#body is (biological) spaceship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

only-lonely-works-of-art · 1 year

Text

Queen Anne's Lace

Upon the deck of a great bioship, a portly shipherder stood firm. Facing him was a tall and skinny young man, with perfectly styled hair and a loose, tailored suit.

“Now, Mr. Sawyer, I must insist. We cannot sail faster than light in this ship. Anne isn’t capable of safe FTL.”

“Oh, get it through your thick skull already!” Patrick Sawyer, woefully under-prepared captain of the newly commissioned Queen Anne’s Lace, rolled his eyes. “It’s not your choice. I can get another first mate, you know.”

The shipherder gaped at him. “You wouldn’t. I’ve raised Anne up from her infancy!”

“I don’t care for sentimentality. Give the order, or I’ll find someone who will.” Patrick gave him a sick smile. “I want to see how fast this ship will go. Show me.”

“But- really, you can’t! She’s not made for FTL, she’ll burn up!”

“So? I can always buy another ship.”

“And if you burn up all the new ships this side of Gacrux IV?”

“Then I’ll buy one from farther away. Obviously.” Patrick laughed. “Didn’t I pay you already, Gibbs?”

Gibbs watched him quietly, saying nothing as he contemplated the most recent phrase from Sawyer’s lips. While not originally a star sailer, Christopher Gibbs had been recruited as Sawyer’s mate at the commissioning of their new ship. Queen Anne’s Lace was the finest bioship from the new generation, raised up on the finest mutton and octane until her maturity. If care was proper, she would be able to serve for decades as a premiere ship, with space for a crew of a hundred and a herd of a thousand cattle for her sustenance. If wasted on faster-than-light travel, her lifespan would not last longer than a few short jumps. The voyage Patrick intended to take was very long; she would barely survive.

“Fine. If you waste this beauty, it’s not my problem.” Gibbs shook his head as he signaled to the crew. “More money for me and my folks, raising up the next generation.”

Patrick gave him a wide grin, exposing bright white teeth– another privilege of wealth. “Wonderful. Let’s be off. To the forests of Trevail III!”

Despite all of Gibbs’ best judgement, the crew cheered.

—

Time passed quickly in the lightstream. Gibbs wasn’t used to it– Patrick even less so. Faster-than-light travel wasn’t for the faint of heart or coddled children, and as Patrick retched, Gibbs felt a sick twist of satisfaction in his gut.

As the ship sailed, a faint shriek could be heard. Above the crew, the steel roof of the bridge groaned. A deep shudder rocked the ship, and all those without space legs found their bodies unbalanced. The ship was shaking, and she could only take so much strain.

“Shut it down!” A pilot called across the bridge. “Stop the travel! The ship is failing!”

“No!” Patrick shouted, his face pink and veins standing out against his skin. “Keep going until we reach the Trevail system.”

“Anne is burning!” The pilot shook his head. “Sir, she’ll die if we keep this up much longer! We’re still light-years away.”

“Can she make it?”

“Yes, but–”

“Keep going!” There was a wild light in Patrick’s eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“I… as you wish,” the pilot responded, disturbed. The ship was making sounds now. Instead of her usual creaking, there was a deep groaning, increasing in volume. A sound of pain, of fear.

Queen Anne’s Lace was screaming, the sound lost to all but those within her.

—

Trevail III came into view right as Queen Anne fell out of the lightstream. Sitting just above orbit, she cried out in agony. Rivulets of fluid ran down the sides of her inner cavities, staining her pure-white flesh a pale pink. The floor creaked and groaned, setting a few souls off-kilter as they lost their balance.

Again she screamed, and all the sailors clapped their palms over their ears.

Patrick knelt on the deck of the bridge, staring out the bay windows at the planet below. He raised his voice, but no one heard his voice above the ship until her scream subsided.

“Is that it? Trevail III?!”

No answer came; in the silence, some were wary to uncover their ears. Patrick scrambled to his feet, rushing to the front of the ship, staring out the window with wide eyes. Only inches in front of him, the hardened corneal windows pulsed with red vessels, glowing hot from the friction of FTL in only near-vacuum. He didn’t touch the window.

Below them, a yellow planet swirled, its clouds ever-shifting. A ring surrounded it, composed of dust and hematite. The iron red of the mountains peeked through brown clouds, and within them, black specks of magnetite aloft from updraft currents. Silver rivers ran down the slopes, painting the valleys in reflective glory.

Patrick smiled, the expression stretching wide from cheek to cheek. “We’re here.”

Gibbs looked up, hazarding a glance at Queen Anne. Through the steel mesh, he spied the red flesh above him pulsing. Soft and wet, its vessels strained against the heavy pressure of its circulation. The muscles of his prized ship were atrophied, her skin no doubt forever scarred. Her screams still echoed in his ears. Her death had already been chosen for her, only weeks after she finished maturing.

“You’re done sailing,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

—

Deep in the ports of Trevail III, the scrapyards were abuzz with activity. Fresh ship meat was rare in the Trevail system: even rarer was her complete herd of prize cattle.

The yard owners gossiped, whispering among themselves. Longhorn cattle, they murmured, was the kind Mr. Sawyer kept. Hard to maintain, best for ships aside from mutton, and vicious if they wanted to be. He’d bring them on his next ship, when he received it, but for a price, a bull and a few cows wouldn’t go amiss… not that anyone had the guts to proposition buying them off such a well-respected banker’s heir.

As for Queen Anne’s Lace, she rested in the finest meatyard, abandoned as she heaved her last oxygen-rich breaths and let her blood flow freely. She would die in time, as street rats and gargantuan insects slowly took their share of her flesh. Eventually her organs would be harvested, her muscle sliced apart for hauling and use; sinew would be chopped into the lowest-grade feed. Anesthetic was hard to come by in the meatyards, and none would be given, even to such a fine ship– Mr. Sawyer wasn’t keen on wasting his money that way. Even a killing blow to the brain was unnecessary.

