Angel 6.0
Episode I
Concubine
Published by Travis Luedke
Copyright 2015 by Travis Luedke
Book Cover Art by Willsin Rowe
http://willsinrowe.blogspot.com/
FIRST EDITION
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Adult Reading Material (17+)
Contains scenes of graphic sex and violence
unsuitable for underage readers
Publications by Travis Luedke
The Nightlife Series:
I The Nightlife: New York
II The Nightlife: Las Vegas
III The Nightlife: Paris
IV The Nightlife: London
V The Nightlife: Moscow
~ Stand-alone novels in The Nightlife Series ~
BLOOD SLAVE
THE NIGHTLIFE SAN ANTONIO
BLOOD SLAVE ii 2015 (cOMING SOON)
Young Adult novels by TW Luedke (Travis Luedke)
the shepherd
Other series novels by Travis Luedke
UPON THIS ROCK 2015 (COMING SOON)
ANGEL 6.0: CONCUBINE ~ MARCH 2015 (#1)
ANGEL 6.0: eSCAPE ~ APRIL 2015 (#2)
ANGEL 6.0: SALVAGE ~ MAY 2015 (#3)
CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE
The Blurb:
My name is Angel, and I live on Nugene Station. My days are filled with doctor's tests, but I spend my nights dancing in zero G, or in the arms of my secret lover, Carver Liddell.
Nugene Station is the sole outpost orbiting Jupiter that breeds specially engineered human clones for sale to The Gran, a fierce alien race of Cats. The treaty brokered between humanity and the Cats guarantees a constant supply of worker drones.
I am not a worker drone. I am something else. I am the untapped potential of the human genome. I am the next step in human evolution.
The Cats finally noticed me, they know I am special. Now they want me. They want to breed me. Silly Cats, don't they know clones are sterile?
Nugene is only the beginning of my story.
Angel 6.0 The Series:
Born of illegal experimentation on the human genome, I've been taken for a ride across the galaxy, enslaved to the warlike race of Cats called The Gran. They think I'm some kind of upgrade, a new slave stock to be bred.
Though many would resent me for the decisions I have made, they never experienced my struggle to find love and meaning in a world where I do not belong.
A freak of nature, the humans don't want me.
Far more valuable than they could ever know, the Cats don't appreciate me.
Lost in the conflict between two galactic empires, the pirates can't save me.
Standing at the center of an interstellar war, the Earth Defense Council never saw me coming.
I am Angel 6.0 and this is the dark, wicked, violent tale of my life.
“We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Chapter 1
Dancing in zero G is like virgin sex – scary, exhilarating, nauseating, awkward, yet liberating. I only danced during lights-out when the white coats are sleeping. They don’t like to be reminded of how different I am, and I don’t want them reminded.
Ear buds turned all the way up, I moved with the flow of my music. Fast, I spun, twirled and leapt off the crossbeams. Slow, I glided into the gradual sensation of gravity at the outer edge of the station’s central hub. The edges of the two hundred meter hub cylinder had a mild one quarter G. Zero G is only at the exact center of the hub, absent the seventy kilometer-per-hour centripetal spin of the station. Only in the center am I truly free, nothing to hold me back.
D’Anton has tried to stop me from dancing several times in the last two years. He complains that people were not meant for zero G. But I’m not like other people. He says it affects his readings on my biorhythms and blood chemistry. I say that if I always dance at lights-out his test results would be the same every morning. Doctor D’Anton Pascal doesn’t like to lose arguments, although it’s been happening more frequently.
I had appealed to Carver, the Liaison to the Gran. Carver struts around like he owns the whole station. At first he agreed with D’Anton that “I shouldn’t be flying all up and down the hub like a maniac.” After I showed him what I’d learned to do with my tongue, he agreed I should have a little freedom to dance when I wanted.
After a year of dancing without incident, D’Anton stopped complaining.
My music hit a grungy bass and I dived through the centripetal gravity well and flipped between the girders and cross beams, faster, harder and faster still. The hollow plastisteel thrummed with my impacts as my hands and feet slapped in time like a drum. I launched off the last beam into dead-center zero G, and let my momentum carry me to the gravity well on the other side. The trick was compensating for the opposite direction spin. I’d been doing it so long it was second nature, but not at first. I never told anyone about the time I broke my arm on a crossbeam. Nothing major – I was back in form by the next evening at lights-out.
All my attention focused on my music, and the wondrous euphoria of flying free as a bird, I didn’t immediately notice my audience. It wasn’t until I smelled their musky animal scents that I saw them watching me from the catwalk below.
The Gran.
They weren’t due for three more days – must have arrived early. By the time I saw the three Cats led by Carver, they were already pointing at me, halfway across the catwalk, thudding along in their magboots. I floated through the air and touched down on the other side of the hub. I turned off my music to better hear them as the tallest Cat gestured to me a second time and yipped a question to Carver.
D’Anton would be furious they had seen me.
