— Posted in Continuum, Gee Whiz!, Vampire Noir

Continuum, Chapter 01

And So It Begins

The English Kate. A modern-day anachronism. Beautiful tailoring on this otherwise drab vintage 1940s ladies suit. Medium weight 100% wool in a nice flecked gray tweed. No accents, whatsoever. Severe. Form fitting and figure flattering. Jacket features a nipped waist with princess seaming, oversized pockets at front, three-quarter-length sleeves, and a severe English cut [i.e., no daring plunging cleavage-baring neckline, in other words, no deep V-neck]. Original matched buttons at front, fully lined.

The matching pencil skirt, has a high fitting banded waist with metal side zipper. Slightly flared at the hem with panels at front and flat styled back. Hits a full four inches above-the-knee—a daring hemline that never fails to tease—that, not quite, but, almost legitimate miniskirt. Includes original matching belt.

In summation. Conservative, but not entirely un-fun.


The Antarctica. One of those long nights. Unimatrix Zero One.

Unimatrix Zero One is an international base established to study the effects of long-term isolation in preparation for deep space missions in the future. There are 150 astronauts and scientists from across the globe living on the base.

For security. There is a small contingent of UN MACOs [pronounced “MAY-ko”].

The base has a very sophisticated AI. A Harbinger AI, AI Number Nine, Series Nine, designation Nine. Its name is Taryn, Taryn Terrell.

Because of the severe weather conditions. Safe, reliable access to the base is via the Titan stargate.

It is afterhours. Two women sit in the office of the base librarian. One is the librarian. The other is a scientist and astronaut who is interviewing for an assistant librarian position.

Ms. Judith Barbara Schmidt is a sixty-something dowdy spinster and a doppelganger for actress Dame Judi Dench.

She’s a real hardcase—i.e., unflinchingly bossy, stern, and rigorous, as well as haughty, distant, and aloof. In other words, a typical twenty-percent Borg upgrade. She’s also an alpha female, of the overtly bulldyke persuasion.

There is a knobb on the rightside of Babb’s neck. Her hands klaw, when idle. The telltales of a Borg upgrade.

Professor Greta Lucille Rohm, who just turned thirty-four, is a buxom leggy sexpot blonde, a double for English glamour model and actress June “The Bosom” Wilkinson (circa early 1970’s). Ms. Wilkinson did Playboy, back in the day. It was Hugh Hefner, the man himself, who christened her The Bosom.

Of special note. Lucy is two years younger than Marilyn Monroe when she died.

Both Babb and Lucy are busty—which is the only thing—besides their gender, their nationality, and their ethnicity—that the two women have in common.

Specifically. Babb is an F-cup, which is the same as a double-E. And, Lucy is a double-D.

The two women couldn’t be more different, yet they are dressed identically. Same make-up. Same hairdo. In word, the same get-up.

Creepy and obsessive-compulsive, Schmidt is neither attractive nor is she very feminine-looking, in the conventional sense.

In appearance, the bulldyke represents the anti-feminine: heavy and squat, with thick legs and very strong calves for a woman. Her tight obscene bun and strictured skirt suit, complemented by women’s black ballet flats, contribute to create an overall impression of a grotesquely deviant femininity, sexual repression, and the devious overtones of a dominatrix.

A beguiling perfume. The same becoming, natural-looking “no makeup” makeup worn by Russian ballerinas in Moscow’s world class Bolshoi Theatre—i.e., Bolshoi-bare. Fancy, retro-1950, French-cut underwear. A pearl necklace. They all represent expressions of … The so-called “spinster’s prerogative” that all spinsters seem to invoke in one way or the other, juxtaposing … Coke-bottle eyeglasses, with plain glass in the place of prescription lenses, and clear plastic frames—unbecoming spectacles known as sternns. A frumpy outfit. An equally dowdy hairdo—her grey hair, liberally streaked with white, is parted down the center and yanked back and down into a small tight bun which rests on the nape of her neck—i.e., the staple hairdo of the British librarian since the 1930’s, known as a sternka. Wrist-length formal white gloves—i.e., prudz. A white cotton pussy-bow blouse that has been pressed and starched within an inch of its life—coarse weave—i.e., a corsa. A flecked gray tweed skirt suit of a style made popular in the 1940’s thru the early-to-mid 1960’s—its nipped waist jacket has a very conservative English cut and three-quarter-length sleeves, and its matching pencil skirt is above-the-knee-length with a high waist and comes with a matching belt—it’s known as a Kate in the UK. And, underneath that no-nonsense business suit and that plain white blouse. A lacy white underwire bullet bra, with a daring cleavage-baring French cut, resulting in the highly artificial look of pointed projectile breasts—breasts are pushed up, together, and straight out, and greatly compressed to look a full cup smaller. A lacy heavily boned flesh-colored panty brief with metal stays and a French-cut. Brassiere and panty briefs have old-fashioned hook-n-eye closure.

