The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Waves of aversion rolled off of Penelope like fog off a block of dry ice, keeping everyone away from her as she pounded the tar out of Pikachu on the game-demo at Wal-Mart.

“Impressive.” someone said. She whirled, about to bite the head off of whoever it was, but stopped short. The first thing she saw was the turban—a big, huge Johnny Carson swami-turban. Below that was a face like the cartoon character on a can of devilled ham, and below that, a slim body dressed in eye-stabbingly bright neon colors. What she felt, though, was a power that made her feel like a candle compared to a star. She launched herself straight up, shielding herself from the roof with a telekinetic barrier, then dashed with all the speed she could muster in the direction of the hotel.

Her opponent appeared in front of her, as calm and certain as Pepe le Pew, and batted her aside. She tumbled, managing to cushion her impact just enough that she only had the wind knocked out of her instead of going “splat” on the pavement. How had she not seen this coming? Usually, her wild precognitive talent showed her what was most likely to happen whether she wanted it to or not.

Her enemy approached while she still lay prone on the ground, trying to make her muscles work. She was lifted from her crater by telekinetic fingers as cold as the shield she’d tried to build around herself. She reached out for the nearest car, but suddenly found her own telekinetic abilities blocked. Her foe shrugged off every painful memory Penelope could throw at him. Then, she felt him starting to choke off her consciousness. She managed to send out one primal, terrified psychic scream before...

“Shit!” Victor shouted. Penelope’s signal had sliced through the shields and Victor’s own defenses like a knife made of pure, animal terror and a single word.

DADDY!!

“Shit shit shit shit FUCK!” he swore.

I’m sorry, Victor. Zaid’s voice said when he emerged from the hotel. I wasn’t able to reach them in time.

Where are they going? Victor asked, wrinkling his nose as he passed an embarrassed-looking pedestrian. It seemed as though every unshielded mind in the county had crapped their britches from the terror in Penelope’s sending, and every father was trying desperately to comfort his crying children.

I don’t know. I can see Penelope getting into his car, but I can’t sense her thoughts. I can feel the enemy, too. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide himself.

Then he’s not. Victor said. Observe only, do not, repeat, DO NOT engage.

Understood. Zaid responded. Pedestrians made way for him as he stormed down the sidewalk. He perceived a hole in the surrounding mental static, which left a familiar metallic whang in the back of his mouth, just like the enemy base. He looked in that direction out of the corner of his eye, and found that it was coming from a man in khakis and mirrored aviator shades. Victor’s fists clenched, and the bench the man was sitting on burst into flame.

The General wasn’t happy in the slightest. “Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at, Agent 76667?” he demanded, gesturing to the blank-faced girl standing at the agent’s side.

“Insuring the optimum outcome.” the agent replied cryptically. The General touched a button on his wristwatch. 76667 screamed and fell to the floor in agony, and expression returned to the girl’s face. The General released the button, letting 76667 catch his breath. Penelope looked around in confusion and tried to run. The agent siezed her will again, bringing her back to his side.

“Fit her with an inhibitor and stick her in one of the empty holding cells.” the General said. “I need you out there watching for the attack that, thanks to you, is now inevitable, not here holding down the off-button on some little girl’s mind.”

“Sure.” the agent responded impudently. He and his puppet walked out.

When this is over, we may have to reevaluate the length of your leash, “Seven Devil Seven.” the General thought to himself, secure in the knowledge that the psi-blocker he wore protected his privacy.

He opened the yellow envelope into which the agent had had the girl place her personal effects. Twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents in paper money and coins, a pocket knife the General wouldn’t have used to clean dirt out from under his nails much less for cutting anything, several balls of paper that had been washed in the pockets, and a locket.

Half a galaxy away, the alien being known to Earthlings as “Zak” because it was the only syllable of his name that they could pronounce, was loading provisions into a retired and restored Constellation-class cutter. The only weapons on the ship were those legally allowed for civilian use, and for the first time in his life, Zak actually regretted that.

“We’re going in that thing?” asked a deep, powerful voice from nearby.

