Captive: The Gaia Machine, #1

By V.M. Andrews

The story world

By the year 2120, the world has changed dramatically. Few plants or animals have survived climate change and the human population has dropped to 3 billion. For those who live in the affluent northern region, life is made comfortable by an artificial intelligence called The Gaia Machine. But for people living in the southern region, life is tough. So tough, they must trade their young women as surrogates in exchange for fresh water. Ophelia Alsop, a privileged woman from the United Kingdom, and long-time conscientious objector to the surrogacy trade, takes matters into her own hands by becoming pregnant with her husband. For this, she is punished by the invisible hand of the law in a manner only The Gaia Machine could execute. When she speaks out against the injustice, she is abducted and imprisoned in a bizarre underworld where she discovers the shocking truth behind the surrogacy trade. And so much more. The question is - what's she going to do about it?

If you enjoy a dark, dystopian story filled with unpredictable plot twists, this will whet your appetite and leave you wanting more. Fortunately, there are more books in THE GAIA MACHINE series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Opal Tree Press
• Release date: May 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739658106

V.M. Andrews

Despite being armed with science and business degrees, V.M. Andrews has always known that her true passion is creative writing. She has often been told this makes her a ‘well-rounded individual’ which she interprets as ‘boring’ so she lives vicariously through her characters. The key themes explored in her books are artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, climate change and reproductive technologies. Her narrative is fast-paced and imaginative with surprising plot twists and character epiphanies.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Ophelia awakens

For that fraction of a second between sleeping and awakening, Ophelia felt peace and euphoria. But as she awoke more fully, the bubble burst like a boil, filling her with the sick reality that it really had happened. She had not dreamed it. The loss was real.

‘Ophelia,’ said Gaia, its tone silken. ‘It is time to get up.’

But Ophelia was not ready to respond.

‘Ophelia,’ said Gaia, vibrating the bed this time.

‘What!’ Ophelia snarled.

‘Ophelia, it is time to get up,’ Gaia repeated.

‘Okay, Gaia! I’m awake now!’ Ophelia snapped.

She rolled onto the floor and watched the duvet flapping about in the air while the base sheet stretched and flattened against the mattress. She sprawled across the floor, taking comfort in the sensation of its surface, which dipped and bulged to the exact shape of her spine. Then she slid her hands across her belly, a place that had once held so much hope.

‘Do not forget your stretches, Ophelia,’ said Gaia.

An expletive rushed from Ophelia’s belly to her throat, only to be reabsorbed in silent rage. Then as always, she obeyed The Gaia Machine. She rolled onto her belly, flexed her wrists and slid her hands down beside her shoulders. Then she pushed her torso down, performing the downward dog pose. Rage burned through every muscle, joint and fiber in her body, forcing her to hold the pose more strongly than she had ever done before. Then she brought her feet to her hands and gently unrolled her spine until she was standing upright, facing her bedroom window.

Watching the curtains open and the window become more transparent, Ophelia felt like a precious bird in a cage while its benevolent owner removed the cover for her to see the world. She stepped closer to the window and stared down College Street. Its neat row of red brick houses and transparent bubble-shaped vehicles with red wheels all looked the same as they did the day before, and the day before that, and for as long as she could remember.

‘You must get ready now, Ophelia,’ said Gaia. ‘You cannot be late for your appointment.’

Ophelia dawdled toward her en-suite then stepped into her shower chamber. When the gentle hum of the sonar began, she closed her eyes and listened. The sound swirled around her, delivering a tingling sensation to every millimeter of her skin. And when the tingling sensation became a tightening pull on her skin, the sonar stopped.

Gaia’s timing was as impeccable as always.

‘Your shower is complete,’ it said.

Ophelia stepped out of the chamber and stared into the mirror, barely recognizing the face that stared back at her. It was the face of a sad and lonely woman with an absent husband and a dead baby.

The traffic on the bridge was grid locked. As far as Ophelia could see in both directions there was a long queue of vehicles. All the same, and all controlled by Gaia, they would not move until Gaia considered the road conditions safe enough to move them forward. To the left, Ophelia watched the Avon River trickle downstream where it ended in a muddy puddle. To the right, she gazed up at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre standing proud on the riverbank, its reflection almost as majestic as the building itself. Ophelia recalled seeing Othello there the previous evening and enjoying it, despite its use of holographic actors. She had always loved Shakespeare’s plays, because they had both logic and substance, unlike the stories produced by Gaia’s algorithms.

‘We are slightly delayed,’ said Gaia.

‘That’s fine,’ Ophelia replied.

As Gaia rolled her vehicle forward a few meters, Ophelia considered the absurdity of talking to this disembodied entity. This global, omnipresent entity that could simultaneously converse with everyone in their homes, cars and workplaces while completing several million social service transactions per second was speaking with her as if it was another person.

It had been this way for as long as Ophelia could recall, sometimes making her feel it knew her more than she knew herself. And, for reasons she did not quite grasp, she responded by sharing her thoughts.

‘I’d love to see a real performance one day,’ she said. ‘A real performance in an outdoor amphitheater with real actors.’

‘That is not necessary,’ Gaia replied. ‘As a Professor of English Literature, you have a superior insight into the structure of stories and as a woman with social status, you—’

Ophelia stopped listening. She knew what Gaia was going to say next because it had said the same thing many times before. It would be informing her that, by controlling her life, it was protecting her status as a person of privilege. She could not listen to another one of its paternalistic monologues, not today.

When the vehicle finally moved forward, Ophelia could see the outer edges of the town; a sight far less picturesque than its beautiful centre. By the time they reached the intersection to the A46, she noticed the remains of hundreds of trees. Still standing, but withered and brown, they seemed defiant in the face of continued drought and relentless heat. And when the vehicle entered the A46, Ophelia felt its wheels expand and its centre of gravity lower. Then, with an open stretch ahead, it accelerated so fast that she could no longer see the trees, only a long brown blur.

‘Are you ready for your appointment?’ Gaia asked.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Ophelia replied, checking her bracelet for messages.

‘Are you nervous, Ophelia?’ asked Gaia.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Why?’

‘Your heart rate is elevated,’ Gaia replied.

Ophelia placed her hand on her heart. It was beating faster than normal.

‘I guess I am anxious about going to the cancer care centre,’ she said. ‘This will be my first appointment since the hospital gave me the diagnosis.’

‘That was precisely 4 weeks ago,’ said Gaia.

‘Yes, I know, Gaia,’ Ophelia replied. ‘I’m not likely to ever forget that day.’

With her hand still on her heart, Ophelia reflected on the moment of waking from the anesthetic. Seeing the impassive silicone face of the medi-bot, and its liquid black eyes peering into her own, had been disconcerting enough, because she had never consented to the anesthetic and could not even recall having it administered. When she had asked if she had fainted, the medi-bot had explained that her womb had been removed due to the presence of an aggressive tumor.

Thus, two horrifying pieces of news had been delivered in one sentence. And as the anesthetic had worn off, Ophelia had realized a third, and even more, horrifying fact – when they had taken her womb, they had also taken her unborn baby of 9 weeks’ gestation. She had howled like a mad dog and felt numb ever since.

‘Ophelia, please confirm you are all right,’ said Gaia.

‘I still can’t believe it,’ Ophelia whispered. ‘They took the best part of me, without my consent, and I can never get it back.’

A hard lump of grief stuck in Ophelia’s throat like a cactus. It was a constant source of pain and a powerful reminder of what would happen if she dared to express that pain. Her eyes filled with tears, but the emotion froze in place.

‘This must be what hell feels