Thisstoryisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsareproductsoftheauthor’s imaginationor areusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactual events,locales,or persons,livingor dead,isentirelycoincidental. All rightsreserved. Nopartofthispublicationcanbereproducedor transmittedinanyformor byanymeans,electronic or mechanical withoutpermissioninwritingfromtheauthor. Cover bybeetifulbookcovers.com
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Tableof Contents
TitlePage
CopyrightPage
CHAPTERONE
CHAPTERTWO
CHAPTERTHREE
CHAPTERFOUR
CHAPTERFIVE
CHAPTERSIX
CHAPTERSEVEN
CHAPTEREIGHT
CHAPTERNINE
CHAPTERTEN
CHAPTERELEVEN
CHAPTERTWELVE
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
CHAPTERNINETEEN
CHAPTERTWENTY
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
AUTHOR’SNOTE
CHAPTERONE
MAGNAR
Itistimetomakeababy.
As much as I would like to postpone the process, my mother is dying and if I inherit the throne withoutanheir,itwill causeunrestamongmypeople.
Historically, the Brune are creatures of habit. They do not like uncertainty or risk. They want to know thattheroyal lineofsuccessionissecure.
Which is why I now stand with my fiancé Lady Jing at the summer home of my future uncle-inlaw,LordKitre.
“Have you ever seen such an extensive collection of vintage human females?” Kitre asks. He motions to the rows of stasis pods with a satisfied air. He is a small, wiry traveler with dark blue skin,dressedinornaterobesthatbrushthefloor.
“No,” Isayhonestly. Ihave never seensucha collection, and the realityofitdisgusts me. Ifind it morallyreprehensible that anyone canownsentient beings – eveniftheyare instasis pods and have noconsciousness.Iestimatethatthereareover eightywomenondisplay–possiblymore.
Over eightywomentrappedinathickclear liquidthatpreservesthem.
All ofthemwear ownershipcollarsaroundtheir necks.
Disgusting.
Purchasing humans is illegal now throughout the Intergalactic Cooperative, but Brune law does not require owners to free their prior purchases. Technically, humans instasis only have rights once theyarereleased.
Myfather, KingTormagtaughtme well. Words cannot be unsaid It is better to be silent than to speak unwisely.
IaskKitre,“Whendidyoustartyour collection?”
“Actually, the collection was started by my grandfather and I have merely added to it,” he says withfalse humility. “Ibelieve thatithas greathistoric value, and Ithinkyou’ll be surprised bysome ofthehumanfemalesthatarehere.”
Kitreisanobsequiousrodent.
Ihave no doubtthathe litters all his conversations withthe phrase “myniece LadyJing, fiancé to Prince Magnar.” And once our babyis born, he will regularlyentertainhis guests witha description oftodayandhow hehelpedmeacquireasurrogate.
Myfiancé Jingurges me forward to see the collectionmore closely. “Manyof themare fromthe RedSandsCompany.Everyoneknowstheymakethebestsurrogates.”
Iinwardlycringe atthe phrase “Everyone knows” because ifa statementoffactneeds bolstering, itismerelyanopinion,notafact.
Butas Ihave oftenbeenremindingmyselflately, Idid notchoose myfuture wife for her abilityto discuss matters logically. I chose her for her aristocratic bloodlines. Jing is a suitable age, with suitable looks and suitable manners. She was the best candidate out of all those travelers I considered, and Ihave knownher since we were children. Her mother is a close acquaintance ofmy mother,andover theyears,JingandImetatvarioussocial gatherings.
Before I proposed, I had the head of our Military Civil Intelligence Serat prepare a detailed background report on her – as well as all the eligible single females in the top 100 families of Allathone. Jing was one of the few candidates who were not addicted to Trig or alcohol, have an eatingdisorder or comefromafamilywithahistoricallypoor birthrate.
Jing is no scholar, but she should be able to converse in public without embarrassing me or causinganintergalacticscandal.
Itisenoughfor me.
As the Crown Prince of Allathone, I do not expect my marriage union to be a love match. My parentsdidnotloveeachother;theyrespectedeachother.
I know for a fact that myfather had several mistresses and years ago mymother dallied withher footmen.Buttheywerediscreet,justasJingandIwill bediscreet.