“Greetings, Pahs’ktab.” Zak said, turning from his task and bowing as best he could in the load-lifter to the I!kajij warrior. Half again Zak’s height, not counting the crown of quills that formed a highly-arched widow’s peak above his ridged forehead, the I!kajij looked something like a fusion between a Saiyan and a Klingon with a little Crite mixed in for spice. His body armor creaked and rattled as he moved, and he gave off a distinctive smell of oiled leather and polished metal. His claws were retracted—hidden now behind the bony sheaths in his fingertips—to show he bore Zak no ill will, and his leathery, prehensile tail was wrapped around his waistline like a belt, the poison spur at its tip likewise sheathed. “Who are your friends?”

“My littermates.” Pahs’ktab replied. “First is my brother Pahs’af,” he gestured to a male who stood as tall as Pahs’ktab but whose quill-line wasn’t as highly arched, “my other brother Pahs’ktool,” he gestured to the other male in the group, slightly shorter than Pahs’ktab and Pahs’af, and with quills that formed a spiky frill around his otherwise bald head, something like a ceratopsian dinosaur of Earth, “and last but not least, our sister Pahs’nyi.” The sole female in the litter stepped forward, every bit as tall as Pahs’ktab, looking down at Zak with an expression that said she was evaluating Zak as a fighter. Her four breasts, one large pair at the top and a smaller pair below, strained against the tight leather and metal battle gear she wore. Females among the I!kajij were, if anything, more dangerous than males. The strength difference between the genders was negligible, but females were faster, often smarter, and as ferocious as a Af’pelese fangmonger with a nest full of hatchlings. Unlike her brothers, Pahs’nyi’s quill-line was almost straight at the top of her forehead, curving down at the sides.

“Greetings, mind-walker.” Pahs’nyi said. “How soon is the battle?”

“Soon.” Zak replied. “I only hope we don’t miss it.”

“Then let us not dally.” Pahs’nyi responded, picking up two large crates and carrying them into the ship, one on each shoulder. The other I!kajij likewise picked up crates. Zak floated the rest in with his mind, though technically he wasn’t supposed to. Bureaucrats tended to get snippy about not using proper loading equipment. The load-lifter’s legs whirred as he walked it into the ship’s hold, and he pressed the button to close the cargo doors with a light mental push. He stowed the lifter and climbed out, running to catch up with the I!kajij. He took the command chair, and the I!kajij distributed themselves around to the other unoccupied stations.

At the communications station sat Ishali, a female from a humanoid species that was in high demand on worlds that still allowed slavery, despite their deceptive strength and fighting prowess, since their healing abilities made them immune to sexually-transmitted diseases. Her bright-red skin was striped with white on her back, the backs of her arms and the outsides of her thighs, she had a white, mask-like marking across her eyes, and she had a well-groomed white mane that was clipped in what humans would call a pixie cut.

While Ishali transmitted the request for departure clearance to the spaceport authority, Mirisynt powered up the ship’s sytems. A pitiful thing, Mirisynt was a Krei’i, a petite humanoid with short, blue hair and hands with four nimble fingers—actually, three fingers and an opposable thumb. She’d been taken from her homeworld by activists as evidence against the slave-traders occupying it. Her race had been in its “bronze age” when the traders had come, and since then, they had been artificially bred for docility and submissiveness. Zak had picked her up shortly after his own liberation from Earth. The poor girl had been living on the streets, begging passers-by to be her master. She learned tasks quickly, and knew the difference between slave and free-being, but had trouble thinking of herself as the latter. Her mind was fragile enough that Zak was afraid to try psychic psychotherapy, but with a gentle mind-brush to let her know he wasn’t angry with her, he was able to teach her not to cringe when he had to touch her.

“I!kajij. Interesting.” said Jahlrem, a long, slender fellow who could put his chin atop the heads of the tallest of the I!kajij if it weren’t for the quills. He was hairless, with a bony frill protecting his enlarged braincase. Jahlrem was stronger psychically than Zak, but required an artificial exoskeletal support to function in what most of the galaxy considered “normal” gravity, since his race had been forced to leave its homeworld generations before they were ready, and their homeships lacked artificial gravity. He moved his willowy frame slowly, making a welcoming gesture to the I!kajij from his seat at ops. “I have not met one of your kind in person before. Is it true that you are able to conceal your minds from psychics?”

“Can’t you tell, mind-walker?” Pahs’nyi asked.

“My kind make it a point not to probe without permission, ma’am.” Jahlrem said. “It is...rude.”

