Diplomacy

Ms. Chakravarty had to put a damper on adolescent enthusiasm. “It’s not quantity that matters,” she said with as gentle a voice as she could manage. “Many men new to Tantrism see it as some kind of game. They treat the woman like she’s a, well, a pinball machine.” “A what? Oh . . .” The boy at first did not understand the historical reference, but then remembered. “It’s more a matter of intensity,” the older woman explained, “which has a spiritual element to it. I’ll send you a link.”

Kai-Kai seemed puzzled, though not as much as poor Ms. Wakie, who seemed stunned by the conversation and lost her appetite. Fortunately she got back into her comfort zone when she was served pecan pie, a Southern-style dessert Kai-Kai had made specially for her visit. When it was time for her to arrange herself on the impreg table, she was more at ease, enough so that she could say, “Y’all won’t see multiples from me, I reckon . . . I’m just a one-time-and-it’s-over girl.” Which got a laugh from everyone.

Angela didn’t know if Kai-Kai ever got around to reading the materials Ms. Chakravarty sent him, but as it turned out they were all getting ahead of themselves. Whether the Sire should really go through with the requested “Tantric” procedure during an actual impreg was not a foregone conclusion. The question had been much debated among several Committees, and was the subject of some fiercely opinionated memos. No consensus having been reached, the question was referred to the Board, which decided to turn down the request; adopting a cultural / religious sexual technique for the purpose of this one impreg would set an unworkable precedent. The decision was communicated through official channels as tactfully as possible. Fortunately the Nepalese understood this position, and were satisified with the ceremony which ultimately took place.

The most troublesome aspect was the involvement of the Chinese, who were always concerned, to the point of paranoia, about anything touching their part of the world. They had been having their usual trouble with Tibetan separatists and were suspicious of any endorsement of Tibetan practices or nationality, despite the assurances of the Nepalese ambassador who had to be called in. The Chinese even sent a representative to make sure the impreg was in all relevant respects similar to the 50 or so they had previously observed. Angela saw her with the other spectators in the woods, silent and expressionless in her business suit as she watched the couple reach their climaxes.

Angela was in the Project Boardroom when Kai-Kai was told of the Board’s decision to not allow a Tantric impreg. The boy wasn’t even invited to sit down as he stood nakedly and respectfully in front of the formally dressed adults sitting around the big oak table, having put down his bookbag, hands at his sides.

“You mean, you want me to just . . . give her my load?”

“Yes, Kai-Kai,” Dr. Spaatz said, “though of course with your usual attention to the, uh, lady’s arousal and orgasm. But your assignment is to ejaculate inside her, nothing more.” Dr. Spaatz had a cold; she coughed, then continued in her scratchy old woman’s voice, which had an edge of condescension in it, as if she were giving instructions to a child. “Do not bring yourself to the brink of orgasm and pull back. Just ‘come’.” By means of consolation she added, “We all believe that your skill set has benefited from those exercises in self-control. When we read the report on your, uh, contest with Mrs. Kimura we were very impressed.”

After a slight pause, Kai-Kai replied quietly, “Thank you, ma’am.” The boy got his bookbag and left, trying to hide his feelings; but his disappointment was reflected in the dispirited slapping of bare feet echoing down the hallway.

They sat in silence for a moment; then Ms. Chayevsky of the Psychological Committee said, “We could have handled that with somewhat greater sensitivity.” There was a murmur of agreement, which pleased Angela. But then Mr. Raskin of the Security Committee said, “How did that kid find out about this in the first place?” Ms. Henson, of the Local Affairs Committee, who lived down the street from the Schreibers’, rolled her eyes. She repeated a common complaint. “It’s not right to hide the Sire Project from the Sire. He powers the entire colossal enterprise.” A common image that people had in their minds, of the Project as a kind of giant machine, dependent on the semen fuel that Kai-Kai ejaculated into it seven times a day. “That sounds all very righteous,” Mr. Raskin retorted, “but didn’t you notice how disappointed the boy was? If there was tighter security, we wouldn’t have set him up for it.” As irritating as Mr. Raskin could be, he sometimes had a point.