Jamora stood and gazed down at her new male concubine, who was lying unconscious on a settee in her bedroom. She let her eyes roam down his muscular form once again. His lovely nakedness was interrupted only by the small black loin-cloth that was standard issue for chattel-males. Jamora felt tempted to stroke his hair and run her fingers down his chest and stomach, but she resisted the impulse. When she touched him for the first time, she wanted to be able to see the look in his eyes.
The Bureau of Liberation had delivered him in an unconscious state. It simplified things. At Jamora's request, the woman from the Bureau had directed her chattel-male workers to carry the grey-haired male into Jamora's house and lay him gently on his back on the settee. The official from the Bureau had gotten Jamora's signature and brainwave scan on several legal documents. Then she had finalized the transfer by attaching and activating the Registry Pendant that now hung from the front of the grey-haired male's Collar. The Pendant was red – indicating his status as a chattel-concubine – and was inscribed with Jamora's name in gold characters. But it was the electronic coding within the Pendant that truly identified Jamora as his Keeper.
Looking down and seeing her Pendant on this male made Jamora's gut flutter with… excitement. Not nervousness. What was there to be nervous about? He was just a male. Her male. Smoke. She had decided to name him Smoke. For his grey hair, but also for a phrase that had drifted up to her from somewhere: "Where there's smoke, there's fire."
Jamora sighed as she studied his handsome, craggy face, which projected strength and authority even while he slept. For a moment, she wondered if she should have taken Esestia's advice and sent Smoke to Orientation House for his initial training. After all, Orientation House was staffed by experienced professionals. But somehow, the thought of other women getting their hands on Smoke was… unwelcome.
She walked across the room and sat on her bed. It really was time to wake him. Why was she hesitating? He was Collared, so he couldn't hurt her. She had given herself a crash course on what to do, drawing on the Library for instructions on how to break in wild males. She could handle him! She was a Daughter of Ashora!
Jamora turned toward the little shrine that occupied a niche in one of her bedroom walls. An ivory statuette of the Goddess Ashora stood there. It depicted Her in Her Domestic Aspect, with snakes twined around her upraised arms. Her staring eyes and graven smile looked out upon the world with unassailable stiffness.
This is Her world, thought Jamora. And this is my home. Jamora looked around her spacious bedroom, at the tradition-heavy decor that reflected her Foundationist sympathies. The walls were covered with murals of marine life, depicted in the lively, playful style of the ancient homeland. Dolphins leapt and fish swam among stylized waves. Octopus with graceful tentacles hid among the sea anemones. The theme of the murals was complemented by a large holographic "window" which took up half of one wall, giving the illusion of looking out onto an undersea reef full of colorful fish.
For her first real "meeting" with her new concubine, Jamora had chosen clothing that had a strongly traditional flavor as well. She wore a bodice that supported her breasts but left them proudly exposed, along with an open, high-waisted jacket. Her skirt was tiered in the traditional manner, but differed from the classic style in that it fell from her hips rather than her waist, leaving her midriff bare. The outfit was peacock blue, with accents of gold and emerald green. Her long, blond hair was arranged into a number of plaits bound with blue and green cords.
Jamora stood and gave a mental command that dimmed the room illumination to a soft, diffuse level. The light spilling out from the coral reef "window" filled the bedroom with a softly undulating azure glow, while the votive candles in the Goddess's niche contributed a golden flicker. Jamora was pleased with the effect. Not that she planned on having sex with Smoke right away. She intended to get better acquainted first.
Jamora returned her gaze to the mysterious male who lay on the other side of her bedroom. Ignoring the butterflies that once again filled her stomach, she thought the command that would cause Smoke's Collar to release him from unconsciousness.
He awoke immediately, sitting up with a start. His nearly-nude body exuded masculine energy as he swung his legs around and quickly scanned the room. When his eyes fell on Jamora, his face froze, and Jamora braced herself to deal with whatever protests and threats he was about to make.
To her astonishment, his face broke into a wide grin and his dark eyes lit up with joy. "Sam!" he cried. He stood and began walking toward her, his arms outstretched.
Alarmed by his strange behavior, Jamora held her hand up warningly. "Stop!" she said. "I haven't given you permission to approach me."
He stopped, his expression going from joy to confusion. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice soft.
