. 02

Chapter Two

She trembled underneath him. He knew the signs well by now, above her and inside her, holding her and connecting with her. He'd brought her to another blackout orgasm after she'd told him the story of her appearance in Mesopotamia. The strong emotions she'd experienced back then still reverberated inside her as she related the story.

She'd been trembling already, just from telling her tale, before he'd even begun to make love to her. "I'm having trouble controlling these thoughts," she said. "I was able to before. I don't know--" she stopped. She moved into his arms and buried her face in his chest. "It's you. You can't control yourself. It's having an effect on me. And you're the first one since then..."

"First lover?"

She shook her head. Maybe she laughed but stifled it. "First-- first full connection. Do it to me, please. I need it. Please."

He knew what she meant. And now here she was under him, trembling as if he'd given her an electric shock. She was talking, not just mumbling in a dream, softly, in a language he thought he recognized from his recordings. He could see that, inside her consciousness, she was still active, not blacked out at all, but he could only sense shadows. He put his lips on her cheek. The shadows seemed to brighten a bit. He took her head in his hands. He saw movement, heard voices. Physically inside her sex he could feel her respond to the words, which were somehow turning her on. He concentrated, gripped her head closer, pressed his forehead against hers, but the scene, if that's what it was, wouldn't resolve.

He slipped down to take a nipple in his mouth, sensing that the intimacy would help. There was a man, surrounded by a cloud of confused emotions, and somewhere a woman.

He withdrew his cock and moved further down her body, pushing her legs apart with his head, and reached his tongue in to touch her clit. It was like turning on a light.

# # #

She was flying. It wasn't a dream. She was in some kind of transport, very nicely furnished, a private luxury aircraft, but not narrow, not a tube, a circular room with large windows spanning most of its perimeter that showed a forested landscape not far underneath, over which they were traveling at high speed. She vaguely knew how the aircraft worked, some kind of ground effect, but she wasn't a technologist and didn't care. His desire to know how the aircraft stayed in the air tugged at her memory of this event, but could not match the pull of the others in the cabin.

There were three of them, she and a man and a woman. The woman was indistinct, dissolving in and out of her awareness. The man-- the man was ugly. A long, horsy face, big ears, big eyes.

She wanted him. Not because he was ugly, though that helped. He was ugly in an interesting way, because so few people were not pleasant-looking. She wanted him because she saw vistas through him, worlds beyond this one.

They'd opened themselves to each other before the flight. He had access to a device, a small white pyramid-shape that the woman placed between them in the waiting room as their aircraft was being prepared. She stared at it.

"First you need to agree," the woman instructed. "It works in stages."

She understood. In the device's triangular face she saw virtual controls she willed to activate. Some of the Ugly Man's history appeared. He was much older, over four times her age of nearly 70. He'd been the director of the Org's research since before she was born, his personal history intertwined with the Org's as far back as she could perceive until it faded behind the accumulation of events and experiences. In comparison, her own personal history was so short it was fully open to him. She had to sit back on the soft waiting room seat. The view down his history was vertiginous, the sense of sinking was disturbing her own equilibrium as his formidable consciousness washed over and spread into her. She sat up and looked back at him. He kept a steady gaze on her.

"When you're ready," the woman continued, motioning toward the device. She sensed eagerness in the woman's urging, although she wasn't connecting with her. She'd hardly noticed the woman's appearance before. Pale skin, golden hair, as distinctively different as the Director but, in contrast to him, physically as perfect as anyone could want. She knew what the woman was asking. New controls had appeared above the device by which she could open herself to the next stage.

Her personal savant protested. The device was not illegal--- almost nothing was illegal-- but it was condemned in most communities of most cultures. She ignored her savant and worked the controls. His desires, that had been vague hints before, were still masked, but bright and aggressive. She became instantly wet and needed to squeeze her legs together.

