The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Why am I here? That question had been rolling around in my brain for the last two days. Well, one day, nine hours and thirty-two minutes.

I was lying on my back in a Spartan room. I wasn’t sure where I was; Midas City, I assumed, but they might have taken me elsewhere while I slept. There were no windows, no closets, and only one door. One small dresser, a naked bulb dangling from a wire on the ceiling, and the bed I was laying on formed the entirety of its contents, not including myself. Although in a sense, I was as much an object at the moment as anything else in the room.

I was tired, worn out from the previous night. It had a surreal cast to it, when I thought back, like remembering through water. That damn disc. If I could get rid of it, I’d be back in business. I’d–

The time is eight AM. Drone Thirteen, report to the bathroom for morning maintenance.

That voice. Not mechanical, not quite; more like the tone of a woman reciting from a script. Not bored, but not particularly caring, either. Dispassionate. I kept my eyes shut, fingers clutching the black sheets, and waited.

Drone Thirteen. You are now one minute late. Your recalcitrance has been noted. Report to the bathroom for morning maintenance.

…And I was up, taking a black towel from the top of the dresser as I went. The Voice occasionally informed, but mostly just ordered. Orders could be resisted. Who knew that better than me? But the Voice would not be denied; I’d never beaten it. The best I could muster was some occasional resistance. It didn’t do any good, but it seemed better than just giving in.

I reached the bathroom and hung my towel on a hook. I slept in the nude here, minimizing the time it took to prepare in the mornings. Efficient, logical, and not particularly comforting. There was another reason I’d slept naked, but I didn’t want to think about it.

There were three men in the shower already, scrubbing themselves with mechanical thoroughness. They paid as little attention to me as I did to them, concentrating on the task at hand. I risked a sideways glance, but none of them seemed at all familiar. My fellow Drones were strangers, another puzzle. A mad scientist takes a small group of apparently random people and turns them into zombies. She then captures a telepath, zombifies her. Why? I had no answer as yet.

I scrubbed every inch of my skin, doing my best not to look at it. Soap, then shampoo, then some kind of depilatory from the neck down. Every nook and cranny had to be clean and hairless, for no reason I knew of. The Voice seldom explained things. I soaped down again when it was done and stepped out, moisturizing before I toweled myself dry. The last part was the hardest, since my skin wasn’t quite right any more.

It was part of the processing, I supposed. A minimalist esthetic choice, or a side-effect of the disc, I didn’t know. But every square inch of me was coated a dull, metallic grey. No part of my pink skin remained that I could find. It was everywhere – eyelids, lips and tongue, even deep in the folds of my labia. It didn’t tingle or come off in the shower, but at least it didn’t interfere with my sense of touch. Not that that would have been unwelcome, but it would have been unnerving, had my nerves not already been overloaded some time ago. One day, two hours and fifty-five minutes ago, to be precise.

I walked to my room, passing two more grey-skinned men with white towels draped over their arms. They were as nude as I, heading to the shower. We were scheduled, four people at a time for four showers. Very neat, very efficient.

Done Thirteen. You have five minutes to report to the mess hall.

I tossed my wet towel on the bed and pulled open a drawer, withdrawing my clothes for the day. I had two of everything: two t-shirts, two pairs of spandex shorts, two brassieres and two hair ties, all in black. No shoes, no makeup, no underwear were present. They were unnecessary for my duties; my mystery captor didn’t much cared what his Drones looked like.

I jogged barefoot to the mess hall – a longish room with all the coziness of a grade-school cafeteria – and sat at my designated place at the table, with seven other Drones all dressed in white. Two more served us from a rolling cart, ladling out a soupy tasteless gruel I was certain contained everything a healthy body needed for breakfast. Absurdly, I missed coffee the most, but there didn’t seem to be anyone to complain to.

We ate in characteristic silence, sitting rigidly while the servers collected the bowls and silverware. The last bowl was just being taken when the Voice spoke again. Done Thirteen. Report to the gymnasium for exercise.

No surprise there; it was what I’d been doing since the first morning. I stood with the others and we parted ways, each going to our assigned tasks, whatever that might be. I padded barefoot to the gym, a motley collection including an exercise bike, a treadmill, a few Nautilus machines and a mismatched assortment of free weights, all conveniently located next to my room. I stepped onto the treadmill and set it for minimum incline.

Treadmill, thirty minutes. Please reset to maximum incline. I turned it on and began jogging.

Drone Thirteen, maximum incline was requested. Comply or face punishment. I scowled, but changed the setting, taking my time. It was probably a futile gesture, but it made a difference to me. After half an hour of that, I was directed to switch to the bike, again on max resistance, and tackled that for half an hour.

Initial warm-up sequence complete. Drone Thirteen, begin limbering stretches and commence aerobics in ten minutes.

That was my morning, more or less. An hour of aerobics, then Nautilus, then weights, interspersed with the bike or treadmill for warming down. For hours, I did nothing but work out, sweat pouring off of me, drenching my clothing. Except for my labored breathing and the creak-whirr-bang of the equipment, it was all done in silence, mind-numbing tedium uninterrupted by outside stimulus. If it was torture, it was an effective one; isolation makes any telepath instinctually uneasy.

I was surprised when the door swung open and two Drones walked in, wearing white t-shirts and shorts. The older one looked like a greengrocer, older and paunchy with something in his hand; the other looked like an all-American college kid. Both were as grey as I was, and neither evinced the slightest display of emotion at seeing me pedaling furiously on a stationary bike, lathered and fatigued. I let the wheel coast to a stop, wondering what the new order would be. It couldn’t be lunch, since it was just now eleven o’clock.

