Volume 1: From the Depths of the Stars
Queer adult sci-fi
Publisher: Self published
On the distant world of Shoar, the galactic corporation, X-TRACT
Unlimited, has discovered a powerful resource; compressed hemoplasma, that has
revolutionized everything from space flight to medicine. Yet, it seems
anything but for the native population of Shoar, as X-TRACT has conquered the
world for over a century and has driven the world into a state of
environmental ruin with a rapidly collapsing population
Jordan Blue, a mechanic struggling to survive from day to day, barely survives
a potentially fatal accident, rescued by the enigmatic Cosmari space mermaid,
Kuvett. Secretive and clandestine, the Cosmari desire to reclaim Shoar, one
way or another.
While Jordan attempts to process their chance meeting, Kuvett sees the
mysteries of the closed off Meritopolis, a massive and towering symbol of
X-TRACT’s control over the planet, unaware of the tensions brewing
underneath the surface between the Citizens of Meritopolis and the populace of
the decrepit Outskirts, where the remaining population of Shoar live.
The APC and the carrier with the decelerator on
it sped down a highway meant for X-TRACT Citizens only. It hugged the side of
the mountain that overlooked the polluted ocean before turning into a straight
run towards Meritopolis. Theirs were the only vehicles on the road as the
afternoon sun peeked through the smog.
“Understood,” Earlinus Rotthart said and placed
the comm back on the side of his seat. “I am sure one of Mr. Szobe assistants
is speaking with the owner of that dilapidated hulk of a repair bay right now.
A waste of time.”
The rest of the guards packed in the back said
nothing. They were not paid to think or talk, after all. Not about the trial
for the repair bay or about the obsolete decelerator that had no real use in
Meritopolis. And certainly not about the pretext that put the repair bay under
scrutiny because of Yzman’s application.
“Disgusting creatures,” he spat. “Why would Mr.
Skum want anyone from the outside is beyond me. No matter. Get us back faster.”
The driver of the APC, armed and armored like
Earlinus’ guards, nodded. While the possibility of any sort of danger to them
was minimal, the odd terrorist or malcontent would always stir up trouble.
X-TRACT would, of course, use all the resources at its disposal to quash any
thought of rebellion.
An earthquake shook the road and rocks tumbled
down the mountainside. Everyone in the vehicles grabbed for anything stable as
the APC rocked every which way. They screeched to a halt in front of a
rockslide covering the highway. The rumbling stopped and left an entire strip
of the road encased in earth.
“What is the meaning of this?” Earlinus
demanded while his guards got to their feet.
“Roadblock, sir,” the driver answered.
“Well, do something about it, now!” He undid
the strap on his seat with a grunt. The APC’s side door opened and the guards
rushed out to assess the damage. He lumbered after them, upset at the delay.
Turning to the driver, he gestured for them to get out and assist. Without
hesitation, they hopped out of the vehicle and joined the others.
While they dealt with the blockade, a
transparent outline crawled out from the wall and onto the road. Without a
sound, it climbed up to the bench of the carrier. It flattened itself beside
the particle deccelerator and remained still.
The last rays of the sun fell past the horizon
when the cleanup crews made it safe for the vehicle to continue. Rotthart’s
attitude had only soured more by the time they reached Meritopolis. The usual
procedures of decontamination did nothing to ease his temper. He dismissed the
guards before he returned to his mansion near the heart of the city.
“Absolutely worthless,” Rotthart grumbled as
threw the doors open. His favorite concoction of strong drinks waited for him
at the wet bar near the entrance. With no servants to bother him, he expected a
nice evening alone in his study.
The sound of something slithering broke his
concentration mid-drink. He turned around and saw empty hallways, with the soft
glow of the electric lamps on the walls. He scoffed at the notion of someone
breaking in. Non-Citizens attempted to sneak in at their peril and left behind
wretched corpses.
When something blocked the lights over him, he
lifted his head and widened his eyes as a shadow tackled him to the floor. The
sounds of struggle punctuated with the sound of a splatter and the hiss of
evaporation.
A moment later, Rotthart marched out of the
hallway and the mansion. He closed the door and turned to the Citizenry Hall,
lit up by spotlights to showcase the large and shiny x-shaped insignia. It was
not the tallest building in Meritopolis, but it was large enough to discern
from the other skyscrapers.
_-*^*-_
“Good evening, Mister Rotthart!” The guard was
supposed to be enthusiastic. That was what he was paid for.
“Evening,” his voice was curt and to the point
when he walked inside. With the same efficacy as the outside of the building,
straight and solid beams of white marble dotted the foyer. Holographic strips
from columns relayed X-TRACT’s fortunes as they grew throughout known space. In
the center, an opulent fountain, laced with gold and quartz, bubbled with
decontaminated water.
“Another late night arbitrating the candidates?”
A guard asked as he accompanied Rotthart to the lift.
