Memories of Surrender (Midrosian Chronicles Book 1)

by Sophie Kisker

  "What do you think happens to their brains when you don't ever let them use them? You do realize that there is an entire universe out there where women are equals of men? Your little planet here is an anomaly. An anomaly courtesy of the galaxy's thirst for paeolate and its willingness to overlook basic human rights. Do you even remember being at college? We had women in every class. We had women professors. There's something about this planet that makes everyone here forget reality." He turned and began walking again.

  "Yeah, I remember." Raym's voice was soft, and James turned around in surprise. "I remember Cynda. I thought... well, I thought that we might end up together someday." James had forgotten about her. She was first in their class, on her way to a lifetime of accomplishments. She'd dated Raym for a while until he revealed where he was from, and she dumped him immediately. James didn't blame her. Raym was destined to take over his father's company on Midros, so he wouldn't be moving anywhere else. Cynda would never become anyone's legal slave. Last James had heard, she owned her own biotech company.

  They were both silent on their way back to the hotel.

  "You've really fallen for Lydia, haven't you?" There was no more mocking in Raym's voice as they arrived and walked back into the lobby.

  "Yes. And I don't know what to do about it." A movement caught his eye and he saw the concierge motioning him over. Confused, he crossed the lobby to the man's desk.

  "Good evening, sir. I regret to inform you that your Service Companion's Master terminated the contract early. Here is the refund of your fees for the remaining days." He handed James some money and a slip of paper. "Your receipt, for business expenses."

  "Lydia?" James was confused.

  The man shrugged. "I don't know her name. But her master's assistant presented proof of ownership so we had to release her to his custody."

  "Wait – Lydia's gone?"

  "Yes, sir. That's what I'm saying. And that's the refund for your unused days. You can use it to get another slave–"

  James was already sprinting across the lobby and up the stairs. He tore down the hall and crashed into the door before remembering to wave his hand in front of the sensor. When the door finally burst open, he saw the awful truth.

  Lydia was gone.

  He stared in shock. The side of the room where she'd been secured was in shambles. The small table was knocked over; the lamp lay shattered on the floor; even the heavy chair sat askew. The diary lay upside down on the floor, tossed to the side of the couch when the table fell, no doubt.

  She hadn't gone willingly, and there was a little part of him that was glad of that.

  Raym arrived in the doorway behind him. "Shit. I'm sorry, James."

  "I need to find her."

  "James, man, you need to understand that she's his property. There's nothing you can do. You have no rights to her at all."

  "I need to see if she's all right! Dammit, look!" He swept his hand across the view of the struggle. "Please! Just let me see that they didn't hurt her. Please, Raym!"

  Raym sighed. "I'm going to regret this. Come on."

  They returned to the lobby.

  "You need to stay here, and stay quiet, and just let me figure this out, okay? Give me about fifteen minutes." Raym stared him in the eyes, and James mentally stood down for the moment.

  He wandered over towards the gift shop while he waited, his mind not seeing the store or any displays, just his last vision of Lydia, bound, uncomfortable, crying because of his anger and his careless words...

  Stupid. He'd called her stupid. And he'd seen the hurt on her face, worse than any beating she would ever get. He cursed himself. If he ever got her back, even for five minutes, he'd apologize over and over and over...

  His eyes focused on the window display. Ironic. It was an assortment of black collars, for use by the women who were visiting. From a thin black strip that was probably too small to be legal outside the hotel, to a stiff wide posture collar, guaranteed to remind a slave of her place by holding her neck in an uncomfortable position.

  These were collars of women who chose slavery. The collars of happy women, who were cherished by their masters, who had the freedom to take this collar off and walk away any time they wanted.

  He spotted one towards the back of the display. About 5cm wide, it looked stiff, but it was covered in black silk and bound around the edges with soft red velvet. There was a D-ring on the front with a silver tag hanging down, blank and ready to be engraved. The post lock at the back was designed for a small padlock, the key to be held by someone entrusted with the wearer's submission.

