The Killing Queens Read online

  Martha disagreed.

  She chose to take control of her body and to have an abortion. Martha didn’t want to carry a child to term that would suffer and live a miserable life. She tried to explain that to him. That she wanted her child to be pain free and be free, but he would have nothing of it.

  From then forth, in Jacob’s eyes, his wife was nothing more than a murderer.

  Chapter 11: The Score

  “Catherine, we’re here, ma’am,” her driver said to her through the partition.

  “Thank you, Knox,” she said as she opened the door. The President got out of the Explorer. It was a little after midnight and she was still in her evening gown with her two male human androids following her. Her heels announced her arrival to the glass building under tight security.

  She walked in passing through a gray foyer with numerous security monitors and into an all-white clean lab where women were working feverishly at various stations. Some worked with beakers, and test tubes, while others worked with centrifuges, magnets, plants, and seeds. They were all focused diligently on the important mission at hand.

  Out of a small back door in the lab popped out a familiar face.

  “Zora,” Catherine said.

  “Ah, yes. Madame President, we’re ready for you,” Zora replied. “Right this way,”

  Catherine met the doctor where she stood. They both went through an airtight vacuum door infront of them and out into a launching pad where a thin rocket stood ready to be launched out into space.

  “How are the subjects?” she asked.

  “They’re doing quite well,” Zora said looking down at her tablet.

  “They are all still unconscious due to the large amounts of sedatives given to them but their O2 saturation is good, pulses are strong, and the chips have been implanted in them as well.”

  As Catherine at them, she thought to herself how she had come so far in such a short period of time. Once she was a prisoner in a world that wanted to use her for breeding stock, now she ruled a nation that needed none.

  She looked at Zora and smiled. “We’ve done good work here,”

  “Do you think they’ll find it and can start over on a new planet?” Zora asked with a quivery of worry.

  Catherine smiled confidently at Zora. “Oh, yes. They definitely will.”

  Years earlier, Catherine, not yet president was exhibiting her captivating leadership style in a world both similar and different to the Oval Office.

  Before she was Catherine , Commander and Chief of the New United States, she was simply Captain Captain Catherine Kearney, USMC. A professional Marine Corps JAG and solid winner in the courtroom during the weekdays and hardcore party girl on the weekend.

  For nearly a decade, she managed the worlds and kept them separate. She won court cases around the globe dealing with a wide variety of items ranging from international trade agreements with Australia, to homicide in the first and third degree in Camp Pendleton, to environmental issues regarding oil drilling on what was left of the Gulf Coast after Hurricanes Katrina, Rita, and Adina, and not to mention failures from FEMA.

  Then she was stationed at the heart of the Marine Corps in Quantico, Virginia. She was attached to the headquarters JAG department and handled some of the highest profile cases.

  Or, at least she was supposed to.

  “Hmm,” she said, sitting and looking at her computer. Since the Bunkum Party of the had come into power, they had completely rewired the Department of Defense and Homeland Security when it came to women. It was like it was back in the 1930’s. No longer were they allowed to do anything “active” per se, no matter their classification, rate, or military occupational speciality. Instead, they were relegated to support roles. Pilots and naval flight officers now ordered spare parts, women in infantry now cleaned weapons full time, and the trend continued across the military. Catherine’s position as a JAG was no different. Instead of preparing for her own cases, she was now editing the cases for her male counterparts.

  On a daily basis, she worked out and worked from her desk in the day. She went to the small female-only gym and ran on the treadmill, then lifted weights and did some calisthenics, but not enough to attract attention. Then after a quick shower, she would head to her desk and begin reviewing cases for her male colleagues.

  Day by day, she would sit and read over cases similar to those she once battled herself. She still wrote notes on these cases but they were no longer her own to be used, they went to the other prosecutors instead.

  Day by day, she did this and was bored stiff. Examining cases for her male peers; her once exciting life filled with adventure and travel to one of boredom and loneliness.

