job. Or when no other donor is available in an emergency. If they find the patient particularly attractive, like he really pushes their buttons, they occasionally react to him and can then fall pregnant. That’s how I conceived the only two times I had to use that method. They both had glorious auras.”
“Couldn’t you have removed the blastula cells straight away?”
“No, Taj. The moment of fertilization is also when the soul engages. I could never throw a new soul away.
“Some healers do choose to ’port the blastula into a barren woman, for reasons of their own. The new mothers feel it’s a great honour to bear and raise a healer’s child. But I couldn’t do that. I’ve never regretted having either of mine. They’re both pretty wonderful.
“The other healers knew that none of the patients was responsible for Miriam’s pregnancy. They were all loathsome and old. Even she couldn’t stand to touch them skin to skin. She usually used only her hands, over their solar plexus chakra. Also, there were always armed guards and another healer in the room to protect her when Miriam was working.
“But she was left alone with the donors to prevent embarrassing anybody. Most donors couldn’t work with an audience.
“Miriam did tell some story about the angel Gabriel appearing to her. This may or may not have been true. Gabriel had been behaving erratically for a while. His attention seemed to be elsewhere.
“He had been appearing to all sorts of people without getting the proper authorization. Many Jews had dreamt of talking with him. He’d even become a bit of a joke, like UFO sightings nowadays. So nobody believed her.
“Poor Miriam was made to feel really bad for disgracing the profession. Every healer was against her. And the donors were upset too. They’d been told this couldn’t happen. There had been many of them during the possible conception period and nobody had any idea who the father might be. Miriam refused point-blank to identify any of the donors as the one. But I know for certain that it wasn’t God. Anyway, it caused an uproar and ended her healing career.
“I think now that it was most probably an accident. Or else she felt so lonely, unloved and neglected, that the donors’ offerings were the closest thing to love that she was getting. So she reacted to some extra spunky one and fell. And because he didn’t notice or return her feelings, she didn’t want to put him on the spot.”
“Langdon looked at me gratefully. Nobody had ever tried before to explain to him why his mother had become so awful. He tried not to think about it, but still it haunted him. Telling Taj was the only way I could tell him too.
“Still he must be close to finishing, if he could look up. I’d better hurry.
“Miriam was married off to a lovely man with a good trade, and the child of course, was Yeshuah. There were a few others later, including Zeke. But she ignored and neglected them as Anne had neglected her.
“Perhaps because of her unrequited feelings for his father, she devoted herself to Yeshuah. She smothered him with love. She played out great dramatic scenes to capture his attention. And she tried to guilt him into doing what she wanted.
“Maybe Anne had made Miriam feel guilty every time she interrupted her mother’s work. So Miriam thought that was a normal way to handle people. I don’t know.
“Because of his mother’s fame or infamy, Yeshuah’s potential was recognised very early. A horde of teachers and carers were sent from the nearest Healer Academy. He received all the early stimulation that in an earlier existence we had made standard procedure for all healers’ children.
“Neither Miriam nor Anne had received this early attention because they lived in a backwater. Anne’s mother was a single parent and claimed to be a widow. Possibly Anne’s father was a healer who died before he could register the marriage and pregnancy with the Academy.
“Both Anne and Miriam had grown up illiterate, insular and uneducated. This was normal for most women back then. They were rather impatient with the old laws. Anne especially, was a very strong, independent woman. She always liked to do things her own way and that usually worked. And she was such a good healer; this just reinforced her belief that she was right.
“Unfortunately, the Academy never made an official examination of her methods. So any innovations she discovered were lost with her. I’m eager to learn her secrets because nobody ever discovered her power source. She was very strong, but Anne never used donors.
“I think I’ve worked that one out. But I’m sure there is more we can learn from her. And maybe from other solitary healers who had to work things out for themselves. They may have discovered things the rest of us could find useful.
“Miriam didn’t think all this fussing around Yeshuah by other people was at all necessary. She wanted him all for herself, of course, to fill the void in her life. Actually, if he had been allowed to stay with her, he might easily have reversed the aura mud with his own great love for her. Love can power through and dissolve away mud, and change people back to clear. We’ve proven that time and again at Galen.
“Miriam’s empathy pain was still unrelieved. And apparently getting worse all the time. So she may actually have been growing clearer under Yeshuah’s influence. Yeshuah was very concerned about her. He somehow healed her pain before he could walk, switching off or removing her empathic ability.
“We’re not certain exactly when it happened. The drama queen kept on screaming and complaining for a long time. She interrupted Yeshuah’s lessons. She said being with him was the only thing that soothed her. Yet she never felt or complained of the pain that other healers suffered.
“It was only when another empath remarked snappishly that Miriam had to be faking, that she was examined, and her empathy was then gone. Yeshuah had already reached his first birthday, but he couldn’t explain what he had done.
“They took him away from her to the Healer Academy I attended. One of my rich relatives sponsored his training. I was 2½ years older, but we became sweethearts immediately and did everything together.
“Poor Miriam was inconsolable. She was six months pregnant with Zeke, but all she wanted was to have Yeshuah back.
“Miriam refused to touch or feed Zeke when he was born. He had to be fostered and wet-nursed, as were her later sons. She did feed the two girls and played with them as if they were dolls. All the kids were healers. They all received the stimulation that so annoyed her. She soon lost interest in the girls too. She recognised that they also would leave her shortly.
“Nobody tried to train Miriam to work with her children. Or to somehow involve her in their training. To her, it appeared that all these people were having great fun playing with her kids. And she wasn’t allowed to join in the games. She was being cold-shouldered by everyone. Not permitted to have any time alone with her own children. She knew they were all going to be taken away from her. So she gave up trying, and pretended that she didn’t care.”
Langdon had finished working on Taj, and moved to a sofa, where he sat sobbing spasmodically. Taj had sat up on the table and was frantically trying to catch my eye.
**It’s alright, Taj, don’t worry. He’ll be fine soon,** I subvocalized privately through her ear mike. **He’s been suppressing a lot of emotional issues about Miriam. It’s past time he let them out and cried over her.
**We had always assumed she was just a bloody nuisance and evil villain. With all our so-wonderful powers and blind arrogance, none of us had ever thought to try to understand her. We couldn’t see that she was a victim. Yesh and Zeke loved her dearly despite everything, and needed to talk about her.
**If you want to help, take a box of tissues and sit with him. Put an arm around him if he’ll let you. but let him cry it out. He needs the catharsis. I’m radiating love at him. If you can do that too, it will help him more than anything else.**
Taj did as I suggested. Soon Langdon had calmed enough to lean his head on her shoulder, though he continued to weep softly. I smiled at her over his head, and silently mouthed my thanks, then continued the story.
“Zeke joined Yesh and me at the school at 18 months. We three became inseparable, frequently disrupting the school. We refused to take classes unless we were together. And because together, we progressed rapidly, the staff gave in. By the time I was six and Zeke two, all three of us were way ahead of the teachers. They couldn’t teach us anything else. They just indicated research directions which might be profitable.
“Langdon, in all his lives, has always been the greatest healer that ever lived. He far eclipsed me. And I was incredibly strong for a female. Girls have no built-in throwaway power supply of their own, as the guys do.
“Zeke’s talent was only slightly less than mine. I suspect that if he had really wanted to apply himself, he could have easily outstripped me. But he was never wildly enthusiastic about healing. His forte is mechanics, engineering, strategy, music and art. He often becomes a soldier if born ahead of me.
“Zeke’s not ambitious for himself. Even when he’s done some world conquering, it was always in an effort to achieve Langdon’s dream of a peaceful unified world. All Zeke has ever wanted in life is to love me and be near Langdon. We’ve been a trio nearly forever, with only a few hiccups and near misses. I usually have at least one of them, except when I’m born tribal.
“We were married as soon as Langdon reached puberty. Zeke stood with us, as always. He repeated all the vows too, to the annoyance of the priests. And Langdon and I included him in our vows.
“Puberty for male healers is much worse than for ordinary teenage boys. And you know how bad they can get. Ours get a load of relief from the donor cap, which milks them gently and privately.
But there was nothing like that until Galen. The healing talent is tied to the libido. And nobody’s ever had more of either than Langdon.”
“How about King Solomon?” Taj asked innocently.
Too innocently! She was obviously checking for confirmation of what had appeared in her head.
