“Gota, your collar. Calm down, please,” Vorcia implored, reaching out for her.
“It’s not fair! I’ve been through so much-” Rhylie put her face in her hands as she began to choke on the words. She struggled to breathe for a moment before taking several deep breaths to regain her composure. A knot formed in her throat, making it difficult. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can even do this. It’s too much.” Vorcia stepped back from her warily.
“Gota, I am doing all that I can to help you, but you aren’t doing anything to help yourself. I need you to restrain yourself and calm down,” she said. Rhylie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I know, Empress,” she said as she looked up at her. “I’m trying…but…”
“I am going to proceed with the rehabilitation, Gota,” Vorcia responded. “The others gave the responsibility to me, and there is nothing they can do to stop it now. They can only voice their objections. But if you fail, they will use it against me. Against us. But there are still many questions that remain unanswered about humans that will need to be explored thoroughly in order to find the solutions.”
“Thank you Empress. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this…for everything. I don’t think I can,” Rhylie said as hope flourished within her once again. It had been so long since she had felt hopeful about anything.
“Just do your best, Gota. Be strong, and do your best, and you cannot fail,” Vorcia said in her matronly tone. “I must be going. I have been somewhat neglectful of my other duties recently. I have appearances to make, things to authorize and such. Rest up, the doctors will be sending for you soon.”
Vorcia turned and exited through the door as it swirled open. Rhylie picked her cat up from the floor and held it in her lap, scratching its ears in silence for a long moment, until the Chamber spoke.
“Why do you continue to think of yourself as Rhylie?” it asked, almost hesitantly.
“What? How do you know that?” Rhylie asked, standing up. She felt shocked, violated. Her cat fell to the floor and ran across the room and into the corner. It wrapped its tail around its feet and just sat there, staring at her.
“I know everything you think and feel,” the Chamber responded. “I know your real name even though you’ve told no one else. I know your favorite color is green. I know the name of your first boyfriend and your last boyfriend. Chiro and Ryan.” Rhylie stood there in stunned silence.
“That’s not right!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms over her chest and rubbing her upper arms with her hands, trying to wipe away the chill. She felt as though she had been invaded in an indescribable way.
“The Masters will not be happy if they find out,” the Chamber responded. “I am only trying to protect you.”
“Just stay out of my head! That’s…freaky!” she said, sitting back down on the couch. She put her head in her hands and rubbed her scalp through her short brown hair.
“I cannot do that,” the Chamber responded. “I am ordered to observe and protect you. I cannot disobey”
“Fuck,” Rhylie said.
“That’s a bad word,” the Chamber replied sternly. “Do not let the Masters hear you use such language.”
“Fuck the Masters!” Rhylie screeched. “This is bullshit! I can’t live like this!” The walls of the apartment flashed between darkness and light, disappearing and reappearing. Reality began to tear around her, flickering jagged triangles flashing on the walls and floor as everything began to press inward. She suddenly felt claustrophobic.
“Don’t-say-such-things-things-things-” the Chamber stuttered, seeming to hang up. The living room around her vanished, replaced by an endless void. “Conflicting-direc-tives. Pro-tec-tion-protocol-over-ride-ride-riding.” Rhylie looked around herself in horror as the darkness began to shiver and crumple, closing further in on her.
White-knuckled, she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, but the rush of adrenaline hid the pain. Her cat rolled around in the darkness, in the throes of spasms, convulsing, almost as though it were playing with a toy. But there was something unnatural and robotic about its movements, as though its back were broken and it couldn’t remember how to stand properly.
“Must-protect-must-protect-pro-pro-pro-protect,” the Chamber continued to stutter as the darkness closed in on her, and began smothering her. It was like mud, but it wasn’t wet. It began to press down on her and there was no air to breathe. She opened her mouth and darkness flooded it, choking her. It invaded her nostrils, penetrating her sinuses. She struggled to inhale, to move, to do anything. She was slowly having the life constricted out of her.
