The Fireborn Chronicles

by Mary Andrews

  Tristen is one of them. They are manhandled and roughly hauled to a windowless transport, loaded alongside other cargo from the bay. The door closes behind them. They travel in darkness surrounded by the purr of the engine and the rattling of canisters all around them. Upon arrival, they are herded down empty corridors to an underground compound. Each in turn is branded and dragged to small cells where they wait in darkness. Cries of pain and abuse echo down the halls.

  Suddenly her heavy door creaks open, and she sees herself through three sets of eyes. She is huddled in the corridor. They are big ugly brutes. It is disturbing the way they are looking at her. She realizes that her body has changed, she is no longer a child but a woman.

  “Well look what we have here,” one says. “We will begin now with your indoctrination to sexual servitude.” He smiles horribly at his partners, and they close on her, swiftly dragging her up from the floor. While two of them hold her, the third begins ripping at her flimsy gown. Her fear and terror mounts, her mind screams ... NO! Everything freezes. Leave me alone, she demands; a force from within explodes. Their arms drop loosely to their sides for a moment, then they scramble for the door and slam it behind them. Clutching the remnants of her gown, she collapses to the floor, again in darkness.

  Only the tortured cries from other cells pierce the eternity of darkness that engulfs her. With time a gnawing hunger begins, and the cell becomes increasingly colder. She begins to worry; is it worse that they might return or that they might not?

  Eventually she hears footsteps. They stop outside of her cell, and then without warning every nerve in her body explodes with pain.

  * * * *

  Tristen awakens as her restraints are jerked tighter. She can barely breathe against them. Again, she sees herself through another's eyes. She is bound to a medical gurney and has apparently been wheeled to a medical station.

  Her captor crosses the room toward her. He has a beautiful voice, almost melodic in its timbre as he speaks. “I hear that you gave the bully boys quite a fright back there. What a find you are turning out to be, so talented that I've decided to personally handle your evaluation and training.” He reaches her side and falls quiet for a moment while checking readouts of the wall scanner, then examines her body.

  She sees the bruises on her arms and legs and notes that she now wears a hospital gown and a snug fitting collar elaborately monogrammed with the letters M S.

  “You know, a woman who can't see or speak could be kind of handy to have around in this business.” He pauses to double check the scanner readings. “Hmm, looks like there's a lot more to you than meets the eye though, isn't there, my dear? So perhaps I will start by introducing you to this fine piece of slave-wear here.” He runs a finger around the collar and then over her neck. “This, young lady, is the reason that you will obey my every command.” She sees his hand lift from her throat. A piercing pain slices across her entire body ... then stops.

  “That, my dear, is a neural disruptor. When I untie you, you will be able to activate it yourself by tugging or toying with it. Or I can do it with a mere thought like this.” Again, the paralyzing pain rips through her and stops. He wipes the tears from her face. “You see, I am pretty gifted myself. Now, this time I want you to try your hardest to stop me. It's for the best that we just get this out of your system as soon as possible."

  Again, it starts, first tingling mildly, as if to be annoying, then painfully surging. Tristen is able to block its lower levels, but each time she does, it bursts forth at double the intensity until at last, her efforts are totally overrun, and again she succumbs to the wracking pain. Then it stops and starts all over and over and over again until she can no longer block even the lowest setting. Every nerve of her body feels raw. When her vision clears again she sees herself still bound to the gurney.

  “Well, that was interesting, wasn't it? What shall we try next?"

  Please, she begs, please no more. Why are you doing this? What have I done? I don't remember.

  “Telepathy?” His dark silken voice purrs. “You are a telepath too! Well that probably explains why no vocal chords, huh?"

  Tristen feels him force his way into her mind. His presence is smothering. He is merciless as he enshrouds her, easily paralyzing her body but allowing her terror to well up. He runs his hands sensuously over her body. She knows it, can feel it, but is unable to move.

  Very good. He forces loathingly repulsive sexual thoughts upon her and so completely controls her that she cannot even cry out. For an eternity, he forces her boundaries until, at last, he withdraws from her mind, leaving her exhausted and spent.

  I am pleased, he thinks to her, no longer bothering to vocalize. You have turned into quite a find. I think I will keep you for myself. From now on, you are to speak to no one unless I command it. He strokes the side of her face ever so gently. Everything—your health, you welfare, and your very life depend now on how well you serve me. Remember this. I am but a thought away. His silken thoughts echo across her mind, and as he turns away from her, she sees a doorway. As he nears it, he pauses and turns again to face her. You are seeing through my eyes aren't you?

  Yes, she answers.

  And when you are alone ... ?

  I am blind.

  Hmmm this is going to be complicated, but fun. He turns and heads again toward the door. As it slides open, a thin, tired-looking woman enters. Tristen's view doubles, and for the first time she sees her assailant through the woman's eyes. He stands six feet tall, with dark, shoulder-length hair and equally dark, piercing eyes. A broad smile crosses his face, as his silken voice sounds in her head again. Am I what you expected?

  No. You are handsome, and you have a kind face.

