Transformations - Travelers Ch. 04

Wind whistled through the canyon of containers.

"A reckoning?"

"A war between Whore Caste and Religious Caste, Bishop. The last war."

"You're speaking blasphemy and treason, Wanker. What would Maria Marapova say?"

Willy smiled. "Who do you think sent me, priest?"

Moloch pointed at him. "Pai..."

He almost got the word out before Willy snapped his fingers.

The wind whistled and something creaked high above.

Moloch looked up.

The container fell from a hundred feet in the air and slammed down on Moloch and his SUV with a deafening crash.

Then everything was silent.

Willy stared at the container.

A small pool of red was seeping from the left side of the container near where Moloch had stood.

Willy reached behind him and pulled the RF blocker out of his back pocket. He turned it off, restoring comms.

Then he pulled his small two-way radio out of his front pocket. "Come on down, Berniece."

He heard his words echoed from somewhere in front of him.

"Berniece?"

The homunculus peered over the top edge of the container and smiled down at him. "Right here, Willy."

"You rode it down?! Why did you do that? I told you to just push the red button in the crane cab."

"Red. Red, yes. I forgot. Couldn't remember color. So, I just broke it loose and held on. Lots of fun, Willy," she smiled and somersaulted off the top of the container.

She skipped over to Willy and hugged him.

"You're not hurt?" Willy asked.

"No! But I lost tooth - see?" She smiled wide showing that one of her veneers was gone exposing one of her jagged fangs. "It was fun. I bounced, Willy."

"You bit the chain?" Willy laughed. "Don't do that again. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Go home now, Willy?"

"Yes."

Berniece looked behind her at the growing pool of blood coming from the container. "Eww, nasty. Bad men, right, Willy?"

"Yes."

"What if the next ones are bad too?"

"Then we'll keep dropping things on their heads until they either stop hurting our people or the Church runs out of bad people."

They walked hand in hand back to the Chevy.

***

Sister

Sister stood in the canyon of shipping containers and stared as Church Agents tried to hook the container to chains from the huge crane high above.

Like all other female religious caste, she wore black and white rubber robes but, while all other Religious Caste women wore the coif, her head was uncovered. Her chestnut brown hair cascaded down past her shoulders.

One of the agents on the roof of the container examined the chains. He turned to her.

"The chains have been... gnawed, your Excellency."

She stared at him through her dark glasses. "Gnawed? You can't be serious..."

He held up a small, white object. "A tooth, Excellency. A veneer of some sort - it must have broken off when the assassin bit through the chains."

Mother Superior Hecate walked up beside her. "So, definitely an assassination, then?"

"Was there any doubt?" Sister asked without looking at her.

A white SUV pulled up behind them.

A crowd of Church Agents carrying automatic weapons immediately surrounded it - security was taking no chances with Sister's life.

Sister sighed.

Mistress Maria Anastasia Marapova di Morpheus slid gracefully out of the back seat of the SUV, her high split white latex dress showing her long legs all the way to her waist.

"The Queen Bitch cometh," Hecate hissed.

"Careful, general, she might hear you," Sister warned.

"You summoned me?" Maria Marapova said as she walked to where they stood. "What are we looking at?"

"As if you didn't know," Hecate said.

"Commerce and shipping containers are outside my expertise," Maria said.

The Church Agents on the top of the container managed to attach the chains from the crane. "Take it up," one of them called.

The container rose slowly as a winch ground high above.

Hecate turned her head in revulsion as the crushed SUV and Bishop Moloch's remains were revealed.

"My, my," Maria said. "From those raimants, it appears you're... short... one Bishop, Sister."

"Flippant. I would have been disappointed with any other reaction from you, Mistress Maria," Sister said.

Hecate stared at Maria. "Aren't you even slightly revolted by this sight?"

Maria cocked her head sideways. "I once dropped a grand piano on a Luftwaffe general's head - it had much the same effect, though I personally consider this overkill. As for gore? Well, I was at Stalingrad... very little unsettles me."

Sister stared at the crushed remains. "Are you responsible for this, Mistress Marapova?"

"Me?! Sister! I was in New York plotting the subjugation of the human race. It took me all night to fly down here." She looked around. "Perhaps putting the parking lot for the Slave Market in the middle of a busy wharf was a bad idea?"

Sister shook her head slowly. "It was deliberate. Do you have any idea who might be responsible?"

