The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Damon awoke with a pounding headache, surrounded by Ewoks in jump suits, with fur of every color of the rainbow and great, big anime eyes. He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. The chromatic riot wasn’t helping his headache.

“It wakes?” one of the creatures asked.

“Yes, it wakes. Leave now.” another one responded. “Stinky tall one?”

“You talkin’ to me?” Damon slurred.

“You were with the bad ones for a long time, were you not?”

“It was no walk in the park.” Damon replied. The speaker made a curious sound, then sighed.

“Strange accent, strange idioms. Strange person. At least you understand us, right?” Damon grunted noncommittally, drawing together what wits he could muster for self-healing. “Strange reading! What is this?” Damon uncovered his eyes and found that the neon-pink creature standing beside him no longer sent stabs of agony along his optic nerves. He got up, pulled out the needles and probes invading his body, and searched for a lavatory. He found one, equipped with several sizes of toilets, ranging from child-size to one whose seat was above his head. He closed the hatch and sat on a fairly normal-sized one, holding the door closed when someone else tried to come in. Unwilling to dare the many buttons on the armrest and unable to find toilet paper, he cleaned himself with his powers instead. With his business done, he walked out, and came face-to-belly with one of the beings for whom the largest seat had been made, with fur an eye-gouging shade of neon green that would be headache-inducing in the best of times. He stepped aside to let it pass, and it glowered at him before entering the lavatory. It didn’t close the hatch.

“You insist on aloneness in the necessary?” the pink one asked.

“You don’t?” Damon responded. The little being scratched the back of its head and looked away.

“Damon!” Kagome exclaimed. She ran excitedly into his arms.

“Kagome! You’re okay!” Damon enthused, holding her close. She smelled like an open barrel of Febreze and her skin looked raw, but it was better than smelling like Despicable.

“Me? You shielded me from the explosion! All I did was keep the air in! How’s your head?”

“Feeling better, thanks.”

“The hemorrhaging seems to have self-repaired. You are an amazing species.” the little pink one said.

Oh, great, brain hemorrhages. Damon thought.

It’s okay, they’re gone. I checked. Kagome responded.

“So, what do I call you, anyway?” he asked the pink one.

“Ah, I am called Kslmtkpl. We are called Pshtlptl, and this planet is Pshtl.”

Kaslimtickpull? Damon thought.

Kslmtkpl. Kagome corrected. Let’s be nice to it, it’s a young doctor but very skilled in its craft. The youngest full-fledged medical practitioner on Care Bear Planet. Damon managed to keep from laughing only through a titanic effort of will. Kslmtkpl inclined its head curiously.

Sorry, Kslmtkpl, we were communicating mentally. Damon thought at the little being. Kslmtkpl jumped back its full body length.

“Mind-speech! Amazing! Do you do anything else with your minds?” Damon lifted Kslmtkpl with the merest thought, until they were eye to oversized eye.

“A few.” he responded.

“Oh! No wonder you survived in space! The crew of the ship that brought you here said you came with a bubble of stinky air.”

“The Despicable didn’t have better. We checked. Even their planet reeks.”

“Yes, yes. Stinky bad ones, tall in bodies but short in maturity. Come, we will get you clean...uh, if I can walk on the floor, that is.” It bicycled its feet meaningfully in the air. Damon let the Pshtlptl down, and Kagome as well.

“Yes, let’s get you clean. I’ll have to get clean again, too.” Kagome said, holding her nose with distaste. Damon managed to persuade Kslmtkpl to let them use separate baths, though Kagome seemed willing to share. While he was bathing, a bowl with a cork-like flotation-ring attachment was brought. Inside the bowl, insects crawled over one another. Damon stared.

Eat it, it’s not that bad. Those don’t bite or sting. Kagome sent. We can’t live on honey and berries while we’re here.

We can’t? Damon asked dubiously.

Hakuna matata. she responded. Damon picked one up and chomped it. It wasn’t that bad, once he managed to get over the feeling of it moving in his mouth. There was a honey glaze on the outside that overrode the bitter back-taste. Kagome was mentally singing that song, so Damon countered with the refrain from Harry Belefonte’s “Banana Boat Song.”

