Title: Strawberry Fields

Author: R. Schultz ( cousindream@msn.com )

Series: Not VOYAGER. Children of the Night.

Code: F/f, F/m

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viaborgcom owns all. Hail be to Moloch. Moloch is mighty. Moloch is greedy. I am not. No money is involved in this fiction, and forgiveness is begged from Moloch. Besides, this story isn't about VOYAGER. So go fish. This story is mine under Berne Law. 14,100 words, May, 2005.

Summary: Old friends have come visiting this stretch of the Latvian Baltic coastline, west of Riga, and the owner of the land has welcomed Belle Anna, Annika Hansen, and their guests. It is the spring that James T. Kirk and the U.S.S.ENTERPRISE began their five year mission, and the ripe strawberries are being harvested. This is a leisured time on Terra, as humanity fits into its newest patterns of living. Earth holds less than half a billion people and the population is stable. Some say Eden has returned. It hasn't. The host is deeply troubled, and this occasion is manufactured to enable two of his friends to help. For the others it is time for sex, drinking, sight-seeing, feasting, story telling, relaxation, and magic. Especially sex and magic.

Warning: This is TrekSmut and anybody who is too young, too innocent, or too religious (excepting worshippers of Moloch) may not read this story. Those living in countries or locales which outlaw TrekSmut are likewise forbidden to enter herein. Nor may underage teenagers. Republicans are warned that nothing in these following lines glorify George Bush, Dick Cheney, Benito Mussolini or other lying bullies.

Will be archived in the Femme Fuh-Q Fest -- http://www.svpress.us/femmefuhqfest/ -- then in ASCEM. All comments to: cousindream@msn.com



STRAWBERRY FIELDS

by R Schultz



He is so thin! For an instant I saw the swaggering youth with eyes like torches and a thirst for adventure and revenge. This creature was a parody of the bawdy creature who rode like a Hun and drank like a Viking. The pale near-lifeless tyrant I carried away from a field of death and carnage with a crossbow bolt buried in his armpit was the progenitor of this wan shadow. He looked as if he had felt Death's hand on his shoulder.



++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



I rose for my guests, padding barefoot across the grass to greet them all. This was supposed to be a notable occasion, as neither Belle Anna nor I have embraced for what seems centuries. It had only been sixty years, but it seemed longer. Time meant so little to me now. Even in the face of true friends I had to force a smile upon my face.



Annika, the tall blond I had finally met in Italy, is with her, and that magnificent blond female form is resplendent in her long-sleeved white blouse and dark pants. Athena reborn. She always seemed so young, so full of vigor, of passion of curiosity. But my first movements and first genuine smile were for the diminutive brunette bouncing out of the large Rental RhoEgg. She is Summer herself, in that light shift. A Greek goddess, Aphrodite. Athena and Aphrodite in Latvia.



The day was bright, and for the first time in decades I felt a taste of life coming back to me.



As Aphrodite, Belle Anna leaped into my spindly arms, and we twirled around in the sloping deep green carpet of my frontage. For seconds we laughed together as her legs lift out under centrifugal force, and my cheek ached to feel her soft skin next to mine.



When I put her down tall Athena, Annika Hansen is next in my arms. I am a terrible boor for concentrating thusly on my two old dear lovers. Friends. Dearest hearts. Sisters in the Night. One-time lovers.



It's been too many years between encounters, but in my memory still fresh and green are the nuances of naked skin and tender breasts. Belle Anna's effervescent laughter, the Scandinavian seriousness of the big-breasted blond, nights of touching, memories, Annika's serious mien when listening to me.



I wondered if Annika still hiccupped when she came. It is the little touches like that that mean so much to an old person like me.



Once these most urgent necessities had been taken care of, Belle Anna introduced me to her new friends. My hands were reluctant to depart the feel of her particular kindness of warm skin under my hand. Could I be experiencing a rebirth of passion?



The Ernhardts, the Savaranni's and the Suarez' were my new guests. And their dozens of children which quickly rationalized into two barely teenaged boys, a teenaged daughter, and four younger girls.



All bursting with good health and smiles. Maybe they would be good for me. Maybe I could reseat myself in the flow of life. Little did the children realize I'd already downloaded into the house computer their next series of schooling assignments.



"Gentle Hommes, I present to you the last of the Knights Errant of the Round Table; Prince Vladimir Horst Alexis Palacca Piotr Gregory Manfred Romanoff von Pappenheim. Parsifal incarnate, Paracelsus reborn. An old friend of both myself and Annika, and your host for this fortnight.



"He will over-feed you and give you too much to drink, and encourage laziness and idleness. In compensation he shall probably serve choice viands and superb wines, and large beds in which to sober up. And bore you with tales which have only partial legs in reality."



One wife, the cute petite blond, couldn't contain herself.



"The beds ... Are they really immense antique four-posters with real silk canopies and side curtains?" Evidently Belle Anna had been bragging, and probably twisting arms a touch. She wished to bring me back into a life grown tawdry in my eyes.



"Yes, each bed is a genuine antique hand crafted wooden bed," I admitted. "Dutch, of course. At one time all the best Russian families bought most of their pieces of fine furniture from western European makers. These particular beds are a matched set of four constructed with loving care by a firm in Haarlem, Holland, in the years before your Revolution.



"We have three such beds reserved for the couples. Every one with fresh linen and new side curtains. Though this is not a Michelin Hotel, you shall find chocolates and roses on each pillow, and servants to clean your clothes."



"Servants?" the one exclaimed.



"Robots and Servants," I explained. "Several of the local villagers are willing to pose as staff if given enough incentive. Over the years they have all learned the skills necessary to be members of a household staff, but otherwise remain as they were before. Simple dairy farmers, robot techs and programmers, and housewives, medicals and mothers."



My immense rambling two-story 'Dacha' was built in the best Tsarist style. Steep-roofed, thick-walled, wasteful, and large. As was the European custom, the first floor was the ground floor and the upstairs floor was the first floor. I knew enough about America to know they had it backwards. Also, their windows went up and down instead of opening sensibly to the sides.



My Dacha had a separate building in back for a kitchen, a large stable (empty, apart from the five stocky Finnish horses I kept there), and four regular bedrooms. Three rooms upstairs had been easily converted to bedrooms for the youngsters by removing furniture and adding temporary beds. By their own stated choice both Annika and Belle Anna would be sleeping with me in my immense Master Bed. Belle Anna said it should have Goal Posts at each end.



I put on my best Viennese Kuss for the ladies, including the four little girls. Those innocents giggled as I tried to click my heels barefoot, and leaned down so very grandly to kiss their knuckles.



All in all there were six other adults and seven children. I was glad for their company. I should socialize more.



"And where are you from, Herr und Frau Ernhardt"? I asked, playing a little game. "Are you American?"



Belle Anna kicked me sharply in my ankle as the named husband and wife exchanged quick looks. From the sudden movement of eyes, they were all from what was once the US of A.



"The Troubles, the Mad Years, are long behind us now," I encouraged, "and no one still blames you for the nukes that fell in those insane times. If there are still some who hold grudges, they do not live hereabouts. Rest. Relax. Enjoy yourself while you are here."



A sly look at the children fidgeting and glancing around.



"You have come at a fortunate time," I added. "The strawberries are in full fruit, and are being harvested even as we speak."



I carefully gazed about me, idly noting the small movements of the dog-like robots as they picked those strawberries finally ripened enough for my exacting standards. Over three thousand hectacres of sandy Baltic soil. Old balding Vemenaiis was in sight to the west, repairing one of the bulky mechanical harvester receivers.



"Would your children like to go out into the fields and pick a few of them to eat? The robots have full passives, and are quite harmless to any moving organism."



It was as if I'd tripped the gates at a horse race.



Being prepared, I passed out little capsules to all the American adults. "They'll over-indulge," I pointed out, "and shall need a whiff of these specifics." The parents accepted the dozens of little children's medicines with wry smiles.



"As for the adults, let the staff and robots get your bags and I'll show you to your guest rooms. We do not have individual baths in each guest room, for you to freshen up in, but I'm sure we'll all cope."



Staring pointedly out towards the bodies out in the fields bobbing for strawberries, I added; "Roll-up beds have been provided for your children.



"And later I'm going to repair to the east Cherry orchard. We have trestle tables and a sideboard there, and I shall prepare us all a dinner to welcome you to my home."





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Vlad barely chuckled when I tried tickling him. I could feel the depressions between his ribs. He has the pale skin of long nights without proper drink, the distracted look in his eyes of a body without fire.



Yet a wry grin returned when I stripped and carefully fondled myself for his view. He was always a man who enjoyed watching, especially of a woman enjoying herself and others. He could watch and verbally encourage Kathryn and myself for hours.



