Organo-Topia Read Online Free Page A

it, never said a word about herself. Listened to plenty of my whining, but wasn't the kind to do any of her own. What about it?”
    “To another Ofem.”
    Bernhard threw his head back and laughed. “They breed a sperm-vesicle with the looks of a goddess and she doesn't like men?” He couldn't get over the irony, its pathos shaking his substantial gut, and soon he had tears coursing his cheeks. “Jerking Coalition, goddamn them to hell, putting an innocent child like her through that!”
    The Detective's cold gaze soon sobered the Professor.
    “What?”
    “You asked her back.”
    “So? She was beautiful. They were going to send somebody, might as well choose the beauties.”
    “You liked her.”
    “Is that a crime? To feel some affection for your sperm receptacle? Let me tell you something, you officious little dick. She was doing a job, and so was I. At first, I couldn't, because she was so fresh, innocent, and pure. You saw her promo-vid! Don't tell me she didn't stiffen your beam. Those first few times, I wouldn't let her disrobe, and I wept in despair afterward. Because she was exactly the kind of girl I'd have wanted for a daughter. So take that smirk, dip it in shit, and paint your face with it, asshole!” By now, Bernhard was on his feet and towering over the little Detective.
    He hadn't moved.
    The Professor would have smashed him in the face if he'd flinched.
    “You loved her.”
    He collapsed in his chair and wept, nodding and remembering how she'd held him, patiently working him into that nasty, salacious place in his mind where he could give her a deposit to take back to the bank. And she would leave him spent, his remorse as profound as his ecstasy, swearing he'd never touch her again, not her, anyone but her, the angelic child who did devilish things down there, who somehow coaxed the fluids from his hopelessly flaccid member no matter how much he resisted.
    “How do you know it was murder?” Professor Vitol was finally able to ask.
    “Puddles of proto on the roof she fell from.”
    He looked sharply at the Detective. “Nanochines.”
    * * *
    Karlen Araj waited in the foyer of Gizela Muceniek's home. On his corn pulsed the levels of lutropin in Gizela's system.
    He was there for a collection.
    Her increase in lutropin had lasted twenty-four hours. The moment it peaked, triggering ovulation, then it was Karlen's turn.
    Lives like a princess, he thought, looking around. Newly assigned to Gizela Muceniek, he took in the crushed-crystal ceilings vaulting above his head like cathedral naves, chandeliers so profuse their light seeped from the walls themselves, carpets thick enough to silence any step, artwork from across the galaxy going back several centuries, mouldings so elaborate he couldn't count the layers of Mirnavian beetle-wood.
    Outside the house was a contingent of officers from the Reproductive Enforcement Division. Gizela had been known to resist in the past, Karlen had been informed. New from the crèche, just graduated from finishing school, Omale Karlen Araj was on his fourth collection. Ten years of indenture remaining at my current rate of pay, he thought, feeling fortunate he might end his servitude to his creators so soon.
    “Muceniek profile,” he said on his trake. Karlen reviewed his information about her, the lutropin graph glowing to one side of his corn.
    Thirty-eight years old, former Justice Gizela Muceniek had donated fifty-five ovum since mandatory collection began. She had been disbarred four years ago after a spate of rulings in favor of Brehume reproductive rights. Justice Gizela Muceniek was married to an Imale thought to lead a guerilla cell. Increasingly across the last five years, she'd become a poster child for the movement, a right-wing militant group whose targets had included Ohume incubation centers, Ihume fertility clinics, and Reproductive Enforcement personnel. For all their stunts, the group had gained little legitimacy with the public. Her highly publicized