.. which she does in one fluid movement, body arching as she rises, hair flowing like brushed silk, body fluid and graceful, to appear, naked in front...of Him. She stands perfectly still, barely breathing as His hand brushes her hair from her body so that He may view her flesh without obstruction, her skin almost burning from His touch. Once more His voice reaches her, controlled and deep... "To the table girl, with no sound"She pads on silent feet to the table, waiting at it's centre knowing He. It was a puzzle solution program, a crude image matching algorithm I made up on the spur of the moment, something I had played with as a kid. Did that turret hatch come from a Russian T-34 tank or a German Tiger? Was that wing from an American P-38 Lightning or a Japanese Betty bomber? Standardized equipment was easy to identify and as Messenger of the Gods drew closer, our imagery clarified. At the very least we'd eliminate what the debris was NOT.There was one expandable medical treatment. More

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