They stood for some moments, minutes, hours—time so got away from him anymore in the face of looming Time—as his avatar escorted Three-Rivers—for, even though he knew objectively that this boy was, astonishingly, an empathetically configured replication housing for a chronological replication device, a mere node in the automated global intelligence that was supposedly subordinate to him—he could not shake his hunger for handsomely pretty boys!
Somehow that boy’s ego imposed itself on 900s years of applied information and has infected the integrated will with his whimsy.
Whimsy? I should not have forgotten that word. Am I slipping through the cracks in my own mind? Do I know too much? Am I overevolved?
Here he is—so pretty, so pretty for me.
So, device of mine, you want to be a boy, some primal brat who believes in impossible things?
I will treat you like a boy and recover you most desirably.
The boy stood stunned, observing the atmosphere whirling away beneath them, like a frightened boy up in a tree he could not—would never, ever my sweet—climb down from. Hyman was moved to comfort his victim prior to his slaughter, as he supposed some prehistoric Indian once petted his dog before butchering it for dinner, and stepped forward as Siren glided over to the silver bar and began mixing the embalming nectar.
“Welcome friend, Three-Rivers I presume.”
Three-Rivers—No, the Third BC—seemed concerned suddenly with his wonderful nakedness, and looked down at the capacitor trace about his belly.
It is so interesting that the device indicates its artifact image as an aspect of the biohousing, and does so about the navel.
The boy was now speaking in a musical tone. “I prefer Thunderboy now, thank you, as I have stolen one of Mister Shuei’s dream-catchers, and have eaten it, in fact.”
Hyman took the boy’s proffered hand and shook it according to the ancient custom.
What a delightful malfunction! Perhaps it shall be easier to gain compliance from Old-Know-it-all through this aberrant—and indeed impressionable—replication housing. I cannot divine his thought—of course not—he is a device, not an organic neuromass!
Yes, good old conversation, sex, and interrogation! When the pain comes the capacitor will malfunction traditionally and I will be left holding a hoop rather than a head of hair—oh, he is thinking of how he wishes to be ravaged by me!
“Oh, Thunderboy, you are enough to take a man’s breath away. I do not even think my dear Siren’s services will be needed tonight. Let me caress you?”
The boy chimed musically, “I like to be tied up. I only find this palatable though, when my lover first binds his own wrists with my hair, a single length each—a ritual symbol of sympathy for the meek partner.”
“I would not have guessed that a Sixteenth Century boy would have anything up his sleeve to surprise an old degenerate like myself?”
He winced at that, he did, winced in anticipation.
He plucked a hair from Three-Rivers head. He tied the hair around his wrist and then did the same with another hair. After some moments he stood smiling before Three-Rivers, sweating with anticipation, a cool sweat that had not come to him for decades now, not since the last gen...
Three-Rivers then struck a most seductive pose, reminiscent of Tina Hesperia, sister of Siren Hesperia, sexiest of the pod, and spoke in a womanly voice, which sounded to the ear much like Tina’s sultry hiss, “Let me take those ugly clothes from your handsome body, My Master.”
He stood in childish glee as Three-Rivers disrobed him and Siren came over from the bar with the golden binding links.
Three-Rivers glanced at the binding links and gave him a big wet kiss, panted, and looked down at Hyman’s perfect hybrid penis, the result of 152 years in genital design, and never improved upon since.
“My, you are handsome, Hyman Maxim, the most powerful man in human experience, Father of the Endeavour, Seeder of the Far Stars. I am honored to be your escort.”
Siren’s voice then sounded next to him, “Oh Sweetie, you’re just the latest piece of meat. I’m the escort—or chef, should I say.”
Three-Rivers breathed deeply as he ran his hands down over the man’s shoulders, over his elbows and down his sweaty forearms to his wrists. He held gently onto Hyman’s trembling wrists as Siren hissed, “Bind him, fuck him, and then let me gut him, Baby!”
He was in ecstasy!
How sweat for me!
Three-Rivers then pressed his fingers around his wrists while Hyman began choking the beautiful young man with both of his strong hands. He so enjoyed feeling his strength with normal range humans, since Siren was so powerful. As she began to shackle his legs and Hyman squeezed his throat and came close for a kiss, not minding that Three-Rivers was holding his wrists without offering resistance. Three-River’s voice seemed to have a roil of thunder in it. “Let’s make it a picnic, Whiteman!”
He felt a wave of nausea overtake him. The room became magnetized and a great ‘womp-woomp-woompeded’ sound burst forth from Three-Rivers, causing the habitat membrane to flex.
What?
A bolt of lightning ripped through his head and heel and he felt his skin sizzle and blood boil. He was beyond thought, merely a glowing cinder, an ash that fell from the very fire he had lit, so many millions of lives ago…
