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Ready…?
Be advised this chapter is low on sex, but high in action set pieces. When I first started writing the Spermarche Age, one of my promises to myself was that I would find a way to, somehow, blend my nerdy fetishes with my regular fetishes. I can confirm it was very fun to write.
Thankfully, the next (and last!) chapter is almost the opposite. Probably the most sex-heavy piece of text I’ve ever written. As Stephen King once teased when asked what his next book was about and answered: ‘I’m going to kill a lot of trees’; for Chapter 17 I can preview you that I’ll: ‘Flood a lot orifices with cum.’
Stay tuned.
As usual, send your comments and feedback at: inaccesiblecardinal@protonmail.com
Additional Author’s Note:
I'm dedicating this story to the public domain, which means I'm waiving all my rights to this work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.
You can copy, modify, distribute, and perform this work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking for my permission. For more information visit: creativecommons.org/publicdomain
Talking heads on a small TV screen. A panel of journalists, celebrities, and comedians arguing excitedly.
Chris (the moderator): "And that was the King's speech! Quite an event! Lots to talk about. Angela, you look the most impatient of us all. Go."
Angela: "Thank you Chris. We should state the obvious from the get-go. Abdulaziz speech was long, derivative and, frankly, nothing we haven't heard before. His rhetoric isn't evolving. And that's worrisome. Especially after the Califate's latest fertility trial reports. Which are subpar, to say the least."
Chris: "Sarah, you look ready to bite Angela's head. What's your take?"
Sarah: "Indeed Chris. While it may sound familiar, I thought the speech had powerful moments. The King introduced hope undertones we hadn't heard from him before. When Abdulaziz steps in front of a camera it's usually to bask in admiration and flutter his gorgeous eyelashes at the viewers."
(Laughs from the panel)
Sarah (continuing): "But tonight, he compelled people to work hard and be the version of themselves the Queen expected them to be. That's all new."
Chris: "But Sarah, let's be real. We all know this was a calculated move to distract us from the elephant in the room. The whole world tunes in to hear big news about his sons. The most fertile boys in a century, gone missing. And he repeats the official storyline that they died stranded at sea? Nobody believes that! What am I missing?"
Sarah: "Absolutely, Chris. The King has a pattern of deflecting. No apology after almost two decades of vandalizing the Moon with that horrible green lighthouse. Still no hard evidence that he, or his family, are breathing, living human beings, and not some elaborate prank by rogue bot agents. His skeptics, which are many, will be having a field day."
Chris: "Mmh, mmh. Brie, you've been awfully quiet today. You broke the story on the fake backgrounds in the King's previous speeches-"
Sarah (interrupting): "Which he countered today by speaking from a small studio!"
Chris (laughing): "Indeed! So, what's your take Brie? What does ‘Abdulaziz's whisperer’ think about tonight?"
Brie (long sigh): "Well, I agree with most of what's been said tonight. But I keep coming back to something Sarah mentioned-"
Sarah: "His pattern of deflecting?"
Brie: "No, my dear, his message of hope. I mean, we've all seen the UN's fertility projections. How we're past the point of no return, how this is humanity's last dance. 'The light of consciousness is bound to vanish from this universe'. It’s all over, and whatnot-"
(More laughs from the panel).
Brie (continuing): But! Amidst all the doom and gloom, here comes Abdulaziz with a promise of a bright new century? What gives? Hope is a powerful currency to deal, particularly nowadays. If the King plays his cards right, he may position himself —and the Crescent Califate — as international moral leaders going forward. For crying out loud! He called his wife the 'Queen of Earth'!"
(Laughs from the panel).
Angela: "But Brie, this whole hope for the future thing is... Bullshit, isn't it?"
Brie: "O-of course...! (suddenly doubtful) I mean... Unless the King knows something we don't. He-"
The journalists keep on talking, but Maria has stopped paying attention. The fourteen-year-old girl steps back from the steel bar door and turns to the other two adults sharing her small jail cell.
"Why am I here again? I don't want to go to Africa."
Neither her mother nor Naomi respond. Both mercenaries sitting on a long metal bench. Their heavy body armor still over their elegant party outfits.
Maria glances past the bar door to the silent and intimidating guard under the TV screen. She lowers her voice.
"They're not going to hurt me... Are they?"
Lieutenant Garcia shakes her head.
"No baby. Don't worry. They only put you here so they could deal with something else. It's not as if there's a waiting room on this ship. They'll fly you home when we resurface. You'll be fine."
Maria nods, skeptical.
"And you mom? Will you be ok?"
The woman with the buzzcut doesn't respond. Her gaze lost somewhere in the distance.
The teen's stomach drops. "What happened? What did you do?"
Maria's mom opens her mouth to speak when Naomi interrupts.
"More like what we DIDN’T do. The Boss told us to get rid of someone and we... Didn't."
The teen girl takes a step back, aghast.
"You were told to KILL a person!?"
"Yeah, Ramesh."
"Oh..." Maria's shoulders drop, relieved. She shakes her head. "Wait, why didn't you pop his ass? You were making the world a favor."
Naomi shrugs. “We thought so too! But then Ram told us about the-"
The Lieutenant slaps a hand over her mouth.
"Not in front of my daughter!" She points at the teenage girl. "That's enough questions for now. Sit down and wait for them to take you home."
Caro grabs a naked Miguel by the shoulders. The eleven-year-old girl's face one of shock.
"PRINCE!?"
"Your Father will be rejoiced of learning about your whereabouts. He's been most upset since the accident," the Boss keeps saying kneeling in front of the two preteens. Two guards behind her also kneeling with their weapons on the floor.
Authors Note: Sorry guys, but I’m not going to try to describe the bizarre situation where we left these characters off .... Read the cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter before continuing.
Yet neither of the eleven-year-olds have pay attention to what the old woman is saying. Caro hugs the Hispanic boy and whispers by his ear.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Miguel remains speechless. Arms limp by his sides. He eyes the Boss and the other adults kneeling. He swallows.
"I-I didn't want to worry you."
Caro hugs him tighter. For a moment, everything seems to fall into place. The blurry realization she felt climbing the Tower back at the boy's Sanctuary comes crashing back. Only now in the shape of clear, obvious understanding.
Miguel a Prince? Of course! Previously insignificant details about the mysterious boy shine bright under a new light. The way he appeared out of nowhere. His aversion to social media and the blockchain. His polite, noble attitude. His wide clientele of women praising his top-notch sperm. How did she not realize he was the Prince everybody on TV kept talking about?
"B-but what happens now?" She mutters by his ear. A fresh, horrifying thought crossing her mind. "They'll take you back to the Moon?"
"I-I... I don't know."
"I'll never see you again. I can't leave Earth's quarantine. I'm full of microplastics and all that."
Miguel can only blurb in response. Things are happening too fast.
Yet everything is clear for the Asian tween. She can already see it.
Her novio will be nothing more than a bargaining chip between superpowers. Political interests beyond her comprehension battling for poor Miguel. The one boy unsullied from Earth's toxic environment. A biological miracle. A savior who could singlehandedly repopulate the entire planet. A hostage held to the wind for the highest bidder, to do as they please.
It was unfathomable for Caro that he could enjoy a normal life amidst all that. Miguel would never be able to go outside again. Ho to a movie theater. Buy queso for Abuelita at the street market. He'll never eat a tlayuda by the beach while watching the sunset. He’ll wither like a dead leaf while under years of captivity. She' sure of it.
And there's nothing she can do to stop it.
Eyes blurry with tears, she notices something purple out in the ocean. Coming closer.
Her mind swirls. A thousand fresh questions bouncing inside her head. But there's no time to think. She must trust her instincts. Again.
Behind the two kids, the Boss is finishing her long-winded speech. She lets out a devilish smile.
"But don't despair your Majesty. You're here with us. Safe, at last."
Caro's hug tightens. She presses her nose on the creek of Miguel’s neck and inhales the sweet, sweet boyish aroma. As if trying to bury it deep inside her memory.
"Hasta luego, mi principe."
Then, with a high-pitched grunt, the preteen girl lifts the boy by the waist and throws him over the metal handrail to the speeding ocean below.
Miguel falls without a chirp, too stunned to react. He vanishes into the whirlpools of the giant submarine’s wake. Then he reemerges a long distance away, threading water.
The other adults scream in panic and press themselves against the railing, pushing Caro aside. They watch horrified as Ramesh stops the purple speedboat near the boy and gets him on board.
One of the guards raises her sniper rifle but the Boss pushes it away.
"NO! I wouldn't bet a single dollar on your aim! Let alone the TRILLIONS that kid is worth!"
