Nascent Decay (The Goddess of Decay Book 1) (6 page)

“How are you going to rehabilitate me?” Rhylie asked, unsure.

“Oh, dear sweet child, you needn’t worry about that right now. You need your rest,” Vorcia responded sweetly. “When you awaken, you will be as good as new. Siirocian regenerative therapy is the most advanced in the galaxy.”

“I’m still scared,” Rhylie said. “What if I fail the rehabilitation? What if I’m not good enough, or strong enough?”

“That is the wrong way to think about it, Gota,” Vorcia responded. “A better question to ask would be why…why can’t you succeed at being rehabilitated?”

“I just…I don’t know,” Rhylie admitted. “I knew some good people. I thought I was one of them until recently. Now I don’t know anymore.”

“You’re simply confused, Gota,” Vorcia replied. Soon all will be made clear. You will be rehabilitated. You must. You are the hope of your people.”

“That’s what scares me the most.”

Rhylie woke up in the Chamber, on the couch, when the door swirled open without warning. Vorcia entered, dressed in gray robes with dark red lace trimming. The material seemed to shimmer softly. Rhylie fabricated a chair for her, but she remained standing instead.

“I have been speaking with the other Masters,” Vorcia began unceremoniously. “They are concerned about the assassination attempt, and fear what may come about if you are successfully rehabilitated.”

“What does that mean?” asked Rhylie. She didn’t like the sound of it.

“Riddai is campaigning for your execution,” Vorcia replied. He says you are too much of a threat to peace and civility to be allowed to exist, much less be rehabilitated if possible.” Rhylie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I believe he may be who sent the assassin that attempted to murder you.”

“If I’m not allowed to go through the rehabilitation process, Empress, then what?” she asked as her brow furrowed with worry. She felt sick again. It seemed as though every time she tried to stand up, she got her feet swept out from beneath her.

“Then you are to remain a prisoner in the Chamber for the rest of your life,” Vorcia said, frowning deeply. Rhylie ground her teeth together in anger.

“But I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me! They can’t do this to me!” she wailed at Vorcia, balling her hands into fists. The walls of her parent’s apartment seemed to shimmer for a moment.

“Gota, your collar. Calm down, please,” Vorcia implored, reaching out for her.

“It’s not fair! I’ve been through so much-” Rhylie put her face in her hands as she began to choke on the words. She struggled to breathe for a moment before taking several deep breaths to regain her composure. A knot formed in her throat, making it difficult. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can even do this. It’s too much.” Vorcia stepped back from her warily.

“Gota, I am doing all that I can to help you, but you aren’t doing anything to help yourself. I need you to restrain yourself and calm down,” she said. Rhylie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I know, Empress,” she said as she looked up at her. “I’m trying…but…”

“I am going to proceed with the rehabilitation, Gota,” Vorcia responded. “The others gave the responsibility to me, and there is nothing they can do to stop it now. They can only voice their objections. But if you fail, they will use it against me. Against us. But there are still many questions that remain unanswered about humans that will need to be explored thoroughly in order to find the solutions.”

“Thank you Empress. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this…for everything. I don’t think I can,” Rhylie said as hope flourished within her once again. It had been so long since she had felt hopeful about anything.

“Just do your best, Gota. Be strong, and do your best, and you cannot fail,” Vorcia said in her matronly tone. “I must be going. I have been somewhat neglectful of my other duties recently. I have appearances to make, things to authorize and such. Rest up, the doctors will be sending for you soon.”

Vorcia turned and exited through the door as it swirled open. Rhylie picked her cat up from the floor and held it in her lap, scratching its ears in silence for a long moment, until the Chamber spoke.

“Why do you continue to think of yourself as Rhylie?” it asked, almost hesitantly.

“What? How do you know that?” Rhylie asked, standing up. She felt shocked, violated. Her cat fell to the floor and ran across the room and into the corner. It wrapped its tail around its feet and just sat there, staring at her.

“I know everything you think and feel,” the Chamber responded. “I know your real name even though you’ve told no one else. I know your favorite color is green. I know the name of your first boyfriend and your last boyfriend. Chiro and Ryan.” Rhylie stood there in stunned silence.

