Chapter 1: Slave Furlong

The blue minivan was marked with the Silver Wolf Slave Advocacy logo. Inside were three people. Riding in the front were a man and a woman in fashionable business suits. Clipped to their jacket pockets were ID badges. Both were citizens—neither wore slave collars or Legal Resident wristbands. The naked man in the back wore a metal slave collar around his neck and was in the Nevada Department of Public Safety-approved 7-point slave vehicular restraint system. Metal bands on his wrists and ankles stabilized him in a semi-displayed position. A tight waistband and a pair of shoulder straps held him firmly upright and facing to curbside. The back of the van had been designed to transport eight slaves in safety and with minimal discomfort.

"How are you doing back there, Emmet?" The woman's badge gave her name as Holly Goodstone. "Are you okay?"

"I can't complain, Ms. Goodstone." The naked slave said.

"Health and welfare question, Slave Emmet," the man's badge was printed with the name Brian Waithwright, "are you sweating back there? I need to know that my air conditioning isn't making you sick."

"I'm quite comfortable, Mr. Waithwright. May I thank you for taking me to see my family?"

"You may, and you're welcome," the man said.

"RIGHT TURN 300 METERS AHEAD." Modern automobiles featured on-board navigation systems and robot drivers. "TURN RIGHT ON THE DIRT ROAD. FOLLOW IT FOR 5 KILOMETERS."

"Dirt road?" Brian asked. "Holly, you said that this was a high-tech medical research facility."

"It is. That really isn't a dirt road or I'd have to manually drive there. The navigator would still tell me where I was, but I'd have to do the driving—just like at the Virginia City Theme Park."

"TURNING RIGHT. SILVER ORB 5 KILOMETERS."

"Emmet, tell me about your last furlong," Holly commanded. "You watched your wife sexually service the entire first squad of the State College X-ball team. You were then used by some of the team yourself. Did Woodward Data Systems provide aftercare for you?"

"No, ma'am. That was taken care of by Master Hank's personal physician."

"WDS is supposed to provide all your medical needs," Brian complained. "I'll have to look into that."

"I've got it right here," Holly displayed a personal interface device that was trademarked Palm Slave. "Two weeks ago a Dr. Roger Kingbee received a deposit from the Woodward Data Systems for post-sex examination and after-care. Even though it was a house call Dr. Kingman received $29 for his visit which was donated to the Gorman Liverstall Slave Advocacy Agency."

"Our competitors!" Brian groused. "Well, we're officially off duty as soon as we deliver Emmet to his family. I've never been here before."

"Silver Orb is a small town of about 600," Holly answered. "As I told you in your briefing every free adult, citizen or Legal Resident, is a licensed prostitute. That includes the man we're seeing."

"An entire town of prostitutes."

"There's nothing shameful about being a prostitute. Hank Dalton owns the town but unlike most brothel owners is licensed as a prostitute and is available upon appointment." Holly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, you did come here for the orgy this afternoon. You will be having sex with prostitutes. We'll stay at my sisters."

"She just became a slave?"

"Last month. Right after her twins reached the age of consent—Becky did it so that she can become a slave advocate, too. We can ask to see the family vids tonight after the orgy—if you can stay awake, that is. That was quite a combination collaring party and birthday celebration! Becky was collared and her obedience training is almost finished. She's supposed to service seven men tonight. Wait to you meet Kelly—that's Hank Dalton's wife. Victor hired Kelly and Hank to service their kids. I expected Jewel to refuse to use her own mother, but I thought that all boys had no conscience when it came to their dicks. James said that he couldn't do his own mother even if she was a slave. You know what they say..."

"Slaves never say no," Brian frowned. "The kids are off limits—I hope."

"Unless you are a licensed prostitute hired by their parents," Holly tossed her head. "Children between the age of consent and adulthood may have sex with registered prostitutes in this state, but the children cannot BE prostitutes. And only adults may hire prostitutes."

"I understand that slaves can be hired out for sex only if their owner has a brothel license, had the required health insurance and the slaves used for sex are given a bonus that can be collected at the end of their term." Brian glanced back at Emmet. "If the company only uses the services of their slaves as an employee benefit, no licensing is required. Only when the slaves are used as prostitutes for outsiders—because the brothel business was legal here more than a century before the rest of the nation legalized prostitution."

"They call Nevada the Sin Capital of Capitallia," Holly scoffed, "just because they legalized prostitution and gambling way back in the Dark Ages! Nevada businessmen often will rent or lease prostitutes as part of their marketing budget. It is less expensive than making all company slaves prostitutes. Some companies do have one or two designated slave prostitutes—unlike other states in Capitallia where the slave can be used for commercial sex in direct competition with licensed brothels, escort services and street walkers."

"1931 was not the dark ages," Brian rolled his eyes. "They had radio and cars and electric lights back then."

"Not in Silver Orb! It was a dusty little commune of 200 souls back then, all members of the First Church of Earth. They were moon worshippers who pretended to be Christian to avoid prosecution. They still worship nude. The church is one of the places were nudity is mandatory in the town. The rest of Silver Orb is clothing optional, though most businesses have naked staff. There are only a handful of citizens and slaves in town, the rest are non-citizens. Hank Dalton bought the place 20 years ago and most of their business is medical research contracting."

"WARNING: NAKED PEOPLE WILL BE ENCOUNTERED BEYOND THIS POINT." The mini-van's navigator announced. "PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK."

"Automobile, stop." The mini-van coasted to a stop. Holly unfastened her safety harness and began disrobing as soon as they stopped moving.

"What are you doing?"

"Becky's household was always a naked one," Holly explained as she undressed. "She would sleep naked and didn't wear clothes unless she had to while we were growing up. Then she met her husband Victor and she seldom wore anything again." Holly rolled up her suit, blouse and tie. She wasn't wearing socks or underwear. Refastening the safety harness, Holly commanded the minivan's robot driver to resume. "Ah, that's better, Nevada permits breast feeding in public and free women have the same top-free rights as men, but there are a lot of Catholics and Mormons here. Larger cities will fine you for disturbing the peace except for designated zones. We all have to share the public spaces."

"You didn't tell me that you became a nudist."

"My slave time was spent here. I got used to being naked. I'm going to spend my next vacation here."

"Your son will really like that!"

"There's the scanner." The minivan slowed down and a voice announced that they had arrived at Silver Orb. There was a fading purple banner with a silver full moon, the words 'Silver Orb Naturist Ranch' in silver letters. Holly announced them without rolling down the windows—an old-fashioned comm box stood on a post in front of an unoccupied gatehouse.

"ENTRY GRANTED AT 1217 NEW YORK CITY TIME. THE LOCAL TIME IS 0917 AND THE AIR TEMPERATURE IS 32 GRAD," the voice of the minivan said as motorized gates opened up. "PROCEEDING TO 14 TRUCK FARM ALLEY, DALTON RESIDENCE. HANK DALTON HAS BEEN NOTIFIED OF YOUR ARRIVAL."

"This place still looks like a rustic old resort town or one of the communes left over from the USA days."

"It's supposed to, Brian. If you look at that building over there, the grocery store, you'll see that the exterior is artificially weather beaten. Hank told me that the Druidical cultists were non-violent to a fault, but manufacturing camouflage so that other people would think that there was nothing here worth stealing was okay. This place is also the manufacturing center for those crafts on sale back in Silver Springs. You can order original pieces that are not impregnated with RFID tags. Some people prefer stuff like that."

"But what if someone steals their unmarked stuff? Insurance companies will not insure items that are not marked. They even inserted RFID tags in unique art work at the museums."

"The items are not expensive. Why pay for insurance on things that wear out or that you will dispose of after use? We're passing the largest building in town. See that barn-like structure? That is the civic center. It is used for all school assemblies and for town meetings. There are church services there, too. The cultists prefer to worship in the open air. There's one of them now."

"Look at the size of the bush on that broad!" Brian pointed at a woman with waist-length brown hair. Her pubic bush extended up to her navel and covered her inner thighs half-way down. The woman had noticeably hairy legs and dark hair peeked out from her arm pits as she strode barefoot and nude down the street with a child holding on to each hand. The children wore Silver Orb school uniforms. The woman wore a gold torque around her neck. "She is a licensed prostitute?"

"The cultists are committed naturists. They think it is sinful to cut their hair. All the men have full beards too." Holly snickered. "You aren't prejudiced, are you? There are all sorts of exotic tastes in women. The hairy fetish market is one reason why every prostitute isn't a living, breathing copy of that Lilly doll little girls have been buying for nearly two centuries."

"The children are wearing clothes—isn't this a nudist colony?"

"They wear them to school. The Silver Orb Private Academy mandates school uniforms for children in grades 1-8. The lower grades can remove their clothing for recess, the upper grades generally have one nude class per day, everyone takes lunch naked, but learning to wear clothes is part of the education process."

"I remember how embarrassed I was when I had to shower with all the other boys," Brian reflected. "I would have just died of embarrassment if a girl saw me when I was 8 years old. I would blush if a girl flashed her panties at me. Being a slave for six months got rid of my modesty."

"Then why are you still wearing clothes?"

"ARRIVAL, 14 TRUCK FARM ALLEY, SILVER ORB, NEVADA. DALTON RESIDENCE." The voice of the minivan announced that the vehicle was in PARK and that the drive train had shut off.

"Are you going to undress here or inside?" Holly asked.

"Inside."

"Chicken!"

"Am not!"

"Prove it!"

The minivan had parked itself in front of a building resembling a warehouse. The front door opened and a tall naked man walked to the minivan.

"Holly, good to see you again. Thank you for bringing Emmet. Can you release him now? His children are eating breakfast. Their bus will be here in about a half hour."

"Bubbles," Holly said.

"HOLLY GOODSTONE, AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED AND ACCEPTED." The minivan said.

"Release Emmet and open the slave compartment doors."

The doors on either side slid open and the buckles and straps released. Emmet sat there wearing only his slave collar. Slaves need permission for everything, even to see their families.

"Emmet, go into the house. You know where the kitchen is." Holly got out and stretched with her body half in shadow and half in sunlight. "This is going to be a scorcher again!"

"The high is predicted to be only 40 Grad today," Hank said as Brian got out of the van. "It got to 43 yesterday. This is a desert, a place known for high temperatures."

"Let's get inside before the sun gets us," Brian joked. "Besides, I could use a cup of tea after that drive."

The three free people followed Emmet into the house. Confronting the two slave advocates were a group of children in school uniforms lined up at the door. They wore empty backpacks and white short-sleeved shirts over a pair of purple shorts. Sandals protected their feet. Each child had a purple wrist band on their left arm. There were several naked adult women fussing over the children—and in a corner of the room observing everything was a short stout figure dressed in black.

Emmet was on his knees embracing two children dressed in school uniforms. The taller, older child was a boy and the shorter girl was telling her father that he didn't need to cry.

"Its okay, Lucy. Daddy is very glad to see you again." The speaker was a medium-sized young woman with large breasts and shoulder length brown hair. The bangs set off her chocolate drop eyes. Her name was Beverly Albertson, Emmet's wife. She wore only her Legal Resident identification bracelet. "You can see him when you get out of school."

"She can see her father at the assembly this afternoon," the speaker was the figure in black and she had a feminine contralto voice with a West Coast accent. "Sir, I'm Corporal Culp, Department of Youth Intervention. Which slave advocacy agency are you from? And why doesn't this woman have her Legal Resident bracelet?"

"Because I'm a citizen," Holly replied. "Holly Goodstone, Silver Wolf Slave Advocacy. This is my partner, Brian Waithwright."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. This town gives me the creeps with everybody running around naked." Corporal Culp shuddered. "It must be drafty in winter! I'm here with an inspection team. We'll be at school assembly. Emmet is going to talk to the kids here about stealing."

"Yes, we know what he did."

"My partner will meet me here and we will inspect all the child labor work spaces. I'm checking on the children here because there are surrogate mothers. You need to check them yourself. This town has not reported any crime for fifty-two years, just shortly after the war. I thought that they were covering up something," Culp shuddered again. "I'm sorry, but my momma brought me up modest. Ms. Goodstone—"

"Please call me Holly. I'm not really dressed for formality."

