Territory Slaves

*For more from the Territory Slaves characters and setting, check out:
http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600095789


Chapter One - Negotiations and Abductions

Men burst into Jahhan’s home without warning. As Jahhan moved between the intruders and his family, he noted National Defenses Security Force uniforms. Their weapons were still in their holsters.

Several shouted, “Hands up! On the ground, now!”

Instead, Jahhan shouted back, “Warrant and identification! I demand to see . . .”

Men reached him and wrestled him to the ground. Jahhan struggled, more for protest than because he hoped to escape several armed men. They cuffed his arms behind his back and patted him down. Satisfied they had him secure, they lifted him back to his feet. He looked back to see more men had hold of his wife and three daughters.

“What are you doing?” Jahhan surged toward them in panicked outrage. “Don’t you dare touch them!” Fingers dug into his arms and he couldn’t break their grip.

The NDSF, if the uniforms were real, ignored his shouts and forced him toward the front study. They herded his wife and children toward the back of their home. He shouted meaningless assurances to his loved ones until the door of the study closed behind him. The NDSF forced him into a chair and took guarding positions around him.

Jahhan tried to engage them, asking questions, reiterating laws and rights, but they said nothing. After much prodding, one man produced a badge that looked real. NDSF badges were hard to forge by design. Jahhan’s personal security, nowhere in evidence now, taught him to recognized forgeries to prevent a ransom kidnaping.

He tried to think of what might have gone so wrong. His country went through the same upheavals as any other. Over a decade before, men and women had gone missing every night. But even during the bad days, non-political performers usually were left out of political upheavals. New governments courted their approval, but left them alone because the populace liked to see life continue as usual.

Since the Centrist coup, though, stability had reigned. Old military forces had been dismantled, and new strong-arm organizations had yet to emerge. And if a foreign government were behind this, the people holding him wouldn’t be NDSF. Jahhan studied the faces of the four in the study with him. They looked afraid and guilty, and they avoided his gaze. A strange look for national security.

He must have been identified as a security threat somehow, even though he had passed the scrutiny required every year for anyone who traveled internationally. Jahhan could think of nothing that would bring them to his door.

Unable to draw more information out of them, Jahhan finally said, “Please don’t hurt my family,” and waited.

Three hours of deafening silence passed before the study door opened. Two men grabbed his arms and marched him out the front door of his house. He twisted against the hands holding him, trying to find his family, but they weren’t in sight.

More NDSF littered his yard and local patrol lined his property, holding back onlookers. How did so many people know about this? NDSF surely wouldn’t publicize an arrest.

Jahhan’s own security stood behind the patrol as well. They must have been quietly told to stand down by the NDSF, an order they would have no choice but to follow. A few of them looked almost as angry as Jahhan felt.

He began protesting again, for his security’s benefit, so they might have legal leverage against his arrest. “I’ve yet to see a warrant. Show me your warrant.” Louder still, “Where are you taking me?”

A tall, black-haired man strolled through the throng, which parted from him like he had a plague. He looked foreign. Besides being half a head taller than everyone around him, he wore a calf-length red and silver trimmed black . . . tunic? . . . and scarf over black trousers and long-sleeved shirt. The smooth, flowing material looked more appropriate for nightwear than regular clothing. Better traveled than most, Jahhan still couldn’t place the costume. Security led him straight to the man.

Cold blue eyes assessed him leisurely. Jahhan glared at him.

“Hold him.” He ordered finally. Definitely foreign, but Jahhan couldn’t tell what region from those two words. He was stunned when the NDSF actually obeyed the foreigner, moving in close and tightening their grip on him. Jahhan began struggling again. He had as little chance as ever of breaking free, but he had an audience and he knew he had one last faint chance. Maybe someone would intervene and make more of a fuss than NDSF would want publicized.

He pitched his voice to carry to onlookers. “What the hell is going on? Tell me what I’m being held for or release me!” The black-haired man walked behind him without acknowledging him. When he felt the man grab the cuffs, Jahhan’s struggles and voice intensified. “Who are you with? What is this? Release me!”

The cuffs left his wrists, as NDSF held his arms hard enough to bruise, and were replaced with heavier, tighter restraints. The black-haired man grabbed him by the upper arms, and security released him and stepped back. All of the NDSF backed off. The man pushed him toward an unmarked prisoner transport. Jahhan tried to wrench away, but the man’s grip was like iron.

“Who are you?” Jahhan asked, now only loud enough for the black-haired man to hear. He continued to be ignored. He scanned the crowd, eerily silent and still, looking for help. Most crowds made a furor when he merely walked passed, but the people whose faces he could see as he was dragged passed looked too afraid to move.

The reality, that he was being taken from his own home and no one meant to stop it, hit him hard. What had happened between his ordinary breakfast in town yesterday and today? Before the black-haired man shoved him into the prisoner compartment of the transport, he looked back, hoping to see and hoping not to see his family, but NDSF uniforms blocked his last view of home.

