The Voynich Enslavement by HS

[The Press boy Earns A Public Whipping, and Del Makes Plans To Go To A Debauched slave-run Restaurant]

The man at the typewriter, a man who knew much better, grinned, imagining a story starring that lovable pooch, Snoopy, as a newly-enslaved dog... but after several serious attempts to get a story line out of good old Snoopy, with his insufficiently-caffeinated morning-head, he just grinned again and tore the paper out of the typewriter, and added another wadded-up failure to the waste-basket. And for the umpteenth time, he looked out the windows at the bright, sunny day that was shaping up... and hoped to see the Press boy.

Returning his attention to the typewriter, he inserted another clean, white sheet of paper and positioned it. He knew that this method worked best for him... actually typing the first page or two, getting a physical sense of the story, then getting busy on the computer to do all the actual work... and he wondered how many trees' lives he was personally responsible for extinguishing.

Delbert Stedge (Del to his friends) was 54, and was trying to find a writer within himself, for what had to be at least the millionth time in his life, going back to that first stapled-together attempt he'd made at age five, which he'd titled, auspiciously enough, “My Book”. He remembered that the little booklet had looked so cool that he was afraid to write anything in it, for fear of spoiling it. Now, almost fifty years later, he'd left a trail of first chapters, well-written (he thought so, anyway) single paragraphs and even one opus magnum of almost forty pages. Nothing he'd ever written had ever been good enough to pass his own 'crap-o-meter', yet he knew he could do it, if he just kept at it long enough. The fact remained, though: he'd never, ever, published a word.

Getting up to stretch and go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, he decided to check to see if the boy had delivered the Press yet; the boy was a real looker but was seemingly unable to get his route finished by a reasonable time, and Del figured he'd wind up being the Main Attraction some Saturday at the Public Slave-Whipping because of it. He liked the “boy” (he was probably 20 or 21), whose name Del never knew, and thought he had a well-formed and well-maintained body. Of course, delivering all those papers every day, barefoot and naked as the day he was born, helped to keep him in tip-top shape... and real easy on the eyes, too. Del grinned at this last thought, and felt that it was a good time to be alive... and a free man.

The paper was there on the front porch, and seeing it, Del didn't grin... he'd missed his morning eye-candy, and wondered how that had happened, as he'd been waiting, and listening, for the slap of the boy's feet coming up the walk outside the den windows. At least the paper was delivered on time, he thought, and came back in to get his coffee.

The Press was biased (pro-business and pro-Republican), and Del wished there were another paper in town, but combined with the on-line news sources Del read every day, he figured he got a fairly well-rounded view of the news.

This morning's news was dominated by a new bill before Congress to expand the enslavement laws to include 'delinquent' senior-citizens. It seemed to be a mean-spirited interpretation of the original enslavement laws, enacted when Del was just an infant, and he was definitely opposed to it. He felt that the sponsors of the bill were really just looking for a new source of protein for slave-chow to feed the ever-increasing slave population, and of course, organs for transplant whenever possible. If passed, any senior, defined as 'a person deemed to be past his or her prime by local standards', who was found to be 'a non-contributing member of local society' by any locally-convened board of judges, would be liable to prompt enslavement and processing, either to the food-plants or the organ banks. It sickened Del to think of it... slaves eating slaves! He tried to remember the name of a science-fiction novel he'd once read about a future world where deceased free men were similarly processed for food to feed other free men, but the memory eluded him.

Browsing through the Press, he found nothing much of interest, until he spotted an article on the Voynich Manuscript, in the Human Interest section. As a student in college, he'd had a roommate who'd written a paper on the manuscript, “MS 408” in the Beinecke Rare Book Library of Yale University, and Del had been briefly pulled in to the exciting prospect of being the first one to decipher (or debunk) this old, mysterious document. Del had actually downloaded color images of each of the over two-hundred pages and had attempted to create a transcribed database file of it, but the time his studies required made his new hobby an impossible luxury, and he'd moved on. Reading the article, he discovered that a man right here in town had made a claim of finding a key to the manuscript's decryption, a man called simply S. W. Pilkington-Smythe III, a scion of one of the wealthiest (and most powerful) families in town. His claim had apparently polarized “the Voynich Community”, the scholars and amateurs who spent a lot of time working towards solving the mystery of the document, with about half of them hailing the announcement as a 'major breakthrough in Voynich scholarship', and the other half denouncing Pilkington-Smythe as a rich, pampered fraud. Del read on, and found that the man had indeed done some serious work, and it seemed to Del that there just might be something to his claim of a breakthrough. He finished reading the article, got another cup of coffee, and went to check his e-mail to see if he had any real work waiting for him.

