Reverse Harem (Sci-Fi)

Chapter 4

The next few days in Lerus flew-by, but Gayle remained a cherry unpicked from the newly ripped fortress. She remained in the spare room provided for every ovulating splendor: the beauty held amidst the five beasts that chose to keep her undisturbed.

In her sleep, Gayle trembled with sweat as dreams broken into sparse explosions that burst colorfullyy like stardust amongst a black background. And she awoke starched and in need of a cold shower that she stood underneath for hours with no indication of catching a cold.

With her clothes on. Or without when she felt like it. Charles would enter with new and dry garments each time. Taking the wet clothes and washing them in their machine. And find her in the same position: peering out the window or glaring at her hands and feet. Either way, he had never seen the likes of such behaviour. And Charles had no idea what to converse back to Zapra who was keen to know about their development with the new project.

Over an online chat he did his best to keep Zapra positive of their progress. “How is it all going Charles? The board is keen to hear.”

“Are the board present with you?”

“No. I’ll only convey the message back when …” Zapra gave Charles a round-house gesture with both eyes, stopping at the demeanor of a young man tenser than being held at gunpoint and unable to call for help. Charles needed to scream out the steam, but the cold-coal he ran on would be hard to shovel away. “Can I theorize a situation with you Charles?”

“Theorize away.”

“Gayle is one in a million. A gene extracted to be shared. To be explored. To be found with a blindfold, and you are the pointing sticks that will prod the donkey’s rear. Do you catch my drift?”

“I think so”-

“I chose your harem because I know you’re one in a million, and that  an even two. Two, in a million.” Zapra held the number on her middle and index finger. “If anybody can get to Gayle it should be your harem.”

“Why do you think so highly of me?” Charles dissolved into a lack of self-confidence.

“Well, you boys are have ranked the most popular with the earthlin women by our database statistics” -

“Popular?” Charles had heard the whispers of that from other young men fashioned in the attractiveness of the Earthly aesthetics. “Maybe that popularity could be” –

Kirk came into the room with two mugs that spilled over almond coffee and its foam from their machine – “the young Casanova has only gone and done it” –

Charles sprang-up steadily, and shifted his eyes to the left of the room … Kirk got the gesture and went into the closest of journaled tapes used to account for progress with the human women in the monthly time frame - stacked up high to the celling being labelled by name-and-date. “I’ll be back Zapra.”

“Take your time, Charles.” And she logged off …

“So, which Casanova has done what?”

“Is Zapra offline?” -

“Yes”-

“Then come and see your brooding boy in all his shining glory”-

The pair walked down the tubed hallway until they made a turning into the dining room - that lead straight to the lounge with three of the locked interrogation rooms marked A-B-C at one end. Kirk pointed ahead to the lab that was closest to the entrance of their compound.

Charles gave a narrow squint and reopened his irises again … Marcus was with somebody … and that somebody was Gayle.

…

Marcus had never liked to admit that he lacked confidence when it came to approaching women. Even in his normal Lerus form he found that a stutter would trigger when he got close to the atmosphere surrounding her state of being. Closed off was how he saw women. Shut off from conversation when all he wanted to do was be friendly.

The harem and his new customized appearance proved to be a little more beneficial. But something remained aloof inside that part of the brain that said girls want that junk in your trunk. Kirk found that phrase appealed to his ego, that could be dubious too, but each had their own way of dealing with insecurities.

Even so, Marcus found himself unable to move from outside Gayle’s bedroom lodgings. A magnetic pull below the heel that he could not remove himself from. He got fed up. But he knew that he wanted to talk to her. Say something. Make her feel welcome. Anything to prove that whenever he slept at night and heard the scurrying footsteps muddled with frustration – meant he could relate in some strange way.

He positioned himself to knock. The centre tendon curved for the enactment. Finding the guts to do it had Marcus tip-toing without standing on the elevation of his toes. He took in one big gulp and held it. Mounted it into one big release of confidence that didn’t need to be used because the door opened. And there stood Gayle: her hair a little fuzzy and long without the need of a curling tong. She seemed slumped with the capacity to stand for only so long. And her shorts and dark-blue jumper showed Marcus that Kirk would find every way possible to get a good look at the assets.

But he kept still. Soldierly alert to his eyes keeping the peace and not diverting to the wayside. And Gayle appreciated what she saw: a cute face. The cutest face so far. Boyish and unsure of what cuteness could get you in this world for free. If she had to make her rounds and get this over with as a captor, then she’d rather do it with a face that could please her ignorant mother.

