Trapped: Chaos Core Book 1

by Lalonde, Randolph

  “So you missed court? You missed the Countess?” Larken asked, brightening.

  “I missed you,” she said. “Maybe some of the clothes, my bed, but I missed you constantly.” His mood was descending as she spoke so she added; “Of course I missed the Countess, she’s like a mother to me, only better.”

  “Good, I’ll tell her, make sure she knows you agree that leaving was a mistake.”

  Anger boiled deep within her, the servants they passed averted their gazes as she walked by. They moved across the platform between the garish fountains and tables filled with ultra-rich guests who wore the most outrageous outfits. Aspen didn’t see any of the servants or slaves she knew, and wondered if they survived the chaos as the machines turned on them, or if they managed to use the opportunity to escape like she did. Those were mysteries she could solve later.

  The main foyer of the palace was four stories tall with a polished black floor that was polished to a reflective gloss. The alcoves along the walls featured many of the fashion triumphs enjoyed by the Countess. Once upon a time, when Aspen was still a child, she would look at those in wonder, marvelling at the creativity and beauty. They looked silly, and overly decadent to her now. Some of the dresses were so complex that the Countess had to be carried from place to place, others had multiple trains that drifted off the ground thanks to some kind of device hidden in the folds of the cloth, and the most embarrassing one – Aspen’s favourite for that very reason – reached up for several metres in fluted lengths of white fabric that came back down again, drooping like a willow tree around the Countess, who always had difficulty maintaining her balance in the outfit.

  Four guards in gilded armour regarded Larken and her as they approached the tallest set of double doors Aspen had ever seen. They were decorated with real gold and platinum filigree that joined in the centre to form the Countess’s house crest – a vine with grapes, a new born and a shield hanging from it. The only symbol that seemed to suit the countess was the grapes, as far as Aspen was concerned.

  This was the main audience chamber, she knew it, and Aspen took one last look around for any means of escape. At a quick count there were two guards standing behind each pillar along the foyer, making for at least fourteen in the room, and they had all the doors covered. There was no way out, she’d have to put up with the horrible creature again.

  “This is our Aspen, returned to us after a long absence,” Larken said. “The Countess wanted to see her right away.”

  “That’s not Aspen, you’re joking. Her hair’s not the right colour, and Aspen would never be so filthy,” one guard said, looking her up and down.

  “Tell her we have arrived,” Larken insisted.

  One of the guards turned his head, the underside of his jaw moving, he was talking into his helmet communicator. They moved aside, the guard who assessed Aspen guiding her and Larken to the side. “Behind the screen, please,” she said, directing them to a screen in an alcove beside the door that perfectly blended in with the finish on the walls. The pair waited there, listening to the sound of the grand doors sliding open with a rumble, then dozens of footsteps walking past.

  Larken never let go of her hand, and he tugged it to get her attention. “I don’t know if I will have a chance to say this any time soon, but I didn’t realize how much I loved you until you were gone. I’m so sorry I didn’t act on it sooner, but they always had people watching us as we were about to come of age.”

  Aspen was about to placate him, but his lips were planted on hers before she had a chance. They were raised together like a pair of swans destined to be paired for life, and he was her best friend growing up. She always thought he was comely before, even used to watch him when she thought he wasn’t looking but after he died – or rather, after she thought he died – she mourned, and eventually allowed herself to start noticing other men. Before long, she realized her tastes leaned towards more masculine fellows, a scar was a story to her, callouses were a sign of a hard worker, and imperfections made some people seem more interesting. She still thought Larken was appealing, but in a way that was perhaps pretty, not handsome. He was emasculated by the cut of his robe, his perfect long hair, and the makeup that blushed his cheeks and accentuated his blue eyes. She’d long since abandoned the quest for cosmetic perfection. Her daily regimen included bathing, and a little colour or gloss on her lips when it wore off.

