------------- Prelude: Very early, about the 6
th
or 7
th
Century AD ----------------------
From the sparse artifacts and record fragments it can be determined that, of the small group of genie trainees graduating in this one class, most had absorbed the information and direction well, yet there remained a thread of individualism in each. Some were more pliable, other more impetuous, given to act first and think later, some, especially a couple of the girl genies, were anxious to please and seeking to become the best and most welcomed genies they could be.
An existence with little else than subjugation and servitude in the future was not really all that thrilling to some, but the world of their day offered little encouragement and, especially for a woman or a girl in a region overrun by one conqueror after another, security and stability were commodities altogether out of reach. Exposed to such conditions in their training, genies typically chose their fate as the less strenuous and demeaning of the two.
Precisely what differentiates genies from humans remains obscure. Physically and psychologically, the two seem almost identical. Little on the topic has survived in the record, and it seems reasonable to conjecture that they are related in ways of which we have little knowledge. The data is too sparse to be more definite than that.
At any rate, their individualism notwithstanding and some more ready than others, the graduates were designated fourth rate genies and sent off to their various assignments.
------------------ Much Further Along, Late in the 20
th
Century ---------------------
They had been on the beach now about two hours, he figured, and had explored in sufficient scope and detail for his report, and his notebook was full of sketches after they had conferred. They were the ship's beach intelligence team, and doing beach intelligence surveys was part of their work. Their ship was a U. S. Navy amphibious warship and would act as primary control vessel for any amphibious assault landings by the U. S. SIXTH Fleet Amphibious Ready Group then deployed in the Mediterranean Sea. They could put a reinforced battalion of combat ready Marines ashore just about anywhere they wanted and whenever ordered by the admiral in London.
These surveys and the resulting reports allowed the staff in London to keep good tabs on beach conditions in the Med, and included a whole lot of detail about beach gradients, ability of the sand to support heavy tracked vehicles, foreshore and backshore conditions, egress routes off the beach, access to local roads, prominent structures, local landmarks, etc., and a pot load of similar technical details. After a number of exploratory beachings in the ship's own LCVP, a small landing craft, his team had pretty much gathered up what they needed. For precise navigation, the quartermaster had checked a number of local landmarks against the most detailed chart, the two Marine sergeants, the boatswains mate, and his leading signalman had hiked all around to map out logical sites for troop assembly, strong points to be established, a command post and signal station, and supply dumps. They had done this now a third time on this deployment, this time on a sparsely populated beach in Greece. Another two weeks and they would turnover to the relieving Ready Group, probably at Rota, on Spain's Atlantic coast, and head for the Chesapeake and home.
Returning from a short walk along the water, studying the composition of the coarse sand, he happened upon a small jug or bottle at the water's edge. He thought it appeared very old, like some antique; it was not more than a hand's breadth high, round, with a flat bottom and a fluted neck with some kind of plug or stopper in the opening. The jug's surface was badly corroded, but seemed to be of a very durable material; metal, he thought, from the appearance and heft, and especially the sound as he tapped on it. It seemed attractive and quaint, and, rolling it about in his hand carefully, it felt like something that would be a nice keepsake of these two extended deployments to the Med. He figured he would not likely be back again, as he had orders off the ship when they returned to the States. This interesting little jug would be a clever conversation piece on his desk, he thought to himself, washed off the sand, tucked it in the right hand pocket of his foul weather jacket, and turned back to close the distance to the boat where the others were gathering.
"This would be a great place for a landing, Lieutenant." The one sergeant was more pleased with this site than the last one. "Excellent egress between the dunes to a good hard surface road behind. Prime!" He was thinking of how quickly the Marines could move inland and establish themselves in a crisis situation.
Their quick conference there on the beach, while everyone's observations and thoughts were fresh, allowed the lieutenant to fill in the blanks, jot down ideas to flesh out the report, and he felt this little foray had been very successful.
Their work ashore completed, they walked up the ramp into the boat, and the coxswain raised the ramp, backed the boat off the beach, and steered for the ship. It was a cool, pleasant afternoon, the sun was shining, and he reviewed his notes in his head as he watched his men. Including the two Marines had been his idea, and had worked out well. Their insight in assessing beach conditions was outstanding. Each, signalmen, quartermasters, boatswain's mates, had added to the total package.
