"Should I feel different now?" Talla asked.
"Do you think you should?" Inga replied.
Talking to Inga was so much like talking to a teacher. Did all older women end up like this when they talked to younger women, or was Inga chosen on purpose to accompany her? The orange-clad officer who had picked Inga seemed to have pulled her name at random.
"Well," Talla started. "I was, um-"
"Penetrated," Inga offered.
"Yes."
"By a penis."
"Yes."
"Hasn't happened before?"
"No." Obviously.
"Sounds different, then. But how do you feel?"
That required some thought. She liked that this conversation was taking place in the dark on their long trek back to the Temple. It let her think more clearly when she thought her face was less visible. How did she feel? True, the actual physical feeling inside her body was still there. It wasn't as if Zhair'lo were still inside her, but the purely physical sensation that she had been - opened - and stretched was still there. Gods how she wanted that again. And on top of that there was the whole fuzzy thing the Mesh had done to her brain.
"Different."
"But not in the way you expected?"
What had she expected? She hadn't known what sex was just a couple of weeks ago. She'd had so little time to think about it. And tonight she'd actually gone and done it. She'd sought out the man she wanted and ... gods, what were they talking about?
"I don't know what I expected," Talla said. "I can't remember what I thought it would be."
Inga smiled.
"You're a part of the Temple now," she said candidly. "You're one of us. You have a role in bringing the peace of the Goddess to the men -- all of the men -- of Gern."
All the men. Indeed, she'd be expected to do this over and over again with hundreds of different men. Every other woman in the Temple did the same thing. Everyone and everything was shared with everyone else.
"But, remember, you're still you," Inga went on. "You were Talla before and you're Talla now. Having sex doesn't change who you are inside."
That seemed sage advice. Talla nodded in agreement.
They were passing through Endowment's major gate. They waved casually at the guards and Talla turned for her apartment.
"Nuh-uh," Inga said. "This way."
Back to Endowment Hall?
"I'm pretty tired," Talla begged. "I was just going to go to sleep."
They'd heard the eleventh bell go off during their long walk back from the farm.
"Not on your first night," Inga declared firmly. "This way."
-----==================----
The meeting was coming to an end. The Sorceress of Abundance, seven of her Officers and her Second, Atreya, were gathered in a circle of chairs amid the pillars of Principia Abundance.
"Last one. Item 17 on the agenda," Atreya said, somewhat fatigued. "Zhair'lo M'han."
"Seal breaker," someone commented.
"He's ours, then?"
Proud murmurs at that thought.
"Until we test him," the Sorceress put in, quelling the sudden tide of possessiveness. "Pril, what do we have?"
"Across the Division, we have eleven sealed Virgins queued up, Mistress," a blond haired Officer responded. "One of them has already defeated three upgrade attempts."
Two failures wasn't all that unusual. Three was getting outlandish.
It took time to find the most powerful young men and you didn't dare put them through more than an upgrade every other day. The Temple meanwhile didn't like to have any woman taking more than an upgrade per month for simple reasons of safety. They pushed that limit for Virgins, on the theory that repeatedly pounding at a wall ought to break it down faster.
"Her name?"
"Nadine, Mistress. She awaits her first Point upgrade."
"Put her on the docket tomorrow night. Let Zhair'lo have a shot at her."
"Abundance?" a dark haired woman put in.
"Yes, Greta?"
"I looked it in to it earlier," Greta replied. "He won't be available tomorrow night."
"Why not?"
"Virgin's Choice, Mistress. He will be busy."
"Popularity," the Sorceress said with a sigh. "We tried to quell it."
Which was perfectly untrue. It was, however, the line she and her Queen had decided to take rather than shout to the rooftops the screw up that had actually happened. If everyone thought Zhair'lo was amazing, they weren't thinking that the Division of Endowment had nearly killed two people.
"Book her the following night, then."
"Mistress," Pril nodded politely as she noted it.
"That's the end of the agenda," Atreya said.
"Good," the Sorceress responded. "The new recruits should be finishing their Initiation soon. Let us attend."
-----==================----
The last time she had been in this room had been the night of her Initiation. Talla supposed that this night had been an initiation of its own. It was fitting, tired as she was, to return to Endowment Hall.
"There was an Initiation tonight," she observed aloud as they entered the packed common room. It was her room now, warm and welcome. It even felt like home after the long walk back from the farm.
Inga nodded. "Yep. Three or four more recruits."
What an odd thought. Three or four girls, clueless, befuddled and topless, would be stumbling in just as she had three days ago. They would feel the warm fire, watch the reflections bouncing off the bronze pieces of art on the walls and be overwhelmed both by the sheer size of the place and by the attention they received.
Talla was feeling nostalgic and let herself relax for a moment. She still had a picture in her head of herself, seen from Zhair'lo's eyes, straddling him ...
"This way," Inga said, leading her deeper in to the crowd.
Placidly daydreaming, Talla followed Inga to a bar where the older woman ordered two drinks and handed one to Talla.
"Your first night," Inga toasted.
"My first night."
Glasses clinked together. Drinks were sipped. They found their way to a hip high table convenient for leaning. Inga nodded to a pair of women on the other side of the table. Acquaintances, perhaps? The two of them nodded back and came around to say hello.
Inga set her drink on the table and said, quite mysteriously, "Up!"
Talla didn't understand what that meant until Inga put one of her hands under Talla's arm. She tried to protest while also protecting her drink. Then she realized someone else had her other arm and a third woman was helping by lifting her at the waist. They planted her feet on the surface of the table before she could even get a word out.
With her mostly preserved drink in her right hand, only her left hand was free for a gesture of indignation. Her expression of resentment - fist on hip - was drowned out in drunken applause.