"You've been Liberated by the Matriarchy of Ashora," she said. "You've entered a new world which you might find strange at first, but if you open your heart you will find you can be happy here. You will find you can be happier than you've ever been before."
Smoke was looking even more confused. "Sam," he said, "don't you remember me?"
Jamora felt her whole world sway and tremble at his words. What could he mean? He couldn't possibly know she had lost her memory.
"What are you talking about?" she said, feeling her back stiffen. "My name is Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa. And your name is Smoke."
His face took on an open-mouthed look of irritated bewilderment. "My name is Jack O'Neill." he said. "And your name is…" His sentence broke off in a gasp of agony as Jamora gave the command for Punishment. He doubled over and fell to the floor with a choked cry. Jamora winced inwardly. She had given him the maximum pain stimulus. She didn't like doing that, but all the instruction manuals advised it. Wild males needed a show of raw force to establish who was dominant. It would save trouble later.
Besides, this male's behavior was… disturbing. She had to remember that his psych profile was full of danger signs. Not that she had much confidence in Esestia's interpretation of his psych profile. But a captured male's profile was compiled by flashing a series of standard images while he was under twilight anesthesia and measuring his physiological responses. So the traits Esestia had spoken of couldn't have been entirely the product of her imagination.
When the pain stimulus cut off, he slowly rocked back on his heels and looked up at her. The hurt disbelief in his eyes made her heart plummet in an unexpected manner, but she didn't let it show. Keeping her voice stern, she said, "Yes, I did that. And I can do it again whenever I feel it's necessary. And I can do other things, too. Like this." She gave the Paralysis command, and he fell over on his side like a rag doll.
She walked to him and stood over his limp form. Only his eyes moved. "This is the way it's going to be, Smoke," she said. "You have to get used to the fact that you no longer have the power to abuse women – or other males. We don't allow that here. From now on, you take your orders from me. I am your Keeper. I have full access to all the functions of your Collar. And as I've just demonstrated, that gives me direct access to several centers within your brain. To activate the Collar's functions, all I have to do is think it. The neural implants within my own brain will transmit the command to your Collar.
"And I'm not the only woman who can command your Collar. Any Ashoran woman is authorized to control some of the functions. So you'd better learn to treat all women with respect.
"Furthermore, you need to understand that the Collar is a complex, intelligent device packed with automatic fail-safes. Even if no woman is watching you, the Collar will be. For example, if I'm asleep, and you're within a certain radius, the Collar will keep you asleep as well. So you can't attack me while I'm unconscious. As for removing or disabling the Collar, I strongly advise you not to even try. The Punishment and Paralysis commands will be automatically triggered, and I will be alerted to your efforts."
Jamora paused. There was something about looking down at his motionless, helpless body that made her feel… rather uncomfortable. "I'm telling you all this," she said, her voice becoming gentler, "so that you won't waste energy fighting your situation. You can't win. You have a new life now, and there's no going back. To help you realize that you must become a new person, I've given you a new name – Smoke. That's the name you'll answer to from now on."
Jamora took a couple of steps back and deactivated the Paralysis command, preparing herself to deal with his reaction. Patriarchal males were always fiercely resistant to losing their status as the dominant sex. She steeled herself to Punish him again if she had to.
Smoke rose to his feet and looked at her, his face almost expressionless. "Abuse women?" he said, his eyebrows rising. "Is that really what you think of me?"
He had surprised her again. "We've done a complete physical and psychological examination on you, Smoke," she said. "We know you've lived a life of violence."
"I'm a professional soldier!" he said, and now his voice and eyes snapped with indignation. "So yeah, I've lived a life of violence. And I've done some things I'm not so proud of. But I've never abused a woman in my life. I'm not that kind of guy." And now his expression took on a certain poignancy. "Which you know, Sam. Because you know me. Or at least, you used to. You're an American soldier, just like I am. We served together for four years. You were born on Earth, same as me…"
Jamora felt her blood pressure rising. "Stop it!" she barked, and backed it up with a Warning command. He grimaced at the stab of pain. "I was born here. And my name is Jamora. I forbid you to call me by that other name again, or continue playing this strange game." She shook her head and looked him in the eyes, trying to reach out to him. "I know all about your psych profile, Smoke. I know you're full of tricks. Some people even recommended you be put down. But I…" she paused, searching his angular face. He currently looked about as reachable as a block of granite. "Somehow I just don't believe you're that bad. So I took a chance and Claimed you. Please don't make me regret it. I don't want to have to send you back to the Bureau."
