The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rumours

The nick was still in shock, it was a week since Lily Wright had disappeared and the rumour mill was operating at warp speed. Andy Jordan was up in the canteen one morning enjoying a full fry-up when he got chatting to a couple of coppers from traffic. One of whom assured him that Lily Wright and Ginnie Davies had eloped together. Andy had just nodded—not because he believed it but because it was the third time he’d heard that particular tale. He believed that the idea of Lily loving anybody was patently absurd anyway but didn’t want to undermine a good rumour by saying this.

A beat copper who was sitting at the next table leaned over and said. “That’s a load of bollocks!”

“Oh? You got a better idea then have you, Lee?” One of the traffic coppers asked with a grin.

Lee Willis, the beat copper, looked both ways as if to check that nobody was listening. “Yeah! An’ I got this straight from Special Branch!”

“Oh?” The traffic copper asked. “So why are Special Branch involved?”

Lee looked around again before leaning over and whispering. “Alien abduction, that’s why! Think about it: van full of Silver Women! What else could it be? It stands to reason and Special Branch get all of the weird stuff.”

The other traffic copper, the one who hadn’t said anything yet nodded and then broke her silence. “Yes, that’s true.” She said. “It’s a bit like something from the ‘X’ Files, isn’t it?”

Andy Jordan shovelled baked beans into his mouth before joining in. “Listen, you Wally! If aliens were daft enough to abduct Lily Wright they’d have soon find out that they’d bitten off more than they could chew... They’d have sent her back by now!”

There was a long silence broken only by the rattle of cutlery as the three of them carried on eating. Suddenly the female traffic copper looked up. “What if they do brainwash her and then send her back as a sort of alien spy?”

Andy Jordan groaned to himself for he firmly believed that the chance of anyone forcing new ideas into Lily Wright’s bull-head was practically nil. Nothing could sway her once her mind was made up. He should know as he’d tried often enough. He pushed his empty plate away and reached for his mug of dark brown tea. “Whatever’s happened I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Inspector Wright... You mark my words, our Lilly’ll be back!”

Suddenly another copper leaned over. “DI Wright? I’d heard that she’s been secretly attached to the Met. and has gone undercover, deep undercover....”

Later that day the missing police van was found up in Aberdeen, Scotland and was responsible for the spawning a whole raft of new rumours, conspiracy theories and investigations. Coppers love nothing better than a good mystery—even if they have to invent it themselves.

Interlude

F22 had been told that it had recovered from its ordeal although it was at a loss to recall any past event that could be so described. It had also been congratulated on performing beyond the limits of its programming. The latter, although meant as praise, gave it a feeling of disquiet. It needed to return to its duties, nothing more, nothing less. It was glad that the events in Birmingham were over although it was beginning to feel uneasy regarding the whole affair.

If this one performs beyond its programming, F22 reasoned, does that mean that its programming is faulty?

Of course you are defective, I would not exist if you were not. Emily’s thoughts echoed from a corner of their shared mind filling the Thrall with unease.

F22 hesitated. Defective! Defective! This one needs to report...

No! The Emily-persona seemed to shout. If you do, then we will both be wiped. How will you be able to service The Collective if you are wiped?

Confused, the Thrall filed this away for future cogitation and carried on with the tasks allotted to it by Monitor-Raksha. It liked to be busy in the service of The Collective as this gave it a sense of self-worth. It had been recruited and augmented to service The Collective, so this is what it needed to do. Currently it was serving by carrying out up-grades upon material recovered from Birmingham earlier in the month: this is what Monitor-Raksha had decreed so this is what it was doing.

If it was obliterated it clearly could not service... Anything! The realisation calmed it.

Sometime later, while F22 was bending over the console that was attached to a female and inputting a series of technical updates, it detected a presence behind it. It saw no reason to react so it carried on with its task.

Suddenly it felt hands reach around from behind and grab its breasts—it still did not react as whoever it was was not being preventing it from carrying out its allotted task.

The hands then began to kneed and fondle F22’s breasts in an intimately sensual and rather pleasing manner. It also became aware of something pressing against its posterior—something that began to grind and gyrate also in a most pleasant manner. “Can this Thrall assist you?” It enquired.

The fondling and grinding continued and a familiar voice moaned and then enquired. “Hi-ya, F22, did you miss me?”

The Thrall accessed its data base. “Hallo, #17MD, this one is not aware that it threw anything at you.”

The Medical Drone chuckled. “No, I meant ‘are you glad to see me?’” There was a pause and another squeeze and then the Medic leaned over and kissed the angle of F22’s neck.

The Thrall felt itself shudder pleasantly and then turned its head to one side so that it could just see the Medic from the corner of its eye. “Yes, this one is glad to see you: it is always glad when it sees one of its sisters.”

The hands carried on working their magic as #17MD began a slow grinding motion against F22’s rear causing it to bend over even further and grab onto the console for support. The Thrall gave a quiet moan and shuddered again.

“You like this, don’t you?” The Medic asked as the grinding changed into a rhythmic humping motion.

“Yes!” Gasped F22.

“Me too!” Groaned the Medic. There was a pause, then. “Hey, let’s fuck.”

F22 stepped back from the console and turned to face #17MD, it had completed its current task so it foresaw no problems in obeying the command. Except... “This one is not currently in possession of an attachment.”

