The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Inglorious 2

Part Two

The ship had been worse off than she’d thought, Wilson paused near one of the two giant rents in the hull that she’d found. How it had gotten to the surface in one piece was amazing to her; probably best she’d left the landing to the computer because, while she considered herself very good at a lot of things, sitting in prison had done nothing to hone her flying skills.

She crouched lower and tensed at a sound, watching silently as two figures walked clear of the Rättvisan out into the rocky clearing. They were naked and carried electronics of some sort, salvaged from the ship. One had been a pilot, and another she only recognized as one of the Sundara prisoners; former prisoners, she reminded herself—and, if she got caught, she would be joining them. Turning, she slipped into the large rip in the ship’s hull to acquire what she needed. There were rows upon rows of glass globes of various sizes, and she started pulling them from the boards and placing them in the bundled leather flight jacket she’d picked up, which had been discarded by one of the pilots. Slightly to her left, a shipping tote caught her eye and she moved to it. It was unlocked, and so, as the lid came off easily, she was amazed and elated at what she saw. The tote contained contraband, probably being smuggled by the two pilots. Naughty, naughty Wilson smiled, placing two cartons of cigarettes in the coat. Then she stopped cold; she couldn’t believe it, but there they were: two bottles of beer, porter no less, and some other assorted liquors. “Oh you fucking awesome miserable cunt flygirls!” she gasped under a breath.

Hefting one of the porters to the light, she saw it was amazing, almost calling to her as the deep caramel liquid inside sparkled before her eyes.

There was no opener, but this was no girl’s camp, she knew, so she rapped the bottle downward on a protruding edge, knocking off the cap and barely chipping the glass. A long, long tug at the warm porter was like a Godly nectar, slightly sweet, with a hoppiness that was just bitter enough, and that wonderful porter smokiness that was like a campfire late at night, and the sweet taste of a lover’s kiss on the night air all wrapped in one. As she savored the taste, the other wonderful effect began to make itself known, the voice began to fade. On a previous escape attempt, she had found a bottle, and added it to her supplies, and in drinking it found that as the alcohol hit her system the altered chemistry muted the voice, killed the compulsions and let her breathe. It wouldn’t last long, but she would worry about later . . . later.

Something was happening outside, she could hear, so she made her way quietly to the broken outer hull of the crippled ship to see. There were now at least thirty more Sundara out there, only these were the fully converted drones, she could see, from several races and all sporting the slim bodysuit that seemed more grown on them than worn, and was uniform for all Sundara, and in addition to the usual tools, each carried an ... egg. She had seen them in action before, when she had first been introduced to the light, and, subsequently, the voice, but the sight of the things brought it all back, in horror and in fascination as the parts of her the voice had seduced to its cause were drawn in by the sight.

Outside, the former passengers and crew had lined up naked next to five seats taken from the ship. Five of the Sundara prisoners moved to sit down and then were still, staring blankly ahead. The newly arrived Sundara placed an egg at the feet of each and stood back.

Wilson had known the prisoners weren’t fully converted Sundara; she didn’t know exactly how she knew, but she knew. It was something that came with the voice, she guessed. She watched, transfixed, as the egg, about a half-meter in diameter and a mossy green, opened, springing forth the slightly glowing finger-like tendrils which began to twine around the legs and arms of the seated woman. Slowly, a translucent gray branchlike arm reached upward to her face and attached, covering her eyes.

Wilson braced for what came next as the handlike appendage on the woman’s face began to glow and pulse. Another strand, like a heavy, gray rope rose up, with a sort of stinger at its tip; tipping over like the head of a snake, it aimed for the woman’s bare sex and struck, burying itself within.

The woman bucked and shook, as if under electric shock. A bulge moved along the tentacle toward the woman’s body. Wilson knew the parasite had made contact with the spinal cord, and was pulling the rest of itself inside. The woman was being joined, being made a full Sundara. In each of the five chairs, a new Sundara was being created. They would, Wilson knew, remember their former selves, with all of their memories, but with new purpose, and their knowledge would belong to the whole as they shared it with their fellow hosts.

