Synthetic Dreams Read online

  Synthetic Dreams

  By Kim Knox

  Vynessa Somerton was just a girl when she learned about true evil. An encounter with the tyrannical Corporation scarred her body and exiled her to the crime-ridden S-District. Now an adult, Vyn creates glamours, worn by those who visit a virtual playground to live synthetic dreams. She’s tried to stay unnoticed by the Corporation, but her latest invention has brought their agents to her door.

  Paul Cross works for the Corporation, but he’s been plotting their downfall since they took his brother and replaced him with an imposter. Paul has a plan to get his brother back, but he’s going to need Vyn and her invention to carry it out.

  Vyn agrees to help Paul, but their alliance shatters the barriers she’s put up to protect herself, tempting her to give in to desire. Just as Vyn starts to trust Paul and believe he wants her, scars and all, the Corporation prepares for its final move. Can Vyn trust Paul completely, or has he been using her all along?

  34,000 words

  Dear reader,

  It’s not that I love winter, but I love some of the things that come with winter. Here in the States, February brings some of the coldest temperatures of the winter, but it also brings the promise of spring right around the corner. So I don’t mind hunkering down in my living room next to the fire with a blanket, a kid or a dog on my feet, and a mug of hot chocolate or hot tea (or even a hot toddy) beside me. And, of course, my digital reading device of choice in hand.

  There’s something permissive about cold weather that makes it easy to laze away hours at a time reading a great book without feeling guilty, which makes February one of my favorite months. I know I can always indulge in plenty of guilt-free reading time!

  This month, Carina Press offers a new selection of releases across the genres to aid you in your own reading-time indulgence. Romantic suspense favorite Marie Force is back with a new installment in her Fatal series, Fatal Flaw. Newlyweds Sam and Nick discover that they won’t get the normalcy they were looking for post-wedding…because someone has other plans for them. Also look for author Dee J. Adams to follow up her adrenaline-packed romantic suspense debut with her sophomore book, Danger Zone, which delivers thrills and action.

  Two steampunk titles will get your gears whirling in February. Look for Prehistoric Clock by Robert Appleton and Under Her Brass Corset by Brenda Williamson to take you back to a time altered by steam and clockwork. Also in the science fiction and fantasy realm, author Nico Rosso offers up The Last Night, a post-apocalyptic tale of romance, while Kim Knox takes us into the future with her futuristic science fiction romance, Synthetic Dreams.

  And for those of you with a yen for the paranormal, we have several authors joining us for their Carina Press debuts. Blood of the Pride by Sheryl Nantus and Pack and Coven by Jody Wallace hit the virtual shelves in mid-February.

  Portia Da Costa will heat up your day with Intimate Exposure, a sexy and intense look into the world of BDSM.

  Rounding out our amazing and genre-packed February lineup are books from Claire Robyns, Charlie Cochrane, Debra Kayn, Shelley Munro, Amie Denman, Crista McHugh and Susan Edwards, with everything from historical and contemporary romance to m/m romance to a fun romantic caper. February offers a little something for everyone’s reading pleasure.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To the ladies and gents of writechat.net

  simulacrum

  sim.u.la.crum

  —noun, plural —crae

  1. An image, or representation: an illegal simulacrum of CEO Lucas March-Goodman

  2. The mythical energy-wrap worn by low-level skanks wanting to enter the Mind tiers of the Corporation

  March-Goodman Dictionary: Complete and Unabridged

  © March-Goodman Corporation Dictionary 2127

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Wearing another body…itched.

  Vyn pushed back her shoulders, the movement of her false skin a torment of light nails down her spine. It was a design flaw she needed to work on. Still, it wouldn’t stop her first trial use. She couldn’t help herself, not when it was so damn close to being perfect.

  Simulacrum was the holy grail of the low-level skanks, of which she was now one, and others were close to solving its manufacture. It had driven her over the last few days. She had to be first. She had a reputation as a Fomorian to uphold.

  The upper tier of the Mind—in the form of the Corporation’s most exclusive club—wrapped around her, feeling to her false skin as real as the cold-world beyond the server-generated walls. It was a short test. In and out. The club was the first virtual layer, a lobby area to the Halls. And no amount of confidence in her disguise would take her into their depravity. The insanely rich could keep those joys to themselves.

  The air brushed warmth against her bared shoulders. The heavy scent of polish, the musk of perfumes, the wreath of smoke from cigars and cigarettes smelled as real as the industrial burn of the outside world. Soft notes of music threaded around the silk-walled room, mixing with the chatter of the club’s ultra-rich clientele.

  Vyn sat back on her padded bar stool and picked up her drink. So far, so good. She’d entered via the upper-tier portal with no issues. When she was ready, she’d thank her friend Ossian for aiding her with that. Men had gaped as she broke free of the bright air of the arched entrance portal, but she was confident it was for the reason she wanted. Look at the gloss…don’t see the technology.

