The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Captain Angelica Phelps woke up. Her training kicked in, as always, and she lay silent, listening to her surroundings, feeling them. She was confused; she couldn’t remember exactly where she had been when she went to sleep. Which meant...

-Trouble. Bad trouble. Someone must of jumped me, knocked me out with Cortozine, or maybe Zapped me. Think back. Remember. I had just finished sending my report about Smith and the others. Went out to talk to that little dreeb Kolko down at the hoverdocks... Then...—

-The stunbomb.—

Right. She had heard a stunbomb go off. And after that... things became vague, fractured, as if she was seeing everything through two sets of eyes, simultaneously. But one thing stood out. A face. A face, rather thin and tired-looking, but with compassionate brown eyes and a lovely thatch of black hair, made even more distinguished by the Doctor streaks... She felt something for the owner of that face. He had been talking to her, helping her find the way up out of some hideous darkness. Back into the light.

She listened, had never stopped listening. Someone was in the room with her; a human. Male, probably. She could hear the breathing, feel the displaced air. Somewhere off to her left. If she had been kidnapped, she might get only one chance to try something... had to be ready...

“Angelica?”

The voice. The voice she had heard in her dreams. Her training forgotten for once, she opened her eyes, and looked at the source of the voice.

Doctor Yanderman... Nathan... stood there, looking down at her with worried eyes. He smiled, tentatively. He looked better than when she had last seen him, but still rather drawn and pale. His caduceus glowed with a soft, steady, light. Yellow sunlight flowed in the curtained window behind him.

“Nathan.” She closed her eyes again for a moment, then opened them. Suddenly, something broke open inside her mind. Poison came oozing out of a deep wound, vented at last. Tears welled up. “I... I just had the worst nightmare... it... it...” She started to cry, great heaving sobs. She felt a hand touch her shoulder, and she rose up, throwing off the covers, burying herself in him. He ran his fingers through her hair.

“I know. But it’s over for now. It’s over.”

She abruptly pulled away and looked at him, at the room they were in, her tears rapidly drying up and her gaze hardening.

“Nathan? What... what are you doing in here? This is a...”

He smiled, a complex movement of muscles, filled with a variety of emotions.

“It seems, Captain Phelps, Sir, that I have been drafted.”

She stared at him, and then smiled. Speculatively.

It was a room, somewhere in the bowels of a UEDF Orbital Fortress floating high above Earth. One of a million such rooms scattered down through history. A small podium stood dwarfed in its center, standing in a tight, bright, circle of light. The light emanated from an enormous globe high overhead that was connected to the ceiling and walls by thin fibercarbon strands.

A stocky figure took his place at that podium, standing alone in the beam of light.

There was a series of flickering hisses, and a half-circle of figures appeared around him, each standing in another beam that shot down from the sphere. While not an armored giant, each of the new arrivals wore a Voidmask, and dark robes that made them seem to stand ten feet tall. The figure standing in the middle of the arc additionally carried a long straight staff carved out of a chunk of some shimmering grey material. This individual took a step forward, his or her voice hidden behind an electronic squeal.

“This session of the United Earth Defense Force Internal Security Tribunal will now come to order. Dated and Verified, 15:32 UST, October 21, 2354. He who stands before the Tribunal will now identify himself.”

The man in the central spotlight placed his right hand on a pad before him, and spoke clearly and calmly:

“Nkrumah, Randolph Joseph, Director-General, United Earth Defence Force, Internal Security Division, United Earth Sharehold Number 5671-S1-98905.”

“VOICEPRINT, BRAINSCAN AND DNA MATCH CONFIRMED. CLONING FORCE-GROWTH TELLTALES NEGATIVE.” The senatorian computer voice spoke down from the globe, sounding like the voice of God, which in this case was not terribly far from the truth. The Director-General removed his hand from the pad.

“Director-General Nkrumah. You have been Verified. Be advised that you and your actions are now being recorded for posterity. Be further advised that your mental processes are now under veracity scan. Do you wish to have legal representation, either human or cybernetic-assist, present for the remainder of this session?”

“No.”

“Noted that he who stands before the Tribunal has refused legal representation. Do you wish the names of the members of the Tribunal placed in storagelock?”

“No.”

