NEWTON’S INTERROGATION

BY PRATAARAKA

ODYSSEY SPACE STATION

ORBITING GANYMEDE, MOON OF JUPITER

11 MARCH 2311

Odyssey Space Station, more commonly referred to either by its acronym (OSS) or simply Odyssey, was the largest scientific space station in the known galaxy, and the second-largest in the entire Sol System after the Cerberus Defense Platform in geosynchronous orbit over Central Asia. Odyssey Station itself was comprised of three large, spinning rings over four kilometres in circumference each, connected by a large needle-like structure bridging the vacuum between each ring. Odyssey was the last space station built in the Sol System constructed prior to extraterrestrial contact, and was still something of a symbol of humanist pride. The station orbited Ganymede, one of Jupiter’s moons and the largest moon in the solar system – slightly larger than Mercury and more than double the mass of Earth’s Moon. A few hundred kilometres below occupants could see the spectacular grey orbit which was Ganymede, but it was the view of the more distant, magnificent gas giant of Jupiter that most people were enthralled by.

As a resident scientist aboard Odyssey, Dr. Sevgi Aydemir rarely paid attention to the celestial bodies out the viewports, as amazing as they were. Only twenty-four years old, Sevgi had been something of a child prodigy back on Earth, earning her first doctorate from Oxford University around the time she’d hit puberty and becoming one of the leading names in quantum field theory before she hit 20. Only twenty-six years old, Sevgi was the youngest member of Project KINIJE, and if the experiment was a success, a shoe-in for the Nobel Prize. She glanced at a small screen that aesthetically fused with the nearby wall panel. 2342 hours. Although she was supposed to have been at the pre-execution meeting ten minutes ago, Sevgi was doing everything in her power to avoid the media. Still, annoying as they were, she didn’t want to cut it any closer.

Sevgi walked at a casual pace into the nearest elevator pod, keying in her destination as CONTROL/OBSERVATION ROOM 2. The door slid shut and vacuum-sealed behind her, and the pod raced along the circumference of one of Odyssey’s wings, giving her a pretty but empty view of space. Before she reached her destination, however, a light on the elevator’s control panel flashed yellow to indicate another passenger would be joining her. Settling down into one of the pod’s synthetic leather benches, Sevgi inwardly groaned as the pod doors parted, revealing a face her eidetic memory instantly recalled from the news feeds.

Shane Westwood, Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter for the Sino-British Broadcasting Corporation (S-BBC), the post-War successor to the original BBC and the Chinese Xinhua News Agency. The fact that Westwood was popular enough to be assigned to Odyssey was due in no small part to his devilish good looks, roguish charm and quaint Irish accent. Although after reading his firsthand account of Rainforest Wars even Sevgi had to admit he had some journalistic talent.

“Ah, Doctor Aydemir, fancy bumping into you here,” declared Shane, settling himself into one of the pod’s couches after ensuring the elevator was heading to his destination.

“Quite an unusual coincidence,” replied Sevgi dryly, knowing the statistical probability of the two accidentally colliding were slim to nil. Shane paused for a moment, assessing his situation. He let the doors seal shut and the pod continue racing along the ring. He glanced at the pod’s estimated time of arrival – seven and a half minutes.

“Silly of me to cut it this close,” he said, pretending to be talking to himself. Sevgi ignored him, and instead stretched out her legs. She had, over heavy protest, been instructed to wear a pair of three-inch high heeled shoes for the ceremony. While female scientists were still the statistical minority, they were a common enough site that they no longer piqued public interest the same way as in the pre-War days. A young, single, and attractive female scientist, however, would still be the object of fantasy back on Earth and the Moon. Sevgi hated the heels, however, and secretly hoped against the odds that a heel would break or something, giving her an excuse to slip into something more comfortable. Since the space station was fully climate-controlled, it wasn’t even unusual for her to go barefoot, courtesy of the heated floors.

“Well, if you’re not doing anything,” said Shane, after Sevgi had been staring out into space for about half a minute, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Sevgi wished she could simply dismiss the request out of hand and return to her meditative star-gazing, but the lecture she’d get from Administrator Rodriguez if she blew off another reporter would last longer than the seven minutes remaining in the elevator pod.

“Shoot,” she said, still gazing out into space. Shane composed himself like an actor about to deliver a Shakespearean monologue, before delving into his line of questioning.

“Well, Ms. Aydemir, viewers back at home are wondering how optimistic you and the other scientists are about the success of Project KINIJIE?” Sevgi smiled despite herself. As annoying as intrusive reporters were, the Irish accent really did make a difference. Most English-speakers spoke with an awkward-sounding accent that was a mix of American English and a conglomerate of East Asian accents, mostly Mandarin and Japanese. The comparatively pure Irish accent (it was a Mid Ulster tone, she believed) was lyrical by comparison.

“Mr. Westwood, an interspecies team of some of the top scientists in two solar systems have spent the better part of a decade working on both the theoretical and application aspects of KINIJIE. Short of divine intervention, we believe KINJIE will go off without hitch or anomaly.”

She wondered if he had a camera on him. He definitely had a high-quality microphone – probably wired into his clothing, or even cybernetically implanted – but even the most cutting-edge cameras were of comparatively poor quality when made so small they were undetectable by the human eye. And, given Shane’s relatively small stature, it would make an awkward angle. Probably not.

“Good to hear you’re confident. I’m sure we won’t have another Arlington on her hands.”

“What happened at Arlington, as I’m sure your viewers know,” interjected Sevgi, “was the result of poor planning, rushed timetables, questionable calculations, skewered data and an all-around disregard for due diligence. There isn’t the faintest possibility of the conditions that destroyed Arlington re-occurring here.” She paused for a short second. “And, if worst comes to worst, who’s going to complain? I understand the local Ganymedeans might feel threatened, but otherwise...”

Shane let out a short, polite laugh. Ganymede was completely uninhabited, and only a half-dozen humans had even set foot on the moon.

“Moving to a more personal topic, Ms. Aydemir, the Brains of Science magazine has declared you Earth’s Sexiest Scientist for the second time, the first time being back in 2304, of course. Do you have any comments on the rumours that you’ll be sending them a nude spread like you did back in ’04?”

“While I appreciate the comments that I’ve improved with age, I don’t think you’ll be seeing too much more bare skin anytime soon.” That was back when she was celebrating the completion of her third dissertation (on deep inelastic scattering in quantum chromodynamics), and after a few too many drinks in a nightclub in Rio she’d given in to the repeated request from Brains of Science. Although most of the world was liberal enough not to care too much about a nineteen year old girl naked on the front cover of a magazine, it still had caused a bit of a stir back in Turkey, her homeland.

“I’ll hate to disappoint my viewers with that,” he said, with a sly grin. “On that same general line of questioning, I was wondering if you’d give us any insight on what it’s like being the youngest member of Project KINIJIE?”

Sevgi paused, as if collecting her thoughts, although she was actually inspecting a rather prominent hangnail.

“Project KINIJIE is not much different from most of the places I’ve been throughout my life, and the ways it differs are for the best. I never socialized with children my age, never attended classes or shared a dorm with something with the same level of biological development. Throughout my life I’ve always been ‘the youngest’, and after a certain point, it stops bothering you. Of course, it hasn’t even been an issue at Project KINIJIE. There’s truly a strong community vibe here, and nobody feels the same need to compete in the way common in most Terrestrial institutions.” She paused for a few seconds, but her body language indicated she wasn’t done. “And, after all, compared to the Ilmen’Taurohtar, we’re all children.”

“Ah, yes, that brings me quite nicely to my next question. While we’ve had contact with the Ilmen’Taurohtar for several decades now, only a handful of humans have ever gotten to see any, let alone get to know them. Can I ask what it’s like working alongside the so-called Space Elves?”

“From a social point of view, the Ilmen’Taurohtar aren’t too different from humans, which xenoanthropologists have attributed to similar evolutionary environmental factors. They’re warm-blooded mammals like us, with the same capacities for emotions, the same cultural and psychological complications as human beings.”

“Except human beings don’t live to be two millennia old,” interjected Shane. Sevgi nodded silently in agreement, before continuing.

“It’s true that there are Ilmen’Taurohtar who were alive in the times of Socrates and Jesus. Most, however, are only a few centuries old. While this certainly gives them a longer view of events and significantly more patience than you or I,” she let the last phrase hang in the air for a moment, “it doesn’t make them angels or demons, as some have claimed. Nor are they mythological creatures.”

Shane was about to launch into another question, but the pod had mercifully reached its destination. The elevator doors unsealed, allowing the two to step out into a brightly-lit corridor just outside Control/Observation Room 2, where the commencement ceremonies were taking place.

“I thank you quite kindly for your time,” said Shane, touching two fingers to his brow before scurrying off. Sevgi glanced at a nearby digital clock, knowing she could still cut it a few minutes closer. She glanced at her reflection in one of the port windows facing Ganymede itself, staring down at the moon for a few seconds before she felt two short taps on her shoulder.

“Good evening, May’aa,” said Sevgi, without turning to see who it was. May’aa was her metaphorical counterpart with the Ilmen’Taurohtar – a young female science prodigy – although young in May’aa’s case meant 263 Earth-years old. That being said, she behaved more like a stereotypical Japanese schoolgirl then a sage of unearthly wisdom.

“Come on, Sev, you don’t want to miss your big photo-op,” teased May’aa, completely aware that the press attention was exactly what Sev was trying to avoid. Sevgi turned around, arms folded over her chest. A being bursting with youthful energy stood a foot away from her. And while Sevgi had never been a fan of the term, she could see why they were called the Space Elves.

May’aa was about 5’2” and weighed around 110 pounds, with skin that was an ashen black color contrasted with hair that was snow white. Like humans, the Ilmen'Taurohtar had skin tones that ranged greatly, from dark blacks and brows to ghostly whites or pale blues. May’aa’s natural hair color was white of a pureness that was actually impossible with normal human pigmentation. The Space Elf’s hair was straight, and stopped about an inch or two below her shoulder. A few strands of hair typically veiled one of her eyes, which were a deep ocean blue on color. And while Sevgi had seen May’aa move with a grace that could make tai chi masters look like club-footed dancers, most of the time she was a bouncy, energetic and upbeat kind of girl.

“You look unusually... tranquil,” noted Sevgi, looking May’aa up and down. The elf was wearing a dark purple sleeveless qipao – a more modern take on a traditional Chinese dress. The qipao’s high collar served to emphasize her elongated cheekbones, while giving a nice aesthetic shape to her breasts that were, by human standards, modest without being unsettling large. Her legs were covered with a pair of tight-fitting black leather pants that clung to her body only a little less than latex would, while May’aa topped it off with a pair of two-inch heels that made a smooth clicking sound as she walked through the space station.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” teased May’aa, spinning around on the toe of one foot with the ease of an expert ballerina.