Ido notcare ifJinghas a fetishfor the natives ofEnsetwiththeir beadylittle eyes and longhairy arms. Biologically, they are unable to breed with Brunes, so as long as she doesn’t pick up some nastyrash,wewill befine.
We will combine her eggs and my sperm and together we will share a lifetime of distant politeness.
As I approachthe pods, I realize that some of themhave surprisinglyancient technology. I grasp myhandsbehindmybackandask,“Dothepodsever malfunction?”
Kitre says, “Occasionally. Whenthat happens, if the humanfemale is viable, she is thenhired to workinmyhome.Oneofmyhousekeepersisahuman.”
I hope he is paying her adequately, but historically, Brunes have not treated humans well, and there are still strong prejudices against humans, with many travelers considering themmentally and morally inferior. Fortunately, those prejudices are gradually lessening, particularly since recent changes in the law have given all the inhabitants of Allathone civil rights – whether they are Brune, Namvire,Katoll,Human,or evenTeek.
Jingtugs onthe sleeve of mycoat and I follow her. As muchas I dislike choosinga surrogate, I prefer tohave a humanwomb,rather thana mechanical one,carrymyfuture heir.Statistically,fetuses haveagreater chanceofbeingbornliveiftheygestateinsidealivingwomb.
AndBrunefemaleshavebeenunabletobear childrenfor over athousandyears.
Choosinga humansurrogate, therefore, is a necessityif we want to have healthychildren. Either we choose a surrogate from her uncle’s collection, or we arrange for another human female –possiblya current immigrant or we could hire one to travel here fromLittle Earth. Freeingsomeone fromacollectionseemstobethemostexpedientandethical choice.
As Iwalkdownthe aisles betweenthese rows ofwomenfullydressed withintheir pods, Inotice their closedeyes andthe attachmentthatfits over their mouths.Itrytoimagine how theywill feel and whattheywill thinkwhentheyare releasedintoa new environmentafter whoknows how manyyears in stasis. I have heard tales of some earth women going mad and others striking out violently when theyarereleased.
“Doyouhaveafavorite?”IaskJing.
She looks over her shoulder, smilingat me. “I do have a few favorites, yes, because I have been lookingatmyuncle’s collectionever since Iwas a child. For years I’ve wondered whichone Imight choosewhenIwasengaged.”
Not for the first time, I wish that my species had valued the health of their offspring more than fashionablefads.
Historians argue over whya narrow waist became the ultimate symbol of feminine Brune beauty but followingthat fashionfor centuries has permanentlydamaged our species, resultingina negative birthrate. Ifitweren’tfor carefullymaintained intergalactic immigration, Allathone would be unable tofunction.
I see fromtheir attire that most of the humanfemales were collected duringthe last few years of Old Earth’s occupancy. But there is one humanfemale wearinga fitted dress that flares out over her hips. Her skirt is wide, and it is crammed into the pod, completelyobscuringthe shape of her lower limbs.“Sheneedsabigger pod,”Icomment.
“Ah, yes,” Kitre says. “She was abducted fromEarth in the mid-19th Century, according to their calendar.Sheismymostrecentacquisition.”
I will not cause scandal over one human female. I say, “I am not an enforcement officer. But truthfully, sir, you must not continue buying these. It just encourages piracy and bad behavior throughouttheCooperative.”
“Iwill bediscreet.”
Discreet seems to be the fashion in the Brune aristocracy. I begin to wonder at the wisdom of choosingtomarryJingifher relativesarecriminals.
But to be fair, I must admit that a good percentage of my ancestors were criminals, too. No one becomesandremainsKingofavastempirewithoutsomeruthlessness.
Besides, ifIdon’t keep Jing, who will Ichoose? Idon’t have time to find a different fiancé and my people would not think well of a ruler who abandons one female for another. It could make me seemimpulsiveor irresponsible.
Human females come in a variety of skin tones – from pale pink to shades of brown – none of themahealthyblue.
Ileancloser tothis one pod.The woman’s skinis pinkish,butIcan’tsee muchofitother thanher face and throat. Unlike many of the other women in Kitre’s collection, she is covered fromhead to toe.Her plaindress has ahighneckwithalacecollar,longsleeves,andtheskirtreaches downtothe floor.