The Prince secured, Ram turns the purple boat painted with tacky artwork and speeds away.
Anita’s shoulders drop, disappointed by the loss of such unmeasurable treasure. And yet, a little bit relieved. A guard grabs Caro, handcuffs her, and takes her back inside. The girl gives no resistance, smiling from ear to ear while taken away.
"WHAT ARE YOU MORONS DOING!?" The Boss suddenly thunders. "HARD STARBOARD! NOW!"
Her adjunct steps forward. "B-but Boss! We're moving full ahea-"
The old woman grabs the chubby girl by the collar and shakes her back and forth.
"NOOOOOOOOW!!!"
"I'm telling you! I saw them!"
"Who?"
"Meteor!"
The nude ten-year-old boy shrugs. The name doesn't ring a bell.
The rest of the naked boys inside the crowded prison cell groan.
"This is why you should join our circle jerks! It's when we discuss important topics!"
The small kid shifts in place.
"I don't like it when others hold my peen..."
"Ugh! You're such a baby! Anyway, I SAW them! Meteor dressed as one of the pirates! I bet they're planning something big!"
"Like what? Are they going to rescue us?"
"Duh! Of course! I mean, we're talking about Meteor! Do I need to tell you about their adventures all over again?"
The shy boy raises a hand. "Yes please!"
Yet before the other kid can answer, the floor shifts under their feet. It was if the whole world was being toppled over!
The preteens scream and pile one over another against the steel walls. Like a bucket of skin-colored pebbles pushed to a side. They groan, yell, and complain. Bare feet and asses pressed against their faces. What's happening!?
Outside, panic unleashes. Alarms blare as the all-female crew also stumble and fall to the ground, caught by surprise.
Heavy machinery tilts. Wooden crates topple and burst. Sparks fly and smoke hisses out of pipes. Thousands of tons of cargo inside the gigantic cruise submarine splash sideways under the cruel effect of inertia.
The Farm makes a hard turn. The giant 'fin' poking above the surface drawing a giant circle under the moonlit ocean. The submarine retracing its steps with incredible celerity for a vessel that size.
Almost a mile away, the speedboat bobs up and down. The purple boat running at full throttle. Each bounce like a kick on the butt for its two passengers.
A water-soaked Miguel holds himself for dear life to one of the plastic seats. He yells over the blare of the old gas engine and crashing waves.
"What's happening!? You are you!?"
"Hold yourself your Majesty!" Ram yells over his shoulder. "We're still not on the clear!"
The boy looks back at the Farm shrinking in the distance.
"Really!? We're far away!"
Ramesh smiles between clenched teeth.
"Oh no. She's fast as hell. Even more so when angry..."
Five thousand boys and hundreds of female crewmates get back on their feet when the floor under their feet shifts again. Only this time backwards rather than sideways.
Thorium cores inside the Farm's twin reactors blare with the power of miniature Suns. A surge of super-heated steam flows across ceramic turbines as tall as buildings. The torque travels across shafts as large as sequoias to giant, razor-sharp propellers that push the ship’s megastructure with unimaginable force on each turn.
Inside the ship's bridge, alarms blare nonstop. Warning lights lit up like Christmas decorations. A harrowing sound echoes throughout corridors and walls. The sound of a train crash in slow motion. The Farm’s body groans in pain and stress from the added effort. Giant composite beams twist and flex, dangerously close to their yield points.
The thrust is so powerful it makes the prow of the thousand-feet-long submarine crest above water. Like a megalithic pale whale inhaling air. When the smooth, organic body sinks back, it pushes towering walls of water aside. Once sunk, the dorsal fin is once again the only part of the vessel peeking above the ocean’s surface.
Throughout it all, the Boss stands firm on the maintenance catwalk atop the fin. Hands steady on the railing. Eyes locked on the tiny purple boat in the distance. Like an apex predator eyeing its prey.
"Status?" She says without looking away.
Her adjunct raises from the metal floor. The girl’s eyes blinking.
"Reactors at 110%. Damages in all decks. Still counting number of injuries and-"
"And the ship's megastructure? Did the keels bent?"
"N-no. They managed to hold the stress. But the-"
"Reactors at 125%."
"S-sir! We'll burn a LITERAL hole under the ship!"
The Boss throws the adjunct a killing look. The rainbow-haired girl recoils and nods. Her fingers tap new commands in the air.
A few seconds later, the floor underneath them lurches forwards once more. The wind speed now like that of a car on the highway.
The distance between the Farm and Ram's speedboat stops increasing. It starts to diminish.
Nautical mile by nautical mile, the giant submarine creeps closer and closer. The proacted chase prologues until both vessels enter a bank of light fog.
"He's not heading straight to land…" the Boss mutters and produces the smartphone out of her pocket. She opens a map and smirks. "You sneaky bastard. He's taking us towards shallow waters! What are our offensive options?”
“Um, none, sir!”
“What!?”
“All our assets are either participating in the Sanctuary’s raid, or still back at Samantha’s birthday.”
“How about air support?"
Anita’s fingers tap the air, struggling to hold herself.
"We got some surveillance drones. But they’re not armed with any-"
"Call the Armory! Bring all our C4 charges to the drone’s launch tubes."
"Um... Mister!? They fired something!" Yells Miguel squinting his eyes. The light fog making it hard to see.
Ramesh doesn't look surprised. "Took her long enough," he waves at the boy. "Come here your Majesty! Take the wheel!"
The nude eleven-year-old shakes his head. "N-no! I don't know how to drive this!"
"You’ve seen lots of action movies don't you!?" Ram forces the kid to sit on the pilot’s seat. "Same thing! Keep the speed and heading!"
He reaches down and pulls a piece or heavy canvas to uncover a long, heavy, box-like object on the floor.
The bronze-skinned kid is still fiddling with the boat's controls when his eyes pop open.
"Is THAT a-!?"
"Eyes on the road Prince!" shouts Ram lifting the military-grade LASER gun. He holds it over his shoulder, like a bazooka.
Through the weapon’s infrared vision, he locates eight combat quadcopters skimming the foggy water, getting closer. He waits until his crosshairs coincide with one of the drones as the boat bobs up and down and presses the trigger.
Water droplets in the air vaporize at an instant. A perfectly straight, indigo-colored line flashes into existence for a fraction of a second with a loud hiss. A bright, neon thread connecting the flying drone to Ram.
The propellers of the flying machine melt under the 50-kilowatts of power. It stumbles and plunges into the water with a big splash.
At the same time, an overheated super-capacitor jumps out the LASER gun like the ember of an active volcano. Ramesh hurries to load a new one.
“Keep it steady!”
More laser blasts shine into the night. More drones are deployed. Ram manages to shoot down most of them before they get close, emptying capacitors left and right.
But it's not enough. One drone survives the onslaught and buzzes close.
“Evade!” He yells over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Goddammit! Zigzag like crazy!”
Miguel spins the wheel. The speedboat turns just before the quadcopter plunges into the water and explodes.
The ocean swells and bursts into a massive water bubble that pushes the small vessel sideways. The boy screams but manages to avoid capsizing the boat. Barely.
The foggy ocean soon resembles a space battle. Drones spiraling in the air. Underwater explosions close to the speedboat. Laser blasts flashing in the fog in a chaotic, surreal spectacle.
The Boss’s grip on the handrail tightens.
“Of course, you came prepared! You know all our offensive capabilities. Hell, you signed the purchase orders!” She turns to Anita. “Bring all our forces back! I want every single asset we got stationed along the Gulf coast looking for that FUCKING boat!”
"B-but sir! Our forces are almost at the-"
"DO IT!"
Hundreds of miles away, a boy with Polynesian tattoos hidden atop a mangrove tree carefully aims his massive railgun. He’s about to make his first shot when he gasps in surprise. The combat skiffs inside his telescoping lens have just made a U-turn and are fleeing at full speed.
The boy jumps out his hideaway and runs as fast as he can back to the Sanctuary. The kid naked except for his bulletproof vest three sizes too large.
“They’re going away!” He yells at the empty amusement park entrance waving his arms. "They're gone!"
Dozens of boys in various stages of undress emerge from their hidden spots. The flooded entrance turned into a Normandy-type landing area.
The kids come closer to the boy, still jumpy and anxious after long, tense minutes of silence, waiting for the battle to start.
“What you mean they’re going away!?” asks a Uyghur teen with copper hair with a railgun as tall as he.
“I saw them! They went back to the ocean!”
The members of the makeshift guerilla glance at one another, confused. Father Santiago emerges from one of the hiding spots with a sawed-off shotgun. The kids wait anxious for his assessment. Their faces lit with anticipation, ready to celebrate.