He was more than pleased at thatmoment to find himself responding to our lusts. Any man recovering from a desperate brush with death is constantly questioning of his ability to respond again.



The years has made him more, how to put it? Civilized, patient, almost submissive. He no longer seeks to impress or control.



Maybe he needs more fire. How to light it in him?



Sex is always a good way to begin.



Tahminna should be joining us shortly. So delighted to enjoy women, so willing to relish the physical side of herself. We'll have my dear Prince sodomize her. She'll like that.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Annika was spread-eagled upon the bed, pretending sheer exhaustion. Meanwhile Belle Anna whisked out of her own few flimsy clothes. I took Annika's bootlets off just as Belle Anna rolled naked onto her girlfriend. Then as Belle Anna began to tug the big blonde's trousers off, the dark-skinned Tahminna Savaranni bustled into my master bedroom; the wife of Davadora. Her teeth were particularly sparkling in all that dark flesh, and her black eyes seemed bright as she leaned against the door jam. Belle Anna paused in her removal of Annika's pants, and held out a leg for Tahminna to tug on.



Raven-haired Tahminna glanced at me with some trepidation, but I waved at the ladies and began moving out the door.



Making sure we were friendly, I caressed her arm and lightly kissed the smooth neck arising out of her saffron and scarlet Sari. She was more my own apparent age, and bore her pudginess with much grace and assurance. She smiled at me and allowed me to lightly kiss her on the lips.



She smelled of a trace of liquid ginger, fresh sweat, sandalwood and woman. I knew then that I should enjoy my time with her.



"Well?" Belle Anna asked. "I really genuinely need some assistance in undressing this big lazy log of a blond. Aren't you going to help me, Tami?"



I stated I would see them all later. I heard giggles as the door closed behind me. Down the hall more giggles were ensuing behind the Suarez' door. The bathroom door was open and I could see a damp but clean Al Earnhardt. Clad in a towel and wiping on some Beard-Off. I could hear a couple in the shower behind him. He said a Bon Jour, and his wife, the young Robin, poked her head out of the shower to add her chorus.



As I went through the house, the two teenaged boys ricocheted down the stairs from their own rooms. By that instinct common to children they spotted the little dish of hard candies beside the antre-table flower setting. Continuing outside, I could already hear old Framko carefully instructing the girls how to be with my horses. Inside the stable, the long-haired Finnish horses patiently endured the attentions of the four girls as they were readied for riding.



At the end of this visitation, all five of my horses would be stuffed fat and rotund with surreptitious carrots and apples, and will need much medicine for their health.



I anticipated the girls spending most of their waking hours riding through the dunes, marshes, and forest lanes of modern Latvia. The bears and European Moose had return to this sparsely inhabited land, along with Lithuanian bison. It reminded me of those flatter parts of my homeland, long ago.



A smile quirked my lips. Young girls and horses. A perennial love affair. The love affair had existed ... forever, it seemed. The day warmed me inside and out.







------------------------------------





Fussy Anna, the cook today, had supervised the humanoid robots in clearing the long table of all our dishes, and then promptly retreated to the kitchen. Which left us adults relaxing over a large bottle of Crimean champagne and two bowls of my own brand of sweet white cherries. The oldest girl, Marelee, had abandoned the two boys and the youngsters in order to drink some of the dry bubbly wine and sit next to me.



I'd made the mistake of calling her "Protschka" earlier, for the beauty of her standing so gracefully between youth (meaning childhood) and maturity. In between; two beautiful faces with which to see the world.



Beautiful she was. Devastatingly and suddenly infatuated she was, also. She hung on my every word, and could not keep her eyes off me. Or a surreptitious hand.



In many past Terran cultures an affair between a man in his obvious early fifties and a fourteen (fifteen?) year-old girl would have gone unremarked, provided the other proper customs of the time and place had been followed.



Latvia, even my own little baronial nook of it, was not the place, and the late twenty-third century was not the time.



It was embarrassing. Especially when Belle Anna leaned over to me on my other side and whispered: "Cradle Robber."



Marelee's black eyes burned under her mahogany skin whenever Belle Anna displayed familiarity with me. The child's mother smiled to see my discomfort, and Dawadora, the father, looked nonplussed. At one time, in their families native home in the Indian sub-continent, a match between a rich older man and a near-child bride would have been sought after. But they were Americans now.



In a whisper, Annika was reassuring the parents that her friend, the Baltic Prince, didn't abuse the rights of a host in that way. Besides being a perfect gentleman.



So I carefully paid much attention to Belle Anna. Pouring her another champagne, feeding last years cold crisp cherries to her one by one, and kissing her neck.



A lovely neck. It was soft velvet under my tongue. I'd loved to touch it for many years.



The unexpected part was seeing the other two couples appearing intent whenever I favored Belle Anna with another naughty caress under the table. Which they knew of thanks to Belle Anna.



Wench! She was giggling so that all knew when my hands had strayed.



Realizing what emotions I was evoking, I finally whispered in Belle Anna's shell-like ear: "You've seduced all four of them?"



"I'll have you know I've seduced all six by now. But I, at least, drew the line at impressionable teenagers."



Privately I wondered if Belle Anna had poached on Annika's dark-hued couple. Then I realized they had merely shared.



This could become a tricky fortnight if the game of musical beds became too entangled. Annika and Belle Anna would be busy tonight reassuring their married lovers, and I should be busy ignoring the teenaged girl's throwing herself at me.



"So tell me, Prince ..." the male Ernhardt asked.



"Vladimir, please. Or Vlad. You are all my guests."



"Done. Vladimir is better than the full name, or Mr. Pappenheim, that's for sure. Just call me Al. Has your family owned this estate long?"



"About sixty-five years." My guests appeared surprised. No doubt they had visions of Tsars, and peasants with scythes in hand; White Armies and Red Armies and the sweep of Revolution.



"My Grandfather purchased this entire stretch cheaply, back when it was still lightly radioactive, and began cleaning the landscape with the usual millions of iridium termites. Long before I was even born. It was a good investment then, and this Dacha is now my home.



"He made his wealth in Full-S medicine adaptations for wildlife and sea life," I added for their benefit.



"Now I pretend I'm a benevolent Tsarist Lord." A chuckle or two. "In reality I'm a petty bourgeois farmer and semi-hermit.



"My father is the one who acquired the fine beds you've seen, as well as much else that now graces my resiedenz."



"The title?" Emilia, the Suarez wife asked. Bad manners, but I expected the undue familiarity. Genuine Princes are not a common commodity even in Europe.



"The von Pappenheims are genuine and so is my holding of the title of the Baltic branch. There are other von Pappenheims in Germany. In addition I'm about nineteen thousandth in line for becoming Russian Tsar, and I'm the twenty-ninth Baltic von Pappenheim, give or take a few. Line is through my grandmother, and I went through the Euro courts to legitimize my claim. It is, however, a genuine pedigree and it really is mine.



"Before you become too impressed, I must add that there were over three hundred various Princes in Tsarist times. I have thousands of quite distant cousins scattered throughout the Federation."



Looking at the blond Ernhardt, I asked; "And you?"



"I'm Alami Ernhardt. That's a Finnish name. I'm most of P.E.M. Productions." The smile faded a little when I didn't react.



"Jupiter Thirty-Right? Shareeza's Home Show? Martin's Dilemma?"



The others laughed as I shook my head and remained uninformed.



"I'm a producer of Tri-D's. On the Vox and Aribaya networks"



"I'm sorry," I apologized, "but I don't watch popular entertainment. I'm not a snob, really, I'm not.



"Honest! I swear it! It's just that the trivee seems so elementary to me. I prefer to read, or wander through the forest and dunes of present day Latvia.



"Much of Latvia is forest now, as it was in earlier times. The hunting is superb, if such interests you. We even have a few bears. Or just walk in them, communing with nature.



"However, my peripetic staff keeps a pair of big Klesh trivee's in the kitchen, for their own entertainment. If you want to watch any trivee it is available. Do you want me to put one in your bedroom?"



It was most embarrassing. Belle Anna should have warned me to acquaint myself with the man's entertainment connections. I had a celebrity of sorts with me and I had not been alerted.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Vlad has the lassitude of a long-time tubercular, but I think I see a spark again in his eyes. He is too alone up here, away from the other denizens of the Night. He was always too much given to useless recriminations and violent surges of temper. This new apathy is no better, but I think he may recover. Life is always uplifting, and it is time for my Black Prince to leave off his hermit ways and begin once more the cycles of deceit and renewal we Children of Darkness must perforce play.



It also does his ego worlds of good for this inept teenager to throw herself at him, and for him to dance away. The practice in dancing is the best medicine he could obtain, I think.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





All eyes are black at night, and Emilia was no exception.