Her brownhair is styled ina knotonthe backofher head witha few tendrils floatinginthe thick liquid.
“Lookather earrings,”Jingsayswithatoneofwonder.
The woman has small, rounded human ears with one set of earrings in her lobes, unlike Jing whosepointedblueearshavesixsetsoftagiumringsglitteringwithjewels.
The human’s earrings are tiny delicate ovals with a blue background and a white silhouette of a humanfemaleheadandshoulders.
“No shorter thanI,” Jingsays, standingcloser to the pod. The contrastbetweenthemis marked –Jingsomodernandthehumanwomansoold-fashioned.Jingiswearingashortskirtandher longlegs are half covered with boots that come up to her knees. In the current style of the day, she has long, shoulder length white hair. Her skin is blue, her ears are pointy. Her very small waist is decorated withajeweledbeltlikemostBrunefemales.
Ilookcloser atthe womaninthe pod. Other thanher dress, she is unremarkable. Averyaverage nose and chin. I have never found human females particularly attractive. Unlike many of my associates, I never obsessed over humanpornviewings or requested humanfemales at the exclusive brothel Ivisitedwithmyfather whenIwasayounger traveler.
The Katoll seem obsessed with humans, considering their females to be the most responsive speciessexually,butIhavenever botheredtomakeapersonal casestudy.
I decide that it does not matter which human female we choose. One will be very much like the next. As much as I would fight to the death to preserve any species’ rights in our society, I do not expect much fromhumans. With a few exceptions, like my own dear Nanny, humans are notoriously impulsive,naïve andoftendevious.Itis our job,as Brunes,tograduallyelevate them,settinga moral standardandencouragingcivilizedbehavior.“Verywell,” Isayfinally.“Ifyouwantthis female tobe our surrogate,Ihavenoobjections.”
Jingsqueals.“Thatismarvelous.”
As we turnto leave, I notice that the female inthe pod has blackstains onone of her hands – on her thumbandtwoofher fingers.“Whatisthat?”
Kitrelooksatdataonhisarmscreen.“Inkstains,apparently.” Itistooblotchyandrandomtohavebeenaddedintentionallylikeatattoo.“Canitberemoved?” “Certainly,”Kitrepromises.“Andifnot,youcanalwayschooseanother humanfemale.” I nod. “That is true. You may proceed, take the human female to an immigration center.” If the humanwomanismador violent,Idonotwishtoseeit.
CHAPTERTWO
LOTTIE
I had the strangest dreamlast night and now I amstanding in a roomwith – well, perhaps I am still dreaming because the people in front of me are blue. It is the oddest thing. Their ears are long andpointedatthetop,likeelvesor impsinafairystory.ButIhavenever heardofsix-foottall elves. Iamstandinginaglasstubeandthick,stickywater isdrainingoutaroundmyfeet.
One ofthe blue elves holds outa hand to help me step outofthe tube. “Welcome to Capital City. How areyoufeeling?”
How odd.Hislipsaremoving,buttheydon’tseemtomatchthewordscomingfromthem.
“You were abducted or taken from your own planet, Earth, in the past. Do you remember what year youweretaken?”
Abducted? Imustbe dreaming. Butthensomeone asks me to please sitdown, asks me ifIwould like somethingto drink. “Iwould notsayno to a cup ofcoffee or tea,” Ianswer. Truthfully, a glass of whiskey might be a better choice given my bizarre situation, but I don’t want to appear less than genteel for mybluehosts.
Someone hurries out of the roomand returns a few minutes later witha cup of hot tea ina bowl withnohandleandIsipit.Ithasastrangeflavor,buttheliquidishotandIappreciateit.
Thephysical touchofthe bowl inmyhands andthe steamthatrises fromaboveitmakes me know thatIamawake,althoughIaminverystrangecircumstances.
Ilookaround the roomand notice thatthe blue people are wearingmatchinguniforms – lightblue trousers and long coats that button up the front. There seemto be several males and the lone female hasthemostastonishinglysmall waist,accentedbyawidebelt.
The blue personnods. “Yes, thatmatches our records. Youwere abducted and sold to a company called Red Sands and were recently found in a storage unit and then sold to a collector here on Allathone.”