Absently he thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, finding with surprise the foreign object about which he had forgotten, and suddenly wondered what he might have found. Intriguing; but this was not the time to look it over again. It was an attractive little jug, just the same.
The ship was anchored about three miles away, but they had an hour before chow and then he had the second dog watch on the bridge, and he needed to check with his radiomen, too. The challenges of daily work captured his full attention once more.
In his stateroom about 9 PM, after getting off watch, he set the curious little jug on his fold down desk. He could finally relax a little, and sat down, worn from a long day, and for the first time gave himself over to considering seriously what to make of this strange little antique. Extraordinary, he thought to himself, and very unique for sure. He had orders onward to other duty on the west coast, and this would be very attractive on his walnut desk, with a little cork coaster under it. He looked forward to moving on from sea duty to staff work and more schooling.
There was a knock at his door. "Mister Kurlander, sir?"
He recognized the voice of his radio messenger. "Come in." "Hello, Sealy. You got the watch this evening?"
"Yes, sir," said the sailor, handing him the message boards, "There's a hot one, sir, and the captain says for me to make sure you see it immediately."
Lieutenant Kurlander was the communications officer, and the message advised that he should be ready for a special shipment of crypto materials when next they replenished underway, which would be three days away. Fine, no big problem; forewarned was forearmed. He signed off, thanked the messenger, and he was gone.
Six hours away and the bridge watch would wake him to take the 04-0800 morning watch on the bridge, and they would be getting underway at 0730 and heading out to sea. He ought to knock off, and set condition horizontal for some shut eye. The little jug on his desk, however, was engaging, and he picked it up again, drawn to it somehow.
After a minute, he drew his penknife from his pants pocket and scraped away some of the crud around the plug. He laughed to himself when he thought of the plug seeming very much like a hard rubber or some modern composite material. Not likely! With the point of his knife, he nudged the plug until it loosened, and removed it with his fingers.
There was a little whooshing sound and he was surprised beyond imagining at what he saw.
"How may I be of service, My Master?" Her voice was soft and submissive.
It was a girl... well, what looked like a girl, anyway. She was something, he thought immediately, out of the Arabian nights, for sure. She was cuter that he had ever seen; big blue eyes, dark, heavy lashes, and a very pretty face. Her brunette hair was long and full down her back, spilling over her bare shoulders.
She bowed her head in subservience to her new master, and waited for his command.
The visual image before him was a surprise; very pleasing and pleasant, but very much a surprise just the same. She was life-sized, and somewhat smallish, petite perhaps. Her torso was bare save for a light blue silk-like piece of material, draped lightly across her very full and perfectly formed breasts. Her waist was narrow, flaring to full hips. There was a gem of some kind in her naval and a chain about her hips, dipping very low in front, from which hung some kind of material he could not determine, since everything below her middle was vague and disappeared in a wisp of vapor oozing from the jug. It was definitely her breasts, however, that grabbed his attention.
He appreciated the delicate features of her face, her long lashes shielded her twinkling eyes from him now as she bowed her head, waiting for him to command her, and his attention drifted easily back to her breasts once more. Her tiny nipples seemed to look upward with a pouty pleading for his attention. Her breasts were splendid, sat high on her chest, and seemed to him precisely the ideal size for her figure. Thirty-six? Perhaps; maybe a little less. Probably at least "C"s, he was guessing, maybe a little more, but the more striking thing was that with all that 'top hamper' she did not appear the least bit out of balance in her figure. The light blue silk was technically covering her breasts, but in practice the thin, nearly translucent material was little or no covering at all.
He had not the slightest idea what he might say. He was in no way certain that he was not dreaming.
"You have a command for me, My Master? Please command and I shall obey if I can." Once again, her voice was soft and submissive, and she waited, head bowed.
With some reservation, he asked gently, "Who are you?"
"I am a fourth rate genie, My Master, and my purpose is to serve you in any way you command. I await your pleasure, My Master." Her voice was light and pleasant, and very feminine.
What is going on here, he thought. This is a fantasy beyond imagining.
After a brief pause, trying to gather his wits with this...
this genie
in front of him, "What is you name, genie. How are you known?"
"I have no name save the one you give me, My Master. I am here to please you, and you only."
