Scientific Curiosity

Support from the Famarian military had been promised by the Board, and it was for that reason alone Leslie had accepted the overseas assignment. Upon the science team landing in the third-world jungle nation, that support had arrived as promised: one man, Sergeant Bwasi Monbusa. When a local tribe attacked the remote camp some twenty-four hours ago, Bwasi had conveniently disappeared, leaving the six-member science outpost defenseless. It had been destroyed. The five male scientists had been castrated and beheaded. The only female, Director Leslie Keyes herself, had been dragged off with her outstretched arms bound to a wooden pole.

For much of the past day, she had lain on the ground under a heavy canopy of foliage, her arms and legs staked in the form of an X. She still wore her khaki shorts and white tank top, but a pair of ebony-skinned women had pulled the tail of the shirt up above her breasts and cut off her bra. In the hours since being placed here, a group of lithe, mostly-nude females had approached her periodically to sprinkle the crushed petals of purple Vokk flowers over her body. Some whole specimens were woven into her collar-length hair. She knew the Famarian tribes preceded any number of rituals in this manner. Which ones, she couldn't say. Regardless, the velvet-like sensations against her flesh had driven her to struggle every time. The tribals had never reprimanded her for this. In fact, they seemed to enjoy watching.

Chatting with them was out of the question. When they had first captured her, she had been too distraught to do anything but scream. After they killed the men, she had resorted to threats. A half-hour into the jungle hike, dread had convinced her that bribes and begging were a more appropriate tactic. Unfortunately, the natives either didn't understand the international language or didn't care what she said.

At some point in that first hour, they'd gagged her with a thick leather strap. It remained between her teeth even now, but the women removed it occasionally to dribble water into her mouth. It was never enough, and she stayed thirsty, but they at least seemed to have some reason for keeping her alive.

At nightfall, the drums came to life, like soft thunder but too steady. Leslie lifted her tired head and turned toward the sound, but through the thick plantlife she could discern only the deep glow of a distant fire. Apart from a few torches flickering in the village proper, everything was black. The jungle overhead was effective enough at deadening the direct sun. When all it had to contend with was stars and a quarter moon, the only light one could expect was that which one created for himself and the sporadic green flashes of flying Jarwa bugs.

For an hour she lay in darkness and listened to the percussion, needing to urinate badly but determined not to. Then, like spirits, four of the women who'd tended her previously emerged from the trees and knelt around her. As before, their muscular bodies were naked, though now they wore designs on their faces, intricate and varied geometry in white paint. Wooden jewelry hung from ears. Smaller studs of bone and metal pierced noses, lips, nipples and labia. All of them were bald, both on their heads and between their legs, and Leslie found herself transfixed despite the fear bubbling in her stomach.

They untied her. Hoping for the best, she didn't fight as they helped her stand on trembling legs. While two women held her arms, a third knelt and unbuttoned her shorts. Sobbing softly, Leslie kept still as her lower garments, panties and all, slipped over her hips and bottom and fell to her feet. Without encouragement, she stepped out, hoping to show them that force wasn't necessary. When her bare feet were clear, the women holding her arms pulled off her tank top and rendered her as naked as they were.

Leaving her gag in place, they marched her a few paces into the thick forest and made her stand with her legs spread. Confused as the apparent leader commanded her in some ancient Famarian dialect, pressure on her shoulders finally indicated that she should crouch, so she did. When the unintelligble language grew increasingly frustrated, she shook her head.

"I don't understand!" she cried, though the actual noise through her gag only somewhat resembled the intended words.

The leader reached between Leslie's thighs, roughly slapped her crotch and pointed at the ground. She then realized they wanted her to piss. No, she couldn't. Not like this, not in front of them.

Shaking her head again as tears filled her eyes, she shrieked as a thin branch landed forcefully across her butt. When obedience didn't manifest quickly enough, a second stroke directly followed the first. Accepting the situation to prevent further pain, Leslie sighed and let her bladder go. It was humiliation and relief all at once.

Newly humbled, she went with resignation as they returned her to the spot where she'd spent the day restrained on the ground, helpless as insects and humans alike fondled her at will. The women did not place her back between the stakes, however. They kept her standing, legs apart and arms crossed behind her head, and they bathed her with rags and clean water. Fresh flowers were woven into her hair, and a sweetly-scented oil was rubbed over her body, including her face, buttocks and genitals.