  He suppresses a moment of surprise. You are definitely going to be an adventure. Your unexpected candor amuses me—this time—but you will never again address me as an equal! In fact, from now on, you will speak only upon my leave. And then you will address me as Master or Lord. In fact, I own you to such an extent that unless I decide otherwise, you will remain nameless. Do not make me repeat this again! He turns his attention to the still waiting servant in front of him, “See that she is cleaned and fed, then secure her in my quarters."

  “Yes, Master,” she hastens to let him by. He sweeps past her and away, the door sliding shut behind him.

  The servant quickly releases Tristen's bonds and has to physically help her down the hallway. The sonic shower, the food, the dressing is all a blur to Tristen, who allows herself to be lead and cared for without making a sound throughout the whole ordeal.

  Finally, she is escorted to the Master's quarters and amidst his elegant surroundings, she is directed to a small but stylish cot in the far corner away from the lavish four-post bed. “You will stay right here on this cot,” the servant tells her. “Do not wander. Do not move from here. Do you understand me?"

  Tristen nods and drops onto the bed. She will have no trouble complying with this rule. She sleeps soundly until he calls her again.

  From a deep sleep, she rises to find him standing next to the small bed. She sees herself stir and then feels his mind again engulfing her own. She feels him take control of her body. He uses her own muscles and limbs to pull her from the bed and standing her before him makes her first turn around and then spin. He walks her to his dresser and has her pick up a heavy crystal globe. He holds it within her hand, turning it over and over first with her right hand then with her left. Then after replacing it on its silver pedestal he withdraws from her mind, leaving her standing before the dresser.

  As her head clears, she realizes he is watching her in the mirror's reflection.

  From it, she sees a strange look on his face.

  That was exhilarating, he begins, why did you allow it?

  The question catches Tristen off guard. It is pointless to resist. She lifts her hand to the monogrammed choker at her throat.

  He considers this. Where are you from? he asks her.

  Tristen sees herself frown
through his eyes. An uncontrollable panic is welling up in her, I don't know, she realizes. I can't remember what happened! I— A stabbing pain from the collar brings her back to reality.

  You will compose yourself, he demands.

  She sees him scowling in the mirror. I'm sorry, she begins. Another jolt shoots through her.

  He speaks softly but deliberately, allowing the menace in his voice to mount. You would do well to remember who I am and remember your station from now on!

  Tristen lowers her sightless gaze, Yes, Lord.

  He remains silent for a long time. Then without warning, he rushes up behind her and spins her to face him, gripping her arm hard enough to bruise. His voice bursts upon her mind. Defend yourself now! He slaps her hard across the face. Though she reels from the impact, he keeps her from falling, his other hand still gripping her arm. Suddenly he releases her. She feels his mind again overtaking hers. He turns her to face the dresser again. Reaching out with her right hand, he grabs up the heavy globe again, and placing her left hand flat on the dresser, he raises the globe high above her head. She realizes he is going to smash her hand with it. She feels her muscles tense with his intent. Defend yourself, or I'll smash it to a pulp!

  Everything suddenly slows, and Tristen feels a great rush of power well up from within. It bursts forth and shatters his control until, at last, he is cast out. The globe drops from her hand and clatters to the floor. She is clutching the dresser to keep from falling when she sees him still standing behind her. He is swaying heavily. She spins to catch him, and they both barely manage to stay upright while he regains his senses. Finally, he draws away from her to stand alone.

  The intensity of his gaze scares her, and she braces for his response. But he does not move or do anything more than look at her. He shifts his view to the mirror so she can see his face clearly. That is more like it, he thinks softly to her, you have not disappointed me. He smiles and nods. You may not remember your past, but I can guarantee that you have been well trained to service before. I would love to meet your trainers. In fact, if you ever remember who they are, you are to tell me at once. From what I've seen so far, you cannot have been better designed for my purposes. I suspect you will serve me well for a long time. He pauses for a moment in thought, If you continue to obey me, I see no reason for any further training. Do you understand what I'm telling you?

  Yes Master, I understand.

  Then let's proceed. Come with me. He turns and heads for the door. It quietly slides open before him. Come here girl. You will remain on my left side. Stay close, but no less than two paces behind me. That is appropriate for a slave. They travel up and down through the busy corridors while she masters this technique. When he is finally satisfied that she can follow his lead smoothly through the crowds of people, he leads her toward the building's lower levels, back to the holding cells.

  They pause for a moment before one of the cell doors as he enters its access—code, and the door slides open. They step into the holding cell and stand facing the room's sole occupant. He is a sad looking, brutish man, who sits glaring defiantly at them.

  “Well, well, Mallory,” he sneers. “What kind of treats do you have for me today? Huh? Who's the sweet little servant girl, huh? Is she for me? Nothing else seems to be working for you, does it?” He laughs with abandon, and the small cot he sits on quivers beneath his weight.

  Stop his laughter, Mallory commands.

  His face goes blank. The laughter stops.

  Mallory smiles. “Stand up."

  He stands.

  Mallory pats him on the shoulder, “Not so funny now, is it?"

  “No, Master,” the prisoner answers. Both his words and his facial expressions are detached and emotionless.