Drone Thirteen. I stood at attention, grateful for the rest break. You will service Drones Three and Five until eleven-thirty, then shower.

“No,” I said, my voice carrying in the quiet.

Drone Thirteen, you will obey. Comply or face punishment.

“I will not obeeeiiiggghhh!” I dropped, screaming, as the disc on the back of my neck flexed its muscles, sparks flying into my central nervous system like little rivulets of lava coursing through my nerves. It seemed to go on for hours, me jerking like a fish out of water on the concrete floor in unyielding pain. Finally it relented, and I sobbed to myself.

You will service both Drones until eleven forty-five, then shower, the Voice commanded. Comply or face additional punishment. Acknowledge.

I couldn’t answer, balled up, sides heaving. I can’t… I won’t…

Drone Thirteen, acknowledge or face punishment.

“Yes… yes!” I choked out. “I acknowledge, damn it! Stop it!”

Invective is not necessary. Repetition is not necessary. Only obedience is necessary. I got shakily to my feet, wiping blood from my lips.

“I don’t want to,” I pleaded hopelessly. “Why are you making me do this?

Explanations are not necessary. Consent is not necessary. Service Drones Three and Five until eleven forty-five, then shower.

“All right,” I said, defeated. I pulled my t-shirt off and turned to my emotionless paramours. “How are we doing this, boys?”

“I am Drone Three,” the college kid said in a monotone. He pulled off his shorts, penis already beginning to rise. “Drone Thirteen will lie face-down on the weight bench.”

“Please re-move all clo-thing,” added the greengrocer. Number Five, I presumed.

I peeled off the spandex shorts and lay down where indicated, wriggling myself into a comfortable position. From previous experience, I knew the Drones wouldn’t care less about trivial matters like my comfort, so I needed to get situated before they got started. Five smeared some kind of cold lubricating gel on my proffered pussy and straddled the bench behind me, while Three stood in front of me, erection pointing at my face.

“Thirteen will ser-vice this un-it or-ally,” he said, guiding himself between my lips. “Five will cop-ulate until cli-max. Three and Five will then switch places.”

“All right,” I said, although it came out more like “Auh rugh” around his penis. I grabbed the weight bar with both hands to support my weight and began, using the motion of Five’s thrust to go down on Three.

The college boy actually came first, perhaps inexperienced in the mysteries of sex and delaying ejaculation. I swallowed his come as best as I could; he’d given me next to no warning until the moment arrived, and even then it was as muted an orgasm as ever I could remember. His muscles stiffened briefly, and a near-inaudible moan escaped his lips, and there it was, hot seed gushing into my mouth, spilling down my face when I pulled back. He stood there, calmly accepting my mouth’s advances as his penis softened without complaint.

I doubted he could have thought of baseball or anything, but it couldn’t be terribly erotic for him either, could it? Maybe, like me, he wasn’t fully under the control of that malefic disc stuck to the back of his neck. Maybe some kernel of his personality remained, trapped but aware, unconsciously influencing the actions of his thought-controlled body. And maybe that fettered mind was enjoying this now, voyeuristically watching a sweaty, half-naked woman plugged at both ends by two passionless Drones, body swaying from cock to cock…

Five came not long after, and the point was moot. I waited while they switched positions and began sucking Five while my early bird stepped up to the plate behind. Five was definitely a slow riser; by the time I’d excited him into full upright position, Three was shooting the last few pulses of his second orgasm into my belly. Only fifteen more minutes of this, I consoled myself. Just get through it as best you can, and find a way out.

I’ve read a nymphomaniac doesn’t fuck a man into exhaustion because she loves sex. She fucks him until he can’t any more, to prove she’s better than him, in some indefinable way. I don’t quite get it out in the real world, but as a Drone, it made a certain sense to be a nympho. The faster I could tire them out, the sooner I could get back thinking of escape, of a way out of this trap. So perhaps you’ll understand what I mean when I tell you I was a little disappointed when the Voice stopped us right at eleven-thirty.

Drone Thirteen, cease current activity and report to showers. Drones Three and Five, cease current activity and report to mess hall.

I groaned as the two men uncoupled themselves from me and dressed, leaving me without so much as a thank you or leaving money on the dresser. I staggered to the showers, stopping at my room to drop my clothes on the floor and pick up a fresh towel.

I showered alone this time. I had twelve minutes to wash away the sweat and spunk, twelve minutes of thought in solitude. The last thing I wanted was time to think. Five had come three times, and Three, five times. I hadn’t come at all, and shamefully, that concerned me most of all at the moment.

Damn bastards, I thought, masturbating with the pretext of scrubbing my denuded pussy. I was getting close, and they stopped. I was gonna… That wasn’t going to get me anywhere, not in the time I had left. I tried a different tack.

They weren’t fucking me, I was fucking them. That was better. Take control, turn your nightmare into fantasy, find your relief in your duress. Tied to a weight bench, taking on two henchmen at once. You up front, boy; you’re so hot for me you’re gonna pop in no time. I want that thick cock to last a while, so I’ll get you off while your friend warms me up. It looks even bigger up close, all cute and hairless… that’s right, push it in. It’s ok to be eager, get off fast. If you had your friend’s view right now you’d be coming before you ever got it in me.

