"And leave the wasp for your return?"
The final argument. “We'd better stay. I can watch while you sleep."
"Appreciation.” The Amazon threw herself onto the pallet and was instantly asleep, needing no sleep dust.
Symbol used the toilet trench, and checked the fire. It had been neatly stoked, and more wood was ready beside it; Lucent had obviously been busy during the night. There was also a skinned rat, mounted on a spit, ready for roasting, and the remnant of another beside it; she had been hunting also.
Symbol considered that rat. It wasn't her idea of breakfast, but she was hungry, and she didn't want to turn down something her companion had evidently gone to some trouble to prepare for her. So she picked up the stick and held the rat over the hot embers. Soon the smell of the cooking meat rose from it, and it was good.
She looked around, making sure nothing was attacking the Amazon. Nothing was. Indeed, there mere presence of an alert person seemed to be enough to keep the wasp back; she didn't have to be especially watchful. But she watched anyway.
When the rat seemed done, she nibbled on it, still on the stick, then ate more voraciously. This was much easier than hunting, killing, and gutting the thing; it seemed almost sanitary.
Lucent woke, looked at Symbol, turned over and returned to sleep. Well, she needed it too. Symbol walked around, picking up more sticks of wood for the fire. Meanwhile she wondered how they were going to get the wasp. They did not dare both sleep at once, and it would not come while one was awake, so what was the point remaining here? Somehow that aspect hadn't occurred to her before. Were they merely wasting time? No, surely the Amazon had some notion for the night, and had merely forgotten to mention it.
Around midday Symbol saw something in the distance. She craned her neck and shaded her eyes, and discovered that it was motion on the track ahead. A cart was approaching.
"Lucent,” she murmured. “Somebody coming."
The woman woke so fast she seemed to materialize standing, short sword in hand. “Two men—brigands. Bad news."
"Brigands! How can you tell from this distance?"
"They have that look. Scruffy, dirty, mean-faced, nonChroma. Also, I get a faint ugly mind trace."
"What will we do? We can't escape them."
"I can take them, by the look of it, especially if they don't know I'm Amazon. But maybe we should let them be."
"Let them be? They won't let us be! I've encountered men like that."
"So have I. That's what I'm counting on. They may be our salvation."
"They'll rape us and rob us and maybe kill us!"
Lucent was already hiding her weapons. “We'd better be two helpless victims. Weak women. I'll follow your lead."
"But that will get is nowhere!"
"It's like this: what's a rough man do after he's had his woman?"
"He sleeps."
"And what's the wasp looking for?"
"A sleeper. But would it take a man?"
"One of them's fat.” Lucent was changing her hair, hiding the Amazon helmet.
The light dawned. “I'll do that,” Symbol said. She went to work on the Amazon's hair, converting it into a loose sultry display. “But these won't be nice lays."
"They'll be rapes. Then they'll bind us and throw us away for a while, until they get horny again. But eventually they'll sleep. I'm betting that the wasp will know we're helpless, and go after the fattest sleeper. All we have to do is wait for it to happen. Then we'll get out of here, knowing the wasp is done."
"How, when we're bound?"
"Binding can't hold an Amazon long, especially if they don't realize."
Symbol wasn't easy with this, but had nothing better to offer, and if it took care of the wasp, she was game. “Can you cry? If you do that, they'll never suspect."
"I'll try, humiliating as it is."
When the brigands arrived, they found two helpless and rather pretty women. “So nice to meet you,” Symbol said. “We're just about to go on our way."
"The hell you are, slut,” the fat brigand said, grabbing her arm. Symbol screamed, so he backhanded her. She moved with the blow so that it was glancing, and shut up. He had cowed her.
Meanwhile the other brigand caught hold of Lucent. She tried to shrink away, ineffectively affrighted, but was unable to break his grip. No one would take her for an Amazon, which was of course the point.
