The Chains that Break
By
Ken-Zero
Disclaimer: Kim Possible, et al., are owned by Disney; the Honorverse and its associated copyrights are owned by David Weber and BAEN Books. Otherwise, characters are my creation.
--
4
She couldn't believe the noise.
Kim Possible winced slightly as she walked with her official guide through the corridors of the Manpower facility. The air was rigidly temperature-controlled—she hadn't felt it change one degree since walking in—but it was quite humid, and she felt herself already starting to sweat. The walls themselves were painted a plain blue, with dark gray carpeting underfoot, and the sheer number of lights in the ceiling obliterated any chance of shadows being cast. The material of the walls, plus their straight construction, did little to abate the sounds she heard, and the cacophony of shouts, taunts, curses, and hoots only grew louder the farther she walked.
The guide, meanwhile, was pleasantly chatting away about the history of Manpower in general and this facility in particular, and Kim forced herself to pay attention and act appropriately wowed even as she tried to memorize as many details as she possibly could. Tellingly, they never passed through any unmarked doors, a fact Kim found slightly odd. None of the doors were particularly ostentatious, but every door that they used was clearly marked, almost like it was equally for the guide's benefit as for hers.
She was just planning how to get in on another tour and get "lost" when they went through one last doorway…and Kim almost fell over from the wall of sheer noise.
Hundreds of people were crammed together in the immediate area, all of them presumably clamoring to be the loudest and get his voice heard. Kim assumed it had something to do with the slips of paper in their hands.
Her suspicions were borne out as the guide approached the teeming numbers, sliding the two of them through deftly; the gamblers simply moved out of their way. As they approached the far end of the walkway, Kim could see the place open up like a huge arena, the telltale counter-grav units on the ceiling holding it up with little to no physical support. A metal fence about waist-high warded anyone from falling over the edge, though the gamblers were pressed up against it and, in places, leaning dangerously over it. The place had absolutely no contact with the outside world; not even a single window or skylight allowed any sunlight in, and given how quiet it had been outside that morning, there wasn't a stray sound that escaped the walls. Below them, a floor full of fully artificial turf reminded Kim of a sports stadium, except there wasn't a single painted line of any sort on it that she could see.
Movement farther across the field caught her eye, and her breath caught in her throat when she looked. Even the noise faded away to almost nothing.
Two people darted towards and away from each other, and from the look of things Kim could easily tell it wasn't for fun. Indeed, a brief flash of reflected light indicated one of the two had a weapon of some sort. The other was unarmed, as there was no telltale ring of clashing metal.
It didn't seem to matter, though; in spite of the unarmed combatant's thick black ponytail swishing about, Kim could see clearly enough that she could identify the unarmed style she—and between the hair and the form-fitting bodysuit, it was most definitely a she—was using…and she was using it to supremely devastating effect.
The opponent—Kim guessed it was a man—leaped in with a sweeping horizontal slash, his weapon held in two hands, and quicker than Kim had thought possible he brought it back in the opposite direction, just in time to catch the woman as she lunged in to take advantage of the miss. She, in turn, brought up a knee, catching the man's wrist with it and knocking his return slash up so it whistled just over her head. Having turned the sure hit into a bare miss, she continued her short advance.
Kim inhaled when she saw the style change; between her childhood hobbies and her later training at Saganami, she was well-versed enough in hand-to-hand fighting to recognize almost every popular style—and some that went back millennia. This was one of those times: the woman out there had just shifted into Old Earth's kung fu from coup de vitesse, the style used by the RMN's military, and Kim watched as she delivered an open-handed strike that knocked the sword wielder back a few feet. She followed up with a spinning kick to his shoulder, causing him to drop one hand from his blade, and her momentum carried her around as she dropped and swept his feet out from under him. She stepped forward, posting one foot on his chest, and he slapped the ground.