  He hardly remembered going in the shop, but he grabbed the collar from the display and pulled out the envelope with the refund from the concierge. The shop attendant, a slave with a silver collar, looked at his choice approvingly. He told her what he wanted engraved on the tag, and she said she'd send a message when it was done. He left the shop, feeling oddly calm.

  Raym was waiting impatiently by the door. "Where were you? I got the address. Mitchil Duruma, 56 Lilton Mountain Road. Here's our ride."

  Re-Imprinting

  Lydia was in a fog. She'd arrived home two hours ago. Her master greeted her at the door, his face a blank mask. She went to her knees awkwardly, her hands still bound behind her back and her mouth still gagged. Her tears had been all cried out and she was numb.

  "Lydia, I care for all of you here, and that's why I always, always, have someone from our household check on you throughout your Service week. I'll never forget Alicis' suicide, and I vow to never let something like that happen again. Rillo or someone else has been following you each time you left the hotel, making sure you looked healthy and safe.

  "But what we saw actually made me very concerned. This man who rented you, he's an off-worlder, who knows nothing of our ways, and he told you things and let you do things that were very, very, harmful for your mind. We saw him sit next to you on the ground in the park. We saw him walk with you through the forest and treat you more as an equal than a slave. Every time you emerged from his hotel room you looked less and less like the Lydia you used to be. And then it became obvious today, when Rillo saw you sneak through the hotel lobby by yourself with a black collar on, that you need to be brought back into our ways, to be reminded of the love and caring we show you here, so that you can remain happy with us."

  "I'm sorry, Master," she pleaded unintelligibly, misery pouring out in her plea.

  "Under the circumstances, the Board of Slavery granted my request for a respite for you. You can finish your week at a later date. In the meantime, I think the best thing for you is re-imprinting."

  She looked up at him in horror and frantically shook her head. "Master! No!" she screamed through the gag. "Please! I'll be obedient! Please!" Re-imprinting was the stuff of nightmares. She'd never known someone who'd had to go through it.

  "I'm sorry. It's for the best." He turned his back on her and Rillo hauled her to her feet. Once again, she went ballistic, fighting, kicking, struggling, until another assistant appeared and grabbed her by the ankles, pulling her off her feet. They carried her past Bena and Didi who had shocked looks on their faces. They carried her to a door she'd never been through before in all her years, a door she'd been told to never go through. They descended stone steps and she felt the temperature drop with each step down.

  She continued to fight as they carried her into a cell carved out of the rock walls, complete with bars on the front. They put her feet on the floor and pushed her back against the wall, fastening her arms out and above her head and her feet apart. Rillo produced a pair of scissors, and though she pleaded with him not to destroy the one and only thing she had to remember James by, he put the scissors to the dress and a few minutes later it lay in shreds at her feet. Her bare skin was against the rough stone and her nipples contracted into hard tight points in the cold.

  "If you can spend the next twelve hours completely quiet with no sound of any kind, we'll turn the temperature up. If you make any noise, even a
whimper, the clock is reset. Do you understand?"

  "Please don't do this!" The gag in her mouth was still making everything garbled.

  "I can double the time. Do you think you'd like to stand here in the cold for 24 hours?"

  No! She shook her head frantically.

  "I'm going to take the gag out of your mouth now. You'll be silent."

  She nodded. He removed it, pulling some hair, and she yelped.

  He shook his head. "Starting over, and so soon. Well, better now than eleven hours from now, right?"

  She bit back a retort.

  He saw. "That's good. You're relearning already." He walked back towards the bars. "See you in twelve hours. By the way, if you make a noise, the time will be reset, but we won't announce it. You'll just have to wonder if you just condemned yourself to another twelve hours, or if by chance we didn't hear it. But we'll hear it." He slammed the metal gate shut, locked it loudly, and walked away. A moment later, the lights went out.