For thirty-six years Del had been a registered-employee of the nationally-organized 'Ekpyrotic Theory Work-Group', serving them as a researcher, archivist and all-purpose librarian. He'd been apprenticed to a Master Archivist straight out of public school, and had never known any other kind of work, although he knew that it was very good to have more than one acknowledged skill to put on his annual review forms for the national government. Del also knew that he was doubly limited, being not only trained in just one skill, but only having ever worked on one project. But work always kept him from addressing these deficiencies, and he rarely thought much about them, feeling safe and secure in his job, and believing that he'd certainly be usefully employed by the group until his final labor-release at age seventy-five. Add to that the cost the Government had incurred getting him his security clearances over the years, and the cost of all the specialized training he'd received, and Del felt totally comfortable in his job.

Opening his e-mail he discovered three routine-priorities and two flashes. All three flashes were from the Group Leader himself, which really surprised him... he'd never received a message from the Leader before! But upon opening them, he found that all three were the same, and that the message was to inform all Group employees that they were hereby forbidden to discuss the new senior-enslavement bill before Congress, or even to make comments about it, and that the directive had come from higher authorities. Further, it stated that any violation of this directive would be a violation of the State Security laws, and would, of course, result in immediate enslavement, with prejudice... meaning the food-plants or organ banks. But it went even further with the threat, adding that the same penalty would apply to anyone in the Group hearing another member violating the directive and not reporting it.

This puzzled and annoyed Del, because it was clearly partisan in nature... the Republicans were sponsoring this new bill, and the Democrats were vehemently opposed to it. But he was very glad he'd read this e-mail so early in the day, before he'd had a chance to screw up and talk to anyone about it. He'd never heard of any directive quite like this, and it scared him a little. What next?, he thought.

Saving one copy of the flash in a work folder, he opened the first routine, which was from his immediate supervisor, John “J. D.” Cook, telling his subordinates to read the flash in their e-mails if they hadn't done it yet (silly John! He cracked Del up) and to remember that “loose lips sink ships... and get free men enslaved.” John required all his subordinates to reply immediately, acknowledging receipt, saying that they understood, and that they would comply (silly, silly John!, Del grinned). Del tried to imagine the look on John's face if he were to receive a reply telling him that some employee wasn't going to comply... and laughed out loud! Ol' John would probably crap his drawers if he got something like that, he thought.

After sending John the required reply (dripping with obsequious sarcasm John would not get, but his secretary Ruby would!), he moved on to the last e-mail awaiting him.

This one was.... synchronicitous? (was that even a word?, he wondered)... it was from his old college roommate, the one who'd been so obsessed with the Voynich Manuscript. Weird, he thought, I was just thinking about him. Reading the e-mail, he discovered that the Voynich was the subject of the e-mail, too, and this really surprised Del. It had been so many years ago....

I hope the years have been as kind to you as they have to me, and that you (and your family?) are well and prospering.

The reason for my writing to you after all these years is related to the Voynich Manuscript, which I know you'll remember. You may have read recently that someone in your town there has made some outrageous claims of being on the brink of solving the manuscript, and I hope to prove his claims to be utterly without foundation. But to do so properly, I feel like I should learn all I can about this person, and that's where you come into my plan.

Del, what would you say to having lunch with me after I arrive in your town on August 15th, old friend? It'll be great spending some time with you, buddy, after so much time! And I'd like to learn as much as I can from you about this Pilkington-Smythe, and to discuss strategy with you. He's from a powerful clan and I need to have my ducks in a line before making my frontal assault on him. And, you can tell me where to find local resources to help me do “my homework” on him, too.

I hope you'll e-mail me with your acceptance of this plan of mine, but if you're unable to help, I'll understand.

