Out of the Ashes, Part 9

Out of the Ashes by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. "We were hoping to work out an arrangement where we might occasionally call upon your skills, in a consulting role. We'd benefit from your experience on the street and your impressive metahuman abilities, and in return, you'd get to call upon our resources -- intel, financial, manpower, equipment. The ability to run interference with the law. Plus, of course, we'll pay you. An annual retainer, paid immediately, plus a fee for each job, half in advance." This is much too sweet a deal. I shook my head slowly, sliding the badge back to her. "I'm sorry. It sounds very interesting, but I've got other things on my mind at the moment. Perhaps in a couple of weeks, we could talk again." I got the feeling Merrick was sincere, but I didn't trust the motives of the people behind her. I stood up, ending the discussion. "Wait. Before you decide, you should hear what the first two jobs are."

---

I woke from the usual nightmare, gasping for breath, still clutching Dolores' pillow. The clock radio said it was a little after seven AM, so I'd managed a couple of hours sleep; it was enough. Through the open curtains the clouds were low and dark, and heavy raindrops splashed against the windowpane.

The first thing I did was snatch Megan's phone off the bedside table and check for messages: nothing, nada, zip. Which also summed up my remaining leads. Until I could crash the Haldibane party, I was stumped, no clues to run down, nothing to follow up. I had the whole day in front of me, and nothing to fill it with, spinning my wheels while Dolores endures who-knows-what at the hands of the Cartel. I curled up in a ball around Dolores' pillow, inhaling her scent, trying to lock it into my mind, as if somehow I could track her through it, like some kind of super bloodhound.

Think! Motivation: why would they take her? If it had been as simple as knowing too much, she would have been found dead in the car, the same as Yee. They wanted something. Ransom? Unlikely. Information? Almost certainly, but what? The connection of the Cartel with Haldibane? That was the most likely scenario, and the one with most dire consequences for Dolores. They'd torture her to get what they needed, and then kill her.

But Dolores is smart, she'd give them my name, first thing. And they'd come looking for me. But they hadn't yet, although if that was the game, it was still quite early. If it was going to happen that way, it would happen today. Unless the cops outside have them worried. Possible, at least it would discourage a direct attempt on me, which could slow things down. So the cops would have to go. And I would have to make Megan highly visible and easy to find today, which precluded running around as Miss Mars or Dan Hunter.

Which was unacceptable, because I couldn't depend on that scenario being the one that would bring me to Dolores. I was chewing on that dilemma when the phone rang.

I looked stupidly at my cell before I realized it was our home phone ringing. I shifted to Megan before answering. "Hello?"

"Miss Mars, I assume?" The voice was male, deep and somehow oily. And smug. Whatever he wanted, I didn't want to give it to him.

"Who?"

"Oh come now, we can dispense with the games, I think. I know it's you, because I can hear your voice over the phone. But your ring keeps it from registering on our listening devices."

Okay, so that was a little clever. Shake him up. "Ah. I was wondering when I'd hear from the D.E.O. Tell you what, you have an agent, a brunette, she was working surveillance outside the Starbucks. I'll talk to her, no-one else. Thirty minutes. Plus, you get rid of the cops out front." I hung up the phone. That should keep them hopping.

It was more like forty-five minutes when a nondescript sedan screeched to a halt out front. By then I'd brewed a pot of coffee and switched to the shape I'd used for the meeting with Courtney at the Starbucks, essentially Miss Mars with a human skin color. I didn't feel like dressing up for them, so I'd shapeshifted a loose sweat top and some jeans. I left my hair loose, falling in crimson waves down to my waist. It tended to behave itself, and I'd become accustomed to it.

I watched through the living room window as two agents piled out of the sedan. One was the woman I'd described, and her partner was the balding man from Starbucks. She hurried up the front walk as her partner flashed his badge at the cops. I opened the door before she could ring the bell, remaining behind it and out of sight of the street, and she stepped inside.

It was her, all right, although for this meeting she was in Agent uniform -- I wondered if the government contracted with a single supplier -- a dark suit with knee-length skirt, white blouse, modest flats, no jewelry. She was missing the standard-issue dark glasses, so I could see she hadn't had time to manage any makeup, and she could have used some, to hide her lack of sleep. Her hair was pulled back into an austere bun. She was a few inches taller than me -- who wasn't, these days? -- and she was neither stocky nor thin, muscular nor flabby. Average figure. Somewhere in her thirties. Just... generic female. An excellent characteristic for a secret government agent.