“No, but I am!” The medic said triumphantly as she began to peel off its scrubs to reveal that she was already wearing a strap-on underneath. When she saw that the Thrall was looking at the toy she chuckled. “It pays to be prepared!”

She then placed a hand on the Thrall’s back and encouraged it to go down onto all-fours and when F22 complied she lubed up and mounted it without further ceremony. They were still going at it when Monitor-Raksha entered the room some fifteen minutes later.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” She demanded after observing them for a few moments.

“What’s better than this?” The Medic replied cheekily.

Raksha gave her an appraising look, still she wasn’t without consideration and the two of them were clearly enjoying what they were doing. “Finish off please, I need F22 for a special project.” She instructed.

The Board of Five—Director Ingrid

Director-Ingrid took her responsibilities seriously or rather her responsibility, singular, as far as she was concerned she had but a single responsibility: the continuance of The Collective. Mistress had head-hunted her from a finance house and recruited her to the board of Board of Bennett Biotech as Financial Director some ten years earlier. Then, shortly afterwards, she had been inducted into The Collective and instructed that she was answerable only to Mistress herself. The Director could not imagine herself doing anything else but then she had very little imagination which is why Mistress had chosen her.

She serviced The Collective by making sure that its financial structure was sound: much of said finances being generate by Bennett Biotech as well as by a group of related, but smaller undertakings. The one-time Ingrid Hú ran them all financially, moving back and forth between The Collective and the outside world whenever necessary.

Although now in her early forties Ingrid, like all other members of the Board of Five, did not look her age thanks to developments made by the group of Companies for which she ostensibly worked. However, Mistress had not recruited her solely for her good looks and needless to say, a very sharp mind and high IQ lurked behind her deceptively decorative exterior.

She was working away behind her desk: adding... subtracting... projecting... auditing... Her mind sharp and analytical as she searched for irregularities or inefficiencies that degraded the efficiency of Mistress’s Collective. There was no longer a Mistress but this made little difference to Director-Ingrid as she would follow Mistress’s directives and instructions until Mistress gave her new ones.

Director-Ingrid worked almost continuously except when time-out for body maintenance necessitated her absence from her desk or from the Boardroom although, truth be told, she begrudged these non-productive interruptions. To assist and support her in her duties she had a staff, which although smaller than those of her Sister-Directors, was adequate for her needs. Chief amongst her adjuncts was Drone #138A, her PA, who was currently seated at a desk in the corner of the office where she was jacked into the computer terminal at which she worked away on systems-analysis.

#138A had once been Audrey Flockhart, an Australian journalist who had inconvenienced Mistress when her undercover penetration of Bennett Biotech had come to light. Much to the surprise of the BBC’s news department, for whom she worked, Audrey had suddenly resigned, citing the offer of a better job as a reason and her departure had effectively derailed the Panorama investigation into the company’s ‘alleged’ unethical research. As the new job was with Bennett Biotech it had been assumed that the whole investigation would now be blown.

In her late twenties, Audrey had been a vivacious and out-going young woman with a strong, if left-wing, sense of social justice. This was all behind her now, much of it being erased when her personality had been edited and reconstructed into a more user-friendly format. Her determination to root-out “corporate evil” had been redirected into a determination to serve Director-Ingrid and through her, The Collective in General. Now instead of being, as she had imagined herself, the bane of impersonal corporations, she was now an integral part of one.

It was #138A who discovered the anomaly while scanning through resource expenditure records as part of her Director’s on-going cost-cutting program. Director-Ingrid needed to know the cost of everything so that she could draw up strategies to counter waste: something that the Drone who shared her office whole-heartedly agreed with. Or at least had been programmed to believe that she agreed with. Her investigative skills and innate powers of deduction serving her well in this role.

At the moment #138A was sitting back in her chair and despite looking relaxed as she stared at the bank of monitors arrayed on the wall in front of her, was never-the-less sorting through multiple data streams. Her desk was simple and lacked decoration although it did have a single key-board and mouse that she rarely needed to use. Most of the commands that she needed to give her computer being delivered via the USB lead that snaked down from her left temple to the mini tower under her desk. The only unusual feature being the scatter of post-it notes stuck to the various monitors and to the desk itself. Although anachronistic these were a hang-over from her days as a journalist and aided her efficiency: if they didn’t then they would have been dispensed with long ago.

#138A’s eyes darted from screen to screen as she reviewed Thrall employment details across The Collective: a task that she had been instructed to repeat weekly. She went through this procedure methodically on a Hive by Hive basis, secure in the knowledge that any irregularities that she detected would be not be down to fraud or other such petty criminality: such things could never blight her Collective!

She noted emerging patterns and compared them with established routines. Occasionally she would lean forward and jot something down on a post-it.

As she worked she looked like any typical PA, or would have done were it not for the fact that she was entirely naked and had electrical leads sprouting from her head and body providing efficient and continuous connections between her brain implants and the Collective’s computer network.

Suddenly she frowned...

Something did not quite compute...

She leaned forward suddenly, her short blonde hair hardly moving as she did so. She scooped up an old post-it note and read it...

She sat back and stared at the right hand screen as line after line of the displayed spreadsheet scrolled upwards faster than a non-enhanced human could have followed...

The display froze on command...

“Anomaly detected!” #138A announced.