The voices around Kim suddenly redoubled in noise, some cheering, most making noises of dismay and disappointment, but Kim couldn't care less. She was staring down at the winning combatant, sure that, despite the detail-obscuring effects of distance, there was…something…different about her.
Kim's guide interrupted her musings. "Something wrong?"
"What…" Kim almost didn't find her voice. "What was that?"
"That was a competition," he said, his tone turning somewhat smug. "A line particular to our division, these models are born and bred to fight."
"Why?" She tried to keep as much of the horror she felt out of her tone as she could.
The guide merely swept an arm around, indicating the mob around them. "Isn't it obvious? None of these people are paid to be here. This is something fun to watch, to take their minds off their regular lives. It's just like any other sport."
Except these aren't athletes paid to entertain, she thought darkly, again trying to keep her expression innocently open. "Oh, I get it now…say, do you think my boss would want one?"
The guide blinked. Apparently, Kim thought with an internal smirk, he wasn't anticipating a question like that…or at least, not so early.
"That depends," he said finally. "What was he looking for from us?"
"He didn't really say," she said, before leaning in to add in a conspiratorial whisper, "but I think he's looking for fun, since he's already got all the regular employees he needs. You know—something to take his mind off his regular life."
The guide nodded in full understanding, a lazy smirk once again spreading across his features. "Then I think we have just what he's looking for. Follow me, please."
--
The Product Inspection Area was as intimidating as Kim thought it would be.
A featureless, furniture-less, brightly-lit, white room, its only concessions to color were the display units mounted on the walls. The room itself had several sides, though Kim couldn't place the geometric shape. Each wall, save the two that contained doors, featured one of the large screens, and each screen proclaimed the features and virtues of the various "models" of human produced by Manpower. Kim actually had to fight to contain a shiver; the concept of marketing a human being like this was so foreign that it rather frightened her.
A few feet away, her guide was talking and gesturing at the first display to their left. "We have, of course, several varieties available, but from what you said earlier I think we can narrow your boss' selection down to two or three models." As he spoke, the display changed, and all but three of the people on the screen vanished. Those that remained spun slowly, giving her a chance to see them from all sides.
"The first one is what you just saw; it's our pride and joy, and from the crowd out there, it certainly sounds like there's something of a demand." This model, a man, looked excruciatingly sculpted, like he was a statue come to life. The sheer definition of some of his musculature looked positively alien, and Kim wondered what kind of regimens kept him in that kind of shape. His face looked normal enough, even if it was slightly angular, and he had short-cropped blond hair, but there was no hair to speak of anywhere else—not even some unsightly stubble on his chin. Between the drugs and the biosculpt these guys must cost a fortune.
Her guide waited for Kim to stop staring before moving on to the next. This one was female, and while she wasn't wearing anything too exposing, Kim could see the general lines of her body shape. She was built like some of the more popular tri-d stars of the day, all wasp-waisted with an impressive bustline and perfectly smooth facial features. "This is our basic pleasure model, trained from an early age in every art imaginable—and I'm not just talking about sex. Massages, painting, instruments, singing, all that and more."
"Kind of like geishas," Kim muttered quietly.
His eyebrows arched. "Very good," he said approvingly. "A student of Old Earth?"
"It was a hobby, way back," she answered sheepishly, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
"I see you haven't lost it," he nodded. "But yes, very much like that. They exist solely for your entertainment. And while sex may not be all they do," he added, his voice dropping to mirror her whisper from earlier, "they're very, very good at it." He smiled when Kim's blush only intensified.
"And finally," he said, straightening up, "we've got—"
"The first one," Kim interrupted.
"Excuse me?"
"I…um…I think he'd like one of the first ones best." Her face was still red.
"…Oh. Very well, then." His presentation thus closed, the displays returned to their normal state and he led Kim out the only other door in the room.
