She was still alive, but she could not possibly last very much longer. Her molecular structure had already fallen apart and only by converting her mass into energy, did she manage to preserve her brain. But she was dwindling steadily as a result. She was consuming herself. No, she could not last very much longer.
She had been drifting through space for aeons, without home or destination. At first in a hell of despair, a mindsick trance teeming with ghosts: sweetly deceitful memories that skinned her heart, fearful dreams that maddened her into sobs of impotent rage. All that time she had kept away from other solar systems. The fall of her own world had been too bitter, the prior bliss too great, too solid. Indestructible her happiness had seemed but brittle as ice it had cracked.
She had been known by a name once, although she no longer knew which. Nor did she want to. Some name with many lovely syllables that trilled with desire and passion and warmth. Ah, warmth. That was another thing she no longer knew. Her once so mighty body now drifted as a useless trail of dust behind the spark of her brain. If she did not find a source of energy soon, she would cease to exist. As such it meant nothing to her, for she did not possess any emotions any more. She had converted her nervous system a long time ago. But the end of her existence served no purpose. That was why it had to be prevented.
The vibrations came from an unexpected direction. Energy! Weak, not worth absorbing because it would cost more than it would yield, but still enough to sacrifice some mental power for observation. She made the necessary adjustments and looked. An object was drifting her way. A glistening octahedron with all kinds of protuberances. It reminded her of the ballrooms that had once hung in the atmosphere of her home planet. It was definitely no natural object. This might be interesting.
For a brief moment she doubted whether she should expend energy on approaching the object. But there was really no other choice. She would never reach the nearest star under her own power. She had to chance it. She determined direction and distance of the object, broke down some viewing cells and converted those into propulsive power.
On reaching the object she discovered at once that she was saved. The object proved a hoard of high-quality materials. Famished as she was, she started converting greedily, breaking down the complicated molecules to a multitude of simpler structures that she used to reconstruct her body, complete with limbs, senses, a nervous system and propulsive organs. She needed no metabolism or respiratory organs. And certainly no upperskins but … she was a female. So she made fine veils in translucent solar hues, yellows and reds, a crystal bodice for her heavy breasts and belly, weird grotesque ornaments to embellish her head. She gave lots of attention to her face. It had to be fat, with chubby cheeks and heavy double chins, large, iceblue eyes and a small, sensuously pouting mouth. She laughed. Like a flashbride she would traverse the universe in search of her destiny.
The object had almost been depleted when she came upon the little creature. Not so very different from herself, but oh so skinny. It obviously suffered from mass deprivation, though she could not imagine how, with all that molecular wealth around it. She tried to activate the creature, shook it briskly and suddenly held one of its limbs loose in her hand. With a start she drew back. What had she done? Drat, she had gone and broke it. She carefully placed the limb against the trunk, but it would not take. This was beyond her. Of course this was an alien, but all the same....
She studied the creature closely and very carefully. It had a strange, silvery upperskin, in which she discovered some kind of closure after a while. When she opened it, a genuine male emerged from the skin. She pursed her lips for an excited whistle. A handsome mannikin. Incredibly small, though. At home the males had been half as small as the females. This one was about one third. Still, her newly acquired body reacted violently at the recollection. She was getting randy. Ah, solstice nights. The stringdance. A soft growl swelled in her throat. What a pity that this mannikin would not move. She made a carrier pouch from the remaining material of the object, placed her find inside and attached it to her back. When he regained consciousness he would certainly want to stringdance with her.
Proudly she hung in space. She felt fabulous, delightfully round. Her breasts were suspended like full moons above the snowy globe of her belly. No male could resist her now. Of that she was convinced.
She looked about. The stars twinkled with a new light. She was young again. The seemingly eternal pains had finally outlived themselves. Everything was possible once more. Her eyes focused on the nearest star. A tiny thing, with nine planets revolving around it. Perhaps there would be a nice one among them. She started to move. This took energy but now she was so big that she could easily spare some without losing her form.
The first planets were disappointing. Ice and desolation. The sixth was a bit better, but much too dusty and windy and also without life. There she opened the cocoon and saw to her dismay that her mannikin had melted. All that remained was a sticky goo with white sticks at the bottom of the pouch. Sorrowful she converted him into a needle of dense matter, and left him on the wind-swept planet as a memorial. Then she went to the seventh planet.