Wilson barely realized she had made a sound until a Sundara turned from the processing to look straight toward her. “Damn!” Wilson breathed, shaking herself clear and pulling back into the ship’s hull.

The Sundara advanced into the opening slowly, confidently, holding one of the eggs in front of her. ‘She feels you,’ the voice sounded in Wilson’s brain. ‘She knows you’re of the chosen ones. Just give in; it will feel wonderful when you are joined.’

The dart gun made a soft pfutt sound as the dart shot out and hit the Sundara in the throat. She collapsed almost instantly. Quickly, Wilson threw one of the leather coats over the egg, bundling it tightly and placing it inside the tote. Dumping the contents of her other bundle inside, she donned the now-empty jacket and replaced the lid. Hefting the tote, she crept slowly to the opening.

The new converts had risen, and now stood, closely facing another Sundara; small tendrils intertwined between them from their almost touching womanhoods.

They were now sharing their knowledge and selves.

Five more women were now being processed in the seats as Wilson quietly slipped away with her burden.

* * *

Pausing briefly in her work of filling the small glass globes with a grayish pasty substance she’d cooked out of soils and chemicals salvaged from the crashed ship, she took a long inhale from her second cigarette. The voice, at long last, was silent, and it felt wonderfully freeing to be able to trust her own thoughts again. She looked around the small clearing among huge boulders she had chosen for a stronghold and let her eyes rest for a time on the still unconscious Lieutenant and her second in command, wondering how much of the light they’d gotten and if there’d be anything left when they woke up.

The plan was simple: hold here for as long as possible, retreating to other strongholds further up slope as needed until a rescue ship came. She had already placed the disaster beacon (set to transmit intermittently on rotating frequencies) at the final redoubt, at the top of the ridgeline, the only likely extraction point.

* * *

Bishop realized slowly that she was awake, and slightly afterward the headache made her wish she wasn’t. A few sluggish seconds later she tried to get up but couldn’t. She realized she had cuffs at both her ankles and wrists, the chains of which were hung up under one of the rocks she was seated against. Then she saw ... Wilson.

“Wilson!” Bishop spoke, her head feeling the effects of whatever had been in the dart, and something else she couldn’t place. It was like thinking through a warm vat of gelatin.

“Awake, are we?” Wilson looked up from what she was doing, about five meters away. On the ground there were rows of small glass globes, some filled with something gray, and others empty. Wilson was slowly stirring something over a small fire.

“What are ...” Bishop began, and then stopped, a memory triggering a different question, “how did you get out of your restraints?” She slightly tensed, testing her own cuffs with her arms.

“I’ll tell you sometime,” Wilson smiled, “And it’s gonna make you pretty mad, too.”

“What are those?” Bishop pointed at the glass globes and improvised pots with wisps of steam rising from them, “Why am I chained up?”

“That’s three questions, Lieutenant,” Wilson smiled, pulling the cigarette from her mouth.

“These are flash bangs, stun grenades, and some with sleep inducing gas, hopefully. Lieutenant, that ship of yours, unspaceworthy relic that she was, had some redeeming features ... fluidic navigation systems, in this day and age! Is the Protectorate so cash strapped that they can’t even afford proper, shielded circuitry? That, combined with this potassium nitrate from the dirt around here, and we have ourselves a defense grid ... and you two are restrained so you won’t wander off,” she smiled, putting down the pot she’d just been pouring from and fixing Bishop with a penetrating look. This time the Lieutenant, to Wilson’s concern, seemed to fall into her eyes, rather than challenge them. “What do you remember, Lieutenant?”

“There was a light,” Bishop began, “and then the ship stopped, and ...” She paused, looking around the small clearing and among the boulders that ringed it, “where are the crew, the other prisoners?”

“We’ll probably be seeing them soon, Lieutenant.”

“What do you mean, Wilson? Where are they?”

“I saved you, and your butter stick second in command,” Wilson said, leaning in close, “the rest had too much exposure to the light ... they are being made into more Sundara now.”

