Sun Touched (Diamara Book 1) Read online

  Sun-Touched Copyright © 2015 by J.C. Hart/Etherhart Press

  Cover art and Copyright © by Dwell Design & Press.

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-473-33352-2

  DEDICATION

  This one is for Lauren and Natalie, who gave me the idea for this novel through a combination of sleep deprivation and crazy pregnancy dreams.

  It’s also for Ivy, who may not have kept me up at night but always has something creative to add to life.

  Thanks, little ones, for always inspiring me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book has been a very long time in the making, so it’s with great pleasure that I’m releasing it into the world. Special thanks to all my writer friends (and the few non writer friends) who read the book before it was published, for helping me knock it into shape and do the story justice. It’s a blessing to know that Madea has some fans already.

  As always, massive thanks to my designer, Kate from Dwell Design & Press, and to my editor, Meryl Stenhouse—you both help my work shine.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Madea passed the case containing the jinweed injection from one hand to the other while the technician finished setting up the Hollowing machine. Nerves swam in her belly, the same as they always did, but this seemed worse somehow. The shape of this girl’s face, the shimmer in her eyes—deep blue, like Madea's—the size, the shape, the age of her. Well, it wasn't a stretch to imagine herself strapped to the chair, waiting to be stripped bare of her personality, emptied of her memories. Hollowed.

  The muted white walls trapped the sound inside the building, while the skylight lit the space with filtered orange sunbeams. Madea stood with Sullivan, her boss, in the waiting area off the concrete platform the chair was mounted on, and despite the heat of the day she shivered as the girl muttered and writhed against her restraints.

  "What is she saying?" Madea whispered into Sullivan's ear.

  "Who knows?" Sullivan shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Better we don't know." His face was blank, this being just another Hollowing for him. He’d begun to bring her along, let her give the injections, which made her hope he was finally beginning to trust her, to allow her to do the more important work he normally kept to himself.

  The technician nodded to her, so she left Sullivan’s side and stopped before the girl in the chair. "What's your name?"

  "Janae," the girl whispered, her voice rough and low. "Help me." Her lips were cracked, her breath bitter.

  Madea shook her head. "I'm sorry. I’m just here to administer the injection. It will help."

  "I have a son. Jaxon, in Dome Four. Help him, if you won't help me." The girl's voice dug into Madea's head and her hand went to her stomach, the mention of a child worming under her skin.

  Madea paused, then took a breath, steeling herself. "I can’t. After I give you this, you won’t feel anything, okay?"

  Janae nodded, though tears slipped from her eyes as the technician placed the gag over her mouth. Madea resisted the urge to reach out, to drag the cloth away and let the girl speak. Those eyes, they begged her to do more. Instead, she slipped the needle into Janae’s arm and injected the local anaesthetic. Then she put the needle back into the case and put her hand into Janae's, interlocking their fingers. The other girl squeezed back and the hard lines on her face relaxed a little, even as the technician pulled the machine over her head and placed the cables.

  "Come, Madea. We're done here," Sullivan called. He was already part way out the door, his fingers tapping against his thigh in agitation, his handsome face marred by a frown.

  "I'll catch up," she said, keeping her eyes from his. She couldn’t leave this girl. She reminded Madea too much of herself.

  "We've done our duty," he insisted. "Come." His command was blunt. He was used to being obeyed, by her at least.

  "I'll catch up," she repeated, an edge of steel to her tone. She wouldn't leave, no matter what the cost might be.

  "She won't remember, Madea." His tone softened slightly. "It doesn't matter whether you're here or not."

  "It matters to me. I'll work late tonight, if that makes a difference." Madea faced Janae again, giving her a small smile. Behind her Sullivan muttered as the door swung shut and the latch clicked.

  The technician moved soundlessly. Two Enforcers guarded the door in their distinctive black and red uniforms, and another stood behind Janae’s chair. The girl had no one who cared enough to be there for her last lucid moments. Or perhaps she'd killed them all. Madea should have asked before she chose to stay. But would it have made a difference? She squeezed Janae's hand harder, pushing away those niggling thoughts.

  "Where will she go, afterwards?" The question surged out her lips. She'd never needed to know the specifics before—knowing that the Hollowed would still be useful citizens had been enough—but this girl made her want to know. It seemed bad enough that the manual labourers on the planet had a higher chance of being exposed to the harmful rays of the sun on Diamara, and thus a higher chance of being Sun-Touched, but to have their family, their friends caused such grief through Hollowings? It wasn’t right, or fair.

  "She'll be sent to one of the food farms. The good thing about the Hollowed is that they can't get Sun-Touched again. Eases the workload of everyone else, you know, having them out there for longer."

  Madea wanted to ask about Janae's son. If Janae was asking a stranger to help the boy, there must be no one to care for him. She tried to imagine what his life would be like; with his mother dead, he'd be tainted by her affliction in the minds of others, if not in reality.