A short walk brought them down some stairs and to a sealed door. The door hissed open after her guide typed a command string into an attached keypad, present a large chamber in front of them. The chamber itself was decorated like a house would be, right down to the floor having carpet in some places and bare wood in others. There were doors everywhere along the walls, but the main area was a large open space littered with furniture. It was a huge contrast to the previous room, but it still felt…artificial to Kim. They're forcing it to feel homey.
Wandering through the area were several people, each of whom looked to be a physically perfect specimen. None of them totally resembled either model she'd seen up in the display room, but it was easy enough to tell these were the fighters; all of them looked solid and moved with enough self-assured grace that Kim had no doubt they were some of the toughest she'd ever seen. Still, none of them had affected any sort of air of arrogance since she'd come in, and Kim knew that was because, creature comforts aside, they were still obviously slaves.
She moved away from the guide, and he made no move to stop her; emboldened, she walked slowly into the living area, her eyes wide. Unwittingly she slid into something resembling a defensive stance from her own kung fu training; she could feel the dulled hostility in the air, and it was making her subconscious nervous.
Several of the slaves looked her way and smirked gently when they noticed how she moved; warriors could always recognize warriors, even through a disguise, and especially when one gave it away as obviously as Kim was doing.
Kim blinked when she noticed the small smiles, confused for a moment. Then a small ache in a tense muscle in her back notified her of exactly how she was standing, and she straightened just a hair, blushing again.
Just then one of the doors opened, and a woman wearing only a towel stepped out of a room. Steam billowed out from behind her until she shut the door.
Kim's blush instantly burned hotter than ever; that towel left very little to her imagination. Something about her clicked; it must have been the damp, waist-length black hair, but Kim realized she was looking at the woman who had just triumphed up in the…Coliseum, I guess. Not much of a better word for it.
She knew she was staring, but she couldn't stop for two reasons. The first was the woman's skin was very pale, almost like the old tales of albinos from back before the condition had been eliminated…but it wasn't just pale. Kim could easily see, now, what had bothered her slightly while upstairs.
She's green. Her skin is green.
The second reason for the staring was that, greenness aside, the woman was very attractive, and between the small towel and the way she walked, she knew it.
"Hey, Shego," the slave closest to Kim called to her, receiving a wave in reply. "How'd it go?"
"I won again," the green woman said in simple reply. She even shrugged.
Most of the other fighters simply chuckled. Kim blinked. Again? Just how often does she fight?
Before she could ask, though, the woman—Shego, she'd been called—disappeared into another door, but not before Kim caught a glimpse of a small room. She'd seen a bed, which was enough to know that most of the doors were some kind of quarters. When the door slid shut, she let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.
Turning, she went back to the guide. "Can…can I come back tomorrow? I have to ask my boss exactly what he's looking for and make sure I don't screw up what he wants, because if I do then I might be fired and if I get fired then what would I do because I wouldn't have a job and no job means no spending money and no spending money means I—"
The guide's frantic waving snapped her out of the nervous ranting that Kim hoped he couldn't tell was forced.
"Of course," he said, escorting her up the stairs. She didn't say much on the way out except to thank him for the tour and confirm her return tomorrow, leaving the facility deep in thought.
--
"So?" Shego asked as she exited her cramped room, not a minute after Kim and her guide had left.
"So what?" the same slave that had called her out earlier asked.
"Who was she?"
"The redhead? Dunno. Probably a client." His tone belied his words, though.
"You don't believe that."
"Not really. Did you see how she moved?"
"Not really. Why?"
"She walked exactly like you do," the slave answered.
Shego considered this for a moment. "You actually think that waif can fight, Patrick?"
Patrick shrugged. "Who knows? But she walked in here and looked like the first person to touch her would end up on the floor."
"But she's so scrawny!"
"She's not that much shorter than you," Patrick disagreed. "And you don't need to be too strong to use leverage."
"Whatever," Shego waved it off. "Why are we talking about this anyway?"
"I dunno," Patrick replied, shrugging. "But she's a live one. I've got a gut feeling."
"You sure that's not indigestion?"