She flashed her badge at me as I closed the door behind her. "Agent Sylvia Merrick, Department of Extranormal Operations. You demanded to see me." Her tone was annoyed.

I held out my hand for her badge and took my time examining it, memorizing it for the next time I needed to flash a copy of one. "Well, your boss was about to start ordering me around, so I turned the tables on him. You got caught in the middle, I'm sorry about that. Coffee? I bet you could use one." Without waiting for an answer, I led the way into the kitchen. "*Is she wired?*" I queried my ring.

"*Three devices,*" the ring confirmed. "*Including her cellphone. She may not be aware of that one. All have been suppressed.*"

"That would explain the phone call, then." she admitted wryly. "He was... irate."

I poured two mugs of coffee and offered milk and sugar, then led the way into the living room, each with our own mugs. She perched on the edge of a chair, and I curled up in a corner of the couch. "So. I presume ol' what's-his-name has a message for me."

"His name is Carleton Trask, and he's the Regional Director. He could make things very difficult for you, young lady."

Now that I have a name, maybe it's mutual. I let the 'young lady' bit pass, and shrugged. "So what does the D.E.O. want with me? Aside from whisking me off to some lab for a quick dissection, I mean. I'm not inclined to do them any favors."

She winced. "Yeah, I heard about that. It was a mistake."

I just about snorted my coffee at the understatement. "I'll say. Okay, the D.E.O. knows I've been talking to other departments, and they're jealous. What's the message? Aside from, 'We open early on Saturdays' and, 'We know who you are and we broke into your house', I mean."

She looked uncomfortable. "It's our job to keep track of all metahumans. Your kind is a menace to society."

My eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are we? You could have just stormed up the walk waving your pitchfork and sprayed that on my front door, then I could have slept in. Well, I'll try harder not to be. I'll mention it to Heatstroke, the next time we meet for a latte. Thank goodness we have you to keep us on the straight and narrow." I set down my coffee and stood up. "Message recieved. Anything else before you go, Agent Merrick?"

I walked to the front door; finally she realized her time was up and she stood, panicked. "Wait. That wasn't the message!"

I held up my hand to forestall her. "At-at-at! Too late. One message per visit, so sorry. Now it's my turn." She'd been forced to follow me to the door, I held it open for her and took her coffee mug, fixing her with an angry glare. "I play nice, invite you in, offer you a coffee. I was prepared to listen to what you had to say. In return you patronize and insult me in my own home. To my knowledge, I have done nothing to merit the treatment I have been getting from the D.E.O. So, fine. Here is how it will be. You are my sole contact with the D.E.O. If it's not your voice on the phone, I hang up. Your agency must know everything about me by now, so do your homework.

"Call me 'young lady' one more time and we're done. Call me a 'menace to society' one more time and we're done. So far, your agency has tried to dissect me, invaded my home, spied on me, and insulted me to my face. So much for first, second, and third impressions."

I smiled sweetly. "Come back at eleven o'clock this morning, and we can start over. Dress is casual. That gives you about three hours to get your act together. If you don't piss me off, I might work with you. I will never work for you. If you jerk me around I will jerk you back. Thank you for coming." I shut the door in her face.

With the help of the ring, I spent the next half-hour hunting down and destroying the listening devices.

~o~O~o~

The naked woman is curled on the thin mattress on the floor. She opens her eyes as the door opens and a man steps into the cell, carrying an open box, and she sits up and watches him, warily.

His words are succinct, but not totally without sympathy. "The reason you are not lying dead in a field, is due to the unhappy coincidence that for business reasons, we prefer attractive women for test subjects, and you are an attractive woman. We have implanted a behavioral modification chip at the base of your skull. Right now things seem a little distant to you, you are unable to feel anything strongly, like fear, or even very much curiosity. This is the chip working, suppressing certain centers of your brain.

"The chip is crude, but you'll find it extremely effective. What the chip can suppress, it can also stimulate. Punishment and reward. We will develop an aversion to certain behaviors, and encourage others. The first phase is punishment, and I am sorry to say, you will wish very soon that we had shot you."

He removes a couple of items from the box: a thin robe, a collar with a bell, a small remote control unit. "From this moment, you are a slave. Slaves always have owners; for the moment, I am your owner. Slaves are obedient to their owner in thought and in deed. Your old name is unimportant, it belonged to a different person. Your new name is Kitten. This," he holds up the collar and shakes it so the little bell tinkles cheerfully, "is your collar."