***
Since the man was foreign, Jahhan thought they might be going to the regional airfield. He was right, but he never imagined what waited for him there. As he was hauled out of the transport, he saw the patrol whose sirens he had heard escorting them, and the NDSF who always traveled silently. They were all looking over his head. Following their gazes, he saw the black object hovering over them. Sleek, the size of an air transport, and impossible. His knees gave out, but the black-haired man held him upright.

A crack appeared in the smooth black surface and a narrow set of steps descended. The black-haired man pushed him forward. Jahhan’s feet didn’t cooperate, and he didn’t try to make them. “No. Wait . . . ” He had struggled before; now he fought. He kicked out at his captor and pulled at the restraining hands until he felt as if he might dislocate a shoulder. His captor released one arm and for a foolish moment he thought he might get free. He chose to forget the NDSF standing a respectful distance away, still close enough to catch him. There was a quick, light sting on his arm. Only seconds later, he was woozy. Just before unconsciousness reached up to drag him under, he felt himself being lifted.

***
Prince Delosa Pietsi scrolled through his acquisitions reports. Three fourths of his targets in custody, with none of the chaos reported by his contacts with the other delegations. His contact with the Baceti delegation reported Mijre’s pet enforcer had acquired half Mijre’s allotment, and had concluded the operation. He had to give Mijre credit for practicing what she preached, even if she blatantly lied about her motives.

He chose his targets with the utmost consideration, yet he needed more profits than from the sales of a handful of quality slaves. Mijre had his nuts on the block. Would she execute him or turn him over to her infamous torturer? No, she’d turn his son over to the torturer, and make him watch. That would be the worst she could do, so that would be what she’d do. Sadistic bitch. Considering what he knew of his fellow princes and the Council members’ predilections, the fact she stood out meant something.

The council members weren’t all idiots. They knew Mijre’s concerns about flooding the market with Safar’s slaves were a ruse. But his nuts weren’t the only ones on the block. Some of the Council voted in favor of keeping the blade from falling, rather than to their own beliefs. He certainly didn’t blame them. Had she offered him a stay of execution, he might have taken the offer, as much as he hated her. She didn’t offer. He had nothing she wanted, except his Province of course. And perhaps his suffering.

And he had to look the pet enforcer in the eyes in ten minutes without giving offense. Why a slave had the right to be offended, he didn’t know, but the enforcer had forgotten what being a slave meant. Mijre allowed a select few of her slaves an alarming amount of freedom, especially considering the enhancements and skills they had. Delosa could only hope she’d suffer from the error. Soon. Preferably before his execution.

Frowning, he returned his concentration to his screen. He’d spent enough time contemplating his predicament. Reports of more successful acquisitions had arrived, easing his mood.

That and thoughts of the strike on Sundera Station, being carried out by his commanders. He chafed under the knowledge that such an important operation was being carried out while he was too far away to be of any help, but he had chosen the timing for that reason. All of the Territories and provinces in the sector had their eyes on Safar, not Sundera.

Precisely a minute before their scheduled meeting, a Baceti slave opened the doors to the meeting chamber the enforcer had appropriated. Good. Being forced to wait for the slave would have been an unbearable insult. Even worse, he would have had no choice but to accept the insult without recourse.

The black-covered form of Mijre’s deceptively delicate enforcer waited for him with her screen in hand. Sunlight streaming through the windows that stretched from the floor to the tall ceiling glinted off errant strands of light auburn hair. Kinnet Se Baceti wasn’t the loveliest slave Mijre had acquired, but the combination of green eyes and auburn hair would have drawn a decent price, in the days when anyone other than Mijre could have afforded her, or controlled her.

She bowed shallowly as he entered the chamber, not deeply enough in respect to his position. If she were the slave of another, he might take the matter up with her owner and see her punished. Not the little slave who made Mijre’s word into deed.

Her green eyes sparkled and her smile was warm, as always. A few princes he knew were convinced the warmth was genuine and Kinnet was not of Mijre’s temperament. He had no evidence otherwise, other than her lack of respect for her social superiors, but he saw hunger in her bright eyes. The same hunger in Mijre’s eyes when she informed him she’d bought out his debt. The black wrap sat back on Kinnet’s hair, and hung under her chin, instead of across the lower half of her face. That was proper. He was entitled to view her face.

“Greetings, Prince Pietsi. Thank you granting me an audience.” Granting? He thought. An audience? She spoke as if she had come to him to meet, as she should have.

“Of course.” He said, returning neither greeting nor smile.

“If you please,” she said, indicating two leather-covered chairs, which looked about to burst with stuffing, by the windows rather than the stiff-backed chairs around the large meeting table. Hell, he never thought he’d be required to obey a slave’s commands. He sat on the ridiculous thing. At least she waited until he did before taking her seat.