Part of Leslie regretted not learning more about Famarian tribal culture, thinking perhaps that knowledge might have granted her a way out of this mess. On the other hand, another part of her was prefectly content to not know what awaited.

When the leader deemed the preparations satisfactory, she jerked Leslie's arms behind her back and, with admirable efficiency, crossed her wrists and tied them together with thin strings made from some jungle fiber. It hurt, and she again cried through her gag. A second length went around her upper body and arms, multiple stands layered above and below her breasts, cinched down so tightly that her tits swelled and stood out even more prominently than usual. A third piece of twine went around her ankles, ensuring that she would not break away but leaving enough slack for her to walk.

And walk she did, escorted by two women holding her arms, a third behind her and their painted superior leading the way. Grateful for the worn path under her callous-free bare feet, Leslie shuffled along and kept her eyes down.

The drum beats grew louder and louder as the journey progressed, finally peaking in volume ten minutes later as the group slipped free of the trees and into a large clearing.

Hundreds of villagers stood in a circle around a bonfire, all silent as hands reached toward the towering flames and heads bobbed in time with the beat. A wooden platform rose in front of the fire, with two large, painted, naked men standing motionless on top of it. The women took Leslie to them. Climbing the five steps under their gaze, she watched their large, flaccid penises grow hard at her approach.

Her compliance strategy fell apart. Primal terror took over, and she thrashed in the grip of her captors as they offered her up as a plaything. Between the four females and two males, of course, she had no chance. In a sudden rush that left her reeling after the long days of quiet worry, they hauled her violently before the crowd and forced her to kneel. When she kicked at them, her ankles were released briefly and then re-tied without the slack. Her feet now bound in earnest, yet another piece of twine was secured just above her knees.

Out around the fire, the villagers began to chant as the drums adopted a more aggressive rhythm. While she couldn't decipher a word of it, something told her that they weren't petitioning for her release.

The lovely, muscular women withdrew, giving the bulky men full control. One forced her to bend over until her breasts pressed against the rough wood. Still kneeling, the position thrust her ass upward. While the first man held her down by the shoulders, the second shoved his massive cock into her from behind before she could even brace for it. New tears burned her eyes and cheeks, and desperate pleas escaped her throat, only to be muffled by the thick leather between her lips.

Apparently having looked forward to fucking the pale-skinned prisoner all day, the tribal man made no attempt to be gentle. On the contrary, he seemed to revel in hurting her, slamming his full length and girth into her pussy with as much force as he could manage. Somewhere in the midst of her panic, she found a sliver of reason and told herself that, being so excited, he was sure to come quickly. When he pulled out after only a few vigorous minutes, she thought this might actually be the case.

But no.

He only wanted to reposition himself. Taking a slightly higher stance, he pulled her buttocks apart and fucked her ass too. If even possible, it hurt worse. Her insides shook under each brutal thrust. She screamed and wept and struggled until he finished, and she felt his semen draining out of her rectum.

Not allowed even a second to recover, Leslie submitted limply as the rapist took her by the neck and forced her upright. It wasn't an ending, but a shift change. He placed a forearm under her chin and took hold of her hair with his other hand. The man to her front stood ready. In one seemingly well-practiced motion, he pulled her gag free and shoved his cock into her mouth. It was like being forced to swallow a fist. The substantial circumference pried her jaws apart so far that the cruel leather was comfortable by comparison.

She whined softly as he forced his penis deep into her throat, activating her gag reflex more than once. Stomach acid burned her esophagus and tongue, but he never quite took her to the point of throwing up. Even if he had, she hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and she had no reason to think that would have made him stop anyway.

When the second man ejaculated, the initial spurt shot against the back of her throat. Then he pulled out and sprayed the rest on her face. Perhaps in shock, certainly defeated, she kept her mouth open and took it like a porn star. When he was done, he took hold of his cock and used it to smear the goo around so that it mixed with the scented oil and covered her from brow to chin.

The first man let go and threw her aside like garbage. She fell onto her left shoulder and just stayed there, used and broken. Chants and drumming continued, and she wished for sleep. Instead, the four women reappeared and and rolled her onto her belly. The beautiful leader of the group then put two hands under Leslie's hips and lifted them, once again placing her on her knees, with her ass to the sky and ready to receive.

