Time Changes Everything (2 of 2)

 

Time Changes Everything

Peony D Beckside

With thanks to John Norman for creating the basic concepts of the world of Gor and those who have dealings with it.  Also to Emma of Gor for her ideas regarding the control at a distance, of kajirae on Earth,

 

 

Chapter Four

 

I’m used to waiting.  For a slave, waiting is inherent in our lives.  Masters do as they will, we must accommodate that.  It is not our place to demand that Masters be at our ‘beck and call’ it is ours to be at theirs.  A Master will rarely wait for a slave to do something, unless he’s feeling generous.  We can never be tardy, not even in beautifying ourselves for our Master’s pleasure.

For once I am pleased that Master knows precisely where I am, even down to which room I’m in.  At first, I had found the new collar Master had fitted me with when we arrived here on Earth, to be irksome.  I would wander from one room to another, or beyond a specific point and this collar would vibrate.  No one, not even Master said to me ‘You can’t go into that room’, or ‘You can’t go beyond a given point.  Master would set my bounds using a small hand-held device, that he called a telephone.  That he did from time to time speak to someone using it made it clear to me that it did have that function.  The device is not like any telephone I’d ever seen before.  It was not large, heavy, and connected to a wall with a wire.  A telephone one can use while moving around, it’s like something that the speculative writer H. G. Wells might have thought up.  This telephone can show him where I am at any time, wherever on planet Earth, I am.

Master showed me a small screen on the telephone.  On that screen he could mark on a diagram, where I can and can’t go.  He can even set it so that I have to traverse a given route from one place to another, or that I must remain within a given distance from him, or from someone else. He demonstrated what happens if I transgress those bounds, that restricted route or distance.  There is a tingling in my collar.  It becomes more insistent until I receive a jolt of purest agony throughout my whole body.  Pain by ‘nerve induction’, I think he called it.  The excruciation is far worse than the lash, and that’s agonising enough.  Given the choice, I’ll take the lash any time!  What am I saying?  I don’t want either, thank you!  Master made it clear that I will receive that same torment if he should ever decide to press a button on the telephone, marked ‘Was the slave pleasing?’

I have to assume that Master, or someone is listening to the sounds picked up by my earrings.  If he isn’t doing so now, he can somehow listen later and review what I am saying to this Detective Greenwood, ‘Kaiser in knickers’, I’m sure; and she to me.  Perhaps I won’t need to tell Master what was said, when I next kneel at his feet, though I again worry that he will abandon me, leaving me to carry the blame for something that’s clearly wrong officially; though I do not see it as so.  Clearly if they are listening, then I’ve not yet said anything that they feel is worth punishing me for.

Detective Greenwood returns.  I can tell that she’s angry.

“Why are you lying to me, lady!”

She doesn’t give me the opportunity to say that I am not.

“According to the British authorities, there hasn’t been a ‘Christine Punstunby’ born in that country since 1901!”

Her sarcasm is biting.

“You’re not going to tell me that you are this Christine Punstunby, are you?  That’d make you a hundred and twenty four years old!  You look remarkably well-preserved for your age!”

Again, I am not given the opportunity to gainsay her.

“For that matter also, there is no record of a Christine Punstunby or an Alyena ever entering the United States of America.  That makes you an illegal immigrant.  Even if you ever get out of jail we’ll deport you.  What do you have to say to that?”

“I have not lied to you, Mistress.  I am not permitted to lie to anyone, on pain of being whipped, or worse.”

I pause.

“I can see a problem, Mistress.  If you do not believe that I am this Christine Punstunby, the British won’t either.  They are unlikely to have me back…”

She cuts me off.

“Life’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

I take that to mean that ‘life is unfair’.

“Yes, YOU do have a problem, don’t you?  So where would we deport you to, then Alyena…?”

She’s back to being ironical again.

“So where should we deport you to, then, lady.  Where is your home?”

“Gor, Mistress?  But I don’t know how you would do that…”

Her face goes slack.  Her jaw hangs open.

“I wondered why the concept of a woman wearing a metal collar sounded familiar.  But now, I know you are ‘taking the pee’ lady.  Gor doesn’t exist.  It’s a figment of a writer’s imagination.  When I was still a teenager I read one of those trashy, highly misogynistic science fiction books supposedly set on a world of that name.  Do you seriously expect me to believe that you are one of the branded lascivious little slave sluts from such a world?”

