Southern Republic (The Downriver Trilogy Book 1)

by Ramsay, Lex

  That was why he had elevated her to head of his household. In the 33 years of their marriage, Eugenia had suffered through hundreds of dalliances, but only twice had he chosen a woman to be her foil so openly. The first was the fair Felicia, who alas had to go on her 10th anniversary.

  Now Sulla was nearing that unfortunate deadline. He remembered how Felicia had begged him to let her stay, begged him to save their children from being separated. Little Boyd and Becky had cried inconsolably when they learned they’d be sent to different protectorates. As twins, and children of Protector Askew, they’d never known anything other than being together with their mother in the Protectorate Compound.

  Now that he considered the matter, it was all so very inevitable that these types of problems arose. It wasn’t his fault. It was the system’s fault. Obviously, the most delectable creatures were selected from the Protectorate Compound to serve in the Protectorate House. And these very same little lovelies were the ones you didn’t want to let go of too soon, hence the ten-year problem. The one upside was that since the prettiest of the women were invariably in this predicament, they were also the easiest to unload on some poor slob who’d had to trade in as well.

  Of course, with great power comes great responsibility. True, he had engendered love in the women who loved him (well, except for Eugenia) and he had taken their love in return. But it was also true that while they were with him, his women had known a joy that would go unmatched in their paltry little lives. That was worth something, ne c’est pas?

  Askew tasted his roast beef and caught his daughter’s eye. Olivia was looking even more ill tempered than usual. He wondered if it wasn’t time to rein her in a little. Askew laughed to himself at his wit, envisioning Olivia encumbered with bit and harness and taking the lash like one of her horses. On second thought, she’d probably enjoy that, the little slut.

  Anyway, his thoughts of Sulla brought him around to his latest quandary. Askew thought back to the last meeting of the Republic Exchange, that tiresome duty of all Protectors in which the tedious bartering for commodities took place.

  For years the members of the Republic Exchange had been grumbling about how other countries were killing them in the market due to automation. There had been a push over the last few months to finally put together a proposal for the automation of the field work, and at the last meeting, they’d heard a presentation by some bureaucratic member of one of the countless committees in the Confederacy.

  “Annual output could increase by 200% with the new automated systems available now.” The lackey had said. “And at a cost of about one-tenth of what you presently expend on the slaves.”

  “But what about the slaves,” Protector Houghton asked. “What are we supposed to do with them, if we go with automation?”

  “The Confederacy is considering our options on that subject and will announce its decision in due time. In the meantime, it’s been decided by the Confederacy to start the process of automating the field by ordering the equipment…”

  “Hold on, now, son,” Protector Matthews from Arkansas interrupted. “You can’t just change our entire way of life by executive fiat. What’n the hell is going on around here? I want a straight answer, son, what are we supposed to do with the slaves?”

  The bureaucrat fixed Matthews with a stare that froze him to his seat, and said in a slow, ominous voice, “The decision is being left to the Confederacy pursuant to our Constitution. When they have arrived at a solution, it will be swift, final and irrevocable.”

  A silence descended on the hall as every member understood the import of that statement. After a few minutes, the chamber started to buzz with questions.

  “Well, what about the S.P.s? We’ll still need household staffs and compound staffs even after the fields are automated.” Askew had said, all the while thinking about Sulla, and all the Sullas yet to come.

  “That’s right!” echoed several other members surrounding Askew, “What about them?”

  “Urban workers can be retrained to serve as domestics. Otherwise, we’d run the risk of mass insurrection once the S.P.s figured out that the field workers were gone. It’s just too risky. Surely you can see that our overall security is worth more than whatever tawdry attachments you may have formed with your S.P.s. And it’s not like you’d go without … domestic help, that is.” The bureaucrat remarked snidely.

  “He’s right,” Protector Beaudreaux of Louisiana said. “If we’re going to make the change, it’s all or nothing. The slaves have to go, all of them. Let’s take a vote on whether there should be any special treatment for the S.P.s,” Beaudreaux suggested.

  They took a shouting vote on the question, with Askew voting right along with the majority. “He’s right,” thought Askew, “much as it may pain me, they’ve all got to go.”

  Askew looked up from his plate into the soft brown eyes of Sulla who was standing near the doorway behind Eugenia’s seat. Askew gazed at her longingly, lowering his eyelids slightly and flaring his nostrils sensuously, with a look of barely suppressed passion in his eyes. Sulla smiled and opened the swinging door into the kitchen, nearly floating across the floor in her contentment.

  Yes, as much as it may pain him, Askew knew that she had to go. He picked up his spoon and started in on his lemon soufflé.

  CHAPTER 11

  ‌Patrick reconfigured the routing sequence of his link and used a new encryption protocol that he had developed a few months ago. It had been standard procedure between him and Relic that every so often, on a seemingly erratic schedule, they would change encryption codes for their web or link communication. Patrick provided Relic with a series of different codes once every three of four months, and they went through the sequence in pre-arranged order.

