habitat around them.
Wynne did some quick math. "Your father isn't crippled." And he was past Tetrad.
"My father is impotent. I was conceived in a petri dish. They decided to revert to G2 modifications for me because they were known to produce the desired…" he gave a little smirk her way, "—psychic abilities."
She followed what he was saying quickly enough. "They're throwing us at each other because they want to be able to use your grandfather or father as genetic donors if your genegineering's had further unintended side effects." She frowned. "But can't sperm and ovum be frozen?"
"Not with the genegineering Primumen have."
Wynne felt distinctly horrified, because that was something that would only be known after learning it the hard way. "So you're your father's only child…"
"Because my fellow petri dish siblings failed to survive freezing." He adjusted his glasses. "No offense, but I try not to think about that much."
She imagined he had enough troubling him without also fretting about that.
She frowned. "Why am I an only child? And Bridge?" The colony needed numbers. Wouldn’t their parents have been encouraged to have more children?
He didn't answer for long enough that she thought he wasn't going to. "Bridge was thought sufficiently unintelligent to both encourage your own study and give you minimal distractions to your grooming to be an ideal mate for… a particular person."
She blinked, unsure which was more frightening: That she did have siblings, or that she'd been groomed since conception to be Hector's Partner. "That's… disturbing."
He snorted, which reminded her that he likely dealt with more disturbing things on a regular basis. Like assassinations.
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
"So," she said hesitantly. "The options are to let everyone think you've seduced me or to let my emotions get tampered with until I can't function without you?"
Hector fiddled with his glasses. " Seduce does have more than one meaning."
Wynne had to think through that one, but once she did, she thought she understood. "Make everyone think I'm falling for you on my own, and they'll back off?"
"Temporarily, at least. Hopefully long enough for…" He didn't look at her.
He knew, then, that she would be fleeing Arzon as soon as she could.
She didn't want to hurt him, but saying nothing would only hurt him more in the long run. "I don't love you, you know."
He shrugged. She might've thought it good-naturedly, if he'd not fiddled with his glasses as he did so. "Of course not. You don't know me."
Wynne bit her lip. Pressing seemed mean, but she felt it would be more cruel to put off the conversation. "Don't you know me, though?" Did that mean he loved her?
He stared into the distance. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."
She had the terrifying feeling he was answering both questions, spoken and unspoken.
And when he gave her a sad little smile, she knew he was.
About the Author
Cara Lee is the name used for the dystopian works of Misti Wolanski (who otherwise writes outright fantasy). Technology, biology, propaganda, and the moral implications of all three have fascinated the author since she first noticed how people with power tend to abuse it. She now writes stories that explore control and the boundaries where helpful becomes hurtful, and vice versa. At least, that’s what she does when her cat isn’t trying to sneak sips of her coffee.
Also from Astraea Press
Prologue
They were on their fourth game of poker. The air was tense; they played in silence, speaking only when they had to.
The burly man glanced at the five cards in his hand, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see you.” He took a drag of his cigarette and waited.
The woman sitting next to him studied her hand of cards and sighed. “I’m folding.” She placed the cards face down on the table, crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
They both watched the bald man on the other side of the table. He
Wynne did some quick math. "Your father isn't crippled." And he was past Tetrad.
"My father is impotent. I was conceived in a petri dish. They decided to revert to G2 modifications for me because they were known to produce the desired…" he gave a little smirk her way, "—psychic abilities."
She followed what he was saying quickly enough. "They're throwing us at each other because they want to be able to use your grandfather or father as genetic donors if your genegineering's had further unintended side effects." She frowned. "But can't sperm and ovum be frozen?"
"Not with the genegineering Primumen have."
Wynne felt distinctly horrified, because that was something that would only be known after learning it the hard way. "So you're your father's only child…"
"Because my fellow petri dish siblings failed to survive freezing." He adjusted his glasses. "No offense, but I try not to think about that much."
She imagined he had enough troubling him without also fretting about that.
She frowned. "Why am I an only child? And Bridge?" The colony needed numbers. Wouldn’t their parents have been encouraged to have more children?
He didn't answer for long enough that she thought he wasn't going to. "Bridge was thought sufficiently unintelligent to both encourage your own study and give you minimal distractions to your grooming to be an ideal mate for… a particular person."
She blinked, unsure which was more frightening: That she did have siblings, or that she'd been groomed since conception to be Hector's Partner. "That's… disturbing."
He snorted, which reminded her that he likely dealt with more disturbing things on a regular basis. Like assassinations.
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
"So," she said hesitantly. "The options are to let everyone think you've seduced me or to let my emotions get tampered with until I can't function without you?"
Hector fiddled with his glasses. " Seduce does have more than one meaning."
Wynne had to think through that one, but once she did, she thought she understood. "Make everyone think I'm falling for you on my own, and they'll back off?"
"Temporarily, at least. Hopefully long enough for…" He didn't look at her.
He knew, then, that she would be fleeing Arzon as soon as she could.
She didn't want to hurt him, but saying nothing would only hurt him more in the long run. "I don't love you, you know."
He shrugged. She might've thought it good-naturedly, if he'd not fiddled with his glasses as he did so. "Of course not. You don't know me."
Wynne bit her lip. Pressing seemed mean, but she felt it would be more cruel to put off the conversation. "Don't you know me, though?" Did that mean he loved her?
He stared into the distance. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."
She had the terrifying feeling he was answering both questions, spoken and unspoken.
And when he gave her a sad little smile, she knew he was.
About the Author
Cara Lee is the name used for the dystopian works of Misti Wolanski (who otherwise writes outright fantasy). Technology, biology, propaganda, and the moral implications of all three have fascinated the author since she first noticed how people with power tend to abuse it. She now writes stories that explore control and the boundaries where helpful becomes hurtful, and vice versa. At least, that’s what she does when her cat isn’t trying to sneak sips of her coffee.
Also from Astraea Press
Prologue
They were on their fourth game of poker. The air was tense; they played in silence, speaking only when they had to.
The burly man glanced at the five cards in his hand, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see you.” He took a drag of his cigarette and waited.
The woman sitting next to him studied her hand of cards and sighed. “I’m folding.” She placed the cards face down on the table, crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
They both watched the bald man on the other side of the table. He
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