She was inarguably in her early forties, looked young thirties, and was a decade younger than her husband. She was also remarkably hot, tight, and wet. Our sounds were most obscene, and our sex slapping machine-gun repetitive as we both struggled for our own releases. She was immensely pleased that I kept whispering phrases to her in four languages, and never stopped kissing or licking her face. A teenager she was not, but her enthusiasm more than made up for any shortcomings she might have had physically.



I prefer women mellowed a little bit for that single reason. A virgin has a hymen, but a woman has brings joy to the feast.



She hadn't unlocked her ankles since she'd convulsed them closed during my first penetration. She sweat like a pig in our Baltic spring warmth, and miraculously never scratched me badly with her ladies long nails the whole time she babbled and thrashed. I think she came early and had never quite come off it since. I loved her sweat. It added a dimension of abandon and lack of control to our fucking. As I was of the Old European School, I'd always appreciated my females in their natural state.



Diego, her husband, had long since spent himself inside Annika, and both of them lay on their own blankets and observed us making passionate sex. Not wanting to appear something superhuman, I allowed myself to climb that last slope. Out of regard for this bawdy woman beneath me I might have gone on for another twenty minutes. But politeness told me to let her recover.



She screamed when she felt my warm fluids flow into her, in small spurt after spurt. We speeded up, and our noises became quite loud, liquid and erotic.



We lay together on our blankets, suddenly chilled by a stiff breeze blowing off the Bay of Riga. Emilia smiled, chuckled, and wriggled herself on my impaler. She kept her ankles locked back of my ass, enjoying the apres'. Nice soft sweet big-breasted Emilia. I can't help it; I enjoy women who have a little meat to their bones.



Which seems to contradict my devotion to Belle Anna, but then we are like brother and sister as well as lovers.



I complimented Emilia, and Diego, her husband crawled over and kissed her, and Annika kissed me.



"If you will excuse me, new friends and old, I have something to do and shall return momentarily."



Before I put my pants on, Annika whispered for me to be gentle.



As I crawled away, I smiled at Annika opening Emilia's thighs for the next round of our night's love festival on the beach.





----------------------------------





"Who's doing what now, Jamie?"



"Why don't you shout, asshole? We don't know how sound travels on these dunes. We want to do a little spying, we have to be a little like a real spy. That means quiet. Damn it, Rann, keep your sperm-count low!



"And besides, just how the Hell can I tell? We ain't there yet. Besides which, you got your own specs. Just dial up the resolution and you can see all the details that I can see. Which is knocky, right now, you space?



"Wait. Hold your retros, Rann. Once we get a little closer, at least. We get to the next dune we should have a skybox seat."



"You know, Jamie, maybe this isn't so good an idea. Spying on that Annika shortcake, no matter how melting she is. What if we get caught?"



"We get shot, but we die with smiles on our lips. Now shaddup."



"If you just wanna see naked women ..."



"Shhhhh!"



"Hey, Rannie, if I just move these grass stalks here, I think we'll be able to see ..."



Silence.



"She's with another woman, Rann!"



"What's she doing, dammit?"



"Whatta think she's doing?"



"Let me ... yeah, I can see good now. That is so slide!"



Silence for a few seconds.



"Let's leave, Rann."



"Rectum! Why you wanna leave now for? Do you see where she's stuck her nose NOW!!?"



"We've seen enough. Let's go."



"Don't be a rodent, Jamie ..."



"Let's LEAVE, Rann!"



The one rolled back to stare at his friend for a moment.



Then he opened his mouth and eventually spoke.



"Is that other gal, that's your Mother!"



"Let's leave."



"Eeep!"



"What?"



"Wolf."



An immense dark shape came closer and was better revealed in the wan misty night light as a wolf. Close enough to kill.



"It's just someone's dog, stupid."



"Who's stupid?"



"Can't tell the difference between a dog and a wolf. And quiet down. Remember? We ain't supposed to be out here watching your Mom and that blonde shortcake do the half-minute waltz."

"Shut up about my Mom, dammit!"



"Don't get your master board bent. Your Mom is a real melter, a complete folder! I never realized that before. She looks absolutely simmer sitting on blondie's face. And now she's ..."



"We've seen enough, dammit! And stop staring at my Mother!"



"Who's gonna make me? You and what StarShip?"



"He's right, you know."



Sudden silence.



"It's not polite to cast aspersions on a friend's mother. Incredibly bad manners."



More silence.



"Spying on what other people do is also a sign of incredibly bad manners." With that I rose to my full height over the prone male teenagers.



"I expect my guests to display better manners in the future."



I watched them nod in the darkness. Their night-vision binocular glasses hung forgotten on their noses. They might have wondered at how I found them so easily in the night. But the night is my natural habitat. They were outclassed.



"Nothing is without repercussions," I flatly stated.



"I shall file this serious breach of good manners under unfinished business," I told the lads. "Anything at all unbecoming on your part will prompt me to react in a manner in which you will regret this present bad behavior. Understood?"



Privately I thought I should have a discussion with the fathers. Nothing is without consequences.



This was a modern age, and I'm sure their parents have made no secret of their sexual activities. Flaunt, no, but made known.



After the boys had crawled off, I turned to where Marlelee hid.



"That also goes for you, young lady. Follow your brother back, and stay in bed tonight. Now get your scrawny ass back inside and don't let me see you out spying again."



She went off in a hurt humor. Actually she had a perfect rear, and it would probably blossom into a marvelous delight for some other man in the far future. But she had to realize I didn't care for her, and slandering her butt was one move in that game.



Things were simpler when I was growing up.



Then I was honest with myself. No, they weren't, I admitted. They were just different. Robust, maybe. Bloodier. Riskier.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Vlad chuckled as he told me of his encounters on the dunes.



The old human philosophers were correct, of course. Laughter is the best medicine.



I asked him how long he had been the prince of the Baltic, and he correctly interpreted that as a query as to when he must have an unfortunate death and leave this locale for a few generations.



He admitted he hadn't made any plans. None whatsoever.



Foolish! In today's Earth, for a convincing legend, the train of documentations and authenticity must be laid in early, in this circumscribed and regulated age. There must be birth certificates on file somewhere. Credit history. The large quantities of convincing documentation, all of it begun decades before.



Annika immediately offered the use of a few legends she had begun for a male, in Quebec, decades before. One might be altered to fit Vlad, just dye his hair blond. With vetted papers, he can be reborn and begin life anew in some faraway clime.



I suggested a Martian identity, if for no other reason than that their identity procedures were more easily jimmied.



It was fun talking in a casual away as to where he might go next.



Any place at all, I thought. Away from this place with too many sad memories for him.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





"Are these cherry trees also?"



I thumbed the top and passed the now cold Tommilo's beer to Robin, Ernhardt's younger second wife. She spiked her bare nipples by teasing them with the now frosty bulb. Then she settled back against Belle Anna's naked belly, accepting an errant caress while myself, her husband, and Davadora Savaranni sucked on Thai beer.



Far down the slope of grass and sand, across our view, the waves of the Baltic fell listlessly against the shore as two of the younger girls rode my horses through the small surf. They were using the old black Swedish stele for a goal, and were now cantering back towards my stable. I was calling the young girl children Cossacks because they spent all the days on horses.



"Just a different kind," I explained. "As you can see from here, these trees have many green leaves, but blossoms flourish within the protection the greenery affords. Come fall they'll bear fruit, and birds for leagues around will greedily descend on them. They gorge themselves to such an extent that once in a while they have difficulty flying. Especially the thousands of nuthatches. You would scarce believe the racket a few hundred small hungry birds can make! Which is why I leave these unprotected trees far from my Dacha."



"Unprotected?"



"The ones I harvest have avoids set in their boles. But I leave a few open to the bird's gluttony. After the Mad Years I think everyone tries to care for the planet, if only a little."



Al, Alami Ernhardt, pointed a long male finger to the Swedish monument stele now. "I noticed old writing in the stone of that thing, and was wondering if you knew about it."



"It's a monument put up there centuries ago, back when the Poles, Letts, Swedes, and Russians competed for these lands."



"It's a shame no one keeps the marker clear of the weeds," Robin added. Maybe encouraging me to do something about it.



"Those are not weeds," I commented. "I planted each one myself. They are a message in the old medieval Eastern Orthodox religious and customary language."



I arose and held out my hand for the blond-haired Robin, and then for Belle Anna. As chance would have it, both Damadora and Al Ernhardt received calls on their communicators as they rose. The women might gleefully prance about in lovely soft skin and nought else, but the males preferred trousers, so that they had someplace to put their communicators.



