Innocents

By Francis W. Porretto

The first novel of the Futanari Saga:
Genetic engineering and zygotic microsurgery have produced both wonders and horrors. Wonders such as drugs tailored to attack a specific disease in a specific sufferer, or surgery to eliminate genetically borne handicaps before mitosis can begin. Horrors such as blindness or deafness deliberately inflicted upon unborn babies, or pitiable creatures whose bodies and minds are warped to satisfy the whims of wealthy perverts.

Security specialist Larry Sokoloff is on vacation far from home, straining to forget a woman he loves but cannot have, when Fountain, a teenaged escapee from a malevolent institution, comes under his protection. What he learns of her nature and origins lays bare the darker face of the Janus of biotechnology, and catapults him and his colleague Trish McAvoy into a mission of vengeance and cleansing. For adults only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francis W. Porretto
• Release date: Apr 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005501136

Francis W. Porretto

Francis W. Porretto was born in 1952. Things went steadily downhill from there.Fran is an engineer and fictioneer who lives on the east end of Long Island, New York. He's short, bald, homely, has bad acne and crooked teeth. His neighbors hold him personally responsible for the decline in local property values. His life is graced by one wife, two stepdaughters, two dogs, four cats, too many power tools to list, and an old ranch house furnished in Early Mesozoic style. His 13,000 volume (and growing) personal library is considered a major threat to the stability of the North American tectonic plate.Publishing industry professionals describe Fran's novels as "Unpublishable. Horrible, but unpublishable all the same." (They don't think much of his short stories, either.) He's thought of trying bribery, but isn't sure he can afford the $3.95.Fran's novels "Chosen One," "On Broken Wings," "Shadow Of A Sword," "The Sledgehammer Concerto," "Which Art In Hope," "Freedom's Scion," "Freedom's Fury," and "Priestesses" are also available as paperbacks, through Amazon. Check the specific pages for those books for details.Wallow in his insane ranting on politics, culture, and faith at "Liberty's Torch:" http://www.libertystorch.info/And of course, write to him, on whatever subject tickles your fancy, at [e-mail]

Book preview

Francis W. Porretto

Innocents

A tale from the Onteora Canon

Novels by Francis W. Porretto

The Realm of Essences series:

Chosen One

On Broken Wings

Shadow Of A Sword

Polymath

Statesman

The Spooner Federation Saga:

Which Art In Hope

Freedom’s Scion

Freedom’s Fury

The Aeolian Fantasies:

The Warm Lands

The Futanari Saga:

The Athene Academy Collection

Innocents

Experiences

The Wise and the Mad

In Vino

Other novels:

The Sledgehammer Concerto

Priestesses

Love In The Time Of Cinema

Antiquities

The Discovery Phase

Copyright © 2017 by Francis W. Porretto

A publication of F.A.C.E. Press

Cover art by Cat Leonard (http://catleonardart.com)

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without the express written permission of the author, except for brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. The persons and events described here are entirely imaginary. They are not intended to suggest or imply anything whatsoever about actual persons or events.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All locations and institutions are employed fictitiously.

Contact: [e-mail]

To Beth

To lovers everywhere

And, as always,

To the greater glory of God

At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me. But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

—Matthew 18:1-6—

Who will show me the river and ask me my name?

Is there nobody here who'll do that?

—Jackson Browne—

Monday, 09/11/2028, 05:00: Gloucester, Virginia

The ninth day of his vacation had started routinely enough for Larry Sokoloff: awaken at five, rise, shower, don a robe, make coffee, and go to the picture window of his Airstream trailer for a first look at the day. That was where the routine ended.

A shapely young woman with long black hair, clad in a soiled cotton nightgown and nothing else he could see, lay on her side on the grass beneath his awning. She was awake, propped on an elbow. Her eyes were fixed upon three large, slovenly looking young men wearing T-shirts, jeans, and wide, unfriendly leers. They were approaching at a steady pace.

The girl scrambled to her feet and retreated until her back pressed against the surface of the trailer. Sokoloff yanked open the rear door, traversed the steps at a single bound, and stationed himself between the girl and the approaching boys. The three came to a halt.

Something I can do for you, gentlemen? he said.

The largest of them sneered. Sorry dude, we’re not into boys. He and his companions started forward again. Sokoloff felt the girl close in behind him. He held up a hand.

Whatever you’ve got in mind, he said, you should take it somewhere else. To the girl he whispered Back up just a little.

The leader chuckled, cocked a fist, and took a roundhouse swing at Sokoloff. A second later the young tough was sitting on the ground, clutching his wrist and screaming in agony.

Sokoloff smiled at the other two. Anyone else?

They looked at one another, drew knives, and flicked them open. Sokoloff shrugged, said Hm, and attacked.

It was over almost as it began. Sokoloff adjusted his robe, stepped past the unconscious henchmen, and addressed the moaning leader.

"You and your side boys aren’t very bright. You saw a defenseless girl and a guy in a bathrobe and figured ‘easy pickings.’ You didn’t stop to ask ‘why does that guy look so calm?’ You just charged straight ahead. Bad move, asshole. I’m going to take the young lady inside and fix her something to eat. You should rouse your buddies, get them up and about, and get out of here as fast as your little legs can carry you, because I’m getting mad just standing here looking at you, and when I get mad I’m likely to do something mean."

