Two years ago: Decommissioning an Airport#

Philippe stood by the large window of the villa, overlooking the garden where Mara was instructing the gardener. He watched her hands dance in the air, giving instructions, yet sticking to form in a way that came naturally to her now. The iGuardian had finally put to correct use, shaping her to the expectations of her role, but Philippe couldn’t help but reflect on how wrong he had been at the start.

He had thought pain would be enough to break her defiance, to mold her into the woman society expected her to be. But Mara wasn’t like the others. Pain had only made her more determined, more resistant. It was only when he discovered how to harness her desire, for release, but also for reward and for approval, that she began to change. Seeing her now, fully absorbed in her tasks, he realized how flawed his initial approach had been. He had underestimated her, not just in her resistance but in her potential.

As Mara continued her work, efficiently managing the household staff, Philippe allowed himself a moment of self-critique. He had kept her close, confined to the villa, thinking it was the best way to ensure she adjusted. He now recognized that decision for what it was—his own insecurity. He had been afraid to let her out, to risk her slipping back into her old ways. But Mara wasn’t meant to be contained; she needed something challenging, something that would engage her mind and give her a sense of purpose.

Philippe’s thoughts drifted to the city’s projects, the initiatives he had heard discussed in his network. Most weren’t suited to Mara, but then one idea came to him—the decommissioning of Geneva International Airport. The plan was to shrink it down to a heliport and find a new use for the vast space left behind. The soil was poisoned from years of pollution, and the task of rehabilitating it was daunting. But it was the kind of challenge that Mara could sink her teeth into, something that would demand the full extent of her abilities while keeping her within the bounds of what was socially acceptable for a Changed woman.

Philippe approached Mara as she finished her instructions to the gardener. He waited until she turned to him and began.

“Mara, I’ve been thinking about a project that might interest you,” Philippe began. “The decommissioning of Geneva International Airport. They’re reducing it to a heliport, but the land is heavily polluted. It needs a new purpose.”

Mara listened attentively. After thinking for a moment, she signed carefully. That sounds like a significant challenge, Sir. If it pleases you, perhaps the area might become a series of connected parks and community gardens. Modern biotechnology could help draw pollutants from the soil. In time, the concrete wasteland could become green space: edible plots, small parks, places that serve the community.

Philippe watched her, nodding slightly. “And how would you propose to manage this?”

Mara signed again, in precise and respectful movements. Sir, if it suits your plans, the project could also serve as a place of learning and rehabilitation for women like this one who are struggling to adjust. Such women could work in the garden and find purpose within a structured environment. It would give them clear goals and expectations, something to focus on. Of course, it would require careful planning and oversight.

She paused, then added, This one could draft a proposal. If it meets with Sir’s approval, Sir could present it to the city council. Funding might be secured through national sustainability programs. If Sir considers it appropriate, the project could align environmental and social needs.

Philippe considered her words, then smiled approvingly. “That sounds promising, Mara. If we move forward, I’ll need you to draft those proposals. I will check them over and use my contacts to present them. You’ll need to navigate the city’s bureaucracy, find the right funding sources, and ensure the project aligns with societal expectations. Maybe I will use you to convince a few key people. Are you prepared to handle that?”

Mara nodded and signed her agreement. Yes, Sir. This one would be honored to take on the task. She believes the project could truly benefit the community.

Philippe placed a hand on her shoulder. “Good girl. Start on the proposals. This is your project, but I’ll support you where needed. Make it count.”

Mara signed her thanks and curtsied. Thank you, Sir. This one will begin at once.

With that, Philippe turned and left her to her thoughts, confident that Mara’s brilliant mind would bring this project to life, and in doing so, help her and others find their place in this new world.

A few days later, as Philippe entered his study, he was surprised to find Mara kneeling next to his desk. She was secured to a fempad, her body locked in place by the post behind her. The locking mechanism attached not only to her corset but also to her neck corset, with her elbows and wrists pressed tightly into self-locking manacles. She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything without his intervention. He had no way of knowing how long she’d been there.

Ignoring her for a moment, Philippe turned his attention to the stack of folders on his desk. Each was meticulously prepared: proposals for councilmen, social media campaigns, suggestions for the school and reformatory boards, grant applications for the national sustainability board. And then there was a purple folder—documents inside that should not exist and that he knew could be used to sway even the most stubborn council members or board officials. Philippe knew Mara was talented, even ruthless, but seeing this level of preparation for the community garden project was astonishing.

He took his time reviewing everything, letting her stay in her self-imposed confinement. She had gone to extraordinary lengths, even in how she restrained herself, ensuring complete immobilization without anyone’s help.