With every slice, another deep breath hitched, and a faint shriek was heard. No one paid it any attention. Such was the way of the vast, unkind universe.

#my writing #original work #sci-fi #body horror #cw: blood #cw: death #cw: injury #spaceflight #faster than light travel #spaceships #bioship universe #oc: patrick sawyer #oc: gibbs #biological engineering

7 notes · View notes

catboybiologist · 3 months

Text

Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

#eroticism of the machine #robot girl #mecha girl #spaceship girl #the fuck do I even tag this LOL #yall gotta tag this and make sure it gets to the right spaces for me okay

265 notes · View notes

sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel · 12 days

Text

I am now thinking more about the Jurassic Park/World - Animorphs crossover AU (Dinomorphs?). It has stuck in my head like a bad song and I can't get it out.

InGen and any of the other companies involved with making the dinosaurs would be taken over by the Yeerks almost as soon as the Yeerks arrive. These companies have biological engineering capabilities approaching the level of the Arn, but on a much better planet. The Yeerks would be salivating over that.

Following on from this: Hybrid dinosaurs like the Indo-series Rex and Raptor or the Stegoceratops from the video games are probably Yeerk projects. The Yeerks are looking for ways to create more shock troops to unleash on the Andalites.

Similarly, we could expect to see even more interesting hybrids involving alien DNA. Velocihorks and Pterotaxxons and Geddosaurs. I imagine most of these hybrid projects would be failures that illustrate the depravity and utter inhumanity of the Yeerks, like the failed Aquatic Hork-Bajir project.

Dinosaur-controllers, mostly with medium-sized dinosaurs that can function as guards or shock-troops but aren't too big to fit inside of Yeerk ships. As much as Visser Three would love to have Tyrannosaur-Controllers on the payroll, they're just too big and their arms too tiny to be useful to the Empire on a day to day basis. (I imagine this is the same reason the Yeerks can't deploy the giant monsters on the Hork-Bajir homeworld to other planets - their spaceships just can't hold the critters, there's not enough room.)

Visser Three, of course, would have all the big dinosaur morphs. He can bypass the "too big to fit" limitation thanks to Alloran's morphing ability.

Because the Yeerks have to use smaller dinosaurs in their ships and Yeerk Pools, the Animorphs could still use their regular battle morphs (or in Ax's case, his normal Andalite body) for a lot of the fighting, if they aren't able to acquire dinosaurs themselves. And if Visser Three turns into something too big for them to handle, they can do what they usually do and run.

If the dinosaurs have escaped into the wild before the Animorphs get into the war, then smaller dinosaur morphs could be acquired at Cassie's barn.

Following on from the last point - if Cassie has any mid-size theropods at the Barn, or if there are any at The Gardens, then Tobias definitely gets stuck as one of those instead of a hawk.

How would the chimeric DNA of the dinosaurs affect morphing allergies? What if Rachel burps up a Baryonyx or an Ankylosaurus because it has the part of the crocodile DNA that she's allergic to in it? Is this how we find out Jake is allergic to Tree Frog DNA?

Toby and the Free Hork-Bajir adopt a dinosaur early on. I don't know what kind yet.

#Animorphs #Jurassic Park #Dinomorphs #headcanons and other ideas

30 notes · View notes

whereserpentswalk · 1 month

Text

You're a dimensional traveler. You're mostly a researcher, for an organization that knows about other dimensions. It's not something the average person in almost any dimension actually knows about, but there are a few pocket realms, where dimensional travelers can meet.

Its strange going on research trips. They always put you in the body that you would have had if you had grown up in that world. You've felt what it would be like to exist in a body that's been a medieval peasant its entire life, and likewise you've known what it's like to be in a body that's never left a spaceship.

The strangest time was when you were in a body from an entirely mechanical world, where no biological life existed. It was horrifying ar first, being a machine that didn't breath or eat, you felt like you were being drowned, and felt like your skin was missing. And the worst was so desolate, knowing there was nothing but wasteland outside the cities. But the more you stayed there the more normal it felt, as empty as it was, the beings there only knew humans, only knew life, as a bad memory, and era long forgotten.

You've been to a world with superheros, it was right after you left the machine dimension. It wasn't like your childhood fantasies, wasn't like what the people of your world dreamed of. A superhuman is a horrifying thing to witness as a moral, and the fact that an alien thinks of itself as a farm boy from Kansas, can be more horrifying then it think of itself as an alien, horrifying to the shoplifter and the media pirate, horrifying to the protester, horrifying to the radical. It's scary for such creatures to uphold mortal law. You couldn't give those people any weapons to fight back with, but you could tell them that you were from a world without superheros, and tell them that is was possible, and it wasn't more dangerous like they thought it would be, it was safer.

You've met people you've wanted to take back with you. People who you could have. There was a time when you were in a world with limited technology, and powerful magic. You befriended a eunuch priestess there, a priestess of a god whose temples were being burned, where her faith was being replaced with a monotheistic one, one that would have her killed for more reasons then one. She fled from city to city, as more cities were being taken by the new faith, where she became illegal in more and more places. You offered to take her to your world but she said no, she needed to be with her people in the end, and even if she went, you realized she'd be no more accepted there then she is where she lived.

And you've seen better worlds. You've seen a post revolution America, seen how much more advanced it is. And seen the old churches of that world converted back into pagan temples, and seen cities where office buildings were all apartments, and city halls had become meusums, explaining to people what governments were when humanity had governments. You've seen things be possible you didn't think were. Yet you had to leave. You always had to leave.

You've been to a world where humans didn't experience romantic or sexual attraction, and didn't have libidos or erotic sensation. It was strange, you felt empty at first, you missed those feelings so much. You went with your partner, and you couldn't feel anything about them, there was no feeling of lust when looking at their naked body, and worse off there was no feeling of romance when you looked into their eyes. But you still liked eachother as humans, you were good freinds even when you weren't able to love eachother, you still talked for hours, still cared about eachother. And you cuddled, because without romance freinds would just cuddle in that world. When you came back to your own world, and the attraction came back, it felt weird and wrong at first.