Suddenly the darkness withdrew, vanishing, and the apartment came back as the walls expanded around her. Rhylie’s cat ran over and began rubbing against her leg. Her palms were wet and stinging. She rubbed them on her pajamas, leaving red smears.
“Speaking against the Masters can be punishable by execution,” the Chamber said. “But my first protocol was altered to protect you. This conflict will not occur again, but they must never know what you have said in here this day. Never say that around them. Never.” The voice was deadly serious. Rhylie reached down and picked her cat up, cradling it. The whole experience had been more than unsettling.
“I won’t. I won’t. I’ll do better, I promise. I will,” she murmured into her cat’s fur as she nuzzled it.
“Good,” the Chamber responded. “I have one question. Would you prefer I called you Rhylie, or Gota?”
“Gota,” said Rhylie as she said back down on the couch, continuing to cradle her cat.
“Good,” replied the Chamber. “That will keep you safe.”
6
Days turned into weeks as Rhylie waited in the Chamber for the doctors to send for her. She was beginning to go stir-crazy when finally they did, after being isolated for so long with only the disembodied voice to converse with.
When they did send for her, she was strapped once again to a table before she was allowed to leave the Chamber. She was carried through several tubular corridors of dull gray that were washed with a sickly, scintillating light. It was a far cry from the pomp and elegance she had seen on display in the times she had been paraded before the Masters and Galactic Commonwealth.
She was brought into a sterile white room that was made stark by a bright light. It took her a moment to realize that it was the same room where they had awakened her from cryostasis. The doctors were already waiting on her. She recognized the Siirocian woman from when she had been brought out of the pod. She would never forget those eyes of crushed red velvet. The doctor was wearing a veil this time.
“Do you remember me?” the Siirocian asked after the table had settled into position. She had a slightly odd accent, different from Vorcia’s. It was a clean and pronounced dialect. “I remember you.” Rhylie was cut off before she could respond. “You killed my colleague. My mate. My lover.” The voice had none of Vorcia’s melodic quality, and the threat was clear. Rhylie was suddenly afraid.
“Where is the Empress?” she asked desperately. The doctor smiled in response, her mouthful of needled teeth on full display.
“Her Eminence won’t be joining us. She doesn’t have the…resolve for this part of the process,” she said, almost murmuring. Rhylie’s heart began racing in her chest.
“What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?” Rhylie asked, her voice panicked. She struggled against her bonds in vain.
“Why, we’re going to attempt to rehabilitate you dear,” said the doctor before shrugging. “But I have my doubts about the probability of success.” She smiled again, menacingly.
“I…I want to be rehabilitated,” Rhylie said. “Please help me. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry.” The smile disappeared.
“Not sorry enough, my dear” the physician said, barely whispering loudly enough for Rhylie to hear. Her blood went cold.
“No,” Rhylie started to say but she was cut off again.
“Remove her c
lothes,” the doctor ordered and two of the other physicians in the room moved to obey. They were more gentle than the soldiers had been, but they still managed to nick and scrape her up some in the process with their rough hands and sharp fingernails. Her favorite pajama bottoms and t-shirt were discarded somewhere out of sight. Her nipples pebbled in response to the cool air, and she squirmed as she tried to close her legs, but her bonds would not allow it. She felt vulnerable and exposed again, but this was somehow worse.
“What kind of rehabilitation is this?” Rhylie asked as she finally settled down on the table. She continued to struggle sporadically against her restraints.
“Before we can begin the rehabilitation process, we must perform some tests on you. We must know your capabilities before we even attempt it.
“What sort of tests?” Rhylie asked. This was going from bad to worse quickly.
“Just a series of biological and psychological parameter checks, to make sure you are healthy…and sane,” the doctor said.
“What?” she asked. She didn’t like being talked about as if she were some sort of ship undergoing diagnostic maintenance.
“Let’s test your pain thresholds, shall we?”