Rotthart paused for a moment and nodded. “There
are many that need to be dealt with.” He stepped into the lift and gave the
guard a nod. “If you will excuse me.”
The guard gathered himself at the polite
response, but nodded. “Of course, sir.”
He looked up and around the immaculate white
plating around him as the door closed. His eyes settled on a black dot on the
other side. Curious, he peered closer to find it was a bug. It was small enough
to sit on his fat finger, shaped like a grain of rice with its wings hidden
under its carapace. Antenna waved at him, curious as he was. He turned when the
lift stopped and the doors slid open.
“Excuse us, sir,” a pair of pale men in
decontamination suits announced. They marched in and started to clean the lift
with mops on the ceiling. Large and cumbersome packs with tools attached swung
everywhere as they worked. “Long night, isn’t it?”
Rotthart gave them a half-hearted smile. “Indeed.
I’ll not be long and you can do what you need once I’m done.”
Both looked to each other and then back to him.
“Um, sure.”
Rotthart appeared to not notice their
discomfort, but he would not press the issue. A moment of tense silence later,
the door opened and he stepped out.
“Is it just me, or is Rotthart less… hostile
than usual?” One whispered loud enough for Rotthart to hear.
“It’s your imagination. Watch. Tomorrow, he’ll
be screaming at us before you know it.”
“You’re on.”
Rotthart said nothing as he marched further
onto the floor. White appeared to be the only color allowed in the hallways.
The lights, the walls, the floor tiles were all white. Everything was cleaned
and polished to the point where he felt suffocated from the saturation. The
doors of executives and managers scrolled by as he looked for his office.
“Evening, Mr. Rotthart,” a new voice came from
behind. He turned to see a younger woman, pale as everyone else in Meritopolis.
She wore a white business suit and held a white binder. The translucent tips of
her hair faded to white at the roots. The only color she wore was the deep red
lipstick that stuck out like a blotch of tainted blood.
“Evening,” he answered curtly.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she
asked, curious. When he did not answer, worry crossed her features. “Um, is
anything wrong?”
“I,” he began while looking towards the lift
and to the other doors. “I think I may have forgotten where my office is.”
The woman gave him a sympathetic smile. “One of
those days, hm? Follow me, sir.”
Down the hallway they went until they reached
the last office with grandiose double doors. Like the fountain in the foyer, it
too was laced with gold and quartz. His name was printed on an opal-colored
plaque on one of the doors: Earlinus Rotthart, Meritopolis Adjunct.
“Here, sir.” She gestured with a smile. He
nodded and was about to enter the room when she leaned up to him and whispered,
“I told my husband I won’t be back until late. Do we have time for a
promotional interview?”
Rotthart returned her smile and eased her away
with a single hand. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. There is much to be done. Or else
there won’t be a chance for this again.”
The woman was disappointed, but shrugged her
shoulders in acceptance. “Fair enough, I suppose. But don’t keep me waiting too
long.”
His smile did not falter. “I won’t.”
She turned and walked back to her office.
The doors clicked shut and he sighed. When his
pulse calmed, he looked over his posh and decorated desk. Covered with data
files and the occasional stylus, work had piled up while he was away. He took a
seat in the white, luxury chair and rolled up to the operations screen.
A few cursory key taps brought him into the
general registrar of all registered Citizens. Data branches reported how many
came from offworld to Shoar during the initial colonization period. That number
had ballooned over the years, almost as much as the local populace dwindled.
While it seemed Citizens chosen from Shoar were few to non-existent.
His fingers flew faster while his eyes darted
every which way. He skimmed information on supplies brought to Shoar,
personnel, Labor Reallocation camp statistics, and profit margin projections.
His attention lingered on the Labor Reallocation camp reports for a moment. The
numbers interred, the number of prisoners in operation, resources for continued
operation, and the mortality rate all said very little in regards to the fate
of the people in the camp.
Yet, none of it was what he was searching for.
Then, a ledger of materials under the title of acquisitions caught his eye. It
was a report of excavation, labor control, and disposal of waste. While the
last did not concern him, the first one did. It led to a readout concerning the
exports from Shoar leading him to higher levels of the database.
A request for credentials stopped him cold. He
paused, staring at the blinking cursor in the password bar. He closed his eyes
for a moment before he came to a decision. He typed in the most logical
response.
Denied.
Surprised, he attempted another, closely
related term that could have been an alternative.
Denied again.
A warning popped up beneath the bar, indicating
that another incorrect answer would result in a lockdown and investigation.
His heart raced. He had to get inside, but the
answer could have been anything.
Still, he proceeded with yet another possible
answer, perhaps this one being what the system wanted.
The screen went red as a piercing alarm
shrieked from the walls. He covered his ears, but the sound was so loud it was
hard to stand straight. He had to get out of there, but he lost his balance and
tumbled into the wall.
The thump of boots running up the hallway was
preceeded by the doors swinging open and a squad of Enforcers with their
weapons raised.