“What?” Bishop startled. “Let me loose, Wilson, we need to help them!”

“Help?” Wilson fixed her with a stare, “Listen to yourself, Lieutenant, and listen to what’s inside ... Who is it you want to help?”

Bishop was silent for a while, thinking, somehow, she knew what Wilson meant. There was something, a faint voice under her thoughts, telling her how beautiful ... “What is it ... the light?”

“It’s a meme—an information virus, Lieutenant,” Wilson glanced at the second Lieutenant, who seemed to be stirring slowly, “It rewrites your priorities and makes you want more.” She stood, walking over to where the improvised munitions were, and knelt down by a small shipping tote. As Wilson pulled a leather flight jacket from the box, Bishop caught a glimpse of something, a gray-greenish rounded object, to which she felt somehow strongly, and disconcertingly, drawn. Wilson quickly closed the lid, fiddling with the combination lock on top. “I think it’s meant to be like that big wall around that prison of yours, meant to break you,” she paused, thinking for a moment, “Hell, some people give up just seeing that thing,” she stood, lifting the now locked shipping tote.

“What is that?” Bishop was trying to pull against her restraints.

“That is a care package, Lieutenant, keepsakes for the friends at home to remember the trip by,” she answered, smiling to herself as she turned away, carrying the tote up the hill.

* * *

Pilot Rhonda Jane Macready sat quietly and still as the Sundara woman stood in front of her, placing something at her feet. She didn’t feel motivated to look down at the object, and remained staring at the Sundara. They were strikingly beautiful, all of them, and she knew ... the voice in her head, the wonderful voice, told her they were her destiny. Destiny: the word sent shivers through her as she thought it. There was sensation now, a clinging tightness at her legs, and something moving in front of her face, now. It was like a bony hand, moving to place itself on her head. She felt the fingers find their grasp, and warm pricks at the end of each. She didn’t feel concerned at all, and the voice told her how wonderfully cooperative she was being.

Suddenly, there was a light, not unlike the light that had brought the voice into her mind. She welcomed it as her thoughts became softer and her sensations became warm. The flashing carried her thoughts downward like a flickering stream. There was a not entirely unpleasant feeling as something pressed its way into her lower regions, and a firm, caressing feeling deep inside her as the something pushed further in, and a sharpness as—ooh!—she felt something like an electric current spreading up her spine. The sensations continued as the flashes brought her mind down into a warm, soft darkness. She felt good, very good, and her pussy felt as if it could explode at any moment.

There was now a fullness, pushing its way into her, and her body welcomed it, thrusting slightly forward into it, helping to push it in, thrusting, clenching her muscles as she came, releasing, over and over. She could feel it now, flowing up her spine, the voice in her mind growing stronger, telling her how good it was.

There was another sharpness, a warmness all along her spine and at the base of her skull, and then a tingling throughout her brain like a thousand little stars bursting in her mind. Her thoughts blanked out, leaving her floating in blankness for an unknown period. It felt good to just sit, as the lights and voice fell away. Suddenly it was time, she knew, and she opened her eyes, a new creature; she was just Rhonda now, as no other name was needed. She was a Sundara, joined with the being which had become part of her.

Rhonda stood, facing the fellow Sundara she knew as Elle, a guard from the ship. They faced each other, hands touching, softly touching as their bodies came together. When their now engorged pussies came together it was like bright sparks cascading through her mind. She felt the tentacles extend out from her and intertwine with those of her sister Sundara, and she was awash as the entire knowledge of the Sundara race flowed into her mind. The two bodies became one in a tight embrace, hands and tongues exploring and touching, falling against each other, thoughts overwhelmed by orgasm after crushing orgasm as their hips bucked and swayed, moving the intertwined alien parasites between them. The pleasure would never end, Rhonda knew, and the new knowledge told her that with her all of them were now as one, and soon, their companions who had so far evaded capture would be, as well.

