Prometheus

I painstakingly mounted the brittle specimen on a sheet of parchment, carefully arranging the bracts of the notus to display them for maximum effectiveness. Master Botanist Jon at the Main Herbarium had asked me to do this because he wanted fourteen specimens of the same plant mounted and ready to distribute to the other herbariums as quickly as possible. He was terrified in case his samples were destroyed. It was an obsession we all had: We must be ready when they come. And since Botany was my Science, I didn't mind. I rather liked mounting plants. It was gentle and restful, and I had a real sense of achievement when it was over. Jon's great ambition was to have a seed bank established, though so far there was little movement on that front. Perhaps when the Honey Wind had stopped blowing, the Council would be more amenable to his request. Heaven forefend that the notus be destroyed!

My sons were absent as they were absent every morning - doing their military service until they were of an age to decide their Art, their Craft, their Science and their Profession.

Lately the Guilds had been sending their recruiters to my door, all eager to sign up my boys to whatever Profession they represented. We were flooded with offers extolling the virtues of each and every conceivable one. There were too many choices! I gave them all the same answer. When the time was ripe, we would let them know. I refused to have my sons stampeded into a particular Profession. It was a choice that had to be made carefully.

There was a discreet knock on the front door. When I answered I was surprised and delighted to see the black leather-coated man who grinned at me.

I exclaimed, "Ben!"

He looked a little tired, a little strained, but his smile was genuine.

He said in his quiet way, "May I come in?"

I laughed. "You don't need an invitation. Come in. Come in."

He pecked me on the cheek as he passed and flopped down on the sofa. He looked bone tired.

I said, "Can I get you something ... caff ... beer?"

He answered, "Caff will be fine." I pottered about in the kitchen, and brought him a cup of caff. "Well, Master of Assassins," I said, "have you come recruiting like the others?" There was no answer, and I saw he had fallen asleep.

I set down the cup and sat beside him and brushed his lank black hair away from his face. He mumbled something but didn't wake. He looked exhausted and I wondered where he had been. I gently shook him and he awoke suddenly, and looked owlishly around.

"Come to bed," I said, and stood up and drew him up by his hand. He gave a tired grin and said, "Who could resist an invitation like that?"

I smiled at him. "You need sleep, not sex."

As he followed me into the bedroom, he said, "One will lead to the other."

I just shook my head. He sat on the bed and I pulled off his boots. He seemed too tired to undress, so I made him stand and undressed him. Then I pulled back the bedclothes and said, as gently as I could, "In."

He settled in with a sigh. I pulled the covers over him, but, before I could leave, he held on to my hand and said, "Don't go. Stay with me."

I stared at him for a moment and then quietly undressed and slid in beside him. He put a large sinewy arm around me and drew me close. I settled in with my head on his wide chest. His breathing became quiet and regular and he was quickly asleep.

I awoke suddenly. It was dark but I heard muted sounds of my sons in the house. It sounded like they were preparing something to eat. Good, I thought. I wouldn't have to move. I was too comfortable as I was - cradled in Ben's massive arms and with my head on his wardrobe sized chest.

The door to the bedroom opened quietly. It was Rel.

"Dad," he whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Yep."

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Maybe later."

"What about ... um... ?"

"Later."

He closed the door quietly. Ben's deep voice startled me.

"Who was that? Rel?"

I smiled to myself. I should have known that an assassin couldn't be taken by surprise, even when sleeping in this, his second home.

"Yes," I whispered. Then I said, "Are you going to stay long enough to talk to him? He'd be upset if you leave without seeing him."

Ben sighed and rolled over so that he was spooning me. I felt the hot hugeness of his cock pushing its way between my arse cheeks. We lay like that for a few moments, not proceeding to the next stage.

"I want to see him. We haven't spoken for a while."

I caressed his rocky forearms.

"Your son, Master of Assassins, wants to follow in his sire's footsteps."

Ben was silent for a moment.

"How do you feel about that?" he asked.

I sighed. "I can't say I'm thrilled, but if that's what he wants to do..."

He moved his body slightly, and his large slick knob entered me. I just grunted and moved a little to accommodate him.

He paused and whispered, "He'll be needed. When the crunch comes, it will be the Assassins who co-ordinate the Resistance." He pressed his lips to the back of my neck.

"I know. I know." And I surrendered myself to his gentle fucking.

Afterwards, we lay quietly, still intertwined, him on his back and me with my head on his chest. I held his thick flaccid organ.

He said suddenly, "How long, do you think?"