"I'm Foul Fettle, and this is my brother Fine Fettle,” the fat one said. “We don't care who you are, so just keep your mouths shut and we won't hurt you more than we have to.” He hauled Symbol to the pallet, threw her down, and ripped at her clothing. In a moment he had her crotch exposed and was on her, his weight crushing the breath from her as his member rammed home.
Fortunately he was done so quickly that soon she was able to recover her breath, gaspingly. He hauled her off the pallet so his brother could throw Lucent there. Lucent cried convincingly as Fine Fettle had at her, and it was evidently that the man liked that.
Then Foul brought out metal manacles and put them on her wrists and her ankles. She could neither gesture nor walk. This was rather more effective than she cared for, but there was no help for it now. When Fine finished with Lucent, he produced two more sets of manacles and bound her similarly. They the left the ravished girls and scouted the premises, looking for food.
"You can handle this?” Symbol whispered when the men were far enough away.
"I expected cord. This is more of a challenge. But they've got the keys on their bodies; we'll just have to get them. At least they didn't have the sense to shackle our arms behind us."
Symbol looked at her bound hands. “It makes no difference to me. I can't get out of this."
"You don't want to, yet. Not until the wasp comes."
"I hope you know what you're doing!"
"I hope so too."
That was not reassuring. But since there was nothing to be done about it, they lay back and relaxed.
The brigands finished off the remains of the rats, and rifled the women's packs for their stored food. Satisfied that they were in control of the situation, the men did not do a thorough search, so did not find Lucent's small cache of weapons.
In due course, the men returned to the women. This time it was Fine who raped Symbol, and Foul who raped Lucent. Men liked variety when they could get it. These rapes were less urgent, but no less unpleasant. Then they moved the women to the far side of the shelter and manacled them to a stout post. As dusk came, the two men pissed into the trench, not concealing themselves from the gaze of the women at all, and lay down on and beside the pallet. Soon both were snoring.
"Do you think it will come?” Symbol asked.
"Yes. Watch."
And there came the flying creature, the thirty pound wasp. The wingspan was huge, but it made no sound as it flew in for a landing on the fat brigand. It stung him immediately on the back and took off again, exactly as the one in the illusion show had done with the pig. It flew by the women, and it did seem to know that they were helpless though alert.
Soon it landed again on the brigand. This time it oriented on his posterior and unlimbered its ovipositor. The instrument looked huge, several times the size of a man's erect penis. Clothing proved to be no barrier; the wasp slowly drove the member into the man's rump. It seemed that it hardly mattered whether there was a natural avenue; the instrument would make its own access, once it found its lodging. The insect was using that approach to gain convenient access to the gut without banging into bone. As deflowerings went, this would have been extremely uncomfortable, had the man not been sedated. Even so, he grunted and tried to shift about, but was unable to act effectively or to dislodge the stake that was penetrating his gut from the nether side. It occurred to Symbol that the sting might not have anesthetized the man so much as paralyzed him, so that he could feel the whole of the insertion without being able to resist.
"Lovely,” Lucent breathed. “He's getting royally raped. It couldn't happen to a mor
e deserving lout."
Symbol had to agree, though the whole business utterly horrified her.
When the ovipositor was deeply embedded, the tube-like length of it bulged with the eggs coursing through it, perhaps carried by pulses of supportive fluid, going into the man's body. It looked almost exactly like a gross act of sex, making Symbol shudder anew. She was long accustomed to all manner of sexual acts, and unfazed by most, but this one was not only horrible, but special: That, but for Lucent's help, might have been her own fate.
"Is the wasp having an orgasm?” Lucent asked rhetorically. She really seemed to be enjoying this.
Indeed, the insect was quivering as if in the throes of some tremendous release. What was it that made such a creature bear the risk and awkwardness of such an act, if not overwhelming pleasure in the performance? Just as was the case with human men, who resorted to any persuasion, subterfuge, or violence to get their little stickers into the body of any available woman? It certainly wasn't much reasoning concern for the future of the species.