* * *

“What?’ a suddenly awake Julie Tramer tried to stand, but was held by her restraints. The young second lieutenant pulled, but to no avail, “I need to go ... to go ... to ... We need to go ... We need ... beautiful ...” she stammered, trying to speak her tangled thoughts and looking up frantically at the approaching Wilson, who knelt down and held out a bottle.

“Drink this.” Wilson tipped the container into Tramer’s mouth. The liquid spilled into and around as she gasped, falling silent for several seconds. “You too, lieutenant,” Wilson repeated the procedure, and leaned back, taking a drink herself.

“What was that?” Bishop rasped, holding back a cough.

“Bourbon,” Wilson answered, taking another drink, “Those pilots of yours weren’t much for flying, but I could sure kiss them for their luggage choices.”

“What’s happening?” Tramer asked, slowly, “there’s a voice ... I need to ...” she fell silent.

Wilson looked at her closely. “Smoke,” she said, placing a cigarette in each woman’s mouth “It’ll help clear things.” She lit the cigarettes and one for herself with a burning stick from the small fire.

“But I don’t ...” Bishop started to protest.

“Then start,” Wilson looked at her. “You’ll need to if you want to get home as yourself, the effect of alcohol and nicotine keep the voice at bay.”

Bishop and Tramer fought to stifle coughs.

“How long until do you think until your people respond to the disaster beacon, Lieutenant?” Wilson asked, turning her head, as if listening to some far away sound.

“It will take a day, at least, Wilson,” Bishop answered, feeling ill from the smoking and drinking, “I think you know that.”

“Two weeks,” Tramer said, voice on the edge of tears; “two weeks and I was set for a desk job... what am I going to do now? I’m not a soldier or a killer; what am I going to do?”

Wilson smiled, seeming to relax a bit, looking at the second lieutenant with a sympathetic air, “I advise you to drink heavily”—Wilson stood, leaving the bottle on the ground between the two women—“and learn to meditate. The voice doesn’t like it when you’re calm and focused.” She turned again, seeming deep in thought, listening intently to something on the wind, and then looking back to the two bound women with concern etched in her face, “It’ll be worse when it gets dark.”

“Magick,” Bishop raised her head and looked Wilson directly in the eyes.

Wilson seemed to stop cold and her confident smile faded. “What did you say?”

Bishop’s eyes swept over the chemistry arrayed in front of her and the improvised munitions, “Magick,” she repeated, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Wilson was silent for several seconds and regarding the bound woman before exhaling a long trail of cigarette smoke off to the side. “Lieutenant,” If we do get out of here in one piece, I’d forget you ever heard that word.”

* * *

The woman was beautiful, her flowing hair shining like a golden halo as it tossed about her head. Wilson fell into her body once again, feeling her warmth and hearing, above both of their breathing, the exaltation of the voice as she lost herself in the soft embrace. It was then that she felt it; the probing tendril which she knew had extended from the other woman’s body, and was now touching the folds of hers. She started to look down, but a warm hand stopped her, pulling her mouth into a deep kiss.

The probing turned to a gentile push and then it was inside, warm and slick from the golden-haired woman’s juices, it was moving deeper into her. Wilson’s hips moved against those of the other woman, moving it between them as she felt the pinch of linking with her nervous system and then her brain exploded in a blast of orgasmic white sparks. She could feel it move up her spine, the surrender as it claimed her, she knew it was creating the tell-tale ridge up her back, and then it was there, attaching itself at the base of her skull. The orgasm shattered any thought of remaining resistance as their bodies bucked in lustful abandon with it moving between them, linking them, extending through both of their bodies as they rode it, minds filling with each other’s thoughts, each other’s knowledge, and the knowledge that they were both completely owned, subservient to it.

* * *

She was awake, and looked around nervously. Bishop was looking at her and Tramer was just staring off into space with a kind of serene look that worried her a lot. The sky was red, though, which captured her whole attention. It would be dark soon. Standing up quickly from lotus, she shook off the lingering feelings from the dream, locking them away where she always did. Something inside that she tried to ignore told her that, one day, the dream wouldn’t be a dream any more.