I stand. And raise the hem of my slave tunic, revealing my brand.  The woman is totally agog!

“You clearly play at being a Gorean slave-girl, seriously.  Now tell me where were you really taking the woman you were abducting!”

“I don’t know, Mistress.  I’m only a slave.  They don’t tell me things like that.  My job was only to prepare the captive, a man would come and take her away.  Where...?  Ar, perhaps? Turia?  Thentis? Port Kar? Tor? Treve?  I truly don’t know.  It was a legitimate slave-capture, Mistress, not an abduction.  The bosses of my Masters have designated this world as a slave-world, hence all females are available for capture.”

There’s an unamused look on her face.  I sense that the names of these cities are not unknown to her, even if she does not believe they exist.  She said she has read at least one of the autobiographies; but if so, she surely would have understood how serious the import of my collar is.  I wonder, does she think maybe that I’m someone living in a Gorean type relationship here on Earth.  I am of course, but my case is different.  I have been to Gor.  I know it’s for real.  It’s not merely a ‘lifestyle choice’ for me.

“I’m losing patience with you, lady.  Now tell me how to find this Kyril Flavius and the others you talk of.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.  I don’t know.  This city is huge.  The only times I’ve been allowed out of the House, I have left and returned in the back of a sealed van.  I have seen nothing to help me know the location of the House.”

Detective Greenwood thinks for a moment.

“So Alyena, when you have been outside the house, how did know how to return?”

“Most times I have been with my Master or another man.  There was one occasion where I was not ‘chained’ to another, but of course that didn’t matter.  Master knows precisely where I am, anywhere in the world.  He knows that I am in this very room.  He, or anyone he sends to collect me, can find me at any time.  The van pulls up.  The driver says ‘Get in the back, kajira’; I must of course obey.”

A look of concern flits across the detective’s face.

“How does he know where you are?  You’ve not had access to a telephone, and the Police officers who arrested you were not followed.”

I reach up and touch my collar.

“This is not the usual collar I wear at home…  On Gor, that is.  It is specific to Earth.  My previous collar was changed for this one when I returned to Earth.”

I explain to Detective Greenwood as best I can the limitations that can be imposed on me by the collar, even that I can be punished agonisingly by it, if one of the Masters finds me displeasing.

That I have not been so punished since being caught by these ‘vigiles’, implies that I have not yet said anything displeasing to the Masters.  I have to assume that they are listening to everything that is happening to me.  I can understand that what these Police think is wrong with regard to my responses, will be different to what Masters do.  The social and mental differences between Earth morality and Gorean morality; and by extension what I must say or not say, are totally different.  For the Gorean, it’s more important that I don’t lie, than that I lie to protect them. Of course what I’m saying is not believed by by these Police, but that’s not important to my Masters.  It is the truth.  For a slave to lie is unacceptable under any circumstances and is punishable.

As I understand it, it was a stroke of genius by someone, to release on Earth, the autobiographies of visitors/captives taken to Gor, but in such a way as no-one would see them as truth; merely as fiction.

 

Detective Greenwood changes tack.

“You don’t show the slightest indication of remorse for your crimes in any way, do you?”

“How can I Mistress?  What crime have I committed?  As long as I obey my Master then I have done no wrong.  The only crime that a slave can ever commit is disobedience…”

Not technically true, fleeing one’s Master or attacking a free person are crimes of a slave, but to all intents and purposes, if I obey my Master then I haven’t committed a crime at all.

“…  Under Gorean law, any ‘so-called’ crime I commit is that of my Master.  The onus to punish me for such an error is on him, not his city-state.  It is up to the city-state to punish my Master if a crime truly has been committed.”

“And that’s your defence, is it Alyena?  Even you must know that ‘I was only obeying orders’ hasn’t been a valid legal defence since, at least, the Nuremberg War Crimes Trials”

“War crimes trials?  I’m sorry Mistress.  I don’t know what that means.”

I truly don’t.  The only ‘crime’ in war, is to ‘not win’.  The punishment for not-winning being that the losing combatant dies or is captured and enslaved.

“The trial of Nazi leaders in 1945 to 1946?  You’ve not heard of that?”

“No Mistress.  I was on the planet Gor then.  To most people on Gor, that there is another planet, Earth, is simply unknown.  What happens here, therefore is by definition unknown.”

“You are either acting dumb and taking me for a fool, or you are a deluded lunatic.  Which is it, Alyena?”

