Thousandstar (#4 of the Cluster series) (17 page)

Now Jesse and Jessica were past puberty, and the secret had become enormously more challenging to keep. She was slightly shorter than he, now, though for a time she had been taller; special elevated shoes made up for that. She had developed breasts, now, and other distinctly distaff attributes, as that X chromosome did its relentless work. Jesse had playfully complimented her more than once in this connection. "Now I know how great I look in femme," he told her. "But if I were you, which I almost am, I'd strap my udders down with a belt and put a bra on my glutes..." She had hit him with a pillow, of course; that was protocol.

They had had to move to specially designed clothing to retain their symmetry of appearance. She wore a body-sock girdle to flatten her breasts into a male-type chest; he wore padding to amplify his hips and buttocks. Now they both resembled a slightly overweight male, and neither liked this—but the secret had to be preserved until the pairing of clones was far enough along. If he failed to come to terms with a female, she would have to do so with a male. If they revealed this option prematurely, the other clones might force a clone-marriage on her, preventing him from carrying the estate name to his heir. Jessica wanted him to succeed; she liked none of the male clones available. She actually preferred more mature men, but the older clones were all committed. Thus she felt her best course was to retire into anonymity with some handsome commoner.

The dragon steamed into the terminal and stopped. Attendants took over, leading it to pasture after the passengers disembarked. Dragons were omnivorous, preferring to chase down the fat monster caterpillars that stood the height of a man, but also grazing on the plentiful pine needles. They preferred the needles fallen, and aged somewhat, so the dragons never harmed the trees. Their teeth were phenomenal, for there was enormous difference between the soft flesh of caterpillars and the toughness of dried pine needles. It seemed the dragons had evolved as herbivores, but developed cutting teeth for combat purposes, then discovered that those specialized teeth could be adapted for masticating meat.

"Snap to, Half," Jesse said brightly. A necessary caution; she was becoming moody and introspective these days, while he retained his surface awareness. Was this a gender difference, or did it derive from her natural distaste for her masquerade?

The entrance passage was decorated with artfully placed fallen timbers and floodwater stains. There was even an alluvial delta at one end. Then they had to climb through the wreckage of a ship to enter the main chamber.

Jesse paused just before taking the final step. He grasped a splintered pole and used it to poke up into the ceiling. A plastic bucket of water tipped down, splashing on the floor. "Saw the stain from the last splash," he remarked wisely, completing his entrance, and got soaked by the second bucket of water.

Jessica then stepped out. She had noted the splash too—such things were ubiquitous at clone balls—but still had residual caution. A soaking could have interfered with her camouflage clothing. Now, unfortunately, they were readily distinguishable: Jess-wet from Jess-dry. That could be awkward.

There was a stiff breeze inside, consistent with the motif. Jesse shivered as his clothing evaporated, and hurried to the refreshment alcove for a mildly intoxicating Cyclomate beverage. Jessica had to accompany him and take one also, but she imbibed it far more cautiously. It was considered humorous to spike these drinks with hallucinogens or aphrodisiacs. She still felt nervous, afraid someone would see her flattened breasts sneaking some stray bulge through her masculine shirt.

As Jesse consumed his drink he became more sociable. Jessica grew alarmed in corresponding proportion. Her situation forced her to be less and less like him, so that she could
seem
more and more like him. If he got careless, talked too much—

They circulated, chatting with other clones. The older ones were married, each member accompanying his/her spouse; the child-level ones, already bored with the introductions, were playing noisy team-tag in the basement. Jesse and Jessica were among the select minority of adolescents; in self-defense they tended to associate with these.

"Hey, Jess! Where were you, Screwball?" a husky male bawled, clapping Jessica jarringly on the back. Her drink slopped onto the floor: no loss. Her fear was growing, as she noted her brother's unconscious fidgeting, that the juice really
had
been spiked.

"We were indisposed, Jules," she responded. Actually they had skipped the Scrub-clones' party, titled Screwball, because of the maturation problem. But too many skips would become suspicious, and the last thing they wanted was suspicion. Theoretically all the unmarried clones of any age were eagerly mixing, trying to line up the best marital alliances early. It was a bit like musical chairs, with the "music"—i.e., intense social and sexual interplay —continuous, and the competitors eager to be the first to drop out by pairing off. The ones who played too long, or not enough, might not make their necessary connections. So the Jess-clones had had to make Cyclone, ready or not. Jesse was all too ready; Jessica was not.

