The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Orion Legacy

MF MC NC SCIFI

This story is a fantasy, contains examples of bad science, adult language and situations, and fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters. If you are under the age of consent in your community, or find such concepts distasteful, or try to do these things in real life, please stop reading now.

Permission granted to re-post this story to any on-line medium, provided no fee is charged to view the story, and this disclaimer and the above e-mail address are not removed.

Copyright © me, 1998.

Chapter Seven

Captain Angelica Phelps lay on the cot, and stared up at the ceiling, her hands clenched at her sides.

She had woken up here, obviously somewhere inside a UEDF containment facility, after that bizarre scene in the hospital with that poor (...nice...) dreeb Doctor Yanderman. And here she had stayed, well fed and well cared for. And totally ignored. No one had interrogated her, no one had asked her any questions.

But no one had answered any of her questions either, or let her out of this room. This cell. The hard-eyed staff had been bland, courteous and totally unhelpful, either deflecting or simply ignoring her queries. Obviously they suspected her of something. But what could it be? Why didn’t they just ask her? Ask her something, anything? She gave a snarl of frustration, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. On top of everything else, she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, having the strangest dreams. Dreams about lavender mists, dancing endlessly before her eyes, surrounding her, caressing her... And a voice, talking to her, asking things, demanding things... promising things... giving things...

She moaned, and had to make a conscious effort to keep her hands away from her crotch. Those dreams... Someone, human or otherwise, had to be watching her at this very moment, and she was not going to give that someone the pleasure of a little private pornovid.

She just had to wait, and

—Escape. You have to escape. They must know. They know about the Master. You have to run to the Master, and warn him. Now.—

figure out how she was going to escape. It was all so clear now. This was all a trick. Someone was holding her here, waiting for her to crack, betray the UEDF in exchange for her freedom. She gave another little snarl, more emphatic than the first. That would never happen. She’d show them, whoever they were. She’d break out of here, and bring the crushing weight of the UEDF down around them. The next time someone came in, she would...

As if someone was reading her mind, the circular door to her cell irised open. She sat up on the narrow bunk, forcing her body to become calm. Just wait for the right moment. If it didn’t come this time, maybe next time it would.

A man tottered into the room, looking rather crumpled and stooped. She stared at him for a long moment before she recognized him. It was

—My Master my Master my Master Oh god oh god he’s here my Master he came here to rescue me he can do anything anything at all go to him grovel plead beg forgiveness for failing him no no wait for orders maintain the cover...—

O. Perhaps literally the last man in the galaxy she would have ever expected to see.

“You?! What... what do you want? How did you get in here? Are you responsible for all of this?”

He looked at her. His face was terrible, pale and drawn, and about twenty years older than when she had last seen him, that day in the Moonbeam meeting room with Smith. Something had damaged one side of his neck; it was blotchy and inflamed. He smiled, a ghastly sight.

“Hello, An... my... Captain Phelps.” He hesitated a long moment, then continued. “It’s all right. You don’t have to maintain... your cover persona anymore.”

“MASTER!” She slid off the bed and scrambled across the room to him, feverishly pulling off her institutionally bland pants and shirt as she did so. She needed so badly to kneel naked before her Master, feel his strong, powerful, hands on her, feel him plunging inside of her... “I’m so sorry, Master, I... I failed you. I think they suspect me.” She settled into the position, feeling as if her body had slotted itself into some invisible but tangible niche.

“No, Captain Phelps, you’ve... you’ve done very well.” His eyes darted back and forth slightly as he spoke, as if he were hearing invisible voices. He jerked his hand out, patted her on the shoulder, retracted the appendage. “Please get up, and come with me.”

She got to her feet, her eyes burning with desire, lust, awe.

“Are we leaving this terrible place, Master?”

