CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"I suppose it's probably ridiculous of me to ask," Tintina said, a wry
smile on her face, "but have you adjusted to Monsipur yet?"
They were eating lunch at one of Garshak's pricier restaurants that
catered to the business crowd. It was all the way across town, twenty minutes
from her temporary offices at SynthDiv. During a changeover Race usually was
too busy to take a lunch at all, much travel across town for one, but she could
tell this had been anything but a casual invitation.
This latest changeover was the smoothest she'd ever been in charge of.
Not only hadn't there been any unwelcome surprises, the engineers were actually
half a day ahead of schedule. It was due in part to the ingeniously efficient
schedule she'd developed, in conjunction with the new fabricators that
practically assembled themselves. Also, it was her fifth P-to-Q changeover, and
she was naturally getting better at them. However, she had to give Tintina her
due. The woman was the best ad hoc assistant she'd ever had, on New Mantique or
off, bar none. Not only did the woman know the changeover schedule as well as
Race, she had most of the technical details memorized as well. She seemed to
know what Race needed almost before Race did. And, not only was she totally
professional and efficient, she was pleasant to be around. Nice.
"I've been to New Mantique, so I know you had one hell of a culture
shock," Tintina went on. She could tell from Race's posture the NM native was
tense.
The restaurant's dining area was a honeycomb of private high-backed and
thickly padded booths. Most were filled by sharply dressed professionals
talking business with coworkers or clients.
"Skirts cut above the knee are considered racy," Race said, nodding.
The restaurant had human waitstaff; very classy, and not cheap. Race
and Tintina watched the waitress taking the order from the couple in the booth
across from them. The pair were professionally dressed, although Race got the
impression that the woman was an assistant rather than an equal to her male
companion. She had short, glossy red hair in a pageboy cut framing a
heart-shaped face that was perfectly made up. Her jacket and skirt were dark
green and cut to show a lot of skin. The redhead ordered for herself and her
companion, her hand never slowing as she jerked him off underneath the table.
She wasn't trying to conceal the activity; neither was she trying to call
attention to herself. Anyone walking by would've but had to glance over to see
her unashamedly masturbating the man, and the waitress couldn't have cared less.
When the waitress moved off to fill their order the redhead leaned down and went
to work on the man with her mouth. The man glanced up to see Race staring over
at him. Apparently he didn't like what he saw on her face for he activated the
privacy screen and the booth was immediately hidden by a fuzzy grey bent-light
sphere.
Race looked away, a bit embarrassed and a little angry. "He would be
fired so quickly on New Mantique his head would spin," she said. "That's sexual
harassment, forcing your assistant to do that."
"Actually, he's her assistant," Tintina corrected Race. "I know her,
she's the CFO for a nano-electrical company. She's orally obsessive/compulsive;
his tool's probably the only thing keeping her from weighing a hundred kilos.
But she's a perfect example. You have to remember that Monsipur is not New
Mantique. Say she was his secretary. Sexual servicing is considered part of an
executive assistant's job here. You have to have realized we don't have the
same feelings about sex as most offworlders do," Tintina did her best to
explain.
"I admit, New Mantique isn't the most progressive planet in the League,
but still . . . ." Race shook her head, uncertain how to explain her
perceptions. "It's not that you have a permissive society," she said finally.
"It's not permissive, it's pervasive. You have a culture of sexuality."
Tintina pursed her lips and thought a while. "I suppose you might see
it that way," she said after a while. "I don't, I guess. I've been offworld,
more than once, so I feel qualified to compare Monsipur. Let's forget about New
Mantique for a while. We both know it's a male-dominated, sexually-repressed
planet totally out of step with the rest of the League. That said, it isn't the
only society which looks down its nose at us. What I feel they have a problem
with is the fact that we treat matters of sex and sexuality no different than
other matters of culture. We don't hide anything. I don't consider it
pervasive, we just don't hide it. At all. Check that - it is pervasive. Not
just on our planet, on every planet, in every society and culture humans have
created since we started walking and talking. The reproductive drive is the
strongest one humans have. New Mantique is not different - your elders there
can't stop thinking about sex, but they hate themselves for it. They consider
it a weakness. We don't. We are not ashamed of ourselves, our bodies, our
desires, anything. It's natural. Sex is as natural to humans as eating, and we
don't make any pretenses to the contrary. Why should you or I feel ashamed or
nervous about something your body is designed to do?"
