Section Twenty Three

Well over four hundred years later in the linear future: a father came home from teaching at school. He still saw his own son as a small child. Although everyday he heard the parabola of the sexual experimentation bell curve. This particular day he was looking at these relatively cute innocent young faces. Four boys walked by that were not in his classes ever. He is a stranger to them. (Pardon my need to be straight forward) He heard one boy say to the others three, "I just wanna fuck." And he was snapped back into the reality that thousands of years ago these boys would in most of the world been considered men. That is our biology. But socially, memetically they are still children.

He then went to a meeting where the teachers of his own son suggested some kind of mood altering drug for his son's tendency to not pay enough attention in school. This community were mostly conception desendants' of several colonies of clones, who'd found themselves cast out of other portions of Siberian society. So being pro-medical was nothing new to this community or its school systems.

The father came home to see his son on not only a crash from too much sugar- but he could also tell from his dishoveld look that he had masterbated and fallen asleep with out anything to carry his son from the high of ejaculation back to regular go mode.

He new from his own experience that masterbation was great and all. But if the nerves didn't get touched and cuddled afterwords it lead to depression. Depression gets in the way of getting homework done.

He had Latin friends in the colony that had been set up with a woman to teach them how to make love and please a woman dliberately by their parents and Guardians. His first notion was that his boy needed to calm down. Or that if he was rewarded with sexual gratification from a women who did this kind of work already- his son would have the motivation to complete his tasks and pay attention. Not only was it too expensive of an idea. There is VD to consider, and what if it was just conservatively the wrong thing to do. Once done their would be no going back. So he let the notion go.

He later sat down to talk to his wife about their son.

“I’m so worried how he’ll do once girls come into the picture”, the thirty something mother said while sitting down, and rubbing her forehead.

“He’s not the first one, and if we’ve learned from the first five, we know we can’t totally stop them.', The voice of her husband was pleasant with a slight endearing whine that manned up at the end of each idea.

"We need to have damage control. I saw on the internet that Amish teens are allowed to sleep in the room together, and what happens happens. And that this is after the parents have an influence over who the child is seeing."

"We can wait, and watch to see who is looking at him. Teach him how to find out who is looking at him, rather than chase after girls he is looking at that may not be interested in him."

"From those girls we can see which set of parents will be agreeable to allow our children to study together."

The mother added with a question. "They'd have to be people we feel comfortable talking about contraception too. And in this community we both know that contraception is a dirty word. Everyone is still thinking about forced subversive sterilization. We can't even get a shipment from Alaska without it having been tampered with."

"That reminds me we all have an appointment at the genetic diversity clinic next Tuesday. This will be Illian's first donation to the community. Even if it is in a private room; I'm a little sceptical about the clenical eviornment. I don't want him to get freaked out.", the father continued.

Illian's mother interupted, "Our son is a master-bater. That is what he is in there doing when he is too board to do his homework. He thinks I can't hear. But I pretend i can't, for the sake of his privacy. I'd leave the house but I have the younger ones to tend too. And its so damn cold, I put on a movie. I know the other kids can't hear him or I'd make up an excuse to get him to quiet down. But i can hear him muffling himself as it is.'

"I tried to unblock a suitable tame nudie sight, with the kinds of women I see him glance at..."

"You did that?", the father interupted with a grinning suprise.

"Well its better than leaving the centerfold of the Sunday paper outside his doorway, am I right?", she replied in jest.

"Beside', she continued... "I think he'll enjoy being in a clean place where he is expected to donate for the good of the community, in a sound proof room in total privacy into the receptcal."

"Stop', the father begged. "Your giving me images. Why do you always have to be so graphic?"

"Since when do you mind me being graphic?", the mother replied with a smile that Illian's father adored.

"Okay he said, lets see what girls look at our son in service over the next few days."

Then the couple retired to satisfy they're own aspiring grins'. Illians' mother ran out and grabbed some white clothes she liked out of Illian's dresser ran to the laundry room tossed them in the wash n' dry. Then she trotted back her bedroom doorway and walked though it sultry. As if the line of the door itself transformed her into sensual person.

{section twenty-three point one one five}

Illian's mother was getting dressed. She called out to him as she left her husband resting on the otherside of the bedroom door. "Illian Honey, have you seen my left white shoe. I must have lost it wrestling with your father in the kitchen before you got home? I need the pair to match my dress and the white paints I got you."

"Thank you for washing the paints mom. But we should really think about not wearing white this time of year. Especially shoes. Tis not the season.", Illian replied trying hard to have a note or respectfulness in his voice while proclaiming his fashion protest."A girl that like's him for who he is. Not who you are.", Illian's father whispered from under the comfy feminine covers of the bed with his arm, collar bone, neck, and head exposed and propped up by a light powder blue stripped pillows & pillow-cases.

{section twenty-three point one two five}

Helga wasn't into boys yet. And her parents were just fine with it staying that way for the time being. She had a pregnant older sister. And no one in the family was particularly fond of the baby's daddy.

