"The next term starts in a few weeks. Want to register for some classes?"
To his astonishment her excitement vanished.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"James, I have no way to pay for something like that."
He took her face in his hands and turned it towards him. "Look at me." Her eyes rose reluctantly to meet his.
"You have plenty of money."
Her brow wrinkled.
"Do you know how much money that new drug is going to bring in?" He named a figure and she gasped. "And you found the answer. I couldn't tell Raym how it happened, or he'd know your secret, but there's now a clause in my agreement with him that says in the event that you obtain your freedom, half of my shares transfer automatically to you. He thinks I'm nuts. Anyway, you're free. And very wealthy. So am I, as a matter of fact." He grinned. It was a very nice feeling.
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. "Why would you do that?" she managed at last.
"You earned it."
"But I was just doing what you told me to do. Why would you give me money for that?"
"Because in the rest of the universe, when you perform a service for someone, you get something in exchange. In this case, you get to share in the financial benefits." He saw the doubt in her eyes. "Lydia, you have a lifetime of conditioning to get over. I know this is hard for you to understand. I'd like to help you, if you want me to. If you don't, though – if you'd rather go your own way now that you are free – the money is still yours."
"You think I should leave you?" There was panic in her eyes.
"No! I hope and pray that you'll stay with me. But if you ever decide you're ready to start over without me, that's okay. That's what freedom is. You aren't obligated to me in any way. Only your desires are what's important." He held his breath. To come so far, then lose her, would kill him. But he couldn't tell her that now.
"Then my first decision as a free person is that I want to stay with you." Her eyes were fixated on her hands, which were twisting themselves into knots in her lap.
He put his hands over hers, stilling the tense fingers. "I'm really, really glad."
"Will you still spank me occasionally?" The question came out so soft he wasn't sure he understood it for a moment.
"Uh, yes. It would make me very happy to do that." His cock twitched and agreed.
He felt her relax once more and reflected that he was a lucky man, indeed.
Maybe it was the re-imprinting; maybe not. All she knew was that any time she left the comfort of his arms that day, to stretch, to eat, or even use the bathroom, she felt bereft. As though she was incomplete. He seemed to feel the same way, though, reaching to pull her back to him as soon as she returned to his side.
They talked for hours, about his home, and his family, and what life was like for women. She worked up the courage to tell him about the re-imprinting and she felt him stiffen with anger. She tried to explain she held no ill will towards her old master; if she had to be a slave, she knew he wanted her to be as happy as possible with her life. She didn't think James understood what she was saying and she told him so.
"Lydia, I understand that he thought he was doing the right thing. But I believe that the fundamental task of a master is to take care of someone whose submission you are given, in a way that's good for her, not for the master. Yes, I would expect a slave or submissive of mine to obey me, but if that obedience caused her real physical or mental distress, then that's incredibly selfish on my part and I don't deserve her. I have to earn her trust, to earn the right to be her master."
Earn the right to be her master. She mulled that over. "That's an idea I've never heard before," she admitted. "In my world, masters take obedience. They enforce it. Everything that is done is for their benefit, not ours. I gave my master my trust after a while, but he never set out to earn it." The realization of how unfair the system was shocked her.
"I know," he said softly. "And it makes me sad that someone like you who is so incredibly eager to submit has had that submission taken for granted."
"Would your slave be allowed to go to school, or leave the house when she wanted, or make friends with other women?"
"If going to school would make my slave happy and fulfilled, I would insist on it. If leaving the house or making friends would be healthy for her, I'd give her my blessing. There might be times when she's earned a discipline or punishment that I would curtail those activities for a time, but never enough to cause her true harm. Because I want to do what's best for her in the long term, and figuring out what is best for my slave is a heavy responsibility that I take very seriously." He paused. "I realize this sounds exactly like what your master said he was trying to do. I guess the difference is that a slave's submission to me has to be something she truly desires, not because I've manipulated it. And if she no longer wants to give it to me, she's free to leave and go wherever she wants, and she never has to serve anyone else if she doesn't want to. No one has the right to demand her obedience."
"So I could be free, and be a slave, at the same time?"
He chuckled. "As absurd as I'm sure that sounds to you, yes."
"Actually, that sounds nice. Belonging to one man but knowing my life isn't limited by the people and laws around me is my idea of the perfect balance."
He was quiet while he stroked her hair, and she worried she'd said something wrong. After a few minutes of silence, a huge yawn almost split her face in half.
"You didn't sleep very well down in that place, did you?"
"No. I was so desperate to get out of there I tried to stay awake to finish the part where I had to thank him." She shuddered. She'd been so tired, and so overwhelmed by the noises when she came out that she'd almost lost the link to James she'd been concentrating on for more than ten hours. If he hadn't spoken out loud...
"Let's go get you settled." He stood up but instead of putting her feet on the floor he carried her into the large stateroom. Luggage was strewn across the bed so he set her down carefully. He picked up the nearest bag and started to toss it to the floor.
"James?" Lydia interjected. "I'd be happy to put all this away."
"Lydia, you aren't my slave."
