Field Work Ch. 07

Finally, Padraigin’s phone rang; it was the college porter telling us that the party had arrived. They mooched into the room in that annoyingly unhurried way that very powerful people have, knowing perfectly well that we exist to wait on them, not the other way round. The Head of the European Division was a smooth, compact, powerful-looking guy in his fifties, looking like a Police captain or a mob boss, with an air of tailored suits and very expensive soap. The Minister, Mrs. McDonald, was tall, rather lovely-looking in a cool and scented sort of way, and a fluent talker, wearing a daringly low-cut top under her pinstripe suit. There was a handful of Octopus executives, a couple of secretarial-looking people and finally two armed Gardaí (Irish: police officers), a handsome, ridiculously young-looking guy and his partner, an even younger-looking, small, rather pretty brunette, the Minister’s bodyguard, who stood together by the door and looked impassive.

The Head of the Division, Mr. Macchio, introduced Mrs. McDonald to Padraigin, who smiled in a poised way and didn’t bother to introduce the rest of us, referring to us as “the workers”. Then we all sat at the table, the lights dimmed, and the presentation began.

Padraigin stood next to the projection screen with a pointer in her hand.

“For some months now,” she began, “the team here have been investigating the properties of certain flora that were originally discovered in the central plain.” A picture came up of the swamp-tree that had fucked Gail and I so many months ago. “These trees,” she went on, “have a unique manner of interacting with humans, the precise details of which need not be gone into here, but which, suffice to say, have encouraged the development of a product that we believe can, if put into production, bring significant benefits to this country’s economy. The fact that the only source of raw materials for the product are in this country, further encourages our hopes for the future.”

She paused, coughed slightly, and went on. The picture of the tree was replaced by an animation of a slowly rotating molecule.

“This is the molecule that we have isolated,” said Padraigin, pausing only to cough again somewhat louder, before resuming “that constitutes the principal active ingredient of the agent. Excuse me.” She paused again, flushing slightly, took out a handkerchief, coughed heavily into it, and put it away again. Somebody handed her a drink of water. She took a sip and continued.

“Without being too technical, the agent works by encouraging serotonin production. Serotonin, as I’m sure we all know, is the so-called chemical for happiness. Its release is stimulated by this molecule, which is only present in certain tissues found in these trees and which appears to be impossible to synthesise. We have, however, managed to produce a product using natural plant derivatives, which simulates the arousing and pleasurable effects of the tree without its unfortunate side-effects.”

She stopped and swallowed. She seemed to be perspiring heavily. She picked up the water glass and had a long drink out of it. There was a slightly uncomfortable silence.

“Just out of curiosity,” asked Mrs. McDonald politely, “exactly whatare the side-effects of the stuff from this tree? Howdoes it interact with humans?”

“I can answer that,” said Gail, and then yelped and clenched her teeth as Alison kicked her under the table.

“It’s a somatic process that’s somewhat difficult to describe,” said Alison smoothly. Padraigin gave Alison a grateful look. She clearly wasn’t feeling at all well. She indicated to the student to put up the next slide, and the screen was suddenly filled with an array of chemical formulae.

“We believe that this product,” Padraigin began, then swallowed and had another drink of water, “this product…can…”

She gulped and swayed slightly, then stumbled against the edge of the table and groaned.

“Are you all right, Ms Hooper?” asked Mr. Macchio.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry,” grated Padraigin through clenched teeth. “Just a touch of cramp. I’m very sorry, must be something I ate. Just give me a moment, and I’ll…”

Suddenly her green eyes glazed over, she shuddered and moaned. She dropped her clipboard, pulled open her suit jacket, and thrust a slim hand inside the waistband of her skirt, into her crotch. She closed her eyes.

“Ohhhhhh…” Padraigin moaned. “Ohh fuuck...” She was clearly touching herself down there, vigorously, and getting results.

Gail’s hand gripped mine. I glanced at her – her face showed something like glee for the first time in weeks. Mr. Macchio half-rose, his face like thunder, but then Padraigin opened her eyes and stared at him – and her eyes seemed to flash green fire. He fell back into his seat and his mouth hung open. And a strange green glow extended from Padraigin, to fill half the room. I was reminded of a story I’d read about an incident during the Manhattan Project, in which a test of the critical mass went wrong and caused the uranium to glow a lethal, radioactive blue.

