DoriaN A
Jon Jacks
DoriaN A
Jon Jacks
Other New Adult and Children’s books by Jon Jacks
The Caught
The Rules
Chapter One
The Changes
Sleeping Ugly
The Barking Detective Agency
The Healing
The Lost Fairy Tale
A Horse for a Kingdom
Charity
The Most Beautiful Things
The Last Train
The Dream Swallowers
Coming soon:
Wyrd Girl
Text copyright © 2012 Jon Jacks
All rights reserved
Chapter 1
Perhaps I should be panicking – my parents had died in a situation similar to this.
Teeth are bared.
Faces scowl.
Mouths twist open in rage.
When it had happened that first time, and I was still a child, I could hear their angry yells, their screams.
Now all that comes out of those mouths is the sound of violins.
Within our armoured, soundproofed limousine, all I can hear is Pachelbel’s soothing Canon.
So I feel safe, watching the police struggling to control the surging crowds as if it’s all just taking part on a TV screen.
They’re trying to push the shouting people blocking the road back, clearing the way for us.
Trying to ensure that, this time at least, there’s no man forcing his way into the car to try and snatch me.
‘Drive Claude.’
Dorian doesn’t even bother glancing up from the notes he’s reading.
‘But sir, I…’
Claude gestured towards the people in his way.
Dorian, of course, hadn’t noticed.
‘They’ll move as we move,’ Dorian says calmly. ‘Or we’ll run them over, won’t we?’
‘Yes sir,’
Reluctantly, Claude put the car back into gear and started to slowly pull forward once more.
Typical.
An Apedroid chauffeur showing more compassion for the Perma-Leisured than Dorian ever could.
But then, that was typical of Dorian’s class.
Typical of my class.
*
‘They’re well looked after; they’re not starving,’ my father used to say, backed by nods of agreement from my mother.
‘They don’t have to work, like us. They just want more than they’re fairly entitled to.’
And my parents weren’t bad people. They were good people.
May God bless them.
*
Not surprisingly, our car’s movement only increases the number of furious glares directed our way.
We’ve gone from being a passing car innocently caught up in a demonstration to a manifestation of the oppression they’re facing.
They surge towards us, ignoring the vicious strikes of truncheons, the freezing shock of tasers.
Even some of the police begin to look sickened by the punishment they’re doling out.
The police line buckles.
It wavers.
It breaks.
And the angry crowd crashes against us, banging at the windows with fists, stones and iron bars.
*
‘Don’t worry; it’s fully armoured! They can’t break in!’
Dropping his notes, Dorian grabs my hands reassuringly.
But he can see the tension in my face, see it in my eyes.
My parent’s car had been heavily armoured too.
Yet, somehow, they had still managed to break in.
‘Drive, damn you Claude!’ Dorian cries out.
Claude turns in his seat, his huge, brown simian eyes wide with confusion.
‘But sir, there’s a horse, a police horse…’
Through the windscreen, I can make out the grey flanks of a panicked, rearing horse, keeping everyone at bay with its thrashing hooves.
Suddenly, my door clicks open.
I jump back in terror.
A raggedly clothed hand slips inside, gripping the door edge, trying to pull it open against the pressure of the packed crowd surging against it.
For the first time, I can hear the shouting, the screams, the vainly yelled commands of the police.
‘Dorian!’ I shriek.
Dorian instinctively reaches for one of the slim, elegant guns nestling in the drink cabinet’s velvet.
Pulling me back and away from the gun’s blast with his free hand, he aims and fires at the invasive hand.
The gun is almost silent.
But there’s a scream of agony.
The hand disappears in an explosion of blood and flesh.
Leaning across me, Dorian pulls the door closed once more.
‘Drive Claude! Or I’ll have you stripped for spare parts!’
Claude guns the car towards the rearing horse.
Perhaps sensing the danger, the horse turns, clumsily leaping across our car’s bonnet.
Its massive body strikes the windows hard, cracking but not completely shattering them.
Scrabbling ungainly across the roof, its hooves claw into the bright blue paintwork.
To one side of our limousine, a policeman raises his rifle, aiming it above our roof as if about to shoot his own, mounted colleague.
The violins take a relatively sharp turn of key.
I feel as much as hear the dull thud of something falling against the car roof.
As the horse leaps off into the crowd, the body of a man slips down across the windscreen.
His surprised face flattens against the glass.
His blood seeps through one of the cracks.
The blood splatters against the seats’ white leather.
Like the spontaneous generation of bright red poppies.
*
Chapter 2
“Have the car cleaned up and repaired Claude; oh, and arrange for someone to remove and dispose of the body too, will you?”
The body still lay spread-eagled across the roof of the car.
It had lain there, strangely immovable, despite the speeds Claude had reached in his efforts to take us to safety.
Dorian hardly gave the body a glance as he strode away from the car towards the doors of his company’s headquarters.
