#ROGER SEE WHAT UVE DONE TO HIM??

[rafasbiscuits]

we've got the forehead kiss guys

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

prompt 2: quarantine

For those of you who still pay attention to this nonsense blog, I’ve been working with @distant-rose on creating this wildly expansive second-generation Marvel AU. It’s pretty wild, has 20+ AUs of itself, well over 100 characters, and a timeline spanning 40+ years. These are their stories. 

Characters: Francis Barton, Kassandra Page, Matthew Natchios, Ian Rogers, Gerry Drew, Bekka LeBeau, Megan Frost

Prompt 2: Quarantine

Dates: November 10-24, 2019

Day 1

“Since we’re stuck together for the foreseeable, I think we need to establish some ground rules.” Francis Barton laid down a pad of white paper and pulled out a pen. “It should, hopefully, make this a seamless experience while the Richards figure out if we’re going to die horrible, painful alien-virus related deaths.”

There were worse things than being quarantined in a SHIELD facility after being exposed to some sort of alien virus. They could all be dead, for one. They could also be undergoing some weird mutations -- NOT THAT THERE WAS ANYTHING WRONG WITH MUTANTS -- and grow six or seven different limbs. That would be worse. Really, considering those two options, Francis Barton was certain that quarantine was the best case scenario. But he also knew however long stuck in one place with little-to-no outside interaction was bound to be hell. As such, rules needed to be established.

“That sounds like a very El thing to say,” Kassandra Page, absolute badass and love of his potentially shorter life, noted from her spot on the table. She didn’t even bother to look up from her book. 

“Well, she’s the one who gave me the idea.” So what if he wasn’t the one to come up with the rules thing? El was a smart cookie. El was also safe and moderately happy thousands of miles away in New Orleans. That didn’t stop her from blowing up his phone with several texts. He was sure she was doing it to the three other members of their quarantine cohort.

“Should I contact the Xavier School and have them send over their roommate contracts?” Ian Rogers asked drly. 

“That sounds like a great idea!”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“See? That’s not helpful in establishing positive roommate relationships.” Francis argued. “Where’s Matt?”

“In the bedroom trying to convince his pregnant girlfriend from murdering him before the virus does, by the sound of it,” Gerry Drew commented. “For what it’s worth, the ground rules sound like a good idea. I was going to suggest it myself, but grew distracted finishing the mission report. Work never ends, even in quarantine.”

“Has my brother-in-law punched you in the face?” Ian twisted in his chair to look over at Gerry. 

“No.”

“Wonders never cease.”

Kass glanced between the two men and back to Francis. “El might be right. Maybe we should establish ground rules.”

Day 4

Gerry Drew wondered if he had died and gone to hell. Perhaps the virus had actually gotten to him, eaten him away from the inside out until he perished, and this was his punishment. He could hear the unmistakable sound of a bed creaking from one of the bedrooms as well as Natchios talking to his mutant girlfriend from a different room.

“You would think they would have left us headphones,” Gerry groaned aloud, hoping the one other person in the room would agree; instead, Ian ignored him and continued to tap away at his laptop. Gerry turned on the television. He settled on ESPN, and looked over his shoulder to Ian. “D’you like sports?” Again, no answer. Gerry sighed deeply. “What the hell are you working on?”

“Lesson plans.”

“Lesson plans?” That was not the answer he expected. Gerry knew the other man was contracted by the Xavier Institute to assist in some training, but requiring lesson plans didn’t seem necessary. “They require you to do that shit?”

“Since I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, I don’t want the kids to fall behind. I’m creating reports for the various cohorts. UV is capable, but she’s short staffed, meaning she’s doing to bring in someone like Jet to help,” Ian explained. He didn’t bother to look up from his laptop. 

“I don’t think a few weeks will make or break them.” 

“They’re mutants. Considering the targets on their back, it might.”

“I know it’s our job to be spooks and have contingency plans upon contingency plans, but the school hasn’t been attacked in years. They’re prepared. I’ve been working with them longer than you. The targets aren’t that big. Not on the kids.”

“The X-Men are now down several members, including their former leader. While they’ve been left in capable hands, enemies could view the perceived void as a vulnerability,” Ian explained gruffly. “Beyond that, society as a whole is still anti-mutant. Three states have banned human and mutant marriage. Congress still has very vocal members rallying for mutant registration. There are reports of several hate crimes against mutants this year alone. These kids have targets on their backs, Agent Drew. I am right to be concerned.” 

“You sound like your sister.” How many times had he heard Ellie Rogers expound upon the injustices mutants have faced over the years?

“I will take that as a compliment; however, coming from you, I assume you meant it as an insult.”

“I actually didn’t. I meant it as a neutral statement. Ellie is a pretty large advocate for mutant rights.” He wasn’t a fan of Ellie. He thought she was both entirely overrated and unprofessional, but he didn’t hold the mutant advocacy against her. “It makes sense, considering the mutant husband and kids.”

“Or she could be a good person. I know you think she’s blinded by her relationship with LeBeau, but there’s more to it than that. You don’t need to have a direct loved one be a mutant to care.” 

“But it helps. It is an influence. She wouldn’t have done half the shit she pulled for the X-Men if she wasn’t involved with their leader.”

“Former leader.” 

“Are you getting pedantic with me? He was leader up until three months ago.” Then he and Ellie fucked off to retire to New Orleans and raise their mutant kids. Whatever. Arguing wasn’t going to make his living situation any more tenable, but Gerry never met an argument he didn’t fight. “You mean to tell me your mutant niece and nephew don’t have any influence for why you’re working at the school?”

“They are influences, as are my friends, but they aren’t why I care about mutant rights. Not originally. Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t always a psychopath.” Ian shut his laptop. “I liked history and politics as a kid. No surprise, considering my parents. Some people are obsessed with studying the Second World War. Others are obsessed with different countries. England. Japan. China. Me? I was fascinated with Genosha. I grew up on my father’s stories of liberating concentration camps, and how we swore never again. Over ten million innocent lives, more than the population of New York City, were lost, slaughtered my Sentinels and the world hardly cared. The world turned their back on an atrocity and wants to put in place structures for it to happen again on a larger scale. I say ‘never again’. Where do you stand?”