“Is it a miracle?” asks Dedos. A ginger boy with red shorts and an astronaut helmet holding a submachine gun.
The young priest pushes his fogged-up glasses up his nose and stares at the calm, moonlit water. The prospect of battle still thick in the air.
“Maybe… But this could also mean someone else is about to get into a whole world of trouble. What could be so important that it’s worth cancelling the attack?”
The boy’s smiles fade away. Their good luck doesn't taste that good anymore.
In the tense quiet that follows, Rebecca steps out of a trench with a grenade launcher and breaks the silence.
“Alright! Guess that means we can relax until we figure out what’s going on!”
The black twelve-year-old girl then pushes her camouflaged pants down and stands bare bottomed with her hips cocked in front of the group of wide-eyed boys.
“Who wants to go first?” she says with a smile.
Nearby, Samantha wearing a ghillie suit facepalms.
“SIR! We’re almost at shallow waters!”
Another quadcopter tumbles under the scorching LASER light. It plunges into the ocean and explodes.
A sweating Ramesh pants in relief. He scans the horizon one more time with the gun's infrared camera and confirms no more drones are left.
His crosshair finds the giant submarine, now less than five hundred feet away, and follows the fin up until it centers on the red figure standing atop the maintenance catwalk.
His finger rests on the trigger once again. He could end all this right now.
He takes another deep breath, takes the finger away, and throws the expensive weapon to the floor. He raises his arms in a 'is-that-all-you-got?' kind of way.
Hundred of yards opposite to him, the Boss smirks. The water-swell at the prow of the gigantic submarine now less than a hundred feet behind the purple speedboat’s wake, with the distance rapidly decreasing. When the two meet, the tiny vessel will likely trip and capsize, ending the chase.
The young adjunct grows pale.
“BOSS!?”
“Keep her steady.”
“We won’t hit sandbanks! It’s the former coastline what’s approaching! We're talking underwater buildings and rocks! It will TEAR her apart!”
“Keep heading and speed.”
Despite the distance, a silent exchange is happening between the Boss and Ramesh.
The twenty-year-old Indian man lifts his arms higher, challenging her former mentor to destroy everything and everyone to stop his escape.
Meanwhile, the Boss’s demeanor remains firm. Determined to show him the lengths she'll go to get what she wants. To get what she's entitled to.
Behind her, Anita sweats buckets. A trembling finger hovering over a STOP button in her ocular interface. She should end this madness right now! All she has to do is press the STOP button! For Christ's sake, she only took this job to pay for college without having to get pregnant first!
The floor shakes, the Boss takes her eyes off Ramesh for a fraction of a second. She notices the Prince on the boats driver’s seat for the first time. An idea curls her lips into a sadistic smile.
“Full stop. Hard starboard.”
Her adjunct breathes in relief. The Farm’s speed immediately plunges, and the speedboat leaves it behind.
The Boss follows the purple boat until it vanishes into the fog. She sniffs out loud, produces the smartphone out of a pocket, and turns on her heels while typing.
“Heading 168. Ahead full. Depth 3000.”
“W-what? Where are we goin-?”
“Find the nearest fiber optic node and get us online, ASAP.” She says while typing a long-winded legal document on her phone. “Then, gather all the drones on the main yard. Every single one. Oh, and remind the crew to put on their masks. Hurry.”
She steps into the service elevator on a side of the fin, not waiting for Anita to join her. As the twin doors close, they frame the old woman's diabolical smile.
The brig’s steel bar door opens. The guard shoves a handcuffed Caro inside and closes it.
The Asian preteen is still regaining her balance when she gasps and points at the woman with the buzz cut.
"You!?"
Lieutenant Garcia stands up.
"YOU!"
Maria steps forward and hugs the eleven-year-old girl.
"For some reason I'm not surprised to see you here. Are you okay? What happened? Where is Miguel?"
Caro takes a deep breath, readying herself for the titanic task of summing it all up while not collapsing from her exhaustion. Maria and the two adults manage to stay silent as Caro recounts the latest events.
All the while, the TV behind them keeps showing more coverage of the King's Speech. The news anchors now centering on the hidden meaning looming under the speech. They all seem to conclude something big was about to happen. But what exactly? No one could tell.
At one point Maria feels forced to interrupt Caro's tale.
"Wait, wait, wait! You threw Miguel overboard so Ramesh could take him!? Why did you DO that!? That man is just as evil as that old woman!"
Caro looks genuinely puzzled. As if the thought had never crossed her mind.
"W-what you mean?"
The fourteen-year-old turns to her mother.
"Tell her! Tell her how Ram is as much as a monster as SHE is!"
Yet Naomi and Lieutenant Garcia remain quiet. Their thoughts somewhere else. The shorter woman blinks.
"Hey, we stopped."
The two young girls look around, confused. Everything looks and sounds the same.
"Is that... Good?"
The adult women share a knowing look. They've been in this job long enough to recognize when shit is about to hit the fan.
As if on cue, the jail door opens again. The guard steps inside and points at Caro.
"Get out. The Boss wants to see you."
The woman with the buzz cut places herself in front of the tiny girl.
"What for?"
"She didn't say."
Maria instinctively grabs Caro's arm. Something is wrong.
But the Asian girl takes her hand away.
"Hey, it's okay. I realized something once Miguel told me that video showing the old lady killing a boy was fake. It's not just that video. Everything about her is fake."
"Caro, that's not what-" Maria starts to say.
"It's all about the money! That's all she wants. She'll exploit, humiliate, and milk boys all day long, but she won’t kill them. Isn’t that strange? I don't think that woman is evil. Not in her mind at least.” She walks around the Lieutenant to surrender herself to the guard. Before leaving she turns and smiles. “I'll be fine!"
"Stay down!"
Another searchlight sweeps overhead. Ramesh peeks over the roof of the flooded mansion and waits until the ‘pirate’ skiff vanishes in the fog. He jumps back to the purple speedboat hidden under the rotting structure.
A naked Miguel raises from the boat’s wet floor and sits at one of the hard plastic chairs. He hugs himself, trembling in the unusually chilly night.
Ram sees this and unbuttons his flea-market shirt.
“Here, put this on your Majesty.”
The boy nods and covers himself with the oversized garment. He glances at the muscular torso of the Indian man, swallows, and fiddles with his fingers.
“Um, thanks. But… Um, I got to tell you the truth. I’m not a Prince. I just played along with what everyone was saying to keep Caro safe.”
Ramesh peeks again over the building’s edge.
“Uh, uh…”
“I-I mean it! I’m nobody! I don’t understand why people are chasing me all of a sudden!”
“Whatever you say, Prince Yusuf.”
“You should let me go.”
Ram smirks. “Sorry your Majesty. Not gonna happen.”
The boy groans and holds his head on his hands, overwhelmed. Why was this happening?
The twenty-year-old steps back on the boat and sits on the plastic chair behind Miguel. The fog is getting thicker now. The gibbous moon a blurry light somewhere up in the sky.
Frogs and crickets sing inside the old building reclaimed by the swollen ocean. Once a property worth millions, advertised in countless realtor websites with promises of a lavish lifestyle, the flooded mansion is now nothing more than a moldy pile of cracked plaster, rusty nails, and rotten wood. A false promise to a future that would never come.
“What happens now?” the Prince says hugging his knees, facing away from Ram. “You'll sell me to the highest bidder?”
The Indian man doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches behind his waistband and produces a small revolver. He aims it at the back of the boy’s head.
“No. I just need to keep you out of HER hands.”
Cheers, grunts, and the sound of bodies fighting echo inside the dim-lit corridors of the Farm's lower decks.
The noise comes from inside a secluded food storage area. Cardboard boxes have been pushed aside to form a makeshift arena. A large crowd circling it.
At the center of the impromptu stage, two figures engaged in fight that seems has lasted an eternity. They grapple, punch, and roll in the sticky floor. Bodies glistening with exertion.
The all-female audience cheers, claps and roars with every twist and turn of the battle. Bets exchanged rapidly among the spectator's glasses, implants, and wearable devices.
"Come on boy! Is that all you got!?"
Lieutenant Garcia slams the concrete floor and readies her final move. Her muscles glistening with sweat. Her massive physique and combat experience making her the betting favorite.
A twenty-year-old Ramesh spits blood and smiles, readying himself for her attack. He's also shirtless and drenched in sweat. His bronze skin, chiseled face, and celebrity aura tonight’s main attraction.
Nowadays, men were in short supply as they were. But MANLY men were a dime in a dozen. For the submarine's female crew stuck at sea for months on end, Ramesh was a breather. Anytime the young Indian man found an excuse to take off his shirt, dozens of crewmate’s knees buckled. Their cheeks flustered. For many of these women, he was the main reason to remain on the job.