“I am tranquil!” protested Sevgi. “I haven’t the faintest trace of worry in me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re perfectly calm,” amended May’aa, “but you look more, ah, grumpy? Perturbed? Inconvenienced? I never quite got the hang of all your English synonyms.”

“Liar,” contradicted Sevgi, although there was only playful annoyance in her voice. “Out of curiosity, who do you think is going to appear on more newspaper front pages? Me or you?”

Newspapers had largely fallen out of disuse by the time reserves of timber began running critically short by the mid-21st century, and ensuing ecological damage and World War III had ensured virtual media would always be preferred. The term newspaper, however, was still used to refer to many media organizations, particularly some of the older ones such as The New York Times or The Times, which had actually once produced newspapers.

“Well, I would’ve placed bets on the enigmatic space elf,” said May’aa, “but in that skirt?” She let out a slow whistle. “I can’t hope to compete with that.”

“This skirt is not that short!” protested Sevgi, looking at the black garment that stopped a few inches below her buttocks. May’aa raised a long, thin white eyebrow. “The point is sexual appeal will only go so far,” Sev argued. May’aa raised her palms in mock surrender.

“Yes, ma’am.” She paused. “The lab coat was a nice touch, though. It didn’t really go with what I’m wearing, though.”

Sevgi brushed off a few invisible specks of dirt from the sleeve of knee-length white lab coat – the kind of coat that had symbolized science and scientists for around four and a half centuries now. Beneath that she wore a tight-fitting but professional vibrant pink blouse. She looked back on her reflection in the viewport window, suddenly more attuned with the not-so-subtle sexual energy in her clothing. Maybe another nude spread isn’t that impossible after all she thought.

*

“... would not have been possible without the great interspecies cooperation between the humans and Ilmen'Taurohtar,” concluded Administrator Rodriguez, to the polite applause of the hundred-odd journalists and observers seated comfortably in the observation room. Sevgi stood as unobtrusively as possible with her hands behind her back, while May’aa seemed to be going out of her way to lock eyes with photographers, throwing them a flirtatious wink every now and again.

“And without further ado,” continued Rodriguez, speaking with a North African-tinted Spanish accent, “our team of scientists and engineers will descent into Crystalline Flux Chamber. Any further questions had be handled electronically.”

Sev and May’aa followed a dozen or so of their colleagues into a cramped elevator, which dropped them into the Crystalline Flux Chamber. The cavernous chamber was actually a self-contained ‘bubble’ in the space station, with independent electrical and computer systems in case something went wrong. There were no windows in the chamber, but it was studded with high-definition cameras, which were relaying video footage back real-time to a life-sized television screen back in the Observation Room.

“Standing by for final countdown,” declared one of the engineers, his hand hovering over a control panel. None of the touch-sensitive computer interface here. The room was empty, apart from a large metallic sphere that had a diameter of about forty meters. The sphere was the product of four decades of theoretical development and another decade of actual engineering and application. It was powered by a micro fusion reactor and, when activated, would use in a few seconds the same amount of electricity as all the lunar colonies combined did in a week.

“Fractal composition complete,” declared another technician. “Crystal lattices indicate we’ll be getting full electromagnetic spectrum readings from... several centuries ago. Factoring in tidal-gravitational forces....”

“The board is green. Dimensional pythons are in place...”

“Spin the FTL drives,” muttered May’aa, standing beside Sevgi a dozen feet away from the sphere. She glanced down at her own computer panel. “Calabi-Yua space barriers are.... fluctuating?” She glanced at Sevgi in surprise, then up at the sphere. “Strike my last, d-brane membrane is disintegrating at a rate of......”

“Let’s go!” shouted Sev, finishing the computations in her head. Shit, shit, shit, shit! This wasn’t supposed to be possible, only in fringe theories. “Initiate emergency shutdown!” she yelled, as several klaxons screamed to life and the floor – no, the room – began shaking.

“Controls aren’t responding!” yelled a voice in reply, just as the chamber was bathed in red as the emergency lighting kicked in. “We need a manual shut-off.”

“I was afraid of that,” said May’aa, dropping onto her back and sliding under the body of the sphere. Sevgi followed her, her mind racing through engineering schematics and quantum physics simultaneously. “I’m going to detach the fusion recollection filter,” yelled May’aa, over the alarms. “It should trigger the-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Sevgi saw the space elf pull her hand back in shock. A few seconds later she saw why – a dark black ooze was coating the outer layer of the sphere, perhaps a foot thick. Despite herself Sevgi felt her hand drawn to the ooze, which quickly coated her hand, sending a sensation of cold up her arm. Sevgi glanced over to see May’aa in the same position, the black ooze completely enveloping her hand. There was a bright flash.

Time seemed to stop for a moment.

*

OUTSKIRTS OF SUDBURY

ENGLAND, KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN

29 JULY 1720

Sevgi stared up at the picturesque blue sky, idly wondering how she’d gotten from Ganymede to Earth. Had she been knocked unconscious, and transported back for better medical care? No, wait, this couldn’t be Earth. It must be a holographic simulations. Yes, that was it. She was undergoing neurological regeneration, or something, and they’d plugged her into a relaxing v-format. Well, time to figure out how to end the program.

She sat up, surprised to find she was still wearing her white lab coat, although it was stained with mud. Spinning around, she found that the format had loaded her right into a muddy hill. Good work on that, she thought, brushing the worst of the dirt off her hands. Her head was still throbbing, and her back was sore.

Sevgi looked around. It was an unusual virtual environment. Most people preferred place that were peaceful and beautiful. While this was place was definitely peaceful, in the sense that nothing was going on, the muddy hills didn’t exactly do wonders for the mind. Who would bother programming this, when there were so many simulations of tropical Caribbean islands or the Indonesian rainforests. Those came pre-loaded into every medical neural stimulation unit. So why.......

Sevgi crouched down again, running her fingers through a few blades of grass, tickling the palm of her hand. She picked out a blade of grass at random, and examined it closely. Discarding the blade, she dug her fingers into the soil and unearthed a handful of dirt, and spotted a small worm crawling in the mud. Short of being hooked up to one of the quantum supercomputers in Germany or Maryland, no computer had the processing power necessary to simulate such a complex environment.

“Computer, display menu,” declare Sevgi, attempting to summon the in-simulation help menu. Nothing happened. “Computer: display base simulation code.” Again, nothing. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her veins. While it was possible for the neural uplinks to fail like that, the odds of it happening were so slim that even Sevgi struggled to computer them.

“Núra sinomë ni mar, ilya engwë mindon or nye,” murmured a voice, from around the small hill Sevgi was standing on. “Ilya ni verya car ná óla, óla nilmë, mel, ar lerya.” She recognized it – that was the language of the Ilmen’Taurohtar. “Isil, Anar, anta nye cala, anta nye sérë, cala ilya nya Menel.” Sevgi rounded the hill to see, to her surprise, May’aa, in a position she believed was a traditional Ilmen’Taurohtar prayer-meditation stance. She was kneeling in the mud, back straight, fingers laced together behind her head.

“May’aa, what the hell happ-” May’aa briefly removed one hand from the back of her head, extending a ‘one moment’ sign with her index finger. Her eyes were closed.

“Anta nye sérë ve ni fir, ve ni fir ar auta mára Menel. Laita ilya man verya óla cala.”

May’aa exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath underwater. She dropped her hands from the back of her head, and picked herself up, unconcerned with the mud on her black leather pants.

“May’aa, seriously, what the fuck just happened?” demanded Sevgi, feeling an anger she was so unfamiliar with. “Did we get knocked unconscious? Are we in a shared v-format?”

“I don’t think so, Sev,” replied May’aa, solemnly. “When the Calabi-Yua barrier began to disintegrate, I think we ruptured....” she paused, staring up at the sky and then letting out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m going to need a computer to work this out.”

“You’re out of luck, so think harder,” replied Sevgi, although her own mind was racing. There were so many factors to consider, but if there had been an accidental discharge of tachyons just as the d-brane membrane disintegrated and they broke the lightspeed barrier.... while magnifying it with enough energy to crack Pluto in half....

“Time travel,” declared May’aa, reaching the conclusion a fraction of a second before Sev did. “Our tachyon were linked via quark stream back to Cambridge laboratories. That would re-direct the gravitational tidal forces. Which means.....” The two surveyed their surroundings.

“We are somewhere in the vicinity of Cambridge, England. The year should be around....”

“1720 A.D.,” concluded Sevgi, twiddling with a stick as she finished the mental mathematics. “July 29th, at, oh, 4:33 PM local time, to be precise. Not that anyone has clocks.”

“You know I’ve only been to Earth once,” declared May’aa, in a tone suggesting her personality was recovering. “And I spent the entire time in some laboratories in Sapporo. Got a nice view of the mountains on the shuttle ride down, but that’s it.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this is nothing like Hokkaido,” replied Sev. “Early eighteen-century England. Great. How much do you know about Earth’s history?” May’aa simply shrugged. “Okay, well, we could have done a lot worse, but we haven’t even figured out electricity yet.”

“There they are!” came a man’s voice. He was speaking an older form of English – most people English speakers of the twenty-forth century would have found it incomprehensible, but Sevgi had spent a few weeks studying linguistic deconstruction and etymology.

Sevgi berated herself for forgetting to keep an eye out. She spotted a half-dozen dirty men running towards her and May’aa, brandishing farm implements. And May’aa’s an elf. You forgot about that part. Extraterrestrials are going to be quite a big deal the next few centuries, even if they don’t show up for a while.

“Run!” barked Sevgi, and the two began sprinting away in the opposite direction. They could probably get away – there had to be plenty of places to hide. Sevgi tossed off her lab coat, desperately wishing she had time to take off her high heels. Knew those were a bad idea. Sevgi tried to pick up the pace, but her heel sunk into a particularly deep patch of mud, causing her to trip and hit her head on a rock. Blood seeped from the wound, and Sevgi felt herself tremble on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Sev!” cried May’aa, spinning around and clutching her colleague’s head in her hands. The fall had sprained Sevgi’s ankle, and her pupils weren’t dilating properly.

“Run, May’aa,” pleaded Sevgi, as her vision darkened.

“I can’t survive here. I don’t know anything. We have to stick together, get a plan,” cried May’aa. She looked up, and saw some of the farmers a few dozen paces away. Unfamiliar with the geography, history, culture and technology of the land, May’aa knew there was no way she could live off the land. Even with her artificially enhanced immunological system, she’d just as likely kill herself trying to figure out what was poisonous to her alien body.

“What are you?” demanded one of the farmers, pointing a pitchfork made entirely of wood at the two crouching figures. The prongs were wooden, but definitely looked sharp. May’aa extended her arms away from her body, palms up, hoping these people understood a surrender when they saw one. Or honoured it.