“Yes... and no.” He led her from the room, out into a stark, utilitarian, corridor. There was no one else in sight. They walked down it for some distance, passing closed metal hatchways on either side, all of which lacked the usual opening touch-pad. Finally, he stumbled to a stop in front of one of the sealed circular openings, one that looked exactly like all of the others. Stopped as if abruptly reaching the end of a leash. The hatch opened, seemingly on its own, and he stepped inside, Angelica trailing dutifully after.

The room was small, and circular, with a low ceiling. She looked around in surprise.

“Master? Why are we back in the training room?”

“There are... some additional things I need... to teach you.” He jerked up an arm again, stabbed a finger at the antigrav couch in the middle of the room. “Please get in.”

“Yes, Master.” She hurried over and settled into the field, feeling it slide smoothly around her bare skin, supporting her. Then the tendrils came wavering up out of their little cages, sliding around her, once again seeking out her most secret places and filling them... She gave a little gasp of joy. She had already forgotten how good the training felt. She spread her legs wide, and the tendrils probed deeper and deeper, taking her down into a delicious warm lavender darkness.. a darkness that gradually filled with pleasure, and a voice, a voice that she loved and trusted, a voice that also filled her body, filled her mind... deeper and deeper... even better, more wonderful than before...

* * *

There was a chime at the door, and the tall, dark-haired woman rose from her desk, and crossed the room to answer it, her long dress rustling around her ramrod form. She could no longer be called, with strict accuracy, beautiful, but she was far from ugly; her features strong and noble, her violet eyes calm intelligent pools. Pools of steel. Her long coil of black hair was now shot through with (natural) streaks of gray that merely added to her imposing aura.

She opened the door, tapping the appropriate pad.

The dark, bulky, man stood in the reception room beyond, his face carefully expressionless. She smiled at him, a smile that lit up the room like a whole bank of holospheres.

“Ah, Director-General. Hello. My aides told me you wished to speak with me privately, and in flesh, no less.”

He gave a slight bow. “If you can spare a moment, Senator St. Clair, it is a matter of some urgency.”

“Of course. Do come in.” She stepped aside, and ushered him into the room. She continued, her tone lightly jesting. “Although, perhaps we should not be discussing matters of state high security before the Shareholders’ vote.”

The Director-General formed a smile with his lips, and sank into the offered seat.

“I’m afraid the matter cannot wait until then.” He held a small holoemitter, which he turned over and over in his hands.

Senator St. Clair perched in the chair opposite, her years of military service still showing her stance.

“Can I offer you some tea, Director-General? Cola, perhaps? No? Well, then, what is it that I can do for my old friends at the UEDF?”

“Senator. I... we... would very much like to obtain your reaction to a piece of holofootage that has recently come into our possession.” He held out the emitter, and clicked it on. Between them, a figure sprouted up like a noxious weed, yellow and red eyes bulging, mouth grinning.

Marla St. Clair’s eyes instantly turned from steel to ice.

“You desire my reaction to this... thing?” The voice matched the eyes.

“No, Senator St. Clair. The whole world, and every United Earth colony, knows your reaction to this. What we need to know is...” He slid his thumb across the emitter, and the creature spoke a single word in his cesspool of a language.

The woman in the chair was gone, replaced by a thing with inhuman eyes that fell into bottomless depths. The man opposite this sight, for the first time in many, many, years, felt a twinge of fear, of true doubt and uncertainty. But only a tinge. He swallowed hard. Not from the feelings. Those were quickly conquered. The swallowing activated a device that had been attached to his vocal chords. He spoke again. When he did, the grinning phantom was from where the words came, speaking in a dead language...