Maria shrugged. "The Church has no shortage of enemies. I would place my money on one of the intelligence agencies: CIA, NRO, the Chinese, British Intelligence..."

Hecate cocked an eyebrow. "Whoever it was bit through the chains holding the container."

"Bit? Hmm... must have been a very dedicated assassin."

Sister turned toward her slowly. "Let's say, hypothetically, that the person responsible for this blasphemy is a member of Whore Caste..."

"Sister, I'm shocked you would even think one of my people could..."

"Hypothetically, Maria. Why would they kill Moloch?"

"Hypothetically? Well, I've heard rumors the bishop and his entourage liked to torture Whore Caste sometimes - those not under the protection of a Whoremaster or White Witch. Those awaiting being claimed in the market. Defenseless innocents, most of whom are incapable of fighting back. Cattle prods have been employed... or so I've heard." Maria stated directly into Sister's dark lenses. "That tends to make Whoremasters and White Witches angry. It tends to infuriate me as well."

Hecate smirked. "Then you admit..."

"I admit nothing," Maria said. "We're speaking in hypotheticals, remember?"

"Enough! How could we... hypothetically... stop the violence?" Sister asked.

"Stop torturing my people. Treat them with respect. Allow my Whoremasters and White Witches access to them in the holding area so their fears can be lessened."

"Agreed," Sister said, and she turned away.

"Oh, and humans taken at the cathedral should be sedated so they are not terrified before their transformation in the basement," Maria said.

Sister held up her hand. "Don't push your luck, Mistress Marapova."

Maria smiled. "Of course, Sister."

"There will be no more torture in the market. You have my word. Now call off your dogs, Maria," Sister said.

"If I had dogs, Sister, you could, hypothetically, consider them leashed."

Sister waved her hand. "Pleasant journey back to New York, Mistress Marapova."

"Excellency," Maria said. Then she looked down at Hecate and smiled. "General."

Hecate nodded and watched Maria walk back to her SUV.

"The balls on that woman," Hecate hissed as Maria was driven away. "She's the only person I know who can call me 'general' and make it sound like 'asshole'."

Sister gritted her teeth. "Three things, Hecate. Follow these to the letter."

"Yes, Excellency?"

"One. Tell your Bishops and Mothers Superior to satiate their lust for sadism in private. Under no circumstances are they to mistreat any member of Whore Caste. Understood?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Two. Maria has a spy network operating here in the Republic. Identify them. Find them... but do nothing. I want their names, but I do not want them tipped off."

"Excellency, why? Why not eliminate this pestilence now?"

"We need Whore Caste, Hecate. Maria Marapova is Whore Caste. These degenerates worship her like a goddess."

Hecate shook her head. "We do not need them, Sister. They are a liability. There are other means of subduing humanity..."

Sister held up her hand. "No. This is the plan. This is Morpheus's way as he has charted for us now for more than half a century. No, Hecate. Unless your priests and nuns want to start wearing latex lingerie and sucking dick? We need Whore Caste. Find her spies, Hecate. Keep tabs on them. Nothing more."

"As you wish, Excellency."

"And finally, three. I want you to put that West Point educated brain of yours to work. I need a detailed plan."

"A plan?"

Sister nodded. "I want detailed plans in place to neutralize each and every Whoremaster and White Witch under Maria Marapova's command... including the Queen Bitch herself."

Hecate paled.

Sister glanced at her and laughed. "Don't worry, general. I'll let you keep your pet White Witch Cathy. So long as you keep her leashed and declawed." She turned back to the remains of Bishop Moloch. "But I want the rest of them dealt with."

***

Monica

Two Years Later

Alexandria, Virginia

Thursday was her day at the club. A day for eating salad and drinking fancy cocktails in a garden setting.

However, the best part of Thursday was the small wooded area five miles north of the club. There was a mostly unnoticed dirt road that led from the highway into a copse of trees.

Paul would chauffeur her to this secluded spot before, and, often times, after the club.

And, for a little while at least, she could be twenty-something Monica Chamberlain again and not thirty-something Monica Craig, wife of Senator William Craig, the front runner for President of the United States in the next election.

Monica sat on the edge of the limousine's hood, her thighs spread as Paul moved between them.

Her sex drive was insanely strong, and she cherished every moment she could be with Paul.

She kissed his neck passionately as he thrust into her again and again. "Harder," she whispered.