They slowly followed as we walked out to the old worn dark monument. It was a four-sided dark stone tribute to the long dead brave men whose crumbling bones still occasionally surfaced hereabouts.



Suddenly I jogged off to the west, waving apologies to the guests.



Marelee was just skinning out of her one-piece bathing suit when I arrived. Wearing only a smile she handed me a small spray of block.



"I expected you sooner," she leered. She carefully and gracefully turned her back to me. She must have spent some time practicing before a mirror with the motion to make it so smooth and erotic.



"Oil up my back, will you please? Vladimir? That's a lovely name, you know. Rolls off my tongue."



I was supposed to admire the slender nude form before me, of course. I was supposed to lust and ravage and so forth and so on.



Truth told, she was exquisite. Truth told I firmly repressed a response more in keeping with the man I was in my distant youth. I had lusted and ravaged in the days when I wore a younger man's clothes. Too well and too often. Truth told I wished I could ravage this blossom. It was what she wanted.



But civilization is a series of constraints and manners within which we can live together without murder. In addition, I had long ago lost my taste for green fruit, and her now soft too-young flesh did not bring back my youthful irresponsibility.



Pity. As said, in a few more years she'd be a perfect woman. In form, at least. If she ever outgrew her present tendency to tease and throw herself at men.



As I sprayed, I whispered in her ear.



"Your brother is approaching, so that he might casually admire a nude Belle Anna and Robin. Not spying, mind you. Just wandering by on purpose. You might want to move from this stretch of dunes if you don't want him to view your nudity first."



Pouting, she lay her oily self down on the giant towel. I heard her mumble something to herself along the lines of how that little masturbator could look all he wanted.



With that I left, to return to my guests.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Such a distance-eating style of running Vlad has. I first fell in love with him all these many years ago watching him run down a wounded stag and finish it with a long dagger.



So much grace in such loose-boned movement! He was handsome then in his mortality, there upon that Wallachian meadow, and he still is. Back then he wore furs and velvets and hates. That was the only difference I see today. The hates made him burn, and there were so many of them.



But then all Great Princes hate.



Today is better, mayhaps.



But at times I miss the burning within.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Robin was fingering some of the lettering on the stele when I returned to her company.



"I'm surprised the flowers do this well so close to the sea. Doesn't the salt kill them?"



"The Baltic is nearly salt free here, and the water from the Bay of Riga there might often be drunk without harm." She bent to rub at the stone's lettering.



"Something about some Swede and his men are buried here," she was able to translate. "This is Finnish, isn't it?"



"An old form of it," I answered. "Since then Swedish has crept into the speech and taken over much of the word usage. I'm surprised you can read any of it."



"I'm a Yuppie," she explained. "Upper Peninsula of Michigan Finn, if you know what Michigan is."



"I was to Hancock once," I smiled. "In any case, the stele commemorates the battle that took place here once, nearly seven centuries ago."



I waved towards the copse of stunted European birch, and towards the beach proper.



"The shoreline has moved inland now, but excepting the lack of deep forest, it is still much as it was.



"It was early summer, and the Russians had invaded, seeking to throw out the Poles and reach the sea. To buttress the Poles, the King of Sweden allowed four of his regiments to fight in Courland. In a number of encounters, the Swedes had thus far gotten the worst of it, and had abandoned Riga the day before. Captain Lars Spens and his sadly reduced company was moving west to find the rest of the Swedish and Polish army, and was moving at a good pace and in good order, all things considered. They'd been badly handled already about Riga.



"The core of his force was the remaining Nasgotha Musketeers with their long flint-locks, and their good discipline. Sergeants in those days were literally feared more than the enemy, and with good reason.



"Accompanying his own men were some local Latvian pikemen, militia really, who had attached themselves to the disciplined unit of Swedes. Their sole surviving officer was a teenaged Polish Cadet who had decided his chances were better with Captain Lars than relying on the mercy of the Russians foe.



Also with his force was a tall German from Nassau, named Captain Bernard. He was of a mercenary Saxon cavalry regiment, but was perforce an officer of infantry now. He had twenty-two-some Saxons unskilled in infantry fighting, but game for all that.



"A mob of camp followers and fleeing one-time garrison troops easily tripled their numbers.



"Which meant Captain Spens had, along with his company of about a hundred men, twenty-two Saxons, and thirty or forty Letts. As well as nearly three hundred assorted infantry remnants who were more rabble than soldiers. Men separated from their companies during the main-force assault and loss of Riga.



"Kazak Cossacks caught up with them, and Captain Spens decided to form up and in line front and give battle, since running would just get them slaughtered.



"The remnants and camp followers did exactly that, and most of the Cossacks followed to harvest the frightened fools. Which gave Captain Spens a lull in which to brace his men for what was to come.



"The bayonet was in use by then, and their survival depended on keeping those points facing out from their little three-sided square.



"For horses are not stupid. They'll gleefully charge upon men, and even kill them with their hooves and bodies. But when they get close enough to see there are these steel points facing them, every horse in the world will balk. They'll refuse to continue. Bayonets protect men from cavalry charges, so long as they remain steadfast.



"This is exactly what happened.



"Three hours later the Cossacks eventually re-gathered and they bore down on the Swedes, Saxons and Letts. Their horses balked. Gunfire was exchanged. Men died and bled, but the Swedes held.



"Eventually they would be overwhelmed, but the Cossacks were quite angry at having to work so hard for their prey. So angry that eventually some of the Cossacks dismounted and began a gunfire war with the Swedes. Cossacks hated to dismount for any reason.



"More Russians arrived in the form of a few dozen more Cossacks, and then a large mish-mash of Russian peasant infantry. Maybe parts of three regiments, about four to five hundred men. All of them sweating hard in their long brown coats with black facings.



"This was in the years before Peter the Great, and the Russian foot soldier was brave but unskilled in maneuver. Large masses of bodies which were told to charge forward, or stand and defend.



"Immediately the situation changed for the worse for the Swedes. The Russians might be unskilled, but there were hundreds of them, and they could fire their muskets. Swedish casualties mounted, and the Russians pressed close. Seeing no hope of salvation, Captain Spens surrendered.



"Proper surrender then took place, under a white flag. The Russian Officer was a fellow Swede, a mercenary, and as was the custom of the times, he allowed the officers to keep their swords. Once the weapons were lowered, however, the Kazak Cossacks swarmed over the defenders.



"A great butchery took place then, most of the Letts, Swedes and Saxons dying within the first few minutes of the treachery. The rifleless men tried to fight back, and the Russian Colonel ordered Russian volleys fired into the Cossacks. But it was to no avail.



"All the Swedish officers died, excepting Captain Bernard, and including the Russian Colonel as he fought to save his prisoners.



"It was at that moment that the Swedish horse arrived, sweeping in a wide arc from the north and west.



"Finns they were, on Finnish horses exactly like those the girls love to ride. Smaller than some today or then, but sturdy and accustomed to hard work.



"Three hundred, maybe close to four hundred, and they came in as the Finns always did, with their swords raised high and shouting; "Haake Palle! Haake Palle!"



"That means ..."



"No quarter," suddenly Robin supplied.



I nodded, running a thumb across the old pitted stone. "Take no prisoners.



"They did not kill all of the Cossacks, of course, but the ones who escaped were the only survivors.



"The remaining Swedes, and Letts, stood guard over a few surviving Russians, and that was that. No Saxons were left for Captain Bernard to command. It was, I suppose, a Polish, or more properly a Swedish victory, but it came at too high a cost.



"In the future, Sweden would enjoy many such victories over the Russians. But enough such Swedish victories and eventually Sweden could no longer fight the Russians. But that, and Charles XIII, and Peter the Great, and Poltava, that all lay in the future.



"What did they call this battle?" Al asked.



"No one ever did," I explained. "It was just another skirmish in a centuries long war."



They looked skeptically then at the stele. "Captain Bernard, in later years, erected this modest monument in honor of his comrades, old and new, who fell that hot day. The fourth side is inscribed in Russian Cyrillic honoring those upright men who fought valiantly, and then died while protecting their prisoners.



"It commemorates not victory, or loss, but honor. Dead mens honor, but the greater for their true hearts."



After a minute Al murmured what a wonderful tridee-drama that story would make. Damadora agreed with that sentiment. Robin called it a great tragedy. She saw the truth of it. All that pain and effort and dying, and the end result is a black stone monument in sight of the Baltic.



"You mentioned plants," she reminded me.



We began a circuit of the stone, and for each patch of flowers and plants, I'd crouch and indicate them.