  "Are you sure you want to stay?" The technician paused, waiting until she looked him in the eyes.

  "Yes," Madea said firmly, giving a sharp nod. Janae's hand had become heavy in her grasp. The girl’s eyes were white, her head lolling against the high back of the chair.

  "Alright. She's ready. You need to step back, we don't know whether any of the process transfers through contact."

  "No one's ever tried?"

  "And I'm not going to start now." The technician shook his head. "Step back, please."

  "I'm sorry," Madea whispered to Janae. Her eyes were closed and her body relaxed; the jinweed had done its work. The girl didn't seem to notice when Madea released her fingers.

  Madea took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. She didn't want to show the technician any sign of weakness, despite her unease. She shouldn't have stayed, she should have left with Sullivan, the same as always. And yet here she was, watching a woman much like herself be Hollowed.

  The machine clicked a few times and then a buzz filled the room. Madea stepped back a little further, crossing her arms over her chest when she was unable to find something to occupy her hands. A pulse of energy blasted through the room and Janae's body jerked, despite the restraints around her. White hands flailed in the air before dangling limply beside her body.

  Madea couldn't turn away. She could feel the energy washing through the girl, could see the whites of her eyes as her lids flew open and they rolled back in her head. They were as full as the moon, as white, as luminescent, and Madea knew she would never forget the sight of them. She closed her own eyes in response, wishing that she was somewhere else. Safe in her apartment. At work. Anywhere that wasn't here.

  Janae gasped. Madea's eyes shot open and she stared at Janae. The girl sucked air into her lungs and then let out th
e most awful, soul-crushing scream. Madea's eardrums vibrated as her hands flew to cover her ears. The gag did nothing to dampen the noise, her fingers were useless too, pressed as hard as they could be against her skull.

  Madea fled. Her sweat-damp fingers slipped on the door handle, but she eventually managed to open it and force herself through, dragging it closed behind her. A sob tore free and she slumped against the wall of the building, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face.

  She could still hear the scream, it was echoing in her brain, bouncing off the soft edges of everything she thought she knew. That girl might not remember what was done to her, but Madea would. How could the technician do that? How could their government maintain that this was a fitting treatment? Surely there was something less painful, less intrusive and destructive?

  As tears continued to flow down her cheeks, she wished that it would rain, would wash away her tears. But of course, here in the domes, it never rained, and the only wind was generated by the air pumps. She pushed herself up from the ground and headed home, desperate to wash today's events from her body, even if she couldn't eliminate them from her mind.

  Perhaps that was something good about Hollowing. She wished she could forget.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Madea stood, dripping, in her bedroom with the door closed. She could still hear her father's muffled prattling. He shouldn't even be here—she had moved out years ago—and yet there he was, listing a million reasons why she should attend his latest function in just a few hours. She didn't have a thing to wear, let alone the desire to go. Janae's tortured face was still clearly visible in her mind, the scream of agony rattled in her ears. It just wasn't a good time.

  "I don't want to hear your reasons. Go away."

  "I've got a dress, and shoes. Rickard will be there, and he's promised to help keep away any men you're not interested in."

  Madea felt her heart beat faster, not at the mention of Rickard, but at the realization that once again, this whole upcoming debacle flowed from her father's desire to see her married off to someone of influence. Someone like him. Someone who held important connections for him.

  She pulled the door open, clutching her towel closed with one hand. "I'm not getting married. I'm not going to your function, and I am not going to date a single one of the men you deem acceptable."

  "Madea Linae." The use of her full name took her straight back to childhood and the many dressing-downs her father had given her. Some things never changed. "You have a duty to your family, and you almost never socialize. Now get dressed. I put your things in the wardrobe. We’ve got people to wine and dine, and you know how much better it looks when my children are there for events."

  Madea ground her teeth together and resisted the urge to slam the door in his face, like she'd done so many times over the years. Instead she set her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm not coming." She swung the door closed, gently.

  "Your sister is announcing her engagement," her father said.

  The words made her freeze. Sarai getting married? Already? It had been months since Madea had seen her baby sister in person, and their phone conversations were always short and to the point. But surely this was one of those things you told your sister.

  "Why didn't you say that to begin with?" she asked, resting her head on the door. A blend of emotions swam in her belly, but the desire to cry overwhelmed them all. Why couldn’t any of this be easy? Their family was so dysfunctional, had been for years.

  "I don't know," her father admitted. "Perhaps I wanted to see if just once you'd come because I asked you." He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'll see you at home then?"

  "Okay." She leaned against the door, listening to his steps shuffling down the hallway and out of the house. After the front door clicked shut she went to the wardrobe to see what he'd bought for her this time. He had good taste, if you liked to be fashionable. Madea preferred comfort over style though, and his choices were never comfortable.

