FemCorps

By Kaine Thompson

Established in 2038 by Cyn Beda, FemCorps is a covert, global investigation agency that relies on feminine intuition and other psychic talents to solve crimes against women. Once sanctioned by Homeland Security, FemCorps is forced to go underground when the tide of popular opinion turns against them because of their unorthodox methods.

Hannah Ward, code name Pilgrim VII, is one of 20 elite agents with unique and powerful Talents. However, Hannah's Talent has not yet appeared and due to her growing skepticism and lapse in protocol, the Cyn Beda assign her to a low-level sexual harassment case with Pilgrim XX, Ori Stein, who “senses” something more sinister is going on.

Hannah dismisses Ori’s psychic evidence and Ori ends up dead. When Cyn Beda, decides that Hannah has become unreliable and a danger to herself and the Corps, her latent Talent emanates with such potency that she escapes their inevitable judgment.

Now a rogue agent, Hannah Ward, Seventh Pilgrim of FemCorps, is on the run and on the hunt for a killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaine Thompson
• Release date: Feb 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9780985695606

Kaine Thompson

Kaine Thompson has been writing since she was five, composing her first poem about the moon, which developed into a lifelong passion for writing and all things celestial. Born with a rich feminist legacy, she has a passion to empower women. Her great grandmother was a suffragette, her great aunt, at the age of 77, set up her lawn chair under the Arc de Triomphe in Paris to protest the Vietnam War, and her grandmother and mother taught her that she could do anything a man could do and was of equal value to God. She lived for several years in Holland where she worked for an import/export company and traveled extensively in Europe, including a covert trip into Romania during the Cold War, which she has chronicled in a memoir. She holds a Master’s degree in writing from California State University Northridge and a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of Oregon. She earned her livelihood as a communications professional in higher education and through her own writing business, E-maginative Writing. Her greatest passion is to pass on her family’s legacy to her children and grandchildren in hopes that some day the world will embrace the power of women.

Book preview

FEMCORPS TIMELINE

2020 – Equal Rights Amendment passes

2025 – End of Muslim War

2025 – New Arabia established (comprised of Saudi Arabia, Iraq, UAE, Ramistan, Oman, Yemen, Kuwait and Qatar)

2038 – FemCorps established under Homeland Security

2039 – Hannah Ward hired by FemCorps

2043 – Sheik of Ramistan case causes public furor

2044 – Keenan Administration comes to power

2045 – FemCorps goes underground

2046 – Craven Affair exposed – Full Disclosure Policy instituted

2047 – Hannah’s case with Pilgrim XX

2048 – Case closed. Hannah goes on active leave

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

a-chip – American currency, in white, blue, red and yellow, a bit or memory – transfers financial credits -government regulated bit coin

airstation – center for air travel (on and off-world)

autonomobile or autono or tono– driverless car

autosynthnosis – a device that enhances psychic energy to make someone compliant

biosix – music receiver

boredriller – drill for mountain boring

Box – virtual reality gaming system

CommLink – wrist computer (phone, Net access, data storage)

Cyn Beda – combined form, female ruler - executive branch of FemCorps

e-chip – European currency

digiCom – wireless wrist phone

digimog – wealthy investor in music industry

DataSource – primary data library

elec – old model electric car

Genza – popular herbal liquid refreshment

halo – a circle of LEDs that emits holographic images

hovabed – a hovering gurney with bio monitors, used in hospitals

locator – global positioning system

low-ride – one-seater car powered by solar energy

FemNet – secure, wireless data stream for FemCorps

pad – tablet computer

pod – small handheld computer

patch – human-machine interface implanted at the wrist

petals – platform body scan (internal and external scanning)

pushnews – electronic news that is pushed to all communication devices

scrip – any prescription drugs

shiv – slang, scared, intuitive shiver

sim-ads – simulations that provide scent and vibrations to the viewer, modern advertisements.