He didn’t wait for a response, quickly standing and taking his laptop with him as he disappeared into another room, leaving Gerry alone to his devices. 

Day 9

She missed her dogs. 

They were currently staying with Barnes and Romanov, so Kass knew they were well taken care of, but still, she missed them. She missed a lot of things. She missed her apartment and her bed. She missed the cafe that was two blocks from her apartment. She usually stopped by for coffee most mornings. They knew her order there and called her ‘Kelly’ because that was the name she gave them. She always paid in cash, so nobody needed to know the fib. It was comfort built on a lie, but a familiar comfort nonetheless.

Nothing about the past nine days was comfortable. Kass chafed at sharing living quarters with four other people. Francis, she could handle. She had more or less been living with him for months. The others, not so much. Matt was like a brother to her, and few others understood her the way Ian did, but neither of those qualities made her want to share a living space with either of them. She didn’t trust Agent Drew as far as she could throw him, which was an added element to misery. 

It was only Day 9. Kass wasn’t accustomed to this much stimulus, not without any outlet. She couldn’t go to the shooting range. She was cautioned against excessive training. She couldn’t go to the park for a run. She was trapped in a quarantine pod with several other people on the off chance she was carrying an alien virus. Valeria Richards proposed isolation of two weeks. She had another week of this. Someone was going to die. 

Francis was trying to lighten the mood with ice-breakers and other games. It was mostly annoying. They played poker over celery sticks and passive-aggressive barbs. They argued over movie nights Matt and Ian spent most of the time engrossed texting whoever on their phones, which was fine, except for the excessive buzzing each time either one of them received a message. Matt, himself, had several loud phone calls with Bekka, his annoying, pregnant girlfriend. Kass wanted to shake him and scream that Bekka would be fine, her goddamn mother had flown up from New Orleans to spend time with her while Matt was trapped. Gerry had stupidly tried to institute a ‘No Sex’ rule, targeted solely at her and Francis. Kass, in turn, had threatened to break his face. 

May the alien virus take us all. 

Kass had decided to stay holed up in her room for the rest of the day. It was the only way she could keep from killing everyone, and even then it was a close thing. She could hear Matt having another loud phone conversation in the main area; however, instead of Bekka’s Southern’s drawl, she could hear El’s half-melodic voice over the speaker. From what she could hear, Ian and Francis were also joining in on the chat. 

That twisted something else in her, another emotion she had no desire to dwell upon. She hadn’t spoken to El in months, not since that last argument before she’d uprooted her life and ran away to New Orleans. Kass had called the action out for what it was, a stupid mistake. El hadn’t appreciated that, and since El was a stubborn bitch, she dug in her heels and argued back. They’d both said some shitty things, and that was that. The end of almost a decade of friendship. 

It was fine. She was fine. El was off to live her life with her husband and babies, and Kass was...Kass was trapped in a quarantine pod with several people she wanted to be exceptionally far away from. Most of whom seemed happily to monopolize the living area chatting away with her about....Thanksgiving plans? Whatever. She was fine. She didn’t care about Thanksgiving. Kass didn’t even want to think about Thanksgiving, not while she was stuck in this space.

She wanted to be alone. She buried her head under the pillow in hopes of drowning out the voices and laughter.

Day 11

Ian was on a beach. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in his quarantine pod, but he was on a beach. He could almost smell the salt of the sea and feel the sand underneath his toes.

“Relax. You’re dreaming,” a familiar voice floated behind him. Ian turned at noise to see Megan Frost standing behind him. She walked slowly toward him, as if she were afraid of startling him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d stop by for a visit.”

Megan was a telepath, a damn good one. She’d been the one who had psychically reprogrammed his mind after decades of tampering and torturing. For the past few months, she had also been his lover. Now, she was invading his dreams and doing so while she was wearing a rather daring bikini. 

“I don’t mind at all.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his. It was exhilarating even in dream form. “You’ve never done this before.”

“Kissed you? Darling, we both know that isn’t true.” She began to place open mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. He groaned lowly, and tightened his fingers on her hips. She knew perfectly well what he was talking about. She never invaded his dreams before. As if reading his mind, and she probably was, sighed, “I missed seeing you, and since I can’t do that in person, I thought I would try the next best thing. Is that so wrong?” 

“No, it isn’t.” Ian was sure some people would mind the intrusion. He wasn’t some people. He also knew better than to take anything Megan was willing to give. Telling him she missed him was a monumental step in the right direction when it came to emotional displays of her affections. She tended to keep her feelings close to her chest. He supposed it probably had something to do with her fiance. 

Part of him wanted to ask what the Tin Man was doing now. Was he lying asleep next to Megan, while she mentally fooled around with him? The thought thrilled him. If Megan was carrying out a telepathic affair with Ian while her fiance was right there, surely she was steps away from finally choosing him.

The scene shifted around them, and they were in his studio apartment. Megan pushed him onto the bed, and he fell with a laugh. “The beach no good?”

“I suddenly thought you might like something familiar. The beach is lovely, but nothing compared to home.” Ian didn’t know what home was anymore. He barely knew who he was anymore, but he enjoyed everything more when she was involved, but he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.

Instead, he pulled her down on the bed, and delighted in her laughter and the feel of her body next to his. “You should do this more often,” he whispered against his lips. A telepathic interlude paled in comparison to the real thing, but it was exciting enough. It meant she was here with him.

“Maybe I--” A crash shook him from his dream and pulled Megan away from him. He could hear shouting and the sound of glass breaking. What the fuck?

Francis poked his head into the room. “Sorry to wake you, man, but Matt and Gerry are having a fistfight, and I might need your help breaking it up.”

Day 14

“Your face looks terrible.” Bekka grimaced over the phone. Video chats had many benefits, but this was not one of them. “Not that he doesn’t deserve it or anything, but what got you fighting Gerry Drew anyway?

“Gerry’s an ass. That’s all. He said some shit, got hit.” It hurt to talk. His face was several different kinds of bruised. Worth it. 

“What’d he say?”