It seemed that he wasn't even employed, let alone gainfully. He had not motivation at all. Helga's parents constantly tried to encurage the youngman, and it seemed he only came around to eat Helga's mother's cooking. But he was around, and Helga's family knew that was a start. But he still got on Helga's nerves. And it bugged her that her sister is completely in love with the guy.

The community however welcomed the child's coming with strong support. The region didn't inter act with the clone desendent population. This forced the community of several hundred thousand to strongly look at its future, and the future of probable inbreeding. So this child was welcome, and to some, already known before his birth. Although he is not a natural born clone; he is the great great grand child of a maternal clone. This heritage would at this relative point in time-shape his future. The future present past that some of his kinsmen already know.

The church had the usual preserved tattooed markers of this congregation's deceased members. A new plaque was mounted from an elder who'd died in a fire. Several hundred people came to see it at each two hour service.

It was thought that the marking of his desires and accomplishments in service to himself, the community and his higher power was lost in the fire. However it was retrieved from a younger version of himself who agreed to let go of his out come, and accepted a skin graph paid for by the state. Paid for in-order to preserve the linear connected history of the church incase a temperal conflict ever isolated a section of the future from that past beyond the borders of violence that already existed between residents of different eras' and locations.

The man was well supported in his accomplishments and failures. And to his credit he had supported many himself. Everyone thought he was a clone since he only spoke of one parent and centered his political rambling in conversation around the divine right of the clone. He loved the Pope's quote, and he would often repeat it:'"Eve was/ and is a clone of adam. Spawned directly into adolesence in a way that mankind cannot yet repeat. All clones currently are natural born from a mother or the like as well as nonclones. Eve was/and is a clone of Adam. And God saw that it was good. as was Adam by the very definition of his name, a clone of dirt."'

So many people were incuraged by this: Since in a temporally vulnerable world his photo could not be mounted in public, considering his own safety in the past. The tattoos of his upper arms and back, let the community morn his passing with something to remember him by.

"I'll bet there are so many pilgrims mixed in here today", Helga's mother ventured as they pulled up and rested the craft into a snow print. The print had melted against the warmth of similarly built models and frozen again into a half schell that made a squeek as they lowered into the slight depression in the snows surface.

By pilgrims she meant time travelers mostlikely from the communities future who'd looked the date up.

"Its funny how a good section of a communities resources can go to persuading the daunting amount of tourist from other eras to let the day exist in peace. I doubt today is being recored anywhere for fear that if anything this guy said or did gets too popular in the future we would not be able to handle the tourist traffic from thousands of years worth of interest in a particular moment. ', Holga's father replied.

"Imagine the mess Rome must have been last year in Rome because The LDS High Priest and the Pope happened to be talented Classical Bosa Nova pianists'. Here at the most maybe sixteen or seventeen. And hopefully no terrorists."

Illians family had pulled up to the ceremony a few minutes early to be sure to get in before any photos got taken outside the church. Its almost impossible to avoid someones visual memory. Still risking getting caught accidentally on film was too foolish of a risk to take.

The line was long to get into the service. And many people were paying their respects to the passed man on the way into the congregation hall.

The spark was lit in her body in her body before she knew he existed. Across the snow that was recollecting against the already shoveled ground, a glow stood out from the audibly laughing face of this boyish soon to be young man’s face. As a powdery snowball puffed into frosty bits when it hit the mass of his warm face.

He jerked away trying to avoid the retaliating shot from his brother and friends. He had snuck up on them, and they were happily retaliating.

Everyone’s feet were slightly firmly planted above the snow line. The boots where designed to polarize over snow. With the weight of the human body the super-conducting soles left shallow prints in the snow: Much like snow shoes do.

She watched the boy toss himself off the leverage of his boots and fall two feet deep into the snow below him, ask he quickly started struggling to get out f the hole and back on top of the drifting snow’s floor before more season’s greetings arrived via the throwing arms of his brother and their present friends.

The fallen boy’s mother honed in on the young girl’s attraction like a psychic sonar. From that moment one she went with her gut. She looked the woman, the girls mother up and down.

The woman looked around the parking lot, as if she could sense someone watching her.

When the woman’s husband asked her what she was looking for. The boy’s mother quickly looked elsewhere.

And when that connection was lost, so was the intuitive trace. So the mother of the girl said, “nothing, I felt like someone was watching, must have been my imagination, oh well. Lets get into the service.”

Illian, hadn’t noticed girls sexually beyond being attracted to the idea of kissing a beautiful face. And he had no problem with accepting that. It was natural for him.

When he went into the genetic diversity clinic to preserve a place for his sperm. He had no apprehension about donating to the welfare of his community. More people meant less birth defects’. Cloning was also encouraged to be able to broadly extend a combination of coitally resulting traits through out the growing colony.

“Young man, your parents designated age appropriate material for you to choose from in the donation room.’, a woman dressed in a lab coat told him after checking him in.

She weighed him, and measured his stature.

“Rest assured that no one can here you in there. And I’ll leave it at that.'

“Thank you for donating today to the genetic diversity of our mutual community.”, She added while taking filted safe x-rays of his bones, growth plates, and organs.