Race wasn't sure whether she agreed with Tintina or not, but she knew
her homeworld had seeded its cultural biases deep in her, so she tried not to
judge. "The government of New Mantique doesn't exactly feel the same way," she
said with a wry smile. She tried to evaluate her true feelings. It was just -
she'd spent so many years hiding from her sexuality, burying herself in her
work, and Monsipur seemed to be doing everything it could to root out that part
of her.
"Well, we're not there, we're here. Monnies are a sexually active
people, and by nature uninhibited. Sex, as it should be, is as much a part of
our lives as eating."
Race nodded at the booth across the aisle that was currently hidden
under the privacy screen. "Even that?"
"You mean doing it in public? You eat in front of other people, don't
you? I admit, there are certain circumstances where of course it would be
inappropriate. Like bringing a big bowl of soup to eat in church. But they're
not bothering anyone," she nodded at the sphere, then smiled, "or wouldn't be,
if you weren't here." At that moment the privacy sphere deactivated and they
watched the woman sitting back up. She wiped at her chin with her linen napkin
as the man, his face half a shade darker than the last time they'd seen him,
busily began tucking himself away beneath the table.
"I'm not..." Race began, not sure how to say what was on her mind, not
sure exactly how to tame her racing thoughts. "It's just that New Mantique is
so repressive, seeing a bare-chested man by surprise gets me embarrassed. Then
I get mad at myself. I'm actually much more . . . relaxed," she finally said,
"but I've been conditioned to react a certain way without thinking."
"I understand totally. Most people are a product of their environment,
no doubt about it. Plus, I will admit, our society is freer, sexually, than
most any other planet I've heard of, even those supposed to be 'wide open'. And
I don't know if it's the climate, or something in the air, but Monnies are about
the most sexually active race you're ever likely to meet. Consensual sex is
legal here, period." She smiled. "So is eating. Had you ever even heard of
P-pods before you came to Garshak?"
Race colored a little and looked down at her hands. "I've got one in my
hotel room," she admitted. "I thought it was a bidet or some sort of
hygienic...."
"Have you tried it?"
At first Race was startled that her assistant would ask such a personal
question, but then she forced herself to relax. In fact, after a few seconds,
she actually smiled.
"Like I said, I thought it was a bidet. I hit the AutoLock by
accident."
Tintina's eyes grew wide, then she laughed long and hard. "I bet that
was a surprise," she managed to gasp. Race couldn't help but smile, almost
surprised that she could relax enough already about the incident to find it
funny. Both of them were still chuckling when their food came.
They ate in silence for several minutes, then Tintina spoke up. "The
executive committee is very pleased with how the changeover is going," she told
Race. You've impressed the hell out of them."
Race didn't know what to say to that. She so infrequently got
compliments that she didn't know how to react.
"I shouldn't be telling you this," Tintina went on, "but I brought all
this up for a reason." Tintina said, with false carelessness, "I think they're
going to offer you a position."
"What?"
Tintina nodded. "With the Synthetics Division. There's been a lot of
talk. Smylie seems to think you'd make an excellent addition to the team."
"As what?"
"Vice President of Marketing."
Race put down her fork, a little short of breath. "Oh. My. Uh...."
"I shouldn't have told you," Tintina said, putting a comforting hand on
Race's arm, but a decision like this....I just think you should have as much
time as possible to think about it beforehand. Moving to a new planet to live
is a big enough shock. Relocating from New Mantique to here . . . . I can't say
for sure that it's going to happen, but if it does, you need to decide for
yourself whether or not you could live here, even if you wanted to take the
job."
"How likely is this?" Race asked her.
"With Smylie in favor of it? Very likely. Would you consider leaving
New Mantique? And NMS?"
"I spend most of my time offworld as it is," Race said distractedly.
"Family?"
"Not really. A sister I see once a year."