The people from MediaCorp, Mrs. McDonald, her entourage and Padraigin herself were up at the other end of the table, inside the fuzzy area of green light, and something seemed to be holding them in their seats. Gail, Sophie, Alison and I were at the narrow end of the table, with the undergraduates, where the light was normal. We stared at each other, and found that we all had total freedom of movement. We were glad, because none of us, not Alison, Sophie, Gail, any of our assistants, or myself, wanted to go near Padraigin right now.

Padraigin was rubbing herself furiously, and staring at Mrs. McDonald, who was apparently transfixed with horror. Then, to our amazement, Padraigin ripped off her jacket, pulled her skirt down over her ankles, tore open her blouse, and hauled frantically at the rest of her underclothing. She tore her bra in two and threw it aside, revealing a pair of lovely pear-shaped breasts – then she pulled down her tights and slid her panties down over her unexpectedly broad hips, stripping herself naked.

She had a beautiful body, not as designer-slim as I’d imagined, but with pleasing curves at the hips and lovely pert breasts. She sank to her knees, baring her white teeth and growling, and a sort of milky film flicked over her green eyes as her right hand worked furiously between her legs. Her other hand was caressing her tight pink ass as she knelt on the floor, emitting weird liquid purring noises, then she seemed to convulse and twitch, as if she were about to throw up – then, to our lasting horror and amazement, she fell onto all fours, and convulsed once more, and a thick coil of ten-foot-long green tentacles sprang out of her mouth and twisted exultantly in the air.

It was as if a plant had suddenly sprouted out of her mouth. The glistening, bulbous tentacles wavered blindly in the air, their roots still deep somewhere inside Padraigin’s slim body – then they leapt forward, and seized the Minister, Mrs. McDonald.

Mrs. McDonald snapped out of her trance and screamed. The young Garda and Ban Garda (policeman and policewoman, respectively) stepped forward, reaching for their guns, but then they stopped, as if hypnotized – and fell on each other, ripping each other’s uniforms off, kissing each other and wrestling urgently. Alison stood up, looked at us, and hesitated. Sophie grabbed her arm. We didn’t want this to happen – but at the same time, we did, we needed whatever sort of truth was unfolding here to unfold. The four of us, and our two student assistants, rose and backed away as far as we could from the green glow.

The tentacles wasted no time in pulling Mrs. McDonald’s clothes off her; first her natty pinstriped suit and shoes were flung into a corner, then her low-cut silky top, and finally her bra and her panties were hauled off her; then they quickly snaked around her thrashing naked form and bulged into her mouth, slithering down into her crotch and lifting up her naked arse to shove a slimy, swollen tip between her buttocks. She was dragged off her chair and fell on her back on the floor, trying to struggle, but straining her bare arms and legs against the tightening grip of the swarming tentacles. Unable to scream because of the vines filling her mouth, she gave a stifled moan and her eyes bulged as they penetrated her vagina; then, as she desperately struggled to move her hips away, they slid inexorably up into her ass, making her shut her eyes tight and squeal “MMMM!” Then her head disappeared as the vines coiled up around it, enveloping her completely.

Meanwhile, the tentacles that weren’t fucking the Minister were still swarming out of Padraigin’s mouth and crawling all over her own body. She was sprawled face down on the conference room floor, the tips of the vines pushing up into her vulva and shoving down between her quivering ass cheeks. The poor girl whimpered as she was overcome by whatever had taken root inside her, even as the tentacles bursting out of her mouth were enveloping and fucking the naked body of the older woman.

We could do nothing but watch. Everyone inside the bubble of green light that had spread to encompass those at the top of the table was either totally still, or overcome with lust. Padraigin was twitching and moaning as she came over and over again from the fleshy green vines in her ass and pussy. The Minister was whimpering and squirming, her naked body almost invisible inside the thick cocoon of vines, as the tentacles invaded her completely. The Garda and Ban Garda had got each other’s clothes off, and their naked, panting wrestling match had been won for the moment by the Garda, who had forced his partner onto her belly on the carpet, mounted her, and was energetically sodomising her while she panted, groaned and reached behind herself to touch him, running her hands over his naked hips and vocally urging him on (in Irish, which we afterwards agreed had been especially impressive).

We stood and watched in silence. None of us wanted to get involved. Eventually Gail grinned and remarked, “My friends always said that only geeks were interested in botany.”