“We are travellers,” murmured Sevgi, fighting to remain conscious, she sat up, painfully rubbing the worst of the blood off her forehead. She adopted the Turkish accent of her childhood. “From the Ottoman Empire.”

“Ottomans?” demanded the farmer, moving one of the sharpened wooden prongs a few inches from Sevgi’s neck. “What business do Ottomans have in England?”

“We are simply passing through,” pleaded Sevgi, hoping against hope that the ignorance of the farmers would pay off. “We are heading to Perth, in Scotland. We are looking to purchases horses, if you know anyone in possession of such beasts.”

The farmer looked uncertain, before going with his xenophobic instincts and deciding they were a threat.

“An unlikely story,” he declared. “We’ll let the watchmen decide what to do with you.”

*

Sevgi and May’aa waited about an hour for a small party of men dressed slightly better to show up. May’aa attempted to nurse Sevgi’s sprained ankle, managing to alleviate most of the pain. May’aa also proceeded to smear as much mud in her hair as possible when nobody else was looking, in order to draw less attention to its unnaturally white color. Both women raised their hands in surrender as the watchmen approached.

“You say you are Ottomans?” asked the watchman, rounding on Sevgi. She’d wished she’d worn something a little more conservative.

“Yes, good sir. Travelers from Constantinople.”

“Two unattended women, traveling all the way from Constantinople to Perth? A high tale indeed.” Sevgi wondered if the man had any idea where Constantinople actually was, other than simply far away.

“What shall you do with us, sir?” asked May’aa, having picked up most of the language through overhearing the farmers guarding them and from muttered vocabulary lessons with Sevgi.

“Take them to the Tower!” barked one of the farmers, and several others indicated their agreement.

“Aye! We’ll take them to the Tower, let London decide what to do with these foreigners,” agreed the watchmen. “Bring me a wagon and rope!”

*

“So, where’s the Tower?” asked May’aa, just as the farmers were returning with a donkey pulling a small wagon.

“It’s The Tower of London, an old fortress in London that’s been around for centuries. Actually a royal palace. And a prison.”

“Ooh, lovely.”

“No talking in your foreign language!” demanded the watchmen, and Sevgi realized she’d slipped back to twenty-fourth century English. Completely unintelligible. One of the farmers came forward with rope. “Bind them!”

May’aa got to her feet first, placing her hands behind her back. The farm took the rope and tightly knotted the elf’s wrists together, then tied a loop around her waist and knotted her wrists to that. He proceeded to drop a loop over her neck, tightening it to the brink of suffocation, before tying it off in a leash. Sevgi reluctantly got to her feet, wincing in the pain as she put pressure on her foot, but allowed herself to be bound the same way without argument.

“Gag them,” instructed the watchmen, and Sevgi moaned as a knotted length of cloth was pulled tightly between her teeth, muffling her. The two women were marched at the point of a pitchfork into the donkey wagon, struggling to get up with their hands tied behind their backs. Once inside, the watchmen tied their leashes to the wooden frame of the wagon, ensuring they couldn’t run away.

They rode for several hours in silence, entering London just as darkness began to set over the land. Sevgi caught the eye of a few Londoners staring into the back of the caravan, surprised to find herself enjoying their confusion, their surprise. She wondered if any of them had seen skin darker than white before.

The wagon came to a halt on the outskirts of the Tower, and Sevgi overheard her captor arguing with one of the posted guards.

“Ottoman women, both of them. Claim they were travelling to Scotland, looking to buy horses. Could be spies for all you know.”

Sevgi and May’aa turned to see a middle-aged man wearing a black uniform with a red trim step into the caravan. Yeoman Warders, or Beefeaters. The Beefeater leaned in close to get a good look at Sevgi’s face in the dark, checking her skin tone, his eyes darting to and fro her bare legs. Sevgi whimpered audibly, indicating a desire to speak. She locked eyes with the guard. He paused momentarily, before pulling the cleave gag out of Sev’s mouth.

“Good sir, if the Master of the Mint is present, I must relay a message to him. It is of the upmost importance. Urgent word from Constantinople,” pleaded Sev.

“The Master of the Mint?” asked the Yeoman, surprised. “What could he possible want with you?”

“Tell him we bear critical information regarding the properties of mercury that are vital to his studies!” The Beefeater seemed to contemplate her request.

“Methinks we’ll take you to the dungeons for a proper inquisition,” said the sentinel, tightening the gag around Sevgi’s mouth once more. “But I’ll pass on your message.”

*

“You know what? Fuck Earth?” muttered May’aa, rubbing her wrists where the rope had dug in. “Honestly, this is what you guys evolved out of?”

“Oh, don’t get all high and might on me,” retorted Sev, knowing May’aa was just venting. “Take a seat.”

The girls had been lead by two guards to an underground cell, a heavy iron door locked behind them. The floors, walls and ceiling were all made of stone, and the only light was shining through a small, barred window in the ceiling. The room was barren, apart from a small wooden bucket, presumably for defecating in. Sevgi shivered in the cold.

“Well, if we ever managed to get out of this hellhole, I figured out how to get us out of here,” said May’aa, strolling the perimeter of her cell. She’d kicked off her high heeled shoes and was walking around barefoot, the cold stones pressing against her feet. “It’s July 1720 A.D.?”

“Almost August, but yeah,” said Sevgi. There was a small trickle of cold water coming from a corner of the room, and Sevgi pressed her ankle against it in an attempt to cool the swelling. “What does it matter? Do we even know where we are? I mean, in a dimensional sense? Did we actually travel back in time?”

“I don’t think so,” answered May’aa. “I might be wrong, but I was thinking about Goto’s equations on the ride over and.... I think we’re in a pocket universe. I mean, it’s obviously based on our universe, so everything’s the same, no multiverse or whatnot, but it was created when we arrived, and will vanish when we leave it.”

“If we leave it,” corrected Sev. She gestured at their cramped cell. “This entire planet is just one big cell, May’aa. I know what you’re thinking – with the right tachyons, the right antimatter, quantum field manipulation equipment, we could reverse this, send us back to 2311. But the technology doesn’t exist! Even if I spent my entire life giving this Earth every scientific discovery for the next six centuries there’s no way I’d be able to recreate what we had at Odyssey in my lifetime.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You, I suppose, are fine. Assuming you don’t get lynched.”

There was a tense silence for about half a minute.

“That’s not quite true,” said May’aa tentatively, her expression looking impossibly nervous.

“What’s not true? The lynching? Well, you’re also going to have to survive three world wars, the Spanish flu, AIDS and Borx’s Disease. And probably-”

“No, about the technology not being invented yet,” corrected May’aa. She looked as if she was struggling for words. “We had the technology. All of it. Discovered it around the 7th century AD by your calendar.”

“May’aa, that’s a solar system and a half away! I mean, conceivably we could help develop a radio broadcaster powerful enough to reach Alpha Centauri. Do you think they’d send a rescue ship?”

“No, I mean... the technology is here on Earth, right now.” Sevgi look baffled.

“Right now? 1720 AD?”

“Well, it will be in about three months.”

“What? How?”

“You humans called it ARCHANGEL. Since about the mid-1300s we kept tabs on Earth, charting its progress. Every few years we’d send a supply ship out to maintain the reconnaissance satellites or collect data from on-planet recording devices. On September 16th a stealth space shuttle is going to land in the Arabian Peninsula to install new surveillance equipment. His spaceship will have all the tech we need.”

“I thought 99% of ARCHANGEL was just a myth. An attempt by conspiracy theorists to justify Roswell or the Parting of the Sea or the Tunguska event.” May’aa shook her head.

“Most of it, yeah. But the remote observational parts, well, most of that is true. We’re keeping it classified until the xenophobic attitudes on Earth die down. If we went public with this information now, it could very well be the end of this alliance.” Sevgi sighed, fiddling with her black leather miniskirt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, Sev. Really.”

“It’s okay, May’aa. Forget-”

Before Sev could finish her sentence, however, there was sound of a key turning in a lock, and their cell door stood open. Sev and May’aa both raised their hands in surrender as two guards strolled in. The guards hoisted the girls to their feet and began dragging them down the stone corridor.

“Where are you taking us?” demanded Sevgi.

“The Master wants a word with the two of you, after all,” replied the guard, the same guard who she’d first encountered. “In the inquisition chambers.”

The two girls were dragged deeper into the Tower, before being deposited into a torch lit chamber. An pale old man stood alone in the room, scribbling notes in a book.

“Thank you. You are dismissed,” said the Master, speaking to the guards. One of the guards nodded in acknowledgement and ducked out, locking the door behind him. The old man continued to write for a few more seconds, before setting his quill down.

“Isaac Newton, I presume?” asked Sevgi, a coy smile creeping to her face despite her situation.

“Sir Isaac Newton,” the man corrected. “Now we’ll get to you, my dear Ottoman girl, in a moment. But it is your companion who interests me.”

Sevgi saw that Isaac Newton had been enthralled with May’aa the moment he spotted her. Unlike the guards, he was not willing to write-off her hair color as a product of her Oriental heritage. He strolled over to her, grabbing a few strands of hair between his thumb and forefinger. May’aa didn’t flinch.

“What is your name?” he asked, speaking to May’aa.

“Meryem, sir,” answered Sevgi, on her behalf. “She’s from a small fishing village on the Black Sea. Illiterate, but an excellent cook.”

“I’m sorry we had to meet on such poor terms,” said Newton, stroking May’aa’s chin.

*

Sevgi found herself bolted to the wall by a pair of iron shackles affixed into the stone, separating her from May’aa. While Sevgi figured the two of them could have overpowered Sir Newton if they’d wanted to, how they’d escape the Tower of London was something neither of them had planned yet. Newton directed May’aa to a wooden bench, and then placed her ankles into a pair of stocks – pillory-like devices that trapped the ankles – and fastened her wrists overtop her head in a pair of iron shackles.

“How did you get your hair this color?” asked Newton, once May’aa was properly trapped. Her legs stretched out in front of her, her hands cuffed overhead, there was almost nothing May’aa could do to resist him.

“It’s a dye, sir. There is a small plant, near my village, and it is possible to extract such a dye that-”

”No, I don’t think so,” interrupted Newton. He grabbed one strand of hair and yanked it out. May’aa grimaced. “No dye is so flawless, so perfect. The color does not run off in water. What manner of alchemy is this?”

“There is no alchemy, sir, only the flower!”

Newton grabbed a long, thin wooden cane and, without further warning, struck the soles of May’aa’s feet. The girl yelped in pain, and thrashed in her restraints. It was pointless. No part of her body was capable of reaching her stocked feet to block the blows, and all her feet could do was wiggle. Sevgi bit her tongue, her genius mind struggling to figure out the next course of action.

