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For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.
Chapter X: 16 ~ 31 January 2003
Thursday, January 16, 2003: 03:10 (GMT)
P'wheel system:
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Chantal eased her tiny ship into the system, ten AU under the ecliptic and a little over 1200 light years from Earth. She looked up, but couldn't see anything but the endless black, the colorful gas swirls of the M7 nebula and the colored pinpoints of the stars. She snorted to herself; then dropped the sensor viewer into place on her helmet. Here she could see the different planets and the central star (which was just a slightly-brighter star to her naked eye), different icons for ships and stations, and different sensor fields. She waited to see if anyone had detected her arrival, then engaged her small subspace engine to move closer to the planet. All the while, navigation and sensor information was being collected and sent every five minutes back to Deimos.
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Thursday, January 16, 2003: 06:25 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall, Gryffindor table:
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To: Mom
CC: Bill (school)
From: Julie Morton
Date: 16 January 2003
Subject: Stuff
Hi from the Great Hall!
Well, classes are back in session, and I guess you heard about Professor Lupin being honored by the Queen for saving a family during the ice storm we had here a week or so ago. Details are sketchy, but Bill was there, hopefully you can pry more information than I can out of him. All I can say is that he's a great guy as well as a great professor, and that Tonks (his fiancée) was lucky to bag him. Professor Lupin, that is.
Regarding my grades, I'm doing better in Potions and Chemistry now that I've gotten some intensive tutoring from Mattie. She seems to have a bit more free time, and is spending it out of the Slytherin dungeons for now. This is somewhat unusual for her, but even her brother Tomas hasn't gotten anything out of her. Oh, well, the snakes do like their secrets…
Speaking of which, did you see the French parliament returned a vote of 'no confidence' against the President? That means he'll have to reform his government, and I detect the fine hand of our favorite girl multi-billionaire and Empress in this. However, other countries have recognized the Empire, a bill for that is in the British Parliament on Second Reading. The US Senate has passed the bill, and it went to President Ross for his signature. Quite a change from just a year or so ago with Luthor, isn't it?
By the way, I don't think Mattie's seen the latest copy of 'Man of the Year', as we don't get many newsmagazines here. Personally, I thought she was a shoo-in, as she's the head of the Terran Empire and if you count all her investments, the first trillionaire we've had. But no, who gets it? 'Whistleblowers', that's who. What are these people thinking? What does she have to do, medal in the Olympics?
Sheesh!
Julie
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Thursday, January 16, 2003: 07:48 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 4th year Transfiguration:
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Professor Chang looked up from the roll, "Ms. Koslowski … are you feeling all right? Not burning the midnight oil, are we?"
Connie-alpha replied, "No, ma'am, I'm actually feeling pretty good, and Ms. Black agrees with me. I just saw her yesterday, but thank you for asking. I could use another cup of coffee, though."
"You'll need to wait a few hours for that," and there were some stifled chuckles. "Moving on, Ms. Meyers…"
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Thursday, January 16, 2003: 08:51 (GMT)
Tosul, Terran trade building yard, Taalah:
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The ship's healer triggered the release, and the hatch cover opened on the med-tank, revealing the burly form of the recently-purchased male slave. He moaned in pain, and the healer helped him out, telling Gene "His Enhancement and his collar are not synchronized. Recollar him, allow him to rest, and then he will be fit for service." She gestured, and two other slaves assisted him down the passage to the machine.
"Thank you," he said, and she nodded, "I shall upgrade the third slave you purchased, master. Please recollar the male, master."
"Master, what do you wish this slave to do?" the teacher-slave asked. Gene passed her some notes, "I need these slaves to have reasonable competence in reading, writing and basic mathematics in both Trade and the Terran language. We'll be leaving some of them here, we're opening a trade office here and they'll need to handle writing letters, filing, answering the com, updating the various databases and computer files. Office work."
"I see, master…" she said slowly as she perused his notes. "You also wish them to be able to think for themselves, make decisions …"
"Yes, if they're asking 'Master, what do I do?' every five minutes, nobody can get any work done. We need to have them able to do the routine daily tasks without constant oversight, but also use their own judgment regarding other things. We have a saying 'don't shoot the messenger', which means we would rather have accurate information, even if it's bad, than information that's not accurate but good to hear."
"You will ruin these girls for other masters, their discipline will be non-existent," the teacher warned.
"They're still wearing a slave collar and belt, on a slave planet," Gene replied. "As long as they don't start to fight, I'm good with that."
"So, what am I to do with you, my friend?" Gene asked the burly slave. He sat on the picnic bench, and the slave knelt before him. He picked up a datapadd, reading the summary information. "This says you were a ship's officer on a warship. How did you get to where you are now?"
"The Source turned against us one day, master," he replied, shrugging his massive shoulders. "My sisters and I were fortunate to secure passage on the same liner; I had secured leave for the birth of my first child. The ship ran into pirates, and here we are."
"I see. I asked the healer about repair or regrowing your male equipment, but it is apparently not possible." Gene said as he hunched forward. "I know in your position, I'd want to know. You can ask her yourself if you wish. In any case, she has dialed back the implanted equipment for the hormones to a level that will maintain your health, but not trigger aggression."
The burly slave blinked, "I thank you, master, for your consideration. It has been a very long time since I was able to take a slave … (he shook himself). Now that the hormones in my blood are reduced, while I remain slave, I will no longer feel the aggression of the fighting slave."
"I see," Gene said. "You will not cause trouble if I release you?"
The slave snorted, "Master, I have no wish to be disciplined. I am your slave, and will obey your orders."
"I see," Gene said again. He considered the other man, then asked, "Please stand up, and turn around." He released his hands; then waited as the other rubbed his wrists and resumed kneeling. "What kind of ship's officer are you?"
"I was tactical officer, master, on the heavy cruiser C'ftmon," the slave replied.
"Hmm," Gene said. "I want you to talk to the ship's Captain. For now, since we're here, I think we'll make certain your Spacer's Guild ratings are up to date." The slave blinked in surprise, then murmured, "Thank you, master."
"A good investment for both of us, would you be able to do that yourself, or would I need to go with you?"
"If my master will set things with the Guild, I can do it myself, master. What of my sisters?"
"Let's talk about them…"
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Friday, January 17, 2003: 06:48 (GMT)
Terra, Buckingham palace:
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The fire flared green in the small stone room, and Connie followed by Mattie stepped through. "Mr. Brumly, Lady Delacroix," Connie greeted the two ghosts as Crystal (who had flooed through earlier) advanced with the brush.
As they walked into the East Gallery, Connie remarked, "My feet don't hurt, I think they did something with the boots." She turned to wave at the tourists, "Do we have time today?"
"Unfortunately not," Crystal said. "You were late coming through."
"A small snafu this morning, but I've got some good news to pass along," Mattie commented.
Connie nodded, "The question is, will it scale, and how much?"
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Mattie said, giving a small bow. She smoothed her miniskirt and sat, "While this looks nice, I do think a proper Royal really requires a longer skirt."
Elizabeth agreed; "I must agree with you regarding the length; however I did have my own informal survey done to go along with your own PR agency. There seems to be a generational issue, young women and men in general are comfortable with a dynamic young woman like yourself founding something so new as the Empire; while women my age and Lady Sarah's (she gestured at the other woman) are somewhat more leery. More conservative clothing would be more reassuring to that demographic."
"However, one way to provide part of that reassurance is to have a Cabinet of older and presumably wiser heads," Lady Sarah put in. "One that crosses political and ethnic barriers. We have put together such a list; you can discuss it next week with the Chancellor when you're in Berlin."
"Ma'am, I thought we were going to Paris next week," Connie asked.
"That was the initial plan, and while it would be useful to you to see how a government in a political crisis functions, I don't trust them not to try kidnapping you again," the Queen replied. "I understand you've put some of your own agents in place, but these are still the French …" She sighed, "After that, Warsaw to view how a smaller economy works, then on to Moscow. Tokyo is more problematic, due to the time difference. That may require overnight or weeklong stays. However, we have no difficulties in having you floo from here, giving you a secure connection. (She glanced at Crystal.)
"Thank you, ma'am," Crystal replied. "With your permission, I'll go discuss that with SO-1 and the relevant parties." The Queen nodded, and she left.
Lady Sarah sipped at her tea, then commented to Connie, "Ms. Koslowski, you look like you're about to burst with news."
"Yes, ma'am," and Connie glanced at Mattie. "We received a report just before we left regarding one of the research projects on Deimos. There's been a small company there working on our own, home-grown version of an FTL drive; and they've had several successful test flights."
"It's bumblebee physics," Mattie put in from the sideboard, lifting the teapot in question. The Queen nodded, pushing her cup forward, while Lady Sarah looked at hers and shook her head. "It's called that because the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. The body mass is too high and it's not aerodynamic, and the wings don't generate enough lift. But it flies anyway. When they get around to submitting it for a Nobel, the physics committee is going to have ulcers." She finished pouring, topping off Lady Sarah's cup.
"Yet we've got a small drive, one of the inventors took it for a spin. She flew to P'wheel, around 2400 light years, straight line and round trip, and did it in a little over a day," Connie said. "Twenty six hours and change, which means about ninety light years an hour, when with a normal drive, the average convoy's speed is three to ten light years an hour. That means that the trip to P'wheel in convoy is more like three thousand light years, and at seven light years an hour would be about eighteen days."
"Two other little bits of information," Mattie put in, handing Connie a cup of coffee. "First, normal navigational practice is to use way points for convoys. These routes are charted because they're free of debris such as gas and dust clouds, black holes, neutron stars and other hazards. Therefore a course plot looks like a three-dimensional strand of spaghetti. They usually go from habitable star system to habitable star system, which boosts the economy of those systems, as they're nodal points for neighboring stars that don't have those clear lanes. A convoy will slow down as they reach those nodal systems, which is where ships join and depart the convoys."
"You mentioned a second point," Lady Sarah put in, sipping her tea.
"Yes, ma'am," Connie said, and dug a thick printout from her bag, with a black banker's clasp at one corner. She passed it over, "This is a copy of the flight log. Navigational and sensor data, sent every five minutes." She raised an eyebrow, adding "While in warp."
Mattie put in, "Our existing Sisal network would lose connectivity in normal Jump space, we have to send and receive in normal space. That's fine for planetary installations, but ships have to drop out to normal space. However, if we have real-time interstellar communications in warp, as well as a faster drive that is apparently undetectable, that opens up a number of interesting possibilities." She took a sip from her own mug of coffee as she let the others digest the news.
"One other little thing," Connie said after a minute. "Gal-tech ships use Fuel in a generator to power their drives; it's the only thing that produces enough power. The first several test flights of this new warp drive used batteries." She waited for them to think this through, adding, "If we can use lower-power generators, like nuclear …" She waited again before adding, "The question we're debating is if this drive scales, and how much."
The Queen pursed her lips as she thought, slowly taking a sip of tea. "You said undetectable …," she asked.
Connie nodded, "When Chantal used her own drive to arrive in the P'wheel system; she didn't produce any reaction. However, she wasn't comfortable using it inside the system, so she used her subspace drive, which DID produce a reaction when she suddenly appeared on their system defense sensors. She played hide-and-seek for a while before disappearing. We're going to have to work on fine control, or simply use some form of stealth field, which she didn't have. However, it does raise interesting possibilities for the 'black' side of Imperial Research & Survey."
"Indeed," Lady Sarah agreed. She took another sip of tea as they considered this. "I presume you'll be funding this research."
"Yes, ma'am," Mattie replied. "As well as the shipyard we; or rather the government of Windfall has bought. They've already purchased land in Archimedes Crater, as well as the manufacturing slaves and their tools and equipment from Tosul. It looks like they'll be able to export to the Empire both equipment and complete starships, although using the gal-tech Jump drives. I confess I'll be nervous until the first flight of our warships finishes working up and we can deploy them."
"Understandable," the Queen said, then put her teacup down with a click. "We are making good progress on that front. For now, Ms. Koslowski will work with my Prime Minister today; tomorrow you have a day off, Ms. Wayne. Your day off was this past Sunday, Ms. Koslowski, so tomorrow you will come and spend the day with the head of my Household, to study how and why things are done." She glanced at Lady Sarah, "Please proceed on that project we discussed; next week I think you should floo with them to Berlin."
"Yes, ma'am," all three women replied, and two of them curtseyed and left.
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Saturday, January 18, 2003: 08:42 (GMT)
Tosul, Terran trade building:
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"That's the situation," Gene said to the three slaves in his office. "By Terran law, as a citizen I can't own you more than thirty days, which is why I sold you to the government of Windfall through the Taalah. The two women will be training the hundred or so slave girls who will be working here. Those girls, along with you and I (he gestured at the man) will be assembling the furniture and doing the other odd jobs that need to be done to get this building ready for the people coming out from Terra."
"And then, master?" he asked.
"And then it depends on what our orders are," Gene replied. "Right now, we have two goals, to educate the younger slave girls and to get this building ready. I would assume that at least half of those girls will be staying here to work, the others …" he shrugged. "As I said, it depends on what those orders are. In any case, you're in our local Guild, you're paid Guild rates, and you've checked out the housing and so forth?"
"Yes, master," one of the women said. "We found the housing acceptable, and a great improvement on a concrete slave pen. In any case, the only major irritant you cannot control is the leash all Enhanced slaves must wear. However, it is no more than that, an irritant."
"I would think so," Gene agreed.
"Our task is to get the slaves to think for themselves, to solve problems," the other female said. "This will ruin the slaves for a collar; it is almost like freeing them."
Gene grunted, eying the three as the two women sat on the edges of his two office chairs, while their brother leaned against a wall. "For now, I would suggest that we get as many of those younger slaves trained as thoroughly as possible, as it will make them and we look good. I would include any Guild training that you think would be useful in that, I'll squeeze what I can out of the budget. I know we're looking at shipbuilding and shipyards as well as general commerce; orient your thinking that way."
The three of them nodded, and Gene asked, "Is there anything else we need to go over?"
"Scheduling, master," his 'teacher-slave' put in. "The morning group of slaves would be those with collars ending in an even number, while the odd numbers will work at …"
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Saturday, January 18, 2003: 09:32 (GMT)
In convoy, Taalah, Mike's quarters:
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Mike regarded his new slave 35031 on the way back from his morning ritual. He didn't remember locking her into a neck ring, but it had been a long day, and asked, "So what am I to do with you?" He stepped to the replicator, and it conjured up a mug of tea for him. Taking a gulp, he took a few steps to put it on the desk; then moved to release her.
"Whatever my master wishes, this slave is my master's slave," she replied, as she took a few steps and knelt before him, once again putting her head down and crossing her wrists. He gripped her wrists and helped her to her feet, "Why don't you start with a suction and a sonic, you could use one. Then we can discuss it, I have an hour or two before I have to be on watch."
"Good, get what you want to drink, then come have a seat, we'll talk." She looked at him strangely, and he waved at the wall-mounted replicator. "Drink, then we talk. No master, no slave, just two people. As a matter of fact, let me take care of your Enhancement."
"My master?" she asked as she cautiously put a glass of ice water on the desk, kneeling before him. He sighed, then clipped the programming module to the back of her collar, and turned the laptop so she could see it. He started to deactivate options as she watched in stunned disbelief, pausing only on the last two. "Breathing and your heart. I don't want to kill you, so I'll leave those two." He went through the other screens; then clicked on 'Save' and 'Exit'. She blinked as he disconnected the cable, slowly reaching up to the back of her collar and handing him the other end. "My … master?" she asked. "This … I … am a female, your slave …"
"For now, you're my room-mate," he replied, coiling the cable and setting it aside. He regarded her, she was older than he was, in her mid-to-late thirties, he guessed. He sat back, waiting for her; then gently prodded, "Surely you have hopes, dreams …"
"Master, I am a bred chase slave," she said with a touch of bitterness. "I am bred for intelligence and cleverness, so that masters may have an exciting pursuit as I run, and then, when I am inevitably recaptured, they may delight in punishing me for my attempted escape." She looked him in the eye, "Master, what hopes and dreams I have you would not like."
Mike sat back, tenting his fingers. "I can imagine one of them as your poking something sharp and hot into one of your Owner's (he emphasized the word) eyes." She started and blinked, nodding involuntarily. "Another one would be getting out of that collar, and getting that Enhancement controlling board out of your brain." She nodded again, warily, and he said, "Well, I think I turned things off, but let's do a little experiment. Slave 35031, restrict." She started, her hands flying back to cuff herself as he said, "Well, is it habit or the Enhancement? Can you address me without using the term 'Master'?"
"I … mas … I … this slave," she blinked at him; then shifted, twisting with her hands cuffed behind her. She got up, striding around the small cabin, moving, stretching, then high-kneeling before him, "Thank you," she said simply. She cocked her head as she thought, "I am deciding how much of my behavior is conditioning, habit, and slave's training," she said as she looked at him. "In any case, I once again thank you (she took a deep breath), my … room-mate."
"Well, I cannot do anything about your collar, belt, or that control board in your brain," he admitted. "However, if you're willing to help, we can be among a number of people who poke a small thing in someone's eye."
"If the eye belongs to a member of the Slaver's Guild, I am interested," she said.
"Ah, now here's where things get interesting," he replied. "First, a bit of background information regarding the Terran Empire …"
"I am somewhat disappointed," she commented. "I had wished to have a greater share of the poking," she grinned at him, "my master. However, I cannot be greedy."
"Or impatient," Mike said. "There is an old Terran saying: 'Revenge is a dish best served cold.'"
"The star-lanes are very, very cold," she agreed. She stared at nothing, thinking; then gave a single, sharp nod. "It may not be within my lifetime," she said. "Nor within the lifetimes of my children, assuming I have any."
"Or our children's; children's, children," Mike agreed. "Furthermore, I do not have as great a right to that poke, no matter how delayed, as you do. The trade in slaves has been going on for millions of years, it is only right to assume that it will take as long to destroy. You can only join your sisters and brothers in taking those first steps; I can only assist you."
"There are also multiple targets," she agreed. "However, one begins a journey with a step," and she got to her feet, hands still cuffed behind her. She took a step forward, "I request assistance on starting that journey."
Mike stood, "I would be pleased to assist," and bowed to her. "Let us work toward the destruction of our enemies."
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Saturday, January 18, 2003: 11:09 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:
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Poppy Pomfrey looked up from her patient as Mattie and Anne entered the Infirmary. "Good morning," she called. "Please go back to the room we've been using and get ready." She looked down at Anna Driver, "Now then, Ms. Driver, I've fixed your leg, but there is a reason for you to use proper equipment when playing sports. I want you to rest now, go to the library and study, and I will inform Professor Snape of your injury."
"Yes, ma'am," the second-year said, and turned to get out of bed, gingerly testing as she put her weight on her leg. She smiled at her housemates, then accepted a cane from Poppy and hobbled out the door.
"Well, what are you waiting for, popcorn?" the nurse asked. She waved her fingers, "On with you; undress and on the beds, I'll be with you in a moment." She waved her wand, stripping the linens from the bed Anna had been on as she heard the sound of the two girls' heels recede.
"I must say I do not like this outer armour," Poppy commented as she regarded the two girls who lay on their backs. They had the appearance of wearing a white hooded bodysuit (the elven armor) under a black, tightly compressive tank leotard (the goblin armor). It compressed their abdomen, they also wore elbow-length black gloves (more armor) and tight-fitting knee boots with a five inch heel.
"I'm getting used to it, although I don't know how I'll be able to run a marathon," Mattie replied. "Now that the boots have been adjusted, I find the whole thing is actually comfortable for long periods." She shifted slightly on the bed, "I wonder on how I'm going to handle formal dinners and meals, and the built-in magic for when I'm off-planet." She raised a leg, bending it at the knee, "Some places are going to require what looks like pantyhose or stockings in other colors than white, and pumps or flats, not boots. I like these, they're sexy, but they're what are known as 'fuck-me' boots."
From the next bed, Anne put in, "Aye, the major irritant for me doth be the connections required to eliminate. There be too much similarity to the slave belts, and I doth desire different styles of footwear as well." She raised a hand to caress her white-covered head, "I do miss having mine own hair."
"The elves removed all your hair, they produced various wigs and face masks," Poppy said as she flicked her wand. "I confess that in your place I would not miss the daily chore of applying and removing makeup."
"Truth," Anne replied. "I do not think thy will be running in marathons, there be too much risk."
"Yeah, but did they have to remove all the body fat?" Mattie asked. "I find I'm getting cold more often, and I went from a double-D cup to at most a B. I want my boobs back!"