"Since you have no secrets from me you can call me Wanda. Why doesn't being naked bother you? I'm bothered. Is that a heart down there?"

"Yes," Holly stood feet apart and rolled her pelvis to display a heart-shaped tuft of red-tinted pubic hair. "I sculpted it for a party with my sister. Slave advocate organization officers are required to have been slaves for a minimum of six months so that they can better understand what slavery means to a slave. I was enslaved to Hank right here in this home. Being a slave includes spending a week in a brothel servicing customers just like any other slave prostitute. Silver Orb has its own brothel. No special consideration. After that, being naked in a nudist colony is anything but embarrassing. Here—see these marks? They're from a cigar. The client who did this to me was fined for slave abuse—just $50 that went to the brothel. I got a shower and some burn ointment. If he had requested a slave to burn, he could have gotten that for just $20. No, after my experiences I lost all false modesty. I had to have some memories modified so that I couldn't remember specific sex customers any more, but because I needed to experience slavery first hand for myself, I remember everything that was done to me. I just cannot remember names and faces. I can't even remember if it was a man or a woman—I said 'he' because most women don't waste their money on sex. They can get all the sex they want and even get something in return, a promotion, dinner, a few drinks—and that isn't classified as prostitution so long as no money is exchanged. It could have been a woman."

"What motivated you to be a slave? I could never become a slave."

"Nor could I, Corporal Culp," Hank interrupted. "I am a coward. As the only other adult in this house who hasn't been a slave, think about what you'd do if tomorrow you were enslaved. It can happen to the best of us."

"Not to me!"

"Sometimes good people have a run of bad luck," Holly said. "I wanted to help those who are forbidden to stand up for themselves. Slaves are livestock or pets—they have no rights. Yet they are entitled to humane treatment. Most are slaves for only a limited period of time, less than 10% of their expected life span. I became a slave advocate because someone had to stand up for the slaves. Someone had to make sure that those helpless people were not destroyed by their slavery. Someone has to make sure that the law isn't abused, that only people deserving enslavement or volunteering become slaves, and that the slave owners honor the manumission contracts and release the slave at the end of indenture with the agreed-upon financial package. I could become a slave myself and I would want someone to make sure that I survived being enslaved."

"Slavery is far more humane than the prison system it replaced," Hank glanced at Brian as he began disrobing. "There's a closet to your right, Brian. Do you need to secure any sensitive things like electronic devices or weapons?"

"I left them in the car." Brian said. "What were the prisons like?"

"I only visited them," Hank said. "I was a prisoner chaser when I was a US Marine and I took people to and from prison."

"I thought you were a commando," Holly said.

"Was. But what do you do with a commando between jobs? Emmet doesn't have a free ride, but he has a better life ahead of him when his indenture is over. Had he rotted in one of the old prisons for 8 years, he would have faced life with the stigma of being an ex-convict. There is no stigma to having been a slave."

"But Emmet STOLE from his employer." Corporal Culp's eyes were as big as poker chips and her brown skin purpled when Brian's trousers fell to his ankles. "He should have gotten life for embezzlement."

"Extenuating circumstances," the boy said. "Dad stole so that I could have a new heart. He was just borrowing until he could pay it back. I'm Danny and this is my sister Lucy."

"Hi," Lucy said with a shy smile.

"Time to go, everybody," a blonde woman with a Pixie haircut said. "School starts in 15 minutes."

"Bye dad." The boy said.

"Bye dad. Love you." The girl kissed her kneeling father's cheek.

"Bye kids. I'll see you soon." The children scampered into line and the blonde Pixie led them out the door.

As soon as the children left and the door closed, Beverly took her husband's ear between thumb and forefinger and pulled him to his feet.

"Come with me, slave boy," Beverly Albertson commanded. "I have an itch I want you to scratch. We're going to have to do this sometimes when you are free again—you being my naked slave boy."

"I don't understand white people sometimes," Corporal Culp commented as Beverly towed her enslaved husband out of the room. "You even have fake slave auctions."

"It is a way to cope with fear," Hank explained. "By playing at slave, by abusing brothel slaves citizens get to triumph over terror. They can say 'not me—I'm better than that.' We humans are petty little hypocrites and I'm no exception. By the way, I know about these things because my day job is psychological research."

In another part of the converted warehouse a slave and a Legal Resident walked on a gym mat and embraced, falling to the mat. The slave rolled on his back clasped his hands behind his collared neck. In seconds the woman was on top grinding her pelvis into the man. She reached between them and grabbed his erect penis, positioned herself and then fully engulfed his shaft in her sheath. She howled and threw her head back. The man tried to remain stationary as the woman leaned forward, her breasts hanging down in his face.

"Suck them! No hands! Use only your mouth." Beverly gasped. "I really love you even if you did something stupid."

Her panting quickened and she began bouncing up and down on her enslaved husband, raising and lowering herself on his meaty manhood. Emmet released her nipple and his jaw clenched shut. Face sweaty and contorted, every muscle in his neck taut, Emmet grunted and shook.

"That's right. Fill me up. Give it to me!"

Emmet gasped and his eyes rolled up. All the tension drained from his body and he went slack. Beverly smiled and her belly twitched. She gently lowered her body full-length against the dazed man, holding his penis in her vagina by reaching around her own meaty hams and pressing in with two fingers. It may have looked like she was fingering her own anus—but that was later, that was dessert. For several minutes she just held herself against her husband the slave and breathed deeply.

In the kitchen the adults were listening to the woman in the black uniform.

"I protect the innocent," Corporal Culp sipped some water.

"We do too," Holly helped herself to some cut fruit on a platter.

"The enslavement process has abuses," Brian wiped his mouth. "May I have some more tea, Susan? Thanks. I've uncovered three questionable enslavements already. I'm here on pleasure, visiting my partner's family, but I'm obligated to report any slave abuses I witness—I'm even empowered to intervene should I see something especially abusive, make a citizen's arrest and confiscate the slave."

"But you'd better be right, sir. Citizens should leave police business to the professionals," Corporal Wanda Culp shoved a carrot stick in her mouth and chomped down.

"As professionals you are limited in what you can to." Hank waved to the back. "Emmet Albertson was a programmer working for Woodward Data Systems. He was being paid a salary of $90,000 annually because of his skills and he was renting a condo in Reno and had health insurance and everything. One day Danny fell down while at recess on the school playground. After the HMO physician's assistant examined Danny, it was determined that Danny had a heart murmur. It was serious enough that immediate surgery was recommended. The specialist in Sacramento was the cheapest, but he wanted $500,000. Two things happened—the insurance company said that it would only pay for an end-of-life hospice for Danny and when Emmet objected, the insurance company refused to pay a dime. It was their way or the highway. Even the $5,000 bill for the initial emergency room visit was deducted from Emmet's severance paycheck. What's worse is that Emmet's bank account and credit cards shut off the moment he was fired."

"Emmet got fired?" Corporal Culp asked?

"Yes," Holly picked up the tale. "He was refused entrance to his work place. His landlord informed Emmet that he had to clear out of the condo by the end of the month—that was two weeks. Beverly lost her job for reasons that are not clear—but Nevada is a Right to Work state and even those workers with a contract can be paid off and terminated."

"What happened next?" Brian asked.

"Danny was still in the hospital. Emmet snuck in and kidnapped his own son—they wouldn't release Danny because the boy was too sick to move. It was a miracle that Danny lived long enough to get to the clinic in Sacramento." Hank paused to hold his audience in suspense. To pay the bills and to provide Beverly something to live on, Emmet dummied up his own enslavement papers. He sold himself for a 5 year period to the Eye Candy Ink advertising firm with $50,000 up front and another $50,000 upon manumission. Then Emmet had the doctor's bills paid off through his old company's accounts. He called Beverly to tell her when and where to collect Danny, that he was going to be enslaved at the advertising firm and that he loved her."

"I'd call Emmet 'hero.' Yes, he stole," Holly glared at Corporal Culp, "but he did everything he could to save his child's life. I looked into the case. The firing, the eviction, the frozen accounts were all to pressure Emmet into signing his son's assisted death certificate. Nobody wanted to pay a half million dollars to save a ten year old Legal Resident's life, even though Emmet had good health insurance."

"Emmet only thought that he had good health insurance," Hank pointed out. "The current system is a relic of the US National Healthcare Provision Act of 2013. Basically, it keeps people healthy, but if they get really sick they are a drain on the system and they are offered death with dignity. One of the bills before Congress right now is making that kind of fraud illegal. That health plan is still being offered by some HMO's in several of our states. Nevada is one of those states. There is another bill that is perhaps more important--a bill that all slaves be implanted with inactive digital bio implants."

"What's wrong with that?" Wanda Culp asked. "They're slaves and they need to be controlled anyway. Those implants can be removed when a slave is manumitted."

"The implants cannot be easily removed, Corporal Culp." Hank's offered his hand palm upward in supplication. "The federal slave control regulations only mandate that the slave be kept under positive control without using excessive cruelty. I could use a control belt and achieve everything that can be done with implants—and I can remove the external devices. There's even some modules which can be swallowed, inserted anally or vaginally—owners have options. Holly's slave breakers were the Night Owl Bondsman Trainers and they use the Jakefield Unitary System. When the Jakefield System is deactivated, they simply take the keys away, not brick the doorway closed."

"But my implants were removed," Brian said. "They told me so!"

"Mine too!" Holly added.

"They were deactivated but not removed. Deactivation consisted of removing the access codes, the key to your implants, from your owners' control. The implant technology was developed here at this lab--that's why we are so low profile, to discourage industrial espionage or worse. Your implants are the Jakefield Unitary System and the keys were simply removed from the owner's possession--unless he made a spare copy. Your controllers are supposed to be foolproof, but we fools are so ingenious. Especially when this fool made the tools in the first place. Holly, would you consent to an experiment? May I make you orgasm hard?"

"It won't happen," Holly insisted. "Fire away. My implants are gone. I spent two weeks getting them installed, being trained, and I spent three days being deprogrammed and having my implants removed."

"I experienced the same with Corey's Corrections in Sacramento," Brian added. "It took only ten days to train me and I spent four days getting my implants out."

"Implants fuse with your nervous system. Removing those imbedded nannites is more difficult and dangerous than removing cancer cells." Hank picked up a briefcase from the table and opened it up as he spoke. "I know what your control settings are. Your implant was shut down in accordance with slave regulations. Removing those implants has a small chance of killing you, and a larger but still small chance of leaving you crippled for life. If not fully removed, the digital bio implant will rebuild itself. It regenerates because it is a combination of nano-machines and gene splicing therapy to merge with your nervous system, to become an integral part of you. That feature was added so that the implants would be self-repairing and require no maintenance for as long as 1000 years. I wanted Holly to use an external collar. I only do the minimum with my slaves—those locator chips and a collar in public. Holly's organization mandated the Jakefield Unitary System and I don't know why. The control implants, those digital bio implants are expensive and can be abused. As long as I comply with the federal mandate that my slave is kept under control, I can chose external control devices or implanted ones. If I chose implants they have to be installed and activated by an independent company, one monitored by slave advocate groups. At manumission the slave's implants are merely deactivated, not removed. They are still there—and there is another bit of bad news for you."

"What?" Holly's face was pale. The message was sinking in because Holly trusted her former master's truthfulness and because she knew that he had indeed developed the slave control implants in the underground labs beneath Silver Orb.

"The way the human mind works makes you susceptible to my orders." Hank shook his head and frowned. "That was clear as mud. You were conditioned to obey me. You were a very obedient slave."

"Slaves obey. They have no choice."

"That's right, Holly. Did you notice that during your last three weeks I was deprogramming you? The fact that you disagree with me is proof that you still have free will and that you are not totally in my power. I still wish you had taken my advice to see a therapist because I worry about you."

"Hank except for Hell Week and a few customers in the brothel, my enslavement wasn't hard. You only did what was required for getting me certified as a slave advocate." Holly said. "You are a kind master, a gentle master."

"Do I have permission to make you orgasm, Holly?"

"Hank, could you make me do things against my will?" Brian asked.

"If I find your codes. With the right equipment and a few minutes I can."