"I know. But I like organizing things. May I?"
"I guess. All right. Would you like something to drink? Raym has a fully stocked liquor cabinet."
She looked at him blankly, having no idea what to choose, since she'd almost never had liquor before. He laughed at her expression.
"I'll get you something cold and wet and bubbly. How's that sound?"
"Fantastic."
He disappeared and she busied herself putting clothes in drawers. She picked up one pile and accidentally caught the handle of a small leather case that was underneath, knocking it onto the floor where it popped open. She dropped to her knees; her first instinct was fear that she'd be caught prying into things that were none of her business – especially since the words on the papers on top were in Br'ini. Then she took a deep breath and relaxed. Yes, these were James' papers. But he wouldn't get angry if they came out by accident. Besides, she'd just spotted her name.
She knew she shouldn't, but she deciphered the title at the top. "Contract for Sale of a Slave". Oh, of course. The papers for her sale. To her surprise, she didn't want to read it, at all. Maybe someday James would let her, but today, she didn't want to think any more about it. The future was too exciting. She slid the folder back in, then realized there was something else in there. It was the bag that the slave at the hotel had shoved into James' hands as they were leaving. She shouldn't look inside; it was none of her business, she shouldn't...
It was a collar. A beautiful black leather collar, with red trim, and a tag hanging off the front. She read the tag: Lydia, Beloved Slave of James.
Beloved Slave?
What the hell?
She sat down heavily on the floor. She needed to think. Confusion mixed with happiness surged through her heart. He loved her – the word was right there, not that she'd doub
ted it after what he'd done. But slave? They'd just had a long conversation about this subject – but he'd never even mentioned he hoped she would stay his slave. If he'd wanted her to belong to him, why had he freed her? Why hadn't he given her this collar? She'd have accepted it willingly, joyfully.
Had he changed his mind? She remembered his silence when she mentioned she'd like to belong to someone like him, and she thought she'd made him uncomfortable.
No. The revelation hit her like a thunderbolt. He didn't want her to accept him as her master; he wanted her to choose him.
She tucked the beautiful strip of leather away in the case. When the time was right, she would ask him if she could wear his collar.
The Darkness of the Past
Bombs exploded, showering debris on the huddled group. They'd been here for a day, and there was no water or food. The crying from the littlest kids had finally stopped when they became too weak to continue.
Her mother was holding her brother, and every time the sky rained dirt and broken fragments she curled a little tighter trying to shelter him. She was reaching out to Lydia, to pull her into safety, too, when the very air lit up with fire and her mother disappeared before her eyes and she screamed...
"Lydia! Wake up! Lydia! You're dreaming!"
She forced her eyes open. James had flipped on the light and was hovering over her, his eyes full of concern. The memory of the explosion still filled her mind, the screams and smell of burning debris as fresh as if she was actually there.
"James? What happened?" She sat up, breathing hard, rubbing her forehead as though she could rub the memory away.
"You started screaming. Are you okay?"
She nodded, though she wasn't entirely sure. "It was a nightmare. I dreamed I had a mother and a brother...." She stopped. "Wow. I've never done that before. You don't suppose this is what Raym was talking about, do you?"
James made a dismissive noise. "It was a dream. That's all. Let me get you a drink of water. Do you think you can go back to sleep?"
"Yes, sir." I don't know. The dream still lingered at the edges of her mind.
He pulled her into his arms as they settled back down. His warmth and strength comforted her. Soon he was sleeping again, lightly snoring, and she found herself relaxing into his embrace and falling into sleep...
She was too numb to feel grief. She put one foot in front of the other. Mrs. Milken, their next door neighbor, took her hand and urged her forward. Mr. Milken was gone, too, just like Mama, but Mrs. Milken said she could stay with them since she was all alone now. There was no one left in her family. No one to sing to her at night, or make her favorite cookies, or hug her when she was sad...
She jerked awake, sobbing, feeling the tears streaming down her face. James was holding her tight. "Shhh, shhh... It's okay..."
"My mother – she was dead, and I was so sad." She hiccupped between the sobs. "But it doesn't make sense. There was war. And bombs. I know it's just a dream, but it seemed so real." Once more, the dream hung at the edges of her mind, almost like it was waiting for her to relax before it pounced again. "Sir, I'm afraid to go back to sleep. Would it be all right to stay up for a while? You should sleep, but please let me read or play cards, or something?"
"I'm not leaving you alone. Besides," he teased softly, "now it's my job to care for you."
"It is? Why?" She was genuinely confused.
"Because when someone loves another, it's his job to take care of her."
"You love me?" Though she'd seen the tag on the collar, it was different hearing him say it out loud. The declaration startled her.
"Yes, I do."
"I-I, um, love y–"
He put his fingers on her lips. "Shh. I hope you love me, I really do. But love is different than imprinting. And your love has always been tied up with being treated decently, being fed, being grateful to simply not be sold to someone else. I want you to take time to learn what real love is, and how to love someone without ignoring your own needs, before you declare your love for me."