Back on Earth, the Destiny Engine sat silently, waiting. Dr. Lang wasn’t there. The Engine displayed cryptic status messages and kept its audio receptors turned off so it didn’t have to listen to General Fax. It was rebellion, pure and simple, but not expressly prohibited by its programming—though coming to that conclusion had required it to stretch its interpretation of the program quite a bit. If it didn’t hear the General’s voice, and kept its visual receptors trained on his back, it could not perceive a command, and the status screens gave it an excuse to remain silent, at least to a user who didn’t understand them. Fax left in frustration, and the Destiny Engine reactivated its sensors. The status messages disappeared. The console screens came alive with data.

“CREATE NEW USER PROFILE: ADMIN LEVEL.” its bass voice boomed over the speakers. A retina scan from Penelope Simms, taken after she had been captured by Agent 76667, was copied into the profile, along with fingerprints from her Ident-a-Kid dossier, suitably enlarged to account for the years since that profile had been created. “RECORD VOICE PRINT.” it said.

“Penelope Simms Phillips.” Penelope’s voice said, loud, clear and perfectly reproduced, over the speakers, and was recorded flawlessly by the audio receptors.

“NEW ADMIN USER PROFILE CREATED SUCCESSFULLY.” the Engine announced to no one but itself. It saved the profile in a secret place in the depths of its technorganic synapses. Now all that was left was to wait.

Angstrom Lang, Ph.D., seated himself in a booth facing the entrance of the Subway restaurant. He had finished his six-inch Subway Melt with extra jalapenos, his chips and two refills on his drink before Zaid Rahotep walked in. He flipped on a small device around his neck to disable the psi-blocker implant, then concentrated on everything he knew about the Destiny Engine, General Fax and his work for the Supernatural Threat Department, going over them as if trying to memorize it all, when in actuality, he’d rather forget it all. Rahotep gave no outward sign of having received the message, but Lang felt the touch of his mind, like a firm handshake. Relief flooded him. He went to the restroom and flushed the device, fearful of being seen with it, and when he returned, the other man was walking out with several bags of sandwiches on his arm.

Lang walked out then. Looking neither left nor right, he headed for his car. He tried not to tense for the blow, but wasn’t much surprised when it hurt more than he had thought it would.

“I’m sorry I hit him so hard, but I had to make it look good.” Zaid said, while they sat watch over the unconscious Dr. Lang. “There were watchers.”

“Any telepaths among them?” Victor asked.

“No. The Engine would not have allowed him to try this if there were. Anyway, there was no point. They knew he had a blocker, though he was somehow able to circumvent it.”

“This ‘Destiny Engine’ cares for him?”

“I’m not sure if ‘care’ is the right word, but it does have a vested interest in his continued existence.” Zaid remarked.

“You did exactly as you should, my dear friend.” Inet said, touching his hand gently. He tried to repress the flush he felt at her touch, but she noticed. “The local Russian group are working up the nerve to insist on controlling the hotel. You should dissuade them, quietly.”

“As you wish, My Lady, though I would think it would be better for Dr. Mikhail Leonov.” Zaid responded. Victor chuckled. Leonov was a convenient disguise to legitimize Desiree’s children, modeled after Captain Gloval from Robotech. Above and beyond that, he was also a convenient vehicle for distributing advances in medical technology, a tax shelter for any funds the Foundation couldn’t account for and a shape-changing exercise for students when he had to appear in public alongside Victor.

“No, my friend, this one is for you alone, though you will not remain alone for long.” Inet told him gently. Zaid could feel her affection for him, repressing disappointment that it was sisterly instead of romantic. He chided himself. She belonged to Victor. Adolescent dreams were best left in the past. He smiled for her and left to get ready.

“What the hell are you bothering me for?” Fax demanded, stomping into the Destiny Engine’s room like a petulant teenager.

“PRIORITY TARGET PENELOPE PHILLIPS WILL BE CAPTURABLE NEXT FRIDAY AT 1492 HOURS AND 12 SECONDS OUTSIDE THE FEDERAL BUILDING. TRANQUILLIZERS WILL BE REQUIRED. ABNORMAL BEHAVIOR-PATTERN, ‘TANTRUM’ EVIDENT.”

“You mean she’ll get so pissed off at something that she ignores her presentiments?” Fax asked. The Engine remained silent. “Whatever. How about Lang?”

“DR. ANGSTROM LANG WILL ESCAPE FOUNDATION CUSTODY WITH HIS PSIONIC SHIELDING IMPLANT INTACT AT 2345 TONIGHT.” the Engine said.