Her landing was a complete disaster. She struck a crater of many miles circumference and the forest fires she caused would take many days to put out. Disoriented she lay at the bottom of her selfstruck hole and looked around. Trust her. Couldn't she do anything right for a change? Perhaps her last stringer had been right and she was only fit for one thing. She growled softly. Her lewdness was growing by the hour. She got up. Overhead the star was shining darkly red in the cloud of dust she had thrown up. All around her everything was bare and dismal and disappointing. Much less beautiful than it had looked from the sky. She started to climb the slope. It was not easy because her feet sank into the soil to the joints. Gravity seemed great on this planet. At the rim of the crater she halted again. A circle of burning trees surrounded her. Loud flames roared skyward. An impressive sight. She made a satisfied little sound. Such energy. She found it hard not to absorb it, but she did not want to grow any bigger. First she had to find out what the males were like on this world. If they were just as small as that mannikin in the octahedron she might even have to shrink some. Humming an ancient lovesong she walked through the flames and remodeled her upperskin so that her breasts and belly could swing freely. Such a lustful feeling. She longed for the stringdance. The bond it brought. Another stringer to share the nights with. The growth of a little one in her belly. When she reached the limit of the flame forest she saw the first planet dwellers. They did indeed resemble her lost foundling a bit, but they had a white upperskin and a square head. They were playing with waterspitting snakes, but reacted strangely to her appearance. All at once they dropped the snakes and ran for a rectangular vehicle, which burst into motion with a roar while the mannikins jumped upon it like hoppers. In an eyewink she was alone again. The fire sang behind her. Dark clouds boiled above her head. She felt rejected. Did they not think her beautiful? She fondled her breasts. Surely they were big enough and her belly was so round that it seemed heavy with a little one. What could be finer to a male than that? Annoyed she started to walk down the forest path. The roars of fire died away. She heard many new sounds. Reedy whistles, soft rustling, the tinkle of free liquid. These things cheered her. She had only been unlucky. That was all. Sooner or later she would come across a real male. Big and powerful and randy as she. All would be well then.
The roadblock had been thrown up in great haste. Sheriff Johnston calmly gave his instructions. He did not believe a iota of the rantings of those halfwitted hosemen. It took some doing to believe in a naked giantess that trod through the flames. Who made up rubbish like that? But you had to be careful nowadays. The police could do no good. Conscious of his duty to set an example, Johnston marched to and fro through the loose sand. When one of his men suddenly went deadly pale and started gesturing frantically, Johnston turned round with an arrogant little smile. His lips retained the smile but his eyes swelled to an unusual size. Along the wood-path a fat, naked female was indeed approaching. Twenty feet tall, at least. Johnston could not help but believe what he was seeing. What to do? This certainly fell within the scope of indecent exposure, but no soul alive took that seriously any more. Behind him he heard his men scampering away. Nice going, guys. He reached for his gun, but stopped. Why make a fool of himself? All right, there was this outsized flasher on the loose. So what? Little hope for promotion there. He hurried to his patrol car, dived in and raced off.
When the males fled from her again, she finally started to doubt her sex appeal. A mild pain seeped through her. Things were so different around here. Why was she shunned like a sick one? She had been so alone for so very long. She pined for togetherness. Warmth, a gentle hand on her flesh. All courage deserted her. Motionless she stood on the path, head down. Before her feet a tiny, black creature was rolling a ball through the sand. Roundness. She smiled. Things were not so different after all. Encouraged, she walked on. It seemed better to avoid contact with these timid creatures for the time being. First she had to find out more about this world. After having walked through the wood for an hour, she reached open ground. Faded brown it lay under the sun. A machine was crawling across it, drawing deep ruts in the soil. A male sat on top of the machine. A big one, who only wore an upperskin around his lower parts, so that his fat belly gleamed in the sunlight. She uttered a soft growl but checked herself. With glistening eyes she watched the machine with the male traverse the field. Finally it came to a halt just in front of her. The male got down, pulled a bag from beneath the seat of his machine and sat down in a ditch with it. She crept a little closer. He was truly handsome, big and beefy. His rotund face rested on a broad double chin. From the bag he took a bundle of small, colorful sheets and a box. After laying the sheets in his lap, he opened the box and took out objects that he put into his mouth. She watched in astonishment. What the flux was he doing? Where did he leave all those things? It baffled her. After the male had stuffed everything from the box into his mouth, he grabbed a cylinder and also put it to his mouth. At first she thought it was some kind of musical instrument, but no sound came from it. After he had sat with the cylinder to his mouth for some time, making weird motions with his lower jaw, he switched his attention to the sheets in his lap. They bore pictures. This intrigued her. Pictures. Perhaps they would tell her something about this