Zita
Problems with life exacerbate when we imagine something far more fun, not so trivial.
So, students, how do we solve them at this stage?
Well, rush to create ever more compelling means of escapism. As a child, you read a book or a colorful comic and watch a short episode of a long series, and you are well on your way to becoming a player of the virtual reality game.
Like me, making lascivious gestures with my digital hands and caressing my digital breasts (not much larger than my real ones!) to seduce my British first officer, the most attractive male NPC, as Captain Loretta Kuntblade.
"I don't think you understand the scope of our topical problem, Captain," a female alien at the same table reprimanded me.
"Sorry, QZhuut," I said crankily. "What can't we fix?" Now I was starting to blame Alice for including so much story and missions into her porn. It was Mrs. Kane who had helped me download the virtual version of her comic Uraneia. My character was one of the Earth heroes, embarking on a the quest for power of creation and ovum singularity. Across from me and XO Griffith sat the half-Grey, half-human alien QZhuut, her boyfriend Stoubro, a seal-like creature, but with a long nose and an 11–12, robot vehicle with a dildo inside.
"The impact of the anti-erectile cannon has affected the performance of all the men on board," the alien explained. "Because of that, our zero-G love has stopped and we are losing speed. The vessel of the PeaCock Empire is taking the lead."
Damn, I should have read those comics to get how to handle the situation.
"So what do you suggest? Raid the Viagra mine?"
QZhuut shook her head. "The effects of the weapon extend far beyond such a solution. We fear that men will have to be irradiated by the power of creation in its retro version. Eyecrafters of the galactic edge are capable of producing a similar field, but they usually ask for a payment in the form of a sacred technophilia ritual."
Shame on me. I should study. I should try to help my mother. I should help liberalize my totalitarian society. Instead, the pressure of it all forces me to indulge in non-existent things and wonder what the technophilia act might entail.
"I have always been happy to sacrifice myself for the good of all beings in the universe," I assured the virtual characters. "So I will gladly make any sacrifice, but I need to know in advance..."
The captain's speech was interrupted by a sound that the game characters could not hear. I had long ago linked my virtual profile to my Sleipnir Neighs account. I was especially curious about the messages from the discussion moderator.
"Save the game," I told the system.
"You've reached the final slot," the computer reminded me.
How could I forget? You can only do this sixty-nine times in this game.
"Proceed anyway. And interrupt the gameplay!" The NPCs, curious about their captain's decision, froze. I pushed the picture of the orangutan family aside and turned on the hidden subspace radio.
Toserban96: Dear Tip! You haven't signed in for a long time, but whenever you do, we talk about you for a long time after you are gone! I've gotten into a bit of a pinch when it comes to the forum, and I think you'd be the perfect candidate for its solver!
I have other, more fundamental concerns, but I have to answer to him. It is also very important, perhaps even for our survival, to find out as much as possible about him. I sent him a reply.
Tip: Thanks, Tos, but you know I'm studying and the school year is about to end. Am I guessing correctly that you would like me to be the moderator instead of you? It would be complicated for me. When I don't have my nose buried in the textbook, I'm playing a terribly addictive VR game. You like them too, right?
He responded swiftly.
Toserban96: Tip, don't forget that I'm practically the lowest in the triad. Horus Orthodoxy needs to distribute a few shifts when the Halliday Inn can't help. You would just send them a few open windows, a few empty boxes in your schedule, and you three would compromise. Otherwise, I'm not surprised. What are you playing? As I told you, I'm back in Europe, but my Taiwanese friend has a job in America. I missed him until he ran away and entrusted me with important tasks. Until I meet him again, I won't have time for my nerdzone.
He was broadly describing something that sounded like boring, exhausting meetings. But... Tosarban96 was apparently Richard Neumann, and his Taiwanese friend was none other than Alexander Cao, currently the most despicable member of the Brotherhood, because he was not satisfied just with bringing women to their knees. He wanted them to crawl on their stomachs and obediently climb into the crate. What does he need from Neumann?
Tip: I play Uraneia. You may not believe it, but eroticism keeps me awake. OK, I'll get in touch with Horus Orthodoxy and write to him when I'm free. Which Europeans do you have to deal with? The French? Didn't your Taiwanese friend run away to America from them?