"It allows you to do some shopping for furs when you are in Moscow," Poppy said. "Turn over, please." The girls complied, as she examined the seamless armor. "I am glad you allowed Severus to remove the curse from your brand. You know I didn't like that, I would still prefer to remove the brand." Ms. Wayne shifted on the bed to look at her, arms crossed under her head, and Poppy raised her hand, "I know, I know. At least you may now buy wizarding clothing without it paining you." Ms. Wayne grunted; then turned over at Poppy's gesture. "How is the merging going along? Any problems?"
"I find I doth be having conversations with myself," Anne reported. "Yet I doth have two sets of memories, that of the alpha-self during classes, and of the beta-self in London at the office. Both seem real, and yet I can … shift one to a dream-like phase to concentrate on the other."
Mattie nodded. "I find myself arguing with myself as well," she put in. "I'd like to test it, to see how I do on an exam. I think I'll ask Professor Flitwick or Professor Chang to give me a quiz."
"Still your two most difficult subjects?" Poppy asked. She stepped back, sighed, "I can see no major difficulties with either of you. You are both below one percent body fat; a healthier percentage would be three to five. I shall speak to Severus about a potion for that, and to the elves and goblins about your armour. I am not fond of the abdominal compression, but it is not severe enough to create a long-term risk. It primarily restricts your breathing and eating habits, you will eat less than normal, as you have noticed. I shall issue to all three of you a waiver for the PE section of your GCSE, although I do want you to continue to exercise as much as possible. A treadmill or weights, the muggle weight machines we installed in the Hufflepuff gym. Do you have questions, either together or individually?"
The two girls shared a look; then both shook their heads. Poppy grunted; then tossed Ms. Wayne her pants. "I confess to curiosity how you plan to don these; the legs are far too narrow."
"I want at least one day a week out of skirts," she said with a grin as she stood. She summoned her headpiece, wrapping it around her throat and pulling it over her head, where it seemed to merge with her skin and the armor's white hood. She fluffed out her wig; then produced a wand, flicking it, "Cindy changed the protective spells so I can use light spells like glamours. Therefore, I cast a glamour spell on my torso and arms to appear transparent;" and then she cast an expansion spell on the tight blue jeans. She pulled them on, hopping a bit and sitting on the bed. She summoned her pale green golf shirt (embroidered with 'Hogwarts Golf Team'), pulling it on and tucking it in. She buttoned the waist; then zipped the fly, wiggling a bit and smoothing out wrinkles. With her wand, she cast a mild compression spell, the jeans and the golf shirt molded to her form. She walked to a mirror, arranging her hair and checking her appearance. "Now, I cast a small glamour spell on the boots so they look like a different style, and I'm ready," she said, putting her Rolex on her left wrist. Holding out her arms, she stood, wearing tight jeans and her green golf shirt, no hint of the armor showing. "It's fashionable, yet also very comfortable. Anne?"
"I doth not know why thee dislikes skirts," she replied. "Thou dos't look good in them."
"I don't dislike them, but I don't want to wear them all the time," Mattie replied. "You'd look good in some tight jeans as well, you've got good legs."
Anne shuddered, "'Tis bad enou' the skirts are as short as they are," she replied. She was wearing her usual floor-sweeper skirts, this one in linen with a lace border, while her blouse was a long sleeved 'peasant' style. She added a shawl over her shoulders, "I doth look forward to lower heels, myself. Are we done?"
"Yes, enjoy your day off," Poppy said as she heard the charm on the door, signaling the arrival of a new patient.
"Professor Chang?" Mattie asked as she knocked on the frame, leaning into the staff room; then nodded, "Professor Flitwick, Professor Harry. Can I have a minute?"
"Certainly," Cho replied. "I miss you at the Wednesday meetings, Miss Wayne. How can I help?" She put aside essays she had been marking, rubbing her head, "You know what these are like."
"Thanks, but as I'm no longer teaching…" she shrugged as she took a seat. "You are aware I'm using a time-turner that the Headmistress got for me?" The three professors nodded, and Mattie continued, "I'm wondering how well the memories are merging. They seem to be alternating with, well, a dream-like state, I find myself discussing things and arguing with myself. I'd like to test this to see how well I'm retaining information."
"Fascinating," Filius said. "Let me see, your first day for this was Sunday, so your class would have been Monday afternoon." He opened up his reference book, running his finger down the page, "We discussed colour changing charms. Please change this teacup to light blue."
Mattie thought for a second, then cast, "Cultum lux puteulanus," with a flick of her wand. Professor Chang asked, "Miss Wayne, please conjure a matching teapot."
"Hmm," she said. "Let me try this: 'Inanimatus conjuris lux puteulanus' she said with a spiraling wand motion. The four of them regarded it, "A different style teapot," Professor Harry said, as it looked like a hookah. "Try it with a jerk and jab at the end," he suggested. "You're getting the Latin incantation right, and you've got plenty of power…"
"It's also an early sixth-year spell," Cho said. "At this point, I'd pass that. Harry?"
"My class was Thursday morning," he said. "More hexes, these involved body parts. Using my hair, disable me."
"Umm… 'Lucus prolato saeta, redimio artus'" she cast. Harry's messy black hair exploded out of his head, twisting and curling around him and the chair he sat in. He gasped, "Can't … breathe …" and she quickly cast 'Finite incantatem'. Cho quickly transfigured the hookah to shears and cut him free. "I'd call that a pass," he said, panting. "I think you shouldn't have any worries, although I don't know what you're discussing with the Queen."
"Politics," she replied, and Filius gestured, "Would you like to talk?"
"Actually, I would," Mattie said, raising a hand, and a coffee mug filled itself, floating over to her. "That kind of thing worries me," she said. "I wasn't able to do that before the attack on Arthur in New York a month ago, but that seems to have, I don't know, released something. I seem to have a lot more power available, and to be able to do things silently, and wandlessly, which I don't think is exactly normal."
The three professors looked at each other; then Filius sat back with his own teacup in his hands. "Do you worry that you'll go Dark?"
"Some…" she said, somewhat hesitantly. "I see some of the more … thickheaded or stubborn politicians, especially off world, and there's that temptation of things like 'Imperio' …" she drew a breath, and then added, "… and that it wouldn't be illegal there, but it would still not be right … and I wonder how I stack up regarding power, my new Thaum rating …"
"We've all had those moments," Harry said. "I cast 'Crucio' on Bellatrix at the Department of Mysteries. I was angry, and hurt, and she felt it, but then she mocked me, told me I had to mean it, had to feel the hate…" He took a sip of his own tea, "With 'Imperio', you have to need that control. There are other spells, other ways to do that besides that particular Unforgivable. I'm certain you've run across some of them." She nodded, and he reached into a pocket, withdrawing a form. He scrawled on it; then signed it. "In case you don't already have one, give that to Irma. It's an all-areas pass for the library, including the Restricted Sections."
"The current faculty password is 'claymore'," Filius put in. "Use the Ravenclaw library if you wish, if anyone asks, refer them to me." He sipped his tea, "No doubt at some point in the Empire's future history, there will be a tyrannical ruler, however all you can do at this point is to try to put structure into place to impede him or her. I think you're correct in designing the Empire so that people and their existing governments will want to join, however not all will. From what Pomona and Severus were saying, people seem to be people, no matter their planet of birth. While there is that temptation to pound one's opponents, especially when they seem to be blocking things just because they can, that is the point to step back and calm oneself."
"So one can more easily run them through with your sword," Professor Harry joked. He raised a hand, "Sorry, Gryffindor humour there. I've seen the video of your fight with that arse on Windfall, and spoken to both Pomona and Severus. (The other two nodded.) Pomona thought you were somewhat bloodthirsty, she thinks you should have simply run him through, while Severus thinks you should have arranged an arrest and had him quietly killed in his cell. He also thinks you were overly theatrical, although he concedes the point to humiliate and break the Traditionalists."
"There is that, but I wanted (she threw back her head), OH, I wanted to beat the crap out of him," Mattie confessed. "Those pricks are so bound up in their male supremacy crap that I wanted to humiliate him, and the best way was to do that in public. After all, their whole philosophy is that females and slaves are so far beneath them that it would shake their foundations if a woman were to beat them at something as macho as a sword fight. Cutting off his meat was icing on the cake; I should have had it barbecued." Filius and Harry winced at that. "They can't even say I cheated, since I was clearly armed the same as he was, and he proclaimed several times that he was a 'Master of blades' (she finger-quoted). Well, if that so-called 'Master' can be that easily beaten, for the cost of only a finger (she held up her left hand, wiggling the fingers), and it helps to break them, I'll call it good."
"And Bella is there to advise the Governor," Harry added.
Mattie grunted and nodded. "I received two suggestions, one was to go easy, turn a temporary blind eye to the ownership of slaves. Let those girls that want to stay in someone's collar be sold, but arrange regular checkups and different tax rates for them, arrange something so that every five years or so they can choose between walking or crossing their wrists, or putting themselves on the block again."
"To ease the transition," Cho said, and Mattie nodded. "I can't wrap my mind around it, but there are apparently those slaves that want to stay slaves. I'm distinguishing them from convicted criminals, who wear a judicial collar and are working on road gangs instead of being locked in a prison. However, I'm concerned about abuse…"
"Which the tax rates and medical checks should lessen, if not prevent," Filius said. "However, there is the danger of those visiting healers being bribed…"
"And if they're employed by the government, they've just committed the death-penalty crime of corruption," Mattie replied. "They'll have the choice of a noose or the guillotine on High Street, after that their heads can join others we've executed for corruption." She gave a small, nasty smile. "The second suggestion was two other political parties. One would be a feminist party, the other a conservative, 'man is breadwinner, woman is housewife' with civil rights."
"Hmm," Harry said. "I'll want to talk that over with Ginny; she's more Slytherin than I am."
"You've shown your Slytherin side, Harry," Filius commented. "As you have your Hufflepuff and your Ravenclaw sides. The house system is not monolithic."
"I've had my Gryffindor moments as well," Mattie replied. "I'd still like to get together with the two of you to discuss things, I had a business proposal."
"Tonight at seven for dinner, then?"
"I am on a special diet with this Time-Turner, I'll have Cindy talk to Dobby," she replied. "Other than that, I'm good with that." She took a sip from her coffee mug as Filius asked, "How is Mr. Morton doing?"
"Still in stasis," she replied. "I've got three different groups researching this, and Lady Death was kind enough to … extract (she gave a nasty smile) … the research data from MSS in Beijing. Superman has asked for a current blood sample, I'm waiting to see if Alfred aboard the McCoy and the hospital on Windfall would also need it."
"It probably couldn't hurt," Cho commented. She took a sip of her own tea; then asked, "What about other interstellar political entities?"
"We're somewhat in the galactic boonies," Ms. Wayne replied. "There is Black Hole, the interstellar criminal network, which has different groups or clans in different areas, and we do have some relations with them. There are transtellar corporations and trade groups, one of which is the Fuel cartel. Four members of that, think of OPEC on a inter-galactic scale." The other three nodded. "What we have to do is be the mouse in the wall, because there are a lot of hungry cats out there, and I'm sure some of them know about us now, thanks to that damned judge letting the slaver go."
"Unfortunately, ships can be built only so fast," Harry said. Mattie nodded, "One problem is the galactic perception that slaves are a vital part of the economy. Most slaves are female; so a lot of governments track the movements of their women, both free and slave. There are several, including a couple in the local area, that require all females to wear some form of tracking collar, which can be easily changed to and from a slave collar." She took a swallow of coffee, "It's similar to the legal situation here on Earth a few hundred years ago where wives and daughters were family assets, a daughter would be married off to finalize a political or business arrangement. This means that women from different social classes are a chess piece, so even a nobleman's daughter would wear a dark collar."
Cho Chang shuddered, "Isolationism is sounding more and more attractive," she commented.
"That's not an option as I understand things," Filius said. Mattie nodded as he continued, "I presume that we have intelligence activities going on," and he raised a hand. "I do not wish to know details. However, I do not wish to be in the position of the Japanese when Commodore Perry opened their door in the 1800's." He took a sip of his tea, "It occurs to me that you must command, you must have political support, and have alliances with other political entities."
Mattie grunted, "One problem I have is the Terran attitude that slavery is bad, versus the galactic opinion that slavery is a good thing, a vital part of the economy, and any threat to that part must be quickly eliminated. Polar opposite attitudes, and I haven't figured a way to resolve it." She stared at nothing over the rim of her coffee mug.
"Feudal …" Filius mused. "You already have the structure in place; the video from Windfall had you appointing the System Governor a Baroness." Mattie nodded and he continued, "Make the system work for you. The Terran Empire has found that in a manufacturing economy, machinery is more cost-efficient, and that is how the general industrial plan is oriented. There are less defects and machines have greater up-time. Orient the tax structure accordingly."
"On the other hand, in a service sector, personal attention is more important," Harry put in. "I would much rather speak to a person on the phone than a computer. People are more flexible, so as long as I get what I want, I don't really care if the employee I'm dealing with is a slave or not, I just want my problem solved." He took a sip of his tea, "Now, it depends on the society if that slave is paid. If she is, she can own property herself, which helps to drive the economy, the slave becomes part of the society, and her collar is part of the normal business wear. Adjust that part of the economy and taxes accordingly."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Cho said.
"I confess I'm not thrilled to hear it myself," Mattie agreed. "However, I think I can see where things are headed with these two men." She gave them a moderate glower, "They're supporting the male power structure, and to make the imposition of slavery and collaring females a local option, as opposed to a general Imperial ban on slavery. Is that right, gentlemen?"
"But I …" Harry started to say.
Filius said, "Now just a minute! We, I, are not saying we're in favor of collaring women!"
"Oh, really?" Cho asked sweetly. "Harry just said he wouldn't mind seeing it as part of the general business wardrobe, and while Filius said to transition to machinery for manufacturing, that would certainly imply to me that you would need slaves to operate and maintain the machinery. That would occur on a system-by-system basis, enforced by the Imperial government!"
"It's like what happens now to women here on Earth," Mattie put in. "We're still considered assets, we have to have our father's consent to date. We're given an engagement ring to symbolize our 'capture'; and then later we're given away by our fathers when we marry, we have to change our name to our husband's …" She gave the two men a long, sustained glower, then added, "It seems like we're still family assets to be distributed."
"Exactly!"
"But …" Filius started to say.
"On the other hand," Mattie said, "I can see their point. We're up against a very old social system, the 'if it was good enough for great-great-grandfather' concept carried on even further." She gestured at the scarred wooden desk, "A good example is the quills the three of you are using, instead of a ball-point pen. Look at how people objected to computers here! The wizarding world is so … conservative; I compared it to the fourteenth century!"
"Until you actually went there," Filius said, somewhat relieved.
"True," she agreed. "People are resistant to change, what we need to do is to demonstrate to them, over time, that our way is better."
"Exactly!"
"So we need to demonstrate on the one hand that using machines, while having a higher initial cost, means a higher quality output over a longer period, as opposed to using slaves, who will make errors, no matter how they're trained or beaten. Using Enhanced slaves are just a different method of using machines, except that machines don't get tired or distracted."
"Exactly!"
"And Mr. Potter makes the point that service is better with a live person who knows the stock and can make recommendations; as Mr. Flitwick suggests making this something the local System Governor should decide, as she knows the local economy and social system best. Would you care to expand on that?"
"Umm …" the tiny professor mused. "You're already using a semi-feudal system," he started to say. "You're making the local Assembly persons heads of their Counties, they're elected…" he continued. "Five year terms?" he asked.
"Yes, up to five terms, then they have to sit out a term before they can run again."
"An interesting blend of feudal rule and democracy," Cho put in. "I think I saw some Assembly-persons in the video who were not only female, but collared? Former slaves?"
"Yes, about twenty percent were female, and four were former slaves, all freeborn. We do have a number of slaves, or former slaves on the local Town councils, as well," Mattie put in. She took a sip of coffee, musing, "There would be quite a bit of social pressure on those girls that chose to stay slaves…"
"As there would be on their owners," Cho put in, taking a sip of tea and wincing. She stood, moving to the teapot and pouring a fresh cup. "That is common for anyone who is outside the mainstream. The Japanese proverb about a nail comes to mind." She sat, staring at nothing over her teacup. "Publicize the change; you can put the blame on a particular pressure group or party. On one particular day, every collared slave is free to make up her own mind, she must do something particular if she wants to stay slave. Like … lock a ring on her neck. Otherwise, she is free on that date. If a master tries to hide her, or force her, he's breaking the law and gets his own collar."
"That would be difficult to hide a slave with the orbiting scanner, we have a location within a meter for each collar," Mattie mused. "Unless they're deep underground, and kept there permanently. She can also choose to stay with her own master or be resold by the government to a different master or location," Mattie mused. "She could also choose the government as her master, but once she's made her choice, that's it for five years. Would we do this in multi-year steps or all at once?"
"Multi-year," Cho said. "First year, the last digit of their collars is zero and one, second year is two and three, and so forth. At the end of five years, the cycle repeats, and the first group of girls can opt out for their freedom, cross their wrists to their current owner, or go back to the block to be resold. If a master wants to keep a girl, he'd better make it worth her while. If he cheats her, it's breaking a contract and he's in court."
"And the girl?"
"The judge gives her the options of freedom or going on the block to a new master," Filius put in. "Similarly, if a girl decides she prefers a master's collar over freedom, she sells her possessions and crosses her wrists to the local Count or Countess, who is her temporary owner until she's auctioned from the block." He took a sip of his own tea, "This lets those who want to participate in slavery do so, for a fixed number of years, while giving protection to both owners and slaves. The government is represented by the local Count, who has a maximum tenure of twenty-five years before he or she is turned out of office for someone else."
"With the roving inspectors to prevent physical abuse and to make certain the law is followed…" Mattie mused. "Not that I like it, but I think that's the best compromise…"
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Saturday, January 18, 2003: 18:39 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Potter flat:
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Mattie knocked on the Potter's door in the faculty wing. Dobby opened the door, a wide grin lighting his face. "Mistress Empress Wayne! We is glad to sees you! Please come in!"
"Hello, Dobby," Mattie replied with a similar grin as she entered. "How are you and Winkie? No elflings yet?"
"No, Winkie is not ready yet, she says," he replied sadly. "I's be working on her, though!"
"Don't force her, I know I'm not ready to be a mother yet myself," she said as he escorted her in. "I do have three little girls I've got my eye on, though. Did Cindy talk to you about my diet?"
"Of course, mistress," Cindy said, popping in herself. "Youse be all set in that. Can I get youse something to drink?"
"Just some apple juice or something light, please. Where are Ginny and Harry?"
"I'm here," Ginny announced as she entered. "Harry had to go to the Infirmary to check on a student, one of the Quidditch team took a bad bludger hit during practice." She sat, accepting a glass of fruit juice herself as Cindy popped in with Mattie's apple juice. "What did you want to talk about? Does Harry need to be here?"
"No, I wanted to offer you a job with IR & S," Mattie said, casting a privacy spell. "With the 'black' part; to head up the Covert section. That means you'd be running the Imperial spy networks and doing any direct action required." She took a sip of juice, "Part of that would be going through Imperial training on Corfu this summer, along with Princess Beatrice. She's already spending time in London with MI-6; I can arrange for you to join her."
"I don't have any experience …"
Mattie looked at her over her glass, "I have evidence, including a long red hair with gun oil and fingerprints that say differently," she said slowly. "You lack training, yes. I'm offering you that, and you've been running my spy networks in the Ministry for a while now. This is a step up, and I need someone I can trust to not only run my networks but also monitor my system governors. They'll know IR & S has agents reporting back if they do something I don't like, but they don't know whom. They may think it's the head, when it's actually the receptionist or the secretary." She took a slow sip of juice, "I'm offering you a seat at the table, running the world's oldest profession."
"I thought that was prostitution," Ginny said with a weak smile.
"Ever hear of pillow talk?" Mattie said with a grin. "The Russians had a whole division, known as Swallows, in the KGB. They are very high-class, expensive hookers, who were experts in getting their clients to talk, but also to serve as the 'dangle', or bait to co-opt those clients." She tented her fingers around the glass. "Right now, we're borrowing personnel from different governments, who have resources we lack. We need to address that problem, to have our own home-grown Imperial solution, not only in this sector, but we also need to think long-term, to the rest of this galaxy and to the local galactic cluster of thirty other galaxies."
"Big job," Ginny said.
"Yes, our galaxy alone has roughly four billion stars or stellar objects. With thirty-six hundred sectors, that's one-point-one million or so stars in an average sector."
