The Preacher Man

And every day their husbands may enjoy their novice understanding of sex, enjoy introducing them to their first sexual experience, day after day, year after year, each sexual encounter their first, even through pregnancies. They become eternal virgins, because the virginity of their minds is forever sealed by the drugs. And even if they become unwanted and divorced, they can be virgin brides to their next husbands, because virginity is a state of mind, and thus a state of memory.

That is why Abigail must be culled if I die. Her encounter with me at Qataban occurred before her nuptial injections. Her first memories of me can not be erased.

My heart was singing with joy as we went to the airport. When it was possible, Abigail would lift her veil and give me lots of shy and playful smiles. From my secret studies, I believe the preparation drugs in her body are harmless without the principal injections, and they should flush naturally from her in a few days. I saved her! And I will save others! This was my vow to the Lion, so long ago, that the monster would not stand, no matter what the cost.

And yet there is still so much I don't understand! How could such a monster ever have been born? Oh Abigail, history! Yes! There is so much you can teach me!

Chapter 9. The Walls of Jericho

Time: October 23, 8235 4:27 PM

When we arrived at Jizari's airport, I was given some unexpected information. A high ranking Royal was in the city and wanted to travel immediately to Aleppo. He had commandeered my Guild's ramjet. Abigail and I had few minutes and we went to find a quiet place to sit in Security's VIP lounge. I pulled out my scheduler and typed in a few queries. I looked up and gave Abigail a small smile.

"It's not so bad. There's a non-stop rail connection from Aleppo to Jericho, 293 kilometers. The rail trip will take just 75 minutes. At least the storm here is breaking up. I don't think we'll have any trouble with takeoff." A brief but fierce spring storm had started an hour ago. I sighed, thinking about missing the coming summer, but winter in North America does have its own beauty.

Abigail gave me a small nod through her burqa, keeping the correct protocol by not replying verbally in public without a direct question being asked of her. Within an hour our jet departed. The 10,400 kilometer trip to the ancient site of Boston Massachusetts would take only three hours.

I was stunned by our passenger. Mudar! Not just Royalty, not just Ruling Royalty! Mudar is one of the most feared and imposing men in the world, and not just because of his flaming red hair and two full meters in height. He is also the youngest of the three CL-29 in the world, and as such the number-six man on the eleven-member supreme ruling executive council.

It was a worrisome development. Mudar could have easily ordered the jet to be for his sole use. The fact that he was permitting us to fly with him was not without danger. Given the choice, I probably would have preferred taking a day to get to Jericho by sub-sonic transportation.

Mudar motioned with his hand as we boarded how he wanted us to sit. I was in the back left side, with Abigail in front of me. Mudar was in the front right, with one of his wives in back of him and on my right. Mudar's presence dominated us, 10 cm above me and 25 cm taller than Abigail, more with her bent with the crutches. He smiled at her as he gestured her with his hands, but the smile never touched his eyes. I think Abigail realized it too. We were both on our guard.

At 6 PM Mudar started the evening prayers, beginning with a free-form version of The Prayer of Uncounted Failings. For a while it made sense, but then it became very difficult to follow. Afterwards there was a period of silence. Mudar just sat there turning, slowly shifting his gaze back and forth between Abigail and me. I couldn't help but notice the class insignia on his sleeve, the Royal square with the tri-colors of the supreme ruling executive council (purple, red, and yellow) and an addition band of blue on top. And out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mudar's wife trembling in her seat beside me. I briefly wondered what she looked like under her burqa.

"So," Mudar said, finally fixing his gaze upon me, "Quite a ride on the Lion so far."

I gazed back. If he had said, "Quite a ride on the Lion so far, don't you think?", that would have given me a firm legal reason for replying. But without a direct question, and without explicit permission to speak freely, technically any response at all could get me into trouble, even a simple nod of my head. I stared back in silence. After a while Mudar's face broke into a small frown, and his eyes were totally without warmth. "I've spoken several times about this issue, even with Abdul Quddus himself occasionally, on why we allow the Lion to maintain such independence from the Priesthood. What is your opinion?"

"My opinion Grand Mufeto, is that the Lion exists as described in the Book of Bel'dar." I bowed my head slightly as required, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"Do you know Ilias, that I was a Nikahaldi as a Priest?"

"Yes, Grand Mufeto."

