Even Braver New World State

by Rick K. Reut

  It would have taken no less than an hour to reach this point on foot. But by trans-plane, it took them no more than two minutes.

  When the plane perched on the roof of the clinic’s building, like a large black steel bird, the sky was turning scarlet with the setting sun. Splattered with soft shades, it hung on the hazy horizon like an old painting smuggled through time straight from the age of abstractionism. Slowly drying on the sunset sky-line, the picture gradually grew dark as the night came closer from the east, covering the city with its thick canvas-like blanket.

  On the foreground of the fading picture frame, three dark silhouettes – the first two much taller than the third one – slipped out of the trans-plane’s shadow and vanished in a black square of obscurity as the picture faded fully out of sight.

  Against the sightless-black screen, someone’s invisible hand writes the following watery words:

  “Several weeks since”

  The words then dry into the first wan rays of a rainy morning dawn as we fade in on a window frame containing a picture of a city landscape. The landscape is a bit blurred, like the vision of someone just drawn out of deep sleep but still half-dreaming, dreaming that the vision gradually gets back into focus, so that we can soon tell the bird’s eye view features of former Victory and current De Feat Square in Minsk.

  In the square, we can see the memorial to the veterans and victims of the Second World War totally dismantled and, right in its place, as if breaking from under the ground, erected another monument – to the first World Without Wars in shape of a massive thirty-meter-tall marmoreal phallus pointing its polished head straight up at the sky. A powerful spurt of soapy, sperm-like water is being continuously fountained from what looks like a tear in the top of the head, with the water then falling back down into a swimming pool at the foot of the monument, where the gas-fed eternal flame once waved and where a couple of colossal cannon-ball-shaped testicles currently flip out of the foamy water with the following figures and letters engraved on them:

  0001 (on the left ball) O.F.S.C. (on the right)

  And on the buildings surrounding the square in a semi-circle, written in bold neon letters in both English and the long-time-dead Russian languages, one can clearly see the words:

  DE FEAT OF THE PEOPLE’S IMMORTAL

  (the “T” in the last word is partly put out,

  making it look more like “IMMOR AL”)

  &

  (the Russian rendering of the same words

  – the last one of which is also a little disfigured –

  looks like this)

  ПОДВИГ НАРОДА БЕС-СМЕРТЕ

  Still staring through the window, which looks like a giant, plastic-bound graphic novel being drawn with rain, we hear a door open somewhere behind us. We turn around and see no other than Director Downing walk into what happens to be a hospital ward.

  “Good morning, my dear!” the Director grins with genuine geniality. “I did not expect to find you up so early. Let alone moving around on your own. O my Freud!”

  It glances at the clock on the wall and then quickly checks Its watch with an expression of extreme shock splattered all over Its face.

  “It’s only half past five! You should still be in bed! Remember what the doctor said. You must stay put for at least two weeks. And it’s been only ten days since your last surgery. You should really be careful with those pretty new legs of yours. How are they, by the way?”

  We look down at our long, antiseptically swathed legs stretching down to the tiled grey floor and answer in a high pitched womanly voice we aren’t used to yet.

  “They hurt like hell!”

  “Of course they do! What else did you expect after only ten days of bone-stretching implants? But it shouldn’t be that bad. Not with the painkilling pills the doctor prescribed you. You are taking them, right?” the Director looks at us with clear concern.

  “No. I mean yes,” we hear ourselves choke on the words. “I just forgot to take them this time!”

  “It’s so typically careless of you! You should take them as soon as you wake up! What will the Controller say? Besides, how do you expect to recover if you don’t follow the instructions? Now, go back to bed before I put you there myself!”

  Slowly and heavily, we turn around and move towards an unmade bed in the opposite part of the ward, glancing down at our shuffling swathed feet.