I grinned and tugged on his cock. "What? This?"

He gave a soft chuckle, and then became quiet. "How long before they come?"

I shrugged. "Who can say? Ten days ... ten years."

He said, "Of everyone in the colony, I thought you would have the best idea."

I raised my head and looked at him. I was surprised. "Why do you say that?"

He held me tighter, "Because you are different. Because you are one of them. Because you were there at the beginning."

My hair was growing back. After the first couple of days, my frequent trips to the mirror in the fresher showed brown stubble emerging over my bald scalp. I was pleased and amazed to see that there was no grey in the hair and that my hairline was back to its youthful position. Hair was sprouting on other parts of my body, too. I soon felt like I had a cactus between my legs, but I reckoned the discomfort was worth it. My pubes looked like they were going to be luxuriant.

There was another change to my anatomy that delighted me. My cock seemed to be bigger and I had a foreskin! For one who had been circumcised at birth, this flap of skin was a source of endless fascination for me. It was tight and thin, just covering the head of my cock when it was flaccid. When erect - and it seemed to be erect more often than not these days - my cock just managed to thrust out beyond its newly acquired overcoat. I loved sliding it back and forth, which of course, led to usual consequence. I always had been a bit of a wanker, but since my reconstruction, my cock had become my favorite toy. I discovered I had a coiled spring of a hair trigger.

Eva Braun seemed to have taken off for pastures new. She was no longer my nurse. I don't know what happened. Perhaps it was just that, because I was improving rapidly, it was thought that her particular brand of gentle ministrations could be better employed on some other unfortunate. It was obvious she disliked me, and she detested Tom. Perhaps it was at her own request that she was moved. Who knew? Who cared?

She was replaced by a gangly young man who looked to be of the same rank (as far as I could tell) but he was a lot friendlier, although I noticed he, too, tried to avoid interacting with Tom as much as he could. What was it about Tom that made them treat him like a pariah? I had never known a more obliging, gentle and kind man, not to mention a more devastatingly attractive one.

Eva Braun's replacement - whose name was Carter - did not approve of the way I treated Tom. He said, "A word to the wise. I does not do to give them names, you know. They get ideas."

I stared at him. "They?"

He pressed his lips together. "Your carer unit, and those like him."

"What should I call him? 'Hey you'?"

Carter was jotting down something from the monitor. " 'Unit' is sufficient. Most of us use that terminology, if there is only one. If there are more than one, then 'Unit' followed by its number. For example - 'Unit 4624'. That usually does the trick."

I was outraged. "I will not call a man by a number!"

He gave me a long unsmiling look. "Do not be deceived. It is not human." I gasped, but he plowed on, "Oh I know it looks human. It can talk, and it can follow simple orders. Immensely strong, of course. But it is completely without feelings and is profoundly stupid." He sighed, and continued half to himself, "I sometimes think we would be better off without them."

I was bereft of words and could only gape at him. He was so unfeeling and so complacent. This was something that I could not ignore - like the proverbial elephant sitting in the middle of the room.

I said, "If it looks like a duck, and swims like a duck, and walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, why am I wrong in assuming that it IS a duck?"

He gave me a puzzled look. "What's a duck?" he asked, with a slight pitying smile. I noticed he did not answer the question. Was it willful on his part? Or had he been so conditioned that he could not see what I was getting at?

I watched him as he made notes on the pad he carried.

I said softly, "How am I to be addressed?"

He shot me a look, and then turned back to the monitor. "They are encouraged to address us as 'Master' ".

I was starting to get angry. "Oh I see. Master - as in

'Isa comin' Masser. Don't beat des tired ol' bones!' "

He could not mistake the tenor of that statement. Nettled, he shot back with, "You would do well to remember that you are a guest here. Our ways may not be your ways but we do expect you to respect them."

Touché, you prick, I thought.

He seemed a little ashamed at his outburst, so he muttered, "Now, if you will excuse me ... " and he made his exit.

When he left, Tom appeared with my food on a tray. I must say, that for a society that boasted technology like the autodoc, the food was fairly blah. It consisted of porridges of differing textures and colors, and, I suppose, flavors, although I was hard pressed to distinguish one from the other. Hospital food I guessed. I would hate to think that this was standard fare for the general population at large.

As usual, after he had lifted me up, and positioned the tray, Tom took his accustomed seat near the door. A thought occurred to me.

"Tom," I said, "where do you eat?"

He looked a bit startled that I had asked the question.

"We have a special place," he answered.

"We?"