He turned to the girl. She’d remained barely a step behind him. Her expression and posture were passive. Her eyes were a startling, vivid blue. Are you hungry?

Yes, sir.

He gestured at the open trailer door. She mounted the steps with no hesitation. He followed her inside and closed the door gently behind him.

#

Make yourself at home. Corned beef hash and eggs okay? Sokoloff went to the little kitchen area, pulled a can out of one cabinet, a skillet out of another, and four eggs and a butter tray out of the trailer’s mini-fridge. I don’t have much else.

Yes, sir, she murmured. Her voice seemed unusually muted.

Oops, almost forgot. He buttered the pan and set it on a burner. Forgive my sloppy hospitality. I haven’t had any guests in a while. Would you like some coffee? I have milk for it but no sweet stuff.

She didn’t respond immediately. He turned from his labors and found her standing by the dinette table. Miss?

Her expression was pained. What is coffee?

He peered at her. You’ve never had it?

She shook her head.

Well, maybe we should stick to milk, then. You’ve had milk, haven’t you?

She smiled and nodded. He filled a large glass and handed it to her. She drank it down in one long draught, breathed deeply, and handed back the empty glass with an expression of pleasure that verged on ecstasy.

Thank you, sir.

He grinned. You’re welcome. Would you like more?

She nodded energetically. He refilled her glass and returned it to her. Try to slow down, dear. It’s cold enough to give you a stomach ache if you drink it too fast.

She nodded. Yes, sir.

The food’ll only take a couple of minutes. Have a seat at the table. What’s your name? Mine’s Larry.

She seated herself. Fountain, sir.

Your name is Fountain?

Yes, sir.

Just...Fountain?

Yes, sir.

Okay. Girl in a nightie appears under my awning. Looks to be in her late teens or early twenties. Steps into a strange man’s trailer without hesitation, though given that he’d just defended her against what looked like a rape gang, maybe that’s not too hard to understand. But she doesn’t know what coffee is. Slugs down a glass of milk as if it were nectar from heaven. Gives her name as Fountain. Just Fountain. Not one of my usual mornings on vacation, for sure.

He turned off the burner, went to the dinette table, and sat across from her. She faced him without a hint of curiosity or fear.

Fountain, he said, I was going to wait until we had some food in us to ask you about...well, about everything. Where you come from, why you’re out in nothing but a thin cotton nightie, what you need and where you’re headed. But you’ve got me thinking maybe we shouldn’t wait for that.

She looked down at her folded hands.

By the way, he said, you can call me Larry.

Yes, sir.

Hm. Seems that didn’t register.

Is there anything I should know right away, Fountain?

Her gaze remained on her hands.

He reached across the table and took her hands. Her head came up. For the first time he saw something in her expression other than fear: curiosity.

Fountain, he said, whatever it is you need, I’ll help. Unless it’s illegal. Just ask.

Why... She faltered and fell silent.

Why what, Fountain?

Why do you live in a metal house?

He laughed despite himself. She waited, the curiosity in her eyes undiminished.

Forgive me, dear, he said. Haven’t you seen one of these before? She shook her head. "It’s not a house, really. Well, sort of a portable house. It’s called a trailer. I don’t live in it. I drive around the country with it, so I can go wherever I like and not have to worry about having a place to stay."

You can go...wherever you like, whenever you like? she said.

Well, not whenever I like. I have a job that I usually have to go to, six days a week. Right now I’m on vacation, just driving around, seeing some interesting sights.

And trying hard not to think about someone, but you don’t need to hear about that.

The questioning look in her eyes was unchanged. He chafed her hands gently between his. Is there anything else you want to know, Fountain?

She nodded. What is a job?

He opened his mouth, closed it hastily, and thought.

First name Fountain. No last name. Found sleeping on the grass wearing nothing but a nightie. Never came in contact with coffee before. Thinks this is a metal house. Doesn’t know what a job is. Now things are getting weird.

Fountain, he said, I think it’s time for you to tell me about yourself.

#

Sokoloff’s call was answered on the second ring.

"Integral Security, Kevin Conway speaking."

Hi, Boss, it’s Larry.

"Of course it is. Who else would be up this early on his vacation? Where has the wind blown you today?"

Gloucester, Virginia. Near the coast, not far from the Chesapeake Bay. It’s very pretty.

"And boring, I’ll bet."

Sokoloff chuckled. Not as boring as you might think, Boss. I have a little problem and I could use your opinion.

"Oh? Lay it on me."

I’ve picked up a stray. Young woman, late teens or very early twenties. Found her just this morning, lying on the grass under my awning. Protected her from a bunch of good-for-nothings, brought her inside, and offered her breakfast. She seems healthy, but not well oriented. Suggestions?

"You call that a problem? She knows where she lives, doesn’t she? Take her back there and forget about it."

