by Ava Sinclair
I stare in awe. The vessel is moving over a verdant landscape I’ve only glimpsed in books. Open fields, rolling hills, and trees—not scrubby, bare skeletons but actual trees. And there’s water, too, but I’ve never seen water like this. It’s not murky brown, but clear, the surface sparkling in the sun.
The vessel slows to a glide. We pass over several glass and metal buildings as we head to one made entirely of gray stone, its architecture familiar from history books. Six columns grace the front. There are more windows than I can count, each reflecting the surrounding landscape.
Past the building, the vessel descends until it stalls. I hear a deep thrum and crane my neck. Down below, the earth is opening. The ship descends to settle in a subterranean cavern.
The sound of clanging redirects my attention away from the window. The matron is looming over me, banging a metal stick against the frame above my head. When she stops, it leaves my ears ringing.
“I’m about to hand you over to start your new life, but first I want you to keep in mind what I’m about to tell you.” I subconsciously jab my tongue against the inside of my lower lip, running it along the split, willing myself to remain calm. When she’s satisfied that my expression is set on neutral, she continues.
“Do you know what you are?” She cocks her head, studying me as if I’m some sort of insect. “I know what you think you are. You think you’re a rebel. You think you’re a holdout who will one day claim her… own destiny.” The last two words are accompanied by a flourish with her hand, as if the mere notion is something to be whisked away. She tucks her double chin to her chest, sneering. Her next words are delivered with false sympathy. “The truth is, you’re trash— a throwaway, an orphan whose parents bred and died, leaving you with nothing but the spirit of defiance and the lie that became your miserable life.” Then she smiles, and somehow that’s more frightening than her glare. “However, by the mercy of the Patriarchy, you are being given a chance at redemption. Here, you’ll be given guidance and discipline and—should you prove worthy—a chance to assimilate into society as the woman you were created to become.”
“I’m going to undo your restraints,” she says. “Once I do, you’ll walk with me off this ship and take the first step towards a new and decent life.” She pauses. “Any questions?”
I can only think of one.
“Where are we?”
“My dear, you’re in a place designed to reform people like you,” the matron replies. “Welcome to Paternas.”
Five
Roman
“Roman!”
It’s my first time on Paternas since the project began, but hearing a familiar voice call my name makes the first step in my journey feel real. Gavin has been here three months and is making progress with his ward.
“You’re looking well.” As Gavin approaches, he flashes me the dazzling smile that would have won him his pick of any woman in the time before financial status decided who would marry. “Still hitting the gym, I see.”
I grin. “I could say the same for you.”
Gavin and I were both star athletes in our college days, and neither of us has changed much. We’re both still fit, having chosen steady exercise and a good diet in place of the readily available enhancements more men are preferring.
“Trust me. You’ll need your stamina for what’s ahead.” An expression of gratitude accompanies his easy smile. “It’s not the easiest route, but I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity you’ve given me and others here, Roman.” He pauses. “But I have to ask…with all the women who must be beating down your door, why would you want to join us luckless bastards?”
I choose my words carefully as we move from the loading dock to the main bay where the transport vessel carrying my ward has just arrived. “Maybe privilege of my class is overrated, Gavin. There’s something to be said for a challenge, especially for men like us.”
Gavin nods in understanding. Every married man in New Bethel will happily boast to being in control of his own household. What he won’t say is the truth: the submission of his wife was ingrained by the system long before he even met her. New Bethel wives submit to the order of things.
Men like me and Gavin are naturally dominant, principled men. These are traits shared by all of the men selected for the program. This is by design. Paternas works best for men who desire the natural submission of a woman, not submission resulting from social autopilot.
“How are things working out with your ward?” I ask.
“My Trina is a work in progress.” He glances over at me. “But it feels like providence, Roman. I can’t imagine I could have ever felt about any woman the way I feel about her.”
“That’s just what I want to hear,” I reply. “I think men of our class have lost sight of the core fundamentals of relationships. We wanted to return to tradition, but marriage should be a process, not a script.”
Gavin nods. “If your ward is anything like mine, she certainly won’t follow a script.” He grins, then grows serious. “I wonder how our wards will react when they are reunited?”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Gavin. I have to get her to accept her new reality before we remind her of what she left. Has Trina been reunited with any of the others?”
He nods. “Yes. But she’s embraced life here.” Gavin sighs. “It’s not an easy process. You may have to control your tendency towards sympathy and mercy, Roman. It can be heart-wrenching. The resistance is so ingrained in these women. If your experience is anything like mine, you’ll find she pushes you as far as you push her.”
We’re at the door to the bay now. Gavin has extended his hand. “Good luck, Roman.”
“Thank you.” I shake his hand. He doesn’t have to tell me I’ll need that luck. My female isn’t just a rebel, but a rebel leader. As I exit the room, I pull out my CommuniPort, checking for a status update on my ward. She’s been moved to intake.
It won’t be long now before I meet her.