"I don't believe you." Holly said. "You'd never hurt me."

"I would only do so with reason, Holly. As a free person you need not take part in this experiment."

"Go ahead. You won't hurt me."

Hank keyed in a long command. He looked up at Holly and depressed ENTER. Holly flushed and began panting. Her teeth chattered and she trembled, unable to speak. Holly's knees buckled and she collapsed writhing on the floor. Hank took his finger off the ENTER key and Holly's writhing ceased.

"You are a good girl, Holly," Hank Dalton told the woman on the floor. The tension leached out of her body.

"Susan, start after-care on Holly, please," Hank directed. "I admit it. I didn't expect her Night Owl Bondsman Trainers to be this rough. While she was my slave I installed some firewalls and implanted a few skills. Brian, if I ever suspect that you are using Holly's emergency recovery phrase to take advantage of her, I will figure out your implant codes and take control of your erections. Just imagine a limp noodle every time you want to have sex or unwanted erections during business meetings—or worse. You have been manumitted, but enslavement is forever."

"Hank, you have two unscheduled visitors in a sky car at the town gate," the house paging system announced. "They are Ned and an unidentified person here to talk about your late Uncle Sampson's estate. Identities verified."

Hank went from relaxed to alert immediately. His friendly open face closed down to a stony mask. "Please excuse me. Business. House, admit Ned and tell him to meet me at my office. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The large man moved out of the kitchen with dispatch.

"What is that all about?" Corporal Culp wondered.

Chapter 2: A Murder Earthshaking

Hank Dalton hurried through the underground passage between his home and his office. The scanner had announced TWO people in the visitor's conveyance. Hank glanced at the data link in his hand, a device known commercially as a Palm Slave, and tried to discern the people carried in the slave compartment of the government-issue sky car. Normal people never paid attention to the contents of a slave compartment. They thought that nobody important was back there.

As Hank climbed a spiral staircase to his office, he noted that the sky car had parked and that FOUR people had disembarked—and that there were three more people inside the sky car. Hank's slave secretary, Nancy, greeted the four people. Using his Palm Slave, Hank identified the people who stepped out of the sky car. The slave secretary was petite and showed no signs of having borne Hank Dalton two children over the past seven years. She had short brown, almost black hair, large expressive brown eyes, small but full breasts, and had gone by the name Nancy Isobel when she was a Legal Resident. Nancy did wear four things—a pair of earrings, a navel ring and an iridescent metal-mesh slave choker. Hank felt himself getting aroused watching Nancy's muscular buttocks flex and her firm breasts jiggle and suppressed his sexual excitement. Business concerning "Uncle Sampson's estate" was code for an issue concerning the United States Remaining or U.S.R., itself a euphemism. The rump of the former 51 United States, confined to the South Eastern part of the continent minus Florida, still called itself the United States of America and regarded the independent nations of Capitallia and Atzlan to be temporarily in rebellion. Getting his mind off of Nancy's delectable nether region and back to business, Hank identified Ned Saunders, Mrs. Regina Harold, daughter Charity Harold and a woman whom he had never met before, Karen Coalfield. Hank took a guess at the three people hidden in the sky car. His own scanners were not able to determine more than that there were three other humans in the back of the sky car, one slave and two Legal Residents.

Once in his office Hank had a few moments to bring his racing pulse under control and to evaluate the situation. He made his office wall transparent and watched as Nancy led the four into the conference room adjoining Hank's private office. Dalton could see them, but they would see only a video screen if they looked in his direction—a video screen currently configured to display a California beach scene. Dalton could see the clocks on the opposite wall—computerized digital numbers, flanking an octagonal shadow box mounted on the wall. One clock read 0954 hours and was labeled 'Pacific Local Time' and the other read 1254 hours and was labeled 'New York City Time.' Capitallia's seat of government was the former United Nations complex in New York City—a real-time video feed from the Capitallia World Network was displayed below the New York City clock and a real-time video feed of the Virginia Street downtown gambling strip in Reno was under the Pacific Local Time clock.

Nancy served refreshments to the four visitors and requested permission to have something brought to the three people remaining in the sky car and was told that they were fine. Each visitor presented credentials to the ID scanner, indicating that this was an official meeting. Hank had his conference room security sensors conduct a quick scan. The scan revealed that Hank's old army buddy Ned Saunders was wearing a 6.5mm Compact Personal Defensive Weapon, a descendant of generations of slug-throwing selective fire handguns. The blonde woman had an identical pistol in her large shoulder bag. Ned was wearing a safari jacket and brown pants. His leopard-print ascot provided a bit of color on otherwise subdued Earth-toned clothing—down to his buffed brown boots with their pebbled surface. The woman identified herself as Agent Karen A. Coalfield and she wore a puce-colored pantsuit with color-coordinated accessories. The second free woman, Mrs. Regina Harold, wore a formal black mourning dress that came down to her knees. The outfit included long sleeves, black stockings, black gloves, and a hat with a black veil covering half of her face. Given that the outside air temperature was now 34 degrees on the Centigrade scale and rising and that the interior office spaces were kept at a comfortable temperature/humidity level for normally nude Silver Orb residents, the sheen of perspiration on the woman's exposed face was understandable. Regina Harold was the wife of the late Capitallian Senator Benton Harold. With Regina was daughter Charity Harold, a slender brunette on the verge of adulthood. Charity was wearing a matching black dress, had a Legal Resident ID bracelet on her left wrist, but lacked gloves and hat. The daughter was too young for the hat and traditionally the wife wore a veil.

"Master, Mistresses, your drinks," Nancy held a tray with four glasses. Ned selected a cocktail glass filled with clear liquid and a green olive at the bottom. Regina took two, a shot glass with amber fluid and a tumbler with ice cubes and clear brown liquid. Charity grabbed an opaque pink bubbly drink in another tumbler. Karen's drink was plain water, no ice. "Miss Charity, Nevada Law prohibits serving alcohol to people under the age of 21."

"That's not fair," Charity pouted. "I can get champagne in California. Here I can get married or become a concubine in three more years. I can become a prostitute at age 19. Why can' I have a little champagne?"

"Because Nancy is a slave and her master has commanded her to obey all laws," Regina said just before knocking back the contents of the shot glass in an unlady-like fashion. The woman placed the empty shot glass on the tray and licked her lips. "I could use two or three more of those, but not right now."

"Where's this Mr. Dalton?" Karen asked.

It was time for Hank to make his appearance. He stepped into a short hallway and emerged through the projection. The doorway from Hank's office to the conference room was obscured but the video projection so that Hank appeared to emerge from the crashing surf. Digital manipulation deceived the eye; it looked as if Hank were part of the video until he stepped from projected sand to conference room carpet.

"Good morning, all," Hank's emerging from the video image produced different reactions. Young Charity abandoned her half-consumed pink fizzy drink on the conference room table and rushed to embrace the naked man with a shout of 'Uncle Hank!' Charity and her sisters were frequent visitors to Silver Orb and they called Hank Dalton "Uncle Hank." Regina retained her own glass and made a more dignified journey across the room. Nancy smiled, lowered her head respectfully and peered at her master. Ned Saunders took in Hank's abrupt entrance and the reaction of Karen Coalfield. "I heard about Benton on the news. My condolences to you both and to the rest of your family."

"Dave didn't do it," Regina whispered into Hank's ear. "He couldn't."

"I know," Hank lied. He had a weeping girl cinched around his waist under his left arm and Regina had slipped Hank's right arm around her own waist. "I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."

"You're naked!" Karen Coalfield squealed, her face flushed to a shade that matched her pants suit. "What happened to your hair!"

Hank squeezed Regina's shoulder and then used his right hand to brush his short grey scalp hair. "Um, I got old? It turned gray and began falling out?"

"That's not—"

"Agent Coalfield," Ned barked, still amused. "Later."

"The obvious question is 'why are you here, Mrs. Harold?' Silver Orb isn't your usual haunt and you didn't schedule another two week vacation for your children." Hank placed his hand on Regina's shoulder and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Then there's a state funeral to attend. I am expecting to be there myself to say goodbye to my old commanding officer."

"I came here for privacy," Regina said. Her veil hid her expression, but the short explosive laugh and rueful tone betrayed her combating emotions. "Privacy in a place where I won't be wearing anything. Ned claims that this is the safest place in Capitallia."

"It would take a combined arms battle team to get in here," Ned quipped. "As we flew in, the sky car's defensive systems were protesting about being tracked by anti-aircraft systems."

"Yes, Ned, a 500-man military task force with tanks, artillery and helicopter gunships could breach Silver Orb's perimeter," Hank admitted.

Ned roared in laughter. He spilled his martini on the carpet.

"Would," Ned gasped. He took a moment to compose himself, gulped down his concoction of gin and vermouth, took a deep breath and started again. "Would there be any survivors?"

"Why?" Hank asked with a straight face. "How many prisoners would you want?"

"I don't want to be facing paparazzi," Regina explained. "That's why Benton and I sent our girls here two or three times a year. No news media. No citizens with their cell phones. Now I want to be left alone to get good and drunk and then I want to use your services as a grief counselor. After that—well, we'll see."

Karen had turned her attention to the octagonal shadow box on the wall. She was absorbed in examining the various patches, rank insignia, medals and badges surrounding a plain dagger mounted in the center. Finally, Karen pointed at a small patch that had a blue rectangle in the upper left quarter with 51 tiny white-pointed stars on it. The rest of the little flag consisted of 7 horizontal red stripes and 6 horizontal white stripes alternating.

"Why do you have this thing?"

"I was a United State Marine from 2082 until President Goldsmythe dissolved us," Hank said quietly. "You used the Uncle Sampson's Estate code, Ned. What was the emergency?"

"Four national senators died in Florida over the last ten days," Ned answered. "We suspect that the Langley Gang is behind it. Karen, report."

Still staring at the display of cloth and metal military decorations, Karen recited a summary of four political deaths. Rebecca Hurt, the junior senator from Florida, was killed along with her slave and flight instructor Henri when the sport biplane she was flying dove into the ground. Florida's senior senator, Coot Verikool, was found dead in his bedroom along with slave Justine—both had succumbed to heart attack at almost the same time. Senator Kenneth Bordon was the senior senator from Michigan and had been found at the bottom of the hotel swimming pool with his slave Ronald's fingers laced around the senator's neck. Ronald had drowned pinning his owner to the bottom of the pool. Nevada's senior senator had been Benton Harold. Slave Dave had used Senator Benton's old commando dagger to stab Benton Harold in the head just behind the ear before Slave Dave took a dive through a plate-glass window headfirst into the sidewalk thirteen stories below.

"Okay, that was impossible," Hank said. "Dave had no background in the Fairbairn knife technique and he didn't use Major Harold's own dagger to kill him. Are we supposed to think that Aztlan killed Senator Harold? Benton snapped his dagger off at the hilt in that Atzlan officer's back when we captured those Snakefly missiles. I mounted the pieces in a shadow box like that one. When you check Benton's office, you'll see the parts are under a centimeter of armored Plexiglas and there is 8 millimeters of aluminum armor on the sides and back. Benton insisted that I fill the box with resin so that he could see his broken dagger and remind himself from time to time of his own mortality, but he wanted it sealed away so that it could never be used again to kill anybody."

"Uncle Hank, why would Aslan the Lion kill Daddy?" Charity's face was a mixture of pain and confusion.

"Charity," Regina said. "Hush."

"May I answer your daughter, Mrs. Harold?"

"Please, call me Regina. You are going to know me in the Biblical sense tonight so you might as well call me by my first name, Hank."

"Very well. Aslan didn't kill your father. Aslan is in Narnia. We were referring to the nation called Aztlan. It was formed out of Texan, New Mexico, Arizona and part of California, plus the Mexican districts of Baja California, Baja California Sur, Sonora, Chihuahua and Coahulia. Aztlan formed just before Capitallia did." Hank rubbed his chin. "How can I do this and not lecture everyone to death? Oh, yes, Aztlan was 100 years in the making, and was formed of people who felt that they had their birthright stolen from them. Part of their argument was with the Mexican government and part of it was with the United States over the outcome of the Mexican American War of 1846. I'm sorry, but it has been going on a long time."