"Geraniums are for protection of their souls, and this Rosemary provides remembrance, so they are never forgotten. Marigolds indicate sadness at their passing, and this chervil says their hearts were sincere and honest. This little wildness of Hazel is so that the fallen might reconcile themselves to their own deaths. The wheat promises the wealth of Heaven. Here we have Indian maize, also indicating bounty in the beyond. European violets state that they were all loved, for their sacrifices, if nothing else. The tiny red roses cry sorrow at the spilled blood. Lavender for relief from pain. Goldenrod for forgiveness. Broom for constancy. Rhododendron for no tears. Oleander for swift journey. Bramble is a promise of no more lies or deceit, for they have gone over where such cannot be.



"The ash trees yonder are an apology for not saving them.



"After all, the Saxons gave their lives into my hands and I failed them."



Silence for a few minutes, and I shook my head in mocking confusion.



"Or at least that is how I imagine that is how Captain Bernard felt in later years. Disappointment in himself." Robin gave me her hand to hold, and I smiled down at her.



"I must be getting senile," I chuckled.



They appeared embarrassed, and looked away from me for a moment. Only Belle Anna met my eyes and said nothing eloquently.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Barren remembrances. Better he forget those many comrades, these centuries dead.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





It rained heavily, later, and we all retired inside for a simple supper of Western omelet, ham and blueberry shortcake. Young Aniya helped her Mother, Ludmilla, the cook, and all noticed the cook's familiarity with the Lord of the Manor. The Lord of the Manor had her on his lap for a friendly buss, worthy of past closeness. Everyone loved the meal, and the way the cook kept running her fingers through my waves of black hair.



Americans had Bacon and Eggs for breakfast as a matter of course, and I personally thought that a trifle heavy to start the day with. Apres' food, we had wines and relaxation. All the children were allotted rations of wine, adjudged by their body weight and promises to drink slowly. The teenagers enjoyed being almost treated as adults, and their wine not being quite rationed.



I forebore to reveal all three teenagers had before this had a surreptitious sip or three from my bar. They had been sparing, and for appreciation of their good judgment I said nothing.



After Ludmilla, Marelee wanted to sit on my lap to drink her wine, but Belle Anna beat her to it. Delightful little soft ass on my ancient Greek Goddess.



Al asked me again if I'd allow him to film a little TriDee Drama here, of the fight by the Swedes against the Russians. It had all the elements of a classic battle fiction, he said. No real villains, except for the Cossacks, and even the Cossacks probably disown their old deserved reputations. Almost universal appeal.



He stated it was a natural Cowboys-and-Indians variation, and the use of period costumes would elevate it to something almost gorgeous.



Once the others knew of my knowledge of the battle, nothing would serve but that I made a story of it. The young girls clamored loudest. Personally I felt like I needed a shaman's headdress on, and a campfire to tell it over.



"Very well," I proclaimed in my hammiest scenery chewing manner. "I gave up a promising career as a thespian, I'll have you all know." The groans were loud.



"Ahhhh! The smell of grease paint, the heat of the stage lights, it all comes back!"



With that I left, but quickly returned. I now had on a stained light green suede jerkin, a buckler and cavalry sword in a sheath, and a buff tricorn hat with a gold fringe on top rakishly perched on my head. Annika said I only lacked a peg leg and an eye patch to be a Pirate.



With that as an incentive I proceeded to ham it up to the extent that it took me nearly two hours to recreate the Battle of the Swedish Musketeers.



I was now a Star.



Al wanted to sign me up for that Drama he wanted to shoot. Not as THE Star, but one of the supporting cast. Graphics would create scenes in a Palace, a romance or two in costume, and then the battle amongst the sea dunes. Riga had a modest Palace, but for the drama it could rival Versailles.



Robin, an actress, volunteered to play my love interest. Herself a countess, myself a mere lowly Mercenary. We could be very convincing together, she said.



Marelee virtually reached flameover point.



To prove how convincing she could be, Robin and I spent the night together. As a conciliation prize, Annika and Emilia Suarez put Al Earnhardt through the paces. Then there were the Savaranni's, Diego Suarez, and Annika. The last two men were thereby badly outnumbered, if I recalled Annika correctly.



Thus far the game of musical beds was working out just fine. No one seemed to be getting upset or deprived.



Except Marelee. And perhaps Ludmilla.







+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Arrogant male! Of course Vlad was flattered by the attentions of my TriVed producer, but he was flawless in his rendition of the hermit unwilling to risk his tender ego to the bright lights and blasé critics.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





The next two days were a watershed in many ways. The women stopped wearing halters around the Dacha (including Marelee), the small girls ran to the distant beach in their birthday suits, and we set up our own nude beach.



Everyone had enough sense to wear trousers and chaps when riding the horses. Even Marelee spent some time a-horse.



The boys almost fell off when they tried. I resolved to teach them a little, or my sometimes-stablehand Karmo would. In my youth I sat a beautiful horse. Even in a bloody wild melee, when I directed my charger with my knees alone, I was never unhorsed.



I carefully played the reluctant at the nude beach, which promptly increased the bravado of Diego and Al, who both quickly stripped. In a few minutes everyone was totally nude. Including Marelee.



It was refreshing, again, to insert myself into my European life.



Jamie and Rann goggled when they came by, and the wicked, wicked women made sure they got good views. Rann was the first to succumb to the cries of Belle Anna and Annika to undress, but Jamie was a close second.



After a period of embarrassed lying on their stomachs, they adjusted wonderfully.



To show they were being closer to men, Diego pointedly got two bulbs of XX Vietnamese beer from the chest and gave one each to the boys. Emilia bit her lip, but held her peace.



Marelee asked, and was allowed a beer.



I am close to being grown-up, she was silently screaming.



Later on we used the cargo hover and I showed six of the adults and Marelee one of my other battlefields. We eventually settled in a glade near some marshland, and I began my story.



"When McDonald, a French marshal, moved from Memel in East Prussia, he was under orders from Napoleon to take St. Petersburg, or at least threaten to take it."



A broken mass of marble still centered the glade, and I explained that once a bulky marble stele once stood here. It had a Roman Cross carved deeply into one side, and an orthodox Cross in the other.



"Armitsav, the Russian General, was expecting such a move, and retired before the French forces; exactly in the manner as Kutuzov was retreating before Napoleon himself.



"Actually the French forces were, in the majority, Prussian forces. Prussia might be a reluctant ally of France, still it was an ally. Also other German, Polish, French, Croat, Italian and Swiss marched into the Baltic lands.



"Armitsav had already decided to make the broad Dvina his stop line, and Riga would be the lynchpin to his endeavor.



"Russian General Armitsav delayed the French as much as he could, of course, and was overall successful. The Russian fleet stayed away, but all knew they hovered to the north. The Danes were reluctant to put their ships close to the Latvian shore because of the treacherous shoaling water hereabouts. The Swedish fleet was full of excuses for the French, and stayed away, period. Therefore the French could not by-pass the Dvina by the sea.



"Earlier, during the retreat, a column of two Italian regiments masked by outliers were following the Russians and came to this dark place. It was a place of death for them.



"Four two-barrel Russian batteries were masked by brush, and sited to enfilade the Italian forces as they were channeled down the road by the encroaching wetlands.



"Camouflaged Russian soldiers covered the batteries, and their muskets added to the carnage." I bent and clawed an almost hidden object from the soft ground.



"This is a small ball from a canister load. A four-pounder like the Russians had would fire something like twenty such balls in a case shot, and they would spread like buckshot from a shotgun as they traveled. A single round of grape shot might lay half a company low.



"The sound of cannon firing alerted a hundred and more Bavarian Jaegers who were splashing through the marshes just to the south. They were lost, but were at the right place at the same time.



"Marching to the sound of gunfire, Colonel Brabenberg, he came upon the struggle in the glade from the marsh side. They had the Russians in perfect flank fire, and immediately began to bleed the surprised Tsarist forces.



"Jagers were light infantry, as were British fusillers, and they were accustomed to taking cover and giving aimed fire. Standing hip deep in the muck and brush they were all but invisible. Being lower to the ground, when the Russians finally responded, Russian aimed fusillades passed mostly harmlessly overhead.



"Half the Russian artillery was rendered dead, disorganized or useless, as the Jagers concentrated on the Artillerymen whenever possible. The Italians rallied and pressed home an assault in the face of the remaining two batteries.



""Glory!" they shouted, and managed to take all of the cannon and spike three. But the Italians had suffered too terribly, and could not hold on to their elusive victory. A Russian counter-attack retook the batteries, and held the Italians at bay while they retreated in good order.



"The Russians managed to withdraw in stages, and in a few hours had disappeared in the direction of Riga.



"Bodies lay everywhere, and the cries of the wounded were terrible. The Jagers came out of the swamp and set off to harry the retreating Russians. It was, I suppose, another Napoleonic victory."



Tahminna and Belle Anna did not miss the irony in my voice.