  “And next time you get up, don’t forget to put on your slippers. The floors are really frosty in here. I should check it out with the Clinic’s Chief Caretaker,” says the Director, taking us by the hand. “So you’d better not get up at all for some time. Just call an auto-nurse in case you need anything. That’s what they’re for. Wait a minute!” It suddenly stops and – “just look at how tall you’ve become” – turns us towards a large looking glass.

  In the looking glass, we can see Director Downing’s double supporting a long, slim mummy-like figure swathed in sperm-white bandages. We can’t see Its face: only a pair of dark brown eyes staring at us through a slit in the bindings.

  “Now, don’t be so distraught,” says the Director, consolingly. “You’ve no idea how beautiful you’ll be when these bandages are finally peeled off.”

  The Director stares at the mummy appraisingly.

  “Almost as tall as me! This test transplanting technique is truly terrific. Yes, you’re a little too thin now, but I assure you that pretty soon the anabolic substances the doctors gave you will make you as big as horse. All we have to do is wait and not waste any more energy. So, let’s go lie down.”

  The Director and the mummy slowly approach the bed.

  “There, that’s much better,” says the Director, covering the mummy with a blanket. “Save your strength. You’ll need it for the parade. Remember, you promised to come. So, the Controller is counting on you. The preparations are already under way. Everything should be ready within a week. The official beginning is next Saturday. It starts in Dependence and then goes all the way down to De Feat Square to culminate in an outdoor orgy of overall atonement around the Community Cock. We expect a little over five million people to be present. It certainly won’t be as exciting as Rio or LA. But you do have to start with something, right? And then, maybe next year, if you behave, we’ll allow you to go to there. Anyway, I think that five million people available to fornicate with should be enough for your first time. Don’t you agree, Ada?”

  The mummy nods mutely.

  “That’s a good tranny. And now,” the Director sits down on the brink of the bed, “do try to get some sleep. No, no! What am I saying!? Don’t try! Just take these two tablets and swallow them with this glass of she-male shake to sleep like a newly decanted baby. There,” It says, giving the mummy a glass and a pair of pink-colored pills.

  The mummy takes the tablets and tamely gulps them down through a slit on Its swathed face.

  “You see!? Your eyes are already starting to shut.”

  And indeed, we can see the room start to blur before our blinking eyes and finally fall away, down into a deep dark watery sleep well of oblivion.

  One week later the preparations for the annual summer sex parade were finally finished. The whole wide world was burning with excitement, looking forward to its beginning. It was felt especially sharply in major metropolises, also known as the planet’s erogenous zones, modern Minsk was most certainly one of.

  At ten o’clock in the morning, both Dependence Square and Dependence Avenue – the main traffic artery running through the heart of the city in the direction of the Moscow speedway – was already clogged with action. Within the following few hours the whole city was bound to turn into a huge trans-human hive of horny she-males dying to be sexually untied and united in one outstanding outdoor orgy of atonement.

  Twenty two hours of continuous copulation with whatever and whoever came in sight without a shade of shame or remorse was all a sane human being could only dream of if It didn’t take part in similar events every season, no
t to mention miscellaneous monthly sex parties, weekend orgies and daily debauches. But since most social members did take part in them, they no longer had to wet their pants or skirts day-dreaming about it, but could actually live it full throttle as true.

  What had hardly been possible in the preceding periods of human history for anyone but the chosen few (mostly because most people were simply too poor and powerless to purchase their pleasures, or, what was most important, were too ugly and repulsive to be liked by literally everyone to a necessary extent to be wanted to be had by them free of charge), was now made an everyday experience thanks to the liberating power of biotechnology. The world was finally made perfect in all its aspects, and that was because all its inhabitants were made perfect in all their aspects. First of all, physically and, consequently, mentally.