“I heard your stillness outside my room.” She did. And got there first before he had the guts to come inside.

“Um …” instead of stuttering he diverted his eyes to her feet. And repeated; “um, “I should’ve been more … more … more … quiet.”

Gayle found a peacefulness in his insecure stutter. She could bond with it. Being that the situation bore her own questioning that leaked a normal tenor. “It’s ok. I … I wanted to come out and stretch my legs. Being cooped up for so long has made me see things I don’t want to.”

“I … I know the feeling”-

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Marcus controlled his tongue and the clickity-click that stuck his words and jumbled his process to speak them fluently. “I often ask myself, what the heck … what the heck am I feeling?”

“And what reply comes to yourself?”

“Nothing.” Marcus uneasily stroked his uncommon shyness away. “Nothing at all. But in time, I’m sure it will … it will come to me.”

Gayle felt that had more to do with her than him. But she appreciated it all the same.  “Should I try and approach my feelings then?”

“If you … if you mean about being here …” Marcuse’s voice got quieter. “then yeah. I think you should.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Get a feel of the place.” Marcus took in a gust of wind from finding this easier than any other conversation he had before; “learn about where you are. What we are. Just baby steps to help it all play along simply.”

“You know … that sounds like a good idea.”

Marcus started to lick the top of his teeth with a wildness of the eye from being successful. His chest plunged, and the passageway of his throat blocked.   That was the reaction of one who never figured he’d have a say in another’s thinking way. “Where do you want to start?”

Mildly, Gayle suggested; “where do you think is best?”

“A place that makes me feel like home.”

…

Gayle had never seen such a sky. The colour of a gold bar with the extra shine. “We have three moons that can be seen at night.” Marcus said this with pride but no passion.  He had shown her much of the outdoors with a mumbled synopsis and a side-eye of interest when Gayle’s folded arms and burrowed head could do with a sweater and woolly hat under their warm sun.

As if she tasted frostbite each time, she shivered and clutched her breasts tighter. And they almost squeezed into a mashed jumble of flesh confided into one. Her arms never left its lock and key. Only when Marcus pointed at the rarest of sparrows did Gayle unlock one arm and her index finger to point at how high it flew with an amazing Grace,

They returned back to he compound after seeing much of Lerus, and its homes of open planned windows on hills and multi-directional roads amassed around roundabouts that led here-there-and-everywhere. And all had the same confession: what lied within would tell another tale of deception.

Gayle saw peacefulness. But indoors, as Marcus confessed, “would be a session of hormonal copulation.” She had no idea what that meant. And back at their home, the boys did their best to remain partial to her presence. Not to keen to be distant, but close to approaching the same bravery Marcus did.

Gayle seemed to be the extended hip of Marcus who moved through the home lounging as he did from sofa to his bedroom: with Gayle invited each time with a quiet whisper of; “join me if you like?” And she would nod, a little lost in a nervousness that came when presenting infront of a classroom - tied in intestinal knots when the boys tried not to follow her every move.  But Gayle felt their eyes uncomfortably stray to the green light that was still parked infront of red.

Marcus’s room was a solidified mass of softwood, hardwood, oak, and sawdust sprinkled all over the floor like he’d thought the laminate wood was a cake for decoration. He had sets of screwdrivers and nails missing in various sizes. And the spare chair was piled with clothes that she moved to the only available space in his bedroom: the bed.

“Sorry about the mess.” He moved them for her. Offering her a seat –

“I’ll stand.” Marcus dumped the clothes anyway:  down onto the bedsheets that were covered with week-old stains from foods of all kinds. And he watched the pile like Gayle did: an autumn feeling of one who wanted to dive into the fallen leaves and be sucked inside it’s opened hole.  And he stood with a twinkle in his light blue eyes when in the slowest of motions, it collapsed onto the floor –

Gayle dipped low to help him collect the pile and their heads knocked with the slightest touch from the sides: conkers that were unbreakable.  But it unbroke a semi-staleness when they mirrored each other’s attempt to rub-away the temporary bump.  Rubbing their heads that caused the effect closing effect of one eye. Then they laughed; when they went to pick up the clothes again, and connected with a bump that had them assured it would happen the third time.

“Should we leave the clothes there?”

