by K. F. Breene
“I know your name.”
“Don’t you want to know my first name?”
“Why would it matter?”
“You need my name so you have something to scream in climax.”
She scoffed. “Not necessary. I never scream. It is pointless and cuts down on reaction time. Only fools scream.”
“Challenge accepted.” His eyes didn’t turn away from hers. “Sure you don’t want to come for a drink? I think the night would be enlightening.”
“I hardly think your chatter would be enlightening. Sadly, the researchers’ intelligence reconstructions have so far failed. Can’t fix stupid.”
His lips tweaked up into a grin. “I’m going to have to try. Something has to be done with you. You have too great of a rack to let it go to waste.”
She set her mat to a faster setting. “I’m three clicks above the Curve. I’m about as intelligent as you can get, enhanced with an excellent array of continuous mind trainers. A lot of money went into my breeding, while you were left to drool down your chin like a dark-age Neanderthal human before the breeding projects began.”
“I’m also three clicks above the Curve, princess. And I’m lethal, hilarious, and great in bed. Give me a night and it’ll be you who’s drooling.”
“Really?” Towel. She grabbed the fabric off the extending arm and wiped her forehead. His shoulders were twitching again. “Your overindulgent sheet antics aside, how could you boast that intelligence while maintaining a post as a stewardess for the breeding project? Directors don’t act as asset guards, in case you are new to your title. They give commands to the people who choose the asset guards. You’re no better than a low-level bodyguard.”
His expression wiped away, now completely blank. Malice sparkled within the blue of his eyes. He clearly did not like her pointing out the obvious. “One does wonder, yes,” he said in a somber tone.
This time her smile was genuine. Point to her.
Pushing the upper hand before he could rally, she said, “Well, while one is wondering, an occupation that will undoubtedly take you decades, I will get back to my jog.”
She was moving to cease the transmission when he said, “You’re out of your league, princess.”
Her finger marginally veered right. And then his jaws clamped shut, the pulsing shock she sent through his implant closing him down.
“Ego will only get you so far,” she said. “Night-night. Cease transmission.” The burning eyes and tense shoulders disappeared from her wall.
She’d probably pay for that.
It was worth it.
“Brace yourself, miss. The craft is arriving.”
Millicent straightened her suit after she stood and prepared herself for the cold blast to her face. It came as expected when the lovely image of prehistoric Hawaii, all large crests and slim-bodied surfers, disintegrated and the glass slid open to reveal a volatile gray day with dark patches that could only mean a violent storm on the way. The door to the craft opened. She froze.
“Good morning, cupcake. Sleep well?”
“Computer, why wasn’t I informed that Mr. Gunner would be on my vessel today?” Millicent asked without stepping forward. She didn’t like the knowing gleam in the man’s eyes.
“I was not authorized to reveal that information, miss. I do apologize.”
“Computer?” Mr. Gunner waited with a half-smile and his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. “You didn’t name your AI?”
Millicent fractionally raised her chin and entered the craft, stopping in front of his outstretched legs. “This is not a pleasure cruise, Mr. Gunner. Straighten up.”
“You like your men erect, is that it?” He threaded his fingers behind his head, his elbows now flaring out to the sides. “Give me a minute. I can comply while sitting as I am.”
The part of her anatomy that had insisted she steal the black briefs from the lab tingled in an irritating way. She counteracted it with a scowl and stepped over his legs. “How have you not been sent to the organ mines? It boggles my mind.”
He tsked. “I think your throne is too prickly. You need to loosen up a little.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Gunner? And don’t say it’s for punishment. The conglomerate would never let you harm a carrier in any way.”
“You’re not a carrier, Millicent,” he said in an uncustomary low, grounded voice. “You are a mother.”
She glanced at the guards in the craft before her eyes shot to the small ports built into her vessel, rigged for sound and sight. And even if those were down, the conglomerate could hear through the implants in each staffer. “I am a carrier, Mr. Gunner,” she said with a warning, feeling the surge of joy burn up through her middle. She squished it down. That feeling was as dangerous as Mr. Gunner’s words. “After birth, this new staffer will belong to the conglomerate.”
“Like you?” His posture stayed light and relaxed, but his body tensed, and his eyes took on that familiar hard edge.
“Yes. Like me. And you.”
His hands came away from his head and then his forearms braced on his knees as he leaned forward. “Did they choose the job you’re in, or did you bounce around for a while before you landed in it?”
Confused, she shook her head. “It . . . was assigned. Like all the jobs. What do you mean bounced around?”
“You were bred for the job you are doing?”
She smoothed her hair against her scalp until her fingers hit off her tight bun, uncomfortable. “Of course. We all are.”
“And you never questioned their choice? You never asked for a transfer to something . . . less violent?”
“What . . .” Her heart started to hammer. Thank Holy, she’d deadened the emotional receptors in her implant.
“You had a knife in that suit. On my first day. You never extended it. Should’ve a couple times, but never did,” he said. Millicent swallowed under the scrutiny of that hard gaze. “When the intruder squeezed the trigger, you wanted to run. A woman in your position should’ve wanted to kill. Your whole job is based on killing. Yet you would’ve taken the passive way out.”