Delicate fingers slipped in and out of her tender anus several times, depositing some sort of lubrication. If only they had been so kind a few minutes ago. She squealed weakly at the idea more so than at any actual increase in pain. It didn't last long, thankfully. When the fingers were gone, the cool gel actually felt kind of nice. Her girls knew how to treat her, unlike those men with the giant graceless cocks.

The drums sped up again.

In a state of complete surrender, Leslie hardly flinched when something new touched her ass. It was hard and sharp.

One woman held her down at the shoulders. Another put full weight on her ankles and kept her bound feet pinned to the platform floor. The third tribal locked one strong arm around her stomach and, with the other hand, held Leslie's buttocks apart, just as the man had done before the ass-rape. The leader held whatever it was they were about to use on her, and Leslie just closed her eyes and waited.

At first it was gentle, an initial stick followed by a smooth, painless entry. Smaller than the dick that had been forced in moments ago, the device slipped deep into her rectum. She wiggled her bottom out of morbid curiosity, making no serious attempt to resist. Still, the women took notice and renewed their holds, clamping down on her even harder.

Flexing her fingers and toes under their restraints, Leslie whispered, "I'm sorry. I won't fight. Please finish. Please...."

The rod continued on. Where it should have stopped if this was just another bizarre fucking session, it kept going. The sharp pain in her gut was sudden and unbearable, but the tribals were ready for her reflexive reaction. She strained against her bonds and felt her jaw lock in agony. A howl of pain surged from her lungs, only to exit through clenched teeth as a sob. Something warm and wet spread inside her. Some of it leaked from her anus and ran between her thighs.

All sense of her surroundings left, save for the pounding drums, chanting and the pole being driven through her. She knew what it was now. They were impaling her, either as an execution or for some other purpose. Maybe they wanted to leave her ravaged body staked in the ruins of the science camp as a warning to the Board. Maybe they just hated outsiders this much.

When the piercing discomfort climbed into her trembling stomach, she finally managed to open her mouth for a scream. At least it felt like a scream. Her chest contracted and ached from the effort, but she could hardly hear herself over the drums and screaming villagers. Whatever happened, she vomited blood at the same time. Her body shook. She was cold, which made no sense. She remembered a huge fire. She was in the jungle. Or was she at the polar station? No, that project had closed last year....

Polar. Pole her.

Leslie wanted to laugh, but the fucking pole was in her throat now. She could feel it creeping up like a very disagreeable last meal. She tried to swallow it, which was just stupid. Then someone grabbed her hair and pulled her head back gently. The thing reached her mouth, pushed across her tongue and between her teeth. It emerged, a bloody wooden stake, and her weary eyes remained alert enough to track it to completion. Only when jutting from her lips by an arm's length did it stop moving.

Hands seized her ankles and turned her onto her side. She tried to focus, tried to stay awake, and she deduced that they were binding her feet to the rod. She fought, making a liar out of herself, but she couldn't move. From the bondage or blood loss, she wasn't sure. Once she was secure, two women situated themselves at each end, and they hefted Leslie off the floor. Her head swam as her bodyweight sank against the pole. She squirmed against it to no avail.

Resting her impalement device on their shoulders, the tribals carefully carried her down the steps, not jarring her too badly. Every step was agony, but they were trying to be easy. She could tell.

My girls, she thought. My girls take good care of me.

At the bottom of the stairs, a fifth woman waited. She was a bit older and heavier, bald and naked like the others, but with the addition of exquisite jewelry alongside the usual bone and wood. Skeleton hands joined by a wire supported her heavy breasts, and golden stars hung from her nipples. Diamond studs adorned her brows and nose, and necklaces fashioned from sapphires, emeralds and human teeth hung from her neck. Pauldrons made from a divided human pelvis covered her shoulders.

To either side of the woman stood two men. Leslie tried to focus, as they looked familiar. Everything was growing blurry, and the orange light was dimming around her, but she needed to know. Yes, she had seen them before. She'd once been deployed to the jungle of Famaria, and the science camp had been attacked by a local tribe. During the attack, a woman had been captured and raped. These men had been the ones to do it. She was sure of it. She'd seen it, so surely she had been there. For the life of her, she couldn't recall how she'd gotten out of that mess, but it seemed like only yesterday.