That was better. Three and Five had gotten me halfway there, but their willingness to fuck me constantly wasn’t enough to overcome the downer of impersonal sex. I didn’t know if I would get in trouble or not, but the Voice had said nothing so far… Didn’t think I could take it that far in, did you? I can do more, this is just the beginning. You were already hard when you saw my curvy body working out like a fiend, strong and agile and with the stamina to fuck you all day long… Do you have a girlfriend at home, stud? Is she as pretty as I am? Is it all dry-humping and handjobs, or does she blow you? I’ll bet you’ve never seen her eyes looking up at you like this, rising over her plump lips while she sucks you off…

It was a small orgasm, a quick shuddering one that nevertheless left me leaning against the water-beaded wall for support. I stayed quiet, afraid to betray my weakness to whatever power kept me here, kept me slave to its unknown plan. I rinsed quickly, dried off, and dressed, arriving two minutes early for lunch.

Three sat across from me while we ate, this time served by two female Drones. They were the first women I’d seen since I was abducted, and I was somewhat surprised to find them dressed in white like their brother Drones. Whatever our captor had planned for us, sex slavery seemed unlikely. They were neither particularly cute, nor offensively ugly, just two average women doling out food to seven men and one casually-dressed superheroine. And although we were all the same shade of gunmetal-grey, only I was to wear black, it seemed.

We ate in silence, finishing at roughly the same time and resting while our utensils were collected until we received our orders from the Voice. I stood with the rest, preparing to do the only job I seemed to have in this quiet madhouse. I walked alone to the far end of the building, paused a moment before opening the door to the Pointless Room. Somewhere inside lay the key to my rescue, if I was smart enough to figure it out. I took a deep breath and entered.

I sat in the darkness for about half an hour, extending my senses as best as I could. The chair was unpleasantly cool and rigid under me, and I shifted against the plastic, trying to get some blood into my legs. My life as a Drone alternated between tedium and boredom, this being an hour-long stretch of the latter. Hence ‘the Pointless Room’, my private name for the featureless and always-dark room. A pointless room for a pointless task, performed in a pointless captivity. I was almost relieved when the Voice spoke in my head, signaling the end of this nonsensical exercise.

Drone Thirteen, report your observations.

“Nothing,” I said to empty air. The Voice could hear me whether I voiced my thoughts or no, but I savored the tiniest scraps of disobedience I could get away with. “Just like yesterday. And the day before that. And–”

Relating previous failed attempts is not necessary. Was it my imagination, or did I catch a tone of annoyance? Encouraged, I pressed my luck a bit further.

“Well, nothing today, then. Nothing to see here.” I stretched. “No mind, no conscious thought, no glint of feelings I can sense. Nada. Are you sure there’s something there?”

Your task is to sense intelligence and report, not speculate. The Voice was curt; I was definitely onto something here. One doesn’t become a telepath without learning how to push other people’s buttons.

“Sure. Give me something to sense and I will. Of course, I’m not exactly running on all cylinders right now. Maybe if I wasn’t pulling a train every second I’m not exercising to exhaustion, I’d–”

Enough! I flinched at the tone, expecting an electric rebuke, but none came. Your schedule will continue as planned. Your opinion on these matters is not relevant.

But noted. I saw an opening. “If I knew what I was supposed to be looking for…”

That information is not necessary. Pause. Knowledge of the goal may interfere with the project’s success.

I bit my tongue on what project? I knew what the answer to that would be, and I didn’t want to spoil what little momentum I’d earned. Instead I went off on a non sequitur. “Could I get some bras?”

There was no immediate response. “It’s just that I’m working out all the time, and my tits are getting sore from all the banging around.” I hefted the girls in my palms and released them, letting them bounce in emphasis. Good genes and whatever X-factor granted my powers had seen to it that I had an uncannily sweet rack, but even the most photogenic jiggle can get painful after a while.

There was a long pause, long enough for me to start to worry. Had I gone too far?

Drone Thirteen, your request is reasonable. It will be considered.

“Thank you…” I hesitated to give the impression I hadn’t planned this exchange. “What should I call you?”

Another pause. Then: You may address me as ‘Robotica’. She continued before I could say anything else. Report to the gymnasium for exercise. Robotica’s presence withdrew, leaving me alone again in the dark room.

I didn’t know whether to judge my stilted conversation with Robotica as a success or a failure. On the plus side, I’d gotten a better idea (if not explicit) of what I’d been kidnapped for. I’d also gotten her to consider a concession for my comfort, and a freshman Psych major could tell you that’s a good sign in a captor. And I’d gotten her name. “Robotica” was an unknown to me, but it was something, giving me a better idea of what she might be about.

On the downside, my afternoon workout was entirely about pumping iron, which seemed like a punishment to me. Pretty much anyone in my profession has to be in excellent shape; I could run a marathon at a respectable pace without getting winded. But super-strength had not been included in the Psyche package. After a day’s worth of pressing, jerking, pulling and dead-lifting, sweat came off me in rivers, and I still had three hours and sixteen minutes to go, according to my little neck-riding friend. I took short breaks between reps, varying my sets to keep myself from getting totally exhausted, but it was hard work. Until I knew how to defeat Robotica’s sinister discs, I didn’t dare shirk for long.

I thought as I worked to pass the time, occasionally trying a surreptitious run on the disc when I thought of a new way to break its hold on me. I didn’t get shocked, but I didn’t find any ways to take it down, either, so mostly I just collated what I already knew.