"I don't suppose there's a name to this little battle either, is there?" Al asked. I shook my head in a negative.



"How many battle sites ARE there on your place?" Diego asked.



"Five that I know of," I admitted.



"I see the flowers," Robin commented.



"The monument is gone, but yes, I planted the herbs and flowers for the departed. My ash grove is there."



Dawadora asked: "Did the Communists destroy the monument?"



"No," I smiled. "In 1916 Anmno Dominae the area was subjected to an intense German bombardment, before wresting the area from the Tsarist forces. The Tsarist Army bombarded the area then, adding to the destruction. When Lieutenant Farrare of the Landwehr was finally transferred here in November of '15, it was already in ruins. The Lieutenant noted it in his diary."



"Which War was the one in that 1915?" Diego asked.



"The War to End All Wars," I returned. "The First World War, by some accounting. 1914 to 1918, old Christian calendar."



"That was the one where the Nazis fought the Communists?" Tahminna asked.



"That was the NEXT World War," I corrected. "And yes, they fought here also." Al shook his head.



"A fierce battle was fought here in 1944 when the Soviets were driving the Nazis back. The CourlandKessel lines began here, on my beach, and went south for nearly a hundred kilometers."



"The fifth battle?" Dawadora asked.



"The Bolsheviks attempted to take Riga in 1919, and a force of Cossack cavalry was trapped here by White Russian Cavalry, Letts, and the ErpingerFreiKorps, a Bund of mercenary German veterans. Few Cossacks survived."



That night I once again played out a long-ago battle, to the delight of all watching. Except this time I had a black satin fore-and-aft hat with almost-invisible green silk on the trim, more in keeping with a Napoleonic theme.



Once again Al asked about making a tridee of the Napoleonic battle on my estate, and again he graciously accepted my no.



I overheard Tab, the oldest of Robin's two child girls, as she asked her father how come she enjoyed my stories so much? The lighting was terrible, there was no mood music, and no close-ups, among other faults she listed.



"Maybe it's because Vladimir tells it as if he were there, in the battle, and remembers it so well," Robin supplied. At that she looked me suddenly in my eyes. She caressed the blond head and smiled; "And maybe it's because Vladimir is such a good Actor."



"If you ever get tired of growing Strawberries," Al grinned, "you can always get in touch with me in Spain, and I'll give you a small role or two, just to see how you do before the cameras.



He meant it.



That would never do. Fortunately all I had to do was be the semi-recluse and odd sort in order to evade that dire fate.



Children to bed, and then we adults tossed a few good logs in the stone fireplace, and watched in the flickering darkness while Belle Anna and Annika made leisured love. Then while Robin and Belle Anna curled into each other's groin, I went to sleep. Later I drank deeply, and went back to sleep.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Later, when no one was awake or watching, I easily carried Vlad to his bedroom and threw his clothed body onto bed. Despite being in his cups, he helped in minute ways as I undressed him.



His entire body was criss-crossed with familiar scars, and I lightly touched a few of them. The guests thought he'd been in a shuttle crash on a distant planet. They believed he had somehow survived on his own, but gained a pattern of proud old wounds which he now stubbornly refused to have removed. As if in truth they could now be removed.



One scar I knew well was where a Genoese crossbow bolt had entered just under his armpit. A successful attempt by his local boyars and lords to assassinate him, barring the intervention of myself.



He stirred, but I whispered in his ear.



"No Turkish host is in Wallachia, my prince, and you may rest this night at least. Tomorrow is another day."





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Al and Robin and I, with their two daughters, attended the local Orthodox church. As the local Lord, I made a point of periodically visiting our local Ufa Synod Eastern Rites in its Fuller dome, and generally being visibly the pillar of the community. My guests had never been to an Eastern church. We didn't kneel, and we crossed with three fingers from left to right. And our bread was really bread, during the blessing.



The Priest knew me for a great sinner, of course, but she left judgment to others, and the final accounting to God.



Afterwards I socialized a little, talking to those from the Lutheran church across the square. I invited a few families to our local nude beach. Ludmilla almost twisted my arm. She wanted to display her bounteous charms to the 'other' females.



Her daughter Aniya became enthusiastic once she learned she wouldn't have to fix any of the food.





-----------------------------------





That day we had foot races. I beat Dawadora and Al easily, but Diego and I tied. According to Annika. Then Annika easily outran me. It was those long Norwegian legs I complained, ignoring my own long legs. Then the girls on my Finnish horses beat me. Aniya on her bigger horse beat the girls on their Finnish ones. Rann fell off his horse, but he jumped back on. Jamie got taken into the forest for a ride by his horse.



Eight women from the village came out to my little nude beach. Five of the local men came with them to keep an eye on their women.



It didn't quite work out the way they had planned.



Before the day was over Belle Anna and Annika had taken four of the men off into the dunes to have their wicked way with them. One at a time, mind you. Nothing improper.



Tahminna took one husband and wife back to the Dacha for a more comfortable encounter on soft sheets. Dawadora soon followed with one of the wives who had been abandoned by their men. And Marelee was furious when round-faced Aniya took a liking to her brother Rann.



When the pair went out into the water until only their heads showed, they did more than show affection. The young lady (sixteen?) was beautiful with her long yellow hair floating in the water.



Marelee was absolutely blazing furious when the two came back all smiles and touchings. Things were not improved by the sight of blond Ludmilla constantly oozing her copious body all over my bony frame.



Everybody was having fun except poor Marelee.



And Jamie. Jamie was bright green with envy of Rann.



What games we humanoids play.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





Nandenychuva was delicious! She was bursting with life!



She and her husband both ate garlic bulbs daily like they were apples. It gave her a delightful flavor!





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





A chill night rain had driven everyone into their clothes, and I introduced mulled rum to everyone. Complete with a red hot poker straight from the fireplace hearth. Lots of sugar, lots of cinnamon, lots of rum and water, and the sizzling caramel smell upon the introduction of the sizzling iron.



An acquired taste, most agreed, but entrancing somehow when bodies were lying comfortably around a crackling log fire.



"Tell us another story, Vladimir!" Al and Robin demanded. Suddenly the small girls were the ones closest to me.



I arose and laid my hand on one of the immense beams which were the pillars of my house. Similar dark aged wood sectioned the ceiling into an almost antique construct. Whitewashed ceiling, blackish beams.



"Let me tell you about the name carved in this wood," I began.



"All of you adults know of the Schwarzchild Radius, otherwise known as the Event Horizon of Black Holes, have you not? Did you know the theorist Karl Schwarzchild was a contemporary of Einstein's? Both men argued via letters and theories, as so many academics do, but they were neither friends nor enemies. Just men who gloried in exercises of the mind over an often brutal reality."



Running my hand over one timber, I smiled. "These are his initials, carved in November of 1915, when he and his four-battery heavy artillery regiment were assigned to the extreme left flank of the Kaiser's Imperial Army in Russia. Some over-eager clerk in Berlin had decided this Herr Professor of the Imperial Academy of Science was better employed as an artilleryman than a thinker.



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"One did not stick his head over the trench lip if one wanted to live. Russian snipers were good.



"The miserable part was trying to send this fire direction information back to where it could be of some good.



"So Lt. Ferrare of the 953 Landwehr Reserve Regiment was assigned the task of keeping runners to hand for the dangerous task of crawling to the rear (usually during a bombardment), to relay this information.



"But we also had this primitive bulky wireless radio, and a piece of temperamental merde it was! Practically made of chipped stone and Witch Doctor's magic!



"You had to keep the batteries warm, so they'd work, or else you'd liable to be elbow deep in snowy mud and praying the next Tsarist shell didn't go up your ass. Believe me, by the winter of 1916-17, the Russkies had an abundance of artillery shells themselves.



"Keeping the radio battery warm was difficult, because Russian snipers had a love of killing wood-chopping parties. And the previous Prussian Life Guards Regiment had taken all their wood with them when they left these trenches, leaving us nothing.



"So we kept the battery married to the Primus stove, and hoped for the best.



"We were existing in a large captured Tsarist 'Battalion-Bunker', and the door faced the wrong way. But it got hideously cold in the winter, and the big bunker was too big for us to heat.



"Poor Kapitan Schwarzchild was miserable, and his fingertips froze and eventually had to be removed. He lost most of his toes from the cold as well. Eventully he was invalided back to Berlin where he forever after had trouble holding a pencil. But he finished the theory of Black Holes nonetheless.



"That Spring, after the fortunate Herr Professor had left us, German Imperial General Staff decided to practice a few new wrinkles in Trench Warfare on the Riga Front.