“There is another alternative, Mistress, that I’m telling the truth; as I’m not allowed to lie. Whether you believe me or not Mistress, I have told you the truth.”

“So you are a deluded lunatic.  I wonder whether you’ll prefer being locked up in a lunatic asylum to life in prison.”

I don’t really understand the difference, apart from recalling from my earlier life on Earth, that both options are not ‘nice’.

The woman resorts to sarcasm.

“So tell me then Alyena, when you were taken to this ‘mythical’ place Gor, Did you want to go?  Were you given the choice?”

Sarcasm or not, I must respond respectfully.

“I was not given the choice, Mistress.  I went to bed one night, and what I took to be the following morning, I awakened on the planet Gor.  It was a shock, and it took a short while for me come to understand and accept the new reality of being a slave.”

“So, here you are caught in the act of doing to another woman what was done to you?  Do you not see that as being morally and legally wrong?”

“Not really Mistress.  Being taken to Gor to be a slave did have a couple of major benefits. It got me out of the social stultification that I was living within, at the time, and it opened up my sexual horizons.  A slave is not allowed inhibitions.  Even now, after many years of slavery, given the choice, I’d still accept being a slave on Gor, over being a free-woman on Earth.  Not that I have the choice.  It’s unlikely that my Master will manumit me either on Gor, or here on Earth.”

The detective shrugs.  She calls to someone, presumably someone beyond the mirror

“I give up!  Do we have enough boss?”

“Yes, detective.  More than enough.”

She turns to me.

“You will be arraigned before a judge, where you will be formally charged with attempted abduction.  Do you have anything to say before you are taken away?  This is your last chance to ‘come clean’.  The court will view more leniently an admission of guilt.”

“No, Mistress.”

I am not guilty.  Master, in utilising me for the task may legally be guilty of some crime, but in obeying his orders, as I have no choice but to do, I am not.  It is not my place, nor may I presume to say whether Master has done something wrong or not.

 

Chapter Five

 

The cell that I’m locked in is luxurious.  It’s clean, it’s well-lit, it has a proper bed of the kind that I used to know when on Earth before.  Well not quite like that, but it’s functional.  Whether I’ll be able to sleep on it, I don’t know.  I’m so used to sleeping on the floor, that it’ll feel strange sleeping on a bed again.  This cell even has it’s own toilet and sink with a tap[6].  Clearly I won’t need to attract the attention of a gaoler[7] when I need the toilet or water.  Mind you, it’s not clear how I go about attracting the attention of the ‘screw[8]’ should I need to.

The cell is pleasantly warm, which is a good thing given the thinness and brevity of my slave tunic.

I have not been told when or how I will be fed.  If the cell is any indication, perhaps my meals here will be better than the slave-gruel that I’m generally fed.  I can only hope.

Nor have I been told how long I will have to stay here.  Is this to be my home for a long time?  Months? Years? Forever?  I sure hope not.  Given how self-contained this cell is, I don’t think that these new ‘Masters’, the gaolers, will enter the cell to satisfy my slave-needs, and their own bodily needs.  I can hope though.  A seriously long confinement without any sexual attention, given that I have long since had my slave-fires lit, would be true cruelty.  A punishment worse than the lash?  Maybe.

That Detective, Hannah Greenwood.  She’d implied that I would be seeing some kind of ‘Beak’[9].  The implication being that such would be soon.  Hopefully within a few days.  This then being a simple but well equipped holding cell.

By comparison with the holding cells and pens of the average slaving house, this is like a palace!  I’d experienced the ‘delights’ of slaver’s cells not only upon arrival on Gor, but on other odd occasions when one Master or another wanted me to have extra training, or when he wanted to have me put into safe-keeping while away out of his city.  No, this one will be quite adequate for a few days at least.  Sure it would be nice to have a window to let natural light in, even if I can’t see out, but then this cell is a hell of a sight brighter than the dank dark of most slave pens.

I did mention that as a slave, I’m used to waiting, but it would be nice to have something to keep me amused.  I’d ask for a pen and paper, but I doubt they’d let me have anything that sharp. No, next time I see anyone, I’ll ask if I can have a book or something.  Besides it would be a way of finding out just how much liberty I can wangle.  I note my inadvertent pun.  Liberty?  Me being a slave?  I giggle to myself.