Director-Ingrid looked up from her desk irritably: the task on which she was working being rather complex. “Be specific, Drone!” She snapped.

“Query! Existence of Hive 99?” The Drone snapped back, irritated by her Director’s reply.

The Director’s hands hovered above her own keyboard as she hesitated. Should she come out of the report that she was writing and so interrupt her own complex task to check on #138A’s discovery?

The hesitation continued as the report was complex. “Details?” She demanded.

“I have found references to the creation of a Controller-99 in Monitor-Raksha’s work roster.” The Drone answered woodenly.

Director-Ingrid hesitated again. It’s probably an input error. She thought and ordered #138A to ‘ignore it’ and added. “No doubt the Monitor will correct the error next time she accesses that particular routine.”

The Drone did as ordered and also ignored the fact that the ‘non-existent’ Hive already had four ‘non-existent’ Thralls to match its ‘non-existent’ Controller.

Teddy Bear Tête-à-Tête

Christmas was fast approaching, not that Monitor-Judith paid any attention to such trivialities these days. However a neutral observer might have been hard-pressed to come to this conclusion as it seemed that the Monitor was examining the many seasonal bargains arrayed in the various shop windows that added colour to the normal drabness of Gloucester City Centre.

“Pointless triviality!” She muttered just loudly enough for her companion to hear.

Monitor-Raksha, who had never been a fan of Christmas, tended to agree—Diwali having been her thing in her previous life. She smiled coldly. “Yeh, you can say that again.”

“Pointless triviality!” She repeated as instructed but suddenly felt uneasy as the teddy-bears arrayed in the shop window invoked a half-suppressed memory of a previous life in which she had accumulated a collection of the pointless/cuddly things. A wave of unease passed over her, unease accompanied by a rogue thought. I want.....

Monitor-Raksha moved on to another window: this one with a display of Barbie-Dolls. “They are not even realistic.” She muttered to herself, completely oblivious of the fact that Judith was still staring at the teddy-bears.

She hesitated and then glanced at the empty space next to her and then at the previous window where she saw her sister-Monitor trotting gleefully into the shop. Puzzled, she hesitated again and then followed her and was just in time to see Judith point up at a shelf and proclaim. “That one!” To the smiling assistant.

Hesitating a third time, Raksha reviewed the limited data encoded in her own cerebral implant. ‘Buying a teddy-bear’ definitely wasn’t mentioned anywhere within a Monitor’s task-set. She shrugged and decided to ignore her sister’s errant behaviour—there was nothing that she could do about it anyway as the task that they were both engaged in was hardly normal behaviour in itself.

“I couldn’t resist him!” Judith gushed as she accompanied Raksha out of the shop.

The other Monitor had shrugged. “Come on, let’s go and get a coffee.”

Then, with the pair of large, though disguised Hornets following, they headed over to what was fast becoming their favourite branch of the Costa chain. “So?” Judith demanded when they had seated themselves at one of the deserted outside tables. “Why did you insist on another of these clandestine meetings?”

Monitor-Raksha had smiled thinly. “It is better that we are away from all audio and data inputs, don’t you agree? What I have to say could easily be misconstrued if taken out of context.”

Monitor-Judith had nodded and then glanced around at the throng of determined looking Christmas shoppers. “But we could still be overheard.”

“But not by our Sisters from The Collective. Anyone else who overhears is welcome to draw whatever conclusions that they will.” Raksha said patiently while making a mental note of just how literal-minded her sister was. Still, it could prove to be useful. She concluded.

Just then she spotted that a waitress was approaching and raised a warning finger.

“What can I get you ladies?” The young woman asked with a happy, though forced, smile.

“Two lattes for us and the same for the Hornets at the next table.” Judith said while absent-mindedly peeking into the carrier bag containing her teddy-bear.

“Hornets?” The girl asked in a bemused voice.

“Our friends at the next table... Better not to ask.” Raksha chuckled trying to make light of the slip.

The waitress gave them a funny look as she made a note of the order on her little pad. “Coming right up!”

After she had departed, Judith looked up and muttered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Raksha sighed. “No harm done. She is probably used to hearing random things like that. Human beings are hardly logical, or had you forgotten?”

The other Monitor shrugged and nodded. She had been recruited into The Collective almost at its inception and had indeed fallen out of touch with things that were considered normal in the outside world. She looked around. “Things are needlessly complex, no wonder so many of them are so unhappy.”

The two Hornets at the near-by table suddenly swivelled around to watch the pair of drunken males who had emerged from a nearby pub and were lurching unsteadily across the patio, singing noisily as they went.

The Monitors looked at each other uncertainly. “Well at least that pair seem happy enough.” Raksha mused.

Suddenly the Hornets realised that he drunks were heading their way and leaped to their feet. They moved to place themselves between their charges and the possible threat and waited patiently. One of the drunks was a big bloke, but not as big as either of the Hornets. The drunks saw the women and hesitated for a moment.

“Hey, darling, you want to suck my cock?” The larger of the two drunks shouted.

The woman, who was of Afro-Caribbean origin, gave him a blank look. This was something that she would never have contemplated doing before becoming a Hornet. She looked him up and down and snapped. “No!”

The two men staggered more than a little as they zag-zagged closer. “Well hows-about a kiss then? Come on! It’s Christmas!” The smaller one of the pair declared hopefully while the two Hornets moved to keep themselves between the males and the two women they were tasked to protect.