The woman shakes her head, more in simple denial than with any conviction. "No. You won't train me." she whispers hoarsely.

The man chuckles, amused. "Oh, I'm not trying to train you. I'm training the chip inside your head. The chip trains you."

~o~O~o~

It wasn't raining in Houston, although the morning sky was promising to be overcast and dull, and it was much warmer than home. I dropped a coin into the payphone, and dialled the office number Courtney had given me. A man's voice answered. "Sales office."

I shifted my vocal chords to deepen and roughen my voice. "Court Carter. Tell her it's Richard Swinger."

"One moment...." I was on hold for several minutes, listening to muzak, while they found Court and presumably traced the call. I heard a series of clicks on the line, then a mild background hum for a few seconds, then Court's amused voice. "Dick, good to hear from you! You're in town, I see. The line's secure."

That may be so, but they'd thought so before, too. I kept the voice. "Can you name a spot where we can meet within thirty minutes? Someplace private."

There was a brief pause while she considered, then: "East of the city, on the channel, there's a State Park. San Jacinto. Meet me at the monument."

A quick check with the ring produced a green beacon to the east only I could see. "I'll be there in five." If I dawdled for four minutes.

The location was perfect, and impossible to miss. The monument was a huge obelisk, maybe fifty stories tall, topped by an enormous star, Texans did love their stars. The surrounding area was flat scrubland, merging into marsh. There was a single access road, and at this hour of the morning, the parking lot was almost deserted. If anyone wanted to overhear our conversation, it would be impossible to sneak close enough.

The base of the tower was a museum, several stories tall; it was just opening for the day, which explained the few cars already in the lot. I stood at the top of the tower, some five hundred feet up, out of sight from the ground, checking out the vehicles as they came in along the long drive. Visitors were trickling in slowly, mostly minivans full of schoolkids. So far, no suits in nondescript government-type sedans.

When Court arrived, she was hard to miss; dressed in her American Dream uniform and riding that incredible bike of hers, her long blonde hair blowing freely in the wind. Even from my vantage point, I could hear that huge engine growl. I sighed and shook my head. So much for secrecy. She wheeled to a deserted corner of the parking lot, and I floated down to join her there, reverting to my green-skinned Miss Mars shape as I went.

"Miss Mars, we meet at last," she grinned as she swung off the bike. Her good cheer was at least a little infectious, despite my mood.

"American Dream! Do you media darlings have a problem with 'low key'?" I scolded.

She pretended not to understand. "What? I was under the speed limit. You should see me when I'm in a hurry! Besides, I like to get out and straddle something hard and powerful, once in a while."

Ooooh, choices. Sexual or catty? Sexual innuendo was too easy, too male. I went with catty. This is what I went to high school to learn, after all. I leered at her spandex-covered backside. "Well, you've got the padding for it," I said archly.

She twisted around to look at her backside. "What, are you saying my butt looks fat? At least mine ain't hangin' out there in the breeze, honey!"

Touché! I self-consciously tried to hide my nearly-naked butt cheeks with my hands. "Well, your costume is government issue, after all. 'Cover your ass' is part of the dress code!"

That broke her up, and I couldn't help but laugh with her. She held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, you win. Damn, there's not many people who'll riff with me like that, anymore," she chuckled. "Seriously, the bike made sense. If somebody tapped into our conversation, they already knew where I was going, but on the bike I could get here faster than anything they might send, unless they had a helicopter on hot standby. If they didn't overhear it, it's perfectly normal for me to take the bike out for a spin; and even if they suspected something, when I get on the freeway and really open her up, they couldn't follow me anyway. Either way, I figured it was important to get here fast, since you went through that charade with the phone call. 'Dick Swinger'. I like it. So what's up?"

I fidgeted uncomfortably. "I've got a lead for you, not much. And I really need some help. They've taken Dolores. She was... we're... I have to find her!" I said miserably.

"Oh, no. Oh, Megan, I'm so sorry." Courtney's lighthearted expression was replaced by grim determination. "Tell me what you've got, and what you need."

I took a deep breath and pushed the panic back, then explained about the Haldibane connection to the Cartel that Dolores had been exploring, and the details of her disappearance last night. I told her about my discovery of the abandoned Haldibane facility that the Bone Fist had used as the training ground for the Terberon robbery, and about the fat silver-gray cylinders Ramon had seen. "So Haldibane's connected to the Terberon heist, and I think it was important enough that they killed their own mole in the police department to hide it. But I need information about the company. What they were researching, why they went under. Facilities they might have sold off. Names. I need to know where to look!"