skinplant – bio-engineered skin that provides false fingerprints (works with splinter)

skrill – slang, denoting the worst of the worst, lowest of the low

splinter – a human-machine interface that goes under the skin (usually used with skinplants) to obtain protected electronic data, i.e. keypads and passwords, and interacts with the brain’s neurotransmitters to alter behavior and to receive electronic impulses

sunoculars – sunglasses fitted with microchip vision enhanced lenses

synth – synthetic fuel

Talent – intuition, empathy, dreams, precognition, psychometrics, healing, wisdom, etc

tase-E – taser-like gun, older model of tase-M

tase-M – taser-like gun, adjusts to emit electric shock or needle projectiles.

translator – head and ear piece simultaneously translates all known languages

Truthtalker – religious code to never tell a lie, a person without guile

vidfone – videophone

VidNet – pop culture

vidimogs – wealthy investor in video industry

vid-screen – computer screen

zips – zip ties used as handcuffs

CHAPTER ONE

She was face down in the water. Her long hair spread out in an incongruous, hirsute web. Her bare, outstretched arms were luminescent in the moonlight. She bobbed and bumped against the wharf with the play of the waves. She rolled over. It was Ori. She was dead.

I bent forward to confirm with my eyes what my mind found difficult to believe. Her eyes flashed open. Her hands reached up toward me. She surged from the water like a fish, her fingers encircling my neck. Her empty eyes and bluish lips reproached me as she came toward me as if to kiss...

I woke, gasping for air, my bark of surprise ringing in my ears. My heart pounded. I was covered in sweat. Those empty, dead eyes! Slowly my bedroom came into focus –the photo on my bureau with my parents and five brothers smiling down on me, my Lucinda Adler painting on the wall, my silver gray suit tossed haphazardly on the back of a chair. I willed myself to calm down.

It was unlike any dream I had ever experienced. I could still feel those cold claws on my throat. The thought of it made my skin crawl. Still, I forced myself to review the nightmare. I breathed slowly and deeply, wiping my face with the sheet while I hummed a low tone to slow down my beating heart, all the while hanging on to the remaining images that were quickly leaving my mind. I was grateful for my training as I followed the steps to unleash Talent.

Reviewing the dream/nightmare diminished its horror. Obviously Ori was starting to get to me and my psyche had decided to kill her off. But she wasn’t so easily killed. Her fingers around my throat were as cold and relentless as she was. Still, it was important to pay attention to dream images. I should get in touch with her, even though it was her duty to get in touch with me. She was inside; I was outside. It would please Cyn Beda that I followed up on a dream.

I threw the covers aside, pulled on a robe and went to the kitchen for a midnight snack. I poured a glass of soymilk and pulled leftover pizza from the fridge. I munched on a slice, deep in thought.

Ori wasn’t really dead. My psyche was just over-reacting because I was so angry with her. The famous psychologist, Karl Jung, theorized that a nightmare like this was a way for the psyche to awaken the conscious mind to deal with an unresolved issue. The nightmare was to shock my consciousness to think about Ori, Pilgrim XX. So be it. I would stroll by where she worked today and let her see me, then wait for her to make contact.

Pilgrim XX was a pain in my ass. She was oblivious to anything but her mission. She was a hard, cold perfectionist. But that wasn’t the worst of it. She was ultra-religious. A zealot. She made me crazy! That’s why they had partnered us on this minor case at the airstation. We were as different as two women can be. She had been in retirement for a couple years but wanted to get back in the game. Because of her reputation, Cyn Beda had acquiesced and assigned her to a sexual harassment case. For her, this case was a boon; for me it was slow torture. But I wasn’t going to let Cyn Beda get the better of me. I could take whatever they dished out. I was a Pilgrim.

My name is Hannah Ward, Seventh Pilgrim of FemCorps, a covert investigation agency that is well funded and well hidden, conceived after the Equal Rights Amendment was passed in 2020. Once a branch of Homeland Security, FemCorps recruited women from all over the country. Its ranks grew quickly and equality was within our grasp.