For a moment his face softened. But then his mouth grew thin again, and his eyes flashed. "Did you say put down? Are you telling me somebody was going to kill me just 'cause they didn't like my attitude? Nice world you've got here."
Jamora stiffened. "Yes," she said, "it is a nice world, actually. Because on this world, women rule. On this world, males submit to female leadership, and everyone is happier for it. Including the males." She sighed. "I'm not your enemy, Smoke. On the contrary, I…" she paused, looking searchingly into his hard brown eyes. "I believe you have potential. That's why I've chosen you to be my concubine – the father of my children. The possible father of my children. If you prove to me you can be a peaceful and productive member of this household!"
Jamora saw that her words were having an effect. His face had lost that closed expression. In fact, his mouth was hanging open and he seemed truly thrown off balance, in a way he hadn't been even when she had demonstrated the Collar.
"You picked me?" he asked, his voice soft. "Even though you don't know me?"
"Yes," she said, watching him carefully. He seemed pleased yet incredulous. For a moment, his demeanor was almost shy. Jamora felt strangely touched.
"Even though you're one of the…" he waved a hand vaguely, "Mothers of Assurance? 'Cause you remember being born on this planet, right?"
"Naturally I don't remember my own birth," said Jamora, dodging the implied question. She wasn't about to let this slippery male know she had no memory of her life prior to eleven months ago. Her memories might be gone, but she had a mountain of evidence to prove who she was! And it would be a mistake to reveal any weakness. So she gave him a stern glare and said, "I explained who I am, and I've already warned you what will happen if you fail to acknowledge it."
He grimaced and shifted irritably. Then his eyes went back to her, flicking up and down her body. He looked quickly aside, then back at her face. "By the way," he said, "you look great. I mean, you look like you're doing okay. I mean," he stumbled, "not just okay. Way better than that. You look…" he stopped. He gestured in her direction. "That outfit, that's…" he stopped again. "Wow."
Jamora found her face breaking into a grin. She felt absurdly pleased.
He smiled in return. It was a subtle smile that barely touched his mouth, yet made his eyes light up. Shuffling his feet, he said, "By the way, why 'Smoke?' Why'd you pick that name? Is it 'cause you think I'm… smokin'?"
"I picked it because of your grey hair," said Jamora.
"Oh," he said, obviously deflated. Jamora had to repress a smile at this endearingly child-like reaction. He really was a bundle of contradictions.
"Where's Daniel?" he asked. "Is he still in that cell?"
"Don't worry about your companion. He's in good hands. He was Claimed as a concubine by a very nice woman."
Smoke cocked his head slightly, looking bemused. "Daniel's a concubine too? No kidding. Sure he'll be okay?"
"I'm sure," she said, smiling a little.
"Any chance I might see him? You could come along, of course. You should come along. I think you'd get a kick out of meeting Daniel. He could tell you about some of the strange stuff we've run into – like memory implants. False, artificial memories. That kind of thing."
"Smoke," she warned, her voice hard. She could feel herself really getting angry. She wasn't about to let some Unredeemed male's perverse mind games make her doubt herself even for a moment. She would not go back to that terrible, utterly lost feeling of not knowing her own identity.
He held up a placating hand. "Okay," he said. "I get it. If I don't shut up, you'll zap me." He grimaced again and rubbed his hand over his face. He looked down for a moment, and when he looked up, his body had gone still. "Okay," he said, his voice soft but decisive. "I surrender."
"You… surrender?" said Jamora, regarding him warily.
"Yep. I really hate getting thrown in the briar patch like this, but I think maybe it's time for me to just accept my fate." And he smiled at her again. A slight, lopsided smile that made his dark eyes come alive with mischief and warmth. "I'll do whatever you want," he went on, his voice soft, his expression turning serious. "I'll give you… anything you ask." And now his eyes were full of heat.
Jamora felt blood rushing into her face, and a curious tingling in her scalp.
"Really? You're actually agreeing to be obedient and respectful?"
Smoke raised his eyebrows. "Obedience and respect are my middle names. But there is just one thing…"
Here it comes, thought Jamora. "What?"