“You are a Turkish woman, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

Newton struck her feet with the cane again, producing another yelp. Sevgi was puzzled. The Ilmen’Taurohtar were reputed to be much more sensitive to pain than humans. Their nervous system was more advanced that humans, covering more of their bodies and much more sensitive to sensory input. While it meant that they could basically see in the dark or visualize textures, it also made them much more sensitive to pain.

“And you are familiar with Turkey’s customs and culture, are you not?”

“Yes, sir,” pleaded May’aa. The cane hit May’aa’s feet again.

“Then I take you know what the proper term for the punishment I am meting out is? There’s a Persian word which a Turk should be quite familiar with.”

Strike.

Shit, though Sevgi. Newton had her trapped. The word he was looking for was falaka, a form of foot-whipping, although there was no way May’aa would know what. Any Turkish girl, however, would.

Strike.

“You don’t know the word?” asked Newton, his voice almost mockingly disappointed. Strike.

“No, sir,” pleaded May’aa. She was breathing heavily, the repeated striking causing her to sweat profusely. She was still wearing her qipao minidress and tight leather pants, although both were muddied beyond repair no. “I don’t know.”

“The word’s falaka!” shouted Sev, just as Newton was going in for another strike. “And we want a deal, Sir Newton.”

Newton glanced over his shoulder at Sevgi, as if she was annoying fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around the library. Dropping his cane, Newton walked over to a cupboard filled with metal objects and withdrew what Sevgi painfully recognized as a scold’s bridle. The device was basically the medieval equivalent of a ballgag – an iron muzzle fitted around the head, complete with a long iron bar that extended into the mouth, pressing the tongue down.

“I don’t do this kind of questioning very often,” said Newton, apparently speaking to May’aa. “Most of my work is with the Mint nowadays, and even that is bland and dreary since I resolved the counterfeiting problems. You’ve provided me with the first interesting puzzle in years, and I’m afraid I can’t afford any unwanted.... distractions.”

Sevgi didn’t bother protesting as Newton approached her with the scold’s bridle, actually opening her mouth up to ensure the metal plate went into her mouth smoothly. Newton clasped the device around Sev’s head, caging it, and ensuring she wouldn’t be interrupting his questioning anymore.

“I believe we have deduced that you are not, in fact, Turkish,” said Newton, strolling back to May’aa’s bound form. “Your skin tone is much too dark for that anyways. So I must ask – where do you come from? Is it Ethiopia?”

May’aa said nothing, simply giving Newton an icy glare with her penetrating, deep blue eyes.

“Why must you be so uncooperative?” asked Newton, returning to his cupboard to survey his implements. “I am only seeking knowledge, answers to unknown questions.” Newton picked up a long, black leather whip, feeling it in his hands. “You are very strong, my child. But this is not the place.”

Newton uncoiled the whip and – to May’aa’s horror and Sevgi’s surprise – spun around whipped Sev straight across the breasts. Sevgi let out a shriek of pain, although her shriek was somewhat distorted by the metal bar inside her mouth. She thrashed against the manacles binding her arms over her head. Newton strolled forward, whip in hand. Sev wanted to lash out, to kick him, but her bad foot meant she was in no position to do that. Newton’s fingers found their ways to the buttons of her blouse, which he carefully undid, appearing somewhat confused when confronted with the black bra beneath. Returning a moment later with a small knife, which he used to cut through both the bra and Sevgi’s shirt, leaving her naked apart from her tight miniskirt.

“A fascinating material, this,” said Newton, fingering the chemically-enhanced satin shirt before tossing the shreds to the ground. “But a mystery for another date.” His hand went back, and the whip sailed through the air.

Crack.

Sevgi yelped in pain, but Newton seemed to take no noticed of it. May’aa let out a short yell of protest, which was likewise ignored.

Crack.

Crack.

The whip sailed through the air, generating a huge amount of force before colliding with Sev’s breasts, which burned in pain. Sevgi’s exposed nipples felt like small bonfires as the whip snaked back again.

“Stop!”

Newton paused mid-stroke, turning to face May’aa. The girl was still bound hand and foot, and tears not from her own pain were streaming down her cheeks.

“Are you ready to tell me everything?” demanded Newton, eyeing May’aa sternly. The space elf hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.

Crack.

“Alright, yes, I’ll talk,” pleaded May’aa, as the whip struck Sevgi’s breasts again. Sevgi struggled to regain self-control, her eyes moist with tears, her vision blurry, her knees weak. Newton left the whip coiled at Sev’s feet, as if reminding her of what could be on the horizon.

“Very well. Start with what you really are.” May’aa’s thoughts raced, as she realized she was going to have to put her faith in the theory that she and Sevgi were, in fact, in a pocket universe. Because if this was honest-to-god time travel, they were about to seriously mess up the timeline.

“I’m an Ilmen’Taurohtar,” she said, the phrase flowing beautifully from her lips, unlike her jagged English. Say what you like about Elvish culture, their language was the most audibly pleasing in existence. “I’m an alien. Not a foreigner, I mean... I’m not human.” May’aa brushed her hair aside with a roll of her head, revealing her elongated, pointed ears. Newton stared at them in amazement, before running a finger up and down it. “I need to get out of here. I need to leave England, immediately.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Newton, although neither May’aa nor Sevgi knew exactly what he was referring to. “Not quite human, you say? These ears, do they give you better hearing than humans? Higher ranges, farther distances?”

“We hear in the same range as humans,” explained May’aa, “but yes, we hear farther.”

“I can tell from the structure. Better designed to capture sound. Like those of a tiger.” Sevgi wondered if Newton actually knew what a tiger was, really. “And you are trying to flee England?”

“Yes,” admitted May’aa. She hesitated for a second, before adding, “for Arabia.”

“Arabia? Land of the Mohammedans? Whatever for?”

“I simply must be there,” May’aa pleaded, not wanting to reveal any more information than she already understand. “I am a natural philosopher, Sir Newton, just like you are. Although not nearly as famous. If I do not make it to Arabia, all my life’s work will be in jeopardy.”

“And your friend, here?” inquired Newton, glancing absent-mindedly at Sevgi. “She is still human, I presume?”

“Yes, but she must come with me. That is necessary.” She paused again. “Will you help us, Sir Newton?”

Newton sat down on a nearby stool and puzzled over the question. He sat there for two or three minutes, and neither girl attempted to interrupt him. Finally, he stood up, picked up a key, and undid the shackles binding May’aa’s hands.

“I will help you leave England, non-human, but I cannot help you farther. And there must be conditions to this bargain.”

“Which are?” asked May’aa, her feat still locked in the stocks.

“You said you are a natural philosopher. I will have you out of England by tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you will impart your wisdom to me.”

“Fine,” agreed May’aa. Newton unlocked the lock binding May’aa’s feet in the stocks. As the elf stood to free Sev, however, Newton placed a hand firmly on her shoulder.

“She, I believe, can stay where she is, for now,” said Newton, directing May’aa to a thick book and a ink-soaked quill. “You may begin writing.”

Sevgi spent the next several hours dangling from a pair of manacles, the taste of metal ever present in her mouth. Her boobs hung out, uncovered, the red lash marks of the whip still visible. Sevgi watched as May’aa filled out page after page of with mathematical theorems and scientific principles, explaining new concepts to Newton as she went along. Sevgi’s arms, meanwhile, ached in agony from being stretched out for so long, and her jaw likewise ached in pain from being kept open to give the scold’s bridle as much room as possible.

As dawn’s first light approached, Isaac Newton checked a pocket watch, and tapped May’aa on the shoulder, indicating she could stop. May’aa put the ink-stained quill down on the wooden table, shaking muscle cramps out of her hand. She’d been writing non-stop for several hours now, and most people from her time period were used to keyboards or voice-activated computers, not such archaic writing implements.

Newton walked over to where Sevgi stood, using a skeleton key to unlock the shackles keeping her bolted to the wall. He then left the woman to undo the scold’s bridle harnessed around her head herself, and it took Sev about two minutes to pull the device off herself, letting it drop to the floor with an echoing clang. Glancing through a small, barred window in the torture chamber’s door, Newton ducked into a closet, and tossed each woman what appeared to be a rough sacks.

“Now, you can hardly go about walking the streets of London wearing those unusual garments,” said Newton, referring to the twenty-fourth century articles the girls had come in. “And it’s going to be somewhat difficult to get you out of the Tower. Now, if you’ll just put these on...”

Sevgi was still too tired to protest. Upon closer inspection, the garments really were simply sacks, with small holes cut for the arms and neck. Sevgi slipped into the sack, feeling the rough material against her sensitive skin so used to the softness of futuristic fabrics. She peeled out of her miniskirt and tossed it into the corner, so there was nothing that could tie her to the future. The sack was tight-fitting, and stopped only a few inches below her hips, and she was sure some of her ass was showing. But there was really no time to complain....

“What is your plan, Sir Newton?” asked May’aa, who was wearing nothing but a sack identical to Sevgi’s now. Newton turned around, smiling slightly as he did so.

“Well, you’re not going to like it....”

*

COVENT GARDENS, LONDON

ENGLAND, KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN

30 JULY 1720

“You know, in a few centuries this place is going to become a major tourist attraction,” muttered Sevgi, a few feet away from the Space Elf. “Before it gets destroyed in World War III.”

“Uhh.... huh,” muttered May’aa, and Sevgi couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her struggling colleague. Each girl had been placed inside a pillory – a medieval-era device where the prisoner stuck their hands and neck in holes between two hinged boards, which were then locked together to prevent them from withdrawing them. They were popular tourist attractions at Renaissance Fairs for centuries to come, although in most of them the tourists could escape whenever they wanted through oversized holes. Both Sevgi and May’aa were properly locked into their pillories, and they struggled to walk down the winding streets of London while carrying their heavy wooden restraints.

“Harlots! Harlots!” yelled one of the Tower of London guards, who was dragging the two girls by a length of rope attached to either pillory. He had a small bell in one hand and was ringing it loudly, and some of the Londoners were beginning to pool around the girls.

The first tomato hit Sevgi square in the face, the scarlet red orb of fruit exploding as it collided with her forehead. Sevgi let out a short yelp of surprise and attempted to brush away the mess on her face, but her hands were spread too far apart for that to be possible. Several other articles of food quickly followed, and the two women struggled to advance under a barrage of objects being hurled at their faces.

“Ah! By the stars what is this?” demanded May’aa, as a somewhat rotten pear burst on her chin.

“Just hold on,” muttered Sevgi, tomato juice dripping down her face. “It’s the only way we can get out of the Tower of London.”

“Prostitutes from the Orient! Ottoman Harlots!” bellowed their escorting guard, and Sevgi sighed. This was going to be a long day......

“Harlot! Why don’t you taste your own filth!” Sevgi had just enough time to look up, spotting a middle-aged woman barrelling towards her, a large wooden bucket in hand. Son of a bitch. The bucketful of stale urine splashed against her face, soaking her with a translucent-yellow liquid that reeked awfully. She was immensely grateful that all her anti-infectious vaccinations were up-to-date.