As he walked into the donation room, a sultry automated voice came online as he entered the receptacle explaining in detail how to donate and collect the material with in the receptacle protruding from the wall that was three feet around the curve of the small room beyond direct view of the windowless door:

“Here is the age appropriate viewing material that has been selected as a visual aid for you to complete your donation to our community,’ The voice said as if it was real and exhaling at the end of the sentence. It was a naturally sultry alto professional feminine automation. It was not intended to be grotesquely sensual. It was practically designed not to offend the reservationist sentiment of almost any variety.

He thumb nailed through web page adds advertising clothing, music and beach get-aways’. And his thoughts of these faces were the most modest in nature. And his thoughts of these faces were the most modest in nature. The images were as happy and robust as looking out the window of the transportation on the way to the donation bank. Beautiful people abound.

At the last moment his thoughts were focused on pegging Holga with a snowball in the face as she laughed loudly in his hearts recollecting though Ilian’s mind’s eye.

His donation was collected in a synthetic bag that sealed itself at a molecular level.

While he was walking out the private exit; to where his parents were waiting in a lobby to take him home: An automated system scanned the sample with non-radiating sound waves. The waves were not strong enough to tear down the cell life in the sample.

And below the clinic it was labelled, catagorised, devided in three sealed sections. One section stayed below in a quietly constructed nuclear weapon proof vault/shelter. They other two were preserved as a primary and a back up. For the program set up by the colony leaders for each family to choose a donor quality themselves and at the righ time for them, add this diversity to their existing family.

Illian noticed a sweet-cheeked girl who walked by in a down jacket. The jacket was baby blue. Her straight blond hair was held back by a wide, white hairband. His subconscious picked up on her cute frame.

Yuri, the social groups cad dork, who professed to know all things perverse and worldly, sauntered over above the snow when he noticed Illian looking at the girl. “Look at the ass on that one”, he said.

“Yuri your such a perve, she is just a nice girl, I think she is cute.”, Illian replied.

“I’ll go tell her you want to ‘do’ her”, He threatened trying to get a rise out of Illian.

“Go ahead, knock yourself out. You only say that because your afraid to talk to her yourself like a real person”, Illian put the ball back into Yuri’s court.

A tuffed on snow flew by Illian’s face as he dodged it. The blond was out of sight, out of mind. Yuri wasn’t interested in her until Ilian mentioned the idea. So he causally made his way disappearing into the building in a way that no one noticed; so he could avoid being teased. No one would have. But Yuri as a teaser trouble maker himself did not no that.

Illian, fell into the snow. When he cleared his face he noticed another girl laughing at him while getting in line to go into the service and see the elder’s marked peel.

He got up out of the snow. And after a bit more horseplay with his brother and friends; found a place in line several large families behind her, and hers.

He kept two ice-balls the size of American softballs cupped in his knit-gloved hands. The snow that he’d formed around the ice-balls, to give them a civil look, was melting with the heat of his hands. The thin-knit gloves already had that soggy purple look that wool knit gets when its wet.

The snow-balls were polite. There was no rock at the center to add too much density to the intended blow. In the school year play ground that was not the case. There a snowball delimited actually being a weapon: If refreezing slush- from the ground, or the maker’s breath-was redensifying around pebbles or a small stone.

Illian was brave, it would only take him weeks to warm up enough to actually talk to her. Some men never go against this kind of fear.

His mother walked up noticing that he was looking at Holga. She knew not to put him on the spot or tease him. “I have a dare for you…’, she whispered in his ear. “….but while I’m talking I want you to peg your brother who is coming around the large bus to try to get behind you. I don’t want anyone to pick up on what I’m going to dare you to do.

I must really want you to take my dare. You know I would never give your brother up to you like that if I wasn’t playfully serious. He is cresting the edge,’… she paused … ‘now’.

He turned and missed his laughing brother who pulled back like a turtle into its shell. The cover of the bus turned the ice-ball to sludge and snow-powder.

“I dare you to hug five women, and three girls that you think are cute.”, she said

“Mom leave me alone.”, he said.

“I’m serious Illian. I’ll have your favorite food cooked separately from anyone else’s for a week.” He was aware of how good this tactic could be since his mother deliberately lost bets this way often.

“But what if they think I’m creepy?”, he replied.

“That is for you to figure out which ones don’t think that, and which ones do.”

“I’m not psychic mom”, Illian argued.

“You don’t have to be. Look for who looks at you. And if you think they are cute too. Walk up-find something nice to say about them and don’t”

“Why?”

“Because that will be exactly what everyone says to them in most cases. Complement them on something that has nothing to do with the eyes, hair.” , she held he breath as her son interrupted as the lined moved forward as a large family moved on from observing the tattoo in the foyer, and proceeded to be seated in the round of the inner main lecture hall.

“Fine mom I’ll hug a bunch of people if that will make you happy- this is service- I hug people here all the time. I just want to avoid looking like that pervie kid Yuri”

“Yuri is a rude ass kid, but he is on to something that he takes too far. He will learn. But I’m not responsible for him. I am responsible for you. So know church hugs. Make sure they know that you let them know that you notice them, and you think they are interesting. You don’t have any need to go further than that.’