--
Kim couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was way off as she walked back to her hotel from the Manpower facility. From what she knew, Manpower itself didn't dabble in anything other than "service products." None of their slaves were designed to be anything like that fight she'd seen earlier…
Her thoughts wandered back to the greenish woman that had won that fight. The way the woman moved was simply spectacular; she hadn't been necessarily smooth, but it looked like she moved just enough to accomplish what she wanted to do without going even an inch further. She'd barely ducked around the sword slashes directed at her; she'd delivered enough force to her hits to carry through to just behind the man; she'd only exaggerated her movement right at the end, standing with one foot posted on his chest…and the kick to the guy's shoulder! Somehow she'd put enough force into it to make him lose his grip. It wasn't a move Kim had ever considered using on her own before, but in retrospect it seemed a glaringly obvious tactic to use against someone armed.
And then I got to see her up close…
Kim let loose a dreamy sigh before she could stop herself. Still, she told herself, it wasn't unwarranted; the woman was almost unfairly attractive, with or without the slight green tint to her skin. I wonder if I could take her away from here when we leave…
Lost in her thoughts, she never noticed the two people following her. And even if she had, she stood very little chance of seeing the third one, watching her leave from the safety of an open upper-floor window.
Lester McDalmon rubbed his chin as he watched her leave. Curled around his shoulders, an orangey-red-furred, six-limbed treecat yawned lazily, preening its whiskers just like the felines of Old Earth.
He reached up a hand to stroke his 'cat's head. "She's a live one," he mumbled. The semi-psychic link he shared with the 'cat had alerted him earlier to the fact that the redheaded visitor's mind was a lot busier than her airheaded appearance let on, but it was all he could do to understand the sometimes-jumbled feelings he received through their bond.
"What do you think, Roughhouse?" he asked. His 'cat made a dismissive sound without opening its mouth, and he got a distinct impression that the 'cat thought the visitor's mental antics were fairly uninteresting.
Lester had found Roughhouse only a couple of years ago; treecats were native to Sphinx, in the Star Kingdom of Manticore, but every once in a while—as in, every hundred years or so—a smuggler would succeed in bringing one off-world without the Sphinxian equivalent to the Forest Rangers finding out until it was too late. That had been the case with Roughhouse, except the 'cat had rejected the first person to try and "own" it. They behaved very similarly to normal cats in that respect; once a treecat calmed down, it pretty much owned its "master," and not the other way around. Their physical similarity to regular cats was also almost complete, with the main difference being size and limb count. Treecats had six limbs, the front two of which had shockingly similar appendages to human hands, while the middle pair of limbs were a kind of blend between hand and foot. Treecats also massed nearly twice as much as regular cats, and could grow to well over a meter in length from nose to tail.
Stories abounded of the 'cats well-known in the Kingdom; Lester had seen a large number of news bites concerning the Manties' Honor Harrington and her 'cat, and of course the Queen of Manticore had a 'cat of her own, as well. As well, scientists had been studying them for decades, trying to discern just how intelligent the species truly was—and how their empathic link truly worked. It was that last feature that had attracted Lester to Roughhouse when he'd first seen the 'cat. They'd linked almost instantly, and Lester had used his knowledge of people's mental states to get where he was today.
Right now, he wasn't sure what to make of that redheaded visitor's mind. It was busy, sure…but from what he could tell, she was excited, somewhat aroused—a not-uncommon state when around his pleasure slaves, that was for sure—a bit confused, and worried. It was an interesting mix…and not something he felt suited a mere corporate secretary, even one whose boss was presumably trying to keep this transaction under the table.
"She'll bear watching, I think," he mumbled to himself, making a mental note to have her place bugged when next she visited.
--
A/N: Finally.
Special, huge, and heartfelt thanks to LoveRobin for being a freaking amazing help at getting this story running again.
I did just finish a probationary period at a new job, so I think I'll be a bit more in the clear for writing.