  His advance wasn’t entirely unwelcome, however, and she let him kiss her, his lips softening against hers as he realized he wasn’t about to be pushed away. He tasted of peaches, and moved his lips slowly, prying, lightly pinching hers. It was much more like the time Sun and her kissed on a lark to tease a few of their crewmembers at a party than anything else. He kissed as sweetly as Sun did, but less firmly. Aspen liked it, she loved Larken even though he still seemed to love the Countess, so she returned the kiss, adding vigour to it, and she licked his tongue forward to play for a moment before gently closing her lips and withdrawing with a smile. “I love you too, Larken,” she whispered, feeling a sharp pang of guilt. “I don’t think the Countess would be okay with this though.”

  “I don’t know. A lot has changed. Things have been strange since we received news that you were recovered, she has been very particular about how I look. There’s some kind of consultant named Panna at court, she scans me often and reports to the Countess in private. Neither of them seem happy about whatever they’re talking about.”

  “I might know what it’s about, but it’ll have to wait,” Aspen said. “Help me get back into the Countess’s good graces. I can’t bear how angry she’s going to be when she sees me,” she said, applying years of stage craft thanks to endless drama lessons.

  “Oh, no,” Larken said, full of concern. “She adores you, this is a cause for great celebration.”

  “The Countess will see you now, come this way,” a tall shapeshifter said. His upper body was a long taper with vertical eyes that protruded slightly, dragging brown-yellow skin with them when they peered here and there.

  “Thank you, Seneschal,” Larken said.

  Aspen didn’t have much time to adjust to the fact that their old Seneschal had been replaced, he’d been a kind man who doted on her while she was at court. “What happened to Arsenault?”

  “He was killed by the artificial intelligence controlling the kitchen,” Larken said.

  “Oh my God,” Aspen said. “I hope it was quick.”

  “It was not. I had to help clean, I don’t want to talk about it,” Larken said.

  They entered the great hall, where the Countess held audience, and the theme of stone pillars in front of walls with deep alcoves was repeated, only the stone was crimson, brown and grey. At the end was a single tall throne that wove those colours together using vines riddled with gemstones. A seven step dais held it above everyone in the grand chamber, where holograms of the Countess’ ancestors haunted the alcoves. Above those alcoves were tall windows, blue skies and a few spiral stone spires were visible but nothing else. Upon the throne sat Countess Valona Tineau Danti. Her garb was surprisingly simple – a long blue gown with a black under layer that showed through down the centre. Fine platinum chains hung down the backs of her long sleeves, sliding against the throne as she stood.

  Flesh crafting had made the woman unnaturally thin and tall. Her face was always narrow and long, but it seemed even more so with a neck extended at least twice that of a normal humans, lengthened arms, legs, narrow hips and a waist that looked like stretched toffee. Special muscle groups, an extended spine and outer support that were added by the flesh crafters while they were making alterations kept it all together. A shock of white hair made her head look even taller, a lattice work jutting up from the shoulders of her dress held the locks aloft for her.

  The Countess was hundreds of years old, the flesh crafting had been taking place well before Aspen or anyone she knew were born. Her family were far, far away, Aspen had never knowingly met any of them, but she knew that the Countess sat far abov
e them in the hierarchy. Outside of her palaces, the woman was universally despised, but she could utterly destroy anyone in her considerable sphere of influence, and Aspen saw it happen more than once while she stood beside that throne. The Countess used the law, blackmail, her own corporate empires, even her own private military to destroy her enemies. She did so often, and with pleasure.

  “The little Autumn returns,” the Countess purred, her tailored voice high pitched but soft. A woman in a simpler, long crimson dress holding a slim, high powered hand scanner walked alongside the Countess. The device cost as much as some small freighters, and it was pointed at Aspen. “What have you done to yourself, girl?” she looked to the guards. “Get that off of her immediately.”