"I'll try to remember to call you Jamora. I really will. Honest. But I may slip up. 'Cause you see, you remind me of somebody I used to know. Somebody very special. Named Sam Carter. Major. Samantha. Carter." His eyes were suddenly filled with such powerful, barely contained emotion that Jamora stood transfixed. "She was a soldier, like me. Only not like me. So much more than me. She was a brilliant scientist, too. If you gave her some complicated techno-doohickey, she was like a kid at Christmas. And she was brave. Dedicated. Loyal. Kind. And beautiful. Very beautiful. Just like you." For a moment, Jamora felt oddly dislocated – almost dizzy. "So if I slip up and call you Sam – or Carter – don't zap me, okay? 'Cause that would really put a damper on things."
Jamora gave her head a shake. She shouldn't have let him go on like that. She felt disturbed and… disappointed. He was still playing games. Or was he? He seemed so sincere. Maybe there really was someone named Sam Carter…
Jamora took a deep breath and bit her lip. She looked at Smoke, who was watching her expectantly. "Kiss my feet," she said.
He was perfectly still for a beat, his face expressionless, before blurting, "What?"
"Kiss my feet," she repeated. "It's an Ashoran custom. It's the way a male shows submission and affection to the woman he Serves."
"You guys are watching too many gladiator movies," said Smoke.
Jamora's mouth compressed. She didn't understand the reference, but she understood the intent. "You just told me you'd do anything I asked. Yet now you won't do even the first thing I ask. Your words aren't worth much, are they?"
Smoke's expression darkened. He scrubbed his face again, then gave her a look of resigned irritation. "Only for you," he said. Then he took a step forward and fell gracefully to the floor before her. Through her slipper, she felt him kiss the top of her right foot. Then he did the same to her left foot. And then she felt him quickly kiss her left ankle, above the slipper. It was just a brief touch of his lips, but the skin-to-skin contact sent an amazing shiver through her body.
He stood, and now he was very close to her. Close enough to feel the heat from his bare chest. She looked up into his eyes. His expression was intense, perhaps a little angry. "Satisfied?" he asked, his tone sardonic.
Jamora felt that the handbreadth between them was vibrating with energy, like the space between two electrically charged plates. Any moment now, a white-hot spark would arc across the gap. Or perhaps it was more like the field tension between two opposing magnetic poles… because, seemingly without conscious volition, Jamora found that she had closed the gap. She had pressed her bare breasts against his bare chest, wrapped her arms around him, and was rubbing her face against his warm, bare shoulder.
She felt his arms go around her. He kissed the back of her neck. She took the flesh of his shoulder between her teeth, just gently holding it, then let go and kissed it. She felt him draw a breath, and hold her tighter. The front of his loin-cloth was against her stomach and she could feel he was already prepared to Serve her. She wouldn't need to use the Collar for that. The thought of using the Collar to control his sexual responses was quite unappealing anyway.
She reached a hand into his hair, clutching at it. Their eyes met. Then she pulled his head toward her and kissed him. She softly felt his lips with hers, then slipped her tongue in his mouth. His mouth was responsive and hot. She felt engulfed by a masculine scent that had a clean, outdoor quality. It made her think of the way the air felt before a big storm, the wind that swept over you just before the downpour hit. She kissed him deeply, and he kissed back hard.
A storm was coming. It was building up in her groin, making her breasts ache…
Panting, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I want you," she said. "But you have to be good. You have to submit. Don't make me hurt you…"
"I told you," he said, his voice soft and rough, "I'll do anything you ask. But there's one thing I'd like to ask from you."
"What?"
"Call me Jack."
She stiffened in his arms. "That's not your name anymore."
"Just once," he said, his long fingers touching her face. "That's all I'm asking. I just want to hear you say my name once. After that, you can call me anything you like."
His eyes, which had been so flinty earlier, were now like dark pools, suggesting tremendous depths of feeling. And Jamora felt something immense blossoming within her in response, until it seemed it would squeeze out all the air in her lungs. She put her cheek against his and closed her eyes. "Jack," she whispered, breathing the name into his ear. Unaccountably, a tear trickled out between her lashes.
She felt him draw an unsteady breath. He tightened his arms around her and buried his face against her neck. For an immeasurable moment, they just clung together.
Then he lifted his face and gave her a wry smile. "Okay," he said. "What are my orders, Ma'am?"
-----