Clean Regency Romance: The Earl's Temptation (The Pure Heart Triumphs Series Book 1)

by Pearl Goodfellow

  The Asian Consortium, United France (the totality of 21st century Europe), The North American Authority, The African Congress, and The Union of South American Territories, debated the merits of Boisante’s proposals for only three hours, before unanimously agreeing to the Martian demands. Another war to force Mars’ cooperation was out of the question, and Earth’s inhabitants finally saw a chance of survival as a species. That was in the year 2112. The initially uneasy arrangement gradually became a more commonplace idea, and was eventually accepted by both Terrans and Bloods alike. Mutual dependence made for strange bedfellows. It worked because both parties adhered to the strict rules of engagement, and so the Bloods continued to produce the much valued He-3 needed for fusion energy, and even more importantly, handed over gifted young, virile studs to repopulate the decimated Earth.

  Chapter 3

  The plight of Terran Kind was first realized 200 years before, in the 1970’s (Julian calendar). Multi-headed, hydra-like conglomerates controlled governments worldwide. But the general populations of the over 180 countries did not realize the power of the corporate reins that violently jerked humanity, until it was too late. Politicians were owned; paid off to look the other way, or disposed of, and the machine marched on, without a thought given to consequences regarding Earth and it’s citizens. Every now and then, a business entity was placed on the public chopping block to be held out for ridicule and damnation, but this was just a well conceived diversion. The hydra always grows another head, but the public were assuaged, thinking that a victory over Big Business had been fought and won.

  As the Earth trembled under the growing weight of humanity, which was living longer than ever before, measures were taken to clean up the heavily burdened planet. Chlorofluorocarbons, (CFC) polychlorinated biphenyl (PCB) and dichlorodiphenyltrichlorethane (DDT) were banned from use. The people of the world cheered because they believed that lead poisoning, and harmful pesticides were about to be a thing of the past. Recycling plastics, paper, and aluminum started in earnest in the early 2000’s. All would be well…except no one had bothered to investigate the downside to recycling, or to take precautions to accomplish the grand scheme safely. Everyone patted themselves on the back, smug in their 'do-good' delusions, as they wheeled their recycle containers to the curb for collection. Out of sight, out of mind, did my part.

  Terra’s population continued to spiral out of control, helped, in part, by the advances in life prolonging medical treatments. All the while Earth's citizens were ignorant to the threat of the largest mass extinction in Terran history. Oh, the arrogance of the human race.

  At this critical time, China -- now the largest member state of The Asian Consortium --was the most populous country in the world. The strained nation had finally taken measures to curb “breeding”, by allowing families only one child, lest they face fines and higher taxes. But to no avail, of course. Humans liked to fuck, and the impact of their human numbers were rarely considered. Without ceremony, Terra's population climbed speedily to well over 15 billion. But nature always finds a way to return to homeostasis when the balance tips too far one way or the other. Too many predators; they starve as they outnumber their prey. Too many grass-eaters; the predators proliferate to keep the grass-eaters numbers low. Terran’s, ever cavalier, thought they were the exception to the hundreds of millions of years of evolution. Man just consumed and destroyed his own environment, without regard to consequences, due to the false belief that they were the most intelligent, most resilient beings ever conceived by a universe. A universe they had barely begun to explore. Even a dog knows not to defecate in its own bed.

  A mere two years before World War V began in 2066, scientists from many nations warned that the Earth’s population was in alarming decline. Leaders of the various nations embraced the news with enthusiasm. Surely this would alleviate the overcrowding everywhere, the relentless using up of resources? They never really questioned the reason for the coming decline: BPA. The academics were shunted to the side, even as the alarm was sounded. Sterility was not a bad thing, it was needed, and they blasted this message from pulpits and dais' across the globe. But they weren’t considering the obvious fact: that this sterility might, in fact, be permanent. The powers that were, were more concerned with the Earth’s dwindling resources, and overcrowding. War broke out again, in the year 2068. It lasted 16 bloody years, and what BPA didn’t balance, the war most definitely did. Billions died, ending the fervored let's-reduce-human-numbers campaign. It was then that BPA’s effects were taken seriously, and way too late. How would the world repopulate? The baby-making generation boom, that usually follows a war, simply did not materialize, and the decimated nations turned to the very scientific communities who had warned them about the effects of BPA in the first place.