But not today. She gave a final push to reject the thoughts that, as disturbing as they were, they made certain parts of her feel … she pushed them away again. To punctuate her resolve, she went directly to work, gathering a number of firearms she’d taken from her captives, piling them in the center of the clearing.

“What are you doing?” Bishop asked, her eyes meeting Wilson’s with what almost felt like a hypnotic quality that also made parts of her feel …

‘The lights are doing their work’ the voice told her as she pushed again. “Guns are strange things.” She met the gaze, feeling a little stronger as the dream faded behind her efforts. “They can get you into trouble as well as they help you get out of it. In this case, think about it: the rescue ship arrives and sees a lot of dead people who used to be the crew lying on the ground and me standing here with a smoking machine gun, wanting a ride. It could give them the wrong idea … and the Sundara, well they’re strange in their way, too. They don’t kill, not if they can help it, anyway, because it doesn’t fit how they are. The more they don’t kill the more they can join with … use as hosts ... If their own were to start dying up here they have plenty of weapons and tech to kill us off and keep us from killing more of them. ”

“And we can’t,” Bishop paused, as if questioning what she had started to say, “you find it hard to kill them because …”

Wilson flashed concern as she looked over her captives, Bishop was fighting it, but it looked like she was having a rough go. Tramer wasn’t doing as well as that; she could tell.

She was sure that her stated reasons for using only non-lethal force were the real ones wasn’t she?

“Thermite, an old family recipe,” Wilson said, having draped a rolled paper tube stuffed with something over the pile of weapons and holding an attached strand of cord. Snapping open a cigarette lighter and, as sparks and smoke wheezed forth from it, stepping back, she dropped the fuse. “I would look away about now.” The end of the cord sputtered across the dirt, growing shorter in a frenzy of sparks and smoke, lasting only a few seconds until there was a loud whoosh, and a very bright flash. Then it was done; the guns lay in a misshapen pile, partly cut and warped, red glow fading slowly from the rough, burned edges.

Tramer turned quickly from the flash to face Wilson. “They’re coming,” she breathed with a far-away look in her eyes.

Wilson had no time to worry over the young second lieutenant. She could feel it too: they were indeed coming, and it was indeed getting darker.

* * *

As darkness fell the light became apparent, sweeping across the sky. Wilson knew it had always been there, trying to wear them down, but being able to see it now made it seem all the more powerful, all the more seductive. With a tranquilizer gun in each hand and two slung on her back, Wilson crouched behind a rock and waited. Bishop, she had seen, was keeping her eyes closed, but Tramer was staring straight into the light and had begun speaking slowly under her breath.

It was the best plan she knew, using the two women as bait to bring the Sundara out into the open. They needed time, and needed to buy that time by holding off the assault until a rescue arrived, if one was coming, that is.

There were four of them visible in the half light. Soon, the planet Trädgård would rise in the sky, giving them better light, but also bringing the Sundara light directly to bear on them. They came slowly and deliberately into the clearing, moving directly toward the pair of bound women. “I will obey,” Tramer breathed as the four approached. Bishop seemed just frozen, and Wilson couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or not.

The tranquilizer darts licked into the backs of the four women almost simultaneously, with just a soft pffut sound as the gun fired. Wilson loaded another magazine and waited, but not for long, as four more appeared and then fell with darts in their chests. Wilson heard movement behind the boulders and decided it was time to move or find herself flanked and surrounded; she moved quickly and then rolled to a predetermined position on the other side, firing two darts into two more Sundara.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. They stopped coming. Wilson waited several minutes before standing, but she could feel it; they had fallen back.

“What now?” Bishop was looking at her.

“They’ve tried a direct assault and now they know where we are, and how we’re set up,” Wilson answered, “now we wait, and so will they, the light will be stronger when Trädgård rises and they’ll wait until then, hoping you’ll both overpower me and they can just walk in.” She began dragging the Sundara women out of the clearing, leaving them in a row, each bound ankle to wrist with the one next to them by handcuffs.

“I will obey,” Tramer repeated.

“Lieutenant!” Bishop snapped, “Listen to me!”