world. After a short while the male laid the sheets away and slumped aside. This gave her a shock. Not again, surely? Did all these creatures suddenly cease to exist? She crept closer and saw to her relief that he was still moving a little. The upper part of his body rose and fell slowly. Perhaps he could be saved. She was just about to give him a good shake, when she realized that he might not be able to bear it either, like the other one. She had better wait. Her eyes chanced on the colorful sheets. She took them up. The image of a female without upperskin. A little one, by the look of it, for she had no belly and her breasts were piteously small. She started to turn the sheets, clumsily, tearing the first ones to shreds but gradually managing to keep them intact. Halfway through she came upon much smaller little ones and this could only mean that the others were grown-ups after all and the males apparently liked their females to be starvelings. She was just wondering whether she should try such an appearance, when the male opened his eyes. She growled in delight and stretched out her arms to him. He uttered a shriek, rolled over and started to scramble up the slope of the ditch. This was too much for her. She flexed her right arm into a tentacle and slung it around the male's waist, gave a good tug and he tumbled back into her arms. She had only wanted to calm him down but when he was in her lap, he, too, moved no more. His eyes had turned white and he had gone completely limp. She gently stroked his head, made enticing sounds, even dangled her breasts on the upper part of his body but he did not react. After a while she had to admit that she had obviously also broken this one, even if she did not know how. Carefully she laid him out in the grass and sat watching him mournfully. He had been so nice and big, almost as big as her last stringer. She started to whimper, soft and subdued, swaying her body rhythmically to and fro. It hurt so bad. The loneliness. The elusiveness of these creatures. Now she understood why they fled from her. If they did not, she destroyed them. She remained as she was for at least another hour. Then she rose, grabbed the sheets from the ground and walked away. While she walked she studied the pictures again. She discovered that there was hardly any difference in size between male and female. She shuddered at the idea. And yet.... would things not be better if she looked like one of the females on the sheets? What could she lose? Mass. But she had an inexhaustible supply around her. She longed for togetherness. She could not go on alone any longer. She would joyfully give her existence for a single kind word, a single caress. She retired into the woods again, taking the sheets. On the shore of a lake she started her metamorphosis. She reduced her mass till she thought she had more or less the size of such a female, however much it grieved her to look down at her puny breasts and flat belly below it. She hardly felt female any more. But she had no choice. She trimmed her face until she looked lifesick, discolored her eyelids and lips and looked at herself in the water. She almost gagged at the wretchedness of her reflection, but at any rate she looked the spitting image of the females in the sheets. She rose and walked on, anxious to discover what effect she would have on males now. After some time she saw a man approaching in the distance, riding a weird vehicle. A structure of thin tubes resting or two circular tubes and apparently prodded into motion by kicks. She uttered a grunt of amusement. How primitive they were. She assumed a pose from the sheets (one hand on hip, other in the yellow hair) and waited for the things to come.
Dorus Himmelum was not a passionate man. For a start this could hardly be expected of a man aged sixty-eight and besides he was really only interested in one thing: his pigeons. He had endured the entanglements of labor, marriage and family only because such doings were part of the scheme of things. But given half a chance Dorus would have spent his entire existence in his pigeon roost. He did not care for the outside world one little bit. This afternoon he was in an even fouler mood than usual. One of his pigeons had gone astray during a flight from Narbonne and, God forbid, sought refuge with Dorus's fiercest opponent, that numbskull pigeoneer of an Okke Knorringa. Engrossed in fanciful curses Dorus was paddling down the woodlane, when he suddenly saw a woman in the distance. He uttered a particularly vile expletive but stopped himself the next moment. This was no ordinary woman. By no means. She was stark-naked, to begin with. Suspicious as he was, Dorus gave a firm tug at the handbrakes. Caution was demanded here.
She gave a disillusioned cry when she saw the man stop. Was there no end to this? Hesitantly she started to walk in his direction. At any rate he was not bolting. That was something. When she had approached him to a couple of steps, she saw to her satisfaction that, at long last, she was making some impact. The man regarded her with open-mouthed surprise. Although he was far from attractive, with a wrinkled face and a ragged upperskin, she gave him a seductive whistle. He removed a piece of headskin and started to utter strange noises.
"Good afternoon, miss," he said. "Can I... er... be of any service?"
She did not understand any of his quacking, but glowed with joy that she no longer appeared to be so frightening. He was very passive, though. Could it be that he did not like to stringdance? She decided to assume the initiative. Perhaps that was the custom here. She crossed the last two feet, stretched out a hand and caressed the male, as cautiously as she could, over his head. This had a strange effect. The male discolored to a dark crimson and started to quack again.