“By all means, try.” Pahs’tool said. “With me.” Jahlrem nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

“Fascinating.” he whispered. “It’s almost as if you weren’t there.”

“And with any luck, our enemy won’t be able to detect them, either.” Zak said.

“Permission from tower to depart.” Ishali said. Zak nodded, and gave Mirisynt the command to activate VTOL engines.

By hacking directly into Google’s satellite, Zebulon had managed to get an uncensored picture of the base from the sky, a blown-up version of which was hanging in a communal dining room on the top floor, which had been converted into a sort of war room. Zaid was elaborating on the aerial view with features he’d seen from the ground. Infrared goggles provided by Zebulon had revealed the location of the big main generators and the smaller back-up generators. Psychic probing was impossible due to the inhibitor-shield, and the base was on lock-down, so Victor’s “mind-riding” trick wouldn’t work.

Liz came out of Victor’s room, rubbing her eyes. Is Kim still asleep? he asked mentally. Liz nodded, hitching Victor’s oversized T-shirt back up her shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

“How soon do you think we’ll be ready to move?” Victor asked.

“Two weeks.” Inet said, though Victor had directed the question to Arnold.

“Zeb can have the EMP generator ready by tomorrow, and we’ve already got all the back-up we’re going to get.” Arnold said. “The longer we wait, the more danger Penelope’s in.”

“We must wait.” Inet said firmly.

“Can two weeks of training really make that much of a difference?” Arnold asked.

“It can, it will, and there are other reasons to wait.” Inet said.

“Such as?” Arnold asked.

“Arnold, I understand that it’s frustrating operating on vague hints and innuendo, but I’ve been in Inet’s mind.” Victor said. “She’s not a Vorlon. If she’s being vague, there’s a reason.”

“Vorlon?” Zeb asked.

“Babylon 5.” Victor responded. When Zebulon looked no more enlightened, Victor went on. “It’s a science-fiction series from several years back. The Vorlons were an ancient race with advanced technology at least a million years beyond us.”

“Oh.” Zeb responded.

“Come on, Arnold, it’s time to get back to training.” Victor said.

“What’s the lesson today?” Arnold asked.

“Long-distance psychokinesis.” Victor responded. “Rooftop, five minutes.”

“Right.” Arnold responded. Going to the roof meant taking the private elevator down to the ground floor, reentering through the lobby, and taking the public elevator up, so there was no time to waste. As the others who would be participating in the class filed past him, Victor allowed his gaze to wander to the six-inch pane of bulletproof glass at the side of the dining room. In that direction lay his enemy. Loose objects nearby rattled in their places as Victor’s eyes narrowed. Inet put her hand on his shoulder, and he folded her into his arms, inhaling her scent and letting her soft warmth calm him. Kim came out of Victor’s room, her bra visible as she pulled a shirt on over her head. She sent a mental brush of affection to calm Victor further before heading for the elevator. Victor went to the stairwell, a reinforced one with a camouflaged exit in the parking garage that could only be opened by a telekinetic. He leapt the railing and plummeted down the center, slowing his descent near the bottom with his powers. Extending his senses out beyond the entrance, he made sure the garage was empty of observers before manipulating the switch inside the door.

The journey was uneventful—there wasn’t a hostile or shielded mind for miles. Considering his status and situation, he found that unusual. Had his enemies recalled their forces to mount a defense against his coming? And what of Penelope? He didn’t like leaving her to her fate, but Inet seemed confident on that front. Victor couldn’t help worrying, though.

He arrived on the roof, his students arrayed around the outer ledge, waiting for him to teach them what he’d applied on the fly when Mr. Andersen was being chased by black ops agents.

I guess they call them “black” ops for a reason. he thought to himself. Just like black magic. He took a seat on the brick rim of a potted pecan tree. Penelope had better be all right when I get there.

Huddled in the dark and cold, Penelope shivered when she wasn’t crying. After implanting the inhibitor in the back of her neck, her captors had pumped her stomach, stripped her naked, subjected her to a full cavity search, allowed the operative called Seven Devil Seven to invade her mind yet again, and lowered her, still naked, into a dank, dark, smelly cell inset in the floor. The whole thing was one continuous panel, seamless and unyielding. There was a trough at one end for use as a toilet, whose smell told her that sanitizing it wasn’t one of the base’s highest priorities. She wasn’t tall, even for her age, but the only place she could straighten up was the shaft in the center, and the one time she tried, she was subjected to a jolt of electricity from the metal floor.