"Just when we were finally getting comfortable. A few big Tsarist 'whiners' had hit the back of our big bunker. We few up front were untouched. But suddenly we had all these support beams sticking out of the rubble, and we could mine the wood for our fires. Suddenly all the officers would come by to stop and chat and enjoy the only warm bunker in Latvia.



"Alas, we moved on and whipped the Russians again, and wound up stuck in another stinking 'battalion-bunker'. Literally stinking, because this one had dead bodies under the rubble, and the stench was ever with us. Eventually the Bolsheviks took over Russia with their Revolution, the front went to pieces, and we started easing out way into Estonia. That translated into there not being quite so many men dying per square kilometer of Russia conquered, but that was all it meant to us in the trenches.



"After the Bolshvik surrender, the 953 Landwehr Regiment was sent to France, where Lt. Ferrare experienced THAT sausage grinder next."



I patted the blackened timber with fondness. "According to the meticulous diary of the fortunate Ferrare, I was able to identify sixteen other initials carved into these beams.



"When my Father started this home of mine, he discovered these wonderfully preserved large beams in the ground, and utilized them as structural wood for his own undertaking."



The young girls asked if they also fought with swords and cavalry in that war? The answer was yes. Lt. Ferrare saw an Ensign use the family cavalry sword to help beat off a trench-raiding party of Russians, once. And as the trenches weren't always continuous on the Russian front, both sides still employed fighting men on horseback for a number of tasks.



"When we moved up in 1917, the Russians sent in a few regiments of Siberian Cossacks to repel us. Our machine-guns massacred them, but they delayed our advance for a day. That day lost doesn't seem quite so important from our present perspective."





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



I've an idea for a performance, a send-off for our last night together. Something beautiful, enchanting, and magical. If we do this right, these humans and their children will remember this entertainment clearly for the rest of their lives. Whereas they shall quickly lose the details of the sex and the groping. The nude beach they shall remember. The horses, the getting sick of over-eating fresh fruit. The foot races, the camaderie, and this last night.





++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





In the coolness of this late Spring night, everyone was more than a little bit dejected.



Tomorrow my guests would leave. Even Belle Anna and Annika. Everyone had a reason to regret to passing of time, and the parting of new bonds. So it was a melancholy evening for us all.



Surprisingly Jamie and Marelee had become close. It had started slowly enough, but one day chance lent a hand.



I had been sprawled in the grass of one corner of my house, enjoying the cool breeze and the moments of peace and freedom.



Annika had been enjoying old Framko in the stables, and Jamie had wandered by, heard noises, and stuck his head in a stall door.



He watched the two coupling inside the straw-filled stall for a few minutes. He grew tired of fruitless watching after a few minutes, and he and his erection left. Marelee was right behind him, and took his peeping place at the door. She left after only a few seconds and hurried up to catch Jamie.



They didn't notice me sprawled in the shade and enjoying the breezes ruffling my fur. And my hearing is superb, especially considering my age.



Marelee walked with him, smiling at the way his swimming trunks were still tented. She pretended astonishment at Annika taking old smelly bald short Framko on as a lover.



Jamie defended my old pensioner for still having the ability to please a woman at his senile age. Like all teenagers, anyone over fifty is considered a contemporary of Julius Caesar or Alexander the Great.



When he reached that same great age, Jamie hoped he'd encounter a melter like Annika who found old went's interesting.



"What about now?" Marelee asked. "Do you think I'm melting?"



It had gone on from there as so many similar encounters had, in so many similar occasions, to Marelee having a little hand sex with the abysmally grateful Jamie.



Jamie was ready to fall kettle over ass in love, but Marelee was simply growing up, and wanted to practice a little with the male of the species.



Better him the recipient of the practicing than me.



In the event all noticed the sudden power of female over young Jamie. And Marelee enjoyed the rush of dominance over the feckless lad at the same time she was a little frightened by this strange creature (a boy) adoring her.



They were barely knowing each other, and no doubt felt themselves great conspirators. Without myself having to reveal anything or say a word, all of us in the Dacha knew roughly what had occurred. Encounter followed by puppy love, at least on Jamie's part. Marelee was suddenly wiser than she had intended, for she was merely fond of Jamie. Not smitten.



On the plus side I had become a distant beau ideal, and not a surmountable goal. I breathed a tentative sigh of relief.





--------------------------------------





In any event, as a sign of the weeks gone past, but after early-evening dinner, none of the other adults wanted a bit of lattice-top white-cherry pie. The four girls ate a few decorous slices, and the three teenagers managed slim slices. Only Annika and I had large seconds on Ludmilla's specialty. My cook had made a dozen pies for my guests to take back with them. Their replicators might never get the taste quite right, but they had copies of all the recipes.



Of course a certain sense of melancholy suffused my guests. Tonight was the last night, and I wondered if they had realized yet they already planned to spend it in the arms of their married ones.



Still happily suffering digestion, I announced to all and sundry that I had decided on a night of amateur music as a farewell gift.



Robin, I think, assumed I would play the balchlava. Instead I dragged forth an immense 120 CM tall Celtic Harp, sitting on its own little handled dolly. With a convincing show of my physical limitations I accepted the help of Emilia and Dawadora in placing the ungainly instrument on its little fitted and padded square of wood.



As I tuned my medieval instrument, Annika tuned her lute, which she played as a lap instrument. Both Annika and I were suddenly Russian peasants as we both wore white peasant's embroidered tunics. Soon Annika was playing the Milanese lute as accompaniment to Belle Anna reciting "The lady of Shallot". Everyone settled to enjoy the poetry, and were much amazed to find me finding my subdued way into the performance with soft accents of Celtic harp as accent. Behind us our 'theatrical stage' was front of the fireplace.



As Tennyson rolled on into the night, and Camelot rose magical in a woman's voice, I began to pick more energetically at my taut strings. The Celtic Harp is two layers of strings, and is capable of great subtlety.



I'd already tuned it beforehand. Re-tuning was simply a precaution. An easy job with my perfect sense of pitch.



After "The Lady of Shallot", Belle Anna left, and Annika and myself rendered a shortened duet of "Maud". Then we rose and with a gesture for everyone to remain seated (or laying) we two then repaired off center stage.



Everyone wondered what was next, and were anticipating another small music for their entertainment.



BettyAnn, one of the Earnhardt girls, first noticed the face.



A head of deepest pitch was upside down peering out at the guests from the flue of the fireplace chimney.



It was alive.



It was outlined in flickering red and hints of blue, but nothing of its face was visible excepting the profoundly exaggerated slanted eyes of heat-distorted carmine red.



As all watched thunderstruck, a figure uncurled itself from the chimney vent, and stood in the remains of last night's fire.



Bipedal, humanoid, yes, but unreal and unearthly.



It gave a little trilling laugh to see everyone raptly watching it unwind itself in front of the fireplace.



Perhaps it was an elf of some kind. Its movements had something of that pixieish air to it of one of those elusive creatures of the heath or forest. Yet it looked alike to no previously legended elf or fairie.



It finally emerged from the fireplace, clinging like a lizard to the mortised fieldstone that was the fireplace itself. It was a shadow-creature of darkness outlined in flame and with nothing to see of its face except those very slanted eyes of deep red.



It raised its head and a red gash of a mouth appeared in its misshapen head, full of incongruous rows of white canines, fangs. It licked its tongue of yellow fire, and looked about the room.



"It's a CARTOON!" one of the girls exclaimed.



Suddenly the disturbing vibrations sensed in the air were replaced by mere wonder and awe. This strange creature was now, somehow, comprehensible.



Al knew otherwise but he held his tongue.



Indeed it proceeded to scamper down the fall of the fireplace and crouch before the quiescent Celtic harp. It waved at the guests, and smiled again, then scampered around the harp, inspecting it closely. Inevitably it twanged a few of the strings, and acted surprised. It rubbed the side of the nose if now appeared to have, and inspected the harp once more, its casual gestures bringing forth a musical chord of quiet joy.



With a dramatic gesture it sat down at the seat so recently vacated by Vlad. It now had on a tuxedo, complete with tails, which it proceeded to shoot before sitting down.



It idly twanged more of the taut wires, and smiled literally from ear to ear at the pleasant result. It was a smaller being, and could never reach the further strings, as Vlad had only moments ago. Yet its arms lengthened until it could strum a long chord of musical notes from it.



And now it played the tall Celtic Harp.



Softly, expertly, the notes following one upon the other in chorus after chorus of progressive, almost mechanical ladders of sweet sound.



A deep oboe-like sound rung in the air suddenly.



A figure of ice and snow entered from stage left.



Wrapped in furs and rags, shapeless lumps of cloth covering its feet as it shuffled into the recital area. Its breath smoked in the air, bits of ice tinkled off its rags and coats as it moved, its face was hidden behind cowls and darkness.



