SLAVE GENESIS

by

Jennifer Jane Pope

Two tiny islands on the fringes of the remote Shetlands group off the north east coast of Scotland - one an exclusive health farm retreat, the other deserted, supposedly. But these almost barren lumps of rock conceal a remarkable secret, and not just the subterranean passage which links them.

The group of people who run Healthglow seem fairly normal, apart from a slight reptilean look about their eyes and noses, but they are not human. Even the cloned bodies they are producing have more of a claim to that title, for these unthinking, beautiful forms are being steadily turned into the hosts for terminally ill and grossly injured humans, offering them not just the chance for continued life, but for a life that will probably stretch over four centuries.

So where's the problem in that? Surely this is humanitarianism on a grand scale?

Try telling that to the subjects, referred to as Jenny-Anns (genetically modified androids) now trapped into a life of sexual slavery, forced to pay for their so-called salvation by becoming the hapless playthings of Healthglow's mega-rich and super deviant clientele and, with nothing in the outward appearance of either island to attract outside attention, this servitude is set to continue for what will seem like an eternity.

Then some suspicious deaths, both on the mainland and in the largest of the Shetland Islands, arouses the suspicion of DS Alex Gregory. A young woman who won't take no for an answer, she arranges to parachute onto the smaller island in order to take a quiet look around and discovers something quite different from what she had expected. Worse still, she slips and falls into a rocky crevasse, breaking her spine.

The island people discover her and she, together with a young fisherman, Tommy MacIntyre, washed ashore after his trawler was wrecked in a storm, find themselves transferred into beautiful, desireable bodies, though Tommy is less than impressed to find out that he now has breasts and a vagina!

Meanwhile, there are other new Jenny-Anns on the islands, also struggling to come to terms with their fate, one of whom is Mary McLeod and in this extract we meet her, as her mentor, Kelly, herself a Jenny-Ann, explains what lies in store ...

Mary McLeod stood clutching the handrail that ran along the front of the gallery, staring down at the scene in the long hall below, her mouth wide open in disbelief, her unblinking eyes as round as saucers. Behind her, Kelly stood in silence, arms folded across her chest, watching her closely.

At last, Mary managed to tear her gaze away from the tableau and turned back to face her supposed mentor and tutor.

`That's - that's barbaric!' she blurted out. `And there's no way you can tell me those girls down there are happy with that sort of treatment.'

In the hall, four human pony girls were being harnessed in pairs to two racing buggies, their handlers and drivers manoeuvring them with practised ease, hitching reins and chains, clipping on bells and brasses, whilst the four creatures, rendered dumb by their bitted harnesses and helpless by the cruel gloves that held their arms to their sides, stood like statues atop the awesome hooves in which their legs appeared to terminate.

`You can't treat women like animals,' Mary continued to protest. Kelly inclined her head slightly.

`We are all animals of one kind or another,' she replied. `And yes, those girls are quite content with their treatment. They have been trained over a long period of time, as we all are, as you will be shortly. Every one of us must be trained in many different skills.

`Of course, most of us will only race occasionally, but there are some who take to it better than others, some who are better suited, temperamentally that is and they are selected for the permanent stables. They lead quite a privileged life, I can tell you. They are pampered and spoiled beyond anything the rest of us can ever hope for.'

`Like pedigree bitches, or thoroughbred mares, you mean?'

`I suppose there is a degree of comparison,' Kelly conceded. `For myself, I'd prefer to think of them in the manner of a favourite in the sultan's harem. The very best are actually reserved for only one master, although the grooms will exercise them daily in between, of course.'

`Oh, of course!' Mary sneered. `Couldn't have them getting lazy and fat, could we? Well, if you think I'm going to stand there and let some pervert strap me into a harness and then parade about like a potential Derby winner, you can think again.

`I've seen enough. More than enough,' she added, casting a last look behind her. The first buggy began to move off, accompanied by a jangling symphony of bouncing silver and brass ware. `I want out of here,' Mary growled.

