Untrustworthy

By JR Gershen-Siegel

Winner of the first Annual Riverdale Avenue NaNoWriMo contest, JR Gershen-Siegel’s first published novel Untrustworthy is a ground-breaking science fiction novel of Dystopian politics in an oddly familiar alien culture that pits gender “norm” against gender-bend in an age-old battle.

“Untrustworthy is old-school political dystopia in the vein of Brave New World: brilliant, gripping, frightening. JR Gershen-Siegel tackles gender politics and gender oppression with an unflinching eye. Untrustworthy is panned NaNoWriMo gold.”

Cecilia Tan, Publisher of Circlet Press, award-winning author of The Struck by Lightning series

Tathrelle is the only liberal in the Cabossian government. She represents the will of the people and is responsible for communicating with them about how the war with the Cavirii is going. She has a pregnant wife, and all seems well. The future seems promising, until she meets her new assistant. Something is off with the man.
When Tathrelle wakes up the morning after she first met him, she notices that subtle changes seem to have taken place overnight. She shrugs them off.
But it happens again and again. Someone, somehow, is changing everything she knows, as Tathrelle begins to wonder if her memories are faulty or if her mind is going. Can she trust the face she sees in the mirror? Is Caboss winning the war or losing it? Why is she suddenly the one who is pregnant?
Only her dreams provide a clue, a small vestige of what came before.

Trust your dreams, not your memory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Riverdale Avenue Books
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781626011298

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Untrustworthy© 2014 by Janet Gershen-Siegel

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Cover by Scott Carpenter

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-129-8

Print ISBN: 978-1-62601-130-4

First Edition December 2014

Second Edition December 2020

Introduction

What a long, strange year this has been.

What a long, strange four years.

And from Untrustworthy’s perspective, what a long, strange seven years, truth be told.

I wrote Untrustworthy in 2013, the same year when United States vs. Windsor 570 U.S. 744 (2013) was decided. Don’t remember Windsor? It was a US Supreme Court case which struck down Section 3 of the Defense of Marriage Act. This made federal recognition of same-sex marriage possible. Two years later, the Supreme Court decided Obergefell v. Hodges, 576 U.S. 644 (2015). That one you probably remember.

I like to think I lead a hopeful life, with a hopeful outlook. Obergefell in particular was a decision full of hope and promise.

When I wrote Untrustworthy for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month which takes place every November), marriage equality had already existed here in Massachusetts for nine years. Creating aliens who were of the same gender and were wed was no biggie. It was… common.

I didn’t just want to write about marriage equality. I also wanted to write about how a society can turn on a dime, and how a (somewhat) free and open society could easily slide down an incredibly steep and slippery slope and become a tyranny. This is why one of the notes I kept on my person about the book said: Alien Kristallnacht.

Seven years ago, that was an abstraction.

It isn’t anymore.

In the past four years, it got easier for a lot of people to be cruel. They had permission. And they ran with it. People were being treated as second-class citizens. As third class. Fourth class. 50th class and so on down. A segment of the population felt it was just dandy to hurt LGBTQ+ folks, and those of us who care for them. We were being seen as subhuman. Obergefell didn’t seem so solid. Neither did a lot of other things about America and its laws.

Two thousand thirteen was also when the term TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) was starting to catch on in the mainstream. And in the past seven years, it’s been hard to escape on Twitter, on Facebook, and offline as well. It’s even harder to escape when famous people come out of the woodwork and proclaim their opinions—loudly, always loudly—about who is really what. That is, who they feel is what. And they feel their opinions should overrule how people feel about themselves. What an ego someone must have, to feel they know better when it comes to something so personal.

Our world has turned into a place where people shoot each other over wearing masks to prevent the spread of a deadly disease. It’s a place where being arrested for allegedly passing a counterfeit bill can get you killed—by law enforcement.

Untrustworthy was written during a time of hope. And it hasn’t lost that. It was written before our language had evolved, particularly our language about transpeople. In a way, it’s frozen in time, much like any other book.

But as I write this today, I remember how much I personally believe in endings that are happy. In people who are just. In places that are free. In societies that embrace differences and celebrate them, not fear them. In a world where what you look like, who you love, who you are, how you feel, and how you think aren’t excuses for others to hurt you. And they aren’t excuses for others to try to redefine you.

