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Copyright ©2011 Patricia Green
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Chapter 1
10 August, 2145, Sunday
Charles watched Sonata and Mikhail begin to walk out of the clearing, his frustration turning to fury marked by the flush on his tanned face and his downward slanting brown brows. “I see that you’ve become the willing servant at last, Sonata. He no longer even has to speak and you open your arms and legs for him. I don’t suppose that I should be surprised. You were always very obedient for me as well.” Mikhail gathered up his things and Sonata’s and, taking her by the elbow, began to walk from the clearing, past Charles. Charles grabbed Mikhail’s thick arm, stopping their progress.
Sonata tried to intervene, her red curls tousled and loose down her back, shiny in the early morning sunlight. “Charles, don’t. Leave us be. There really are so many more important things to be worried about. Please,” she pleaded. It was more than urgent that they make it into the shelter rather than stay out on the surface where the nuclear blast would surely kill them. Didn’t Charles know he was endangering not only his life but also theirs?
Charles was unmoved by her plea. His hazel eyes were hard, angry. “Beg me, Sonata. Show me that you haven’t forgotten how to beg.”
Frightened and anxious, tears ran down Sonata’s beautiful face. She felt Mikhail’s muscles tense next to her, where the dark-haired giant stood, edgy and ready. “Charles,” Mikhail said, “let us pass. I’m not going to tell you twice.”
Charles relented. “Fine. Go on. Fuck her all you can in your pedantic, boring fashion tonight, Mikhail my boy, because tomorrow she’ll be mine again. And then, Sonata, I’ll help you remember just how special you are. I know what you need.”
Sonata couldn’t stand to hear any more; she was not a thing to be handed from one man to another. Her previous relationship with Charles, fraught with his subtle and not-so-subtle lessons geared to teach her how to become a sexual submissive, it was over. She had found something new with Mikhail and it deserved exploration. She’d never made a legal commitment to Charles; she didn’t owe him anything. If she owed anyone anything, it was to Mikhail since she’d lost the holoworld game and the prize had been her servitude until Monday at noon. Green eyes streaming with fear and frustration, she broke from Mikhail and ran from the clearing.
Mikhail’s temper flared, and, with a shouted curse, his fist struck Charles full on the jaw. Charles fell to the grass, unconscious.
Although the thought of leaving Charles to certain death in the coming nuclear onslaught did cross Mikhail’s mind, he replaced the daypack on his shoulders, slung Charles over his back, picked up his guitar, and trudged back to Larry’s house where Articulus, their high-tech bomb shelter, was located.
Once within the shelter, Mikhail placed his guitar carefully on one of the office desks, and then none-too-gently put Charles on the gray-carpeted floor. “Somebody get this fool an ammonia capsule and a cold compress.”
“Hey! What happened?” Becka cried, running over to Charles. She blew a loose strand of blonde hair off her forehead, and bent over Articulus’ unconscious doctor.
Mikhail sat wearily in a chair near his guitar. “His jaw was out of order, so I fixed it.” He ran his hand through his dark hair, irritated with himself. He knew that as president of the little community of survivalists, he should have better control of his temper, but where Sonata was concerned, he seemed to be incapable of his usual pacific demeanor. Mikhail watched as Jennifer Wu, their physician-in-training, held a broken ammonia capsule beneath Charles’ nose and the tall, lanky man began to stir.
Charles moaned a few times and Jennifer pulled out a bioscanner to determine the extent of his injuries. “Nothing broken,” she declared, then pointed. “Put the compress on his jaw, here, Becka. Hematoma forming.”
“He looks like shit,” remarked Becka eyeing Charles’ bruised and puffy eye--the injury Mikhail had given him the day previous--and now the growing knot on the line of his bearded jaw. “What’s the problem with you two?”
Laney walked up behind Becka sinuously, clearly interpreting the scene. “Sonata,” she volunteered.
Becka looked confused. “Sonata?”
Laney nodded. “That’s right. By the way, has anyone seen our damsel in distress?” Becka shook her head, as she helped Charles move to a chair. He was flexing his jaw painfully. Laney looked over at Mikhail, amber-brown eyes wide, and black brows arched, showing concern for her childhood schoolmate, Sonata.
Mikhail sat up straighter. “You mean she’s not in the underground somewhere?”
“No. I don’t think so. I take it that she didn’t come in with you and Charles?” Laney asked.
Mikhail was worried. “No. She must have gone back to our room upstairs. I’ll go and get her.”
Laney put her hand on Mikhail’s arm. “Larry is at the entrance holding room manning the computer at the door. He may not let you exit. I think we’re coming pretty close to the wire.”