Court nodded. "You'll have it. How can we get it to you?"

I'd been thinking about that. "Some guy named Carleton Trask from the D.E.O. is on my back," I sighed. "I'm stringing them along to find out what they want, but I do not need them to find out any more than I can help. I don't trust their attitude towards metahumans, and covering up the Terberon thing is suspicious. They won't want me digging." I gave her a phone number, one of those easy-to-remember mnemonic word things. "Thats a little business-services place I've used before. Leave an envelope for Dan Hunter. I'll check in with them this afternoon."

"We can do that," she agreed, then hestitated. "You realize... Jade can get this stuff faster. And I'm sure she'd want to help." she added softly.

I shook my head. "No. Jade is my friend, and I owe her my life." I looked Court in the eye. "But ultimately, she has her own rules she has to follow, and her rules aren't my rules. I'm going to do whatever I have to do, to get Dolores back. I won't drag Jade down with me. When it's over, if you have to take me in, if she has to disavow me, I won't put up a fight. But I have to get Dolores back, first."

*And I'm sure you'll tell her all this,* I thought at the ring. Oddly, there was a pause before it responded. *Jade is too busy to concern herself with local criminal activity,* it advised me primly. *She promises to stay busy for as long as you need. And, call her when you can.*

Courtney crossed her arms and regarded me with an arched brow. "You won't use Jade, but you'll use me? Oh, I see where I stand, now."

I made a face. "Oh, come on. Your rules aren't exactly Jade's, either. The M.I.B. gets the information it wants, you have deniability if I make a mess, and I promise I'll come quietly when it's all over. What more could you ask for?" I raised my finger and pointed at her, threateningly. "And don't you even think about getting in my way, or..." I shifted to point behind her, "...or the bike gets it."

She gaped at me, aghast. "You wouldn't! That's government property! You would so get in trouble."

I narrowed my eyes and did my best to glower. "Oh, I'd do it."

We grinned at each other, then her smile faded and she regarded me for a long moment, then shook her head. "No, your folder has it right. 'Low Risk to Society'. I hardly know you, but I trust you. Oh, I don't doubt you can be ruthless to the wrong sorts of people, but I think your rules are as strict as Jade's in their own way. I don't think society has anything to worry about."

I felt myself tearing up, and a lump forming in my throat. "I wish I could be as sure... without Dolores... I don't know," I choked.

She surprised us both by pulling me into a fierce hug. "Hey, hey, you aren't alone in this, you have friends, and we've got your back," she whispered.

I clung to her for a few moments, then pulled away, wiping my eyes. "Th-thank you for that." I sniffled.

She looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, well." She cleared her throat. "My shrink'll have an orgasm when I tell her I hugged somebody. Maybe I'll save it for a Christmas present."

I choked out a laugh, but was interrupted before I could reply. "Yoohoo! Excuse me? American Dream?" A stout woman was hurrying around the corner of the building, followed by a troop of young girls in Girl Scout uniforms, and a couple of mothers tagging along behind. She had a fine shouting voice.

Courtney and I exchanged startled looks. "Your adoring public?" I inquired with a nervous grin.

She seemed baffled. "I don't know, this has never happened to me before." We stood and watched the oncoming horde, like deer caught in headlights.

"Look, it's the green one from YouTube! Mars Girl!" It was Court's turn to grin, as I winced. "I am so firing my publicist." I muttered.

The girls had us surrounded in seconds, pinning us down with a barrage of nonstop questions.

"Is that your motorcycle?" "Yes, it --"

"How come you're green?" "I don't really know, I just --"

"Does your bike have a name?" "Well, no, not really, but -- "

"I thought you were dead! Can you really fly?" "Well, I got better, and yes, I --"

"Can we go for a ride on your bike?" "No, I don't think --"

"Girls? GIRLS!" A shrill whistle cut through the interrogation. The woman gave us an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, I hope we're not intruding, but we were just going into the museum and saw American Dream ride in on her bike, and the girls were hoping to maybe get a picture?"

I clapped Court on the shoulder with a grin, and stepped away. "Have fun, I need to be going, anyway."

"Wait! Would you be in the picture, too? You're the one from the Internet, right?"

Courtney hastily grabbed my hand and tugged me back. "Miss Mars would love to be in the picture. Wouldn't you, Miss Mars?"

I flung an exasperated glare at Court and forced a smile. "Yes, of course, American Dream, I'd love to be in the picture."

