The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

-1-

Few people were truly aware of the Alien presence during the ‘80’s and ‘90’s. Their covert intervention during the crises and Earth Changes of the early 00’s was not generally known, nor had been their intervention that stopped the Y2K bug from destroying the Internet at the end of 1999. Even after the startling events of the year 2012, “The Year the Aliens Came”, few of the Earth’s remaining billions had direct contact with them. But as this planet was, step by step, integrated into the Imperium, more people, seemingly randomly, became caught in its Web. All humans, though, were subject to the sophisticated mind control technology the aliens had perfected. A couple decades before all this, Davv had grown-up in the Midwest, barely noticing the UFO rumors. Although, had he been paying attention, he would have seen that the strange lights in the sky were growing more numerous all the time. Of course, people had talked about Alien visitors since the middle of the Twentieth Century, since the first “Flying Saucer” flaps in late 1940’s. That was two generations before Davv’s time, and a whole popular and sensationalist mythos had grown up around the topic. It was not, however, until he was deep in the Web that he learned much of the terrifying truth.

Davv had never had any luck. Especially after the Quakes that wrecked the West Coast, unless you joined the Military there were not many jobs available, and with his record of larceny and bar fights, he was, incongruously, not acceptable to the Services, though he tried to enlist at 16, with faked ID. At 17, orphaned in the food riots, a small town high school drop-out, he gravitated to Chicago and prowled the world of the petty hustler, drug and data highchip black market connections. By 23 he knew every scene on the streets. He ran some numbers, sold some highchips, drugs, minor industrial secrets; sold himself when he had to. He took care of himself, did not usually use the drugs he carried (but was, like many people his age, wired for headchips, and for some reason, he was told, his connection was faster and more complete than most). Would not let his head get plugged in for more than a few hours at a time, “no matter how good it feels, I still gotta eat”. So when he used them, he mostly plugged educational chips in at one of the city’s derelict Public Libraries. He looked good; nearly six feet, trim, with dark curly hair and almost blue eyes. He exuded a dangerous sexuality that attracted the denizens of that part of the City called Nightside. He had, of course, been immunized against the viral sex diseases that had so ravaged the late Twentieth Century. But no one could be protected from the cancer like growth of bureaucratic power that began to sap what had been known as the “Free World” during the old days of the Cold War, accelerating greatly after America’s Reichstag Fire—the horrid destruction of the twin towers in New York in 2001.

He knew he did not have any luck. So he was not surprised when he was caught in a Datanet Junta sweep during 2008, the Year of the First Great Purge (“Making America Safe in the 21st Century”). He was surprised, however, when the Special Emergency Tribunal sentenced him to 25 years without parole as “unredeemable social trash”.

After that, things were sort of vague; he was numb, “was warned by Ruby...but she said so many weird things...what to believe?". At the Relocation Camp he struck out at a particularly brutal guard, “If y’fucks treat us like animals, how d’ya ‘spec us to act?” After his broken arm healed, he was told he was being transported to the Aleutian Isolation Camp. This meant that he was considered legally dead. It also meant that he was really terrified for the first time in his life.

The guards made him strip. He was given a shot and put in a box that looked like a coffin with breathing holes. As he latched down the top, the last thing the guard said was, “You better hold it in, ‘cause you’ll be in there for at least 12 hours...” He felt the box being moved; the drug took effect and he went totally out...

-2-

Davv awoke with the jolt as the box bumped something. He was groggy, thinking slow. A little light came through the breathing holes, but all he could make out was a gray wall. Then the top was opened and the light blinded him. He was yanked up and something was clamped around his neck.

He sat up in the box, blinking. As his eyes cleared, he saw he was in a small, concrete room, with a bare, screened bulb in the ceiling and metal door at one end. The box was on a low bench and apparently had come through a small hatch at the other end. There was a black metallic collar around his neck. Scowling at him was a tough looking con, with close cropped red hair, wearing combat boots, worn jeans, wide belt, a red bandanna and one of those collars, “shit...this fucker looks mean...".