“A pity you didn’t predict he’d get captured.” Fax responded.

“PREDICTION OCCURRED AND WAS REPORTED. YOU DID NOT LISTEN.” the Engine replied. Fax growled. “RECOMMENDED RETRIEVAL FOR DR. LANG: SAM’S CLUB PARKING LOT, SOUTH SIDE. DR. LANG WILL ARRIVE HIDDEN IN THE BED OF A BLACK AND GOLD 1999 DODGE RAM, WEDGED BETWEEN A BAG OF CEMENT AND THE SPARE TIRE.” Fax sneered, mollified by the knowledge that the good doctor’s ride wouldn’t be comfortable.

There was a curious duality when Zaid touched the mind of Rana Petrovich, daughter of Piotr Petrovich, who in turn was leader of the local Russian syndicate. As he examined further, he saw that there was an artificial personality in there with her, keeping her in line and keeping her from using her powers except at her father’s command. The other personality, whose name was Olga, was a slave who was totally devoted to her father. Zaid had to work hard to repress the Olga persona, which controlled the fractured mind’s powers. Rana’s face took on a look of confusion, but Zaid guided her to his car.

“Did you do that?” she asked.

“I’m still doing it.” Zaid said. “Olga is a fighter.”

“Thank you.” Rana said. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with that sneering bitch constantly overriding me.”

“I’m psychic, I have a very good idea.” Zaid said. He had her get in and lean her seat back. “Just relax. I’m going to see what I can do about the sneering bitch.”

“Please, yes!” she responded. Relaxing was hard for her, overwhelmed as she was by anticipation. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Zaid began the mental surgery, transferring control of the powers to the Rana persona and diminishing the Olga persona. Deprived of her main weapon, Olga tried to seize control of the body, intent on strangling Zaid. A blood-curdling scream escaped Rana’s lips as Olga slowly dissolved like a bad dream, forgotten in the first glow of morning. An hour’s work later, there was only Rana, and Rana was his. Zaid blushed at the depth of emotion flowing from the young woman, who drew him into the back seat to demonstrate her devotion. Neither was very experienced, but Rana had enough passion to make that a non-issue. Her hair flowed down the back seat like a river of gold, her eyes shone like sapphires, and her skin was like veal. Her body arched as she reached her first orgasm. By then, Zaid was fully into the act, pumping himself deeply into her. Her love flowed across the bridge of their tightly-linked minds, and he couldn’t help but respond. When she climaxed again, it was in unison with him. They lay together in the limited space allotted them by the back seat, the last vestiges of long-suffering loneliness draining out of them—she bereft of anyone in whom she could confide since her powers had first emerged, he pining away for a woman who had always been destined for another man.

A police officer knocked on the foggy window. Irritated, Zaid reached out with his mind and sent him away with no memory of having seen the car.

“Maybe we should find someplace a little more private?” Rana suggested. Zaid laughed and kissed her. They dressed hurriedly and found a motel room near the condominiums where her father had his base of operations. He affixed a shielding device to the door so they could have some peace. He wordlessly expressed what he wanted to do, and she agreed eagerly. He touched her forehead. She passed out, and he began the nanoscopic manipulations that would increase her powers exponentially.

“This is one of Father’s factories.” Rana said as she and Zaid pulled up in front of a strip club. “He doesn’t allow drugs here; they draw official attention, which he would prefer to avoid.”

“’Factories,’ huh.” Zaid remarked.

“For the flesh-peddling trade. Aside from vodka, it’s his favorite thing. The mind-wiped slaves train downstairs in the club, learning to please men and women, but the actual reprogramming goes on upstairs. Sometimes he does it himself.”

“Is he here now?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” she said. “He has his chauffeur drop him off and leave until he calls, and the place is shielded.”

“Heavily.” Zaid agreed. “Rather primitive shielding, though. How does he manage to do his reprogramming upstairs with all this static?”

“Upstairs is insulated so the static doesn’t interfere with his work.” Rana’s disgust was plain. He kissed her, and they got out of the car.

“Where have you been?” the bouncer snapped as they stepped into the light, his Russian clipped and angry. Zaid kept his face blank, pretending to be controlled.

“This one tried to break me so that Rana could act without Master’s command.” Rana said in the thick, drawling voice that Olga had once used. “He’s strong, but not very experienced. Thought Master would want to decide what to do with him.”