  No sooner had Patrick transmitted his new routing information to Relic via encrypted email, than a reply bounced back requesting that he call Relic from his new cell phone to a number Patrick didn’t recognize.

  Patrick punched in the number and Relic answered immediately. “Watcher, this is my new cell number, I don’t have any reason to think the old had been discovered, since none of my team has gone missing, but … well, you know the deal.”

  “So what’s up?” Patrick asked.

  “We’ve been following up on the R.A. disappearances and realigning cells to the extent possible. One of the team members working on that project came across a contact that I think we should connect you with. You would replace her cell leader.” Relic paused for a moment. “And she has some information that I wanted you to have right away.”

  “OK, tell me what you can.” Patrick answered.

  “First of all, she’s in the S.R. Apparently living on a Protectorate based on the information she uncovered.”

  “What kind of track record does she have with the R.A.?” Patrick said.

  “She’s been active for the last 7 or 8 years. Pretty solid player from all that I could find out about her. She had her last cell leader for the past couple of years, but we were able to check with her intake trainer and 2 of her other leaders before that.” Relic explained.

  “Has she run missions, or has she mostly been used for intelligence gathering?” Patrick asked.

  “No missions, given her position, it was too risky. But she’s got great contacts for gathering information—folks she grew up with, went to school with, not to mention the circles she runs in. So we’ve mostly used her in that capacity.”

  “And her information has checked out before? I mean, do we have any reason to question her loyalty?” Patrick wanted to assess the source of the information before focusing on the substance of whatever information this contact had delivered.

  “Everything she’s ever passed on to us before has checked out, Watcher. Considering our current situation, everybody is getting a second look. But this one’s solid from all we know about her.”

  “I’ll accept that for now. What’d she have to say?” Patrick’s naturally skeptical nature was even more evident than usual. Disappe
arances of R.A. members had never happened to his knowledge before now. Sure, there were times when contacts had accidents or died, but nothing had ever indicated a conspiracy was behind these events. Now, the ante had just been upped in the high stakes game that the R.A. played.

  “She says that a few weeks ago she heard a rumor that the Confederacy had decided to go with automation in the Protectorates and get rid of the slaves; and a week or so ago, she overheard plans for the delivery of automation equipment for the field work. She tried to get in touch with her contact, but of course, once we realized he’d been exposed, we cut off his cell and link—which had been her only ways to contact him.”

  “Did she identify the source of the rumor?” Patrick asked.

  “Get this, she said it had come from a member of one of the most powerful committees of the Confederacy—the Domestic Products Committee—although she didn’t name names. But it gets better. She also got a copy of a memo that she thinks went out directing the train system to distribute a supply of some kind of nerve gas to the 12 feeder lines that go to each state in the S.R.” Relic finished.

  “So if her information is right, that’s the connection between the train system and the plan to kill the slaves.” Patrick verbalized the thought before Relic had a chance to.

  “What kind of access to tech does she have … you said she was on a Protectorate, right?”

  “I’m sending you all the contact information I have. As far as I know, she has an encrypted cell, and access to the web. But I wouldn’t trust her cell since her leader was exposed; and I don’t know the level of her sophistication on an e-tablet or link. Oh yeah, and get this … her code name is ‘Rebel’” Relic answered.

  “I’ll handle it,” Patrick said, and broke the connection.

  • • •

  Olivia powered up her electronic tablet, logged onto her email, and saw that she’d been spammed. Fifteen messages announcing everything from cures to premature ejaculation to wild party link lines jumped off her screen in the obnoxious colors and graphics spammers seemed to love.

  What was especially aggravating was the fact that since they were interspersed with real messages, she couldn’t just scroll down, highlight the bunch of them and send them off to a cyberspace grave. She had talked her father into signing her up for a couple of stud finder services that emailed her regularly; but instead of depending on him to print out messages delivered to the control room email, Olivia preferred to have copies automatically forwarded to her secret email account as well. These, along with the occasional message from her small network of friends, were the only emails Olivia regularly received.

  As she went about the arduous task of deleting each message, every time she deleted one, she saw a pop up message flash on the screen that was almost too quick for her to catch. In fact, she had deleted 4 messages before being sure of what she was seeing.

  Finally, she was able to read “Special Fare on Train Trip, Call RA4-2626.”

  Olivia had been told that she would be connected with her new contact and to cease all attempts to reach her old contact. At last the R.A. had contacted her.

  CHAPTER 12

  ‌Protector Askew waited until all the other S.P.s had finished their work in the main dining hall to approach Sulla.

  “Come to Eugenia’s dressing room after dinner, I need to see you.” He whispered to her, deliberately brushing her neck with his lips. The urgency of his need was plain, and Sulla felt the rush his closeness brought her, and felt her blood rise to the surface of her skin, as if begging for a caress.

  Sulla noticed, as always, that he didn’t say “my wife” or ‘Miss Eugenia” and instead referred to his wife by the fewest number of words possible.