I miss my Master very much.  Not just for him to slake my growing physical need, but also just for him to hold me tightly, making me feel safe and protected.  As regards my bodily sensations, I could I suppose ‘play with myself’, but that is forbidden me.  I would not be able to lie, should Master at some point ask me about this.  Master views such an act to be serious.  A breach of his rights and prerogatives, a slave taking something that doesn’t belong to her.  Her Master’s right to grant or deny his slaves pleasure or otherwise.  Punishment would be severe.

 

I am back in a mirrored room.  A man enters.  As per my training, I fall to my knees.

“You don’t need to kneel before me.  Alyena, is it?  Please take a seat”

“Yes, Master.  Thank you Master.  Yes, I am called Alyena.”

“Good.  My name is Franklin, Jud Franklin.  I am a psychiatrist.

“Please Master,  What’s a sykiatryst?”

He looks at me strangely, as if he thinks I’m faking dumbness and making fun of him.  It’s as if he doesn’t believe that I don’t know what a sykiatryst is.

“A person who studies the human mind, who tries to help cure sicknesses of the mind.”

“Ah.  Like that lovely old man Dr. Freud.  Sigmund, I recall he called himself.  I met him once.  My Parents and I travelled to Vienna shortly before the Great War.  He told such wicked stories at the dinner table.  He gave no names of course, but his anecdotes were most illuminating and in some cases somewhat humorous.”

“Quite, I’m sure he was.”

I remember my status.

“May I ask a question, that might sound impertinent, but is not meant to, Master?”

“Of course.”

“Are you humouring me, Master?  Since that detective Hannah Greenwood doesn’t believe that I was that Christine Punstunby born in 1901, you by definition cannot either.  Yet you are not pooh-poohing my assertion that I met Dr Freud.  I mean, he must be dead by now. He was old then, and he wouldn’t have had access to the stabilisation serums.”

“What are stabilisation serums?”

“On Gor, medicaments given by the caste of Physicians that retard the ageing process.  They are even given to slaves, which is why I can remember meeting Dr Freud, yet I still have the body of a twenty five year old.”

He ignores my question and starts afresh.

“I’m here to prepare a report for the court, as to your mental well-being and ability to plead in that court.”

“Plead, Master?  I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m not sure whether you are incredibly stupid, or incredibly clever and think that I’m a fool.  You will need to say before the court whether you are guilty of the crime of which you are charged, or innocent.  Given how you were caught, innocence is hardly going to be believed.”

“I’m sorry Master, I did not understand you.  It’s been a long time since I was last on Earth, and as a young woman I had nothing whatsoever to do with legal procedures.  Please pardon my ignorance…”

“You claim to be Christine Punstunby, born in 1901, and that you were magically carried away to a fictitious planet?  On this planet you have been a slave for over a hundred years, and that you have recently been brought back to Earth, where you were ordered to take part in a kidnapping; during which you were caught?  Do I have that right?”

“My name, Master, is Alyena, It has been so for the last fifteen years.  I have had many names since arriving on the planet Gor.  Before I was taken to Gor, my name was Christine Punstunby.  Masters may change the name of a slave they own at any time for any reason.

            I know not how I was carried to Gor, or brought back.  I suspect an advanced science that’s not immediately obvious to most people on the planet itself.  The planet is not fictitious, Master.  It does exist.  I don’t like what has become of Earth, Master.  The air is dirty, there is evil everywhere even in public office.  There is no honour here,  The cities are not loved, as are the cities of Gor.  The sooner my Master takes me back to Gor, the better, the happier I will be.”

I see his lip curl in contempt.

“And be a slave in this mythical land?”

“Yes, Master.  I do not have the rigidity, the coldness to be a free-woman on Gor.  It’s academic anyway.  I know my Master will not manumit me.  I long ago learned that in my heart I truly am a slave.  Slavery on Gor is at least honest.  I would be, could be nothing else.  I have had good Masters and bad ones.  My present Master…”

“This Kyril Flavius?”

“Yes, Master, … is a wonderful Master.  I adore him.  I would have no other.  I will be devastated should he ever choose to sell me.”

“Sell you?”

“Yes, Master.  I have a monetary value.  I don’t know what that value is, but as a slave I can be bought and sold, at the will of my Master.  That’s how it is, for a slave, on Gor.”

“I think that I have enough information for my report.”

“What happens to me now, Master?”