"That is the proper way to mature, slowly through the classes. I think your ride on the Lion is..." He paused for a moment to consider and then frowned. He finally seemed to realize that a direct criticism of the Lion would be a direct criticism of the Book of Bel'dar, and that he was flying in a ramjet of the Guild that monitors the world. I was astonished to see him come so close to such a blunder, though I showed no outward sign of it. Discipline, Fateen, discipline! You were so right! What would life be without it?

Mudar changed topics. "Regardless Ilias, another successful ride! You made the ranks of the Upper Commanders." He paused for a moment, giving me another chance to trip up and respond. After a moment he continued, "So how many Upper Security Commanders are there now in Security?"

He was referring to the citizen levels of CL-12 to CL-15, commanders who have both red and yellow in their diamonds, the highest levels below Royalty. It's a huge jump to earn the yellow and go from CL-11 to CL-12. All Guilds reserve executive power to within the ranks of their Upper Commanders. As a CL-12, I could contact my Guild's eleven CL-15s directly anytime I thought it necessary. I would never dare to that as a CL-11.

I answered Mudar's question. "Including me now, seventy-six, Grand Mufeto."

He feigned surprise. "What?! So many?! In a Guild of what, three thousand?"

His point was real. Outside the Priesthood, the average Guild had twice as many Upper Commanders, but was also eight times our size. Security is a great Guild for promotion.

But before I could affirm Mudar's comment, he turned to Abigail and asked, "And what is your opinion?"

"My opinion, Grand Mufeto? I believe your number of three thousand Security members is accurate."

"No, not about that. I mean about the Guild having so many Upper Commanders."

"It's not my place to have an opinion on such matters, Grand Mufeto."

He chuckled at her. "No, indeed not. And what should you have an opinion on?"

"My opinion is that I will faithfully serve my husband, Grand Mufeto."

"A correct opinion, my servant. And you also think of me as your master, don't you?"

"Yes, you are also my master, Grand Mufeto."

"And you will obey me in all things, correct?"

Abigail paused for mere fraction of a second. "As described in The Book of Bel'dar, yes, Grand Mufeto."

Mudar fidgeted for a moment. He seemed annoyed about something and pulled a small cloth from inside his robe and wiped the left side of his neck and cheek. He scowled at me. "Have the pilot reduce the air temperature in here Ilias."

I complied at once.

He returned to his conversation with Abigail. "And so this is your wedding day! Such a wonderful day of freedom for you. No more worries about trying to remember things, no more studying. How I envy you! So young, and to have such a care-free life ahead! You are so fortunate! Don't you agree?"

I worked mightily and kept a completely neutral expression. Without my intervention, this would have been a day of horror for Abigail, a day of great and evil degradation, the day she would have lost her abilities to grow and to learn and to chose new purpose for her life. Except for my treason, all these things would have been irrevocably ripped from her mind. And yet Abigail answered with sincerity, "Oh yes, Grand Mufeto, I am very fortunate!"

Mudar seemed startled by her words. "Really? You were zero point nine, one of ten this year, while there were over two hundred Royal promotions and marriage opportunities! Don't you feel cheated, that you were defiled and married by a lowly Citizen Level twelve?"

I was so proud of Abigail. The monster! If he were so envious of her fate, why didn't he take the eternity drugs himself?! But Abigail didn't miss a beat. She replied kindly, "It's not my place to feel such things, Grand Mufeto."

I think we both heard it, both Mudar and I, perhaps even Mudar's wife. Abigail was not only sincere; her voice also had more than a hint of compassion for Mudar, perhaps even pity. It totally unsettled him. He tried a few more desultory attempts to trap Abigail and then gave up. We flew the rest of the trip in silence, the remainder of the evening Prayer cycle abandoned.

Our jet landed at Aleppo on time. It was a very dark night, thick clouds and a cold drizzle. We parted company for Mudar and his wife, and Abigail and I headed to the adjoining train terminal. The stormy weather outside provided a nice contrast with the train interior, warm and cozy as we flew across the landscape at close to 250 km/hour. The super-conducting magneto-rails provided an almost completely silent ride.

As we approached our destination, the train slowed and we got a good view of the fabled Walls of Jericho, four meters of solid stone built late in the first millennium and now over seven thousand years old. Jericho was the oldest township in North America, and the walls were originally built to keep out bears. They still serve that purpose.