  Well, for the most part.

  In the evenings, in particular on Tuesday nights, she had one place to go for a bit of fun and enjoyed in the company of the countries restricted for some unrestricted fun.

  She would drive her silver Jeep out into the countryside and out to a remote farm where more cars filled out the front lawn. The cover story was that the farm was that it was meant to be a women’s devotional book club. It was anything but.

  The simple white country farmhouse was set nestled perfectly in the countryside between a field of grazing horses and grains flowing in the wind.

  She walked up to the front door of the house and knocked three times. The door quietly opened and a A.I. image replica stood before her.

  “Good Evening, Ms. Kearney,” the A.I. said to her. She had short curly black hair, light brown eyes, and fair skin. There was a light present smile on her face and she worked a green and turquoise wrap dress with lavender heels.

  “Good Evening, A.I. Jeanine,” Catherine responded. She entered the house, and A.I Jeanine closed the door behind her with the click of a button.

  “Will A.I. Catherine be joining us tonight, Ms. Kearny?” she asked.

  “Yes could you please retrieve her?” Catherine asked.

  “Of course,” A.I. Jeanie said. She then went into a closet and dragged out a robot that looked very similar to Catherine. She wore a lavender poofy dress similar to A.I. Jeanine’s, but A.I. Catherine’s heels were blue and she had pearl earrings, bracelets, and necklace. The real Catherine wore a simpler outfit made of blue jeans, a black t-shirt, black leather motorcycle jacket, and black boots.

  “Good evening, A.I. Catherine,” A.I. Jeanine responded. “Shall we head out to the parlor with the other ladies?”

  “Oh, yes. Let us. I do hope to continue our discussion on Emma. I found the read quite fascinating,” A.I. Catherine said as A.I. Jeanine lead her out to the back porch where other similarly dressed A.I’s were taking the place of their true human counterparts.

  Meanwhile, Catherine headed to where the real party was. She walked into one of the back rooms of the house and to a bookshelf. She scanned the shelves for a copy of The Awakening by Kate Chopin. She pulled it away from its place in the bookshelf and the bookshelf itself slowly slid away revealing a staircase. As Catherine traveled down the staircase, she heard the bookcase close behind her and the laughing and conversation of her friends below.

  Her friends were standing around the central fireplace with a pride flag flying over the mantle, sharing in prohibited alcohol and contraband junk food, relaxing and being themselves without fear of persecution, prison, or execution.

  A nice bit of an escape from the real world.

  “Catherine,” she heard a familiar voice say. “Nice that you could make it,” she said, handing her a red Solo cup filled with a gin and tonic.

  “Thanks, Jeanine,” Catherine responded to the real Jeanine. “I need a break to be myself for a change,” she said, taking the glass into her hand and sipping from it. Catherine looked around and saw the wide variety of people who were similar to her. Once dominant women—and some men in their fields—forced into becoming invisible and living underground .

  On the projector screens[1] behind them played a speech by legendary University of Notre Dame women’s basketball coach
, Muffet McGraw. In 2019, she openly discussed and called out the NCAA for not hiring women coaches for women's sports.

  She was right then, and after the rise of the Bull Party, she was even more right. In 2021, they swept the elections and pushed their agenda of a re-rise of the ideal 1950’s plus even more military dominance with 1910’s rules and regulations.

  “We need to do something,” Catherine said.

  “Oh, gosh. Look, I just started on this drink,” Jeanine replied holding up her half drunk scotch and soda. “Can we hold off on revolutionary talk until I get a refill of this?”

  “No, I’m serious. This crap needs to stop. They can’t keep crushing us like this. You used to be a badass field surgeon, now you’re restricted to a lab where you do what, count cells all day?”

