by Helen Allan
“Are there many human men working in the city?”
“Of course, we are here to follow your will and word, always.”
“Are there human women?”
“No.”
“Huh.”
Sorrow frowned. This information did not fit with her hypothesis. Since arriving on the planet, she had the opportunity to treat many of the rebel red leaders for their injuries – all bore exactly the same physiology as herself; they were clearly half-god, half-human. She had surmised, without telling Judge her theory, that human women were transported to the planet and used, as they had been on earth, as disposable incubators. But if there were no human women here, who the hell was giving birth to the boys who grew to become red leaders?
“Are there females of any type in The Finger?”
“Of course.”
“And they are?”
“Gods, like you,” he said.
Sorrow gasped.
‘Earthborn? Or gods? Why did this man think she was a god? Was it because he had only ever seen Earthborn men, like Judgement? Were Shu and Tefnut breeding red leaders with human fathers? If that was the case, who were the mothers? And,’ she swallowed hard, feeling a little sick, ‘why did Jury say his mother had no skin?’
Sorrow sat back in silence for the rest of the drive, lest she blow her fortunate cover, and waited.
The corridor the man took her down was bereft of life; cold, white and long, just as the corridors were at The Fist. Sorrow was beginning to wonder if there was anyone living in the city at all, but as they passed some doors, she could hear faint laughter, the tinkling of glasses, and music.
Finally, the man led her to a room and opened the door for her, beckoning her inside and prostrating himself before her again.
“I hope this pleases you; I am sure a more fitting apartment will be made available to you when you meet the guardian. And if you don’t mind me asking, what shall I tell her is your interest.”
“My interest?”
“Yes, do you ride, do you game, are crafts something you enjoy, hunting, or perhaps music?”
“I’m a doctor.”
“Oh, I have not heard that before. Very well, I will let her know – are you satisfied with all you see?”
Sorrow turned from him and looked around, a slow grin spreading across her face, despite her intent to look serious and pretend she belonged in whatever role this silly little man thought she should fill.
The room was luxurious by any standards; it featured a round king-sized bed covered in a white cotton coverlet and deluxe white fur pillows. A huge aquamarine square tiled bath filled one corner while an open fireplace and sunken sitting area with leather lounge chairs fronted the fire and the windows, overlooking the city skyline.
“It will do,” she said quietly, “are there towels?”
“Oh yes, of course,” he blushed, rushing to a nearby wall and pressing a button marked ‘bell’ recessed next to a range of other switches.
Sorrow stood, uncertainly as he turned back to her.
“Uh, the towels?”
“Oh, they will come with the servants,” he said hastily, backing towards the door, “your bathing attendants and hairdressers, masseuse and entertainment will all arrive shortly. I will return when you call for me.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Just send one of the attendants for me, I will be waiting by the vehicle.”
“I’m sorry,” Sorrow shook her head, “I don’t think I caught your name?”
“Chauffer 502,” the man said, bowing low again and backing out.
“I’ll be sure to return your robe, Chauffer 502,” she said, smiling at him.
He gave her a cautious smile in return as he pulled the door shut.
Sorrow sighed and walked towards the bath, ready to investigate whether her dreams might come true and she might have hot and cold running water, as she had not enjoyed since Raphael’s city in Avalona, when there was a light tap at the door.
“Enter.”
The door swung open, and her eyes widened when four human men, muscular and dressed only in shiny one-piece jumpsuits, the same as the chauffer’s, came through the door and bowed. One carried a stack of towels, another a basket of lotions and creams, another a bag which he promptly opened on a nearby dresser, pulling out brushes, combs and a hairdryer. The fourth bore a plate of fresh fruit and a jaunty expression as he began to unzip his suit.
‘I’ve died and gone to heaven, the real heaven,’ Sorrow smirked as one of the attendants turned on the taps, and the room began to steam up.
Primped, polished, perfumed, and dressed once again in a new dark blue, velvet robe, Sorrow followed the chauffer back down to the golf cart and, eschewing the back seat this time, walked around to sit beside him in the front of the cart.
“Was everything to your liking?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, thank you,” Sorrow laughed, although she felt sure she was probably reading more into his question than he intended.
Her bath and refreshment had gone wonderfully, but the attendants had not left pleased with her. The bathing attendants and hairdressers she had ordered out as soon as she realised they intended to actually bathe her. The fourth man was most put out of all; he had been sent for her pleasure and looked none too pleased to learn she did not require any physical entertainment.
She laughed now as she recalled his expression.
“But I am very good. I assure you I will pleasure you thoroughly.”
“I am sure you are, and I like your confidence,” she laughed, “but I do not feel like being pleasured today.”
“Perhaps you would like me to come back later.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Very well.”
He had cast her a most perplexed look as he left the room.
Sorrow had enjoyed a long bath, washed her hair until it felt like silk, dressed in the blue gown with its deep blue hood, and filled her stomach with fresh fruit; a welcome change from the dried oat biscuits she had lived on for the past few months while hiding out with the resistance.
