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PROLOG

Old John Tremaine sat in his form fitted and form adapting office chair with his feet propped on his massive oak desk. He was clad in the silver tunic and gray pants of the all-powerful Tremaine clan. His crossed feet were enclosed in soft leather black boots with silver piping. Across the expanse of the deep live-carpeted office a beautiful young woman sat in the corner, leaning back in a similar, though smaller chair with her legs crossed. She was scantily but expensively clad in raiment which brightened every part of her exquisitely shaped body except her face. Tremaine stared at her for a moment then looked away. He couldn't stand to see the blankness behind her otherwise strikingly pretty eyes. He knew about the blankness, having seen it all his life in young female bondies and some male bonders as well. The only duty of the young woman in the office was to please him, in whatever way he asked. He wondered what his peers would think if they knew he had never used her for anything other than decoration--and to dissuade suspicions that he might be a closet liberal. It had been many years since he had commanded a woman to do anything having to do with sex and he could look back now and be ashamed of the times he had in his youth.

Thinking back, he remembered that it was that very thing which had started him on the long road leading to the place where he was now, a place which, if his plans succeeded, would remove him and his family form the present political and social structure which ordered Earth's affairs. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the horror most of the executives on earth would feel if they knew of his scheme.

"Sir?" The girl stood up, displaying her magnificent body. His chuckle hadn't been quite as silent as he has thought.

"Nothing. Go back to your room. Do something fun for yourself. The day is almost over."

"Yes, sir. What should I do?"

Tremaine waved a hand in irritation. That was the problem, all right. Bondies and Bonders didn't usually have choices and when they were offered one on rare occasions they didn't know what to do with it. Well, if everything worked out the way he sincerely hoped it would, that sort of thing would no longer be his problem. If his plans worked out. If he lived through them. That was still to be determined.

***

John Tremaine had no way of knowing that several years previously the assembly line on the moon which built the Mass Displacement ships, run by bondees with little incentive to do good work, had overlooked a crucial failure along the line where suppressor circuits for the computers going into the mass displacement ships were assembled. One of the imperfect computers was passed before the line was halted. It was a very small flaw, nothing that would keep the ship that received it from operating efficiently. It wasn't even noticeable, nor would it be for years to come, but when it did become apparent, it would impact the old man's concerns in ways that he couldn't have anticipated.

CHAPTER ONE

Janie cupped her firm young breasts as she watched her reflection in the mirror, just as she did almost every morning. Of course she knew from the extrapolation of her registered genome almost to the millimeter how large they would get, but at fifteen it was hard to wait.

But I'm almost there, she thought.

Janie was almost fully mature. Nearly a year ago she had had her implant, the one that not only rearranged the normal estrogenic hormones in order to prevent conception, but also discontinued her monthly periods for the next five years. For that, she was grateful. With the simplicity of thought that youth is subject to, she wondered why there had to be periods at all. Why couldn't they figure out how to keep women from having them?

Oh, well. It's over with for now. The next time will be when I decide to get pregnant--if I ever do.

"Hey, quit playing with your tits and get dressed! We'll be late for school." Startled, Janie spun around to see her brother Steve's head and shoulders projecting through the image of the bedroom door. His short brown hair was still damp from his shower, but she could see that he was already dressed. Flushing, she stuck out her tongue at him and turned away. Steve could always manage to embarrass her. He was right, though. Her little thumbnail watch told her that she was running late when she squeezed her forefinger against her thumb, and if she didn't hurry, the Miss know-it-all teaching program would be sure to have something to say about it. Quickly, she pulled on briefs, jeans and pullover, shook out her hair, and told the bathroom she was finished. It began cleaning up after her even as the door dissolved away into nothingness. She ran out to face the new day.

Steve waited for his sister impatiently. He was anxious to start the morning's lessons. This was history week, his favorite subject. He wished it came up more often, but at their age, the teaching program didn't allow much variation in the schedule--at least not the one their parents subscribed to. Sometimes he thought they were too strict, but he had to admit that he and Janie were far more advanced than most of their friends. It wouldn't be long before they would be ready for an adult program, where the general would evolve into specifics, preparing them for a profession. Or more likely, he thought, we'll study genetics and business and go to work for Dad and Mom. It was either that or become a corporate executive and he could think of nothing he would rather not do. In a way, he would hate to see the landmark of the adult program arrive. It would almost certainly mean that he and Janie's programs would diverge, separating them for a part of every morning. He was interested in history and computers; she tended more toward biology and graphics.

"I'm here! We can start, now!" Janie burst into their common room and plopped herself down beside her waiting twin brother. She wiggled for a moment while her half of the couch adjusted to her contours then gave him her usual morning peck on the cheek.

"About time," Steve remarked. He reached down, and Janie's hand came entwining into his own, completing their morning ritual. The two youngsters were almost identical twins, sexual differences aside. Both had the same short, curly brown hair, almost the same length, and their features plainly derived from the same genetic inheritance: long lashed brown eyes, high cheekbones, full, sensual lips and even white teeth. Steve was slightly the taller, youthfully lean muscled, but still wanting some height, while his sister's body had already reached nearly her predetermined height, though she still had a bit of filling out to do in the breasts and hips.

The common room held gymnastic and aerobic exercise devices, a standard all purpose exercise mat, several shelves of antique books belonging mostly to Steve, and individual side by side computer alcoves. Their personal body computers were racked in slots by the entranceway, keyed to the main home computer, but in stand-by operating mode, ready to be plucked and hung like a necklace inside their pullovers whenever they left home. They were powered then by body heat. Lately, Steve had begun teasing Janie about how much more power hers received by virtue of residing between her burgeoning breasts. She retaliated by suggesting that he carry his own inside his pants.

One wall of the common room was completely blank, reserved as a background for wide vision holoprojections of games, lessons, news, or entertainment. As they sat together, an image formed there, that of the kindly, gray haired woman used by their teaching program. During sessions, they addressed it as Miss Pringle. The program had determined from their personality and intelligence profiles and socioeconomic status that during the current year of instruction they would benefit from an authority figure, and the program refused to respond to any other form of address. In private, though, they referred to the projection as "Mrs. Grundy", from an obscure reference Steve had dug up from his voluminous reading.

"I see that you're ready," the Miss Pringle projection announced. "Thank you for being on time this morning." The background whirled and readjusted to display Miss Pringle sitting at an old fashioned desk, the angle adjusted to place her image at a higher elevation than the seated teen-agers, imparting a subtle hint of superiority. To her right and left, more background filled in, one scene split between a picturesque upper class neighborhood of multi-level, colored homes surrounded by swaths of greenery and a cutaway of their own home which flicked from room to room at set intervals, displaying the various comfortably functional accommodations the home was programmed for. It showed the auto kitchen, their individual bedrooms and baths, their parent's more ...