“After the delegations have returned to the Territories, I’ll be reporting to the Council the details of the Safar enterprise. You have nearly completed your operation. If you’ll allow me to take your report concerning your operation, then I won’t need to bother you when you’re preparing your ships to return to Pietsi.” She took out a slender recorder and waited.

He sighed. He’d received the request for an interview before he’d received the reports indicating when he could expect the conclusion of his operation on Safar. Could one escape Mijre’s domination in any manner? “Very well.”

She activated the recorder.

***
Kinnet paused before signaling Herib to open the double doors for the Primes, the last of a long week of meetings. She had to remind herself they had every right to be sullen and angry; their people were being abducted. Just as Delosa Pietsi had every right to be sullen and angry; Mijre had plans, and he was in the way. Kinnet had enough dealing with all of them on top of the antics of destructive fools like Councilman Ardres.

Herib waited, patient and professional. He’d been assigned to assist her on Safar. He’d listened to the Primes mock her, berate her, and plead with her without comment. Sesul stood behind her. With his target safely in stasis on his ship, he was free to provide additional security for her. She drew on his silent support, and settled her temper until she felt as calm as if she were resting in her quarters. She nodded to Herib.

The Primes passed through the sensors without trouble today. They had been rather uncomfortable with the detailed search of their persons by security because they set off the sensors with steel-soled shoes last time. They wore nothing denser than fabric as instructed this time.

Kinnet herself wore nothing more than silk, even on her feet, and her thin bone blades. They broke under too much pressure, but if one knew where to strike, one could kill an opponent even as the blade shattered inside the body. And sensors, of course, couldn’t sound the alarm at the presence of bone.

They looked as frazzled as she had felt in the last week as they took their seats. She silently apologized for her earlier frustration with them. As the last man sat, she took her own seat. She’d barely touched her chair when Third Prime Handall spoke out angrily.

“You said . . .” He stuttered to a stop, genuinely too upset to continue for a moment. Like many other Matujen citizens, Kinnet once believed the Primes incapable of any truthful emotional expression. They remained too aloof. The people would need to see their honest reaction to this tragedy. The Third Prime calmed himself before speaking again. “You said noon the next day. We had killings and panicking citizens in the middle of that night!”

“Yes, I know.” She tried for a regretful tone, suppressing the anger she felt at the needless violence. The men might interpret her anger as directed at his outburst. “We had an agreement, between the delegations. Some chose to break the agreement. Our leadership will address the issue.” Sure. Right.

“That’s it? We have dead officers and civilians in our streets, and that’s all you have to say?” He half rose from his seat, leaning in her direction. Kinnet didn’t hear Sesul move behind her, but he must have made his presence known. The Prime glanced at him and reluctantly sat again.

“I have recorded the names of the responsible parties and I will put them before the Council.” She indicated her screen, where she had indeed recorded what the bastards had done. For whatever it was worth. “I am personally disgusted by the behavior of some delegates, but the matter must be handled by the Council.”

“The same Council that decided to enslave Safar’s people.” The Second Prime Dalind said. Sharp man. He’d always seemed so vague in the posters.

Yes. “The Council made a commitment to undertake the enterprise with as little violence as possible, which is why other negotiators and I were sent to the nations of Safar to give you the opportunity to maintain order. I am sure they will take the actions of the delegates very seriously.” As soon as they can take time away from playing with their new toys.

“You’re Matujen. How could you be a part of this, Kinnet Ashion?” The Third Prime asked. She winced inwardly. They hadn’t known her, not at first, but someone who knew her name (a moderately uncommon name) and her eyes had informed them. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to know who. She’d asked the Primes to use Kinnet alone, but they had called her by her former surname more than once. Perhaps trying to make her remember her home.

Now Matujen knew her as a traitor. They couldn’t know how she’d felt watching her former homeland become the Territories’ slave market. At least she could answer the question honestly. “I came to help Safar any way I could. Unfortunately, I could provide limited assistance.”

“Obviously.” He said, with evident disgust.

“Why are we here?” The First Prime Laico spoke, for the first time. During the grueling first meeting, he had been calm and kept his voice even, but the strain showed on his lined face.

“Ah. Yes. I asked you here to tell you the delegations have finished their operations. Only my support team remains, and we will be departing after this interview. We have put in place satellites to monitor Safar and Safar’s orbit.” Third Prime Handall gathered himself to protest. “For your protection. Excursions to Safar must be preauthorized by the Council. Some may try to return to Safar without authorization. If a ship comes into orbit, the satellites will notify the Council immediately.

“You’ve received Council authorization verification systems. Delegations must verify their authorization with the system within three hours of landing. The satellites will send an alert as soon as any ship enters Safar’s space, and transmit the verification if one is given.”

