Direct Contact
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Direct Contact Copyright © 2013 Ninette Swann
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Also Available from Resplendence Publishing
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Direct Contact
A New Reality Story
By Ninette Swann
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Direct Contact
Copyright © 2013 Ninette Swann
Edited by Michele Paulin and CJ Slate
Cover Art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-646-2
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: March 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To Liz Hawksworth and Jackie Monck, two amazing writers who keep me sane.
Chapter One
“He’ll be there in three minutes.”
The crackling voice over the private intercom system jarred Malcolm Odin from where he was bent over the small window overlooking Number Twenty-seven’s room.
Malcolm pushed the button next to him with his thumb. “Thanks, Jim,” he said, before switching off the system. No need to alert the emperor that his lead scientist had been warned of his upcoming arrival.
“Sleep well, Anna,” he whispered, pressing his fingers to his lips and blowing over them at the stilled body through the glass. He couldn’t help but feel like a father figure to the girl, though they’d never met. He snapped shut the security blinds and turned to the computer panels on the wall of in the Rouble Palace’s science headquarters.
Number Twenty-seven was almost ready. Malcolm’s predecessor, George Hawin, had worked tirelessly on this project, readying girls for the carrying and birth of the emperor’s super-human heir. But after many mistakes, which led to the death of the first twenty-five girls in the program, he had been let go. Of course, in Terrecina, when the emperor fired someone, he killed them or, worse, sent them down into The Levels.
Malcolm swallowed down his fear as he heard the emperor’s footsteps approaching. At thirty-five, he was the youngest ever chief of Terrecina’s reproductive experimental unit. Malcolm was in charge of overseeing the feeding, dressing, socialization and rearing of the Special Ones, a small group of girls the emperor had hand-picked to carry his seed and create the new leader of Terrecina, an island suspended over the earth. Direct contact was strictly forbidden. The girls had female attendants who interacted with them on a daily basis, but they were never to see a man, other than in specific texts picked out for them. The emperor did not want their eyes, minds or bodies sullied.
Malcolm had already breached major policy by naming this one. They were not to have names. But Malcolm couldn’t help himself. Of the five girls in his charge, this small brunette child had called to him even before he’d taken over the program. Though they’d never spoken, Malcolm had come to see a rebellious side of her while he’d tracked her brain patterns. And her dreams. Her dreams were so vibrant and full of life and adventure. He hated to think of her fate. Especially since the serum remained unfinished, the new version to be tested on Twenty-six then her. He swallowed again. She was simply a shell for a royal embryo. He would do well to remember that.
“Odin, when are the girls’ birthdays?” The emperor’s voice boomed through the metal-paneled room as his figure filled the doorway.
“Twenty-six turns twenty-one on January fifth. Twenty-seven on January seventeenth. The others won’t turn until March, June and August respectively.”
Malcolm’s insides roiled, his entire being fighting the project. Malcolm’s former boss, George, had mangled several girls with the new injection techniques. While the emperor was fully human, he insisted on breeding a super child. In order to achieve this—super-strength, super-speed, good looks and health with automatic immunity to most of the world’s diseases, new and old alike—the sperm had to be mixed with a special serum. Several births had been successful in monkeys during the trial periods, but the entry site was smaller in humans. Either George had kept missing or something in the injection was fatal to humans—or both. Though the new tests were not complete, the emperor continued the insemination attempts as each girl turned twenty-one. Malcolm blanched. That meant twenty-five dead girls. He fought back the feelings of guilt and disgust that had been creeping up on him during the past months. He’d signed on for this after all. He’d made his bed.
“Excellent,” the emperor said, nodding his large head in an exaggerated motion. Malcolm looked at the man, took in his sallow skin, his bugged-out eyes. The graying hair that fell in waves around his shoulders was still strong and shiny, but the rest of the man seemed to be ailing.
“Are you okay, Your Majesty?” Malcolm asked, ducking his head in subservience.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding again. “Just tired. It’s about time for my monthly spa treatments.” He chuckled. “Makes me sound like a nancy-boy, but the healing hands of my girls do wonders for me.” His small blue eyes glittered. “I’ll have the health clinic attend to me on the first of January. That way I’ll be spruced up for my meeting with Twenty-six.”
Malcolm nodded. If he got a good shot into Twenty-six, perhaps the emperor would leave Anna alone. Everyone could be happy. Twenty-six would be Queen or, at the very least, mother to the emperor’s son and the others could go on their merry way. Or so Malcolm hoped.
The emperor heaved himself around, turning from the room. His garish purple and red robes heralded from another time, showing the man’s twisted love of ancient history. In 2140, after the collapse of the former civilization, it seemed perverse to wear the royal garb of the ancients from Spain, England and all the other countries that no longer existed.