“My job is based on protecting this conglomerate. The weapons I make are in the name of defense.”
“You can scour a department on the other side of the world in a truly heinous way with minimal resources. I’ve seen the effects. Thousands of people dead. Thousands more disfigured for life. That isn’t defense, sweetheart. That’s attack. And you are the best in the world at it. Yet . . . it isn’t natural for you. You are also one of the best in the world at systems analysis and coding, but that isn’t your full-time gig. You get contracted out to do that . . .”
She shifted in her seat, her eyes darting between the guards and the ports. She itched to access a console to fry her chip for a moment so she could erase this damning conversation.
“Why haven’t you asked to be transferred elsewhere, like systems?” he asked.
“I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I do that? These questions aren’t prudent. Are you allowed to breach the privacy code like this?”
“You’ve never questioned their ruling about your career path. You’ve never sat back and thought—this is who I am. This is what I like. What I don’t like. A woman as smart as you, with as much as you have . . . They’d let you do whatever you wanted. Yet you’ve never asked. Why?”
“This is my life. I’m happy in my life. The conglomerate provides for me, and as such, I do the job I was bred to do. End of story.”
He shook his head slowly. “Imagine what you could do if you actually liked your job . . .” He leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “That little stunt last night caused my implant to go offline. I had a swarm of staffers interrupting my . . . activities. They’ll be replacing it with a new implant today.”
She could feel the confusion steal across her expression. “How long did it stay off?”
“Two hours. They found me when it came back on. For some reason, they didn’t
think to track the woman I was with. Just waited until I came back on the grid.”
“Hmm.” She bit her lip, thinking of all the reasons it might have malfunctioned for that length of time. Immediately three possibilities popped up. She pondered each, along with their longer-term implications. “Tell them to hold off on a new implant. I’m nearly ready to roll out another beta. I can add in some modifications so the issue won’t happen again.”
“I’d rather not. I like knowing about the holes. But it was an interesting lesson. A telling one.”
“What do you mean? How?”
He leaned forward again. “You have the key to your freedom in your dainty little fingers, and yet you work diligently to strengthen the cage. I don’t understand you, Millicent.”
“Stop using my first name. We’re not intimate. And what’s the point of freedom? Where would I go? In case you’ve failed to read the reports, being with one of the conglomerates is the only way to guarantee a food source. It’s the only way to guarantee shelter. All the credit you’ve built up? It only works within the conglomerate structure. Out on the street—not even in the air, since the travel-way structures are all owned by one conglomerate or another—you’d have nothing. There are no fields to plant, no forests to pillage. The dirt is contaminated, and those not employed by this company or another are starving. You’re talking nonsense.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Nonsense that’ll get your mind wiped. Leave me out of it.”
“Comms are down right now. No one is recording this conversation.”
“What?” she asked, jolting forward. She glanced out the window—the blue waterfall looked pixelated from this close up—then swiped her hand near the sensor to take down the computer image. Flashing lights on large vessels armed with smart-sighting guns hovered not far away. “What have you done?” Her hand went to her belly. To the life within. “Stop this. They only wait—”
“I know how long they wait. We have ten minutes or so.”
She shot a desperate look at the guards, who were staring at nothing. “Why aren’t they reacting?”
“After my night was ruined, I looked into your work. Sleek little program you’re testing. I’m using the one that cuts out hearing and sight as well as movement. Pretty intense. Like putting a bag over someone’s head and tying them up. Looks like it’s working.” He glanced at the guards. “Anyway, I wasn’t thinking about freedom on this planet.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a natural born with ninety percent of your grid characteristics above the Curve,” he continued. “Some at three clicks, which only one percent of the population can boast. Not only that, but you’re a director. Even if you weren’t allowed to breed, you would be way too expensive to lose. They wouldn’t let you go.”
“You’ve done your homework. But I am breeding, as you know.”
The words died in her throat.
He smiled, clearly recognizing her astonishment. “I’ve given semen on five different occasions. Women are only allowed to carry once, twice max. More is required of them, physically. But males? They can stud us out as many times as they want. It’s nothing for us to produce. A pleasure. Literally. But despite having children out there in the world somewhere, I’m not allowed to be a father. I’m not allowed to see my offspring. To hold them. Or protect them. The most fundamental desire of my species has been denied to me. We are built to reproduce. Biology demands it. We have a pressing urge to continue our species, and I have a pressing urge to guard my bloodline. But I can’t. And if that doesn’t chafe, I don’t know what does.”
“But off-planet . . . It’s filled with brutal savages. All the conglomerate staffers—even the various governments—have been killed. Pieces of their bodies have come back.”
Mr. Gunner chuckled in a predatory way before reaching back and placing his finger over a little gray circle. A console shimmered to life in front of him. “You say you were bred for your job, and then you say things like that. So naive.” He accessed a part of the conglomerate loop she hadn’t rooted around in before. “It’s war, and war creates savagery.” His hands worked within the glowing blue light.
She sat back and clasped her hands in her lap. “All that semen might’ve gone into a soup to create lab borns. Did you think of that? Many of those babies have a dozen fathers. That’s not natural biology.”