The act of injection seemed to take forever, but in due course the wasp withdrew the spent bloodstained ovipositor and folded it back into its body. Then it flew away, leaving the man to writhe while recovering from the sting, if not the rape. That was all there was to it—for now.
"And the worst is only beginning,” Symbol murmured. “Those grubs in there—"
"And you bet he won't be able to crap them out."
"Ugh!"
"Let's get going,” Lucent whispered.
"How?"
"This post is set in a fixed hole, loosely. I'll lift; you pass your hands under."
Surprised, Symbol discovered it was so. The roof was slight, and the post less solid than it seemed. The Amazon braced herself against it and heaved, and it came up. She lifted the base clear of the ground, and Symbol got her chain under it. Then she held it in place while Lucent did the same. Then they set the post back in its hole. They remained manacled, but were at least free to move.
"Now we get to Foul Fettle, before he recovers consciousness, and get his key,” Lucent said.
They made their way across. Symbol glanced nervously at Fine Fettle, but the man continued snoring obliviously. They reached Foul, and Lucent quickly searched his pockets, coming up in due course with the key. They used it to unlock their manacles. Then, in an act of inspiration, they put the manacles back around the post, locked, and returned the key to the man's pocket. Let them figure out that escape!
"Actually it would be as easy to kill them,” Symbol said. “Now that the wasp has been nullified."
"No. Killing without need is wasteful, and might get us in trouble. Also, they raped us, twice. They deserve to suffer. This will make them suffer."
Symbol realized that the Amazon was correct. Foul Fettle would suffer worse than any human agency could have arranged, and Fine Fettle would suffer as he saw his brother dying of a mysterious ailment that finally erupted in sheer horror. What could be better than leaving the brigands to their awful fate, while the women's hands remained technically clean?
Quietly they fetched their things, went to their cart, and pushed it away from the station. It was dark, but they were not about to wait for the dawn. They needed to get well away from here. As it happened, the station was low in the valley, so they had to push the cart all the way up the slope, a long walk. Symbol did not mind; this was slow enough to be safe in the darkness.
When they reached the top of the ridge, they stopped. “We'll hear them coming, if they try to follow—which I doubt they will,” Lucent said. “We can readily escape just by riding down the other side. Let's wait here until light."
"Agreement.” Symbol was far more tired than she cared to admit, considering that Lucent had done all of the pushing.
The Amazon blocked the wheels of the cart so that it would not roll in either direction. “Sleep if you wish; I'll watch."
Symbol relaxed and did sleep for a time, but woke before dawn. “Your turn to sleep,” she said blearily.
"Acquiescence.” Lucent got into the cart and was instantly asleep.
She woke at dawn. “Let's move,” she said. “We're out of food, but can get it in the Chroma zone.” She got out and unblocked the wheels. She gave the cart a push and jumped in. They were on their way.
The rest of the trip was routine. They rode and pushed, rode and pushed, and nothing stalked them. Symbol's relief expanded as time passed. But she remembered that dealing with the wasp was only part of their deal; now she needed to help her companion achieve her desire.
"What is it you wish of me?” she asked during one of the walks.
"It's a fair story."
"This is the time for it."
Lucent told her story. Her real name was Choice, though she had long since given it up. She had been married for fifteen years and was raising four children. She returned one day from a trip to the market to discover that her key to her house did not work. Bemused by this inexplicable failure, she searched out the spare key hidden beneath a flowerpot and used that. But as she entered, the family's pet dog growled at her, baring his teeth. Astonished, she spoke to him. “What's the matter, Chomp?"
The dog backed away on his six stubby legs, snarling. She saw in his mind that he did not recognize her. How could that be?
She took her bag of groceries to the kitchen and began putting them away. Then her youngest child appeared. This was Chip, a lad of eight years, cheerful though not especially smart. That was not her fault; he was their fourth, adopted.
