Sequel to:
War Maiden has become the darling of the Middle East. The Iron Houri, they call her. Angel of Afghanistan. She has brought peace like none ever could, men laying down their arms, staring upwards to the heavens for a glimpse of her heavenly beauty soaring over them. She held her full blossomed body with such poise and noble grace, even as she vanquished her enemies.
There had been rumours that she was a puppet for the Americans. As she knelt within the Great Mosque of Mecca, those rumours were quashed. She was completing the hajj, albeit in record time, flown there on her repulsors.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Within the suit, Rhodes had muted his speakers an hour ago. He couldn’t stand the sweetly modulated voice that came from the suit whenever he spoke, translated into perfect Arabic by the inbuilt AI, and besides, his followers preferred him silent. He was an object to be seen and adored, not heard. Sealed silently in the suit, he was free to grumble about the migraine plaguing him. The suit AI never stopped talking, its electronic voice always guiding in whispers on the edge of awareness, teaching him how to walk, and talk, and act like a woman. It barely needed to even take control of his servos anymore, the act of walking with a womanly sway to his hips now second nature. Following its instruction eased the migraine.
Even when he slept, a subliminal learning program filled him with all the cultural knowledge he needed. He’d slept in the suit for weeks now, not leaving it since the military transferred him here. He didn’t want to estimate his life expectancy if he ever left the suit, and his worshippers saw the unshaven man within the angel.
It is time for your ghusl, your ritual purification. You’ll bathe with the other women, he thought to himself. He had risen and was halfway to the baths before he realised it was the AI that had thought it, not him. He sank into the waters of the communal bath. A trio of Saudi women gathered about, pouring water and holy oils down his shapely breasts and hips, and he felt his erection jutting against the hard metal interior of the suit as their soft hands caressed his feminine form. At least there were some benefits to this humiliation.
He was unsure how much longer the US government intended to station him here. They were shaping him into something gaudy. They saw potential in the throng of young men kneeling and kissing the feet of their beloved. They saw an army.