The blue person smiles. “Allathone is the home planet of the Brune.” He places a hand on his chest.“Our species.Andyouareinour capital.”
This is amazing to me and fascinating. I had never thought there were other species in the great expanse of space. Or that I would ever be an explorer like Mr. Darwin. I frown. “How far away is
The blue person gives a calendar year and says, “That is according to the Intergalactic Cooperative timeline, which is a different calculation than yours. It has been approximately 652 humanyearssinceyour abduction.”
This seems absurd and yet, well, I will continue to observe and get more information before I decidewhether Ibelievethesepeople.Itcouldbeanelaboratehoax.
Butover the nextfew days, Idon’tbelieve itis a hoax– the entire situationis too elaborate to be a hoax. First, there are dozens of blue people. And occasionally, there are other species as well. In thehallways,Iseeoneyellowishpersonthatlookssimilar toalargelizardandseveral other massive creatures withlightbrownskinand rings ofhair or fur around their shoulders and tails thatlooklike lions.
I learn that everyone does not speak English. Instead, I have a miniature translation device insertedunder myskin,behindoneofmyearsthattranslatesall thelanguagesintoEnglishfor me. ItislikesomethingoutofaJulesVernenovel.
Iamtakento a facilitywhere Iamexamined medically. Ihave a place to bathe and Iamdressed innew clotheswhicharedifferentfromanyclothesIhaveever wornbefore.
Ilove wearingtrousers insteadofskirts andIamgivenanitemofclothingcalleda bra toreplace mychemiseandcorset.Ifinditagreatimprovement.
Ialsomeetwithahumanofficial whopatientlyexplains myrights andobligations ontheplanetof Allathone. She is dressed like me introusers and a high-necked blouse. Her blonde hair is cut short andcurlsaroundher ears.
I can’t help but smile. It is so good to see someone who looks like myself. I shake her hand, grateful for thefamiliar gesture.Itakeachair andsitacrossatablefromher.
She seems tired and I wonder how many women she assists. Elizabeth explains that I do have some rights here as a citizenonthe planetAllathone, butthatthere is no long-termpublic assistance. “Withinamonth,youwill needtofindemployment.”
Inod.Thatmakes sense.InBoston,peoplewhofall uponhardtimes cangetsomeassistancefrom the local parish, but no one is willing to support someone for years if they have the means of supportingthemselves.“Iamnotafraidofhardwork.”
“Excellent. Fortunately, you have some options. Historically, humans have been abducted by travelersfor hundredsofyears.Manyofthemwereabductedassexworkers.” Igasp.“Prostitutes?”
“I have. It is most peculiar. Even with the tightest corset lacing, I could never have a waist that small.”
Elizabeth says, “It is not natural. Over thousands of years, Brune females have modified themselves.” She looks at me closely. “When you were on Earth, were you aware of the different breedsofdogs?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it is something like that. The Brunes valued some physical aspects over others and now theyarephysicallyunabletobear children.”
Ishudder.“Thatisterrible.”
Elizabeth shrugs, not willing to criticize the ruling species. “It is an opportunity for us – for humans–toprovidewombs.”
“How isthatpossible?”
“Perhaps this was not scientificallypossible inyour day, but later there were womenwho chose to be the surrogates for others. Doctors would take anembryo – the spermand egg– fromothers and place it inside the woman’s uterus and then the baby would grow. When the baby was born, it was returnedtoitsbiological parents.”
The truth of the matter is, I never thought that I would have children, because there was never anyone who wished to marry me. After the War of the Rebellion, single men were scarce, and at twenty-sevenIamtoooldtobeaningenue.
Also, I was not foolishenoughto lie withsome manbefore a ringwas onmyfinger. I have seen toomanyyoungwomenabandonedbytheir loversanddyinginpoverty.
“The benefit of becoming a surrogate is that it gives you more time to choose a career. Many women use the time of their pregnancy to educate themselves and become trained in other fields. Some women, of course, go onto have several children, althoughI do not recommend that because I believeittaxesthebody.”
I remember some of myneighbors inBoston, poor womenintheir twenties who looked twice as oldbecausetheyhadgivenbirthtosomanychildren.Butonechildshouldnotbetoodifficulttobear. “Yes,Iwill doit.”