“Chances are they will think the same thing. And they don’t want to look “pervie” either. So by you taking the risk for them they will feel relieved. Think of it as just like opening a door for an older person, and more precisely an older lady who has been sweet you to. You don’t want to make her look or feel helpless, because she isn’t. your just being chivalrous.

“Okay mom- I’ll think about it”, he said.

“That is all I’m asking. By the way if she lets you touch he hair, you can go ahead and kis her without asking. If she pulls away, bail out then and don’t waste your time. Life is too short. Now go give your respect to the passing elder, and find your own seat in service today.”, she concluded.

Illian sat at home trying to look up one of the symbols he’d seen on the elder’s tattoo while observing the ink under a microscope. The family setting on the index interface was set to restricted-subtle. This meant that certain content considered non family oriented material was blocked: But it also meant that the page wouldn’t load, rathe than having a large icon pop up that read ‘you are attempting to access restricted material’.

Illian was aware though that the content may legitimately not loading or that it maybe blocked by the parental settings. So he asked his mother to unblock the site where one definition of the symbol was offered.

Illian’s mother sat down at the computer to help him for a minute. And she felt now was an appropriate time to bring it up. “Do I owe you some home cooked meals”, she asked him with the meme of many generations of charm and tact backing up her benevolent bearing.

“Yes mom, you do”, he replied with a smile turned on so bright the family dog ran up to listen to his inflection with its’ own wide rapid wag on.

If you’re an Anglophone you would have about as easy of a time understanding Illian. His required ingredient request are so far down the dialect train that you might catch on to basic commands and body language, but not much else.

“I take brusslesprouts with my special if you have um.”, he continued.

The family ‘sit down’ was only fifteen to thirty minutes long tonight. Illian’s mother already had several cake vegetable dishes marinating for the dinner. Her job didn’t take her aback, but she cooked like it did.

She’d been undone at some community socials by a women two whom she new had no talent. They had literally held her food in their envious little mouths, to cough it up three days earlier in a lab beaker. Forcing a girlfriend by peer-pressure to analyzed and deduce.

So she practiced on her kids. She cooked meals so good--from such abstract sources, that even if each ingredient was identified in a bite or stomach full; the exact temp times, and an ritual zen involved could not be undone, or reversed engineered easily.

“Okay cut these, dip them in the dry batter over in the bag, place them in that sauce and set the timer for thirteen and a half minutes.”, his mother motioned to each step as it set in its place on the table. She knew what he was going to ask for before he’d asked. She just hadn’t started making it. She did that inorder to give him room to be spontaneous.

“So who did you hug?”, she asked politely as the worked together in the kitchen.

He described a few very interesting maturing ‘Sally Walkers’; that he’d turned on his charm to. He described their eyes smiles and hair, with some omissions. He was after all talking with his mother.

His mother found his modesty reassuring.

He kept referencing one girl in more detail. “…When our cheeks touched mom it was like a tingling firecrackers with the power of an m80 filled with love chemical x instead of gun powder went off in both our heads. If I think about it, I can feel it now.”

“I like it when you smile”, his mother told him. She knew better than to comment that he was grinning from ear to ear.

“She was the one watching me get almost pelted with snow, outside the community center.”, he continued explaining.

“I have that families number in the directory”, making a subtle suggestion that he should call her.

“Won’t they think its weird me calling out of the blue like that.”, he voiced his hesitation.

“You won’t be the last boy to come calling. If they are not used to it they better get used to it. And your one of the nicer boys that they have in the past or will experience over time. Why don’t you break her parents in, and be polite enough to again make the second first move, so that Holga doesn’t have too.”, his mother finished.

“I never told you her name was Holga. How did you know?”, he asked.

“I have been living here along time Illian, I was friends with Holga’s Aunt before you two were born.”, she finished explaining.

Holga turned around and looked into the reflective glass at the framed skin, among the auburn inks depicting nebulas and star clusters set over black, under white overcast with transparent yellow that depicted light galactic dust she saw a shape sitting quietly in the picture. I was only visible if the observer looked close enough.

The shape was the outline of an almost spherical are that defiantly had walls to it and an odd piece that was removed from the sphere- like a missing piece of pie that dragged some of the other adjoining pieces with it.

As she was staring at piece to see if the shape had any other place in the multi-themed images her depth of focus moved in and out. In the reflection she noticed a woman looking from behind her at her in the reflection. The woman looked away. In the direction that the woman had turned her head away she saw Illian also staring at her in the reflection, standing there smiling.

She would have mentioned something like ‘talk a picture-it will last longer- but no one took pictures anymore, and to encourage it was not the safest thing to do. But that was the look she had on her face. The only tell that she thought he was attractive is that she smiled a bit.

Before she smiled Illian shrugged his shoulders. And had almost faked turning away, then pretended to still have a snowball in his hand that he’d follow through on releasing on her. She darted away from the frame and the path between them was filled with the next people stepping up to pay respects to the elder’s linear passing.

He darted after her, moving around the back of the crowd. He had to go slow since he was inside the building, which gave her enough time to pack a snowball that she released on his face once he cleared the fellowship doors. Then it was on.