"Why would they want to kill Daddy?"

"Your father took away some nuclear-tipped missiles from the Aztlan military after they used them on Mexico City and Las Vegas. Aztlan soldiers objected to that—it was their job. Your father had to kill some of them to stay alive. Soldiers do that. One of those men was the brother of the current ruler."

"Daddy was a Marine," Charity said.

"He knows, honey," Regina patted Charity's shoulder. "Uncle Hank was Gunny Dalton."

Charity gaped at Hank.

"Hank and your daddy and I were in the same commando unit," Ned explained to the 13 year old girl. "Hank and I go way back—he saved my life more times than I can count.

"Back to the subject," Ned said as he squarely faced Hank Dalton. "What is your take on the assassination?"

"Dave wasn't responsible for killing Benton Harold." Hank said.

"You don't believe that Slave Dave killed his owner?" Karen asked.

"Oh, I believe that. I believe that Dave used a Fairbairn dagger to kill Benton, too. Our special operations detachment carried the British Commando dagger of World War Two for purposes of esprit de corps, and Benton had me drill everybody in the techniques specific to that blade. I had been an amateur historian and I studied World War Two special operations units in exhausting detail. I think that the technique and tool used was intended to give us a message. What I mean when I say that Slave Dave wasn't RESPONSIBLE for killing Benton Harold is that Slave Dave was under someone else's control. The slave control implants and modern behavior control techniques can make a puppet out of anyone. I wonder if they were cruel enough so that Dave was himself and was horrified about his body hurting Benton, or if he was just mindless during the operation?" Hank James Dalton shook his head. "What confuses me is were we supposed to think that Atzlan operatives did, or are we supposed to figure out that the old Central Intelligence Agency did it? William Fairbairn trained personnel in the CIA's predecessor, the World War Two Office of Strategic Services, in close quarter battle techniques Fairbairn developed as a cop in the international settlement at Shanghai following the First World War. Trouble is that Atzlan doesn't have modern mind control technology—"

"That we know of," Ned inserted.

"Besides, the USR has a border with Florida. Atzlan consists of parts of what was Northern Mexico, Baja California, the southern quarter of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas." Hank met Ned's gaze. "I complained about what happened to the old Disneyland when La Raza took over the place, but you should see what they did to the Alamo."

"Stick to the subject, Hank."

"Well, the USR held onto Virginia and Maryland—and CIA, FBI and NSA headquarters. We actually got most of the personnel because the USA had a poor track record of honoring contracts. In Capitallia the contract is sacred. The USA often unilaterally broke treaties with the Native American tribes, and after 2015 was treating everyone as if they were Indians on the Reservations. The borders between Capitallia, Aztlan and the USR were established in 2090 but they are still contested. The USR doesn't always keep to its treaties and Aztlan never bothered with treaties."

"Who do those Aztlan people think they are?" Mrs. Harold asked. "First, they just take over the states bordering Mexico and start a war, now they keep causing trouble."

"They call themselves 'la Raza' and think that the old Mexican Empire is their birthright—stolen by Yankee conquerors. Imagine that the area west of the Louisiana Purchase was claimed up to the Oregon Territory and down to Columbia was one big country. That is what Aztlan is supposed to be. All people of Mexican descent are part of la Raza, but as the author of 'Animal Farm' wrote: 'some animals are more equal than others.' Just like the myth of equality in the USR. Capitallia is far more honest with slaves and Legal Resident Non-citizens and full Citizens. Equality was a fairy tale. People were never equal—not even before the law."

"How did Aztlan come about?"

"Well, Regina, there was a period of over a century when uncontrolled immigration, mostly from Mexico, put nearly 100 million Latinos in the United States—that was over a quarter of the nation's population in 2088." Ned held out his empty martini glass and continued talking as Nancy refilled it. "That was called the Reconquista and is the main reason Capitallia is so strict about who can be a citizen. It is why we have those controls on our Legal Residents. In the old USA many illegal immigrants were granted citizenship in multiple amnesty programs. As automatic citizens they were allowed to own real estate and businesses, become professionals, vote and hold public office. Many were never loyal to the United States and they plotted its downfall from within. Capitallia makes damned sure that all citizens are loyal before they are granted citizenship."

"Benton Harold killed the son of Aztlan's first minister for the Aztlan Defense Forces with the dagger that he keeps in his office, Mrs. Harold. He kept it there to remind himself that he was mortal. It is a possible motive because Aztlan's current ruler is that dead colonel's son."

"Well, if these Aztlanders did kill my husband," Regina said, "where did they come from?"

"They could have staged out of Cuba," Ned commented. That is a lot of open water patrolled by the US Navy for Atzlan operators to cross."

"I don't think so, Ned." Hank shook his head. "Ever since that woman Maria claimed that she was the reincarnation of Fidel Castro and her cult overthrew the old regime, Cuba has been closed to the rest of the world. It is possible that the USR allowed some Atzlan bravos to cross its territory to get to Florida, but the USR hates Atzlan more than it hates us. We do have the old 75 and 95 land corridors through to Florida and three air corridors, too."

"The 75 was closed again because of the race riots in Atlanta," Ned fished out his olive and popped into his mouth.

"Our information is that half of Atlanta has burned down and there were more than 2000 fatalities," Karen said. "It is the same old story. Washington stirs up racial incidents and then accuses us of exporting terrorists. We won't even waste our money SHOOTING those damned terrorists. Why would we fund them?"

"The Langley Gang now calls itself The Department of Truth and Light." Ned added. "They changed names last month."

"Really, Ned?" Hank chuckled. "And I used to get regular reprimands for my sarcasm."

"You deserved them." Ned took his empty glass over to the conference room mini-bar and opened up the shaker, peered in. "Could I get you something?"

"I'm fine, Ned. So far we've had a history lesson, you gave the Senator's widow, three daughters and surrogate mother a lift and we've discussed three other dead senators. What did you have in mind for me? What's the mission? Do I have any support?"

"Regina, I need your and Charity to leave for this. I need to give Hank his orders."

"If I can get someone to take me to your house," Regina responded. "I don't know the way."

"Nancy, will you please escort our guests and their slave to our home?"

"I can do that, Uncle Hank," Charity said.

"Nancy will make sure that you all have a bed and whatever else you need. Nancy, carry on."

"Yes, Master. Will we see you at the transition ceremonies today?"

"I think so."

In a moment the room was silent.

"We think that these four murders are only the tip of the iceberg," Ned poured the rest of the shaker into his martini glass and fished a pair of olives from the jar on the counter. He plopped one into the glass and held the other between thumb and forefinger. "Time is short. All four senators died in Florida. Do you still remember the place?"

"I vacationed in Orlando Land and toured the Space Center at Christmas. Other than that, I don't know Florida."

"Hank, you are too modest. When you take a vacation you plan it out like a military operation. You find out everything about the place, have maps and even building plans, you take a survival kit along and the first thing you do is make plans to get back to base alive. You drilled that into my head time and time again and I owe you my life so many times that I lost count. Always do the escape plans first. Never pull an ambush from a place that doesn't have a way out. Never pull a raid until the withdrawal phase has been rehearsed. Good soldiers live to fight another day—and you can't learn from your experiences if you don't survive them." Ned tossed his olive up and caught it. "You spent a little more than two weeks there. We lost you a few times."

"Those were your boys? I'm sorry, Ned. I thought that those were hostiles."

"A few were. Thank you for not killing anybody."

"I was on vacation. I didn't need to leave anybody for the alligators."

"The Agency needs you to be in Jacksonville by Thursday. I can expedite your visa and you will be taking one slave. Her name is Amanda."

"Amanda," Hank stared at Karen and watched the blonde blush again. "Karen Amanda Coalfield? From my first impression you'd be a liability on this mission."

"I am proficient at tradecraft," Karen sulked. "I need the field experience and being your slave is excellent cover."

"Ms. Coalfield, are you still a virgin?"

The blonde nodded, sniffing back tears.

"This is a job interview, Ms. Coalfield. Look at me. Look my direction," reluctantly the woman turned and stared at the floor. "I was going to suggest starting with my face, but starting at my feet and working up is workable too. Look at me. If you can't look at my body with your clothes on, what's going to happen when you walk around stark naked in Florida? They're not just naked there, I've seen people having sex in public at the beaches in Miami and at bars in Jacksonville. How can I rely on you to watch my back when seeing a little skin incapacitates you?"

"You can help her," Ned popped the olive in his mouth and chewed it with relish.

"I am fully implanted with the Jakefield Unitary System," Karen trembled as she spoke. "I have undergone therapy for my modesty. I'm still a virgin but you can take care of that."

"This is a bit extreme for just one quick mission, especially that Jakefield. I worked on it and my own system—the Jakefield was adopted and mine only got approved two years ago." Hank watched Ned gulp down the martini and the remaining olive. When Hank tried to meet Karen's eyes, she dropped her gaze again. "Better, but I need you to look me in the eye. There is something you aren't telling me."

"Karen's mother was Amanda Coalfield. You may have heard of her during the elections." Hank shook his head in answer to Ned's question. "It didn't stick because there are no more stigmas to sex outside marriage—whether prostitutes or mistresses or even concubines. After Amanda left Benton, she lived with me for a year. Then she vanished without a word. Amanda Coalfield was a free woman, so I just made sure that she wasn't abducted or anything.

"Sixteen years ago police in Missouri raided a cult compound and arrested the ring leaders for various federal crimes. Karen was 14 then and she was identified as my child through the DNA database. I rescued her from the orphanage. She was a mess, but I owed her. Amanda died a few months before the raid. I could have just let Karen stay in the orphanage, I had no legal obligations to her or her mother, but she was my flesh and blood."

"I am a virgin and I want to have a baby," Karen said. "I want to raise a daughter. I want her to have what I missed out on."

"Why not find a nice young man," Hank asked. "Or buy one. Renting is cheaper."

"Because it's a sin!"

"Karen was really fucked up by that Missouri cult," Ned was clearly drunk. "You know about how a cult can deeply indoctrinate people using old school techniques. Karen was under the control of The Fishers of Men almost from birth."

"That sounds almost like the old Silver Orb," Hank said. "So you were a child of the Fishers of Men? And why the slave control digital bio implants?"

Karen nodded. "I can't love. I panic when I see a naked person. Therapy helps only so much. What I need is someone to take control over me—total control. If I were married, it would be easier, but a concubine is a wife. A slave concubine can't sin because a slave isn't held responsible for her actions. My mental health care provider said that a slave implant and some time spent as a slave will make my life whole."

Hank's poker face revealed nothing as he glanced at Ned shaking more martinis. Hank's eyes shifted back to Karen and they bored into her. "So why me?"

"Because," Ned opened the shaker and poured half the contents over yet another olive, "you will give her love and you will protect her child. You are that sort of man, Hank. You will command her and you will release her from slavery when she is ready. We need Karen to be a real slave when you get to Florida. She's mostly trained, but you'll have to do all the sex stuff yourself."

"I will do anything you command," Karen paused, "Master."

"Get naked. Leave everything on the table."

"Yes, Master."

Karen trembled as she placed her purse on the table. She unbuttoned her jacket and placed it on the purse. She removed her shoes and left them on the floor. Next Karen removed her shirt.

"Amanda is a good girl," Karen changed to herself as she unfastened and slid her pants off. Karen repeated the chant as she peeled off her panty hose. Naked from the waist down, she pulled the shoulder straps of her sturdy white bra down off her shoulders and rotated the clasp from back to front so that she could unhook it. Naked now, Karen's hands kept fluttering over her unruly nest of brown pubic hair and her breasts. She kept hunching over. "Amanda is a good girl."

"Amanda IS a good girl," Hank repeated. "Amanda is a very good girl. Amanda is a good girl."

The words seemed to soothe the agitated woman. Karen turned her back on Hank as she reached under her clothes and into her purse. Hank's eyes narrowed and his body tensed—when Karen's hand came out with her quickset handcuffs, he relaxed. Karen secured her own hands behind her back.

"At three this afternoon I'm going to join the other people who are being enslaved here," Karen said. "My slave name is Amanda. I need to stay restrained. I can't keep my hands from covering up. What are your orders, my master?"