-Can you hear me, property?—

-Yes. The property of the glorious Pack G’Fgcac awaits its orders.—

-Listen carefully, Marla St. Clair. These are the last orders you will ever receive from the Pack G’Fgcac. The Pack is moving on, travelling to the next existence, joining the ranks of the Past Ones in the Eternal Battle. After this conversation, you are to never again obey to any orders, listen to any words, from anyone claiming to represent the Pack G’Fgcac. If any such orders come, they will be lies and deceptions, sent by vile imposters. Do you understand?—

-The property understands.—

-These are our final orders. First, you will remember that the Director-General came to see you, but you will also remember that it was a matter of no importance. Nothing worth thinking about, or pursuing further.—

-The property understands.—

-Secondly, and most importantly.— A long hesitation.—Remember this well. Remember this always. If... when... your people come to choose you as their leader, lead them well. Lead them in peace. Lead them in strength. Lead them in prosperity. Lead them in freedom. Lead them to a place of honor, of tolerance, and of respect in the great community of species that surround them. Lead your fellows as you have always led them. Use everything we have given you to make your world, your galaxy, the best that they can be, for all of their inhabitants. Do you understand?—

-The... I understand.—

The Director-General spoke a final, single, word, and swallowed.

Marla St. Clair shifted in her seat, and looked around, slightly puzzled.

“I’m very sorry.. Director-General. I’m afraid that I voided there for a moment. What was it you wished to ask me?” Then her gaze fell on the figure between them, and her lips tightened once again.

“I regret bringing this... thing... into your presence, Senator, but it was of vital importance.” He slid his finger along the emitter once again, and once again the word was spoken.

The woman in the chair remained a women, although her eyes were again icy cold.

“Does the word this creature has just spoken mean anything to you? Anything at all?”

“No. Nothing.” She looked over the Orion, at the Director-General. “Should it?”

“We were hoping, actually, that it wouldn’t. It has to do with the Eutrophies Campaign during the Orion War, and we have been questioning some of the veterans of that campaign. There was a chance that some old Orion technology had fallen into... certain hands. I am afraid I can’t be more specific, even to you. This is also why I had to meet with you in flesh.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Fortunately, judging from the reactions we have been getting, it appears to have been a false alarm.” He turned off the ‘emitter, and pocketed it. Rose to his feet. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“Not at all.” She rose as well. “I hope we will be seeing more of each other in the near future.” She gave a smile that was almost... almost... impish.

The Director-General stood silent for a moment, then smiled as well, perhaps the first real smile he had given out in years.

“Madam, strictly off of the record, and speaking only as a shareholder of United Earth, I hope so as well. I will show myself out. Good day.” He gave a small bow, and turned to go.

“Director-General. Mr. Nkrumah.”

Nkrumah turned back.

“Ms. St. Clair?”

She stepped up to him, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Senator? Why...”

“I’m not sure. But it was the right thing to do. Thank you, and good day.”

He bowed again, and departed.

Senator Marla St. Clair stood for a moment, deep in thought. Then she moved to her desk, frowning, and brought her personal computer back on line inside her head. She issued a mental command.

The figure sprang into view above the desk, grinning as always, red and yellow eyes staring.

It began to spin slowly in the darkness around it, showing a view from all sides. For a long moment, she watched in silence, her expression conflicted. For a long moment, an emotion surfaced in her mind. Faint, but there nonetheless.

Gratitude.

And then it was gone. She spoke aloud to the creature, her voice calm, cool, deadly.

“Rot in hell.”

She turned off the picture, summoned her various aides back into her virtual presence through her implant, and returned to her plans for the upcoming debate with Ingersoll. The man was a slippery little weasel and even now, with her solid lead in the psipolls, she couldn’t afford complacency...

* * *

“All right, Smith, that’s far enough.”

Smith turned in the darkened corridor, and staggered back in surprise.

“What...? How did you find me?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The tall figure swirled forward in shadow, its red eyes glowing behind the helmet’s narrow eyeslits. “Mr. M sends his regards.”

“I still have the datacore! We can still...” Something slim and lethal slipped out of Smith’s sleeve even as he said the words. Before he could raise it, the figure gestured, and a multitude of small, extremely sharp, objects filled the air.

What was left of Mr. Smith splattered against the plasteel walls and floor.