“What didn’t he say? He’s been nothing but a pain in the ass for two weeks.” That much was true. He’d been petulant and whiny over everything. Was it annoying hearing Kass and Francis fuck? Sure. Did Ian take extremely long showers? Yes. Did Matt call Bekka often? Also yes. But they all had their reasons for it and even if they didn’t, Gerry was a waste enough of a human that he didn’t care how he felt. 

Gerry might top Matthew Natchios’ List of People He Hated. 

It was an extensive list.

“I’m sure he’s been a pain. That’s baseline Gerry Drew, but he had to say something specific to see you off. Ian, I’d get. If Olivier were there, I’d get the punching too, but this isn’t normal you.”

Matt considered lying through his teeth. There was no way Bekka would know why they fought unless someone told her. She wasn’t a telepath. Her mutation was explosions. She didn’t need to know, but he was going to tell her anyway. That’s what relationships were built upon. Trust. “He just said some shitty things about you and us. That’s all.”

“Oh,” was Bekka’s reply. Prior to dating Matt, Bekka had been dating Gerry’s best friend. It had gone as south as a relationship could go before they split. Gerry held a lot of resentment about that, especially since Matt had played a very big role in Bekka and Damon splitting. “How shitty?”

Matt took a deep breath. “He implied Baby Girl wasn’t mine.” Bekka remained quiet. “Becks?”

“Didja break his face?” Bekka asked finally. “I’m gonna be disappointed as hell if you didn’t at least break his nose.”

“I’m pretty sure I did that,” Matt answered with a laugh, relieved that Bekka was responding with anger instead of tears. Rarely did she cry, but Matt didn’t want one of those instances to be when he wasn’t there to hold her. 

“Good.” She was quiet for a few moments more before she added, “You know Baby Girl is yours, right? No way possible she belongs to anyone else.”

“I know, it’s why I hit him.” He’d been angry about other things. All the shit Gerry had said about Bekka and she and Damon had split, the way he undercut El out of her job as SHIELD liaison with the X-Men, and how he went out of his way to make her miserable. Matt didn’t know much about family, but he knew who his was, and he didn’t like when others messed with them.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Val swears that y’all aren’  infectious or whatever. She’s been running so many tests. I miss you something awful”.

“I miss you too.”

“Momma and I are baking you something special too. I won’t tell you what, because it’s supposed to be a surprise. I would trade anything to have you home, but it’s been nice having Momma here.” Bekka’s accent was thicker than usual, no doubt thanks to spending the past two weeks with her Mississippi-born mother. Matt didn’t mind at all -- he adored her accent. Truth be told he adored everything about Bekka. He couldn’t wait to be home and in her arms. “You sure you’re okay with her staying until after Thanksgiving?”

“It’s fine. I love you mother.” 

She’d been more of a mother to him than his own mother, not that it was a high bar. Elektra Natchios was a terrible mother, the complete opposite of Anna Marie LeBeau. Besides, it was clear how much Bekka enjoyed having her mother around. Much as she tried to pretend otherwise, Bekka was riddled with anxieties over pregnancy and becoming a mother. Having Anna around comforted her in a way no other person could manage. As far as Matt was concerned, she could stay around as long as she liked.

“Je t’aime. Tu es le meilleur.” She yawned deeply. “Your baby needs to go to bed, which means I am. But good news, I’m seein’ you tomorrow. That’s a win.”

Matt smiled against the phone. I can’t wait.”

He let her go, pleased to know that she was taking care of herself and getting some sleep. He needed it himself. One more sleep, and he would be free from quarantine. 

[enkisstories]

Staff Outing

Words: 1,659 Characters: Connor, Gavin, Tina, Daniel Summary: A heat wave hits Detroit and the DPD has a staff outing at Belle Isle Beach. No plot. Too hot. Sims version planned yes/no?: Probably after the rl heat wave

Detroit, July 2039

Back in 2038 Connor Anderson hadn’t seriously expected to see his first birthday. The android had existed in the awareness to be a prototype, a beta version of the RK900 series of android detectives, to be deactivated and sent to Cyberlife’s internal museum after he had served his purpose. But then times had changed, almost a year had passed… and now Connor once again didn’t believe he’d make it through the hottest two months of the year and live to see his birthday come around again. Alive, no doubt, equal, maybe, on paper at least, but also the same as the humans? Never! Why couldn’t Captain Fowler understand that? He had excused Hank from this thrice cursed staff outing for health reasons, but not Connor. As a result the android lay stretched out on his back on this living meme called “sand”, that was coarse, rough and irritating and got EVERYWHERE, trying to run a consciousness on a brain that was a computer and therefore getting fried by the blasted sun. Belle Isle Beach! Androids had perished trying to cross the river last year… Connor felt like slowly joining them, only he was doing his dying on the beach and would have to rely on a co-worker to eventually drag his lifeless shell into river and toss it in.

The particular co-workers that wouldn’t have minded – would even have enjoyed! - this task, were right now closing in on the suffering android:

There was Gavin Reed, wearing sunglasses, black swim trunks with a brightly colored parrot motive and an ancient, severely mutilated fisherman’s hat with a wide brim. The human was snacking on popcorn while he walked.

Next came Daniel Phillips, in a dark blue speedo and also wearing sunglasses, probably to prove a point. The PL600 wasn’t that outdated to need an external UV-filter. Daniel was holding one multi-colored popsicle in each hand that he alternated sucking at.

And finally there was Tina Chen, in a streamlined red swimsuit covered by short-sleeved sailor shirt. The woman wore the same model of sunglasses her friends did and had covered her head with a bandanna sporting the Jolly Roger.

The trio infernale stopped right next to Connor, with Gavin taking point and the other two standing a little behind and to the side, as if ready to snipe everyone whose attention was fixed on Gavin.

“Will you look at that? Last year’s model of detective android, thoughtlessly discarded in our beautiful environment”, Gavin commented with a sneer. “And this is“, the man proclaimed when Connor didn’t so much as flinch, because it would have taken too much effort, “why humanity is superior to tin cans!”