The snow was loosely packed and she got his attention good since he inhaled the cold ball while taking a breath in through his nose.

“Oh yes!” She yelled quietly enough for just the two of them to here.

“You must like inhaling snow.” She said smiling widely while looking over her right shoulder to find enough room to run, anticipanly knowing he’s about the chase her.

Holga almost didn’t run as she watched him scoop snow in a full charge. It was like time stood still. Perhaps for her it did for a moment or two. As she looked at his strong, agile frame. His locks bounding around his head in the glistening day, Brown contrasting against all the white snow. And she fell back into time, as she heard the laughing boys charging steps above the snow.

She ran through the parking area, weaving and laughing as her hair whipped in each opposite direction that her body dodged in order to avoid the impending kenetic snow ball projectile. Holga ran at acute angles that only a preteen came manage. Any one of the turn abouts could twist a less pliable teenagers kneecap out. Her hair whipped into one direction after the next by the glance of her head, first where she was going and then back at the cute boy chasing her. She favored thrusting at opposite angles with her right leg. This was a detail that Illian was moving too fast himself to observe. If he’d noticed, he could have caught her with much less effort, and educated guess on where to toss the snow ball next.

His frame carried the fabric that insulated everything but his head and hands. She couldn’t see it through the winter gear. But clean geometric doesn’t lie, She never imagined it literally, but on an instinctual level she was attracted to it.

She froze from it. “Why am I just standing here? She thought to herself. I couldn’t possibly want to be caught? What is wrong with me?”, she thought to herself.

She had gotten far enough away from him that the thrill of him possibly catching her had died down for her. She was more flexible than him by nature. She could bob and weave around the park transports easier. And he instinct wanted to be caught, not her intellect; well not so much in that way.

Her intellect came back online. “She started running once the thrill became impending. She was too close to the boy to get away again- if that is what she chose to do.

She chose to do something else. “Don’t hit me!”, she said laughing.

“What makes you think I’m chasing you?”, he said.

He wanted her to question why she was running, and her own insecurity long enough for him to get closer.

He ran a few more steps looking past her intently with a smile. This would have been a good time for her to pick up some snow and call the bluff. But she didn’t. Instead looking back at her she ran a little slower. She actually thought he was chasing someone else. And in a moment she wondered both who it was, and if his attention span was that short. She turned to see who it was he was actually chasing, and she got her answer: Noone was in-front of her. He ran by her, and sprint-stoped to start back at her with a pleased grin.

“Don’t hit me with the snow!' she yelled. “Will you buy ‘cuz I’m a girl and cute?”, she said standing on her tiptoes as if that would make her look cuter.

She wondered, and also knew why she was acting this way.

“Nah…Not buying”, he replied.

“But you don’t have to”, she said.

“Well that’s true”, he replied.

“Good then its settled. I’m Holga.”

“Nice to meet you Holga, but it isn’t ‘settled’”, he grinned without restraint.

Holga was looking at his lips, she wanted to burst out and kiss him. But she was too gun shy from almost being rejected in the bluff that had lead to her getting caught.

“Please don’t hit me. I’ll do almost anything you want.” , Holga tried not to sound like she was begging. Forget a poker face, she never played go fish, but her game face for that wasn’t very developed either.

“Hug me!” He said.

Holga thought she was dreaming. “Did you just ask me to hug you?’, she said.

“Yes my mom dared me to hug five people I’m attracted to, and five who are attracted to me.”

“How many girls have you chased down on threat of hug today?”

She wasn’t the first hug. But she was the first one he’d chased down.

“Only you. Your the only one I’ve chased down.”

Holga felt a bit empowered, hugging this boy would have as easily gotten out of the snowball pound-o-rama. Instead she decided to play with him for a bit.

“If your mom wants to hug me, why does she have to get you to do it for her.”, she said while thinking in her own head-“Is that the best I can come up with. He thinks I’m dumb now. Great one Holga, just great.”

The inflection of that thought came across he face for e brief moment, but he didn’t know her well enough to see it pass between smiles, and playful seriousness.

His legs began to shake with fear of rejection. The feeling rose from his thighs. Then it revealed that it had secretly started deep in his stomach inside his internal organs and that he fist felt it in his thighs simple because in his mind the nerves were more the conscious kind, or closer to the surface since the center of his legs are made of bone and not organs.

The fear took over his chest and arms, and almost left a speechless lump in his throat. His face took on a blank look. He almost ran away.

But he fought the fear and instead started to lob the snowball at her. Not out of aggression, but rather in an attempt to hold himself in the moment and do something to shake the feeling of fear.

“Don’t hit me with it!”, she yelled as she ran up inside the length of his swing and hugged him. “I’m already cold”.

And for the first time, a very warm feeling came over both of them. He felt her warm arms around him. She felt his waste tucked against hers.

There ears warmed and tingled at the touch of the other’s ear. They snuggled ears naturally. She curled her hair and head under a side of his chin, and placed her lips against the nap of his neck, unpuckered, closed and natural.

He felt her lips rest against him. They are the softest pedals he’d ever felt. The cushiest pillows. Her shoulders pushed against him just under his so that her arms reached under his and around his back. And she decided to extend her reach and hug him fuller. Her knees first knocked, then rested slightly inside his. She made his fear melt away and be forgotten.