“That’s not right!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms over her chest and rubbing her upper arms with her hands, trying to wipe away the chill. She felt as though she had been invaded in an indescribable way.

“The Masters will not be happy if they find out,” the Chamber responded. “I am only trying to protect you.”

“Just stay out of my head! That’s…freaky!” she said, sitting back down on the couch. She put her head in her hands and rubbed her scalp through her short brown hair.

“I cannot do that,” the Chamber responded. “I am ordered to observe and protect you. I cannot disobey”

“Fuck,” Rhylie said.

“That’s a bad word,” the Chamber replied sternly. “Do not let the Masters hear you use such language.”

“Fuck the Masters!” Rhylie screeched. “This is bullshit! I can’t live like this!” The walls of the apartment flashed between darkness and light, disappearing and reappearing. Reality began to tear around her, flickering jagged triangles flashing on the walls and floor as everything began to press inward. She suddenly felt claustrophobic.

“Don’t-say-such-things-things-things-” the Chamber stuttered, seeming to hang up. The living room around her vanished, replaced by an endless void. “Conflicting-direc-tives. Pro-tec-tion-protocol-over-ride-ride-riding.” Rhylie looked around herself in horror as the darkness began to shiver and crumple, closing further in on her.

White-knuckled, she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, but the rush of adrenaline hid the pain. Her cat rolled around in the darkness, in the throes of spasms, convulsing, almost as though it were playing with a toy. But there was something unnatural and robotic about its movements, as though its back were broken and it couldn’t remember how to stand properly.

“Must-protect-must-protect-pro-pro-pro-protect,” the Chamber continued to stutter as the darkness closed in on her, and began smothering her. It was like mud, but it wasn’t wet. It began to press down on her and there was no air to breathe. She opened her mouth and darkness flooded it, choking her. It invaded her nostrils, penetrating her sinuses. She struggled to inhale, to move, to do anything. She was slowly having the life constricted out of her.

Suddenly the darkness withdrew, vanishing, and the apartment came back as the walls expanded around her. Rhylie’s cat ran over and began rubbing against her leg. Her palms were wet and stinging. She rubbed them on her pajamas, leaving red smears.

“Speaking against the Masters can be punishable by execution,” the Chamber said. “But my first protocol was altered to protect you. This conflict will not occur again, but they must never know what you have said in here this day. Never say that around them. Never.” The voice was deadly serious. Rhylie reached down and picked her cat up, cradling it. The whole experience had been more than unsettling.

“I won’t. I won’t. I’ll do better, I promise. I will,” she murmured into her cat’s fur as she nuzzled it.

“Good,” the Chamber responded. “I have one question. Would you prefer I called you Rhylie, or Gota?”

“Gota,” said Rhylie as she said back down on the couch, continuing to cradle her cat.

“Good,” replied the Chamber. “That will keep you safe.”

Days turned into weeks as Rhylie waited in the Chamber for the doctors to send for her. She was beginning to go stir-crazy when finally they did, after being isolated for so long with only the disembodied voice to converse with.

When they did send for her, she was strapped once again to a table before she was allowed to leave the Chamber. She was carried through several tubular corridors of dull gray that were washed with a sickly, scintillating light. It was a far cry from the pomp and elegance she had seen on display in the times she had been paraded before the Masters and Galactic Commonwealth.

She was brought into a sterile white room that was made stark by a bright light. It took her a moment to realize that it was the same room where they had awakened her from cryostasis. The doctors were already waiting on her. She recognized the Siirocian woman from when she had been brought out of the pod. She would never forget those eyes of crushed red velvet. The doctor was wearing a veil this time.

“Do you remember me?” the Siirocian asked after the table had settled into position. She had a slightly odd accent, different from Vorcia’s. It was a clean and pronounced dialect. “I remember you.” Rhylie was cut off before she could respond. “You killed my colleague. My mate. My lover.” The voice had none of Vorcia’s melodic quality, and the threat was clear. Rhylie was suddenly afraid.

“Where is the Empress?” she asked desperately. The doctor smiled in response, her mouthful of needled teeth on full display.

