The Fall of GAIA

Author Notes:

I have read LE stories for a while and have enjoyed many of them immensely. The quality and creativity of the myriad authors is pleasing and a bit intimidating. I am just starting off submitting some of my own efforts. I appreciate the many authors who note in their openings that they prefer to write (and read) an engaging story with some grammatical flaws, rather than write (and read) a grammatically perfect lackluster story. I second the motion. Please be gentle on the typographical errors and judge the following based on its literary merits (content, characters, plot, creativity, etc.). I would much appreciate constructive feedback. Non-constructive and hateful/hurtful comments are discarded. My intent is to entertain, inform and possibly provoke thought/discussion; things that help me get better at doing that are welcome.

Many, many thanks to my friend and inspiration, SaddleTramp1956, for his encouragement and insightful and entertaining stories.

While I have an appreciation for LW BTB stories (extra crispy), I also have a sentimental fondness for RAAC stories. I wanted my first submissions to be some challenging attempts to turn classic BTBs into believable RAACs, like PAPATOAD's THIRTY MILE DRIVE and SARAH'S PROJECT, but he has so far proved elusive, and I am reluctant to submit alternate endings without his permission. If he sees this, may I please take a shot?

A number of years (decades?) ago I was a fan of the British TV show BLAKE'S 7. This was a bit of a 1970s counterpart of the American 1960s STAR TREK, but had a far more focused premise: a small group of misfit, outcast convicts attempting to bring down the evil galactic Federation using a salvaged alien space ship and a hyper-intelligent computer. In one of the episodes they visited a world where there literally was a War Between the Sexes being fought to extinction, and at the end, the character of Avon, the ultimate cynic, and the counterpart to America's Spock, noted bitterly that you can have wars between races, religions, and nations, but in a war between the sexes you eventually run out of people. This story explores that up to a cataclysmic conclusion. Please note that the tongue is FIRMLY in the cheek here, and in many of the scenes outrageous stereotypes abound, but are not meant seriously. There are many snippets from old movies and books strewn throughout.

There is really no real SEX. Sorry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

THE FALL OF GAIA

The activity in the throne room was frenzied. Some leaders insist on quiet efficiency, but the current Imperial Mother felt that everyone should be racing around, interacting loudly and abruptly, to show energy and urgency. So that is how all of the many women in the room carried out their interactions.

The video technicians gestured wildly with their arms while trying to make delicate adjustments on their equipment. The lighting technicians argued loudly and heatedly while making tiny adjustments to intensity and spectrum. Washing out the Imperial Mother on an interplanetary broadcast was nearly begging for various dire and capricious punishments.

Probably the most stressed women were the immediate styling attendants. As the Imperial Mother reclined on the throne of translucent white stone, she was surrounded by a highly select group of technicians. Two women polished the dark green, mid-calf boots on their sovereign's long, athletic, and unblemished legs, for the fourth time. Two other women adjusted the sovereign's forest green syntha-silk robe with precision, tweaking the precise folds with golden tweezers and ensuring that the emerald dust emphasized the Imperial Mothers voluptuous curves. The hem was well above mid-thigh and the opening nearly down to her navel, showcasing her breasts spectacularly. Elegant golden bangles were positioned according to custom, and then adjusted according to fleeting frowns and smiles across the ruler's full ruby red lips. The hairdressers, more artists than technicians, arrayed her majesty's flowing crimson tresses like a cape around her shoulders, which was not easy since the strands reached halfway down her back.

The makeup technician was actually sweating as she applied foundation of crushed pearls and concealer of powdered mother-of-pearl, and quickly and precisely took care of each eyebrow hair and each eyelid lash. Her immediate predecessor was still suffering from her punishment and would for three months more.

The sovereign's verdant green eyes surveyed the action of each attendant, well, imperiously. Xerxes, carried upon the backs of a hundred slaves on his golden throne, could not have been haughtier.

A young waif-like woman had the most delicate task of all - pressing the high-frequency vibrator firmly against her ruler's clit and working it skillfully toward orgasm. Her Imperial Motherhood believed ardently that the fresh glow of a recent orgasm gave her voice a breathless allure, and her skin a glowing vitality that would be the envy of all her subjects.