I like to think that hope is making a comeback. And in this way, we can all be trendsetters.

Thank you to Lori Perkins and Riverdale Avenue Books, as always, for believing in me, and giving me such an exceptional opportunity. For listening to my voice, and for feeling that others just might want to hear it, too.

And thank you to you—the person who is reading this. You’re why I’m here.

JR Gershen-Siegel

December 2020

4 Month, Day 9

There was nothing easy about it.

It was cold and wet, raining, really. And Tathrelle was outside with no protection against the weather.

She lay on the ground, feeling her roughened skin and her hair, which was impossibly tangled. She combed through it with the six fingers of both hands, trying to smooth it out. But it began to break in her small hands. And the bottom hair clip—the one provided and required by the government of Caboss—was gone. Instead, she had a filthy ribbon tying her brown hair at the end of its one braid. At least she still had the top hair clip.

Her government-issued black clothing was still more or less intact. The tunic was stained, and the hems of the trouser cuffs were frayed. Her shoes were worn, but at least they were still recognizably in regulation black, signifying that she was a Cabossian who was not pregnant.

She still had a lanyard around her neck, with her identity card in its clear case, and her number—8,012,142,753—was still clearly legible. The edges of the identity card were tipped in tan, telling all and sundry that she was a vagrant and an undesirable.

Then the scene suddenly shifted, a jump cut, and she was in some sort of hospital. Hands held her down, hands with either three fingers on them—female—or four—male. But she could not see faces. She was in some form of recovery, but it was all hopelessly unclear and mysterious.

Another jump cut, and she was on a podium or a stage, with people whispering behind her and a roaring and, seemingly, approving, crowd in front of her.

And then she woke up.

* * *

She was warm. The bed was soft and comfortable, and the quilt was oh-so-enjoyable. She stretched a little, feeling her hair on top and in back. She pulled the braid around to the front to inspect it. The government-issued hair clips were both in place, but her brown hairs were becoming a bit unruly. She would have to fix that as a part of her morning routine.

She became aware of even breathing behind her. She blinked a few times in the semi-darkness. She rolled over slightly so as to face the center of the bed. There was a woman there. Her braid was blonde, and the expression on her face was serene as she slept. Her relaxation was complete—her hands were visible, and the genital openings on either side of her hands were both exposed to Tathrelle’s gaze. This was complete trust and open acceptance.

Tathrelle moved slightly, and the woman’s eyes opened, revealing a bluish green. She smiled, her mouth widening but the corners did not lift up, nor did they droop. The only facial expressions possible were variations on a perfectly flat and horizontal mouth. But her mouth widened, which was an expression of happiness.

Good morning, Ixalla, Tathrelle said, brushing her own hand’s left side genital opening across the other woman’s cheek. A kiss.

Good morning. It’s early, Ixalla said.

Yes, uh, Ixalla?

Hmm?

Did you ever have a dream that was so vivid that you were utterly convinced of its reality? Where you felt that it was so real, so true, that you woke up wondering why you were not still in it?

Ixalla sat up in bed. I, I do not recall. That’s awfully convincing if it is so. Tell me, Tathrelle, what was your dream about?

Oh, I was a vagrant.

"A vagrant?"

And then I was hospitalized for some reason or another, and it ended with the election.

Well, the election is real. The rest of it’s in your head. Ixalla yawned. I swear; I could stay in bed all day.

"Oh? Tathrelle’s own mouth widened considerably. You have been my wife for how long, yet you are still interested, eh?"

I will always be interested. After all, how could I have become this way otherwise? Ixalla indicated her own swollen belly. Our children will be truly wonderful.

Only if they look like you. Do you think we will have four girls? Or four boys?

A mix, I suspect. That seems more likely, Ixalla responded.

Ever the scientist.

"Science teacher."

You are still far more of a scientist than I’ll ever be. Tathrelle ran her left side genital opening slowly along Ixalla’s cheek again. I would make love to you all day long if we did not have to go to work.

As if in response to her statement, their communications receiver came on, signifying that it was time to awaken.

* * *

... And in other news, the war with the Cavirii is going well. Over government reports that the fighting on Wecabossia is progressing and our enemy is retreating. The new Governmental Communications Liaison will be starting today. Her official number is 8,012,142,753.