Elizabeth smiles. “Excellent. You have already been chosen by an aristocratic family who will paywell.Thatiswhyyouwerereleasedfromstasis.”
That is good, I suppose, althoughI amnot infavor of a class system. As anAmerican, I feel that every person has dignity and that everyone should be equal. But it is not my place to change Brune society.Imusttakecareofmyselffirstandleavephilosophytothephilosophers.
Elizabeth says, “We will arrange the contracts and then you will move to the Maternity Sector, better knownasBabyTown.”
be emotionally challenging, but I have all day, every day, to do what I please. We live in large buildings, like the best hotels inBoston, but four times as tall, withindividual rooms. The buildings are light and bright, decorated with pastel colors and large floral paintings on the walls – very soothing.
I can read, I can study, I can sit for hours, talking to others about their lives and the history of Earth.IlearnthatEarthdestroyeditselfin2081ina nuclear war.Before everyone died,however,the Katoll – the lionlookingrace – helped thousands ofhumans escape. Their descendants now live ona planet called Little Earth. Some ofmycompanions are fromLittle Earth– others were abducted like myselfandstoredinstasisfor hundredsofyears.
Itis soberingto consider thatImighthave remained ina pod until mybodyeventuallydied, butI havebeenreleased,andIamdeterminedtolearnall Icanaboutmynew world.
And Iamgrateful. Three times a day, there is hotfood ina cafeteria. Isleep ina warmroomwith cleansheets, and Icanwashand drymyhair everydayifIwish. There are beautiful walled gardens whereIcanwalkandenjoynature.
Ihave metsome womenwho were abducted fromEarthas Iwas, and theyare still grievingtheir pastlives.
NotI.
Ihavenever beenhappier.
BackinBoston, Iwas starvingand freezing, supportingmyselfbysewingdoll clothes or working asadomesticandwritingfor thenewspapersbycandlelightintheevenings.
Andnow,Iamfree.
Apparently, there are still some arrangements to be made before I become a surrogate, but I am notinahurry.IamperfectlyhappytoremaininBabyTown.
There is so muchto learnabout this new world and new culture. Inmyday, people travelled by horse drawn carriage or possibly by train. On Allathone, people travel in individual vehicles that levitate and move forward without tracks. I haven’t seenone yet, but there are also large spaceships thatcantakethousandsofpeopletodifferentplanetstravelingthroughsomethingcalledwormholes.
My favorite device is the data screen on my left forearm. By merely speaking to it or pressing buttons, Ihave access to all the informationinthe five galaxies. It is like livinginthe BostonPublic LibraryonBolystonStreet,whichcontainedmorethan70,000books.
Butnow, withmydata screen, Ihave access to millions ofbooks. And Icantranslate books from Germanor FrenchintoEnglishbythetouchofanother button.
I feel as if the entire world of knowledge has opened up to me, but it is overwhelming – like takingadrinkofwater fromafirehydrant.
Several ofthewomenlookoutthewindow.“Ithinkso,”onesays.
“Holy shit. Is that the Crown Prince?” This is from my new friend Dorothy. She lives in the bedroomnext to mine and was abducted fromEarth in the 1950’s. She has short, bright blonde hair and wears red lip paintlike her idol – anactress named MarilynMonroe. Ifind her manners brusque andbold,andIwishthatIweremorelikeher.
Idon’tbother tolookoutthewindow myself,becauseIhavelittleinterestinBrune’sroyal family. IunderstandthatKingTormagdiedafew years agoandnow his wife,QueenErdene,is ruling.Ihave seen photographs and she reminds me of Queen Victoria – a white-haired alien, ornately dressed –butwithblue skinandpointyears. Inher younger years,she was prettywitha tighthour-glass figure, renownfor her minisculewaist.
Someone says, “Prince Magnar did get engaged this year. Perhaps he is arranging for their first child.” InBrunesociety,couplesdonotactuallymarryuntil anheir isbornaliveandhealthy.
Another womantouchesher roundedstomach.“MaybeI’mcarryingtheheir.” “Youwish,”Dorothysaysdryly,andeveryonelaughs. Obviously,itwouldbeconsideredanhonor tobetheroyal surrogate.
For the most part, the biological parentage of the babies carried in Baby Town remains confidential.