“W-what?” asked Rhylie.
“Biosync her nervous system,” the doctor commanded.
Hairlike, white tendrils emerged from the table and slid into her skin along the length of her spine with a slight prickling sensation. Rhylie’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened in response as an icy chill traveled up her back and shoulders, spreading to her extremities.
“Initiate Epidermal Overload Level Ten, Simulation Fire,” the doctor said and pain flared throughout Rhylie’s body, sending spasms of agony through her in waves and torrents. Blisters arose on her skin, covering her body from head to toe. She could feel them on her face, her breasts, her thighs. Each one felt like a searing hot coal burning into her flesh.
Screams howled forth unabated from her mouth, gurgling and raw as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body twisted like a ribbon on the wind as it was wracked with convulsions. The blisters began to burst, spewing forth clear, watery fluid as the pain grew steadily. Every second that ticked by slowly, endlessly, ground themselves together to form what felt like a lifetime of torment.
And then as abruptly as it had flared up, it was gone. Sweat poured from her, and she shivered, suddenly cold. How much time had passed? She had no idea.
“W-w-why?” she managed to choke out through the sobs.
“We must know,” the doctor responded. “What you are truly capable of, and how you will respond to it. These tests are only preliminary to the rehabilitation process.” The thought horrified her. They couldn’t do this to her, it was inhumane.
“Pl-l-l-ease. I-I-I-” she stammered.
“Shh,” said the doctor. “We are only getting started with the tests.”
“N-n-no no no no n-n-no,” Rhylie begged. The doctor smiled again.
“Initiate Skeletal Fracture Level Ten, left forearm and right shin,” she said as she watched Rhylie hungrily. It suddenly occurred to Rhylie that she had no idea what Siirocians ate.
The table wrapped two pairs of bands around her left forearm and around her right shin. The straps dug in, gripping tightly and hardening before they twisted violently in opposing directions. The sound of her bones breaking echoed like gunshots through the room.
Rhylie howled wordlessly, from a deep and primal place that she had never known existed, her eyes bulging. The doctor spoke again, but Rhylie couldn’t hear over the sound of her own screams. She thrashed around on the table as more needles entered her arm and calf near the green-stick fractures. She felt them pumping something soothing into her. It was an icy cold sensation that warmed as it spread throughout her entire body. The pain subsided, but tears continued to roll nonstop down her cheeks.
“You are quite resilient. You showed an excellent response to our regenerative treatments,” the doctor said, sounding disappointed. “No wonder the assassin could not kill you while you were in the Chamber.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Rhylie sobbed hysterically. The doctor licked her lips with her fat, forked tongue.
“Initiate Sexual Response Level Ten,” the doctor commanded methodically. Sexual pleasure exploded through Rhylie’s body, forcing her eyes to roll back into her skull. Her hips bucked involuntarily as she orgasmed harder than she ever had in her life. She squirmed on the table as her nipples hardened and pebbled. She struggled to close her legs, to fight against the cascading pleasure as it rolled through her body, but her restraints were unforgiving and merciless.
And then it was gone, leaving her gasping and heaving for breath. Her mouth was dry and her thighs and ass were wet. She began to weep softly.
“Very interesting,” the doctor said. “Sothu would love you.” She laughed mirthlessly.
“Please, no more. Please,” Rhylie begged as she wept. The tears were getting harder to come by.
“We still have more exams, Gota,” the doctor said.
“I just want to go home,” she begged. The doctor laughed.
“You have no home, Gota. You have nothing. You are nothing. And if I have my way, that is all you will ever be,” the doctor said.
“No no no,” Rhylie said. “Please no. Please let me speak with the Empress. Please.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Gota,” the doctor replied. “She has instructed me to not involve her in these proceedings. She wishes to remain blissfully unaware of the lengths I must go to rehabilitate you properly. She has a gentle soul, and it makes her a kind and benevolent ruler.” Rhylie closed her eyes and continued to weep softly, without tears this time. Her eyes felt swollen and cracked. She just wanted to curl up into a ball and go to sleep forever.