For all it was a creature of winter's deepest darkest days, it emitted no waves of cold or aura of ice.



A long blond wooden Oboe began somewhere within the darkened visage and extended all the way to the floor. The double-reed instrument of medieval style tentatively emitted notes and passages until it was accompanying the flame-man-demon on the great Harp.



The recital continued, with none but Al wondering over how the musical feat unfolding before their eyes was accomplished.



One, then all four of the girls exhibited the assurance of immortality common to the young, and descended on the black-flaming creature playing the harp so well.



The music as interrupted by the girls seeking to touch the unearthly skin of the apparition. It burst into incontrollable giggles, and wriggled in apparent desperation as the girls suddenly attacked him.



"Don't Tickle!" it pleaded in a falsetto voice. "I've got this damned music to play, and you shouldn't interrupt an old demon like me when I'm busy!"



The girls were relentless, and sent the flame creature sputtering and edging away from their insistent fingers.



"Will no one save me from these diabolical little girls?" it asked.



In seconds Robin and Emilia had called their youngest children to themselves, mildly scolding them for bothering the harp player. In gratitude, it rose and gave a courtly bow to each of the ladies.



"Thank you!" it proclaimed. Then it sat back down and prepared itself to once more play the harp. During all this time the shouded figure of the Ice creature did little except vaguely wave a girl or two away from itself.



With a "Hmph!" the flame being touched fingers to string, and the recital of medieval music continued.



Then a large greenish light, a glow-fly of some sort, came into the room and circled the players. It hovered for a second before four of the adults, drawing awes of surprise from the adults and Marelee.



All recognized it as a sort of Tinker Bell.



Not quite the ancient Disney creation, but close.



The fairie circled the harpist and oboe player a half dozen times before it began to hover between them and their audience.



"It's a fairy!" Robin breathed.



And it was growing.



It hovered in the air and as if it were being unrolled an ever enlarging creature grew into the night air before them.



In seconds it was something a little over a meter tall, long, and its light green transparent wings slowly beat the air, suspending it above the floor.



It was a classical fairy, pixie, fey creature that hovered between the harpist and oboe player, and their audience.



It had greenish skin, and was almost sexless, but still female; almost like a child but for its minor breasts and nipples. It was quite naked, but it displayed a nakedness never seen before by any of the humans there.



Its laugh tinkled as it gazed on the audience, and sprays of golden dust sprang from it's fingertips as it gestured.



A fairy lightly danced in the air of Latvia, and it laughed continually as if it was amused by the looks upon all watching.



"Alas my love," she sang as the harp and oboe blended in behind her trilling singing. "You do me wrong,



"To cast me off so discourteously;

And I have loved you for oh so long

Delighting in your company."



"My Lady Greensleeves," Emilia whispered. "She's singing "My Lady Greensleeves!""



"Greensleeves Was my delight,

Greensleeves my heart of gold

Greensleeves was my heart of joy

And who but my Lady Greensleeves"



"I have been ready at your hand

To grant whatever thou would'st crave

I have waged both life and land

Your love and your goodwill for to have."



The voice built in volume slowly, deepened, grew more beautiful.



"Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold

Greensleeves was my heart of jou

And who but my lady Greensleeves."



"The petticoat of sendle white

With gold embroidered gorgeously;

Thy petticoat of silk and white

And these I bought the gladly"



"I have been ready at your hand

To grant whatever thou would'st crave

I have waged both life and land

Your love and goodwill for to have."



"Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves my heart of gold

Greensleeves was my heart of joy

And who but my Lady Greensleeves."



"I have been ready at your hand

To grant whatever thou would'st crave

I have waged both line and land

Your love and goodwill for to have."



For a minute the harp wound downward, the oboe giving off a faintling melancholy note as the green fairy spun around and around. Faster and faster until she was a trail of golden sparks falling to the floor.



The black apparition turned and whisked back up the chimney quick as thought, leaving the Celtic Harp softly rocking on its base.



The clothes and rags of ice and freeze crumpled upon itself until the long wooden oboe lay softly nestled in a small pile of indeterminate rags.



That was it. There was nothing more.



The audience was stunned, but quickly broke up into scatters of people investigating the fireplace, the air, the stool, and the pile of rags.



All was disappeared.



Emilia shrieked a peep of surprise when Annika asked her what was the matter.



Vlad, Belle Anna and Annika stood there in the portalway, with quizzical looks upon their faces.



Vlad mumbled around a mouthful of strawberry cake, and he asked: "Did we miss something?"





-------------------------------------------





In the morning the farewells were profuse, and the promises to stay in touch unending. But I knew I would soon enter my next death.



I should miss my Cherry orchards, and my fields of Strawberries and the lassitude and inaction they represented.



What must be must be. This is my consequence.



Dawadora and Diego stood alongside me, being distinctly underwhelmed by the new sets of Picts on their boys.



Such temporary tattoos, displaying flags and legends and underclad females, had been common for two years by now. It was all the rage, and now that everyone was returning to the Real World, it was necessary to re-paint their images and decorations.



Robin had a wide gap in the back of her blouse displaying a portrait of Alvarada Alvaredez, done up all in green tones with black eyes and red leafs crowning his Olympic-champion head.



Tahimina portrayed a spray of yellow and red stars on her dark-skinned neck and the side of her face, so I surmised the fad had now passed on to the female of the species as well.



Maralee was surprisingly enough without any of the elaborate hair-dos the older women were sporting. Even Annika and Belle Anna wore the ungainly things, of course.



It was hard to think of the women of Star Fleet, for instance, taking those hair incredible robo-machines with them into unknown space. Just so they'd be fashionable in places where mankind had yet to go? I hoped they didn't wear them on the bridge of the ENTERPRISE! Not in actual duty, at least.



The part-wig, part-hair hair-dos for women were grotesque creations, I had thought for some years, However, it was surprising to see a teenager foregoing one of the sartorial confections so long and so very popular in so much else of human space. Dawadora was surprised as well, and hoped that it meant the fashion was due for a change.



"Not me!" Diego proclaimed. "I just spent almost nine hundred Cred not three months past on the latest Centauri model hair-do weavers in my home! It had better not become a passing fancy until after I've got my moneys worth out of it!"



Al joined us, his bared chest displaying a Pict of Georgiana Chaong on her figure skates between his open lapels.



I'd forgotten last year was an Olympic year until thus reminded by Al and his wife's Picts.



"She's going to get her 'do' done at a saloon when she gets home. She disdains the portables our wives brought with."



Al is being facetious. He knows perfectly well the word is 'Salon' and not saloon.



Al pulled me aside in a moment or two and stood with his face only a few centimeters from mine.



"No," I said.



"You won't tell me how you did that? Even if I promise not to use it commercially? I'm dying of curiosity, you know. Everyone else is so accustomed to visual magic on the trivee they don't realize to what extents we have to go to appear convincing in the damned things. What you did was sheer magic, dammit!"



"No."



He sighed. "I do hope you'll look me up in Spain, though," he added. "Get your face in a few shows, I will. I mean it."



Inwardly I flinch back, appalled. It'd never do for me to become a damned trivee star! Think how embarrassing those images will be in two or four centuries time!



I'd better try once more to convince All of what a hermit I am at heart.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





I've informed my Roumanian Prince of my probable move out to the stars. I've become incredibly friendly with the local Vulcan Ambassador, and his human wife.



I'd like to return to archaeology. With my present connections, obtaining the proper funding should be no problem.



Throughout known and unknown space there are entire dead worlds practically crying to be studied. There's one place I've even just now heard of. M-113. The entire race, gone. Snuffed out. One lonely expedition of a few souls, and what can they do by themselves on an entire world?



Maybe I can entice my favorite Vlad to join me.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++





E P I L O G





The night was going to be mild, and I was glad of it. I leaned against my excavating Spider and wiped my sweaty chest with a fresh towel. Crater's World could be so uncomfortably hot during the day.



Unexpectedly inside my Archaeological excavation Dome, Annika wound her near-naked way to me, with a complete stranger in tow.



Dear statuesque Annika wiped her hand through her short 'buzz' haircut and leered at me. She was showing a visitor from the ENTERPRISE through the diggings before taking her home to dine on. And vice versa.



Pretty enough little blond, I thought.



"Your first visit to M-113?" I politely asked, once the introductions had been done.



Rand. Ensign. Sally. Such a nice juicy little morsel.



Evidently those incredible hair-dos were worn on a working StarFleet vessel after all.



"Actually no," she returned. "I was here after our ship put paid to the last salt-sucker. Years ago. Pardon my memory, but you are again?"



"Loutelier, Pierre Loutelier."



For a second I had the impulse to tell her I was Vlad the Impaler, but that moment passed.



END

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