The two fighters circle each other in preparation, eyes locked in a stare-down. The air thickens with anticipation. The crowd's energy palpable.
The Lieutenant finally makes her move. With lightning speed, she lunges forward. Her muscular arms reaching towards Ramesh.
The young man jumps and dodges her with the grace of a dancer, causing a couple swoons across the onlookers. Then, with a swift, acrobatic maneuver, he twists over the Lieutenant and reverses the fight, pinning Garcia's shoulders to the ground.
The crowd gasps, caught off-guard. Then erupts in a deafening cheer.
Ramesh leaps to his feet, arms raised in triumph. Around him, bets get paid amidst grumpy murmurs and flashing irises. Blockchain transactions flying left and right.
The Lieutenant laying on the floor doesn't move at first, still stunned by her defeat. Ramesh offers her a hand.
“Just so you know, this does not make us even.”
She lets out a begrudging smile and takes his hand. When she rises to her feet the audience claps again.
Still basking in glory, Ram's eyes blink from an incoming message. He sighs and signals at the estrogen-heavy crowd that he must leave. Crewmates boo and whistle in disappointment.
"SHOW OFF!"
"TEASE!"
"Sorry ladies! Duty calls!"
He exits the storage area like a rockstar out of a concert. Fans and groupies trying to lay hands on his sweaty, manly body. At some point someone hands him a Hawaiian shirt which he slides his arms inside without buttoning it. The scene seems straight out of a pretentious perfume commercial.
Many decks above, he reaches the Boss's office but stops in front of the heavy blast door. Weird. It didn't open automatically as he approached. He knocks the metal surface, and the door opens a few seconds later.
"You wanted to see m-?"
He stops mid-sentence. A device he had never seen up close sits right in the middle of her office.
"Close the door," says the Boss from her gamer chair. Her fingers typing on a stylish bamboo keyboard. A screen floating an inch off the desk.
Ramesh complies, eyes transfixed on the intricate device akin to a water cooler at the center of the room. Only instead of a water jug, the ultra-modern artifact features a rotating, transparent sphere with a 21-week-old fetus at the center. Countless tubes and gizmos connected to it.
Ram inches closer to the artificial womb, marveled. It’s one thing to KNOW he was born from a machine like this one. It’s quite another to SEE it in person.
"Is that-?"
"Yeah, yeah, later. Sit down," says the Boss pointing at one of the two chairs in front of her desk. Her floating screen buzzing with spreadsheets and financial apps.
Ramesh sits. His attention split between her and the device hissing behind.
The septuagenarian pushes the keyboard away and rests her hands on the desk, gathering her thoughts.
"We're leaving."
Ram turns. His attention now fully centered on the old woman.
"What!?"
"Not immediately. We'll wait for shore operations to conclude before telling the crew. I was thinking heading south next. How does the Cape of Good Hope sound like?"
Ramesh shakes his head, still not believing it.
"Africa? But what about-?"
The Boss smirks. "My White Whale?" She leans back on the chair. "What can I say? A girl got to admit when she's wrong."
"WRONG!? Jesus Christ..." he shuffles on the chair. "We've been searching for a non-existent needle under a hundred haystacks! What the HECK made you change your mind?"
The Boss takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling.
"It all just... Stopped making sense. One of Abdulaziz's sons walks away from atmospheric reentry? A ‘Prince’ hidden somewhere in the Gulf? No one notices a super-fertile boy in their midst for years? There comes a time when you find yourself scrolling conspiracy theories and you realize it's all the same bullshit over and over. Always has been."
"And couldn't you, I don't know? Realize the obvious TWO YEARS AGO!?"
She shrugs. "Better late than never. This isn't the first time this has happened you know. It will likely happen to you too."
Ram leans back, arms crossed. "I highly doubt that."
She grins. "No, no. Trust me on this one. At some point a shroud will fall off your eyes and you’ll see things clearly for the first time in years. And when it happens, you'll experience this powerful sense of-" she waves a hand in circles, trying to find the word "-relief."
He rolls his eyes, not giving the topic importance. "And the crew? What will we tell them?"
"Nothing. That's the beauty of leadership, you never have to apologize or explain yourself. We'll blame our change in direction on something else. We can figure out the details later. But first!" She turns the floating screen. "I'm reviewing potential contracts on the southern hemisphere. We got dozens of ethnicities wishing each other extinct who could use our services. It's a mess."
Ram moves his chair closer. A hand under his chin.
"Yeah… It looks challenging."
"Indeed. Look at all these requests for example.” Her finger scrolls over colored text boxes “See how much these warlords are willing to pay to kidnap these boys? It smells like undisclosed operational risks."
He nods, gears turning inside his head.
"Yeah... They’re asking us to kidnap kids from rich neighborhoods. We're talking fortified houses, armed security guards, androids, nanos, booby traps..."
"We’ll need more operatives."
"At a minimum. Plus, weapon upgrades and training,” he snaps a finger. “Hey! Perhaps we can finally afford-?"
"-Battle mechs?"
They stop, then burst giggling, like school children. After two years butting heads over the titanic task of finding the White Whale, it was nice to be back on business.
Planning, logistics, risk scenarios, this was all their jam. If starting a tech startup was fun, launching a criminal enterprise on a new continent was pure heroin.
Their discussion grows and drags on. It carries into the night. The Boss opens the metal locker behind her desk and serves out some drinks. Ram laughs and points at the water jug full of fake boy sperm above the minibar, still there after all these years. What memories.
Laughs and discussions about cost projections and KPI's fill in the air. Music blares from the floating screen’s speakers. Once financial discussions grow old, the Boss shifts topics and ends up teaching Ram some dance moves.
"Come on! You're terrible at this!" She bursts laughing when Ram trips during a dance sequence. "Aren't all faggots supposed to know how to dance? People would roast you dead on TikTok."
Ram brushes laugh tears, recovering his breath. He raises his tequila glass.
"Cheers! For changing one's mind!"
The Boss rolls her eyes but reciprocates. Their glasses clink.
He empties his shot, winces, and points at the artificial womb, all but forgotten until now.
"By the way, what's that thing for?" He laughs. "You finally gave up on Samantha and are growing a new daughter?"
The Boss chuckles. An impish smile on her face. She leans back on her desk, feet unstable.
"If only... It’s a prototype for a new source of income I've been working on. Something long term. But we got to keep it a secret. The crew may find it... Unsavory."
"Oh yeah? What is it? No, no, wait! Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Ram puts a hand under his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose. The Boss laughs. “I know! We’ll grow babies and sell them! Lots of couples are forbidden to breed by law. Many dying ethnicities would pay good money for them." He snorts. "Well, it will be more like LENDING them the babies since we'll be snatching the boys back once they hit spermarche, but whatever."
Ramesh laughs again. The Boss nods. A sly smile across her face.
"Close, close… But ask yourself, why give away the babies in the first place?"
Ram's eyebrows curl, uncertain about what she means.
The Boss roams the office as she talks. Her steps uneasy. Her drink swinging in her hand.
"Consider that if we grow baby boys inside the Farm, there won't be any blockchain entries of their birth. No citizenship status. No one to care about their wellbeing. They’ll be digital ghosts from the get-go." She takes a sip. "Plus, if we keep them isolated in ultra-clean rooms, they'll grow free from all the Teflon and shit that makes people infertile. Who knows? If we're lucky, they’ll stay fertile forever like men used to..."
Ramesh is silent. His smile gone. His eyes locked on the humming medical device at the center of the room.
The Boss continues.
“Besides, it only takes them, what? Nine to twelve years to hit spermarche before we can milk them nonstop?” She chuckles. “It will be like farming avocado trees at that point. Just imagine it!”
She opens her arms, as if welcoming a glorious vision.
“An unlimited supply of fertile sperm. PLUS, an army of lobotomized workers to repopulate the planet once everyone else kills one another. We can refit the Farm and hide inside the Mariana trench while the nukes explode overhead.” She takes a last sip of her drink and puts the empty glass on the desk. “Of course, I won’t be around by that point. But I thought this could be something nice you and Samantha could inherit after I-"
A yell. A guttural roar growing louder and louder. Like a skyscraper collapsing over your head.
The Boss turns right as Ramesh grabs the skinny woman's neck and raises her in the air without an effort. He keeps walking forwards, eyes burning hot, until both hit the wall. He raises her higher.
The Boss kicks and punches Ram’s strong body, trying to release herself. But her punches have little effect. Her eyes bulge in terror. Her throat pinned by powerful hands. Feet swinging.
“DIEEEEE!!!”