Toserban96: Thanks, I'll wait for your agreement. Uraneia is good, but I didn't play it. I wouldn't have stood being a female character. I am negotiating with the Danes. My friend knows about it; he initiated the negotiations himself, but let's say I and them, are preparing an amazing gift for him.
I tried to find out more, to get more help about what he was doing in Europe, but he grumbled that I should either study or compile a list of the coolest space tyrants.
Cao and Neumann should consider themselves lucky that they haven't come near me since September. They have cocks, which are buttons through which I can control them. I'm the absolute queen of the cocks, despite having only been with two guys so far.
Fucking them brought me a few advantages, or, in the worst-case scenario, obstacles behind which I found opportunities. My lover allowed me to devote myself to all the books, games, or cartoons I asked for without objection. They were all dreams, long or short, living side by side, and they all had to bow to the greatest dream, called reality. I was going to choose the sweetest of them all.
Since my primary teacher is now running for principal, he doesn't have much time to spare. For the sake of his entertainment, he needs me to take some time off. The girls in the class ask me why I wasn't cooking with them. I just twitch my lip so that they stop asking questions, deluded that someone is hurting me.
It is not uncommon for me to have to pretend to clean the classroom after the lesson, but then I go to Brandon's apartment. Unwittingly, it reminds me of the evenings at home when my dad was away and I would meet my mom in her darkened room to play Splendor.
"Move your pussy," Brandon shouted from the bed to the door. In the darkness of the hallway, almost nothing could be seen. Even so, I believed that I would please Brandon, he would hear pieces of my clothes falling down throughout his living space. My expensive stockings, bought with good grades, my short skirt, my top, and of course my bra. But that didn't mean that there was nothing left for me.
"Drop it!" Brandon peeked out from under the duvet, lit by a blue lava lamp. "Chastitybelts are for chaste girls!"
To his left peeked out the laughing head of Lindsey. I'm just such a nerd that I findmyself in bed with two teachers at once! Each in a different way.
"I like to move it, move it!" I joked and reached between my breasts. I pulled out the key to my belt, threw it in the air, and caught it between my teeth. I danced on the spot so that my tits were bouncing like two smaller dancers. Brandon was slapping the bed to the beat.
"Come on, girl, show me the rest. I have seen it before!"
I took the key and then tossed it from one hand to the other for a minute. "It's more restless than I am!" I cried out, spreading my legs widely, invitingly indeed. My feet were twisting from side to side on the floor, and I was able to unlock my crotch. Butt-naked, I jumped into bed behind Brandon and licked his ear for a long time. "Teacher, maybe I need a geography lesson! " I tried to make it sound lascivious, too.
"You don't need that; you're American!" Lindsey sounded as if she had something in her bloodstream that she would never have prepared for us in the chemistry set.
"Tutoring is for the post-coital phase, girl!" said Brandon, and he put his hand between my thighs. This required caution, but I had already massaged his balls last time, and I suspected that it was training for more advanced mouth games.
"I like to make my little girl happy, but every time she has to prove herself. Goddammit, you're good!" sighed Brandon. He stroked my hair and squeezed my shoulder.
"Will you at least give me a riding lesson?" I asked him.
"It is me who should be riding you, my mare!" he said.
"We don't want you to get too tired, not even in bed," I teased him. I continued the massage andprogressed higher and higher. His flaccid masculinity was recovering. My hand was working under the duvet, as was my tongue on Brandon's face, neck, and nipples. I silenced his sighs with a very long kiss and entered his mouth, even though I already felt that his rod was hard and long. So far, I Iwas only teasing him on his most manly part. Conversely, I swore not to touch the emerging fountain in my pussy. It wasn't until I'd had enough of Brandon's tongue that I closed my lips and pushed back the blanket. I gave him a generous view of my boobs, which he adored so much, but prevented his hands from touching me.