Mikhail smiled with grim determination. “I don’t think he can stop me. I’ll bring her back.” He went toward the holding area and the door slid open. Once inside he walked to the exit and thumbed the glass grid. There was no response.
“Larry!” he shouted. Larry looked up from the control console only a few meters away. “Let me out! Sonata’s still out there and I’ve got to go and get her.”
“I understand your concern, but I’ve got to tell you that according to the data coming in, first detonation of the incoming missiles will be in about ten minutes. Do you know where to find her?” Larry looked frazzled, lank brown hair disheveled, clothing askew.
“I think so. Let me out so that I can try.”
“I’ll be listening for the tone from your biolink, in case anything happens,” Larry said brusquely, turning back to his console.
“Okay, damnit, now let me out!” Mikhail bellowed.
The door slid open and Mikhail was free. He sprinted up the big house’s stairs and down the hallway to the room he’d shared with Sonata during Larry’s conceptionday weekend house party. The door flew open with the strike of his hand, and crashed against the wall.
Sonata looked up from the drawer she was filling with clothes. Her face was streaked with tears, green eyes liquid, and she was sobbing almost uncontrollably. “Mikhail,” she said brokenly. “Sol’s crown, woman, what the hell are you doing here? Are you waiting to be vaporized?” He strode over to her and took her arm.
“I just came back to get our things,” she said haltingly. “I think everything’s in here.” She looked around. Mikhail picked up the drawer and propelled her along with his free hand.
Soon they were within Articulus, and Mikhail breathed a sigh of relief. The small holding area near the door was crowded with anxious people.
A pair of teenagers walked through the outer door, slightly out of breath as though they’d been running. They paused just inside the front office and conversations ceased.
The boy was holding tightly to his sister’s hand; it was obvious that they were twins. Even as fraternal twins, they looked very much alike. The young man looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old, tall and gawky, with feet too big for his size. His shoulder-length brown hair was messy, and his clothes were torn here and there. The girl appeared to be in slightly better condition than the boy, but her large brown eyes were red-rimmed and spiky-lashed from crying. She seemed ready to turn and run out at any moment.
Marielle approached them first, the reassuring smile on her face lending a trustworthy softness to her blue eyes. “Hi.” They stared at her skeptically. “This is all pretty scary, isn’t it? But you’re safe here. Are there anymore behind you?”
The girl started crying softly, her hands reaching up to wipe the tears from her face. The young man responded. “Our parents went to a party last night. They haven’t come home. I don’t think they’re going to make it back.” He shook his head pragmatically.
“Mikhail,” called Marielle. “I think this falls into your specialty.” She turned back to the twins as Mikhail approached. “What are your names?”
Again, the young man spoke for them. “I’m Wind and this is my sister, Star.”
“What nice names!” Marielle exclaimed. “I’m Marielle, and this large but very nice fellow here is Mikhail Andropov. He’s kind of in charge around here.”
“Hi,” said Mikhail somberly, the smallest of smiles on his chiseled face. “I know this is very difficult. We’re all scared just like you. Why don’t you come in and sit down? We’re going to start organizing pretty soon.” He softened his deep voice so that, despite his large size, he’d be less intimidating. His training in psychology came in handy now and then, perhaps now most of all.
“Mother!” sobbed Star loudly. “My biolink won’t work! Can’t we comm my mother? She has to be safe. She just has to!” She looked directly at Mikhail. He combed his fingers through his long, dark hair.
Gently, he wiped the tears from Star’s face with a handkerchief and then handed the cloth to her. “I’m so sorry, Star. I can’t. None of us can. Comm channels are down because the military has closed them off. But you know what?” She shook her head, calming a little. "“We will all go on. Because we have to. We’ll eat and sleep, and day after day we’ll remember our parents, brothers, sisters, friends, and all our loved ones who can’t be here, but each day it’ll be a little easier to move on. We need to make it through today. Let’s just try for that first. All right?”
“I’ll try,” she said softly, her trusting look focused squarely on Mikhail’s face.
Mikhail turned to Wind. “You’ve done a really brave thing getting yourself and your sister here. Did you live very far away?”
Wind shook his head. “No. Just in the next parcel, about a kilometer away. My parents are friends of Dr. Friedman’s. He showed us all where to come if we had to. He said his son Larry would help us if he couldn’t.”
Larry came through the connecting door. “I think we’re all that are going to make it to safety.” A plump, buxom woman with frizzy brown hair rushed over to Mikhail. “Where are Violet and her baby, Mikhail?”
The personality conflicts above ground might very well translate to conflicts underground. Will Sonata ultimately choose Mikhail, or Charles? This is only a brief excerpt from Chapter 1. Read more by purchasing the book at