"Times …" Ginny's eyes grew round.
"Yes. In our sector alone, we know of almost ninety-one hundred planets, and over eight hundred inhabited ones, with various levels of social and technical advancement. Aurora and her fellow astronomers are merging the Oan databases with our own, but a large percentage of those entries have just a listing of the stellar coordinates, nothing else. Not even the class of star, much less any planetary data. Furthermore, a lot of the Oan data is old, hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years old. That needs to be updated, and that is the public face, the 'white' side of IR & S."
"And I would be the 'black' side, or at least 'grey'," Ginny said. "I presume not everything I would be doing would be skulduggery or assassinations."
"True, a part would involve open public research on a planet, but you would also have covert agents in all sections of a society. What your personnel would need to do would be to reconcile the two versions, the 'street' version versus the 'official' version. That office would then forward your analysis to the sector office; we're looking at a nodal defense structure, so it makes sense to keep the intelligence functions in the same location as the military ones." Mattie took a sip of juice, "What a lot of people don't realize is that governments spy on everyone, friends as well as enemies. For instance, MI-6 cannot legally spy on the British public, but CIA can. Therefore, they can pass information back and forth as necessary, which means at least one CIA person is 'outed' for that reason."
"Eight hundred inhabited planets …"
"Each just as big and complex as Earth is," Mattie said, thumping the floor with a heel. "We can't hope to have saturation coverage on every planet, what we hope to do is to have enough warning of anything coming our way. We're hoping to get not only any military information, but trade and economic news as well. Remember, that's just one sector, too. We've been out at least half-a-dozen sectors on either side of ours. The official, public face of IR & S is Lady Sarah, with advice from the Russians and the Israelis. You yourself would probably be covered as an accountant or something, and your survey ships, once we get them built, would have assorted covert equipment available, including stealth shuttles."
"I'll talk it over with Harry," Ginny said. "It sounds interesting, and that there would be quite a bit of travel involved."
"Yes, but remember 'need-to-know'. You would be working at IR & S, we'll be putting in a new office building for them, and the design does include floo connections. You'd probably either take the floo down to the Leaky, and then the Tube from Charing Cross. You would also have spending authority; you would answer to Lady Sarah and me, possibly a committee from the Assembly we can trust to keep their mouths shut and minds open."
There was a 'ping' on the spell, and Ginny nodded, "I'm sure we'd have some information on those Assembly-persons. I'll let you know, and if I have any questions."
The 'ping' sounded again, Mattie nodded, and dismissed the spell. "Professor Harry! How is the student?"
"He'll be fine. What are you two on about?" he asked, teasing them.
"Oh, just the usual girl talk," Ginny replied. "Hair, makeup, fashion. I was just admiring Mattie's new style, especially those boots…"
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Sunday, January 19, 2003: 05:34 (GMT)
Terra, Buckingham palace:
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The fire flared green in the small stone room, and Connie and Ginny stepped through, followed by Mattie. "Mr. Brumly, Lady Delacroix," Connie greeted the two ghosts as Crystal (who had flooed through earlier) advanced with the brush.
As they walked into the East Gallery, Connie remarked, "My feet don't hurt," as she turned to wave at the tourists, "Do we have time today?"
"Unfortunately not," Crystal said. "Whilst we're running early, Mrs. Potter needs to meet with Lady Sarah and you with the PM."
"I think you're enjoying being a celebrity," Mattie remarked as Ginny waved to the tourists.
"Your Highness, I'd like to introduce Mrs. Potter, she'll be working with Lady Sarah on the 'black' side of IR & S."
"Ma'am," Ginny said, curtsying. "A pleasure to meet you."
The Queen offered her hand, "What experience do you have in Intelligence, Lady Potter?"
"I have been running Ms. Wayne's networks for several years now, ma'am. We need to take a step up to interstellar; there are several hundred planets just in this sector. I look forward to working with Lady Sarah and Princess Beatrice."
"I see…" the Queen said. She gazed at Ginny for a minute or two; and then looked at Sarah. "If Lady Potter wishes to spend time at Vauxhall Cross, she has my consent. Lady Potter, a pleasure meeting with you." She turned to Connie, "Ms. Koslowski, today you and Ms. Wayne will floo from here to Berlin, which is why I asked you to come early. At five or so there, you will floo back to Buckingham, and thence back to Hogwarts." She stood as Lady Sarah and Ginny left; then motioned the two girls to seats. "Ms. Wayne, you look like you have something you want to get off your chest."
"Yes, ma'am, I wanted to explain a problem and get your feedback on a possible solution." The Queen nodded, and Mattie continued, "The problem relates to the slavery issue. Here on Earth, it's viewed as morally reprehensible to own and sell another intelligent being. However, the galactic opinion is diametrically opposed, that slavery is not only a good thing for all concerned; but also a fundamental mainstay of not only a planet's economy; but also the galactic economy as a whole. We've been having a great deal of difficulty with this, and I would rather not install a dictatorship and massive planetary garrisons."
The Queen nodded again, and Mattie continued, "You've seen the video from Windfall; I created the System Governor as a Barony, the individual Assembly-persons as Counts or Countesses, each with a five-year term of office. They can be re-elected for up to five terms continuously, before they have to step down for a term. They can then run again for the Assembly. The Governor, or Baroness, answers to me, I'll be putting in a monitor on each Governor in case they start doing something I don't like."
"Go ahead, please," the Queen replied. "So far I follow you. Where does the slavery come in?"
"In each population of slaves, there are some that do not want their freedom; they want the comfort and security of a collar. There are also girls that have had a taste of freedom, and want to go back to a collar. So far, these are mostly bred slaves, but there are a few captured girls." The other two nodded, and she continued, "Also, on a number of planets, females are viewed as family assets, and by law must be tracked. The easiest way to do this is to collar every female when she reaches her majority at fifteen. This collar can later be converted to and from a slave collar, but she'll be wearing it."
"Ugh," Connie said. "They look pretty, but having to wear them, by law? No thanks."
"That's an example of the difference in opinion, on a planet, a girl looks forward to her collar, it means she's an adult, she can be independent, like getting our first driver's license, or a sweet sixteen party."
"That's …" Connie started; then paused. "It's a rite of passage?"
"Yes, like our first period, or first bra," Mattie said. "Remember, we had slavery here on Earth up until a few hundred years ago, when the Quakers started a moral campaign against it. There are planets where they have an equivalent tech level to ours, and there's the neighborhood slave dealer in a shopping mall."
"Weird," Connie shook her head. "Anyway, you were saying about feudal…"
"Yes, the suggestion was made that since our ban on slavery isn't going over too well, we modify our stance. On one day, like the first of the year, each collared slave is free. Boom. At that point, she can do one of three things, she can be free, with those duties and obligations, she can negotiate a contract with her current owner for her services, and cross her wrists to him, or she can cross her wrists to the local Count, who will be her owner and guardian until she's sold. That's for five years, at which time she has another chance to decide. That way, those who want to play the slavery game on whichever side can; those who don't want to don't have to. This way the small farmer or shopkeeper, or homeowner, can keep his slave, but she has to agree, and make it worth her while. We advertise all of this, to give people plenty of time to decide."
"And if there's cheating or abuse? If her master doesn't honor the contract?"
"A visiting inspector comes by every so often, serves as the slave's advocate, checks their health and so forth. If the owner tries to bribe the inspector; that comes under the corruption statutes, he gets a collar; the inspector is executed for corruption. If the owner is abusing the slave, that will show up in the physical, and the owner is warned, and the slaves confiscated if he continues."
"An opt-in system," the Queen said, and her mouth twisted. "As you said, not a system I'd like, but I also see the difference. The local Counts monitor and control the system in their areas, and the Baron would set overall system policy?"
"Yes, they know the local society, culture, and economy best, and they can enforce those rules on their population. This is a modification on how things are done on other planets, and with the tax-preferred use of machinery in manufacturing should gradually reform the social and economic system."
"Manufacturing," the Queen asked. "Explain that, please."
"Right now, a lot of the social structure is limited by social inertia," Mattie said. "It gets to 'good enough' and stops, and there's also the feeling that if it was good enough for my ancestors, it's good enough for me. That's why you'll have companies using equipment and processes that are hundreds, thousands of years old, and a lot of hand labor. This is illustrated by that shipbuilder we bought on Tosul. Each ship is hand built, by one or more craftsmen, and takes literally months to build. They use cranes and computers, yes, but someone, usually a slave, rivets or welds the thing together. Whereas we build cars in eight or so hours."
"The two aren't precisely equivalent, but I get your point," the Queen said. She sipped her tea, "Using an assembly line and machine tools, we can build ships much faster. Even starships?"
"We do it with both commercial ships and warships now, ma'am," Connie put in. "I've been to the Brooklyn Navy Yard; you build in sections, and then mate the sections together. For smaller ships like cutters, fighters, shuttles and work pods, I don't see why you couldn't use an assembly line. It also means that you design for similar parts, so a corvette might have seventy or eighty percent common parts to a battleship. The battleship is bigger and has more of those parts, but to modify or repair, you can just swap out parts."
"There would be a longer lead time," Mattie agreed. "However, once you got the production bottlenecks resolved, which I've got an industrial consortium working on, we can crank out a battlecruiser in months, while with traditional galactic manufacturing it would take decades." She moved to the sideboard, raising the teapot in question.
"Yes, please," the Queen said, pushing her teacup forward. "If you build even those smaller ships on Earth, it will provide an economic benefit."
"I was planning on issuing a RfQ to the aircraft companies like Boeing," Mattie said, topping off the Queen's teacup. "That should help with the financial pain the LEO station is giving them. However, if we introduce modern machinery, we can promote the zero defects and round-the-clock production. Even an Enhanced slave gets fatigued and makes errors, a machine doesn't, which gives that manufacturer a competitive edge." She brought Connie a cup of coffee, settling down with hers. "Once we get these last three areas resolved, and there is good progress there, ma'am. The last report I had was the Taalah had left Tosul on their way to Windfall, and while they couldn't fit all the equipment in, they've got some, and the assorted slaves, and Windfall bought land in Archimedes crater, so we should be seeing those shortly. I'm just sweating the next several months until we can get ships built and deployed."
"Of course," the Queen said. "To return to the question of slavery, I think this is the best compromise you can have, if your local Baron can come up with adequate safeguards. While it is not something I'd like, I also recognize there are different social systems." She took a sip of tea, "I would not advertise it here; make it more of a quiet deal with the opposition political parties on the different planets. Say that arms were twisted, or that you are turning a blind eye." She sighed; then said, "Moving on, in Berlin, what I've discussed with the Chancellor…"
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Sunday, January 19, 2003: 21:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +3)
Windfall, Brazos, docks:
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Peter Morse watched as the passenger from the Wagner stalked toward him, a frown on his face, and shoved to the front of the line. He stepped forward, "Excuse me…"
"No, Terran, you are not excused. Get this scum out of my way, I have business here."
"I think you owe an apology to these nice folks, and I would need to see your ticket, please."
"Apology? To scum and rabble?" The man looked like it was inconceivable. "I am C'aldo, House Baasht!"
"I would still need to see your ticket, and they were in line ahead of you, Mr. C'aldo." Peter was exceedingly polite, while one of the mail slaves slipped up the ramp. C'aldo noticed this, "You allow a slave to precede me? How much more insult must I endure?"
"She works here, Mr. C'aldo. Once again, your ticket and an apology, please."
"Very well;" and he turned to snap his fingers. "My slave will give it to you; I do not normally deal with inferiors such as yourself." He turned again, snapping his fingers, "Slave! Give this cretin my ticket, and hurry up with my luggage! You are wasting my valuable time!" The others turned to see, a gagged slave struggled with several large pieces of luggage, she dropped them and struggled to find a small pouch. This was not agreeable with C'aldo, who produced a remote and thumbed a control. She screamed into her gag and convulsed on the wooden dock while C'aldo held down the remote. Peter reached over to pluck it from his grasp. "I think that's enough, Mr. C'aldo. Why don't you go on up and book your room at the pub, she'll be along with your bags." The mail slave had returned, she knelt, holding the gate open for him as he swept by. She came in; her yellow and red DHL tunic spotted with sweat, and murmured to Peter "Sergeant Ross knows about him."
"Good, thank you," he replied quietly, then gave the remote to her. She separated the other slave's control chip; then went to help her sister-slave.
He did not believe the incredibly rude behavior exhibited by these Terrans! Why, to think that he, C'aldo would actually beg forgiveness for a fault, like some … slave would do? Inconceivable! Well, when they came to absolute power, he would take pleasure in the slow death of that minor official. For now, he needed to travel to the local Traditionalist office; certain it would be extremely busy. He turned to the innkeeper's slave, "Where is my vehicle, slave? It was to be here by now!"
"I don't know what you're referring to," she replied, a short green-haired slave with a dark collar. "The town has public transport, if you tell me where you want to go, I'll help you with the schedule, although you'll need to walk a bit."
"Walk? Me? I am C'aldo, slave, beg your owner for a beating. My slave was to have this arranged for me, a personal vehicle awaiting my presence. Where is it, and where is the Traditionalist party offices?"
"A hire vehicle is available from the Town, costing…"
"You expect me to PAY for this, slave?" He was insulted and amazed. "Where is the Traditionalist Party office?"
The slave pulled out a map, taking a Terran pencil, "You are here. Take the number one bus to here," she said, drawing a rough circle (the long way around) to this stop and walk to here. Their offices are…"
"Enough slave; report yourself to your owner for a lengthy beating." He stalked out, and Aggie, a member of the Town Council shrugged and went to assist the slave who was burdened down with luggage.
Tired and extremely irritated, C'aldo found the offices, and the unlocked Traditionalist office. He was insulted, and stalked to the occupied office of the local Assembly member. "Where is my slave?" he demanded of the green-smocked slave who turned to look at him.
"Do you mean 13085?" she asked politely. "She is working for the Town, her Owner sent her here with inadequate funds; and she had to convert them at a seventy-to-one ratio. She detailed this in her last letter, her Owner does not allow her to use the computers the Baroness Governor pays for…" she shrugged. "She cannot afford to write her Owner more often than once a week, the rest of the time she must pay for food, housing, clothing…" she shrugged again. "How may I help you?"
"How do I find my slave?" he almost roared.
"Well, if you take the number two bus it will stop at Town Hall, you may ask for her there," she replied. "I don't know exactly where she is, you see…" He snarled and stormed out, and she lifted her phone, dialing a number. "Girl? I think your Owner is here, he just came looking for you. Small, long sharp nose, no hair … Yes, I sent him to Town Hall by the number two bus… Yes, the long way around…"
C'aldo stormed up the stairs in Town Hall, coming out on the top floor, and finally seeing his slave. She had the nerve to be wearing a Town slave smock, not the one he had sent her out in, and that just increased his fury. "Slave!" he roared, and she turned with a squeak of surprise. "My mast…" but then he had her by the throat, he couldn't find his slave controller, but no matter. He picked her up, shaking her by the throat, yelling "Restrict, by the Source! You're in for punishment! How dare you disobey me!" and threw her against the wall as her wrists cuffed themselves. She hit the wooden walls with a thud and a crack, whimpering in pain. That didn't matter, he strode the two or three meters, picking her up by the collar and belt. "Silence, slave! When you're properly punished, I'll allow you to scream." He slammed her down on a desk, hearing the crack of bones, then shifted and slammed her down again, hearing more bones break. The occupants of the offices had come out, he shouted, "Slaves! Go back to work before I show you who is master!" In fury, he slammed his slave down again, grabbing her ankles and turning to throw her against the far wall, which she hit with a sharp 'crack'. He strode over to her, picking her limp form up again by the ankles and throwing it again against the far wall. "I will show you some real discipline, slave!"
"I don't think so," a large Terran said as he intercepted him. One of the slaves said, "Dr. Bujones is closest, she's on her way, master."
"Good. Nobody touch her." The large Terran male told another large animal, "Shannon, guard. Dr. Bujones only."
"I think she's dead, master. Her collar lights are dark, and she's not breathing."
"Well, damn." C'aldo was tossed with ease against a desk, where he was searched and his hands bound. The Terran male turned as a Terran female in a white jacket arrived with a large case of material, the large animal letting her past, then sitting on C'aldo as he was thrown to the floor.
The female examined the slave; then shook her head. "She's dead, broken neck. Nice clean break between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. Several broken bones and bruising, too." She pulled off some light blue gloves, looked at C'aldo for a moment with expressionless, dark brown eyes, then addressed the watching room, "Nobody touches the body, or disturbs the crime scene. Shannon, I'm coming back with my assistants." The animal grunted and moved off C'aldo, and the large Terran male hauled him up. "You're under arrest for murder and battery. You have the right to remain silent. Do not speak to anyone, including me, until you talk to your speaker-at-law. If you cannot afford said speaker, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand this?"
"I demand you release me at once, Terran! I need to return to my office here and arrange for a new slave to be sent out. I have a great deal of business to conduct, and you are delaying me in traveling to my next location."
"I don't think you understand," the Terran said. "You're not going anywhere except my jail cell. You're under arrest for the murder of a citizen and resident of Brazos…"
"I have video of the whole thing!" one of the Terran females said.
"Thank you," the large male said; then returned his attention to C'aldo. "You have killed a citizen. You…"
"Citizen? What are you talking about? The slave? Dispose of the body; I need to get another one in here. Release me so I may go about my business!"
"I said do not speak to anyone, including me. You are under arrest for the beating and murder of that citizen, so be quiet!" He turned and almost dragged C'aldo to an open cage, which descended with him.
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Sunday, January 19, 2003: 22:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +1)
Windfall, Yerida, docks :
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"I want to see you again!" Rabbi Portman said as he hugged Karen. "You have a good, safe trip back!"
"I will, and I want a bottle of your first batch of wine!"
"Even if it's vinegar?" the Rabbi asked with a smile. He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, and one of the 'little sisters' she had trained also gave Karen a brief hug, "Be well, mistress, and we'll come visit."
"Along with the rest of the team? You know I'm going to have problems on who I'm cheering on in that game."
"We'll forgive you, mistress," she said with a smile. "Go, and take care of Master Felipe for us."
"He'll be all right, it's just a broken leg," and she picked up her duffel bag and put it on the cart with her totes and other supplies. One of the Wagner's crew helped her on board, and the crew pulled the gangplank on board.
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Sunday, January 19, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, High Town:
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Cam stood behind her desk and looked at the rebellious slave in front of her. "I gave you a choice, 50902. Work with me, or be sent down. You chose to deliberately obstruct and delay things I wanted done. I gave you a second chance, and you continued to do what your old master in the Traditionalists wanted. Well, he's not paying you, and now neither am I. Your games are over, slave. Restrict!" The slave stiffened, her hands flashing behind her as she cuffed herself. "You want to play slave and master? I can do that too, I am, or was, your First Girl. You are now nameless." She broke the seal on a new, sterile feeding gag. "Kneel and submit to me as Mistress Baroness' Sullivan's First Girl, slave." She watched the former staffer press her head to the floor. "Good. High kneel, and open up, slave." She moved behind, forcing the uncomfortable gag into place; adding the tight blindfold, securing a hood on top; tightening and locking it all in place. "I'm sending you to the Farm as a discipline problem, slave. You'll have a red collar, you need to know who's in charge, and if we sell you off-world that's all to the good. Become a good slave and maybe you can stay on planet with your next owner." She added some tags to a leash's neck ring; then said, "I'm giving you some penalty brands as a parting gift from me. Release. Stand up, and get out of my sight."
She yanked the slave to the door, pushing her out as she said, "52026, get your misbehaving butt in here!" The insolent slave slowly stood, sauntered in, and Cam kicked her legs out as she closed the door. "Strip, slave, and kneel! I've had it with you and the rest of your little group. You forget that you're slaves, and only slaves! You are now nameless! Restrict!" The slave's hands flashed behind her, and Cam yanked off her tunic and skirt. "Disobedient, too. I told you to strip, and I don't want to hear a word out of you!" She pulled another leash out of the box, adding colored tags and locking it on the disobedient slave's throat. "You and the rest of your group are getting red collars and penalty brands for disobedience. Submit, slave! I am Mistress Baroness' Sullivan's First Girl here, you will submit to her through me. Head to the floor!" The slave, forced by her Enhancement, did so. "Good. Head up, mouth open." Another feeding gag was placed, another blindfold and hood, and the slave was sent to join her sisters as Cam cleaned house.
"Mistress Nadia," Cam said, kneeling in front of the teenager. "This slave requests that this slave coffle be taken to the loading dock for shipment."