  She stirred the olive in her martini and flicked a glance at the long mirror stretching across the bar. A pneumatic blonde in a clinging red dress stared back at her, her features sculpted, her lips red and pouting. Those who came to the Mind never came as themselves. Not really, even though the Corporation had banned the wearing of disguise. Hints of glamour tightened sagging middles, lifted jawlines, removed bags. The Corporation made money on selling the legal versions of glamour. She made money on the not so legal.

  To the trained eye, the changes wrought in their flesh were obvious. Legal glamour was tagged. It was as if they wore labels. Discreet, but there. Even illegal glamour left a pattern against skin and clothes if you knew what you were looking for.

  A smile lifted her lips. Simulacrum was different.

  And the Corporation feared it. With her gear, they couldn’t fix her true identity within the Mind, which would break down their operation, undermining the faith every individual and company placed in the virtual reality they’d created.

  To everyone in the club, she appeared real, untouched, untainted by gear. A true representation. The true woman. They’d believe she was as perfect in the cold-world. That thought made her sultry smile deepen. It couldn’t be any further from the truth.

  Vyn curled a long blond strand around her finger, its silky feel fighting with the pricking of the ill-fitting simulacrum. She lifted her chin, watching her image move in the mirror. Pins jabbed her real flesh. Yes, it still needed wo
rk. She hadn’t found perfection just yet.

  Movement in the mirror pulled her attention away from her reflection. A man drew back the metal stool next to her and waved at the loitering barman. His gaze slid over hers, brief and unseeing, and moved on. Security. She ignored the quick, panicked twist of her gut. He hadn’t made her. But…something about him was familiar.

  He wasn’t touched by glamour—his lean strength and classical good looks were all his own. He tilted his head in a way she recognised. Someone from her past? But she’d remember someone quite that handsome, and she didn’t associate with the goons who worked in security.

  His gaze was back on her and she was glad her simulacrum didn’t have the capacity to blush. The woman she appeared to be would never lose her flawless complexion, because Vyn had programmed her that way. The separation between the fake flesh and her own was a relief.

  She pushed a smile across her lips, aware of the effect her mask’s smile had on the men in the club. Her actions had to be conscious and precise for the gear to work the way she wanted. “See something you like?”

  “I’m using you as a baseline.”

  All right, that would be a no. Gay, then. Her simulacrum was a walking wet dream. “That’s a smooth chat-up line.”

  He frowned and focused on her again. Vyn had the distinct feeling he was seeing her for the first time. Her heart kicked over. Had her mask slipped? She couldn’t panic. If he’d made her, she could excuse herself and break out through a portal.

  He nodded. “I apologise. I work security.” He looked away to scan the crowds, his gaze hard, his jaw tight. His attention returned to her. “You have the privilege of being free of any enhancements. You’re clean. You make it easier for me to see who isn’t.”

  “It’s a compliment. Of sorts.” Vyn twirled the olive around her glass, hiding the quick surge of her relief, and took a sip. One of the realities of the club was that the alcohol had a real effect on the user’s body. It was a complicated neural system the Corporation had “acquired” from a Fomorian five years before. Being a part of that elite club—the most talented skanks—always came with a price. The Corporation hunted them for their product. She had to be careful. “I suppose.”

  “I’m sure you’re used to an endless string of adoration.”

  Vyn slid her gaze to him. Pretty face, ugly personality. She wondered how he was still in his post. “Are you always insulting to members of your employer’s club?”

  “I’m honest.”

  “Ah, that’s what you like to call it.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his mouth and he pushed aside his stool. He moved closer and Vyn’s heart gave an uncharacteristic lurch. He hadn’t seen through the veneer of her simulacrum, but she wasn’t confident about how detailed it would remain under close scrutiny.

  “I make no secret that I’m here to look for illegal glamour tags. I know it. The clientele knows it. It’s a game we play.” He leaned back against the bar counter and soft light gilded his profile.

  Vyn had the wicked thought of dropping some of his perfect looks into future glamour products. He wouldn’t appreciate the irony. It would all be good.

  “Over there, for instance.” He broke into her thoughts with a nod towards a couple tucked away in a shadowy red velvet booth. Most of their glamour was legal—and there was a lot of it—but the tuck under the man’s chin and the sheen to the woman’s incredible blond hair bore the pattern of illegal glamour. Vyn was glad the mask couldn’t share her wince. The man’s chin tuck was her work.

  “Legal enhancements sometimes don’t have the finesse people crave,” he said. “It can’t excuse them. They should work within the law.”

  “Be happy with the way they’ve been born?”

  He glanced at her. “Yes.”

  But then that was probably easy for him to say. He’d been born with good genes. The slick and decadently beautiful couple in the booth could be old, any beauty faded, or the gene pool could’ve been cruel. She had to wonder if he would be talking to her if he could see her true self. The woman who bore no resemblance to the pneumatic blonde simulacrum—the small, skinny woman marred by the fine white network of scars covering her face and body.