“I will obey,”

“Tramer, Julie!” Bishop tried again.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant,” Tramer said softly, “I tried but it’s too strong … too wonderful … if you stop resisting you’ll see … it’s really wonderful to … OBEY.” She turned to Wilson as the gibbous phase of the planet Trädgård rose above the rocks, bathing them in the Sundara light. “You will obey … it will be wonderful.”

Wilson looked at her, wondering if there would be anything left when they were finally rescued; but then she saw that Bishop’s face had frozen, staring directly into the alien light. “Shit!” Wilson spat, bending down to her. “Lieutenant!” She grabbed the entranced woman by her shoulders and shook, “Concentrate, Lieutenant. You can beat this.”

“Oh, Wilson,” Bishop breathed warmly into Wilson’s face, “It’s really better … it will be so much better.” Her eyes bored into Wilson’s, they were so very inviting now, so very …

… Wilson went slack; her eyes captured by Bishop’s, their faces slowly moving together.

“It will be wonderful,” Bishop soothed.

“Wonderful,” Wilson breathed, as their lips met at last, with Bishop leaning into the kiss and forcing her mouth onto Wilson’s. Wilson felt herself give in to the kiss as their tongues met, passing against each other as time seemed to stop. ‘It will be wonderful,’ the voice slithered warmly across her brain, as she could hear and feel more Sundara approaching. The kiss broke and, as the approaching women closed in, she stared into Bishop’s lovely eyes and then blinked, her arm moving almost on its own and delivering a punch that knocked Bishop cold. “You’ll thank me in the morning, Lieutenant,” she said, rolling and shooting darts into two Sundara.

Standing, she saw two Sundara eggs rolling on the ground, one ending up very close to Bishop’s feet. A blur off to her left made her turn, as two more Sundara charged her out of the shadows and grabbed her arms. Another Sundara knelt in front of Tramer, their eyes meeting and mouths joining in a deep kiss. Wilson struggled as another woman appeared in front of her.

The Sundara dislodged the chains binding the woman from the rocks they were held by and moved Tramer onto her back, straddling her, never breaking the kiss; Tramer’s bound hands fell onto the woman’s back and pulled them closer.

“Fuck!” Wilson cursed, still pinned. “Fight it, damn it!” The Sundara in front of her moved in closer, barely more than a kiss away.

The egg at Bishop’s feet wobbled a bit on the ground and then split open slowly, with tentacles spreading out from it and lightly probing her immobile body. Up rose the bony handlike appendage which came to rest, covering her face as more tendrils teased her sensitive areas.

Tramer was now actively moving her hips up and down, moaning, moving something between her and the woman on top of her, their legs entangled and sweat beading on their tight skin.

As the Sundara woman was about to lock Wilson in a kiss, a knee came up hard, and she toppled to the ground, Stomping the foot of another attacker and heaving hard with all her weight, Wilson was able to throw off one of the women who held her. She turned and threw the other against the ground, unslinging one of the tranquilizer guns in the same motion and firing three darts, then a fourth into the back of the Sundara on top of Tramer. All four attackers went still. Moving to get a clear line of fire, Wilson produced a small pistol, taken from Bishop, and fired with dead-center accuracy, splitting the two Sundara eggs into mounds of pulp.

Putting the gun back into her coat, she pulled the unconscious Sundara off Tramer. Wilson knew it was too late. The woman would be awakening soon to her new life; Wilson moved to Bishop and pulled her free of the now dead tentacles. She was physically unhurt, but there was no telling what the state of her mind might be. Wilson stood, lighting a cigarette and giving a tired mental push against the voice which was telling her, over and over, how wonderful it would be if she just looked into the light and relaxed … and obeyed.

It was time, Wilson knew; time to move up the hill to the extraction point, their last stand. She looked down at the now stirring forms of Bishop and Tramer and felt the approach of more Sundara as much as she heard them. How she was going to get the two of them up the hill was something she hadn’t worked out yet. There were four darts left, and not many good options.

“Wilson,” Tramer almost whispered as she came to a seated position, “look at me.”