It took them another ten minutes to reach the center of Covet Gardens, harassed every step of the way by self-righteous Londoners pelting them with food and dirt. By the time they reached their destination, both girls’ faces were smeared with grime, their hair messed beyond anything previously experienced by the refuse of medieval London.

Their guard brought them to a large wooden pole in the centre of Covet Gardens, and took his time unlocking the girls from their pillories. May’aa breathed a sigh of relief as she was let free of the cumbersome restraint, only for her eyes to widen as they realized what came next. Several lengths of rope were attached to the top of the pole and hung down, and the guard grabbed May’aa, pressing her face-first against the pole. With one of the lengths of rope he tightly bound her wrists together over her head, forcing her to stand on tip-toe. Sevgi submissively faced the pole and raised her hands over her head without being forced, cooperating as the guard tightly bound her. She was sure the sack was barely covering her crotch now. Sev glanced sideways at May’aa and offered her a reassuring smile. We’ll be out of this soon, she thought.

“These two women are harlots, the dirtiest of women!” declared the guard, and the crowd bellowed in agreement. Sevgi couldn’t see what was happening behind her, as she was bound facing the tall wooden pole, but didn’t really feel she needed to. “Under the authority invested in me by the great Kind George, I shall now whip their sinful bodies to purge them of their lustful impulses!”

Sevgi groaned. Her breasts still stung from the whipping Newton had given them hours before, and she was loathe to repeat the experience. She gritted her teeth....

She heard the whip sail through the air, before it slapped against her back with an awesome force, producing a loud crack and the leather collided against her soft flesh, covered only by the thin sack garment.

“Ah!” yelled Sev, writing a little in pain. The crowd cheered.

Crack.

“Ow!” May’aa screamed next, as the whip lashed her, causing her to hop a little in the air. Sevgi heard shouts of applause and a bit of laughter.

Crack.

Sevgi felt the tears welling in her eyes as a crowd a hundred strong gathered for the greatest entertainment they would get in a week. The guard continued to alternate between his targets, eliciting yelps and shrieks of pain every time the whip flew through the air.

Crack.

Tears rolled down Sevgi’s face as she struggled against her rope restraints. The rope was digging into her wrists, leaving visible red rings, and she tried to concentrate on that rather than the diagonal lines of pain searing across her back.

Crack.

May’aa struggled to keep herself standing, she was so unused to the pain. Her hyper-sensitive skin felt the lashes with tenfold the magnitude as Sevgi, and even Elvin pain-management trances only went so far...

Crack.

Sevgi ducked her chin and bit the sack she was wearing, trying to force as much of it into her mouth as possible. She didn’t want them to hear her pain. She tried to mentally focus on its taste in her mouth, or the smell of tomatoes and urine still on her face. It wasn’t working.

Crack.

May’aa felt the criss-crossing lines across her back, each searing like a superheated wire in her skin.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

After what felt like an eternity but was only twenty minutes the guard untied the knots binding Sevgi’s hands, grabbing a handful of her black hair and dragging her to the front of the mob. Her arms folded instinctively across her chest, her face was red and covered with sweat, tears and fruit fluids. Her knees were weak, her back cried out in pain, her will to struggle and fight barely holding out.

“Harlot! Has the sin been purged from your body?” asked the guard, yanking her hair hard so she struggled to concentrate.

“Yes, my lord. Purity and chastity will consume me now,” pleaded Sev, an unfeigned sincerity in her voice. I’d wear a chastity belt for the next decade if it meant I could get back to 2311 right now she thought.

The crowd dissipated a few minutes later once it realized there would be no further punishments. May’aa was untied, and the guard dragged the two girls over to a nearby stone wall, pushing them against it. Sevgi’s fingers curled under the sack May’aa was wearing, and she peeled it up, inspecting the crimson-red lines that were mirrored on her own back.

“It’s not that bad,” murmured May’aa, pulling the sack down. Sev remembered that Space Elves could basically diagnose any injury they had, courtesy of their exceptionally well-refined nervous system. “It’ll hurt like hell for a few weeks, but there’s no lasting damage.”

“That’s good,” replied Sev, hoping her own lashes were similar. Just about every movement hurt as her back folded or stretched in some manner, pressing or pulling on the elongated cuts across her skin. Well, your breasts don’t hurt anymore some sadistic part of her subconscious thought.

*

“You’re Newton’s girls?” asked a man, towering over the two women. The man was perhaps in his late twenties, unusually muscular and tanned for a medieval Londoner.

“Yes, sir,” murmured Sev, too tired to put volume in her voice. “And you would be the honourable gentleman Jacob?”

“Honourable might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m your man,” replied Jacob. “Follow me.” Without another word, he turned his back on the girls and began walking at a brisk pace away from them. Sevgi and May’aa struggled to keep up with him, their bodies slowed by fatigue and the pain of multiple beatings over the past day. Sev’s bare feet half-skipped down the city streets, trying to avoid the worst of the dirt.

They arrived a few minutes later on the banks of the River Thames, where men hurried about preparing various ships for sail or port, loading and unloading goods and spending their hard-earned wages. The two girls followed Jacob over a wooden plank aboard one of the ships, a relatively-large vessels that was apparently stocking up on supplies.

“Captain, these are the two girls Sir Newton sent,” said Jacob, speaking to an impressively large man overseeing the loading operations.

“Ah? Yes, the special passengers. I’m Captain White,” said the man, with a short bow. “I take it Sir Newton didn’t provide you with the details of your escape?”

“No, sir,” said May’aa, speaking with more firmness than Sevgi had earlier.

“Ah, pity. I’m Captaining this vessel, but the crew is mostly Portuguese. We’re sailing for sultan ports, Casablanca.”

“We’ll obviously have to keep you out of the way of the men,” said Jacob, leading the two girls below-deck as the Captain resumed his duties. “The presence of womenfolk on a vessel is dangerous enough as it is, and we can’t have any of them getting jittery.” They dropped below the deck, into a cramped, poorly-lit area beneath the surface of the vessel. “And, of course, the men can’t be expected to restrain their appetites.”

“Where are we staying?” asked Sev, ducking between wooden crates and low-hanging lanterns.

“There’s a small storage room near the bow,” replied Jacob. “We’ll keep you stowed away there until we reach Casablanca.”

Jacob stopped, and Sevgi realized they’d reached the door. Jacob withdrew a key and unlocked the door, revealing something that was closer to a closet than a proper room. The room was about three by four feet and perhaps six feet in height, without any windows, completely empty apart from a wooden crate filled with bread and several large ceramic jugs of water. Sevgi carefully crossed the threshold, awkwardly pressing herself against a nearby wall to give May’aa enough space to enter. Once inside, she spotted what appeared to be a small trapdoor, which presumably opened to reveal the River Thames below.

“There’s enough food an’ drink for the two of you until we reach Casablanca, don’t worry.” He paused. “Well, see in a few nights’ time.” He closed the door, bolting it from the outside. Sevgi sighed, then slumped down.

“This is.... cozy,” said May’aa, looking over the room with little excitement. The room was very dark, and the only light was coming in from a crack beneath the locked door. Sevgi opened the trapdoor, staring down a foot-wide hole to the water below. “At least there’s something that could be considered indoor plumbing.”

“Yup,” agreed Sev, closing the trapdoor. “This’ll be fun. Locked in a wooden cell for god knows how long.” She stood up, and tried to press her weight against the door. It didn’t budge. She’d hoped they’d be able to sneak out in the night, perhaps stretch their legs and get some air, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Instead, they were locked in a dark, wooden cell, without even an arm’s length of personal space between the two of them. “Might as well get comfortable.”

Sevgi sat down, pulled the sack off her body so she was completely nude, her bare Turkish skin only slightly visible in the low lighting against the wooden confines of their room. She bunched the sack up into an impromptu pillow and pushed it into the corner, lying her head against it. Counting the time she’d been awake back in 2311, she’d been awake for... almost two days straight now. It was hardly the longest period she’d gone without sleep, but it was definitely not enjoyable.

She was asleep before the ship departed.

*

ABOARD THE SAINT GEORGE

NEAR CASABLANCA, EMPIRE OF FEZ AND MOROCCO

19 AUGUST 1720

There fortnight-and-a-half aboard the Saint George had been a long, boring one. Sevgi had slept a lot, spending ten or eleven hours a day asleep, while May’aa concentrated on meditating, passing the hours away in a serene trance the Space Elves had long since mastered. They’d played word, memory and mathematics games, and Sevgi had pretty much explained the history of the Earth to May’aa, learning much in turn about the Space Elf ways. They’d eaten mouldy bread, drank stale water, slept on wooden boards whilst nude, using their sack garments for pillows.

It was early morning when they arrive in Casablanca. They’d properly rationed their foodstuffs and had a bit left when Jacob finally unlocked the door.

“Welcome to Casablanca,” he said with a smile, twirling a key on a ring. “I’ve been instructed to execute the remainder of Sir Newton’s instructions, so if you’ll follow me.”

Sevgi and May’aa followed Jacob through the Saint George’s belly, grateful for a chance to stretch their legs for the first time in what felt like ages. They climbed up to the top deck, seeing the horizon for the first time in weeks. The city of Casablanca displayed itself before them – winding streets and beautiful examples of Islamic architecture, people scurrying to and fro with the same traffic as they’d seen earlier in London.

They slipped unnoticed into the city, and Sevgi fit in much better than May’aa or Jacob as they walked through the winding streets, appearing simply as another impoverished peasant girl. Merchants were common enough in this part of town, however, and nobody seemed to give them a second look. The threesome ducked into a small, squat building a few minutes later, bringing the girls into a dimly-lit room filled with dark-skinned men and the smell of incense.

“Ahh, Jacob, my good friend,” greeted one of the men, standing up an giving Jacob a fraternal hug. He spoke with an Arabic accent, and had a thick black beard that looked well-combed, and his clothing indicated he was a man of obvious wealth. “I hope your journey was not too taxing? How is England doing these days?”

“Very well, Brahim,” replied Jacob. “Listen, I have instructions to get these two girls here to Arabia, understand?”

“Arabia?” The Moroccan looked the two girls up and down. “They are a long way from home, are they?”

“I don’t know. But the Captain was under the impression that you could ensure they found.... passage.... aboard a vessel headed in that directions.”

“Ah. I catch the fish you are throwing, yes,” replied Brahim, using a proverb neither girl quite understood. He paused, looking somewhat uncertain. “You will be here long?”

“A few days. We’re picking up some goods here before returning to Lisbon.”

“I’ll make sure I find you before you depart.”

“You do that.”

The men hugged again, before Jacob ducked out. Brahim looked them over again, before picking up a bowl of fresh dates and handing it to the girls.