  Mallory pauses to savor his victory then begins his interrogation in earnest. The prisoner answers every question without hesitation. Mallory probes in every direction for a very long time before addressing Tristen again. Will he remember all of this? Is he conscious of his surroundings now?

  I can block or enhance his memories as you wish. A long stab of pain streaks through her body ... Master.

  Mallory tilts his head and studies the prisoner. Your link transfers your pain to him, he notes. Another short burst of pain shoots through her, and the prisoner's body stiffens in response. Hmm, how about this? He watches Tristen and backhands the prisoner across his face. When she does not respond he nods. Very interesting, you felt nothing. Hmm. Alright, I want you to make sure he remembers everything that's happened here except for your presence. No memory of you at all. Mallory gazes into the prisoner's face and then smiles. Release him now.

  The prisoner collapses back onto the tiny cot. He cradles his head in his hand and glares. “What the hell did you do?"

  Mallory looks down at him, smiling, and replies, “Nothing that I can't do again and again, any time I want to. There is no escaping me now. And if you can't protect yourself think of what I could do to your family. Don't you have a teenage daughter?” He starts toward the door, then pauses at its entry. “You think on what happened today. You think hard, and from now on, you will keep me informed about anything corporate that I might want to know. Do that, and you will never have to experience this kind of horrible degradation again.” Stepping into the corridor, Mallory waits until the door slides shut behind him before turning his attention to Tristen.

  She feels his thoughts gently touch her mind. Well done. How do you feel? Has this tired you?

  No, Lord, she replies.

  Then let's try another one. They interrogate seven more men throughout the day. Their faces and inquisitions pass much as the first. They all bend to her will. Corporate knowledge, secrets, insider information all pour forth, with her insuring guilt-ridden alliances and deleting selected memories until Mallory decides to stop the exercise.

  They return to his quarters where she is left alone. Eventually food and a change of clothing are delivered to her, but since she is forbidden to speak to anyone, even the servants grow silent in her presence, so his is the only voice that she ever hears.

  It does not take Mallory long to realize that he can approach his victims without fear of discovery from any place, retrieve any knowledge and then render them unaware of the intrusion.

  He finds his sphere of influence increased in a very short time. His clever applications of their findings shoot him directly into a top corporate power status on Tanivol. Through his corporate pleasure domes he expands his power base until he is sitting squarely atop his very own refined, self-perpetuating Mecca of power.

  Mallory soon becomes accustomed to keeping Tristen with him. She receives few concessions for her service other than that she is exclusively his to command and abuse as he sees fit. But he does protect her from other more horrible things, and he becomes less cruel to her, on occasions even caring, so that she feels a bond to him despite the slavery.

  Mallory generally spends his evenings in The Palace's upper grand suite. He provides Tristen with a small antechamber so she will be near if needed. His telepathic operatives regularly man all entry and exit points, and they watch for any signs of trouble or important clientele, so he is immediately apprised of Palace business as it happens.

  On one occasion, Harbringer's arrival is heralded from the moment he and two of his scary bodyguards arrive. As the Palace personnel escort him to the grand suite, Mallory positions himself behind an impressively large antique desk, Tristen still standing behind him against the wall, as befits a servant.

  Mallory rises as Harbringer enters the lavish office. “Why, Mr. T.L. Harbringer,” he feigns surprise. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. Please pull up a chair.” He motions to an elaborate selection of seats available.

  Harbringer's smile exudes no warmth. His chiseled features and fierce cold eyes are likewise devoid of any humanity. Tristen finds him unnaturally intimidating and desperately hopes that Mallory can handle him.

  Mallory seems totally unruffled by his demeanor. He casually rea
ches across the desk to shake hands. “What an honor to finally meet you,” he says. “You are a legendary figure on this planet. To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Harbringer?"

  Harbringer ignores the pleasantries. “You have been interfering with my local operatives.” He looks at Tristen for an uncomfortably long moment.

  Mallory continues to feign innocence and mentally orders Tristen to engage Harbringer. Then everything flashes to white. One of Harbringer's guards now pins her securely against the wall.

  “You are not the only business man to employ PSIonic resources,” Harbringer states flatly. “Your telepaths aren't half bad either. Mine are better, of course.” He motions toward his guards. They are tall, well built men with square jaws and hair as platinum as Rael's. Something about them inspires fear. One of them smiles back at him. “I suspect, however, this one,” he motions to Tristen, “is of a completely different caliber. So what was she supposed to do to me?"

  “Nothing much,” Mallory answers matter-of-factly. “Just a little mind reading. You know, a little secret searching. I direct the conversation; she picks up the thoughts."

  Harbringer nods. “Sure, but why don't I believe you? Hmm, could it be because she couldn't hear our thoughts when we spoke?"

  Tristen is aware of the guard's mental attempts to reach and enter her mind as he still pins her against the wall. She effortlessly shields herself and waits for Mallory's instructions.

  Mallory, however, is not faring so well with his assailant. He struggles, hardly able to ward him off before signaling for her help. She shields them both easily enough before she is rendered unconscious by a physical blow.

  She awakens on the floor where she has been dropped. Mallory sits alone at his desk. As she stirs, he turns toward her. That didn't go very well, he thinks to her. Are you hurt?