  “The inner world of a person always reflects the outer one and vice versa. A human being cannot be beautiful on the surface and ugly inside, just like it cannot be ugly inside and beautiful on the surface. One’s outward appearance always tells the truth about who and what one is inside in case you know how to look and listen. And so, if you want to make people beautiful on the inside, you have to make them beautiful on the outside as well, thus bringing them to harmony with themselves. And finally, if you make everyone evenly beautiful on the outside, they will have absolutely no reason to be ugly on the inside. For any intrinsic ugliness is born out of outside deficiencies and drawbacks that do not allow a human being to be what it truly wants to be,” lectured the European Controller, looking out of the same picture-book-like widow we were looking out of only a few pages earlier.

  “Luckily, our latest biotechnological breakthroughs allow all of us to correct these drawbacks before they can corrupt out character, making any kind of ugliness utterly unthinkable. It means that no human being will ever again be sexually deprived and therefore unhappy because of Its looks.”

  Controller Globe turned around and stared at someone at the other end of the ward.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I think I am,” sang a sweet she-male voice, a trifle tremulous with worry.

  “Very well then,” the Controller walked across the ward and stopped by a twelve-foot-tall and four-foot-wide sheet of looking glass.

  “Now is the time,” It said and turned the looking glass to face what had become of Adam Marx.

  Imagine what a human caterpillar looking in the mirror of its dream to see the future butterfly must feel. This was exactly what Ada Marx felt when It saw Its new surgery-and-hormone-harmonized body in the looking glass. In disbelief, Ada’s trembling hand reached up and touched Its own face only to find how tender and soft it was. So soft that the softest satin sheet would seem like sand paper by comparison. Completely gone was the hard, bristly thicket of hair, let alone the wrinkles and chance acnes. Smooth was the skin and not only the skin. Ada could barely believe its eyes, now lined with much thicker and longer eyelashes. Fluttering like butterfly wings every time they blinked, the eyes moved along Ada’s brand new body clad in a gay-colored silicotton dress, starting with the face and finishing with the faultlessly fitting feet.

  It looked like Adam’s whole body had been changed, transformed into something barely recognizable and yet so shapely and seducing that, simply looking at it, Ada felt palpable pressure start to build up in Its undies, which somehow seemed much bulkier than before. Maybe that was because he hadn’t had an erection since his coming into the ward, he thought. At least, he or It – both being perplexed by which personal pronoun was more proper now – couldn’t remember having had one, ogling the cleavage between Its brand-new set of breasts. They certainly weren’t as big as those of the Controller or the Director, but they were still much bigger than the biggest breasts he’d seen on the Isle of Man. He also had to admit that it was pretty discomforting, for it put additional pressure on the lower back, bending the body forward, so that he had to make an effort just to stand straight.

  “Don’t worry. It’s a matter of one or two months max. And then it will feel as natural as any other part of your upgraded body,” Director Downing assured It, gently palpating the ample lumps of Ada’s newly gained pride.

  Ada’s hand, meanwhile, slid down from Its face and touched them too – so unbelievably soft, so truly real that It had to shut Its eyes and smile with satisfaction.

  “Like it?”

  The echo of the Controller’s voice in Its ears made Its eyes open again. The improved, full-lipped mouth was about to do the same, but was cut short by the Controller.

  “I worked on it myself, you know.”

  “You mean you did all of it by yourself?!”

  “Well, almost all of it. My friend Freudina Fordy, who also happens to be the current Controller for North America, helped me with your genitalia, for this isn’t exactly my area of expertise. But we did do a pretty good job with the potential we had on our hands. And especially when it comes to your physical height. Have you noticed how tall you’ve become?”

  “Yes, Darlina told me.”

  “Told you?!” the Controller cried out contemptuously. “What else did It tell you, if I may wonder?”

  “Nothing. Just that. Well, maybe a few other things.”

  “What other things?!”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Ada mumbled, getting more and more bewildered, “All sorts of stuff. Small talk mostly.”