Six
Kit
I’m told to keep my eyes to the front as I’m hustled from the ship and through a bay door to a series of hallways. The big woman, who finally identified herself to me as Matron Blunt, has a vice-grip on my arm, and I’m barely able to keep pace with her long-legged stride. In spite of her orders, I dart my eyes to the left and right, taking careful note of what I see as she pulls me along. A strong sense of direction was necessary in the Warrens, where a bomb blast or natural collapse of an old building could block a tunnel. Ever since I could walk, I’ve made note of the path I’m taking.
Here it’s easier. The doors are different colors, and the matron carries a ring with three cards in the same color as corresponding doors. We are only moving through the doors with red marks on the side. She opens them with the red cards. Each door leads to another hallway. In the fifth hallway we come to a blue door, which she opens with a blue card.
“You’ll wait in here.”
That’s all she says as she shoves me inside. The door clacks shut behind me. I look around. The room is windowless, with pale green walls. The only light comes from a recessed rectangular fixture. There’s a mirrored orb beside the light that reflects my distorted image back to me. There’s a metal cabinet against one wall. I walk over and tug on the handle. It’s locked. On the other side of the room is some kind of small chamber with an opaque door. It’s locked, too.
I go back to the main door. There is no handle, just a slot for the card that opens it. There’s no way out. Damn.
The door opens again, and I feel a surge of apprehension when I catch the gray of the matron’s uniform. But it’s not the same matron. It’s a different one. She doesn’t speak at first. She just looks me up and down.
I keep my eyes on her as she pulls a device from her pocket. She moves her finger across the surface.
“C24-16P.”
“Kit.” I find my voice, which sounds odd to my own ears now.
“What?” She lifts her eyes.
“My nam
e is Kit.” I crane my neck to see the screen she’s studying. I’m not C.…whatever.”
She drops the device back in her pocket, crossing her arms as she regards me. She’s nearly as tall as the matron who struck me, but lean and willowy under her somber gray attire. She has high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Where the other matron’s graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, this woman wears hers in a sleek, ebony cap— the boyish cut emphasizing her feminine features.
“C24-16P,” she repeats. “It’s merely an identification. ‘C’ for Caucasian. Twenty-four represents the age determined through your hair sample. 16P identifies you as the sixteenth Paternal Ward to come through the program.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Really?” She says the word with a bemused detachment, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out what looks like a pen. “Hold still.” Before I can react, she presses the tip briefly to my injured lip. I feel a tingle followed by an odd, pulsing numbness. When I press my fingertips to where the skin was split, I don’t feel the cut. She holds a small hand mirror up to my face. “All fixed. See?”
I’m astounded. There’s no sign of the injury. She drops the mirror back into her pocket. “You’ll discover a lot of wondrous things here, things that are different from what you’re used to.” She falls quiet for a moment. “I’m Matron Lang.”
When I don’t reply, she turns to the wall and pushes a button. A screen descends, displaying some kind of grid. I see the label I was given among them. “I know you have a lot of questions about why you’re here and what’s going to happen to you. But don’t ask me to explain. My role for the moment is to get you ready for the physician. But first” —The C24-P16 flashes red on the screen and she push it— “you’ll have to get cleaned up. You’ll need to disrobe for this part.”
“Disrobe?”
“Yes. It means undress. And put this on.” She hands me what appears to be a piece of soft plastic. “Over your hair.”
“Why?”
She crosses her arms. “Because if you don’t, I’ll call Matron Blunt. I believe you’ve already met her. She loves recalcitrant wards. Do you know what that word means?”
“Yes, I know what it means.”
“Good. Then you should also know what the word ‘sadistic’ means but judging by the state of the lip I just repaired, I don’t have to tell you that it’s an apt descriptor for my colleague. So, you have a choice; you can either put your hair under this cap and undress, or I can call her, and she’ll happily strip you down. Or worse.”
Pick your battles, Kit. My inner voice is urging me to be realistic. Still, I manage a glare as I take the cap. Leaning forward, I put it over my head, gasping in surprise as it balloons slightly, drawing my hair up and under it before suctioning tightly to my head. In the sphere on the ceiling, my reflected image looks bald.
“Now the clothes.” Matron Lang walks over to the chamber and opens the opaque door. “Once you’re naked, come stand in here.”
I turn away from her, pulling my tank top over my head. The front is torn from where it ripped when I pulled away from the first snagger before the second tackled me to the ground. I kneel, undoing my boots before hooking my fingers in the waistband of my khaki pants. They’re my favorite— former military issue camouflage, and the most dependable garment I own.
“The pants.” The matron sounds impatient. I glance over my shoulder and push them down. I avoid her gaze I step into the chamber. There are spray heads on the sides and ceiling. A shower. As the door shuts, I brace myself for jets of water.
That’s not what happens.