  She was cold. So, so, cold. It was all she knew there in the blackness and silence. And she was tired; it had been late evening when she'd arrived home, and the adrenaline of the last few hours was wearing off. She spent a while mentally screaming at herself for sneaking out of the hotel room. If she hadn't left, she might still be there, tucked into the warm bed with James, his arm draped over her and his weight providing the most pleasant sort of restraint. Then her mind focused on him and she mentally called out to him, even as she knew it was futile. James might find her, but he wouldn't be able to do anything. The law said her master had an absolute right to do this. But in her mind, she saw him storming the gates of the house, calling her name, pushing aside anyone who got in his way until at last he arrived in her prison, where he released her cramping arms and legs and pulled her cold body into the heat of his embrace.

  She fell into an uneasy sleep, her head falling forward. The sleep would have been welcome except she was terrified she'd make a noise and not know it. She dreamed of him, of leaving this place, of a place where she was free...

  She came awake with a start. Had she cried out? Oh, please, no! Please don't start the time over! She'd do anything now to just be warm, and to sleep...

  She was shivering uncontrollably. Her teeth rattled. Did that count as noise? Tears ran down her face, falling onto the bare skin of her chest where they ran in a cold line down her body to drip on the floor. Eventually she had to pee. There was no way to make that quiet, so she just let it go and noiselessly cried some more, in the cold and silent darkness...

  James was silent on the way to the Duruma manor, until they were close. He turned to Raym. "I want to buy her."

  Raym choked back a laugh. "Do you have any idea how expensive she is? Pretty, young, and owned by someone important? She's prime! There's almost no one who could afford her."

  "I'll sign over every share of the paeolin oxide profits to you, if you'll give me the money."

  Raym looked shocked. "James! You have no idea what you're doing. You could stand to make a fortune with this! "

  "I don't care. Can you advance me the cash?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure, but James, she's just a–-"

  "Don't finish that sentence. Ever." He glared at Raym.

  "Sorry. Yes, I can come up with the cash. If he'll sell."

  "He has to."

  To James' surprise, they were received without fuss. Duruma, a large, broad man with blue eyes and a pleasant smile, sat down in front of them.

  "Raym! I haven't seen you since your father died. We still miss him. How is your mother?"

  James gritted his teeth.

  "She's fine, thank you. My father's will left her to my oldest brother and I think it's a good place for her to be."

  "That's good. I hope she's happy there." An older woman arrived with a tray. "Cassa?"

  James forced himself to accept a cup from the silent woman, who peered into his eyes for a long moment with an intensity James didn't understand. Then she dropped her gaze and resumed handing out the fragrant beverage to the other men.

  "And your pharmaceutical company. How is business?"

  "Business is good. We have a few new drugs we're going to introduce at the interplanetary convention next month."

  "Your father would be proud." Duruma cleared his throat and put his cup down. "Now what can I do for you gentlemen?"

  James was supposed to let Raym do the talking. He was supposed to remain cool and reserved. He threw that idea out the window. "I want to buy Lydia," he blurted.

  Duruma stared at him for a long minute. "She's not for sale."

  "I'll pay you anything you ask."

  Raym put a hand on James' knee but he ignored the unspoken rebuke.

  "Young man, I agreed to see the two of you out of respect for Raym's father, who was a good friend of mine. But what you're asking for is out of the question. First, she would cost more than you have, I guarantee it. Second, even if you did have the money, you are not a citizen, and therefore unable to purchase slaves on Midros. Third, it's because of your atrocious behavior this week that she is currently undergoing re-imprinting. When she emerges from it, she'll be happy again, not tormented with ideas that are inappropriate for her status, and she'll remember you only as a vaguely pleasant memory. The most important reason, though, is that I care for her, and do not think you would be a good master to her." He stood up abruptly. "My staff will see you out. Good day."