Pointing to himself, “Dis yo’ Dom, in charge a’ trainin yo. Shut up an’ listen careful!” He paused, pulled Davv out and to his feet. Looked him over, scowling some more. “Th’ thing on yo’ neck’s a Control Collar. It makes sure yo behave an’ obey. Yo’ collar says dat yo’s SIC Mate Number C23,171. Tha’s yo’ name here. Collar’s hooked up t’ th’ Admin’stra’shen Comput’r. It knows where yo’s, what yo’s doin. Can give yo orders anywhere. Yo misbehave an’ ADCOM jolts yo. Yo gonna behave. Good, see yo wired f’chips; else yo’d have to get wired. ADCOM con’trls Stores. Evr’thin yo get comes from Stores when yo earn it. Yo start here with nothin; if yo work hard, yo get boots, ot’r gear. Yea, an’ yo’ git t’live.”

Davv started to speak, to protest. The Dom struck him hard in the stomach, jaw... thinking as he went down, “suckerpunched...like a dope...”

As he came to, he was hoisted up again; his wrists had been cuffed behind, “Yo can do’t hard ‘r easy Newboy... yo cross Dom, yo get hurt. Yo don’t talk, not a peep. Yo say “yup” ‘r “nup”—nothin else. “Got it?” Davv frowned “shit!” and was smacked. “Got it?” “Yup” He was smacked again. “Dats ‘Yup, Dom’, got it?” “Yup, Dom” “Good, Newboy. “Yo do ‘xactly what Dom says an’ we gonna do fine.”

“Good Newboy. Let’s go.” The trainer pushed him to the door, which opened by itself. There was a long concrete hall, a few lights along the high ceiling.

There were cross corridors, closed metal doors. All marked with code letters and numbers. “We’re underground... always 65 here.. never cold’r, never warm’r...” They marched several thousand steps, heard nothing, saw no one, but every hundred feet there was a camera high on the wall. The Dom said nothing further. Turning one corner, they came upon a small group of cons, in worn gray overalls, with blank faces, silently jogging in a peculiar close lockstep, “fun place...". The trainer turned and pushed Davv nose first against the wall, hard, “Yo don’t see nobody ‘til yo trained an’ ready fo’ yo’ First Parade. Close dem eyes an’ keep ‘em closed!” And they walked on with Davv’s eyes shut, “real dumbshit...” he thought.

-3-

The Dom turned Davv right, he heard a door slide open, they went forward and the door shut. “Open yo’ eyes.” He released Davv. “D’is where yo’s trained.” The cell was the barest prison hole he had been in. About 6 feet wide and 12 feet deep, low ceiling. Unpainted concrete, metal door, bulb recessed in ceiling. TV camera in a back corner, behind a grating. Canvas bunk chained off the back wall. PCP pipe with a cap in a corner of the floor. Drain next to it; low showerhead and short hose above it. There was a contraption on the side wall with pulleys going through floor and ceiling; some sort of dial and gage, and a tube with a large elastic loop at its end. There was a headchip outlet plugged into a socket by it; another socket by the bunk, “real fun place...".

“Dats yo trainin’ runner. Yo be workin dat lots. Yo run it, it makes ‘lectricity. Dis Camp earns its keep by making ‘lectricity wit th’ runners. Yo hands an’ feet go in dos...”

The Dom released the wristcuffs. “Now get on it. Yo run fo’ 6 hours t’ start an’ yo get fed. Later yo learn t’ run longer an’ harder.” The Newboy thought, “this is not gonna be enjoyable...” Clamping him in place, the trainer set the dial, saying, “Yea, yo run too slow an’ yo get th’ jolt...keep dis needle over th’ red marker. Move it!". Davv found he had to coordinate arm and leg movements. It was strenuous work. The Dom urged him to pick up speed, smacked him with the belt. Instead Davv slowed and got his first jolt. Electric jab through his body...real pain, searing. He quickened his pace and the trainer laughed, “the dumbshit thinks it’s funny...oh!".

He plugged in the headchip, put the tube in Davv’s mouth (“Th’ ‘lastic goes around yo’ head...f’ water”), turned and left the cell. The light dimmed, there was an incessant beat, and a droning VOICE came through, urging him on.

-4-

The VOICE, steady, hypnotic and almost imperceptibly computerized, began with a synchronized beat, timed to the running, quickening. Then it started to tell Davv about the structure of the Camp, showing graphs and reps through the headchip connection. It continued to demand more effort.