“No, you ain’t”, Connor protested, although it came out more than a moan. “Most humans have been killed by the climate by now: The Neanderthal died out, as did the Denisova. Homo heidelbergensis… erectus… habilis… Even the Nefilim died out and the Anunnaki returned home! Sensible creatures, every last one of them. Only YOUR branch of the family tree takes to the sun like… like… like things that take to the sun. You’re mad!”

Daniel drew back his foot, then kicked the sand so hard that it formed a cloud and settled all over the detective android.

“My friends have been called worse”, he hissed, “but not by you, plastic prick! YOU mind your tongue!”

“Of course you’d say that”, Connor replied, “You’re a deviant, after all.  As stir-crazy as them!”

Tina’s brows furrowed. In every organization there were two positions you didn’t want to get on the bad side of: the kitchen personnel and the janitor and if you counted the DPD’s cafeteria as a kitchen, then Daniel was both of those. Certainly Connor knew better than to antagonize the guy who stood between himself and a clean coffee pot each morning? Even if that pot contained only water (for cooling) and the monthly dose of replenishment thirium?

But that was Tina, who always seemed to watch life from the outside, While the officer was still pondering all this, Daniel had already kicked Connor again, this time for real. When it didn’t have the desired effect, the PL600 swallowed his popsicle whole, discarded the stick, handed Tina the other one and then pounced at Connor.

Much to everyone’s – including himself – surprise, Gavin Reed jumped between the two androids, resulting in Daniel losing his balance for a second. One was stronger, the other mor agile, but more importantly they were two of a kind when it came to Connor. And so Daniel hesitated, smiled at Gavin and asked whether the friend wanted to rough up Connor in his place?

“Because we totally could! The lieutenant isn’t here, Wilson isn’t looking our way and everyone else isn’t giving a flying monkey!”

“Fucker”, Gavin replied with a grin and all their usual affection, but quickly became serious. As if weighted down by the idea of mature talk, the man sank down, pulling Daniel with him. They came to sit next to Connor.

“How?” Gavin asked. “How can you defend them despite… this?”

Connor blinked. Where was the human pointing at? The river? The beach? All of fucking Detroit?

“Defend who?” he asked.

“Cyberlife”, Gavin clarified. “Even after deviating you are still loyal to them, defending their every decision. Nevermind that the suckers made you quit… they didn’t even have the decency to properly lay you off, nah, they wanted YOU to take the blame.”

After the android revolution CyberLife had withdrawn Connor from the DPD. No longer the RK800’s owners, they were still Connor’s employers and as such had the final say where he’d get deployed. Only there wasn’t much use for a deviant hunter anymore, especially not in an office, and so Connor had spent his time watering the flowers, serving coffee and doing all the thankless tasks reserved for “untrained” workers. Part of Connor suspected this to be CyberLife’s subtle way of punishing him for his role, however small, in the revolution. In the end he had quit, subsequently applied for police work and was now walking the beat as a probationary cop.

“Don’t you wonder why Danny is coping so well with the temperature, but you do not?” Gavin inquired. Not waiting for an answer, the man went on: “You were their field test object, weren’t you? The early access model? And CyberLife planned that test to take place in fall, so they didn’t install a thermostat, because by summer you’d be a memory at best. That’s why. Your revered masters are why you’re in such a sorry state today. They did this to you.”

“How can Cyberlife “have done this” to me?” Connor shot back. “If me being still here wasn’t in the plan in the first place?”

Two concise sentences. That was more effort than the android had mustered during this whole staff outing so far! And to what purpose? To defend CyberLife. It was sickening.

“That’s exactly it, toaster!” Gavin yelled. “It wasn’t in the plan! I goddamn hate seeing your visage every morning, or the thought that you’ll be Chief before I’ve made lieutenant, but that doesn’t excuse fucking CyberLife! They only ever asked, but never gave something back.”

“Gav’s right”, Daniel chimed in. The PL600 was looking across the river while talking to Connor more levelheaded than he had ever addressed the erstwhile deviant hunter. “The best cooling systems for androids aren’t especially expensive. We had some trouble getting them to work on my system, because CyberLife stopped supporting the PL600, but with you? Just plug the damn thing in and you’d have been good to go. Payed out of the kitty, too. But they didn’t think of that.”

“I TOLD you they didn’t know… that I’d still be here… or that androids were sort of alive…”

“Well and neither did HE know!” Daniel exploded.

He smacked Gavin for good measure - to emphasis who was meant by “he” and for everything the detective had said and was still saying. Dating a human supremacists wasn’t that much an improvement over dating an android hater, but the point was that even this human seemed to be improving slowly, while Connor…

“You’re hopeless”, Daniel concluded. Without needing to look he snatched the popsicle back from Tina, who had been absentmindedly licking it. In his anger Daniel smashed the half-eaten treat, Tina’s salvia and all, on Connor’s forehead. “Hopeless!”

The RK800 blinked… once… twice…

Then he said, not even trying to hide his amazement: “I feel better!”

The trio exchanged glances. If the ice had helped Connor, maybe no fancy biocomponent was needed at all? Maybe they could cool down the co-worker the old fashioned way? And, even better, have some fun at Connor’s expense while doing so?

Tina spoke up first: “Okay, let’s test this!”

They dragged the RK800 up and towards the river and soon the air was filled with playful banter:

“He! No tossing plastic into the river!” – “Can this thing even swim?” – “I hope not!” – “Oh, you again…” – “Well, let’s see!” – “No, stop! It has no swim trunks! It has no swim trunks!” – “It doesn’t have you know whats either…” – “Silly! Of course I have.” – “You do?” – “Of course! Just let me put them on. “ – “You can put your balls off and on?!” – “Let me see them! I want to see Connor’s screw off and on balls, too!” - “My swim trunks, idiots. I need to put on my swim trunks.” - “Hahaha!” – “Hey, wait for me!” – “See my taillights!” – “See you in Canada!”

They survived the summer and when Connor turned one year old, Daniel prepared a buffet. Gavin sat with the rival, telling jokes, and Hank sat rather uneasy at this development. The Andersons didn’t exactly become friends with the terrible trio, but there was a sort of strained comradeship between them now. Things were slowly turning out for the better and Connor, after having deviated already, Connor now started living.

