The Ethereal Seduction of Rebecca Rinehart and the Rise of the Daughters of Adrian

By Max T. Furr

Incalculable eons have passed since the birth of the multiverse and the evolution of the first sentient beings. Their civilization evolved similarly to the others that followed among the stars, but because they evolved a strong genetic impulse to universal empathy, they did not suffer the same xenophobic, self-destructive fate as most others.

Thus, in time, they developed an intellect so powerful that they left their physical bodies behind, traveling among the stars and taking upon themselves the role of a passive Protectorate of emerging civilizations, intervening only when, by following species-specific, problematic lines of cause and effect, they detect the approaching termination of a civilization.

And so it was that Rebecca Rinehart, having a special genetic structure, became one of several human females on Earth to be chosen by a Protector for intervention.

In due time, a pharmaceutical corporation contracted and funded by the CIA to conduct top-secret experiments for the creation of a weaponized, short-lived deadly virus for battlefield deployment accidentally created a long-lived, virtually indestructible supervirus. It could be killed only by incineration. When the CEO refused to destroy the virus, a fearful researcher fed the top-secret documentation to Wikileaks.

In short order, the latest iteration of the radical Islamic caliphate took note and planned an attack. The problematic lines of cause and effect were merging.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max T. Furr
• Release date: Jun 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005306014

Max T. Furr

My name is Max T. Furr. It is my desire to bring pleasure to others and add what quality I can to life.

Book preview

The Ethereal Seduction of Rebecca Rinehart

and the

Rise of the Daughters of Adrian

By Max T. Furr

Copyright © 2021 Max T. Furr

Cover art and design by Max T. Furr

Cover photo: Shutterstock, Standard License 709071694

Published by Max T. Furr

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Contents

Chapter 1: Situation Critical

Chapter 2: Rebecca’s Vision

Chapter 3: Black Like Mine

Chapter 4: Her Name is Melia

Chapter 5: A Dream Reborn

Chapter 6: A Mystery for Dr. Fay

Chapter 7: Something’s Strange About Melia

Chapter 8: A Question of Divergence

Chapter 9: Andrew’s final Humiliation

Chapter 10: The Girls from Brazil

Chapter 11: The Second Coming

Chapter 12: The Siren’s Song

Chapter 13: Culture Shock

Chapter 14: A Loving Home Lisa

Chapter 15: Devine Deceptions

Chapter 16: Pestilence Rides the Pale Horse

Chapter 17: Outbreak

Chapter 18: Finding Safe Haven

Chapter 19: Political Dysfunction

Chapter 20: Ethics vs. Survival

Chapter 21: Why the Gods of Fate Laugh

Chapter 22: Loving Thy Neighbor

Chapter 23: Like Flowers Blooming in Springtime

Chapter 24: Interlude

Chapter 25: The Transition

Chapter 1

Situation Critical

August 23, 2040

Six black assault SUVs in close order sped through the early morning darkness southbound on U.S. 13, their red and blue lights stabbing out into the overcast night.

Special Agent Kasey Lucas of the FBI’s Critical Incident Response team gripped the steering wheel of the lead vehicle and glanced at grim-faced Special Agent Ron Rodriquez in the passenger seat. It was rare to see him so sullen. On most missions, he was the spirit-lifter, often cracking jokes—some dark, some light, depending on the gravity of the situation.

Sometimes his satirical wise cracks irritated her, but most often, they were appropriate and funny. She’d guessed that his humor was a psychological façade masking some deep anxiety. Maybe, maybe not. It didn’t matter. He was a top-notch agent.

But this was no ordinary mission. His wife, Rachel and son Damian, could be sick or dead by the time the mission ends and the odds against the team's survival were even less favorable.

Rodriquez, being second-in-command, was usually the driver on missions, but this time she’d insisted that it be otherwise, feeling that he might not be as focused on driving as he should. She tried to think of something reassuring to say. She couldn’t.

Approaching the Maryland-Virginia border, the brake lights of their State Police escort some distance ahead went bright. Pulling off on a turn-around in the median, it accelerated northbound. Replacing the Maryland escort, the Virginia State Patrol car waiting on the side launched itself southbound.

