Coven

and pasty as baker’s dough. Jervis packed her in tight and lidded the container.

“I’ve still got some bodies to bury. Then can I—”

“Yes, Jervis, but be sure to tend to this first.” Besser handed Jervis something, a black cube of some kind, the size of one of those Rubik things. “It’s programmed to detonate at one minute after midnight. Make sure you’re back before recharge.”

“When’s that?”

“Eleven fifty five, exactly.”

A bomb, Wade concluded. They’re talking about a bomb.

Was Besser smiling? “And now I have a little business to tend to myself. I’ll trust you to see that there are no problems.”

“Right, Prof. Later.”

Then both figures left the glowing orange room or corridor or whatever it was. Wade took his eye from the hole, aghast.

He had no idea what he’d just seen or heard, nor did he try to explain it to himself. All he knew was this:

They had a bomb, and it was going to go off at one minute past midnight.

Tonight.

—

CHAPTER 31

Winnifred sauntered naked through the low warrens. Heaven down here, she mused. She was out of control in her ecstasy. The psilight bathed her flesh as stark as bone as she wandered amid the humming, tinged dark. She was probably insane by now.

Soon they’d be gone, to greater miracles ahead. The joy of being part of it stunned her. Me. Goddess Winnifred. Excited blood pumped through her breasts and sex, and there she went again, touching herself, plying herself with her fingers.

The psilight hummed. Orange mist glowed within the productionholds, relative influx of the catalyticexchangers, which ran constantly. These low warrens seemed to extend infinitely. Just how deep did they go?

A factory! she thought in rushing pulses. A factory of love!

The sisters paid her no mind. They were perfect in their duplicity. Most were naked, as Winnifred herself, unflawed bodies moist in the orange tint. She recessed into the emwguidancetrackingpoint, a simple processor which countered magnetic quadrupole activity, generating negative kinetic charge momentum. The chamber was just a black honeycombed wall laced with fine threads. She sat down. Here, in the labyrinth’s heart, she would finish her orgasm.

Murmuring, she closed her eyes. The psilight licked her nerves, sucked heat into her body. She filled her mind with the most base sexual images: she was a cave woman being gang-raped in the woods. One dirty Neanderthal after the next stuck a penis that had never been washed into her mouth. Some came right there, sending globs of sperm down her throat, or pulling out to spatter her enraptured face. Other used the oral act as a primer after which they rammed their excited cocks into her sex, humped her hard in the dirt—one after another—until she was filled with semen, overflowing...

Winnifred’s legs tensed as the images grew more vile. She was being choked, sodomized, spat on and pissed upon, yet each demonstration only inflamed her more. Then she lay sopped and filthy; above her the cavemen stood round, all chuckling, as they masturbated in unison for a final climax. By the time they were all done coming on her, Winnifred felt covered with a hot, pale rue, and then—

Her fingers worked furiously, and there it went, like a bomb burst in her loins.

Lovely, lovely...

When she opened her eyes, a shadow stood over her.

“Dudley?” She squinted; it was him. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” answered the dark voice.

What could he want? He was supposed to be bringing in the holotype. She got up, taming her disdain. What did they need him for anyway? He was fat and arrogant. He sickened her.

Immediately, his fat arms were about her; he was kissing her, caressing her. “I love you,” he whispered, and urged her back into the servicepass. Here the psilight shined more keenly, replenishing her desires. His fat fingers fiddled at her sex. She could feel the puny erection through his size 54 trousers.

Lips like a fish groveled to hers. His tongue went into her mouth, his hand squeezed her buttocks.

Winnifred giggled. “Oh, Dudley, you’re impossible.”

His trousers fell. He pushed her to her knees.

So that’s what he wants. She gave it her best, pushing up, but—

“I’m sorry, Dudley, but you’re so fat I can’t get to it!”

Besser looked down. “Maybe you can get to this, then.”

Winnifred screamed. Besser jammed infusers into her neck, one in each hand, then discharged a third into her navel. The overdose of calciumdecimationliquetactor flooded her bloodstream. Winnifred’s bones dissolved at once, and she flopped on the floor.

Besser stepped on her stomach. Winnifred spouted vomit.

“How fat am I now, bitch?”

He stepped on her head, which squashed.

“How’s this for fat, hmmm?”

Then, chuckling, he walked all over her, like someone trodding grapes to mash. She looked ridiculous now, an inchoate, squirming mass. He picked her up and slopped her down on a levslat. Winnifred could only blubber in defense. He was trying to rape her on the slat, his little bone prodding her spread flesh, seeking entrance.

Chubby hands kneaded her around like a wet towel, but soon the attempts faltered. Any orifice he sought to invade proved too slack for coital purchase. Instead, he panted, laughing, and masturbated. Winnifred could only slog upon the slat.

Besser squeezed her head again. Her eyeballs popped out, suspended by nerves. “Here’s some fat for you,” he announced. He ejaculated massively into her squashed face.

Winnifred’s dreams of godhood pulsed away as quickly. Besser dragged her down the pass, opened a hatch, and then was stuffing her into one of the dropchutes. Winnifred wailed in blubbering squeals. She flopped in resistance but to no use, oozing into the chutehatch like warm porridge.

“Goodbye, Winnie.” Besser smiled and pulled the releaserod. Immediately, she fell. Just minutes ago she’d wondered how deep the labyrinth was—now she was finding out. She tumbled sloppily straight down. For minutes? Hours? She didn’t know. Through the labyrinth’s bowels she descended, down and down…

The dropchute emptied into a slime walled hold. Winnifred dumped out onto the floorwall, landing in a pile of excrement. She churned. Ten stout holotypes surrounded her, flexing upward on corded limbs. Plump tongues fell out of slatted mouths, and their erections, long as human arms, were more proof than she’d ever need of their arousal. Here, finally, were the cavemen of her fantasies. She floundered in the midst of them—a relief package from the gods—as they hurried to line up for this obvious and ultimate outrage: an alien gang bang.

When they were finished, they ate her.

««—»»

From the basement utility room, Jervis sent the elevator to the sixth floor. Then he shorted the terminals and bypassed the control relay. Now the elevator was stranded.

I’m being creative, he thought. He walked up to the fourth floor, carrying under one arm five county manhole covers. They weighed eighty pounds apiece. On four, he forced open the elevator door and