Ram’s voice rumbles like an earthquake. Eyes tinted in red, blasting with thermonuclear anger. Teeth grinding in a manic grimace. His fingers squeezing the life out of the frail old woman.
Her trashing movements decreasing little by little until her face turns a bright purple. Her eyes turn inside out.
Then, Ram’s expression shifts. Perhaps a whisp of rationality amidst his blinding ire. Perhaps a memory of his affection towards his mentor. More likely, the incessant drumming coming from the blast door snapping him out of it.
Regardless, his grip around the Boss’s neck loosens and she falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The impact hurting her frail body almost as much as his choking attempt.
The metal door keeps banging, harder. Sparks shoot out from a thermite torch.
Ignoring it, Ramesh reaches into the locker behind the desk, grabs the 5-gallon water jug full of boy sperm, and stands next to her.
“W-wait!” The Boss croaks from the floor in a fetal position, shaking in fear.
Ram raises the jug over his head, about to crush her fragile skull. Despite the inconceivable fury burning inside him, his face is serene, almost relaxed. As if relieved from a decades-old burden.
A large shadow tackles him. The water jug lands inches away from the Boss’s face, denting the floor.
Ram tries to push Lieutenant Garcia away when three other guards and crewmembers pour inside the office and pile on top of them.
At first, the women only try to immobilize him. But Ram’s murderous rage is so unstoppable they end up kicking him over and over to make him stop.
Anita, a crewmember with only months on the job, enters the office and kneels near the Boss to help her.
Yet the old woman refuses the help. She signals the chubby girl to roll her gaming chair closer instead. Then, slowly, painfully, she raises and sits on the chair. All the while, the crew keeps on kicking the shit out of Ram.
“What are you doing you morons!?” the Boss grumbles, her voice a whimper from her injured windpipe.
The crewmates stop, confused. The old woman waves a hand.
“His clothes are expensive! You’re filling them with blood.”
The guards smile and nod. They strip the near-unconscious Ram naked and continue kicking him.
As the beating continues, the Boss waves the rainbow-haired girl to come closer.
“Congratulations, you’re my new adjunct. The second in command.”
“W-what?”
“Go out there and tell the crew we just stopped a mutiny attempt.”
Anita can only obey. She leaves the office to face the growing crowd outside. Crewmates trying to peek inside.
Meanwhile, the guards force a bloodied and moribund Ram to kneel in front of the Boss. He coughs blood. A couple teeth fall off.
“Kar-!”
She slaps him.
“Don’t call me like that. Don't you EVER call me like that!" She waves at Lieutenant Garcia. “Take him on the next boat and get rid of him. Do it quick.”
Her minions salute and drag Ram away.
The woman with the buzzcut is the last to exit. She stops near the artificial womb and looks like she’s about to ask something when she changes her mind and follows the rest. They put the broken door back in place. The voices outside diminish to a murmur.
Alone again, the Boss leans back on her gaming chair and allows herself to succumb to the pain of her many injuries. She takes a deep breath.
“Fuck…”
Ram’s gun pointing at Miguel's head keeps shaking. His finger on the trigger.
This had to be done. So much power shouldn’t be available in the hands of one person, let alone someone like HER! One squeeze of a finger, and it would be all over.
An innocent life lost, but so many more would be saved. Who knew what SHE would do with the governments of the world kneeling before her to get access to the Prince? Killing the boy was obvious. It was necessary.
But then why was it so DARN difficult to pull the trigger? It's as if something was shouting inside him NOT to do it. And he knew it wasn't his conscious, that voice vanished long time ago.
It was something else. A nagging feeling that he was missing something. A key piece of the puzzle everyone had overlooked so far. But what was it!?
The Prince starts to turn and Ramesh hides the revolver. The boy completely clueless to Ram’s assassination attempt.
He points at the Indian man’s face. “Um, Mister? Your eyes are blinking.”
It’s only then that Ram notices his implants have been shining with a new message notification. A text from Santiago.
He swipes tears off his face and opens the message with a finger swipe.
I THINK YOU SHOULD SEE THIS BABE. IT’S ALL OVER THE NEWS.
Below, a video link. Ramesh doesn't even need to open it for his stomach to drop. He can guess what just happened. He knows HER too well.
The boy sees Ram’s horrified expression and recoils on his seat.
“Mister!? Is everything alright?”
The link leads to a LIVE video feed, cryptographically authenticated via quantum signature. One of the few ways left to make sure you’re watching something real and not just some images hallucinated by a bot.
No publicity is necessary for the link to spread like wildfire. Any bots and humans who stumbled with the feed immediately understood they were watching something unusual.
It consists of simultaneous views from high-definition cameras inside the Farm. A tridimensional, cinematic image that’s easy for casual viewers to navigate. Spectators find themselves roaming inside a confined space as large as a football field. Prominent arches crisscross the area. Structural reinforcement for the immense pressure of the submarine's hull.
It’s clear the space was originally designed as a commercial plaza back when the submarine served as a cruise ship. Then, it was repurposed to function as a make-shift prison yard. Barbed wire and watch towers next to faded ads and old storefronts. An open space where the Farm’s kidnapped boys could rest and frolic between grueling work shifts.
Except today. Viewers of the video feed are confronted with a staggering crowd of five thousand naked boys between the ages of 9 and 13, packed tightly together inside the prison yard. A pulsating, flesh-colored, giant 'polyp' composed of thousands of arms, legs, buttocks, navels, and penises, of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities.
Boys kick, scream, and move at random in the chaotic setting. Around them, a phalanx of crewmembers wearing featureless masks and riot shields pushes them tighter and tighter. Pressing the nude crowd towards the center of the yard where a small maintenance platform hovers above, around 30 feet off the ground.
Then, five figures step into the platform via a ramp on the ceiling. Two masked bodyguards carrying a long wooden board. The adjunct Anita, also wearing a featureless white mask. A confused and handcuffed Caro in her blue mono suit. And finally, the Boss, unmasked, in her bright red military uniform sporting a huge smile.
The old woman walks with the aid of her cane to the edge of the platform and speaks at of skin-colored sea below her.
“Hello boysss…!” She announces in theatrical fashion, speaking into her smartphone's microphone. Her voice amplified by loudspeakers on all corners of the yard. “How are you tonight?”
The five thousand preteens grow quiet. The superorganism focusing on the scarlet figure hovering above them. Kids murmur with one another, concerned.
The Boss paces along the platform. Her smile in sharp contrast against the countless, anxious faces below her.
“Relax kiddos! Nothing nefarious is about to happen!" The Boss continues. "In fact, quite the opposite! I have a TREAT for you all. Something to show my... appreciation for all the hard work you do here everyday.”
While she speaks, the two guards remove a section of the handrail around the platform. They then secure the long wooden plank horizontal on the floor, leaving 5 feet hanging over the edge. Once set, the guards leave.
The Boss raises her cane and points at the many cameras around the prison yard.
“Say hello boys! All those cameras you have been connected straight to the blockchain! Thousands of people around the world and millions of bots are watching us right now! And I’m happy to report they’ve recognized each, and every one of you. As you can see right here…”
She presses a button on her phone and thousands of eyes turn towards a massive screen along the prison yard that sprung to life. It lists the blockchain usernames of all five thousand boys. Their permanent shadows in the digital realm. Tracking every waking moment of their lives.
At least, until they were kidnapped and brought here.
The massive crowd grows anxious. Their murmurs raising in intensity. There are only three reasons why anyone would bring up your blockchain username during regular conversation:
The first is to point out some egregious crime the bots caught you doing.
The second is to look for you in case you went missing.
And the third is to give you money.
The Boss grins. “As you all know, when you arrived here, we made a deal with each, and everyone one of you. Hand us your sperm. Work at one of the many job opportunities inside the ship. And once you’re no longer fertile, we’ll transfer you a cut of your earnings to your blockchain wallets. Pretty nice deal, uh?”
A begrudging murmur in response. One of Ram's greatest accomplishments during his decade-long tenure was decreasing the percentage cut the kids received to the absolute minimum. The boys were paid just enough to stop them from hurting their testicles, but not enough to stop the Farm's criminal enterprise to remain obscenely profitable.
It was easy in a way. Most of these boys came from such poor backgrounds they only needed a few thousand dollars to compensate years of indentured work and incessant masturbation.
The Boss holds the phone with both hands and smiles.
“Well… I have a one-time offer for you!"
The giant screen changes once again. It shows a single monetary figure in big, green, bold numbers. A number of zeros is so long it's hard to comprehend. Is it billions? Hundreds of billions? Trillions?
“THIS, is the Farm's trust fund! The total product of your hard-earned labor. And with the world's bots as my witness, it can ALL be yours tonight!"