You've been to so many places you've had to leave behind. You've been to a world of endless forest night, where monsters preyed on humans, and you've sat with humans who've learned how to survive despite everything. You've seen a world of endless city, stretching across a planet, and you had to leave it, you always have to leave it behind, even though you could explore it forever. You've been to a world where the internet was all that existed, where there was no physical realm, just websites and chatrooms, the image of a screen being all you could see, and being there for awhile without a body, just getting to talk to people, and see how they spent their days, it made you love the body you had, but still care for those without them.

One of your most deadly missions was to go to a world of demons. To live in that empty world, that world with no light, no hope, where every soul knew it was forever damned. But the demons still had to live, still had to spend their days doing their best, still had freinds, despite the fact that they knew redemption was beyond them. And you were one too, and despite how you expected there to be nothing when you were thrown into that void, you were still you.

You're more appreciative of your own world now. Seeing people on the street and the subway, they're still human, anywhere you go. You've asked the organization for an interdimensional internet device, you really want to be able to still talk to some people you've, you think people deserve that, to be talked to. Mabye people actually are good?

22 notes · View notes

verysaltynik · 4 months

Text

Not me making a star trek ds9 species so wierd and antisocial to others, with just autistic traits

It's a telepathic hive mind like species very similar in behavior to fungi colonies, that talks exclusively through thought, experiences and feelings. They do not have languages or know what body language is, since their bodies are mostly underground in sphere like form, connected to each other with "limbs"

They are a shape shift like form of life, they can absorb other lifeforms "data" - their biological footprint, and so they can imitate said lifeform, even though they may not understand them or how they behave

This is where our protagonist comes in, a research group lands on their planet and stumbles upon one of the colonies, literally... One of the research group members doesn't look where they're walking and so our offspring, in an act of self defense, "attacks" them (just weaves its limbs around their ankles so they wouldn't step on it). In this act they absorb some of the person's data and shift in the form that resembles human, that needs to be said that, with so little contact, not a lot of data has bee absorbed and humans are pretty complicated and alien creatures to it

I won't write the whole story there (mostly because it's not yet written) but it comes down to the offspring being taken on the spaceship (willingly) and transported to the ds9 where it will live and learn and teach and experience everything it can

I'm actually so invested in this and can't wait to see what my brain will spit out next :D

The autism in this comes in the unfamiliarity of offspring itself to others and from how the offspring has to navigate the world where everyone expect you to talk and behave a certain way, even if you're not used to it and frankly uncomfortable doing

#saltstext #hehehhehe #ds9 #star trek #deep space nine #deep space 9 #st ds9 #star trek fandom #fan species #djdbudskksksks #autism #favorite #important

24 notes · View notes

flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

Does the Hesian rancher have a name yet? What does he look like; anything like Nasos?

The rancher does have a name, I just haven't dropped it, but it doesn't hurt to mention it here...it is Kostas in my files

All Hesians are about ten feet tall, with four eyes (ranging in colors from yellow and gold to green), large, sharp teeth, and long, strong tails with flexible tips. They have red skin that has traces of their biological predecessors in the form of a pattern of red and sometimes black scales across their bodies.

They tend to be barrel chested, but compared to an Ozil (who would be among the largest in this universe) they are on the leaner side. That is, of course, relative, they are all ten feet tall with legs and arms like tree trunks. Kostas is thicker than his cousin, who is a spacer, because he works out all day with big livestock.

His bottom two eyes are two different shades of mossy green and his top two eyes are bright gold. He has black, shiny hair that has a thicker follicle than human hair so it is a bit heavier. His falls around his face to his chin and he usually pulls half of it up in a little, stubby ponytail to keep it out of his eyes.

Hesian's don't have a ton of natural body hair due to their scales, but the rancher has dark stubble after a day or two of not shaving.

As cousins Nasos and he look similar, though Kostas is objectively more handsome, but Nasos has short cropped hair and is leaner. Though Kostas is physically stronger, Nasos is better in a fight.

Just as a side note, as cousins they get along great and are good friends, though Kostas doesn't understand how Nasos can stand to live on a spaceship. ^_^

#alien headcanon

153 notes · View notes

dragonthunders01 · 7 months

Text

Spectember D28: Spec at the Cell level

Is not strange for space traveling ships to find unusual concentrations of biological matter around some solar systems, probably expelled from some icy moon or from asteroids that are disintegrating, through a unique case happened through the investigation of a crumbling space super structure, upon reaching a space station the ship used for the travel showed a considerable damage in the side of the isolation panels, which was covered by a dark slime-like goo that for the time passed from the exploration of the ruins to reaching a space station it was noticeable it grew up on the surface as originally were spotted as small dot that partially were clean, and even managed to corrode the surface making it a hazard to be checked out before it could spread to other gear.

What was found out was something more peculiar than a strange corrosive element and more of an organism thriving of feeding of artificial parts of the remains of the super structure, nicknamed the Cecisolus, as far it was analyzed this was a mat colony made of thousands of eukaryote like organisms with a simple nuclei and different organelles, through over it there was a second layer of the body membrane which on one section was concentrated few more layers of dead tissue reinforced with Melanin in high quantity, within them there were multiple chains of chemical connections that integrated within some organelles which in reaction to sunlight radiation produce a reaction that is converted to energy and the Melanin reflect the rest to avoid any mutation of the cell, as the energy is transferred the organism proceed to digest the artificial spaceship material into molecules useful for their survival, disposing of the rest into space or out of the cell in the form of a dark soot.