His muscular body tensed as he pushed deeper.

She smiled.

In two years, William Craig had hardly touched her, though he believed he had many times - thanks to Bunny and Jasmine, his handlers.

They had convinced the senator he had taken Monica many times in every imaginable position.

In reality, he had barely ever given her a peck on the cheek.

The only man who had touched her in two years was Paul.

She smiled as she felt Paul's thrusts grow erratic. "Yes," she whispered.

Paul cried out and went rigid in her arms, his cock pumping inside her.

She laughed and kissed him gently over and over.

***

"With one year to go before the election, Senator William Craig has come out of nowhere to be the Republican candidate of choice," the radio host said. "And polls are showing strong support from Democrats as well, especially with women..."

"Turn that shit off, please?" Monica moaned from the backseat.

Paul turned down the radio. "You hear that? Sounds like you'll be in the White House soon."

"I can't believe that moron is actually going to get elected," Monica said as she looked out the window at the passing Virginia countryside.

"The Church loves placing morons in high places. Think we'll get to do it in the Lincoln Bedroom?" Paul asked with a smile.

"Absolutely. And right in the Oval Office, just like Bill and Monica... hey! I'll be the second Monica giving a blow job in the Oval Office!"

"Wear a blue dress," Paul said and laughed.

"Promise to get jizz on it?"

"I swear."

"Ooo, who was that girl President Gore got caught with a few years later? Wasn't she a Monica as well?" She asked.

"Melissa, not Monica. And she ended up pregnant."

"Oh, that's right." She leaned forward in her seat. "Which reminds me: William's Press Secretary is pregnant... you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Paul was quiet.

"You're incorrigible," Monica laughed.

"Not my fault she showed up at the house fertile. My cock has a mind of its own."

"Lucky I'm not the jealous type anymore," Monica said.

This new normal was taking some getting used to.

***

"The usual, Mrs. Craig?" The waitress in the club restaurant asked.

Monica made a show of examining the menu, though she always ordered the same chef salad and a vodka tonic. "Let's be crazy today. Instead of ranch dressing, make it thousand island."

"Will anyone be joining you today, Ma'am?" The waitress asked.

"Not today."

She handed the waitress her menu.

"Very good, Ma'am," the waitress said as she walked away.

Two women sat at a table across from her. Both were exceptionally tall and blonde though one had hair as white as snow and the other had long hair the color of honey.

The woman with honey-colored hair pushed her plastic framed glasses higher up on her cute upturned nose. "Can I order something off the dessert cart?"

The white haired woman smiled slightly. "As if I could stop you."

The honey blonde smiled wide and waved to the waitress. "I would like to order something off the dessert cart, please?"

"What would you like, Ma'am?" The waitress asked as she wheeled the silver cart to the table.

The honey blonde looked at the cart with almost maniacal glee. "What are the pink thingies?"

"It's a strawberry sponge soaked in rum and iced with a strawberry buttercream," the waitress said.

Honey blonde clapped her hands excitedly. "Yes! Two please!"

"I don't want one, dear," the woman with white hair said.

"They're both for me. Did you want something?" The honey blonde answered.

The white haired woman laughed softly.

"Oh! And can I have a triple shot of espresso?" Honey blonde asked.

"Only if you want me to kill you later," the white haired woman grumbled.

Honey blonde frowned. "Maria, you said I could have anything I wanted."

"Yes, Brittney, within reason. You know how you get when you have that much caffeine." She looked at the waitress. "She can have a double shot of espresso."

"Yay!" Brittney said and repeated her little clap.

"Now sit here quietly, please?" Maria said as she stood up.

Monica did a double-take. The woman was easily seven feet tall and as muscular as a prima ballerina. Her dress was short and white and barely contained her curves.

She walked toward Monica's table. "Mrs. Craig, may I join you?"

Brittney looked at Monica and smiled.

Maria wore a white latex choker with an inverted pentagram medallion attached.

White Witch, Monica thought.

Maria sat down and held out her hand. "My name is Mistress Maria Anastasia Marapova di Morpheus."

"Monica..."

"Chamberlain. Yes, I know."

The woman's hand was warm, which shocked Monica, who expected it to be as cold as the ice it appeared to be carved from.

"Mistress Marapova, may I ask why you are here?"

"I thought it time we met formally. I am very proud of you, Monica. A lesser woman might have cracked under the pressure we've subjected you to. You were the correct choice."