With a force, I squeezed his hard cock, swaying from side to side in lust. I sat down on it like a bird mother on her egg. It was a large and solid thing, which no one had to persuade me to insert into myself. It vibrated me with pleasure, which hurt at times, but today I didn't regret that I didn't havea sore butt, because I was sensitive enough anyway. I laughed and rocked. Back to feel Brandon's fleshy thighs. Forward so that I can feel his nicely shaped belly and massage his muscular chest. I closed my eyes and wiggled my waist in circular motions, and I also sat up and down, thrusts hotter and more powerful each turn. I imagined myself to be a rocket sent on a journey to at least the edge of the solar system, not taking any stops. Brandon held me with one hand and explored breasts of the giggling Lindsey with the other. I should probably blame him, but if I had two guys at my disposal, I would be doing something similar.
Two guys...
Whenever I wasn't looking directly at Brandon, or had my eyes shout again, I saw my favoriteactors in front of me. Broad-shouldered, strong-armed, in nothing but a swimsuit. My buttocks and breasts were shimmering with bliss a the thought, what would happen to them under their touches and I'm not surprised that I sang such an uplifting song of the orgasm.
I've heard about tenderness and aftercare when you come. Being like most people. I was mainly interested in what had happened beforehand. Then, the lovemaking epilogue seemed like a formality to me, unless the guy fell asleep after two minutes, which wasn't an issue with Brandon. He needed about half an hour to listen to how well he was doing, and in return, he assured us that we could go back to his bed the next night.
We received cigarettes from him so that it would not be us falling asleep prematurely from someone's stupid boasting and interspersed the utterance of flattery with the release of clouds. Ironically enough, making me sort of proud, Madame, of his bed, I turned back on my diffident beginnings with Anthony. The desire to surrender, the desire to be owned. Had I not had inquisitive questions, I would have stuck my ass out at him and thrown a cigarette onto his chest. Another aspect of the school still applied.
"Teacher, you owe me a geographical fact." I blew out a strip of smoke, romantically reinforcing the melancholy of the blue lamp in the background. "What is the relationship between FPA and Denmark, and what could we gain from them?"
Weatherby caressed both of his ladies' cheeks. He wasn't looking at me as he satisfied my curiosity. "Would you like to know if you're going to visit Copenhagen with me, love? I would also like to, and it looks like it will become a domestic flight. Of course, we would have to save up for a few months—more than twelve."
"Would the Danes want to join us?" Do they delude themselves that they could gain autonomy? European countries that have shown such naivety have generated refugee after refugee by now.
"The cautiously supportive party won the premature elections," Brandon said. "The people on the other side of the sea are watching them closely, but they can't stop our ships sailing from England and France. And if that happens, the ships will cruise the other side, the juicy one."
Who is on the other side of Denmark? I tried to picture the globe and the map of Europe. The rough flashes offered me an unlikely answers. Is Brotherhood bent on conquering Norway or Finland?
Unless...
"Brandon, by the people on the other side...
"I was not allowed to complete the follow-up question. The room resounded with a rattling to answer the call, and a pedestal on wheels with a monitor approached the bed.
"Get out!" barked Brandon. Lindsey and I got out of the bed and stood well behind the communicator. Brandon took the cigarette I had put down in a hurry, shoving it in his face, probably to explain the hazy image to the caller.
People with the darkest souls never sleep, as Brandon's greeting to a man on the reverse monitor testified to me.
"Good evening, fellow Cao."
"You didn't see who's calling you?" asked a voice I wished I had never heard again. "I thought you were ready to stand to attention at any time, fellow Weatherby!"
"I'm grateful for the new powers, but they're exhausting me," said Brandon apologetically, who I think was exhausted by another activity. "A few days and I'll be the top representative of the most mismanaged Princess Tower in the whole country."
"Just when he's about to release his first graduates," Cao remarked, already a little reassured. "So many problems! But don't worry. I've heard that Jenine Thompson is probably being punished as we speak, and I can't wait to see the video. I want you to know that I am sending you troops of the Fraternal Guard. They will accompany buses loaded with women, if only because of the presence of Thompson and Cabrera. When sorted, they will go straight to the prison plane."
I died a little. Jenine used to be my friend, and Agatha still is one. Obvious as it was, I couldn't bear the reminder that the two of them could never live even in the shadow of liberty.