I dropped straight down the access hallway and let gravity take me into a full slide away from the hub. D’Anton and Carver had warned me repeatedly to stay out of sight when the Gran were on tour of the station. They said I was too different, that I’d attract unwanted attention. Though Carver pretended he was the man in charge of the station, he couldn’t hide his fear of the Gran from me. Everyone feared the Gran.
The path of my fall brought me to another access corridor and my maglatch caught the edge of the opening in the steel wall long enough to send me swinging hard into the narrow passage. I demagged and sailed through the side corridor like a bullet. Not much room to maneuver, but I’d done it a million times. I slid off the smooth wall, letting the friction slow me enough to land on my feet. On touchdown, I broke into a full run and dived left down another access point. This was my playground. The maintenance passageways intersected across every level of the station. I had memorized the tunnels and their varying directions of grav-spin since year one.
Finally I found them, coming off the catwalk into the hallway leading to the elevators. I settled in quietly and focused on slowing my heartrate and respiration to a quiet stillness.
I needed to hear every detail. The vertical slats of the air vents let me see the Gran as they walked past.
The tall, slimmer Cat sounded agitated, growling and yelping loudly. “I will have to report this breach to my commanders! This is an outrage! We demand the highest quality and performance from our workers, in accordance with the treaty!”
I had learned to speak Gran in the three days that I borrowed Carver’s personal tab and memorized all his sociology files on The Gran Empire. He hardly noticed the tablet was missing before I put it back in his quarters.
A look of fear passed over Carver’s eyes and I heard his heart beat pounding hard and fast. “Not what you think. The subject is … expedient, not for sale.” Carver was only moderately fluent in the growl-click-snapping language of the Gran. I knew he meant to say the subject is an experiment.
When I’m in the room, D’Anton and the other white coats avoided distasteful words like ‘subject’ and ‘experiment.’ They tried not to make me uncomfortable about what I am. Carver Liddell, Liaison to the Gran Traders Guild, was less tactful. If he knew I was listening, if he knew I understood what he said, he might have spoken differently. Many people speak differently when they know I’m listening.
The tall warrior’s clawed hand settled on Carver’s shoulder and pulled their procession to a halt. Sharp teeth bared, he hissed down at Carver with disapproval. Over two meters tall, with carmel and black striped fur, fingers and toes tipped with nasty, sharp claws, the Gran gave the impression of slim, angular cats standing upright. Unlike the cheetahs and mountain lions I’d seen in holovid archives from Earthside, the Gran had an unmistakable intelligence in their eyes and an array of facial expressions. The Cat smiled at Carver. The Gran do not smile from pleasure – it’s a predatory show of teeth.
Carver’s heart rate jumped higher and I heard him swallow. The poor guy was sweating hard under the scrutiny of the Gran. One of the many complaints about these cat-like creatures was their tendency for domination stare-down contests. The Cat was doing it now to Carver. He stared intimidatingly, expecting submission. Carver should have nodded, in acceptance of dominance – but he was holding the Cat’s gaze like an outright challenge.
I could see Carver found it disconcerting, and it put a smile on my face. I doubted they would eat him for dinner. The Cat was simply pushing for control, or acknowledgement of status. Carver started stammering, and his Gran speech devolved into gibberish.
The Cat cut him off. “An experiment of this potential should be discussed openly. This stock is far more capable. I want her. I want to sample this stock.”
Carver pumped up his chest full of Liaison authority. “Captain Cronin, she … unique. She not production model. She not designed for serve Gran Empire. Her body, her mind, not to Gran specifications. She not suitable for work requirements. She rare, expensive … medical research.” Carver waved his arm out towards the catwalk leading across the hub. “You see, she not easily controlled. Not programmed docile. Not accept work orders. Fail Gran standards.” He put on a good front and had a smooth line of bravado, but the quiver of his hands and breakneck pace of his heart told the truth. I wondered if the Cats could see his fear as readily as I did. Supposedly their senses are more developed than ours.
Captain Cronin’s talons never left Carver’s shoulder as he leaned in close, blowing Cat-breath in his face. “The Gran Trading Guild will decide which stock is suitable. You are to provide the highest quality labor stock you can produce.”
Sweat streamed down Carver’s brow and wet stains crept from his armpits. I smelled his distress from up in the ductwork. Surely the Cats had noticed by now. Carver wiped away the perspiration and tried to put on his best diplomatic air. “I understand, Captain. Need time speak with superiors. I repeat, she no good laborer. Nugene not release unrefined product to Gran Empire. Nugene not liable for damages … if something wrong.”
I’d never heard this kind of talk from Carver before, the way he spoke of me as a thing, a research model, an unrefined product. He must be trying to talk his way out of the situation. I had created this mess by being seen, and now Carver was forced to make excuses. Now I understood why they always insisted I hide in my cabin when the Gran arrived.