  The few Earth males that remained capable of producing the next phase in the human line of succession were found to be lacking in potency. The progeny were as sterile as the rest of male humanity. The outlook was bleak.

  A meeting of the five world leaders was convened at the Palace de Versailles, in the year 2083. The fully restored monolith had become the focal point of political and corporate power, and where decisions on population levels were increasingly made. Conclusions were discussed, and policy was made. The most prominent and noteworthy of these edicts, was the formation of the Fecund Clinic. The clinic, a global entity funded by all of Terran's nations, was responsible for implementing and maintaining a successful breeding program for the beleaguered planet. It would single handedly oversee the grooming, and health care of the fertile women who entered the clinic doors.

  The other piece of the puzzle was garnering the cooperation of the Mars Penal Colony. What started out as a place to send the worst criminals’ since the Australia experiment, hundreds of years before, had turned into a society unto itself. And, as legend would have it; a very unruly society at that. But the Terran’s knew that the Bloods had life-giving sperm, so delicate negotiations were made. For the fertile males of Mars could not only produce offspring, but their offspring’s offspring would almost definitely be fertile as well. The Bloods were crass, violent, and known for getting wasted on Jago-juice; a potent Martian potable that rendered the consumer half mad and outrageously clumsy. A bad experience for anyone standing nearby. Martian made Jago was strictly forbidden in the Haute Society festivities, but the Terran’s conceded to reproducing the mind-altering juice for their rowdy guests; albeit a more tamer, watered down version. The bad boy Bloods wanted their alcoholic luxuries, and the Terrans were so desperate to save their race, that they made this allowance. More importantly, Terra shook hands with the red devil.

  Chapter 4

  Wherever humanity lives--or has lived--complex cultures and subcultures form. Inevitably, the system falls into the haves, (usually the top 1% of the population), and the have-nots (the rest). Some might delineate this phenomenon as Rich v. Poor, which was probably more accurate. Another way to put it: Dem’s what got da gold makes all da rules. Post World War V Earth was no exception. The elite daughters of only the very richest of families were chosen to breed with the hardened, tattooed, often aggressive, Martian males. The pleading request from the Terrans; to choose the males Mars would send, was steadfastly refused by the Blood Empire parliament. The Bloods were vulgar, and had trucker mouths, but they weren’t stupid. They knew they held all the aces in the deck: they were both Breeders and Fuel Suppliers. If Earth attacked the colony with its superior weaponry, they would be annihilating themselves: stalemate. No, the Bloods would chose their own candidates. Terra would have no say in this.

  Heated debates took place, between the two planets, about where and how the event would take place. The Terran's insisted that the ruffians travel to Earth during perihelion, every Martian year, or just under two Earth years. With different orbits--Mars being the fourth planet from the sun--the perihelion brought the world’s closer together, to allow for minimal time deficit, or T-Def, as it was known. The Martians had explorers bl
ood in their veins, so this breeding quest bought them the chance for their own elite to get off the second smallest rock in the solar system, so they could probe the blue marble of Terra. The Blood Empire leaders, although excited about the prospects of travel, and new toys to play with, were hesitant to leave the red planet for too long, because they feared those left behind would try to usurp power. But they travelled anyway, their collective arrogance wanting to drive home the point, that without them, the Terran's would cease to exist. The Bloods asked for a lunar month, and let leaders of Earth believe they had bargained the Bloods down to one week.

  They would arrive two days before the Haute Societe Ball, which lasted five nights, and would leave immediately after the “transaction” was concluded. Rules governing contact between the virile Martian men and young Terran females was limited to the grand ballroom chamber, where the women paraded each day, before the night’s festivities, and a newly added complex of luxurious suites; courtesy of the Fecund Clinic. These ornate suites, known as Socialization Chambers, were used for insemination and impregnation. Or, more like outrageously opulent orgies, of the grandest scale. Very few of the 19 year old women knew what they were really getting into, or what would get into them. They were trained from pre-pubescence to play the vixen, and attract, hopefully, the Alpha, sitting in the First Chair. Beyond that, no education was provided until a pregnancy was confirmed. They were shown how to walk, how to talk, how to laugh and breathe. Every simple motion, turned into a display of allure and sexuality. If, from all this pomp and process, a woman was lucky enough to conceive, then the pregnant subject could expect to experience the best care available.

