“But you have already appeared before him, so clad,” he said.
She looked at him wildly, in confusion.
“I am he,” he smiled.
“No,” she said. “You are too young, too young!”
“I am he,” he repeated.
She shook her head, disbelievingly.
“It will all become clearer later,” he said. “Let us now simply inform you, and you may believe this or not, it makes no difference at this point, that our “supposed world,” as we spoke of it, does exist, in actuality. It lies within our very solar system. I have been there. I have seen that world. I have adopted it, and its hardy, uncompromising, fulfilling ways, as my own. I will not recognize the pathologies of this world any longer. I repudiate them. The world is called, after one of its cultural artifacts, “Home Stone.” In the language most commonly spoken on that world the word is “Gor.” Perhaps you have heard of Gor?”
“You are mad!” she wept.
“Have you heard of it?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But it does not exist!”
“Later you will be in a better position to make a judgment on that,” he said.
The older woman looked to the kneeling blonde, if only to corroborate her own consternation, her own disbelief, but Tutina stared ahead, not meeting her eyes.
“Tutina,” said the young man, “is from Earth, like you, but she was taken, let us say, as a guest, to Gor. I bought her there.”
“Bought her?” asked the older woman.
“I, on the other hand,” said the young man, “was, in a way, recruited.”
“You are not the young man I knew,” said the older woman.
“I am,” he said. “Let us return briefly to those medical advances I mentioned earlier, those developed on Gor, or, as it is sometimes spoken of, the Antichthon, the Counter-Earth. Among these advances, or capabilities, if you prefer, are the Stabilization Serums. These ensure pattern stability, the stability of organic patterns, without degradation, despite the constant transformation of cells in the body. As you probably know, every seven years or so, every cell in your body, with the exception of the neural cells, is replaced. The continuity of neural cells guarantees the viability of memory, extending back, beyond various seven-year periods. The Stabilization Serums, in effect, arrest aging, and, thus, preserve youth. Further, the Stabilization Serums also freshen and rejuvenate neural tissue. In this way, one avoids the embarrassment of a declining brain incongruously ensconced in a youthful body. That feature represents an improvement over the original serums and dates from something like five hundred years ago.”
“You said you bought Tutina?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Can you think of any simple way in which I might convince you that I am who I claim to be? I probably remember some of our exchanges in class, some of my fellow students, some of the reading assignments, such things. Would anything like that help?”
“You might have researched such things,” she said.
“True,” he admitted. “What if I described your clothing, or manner, or such?”
“Such things were muchly the same,” she said. “I know!”
“What?” he asked.
“Once, and only once,” she said, “I wore jewelry to class. You could not know what it was. You would have no way of knowing what it was. Your data, your records, the roster, the familiarities of my garb and demeanor, could not give you that information.”
“You wore two narrow bracelets, golden bracelets, on your left wrist,” he said.
The older woman was aghast, stunned. The bracelets were precisely as he had stated. She had never forgotten that class. She had only dared once to wear them, to that class and none other. And she remembered how she had sometimes moved her wrist, as though in the most natural and apt of gestures, in such a way that they would make that tiny, provocative sound.
“They contrasted nicely with your prim couture,” he said. “They reminded me of slave bangles. They made small sounds, sometimes, as you moved your wrist. I suppose you know you did that on purpose, to present yourself before me, as a female slave.”
“No!” she cried.
“I recall thinking that it would be pleasant to have you remove those severe garments, slowly and gracefully, and then kneel naked before me, except for the two bracelets on your left wrist.”
The older woman cried out in misery, and hid her face in her hands.
“There has been a new development in the Stabilization Serums, or, better, I suppose, serums rather analogous to the Stabilization Serums, a development which has occurred in my own lifetime, indeed, within the last few years,” he said. “In this development, though there are dangers associated with it, and it is not always effective, it is often possible to reverse the typical aging process, to an earlier point, and then stabilize it at that point.”
“You are mad,” she said.
“I had never forgotten you,” he said, “and so, naturally, when I learned of this possibility, I thought of you, and, indeed, several others, in this regard.
“You may now ask about your clothing,” he said.
“Where is it?” she said.
“It was destroyed,” he said. “You will not be needing it anymore. You are going to be taken to Gor.”
“You are mad,” she whispered.
“Not at all,” he said.
“You never forgot me?” she said.
“Do not mistake our intentions here,” he said. “This is a business venture. We are interested in profit. There is a rich harvest to be had now, with this new development, only recently available to us for commercial exploitation. There is now, suddenly, an entirely new, rich, untapped area which is ripe for our endeavors, an area which we may now use to supplement our routine work.”
“You remembered me,” she whispered. “You were interested in me.”
“A nice word,” he said.
“You found me of interest —?”
“Certainly.”
She was in sudden consternation.
Interested?
Surely she had misspoke herself. Surely she had gone too far!
Was she feminine?
She must not be feminine!
Surely it would be wrong for her to be such, to be so female, so simply, so radically, so vulnerably female!
Was such not a mere social artifact?
But what if it were not a mere social artifact?
What if it were something very different, what if it were something very real, something natural, precious, important, and beautiful, something utterly independent of her wishes and indoctrinations, something which, whether she or others approved or not, or wanted it to be or not, she was?
And could it be wrong to be what one was?
And what might be the consequences of becoming what one was, truly?
Could it be so terrible?
Or might it not be the most welcome and glorious of liberations?
She looked at the wall, to her left, at a picture, a landscape. It seemed a strange landscape, in its way, with gentle yellow trees nestled in a valley, and, in the distance, a range of scarlet mountains. One could almost smell the breeze, the freshness of the air.
A strange picture!
Surely there was no such place.
But what if there were?
What would it be to be in such a place?
Would not things be different?
Perhaps very different?
She looked away from the picture.
“But how could that be?” she asked, lightly. “In what possible way?”
“You are not stupid,” he said. “Do not pretend to be stupid. In precisely the sense you had in mind when you used the word ‘interesting’.”
“— As a female?” she said.
“Of course,” he said.