  “So they have illegal enhancements?”

  His fingers traced the air. “Touches.”

  “And you have to charge them?”

  “Perhaps.”

  That didn’t make sense. The Corporation clamped down on every scrap of illegal glamour. Vyn had witnessed grabs on lower, plebeian tiers. A security agent “snagged” them—stunned their brains, locking their thoughts into the gear accessing the virtual layer—and traced the connection back to their physical bodies. The degree of punishment then fell to influence and money.

  The itch at the base of her spine had nothing to do with the ill-fitting simulacrum. She’d stumbled into something more and it was time to get out. “I have an appointment to keep. Good luck—” she waved her perfectly manicured hand, “—doing what you do…”

  “Paul.”

  He’d misinterpreted her trailing away. Still, it was useful information. She didn’t know any Pauls, which made her belief that she recognised him even more strange. “Paul,” she repeated, but he didn’t supply a last name.

  Vyn eased down from the stool and rearranged the red silk of her dress. The sensation of it against the bare skin of her legs felt at the same time tantalisingly real—smooth, warm, decadent—and as if her skin pricked with hundreds of tiny pins. The defect definitely needed work.

  “Enjoy your appointment.”

  There was something in his voice, a hint that he suspected her appointment to be one of a carnal nature. Given her mask, it wasn’t surprising. She had chosen the overblown image deliberately. People would be too busy staring at ample cleavage or endless legs to consider that what they ogled was completely false.

  She let her smile offer a hint of salaciousness. “Thank you, we will.”

  Paul’s dark eyes narrowed and his body tensed. Vyn stayed calm. She couldn’t reveal her unease. The portal was located under the arch of the doorway to her left, the imprint of it speckling the air. Six quick steps would have her through it and out.

  For a long second he looked beyond her to the portal. Her heart clenched. He’d made her. Adrenalin kicked through her body. She had to act, had to distract him for the seconds she needed to escape. There was nothing for it… She yanked on his tie and covered his mouth with her own.

  His surprised exclamation was an invitation for her tongue. He tasted real. That was her first surprise. Her second was his sudden and unexpected participation. He pulled her hard against him, his hand on her fake backside. The first stir of an erection against her belly forced her moan.

  One thought burned. All right, not gay, then. And he could kiss. Kiss really well.

  In the heat and tangle of their tongues, his taste, layered with the sweet-sourness of whiskey, made her heart drum and for too long a time she forgot what she was meant to be doing. The kiss was a distraction. He was a cog in the Corporation that ruled and owned the whole of the British Isles. But the aching melt of his mouth against hers, the joy of it driving a wild and addictive heat through her blood, pushed back any sense…

  No. It had to end. Now.

  Vyn jerked back, pressing her lips together, her breathing fast and shallow. All her reactions reflected in her simulacrum, her control gone. That was a sure sign she had to get away from him. She pointed behind her to the portal. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

  She backed away, feeling the exit pull of the portal on her synthetic flesh. Another thing to add to her snag list. Paul watched her, his eyes dark, his face flushed and the hunger almost palpable.

  Vyn bit back a cry as she bumped into a solid mass, meaty fingers gripping her waist. Her already over-panicked body rioted and the neural connections seared across her brain. Her mask would fail…in front of a security officer she’d just been up close and personal with—

  “Excuse m
e.”

  The deep male voice prickled her skin. He’d edged it with glamour, and it wasn’t working. Vyn yanked herself free and stumbled back, the reach of the portal grabbing her, pulling her through. The circular glitter of air, like a sudden flash of scales, caught her breath. What was that? But it vanished and Paul and the new arrival filled her final seconds, mouths moving, an association obvious, their voices lost in the white noise of the breaking connection…

  …and her body slumped back into her patched couch.

  “Ending connection, Bran-seven.” The synthetic voice of her server buzzed through her head with her Fomorian codename. The name had appeared on her system without warning about three years before. It marked her unexpected initiation into a select group of illegal glamour creators and dealers. A dangerous place to be.

  Vyn breathed in the bitter air of her room, the chill biting at her flesh. She stretched aching joints, rolled her neck and let out a few choice curses. Her pride couldn’t get the better of her. Yes, the simulacrum had worked, but she didn’t have enough of a cover to move around the upper level of the Mind without screwing herself up. And that particular blonde would have to be shelved. Maybe someone less…memorable? Definitely someone who fitted her better.

  Her fingertips touched her lips, the echo of Paul’s taste and touch still warming her skin. He’d felt real. She closed her eyes and recited a mantra about how suicidally stupid she’d been. Her mask could have failed. Never mind that she’d broken into the upper tier of the Corporation—a crime for which skanks simply vanished—she’d gone in as a simulacrum. Her brain would be in a jar before night hit.

  Vyn unpicked the receptors from her skull and carefully detached the net shrouding her body. Her device folded up into a sliver of a box no bigger than her hand, and she worked it back into the shielded black case. The lock clunked shut.