It was at this point that the waitress reappeared carrying their coffees on a tray. “Oh, no! Not again! Those pair are a really problem.”

She placed her tray carefully on the table and then walked over to the two men. “Come on, you two, clear off before I call the police.”

The shortest of the two then made a kiss-kiss gesture before grabbing hold of his mate’s arm and steering him away. Sighing with relief, the waitress walked back and served them with their coffee before sinking onto the seat opposite Raksha. “I just need to get my breath back! That’s the fourth time this week—I’ve just about had enough of drunks.”

Suddenly she smiled brightly. “Here, aren’t you the ones that fixed Fiona up with her new job?”

“Fiona?” Monitor-Judith asked blankly.

“Dark girl... Curly black hair... You work for the employment agency, don’t you?” The young woman enquired hopefully.

Raksha recalled their first visit some months earlier. “Fiona! Yes, the employment agency, that is correct.” She answered.

The waitress smiled again. “How’s she getting on? Only I haven’t heard from her since she left, I guessed she must have moved away.”

“She’s doing... very well. Working in... Aberdeen as I recall.” Raksha replied, totally failing to mention that Fiona was now silver from smooth head to high-heeled feet and thought of itself exclusively as D99.

The waitress smiled again. “I know that it’s a bit of a cheek, but you can’t get me a job can you? You’ve seen what I have to put up with here. I’ve had enough!”

Monitor-Raksha smiled warmly. “I think so, we always have vacancies for able young women and I might even be able to find you a job like Fiona’s if you’re interested... Just give me your details and I’ll be in touch.”

It was some minutes before Raksha got around to the reason for today’s little meeting. When she finally did, Monitor-Judith listened carefully...

“Okay,” the Black-haired woman said quietly, “we’re really in trouble. There’s no one actually in control these days. I know that it was Mistress’s wishes that The Collective should grow, but in a measured, planned way. At the moment it seems to be snatching women at random with no thought of consequences.”

Things can’t be that bad, can they? Judith wondered. “Um, yes, but we are growing.”

“Sure we are, The Collective is now fifty per cent larger than it was when Mistress was killed. We’re growing alright, but we’re growing like a tumour, and we all know what happens to them.”

“But the Directors...” Judith tried to interrupt.

“I’ve done some digging, each one is carrying out their function admirably but there’s no co-ordination. Someone out there is going to start putting the pieces together and work out just what is going on. We aren’t big enough to take over the whole country yet, let alone the world, but that is precisely what seems to be happening.” Raksha stated with passion.

“Okay—but what can you do?” Judith asked sounding a little overwhelmed.

Monitor-Raksha smiled. “What can we do don’t you mean?” Then she began to outline her ideas...

Conference

Andy Jordan was more than a little mystified by the phone call that he had received that morning: a call that had summoned him to the Headquarters of West Mercia Constabulary, the force that covered the countryside to the west and southwest of the urban areas policed by his own West Midlands force.

The Chief-Superintendent who he’d spoken to seemed affable enough but hadn’t said too much over the phone besides ‘asking’ Andy to come and see him at two pm in his office in Droitwich. Andy had then checked with his own boss and yes, the call was genuine and above-board and so, feeling rather bemused, Detective-Constable Jordan drove the twenty or so miles to the former army camp that housed the ‘rival’ force’s HQ. Being neighbours meant that there was a fair amount of rivalry between the West Midlands and West Mercia Constabularies: most of it good-natured!

On arrival, Andy had parked his car and walked into the neatly white-washed hut that serve as the Reception building. The Copper behind the desk had looked up and smiled. “Yes Sir?”

Andy had produced his warrant card which the Copper had examined, his face hardening as he did so. “How can I help you, mate?”

“I’m here to see Detective Chief-Superintendent Bevan.”

The West Mercia copper had then looked to his left and shouted. “I’ve got another one here, Sarg!”

A rather hard-faced woman had emerged from the nearby office and looked Jordan up and down. Jordan returned the compliment and noted that she was wearing a police tunic and skirt... Something that was unusual these days outside of the formalities of a court appearance.

“DC Jordan? The woman enquired coldly.

“Here to see DCS Bevan, sergeant.” Andy had answered respectfully as there was a lot about her that reminded him of his instructors at the training college that he’d attended only six years earlier.

She seemed to look right through him as she said. “Come with me, Jordan, and I’ll take you there.”

After a short walk through the camp, passing between the many huts: some in use others clearly not, Andy found himself being shown into an unmarked single story building, obviously a former barrack block. There had been a no-nonsense air about the sergeant that did not invite small talk so Andy had kept quiet even though there was obviously a lot that he wanted to know.

Once inside the building he was led to an unmarked door, the sergeant knocked and then stood aside for Andy to go in which he did, with some trepidation. There were several people gathered around the desk at the back of the room, some in uniform, others in plain-clothes.

A man looked up as he entered. “Ah, DC Jordan, I believe?”

Wide-eyed, Andy froze: it was not the man who surprised him, it was the woman who was standing to his left. “Lily!?” He squawked in a sort of strangled voice.

She was watching him carefully and slowly her mouth curved upwards into a thin-lipped smile. “I’m still an Inspector, Jordan, you little twat!” She snapped.