  A button on the back of her collar was pressed and the suit reverted to its inert sheet state, falling off. Aspen caught it just in time, holding it to her bosom but the Countess yanked it off of her and flung it across the room with her inhumanly long fingers. Larken started taking his robe off only to be pushed to the side. “Keep your clothes on, stupid boy,” the Countess said. “I don’t need you for comparison, I can see she’s ruined you as a matched pair, she may as well be some freakish alien. I’ll still inspect her personally, the damage must be assessed.”

  “Yes, Countess,” Larken said, bowing deeply and straightening his clothes.

  This was the essence of what Aspen hated about her life under the Countess. Nothing was hers, even her body was property. The Countess flicked a lock of hair. “Such a common brown colour,” her hand ran down her back. “Pasty pale, and so fat. It is as though you have been hiding under a stone from the sun, getting fat on grubs and worms. Where have you been, child?”

  Aspen waited for the inspection to continue, not expecting that she was being called on to answer a question so soon after entering her presence.

  “Answer me, girl!” the Countess shrieked, her voice not so smooth or pretty.

  “They kept me on a ship, where I had to carry cargo,” Aspen said, the answer was ready at hand thanks to many terrible daydreams where she imagined she was recaptured. “It was very hard.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the Countess said, leaning forward so she could try and look Aspen in the eyes. “They found you at a dance club, you were dressed like a commoner who was looking to breed with some thuggish thing, the way you were writhing against him. I have the footage, but I could barely stand watching it, my stomach is still unsettled. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t leave you again,” Aspen said as pleadingly as she could.

  The woman in the crimson dress tsked and shook her head at the Countess.

  “Lying little bitch,” the Countess hissed. “You’ve gone pale, and chubby,” she said, cruelly pinching skin and a little flesh from Aspen’s belly and twisting, pulling. “You should be bronze, just like Larken and beautifully blonde, innocent creatures of nature. It’s what I paid for!”

  Aspen suppressed the urge to slap the Countess’s hand away, her face turned red by the time she was released.

  “Hair grown too long, and missing entirely in other places, it’s as if you don’t realize how much work it was to have you made. You’re too stupid to realize how perfect you were! Where there was texture and perfect shape, you’ve bulged and made yourself plain. You ‘re not meant to change at a whim like some…” she struggled to find the word.

  Nothing had ever made her angrier than what was going on right at that instant, and even worse, Larken was cowering several metres away, not enraged but terrified. “Like a doll?” Aspen finished for the Countess.

  “No,” the Countess said, whirling at her, pointing a long, thin finger. “You are common, but we will restore you. Consider yourself fortunate that I am willing to overlook your defiance, and that I don’t have to call my flesh crafters to fix what you have done. By this evening you will be standing in your place beside my right coffer. Poor Larken has not been able to take his place at my left hand because it would have set the whole dais off balance, and we even tried to match him with another Aspen, number three. It was a disaster! They had no chemistry, even after months. I tried everything, but it was all fumbling and polite misunderstandings and failed attempts at romance. I even tried to make the match work by killing that Aspen’s mate, but the girl wouldn’t stop moping. A few weeks later she managed to get her hands on a grenade, put it in her mouth and set it off in the garden. We were having an outdoor luncheon! The Duchess of Mir lost an arm, and she still won’t stop talking about it. It was such an expensive waste, but why should I even bring that up to you two, you barely know what money is!”

  Aware that the hand scanner was pointed at her and that her lies would be detected, Aspen gathered all the emotion she could. “I’m so sorry, Countess,” she said and she was sorry, but only that she was recaptured. The weight of the situation couldn’t be more clear to her, and she couldn’t feel more forlorn or afraid.

  The Countess glanced at the woman in the crimson dress, who shrugged, then regarded Aspen. “You are telling the truth, Aspen,” she said, slightly awed. “Was it so terrible being away from court?”

  “Yes,” Aspen said, focusing on how awful it was to be back.