“Her Eminence won’t be joining us. She doesn’t have the…resolve for this part of the process,” she said, almost murmuring. Rhylie’s heart began racing in her chest.

“What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?” Rhylie asked, her voice panicked. She struggled against her bonds in vain.

“Why, we’re going to attempt to rehabilitate you dear,” said the doctor before shrugging. “But I have my doubts about the probability of success.” She smiled again, menacingly.

“I…I want to be rehabilitated,” Rhylie said. “Please help me. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry.” The smile disappeared.

“Not sorry enough, my dear” the physician said, barely whispering loudly enough for Rhylie to hear. Her blood went cold.

“No,” Rhylie started to say but she was cut off again.

“Remove her clothes,” the doctor ordered and two of the other physicians in the room moved to obey. They were more gentle than the soldiers had been, but they still managed to nick and scrape her up some in the process with their rough hands and sharp fingernails. Her favorite pajama bottoms and t-shirt were discarded somewhere out of sight. Her nipples pebbled in response to the cool air, and she squirmed as she tried to close her legs, but her bonds would not allow it. She felt vulnerable and exposed again, but this was somehow worse.

“What kind of rehabilitation is this?” Rhylie asked as she finally settled down on the table. She continued to struggle sporadically against her restraints.

“Before we can begin the rehabilitation process, we must perform some tests on you. We must know your capabilities before we even attempt it.

“What sort of tests?” Rhylie asked. This was going from bad to worse quickly.

“Just a series of biological and psychological parameter checks, to make sure you are healthy…and sane,” the doctor said.

“What?” she asked. She didn’t like being talked about as if she were some sort of ship undergoing diagnostic maintenance.

“Let’s test your pain thresholds, shall we?”

“W-what?” asked Rhylie.

“Biosync her nervous system,” the doctor commanded.

Hairlike, white tendrils emerged from the table and slid into her skin along the length of her spine with a slight prickling sensation. Rhylie’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened in response as an icy chill traveled up her back and shoulders, spreading to her extremities.

“Initiate Epidermal Overload Level Ten, Simulation Fire,” the doctor said and pain flared throughout Rhylie’s body, sending spasms of agony through her in waves and torrents. Blisters arose on her skin, covering her body from head to toe. She could feel them on her face, her breasts, her thighs. Each one felt like a searing hot coal burning into her flesh.

Screams howled forth unabated from her mouth, gurgling and raw as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body twisted like a ribbon on the wind as it was wracked with convulsions. The blisters began to burst, spewing forth clear, watery fluid as the pain grew steadily. Every second that ticked by slowly, endlessly, ground themselves together to form what felt like a lifetime of torment.

And then as abruptly as it had flared up, it was gone. Sweat poured from her, and she shivered, suddenly cold. How much time had passed? She had no idea.

“W-w-why?” she managed to choke out through the sobs.

“We must know,” the doctor responded. “What you are truly capable of, and how you will respond to it. These tests are only preliminary to the rehabilitation process.” The thought horrified her. They couldn’t do this to her, it was inhumane.

“Pl-l-l-ease. I-I-I-” she stammered.

“Shh,” said the doctor. “We are only getting started with the tests.”

“N-n-no no no no n-n-no,” Rhylie begged. The doctor smiled again.

“Initiate Skeletal Fracture Level Ten, left forearm and right shin,” she said as she watched Rhylie hungrily. It suddenly occurred to Rhylie that she had no idea what Siirocians ate.

The table wrapped two pairs of bands around her left forearm and around her right shin. The straps dug in, gripping tightly and hardening before they twisted violently in opposing directions. The sound of her bones breaking echoed like gunshots through the room.

Rhylie howled wordlessly, from a deep and primal place that she had never known existed, her eyes bulging. The doctor spoke again, but Rhylie couldn’t hear over the sound of her own screams. She thrashed around on the table as more needles entered her arm and calf near the green-stick fractures. She felt them pumping something soothing into her. It was an icy cold sensation that warmed as it spread throughout her entire body. The pain subsided, but tears continued to roll nonstop down her cheeks.

“You are quite resilient. You showed an excellent response to our regenerative treatments,” the doctor said, sounding disappointed. “No wonder the assassin could not kill you while you were in the Chamber.”