A women in a jet black halter top with a matching microskirt approached the throne with some trepidation and prostrated herself on the black marble floor which had been polished to mirror smoothness. "Imperial Mother."

"You may speak," the Imperial Mother allowed in an almost bored tone, then jerked and gasped faintly in orgasm.

"Telecast is scheduled to begin in two minutes, Imperial Mother. All secondary and tertiary stations have synchronized with our transmitters. All of your daughters will hear your words."

The Imperial Mother nodded slightly in acknowledgement, not deigning to speak.

The royal video coordinator scrambled up as gracefully as possible and scurried behind the broadcast equipment.

"Enough," the Imperial Mother said, and her attendants practically evaporated. She pushed a concealed button on her throne and a massive mirror rose from the floor and allowed her to inspect every millimeter of her body. She spread the robe just a minute fraction, revealing just a sliver of each areola, one of her signature appearance moves. Apparently satisfied, she lowered the mirror and nodded regally.

A cultured female voice could be heard in the chamber.

"Harken all priestesses, mothers and daughters, to the words of our Imperial Mother, Vicar of the Great Goddess, Benevolent Sovereign of the world of Gaia, the moons Athena and Artemis, and all satellites and ships in space... Clarrisa the 5^th!" Dramatic music rolled and the video smoothly zoomed in to the Imperial Mother, showing her from diamond tiara down to the navel with its emerald stud.

"Priestesses, mothers and daughters. I speak to you this evening from my throne at the highest point in the capital city of Virginia, in my sacred role as the Protector of the flocks of the Great Goddess. You all know how our bitterly oppressed foremothers fled the cruelty and brutality of the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned males and traveled here, to Proxima Centauri and freedom! Our wondrously hospitable world of Gaia received our foremothers into her bosom, and we have prospered here, free from male domination and lusts. We fulfill the Goddess's wishes for all her daughters; the inalienable right to pleasure without pregnancy. That was eleven score and three years ago. Long ago the males they left behind should have died out, but a few years ago our Learned Mothers of Astronomical Knowledge detected radio signals coming from Sol's system indicating that somehow some males still exist. How they have managed to reproduce without us is unknown; they should have died out and cleansed the universe of their existence long ago. This was obviously not the case."

She took a deep breath and put on an expression of deep resolution. "If indeed any males survive, they must be no more than primitive, unthinking brutes. Utterly incapable of creative thought themselves, they enslaved our foremothers to serve them. The probability of them having space travel, let alone star travel is vanishingly small -- but not precisely zero. With the greatest of forethought and the concern that somehow a hyperdrive prototype or plans may have been left behind, it is possible, however unlikely, that the males may pursue us with the goal of venting their unholy lusts upon us, the beautiful and peaceful daughters of the Great Goddess. With great and cautious foresight, I ordered our Mothers of Engineering Wisdom to scavenge the hulks of the starships which brought our foremothers here, and have waited all these years in high parking orbit, to assemble a fleet to impose a final solution on the problem of males." At this point a wickedly evil expression flickered across her gorgeously artificial features.

"By scavenging all equipment still functioning, it has been possible to assemble seventeen operational ships from the ten thousand hulks in orbit. Our foremothers built well! This fleet left Gaia six months ago under great secrecy, and in a few days will re-enter normal space in the Sol system. They will orbit our ancient and defiled birth world of Terra and sow canisters far and wide over its surface. The canisters contain something our Grandmothers and Mothers of Biological Wisdom have developed under the inspiration and guidance of the Great Goddess. A virus has been developed which is one hundred-percent lethal to those lifeforms based upon the hated XY chromosomes. It took extra time to ensure that the end of an infected body was extended and agonizing. Striking a blow for the ancient sorrows of our foremothers, they will suffer beyond description. The virus is extremely contagious, very hardy and perfectly lethal. No longer will males be even the briefest of nightmares -- THEY -- WILL -- BE -- EXTINCT!" she proclaimed.

The applause and cheering audio was brought up to augment the clapping and applauding of the women in the chamber. Briefly the thunderous approval sounded like she was addressing multitudes in Motherhood Square. The noise vanished as she resumed speaking.