  “Then your repentance may be short, especially if you are obedient in the coming weeks. Larken, give her your tunic and bring her to my own cosmetic aides, they’ll set her right again. Oh, and signal the kitchen. She’s on a strict diet starting immediately, it must be horrible having so much extra weight to drag around. I understand this, perhaps,” the Countess said, waving in the general direction of Aspen’s chest. Then she pinched her hip and her belly, less cruelly but still sharply. “But this extra matter, and those thick thighs. It’s like looking at some fat, plucked flightless bird.”

  Aspen poured extra effort into smiling at Larken as he wrapped his robe around her. “But look,” the Countess said, smiling for the first time since their reunion began. “My summer pair are back together again. You still match, despite Aspen’s unfortunate self mutilation.”

  04

  Bright, penetrating lights were everywhere in the palace beauty parlour. Aspen had blissfully forgotten the ridiculous regimen that she and Larken had to follow to look the way their creators – those capitalist genetic designers – had advertised. She felt as though she had never left once the stylists and specialists descended on her, dressed in white and blue smocks.

  Eyebrows and hair were follicle adjusted so they grew at the right matching pace and colour, then everything was colour shifted to match the lively highlighted blonde colour she was supposed to have. The follicles Aspen had adjusted to her liking everywhere else were reactivated so she would have more, and then they were stimulated so, after a few minutes of furious itching, she was ‘reforested’ as one of the smiling technicians said. Aspen was not amused. “What about my legs? Natural women have hairy legs,” she said, thrusting a calf up from her seat.

  The technician looked at the bare limb, then to the the beauticians to either side, and in half a panic she asked; “Is that in the design?” Another beautician brought up a hologram of Aspen’s legs and shook his head. “Then it doesn’t go on you, dear. We must stick to the blueprint.”

  “You realize I’m going to be dead in two years anyway, right? Like a switch going off, I’ll get painfully sick, my organs will take about a week to fail, and then I’ll be another corpse buried in the back garden, rotting under the lilac trees,” Aspen said, creating the deepest uncomfortable silence she’d ever seen, it was fantastic. “I’ve got an expiry date so all this is really pretty pointless.”

  “Let’s try to keep our composure, luv,” the eldest of the technicians said, plucking an errant hair from her neck. “This will take much longer if you bring dark clouds into the room.”

  There was no escape, not for the moment, Aspen reminded herself silently. Sometimes the only way out was through, not around, not up or over, so she went against every instinct she had for the rest of the d
ay. “I’m sorry, you all work very hard, thank you.”

  “Well, thank you,” the only male one said, he was one of the so-called technicians, which meant he handled the more invasive devices. “We honestly don’t hear that enough.”

  The next hour was one Aspen wished she could forget. Even when they were finished and rubbing a special blend of lotions into her skin – the reward for all the rest – she knew it wasn’t really at an end. The assembly line went on, the makeup artists got to work on her next. To Aspen’s chagrin, the Countess had something special planned that night, and she was to be made up in brown and green dye. “You mean body paint?” she asked when one of the artists informed her.

  “No, my girl, take that robe off. We are to paint you like a wood nymph from ancient lore from head to toe. The presentation for your second debut will be a work of art. Nothing can run, nothing can drip, so it’s brushes and dyes for you. Hold still please.” Those were the last words spoken for a long time as the lead makeup artist and five of his assistants painted her until she looked like some child of the woods. It took two hours for them to do what a bot would have done in fifteen minutes if it were the old days.

  They kept her robe as she was sent on to the next stage, where she hoped they’d dress her, since all she was wearing was green, brown and black dyes. They covered her from head to toe so she looked like she was made from grass and trees but still very feminine – enough so she wished there was a bush she could hide in – so she hoped it was just undercoating.

  “Well, they certainly did their best,” a tall woman covered in fine silver fur sighed. She was of a race Aspen had never seen before, but she liked the big eyes and long, pink nose tipped snout. “I’m sorry dear, your frock is to be very simple tonight, the Countess wants to show you off. Court has been boring this season.”