Jules leaned down confidentially. "You missed some real screwing, Jess! But you can make it up this time, eh?" And he aimed another devastating smash at her back. She ducked neatly to avoid it, dinking him in the stomach with three stiffened fingers. He thought his pun about "making it up" was terribly clever; she thought it proved him a bore.

"Eh," she agreed, emulating Jesse.

Privately, she was disgusted. Sex was not only fairly open, it was expected. How else, the theory went, could the clones find suitable partners for marriage? Jesse was quite interested in the subject now; he hardly needed the stimulation of an aphrodisiac drink to get him going. Jessica, even had she been overtly female, would have preferred to wait. It was inherent in the Solarian species, she decided: it was the male's prerogative to seed whatever furrow he could find, and to do that all he needed was a wandering nature and a ready tool. It was the female's duty to bear and raise the young; for that she needed to stay at home and work. So the male craved sexual expression constantly, lest his tool sag from neglect, while the female could take it or leave it, as befitted the situation. She hoped the situation never befitted a marriage with Jules; she couldn't stand him.

A well-developed pair sashayed up. "Jess! We've been looking for you!"

"And we for you, Bessy!" Jesse responded, his eyes ogling the left Bess with more than mock appreciation. Jessica hurled another mental curse at that drink. The Bess clones took pride in their purported resemblance to their namesake ancestor, Good Queen Bess; possibly this was valid, assuming the Queen had been voluptuous and stupid. Jessica, her annoyance verging on wrath, painted an ogle similar to her brother's on her own face. The Bessies were only a few months older than the Jesses, but their female attributes had manifested explosively.
They
would never be able to pass for males.

The Bessies took a deep tandem breath, causing their four mammaries to overflow their costumes dangerously. "Shall we try it out?" And they winked in broad unison, though that was hardly necessary.

Jessica wondered: what was it that she had been thinking about the woman's role? The Bessies were coming on with disgusting directness. And Jesse, damn him, was raptly interested. She nudged him warningly with her elbow, but he was so absorbed by the quadruple revelation that he ignored her. He was male, therefore he chose a woman by shape, not intellect or personality. By shape! How foolish was it possible to get?

The Bessies took firm hold of the Jesses and propelled them toward the private rooms. Jessica could not resist effectively, since Jesse was eager enough to go. But the thing was impossible!

'What is impossible? Sexual play is natural.'

"Not between females!" Jessica retorted.

"Beg pardon?" Bessy inquired, already half disrobed. Jesse and the other Bessy had vanished to the adjacent chamber.

Even had it not been impossible, it would have been undesirable. Bessy was a cow, huge of haunch and udder (exactly as Jesse liked to pretend his sister was; she was definitely not!), scant of intellect, basic of instinct. At least Jesse should have evinced some taste in bovines.

Shape. It was so damned stupid! As well to judge a drink by the contour of its container.

'Yes. Taste is the only criterion—'

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped.

"But I wasn't speaking," Bessy protested, hurt.

"Uh, I mean shut off the light." Jessica lurched to wave her hand across the illumination control, and the light faded.

"Oh, in the dark," Bessy cried. "How quaint!"

"Yes. It's the newest fashion," Jessica said. "Give me a moment to get ready." She moved silently to the door between rooms. It was a privacy curtain, fortunately: opaque, but of no substance. She stepped through.

And was momentarily blinded by the light. Jesse, unclothed, was just rising from his willing conquest. That drink had given him jet propulsion!

'Your kind employs jets?'

"In a manner of speaking," she answered, this time silently. "The male's role—oh, never mind!"

'And the female remains to care for the offspring. This is a desirable procedure.'

"That depends." Jessica closed out the nagging thoughts and returned to her dream, though it horrified her.