The stunning older woman reached out an ebony hand and gently stroked Leslie's face. It was comforting, and she tried to smile in appreciation, but something in her mouth wouldn't let her face work.

To the men with her, the woman said something in a quiet tone, then she drifted away.

Don't leave me with them. Please don't leave me....

Suddenly very tired, Leslie watched the males approach. They were going to rape her. They were going to tie her up and fuck her in front of everyone, just like they had done to that other poor woman before....

Except they didn't. Instead, with the girls helping, they produced a delicious assortment of fruits from a nearby basket. One at a time, they slid the food onto a pole that was, for some reason, protruding from Leslie's mouth. She thought to seek an explanation, but first she needed to sleep. Her eyes closed, and she faded away as a prickly wildapple pressed against her face, leaving the pleasant scent of citrus to mingle with the blood in her nose.

Slave's Salvation

"Brandy."

 The voice seemed far away, but it shook the inside of her head. Sluggish and confused, she tried to reply but couldn't.

"Brandy, if you can hear me, get up."

Someone mumbled. Herself, she realized. She tried to remember how she'd gotten here, but nothing made any sense.

"Get up," the voice repeated, a hint of impatience now detectable.

Mustering all of her strength and will, she forced her consciousness through the haze and at last sensed a touch of blue light against her eyelids. Slowly, ignoring the burn and the dizziness, she opened them. Before her hovered a glowing mess of color. As she focused, the kaleidoscope solidified into the chiseled face of Moses on a large plasma screen. He watched her with indifference, narrow eyes neither fascinated nor disinterested in the scene before him. The video feed glitched occasionally, garbage lines and distorted clusters of pixels marring the otherwise crisp transmission.

Desperate to behave, she tried to push herself upright in order to kneel properly, but she could not bring her hands around. Fumbling about on her side, she quickly determined that her wrists and elbows were cuffed behind her back. Moving her legs proved that her ankles, too, were shackled, with only centimeters of play between them. Glancing down the length of her body, she found herself not only chained, but completely naked.

And ... pregnant.

"Oh my god," she whispered, barely able to get the words through her throat.

Her breasts were heavy, and the unmistakable bulge of her middle rested on the cold stone floor of the cell.

"Surprised?" Moses asked.

Suddenly shivering, Brandy writhed about in place until finally managing to sit up. From there she maneuvered her body and its excess weight into a kneeling position. Placing her bottom on her calves, she sat with her arms bound behind her and bowed her head. Plain brown hair fell against her cheeks and reached far enough to cover her swollen, tender tits. Last she recalled, her hair been shoulder length.

"Sir," she said, unable to keep her voice steady.

"You've been in partial stasis for eight months," he told her. "The drugs will keep you slightly disoriented for some time. As long as you do not feel nauseous, we will proceed."

"What ... what happened? Where am I?"

Motors whirred. Mechanical arms supporting the giant screen shoved it forward until the face of Moses was less than an arm's length from hers.

"Look at me," he demanded.

She lifted her gaze, ashamed of the tears but more afraid of disobeying.

"Look at me," Moses repeated, his amplified voice hurting her ears. "Look at me and confess your sins. Be careful that you do not insult my intelligence. Grave consequences can always be made worse."

Sobbing aloud, Brandy explained, "I didn't know, Sir. If I'd known, I would have immediately turned myself over to your mercy."

"Stupid bitch, you cannot turn yourself over to me when I already have you. You cannot know anything about yourself before I do. You are mine. You were mine the second you submitted to my care, and you will always be mine. Now confess your sins before I have you slaughtered this very second."

Terrified and dizzy and confused, she said, "I was unfaithful, Sir."

"Why?"

"I thought I loved him."

"After everything I've given you? How could you?"

She shook her head and tried to reason out some manner of defense for her behavior, but she had none. "I ... I lost control, and I have no excuse. I'm guilty, and I will do anything within my power to make it up to you."

The screen drifted back a meter and glided to a halt. Moses leaned forward and folded his arms across his desk.

"Yes, you will," he confirmed, "starting with the name of your accomplice."

Brandy closed her eyes. "You will execute him."

"Such is the penalty for betrayal. You know that."

"I.... Yes. Yes, Sir."