“We don’t have much time, Malcolm,” the emperor said on a sigh, right before he left. “I’m getting old. This will be the last batch of Special Ones. If you cannot make it work, your death awaits you.” He left the room with heavy steps, the metal flooring creaking and clanking beneath his feet.
“Well, no pressure then,” Malcolm muttered, wondering for the millionth time what he had gotten himself into when he’d signed that contract with the New Government all those years ago.
He sat behind the exorbitantly large oak desk, which was the only one left of its kind as oak trees had died out long ago and most of the wood and furniture they’d provided in their time had been burned by the Level People. Fires were constantly going down there. Sometimes, the smoke was so thick it wafted up to Upper Terrecina, choking the elite and making them wheeze. That only lasted a few days though, until the emperor dropped bombs. A few big booms would rock the city then the smoke would stop. Usually for a good year or two.
He’d
been only fifteen. A math whiz, born to a well-to-do couple in Upper Terrecina. With their family money, his parents had coasted through the elitist lifestyle, their lives full of meaningless parties and socializing. They had no skills that Malcolm could discover. Apparently, two generations before them, his great grandfather had been instrumental in saving Terrecina from the Level People right after The Collapse. His birthright was that of a hero, but Malcolm had felt constricted, useless and bored. When word had gotten out about his mental strengths, the emperor, then a younger, strapping and intimidating figure, called a meeting with him. Malcolm remembered it as if it were yesterday.
“Would you like to be famous?” the emperor had asked. “Rich beyond belief? Would you like your pick of the women in my kingdom?”
What fifteen-year old would say no to that? Malcolm really couldn’t blame his teen self. It had sounded like a dream.
When he’d found himself working on ethically questionable experiments, he’d allowed the compensations to overshadow his nagging guilt. He’d studied exclusively under George Hawin, but the man had never let Malcolm see a real injection in all his years of apprenticeship. Which meant he’d be flying blind next month. George had always meant to allow him a viewing but kept putting it off. The next time, the next time. And then George had been fired and disappeared. Malcolm was on his own.
He clicked on the monitors, not allowing himself to view Anna directly through the window again. All the girls were getting readied by the various assistants. They’d be going to the baths soon.
While the baths cleansed the girls physically, they were also a euphemism for the mental purification performed on the Special Ones’ minds every few days. Human nature was inherently rebellious, the emperor said. He allowed for no independent or original thought in his Special Ones. He wanted a pure vessel for his heir. Malcolm thought he just got a power trip from completely steering a living person’s thoughts, desires and impulses. Still, even with the treatments, the emperor couldn’t fully stem the personalities of the girls.
Anna, in particular, fought against the drugs, emerging time and again well before the others, to think and feel and simply be. Malcolm’s heart felt tight in his chest. She was a firecracker, that one. She was worth so much more than this awful fate. Of all the feelings he had expected, paternal protectiveness over his “experiments” hadn’t been one of them.
He stared at her monitor. Julie was her attendant today, and he breathed a sigh of relief even as his pulse ratcheted up a notch. Of all the maids serving the Special Ones, Julie was the one with a true soul. He’d shared many conversations about ethics and survival with the dark-haired beauty over tea in the large dining hall at the headquarters. Her dark, hypnotic eyes flashed in anger, fear and frustration. In the end, they always decided survival trumped ethics, but it left them dissatisfied and sad. The New Government had to be stopped, but neither Malcolm nor Julie had the means to do it. And they’d rather live than be martyred.
As Malcolm watched over the two women getting ready in Anna’s quarters for the mind-altering baths, a hazy idea began to take shape. He made a note to set up another tea with Julie soon. Maybe, survival wasn’t worth it after all. How much longer could he go to bed each night hating himself and feeling disgusted? Perhaps death was the better option. Or maybe they could avoid it all and release the people from the iron grip of the New Government.
Julie concentrated on the task at hand, forcing her mind away from the revolutionary thoughts. Anna’s light-brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders as Julie helped her with her shirt. She would soon change into loose robes then walk to the baths. As her skin was revealed inch by inch, from pale stomach to small breasts, Malcolm switched off the screen to give them the privacy they deserved. He was supposed to monitor the proceedings carefully to make sure everything was done following the letter of the emperor’s command, but Malcolm was no Peeping Tom. He’d come to trust the attendants to do their jobs. The girls deserved some show of human decency before they were marched to their deaths.
Malcolm shuddered. Maybe, this time, they wouldn’t die. Maybe, he could get it right. Or better yet, maybe, he could stop this madness.
Chapter Two
“He was there again, Julie,” Number Twenty-seven whispered as she struggled into her shirt for the day, “in my dreams.”
“Who was, dear?” Julie didn’t need to ask. She already knew. Malcolm.