The womenaround me gossip and talkfor the nexthalfhour. Outofidle curiosity, Ipress the data screen on my left arm. I see a digital image of Prince Magnar. He is tall, as most of the Brunes are tall,andfit,withshortdarkhair andastrongjaw.
I wonder what he is doing in Baby Town, but since it has nothing to do with me, I darken the screenonmyarmandreturntothecardgame.
Then one of the Brune staff members comes into the room. “Lottie?” she says. “You have a visitor.”
CHAPTERTHREE
MAGNAR
The human female is not what I expected. She is no longer wearing the historic dress from her pod. Now she is wearingwhite, loose pants and a matchingblouse thatflows downto her knees. As shemoves,Icanseethecurveofbreastandhipunder thesoftfabric.UnlikeBrunewomen,shewears no belt around her waist. Her face is clean, free of any cosmetics and her pale pinkish skin glows withhealth. I have never considered a humanfemale to be prettybefore, but her features, especially her bright, intelligent eyes, are attractive. She wears no jewelry other than the cameo earrings that Jingcoveted.Her brownhair hangsdownher backinalongbraid.
Theworker introducesus.
Thehuman’snameisLottie.
She looks atme directly, withcuriosityrather thandeference, whichstartles me. Iamaccustomed todeference.
Lottie sits ina chair opposite to me. She sits quietly, knees together, withher hands restinginher lap. I notice that her hands are perfectly clean now, with no ink stains. Her fingernails are cut short and have no decoration. Most Brune women paint their nails as well as their faces with swirls of color.
“Doyoulikeithere?”Iask.
Shesmilesslightly.“Yes,verymuch.Thankyou,sir.”
Shehasapleasant,melodicvoice.“Iamglad.”
After that, I don’t know what to say, which is strange for me. From my infancy, I have been schooled in polite conversation. But I rarely speak with humans, I realize, and I have never had a private conversation with a human female other than my Nanny before. I clear my throat. “You may haveguessedthatmyfiancéandIareconsideringyouasour surrogate.” Shenods.
“ButIwantedtomeetyoufirst.”
Shewaits.
“I assume someone has explained all the rules to you – the obligations you will have, and that after thebirth,ifall partiesagree,youmayremainasananny.” Shenods.“Ihaveheardofthat,yes.”
“Isthatsomethingyouwouldconsider?”
Shelooksatmedirectly.“Surelythatisfor youandyour fiancétodecide.” It is, but for some unfathomable reason, I want her approval as well. I say, “Yes, and that will depend on whether we think you are suitable. Naturally, that decision will be made later, after the babyisborn.”
She lifts her chin.“Idon’tapprove ofmonarchy,” she says bluntly.“Myancestors foughtagainsta monarchyina war – some ofthemdied. Ibelieve thateveryperson’s voice should be heard, and that democracyisthebestformofgovernment.”
Rather thantakingoffense,Iamamusedbyher vehemence.Ifinditastonishingthata humandares tocriticizetheBruneculturewhenher owncivilizationself-destructedcenturies ago.Isayonly,“You have notbeenonAllathone longenoughtounderstandour government–letalone judge it.Perhaps by thetimeababyisborn,youwill havecometoappreciateour wayoflife.”
Her cheeksflushatmygentlerebukeandshelowersher gaze.“Perhaps.”
Irise to myfeet. “Verywell. We shall proceed withthe fertilizationprocess. Thankyoufor being willingtocarrymychildandIwishyouasafe,happypregnancyandbirth.” Shenods.“Thankyou,sir.”
“If you have any concerns or additional requests, you may contact my secretary.” I hold out my handfor her tobareher datascreen,butinsteadshegraspsmyrighthandwithhers. Appalled, I step back, breakingher hold onme. “Whatever are youdoing?” No one touches me withoutpermission.
Shesays,“Iwasshakingyour hand.Ithoughtthatwaswhatyouweredoing.” “No.Imerelywantedaccesstoyour datascreentoenter theaccessinformationfor mysecretary.” “Oh. I begyour pardon, sir.” She appears flustered as she rolls her sleeve up and bares her left forearm.Shestandsstill assheletsmeenter dataonher screensoshecancontactmysecretaryNaj.
As I do so, I can’t help but notice how good she smells – a combinationof a floral scented soap andtheunderlyingscentthatishersalone.