They should have kissed. But neither of them wanted to separate enough to then reconnect with what could have been their lips first touch with each other, or ever.

Illian’s mother saw on his face that Holga was the one she was looking for. "The first love. The way it should be', she thought. "A girl falls in love impressionable, with a boy who is impressionable. They have no history, or baggage. If they come together before the world cuts in, and are encouraged to trust and rely on each other. Than they will have a rich relationship with each other. That is if the first love is encouraged, not discouraged."

She looked up the directory, and gave his sister’s old friend a call.

After a wrong number, and a referral to an older directory that had more accurate nick-names, pseudonyms, out right numbers, cerebral junctions, and decodable street addresses she accurately proved to, who she is: Which is part of the custom in this era of temporal enslavitude. Even in a press for normalcy, part of that press is the necessity for personal safety.

Holga’s Mother was in another room.

“Hello, who is this?’, The Swahili mixed with an Arabic Key that she spoke had for decades been graphed with a very xenophobic Basque argot that had only opened after a life long marriage between two beloved and now mostly forgotten matriarch and patriarch who grown up together under the shroud of one of the many fall out cities that provided a cover from ethnic cleansing for descendants of clones. That is the grand children of the cloned and beyond that bench mark for the most part.

The Cyribilic in the devices only translated directly to idea. But intent was set to bluff on one of the communication devices. Not at all unlike blocked called ID.

“This is Mrs. Freed’ Mont”, Illian’s mother answered.

She could tell by the pause that on the other end of the ID distorter that is wasn’t Holga’s mother.

Holga hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she was in trouble somehow for her crush on this woman’s son.

Holga knew waiting would make things worse, so she took the transponder to her mother who was sewing in her neo-shaker yellow toned office slash project room.

Holga’s mother had invited Illian Freed’ Mont’s mother over several times in the last few weeks. After weekly community social, once while she was having particular trouble on a concept she couldn’t get the die right on and needed a break.

Mrs. Freed’ Mont stood at the doorway. She held up a camera detector to the eyehole in the doorway. It didn’t sound, so she allowed herself to be seen through it.

Her exyma dried her skin at odd times. This was one of them. She admired the neatly adorned porch complete with swinging love seat. She imagined her son laughing on it with Holga. And she didn’t want to be scratching herself when they came back to the door. So she fought the urge to scratch or lotion. Considering what she was there to talk about she also didn’t feel comfortable lathering her legs when they can back either.
So she settled on the itch. Her tricemnitdone was at home anyway.

The door opened and Holga’s mother stood there in the entrance.

“Hello Erin; come in please.” She said pleasantly enough.

Illian’s mother did a good job of hiding her itch, and her need to medicate or scratch it as she walked through the door with poise.

The door opened and Holga’s mother stood there strong willed, stocky, some would say voluptuous, in the entrance.

“Hello Erin; come in please.” She said pleasantly enough.

Illian’s mother did a good job of hiding her itch, and her need to medicate or scratch it as she walked through the door with poise.

The two women could see in each other’s face, instantly what they were going to talk about. There was no need for privacy. They both smiled and knew they were coming from common ground.

They didn’t want to confuse their own sex life with their husbands’ in the issue they were mutually not needing to talk about. However one of the two women was concealing a rope burn pattern with a wide designed bracelet set on each wrist, that they both noticed: Angain naturally letting the moment move on with silent modesty.

“My son needs a study partner so that he can focus on his studies, rather than the needful distractions that can plague the mind of a boy his age with worries. He is a good natured boy, and I know that with the correct guidance he can help his study partner not feel insecure about herself, and together they can focus on gaining the necessary momentum to pass many educational exams staring with this year and over the next few years.”

As the girls went to tend to the baby in the house, Erin closed the deal:

“Our son has donated to the Community Genetic Diversity Project. We will call and make an appointment with the clinic for them to take in a sample to save for Illian when he is older, and we will schedule something reversible. Because we know when young people study together things can happen.

'We also need to let them develop naturally, incase another arrangement would be better suited than what we’ve envisioned at first.

“Damage control takes on many forms doesn’t it Erin”, Holga’s mother added.

“I prefer to think of as sound stewardship of the reality of adolescence. The farthest away from that I will deviate is to entertain the idea that its sound prevention.

'Besides, how do we know if the natural way is for them to imprint on each other’s emotions when they are young, resilient, free bad cultural choices, both from us and what society thinks should happen.

'It works for the Amish, it can work for us.”

“Holga!, her mother called out lightly to her from across the house. Illian that boy from the community gatherings that you ….”

Holga’s face grew flush with embarrassment and bashfulness as her mother spoke.

Her mother found her demeiner adorable. And Erin found it endearing, and felt that this girl was the right one, and would be a good influence on her son, if just in the shorter long term.

“Holga’s mother was still specking on the border of lecturing,… have been hanging out with. His mother has invited you to come over and be a study partner with her some Illian.”

The largest smile came across Holga’s face. She showed her white teeth as her grin extended.