“The tall, thin man with the black hair and nearly black eyes hidden behind dark-rimmed glasses,” the girl replied. “He tried to speak to me this time, but I couldn’t hear him.” She sighed. “He seems so nice. So…kind.”
Julie agreed. Nice and kind…and smart and idealistic and breathtakingly attractive. She lost herself in the memory of his full lips, which framed his straight, white teeth. They had quivered with anger the last time the two had spoken. He hated his job, his mission. And yet, neither of them could find the bravery to break the cycle. Still, he was magnificent. The prettiest man she’d ever seen.
With some men looking like that, Julie could almost understand why the emperor allowed his Special Ones no contact with any outsiders. The girls might find someone they liked and become rebellious, try to jump ship. The New Government told all its people that women were just wanton sluts, slaves to their unquenchable libido. They said women didn’t mean to be dirty and evil, but they couldn’t help themselves. The way Malcolm made Julie’s stomach clench and her thighs heat, she almost believed them.
Twenty-seven shook her head, probably trying to rid the last of the cobwebs still clinging from the baths last night. Supposed to cleanse her from unwanted thoughts, to purify her and ready her for the next week of lessons, they often had the opposite effect. The girl’s dreams were always more vivid after the strong fumes of the washroom rendered her basically unconscious.
Julie glanced around the white expanse of the Twenty-seven’s room. Pristine sheets were crumpled on the bed where Twenty-seven sat, and the cotton of the girl’s button-up nightgown lay on the ground by her feet.
“Well,” Julie said in a distracted tone. “Regardless of any of that, it’s time to get ready. We’ve lots of practicing to do.”
“Practicing for what?”
“For your twenty-first birthday, of course.”
Julie bristled. She hated this part of the ritual. She needed to be cheerful and pretend the injection was a great honor, not a death sentence. “It’s just a few weeks away, now, and the emperor wants to meet with you beforehand.”
“He wants to meet…with me?”
Julie gave her a funny look, squinching up one side of her face as she tried to hold back a grimace.
“Well, you are to carry the child. He wants to go over the rules for that in person.” Julie leaned over to whisper, “And he’d like to assess how competent you are, to determine if he shall keep you in any capacity after the birth, or if he’ll have someone else mother the heir.” She looked left then right, though there was no one there. There was never anyone there. “But you’re not supposed to know that, so don’t breathe a word of it when you meet him.”
“I won’t. You know that.”
Julie smiled, her lips barely quirking up. “I do, Twenty-seven, I do.” She crossed the room, readying the wallboard for the day’s work. “We’ll start with the geography of Terrecina today, okay? But first, let’s finish getting you dressed.” She snapped her fingers, and the hidden closet sprang forward. Julie chose a black jumpsuit that looked the same as all the others. Each day all the numbers, the Special Ones, they called them, wore a one-piece jumpsuit, covering them tightly from head to toe. This was said to allow for fluid movement while keeping each female body part protected and sacred.
Of course, what the girls didn’t know was that the jumpsuits were actually a fetish for the emperor. Once, a few weeks ago, she’d felt a strong urge to protect Anna, to give her some perhaps unwanted insight into the small world in which they all lived. She’d pointed at the ceiling tiles, wa
ving to her friend, Malcolm. “A scientist is back there now, and every day, but sometimes the emperor will come and watch over you himself. And when he does, he likes to see the shape of his girls. And he likes them in black.” She didn’t know if Twenty-seven had understood—probably not—but better if she knew she was being watched, Julie figured.
“Twenty-seven?” she spoke to the girl now, to remind her to slip into the jumpsuit with no further delay. “Are you going to get dressed or just stare at your suit?”
“Julie,” the girl asked, grabbing the jumpsuit and struggling into it, “do I have a name?”
She turned in surprise. “No, child, you know that. Numbers for the Special Ones.”
Twenty-seven grimaced. “Yes, too special for names, that’s right. But are you sure?” She took a few hesitant steps forward, looking the older woman in the eyes. “Are you sure it’s not…Anna?”
The sharp intake of breath must have given Julie away, but she recovered quickly, allowing a wall of calm to close over her face.
“I’m sure,” she answered softly. “You have no name, my dear. You are Number Twenty-seven. Now, list for me the ten main regions of Terrecina in alphabetical order. No more nonsense.”
* * * *
“Whatever you’re doing, stop.” A teacup clattering against the plastic tabletop served as punctuation to Julie’s command.
Malcolm blinked. The small, spritely woman in front of him was nearly shaking with anger. This wasn’t how he envisioned the start of their meeting.
“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously, sipping his own hot brew.
“She knows her name, Malcolm. Why did you give her a name?” Julie’s eyes slitted. “You’ll kill her, you know. She understands nothing. What if she had asked one of the other attendants about it? They’d have gone right to the emperor, that’s what. And then one or both of you would be dead right now.” She paused, breathing heavily. “What do you think you’re doing?”