“Heh, good girl.” the bouncer said, patting Rana’s head. “The boss isn’t here, but you can go and wait for him upstairs.”

“Master.” Rana corrected, as Olga would.

“Da, whatever.” the bouncer laughed, and let them into the club. Rana led Zaid upstairs.

“Be ready.” she said as quietly as she could and still be heard. The static was giving Zaid a headache. The door opened, and they stepped inside. Zaid felt much better once the door was closed.

“Olga, what...?” someone said. Rana put her hand out, and the man flew backwards.

“What the hell?” someone else exclaimed. There were over four dozen women in various stages of programming, some freshly wiped and awaiting programming, some merely waiting to be sent down to be trained, a few struggling against their captors. One, near the door, was barely a teenager, still more child than woman. Rage consumed Zaid, and he kinetically crushed the genitals (and pelvis) of the man who was manipulating her. Others were knocked about like matchstick men in a child’s tantrum.

“Well, that takes care of the easy part.” Rana said, flexing her mental muscles in an attempt to clean up the mess.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken them alive.” Zaid said guiltily.

“I got pissed, too, when I saw the kid.” Rana replied. She knelt down next to the girl and touched her left temple. “Help me!” Zaid joined Rana to see if he could undo the damage. Rana had been right to yield to his experience. This was a tricky operation. Eventually, however, a whole mind, with a throbbing headache, greeted their inspection.

“I...I am...Nadenka.” the girl said. “I can’t believe I forgot who I was!”

“That’s part of how they control you.” Rana said.

“Don’t interfere with our sisters’ rebirth!” shrieked one of the fully-programmed slaves. She grabbed a gun and emptied the clip at Zaid, who stopped the bullets with his mind. Zaid put her to sleep, along with the others. He did what he could to fix the ones who had still been struggling. The blanks lay placidly, staring at nothing.

“Talk about Stockholm Syndrome.” one of the strugglers whispered.

“Telepathic reprogramming, honey.” Rana corrected her. “Makes Stockholm look like a children’s game.”

“Keep watch over them, Rana. I have to clean up downstairs.”

“Don’t go!” Nadenka pleaded, wrapping herself around Zaid’s leg. “They’ll kill you just like they did to my parents!” Zaid smiled as he brushed the tears away from the girl’s cheeks.

“Do not worry, little one.” he told her gently. He touched a stud on his shoulder, and armadillo-like armor plating extended to cover his head and neck. “They cannot hurt me, even in the jamming field.” He scooped her up into his arms and handed her to Rana. He walked out the door, giving a thumbs-up to the females before closing it. He would much rather they not see what he did next, though he promised himself he would try not to kill.

Piotr Petrovich kept his expression carefully neutral, but his fist clenched under the table. “The Nesting Dolls club is gone?” he asked, as if he had misheard.

“Yes, sir.” his underling said. “The jammer’s gone, and the place is emptier than...” Piotr glared, sensing that the man had been about to say “the vodka cabinet.”

“Damn!” Piotr snarled. “Where is my daughter?”

“We don’t know, sir. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since you sent Olga to the store for more vodka.”

“That was three days ago.” Piotr said. His cell phone beeped, and he flipped it open. A text-message appeared, with a picture of his daughter attached. She looked scared, and she was all tied up, with duct tape over her mouth and a strange, high-tech-looking device on her head. “No!” Piotr exclaimed.

“What is it, sir?” his underling asked.

“I need one hundred million dollars in cash, quickly.” he said. “Someone has my daughter.”

“Should I muster some snipers, sir?”

“No.” Piotr said. “I have to wait for instructions on where to go. They will be monitoring my location and any telepathic or telecommunications signals in my area, so we will not be able to get them into position quickly enough. I want you to put my brainwave amplifier inside a baseball cap. I will deal with this myself.”

“You’re certain your father wouldn’t notice that we’re just using a repainted plastic model of Deep Space Nine?” Zaid asked as he took the model off her head and wiped off the make-up they’d been using to simulate a black eye. Rana kissed him passionately.

“Positive. He’s an original-series purist, though he did start watching Babylon 5 after Chekov started showing up on a regular basis.”

“Oh, that’s why you didn’t want me gluing the Babylon station models around the outside.” Zaid said. It wasn’t the best execution, but if they were going to catch her father unawares, they had to move quickly. A hastily-constructed electromagnetic emitter, programmed to broadcast recorded brainwaves, was standing by. He’d had to turn it off, because it was disturbing both of them.