Then it all went terribly wrong. The Sheik of Ramistan case in ’43 was our undoing. To this day some believe that as a result of that fiasco, the ultra-right Keenan Administration came into power. FemCorps was cut from Homeland Security and public opinion was swayed to fear our methods and us. We were called witches, freaks, and charlatans. It was an ugly time. Four years of conservative legislation and judicial decisions made it difficult for us to operate, or any woman for that matter. That’s when the Corps' ruling body, Cyn Beda, took us underground in ’45 rather than disband. The public soon forgot about us and the politicians and media moved on to other hot topics.

Contrary to public perception, FemCorps is not comprised of man-haters and lesbians with an axe to grind against men. Granted, most of our cases deal with protecting women, primarily to root out federal and corporate sexism, but we also expose fraud. FemCorps takes a dim view of women who undermine the ERA and those who are found guilty of using the system to falsely accuse men are to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, at least that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Things are not always so clear-cut.

The most important thing to know is that we still exist and hold to one purpose—to bring justice to women, using tried and true investigative techniques as well as our own highly developed and unique feminine power and Talents, such as intuition, empathy, dreams, precognition, psychometrics, healing, wisdom, etc.

Oh yes, FemCorps is controversial, but there is no other investigative agency that can do what we do—and we do it very well. Although Keenan and his henchmen have been driven from office, and the courts are beginning to once again enforce the ERA; we, as a country, have a long way to go. Feminine power is still misunderstood. Our methods are still feared. We have to be very careful not to inflame past hysteria that lingers just below the surface. We, in the Corps, know all too well that when women have any power they are viewed as negative forces on society.

We still have powerful allies in the government who believe in what we do and are not afraid to use us when they need us, including Attorney General Cora Michaels who I believe is still giving us directives. Only Cyn Beda knows. Our operatives are worldwide, our ranks continue to grow, and I like to believe that some day the world will accept us.

As FemCorps agents we are sworn to obey the rules, be thorough, get the evidence, and channel it correctly into the public domain. Use the FemNet and our Talents to bring justice forward. Protect humanity from itself.

I was one of their first recruits and became Pilgrim VII in 2039. I’ve seen it all: political intrigue, bio-terrorism, slavery, rape, stalking. You would think with a record like mine I would be on an important case. But I wasn’t. I was on a minor sexual harassment case with Pilgrim XX. Suffice it to say I was being punished for not obeying the rules, for screwing up in California, and for refusing to apologize for the end result—a very satisfactory result I’m proud to say—but wrong in the eyes of Cyn Beda.

Currently, I serve as the outside agent, the conduit to FemCorps for Pilgrim XX. In reality it means that I am not directly involved in the case. I was at Ori’s beck and call. I mostly did research and legwork, preserving her assumed identity and keeping myself pure from psychic taint. I was to corroborate her instincts and intuition. Not my favorite role. It wasn’t as if I deliberately ignored the signs, I just didn’t put as much stock in them as was expected of an outside agent.

Don’t get me wrong. I keep my doubts to myself. I believe in FemCorps’ mission. I am a loyal agent and an Intuitive. Not that that’s saying much. It’s already 2047, eight years in FemCorps, and intuition is the only Talent I’ve manifested, and I wouldn’t call it a Talent. All FemCorps agents have some degree of intuition. The Pilgrims, on the other hand, manifest special Talents, which make them an elite corps. All but me. My Talent has yet to make an appearance; but in their infinite wisdom, Cyn Beda determined that I was Pilgrim material—I’m sure to their everlasting regret but too proud to admit.

Cyn Beda are five powerful women who make up the executive branch of FemCorps. Their placement at the top is shrouded in rumors and contrived misinformation. My pet theory is that they are the originators of FemCorps’ manifesto and formed the structure long before FemCorps was officially established under Homeland Security. When I first joined, I didn't even know there were five Cyns. For years I only had contact with Cyn V. She was the public face and a lovely face she has.