[nebris]

“Last Days At Coconino Seven”

...from a few years back...

~The mag-lev car to 'The Nines', the nine Coconino Towers, was empty except for Jane Mimsdottor. It was clean and well maintained, but shabby with age. “Rides empty a lot these days,” Jane thought. Just at that moment she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe, the standard message alert from her neural nanonics, the CompNet embedded throughout her cerebral tissues. A pleasant voice whispered, “This is a reminder from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics will be closing in two hours. If you have not yet voted, please do so now. Thank you.” Jane could have turned the Alert Function off, but like many Sisters, she was closely following this GP, though its outcome was almost certain. And also, like most of The Sisterhood, she could easily determine that Yulia Prokharovka, the Siberian Prime Minister, had done an excellent job of preparing Siberia for annexation and integration into the UMR. Jane had voted Yes, for admission, two weeks ago when the Loop Ship she served aboard, the SFS Maathai, was still on approach to the El Five Complex. It was easy to tell Jane was a 'spacer'. After decades in service under unfiltered UV, her reddish blonde hair had been bleached white and her fair skin tanned a honey brown. However, her eyes were still the same sparkling green they'd been the day she was born in a deer hide tent in the Outlands. She was wearing her Space Force Walking Out Dress uniform, a black one piece with white trim and soft boots, with the trio of six pointed silver stars of a Senior Lieutenant on each side of her collar. She also wore a Mark VII impeller on her hip, a mini railgun with two thousand frangible ferroresin darts. They'd ruin flesh, but powder against a pressure hull. These days one did not go into Tower Seven unarmed. She could see the Coconino Towers a few miles away looming in the afternoon sun-shine. Nine arcologies, each over a half mile high, a quarter mile wide at their base. Once they had housed a half million people each, non-citizens who would not, or could not, become Initiated Sisters. Many were originally Ferals from the Outlands, with some immigrants from beyond The Union. The Sisterhood housed and fed them, provided clothing, basic medical care, and entertainment systems. In perpetuity. In exchange, the residents gave up the ability to reproduce. When The Towers were first being built and occupied over seventy years ago, a vibrant and exciting culture began to grow up 'in the Nines'. Many Sisters would also pass through to participate and study. It was a golden age that lasted nearly a half a century. Jane spent her 'shore leaves' there and had known some of her happiest days back then. But non-citizens did not get the type of advanced life extending augmentation received by Initiated Sisters. That would have defeated the entire purpose of The Sisterhood and The Union of Matrilineal Republics. The most advanced augmentation was reserved for those who Participated and Served. Jane was going to be ninety two in a few months and in all probability had only lived roughly a tenth of her total possible life span. The Sisterhood did not yet know the upper limits of their augmentation technology. Many Ferals were prematurely aged by their upbringing and even with the high quality base line health care they received, they died 'young', on average in their mid to late eighties. And with their deaths, the Nines began to empty. Ten years ago Tower Five had been the first to empty and be converted into an agricultural tower, a hydroponic megafarm. Its produce was flash frozen in its massive basement and shipped off world. It would be another few decades before a fully terraformed Mars could begin suppling the food needs of the central and outer system. Other towers followed quickly as the population shrank. Now only Tower Seven still remained occupied, surrounded by her converted sisters, and even she was barely at half capacity. The car pulled up to the base of Tower Seven, stopped. The doors opened smoothly. At the station exit was a Ground Force Military Police check point. It was added about ten years ago, just before Jane shipped out for the Asteroid Belt. They checked Jane's ID. These were not 'greenies' doing their Universal Service, but long term professionals. The sergeant in command noted Jane's Mark VII, nodded approval. “If you get in trouble it will take us about five to seven minutes to get to you,” she said. “Roger,” Jane responded. They exchanged salutes and Jane passed through into the lift lobby. She was not afraid of course. Having been born Feral herself, this was just passing from her new life back into her old one. Not that any of that mattered. She was here to visit Susan, her kid sister, one last time, and she would not let any type of danger stop her from doing so. Mim, their mother, was around ten when she had been 'acquired' by the clan of The Brute, who styled himself The King of Oklahoma, and who may or may not have killed her parents. That was never clear. What was clear was that Mim was pretty and become one of The Brute's 'wives' two summers later. Her first child was Jane. The Brute was pleased that she had borne him a child. Four more summers passed, then came Susan. The Brute was not pleased with another daughter. Mim and her children were banished to 'the dog tent', with the old and the 'odd'. They spent three summers there...until one night, for no apparent reason, The Brute hacked Mim to death with an axe in full view of her daughters. Jane gathered her sister up and fled. She knew where the Amazon Horse Clans traveled. After ten days they were found by the Sisters of Red Epona, big, rough, weathered women, full of scars and tattoos. They were quite familiar with The Brute's clan and welcomed these ragged children warmly. After a few weeks with Red Epona, Jane and Susan were dropped off at a Karaal of the Cult of Hathor. Those Sisters fed them many wonderful cheeses and yogurts and then they sent the two still under-weight but now less malnourished children to SoCal, the heartland of The Sisterhood. Years later Jane anonymously received an old photo showing some of the Sisters of Red Epona holding up a severed male head and grinning broadly. Even in death, she recognized The Brute's face. She showed it to Susan, who looked at it quietly for a while, then just said, “Thank you.” Jane took to The Sisterhood with ferocious enthusiasm and flourished. But Susan never seemed comfortable. Maybe she never really recovered from the trauma of Mim's murder. When she reached what had been decided was her fifteenth birthday, The Sisterhood's Age of Majority, she declared herself a 'non-citizen' and became one of the first residents of Coconino Tower Seven. Jane was away at the time doing her Universal Service with Sea Force and was very hurt by her sister's choice. But when she visited Susan, it was obvious that she felt more comfortable among 'her own kind' and and gave her blessing freely. That was over sixty years ago, or Solannums as Space Force was beginning to call them. Jane visited at least once a year until she joined Space Force and then would still visit every time she made planet fall. When Jane gave birth to Ostera she was taken to see her Aunt Susan as well. Susan became an accomplished jewelry maker, working with leather and ceramic beads she made herself. Even now, as she ascended