I hear a hum and look down as the floor under me opens, leaving me standing on an open grate. At the same time, there’s a loud click followed by a whooshing noise. There’s a fan under me, drawing warm air around me in a powerful downdraft just as the spray heads start to emit some sort of heavy fragrant steam. My skin begins tingle all over, and now I know why my head was covered. My body hair— every piece of it, is loosening at the root. I cry out in shock as the shed hair of my extremities, underarms and pubic area falls free to be suctioned down through the grate in the floor.
It happens so fast that I barely have time to react before the fan turns off and the steam is replaced by the water I first expected. The cap on my head feels like it’s loosening, when in fact it is dissolving into some sort of gelatinous soap.
“Close your eyes.” The matron’s voice pipes into the chamber, but I’m already doing just that, gasping as the water hits me from every angle, washing loosened dirt from my hair and body down the drain.
When the water stops, I’m hit by a blast of air. Whatever dissolved into my hair has somehow untangled my dark tresses, which fly around as the unrelenting fans blow me dry. When everything stops, the silence is almost deafening.
The door beside me opens. The matron is holding out a white shift, which I quickly take and pull over my nakedness. I’ve never felt so clean, nor so vulnerable. Under the soft garment, my denuded body feels naked, vulnerable. I’m especially aware of the smoothness between my legs. I’m as bare as a baby.
I’m also angry.
“You have no right.”
“To the contrary, you’re the one without rights.” The matron staring at the pocket device again, ticking something off. “Feel free to take it up with management.” She turns her attention back to me. “You need a robe.”
The matron walks back to the cabinet; as she does I catch a flash of color on the little metal table by the shower stall.
Her key cards. She must have pulled them out of her pocket. I glance at her in disbelief. How stupid is this woman? She’s rummaging through the cabinet, talking to herself. “I’m sure we have something in your size…let me see if there’s down here.”
I don’t wait. As she kneels to check the lower shelf, I snatch up the cards, slip the blue one into the slot and slam the door behind me, locking her in. I don’t take time to ponder her recklessness. I’m running now, searching for red doors. That’s how I came in, so that’s the way to get out. As each one opens, I glance right and left. Each empty hallway feels like an answered prayer. We came through five red doors. I counted them. I’ve been through three. The next one will take me to an ante-room leading to final door opening to the bay. I’ll have to be more careful. There’s bound to be people, but I’m small and good at hiding. I’ll tuck myself away somewhere out of sight, then maybe hide out on one of the shuttles I saw when we entered the bay.
It’s a loose plan, but the best I have as I go through the last door that leads to the ante-room. The lights were on when we came through, but they’re off now, and I find myself in inky darkness. I feel around, looking for the door to the bay. I find it, find the slot. I push the card into it. My heart is hammering in my chest, but instead of the door opening, the room floods with light.
And I’m not alone.
There’s a man here with me, sitting on a chair as if he’s been waiting for me. Although he’s wearing a suit, I can see that he’s muscular and broad-shouldered. His long legs are crossed. He has dark hair and dark, unreadable eyes that stay fixed on me as I frantically try the card again.
“You might as well give up. It won’t work.” He stands up and walks over me. He’s tall, really tall. I try the card one last time before backing away. There’s nowhere to go, though. He holds his hand out, indicating I should give him the cards. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. And anger. Whoever this man is, he’s right. The markings, the key cards, the matron’s carelessness. It was a trick, and I played into it like a desperate fool.
He takes step towards me. His hand is still out. I draw my arm back. The ring with the cards is the only weapon I have. I glare up at him.
“You’ve already made one error in judgement, young lady. Don’t make another.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, and throw the keyring to the floor. In the instant it takes him to note
where they’ve landed, I’ve zip around him. The big man turns, but by then I’ve gotten to the chair. It takes all my strength to lift it, and I use my weight to spin in a circle, aiming the chair at his lower legs.
I’m fast. But he’s just fast enough to avoid the blow.
I stagger, the trajectory of the chair throwing me off balance. When I regain my footing, he lunges, grabbing me by one arm and the chair by the other. We struggle, but he easily wrests the chair away from me. It clangs against the floor as he sets it down.
“Let me go!” My cry of rage reverberates around the small room as sits down and pulls me over his lap with terrifying ease. The force of my midsection impacting his hard thighs driving the breath from my body.
I’m trying to process what is happening. I feel cold air on my bottom and legs, my eyes widening in shock to realize he’s lifting the hem of the white shift. I’m completely bare underneath and I reach back, desperate to pull the gown back down over my exposed bottom. I lose the tug of war for the hem of my shift and focus now on squeezing my legs together. I know what men do to women, although I’ve never been with a man.
But what he does isn’t at all what I expect. Having effectively restrained me by pinning one arm behind my back and trapping the other between my body and his, he raises his hand and brings it down hard on my bottom in a searing swat.
“Fucking bastard!”
It’s my first invective, but he doesn’t acknowledge it verbally. His response comes in the form of scalding strikes that drive heat through the layers of skin on my backside until my resolve dissolves into screams of pained fury.