It was hard to believe that they all had lives and careers before becoming the hierarchy of FemCorps. They seemed to have always been there. Once I'd learned of them I drew pleasure from gathering information on their former lives. There wasn’t much to find, but like my dad said, who used to work in government, know your enemy.

I knew that Cyn V had been a chancellor of a major university system and was the one who they trotted out in front of the cameras when FemCorps was founded. And I met Cyn IV when she was Louise Grimshaw, the world-renowned feminist anthropologist who was instrumental in setting up FemCorps’ structure. She was the one who had recruited most of the Pilgrims back in ’39, including me.

Through some pretty good sleuthing over the years, I discovered that Cyn III had been CEO of Spectracom, Inc., the biotech research conglomerate. I have no idea if she still holds shares in that company, but if she does, she has to be very wealthy. I only found out recently who Cyn II was. I never would have guessed. She was a powerhouse of political influence—the first woman ambassador to New Arabia, president of NOW, radio talk show host, and I don’t know what all, except that she was, and is, very well connected. Her Talent is so well honed that she can have such a CV and still be unknown and unknowable.

Cyn I is a complete mystery. In all my years I have never been exposed to her or read anything about her. There have been numerous speculations on which she is, the most outlandish being that she is a space alien, the most mundane, that she is a housewife with phenomenal psychic power. For whatever reason, the government and the media never mentioned her during FemCorps’ first years of operation. All I know is that I never want to meet her. Have you ever met a psychic vivisectionist? Me neither, and I don’t want a powerful psychic messing with my head. I’m not sure she’d like what she’d find.

To my way of thinking, the few times I have received any visions, dreams or intuition, the information has been useless. It doesn’t hinder me. Good detective work is all I need to accomplish the tasks FemCorps assigns to me. Given this latest case, I don’t need much of that either. I was just a puppet on Pilgrim XX’s string. Dangle, dangle, dangle. Crap!

I scooped up another slice of pizza and headed for the study. My mind was going a mile a second. I was over-agitated by the nightmare. Sleep was now impossible. Maybe I could get some research out of the way. The mind-numbing file searches Ori put me on might soothe me back to sleep. As I entered the study, I saw the light blinking on my wall screen—FemNet calling.

FYEO FYEO FYEO. Yellow on a black background. For Your Eyes Only.

I sat down and spoke the password. The screen flickered and came to life. I went cold with the news flashing red.

Pilgrim XX dead.

The blunt and unforgiving message gave no other information. Dead. Pilgrim XX. Ori. Ori Stein was dead! My contact! Dead! How? When? I felt a wave of nausea and shivered. Dead! My nightmare flared up in my mind. Cold, empty eyes. Arms reaching out . . . I felt the shakes coming on as I remembered something else—the first indication I had that something bad had happened to her. Three days ago. And I had ignored it.

This was bad—very bad. There would be hell to pay and it was soon in coming. At the end of the cryptic message was:

Pri-1 with Cyn IV. Immediate Departure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CHAPTER TWO

I arrived in Washington DC a day later on one of the hottest days of the year. I was sweating badly but not from the weather. I had delayed my arrival as long as I could, but even I couldn’t fight the inevitable. I took the Metro downtown, walked four blocks and arrived at FemCorps headquarters—a five-story, New Historical style building. There was no indication that FemCorps existed, no signs, inside or out. But I knew well what was in that building. I took a deep breath, hiked up the steps and entered.

The hollow echo of my footsteps filtered up into the dome as I crossed the mosaic marble floor. I gave a friendly salute to the guard at the reception desk, removed my equipment and put it in the holding bin. I placed my hand on the printscan (to read my fingerprints and to make sure I wasn’t wearing a skinplant) and identified myself. The green light came on. I took the curved stone stairs to the law offices of Loris, Loris and Xavier. It looked like any other law office you might see in DC. I greeted Serita as I entered. She barely nodded, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of numerous monitors. She was murmuring into her headset while her hands played over the pads like a piano. I stood on the petals to be patterned (and to make sure I wasn’t wearing any electronics) and waited for the wall to slide back. Thwip.

