Hands over her ears, pressing as hard as she could, Eugenia failed to keep his words out.
“It’s a big ship, Eugenia. An entire society of people that function with minimal violence and maximum growth. The perfect equation, a tight rein on circular history.
“Brooke will earn her keep as a breeder, as a mother, finding her peace with it like they all do. As will Hellen, Juanita, Chloe...”
She was going to be sick, right there on his boots, yet raised her eyes to look at the monster, to read him like she could. “How many women have you done this to?”
“Only the pretty ones of a certain age experience Level 15 and the workload involved. Everyone else is hosted on Level 9. Twenty-four women counting Brooke.”
It didn’t seem possible that she could have thought worse of this place, of him. But it was so much worse than she’d imagined. “Can they buy their way out?”
“No. I can’t have them taking babies off the boat.” Holding her eyes as if his gaze alone might pin her in place, as if it might change her thinking, he gestured to the dead forest and the dirty lake. “Children don’t belong out there. No one knows that better than you. Brooke will be given time to adjust and heal. She may already be pregnant, which will buy her more time to settle in with her baby before she will be expected to do her part and submit to the man who purchased rights to her cycle. All copulation is monitored, genealogies tracked, and the men know they have to try to please their lady for the month. Foreplay is required. It costs them a fortune, and there is a waiting list a mile long. Level 15 is what tides them over while they wait to play house.”
Foreplay? He was the king of foreplay, and she was the queen of surviving bullshit. “How many of the kids are yours?”
“None.” He shook his head. “I don’t go to Level 9.”
“Why? Can’t look them in the eye when you can’t even fuck Level 15 slaves face-to-face?”
“Work out the statistics, work your math, and admit to yourself that I’m trying to save the world.” He had not been that harsh with her since the day his fingers tore her hymen. But he was sharp as a razor as he condemned, “I know you don’t want to face the truth, because you’re too damn bitter over what you lost. Everyone lost, Eugenia! And everyone had a part in it. And now everyone pays.”
Not on this boat. “Except you, in your fancy room with your music and rotating harem of pretty girls of a certain age. You’re a monster, Aaron.” Slinking out from his touch, she skittered back. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I don’t even want to look at you.”
Standing tall, he sighed. As if he was the one hurting and she was the one causing it. “You’ll come to accept it. They all do.”
He walked away, leaving her as she was—because they both knew she wasn’t going to throw herself over that railing—Eugenia screaming at his back, “When I get off this boat, I won’t ever come back!”
***
Ironically forced to dress in the same outfit from that first, awful night—the naughty schoolgirl—Eugenia prepared Table #2. Stacking the pile of linen to the side for the men to shoot their load into. Grasping why they never complained about not finishing in the girls.
Because it would break their fancy toy if that human got pregnant. After all, everyone went to Level 9, and they’d have their shot later.
And they all knew it when they teased, kissed, adored, fucked, and offered for Level 15 girls.
They weren’t straight evil. The captain was. And she could see how some of them had hinted. But who could doubt for a minute that outright spilling the beans about Level 9 led to instant execution?
Couldn’t upset this well-oiled machine of mind games and carnival tickets, now could they?
Fuck up the party if the party girls realized the ride never ended.
So, what was down there? Women chained to beds? Is that why he liked to tie the other girls up? Get them accustomed to it.
What did the men trade for the opportunity to breed an entire cycle?
Five-thousand tickets? Five-hundred thousand?
Whatever Brooke had just survived might make that woman go mad if a man tried to touch her. Maybe the captain’s version of acceptance was just a bunch of broken shells with functioning wombs and severe psychological trauma.
Brooke was in bad shape.
She limped like the dying limped.
But stranded on Level 15, Eugenia couldn’t help her. Spending her hour analyzing a gait she’d seen only once from hundreds of feet away.
Remembering that scream for help.
Knowing she was being mocked all the time by the captain. The only person on that whole fucking ship who had been her “friend.”