"Chip, do you know what's with Chomp?” she asked. “He's acting strange."
"Who are you?” Chip demanded.
Was he joking? “Suddenly you don't recognize your own mother?"
"You're not my mother!"
What was going on here? For she saw in the boy's mind that he honestly did not recognize her. This was very curious. “After spending your whole life in this household, suddenly you decide I'm not your mother?"
"Mom's dead!"
Lucent laughed. “Oh, I'm not dead yet, as you can see."
"Get out of here, spook!” he screamed.
This was odd indeed. How could the boy—and the dog—suddenly not know her? “I think I had better talk to your father,” Lucent said.
"Dad's not home yet,” Chip said. “That's why the door's locked. How'd you get in?"
And her key had not worked. Something was very strange. “You get back to your homework,” she said. “I'll talk with Champ in due course."
Grudgingly the boy yielded. Lucent (Choice) finished her job in the kitchen, then sat down, pondering, disturbed by the wrongness of the situation. Surely there was some reasonable explanation, and she depended on her husband Champ to have it.
When Champ came home, she went to the door to greet him. “Dear, there is something very—” She broke off, for he was staring at her.
"Who are you?” he asked, much as Chip had.
"Objection!” she retorted. “This is beyond all reason. I am Choice, your wife of fifteen years, mother of three of your children. How can you have forgotten?"
"Choice died three years ago,” he said. “I appreciate neither this intrusion nor this charade. What are you doing in my house?"
"Read my mind,” she said, amazed and hurt by his attitude.
He did. “Wonder. You actually believe it!"
"Of course I believe it! Why don't you?"
Champ came to a decision. “Something is seriously amiss. We must work this out. Read my mind."
She did—and found the memory of the loss of his wife, and his lingering grief thereof. He was sincere: Lucent was no part of his life. “Confusion! We can't both be correct."
"Shall we ask the neighbors?"
"Negation. I have already been unrecognized by my son and my dog. It seems that I am the one who is out of place."
"Suspicion: could some other party have sent you, to provide me with a replacement wife? Thinking to do me a favor I do not seek?"
"You are a good man, Champ. I appreciate your loyalty to the one you remember. You deserve a good wife. But not in such manner. I must discover how the memory of your household came to be mine."
"Endorsement. I will take you to the mind center."
The mind center gave her excellent treatment. In the course of it she discovered that her fifteen year memories were indeed suspect; there were many details she should have known but did not, such as the experience of her honeymoon with Champ or the early illnesses of her children. She was satisfied that she had never been part of this family.
But what then was her real identity? It seemed that her real memories had been erased, and could not be recovered. She was lost, and had to forge a new identity. She had a good fit body, so undertook Amazon training, acting as a courier and escort to other Chroma, for she had some legitimate memories of those and felt more comfortable away from her own Translucent Chroma. For three years she did well enough. But the mystery of her prior life nagged her.
Finally she decided on another approach: research. The Amazon station had a good library of identities. She searched through them, seeking women of her age and description. There were a number, in fact too many to give her much purchase; she needed some way to narrow it down to a few.
Then she had a bright if far-fetched idea. Her name: that went right back to her forgotten childhood. She knew it was her own. How many women named Choice were there?
There turned out to be a score. But some were too old, others too young. How many were in the 33-38 year old range that described her? Only five, and one had died six years before. That was Champ's wife, three years dead when Lucent entered his house. That left four. Three were solidly married family women. One had disappeared three years ago. That would be her.
She researched further, and verified her identity: Choice, 33 when she vanished. Her husband Chore had had her declared dead or deserted and promptly remarried a rather younger woman the children disliked. Her name was Flagrante Delicto, which fit her nature perfectly. But the children had no choice and made the best of it. What the woman lacked in character she made up in sex appeal; she had a remarkable figure, and nymphomaniac tendencies. Chore seemed to be quite satisfied.