"I will grant ten seconds for you to ponder this, then you will provide the correct answer or be taken to the courtyard for impaling."

Trembling, she looked from side to side, up at the ceiling and down at the floor, but the black stone offered no counsel.

"Please, Sir," she said, weeping, "show me mercy. I beg you."

"You showed me no mercy when you held my heart in your hands and chose to cast it into fire! Five seconds."

Unable to suppress the fear, she blurted, "He was one of the Unclean. The slaves in Ward Eleven call him Warren. He succumbed to my advances. It was my fault. Punish me, please. Only me."

The massive screen retreated further, and the image flickered from interference. Moses' handsome face turned momentarily hideous, one eye displaced to where his mouth should be and the other elongated to several times its normal height.

"Warren has already been punished."

Brandy flinched. "No...."

"Yes! My matrons took nearly an hour to drive a spit through his quivering body, and he was conscious for most of it. He cooked for most of an afternoon, and we dined on him that night. We have laws, Brandy. You know them, and you know the consequences of breaking them. So did your illegal lover."

She dropped her head again, bowing out of reflex but also too defeated to look up anymore. Her shoulders ached from being pulled back by the elbow restraints, but she otherwise felt suddenly and strangely numb. It was all true, of course. She and Warren had both known what would happen if they were caught, though never had she anticipated getting pregnant and her weekly physical catching it before she did.

"That leaves us only with the matter of your sentence," Moses continued. "Stasis is common practice when my slaves are unfaithful, because my immediate reaction in these situations is almost always a public, painful execution on the roasting spit. Over the years, I've learned to be patient, because there are options. There are always options. It is just a matter of finding them. Would you like to hear your options, my unfaithful little whore?"

Brandy thought, No, but she nodded once and replied, "Yes, Sir. Please, Sir."

"Good. You have two. The first is freedom. I will have your chains removed, and you will be released through the North Gate into the outskirts. I suppose there is a tiny chance that you will survive, but you will probably find anonymity nowhere. I ensured that word of your affair with Warren was spread far and wide. Since the Unclean are typically as averse to their kind mingling with ours as we are, the most likely scenario is that you will be dragged through the streets, sodomized and branded with hot irons for being a whore, then ultimately crucified before the screaming, bloodthirsty masses. If you're lucky, they will stone you to death as you hang and bleed on your cross. If you aren't lucky, you could take hours or days to die, all while continuing to be sodomized, fondled and beaten by passers-by."

Bile teased the back of Brandy's throat, but she swallowed hard and resisted.

Moses said, "Your second option is to stand up and walk to the back of this cell. In the corner you will find a wooden stool and a noose. You are to place your head through the noose and kick the stool from under yourself. Restrained as you are, there will be no change of heart. You will strangle there and die, hopefully quickly. Justice will be served, and your sins will be forgiven."

She found the strength to look up. Her lips quivered, but she found her voice.

"Is there no other option?"

"None."

"Not even if I wait ... in hopes of finding one? Your mercy? Please, Sir. Please...."

"This judgment is final! If you hesitate, I will have you thrown to the Unclean mob."

"Then I ... I will submit to the noose as you require."

"On your feet, bitch."

Struggling with her unfamiliar weight, Brandy rose off of her calves and pushed with her toes. There was too little slack between her ankles to do much else. Unsteady and weak, she nonetheless stood and faced her master, swollen breasts and belly thrust forward due to her arms being shackled behind her back.

"My baby," she said softly to the man on the screen.

"Medical personnel will deliver your child right here as soon as you've expired. It will receive the best care we can offer. Doctors rate survival chances as fair. So you may die knowing that your one act as a mother was a good one: illustrating the folly of life as an ungrateful slut who fucks the Unclean."

Tears again tried to fall, but Brandy stayed firm and answered, "Thank you, Sir."

She didn't even feel humiliated anymore. She simply felt more than ever that this was just her fate, to be a filthy slut in chains for her master's amusement. Anything he commanded, even her suicide, it was her duty to obey. She didn't want to. She didn't choose to. It was just who she had become, who everyone had become in exchange for the sheltered life Moses offered. The alternative was disease and starvation, death stretched over months or years instead of a few hours on a roasting spit or a moment of vicious strangulation. In this world, perhaps the noose was a kindness.

"Carry out your sentence," Moses said quietly.