The process seems to take days and even days to happen, probably for the energy that takes to break the compounds. In a second expedition in the remains ancient super structure it was found more colonial mats great quantities, specially around of what was identified as electricity or energy conducts and infrastructure. There has been some speculation of such correlation that the mats was once part of a organic technological system created by the extinct civilization artificers of the megastructure millions of years ago, a system that collected the solar energy of the star like solar panels and regenerated itself by feeding it specific chemicals, but on some point after abandoning the super structure the photonic collector organism might have suffered of some mutations upon a failure of their facility or a disastrous event, spreading and likely devouring the space artifact, which many researchers are considering the main reason why this ancient space habitat became a total ruin.

#speculative evolution #exobiology #microorganisms #extraterrestrial #bioengineering #spectember

28 notes · View notes

controlledchaosetc · 3 months

Text

Weakness - Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic

After making herself permanently a traitor of the NUSA, V needs to protect the person she loves while grappling with that fact that she can't explain why she just gave up the best chance at a future.

Fic picks up right at the end of Phantom Liberty with "Betray Reed" and "Free Songbird" ending.

5000 words, Fem V POV, V/Judy, hurt/comfort

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

All V could feel was numb. She was alone; Johnny was done with the fireworks. No more cocky persona. No more quips, or jokes, or verbal jabs at the ghost of the rockerboy that could help her divert from growing, gnawing ache inside. Tears threatened to roll down her face that she hadn’t registered.

It wasn’t until the distant roar of the rocket boosters were replaced with the whirring of helicopter rotors that V returned back to herself. Quickly, she wiped the tears away. Songbird might be safe up there in the stars, but she still wasn’t, and she sure as shit couldn’t stop now.

She groaned as she stood. Boosters helped mask the pain, but everything hurt. Aftershocks from the Blackwell echoed in her head, pinging into the Relic and shooting spikes of pain across her eyes. Her body was riddled with bruises from where bullets had bounced from her subdermal armor and holes where she hadn’t been so lucky. Her body begged for rest, doubly so as a Relic malfunction sent a wave of weakness across it. V stumbled, grabbing onto the back of the chair.

She couldn’t have an attack here. She needed a way out.

Her escape route wasn’t obvious. The launchpads were small islands connected to the Space Port complex by monorail, but the train would be easily intercepted. The observer tower she was in was too obvious; she’d be found easily. There was only one thing she could do when left with no other option: improvise.

Glass that could withstand the concussive force of a spaceship from the outside was shattered by well-placed grenades from within. Looping her monowire around a beam, she jumped down. As the spool ran out, the force of the leap sliced through the steel, cushioning her fall slightly. Her reinforced tendons performed the rest of the work, but her foot had landed awkwardly. Fire radiated from her ankle. For as chromed up as she was, the few wholly biological parts of her remaining still managed to make their appearance.

She welcomed it, however. A reminder there was still part of her in there. That this city hadn’t taken that part of her yet. Maybe So Mi thought the same after the stadium.

She frantically scanned the area for options. The only way back to Night City was through the water, but she wasn't in any state for swimming. However, it didn’t mean she couldn’t trick the FIA into thinking so. A service hatch sat closed in the wall, near where the concrete pad ended and the Pacific Ocean began. A place to hide.

“Maybe- no, it HAS to work.”

She limped towards the edge of the launchpad. Another malfunction caused her legs to lock up, sending her tumbling to the ground.

“No. No no no no no no.”

She steadied herself and her breathing, crawling back onto her feet and reaching the ledge. The hatch was about 10 feet away. The howl of AV engines approached while V hastily threw off her shoes beside her. She only had about 30 seconds before they’d spot her. She tore off her jacket, and let it drop into the water below. As she hacked open the hatch with ease, she reviewed the plan in the head. She knew if she simply walked over to it, her footprints would most likely be seen, and her misdirection would be for naught. And so, she faced towards the ledge, squatted down, and tightened her chest, steeling herself for the pain to come.

She lept, not forward into the ocean, but sideways towards the service hatch. Spinning in the air, she faced the vent, and with the last of her strength, kicked in the air once more to rocket her body inside. Her shoulder slammed into the metal paneling hard, and, with a small pop, dislocated as she slid deeper in. Fighting the urge to cry out, she quickly closed the hatch and activated her optical camo as she heard the AVs touch down.

With her one good arm, she pulled herself around a corner and fully out of sight. She could hear the muffled shouting of orders from soldiers just over the squealing engines.

Her attention turned towards her shoulder. It couldn’t stay like this for long. She peeled off a bloodstained sock, balled it up, and bit down. Grabbing her bicep, she shoved her arm back into place and immediately injected yet another booster, her groan muffled by the sock. V was about to spit it out when she heard footsteps outside.

“OVER HERE,” the voice of a soldier called out.

Immediately, she froze. She wished that she could stop the beating of her heart so everything could be still. More footfalls followed. Flashlight beams bounced erratically on the walls of the vent.

“She’s in the water!”

Just as V began to relax, a familiar feminine voice spoke.

“Goddammit,” President Myers said. “If she’s in the water, we’ll scan for her when we delta. In the meantime, fan out and search for her. She’s tricked us before, I won’t let her do it again.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” is all V could think. She began pushing herself further down the vent when another malfunction hit. Her whole body spasmed; the only thing stopping her from involuntarily shouting out was the makeshift gag in her mouth. She couldn’t move. Her entire body was frozen as all muscles tried to contract at once. The wires within her executing a faulty program threatened to tear her apart. She was utterly helpless.

Another voice spoke up, “Madam President, Orbital Air reinforcements are inbound. We don’t have much time.”

Myers sighed. A pause hung in the air.

“Fine. We’ll find her eventually. She can’t hide forever. Everyone, move-”

The Relic malfunctioned a final time, and darkness fell.

V’s head pounded when she awoke. What was more important, however, was that she was awake, and she was still in the vent. She laid there, collecting herself and simply recovering. Finally, she pushed herself up and crawled towards the exit. Sunlight flowed through the bars; it was nearly 11am. She waited briefly if anyone was walking around but detected nothing. She climbed out, nearly forgetting her ankle until pain radiated from it. It was horribly swollen and hurt like a bitch, but diagnostic scans showed it wasn’t broken: a small consolation.

