Looseleaf's Diary - 19 / 04 / 2120

"Shit," I said, as my deck beeped in a particular pattern. "Movement. Babe—"

I was in pure fuckdoll mode. My arms and legs were off and charging, and Aubert was getting his workout in, lifting me up until only the tip of his prick was in my sperm-slick slit, and then letting me slide back down. He'd even shaped his cock so there was a delicious bulge in the middle, so I could kind of get stuck there for a moment, than fall down into his lap with a sudden woosh that knocked the breath out of me.

This was more important.

Aubert stood up, cock still plugged tight inside my twat, and carried me over to where the cyberdeck was plugged in. I bent forward at the waist, tits on the table as he reached out plugged the jack into my neural port.

Then the real world faded. Ghost sensations filtered through, as Aubert laid me on the table for better access, the stubs of my thighs pressed against the edge, hands gripped on my ass. Yet my mind was focused on the alert I'd set up in the GPS satellites that passed over Mordor. Code I had borrowed and modified from Tû's hidden search routines. I flew through the satlinks to access the success of images.

There was a caravan of vehicles north and east of Rowena Rowethasdottir's farm. Westbound, toward the Morgul Vale. I zoomed in, as far as the resolution allowed. Not enough to pick out license plates, but...

The vehicles were all marked with the tell-tale White Hand. Painted on car roofs and truck hoods, fluttering on banners and flags. The bulk of the caravan was twenty or thirty vehicles, but there were outriders before them, and a rearguard that followed behind.

I cursed, and logged out. Not sure what else to do. Came to myself with my cheek against the tabletop, Aubert thrusting fast and hard, with those cute little grunts he does when he's really into the moment. I let him finish. It wasn't that bad; from this angle, my clit was grinding into the tabletop with every thrust. Not enough stimulation for me to cum, but I've had worse five minutes. I waited as he held himself inside of me, panting. Hot, wet spunk oozed out around his shaft and dripped down my pussy.

"Unplug me," I asked, and he did, in both senses. Once he'd removed the jack, Aubert flipped me over. He reached over to the plastic cylinder of wet wipes and held his dick as it retracted, to minimize spillage as he wiped down my pussy.

Our eyes met. He paused in his work. The chemicals in the cloth made my labia tingle.

"What is it?" he said.

"White Hands. Headed toward them," I said. I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Rafters that had been there since the last age, tangled with ghostly spiderwebs. Aubert finished wiping me, but I made no move. Just sat there and breathed, my tits rising and falling with slight wobbles. He seemed to watch me, attentive as a dog or cat that knows something's wrong, those eyes fixed on me, attentive.

"They make it out like they're a thousand years old," I said to fill the silence. "But they're not. Like, they're gangs. Young. Younger than us, a lot of them. There isn't—like there's this lore, but there's no continuity. At the end of the Last War, Saruman's armies were smashed. They broke up as a cohesive ****. Within a generation, all the Orcs and Uruk-Hai that had served under him were dead. They didn't form little gangs. The symbol came up later. Centuries, generations later. After Orcs and Goblins had been accepted as citizens, good workers for the megacorps. But the people running the gangs now, they don't know that. Think they've been there forever."

I lifted the stumps of my arms. Aubert got the idea and picked me up. Settled me against his hip as I hugged him, my head on his chest.

"Most of them grew up poor," I told him. "They grew up without hope, second-class citizens in ghettos where Orc and Men mix freely. No education, few jobs, lots of ****, ****. The networks they built, stretching from Far Harad to Mordor, they were built on personal and family relationships. Ways to move people, goods, money without needing to use the megacorps, because they just—they couldn't make any headway legally."

My voice dropped down to a whisper. "But there are people who believe it. Really believe it. All the shit about Dark Lords and magic rings and wraith knights. I think maybe at the beginning, it was just a recruiting tool, a way to get the young Orcs to join, but now the leaders, they're all crazy about it. More than a religion. I saw him once."

"Who?" Aubert said, his skinny arms around me, not even trying to cop a feel.

"Morgaun Morgain," she said. "The head of the White Hands. Or the biggest group of them, anyway. They—they made me a present for him. It was his first time in Rivendell. Tall for an Orc. His skin was mottled. Inky black, patches of palest white. Head shaved except for a single scalp-lock, that grew long from the base of his skull. I watched him cook the black shit that he injected into my veins on some kind of altar, before an old, old banner with a ring of dark characters surrounding a white hand, a lidless eye in its palm. They'd tied me on this cross, facing it. I remember how fucked up his eyes were. Pale as snow, pupils huge and dark. As if he could see something that wasn't there. As if he could see my arms and legs start to rot, or that shit eating at my brain and soul..."

"You never told me this," Aubert said, his own voice quiet. It was silly, there was no-one here but the two of us, but we were both whispering.

"I didn't—I didn't want to remember. To dwell on it," I turned my head into his shoulder. "The sex afterward was just, kindof perfunctory. Like he **** me because they expected it, but I don't think he actually enjoyed it."

"You were torn up. Down there," Aubert said, and he carried me over to the bed and sat down, drew a blanket up around my shoulders.

"He had wrapped barbed wire around his cock," I told him. "Metal spikes that bit into his flesh, kept him hard. The ones around him, they thought it was funny. What he did to me. When he was done, and my veins were going black and I couldn't move my limbs, he just wiped himself off of me. Gave a little speech about how the Age of the Orc was almost here. That they needed to gather what was left of the Shadow, the relics of the Dark Lords past, and a new, purer kingdom of darkness would arise in an orgy of blood and fire. Then he told them to take out the trash."

My jaw worked. I didn't know why I was telling him this. It wasn't exactly a relationship builder. Yet I think Aubert understood.

"You want to warn them," he said. "You want to help them, if the White Hands make a move?"

"When," I told him. "When they make a move. It feels like there's something happening, some bigger picture we can't see, but the parts of it I do see, I don't like. And I don't...I don't want anybody to deal with what I went through."

Aubert set his chin on my head.

"Okay," he said. "So if you're going to warn them, how are you going to do that?"

I sniffed. Blinked against hot wet tears. Not sure when I'd started crying.

"I've been thinking about that. I think I know a way," I took a deep, ragged breath. "Plug me back in. I have work to do."

So he did.