by Josiah Upton
“I am leading this meeting remotely, because it reduces the distraction from the symptoms of your Hybrid condition – namely, your Appetite.”
“My Hunger.”
“Yes, Zaul,” he says. “Your Hunger. If I were there in person, all members would stare at me like I was a piece of meat, and I wouldn't get very reliable results. If possible, I would even have the containment officers removed. But I suppose there needs to be some sort of physical presence of authority, to ensure everyone follows The Rules.”
“Rule #1!” Rich says, holding his finger up, but Tran interrupts him.
“Not yet, Richard. Let's wait for the others to arrive.”
“You said 'results',” I mention, curious. “Are we being tested right now?”
“In a way. While I lead the meetings, I ask certain questions and record the answers, as well as make note of the interactions between each of you. It's all part of the research I've conducted for the past several years. As Ezra said, I'm over here at the APA Headquarters, in the Hybrid Behavioral Studies lab.”
At that moment the library door opens again, and what appears on the other side immediately claims all my senses. Female Hybrids. Three of them, hairless and gray, white-eyed and blue veined. These traits are what they have in common with the other males and I, but nothing more. Their containment uniforms fit loosely, yet the curves of a female form can be seen. The structure of their faces are different too, with softer features and rounder edges.
But most striking of all is their scent. It isn't the same as a human woman's, yet still very feminine. It travels from the door to me, filling my nostrils, tickling my Lust. This might be harder than I expected.
The females do a better job getting Walt and Rich's attention than Ezra or I do, because the two brothers hoot and holler when they enter the library. Ezra's reaction is more subtle, but he does smile and shake his head.
“What took you so long?” the blue image of Tran asks.
“Sorry,” the one at the front says. She seems older than the other two. Much older. Her gray face is covered with wrinkles, and blue veins darker than anyone else in the room. She must be Quinn, the one Ezra said has been here for over fifty years. I had no idea Hybrids could live that long, but I suppose I've never thought of Hybrid lifespans past my own age. I always guessed the years ended with a bullet through the skull.
“Ophelia was taking another one of her lazy naps, and took too long getting out of bed. One of the officers had to give her a shock just to get her up.”
“Yeah, and it hurt like a bitch,” the second one says, rubbing her fingers across the flesh above her collar. This must be Opha, the one Robert warned me about. “Don't you know I need my beauty rest, Quinny?”
“What you need is to learn some priorities,” Quinn says sternly, “or maybe an ass-beating.”
Opha gives her a sneer. “Whatever. You're just jealous because your birth is closer to The End than it is to today. Past your prime, honey.” Her gaze moves from Quinn to Walt and Rich. “Boys!” she says with a high-pitched shriek, trotting up behind them. She puts her hands on their shoulders, squeezing roughly, then runs her open palms down into the fronts of their shirts. Their eyes roll into the back of their heads, and she gives them each a quick lick on their earlobes. “Did you miss me?”
“That's enough!” Quinn snaps. “You know the Rules.”
She lets go of the brothers, and sticks her tongue out at Quinn. But then she notices me, her hairless brow ridge raising. She curls her lips into a smirk as she walks my direction. It’s like she's coming to attack. I suddenly feel the urge to get up and get away.
“And who do we have here?” she says, running one finger over my back, trotting around my chair until she's standing right in front of me. “A new victim? You're handsome.”
My heart starts beating faster. I've never met Opha before this moment, but my Prisoner can sense her Lust. He and I both know this absolute stranger would be willing to do much more to me if no one else were in the room, an unspoken treaty to gratify our violent physical urges, regardless of the consequences. The Prisoner cackles with delight, but it all doesn't seem right to me. A lump forms in my throat. I've never been in this situation before. Luckily, Ezra stands up and calmly repels her away from me.
“This is Zaul, the new member of Brains Club. Go easy on him.”
“Okay, Ez,” Opha says, backing away with her hands in the air. “But you're being a real Lust-Buster. Just because you don't like to have fun, doesn't mean you should ruin it for everyone else.”