"Well, I am going down that way…" Nadia drawled. "If we crate them, maybe they'll float in a storm. Or maybe not." She winked at Cam, who winked back.
"Possibly, mistress, or they could sink to the bottom and drown," Cam replied. "They are unruly, disobedient slaves who need to be reminded of their collars. If they drown, it will not be much of a loss; they are worth at most ten grams each." The slaves stiffened in outraged silence.
"I'll take them for a few brands each, a bit of pain always helps the memory," Nadia said, with a creak from her chair as she got up. Cam's secretary tried to keep an appropriate expression despite her smirk. The girls were lead out, and she asked, "Mistress, shall I fetch the next slave?"
Cam leaned out to check how far away the slaves were. "Five minutes to get control of ourselves. Source, that's a fun way to get rid of your troublemakers!"
50902 screamed into her gag as her collar was updated. She had tried to play a double game, helping out her former master who had said he could protect her, while trying to profit from business on the side. Had the Security Ministry found out about that? The First Girl implied that they had. If so, her status of slave meant a long, slow and painful death in public as opposed to a free person's quick one. She heard the rattle of the new control module and her collar's new chip into their buckets, and a master said, "I heard you scream, slave. We can't have that," and he pulled her gag and blindfold Source-tight, and then the tight hood she wore. He pulled her to her feet; she was marched a few meters and strapped into a vertical frame. The master grunted as he tightened clamps, "New brands, too. Source, you're a disobedient one. Well, once you're branded you'll be marched to the Farm. You're fat, you need exercise, and you'll get it." She heard clanks and smelled burnt meat as she was branded.
Slave 81412 scurried to submit as her young master came through the door to start his day. She knelt with the rest of the slaves in the Traditionalist offices, head to the ground until he had passed on into his inner office; then glanced around as she got up, her hand palming a small booster transceiver under a desk (not hers, the First Girl's), her fingernail finding the tiny raised WayneTech logo on the dime-sized disk. She pressed it, and that task was done. She knew the bugs received power from a microwave transmitter somewhere, but that was all. They were totally passive, and she brushed her hair back over her riveted gag as she stood and moved back to her desk. It would relay data from the bugs in the office, where and how many she had no idea. Unfortunately, her master was a workaholic, putting in twenty-plus hour days, and as a slave, she could not leave until he did.
Tonight, Michelle would cuff herself as required; then walk with other slaves through the poorly lit tunnels under High Town, which were the normal slave traffic routes, emerging in a side street in the lower market. From there, she would make her way to the slave quarters the Traditionalist Party maintained, where she would be fed, watered, and suctioned, then locked in a common cell with other slave girls. This morning, as other mornings, she had made the reverse trip, only to receive a well-done brush pass, which had inserted the tiny disk into the front of her slave belt. She felt an itch inside her brain on several locations on her daily commute through the park and the market, including when she passed into the access alleyway, but hadn't received the actual text message behind her eyes informing her of what she needed to do until she was in the tunnels. She thought there were several transmitters along her route, all she needed to do was drink at the public fountains along the way, and she was usually thirsty. Her Traditionalist opponents had some sense of security, but they had no idea about modern microelectronics…
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Sunday, January 19, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT +1)
Windfall, Riverside, garden apartments:
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Bellatrix Black climbed out of bed, stretching as she clicked on the light. She turned, regarding herself in the mirror. A healthy diet and some of Severus' potions had helped to remove most of the visible signs of Azkaban Prison, but her eyes were still sunken, and her hair… she sighed, picked up her wand from the nightstand, and waved it over the bed before she walked into the small loo to start her morning routine.
"Good morning," Bella said to her neighbor, Gran Laval, as they both emerged to fetch the morning paper. She could hear Gran's small television in her kitchen, her own usually was shut off after the weather report. This particular apartment had been occupied by the now mind-controlled Japanese slave, Yuki Fukuda, who remained convinced that she was a slave (and was happy about it). She preferred the newspaper, while it was published by the government; it had dissenting letters to the editor, editorials, and even an editorial cartoon. She looked out the bedroom window as she drank her morning tea, looking through the news listings the different seedling colonies sent in. In return, they got the news sent back, as well as a television broadcast of news and weather. She looked at the news for Site Five, the only UK site, now called Cornwall. They had ordered barges to ship tile and concrete products in… Snorting, she checked the paper's forecast, then tossed it in her recycling bin and went to get dressed.
Pre-dawn, Bella and Gran rode down the road in a rented wagon. The pair of hexataurs pulling had good night vision, aided by a lantern on the wagon pole between them. It swung on the hook, tethered somewhat by short chains that kept the motion down. Bella drove, while Gran would take the return trip. There wasn't much conversation; they made this trip about once a week, usually on the planetary day off, Fifthday, which was today.
In the back, there were pallets of supplies, which would be replaced in the wagon by outgoing product, and their new experimental beer. They had talked a few of the local pubs to give it a try, Bella was looking forward to it, although she didn't like the beer's name: HardCollar. Well, that could be changed later…
The slave once known as Yuki Fukuda, now simply the slave 90144, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She spent a few seconds focusing, reminding herself that she did not need to panic, she was a properly owned slave girl, she had earned her collar, she was an obedient slave. She swallowed, feeling the collar on her throat as it moved with the action of her larynx. She rubbed her cheek inside her hood, feeling the heavy canvas, the thick leather of the blindfold over her eyes, the tight gag she wore strapped over her head and riveted in place on her, the sharp end of the plastic tube down her throat, the thick bladders that filled her mouth, painfully, reassuringly tight. She gave a small whimper, very quietly as she felt the fur on the back of her hands, her wrists properly secured behind her in her slave belt's cuffs. She laid in her slave tube, feeling her body, the belled cuffs that were riveted on her wrists and ankles, and relaxed as she hoped the horrible nightmare of once being a free male didn't return. 'That would be horrible,' she thought to herself. 'I'm a slave girl; I need to be one. I need to be owned.' She remembered part of another nightmare, one where she had worn a tight blue outfit without a collar; the obscene outfit had covered her body, she had served as a slave, only without a proper collar and belt. She snorted to herself, glad that her current owner kept her properly. 'Who ever heard of a slave without a collar?' She settled back, at peace with her collar, and waited for her owner's First Girl to release her.
The slave once known as Eleanor Branstone, now simply the slave 11641, jolted awake when her collar activated a pain circuit. She panted a little bit, controlled by her Enhancement as she lay in her slave tube, her gag strapped and riveted in place, the blindfold strapped on and secured by the heavy canvas. She could feel the thick lock securing the hood on her neck, her wrists held by the cuffs on the slave belt that compressed her wrists. She shuddered; hoping the nightmare didn't come back of people flying on sticks as she waited for her owner's First Girl to release her. She was slave, which was all she needed to know. She shifted as she heard the locks on the outside of her slave tube release and voices of her owners as they spoke to their First Girl.
The slave once known as Marie Laval, now simply the slave 11642, and her owners' First Girl, knelt before her dark-skinned mistress. She kept her gaze properly down as her mistress looked over the datapadd with their production figures. Her mistress grunted, said, "Get the rest of them out and to work," and walked off. The slave whimpered once through her tight black gag, wondering why her mistress seemed to be crying.
"Good morning," Christine Sullivan said as her three guests entered her office. "I'm glad you could make this early morning meeting. May I offer you tea to help you wake up?"
"That would be appreciated," the local woman said, while one of her male companions tried to stifle a yawn.
"The problem is that we recognize the need to grow the economy," one of the men commented. "However, the Empire's stand on slavery is extremely disruptive; slaves are a vital part of the economy. What the Empress proposes will have the effect of removing our labor force."
"These girls did not ask to be born slaves, but they have no choice, they are bought and sold as animals in the market," Christine replied.
"Yet that is what they are, legally. Animals," the woman said. "At the same time, as a female, I recognize the possibility of my becoming a slave; it is part of the Source's desire that I be female. Biologically, I agree, there is no difference between myself and my sister, who wears a collar and is my slave." She took a sip of tea, "The Traditionalists view females and slaves in parallel, even though there are slaves who were born male and became female, and slave, through bio-sculpt. They have the appearance of slave girls, but their genetics are male."
"The Traditionalists ignore that inconvenient little fact," the other man commented. He was a small man, almost pretty, and Christine wondered if he had gone the other way. "The Terran position that slavery is immoral is ignoring reality, and trying to force that mindset is causing conflict."
"I know I would not wish to be slave," the woman said. "Yet my slave says there is a relief when you are collared, almost an acknowledgment of reality. Bred slaves, not knowing better, desire their freedom, yet a number who have achieved a dark collar wish to cross their wrists again." She sipped tea, "I agree that they could be saying that in order to please their masters, understandable really." She took another sip; then put her cup down with a click. "The Farm party is willing to negotiate with you, as Imperial Governor on this issue. We will then jointly negotiate with the Imperials and the Traditionalists to reach a suitable compromise. This issue is blocking too much other needed legislation, such as taxes and military matters."
Christine sat back, regarding the other three over her tea mug. "I agree, we need to move forward on other things. However, I would suggest two things. First, we move into the conference room, where we'll be more comfortable, and second, I want an out for each of these girls."
"The first, I agree," the woman said, picking up her case. "Where is the fresher, please?"
"Through there, my private one," Christine said, indicating a partially open door.
"… a … what did you call it? 'Opt in' system seems reasonable," the young man said as he made notes. "Those who wish a collar may have one; those who do not may escape it. However three things concern me; first, the financial transaction in this, second existing contracts, and third the treatment of criminals. I do not wish someone to be able to escape a debt or bad contract by simply crossing her wrists."
"Understandable," Christine replied. Taking a sip of her tea, she said slowly, "Even the Elders allowed slaves to possess cash. A slave wishes to buy her collar from her current owner, and I can see he doesn't want to lose his current investment, yet I want something fair to both sides."
"By law, slaves are animals and cannot own title," the older man said.
"We can modify that law in this case to grant a temporary freedom, similar to testifying in court cases," the younger man replied. "If a slave wants to buy her collar, she may do so for … what? Her insured value? Her owner would not lose money in that case. If the slave did not have the available funds, the Crown can loan it or guarantee the funds. What about outstanding contracts the slave is involved in?"
The woman snorted, "Only free persons can sign contracts, I suggest…" she chewed her lip. "I suggest that any outstanding contracts the proposed slave carries over are assigned to her new owner when she's sold from the block. I would not want to be the slave whose new owner was just forced to assume new debt, and add that debt to her minimum selling price. That way the debtor is paid no matter what. If she does not sell for the minimum, she stays with a dark collar and must pay her debts." She took a swallow of tea, "Regarding criminals and slaves who wear a judicial collar, I think they should be Enhanced. There is a reason for that judicial collar."
"Not necessarily," Christine objected. "If the collar was assigned by an outside agency, like a court, I would agree that it is a legitimate collar. However, a number of masters simply gave all their slaves judicial collars simply because they could, as an extra measure of security. The slave never committed any sort of what we would call a crime; she was simply a victim; that's why we want to give slaves some civil rights." She took a swallow of her own tea, "The Traditionalists would convict every female on the planet into a slave collar and Enhancement, simply for the 'crime' (she finger-quoted) of being a female. No, that's not right, and I think you can see that as well. If someone is accused of a crime, he or she has his or her day in court, and a slave is granted a temporary freedom for that reason. The law must be the same no matter if you're male, female, slave, or free. If they're convicted, they're collared and become property of the Crown, and sent to work off their sentence." She pointed, "If I accuse your slave of theft, I need to be able to prove it, and she needs to be able to stand in court and prove why she didn't do it. You heard about the slave that was accused of killing Governor Castellano?"
"Public discipline when you catch her," the woman said savagely. "Why isn't she on the High Street suffering now? Has she been taken off-planet?"
"No, we found her, and she was innocent of that crime," Christine said. "She was three hundred kilometers north of Riverside when it happened, in the custody of her master, and verified by her collar trace. None of the other physical evidence matched the crime scene. Why should we punish an innocent when she didn't do the crime? Should I punish your sister for the murder because she wears a collar?"
"But … she's a slave…"
"So is your slave. Should I punish her simply because she is a slave, instead of the truly guilty party? That's not justice, and it's not the rule of law. That's going back to the Elders, who punished the innocent and let the guilty free. Law should be fair, and impartial, and applied equally, and that way you know you have justice."
The other three were silent for a moment; then the young man asked, "How would you work this opt in plan?"
"I think that at the beginning of the year, every slave, with the exception of the convicted slaves, is declared free. They can either stay free, or cross their wrists to their current master, or cross their wrists to the Crown. If they do, they're put on the block for sale…"
"Too disruptive on one day, and all those freed slaves?" The older man shuddered slightly. "Too fast and too many."
"Go by their collar number, and give time for the idea to circulate," the woman said. "The last number of their collar numbers, zero and one, do that on the first year, two and three on the second year, and start … when?"
"With the election days in 165," the younger man said. "That gives over two and a half years for us to sell the idea here, and for you to sell it to the Empress and the Terrans. For how long?"
"Five years, and then they can choose again, but once the decision is made, it's made. They can cross their wrists to the Crown, or to a local master," the woman said. "Only the Crown can sell them outside their local area."
"What about ships?"
"That would be the ship's owner in the port of registration, dated to Landing Day. However, in the small colonies, the local master would need to treat his slaves well, otherwise some will choose another master," the young man replied to the woman.
"What about abuse or murder of those slaves?" Christine asked. "Public discipline…"
"They are slaves; they crossed their wrists…" the woman replied. "If they were foolish enough…"
"No, I see what the Governor is asking," the young man said. "Permanent damage, including death, would be a crime, but we need to allow owners to discipline their slaves. If a healer can repair it, they are slaves and must accept it. If not, the owner not only loses the asset represented by the slave, but is charged with a crime. Not like killing or damaging a free person, but still a crime in abusing an animal, like cutting off the leg of a live shonnen. It renders the animal unfit for use."
The older man nodded, "In summary, this lets those who want to keep and be slaves do so. On Landing Day, the eligible slaves whose collars end with either zero or one are freed. They can buy their collars from their previous owners at their insured price, plus any contracted debts. At that point, they are legally free females, despite what their collars may show."
"As free females, they can do as they wish," the younger man said. "If they desire, they may cross their wrists for a term of five years to either a private owner or the Crown. However, there is no changing their minds if they choose to do so, and as a decision of free females, it should be acceptable to both the Crown and the Terrans."
"The next day, the first of Primus, the Crown puts those slaves on the block, and sells them to local owners for the term of five years, with the protections we'll figure out later," the older man said. "This allows owners and slaves to suit themselves, and the Traditionalists keep their power centers in the Farm." He finished making notes, pushing his legal pad across the table to the Governor. "That look like what we've agreed to?"
She looked it over, "And I endorse the Farm party as an official political party, we provide space for your people in the different sub-colonies, and the Imperials work with you against the Traditionalists?"
"Not always on that last one," the woman disagreed with a smile. "We may disagree on some things, like tax policy."
"On the other hand, as the Terrans say," the young man commented. "The Traditionalists want to build with Tungsten, but pay with Iron."
"When they consent to pay at all," the woman said sourly. "Are we agreed, Governor?"
Christine looked over the agreement one last time then initialed it and passed it down the table. "I'm not completely happy, but they say politics is the art of compromise. Let's talk about tax policy…"
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 22:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT)
Windfall, Qing, residential area:
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Peter Chang sipped his morning tea as he waited for the community bus in the pre-dawn darkness. His mind wasn't fully engaged as he greeted some of his neighbors, rescued slave girls that were shivering in the lingering cold in the shadows of the mountain range. 'Silly girls,' he thought. 'Cover your legs; you don't have to wear those micro-miniskirts all year round…' The bus pulled into the stop, the hexataurs' breath white puffs of steam in the frosty air. 'I wonder if their collars get cold,' he wondered. 'They are steel, after all…'
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 01:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 05:47 (WFT -1)
Windfall, Cornwall, passenger dock:
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John Culm waited at the passenger docks for the ferry across the lake to his workplace. Yawning, he slurped tea from his take-away mug, the morning newspaper under his arm. He turned as a neighbor joined him, shivering in her short skirt. He passed his mug over, and she said, "Thank you, master," as she took a healthy gulp.
"Now why don't you girls wear something warmer?" he asked.
"It would not look good, and we would be too warm in the office, master," she replied. She gave him a smile, one that, considering the early hour was fairly cheerful. "It's perfectly logical."
"Women," he snorted with friendly disgust.
"Masters," she replied with an eye roll and another smile. "You wish us to look good; then complain when we do so." She shook her head. "I have heard we are expecting barges in for shipping building materials. That will be good; it will help pay our debt. We can also use them to ship our clay and concrete products."
"You work in the planning office, don't you?"
"Yes, master," she nodded, taking his mug and another gulp. "I will bring you one tomorrow, I am running late today. The orbital mineral survey has an outcropping of valuable clays just to our west (she gestured in that general direction), what we have been working on is a plan to run a road there; it is only a few kilometers. We can also use the rock and pulverize it to sell as gravel." She stole one more gulp, "I never thought a year ago when I knelt in a hotel room and waited to die that I would be concerned about clays and gravel and sand." She looked at him, "Master, thank you for saving my life."
"Er, you're welcome. Unfortunately, we can't save every slave."
"I know that, master. We all do. We can also wait for our revenge, even if it is our daughters that achieve it." The moment was broken by the whistle of the approaching ferry, and she smiled at him, but her eyes burned with rage.
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 04:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 10:22 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, High Town:
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"Mistress, you have your ten-thirty meeting in a few minutes," Cam's secretary called out to her.
"Oh, yes, thank you," she replied, reaching behind her to unplug the power charger, brushing the 'tail' hairs back into place. She stood, locking her terminal as she smoothed down the skirt and smock of the government-issue slave smock she wore, picked up her notes, and walked out the door.
"Good morning," Cam said to the dozen or so assembled slave girls in the small meeting room. "This is a quick meeting to let you know that the majority of our slaves will be sent off. They will either go to the different seedling colonies to enforce Imperial standards for weights, measures, and health codes; or if they've been your … what the Terrans call 'problem children', sending them back to the Farm (the other slaves in the room shuddered in fear), with a red collar and mention of being discipline problems." (The others winced.)
"Mistress, don't you think that's rather … harsh?"
"We are not Terrans, we are slaves," Cam replied. "The Terrans may seem to have a soft touch with a slave, but that is ending. They have made note of who has cooperated, and who has not. We are to take those slaves who have decided to try to avoid work, those who have decided that they have more than one master, and remind them, forcefully, that they are collared slave meat." She looked around the small room. "They need to be reminded of their collars, and if they do not wish to get out of their collars, they wish to stay slaves, the Terrans will be more than willing to work with that." She slowly looked around the room again, "The Terrans' patience is close to the end. Those misbehaving slaves will be Enhanced, they will have a red collar, they will be full slaves." She tapped her own collar, "I am Enhanced, as you all are. The Terrans are seeing the wisdom in the Traditionalists' program to Enhance every slave, although not every free female. If a slave behaves herself, she does not have anything to fear. The Terrans want us to think, they want us to question, they want us to learn and grow. They also want us to work. Too many collared girls are taking advantage of their good nature and slacking off." Her gaze went around the room again, "Studying is considered work, as it is a useful, productive task that increases knowledge in the slave. The Terrans also do not mind a smile, a light heart, a joke, as long as the work is done and safety rules are followed. They have a strange sense of humor, I agree, but they have one." She looked around the room again. "Do you follow my reasoning? Mistress Baroness Sullivan is one of us, a collared girl, but we are the ones in the Ministry. If we do not clean up our Mistress' house, she will invite someone else to do it, and WE will be in the Farm ourselves, and then on the block for sale."
"And why are these here?" Cam asked about the large buckets that had chips in them. "These are control chips and programming modules. Why are they loose like this, why are they not in order? How do you expect to easily find a particular one? Here is a programming module for … 85756, where is the matching control chip?" She waved the programming module, "It is missing a leg, it is inoperative. If we needed to reprogram this slave, we could not do so. Yet without the control chip, we cannot create a duplicate!" She glowered at the head of this section, "I want you, personally, to go through these chips and match them. If there are modules without a chip, we shall have to recall the slave from wherever she is and have her recollared or, more likely, have her Enhancement upgraded, and then recollared! I am tired of the inefficiency of this section; I am considering moving the entire section to the Farm and having all of you added to the general population for resale!" She stalked over to a worker, "Where is slave 85756? Where is she assigned, what is her location? Now, slave!"