Monica laughed. "I wish I shared your enthusiasm. I feel like you people tossed me in the deep end of the pool..."

"And you swam. Diana thought you would."

"So, after two years you finally grace me with your presence? Two years of not knowing if I was doing what was expected of me?"

"Mistress Jasmine would have corrected you had you required it. You haven't," Maria said. "How is your son?"

"Growing. Happy. It would be nice if he knew who his real father was."

Maria nodded. "Someday he will. The campaign is going well?"

"Absolutely. My psychopathic husband is well on his way to the Oval Office."

Maria smiled. "You're upset with us."

"I'm betraying my country by helping you place that piece of shit in the Presidency. You're goddamned right I'm angry."

"I don't blame you. Does it help to know you're saving the world?"

"Not much." She leaned forward. "Do you understand how terrible William Craig is? Damian from the Omen had more redeeming qualities."

"Precisely why he was picked."

"Yeah? Well, I sure hope you people can control him the way you think you can."

"We've kept him off you for two years, haven't we?"

"Keeping him off me isn't the same as keeping his finger off the nuclear button."

"Same concept. Jasmine is quite adept at controlling him." Maria leaned back and smiled at her. "You hate him?"

"Yes."

"Want to kill him?"

Monica felt her skin go cold. "I... No. I'm not..."

"A killer? No, you aren't. Tell me, what do you know about the coup we carried out in Cuba?"

"You... killed all the politicians."

Maria smiled and nodded. "La Noche de las Brujas - the night of the witches. The night when the wives, girlfriends - any woman close enough - stabbed the male rulers of Cuba to death. They say Castro cried like a baby when a nineteen year old prostitute butchered him alive. I hate Communists... oh, I loathe Fascists as well. I've spent over a hundred years eliminating them both."

"Seems like the Church would count as Fascists," Monica said.

Maria gave her a predatory smile and lowered her gaze. "Point well taken. Back to my story: how do you think that simultaneous eruption of psychotic anger occurred on the night of the witches?"

Monica stared at her.

Maria picked up Monica's table knife and spun it in her fingers. Then she handed it to Monica handle first. "We put the knives in their hands and programmed them to kill."

Monica looked at the knife in her hand. "Jesus."

"Pretty sure he had little to do with it. I on the other hand?"

"Are you telling me you're going to do it again?"

"I'm telling you that's the plan."

"You're going to program me to kill William?" Monica asked.

"Again, that's the plan. If not you then Jasmine will do it - she's a white witch and won't require any 'programming'. Bunny can't, of course, Street Whores cannot kill."

Monica continued to stare at the gleaming silver table knife.

Maria reached over and plucked the knife from her hand. "However, plans can change." She placed the knife by Monica's plate.

"You're changing the plan?" Monica asked.

The waitress came to the table and set the salad in front of Monica.

"Oh, I'm afraid you'll need more food than that," Maria said. "Two ribeyes, rare. How are the Haricots Ver?"

"Excellent, Ma'am," the waitress said.

"I'll have what she's drinking," Maria said. "Only leave out the tonic."

"Vodka straight?"

"Yes," Maria said. "Better yet? Bring the bottle. We have much to discuss." She smiled at Monica. "Battle plans always go smoother with vodka... I suppose it's a Russian thing."

***

Nasty Nancy di Wanker

"Perhaps the best way to remain inconspicuous is to be overly conspicuous," Colin had said.

Thus, Nasty Nancy di Wanker had been born.

It was Loretta's idea to create a style for Nancy based on old film stars and, with Honey's help, they had guided Nancy in modifying her electronic makeup to give her a visage based on Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, Hedy Lamarr, and Lauren Bacall.

Nancy could modulate her hairstyle, color, and makeup between the four of them through force of will, transitioning from blonde to redhead on a whim.

When they were done, Willy said they had created a new Specialty Whore: Bombshell.

The subterfuge worked.

When Nancy ventured away from the beach house the first time, one of SlutzNet's cameras picked her up on the MagLev train. The AI didn't recognize her but through cross-reference found she had been transformed in the US and her name was Nasty Nancy di Wanker.

He made a note in one of his myriad databases, filed away her picture, and added her to the growing list of Whore Caste in his spreadsheet.

There was no correlation made between Nasty Nancy di Wanker and the still missing Nancy Davis of Chicago, Illinois.