"But miss, what are you doing? What do you want? I don't know you."
She pouted her lips for another lascivious whistle. His glance fastened on her mouth and suddenly he flung his arms around her and pressed his lips against hers. Instantly he recoiled, squawking even louder than before, while a red liquid dripped from the corners of his mouth. The next moment he had flung himself on his vehicle, started to wriggle wildly and disappeared down the lane in a cloud of dust.
In silent amazement she watched him go. What had she done wrong now? She fingered her mouth. The sturdy but flexible ergonite of her flesh did not feel different from usual. Then it struck her that those other males had felt much softer than she did. Of course! Her flesh was much too hard. Annoyed at herself she shook her head. She was too impetuous. She had better understand these creatures better before she took any further action. In any case she softened her flesh until it acquired the suppleness of moist clay. She walked on briskly. She did not spare a glance for the few males she met, which was not easy because some whistled at her, clumsily, but still... She reached a hillcrest and saw a large collection of buildings on the other side, many machines moving among them. When she saw that all people, even the females, were clothed in upperskins, she decided to form something for herself. The females in those colorful sheets apparently were something special. Bridal virgins or something. Despite her upperskin she aroused a lot of attention. All males, barring none, were struck dumb by her approach. She read lust in their eyes. It gave her such a delightful feeling that she could not suppress an inward growl. All the same she did not give way to her desire. She would first find out more about this world.
All day she wandered through the town, observing and recording. She learnt a lot. The use of small buttons and slips of paper as means of exchange. Communication through quacking. Information stored in sheets. Togetherness shown by physical contact. When it grew dark, all creatures disappeared into buildings. That was strange. She stationed herself near a remote building and looked inside. The creatures changed their upperskins and lay down on platforms, under other upperskins and seemed to cease to exist. She did not understand. There was only one thing for it. She would have to master their means of communication.
Three cumbersome weeks had passed. She was in front of the mirror and practiced quacking without distorting her face too much.
"The sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick. Is the sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep sick? Sure, the sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick."
She tried to smile, but it wasn't much more than a tortured grimace yet. Her new body was in her way. It had been a terrible puzzle to duplicate everything. Those human beings were a complicated lot, with all those roundabout chemical processes. During the first days she had almost gone mad with all that movement in her body. The tickling flow of liquid. The bloodpump. Those bellows. Not to mention the distasteful process by means of which mass was converted into energy. Frightful, those chunks that slid down straight through her body, were pulverized and then had to be ejected from the body as foulsmelling waste. She shuddered at the recollection. She had quickly modified that part of her system. Surely she could not be denied a little smuggling. It was hard enough to get used to the signs of exhaustion her body displayed again and again. From dire necessity she had even had to introduce nocturnal rest periods. She had learned a lot in a short time, even if the transfer of information was laughably primitive among these creatures. The principal way in which they recorded knowledge was by means of little symbols that had to be joined to form an elementary concept. Such a concept then had to be joined with sometimes thousands of other elementary concepts to form a secondary notion. It was like having to build up an object molecule by molecule before you could use it. There were repositories of knowledge but they were all but inaccessible. Libraries they were called. There human science had been scattered in thousands of bundles of notions, called books, which had to be studied one by one, page by page. And even though she could take in the text of a sheet at a glance, the turning of the pages took up an enormous amount of time. She had sat there for days at a stretch, watched by stupefied onlookers who had obviously never seen anyone thumb through stacks of books at her speed. There was also a visual transfer of knowledge by means of screens. But its purpose was utterly beyond her. For the time being she could make nothing of it beyond a description of loose behavior of all kinds of creatures. Despite the many mysteries she felt almost ready to move as a human among the humans. In search of a stringer. Ah, she tried to smile again. This time she managed it, automatically, although the tensors in her face hurt considerably. A stringer. A man. A man of her own. She looked at the book that was lying open before her. An old book with thick yellowed pages. The Isles of Galathea. In this strange world this book had confused her most. At first she had thought that it only described a marvelous voyage, but then she suddenly realized that it referred to the stringdance. And even though the words were stored rocktight in her memory, she always reread the introduction to the act in silent wonder. "Then the great moment is at hand. You are alone with him at last, as man and wife. Of course you are a bit nervous and tense. But do not be afraid. Love will soon prevail. Retire to the bedchamber alone. Carefully wash your body and perfume it with his favorite scent. Dress in a transparent robe that is easy to open. Recline on the bed, your hair loose, ornaments and all other impediments removed. Then you are ready. Wait just another moment before you call him in, for you are about to embark on the greatest voyage of your life. Together with the man of your dreams you will drift off to utter happiness. The Isles of Galathea. There you will surrender your most precious possession. Do it with abandon. Without fear or reluctance. Then your joy will have neither beginning nor end." She could hardly imagine that a stringdance could be so beautiful, but she wanted to believe it, with everything in her. As it was described in the book the dance was not merely a bonding act but a mystic ritual, tender and delicious, soporific, a release from space and time. Could it be? So splendid? At any rate she knew that she no longer wanted anything else. If she could really reach the Isles of Galathea, all her loneliness would not have been in vain. But according to the book the Isles could not be reached with just anybody. Only with a very special stringer, the one, the only.