He gave me an elliptical look. "Those of us who serve in this sector."

I digested that information along with the porridge I spooned into my mouth. That look he gave me before he answered told me volumes. He was anything but stupid! He had deliberately avoided giving me a full answer. Others might have been fobbed off with such equivocation but not thith little black duck!

I tried another tack. "Well," I said, "I hope your food is better than this... this... nursery pap."

He was instantly by the side of the bed. "Is there something wrong with it? I can get you another tray if you don't like that one."

I was surprised and a little touched by his concern. "No, no," I said, "it's fine - well, palatable, anyway." I could see he was still worried. "No, truly - it's fine. Yum, yum, in my tum!"

He stared at me for a couple of seconds and then flashed a sudden beautiful grin - a grin that went straight to my cock. I smiled back at him feeling like a shy gawky schoolboy.

I felt a sudden need to get to know him better. I asked as I resumed eating, "How old are you, Tom?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "Four and a half."

I would not have thought it possible, but I choked on the mush. I stared at him, and he became self-conscious under my gaze and avoided my eyes and flushed slightly. Four and a half!! Could he really be a robot, as Carter had intimated? Or perhaps an android - one of those creations beloved of science fiction? Or maybe one of those replicants that were in the film "Blade Runner"? I had to find out.

"Tom," I said as earnestly and sincerely as I could, "can I ask you a big favor?"

He looked a little puzzled. "I am here to serve you," he replied.

I took a deep breath and said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I would like to examine you - physically - if you will allow it." A shuttered expression came over his face.

"You may do anything you wish, Master," was his answer.

Not a good reply. "Please, Tom," I muttered, " don't call me that. I am not your master. I am not anyone's master." I stole a look at him, and his expression was still remote.

I added, "I would like it if you called me by my name - Will."

His expression softened, and he nodded. He stepped away from the bed and once more he unfastened his coverall and removed it. Without hesitation, he removed the tight white briefs and then stood facing me, his arms slightly out from his sides. He smiled at me. I pushed the tray aside and swung my feet over the side of the bed and ended up sitting on the side of the bed. I had forgotten my own nakedness and, at that moment, it did not seem important.

I swallowed hard. He was stunningly magnificent. From the top of his buzz-cut head to the soles of his large shapely feet, he was a god incarnate. His genitals were at my eye level. Whoa! He had to be eight inches on the slack. And his balls! With palpable effort, I raised my eyes to his muscled abdomen. I had not been hallucinating. He had no navel.

"Tom," I croaked, "how is it you have no navel?"

He grinned a mischievous grin. "Oh, I have a navel."

I frantically scanned his rocky eight-pack. "Where? I can't see one."

He turned his body and pointed to the back of his neck, and there it was - an "outer".

He turned back and grinned at the amazement that was on my face. The smile slowly faded.

"They call us nipple-necks..." he said.

I sighed. Without being conscious of it, I stood up and faced him. He was a head taller than I was and we locked eyes. Of their own volition, my hands raised and lay lightly on his wide, wide shoulder muscles.

"...Also tanks" he added sadly.

I gave a slight smile. "Well," I said as I hesitatingly caressed his shoulders with the tips of my fingers, "you're certainly built like one."

He looked puzzled. "What?"

I dropped my hands. I realized he did not know what I was talking about.

I said, "I know of only two meanings for the word 'tank'. The first is an armored vehicle of war; the second is a container for liquid."

That remote look came over his face again and he said, "They call us tanks because we are gestated in tanks until it is time to be decanted."

I gasped and sat down heavily, winded by this information. Dear God! An artificial human being! Still, I couldn't help but be impressed by the amazing technology behind such a venture.

He just looked at me sadly as though I had somehow disappointed him. After a pause I said, "Sit down, Tom." And I patted the bed beside me. He sat down carefully so that our shoulders were not quite touching. I was breathing heavily to control my shock. I turned to him but he was staring into the distance. My eyes fell on his tattooed shoulder. I deliberately touched it lightly.

"What does it say? I can't read it." He reeled off a string of numbers. For some reason, I found this so appalling that I felt myself tearing up.

"Were you tattooed with this number when you were born?"

He just nodded.

A newborn creature whose first experience was the pain of tattooing!

I muttered, "I promise you this, Tom. Never, never shall I address you by that number." He turned his head and looked at me, and we sat side by side for a long time, my heart was too full to say anything. Then I gently laid my head on his shoulder. He didn't say anything but he slowly leaned his head towards me, so that his cheek was rubbing the bristles on the top of my head.