The early pilgrims originally intended to settle at the seaport site of Aleppo, but Boston took at least two direct hits during the War of the Burning Metals, and at the time the residual radiation was too much for the first North American pioneers to handle. So they moved to Jericho, founded on the ancient site of Burlington, Vermont, at 44 o 28' N, 2 o 15' W. Its solar time would lag nine minutes behind the standard of Bandar Arenas, a pleasantly small difference.

My private chauffeur was waiting for us as we pulled into the Jericho train station. Abigail and I were in my private suite at Guild HQ by 11 PM. We took quick showers, and then I joined Abigail by a large window and put my arm around her waist. Our Guild was right at the edge of the city, along the lake, the one side without the wall.

I kissed my wife and smiled. "About fifteen kilometers to get across the water, and then vast stretches of deep forests. Mid fall, it will be very beautiful there. Perhaps someday when you're off the crutches, we can do some recreational camping. The other side of the lake used to belong to the ancient State of New York." And then I remembered to whom I was talking. Abigail could probably tell me much I didn't know about New York.

She nodded sweetly and then in an act of boldness leaned up and kissed me. "Ilias, before you bed me, I should tell you something, something I strongly suspect, something I noticed about Mudar."

"Oh? What?"

Abigail paused for a moment. "Somehow men don't seem to recognize the burqa is a powerful tool when handling a delicate conversation. I can stare and watch a man's eyes and body language, much more closely than another man could and not be rude. And the man can't stare back and watch my eyes. It's a decided advantage."

I nodded. "True. And you're right, I've never thought about it."

"In the plane, Mudar had a brief moment of sweat, asymmetric, only on the left side of his face and neck. He acted both annoyed and surprised by it. I think it was the first time it has happened to him. If I'm right about the cause, it won't happen again."

"Huh? Abigail, what are you talking about?"

"The gene for red hair, the over-active pituitary gland, the asymmetric sweat, Ilias! It all fits! I found two separate references to this, once in the second millennium and once in the forth. Foolish Priests! They think they can separate out the value of history into restricted and non-restricted sections!"

I smiled and caressed her hair. "Yes, I've thought about that too. History is holistic, like a hologram. Tear away a piece of the hologram, you don't lose a piece of the image. Instead you make the entire image fuzzy. And the more you tear, the fuzzier the image becomes."

"Yes Ilias, exactly! And the mind is much more powerful than a laser beam in reconstructing an image. The mind has the power to infer and deduce, to create great bridges of understanding from small building blocks, and to use broad principles to dive down and find the truth of hidden details. The mind can make the torn image whole again!"

"So what do you know about Mudar?"

"Between ten to twenty days from now, certainly within a month, he will suffer the onset of Class-1A Progeria."

I blinked. "What?!" Abigail had just mentioned a rare but extremely deadly disease, a complete auto-immune system rejection of the anti-aging drugs. Much faster than a body's failure due to lottery placebo injections, Mudar's death would occur within days of the onset of a lightning fast aging process.

I stared at Abigail. "Are you sure?"

She frowned for a second. "I have just two independent reports. But so many of the attributes fit Ilias! In both my cases, the men were between 220 and 230 years of age. How old is Mudar?"

"I can find out!" I typed at my bedroom console for a moment. Then I gestured for Abigail to stand aside and out of sight, and I place a video call to Zaim.

I'll give him credit. He answered the call in seconds, dressed in a night shirt and obviously roused from sleep. He recognized me immediately, and began the conversation with a single word. "What?"

I filled him in on the details, quoting Abigail's references. No one had ever made the connection of these specific symptoms to the disease. It was a nugget of pure gold information lying naked and unnoticed in the unrestricted sections of the Qataban libraries. "And the final two pieces of the puzzle," I concluded. "One: Mudar is 227 years old. Two: He had a brief moment of senility on the jet. It surprised me greatly. He almost directly criticized the Book of Bel'dar."

Zaim sat unmoving as I talked. He finally looked up and smiled at me. "Ilias, this is huge! I see now why you bothered to save that female! I was worried before it might be a sign of stupid sentimentality. Others were too. But now we'll understand. Well done! Tell no one else about this."

"Yes sir, of course. Our observations never happened. One more thing?"

