Ruthenia mission
By Diana the Valkyrie



They call me an "incel". Involuntary celibate. Why am I an incel? Because I'm
a hair under five feet tall, and girls don't like short guys. Because I've got
muscles like spaghetti, and girls don't like weaklings. I think I'm a nice
guy, but I might be biased, and do girls like nice guys?

All I have going for me is I did pretty well at school; I could pass exams.
But apparently, that makes things even worse; I got called geek, nerd and
teacher's pet. I got called clever dick, clever clogs and brain box. What I
didn't get called, by any female, is "love", "darling" or "sweetie".

And that was my life, until She arrived.

I was working at home, in my little apartment, on my little computer. I work
as a programmer, and I think I'm pretty good at it, but the company I work for
doesn't care, pays me peanuts and I'm scared to ask for more, because they
might fire me.

I'm scared of a lot of things. When you're a touch under five feet tall, you
get bullied, and I've been bullied all my life. By teachers, by boys, by girls
- by anyone who's bigger than me, and that's pretty much everyone. It turns
out that being clever isn't a blessing, especially when your IQ is three and a
half times your height in inches.

And then She arrived. She came completely unexpected, just banged on my door
like a clap of thunder. I opened the door, expecting a SWAT raid, but instead
of armed police pointing guns at me, she stood in the doorway, quite a bit
taller than the door, and pointing her breasts at me.

Wow. I've never seen anything like her, and I was immediately terrified. What
was she going to do to me?

She stood there, letting me see what was what, until eventually she said
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" She had a husky voice, and an East
European accent. And I thought, if she wanted to she could just walk right
over me, so I invited her in. And, of course, I offered her a cup of tea.

She ducked under the lintel. Doors are six foot six, and the shoes she was
wearing took her to over seven feet. When she sat down, and I stood nearby,
her head was still higher than mine. I've never seen anything like her. Also,
she had shoulders like a bull and she moved like a tank, like anything in her
way would just get crushed.

"My name is Zrinka Ryovska, and my country is Ruthenia, which you probably
haven't heard of." I shook my head. "It's a small country, squeezed between
Hungary and Ukraine. Very mountainous, very poor, which is why none of our
neighbours think we're worth invading and annexing. A bit like Switzerland." I
nodded, there was something in my throat that was impeding speech. "Also,
we're ready to defend ourselves if necessary," I looked at Zrinka - if there
were more like her, they wouldn't get invaded unless by a country that was
very stupid.

"I'm the Minister for Education", she continued, "and education is the only
way we're going to escape the poverty trap that we're in." I nodded, that was
my view too. "But we can't afford to build enough schools, hire enough
teachers and university is completely out of the question. That's why it's
called the poverty trap."

I coughed. "I don't have any money," I said, "I can't help you." "No," she
replied, "I know. I know all about you, Horatio." OMG, she even knew the name
that my parents had saddled me with. Admirers of Nelson, Thanks, mum. When the
kids at school found out my name, that was another thing they bullied me
about.

She took no notice, and like a tank, she rolled on as if I hadn't spoken. "The
expensive way to raise the level of education in Ruthenia, would be to build
schools, hire teachers and so on. We can't do that, so we're going the other
way. We're going to hugely increase the intelligence of the children, and
their access to the internet will do the rest."

"But you can't ... " and she interrupted me again. "Yes, we can. Intelligence
is nature plus nurture. It's partly genetic and partly environmental. The
environmental improvement is already in place, it's the internet and all the
learning opportunities that anyone can find there. My plan is to make a
dramatic improvement in the genetics.

"But that's impossible," I said. "Once the baby is conceived, the genetics are
fixed. You can't just edit their genes. And anyway, the ethics of that would
be very doubtful."

"Right," she said. "My plan is to intervene before conception." "How?" I
asked.

"You know," she remarked, "for someone so smart you're really slow on the
uptake. We're going to use the male gametes from someone with a really high
level of intelligence. And we're going to use those to up the average IQ level
of new babies."

Biology really isn't my subject. Even the thought of dissecting a frog had
made me throw up in school. I much preferred the less messy subjects like
physics and mathematics.

I was beginning to understand her plan. She would find a load of very
intelligent men, and pair them up with Ruthenian women.

"I see a few problems here," I said. "How many people are we talking about?"
"The population of Ruthenia is eight million. Four million are men, and of the
four million women, one million are too young to procreate and two million are
too old. So, I'm talking about a million women of child-bearing age.

"So you're going to find a million smart men, persuade them to take a vacation
in Ruthenia, persuade a million women to have sex with them, persuade a
million husbands to look the other way ... it just isn't going to work."

"Correct, and that's why that isn't my plan. I don't need a million men, I
just need suitable male gametes."

Maybe I should stop trying to guess her idea, She was obviously one very smart
lady, as well as being very tall, and more muscular than any woman I've ever
seen, including on the internet. "So what is your plan?" I asked.

"I'm glad you asked. Now shut up and listen. First of all one of the greatest
assets of Ruthenia, is the large number of Plough Girls who aren't attached to
a village, because all the girls want to be Plough Girls. Every female thinks
that she should be the one that pulls the plough, that trains from the age of
infancy until she has the height, weight and massive muscles that you get from
pulling a plough twelve hours each day, for years and years."

"Secondly, we don't need a million men. We need one man and a million turkey
basters, and a small industry to collect the semen, preserve it, dilute it as
required and distribute it. And yes, before you tell me, I know about
regression to the mean, and a man with an IQ of 208 and a woman at 100, will
not produce a child that averages 154, but more like 150. But 150 is a huge
lift from 100; the entrance requirement for Mensa is, as you know, 148."

"And thirdly, every woman wants a child who is a genius, so persuading the
women will be a piece of cake. And any man who objects, or even looks a bit
doubtful, will get a visit from one of our team of Plough Girls, and maybe you
don't know this, but men find it really difficult to say no to a Plough Girl."
And then she changed the subject slightly. "Have you ever been raped by a
woman two feet taller and ten times as strong as you?" I shook my head. "So,
there you are," she said.

"How did you know I have 208?" I asked. She replied, "I told you, men find it
very difficult to refuse a Plough Girl, I just got hold of your records. And,
in case you haven't noticed, I'm a Plough Girl." I just stared at her.
Actually it was hard not to. And finally the penny dropped. She'd chosen me to
be the sperm donor for a million women.

It's at times like this, that intelligence is replaced by raw fear. My life so
far had taught me that, whatever the situation, I was going to be the one that
got hurt. Where other people have a "fight or flight" reaction to danger, my
reaction is "run or run faster". So I stood up to make the swiftest exit I
could manage, but she got hold of my wrist and pulled me down to her lap, with
my head resting on her very substantial bosom.

"Don't be scared, sweetie," she said softly. "No-one's going to hurt you, I
promise." I was still trembling though, I've heard that sort of reassurance
before and it tended to evaporate like the morning dew. But she had those
strong arms around me, and there was no possibility of escape.

She continued, "Plough Girls don't just pull the plough. We also aim to
protect the weak and helpless, like you. Sure, I could pull your arms off your
body if I wanted to, but I wouldn't, that isn't something that any Plough Girl
would actually do." Her strong arm held me firmly against her breasts, while
her other hand was gently stroking my hair. "Don't be scared, sweetie, really
don't."

The last time I was in this situation, I must have been a child of five in the
lap of my mother, and Zrinka felt like that. So gradually I calmed down and
stopped trembling. "That's better," she said, "so here's the plan."


Read the rest of the story on https://www.amysconquest.com