Del read this through a few times, trying to 'read between the lines,' but couldn't figure it out. Rod (as he'd always been called) knew full well how to research this guy right there where he was, without physically coming here. And, with the clout of the Government behind him, he could dig into even the most private and secret parts of this P.-Smythe's life. What was he really up to?, Dell wondered. And August 15th was tomorrow! What's the hell is up here?, he thought to himself.

All citizens were aware that they had very little in the way of guaranteed privacy, what with the War On Terror being in its 78th year now. All aspects of daily life were monitored and records of everything were kept by the Government... forever. And all citizens were in constant fear of a secret audit of their lives... audits which often began with unexpected e-mails from past friends or acquaintances. Del re-read the e-mail one more time, starting to feel a bit paranoid, but still found nothing there that was really suspicious, just very odd.

While he sat there, draining the last of the by-now cold coffee from the mug he'd received from a co-worker on his last Employment Anniversary-Day, Del heard the 'BLING!' on the computer which announced the beginning of a real-time commo, [we would call it an 'instant message' – hs] and looking down, saw that it was from radkar_13431@rd.umd.gov... what the hell's going on here?, he almost said out loud.

The window opened and right away, Rod started off with to-the-point business: 'We having lunch tomorrow?'

Del typed back, 'Yeah... you like The Naked Ape or would you rather eat at The Human Zoo?,' referring to two well-known eateries.

Rod typed, 'Neither... that Desmond Morris IV is rich enough! I vote for The Garden Of Earthly Delights! :) ', and Del laughed out loud. Morris was the well-known owner of both eateries Del had suggested, and the place Rod had suggested was a no-holds-barred, H. Bosch Industries-owned, slave-operated place with exquisite cuisine .... and even exquisiter (and at this thought, he grinned) man-slave flesh, available for any customer's pleasure, in any way chosen. Rod was apparently still a connoisseur of man-slave flesh! Del hadn't pampered that aspect of himself in a long while and thought it just might be fun, so he typed, 'You got it, but YOU'RE buying! 11:30 AM OK with you?'

Rod typed, 'Fine. Tomorrow then,' and abruptly signed off, which didn't surprise Del, who remembered back to how business-like Rod had always been... and how he'd always hated to pick up a check.

Making a note of the appointment in his day-runner, Del went back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, which was all he ever drank these days, having given up on the false promises of alcohol years ago. He noticed a note tucked in the mailbox that he hadn't seen when he got the paper earlier, and opened the door to retrieve it.

We regret the many delivery problems you all have experienced of late due to our delivery slave's dereliction of duty and insubordination. In order to rectify this lamentable and intolerable state of affairs, Management here at the Press has scheduled the delivery slave to appear as the Main Event this Saturday at the Public Slave-Whipping, and you are all cordially invited to attend! A Bar-B-Que and Refreshments will be provided along with Beach Umbrellas to help make this the best and most festive Whipping of the season, all FREE, courtesy of the Press! We hope you will attend, and we sincerely hope this will, in some small way, make amends for the inconveniences you all have suffered.

Don't forget to bring the kiddies, as there will be a mini-carnival provided for them, FREE of charge, within sight of The Main Event! They'll be able to have a great time without missing any of the fun on the stage!

More synchronicity! This is shaping up to be a really weird day!, he thought to himself.

But he shook his head, thinking about the flier he'd just read... if he'd had kids, he sure as hell wouldn't want them to see a Whipping! He, himself, on the other hand, wouldn't dream of missing it! Especially considering just who was going to be the Main Event! He felt an urgent need (below the belt) at the thought, and considered a shower to relieve the problem, when the computer “BLING!”-ed again in the den.

What now?, he wondered, with some irritation at that interrupted erotic thought, and returned to the computer, where he saw that he had another real-time commo, this time from his best-friend, Bryan, who lived down the street with his wife, Becky, and their three sons, Mikey, Johnny and Greg, ages 7, 9, and 11. Bryan rarely sent real-time commos and he was intrigued to read, 'You interested in taking the boys to the Whipping this Saturday, buddy? Mindy and I are gonna be outta town for a wedding and I don't want the boys to miss this one!'

Del typed, 'Sure thing, Bry... I wouldn't miss this one for the world, myself! :) '

Bryan replied, 'Great! Min and I can leave right after you pick up the boys then, and we'll be back in three or four hours... you be able to handle those three that long, bud?'