“I’ll expect that your room will be clean for your guest to visit you here where you can concentrate without too many distractions.

‘I want everything in order, in your room before you can visit at someone else’s”

Holga bolted to go clean her room chanting, “Illian Illian…” Merrily as she skipped off to her conditional chore.

Holga’s mother turned back to Erin and said politely, “And I think we have a winner.

She paused: She couldn’t avoid pondering between thoughts… It will take her about four days to get her room in order. That will give you enough time to get Illian the reversible vasectomy you mentioned.” She made a point to mention it again so that it was clear that it was part of the arrangement.

Holga was in the middle of organizing her collections of bugs, coins, rare rubber stamps with her father’s critical supervision keeping her on task; and organizing each board game icon aback into the correct box, some of which she also refurbish with a product similar to transparent duct tape borrowed from the family medicine cabinet.

Illian walked with his father into the appointment at the sperm bank, to give up one more sample. The sperm bank would hold the material for him in-case his vasectomy failed to be reversible, or if he needed it in the future for some other personal pro-creative reason; with the idea that the children coming from this batch would be his to raise in his meme as well as the meme of whomever he might choose to fertilize them with.

Going to the bank was much different this time than the last. Everyone was a bit excited.
Illian and his father were stopped several miles away from the Sperm Bank.

A lot of people were already agitated that they were impeded from getting about there business as quickly as usual. A visually impaired woman was being scrutinized with a bit more detail. She was having to provide physical proof of her blindness on the spot. And she was being detained while her doctors office sent documentation confirming the permanence of her condition. Due to the pressure she was nervous and having trouble finding the I.D. card imprinted with her D.N.A. sample. And someone commented into the air like, “Can’t she bring someone with her!”-in a way that was more agitated over the entire situation, than with any individual per say.

“Please state your name”, one clearly agitated policewoman said clearly in a demanding tone that rendered the word please out of any polite request. What Illian and his father heard her say was –STATE YOUR NAME NOW!-

Illian’s father responded with his name and tried to continue, “…and this is.”

“I will ask who the boy is myself”, she insisted as if she was either convinced Illians father would not tell the truth; or she was not taking any liberty to give him a chance to not tell the truth.

Illian felt offended and offered up the answer before she had the chance to ask him directly and separately, leaving the first word ready to be repeated resting silent on her tongue unlaunched. “Illian ….”

She shot them each with biomagnetic needles smaller than those used in modern electric acupuncture.

““Ouch””, they both said reactively within the same meme, only differentiated by the vocal tonality of there respective age differences.

She took blood sample from them both, as the needle stuck in the same spot on both of them individually because it was designed to be magnetized to gravitate to a certain area of the epidermal organ so that the needles could be freely propelled from any angle and not maim accidentally or deliberately.

“They are who they say they are.", Another guard replied as if asked without mention.

And they joined others stopped at the road block getting on a bus and headed to the Sperm Bank.

As the bus traversed through that section of the city it was clear to anyone there that the entire neighborhood had been evacuated surrounding the Bank.

(Troops), Men and women who used sonar to “see” by feeling by ear how sound is absorbed or reflected by surfaces, mostly scow-erred listening for sounds and textures, or changes in distance of objects and surfaces.

“Then are listening for a change in the wind, or in the distance and texture of the way sound is absorbed by a texture.”, Illian’s father softly commented. Illian was like, “I know that. What I don’t know is what the threat is.”

‘Apparently something was attacked here in the future to pass, and formal foreknowledge of it has been established. But we are narrowing down the how. Or taking no chances and blocking out other possible hows’.”

“I bet they are searching for an photonic anomaly that is buried under sound cover” , Illian finished what he was likeing his concept to.

“We must have already been cleared from being evolved in any logical sequence of events that will lead to the action”, his father added.

Another passenger, in his middle age, was like, “Or we’re bait, because one of us gets to have our brain dissected before this normalizes itself”, concluding back to his own thoughts after exclaiming his observation into thee conversation for the entire bus to make something of his interjection.

Illian’s father had an epiphany that rolled with the schema the other rider set as a thought in his mind.

He said it like this, “I just realized we are looking a troops. The bus driver is looking at troops. If any of us are ever taken, the anyone traversing the photonic bounds between now and our memory of now. Will stay away from these points. And try to arrive at the points where we are not seeing troops. And I’ll be they have those covered too from other angles.”

Another women looked up to see if she could see birds above looking down, Here reaction to what she saw was like this, “See all that cloud cover, that is bird repellent. You can bet the edge of those clouds have got robots with light sensors and no light sensitive memory banks, transistors parts or surfaces training down guns on the rim of that repellent”.

Then she was like, “do you think ‘they’(meaning the attackers) went after the meeting hall?”

No one thought of the biobank they were headed too.

Everyone on the bus knew they are possible cameras' that propagators of anti -clone genocide could be watching through them now from the future of their own personal time line.

A feeling that had become familiar to everyone one, and unsettling to the older people who had not grown up under the of this oppressive awareness.

No one thought of the bank they were headed too. The roadways were lines with marching troops, and rooftops, windows, and crevices with snipers.