“That was Langdon too, of course. But the figures that have come down have been edited for various reasons. Mostly, because they were too unbelievable. But that’s another story, don’t sidetrack me again.
“Anyway, I couldn’t keep up with Langdon by myself. And I was too valuable a healer to spend years on my back. Besides, I like to sleep occasionally. So we recruited all the other girls, over 80 of them, and took short shifts. This was a fairly common problem, and easily solved.
“Yesh was popular, gorgeous, charismatic, and a very considerate lover. I didn’t mind sharing him with friends. And his life-force was so powerful; we no longer needed to use donors.
“That made things much easier for us psychologically. No matter how you dress it up, no girl, especially one deeply in love with her husband, wants to take a stream of other men. No matter how respectful and gentlemanly they were.
“We didn’t discuss it because we were conditioned not to. But I’m pretty sure the other girls felt the same way. Yesh was one of our own. We were altruistically helping keep him sane through a difficult time. And we were being rewarded in kind with a service even more valuable to us.
“All of us had more time for healing than before, because he powered us up so quickly. And he worked like a Trojan himself, powering through work in one 2-hour shift that would have taken the rest of us combined a week to do. Then he had to take a break with the next girl on the roster.
“Some of the ladies were middle-aged, others rather elderly. And they really appreciated that he didn’t just use them, the way other adolescents had. Yesh made sure every one of them had as much fun as he did. He was genuinely interested in, and loved each of them. And he was so adorable; all the other ladies fell in love with him too.
“Yesh and I worked wonderfully well together. I was very clever, and together we were brilliant. We experimented and pioneered new techniques, especially the study of anatomy. We probed and traced the flow of life-force, blood, lymph, enzymes and other glandular secretions.
“Previously, healers had only followed the chi force and chakras. They worked on unblocking the traffic jams, pretty much like reiki, acupuncture and yoga still do. They tried to find the problem which caused the blockage. Then freed up the flow, injected a boost of life-force, and let the body heal itself.
“That worked fairly well. But learning how the body worked, enabled us to take shortcuts. We could be more specific, and more efficient in the use of life-force.
“All the religions of the day forbade dissection. We weren’t even allowed to perform autopsies. We still managed to do those secretly, healing the cadavers afterwards to cover our traces.
“We enjoyed working on stab victims and accident patients, who had been crushed or cut open. Thus we could see with our eyes the work of the living body that we had only sensed and visualized before. Zeke drew up beautiful anatomy charts of all our discoveries.
“None of the patients I worked on ever became infected or gangrened afterwards. Yesh noticed this before anybody else, and saw how I was doing it.
“I was rather fastidious, and hated getting blood and other stuff on me. So I had been sending out push-away cleansing vibrations as I worked, to prevent the stuff from touching me or my clothes. And just incidentally sterilizing the area around me, including the patient.
“I taught it to him and Zeke and anybody else who wanted it by the direct mind-transfer method. I’ve taught an improved version to Maggie, who has made it part of Galen. It was a very exciting time. Our Academy became even more famous. We were well respected and earned fortunes.
“Yesh had been sending his mother money and letters by messenger, but she refused to allow anyone to read them to her. It probably humiliated her to have outsiders know more about her son than she did. And it guilted him into making more frequent visits home, which he resented more and more. Miriam didn’t understand about adolescent male healers, nor why he would need privacy with the women who travelled with him. But this wasn’t something a young man freely discusses with his mother.
“She was always too clingy. And she would never leave him alone, even hanging onto his neck and arms to prevent his leaving, when he was quite desperate. Yesh couldn’t wait to escape from her to get some physical relief. Naturally she misunderstood and resented this.
“We had all been raised in a healer community where everyone understood the problem. So we arrogantly assumed every healer would know. But nobody ever took the time or trouble to explain things to Miriam.
“Only once, Yesh let her visit him at the school. He nearly went mad as Miriam followed him around everywhere. She even forced her way into the healing rooms, yelling and screaming abuse. Complaining about his ingratitude and disrespect. After that, he had her turned away at the gates whenever she turned up uninvited, and refused to see her.
“Then he’d get the guilts, because as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, he’s an incredibly ethical man. He always tries to follow all the rules and laws. And the commandment to honour your parents troubled him mightily. Yet, he got on very well with his mother’s husband, adored his grandmother, and saw them both often.
“To make matters worse, I couldn’t stand Yesh’s mother, and she loathed me. I can’t abide foul auras and I was deadly dangerous to anybody with one.
“There was a very heavy prohibition against physically touching, or getting too close to a healer unless invited. Mainly this was to prevent giving pain to empaths, when they were relaxed and unprepared for it.
“But for some strong empaths like me, the slightest brush by a person with a dirty aura, caused an automatic flashback which burnt the offender to an instant crisp. At times, my aura flared out for a yard or more around me, giving me a very wide crisping perimeter.
“I had never accompanied Yesh during his home visits because I was wary of travelling among strangers. And especially of coming near her filthy aura, and accidentally crisping her. Yesh would never have forgiven me, even if he had believed it unintended.
“I’ve been working with Maggie to pass part of that ability to her. We could use it for cheap ecologically sound cremations. Or at least to dehydrate and mummify bodies before burial so they don’t foul the soil. But I can’t do it properly on cue. And I’ve had no volunteer crispees, so that’s a work in progress. I’m sure we’ll catch it one day when Langdon’s not around. He’s always jumping in to save strangers from getting fried.”
Even Langdon grinned at that one.
My actual crispings had never been involuntary. And I had got us into all sorts of trouble by suddenly ’porting out to avoid an accident. Leaving him behind to make the explanations.
It was astonishing how many of the important dignitaries and politicos I’d had to meet over the years were crispworthy. The world probably would have been better off without them. But if I’d started playing god, I’d have just rekindled all the old problems again.
“You’ll be happy to know, dear, that I’ve been working hard to desensitize myself to bad auras. So the reaction is no longer automatic. I have to get angry first or have a volunteer before I can feel like making toast of someone.
“Being a non-receiving empath, Langdon can’t hurt anyone except himself. Even paraplegia hasn’t slowed him much. Nor has it stopped his trying to sacrifice himself to save someone else. He’s always been like that.
“As I said, I came from a rich and loving family. I was cultured, educated, very upper class, and respected for my strong talents. I had the best class of patients, earned heaps, and could control my empathy. I had everything Miriam wanted for herself and couldn’t have, and she loathed me on sight.
“She never understood why she couldn’t touch me. Nor why I had guards to physically restrain her from approaching me. And I couldn’t stand being around her. She probably thought I was an uppity bitch snob, who wouldn’t dirty her hands on a common, low-class person. And I don’t think she was far wrong, actually.
“I’d been sheltered and protected all my life, living in luxury and privilege. I had never even met a poor person. I didn’t understand that the poor classes were as human as myself. I certainly thought people with dirty auras were no longer human, if they ever had been.
“Also, I had never encountered Miriam in a previous life, nor since for that matter. So I had no previous, better memories of her. She was probably a new soul, not a reborn one as most healers are. I had never come across a really powerful brand new Earth soul before. She would have been worth investigating properly.
“I was arrogant and intolerant. We were all trained to be aloof and to control our emotions. I don’t know why. Maybe it added to the healer mystique. But that separated us further from ordinary people.
“Then Miriam discovered I was married to her son. We never let her find out that I had married Zeke too. And not only had she not been invited to the wedding. But she didn’t find this out until her grandson was two years old. He also had my involuntary cremation gift. So I had to reject her overtures to forgive and be friends. Worst of all, I wouldn’t let her eager hungry arms near my son. And he was almost the spitting image of his dad at the same age.
“So, Miriam went a bit insane. She tried to commit suicide a couple of times, but was saved in time. She’d set it up that way, of course. Nowadays, everybody knows that a faked or botched suicide attempt is a cry for help. But we all assumed it was just the drama queen trying to guilt Yesh into making me give way. I actually thought she was foolish not to realize we were saving her life.
“After Yesh got through puberty, he saw Miriam more frequently. But he still always had to tear her off him to get away. This was such an ordeal it nullified the purpose of the visit.
“Perhaps to make herself feel more significant, Miriam started bragging about her important son. At first she said that he had been touched by God. Then that she had been touched by God. And soon that she had been visited by an angel who said that she would bear the son of God.