The worst part was, Seven Devil Seven’s last foray into her mind had not only exposed all of her secrets, but left her without pretense. She couldn’t lie, even to herself. Forced to face reality, denied even the refuge of her own illusions, she wept, shivered and reflected. There wasn’t much else to do. Occasionally, the lid would be opened and a loaf of something would be dropped down. It wasn’t very big, almost Twinkie-sized, but it was food. It wasn’t bread as she knew it. She’d read about “nutrient loaves” being given to prisoners in some facilities when there was a lock-down in effect. She thought maybe this was what they meant—all the nutrients a body needed in a package that looked the same going in as it did coming out. It probably tasted the same, too, though Penelope admitted she’d never had the urge to take a bite of excrement. When the loaf was gone, the guard at the top opened the lid on a water bottle and poured it down on top of her. Penelope tried to get it to go in her mouth, but mostly ended up coughing and sputtering, wet and miserable, trying to lick the moisture from her face.

The feedings and drenchings were the only marker she had for time. She counted six before she got the hang of catching the water, and on the seventh, they hauled her out of the hole, hosed her down and interrogated her in a dark room where she was surrounded by spotlights to prevent her from seeing the face of her interrogator. After what she guessed was a week in total darkness except for her feedings, the lights hurt.

Then she was returned to her hole-in-the-floor cell, or one just like it. If it was her original cell, they’d drained the toilet trough while she was away. The inhibitor didn’t let her concentrate hard enough to formulate anything resembling a workable escape plan, so mostly she fantasized. She fantasized about Victor riding in on a white speeder-bike, pulling her out of this hole and giving her a nice, hot bath before taking her to Chuck E. Cheese’s. She fantasized about a warm, soft bed with a thick down comforter and a velour body-pillow, the crimson glow from a space-heater illuminating Victor’s face as he set a tray of peanut butter crackers and hot chocolate where she could reach it.

She fantasized about a computer the size of the Empire State Building with all modern parts and an operating system she had written herself, and using it to hack the military computers of every nuclear-capable nation on Earth, launching the world’s entire nuclear arsenal and directing the missiles to this base where she had been imprisoned, bombing it repeatedly and mercilessly until Earth’s mantle was exposed and the crater filled with molten rock from below.

Inet had nodded off during the drive. Lights in the sky awoke her. “Oh, they’re here.” she said, yawning and stretching. Victor frowned slightly; he had been enjoying the gentle pressure of her head on his shoulder. “Slow down and pull in at the dirt road there.” she said, pointing. Victor complied, and the other vehicles followed. He pulled to a stop in front of a starship that had that distinctive, efficient military look, from which several illuminated ramps lowered, but only one was passenger-size.

The first being to emerge was Zak, dressed in some kind of armor made out of overlapping plates, with a device on the back that reminded Victor of Archangel with his metallic wings retracted. From shoulder to opposing hip and crossing each other were two belts in which energy units for the weapons he carried were stored. Victor stopped the engine and got out of the truck. Zak put his metal-clad arms around him in an embrace.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Andersen.” the alien said.

“Thanks.” Victor replied. “Shall we go make the ones responsible sorry as well?”

“You’re not going in those, are you?” Zak asked, raising one hairless eyebrow at the assortment of vehicles before him. Something like a more compact (and more heavily armed) version of the APC from Aliens descended from each of the ship’s ramps and parked in front of the Earth vehicles. A female alien with white-striped red skin emerged in a mechanical armature like the loader Ripley used in her fight against the Alien queen, with some very military modifications noticeable because the loader was construction-industry neon yellow, while the mods and add-ons were either gunmetal blue-black or camo-patterned.

“The struggle for freedom is universal.” said a willowy alien in an exoskeletal frame that seemed to be necessary just to walk. The alien moved slowly, as if haste would snap his bones like toothpicks. “I am called Jahlrem, and my people are called the Wanderers in many languages.” Zak finished the introductions, and the newly-enlarged party took off. Zeb, Inet and Mirisynt flew the cutter, with a team of six-armed hermaphrodite Ukorim in engineering. Victor found it somewhat disconcerting that he couldn’t contact Inet telepathically, but figured psi-shielding was probably for the best. Before liftoff, Inet had said something even more disconcerting:

“Sometimes the only way to win is to give your opponent what he wants.”