A chorus of gasps. Eyes pop and faces smile. Some boys whistle and cheer.
Anita jumps in surprise. She taps the air with her fingers to check the blockchain. Even the crew in riot gear controlling the crowd glance at one another, confused.
The Boss beams with joy. A fish in the water, right in her element. She wets her lips and continues.
"How? I'm glad you asked! All you got to do… Is FUCK!" She turns her phone around and reads from a long, tedious, legal text she finished writing mere minutes ago. "Here's the blockchain contract if you don't believe me. And remember! Once a contract gets up there, not even I can delete it! It reads:"
'Let it be known that for the next 24 hours, any male below 14 years of age located within the confines of the Farm will receive ONE MILLION dollars each time they ejaculate inside the vagina, anus, or mouth, of any female below 14 years of age.'
She waves a hand. "Bla, bla, bla, lots of legalese to specify what each term of the contract means. You know how this goes,” she raises her voice. “HOW DOES THAT SOUND BOYS!?"
Dead silence. The yard is so quiet one can hear the hum of the reactors under the floor.
The Boss then turns, grabs a shell-shocked Caro standing behind her, and forces her to stand on the edge of the platform for everyone to see.
"Oh! And LOOK! Here's a girl under 14! In fact, it's the ONLY girl below 14 in the ENTIRE ship!"
Anita rushes by the old woman's side and holds her by the arm.
"SIR! This is INSANE! They'll ruin us!"
The Boss shoves her away and hisses in response.
"SHUT UP! They would need to fuck this kid once every two seconds before it made a dent in our finances!" She turns back to the naked crowd and screams. "WHO WANTS TO GO FIRST!?"
Chaos.
The flesh ocean blasts in a deafening roar. Boys shout, jump, and reach high in the air, trying to reach the platform dozens of feet above them. Their eyes bulging, their cocks erect. Mouths drooling.
"ME! ME FIRST!"
"GIVE HER TO US!"
"MY MOM IS SICK! I NEED THE MONEY!"
"METEOR!"
The Boss breaks into a maniac laughter, loving it. Caro meanwhile screams and tries to run away, but the grip of the seventy-something woman is surprisingly strong and keeps her in place.
"NOW WALK!"
She shoves the handcuffed eleven-year-old girl along the wooden plank. Caro yells, twists, and turns her body, trying to keep her balance on the narrow, undulating beam.
The girl barely manages to stop herself from falling. Tiptoeing haphazardly above a screaming, preteen sea below.
Anita looks livid, unable to believe what's happening.
"SIR! This is unacceptable!"
The college-aged adjunct steps forward to try and help the Asian girl when the Boss swings her cane and kicks the chubby girl on the nose who lands on her butt.
"DON'T INTERFERE!" She turns and screams into her microphone. "SHE'S ALL YOURS BOYS!"
She presses a button on the platform's control panel and the metal structure shakes. It starts to descend!
Caro grows pale, realizing what this means. She tries to walk back but the Boss swings her cane like a sword, keeping her away from the platform.
"STAY THERE!"
The handcuffed girl is sobbing, imploring the old woman to stop this madness. Then, the platform vibrates from a rusty screw, and she loses her balance.
Caro shrieks. Her foot slides off the wooden plank. Anita and even crewmates watching below gasp in horror.
But the girl's fall is interrupted when her handcuffed wrists get stuck at the end of the wooden plank. Caro now hangs with her arms stretched up and her legs kicking below. She stares terrified at the hungry, screaming, male super-organism beneath her. Hundreds of hands reaching up, trying to grab her. Getting closer and closer, inch by inch.
She closes her eyes.
"It's all fake! It's all fake...!" She repeats to herself between clenched teeth, trying to keep her sanity as the distance diminishes.
One of the guards in riot shields has had enough. She yells from the distance. "Boss! Stop this!"
"They'll kill her!" Another one screams.
Their superior ignores them. Her thumb lodged on the 'down' button to control the platform's movement. Her face as red as her military uniform. Her mouth speaking close to the microphone, throwing spit.
"Make sure to yell as loud as you can when you CUM inside her boys! You don't want the bots watching us to miss when you earn a MILLION BUCKS!!!"
Anita raises from the ground, nose bleeding and irises blinking.
"Sir!"
Caro's feet hangs now less than a dozen feet above the crowd. Below her, boys have begun assembling themselves into concentric circles to form an improvised human tower.
From the distance it looks like a brown-pink amoeba reaching a gooey tendril upwards. A fleshy, toothed maw composed of hundreds of nude, young bodies, reaching for its pray. It's a maddening, apocalyptic sight Pieter Bruegel the Elder would scoff as too grotesque.
Anita keeps screaming.
"SIR!!!"
The Boss keeps laughing.
"Isn't money wonderful boys!? It’s more than a number. It is a proxy for POWER! You can make ANYONE do ANYYYYTHING with it! Just imagine what you'll be able to make others do with one million dollars!"
The small hand of a nine-year-old boy at the top of the human tentacle graces Caro's foot. The girl curls into a ball and screams her lugs out.
"NOO!!! PLEASE NOOOOOOO!"
"SIR! We got him!"
The old woman takes her finger off the 'down' button. Anita's eyes blinking fast from incoming communications.
"They surrendered themselves to one of our patrolling skiffs! They got Ramesh and the Prince! They're bringing them back right now!"
Excruciating seconds pass as the Boss taps her smartphone to confirm the news, taking all the time in the world.
Meanwhile, Caro keeps screaming hysterically, inches away from the human sea below. The boy's screams now a thunderous, dizzying wall of sound. Hundreds of horny tweens magnetically attracted to a single girl, maddening close to their reach.
The Boss waves a hand. "Get her up."
Anita rushes to the wooden plank and rescues the crying preteen hanging from the tip. Below them, boys yell in anger and disappointment. The crew in riot gear at the edges of the crowd struggle to contain the giant creature.
Caro is pale and shaking when she's back on firm ground at the edge of the platform. Her short, platinum hair drenched in sweat, strands glued to her face.
The Boss pushes Anita away, removes the handcuffs of the hyperventilating girl, and hugs her.
"Shhh, it's alright. You did well..." she coos near her head. "I needed you to be in the direst circumstances. Ram’s biggest flaw has always been his conscious. I knew he would bring your boyfriend back to me," she shrugs. "That, or Prince Yusuf would force him to surrender once he learned what was about to happen to you. Either way, I get what I want. I would never hurt a child, let alone one as pretty as you."
She taps Caro’s back. The Asian girl relaxes little by little. The Boss kisses the top of her head and takes a deep breath, inhaling her youthful musk.
The eleven-year-old starts sobbing, caught by the enormity of it all. The old woman coos and hugs the girl tighter.
"It's fine. It's all over."
Then, she sighs. Disappointed.
"But here's the thing. There are no longer children in this world. They're all gone," Caro's body tenses. "Kids are supposed to be innocent. They're supposed to watch anime, draw fanart, and play Minecraft. They’re not supposed to know what anal sex is. Or talk about how much they enjoy BDSM. Or compare notes on their latest gooning sessions.”
Caro tries to move away but the woman’s arms are firm. Her voice soft and comforting.
“Don't you get it? We burned the world asunder to protect YOU. We did it in your name. We executed the trans people. Massacred the woke Democrats. Hunted the gay couples hiding in the attics. We killed SO many people. Good, wonderful people... All to protect YOUR innocence."
The Boss takes a deep breath.
"Now, children are gone. They've been replaced by a bunch of short. Stupid. Disgusting. Perverts.”
She grabs Caro by the shoulders and throws her off the platform.
The nude boys let out a thunderous cheer. The girl's screams swallowed by the sounds of the gigantic flesh monster devouring its food.
The Boss sniffs out loud and walks out the platform without looking back. Her mind already on something else.
Anita runs to the edge of the platform and looks down, doubtful. After a few seconds, she turns around and follows the old woman out the prison yard, away from the chaos.
She joins her superior without a word. The Boss takes her smartphone out and starts typing as she walks. The click-clack of her cane bouncing inside the submarine’s metal corridors.
A nervous, seventeen-year-old boy with blond hair and piercing blue eyes sits anxious atop a wooden crate, his knee bouncing up and down. Nearby, a female guard keeps watch.
Around them, the gigantic dock on the aft of the Farm. An industrial space made of automated cranes, water lanes bordered with rows of cleats, and colossal metal racks to store a fleet of smaller ships and deploy them at a moment notice. Only one of the racks is occupied by an old fishing boat which looks like a bath toy against the rest of the dock.