"Ned, she's got your puppy dog eyes. You never told me that you had a daughter."

"The rest of her is her mother," Ned's voice was slightly slurred. Of course. He was intoxicated. Ned finished off the remaining olives and martini. "Karen wants a child so that she can give it the childhood she never had. I want a grandchild or two or three. You have a bunch of women, but you always had a soft spot for strays. Karen will be welcomed into your home. It may be the first time that she's known love. Hear that tick, tick, tick?"

"No, Ned. I don't."

"Listen figuratively. That's Karen's biological clock running down."

"Modern medicine has broken the century barrier," Hank said. "Capitallia has a few citizens who were born during the 20th Century and who had volunteered as medical experimental slaves. They were able to turn back the clock. None of them look a day over 60 now—that's age 60 a year ago. Karen has perhaps 200 more years if nothing changes. We don't know because the suppressed medical studies of the 21st Century were released just after Capitallia became independent. It seems that the USA was suppressing the results of research into life extension as a population control measure. Now that we've rid ourselves of the old Department of Human Entitlements and Services, we can make use of that technology. They used convicts for experiments."

"How old are you, Hank? I lost count."

"I turned 72 in May."

"If you dyed your hair you could pass for half that."

"This is sun bleached," Hank claimed as he eyed Karen. The silent woman was flushed from the roots of her hair to her nipples. "Amanda is a good girl."

"Remember to breathe, Karen. Just like in karate class."

"Karate? What belt?"

"I didn't make brown belt, Master. I couldn't touch someone else."

"That's not good," Hank said.

"I'm mostly cured because of the control implants, Master. A few weeks ago I couldn't even take my clothes off." Karen looked down at her bare toes.

"I was going to bring her here in two more weeks, Hank, but this came up," Ned slurred.

"Karen," Hank asked, "you have a law degree. What was your specialty?"

"Constitutional law, Master."

Hank started to say something, but changed his mind.

"You've had enough time to adjust to being naked," Hank said after a short delay, "Do I need to address you as Amanda?"

"Master may address slave any way that pleases Master," Karen began to hyperventilate. Hank repeated her calming command, 'Amanda is a good girl, ' until Karen got her breathing under control. "Amanda was slave's slave name."

Ned ate the last olive and was swigging gin straight from the bottle. Karen was not the only person in the conference room with a case of nerves.

"Okay, you're Amanda. Right now I'm taking you home. I'll use a tunnel, but you will meet my family. The kids will be thrilled to get a new auntie. When we get home I want you to tell my wife Kelly that you are becoming my new slave and that your name is Amanda. She usually asks the woman to be my slave or concubine. This is different. Tonight you will be helping care for the children while the rest of us attend an orgy. I won't inflict that on you immediately, but you will experience the nightmare of standing up in a school auditorium completely naked. The differences: it won't be a dream and nearly everyone else will be naked, too."

Hank gently ran his fingertips lightly over Amanda's body. Her flat nipples popped out when he touched her breasts and a tell tale odor of feminine arousal reached Hank's nostrils as Karen told herself that Amanda was a good girl. Karen's armpits were hairy and having her hands cuffed behind her back made checking the armpits difficult. Hank knelt, ignoring his own stiffening penis as he ran a finger through the matted jungle covering her pubic bone, tugged at the mess.

"I am going to have you place your upper body on the table, Amanda," Hank positioned her so that he had her rump in the air and her feet were shoulder width apart. Karen's legs were covered with fine golden hairs. Hank pried open her butt cheeks and took a long look. He kept repeating the phrase "Amanda is a good girl."

After Hank helped Amanda stand up again, he looked over her one more time.

"Tall—abut a meter seventy five, right?" Karen nodded in answer. "You have good muscle tone in your arms and legs."

"She's got a fuckin' potbelly," Ned was peering in the empty olive jar as he slurred his words. "Karen has been eating too many éclairs and skipping her gym appointments. You'll have to fix that."

"I couldn't take all those women in the showers," a tear rolled down Karen's cheek. "They were—"

"Amanda is a good girl," Hank said. "I want you to ask Kelly to shave you. See how I am, Amanda? I want you to keep your body hairless below the neck at all times. I don't like tan lines, and you are okay. In Florida you will only wear your collar, sandals or heels, and sunscreen. If you still need handcuffs and leg irons, I'll fit you out with a set that you can escape from."

"Isn't that defeating the purpose?" Ned had finished off the gin and was looking through the neck at the bottom. He upended the bottle and shook it. "Why handcuff her if she can get out of them?"

"Amanda will be my back-up. She should be able to escape from standard handcuffs anyway. Amanda, don't worry about that bit of belly fat. That's about right for your first baby. Let's go home now. I have a lot of work to do and I need to sober Ned up so that he can finish my mission brief, give me my full mission orders—"

"Simple," Ned left the bottle on its side at the bar and staggered over to Hank. Ned put a hand on Hank's shoulder and his gin-scented breath made Hank grimace. "Go to Florida. Find out who is killing our politicians. Find out why. Then deal with them and report back to me in San Francisco. Other than that you are on your own, buddy. We will have no support for you because we don't know that our people haven't been compromised. Like last time we will be shadowing you—as will just about everybody else in Florida. Nothing you can't handle. Oh, yes, you do have an invite to speak to the naval commando school on sleep learning and memory editing. But if you are captured or killed the secretary will disavow any knowledge of you or this mission."

"I get to set national policy?"

"New York City is really pissed about those assassinations!'"

"Someone was drinking too much."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Giving a loose cannon like me orders like that." Hank looked into Karen/Amanda's eyes and said, "Oh. I see. Amanda is a good girl."

"Hank, have you got any more olives?"

Chapter 3: From the Mouths of Babes

Across town another member of the Department of Youth Intervention inspection team, Officer Hardy was at the school observing a class in session. He was in constant communications with the other three officers from the Nevada Department of Youth Intervention, a state organization that was charged with investigating and preventing child abuse—especially in the mostly-privatized school system. Corporal Culp had notified Officer Hardy that she was going to investigate the "sweat shops" as DYI termed any place where children worked for pay. Hardy looked around the room with wry grin thinking that children were worked a lot harder without being paid than when someone was allowed to reward their labors. It was almost un-capitalistic! The class took place in one room with children of varying ages in Silver Orb school summer uniforms: white polo shirt over purple shorts. There were 23 girls between the ages of 6 and 14 and there were 9 boys in the same age span. One of the girls was sitting on the floor wailing like the damned next to an older boy when the naked male teacher approached.

"What happened here, Jonathan?"

"I don't know, sir" the boy said to the teacher.

"I don't want to wear nasty old clothes," the girl screamed. "I can't breathe"

"Okay, okay, get them off," the teacher said. "You're Ryder, aren't you?"

"Yes," the girl sniffled as she pulled at her clothes. Jonathan assisted, which kept Ryder from tearing her clothes. "Thank you Mister. Can you tell my teacher that I don't have to wear these nasty clothes?"

"I'm Mr. Jones. I'm the principal of this school. I'm letting you stay naked today, but I need you to wear your uniform to school and wear it a little longer each day."

"But I don't want to!" Ryder shouted.

"You don't have to want to. It is part of your education. We have time—eight years. You need to learn to wear clothes so that you can work outside of Silver Orb."

"I don't want to leave Silver Orb!"

"Ryder, I had the opposite problem when I got here five years ago," Jonathan squatted down and explained. "I came from the outside and I didn't want to play naked. Mr. Jones was just a teacher back then, and he suggested that I could gradually get used to the idea. That was back in the winter and I wore a lot more clothes. I had a coat, a long-sleeved shirt, an undershirt, pants, socks, and two pair of underpants! It took me two weeks before I could feel comfortable in just one pair of underpants. You have to learn to wear clothes. I had to learn to be naked. When I felt out of place, I finally got over being too modest."

"Nobody will make fun of you here," Mr. Jones said. "If they do, tell me. Everybody wants to be here because this is where you learn to read and write and use numbers. You learn about the world outside Silver Orb and how special this place really is. Jonathan, you can help her put her things in her backpack. Make sure that she has her towel."

"You can sit by me," Jonathan told the girl as he helped her remove her sandals. "But I need you to be quiet when I'm studying. I need to learn things."

"Big kids know everything!"

All the other children laughed.

"What's the towel for?" Officer Hardy asked as the principal took up a place behind the podium.

"To sit on." The principle explained. "Nudist etiquette for hygienic reasons."

The class had become very quiet when the principal took up his position at the lecture podium. After scanning the classroom to make sure that everyone was seated, Principal Jones began.

"Today's history lesson is on the Communist Party Platform and its adoption by the United States of America. By the end of the Wilson Administration all ten planks had been instituted in some form or another. Can anybody tell me the amendment to the US Constitution that made it hard to get rich? Yes, Danny Albertson?"

"Sir, it was the 16th Amendment and the graduated income tax on February 3, 1913 under President William Howard Taft." Danny Albertson had an excuse for his pride.

"That's correct Danny. What was the reason that a graduated income tax and abolishing the right of inheritance were in the Communist Manifesto?" After a moment's silence, Principal Jones nodded at Danny. "You did well, Danny. I bet you can tell me the text of those two planks."

"Yes, Sir! The second plank was a heavy progressive or graduated income tax. The third was the abolition of all right of inheritance. I read something about them being a transition from capitalism to communism. I didn't understand that part."

"You did very well, Danny. Lawmakers in the 20th Century didn't exhibit understanding of that either—despite many being dedicated anti-communists. Thank you. You get two gold stars. Now can anybody give me a why people wanted to transition from capitalism to communism?"

"I can, sir," a tall boy 13 years old stood up.

"Go ahead, Theodore."

"The reason for turning to communism was that some people were not satisfied with the people in power and wanted to take over and run things their way. All the ten planks were intended to take power by taking over control of all the economic resources. Dad told me that the prerequisite for that was to take control of the means of force, the police, courts and military, and to take over all opinions, such as churches, the media and school."

"Very good! Now can anybody tell me the last plank? Danny? Go ahead."

"Yes, Mr. Jones." Danny stood straight and proud as he rattled off the quote: Free education for all children in public schools. Abolition of children's factory labor in its present form. Combination of education with industrial production. "And the sixth plank talked about controlling the media and all transportation."

"I'm running out of gold stars. Somebody will have to get more of them." Jones looked at Officer Hardy. "Officer Hardy is our visitors today. Do you have a question for the class? Be prepared for whatever these bright young people answer."

"Why didn't the Communist Manifesto mention gun control in its party platform?" Officer Hardy asked. "Nor did they mention controlling human reproduction."

"I think I have an answer," Theodore Dalton stood up and addressed his audience. "Dad told me a lot about soldiers. Soldiers have guns, but if they don't know what to shoot at and when they cannot get close enough to shoot at things, their guns are useless. By controlling money and communications and transportation, the central government would control the army because it would stay in one place and starve until the army obeyed the new government. Dad tells me that dollars are a more dangerous weapon than guns."

"But guns kill people," Officer Hardy objected.

"Not true, sir, unless you beat people to death with them. Guns shoot things and these things kill people. Bullets kill people. Direct energy weapons kill people. Water cannons can even kill people."

"I thought that only people killed people," Officer Hardy quipped.

"I stand corrected, ma'am," Theodore said. "People use bullets to kill other people and that isn't all. But where do bullets come from?"

Little Lucy Albertson waved her hand. Theodore gave her the floor.

"Bullets are made by people," she proudly announced. "Then other people buy bullets."

The conversation wound down after a while and the principal announced that recess was in five minutes. With a collective whoop, 31 children removed their school uniforms and stored them in their backpacks. The bell rang and the 32 children surged to the playground.

"That was scary," Officer Hardy said. "I thought that I was in a college class, not a grammar school. You have a one-room classroom?"

"Until we get more kids. There are currently 46 children under age 6. Some will be attending school next year. When they have their sixth birthday, they come to school for a rite of passage ceremony that Friday and they show up the next Monday for their first day. Private schools seldom experience discipline problems because everybody wants to be here learning."

"I'm impressed with how you handled that little girl," Hardy said. "What was her name?"