Quinn snaps her fingers and points at a chair on the opposite side of the circle, away from everyone else. Opha gives me one last look, then turns to take her seat. As she walks by the blue beam of Dr. Tran, she passes her hand through the part of the image where his crotch is. He smiles wryly, shaking his head.
“What was that about?” I whisper to Ezra, my eyes still on Opha as she plops down in her seat, a sour look on her face.
“Opha has a Libido Restraint of Level 8. It's almost all she thinks about, all she wants. And she feels it's her duty to Lust with every male member in the Brains Club. As you can tell, she already has Walt and Rich.”
“Lust with?” I ask. Ezra nods. “I don’t understand. How does that not you get a Shock ‘n’ Lock?”
“There are ways around that. The Brains Club is the only time male and female containees are together, and where Hybrids are given the most freedom. Put those two together, and Lusting is bound to happen sometime. In fact, Dr. Tran has almost even encouraged it. He says it would be good for Hybrid health, if only it were allowed. Like the rules are more like guidelines.”
“But what about them?” I ask, looking to the containment officers. They haven’t shocked or shouted at any of us yet, but their faces seem just as stern as any in the Common.
“There's places to sneak off to, times when they aren't paying attention. Or a lot of times, they know it's happening, but just don't care. It's usually when two members are assigned a chore, like Kitchen Duty. You just say you have to get some cleaning supplies from the back, and they don't even bat an eyelash. When they’re assigned to Brains Club, they take orders from Tran, and Caesar isn’t around. They’re a lot more relaxed.”
My gaze returns to Opha. She notices, and licks her smiling lips. I look away. “She called you a Lust-Buster.”
“We Lusted when I first got here. She cornered me during Laundry Duty, wearing nothing but her shock collar. She had some lame excuse about having to wash her clothes, which she thought was hilarious. That was the first and only time. Unlike her, I have some self-control. You just have to ask yourself what you are and aren’t willing to do. If you don’t resolve that now, then the deed is as good as done.”
I can’t resolve that now, let alone think about it. I never conceived this was something I’d have to grapple with in containment.
My eyes move to a third female Hybrid, who quietly walks along the perimeter of the library, a small bundle of books in her arms. Her white eyes are wide and observant, like they’re trying to consume everything they see. I haven't really noticed her until now. “Who's that?”
“Alice,” Ezra answers. “Really quiet, usually keeps to herself. She actually wasn't brought into the Brains Club until she was almost a year in containment. She wouldn't talk, so people didn't know how smart she was. And she almost always has her nose in a book.”
I'm surprised another Hybrid has an interest in reading. I didn't even see that many humans in school that liked to read. And while my affinity for text on bound paper came from having books as my only companions under Gibbs's house, I can only wonder what gives Alice this inclination. If she is as quiet as Ezra says, I doubt I'll ever find out.
No more females enter the library, and the officer standing by the door closes it. My first Brains Club meeting is now in session.
Chapter 14
Zaul
“Alright members, take your seats,” Dr. Tran says. “It's time for
our meeting to come to order.” Everyone is now sitting, except for Alice, who still roams along the library wall, craning her neck to read the titles. Dr. Tran's digital voice clears its throat. “You too, Alice. Would you care to join the rest of us?”
The girl turns around, her wide eyes filled with surprise, then quickly walks over to our circle of chairs without making a sound. She sits next to Opha, who is staring at me, eyeing me as if I were a meal. My Prisoner foams at the mouth, banging his claws against the steel bars, a few of them cracking and coming loose.
My hand instinctively reaches for the Mortetine bottle in my pocket, like I did in my former life, but the uniform I wear has no pockets. With no Mortetine on hand, and these 'Rules' that (unlike the rules in the Common) aren't even rigidly enforced, my Prisoner growls victoriously, insisting that my promise to Genny of keeping my humanity will disappear in the event Opha and I are alone together. This frustrates me, then angers me, and now my Lust gives way to my Rage. I just want it all to stop.