“When I was younger I spent many months aboard ships,” he said. “I know how dull the food can be.” It took Sev and May’aa a few seconds to devour the contents, craving anything that wasn’t bread. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I believe we have business to attend to.”

The two girls followed Brahim out into a sandy courtyard, covered on all sides by like-coloured squat buildings. The courtyard was small, and empty apart from a few crates of supplies, some scattered old furniture and a small well. Brahim ducked back inside, returning a few minutes later with his hands full of cloths. He placed them on a short wooden bench, and visually sized the girls up again.

“Please remove those sacks,” he said, almost disinterestedly. May’aa glanced at Sevgi, who reluctantly complied, tossing the sack a few feet away. The two girls stood nude, dirtied, tangled hair flowing down and feet dirtied from walking on streets barefoot. The lash marks on the backs of the girls had largely healed, although one could still see the faint red lines across Sev’s breasts and back where whips had fallen.

Brahim stood up and walked over to May’aa, several lengths of light, purple cloth in hand. Sevgi paused for a moment, before her brain realized what was happening. Great. Just fucking great.

“In Arabic, this is called a bedlam,” explained Brahim, placing the cloths gingerly on a nearby stool. “They are worn by our dancers, and they are very beautiful. No man in the world can resist the allure of the raqs sharqi dance.” He paused. “Please get dressed.”

It didn’t take May’aa long to figure out how to get dressed, probably because there wasn’t much. Her top was covered by a light purple bra make of a thin, flimsy fabric barely opaque enough to hide her breasts. On her legs she wore somewhat baggier, harem-style pants, although the outline of her thighs were clearly visible through the fabric. It was a bellydancer’s costume, although slightly less gaudy then its counterparts a few centuries down the road. Brahim accessorized her slightly with fingerless gloves that covered her forearm and small bells fastened around her ankles with leather straps.

Sev herself was dressed up a few minutes later, although her costume with a vibrant red, versus the soft purple May’aa wore. In a few centuries it would be considered scandalous, before becoming normal again. Brahim gave her a small veil that wrapped around her nose, thinly veiling the lower parts of her face, although her mouth was still completely visible. The red lines across her back and breasts were masked, but most of her body was exposed. Sevgi idly figured she’d be considered more attractive than most of the girls in the area, as her twenty-fourth century diet meant she was a little less visibly malnourished, although two weeks on a ship had changed that.

“Yes, I think this will go over quite nicely,” said Brahim, smiling as he surveyed the two girls. “Now, we must find a buyer.”

“A buyer?” blurted out May’aa, incredulously.

“Hm? Yes, a man who will transport you to Arabia. Passage aboard ships isn’t free, little girl, and you have few skills with which to earn your keep. It seems Allah has blessed you with beauty, however, so you needn’t worry.”

“Slavery is pretty common in this area for most of history,” explained Sev, as Brahim left to summon a few of his workers. “Mostly they were used as cheap manual labour, but young women like ourselves could find nice niches in the entertainment sector.”

“You two, stop talking!” barked Brahim. “The last thing any buyer wants is two chatty girls.”

Sevgi promptly silenced herself, and the two girls stood in the sand patiently as Brahim hurried about his small compound. He returned a few minutes later, carrying items that made Sevgi groan.

“Alright, the two of you – hands behind your backs.” Instructed Brahim. Sevgi reluctantly complied, and felt the ropes dig into her skin again. She was starting to get used to it. Brahim was indeed obviously a former sailor, as his tight knots and skilled rope work would be impossible to slip out of. After binding May’aa’s hands, he picked up an iron collar and fastened it around Sev’s throat. The collar had the Arabic script for slave engraved around the rim, and was clasped shut with a large lock. Brahim fastened a chain around a D-ring in the collar, using it to leash Sev.

Once May’aa was collared in a similar fashion, Brahim picked up their chains and began dragging them out of the courtyard and down the streets of Casablanca. The sand felt worm against Sevgi’s bare feet, and her ears picked up snippets of conversation from the men in the port district of the city. As Brahim dragged the two girls about, Sev noted they weren’t the only slave girls afoot. She spotted at least a dozen girls in chains or ropes, fully clothed or wearing next to nothing, including several white women probably bartered for from Spain, France or Italy. Brahim lead the girls into a large square, where slaves were being auctioned by the dozen. He lead the two girls up a wooden platform, giving them a better view of the plaza, before carefully untying Sev’s hands.

“I have here a most beautiful girl, excellently fed and healthy, and of the greatest talent,” said Brahim, speaking to the busy throngs of buyers and sellers. Several men were already forming up at the base of the platform, sizing Sevgi up. Sev had learned Turkish and Arabic years ago and easily understood what everyone was saying, although her enlightenment didn’t give her much hope. “She is a talented dancer, and can please any man.” Brahim turned to face Sev, and muttered, in English, “now dance!”

Sev took a deep breath, her brain recalling every instance of belly dancing it could. Her genius mind, which was used to dealing with quantum physics and theoretical mathematics, began working overtime to replay the mental videos of the dances in her mind, carefully studying every muscle’s movement, trying to commit to muscle memory something she had never done.

In her opinion, she danced eloquently, spinning, bending, shaking and flowing with the beauty of a veteran dancer. She took care to lock eyes with a few potential buyers, submissively falling to her knees as she danced, toying with her chain leash as if offering it to anyone who could take it. Several men applauded when she concluded, and Brahim ignored bids for the girl as he tied Sev up again.

He proceeded to untie May’aa, whose exotic skin and hair color and royal Elvin features outshone even Sevgi. She moved with the full grace of a Ilmen’Taurohtar as she walked to the centre of the platform. Her hair seemed to flow in the wind as if in slow motion, and she moved with an allure of well-honed grace and eloquence. Then, she danced.

Sevgi, whose mind was attuned to complex motions and unusual movements, could barely keep track of May’aa movements. The elf spun and whirled with both energy and grace, the purple cloth floating through the air as her body writhed and flowed, with such force of presence that no man in the plaza could ignore her. May’aa chain flew through the air as her body ensnared the men better than any makeup or jewellery ever could, her dirty and tired body suddenly more beautiful than the greatest supermodel, more irresistible than a harem of slave girls.....

Men hurried to thrust coins into Brahim’s hands as May’aa concluded her dance, submissively offering her hands to the man so he could tie them together again. Brahim sequestered the girls in a corner for a few minutes as he found the buyer he was looking for. Sev was grateful Isaac Newton’s instructions carried weight even here, as Brahim would be turning down a fortune to get the girls to their destination of choice.

“How’d you do that?” asked Sev, glancing at May’aa. “That was.... hypnotic.”

“It’s an old Ilmen’Taurohtar dance,” she murmured. “And yes, it is hypnotic. If executed correctly, the opposite sex basically can’t ignore it.”

“You’ll have to teach it to me some day,” replied Sev, as Brahim returned, a large pouch jingling with coins in hand.

“I have you a buyer,” he said, a wide smile on his face. “The man’s name is Rafik, although that does not concern you. He agreed to buy the both of you, and for a generous price. He is heading to Cairo. I am told that you can find your way to Arabia yourselves from there.”

“Thank you very much,” replied May’aa. She leaned forward, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I am forever enslaved to your generosity.”

“Uh, yes. It was my pleasure,” replied Brahim, slightly flustered. “Well, here’s your owner now.”

Rafik was a large, plump man, and he grabbed both Sev’s and May’aa’s chains in one large hand. He pulled the two girls close to him, a long beard flowing from his chin, his eyes locked on May’aa.

“We are sailing in a few hours, girls,” Rafik said, stroking May’aa’s cheek with his free hand. “It is a few weeks across the Mediterranean to Cairo. I will make sure we do not have any interruptions during those weeks.”

Rafik proceeded to drag the two collared girls through the streets of Casablanca towards the ports once again, although this time they hardly as invisible, with every man seeming to follow them with their eyes as they went through the winding streets. May’aa’s performance, it seemed, was already legendary, and more than a few men had fantasies about snatching the slave girl away.

The girls arrived at Rafik’s ship a few minutes later – it was significantly larger than the English vessel they’d arrived in, and just as busy. The Captain dragged the two girls aboard, once again bringing them bellow-deck. Instead of locking them in a closet, however, Rafik brought his purchases into a spacious, well-decorated room that could only be his bedroom. There was relatively large four-post bed and ornaments from across the Mediterranean world. Rafik was obviously one of the more successful merchants of his time. The room smelt slightly of spices.

Once inside, Rafik untied the girls’ hands. May’aa had obviously picked up some of the local language, and thanked him. The space elf dropped to her knees at the Captain’s feet, her large eyes beaming up at the man submissively. Sev followed, but she didn’t have the same hypnotic allure as her co-worker did.

“I will be back in a few hours,” said the Captain, pulling himself away from them. “You may practice your dancing for me.” He locked the door from the outside as he left.

*

“Slavery? This is so.... alien,” shuddered May’aa, throwing herself on the Captain’s plush bed. She was still collared and chained, and the chain coiled lazily around her calf. The Ilmen’Taurohtar, unlike humans, had no history of slavery, and the concept was completely alien to May’aa.

“Think of it more as earning your keep,” replied Sevgi, examining herself for the first time in weeks in a large mirror fastened to the wall. “We need to get to Cairo, we provide... entertainment.... until we get there.”

“I’m presuming we’ll have to escape, too,” added on May’aa. “He’s doubling back to Cyprus, isn’t he? He thinks he owns us for life, and isn’t going to be too pleased about letting us go.”

“Well, yes, but how hard can that be?” replied Sev. She found a comb lying about and began straightening out some of the worst of the knots in her hair.

“This is the worst plan ever,” muttered May’aa, before falling asleep in the Captain’s bed.

*

Rafik returned only after his ship had set sail, coasting east across the Mediterranean Sea towards the distant port of Cairo. As May’aa’s ears heard the sound of a key turning in a lock she bolted upright, darting out of the Captain’s bed and standing with her hands clasped behind her back as he arrived.

“It has been a hard day,” said Rafik, walking over to May’aa and stroking her snow white hair. He gestured with his head towards Sev. “Your friend – tie her up. I do not want her getting in the way of tonight’s entertainment.”

Rafik handed May’aa some rope, and the space elf walked over to where Sevgi stood without hesitation or pause. Sev pressed her wrists together behind her back, hoping May’aa would be gentle. May’aa spun her fellow slave girl around, and proceeded to bind her elbows together, painfully pressing Sev’s arms together before tying a loop binding her elbows to a wall fixture.

“Ow! What the hell is that for?” demanded Sev in English, as her elbows cried in pain at being bound in such an unnatural position.

“For getting us into such a stupid situation,” replied May’aa, although there was a smile on her face. This was more her way of teasing than actual vengeance. She pulled of Sev’s veil, then stuffed it in her mouth. “And don’t spit that out!”