Footsteps approach. The blonde teen raises to meet the Boss. The guard grabs the boy’s shoulder and forces him to sit back down.
The old woman notices him and rolls her eyes.
“Oh, right.”
The teen raises again. “We had a deal.”
She shrugs. “Relax, discount Jeffrey Dahmer. Our deal said I would pay you for helping us raid the Sanctuary. But the raid DIDN’T happen. So-”
“It’s not about the money,” he shakes the guard’s hand away. His left eyelid ticking. “I just need to know. Did you GET him? Did you catch Ramesh?”
The Boss smiles and points at the end of the dock with her cane.
“See it for yourself."
On cue, alarms blare. The colossal doors at the back of the submarine slowly swing open. A starry sky looming on the other side.
Below it, dozens of combat skiffs packed with armed mercenaries encircle the purple speedboat. Ramesh and the Prince cuffed in the back seats. The crewmates piloting the boat leads it towards the dock’s central lane and moor it in place.
Female crewmembers in multi-colored monos swarm the dock, orchestrating the arrival of the rest of the fleet. The 'pirates' descend from their skiffs and remove their gear. Giant robot arms grab the empty vessels and deposit them on the giant racks. At the end, the speedboat ends up alone on the water, moored from all sides, like a sacrificial lamb.
Throughout the bustling port operation, the all-female crewmembers stare with bewildered eyes at the two figures on the boat, working around them, as if afraid of touching them. Keen onlookers would notice an overabundance of crewmembers inside the dock. More than are necessary to welcome the fleet back. Rumors had spread fast and wide around the Farm, summoning nearly all crewmates.
It's the first time the women have seen Ramesh since his alleged mutiny attempt, weeks ago. Despite his injuries and imprisonment, the Indian man looks more gorgeous than ever. His bare torso and roughened demeanor giving him the aura of an action hero in the climactic scene of a summer blockbuster. Sweaty, dirty, angry. Sexy.
In contrast, the eleven-year-old boy wearing an oversized shirt appears alarmingly innocent. Within this den of wolves, industrial robots, and firearms, he resembles a wide-eyed, endearing kitten. Meek and timid.
Moreover, he’s a boy worth trillions of dollars. The key to humanity’s survival. Taken as a whole, the picture is clear: Crewmates are watching history in the making. It makes them instinctively step aside. Remain as bystanders to powerful forces beyond their control.
The Boss, however, has no problem stepping head-on into an historical event. The old woman more than happy to toy with the future of mankind for her own amusement.
The giant doors close. The crew disperses, watches from a distance. A guard unchains Ram and the Prince from their seats. They step out the speedboat. The guard then motions to handcuff Ramesh when she recoils from a single glare from the Indian man.
The Boss's smile widens, not giving it importance. She waves the guard away. Where the hell are they going to escape anyway?
“Welcome back, Prince!” She beams at the eleven-year-old boy who hides behind Ram. “I’m very sorry for the detour. We can now continue where we left off.”
Yet Ram isn't looking at her. He’s watching past the old woman and locks eyes with the blonde teen behind her. He frowns in recognition.
The blue-eyed teenager lets out a wicked smile, very much enjoying the twist in their fates.
Ramesh suppresses a desire to say something and scans the rest of his surroundings instead. Everyone is looking at him. Waiting in silence.
“Is everyone here?”
The Boss chuckles. Amused by his collected demeanor.
“Oh? Why? Did you have prepared remarks? A witty speech of some kind?” She limps closer and stands a couple feet away from Ramesh. “You think you can talk your way out of THIS like you did last time? Go on. I can’t wait to hear what ingenious plan you have under your sleeve to get you out of this predicament. Come on! SAY IT!”
Ramesh stays silent. Eyes still roaming the many faces of the crew around them. Acting as if the Boss wasn’t even there.
More crewmembers have entered the dock, eager to watch. The area has transformed into an impromptu stage. Their voices amplified by the cavernous interior.
The old woman scowls and takes a step forward. If there’s one thing she hates more than children is being ignored.
“Let me guess. You plan on turning them against me, uh? Well, be my guest! Tell them what a horrible monster I am! Remind them how this is one of few workplaces left with a livable wage. 48-hour work weeks, healthcare, stock options! All without requiring them to be pregnant. How evil of me!” She paces in front of him. Her cane click-clacking in the metal floor. “Mmh…? No? Then perhaps you’re waiting for one of the zeroth day exploits you left to activate. Come on! Tell them about the malware you left that crashes the ship on the seafloor!"
Crewmembers glance at one another, alarmed. Ram tried to do what?
The Boss continues, smiling. "No…? Well, how about the boobytraps? I knew you would leave some kind of sabotage device if things ever went south. But oh golly! A FREAKING pipe bomb under the thorium reactor!? And a terrible one I must add! I’ve assembled homemade explosives since I was ten years old, and that was the SLOPPIEST wire work I’ve ever seen! Did you learn it from a YouTube tutorial? I’m amazed you still have all your fingers!”
Some crewmembers laugh despite themselves. The atmosphere in the dock lightening a little. The gravitas surrounding Ramesh dissipating under the Boss's roast.
Her words have made some women remember why they tolerate the job. Why enduring the emotional ups and downs of their eccentric leader is worth it. The Boss always gets away with it. She has an uncanny ability to think two steps ahead of everyone else. And in a world that grows more dangerous and unstable each day, she has managed to keep herself (and her crew) afloat and thriving.
The silent covenant between the ship’s captain and her ‘pirates’ remains strong. And now, with the Crescent Califate’s Prince as their hostage, the sky is —quite literally —, the limit.
The Boss stands in front of Ramesh. Her cane landing on the metal floor with a loud ‘clank’.
“Come on! Speak, kiddo!”
The twenty-year-old man smiles and shrugs. As if he didn't hear a word she said.
“There’s nothing to say Karen. You win. Again.”
The seventy-seventh-year old’s face grows a bright shade of red. A thermonuclear ire boiling right under her wrinkled skin. Why is he so darn calm? Hasn’t he realized how many levels of FUCKED UP he is!?
She breathes in and drops her shoulders. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“I’m going to enjoy watching that smug smile of yours vanish. In fact, I’m not even going to bother thinking of ways to destroy it. I’ll outsource it.” She points at the blonde teen. “YOU! I have no idea what grudge you hold against Ram, nor do I care. But he’s all yours. Have fun with him.”
The blue-eyed boy nods with a sadistic grin. A psychopath gifted with a new toy.
The Boss sniffs and extends a hand towards the trembling eleven-year-old boy still hiding behind Ramesh.
“Come on Prince. Let us retreat to a more comfortable place. This may turn ugly.”
The boy takes a step back. But Ramesh presses a hand on his back.
“It’s fine Miguel. Do as she say.”
The kid nods and meekly grabs the Boss’s skinny hand. She yanks him forwards. Not too hard, but firmly enough to convey her impatience.
The old woman gives a final look at her former protegee and scoffs.
“What a waste.”
She turns on her heels and walks away, towing the trillion-dollar kid behind her.
Hundreds of shoulders relax as she walks. Crewmates finally breath in relief.
The bizarre episode was over. Finally! They couldn't imagine what their Boss would do with the Prince. But they were certain they would benefit from it, as always.
“No… FUCK!”
People jump in place, startled by her unexpected yell.
The Boss turns and points her cane back at Ram. Her face twisting in knots, red as a beet.
“How THE FUCK did you call him!?”
Ramesh blinks, also taken by surprise by her change of demeanor.
The Boss storms back with her cane up. The boy still pinned by her hand, shoved around like a rag doll.
“You called him Miguel! Not Prince. Not Yusuf Ibrahim al-Qurashi. But ‘MIGUEL’! Didn’t you!?”
A silent exchange happens between them. So fast you could miss it if you blink.
Ramesh looks away, thinking fast. His plan didn’t work out as he intended to. She noticed it too soon. He looks back at her, sees her staring, and is unable to contain the tiniest of smiles. Like a kid caught red-handed.
In turn, the Boss’s scowl intensifies. Her face transitioning between doubt and anger as she asks herself a question and immediately realizes the answer. With each mental revelation, her anger increases. The horrible suspicion lurking in the back of her mind now all but confirmed.
She grinds her teeth, furious, and shoves Miguel away. The boy trips and falls to the floor. Now an obsolete prop.
“Sell everything! NOW!” She barks at Anita nearby. “All our stock options and future contracts! Cancel ALL outstanding operations! The hell with penalties! Unfreeze everything! Liquify ALL our portfolios!”
The rainbow-haired girl is as confused as everyone. “B-but Sir!”
The Boss lets out a harrowing, pained growl. Like a bear caught in a trap.