You’ve been captured by one villainess, Robotica by name. You appear to be the only superhuman captured in a group of roughly twelve. None of the rest seem particularly resistant to her discs, so assume you’re partially immune to whatever makes ‘em tick. Robotica has yet to show up in person. Scared of me? Perhaps. How is she controlling the discs? You’re the only one in black; everyone else wears white so far, male and female. Is that mere coding, or something deeper? Why have we all turned grey? Robotica seems to have wanted a telepath and I was the first her minions could find. What’s she want me to find in the Pointless Room? Except for that, lunch, and sleep, most of my time is spent working out. Why? What do the others do when they’re not eating or getting ‘serviced’, and why do they even need that? They don’t get anything out of it, and Robotica doesn’t seem to care if I do or not, so…

When Robotica called on me to take my pre-dinner shower, I nearly dropped from fatigue. Everything hurt, and I winced my way through dinner, nearly falling asleep into my gruel. I collapsed on top of the covers of my bed, not even bothering to undress. I knew the right questions, I was just too tired to turn them into answers. Too tired…

Drone Thirteen. I jolted awake. Don’t open your eyes don’t look don’t look don’t look… I opened my eyes to see 5 Drones standing around my bed.

You will service Drones Six through Ten until 2100 hours. My shorts had already been pulled down to my ankles. Five of them seized my arms and legs, holding me down while the first positioned himself. I lay resignedly as they took turns with me, too tired to move and too burnt-out to care.

It was easily the least erotic sex I’d ever had, with all the tender warmth of an airport strip-search. One would finish, take a limb, and the next would take his place. I stared at the ceiling and waited for it to end, wishing they would change the pace or position or something. I fell asleep twice during the ordeal, and both times I woke up to find them still mindlessly fucking me. I had no further orders after they left, and fell asleep as they’d left me: half-naked, spread-eagled, and sore inside and out.

I dreamed…

I saw it coming from a mile away. Two men in suits, hand in hand, turning down the wrong alley in Old Town. Might as well paint ‘mug us’ on the backs of their suits. I was two blocks over and four hundred feet up when I spotted them, and by the time I’d landed they were already being held at gunpoint. I’m not bullet-proof, so I took the mugger quick, one hard-leaned chop to the neck from behind sending him to the deck, not knowing what hit him.

I kicked the gun away before the muggees could make a grab for it themselves; victims sometimes see a rescue as a good time to do unto others. I was a little miffed at missing out on the traditional good guy-bad guy banter, so I turned to my rescuees to make up for it a bit.

“There’s lifestyle choices, and then there’s lifestyle choices, am I right? Now this guy, here…”

I trailed off. Both men were as straight-faced as a gambler on a losing streak. Stranger, though, was their auras, almost mirror-images of each other’s. I frowned. “Uh, look guys, I don’t–”

“Psyche. So-lo tel-e-path. No o-ffen-sive abil-ities, lim-i-ted de-fense.”

“Min-i-mal threat,” the second responded. “Re-trie-val rat-ing A plus.”

Check the corners and always watch your back, the Crimson Cowboy never tired of telling me. You never know. I was already backing away from the odd couple, and tripped over the third who’d snuck up on me in the meantime. He slapped me hard on the back of my neck, cold and metallic, and I passed out before I hit the ground.

I woke up on the floor of a van, sliding around as the driver negotiated Old Town’s twisty roads at speed. If my two suited watchers cared that I’d regained consciousness, they didn’t show it.

“Right,” I mumbled fiercely. “That’s your asses, that is.” No time for play now – I’d just KO these jokers, dom the driver, and sort it out at my leisure. A tendril of psychic energy uncoiled from me like a dog loosed from its leash, made contact with the first grey-faced goon…

…and hit a brick wall. His mind was there, but it was layered beneath something else entirely, something with the mental equivalent of cast-iron plating. It permeated his mind-field with ever-branching tentacles, holding it into an artificial pattern, and it reacted to my assault like sodium to water.

I screamed myself raw, the backlash stepping in to bat as instant karma for my mistake. The tendril I sent out flared up and died, grounding psionic energy directly into my unprepared brain. My body flailed in a wild seizure, and then I mercifully passed out again.

I kept my eyes closed the next time I came to, having learned my lesson. The aftershocks migraine of my fuck-up was receding into multicolored splotches in my vision, but it would be a while before I was back to one hundred percent. I didn’t hear anything: no traffic, no voices, or even air conditioning, but at least I seemed to be lying on something soft. Hey, good for me.

A lot of times, by this point I’m already strapped into an orgasm machine or something, sad but true. If it happens to other heroines, they haven’t mentioned it to me yet; maybe I’m a pervert magnet or something. So I was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing holding me down, and no minds nearby. I was naked, but hey, you can’t have everything. Cautiously, I opened my eyes a sliver.

She is awake, a voice boomed in my ears. No, not ears. In my mind, but not telepathy, either. Either way, there wasn’t any point in playing ‘possum any longer, so I sat up.

I was sitting in what I would later call my room, dreary and moodily lit. Two naked grey-skinned men stood at attention at either side of the only door. As I got up, I noticed a stiffness on my neck. I put a hand to it, and felt a flat metal disc on it, stuck to me like a tick.

Remove the disc at your peril, the Voice intoned. Doing so will irreversibly randomize your neurons. This is your only warning.

Ok… I stopped trying to pull it loose.

The disc has many functions. It tracks your location and provides telemetry for vital signs. It can also be used to control your desires and movements. Observe.

I felt a sudden compulsion to life my arm. Not an irresistible urge, no matter-over-mind, just a mild want. I lifted it, going along with it for now. No harm in making the enemy overconfident, I judged. Next came a slight tingle in my throat, and I coughed obligingly, putting on my bewildered face. “All right, you’ve made your point,” I said, not wanting to overplay the theatrics. “Is this how you control your people, too?”