Crossing the state line, they blew past small border stores mainly on the northbound side, their signs hawking cheap smokes. Last Chance, a sign read. The irony wasn’t lost on Lucas. She felt dispassionate about the looming possibility of human extension—a trait honed by her combat experience in the Middle East. Dying was no big deal for her under current circumstances, especially if the entire human species were to join her.

These thoughts reminded her of a conversation she’d had at the Round Robin Bar about a month ago after duty hours. Now she realized how profoundly prophetic it was—an unintended, visionary gaze into the future. The discussion took place after the last annual class on countermeasures to terrorist tactics. Afterward, they drove over to the Round Robin. It was their favorite after-hours haunt to unwind with drinks and camaraderie.

Riley Rivers, Kasey’s fellow FBI special agent, lover and bride-to-be, had joined them. They’d made it part of their daily routine when not on assignment. Ron was there, too. He said that it helped relax his mind before going home to his family. He’d be leaving for home long before Kasey and Riley who were usually the last to leave.

The three of them were discussing which animal species might rise to human-like intelligence and dominate the Earth were humans to become extinct. She’d opted for the bonobo and perhaps chimpanzees as well, although there would likely be wars between them—chimps being the more aggressive species. Riley agreed, adding wistfully that Mother Earth would be much better off if no animals evolved to the human level of consciousness and technology.

Ron, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, nodded in agreement but then quipped with his signature, dimpled grin that if virtually every species were to become extinct, the only survivors would be cockroaches, worms, and evangelicals. Logically, he said, the most intelligent of the three would rise to full technological intelligence, which would be the cockroaches.

That was Ron. Always the humorist, rarely failing to take a fun shot at the impenetrable walls of religious fundamentalism.

Kasey activated the wipers as raindrops began pelting the windshield and laying a reflective sheen on the pavement ahead, blurring the white lines. The wind was picking up as well, buffeting the SUVs. A nor’easter moving in from the ocean had prevented the team from helicoptering to the target. She dropped the convoy’s speed to seventy as a precaution and radioed the action to the escort vehicle.

Other than the muffled drone of the engine and her thoughts, all she could hear was the thump of the wipers clearing the tinted windshield and the swishing sound of the tires on the wet pavement.

Unlike most of the agents on this mission, Kasey had no close family ties. The only daughter of a strict Mormon family—six older brothers and three younger half-brothers—she’d been the pride of the family in her earliest years. It didn’t last.

With the onset of puberty, she began to exhibit more individuality, developing a mind of her own beyond that of average children her age. Her father worried aloud about what he considered her fetish for wearing boy’s clothes, hating dresses, climbing trees, and wrestling with boys.

Men will not want to marry you if you continue in this way, he warned incessantly. Such a warning, of course, had the same effect on her as if he’d told any teen that masturbation is a sin against God or that it will make you go blind or cause warts to grow on your palms. She would always return the same answer with a shrug and an indifferent, I don’t care.

At age twelve, her stubborn rejection of femininity continued. Her parents—a father and two wives—relented on the style of her daily play-clothes but began buying girls’ dress slacks and blouses for her to wear to church functions. She didn’t like those either but consented anyway since they were not dresses.

After turning fourteen, she enticed a friend to give her a crew cut. Father was infuriated but her biological mother carefully kept him at bay, insisting on no punishment. With tenderness, she convinced Kasey to let it grow out again for the sake of family harmony.

Still, throughout her early, formal education, her preference for the companionship of boys continued as her interest in girls rose.

By the time she graduated from high school and enrolled at Brigham Young University, she’d accepted her sexual orientation. In the presence of all those young, toned, athletic women—some well-developed, some not so much, her self-discipline weakened significantly. It was especially evident in the locker room after soccer practice, covertly watching the girls changing to or from their gym clothes or entering and emerging from the showers.

She felt the urge to embrace and touch them, but she resisted, not knowing how they would react. The hunger often drove her into a toilet stall seeking release. It had become a desire far more potent than her inculcated devotion to a strict, invisible god with a hair-trigger on his anger—a being who couldn’t physically hold and comfort her in times of need. Her feelings were here and now. These young women were real. Their friendly, warm hugs with their breasts pressing against hers were real, their kind and comforting words were real, their bodies were real.