“Noted that he who stands before the Tribunal has accepted whatever judgment the Tribunal will lay upon him.” A ceremonious pause. “Director-General Nkrumah. You have been brought to stand before the Tribunal in order to explain your actions in regards to the case of... Phelps, Angelica Johanson, Captain, United Earth Defence Force, Internal Security Division, United Earth Sharehold Number 5313-S6-97632.” (As he said this, a large head-and-shoulders hologram of Angelica, staring grim-faced, appeared near them in the darkness, slowly rotated once, vanished.) “Do you freely admit that on September 12, 2354, you officially ordered the removal of Captain Phelp’s Supplemental Clone, registration number 5313-V6-97632, from its cryonic suspension chamber aboard the UEDF Orbital Fortress ‘Laymon’?

“Yes.”

“Do you further admit that you preformed this action without first obtaining the Verified consent of Captain Phelps?”

“Yes.”

“In issuing this order, were you aware that you contravened Captain Phelp’s rights as granted under the Control of Personal DNA Act, passed into law by the Assembly of Representatives of United Earth, July 21, 2301?”

“I did not violate Captain Phelp’s rights, as granted under the stated Act.”

“Explain your statement.”

“The Tribunal is aware of the circumstances under which I gave this order. However, for the official record. Due to certain troubling psiscan results from Captain Phelps, and the psiscan testimony from a witness of impeccable credentials, one Yanderman, Nathaniel PrincetonHA48, Doctor, UE Sharehold Number... 5342-D5-98121...” (Like Angelica, an image of a slightly bewildered-looking Nathan briefly presented itself for inspection.) “Captain Phelps had been determined to have been kidnapped and held for several hours by a man Verified to be the employee of a man who had been convicted in absentia by a UEDF court of numerous crimes.” First a pixelled black and white memorypic of a man in a hospital hallway, then a shot of O, with the word ‘REVOKED’ blinking beneath him in large, ugly, letters. “It was further deduced, from information previously obtained by Captain Phelps and others, that it was 70% likely that this criminal had in his possession technology officially classified as contraband by the Orion Exclusion Act of 2313. This technology allowed its possessor to manipulate Captain Phelps into attempting a betrayal of the United Earth Defense Force.” A tiny pause. “The Tribunal is of course aware of the penalty for this action. Unlike other currently available types of behavior modification and control, such as nanobots, or implant cyberviral override, the technology’s effects were not easily detectable. The assumption of consulted experts, both human and cybernetic, was that Captain Phelps had been returned to us, in order to test whether we would discover she had been compromised in this manner. It was further speculated, based on long-constructed personality algorithms of the individual in question, that if the deception appeared to have worked, he would attempt to re-contact Captain Phelps at the first possible opportunity. On the strength of this information, I ordered UEDF Medical Inspector Tomoko Ichikawa” (Inspector Ichikawa’s hologram was even grimmer than Angelica’s...) “to remove Captain Phelps’ ‘vatdroid’ from storage without the Captain’s consent. The vatdroid was programmed and equipped to take Captain Phelp’s place. Algorithms of Captain Phelp’s ‘controlled’ personality were copied into the ‘droid, along with a higher, override personality protected behind a neural firewall. Since even an individual like the criminal in question lacks the UEDF’s ability to detect the subtle cellular damage caused by the force-ageing of a vatted clone, Captain Phelps’ ‘droid was dispatched to contact the criminal and learn what it could about the situation. The arrival on the scene of the Rigellian lawbreaker...” The director’s mouth twitched as it formed the near-oxymoron “...triggered the override personality’s decision to place all involved parties under immediate arrest, as it was so empowered under the Non-Sentient Law Enforcement Authority Act of 2327.”

“As you say, Director-General, the Tribunal is aware of these events. You have yet to explain how your actions do not violate the CPDA.”

“The CPDA clearly states that a UEDF member’s Supplemental Clone can be revived and used without their consent if it is the only way to save the life of the original DNA supplier, and the supplier is not in a position to give their informed consent.”

“While the Tribunal sympathizes with Captain Phelp’s situation, her life was not in danger.”