  James' fists were balled up so tight the bones felt like they were cracking. Under the glaring eye of a very large bodyguard, Raym took his arm and pulled him towards the front door and outside into the night.

  As soon as they were settled into the small autocar, Raym leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Goddammit! You can't just waltz in there and demand he sell her to you! It doesn't work like that! It's a negotiation, a delicate dance, and you were supposed to let me do the talking!" He shook his head.

  "You act as though she's a piece of merchandise to be bargained over."

  Raym turned, looking at James directly. "She is. And if you can't get that through your head, you will never get her."

  James pressed his fingers to his temple, struggling to understand. "What is re-imprinting?"

  "Yeah. I was hoping that went over your head." Raym sat back and gazed forward.

  Now James stared at Raym. "You'd better tell me what the hell you're talking about."

  "Re-imprinting is a way to help a slave remember who her master is and why she's devoted to him."

  "Keep talking."

  "James, you're not going to like this–"

  "Tell me, goddammit!"

  "Everything is taken from her. Food, water, warmth, comfort, sound, light, speech, even the ability to lie down – and it's only returned with perfect obedience. The key to its success is that the slave hears her master's voice as she's rewarded, telling her what a good slave she is. If she disobeys, whatever was just given to her is removed again and she does not hear his voice, and it's only when she's perfectly obedient once more that she gets it back. She learns that all the good things in her life come from this man, and all she has to do to get them is obey him. Everything else becomes unimportant."

  "And everyone else is forgotten." James stared at the floor. "Just as surely as if she had a giant dose of Oblita." He laughed – a harsh, sharp sound – "If our time together were a bad memory, she could take Oblita and be done! But it's because she was happy for a few days that she now has to go through this horror!" James' voice was rapidly rising. "This is barbaric. Do you not understand how barbaric this is?"

  Raym wouldn't meet his glare. "It is a little more than I'm comfortable with, I'll admit. I don't think I'd ever do it to a slave myself. I'd rather just sell her if she doesn't love me anymore."

  "Love? That's what you think this is? It's brainwashing! These women have no choice but to be devoted, because their very life depends on your good will!"

  "James–"

  "Shut up. Duruma said I can't buy her because I
'm not a citizen. How do I become a citizen?"

  After a moment, Raym nodded and tapped new directions into the autocar's computer. "We go here."

  The wall behind her was warming up. She could feel the heat beginning to soak into her deep-chilled bones at last. She cried silently in relief. A whisper floated through the darkness, too quiet to startle her.

  "Lydia... don't talk... I'm here and I'm going to touch your cheek." Master's voice was soothing and when his warm hand touched her skin she leaned into it in relief. She couldn't see him in the inky blackness but she sensed his presence in front of her.

  His voice was louder now, but still soothing. "Lydia, I'm so proud of you. You made it through the first session. We'll make sure the room heats up and you'll feel the heat all the way through your body, I promise. Are your arms and legs cramped and numb?"

  She nodded. "Water" she begged silently, wondering if he could even see her mouth forming the words.

  "If you stay silent for twelve more hours, we'll let you lie down."

  Twelve more hours? No! She almost screamed. Please! She struggled in the chains in futility. She felt his hand on her cheek again and she turned her mouth into it. Water! she begged again.

  Suddenly Rillo's voice cut through the darkness. "If you fail, you'll go back to the previous level. If you resist or protest, you'll start over again, in the cold."

  She stilled immediately, hanging her head in defeat. Master stroked her hair. "I know you can do this. I love you." A moment later, she sensed they were gone.

  By the time they released her, she'd been shackled to the wall for at least twenty-four hours. She had no way to know if it had been longer, for there was nothing in her world any more except darkness filled with pain and strange dreams. She couldn't stand, of course, and it was Master's arms that caught her and laid her down on the concrete floor, and then gently rubbed her wrists and ankles until the feeling came back. He praised her over and over while she repeated her silent plea for water into the darkness and the palm of his hand.