"Then it guess it comes down to what you want. Whether you like
Monsipur, or not. If you think you could work with the people we've got here on
a full-time basis. They'd be pretty much who you dealt with on a day-to-day
basis. Plus, there's the matter of salary. I don't know what they'll offer,
whether it'll be enough for you to take the plunge. Only you know if you could
handle living here, or whether you'd be constantly uncomfortable and feeling out
of place." Tintina peered at her, trying to read Race's expression.
"I was so not expecting this."
"This was quite a few years ago, but I spent some time at NMS when I was
on New Mantique. Things seemed very . . ." she searched for a politic word.
"Patriarchal," was what she used.
Race roused herself from her daze. She heard what Tintina said and gave
a small chuckle. "I would have said chauvinist," she countered. "Or
discriminatory. Even hostile."
"I'm not trying to influence your decision," Tintina went on, "but
that's not the way it is here. Women make up almost seventy percent of upper
management at GUP Inc. That includes the Synthetics Division."
"I noticed that at the first meeting," Race agreed.
"You'd be treated as an equal. Better, probably. In the Garshak
business world it's the women that call the shots. Once you got used to the
corporate culture you'd do fine, I'm sure of it."
"What do you mean, corporate culture?"
"You want to call ours a culture of sexuality, okay, fine, but that
culture extends into the Garshak business world as well. Perhaps it's even more
prominent in the business world what with everyone vying for position and power.
A lot of the female executives you'd be dealing with are dahlias, you know, and
on Monsipur we all have a tendency to wear our sexuality on our sleeve."
Race didn't say anything for a long time. "Homosexuality is against the
law on New Mantique, " she murmured finally.
"I'd like to see how the hell they enforce that," Tintina scoffed.
"Here, aspiring assistants are tested on their oral ability before being hired.
Don't look so shocked, it's part of the job, one of the duties of the position.
We're a lot more honest than New Mantique when it comes to that. How many of
your supervisors were scooping their assistants?"
"Most of them."
"Exactly. And I bet most of them were married. Talk about
hypocritical. Here it's different. The sexual requirements of every position
are included in every listing, every employment advertisement. The more that's
required of you, the more you get paid, it's figured into the salary. Nobody
forced me to take this job, they're actually in high demand. There's a fairly
rigorous interview process-"
"You?" Race started, then shut up, knowing she was being stupid and
naive. Tintina was an executive assistant herself, a very able one. Race
thought about that.
"Not just that," Tintina went on, "but the prowess of your assistant is
important as well, because word gets around. The president of a company who
settles for a plain secretary who won't do certain sexual things loses respect
and prestige in the Garshak business world. Maybe because there are so many
women the internal politics are a little worse," Tintina admitted. "It seems
they're always vying for position and prestige, where the men aren't. You
should see them all scrambling to be the first to get their own personal
Q-series. I assume you noticed how just about everybody at your first
presentation had a pelvic PNP? Was wearing their plug-in? Well, that's just
part of the power politics going on, and as infantile as it may be you're going
to have to deal with it. You may find it hard to believe, but most of them are
real, not plug-ins, that's how ridiculous the "face" and power game is here. I
think all that testosterone's going to their heads."
Race put down her fork. "What's a pelvic PNP?"
Tintina put down her fork and knife and stared at her. "You're kidding.
You're not? Just what the hell isn't against the law on New Mantique? It's
like a Third World country. You don't know what a pelvic plug-in is?"
"I don't think so."
"Have you ever heard of Genuflex?"
"Is that for gender switching? I've heard of it, but it's not legal on
New Mantique. You have to go offworld if you want to do that, and then you're
not allowed back. A crime against nature, I think they call it."
"It's not legal? You're kidding me."
"Body mods done solely for prurient reasons aren't allowed. Of course,
the male politicians seem to forget that when it comes to breast or penis
enlargement. They call those 'cosmetic' alterations."
"Body mods aren't....? I can't-how about Danes?" Tintina asked her.
"Do you import Danes? Ever heard of them?" Race shook her head. "Furries?
Lackeys?" Race kept shaking her head. Tintina was incredulous. "You're
familiar with the Sisters of Mercy, right? No? No. Klitskin? How about PCAs,
Pelvic Cavity Augmentations?"
"Pelvic what?"