Leslie Muffin sat at her desk, drinking a smoothie. She was pretty, but beige. It was her Talent. She could disappear standing against a wall. Not literally, but she had a knack for hiding her aura so well that she sometimes spooked you when you realized she was in the room. She was the executive assistant to Cyn IV. She was always there, surreptitious and efficient, and could lay her hands on a piece of data faster than you could think of what you wanted. She smiled sympathetically even though she knew I was late. She nodded at the closed door.

She's in conference, she said. It’ll be at least twenty.

Traffic was terrible, I said.

Mm-hm, she replied.

I had to find someone to watch my cat.

You used that one already, she said without looking up.

Oh. Thanks.

I tried to look nonchalant as I selected an overstuffed chair that embraced me in a comfortable hug. I did not want Muffin to know how rattled I was by this anticipated confrontation—the second time in as many months. Cyn IV could be brutal. She had assigned me to my current case after my encounter with Yummy Salazar. She wanted to make an example of me. She wanted me to squirm by pairing me with a retired agent. All because of the way I’d retrained Yummy. Didn’t follow procedure. In the end, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. That muscle-headed jerk got just what he deserved.

It was back in early March. I arrived in sunny California with a chill in my soul. It was heaven on earth. Tanned bodies everywhere I looked. Jasmine wafting on a warm breeze. Sounds of Kamus Musik on street corners. Palm trees swaying and cotton ball clouds drifting lazily above an azure Pacific Ocean. Ahhh!

In the east, Boston’s weather was chaotic, shifting from ice storms and snow to rising temperatures and flood warnings. It mirrored my feelings. It was right after Pilgrim II’s death, and I was having a crisis of faith. I wanted nothing more than to get far away. I didn’t even know what the case was. Just saw that it was in California, took it and ran, catching the next shuttle.

During the three-hour flight, I perused the case file. I was to seek and retrain an obsessed stalker. The seeking would take two weeks. The evidential phase could take up to three. The retraining? About five minutes. If I played this case right, I could string it out for a couple months and be back when Boston’s weather had made up its mind. Maybe by then, I would have, too.

My stalker, Umberto Cortez, or Yummy as he called himself, was an itinerant lifeguard who worked the California coastline. He was obsessed with Juanita Salazar, the top-40s Latin singer. She had a restraining order on him, but he had brain lock.

From the case file, most of which had been compiled from Pushnews, chat rooms, fanzines, and court documents, I learned that Juanita met Yummy two years earlier at the Gull Grotto, a local nightclub in Huntington Beach. The Grotto was her big break. Tourists, vidimogs and digimogs frequented the place. Yummy knew a lot of people in the area and made sure they went to hear Juanita sing. Much to her detriment she dated him briefly. In his mind it was because of him that people came night after night to hear her sexy, sultry voice. He took her growing popularity as direct confirmation of his importance in her life.

But Juanita was on the fast track. She met a digimog and moved to Los Angeles. Her career skyrocketed and she was hot on VidNet. A month previous, Yummy showed up at the Saturn Lounge and dragged her out by her hair. Her fans beat him pretty badly before the police arrived. Juanita didn't press charges. Three weeks previous, she took out a restraining order. A week previous, she put out a plea on the ComLink. FemCorps took the case and contacted her. The next day, I was there.

I met her at her luxurious home in Bueno del Sur. I introduced myself as La Loba, and she let me in. I did a thorough search for listening devices, finding none. Yummy was not sophisticated, just determined. She looked small and vulnerable in her large living room with its picture window overlooking the ocean.

It's not like we were lovers.

That's not what's going on here, Ms. Salazar, I told her. Mr. Cortez believes that you are his property and you owe him your career.

I worked my ass off to get that job at the Grotto, long before I met him!