For all he knew, for all he cared, it could have been a policeman lying bleeding across the top of our car.
But it wasn’t a policeman. He didn’t wear any uniform. Unless you counted the bright tee-shirts and dulled jeans of the Perma-Leisured as being a uniform.
Even as we slipped through the wide glass doors, and the guards manning the reception desk respectfully saluted our arrival, a mix of Monkdroids and gloriously coloured Babbots had already moved in to remove the body and make any necessary repairs to the car.
Diligently and expertly organising the efforts of Animadroids and Bots, Claude naturally remained unaware of Dorian’s seething ire.
‘That idiot!’ Dorian hissed, glancing and scowling back at Claude. ‘He can’t have locked the doors right, no matter what he says! No one can get past DNA locks!’
If anyone should know of any possible fallibilities of DNA locks, it would be Dorian.
Although they weren’t amongst his many original inventions, he had made substantial improvements to them. He�
��d brought them down to a size where they could be used almost anywhere, rather than just as scanners at the gates to the walled apartment and leisure complexes.
His work on them had been his gift to me, he’d claimed; to ensure that what had happened to my parents could never happen to me.
‘Sorry Angeic!’
He turned to me, his face suddenly full of concern rather than anger as he reached for and tenderly inspected my arm for bruising or – far worse – any minor cuts we might have missed earlier.
‘I…I was just so angry! It all happened so quickly…I felt I’d let you down, that I was somehow responsible for that man forcing his way into the car like that.’
I leant closer against him, hugged him with my free arm, lifted my head to kiss him warmly on his cheek.
‘How was it your fault, silly? As you say, the door can’t have been locked right.’
I felt him tense.
I realised I was effectively blaming Claude.
‘Probably my fault,’ I quickly added. ‘I didn’t make sure it was completely shut when I got in.’
Pulling away from me slightly, Dorian gave me a doubtful grin.
He knew that, after what had happened to my parents, I always double-checked the doors of a car to ensure they were properly locked.
Besides, even if I had missed it, a warning light would have flashed up on Claude’s console.
‘I’m fine,’ I reassured him. ‘No harm done.’
‘Sure; but no thanks to that idiot Claude,’ Dorian half snarled.
By now we had entered the glass lift that would whisk us up to our penthouse. It gave Dorian an even better view of the oblivious Claude.
‘I’ll have him replaced; I can’t forgive him for endangering you like that.’
He tenderly took me in his arms once again. I could feel the trembling of the anger still surging through him.
‘Well, I forgive him,’ I said firmly. ‘I like Claude; he’s normally incredibly efficient!’
Dorian wouldn’t just replace Claude. He would have him stripped down, his parts used in the manufacture of another Droid
We’d already arrived at our floor, the lift opening directly into our apartment’s huge, glass-walled foyer. Naturally, the DNA scanners were set to block access to this floor to anyone we hadn’t placed on the database.
Dorian spun on his heels.
He looked back over the city, back towards the area we’d passed through where the riots were still taking place.
Here and there, wispy plumes of smoke rose into the air. The crowds rippled like waves dashing against the rocks of uniformed police officers.
‘I suppose, really, it was all down to those idiot policemen letting them through in the first place,’ Dorian mused, surveying the scene.
I could see that Dorian was determined to take out his anger – and his frustration that he had failed to protect me – on something or somebody.
‘They tried everything they could to stop them rushing around the car,’ I said in the police officers’ defence.
‘Everything?’
Dorian didn’t attempt to hide his doubt.
‘The only time I saw a policeman using his gun was when they shot that idiot who thought he could ride over our car. They’d even managed to let that buffoon steal one of their own horses from under them!’
‘They didn’t want to kill anyone unless they had to, Dorian!’ I answered sourly. ‘It’s called compassion, in case you’ve forgotten what that is!’
Dorian had moved away from the window, slipping off his jacket and handing it to one of the Animadroids who had silently come in the room behind us.
Lifting up his left arm, he began to expertly and swiftly use the small keyboard and screen displayed on his shirt cuff to make the kind of notes that, within a few days, might lead to a whole new range of technologies.
‘Compassion in a police officer?’ His eyes were fixed on his screen as he spoke. ‘Bit of a failing, don’t you think Angeic, if it puts people in danger? This incident could be the leverage I need to persuade the councils to accept a more Droid-based force.’
At last he looked up at me, noticing my displeasure.
‘You could have died; you know that,’ he said calmly by way of explanation.
It wasn’t a question. It was a definite statement.
It had only taken a few scratches and the inevitable, untreatable infection that followed to kill my parents. Slowly and horribly.
Dorian gave me one of those warm, caring smiles of his that told me he would always make sure everything was all right.
‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t die.’
‘No thanks to the police.’
He shut down his cuff screen.
He moved closer, placing his arms around me tenderly.
‘Think about it Angeic; how much safer would we be if I created a force of a new breed of Tigerdroids?’