Finally, after carefully reading through all the documents, he leaned back in his chair, thoroughly impressed. He turned to Mara and began unlocking her wrists and arms, allowing her to move and sign again. Then he squatted down in front of her, looking her in the eye.

“Now, what is all this?” he asked.

Mara’s hands moved gracefully as she signed, her tone polite and hopeful. Sir, everything needed for the community garden project has been prepared. These folders contain proposals, strategies, and plans. If Sir approves, all of it may be used to move the project forward. This one wished to make everything ready for review.

Philippe nodded, watching her closely. “And locking yourself like this?”

Mara’s hands hesitated for just a moment before continuing. Sir, this one wanted to make sure she could take no action without Sir’s permission, so that she would keep proper form. This was the only way she could think of to ensure it absolutely.

Philippe considered her response, his gaze softening slightly. She had gone above and beyond, not just in her work but in her commitment to following his guidance.

“You’ve done an exceptional job, Mara,” he said, his voice steady. “This is impressive. You’ve thought of everything.”

Mara signed her thanks, her movements full of quiet hope. Thank you, Sir. This one only wants to help make the project a success.

Philippe smiled, finally releasing her other restraints. “You’ve certainly done your part. Let’s move forward with this. You’ve earned it.”

Mara rose, then curtsied, signing. Thank you, Sir. This one is ready to follow Sir’s lead.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of activity for Philippe. He sent out proposals, scheduled appointments, and made official presentations while also meeting key figures informally over dinner. Mara, meanwhile, executed the social media grassroots campaigns she had meticulously planned, carefully timing each release for maximum impact. Together, their efforts created a perfect storm of political pressure on the city council, which coincided with the arrival of several grants—most of them approved—offering a straightforward solution. The council, finding themselves cornered by public demand and the sudden availability of funding, had little choice but to greenlight the community garden project.

At a dinner at Councillor Laurent’s home, Philippe and the Councillor were seated outside on the veranda, each with a glass of wine in hand. The evening air was crisp, and the low hum of conversation drifted from inside the house. After some light small talk, the Councillor swirled his wine and shifted the conversation to business.

“So, Philippe,” Laurent began, “with the community garden project about to be approved by the city council tomorrow, we’ll need someone to lead it. Do you have anyone in mind?”

Philippe paused for a moment, glancing back inside the house. Through the large glass doors, he saw Mara and Councillor Laurent’s wife, Claire, signing animatedly to each other. Claire was dressed in a daring gown that pushed the boundaries of Changed society’s modesty standards. The vivid, blocking color patterns of her dress caught the eye, and the fabric barely covered enough to be considered compliant. Her half-mask was more of a decorative piece than an actual covering, and the tiny hat perched on her head seemed to mock the idea of modesty altogether.

Mara, in contrast, was dressed in a way that emphasized her submission and discipline. Her burgundy gown was rich and elegant, the deep color highlighting the strictness of her attire. The gown’s bodice was tightly corseted, cinching her waist severely and pushing her posture into perfect alignment. Matching gloves covered her arms up to her elbows, and a bonnet, tightly tied under her chin, framed her masked face. The mask itself was full, hiding every feature except for her expressive eyes, which flicked up occasionally to meet Philippe’s gaze before returning to Claire.

Philippe turned back to Laurent. “Mara would be my recommendation. Before the Change, she was a corporate contract lawyer, highly skilled. If you consider it appropriate to have a woman lead the project, she would be more than capable.”

Laurent took a sip of his wine, considering Philippe’s words. “That would be legally impossible under the new laws,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But… there is a workaround. Philippe Beaumont, represented through his ward Mara, could be a viable solution. Under the reformed guardianship laws, you would bear full liability for her actions, but she could effectively lead the project.”

Philippe hesitated, weighing the implications. The responsibility would be immense, not only for the project but also for the legal and financial consequences of any missteps. Yet he knew Mara’s capabilities, her drive, and her attention to detail. She had already done the lion’s share of the work to bring the project to this point.

After a moment, Philippe nodded. “I agree,” he said firmly. “Mara will represent me in leading the project. I’ll take full responsibility.”

Laurent smiled, satisfied with the decision. “Then it’s settled. I’ll make the arrangements, and we’ll announce it after the council meeting tomorrow.”

As the men raised their glasses in a silent toast, Philippe glanced back at Mara once more. The flickering candlelight caught the gleam of her mask, and for a brief moment, he saw the determination in her eyes. He knew she was ready for this challenge, and he was prepared to stand behind her, no matter the cost.

The following day, the Community Garden Project was formally established at the City Council meeting and Philippe Beaumont, represented by his ward Mara, was appointed to lead it.