The heads and guns of the troops were all pointing in different directions even though they marched in lines together. Everyone knew they were blind, or temporarily blind in order to train in this infantry. And their vocal cords were impeded from making any sounds at speeds that keyed up with light via duotones.

Among the troops were men and women who carried pesticides, and others carried tranquilizers. They were clicking down toward the ground, into the bark of trees, on walls, and quite a few of them were combing the ground; shrub by shrub- lawn after lawn systematically letting out a compound that would temporarily or often permanently blind and deafen birds, rats, bees and smaller things that can hear or see.

“They are trying not to just kill the environment to save us from temporal terrorism. They could just kill every living thing. Hell that’s what I’d do. Fuck the environment”, a man said sitting behind the man hired to be sure the bus didn’t go off its computer directed course.

That driver was like, “If I’m a vegetarian for moral reasons, and I kill all the leaf eating insects in my garden because I was too self centered, plan for that in the first place; then what’s to point.” Speaking rhetorically he turned away from the clear path, what you’d call a roadway or corridor, to casually exclamated his thought. He really didn’t need to look at the road.

No one cared to drop in on his responding troll that curved nonsequiter in the minds of the riders into vegetarianism even though the point landing and drifted off the mental page just as comments do on the linear vertical electronic page.

“If they are blind or blinded, what are the lenses for?”, a boy asked who was seated midway between Illian’s father and the two divergent troller’s at the front of the bus.

“Yeah..,’, Illian hesitated to take in half a breadth, physically showing his mental wheels turning while he hesitated to finish his thought for a bit of a second. “… they have them around their eyes?, He finished his statement raising his voice at the end conveying that he was really also asking a question.

The driver, (distracted from his polite habit of sneaking in a palatable rant) was like, “They just have the bigger ones wedged into the two eye sockets. They also have them all around the head. Notice how the helmets’ have non-reflective disks.”

A blind passenger couldn’t resist her turn to troll, and took over on the breath between syllables, “No, I really don’t.”

The driver responded in like, with a pinch more dry humor, “would you like to get off the bus here, and go feel it out for yourself.”

The passenger fantasized about telling all these ‘temporarily able’ folk represented to her in the person of the driver- that infact she did want to stop the bus, have it wait while she felt up the soldiers. Since in her perception most people showed outwardly the disability of impatience if they as strangers to her were impeded by it talking a second or so longer for her to be self sufficient.

She’d been some friends’ one of whom tried this manipulation with the friend who was driving. She recalled that she felt the friend who got left on the side of the road was being a pill, and reactionary.

She had places to be, so she let the infraction slide, and instead was like, “There are this microscopic animals that live in dust that is actually the shit of microscopic insects. Their wings –the wings of the animals-I forget if they are insects too, something else or whatever- but the wings trap light: Just like a photograph does of the images around it.” she concluded having let go of her troll, and putting(or keeping) the conversation on topic.

Subconsciously tapping her brailler for almost everyone to see she continued without letting anyone interrupt her at her breath, “I read online that when the wings are growing back out after being lost for what ever reason the first light they are exposed to creates the coloring. And researchers spent years trying to discover the reason for different colors only to discover that it isn’t genetic. Instead its chemical photonic bonding.”

If the bus had wheels it would be bouncing over rocks and holes that filled the wide passage. With a advent of energy efficient hovering cars, the roadways that were not up dated to supply crystal/ quartz conduction had become cracked, over grown, or just foot worn from all sorts of hoofed, toed, footed, and writhing beast or mechanics: Like paths, corridos, trials, and city roads were before the wheel drive engine.

The bus glided to a stop, and settled in disturbing dust by landing that its arrival had not yet disheveled. The weight of the bus still pushed air causing a dry dusty splash like displacement of loose dirt.

“Alright everyone headed into the sperm bank hold out an arm. You will be cognitive inside but for security reasons you can remember any details. We all know too well that some sound equals light, and light equals time.”

When the blind woman took one hand off her brailler, and the mark of a genetically defective slave was slightly exposed everyone else complied as well.

“I’m used to needles in this arm” she said, with sincerity.

She couldn’t see the exposed mark, until she heard several people wince at the thought it invoked even while partially covered by her sleeve.

She heard them exhale seemingly all at once yet one by one, changing heart rates, and generally comply with earnest. She was an example of why such tight aparently random security was necessary. The alternative was death and/or slavery.

The women were there to help the genetic diversity project by carrying children for a few months until they could be safely nurtured to term artificially-donate eggs – or create a genetically diverse person to raise themselves or with a partnering parent.

The needles came out of their arms having administered solvents to reverse the effects of the anesthetics.

The bus was already rising to glide away.

Illian’s father awoke holding a receipt for the services performed with instructions.

Illian also was holding a letter. That explained that he should not masturbate for at least three days while the micro surgery healed. It also said that they had the name of the surgeon on file, and that his procedure was unique in its ability to be reversible since the procedure is dependant heavily on the surgeons hand dexterity, using another surgeon would have less of a chance of success.

Link to the receptionist: Link to section 23 continued:

[Section 23.~ has 29 more outline bullet points that need to be added. Please continue reading. The story will loop back]