How could they say that those like Tom had no feelings?

I took a deep breath and came back to the present. "I think I should get into bed again," I said, "and thank you, Tom."

He nodded and stood up and assisted me into bed. Then he dressed quickly, and, as he smoothed the bedclothes over me, I said, "Do you know what they plan for me?"

He shook his head. I sighed and said, "I would very much like to get out of this room. I'm starting to go stir crazy. There's no window. I don't know if it's day or night."

Tom licked his lips and muttered cautiously, "I don't think you will be allowed to go outside."

I sighed again. "Even outside this room would be something." I looked at him, and knew I was pleading. I was reminded of Bilbo Baggins.

"I want to see mountains, Gandalf. I want to see fields ... the sky..."

Tom dropped his voice shyly. "Something could be arranged.... I think."

I smiled, feeling a twinge of excitement. "I have no clothes," I said. "Can you get something for me to wear?"

Tom nodded like a schoolboy with a secret. I settled back in the bed and he lowered the lights in the room.

When I awoke, I found that Tom was good as his promise. While I was washing, he produced a baggy white coverall that, he assured me, all patients "in this sector" wore when they moved around. Gratefully, I climbed into it. It was very lightweight - like wearing thin paper, but it was strong. I felt much less vulnerable now that my nakedness was covered, but my lack of underwear meant that the front of the garment tented alarmingly when my cock decided to stand up and look around, which it did at frequent intervals.

After my breakfast - more mush - I rose from my bed with decision and wiggled into the soft slippers that Tom had provided and cautiously we both stepped out of the room, and I looked around with avid interest.

A corridor - a featureless corridor. No carpet, no pictures on the walls - nothing. Only doors along the walls, some closed but most were open.

Tom, however, knew where he was going. He took the lead and indicated for me to follow. The corridor soon joined another and then opened into a larger space. It was the first time I saw other patients. Well, I presumed they were patients. They were all dressed in white coveralls as I was, but they - we - were far outnumbered by two to one, by those like Tom. Units. All dressed in the same grey-blue garment that Tom wore and all were breathtakingly beautiful muscular young men.

Tom led me across this room without pausing. We were ignored by those in white, but I couldn't help noticing that the Units in blue-grey all gave us quick looks - noticing, recording, remembering.

I moved up beside Tom. "Tom," I whispered, "what do you call yourselves?"

Tom stopped and looked at me. I said, a bit self consciously, "I realize you wouldn't call yourselves 'Units' or 'Tanks', so what term do you use when you talk among yourselves?"

Tom gave me a long long look, as though debating whether to allow me into this secret, for I suddenly realized it was a secret, hidden from those who reckoned themselves their masters.

"We call ourselves ... " the words came reluctantly "... the brood kin."

I had a strange feeling that an important moment had occurred. I looked around the room and realized that all the ... kin ... in the room were watching us covertly. Did they know what I had asked? This was followed by a more alarming thought. Did they possess some kind of shared consciousness? And how was it that I, I who was a complete stranger in their midst, was learning more about them than had those for whom they were created?

Tom was watching me closely. I dragged my attention back to him and smiled, trying to reassure him of my understanding and my discretion. He indicated that it would be best to continue and he led me through an arched opening.

We entered a very large expansive area that definitely had the feeling of an hotel lounge. There were many comfortable easy chairs scattered round on a floor that was carpeted in deep green.

Among the expensive looking decorative pieces and potted plants, were more people - some dressed as patients like myself. There were again many of the kin present, being discreet but now there was a sprinkling of others in fashionable civilian dress and there were many in uniform. Even though I considered myself an expert on costuming, I did not recognize the lines of the civilian clothes nor were any of the uniforms in any way familiar. It was as though I had been transported to a foreign country in an unknown period of time.

But my eyes did not linger on these people. I was drawn to the vast vaulted roof of the space, divided up as an intricate geodesic dome supporting glass panels. I was in an observation lounge. As though someone was controlling my movements, I moved to the windows and looked out.

I gazed on a barren flat landscape that was colored red, that glowed in the late afternoon light. I could see in the distance other domes like the one I was in with sealed vehicular tunnels connecting them. I looked up into the velvet dark sky where the stars were glowing. There were two shining bodies, much larger than the other stars, hanging low in the sky.

I knew I could name them: Phobos and Deimos - Panic and Terror. Phobos and Deimos, the beautiful but vicious sons of Ares, the Greek god of war. Ares - whom the Ancient Romans named Mars.

I was on Mars.