# # #

Jake felt her legs squeeze his head on the bed and could taste her reaction. Her desire for this ugly man, the Director, and the Director's sharp desire for her tangled in a dissonant mix in his mind. He tried to make her come, to wipe away the scene, his uncomfortable sense of sexual desire for a man, his own uncomfortable jealousy of her desire for that man. But she wasn't ready and the memory pulled them both back.

# # #

They were in the aircraft cabin. She couldn't take her eyes off the Director. She wondered if that device had somehow manipulated her emotions, which would be unethical. But no, it was all much simpler than that. He knew her. He knew her career and he'd seen what she wanted even before making this intimate connection, it was why he'd invited her on this trip, and now that he could see more deeply into her she knew he was right. She could see deeply enough into him to understand. He'd seen her need for adventure, for something more interesting than the endless vista of a pleasant life, yet also her reluctance to follow the path other adventurous people chose, emigration to the Moon or Mars colonies, or even to join one of the many primitivist cultures here on Earth. She needed something new, something that would suit her skills and stretch her sense of herself.

She moved to him, touched him, slid her hands over him, felt his very slim body through his soft and silky clothes. The longevity treatments did that as a person aged, forcing the body to be more and more efficient, carrying as little fat as possible, always growing, though as slowly as possible. She saw his desire for her. She also saw, though he tried to hide it, envy. He was too old for all the treatments she would need, and even too big-- the technology had strong mass and volume limits.

She stood, removed her clothes, light gray shirt and pants she'd been given before the flight, and sat naked on his lap, facing him. Her dim sense of the Pale Woman, connected to the Director, became sharper and plainer. His arousal appeared as a fluid energy in him, in his body but mostly in his mind, and that energy radiated to the Pale Woman. She'd had relationships with women in her youth-- most young people tried out every kind of person, male or female, of every shape and size and color and personality-- but the woman's sexuality seemed walled off from her, only sensed through his consciousness. She'd heard of this kind of relationship but had never experienced it before, a kind of voyeuristic connection. She would never want that for herself but she wanted the Director so she let the woman observe as she bit his ear and neck and felt him respond.

She wondered if she could get him inside her-- she wanted that-- but the aircraft began its descent and too soon they were on the ground.

She closed her mind-- feeling a bit of relief that she could still do that-- and put her clothing back on. They were met outside the aircraft by several people, all dressed in white, plus a small group of musicians playing with acoustic instruments a rhythmic, welcoming melody. A road conveyance took them over a path that led to a spacious set of living areas that soon became roofed and they were inside. The air was clear and scented with forest. At a balcony she could see that they were halfway up a tall mountain.

# # #

"Where was this?" He'd crawled up to hold her. She'd awakened. "I mean, where will this-- I don't know."

"Tenses don't make sense anymore, do they? It was, in my life, somewhere in the northwest of North America. I have no idea what you would call it now. Might not be anywhere inhabited."

"And this is where it all-- I mean, this was the beginning..."

She curled up to him and put her lips to his ear. "Yes. I need to tell you."

# # #

I sat at the balcony sipping an energy drink after the Director and the Pale Woman had gone off somewhere. I'd already caught on that clothing shades meant a lot here. We three newcomers, who appeared to be the only guests in this place, were wearing simple, light gray shirt and pants. The attendants, as I thought of them, all wore white. So it was immediately noticeable when a man walked up to me in a very dark gray, almost black, outfit.

He sat down across from me. He was even skinnier and taller than the Director, so probably older. "Thank you for agreeing to visit us," he said.

"How could I resist?" I responded. Let me explain that, at that time, I'd worked in the Org for nearly thirty years as an archaeologist and historian. I'd always signed up for the most challenging assignments. I'd crawled through caves to investigate burial sites; I'd joined and lived with two different primitivist cultures. The Org promoted and supported those cultures and needed from time to time to evaluate how well they were emulating the original cultures they were based on. My work in those cultures was a plus. And recently I'd poured through medieval manuscripts in the ruins of various churches and monasteries. I was one of their top historical operatives. But this was the first time I'd been invited to join the elite management in one of their retreats. You'll probably find it ironic, but longevity results in progress in many situations actually slowing down, because we all have so many years ahead of us.