Victor was still puzzling that out when the armored transports, with the cutter above as aerial support, arrived at the enemy base.

“More powerful than a locomotive, and about half as subtle.” Seven Devil Seven muttered to himself as the rescue party arrived, parking an alien battle-wagon in the brush north, south, east and west of the base, the spaceship taking up high station above. “Now, let’s see how smart you are, Victor Phillips.”

Penelope’s skin was still damp from her hosing as she was dragged into a carpeted office. “Why is she naked?” an old man in a general’s uniform demanded. She remembered him from a brief moment of awareness before being processed and imprisoned. Her psychic captor had been writhing in pain, a pain she had briefly shared before contact was severed entirely. Then this man had touched a button on his watch, releasing him from his punishment so he could recapture her.

“Sir, we had to make absolutely sure she didn’t have any weapons.” said one of the soldiers near the front of the formation—for her escort consisted of twenty-four burly soldiers who had surrounded her on all sides until she was brought before the general. The man glared at the speaker, glanced down, and glared even more icily at his subordinate. Penelope shivered as she too noticed the erection the soldier was sporting.

“Your sidearm, soldier.” the general said in a quiet voice that was far more frightening than if he’d shouted at the top of his lungs. The soldier complied, handing over a Sig-Sauer which was promptly turned on its former owner. The soldier flopped to the floor with a bullet hole between his eyes. “Sick bastard.” the general grumbled, tossing the handgun into the garbage. “Get that trash out of here.” The remaining twenty-three soldiers snapped to and dragged the cadaver out of the office. Penelope watched warily as the general opened a cabinet and withdrew a spare uniform, the shirt of which he unbuttoned and threw to the corner where she had curled up in an attempt to conceal herself.

“Thanks.” she said quietly, putting the garment on.

“There are things I do not feel obliged to tolerate, and pedophilia is high on that list.” the general said. “Fortunately, this is a PD outfit. My superiors don’t ask, and I don’t tell.”

“PD?” Penelope asked.

“Plausible Deniability, child.” the general said. “Despite your dangerous capabilities, you are still a child...which, along with one other factor, complicates things for me.”

“What other factor?” Penelope asked. The general tossed two objects to the floor where Penelope knelt. One was her locket, the other a pocketwatch. This she opened cautiously, and found a picture of a much younger man in a lieutenant’s uniform standing next to a beautiful woman in her twenties and a preteen girl who was shockingly familiar. “Mama?” she whispered.

“I was assigned to a duty so top-secret that my death had to be faked.” the general said. “In exchange for the ability to ever see them again, I was given the opportunity to protect my family against a threat so terrifying that its very existence was classified to prevent throwing the populace into a panic.”

“Aliens or psychics?” Penelope asked.

“Both, and more.” the general responded. “We use technology gleaned from alien ships that have crashed or been shot down for the majority of our work.”

“What about Mr. Andersen?” Penelope demanded, tears leaking down her cheeks. “Was he guilty by association?”

“THAT operation was carried out in direct violation of my orders.” the general said. “As was your abduction. It didn’t take a genius to know it would force his hand before we were ready.”

“Then why hasn’t he shown up yet?” Penelope asked quietly.

“He has.” the general said. “He and his cohorts have surrounded this base. The alien whose escape started this whole mess is with him.”

“Zak?” Penelope whispered.

“How stereotypical.” the general muttered. An explosion rattled the windows, and the power went off. “He’s made his move.” The power came back on briefly, and then went off again.

Penelope noticed that she could sense outside minds again. She closed her eyes and concentrated on healing. Her body popped the inhibitor out like a gumball from a plastic tube.

“Oh, no!” the general exclaimed.

“Are you going to kill me now, Grandpa?”

“No.” the general said. “For two reasons. The first, is that your friend, Mr. Phillips, would do far worse to me.”

“And the second?” Penelope prompted when he didn’t continue. The general remained silent.