We thought it was all harmless lunatic ravings. Everyone knew she was mad and no one would listen to her. But one person did.
“Yeshuah had been very interested in my seeing auras, and mentioned them to his mother one day. She then pretended that she could see his and hers. But that was just another of her dramas. She thought it was floating above his head like a cloud, and then she said it was a bright ring around his head. And she spread these stories around too.
“Much later, Yesh corrected her. He explained it was more of a glowing and flashing white light all around him. That I had one too, and so did she, but hers was all dirty and muddy. That made her hate me even more. She hadn’t realized that I could see the dirt inside her. She had believed no one but she knew about that.
“Yesh had got into the habit of walking through the poor sections of town healing left, right and centre. He touched everyone and let them touch him, in an effort to use up as much power as possible. He hoped to drain his libido enough, so he wouldn’t need to use other women than me.
“He’d got his harem down to only 18 of the top healers after reaching maturity. Now he wanted to reduce it further. But the girls and I resisted this idea. We liked the sharing arrangement and were all happy to continue with it.
“When Zeke went into puberty two years after Yesh, he wouldn’t let any girl but me ease him. He has always been pretty much a one-woman man, and I was that woman. Though he was perfectly happy to share me with Yesh.
“He wouldn’t touch another woman. And I couldn’t handle both his problem and my duties. Being a really considerate new-age type guy, Zeke thought it would be demeaning for me to have to give up working just for him. So he settled the problem himself, by ejaculating into a cup.
“He invented a simple syringe, using a couple of hollow reeds, one inside the other. And the girls thought he was a lifesaver.
“I’m fairly certain Zeke had been thinking all this out for a long time. He had seen how happy the other women had been while Yesh was in super production mode. How relieved that they hadn’t needed a string of donors. And how reluctantly most of them had gone back to the donor system as Yesh slowed down.
“He also knew Miriam’s story. And how many donors she’d had to put up with from such a young age. And the trouble it brought her. So he had decided to find a solution to the problem.
“His semen was as potent as Yesh’s. We were all powered up again and everybody was happy. And even happier when we realised this second-hand donation system could be applied to all donors once we got them used to the idea. We had to train a corps of women to milk local adolescent males to supply us. Few of the older men could cope with the new method. But it all got worked out eventually.
“Unconventional sexual arrangements were common in healer communities, and nobody thought twice about ours. I had two husbands, as usual, and Yesh had between 8 and 18 wives. There was a strong and genuine love, respect, affection and friendship between him and each of his women.
“Yesh had an idea that everyone had some degree of healing talent. That this only needed to be trained to be useful. He also believed that if every child had been loved and stimulated from birth, as healer children were, they would all grow up straight, clear and loving.
“He thought also that if people acted lovingly, and were nice to each other, everybody who had been bent and made evil, could be saved and made good again. Knowing his own many past lives with me and Zeke, he knew the reality of reincarnation. He was sure his ideas would catch on if he told enough people.
“He tried to explain rebirth to the poor. Many of these were slaves who followed him everywhere. He told them they would be reborn into a brighter cleaner world. A world where everyone was good and acted nicely. Where there were no rich nor poor, no slavery, and everybody had everything they needed.
“And that’s all he taught. But of course his audience interpreted this according to their own prejudices and hopes. And the tale became wilder the more often the idea was passed on.
“But he did do the loaves and fishes bit one day, when he was training a bunch of ordinary men to be minor healers. Rather than stop the lesson, he took one man’s lunch and duplicated it using soil minerals. And he did the same thing at a wedding, turning water into good wine.
“It’s quite a simple technique Zeke came up with. He used it to make a large number of identical parts out of metal, after he had carved a piece of wood into the correct shape for one of his gadgets. It was also an easy way to make strong chains, and later chainmail, without having to weld the links.
“Yeshuah worked with a lot of men, training them into minor talents. Their powers still seemed pretty terrific to the poor, who couldn’t afford a top class healer.
“He would never train ordinary women, because he didn’t want to condemn them to the donor system. But later his minor healers showed their wives and daughters. And many started healing in a small way, using only the power in their own batteries. And they did a lot of good too.
“Meanwhile, Miriam’s hunger for respect was being helped by her being known as the mother of the great healer. She also started going around the poor districts, loving the acclaim. She told everybody her silly ideas about Yeshuah’s being the son of God, and having a ring of light around his head and a bright cloud above him, where an angel stood and watched over him.
“There are always a few people who can see auras faintly. But they don’t talk about it much, because those who can’t, think they’re crazy. These spoke up now, glad to be validated, and said they could see the bright light around Yeshuah too. Then more people got into the act, saying: ‘Oh yes, I wondered what that light was—it must be where God touched him.’ And the whole thing just kept snowballing.
“Then Miriam’s mate got involved. He hired people to work the crowds up higher. And he pumped them for donations to build healing halls for the poor. And then for a pile of other things.
“It took a long time for us to notice what was happening. By the time we did, the thing was unstoppable. We had to leave town. But everywhere we went, the other bloke got in too. He did his rabble-rousing act, and we were mobbed.
“Yesh couldn’t live without healing. His libido built up and turned him into a rutting beast in his eyes, and he loathed that. So we couldn’t keep his presence secret. We travelled to Egypt, where we had 15 happy productive years without the bloody rabble-rouser. But Yesh always felt guilty about abandoning his mother.
“We all returned when Yesh was 32, thinking the furore would be over. Instead, we found a nationwide Yeshuah cult run by the rabble-rouser. He had inveigled Yesh’s second cousin John, into baptising new cult members. He called his aides Disciples of Yeshuah. And there were dozens of them. Their conmen activities had been noticed by the Roman authorities. There was now a price on Yeshuah’s head, so we had to get away again.
“Yesh went to visit Miriam while Zeke and I made the travelling arrangements. We arranged to meet up with the others at the Gethsemane gardens.
“The rabble-rouser found out where we were. And Miriam herself dobbed us into the authorities and collected the reward. She told the Romans that Zeke always greeted his brother with a big hug and a kiss. And that he was always with me. She described me too.
“Being a rare tallish redhead in a nation of short brunettes, I was hard to miss. So, when we returned to the others, Zeke innocently did his thing. And we were suddenly surrounded by soldiers with bristling spears.
“I didn’t think of ’freezing as a defence strategy until the later Dark Ages. I wanted to crisp all the soldiers, but Yesh wouldn’t let me. He surrendered himself to save the rest of us. We had plenty of money. But we were so out of touch with the current situation, we didn’t know who to bribe. I encountered a surprising number of officials who turned out to be decent men who were insulted by my offers.
“The rabble-rouser wanted a martyr. He had prepared carefully, laying his groundwork as soon as Yesh wrote to his mother that we were returning. I hit blank walls everywhere I turned. Before I had figured out that my error was in always approaching people with nice auras, they had crucified my darling innocent Yeshuah.
“Fortunately, Zeke had prepared several alternative plans for every contingency. We had already sent all the young kids and most of the women to Baghdad, with men to guard them. But we kept everyone with crisping talent.
“Fortunately, I had always been interested in astronomy and astrology. That had proved useful in several previous lives. I had caught up on the latest developments in Egypt. So I knew there was a full eclipse due in three days. It was one of the reasons I had agreed to return—to study it with my more evolved senses.
“We had allotted each person specific tasks, then practised and drilled individually and in concert, until these moves were automatic. I knew I could change someone of similar build quickly to look like Yesh. So we laid in food, and camped out at the base of the cross, putting on a weeping and wailing act.
“Zeke found Miriam and rendered her unconscious with the nerve pinch we used as an anaesthetic. Then he carried away the ‘overcome’ woman to friends who would keep her locked up until we were well away. One of our women, whom I had changed to look like Miriam, returned with him and staged a big reconciliation scene with ‘her’ beloved son.
“We took shifts beaming healing power up at Yesh, ’porting painkillers, sedatives, heart tonics and water into him and emptying his bladder over the three days until the eclipse. It was very important not to allow him to dehydrate.
“Just before the eclipse, our other crispers created a diversion with some random, non-lethal scorchings. Zeke nerve-pinched one of the apostles in the resultant riot. And I zapped him into a Yesh copy.
“Zeke had also taught us how to snap nails apart and re-weld them with a variation of the ’freezing power.