“I respectfully argue that it was. We could not remove the mental programming without access to the original Orion technology, and the man, who installed it. If we could not remove the programming, we could not allow Captain Phelps to continue with her career in the UEDF. We could not, in fact, allow Captain Phelps to continue at all, and would have been forced to either place her in cryonic suspension until a ‘cure’ could be found, or to brainwipe the Captain, which has been defined on at least three separate occasions by the United Earth High Arbitrator to be the legal equivalent of a death penalty. In addition, if we had done either of these things, it would have left the criminal in question in possession of the Orion equipment, which was not an acceptable option.”

“You argument has been noted. Are there any other facts you wish to offer for the Tribunal’s consideration?”

“Only to remind the Tribunal that Captain Phelps has signed a Verified statement in which she absolves me of any guilt in this matter, and announces that she has no desire to pursue personal charges against me.” A copy of the statement flashed in the darkness, the Verification hologram at the bottom glowing a dim yellow.

“Since you are her superior officer, this fact does not hold as much weight as it might otherwise. However, the Tribunal will consider it in its deliberations.”

One of the other judges spoke up, the scratching voice shifted down a degree or two from the first speaker, but still grindingly powerful and impersonal.

“What is the current state of Captain Phelp’s vatdroid?”

“With the Verified consent of Captain Phelps, her supplemental clone’s memory banks were purged and its body was returned to cryonic suspension on October 3 of this year. It is currently in storage aboard the UEDF Orbital Fortress ‘Levin’.”

The central figure turned, and looked at its fellows.

“Are there any further questions for he who stands before the Tribunal?”

One by one, the lights around the other judges winked out. The figure faced the Director-General again.

“The Tribunal will now retire to consider its verdict. Be advised that your words and actions are no longer being recorded. Be advised that your mental processes are no longer under veracity scan. He who stands before the Tribunal is dismissed until we return from deliberation.”

And the Director-General was standing alone once again. He stepped off the podium, and left the room.

“You don’t have to do this.” The man in the Doctor’s uniform shuffled his feet on the floor as he spoke.

“Yes I do, Nathan. You have no idea how much I have to do this. And the Director-General knows it, too. Otherwise, this would have been done already.”

“You... you’re making a mistake. At least let me go in there with you.”

The woman in the Internal Security uniform leaned over and brushed her lips across his.

“That’s the worst thing I could do. This won’t take long. Stay here.”

He sighed, and stepped away. Leaned up against a nearby wall, and crossed his arms tightly.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

She smiled. “I know.”

She turned, and pushed the pad that opened the hatch. It tested her DNA, approved, and a black hole expanded out before her.

The room beyond was long and lit in a checkerboard fashion. As she walked down it, passing through the spots of light cast by the globes overhead, her black uniform made her almost disappear, her blue/green UE insignia seeming to float in the darkness.

The man sat in a chair at the far end of the room. Empty space stretched off on three sides of him. He was strapped into the chair by leather bands, well tempered by age. Real leather, which was a both a sign of how long the chair had been in use, and how stubbornly humans will stick to tradition. Behind him loomed a ominous complex of equipment.

Angelica approached, silently, her boots muffled on the thickly-matted floor. Even so, as she neared him, he opened his eyes, and looked over at her. He couldn’t turn his head, because it was held firmly in place, along with the rest of his body.

“Ah. My dear Captain Phelps. I was wondering when you’d be along. And so we are both ourselves again.” He smiled.

The wound on his neck was starting to fade.

Angelica held up the black lawchart in her hand, which was already scanned to the appropriate page. She began to speak.

“Oneemith, Tavier Guilume. Criminal. United Earth Sharehold Number 5541-X5-96710. You have been tried and found guilty of the following crimes.”

“You can spare me the list, Angelica.”

“Numerous violations of the Control of Personal DNA Act of 2301, including Production of Unauthorized Non-Sentient Beings. Sixteen known violations of the Orion Exclusion Act of 2313. The willful purchase, transport and sale of unVerified goods. Unauthorized establishment of indenture. Theft of United Earth Defense Force property. Destruction of United Earth Defense Force property. Kidnapping of United Earth Defense Force personnel. Trespassing on United Earth Defense Force territory. Twenty-seven known violations of the Extra-Solar Archeology Act of 2281. Violation of the Tachyon Communication Privacy Act of 2297. Rape.” Throughout her entire time in the room, only on the word ‘Rape’ did even the tiniest sliver of emotion creep into her voice. “Murder. Piracy in deep space. Plotting the violent overthrow of the chartered government of United Earth and associated corporate entities. Crimes against sentience.” A ceremonial pause. “For these and other crimes, you have been sentenced to immediate and total erasure of memory and destruction of personality, followed by deportation of your remains to an official UEDF rehabilitation colony, where your physical body will spend the rest of its existence paying back to the society from your mind has stolen. Dated and Verified, October 15, 2354. Presiding United Earth Defense Force officer: Phelps, Angelica Johanson, Captain, United Earth Sharehold Number 5313-S6-97632.”