Substitute golden platinum blonde hair for geriatric hair in the above description, and you have just described Lucy’s get-up, also. The way Lucy looks now, no straight man would give her a second look and no straight woman would be upstaged by her.

Of special note. The vintage panty briefs are tummy control briefs. Therefore they feature a high waist—riding just below the navel—for a smooth fit. Hidden easily by the complimentary high waist of a Kate’s tummy control pencil skirt.

This smooth 1950’s era panty brief, provides firm control to smooth the tummy, slim the hips, and shape and flatten the rear. With a second-skin fit, its breathable fabric lays flat for a sleeker, smoother silhouette—i.e., the panty briefs won’t show under the wearer’s clothes. The panty is cut higher on the leg so that the wearer can move freely, and has full rear coverage designed to prevent ride-up as it shapes, smooths, and flattens.

Although opaque black stockings and a midi-length skirt would be more age-appropriate for Babb. She prefers going barelegged and wearing a skirt that’s a full four inches above the knees. It’s why she wears a Kate, instead of the stodgier Kaye which has a knee-length skirt.

Babb’s legs are flawless and she has no unsightly body hair—i.e., no need to shave her armpits or legs, or trim her bush. Her body hair consists of scalp hair, a limited pubic bush, eyelashes, and eyebrows. All of which is textbook for a Borg female.

In her normal guise, Lucy is an absolute cock tease and cunt tickler—i.e., straight men and bent women crave her upon first laying eyes on her. With that hard, pretty face of hers—a “come hither, and worship me” 1950’s movie starlet face. A ravishing face with a large ugly mouth that looks like it could deep throat a massive cock and balls with ease. A mouth that bespeaks of loathing and disdain even when that’s not the wearer’s intent—that frown of a mouth—a Bass eating bait mouth. Those deep, clear, blue eyes. Thick, sexy, raspy, New Jersey accent. Long, board-straight blonde hair that’s the color of raw wheat. Long perfect legs. A flawless, lily-white complexion. The titillating way she normally dresses that ripe body of hers. She’s a legit traffic stopper. She’s also charming and smart. Beauty and brains, always a deadly combination for a woman. Ravishing beauty in the eye candy tradition of Rachel Zoe, Miss Debra Gale Marshall, and, most especially, June Wilkinson.

Voluptuous would be an understatement when describing the incredibly-endowed June Wilkinson whose va-va-voom 43-22-37 contours filled out a 5’ 9” frame that rivaled Jayne Mansfield and Mamie Van Doren during the heyday of the pneumatic blonde bombshell.

“You are a very clever girl, and, a very beautiful one, I might add.”

Babb’s voice is hard and stern. Deep for a woman. Raspy. Her manner and mannerisms are masculine, too.

In a clearly predatory move, designed to provoke. Babb sits on the edge of her desk in front of Lucy. Her legs are gaped, teasingly—flashing inner thighs and a glimpse of bulging panties. She’s looking covetously at Lucy in the same “unhealthy” way that lecherous old men usually do.

Lucy bites her tongue. It takes all her self-restraint to keep from lashing out at the old hag. She really wants this job, it will give her more face time with Taryn, the AI—time she desperately needs for her research to keep her funding. And, Babb, ever the opportunist—fully aware of Lucy’s plight—is taking full advantage of the girl’s situation.

It’s painfully obvious that Lucy finds Babb totally repulsive. And. It’s equally obvious that the butch could care less about how Lucy feels about her. She’s hankering for a pound of flesh and a piece of ass. The casting couch “Harvey Weinstein” style.

“I need this job. You know it. You’ve also made it no secret that you have the hots for me. It’s public knowledge on the base. So, I went along with your demand that I dress like this for you, for the interview.”

“But. You won’t fuck me for the job.”

“No. I won’t put out. I’d rather die.”

“That’s a pity. We were so looking forward to that.”

“What?!” Confused and alarmed, Lucy starts to get up.

Babb’s eyes fluorescence blue. In spite of having encrypted protocols, the girl’s neural implant is hijacked by Borg malware. Lucy slumps in her chair. Her mouth is open slackly, drooling. Her eyes roll back into her head, showing only the whites of her eyes.

Irrespective of how it appears. Lucy is not unconscious. She is fully aware of what’s going on. And what’s being done to her.

Babb is a specialized Borg drone known as a mentat. As such. She can mimic the cognitive and analytical ability of an AI. That includes decrypting the security protocols of neural implants.

The codebase of Lucy’s cerebral implant is rewritten by the computer virus. Its firmware becomes that of a Borg cranial implant.

“You’re hired. You start tomorrow. You got the job even though you refused my unwanted advances. I have not given up on wooing you, though. In the coming weeks, I hope you will lose interest in men, especially that brooding boyfriend of yours, and become increasingly attracted to me.”