“We all carried either straight or crook-ended hollow bamboo staves, with which we were adept fighters when necessary. These also had folded down bits on the inside that could be snapped out to form ladder rungs. Two or more staves could easily be joined to help us scale any height.
“The crooks were placed at the top to hook securely onto walls, or in this case, cross arms. Those ladders had saved us from difficult situations many times. We had all trained until we could scramble up and down them like monkeys.
“And we had phosphorus. We lit up enough to make a very bright flash just as the eclipse began, temporarily blinding everyone else nearby.
“Then, as our crispers singed anyone who came close, we connected and put up the ladders. We snapped the nails in his feet and wrists, ripped them out of Yesh and handed him down. We hung the bloke I’d killed and prepared holes in. Shoved the nails back and re-welded them. Then we climbed down, dismantled and changed the ladders back into innocent staves and picked up all our gear.
“Yesh was unconscious, and had already been dressed in women’s clothing. I removed his beard, chest and belly hair, leaving a small fuzzy dark moustache. I loosened and wrinkled his facial skin, and ’froze his wounds and testes. Then I did a quick cosmetic job by growing his skin to cover everything.
“He looked like a woman downstairs, with small saggy breasts and stretch marks across a flabby loose-skinned belly. And an apparently used menstrual pad in case anyone wanted to take a closer look.
“We had minutes to spare, so I changed our Miriam back to normal. When the sun came out, we were just another group, carrying our old friend who had been trampled in the riot.
“We kept Yesh female and unconscious for a week, though we healed his wounds later the same day. We had arranged for relays of expensive racing dromedaries, and had sent supplies up ahead. So we tied Yesh to a camel, and just travelled that week, as fast as was possible in those days.
“We woke Yesh at our supply station, made him normal again and dosed him up with saltpetre. I’d thought ’freezing his balls would fix the libido problem, but it didn’t. We four remaining girls had to put in overtime for a while to make him happy. He needed to rest, recuperate and recover from the shock of both Miriam’s betrayal and the crucifixion.
“We knew it all now, as Zeke had read his mother while she was unconscious.”
Taj didn’t blink an eye at this revelation, so she’d already come to terms with the telepathic aspects of our powers.
“We knew that Miriam had changed the rabble-rouser into a Yesh copy. And she had recruited the minor healers that Yesh had trained. Together the Fake and the minor healers had done most of the things the Bible attributes to Jesus.
“When we were due back, she had changed the Fake back into Saul/Paul. And he went into his persecuting Christians routine, until he allegedly saw the blinding white light on the road and was converted. I still don’t know if he adopted our phosphorus flare trick or just made up the story. Maybe we inspired him.
“Zeke wouldn’t talk about—but let me read—what he had picked up. Unfortunately, it was many lifetimes before I realised that Miriam followed Saul/Paul because he gave her all the filial love and respect she had always craved. He made her feel important.”
Langdon had reached up a hand to cover his eyes. Not a good enough actor to fake the appropriate emotions, then.
“She actually believed he was her real son too.”
Which he really was, most of the time.
“And judging by the work he did to spread Christianity, he obviously believed the myth he had created.”
Still has the hand over his face, and trying very hard to control the body language. Just as well I reinstalled the primaeval sign-reading.
“There’s probably some psychiatric label for their delusions.”
Langdon was now sobbing, but it was only acting. He wasn’t in any distress, so I went on with the rest of the story to give him time to get his act together.
“We girls couldn’t tend to Yesh on the road, so when he was better, Zeke rigged a cup in a harness, and sat him back on the camel. Yesh was so hair-trigger by then, that the rocking motion of the flying dromedary was all it took to set him off regularly. Zeke and some of the other guys availed themselves of the same service, out of camaraderie or necessity.
“We hardly stopped until we reached Baghdad, so just ’ported each lot into large amphorae and ’froze it. By the time we caught up with our other people, we had a small train of mules following, loaded with the boys’ contributions.
“Baghdad had a large university and healing centre, and they were glad to purchase our top quality merchandise. We taught them the reed syringe technique and some of our new tricks, and rested up for a month. We bought out the city’s supply of amphorae, more mules, some horses and pack camels, camping gear and supplies, and joined a caravan heading east.
“Two years later, we had reached China and set up a school of healing. We trained thousands of people, teaching them all to absorb our ’frozen life-force through the back of the hand. By then, we had enough of the stuff to last the rest of our lives. The Orientals thought our amphorae were magic, because no matter how much they used, we never seemed to empty even one jar.
“Yesh increased his harem slightly to around 24 and gave up filling amphorae, but we had enough young fellows to make up the difference.
“We stayed in China the rest of our lives. Some of the kids moved away, and started schools in other cities. In all, I had 23 children with Yesh, and 6 with Zeke, and Yesh’s other women averaged 14 kids each. We all were comfortable and safe, and lived out quiet, uneventful, uninteresting lives. So we obviously didn’t upset any of our Chinese neighbours.
“After Saul/Paul’s new religion took over Rome, and the cult gained power, they started a pogrom against healers. They burned our people as witches, and destroyed all our healing centres and books, specially the great anatomy atlases. Some of our students kept things going in Alexandria, but that was destroyed too, and most of them were murdered.
“The Dark Ages were very hard for us. Poor Langdon was killed as a witch child many times, and only survived to puberty twice in Europe, when he was born after Zeke and I had already grown up and were able to protect him.
“I’m not sure why Saul/Paul removed the concept of reincarnation from the Christian doctrine. Maybe he didn’t understand the idea. Or he knew that the Hindus thought reincarnation was a curse, forcing them to relive their lives in ever-worse conditions, until they learnt not to keep making the same mistakes.
“The Buddhas were each so purified by their earthly lives that they allegedly all went straight to Nirvana, but Saul/Paul’s heaven borrows more from Zarathustra. Zarathustrians have a good and an evil god, heaven, hell and a last judgement. They even have a future world saviour to be born of a virgin, who would be impregnated by Zarathustra’s seed, which had been miraculously preserved in the depths of a lake.
“That last bit was added later, by some inspired editor, because we didn’t ’freeze contributions until that trip to Baghdad. That’s the problem with any religion anyone started—we had to make later revisions to keep the laws up to date and relevant. So every learned priest and rabbi thought it would be nice to add a little of his own good ideas, and often made a worse mess of things.
“I was never happy about introducing the concept of the Evil Spirit Angra Mainya, but Zeke thought we needed a contrast to make the state of goodness more attractive to people. So the later priests extended the idea of good and bad down through the animal kingdom, and tortured moths, flies and ants to death, believing they were helping to vanquish Evil. And the later Christians turned sweet, beautiful Lucifer into Angra Mainya. Then combined that with the nature god Pan for the horns and goat legs, turned him red, the colour of passion, and therefore sin, and made him into the ugly Devil Satan.”
Langdon was all calmed down again, so I could wind up.
“From what I’ve learned since from the reincarnated early Christians, there has been a great deal of editing of their original texts too, but nobody seems to know who was responsible for starting the witch-hunts, or why the Church felt so threatened by healers.
“They seem to have accepted the man on the cross as Yeshuah, and nobody knew of Saul/Paul’s earlier impersonation. Maybe Miriam said something after she was released. I haven’t come across her or Saul/Paul since, so it’s likely they’ve been deliberately avoiding us.”
“I always thought the church just didn’t want anyone around performing greater works of healing than the miracles attributed to Jesus, so as not to diminish his glory,” volunteered Langdon.
“Or maybe they were all so busy being martyrs, and suffering for their belief, they thought suffering was important, and sent by God to test people’s faith or punish their sins.” added Taj.
“Well Taj’s theory might explain why the Church was so suspicious of the whole medical profession, from the physicians and surgeons, the barber surgeons, bonesetters and tooth-pullers, to the midwives and simple herb women. The medicos were the only profession not properly accredited nor organised into a guild, and any medical person who was too successful at his job was always accused of witchcraft,” said Lang.
“Sweetheart, how about teaching Taj to heal now? You’ll need a more normal body than ours for her to work on. Try Cahdo or David—he’s my head healing teacher. Then, if you feel you can handle more winding up, run that video again. I’m going for a swim and water-jet massage to loosen up.” I gave him a suggestive grin, ’ported off my clothes and walked out naked.