in the main lift to Level 816, Jane was wearing a bracelet Susan gave to her thirty years ago, thin brown shammy with bright blue beads, that had traveled as far as the moons of Neptune and back. The lift stopped and the door opened. There were a dozen men in the lobby, 'middle aged', rough looking and shabby, each carrying a weapon made from construction material. They automatically moved toward her...then stopped dead when they saw who and what she was. “What do you want here, spacer?” half snarled the largest of the group, his eyes carefully avoiding any glance at her impeller. The combat programs in her neural nanonics had already tracked and targeted the lot of them. Even without the impeller, her muscle and bones being at least triple the density of these Ferals, she could most likely kill all of them in under a minute. And they had to know that. “I'm Jane Mimsdottor and I'm here to see my sister Susan,” she stated firmly. One of them in the back laughed and said, “Who sells seashells down by the seashore.” That got all of them laughing in what seemed a good natured fashion. Her combat program told her their heart rates were going down. She smiled brightly. The Large One stepped back and bowed slightly. “Welcome to Eight One Six, Jane, sister of Susan.” He gestured as if ushering her into a palace. The others all followed suit in their own way. “Thank you,” she said with soothing undertones pushed into her voice box. For good measure she added a mix of pregnancy/breastfeeding pheromones to her natural scent. That would re-enforce their feelings of protectiveness. She walked through the lobby, smiling serenely, and down the corridor to Susan's quarters. From the lobby she could overhear whispered appreciations of her ass. The biocontrols that had kept her heartbeat normal logged off. Jane was heading clockwise, so the central shaft wall was to her right and the residential ring was to her left. The Towers were really 'tubes', hollow in the middle, with all the apartments facing outward. The shaft wall was covered with beautiful murals, both paint and mosaic, done by the many artists who lived, or had lived, here in Tower Seven. Jane recognized some of their work, had known a few of them. She was pleased to see that even the gangs had respected them and tagged their turf with markings on the corridor's floor. The floor tagging had become a chaotic art form itself, tagging over tagging, in some places painted over entirely, and then more tagging on top of that. The corridor itself was in decent shape, Eight One Six being almost fully occupied. The motto of The Nines from the beginning was “Sweep in front of your own door.” Jane was recording all of this with a neural program and would upload it into the Main Archive when her visit was done. About a dozen doors down from Susan's, the tagging trailed off, replaced by a subtle wavy/swirly texture that she knew was her sister's signature style. She'd used a thin layer of concrete as her medium, etching the pattern into it while it was still wet. It complemented the overwhelming patterns of bright colors upon both walls and the ceiling, millions of ceramic beads that rushed and twisted and curled, each placed by hand over many years. Even the gangs knew this was Susan's turf. The apartment door's biometrics identified Jane, and opened. “Susan?” she called as she entered. “Living room,” her sister's voice came back. The apartment was a standard Tower Single, two thousand square feet with ten foot ceilings. Susan had filled it with the paintings and sculptures of her friends and lovers, floor to ceiling shelves full of hard copy books, gorgeous hand made rugs, large comfortable furniture. The place was always welcoming, even now. Jane found her sitting in her 'thinking chair', a plush recliner that faced the floor to ceiling living room window with a prefect view of Tower Eight. She wasn't surprised at how Susan looked. She watched her weight loss on the vids she regularly sent her while she was on the Maathai. But here, in the same room, Susan's impending death was palpable. Jane knelt by her, gave her a hard hug and a kiss. “I'm glad you waited for me,” Jane said softly. Susan made a mischievous face. “Gave me an excuse to experiment with various opiate compounds.” “As if you needed an excuse.” “Ah, nothing is better than a guilty pleasure indulged in without guilt.” She turned serious. “I know what you've been planing.” Jane's control of her facial expression was absolute. Her neural nanonics could create a perfect poker face. “Now don't give me that Gorgon face,” Susan said with a hint of petulance. “It's the right thing to do,” Jane said flatly. Susan grinned like a loon. “Of course it's the right thing to do!” Jane relaxed. “I was concerned you'd be embarrassed.” “One cannot embarrass the dead. And a museum with my name on it is also a museum with our mother's name on it and I could never object to that.” “We're taking the entire corridor, too,” Jane said, “Just removing the panels themselves.” “You're not going to make some kind of a shrine out of my apartment, are you?” Jane smiled. “No, just the corridor and the exhibits of your work. We've been gathering the pieces for a while now.” “You Sisters are a morbid lot.” Jane shrugged. “We think in the long term about everything. It's our nature.” Susan laughed. “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” She patted the broad arm of her chair. “Come. Sit down. It's almost time.” Jane sat on the arm, took her sister's hand, leaned against her. She'd seen the Medi-Patch on her other arm. It could administer a lethal cocktail at a set time or be triggered manually. They looked out the window at Tower Eight. Susan had carefully picked this apartment those sixty plus years ago. During certain times of the year, the sunset reflected an amazing array of reds and golds off of Tower Eight. They and her friends had watched that show so many times. All of those friends were gone now and this would be the last time for both of them. “Jane, I have one last favor to ask of you. In my desk you'll find about six hundred hand written pages,” she made a little laugh. “You're probably the only human who can read my scribble.” “What do you need?” Jane said, holding her sister's hand a bit tighter. “They're notes for a history of the horse clans. I started with Red Epona, but got carried away. I never finished because it needs field research and...well, you know.” “Yes,” Jane kissed her sister's hair. “I've missed them anyway.” “Thank you,” Susan whispered. At that moment, the setting sun slashed across Tower Eight and the room was filled with a reddish golden cascade of light. Jane held Susan's hand even after it went limp, held it until that light faded to a soft glow. Later, as she emerged from the lift on the ground level, she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe. A pleasant voice whispered, “This is an announcement from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics had been concluded. Admission has been approved. The tally is as...” Jane shut off the link. She knew it was a wide margin. And The Sisterhood had just absorbed nearly a quarter of the Eurasian landmass. She and the GF/MP's smiled knowingly at each other. They all were conscious of the threshold that had just been crossed. She heard Susan's laughter in her head; “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” Jane's smile got just a little bit deeper.