“So you won’t even act for three hours.” The Second Prime seemed more worried than accusatory.

“No.” But it took a month to get to Safar from Baceti. “The monitoring system will receive notice of authorized operations. If we get an alert, and an operation hasn’t been recently authorized, we’ll act immediately. The verification is so you know they have been authorized, and so the Council knows the delegation has properly informed you of its arrival.” She steeled herself for the next of her news. “Authorized delegations can take anyone. Do not interfere.”

Kinnet waited for the outraged voices. For the accusations, which were true, but against which she would have to defend the Territories. None of them spoke. She faced three angry, but defeated men. The Third Prime looked as if he were afraid of what he might say, or do, if he spoke. The Second Prime lowered his head and put a hand over his eyes. The First Prime just looked at her.

She preferred the fiery words from their first meeting.

“Why,” the First Prime asked, his voice dull with futility, “didn’t you just take everything?”

Mijre. “The Council decided to limit resources taken from Safar, in order for Safar to maintain social stability, and to keep new resources from flooding Territory markets and causing fluctuating economics.”

The First Prime raised a disbelieving eyebrow. He expected worse to come, and if Mijre couldn’t bully enough Councilmen in the next vote, worse could very well come to Safar.

She wanted to tell them to keep peace in the nation of her birth. She wanted to tell them to reach out to their people, assure them they weren’t alone, assure them they would get through this together. To show them the strong emotions she had seen. Not to remain the aloof Primes she remembered. The plea would be taken poorly, so she simply asked for questions, and concluded the meeting.

No one wanted to linger.

Kinnet hooked her wrap over the lower half of her face, and pulled the length over her head forward. She had felt the Primes should see her face as she spoke to them. As they left the chamber, Baceti security formed around them, both the bone blade armed from inside the chamber and the heavily armed waiting outside. NDSF formed around their Primes.

They were awaited by a crowd of people recording the historic, and tragic, event of aliens visiting Matujen. Before the recorders, Kinnet bowed deeply to the Primes. The First Prime managed a curt nod, and NDSF hustled them away.

Kinnet’s ship had left the guarding orbit she’d set it on and hovered next to Sesul’s ship. The large personnel transport waited behind the personal fighters. Technicians loaded the transport with the equipment they had brought with them. The security escorted them to the ships. Once on the ships, Kinnet and Sesul were their own security.

Sesul broke his role as silent bodyguard when they reached the ships. He set a hand on her shoulder. Contact, but not too intimate with the crowd still straining for a glimpse through Baceti security. “I’ll see you on Railu.”

“Sweet dreams,” she wished him as was their habit, though one didn’t dream in stasis. Herib followed her onto her ship. She climbed into the pilot’s chamber and waited until he’d strapped himself into the stasis chamber before closing it and filling it with gas. For her part, she would remain aware until they were well out of orbit. Her stasis mixture differed from the stasis chamber. The ship’s sensors were set to pick up any number of anomalies which might be a risk to her ship, and her mixture had a counteragent which could wake her in seconds.

Her consciousness expanded as the ship tapped into the implants in her brain, overriding physical sensation, since her body was safe in its protective cocoon. The ship became her physical form; the sensors became her senses. She left the ugliness behind her and was a billion miles away from the ugliness ahead. She had only the silence of space to sooth her.

She loved flying.

***
Jahhan woke with agonizing slowness. Awareness returned to him in small stages, but he remembered the most recent events long before he could even open his eyes. Fear shivered over his skin. Anything could be happening. He assumed he was in the black ship. He could only hear a low, vibrating thrum. He had to see; he had to move. The paralysis slowly gave way. He was finally able to force his eyelids open, but still couldn’t see. Too dark, he assured himself. Just too dark.

When he could move his arms and legs, he found restraints kept him from moving much. As he tested the restraints, his weight shifted. He had been lying on his back. He felt weightless for a moment, then he stood on his feet. His legs proved unable to support him and he sagged against the restraints.

The thrum changed volume and pitch several times. The ship rolled one way, then another, shifting his weight from side to side. Dizziness swept through him. He never traveled restfully, and current circumstances didn’t help. He breathed deeply and evenly, and told his stomach to stay down.

The ship finally stopped rolling and metal rang against metal, muffled as if far away. Then stillness. Jahhan regained some strength in his legs, but let the restraints continue to take much of his weight. He wanted to conserve as much strength as possible.

All the maneuvering probably meant they had arrived somewhere. Whatever was meant to happen to him was undoubtably getting closer. He fought panic and anger. He worried over his family until he convinced himself they must have been left behind. He tried to piece together a reasonable explanation of events which didn’t involve a spaceship. He tested his muscles, and cursed their sluggishness.