*
Tigerdroids! As police!
Was Dorian serious?
I knew he had the capabilities to calm and control their wilder, more predatory natures. The military was full of his remarkable if incredibly terrifying creations, most of which were formed from the larger cats.
It was all down to his genius that they could be organised, controlled, as opposed to the earlier incarnations that often ended up going berserk once their blood was up.
I wasn’t the only one, though, who was uneasy about the way he had boosted the aggression of the normally placid Gorilldroids to make them the world’s most effective shook troops.
The Gorilldroids I’d passed earlier guarding the mall were, as always, courteous, calm, yet nevertheless imposing and authoritative. If Dorian really believed we required a new police force, where humans took on fewer roles, wouldn’t these be more ideal than Tigerdroids?
‘You’re on TV again Angeic.’
My friend Fullerana nudged me. With a nod, she indicated the large orb of three dimensional images projected from the screen globe, hovering in and dominating the restaurant’s farthest and darkest corner.
‘They might mention your accident,’ Gilleria added, running her hand over the table switch that made the television’s sound audible to our table.
I didn’t want to hear anything more about our earlier ‘accident’.
As we’d made our way to lunch at one of our favourite restaurants, the Chez Stadia, however, my friends had been both horrified and enthralled when I’d told them what had happened.
I could hardly tell them to switch the sound off.
It was the familiar shots of me arm in arm with Dorian, either attending or leaving a variety of glamorous events. Even so, the presenter’s tone was more urgent than usual.
‘…yet the young, wealthy entrepreneur’s forthcoming marriage to sixteen-year-old socialite Angeic Havisham almost ended horrifically this morning when…’
With these words, the scenes switched to the greyer, more foreboding areas surrounding the road where we had been caught up in the riot and attacked.
Now, of course, the road was completely clear of people. A mix of Animadroids and wheeled Bots were silently and diligently combing the area for the traces of DNA that would be used to track down and prosecute anyone involved.
With the change of shots, the voices of the presenters took on an even more serious quality.
Had the attack ‘been down to spreading discontent?’ they wondered.
Was inadequate policing to blame?
Had the chauffeur been negligent, leaving the car door unlocked?
Both Fullerana and Gilleria shuddered.
‘It must have been absolutely terrifying Angeic!’
‘I would have been petrified!’
Although Fullerana and Gilleria were my best friends, and would soon be my chief bridesmaids at my wedding, I had wondered if I should tell them about the attack.
I didn’t want them fretting that it might happen to them. I also didn’t want them pitying me, thinking that it would bring back too many painful memories of my parents.
In the end, of course, I knew I would have to tell them, as even speculation about the wedding dress I would choose was considered newsworthy by most of the television channels.
‘Shhuush,’ I said, pointing to the screen.
Dorian was being interviewed. He was asked for his opinion on the attack.
‘I think questions must be asked about the capabilities of our police force to continue to maintain order.’ His eyes looked out confidently at the watching audience. ‘We need some way of ensuring the safety not just of ourselves but also the mainly law-abiding majority of the Perma-Leisured, protecting them from what is, after all, an unrepresentative, militant minority.’
I seethed as Dorian continued to turn the incident into an opportunity to promote his idea for an Animadroid police force. But both Fullerana and Gilleria nodded along in stern approval to everything he said.
‘Something needs to be done to ensure we’re safe when travelling between the Oases.’
‘But why do they riot like that?’ Gilleria was aghast. ‘What must it be like to be paid to do nothing? It sounds like a dream life to me!’
I had to suppress a giggle.
Like mine, Gilleria’s job was hardly arduous. And the marketing agency she worked for paid far more each month than the Perma-Leisured’s yearly Human-Right Allowance.
‘And what do you know about the people out there, little miss goody two-hundred shoes?’
The waitress slammed down the tray full of glasses of champagne that she had brought to our table.
Until now, she had moved amongst and around us silently and almost unseen, replacing empty plates with full ones and refilling our wine glasses.
Now she glared angrily at Gilleria, her bottom lip quivering with fury.
‘What? How…how dare you ju–’
‘How dare I?’ the waitress interrupted Gilleria. ‘I dare because I can’t believe how stupid you are, how blind you are to what’s going on out there! You think people enjoy lazing around all day do you?’
‘But what about you?’ Fullerana leapt to Gilleria’s defence. ‘You’ve got a job, haven’t you?’
‘Oh sure, if we’re lucky we might get one of the few jobs serving you, where you prefer the human touch rather than getting your Droids to do it all for you.’ As she said the words ‘human touch’, she ironically held up one of her latex-gloved hands. ‘But my dad, my mum, my brothers; none of them have ever had any chance of working!’
‘Well my family probably built the apartments you live in,’ Gilleria spat back. ‘And there as good as some of us live in in here so–’
Gilleria spluttered to a terrified halt as the waitress calmly removed a latex glove.