Tintina was aghast. "You do know the Division derives almost ten
percent of its profit from sales of NH toys, don't you?"
"I saw that in your financial statements," Race admitted, " but I didn't
know what it meant."
"Non-Humanoid," Tintina said distractedly. "Snakes, octopi,
double-ended torsos, programmed with some really inventive software. Well, not
the four-holers, those have a pulse and squirm, but that's about it. That's why
they're so inexpensive. The octopi are the most popular, no surprise there,
they come in several different sizes, but we make these replica Bolian
twitchworms--"
"Double what?"
Tintina paused. "How about FeelReals? Feelies?"
"Sure, but you're not going to tell me they're legal here, are you?
They're highly addictive."
Tintina took a deep breath and leaned close. "Oh krikes. Well, I
better get you up to speed before Smylie makes up his mind. I hardly know where
to begin. You know what a pod is, at least there's that. And our prostitutes
are called pulatritas. Treats. They're licensed and legal, which is why we
have so much tourism."
Race nodded. "The crew of the ship that brought me over couldn't stop
talking about that."
"Okay," Tintina said. She thought for a second. "Have you noticed how
tight most of the female executives at SynthDiv are wearing their pants?"
Race sat in stunned silence in the passenger seat of Tintina's
GUP-provided speeder all the way back to the SynthDiv offices. What she'd just
learned was almost too incredible to believe, and yet she knew it had to be
true. The first thing her hosts had done was provide her a gigolo and a
P-pod-equipped hotel suite If that didn't demonstrate a radical view of
"normal" sexual behavior, she didn't know what would. Tintina's words spun
around in her head, echoing oddly. For the first time she noticed just how
little clothing most of the female pedestrians were wearing. How had she missed
so many bare breasts before? Had she not wanted to see them? What else hadn't
she noticed?
Race sat in her borrowed office and tried to collect her thoughts. She
had a meeting with the engineers in fifteen minutes, but she couldn't even
remember what the meeting was supposed to be about. Race stared at the wall and
tried to figure out what she was feeling. Shock? Yes, definitely. Disgust?
Well.....no, not really. Excitement?
Someone cleared their throat and Race jerked around in her chair. Filpa
Disson, head of Software R&D, was standing in the doorway, holding a lit
notepad.
"Do you have a second?" she asked Race. "I have a question about these
numbers." She walked across the office to stand in front of Race's desk. Her
tan top was more a waistcoat than a jacket. It was tailored tightly to her body
and came down just past her waist with a little flare out above her hips. That
seemed to be the current fashion, short jackets that didn't cover the wearer's
behind. Her slacks fit snugly, the fabric acting like it had a little elastic
in it. The unmistakable bulk of a large male organ was stuffed down her left
pantleg, its head clearly defined.
"Is that a plug-in or real?" Race asked suddenly, staring at it. She
surprised herself with the question.
The busty department head looked down at herself and cocked her hips
backward self-consciously in an attempt to minimize her organ. The maneuver had
the opposite effect, and the smooth fabric tightened against her groin,
revealing a scrotum underneath the fat, flaccid cock.
"It's obvious you want people to see it," Race continued, "and I was
just curious."
Filpa seemed a bit nonplussed. "It-it's real," she managed to get out.
She seemed glad to have the notepad so there was something to occupy her hands,
but then Race held her hands out for it.
Race stared over the top of the notepad's screen at the woman's penis.
Race was sure Filpa had chosen her slacks specifically for their fabric. Not
only was it obvious she had nothing on underneath, the thin, elastic fabric
brought her penis into sharp relief where it lay along her thigh. Race fought
the urge to reach across the desk and grab it.
"Huh. I see it works, too," Race commented idly as Filpa's fleshy
member responded to the attention. Race looked at the columns on the notepad's
screen, seemingly dismissing all thought of Filpa's still growing member from
her consciousness. "The production figures? What do you need to know?"
Inwardly she wondered Does it look so big because it is, or because it's on a
woman's smaller frame?
The department head was caught totally off-balance by Race. She
stammered her way through a question while Race inwardly smiled. It was
reassuring to know she hadn't lost her touch, and could still turn a penis
against its owner, no matter who that owner was.