Oncethattaskisfinished,Istepbackandask,“Thehandshaking.Isitahumancustom?” “Itis.Inancienttimes,menshookrighthands as a matter ofgoodfaith,toshow thattheywere not carryingweapons.”
How odd.StatisticallyBrunesarepredominantlyright-handedaswell. I smile. “I see. But I already know that you do not have a weapon. None of the females in the MaternitySector arearmed.”
From her wry tone, I don’t know if she is joking. I hold out my right hand, wanting our skin to touchagain, if onlyfor aninstant. “ThenI accept your gesture, Lottie, inthe manner inwhichit was intended.
She takes myhand inher small warmhand and gives it a quick, downward motion. “Thankyou, sir.”
LOTTIE
After Prince Magnar leaves, I sink down onto my chair; I feel light-headed, unsteady. My heart beats rapidly. The Prince was taller thanIexpected, atleastsixfootsixor seven, and so handsome. I wishIhadkeptmymouthshutinsteadofrudelyblatheringonaboutmypolitical views.AndItouched him, takinghis hand withoutpermission, whichIamcertainwas againstthe protocol rules. Whatwas Ithinking?
The truthwas, Iwasn’tthinking. Iwas reacting. The momentPrince Magnar entered the room, he tookmybreathaway.
He is a beautiful creature: magnificent with his broad shoulders, high cheekbones and square jaw.
He moves with the grace of an athlete or a professional dancer, but there is a stillness to him, confidenceandpower.
His commanding voice, low and steady, sent ripples of pleasure through me, like no one else before.
AndheistheCrownPrince,for heaven’ssake,engagedtoanother. Hewill never beanythingmoretomethanmyemployer. Imustignoremysillyphysical responseandrefusetolethimfluster me.
CHAPTERFOUR
LOTTIE
Ittakes three attempts for the fertilizationto succeed. Iamconcerned atfirst, thinkingthatImight beatfault,butDorothytellsmenottoworry.“Thesuccessrateisevenworsefor artificial wombs.”
She, like me, is happilypregnantnow, althoughshe conceived earlier, and her stomachis already growinground.
All our physical needs are met in Baby Town, and we are treated like queens. Servants daily massage our bodies and curl our hair. Every week we go the doctors to be measured and prodded, makingcertainthatour littlesurrogateBrunebabiesareprogressingappropriately.
We wear medical bracelets onour rightwrists thatconstantlymonitor our heartrate and multiple other aspectsofour healthaswell asthebabies’.
And thenwhenmypregnancyis one monthalong, Iamtold to packmyfew belongings because I will bemovingtothepalace.
This causes some commotionamongthe other surrogates. I hear murmurs that I ama luckybitch. Dorothysays,“Theyarejustjealous.Everyoneofthemwouldliketobeinyour shoes.”
At our final good-bye, she kisses my cheek, then laughs and rubs at the lip paint mark she left. “Oops.”
Whenarrive atthe palace, Iammetbya Brune woman, a household manager, who escorts me to anelegantsuite ofrooms where Iwill be living.Notfor the firsttime,Inotice thatmostofthe Brunes Ihave metwalkslowly. Idon’tknow ifthis is a physical limitationor a cultural norm. All Iknow is thatImustslow mynatural humanpacetomatchtheirs.
The palace is much more ornate than the buildings in Baby Town. Everywhere I turn, there are expensiveitemsofartasifIaminamuseum.Therearestonestatues–mostofthemblue–aswell as enormous paintings thatcover walls,frescoes ontheceilings,intricatecarpets onthefloor andgilded furniture.
The manager takes me to a massively sized suite with two different sitting rooms that look out over a garden. Ihad thoughtthatIwould be livinginthe servants’quarters, butitlooks like Iwill be moreofanhonoredguest.
The manager is outliningthe rules and schedule ofthe palace, whenwe are interrupted byPrince Magnar himself.
“Your Royal Highness,”themanager saysandbowsher head.
Magnar strides into the room. He is wearinganornatelyembroidered longcoatover pants and is as breath-takingly handsome as I remembered. “Welcome Lottie,” he says formally, in that low sexy drawl ofhis.“IheardthatyouhadarrivedandthoughtIshouldgiveyouatour ofthepalace.”