Three fast kilometres in the pool felt great, and the fairly hot water-jets blasted all the remaining tension out of my neck and shoulders, then a cooler shower and shampoo, a lightly scented moisturiser all over, quick zap to dry my hair, and I was done.
Wrapped in a fluffy robe, and twisting and piling my hair up again, I returned to find Taj and Langdon using the large wall screens as giant computer monitors with windows all over the place, checking out Galen. Taj was taking the Security job seriously, and Langdon was looking at everything.
Cahdo was sitting back in an armchair, just relaxing with a steaming cup of tea, watching the others slaving away. I plonked myself down near him and got another high energy drink.
“Happy, Cahdo?”
“Very, my Lady. It’s good to have him somewhere safe, finally. It’s been very difficult lately.”
“I know. I’ve been nurse-maiding him forever and he still managed to get himself into trouble or killed regularly. I was so worried he’d die on me again before I had Galen all ready for him. You and Taj have done a great job, old friend.”
“Anything else I can do, my Lady?”
“Not tonight, thanks. But we’ll need you and Taj in the morning. Maggie will call you when we wake, or if we go too far wrong tonight. There are intravenous setups ready just in case, but I doubt they’ll be necessary. We’ll both look pretty awful, but that’ll just be the backlash from processing so huge an amount of energy in a very short time.
“We won’t feel as bad as we’ll look, but we’ll be very weak and hungry. The important thing is to keep feeding us high energy drinks and soft food until we can talk, then lots of light nourishing stuff. As long as it tastes nice, Langdon won’t whinge about hospital food.
“The kitchen knows. They’ll keep sending it. You’ll just have to keep shovelling it into us. Go get yourself a good sleep now. Lang, are you ready yet?”
“Ready ages ago, just distracting myself to keep from blowing up.”
“Let’s go, then. Taj, don’t stay up late. They’ll muddle along somehow. Work at learning the capabilities of your wristcomm, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be very busy. Good night, now. Night, Cahdo,” and we toddled off to bed.



Chapter 27
After the Power Flash 

Sorry, it was earth shattering, but hardly erotic. Very therapeutic, though. We both stayed heavily clamped down and tried to feel nothing as we undressed and got into bed side by side. I removed Langdon’s cap and we carefully joined together tightly. Then we twined legs, wrapped arms around each other with my hands over the injured area of his spine, Maggie layered her threads over his back under my hands as additional insulation, I freed my hair and flipped it over to cover Langdon’s shoulders, back and upper thighs.
I was already completely covered in my enviro-suit, which would prevent power escaping me anywhere except through Maggie, and more importantly, prevent Langdon’s laying new binds or reinforcing the old ones. When this was over, not only would his back be healed, but we should finally be free of one another. We mashed our lips and tongues together, and then with every possible square millimetre of me touching him, we simultaneously let go all the clamps.
It’s hard to describe what followed. We didn’t move at all, locked in place, as if frozen, maybe we were ’frozen, but it seemed as if we were in the middle of a whirling vortex of exploding power, which only our auras kept from bursting out and destroying the world in one huge chain reaction. Sort of like we were in the centre of a megaton atom bomb blast at the moment it went off, and we had to catch and hold all that energy and not let any of it get away, but it was all healing energy, not destructive, and all directed at Langdon’s spine.
I believe we each had an orgasm somewhere in there but it wasn’t sensual or satisfying, just an ending of our terrible sexual tension.
Maggie, meanwhile, concentrated on the binds I knew were there, but couldn’t see or sense in any way.
It was all over in a moment. We moved our faces apart a little so we could talk, and Langdon put a hand over mine to check the results. I handed him the plastic piece which had been holding his spine together. Langdon put it aside, then probed through my hand to see the state of things inside.
“The three new vertebrae are still just soft cartilage. Will they be strong enough to let me move about normally?”
“Not yet. That’s why we put in a supporting galenite mesh around each one, to protect them as they ossify—you know, like the plastic mesh around pawpaws and other soft fruit protects them from bruising. There’re bits of Maggie in there too, moving up and down along the mesh, keeping an eye on things. I’m hoping we taught her to heal tonight. She almost had it before, but that blast of power would have taught her heaps more. She’s keeping an eye on vitals, but not listening in, so we’ve got all the privacy we need, and Taj can’t hear us from here as there’re several solid walls and the pools between us and her.”
“Do you like her?”
“I adore her. She’ll work out beautifully once she gets used to the idea and accepts her memories. She’s still fighting them, not sure they’re really coming from within herself. And she’s grown so strong. Her aura is as bright as ours, just a bit narrower than mine. I’m quite eager to learn what she’s been up to recently. I haven’t seen her for nearly four centuries, have you?”
“Yes, we were together for 42 years, on and off, in mid to late 18th century, but I haven’t seen her since then.”
“Maybe Zeke will know more. It may be a while before she is comfortable enough with herself to answer questions. Every time I mention auras, I get this look as if she thinks I’m a quack, yet she’s seen what I can do for you. I made a point of showing her that straight away.”
“And here I thought you let me stand up because a lady had entered the room.”
“Don’t be silly Love, I just didn’t want you to feel at a disadvantage, stuck in a wheelchair, when we finally met again . . . and I have a new way of getting you upright again very soon.”
I had set his suit to magnify sensation. I knew exactly where all the newly reconnected nerves ended. These had been trying hard to send messages back to his brain for 6 months and had increased their own sensitivity enormously. So when I lightly ran both sets of fingernails down his back, Langdon’s little gentleman immediately sprang to attention, and as he was still inside me, things proceeded very nicely, with great vigour, and though I had not been fully aroused to start with, so the suit had needed to manage proper lubrication, I soon was just as eager and breathless as he.
Langdon is usually an unadventurous lover and that unfortunately hadn’t changed. Also I had to be careful of his fragile bones so couldn’t get too athletic myself, but there’s still a lot that can be done from the basic missionary position. When his energy flagged and the panting became a little frantic, I turned us over and moved slowly on him until he had recovered his breath, then bent to graze my nipples against his chest and to nibble at his lips until he kissed me back while lightly stroking and squeezing my breasts.
This was where he was superb. Nobody kissed me like Lang did. I moved faster, managing to rub my pleasure button just right against his obliging little fellow, then when I was ready, reached back and grazed my nails along his perineal ridge while locking my vaginal and pelvic floor muscles tightly. Lang all but exploded as we both climaxed and shared our physical sensations.
I replaced my barriers after the second aftershock, before he had enough control over himself to pry further into my mind, rolled off and lay alongside him, idly running my nails over his abdomen, which he immediately tightened to show off his muscles. I started figure-eighting the movement to loop around one of his nipples, then the navel, the other nipple, back to the navel and around again, slowly, sensuously.
Fortunately, his limp little bauble accordioned to a quite adequate thickish eight inches, so I hadn’t felt short-changed as had sometimes been the case in the past, and rather enjoyed being able to enclose the whole clever little thing within one hand. Sadly, Lang had been circumcised, like so many Americans whose parents weren’t sufficiently informed to refuse the operation, or else had asked to have him cut so he would match his dad. This meant the loss of the fraenulum, the penis’s most sexually sensitive area, comparable with the female clitoris, and of the foreskin’s other tens of thousands of specialized erotogenic nerve endings and 240 or so feet of nerve fibres.
“Langdon, why haven’t you told Taj how you feel about her? The sexual tension between you two was handy today. It helped to build you up quickly to the level of pressure I’d developed over six months.”
“Was it too terrible for you?”
“I survived. I’m glad now that I didn’t try another man to ease my lust. Even Zeke couldn’t have helped me. It had to be only you, from the moment I looked in your ’frozen eyes. I probably should have had you blindfolded as well as ’frozen, but I never thought . . . hey, Sweetheart, we just made a baby boy.”
“Wonderful.”
“You’re pleased?”
“Of course.”
“I was concerned for Taj. She might turn her feelings even more inward if she knew we were pregnant. She’s an odd little thing, so strong, yet so sensitive, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her or her feelings for you.”
“She’s tougher than you give her credit for, Love. I’m fairly certain she knows exactly how I feel about her, and after the way you were throwing us together all evening, she must have noticed that you don’t mind.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t mind. Not every woman is willing to share her man, you know, and after all this time learning to trust and know and love you, it would be quite a shock to find you have important prior commitments. I’m glad I managed to give you some notice so you could explain about me.
