The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Patterns in Ochre and Grissecon Ink

By

Chapter 2: Mixing the ink

Patric handed Gethyn a coke, the platoon had been saving the last soft drink six-pack for a celebration, apparently his capture of a Wreaththu warranted the breaking out of one of the cans leaving only four remaining. They’d drunk the first to poor Delgado’s memory only the day before.

Gethyn took a swig and nearly gagged. The stuff tasted foul in ways that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t so much that the coke had gone off, it was just that his tongue, redesigned for the sensual pleasures of shared breath, could taste the drink’s true flavor.

Fortunately the precious coke was to be shared amongst the others; quickly he passed the drink on to his ‘friends’ trying to give the impression that he was leaving his share so that they might have more.

“So.. How’d you catch the little fucker?” Demanded Patric

This was the one question he’d been dreading. He’d thought at first that he should make up some heroic battle in which he fought off six Wreaththu tribes-hara, causing them to flee whilst he tied up the leader.

Somehow Carn had been able to listen in on his thoughts without having to share breath and had mentally laughed himself silly during the trip down.

Carn had of course been right. Gethyn knew for a certainty that the old Gethyn wouldn’t have stood a chance against any Hara in single combat. Although they’d never admit it the platoon knew it to be true also. If you allowed a Wreaththu to get into knife fighting range... You were dead.

In the end Gethyn decided to go with the truth, omitting certain details, specifically the bit where he’d wandered off hand-in-hand with the enemy and become one of them, ready to betray the people he was sharing a coke with without a flicker of guilt.

“It wanted to be captured, suicidal critter, it just walked right up to me sat down and waited for me to radio it in.”

“Maybe its a trap! Maybe they’re planning to bushwhack us!” said Standersby thoughtfully. Standersby was dangerous, as the platoon’s barrack room lawyer he loved to figure things out.

“NO! I mean...no... I didn’t get that impression. I think it’s tribe are a little unsophisticated, I think it was sent as a diplomat to just tell us to go away” replied Gethyn hastily guiding the conversation away from the truth.

“A diplomat?!! That’s rich! Tie me up and take me to your fucking leader eh? Eh?”

Soon general banter took over the conversation and Gethyn was able to edge away from the centre of the group. He felt exposed and vulnerable in a way that he’d never felt before. It was as if he were sharing the room with a tribe of gorillas.

Instincts swirled around and a place somewhere below his stomach twitched internally. He felt torn, a part of him wanted to run away from these Neanderthals, another more predatory part was assessing each one trying to imagine what they’d be like after their inceptions.

His eyes wandered back to Patric; the French-Canadian was watching him intently. A prickle of apprehension slid up his spine, did Patric suspect? He’d needed to slip away anyway, Patric’s interest just made that need more urgent.

“I’d better be going guys, the suit from HomeSec wanted to debrief me at 14:00” he lied heading for the door and hoping that the nervousness would be attributed to his fictional meeting with the unit’s Political Officer.

The platoon commiserated loudly shouting some suggestions about the HomeSec officer’s racial heritage and where he should be forced to stick it.

Once outside, Gethyn walked quickly across the street to the abandoned Olympic giftshop three doors down from the barracks. As he’d expected the padlocks had been severed and then balanced so that a casual glance wouldn’t show the tampering. Luckily the inobservant marines hadn’t noticed, which meant that the stash of ingredients he needed were still buried beneath the pile of novelty opera houses that had been abandoned along with the venue when the Olympic competitions had ended.

Digging deep into the pile of furry toys his fingers brushed against the lip of a jar, grabbing it he pulled it clear.

The jar was clearly Wreaththu workmanship, made of earthenware and fired in a primitive kiln. The give away was the pattern stenciled into its surface, intricate to the point of being fractal, the delicacy of the markings would have required hand-eye coordination that only a Wreaththu or a soul-less machine could have achieved.

As the sharing of breath had led him to expect, the jar was half full of ground ochre. The brown dust would provide the color for the runes he was expected to write. He reached back into the bin of stuffed opera houses trying to find the flask that should have been with the pot.

“Looking for this?” said a voice behind him.

In a single smooth movement he turned unsheathing his combat knife ready to eviscerate the intruder. His reaction speed was so fast that he hesitated at the final instant surprised at how fast he’d moved. The instant of hesitation saved Patric’s life.

Patric was holding the glass vial he’d been seeking. The vial was about half the size of a milk bottle and glowed so brightly in the deep ultra-violet that Gethyn found that he had to squint.

Lacking the ability to see beyond the human visual range Patric himself hadn’t noticed how radiant the swirling contents were.

Gethyn’s eyes widened, the tribe’s entire plan depended upon the contents of the vial, without it everything would come to nothing and Carn’s imprisonment would become a fact instead of a convenient fiction.

Patric was holding the vial with a very light grip, Gethyn was absolutely certain that it would be dropped and shattered on the hard concrete if he tried anything.

Carefully he relaxed his posture, slowly moving the blade back to its sheath.

“Please be careful with that Patric, its... dangerous.”

“I can believe that! The way this shit glows.”

“How did you know?”

“This stuff? Nightvision goggles. The tribe didn’t think of that did they?”

“I guess not.” admitted Gethyn his mind working into overdrive. Why was he facing Patric? If this was a trap he ought to be surrounded by the HomeSec’s thugs rather than just one marine from the conscript company. And if Patric had found the grissecon ink in the normal run of things, he should have reported it to Sgt Diaz, in which case every marine on the base would have heard rumors. So basically Patric was acting on his own here, but why?