The weather will be chilly. The government recommends wearing a mid-weight tunic today.

Ixalla reached over and turned the news down as Tathrelle meticulously rebraided her own hair. "I can barely get used to it. My number, told to all!"

Ixalla brought over the two lanyards with the two identity cards. She put on her own—her number was 7,999,533,628, and her card was rimmed with light green, signifying that she was working in the educational realm. Tathrelle’s was rimmed with dark blue, indicating that she was with the government.

I am not so sure I can get used to your card being trimmed with dark blue! Who would have guessed that my own darling wife would become the first Cabossian Governmental Communications Liaison? And you were made a colonel, too. I am so very, very proud of you, Tathrelle. You are famous, and you are only going to become more so. You will wonder why you are staying married to a mere science teacher.

It’s because I love you, you silly. And you are carrying our children. Tathrelle gently ran her right genital opening over Ixalla’s abdomen. "You are my love. You always have been. The rest of this is lovely, but what matters the most—the very most—is that we are together, and it’s for always."

Ixalla smiled. It’s a big day for you; I do not mean to be needy. It’s my pregnancy talking, I suspect. But here it is, your first day!

"Yes and the generals say they are giving me an assistant. I cannot for the life of me figure out why. I certainly did not ask for one."

Well, Ixalla thought for a moment, you are the only member of the government circle who was freely and openly elected. I bet they are keeping an eye on you.

Possibly. In any event, I’ll see what I can do to get rid of the assistant.

Oh! I very nearly forgot! We have an appointment at my doctor’s today, on the other side of the Central River.

And we will see how wonderfully well you are doing, I bet. And then I will celebrate with some lovely fermented Aromossian oil, Tathrelle declared. There was a chime. Oh! I had best be on my way. I would not want to be late for my very first day.

They touched a genital opening to each other’s faces briefly, and then both departed.

* * *

Tathrelle walked through the city streets, picking her way past children on their way to school or businesspeople heading to the open marketplaces. A man, bald like all Cabossian males, pointed at her. You are that new liaison, right? he gestured at her identity card.

She just smiled at him. He patted his own pregnant belly and nodded at her as she hurried away.

* * *

Ixalla took a transportation sleigh to work. It skittered along a set line of tracks, depositing her a short distance from the school. A few of the older children were still outside. She said to them, Come, Student Number Five, Student Number 11, Student Number, uh, Three, and Student Number 14! We’ll all be late for Tenth Form! Obediently, they filed in behind her, although she thought she heard Student Number Five mutter something under her breath. A disembodied voice piped from an outside speaker announced that the school day was beginning and that the government recommended that all pupils study hard and to the best of their individual abilities.

* * *

Tathrelle arrived at the government office and was ushered in immediately. She followed signs and did not take the back stairs, but the front ones instead. She climbed the shallow stairs, which were like marble puddles, a slight incline that was barely noticeable, as she made her way to her destination. It was the 15th story of the building, but it was an easy trek for one in such good physical condition.

She arrived, and the door to the main meeting room slid open, revealing a table around which sat 16 male generals. Ah, you are here, said one of the generals—a statement that was thoroughly unnecessary.

Yes, yes, General Number... she strained to see his identity card, 7,987,142,543.

You may address me by my name, he stated.

Which is? she asked.

Velexio. The other generals, I am sure would prefer that you used their numbers. There were murmurs of overall agreement from the contingent of generals. But our desire is for you to be as, he paused, "comfortable as possible. You will get an assistant, and you may refer to him by his name as well."

I do not think I need an assistant, Tathrelle protested.

It is, stated a general on the left, and Tathrelle could not see his identity card at all, designed to make things easier for you. You are, after all, new to government work and its many demands on your time, your attention, and your, his eyes swept up and down, physical body. You see, we are only looking out for your best interests, Number 8,012,142,753.

"I, you may refer to me as Tathrelle. But I still do not need an assistant. I am fine. Really!"

We should proceed with the meeting, complained one of the other generals, or we take all day long to decide on something as small as Tathrelle’s assistant.

* * *

Ixalla stood at the front of the classroom, in a light yellow tunic, pants, and shoes that signified that she was pregnant. Tenth Form! Her 30 students all looked up as one. "Today we are going to study Cabossian reproduction. This is a complicated subject, and