“I think so.” Gayle stood back-up and Marcus gave her an unsure smile. “Maybe I’ll sit down.” Marcus was glad about that. It meant he could do the same when she did. Although she did give off the presence of a woman with her legs and arms tied for ransom. He wished he could crack a joke like Kirk, who likely would be eavesdropping outside the door listening to the conversation that would occur –

But the uneasiness propelled a challenge in Gayle. A working of the darker corners circulating where these boys could never reach. And it cut the ropes around her ankles and arms that eased out to a more relaxed relegation of the body as she geared to speak with Marcus. “You showed me Lerus. But you never told me about Lerus.”

Marcus was no storyteller. But a couple of knocks on the door revealed the one who had a gift for it. Marcus opened the door with dragged feet to see the freshly shaved brunette offer an olive leaf. “Found this, and thought why not give it to someone.” Stiffly conversed and probably practiced via the mirror.

“You didn’t think I would open the door, did you?”

“I thought you left her alone. Mistakes can be made.”

“She’s unwinding”-

Kirk leaned in with a faint release of; “and you shouldn’t hog the goods for too long. Makes us all think you’re up to something.”

Marcus came out of the room closing the door behind him with a frustrated whinge; “It’s her first day out of the room. Give her some space.”

“Space? No time for that in Lerus days.” Kirk raised a brow and the personal space between them; “remember the glossary: we … must … get … her … blood … pumping.” And he lowered it when Marcus sighed him right back. “What. You’ve had more than a full few hours with her. What more do you want?”

“Don’t say it”-

“Say what?”-

“To do it?” –

“Do what?” -

“Log” –

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Moi ... suggest that you ... log-in your progress with Gayle. Never. Not even for a second.” And the melodrama would’ve continued if Gayle hadn’t opened the door to see why Marcus hadn’t returned. She hadn’t gotten a good look at Kirk, until now. He reminded her, distinctly, of an ex. One she had never wanted to forget.

“An olive branch?” -

“I’m a collector” –

“You collect olive branches?” -

“It’s my way of making peace with strangers.” -

“Strangers, meaning me?” Gayle folded her arms and slanted back: keen to continue the banter and observation of confidence that came when he extended it out to her.

“It usually had a calming effect. That’s if the recipient takes it or not.”

Gayle toyed with the static-jolt of wanting to grip willingly. But Marcus took it from Kirk, who took a minute to see that it had left. Gayle liked that he had no willingness to steer his eyes away whilst he reached back for it prematurely – and Marcus tugged it away farther.

“I think you’ve lost something” –

“Nah. Let him have it.” Kirk gave Marcus a sly closure-and-twitch- of the eye that confessed he’d abducted his greeting-plan. He seized his breathe and ran an unsteady hand through his sleeked shoulder-length hair: not wanting to show the shakes that weren’t so self-assured. “I think you were going to take it.”

“You seem pretty sure” –

“I’m good at spotting planes. So, I spot when a hand or leg moves out of place” –

“Do you want anything to eat?” Marcus had stood on the outskirts with no intention of breaking the ice between them. Kirk had fairly found a way to parlay, and Gayle was taking on his truce with both ears opened. 

“I’m not hungry.” Marcus had nothing more to add on top of that. And Kirk gave a very wide-eyed expression and an escape plan to the left with his head. It verbalized, leave Marcus. Leave me now.

But Gayle gave him a sheltered forecast. An oath lacking the groundwork but balancing on stilts that were sinking-in deeper. And Kirk would build, no matter if it was the rockiest, he had ever felt. “You asked me about Lerus?”

Gayle’s oesophagus tube tightened to how withdrawn Marcus made that seem. Preoccupied with the stem of the olive branch that Kirk took back and smelt as he chose to narrow it down thinly, “it’s home. But not for long.” And he walked passed and continued until Kirk fanned the branch across his face.”-

“I could show you some of my models?”

“Models?” Her mind had fluttered to images of fashion models when Marcus no longer embodied the hip she had attached herself to. Distracted by a dislocation that she eagerly wanted back. His presence had stirred the blanket and coco by a fire that neither would allow to settle comfortably yet. There was much more underneath the lack of speech and conversation between them. And she would find out more for the sake of her escapism from Lerus.

…

“I build whatever my hands allow me to.” Kirk fanned away, and Gayle got lost in the adam’s apple that travelled mischievously up-and-down the tract of his mood. Kirk’s beard made her itch. And his reluctance to keep still made her glitch something wobbly. He made Gayle shift to the left when she wanted to move to the right. And when he got-up she sat back down.