`I demand to speak to the head honcho and right now would be a good time,' she continued, planting her feet firmly astride and praying the heels wouldn't betray her. `Okay, I know I owe you people my life, but there are limits and that - ' she jerked her thumb in the general direction of the arena below, ` - that goes well beyond them.

`I'll happily repay whatever debt I owe. I've got a few thousand pounds in my savings account and some shares my grandfather left me, plus I'll either work here in some way, or else I'll go back to my job in Glasgow and we can agree a monthly sum.'

`I don't think you understand,' Kelly said, quietly. `You cannot go back to Glasgow. Your old job will have been given to someone else now in any case, but even had it not, they can't risk letting you back into the outside world. Not now and probably not ever. You see, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you're dead now.

`Your old body was cremated some while ago, your savings will have gone to your next of kin, along with your shares and anything else you owned. The only thing left out there of the old Mary McLeod will be a few photos and cherished memories and both of those fade a lot quicker than you might think.

`Your past is your past now and the only matter of any importance is the future, which for you, for me, for all of us, lies here. And yes, we will repay what we owe, though how do you put a value on life, Mary?

`And why do you think we have been made the way we are now? These people - our so-called saviours - they aren't some benevolent charity, nor are they state sponsored. They may not actually be perfecting their science for money itself, but they certainly need cash and loads of it. That's where we come in.

`Those men down there - the drivers and even, possibly, some of the handlers - they're not everyday common Joe's. There won't be a single one of them who isn't worth at least a couple of million pounds, usually a lot more and they pay a king's ransom every time they come here to the island.

`Yes, they may all be warped, kinky, call it what you want, but not all of them are so bad. Some of them can be quite kind and, once you get used to it, this isn't such a bad place to be. We are well looked after, we don't get sick, we eat well and no real harm can ever come to us.

`Even those whips don't have the effect you'd expect. Look, I'll show you.' Kelly reached behind her, to where a small rack was bolted to the wall, to which was clipped a variety of whips, straps and crops. She selected a particularly vicious looking crop, flexed it between her hands and then, without warning, brought it around in a scything arc.

The leather landed across the top of Mary's left thigh with a high pitched crack and she jumped back in alarm, but, to her surprise and disbelief, the only sensation was as if someone had slapped her with an open palm. It stung, but not that badly.

`You see?' Kelly exclaimed, triumphantly. `When they gave us these bodies, they arranged it so that our responses to pain were dulled by about eighty percent. So, when you see those pony girls being whipped into action, they aren't really feeling much of it at all. And the whip marks fade quickly, too, I promise you.'

`Somehow, I don't think that makes me feel a lot better about things,' Mary said, shaking her head. `The whole idea is - well, it's demeaning, isn't it?'

`Any more demeaning than someone having to spend fifty years on their hands and knees scrubbing lavatory floors?' Kelly asked. `That's what my grandmother did and then she died at the age of sixty five, looking eighty and feeling a hundred and ten.'

`That would have been a long time ago,' Mary pointed out. `Given that you're nearly seventy yourself, that is.'

`Maybe so, but there are women suffering all over the world, who would gladly change places with any one of us. Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet.'

Mary hesitated, but finally moved to follow her.

`Okay,' she agreed, `but then I want to meet the boss man. I'm sorry, but you won't convince me otherwise.' Kelly halted, turning back with a look of genuine consternation in her unblinking eyes.

`I hope I can,' she said, earnestly. `I truly hope I can. Because the mechanism that they use to dull our pain responses can easily be reversed.' She paused and shook her head.

`And intensified,' she added, darkly.

Slave Genesis is published in the UK by Nexus Books, Priced £5.99 and is available in most good book stores. It is also currently available via www.amazon.co.uk at a discounted price of £4.79. Just type "Jennifer Jane Pope" into their search engine and it will display all titles of mine currently available from Amazon UK.

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