“Freeze!” the one in front yelled before he
noticed Rotthart. He lowered the muzzle of his gun and ordered one of the other
men to the desk. He, along with another pair of Enforcers, lifted Rotthart up
and escorted him out of the office.
“Mr. Rotthart, are you alright?”
“No.” He panted as the alarm was cut off at
last. He yanked his arms out of the grip of the Enforcers at his sides. “What
was that?”
“Sorry, sir. But it looks like you tripped the
alarm.”
He frowned deeper. “Since when was that
installed?”
“Well, it was always there, sir. But it was
updated last month. We’ve been seeing attempts from the Outskirts trying to
access sensitive information. It was done on your order, remember?”
Rotthart’s eyes widened and he reared as tall
as he could. “Of course I would remember something as important as that! I
would hope that the alarm would have been more aware so it could prevent
nonsense like this from happening!”
The three Enforcers looked to each other with
visible concern before Rotthart noticed their glances. “Well, if you’ve
anything to say, then say it!”
“Nothing, sir.” The leader shriveled. “Will you
require an escort home? It is rather late.”
Rotthart looked at a clock on the opposing
wall. It was in the middle of the night and he was on edge. “No. And certainly
not from you,” he growled and stomped back to the lift. “As far as you all are
concerned, this did not happen. Are we clear?”
The Enforcers paused as if doubt crept into
what they saw. Rotthart then marched back and jabbed his finger in the squad
leader’s chest armor. “Are we clear?!”
“Yessir!” they all echoed.
His mood dampened, Rotthart strode down the
hallway and past the woman from earlier, surprised at what happened.
When he approached the lift, the familiar
voices of the janitors reached his ears. “Wow! Is that a bug?”
“Yeah. Kill it before it gets a chance to
breed. We’ll catch hell from the higher ups if they ever learn we let something
like that get in.”
“Hey, watch this.” The click of a switch and
the hum of vacuum echoed around the corner. “And, gone! There never was
anything here.”
Rotthart said nothing as he entered the lift.
The janitors looked at him, still unsure what to say. One of them coughed, “so,
uh, did anything happen, Mr. Rotthart?”
He scowled hard enough to display his rage. “What
do you think?” he growled.
Both janitors froze at his glare. When the door
closed and lift descended, the tension was thick to the point of suffocation.
Rotthart stared at nothing while the two janitors edged closer to the wall.
When their stop arrived at last, they whisked
their way out more frightened than they had ever been. Rotthart did not follow
them, though the urge to berate them was there. The doors closed again and the
lift continued as he smoldered.
A glance at the wall showed no trace of where
the bug was not too long ago. Faint signs of heat radiated off of the panel.
When the doors opened, he marched under the watchful eyes of Meritopolis. The
guard wished him a good night, which he responded with an irritated grunt.
Through the streets and back to the mansion he walked alone. The occasional
drone or patrol craft broke the silence of his footsteps. The lights between
the buildings and houses were more subdued than usual. Yet, they still managed to
display how clean everything was.
He shoved the gate to his mansion open and
slammed it behind him. He had to hold in a grimace as he was about to tear off
the door by the hinges. Instead, he closed it with more care than it deserved.
He stomped down the corridor to the study. He barged into another Rotthart
sitting at the desk.
The real Rotthart sat languid and stared at the
ceiling with his eyes smothered with a dark blue substance.
The second Rotthart’s form shifted to someone
else. Features and colors changed until an angered Cosmari took his place.
Kuvett floated over to him with a large snarl and a rumble in her throat. She
grabbed his neck and spat a glob of purple gunk onto his face. It seeped into
his skin until there was nothing left. “If anyone asks, you were at the
Citizenry Hall.”
“Yes,” he drawled, despite the grip she had on
his windpipe.
She let go and floated over to the door. She
turned back to him with contempt in her eyes. He would fall asleep and remember
nothing as to what actually transpired that evening. He would return to his
pampered life of excess and apathy. She gripped her hand until it shook. “Everything
about you compels me to kill you where you sit,” she hissed between her rows of
sharpened teeth, “but not yet. That will happen soon enough.”
He could not hear her. He would not hear her.
He never would. That would not matter once she had no need for subterfuge. She
slid her way out of the study, her form vanishing when she reached the
entrance.
Free of Rotthart’s mansion, she sped through
the buildings unseen and back to the entrance. The one she entered was attached
to the highway Rotthart had used. A large number of heavy transport carriers
rolled in, with night guards guiding them through. Curious as she was about
their contents, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Kuvett slid
across the walls and around the edges of the gateway as another vehicle rumbled
in.
She spared a final glance at the long
procession that reached back towards the mountain. She would soon discover what
they spent so much effort to hide.
About the Author
C.D. Clark, when not perpetually stuck in mentally rewriting earlier works,
takes care of his cat, Ninja as they both struggle just to make it.
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