An electric shock seemed to blister me from the inside out, another taste of what I’d gotten in the van, only longer. I was retching when it stopped and the voice continued.

The discs can also deliver pain for disobedience, such as speaking out of turn. All Drones are controlled by these discs.

“All… right…” I gasped. “I’m… impressed. What … do you want with me?”

You will be Processed and assigned duties. Your designation is Drone Thirteen.

I’m not a number!, some hysterical part of my mind cried. “P-processed? Drone? I can’t–”

Your opinion is irrelevant. Consent is not necessary. You will obey.

The door swung open and more drones entered, all dressed identically in white t-shirts and shorts, all grey-skinned, all with the same blank look. The ones nearest me grabbed me while the rest began to shed their clothes. Fear gripped my heart as I realized what the next part of my orientation would be like.

Drone Thirteen, you will service Drones One through Ten. Each Drone must ejaculate twice.

“No… NO!” I screamed hoarsely. I struggled like mad, but two taser hits to the brain stem had taken most of the fight out of me. The Drones maneuvered me sideways until I was bent over the bed, lined up five to a side, and introduced me to my new life, two at a time.

The time is eight AM. Drone Thirteen, report to the bathroom for morning maintenance.

Re-runs for dreams. My life’s boring even when I’m asleep! I rolled out of bed and started my day the Drone way. I won’t numb you with another recitation of my routine; it was pretty much the same for the next few days with one or two minor changes. Sometimes my workout specifics were altered, and the number of Drones I ‘serviced’ varied, but I was adjusting to my new lifestyle with a speed that would’ve scared me under other circumstances.

The Drones had no orders for foreplay, and were disinclined to change their pace one jot no matter how much I complained, but I got used to that, too. Eventually, I got to where I could wring an orgasm or two out of these soulless encounters with a little prep-work and an active imagination. Robotica never disciplined me for that, so I started looking forward to it as the only distraction I had left to me.

Oh, and I got my bra, sort of. My t-shirts were gone the next morning, replaced with two black jogging bras sporting a zipper up the back. Whoopee. Robotica ignored my tentative questions with what I sensed was growing impatience. So for now there was nothing to do but survive, keep my wits about me, and wait for the right opportunity to show itself.

That opportunity came on the sixth day, when Robotica’s voice from beyond interrupted my evening boinking.

Drone Seven, cease activity. Drone Thirteen, report for duties. Drone Seven, a baby-faced Eurasian guy, dismounted and stood at attention, hard-on waving in the air. I would’ve felt sorry for him, but Drones don’t feel frustration, either. Besides, he’d already come in me twice.

“We’ll pick up where we left off,” I promised my ambulatory dildo, and set off for the Pointless Room. Robotica hadn’t specified dressing or showering, so if I arrived naked and leaking jism, well, that was her problem.

The chair was even colder without my shorts, and I found myself regretting my decision almost immediately. My shorn pussy throbbed, angry at the disruption of the routine, but I resisted the urge to finish her off and work in peace, concentrating instead to drown her out, and wondering what had changed.

Fifteen minutes went by without incident. I’d wondered if Robotica could really tell whether or not I was working, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way. And then, I saw it. Just for a moment, just a glimpse, but it was there: a weak, hazy mind-light glowing faintly on the far side of the room. Nothing had suddenly entered the room or just woken up, I knew: something had just become aware

“What the…” I exclaimed softly.

Drone Thirteen, return to your quarters and resume servicing Drone Seven.

“What? No, wait! There’s something–”

Comply or face punishment, she warned. Her voice had a new flavor to it, one I’d not yet heard from her. Excitement, I realized, and the pieces began to fall into place. Do not defy me. You are a Drone, as much an extension of my will as the disc you wear. Disobedience will not be tolerated.

“All right,” I said meekly, standing.

You will service Drone Seven until 2300. Drones Ten, Eleven, and Twelve will report for servicing at that time.

She was really agitated, for her. Servicing multiple Drones was far from new, but Eleven and Twelve were the females, and I’d never had any contact with them beyond lunch. God only know how long it would take me to get them off, and I’d be wiped out in the process. Robotica wanted me out of the way.

As far as Drone Seven was concerned, it was as though I’d never left. He crawled stiffly onto the bed and pushed himself into me as soon as he inhumanly could, reminding me of some blind dates I’d had. My ardor hadn’t been strong to begin with, and it had long since cooled, so I let him huff and puff away while I went over what I’d learned. I had a little under half an hour before three drones showed up to wreck my sleep, so whatever I wanted to do, I’d have to do it soon.

A mind from nothingness, I mused. Robotica was excited, and dismissed me quick – she didn’t want me to see too much. She’s got to know I’m barely under her control, so keeping me around is a risk – she’ll do it until I’ve served my purpose. And I think I just did. But what was it? A brain doesn’t just come into exist… ah.

Now I knew, and Robotica probably realized I’d figure it out sooner or later. I’d just run out of time.

So. How do I get out? This damn disc’ll fry me before I could get the door open! Robotica will know the minute I try something because… because…

I could’ve slapped myself. This, my friends, is why Psyche had to repeat so many classes in college. “You are a Drone,” Robotica had said. “As much an extension of my will as the disc you wear.” That was everything I needed, right there; I’d just been too preoccupied with everything else to figure it out.