Finally, light washed over him. The light silhouetted his abductor in front of him. Paying as little attention to Jahhan as he might pay to a doll, he unbuttoned Jahhan’s vest and shirt, then his pants. When the man pushed his pants to his thighs, Jahhan tensed, disgusted, but he didn’t struggle. He’d already tried the restraints and didn’t want to waste his returning strength. The man touched a small panel and the restraints released him.

Jahhan shoved forward, trying to push past him. He had little chance, hampered by his lingering weakness and the awkwardness of moving with his pants partially down, but he prayed he’d find a weapon within a few strides. But the man grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm behind him. Jahhan tried to twist and fight, but his free arm and legs had no leverage, and each movement made his shoulder and elbow feel like they would snap under the strain. His abductor forced his arm higher and bore him to the ground. He set a knee in Jahhan’s back and finished removing his clothes with humiliating ease.

When he lay naked, the weight lifted off him. Jahhan turned over and rose slowly, taking a moment to catch his breath and trying not to appear humiliated by his nakedness. He glanced around him, needing to know where he was and still desperately hoping to find something to use to his advantage. The place where he’d been restrained appeared to be a small alcove in the wall. As he watched, a panel slid into place, hiding the alcove completely. The rest of the interior of the oblong room had remarkably few features. He was surrounded by smooth, black surfaces. Though, if his tiny cell were any indication, panels could be hiding any number of things. The black-haired man deposited his clothes through such a panel.

The only visible object in the room was a large oval pod in the center. Wires and cables connected the thing to the floor and ceiling like a bug trapped in a spider web.

Jahhan saw nothing to use as a weapon.

The black-haired man stood in front of him with a derisive smile. Jahhan realized it was the first hint of an expression the man had shown.

“Will you follow or do I have to leash you?” The first time his captor had directly addressed him as well. The drawling mockery in the cold voice made Jahhan wish he could return to being mere cargo.

He considered being led by this man naked and on a leash. “I’ll follow.”

“Keep your eyes lowered.” Anger flashed through Jahhan. The man’s smiled widened. “Or you will follow leashed and blindfolded.”

After a long moment fighting with himself, Jahhan lowered his eyes.

With a whisper-quiet hiss, part of the wall turned itself into the narrow staircase Jahhan had seen before. The black-haired man left the ship, but when Jahhan went to follow, he saw people outside of the ship. He couldn’t make himself take the steps that would expose him to an unknown number of people.

The black-haired man glanced behind and stopped, but didn’t turn around. Somehow that was as much of a threat as his words had been. Jahhan took a step. He’d taught his children to be properly modest, but unashamed of their bodies. He took another step. But this was different. So very different.

His “guide” began to turn, slowly, and Jahhan took the rest of the stairs.

He immediately, desperately, wanted to look up, nakedness forgotten for a moment. He had the sense of an enormous space and quick side-glances showed him strange vehicles which were probably also spaceships, larger than the one he’d left.

But all the people he saw in his quick glances were clothed. Some of them turned to watch him. His skin crawled with their stares. His captor wanted to humiliate him. Jahhan told himself he wouldn’t let the tactic get to him, but he hurried his pace until he was practically in the man’s shadow.

Jahhan followed him from the huge space to narrow, beige corridors lined with doors without doorknobs, and took several turns Jahhan wouldn’t remember. They passed more people, still all clothed. At least a third of them wore the same black, flowing material, many with the same red and silver trim in a limited number of styles. The rest wore varied colors, styles and fabrics. Jahhan wondered what the black cloth meant.

He tried not to consider what being the only unclothed person meant. At home, a naked man would have drawn more attention than a few stares, most likely a court date. So public nudity wasn’t unheard of here, but he was still the only naked person he’d seen. Then there was the “leash” threat. Did they see him as an animal?

The man touched a panel by a door. The door slid sideways silently and they entered a small, plain, circular room with only the one door. They stopped. Jahhan looked around, puzzled, until the door reopened onto a different corridor. Jahhan realized they were in a lift, but he hadn’t felt any movement.

The corridor beyond the lift was wider and had richer colors, wood accents, and soft flooring. They also passed fewer people—still all clothed.

After a few more disorienting turns, the black-haired man stopped at a door, but waited for Jahhan to enter first. He took a hesitant step inside a gleaming white, semicircle room before he saw another man wearing black holding a whip. Jahhan took a step back, and into the black-haired man now blocking the door. The man shoved him forward. Jahhan shoved back with growing panic. Then he noticed the shackles hanging from the ceiling, and the panic overwhelmed him.

He fought to escape the room, regardless of the maze of corridors and people beyond the door, but the black-haired man blocked him with immovable strength. The man caught his wrist when Jahhan attempted to hit him. As Jahhan tried to pry his hand off, the man grabbed the other wrist. He held Jahhan’s wrists easily with one hand. He dragged Jahhan to the center of the room and clicked the shackles around his wrists. A narrow, clear tube attached to a clear band hung next to the shackles, barely visible even up close. The man placed it around his elbow and Jahhan felt a small pinch on the inside of his elbow, but he had only a moment to worry about the tube or its contents.

