A preliminary to an action, event, condition, or work of broader scope and higher importance . . . an independent piece of moderate length, sometimes used as an introduction to a fugue...
SETTING: The finest restaurant in Colorado Springs, Saturday evening, 26 August 2051. JACQUE LEFAVRE has invited CAROL WACHAL to dinner. Candlelight, heavy velvet, music by a neoElizabethan octet. The waiter has taken the dishes away; JACQUE orders from the wine steward a bottle of Château d’Yquem 2039.
CAROL
Teasing:
Am I really worth that much?
JACQUE
A little defensive:
It’s an occasion.
CAROL
Won’t be much of an occasion if we drink too much. Alcohol is a depressant.
JACQUE
Good wine never hurt that. . . facility.
CAROL
Are you always so formal?
JACQUE
Me? I’m not so-
CAROL
Yes you are. You’ve been treating me like a cousin you haven’t seen in a long time. Not like-
JACQUE
Well, hell. Maybe I’m a little nervous. It’s not your usual first date.
CAROL
That’s true. Loosen up, though. It’s not as if we’ll be on a stage in front of-
JACQUE
Yeah.
I’m glad you stepped in when old Chandler wanted us to-
CAROL
Shrugs.
There are limits.
JACQUE
I suspect you weren’t quite as outraged as you acted, though.
CAROL
Don’t pry, now. You’ll have your chance later.
JACQUE
Laughs.
I suppose. Here comes our man.
The wine steward serves the bottle with appropriate ceremony. They toast and drink.
CAROL Good. Are you used to this kind of living?
JACQUE
Was once. Not since I was a boy.
CAROL
Your parents were rich?
JACQUE
Fairly well off. Dad was a senior physicist at Institut Fermi in New York.
CAROL
He’s dead now.
JACQUE
Hesitates.
In a manner of speaking. Let’s talk about something else.
CAROL
Sure, I’m sorry.
JACQUE
It’s funny.
CAROL Hmm?
JACQUE
Well . . . that we should have gone through so much together-discover a new world together- and be such strangers.
CAROL
Together separately. I can’t get used to seeing you as a solid human, inside a body. You’re supposed to be just a voice in my ear.
JACQUE
I don’t have any trouble getting used to your body.
CAROL
You’re so gallant.
JACQUE dips a forefinger in the wine and skims along the top of the glass. It’s fine crystal and makes a pure singing note, which unfortunately doesn’t go well with the octet. A man at the next table gives JACQUE a sharp look, and he stops.
CAROL
You don’t care for the music?
JACQUE
Music! It’s just a gimmick to sell lutes and flutes.
CAROL
It’s pretty...
JACQUE
Next year it’ll be electric guitars.
CAROL
Could be.
JACQUE
If it were real Elizabethan music, madrigals and such, that would be all right-austere, controlled; but this modem-
CAROL
Calm down, Jacque. It’s nothing to get all worked up over.
JACQUES finishes his wine and pours another glass. CAROL declines.
CAROL
What time is it?
JACQUE
Five after nine...
CAROL
If we left now, we could walk to the chamber.
JACQUE
That’s...
Regards his drink.
probably a good idea.
Signals waiter.
It’s a nice night.
JACQUE settles the check and they leave, CAROL’S hand lightly on his arm.
A polyphonic composition based upon one, two, or more themes, which are enunciated by several voices or parts in turn, subjected to a contrapuntal treatment, and gradually built up into a complex form having somewhat distinct divisions or stages of development and a marked climax at the end.
The Groombridge bridge was housed in a room-sized hyperbaric chamber adjacent to the ready room. It was overbuilt for the purpose, the air pressure on Groom-bridge being nine-tenths of an atmosphere, but as Jacque pointed out, it had one real advantage for their particular experiment: no windows.
They were a little early, and were sharing a cup of coffee when Van der Walls and his group came out.
“Any results, Dr. Van?” Carol asked.
“Difficult to say.” He shook his head. “Most of the animals were lethargic.” He opened the cage he was carrying and took out a small collie, still trailing wires from its head and chest. It was limp as a rag; didn’t want to stand. Van der Walls stroked it gently and talked to it.