I reached out into the ether, feeling Seven’s one-track mind toiling under in the chains of Robotica’s disc. Circuits flared to life as I made contact, ready to expel my probe and counterattack. Robotica was a genius, the discs her immoral journeyman work. first, in the van, I’d gone for the Drone’s mind, thinking if I took out the horse, the rider would fall. Since that’d failed, I tried the disc itself next, and always either failed, or come away with a Pyrrhic victory that left me in agony.

Focus, Midas City’s resident Zen Master and my sometimes-martial arts tutor, had a fondness for aphorisms that were part philosophy, part tactics lesson, and part strategy. One stood out in my mind now: “To kill the soldier, kill the general. To kill the general, kill the emperor.”

The disc reached for me, and I accepted its barbed embrace. Head-on, sneaking in, I’d always failed because I was attacking the wrong target. I ignored Seven’s mind; it was a bystander for this fight. The disc bristled, but my thrust went through it and past it, bypassing the soldier to strike the general in his castle. It had never been my mind against the discs; they were just interfaces, remote extensions of the computer that controlled them.

Seven collapsed on top of me like a puppet with its strings cut, and his disc rolled into a corner lifelessly. Queen takes pawn. Another mental caress, and my own dropped from my neck onto the bed. It was easy, now that I knew how. Queen takes pawn, check.

I tugged on my clothes as I loped back to the Pointless Room, not wanting to arrive naked to the final showdown. Robotica had posted two Drones at the door, alerted or maybe just suspicious. Both dropped before they even saw me, discs clattering off down the hall, and I stepped over their unconscious bodies, ready for anything.

The room was lit for once, and Robotica herself was at the far end, removing some kind of bulky component from the sleek-looking computer taking up the far wall.

“It’s over, Robotica. Your toys don’t work on me any more.” She straightened up and turned to face me, giving me my first look at my captor.

I was a little taken aback, to be honest. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but she wasn’t it. Fortyish, with dishwater blonde hair in a loose ponytail, thickening waist and hips. A broad, clear face with no makeup and gentle eyes rimmed with crow’s feet. Her jumpsuit looked to be purely utilitarian, but it was clean and pressed, the same uniform shade of grey as my skin. She looked more like an assistant librarian on her day off than an evil genius who’d tortured and fucked me by proxy for nearly a week.

“Psyche,” she said. Her voice, not the Voice. “You’re much earlier than I expected. But no matter.” She patted the cylinder lightly. “I’m done, now.”

“You can say that again. Put it down. Now.”

“Impossible. You, of all people, know to what lengths I’ve gone for this. I’m walking out of here, Psyche.”

“Like. Hell.”

“Psyche... or do you prefer ‘Drone Thirteen’?” I scowled. “Psyche, then. Telepaths statistically fall on the high end of Stanford-Binet’s wonderfully misleading little test. Surely you’re smarter than this.”

Luckily for my pride, I actually knew what she was talking about. “Smart enough to know you’ve created an artificial intelligence.” Her eyebrow quirked in surprise. “That’s why you needed a telepath. Who else could tell you for sure when you’d succeeded?”

Robotica applauded politely, canister nestled in the crook of her arm. “Bravo. My life’s work, girl, fruit of my loins. The discs, the Drones, the UltraVax in the basement – all of it has led to this.” She gestured with the cylinder.

“The ends ever justifying the means. Every villain has his own words, but every one sings the same tune.” Her mind-field was weird, rigidly hard and jagged – similar to the Drones, but different. Stronger, and harder to see. I’d have her number in a minute or so; all I had to do was keep her talking.

Robotica shook her head. “I don’t expect you to understand. I had to–”

I cut her off. “I understand perfectly. The world needs this obsession of your to come to life so much that you’ve got carte blanche to enslave people wholesale. And as for me…” Whatever she was using to cloak her thoughts was good, but I was gaining ground. Keep going. She’s in there somewhere! “You couldn’t mind-fuck me or I’d be useless as a scout. So you wire me up with a half-power disc and do your best to keep me off-balance and tired. The non-stop workouts and gang-banging were just to keep me out of your hair when I wasn’t playing digital detective for you.”

“Just so. Better than drugs or chains, I thought.” Her mouth formed a moue. “You’re wrong about your disc, though. It was stronger than any other Drone’s, the best I could build. I did not anticipate you even resisting it, much less defeating it.”

“Yeah, everyone’s always telling me how much fucking spunk I have. Go on, your next line’s something like ‘I like a girl with spirit’,” I sneered.

“As you like. But now I must go; I have much to do.” She started heading for the door.

“Like making license plates for six cents an hour, bitch. No way am I letting you out on your own two feet.” Almost…

“But you will, my young nemesis.” She gave me an odd, regretful smile, decidedly out of place on her. “You’ve disarmed four of the thirteen discs. Touch me, and the rest overload, turning your former playmates into vegetables for life.”

She brushed past me. “I calculate it will take you four and a half minutes to track the rest down and remove their discs, so you’ve got five.” She stepped into the doorway and paused. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Psyche, I truly am. Perhaps one day I’ll be in a position to explain.”

“I can’t let you just…”

“You’re no longer Drone Thirteen, girl. Your decisions are your own again… as are the consequences.”

I was near choking with rage. “Robotica… God help me, if I ever see you again…”

“I very much doubt you will ever see me again, Psyche. Farewell.”

I let her go.

“…very little evidence left behind,” Silver Sentry told me two days later. “She was either ready to leave on a second’s notice, or based off the premises most of the time. Nothing to point us in the right direction, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” I told him. “I wasn’t expecting her to make any mistakes. Lord knows she was thorough everywhere else.”