Eventually we got organized, Court and I in front of the bike, the leader between us, and two rows of Girl Scouts in front. One of the moms took the picture, and another to be sure, and then Court insisted on a photo of just the two of us posing with the girl's leader. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Lucy. Lucy Gonzales."

"You're the real hero in this picture, Ms. Gonzales. You'll make a bigger difference in these girls' lives than we ever will, and we are both honored to meet you."

I'm not sure the mom was able to fit the all of the woman's smile into the shot.

~o~O~o~

I made it back to the house with just a few minutes to spare. Still nothing on Megan's phone. I started a fresh pot of coffee, then touched up my appearance, fixing my skin tone and tying my hair back, fastening it at the nape of my neck with a barrette. I shifted into a dressy pair of jeans and a casual knit top, aiming for a college-age look. Hopefully, that will help keep the 'young lady' remarks to a minimum.

*Any new bugs?* I asked the ring. *None I can detect.* came the response.

Sharp at eleven, the doorbell rang, and I opened it to see Agent Merrick, having traded in her agent suit for jeans and a casual buttoned shirt, and a light jacket. Beyond her I could see her partner in their government-issue sedan, parked in the driveway. I smiled and waved to him, receiving a dirty look in response.

"Agent Merrick! Please, come in." I stood aside and closed the door behind the woman, then led the way into the kitchen. "Another coffee? Or maybe a tea?"

"Coffee's fine." she replied brusquely.

This time we sat at the kitchen table. "Look, I'll behave this time. But before we start, my ring informs me that you have three listening devices. They won't work, and I don't blame you for trying, but it's possible you weren't aware that your cellphone was bugged. Just an FYI. Now, what does the Department of Extranormal Operations want with me?"

Judging from her reaction, she didn't know about the cellphone, but to her credit, she kept to the point. "First, on behalf of the Department, I would like to extend our sincere apologies for how we treated you at Terberon, and this morning, and I personally apologize for my own behavior. The Director was most upset, and if you hadn't sworn to only deal with me, I'd be surveilling snowflakes in the Aleutians by this time tomorrow. As it is, I've been temporarily promoted out of Surveillance, and assigned as your contact with the Department. For that, I owe you thanks."

The words were correct, but delivered stiffly, there was no genuine feeling behind them, and we both knew it. Not to mention that it was her Director who started us off on the wrong foot this morning, not her. Never mind, let's just get to the point. I nodded. "Apology accepted."

Agent Merrick cleared her throat, and continued. "Ms. Morse, the Department is aware of your cooperation with other agencies, and would like to discuss how we might secure your cooperation with the D.E.O. -- to work with us, not for us." she hastened to add.

I leaned back in my chair. Interesting... "What sort of arrangement did the Department have in mind?"

She reached into her purse and withdrew a plain brown envelope, extracting the contents and laying them out on the table. "To start, a peace offering. We know Agent Carter, American Dream, has been provided with adult ID, which I'm sure helps address a number of problems for someone in your, ah, situation." It was all there: drivers licence, birth certificate, Social Security card, health insurance, bank statement with a Visa and an ATM card, even a passport. Five feet four inches, age 21, hair red, eyes green. Date of birth was the same month and day as Megan's. The photos for the IDs were obviously from surveillance photos taken at the Starbucks and photoshopped, but the results were impeccable. All of the documents bore the name 'Joanne Jahns'. I raised an eyebrow.

"If you don't like the name, we can find a different one," she explained quickly. "The ID was prefab, a standard witness protection package. The computer records are all created in advance, then we just add the relevant details and generate the plastic." She tapped a folder of documents I hadn't opened yet. "Backstory's all there, not that you'll ever need it."

I nodded to signify I understood, neither approving nor disapproving, then held up the bank statement. "It says I've got twenty-five-thousand dollars in here?"

She nodded. "Part of our apology, no strings attached."

I pretended to look impressed. "Thank you. The Department apologizes very well." I doubted I'd use any of it, of course, because as soon as I got Dolores back, I'd be perfectly happy to be Megan Morse, and I wasn't about to consider any other scenarios just yet. Presumably they'd know that, which meant this was a setup for their proposal. I waited patiently for the other shoe to drop.

She pulled out another item from her purse, sliding it across to me. One D.E.O. badge, for Agent Joanne Jahns. "We were hoping to work out an arrangement where we might occasionally call upon your skills, in a consulting role. We'd benefit from your experience on the street and your impressive metahuman abilities, and in return, you'd get to call upon our resources -- intel, financial, manpower, equipment. The ability to run interference with the law. Plus, of course, we'll pay you. An annual retainer, paid immediately, plus a fee for each job, half in advance."