Sevgi sighed as May’aa turned to face the Captain. The veil filled her cheeks, and while she could spit it out at any second, it wouldn’t be keeping in the submissive slave girl image.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” asked May’aa, bowing her head.

“You may begin by dancing for me,” instructed Rafik, strolling over to his bed. “But do not finish with all your clothes on.”

May’aa nodded, composed herself, and began the hypnotic dance of the space elves. Her feet spun about on a Persian carpet on the room’s floor, and both Sev and Rafik were locked on May’aa’s lithe form. Sev tried to process the dance but it resisted analysis, seeming to flow from position to position faster than her mind could track it. She forgot about the taste of the veil in her mouth, or of the pain her elbows were in, as May’aa danced in a way that somehow unfasted her bra. The top drifted to the floor, no longer needed, and May’aa’s bare chest kept Rafik’s eyes bound as she unfastened the small clip keeping her pants up, which fell in a puddle at her feet. She finished with a flourish on her knees, at the foot of the bed, wearing only the long gloves on her forearms and the bells on her ankles.

Rafik wasted no time keeping his pants on, and within seconds of the dance concluding May’aa found her mouth pried open by the Captain’s penis, her lips curling around it. Unlike Sevgi, May’aa had given several blowjobs in her long life, as space elf males  found them as enjoyable as their human counterparts. Her tongue played over the penis, sucking and massaging it like a master masseuse. It didn’t take long for her to satisfy the Captain, who let out a burst of semen into May’aa’s mouth, which she happily swallowed. According to rumour, space elf girls found semen delicious compared to human women.

Sevgi watched as Rafik pulled the space elf into bed, blowing out the candles and letting only the moonlight refracted through the windows illuminate the room. Sev spat out her veil, but could do nothing to alleviate the pain in her elbows as she watched May’aa and Rafik...

It wasn’t until near dawn when the two finally fell asleep, providing enough quiet for Sev to pass out from exhaustion, as May’aa was either asleep or was choosing to keep Sevgi strung up for the night...

*

Sevgi awoke in the Captain’s bed, unsure of how she got there. The sun was up and blazing through the room’s windows, and she spotted May’aa a few strides away, leafing through an Arabic translation of Plato’s The Republic. Her arms still ached but she was completely unbound and in a relatively spacious cell, so she felt freer than she had in weeks.

“Good afternoon,” said May’aa, watching Sev climb out of bed. Sev was completely nude, the belly dancer costume she’d worn earlier neatly folded on a nearby chair. Just as Sevgi stretched there was a knock on the door. May’aa put the book down and waited as the door was unlocked. Another slave girl – this one slightly more clothed – brought a tray bearing fruits and tea – setting it down inside before locking the door once more.

“You know,” said May’aa, grabbing a grape and plopping it in her mouth, “I could get used to this. Being pampered by some rich guy obsessed over you. Kind of explains a lot of human culture, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, it can’t last forever,” replied Sev, sipping at a cup of coffee provided. It was exceptionally bitter by her standards, but still the tastiest thing she’d had in weeks. “That hypnotic dance of yours has to lose its effectiveness after a while.”

“Probably,” agreed May’aa, peeling a banana and sticking it in her mouth in a way that eerily mirrored what she’d done the night before. “But long enough for us to reach Cairo, methinks.”

May’aa turned her back to Sev as she continued dining. Sev paused for a moment, before finding the length of rope May’aa had tied her up with the previous night. She did some quick mental math...

Pillowcase in hand, Sev lunged at May’aa just as she was standing up from a chair, bagging the space elf’s head in the white sack.

“Ah!” yelled May’aa, caught off-guard by the surprise attack. She was blinded, and her hands tried to pull off the pillowcase. Before she could, however, Sev grabbed her wrists, pulling them behind her back as she dragged May’aa onto the floor, pressing the space elf against the Persian rug. The length of rope moved through Sev’s dextrous hands with ease, snaking around May’aa’s wrists and then tying her to one of the bedposts of the four-poster bed.

“Not so smug now, are you?” said Sev smugly, pulling the pillowcase off the elf’s head. She began collecting bed sheets.

“What did I do to deserve this?” demanded May’aa, trying to kick at Sevgi with her free legs. Sev ignored her, using to bed sheets to tie May’aa’s ankles to distant objects of furniture too heavy to move. When she was done, the space elf’s legs were spread far apart, leaving her vulnerable.

“What did you do? You left me strung up by my elbows for six hours while you fucked the Captain senseless!”

“He told me to tie you up!” protested May’aa, but she knew it was hopeless.

“That doesn’t mean you had to employ strappado, let alone leave me there for the night.”

“But I-” before May’aa could respond, she found her mouth stuffed with a thick cloth, causing her cheeks to bulge out. Sev kept two fingers on May’aa’s mouth, keeping her from spitting it out, while she picked up another length of cloth and tied it around May’aa’s head. It would be impossible for the space elf to remove her gag.

“Now don’t spit it out,” instructed Sev mockingly, strolling over to a chair and picking up May’aa’s book, resuming from where the space elf left off....

*

When Rafik returned late in the night, May’aa was still strung up, her legs spread apart and her wrists tied to the bedpost. Her head hung down, exhausted, having been unable to speak for the entire day because of the cloth stuffed in her mouth. She was wearing only a few skimpy pieces of the dancer’s outfit she’d been provided with by the serving girl earlier in the morning, and the iron collar still hung heavy around her neck.

“Well, this is an interesting sight,” said Rafik, locking the door behind himself as he strolled into the candlelit room. “It seems one of my slaves has been very naughty, haven’t they?”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” apologized Sevgi, dropping to her knees as the Captain’s feet. “She was very annoying, sir.”

“Ah! As all women are,” agreed the Captain, strolling over to May’aa and pulling the damp cloth out of her mouth. “Did you deserve this, my beautiful little slave?”

“Not at all, my lord,” replied May’aa, struggling in her cloth restraints. “This vixen attacked me, my lord, without any provocation!”

“Well, that’s not right at all, is it?” asked the Captain, rhetorically, as he undid May’aa’s restraints. “So, little slave? What shall we do with her?”

Rafik evidently already had something in mind. He strolled over to Sevgi and stripped her nude, then pushed her over the front of the bed, so she was leaning over it. Using the same bed sheets Sev had used to restrain May’aa hours before, the Captain tied Sev’s wrists together, and then attached that length of fabric to a post on the other side of the bed. He proceeded to tie her feet to opposite bedposts, so when he was done, Sevgi was left in a very vulnerable position. Her torso was face-down on the bed, while her legs were spread, tied almost in the shape of a triangle.

“Now, my beautiful slave, you cannot let such an injustice go unpunished, can you?” inquired the Captain, somewhere behind Sevgi. He handed May’aa a small, wooden paddle, and turned her to face Sev. “You must strike her twenty times, to ensure she does not forget her misdeeds.”

“Yes, my lord,” agreed May’aa, and Sevgi knew without looking that there was a smile on the space elf’s face. “She will not forgot this.”

Slap.

The wooden paddle collided with Sev’s exposed buttocks faster than she’d expected, catching her off-guard and eliciting a yelp of surprise. Her limbs were all spread apart, giving her no room to squirm as the space elf delighted in tickling her butt with her finger, getting her muscles to quiver in discomfort.

Slap.

For someone being spanked, it is instinctual to try to raise a foot to cover the butt, but since Sev’s legs were tied and spread, that was impossible. She strained against the cloth bindings, wondering if she could tear out of them if she needed to.

Slap.

It didn’t appear to be her case. Her ass reddened as the wooden paddle collided with her exposed flesh, but she had no intention of giving the space elf the satisfaction of causing her (visible) pain.

Slap.

After what they’d been through in London, this seemed like a.... what was the old expression? Rasp on the knuckles? It stung, but Sev recalled her earlier whippings at Covent Garden, and found each blow unexpectedly light.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The spanking stopped at sixteen, by Sev’s count. It seemed that Rafik was unable to keep himself off of the space elf, and the two had degenerated into what sounded like a sloppy make-out on the floor behind Sev.  The space elf sighed. It sounded like she’d be spending another night in restraints....

ABOARD THE AETHER TREADER

NEAR CAIRO, MEDITERRANEAN SEA

4 SEPTEMBER 1720

There days had fallen into a kind of lazy routine, both more comfortable and more uncomfortable than their days traveling from London to Casablanca. Their feud resolved, Sevgi and May’aa spent the days eating and drinking the rich food the vessel carried, reading various tomes in the Captain’s library and – thanks to the relative spaciousness of the quarters – exercising. They were given a small wardrobe of scanty clothing of various colors to change in and out of, and May’aa had convinced Rafik to remove their collars a few days ago, allowing the chaffing to heal.

Their nights, on the other hand, were fairly unpredictable. Rafik obviously favoured May’aa over Sev, and seemed to enjoy putting Sev at the space elf’s mercy. Sev had been tied up, spanked and whipped at various times by May’aa, occasionally retaliating against her during the daytime when the Captain was away. The Captain could never sit through an entire corporal punishment session, however, always tackling May’aa midway through falling asleep after sex, usually forgetting to untie Sevgi from whatever restraints she was in first.

Tonight, however, was going to be different. As the sun set, the two women prepared for their escape. They’d be docking near Cairo soon, where they’d have to make their escape. Rafik had indicated he wanted a quick fuck with May’aa before he had to begin unloading their cargo, which was when the girls would make their move.

Sure enough, just as things started to get busy, Rafik ducked into his Quarters, to find May’aa lying face-up, spread-eagle on his bed, smiling up at him. Sev stood discreetly in a corner, wearing the darkest of her belly dancing outfits. The Captain prepared to mount his space elf slave girl....

Sevgi hit him in the back of the head with the wooden leg of a chair they’d taken apart earlier in the day. May’aa kicked him in the forehead almost simultaneously, ensuring he was knocked unconscious. Sev quickly tied and gagged him using various bed sheets while May’aa got dressed, making sure to steal his purse of coins. Half a minute later, the two ducked out of the Captain’s Quarters, locking the door behind them with a looted key.

Keeping their heads bowed, they managed to scurry off the boat, quickly posing as local harlots the moment they got off the ship. None of Rafik’s sailors had been allowed into his Quarters for the duration of the trip, so none of them knew what the slaves looked like. Purchasing some cloth from a local merchant with stolen coins, the girls dressed themselves more conservatively, wearing veils that largely obscured their features and bodily shapes, allowing them to slip unnoticed into Cairo.

The found a stable master on the outskirts of the city a few hours later, bartering for two fine Arabian horses with the coins stolen from the Captain’s quarters. May’aa lead the way, her eyes capable of seeing into darkness better than any human. The two girls raced east, towards their bridge to the future....