"Most of it has already been taken care of by the Princeps' forces," Brandon noted. "Of course, I will be grateful for any help, and I will be happy to take care of the students in the next school year. As I understand it, this time they should be recruited mainly from the ranks of criminals and school dropouts. Of course, I adapt the curriculum accordingly."
"Considering my future career, it will be a bit of a craftier," Cao replied. "I will take care of many more interesting additions. Poor people need money; rich people want influence outside of our borders. And both groups host many women in their families who have so far escaped our selection."
"That sounds wise," Brandon said.
Rotten.
"One more thing, fellow Weatherby. Do it as you wish, but I hope you will deal with your predecessors quickly."
"We don't have that much on Mayson, but after settling previous cases, it will be easy to set aside adequate accommodation for him for the next fifteen years."
Cao chuckled. "He always wanted to be somewhere else. When it comes to Sophia Arnolph, you can make her one of your humbled students, am I right?"
"You are already my Princeps!" Brandon declared.
If you thought that he would be a little less animal-like after the call, you would be wrong. Brandon got out of bed, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered in my ear, "Get dressed, but don't overdo it, beauty! By the way, I hope you like it here and would like to show your classmate Gutiérrez how comfortable my bedroom is. The day after tomorrow I would gladly try it in four!"
Shame.
We are supposed to expunge the word from our dictionaries, to cover it with our thongs. Our tutors motivate us to proudly uncover our boobs, our asses, and our pussies to relinquish the idea they belong to us. It also means we should not feel ashamed when men order us to lie.
Or make us lie about the intrigues we concocted ourselves.
"Witness," Prosecutor Wang asks me. "You probably won't be surprised to hear that the defendant did not deny the authenticity of the video recording. However, he claims that he gave false testimony about Vice Chairman Cao under pressure from a person who promised him and his lover benefits in exchange for speaking the dictated text. Can you guess who that person was?"
I look at the prosecutor while we both pretend to be curious. I look at Mayson, concentrating on me. I am unable to escape that disgusted face.
I look up to the abominal intelligence represented by Judge Zimmerman. Outright guilt multiplies the feeling of shame. Small, but pestering, stuck in the shallows of my conscience.
"No," I answered in a second so that it was at least credible. I'm ready for what Wang will say next. How could I not know?
"He says these were your words and your idea. We don't have records from that day, but the soldiers formerly serving Prefect Green testified that you spoke to him on the instructions of their superior."
I started learning the art of fake tears only recently, but I'm already a master at shedding giant drops. "Green did terrible things to me that can't be cured. He made me talk to Mayson in his stead, but I never forced anyone to gossip about him. I begged him to take the blame on himself and make the only lie capable of relieving him and not hurting anyone."
Cao doesn't care about the truth. The judge will have to believe the testimony that defames Mayson and fulfills the powerful man's terrible revenge. And paradoxically, I'm in the limelight because I pointed it out.
It isn't about Mayson or Arnolph. They are monsters who deserve to be condemned (even if they helped Jenine).
Why do I have to live in a system of favors, not merit?
"Trial, video games, and early sex education? Girl, I don't know how you manage to educate yourself." Ellen admired me in the room.
She had a point. Is there anything study-related going on at My Heroine Academia?
It was already May, but we had not received any indication that this Androcentrism class would be any different. Brandon had warned us about this, standing in the classroom before it even started. "Don't chain yourself today to your desk," he ordered us. "Look at the gifts we have prepared for you there. Then I will give you another, more substantial one."
I was confused. I had assumed that if I slept with him, we would have no secrets from each other. After all, everything that happened in class could have affected my performance in "practical biology."
We felt that not having to wear a chain on our leg was a breakthrough. With the honorable exceptions, we didn't sit down until we had examined the document on the table with the gold border and the crown above the bold-font title.
My former idol—our report card.
It stated that I had demonstrated passable knowledge in both the humanities and the sciences and could therefore be considered high school educated. I was given an A- in Homemaking, which would only have angered Prof. Ogden Wernstrom. I was given excellent grades in Art of Holy Submission and Androcentrism, which was marked by two other crowns under the heading of the document.