"Ryder Milkweed. She's one of the cultists. The do send their children to school for what we teach. With individual learning computers we can have some learning the basics, a few learning advanced subjects, and the rest practicing social interactions."

"That's great," Hardy held up a finger. "But what if a child acts up and you can't calm him down? What if he disrupts school?"

"We use the minimum force required to protect the other students, ourselves, then school property," Principal Jones answered. "First, we use peers to model appropriate behavior. Then the teachers' physical presence is used. I used verbal exchange to find out and defuse Ryder's issue. Above that we use empty handed restraint and we expel the student. They then attend class with a behavior belt."

"What's that?" Hardy asked. "You don't strike the children with it, do you?"

"They're children. If they need to, they see one of our psychologists. You met Dr. Dalton." Principal Jones drew out a loop of stiff fabric with a box attached to the back. "This is a behavior belt. It works like the implants do on a slave, only this belt is removable and totally external. The punishment features are muted to mild discomfort only and there is only a warm all-over tingle for the positive reward. Oh, yes, if the child starts panicking—measured by pulse rate and other biometrics, this belt will painlessly stun the child and sound an alarm in our emergency services section. I've never had to use this belt and I've been here for 11 years. They're just children and they're well-behaved. That little incident you saw was a girl in distress because she wasn't used to wearing clothing. We will correct that here."

"You mean her parents kept her naked?" Barry Hardy asked.

"The cultists here practice total natural nudity all the time. Generally, children have to be forced to wear clothing and in our society that happens to them shortly after birth. Young children are happier naked. Children are also adaptable and hard wired to please adults." Officer Hardy did a double take at Principal Jones' words. "Yes, it's true—children will do anything to gain an adult's approval. That is why your agency exists. Part of growing up is to switch allegiance to one's peers. Believe me; we adults are far less adaptable. For example, I was shocked when I found out what my working conditions were, but I was under the gun."

"What do you mean?" Officer Klein inquired.

"I was a teacher at the Carson City high school. I had a little house and a mortgage and a car, and I was still paying off my student loans. One day I received notice that I was behind in my mortgage and student loan payments. I had an automatic payment system in place, but I checked up and found that my bank account had been emptied. I tried to get it straightened out, but I was served with papers to appear in court the next week. I needed an attorney and the school principal suggested a Mr. Land. Land took one look at my situation and brought me out here. Silver Orb bought up all my debt—they owned me. I don't know how they managed it. At first, I thought that they were going to enslave me themselves. Hank told me that he needed me to be a teacher—and that he preferred his teachers to be free citizens. I could have become a teaching slave. It would have been cheaper for Silver Orb. Now I'm their principal. He offered two choices: continue teaching where I was or move out here. The choice was easy because according the records I had resigned my position.

"Sally Hogan was the principal back then and she had worked with Hank in the army, the CDO."

"I heard that he was a Marine." Hardy interrupted.

"A US Marine. To hear Sally Hogan tell it, the Marines were the best warrior band in the world. I've heard the same from different Soldiers. Hank says that the current Capitallian Defense Organization serves a different purpose. We never send out the military for humanitarian relief to other nations. The reason Capitallia has only a minimal national police force, only one full-time military and 38 state militias and one external black operations unit is covered in a week-long module next month. The course is quite good—the kids teach themselves and we adults guide and direct their learning. I teach classes two days a week here and run this private school. I also teach in Carson City and Dayton and Silver Springs one day each week for other private schools—but I wear clothes there. I've paid off my debts long ago. Before you ask, yes, I'm a whore too. I can move out of here and just teach but I don't have to pay for sex. People pay me to have sex with them. It isn't always fun for me except that I'm in control. Not like a slave. The slave prostitutes have to service anybody they're told to service. I can reject a client—the penalties for my doing that are low. A slave doesn't get to reject a customer. When that happens, slaves lose control over their bodies. That includes the four slaves that are qualifying for their slave advocate certification."

"Do all slave advocates have to have been slaves?"

"Just the officers and they have to pass the bar on slave law. Slave advocate officers also have to be citizens. If they were already slaves, they need not volunteer for a six-month slave experience. Many assistant advocates are Legal Residents." Jones tapped his bare chest. "I'm an assistant advocate and I'm really too busy to give up six months to become an officer in an advocacy organization, but having been a mere week from enslavement convinced me that I need to get involved. Afterwards it turned out that a computer glitch had occurred and everybody was very sorry—but I was facing 25 years as a slave. Once I had fallen into the pit, there was little chance of climbing back out—not after 25 years."

"Why do you say that? You were being tried for debt, not for some criminal offense!"

"Because as soon as I was released I would be a Legal Resident, not a citizen." Larry Jones chuckled. "That's funny. A slave can hold a professional position such as teaching. Slaves are lower on the social scale than the Legal Resident, but a slave can teach. A Legal Resident cannot."

"But you get money and clothes when you leave slavery—usually a job offer as well."

"That's correct. I would have gotten three months' minimum wage as severance pay. I would have gotten a pair of shoes and a set of clothes. I would be free to take any jobs open to Legal Residents." Jones held out his hand. "Minimum wage is around $1000 a month. That is enough to rent a pallet in a flop house and to pay for minimum sustenance at the local soup kitchen. I cannot work at my former profession until I get back my citizenship. That is going to start with the taxes and fees to become a citizen. Do you remember how long it took you? I took the fast track and gained my citizenship on my 27th birthday, but it was actually several years training and preparing. I spent some time in the CDO, that's Capitallian Defense Organization—"

"I knew that!"

"I spent six years in that organization and another six years as a reservist in the Nevada State Militia while I went to school. I was a proto-citizen because of my service, but I still had to pay $8000 per year in federal tax—I just didn't have to pay the state taxes even as a reservist. When my service obligation drew to a close I had to finish the citizenship tests just like a new applicant. The normal citizen pays a uniform $12,000 annually in federal tax and another $3000 to his state. Anyone who has been in this classroom for more than six months will tell you that $3000 paid to the slave at manumission isn't going to cover any of the taxes. No citizenship, no professional licensing."

"Oh come on now!" Officer Hardy exclaimed. "You are free to take any job—"

"The average annual gross wages for a Legal Resident is $50,000 and I'd be starting at the bottom," Jones interrupted. "Then there are the required classes for citizenship, including going through a two-week militia training course that I could probably have skipped due to my military experience. Veterans that have bad luck do get some consideration, but I still would need to raise at least $36,000 to pay the annual taxes and the citizen certification fees, then I would need to live for six to eighteen months while my application for citizenship was considered—not all applicants get accepted."

"Over 90% do," the DYI officer commented.

"Former slaves have a much lower rate, something like 30%," Jones was in 'teacher lecture mode' and couldn't be stopped. "I was ex-military and that group manages a 97% success rate to achieve full citizenship—and we start out as proto-citizens. Do you know how many first-time applicants get accepted as citizens when the start as straight legal residents? It is 53%. That means the Legal Resident spent $36,000 and six to eighteen months of his time qualifying for citizenship. A lot of them drop out due to costs. Some get in trouble with the law or with debt."

"Becoming a citizen isn't supposed to be easy," Officer Hardy felt uneasy. "You make it sound like some great conspiracy."

"I've seen things. I never thought that I would be on trial for enslavement. My creditors sought a 25-year indenture and the offered to settle out of court if I would accept a 10-year voluntary indenture with options to renew 5 years at a time. I told you that I resigned." Principal Jones shook his head. "I hadn't resigned. I wasn't the only one that something strange happened to. I got lucky, but there were many citizens that wound up in slavery. I've been here 11 years. I had three friends that drew indentures for periods of 5 to 10 years. They were purchased and moved out of Nevada. I should have heard something. When I tried to get in touch with them, they were not available. I asked Hank for help."

Jones was quiet for a long time, just staring at the wall.

"I'm going to level with you," Officer Hardy said softly, "the reason you resigned was to avoid an investigation for taking liberties with high school students. We've been following that investigation for 11 years and to date no evidence has come up other than a rumor about you 'resigning for personal reasons' and that those reasons involved several of your students. So far no child has complained about you. Every investigation has come up with zero evidence."

"I did not resign. I do not abuse my students." Jones sighed heavily. "Hank traced my friends. He said that they were still slaves. The public record concealed the names of their owner but noted their sentence. They owed debts of from $11,000 to $15,000 each. If they hadn't been fired or resigned they should have been able to pay off their debts in less than 90 days—they were all salaried employees. The trials took only an hour and they had been sold up to a week prior to their trial and sentencing. I found out that I was being sold to something called MAG."

"What's that?"

"I couldn't find out. It could have been anything, Officer Hardy."

"That does seem rather swift."

"Night Owl Bondsman Training had me scheduled to begin transformation at 1100 hours and my trial had been set for 0800 hours. They objected to me paying my debt off in full three days before my trial—something about their schedules were set in stone. My attorney asked if they were refusing payment in full—and when they started stuttering he produced a document and told them to either accept payment or refuse it in writing, but quit wasting his time."

"That is irregular." Officer Hardy rubbed his chin. "The 'Criminal Punishment & Debtor Satisfaction Act of 2114' streamlined justice, but three days from summons to slavery—I can't believe that. Wait, you did say eight as in eight in the morning?"

"I did."

"That is strange. Court generally never is in session until 0900."

The bell rang again and the children rushed back into the classroom laughing and flushed.

"I need to visit your 'sweatshop' next." When Hardy saw Jones' puzzled expression, Hardy explained. "There is a lot of resistance to child labor. Any place that pays children a wage is referred to as a sweatshop. It is a term left over from the days of the labor unions. You know, keep the kids in school and off the job market."

"We all eat lunch in the dining hall. It is a big event, Officer Hardy. Would you join me at my table? I'd like to hear more about the history of child labor if you have time. Strange that people would object to a child earning money."

"Sure. Noon, right?" Jones nodded.

Officer Hardy left the principal with 36 quiet students as some of the older students began a learning module on accounting. The younger students, as children often do when around 'grown up stuff, ' watched with rapt attention.

Chapter 4: Holly in After Care

Holly's eyes fluttered open. She saw a pair of blue eyes in a face framed by a blonde pixie cut.

"Kelly," Holly exhaled the name more than she spoke it. With her eyelids at half-mast Holly looked around the room.

"How do you feel?" Kelly asked.

"Foolish," Holly giggled. "Wrung out. Foolish. When will I learn? If Hank tells me something, I need to listen. This time being proven wrong was fun, though. All of Hank's lessons are fun."

"Can you sit up? You've been napping for over an hour. There are some people here." Kelly helped Holly sit up. "Still woozy?"

"Oh, yeah," Holly's voice sounded as if she were in slow motion. "I could get addicted to this."

"You are addicted," Kelly cupped Holly's breast. "Your nipples just crinkled."

"You excite me."

"Comes with being enthusiastically bi."

Holly laughed.

"Ouch! That hurt my head. The room is spinning slower." Holly drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Help me stand. I'd like to see the people. What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. We eat lunch soon."

"Good. I get the munchies after sex—even fake sex. I thought they took my slave control implants out."

"My implants are still in too," Kelly helped Holly to stand. The two women embraced. "I got my Jakefield for my 19th birthday. Hank's Dalton Modular System couldn't get approval. Hank designed it so that the part that picked up and processed signals were replaceable. The coded signals that allowed my master to make me come or scream in pain. He could make me freeze in place—"

"Why?"

"Why what, Holly?"

"Why did you get a Jakefield? Slaves are required to be under control at all times. The only required implant is that slave tracker." Holly inhaled deeply and shuddered. "Kelly, they lied to me. I suppose my slave tracking insert is still inside me, too."

"Yes, I checked. I had your old ID." Kelly was running her hands over Holly's body. "I miss you. I forgot that all I needed to do was dial your slave ID up and give you a call. They are supposed to remove the codes from the database. It doesn't work that way."

"You dodged my question. You only had to have that RFID chip installed. You got the full slave control hardware. I got full control because that is what my agency required." Holly choked back a sob. "They LIED to me. Why?"