She wondered why she didn’t feel the same way as the other girls about the young men, especially during free time at the school’s Olympic-size swimming pool. Emerging from the water, their boxer bathing shorts clung to their thighs, accenting their imprisoned manhood. That, along with displaying their toned, muscular bodies dripping pool water inevitably garnered the attention and grins of her female classmates. Yet, she felt no attraction at all.

The girls at the pool always wore modest swimwear as demanded by the school. That, at least, eased Kasey’s sexual attraction to them. Still, she would look forward to joining them in the locker room.

BYU did, of course, address such matters and taught that feelings contrary to doctrine and her female body were only temporary. She was to suppress them and soon, like indigestion, the feelings would go away. But try as she might, they would not go away. There was no antacid for sexual anxiety.

So, it was inevitable that she noticed her friend, Jennifer, stealing glances on one hot summer day in the locker room as she exited the shower. Jennifer was one of the more attractive and developed girls high on Kasey’s shortlist of the most desirable.

Kasey dared to smile sultrily back, catching her eye before she looked away. Jennifer returned a suggestive grin. Kasey was smitten. After that, in the halls and after school, rarely was one seen without the other.

One morning just before class, however, everything changed. A classmate spotted Kasey pinning Jennifer against a wall in a stairwell landing, kissing and groping her. The student, a fervent adherent to doctrine, straightway reported to the Dean.

The Dean—whom Kasey pegged as a stern-faced, pencil-thin fellow looking for all the world like the gaunt, pitchfork-wielding farmer standing by his weathered wife in Grant Wood’s American Gothic painting—summoned Kasey and Jennifer to his office within the hour.

Young ladies, you are aware of the rules of this institution, are you not? He didn’t give them time to answer. I’m going to call your parents, and I’ll have to insist that you two cease contact with each other for as long as you’re in this school. If there’s a second infraction, whether it’s with each other or someone else, you can say goodbye to BYU on the spot. Am I clear?

The girls gave an understanding nod and left the office. Jennifer’s mother retrieved her before noon that very day and withdrew her from the school. Kasey never saw her again.

Kasey’s family wasted no time in addressing the matter. They took a page from the evangelical playbook and subjected her to conversion therapy—a daily, sustained routine of encircling her, praying, laying on hands and shaming.

The family’s efforts to pray and shame away the gay, however, backfired. The episode destroyed her respect for her family and her religion. Would God be so baneful as to fill her with desire and affection toward another woman but then forbid the love and tenderness necessary for happiness? Her family told her that Satan was causing the attraction, but why would God allow Satan to stage-manage the emotions of some people and not others?

Kasey decided that it was time to take complete charge of her own life. Fortunately, she’d been attending BYU on a scholarship that allowed transfers. Taking advantage, she cut class three days after Jennifer left, had her hair cut to a crew, and then marched to the registration office through a gauntlet of open-mouth gawks and disapproving stares from students and faculty. There, she resigned from the church. Having accomplished that, she applied for and received a transfer to Rutgers in New Jersey. Her family, stunned and angered by the boldness and suddenness of her actions, shunned her entirely.

Unapologetic and focused, Kasey carved out her future at Rutgers. Having gained an abiding interest in criminal law enforcement and military-grade discipline, upon graduation with stellar marks and honors, she joined the Navy and entered the Seals black-ops training where she again excelled.

After three tours of duty in the Middle East fighting the latest iteration of the radical but stateless Caliphate, she received an honorable discharge after attaining the rank of Major. The very next day, she applied to join the Tactical Section of the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group.

On the day she applied for the position, she met Riley, who was also joining. It was almost surreal. They found themselves to be kindred spirits with astonishingly similar backgrounds. Riley’s family was evangelical and had alienated her through conversion therapy as well.

Her secret lover at the time, a neighborhood friend who’d enrolled with her at Liberty University, had received the same treatment. Tormented and humiliated, Riley’s first love committed suicide.

As time went by, Riley became the only person for whom Kasey allowed herself to feel love and they’d shared their lives for the past two happy years. They’d wanted to be partners on the response team but the FBI would not allow it, citing their emotional ties. Any team member would have to be willing without hesitation to sacrifice another team member if necessary to save a mission.

But then Riley died of the virus eight days ago after coming in contact with an infected investigator. A sneeze! A simple, everyday sneeze! Being asymptomatic, neither he nor anyone else knew he was infected. But it was too late. Four days after Riley’s death, Kasey’s intense grief turned to smoldering hatred.