“Take up the slack.” The other man said. The shackles rose until Jahhan’s toes barely touched the floor and his arms strained to hold his entire weight.

The black-haired man moved behind Jahhan, pressed against his back, and lightly rested his hands on his sides. His hands were warm in the cold room. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Lehu.” Lehu could have been a statue for all the emotion he showed. He stood as tall as his brother—half a head taller than Jahhan, but his skin was darker than his brother’s pale skin. His complexion was darker than Jahhan’s too, but his brown eyes and hair were lighter.

The hands stroked Jahhan’s sides, moving slowly down to his hips. “They call me Mijre’s Torturer.” He chuckled when Jahhan shivered. “My brother calls me Sesul. You will call us both ‘sir’, if you’re allowed to speak. Today, during this session, you are allowed to speak, shout, scream, whatever you like. And please feel free to raise your eyes, for the duration of this session only of course. We prefer to see the results of our efforts.” Sesul released him. Jahhan heard cloth rustling and when he walked around to his brother, he had shed the tunic and scarf. Lehu handed him the whip. No, a whip. Lehu still held one. Jahhan couldn’t believe what seemed about to happen could be real.

Sesul moved behind him again. His skin tingled in fearful anticipation. He tried to turn to see Sesul, but his toes didn’t give him enough leverage. He watched as Lehu unfurled his whip instead. He heard the whip crack through the air behind him, felt the path across his back. For a fraction of a moment he thought the blow had been light. Then the pain came and he shouted in shock, unprepared him for the searing pain. Lehu flexed his wrist, but the next blow came from Sesul as well. Jahhan jerked against the shackles. His shoulders and wrist protested the strain, but he managed to keep his reaction to a grunt.

Jahhan locked eyes with Lehu’s soft brown eyes; maybe his lack of emotion hid a distaste for the torture. A pitiful hope, a hope of the hopeless. Still. “Why?!” He said in horror, in pain, seeking a responding human feeling. Lehu continued to regard him dispassionately, even as two more blows sliced Jahhan’s backside. Jahhan’s cries became harder to muffle.

He steeled himself as best as he could for the next blow, but there was a pause. Then Lehu moved, sudden and fluid. The fire burned across his chest. Lehu swung again, and again, giving Jahhan no chance to recover. He writhed in agony and panted for breath, even as his breaths were cut short by his own cries. Lehu’s whip flicked forward again, and was followed by a strike from Sesul, crossing the other lines of fire on Jahhan’s back. Jahhan screamed, unable to hold back.

Lehu stepped back and let the whip settle. Jahhan heard no movement from Sesul behind him, but that meant nothing. He tried to process the pain and find some kind of escape in his mind.

Sesul stepped in front of him and tilted his face up. “Good. Excellent. Now we can begin in earnest.”

“No. Please. I’m sorry.” Jahhan whimpered in a haze of pain.

Sesul’s eyes glinted with vicious amusement. “For what?”

Jahhan didn’t know why he’d said it. “I don’t know.”

Sesul leaned close, touching his lips to Jahhan’s ear. “You’ll learn.” Sesul moved behind him again, and the whipping truly began in earnest, wrenching screams from Jahhan with nearly every stroke as the brothers randomly struck from the front and from behind. They alternated from pausing between blows, to settling into a rhythm, to striking as fast as they could swing, never allowing him to anticipate what was next.

The whips tore screams and pleas from him until he was hoarse, then he cried out weakly until he had no strength even for cries. Despite having permission to look at his torturers, he kept his eyes closed for most of the whipping, only occasionally shocked by agony into opening his eyes. He saw blood flung to the walls, dripping from his toes and even splattered on the ceiling, increasing every time his eyes opened.

Finally, he trembled in the shackles, but had no strength to twist or kick, even as the whips continued to burn along his skin. Sweat plastered his hair to his face and stung his wounds. Long past the point he thought a person could handle pain without losing consciousness, the whipping stopped. He waited for the blows to resume, even as Lehu coiled the whip in his hand.

The shackles released his wrists abruptly. He gasped as the burning in his overburdened shoulders sharpened to stabbing pain. He crumpled to the ground, too weak to stand.

Such keen awareness. He lay in a pool of his own blood, his blood splattered across the room, and he still bled. He even tasted blood. Yet he was still completely aware. He thought he should be dead, or passed out at the least. For God’s sake, at least passed out.

Sesul rolled him onto his back and Jahhan flinched from him. Except it wasn’t Sesul. A woman wearing the red- and silver-trimmed black tunic was reaching over him. She replaced the band at his elbow with one that had a tube leading to a stretcher, Jahhan guessed. Only the stretcher had nothing holding it up. But Jahhan was finally losing the crystal sharp clarity of every damn complaint of his tortured body, and his mind had begun to fog. Delusion certainly wasn’t out of the question, Jahhan decided.