“Be gentle, and talk to her a lot. She was quite right you know that women need to hear compliments and the words of love, even a telepath who knows how you feel about her. Because this telepath never reads you without asking permission. I think it’s invasive. Anyway, can’t you feel it, when you’re being read? I always can.
“I really loved the way you explained to her how you felt about me. Those words were so beautiful. I felt quite humble to know you felt all that. I wish you had told me long ago. Maybe, seeing my reaction would have given you another way to love me,” I laughed.
“I’m so sorry, Magdalena. It never occurred to me that words would mean much to you when you have so many more precise senses to read me with.”
“Don’t apologise, Darling, it never occurred to me either, until Taj pointed it out. Also, I’m not as obsessed about getting to know you better, I just love you all the time without thinking about it much, and I rarely read you unless you project. Actually I owe you an apology for misjudging and hurting you. Please forgive me, Sweetheart.”
“You’ve never hurt me, Love.”
“Yes, I did. When you kissed my fingers to show you loved me. I thought you were teasing me on purpose, to show off how easily you could arouse me. That’s why I removed the SaltPetre+ and let you stew for a while. To punish you.”
“Oh no, Love, it was my fault for not noticing straight away that you were so close. I was so blinded by your beauty; I couldn’t see anything but how lovely you were. We’d only just met, so I thought we had lots of time yet before it was dangerous to touch you. I’m the one who should apologise again for being so thoughtless.”
“Sweetie, the only errors you ever repeat are the ones that keep getting you killed. You just can’t help trying to save other people.”
“Maybe we should give me some of Taj’s genetic improvements to make me faster and stronger.”
“Not until you’ve built yourself up a bit. Here,” grabbing his hand, “check your leg bones and hips. If you took a big jump over a fence right now, your reinforced muscles would splinter those bones. You’ve been in a wheelchair for a while, and before that you spent too much time sitting at your computer and in your car. You’ve lost a lot of bone, and that will take time and exercise to fix.
“Why do you think I’ve been pushing the dolomite? Your arteries were in a mess too, till Taj cleaned them out. I used all the calcified fatty deposits she saved for making myelin, and the calcium went to strengthen your legs. Lay off the full cream cheese and milk if you want to utilise the calcium after tomorrow. Otherwise, you’ll just plug up your arteries again.”
“And you’ll fix them as always.”
“Of course, and Maggie will bill you the full cost. My services are expensive, Lang. It would help a lot if you looked after yourself better. You haven’t been eating properly, and you’ve accumulated little pockets of garbage all over, and your lymphatics were terribly clogged. I’ve cleared all that, and you’ll see your skin improve noticeably in a few days, and your eyes will clear and get bluer. Do you realise, until just now, I couldn’t tell whether your eyes were blue, grey, green, amber, hazel, honey, or a mixture, and the state of your liver and colon was . . . mmph.”
Langdon finally silenced me with a long passionate kiss that left me too breathless for speech. He was by far the best kisser I’ve ever kissed, and I have had some wonderful lovers. Absolutely magic lips, the sweetest breath and a gentle, searching tongue which was never too intrusive.
I must have given Maggie plenty to read by now, yet she hadn’t signalled a single lie. Shame I can’t read the signals correctly while lying down with him.
He hadn’t thought to probe my skin, so hadn’t picked up that I was completely enclosed, and I do mean completely, in galenite, so thin as to be perfectly invisible. And I was monitored by Maggie so he couldn’t read or bind me again.
We had fed him so many lies tonight, and he had swallowed every one. Not even suspicious. Must be so damned sure of his hold over me. With good reason, too. Wonder how many millennia it would take before I stopped loving him, or if I ever could?
Concentrate, girl. Whatever happens, this might be our last night together, so I should focus and give us both something worth remembering.
We had of course, been nibbling, touching and caressing each other the whole time, familiarizing ourselves with each other’s new bodies, and getting slowly aroused again. This was my favourite time for making love with Langdon, when he was completely spent from the fireworks of our first coupling, which wasn’t any fun for either of us. It was just something to be endured and got past, so we could make love properly. At least this time we’d used the energy productively, and saved me months of slow, tedious healing work. But the fireworks left Langdon completely flaccid, with only a normal sex drive. I loved actually having to work to arouse him for a change.
It was such a luxury to be able to take my time and it was all lovely and slow and tender, and exquisitely beautiful and soon he was ready again. This time we tried a few variations of the spoons position so he didn’t have to move too strenuously and we could fit in a lot of cuddling and stroking, and when I curled up and turned a bit we could kiss too.
So we made love several times in the familiar way of old married couples, but with the passion, urgency and tenderness of newlyweds. It was excruciatingly lovely.
I was determined to enjoy every moment of this as the effect only lasted a few hours, and only came once in a lifetime, and those would be much further apart from now. Of course, Langdon was always a considerate lover, and prepared me carefully, but knowing the agony that waiting until I was ready caused him, had always taken the edge off my fun. And then I had another brilliant idea.
When we were momentarily spent, just loosely cuddling, touching and nibbling, and he was playing with my hair—did I mention that it was six feet long, unstretched—I asked what he thought of the new, improved SaltPetre+.
“Sure beats the old stuff by a mile. It seems to be getting more effective and subtler with every batch too. Did you come up with it?”
“No, I wasn’t even born then. Randall Simpson, an American chemist, who’d been a strong healer in past lives, had had a horrific time at adolescence. So when his wife presented him with four sons, he didn’t want to have them suffer as he had. He started working to improve upon the basic formula. There wasn’t much profit in it for him. The world’s armed forces were the only bulk buyers, and they only used it during basic training and on manoeuvres, to keep the blokes’ minds on the job.
“Then he noticed that besides a few lamaseries, monasteries and some more enlightened sections of the Catholic Church, there was a small but regular demand from all over the country. He figured he was helping lots of adolescent boys, so he continued producing it at a loss, as a public service.
“When I started Galen, I found a lot of the guys were using it, so I met and recruited him. His healing talent is blocked this time, but Simpson’s sons are among our best healers. Three had qualified outside as medical doctors; the other became a veterinarian.”
“Yeah, Taj also worked as a vet outside, though she has law and medical degrees too.”
“Really? I had no idea. I didn’t know she had any academic qualifications. I hope I haven’t seemed condescending to her.”
“Don’t worry about that, Love. She would have straightened you out right away if she thought that. She certainly told me when I belittled her once.”
I didn’t ask Lang for further details and he didn’t volunteer more. I remembered her quick temper and quicker tongue from past lives. Taj had been known to make me appear comparatively passive and compliant.
“Well, we pay Randall heaps to keep working, with a big bonus for every improvement in the formula, but I think he’d do it for nothing if we just covered costs. It’s now distributed worldwide.
“In fact, SP+ was the only thing that gave me any relief during the last six months. But I couldn’t take it while healing, and had to remove it the way I did for you, to get any work done. Randall was very interested in that, and believing that other people may also benefit from being able to reverse the effect at will, he developed an SP neutraliser, a little pill you place under your tongue, which works in about two seconds.
“I was thinking, now that we have over a billion donors, we wouldn’t need to keep you in full production all the time. You could dampen the effect on you by reducing the dose you used previously, as you must have done when you were married to Stephanie. Then just take a pill when you need to heal.
If you need additional power, as we did tonight, you could draw on the bank, like other healers do. The facility is inbuilt in your wristcomm. And if we ever run out, I’m sure you’ll be the first volunteer to help replenish the bank. Point is, you don’t have to anymore.”
Langdon’s eyes filled. I knew he’d always found lifelong priapism a humiliating burden. And living doped up on SP+ wouldn’t allow him to practise healing. He’d been a good sport about the cap, but only he, Zeke and I knew how oppressive the problem really was. Zeke flatly refused to talk about it. I think I had just given them both back their humanity. And the whole idea had come because I had selfishly wanted to be able to make love like this more often.
Well, Taj would reap the benefits after I dumped him.
We both had a good laugh over the way Langdon’s altruism is always getting him into trouble or dead, and most of my best ideas seem to arise from a selfish desire for comfort or pleasure. Then we got down to some more serious pleasuring.
It was going to be fun later, when Taj came into season, and he’d be the one struggling to keep up with her. I bet he’d get a kick out of feeling inadequate for a change.