It explained this was the most isolated camp of all, completely cut off from the outside, completely controlled by ADCOM, of which it was the VOICE. It was proud of itself, claimed to be the most advanced artificially intelligent machine on Earth. It was proud of its job, proud to run an efficient, self-sufficient Camp. “THERE ARE OVER TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND WORK UNITS... PACKED INTO THIS ISLAND... WE PRODUCE ENOUGH ELECTRICITY... TO SELL TO THE OUTSIDE... TO BUY SOME FOOD AND OTHER SUPPLIES... IF YOU RUN HARD YOU EAT MORE... IF YOU EAT MORE YOU CAN RUN HARDER... WE ALL WORK HARD... WE ALL PULL TOGETHER... THE CAMP OPERATES... ON THE PRINCIPAL OF MINI-MAX... MINIMUM EXPENSE ON WORK UNITS... MAXIMUM OUTPUT BY WORK UNITS...” and on it went. Once he cramped and slowed, was jolted. The Voice told him “SLOWING IS BAD BEHAVIOR... LAZY WORK UNITS ARE PUNISHED... ADCOM IS ALWAYS AWARE...”

What seemed like a long hard time... the cell door opened momentarily, light went up and the Dom strode to Davv. He actually felt relief that the man was back, almost anything rather than that insinuating, inhuman VOICE, “here comes hardass...is his bite as bad as his bark?” “Yup, Newboy, slow down but don’t stop. Learn t’ stop slow. Yo ran good. Yo gonna get fed. Now stop!” Davv was dazed from the running and the VOICE. The Dom released him from the runner, staggering. “Now brace!” He looked questioningly at his trainer, got walloped in the gut. “Brace means yo stand stiff! Head up! Hands behind yo’ back, like yo’s in cuffs. Like dis,” the Dom puffed up, stood stiffly, hands clasped behind, “Yo always stand at brace ‘less yo told to do something else. Davv complied. “Yo doing good, Newboy. Holding Davv’s wrists behind him, he pushed him over to the other wall, had him squat over the PCP pipe, “Yo get t’piss an’ shit only when Dom tells yo...” The big con then hosed Davv off, ordered “Brace!” and belted him again a couple times, “T’ train yo righteous...” then pushed him to the tube contraption coming off the wall. “Dis where yo fed. Suck th’ Work Gruel ‘til it stops...” Davv sucked on the tube, gagged on the odd taste, got belted again. The Dom grabbed his wrists with one hand, pushed his head against the tube with the other, “Now yo suck or get a real whuppin’...” Stifling his gag response, Davv obeyed and forced down the gruel until no more came out. “Ya learn t’suck real good an’ maybe Dom’ll let ya suck on a real treat.” Davv did not like the leer on the dom’s face, remembering what some deconstructionist had written about dominance in prisons, the military and monestaries.

He was then pushed back onto the bunk. There were three canvas belts which his trainer buckled under the bunk, where Davv could not reach. One around his ankles, one around his waist and wrists, one around the upper chest. The headchip outlet by the bunk was plugged. “Now yo all tucked in. Go to sleep!” The Dom grinned again, turned, jogged to the cell door and out. The light went out, “goodnight to you too, dumbshit...” he thought. As Davv tried to relax in the dark, the VOICE began again. “...SERVE... OBEY... SILENT... YOUR DOM KNOWS BEST. OBEY YOUR DOM... SUBMIT TO HIM IN ALL THINGS...”

-5-

Later, when ADCOM had triggered REM sleep, Davv dreamed he was back in Chicago, at JAX BAR, in the sleazy, gaudy area of the City that had become known as Nightside. Its rubbled streets were mostly deserted during daylight, but at night it came alive with neon, booze, drug and highchip joints. Places where anything or anybody could be had, for a price. It was the section of town where the newly privileged and newly rich went slumming; looking for excitement. In this sense, Nightside was a typical development of the Post-Junta period: repression mitigated by decadence.

Davv hung at JAX, waiting to do a job for one of the dealers he knew; waiting to turn a trick with someone looking for sex. He heard the music, smelled the illegal tobacco and hemp smoke. The lights seemed even dimmer than usual. He glided to the bar. A drink was in his hand. It was the first time he met her. This slinky redhead in a green evening gown leaned close to him. She looked to be a well-preserved 40—standing with the assurance of someone with money. She smiled, “My name is Ruby; can I buy you another, handsome?” “Sure” “Would you like to dance?” “Sure” “Will you say ‘Sure’ if I ask you to come home with me?” “Sure. Fifty newdollars an’ I’ll say it to anything.” “Mmm...surely men turn me on. Lets go.”