She still couldn’t take the monorail. It’d lead her right to the arms of Orbital Air, and she wasn’t that much of a gonk. The water it was then.

The repetitive movement of swimming helped her focus on something, anything outside of the shitstorm that followed her and only ever increased in size. Swimming meant she wasn’t putting pressure on her ankle, which was nice. The water itself was tinged with a slight oily rainbow finish. Couldn’t damage herself more, she supposed. Water probably wasn't toxic enough to need watersuits like the tunnels, or the lake where her and Judy had their first date.

“Oh god, Judy.”

The last time she talked to Judy was before the Hanson operation. Before everything went to shit, when she dared to imagine what their life could be like once Reed had his contacts develop the cure. Lying in bed together, they had spoken of future plans and adventures, the places they’d travel to with the Aldecaldos. Hubris. It’d ended with the promise that Judy would see her in a couple days max. It’d now been six.

She had laid low after the stadium, waiting for Songbird’s call. She hadn’t risked contact with anyone, not Rogue, not Panam, not even Judy. Judy was the only one who she’d told anything about what happened in Dogtown, but all she knew was that she was backing Reed in the plot against Hanson. She knew nothing else: not where V was, not where Songbird was, not even why V betrayed Reed. Judy was of no use to the NUSA, FIA, or Myers. Or so she hoped. That’s all that she could hope for in those days that lasted an eternity.

But now, with Reed dead, So Mi gone, and Myers empty handed, the game was changed. V wasn’t good at playing it, but she knew it all the same. In Myers’ eyes, Judy had changed from a person with knowledge to a pawn to be captured.

How could she be such a gonk? She had the perfect solution, and she threw it away. She had the cure in her hands and gave it up. Now, she’s an enemy of the NUSA, and a personal enemy of the president. Everyone around her, everyone she’s come to care about and love, was in danger. And it’s all her fault. Judy might have already been taken, even before killing Reed.

Tears began to well up in her eyes, but she immediately pushed it down. She couldn’t break down. Not when Judy was in danger. She couldn’t show weakness.

V swam even faster.

After cleaning up in a bar bathroom, a change of clothes, and klepping a car, she sat in front of Lizzie’s bar. Judy was most likely at work, so it was a solid place to start. She’d wrapped her ankle as best she could, and boosted for a countless time. She could walk again, but it still ached. Scanning the crowd, she checked everyone who came and went. She didn’t find anything, although she didn’t know what she expected. FIA agents were able to cover their identities even better than she coulda. If someone was in the bar watching for her arrival, she wouldn’t be able to tell through her tech. Whether an obsession or a crutch, she’d always used tech or netrunning skills to get the upper hand. Having to rely on just her intuition uneased her.

Although, she did have something she could use. She reached up to feel her face. The FIA might be able to identify their technology through Space Port security, but an ordinary agent might not. It was worth a shot.

She looked in the mirror as her face and body morphed to Aurore Cassel. There was a slight bit of excitement when she had used the faceplate the first time that briefly overruled the sickness she felt from their murders. All she could think now was of Aurore’s real ruined face, shot by Alex, lifeless on the ground. Maybe that’s where things changed. No matter now, there were more important matters to focus on. She exited the car and walked with the strut Aurore carried as she entered the bar.

Sitting at the bar after ordering a bourbon, she turned to speak to the bartender.

“Excuse me, monsieur, is Judy Alveraz working today by chance?” she spoke in a thick French accent.

He regarded her wearily. “Who’s askin’?”

She chuckled musically. “Well let’s just say I have something that may pique her interest. I am a developer of virtu technology, and a little birdy has told me that this one has been experimenting with BD’s herself. She may have an interest in a small business collaboration.” V smiled as she swirled the caramel liquid.

“I can check and see if she’s interested. Dunno she’s even in though,” he said, and began to leave.

“Wait!”

The man stopped, a look of annoyance pastered on his face.

“A small message for her. To convince her that this is the real deal.”

She grabbed a napkin, gestured for a pen, and began to write: “It’s V. Won’t look like me but it is. Just trust me. Be ready to leave.” She folded the message, and before the bartender could take it, she pulled it away.

“Ah ah ah! No peeking! Business between ladies must be respected,” she said with a wink. Only then did she hand him the napkin, and he walked away towards the back in a huff.

V downed the remaining bourbon. She didn’t even know if she was here. She just had to wait and hope.

Johnny appeared in her vision and sat beside her.

“So Aurore,” speaking the name in an exaggerated French accent, “what’s the plan if she’s even here?”

“I don’t know, maybe leave? Delta the fuck out to the Aldecaldos?”

“And who’s to say the NUSA isn’t watching them too?”

“Militech hasn't found them yet, and they’re basically NUSA. They’re safe.”

“For now.”

“Thanks a lot, Johnny.”

“No problem.”

He disappeared once more with a mime of a drink. Alone again, she began slightly rocking on the stool. She could use another drink. Or several. No one was watching her, at least from what she could tell.

In what felt like an hour but was only 5 minutes, the bartender returned with Judy in tow. A wave of relief crashed through V’s body.

“Myers didn’t have her yet.”

She could tell that Judy was heavily guarded, inspecting every part of her. She hesitantly sat down beside her and asked, “So, what’s this deal you have for me?”

V couldn’t know if anyone was listening, so it was safest to keep up the act.

“I was thinking we could talk about this on a little drive around town. I know a cute little tea shop we could chat at, mon cheri.”

“I’d much prefer to stay here, thank you very much,” Judy replied as she nudged herself further away. V could see the distrust in her eyes, and anger too that V wasn’t being straight with her. She needed to convince her.

“I see. Well, I came here, see, because I heard you are the first to successfully scroll two BD actors simultaneously, no?”

Judy’s expression softened.

“And it wasn’t even for that erotic thrill either, no no, but a swim through Laguna Bend. A shame if I am to be frank.” Even as V said the last line, her own eyes begged for Judy to trust her.