He nods. “We will beginwitha tour of your rooms and thengo throughthe public rooms. If you haveanyquestions,feel freetoaskthem.Iwishyoutobecomfortablehere.”
Hisbrowslower further withdisapproval.“Areyoualesbian?”
“No,sir.”
“Notthatitmatters,” he says quickly, his countenance brightening. “Itis nota requirementofyour surrogacyfor youto be heterosexual, butIwas merelysurprised. Lesbians were notcommoninyour day,Ibelieve.”
“No, they weren’t. If they were present, they kept themselves well hidden.” I was not aware of anylesbians backinBoston– althoughfrommyreading, Idid know thatsome ancientGreekwomen loved eachother. Iwas quite surprised to meetseveral lesbians duringmystayatBabyTown. Itwas all discussedmatter-of-factlythere.
Most of my prior friends would have been scandalized, but they were from the old Earth, six hundred years ago. I am living in a new age now, and I needed to learn new ways of thinking. Personally,Ihavenoromanticattractiontoother women,butIfinditinterestingthatsomewomendo. Some of the women at Baby Town planned to marry their female lovers and have children through artificial insemination.
Therearesomanydifferentwaystomakeafamilynow.
“Holdstill,”Magnar orders,interruptingmythoughts.
I freeze and he reaches over to myface and rubs his blue thumb over myskin. I hold mybreath. “There was still a small spot,” he says and tilts his head, surveying me with his dark eyes. “There, youlookfine,now.”
“Thankyou.” Iglance downto hide myflustered response. For a second there, whenhe reached over toward me, I did not know what he was goingto do. For aninstant, I thought he might kiss me, whichwasfoolish.
Iclenchandunclenchmyhands,strivingfor composure.
We thenwalkbackto the bedroom, where there is a wall ofcupboards containingclothes for me. “Ihopethatthesewill fityou.Iftheydonot,theycanbealtered.”
Iamastonishedbythedozensofdressesandsuits.“Somany? IdoubtIwill beabletowear them all.”
He tells me that he has arranged for a doctor to be at the palace. “You will meet with her every weektoensurethatall isprogressingasitshould.”
“Thank you.” I am pleased to see that so many of the doctors on Allathone are women. In my time, I onlyknew of one – Dr. ElizabethBlackwell, and I envied her education. I say, “Would it not be wiser for me to stay at the Maternity Sector, where there are multiple doctors and they have a provenhistoryoflivebirths?”
“Oh. Ifit is a tradition, then.” Iworrythat Imayhave offended him. Imust learnnot to blurt out all mysuggestions. Itwas somethingthatcaused me trouble inschool and athome withmyfather. All mylife, Ihave had too manyideas and Ihad to learnthatnoteveryone wants to hear them. Especially notaPrince,whoisaccustomedtohavinghisownway.
His words make me happy, until I remind myself that he wishes to know whether I will be a suitablenanny.Hehasnoreal interestinmeasanindividual.
Aswewalkintoahallway,IaskPrinceMagnar how manyroomsthereareinthepalace.
“Over twothousand.”
More than BuckinghamPalace and the Palace at Versailles combined. “I will not be able to see themall today.”
“No,butwecanseethemainroomstogether.”
Iamsurprisedthata personas busyas he mustbe wants togive me a tour.Magnar has a reserved manner,butbehindthat,heiskind.Isay,“Iassumepartsofthepalaceareofflimits.”
He says, “If you wish to see a room, ask one of the servants and he or she will accommodate you.”
I don’t like his tone. It is true that I have never wanted to dye my hair but being told that I shouldn’tmakesmewanttoconsider it.“Isthatasuggestionor acommand?”
Not for the first time, I regret my impulsive tongue. I cannot count the number of times I lost employmentfor beingtoowillful,toopert.As muchas Iwanttobegenteel andladylike,Ihave rough edges.Ifinditimpossibletobequietanddiscreet.Andobviousbunkuminfuriatesme.
But that doesn’t mean I should be disrespectful. “I am sorry,” I say quietly. “I should not have takenoffenseatyour remarks.Iappreciatetheopportunityyouhavegivenmetobeyour surrogateand now,toliveinthepalace.Thankyou.”