Like I said, that's not what this is about. In his mind he owns you.

She shivered, rubbing her arms. She walked to the window and looked out. I joined her and my skin prickled. Quite a view. She whirled on me, grabbing my arms.

I can't live like this! I'll pay whatever it takes.

I disengaged her fingers. There's no charge. FemCorps is here to help you. Can you talk about him? I need to get a feel for him to anticipate his moves.

She went back to the couch and pulled a pillow into her abdomen. Her dark luxurious hair fell across her pale face. I sat opposite and waited for her to speak.

I met him at the Grotto. He was good looking. Had a great bod. From El Salvador, like me. But, I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I was lasered on my career. I had maybe three, four years to launch. It’s true he brought people in. But I made them stay and come back for more. I did it, not him. My voice. Me! Not him!

You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Ms. Salazar. I’m on your side.

She struggled to regain her calm and took a deep breath. He was very attentive. Very protective. When I was done with a set, he'd be there, making sure I had something to drink. He muscled the drunks. I appreciated it. I thought, I thought . . .

. . . You deserved it.

I was flattered, you know. It made me feel like a big star.

Doesn't mean you owe him, Juanita.

"I know. He went mental. No one could get near me. Not even the people I wanted to. All of a sudden he's like my bodyguard and manager. I told him I could handle my own career. He backed off. Then I met Jerry Fabrizio of Comsat Com, a real digimog. He arranged for my first demo, you know, Can't Ride You Long Enough? She looked at me expectantly. I made a noncommittal sound. I didn't listen to her music. I preferred Global. You have heard it, yes?"

Oh, I . . . sure. Great tune.

It was, wasn't it? It went number one. Since then, my life has been like a dream!

Until the Saturn Lounge.

She shivered. He was on the stage before I knew it and had me by the hair! Oh! I was never more terrified. Or humiliated! It was all over the Net!

She began to cry. I found the kitchen and got a glass of juice from the fridge. By the time I returned she had dried her eyes. I handed it to her. She gulped it down.

Look what he's doing to me. I’m on the verge of hysteria all the time. I can't concentrate. I can’t sleep. It’s interfering with my career. I’ve got a new demo to make.

Why didn't you file charges against him?

He’d taken such a beating, I thought he'd leave me alone after that.

It got worse, didn't it?

Much worse.

And now you’ve got the restraining order?

I wish I had never done that. It was like synth on fire. The phone calls in the middle of the night are nothing compared to his new tricks. It’s like celeb friends saying, ‘Yummy said to say hello.’ Or he shows up as the valet at a restaurant I’m at, or a prop assistant on a music vid I’m doing, or on the street, making sure I see him. Annoying, but I could handle it. But then there was a cardboard gravestone on my lawn with my name on it. Dead snakes on my porch. And then Blanca, her voice caught. She began rocking, the pillow mangled in her fists. "Mi gato. My gardener found her hanging from a tree. In my own yard!"

Did you contact the police?

"They wrote a report. But I’m scared. I can't prove it's him. I just know it's him. He's going to kill me!"

No he won’t. Do you have anything of his in your possession?

Of course not!

Think. Anything that he's handled. There must be something.

She rocked back and forth, her eyes blank. Suddenly she jumped up and ran down the stairs. I followed. She was in her studio, searching through a desk. Her platinum discs and pictures of her with famous people were hanging all over the wall. Her keyboard was in one corner, hooked to a microphone and ComLink. Next to it was a pad and a printer.

Here! she exclaimed, handing me a cardboard coaster with the logo of the Gull Grotto. On the opposite side was scrawled God gave me an angel when he made you. Yummy.

"Okay, this is what we do. Give me your itinerary for the month. Follow it exactly, no deviations. If he’s watching, he knows I'm here, but since I'm female, he's not going to be threatened. I've already checked your house for bugs. My guess is that he enjoys the thrill of the hunt. The harder you are to obtain, the better he likes it. Let’s get him to make the