"The Director of Technology can be very persuasive, can't he?" He sent a link to a corpus of experimental results, all new to me and quite a large amount of data.

I was already very attracted to the Director, after years of working with him. There was a presence about him. I was looking forward to a few days of sex with him and he'd hinted we'd be doing some new things together, which excited me. I'd even suspected that he might present me with some new work. That was also an interesting hope. But this corpus was totally new, groundbreaking. I was shocked. And thrilled.

"I understand, Historian, that this will all take some time for you to assimilate. But your previous successes argue that you'll be able to master it quickly."

"I confess I know very little about the physics involved."

"That's fine. We have experts who can manage that. And who will spend as much time as necessary to explain the details. What's important to us, to the Org, is that you've proven yourself able to absorb a vast amount of disparate knowledge and produce invaluable insights from it. It's almost as if you're a living savant. We highly value you and the service you've already performed for us."

"I'm truly flattered..." I realized he hadn't bothered to introduce himself. I thought I knew what that meant. People very high up didn't bother with names. My savant didn't recognize him.

"Chief," he answered, understanding my unspoken question, knowing what the word would do to me.

I was speechless, which you know I never am. The chief of the Org. It would be like you suddenly meeting the President, or the king of England. No, it would be more like you meeting the mysterious leader of the think tank that counsels them. He kept an extremely low profile, which is why my savant didn't recognize him. It also meant, given that I could now identify him, that I was part of the elite. Whether I wanted to be or not. I wanted to be, of course, more than anything else; but I couldn't help wondering what would happen if I refused whatever challenge they planned to put before me. It was scary.

My savant was pleased. Very pleased. It had not liked many of my life decisions. It was always trying to keep me safe, like most people's personal savants, and I was always pushing myself, taking risks in situations and environments that would test my abilities and spur me on to greater successes. But it seemed that the Org had finally seduced my savant as well as me.

The Chief got up and walked off, back the way he'd come. That was it, my interview. I was left with a mountain of information to study. My savant notified me that it had taken on a commitment to keep everything that happened here confidential, including of course the chief's identity. It also gave me directions to my suite.

My suite was, of course, elegant, with wide transparent partitions open to a gorgeous view. The weather was particularly nice. But I spent my time focusing on the corpus.

Dinner was outside on a large patio, you might call it a plaza, it was so large, and was a series of gourmet treats, one small delicacy after another, each one described in detail by someone in white. I remained quiet while my two companions swooned over each bite. Even with the connection mostly closed-- my savant had been nagging me incessantly about it and this time I decided to take its advice-- I could feel how good it all tasted to them. But I stayed quiet. I'd spent too long grinding acorns and disemboweling sinewy chickens to appreciate food as art. But then dessert arrived.

"What-- what is this?" was all I could say. The Director and the Pale Woman got some kind of small, fancy confection, plainly dessert, but the attendant had laid before me a large oblong dish holding an object that looked like nothing more than a long, curved, erect, white penis. Disembodied, to be sure, laid in a puddle of beige sauce, partially covered by brown and red sauces. No foreskin or meatus. But still.

"It's an extinct fruit that we believe was called a

bana.

We have been able to revive it. Try it."

First let me tell you that the Director had been eyeing me all through dinner as if

I

was going to be served as the dessert. The Pale Woman too. Even with the connection nearly closed, his desire, probably amplified by the woman, penetrated. So when I sliced off a bit of one end and put it, with the beige sauce, in my mouth I didn't need a neural connection to see what was going on in his mind.

However, the

bana

was very good. "Delicious," I announced. They'd been watching me anxiously, not just because of sexual anticipation. They really wanted me to like this dish. "It's just the craziest fruit. Why would it grow this way? I mean, I remember from one of my excursions, there was a tropical fruit that looked maybe like this."

"Plantain."

"Right. But you had to cook them. This--" I took another bite, this time with the red sauce, some kind of berry-- "is quite sweet. Doesn't look cooked."