"The Jakefield is easy to install, but difficult and expensive to remove. It is self-repairing. Hank told me that the Jakefield would last a thousand years." Kelly kissed the younger woman on the lips. "I wanted to fully submit to Hank. He made be become a full citizen. I'm in charge of the data department. I've already told you about my mother. About getting married as soon as it was allowed. That was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Yes, I'm jealous. Full submission?"

"Yes, Kelly. On occasion I'll hand Hank my controller and have him do me. You know what it's like. I was his slave for six wonderful years. I gave Hank his first-born, Theodore. And I know all of his secrets."

Holly laughed.

"Really, Kelly?"

"You remember Larry Jones? When he first came here I learned why my husband had turned this place into a fort. You recall the evacuation drills we do once a week?"

"I can't forget. What happened?"

"Someone tried to kidnap that high school teacher. They tried three times. One time was at the brothel. I know my husband's secrets, Holly—but what happened to the surviving kidnappers wasn't Hank's secret."

"What do you mean?"

"Somebody was bending the law to enslave innocent people. It is much easier to enslave someone for debt than for crime. They went overboard with the debt enslavements. A criminal case has many oversights built into the process. When you are enslaved for debt, your new owner can sell you to someone else, he can have the public records suppressed for 'corporate proprietary information' reasons or to protect the citizen's personal privacy."

"No, that' not right! I know the law, Kelly. They have to allow reasonable examination of slaves that are used in industry. We investigate claims of abuse to domestic slaves. Our ability to protect the slave is limited. We rely on the basic human decency and enlightened self-interest of the slave owner. A slave is a capital investment. A Jakefield cost $3500 and having a veterinarian install it can cost $500. I don't know about the others."

"Somebody is enslaving people nationwide that don't belong in slavery." Kelly sighed. "We don't know who. Reform measures are blocked because only inferior people become slaves."

"Yes, you and me are inferior. Kelly, stop that!"

"You like this," Kelly gently manipulated Holly's labia. "Would you do me a favor and shave when you take your vacation here?"

"I can't refuse you." Holly stroked Kelly's bald pubis. "He really likes it this way?"

"Your little heart IS cute,"

"Kelly! Quit worming out of the question."

"He's a smoothie nudist, Holly. Hank has this thing about body hair. I know, most people prefer it—"

Holly placed her hand over Kelly's and shook her head. "I only care about what Hank likes. 'Why' doesn't matter. If he likes me bald between my legs, that's the way I'll be."

"I'm sorry," Kelly said when the hand was removed. "It is so hard."

"Yes, I know. You are a natural slave. You live to please. If Hank didn't need you to be a citizen you'd be happy as a full slave. This way is hard. Hank did explain that part to me. You are happy, Kelly, and you do like dominating others—just as long as you can look to someone for guidance. The only way you can bear hurting someone is if your master gives you permission. What's going to happen to you if you out-live Hank? I know he's made plans."

"I'm going to become Theodore's until he finds someone to take care of me. Ted is so much like his father that I can happily spent the rest of my life with him." Few things could make Kelly blush. "I mean with him owning me."

"I know what you mean, Kelly. Once I would have disapproved." Kelly's chin quivered at Holly's words. "I understand now. You need unconditional acceptance. You need someone who you can dedicate you life to. Hank unconditionally accepted you and you give him everything."

"Yes," Kelly said softly, her eyes glistening. "I was so lucky that Hank took Mom and me in."

"Taking people in," Holly mused. "Damn it, Hank! I forgot why I came here because of him!"

"Doesn't Brian know?"

"He was supposed to find out about the refugees hiding out here when I introduced him. But then Hank kicks my feet out from under me—"

"You were crowned Miss Round Heels," Kelly smiled. "The only reason that you aren't a raging nymphomaniac is because you were deprogrammed upon manumission. Unfortunately that genie won't go back into the bottle. You unlocked something when you were with us as Hank's slave."

"Yes," Holly stepped back from Kelly. "You have a need for approval and I found out that I need sex. All this mind control stuff makes me wonder what is real and what somebody put in my head. Not that I mind—except that the Office put me through a blender before they trusted me with the Underground Railroad."

"So Brian doesn't know and he's going to have lunch without knowing."

"I think I can walk on my own now," Holly let go of Kelly and swayed on her feet. "Whew! I could use a drink, but I'd better not. Poor Brian. He thinks he's here for just an orgy. He doesn't know that he's being recruited by the Office."

"Nancy brought us five more refugees, high-profile ones," Kelly said. "They're sitting in the kitchen. You need to tell them what is going on."

Kelly led a wobbly-kneed Holly into the kitchen. Brian was sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee. Across from him were Regina Harold, wife of the late Senator Benton Harold of Nevada, another naked woman with an expensive slave collar and three nude children in addition to slaves Susan and Nancy. One of the children was Charity Harold. The children had large glasses that were filled about one-third with milk. The two younger girls had milk mustaches.

"Nancy, Susan, take the girls into the next room please." Kelly ordered.

"My slave mother Brittany stays," Regina said. "She's being manumitted this afternoon. All we need are Hank, Ned and Karen."

"Amanda," Hank said from the door as he pushed a waxen-faced Amanda/Karen before him. As was the norm in the dusty nudist commune of Silver Orb, Nevada, the two adults were naked—unless you counted Amanda's handcuffs. "Her slave name is Amanda. Ned is sobering up with Beverly and Emmet."

"Amanda is getting enslaved this afternoon," Regina then nodded at the slave she called Brittany, "Benton wanted you to be freed if he died so that our children would have two adults to act as parents."

"Girls, out," Hank commanded. "Adult talk."

"AW!" the children chorused. They made a big show of leaving. Charity hung back.

"No, Charity, it isn't about sex."

"Okay," Charity hesitated. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Will you feel better if I said that this was corporation proprietary information?"

"Yes," Charity smiled. "Thank you, Uncle Hank."

After the children and Slave Susan left, Slave Nancy closed the kitchen door and turned on the kitchen entertainment system. Muted sound filled the room and images flickered on walls and cabinets and appliances.

"Brian, I have something to tell you. " Holly told her partner. "Our slave advocacy agency is cover for a refugee operation. Nationwide the Underground Railroad gives refugees from other countries a second chance at life. Here at Silver Orb they are kept about a year, given new identities and released as Legal Residents. This place is very secure because the people sent here were scientists or politicians in places like the USR. Regina and Charity will leave for the funeral, and they will stay here until Regina has her head together—and until we think it is safe. Her husband was assassinated. Brian, we are only in the hotel business. All we do is make sure that people are safe. Some of them are slaves. Most hide out as Legal Residents with new names and new lives."

"The plan is that Brittany will stay here as a Legal Resident for about a year," Regina explained. "I may or may not remain here. Our three daughters will be safe. The Nevada Legislature said that they want me to take Benton's place. I said I'd let them know the 15th and I was told that sometime before the end of September was fine. Right now I just want to heal up. I may just enslave myself to someone and forget everything. I hurt."

"Amanda and I are going to find out who killed Benton," Hank announced. Amanda whirled around, her mouth open in shock. "Slave Dave was just the tool used. Dave didn't do it alone. Dave wasn't responsible for killing anybody. I have other information that the murder was made obvious and I don't know why. It could have looked like natural causes or an accident."

"A senator? Somebody used his own slave to kill a senator?" Brian sipped his coffee. He swallowed and set his cup down. "You didn't see this in a spy video, did you?"

"No." Hank's simple one-word answer chilled the room. It could have been his stony expression. It may have been that some of the people in the kitchen knew enough to become frightened.

"When do you leave?" Kelly tried to fake a carefree expression—epic fail! "Can I help you get ready?"

"I need to talk so some people," Hank guided Amanda over to Kelly. "Do not leave Amanda alone for an instant. She has sexuality issues."

"Oh, dear," Kelly's face was white. "Why don't you just leave her here?"

"Amanda, inform Kelly of your biological father's identity."

"Ned Saunders is my daddy," Amanda said in a little girl's voice.

"Oh you poor girl!" Kelly exclaimed.

"Amanda's cover will be as my slave," Hank rubbed his hands over Amanda's shoulders and then her breasts. Amanda stiffened up, moaned in confusion. "She told me an interesting story but I don't have time for it now. Just know that she has a Jakefield Unitary System slave control digital bio implant in her body. Right now I want someone touching Amanda at all times. If there are children present, keep the touching G-rated, people! Otherwise, be intimate. Amanda is still a virgin."

"I'm going to have words with Ned," Kelly muttered.

"Your objection is noted, Mrs. Dalton," Hank smirked. "Carry on."

"I've got her," Nancy said. "I've never had a virgin before."

"She's well trained: Amanda is a good girl." Kelly and Nancy nodded in understanding at Hank subtly passing on Amanda's hypnotic trigger phrase that lowered her anxiety. "Amanda, I need to find some information. You need to get ready. I'll see you after you've been enslaved."

"How's that going to happen?" Holly asked. "It takes at least ten calendar days, a cooling of period for voluntary enslavements. You can't just decide 'I want to be a slave, ' pop down to your local notary and get the clerk to enslave you. Becoming a slave is not a small thing."

"M-my paperwork is already in order," Amanda stammered. "I was all set to become Master Hanks slave for medical reasons. I want to have a family but I have some emotional issues. My doctor told me that several years as a slave would give me a family, and if it didn't resolve all of my issues I'd at least have the family I desired. Dad and Master Hank have known each other for a long time and Daddy trusts Hank to take good care of me."

Hank kissed Amanda and Nancy. He swaggered over to Kelly—she rose and embraced him. A long kiss and the couple separated. Kelly hugged herself as Hank left the room.

"I miss him too," Holly embraced Kelly. "Brian, you're quiet. Why?"

"Do you harbor escaped slaves in here?" Brian asked. "We slave advocates are sworn to uphold the law."

"Only if the slave is from Aztlan or the United States Remnant." Holly answered.

"There's no slavery in either country," Brian objected.

"That's because everybody in the USR is a slave," Holly said. "That is the nature of socialism. Aztlan is worse."

"I don't want to break the law."

"We don't break laws here, Brian." Kelly stated. "All refugees here are legally here, just they are here secretly."

"I need you to tell us if you will become one of our refugee minders," Holly told Brian. "Don't worry about telling us no. You will only remember being at our orgy if you decline. There is some risk involved. You might be in the crosshairs of the old CIA."

"What do you mean?" Brian asked. "How will I forget something like this?"

"Drugs," Kelly said. "Hypnosis. You won't be aware that you are missing anything. That way we can keep this secret secure. If you decide to become part of the Underground Railroad, you will be working on the outside. You'll receive additional training so that you can take care of your charges, so that you can protect the refugees until you get them safely here."

"There are Aztlan sympathizers in Capitallia," Holly said. "You will be taking care of defectors with Aztlan government secrets. There are Aztlan assassination teams in Reno. We just defend refugees. Someone else hunts down those kill squads. The work is usually boring, but people can get killed. The danger is real."

"Where do I sign up?"

Chapter 5: The Sweatshop

"Sweatshop" remains a curse word in modern Capitallia. It is only muttered out of the hearing of the "bosses" because the rejoinder is "you're FIRED!" The alternative to the sweatshop staffed by Legal Resident labor is slave labor, instituted first in Capitallia's constitution of 2089. Yes, slavery was contemplated in the old United States—an amendment repealing the 13th Amendment was six states short of ratification when Aztlan and Capitallia seceded from the United States.

What is a sweat shop? On a purely descriptive level a sweat shop is a small, independent contractor that involves minimum investment in infrastructure and the workers get the bare minimum wages that the sweat shop owner can get away with. This minimum investment includes minimum workers who are worked as long as productivity permits. Even slaves cannot be worked 24 hours a day for 7 days a week. Isolation and powerlessness mean that the workers do not have any means to improve their situation. Labor unions hated sweat shops because the independent contractor was too much labor union investment for too little control over the labor supply. Children were used because they'd work for less and were easier to control than adults—and Big Labor battered Big Business with the Child Labor lever long after children were prohibited from working for pay.

But children would be exploited in unpaid community service ... that was okay.