She roamed through the country in search of that one and only. True, she had no idea where she could find him but according to the book the voice of her heart would tell her. At first she had believed that to be absolute nonsense, but soon she discovered that this silly little pump led a life of its own. Under certain circumstances it would beat faster. Mainly when she was scared. But one day, on a sunlit sidewalk cafe in a big town, it started to hammer when she looked into the enticing, palebrown eyes of a man. She held her breath. Was this the one? Could it be him? She smiled at the man. He smiled back at once and a minute later he was beside her. She did her very best. She made all the motions she had exercised in front of the mirror, lowered her eyelids demurely, laughed modestly, flexed her lips into a lovely smile, listened with rapture to anything he said. She enjoyed his presence. He was big and strong, with a voice that vibrated with controlled passion. Yes, this was him. He would take her to the Isles. They dined together, went to a dark hall full of loud rhythmical noises, where he held her close to his body. She would have gone along with him instantly, but the book forbade it. The one and only expected chastity, that strange, terrestrial notion. Patience and celibacy had to be exercised before the big voyage could be undertaken. She adjusted to it, cheerfully, because the reward would be worth it. Sometimes the man grew impatient, but she still practiced her motions daily and always managed to becalm him again.
The day came. He swore he would always be hers. According to the book this was not enough, but her patience, too, had been exhausted. When he said that he could no longer bear to be without her tangible love, she also confessed her own desire. They went to a hotel. He was surprised when she sent him from the room, but went all the same. Carefully she washed her body, perfumed it with his favorite scent, dressed in a transparent robe that was easy to open. Then she reclined on the bed, removed the rings that he had given her, arranged her hair on the pillows and waited. When he re-entered, his eyes grew large and hungry at the sight of her. She smiled. He came to her. She closed her eyes and drifted away. It was good. It was exactly like the book had described it. All her dreams came true. The tenderness, the rapture, the intoxication. She reached the Isles and her joy knew neither beginning nor end. Then he suddenly stood upright beside the bed and was getting dressed hastily. A sharp light cut into her eyes. A cold airflow slithered across her skin.
"What is it, my love?" she asked drowsily.
"I'm sorry, baby, but I've gotta go. I'll try to be back first thing in the morning."
His face had become unrecognizable. Hard and triumphant. In boundless confusion she looked at him.
"Go? Now? But you can't, surely? You are mine. The stringdance. The bond. We belong together."
He gave her a look that mixed pity with scorn.
"Come off it," he said gruffly. "I've had to work hard enough to get you here. No nonsense, please."
With crude movements that smarted her eyes, he finished dressing. Briefly he relented, came to her, caressed her forehead with his lips and stroked her hair.
"Don't make such a fuss. I love you. We'll talk about it in the morning."
Silently she lay in the bed. Her heart pumped more slowly than usual. Big drops of liquid kept falling from her eyes. Her sorrow knew neither beginning nor end. Gone was her one and only. Gone were the Isles. Everything was gone. She did not understand. This world was so strange. She did understand, though, that she would never again believe that someone would take her to the Isles. She would always be afraid that she would be left alone again in a strange, cold room, under a sharp light. It was too much to bear. The drops kept falling from her eyes, while she rose and walked to the window. It was a cloudless night. A white sickle hung over the houses. Stars glistened around it. She remembered how proud she had felt, not so very long ago, when she had been standing far outside this world. She could return there any time she wanted. But it was not what she wanted. She only wanted someone who could take her back to the Isles. And this had become impossible. For a few minutes she stood at the window without moving, shattered, her head against the glass, while the drops fell and fell. Then she let go. The molecules that formed her body fell apart and found their way to other objects to adhere to. Slowly she dissolved. She had heard that it could end like this, but she had never known it went so easily. Amazement was the last thing she was conscious of. Then she had ceased to exist.
Rotterdam June 1993/Drenthe March 2008