Crossing her arms, Cam waited while the slave fumbled with her computer. "You are obviously incompetent, slave. You are fired, you will be sent to the Farm, along with penalty brands for laziness and incompetence. Lock yourself in a neck ring." She pushed the hapless slave out of her chair, and with a few keystrokes came up with the information. "The slave in question is in the Farm, so why is her module here?" She shook her head in disgust; then gestured at the large room, "I want all but ten slaves and all the control chips and modules sent to the Farm. All but those ten will be recollared, branded lazy and incompetent, and put up for sale." She stood and stalked to the door, "I will be in weights and measures should you need clarification on my orders."
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 10:09 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 22:22 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, High Town:
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Some passerby stopped to watch as the long coffle of bound and hooded slaves emerged from the bowels of the slave tunnels. They were chained to the back of a small wagon, and walked down the street to the taunts and catcalls of other slaves and free persons. Every so often a guard would prod one of them, or a passerby would poke one of their reddened, freshly branded thighs, earning a muffled yelp of pain from the un-Enhanced slaves. However, mostly they marched in silence; the only real sounds were the scuffling of their sandaled feet and the clink of their light chain leashes in the gathering darkness.
"Slaves, halt!" a guard called, and the coffle came to a halt outside of town. "Belly!" and the slaves turned, lying on their bellies. "Spread wide!" and the slaves spread their legs. Another guard went down the line, clipping the belled ankle shackles of one slave to her neighbor. "Time to rest, slaves. Morning comes early!" and with a rough laugh, they retired for the night.
Slave 50902 lay face down in the mud along the side of the road, her wrists secured behind her, her ankles linked to the slaves on either side of her, and suffered. The coating sprayed on her new brands kept them clean, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. She was tired and insect-bitten, and just on the first day of Source-knew-how-many days of this before she reached the Farm and its horrors.
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 11:58 (GMT)
In convoy, Taalah, Flight deck:
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Mike logged into the comm station as S'ana was finishing up the logs for the forenoon watch, and Mistress S'rat stood by, waiting. His girl stood by nervously for her first helm watch as her predecessor logged out. S'ana stood, "I am relieved. Course and speed set by the escort ship; it should be a very quiet watch. Good for training, mistress."
"I relieve you," S'rat replied with her customary cold tones, and took the command chair, toggling a switch. "Ship's log, this date and time. Command assumed by Mistress S'rat, course and speed set by convoy command ship escorting. First helm duty by slave 35031. End entry." She sat back, "Slave, you will keep your attention on your board. I am aware this is your first duty at the helm, should you have a question, you will ask it of me. You will not move from that seat without my permission. Is this understood?"
"Yes, mistress. Thank you."
"Attend to your board."
"Mistress, my course plot has us dropping out of convoy shortly," 35031 said to S'rat. "I am not certain of what to do."
"Ah. Comm, signal to the command ship, we will drop out of convoy shortly; we need to refund fees and update any information. Check to see if our charts are current."
"Yes, mistress," Mike said, and touched his hush mike. In a minute, he turned, "Mistress, we are formally warned of pirate activity, and advised shields up and weapons hot. We are refunded six kilos twenty, and chart dates and revision stamps are current. We are wished the best of luck."
"Acknowledge, and gratitude." She stood over 35031, "When our indicator on the plot barely touches the navigation marker, drop to sub-light until comm gives clearance. Orient to the new heading, bring up shields and preheat weapons on this board here." She watched as this was done, the ship kicking slightly. "A rough transition, but adequate for your first one. You need a gentler hand, and he has a tendency to yaw two degrees to port. Comms, ready for you."
"Yes, mistress," Mike replied. "Initializing comms, starting download." He waited as S'rat said to the helm, "You may proceed on your new course, but in normal space until Comm has authorized it." She sat in the command chair, "Ship's log update, this date and time. S'rat, on watch and recording. We have left the convoy and are downloading communications files…"
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 15:58 (GMT)
In convoy, Taalah, Flight deck:
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"Afternoon, Captain," Mike said as his CO waited for S'rat to finish the watch log. "I've got your mail and other traffic ready for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Bulstrode," the Captain replied, accepting the datapadd. 35031 logged off the helm, and stood by waiting as her relief logged in. S'rat concluded her entry; then turned the ship over to the Captain.
"Oh, my brain hurts," 35031 complained as she put her study padd down in the ship's common area. The healer, who was sitting in the Tonton game, leaned back, asking "Literally, or just from studying?"
"Studying, mistress. I feel so stupid!"
"I know what you mean, but you have to know it before you can sit the examinations," the ship's Engineer commented from the game. "You'll learn it, and it is better, I think, than being chased, isn't it?"
"Or turned into a fish," the doctor put in.
"What can we expect when we reach Windfall?" Mike asked from the 'study' table.
"Pleasant planet, an easy collar," the healer replied. "We offload the cargo and then go off to Eta Orionis, where we pick up some special orders and a group of hotel slaves. We'll be kept in a comfortable cell with other ship's slaves, while you, master, will have a hotel room and a room slave."
"Try to remember, master, that you cannot buy every slave," the Engineer said. "Take this one along as your room slave to remove the temptation, if you wish." She shifted her attention to 35031, "If you are ready, you may sit the exam for Spacer Fourth there, while your master visits the marketplace. A number of vendors have permanent displays set up; it will be educational for your master." She returned her attention to the game.
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Monday, January 20, 2003: 18:29 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:
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Severus put down his soup spoon as the fire turned green, and two figures stepped out. He rose, fetched the brush and inspected the two young women. "You're late, and leather suits you," he commented.
"Gifts from the German Chancellor and the BND, sir," Connie said, holding out her arms in the black leather trench coat. "The secure floo doesn't go to the Chancellery, it goes to a secure area, where we were met by our BND escort; then limo'd to meet with Herr Schröder. Very useful day, although it did run a bit long. Sorry about that."
"Just for your information, sir, we're going to switch next week, Russia for Poland," Mattie said. "Two reasons, I want to get some shopping done in Moscow, I want to buy a fur coat, and I need to go over some things with the design office in Warsaw. That's at an airport, and the wind chill is going to be sub-zero."
"You know you're going to be criticized for wearing fur," Connie commented as Mattie brushed her off.
"I don't have to wear it all the time," she replied. "I want it for Babice airport in Warsaw. I was going to buy you and Cindy one, but if you don't want it…"
"You know I'm not going to turn down a free fur coat," Connie replied with a grin. "It's my job to mention the political aspect, that's all."
"Understandable," Severus said, interrupting the beginning lighthearted squabble. "A bit of news; I have received information from several places regarding the mind-controlled slaves. The most highly rated is in Boston, but his email states he does not travel under any circumstances. You may try to convince him, he did not reply to my follow-up email." He took a sip of tea, "Another is in Russia, going by the name 'Rasputin'. He may be more amenable to traveling, although from what I have been able to discover, his methods are brutal, as he was used to interrogate … no, let us use the proper term, mind-rape information out of political dissidents. You may arrange a meeting with him when you visit Moscow, although I would have Ms. Koslowski sit out that meeting." He turned slightly, "Your Occlumency skills are not up to dealing with him. Ms. Wayne, he is a predator, keep your own shields fully up in his presence. He would use raw force to extract the information; the body left would breathe, but would not be useful for anything else."
"Wonderful," Mattie sighed. She passed a cup of coffee to Connie, taking one herself. She sipped it slowly, thinking; then sighed and said, "I think I'll have to meet with Mr. Rasputin; but I want a card or two up my sleeve." She took another sip, "You developed a Cruciatus potion. How difficult would it be to brew, and could a paralytic agent be included as a precursor?"
Severus eyed her suspiciously, "That is regarded as a Dark Brew; it was used by the Dark Lord for torture." He sat back in his office chair, tenting his long fingers, "Why do you want it?"
"I think I need something in my pocket in case Mr. Rasputin proves … difficult. I don't know how powerful a wizard he is, but a paralytic agent will allow me to escape if necessary. The counter-agent I can give to the Russians."
Severus grunted, reaching out to his tea and taking a sip. He considered, "Agent of delivery?"
"I have some rings with needles; they can take up to five milliliters."
"I won't ask where you got them. I have a paralysis potion that will cause pain in the extremities; you may lie to Mr. Rasputin. I will not see you torture people, it is distasteful enough that the Empire needs to rely on slaves for intelligence work."
Mattie breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I wasn't looking forward to doing it, but …" She waved her hand, "Regarding this particular skill, is there anyone else?"
"With particular training, either Albus or Potter could do this, as could I. It is not an easily acquired skill, akin to picking locks while blindfolded and wearing heavy mittens. I do not like to say this, but you may need to write those young women off as anything but slaves."
Ms. Wayne shook her head, "That's a last option. Not only did Mr. Morton, who was acting as my agent promise a return to 'status quo ante'; but I want to be able to look May and her parents in the face and tell them that I have exhausted every possibility before Eleanor lives out her life as a mind-controlled slave girl." She took a swallow of coffee as Connie asked, "What about the local people, like that fellow that came by and planted false memories?"
Mattie winced, "My counterintelligence people say that leads into politically murky water. One of them is a member of the House of Lords with links to intelligence agencies and the Japanese zaibatsu and through them, the Yakuza. We may be able to pry things out of him, but he's a senior member of the House of Lords, and MI-5 wouldn't like that. Where and how long is this training? Is it something I could do?"
"I do not know, nor do I know Albus' schedule. Potter is a possibility, but he, like I, takes the summer holiday to prepare for the next term, as well as some rest and recreation. I shall consider it, assuming Bella is still on planet, we could make a honeymoon out of it. In any case, dinner is almost over, and you two need to be resting." He tapped the door with his wand, "Off with you."
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Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 11:58 (GMT)
Benecee Beta system, Taalah, Flight deck:
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"Passing the system marker, mistress," Mike heard from the helm as he entered the flight deck in preparation to stand his watch. "We have entered the Beta system."
"Bring the ship to a halt, this is a good place to change watches," S'ana said; then keyed the log, "Ship's log, this date and time, First officer and First Girl S'ana recording. We have entered the Benecee Beta system without incident, and we are ready to change watches." The hatch slid open to admit S'rat and 35031, and S'ana concluded, "End log entry for this watch." She turned, "I am ready to be relieved, mistress. No incidents or other things to report, a slow watch."
"I relieve you, then," S'rat took the command chair as Mike logged into the Comm system. "Downloading comm traffic, mistress," he said. "Please give me a few minutes."
S'rat nodded; then addressed a nervous 35031, "This watch will require a steady hand with maneuvers, and keeping an eye on the close-approach radar. Do you think you can do this? I will ask S'ana to fly the ship if necessary."
"I think so, mistress," the older slave replied. "I have been practicing with the simulator, I believe I am ready."
"This will require several hours of intensive concentration," S'ana put in from where she stood next to the engineering station. "If necessary, ask for relief between the outer and inner asteroid belts, there is no shame in that. You are still inexperienced."
"If I feel so, I shall do so, mistress." S'ana grunted, and eyed S'rat, who nodded as 35031 logged in at helm.
35031's slave smock stuck to her back with sweat as she concentrated, one hand on the maneuvering joystick, the other on the 'throttle'. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the radar display and the forward viewing panel, as she put the ship in a gentle climb to avoid a tumbling mountain; then slid sideways to avoid its kilometer-sized moonlet. She held that course for a few minutes; then dove to avoid another mountainous piece of rock. She flew steadily on course for a few minutes; then said, "I think that's the last of the outer belt, mistress."
"Give it a few more minutes," S'rat said calmly, but her own nerves were evident in her chewed fingernails. She sat back in the command chair, hiding her ragged nails in her lap. There was silence on the bridge, until Mike cleared his throat, "Mistress? I don't know if you've seen the comm traffic from Windfall and the Governor's office, but we're supposed to offload our cargo slaves to the Farm, wherever that is, and other cargo on the transit station, where it will clear customs. That's where we need to dock first, so we can clear customs and immigration."
"That's where we declare the cargo slaves?" S'rat asked.
"Yes, mistress. We declare them at the station, then normally they'd be shuttled down, but in this case we don't unload them, just handle paperwork on them and then deliver them to the farm, per the Lieutenant Governor's office."
"If those are our orders," S'rat acknowledged. "What else do you have?"
"This is general to the ship, mistress," Mike said, handing over a datapadd. S'rat accepted it, snapping, "Attention to your board!" to 35031.
"Yes, mistress!" she squeaked.
"Clearing the inner asteroid belt, mistress," 35031 reported. She didn't see the Captain standing back and watching, she was so focused on her board and her flying. Her hair was sweat-soaked, as was her white (privately owned) slave smock and skirt.
"Receiving instructions from the station," Mike said.
"Comply," S'rat snapped.
"Yes, mistress," he answered. "Helm, we are to dock at slip ten, arm five. Do you have the beacon on frequency 103.2?"
"Um… yes, master. Main engines on standby, using maneuvering thrusters," there was a rattle. "Tractors have us, thrusters on standby."
"Station reports Portmaster standing by," there was another thump, then rattles and clanks. "Station reports good docking, umbilical connection is green, awaiting pressure hatch release."
"Inform the Portmaster it will be a minute while we change watches," the Captain said. "S'rat, you and your watch stand down, I have the ship. Please escort the Portmaster here."
"Yes, Captain," S'rat said as she finished her entry in the ship's log.
The Portmaster was a thoroughly unpleasant little man with a dark blue cape, who eyed S'rat as if she belonged on display in a cage. Mike took an instant dislike to him as he declared his ownership of his girl. However, the Portmaster didn't like the concept of females doing anything other than serving as collar meat; he didn't like the fact that he had to deal with S'ana or S'rat. He would ignore them and speak to Mike instead; the fact that the Captain would tolerate mere females in the ship's crew, much less as officers was plainly revolting to him.
"Sir," Mike tried again, "As I've said, these slaves are in stasis because they require a different environment. They are water-breathers; they have been properly attested as such by the Tosul Portmaster's office. If we take them out here, they'll die. That's why their stasis tubes are in with general cargo, instead of with the other slaves."
The Portmaster grumbled, "Then why are their tubes hidden behind those other cases?"
"Because there was available space in that hold, sir," Mike replied. "Our cargo holds are filled; we could strap those collaring machines in there, as the stasis tubes only take up a third of that hold. We strapped them in vertically because …"
"Yes, yes, I can see that. Open that case. Third down on the left, two in." Four of the ship's slaves moved boxes to reach the one he specified, then opened it and stepped back. He pawed through it, grunting, "Enhancement kits. We'll need them for all these females. I want one of those long crates opened, fifth down, third in." Again crates and boxes were moved, and he grunted again, "Collar metal. One meter long, certified, it matches. Next hold," and he marched out, waiting impatiently for the slaves to close things up. They left, and he slid down the hatch, putting a seal on it. "What's in this hold?"
"More Enhancement kits, sir," Mike replied, going to the next page on his manifest. "We have that purchase order from the Commerce Ministry."
"Yes, yes. Run by not only a female; but also a slave. Outrageous," the Portmaster commented. "She should be on her knees in front of a proper owner. Only thing to do to a female, collar and Enhance them. They need a strict hand to keep them in their place. Remember that with your own slave; keep her in her place, otherwise females get ideas."
"Thank you, sir, I will. Did you want to see any of these?"
The Portmaster peered through the metal grate, "No, I don't think so," and applied his seal. "Let's go take a look at some of these special ordered slaves. I assume you have their health certificates and so forth?"
"The ones from the slave house, yes, complete documentation. Others we picked up here and there, including an estate sale when the head of the Tosul Slaver's Association died. He was a healer, sir, and we have his records on his slaves."
The Portmaster grunted. "He was a good man, then. That's where you got the fish-slaves?"
"Yes, sir," Mike replied. The Portmaster grunted again, and thawed somewhat. "Good. I want to eye some of those slaves, but it looks like things are good enough. We can't tell with some of these tramp ships, port to port, you know."
"Of course, sir, but we do have a contract with Windfall's government."
The Portmaster waved that off, "Done by that female that's sitting in the Governor's chair, no doubt. Well, at least you report to her deputy," his contempt was obvious. "I'm sure he's got a plan to take over, it's bad enough the Terrans have a queen as their leader. She's certain to foul things up even more…" he said as he walked with Mike.
"Oh, I wanted to punch the sodding bastard," Mike said as he entered his quarters. "Bloody misogynist."
"What does that word mean, master?" 35031 asked as she started to undo Mike's clothing. "You have time for a quick shower, master, before we need to report for moving cargo."
"Means 'woman hater' or 'female hater'," he replied, rolling his shoulders. He walked to his desk, picking up a small, framed photo. "The girl on the left, dark hair, does she look familiar?"
His girl studied the photo, "A younger sister, master?"
"That was me in school, third year, with my best mate, Pansy," Mike said. "My birth name is Millicent, and you know how S'rat went from male to female? I went the other way."
35031 studied the photo; then glanced back and forth. The girl in the photo wasn't ugly, but she wasn't good looking, either, whereas her master was a pleasant young man. "I … I do not understand, master."
"I wasn't happy as a girl, I always felt I had been born in the wrong body, and when my family was killed, I was… well, it wasn't a pleasant year. I had tried to kill myself, and … well, here I am."
"I think you made the right decision, master," his girl said, then returned the photo. "I shall keep that information private, but it does explain some things." She pulled back her long red hair, "Personally, I would rather not live in such an … eye catching body, master. The Captain has also asked me about my freedom, but you need a shower first, master." She shooed Mike toward the fresher.
"So about your freedom," Mike asked. "I was going to do that on Eta Orionis, give a little more push to that particular poke in the eye for you."
"I appreciate the idea, master, but unfortunately that would not be legal," his slave replied. "For now, I am content to remain your slave, the Captain explained that the crew is only playing slave, they are actually free females who have consented to play slave. Others in the crew were actually freed, with dark collars, as they wished. As I am your slave, I was planning to be your room slave in the hotel." She grinned slightly at him, "The planet of Eta Orionis does not allow a slave to be freed except under extraordinary conditions, master. However, if I can accompany you, I can imagine myself a free female, and I would like to see the market. I never had a chance when I was sold off-world; I was cargo, not crew."
"You don't mind waiting, then?"
"No, master, although I hope to be ready to sit the exams for Spacer Fourth there," she replied; then glanced at the ship's chrono. "We need to assist the crew in moving cargo before we depart for the planet, master."
Mike looked around; the Farm was an interesting name for the place. He watched the cargo slaves being unloaded and formed into chains, or coffles, while the main building was an enormous brick structure build into the side of a small mountain. Resident slaves were all wearing tight black gags and leashes, and were either nude worker-slaves, or had pale green slave outfits and glowing rings on their necks connected to their collars, with slave prods hooked on their own slave belts.
"This is a slave house, master," his girl said quietly as she knelt behind him. "I thought the Terrans didn't do that."
"I didn't think so either," he agreed. "I'll find out what I can, nose about and see what you can find out yourself, we'll compare notes."
"Yes, master," she replied, and moved away as he saw a male come out of the building and head toward the offloading crew. The local looked over the ship's crew; then made a course change toward Mike. He noticed the local was also wearing another dark blue cape, and S'rat gave him her datapadd, murmuring, "You deal with him." She moved to 'supervise' S'ana, who was offloading the cargo slaves.
"Greetings," the local called out. Mike waved; moving away from the slaves to meet him. "Beautiful day," he acknowledged.
"Indeed," the local replied. "Are those the clearances from the Portmaster?" Mike handed over the datapadd, and the local studied the information. After a few minutes, he looked up, "The slaves are not Enhanced?"
"Some of them are," Mike replied. "The seven-hundred series slaves, no." He glanced around the small, bowl-shaped valley with the high brick walls topping the ridges. "I would not want to try escaping from this place."
"Which is of course the point," the local said. "Other than by air, there is only one road in or out," and he gestured to one wall. The road was a switchback, reinforced at certain points by more brick construction, with massive gatehouses at the top and bottom. The walls were either natural, or made into sheer cliffs, with the brick fortress walls at the top rising to a uniform height.
"So what's going to happen to all these girls?" Mike asked.
"The animals? The ones that need it will either be Enhanced, or have their Enhancement upgraded," the local said, still going through the manifest. "Some of these are scheduled to go to other locations, like Riverside, or High Town. Others will eventually be distributed to the various seedling colonies. The fish-slaves and others will be held here until we find out differently." He continued to page through the manifest, idly commenting, "The only proper place for a female is collared and kneeling before her owner. I'll be glad to see all the females on this planet wearing a master's collar and Enhanced. A big job, but we can do it."
"I thought the planet didn't have a slave house," Mike commented.