  She pulled the rack out and frowned. This wasn't the current style at all. It hit her then where she'd seen this dress before; a photo of her mother, from back on Earth, before they had left for Diamara. It was made of silk, or something, a royal blue in a Grecian style, drawn in beneath the breast and pooling to the floor in ripples.

  It was stunning, possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever worn. She paused for a moment, trying to fathom what subtle message her father could be sending with this choice of dress—if only she knew the occasion her mother had been wearing it in the photo—and then pulled it over her head. The dress fit perfectly, snugging against her body in all the right places, hiding the slight roundness of her tummy.

  She swung the wardrobe door shut and looked in the mirror. Madea had never realized how much she looked like her mother. But then, her mother had been dead for years now, so it wasn't as though it was an easy comparison to make. Maybe now her father was finally coming to terms with her death. Why else would he gift this to her?

  The shoes her father had left were in a more modern style, though still practical, like everything on this planet. Madea slipped her feet into them and rummaged through her jewellery box, trying to find something to match the dress. She settled on a simple black cord with a silver drop pendant that sat above the swell of her breasts.

  She looked like such a girl. Rickard would give her grief for it all night, but she at least she would get to laugh at him, busy fending off her suitors.

  They had known each other since childhood, and were among the youngest Earth-born currently living on Diamara. Between them they had hoarded all their memories of that distant, blue planet, speaking only in whispers as if sharing those moments with others would weaken them.

  Now that she thought about it, it'd been months since she'd really spent time with Rickard, either. As much as it pained her to admit it, her father had been right when he'd said she had no life. What he hadn't understood was that the man who held her interest was her boss. For all of his brusque nature and huffy moods, Sullivan was an incredible man. His obsession with making Diamara a better place by experimenting with their local plants to improve medicine and health had drawn her in and fuelled her crush.

  Not that he was really that interested. The few times she'd convinced him to sleep with her were pure luck. He was taking advantage of her desire, and for right now, she didn't mind—even a smidgen of his intensity was enough.

  And maybe soon he'd give her more attention. Her hands moved to her belly, which she was sure was bigger than it had been this morning, though knew it was only be her imagination. It was probably too early to test, but she was fairly convinced she was carrying Sullivan's child. She hadn’t bled in months now. It hadn't been in her plan, but maybe...

  So tonight, she would reject the advances of all the handsome men at her father's gathering, avoid alcohol, be grateful for the opportunity to catch up with her childhood friend, and most importantly celebrate her sister's engagement.

  It was settled.

  Tomorrow she'd be brave enough to take a pregnancy test.

  The room was filled with the noise of important people—Madea could tell they were important by the airs in their voices, and the way their hands drifted in space as they gave examples of the progress they were making in their areas of expertise. Even the plushness of her father's décor couldn't absorb the pompous buzz.

  Madea had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes every time someone attempted to engage her in conversation, and the distance between the entrance and where she could see Sarai and Rickard standing across the room was mired with pitfalls, the largest of which was turning towards her now, the young woman tucked against his side grinning insipidly. How had they managed to colonize new planets, and yet still have room for vapid women? Madea would never know.

  "Father," she said curtly.

  "So pleased you could make it, Madea." His eyes twinkled as he smiled. He stroked the hand of the woman next to him. "Have you met Gwen?"
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  "No, I don't think I've had the pleasure." Madea plastered on her fake smile and shook Gwen’s hand briefly, unable to ignore the woman's smooth skin next to the more worn lines of her own. "You have so many...friends. It's hard to keep track."

  Gwen's eyes flashed wider and her grip on Madea's fathers arm tightened.

  "You should go and see your sister. She's been waiting for you." Her father's voice was terse and Madea's smile slipped from fake into genuine.

  "I was just heading that way." And she was off, keeping her eye on her destination, ignoring everyone in the way, and snatching a glass of juice from one of the circulating waiters before arriving.

  "Hello, strangers." She smiled and gave them each a lingering hug. "It's been too long. Forgive me?"

  "I do," Sarai said, her voice soft, her smile coy. "You've been working too hard and having no fun at all."

  "You sound like Dad, Sarai." Madea rolled her eyes. "What about you?" she asked Rickard. She felt a warmth in her belly that wasn't tied to the thing she was sure she was growing there. He was still a handsome man. She'd always thought that maybe, when they were both ready, they'd settle down together. But before now he'd never managed to stick with one girl for long, and she didn't want to be one of a string of lovers.

  "I’ve been well, thanks. And," he said in a serious tone, though his lips curled up in a smile, "we've devised a way to prevent so long from passing between visits, haven't we Sarai?" He slipped a hand into Sarai’s and the two of them smiled at each other.

  Madea couldn't breathe. Her muscles went stiff and her brain struggled to process the information quite clearly displayed. "You two? You got engaged?" she managed to squeak out.

  "Don't look so surprised!" Sarai laughed. "I'm just pleased I got in before you did." Her sister gave her an over-the-top wink.