He could no longer keep his eyes open. The complaints from his frayed body mattered less and less. Until nothing mattered at all.

***
Sesul found Kinnet checking reports in her quarters. His stride never slowed as her security system read his tracking ID and opened. She raised her eyes long enough to smile in greeting, then made a mark on the screen. He settled on the chaise behind her and rested a hand on her hip, waiting on her pleasure.

Finally, she set the screen aside and leaned back against him.

“Did the briefings go well?” he asked.

“As well as could be expected. Mijre is lodging a complaint against Councilman Ardres.” She sighed. “You never said how your acquisition went.”

“Easy. They had their security people there. Not to protect him, but to keep anyone from interfering. They said they didn’t want more incidents.” The armed men had made his back twitch. At least Lehu had his target already and kept watch from high above.

She turned her head toward him, frowning. Obviously, she hadn’t heard about security turning people over. The delegations would want to look efficient, not requiring help. The Primes might have done well to tell her, though. If they’d ever had an ounce of trust in her. “How did they know we wanted him?”

“I believe their security put a guard on the most famous. I arrived and they politely offered to fetch him, already restrained.” He shook his head at the memory of Jahhan’s bewilderment. They must have cut off his contact to the outside world before they took him into custody. The delegations had only arrived the evening before, but the viewers carried the news on every broadcast. At the least, security could have warned the poor man he might be abducted. “Jahhan is too old for Ardres, but Lehu had to dissuade his team from the taking the other one. Meddyn.”

“What happened? I was told by the Primes and by the Ardres delegates there was an altercation, but they were all very circumspect. I haven’t spoken to Lehu yet.” Lehu left as soon as Sesul had acquired his target. They rarely left Mijre without one of the three of them at Railu Station.

“The delegates murdered the fellow’s personal security before Lehu arrived, before the viewers carried the warning not to fight us. Lehu ran the bastards off, then had a drink with the target until noon, following the rules precisely as usual.” Sesul smiled fondly. “He had to make an emergency contact with a Prime to keep the situation from escalating when the patrol arrived.”

Kinnet’s green eyes darkened with anger. If Ardres had been within her reach, he’d have lost a body part, or two. “Ardres wasn’t the only one who caused needless deaths, but he caused the most, with his taste for the famous, and the well-guarded. I guess it’s no wonder the Primes decided to secure famous people. They couldn’t protect everyone.”

Sesul was only surprised Ardres had managed to keep his hands off until the end of the Council negotiations.

“The Primes certainly made my work simpler. I hate fighting off bawling families.” Kinnet raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering if he hated the wasted time, or if he had a little heart left. Sesul didn’t bother considering which himself.

“No bawling family with Jahhan?”

“Someone must have been keeping the family out of it. I know he has one.”

“How is he?” Emotion crept into her voice. She wasn’t nearly as hardened as he, which was why she wasn’t asked to perform the same tasks. That and Mijre’s strangely gentle handling of her. Mijre still liked to twist his leash until he choked on it. Kinnet was extremely valuable property, certainly, but Mijre had just as strong a hold on her as she had on Sesul. Neither Kinnet nor Sesul knew why she didn’t use that hold as ruthlessly as she did with him. Sesul hoped it was Kinnet’s administrative skill and not some cruel trick of Mijre’s.

“Healing, in a tank.”

Kinnet winced.

Tanks were only used for extensive injury. Everything in the fluid was developed to speed complete healing. The skin repair solution would prevent scars, and the breathable fluid held various healing enhancements Jahhan’s skin and lungs could absorb. He’d be good as new in a week, ready to be torn apart again.

“At least most of the others will have it easier.”

Mijre only kept a few for her entertainment. The rest were for practical purposes and would be treated well as long as they obeyed. Truthfully, Sesul didn’t have it in him to care much, but he’d been Mijre’s slave since he was a child and spent more years than any other, even Lehu, as her entertainment with occasional stints in the tank before he became Mijre’s torturer. Being tortured (or the torturer) wasn’t as bad as seeing Lehu and, later, Kinnet in the tank. He didn’t care what happened to whom, as long as it wasn’t his brother or Kinnet.

***
Jahhan’s dark, horrified eyes fixed on her through the orange-tinted fluid. Kinnet felt a great deal of empathy with him. She remembered waking up breathing fluid rather than air, and panicking and fighting. Breathing liquid didn’t hurt, but was frightening the first time. And his terrible wounds would be causing him agony, because one medicine the fluid lacked was something to soothe the pain.

Kinnet felt Jahhan had had enough of the pain for now. She cross-referenced sedatives with his genetics on the tank medical panel and selected a strong sedative his body would tolerate well. She made some adjustments to the drugs flowing through the tube into his arm. Not all of the required drugs went into the healing fluid.