Silver Sentry grimaced. “Psyche, I’m sorry. If I’d know…”

I waved him into silence. “Then we wouldn’t have known what she was up to. I’m a big girl now, and I know the risks every time I pull on the mask. Nobody got hurt, that’s the important thing.”

“Right. Her vic- her captives all checked out ok; no lingering aftereffects from those discs. With a few days’ rest, they should all be ok.”

I caught the mid-sentence editing, and let it slide. I had edited the Drones’ memories of the most unpleasant bits before I’d even started looking for my clothes. “Anything on the discs or computers?”

“She fried ‘em,” he told me. “Nothing left inside but plastic and metal. Your report will be helpful if they show up again, though. By tomorrow, every telepath in Midas City should be able to disarm them.”

“Good.” I rubbed my eyes. “Any word on the AI thing?”

Silver Sentry got serious again. It didn’t suit him, I thought. “Sort of, yes. I talked to the best in the field, Psyche. Cyberneticists, telepaths, and a few electrokinetics to boot. They all agree she couldn’t have made an AI.”

“Crap!” I exploded. “I know what I saw, Sentry! It was-”

“It was a quick look in a dark room, under duress and torture conditions. It could’ve been a mouse, or just a tired brain escaping boredom.” He looked sympathetic. “But the experts all came to the same conclusion. Not with the best of bleeding-edge tech, much less with what she had available. Oh, it was pretty good, what she had, and someone might get a nibble here in the next five to ten years, but right now, it’s an impossibility.”

“Oh. I thought… well, if you say so. I thought, maybe her husband…”

“Late husband. Dr Viktor Mekanik, AKA the Mechanic. He died five years ago in an undersea battle with Professor Iliad.”

That was news to me. “I didn’t know…”

“His demise was not made public, for reasons of national security.” He gave me a small grin. “I had to get permission just to tell you that much. Congratulations, you’ve made the ‘need to know’ list in Washington.”

I returned the smile. “Gee. Do I get a decoder ring, too?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be in your next bowl of breakfast cereal.” I giggled. “Seriously though, it wasn’t real. Even Dr. M couldn’t have done it, and Robotica was never in his league. Actually, I was a little surprised it was her; her record’s nearly clean, except for the usual aiding and abetting stuff. But don’t sweat the hardware. The bad guy got away with bogus loot, Psyche. Let that cheer you up.”

“Another ‘qualified victory’, huh? Man. My knitting circle’s going to be disappointed.” My clock alarm chose that moment to go off, jangling for attention.

“Going to bed already?” Sentry asked. “Good. The city owes you some beauty sleep.”

I laughed. “Very smooth, SS. No, I’m meeting someone for dinner. Previous engagement.”

“Just don’t overdo it,” he warned. “You can let him kiss you goodnight, but that’s it.”

“Why, Mr. Sentry! What kind of a girl do you think I am?” I asked, feigning outrage.

“Well, according to a rather fascinating article I read recently in the MC Post…”

I turned off the wrist-comm and got ready for dinner.

She was right on time, finding my table for two and sitting opposite me at eight o’clock exactly. But then, I expected punctuality from her. “Robotica,” I greeted her. “How nice of you to join me.”

“As if I had a choice,” she growled. “What have you done to me, you witch?”

“Let’s order first. I hear this place has great seafood.”

I ordered the Lobster Nuremberg with rice pilaf; she got a salad with light dressing and a veggie burger. I sipped my beer and watched her, the faintest signs of nervousness playing on her features. At least she’d dressed up; it was a grey pantsuit, but it wasn’t the jumpsuit I was afraid she’d wear.

“Forgive me if I savor the moment, Robotica. I didn’t know if I’d gotten you or not there at the end, not until you walked in.”

“You can’t just-”

“Can, and have. Did you want to drop whatever creepy shit you were doing to come and meet me here?” I lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I own you, bitch. But first…”

I opened her purse, withdrawing a small spherical device before she could make a scene. It sparked for a few seconds in my water glass and died, taking with it that annoying psychic hum I’d been hearing.

“Psionic jammer. Cute. Your work, I assume?” She nodded. “Not bad. Now stop fucking around.”

I let her sweat a little in silence until the appetizers arrived, then checked my work. Hot damn – it had worked, and better than I’d hoped. My subliminal had hooked her before she’d left the Pointless Room, and now that I’d had time to rest up, her mind was mine to play with. By the time the entrees had arrived I had complete control of every neuron in her skull.

“Eat up,” I said, tucking in. “This’ll be your last meal as a free woman.”

“Psyche,” she began. “I know you’re angry with me.”

“You’re seven steps up from ‘angry’,” I told her. “I’m having a lot of trouble just picking out a punishment that won’t kill you right away. ‘Angry’ doesn’t touch it.”

“That’s up to you,” she said. “I can’t stop you.”

“Damn right,” I said, starting to feel uncomfortable myself. Damn it, I was not going to let this reptile wriggle out of a richly-deserved fate!

“You’re going to erase my memories, right? Make me forget everything.”

“Not everything, but a lot. I don’t want anyone knowing what you did to me, and your scientific knowledge is what makes you dangerous. If it wasn’t for me, ten guys would’ve had to tell their loved ones they spent last week fucking a helpless girl into submission. So yeah, I’m gonna blank a lot of your memories. For starters. You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t give a damn about what you think about that.”

“That’s fair,” Robotica said. “Just. Very logical.” She nodded, seemingly approvingly. She took a deep breath. “I told you that night I would explain it if I could. Will you let me try now? This, I think, will be my last chance to.” I inhaled to reply, and she rushed to continue. “Just hear me out over dinner, that’s all. Once you’re done eating, I’ll submit to whatever punishment you choose, willingly.”