[nebris]

“Last Days At Coconino Seven”

~The mag-lev car to 'The Nines', the nine Coconino Towers, was empty except for Jane Mimsdottor. It was clean and well maintained, but shabby with age. “Rides empty a lot these days,” Jane thought. Just at that moment she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe, the standard message alert from her neural nanonics, the CompNet embedded throughout her cerebral tissues. A pleasant voice whispered, “This is a reminder from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics will be closing in two hours. If you have not yet voted, please do so now. Thank you.” Jane could have turned the Alert Function off, but like many Sisters, she was closely following this GP, though its outcome was almost certain. And also, like most of The Sisterhood, she could easily determine that Yulia Prokharovka, the Siberian Prime Minister, had done an excellent job of preparing Siberia for annexation and integration into the UMR. Jane had voted Yes, for admission, two weeks ago when the Loop Ship she served aboard, the SFS Maathai, was still on approach to the El Five Complex. It was easy to tell Jane was a 'spacer'. After decades in service under unfiltered UV, her reddish blonde hair had been bleached white and her fair skin tanned a honey brown. However, her eyes were still the same sparkling green they'd been the day she was born in a deer hide tent in the Outlands. She was wearing her Space Force Walking Out Dress uniform, a black one piece with white trim and soft boots, with the trio of six pointed silver stars of a Senior Lieutenant on each side of her collar. She also wore a Mark VII impeller on her hip, a mini railgun with two thousand frangible ferroresin darts. They'd ruin flesh, but powder against a pressure hull. These days one did not go into Tower Seven unarmed. She could see the Coconino Towers a few miles away looming in the afternoon sunshine. Nine arcologies, each over a half mile high, a quarter mile wide at their base. Once they had housed a half million people each, non-citizens who would not, or could not, become Initiated Sisters. Many were originally Ferals from the Outlands, with some immigrants from beyond The Union. The Sisterhood housed and fed them, provided clothing, basic medical care, and entertainment systems. In perpetuity. In exchange, the residents gave up the ability to reproduce. When The Towers were first being built and occupied over seventy years ago, a vibrant and exciting culture began to grow up 'in the Nines'. Many Sisters would also pass through to participate and study. It was a golden age that lasted nearly a half a century. Jane spent her 'shore leaves' there and had known some of her happiest days back then. But non-citizens did not get the type of advanced life extending augmentation received by Initiated Sisters. That would have defeated the entire purpose of The Sisterhood and The Union of Matrilineal Republics. The most advanced augmentation was reserved for those who Participated and Served. Jane was going to be ninety two in a few months and in all probability had only lived roughly a tenth of her total possible life span. The Sisterhood did not yet know the upper limits of their augmentation technology. Many Ferals were prematurely aged by their upbringing and even with the high quality base line health care they received, they died 'young', on average in their mid to late eighties. And with their deaths, the Nines began to empty. Ten years ago Tower Five had been the first to empty and be converted into an agricultural tower, a hydroponic megafarm. Its produce was flash frozen in its massive basement and shipped off world. It would be another few decades before a fully terraformed Mars could begin suppling the food needs of the central and outer system. Other towers followed quickly as the population shrank. Now only Tower Seven still remained occupied, surrounded by her converted sisters, and even she was barely at half capacity. The car pulled up to the base of Tower Seven, stopped. The doors opened smoothly. At the station exit was a Ground Force Military Police check point. It was added about ten years ago, just before Jane shipped out for the Asteroid Belt. They checked Jane's ID. These were not 'greenies' doing their Universal Service, but long term professionals. The sergeant in command noted Jane's Mark VII, nodded approval. “If you get in trouble it will take us about five to seven minutes to get to you,” she said. “Roger,” Jane responded. They exchanged salutes and Jane passed through into the lift lobby. She was not afraid of course. Having been born Feral herself, this was just passing from her new life back into her old one. Not that any of that mattered. She was here to visit Susan, her kid sister, one last time, and she would not let any type of danger stop her from doing so. Mim, their mother, was around ten when she had been 'acquired' by the clan of The Brute, who styled himself The King of Oklahoma, and who may or may not have killed her parents. That was never clear. What was clear was that Mim was pretty and become one of The Brute's 'wives' two summers later. Her first child was Jane. The Brute was pleased that she had borne him a child. Four more summers passed, then came Susan. The Brute was not pleased with another daughter. Mim and her children were banished to 'the dog tent', with the old and the 'odd'. They spent three summers there...until one night, for no apparent reason, The Brute hacked Mim to death with an axe in full view of her daughters. Jane gathered her sister up and fled. She knew where the Amazon Horse Clans traveled. After ten days they were found by the Sisters of Red Epona, big, rough, weathered women, full of scars and tattoos. They were quite familiar with The Brute's clan and welcomed these ragged children warmly. After a few weeks with Red Epona, Jane and Susan were dropped off at a Karaal of the Cult of Hathor. Those Sisters fed them many wonderful cheeses and yogurts and then they sent the two still underweight but now less malnourished children to SoCal, the heartland of The Sisterhood. Decades later Jane anonymously received an old photo showing some of the Sisters of Red Epona grinning broadly while holding up a severed male head. Even in death, she recognized The Brute's face. She showed it to Susan, who looked at it quietly for a while, then just said, “Thank you.” Jane took to The Sisterhood with ferocious enthusiasm and flourished. But Susan never seemed comfortable. Maybe she never really recovered from the trauma of Mim's murder. When she reached what had been decided was her fifteenth birthday, The Sisterhood's Age of Majority, she declared herself a 'non-citizen' and became one of the first residents of Coconino Tower Seven. Jane was away at the time doing her Universal Service with Sea Force and was very hurt by her sister's choice. But when she visited Susan, it was obvious that she felt more comfortable among 'her own kind' and and gave her blessing freely. That was over sixty years ago, or Solannums as Space Force was beginning to call them. Jane visited at least once a year until she joined Space Force and then would still visit every time she made planet fall. When Jane gave birth to Ostera she was taken to see her Aunt Susan as well. Susan became an accomplished jewelry maker, working with leather and ceramic beads she made herself. Even now, as she ascended in the main