“NOW GODDAMIT! UGH! YOU’RE ALL USELESS!” She swings her smartphone and starts typing, fast. A desperate attempt to unchain her massive fortune from the financial scaffold holding it upright. A titanic task a team of lawyers and accountants would need days to complete.
The crewmates watching the scene glance at each other, bewildered. What the heck is happening? Ramesh burst out laughing.
"It sucks once you realize it, doesn't it!? Hahahahaha!"
“SHUT UP!” the Boss screams. Her thumbs typing on the tiny phone.
The Indian man keeps on laughing, harder now. Confusion spreads even further.
"You're so screwed! You can't even believe it! HAHAHAHA!"
“SHUT THE HELL UP!”
Ram slaps his knee, his body bent from the laughter fit. Tears clouding his eyes.
The Boss puts the phone away and reaches inside her red military coat.
"Laugh at THIS you son of a-!"
“CARO!”
Miguel’s yell stops her. The old woman turns and watches stupefied as the eleven-year-old girl comes running past and hugs her novio. Her blue mono suit wrinkled and torn at places, but otherwise intact.
The two kids kiss and embrace each other, relieved.
“What the f-?” The Boss stops. Behind Caro, Lieutenant Garcia, Sergeant Montenegro, and Maria appear. Only then she notices how every crewmember of the Farm is now present at the dock. Even those with riot gear.
“HEY! Who told you to get those traitors out the brig!?" She points around. "And why the hell are you all down here!? Get back to work!”
Yet no one seems to hear her. Some crewmembers step near, invading the Boss personal space. As if unaware of her presence.
Miguel breaks the kiss with Caro and taps her damaged clothes. Inspecting her.
“Are you ok?”
The girl nods, happy tears on her cheeks.
“Yeah! I'm alright. Lots of boys recognized me from the Sanctuary and made a sort of ring to protect me. They kept me safe until the adults rescued me.”
The Boss keeps yelling. “Rescued her!? I didn’t give such order! Who took her out the yard”?
She's ignored. Crewmates are talking excitedly with one another.
"Thank God, I was worried for a second."
"I knew crowd control wouldn't let that kid get raped to oblivion."
"That was harrowing."
"But what do we do now? Who's going to negotiate with the Califate for the Prince's rescue?"
"'Prince'!?" Ram's loud, masculine voice raises above the all-female chitchat. His laughing fit gone. His tone serious. "Come on girls! You still believe that pile of HORSESHIT!?"
The crowd grows silent. He points at Miguel.
"HIM!? A Prince!? That skinny fellow!? You’re telling me you can't distinguish a Mexican orphan from Qatari royalty?"
The Boss yells again but no one listens to her. Everyone is staring at Ram. She scoffs and keeps typing on her smartphone.
Naomi of all people steps forward and speaks. "What are you talking about? They tested his sperm. That's Abdulaziz son! The most fertile boy in decades!"
Ramesh seems surprised. Amused even. He points at the Boss typing furiously. "Does she look like she believes he's the Prince everyone is looking for!?"
The old woman stretches her neck.
"SHUT UP! Arrest him! Don't listen to what he's saying!"
She's ignored. Another crewmember raises her voice.
"If he's not the Prince, then why is the boy so darn fertile!?"
Murmurs of agreement. The evidence seemed solid.
Yet Ramesh doesn't seem fazed. He nods and puts a hand under his chin.
"Right, right. How to explain that. I mean, it's possible we stumbled by mere chance with the most sought-after boy in the whole planet. A boy who miraculously survived a deadly reentry into the atmosphere. One who never contacted the Califate for help. Who kept out of everyone's radars for over two years, pretending or thinking he was a regular kid. Sure, sure... It’s possible… OR-!"
He lets his words hang in the air. The air fizzling with anticipation. Ram revels in the tense silence. He sweeps a finger and points at a crewmate. An old woman in janitorial clothes.
"You! How old where you during the 2020's? Ten, eleven years old?"
The sixty-something nods, uncomfortable under the spotlight.
Ram smiles. "What a time uh? The whole world comes to a stop for a pandemic. Families huddled indoors, watching their screens all day long... Say, I believe people said a certain phrase whenever they saw ducks swimming in the canals of Venice. Or whales singing for the first time in decades. Or pollution clearing off the air. You remember what they said?"
The janitor shrugs. "Ya. An old meme. They said, 'nature was healing'."
Ramesh smiles. A glorious, wide smile. Like that of a church preacher. He snaps a finger.
"Yes! That's it! What a wonderful thought, isn't it? Despite everything humans had done to the planet up to that point, it took only a few weeks of isolation for the damage to revert. Just beautiful. What a wonderful time."
Most crewmates listen without understanding. Yet a large number begin to nod to themselves. A growing, silent realization spreading amongst the crowd.
Anita raises her voice.
"So that's it? The reason this boy is fertile is that the world is... Healing?"
Ramesh shrugs. "Why not? No one knows exactly when or why the Fertility Crisis began. Nor who was the first man who grew infertile after his early teens. So, ask yourselves this: How would people KNOW when the Crisis ended? And just as importantly, WHO would be the first ones to realize it?"
He motions at the giant submarine around them. Billions of dollars of investment surrounding them, like a divine light.
"So, tell me girls, who else in the world squeezes the last millimeter of sperm out of a randomized sample of boys from all over the world? Who else measures their fertility with medical precision? Don’t you see? We've been running a science experiment without noticing!" He points at Miguel. "This boy may be the first, but he won't be the last! I bet there's dozens of boys on this ship alone who are as fertile as him. And soon, it will be everybody! Everywhere!"
He points at the Boss still typing on her phone.
"Why do you think she's selling all her stock options and future contracts before the markets open in a few hours!?"
Another dramatic pause. He waves his arms. Caught by explosive emotion.
"Don't you get it!? It's OVER! We're DONE! Soon no one will need the boy sperm we collect! We might as well start selling WEED!"
Murmurs have risen steadily as he spoke. As he ends his speech, they reach a crescendo.
Women are panicking. Not only are their jobs in jeopardy, but their personal fortunes embedded in the Farm's convoluted financial instruments are also at risk. Stocks, retirement funds, money markets. It's all about to collapse if what Ramesh is saying is true.
The Indian man beams as he witnesses a sense of dread spread amongst the crowd. Crewmates grow scared as they talk with one another. Their fears building upon themselves in a vicious cycle of speculation and doom. After decades preparing for the end of mankind, the idea that things would go on as normal is maddening. No one knows what to do about it!
It’s a crowd primed for someone, anyone, to guide them into this new, scary world they're heading into. And Ram is not the only one to notice.
The Boss elbows her way between the crowd surrounding Ramesh and unholsters her gun.
"I knew I should've killed you while you were still a child!"
She hesitates. Not because of regret, but because Ram has met the barrel of her pistol with a smile.
The smile of someone who has nothing to fear. The smile of someone standing behind a thick, transparent, bulletproof wall. For a second, it makes the Boss feel as if her gun was nothing but a plastic toy. As if she was facing an invincible demigod.
Around her, people scream. The Boss scowls and pulls the trigger. A massive shadow flashes in front of her.
"FUCK!" Lieutenant Garcia yells falling on the floor. The bullet lodged inside her body armor. "That shit still hurts!"
The Boss blinks, incredulous. She lowers the gun to shoot again when dozens of hands grab her and take it away. It's not too difficult to disarm and immobilize the old, frail woman. She kicks and shouts as the mutinous crewmates subdue her and take her away.
"Get off me you SLUTS! Can't you see what he's doing to you!? He's got you in the palm of his hand! Don't listen to him! It’s all lies!!! Don't LISTEN TO HIM!!!"
Her swears vanish little by little. Ramesh follows her with his eyes, sighs, and turns to the woman with the buzz cut still on the floor. Maria sits by her side, crying from seeing her mom shot again, but relieved she’s unharmed.
"NOW we're even," says Ramesh lending a hand.
The Lieutenant lets out a pained chuckle and grabs him. People cheer and clap as the towering woman stands up and goes away her daughter.
Anita slips close to Ram and whispers by his ear.
"How did you know?"
Ram whispers back while smiling and waving at the crowd.
"Know what?"
"That the boy, Miguel, was not the Prince."
"I didn't. I'm winging it as I go."
Anita opens her eyes wide. Ramesh shrugs.
"Hey, it worked. We'll figure the rest later." He lends her a palm. "I could use some help."
She frowns. "Why do you trust me?"
"You could've stopped the ship long before it got so near the shore. You didn't. You trusted your superior."
Anita makes a face. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she shakes his hand.
"So, what do we do now, um... 'Boss'?"
Next, the final chapter...!
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