"Required by the Slaver's Guild to hold licensing for the planet and for your ship, since you're contracted to us," the local replied. He handed the datapadd back to Mike, "Want to see the place?"
"Let me check with the Captain first," Mike answered.
"For a single planetary slave house, this is actually a small facility," the local said as he went past the line of incoming slaves. "The Terrans installed computer terminals and other equipment, which you'll see shortly to organize the handling of the slaves. This is much more efficient." Mike watched as a female guard-slave maneuvered an incoming slave between two readers, which clamped against her legs, while she pulled her down so she was bent at the waist, her collar being read by a semi-circular device. She pressed a foot pedal, a light flashed green, and she pushed the new slave on.
"The slave is now registered into our slave house," the local continued. "Your manifest has slaves sorted by collar number and has an end-use for some of them. Some go to Enhancement, others to holding cells for re-collaring or training, and then shipment to their final destinations." He watched the chain of slaves be processed in eerie silence by other slaves, the original slave coffle being broken up as slaves stepped through another barrier, the individual slave's leash being released and added to the back of another slave's leash ring. He motioned Mike on, "We're expecting several hundred slaves from High Town, most of those were Enhanced, but they were discipline problems, so we'll be harsh with them."
"Where are the slaves that are waiting for Enhancement?" Mike asked.
"Down this way," the local said, taking a different door than the slaves were using. "This is a supervisor passage; it has a slave barrier on it as you saw. The slaves that have earned their supervisor rings can use this, the rings turn off the barrier for them."
"I noticed all the slaves were gagged," Mike said.
"Yes, they're still slaves, and it helps in feeding them and reminding them of their collars." He pushed through another door, down a floor, and saw the front of the line that snaked up the sloping passage. Six slaves were being separated from the front of the line, taken to a small cell with a heavy wooden door, and a guard-slave was recording their collar numbers with a bar-code on a panel next to the door. They were knelt and locked in neck rings, the ends of their leashes locked to a central ring, and then the door closed with a 'boom' and was triple-locked. Mike looked in through a heavy steel mesh in the center of the door, there was a dim light above the door, he could see them kneeling side-by-side, three each on either side of the door. The cell was roughly one and a half meters on a side, the girls were shoulder-to-shoulder and almost face-to-face. He watched several of them shift slightly in order to get comfortable as they were held on their knees, the steel neck ring tight around the base of their hoods, holding them so their thighs and torsos were in a line, their breasts on either side of the leash chain. He could see their sweat-slick bodies and the penalty brands on the left thighs on the girls on the right side of the cell. Outside, the cell's LED display had changed to read the slave numbers of the occupants, a yellow cable running up from it into the gloom of the ceiling.
"I've seen Enhancement before," Mike said as he turned away from the cell. "You said you were expecting some slaves who were discipline problems."
"Yes," the local said. "Unfortunately, the current Governor (he almost spat the word) is a female with a dark collar, and so won't allow us to use the full range of corrective measures. At least she's Enhanced, so when the Traditionalists finally consolidate our power, she'll be ready for our discipline. Those chambers are in the lowest level, walking is for slaves. This way, please."
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 07:34 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 12:47 (WFT)
Windfall, Qing, business office:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Peter Chang sipped his tea as he studied the new request for a quotation from the Governor's office in Riverside. 'Hmm,' he pondered. 'While we do not have to ship interstellar, our cabling plant is just now getting up to speed. While this will be good business and good investment, I do not know if we can do some of these things, especially the fiber optic cables.' He made some notes on a cover sheet, inserted the faxed pages into a file folder; then swallowed the rest of his tea. On his way to the teapot for a refill, he gave the file folder to one of his newer girls. "Come, let me buy you a cup of tea and explain how a request for quotation works," he invited.
"Does that mean I can leave this cavern?" she asked with a smile. "I miss seeing the trees and the leaves."
"When Qing's new colony business offices have finished construction, we shall all move there," Peter replied. "I too miss the view, but it is also distracting. Once we have discussed this, you may go to see the new cabling plant – I would like to see it myself." He opened up the file folder, "This is known as a Request for Quotation. It seeks to know how much it would cost to supply these cables…"
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Tuesday, January 21, 2003: 15:58 (GMT)
Fifthday, 8 Tertius, 163, 16:47 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, Taalah, Captain's cabin:
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"Those … sodding bastards, excuse me, Captain. I'm sure there's a better word, but I can't think of it."
"There has been some political changes since we were last here," Mischa replied. "No worries, Mr. Bulstrode, you're only saying what I have been thinking, only in Yiddish. The discipline area?"
"Reminds me of the torture rooms in the Tower of London," Mike replied. He sighed, "Except I must be honest, they looked used, but not currently in use, if you see the distinction. Racks, the wheel, all that looked well maintained, and if I were a misbehaving slave walked past them, I'd be frightened as hell. Bloody hell, I was a visitor, and they made me nervous!"
"And what you did see?"
"Slaves that were still hooded, chained in various ways, I don't know what some of them are called, but with a neck ring and wrists manacled to the side, pulled up and hung on beams, several with a rowing machine that turned a whipping machine that had slaves fastened on it as rowers and whipped, but with flat leather straps. They were bruised, but not much blood. What they described as 'light' discipline; I made appropriate noises to let my guide think I approved and faked a call from the ship."
"Pity we couldn't get video," the Captain commented. "What about your girl?"
"She couldn't find out much, all the slaves here are kept gagged. Can we get out of here?"
"A day or so, we are covered as a slave ship, and thus must appear to approve of this place. Once we do, we'll go to Riverside; I will be speaking with the Governor. When do you wish to free your girl?"
"When she asks me to, Captain. Apparently we can't free her on Eta Orionis, but I've got about three weeks left in my thirty days of ownership."
The Captain grunted, "If we don't see those slaves marching from High Town in a day or so, we'll relocate to Riverside. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed, Mr. Bulstrode."
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Wednesday, January 22, 2003: 16:03 (GMT -8)
Terra, Seattle, King County medical center:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
"Good afternoon," Dr. Clement said as she closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry I'm late, a call I had to take. How are things with you?"
"Eh," the patient, once known as Harleen Quinzell, then Harley Quinn, now under the witness protection program as Harriet (Harri) King, replied as she waggled her hand back and forth. "I'm gettin' there, Doc, but my life is so … well, boring sometimes. There are times when I wish I was back with …"
"With your previous love interest? The one that beat you to the point of hospitalization on numerous occasions?" The doctor gave a snort, "Harri, dear, you're far better off without him, or the life of crime he sucked you into."
"Objectively, I know that," Harri said, springing from her chair and starting to pace. "All I need to do is look in the mirror and count the scars. You also know that women get stuck in relationships that are bad for them because they love their guy and think they can reform him." She snorted; then caught up her water bottle on the pass by her chair. "Not once in the history of th' human race have we succeeded in reformin' a guy. Yet I'm one'a them women. Lots a shrinks tried to get me to break it off, even my gal-pals tried to convince me. It took his murder to break me o' him."
"In the prison shower room," Dr. Clement replied.
"Wi' a bar of soap shoved up his butt, and another one down his throat," Harri acknowledged. She sighed, "That's why I wanted to talk to you today, I think I miss the excitement, the drama, the thrill of crime. Teachin' aerobics just ain't the same."
"Yet it's a lot safer, and less likely to get you killed."
"Safety can be over-rated, doc," Harri replied. "It's boring, is what it is."
"What about the job with the Seahawks' cheerleaders?"
"It's a part-time job, and this is the off-season. We go around, we get paid for appearances, but for some reason th' other girls think I'm loony." Harri grinned, "Maybe I am, doc. I am seeing you."
"You're not loony, Harri, but there are some things you need to figure out, and that's why we get together." Dr. Clement nodded toward the paperwork Harri had brought with her, "You had something to ask me about?"
"Yeah, doc," Harri replied, throwing herself into the chair again. She pulled out a folded newspaper page, "I saw this in th' McPaper, y'know, USA Today, and I talked about it briefly with m' parole officer. He didn't have much time for me, those guys are awful busy, but he suggested I float it with you." Circled in black marker was an eighth-page advertisement with the lead 'Bored?' for IR & S.
"Hmm," Dr. Clement lowered her glasses from her hair to read it over; then looked over those glasses at Harri. "This is off-planet intelligence work. You can read between the lines, Harri."
"Yeah, doc," Harri agreed. "I also went on their web site, they mentioned two things, doc. One was that they needed to penetrate all of a planet's social areas, the other was a criminal background wasn't a show-stopper. Matter of fact, doc, I think that might be a plus."
"You might wind up a collared slave girl, Harri. Or tortured."
"Yeah, doc, that was mentioned in their FAQ," she replied, pulling out a printout. She handed it over, "I been tortured. These are copies for you, doc. I got my own notes. Besides, a collar ain't too different from this ankle transmitter thingy I gotta wear, and a cami an' shorts ain't too diff'rent than a slave smock."
"A point, and thank you," Dr. Clement murmured as she read through her patient's paperwork. She'd check out the web site tonight, but the FAQ she read emphasized that a person would not be considered a slave, even if they were disguised as such. She looked up, "I notice this includes any necessary bio-sculpt work. May I pass this on to other patients?"
"Th' trannies and bondage types you got? Sure, they'd probably flip over it," Harri said. "I saw some slave collars online while I was researchin' this. Th' base straps on th' throat, or has medical adhesive, and takes batteries. Th' rest o' the collar locks into th' base, which powers th' lights. Looks like th' real ones th' off-world slave girls wear, only this unlocks. Not that expensive, either, a couple hundred bucks, just don' lose th' electronic key."
"Yes, that would be bad," Dr. Clement agreed. "I'll look into this tonight, and call your parole officer, Harri. No promises, now."
"Great!" Harri threw out her arms and knocked over the doctor's coffee mug. "Oops. Sorry…"
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Wednesday, January 22, 2003: 23:09 (GMT)
Seconday, 10 Tertius, 163, 16:22 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, the Farm road:
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Slave 50902 was exhausted, but she was still held in the grip of her Enhancement, and thus continued to march in step. She heard the command "Slaves stop," and came to a halt, standing in place even though she wanted to collapse. "We have reached the entrance to the Farm, slaves," and some of the un-Enhanced slaves whimpered in fear. "You will be marched down a long ramp, and therefore your leashes will be shortened. Follow the steps of the slave preceding you precisely, otherwise you will fall off the cliff, and will then be punished. You will be suctioned and watered in your cells, and will be allowed to rest. After that, you will be properly treated as the disobedient, red-collar slaves you are." There were more whimpers of fear as the Mistress' voice continued, "Once I have sold you to the Farm, I will be wealthy, and able to gain power in the Traditionalists."
'Fool,' 50902 thought savagely. 'You are a female as we are, and the Farm will break you, as it will break us to a collar. You may enter a free female; you will leave a collared slave. The Traditionalists only care about a female as they can profit from her. My former Owner convinced me to continue to serve him after I was sold to the Ministry, he said he would extract me, and like a fool, I believed him. You and your guards will be added to our coffle and broken to an Owner's collar.'
Mike Bulstrode looked up as he saw a long line of hooded slaves making their slow way down the switchback road, following a cart. The local official looked up and snorted, "Lady G'na finally makes her appearance with her guards and slaves." Mike made a questioning noise, and the official added, "The slaves from High Town, here for discipline and retraining. She may think she's selling them to us, but we know differently!" He laughed, slapping Mike on his shoulder.
"I hadn't heard," Mike replied.
"Ah," Paacrd, the official explained. "The Ministries in High Town have already 'sold' (he finger-quoted) them to us through inter-department transfer. However, Lady G'na is under the impression that there will be a cash transaction, which we shall allow. Once money changes hands, as a Ministry official, that will be bribery, and she will earn a red collar herself, discipline, and a place on the block when she's slave-trained." He smirked, "The guards are already wearing their collars, but they are not permitted to carry slave prods here, and thus will also receive our hospitality. Truly, females are not particularly clever. However, it is not their fault, they are smaller than males, and thus their brains are smaller and less complex. We must guide and correct them, it is our duty as males, and the best way is to collar and Enhance them."
"And the fish-slaves we are discussing?"
"Are operating from plans drawn up by males," Paacrd replied comfortably. "Even their on-land slaves take direction from males. It is a good idea to use them in construction along the waterfront; it will be done faster and at less cost. However, you must have a male inspect their work. Females are lazy and will not do a good job unless motivated."
"I will pass this on, we simply transport the slaves," Mike replied. "The other slaves we brought back, the ship-building slaves? We need to maintain their health, they are to be treated well, all of them."
"Including the females? You are aware that all slaves are to be Enhanced, it is planetary law…"
"Proposed planetary law, according to the Lieutenant Governor's office," Mike corrected. "It has not passed the Assembly, nor has the Governor signed it. With the new Farm party, it may not pass."
"Brown cloaks, they don't know how to treat a female, much less a slave…" Paacrd grumbled. "The Imperials and the Farmers will be the ruin of our society…"
"Keeping their own house and shop slaves for years, I would disagree," Mike said mildly. "You're just opposed to the proposed taxes on slaves."
"The animals are expensive enough as it is, there is barely any profit to them any more!" Paacrd grumbled. He sighed, "Very well, those animals will be moved to larger cells…"
"With better ventilation?"
"With better ventilation. You would think we were Imperials, we are treating the animals so well…"
"I would never insult you like that," Mike promised.
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Friday, January 24, 2003: 13:02 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, 5th year potions:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
"And Ms. Wayne," Severus said, as he finished with the roll. He flipped the file folder closed, adding "Ms. Wayne, please stay a minute after class. You had a question about a potion."
"Yes, sir," Mattie-alpha replied, and Professor Snape grunted. "Today we shall be brewing the potion we discussed Tuesday morning. This potion has been on the OWL exams for the last thirty-three years, and with good reason, as it is a rather finicky potion. A quarter-stir more or less at certain points will not only invalidate it, it will cause paralysis if not death to the recipient." He set out a rack of vials, "This is the antigen, when you come up to copy the instructions, take one and have it available." He turned with his characteristic swirl of black robes, tapping the board with his wand. The board filled with his tiny, precise script, and he moved away as the students prepared to copy it.
"You mentioned a potion, sir?" Mattie-alpha asked as the class cleaned up.
"Yes," Professor Snape replied, handing over a copy of a potion's listing. "That should do for you when you visit Moscow. You will invite Mr. Ackerly of Hufflepuff to our potions lab for the brewing. Have it and the antigen brewed to my satisfaction by Saturday night. Miss Branstone may assist you if she desires."
Mattie-alpha regarded him, "Mr. Ackerly is to demonstrate to the Hufflepuffs that we have not forgotten Eleanor."
"Precisely; you may give him a précis if you wish." Professor Snape glanced at the clock; then filled out a form. "You will be late for your fourth period class," he said as his own class was filing in. "Off with you."
"So why am I here?" Peter Ackerly asked as they waited for the water in the cauldrons to boil. "Not that I don't appreciate being one of the few outside Slytherin to actually see the mythical potions lab…"
"It could be that you're the only 'Puff in NEWT potions this year," Melissa Baddock said from her own cauldron. She gently tapped in a carefully measured dose of insect wings off a paper disk, giving the potion a quick widdershins stir, then quickly popping a glass cover on the cauldron. She set a digital timer, then stepped back, "It could also be the political factors," she added.
"Political factors?"
"Of course political factors," Ami Bones said from her own bubbling cauldron. "Melissa, a hand here?" Her seventh-year housemate took a step over, holding a quiet conversation as Peter glanced around. In contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of the Hufflepuff common room, he suddenly realized that he was alone with these coiled predators. While he doubted he was at risk physically, he was only a few feet away from Wayne, who had casually overthrown governments and had most recently called forth the Four Horsemen and arch-demons as vengeance to the murder of her fiancé. Furthermore, the Slytherins around him had collectively engineered a bloodless planetary coup to install Wayne as Empress… He swallowed nervously.
"Oh, don't be so bloody nervous," May Branstone told him. "We're not going to EAT you."
"Not without proper seasoning," Sprink Tonks added. "Blimey, we can see the fear rolling off you, mate. Calm down." She sighed, "Right-o. Here it is, spelled out for the 'Puff. Eleanor Branstone is currently trapped in her mind, where she thinks she's a bred slave girl. We need to get the phrase to unlock her and return her to her right mind, along with her mates."
Wayne turned from her cauldron, "Essentially, I need to return them to their right minds. For those political reasons, we have to … pick the lock, so to speak. However, mucking around in someone's mind is a job for specialists, of which there are very few. One of whom I will be meeting with in Moscow next week, and he is Not A Nice Person. He rapes minds to get the information he wants."
"To put it another way," Tonks added. "He burns the library in order to get the one page of one book he wants."
"My job is to deal with him," Wayne commented, double checking her potion's instructions. "This will help me deal with him."
"But this … it's a Dark potion…" Peter said weakly.
"Dark is in the eye of the beholder," Ami Bones replied. "The Cruciatus when used against a sentient is considered illegal, and an Unforgivable, but that's only in England, contrary to what the Ministry wants you to believe. Cross into Wales, or Scotland, or Ireland, it's perfectly legal."
"Not a nice spell, but there are far, far worse," Wayne said, and Peter remembered former Minister Fudge casting Crucio on Wayne. "What I have in mind for this is defensive, and I'll give the antidote to President Putin."
"Well, I guess …" Peter reluctantly conceded. "I'm representing Hufflepuff…"
"I said he'd get it," Ami claimed happily. "Pay up, you lot!"
"We had to lead him by the bloody nose," Tonks grumped, tossing Ami a galleon.
Peter sighed in relief as the door to the Hufflepuff common room closed behind him. Charlie Adams looked up, gave him a quick grin, "How was your visit to the Serpent's Den?"
"Bloody hell," Peter said as he collapsed into a sofa. "You're a braver man than I am to be engaged to one."
"Oy, you dissing my girl?" Charlie asked. "I like the snakes. So what about this potion you were brewing with Mattie?"
Peter shuddered, "She … she deals with Queens and Presidents…"
"Don't play poker with her, with any of them," someone commented. "It's true; you need a Slythie to deal with a Slythie."
"Bloody cowardly lot, you are," Charlie said, slamming his book closed. "I can see this isn't going to be a rational discussion. You went to brew that potion to see that Mattie hasn't forgotten our housemate Eleanor. Don't play chess with them either, you won't last three bloody moves. She's showing loyalty, admittedly in her own way. She could very easily write off Eleanor, not even in her year or house; and she's only one slave girl, but Mattie has to worry about the problems of an entire bloody star empire! Why do you think she's taking classes with the Queen of England? It's not like there are college courses on it!" He stacked his books before picking them up, "Goodnight, everyone."
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Sunday, January 26, 2003: 08:55 (GMT +3)
Terra, Moscow, the Kremlin Armory:
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The fire flared green in the underground room, Crystal taking a step out and looking around as Mattie and Connie followed her. The uniformed FSO officer nodded politely, ("Papers, please.") he asked in Russian. Crystal offered her official government passport and her SO-1 identification, he examined them and compared them to his list. Handing them back, he braced to attention, ("Welcome to Moscow. Papers, please?")
Connie stifled a yawn, shook her head; and then said, ("Excuse me; I'm still on London time.").
("That's fine, Mother wanted to meet you, Father has something to do at the office,") a young woman in the limo said. A bodyguard leaned close and whispered in her ear. ("Oh, I'm so sorry! Vasily reminded me that we hadn't formally met. I'm Maria Putina, this is my sister Katja, and since this is Sunday we were going to go see what's new at GUM. I understand you're going to Poland next week…")
Katja just closed her eyes and squealed, drumming her boots on the limo's floor. ("Okay. I'm okay, but you're like, a celebrity! The Tsaritsa! You're … famous!") She gave another squeal, then said, ("I'm sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't be an obsessed fan girl…") She took a few deep breaths, ("I just love your outfits, especially those boots!")
("Your dad is the President of Russia,") Connie replied dryly in Russian.
("But he's just … Dad,") Maria said. ("Without all this, nobody would give us a second glance,") and she waved her hand in a circle. The limo pulled through a curtain wall, stopping in front of a smaller triangular building. ("Here's home, the Senate building.") Uniformed guards opened the doors of the stretch ZIL, standing to attention. ("Oh, it must be so exciting to travel and see new things!")
("And get body parts chopped off,") Crystal said.
("Thank you for saying that,") Vasily said dryly. ("I have said the same thing many times, but do they listen? No, of course not!")
Mattie stopped in the courtyard, ("You need to strike a bargain, like I have with Crystal. I let her know ahead of time, and she arranges security to be as invisible as possible. She even did a lot of my Christmas shopping for me.")
