Organo-Topia Read Online Free Page B

fight to keep her ovum to herself had cemented her elevation to reproductive rights icon. This profoundly selfish resistance had earned her castigation from most of the political spectrum.
    The lutropin graph peaked and began to flash red. On his coke, a chime sounded and a contralto robo-voice said, “Collection time.” On his corn appeared a schematic of the palatial house, Gizela's location highlighted.
    Karlen rose and threaded his way through anterooms and libraries, corridors and waiting rooms. He saw no one, awed that two people occupied such a vast amount of space. Being a professional media maven had proved more lucrative than her previous occupation.
    Unless she derives her wealth from her ovum donations, he thought.
    He found her in her bedroom, satin sheets bunched up at her hips, her legs splayed.
    “I know what you're here for, so get in there and get it over with!” Her voice was a whip and he flinched.
    Karlen began to disrobe.
    The glowing tip of a blasma pistol appeared at his temple. “Just the crotch, jerker,” snarled the husband. Valdi Muceniek stood six-five and topped three hundred pounds. He wore no clothes, his arched, half-tumescent penis glistening. He could have flattened Karlen with the swat of a finger.
    Karlen climbed atop her, and the thought of the husband's slick snake behind him brought him instantly to orgasm. Instead of ejaculation, Karlen's nano-modified anatomy sent a tentacle up through her cervix and into her uterus. The tentacle slipped up the fallopian tube toward the follicle, where the just-released ovum hovered. Cilia at the tentacle tip gathered the ovum and sealed it off from possible fertilization. His orgasm over, Karlen's penis reeled in the tentacle, which then retracted into his pubic recess.
    “My turn,” Valdi said. He tore Karlen's trousers to his knees and thrust himself deep.
    Karlen gasped.
    Gizela squirmed out from under him. “One rape for another, you dirty lump of laboratory scum,” the woman hissed in his ear.
    The pounding continued interminably, the big man smashing the air from Karlen's lungs with each thrust. Face down, he had no means to resist.
    The heat rushing into him might have been ejaculate or blood. The husband got off him and hurled him bodily toward the door. Wood disintegrated into a shower of splinters. Karlen tried to roll to his feet, but his insides spiked with pain, and all he could do was groan, a fetal curl on carpet.
    Chaos erupted, soldiers surrounding him. Through his haze of pain, he heard someone calling for medical care. Gentle hands helped him onto a gurney. Karlen drifted in and out of consciousness. The husband was led past him, glasma circlets at his wrists.
    “Her too,” someone said.
    “Get your hands off—” and Gizela screeched in pain.
    “Donation intact?”
    “Scanning now, Captain.” A device appeared above Karlen, hummed briefly. “Looks like it, Ma'am.”
    “Lab first, then ER.”
    They hustled him out to the waiting magnambulance. Each time it banked, fresh pain ripped through Karlen's colon. The gurney sheets squished with every turn, blood puddling around his buttocks.
    At the fertility lab, they stretched him out to extract the ovum, which they transferred to zero-kelvin cryo, but not before Karlen died of blood loss.
    * * *
    “Another murder?” Maris groaned, shaking his head. “Lieutenant—!”
    “Plug it, Peterson,” Lieutenant Anita Balodis told him. “This one's open and shut.” She marveled that a phrase so old retained its use four centuries after it originated. Triple masters' degrees in linguistics, criminology, and forensics hadn't landed her anything better than Homicide Lieutenant, the salary barely able to cover her student loans. “The suspects are in booking now. Get your ass down there.”
    “Who's the victim?”
    As if he can't see the case on his corn, Anita thought, staring at the stupid Detective. Outside, the buzz of a busy squadroom invaded her office through the