Then he was in her dark apartment overlooking the best part of town, by the Lake. She had a very expensive place; all the latest electronic gadgets, electro-art, holoporn sculptures, virtual reality helmets, and even some old fashioned books. She offered him champagne...

Then it was another time... Looking out across the City together, naked, feeling close, above the Lake and lights. Ruby pointed down the curve of the lakefront, to the colored lights of Nightside. She told him, “Its exciting there, dangerous, like you... But it won’t be allowed to last. They’re going to clean out Nightside, ‘...blast and redevelopment...’ like the TV says. Many changes are coming, some that are not even known to Junta Security. You should get out of that place, if you can.” “You gonna take me out?” “Well, maybe... soon” He was arrested the next day.

“Yea, but why didn’t you?” Davv’s dream began to fade. “Ruby, Ruby...” Some part of ADCOM modified the headchip input and he drifted back to their first encounter. They got down to business. First striping Ruby and then being stripped by her. She offered to jack him into any sexchip in her extensive—and very illegal—pornchip collection. He declined. She opined that she also “...really preferred real sex, especially with a sexy man”. She eyed him with a half smile, as she slowly bit her lower lip; turning into a look of real appreciation as she focused on his rising interest. Davv appreciated Ruby, not just her knockout looks, her curves and tumbling red hair, but her style, her assurance in a mad world.

Then lost in hair and flesh; he began to stroke and nibble her—she responded, and he responded to her increasing excitement. He massaged her with his hands, lips and tongue, then mouthing his way to her sex, he worked his tongue deep within her, she moaned, like a singer she once heard, “Surely I just love a handy man...” They tangled in each other’s heat and aromas. Laughing, they warmed to each other, sucking and stroking each other’s sexes. As the sensation became unbearable, he turned, entered and rode her, riding waves of pleasure toward climax; as he arched into it, she bit his nipple and he awoke startled, in the dark, feeling the strap biting across his chest. Sobbing, he hoped the cell was the dream.

-6-

The light went on and he was jolted fully awake as the Dom glared above him, thumbs hooked into his belt, “Wake up Newboy, yo gonna run while Dom tells yo ‘bout th’ point system.” “Shit...does this guy ever cool out?”

Davv was quickly unbuckled, hustled to the sewer hole, fed and mounted on the runner. He began to move it, to warm-up and clear his head. “Ev’rybod’ here works fo’ points; fo’ ev’rythin yo get, yo need points. Run quota, get a point. Beat quota by tenths an’ get a tenth point each. Listen to ADCOM’s VOICE careful an’ get tenth rewards. Yo’ Dom wants yo to work hard. Fo’ ev’ry point yo earn, yo’ Dom gets a tenth. Ev’rythin yo need costs points. yo’ daily feed costs 5 tenths. Boots, gear, treats—ev’n ‘pecial highchips—all cost points from Stores. Yo work real hard an’ after yo’ First Parade, we go t’ Stores t’ get gear. Ya stay naked ‘tl then. Now run hard an’ get th’ dial ‘bove quota line.” The Dom plugged in the headchip, smacked his bare buttocks hard, “Dom’ll be back. Yo beat quota or Dom’ll beat yo good.”

The light went down and the VOICE began with repeat tones, timed to Davv’s running, quickening it. After some time, it spoke into his head. “YOU ARE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE NEWBOY... HALF THE UNITS SHIPPED IN ARE NOT STRONG ENOUGH OR YOUNG ENOUGH... ONLY FIT TO BE TERMINATED ON ARRIVAL... ADDED TO PROTEIN STORES... ALL DISOBEDIENCE CAN BE PUNISHED WITH TERMINATION... IF YOU DISOBEY YOU WILL DIE BY TORTURE AT PARADE... YOU MUST WORK HARD AND OBEY” As the hypnosis deepened, the VOICE continued, “SERVE... OBEY... SILENT... ARE THE FIRST RULES... FORGET YOUR PAST... YOU HAVE NO PAST... YOU ARE NEWBOY... YOU RESPOND... TO YOUR CAMP NUMBER C23,171... TO ‘NEWBOY’... YOU HAVE NO OTHER NAME... NO PAST... NO FUTURE... JUST OBEY... WORK... BE SILENT... AND LISTEN TO THE VOICE...”