Judy sat for a second, and hardened once more. “Someone could have told you that. How am I supposed to trust that you’re-”. Judy stopped herself. “That you’re here with… new virtu tech and not the same old junk.”

V paused, thinking hard about what she could say.

“I have something that even your abuela would love.”

Judy’s disposition changed entirely. “You know, a drive does sound good.”

They both stood up, slightly hurriedly, and walked towards the exit. V could tell Judy was staring at her, now out of fascination. V jumped into the car, starting it as Judy closed her door.

“What the fuck V? It’s been almost a week, I thought you were dead!”

“I’m sorry, ok?” the voice shifting between Aurore and V as she turned off the mask.

“You’re sorry? What… what even is this? Who was that… person? You? How the fuck… what the fuck happened?”

V began to drive. “I don’t know where to start, really.”

“Well start somewhere? I thought this was all figured out, you said it would be a couple days.”

“I know that’s what I said, I was wrong. Things… changed.”

“Yeah, sure as shit things changed.”

“I betrayed Reed.”

Judy looked shocked. “You… what?”

“I betrayed him. I just… I couldn’t.” V was driving even faster now.

“Couldn’t? Couldn’t what? Listen, I know I had a problem with you working for the NUSA, they’re like any other corpo, chew you up and spit you out when you’re not useful. You said it yourself though, V. Songbird betrayed Reed, Hanson, even Myers. She couldn’t be trusted. And yet you… what, sided with her?”

“I- I don’t… I killed Reed.” V gripped the wheel hard enough that she could feel it mold and crack under her fingers. She made a hard turn to start driving them out of town.

“V… qué has hecho…” Judy lamented as she slumped into her seat.

“What have you done,” her deck translated.

V could feel the tears beginning to return. She couldn’t explain why she did it, it didn’t make sense to her either. Why did it feel so terrible? She couldn’t show weakness though. No weakness. The world would eat her if she did.

“What happened, V?”

She looked up at the rearview mirror, and recognized the car behind her as the same one from several turns ago, its metallic gray finish catching her eye. She blinked the tears away, stating, “Hold on, we have a tail.”

V slammed the gas pedal, the car responding instantaneously and exploding through a red light. The car behind replied in kind, speeding forward and nearly avoided T-boning a truck. She watched as the passenger took a gun out while the car itself revealed installed turrets when the front bumper cover retracted.

“GET DOWN!” she ordered, as she yanked the steering wheel to the right and hurtled down an alleyway, narrowly avoiding the barrage of bullets as the turrets began to fire. The game of cat and mouse continued down several more roads, with V occasionally firing back. However, V turned onto a new road and realized they were pinned. A straightaway with no turns off of it and concrete barriers on either side.

“Fuck!”

The gray car began to line up behind them, ready to send another barrage of bullets through the car and into both of them.

Time to improvise.

She swerved and slammed on the brakes, causing the trailing car to race ahead. Its brakes squealed as it tried to change course as well, but V wasn’t focused on continuing the chase. She began to netrun, attacking the car’s internal systems. The ICE on the car was thick, confirming that this was indeed FIA. She’d broken through thicker though. The car was beginning to turn around to face them once more. She could vaguely hear the turrets begin to wind up and Judy begin to shout as she punched through the remaining layer and flipped the engine into a bomb. Before another shot was fired, the gray car exploded into an inferno.

“Ha HA, see you in hell chooms!” V whooped as she hit the gas and drove as quickly as she could out of town.

The remaining car ride was relatively silent. They stopped briefly to klep another car in case the previous one had been tagged, making sure to stay out of camera sight as they did so. They reached the Aldecaldo camp, and while V unbuckled and readied to leave, Judy grabbed her arm.

“Did you get the cure, V?”

She froze. She couldn’t even look at Judy as she muttered, “...No. I didn’t.”

“V, tell me, what happened?” she said firmly.

Her mouth felt dry.

“Songbird… So Mi… she played us all. The neural matrix… it was a one-time use…” “Shit… V-,” Judy whispered.

“She passed out on the train after telling me this. I was angry and upset, I wanted to scream at her, but I… I picked her up and took her to the shuttle.”

She still wasn’t looking at Judy, but she could already tell the look of confusion Judy had. She couldn’t bear to see her face.

“Reed somehow got on before us and demanded I hand over Songbird. He even said I could have the matrix if I did. But I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t let them have her… he gave me no choice and I shot him, and I put Songbird on the shuttle… She has it.”

Judy had let go of her arm.

“V… What the fuck, V? She betrayed you, she told that to your face, and you… you still helped her? After all that, after she jerked you around, spit on your face, and took you for a gonk. You had it V, you had the cure, and now you’re- what, an enemy of the state? Wanted for high treason? Why… why the fuck didn’t you take it?”

She could tell Judy was trying to understand, to argue on her behalf somehow, but a gonk move is a gonk move, and Judy couldn’t sugarcoat that.

It was too much. It was all too much. She was right. She’s ruined her life, or what little of her life remained. She was wanted until Myers had her head. She’d given up the best chance she’d have to live so far just for someone that betrayed her. All the heartache, all the struggle, all of the times she’d put her life on the line just for a chance at a little longer, all for nothing. In all likelihood, she was going to die, whether because there was no cure, or the only way to get it was a suicide mission, or she’d have to sell her soul to Arasaka. She would never be able to enjoy freedom with Judy.

When V was a young boy, she learned an important lesson. On the streets of Heywood, she watched as a teenager wept after taking a beating. She saw as those around him jeered, calling him a pussy, a coward, a weakling bitch. From doing small errands, she saw those who got respect where those that never weakened when shit hit the fan. The hard motherfuckers who never let their tough demeanor drop. Only a few times did she witness frailty in thought-to-be private moments, but never when shit needed to be done. Your peers, and more importantly, fixers, could never think you’d go soft in the most dire moments. So she didn’t. For decades, V refused to cry. Not when her hope that Atlanta would finally be the place she’d hit it big failed spectacularly and she came crawling back to Night City. Not when she discovered the Relic would kill her and she was slowly losing herself. Not even when Jackie died. There was always more shit that needed to be dealt with, so she could never stop. She could never show weakness. Even after so much growth, even after abandoning her lifelong dream to become a legend of Night City, she hadn’t abandoned that.