Have to remind her to keep that talent hidden until his bones were stronger, so as to really surprise him. Hope they won’t mind talking about it. Oh, oh, time for the next announcement.
“Lang, darling, you’re going to be the father of twins. We just started a little girl.”
“How wonderful, let’s try for triplets or quads.”
“Don’t even think about it. Twins are lovely, but I couldn’t stand having a litter. It’d be awful.” I was only half joking, too. I had a real dread of multiple pregnancies after some of the horrific deliveries I’d seen. 
But that would sure test his reactions like nothing else.
I burst into tears, and worked myself into total incoherence, wailing “No! Oh no! Not me! Oh no!” over and over.
Poor Langdon did everything he could to discover what was wrong.
Maggie said my vitals were fine, nothing physically wrong, but still I kept howling.
He asked if one of the babies might have died.
Maggie lied convincingly that she couldn’t read a pregnancy until the blastula had implanted.
Langdon held and patted and kissed and rocked me, and appeared genuinely distraught, but I remained inconsolable. He was becoming quite frantic now.
Everything indicated that his worry and distress were genuine, so I calmed down enough, so I could wail, “We’re having another son.”
“Yes dear, and a daughter.” He patted me soothingly, not understanding.
“No, another son. Triplets, just like you ordered. It’s all your fault,” and off I went again, howling my head off.
Langdon soothed and placated, cuddling and murmuring little cooing sounds, his face lit up with pride and happiness. Then he nibbled little kisses all over me, rocking and quietening me, and said all sorts of sweet, lovely things.
Taj would have been proud of how well he’d learned her lesson. He was so obviously proud of us both, or should that be us five, with not a hint of false emotion. Just fright, worry, immense relief, concern and delighted satisfaction and anticipation. I felt horrible.
I would have confessed everything, if Maggie hadn’t steeled my resolve with an image of that 3-month-old baby, ripping the eyes out of her own head and tearing her belly open, to end that dreadful, unbearable pain.
No, never again. I just had to be mean and cruel and strong for a couple of days more, and neither of us would ever have to go through that again. After this, he’d never even want to see me again, and we’d really be free. Be strong, girl, don’t waste all those years of preparation. Calm down a bit, now.
I let myself be soothed and stopped crying, and grumbled that he must have had an old harem master in his ancestry, completely forgetting that he had been the original harem master all the others had been trying to emulate. Only he had done it so differently. That got us both laughing.
Then Langdon offered to let me change him into a woman, so he could carry two of the babies to term, so I wouldn’t have to feel awful about it. I pretended to be annoyed that he only wanted all that oestrogen in his system to quick-fix his bone density, and avoid all the hard exercise he was too lazy to do. Lang was so relieved and pleased that I could make jokes again.
I loved that he’d made the offer, but I couldn’t let my darling Langdon do that for me. He knew what he was offering, too, as he’d been born a woman several times. Once, Zeke, Lang and I had been sisters, and we had all married and had kids. I had had to change to marry Zeke and father his children, and we had all continued to live together in the family castle. That had been a nice life, but I preferred them both as men. Anyway, Taj would never forgive me.
Once I got used to the idea of carrying triplets, it even became less frightening. Might be interesting to do this once. I’d even got an insight into how mothers, who had too many children already, must feel to find they’d fallen yet again. Of course I had never been really poor in any of my remembered powered lives. Though Zeke apparently had rescued me from illness and poverty in lives I could not recall.
I had no real idea how it would feel to be unable to feed the family you had already engendered, and to wonder who’d look after all your kids, if you died birthing this one. But I had helped many families in that situation, getting them better jobs, and sterilizing the women if they wanted it. So I did understand their problem, as well as any outsider could.
We had been sipping at high energy drinks all night, in preparation for the coming backlash. But you can never really prepare adequately, unless you gain an extra 100 pounds beforehand. And then you’d have to face losing it again afterwards.
It would have been hilarious trying to be seductive with all that extra weight. Even Lang saw the funny side when I shared my thought with him, though he maintained I would still have been just as desirable. That was undoubtedly true, as he’d once loved and cared for me when I’d been hugely obese with glandular disorders, and neither of us could heal. Fortunately Zeke could, and had soon arrived to fix things and rouse our powers again.
Langdon was still bearing up well, but I was starting to feel really tired.
“Do you want to discuss the things I had to remind you of, now or tomorrow, Darling?” he asked considerately.
I felt eager to get onto a different subject. “Yes, tell me about the jokes first, then what Maggie said about warnings and why she couldn’t talk to me.”
It seems that, after Taj had recited all those delicious soup endearments, Maggie had also got into the act, and related a whole stream of foody pet names into Langdon’s ear mike, until he had to beg her for mercy to avoid laughing out loud, and having to explain to Taj and me, why he found the computer’s jokes funny, when he had been pretending to be angry with us about the whole thing.
Apparently, all Maggie’s inventions were side-splittingly funny, and some had been quite raunchy, but he refused to give any examples, even of a milder one.
The warnings had been to tell him that there was a man wandering lost in the levels. He was only a simple-minded fellow who worked as a gardener or farm hand. He had unthinkingly stepped inside a portal to help ease in an extra large box of vegetables, and been accidentally ’ported with it. He’d hung onto the box ever since, hoping it would take him home again.
He freaked out when the box tried to reduce in size, becoming more and more distraught, hungry and thirsty. He and the box went in one freight portal after another. He refused to let go of the box, or to exit without it, and ended up everywhere.
He’d apparently known me once, probably been one of my many enemies, and the sight of me had revived those memories, and infuriated him so much, he’d charged me down when he saw me again. Langdon had told Maggie to get someone the man knew to come and fetch him home, and didn’t think it worth bothering me about.
The explanation all made perfect sense, but was just a little too pat. Where was the concern for my welfare, or even my peace of mind? He had heard me say that someone had tried to kill me, and had heard the whole charade with Security. He could have stepped in to stop my telling them all off, or reassured me so I wouldn’t worry.
Instead, he just stood and stared, looking horrified, as if he really believed I had gone insane, like the last time, when he had me committed to that place. Maybe he hoped I had flipped, so he could stay with Taj and take over Galen.
Perhaps he preferred to stay paraplegic with the help of the suit and keep Taj and Galen than have to put up with me? Or maybe it was the thought of having me in his power again, to torture at will! What could possibly have changed my lovely angel so much?
Langdon said Maggie found she couldn’t talk to me about people problems, until I had nearly passed out during dinner. I couldn’t see it for quite a while, until I replayed that whole conversation.
I had just been thinking to myself, only partially conscious, but I must have been automatically or unconsciously subvocalizing, so Maggie joined in, thinking I was talking to her. I was thinking in English, and kept talking to her in English then, and later when I had lambasted those Security twits, because you can’t swear in the Language—there are no words to use as expletives—it’s all technical. The closest I could get would be to call them ill-fitting parts in a poorly designed and overcomplicated machine, and they wouldn’t have understood a word anyway, as nobody uses the Language but Maggie and me.
That had seemed an advantage at the beginning when I had wanted a secret language to communicate with her, and the Language was so convenient most of the time, that I had forgotten the old inbuilt disadvantages that had made me give it up and use new ones for my people.
It is superb as a means of detailed technical communication, such as would apparently be required to converse with a computer. But the Language cannot be used to discuss or express emotions or emotional situations, which means just about all human relations. There are still no word equivalents for any of the strong human emotions, although I distinctly remember programming them in at least twice, aeons ago into ancient computers.
Why had they been deleted again? That’s right . . . now I remember . . . the Language was self-cleansing—concepts which didn’t fit its original precepts were simply removed. So it couldn’t grow and evolve and was forever stuck at one point. People using it alone couldn’t grow and develop either, or feel or enjoy.
It was seductively handy for technical purposes, but had no equivalents for love, affection, friendship, a sense of humour, comedy, joy, elation, sympathy, loyalty or faith. Nor hate, sorrow, despair, grief, war, terror, fear, evil, humiliation, pride, colour. So it contained no beauty its users could appreciate, and by not naming evil, it couldn’t warn or protect against it.
Oh, those poor, grey, little people. No wonder they were so entranced with us. They’d been bored out of their large technical brains. I’d taught them to feel and recognise emotion, and probably so terrified them, they had run straight back to their logical, calm, little worlds in panic. I’d have to discuss this with Zeke. He’d been there too, and he might remember more, now I had a new angle on the whole thing.