("Not that it was a particularly fun Christmas… God, I still see my mom lying in a pool of blood on Fifth Avenue…") Connie turned away for a minute, and was the recipient of a group hug from the other women, while the men stood around uncomfortably. After a minute, throats were cleared, and Katja held Mattie at arms' length, ("You … you summoned the Four Horsemen. You melted down New York, and declared war on the Chinese. What kind of power does that take?")
("You heard that?")
("Tsaritsa, everyone on the entire planet heard that,") Vasily said dryly. ("We watched those events on television, what you spoke was in English, with subtitles in Russian, but I was in the duty room, and I heard it in Russian. We all did. Beautiful, perfect Russian, not like the implant translation you're using today, with the minor errors.") He regarded her, ("Tsaritsa, what are your intentions?")
("To learn, for the both of us,") she replied. ("There are no college courses, no textbooks on how to govern an Empire, much less start one up. There are history books, and they teach mistakes, which I hope to learn from and not repeat. However, I will make mistakes; I know that. All I can do is to see how things are done now, and from as many different people as I can. The Russian system is different from the British, the German, the American, and so forth.") She gestured at Crystal, ("One thing she doesn't like, and I understand why, is my desire for that common contact. I want to know what the common citizen thinks; I want to be their advocate against the professional politicians. If it gives the security people ulcers and grey hair, then I regret that, but its information I need to know.") She shrugged, ("Yes, it increases my risk. I wear body armor, and I follow the security people's suggestions, but I still need to go to things like trade shows and job fairs.")
("See why I'm going grey?) Crystal said.
("Lyudmila Aleksandrovna Putina, you are not going,") Vladimir said to his wife. ("This is a time for the girls, you have them all the time, let the girls go with the Tsaritsa and her comrade and have some fun as teenage girls. They will be fine; Vasily will keep them from getting into too much trouble.") He turned to Mattie, ("Tsaritsa, take your time, enjoy Moscow. I doubt you get the chance to play tourist much. Tomorrow we shall work, you will study and learn, but today is a day off. You have sufficient funds?")
("Daaad!")
("Dad was right, I don't get the chance to play tourist,") Maria said, and Katja nodded, adding, ("I want to see Gotham City! I hear it's exciting!")
("Exciting?") Connie asked. ("I've been there. Exciting isn't the word.") She turned to Vasily, ("If she does, take an armored division. One for each of them.")
("At least,") Crystal put in. ("They're starkers, mate. Cold, blooming, out of this world stark raving mad. That's why she has no sense, that's where she grew up.")
("Hey, do I dump on New York? Or London?")
("YES!")
("Welcome to Rosbank, how may I help you?") the perky young teller asked.
("I need to get a cash advance in rubles, what credit cards do you accept? American Express?") The teller nodded, ("That would be fine, miss, with some form of ID.") Digging her wallet out, Mattie said, ("I have two accounts there, and I want to do some shopping. Can you take a Centurion card?") and she held out a black AMEX. The bank teller blinked at that, then hesitantly took it, ("It's … metal, not plastic.")
("Titanium, actually, and my passport, will that do?") She pulled off her woolen cap, stuffing it in a pocket of her black leather coat, and the teller looked from her, to the card, to the passport, then back to her, and gave a short scream. ("It's the Tsaritsa! Tsaritsa Wayne is here! In my bank! At my window! Oh, my God!")
("I guess so…")
("I just hope she doesn't try to sell that account number, it happened in Greece,") Mattie said as they rested in a tea shop. Vasily and Crystal, along with an assortment of FSO uniformed guards kept the onlookers away, although there were the flashes from press photographers and various people held up phones to snap photos. She took a gulp of her coffee, and then asked, ("What are your plans for the future? College?")
Maria, the eldest by a year, and eighteen, nodded. ("I graduate in May, and I can get into any college in the Russian Federation, but I'm thinking of taking a gap year and doing some traveling. I want to see the world, maybe the stars, now.")
("How are your foreign languages, like English or Japanese?") Mattie asked.
"Like your Russian," Maria replied in English. "I do well in school, but not in fast speaking. Still, am not bad, da? We practice speaking in English?"
("If I can practice in Russian,") she replied. ("We correct each other? It is 'I' am not bad, 'yes'.")
"Machine translation not … is not bad, but you still have… have an accent that marks you as foreigner. You … you will make a poor CIA against brave Russian KGB agent," Katja put in. She finished her tea; then said, "Come, Tsaritsa. We help you get fine Russian fur coat for mild Polish winter."
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Monday, January 27, 2003: 08:55 (GMT +1)
Terra, Warsaw, Babice Airport:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Vasily Danilov turned away from his computer, looking out his window at the snow in thought. They had a week's reprieve; the Empress would be going to Moscow next week, instead of Poland. However, as the head of the Imperial Bureau of Shipbuilding, it fell on him to explain why they still did not have a working engine plant. They currently had half-a-dozen warships in various states of completion, yet the only way they had to move was the in-system grav drives. There was the new design being worked on in the Deimos shop, yet that had only been piloted once. It had shown some significant questions, the most important being if it scaled to move a starship, or could only be used by fighter-sized craft. He sighed, finished his tea, and went to fetch a refill and think.
Frau Gersten sipped her coffee while she looked out the window at the snowstorm. The Imperial Bureau of Shipbuilding had taken over their office, and while there were still a good percentage of engineers, there was now an additional layer of bureaucracy. 'Then again, we have more resources now…' she mused as she looked over the general aviation airport, poorly located near the center of Warsaw, a few kilometers to the northwest. Now, instead of doing honest engineering work, she was tasked with compatibility planning for quotations and bids for new small craft designs.
She took another sip of coffee, finishing the mug, and thought of her husband. 'I don't envy Franz his new colleagues,' she thought. He had to deal with leading the new French designers, some of who hadn't wanted to leave Paris, and wanted to keep to their own designs instead of using the standardized designs. 'Germans and Russians may forgive, but Germans and French will never get along,' she thought of the old saying, then stood, and moved down the hall to the tea-room for a refill.
Marcel looked out at the snow, hands cradled around his mug of coffee. 'Warsaw. Why did I agree to come here?' he asked himself. 'Oh, yes, because EADS was bought out, and relocation seemed like a good deal, especially when I am just out of school, and they paid the expenses. Of course, God must hate me; I have a German boss...' He took a gulp of coffee; then turned back to his workstation. His task group was to review and modify the standard Imperial tech into an interstellar cargo vessel, starting with the EADS design.
Other groups would take the original EADS design for in-system cargo use and modify it for export construction, so colony planets in the Empire could build their own shipping. Still other groups worked on designs with the Imperial Weapons board for missile ammunition colliers and other supply ships.
Yu Chang looked out at the snow, and the framework of the new building going up. The Polish construction workers didn't seem to mind the three-meter drifts of snow, or the sub-freezing temperatures. However, northern Europe was a far cry from Formosa and the Republic of China, where she had family. Traveling thousands of kilometers to start a new job after college, China was still very traditional. Female engineers were rare, and had lead to screaming matches with her mother. She shivered, she could feel the cold wind seep through her window, and pulled her heavy sweater closer. Perhaps another cup of hot tea…
"Oh, I am too late," Yu said as she saw the depleted tea-pot.
"I shall show you how to make tea in the traditional Russian way," Vasily told the tiny Chinese woman. "This is known as a samovar, come, we shall have a sit while the water boils. Now tea, known as zavarka, is a concentrate, heated here, on top. It is mixed to preference, usually at strength of ten percent or so." He gestured for the young woman to have a seat, asking, "You are cold?"
"I can feel the wind coming through my window," she said with a shiver. She pulled her outer sweater tighter; then put her mittened hands under her arms.
"The cold makes your hair grow!" Vasily replied heartily. "You need proper clothing. Give me your sizes; I will have my daughter look around Moscow for you. She will be visiting next month, she can bring something or we can have it shipped." The samovar whistled, and Vasily asked, "Your tea, strong or weak?"
"Weak, please." He took Yu's mug, and made her a cup. "There, about fifteen-to-one." He passed it to her as he fixed his own mug, sitting down at the table again as she took a cautious sip. She sputtered, waving her hand, "Oh, my God is that strong!"
"Really?" Vasily took a tiny sip of hers; then passed his own over. "Good Russian tea."
"I didn't say I didn't like it," she replied, trying his; then returning to her own. "I think I'll be happier when we're not so crowded and the new building is finished."
"I know the mock-up and machining sections will be," he agreed. "The computer design is wonderful, but I prefer putting my hands on something." He sat back as she pulled her mittens and the underlying gloves off, wrapping her hands around the mug. "So what brings you to Warsaw with its light snowfall?"
"Light?"
"Light. This is nothing compared to Mother Russia. We can easily get three meters or better overnight."
"Family," she sighed. "My family is very traditional, and thought I should have gone into a more traditional female trade…" as she unburdened herself.
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Wednesday, January 29, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)
Windfall orbit, M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller, Bridge:
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Eight bells had sounded for the morning watch, and Captain Komatsu regarded the figure on the comm screen. "This is delicate equipment," he said to the navy-blue caped man on the screen. "Shipped under very specific environmental conditions; and I will be liable if there is damage." For a minute he wished that Ms. Parkinson were still on board, but she was back on Earth, and had sent Ensign Rose Zeller, a young British woman. "You are more than welcome to send someone to examine the equipment upon installation, but I cannot permit you to break seals. Once you have accepted the equipment for transshipment…"
"And I am telling you that I cannot allow uninspected equipment to pass without opening it up."
"Accept it, then have someone accompany it dirtside," the Captain suggested. "Or, have one of your people accompany our shuttle down. Once it is again in those environmental conditions, you can break seals as long as you attest that you opened the equipment. The people that came out with us to install it will be more than happy to answer any questions. I am sure you understand liability…"
The official grunted, "Wait," then flicked on his wallpaper as a hold pattern. The Captain looked at the graphic of Windfall Customs before sighing and looking to his right. "Ms. Zeller, anything new from the Taalah?"
"Yes, sir," she replied. "The fish-slaves are held in stasis tubes at the slave farm, their dry-land sisters are held waiting distribution orders. The Taalah's Captain was able to get better holding conditions, but they're still held in slave cells until the farm receives release orders. Same thing with the shipbuilding slaves and their cargo of tools and equipment, awaiting release orders from the Governor's office, or rather, the Lieutenant Governor, sir." She swallowed, "Sir, we've also gotten information that the land in Archimedes Crater back home is prepped as far as they can, they need more detailed information. We also need to find out what equipment needs replacement and what supplies are needed before we stop at Tosul or Eridani III. The Taalah's Captain is ready to talk about that, they've transmitted up their information."
The Captain grunted, "Call Taalah back, let them know I'll call their Captain back as soon as I've finished dealing with this … baka idiot." Ms. Zeller turned back to her panel as the wallpaper disappeared and the Customs official appeared. Captain Komatsu put on a pleasant smile, "Well, sir, what has been decided?"
"When you dock, you will transfer over all cargo destined for Windfall other than that sensitive equipment. I will accompany your shuttle down, along with your technicians. Females and slaves being sold here will of course go to the Farm for in-processing and any necessary Enhancement. That's required by law."
"I see," the Captain replied. "We're not offloading any slaves, and any females are free women, not slaves."
"Same thing," the Customs official sneered. "Females, slaves… However, it is not yet law to collar and Enhance free females, although we're working on it. They'll have to wear a tracking collar, though."
"Is that law?"
The Customs officer grumbled; then finally admitted, "It's recommended…"
"But not law," the Captain replied. "That will of course be their choice. However, the cargo shuttle does not have passenger accommodations; you'll need to join our personnel on a passenger shuttle. Once we have docked, we shall be happy to have you."
"Until then," the Customs official said, and disconnected. Hikaru Komatsu spat "Baka. I want to piss him off. Who do we have that's collared?"
"Igor in Medlab and the machinery crew are Enhanced, skipper," Gisele Erhardt replied from the helm. "I'm taking my time, doing a nice, careful docking. It's too bad most of the IBM techs are guys. Can we get some of the women disguised as security troopers or techs?"
"Good idea, Lieutenant," Hikaru approved. "Ensign Zeller, brief in Second Officer Park and the IBM guys. See if we can do two personnel flights. Pity we can't go, he'd recognize us as bridge crew and think something was up."
"We'll have to live vicariously, sir," Gisele agreed.
"Good morning," Michelle said pleasantly to the grumpy Customs official. "I am Second Officer Park. The Captain and First Officer Yakolev are dealing with another matter. I have here a manifest of all cargo being offloaded to Windfall," and she offered a datapadd.
"Female," he almost spat. "Where are the passengers offloading here?"
"In this meeting room, sir," she said politely. "Two shuttles, each of twenty persons in addition to the cargo flight. You can choose one; I will be on the other one. This way, sir…"
"…arrogant bastards, aren't they?" the Captain asked from the Taalah. "I've got my Comm officer dealing with them, my First is First Girl; my Second is wearing a dark collar. Mike, my Comm officer comes back aboard and hits the speed bag in the gym. The slavers on Tosul weren't as bad as these Traditionalist bastards are."
Hikaru chuckled, "My First actually requested relief from that duty, but you know how passionate Russians can be. My Second is Korean, and has a great poker face she's hiding behind. Inscrutable Asians, don't you know." He took a sip of tea, "To business. I've gotten an update from Sir Cuthbert regarding the disposition of various slaves and equipment; you should have received an information copy. Once the IBM and Cisco equipment and such is offloaded and processed through our friends in Customs, and we have poked a sharp stick in the local bureaucrats' eyes, we can withdraw our temporary 'techs' back to the ship and depart."
"With the Earth-bound slaves and their equipment," the Captain added. "I sent up a priority list of kit and parts our shipyard techs said was needed."
"I have that," Hikaru replied. "I have also received a request from Sir Cuthbert that Parkinson Construction transship the property of Windfall to Earth, we have submitted an invoice for this, along with the request that the aforementioned slaves be recollared. Will the Taalah be able to perform this for us?"
"To prevent and detect any un-authorized … programming? Of course, at the rate of fifty grams per slave. Very little profit, there." Both Captains smiled; then Hikaru Komatsu nodded. "I will so inform Sir Cuthbert, and he will cut the appropriate orders. When you see Michelle, please give her a full briefing."
"Of course. On to other business…" the Captain replied.
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Thursday, January 30, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)
Windfall orbit, M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller, Deck 5:
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
"Good morning, I am Second Officer Michelle Park," she said to the newly boarded manufacturing slaves, while Gisele worked through them, removing their hoods, leashes and other equipment. "Release. I regret that we don't have better accommodations for you, this is a construction ship, not a passenger or slave ship. We will be removing the various items you're wearing, please stay on this deck and in this conference room. You have been bought by the planetary government of Windfall, which we are currently orbiting. Some of you have been biosculpted and mentally reprogrammed, we shall do what we can to reverse that. We apologize for that; it was a miscommunication. Once we break orbit, we shall travel to Tosul and then to Eridani III to acquire new equipment, then on to the Terran Empire's homeworld where you will set up a new manufacturing plant on the planet's moon. Under the moon's surface, I should say." She gestured, "Gisele is your liaison; we want your input on the best equipment and designs for the shop and other facilities." She nodded again and left.
"You two," Gisele tapped the two slaves she had just freed of their equipment. "Please continue with the others," and she moved up toward the front of the room. "Can everyone at least hear me? Deck five is a crew deck, and this room, A, and the one across the passage, B, are normally used for recreation rooms. The ship's healer or her assistant will be coming by to bring you to med lab for a medical check, and while we have your records, it's best just to check." She checked the notes the Skipper wanted her to go over; then looked over the slaves in the room. "When I finish this briefing, if your collar ends in an even number, like zero, two, four, I want you to stay in this room, odd numbers like one, three and so forth go across the passage into 'B'. Those two rooms will be where you'll be staying during the flight." She checked off an item, "As Ms. Park said, we are installing a new manufacturing plant for engines, environmental gear and other equipment. We want your input, I'm sure that while you were working on other ships on Tosul you had ideas on how to do things better, but as a slave couldn't suggest it."
"My mistress, this slave does not understand…"
"Ah. If you were biosculpted and are confused, please kneel on that side of the room. The slave house, as Ms. Park said, did some mental reprogramming in error when they biosculpted and Enhanced you. We'll need to reset that." She took a sip of water as a number of slaves moved about. When they had settled down, she activated her holo projector, "This is a layout of the land Windfall has purchased, and includes quarters for you. It is tunneled under the surface of the moon, so it's shielded from radiation, vacuum-tight, lit and heated to a standard 20° and should be fairly comfortable. As the equipment is the property of the Windfall system government, as you are, we'll need to design the most efficient layout for both incoming raw materials such as sheet metal, as well as packaging for shipment."
She looked around, "As I understand it, you built small ships one-at-a-time, to order, and each of you built a single ship, which must have taken months."
"How else would it be done, my mistress?" one of the biosculpted, Enhanced slave girls said.
"You have multiple assembly lines, which move the product from point-to-point. Those lines eventually merge, where the sub-assembly joins the main assembly. Let's take a small ship as an example, like a shuttle. It has a power plant, engines, environmental, sensors, and control deck, all fit into a framework which is launched and recovered to and from a ship." Some of the slaves nodded warily, Gisele thought more because they were 'humoring our new, crazy mistress' than anything else. "While there is some more complex design work to make certain everything fits together and works correctly, it means that once the glitches and mistakes are corrected, we can build a shuttle in a few hours, instead of months."
"That … that is not possible, my mistress," the slave said.
"Why not? Did I miss a part? The key thing is to standardize, and move the task." She moved to a different slide, "Instead of one person doing all the work, to the customer's order, the customer selects options off a menu. Let's look at that shuttle. If we want a pressurized cargo shuttle instead of a passenger shuttle, we make our choices from a menu, and when the order comes through, instead of putting in seats for passengers, we pull a set of different, pre-assembled modules. We're going to ship farm animals in a container, so we install environmental connections for those containers, as well as gravity plates, a larger rear hatch, and so forth. However, the flight deck controls are the same, as is the power plant and engines. There might be additional panels to control those connections, but those are standardized, plug-in modules, the flight controls are the same. The sensors, all that other equipment is the same. So a pilot can fly a cargo delivery today, and then later that day, in a different shuttle, fly passengers."
The slave's brow was furrowed, "My mistress, you have two different shuttles. You would need two different pilots, two different crews…"
"No, because the controls are the same. Once the pilot is trained to fly one, she can fly anything of that same type. When the shuttle needs maintenance, it's a routine operation with common, standard parts. If one of the major subsystems needs to be changed, like an engine, it's a routine operation, and a tested replacement is simply bolted in and connected. It's tested, and the shuttle is back in service." She looked around, "What we will be doing is designing and building those common, standard parts and subsystems, so what two or three of you will be doing is working out how to take standard parts and assemble them in a consistent manner. Instead of one of you taking a month to build an engine from bare metal, you have a framework for that engine, and as it moves down a line, parts get added to it until it gets to a final testing point." She looked around, "While that engine is being worked on by others, you will be working on the next one, installing the first parts into that bare frame; then moving that to the second group while you get a new frame from those people, and install a new set of parts." She gestured with her hands, "From one, to the next, to the next, to the next."
"If those parts are heavy, or delicate, my mistress?" another slave asked. "Once the engine is finished testing, then what?"
"Think of the branches on a tree," Gisele replied. "The smallest ones lead into larger, which lead into larger. If the parts are heavy, there is equipment there designed to move it from a storage cradle to the frame, where it would be connected. If it is delicate, other equipment is designed to move and store it, although we would want to know why that part is delicate. It might be reworked or re-engineered for greater strength, or be listed as a routine maintenance part. Once that engine has passed testing, it's moved into other storage, to be taken out in its turn and added to a ship's frame."
Several of the slaves looked at each other. "There would be a much longer time in the design and testing area, my mistress," one finally ventured.
"Yes. Some things can be automated, others can't. We'll need a set of eyes and a working brain to see and correct problems. Building the frame for the engines and other parts can be automated, as that's just bending and welding steel, but seeing that a wire isn't quite long enough to reach from one point to another, and could be another two centimeters longer is something that needs a brain." Gisele looked around, "We're just building a shipyard, and the three things we're stuck on are the jump drive engines, the life support and environmental and the inertial control. We need to figure out how to build them, in all sizes, from shuttle to battlecruiser, and how to automate the process as much as we can. We also need to figure out the flow of materials, storage and testing. You know what you worked with on Tosul, and we've got those tools and those computers and such. However, we also see they're in desperate need of maintenance. If buying parts to fix that will get us going, say so. If spending a little tungsten for a much better machine will do it, say so, but remember that scale, and common parts. If a machine will produce a part that can be used in everything from a shuttle to a battlecruiser, that's good, but if it can only produce battlecruiser parts, that we'd have to think on. We're building both civilian ships like this, as well as warships, and if you run into problems that your group can't figure out, come to me."