But now, for the first time in 20 years, V cried. She did more than cry. She started to wail as the dam she had built crumbled. She couldn’t do it anymore. She’d lost so much, she’d lost so many, she stood to lose so much more.

Judy had climbed over the center console and was holding her. Gently. So gently.

Was this what it meant to be weak?

It felt so nice.

She vaguely registered Panem who had jogged over with Mitch but had slowed and reversed course after looking through the windshield.

The tears continued to stream down her cheeks, and she was struggling to breathe through the shuddering sobs. She reached up to hold Judy’s arm as well. She tried to catch her breath to speak, and after several failed attempts, choked out:

“They took my face, Judy. I let them take my face.”

She continued to sob.

She was finally beginning to calm down. Her breathing was slowing, and the tears weren’t flowing as hard.

“How about we move to the back, ok?” Judy suggested, running a hand through V’s hair.

V could only nod as they both exited and re-entered the car.

“Sorry, my leg was falling asleep,” she tried to joke, letting out a half-hearted laugh.

V wiped her nose. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to be sorry, I, uh…” she trailed off. “How… how are you feeling?”

V stared at the patterns of the pleather seat. “...Not good.”

They sat in silence a while longer.

Judy spoke up again. “What… what do you mean they took your face?”

V was slow to answer, but she could see how patient Judy was, the kindness in her eyes. “It’s how I was that French woman you were speaking to at Lizzie’s. It’s a faceplate- disguises you, makes you look, sound, and act like them. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now… I’ve let them take so much of me. I don’t know how much you’re touching is me and how much isn’t.”

Judy’s reply was instant: “Does it matter? It’s all you.”

“Yeah… yeah I guess,” V paused briefly. “I always wanted implants, ever since I was a little kid. I was fascinated with them and was so excited to get chipped. It’s less that I ever got implants and more… When things started to get more dangerous, I thought I needed to return the favor, I guess. Put in more and more chrome to turn into a weapon no one can hurt, even as I stopped wanting to be that. Part of me wonders if I’ll always be that now. That I’ve ridden the edge and gone over.”

“V, listen to me,” Judy said as she grabbed her hand. “You are whatever you want to be. Just because you have weapons doesn’t mean you have to use them. After this is all over, you never have to take another life.

Judy raised her other hand to her face, and gently wiped away the tears with her thumb.

“Even with all that chrome, you will always be soft to me.”

Judy calling her soft so lovingly struck a chord in her. She began to cry again, softly and sheepishly. This is the most vulnerable she’d been with anyone in years, other than the encounter at Clouds.

“You will always be you, I’ll make sure of that,” she said gently. “We’ll figure that out together.”

They sat there in silence again, with Judy’s thumb continuing to stroke her face.

“I think I know why I helped So Mi.”

Judy shifted, taking her hand away from her face. “Go ahead.”

“It was before things had even started, really. We had planned to kidnap the Cassels to make the deal with Hanson. It’s gonk now to think, but I really thought we were letting them live. But when I left the trunk, Alex and Reed had zeroed them immediately. When I demanded why, he said that they were career criminals, and that nothing of value was really lost, and I… I felt sick. That could’ve been me. And that- I’ve done that to so many others. And I was about to be the person they killed. He did it so methodically. It’s like… if we weren’t having to work together here, I saw what he would think of me. I saw what he would think of Songbird. I saw that he was too loyal to the NUSA, a soldier through and through. Songbird would never be free, and I might not be either.”

V continued, “I hated her. I still hate her for what she did. She could’ve just told me before all this. She gave me so much hope and… crushed it. But something I didn’t realize then that I do now is that… she didn’t have to tell me. She could’ve let me believe that I was saving myself by saving her, and I would’ve killed Reed without question. She would’ve won. I think in that moment, when she told me, she wanted to just… just die. She couldn’t live with herself anymore. I think I recognized that, subconsciously, and I pitied her. In front of me was a woman who had backstabbed everyone she could so that she could finally crawl out from under Myers’ boot… for the chance to break out of her cage. I could see myself in her, if I was left with no other option, and I had everything and everyone I ever valued stripped from me. I think… I think I was that. Or almost was. After Konpeki. I… I still had… have options. Worse ones, probably, but other chances. She didn’t. I don’t… I… I couldn’t take that from her.”

V began to tear up again. “I had the killing blow. She was helpless. Reed was offering me back my life on a silver platter. And for the first time, I couldn’t take someone’s future for my own…” she ended with a half smile. “I was weak.”

Judy looked at her for a few seconds, hesitantly starting, “I… I don’t know if you did the right thing. But… what I do know is what you did certainly wasn’t weak. That takes a level of grace I think only you have. I don’t think I woulda been able to do that.”

“I think you’re sellin’ yourself short.”

“I dunno, I am a pretty stone cold bitch.”

They both giggled, and V reached out to hold her other hand.

“After I left your room, but before the mission, I met with Alex at her bar. We drank and talked about what we’d be doing if things were normal.”

Judy raised an eyebrow. “What’d you say?”

“I thought about it for a while, and I said… I think I’d be dead. If it wasn’t Konpeki, it would’ve been something else. The pace I was going at… I would’ve burned up. Or been shot on the side of the road. I don’t think I would’ve changed. The Relic, Johnny, all of this… this second chance is what I needed, in a weird way. A wake-up call. I wouldn’t have met you, or have… any of this. Even if, in the end, this is borrowed time… I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Judy leaned forward and kissed her. It was a slow, deep kiss, and just as gentle as before. V leaned in, ready to return her tenderness.