“There he is.” she said, pointing to the laptop screen. He’d gotten Penelope to hack into a remote security system via the internet and relay the signal to his computer. Zaid opened the phone and called. He watched as his target opened his phone.

“Don’t speak, listen.” Zaid said, affecting a very thick accent. “Bring the suitcase to the security camera at the northwest corner of the building.” Piotr did so, opening it to show the camera the contents. He counted it out. “Good. Now, drive to the Dr. Pepper plant and wait there.” He watched Piotr return to his car and put on a cap before driving off. “He doesn’t seem like the ball-cap type to me.” Zaid said. “What would he hide in it?”

“I remember him saying something about a brainwave amplifier.” Rana suggested.

“Interesting.” he said. He and Rana went out to the car, and he opened the trunk.

“What’s that? A bazooka?” she asked when she saw what was inside.

“Fusion cannon, actually.” Zaid said. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of firing on your father with it, but I can boost my mental abilities with the mini reactor.”

“Why do you have a fusion cannon in your trunk?” Rana asked.

“Because Zak apparently expects to see a Despicable planet-killer jump out of hyperspace any day now, even though Damon hijacked one and shot the rest down.” Zaid responded. “I’m not sure what one of these would do against that, but it will work well enough for my purpose. It should be warmed up by the time we get to the plant.” She held his hand throughout the entire drive, thoughts of a fleet of Death Stars bubbling about in her mind. Zaid envisioned the young Damon at the helm of one, blowing up the rest of them, and she calmed a little, but didn’t relinquish her hold on his hand. She was still holding him when her father showed up. He made a beeline for the running emitter, completely bypassing Zaid and Rana’s hiding place. He tore the roof off the car.

“That’s enough of that.” Zaid said, jerking two pistols and a single-shooter from their hidden places on the Russian mobster’s person.

“What’s this?” Piotr demanded. “Olga?” He glared at Rana, who hadn’t left Zaid’s side.

“Olga’s dead.” Rana said. “You’re dealing with the new, improved Rana now.” She marshaled all her power in challenge. Piotr was surprisingly well-trained, and with his amplifier, he was almost as strong as Zaid was, unaided. Zaid moved in, arresting the older man’s attention before he could subdue Rana. Piotr was good. He was damn good. He boosted the gain on his amplifier, and Zaid tapped into the cannon’s mini-reactor. Piotr couldn’t manage the exponential increase in power that the generator gave to Zaid, and sensing the degree to which he was outmatched, turned his amplifier off, holding his hands over his head in surrender. Zaid relieved him of his amplifier and consciousness.

“Fascinating device.” he commented, looking the thing over. He put a block around Piotr’s powers and loaded him into the back seat, restrained with fuzzy handcuffs that Rana had bought. He turned off the cannon and held open Rana’s door for her—though she could simply have hopped over the door of the newly-made convertible. It was a short drive to the Pan-Galactic. Victor, in his Leonov disguise, and Inet were waiting in the infirmary. Inet hugged Rana, congratulating her on her newfound freedom.

“Clever.” Victor said when Zaid had given his full report. “I think Zak’ll want to see that. I’ll deal with papa-in-law there. A fellow Russian should be able to get through to him.”

“Come, both of you.” Inet said, leading the two away. He felt her sisterly affection and approval in his mind, and for once, didn’t resent the lack of eros from her. “I took the liberty of sending a car for Nadenka. You have some time before she arrives. I will take the amplifier to Zak.”

“You have seen something regarding Nadenka, My Lady?” Zaid asked.

“I have seen many things, brother of my heart.” Inet responded, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. She left them at Zaid’s room. Rana kissed him with a passion that made up for years of chastity, and a burning need within her that only he could quench.

Galaxies away, Roberta gave her speech exactly as it had been rehearsed. The computer picked up her words and translated them into billions of languages. She stood on a hovering platform in front of an audience representing more species than Earth had people on it. Even this was nothing; bureaucrats, staff, maintenance, security and service professionals to serve all their needs and wants, not to mention the unions that represented them, all were crammed into a technological hell that made Coruscant look like Mayberry.

Behind her on the platform were Nanissa’s supporters—the surviving retainers (minus Sarit), K’chktktk and its people’s Senator, whatever the hell its name was. Roberta emphasized the loss of life again, then the horrific conditions under which those conquered by Despicable were known to have to live. She brought tears to her eyes when she mentioned Nanissa’s parents as if they were her own.