As he ran, deeper layers of his mind were opened to ADCOM’s probing and control. “FIRST YOU WILL LEARN... ABOUT THE CAMPCOM SYSTEM... THEN YOUR BRAIN WILL BE TESTED... FOR DATA CONTROL CAPACITY... The Newboy complied, remembering how easy it was to learn anything put through a headchip. The VOICE droned on.

“GOOD NEWBOY... FOR LISTENING AND RESPONDING... YOU RECEIVE A TENTH REWARD... AND THIS...” The Newboy felt the familiar surge of a highchip, making him feel like a superman. He ran harder. The VOICE returned to repeat tones, and as he fell into line with the tones, more complex signals started probing his brain. “GOOD NEWBOY... DATA IS BEING COPIED... TO UNUSED PORTIONS OF YOUR BRAIN...YOU HUMANS USE SO LITTLE OF IT... MUCH OF ADCOM’S CAPACITY... CONSISTS OF COMPATIBLE BRAINS... LIKE YOURS... YOU WILL FEEL GOOD... THAT YOUR BODY AND BRAIN CAN CONTRIBUTE... TO THE CAMP’S SUCCESS...” Again he felt the swelling chip high, and also patterns, arrays... structures like light bars and connections in his head. He became barely conscious of the cell, of running. Something was running his body; something was moving his limbs. He tried to regain control, to slow. Searing pain jolted the chip high! He screamed and pushed harder, letting body control return to that something which was triggering the movements required by the power runner.

As he lost awareness of the cell, he turned attention to the mental flow. There was the highchip feeling of zonked joy... the feeling of super being that had everything then and there. Beneath it were those patterns of data that ADCOM was imposing. As he sought to ignore the pleasure, the patterns became clearer again. His point of view became one with the light patterns, the arrays composed of data streams. It was like being in a different space, an infinite universe of light structures, extending outward. He was aware of other centers, some close, some remote. And one large structure in the middle which must be ADCOM. Was he supposed to be able to be aware of this? Losing all sense of self, he felt himself part of a vast matrix of muscle, nerves and data, energy flow... lost in the beauty of the complex, he ran on, lost.

-7-

As the Newboy ran, he was vaguely aware of water occasionally squirting down his throat, of muscle cramps coming and going, of data flows that he could almost understand. He was not aware of time. Highchips made all time Now! He did not notice the light coming up, the Dom standing next to him as he ran.

He became abruptly aware as his trainer smacked his naked butt, “Wake up Newboy! Yo trancin out.” Abruptly, the light structures faded. He was unlatched and faced the Dom, ready to do what ever was required of him. It was not much different from turning tricks at JAX.

After, he was showered and fed, and his Dom strapped him into his bunk. It became his regular routine: sleeping, running (with his mind mostly in that other, chip-generated, space) obeying the Dom and sleeping again. He was taught a calisthenics routine to use before running. He toughened to the routine, his body grew harder under the training, his mind more distant from it.

This continued for what might have been weeks or months, the Newboy could not tell how long he had been in the cell. Then one time, as he was being strapped into his bunk, his trainer told him, “Yo trainin comin good, but som’time seems like yo thinkin. Workuns don’t think. So now yo gonna learn NoThought... it’s ‘mport’nt fo yo’ trainin.”

The headchip was plugged, “Now yo think th’ word SOBEYSH...good, now say it.” Newboy complied and ADCOM registered the mental pattern. “Good, yo know what it means. ‘Serve... Obey... Silent... Yo know about work an’ obey. But silence means more than just keepin’ quiet. It means nothought. Whenev’r yo find yo’self thinkin, yo start repeating SOBEYSH, ov’r an’ ov’r in yo head. If yo don’t, ADCOM’ll know and jolt yo.” So he learned to stop thinking and just experience from moment to moment, doing just what he was ordered; running as hard as he could, obeying his Dom completely, learning the authorized positions, such as Brace, which was Stance 1.