  The Fecund Clinic was the entity that provided that top notch pregnancy care. The clinic would keep the impregnated women in a secret complex, nestled in the far reaching gardens of Versailles. These women were now true Debutante’s. A French word, roughly meaning: a well heeled young woman making her first appearance in a chic, contemporary society. With child, the women were hidden away in secure, and heavily monitored suites, and examination rooms of the clinic’s Versailles complex. .

  Few knew of the existence of the complex. Away from noisy distractions and prying eyes, Terra’s great hope were pampered and checked, almost daily, by the best obstetricians and gynecologists on Earth. Nutritionists monitored types of foods ingested, how much was ingested, and caloric, cholesterol, and vitamin intake. Stool and urine samples were routinely collected and tested, and weekly sonograms were the norm. Electrocardiograms measured heart and circulatory health while Electroencephalograms tracked brain activity in both mother and developing fetus. In short, all aspects of a Debutante’s pregnancy; from conception to birth, were held squarely under the microscope.

  This wouldn’t be the first time the now pregnant females had languished in the Fecund Clinic’s facilities. They were already more than familiar with the institution, having spent 1 day per week in the clinic’s glittering glass and metal edifices, throughout their tender childhood. Visits to the clinic started at age twelve, as the Clinic wanted baseline data to determine who might best fit the parameters of a successful “breeder”: the name given to the girls by the poor, who would never get a chance to continue a bloodline themselves, unless they won the once yearly HS lottery. The nation’s liked an underdog in the competition. Although only one had ‘won’, since the lottery was rolled out 9 years previous.

  Clinic protocols tracked a candidate from enrollment at 12 years of age, until she joined the cotillion at 19. Menses was recorded; temporal cycle, duration, and typical flow, all were entered into an ongoing log for each future debutante. Reproductive health was likewise tested to determine the likelihood of ovarian, cervical, and uterine anomalies such as cancer, cysts, and endometriosis. Fecund doctors also required that “patients” appear monthly for an InTact (IT) test. To ensure the hymen was still in place and free of tears. For this reason, debutantes were forbidden to engage in activities such as horseback riding, gymnastics, and the like. A virgin wasn’t a virgin if her hymen was not that of a virtuous woman. The Bloods had demanded this virginal feature, in the signing of the treaty. This devilish last request, was what led to final fruition of the treaty, as it would not have been signed without full agreement on this matter. The vast sum of credits paid to the Martian's were not enough; the Bloods would get their virgins. Some Terran's had tried to skip all of the protocol, and had gone as far as covertly contacting prominent Martians via an “agent”, to buy their sperm, when a daughter was rejected or dropped from the Fecund Clinic’s hopeful's. They were almost always found out, and inevitably were forced to lived a life of shame and obscurity, for the transgression.

  The Bloods proved to be excellent sires, as they achieved a 94.58% success rate for impregnation. The harshness of their Martian world made them strong and resilient, and most importantly of all; super studs. A DNA study undertaken 20 years after the first Haute Societe event, found that one Martian could spread his seed amongst an average of eight females in one day. Which was why the Terran fathers all desired, of course, that the life giving sperm come from The Alpha, who occupied the First Chair, and that that sperm be bestowed upon their precious daughter. There was the certainty that the offspring of that child would be able to conceive and continue the family line. In short, the Alpha was a sure bet.

  The Bloods lived by the rule of the jungle, with a strict hierarchy, and few would dare challenge the Alpha leader. An unsuccessful challenger was not dealt with on Earth. Instead he would be processed back on Mars, where Martian Law was primitive and brutish, and where Terran eyes couldn’t condemn the Bloods’ actions. The price paid by any potential challenger to the First Chair seat would be death. If he was lucky. If Tiberius, the current Alpha, lost the challenge, however, well, then he would be relegated to the new King’s Council. The Council wasn’t exactly a hard landing place, but once a ruler has ruled, well, that’s what he wants to continue doing. No Alpha would give up the seat easily.

  Once a Deb had been successfully impregnated – an easy test, conducted each night after socializations – they'd be swept off quickly, to the underground Versailles Complex. It was during their incarceration there, that the head’s of their respective households would busy themselves working on joining their daughters with, what they deemed to be a suitable husband. After giving birth, the new Deb would meet their arranged husband's for the first time, and both parties would sign the Contract of Union in front of the Global Court, and a crowd of cheering onlookers.