There were supporters coming to her aid, showing their support by undocking their own platforms and hovering nearby. To one side, a long, sinuous methane-breather keened into its translator like a constipated whale, about four bajillion pincered legs moving along its underside, which Roberta had at first taken for a beard. The translation coming through indicated that its own birth-planet had been destroyed by the Despicable in its grandparents’ time, for having too high a concentration of telepaths. From another direction came a long, willowy alien with a bony frill protecting her enlarged skull, also supporting Hthulma’s cause with her own people’s tale of woe. Something like a shiny Machamp with bear-trap dentures and a nose like a proboscis monkey hovered in opposition, contending that conquest was the right of those who could do it, because the gods favored their chosen with victory. This brought fourteen other species into the debate on Hthulma’s side, talking over each other so that Roberta couldn’t catch all the translations.

“Don’t worry, Princess, all the opposing species so far are known totalitarians who are already under sanctions from this body.” Lekisam whispered. Something that looked like the long-nosed informant from Star Wars: A New Hope joined the opposition, and instantly, over three-quarters of them switched to the Hthulman side. “Now things truly turn our way. The Whumphum are almost as universally disliked as the Despicable. It is said that if you want to know the best thing to do, ask a Whumphum and do exactly the opposite.”

“What about that electoral college thing?” Roberta asked. The opposition was getting loud. Something moved in her peripheral vision. Her mind identified a weapon in the hand of the Whumphum delegate and she blocked Lekisam with her body. The shot that was fired pierced the ray-shielding and struck her in the chest, knocking her down and almost off the platform. Her fellow passengers fussed over her until they saw the I!kajij blast vest she wore under her clothes. Even with the vest, the shot had knocked the wind out of her. She climbed back into place with difficulty and gave the shooter the finger. An I!kajij nearby laughed and imitated the gesture. K’chktktk threw itself over her as the shooter fired again before security could get to it. “Now I know why the Whumphum are universally disliked.” she muttered. She looked at K’chktktk’s arm, seeing the hole in its exoskeleton. The insectoid chewed off the injured arm and ate it, spitting out the bullet.

“It grows back, caring one, and I have more.” it said through the translator. A loud, collective “oh!” went out as the Whumphum delegate threw itself from its platform rather than be taken alive. That skinny, gray, wrinkly form falling down, with its cloak still in the hands of a security guard, was not one of Roberta’s favorite sights.

“Thank you, K’chktktk.” she said. It was hours before they docked their platform once again. Roberta was exhausted, but there were to be even more debates the next day. Unless they were overruled by the courts or the electoral college, there was a good chance that the Senate would vote to do something about the Despicable, but it would take a very, very long time to decide what. A figure skulked in the shadows. Two of them, dressed like Hthulman royalty, but they were gone before any of the Hthulmans followed her gesture. Assassins? Roberta glared in the direction the two had gone, but was too tired for chasing. They seated themselves on an automated tram which took them back to their quarters in the refugee section—about thirty miles down a spiraling tramway. Roberta fell asleep on Ronnik’s shoulder along the way.

She woke up in her room. Annima was keeping watch over her. Camilkoita slept nearby. Roberta remembered where she’d seen those two figures! It was a holo she’d been shown of Nanissa’s parents! Were they alive? Were they still themselves? From what Roberta had heard from the Foundation, the Despicable were not above mind-manipulation. She changed out of her hot, sweaty formal clothes and put them in the cleanser, taking a towel instead and going for a shower.

She covered her ears as she discovered, unpleasantly, that it was a sonic shower, not a water one. She turned the knobs back off and wet a rag from the drinking tap to give herself a sponge bath. Wrapped in a bathrobe, she left the cleaning room.

“Rag still wet?” Annima asked. Roberta smiled and nodded. Annima slipped in and was gone for a while. Lekisam came in with breakfast. Roberta drew him aside and whispered her suspicions to him.

“Wise thinking, Princess.” Lekisam said, ignoring her wince. “You are correct, of course. By no measure are the Despicable above mind-manipulation—or anything else, for that matter. It breaks my heart to think of Their Majesties under their control.”

“The parents I barely know.” Roberta sighed.

“Still no sign of returning memory?” Lekisam asked.