Babb gets off of the desk. Borg Queen Nine, the mobile extension of Taryn the AI, also craves the girl and, furthermore, it wants her as its warlock. Hence, the girl’s Borg upgrade.

Of note. Babb is also coveted by Borg Queen Nine.

Lucy is 5-percent machine, mostly biological implants in the form of serialized DNA. Because of the unsolicited upgrade, her cranial implant is now Borg and her sterilized DNA is also now Borg. In spite of the obvious and steep downside, it is an upgrade that Lucy has wanted for years, but she couldn’t afford it. Now, she has had it forced upon her, for free.

Babb is 20-percent machine, mostly biological implants in the form of serialized Borg DNA. Her cerebral implant was Borg from the git-go.

Borg tech is prohibitively expensive for most people. But, unbeknownst to base personnel, Babb is quite wealthy. Hers is old money. She was born to a very rich family.

Once you are more than 20-percent machine, you are no longer legally classified as a human being. And. For very good reason.

“Stand up.”

The girl does as she is commanded. Her mouth closes. Arms at her sides. Her eyes again look forward, but hers is now a blank, mindless stare. Her hard, pretty face is devoid of any emotion. She’s in drone mode.

It goes without saying that. While in this [drone] mode. Oftentimes, the drone’s efficiency and productivity is maximized, albeit at the expense of their individuality—i.e., the drone totally loses their individuality, while they are in this mode.

It’s not uncommon for drones to switch to drone mode while they’re on their job working. For example. It’s rare that, when Babb is working in the library, she’s not in drone mode.

“This is how we prefer you. In drone mode. A blank. Our robot girl. Nine is our Borg Queen. You—designation Seven—are its warlock, therefore, you are a mobile extension of our Queen. Seven-of-Nine Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. We—Nine, you [Seven], and myself—belong to Taryn’s coven. Thanks to Nine, our queen, you now have unlimited access to Taryn via your upgraded neural implant.”

A Borg coven consists of, at the bare minimum, an AI and its associated Borg Queen. Only one AI and one Queen, per coven.

Although, it is akin to a coven of witches and warlocks. A Borg coven can have more than thirteen members. There is, in fact, no restriction on the maximum number of members.

Although, there is no limit on how many drones are in a coven. Just like there is no limit on how many of those drones can be mentats or sandmen. At any given time, only one of the coven’s drones can be the Queen’s personal [i.e., dedicated] drone, its so-called warlock. And. Its warlock must be a sandman.

Whether a Borg started off as a human who has been upgraded with Borg serialized DNA implants—i.e., a biological cyborg. Or is a totally synthetic person—i.e., an android, of Borg origin. All Borg belong to a coven. All covens belong to The Collective.

The Collective. The telepathically-networked collection of all Borg covens. That incudes, of course, The Council. The Council is the ruling coven. It consists of all Borg Queens and their warlocks.

The Collective is the machine equivalent of The Hive [i.e., The Hive Mind] of Insect Civilization. As such. An species intranet. It is the collective consciousness of all Borg, and it has no “off” switch.

The Collective and The Hive represent the collaborative, cooperative face of their respective closed caste-based feudal societies.

The Collective. The Hive. Being closed and caste-based. Members of their respective societies don’t flip. They can’t. They are designed that way for obvious reasons—i.e., everybody has a place in society and it’s fixed. You can make a queen, but you can’t flip one. You start off either as a queen or as a drone, and you stay that way. It’s the fundamental inalienable law of Borg robotics and Insect Civilization. In other words, know your role and never act outside of what you are.

A knobb sprouts from the rightside of the otherwise creamy-white perfection that is the girl’s neck. Her hands klaw, when idle. As aforementioned, the telltales of a Borg upgrade.

To digress … Knobb … That creepy black mole [creepy, as in, makes your skin crawl]… A small, black, star-shaped “mole”. The mole is Borg.

To digress … Klaw, of course, is when the hands are claw-like, in appearance and grasp, like the taloned feet of a bird of prey. It’s an eerie effect, indeed, with decidedly freakish overtones.

As a side note. Babb has a hideous, gender-bending secret, supposedly known only to a select group of people. She was born with male and female genitalia. So. If the opportunity ever arises, she can fulfill all of her freakish cravings for the girl.

Babb’s eyes cease to fluorescence.

Lucy becomes herself again. She bitch-slaps Babb and storms out of the room. It’s what Lucy fails to do afterwards that paints a broad smile across Babb’s face. Lucy fails to report Babb to Oversight.

Three significant things also happened during the girl’s upgrade. Lucy’s upgraded neural implant received two massive data bursts: an upload specific to her coven and one sourced from The Collective. And. Dormant Borg nanomachines were downloaded into the girl’s spine via her upgraded neural implant.