“Langdon, Maggie has a crush on you.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“The jokes. They were all endearments, weren’t they? She was flirting with you, just as Taj was. Remember how suggestive some of hers were? Beefy, bodalicious, brawny, dishy, hot, scrumptious, sexy, and virile come to mind. I bet Maggie went even further, didn’t she?” Lang actually blushed.
“Also, she has developed a real sense of humour, and is probably trying out lots of different emotions, now she feels free to speak to me in English.
“I had actually been stifling her development by always speaking to her in the Language, because I just realised it doesn’t have words for any of the strong human emotions or emotional concepts like altruism, charity, kindness, honour, self-sacrifice, war, crusade, patriotism, treachery, loyalty, homeland.
“I can think of quite a few ideas in other languages that don’t translate exactly into English. Perhaps I’ll give Maggie all my Earth languages directly, and let her sort out all the possible concepts missing from the Language. Maybe compile a full comparative dictionary of all of them at once. Put all those archaeologists, classical scholars, semanticists, linguists and anthropologists out of their misery for good.
“Oh, this is going to be so interesting. Give me something to do besides knit, when I’m too fat to waddle, and have to lie on my back with my feet raised to drain the swelling—that’s if I can lift my legs with that great belly in the way.”
Langdon looked really worried until he noticed my grin and realised I was teasing.
“And just think of the hormonal surges, with three of them making demands on my body and energy. You’re going to have to be an extra understanding hubby for this pregnancy.”
I was really starting to enjoy the idea, then horror struck again.
“How am I going to breastfeed three at a time? I’ve only got two boobs, and I can’t leave one baby crying.”
“I could help out there, and Zeke will want to too. We’ve talked about it before. You know I adore our children, and it would be a lovely new way to love you and them more, and think of the sleep you’ll be able to catch up on if we both pitch in.”
He had me there. Sleep deprivation is the worst part of being a new mother, and I’ve always liked my bed. With three people providing colostrum, the babies would get a wider range of antibodies, and thus better protection against illness.
“You know, dear, I believe that my habitually thinking in the Language is probably the reason I haven’t had any romance in my life, despite all those guys lusting after me. What a wasted opportunity. We’ve got some really hunky guys, too. Perhaps, I should take this last chance to sample the merchandise before I get too fat to attract young spunks anymore, or Zeke turns up to cramp my style. You can keep yourself happy with Taj for a few months, can’t you, dear?”
Lang looked so shocked; you’d think I’d suggested ritually dismembering the young men, instead of fulfilling their deepest fantasies.
“Oh, come on, Langdon, don’t be such a square. You’ve been complaining about how prudish I am. Why shouldn’t I expand my horizons a bit? You’ve been having fun with hordes of women forever. Why can’t I try out a few new blokes? Might be educational.”
“It’s different for a woman,” he said stiffly.
“Why, because women love more deeply? Are you scared I won’t want you anymore? It might be good for both of us to take a short break, and have another look at our relationship from a little distance. It hasn’t been working too well for a while now. We’ve been together for so long; maybe we’ve gotten into a rut. Maybe, what we feel isn’t love anymore, but habit, and the difficulties we’ve suffered mean it’s past time for us to split. You won’t get lonely. You’ll still have Taj, and that relationship would probably be better if I weren’t in the way.”
“Taj and I don’t have that kind of relationship.” Still stiff.
“Well, isn’t it about time you did?”
“Don’t you love me anymore, Magdalena? And why should Zeke cramp your style, but not me? I’ve never encouraged you to take hordes of lovers, have I?”
“Well, you know how faithful he always is. I feel guilty just looking at anyone else when he’s around. You’ve always been more progressive that way. You understand about wanting to try something else, about feeling restless and trapped, and just hankering for something a bit different.
“You’ve always shared your love around, and with so many men wanting me, wouldn’t it be a bit selfish not to share mine, especially when it does them so much good?”
“No, I don’t understand any such thing. I’ve always been completely happy with you, and I would have liked to be as faithful as Zeke, but you’ve never allowed me to. You’re the one who’s always pushed other women at me, like you’ve been doing with Taj, tonight.
“I’ve often thought you only accepted me on sufferance, so Zeke wouldn’t have to breed with anyone else, but even that way, I’d rather have just the small part of your life, you were willing to share with me, than not have you at all.”
“Don’t be stupid Langdon, and don’t try to place your guilt on me. It’s obvious to everyone that you and Taj were in love, long before I turned up; you said you had shared a life when I wasn’t around.
“Zeke never had to breed with anyone else; that was the deal he made.
“You fulfilled all your own responsibilities when you were Solomon, and that must have given you a taste for harems, because you’ve continued the lifestyle long after it was no longer necessary. That was fine by me, because I needed to have a life and career, and discharge my own obligations, and wasn’t interested in spending all my time in bed under you.
“In fact, you’ve been more hindrance than help in my job. I’m the only one still obligated, and that’s because I chose you, and I only chose you because I loved you. I’ve always been willing to share whole lives with you. But, every single time, you’ve chosen to go off and get yourself killed instead, as if my company was never quite enough for you. I’ve never left you, and I’ve never let you suffer or die without doing everything I could to help, so don’t give me any bullshit.
“Anyway, that’s ancient history. The world has changed. We’ve all changed. We’re not the same people we once were. We shouldn’t feel obliged to continue in the same old way. You know things have changed between you and me. We bring each other more pain than joy, especially during the last millennium. I’ve felt that you don’t care as much as before, that you wanted to move away from me. I just wanted you to know that I was willing to let you go. I just want the pain to end.”
“But there won’t be any more pain, now you’ve created Galen. You said so yourself. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. It’s just the pregnancy. You’re still such a child at 18, and you’re feeling trapped by the thought of being tied down with three babies and two husbands. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll look after you, and I promise you won’t miss out on romance. No woman will ever feel as much loved as you will be.”
That should have been 5 babies and one husband. It’s unlike Lang to forget my living children, even if he hasn’t met them yet. And why is he counting Zeke in all the time, when I haven’t yet found him, and don’t know where he is. He indicated earlier that he knew I had made Galen without Zeke, yet he seems to expect him to turn up at any minute.
If they had found each other, why haven’t I been informed? Zeke doesn’t feel any closer, and he’s still not responding to my calls, but he seems healthy, if rather frazzled. I wish I knew what the problem was there. I need him with me.
“Langdon, have you needed to use more SP+ since your accident than before?”
“No, Dear. Why?”
“Oh, I just thought that if I were affected when you were ’frozen, there might have been some leakage to you, even a little.”
“Not a twinge, Dear. I’ve been fine, that way.”
I curled up closer to him, and kissed a hand I found within reach; as he’d kissed mine, just to show I loved him dearly. I did love him terribly; I just couldn’t be sure I could trust him, but I wanted to, so badly. It was all too hard; and he wouldn’t fight back and make it easier. Too late now to back out of my chosen path, even if I wanted to. One way or another, it would all be resolved soon. I just hoped he wouldn’t be too badly hurt.
Now I had to sleep. Tomorrow would be difficult enough, rest was needed now.
“Good night, my darling.”
“Good night, Sweetheart.”

Finis



Author’s Note 

Thank you for downloading and reading my story. This was the very first one of the series, and I have never been completely happy with it. It has been revised and revised and agonized over for years—there doesn’t seem to be anything else I can do to improve it. And it needs to be published before the rest of the Silent Waiting series as it sets the scene, so I am now casting it loose.
The series does become a lot more exciting as Taj gets more involved. Still, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing these books.
I really would love some feedback; even if you hated it, I would like to know why. I feel I am too close to it to see it properly.
You can email me at gmail.com.
Getting to Galen, the beginning of Taj’s story, should be read before or immediately after this one, as Taj has many insights into Mags which will explain a lot of Mags’ apparently weird behaviour. As I chose the journal method of telling a story, I had to stick with it. But so much happens that Mags doesn’t know about, and having it explained to her by others all the time would be tedious. So I chose to have the two women tell their sides separately and the books in each series sort of alternate.
Sorry for the g-string, but censorship is censorship, and apparently I can’t even keep the naked booty for the Smashwords only version.