She looked around, "You know who did what. I want you to decide on working groups for those three items, and a design for the merger of assemblies into a ship; as well as the best layout for the area as a whole. We'll then…" the door slid open, and Gisele turned. "Good morning, Igor. Here for your first victims?"
"Yes, mistress, in collar order." Gisele waved her in, "This is Igor, from the med lab. Please give her your full cooperation. While she takes you to and from the med lab, I'm going to start resetting these girls over here." She clapped her hands, "Diagrams and such up front, take one each, a legal pad and a pencil, please."
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
Friday, January 31, 2003: 08:09 (GMT)
Firsday, 19 Tertius, 163, 08:22 (WFT +2)
Windfall, Island, the Farm:
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There was the hiss of an injector, and the young woman groggily sat up. "Where … where am I?"
"Ah, Lady G'na joins us again," she heard. "Lady G'na wishes to sell those slaves to us, including her guard slaves. Unfortunately, that would constitute fraud and would gain the Lady G'na a visit with the Terran's falling blade; her pretty head would decorate a pole on High Street."
"What? That's a legal sale, and they're all collared slaves! Collar meat! What have you done to me? Why can't I see? What do you have in me?" She struggled, "I'm bound like a slave! I am not a slave! Get this blindfold off me! Release me!"
"You are a female, Lady G'na, and thus there is no distinction between you and a slave. However, I will concede, in law, you are not currently a slave. We shall release you from our machine, and turn you over to the Terrans, along with our evidence of your corruption. It is sufficient to guarantee your execution." He waited, letting the young woman consider this. Her face under the blindfold paled. "No…" she whispered. "You can't… I support you…"
"But you are a female…" He let her think; then said, "You have another choice."
"A collar? I would be a slave!"
"But you would be alive, and the Terrans do not like to execute slaves. They will give a judicial collar, a red collar, and you would be Enhanced, but you would be alive…"
She struggled again for a few minutes, then her shoulders slumped, and she murmured something. "I did not hear you, Lady G'na."
"Collar me, I will cross my wrists to the Crown," she whispered, her wrists held behind her as she sat on the various connections for her slave belt. She took a deep breath, "As a free female, I request the Crown's collar and Enhancement as my punishment."
"Lean forward, Lady G'na, and be collared."
Dr. George Brenner waited for his next patient. He was working with a Prime Healer, and learning quite a lot, but the downside was that it was in the Traditionalist stronghold of the Farm. The Healer he worked with was already collared and Enhanced, she had been bought on Tosul, the property of the head of the Tosul's Slavers' Guild. She was an extremely attractive redhead, one of the Chase Slave models.
The slave was brought in, and George could tell she was a local. She wore a judicial red collar, her hands cuffed behind her, and she knelt, "Master, I am to request Enhancement."
"In the tank, girl," George said, and watched as she struggled in. "When the tank starts to fill, breathe deeply, you will not drown," he told her as 73536 (the Prime Healer) secured her in the surgical frame. He unwrapped a new Enhancement kit, checking the contents as the slave's work order came up on his terminal. The new slave struggled a bit, the tranquilizer and painkiller quieting her as she breathed the clear fluid in. The Prime Healer stood back, "Master, on this one I will stand back and assist you to perform the entire procedure. I will only intervene if necessary."
"All right," he replied, already concentrating on the procedure. "Raise her to operating height, and lower her head, please."
The freshly-Enhanced slave sneezed, expelling the last of the operating fluid, then moaned in pain. George helped her up as 73536 said, "She needs to have her collar synchronized with her Enhancement, and then to rest, master. We can do this; we do not have another procedure scheduled for fifteen minutes." George checked the work order, then picked up the slave and carried her down the hallway to the collaring machine as she whimpered in his arms, "I'm a slave… I'm a slave now… I've been Enhanced … Source, I'm a slave now…"
George checked his schedule; then cleaned up his working chamber. "What a day. How many of these Enhancements have you done?"
"In one day, master? Twenty or so, I do not remember precisely. Of course, these last four were more complex, with the additional discipline boosters installed in their groin." She finished her side of the room, and looked around, "I would like to get a breath of air before going back to my cell, master. May this slave accompany you, master?" She tapped her collar, and he nodded in understanding. "I would enjoy that as well as talking with you about the slaves you modified for your former master." He eyed her, "The Enhancement really doesn't hurt?"
"No, master, not after the collar is synchronized with it." She looked sideways at him, "The forced speech is irritating, master, but we are slaves, after all. I am somewhat surprised that you are willing to take direction from me, as I am a female slave, and you are a free male, master."
"You know more than I do, why should I object?" he asked as they came to the barred gate. He told the guard, "She's with me," and the Traditionalist said, "Cuff yourself, slave, and please him."
"Yes, my master," she replied, and cuffed herself. She fell back to trail him, and George stepped out onto the path. They walked in silence until they were out of sight of the guard, and then George sat on a low brick wall, while the girl knelt in front of him. She sighed as well as she could with her Enhancement; then looked at the sky.
"You look like you want to talk about something, so get it off your chest," he said. She frowned at the phrase, and he said, "Say what you want, it's just you and I, and I'm not your master, I'm just George, a colleague."
She eyed him, thinking. This was a Terran, and her previous limited experience with them had been good. This one had been agreeable, and polite with her, even though he was a large, free male, and she was an Enhanced female slave. What decided her was the fact that he acknowledged his inexperience and followed her directions, asking intelligent questions. She decided to take a chance; after all, the worst that could happen would be her death, which would finally free her.
"I hate my collar, master," she started, and waited for his reaction. He gave her a small nod, and waited patiently. She warily continued, "I am female, and slave. I must kneel to others…"
"Who are not your equal, but are simply superior to you based on their genetics," he said carefully. "You are an extremely intelligent and clever person who must kneel to …" he looked around carefully before concluding. "…your mental inferiors simply because they are male." He looked around again; and then added, "In your situation, I would also."
"YES!" she almost spat; then looked at him warily. He gave a small smile; then motioned for her to sit next to him. In a moment of rebellion, she shook her head, "I hate being a slave, and a female. I am jealous of you and other males, and while I know the Source desired this for me, I wonder why. What did I do in a previous life to earn not only female, and slave, but a life as a bred slave, master?"
He waited for a minute as she settled back; then offered, "You look good."
"I know I do. I was bred and designed to look good, to be an eye-catching, attractive female slave, master. I was bred to kneel in front of a master, and smile. While I am grateful to my former owner for giving me training in something other than serving as a mere house slave, that does not change the fact that I hate this body," she said through gritted teeth.
"So let's look at this logically," George said quietly. "I don't know of any way to remove Enhancement, or a linked collar. Do you?"
"No, master," she almost spat. "If there is one, I would certainly not be informed of it."
"So there's nothing we can do about that." She grimaced and nodded. "That does not change my dislike."
"Of course not," he agreed. "Now we Terrans have a legend of the genie in the bottle. This is a zarroj, usually female, that appears when her bottle is found and grants anywhere from one to three wishes. However, one must think through the request, if you simply asked to be male, you might be turned into a male farm animal destined for the dinner table. Now, (he rubbed his hands together), we have a genie that has appeared, and has granted you a wish. What is it?"
She blinked, thinking. She murmured aloud, "Clever, master zarroj. Very clever. If I wish for the end to slavery, it will destroy the economy in all of the thirty-one known galaxies. If I wish for the removal of my own Enhancement, that would still leave me female, and slave, and would not benefit others." She looked at him, "I shall have to think on this."
"Then I shall give you something else to consider, my friend," George said. "A few hundred years ago, on the homeworld, I would have had to kneel as a slave, a field slave, because of the color of my skin. Unfortunately, slaving still goes on, but it is very covert, as it is now illegal and a moral outrage on Earth, on the homeworld. It is mostly young women who are taken from their homes, which is why it evokes such passion among Terrans; it is driven by shame. You know my blood is just as red as yours is, and there is no real difference between you and my sisters. We see slaves, we see our history, and we can easily imagine our sisters and daughters being forced to kneel and wear their own collars. It enrages us, but it is not the fault of the young women who we work with. You, and they, are innocent victims, and that adds to our rage, yet we have no place to vent that rage. I, we, would like to see the elimination of slavery, but that is currently beyond our power. The smug attitude of the Traditionalists, like that guard, makes me want to beat him bloody, but that wouldn't solve anything." He gestured to her, "I would buy you, but that would help only you, and put me on the same level as the Traditionalists, and it would not solve the problem for your sisters. Tell me, what would you do in my place?"
She regarded him, "I am still jealous of you, master. You are male, and free."
"And I know of males that would be jealous of you, a female. They would love to be female, and some would not object to a collar." She raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and he nodded. "As part of my medical training, we worked in different specialties of medicine; one of mine was psychology, treating illnesses of the mind. There are those who are convinced they have been born into the wrong body, for whatever reason. Females that should have been born males, and males who look on females with jealousy, they feel the same. In this situation, females have more latitude in the way they dress and appear, if I tried to wear a free female's clothing I would not only look ridiculous, but also face possible arrest. Women don't have that problem, at least to that extent."
She sat back, thinking, then gave a small chuckle, "The mental images are amusing," she admitted. "I would look strange in a free male's clothing."
He was silent for a moment, then chuckled himself, agreeing. "However, you would not face arrest as I would, you would simply be considered odd. My point is that we are all different people, and some people look on a collar as an escape from the pressures of life. They would only need to do as others said, not to make decisions or deal with those demands, or gain sexual pleasure from kneeling and crossing their wrists."
"They would soon regret that decision, master."
"But it would be their decision," he replied, and looked around. "For your own information, none others, but I have heard a rumor that slaves would be allowed an 'opt-in' to their collar." She raised an eyebrow, and he continued, "This is rumor, not confirmed, and I doubt it would happen here, but a slave would be allowed to buy her collar and become a free female, although still collared, or choose to cross her wrists to a master, or go on the block to be sold."
"That… I could be a free female?"
"Perhaps; I don't know the details, and like I said, it's a rumor, not confirmed. You don't want to go spreading false information…"
"Especially here, master. The Traditionalists would not like that at all, and would extract painful punishment on any slave that spread false news." She shuddered, "I shall keep that information private, master," and she sighed, "Master, what will happen to this slave and my sister slaves now that we have been bought by the planetary government?"
He grunted, "The fish slaves, and the others in your group? Let me make a call or two, and I'll see what I can find out. You're working with me tomorrow?"
"I believe so, master. Perhaps we can enjoy another walk then." There was a rumble of thunder, and they both looked at the sky. "Let me walk you back to where you're supposed to be," he offered.
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Friday, January 31, 2003: 18:11 (GMT)
Terra, Hogwarts, Severus Snape's office:
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Severus put down his knife and fork as the fire turned green, and two figures stepped out. He rose and inspected the two young women. "You're late, and where is Miss Wayne?"
"She's at the Putins'," Connie said. "This is Maria, the eldest daughter. Mattie had an encounter with Mr. Rasputin earlier today …"
"At KGB Headquarters, Lubyanka," Maria said in her best English. "Come, needs medical help."
"Let me call Poppy," Severus said.
"Dress warm, General Winter is in Moscow," Maria warned in English.
"Oh… my…" Poppy said through chattering teeth and with frozen puffs of breath.
"Has gone to -23° today," Maria said. "Has gotten much colder. Come, this is Senate building, where we live." She pulled on the door, assisted by one of the Kremlin Guards.
Inside, Poppy found her patient lying on a bed in a guest bedroom, a worried Crystal keeping watch, along with Koni, the family dog. The black Lab was watching Mattie, as she slept. ("Koni, out,") Maria said in Russian, and the dog looked back and forth; then trotted out. "Mattie? Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey are here," Connie whispered to the sleeping girl. Poppy pointed at the door, her wand already out. Severus motioned everyone out, shooing everyone to the sitting room.
Using a translation charm, Severus asked, ("Ms. Evans, Miss Koslowski, your reports, please.")
("This is something I would also like to know,") Vladimir said, handing Severus a glass of vodka. ("Come, let us sit and be comfortable. I have seen the video of the meeting, the first half of it they enter the interrogation room, a grey spell is cast, and then…")
("Rasputin cast a privacy charm,") Crystal added. ("Mattie's are a light blue, almost like solid water ripples,") she added for the Putins' benefit. ("I wanted to be with her, but Rasputin wouldn't even talk when bodyguards and security were in the room. How was this man so highly regarded?")
("He has substantial political influence, going back to the Soviet era,") Vladimir replied. ("While his usual method of operation is to rip the information out, he can be more subtle, able to walk through a room and collect information. For this reason, and others, he has risen to the head of counter-intelligence of KGB. I would not say he was highly regarded, but more feared.")
("Ah,") Severus said. ("He is not used to encountering someone who has been trained to protect their mind.")
("This is possible?")
("Yes. For that matter, the method you mention is one that I have been training certain of my students to detect and to counter,") Severus added. He took a sip of vodka, ("My theory, without seeing the video, is that Mr. Rasputin did not see enough of a profit to himself to exert the effort to travel, and became insulted when he was asked to help mere slaves. Why was he not briefed on Miss Wayne?")
Vladimir shrugged. ("I am informed that we provided a copy of her file, although we did not include the information on her mental abilities.") He leaned forward, ("How does this method work? I ask through professional curiosity, I was trained as an intelligence officer.")
("Then perhaps we can trade,") Connie said, leaning forward in her turn. ("Mrs. Potter has been charged to run the 'black' side of IR & S. We're going to need to have agents on hundreds of planets, with a wide assortment of social and political forms. Kingdoms to corporate to feudal to capitalist, and while some will be overt, a lot of them will be…")
("Illegals. She would be managing the intake?")
("Yes, we're looking at nodal organization,") Connie replied. ("For instance, one of our fleets would be based on one system; it makes sense to have the intelligence for that stellar cluster or nebula in the same location. Since KGB, along with the Mossad is widely known to have the best human intelligence…")
Vladimir grunted and settled back, fingering his vodka glass. ("Not only human intelligence, of course. You would not have saturation coverage, either. You would need to concentrate on the planetary capital, perhaps some of the major industrial or financial nodes and as you said, in all social strata; including slaves. How would you protect them?")
("They are assets, and would be 'owned' by our cover identity, and would have a method to suicide if necessary,") Connie replied, taking a sip of vodka. ("To use this method, they would be simply serving at a cocktail party, and as they do so, they fish for information.") She took another sip, ("You have to see how slaves are treated to believe it. They are invisible to owners unless there is an error; then they are automatically blamed, and punished. They are quite literally animals, if I were to break this glass of vodka; Koni would be blamed, even if she's nowhere near.")
Shaking his head, Vladimir said, ("And people are volunteering for this?")
("Yes, sir,") Crystal confirmed. She started to say something else, but Vladimir held up a hand, and sat back, thinking. They waited in silence until he nodded to himself, then leaned forward. ("I will agree to her training if you will agree to the placement of an experienced Russian officer in the counterintelligence position, as Mrs. Potter is the 'black' officer. That officer, as with Mrs. Potter, will have full access, and their orders will place them with their loyalties to the Empire. Each of your offices will need such a counterintelligence position, you will also need a covert or 'wet' officer or two in each office, all under Mrs. Potter's command. Do we have a bargain?")
("Are you thinking of putting in witches or wizards in those posts, sir?") Connie asked.
("Possibly, if they are available and trained for the duty,") he replied. ("I will inquire of Moscow's Institute for the Study of Magic if they have any of their recent graduates employed with KGB, and of that agency.")
Connie and Crystal exchanged a look, ("We'll tentatively agree, sir, we want to run it by the Tsaritsa and Mrs. Potter,") Connie said.
("I shall make the inquiries, then,") and pointed to Crystal, ("Please continue.")
("Back to Rasputin. For whatever reason, he became enraged, and sealed the door, not with a simple 'Colloportus' spell. I would have recognized the wand movements. At that point, they backed off and stared at each other. I recognized they were dueling each other's minds, but this is something I haven't seen with her. Rasputin had these ripples of black and red magic on him; Mattie's were green and white or light grey.") Maria joined her father on the couch. ("Green was the predominant color for Mattie, and then Rasputin threw this red fireball at her, and the microphones in the room shorted out. The rest is on the video, but they started dueling. Mattie was trying to keep it non-lethal, she replied with Serpensortia, but Rasputin was trying to kill her.")
("Serpensortia?") Maria asked, and her father reached over to squeeze her knee.
("It conjures a large, aggressive snake,") Crystal replied. ("I tried to get in, but this is when we found the door was fused it into the wall,") she said. ("All we could do was watch. Rasputin used a lot of dark cutting curses, the training Mattie's had with the Black ladies served her well. She's done well with Most Nastye Spells and Curses; I think it should be part of the curriculum.")
("Still volume three, though?") Severus asked. Crystal nodded, ("Her magic was going from white through light grey and into the green, and she finally landed a jinx that knocked Rasputin out. She stood over him, cast a globular spell, and his core appeared.") Severus looked at her sharply, and Vladimir asked, ("His core?")
("His magical core, sir,") Connie replied, and took a larger swallow of her vodka. She coughed again; ("It's a witch or wizard's connection to the planetary magical field, it's why our powers don't work outside a natural gravity field. At least that's the current theory. It's how powerful a wizard you are, you can increase your power by using dark or evil spells…")
("It steals part of your victim's souls,") Crystal added. ("Rasputin's is, or was, a dark red globe of fire, about the size of a large basketball, and had these lightning-like tendrils of magic that connected it to him. He was a powerful wizard, just going by that, but he'd gone dark a long time ago.")
("That matches our records of him. When he worked as a KGB interrogator, he would leave his victims alive, but … drained. Soulless.") Vladimir looked at his daughter, ("I pray you never encounter his like.")
Crystal reclaimed the conversation after a minute or two of silence. ("Mattie started cutting those tendrils, and the core started to split into two, a larger red core and a smaller white core, about the size of a white golf ball, maybe.")
("More like pea-sized, I thought,") Connie put in. ("Anyway, you had these two spheres, one big red angry core, and this small white core, each connected with a single thread of lightning to Rasputin. She cut the last red link, there was a shriek we could hear through the soundproofing, and it … exploded. When we could see again, he was still unconscious, just with this white core settling into him, and Mattie was lying near him, just as unconscious. We brought her here, and Maria and I went to fetch you.")
("Rasputin is dead?")
("Not when we left the room,") Crystal replied to Vladimir. ("It took us a while to get in, and there was a strong ozone smell in the room, but we got them both out, and he was breathing, just knocked out. Your people took him away; I don't know what they've done with him, but he'd be a fairly weak wizard now.")
They turned as Poppy appeared. "Miss Wayne is exhausted, again," she announced rather snippily in English. Maria translated for her father as Poppy continued, "I have given her some potions, and she can be transported now, how this will affect this fusion nonsense I have no idea." She turned and marched back into the room, and Maria asked, "Fusion?"
Connie sighed, and extracted her Time-Turner. ("This is what is known as a Time-Turner. Mattie and I have been using these to be in two places at once. The alpha twins are going through classes at Hogwarts while we, the beta twins, go out and about as we have been. Once we return to Hogwarts, we re-fuse back together. One body for each of us again, and our memories merge. Tomorrow, my alpha twin will remember this conversation, while I'll remember her classroom experiences. Very, very classified by the British Ministry, the Queen had to authorize their use.")
("Fascinating,") Vladimir said, leaning forward. ("There are no side effects?")
("It's something of a split personality, I find myself arguing with myself,") Connie replied, and gestured, ("The physical preparations weren't that bad, although we're wearing two sets of body armor, which are spelled on us.") She lifted a booted foot, and waggled it.
("I saw some like them in GUM,") Maria said. ("Not precisely like them, though. Those are very fine leather.")
("Actually goblin metal armor,") Connie corrected. ("They have some way to spell metal to appear like soft, flexible leather, but it's hard as tool steel. A dragon could chomp on me and break teeth.")
Crystal appeared, ("Mattie's ready to go back to Hogwarts,") she announced.
("Maria will go with you to report back to me,") Vladimir said. ("I feel like I have three new daughters, and I want to be kept informed.")