  She acknowledged him with the slightest inclination of her head, and continued with her task of closing up the Protectorate House for the night. After she’d shuttered the windows, dampened the fires in the study and the dining room and secured the latches on the main door, Sulla slowly made her way up to the second floor, guided only by the scant light thrown off by the lone candle she carried with her.

  As she swept up the stairway, Sulla pushed her thoughts forward to her assignation. She basked in the feeling of power she wielded with Protector Askew, and relished the naked hunger she had seen in his eyes when he’d summoned her this evening.

  She walked with a slow, sensuous roll of the hips as if carrying a treasure between her thighs, and turned into Miss Eugenia’s dressing room with only the whisper that her skirts made as she briskly walked into the room.

  As she placed her hand on the knob of the door to swing it inward, Sulla felt his presence in the shadows. Closing the door and leaning against it, Sulla waited for the embrace she knew he’d been longing for, and that she’d been made for.

  With two long strides, he was on her, pushing her back into the closed door, pressing his body into hers, taking the candle from her hand and placing it on the armoire beside the door. Sulla’s softness yielded to his hardness—the joining had begun.

  “You know I’ve been waiting for this all day, don’t you baby?” He panted into her ear, while using his legs to part her thighs.

  “My Lord you’re the sweetest thing in my entire existence.” He murmured gently, his hands moving from her waist to cup her full breast with his left hand, while gathering her skirts around her hips with his right.

  He pushed up her skirt and petticoat, and pulled at her panties, all the while covering her face and neck with urgent kisses.

  Sulla let out a low moan as he dipped his head to the nipple he had exposed and slipped his arm around her hips to lift her up against the door. She combed her fingers through his hair and stroked his back while he positioned himself under her uplifted body.

  Sulla tried to stifle her gasp as he entered her, but Askew roared his pleasure as if they were the only two people on the planet, much less on the Protectorate, and plunged into her with the savage urgency that he still had for her after all the years they had been lovers.

  Askew held her aloft with his hands around her hips and rocked her hard, then more slowly as they were both building toward release. Finally, after Sulla knew she could hold back no longer, just as she knew that her own climax would trigger his; her breath began to come in rhythmic hiccups.

  Askew’s sweaty face was pressed into her neck, and as he felt her spasms traveling down the length of his shaft, he started to yell hoarsely. His loud moans coincided with her spasms, until they were both matching the rhythm of their loins with their cries.

  Sulla had long ago stopped trying to stifle herself, since he clearly didn’t care, why should she? She let herself go completely, spasming and moaning her pleasure, as he did the same until they were both exhausted and sliding down to the floor.

  Askew covered her face with kisses, telling her how much he loved her and needed her, how she was the only one who understood him and cared for him.

  Sulla felt she was as close to Askew as she’d ever been, and spoke to him from her heart.

  “Sweetheart, you know my time is coming up … my 10 years is almost here. What are we going to do?”

  Askew looked at her through heavily lidded eyes, eyes filled with the languid satisfaction she knew he felt.

  “Haven’t I always taken care of you baby? Askew said. “You know I’ll make it right, Sulla. I’ll make it right for you and for our beautiful children. Trust me to love you the way you deserve to be loved. I’ll always protect you my love. I’ll always be there for you.”

  With these hushed words Sulla felt her heart soar. She knew that she was special. She knew that he would bend the Rules just as he had always done for her.

  She basked in the triumph that was hers, and wrapped her arms around him. She knew her future was safe as was the future of their children.

  • • •

  Eugenia sat ramrod straight with her back against the headboard of her bed, eyes unblinking and fixed on the wall across from her, ears attuned to each sound coming
from her dressing room. She had trained herself to endure these attacks on her pride, on her self-respect, even on her sanity, with the greatest equilibrium she could muster.

  For years now, too many for her to count or acknowledge had passed, Eugenia had borne the unspoken insults from her family, from the staff, and especially from her husband’s paramour du jour. Eugenia had always been taught that a lady was as a lady did. And she was nothing if not a lady.

  Every morning that she rose, awaking from whatever dream she was luxuriating in or being tormented by, it would always come as an unpleasant surprise that she was back to reality—her reality. And every evening when she retired, alone, she congratulated herself for getting through another day.

  She remembered how she used to gaze at her reflection, trying desperately to understand why her husband hated her so. Eugenia was tall and naturally thin, with excellent posture and a clear, unwavering gaze.

  She was nobody’s beauty queen, and never had been; but she had always been pleasant looking enough and had matured into what people used to call a handsome woman. The mousy brown hair that had been the bane of her youth had silvered gracefully, framing her face and her wide set grey eyes nicely. Style, grace, and exquisite taste in all things defined her upbringing and molded her existence.

  Yet it seemed that no matter what pains she took with her appearance, no matter how agreeable she tried to be, nothing ever pleased him, and she had long since ceased to care.

  It wasn’t bad enough that her husband’s whore was running her household, but she could barely step outside into the Compound without seeing reminders of her apparent inadequacy as a wife. Askew usually had his women shipped off to another protectorate when he tired of them, along with their children; but occassionally he kept the children around, or so she’d been told, for the Protectorate was a massive place.