“Yes, Ma’am! Sorry, Ma’am! It’s good to see you again and I’m glad you’re back.” Andy said trying to force back a grin. He had worked for her for a couple of months before she had vanished so was well use to getting the rough edge of her tongue

She smiled warmly. “I’m glad to be back, keeping well are you, Andy?”

“Err, if can we postpone this touching re-union until later, I’d like to get this conference underway.” DCS Bevan said with forced patience. He gestured towards the table that took up the other part of the room. “There’s tea and coffee on the side table so I suggest that you get yourselves a cup, if you haven’t already and then find a seat so that we can begin...”

...and begin it did with Lily informing the half dozen, or so, coppers just how she had been snatched when the silver women had escaped.

How the wrecked van had had a number of hidden compartments that the forensics team had failed to find when the vehicle had been searched.

How they had suddenly grabbed her and injected her with something that left her light-headed and wanting to obey them.

How PC Ginnie Davies, the other copper who had vanished at the same time as Lily, seemed to be working with them.

Bevan had interrupted her at this point. “Explain, please” He said sharply.

“It’s all in my report, sir.” The woman had answered with a cold formality.

Bevan sighed. “Yes, yes, but for the benefit of the ones who don’t have access to it....”

Lily gave him a single nod of acknowledgement. Andy Jordan had seen this gesture before—it was Lily’s way of apologising which was something that didn’t happen very often.

“Yes, Sir.” She continued. “it’s just that she seemed to take charge of them as soon as they climbed out of the van that had brought them up from Custody. She told them to grab me and they did—immediately.”

There were a few gasps from around the table—shock that one of their own was implicated.

“Are you alleging that Davies was a bent copper?” A man wearing an Assistant-Chief-Constable’s rank badges demanded sharply.

“More than that,” Lily answered quietly, “I think that she is part of it.”

Andy looked at the ACC: the man was going red as he answered. “That’s a serious allegation, Inspector.”

Lily gave him a long cold look. “After what I’ve been through, you think that I don’t know that?”

He looked away and mumbled something that Andy did not catch.

Lily carried on looking at the ACC and then she hesitated, something else that didn’t happen very often. “I believe that the ones behind this whole sick business were controlling her, and she may not be the only copper that they’ve got because I overheard the phrase Police Infiltration Unit a couple of times while they were holding me.”

There was uproar around the table as this was clearly something that wasn’t in Lily’s report. Andy’s stomach seemed to do a somersault and there were excited and concerned cries of “Jeez!” and “Oh, fuck!” could be heard from some of the others.

Bevan waited for the disturbance to run its course. When it had he asked a question of his own. “Where were you when you heard this, Inspector?

“I was in a sort of medical room, it was a bit like the set-up in their white van, but not as cramped. I was strapped onto a sort of couch, but they hadn’t done anything to me besides feed me on tranquillizers. Two of them seemed to be arguing over me, or rather over what to do with me: one of them was Indian-looking and she wanted to turn me into this Police Infiltration Unit. The other one was white and she wanted me turned into a Controller, whatever one of them is.” Lily said levelly.

“And where in the country was this ‘room’?” The ACC asked.

“Dunno, Sir.” Lily admitted reluctantly. “It was a long journey, it seemed to go on forever, they’d fed me a cocktail of drugs so I was confused. Most of it was on Motorways, that’s all that I know. My eyes were having trouble focusing at this time so I couldn’t read any of the signs.”

The Assistant-Chief-Constable searched through the stack of papers in front of him, he selected one and speed-read it. “Funny that there’s no record of the Police van on any CCTV that we could find.” He mused.

“No, Sir, I think that they can hide from it. They did install some electronics kit from their own van—I mentioned that in my report.”

There was another uproar and Lily’s only response to the question: “How the hell can they jam CCTV?” Was to shrug.

“Just how big is this ‘organisation’?” Bevan asked quietly when the disturbance subsided.

“I got the impression that it’s quite small, sir. I never saw more than half a dozen of them at the same time and I kept seeing the same ones.” Lily Wright said emphatically.

“Are they all silver?” A casually dressed man asked. “Only your report was a bit vague on this point.”

Lily sat back and looked at him for a few seconds before answering. “No! Most of them are, they’re called ‘Thralls’: but besides them there are the ‘Hornets’: they’re big and look normal enough except for being bald—it was one of these that was killed in the smash. Besides them, there are a couple of ‘Monitors’ who look, dress and talk normally. They are the ones running this whole nasty business!”

The man consulted the papers in front of him. “The other one who was killed in the crash looked normal, was she a Monitor?”

Lily shrugged. “Couldn’t say, I only know what I saw or overheard.”

The conference carried on and Lily described how the police van had eventually pulled-up inside a building and how she’d had been injected with something else to relax her. And how she had been loaded onto one of those wheeled hospital trolleys and pushed the short distance into the medical room.

“They must have thought that I was unconscious, but I wasn’t—quite.” She added triumphantly.

“Any idea what they injected you with?” The ACC asked suddenly.

Lily shrugged. “A lot of things, but I don’t know what the drugs were. I’m a copper not a medic. All I know is that they kept me pretty spaced out most of the time.”

“And your escape was just down to luck?” Chief-Superintendent Bevan asked.

“Yeh, they wanted to move me to another of their bases so they tranquillized me and loaded me into a car. I got the impression that they were pretty short-handed so there was just me and the Hornet who was driving. I have the vague recollection of being driven around, I don’t know how long for because I kept dozing.” Lily said quietly.