“They couldn’t wear masks, of course. Carbon dioxide got to most of them. We’ll know more after we look at the biometrics results. There, boy.” The dog was standing sleepily.
His two assistants brought out the rest of the cages. “That’s it, Van,” one of them said. Van der Walls tucked the dog under his arm and with a straight face wished them good luck.
Jacque and Carol put new plastic inserts in two of the breathers and slipped on the masks. They didn’t strap the tanks on their backs, but carried them through the airlock into the chamber.
The drop in pressure made their ears pop.
“Not exactly the honeymoon suite,” Jacque said. Bright white enamel walls and black tile floor, an aquarium full of muddy water on a table in the middle. A folding cot borrowed from the infirmary. Video cameras.
“Omnia vincit Amor,” Carol said.
“We’ll see.” They led each other to the cot. In passing, Jacque threw his jacket over one of the cameras.
“They said the cameras wouldn’t be on,” Carol said. Jacque was taking his shirt off, a tricky business, since it was a turtleneck. He had to worry it over the mask, then thread it down over the airhose and tank. “That’s what they said.” He threw the shirt over the other camera.
Carol’s semiformal jumpsuit presented no problem. She ran her finger down the seam and shrugged it off, folded it neatly and set it on the table by the aquarium. She smiled at him, groped through the murky water and fished out the bridge. It was wet, but not slimy.
“This should be fun.” She sat down next to him on the cot. He stroked her gently, made no move to touch the bridge.
She stretched out on the cot, put her head in his lap, lifted her mask enough to kiss him, then lick.
He ruffled her short hair. “You don’t waste time.”
“I don’t feel like wasting time.” She urged him down. While they were shifting, making room on the narrow cot, they touched the bridge:
JACQUE CAROL
Disconcertingly “But quick so
accurate closeup quick. . . “Blurred
of his face, then picture of various
genitals super- parts of her body,
imposed “So shifting “Skin
nervous he is, hot.”
so solid.”
“I’m not nervous,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Of course not.” She ran a finger down his chest.
“Hair’s growing back.”
“Have to-hey!”
“Sorry, ticklish?”
“Only the navel, never could . . . that’s better.”
“I should hope.” She put his hand on her breast and touched the bridge again.
JACQUE CAROL
Her eyes closed Her face the sudden
he sees dark red curve of her hip “So
feels fingers hot, soft, so like...
bump over hard so like. . . not to
nipple pleasure think, not to think. . .”
two places His hand moving over
“Think something her breast A BEACH IN
sexy”. . . NOT BRIGHT SUN A SLENDER
THINK See her GIRL “Not to think
mind see his Maria not to think...”
hand “What not
think?”
“Don’t censor yourself,” she said softly. “She looks like me? In your mind she does.”
“Did.” He traced a line with his finger, down her ribs, waist, hard bump of her hipbone.
JACQUE CAROL
Warm wake of Sliding down hot
pleasure follows damp skin “See her
his finger belly jump” and
jumps in nervous over sand papery
reflex “O hurry O stubble down along-
hurry” over the side it stop then part
little tendon lips from bottom so
corner and down- hot so wet slide up
“There O now and find it MARIA
hurry” lips part- RUNNING UP FROM
ing wet sound THE WATER SHE SITS
breath holding ON MY BLANKET DRY-
“There O no too ING HAIR LEGS APART
hard O-here PINK MYSTERY IN
BAD BOY here!” BLONDE HALO “No
bad boy” slippery
here “Too hard?
I...”
“Here.” She let go of the bridge for a second to position his hand.
JACQUE CAROL
“Still now” she “So ready!”
thrusts against “Don’t press
him twice breath- she knows still now.”
ing once deep “I ...”
anus tightening
“O.. Oh” away “How can...”
and back again
slow featherlight “?”
circling touch “Jesus!”
“. . .”
hot pulses two
“. . .”
three diminishing
“. . . Oh.”
radiate tingling
“. . . Oh, Jacque.”