“That depends on the court.  You are clearly totally deluded, and hence you are mentally very sick indeed.  I shall recommend that you are not mentally capable of entering a plea...”

“And if the court decides otherwise, Master?”

“You will either admit your guilt and be sentenced, or there will be a trial.  Given the evidence, it’s unlikely you will be found innocent.  You will likely spend the rest of your life in jail.”

I quail.

“But that could be for hundreds of years!  I expect to live several hundred more years at least.  Such a sentence would be cruel and inhumane!  What will happen if the court agrees with your recommendations, Master?”

“You will be certified insane and confined to a mental hospital for treatment.”

“Mental hospital?  Is that like a lunatic asylum, Master.  A place to lock away people that cause embarrassment to society, such as unwed mothers, lewd women, those who are an impediment to a a man gaining a fortune, overly lascivious women, anyone someone wants to get rid of without having them killed, etc.?”

I’d giggle at the concept of ‘overly lascivious women’, given the amorous duties of a slave-girl,  if the situation was not as horrendous as it currently appears.

At least this Jud Franklin has the courtesy to look a little sheepish.

“In the past, such places were so inhumane.  Nowadays we are more enlightened, nowadays it’s only those that are truly sick that we must confine.”

I’m getting terrified now.  I forget my place.  Perhaps Master will whip me for the disrespect I show to this mind-doctor, if I ever escape the trap I’m in.

“So, Master.  What if what I’m telling you, and I told the detective, is actually true? Because you and the rest of those in your profession are unable to accept that I might be telling the exact literal truth, you will confine me and treat me until I learn to accept and profess that a truth, my truth, is a lie, and that your lie is the truth?  That is monstrous!  Both the alternatives are equally cruel, unjust and horrific.  I told you that this planet was dirty, and I didn’t just mean physically either.  It would be more merciful for you to kill me now!”

I’m beginning to despair of ever being re-united with my Master.  Right now, I’d gladly run to my whipping for suggesting that I should reduce Master’s wealth by my death.  I can no longer hold back my fears.  I burst into tears.  This awful Jud Franklin leaves the room.

 

Chapter Six

 

It’s been two days, I think, since that awful sykiatryst man terrified me with his implication of locking me in a lunatic asylum and curing me of my ‘delusion’, a ‘delusion’ that is not in fact so, being the exact literal truth.  I’ve been quietly, to use a modern Earth phrase, freaking out.  I know not, if anything that I say in this holding cell is heard by the v… Police, but I have refrained from allowing my disconcertion to be obvious.  I don’t want to give that evil Judfranklin any more arrows to confirm that to him I’m insane.  Late at night though, when the lights have been lowered to a dim glow, I’ve quietly but loudly enough for my earrings to pick it up, fervently begged Master to save me from this terrible predicament.  I’m not hopeful.

I’ve just nicely finished eating the morning meal.  And yes, it is an awful lot better than slave-gruel!  I would however gladly trade it for slave-gruel, if such were eaten elsewhere, away from this terrifying trap that I am in.  I hug myself, wishing that it were Master hugging me, making me feel safe.  I need him.  I need him badly.  I need his touch, the pleasure of his cock in me, reassuring me that I am still valued, still wanted, still worthy to be required by him.

The outer door of the cell-block opens.  I fall into nadu position, as trained, as is the default in any slave-pen.  I hear a woman remonstrating.  Hannah Greenwood, I think.

“This is monstrous, Chief!”

Three people enter the corridor along which the cells are ranked.  Yes, it’s Detective Greenwood.

“This is my case!  She was caught ‘dead to rights’ in the act of kidnap…”

She’s accompanied by a large man dressed in the same colour blue as those who’d originally arrested me.  His uniform is more grand.  Better tailored, and carrying much silver braid.  Clearly a superior officer.  A Chief of Police?  Hannah Greenwood’s comment is cut off.

“Enough, Detective!  You have inadvertently stumbled into a bigger investigation.  Right now, you are endangering that case.  We could lose all the work that’s been put in on that case to date.  You could easily spook the ringleaders of that case…”

The third person is MASTER!  My adorable, wonderful Master.  I’m on the point of crying out in joy, but I see him using the Gorean gesture, two fingers together sideways on covering the mouth.  It is a command to silence.  I stifle my outburst, and school my expression into one of indifference.