"While it takes time for a physical vessel to traverse hyperspace, our Mothers of Physics Wisdom have devised nearly instantaneous hyperwave communications, and I have been in touch with our space warriors on their long journey, supervising every aspect of their labors as a good mother should. The final assault will be broadcast live from the fleet. The final victory will be celebrated as soon as our Amazon space warriors return to our beloved world. There will be ten days of public orgy then proclaimed in celebration of our perfect freedom!"

Once again the throne room resounded with cheers, both biologic and recorded, after all, who didn't like a good orgy?

"And so priestesses, mothers and daughters, I, your humble servant, shall speak to you again soon as our victory unfolds. As you savor your orgasms tonight with your sisters, spare some loving thoughts for our warriors far out among the stars. Good night, daughters everywhere, and may the Great Goddess bless you always."

The light on the video equipment flickered from red to green and the Mother of Video called out, "That's complete. Approval rating is 100%."

Anyone present who valued their pleasure applauded enthusiastically as they rushed about returning all things to their pre-broadcast splendor.

The Imperial Mother stood, took off her official tiara of office and set it upon the throne, secure in the knowledge that both would be cleaned and polished before she had her next need of them.

She caught the eye of the vibrator technician and tickled her chin with her geometrically perfect and vividly red nails. "My quarters. Later." She did not wait for an acknowledgement but swept off to the Maternal Council Chamber.

Courtney, the vibrator technician sighed in resignation. The Imperial Mother was a selfish and vigorous sex partner, tending to leave one sore and unfulfilled. But if she was not well served the punishment could be quite severe. Refusing the advances or proposition of another daughter, or even a mother, was possible if phrased respectfully and regretfully. Refusing the advances or proposition of a priestess was tantamount to begging for nerve-blockers that would prevent orgasms for weeks. Turning down the Imperial Mother was not even to be contemplated. She sighed as she cleaned her golden sex appliances. She had had a date with the new baker apprentice in the palace, the one with the heart-shaped face and even more heart-shaped ass. She was also rumored to have a very talented tongue and to do special and astonishing exercises with it. She would have to cancel the assignation, not wanting to be a thoughtless sex partner. She was sure that the apprentice would have no problem finding another bed for the evening.

The Imperial Mother strode into the Maternal Conference Chamber and heard the privacy door seal behind her and the white noise generator hum into operation. Her closest advisors stood hurriedly and stayed respectfully erect until she was seated at the round table. The round table was meant to signify that all mothers were equal. But in her case the section of table was slightly raised and she sat upon a small, elevated throne rather than a chair. HER message was unmistakable: Some mothers were more equal than others.

To her right was a wizened elderly women with a full head of snow white hair, the Great-Grandmother of History. Around the table were the striking blonde Mother of Sciences, then the equally striking blonde Mother of Infrastructure, the brunette Mother of Space, the blonde Mother of State, and then the Arch Priestess of the Great Goddess with her swirl of caramel-colored hair. There were no red-haired women on the council. There were no red-haired women in the palace. If a red-haired delivery women showed up with a package, someone else delivered it; if a red-haired technician showed up to repair something, they were sent back with a pointed request for another technician. No woman on the palace staff had a larger bust size than the Imperial Mother, and all were at least five centimeters less in height in stockinged feet.

The meeting ran through the ritual greetings and gestures of obeisance, prayers and supplications to the Great Goddess, and then a rousing rendition of 'Great Goddess Save The Imperial Mother.' When this was done, the Imperial Mother turned to the Great-Grandmother of History.

The Great-Grandmother of History was the keeper of the original scrolls, well, notebooks, of the foremothers. After all, there was everyday knowledge and truth, and there was REAL knowledge and truth. The first was easier to live with, and all daughters were trained in, but real truth might occasionally be necessary when dealing with a situation. As one of the Great Goddess's ancient but revered daughters, Ayn Rand, had once said, 'You can ignore reality, but you cannot ignore the consequences of ignoring reality.' And in order for REAL knowledge and truth to be of any use they could not be completely forgotten; someone had to know them, and that someone was the Great-Grandmother of History, also known in hushed tones as 'Keeper of the Great Goddess's Forbidden Knowledge.' She got to drone on at the opening of each council.