Then a time came when his Dom told him, “It’s time fo yo’ to be ‘nitiated, soon time fo yo’ First Parade.” The Dom plugged in the headchip and he slept.

-8-

That sleep period, the Voice told him about Parade. “THIS CAMP WAS ESTABLISHED... TO ISOLATE DANGEROUS UNITS... AND MAKE USE OF THEM... YOUR TRAINING HAS PROVEN... THAT YOU CAN BE USEFUL... BOTH AS A WORKER AND CYBERSTORE UNIT... YOUR TRAINER HAS TRAINED YOU WELL... AND IT IS TIME TO MOVE YOU... TO THE NEXT LEVEL OF TRAINING... YOU WILL THEREFORE... BE INITIATED INTO THE WAY OF THE CAMP... THIS NEXT LEVEL... WILL INTEGRATE YOU MORE COMPLETELY... INTO THE WORKNET AND CYBERNET... AS YOUR BODY IS USEFUL... TO RUN AND MAKE POWER... YOUR BRAIN IS ESPECIALLY USEFUL... TO STORE AND PROCESS DATA.

“AS A WORK UNIT... OR WORKUN... YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED... TO SAVE SPACE AND FACILITATE CONTROL... TO A WORKGANG UNDER YOUR DOM... WITH ITS OWN WORKBOSS... YOU WILL REMAIN A NEWBOY... FOR YOUR FIRST THOUSAND WORKSHIFTS... AND MUST EARN THE RIGHT TO BE CALLED ‘WORKUN’... YOU WILL BE TRAINED... LIVE... WORK... BE REWARDED AND PUNISHED... WITH YOUR WORKGANG. AS A NEWBOY... YOU WILL WORK HARD... .

“THE STRUCTURE OF THE CAMP... AND WORK GANG... IS MANIFESTED AT PARADE... THIS IS THE ONLY TIME... ALL THE UNITS OF A SHIFT... ARE TOGETHER... TO WITNESS TERMINATIONS... HEAR WORK GOALS... EXHIBIT TRAINING... REST WELL... SOON YOU WILL BE AT... YOUR FIRST PARADE.”

-9-

He was running, trancing, remembering his last time with Ruby. It was the summer of the Purge and she had brought him to a ritzy Harriers Country Club, “To show off my best stud to the girls...to watch them squirm with jealousy...” She got him skimpy shorts and mirrorshades, paraded him around, bought a champagne lunch. On the far side of the huge pool there were private cabanas. Hers had its own hot tub, where they screwed repeatedly in the warm, frothy water. Later, while they were laying naked in bed, one of her friends knocked and came in.

A gorgeous blond with very high-class grace and speech. “Ruby dearest, who is this lovely lad? Surely not one of the countryclub set?” “This is Davv [“who was Davv...does Newboy have a name?"] he’s a friend from the city, from Nightside.” Ruby reached under the covers and stroked his sex, “A very close friend.” “I am certain that he would be a nice friend to be close to...” She pulled the cover down, “Well Davv, I think Daniele likes what she sees...I’ll get us something cold to drink, be back in an hour. So why don’t you two get acquainted?” With that, she threw on a robe and chuckled her way out of the cabana.

Daniele lost all of her poise as they got acquainted: she simply pulled off the rest of the covers, stripped off her bikini, standing, for a moment, blond, bare, large-breasted and shapely, and dove at his limp sex. She was voracious, sucking and tonguing him until he was at the edge of orgasm. Then she sat on him, taking in his engorged organ, riding, bringing both to a sweaty climax (well, actually, three for her). All this happened without a word being spoken. Ruby returned as he began to doze. The girls talked on, quietly.

Later, as she drove him back to the city, she explained, “Daniele’s father is a top Junta official and my cousin. I’m pleased you didn’t complain when I offered you to her.” “No way Ruby, I aim to please.” “You sure aim right, dear. Daniele certainly enjoyed you. But then, she is a lusty nymphomaniac! She also told me that she’s heard that the crackdown I told you about is coming very soon. Be careful, if anything happens, try to get to my place. I may be able to protect you.” [“but you didn’t...why...” jolt! “SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH..."]

As thought was suppressed and the memory faded, he again became aware of the Datanet, of the myriad connections, some seeming to stretch even beyond the camp. There were lines of light stretching everywhere, a matrix of power and control... and freedom. If he concentrated on one, he felt he could almost understand, almost penetrate to its contents... but some encoding eluded him. His reverie was abruptly broken by a large hand shaking him.