I shut my eyes tight for a moment. Opha must sense my panic, because when I open them I see her giggling. She elbows Alice and points at me. Alice, who has already opened one of her books, quickly glances up from it to me for only a second, before burying herself back into it. She must not be so easily amused.
“Now that we are all here,” Dr. Tran says, “and especially since we have a new member, I think it is important we go over The Club Rules.” He adjusts the frame of his glasses, and looks down at something we can't see, moving his hands over it. Text scrolls onto the image, the word RULES, followed by the number 1. “Rule Number One is...”
“No inappropriate touching,” the group recites.
“Correct,” Tran affirms, making the text appear. “And earlier Opha showed you an example just how to not follow that rule.”
“And you'd better believe if you were really here, Doctor,” Opha says, leaning forward in her seat, “that I'd break all the rules just to hop aboard the Tran Train.”
“We both know we're not each other’s type,” Tran chuckles nervously. “And I don't think Mrs. Tran would appreciate that.”
“She can watch,” Opha says with a smirk. Quinn smacks her sharply on the back of the head. Opha glares at her, but Quinn's attention is back on Dr. Tran.
“Rule Number Two is...”
“Take your medication.”
At that moment one of the officers comes forward with a tray of Mortetine pills, handing some to everyone in the circle. Once he arrives at Opha he grabs his belt remote, as if automatically expecting her to cause trouble. She only smiles, opens her mouth wide and gently places the pills on her outstretched tongue, then flicks them backwards into her throat. The officer shakes his head, then continues down the line.
“At the start, Mortetine was a phenomenal pharmaceutical breakthrough,” Dr. Tran explains, “yet the formula has vastly improved since we began clinical trials a few decades ago. It's more effective, yields more reliable results, and is more affordable to produce.”
The officer arrives at Ezra, handing him two pills. “Fun fact: Dr. Tran is the creator of these wonderful pharmaceutical breakthroughs. He cooked it up using only a couple cough drops, a pinch of cocaine and some coffee grounds.”
“You made Mortetine?” I ask, looking to Tran's image. I'm not sure how many I've ingested over the last four years, but I now have a face to put behind all the stomach nausea, the numbing of my skin and the internal white flashes. Especially all those I've endured over the past few months. Though he wasn't the one putting them down my throat, this makes me regard Tran with some hostility.
“Yes,” he confirms. “However, Ezra's account of its formulation is, obviously, incorrect. If you haven't noticed, he tends to exaggerate certain details. Do we need to have another talk about your tall tales?”
“No,” Ezra says sheepishly, looking down.
“A safe Hybrid is a Happy Hybrid,” Tran says calmly, just like that warbled voice from the pill dispensing station in the Common. “Take your medication, Ezra.”
The officer comes to me next, placing the Mortetine in my open palm. These will unfortunately dull the experience whenever this mystery meal arrives, but it also gives me some relief from my Lust's pull, provoked mostly from Opha's far too forward actions. Down my throat they go.
“Rule Number Three...”
“Don't touch each other’s food.”
The library doors open, and another officer enters, pushing a cart stacked with boxes. Boxes that look just like that one holding pork lungs in Ortega's office. My stomach and throat now burn, and the recent dose of Mortetine answers with a roiling, nauseating sensation. It isn't enough to take my attention off the cart, nor the attention of the other Hybrids in the room. Even Opha, who seemed only preoccupied with her Lust since the moment I first saw her, is on the edge of her seat, her nose trying to sniff out the food.
While pushing the cart to our circle, the officer bumps into the corner of a bookshelf, causing two boxes to tumble off. Ezra quickly rises from his seat. “Let me help you with that...”
“Sit, Ugger,” the Officer barks.
“Please, Officer Howell,” Tran appeals. The man slowly looks up to the projected image. “I ask that we not use the 'U' word in this room.”
Howell brings his focus back to Ezra, sneering. “Take a seat, Number 1759. I don't need any help from you.”
