Bordello della Libertà (Aethertales Book 2) (4 page)

“Typical,”
Lucia groaned with a roll of her eyes. She held the knives in her hand like a
fan of razor-sharp playing cards, ready to deal her enemies what they deserved.
“Once a woman refuses to go along with the farce you call ‘feminism,’ you slut-shame
her, when slut shaming is something you claim to be fighting against. And
apparently, rape isn’t much of a serious issue to you, either, given you’re
willing to throw that word around like a casual interjection and insult us with
threats of sexual assault.
Very
classy of you. But you, my dear
supremacists, are the worst objectifiers of women of all—but luckily for the
working women of this city, you will perpetuate their weakness and victimhood
no longer.” And with a flick of her wrist the knives went flying across the
room, and the hypocrites met a swift and merciless demise.

“Sudika!”
Lucia shouted as she bolted out the front door. First came the smell of gas
fuel, then only a ringing in her ears; an explosion rocked the
Bordello
della Libertà
, unleashing a cloud of flame and smoke from the kitchen
windows. Sudika covered her face and Lucia felt shards of glass raining down
upon her hair, but she ignored the dangers and pulled her protégée by the wrist
out into the street. The girl protested, refusing to leave their beloved brothel
behind, but Lucia insisted on it.

“We’ll
rebuild,” she promised, waving on the rest of her employees, who leapt over the
mountainous bodies of slain evildoers to follow her. “The Freedom Whores are
gathering on Evita Avenue, and we are to be their guests of honor. It’s about
time we brought this city to its knees. Its citizens will be devastated to
learn that we’re not the only ones who kneel.”

••

S
UDIKA

The bold
banner swayed in the wind as the activists stretched it across the width of
Evita Avenue. In spite of the lively cacophony that left each outcry
indistinct, the sign made all the protesters’ cries clear, in bold-faced
letters:
“Dear
Government: Out of our beds, out of our wallets!”
It swept down the city block and
pushed autos and buses out of its way like a broom pushing dust, and the hand
that cleaned Talpretta of its societal filth was manifold: it was the crowd
that gathered on the avenue that morning, who marched with their backs painted
gold by the rising sun, with signs and flags held high and their eyes set
firmly on the marble face of city hall. The legislature had always stood as a
stone mountain that could never be moved or reshaped, and it would bow to no
one, but on that day, when all the city’s escorts gathered in the name of liberation,
it was an autumn leaf in a storm. Thousands of voices were thunder, and the
light of morning flashing on painted signs was lightning, and, like a primeval,
omnipotent force of nature, they cast down everything in their path as if the
obstacles were dead trees and paper houses.

Digital
billboards that once flaunted flashy, expensive ads for all sorts of useless
commodities, and even more useless celebrities, now proudly broadcast the faces
of the women and men who marched for their right to be compensated for their
services, no matter how base or carnal. They were the champions of civil
liberties, though too many dismissed them for the vulgar nature of their
highest goals; they were the preservers of a free market in which a government
had no right to deny an exchange between consenting adults; they were the
“Freedom Whores with a Right to Work” whose name shone from news screens across
the city of Talpretta, who fought for the freedom to do business as
individuals, not a devalued whole. At every street corner they found a blazing
torch in place of a lamppost. On the sidewalks and in dark alleys, they saw
paths paved with gold.

“Unions,
get off our planet!”
they
chanted.

“Capitalism,
not cronyism!”
they
demanded.

“Sex
is money, and money is good!”
they proclaimed.
“Let us have both!”

Every
planetary news network burst into a frenzied panic, and every reporter, anchor
and pundit trembled with visible anxiety as they announced that a city-wide
strike had paralyzed Talpretta: it was not orchestrated by the unions, who
cared little for the financial stability of those who could not afford to
strike, but had no choice. The workers who marched on the legislature exercised
their freedom of choice and chose to rise up against the insidious tyranny of
coerced compassion at gunpoint, which led only to the abolition of ambition and
the prosecution of productivity. They had a right to work, they chanted; no man
or woman had the right to tell them the limits of their contributions or the
extent of their involuntary charity. It was not their place to lower themselves
to the level of those beneath them. For Talpretta to prosper again, those
beneath them would have to find the virtue to raise themselves higher, but
until the legislature accepted their demands, there would be no prosperity.

“This
is what your beloved union has done!”
Sudika
shouted before the regal doors of the whitewashed temple of corrupted law. The
elegant halls of the
Bordello della Libertà
appeared on the billboard
screens, recorded by Lucia’s security cameras for the world to see the
atrocities committed at the hands of the peaceful and tolerant wards of the
union and its collectivist bosses. The city gasped at each thrust of a Shatarin
rapist inside an innocent woman, and cursed the Xaztechuans who stuffed their
pockets with the hard-earned property of those who were forced to support them
and accept their roles as victims. But it was when the smug face of Mr.
Trygassi, the reputable, respectable and progressive advocate of the most
genuinely benevolent Sexual Labor Union of Tapretta, grinned in sick
satisfaction on each screen in every public square and private home, that the
citizens of a city gone astray declared their outrage, and the politicians who
cowered in their offices had no choice but to surrender.