  “No, I actually count molecules thank you very much,” Jeanine responded smartly by taking another sip of her drink. “Look, I understand why you’re so angry, and believe me, counting microorganisms on the daily is not my idea of fun. I’d much rather be doing stitches or bullet removal in the back of a Blackhawk any day, but unfortunately, that is no longer in the cards for anyone with two X chromosomes.” Jeanine said as she gulped the rest of her scotch and soda, feeling melancholic about the sadness in our hearts regarding the darkness of the country’s current state of affairs.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that tonight, but there is someone I want you to meet,” Jeanine responded. She leads Catherine over to a bookshelf filled with various types of herbs where a tall black woman stood with a short dreadlocks.

  “Catherine, this is Dr. Grace Imani. Grace, this is Captain Kearny,” she said, introducing the two. They looked in each others eyes and shook hands firmly.

  “You two will make excellent friends, and who knows, maybe even more.”

  Chapter 12: The Memories

  General Nancy Lane had always defined herself by the Marine Corps and her service to others. She ate, slept, and breathed this lifestyle from the age of twenty-one when she graduated from the US Naval Academy to becoming a combat engineer. She always kept her hair short and in regs, worked out two to three times a day, and always lead the charge on missions.

  That was until everything changed.

  It was a Monday morning, when Major Elizabeth Lane was called into her unit commander’s office, Colonel Daniel Rothbard.

  “Good Afternoon Colonel, Major Lane reporting as ordered,” Major Lane said to the Colonel.

  “Come on in. Please do take a seat,” the Colonel said. He had a shiny bald head and his toned muscles showed through his kaki blouse. “Major Lane, before I go any further in this conversation, I want to say that I respect you for what you do, not what you are. You have always excelled in leadership, physical fitness, and mentality. You’re a servant leaders and I’ve never seen you issue and order that you would never follow,” he said, chuckling lightly with a sense of remorse and guilt in his voice.

  “Thank you sir,” Major Lane replied.

  Colonel Rothbard took a deep breath and leaned over his desk towards her and whispered, “Just remember that I never wanted this to happen. Fight back.”

  As those words left his lips, two marine military police officers rushed in and grabbed Major Lane out of her chair.

  “Hey! Put me down, that’s an order!” Major Lane screamed. She broke one of her arms free and hammer-punched one the MP’s in the groin, causing him to crumple into a ball on the ground. She then swung her leg across and kicked the second MP in the groin as well but with such force that he fell backwards on the floor. Once free, Major Lane raced towards the Colonel’s office doors but was thrown back and into a wall, falling unconscious.

  Towering over her was the man who had ordered her kidnapping, Adam Blackstone, a muscular man with black and silver hair, wearing a form-fitting gray suit.

  “Well, you finally got her down,” his deep voice hissed.

  “Just don’t hurt her,” Colonel Rothbard said to him. “She’s one of my best and she deserves the best.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Blackstone hissed. At that point, the two MP’s she had defeated were able to rise to their feet.

  “You two,” he commanded, pointing at her, “take her to the dressing room so she can be prepared for the Coupling Ceremony,”

  The MP she had punched in the groin leaned over, wincing in pain, and lifted her into his arms. He carried her out with his partner following, leaving a worried Colonel Rothbard and a pleased Adam Blackstone.

  “Will my wife be safe?” Colonel Rothbard asked.

  “Oh, yes. Trust me, now that you’ve given us all of your female marine officers, your precious wife will stay yours. We will not terminate her.”

  “Good,” Colonel Rothbard said in relief.

  “But we will terminate you.”

  “Huh?” The Colonel said, turning into a syringe filled with fentanyl. Adam pushed down hard until all sixty cc's of the muscle relaxant had clearly absorbed into his body. The Colonel collapsed on the floor, paralyzed, suffocating while Adam watched.

  “You see, sir, we are trying to build a society built on a strong patriarchy. One that cannot have any weak links.,” he boasted about the new gubernatorial regime.