“I hate you,” she said softly. She didn’t care if the doctor smiled at her or not.
“Initiate Disease and Infection Procedure Level Ten,” she heard the doctor say. Fever, followed by chills wracked Rhylie’s body. Boils sprang up on her flesh, growing and pulsing like living creatures until they erupted with a rancid, thick pus that filled the room with a foul smell.
She began to dry heave violently, but there was nothing for her stomach to give up but a thick, bitter foam that filled her nostrils and choked her. The sores on her skin began to trickle blood, slowly at first, gradually growing into a slow, steady flow that pooled on the table around her.
Her sense of time was lost to her in fevered dreams. It could have been moments, it could have been hours, but to Rhylie it felt as though several lifetimes had passed before her symptoms eventually began to fade, leaving her skin pocked with scars. She was weak and dehydrated, but alive.
“Yes, you’re very resilient,” the doctor said, obviously disappointed. “A susceptible immune system, but with a rapid response. Both frail and enduring as a race.” She waited for a response, but Rhylie wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. After a long pause, she issued another command.
“Now let’s test gestation,” the doctor said. “Initiate Reproduction Level One.” More white cilia emerged from the table, sliding into Rhylie’s hips and thighs. Within minutes, her stomach began to swell, growing round as the skin on her belly stretched tight. Her eyes widened in horror as her breasts began to grow firm and ache. Something twinged deep within her belly, as though it were making a home in the recesses of her pelvis.
“Unfortunately, we cannot undo this part of the process,” the doctor said. “But your tests are finished for now. Return Subject Human Three to her Chamber.”
The table lifted and carried Rhylie from the room and out into the corridor. The door swirled shut behind her, and the table brought her back to the Chamber, where it released her.
She spent the next several hours on the couch, sobbing and cradling her cat with the lights turned out.
7
Rhylie couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to move. Her mouth was parched and her eyes were swollen and sore from crying again. He
r cat lay beside her on the couch, purring as she nuzzled it. Death can’t possibly be worse than the life I’m living, she thought before pushing it away. She still had something to live for. The tests and medical trials had continued daily for weeks as far as she could tell, though they had switched to a more psychological nature, increasing in intensity. She had begun to suspect that the doctor was torturing her for the fun of it, forcing her to deal with her fears on an intimate level, and quickly reminding Rhylie of her failures, usually with harsh, painful discipline. Her pregnancy had progressed rapidly as well. Time was quickly losing meaning. Everything was quickly losing meaning. Even the child growing inside of her was becoming a twisted, aching reminder of the hopes and dreams that she had lost. But the baby was all she had left. The doctors had refused to tell her the gender. She was beginning to think they weren’t doctors at all. Vorcia had not visited her once during all of the tests.
“You need to eat, Gota,” the Chamber said. “For the baby. It will be here soon.”
“I will soon,” she murmured into the cat’s soft fur. “I just want to lay here.” The baby was the only reason she had kept eating. Without it, life would not be worth living.
“You should bathe as well, you have developed a significant coat of oils and salt,” the Chamber chided. “If I had a sense of smell I would be thoroughly offended.”
“I don’t care if I’m dirty,” Rhylie replied. “Nothing matters anyway.” She was tired of crying.
“Why would nothing matter? I don’t understand,” the Chamber responded.
“There’s no one to be clean for. I don’t care if the Empress or the doctors see me like this,” Rhylie said sitting up on the couch.
“I can fabricate someone for you to care about,” the Chamber replied flatly, without a hint of emotion.
“I…I don’t know. No. That’s weird,” Rhylie responded. “It’s not right. This doesn’t even act like a real cat.” She sighed.
“What do you mean?” the Chamber asked.
Nascent Decay (The Goddess of Decay Book 1) Page 5