I've always considered myself a praise freak, and I wanted to pin it to my pounding heart. The fact that cruel bullies bestowed it upon me actually helped. I was flattered that I had impressed them.
"Stand still, girls, my future women. The school year is coming to an end, and we will dedicate the last two months to your new service, with its new rights and responsibilities. The ladies will therefore celebrate you as the blossoming of a new womanhood. Please enter!"
The doors opened again, and a trio of different women graced us. At the head was a smiling Lindsey; in the middle was a ball with a drawn face by Clara Rosenstein; and behind that massive figure Lady Georgianna was hiding her eternal disgust, this time not in latex. They wore rows of pugets on chests. Roses, tulips, daffodils, lilies, and strangely, no nasty impatiens. The ladies advanced through the class, and the flowers found their way into our hands, accompanied by a brief kiss. In my case, Georgianna just placed her lips on my cheek contentmptuously, without a smack, and covered my breasts with a bunch of crocuses. As soon as the last words of thanks had been spoken and we could be elevated by our small part of the omnipresent fragrance, the women lined up in front of the wall, and Brandon again took the word as well as a stack of plates from the table.
"From now until the end of August, we will prepare you for a period of assisting in the education of conscientious female citizens. You, in turn, will be educated by the new tutors in the Art of Lovemaking. The newly conceptualized role of the co-lector is inherent in the new regime, and we officially bestow it upon you today!"
The women applauded our teacher, who walked among us, laden with plates. This time we had greater difficulties with expressing gratitude. It's not every day that a woman's innocence is destroyed in two ways and she has to look forward to another. Brandon reprimanded Amber Bernstein sharply when she mumbled her response.
I didn't want him to scold me as well, and I imagined him lying beneath me at night.
He handed me my appointment. "Thank you, Brandon," I replied, touched. The whole class was staring at me. Brandon froze, as did the women. Except for Lindsey, holding her breath, perhaps amused by my reaction.
Before I could apologize, Brandon swung at me and hit me with the hard back of his hand. One cheek burned, and crocuses softened the fall of the other.
"Emotion or special occasion does not excuse disrespect," Brandon instructed me, showing no further doubt or regret for what he had done. "Repeat my last name five times and then stand up straight, Miss Woodroof!"
His reaction made me feel like I was suffocating on the table. He must have wanted to scare all those girls who were looking at me, wondering if they heard me correctly and whether we were sleeping together. I think he just confirmed it, but I had to admit his superiority.
"Please, forgive me, fellow, Sir Weatherby," I said five times. Brandon didn't seem moved by my apology. I returned to my original position, my eyes moist. Only then did he go off to hand out more certificates.
I couldn't fathom why he was treating me this way. I'm submissive; I want something out of it, dammit!
I understood the burning pain on my face to be the fault of this environment and those whores who liked to show off. Behind my shoulder, Brandon was just handing an appointment over to Montseratt. I had almost forgotten about her. That was a mistake! She always tries to claim what I invented, appropriating my life.
But I won't let it go on and will take revenge on all those idiots who held me back.
"On this solemn day, you are assuming adult responsibilities," Brandon thundered at us from his desk, his voice still irritated by my "chastisement."
"After class, you will stay here for an extra hour and write me an essay describing how the organization of the Princess Tower could be made more effective. At the end, you will critically evaluate yourself on how prepared you are for The Art of Lovemaking. This will no longer be about your grades but about your salary in the second year of school."
I automatically and respectfully listed everything I could improve, seeing myself in the role of the teacher with less pain in my cheeks (I would never mind the lower ones).
Does Brandon think we would all make good teachers? Margaret would never think ideologically, Julie would never teach a porcupine to shoot quills, and Montserrat? What can she do? Well, of course, when it comes to sex, she'll be the one tutoring the guys. Faking and fucking, that's what she's good for!
Brandon left us after fifteen minutes. He and Lindsey left quietly to copulate loudly. Georgianna took his place at the table and, looking at us, how we are scratching both the paper and our heads, smiled condescendingly.
"Girls, I would never whip you here. Remember, if you look stupid, that will be a plus, too."