“Oh, Jacque.” She rubbed her forehead against his chest, wiping off sweat. He let go of the bridge to hold her tightly.
He swallowed twice. “You don’t need much warming up, do you?”
She giggled into his chest. “It’s been over a week. Can’t touch yourself in a suit.”
“You had all day,” he said.
“Saved it.” She resumed rubbing him. “Is this all right?”
“Fine.” He glided the edge of his hand down her backbone, skin slick and cooling. “That was something.” His fingers rested lightly at the top of the crevice between her buttocks, his thumb making little circles in a lumbar dimple. “It’s different than with men.”
“Better?”
“Different.”
She stopped panting. “It wouldn’t be so fast. . . but the bridge! It’s like. . . it’s like. . . being both people. Not quite that, something like that. Exciting.”
It wasn’t like that for Jacque. “Good, good.” For Jacque, it was like being watched.
“We don’t have to hold on to the bridge with our hands,” she said. “How about this?” She rolled over so her back was toward Jacque. “Take me longer this way.” She reached over her shoulder and slipped the bridge between her back and Jacque’s chest.
JACQUE CAROL
“If I try think soft nest “God!
about something crawly bug trapped
else” feel of him spider get it
wilting on her away!”
“CRAWLY TRAPPED
SPIDER”
He almost pushed her off the cot, squirming away from contact with the bridge. “I’m sorry, it. . . let’s just hold on to it with our hands. Then we can drop it if-“
“You felt trapped.”
“It was trapped.”
She reached back to hold him. “Jacque, you aren’t afraid of me, are you? Afraid to let me inside-“
“No. No, I like it.” Not a complete lie. “Just let’s keep the bridge . . . at arm’s length. I don’t like it touching me. I don’t like it so close.”
“All right.” She set the creature by her abdomen. “Can you reach it here?”
“Yeah.” They touched the bridge and with her free hand she guided him into her.
JACQUE CAROL
“There” pushing Quick shiver good
back him warm going in then slight
against her “Tell resistance overcome
now Maria” buttocks surprising
NO CAN’T staying cold “No I can’t”
then slow then staying then drawing
fast, holding back slowly and
tense quick thrust holding
tense “All right”
“All right.” Both of them eyes closed, faces flushed. Carol stroking him gently, “I trust you,” he said:
JACQUE CAROL
Hot wet Trust “Trust you” SITTING
“She is like me ON MY BLANKET DRY-
with hair-“ ING HAIR LEGS APART
slick cold outside SHE LOOKING AWAY
going in slow hard THEN LOOK DOWN
HARD out quick AND SEE ME HARD
in slow THEN WHAT REALLY
out HAPPEN SHE LAUGH
in AND SAY YOU GROW-
“But Jacque ING UP JACQUES AND
you not here” PAT MY KNEE AND
in, out in, “Feel RUN AWAY DOWN THE
ME Jacque,” out in SAND LAUGHING BUT
SHE ON TOP I ALWAYS
I LOVED SHE REMEMBER THERE’S
DIED NOBODY ELSE THERE
“JACQUE” AND WE PLAY TO-
GETHER AND SHE ON
TOP OF ME ON THE
BLANKET SHE SHOWS
ME HOW
“I loved her she was
my sister she died”
“She died when. . . I was twelve when she died.”
“Jacque.” She reached blindly back and touched his cheek, eyes. “My poor Jacque.”
They tried five different sexual geometries in the next hour, Carol becoming fairly exhausted after nine or ten orgasms. Jacque was even more exhausted by the strain of none.
He could start but he couldn’t finish. Not with another person’s thoughts, however attractive, intruding on his privacy; not with his own fantasies being reflected back to him distorted by Carol’s sympathies- and by her revulsion sometimes, though she tried to mask it.
Carol had no such problems: she was not a very private person to begin with, and she was less sensitive to the bridge. Being tuned in to Jacque was a delicious spice to her, like making love surrounded by mirrors, with an illustrated pornographic story unreeling in her mind.
Carol lay panting on the cot. Jacque picked up the bridge, walked stiffly over to the aquarium, and dropped the creature into its water. He retrieved his jacket from the camera and sat down next to Carol.