ARABIAN DESERT

OTTOMAN EMPIRE

16 SEPTEMBER 1720

“Time travel is so not worth it,” complained Sevgi, although she was too concerned about losing water to put any energy into the whine. It’d taken them about a week to reach the edge of the Arabian Desert, after which they’d purchased two camels and loaded them up with as much water as physically possible before heading into the sandy depths of the Peninsula. They’d spent days after that on the camels, progressing deeper and deeper into some of the most dangerous land in the world, with dunes as high as buildings and a glaring sun hotter than most people would ever experience.

“It’s okay.... we’re here,” declared May’aa, hoping her astronomical calculations were correct. They didn’t exactly have maps of this area, which meant the stars had been their guide. “Well, close enough, anyways.” She sighed, getting off her camel and trying to hide in the shadow of a dune. “Now we wait.”

*

The shuttle came in fast, barely visible even at a close distance thanks to active-camouflage masking. In the darkness, it would’ve been impossible to spot had they not been looking for it. The shuttle’s sensors apparently hadn’t detected them, probably because infrared scanners were so unreliable due to the distortive heat signatures given off by the sand dunes. The two women raced towards the small shuttle as quickly as they dared, peering at it through a collapsible telescope.

Two Ilmen’Taurohtar – one man and one woman - strolled out of the spacecraft, carrying some heavy equipment. May’aa had explained that it measured electromagnetic readings for hundreds of kilometres, and would be used to chart humanity’s progress through the centuries. Well, though Sev it’s now or never.

“We need your help!” yelled May’aa, speaking in the language of the Ilmen’Taurohtar and running at them as fast as possible. The two space elves turned in surprise at the two girls waving their arms. “Please help us!” begged May’aa in her native tongue. The male space elf raised what looked like a small pistol as the two approached, with their hands high in the sky. “I’m a Ilmen’Taurohtar,” explained May’aa. “We need access to your ship.”

“How did you get here?” demanded the male, gesturing for the two to stop once they were a half-dozen paces away. Pale blue light from inside the spacecraft illuminated the scene. The space elves were wearing tight-fitting jumpsuits apparently designed to prevent them from leaving any forensic evidence behind. Sev carefully laced her fingers behind her head. Not being a Ilmen’Taurohtar, it was going to be a little harder to explain her presence here.

“Temporal anomaly,” explained May’aa. “We’re from the future. We got bounced back here by accident, and need this shuttle’s technology to send us back.”

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” declared the female space elf, folding her arms across her chest. Like May’aa, she had long, flowing white hair, but a pair of black goggles covered her eyes. “More likely you’re treasure hunters, stealing artefacts and fencing them on the black market. Everybody wants a piece of Terran culture on their mantelpiece, don’t they?”

“Treasure hunters? What, no! That’s-”

Before May’aa could finish her sentence, however, thousands of volts of electricity coursed through her body, knocking her unconscious. Sev opened her mouth to say something, but found herself unconscious before she vocalize anything other than a shriek of pain....

ABOARD THE SEC STARHOPPER

ORBITTING THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON

16 SEPTEMBER 1720

When Sevgi woke up, she found herself in both familiar and unpleasant circumstances. While unconscious, she’d been stripped up her garments and forced into a bright pink latex catsuit that the Ilmen’Taurohtar clothed their prisoners in. The latex covered her completely all the way up to her neck, while she was bound spread-eagle to a metal rack, her wrists and ankles secured in magnetically-fastened metal cuffs, pinning her to the wall.

The female space elf stood opposite her, wearing the utilitarian jumpsuit of a spaceship engineer. May’aa was bound opposite her in similar restraints, having recovered from the electrical shock faster than Sev.

“You are charged with violating the Prime Directive of Extraplanetary Isolation, section 51, subsection 17. Have you anything to say in your defense?” asked the engineer, standing with her arms folded over her chest, facing May’aa.

“Look, we’re honestly from the future. How else could the human know so much about our civilization?”

“You could’ve indoctrinated her, masked her physiological signals with pharmaceutical narcotics,” replied the engineer. She turned to face Sevgi. “But I’d have to ask you that, wouldn’t I?”

She tapped a button on a computer mounted to her wrist, and electricity coursed through the metal restraints binding Sev’s hands and ankles. Sev shrieked in pain, as the electricity was a sharper pain than any of the whippings or beatings she’d felt in the past few months.

“Why did you do that?” demanded May’aa. “She didn’t do anything to-”

This time May’aa screamed in pain, electricity shocking her hyper-sensitive nervous system. Electric torture was one of the worst things one could do to a space elf, as it best exploited their biological vulnerabilities. It explained why the engineer was using it.

“Guard your tongue, criminal,” ordered the engineer. She turned to face Sev. “So you’re from the future, you say? What year?”

“2311,” spat out Sev, “or 11-04-981 by your calendar.”

“That’s quite a way,” mused the engineer. She paused, bent over, and picked up what looked like an elongated cattle prong. Decades ago, the device had been used to re-calibrate some of the electrical systems of a spaceship, Sev knew, but could be set to ‘recalibrate’ flesh, too, through painful electrical shocks. It’d been a favourite method of corporal punishment back when space captains had to worry about mutineers. The engineer primed the device, and Sev heard an audible hum as it buzzed to life. The engineer touched it with the tip of her finger, yelping in pain and surprise. She smiled, then tapped Sev on the breast with it.

“What’s the Ilmen’Taurohtar word for torture?” she asked, speaking in English. The engineer finished the sentence before pulling the prong off of Sev’s breast.

“This is stupid,” retorted Sevgi, breathing heavily from the pain. “We’ve had this entire conversation in your language. Torture is sysesi.”

“Well, it’s not impossible to teach our language to a human,” conceded the engineer. “No, I think you are, in fact, simply petty criminals. Regrettable to involve humans in such affairs, but we cannot risk returning her to her people.”

“Wait, what?” demanded May’aa. “You’re going to space us?”

“The penal code is quite clear on the issue,” agreed the engineer. “We’ll release you over one of the oceans of this planet. You should hit it in about an hour, assuming you don’t burn up in atmosphere.”

“Wait, you can’t do this!” cried May’aa. Sev’s brain raced. Think, Sev, think.

“This is a Stream-class spaceship, isn’t it?” asked Sev. “Made about four years ago, running a Slipstream Operating System? Version 4.01?”

“Yes,” conceded the engineer, somewhat amused. “I’m very sorry about this, human, but you know too much about us to be returned. It’ll mess up your species’ natural evolution.”

“Computer!” barked Sev, speaking the Ilmen’Taurohtar language. She was trying to simulate the entire Slipstream OS in her head, a difficult task even for the brightest woman of her generation. “Execute BYKERNTO crystalline functions, recursive model....”

“Administrative clearance is required to execute BYKERNTO functions,” replied the ship’s on-board artificial intelligence unit.

“Right. Re-route continuous guest user-level requests for BYKERNTO functions through task manager functionality indexes.”

“What’re you doing?” demanded the engineer, delivering an electrical shock to Sev’s vagina, causing her to wince in pain.

“Hacking your computer,” she taunted. “Redefine ‘guest2’ as ‘admin’, connect to Port 8102.” There was a pause as the computer struggled to execute the request. The Slipstream OS was primitive by twenty-four century standards, and hacking it was akin to breaking down a medieval fortress’s door with a plasma cannon.

“Greetings, Administrator,” said the ship’s AI, a few seconds later. “What would you like to do?”

“How did you-”

“Incapacitate the Ilmen’Taurohtar in front of me,” ordered Sev. Before the space elf could finish her sentence, an electrical charge surged through the floor panels and through her utility boots, knocking her unconscious. “And release me and the other Ilmen’Taurohtar female.”

*

“I told you we’re from the future,” chided May’aa, five minutes later. Both the male and female space elves from the past were fastened to the wall in tight-fitting pink latex catsuits, although May’aa had found a roll of electrical tape and wrapped it around the head of the female engineer several times, tape gagging her. “Now, we’ll be gone in a few minutes. The computer is programmed to release you in a few days,” she taunted.

“Mmmmmmghf!” protested the engineer, but it was to no avail. May’aa stroked the electrical prod for a few seconds, before delivering a painful electrical shock to her captive’s thigh. The engineer howled in pain through her tape gag as May’aa massaged her inner thigh and crotch with the electrical prod, letting it rest for a few seconds over her butt cheek before switching it off.

“Oh, yes, the computer’s also been programmed to deliver a high-powered electrical shock every minute,” added May’aa. “To keep you perky.” The engineer began to protest, but the first of the automated electrical shocks was delivered to both the captive Ilmen’Taurohtar, causing them to writhe in pain for several seconds as electricity coursed through their bodies. “Yeah, we’re sadistic in the future.”

“If you’re done torturing our captives,” called Sevgi from the cockpit, “I think I’ve got everything re-wired here. We’ll need to fly up to the Sun in order to get the energy required, but after that I’ll just trigger the real-time generator and.... back we’ll go.”

“In theory,” agreed May’aa. “But just in case, I want to have a little more fun with our friends.”

It took them twelve minutes to reach the Sun, during which time thirteen automated electrical shocks were delivered, plus the occasional extra zap from May’aa prod. The engineer was in tears by the fifth, her body unable to cope with the repeated electrical shocks.

“Ow!” yelped Sev, as May’aa prodded her briefly from behind as she elf entered the cockpit. They were both still wearing their pink catsuits, as there was no other clothing that fit aboard. “Well, we’re there. I’m just going to define the parameters and....”

“E.T. phone home,” murmured May’aa, as she tapped the ENTER key.

ODYSSEY SPACE STATION

ORBITING GANYMEDE, MOON OF JUPITER

11 MARCH 2311

Sevgi awoke on the floor of the Crystalline Flux Chamber, staring up at bright white lights. Her head was pounding and she felt profusely dizzy, but otherwise completely alright. She struggled to sit upright, realizing that she was still wearing the tight pink catsuit she’d been taken prisoner in.

“What the hell happened?” demanded one of the engineers, rushing over to Sev and May’aa. He paused. “Are you.... wearing latex-”

“Catsuits?” concluded May’aa for him. “Yes we are.” The space elf stood up, brushed a few strands of sweaty hair out of her face, then helped Sevgi up. They surveyed the room, watching dozens of technicians trying to figure out what happened, too busy to spare the catsuit-clad women a second glance.

“Interesting time period, eighteen-century Earth,” mused Sevgi, as the two headed for a maintenance elevator out of the Chamber.

“Definitely,” agreed May’aa. “We should go back some time.”

AUTHOR’S STUFF

This story was written by Prataaraka, who can be contacted at:

Prataaraka@hotmail.com

Please feel free to contact the author for story comments, criticisms, feedback, etc., or for story requests.

This story is completely fictional (if that wasn’t blatantly obvious), and all similarities to real-life things are purely coincidental.

The Elvin prayer was written by fallenblackangel.