This is much too sweet a deal. I shook my head slowly, sliding the badge back to her. "I'm sorry. It sounds very interesting, but I've got other things on my mind at the moment. Perhaps in a couple of weeks, we could talk again." I got the feeling Merrick was sincere, but I didn't trust the motives of the people behind her. I stood up, ending the discussion.

"Wait. Before you decide, you should hear what the first two jobs are."

I paused, my arms crossed across my chest. "I'm listening."

Agent Merrick smiled like a used-car salesman pitching the close. "The first is to show our good faith. Discover the whereabouts of Dolores Parker, rescue her if possible, and bring her kidnappers to justice. The second can take a back seat until the first is complete. It's the same thing that MIB wants. Bring Heatstroke to justice."

I snorted skeptically. "Define 'justice'."

She shrugged. "We're concerned with national security, not law enforcement, Ms. Morse. It gives us some leeway. Arrest them and turn them over to the police, or to your friends in the M.I.B. Spank them until they promise to behave. Kill them if you you must. The Department relies on the judgement of its Agents."

I reached out and placed my finger on the badge, tentatively. "Since we're gonna be friends, and all... what was stolen from Terberon?"

She shook her head. "The official line from Terberon is that nothing was stolen. The Department has closed the investigation."

Let's test the limits. "Okay, start a new investigation. Cross-reference their receiving manifests with their accounts payable. I want to know about every raw material Terberon buys, valuable enough to be stored in that vault, that isn't in current inventory. I want to know if they paid for any shipments they never received." It was one thing to lose inventory, it was another to erase a payment and still balance the accounts. Chances were good, the payment was still on the books. "Check the log records, I want to know every person, and every project that has withdrawn material from that vault in the last 90 days. Cross reference that against the current inventory of the vault. Who's been using stuff that was never there? Talk to their Human Resources people -- what projects have been shut down, who's been laid off, taken a sudden vacation or leave of absence, or been reassigned since the robbery?"

She opened her mouth to object, but I forestalled her. "Agent Merrick, I'll be honest. I'm skeptical of the Department's offer, it seems much too good to be true, and I think they're either trying to buy me off, or doing it to keep tabs on me. The more I use the resources of the Department, the better they'll know what I'm doing. So I'm calling their bluff. I give you my word, this is a legitimate request. I believe something was stolen from Terberon -- I was there -- and finding out what it was, is relevant to finding Dolores. Either your Department will take me seriously, or it won't; but either way I'll know where I stand pretty quickly. I'll take the jobs. You offered me the resources of the Department, I want 'em."

~o~O~o~

The woman sits at the small table in her cell, picking listlessly at the food on the tray in front of her with a plastic spoon. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her face is stained with tears. The bell on the collar around her neck tinkles slightly when she moves. She is naked, and goosebumps cover her skin; although the thin robe lies discarded on the concrete floor. She looks up in fear as the man enters.

"What is your name, slave?"

She opens her mouth to respond, then whimpers and clutches at her head. "K-kitten. My name is Kitten!" she blurts. Her voice is hoarse.

The man smiles. "Excellent. See how it works? Even thinking of yourself by your old name risks punishment. The chip is watching, inside your head, every instant of every day. The brain adapts to avoid the negative stimulation, and quickly learns to shy away from any thoughts that threaten to trigger the pain. Very soon the correct name will be the only one that comes to mind at all, even in your own thoughts. All the rules you're learning won't even be second nature to you. They'll be instinctive, first nature, and then the pain will stop." He sighs, shaking his head regretfully, and speaks as if to a child. "Speaking of which... Kitten, I'm afraid it's time to learn another rule." From his pocket, he produces the small remote control device.

The woman lurches to her feet, knocking the chair over, backing away slowly. She shakes her head, her eyes wide. "No... please, no." she whispers, her voice rising in fear.

"Slaves are not allowed on the furniture without their owner's permission. Bad Kitten," he says, and presses the red button on the remote. The woman's eyes roll back in her head and she collapses to the floor like a rag doll, her face contorted into a rictus, limbs flailing, convulsing soundlessly save for the gasping of her breath and the frantic chime of her collar bell. After watching for a few moments, his face expressionless, he sets her food tray onto the floor, then picks up the robe and lays it across the table. "You have permission to get dressed," he says as he leaves. The bell continues to tinkle for a long minute after he is gone.

---