They separated briefly.

“I love you, Judy.”

“I love you too, mi calabacita.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

I finished Phantom Liberty a few days ago, and the ending of letting Songbird live ate my brain. The ending was WAY too nonchalant for literally making yourself a traitor of a country and personally pissing off the fucking president, which is why I took it upon myself to get what I wanted. Literally wrote this over the span of two days like a woman possessed.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 phantom liberty #phantom liberty #cyberpunk #fanfic #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk judy #judy alvarez #cyberpunk fanfic #phantom liberty spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers

17 notes · View notes

haggishlyhagging · 3 months

Text

A few years ago one Robert Byrn, a 40-year-old professor of criminal law at Fordham University, took it upon himself to represent all human fetuses between the fourth and twenty-fourth week of gestation scheduled to be aborted in New York City municipal hospitals. Byrn was himself represented by attorney Thomas Ford, who made the following statement: "The fetus might well be described as an astronaut in a uterine spaceship." As Ellen Frankfort aptly comments:

It takes a certain kind of imagination to assume guardianship for something lodged within another's body—a rather acquisitive proprietary imagination that fits right in with the conception of a woman as a spaceship and the contents of her womb as an astronaut.

The astonishing Byrn incident and the analogy made by his attorney merit some attention for the light they throw upon the deceptions of male myth. Since an astronaut is perceived as the captain of a "vessel," there is a desire to see the fetus as controlling the woman. Moreover, the image of the astronaut in a spaceship is interesting also because in this image the "captain" is very much controlled by other males outside the spaceship (for example, politicians, economists, scientists, flight surgeons, engineers). This makes the analogy particularly "appropriate" in its perverse way, for the fetus is maintained in control of the woman by males outside (for example, politicians, legislators, priests, doctors, social workers, counselors, husbands, "lovers"). Moreover, the analogy involves deceptively circular reasoning, making it doubly appropriate in this doublethink context. For here, a biological event—the presence of the fetus in the uterus—is imaged as "like," that is, imitative of, a technological event—the presence of an astronaut in a spaceship. This elicits an obvious question: Is the astronaut in the spaceship an attempt to imitate the situation of the fetus in the uterus? Elsewhere I have shown that there is (unacknowledged) evidence in ethical writings on abortion of a widespread male tendency to identify with fetuses. This merits further analysis.

There are clues about the source of this fetal identification syndrome (which is frequently fatal for women unable to obtain needed abortions) in Frankfort's description of Byrn as "a childless man who seeks to guard unwanted fetal tissue." Males do indeed deeply identify with "unwanted fetal tissue," for they sense as their own condition the role of controller, possessor, inhabitor of women. Draining female energy, they feel "fetal." Since this perpetual fetal state is fatal to the Self of the eternal mother (Hostess), males fear women's recognition of this real condition, which would render them infinitely "unwanted." For this attraction/need of males for female energy, seen for what it is, is necrophilia—not in the sense of love for actual corpses, but of love for those victimized into a state of living death.

Frankfort's description of Byrn as "childless" also merits scrutiny. For it is the condition of all males to be childless, and there is evidence that this condition is experienced as disturbing to those who are obsessed with reproduction of the male self (which should not be confused with any genuine desire to care for and energize another being). Indeed there are male authors who are very willing (perhaps too willing) to attest to the anxiety of males over their childless state. Philip Slater, for example, writes of "this vulnerability of the male in the sphere of worldly immortality which gives rise to the concept of the 'external soul,' so prominent in magic and mythology." According to his view, a woman need not guess whether something of herself continues on in a new organism, for she can see the child emerge from her own body:

Thus if one translates "soul" in these stories as "that part of me which will live on after I die," the woman initially holds her "soul" within herself. It is only the man whose "soul" always resides outside of himself.

Thus "as men have been lamenting for centuries, his immortality is out of his own control."

According to this view, then, males identify the "immortal" soul with biological offspring, and women should feel fortunate in their role as incubators, shells, hotels, youth hostels, homes, hatcheries for human souls. I have already suggested that it is dangerous for women to accept reductionist theories about the male propensity for "womb envy." Thus it should arouse suspicion that Karen Horney's "womb envy" theory (with which she countered Freud's proposition of "penis envy") has been eagerly adopted by some liberal males (for example, Philip Slater). The problem with such a theory is that the implied criticism stops short of being a genuine feminist analysis. Hags must learn to double-double unthink (Andrea Dworkin's phrase)—that is, to go past the obvious level of male-made reversals and find the underlying Lie. Thus it is a pitfall simply to reverse "penis envy" into "womb envy," for such theories trick women into fixating upon womb, female genitalia, and breasts as our ultimately most valuable endowments. Not only disparagement, but also glorification of women's procreative organs are expressions of male fixation and fetishism. These disproportionate attitudes are also demonically deceptive, inviting women to re-act with mere derivative fetishism, instead of deriding these fixations and focusing upon the real "object" of male envy, which is female creative energy in all of its dimensions. Male hatred of women expressed in such fetishized forms hides the deeper dimensions of envy, which remain unacknowledged. Thus we hear one male say of another's "project" or invention, "That's his baby." We also hear men describe the books, papers, articles of other men as "pregnant" with meaning. Such deceptive expressions provide clues to the deeper levels of deception. They suggest that the procreative power which is really envied does in fact belong primarily to the realm of mind/spirit/ creativity. Yet this envy is not necessarily a desire to be creative, but rather to draw—like fetuses— upon another's (the mother's) energy as a source. Thus men who identify as mothers (that is, supermothers controlling biological mothers) are really protecting their fetal selves. They wish to be the fetuses/ astronauts and the supermothers/ ground commanders, but not the biological vessels/ spaceships which they relegate to the role of controlled containers, and later discard as trash.

-Mary Daly, Gyn/Ecology

#mary daly #womb envy #male entitlement #abortion #fetus envy #male parasitism #female creativity

12 notes · View notes