  “Don’t worry about your wife. You’ll be seeing her shortly, but thank you so much for donating your best marines to the cause. We’ll never forget your dedication,” Adam said as he pulled out a small box of matches from his coat pocket. He swiped one match, igniting a flame, and lit a stack of papers on his desk. The Colonel moaned out as a desperate plea for help, but Adam Blackstone’s turned his back on him, leaving him to meet a fiery end.

  ***

  Back in the present, Priscilla woke in her bedroom chambers with a new sense of life. Her fingertips felt tingly as she sat up on her forearms, taking in all she saw. The sunlight that came through the windows glistened on the wooden floors. She could see the small flakes of dust falling from the ceiling fan and feel the cool air from that same fan on her skin.

  She had spent the night with C.H.I.P man Spencer and it invigorated her. She could still smell his scent in the sheets. He was gentle with her. Washing her hair, massaging her shoulders, holding her softly, wrapping her in soft linens, kissing her deeply on the lips, and nothing more.

  Respecting her wishes to go no deeper with physical intimacy. She wasn’t afraid of him like she was her first, and now deceased husband. He didn’t seem to want to hurt her, just serve her. But just in case, she took precautions.

  Priscilla pushed back the comforter and walked into her vast walk-in closet. She turned on the light and walked past rows of coats, business suits, and jackets to the very back where the wall met the floor.

  She knelt down and pulled back the carpet from the right corner of her closet to reveal a small square door coming up from her floor. Priscilla slid her rose gold ring off her index finger and pushed it into the center of the lock. It clicked and the door swung open and clattered to the floor.

  “Good morning, Richard,” she said into the hole.

  “Good morning, President Rolb,” Richard said to her from below in his hole.

  “Shall I get you ready for work?”

  “Yes, please do.”

  Part III

  Chapter 13: The Problem

  “Ah, Nancy,” Vice President Rob said to her as she came into her office.

  “Good morning. How are you, General?” she said to her as she rose from her seat. Nancy, who was normally ahead of the game, was caught off guard by the very enthused and happy vice president.

  “Madame Vice President, we need to talk about something quite important,” Nancy said.

  “Yes, I agree it is very important,” Warden Sienna said in agreement with Nancy as she rushed into the office.

  “Well, alright,” Priscilla responded. She waved her arm signaling the guard at her door to close the door. “What is it?”

  “The barrier is beginning to leak the toxic waste from the west coast beyond the bord
ers of the Mojave Desert.”

  “What are you talking about?” she inquired. The smile that had been there momentarily had disappeared and been replaced by a look of worry. “I thought all of that stuff was glass. Literally just a state of glass. Green, unbreakable, toxic glass and now you’re telling me that it’s leaking?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It is,” Warden Sienna said. “A few weeks ago, we had a few inmates escape. We assume that they believed that they were going eastward when instead they headed west. We followed and tracked them into the desert and we found their bodies, or what was left of them, being eaten by vultures who were also dying from radioactive poisoning.”

  “It’s not just the desert but I fear it has gotten into the water supply as a whole, Madamw Vice President,” Nancy added.

  “How so?” Priscilla asked.

  “A team up in the Klamath Mountains was conducting winter climate training and after about two days out in the field, the entire team became ill with vomiting, diarrhea, fever, weakness, and hair loss.”

  “The signs of radiation poisoning,” Priscilla said quietly to herself. She sunk into her chair, filled with both worry and anxiety. “Does the president know?”

  “No, she does not, Madame Vice President,” Nancy said. “She is off working on the Boudica Project.”

  “I know. Come now,” Priscilla said to both of her cabinet members.

  “Where are we going, ma’am?” Sienna asked.

  “We are going to see your Marines and see if there is anyway we can stop this radioactive glass.”

  “But what about the President?” Nancy asked.

  “She’s in the loop already. I’m sure of it.”

  ***

  “I wish I didn’t have to keep you as a secret,” she whispered in the dark.

  “I know, but I understand why,” he responded.

  Martha and Kelly were laying in the living room for a change. They were on a white wicker couch covered in red, white, and blue blankets.