Finally, the tentacles inside the Minister came, and the cocoon of vines that covered her body burst and exploded with white fluid, drenching her; Padraigin herself shuddered, squealed and writhed, rolling onto her back, as the same white fluid spilled up in gouts out of her mouth, pouring over her face; and the Garda groaned as he spent himself noisily in the Ban Garda’s anus, while she moaned loudly and pushed her hips back onto his cock, one hand thrust between her legs. The green light faded. The only sounds were heavy breathing from Padraigin, Mrs. McDonald, and the two hapless Gardaí, still lying on the carpet, sweaty, naked and disheveled.

The tentacles that were still filling Padraigin’s mouth and had covered Mrs. McDonald suddenly withered and dissolved into pale smoke – then they had gone, leaving only a faint small of new-cut grass. The Minister lay on her stomach, naked, her body flushed pink with orgasm, one arm outflung, the other touching her nipple; her ribcage heaving, her whole body covered in white sap, which dripped off her and soaked into the carpet. The male cop, suddenly self-aware, was stricken with embarrassment; he gingerly dismounted from the even more embarrassed female cop, and they withdrew into a corner, clinging to each other and trembling.

Mr. Macchio managed to finally stand up. He stepped over the recumbent body of the Minister and looked down at Padraigin, who was crimson with humiliation, her face and body streaked with the white fluid. She stared fearfully up at him and put one hand over her bare breasts, the other over her red patch of pubic hair, trying to cover herself. For the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for her.

“Ms Hooper,” he rumbled, “consider yourself fired.”

And with that, the rest of the MediaCorp team rose and followed him out of the room. Only Roy remained, sitting at the table with a dazed expression on his face.

The four of us stood up and ran towards the other end of the table. Alison and Sophie looked to the Minister; Gail and I knelt next to Padraigin.

“Do you get it now?” asked Gail quietly.

Padraigin looked up at her, and her eyes were wet with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have doubted you guys. You knew what you were doing and I didn’t trust you. I’m such a fucking idiot…”

Gail looked down at her, and I felt a surge of love for her as her face softened and she gathered the sobbing girl into her arms.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, patting Padraigin on the shoulder. “You’re one of us now. None of us know what’s going on. We have to work together. You see how it is?”

“Yes,” Padraigin sniffed into Gail’s bosom. “Fuck the company. Fuck the money. I’m really sorry. I want to work with you guys. Is that okay?”

Gail hugged her, flashed a smile at me, and kissed the poor girl on her forehead. “Of course it is. But we’re in deep shit now. We may have to go underground.”

“I agree,” said a voice. We turned and looked at the Minister, who was sitting up, managing an exhausted smile from behind the mask of clinging white sap that had spilled over her face. Sophie had draped her suit jacket over Mrs. McDonald’s shoulders, which didn’t cover her at all but was at least a gesture towards modesty. Behind her, the two cops were huddling together, naked, looking at us with an expression of awed respect.

“This is the most extraordinary thing that’s ever happened to me,” said Mrs. McDonald quietly. “I can either go mad, or I can try to think about it. I’m going to think about it, but we have to keep this top secret. This is not going back to my people, or the government, or anyone else. Is that clear?”

She looked at her staff sternly. They looked too shocked to disobey, and just nodded dumbly.

“Now,” she went on, “that’s not going to be easy with MediaCorp after you. You’ve made yourselves some very bad enemies. I think you people have to get out of here, and go somewhere you can’t be found.”

“We have to get the tree out too,” said Alison. Mrs. McDonald nodded.

“Definitely. You need to go somewhere secret, and somewhere safe. It might be an idea for you to take Donal and Margaret with you, if they want to go.” She looked inquiringly at the two naked Gardaí, who both nodded enthusiastically. “They know what this thing can do,” she went on, “and they trust me implicitly. Plus, they’ve been trained in security. I’ll try to cover for you. Whatever this thing is, it’s too powerful; we have to keep it safe from MediaCorp.”

“Okay,” said Alison, and she seemed to be gaining new strength with the prospect of our new status as outlaws. “We go silent, and we go deep. Are we all ready for this? There’s no going back.”

“I’m ready,” said Gail.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“So am I,” said Sophie, smiling and polishing her glasses.

“So are we,” chorused Donal and Margaret.

“Can I come too?” said Padraigin weakly.

“Of course you can,” said Gail. Alison and I hugged Padraigin, who grinned shamefacedly and started to apologise all over again.

“Wait a second,” said Sophie. We all looked at her. She was scanning the room, and then stopped, staring at something on the ground. She looked troubled. We knew just how troubled she was when she spoke next, because she swore. What she said was:

“What the fuck has happened to Roy?”

To Be Continued…