Wilson looked. Gone now was the scared, vulnerable second Lieutenant, and in her place was the new, magnetic, and empowered Sundara who drew Wilson in with her very captivating eyes.

“That’s right, look into my eyes Wilson; it will be wonderful,” Tramer cooed. “Come over here, and I’ll help you feel so much better.”

Wilson started to move but stopped, a look of gloom shadowing her features.

“Will-son,” she coaxed, slowly, huskily, her hands moving over her body, teasing, caressing, moving slowly to her now very erect breasts, “It will be so wonderful, Wilson … to fuck you and make you one of us.”

Wilson shot her with a tranquilizer dart and turned to Bishop, who was trying to sit up. Distantly, there was the sound of a sonic boom and the protest of engines overworking in the course of re entry. It was either a rescue or, Wilson knew, it wouldn’t matter, because they were at their end.

Suddenly there were Sundara walking toward them from three sides, with the hill their only avenue of escape. Wilson shot darts into the nearest three and dropped the now empty tranquilizer gun away. “Time to go, Lieutenant!” Wilson half turned and tossed a small ring of keys into her lap. A roundhouse kick knocked back another of the women, and Wilson picked up a small box with wires leading from it. Pushing the single button on the box, she put it back down, seeing that Bishop had started walking slowly toward the hill. A punch and another kick toppled another Sundara into two of her sisters as Wilson turned to run. The ship passed over them as there was first a loud pop, and then a series of extremely bright flashes just outside the perimeter. There were several heavy concussions as Wilson ran past Bishop, and then noticed the other woman had stopped, standing still and staring into the light.

“I will obey.” Bishop breathed, slowly.

The Sundara had recovered, at least enough that several were on the move and closing in. There was a slow-moving cloud of gas encroaching on the clearing—the knockout gas, Wilson knew. She ran uphill toward the bulky shadow of a hovering ship and people she could see looking down at her, whether rescuers or Sundara—she wasn’t sure it mattered anymore—in order to save herself and to summon help for the now frozen and surrounded Bishop.

At the top, Wilson was met with a rifle butt to the chest, knocking her to the ground in an exhausted heap, several soldiers surrounded her, and a familiar face appeared over her. “So nice to see you again, Wilson,” the man, Captain Lucas, smiled under protective goggles.

“The Lieutenant …” Wilson groaned, the wind having been knocked out of her, “Bishop.”

Lucas looked over the side of the hill at the now-naked woman and the dozen or so Sundara around her, and the more who were now moving to climb the hill.

“I found this, sir.” A soldier came into view holding the locked tote Wilson had hidden under some loose rocks.

“Wonderful,” Lucas smiled again. “The Warden will be pleased–what is the ETA of the Sundara ships you’re tracking?” he spoke the last into a headset.

“They will be here in a few minutes, sir,” someone was heard to reply.

“Take her, and that, aboard,” he looked down at the scene below, “we’re leaving.”

* * *

“Wilson!” a commanding, familiar voice sounded through the dream.

Wilson opened one eye, and then the other to face the warden, and then moved to the man she’d met but whose name she still didn’t know, and the two women with them. One was Doubleday, while the other Wilson knew all too well. Pola Wells stared blankly back at her.

Oh, Wells, you poor, stupid girl, Wilson thought, how many times did I tell you not to look at the light? She remained in her relaxed, meditative lotus position, quietly regarding the group through the bars, a smile warming on her lips.

“In my office, Wilson,” the Warden smiled broadly, “Is something my men brought back from that planet ... something you evidently tried to hide.”

“I would be very careful with that if I were you, Warden.” Wilson’s smile faded.

“Oh don’t try to frighten me, Wilson. The game is up and you lost; admit it.”

“I would still be very careful with it, Warden.” The smile returned, “What’s in there, it’s …”

“We’ll talk again later, Wilson, and you may well change your tune then.” The warden turned to leave, with the other three following behind.

“You first,” Wilson said, under her breath, unheard by the departing figures. “Got a smoke?” she smiled to her guards, who didn’t reply.

Fin