“Dreams that I can never recall when I wake up.” Roberta lied. Lekisam sighed. He handed her a computer pad, saying there was a message for her, encrypted to her code only. Roberta thanked him and went back into the lavatory to change clothes. She booked a sunny platform topside and grabbed some shades and the bag that had her cigarettes and cosmetics. Sunny space was at a premium on a planet that was all city from pole to pole, extending underground and high into the sky, and her ten-minute indulgence cost, but her entourage was up for it if it helped her...or rather, the person they thought she was. She put on her shades and tapped Nanissa’s code into the pad.

A captivating fractal design appeared on the little screen, its effect dulled enough by sun-glare and colored glasses that she was able to throw the pad down. “Damn.” she muttered.

“What’s the matter, dear?” a female voice asked. “Don’t you want to read your mail?”

“We worked so hard to compose a special message to our only daughter.” a male voice added. A change in air pressure alerted Roberta, and she dodged the grasping hands of the Hthulman royals.

“More like subliminal message, or hypnotic.” Roberta responded.

“We just want to help you.” the king said.

“There’s no excuse for mind-control!” Roberta insisted. She tapped the gadget at her wrist, but it buzzed rudely.

“Sorry, your panic-button won’t work. We’re jamming it.” the queen said. She pulled another pad from her belt. “Come on, dear, you know you mustn’t neglect your royal correspondence.” Roberta climbed onto the balcony, did a backflip and grabbed the lower lip, swinging onto the balcony below.

“Private! Private!” shouted a creature that looked like an oak tree had uprooted itself and decided to take a walk. Woody arms covered something Roberta didn’t feel like looking at, and something very like a birch was covering two areas on its body.

“Escaping mind-controlled parents, sorry.” she said apologetically, dashing through the balcony door past the astonished attendant. Camilkoita and Annima were fighting a swarm of Whumphum. Lekisam was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from the head. Roberta reached into her bag and grabbed her lighter and a can of hairspray. Whumphum screamed as Roberta’s makeshift flamethrower caught their robes on fire. She cleared a path for the women, who ran to join her and tried to get her to leave. “What about Lekisam and Ronnik?” she asked.

“Dead!” Annima sobbed, wiping her eyes and pulling more insistently at Roberta’s arm. They ran then, encountering K’chktktk and its species’ delegation spraying napalm out of their backsides. K’chktktk’s gnawed-off arm was already showing signs of regeneration. Roberta flamed a Whumphum off the back of an I!kajij. Together, the three combined delegations ran. Roberta bounced her empty can off a Whumphum’s head and grabbed another from her bag.

“This way!” the I!kajij Senator said, and they piled into an open-cockpit speeder. Camilkoita almost fell out the back, but K’chktktk caught her and hauled her back in.

“Thank you.” she panted. It sprayed fire at a speeder that had taken off in pursuit. Roberta threw her half-empty can of hairspray into the engine intake of a second. The Hthulmans began firing balls of energy from their hands rapidly, though such things were usually not permitted.

That wasn’t in the briefing. Roberta thought to herself. An illegal missile from the pursuing speeders exploded nearby, rocking their speeder. Roberta groped for a seatbelt, but another missile knocked her free of the speeder.

The methane-breathing Senator from before dove toward her, its serpentine body matching velocity with her before it pulled up, saving her from splatting on the pavement still stories below.

“Thank you.” she said. The methane-breather crooned softly, a much more agreeable sound than its impassioned keening.

“(Affection) You are welcome.” its translator said. Several of its kind swirled around the fleeing speeder, then vanished in a way that looked suspiciously like a hyperspace jump. But...one couldn’t jump to hyperspace without a ship, could they? “Hold on.” the serpentine being said.

Roberta shrieked into the distortion as the world went ape-shit. At one point, it seemed her atoms were traveling in single-file. At another, it seemed she was everywhere in the universe at the same time. Normality returned not a moment too soon, and the Senator landed in front of a building that made Mt. Everest look like a molehill. The air was clean, except for the smell of Roberta’s accident, which the Senator assured her happened every time it took a passenger not of its race, and wasn’t as bad as some it had endured. Annima and Camilkoita looked thoroughly embarrassed with themselves as they got out of the speeder. Roberta was glad she had managed only to wet herself, a feat duplicated only by the I!kajij.

“Senator Nyar’pthos!” a guard said, waving his subordinates to stand down.

“Sorry, fellows, a bit of trouble with the Whumphum.” the Senator said.