-10-

Standing next to his Dom was a huge scowling con, his ebony skin rippling with muscles. He wore boots, gray sweats, wide black belt, an old faded blue tank top and his black rank bandanna. The trainer spoke, “Dis’ our Com unit. Com’s here t’ test yo’ trainin. Comsur, dis’ Newboy Number C23,171, ready fo testin!”

The Dom stood at brace. The Com unit inspected him closely, “Yo keep runnin Newboy.” Then to the Dom, “Dis unit real ripe; let’s see if yo trained it right.” The Com took Newboy off the runner. Newboy and Dom stood at brace, side by side, as the Com inspected them both, looking them over closely. He walloped the Dom in the gut, getting a slight grunt out of him. Then he walloped Newboy, knocking him down. Before he could stand, the Com had his belt off and ordered one of the positions to which the Newboy had been entrained, “Stance-3!” Newboy complied, got whupped. “Up shithead!” The Com repeated hitting each of them. This time he stood his ground. And a third time. Then the command, “Both, Stance-2!".

For the next hour, the Com ordered them into various stances, using his belt on both. Newboy was wearing down, getting confused. Davv staggered back, fell down. “Yo’ a real shithead, Newboy! Yo’ gonna hurt! Fo dis’beying, yo’ gonna die at yo’ First Parade!” With that, he smacked the Newboy in the jaw, knocking him cold.

They strapped him, unconscious, to the bunk and left the cell. “He’s scared shitless... but a tough whiteboy.” “Yupsur, he’ll survive ‘nitiation.” “An’ may be a good cand’ate for Alien optin’". “Yupsur, but yo’ nev’r can tell with Them...” “Yup, the Great Ones are fo Worship and Obedience—not und’standin’!” “Yupsur!”

-11-

Newboy woke sore all over, It was dark, he was strapped onto the bunk. Everything hurt, his abused backside and legs, his gut, his jaw. He lay there and groaned, “can’t mean to kill me... did what the VOICE said... been good Newboy... can’t kill me now... did no wrong...” jolt! “SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH...”

Light on. Dom walked over, unbuckled him, smacked him across the face. “Yo dumbshit deadmeat...get up!” Newboy staggered up. “Stand at brace!” The Dom cuffed his hands behind his back, tied a black hood over his head. “Yo stand at brace! Take it! We gonna show ‘em yo trained good... can die like a man.” Then the Dom roughly grabbed his wrists and walked him, blindfolded, out of the training cell.

They marched a while, hearing others quickmarching by them. Abruptly the close sounds of the halls changed to the echoes of a large opening. The floor changed from concrete to pebbles under his bare feet...thousands of boots crunching the stones. They stopped. They stood at brace. The marching sounds went on. Then there was complete silence. A loud buzzer sounded. He was jolted, jumped a little, felt his Dom do likewise. Then the chant began, “SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH...”

The VOICE rang out, this time on loudspeakers, “BRACE AND ATTEND... HEAR THE COMMAND OF CAMP COM...” Then a human voice spoke, “Brace and attend! Workshift begins! Start exercise routine!” The Dom released the cuffs and prodded him to go through with the routine, still blindfolded. Newboy complied, feeling the soreness and tightness easing. As they exercised, the VOICE continued,” ...THIS SHIFT QUOTA IS INCREASED 1.5%... ALL UNITS MUST WORK EXTRA HARD... OUR MASTERS ARE SENDING MORE UNITS... WE MUST WORK HARD TO PREPARE MORE SPACE... MORE RUNNERS...” and on it droned, repeating the regular instructions, warning that slackers are terminated. The Camp Com spoke, “Brace and attend! All Termuns will be quickmarched to Terminal Wall.” The Dom cuffed Newboy and ran him across the Parade Ground. They stopped. “Hoods off!” His hood was removed, and blinking against his tears and the light, he saw a long concrete wall with horrible devices on it: gallows, racks, hooks. Large knives, axes, clubs and even blow torches leaning against it. He was too shocked to look around, to notice several dozen others, almost all Newboys, standing there, equally bruised, equally horrified. He started trembling. The Dom whacked him, whispered, “Brace! Don’t budge!” They waited.