“Are you quite through, my child?”

“If you have any final words, before sentence is carried out, speak them now. Be aware that you and your words are being recorded for posterity. Be aware these are the last words you will ever speak.” Angelica lowered the ‘chart and looked directly at the man in the chair, standing stiffly erect, eyes and mind unwavering.

“You’ll never be rid of me. I mean, you, personally, Angelica. Society has already flushed me out of its system. But a part of you, even now, wants to be strapped back into that machine, feel those tentacles crawl... over... your... body. Wants to become a slave again. Remember how good it felt, to be my loving, obedient, slave? You could feel that way again. Not from me, of course. I’m not going anywhere except an... approved rehabilitation colony. But I know the UEDF. They still have my device somewhere. They’ll stash it away in some dark vault... on some asteroid... and hope everyone forgets about it. You could probably find it again, if you tried hard enough. Remember that, Angelica. Remember that, when you’re lonely, or scared, or your lover of the moment doesn’t live up to your expectations. Remember.” He smiled one last time and rolled his eyes up into the darkness overhead. “You can... what is the old phrase? Throw the switch? now. I have nothing more to say.”

“Your words have been duly noted and recorded for posterity.”

Angelica executed a sharp spin on the heel of her boot, and walked towards a bank of controls which stood nearby.

“Au revoir, my dear.”

She stopped and turned back towards him in the same fashion as she had turned away.

“Thank you, Mr. Oneemith.”

He stared.

“You’ve made me strong. You have no idea how strong. Just be glad that it was my vatdroid that caught up with you, and not me. Now. So, thank you. And one more thing.”

He continued to look at her, unspeaking.

“Rot in hell.”

She moved to the control panel. Pushed the button (an actual button which clicked loudly in the silence) that started the brainwipe, and left the room. Behind her, the machinery came to life.

That night, she opened herself, and Nathan entered her, and she did not think of the tentacles.

Not even once.

He didn’t have to wait for long, never even leaving the small, utilitarian, antechamber in which many people had sweated out hour after hour of nervous apprehension. (And in which four people had, over the years, killed themselves.) In this case, the vast bell soon sounded again, summoning him back into the Tribunal Chamber. Again he entered the equally vast room, stood on the podium, and the judges reappeared. Once again he was scanned inside and out by the biocomputer, and found to be worthy. The central judge stepped forward, still wielding the staff.

“The Tribunal has reached its verdict. Is he who stands before the Tribunal ready to receive it?”

“Yes.”

The central judge held out his arm, straight to one side, and spread apart his fingers. The staff remained in place, hanging unsupported in space.

“Randolph Joseph Nkrumah, Shareholder of United Earth, Sharehold Number 5671-S1-98905, the United Earth Defense Force Internal Security Tribunal hereby clears you of any charge of wrong-doing in the matter currently under discussion. You are free to leave.” The staff slowly spun around his hand once in a wide circle, like the propeller on an old-style airplane. As it did so, its color slowly changed from grey to white. The judge’s gloved hand closed around it as it slid back into position. “Is there anything you wish to say, before this session of the Tribunal is declared closed?”

“I thank the Tribunal members.”

“This session of the United Earth Defense Force Internal Security Tribunal is declared officially closed. All records of this session are hereby classified Orange 7 and sealed until October 21, 2404.” The judge banged the staff on the deck beneath his boots, and the bell rang again overhead.

The Director-General bowed to the figures before him, and left the chamber. The light shining on the podium winked out. The judges all stood until he had left the chamber, and then vanished once again, until only the central figure remained. He stood for a moment longer, then left the chamber in a more conventional fashion, opposite the direction of the Director-General.

Darkness fell.