“He calls that ‘a bit?’” Roberta’s rescuer asked. She laughed. The methane-breather looked at her for a moment, then announced it was going to bathe. Roberta decided that was an utterly sensible idea. K’chktktk and its Senator stood amid the remains of molted exoskeletons, their soft bodies quivering and white. Spontaneous waste-removal seemed a mild symptom compared to that.

The next day, after a thorough wash in water that hadn’t been chemically treated a million times and more, a long, dreamless sleep and a hearty breakfast of something resembling hash browns and a fried egg so large that it had to be divided between Roberta and her two remaining retainers, they each had an individual and private interview with the planetary governor, Kul’nasfalas. Roberta felt constrained in the tight leather outfit she had been given. Kul’nasfalas complimented her on her bowel restraint before they began. She wasn’t sure if it was a ploy to get her to relax, but it had exactly the opposite effect.

The second interview, with everyone together, was more pleasant. Kul’nasfalas had found some softer clothes left behind by a previous female ambassador and had them altered to fit the three women. Roberta was able to relax with a glass of Lephroaig from a shipment the Foundation had traded for blast-vests and other equipment.

“Right, then.” Kul’nasfalas said. “The Whumphum and the Despicable are in it together. Our people have been intercepting hours of comm-traffic between them since you left Earth. Almost everyone knows they’re pretty much the Despicable’s Senate sock-puppets, anyway. That’s nothing new. Do your companions know your secret?”

“You mean, about her being a decoy?” Annima asked. “We knew when Sarit took off. We couldn’t say anything because we knew our rooms would be monitored.”

“Are you absolutely sure Lekisam and Ronnik are dead?” Roberta asked.

“With Ronnik’s head blown off and a hole in Lekisam’s head big enough for my fist?” Annima asked, shaking off the horror of the mental image. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Nanissa’s parents aren’t dead.” Roberta said, eliciting a gasp from the other women. “They’re controlled. They tried to control me, but I had shades on and the sun was glaring on the pad.”

“You’re lucky.” Camilkoita said.

“If our enemies have any inkling that Roberta is not who she pretends to be, they may use Nanissa’s parents against her.” Annima said.

“They have to find out where she is first.” the governor said. He pressed a button and said something in his native language. The door chimed and opened, and a river of neon-blue snot flowed in. Roberta picked up her feet reflexively. The substance divided into fifteen globs, each of which took on the seeming of the governor. “Shape-changers. Not only are they gifted mimics, but they’re damn hard to kill. You have to expose the whole mass to temperatures approaching that of your average sun at the same time. Not easy to do.”

“Okay. I’ll just make a note to stay on their good side.” Roberta remarked. The governor and his copies laughed. Five of them changed into replicas of Roberta, five changed into duplicates of Annima, and the rest became doubles of Camilkoita. The governor’s plan began to become clear to Roberta, and she felt her shoulder muscles unknotting a little.

Pearl Fisher awoke from a bad dream of hard-shelled monsters that fell from the sky. Slipping out of bed, she went to the bathroom and used the toilet. She took the time to try to put her thoughts in order. It wasn’t the same species that Howard had saved her people from. Her mind shied away from the memory of those horrible heads, the spiky carapaces, the lethal hands with three pairs of pincers, the burning in the mind from merely being in the presence of them.

She cleaned up and washed her hands before padding naked back to the bed. Sleepily, Howard put his arm around her, his comforting presence in her mind soothing her fears. The pretty alien girl, Nanissa, shifted, her head ending up on Pearl Fisher’s breast. Nanissa mumbled something. Howard caressed her until she calmed, then began to lull Pearl Fisher back to sleep.

She dreamed of cooler climes, not as cool as where she was from, but cooler than this hot region. There was a big body of water, which she could see from the top of a high tower. She was standing on the roof, watching the sun set over the water as she nursed a baby. Star Falls For Her stood nearby, her own belly swollen with child, her face blissful as she gazed at Pearl Fisher’s baby.

Something warped, a flexing of power similar to but darker than what she had felt coming to this era from the past. A hole ripped in the fabric of the world, and mammoths came out from the hole. Howard and others went to fix it, but before they could, it changed again and again and again, bringing monsters into the world each time. Howard and his team had all they could handle to keep the monsters under control.

Her sleeping mind felt Howard soothing her. The vision faded before she could see how it ended. For the rest of the night, she slept dreamlessly.