America.
Europe.
In her travels through the savage lands, none of her enemies had spoken of these places. Where could they be?
She read on:
“The so-called civilisation of the Degenerates suffered from many flaws but some in particular proved terminal. The culture placed an inordinate emphasis on tolerance and compassion, both proclivities being inimical to the development of the warrior spirit. In its final days, a culture of competitive compassion developed with groups seeking to outdo the other in their caring for others. A belief that the highest virtue was tolerance instead of the manly spirit of struggle was inculcated without pausing to consider where the unthinking tolerance of the intolerant would lead.”
Shana stared at the words: she had no idea what they meant. The writer appeared to be scornful of the idea of caring for others, somehow believing that it was a fatal flaw in the survival of a society. But what would replace such an attitude? Shana had met many things in her travels that had wished her harm. She for her part had not wished them harm but had been forced to despatch them when their intentions had become plain.
Could there not be a compromise between compassion and self-interest? The writer clearly thought not: but surely nothing truly human could think that!
There was much more in the book, mostly claiming that the Degenerates had destroyed their own world from within by insidious cowardice and had deserved the punishment that had come upon them by those that were strangers to fear. She grew rapidly tired of it and read no more of the books in that section.
She looked around. Now she was used to the visons they seemed entirely real. She was dimly aware of the pressure of the device upon her head but she could see nothing of the room she was in or Jon’s concerned face. The feeling that she was alone in a long corridor could not be distinguished from reality and although she had no physical sensation of her feet touching the floor, she could make herself walk down it.
It was a mysterious, incredible experience – but she was getting used to those now.
She rounded a bend in the corridor and saw that it opened up into a wide room without flanking bookshelves. At the far end, so distant that she could not make out the details, there was what appeared to be a table with a solid front. There were words on that front but they were so small it was hard to interpret them. One word was in larger characters and might have been “FORBIDDEN.” She was about to approach when she saw movement. Her eyes narrowed. At either end of the table stood two short, squat figures. They were only silhouettes but their outline, their movements, reminded her of – Akraz and Zarka!
Her heart seemed to fly into her mouth as she hurriedly backed away, back into the sheltering corridor. No! No! her mind screamed; I can’t face them again!
Back in the corridor she felt her pounding heart gradually return to its usual intensity. Perhaps she imagined it all. In this world where nothing was normal, a mind reeling under endless mysteries would overreact in some way – perhaps that was inevitable.
She looked carefully around the corner, ensuring that nothing below her eyes was visible to anything on the other side.
The table was still there but there were no figures. Her overwrought senses must have imagined them; imagined a horror coming back to taunt her.
However, she decided not to examine that area today. She began to retrace her steps. She knew it was unnecessary and that she was in fact lying motionless on the bed but it was hard to shake the illusion that she was actually walking back to an entry point. As she did so she noticed a book that had a brightly coloured spine, unlike the dull tan of most of the others.
She took it off the shelf, having to stand tiptoe to do so, and read the title:
She scanned the contents, becoming more and more puzzled as she did so. The narrative contained many examples of the warrior caste capturing women of the defeated civilisation and subjecting them to various forms of humiliating experiences. In particular, one activity, which kept recurring in various variations, was for the warrior to climb on top of the woman and insert some part of his body into hers.
She read on, her mystification becoming greater.
Surely the activities described were physiologically impossible and in the end she decided that the whole thing was some kind of allegory, with the captive women somehow standing for their conquered people as a whole. She closed the book with a snap, not bothering to replace it and removed the device from her head.
Instantly the room reappeared with Jon sitting directly opposite her, with the usual look of concern on his tired face.
‘How long was I gone?’ she asked hoarsely; the trips into the visualiser always left her thirsty.
‘Not long,’ he replied, ‘perhaps a little longer than last time.’
She shook her head: time seemed to move much more quickly during her forays into that weird world.
‘What did you see this time?’ he said and Shana thought for a moment there was a note of envy in his voice as he handed her a tumbler of water.
She told him of the odd book about warriors and Degenerate women and the peculiar practices described therein.
‘At one point it says – and I quote – “he poured his boiling seed into her.” ‘
Jon furrowed his brow. ‘That’s hard to understand. Why having boiled some seed would you throw it away like that? They can’t be short of food – wherever they are or were.’
Shana raised her hands high to demonstrate incomprehension and then a thought struck her. ‘It says he poured the boiling seed into her. That would surely be painful and those people did seem to take a delight in inflicting pain.’
Jon grimaced. ‘Of course. Typical of them.’
‘And they had other peculiar activities as well.’
‘Like what?’ groaned Jon. It was hard keeping up with all the oddities than Shana kept reporting.
‘I’ll show you but you have to take your clothes off.’
‘My clothes off? Why?’
‘Trust me. I just want to see if this works.’
To Jon’s surprise she had already divested herself of the small amount of clothing she normally wore and was lying supine on the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ he said exasperatedly.
‘You’ll see, I’m just trying something out. Now lie on top of me.’
‘What?’
‘Just do it Jon and stop complaining.’
Reluctantly Jon obeyed and lay on top of Shana, his toes reaching slightly further down the bed than hers.
‘Now what?’
‘Move your hips up and down so you’re pressing into me and then releasing.’
‘And why should I do that?’
‘Jon, for once in your life just do as I ask!’
Jon assumed his best put-upon expression and complied. Some moments passed.
And then a few more.
In the end he said, ‘Nothing’s happening. What’s supposed to be happening?’
She shook her head in annoyance. ‘Well, a bit more than this. This isn’t how the book described it. The way they said it, it was something very exciting – for the warrior at least.’
‘Obviously I’m no warrior,’ Jon grunted as he removed himself from his soft human mattress and got dressed.
She did the same, shaking her head. ‘There so many things that are difficult to understand. And it’s so tiring when I’m in there. This last time it felt like I was in there for a whole time of light.’
‘Then you won’t be going in there again in this period,’ Jon said.
There was no reply and turning around he discovered that Shana had got back on the bed and was now asleep.