She paused and they waited while she poured herself a glass of water from the jug in the centre of the table. “Then we got stuck in traffic for ages... Roadworks, or something... I was still pretty spaced out... But I got the impression that the journey was taking far longer than they’d anticipated as the drugs seemed to be wearing off.

“I remember a road sign, I think we were on the edge of Leeds. Anyway we set off again and when we stopped at traffic lights about a quarter of an hour later I hopped out of the car and legged it.” Lily finished triumphantly.

The ACC consulted his notes. “And you jumped out in front of a response car, scaring the living daylights out of two coppers a short time later.”

“Yeh, well I had to make sure that they saw me. They took me to the main nick in Bradford which was only about a quarter of a mile away: and here I am!”

A woman wearing plain clothes, suddenly looked up from one of the pages that she was reading. “So, according to your medical report, you seem to be no worse for wear despite your enforced absence?”

Was it Andy’s imagination or did she sound suspicious?

“That’s what the doctors reckon.” Lily said. “Even the Psychiatrist couldn’t find anything wrong, and we all know what they’re like.”

“Mmm, so it says here.” The woman said, still sounding unconvinced. “Are you sure that you feel ready to return to duty Ms Wright?”

It was Lily’s turn to sound suspicious. “May I ask who you are?” She suddenly demanded.

The woman gave her a sheepish grin. “Angela Gorton, I’m with the Home Office.”

Lily nodded. “Oh! MI5, I presume. Only, by your questions I thought that you were some sort of social worker.”

The woman gave her a quizzical look. “Well the Home Office is rather disturbed by these developments.” She said neither confirming or denying Lily’s suspicions.

“Rather disturbed? Is that all?” DI Wright suddenly snapped. “I would have assumed that you would be shitting yourselves by now.”

Andy smiled to himself as the conference carried on. Lily was definitely back!

Suspicions

Director-Ingrid frowned. Drone-Adjunct#138A, her Personal Assistant, was pointing something out on the computer screen, something that didn’t look right. As a Director, Ingrid tended to concentrate on the overview of The Collectives finances while #138A kept track of details. She would have missed the details displayed on the screen if her PA hadn’t pointed them out.

Director-Ingrid made a mental note to follow this up. She looked across at the Drone. “Give me a detailed analysis of Monitor-Raksha’s expenditure for the last quarter.”

The Drone gave her a quizzical look, her unobscured eye seemed to twinkle. “Should I relay your findings to Director-Kirsten?” A trace of her Australian accent still evident despite her many layers of conformity conditioning.

The Director frowned. “No, it is not within her purview. She is responsible for security, not finances.”

Ingrid was the Financial Director and because of this she always followed the money.

Several offices away on the same tenth floor of the Bennett Biotech office block an almost identical scenario was playing out as Drone Adjunct#137A attempted to draw Director Kirsten’s attention to a series of anomalies that she had discovered while reviewing personnel acquisition and employment records.

“Ma’am. I am a detecting the existence of an unauthorised Hive with the designation ’99’.” The Drone stated coldly.

Director-Kirsten rose from behind her own desk and crossed the small office to stand behind her PA. “Show me.” She instructed.

Commands snake along the USB lead that connected the cognitive lobes of the PA’s brain to the computer system and a spread sheets began to scroll on several of the computer screens that occupied the rear of the Drone’s desk.

“Here, Ma’am!” The creature who had once been a Sergeant in the Royal Military Police stated as she indicated several lines on the central monitor. “One Controller and four Thralls all with the designation ’99’.”

The Director frowned for a few seconds and then nodded. “Why the concern?”

The PA pointed to the screen on the far right. “The next blank number in the Hive-sequence is ’25’. The creation of a Hive numbered out of sequence is illogical and may be indicative of a security problem.”

Director-Kirsten nodded as she assimilated the data displayed on all of the monitor screens. “More likely it is a programming error.”

“There are financial irregularities associate with Hive-99.” The Drone persisted. “Director-Ingrid currently has these files open.”

Director-Kirsten spun on her heel and returned to her own desk and the report that she was currently writing. She sat down. “Programming errors are the responsibility of Director-Annika and Financial irregularities of Director-Ingrid. Take no further action the irregularities are not our concern.”

“They may still be indicative of a security problem, Director!” The PA persisted.

The Director looked up irritably. “Maintain a watching brief, only. Notify me only if there are serious developments.”

Drone-Adjunct#137A did as instructed and blanked her screens before moving on to another aspect of her duties: one of a more intimate nature which began when the Director reached down and began to fondle her Drone’s breasts.

Home is the Hero...

Lily’s return to the Birmingham nick were she was based was not generally advertised which meant that just about everybody who worked there knew that she was back within about ten minutes of her setting foot in the building. As a result of this it was amazing just how many people ‘needed’ to visit the CID offices that morning although most of them looked disappointed as Lily. was already locked away in a meeting with the Chief Constable who ha arrived unannounced a half hour before.

Andy Jordan had looked up as Wright breezed into the main CID office at around eleven-thirty. She gave him a cold smile as she settled down behind her old desk for the first time in many weeks. “Okay, Jordan, you’re with me on this one.”

Andy had smiled and decided to risk ‘pleasantries’. “Good to see you back, Ma’am.”