  “Small talk mostly, eh?!” echoed the Controller. “That’s precisely my point. No matter what you’ve been told, you still have absolutely no idea how difficult it is to enlarge the bones of a completely formed human skeleton. This is way bigger than any small talk can ever get. And yet we did it all and did it successfully. Certainly, even with these two extra feet you’re still at least a foot shorter than an average she-male. But I assure you that now you won’t stand out of the crowd as much as you have before. By the way, speaking of standing out. Have you seen it?”

  “Seen what?” Ada wondered.

  “Why, the Leaning Pisa Tower!” the Controller laughed out loud. “Your brand new cock, of course.”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?! Well, that’s another appreciative answer. Especially considering that in the world you come from such cocks can be seen only in wet dreams crowing at the break of dawn. What the Ford are you waiting for?! An official written invitation from the entire Controllers’ Council?! Just pull up your skirt, for Freud’s sake!”

  Still a bit shy, but clearly curios, Ada did exactly as It was told. And “O my Freud!” was all It could say when It saw it.

  “Twenty-two centimeters of pure flesh. And that’s un-erected,” commented the Controller, critically surveying the outcome of Its own hard work as It picked up Ada’s penis and pressed it a little.

  “Now the only thing left to do is to pump this pure flesh with blood and see it in action,” It said, squatting and putting Ada’s penis in Its mouth as the moment to reward Its Freudship’s new follower had finally come.

  A second later the European Controller was energetically sucking and jerking Ada’s cock with casual comments between the blows.

  “It’s certainly not as massive as mine, but we had to consider the potential of your prostate. However, we can always come back with a much more potent one,” It added into Ada’s erected penis, sticking out like a press-conference microphone. “Now look, it’s almost as long as mine!” It said standing up straight and measuring Ada’s member against Its own, now entirely erect, too.

  Then, stroking both cocks, the Controller suggested that they move on to Ada’s bed and make themselves more comfortable there. Once on the sperm-white sheets, It ordered Its new disciple to suck Its own colossal twenty-inch-long cannon while It dialed the reception desk and asked all the staff members not busy with their daily duties to be sent up to the ward and join them in Ada’s initiation orgy, which was to be concluded in course of the coming sex parade.

  The sex parade, in the meantime, was swiftly gaining momentum and was bound t
o be in full swing fairly soon. The air over Dependence Avenue was marked with millions of motley-colored, breast-and-penis-shaped balloons tied to numerous T-shaped lampposts wreathing the sidewalks with copies of the New World State’s Official Flag.

  The Flag, called “The Union Jack Off” or “The Sperm-Sprinkled Banner” depending on the side one saw it from, like the two-faced Ancient Roman God Janus, was traditionally two-sided. On one of the two sides was depicted the New World State’s Emblem: two opposite hemispheres of the globe bearing an all too apparent resemblance to a pair of milk-swollen breasts being circled by a cock-shaped trans-rocket with a sperm jet squirting out of its head turbine at the speed of sound. The other side of the flag was the reverse side of the Trans Rocket’s sperm track scattered into a thousand tiny sperm-white stars in the rainbow-tinged sky.

  All the flags were either attached to giant penis-shaped poles protruding from the fronts of the surrounding buildings or carried around by hundreds of made-up half-naked transsexual samba dancers adorned with countless peacock feathers waiting for a she-male band to explode with the first major chords of the New World State’s Official Anthem on top of one of the seventy-seven festooned platforms advancing along Dependence Avenue.

  On the same platform, a huge-breasted opera-type transsexual soprano was about to start singing the New World State’s transnational anthem “Freud, Save the Drag Queen’s Sperm-Sprinkled Banner Right After The Union Jack Off”, or simply “Freud, Save the Drag Queen” for short. The hymn, reproduced by hundreds of loudspeakers strewn all over the city, was a vulgar version of a once truly great tune that sounded something like this:

  “Oh, say can you suck

  on this dawn’s crowing cock

  we so proudly she-maled

  at the twilight’s last semen?

  Whose big boobs and wide butts

  through the see-through night-