When she surveyed herself in the mirror prior to leaving the room, she realised that hooded, the only thing giving her away from actually being a god was her height. In all other respects, she did not look too different from those she had seen in the forced memories of the regeneration tank. She hoped the subterfuge would work on a true god, as it worked on the humans who had served her.
Frowning, she rang the bell for an attendant, and one appeared almost instantly, as though he had been waiting outside. It was the pleasure slave. Sorrow smiled and shook her head at his hopeful expression.
“I need some shoes,” she said, gesturing down to her feet, “high heels if possible, the highest you have.”
“Please ring the bell again, Mistress,” he sighed, “the dressing attendant will be able to meet your needs.”
Sorrow nodded, rung the bell and watched a figure race down the corridor towards her, eager to do her bidding.
It wasn’t long before she was being led, tottering on the highest heels she had ever worn, to where the golf cart was parked.
“Where are you taking me now?” she asked, her mind returning to the present.
“To the infirmary,” he smiled, “the guardian asked that you be taken straight there. She said you would be a most welcome addition to the medical staff.”
Sorrow swallowed hard.
“Is it far?”
“At the furthest end of the city near the spacecraft hangars,” he nodded, “I myself have never been there, but I trust we will find it.”
“Great,” Sorrow said, biting her lip and frowning as her driver whizzed her down the cobbled streets of The Finger towards the infirmary.
The trip took some time, and they passed dozens of men, all dressed in white suits, hurrying here and there, and several other carts bearing blue-robed figures. None paid Sorrow and her driver any attention.
Finally, th
ey pulled up outside a large, modern building with security guards standing either side of large metal sliding doors.
Guiding her to the doors, the chauffeur showed a plastic card marked with hieroglyphs and the guards nodded, waving Sorrow in. The doors closed with a whoosh behind her the moment she stepped through.
Freezing, she stood wide-eyed as she saw a tall woman in a white gown approach – it was a god, there was no question.
The god strode to where Sorrow stood uncertainly in the doorway and extended her hand.
“Welcome,” she said, staring intently at Sorrow’s partially concealed face, “you seem, somehow familiar to me.”
“I get that a lot,” Sorrow smiled, recovering some of her poise, “but I don’t believe we have met.”
“What is your name?”
“Sorrow.”
“Mine is Dependura,” the woman smiled.
Sorrow smiled back. She hoped it wasn’t a mistake giving her real name, but she had been caught on the spot and hadn’t had time to make up one that would sound realistic. Her attention now though, was focussed on the regeneration tanks that she could see through various doorways; hundreds of them, each filled with a god, all female.
“We have long wished for someone with medical expertise to join us,” the woman smiled, “come, I will show you around the complex, you can begin immediately.”
Sorrow followed, noting the woman was at least a head and shoulders taller than her, and that her head was much larger and more conical than human skulls, as were the heads of all the true gods. But dressed and cowled in her robe, her heels hidden by the long folds of the gown, Sorrow knew she passed well enough for one of them.
“So which portal did you come from?” the god asked as she led Sorrow to the rear of the infirmary.
“I jumped from Heaven,” Sorrow said, hoping like hell that at least one god had been known to live there with Osiris.
“I heard we had all left that planet,” the woman turned to frown at Sorrow.
“All but me,” Sorrow shrugged, “I stayed to heal those hurt by the war.”
“Not Earthborn, surely?” the woman scowled.
“We are doctors,” Sorrow said, raising her head and meeting the woman’s eye, “it would have been remiss of me to withhold my skill based on what heritage my patient had, however unfortunate,” she added hastily, seeing the woman’s face pale.
“You would do best to lose such noble beliefs here,” the woman snorted, “we all believe in the vision of Shu and Tefnut. We will not allow those with mixed blood, our godly heritage, to walk the worlds. We work to defeat them and keep our race pure, as it was meant to be.”
“Indeed,” Sorrow nodded slowly, “except for the red leaders, of course.”
The woman spun to Sorrow, her face a mask of anger and shock.
“How do you know of this?” she hissed.
Sorrow shrugged, trying to hide the shock she felt that her guess had been correct. Since arriving, she had been thinking of nothing else. If this city was inhabited only by female gods and male humans, and the red leaders all originated here, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were being born here, only to be sent to The Fist to be raised as war leaders and essential cannon fodder. As to why they didn’t remember anything, she could only conclude their minds were tampered with before they left.
“It is well-known,” she said now, keeping her face neutral, “we do what we must to allow the Gharial to be led, a small price to pay for the ultimate in victories.”
“Yes,” Dependura whispered, taking Sorrow by the arm and pulling her quickly into a small room off the main corridor, “but only a few know of this, only the medical staff inside this regeneration ward, and our guardian. We do not fraternise with our godly sisters; How? How do you know?”
“I have friends,” Sorrow said quietly, “in high places. You need know nothing more than that. I have been sent to help you, but if you should insist on me revealing more, I shall leave and report this to be the case.”
“No, no,” Dependura shook her head, her face suddenly fearful. “If it is the will of the guardian that you are here, I would never question that.”