“We forgot towels,” he said, and began patting her dry.
She made a purring sound and stretched. “You don’t want to-“
“No. I’ve had it.”
“There’s plenty of time.” The clock said 23:14. “If we did it without the bridge you-“
“Please.”
“I was just-“
“Carol, some other time I’d love to but some other time!”
She flinched. “Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Don’t be mad at yourself either. You couldn’t help-“
“Let’s not talk. Let’s just not talk.”
“All right.” She tried to dry him but he twisted away and went to get dressed. She turned her back to him and rummaged through her purse for a tissue.
A more or less independent passage, at the end of a composition, introduced to bring it to a satisfactory close.
They had eight hours before they were due back at the chamber for Rhine testing. Jacque walked with Carol back to her cottage. It was a misty summer’s-end night, clouds rolling in heavy with rain, heat lightning on the horizon. They walked apart and didn’t say much.
She took his hand and held on while she thumbed the door open. “I don’t have anything to drink in the-“
“Carol, uh, look. I’m sorry. It wasn’t you. It was that damned-“
“Shush.” She slipped her arms around him and leaned her head on his chest. After a moment: “I owe you a meal, Lefavre.”
“Oh, that-“
“Free for breakfast tomorrow?” Tugging him toward the door. “Come on. I have real eggs.”
The Effect of Telepathic
Communion on Coitus
by
Raymond Sweeney, M.D., Ph.D.
HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL
1. It is not meant to be implied that any general conclusions may be drawn from this report, based as it is on one single episode. Certain aspects of it, however, may be of interest to investigators of human sexual function and dysfunction.
2. The subjects involved were Jacque (sic) L. and Carol W., the two veterans of the first Groombridge mission most sensitive to the amplifying effect of the Groombridge bridge. They were scheduled for two hours’ sexual experimentation in conjunction with the bridge, without observation, on the condition that they consent to interviews afterward.
3. The subjects seem sexually compatible, but had no mutual sexual relationship prior to the experiment (in retrospect, this seems unfortunate). Neither has any significant history of dysfunction. Carol’s testimony reveals a relatively high frequency of sexual contacts; Jacque’s, relatively low.
4. The subjects were interviewed separately for two to three hours, two days after the experiment. Carol allowed part of the interview to be conducted under hypnosis; Jacque did not.
5. Carol reported a relatively normal, if unusually intense and accelerated, pattern of sexual response. Jacque suffered acute ejaculatory incompetence.
6. Jacque recalled two previous episodes of ejaculatory incompetence, both with well-defined etiology: unusual fatigue, overindulgence in alcohol, lack of emotional rapport with his partner (a prostitute, when be was sixteen). He claims that none of these factors was present to any significant degree in this case, and attributes the episode entirely to the influence of the bridge.
7. Carol, on the other hand, would like to have a bridge of her own.
8. Directly following the experiment, the couple twice shared mutually enjoyable coitus, which of course reinforces Jacque’s claim.
9. Transcription of the interviews, and medical histories, are here appended.
(From A Critical History of American Popular Music, Volume 6 [2040-2060], by Eliot Green. Copyright © Quadrangle TFX, 2072.)
. . . briefly dominated by a bastard creation baptised the “NeoElizabethan Movement.”
The instruments were Elizabethan-as well as copies could be made with 21St Century craftsmachineship- and the melodies and many of the words were stolen from that period. But the spirit behind it was pure profit, merchants and musicians alike cashing in on the blunted sensibilities of a novelty-hungry public.
A typically bad example is “Sweet Lovers Love the Spring,” popular in the fall of that year:
It was a lov-er and his lass with-> hey
and-a ho and-a hey no-ni-no, that’s with a Broom-
bridge bridge did pass the springtime, the only etc.
Not a complete stanza, but could anyone care. Musically it’s unimaginative-and the words have an immediate emetic effect on any lover of Shakespeare.
Rumor has it that the song was written by a computer in the Public Relations department of the Agency for Extraterrestrial Development.