I still have a hard time reconciling between the officers' harsh treatment of Hybrids, and the gracious civility shown from men like Robert Ortega or Dr. Tran. How two vastly separate opinions exist within one facility is a mystery to me. Though I hate it, though it makes me want to rip some throats out, I can almost understand the officers' hatred, and perhaps even Caesar's.
On the other side, Robert explained how he had taken a different path in regards to Hybrids over the years, developing a sympathy for the containees. But I can't figure out Dr. Tran. The friendliness he transmits from the building across the street seems suspicious, as if it only exists for the purpose of his research, or maybe something else. I can't physically smell him, but something about Tran doesn't sit right with me.
“Zaul,” Tran says through smiling lips, interrupting my thoughts – and giving me the eerie feeling he was hearing them. “We attempt to offer a varied selection of animal flesh each time we meet. It both serves the purpose of breaking the monotony for you, and the recording of responses to changes in Hybrid diet for my research. Since this is your first time here, I've had the kitchen prepare something special: bacon wrapped veal medallions in an apple and pork blood sauce, cooked extra extra rare. You'll soon come to see that membership has its privileges.”
The officer places the box in my lap, pushing buttons on the sides that make the top open. The nearly raw ovals of flesh look and smell absolutely delicious, and I feel the urge to scoop it up in my hands and start tearing into it. After all, everyone else in the circle is. And Ezra, the connoisseur (whatever that means) with the high culinary standards, has thrown all restraint away, closing his eyes as he moans between bites.
Gibbs's training doesn't die so easily, though. I turn to ask Officer Howell for some tableware, almost expecting him to buzz me just for looking at him, but his hands are already there, holding a plate, a dull knife and fork. “Director Ortega requested that this be served with your meal.”
The other Hybrids stop eating, looking my direction.
“You eat with utensils?” Tran asks, leaning so close to his camera that it almost seems he'll fall out into the library. “Fascinating.”
“Why do ya?” Walt asks, his mouth full of meat. I notice him and his brother have cloth tucked in their uniform collars to catch the bloody sauce dripping down their chins. They are clearly the sloppiest eaters in the room.
“That's what humans do,” Rich mumbles. “You think you're better than us? That you’re a person or something?”
I am Zaul Jarreux, a normal human.
All eyes are on me, even the officers, awai
ting my response. I don't like the feeling. I avoid their gazes by busying myself, placing the meat on the plate and cutting off my first bite. “I don't know. It's just something I've always done.”
Quinn places her food box on the ground, having already finished eating. “Where were you before this, Zaul? Who was looking after you?”
My undead heart skips a beat. I stick the bite in my mouth, giving me an excuse to not answer. I'm still not ready to break silence on my story, and I'm still not sure how much I can say without crossing Caesar. He may have abandoned his abusive campaign against me, but he made it quite clear what would happen if details got out – punishment befalling Gibbs, Gordon and Genny. And though he isn’t in this room right now, there are surveillance cameras, and two of his officers are standing nearby.
“Ah, yes!” Dr. Tran says excitedly. “Introductions! This is the perfect time to give our new member a little background on each of you. We'll start with Ezra, then work our way around to you, Zaul.”
As I suspected, Ezra doesn't hesitate to start talking. “I'm Ezra, I've been in Territorial for about three years, transferred from a facility in the Former State of Vermont. Before that, my parents were my guardians...”
“Last time you said it was Old Hampshire,” Quinn interrupts.
“The time before that, he said New Dork,” Walt says, scratching his bald head, looking to his brother. “I mean, Old Dork... Old Pork?”
“The Former State of New York,” Opha corrects. “It changes every time, which means he can't remember, or he's lying. Doc, you have his file. Where'd Ez really transfer from?”
“Rule Number Four,” Tran says, the text coming back up on the screen. I thought we were done with these. “Be honest. There is no judgment here. It is Ezra's responsibility to tell his story, and to tell it truthfully.”
“Vermont,” Ezra snaps at Opha. “It was always Vermont. I'm not sure what all of you think I said before, but I'm not lying, and I'm not confused. Anyway, my parents were my guardians before that, but they died.”
