Read Online 02. Empires of Flux and Anchor by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
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predictable—rushed to check on her daughter as soon as she could. The same as somebody carrying a lot of money will always check their wallets and tell a good thief exactly where the wallet's hidden. You were one of many we had staked out all around, following every red herring. Now it's time to plan our next move."
"I spent two years in that hole eating shit," the agent reminded him. "Now I expect a big payoff."
He gave a low chuckle and drained his glass. "You have no Flux power," he reminded her. "You were homely and pushing fifty when we offered you this job. We made you sixteen again. That's a pretty good deal for two years you otherwise didn't have, and they even improved your looks. What other kind of payment do you expect?"
"You can't know what I went through for you!" she spat. "The humiliation, the hard conditions, the constant acting. No sex, no freedom, lousy food. Nothing you can give me would be enough payment."
"But you'll accept it anyway," he said sarcastically.
"You bet I will! I want all the things I didn't have, all the things I never had. I want to be gorgeous. I want men lusting after me. I want never to have to worry about anything again!"
He thought a moment. "And in Anchor, I presume?"
"Of course! This is no place for somebody without the power."
"O.K. I've got just the thing." He made an idle gesture with his left hand and she froze, unable to move. "You know too much and you could blow too much, but we do owe you for services rendered, and what you want is easy." He wove the mathematical spells idly in his mind and sent them to her as forms of binding energy. "First we'll erase the last three years from your memory completely— that'll cover all your contacts with us. We'll make life before that fairly muddy, not clear or important to you. We'll give you a face and body that every red-blooded male wants, and we'll bind your personality to total passivity, so you'll be happy to give 'em what they want. Then we'll constrict your usable I.Q. to maybe half its potential, so you'll have a one-track mind that's ruled by your body and your needs. You'll giggle a lot, but you won't think beyond the moment. And maybe a new name that won't trigger any of those old memories. 'Honey,' because it fits." He snapped his fingers and the spell was cast.
As was the case with master wizards, the effect was instantaneous. One moment the plain-looking Mahta had stood there; now a voluptuous but stupid young woman shook her head as if waking up from a dream and then looked dully around, puzzled.
"Hi!" he said pleasantly. "What's your name?"
"Honey," she answered in a very sexy voice.
"Well, hello, Honey. What do you do for a living?"
"I make men happy," she told him, cozying up. "Can I make you happy?"
"You sure can," responded cheerfully. "And when you do, I got a friend who owns a place in Anchor Logh where you can make lots of men happy night after night."
The first problem was solved. Now go on to the next phase.
It was Holy Day, although that didn't mean very much to Spirit this time. The portrait of Sister Kasdi in the vestibule, which had always seemed so comforting, now seemed rather silly and out of place. No longer the Reformed Church, or just the Church, but "My Mother's Church," she thought a bit sourly. Still, she had gone as always, for social pressure was pretty strong in a small place like Anchor Logh and particularly on the farm and in the riding. She wondered how her grandfather had managed to escape for so many years.
There was a stranger attending services that morning who was the object of some sidelong attention. There were often strangers at services, particularly this close to the capital, but this one would stand out in any crowd. He was tall, handsome, and muscular, with a neatly trimmed, full brown beard and long brown hair touched slightly by gray at the temples and right on the chin. His clothes were casual, jeans and a red plaid shirt and well-worn boots, standing
"I spent two years in that hole eating shit," the agent reminded him. "Now I expect a big payoff."
He gave a low chuckle and drained his glass. "You have no Flux power," he reminded her. "You were homely and pushing fifty when we offered you this job. We made you sixteen again. That's a pretty good deal for two years you otherwise didn't have, and they even improved your looks. What other kind of payment do you expect?"
"You can't know what I went through for you!" she spat. "The humiliation, the hard conditions, the constant acting. No sex, no freedom, lousy food. Nothing you can give me would be enough payment."
"But you'll accept it anyway," he said sarcastically.
"You bet I will! I want all the things I didn't have, all the things I never had. I want to be gorgeous. I want men lusting after me. I want never to have to worry about anything again!"
He thought a moment. "And in Anchor, I presume?"
"Of course! This is no place for somebody without the power."
"O.K. I've got just the thing." He made an idle gesture with his left hand and she froze, unable to move. "You know too much and you could blow too much, but we do owe you for services rendered, and what you want is easy." He wove the mathematical spells idly in his mind and sent them to her as forms of binding energy. "First we'll erase the last three years from your memory completely— that'll cover all your contacts with us. We'll make life before that fairly muddy, not clear or important to you. We'll give you a face and body that every red-blooded male wants, and we'll bind your personality to total passivity, so you'll be happy to give 'em what they want. Then we'll constrict your usable I.Q. to maybe half its potential, so you'll have a one-track mind that's ruled by your body and your needs. You'll giggle a lot, but you won't think beyond the moment. And maybe a new name that won't trigger any of those old memories. 'Honey,' because it fits." He snapped his fingers and the spell was cast.
As was the case with master wizards, the effect was instantaneous. One moment the plain-looking Mahta had stood there; now a voluptuous but stupid young woman shook her head as if waking up from a dream and then looked dully around, puzzled.
"Hi!" he said pleasantly. "What's your name?"
"Honey," she answered in a very sexy voice.
"Well, hello, Honey. What do you do for a living?"
"I make men happy," she told him, cozying up. "Can I make you happy?"
"You sure can," responded cheerfully. "And when you do, I got a friend who owns a place in Anchor Logh where you can make lots of men happy night after night."
The first problem was solved. Now go on to the next phase.
It was Holy Day, although that didn't mean very much to Spirit this time. The portrait of Sister Kasdi in the vestibule, which had always seemed so comforting, now seemed rather silly and out of place. No longer the Reformed Church, or just the Church, but "My Mother's Church," she thought a bit sourly. Still, she had gone as always, for social pressure was pretty strong in a small place like Anchor Logh and particularly on the farm and in the riding. She wondered how her grandfather had managed to escape for so many years.
There was a stranger attending services that morning who was the object of some sidelong attention. There were often strangers at services, particularly this close to the capital, but this one would stand out in any crowd. He was tall, handsome, and muscular, with a neatly trimmed, full brown beard and long brown hair touched slightly by gray at the temples and right on the chin. His clothes were casual, jeans and a red plaid shirt and well-worn boots, standing
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