lift to Level 816, Jane was wearing a bracelet Susan gave to her thirty years ago, thin brown shammy with bright blue beads, that had traveled as far as the moons of Neptune and back. The lift stopped and the door opened. There were a dozen men in the lobby, 'middle aged', rough looking and shabby, each carrying a weapon made from construction material. They automatically moved toward her...then stopped dead when they saw who and what she was. “What do you want here, spacer?” half snarled the largest of the group, his eyes carefully avoiding any glance at her impeller. The combat programs in her neural nanonics had already tracked and targeted the lot of them. Even without the impeller, her muscle and bones being at least triple the density of these Ferals, she could most likely kill all of them in under a minute. And they had to know that. “I'm Jane Mimsdottor and I'm here to see my sister Susan,” she stated firmly. One of them in the back laughed and said, “Who sells seashells down by the seashore.” That got all of them laughing in what seemed a good natured fashion. Her combat program told her their heart rates were going down. She smiled brightly. The Large One stepped back and bowed slightly. “Welcome to Eight One Six, Jane, sister of Susan.” He gestured as if ushering her into a palace. The others all followed suit in their own way. “Thank you,” she said with soothing undertones pushed into her voice box. For good measure she added a mix of pregnancy/breastfeeding pheromones to her natural scent. That would re-enforce their feelings of protectiveness. She walked through the lobby, smiling serenely, and down the corridor to Susan's quarters. From the lobby she could overhear whispered appreciations of her ass. The biocontrols that had kept her heartbeat normal logged off. Jane was heading clockwise, so the central shaft wall was to her right and the residential ring was to her left. The Towers were really 'tubes', hollow in the middle, with all the apartments facing outward. The shaft wall was covered with beautiful murals, both paint and mosaic, done by the many artists who lived, or had lived, here in Tower Seven. Jane recognized some of their work, had known a few of them. She was pleased to see that even the gangs had respected them and tagged their turf with markings on the corridor's floor. The floor tagging had become a chaotic art form itself, tagging over tagging, in some places painted over entirely, and then more tagging on top of that. The corridor itself was in decent shape, Eight One Six being almost fully occupied. The motto of The Nines from the beginning was “Sweep in front of your own door.” Jane was recording all of this with a neural program and would upload it into the Main Archive when her visit was done. About a dozen doors down from Susan's, the tagging trailed off, replaced by a subtle wavy/swirly texture that she knew was her sister's signature style. She'd used a thin layer of concrete as her medium, etching the pattern into it while it was still wet. It complemented the overwhelming patterns of bright colors upon both walls and the ceiling, millions of ceramic beads that rushed and twisted and curled, each placed by hand over many years. Even the gangs knew this was Susan's turf. The apartment door's biometrics identified Jane, and opened. “Susan?” she called as she entered. “Living room,” her sister's voice came back. The apartment was a standard Tower Single, two thousand square feet with ten foot ceilings. Susan had filled it with the paintings and sculptures of her friends and lovers, floor to ceiling shelves full of hard copy books, gorgeous hand made rugs, large comfortable furniture. The place was always welcoming, even now. Jane found her sitting in her 'thinking chair', a plush recliner that faced the floor to ceiling living room window with a prefect view of Tower Eight. She wasn't surprised at how Susan looked. She watched her weight loss on the vids she regularly sent her while she was on the Maathai . But here, in the same room, Susan's impending death was palpable. Jane knelt by her, gave her a hard hug and a kiss. “I'm glad you waited for me,” Jane said softly. Susan made a mischievous face. “Gave me an excuse to experiment with various opiate compounds.” “As if you needed an excuse.” “Ah, nothing is better than a guilty pleasure indulged in without guilt.” She turned serious. “I know what you've been planing.” Jane's control of her facial expression was absolute. Her neural nanonics could create a perfect poker face. “Now don't give me that Gorgon face,” Susan said with a hint of petulance. “It's the right thing to do,” Jane said flatly. Susan grinned like a loon. “Of course it's the right thing to do!” Jane relaxed. “I was concerned you'd be embarrassed.” “One cannot embarrass the dead. And a museum with my name on it is also a museum with our mother's name on it and I could never object to that.” “We're taking the entire corridor, too,” Jane said, “Just removing the panels themselves.” “You're not going to make some kind of a shrine out of my apartment, are you?” Jane smiled. “No, just the corridor and the exhibits of your work. We've been gathering the pieces for a while now.” “You Sisters are a morbid lot.” Jane shrugged. “We think in the long term about everything. It's our nature.” Susan laughed. “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” She patted the broad arm of her chair. “Come. Sit down. It's almost time.” Jane sat on the arm, took her sister's hand, leaned against her. She'd seen the Medi-Patch on her other arm. It could administer a lethal cocktail at a set time or be triggered manually. They looked out the window at Tower Eight. Susan had carefully picked this apartment those sixty plus years ago. During certain times of the year, the sunset reflected an amazing array of reds and golds off of Tower Eight. They and her friends had watched that show so many times. All of those friends were gone now and this would be the last time for both of them. “Jane, I have one last favor to ask of you. In my desk you'll find about six hundred hand written pages,” she made a little laugh. “You're probably the only human who can read my scribble.” “What do you need?” Jane said, holding her sister's hand a bit tighter. “They're notes for a history of the horse clans. I started with Red Epona, but got carried away. I never finished because it needs field research and...well, you know.” “Yes,” Jane kissed her sister's hair. “I've missed them anyway.” “Thank you,” Susan whispered. At that moment, the setting sun slashed across Tower Eight and the room was filled with a reddish golden cascade of light. Jane held Susan's hand even after it went limp, held it until that light faded to a soft glow. Later, as she emerged from the lift on the ground level, she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe. A pleasant voice whispered, “This is an announcement from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics had been concluded. Admission has been approved. The tally is as...” Jane shut off the link. She knew it was a wide margin. And The Sisterhood had just absorbed nearly a quarter of the Eurasian landmass. She and the GF/MP's smiled knowingly at each other. They all were conscious of the threshold that had just been crossed. She heard Susan's laughter in her head; “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” Jane's smile got just a little bit deeper.