Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1), Mariana Morgan [epub e ink reader .TXT] 📗

turned and walked back to the computer terminal. ‘Ms Moretti, I need photos of all the Leeches. They have to have something on file. If not, there are cams facing each cell door—get me screenshots!’

***

‘Excellent,’ Ingram said half an hour later. She was watching another six standard-sized cells, each containing up to eight Leeches, pop open. It was an effective machine. By the time Kaal, Ferreira and Al-Qadir had gone through the available ID-style photos, they had identified more than enough coffin cells containing people who were still holding it together. The evacuation was proceeding much faster and smoother than Ingram could have hoped for.

Ferreira, armed with one of the lasers Ingram had secured, was already in the Chimera with the first few loads of Leech ex-slaves. Eddy Xanthos, a medic in his past life, released from E1, had offered to watch and keep them calm. Soon there would be another load to be taken to the hangar.

The system was simple. Open six cells, explain the situation, divide the captives into those strong enough to help, those who could walk and those who required help, and evacuate. Rinse and repeat.

Even the youngest captives understood the seriousness of the situation, and being Leeches used to a tough existence, they set to work as ordered. The hope of freedom shining on the horizon was pushing them to extraordinary efforts. There was little panic or self-pity as they all worked together smoothly under the instruction of the ex-soldiers.

The nano-dispenser on the surface was in constant use, producing materials to rope together simple stretchers as well as basic meds and clothes for those who had nothing covering their backs. Three young Leeches were in charge of that. Their eyes remained haunted and the softest noise would make them jump, but with Al-Qadir standing guard, they felt determined to help.

‘Why did the coffin cells contain middle-aged people, most of whom served in the military, while the standard cells are full of young Leeches?’ Ingram asked Kaal. She had kept him close, needing someone who knew the situation better than she did to bounce ideas off.

‘The standard cells were for the pleasure slaves. Levels minus eight and minus nine were for those currently working the VR brothels. Most of levels minus ten and minus eleven were pleasure slaves in training. The majority of these have been through terrible abuse and were kept under heavy doses of nano-hells at all times. We’re going to have the most trouble clearing these levels, by the way. Level minus twelve housed special cases, or sometimes overflow from the higher levels. The coffin cells, as you call them, ma’am, weren’t for pleasure slaves.

‘Cassandra has been running illegal experiments for years. They’re working on new hallucinogens and psychotropes. They designed the cells to deprive those inside of any stimulation and exercise to stop them from trying to flush the drugs out faster. There wasn’t even enough space to sit up, and the electric jolt you saw was used to punish us for trying to move or roll. Everything in the cell was constant: light, temperature, humidity, a standardised amount of water dispensed at regular intervals. Nanobots would remove waste products. All tightly controlled.’

‘How long were you in there?’

‘This time around, I’m not sure—three, maybe four days. Usually a spell lasted around seven days while the cells’ sensors scanned our bodies at regular intervals.’

‘And then what? You obviously had access to proper food and exercise. The pleasure slaves look far more haggard and malnourished.’

‘They would work us hard in between the spells in the cells, ma’am. Usually they would give us seven to ten days, depending on how strong the nano-cocktail was, to get back into shape. The food was plentiful and high quality. If we failed to reach a predetermined healthy state, they’d turn nasty. I don’t think any of us failed more than once. Being deemed fit for another dose of drugs and a week in a horizontal position actually sounded heavenly after the agony of working the physical inactivity off. Even if the drugs turned you crazy and made you see things.’

Ingram winced. There was something extra chilling about the calmness with which Kaal recalled his experience. It wasn’t all that different from the sarcastic light-heartedness she usually dressed up her memories in, and yet it made her feel sick in a way her own memories never did.

What she had suffered might have been barbaric and inhumane, but it had taken place in broad daylight while the Afro-European Alliance waged war for its very survival. She hadn’t been the only one, and misery always liked company. What had happened to her had been due to semi-official policies. That hadn’t made it okay, but somehow it was less evil. What had happened in Olympus’ basements had been illegal, barbaric experiments with no hope of escape, and the separation from the rest of the world must have felt overwhelming. And it was peacetime, for fuck’s sake.

‘This is fucking terrifying, Kaal,’ Ingram said, vocalising her thoughts without feeling even remotely ashamed at sounding shocked. ‘How much do you know about the pleasure slaves and what happened to them?’

‘Not much, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I don’t have any details, just the things I saw or overheard. But I’ve seen the damage they suffered. They spent most of their waking hours being drugged into compliance and taken advantage of. I won’t be surprised if none of them ever recovers fully.’ He paused to take a deep breath, his eyes on the newest batch of ex-slaves being led towards the lifts. ‘As far as I know, they never left the basements, shuffled between VR playrooms for their shifts and back to the cells. I think the VR playrooms must have worked 24/7, offering all sorts of services to justify the volume of slaves they kept. Those who broke were killed where they stood. Sometimes the guards would have their own fun, knocking them around in the real world as well.’

Memories flashed in Kaal’s brown eyes, and Ingram