Unlike Marcus, his movement could herd the sheep to the wolves without meaning to. “My greatest invention was the star sniper.” Yet minutes ago, he had told her it was finding out that he wouldn’t need to get his tubes knitted. Which she thought was something a woman did under sterilization. It made her chuckle with a confused bearing in her understanding of Kirk.

Smart. Handy. Likely to bat the baseball and catch it all by himself. Just because he thought it would come with a punch-and-Judy.  But still he withheld the right chapter to his current synopsis. “I spend most of my nights analysing the stars when they let me out of the nest.”

“You star gaze?” They stood by both of his telescopes that were close to the open hatches in the ceiling. Kirk adjusted the legs to equip Gayle better- along with the eye piece and focuser -   and let Gayle have a peak – who became relaxed and did not hesitate.   

“We have the nicest nights out here. The gold skies becomes a translucent purple. And the three moons rise one after the other: slowly outshining in a competition of which one is the sexiest. And when the stars come forth … I’m already seduced by the large moons that arrogantly know they’re prettier than our sun. So, I study to see what changes they bring.”

It had a poetic tang with a hint of humour when he scoffed at the nature of that. “If I quoted that to Charles or Derek, they’d tell me to sit down and rethink the direction of my life.”

“Are they not used to your poetry?”

“They see me more lost in the stars ... both figuratively and literally.”

Gayle slumped away from the scope. “The only time I reached for the stars was when I needed to escape my reality.” Unsure of why she confided such a thing, Gayle grasped the eyepiece until an imprint was left on her inner palm and looked upon it despondently.

“Right.” His smile and nod deterred from the quality in which that was delivered.

But it stirred her back to a glimmer and side-eye that could barren a hope of flirtation.  “The best you come up with was right?” She blinked a little softer but retired from provoking a replay and encore.

“Sorry, typical male right here.” He held up his palm and rested it on his chest. “I’m not good with … sentimentality.”

“I wasn’t searching for your sentiment.”

“No but, you’re a young woman wanting a hand to hold.”

“Trust me “ –

“Kirk” –

“Kirk. Holding hands and public affection are foreign to me.”

“More foreign then being here?”

“Nothing can be more foreign than being here. But I’ve chosen to rest my mind on that lecture. What good will it do me?”

“I mean. Like you said, you used to search the skies for an escape from your reality. I’m a nice guy with no key and lock on my door. If you ever feel like it. Come and … look through this scope. Adjust the lens. And travel to whatever distance you want. It helps me when I want to stuff Derek into a parcel and mail him to the confederacy that allowed his ancestral line to live-on.

Gayle’s eyes stirred to the lessened weight of the mutual drop in manners. “I’ll have to think about it.” Kirk saw a glitter of hope in that before she returned her left-eyeball to the eye piece and gazed at the golden sky that was indeed superior to Earth’s own. “It’s a pretty sky. Almost surreal. Almost like finding a goldmine and forever quoting a claim.”

“I once said the same thing.”

Gayle knew Kirk had no more said that then her care for the golden sky that didn’t mean east or south on a navigational compass. Who cared? She surely didn’t.

It was a sky. Different. Impulsive. And a temperance to a triggered event that remained a replica under the duress of feeling abducted an exact year ago in her mind.

And it sent Gayle into a spiral of tormenting visuals and back onto an operating table with bright white lights as she flung herself away from the telescope. And Gayle thrashed at Kirk’s attempt to calm her troubled spirit –

“Leave me alone!”

“What … what did I do?” –

“Get me out of here!” Get me out!”

“You need to breathe. Take deep breathes and remember”-

But Gayle pushed him out the way with the words; “I’ve been abducted! You took me. Stole me away from my home … allowed a creeping ten-legged device to gain access through my earlobe and travel to the cerebellum –

“The cerebellum …. You mean where coordination happens in the brain?” –

Hysterically Gayle proclaimed; “I don’t know. I don’t know! I just want to … I just want to go back! I want to go back! You can’t hold me as a prisoner here” –

“You can’t go back! We need you here.” But the callout travelled to Charles who had heard the abrupt scream and felt the sharp shove-away from Gayle who raced all the way back to her located room. She passed Derek on the way who she had not seen fully until that moment.

Derek stood helplessly as she passed hazardously with no quims, and held onto an unreleased; "are you ok?" - That she did not receive. Closing into her room and passing through the numerous doors of their compound – Gayle saw the images in blotches that she could not reiterate fondly. To painful. To fast. To jarred in sparse details and no true way of making sense out of it.