The Captain finally let go of Carver, and he sighed in relief. He must have thought they were going to eat him. I almost laughed aloud. Carver continued leading them down the hallway and into the elevator. I don’t think he wanted to be alone with them any longer than necessary. I caught one last snippet from Carver before the elevator door closed and cut me off from the conversation. “Doctor D’Anton collecting data. Doctor not give permission to release specimen.”
* * * *
Specimen, subject, stock, medical research – as Carver would say – bullshit. I was none of these things to D’Anton or Carver. The only truth to Carver’s argument was that D’Anton would never let me go.
As I raced down the ventilation ducts through turn after turn, trying to beat the elevator down to Carver’s Level One office, D’Anton’s words of praise rang in my head. “Angel, my beautiful Angel, someday you will change the world. Thank god these corporate fools don’t know how valuable you are. You’re the key, Angel, the key to solving humanity’s problems. You’re the next step in evolution, the final step we must take as a species if we are to survive and thrive.” I’d always found it awkward when Dr. Pascal spoke like that.
Then there were other times when he’d rage against the news and research articles from Earthside media. “Idiots! Imbeciles! I can’t believe they still haven’t lifted the ban! We’ve over a century of data on genomic enhancements, and these ignorant religious bastards refuse to allow a single improvement beyond a genocleanse! We build fleets of jumpships to explore the galaxy, but we cannot see past our pigheaded arrogance and fear to improve upon ourselves. One day they will see your sublime beauty, Angel. The things you are capable of, your intricate genius, your grace and flawless design. On that day they will forget their endless questions of god and souls as they race to the genetic finish line as fast as they can spend their credits.”
I was D’Anton’s golden girl, his ticket to the Nobel Prize. He’d said it so many times, it must be true. No way he was letting me ship off with the latest batch of laborer clones destined for a hard rock mine out in the deep space of the Gran Empire.
No way.
I didn’t make it to Carver’s office before he locked his door. From the duct grating I could see The Gran where Carver had left them standing in their waiting room. They had helped themselves to the supply of strong-smelling liquor and were sipping from large mugs. The only thing more intimidating than a company of armed Gran soldiers was a drunken company of armed Gran soldiers. I’d heard the stories of the fights the Cats got into, how they almost beheaded one of the cleaning ladies as they argued over something no one understood.
I couldn’t chance walking past them and garnering anymore unwanted attention, so I backtracked down the other passageway across to the ventilation duct that lead to Carver’s office.
He was on a call, wearing his headset and talking to someone Earthside on a vidscreen. “Sir, I told them. They don’t care. It’s like waving a shiny new toy in front of a monkey. They want her. Regardless of anything I say, they want her. They think she’s some sort of upgrade.”
He paused, nodded his head over and over, wiped his hand across his face, and nodded again. Perspiration had wetted the collar of his shirt. “I have told them every way I could that she’s not what they want. She’s not suitable. This Captain Cronin isn’t the most reasonable creature to deal with. He’s been obstinate before. Can’t you use a diplomatic channel to go over his head?”
Carver paused again, listened, and wiped more sweat from his brow. “I see. We don’t have many options.”
The man said something, and Carver nodded. “I understand. We can’t afford to have this escalate to involve the Defense Council. You can trust me sir, I’ll handle it.”
I didn’t
care for the sound of that. I knew nothing of the intricate politics. All I knew was that I had to do something – now – to convince Carver not to hand me over to these drunken slave traders. As soon as the screen went dark and Carver removed his headset I popped the grate off the ventilation shaft and dropped from the ceiling into his office.
“What the?” His words stopped as he looked me up and down. I had been dancing in zero G in my thin sleep shirt and panties. There was never anyone around to see me at lights-out, so it didn’t matter what I wore. Carver’s eyes began to warm with arousal as he tracked my slim bare legs up to my crotch. He liked black panties, and I made sure I always had them on, for him. We had met in his office during lights-out numerous times.
I nodded towards the sitting room outside the door. “I know they saw me.”
His eyes flashed in the direction of the door, to where the Gran awaited.
“Not here. In the hub. I heard you arguing with the Captain of the Gran ship about me.”
Guilt crossed his face, and he stood up from his chair. “Look, this situation has become serious. They want to take you, Angelina. I don’t know if I can stop them.”
I moved in close, and before I knew what I was doing my shirt was off, and I had stepped out of my panties. “I told you to stop calling me by that name. My name is Angel.” I hated the sound of Angelina, a famous film star from the old holovid archives, and my DNA donor. I’d seen some of her films – entertaining but crude.
I rubbed my naked breasts against Carver’s thin shirt and kissed him the way he liked it, using my tongue. He responded as I hoped, and his eyes glazed with that searing look he always gave me right before he fucked me, hard and fast. He had an edge few people in the station ever saw, but I had tasted that edge and rode it many times. He pulled away from my kiss and started to speak. Before the denial hit his lips I had unlatched his belt and undid the fly of his pants.
Angel 6.0: Concubine (Space Opera Romance) Page 1