Rosenstein turned away in disgust. I could hardly sit still. Yes, that's right. My intelligence may be a liability to me in the future!
I raised my hand, and the dominatrix gave me the word. "Maybe we need a few minutes of fresh air in the park before bed," I suggested, and my classmates, accustomed to muffling their speech, began purring in agreement.
"I can give you that reward, my flowers in blooming." Rosenstein agreed.
Not even satiety did make my anger go away. I myself had to do something to get a few girls, grateful for our natural relaxation, the likes of which we had not had for months, away from me. Otherwise, I could have followed the example of the others, breathing under and between the branches. I secretly watched where Montserrat had gone.
I found her picking daisies, and I tapped her sharply on the shoulder.
"Don't let me drop them," Montserrat said, peering at the flowers, nowhere near as ostentatious as the ones we had put in our room.
"You have to have everything, right?" I asked her, annoyed.
Montserrat blinked. "If I can have something, why wouldn't I take it?"
How long had I hated her! "You're seducing him!" That was all I could say.
Montserrat smirked. "Who? I'm seducing many guys."
That nymphomaniac swine! "Weatherby! He wants to fuck you, and no wonder you're twisting and bending in front of him!"
She was daydreaming. "You're wrong. I only thought about him when I was with Sharona, and I can't see her very well..."
I slapped her just as Brandon had slapped me, scattering her flower collection. I took advantage of her momentary helplessness and turned her towards a tree, pressing her boobs against the trunk. She stuck her ass out at me, which I whacked with all my might!
SMACK!
As far as I know, she never enjoyed it, unlike me. She also wiggled her ass and protested, but that didn't soften me. I hiked up her skirt and gave her behind a beating. My God, she wasn't wearing a chastity belt, or even panties. Of course. She protested somehow, but I didn't want to hear anything but her scream. I grabbed a nearby branch and started to brutally beat her ass; she used to get every guy in the area, including mine. She screamed louder with each hit, so I was successful—
"Zita, stop it; she's our friend!"
I didn't want to listen to anything like that; on the contrary, I marked those buttocks with four more strokes. I imagined how she wouldn't want to show Brandon her bruises.
The weak Julie grabbed my executing hand first, but Lydia joined in from the other side, assisted by Luisa.
"Do you remember what we did together?!" Lydia shouted, and I gave in. Freed, Montserrat immediately hid behind a tree, but she didn't run away. She watched over the trunk as the anger drained from me.
"I really should fuck him, though," Montserrat sobbed. "Otherwise he might get his revenge on both of us. Remember, we've got a long way to go with him."
And in the meantime he might want to fuck each and every one of his class, I thought. I told the girls what Brandon had asked me to do and the circumstances under which I had come to him. They didn't blame me, but if I wanted to maintain any honor as one of the Order of the Shieldmaidens, I had to do a remedy. I felt anxious. This wasn't like realizing you weren't going to see any more episodes of the Inside Job. This was about knowing you'd been acting like a bitchy bully.
"Witness, I'm not playing with you. You know that anything you say here will affect the context of your own eventual trial."
Here I am, summoned again as one of the witnesses, but I don't believe anyone would summon me again. Which didn't mean I wasn't angry. Yesterday they questioned me; today Arnolph sat in the chair between interrogation and accusation. Personally, I would say that one of the reasons why they didn't reach a verdict yesterday was that they wanted to psych her out first and wait for her to come forward as a Crown witness. Or, as the British would put it, a principal one. Pun intended.
"I must ask you again, and this time speak clearly. Are you aware that Daniel Mayson conspired with Prefect Green, who promised him to drop the charges in exchange for slandering Vice-Chairman Cao? Didn't Prefect even promise him that he would allow him to participate in your desertion and emigration?"
Arnolph took a breath and answered quickly. "I have had limited contact with Daniel, and he has told me that an enemy of the state wishes to use him to his advantage. He was not more specific. I understood that this may have been a trump card that Green needed to be deprived of."
Arnolph sobbed. I wondered, and not just academically, if her tears were more genuine than mine. No. I knew about her love for the man. I had no right to question her.
"Why didn't you inform the Princeps?" Wang asked.