“We
concede!” cried the speaker for the planetary legislature, gripping his
microphone as if it were a rope, and he had just been thrown overboard from a
ship that carried escaped slaves to freedom in a foreign land. “You will have
your right to work!”

“We
have always had it!”
Sudika
testified with Lucia’s hand in hers, and the crowd exploded with applause.
“And
it will never be taken from us again!”

••

L
UCIA

In a few
short months the
Bordello della Libertà
rose from the ashes and stood
more proudly than it ever had before. The Sexual Labor Union of Talpretta paid
for the rebuilding in full, having been hopelessly defeated in court after the
Freedom Whores sued it for damages, and Lucia made sure to bleed it dry,
sparing no expense for the renovation. Trygassi, while at the bank withdrawing
union dues from the S.L.U.T.’s accounts for his own personal spending, was
approached by a man in a straw hat, dark sunglasses and a button-down bedazzled
with tropical flowers, who thrust a subpoena into his hand and disappeared out
the door without a word. He was sentenced to personally pay for the lost income
of all those hard-working harlots who surrendered hours to the lackluster and
lazy. The courts drained his bank accounts, which were already overflowing with
silver and gold, but even with all his unearned and undeserved wealth, he still
couldn’t make up the difference; he surrendered all assets, even the clothes on
his back, and was left hungry and naked in the street. And when higher
government agencies uncovered his years of tax evasion, they threw him in jail,
and denied him an orange uniform, because he couldn’t afford one. Lucia, on the
other hand, bought herself a new designer dress, which she wore to the exoport
on the other side of town.

Sudika
stood at the boarding gate with a leather handbag and a mountain of luggage
behind her, packed full with low-cut blouses and miniskirts imported from the
extravagant boutiques of Coral Grove. She held a stack of paper Talents in her
hand, clutched to her heart like a gift she refused to give away or even allow
to be seen, simply because she cherished it so deeply. Her smile and wide-eyed
expression conveyed her sense of excitement, of hope and faith in the future;
in the same moment, Lucia couldn’t discern the glistening tears as a mark of
joy or of sadness, perhaps both. It was something Lucia had encouraged for a
long time, and now that the two of them had reached the crossroads they’d
always imagined with such optimism, Lucia couldn’t help but miss her protégée
before she’d even boarded the shuttle.

“So
the city’s free again,” Sudika said with a wistful smile. “I guess it’s my
turn, now.”

“You’ll
never have to worry about living these horrors again,” Lucia insisted. “On Acadica,
the S.L.U.T. would never gain a hold on even a single brothel. The unions have
never had power in the Colonies, and they have no future there.”

“It
sounds like a utopia.”

“Well,
as close as humanity can get.”

It
was a world where Sudika could work to the fullest extent of her ability, never
limited by arbitrary caps on her hours for the sake of those who had no desire
to work hard, or work at all. She could speak her mind without concern for the
childish and narcissistic sensitivity of others, for it was a world where the
right to not be offended was an unheard-of phenomenon. Even those who disagreed
with her opinion would fight to the death for her right to say it, and she,
Lucia knew, would do the same. Acadica was a world for a girl like Sudika. She
would never again have to live in fear of an ideology that sought to lower her
to the level of society’s most unproductive dregs, or organizations who
condemned her for her achievements, viewing achievement as evidence of
selfishness and contemptible pride. On Acadica, achievement was the pinnacle of
personal value. “Need” was a worthless societal currency, and when Lucia
watched Sudika step onto the shuttle with a tearful smile, she knew that she
would need for nothing, for the only limit to her prosperity would be the
limits she imposed on herself. And Lucia knew that self-limitation was something
Sudika, nor any of her Freedom Whores, would ever allow.

About
the Authors

J. D’Urso
and E. Bryan, the creators of the novelette series
Aethertales
and the
full novel
The Aetherverse
, first met at Binghamton University in 2008.
D’Urso, an Italian-American from Long Island, NY, received a BA in the Arabic
language but has since entered the healthcare field, first in New York City and
more recently Washington, DC. Bryan, an Argentine-American living in South
Florida, obtained two BAs in History and Political Science, and a Master’s of
Science, becoming a scientist of global strategic communications.

The
authors are outspoken critics of the current state of political and social
affairs in the United States of America, and seek to spark a dialog that can
change the unfortunate status quo.
The Aetherverse
reflects their views,
often in a heavy-handed but necessary manner; writing a novel was their best
means of speaking out and making a difference, and they hope that it will
inspire others to stand up against the insidious mentality that is slowly
eroding the fabric of this once great nation.

Visit
the official website at:

www.theaetherverse.com