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking. If you could get me top-level clearance for data access, I could have my female prospect for more nuggets of information like this."

Zaim considered thoughtfully. "Well, your female is a proper virgin now, no issue there... But top level access for a CL-12? That would be difficult..."

"One more find like this sir... It would be worth a lifetime of the female's effort."

"Oh, undoubtedly. Hmmm... Wait until your next ride on the Lion. This will be a lot easier to do when you're CL-13. Again Ilias, well done!"

I took a gamble and decided to speak with complete familiarity. "When I'm CL-13?! Quite a change in expectation, don't you think, from our first meeting?"

Zaim cracked a very rare smile. "I'll leave you to the remainder of your wedding night!" He then shut down the connection. I was sure the rest of his night would be extremely busy.

Seeing the video terminated, Abigail walked with her crutches to me and leaned down and lightly kissed me as I sat. I looked up and smiled, and then stood and carried her to bed, her sweet laughter of anticipation filling my heart. We soon undressed and were under the covers, naked with each other for the first time. The wind and rain had picked up outside, and was beating against the windows. But I had beautiful and willing Abigail with me, and my heart was singing with desire!

Abigail shivered as I broke our kiss, my mouth wandering to her throat and breasts. I sighed and shivered as we held each other. My mouth descended still lower, down to her navel. My breathing was in pants, my heart racing, my fingers curling in the stiff hairs of her pubis, my elbow bumping lightly against the side of her cast.

I felt Abigail's hands gently grip my penis and cup my sac. My loins were on fire for her. I opened my mouth and pressed my open lips against her abdomen, shuddering with overwhelming desire, and then I felt her mouth close upon my penis head, her lips locking behind the ridge and her tongue lapping the sensitive tip. My hips thrust forward uncontrollably and I began to orgasm, one gasping release after another, pouring myself into Abigail's sweet mouth. The emotions and physical pleasure washed over me like a river. I was only dimly aware of Abigail's hands releasing my sac as she turned to cuddle with me afterwards. I lay exhausted and drained.

"Abby," I whispered, "I..."

"Sweet Ilias, it's all right," she whispered back. "A perfect and gentle way to start our marriage! I know our future play times will be longer. I will cherish the memory of this moment forever. I am so happy to be your wife!" She was quiet for a long moment.

I smiled at her in my sleepiness. "I will cherish the moment too," I murmured. Foolish, stupid world, I thought. Why would I ever want to erase the memory of this moment from my wife? Abigail was cooing in contentment as she lay in the warmth of my side, her hand upon my breast, her fingers softly caressing my male nipples.

She spoke in the quietest of a whisper, "Ilias, I love you!"

Love... My mind drifted at the thought. Such a strange concept. I had been taught since childhood, and had been instructed from the Book of Bel'dar, that humans are incapable of the emotion. Love is reserved for the Holy alone to express, allowing our existence in spite of our counted and uncounted failings. Love... And yet, perhaps Abigail could teach me... My mind drifted, returning to the more familiar patterns of my Guild...

"You see why the information is so important..." I murmured.

A giggle. "Mudar?" whispered Abigail back. "Of course. I've been reading about power politics all my life, eight thousand years of it..." She gave me the softest of a kiss. "Go to sleep, my darling..." I drifted into a peace of infinite depth.

Zaim got no further sleep that night. The political chess games within the Royal Priesthood never stop, and thus neither does the job of the Guild which keeps track of all the players' positions and scores. Abigail's observation enabled Security to make major realignments of its multiple alliances within Royalty, negotiating far better deals than would be possible if Mudar's condition were already public knowledge.

On November 10th, right on schedule, Mudar was stricken with the disease and died two days later. The power structures underneath him temporarily crashed with the news, and Security was perfectly positioned to pick up the pieces as they lay briefly available. And then the game continued.

Chapter 10. The Forest Primeval

Time: November 25, 8235 3:56 PM

After helping to unpack the survival gear, the pilots returned to the helicopter. They quickly went through their preflight checklist, started their rotors, and then waited for me to give them clearance to depart. I waited until precisely 4 PM, the official start of the test, and gave them the expected hand signal. They saluted smartly, I saluted back, and then there was a blasting rush of wind as the craft lifted. It cleared the trees after a few seconds and then banked and tilted forward. The noise and the wind and the flashing running lights quickly receded to the south.