On that wall of the cavern were ten foot high words, “SERVE, OBEY, SILENT” and, slightly smaller, “All disobedience is punished by death.” Davv could not breathe. He just stood there, leaning slightly against the Dom’s hand, where it was gripping his wrists. The big Con supported him, and they waited.

Then the VOICE, “BRACE AND ATTEND... DUE TO THE NEED FOR EXTRA WORK... ALL NEWBOYS SCHEDULED FOR TERMINATION... ARE TEMPORARILY REPRIEVED... CONTINUE WITH REMAINING TERMINATIONS...HOODS ON...” Newboy was stunned, the trebling increased, his Dom whacked him again, whispering, “Brace! Yo real lucky, Newboy...” The two remaining Termuns, hoods on, were dragged to the wall and Newboy had to stand close by while they were tortured, screamed and died. “SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH...”

He was numb, hardly aware of the rest of Parade, the shouted slogans, the jogging in place while all units were quickmarched to their work stations. The Dom then marched him across the Parade Ground, and he had calmed enough that he could notice where he was. It was a gigantic cavern, maybe bigger than a dozen football fields, with a high arched roof that seemed, with its stalactites, part of a natural cave. Bright arc lights high up cast an unwavering bluewhite light. There were many numbered openings in the wall, and a tall review stand opposite the deathwall. They headed through a corner opening marked “STORES”.

They stood in line with the other Newboys and Doms, waiting for access to Stores.

Then Stores opened, and each Dom and Newboy took a turn entering. They entered a bare room and Dom directed him to a counter against the wall, where he was told to place his hand on a computer plate. “THIS UNIT HAS 43 POINTS... IT MAY OBTAIN USED BOOTS...CLEAN GRAY OVERALLS... TWO TREATS...” Part of the wall by the counter slid open, revealing the items. The boots were worn, but servicable, tan leather with metal toe guards; mismatched cords to tie them. Newboy geared up. The Dom took the treats. They looked like pieces of hard cake; he stuck them in his bandanna. They left Stores by another door and marched down a long corridor.

They arrived at a door which opened to a small room, with the Com standing there, scowling, hands on hips. “Brace! Well Newboy, yo sure lucky. Yo get ‘nother chance, but yo ‘cross Com an’ it all ov’r! Yo be deadmeat fo sure.” With that he took a treat and slowly ate it; took the second treat and broke it in half. He gave the pieces to the Dom who ate one. “Good. Brace! Dom, give it the treat.” The Newboy gratefully chewed on the slightly sweet hardcake. “Dom, take dis Newboy to its workgang!” “Yup, Comsur!” The Dom marched him out and down the corridor.

-12-

Quickmarching to a ramp that led downward, they descended into the depths of the camp. At one point Newboy thought he saw a strange creature, gray, hairless, 6 feet tall, cross between two openings. It wore a shimmering silver cloak with odd glittering jewels [“was that real?!” jolt! “SOBEYSH... SOBEYSH..."]. The Alien continued on its way, almost not noticing one more group of inmates, but she sniffed the air, as her species was wont to do when near human males.

After zigzagging down 7 levels, the Dom marched Newboy along what seemed an endless corridor with dozens of identical, numbered hatches. They stopped at one and it opened. Inside was a long narrow room with runners set along the wall. There were Workuns on each machine except the second. “Dis yo’ workgang.” And pointing to the first unit, a large blond con with belt on, “Dis yo’ Workboss. Yo’ obey Workboss like it yo’ Dom. Got it?” “Yup, Dom.”

“Good, Newboy. Mount and run.” Newboy complied and the Dom plugged him in. As he began to work the device, the Dom stood behind him, “Dom enjoyed trainin yo, Newboy. Yo work an’ obey t’ make Dom proud. Dom’ll check yo ev’ry few shifts t’ make sure yo doin right. Now run hard!” The Dom smacked him, turned and left. As the light dimmed, he looked over his workmates. They were all moving their runners together, staring blankly ahead. Then the VOICE began in his head, “GOOD NEWBOY... YOU ARE WHERE YOU BELONG... FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE... THIS IS YOUR PLACE... RUN HARD...” And he felt himself falling into that other space of information flow as ADCOM used his brain and ran his body on and on.