The glimmer in his eyes dulled. He looked away. “I’ve thought of that. Resigned myself to it. Which is why I’m still here. There’s no reason to give up a cushy, pampered life. As you know from experience.”
A flare of anger burned bright, but she stifled it as her hand drifted to her belly. “I’ll know the baby, but it still won’t be mine. I still won’t be a mother. Not really. I think your situation is probably the better one.”
“Maybe.” He stared at her for a moment, his eyes intense, before he pushed away the console. His sigh hinted at disappointment, but for what, she couldn’t say.
“Why did you stop us?” she asked, seeing that the craft was moving again. “Why shut everything off and grill me—”
“I didn’t shut everything off, Ms. Foster,” he said in a loud voice, drowning out her words. “There was a glitch. Don’t worry, we’re live now. But this validates the concerns I raised with my superiors. These glitches are one thing with a high-level staffer, but entirely another with a breeder. We just can’t have it. Which is why I really think this is for the best. You’ll thank me in the end, I’m sure of it. Everyone will.” His tone was back to light and teasing. It meant bad things. “I’ve checked you into assisted housing for the duration of your pregnancy, and devised a planned fitness routine for you. Even if you circumvent the program, someone will rush in to keep you on track. Looks like you’ll have to manage from afar after all . . .”
The guards all took a deep breath and surged forward at the same time. They shook out their arms and looked around wildly. Mr. Gunner jumped up, creating a barrier between Millicent and the disoriented guards as the craft entered a large foreign bay. “Calm down, men. It was just a glitch with the implants. More proof that Ms. Foster needs to be checked into assisted housing early.” He turned back to Millicent with a bright smile. “I don’t like to lose, cupcake.” He bent for her hand and then shook it. “This is your stop. Enjoy your time.”
Chapter 6
Trent watched through the glass as Ms. Foster—she didn’t like going on a first-name basis—cried out. Her expression soaked through with pain and determination, she clutched the hands of lab staffers.
“This delivery is longer than usual, is it not?” Mr. White asked, watching the scene among various other top-level personnel.
Ms. Foster fell back against the pillow. Her head rolled to the side, and her eyes stared unfixed at the window, behind which Trent and the others stood. She’d chosen a lovely green oasis for the display.
This was the third birth in the group and two weeks past the delivery date. Trent checked the numbers on the wall. Twenty hours into labor and they were down to the wire. “She’s late, so the baby had more time to grow. Meaning it’s bigger, so it’ll be harder for it to get through the birth canal.”
“Why didn’t they give her a C-section?” one of the upper-level superiors asked, crossing his arms.
“We opt for a natural birth whenever possible,” Trent said, checking Ms. Foster’s vitals. “It is a trying time for baby and mother both, and not knowing exactly how the birth process shapes a human, we try to keep things as natural as possible. But we’re monitoring closely, and if either the mother or baby is in danger in any way, we’ll take that course of action.”
Mr. White shifted and checked the numbers on his wrist. “What of the other infants since delivery?”
“Doing great.” Trent leaned closer to the vitals for Ms. Foster. A twinge of worry niggled at him. She was fading fast. She didn’t have much energy left to push, and the baby’s heart rate was starting to climb. The decision would need to be made soon.
Trent glanced to the back of
the viewing chamber and connected eyes with a lab tech. The woman nodded once and crossed in front of the director of security management to leave the room. The large man in charge of monitoring security for Ms. Foster shifted. He glanced at the departing woman, the screen with the vitals, and then his gaze finally came to rest on Trent.
Trent’s back snapped straight. That look communicated so many things: a warning, the man’s command of the room even though he wasn’t nearly the highest-ranking member in it, and his unveiled threat that if something went wrong with his charge, he’d rip the limbs off Trent’s body in an excruciating way.
“I wanted more information than a platitude,” Mr. White said in a rough tone.
Trent snapped out of his giddy reverie. When he turned back to the scene, Ms. Foster was pushing and the baby’s head was cresting. Elation lit him up. “One infant has not taken to the breast, so the female creator has been excused from further involvement. The other infant is suckling, so the mother—excuse me—the female creator is continuing to be of service.”
The baby’s head worked farther out. “It won’t be long now,” Trent said in a hush, riveted. “And there! Fantastic. I’m amazed every time I see it.”
“I don’t know why.” Mr. White leaned toward the glass as a nurse carried the baby to the washing station. “If my department worked as inefficiently as Mother Nature, I’d be retired immediately.”
“Yes, well . . . admittedly the process seems fairly arduous for the female, with a great many risks, but . . .” He really didn’t have a rebuttal, so he let his voice drift away. Ms. Foster smiled, and tears came to her eyes as she watched the baby being washed.
The stats came through on the baby. As Trent looked them over, he noticed Mr. Gunner stepping forward to get a look at the mewling infant. Mr. Gunner had probably never seen one before. Which wasn’t surprising, given that infants and children were protected and sheltered until they could be put into the workforce, or the clone housing areas. In the Enlightened Ages, the governments had realized the earth couldn’t sustain the continually growing human populace, so they’d clamped down, deciding to engineer life only as needed.