Sorry Boss, that won’t cut it. She escaped from some sort of institution. Not a prison or a loony bin, though. She said she’s been confined there since as far back as she can remember. Anyway, it doesn’t sound like a nice place. She was terrified at the thought of going back. Pleaded with me not to do that to her.

"Give me a complete description."

She’s about five-six, a hundred ten pounds. Very quiet. Black hair, blue eyes. Hair’s shoulder-length and well cared for. Face is unmarked. Nice figure. Her hands and feet are small and soft. No calluses. Nails are trimmed, shaped and clear-coated, like she was to a manicurist just yesterday. I found her wearing a plain white, knee-length cotton nightie, some grass stains, and nothing else. Oh, and she’s got a weird name. Fountain.

"Fountain? Is that her first or last name?"

That’s all the name she gave me, Boss. Just Fountain.

"You found her wearing nothing but a nightie? No purse or shoes? What about tattoos, scars, and bruises?"

Nothing visible, Boss. I’m not going to check under the nightie.

Conway sighed. I knew I should have kept you in Onteora. Well, if you have no other ideas, what about the regular police?

Sokoloff chuckled. The kind that hate our guts and want to see us put out of business?

"The very ones I was thinking of."

"I can’t say why, Boss, but I’ve got a feeling that would be the wrong move. She’s really off the beaten track. He glanced over his shoulder. The girl had moved from the dinette table to his daybed. Weird first name, no last name. Doesn’t know what coffee is. Doesn’t know what a job is. Asked me why I live in a metal house. Definitely on the run from her keepers, but she won’t say anything more about them or what they were doing to her. No visible signs of abuse."

And no fear of me, even after she saw me beat the crap out of three pretty big guys. That might be the weirdest part.

Sokoloff sneaked a second glance at Fountain. The young woman was sitting motionless on his daybed. Her hands were clasped in her lap. Her gaze appeared unfocused. She’d paid no attention to anything in the trailer except him. If she was listening to his conversation, she gave no sign.

"I’m out of ideas, Larry. I’d kick it up to a professional, a psychologist or psychiatrist. When do you figure to be back in Onteora?"

You need me back?

"No, but I know people here who might be able to help with your stray. I don’t have any contacts in Virginia. Do you think Fountain would be willing to come north with you?"

I don’t know. I’ll ask her. But Boss? Isn’t it a little risky to go crossing state lines with a teenaged girl with no ID?

"You let her into your trailer, so you’re already in the danger zone. The Mann Act is the least of your worries. Bring her to Onteora, if you can talk her into it, and we’ll take it from there."

Okay, Boss. See you in a couple of days.

"Keep it smooth and steady on the roads, Larry. No speeding, no weird maneuvers, nothing conspicuous. You don’t want to get pulled over."

I thought you said I didn’t need to worry about the Mann Act.

"You don’t. I do."

Sokoloff chuckled. Right. See you shortly. They exchanged good-byes and rang off. He pocketed his phone and turned to the girl, who was sitting exactly as he’d left her.

Fountain? She looked up. We need to talk.

Yes, sir. She slid off the daybed and stood before him, eyes slightly lowered and hands folded before her, still completely passive. A servant waiting for orders. It sent a chill through him.

She acts as if she’s been taught not to show a will of her own. As if she’d been punished for ever displaying anything like that.

Was she being groomed for something? Something not so nice?

I hope Kevin’s right that there are people back home who can help her. She looks healthy enough. Perfectly normal, if you overlook the nightie. But there’s got to be big time damage inside.

He took her gently by the shoulders, urged her to sit, and sat beside her.

I don’t live here, he said, or anywhere nearby. And I don’t know where I could take you near here that would be...good for you.

She said nothing.

A very smart man suggested that I bring you back to New York, where I live. He grinned. Not in a metal house, a regular one that doesn’t go anywhere. You could stay there with me while my friend and I find someone who can help us to help you. You know, figure out where you belong, whether you should be in school and what grade, things like that. Are you willing to do that? Come north to New York and stay with me while we figure all that stuff out?

She made no sound or movement as he spoke, merely sat with her hands in her lap and her eyes fixed on his. In the few seconds before she replied, Sokoloff began to fear that in his innocent desire to help, he might somehow lead her to her ultimate destruction. Her response took him completely by surprise.

She rose from the daybed, turned smoothly to face him, dropped to her knees and bowed until her forehead touched the floor.

I am yours, my lord.

Monday, 09/11/2028, 07:15: Gloucester, VA

"Unacceptable, Teacher." Nakahara’s tone was adamant. You must recover her.

Sir—

"Unacceptable!" The voice that until then had been modulated as evenly as any corporate manager’s became more piercing than any shout. We will not accept the loss of so valuable a property. You must find her and recover her. Will the constabulary not assist you?

Sir, the woman who went by Teacher said, the sheriff was emphatic. His indulgence toward us does not extend to active measures.

There was a brief silence on the line.

"That, too, is unacceptable. Half a million American dollars per year should buy more than mere tolerance. But that is not your affair. I will dispatch a remediation squad immediately. Have accommodations ready for a team of four. Expect them to arrive tomorrow, around mid-morning."

I will, sir.

"I expect to be kept apprised of all developments."

Of course, sir.

The