His distressed body relaxed and his eyes drifted closed. Kinnet watched his vitals as his heart rate settled and his brain activity changed to sleeping patterns. Kinnet made sure to tag the extra drug with her authorization code. Medical station supervisors would note changes to the drugs patients received. Mijre had determined sedatives and pain killers were unnecessary under these circumstances, so they were not administered. In truth, Mijre was done with her sport by this point and didn’t care what went into Jahhan’s body as long as he was ready for the next session and no one else would dare question Kinnet’s interference.

Kinnet’s gloved hand drifted toward where Jahhan’s hand hung limply, his arm secured in place by a cuff at the elbow. His wrists were chafed raw from struggling in shackles. His body was shredded. Even his face bore whip marks. Lehu and Sesul wielded whips with ruthless skill. She touched the glass inches from his long, fine fingers.

She had an image of him in her memories chest as a youth. He’d been little more than a youth himself and already well-known in their country, already renowned for his talents and his looks. Pity about the latter. Without the looks, he might have been left alone.

For all she knew, his image was still with her things, boxed and stored away. She wondered if her parents had ever gotten a viewer, if they saw her with the Primes, heard her name. If they finally understood what had happened to her when she disappeared from her homeland 12 years before. If they knew she spoke on behalf of the aliens enslaving her own people.

“Welcome to Baceti Territory, Jahhan.” She told him with regret.

***
Kinnet considered how wrong she could be at times. Only Mijre would dare question her action? Indeed.

Sesul leaned against her door frame, blue eyes icier than usual. Well, icier than they usually were when directed at her.

“You visited him and sedated him?” She regarded him coolly. Just because he had the right to take her to task over something, didn’t mean she had to agree. “That was too risky.”

“Kindness?” She immediately regretted saying it. She knew Sesul couldn’t afford to be kind, outside their circle. Mijre could twist kindness into something ugly. She’d make it turn and bite him.

“Yes. You can’t care for him. Our little club has no room for new members.”

“I know.” Kinnet could afford occasional acts of kindness, but she had to be careful, true.

“You’re vulnerable to him.”

“Why? Because he’s pretty? Because he’s suffering? I’ve seen a parade of suffering pets. I even feel for them. I haven’t put any of us at serious risk for them.”

“Because he’s part of your home. You remember him from before you came here.”

She dismissed the association with a gesture. “I never even met him, or saw anything more of him than images, murals. We couldn’t afford a viewer.”

“You mentioned you had an image of him. In session, once.”

He must be worried to mention a session. “It was the thing to do. All the girls my age were supposed to be in love with him. I never even saw him perform.”

“Mijre found the fact interesting,” he said with deceptive lightness.

She stared at him. “Oh. No. Don’t tell me I started her interest in him.”

“Who’s to say.” Sesul crossed his arms. “Could be she decided to see how deep the attraction went.”

Kinnet closed her eyes. No. No. No. I didn’t point her to a target. I didn’t. Most likely, she hadn’t. Jahhan had become known around the world since she’d been abducted, not just in their country. The Territories had picked up all transmissions broadcast from Safar for years. So, in fact, Jahhan had become known on a few worlds. Mijre couldn’t have missed him. Mijre had her own tastes. Lithe and pretty. Jahhan fit Mijre’s tastes. Kinnet opened her eyes. Mijre’s choices didn’t matter to her anyway.

“And what does it matter?” Coldness edged into her voice.

“He’s a reminder of home. He’s someone you felt something for once, even if it was just an expectation you should swoon over him. He’s here now. He’s alone. He’s hurt. If Mijre finds the potential to use him against you . . .”

Kinnet stood abruptly, authority settling over her like a cold cloak. “I’ll visit him if I wish. I’ll help him if I wish. I’ll even care about him if I wish. As I wish. Only Mijre has the authority to object. Am I understood?”

Sesul nodded, his cold eyes unreadable. Kinnet turned her head away for a moment. She turned back, and caught and held his eyes. “But I swear I will never try to make him a part of our agreement. I’ll never put you, Lehu or myself at risk over him, or anyone. You know that, don’t you?”

Sesul shifted, looking slightly chastised. Because, yes, he did know that. He inclined his head to her authority, and in acknowledgment that he knew better than to think she’d put them at risk.

“Enough of the suffering pet. I have no intention of being involved with him. Mijre certainly wouldn’t appreciate me getting distracted from my duties.” She forced lightness into her voice. “Though I can afford to take some time away now, I’d much prefer logging some flight time.”

He didn’t quite smile, but she saw an answering glint in his eyes. They hadn’t flown for the pure joy of it in weeks, too busy preparing for the visit to the newest planet. He caught her hand and tucked it around his arm as they left her suite for the docks.

***