And before she knew it … Gayle collapsed with the deadliest brain freeze that left the side of her lip numb and her tongue dangling onto the floor –

Derek yelled out for - “Charles! Kirk” -

And Marcus, who lunged himself by her side and began to lift her into his arms without the help of any of the others. “I’ll take her into the operating room.”

They watched as Marcus dug his hands underneath her back; bent his knees and legs; and made sure her head did not unattach as he lifted her body and carried her away … glimpsing every second to see if Gayle had come to. The others had never seen a display of heroism from Marcus. “I think Marcus has found a new lease of something.” Kirk broke the stiffening ice.

Charles strayed off after Marcus … and stopped outside the operating room where Joey would work his magic as Marcus slowly equipped the personality override helmet.

The cables, the incubation and breathalyser that  Kirk had reinvented to work as an assistant that re-worked to breathe oxygen back into the unbreathing patient were all assembled by Marcus, who made sure the monitors and screens were reading normal rates before he felt compelled to give Joey the heads up to begin as he came and took a seat.

“Thanks Marcus.” Joey took a side-glance around the monitor and thinks he hears Marcus talking to himself … but infact, it’s Gayle who he’s speaking with in a very hushed tone.

“Why are you doing this?” The rest of the boys enter the room and slowly approached her bedside and peered down as she gave them each an eyeball and felt somewhat warm and feverish at the same time.

Their eyes showed care. Sorrow. A flittering understanding of one who had encountered an unusual phenomenon that punctures the heart for a treasured second and leaves the tiny hole with room for adjustments. Unless … they choose to remove it. Which is always the case with meeting somebody new. Gayle went around the circle: stopping all the time at Marcus and Kirk who she found held a magnetic pulse that generated some strength to her withering attention

“I see things.” Gayle became weaker. “Things that I can’t explain. Did you plant them there?”

Charles took the place of Marcus as her vision weakened, and her mouth dried entirely. Joey brought some water over as Marcus held her head, so she could drink. “We need to keep you hydrated. Drink it all in one go.” When she finished her drink Charles then gave the glass to Joey who returned to the monitors.

“We owe you the truth. And apart of that would be to discuss that these intrusive dreams you’re having are not planted from us. We promise you.” Gayle’s head spun to Marcus as Charles caught a glimpse of Joey waving him over. Marcus continued telling Gayle the truth about what could be causing these intrusions, and Charles spoke with Joey who had stumbled upon an enigma that they hadn’t expected to find.

“We have a problem, Charles.” Joey whispered as he pointed to the blinkering white dot on the anatomy of Gayle’s body displayed from the detectors.

“What problem? Did you find something?”

“Right there … close to the occipital lobe and Wernicke’s area” –

Kirk came over constantly checking back on Gayle who was listening intently to Marcus and drifting off to sleep. “Have you pinpointed it? She mentioned something about a device entering her ear lobe and travelling to the cerebellum if that will help.”

“Thanks Kirk.” Charles pointed out on the screen. “Joey’s already located it. What it is … we don’t know.”

The three looked over to Marcus and Derek who went to fetch Gayle another cup of water. The images were no more than white blinding lights and high-pitched frequencies that could rival the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

And they quickened before her eyes. She had heard Marcus. Their plight. And why they needed her there. Words were lost and scattered amongst what made sense, and what was marginally lost as she received it all. The weakness in her spread like cancer reaching the lungs and dyeing it a permanent noir. Killing all operative systems until the meltdown attacked the brain and told it to switch off for the evening.

But Gayle managed to find one more ounce of strength to reach out for the hand that spoke kindness and resonated with the beginning perimeters of trust. Maybe not the exact definition of the word, but close enough for it to mean a reaction of this sort brought her safety in dropping asleep.

Her words were scrambled eggs, so, Marcus drew closer to her lips as close as a kiss to a cheek. Turned until his ear was close enough to be stitched from the outer lobe; and heard; “I understand.” Frailer she became in her deliverance of the next lines, “but if I continue to see these visions. I’ll explode. My brain … my brain … my brain … it’s … it’s … on fire!”  -

And Gayle arose in a feverish malaise: paler than the innards of a lychee and dropped onto the bed as Charles rushed over. “Marcus. Help Joey to save her. Fix it. We need to act fast! We could lose her. She could die!”