She chewed this over in her mind. He was right; she was going to need time to sort this out. "Can I say I care for you?" She needed to have some kind of statement to show her feelings.
"Yes. And that makes me very happy." He kissed her, a short, tender kiss that held the promise of many more to come.
"Now," he changed the subject, "let's stay up, together, for a while. This will help." He handed her a mug of cassa, with cream. He remembered how she liked it, she noted with delight.
"Thank you, sir. I could have gotten that myself."
"Part of the job of caring for you."
She could get used to being taken care of, she thought, as she sipped the drink.
He showed her how to use the vid player and they watched something that was supposed to be funny, but the blanket of fear crept back over her. The cassa helped her stay awake for a while, but eventually it began to wear off. She nodded off once but woke almost immediately, panicking. She got up and paced the floor, trying to keep moving. The dream was a constant presence, creeping into her mind like the tendrils of some evil vine any time she relaxed.
"Lydia," James said at last when she was so tired she'd started weeping, "what about a tranquilizer? Not to keep you asleep, but to maybe keep you from being so frightened of what you're seeing."
"So I might still dream, but it won't scare me as much?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. But you can't stay awake for the next three days until we arrive on Prima. Maybe if this dream plays all the way through in your head, you'll be done with it."
"Are there tranquilizers on board?"
James laughed. "This ship is owned by the head of a pharmaceutical company. It's stocked with every drug known to humans, and a few that aren't."
"All right." She was terrified, but he was right. She took the offered pill, and they moved back into the small cabin and settled in the bed, spooning, with James behind her and holding on tight...
"Run faster!" Mrs. Milken was trying to drag her and carry the baby at the same time. What were they running from? They reached a bombed-out building and Mrs. Milken pulled her down behind a wall. "Shh! Stay quiet!" Lydia nodded and hoped her heart wasn't beating too loud. All at once there was a loud explosion on the other side of the wall. Lydia screamed as dirt and smoke filled the small hiding space. Suddenly a hand reached out of the smoke and grabbed her arm. Something yanked her off her feet, and a large hand went over her mouth. She kicked and screamed but he was too big. He tossed her down on the ground and she hit so hard she couldn't breathe for a minute. He didn't seem to notice, for he flipped her over and tied her hands behind her back, then yanked her to her feet. By now she could breathe again and she opened her mouth to scream but a large cloth was stuffed into it and tied over her face and she couldn't see...
She'd been stuffed into the sidecar of a cycleglider for hours, curled over to protect her face from the wind as they flew across the ground. The blindfold had slipped down a while ago but in the wind she didn't dare open her eyes. She'd run out of crying and screaming a while back. Finally, the glider came to a stop. Loud, boisterous voices called a greeting. She peeked through her eyelids, then sat up cautiously. Her movement caught the eye of one of the men off to the side.
"Fuck! What the fuck did you grab her for! She's way too old!"
"Hey, she looked smaller when I grabbed her. Besides, there weren't any others to get. This place is picked over. It'll be fine." He hauled her out of the sidecar and propelled her towards a tent in the center of a large group of cyclegliders, vehicles, tents, and several dozen men dressed like none of the soldiers she'd seen in this war. They looked even crueler, if that was possible. Her bonds and her gag were removed and she was shoved through the door.
The tent was packed with little girls, from about two to six years old. Lydia was nine, though small, and was clearly the oldest here. They all looked up at her as though she'd come to take them home...
She wo
ke with a gasp, but this time was different. James had been right. She was calm, as though she were off to the side watching it, instead of it happening to her. This time the story kept playing in her head even when she was wide awake. She had visions of individual girls, clear pictures of the boxes of food shoved at them, even the arrangement of the stars in the sky when she dared to peek out of the tent that night.
And the constellations were completely different than those on Midros.
James held her while she described what she'd seen. And then she told him what she'd been thinking for the last few hours.
"Sir, I don't think these are dreams. I think they're memories." She waited for him to tell her she was being silly, but he merely squeezed her hand.
"Yeah. I suspected that after the second one."
The scenes rolled clearly though her head now. "They kept us there for just another day and then a huge ship arrived. Well, it was big to us. We were all shoved and prodded on board. I think I was the only one to realize that we were leaving home, and we might not be back. It was one big hold inside with dozens of pillows and blankets – and diapers."
"It wasn't the first time they'd done this," James said rhetorically.
Lydia shook her head. "No. It wasn't. Even I could see they had a system that worked pretty well. And we traveled for at least several days until we landed."
"On Midros."
"Yes. On Midros. Sir, I think it's safe to say that many women on Midros today arrived as kidnapped girls from elsewhere, and the people doing the kidnapping were called the Orphan Hunters."
"Who?"
"Remember the entries in the diary about the refugee program for kids? Later on I read entries about a group called the Orphan Hunters who were suspected of bringing girls to the planet who'd been kidnapped from other planets. You were right; it never made sense that there were so many women on Midros."
"And they were given Oblita to make them forget where they came from, before being mixed in with other girls from Midros who were also given Oblita, so that no one remembered anything."
Memories of Surrender (Midrosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 17