Del laughed, and typed, 'No prob, Bry! I get along good with them, you know that! Tell them I said I'd take them, OK?'

Del was wondering if this morning would ever end... one thing after another! Feeling great and smiling, he made another entry in his day-runner to remind him to stock up on groceries for the boys (who had, amazingly, learned how to eat!) and to get the video games out from the garage where he'd stowed them after the boys' last visit.

He stood up and stretched again, wishing his lower back would behave. An old injury from his Public Service days, it sometimes acted up and other times vanished. Today was going to be painful, he knew from experience. He stretched slowly, trying to get the kinks out, and thought about what he needed to do yet this morning.

Deciding to enjoy the bright, sunny day, he headed to the garage and got the mower out, looking forward to the smell of the freshly-cut grass. He was the only free man who ever mowed grass in this neighborhood, and there were always people driving by who'd slow down to do a double-take, taking in the spectacle of a free man doing manual labor. It made him laugh out loud... they didn't know what they were missing! He stepped back inside to change into some cut-offs and a pair of steel-toed work-boots with white socks, and went back out to tackle his modest estate: a 50'x25' yard!

The mowing went quickly, and he exchanged the mower for the trimmer, and got that all done, looking forward to some ice-cold lemonade. As he was heading toward the garage his neighbor, Mrs. Litchstone, a widow of undetermined supernumerary years, cackled across the hedge separating their properties, “You goin' to the Whippin', Delbert?”, and he turned to give her a smile and an answer. He really liked this crotchety old lady, and got a sudden cramp in his stomach as he remembered that new bill before Congress.

“Mrs. Litchstone! Great morning, isn't it? Yes, I'm going to the Whipping, and I'm taking my friend Bryan's... you remember Bryan, don't you, ma'am?... I'm taking his three boys with me. Are you going to go, ma'am?”

Mrs. Litchstone put on her most pathetic 'poor little old lady' face, and sighed, “Well... I'd like to, Delbert, but I'd have to have some help, you know, what with my lumbago and all...”, and she sighed again, even more piteously.

Del, who knew that this 'little old lady' was an unstoppable force once she set her mind on something, and also knew that she was a big faker, smiled and offered, “I'd be real happy to take you with us, ma'am... if you'd like, and wouldn't mind the three boys... ?”

Her face lit up over what she thought was a victory, and said, “That'd be very nice, Delbert. What time will you be picking me up for our date?”

Struggling very hard to keep a straight face, Del replied, “Well, let me see here... the Whippings always start at 11:30 AM sharp, and I have to pick up the boys first... what say I pick you up at ten after eleven, ma'am? That'll give me time to get the boys loaded up so we won't miss anything,” and, he thought to himself, 'time to load up your wheel-chair, and oxygen-tank, and ice-chest, and...' and he just grinned at himself. He added, “And, we'll still get there early enough to get real good seats!”

Mrs. Litchstone smiled back, and nodded, saying, “That will be quite satisfactory. You're a good man, Delbert, but I wish you'd get yourself a slave for all that yard-work! You shouldn't be out there doing that, what with you being a free man and all! It's simply scandalous, I tell you! A retrained, pre-owned slave doesn't cost that much, young man!” and she shook her white-wisped, wizened head in disappointment at his obviously non-conformist views.

Del grinned back at her, “Yes, ma'am... I guess I just think it's fun doing the yard myself... it never feels like work to me. You have a great day, ma'am, and I hope that lumbago passes quickly for you! I'll see you at 11:10 AM Saturday!”, and he escaped quickly into the safety of the garage, wondering why he couldn't have begged off... or something!

He got that cold lemonade he'd been thinking of and walked to the den, to check his e-mail quick before showering, but saw nothing waiting for him, so he headed upstairs to the shower (and possibly some much-needed relief!). He was really looking forward to Saturday! Damn, it was gonna be good! He laughed out loud with joy, just enjoying the day and feeling alive... and thinking about the Press boy getting his just deserts, chained to the whipping frame! Yep... he was gonna need some relief!

[author's note: I'm in need of an editor for this story, and will be glad to receive any offers from my reader(s). :) - hs ]

By: HS (Copyright 2007 by the Author) The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

By: HS
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...