Denied the use of their nonprojectile weapons by the EMP that had been set off after the backup generators had come online, the base’s first-wave defenders had to make do with conventional ordnance—which was proving utterly ineffective against the attackers. Rocket-propelled grenades curved in midair to return to their launchers, bullets bounced off of invisible barriers, and soldiers with bayonets looked like so many toys being played with by invisible—and rather mean—giants.

The second wave of the defense consisted of telekinetics and telepaths, but seemingly no one who had both gifts at once. Zak, leading the north team, was easily able to take care of each with the opposite gift. Sparse though it was, the third wave, consisting of those operatives with both telepathic and telekinetic abilities, gave the besiegers the most trouble.

What’s the deal? These guys have all the strategic sense of a fair-minded video game designer! Victor sent from the eastern front.

I agree. Zak responded. I don’t like it.

Uh-oh, here comes the level boss! interjected Arnold. Victor’s first impression of Seven Devil Seven was of Numberman.EXE in human guise. His second, better-informed impression, was of a foe to be reckoned with as he batted aside the eastern team without so much as a raised eyebrow.

VIC! Zak sent. Wrapping himself in a telekinetic field, Victor managed to cushion his fall.

Victor Phillips, your end is at hand. boomed a powerful telepathic voice that gave even Zak a splitting headache. Unobserved, the I!kajij slipped into the base, searching for anyone in need of rescuing.

“Would you look at that?” the general snapped. Penelope looked, carefully. All she saw were soldiers shooting at people she knew. She tried reaching out for Victor, but Seven Devil Seven punished her from afar each time.

“What exactly am I looking at?” she asked.

“Suicide.” the general responded. “Seven Devil Seven must have gotten into the minds of the soldiers after the EMP went off.”

“So he’s out of control now?” Penelope asked.

“My control unit’s fried, yes, but the protein-based robots holding his powers down to 19.5 on the twenty-scale are still working.”

“How do you know?”

“He hasn’t transcended his physical body.” the general responded. “Once a psi evolves to P20, the physical body is destroyed and the mind takes off to continue its development, unfettered by the needs of a body and immune to any technology we have access to here.”

That must be it! Penelope realized.

Victor felt something snap as he bounced off the remains of one of the APCs. It was hard to breathe. Seven Devil Seven had neutralized the others, but had avoided killing them or, in the case of the women pregnant with his children, inflicting any abdominal injuries. Victor wondered if his foe was trying to prevent him from accessing that reservoir of power that showed up when he became enraged—not that it would have mattered anyway. An army of P10s, as the cocky bastard had pointed out, was not equal to a P11, much less a P19. Seven Devil Seven had him on the ropes, was dampening both his telekinetic and telepathic abilities. He grabbed him by the throat, holding him up over that deformed head like Darth Vader in the beginning of the fourth movie.

“Little fool.” the psi cursed. “I’m about to finish you off, and then it’ll be business as usual for me—annihilating anyone and anything that threatens my masters! And I think I’ll start with your baby girl, Penny!”

“No...you...won’t!” Victor croaked. He could feel some sort of protein-based machines at work in the fiend’s body, holding his powers down, but not far enough. Or was it? His eyes widened as Inet’s warning came back to him.

“Sometimes the only way to win is to give your opponent what he wants.”

Victor felt his powers being released just enough, and he struck—annihilating the protein nanites. The fiend dropped him, leaving him gasping for breath. He felt the buildup of psychic energy in Seven Devil Seven and knew he couldn’t hope to contain it, but if he didn’t do something fast, the maniac was going to wipe out everyone and everything within a five-mile radius. Containing it being out of the question, he decided to settle for funneling it, creating a cup-shaped field around Seven Devil Seven and hoping the energy followed the path of least resistance instead of ripping through his meager barrier.

Seven Devil Seven laughed like a parent watching his child trying to put a square block in a triangular hole, and levitated himself into the air—flying higher and higher until he went off like a nuke.

“We’re...alive.” Kim mumbled nearby.

“Kim, are you okay?”

“Yes, Master.” she said with a smile. “And so’s our daughter.”

“I guess we survived this level.”

“Ready for Level Two?” Kim asked.

“I think I’m going to let my thumbs rest during the cutscene first.” he responded. His body was already mending the worst of his injuries. He’d be ready to go again in a few minutes.

Pahs’nyi growled when she reached the basement. Dozens of psis lay hooked up to electronic devices. Their eyes showed no signs of intelligence. “What the pit?” she asked.