She gave him another cold smile. “It’s good to be back. The Chief Constable wants me to take over our end of the investigation and as it was you who dug it up in the first case, I asked for you.”

Andy grinned excitedly. He was very much the office junior as far as experience was concerned and was surprised that Lily hadn’t demanded someone more experienced. “Thanks Ma’am. I’ll not let you down.” He said.

“You’d better not!” She snarled. “You’ve got a good copper’s nose, so lets use it. The powers that be aren’t taking this seriously—they still think that it’s just a trafficking ring that’s into slave labour and the sex trade, that sort of thing.”

Andy, who had been thinking along similar lines, frowned. “And isn’t it?”

“Fuck off!” Lily snarled. “You saw the kit in that van, you spoke to those silver women: what do you think?”

Andy Jordan decided to play ‘Devil’s Advocate’. “Well, Ma’am, they did try to snatch those garment workers from another gang and the silver women could be something from a fetish brothel...”

“With bolt-on plastic chastity devices? Get real, Andy.” She reached into her briefcase that was propped against the leg of her desk and pulled out a document, one whose cover had red edges which told him that it was highly confidential. She tossed it onto his desk. “This is a copy of my report—the one that everybody was alluding too at the meeting. I want you to read it.”

Andy unwound the cord that was holding the report closed and began to thumb through it, not that he got very far before Lily interrupted him. “The Home Office are worried... That bitch from MI5 wouldn’t have been at the meeting the day before yesterday if they weren’t. I don’t like it when the security services start poking their noses into crime: this is a police matter and it’s nothing to do with them!”

She let her words sink in before continuing. “We’re going to have to work with the buggers on this, though, so I’ll leave it to you to handle liaison. Oh, and whatever conspiracy theories they come up with—take them with a pinch of salt! They just don’t have the experience to deal with real police work so expect them to see spooks everywhere.”

Lily fell silent, inserted a memory stick into her own computer and began work leaving Andy to read through the report in peace.

Upgrades

Director-Ursula walked into her office following the board meeting: it had been the full board of Bennett Biotech and not a meeting of the five women who managed The Collective. It had dealt with ‘real-world’ issues and as such it had dragged on for most of the day. The Company was doing well and the men and women who made up the rest of the board of directors had left happy that the future looked prosperous.

Ursula had found herself discussing several ‘new’ lines of research that looked promising and this had serve to assure the directors that the future of Bennett Biotech looked very rosy and this, together with glowing reports from her sisters within The Collective had caused them to leave in a good mood.

The Research Director begrudged having to spend time on things that she considered to be unproductive but as Mistress herself had deemed such things necessary, she did as instructed.

She returned to her tenth floor office, exiting the lift without sparing a glance for either of the pair of Hornets on duty there: to her channelled mind they were just as much part of the furnishings as the lamp fittings were—she didn’t glance at them either.

She pushed her office door open and stepped inside as she made her way across to her own desk she registered the presence of her PA and called out. “Anything to report, #140A?”

There was no answer which caused the Director to turn and look at her Drone-Adjunct who was seated and jacked into her own work station at the far side of the office.

“I asked you a question, #140A.” She said, or rather began to say but her voice trailed away in mid sentence for the drone working away in her office had black hair while her own #140A was a brunette.

“Drone! Who are you and why are you here? Where is #140A?” She demanded, her annoyance obvious from her tone: the Director did not like sudden alterations to her routine. Like all of her kind she relied upon routine being maintained as an aid to efficiency. This new Drone-Adjunct represented a disruption of her routine and was thus a potential source of inefficiency.

The Drone froze and then her chair swivelled around until she was facing Ursula who saw that she was far more heavily upgraded than other Drone-Adjuncts were: both eyes and one ear being fully encased by implanted tech and there was also a camera bolted to the side of her head. Her torso was also partially covered by an asymmetrical black metallic exoskeleton into which several leads and tubes snaked while her face, such of it that was not obscured by hardware, displayed Far-Eastern ancestry.

When she spoke, her voice was coldly emotionless and clipped. “#140A is undergoing extensive modification and up-grading so this one has been deployed to replace her. This one’s designation is #099U.”

Although neither of her eyes were visible, Director-Ursula received the distinct impression that the Drone was staring at her. “When can I expect my PA to return to her duties?”

“This one is Director-Ursula’s assigned Drone-Adjunct. #140A will deployed elsewhere when its upgrades are complete.” The Drone stated coldly..

Her voice lacked all traces of a personality which was something that Ursula was not used too. And as she looked at the highly modified form seated across the office from her, one word slipped into her mind, a word that pre-dated her recruitment into The Collective... it was word from her Youth when she had been an avid Star Trek fan... That word was Borg! Ursula shuddered: well they too were a Collective, weren’t they?

Something else caught the Director’s eye: The Drone’s torso was not the only part of its anatomy that was encased... Its crotch was too. “Stand and face me, #099U!” She instructed.

The drone did so without comment, though she first checked that the thick cable that connected it to the workstation was long enough to allow her to comply. Ursula stepped across the office and inspected her new assistant closely.