“I just saw the official announcement that our trouble-making friend has been dealt with.”

“Yes. He was far too trusting for a man in his profession. Such an unpleasant end.”

A shrug.

“Anyone whose security set-up is so lax deserves whatever he gets.”

A pause.

“And now?”

“We have all of the information. If you’re willing to continue your financial support, we can begin.”

A smile.

“Of course.”

Although not a room in the traditional sense, it resembled M’s living quarters, writ only in two dimensions. Large ‘holoscreens’ lined the ‘walls’ from non-existent floor to invisible ceiling. There were no doors. Overhead and beneath, the stars burned brightly, cold and unwavering and profuse.

The Director-General, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, appeared in the room, his face impassive. ‘Harris’ turned from his position near one bank of ‘screens, ‘walked’ closer.

“We just got the word down here dirtside. Congratulations, sir.”

“Eh? Oh. It was a formality. Cross all of the Ts. Dot all of the Is. The man who occupies the office of the Director-General is always on a first-name basis with the Tribunal. So to speak.”

“Congratulations never the less, sir.”

Nkrumah’s cyberextension sighed. “Thank you, Harris.”

A voice spoke up from one of the screens, causing it to ripple and flux in time with the words. It was a slightly more humanized and modulated version of the computer in the Tribunal Chamber.

“TACHYON MESSAGE FOR DIRECTOR-GENERAL NKRUMAH. MEDICAL INSPECTOR ICHIKAWA, CALLING FROM TARQUAIN VI.”

“Activate link.” The Director-General faced the appropriate screen.

“CHANNEL CONFIRMED. CHANNEL SECURED.”

Inspector Ichikawa’s face appeared, looking as always like she had just sucked down an entire lemon. Then the screen expanded around her, made her image three-dimensional. She joined the two men in their chunk of cyberspace. The screen deflated back into the wall. The Director-General spoke to her.

“Inspector. Greetings.”

“Director-General. I wished to call you and offer my congratulations.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” A warning glare shot at Harris who drifted backwards a few ‘meters’, his expression carefully bland.

“And to inquire if all has gone well with Captain Phelps, and Doctor Yanderman.” The inspector’s cyberextension stood as stiffly and formally as her physical body.

“All turned out quite well, Inspector. Another success for your unblemished record. They should make an excellent team, once Doctor Yanderman gets through his training.”

“I am glad. What was their final compatibility rating? I ask merely out of curiosity.”

The Director-General glanced at Harris, more congenially this time.

“84%, Sir. Inspector.”

“Yes. Their genetic match-up looks very promising as well. Speaking of which, Inspector...” A slight rumbling. The Director-General looked almost embarrassed. “Have you had a chance to consider my proposal?”

“I have studied the test results you sent me. They were most... compelling.” A slight hesitation. “I will be coming home in EarthJan... in flesh... to attend my Reunion. I would not be adverse to combining possible pleasure with duty. If you are available at the time, we can discuss it further.” She almost smiled.

“I look forward to it. Good day, Inspector.”

“Director General.” They exchanged bows, and her image was sucked back into the screen, and disappeared as she disconnected from the dataworld.

“Are you sure this is wise, Sir?” Harris asked.

Another glare.

“Oh...” Harris continued hastily. “Nono. Not you and the Inspector. That would be an excellent pairing. Sir. I meant Doctor Yanderman and Captain Phelps, sir.”

“Of course it was wise. You know if you have anything over 80%, they’re usually copulating like Farkoids inside of a week. If they had just met on the street, we would have had to probably pry them apart with a forcebar, which is always bad for morale. This way..” He smiled, another genuine smile, even if he didn’t form it with his physical face. “He’s a bright lad. Should go far. And besides, as the Inspector would have no doubt told you if you asked her, we need more Doctors in the service.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But, even if none of that were true, we didn’t have much choice. When we cleaned out Oneemith’s ship, we got him, and the information and equipment we needed. But even before that, when we saw their psiscans and the obvious compatibility, we knew that Doctor Yanderman’s help would greatly facilitate the deprogramming of Captain Phelps Thanks to that help, the Captain is well on the road to recovery. And Senator St. Clair’s problem was solved as well, rendering Smith’s Orion datacore information harmless. Beauty out of ugliness, Harris. Remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” A careful pause. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I read the ‘droid’s memorylogs. Did we... you... know about the Orions, Sir? Not that they had spies, we suspected that, I know. I mean, that they had been bioengineered by those rogue Rigellians solely to slip us that training machine?”