“This is where they plug in the ones too independent to work for them willingly, but too valuable to waste.” Pahs’af offered. “Notice they all have surgical scars in the same place? Probably the portion of the Earther brain responsible for free will.” Pahs’nyi growled even more viciously, and withdrew an incendiary charge from the heel of her boot.

“May you find in the next world what eluded you in this one, O victims of stupidity.” she whispered as she set the timer and placed the charge in a central place. She and her brother left quickly—the charges were potent.

They met only token resistance inside the base—most of the forces had been devoted to defending the base against the obvious threat, leaving the infiltrators relatively free to do as they wished.

“So, you’ve come at last.” said a man in military uniform when they came to an office. “Well, come on, get it over with, why don’t you?”

“Your syntax leaves something to be desired, but as you wish.” Pahs’nyi said, drawing her belt knife.

“Wait!” said a small girl in a uniform shirt, her bare legs sticking out the bottom. “Don’t kill him!”

“Why not?” Pahs’af asked. “He has much to answer for, does he not?”

“He’s got a lot to make up for, true, but he can do it better alive than dead!” the girl protested.

“Penelope...” the military man said. The girl gestured and the window shattered. The girl floated out the window with the man, much to his discomfiture.

“Well, that was fun.” Pahs’nyi said, and the base shook from the charge’s detonation.

“Maybe we should have stayed with Pahs’ktab.” Pahs’af remarked.

“My ears are tingling.” Pahs’ktab said from the doorway. His littermates smiled as they beheld seventeen beings of varying races arrayed around him. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

“Penelope!” Victor called as the girl floated toward him, wearing nothing but a uniform shirt. She drifted into his arms, squeezing him tightly. There were tears in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I was scared, and lonely, and that weirdo messed with my head so I couldn’t even lie to myself, and...and...” She gave herself up to sobbing. Victor probed her mind and found the blocks. He also found her recent memories, which surprised him to no end. She continued to cry even after the blocks were released.

“We must leave!” called one of the I!kajij, running toward the perimeter. “The charges we’ve set will collapse the underground portions of the base!”

“How far away do we need to get?” Victor asked.

“Far.” Pahs’ktab said. Inet and Zebulon swooped low with the cutter, and fighters clambered aboard as best they could. They left the machinery behind, worried most about saving lives. Victor jumped aboard with Penelope and the general, followed closely by the I!kajij.

“So, what do you plan on doing with me now, Phillips?” the general asked.

“Oh, don’t worry your wrinkly little head about it, pops, I’m sure I can think of something before we land.” Victor responded.

EPILOGUE

Moonlight silvered the dew that coated nearly everything on the roof of the Zak Foundation building. The whine of an engine could be heard, but nothing was seen other than the steam of evaporating dew until a door opened seemingly in the middle of the air. Three figures descended the ramp. The first, with a duffel-bag slung over his shoulder, was Penelope’s grandfather. Behind him, walking arm-in-arm, were Zak and a largely pregnant Mirisynt.

“Have a nice trip?” Victor asked, emerging from the shade of a potted oak.

“’Nice’ doesn’t begin to describe it.” the former general said. His time off-planet had erased the belligerence (and twenty years, give or take) from his face. “Enlightening, depressing, amazing, illuminating, awe-inspiring...”

“Where’s the ‘depressing’ come in?” Victor asked.

“Mostly when I think of how many years I wasted.” the man responded.

“There’s time yet. Go get some rest. Penelope can give you the tour in the morning.” The former general nodded. Victor watched him leave, then smiled at the two extraterrestrials. “Somebody’s been busy.” he remarked. Mirisynt blushed fetchingly.

“What about you?” Zak asked wryly.

“I have a few irons in the fire, though I admit the Foundation’s been eating up a lot of my time.” Victor responded.

“And how’s that going?”

“It’s coming along quicker than I expected. You staying long?”

“Oh, yes. By the time I’m finished installing some of the more complex equipment, Mirisynt will be too far along to risk a hyperspace jump.” Zak responded. He touched a stud on his belt, and the ramp closed, rendering the shuttle invisible once more.

“Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that, my friend.” Victor said, putting his arm over Zak’s shoulder. “Let’s get you two in out of the night air.”