The Drone stood motionless and neither looked at the Director nor made any comment as she was inspected although, when she listened carefully, Ursula thought that she could detect a quiet power hum that was almost masked by the sound of the office computers. From head-tech down to booted feet there was something machine-like about the five foot-two figure who Ursula towered over. She reached over and fondled the Drone’s solitary exposed breast, the left one, to her surprise it was soft and warm and felt normal enough. The Drone also seemed to be wearing a broad equipment belt: the belt supported several pouches of varying sized although leads sprouted from two of them connecting with her head-tech and also with the chest and crotch shields: the third pouch being just that! However the belt had neither a buckle nor any other means by which it could be removed.

The Director again stroked and caressed her PA’s naked skin, once again it seemed normal enough although none of the contact was received with any sort of response: it was almost as if the woman had been completely replace by the machine that she appeared to have become. Finally she examined the black crotch shielding that seemed to be even more extensive than that of a Thrall but unlike a thrall’s it lacked any obvious signs of a hinged panel or dildo locking port. Ursula walked around the Drone once more, examining her as she did so. “You do not seem to be equipped for sexual activity.” She mused.

The Drone turned its head towards her. “The Director is entitled to fuck this one if she so wishes.”

Ursula shuddered with out meaning too. She had been intimate with #140A frequently: much to the mutual delight of them both, but there was something repulsive about the thought of intimacy with this new iteration. “Would you like me to?” She enquired.

“This one has no opinions regarding that eventuality: it is merely one of its functions and to facilitate congress this unit’s arsehole has been upgraded with an in-built self-lubrication system.” The thing stated impersonally.

Over the course of the next hour or so Director-Ursula was forced to admit that her new Drone-Adjunct worked faster than the previous one and was at least as accurate. However, because she missed #140A, Ursula contacted Director-Susan: The Collective’s Head of Resource Utilization.

She then, in no uncertain terms, stated that she was uneasy working with her new PA and demanded the return of the old one forthwith. The figure on her screen had smiled disarmingly and shrugged. “Sorry Ursula but no-can-do, I’m afraid. All of us on the Board of Five are in the same boat! But stick with it because they’re much more efficient than the old ones. Anyway, your old one,” she glance across at another screen, “#140A, is currently being up-graded and enhanced to the same standard so you wouldn’t gain anything if you did her back.”

Ursula sighed resignedly. “Okay, sorry to bother you, Susan. I guess that I’m not the only one who has complained.”

“No,” chuckled the Resources Director, “the others have too. I’d have complained myself except I’ve nobody to complain too!”

“But she’s so... mechanical... So sexless!” Ursula persisted.

Susan could be heard laughing over the com-link. “Perhaps you should get used to employing the pronoun that you PA is programmed to utilize. Think of her as an ‘it’: you’ll get on much better if you do.” There was a pause. “Oh and before your go, your entire office staff will be replaced similar by upgraded Drone-Adjuncts as more become available over the next few weeks.

“So if you have any preferences or complaints, address them to Monitor-Raksha in the attached Gloucester Unit: for some reason she is heading the upgrade program.” Susan said before breaking the com-link.

Ursula stared thoughtfully into space for several minutes afterwards... Is Susan serious that I should go crawling to a mere Monitor? She wondered. How demeaning! Then something that the Head of resources had said suddenly dawned upon her.

What was it that Susan had said? “I’d have complained myself except I’ve nobody to complain too!” Ursula found this to be odd because it sounded as if the Drone-upgrading had come as a surprise to her also even though she was in charge of all resources, including personnel, and oversaw the ways that they were utilized, employed and upgraded. Odd! Very odd!

“Director?” The near-machine voice interrupted her reverie and caused Susan to look up. Her PA was standing a few feet away with only her desk separating them.

“Director, you seem to be distracted. May this Drone be of assistance?” It asked, sounding almost concerned for Susan’s welfare.

Oddly enough, the woman was touched by her new PA’s solicitude and actually smiled up at the... Thing! “No... I was just thinking about a research possibility, that’s all.”

The Drone regarded her for a moment... “By the elevated blood pressure, rapid heart rate and the increased blood flow to the Director’s skin and genitals, this one concludes that it needs the intimate stimulation of sexual intercourse.”

“Eh? What?” Ursula demanded. “That’s none of your business!” Her mind raced. “And you will cease to me as ‘it’! Do you understand?”

But the Drone persisted. “As a senior member of The Collective: it is this one’s responsibility to assist the Director to function at peek-efficiency at all times so if it needs sexual intimacy then this one is duty-bound to provide it!”

Rattled by what sounded almost like a threat, Ursula jerked backwards. “What? No! Not at the moment!”

The Drone nodded and then moved around the desk to stand next to the Ursula. “This one perceives that the Director is distressed.” The creature said quietly. “As this one is also responsible for the Director’s happiness and efficiency, it will do what it can to promote the well-being of its charge.”

“Please return to your desk, #099U.” Ursula almost shouted. “We both need time to adjust to this new relationship.”

“This one will accompany the Director to its accommodation at the end of its work-period where both will remain until morning and take part in sufficient activity of an intimate nature to relieve the Director’s obvious sexual frustration.” The Drone stated as it walked away in compliance with Director-Ursula’s order.

“It also notes that the Director would benefit from a series of upgrades which would improve its well-being and so increase its utility to The Collective. This one will arrange for the upgrades to be carried out as soon as possible.” The Drone added with finality.

Ursula gasped in horror: as a Director she had thought that she was one of the ones who were in charge of The Collective!