"It's not." As I continued to eat he explained, "It's a distant relative of the plant you saw, but a clone, developed, we believe, even before genetic engineering. Clones, you know, are ridiculously fragile, not even qualifying as species, and all these were wiped out in one of the Modern Age's environmental catastrophes back then."

"And you found enough relic plant matter that you could sequence the whole genome? Remarkable." He shook his head. I tried another hypothesis. "They had some basic DNA sequencing tech back then. You unearthed a database that was somehow preserved?" Another head shake. I resumed eating the dessert. Way better than playing guessing games.

"We went back and got a sample."

I'd been absorbing the scientific presentations, or trying to, in my suite before dinner. They were very abstract. The latest advances in entanglement engineering and superposition, a lot about how the laws of physics work the same forwards and backwards, some very abstract math describing nonlocal physics that the authors admitted was a simplification of the real theory, which only savants could comprehend.

There was also a large block of geological analyses whose relevance I didn't get. But his simple statement put at least a few of the pieces of the puzzle together. "You can extract matter from the past?"

"No. That's not possible. At least not with current technology." He waited a beat. I took another bite. It was really quite good, just firm enough to feel good on the teeth, just sweet enough to please the tongue. "We send people back."

I almost choked. I had to put my knife and fork down on the table. I swallowed. I looked from him to the woman and back. It wasn't a prank. To add to my difficulty, my savant had decided to go mad at that very moment. It had read the corpus already, far faster than I could, and had picked up on the implications of the Director's statement before I had, why he was telling me this, why he was presenting evidence to me in this dramatic way, what his plans for me were beyond this evening. I had to mute it so I could think.

And I finally got it. I could travel back to an earlier age, maybe the original culture on which one of the primitivist cultures was based. Or maybe an era completely new to me. I could do it.

"We want to send you back," he said. He could sense my excitement. "You would be ideal. What do you think? How much would you like to do that?"

As an answer, I picked up the third of the

bana

I hadn't got to yet, getting my fingers messy. I looked the Director straight in the eye and put the end between my lips the way I had on the dozen or so stiff

banas

of the men who'd been lucky enough to win my favor, and became the first woman in maybe a thousand years to fellate this extinct delicacy.

# # #

She sat up, her energy reviving. She stroked him from balls to tip. He was still partly erect. She used her lips and tongue to get him fully there.

"Wait," he said. "Bananas are extinct?"

"Will be. Clones are inherently weak. That's why you see so few of them in the biosphere. Uniformity is a weakness, diversity is a strength. Basic ecology."

"But how did it happen?"

"We don't know. One of the climate catastrophes, no doubt."

"One of them? How many-- hold on, I don't think I want to know. Not that you would tell me anyway. But I'm sure bananas have been sequenced by now. Probably many times. It's an important crop. Your people couldn't find the banana genome? I mean, we've got petabytes of all sorts of information, not just banana DNA."

She laughed at him, a ridiculing laugh. As if he were responsible for all the failed technology produced today. "Your data storage is shit. All the magnetic data went away in the first Miyake Event."

"The what?"

"Look it up. They happened. Will happen. In fact, the first Miyake Event is generally regarded as the end of the Modern Age." As he grabbed his phone she explained, "Big electromagnetic pulse from space. Lots of possible sources. Solar flare, nearby supernova, the list goes on."

"Oh. That's bad. When's it going to-- never mind. But what about optical data storage?"

"Your so smart engineers put it on polymer disks. Bacteria and fungi got that."

"What can eat plastic?"

"Not much at the moment, but life finds a way, you know? Evolution happens. At least in the Bronze Age they wrote on clay and fired the important tablets. That lasts. Your crap all went away pretty quickly. We do sometimes find libraries that still had paper books. Once in a while there's the right kind of disaster and they get buried in the right pH and oxygen level. We can do tomography on those and get a lot of it. Of course, every age thinks they're the crowning achievement of history. But you actually called yourselves modern. I hope you find that ironic and humbling.."