"Yes, Sir," Brandy replied.

She turned and shuffled away from the screen, taking tiny steps with her chained feet. She found the stool in the corner as promised, and above it dangled a noose fashioned from simple white rope. The loop had been made wide to accommodate a bound prisoner, who needed to fit the apparatus around her own neck without using her hands.

Brandy first knelt on the stool. The hardwood ground uncomfortably against her knees, but she quickly scooted forward until her toes found the edge of the seat. Cautiously, she put her weight on one foot, then the other, and finally righted herself on wobbly legs.

Turning around, she faced the awaiting noose and found it at just the right height, the base at just about collar level so she could place her chin over it and cinch the rope by simply applying her own weight. With a deep breath, she leaned forward before losing her courage, whimpering slightly as she bent her knees and allowed the material to slip softly around her neck. She leaned forward a little more and let the knot tighten. When it was snug, she realized there would indeed be no squirming out even if she wanted to.

Knowing every moment she delayed was just additional torture, Brandy took a final look down at her body. Gently, she tugged at the handcuffs on her elbows and wrists, wiggling her hips from side to side as she tested them. With her shoulders pinned back, she shook her swollen breasts and watched them bounce. The token struggling and sight of her bound body left an electric tingle between her legs. On top of the fear, sadness and regret, she now felt an unexpected sense of curiosity. But she quickly discarded all such thoughts, lest Moses decide a more gruesome punishment would be fitting after all.

It seemed so wrong. She was Moses' slave. Up until she'd fallen for Warren, she had been a good one. She'd always done her work. She'd given him her body, serviced him and danced when ordered to. She'd stayed in shape and taken care of herself as demanded. Now damn if he couldn't even grant her the dignity of killing her himself. She deserved that at least, right? How could this be happening? Was Moses a tyrant, using the desire of others to escape the stigma of being Unclean to simply pleasure and amuse himself?

How could she finally ask these questions only now, as mere centimeters of slack rope and a wooden stool stood between her and death? Regardless, there was only one way out now.

A single push with both feet sent the stool tumbling. She heard it clatter across the floor. The rope assaulted her before she could draw another breath, and the world spun violently around her. The pain was far greater than she'd imagined. What she'd taken for a defiant epiphany in her final seconds suddenly evaporated in a noxious cloud of terror. Not so ready to die after all, she fought with everything she had, clawing and bucking and kicking. Metal restraints cut into her wrists and ankles. Something ran out of her nose, and she identified it as a mixture of blood and mucus it when it poured over her lips and seeped into her mouth.

Air hissed from Brandy's compressed trachea as she struggled. She tried repeatedly to bring the air back in, but she couldn't. Her chest heaved to no avail, burned in starvation, and the pleasant curiosity that had come over her moments earlier was history.

It was too much. She needed to die before she went insane, and it was a great relief when her limbs grew numb. Her chains suddenly weighed a thousand tons, and she could fight them no longer. Massive stones bound to her arms and legs dragged her down into the watery murk. Maybe it was almost over.

Stubborn awareness stayed with her long enough for an acrid smell to disturb her sputtering olfactory sense. Simultaneously, she felt warm piss running down the insides of her legs.

Her body jerked once or twice, though through no effort of her own. In the distance, the plasma screen through which Moses watched her death had returned to a indecipherable blur of kaleidoscopic color. Then it was black, and she couldn't remember how it had gotten that way. Not just the screen, but everything.

Excited voices stirred somewhere far away. Brandy couldn't understand much, but she sensed something cool on her skin. It touched in various places around her left breast. She strained, tried to turn away, but the chains wouldn't let her.

No, it wasn't even the heavy chains holding her down now. Her body wasn't responding at all.

"Not yet," someone said.

Not yet, she repeated to herself. I'm not....

The thought trailed off unfinished as oblivion claimed her.

When she died a minute later, a Johnny-on-the-spot surgeon cut her belly open even as she continued to hang. Within an hour her bloody, still-shackled body was thrown out the back of an armored van, into a busy Unclean slum street. Multiple fights broke out to determine who would claim the fresh meat, and a prominent gang soon proved victorious. They dragged her corpse into their tent village beneath the crumbling overpass of a bygone era. Come nightfall, Brandy was impaled on a spit after all, coated in butter and slow-roasted over an open flame.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.