“I didn’t say that,” Sorrow said, meeting Dependura’s eyes for longer than was comfortable for the woman. “Now, show me everything.”
5
Sorrow sat quietly as Chauffer 502 drove the golf cart with its lights off, along the cobbled road towards The Fist.
She prayed she would make it without being stopped, but she had primed her chauffeur with an excellent cover story, should that occur.
She smiled as she thought back over recent months, as she had slowly cultivated a friendship with this flamboyant little man. An outfit given here and there, the odd pair of shoes or piece of costume jewellery – he was the most grateful recipient of hand me downs that was ever known. Tonight he was ostensibly paying her back for her generosity by delivering her to The Fist for a tryst with a red guard lover.
She knew this was something that would never, could never, happen with any of the real gods, but he seemed to accept that whatever a god desired should be accommodated, even if that meant complete secrecy and breaking every rule he had ever lived by.
Tonight she was dressed in a red leader’s outfit, courtesy of the box at the back of his cart, and her breasts were bound down tightly and painfully – giving her the look of a small, perhaps a trainee, red leader. She knew if she could get into The Fist she would be fine, she had passed inspection before, by Tefnut no less, but the journey from The Finger to the citadel of the armed forces was the most dangerous aspect of her risky plan tonight.
Finally reaching her destination and breathing a sigh of relief, she hopped out as her chauffeur gave her a quick wave and headed back the way he had come.
They had arranged that he would come back to pick her up in the dead of night, in three days’ time during the annual festival of The Games.
She had given up a gold sequin robe and matching slippers as an assurance he would not forget, but she knew he had a mind like a steel trap when it came to appointments, and he would be waiting for her at the agreed time.
Holding her breath, she retraced the steps Judgement had shown her during one of only two journeys she had made into this city, to the hidden tunnels that would lead to the resistance cavern beneath the mountain.
It had been four months since she had come this way; led to The Finger to assume a role as a god. Four long months of crying herself to sleep over the breeding program she was ostensibly taking part in as part of her subterfuge.
She knew the memories of the babies, the tiny children, the skinless ones, would stay with her forever. Even thinking of it now made her want to vomit. Realising she could take no more of her life there, and that she had all the information she needed, she was now determined to return to the resistance and help destroy this world’s gods entirely. Unfortunately, this would also mean she must return in three days’ time to help execute those plans, and she would need Judgment’s help.
Hearing heavy footsteps, she gasped and slipped into a nearby corridor, pressing herself close against a column, willing herself invisible.
She frowned as she heard the voices approach and pass by, one sounded familiar.
“And you are sure you caught them all?”
“Yes, Sir. Those that were not killed in the initial raid were captured and imprisoned below, where they await execution.”
“Red guards every one? And their trainees?”
“Yes. We killed all the trainees we found, no point in having little vipers brought back to the nest.”
“Absolutely,” the superior agreed, “you did well.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Sorrow scowled as she recognised the second voice; it was Requiem, the resistance fighter who had assaulted her in the pools on her arrival at the cavern. She held her breath, hoping against hope that what she was hearing was not what she thought she was hearing.
“And w
hat of the traitors’ findailes?”
“Most escaped, many were not there, perhaps hiding. They will not last long; we will send out hunting parties for them at dawn.
“Good work, Requiem. You have served us well; you will be rewarded for your loyalty. We will execute the leader at daybreak, but the remainder will stay incarcerated until we catch their findailes – they can suffer the slow, excruciating death of their partners before their own.”
“I will take great pleasure in letting them know this,” Requiem laughed.
“Do a headcount while you are down there,” his commander said, “find out exactly how many still have findailes unaccounted for.”
Sorrow heard heels click together and knew the men had saluted, and therefore most probably walked in different directions. She furiously debated with herself over what to do.
‘Could this be true or just another ruse being performed by Requiem on behalf of the resistance? No, he had never truly come around, had he? You often caught him watching you with an unfriendly eye. Trust your instincts, Sorrow. So, if it is true, then what? Should I go back to the cavern? Surely some resistance escaped. Should I see if I can get some help to rescue those that have been captured? Should I try to do something now? Perhaps I can help. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Still in two minds, Sorrow slipped out from her hiding place. She ducked from column to column and followed Requiem as he strode, fast, down the corridors and eventually down four flights of stairs, to the prison cells beneath the city. Pausing three steps before the bottom, she strained to listen as he talked to a guard.
“How many in all?”
“About three hundred, some are dead from their injuries, others dying.”
“Take me to Judgment.”
“I can’t, Executioner has gone to relieve his bladder, I’m the only one on duty up here until he returns.”
“What are you afraid of?” Requiem chuckled, “we have the entire resistance behind bars.”
Sorrow’s eyes widened.
“True,” the other man laughed, “come on then.”
She listened to their footsteps retreat and slipped down the last few steps to peer into the room. The stench hit her first, the smell of sweat and blood, shit and fear – a far cry from the antiseptic world she had inhabited these past months.