Arnolph, weeping, hid her face in her handkerchief. "I couldn't prove it!" she shouted to the entire tennis court.
"Silence!" Judge Zimmerman drowned her out. "Witness!" Arnolph addressed her. "I know that it is difficult for you, but control your emotions; otherwise, I will have you punished and removed from the courtroom. I don't know who you are trying to impress. I would like to educate you that only rational men make decisions about you. The Princeps trusted you enough to entrust you with Princess Tower, and you thought you could withhold information from him? You are either foolish or lying, and as the prosecutor has already indicated, you can be sure that we will take it into account once your status is changed to defendant. The hearing is adjourned!"
Mayson resembled the stern judge in his implacability when I tried to speak to him as soon as the wardens were taking him away. He didn't move against me; he simply urged his jailers to lead him faster.
"Shieldmaidens, listen. Poland is in sight from Denmark." I whispered it to Therese, to Roberta Brunkow, and to her wife, Sylvia, at lunch. In short, I spread the mysterious message to my immediate allies. I didn't bother to inform Stacey. She was perhaps even more shunned by me than the former principal.
Brunkow's decision may have been influenced by the fact that she was no longer teaching us and that she was mostly attending boring meetings with Brandon, just as lessons had degenerated into monotonous lectures for us. Whether she wanted to do something or be a heroine again, she invited me to an "educational party," which she set in virtual reality. When I arrived at the chamber, five figures were there lying in their bags under the teachers. I sighed with relief that I had managed to mobilize someone. Sparing the useless words, I logged into the system at the same time as Roberta and Sylvia.
"You looked like you wanted to see the world, my precious milksop," Roberta joked, sitting on many of the tall chairs, their legs floating on a simulated ocean. They reflected off the plastic, miniature models of the continents. I was staggering somewhere in the Bering Strait.
"Cao is planning a war," I blurted out without hesitation.
"For that, he'll need a stabilized scene at home first," a male voice said over Morocco.
A male voice?
I didn't check who was with us. Only now have I found out that, apart from me and Brunkows, none of them were Princesses. The rest consisted of Heirs in a group where women were a minority here too. Deberoh and Oriona didn't betray their reputation. The participation of men was not easy to understand. I would be surprised if the burly black guy Simon, whom Stacey praised, went over to our side and Arthur FitzPatrick, who dominated Therese in bed with such enthusiasm, had to go through an even bigger transformation. Carl, whom I knew through Nicole, was perhaps the most suitable one.
"Do you work with the Shieldmaidens?" I asked them.
"The Shieldmaidens are appreciated, but they are basically not allowed to socialize," Sylvia explained. "Fortunately, the members of our guild have been able to find confidants who allow them to function and protect each other."
"We are joining your organization as a testament to the restored gender equality," FitzPatrick said maliciously and brokenly. "We need each other. The principals have made us their underdogs; the parents want us to do what benefits their dynasties, but you know how to stand up for us."
"I haven't had a chance to do that yet, but thank you," I said. I didn't begin by sleeping with any of them. "I'd like to get back to the question of our future Princeps. I don't know what you've already heard from either Roberta or Stacey, but I have solid evidence that Cao and Neumann are preparing final talks about Denmark becoming a member of FPA. I think he wants to do it to gain an advantage in the upcoming strike on Poland."
"As I said, I think it's bullshit," FitzPatrick objected. "Cao will have to consolidate his power. It will be years before he dares to make himself some crusading warlord."
"Unless he is convinced that the war will be quick and that is what secures him awe and respect," I pondered.
"With so many wars dismissed, he will need to apply the new technology somewhere," Roberta said.
"What wars did he dismiss?" Carl asked.
Roberta opened her mouth twice, just to gulp, but then she spoke. "That's the main secret, which I discovered months ago, even before Romano died. Cao secured a number of business contracts by threatening foreign countries with either war or a straight military takeover. Mayson had it in his records.
"That's a crime!" Deborah fumed. "That's a complete abuse of power! If the Princeps found out..."