Bessy's eyes were closed, her body open. Jessica suppressed another surge of revulsion. She understood, to a certain extent, the male imperative; sex was an inherent hunger that he sought to gratify. But this type of female, who surely had no similar incentive—why was
she
so eager for it? It had to be a perverse pride of conquest: she bolstered her undeserving ego by proving that men found her desirable. But she
wasn't
desirable; she was a great mass of incipiently sagging flesh. A sow.

Jesse spied Jessica, his brows lifting questioningly, but almost immediately he understood. The abatement of his lust allowed his mind to function again, making him aware of her predicament. He rose from Bessy, gestured Jessica to take his place, picked up his clothes and tiptoed through the curtain to join the other Bessy. How he would perform there Jessica could not say; presumably he would stall until he was able to rise again to the occasion. Served him right.

Jessica sat beside Bessy, afraid to arouse suspicion by turning off this light. She took her clothing partly off, to look as if it had been hastily donned, and waited.

Bessy stirred, eyes still closed. "Am I a good lay, Jess?"

Jessica experienced the mental image of a monstrous laser beam destroying the whole castle. But her voice was controlled, artificially sincere. "As good as any I've had," she replied, biting her lip. Another wash of furious frustration and jealousy suffused her—and the very existence of
that
reaction made her more angry yet. No, she didn't want to be like Bessy—did she? "How am I as a stud?"

"Oh, the best, the best! Sort of quick, though." Bessy opened her eyes. "How did you get dressed so soon?"

"Part of the art," Jessica said with assumed smugness. "If you'd kept your eyes closed another moment, I'd have tucked in my shirt before you ever noticed." She did so now.

"Some trick! You dress almost as fast as you perform." Bessy stretched languorously. "If you were to marry me, it would be like this every day. More often if you wanted."

Age fifteen, so hot to get married to a clone! The artifice was so obvious it was painful. "If I were to marry you, I couldn't have it with all the other girls anymore," Jessica said with simulated regret. When she got home, she intended to wash her mouth out with detergent.

Bessy sighed. Her wit was not sufficient to cope with that rejoinder. Her expertise hardly extended beyond disrobing and spreading her legs. She closed her eyes again. "Stroke me again, Jess, as you did before."

Jessica gritted her teeth. How far did she have to carry this infernal charade? She knew where her half would have stroked this bovine. He would have milked her.

Jessica closed her fist, aiming it—no. This was a temptation to which she could not afford to yield, lest she betray her affinity. For Jessica was really another female mammal.

She put out her hand. In her imagination it held a butcher's knife.
Let me carve you, cowpig! From here a fine juicy steak; from there a fat roast
...

"Oh, Jess, you really know how to do it," Bessy said.

Jessica wrenched her eyes open from the nightmare— and found she had no eyes. She screamed—and had no voice. She had only touch and taste—mainly the latter.

"Will you stop it?" Heem demanded. "You are burning out my nerves!"

The horror subsided slowly. 'I was dreaming, reliving—'

"I perceived, sharing your horror. Impersonating the alternate gender—I comprehend how revolting that would be, though it surely prepared you for your cross-gender transfer. But to imagine carving eating-chunks from the flesh of a sapient—"

'Bessy was not
very
sapient.'

"But the most remarkable thing—I almost thought I could see."

'Of course you can see—when you're snooping on my dream! Because my mind is oriented on seeing and hearing, and the impulses translate.'

"Horrible," Heem jetted.

'You, blind and deaf, talk of horror? You, who diverted this ship into—' But she did not voice the concept.

"You are aware of my rationale," he reminded her. "Better to die cleanly and honorably in space, than in confinement."

'What could be more comforting than a black hole?' The scream was forming again, causing him to wince internally. She had a considerable weapon, there.

"A thorough and honorable death is not confining," he informed her. "It is an excellent liberation from an intolerable situation."

They oriented their attention on the Hole ahead. The Hole itself was blank to the ship's instrumentation, because it was what it was; but there were considerable phenomena at its fringe that were perceptible.

'I don't resign myself to this at all, you know,' Jessica said tersely, and indeed there was an undercurrent of purpose in her being that was alarming in its strength. 'There has to be some escape. If only I could
see
it!' She considered in her brief, Solarian, feminine way. 'Heem, you have to develop sight. That's all there is to it. I absolutely refuse to die blind. I want to see what I'm getting into.'