“Detective Greenwood, you will give me all physical copies of your reports, and those involved with the case.  Any computer records relating, you will send to me.  You will then securely delete such from your computers.  There will be no record kept here in this precinct or anywhere else other than under my control, is that understood?  I will be checking!”

Rather ruefully Ms Greenwood acknowledges, but I can see from the look in her eyes that if she can find a way, she will keep copies, and will carry on investigating on the Q.T.

“Now get this cell open, Detective.”

This ‘Chief’ turns to me.

“Woman, you are coming with me.  There are further questions for you to answer.”

That Master is with this man, or perhaps he is with Master, reassures me.  I speculate to myself, what has Master done, given, or promised, that such an important man seems to be interceding against Ms Greenwood, on my behalf?  He turns to Master.

“Professor Morbius, this is the woman you are treating?”

“Yes, Chief Brainerd”

“Good!  I’ve spent enough time on this matter already, today.”

Master grabs my arm.  Even such a casual touch is pleasing.  Given my recent fear and need for comfort, I find myself exciting.

The three of us depart the 4^th Precinct Station House.  I see from the corner of my eye Master discreetly give something to the Chief; a vial or something similar, I think.

 

Outside the Station House, there is a BIG car.  A very long one.  Master opens a door.  He doesn’t need to tell me to get in.  There is floor space for me to kneel.  Indeed, in the circumstances I feel that doing so is the most appropriate thing to do.  I’m so grateful for Master having extricated me from that horrible place, that I want so much to burst into tears with thanks and gratefulness to him.

Sat in one of the seats is  Groganto Svensona, my Master’s boss.

“Any problems, Kyril?”

“No, Sir.  The Chief will have a year of youthfulness, at which time, he’ll want another, and another.  As long as he remains useful there’s no reason not to let him have more. Permanent longevity?  Well that’s another matter.”

So that’s what they bribed the Chief with!

“What about this woman, this Hannah Greenwood?  Will she remain silent, let this matter go, do you think?”

“No, I don’t think she will.  It will rankle with her.  She’ll gnaw at it like a dog with a bone. She could become a problem in the future.”

“Alyena”

I’ve studiously been not looking as though I’ve been taking any notice.

“Yes, Master?”

“Back at the House, add Detective Hannah Greenwood to the acquisition list.  For early collection and despatch.  Do a full work-up on her for the collection team.”

I chortle inwardly.  It couldn’t happen to a more perfect bitch.  Hannah is going to have to rethink her assumed semi-masculinity when she gets to Gor!

He turns again to Master

“And I want you and this slave on the first ship back to Gor…”

I silently exult.  Going home!  Leaving this dirty, diseased planet full of unknowing slaves.

“...You’ve been useful, but best not leave any loose ends.  It’s a good job that this slave was not responsible for getting herself arrested, otherwise I’d have had her killed.”

I go cold in case he changes his mind.

“Right now, the slut needs a good fucking!  See to it.”

 

I kneel next to Master, my cheek rubbing his leg.  From  time to time he reaches down with a fork laden with a morsel from his breakfast plate.  I feel wonderful.  Last night’s fucking had been glorious.  He’d reiterated in no uncertain terms to me the truth of my helpless lascivious slavery.  Not that I needed such.

Tomorrow night we are going home, back to Gor.  I’m ecstatic at the prospect.

This ‘television’ thing is broadcasting some kind of news programme.  I’m not really taking much notice.

‘Police today in New York announced that they are seeking after a missing officer. Detective Hannah Greenwood hasn’t been seen for three days.  There are no signs of her having voluntarily dropped out-of-sight.  Police Chief Brainerd confirmed that the force is concerned for Detective Greenwood’s safety.’

I kneel there agog, yet not displeased.  I wonder if she isn’t already locked in one of the slave pens in the basement of this very House.  Will she be shipped to Gor tomorrow night?  Will we be sharing the same transport?  Not that it will matter.  Both she and I, and perhaps Master will be unconscious for the duration of the trip.  Best for her.  Best for everyone!

---

[1]     Earth phrase: Acronym-Pretty Damn Quick

[2]     Queen Victoria 24^th May 1819 to 22^nd January 1901 Queen and Empress of the British Empire

[3]     UK: Flat

[4]     UK: Lift

[5]     UK term for an attorney

[6]     US: Faucet

[7]     Archaic spelling in the UK.  Modern and US spelling: jailer.

[8]     Archaic UK slang term for a prison guard.

[9]     Archaic UK slang term for a judge.