"And we could have got it to him thanks to Stacey," Roberta said sadly. "The problem is, he likes Cao. We don't know if releasing that kind of information is one of his priorities. We were planning to give it to Olsson, but he's out of the game."
Carl snorted. "Olsson may be politically dead, but Cooper replaced him. So let's think of him in the same way. Am I blind or something?"
"Half-blind," I replied diplomatically. "Cooper doesn't have the same position as Olsson before him. I think the Princeps tolerates him only to make it look like Cao has a competition. Plus, remember. "I looked at each of the guys in turn. "Cooper is an emigrant. It won't be hard to label him as an agent of the foreign powers. He can hardly be telling how the members of the Conclave are harming other states."
"You have done your homework," Roberta complimented me, moving her chair towards the Faroe Islands. "And you've just indicated who we need to turn to. The Conclave as a whole. They need to get it from a trusted source, and quickly."
Had she named three impossibilities?
Whoever publishes it and complies with such demands might even find Rembrandt Brown in the wideness and wilderness of the multiverse.
"I heard you correctly; I just don't understand how this could have happened!"
Judge Zimmerman stood in the doorway of his assigned apartment in a bathrobe, annoyed that two women with armed escorts had interrupted his evening program. He had certainly hoped that he would be able to put the case behind himself tomorrow, and suddenly things made themselves unexpectedly knotty.
I'm not crying yet, but I'm ready for it. "The reason why Formal Principal Arnolph and I are changing our statements is that we previously feared retribution. Not for our own crimes, but because we knew that our statements would incriminate someone else and cause controversy. We want to confess to you without the knowledge of the prosecutor."
I looked back. Arnolph stood motionless in the hallway, but I was hoping for one more promised help. Promised by someone who would have torpedoed a submarine carrying two hundred children if she had known I was on board.
The scantily clad judge looks at me with considerable interest.
"She can come in. Arnolph will stay here for now!"
And so I find myself inside his door. Zimmerman rejected even one woman escort.
"Sit down and show me something sweet," the judge invited me, mellowing a little.
"Thank you so much!" I rushed to the sofa and accepted the offered glass of wine. "Be prepared that what I'm about to tell you will not be possible to uncover without problems. Prefect Green made people, in many senses of the word, whores. Men and women who kept secrets about his opponents."
"Have a drink," Zimmerman interrupted. I appreciated the sweet wine, but I had hoped he would be interested in the new facts about his case. I took a breath and remembered the next words. "Sophia Arnolph would tell you more about the beginnings of the affair, but she was scared to death of anything involving Vice Chairman Cao, because Mayson, perhaps motivated by the cooperation with Green, had obtained information on his protectors, and Arnolph, as his mistress, was afraid that he might end up using it—"
"You need more wine," Zimmerman decided, pouring me a generous helping of the red liquid. "You mentioned that Green wanted to make you his whore, and from the way you described your relationship with him previously, he finished the job half-done, but half is better than nothing. Your needs might be reciprocated."
I looked into Zimmerman's merry blue eyes and checked he still had the knot on his bathrobe tied.
This is probably how it goes. First, they are smiling at you, pretending to be your friend. Then they look at you like you were a piece of fresh meat, and you can almost hear them growling with lust... Then they will just jump at you!
People say you are unable to move at all, while the worst experience of your life is engraved into your mind.
Zimmerman looked like the type of man, who would do such a thing to me, or to anyone, who was subject of his power and taste.
But I needed him.
I slid my hand under my skirt from the side and commanded the right angle to the corners of my mouth. "I have so much to share with you!"
A knock on the door freed me. Zimmerman sighed sarcastically and went to see who else was invading his evening.
"I assume you know who I am," a voice said from the hallway, and I cheered inside.
"Sure, my condolences, but what could you possibly want from me?" If the judge was expecting another attractive witness to make a plea, he must have been taken aback.
"After recent events, I'm interested in every aspect of the recent controversy, and I've been told that you have a problem where I can ensure your safety."
"My safety? From what?" Zimmerman remained facing old Mr. Cruz, with both of hands in the pockets of the bathtub.
"You'd have to listen to me." I stood up and walked over to the men. "You may hate me for this, but in politics, secrets must eventually be spoken. Rigorously."