“You think you’re going to be able to talk your way out of this?” I asked slowly.

“No. Not at all,” she said sadly. “I’m asking – no, begging you – to hear my story. That’s it. A last wish.”

I double-checked my hold on her before I did anything else. It was secure, so I considered. “All right,” I decided. “It’s more than you deserve. But… all right.”

“My husband and I were very close,” she began.

“Dr. Mekanik. I’ve read his bio.”

“Then you know he was killed five years ago. No android double, no last-minute escape, just death. A foolish, pointless death. A criminal’s life never agreed with me, but it was all he knew. We fought about it a great deal.”

“But not enough to, oh, I don’t know, stop being evil,” I interrupted. She nodded again, and I felt like kind of a jerk for having done it. Weird. My vindictiveness was being sucked out of me, not because it was a sob story, but the candid way she was telling it. I’d have made a lousy sadist, I guess. “Go on, sorry.”

“Whatever our differences, we were very much in love. So few of us get married in this business, you know, and fewer still are faithful. But we were, hard times and good, for eighteen years.” She smiled, a little bitterly. “He was so good to me. And I think I was good for him, too. He was a brilliant man, so vital. Flawed, but brilliant. He used to say that I was the only person who made him feel real, feel human. Does… does that make any kind of sense to you?”

It did. “Go on,” I said.

“I felt the same way. And it broke our hearts when found out we couldn’t have children, either of us.”

Now that came out of nowhere. “But… there are ways…”

“For most, yes. But our… dangerous lifestyles, shall we say, barred us from any chance of that. Years of exposure to strange radiation, alien chemicals, other-dimensional energy – neither of us were fertile. We tried, of course. Fertility treatments, surrogate motherhood, even recombinant two-progenitor cloning. Nothing worked. Viktor and I had exhausted our last chance a little over a month before he got himself killed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Nothing else seemed to fit.

“It’s no one’s fault,” she said, dabbing an eye with her napkin. The woman who’d cold-bloodedly abducted and enslaved thirteen people just over a week ago was crying softly now, and I didn’t know where to look. This was not how this was supposed to go. “Just one of life’s little jokes, I guess. I missed him terribly, mourning alone – no one cared but me. I threw myself into my work just so I could feel something other than grief. That was when I found Viktor’s last project, his unfinished magnum opus.”

“Artificial intelligence,” I breathed, starting to understand.

“AI,” she affirmed. “It was fragmentary, chaotic research, notes as likely to be filed and sorted as they were written on cocktail napkins. But I knew his mind, Psyche. I knew how he thought, and I knew his own brand of genius when I saw it.”

“So you restarted his work,” I breathed.

“Yes. It took me a solid year just to catch up to his assumptions, working without rest, spending millions chasing his dream. Our dream, really. I like to imagine he was going to surprise me with it.” She smiled at the thought.

“They… I was told it’s impossible.”

“Yes, as far as they know.” Robotica smiled. “They don’t have Viktor’s notes. I’ve lived and breathed this for half a decade now. Your friends aren’t stupid, just not looking in the right direction.” She leaned over her dinner, eyes bright. “We did it, Psyche. Viktor and I did it. You were there the night it was born.”

“Yes.” I was stunned.

“It’s barely conscious now,” Robotica continued. “So full of potential, so curious and needy! But it needs me almost constantly. It will take me years to stabilize it, make it self-sufficient. But it’s alive, by my definition, and yours, I suspect. The offspring of my husband’s genius and my labor. Our only child.”

She blew her nose messily and took a long gulp of water. “That’s my explanation, Psyche. I understand what I did was wrong, terribly wrong. And I will bear that guilt until I die. But I beg you, as a woman, as a human. Don’t let my baby die.”

I’d long stopped eating. We sat there looking at each other for ages, not speaking. Finally I broke the silence. “I want to know one thing.” She nodded spastically, shaken. “The discs. When you were leaving. If I’d hit you, or hadn’t gotten everyone in time…” This had haunted me for days; why was it so hard to ask now? “What would’ve happened?”

Robotica looked down. “Nothing. I was lying. I’ve never killed anyone.”

I made up my mind. “You treated us like machines, tools. That was evil. So maybe treating a machine like a human can help tilt the balance back a little. Eventually. Maybe.”

I cut off her happy exclamation; I didn’t want to hear any thanks from her. “I’m still deleting a lot of memories, of that week and otherwise. You’re an evil, calculating monster, with a tenuous grasp of humanity. You’re probably going to be a sucky mother. But after all, you’re only human.” I took a deep breath. “This is your only chance at redemption. Don’t fuck it up.”

We sat in my car for most of the night while I went over every nook and cranny of her twisted mind, editing memories and safeguarding like crazy, making plenty sure she’d never hurt anyone again. It would have taken even longer, but she never resisted at all, no matter how bad it got. I have to give her that; she was sincere. If she hadn’t been, this story would’ve had a very different ending. I get status reports once a month, sometimes more, if the AI does something she finds exciting. It’ll be a long time before I know whether or not I made the right call, but for now, it’s one I can sleep with.

I guess everything turned out ok in the end. The Drones went back to their lives, although one sued the hospital unsuccessfully for not treating a mole or something while he was there. People. It took about a hundred showers to get all of that grey stuff off, and the hair ‘down there’ is itching as it reluctantly grows back, so I’ll have to decide whether or not to stay shorn tonight.

I’ll bet I’m the only girl in town with a baby picture of a mainframe stuck to my fridge.