The Director-General was silent for a long time, watching one of the ‘holoscreens’ flash a scene from the recent Presidential debate. Finally, he spoke, with seeming irrelevance.

“Humanity, as a species, finally goes out into space.” A gesture at the simulated stars overhead which shimmered for a moment. “We meet other races like... the Rigellians. The Githriks. The Zill. Even the Farkoids. None of them remotely humanoid, or interested in warfare, at least in the traditional sense. And why should they be? There’s ultimately plenty of room, plenty of everything, enough for anybody. All we have to do, is keep all of the plates spinning until we’ve learned enough, grown up enough, to truly take advantage of it all.” A pause. “Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, the Orion Pack Raiders. Green, Bug-Eyed Monsters...”

“Isn’t that a better description of a Rigellian, Sir?”

“Don’t they teach classical literature anymore at the Academy? ...Green, Bug-Eyed Monsters that want to kill earth men and have sex with earth women. And even more perversely, are humanoid enough to do the latter. The ultimate Other. Humanity’s worst collective nightmare suddenly brought to life. Why do you think we played down the Orion War to the general population? Because it was a hard war? Because of the spies? Because we are sexually squeamish? Do you think that we are that petty?”

“Some of us still are, Sir. As you yourself just implied.”

“Yes. But if an individual makes it this far in service to UE, I’d like to think that he or she can aspire for more. We classified much about the War because... we didn’t know. But we suspected. We wondered. And now we do know. And the Rigellian Hierarchy is still apologizing about it.” A shrug, which coming from the Director-General was always impressive. “Any more questions, Harris?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Director-General showed an ‘I’m listening’ expression.

“Is it really over, Sir? This whole mess?”

The older man looked at his subordinate.

“When they’re not apologizing, the Rigellians busy are rounding up the rest of the followers of the ‘true way’, and dealing out their usual punishments for corruption and moral deviancy. We’ve got every woman who was programmed by Oneemith under treatment, although most of them were long-time willing employees of his, and are headed straight for brainwiping and the rehab colonies anyway. Oneemith has been captured, his... network... is headless. Our friend... ‘N’... is back at work in a new Sector, building new contacts, now with the additional help and advice of Oneemith’s direct-copy personality simulation. They just found what was left of Smith on Proxima, and it was no vatdroid this time. We’re working our way through the remaining female Orion War veterans, clearing out their relatively crude Orion programming where we find it.”

Harris’ image stood silent for a moment, then:

“Is it really over?”

A sigh.

“Son, nothing is ever over. For one thing, we already have serious debate rising about whether or not to exploit those ‘training tendrils’ for more legitimate purposes. They’re just heavily modified C-gangs, after all. The medical and rehabilitation applications alone could net the UE millions in profits...”

“Why would anyone object to that, Sir?”

“Because... because people are clever, Mr. Harris. And if we let those things loose on society, someone, somewhere, will figure how to use them for their original purpose. And they are incredibly dangerous. I glossed it over to the Tribunal, but if that employee of Oneemith’s hadn’t Zapped Doctor Yanderman, we probably wouldn’t have realized what had happened. Even now, psicanning is still not an exact science. The ‘scans on Captain Phelps were odd... but far from conclusive. The programming was able to hide itself too well, even from our best psiscans. Oneemith came very close to succeeding in his plan. Too close. So... I think we’re going to have to bury those training tendrils. Bury them deep, until we’ve all grown up a little bit more. Someday we’ll be ready to use them. But not yet.”

“I see, Sir. What’s the other problem?”

“Eh?”

“You said, ‘for one thing’. Sir.”

ISD Director-General Randolph Joseph Nkrumah again looked at the man next to him, his expression suddenly a good match for Inspector Ichikawa’s.

“You’re getting too smart for your own good, Harris.”

“Yes, Sir.” Harris smiled.

“The other problem is...” His cyberfingers tapped his barrel-like chest in a distracted fashion. “While I have no evidence, I have a gut feeling that... something has slipped through the cracks in all of this...”