In the bad old days of the 19th and 20th Centuries there were worse things than the sweat shop. Mining was dirty and dangerous. Unemployed children would steal, perform hard manual labor in the streets, hustled newspapers and hawked liquor and tobacco. Children were prostitutes, too. The worst though was farm labor, especially farm labor for the migrant worker. During the 20th and 21st Centuries most of that migrant labor was Latino and is part of the reason for Aztlan's hatred of the United States—and of Capitallia. Despite the clean-cut image of working on the farms in the healthy open air, the reality was working knee deep in animal waste products and later with toxic chemicals, working from the pre-dawn twilight to the last bit of usable light after sundown with few breaks no matter how extreme the weather, even working all night long when there was enough moonlight, often wearing inadequate clothing, not always receiving enough food or water, sleeping in the open fields or (if the farm owner was humane) in vermin-ridden barns. Farm labor worked under conditions that would result in Capitallian slave owners being enslaved for life themselves.

Hank used his data link to summon several people from Silver Orb's gardens, its small craft shops, from the labs and even from the underground control center. There were seven ranging in age from 11 to 81. The gathered in Hank's conference room.

"I called you together because of great need," Hank started. "I have an assignment. I will kill on that assignment. I need your help to limit the number of people who will die. I give you my word that the deaths I cause will be necessary to save other lives. Some of you cannot tolerate having contributed in another's death, but rest assured that I and I alone am responsible for anybody that I kill. I can only hope that I kill the right people, that those deaths save lives. If your involvement is too great, you can leave now."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," the eldest stood up. His scalp was bald except for a white fringe around his temples and his long white beard stained yellow in places. He had white chest hair that ran down his sagging pot belly—the latter hid is genitals from view. His arms had atrophied to the point where his elbows were knobby. Though less than a decade older than Hank, Charles demonstrated what natural aging did to the human body—Hank was muscular, healthy, and sexy even. Charles was worn out. Charles lifted his beard to show a collar around his neck. "I chose to wear my Legal Resident identification collar when I could wear it around my wrist and avoid being mistaken for a slave. I don't get many customers when it's my turn for brothel duty—not every woman has an unfulfilled Electra Complex fantasy. I am a Legal Resident Non-citizen in name only. My family owes you so much that I am really your slave. I willingly give you the right to order me to do things that I couldn't do as Charles Xavier Weathercock. If not for you my family would all be in the USR and I'd be dead by now. I consider myself your slave, even though I am formally a Legal Resident and a free person. Anything you ask of me is on your soul, not mine. I know you agree with me. I'm an old man. I thank you for letting me be useful in my sunset years."

Hank composed himself, obviously moved.

"Anybody need to leave? No? I won't hold it against you."

"I trust you," the youngest was Sharon. "You need me. I'm wearing a collar instead of a wrist band too. My family has never been happier. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to pay back some of the debt we owe you."

"If everybody is staying, then I called you together because of your talents and knowledge. At least eight people have been murdered in Florida." Hank described the murder/suicides by four slaves against their masters. "As you all know that is impossible. The inhibitions against killing another and against destroying themselves is deeply entrenched. Those conditioning routines are renewed at least quarterly. For one inhibition to be overcome—most likely suicide—is very rare. To have both the inhibitions against murder and suicide violated at one time borders on impossible. Four well-behaved slaves killing their high-profile owners within 50 kilometers of each other and within ten days is, well, the saying is that once is an accident, twice is coincidence and three times is enemy action. I want to brainstorm who is responsible for killing those senators. The slaves were NOT responsible."

"You have more information, Hank," Charles stated. "Why aren't you sharing that with us?"

"If you never enter the box, thinking outside the box is easy," Hank responded. "We'll spend about an hour throwing out ideas. I'll brief you all on the rest of the facts that I have—keep in mind that I may have false information. Given that slaves are not going to up and murder their owners, who pulled their strings and made them do that?"

Sharon laughed. All eyes turned to the eleven year old as she explained. "Officer Hardy said he had to investigate our sweat shops. You work us harder in this sweat shop than any place else."

"I work you no harder than I work myself," Hank grinned. "Admittedly my boss is a gold-plated bastard—"

"Let's get on with this," Charles suggested. "I don't have as long to live as some of you."

"I could extend your life."

"No thanks! I mean, if you order me to, I will, but I'll take my allotted span of life and no more, thank you."

After everyone stopped laughing the ideas flew thick and fast. Some people had more to contribute than others. Two who were very active were Theodore Dalton and Danny Albertson.

"Why don't we retrace the steps of those slaves over the past 30 days?" Danny suggested. "I'd go back 90 days if the slave tracking database permitted. I'd look for two things. First there would be all four slaves showing up in the same places during the last 90 days—not all at the same time, but at the same place. More important would be any time the slaves vanished from the grid. If all four slaves vanished from the gird at the same place that would be significant."

"Thanks, Danny! I hadn't thought of that. Let's see what else you can come up with."

When the hour was up, Hank briefed the group on what was known about the four assassinations. What was fact, what was guesswork and what was just hunches were displayed on the walls of the conference room in bold letters 50mm high. The bare-bones outlines also appeared on everyone's display screens on the conference table. Just touching a finger to the outline point would drop down to the next level, with every detail that was known on the cases. Photos and vids were available. After the multimedia briefing and a few questions, Hank started a count-down in glowing green.

"Throw out your ideas. I picked you because you are the most creative people in Silver Orb. Using your new information, come up with motive, suspect and how they did it."

"The other three murders were made to look like accidents," Charles observed. "Even the double drowning could have been explained as an accident. I was a lifeguard before I became a cop and we were taught to expect a drowning victim to panic, to clutch at anybody nearby in a death grip. The prussic acid attack—almost undetectable. A careless investigator could accept that an owner had a heart attack and the shock killed the slave as well. Old aircraft are death traps. They should all be fitted with that emergency parachute system so that the plane can be landed safely in an emergency. But that last attack was blatantly obvious. Having the slave dive through a plate glass window was a nice touch. I didn't think that the human body could penetrate the window."

"Slave Dave picked up the dining room table and ran it into the window," Hank called up a mangled steel pedestal photographed next to the body. "The entire table weighed 250 kilograms, and yes, that was more than a human can handle normally. As for the dagger, it couldn't have been Benton Harold's."

"Yes, you told us that," Charles said. "We get it. Someone made them all kill their owners. But why was Senator Harold killed so blatantly? Simply having the two of them fall from the top of the hotel would have been as effective and would fit the M.O. of the other murders."

"So you suggest that we have two different organizations programming slaves to murder? Oh, yes, that dagger had to be planted. I got confirmation that the broken dagger Major Benton used to save his command post from that Aztlan officer is still secured to his office wall. Who planted it? The room was swept for weapons."

"You said that you felt there was significance to the dagger and how it was used."

"Yes, Charles. I was working out in the gym with a couple of guys, demonstrating World War Two commando techniques. The same techniques were used by the Marines in World War Two—in some cases, US Marines stationed in China had been taught those very methods by the Shanghai police, by Fairbairn himself. They were the basis of the OSS training program and the Marines kept returning to these simple, effective techniques in the 1970's, the 2010's, the 2040's and again during the 2070's. I was an amateur historian."

"I thought you were a psychologist," Sharon said.

"Ted told me you had been a commando," Danny added.

"What you tell us makes no sense," Charles said. "Aztlan is too far away to have operations in Florida. Colorado, sure. Just hop over the border. That area is so rugged that an army can walk through without being detected. But Aztlan would have to cross a lot of ocean patrolled by the USR Navy. Pardon me for saying so, but those boys own the Gulf of Mexico."

"I agree with you."

"You're one of a kind, Hank Dalton. I believe that you truly don't hold a grudge against Aztlan, unlike other vets."

"Waste of time, hating. Anger is one thing, but I don't have time to indulge in hatred. Besides, sponsoring a few refugees is much better as revenge. Any fool can kill. Saving lives is almost as grand as creating life."

"So who would know enough about Senator Harold to use an exotic knife and an even more exotic technique? How would Slave Dave have learned them? He was never a commando."

"It could have been the Langley Gang. The CIA was formed in 1947 from military and State Department people who had been part of Bill Donovan's World War Two Office of Strategic Services. It is possible that the Langley Gang found out that our platoon had adopted that knife and the training program as an esprit de corps device."

"Esprit de corps?" Sharon asked.

"It means spirit of the corps," Theodore explained. "It is a morale tool, a way of making the men feel that they are part of something greater than any one individual. That unit wore a little pewter replica of their dagger on their civilian clothes. It wasn't authorized for uniform wear, but they sometimes did anyway."

"See? The information is out there. That platoon had more than 300 people in it—not all at one time," Hank waved at the cased dagger and medals and patches on his own wall. "Plus the late senator's office had one of those in there. A decent researcher could have figured it out. The Aztlan officer killed by Major Harold was the son of the Aztlan Minister of War and Defense. It is possible that the Senator was killed by someone associated with Aztlan as revenge or by someone who wanted Capitallia to believe Aztlan was behind the attacks."

"You have a better handle on this than I do," Charles said. "Do you have any other suspects?"

"The Senator opposed a bill requiring that all slaves be implanted with the digital bio slave control systems. There are a couple of reasons that is a bad law. Many implants cannot come out without a great deal of trouble and expense. It could even result in the manumitted slave's death." Hank thought for a moment. "I wonder if some slaves are still alive after being reported dead from mishap when the implants were removed. That's why Nevada doesn't mandate removing implants. Anyway, right now 30% of Capitallia's population is slave. With turn-over every ten years as much as half the population could be slaves or former slaves. There are nearly 30 federal senators in the federal Congress that were slaves, and out of 200 Representatives 63 were slaves that won citizenship."

"Yes, I heard about them in History and Government," Sharon said. "They are examples that anybody in Capitallia can become citizens if they apply themselves, no matter how humble. Senator Jayne Concord of Maine was a convicted felon who won manumission."

"That gives us three groups of suspects. There are Aztland and the United States Remnant and an entirely home-grown conspiracy within Capitallia using murder to affect the laws of the land and leaving a trail so that someone else can be blamed." Hank said. "Perhaps it is really the Langley Gang—they're the usual suspects. It could be Aztlan. They'd fit in because Florida has a large Latino population. It could be none of the above."

"It could be all of the above," Danny said.

"That possibility scares the crap out of me," Hank said. "Let's list every reason that these suspects would have for killing all four senators."

The time eventually ran down.

"Tomorrow we'll spend about 90 minutes after breakfast going over the options," Hank directed. "The ceremony starts in 75 minutes. Thank you for your ideas."

One woman hung back. She stared at Hank's penis, occasionally glancing at the departing crowd. When the last had left, she fell to her knees, then bowed until her forehead touched the floor with her hands straight out from her body, palms up.

"You aren't my slave, Citizen Melody Springfield," Hank knelt beside her. "You don't have to wear that collar all the time."

"I am your concubine," the woman said. "I have needs. Do you have time for me?"

"Up," Hank commanded. Melody's face was tear-streaked. "You need it badly. I could smell you from across the room. Let me look at you again."

"I need you, Master!" Melody was trembling.

"I want to look at you, to feel you, to taste you. Will the floor be okay?"

"Please breed me, Master."

"In time. You are a free person, a citizen. You do as you chose."

"I chose to be your humble slave, Master."

"Brace yourself, Melody," Hank lightly ran his hands over Melody beginning with the crown of her head. Melody was almost 30 centimeters shorter than Hank and much more slender—except for her firm jutting breasts. Her waist-length hair was streaked blonde, brown, and black with red highlights. Melody's eyes were a sea green and set above a straight nose. Her generous mouth had perfect teeth. Those teeth began to chatter as Hank rubbed a bald pubic mound. Hank stopped that chattering by kissing Melody. He lowered her to the carpeted floor in anticipation of her knees buckling. Hank resumed caressing Melody as she moaned. "Looks like someone has been engaging in perpetual foreplay. Thinking about me all the time?"

Melody's answer was inarticulate. Without warning, Melody arched her back with her mouth stretched open as she screamed and screamed and screamed. Just as abruptly Melody went limp. A moment later she began to breathe again.

"I," Melody gasped. She shuddered, forced herself to breathe normally, and then tried again. "I am ready for more, Master."

Story to be continued.