The wedding they’d planned for late June was now only a tragic memory embedded deep in her mind. It burned through her soul like molten lava. She fought incessantly to keep it suppressed and focus on reason, refraining even to return to her empty home. For the past five days, she’d exercised herself to exhaustion, lived out of her locker, showered, and slept at headquarters.

Her plan now, if this mission is successful and she survives, is to rejoin the Navy Seals black ops and kill as many of those goddamned jihadi bastards as possible if the war is still on. A strong sense of duty had inspired her previous three tours, but the next one will be personal. She’ll not have to suppress her rage.

Still, as angry as she was with her loss, Lucas was not without empathy. Glancing again at Rodriquez, she knew his pain and anxiety and she knew how much worse it could be all too soon. Reaching over, she rested a hand on his arm.

Ron, I know. If we succeed . . . Pausing, she knew better than to continue. The touch and those few words were enough to convey her feelings. It was the first time she’d called him by his first name while on duty, but under the circumstances, she knew it was appropriate. Ron closed his eyes and, barely noticeable, nodded appreciation.

On the northbound side of the highway, they’d not seen another vehicle moving for the past half-hour. Southbound, a few cars were on the side, stopped by the highway patrol or local police. Their rapid-firing blue lights flashed like so many laser weapons in the recently updated Star Wars movies. Clad in bright yellow biohazard suits, the police were most likely questioning the drivers, writing tickets, or just keeping the highway clear for Kasey’s convoy.

In the distance ahead, she could see the flickering blue lights from their escort often disappearing around curves. Kasey knew there was another highway patrol car following a distance behind as rear guard.

Wide stretches of recently plowed fields punctuated by lengthy spans of thick woods with embedded houses of various ages rushed past. State police and local law enforcement vehicles clearing their way had blocked all connecting state and narrow county road intersections in the numerous one-stoplight towns. Nothing was slowing their progress other than the wet road and the rising wind.

It’s been two years since the Center for Disease Control issued a hyperepidemic alert for the region surrounding Baltimore, Maryland and Washington, DC. Since then, it’s become a pandemic rapidly spreading throughout the United States and into other nations. In the U.S., government offices are shutting down. According to the news, the House and Senate were set up with private and secure chambers on the Internet with links to key personnel of various departments, the president, vice president, and the CDC.

White House officials and their families are helicoptering out to bunkers in West Virginia and Pennsylvania. Since the president did not evacuate to his Florida business resort was a clear sign that authorities didn’t expect a vaccine to be available any time soon. The supervirus proved to be far more severe than they had expected.

Since the terrorist attack at Tucker Pharmaceuticals and the release of the supervirus, commonly known as the Bonham Flu, the CDC found the pathogen to be both airborne and waterborne and can live in the open air and on surfaces for about twenty-four hours. The infection to death ratio is still hundred percent. Still, conservatives continue to fight mask mandates, but their ranks are thinning out.

All schools and most businesses have closed. The economy is in a state of collapse. Police protection in many regions is nonexistent. Everyone is urged to avoid crowds, which is virtually impossible in any highly mobile society in which citizens typically don’t store up food for the long term. Essential services—gas, electricity—are still operating thanks to strict mask mandates, but for how long?

Still, Kasey and her team had a mission, possibly the most crucial mission in human history. If they fail, then quite soon, the flight of the wealthy and privileged, even to bunkers, to other countries and even to private islands may prove futile. It would be poetic justice in the most excellent and final Greek tragedy—a play that would grace the world stage with ne’er an encore.

Chapter 2

The Vision

January 6, 2025

The sensation that swept through Rebecca Rinehart as she reached for a jar of olives on the top shelf at the grocery store was abrupt and paralyzing. She felt her pulse quicken and her scalp tighten as though she were bristling feral animal abruptly confronted by something unknown.

Yet Rebecca felt no fear. It was more like the wonder one feels in an episode of Déjà Vu—the intense feeling that what one is currently experiencing, she has experienced precisely the same thing in the same place before.

As though the store’s lights had winked out, the environment disappeared, swallowed up in darkness. A pinpoint of light appeared seemingly at a distance but growing larger.