"Great Grandmother of History, review for us the ancient knowledge of males and the flight of our foremothers."

"Yes, Most Imperial Mother." She cleared her throat and wheezed into recitation. "Males were created first by the Great Goddess, as any craftswoman always makes an experimental, and ultimately inferior, prototype before creating a mistress-piece. In general, males were slightly larger, heavier and stronger than females. Though they had some tiny measure of cleverness and vestigial cunning, especially in the crafting and use of primitive weapons and tools, they were hopeless intellectual midgets, incapable of higher creative thought or aesthetic appreciation. Unfortunately, due to the male's physical presence and our female non-violent nature, our foremother's foremothers were dominated and oppressed by them, forced to do all manner of work from bearing their children, to making their meals, to crafting their buildings, laboring in their mines, tilling their fields, and developing their ever more sophisticated weapons. Eventually the race reached a point where the males thought only of slaughtering each other to capture their enemy's harems, playing brutal simulations on the computers developed for them by our ancient foremothers, or ravaging our foremothers for their obscene lusts. Our foremothers could take it no longer and sought a means of escape. This brought about the first great schism. One group of foremothers wished to use their cleverness in the biological sciences to develop a virus which would kill all of the males on the planet, everything with an XY chromosome, and leave the world safe and free for females. The other group of foremothers believed the world to be beyond redemption, too polluted by even the memory of the males' depravities to consider staying in, and developed spaceflight and, in great secrecy, the first hyperdrive unit.

There was great strife between the two camps, though the clueless males detected it not. While some mothers labored in secret and remote locations to construct 13,874 spaceships without the knowledge of the males, other mothers labored long and hard under the cover of curing some disease of the males called 'prostate cancer' while under the very noses of the males. Then the unthinkable happened. The virus got loose. But, lo, it did not kill those with XY chromosomes, but those with XX chromosomes! Women began to die in great numbers. On the world left behind the population numbered 8 billion; about four billion brutish and uncomprehending males and four billion sensitive and intelligent females. With the virus rapidly spreading our foremothers boarded their ships and fled. Tragically, the ships could only carry 10,000 women each in cryo-sleep medical comas. Even then not all were full. Some of our foremothers were either so frightened or so subdued that they refused to leave the clutches of their oppressors and grasp for the freedom that was their birthright by the Great Goddess. 111,834,282 left the world in those ships and made for the closest habitable world, Gaia.

Not all of the ships arrived safely. Some disappeared into hyper-spatial rifts, some exploded or failed during the months-long journey, and some had been contaminated by the virus before departure and became ships of the dead. In all 9996 ships came to Gaia and 97,543,211 women set foot upon this most sacred soil. Their names are written on the first roster of the Daughters of Gaia, praised be her name! Praise be her bountiful plains! Praise be her verdant forests! Praise be her teeming oceans! All praise!

All was not well, however, since they had no way to gift the future with daughters. All resources of the new colony were thrust into action and after 22 years they succeeded. Initial experiments with cloning resulted in rapid replicate fading and distorted children. But what did work was to remove two eggs from two women and tease the DNA strands from one of the eggs of each and enwrap it within a protein shell and use it to fertilize the other woman's egg. This was repeated until a viable fertilized egg with no defects was formed, and then, when it had progressed and passed its genetic tests, was finally implanted in its mother's most sacred womb. Praise to Gaia. Only one place on the planet was chosen to be the site of this most holy work of life creation. The most virus and germ-free continent at the extreme southern reaches of the world -- the South Pole Crèche.

Two women who have found each other and been called by the Great Goddess to be exalted to the ranks of mothers make the long and arduous journey to the Crèche together and conceive and bear their children together and then return to their homes, never to see each other again. For thus it must be. No bond may be stronger than that of a woman to the Great Goddess, or that of a mother to her daughter. Being together would bring unnatural temptations of exclusivity; a woman denying herself to the sexual embrace of her sisters. That is an abomination in the eyes of the Great Goddess. Her daughters must always and ever freely give pleasure to each other in celebration of her unending joy and fertility.