“As for how I knew they’d gotten to you, well lets just say that’s the closest shave you’ve had since I’ve known you”

Gethyn jerked his hand up to his chin in surprise. His face felt soft and smooth ...androgynous, without any of the rough sandpapery texture of his perennial stubble. Patric was right, his inception was obvious to anyone who knew him and was sufficiently observant.

“What’s this about Patric? If this was on the level you’d have shouted for backup immediately and I’d be bleeding all over the floor by now.”

Patric looked uncertain for a moment, blushing slightly. “Lets just say I’m considering my options”

Gethyn’s eyes narrowed; perhaps he wouldn’t have to kill his friend after all.

“So... You’re thinking about changing sides? You should, the company benefits are substantial” replied Gethyn, being careful to limit his wolfish grin to a slight smile.

“According to HomeSec the infection takes at least a week to run its course and has a 1 in 5 death rate. Judging by your current state that’s just propaganda.”

“Obviously. A normal Althaia, that’s our name for the period of change, takes three days. It’s fair to say I was a special case. We needed to get someone in here covertly, so corners were cut.” replied Gethyn cautiously.

“I suppose Standersby was right, that Wreaththu let himself get captured didn’t he. Probably to distract attention from you.” said Patric, it was difficult to tell from his tone whether he was seeking information or making nervous small talk before his big decision.

“You know, If I told you, I would have to kill you” replied Gethyn adding a quirk to his smile in order to hide the fact that he was deadly serious. Nothing in this world would be allowed to endanger his beloved Carn, not if he could help it.

“Fair point, I suppose. They really did turn you didn’t they. Even the fact that we’ve known each other for years doesn’t count for shit.”

“Oh I still care, in an intellectual sort of way. I guess its like how I used think about chimps. You know, closely related cousin, deserve fair treatment in theory, but if the chimp escapes and becomes a nuisance it’s shot with not a single pang of guilt.” replied Gethyn honestly, examining his reactions for the first time. “I tell you honestly, I’d slit the throat every man in the platoon if I thought it necessary.”

“That’s kind of chilling.”

“Its in my interest to be honest with you Patric. I want you to trust me that extra inch, trust me enough to change sides; that way I won’t have worry about the vial getting smashed.” replied Gethyn reasonably

“So...what did they do? What exactly is it that changes you, a good ol’boy from Kansas into a Jihadi in less than three hours?”

Gethyn wanted to tell Patric about Sharing of Breath and how it felt to take Aruna, but it had all been too wonderful, too far beyond the words he had available. Also, describing it to a human seemed wrong, as if it would cheapen what he had shared with Carn.

“You...wouldn’t understand. Its not that I don’t want to tell you, its just that you have to be one of us to understand what it feels like. All I can say is I guarantee you won’t regret it. Imagine the best experience you ever had and it’s an order of magnitude better than that all the time.”

Patric didn’t say anything, nervously adjusting his grip on the vial of Grissecon fluid, clearly wavering, almost ready to take the final step, teetering on the brink of the life altering decision.

“One final thing to consider. Humanity is losing this war, you can’t see it from the inside but there’s no doubt about it. Our side has weapons that make the nukes look like a caveman’s club. My mission is to capture this base single handed from a force of seven hundred marines and HomeSecs. If I’m successful, no one will die and everyone here will get the chance I’ve been given. I don’t need a gun or a knife to do it, all I need is the contents of that vial.”

Gethyn glanced at the shadows outside and estimated the time, roughly 14:15 in the afternoon. The sun was speeding toward sunset and there was a limit to how long he could afford to be delayed. Patric would have to make up his mind soon or he’d have no choice but to risk killing the human.

It occurred to him that Carn had managed to look irresistible to him when he’d been human. Perhaps seduction might work where reasoning and implied threats hadn’t. It came as quite a surprise to find that he ‘knew’ instinctively the sort of pose that Patric might find alluring. Carefully he shifted his stance trying not to feel self-conscious.

Patric’s eyes widened and a trickle of sweat ran down his face.

Yep. Thought Gethyn feeling suddenly more confident and giving himself more fully to his feminine aspect. Hidden within his pants his ouana-lim quietly retracted. The strange smell of new mown grass and sea spray that he’d first noticed around Carn became noticeable, like an aura around him.

“Its time to make your decision Patric. Join us....please” he pouted

The effect on Patric was surprisingly devastating, Gethyn had had no idea how utterly powerful he was. Human males, it turned out, were just plain easy. When faced with the illusion of femininity and a steamy waft of pheromones the human male had no defenses.

Carefully Patric placed the precious vial on the dusty shelf, never taking his hungry eyes from Gethyn’s body.

“Do it” said the marine his expression getting vague.

Gethyn breathed a sigh of relief and reached forward slowly taking Patric by the hand, careful in case he disrupted the glamour that held the male’s attention.

“I have to cut you, you need a transfusion of my blood to begin the process”

“There’s a syringe in the medical kit behind the sales counter” said Patric distractedly, revealing the fact that he’d been planning for this meeting with some thoroughness.

Wasting no time, Gethyn retrieved the syringe and plunged it into his arm half filling the tube with dark red blood. Turning back he found that Patric had rolled back his sleeve and clenched his fist so as to expose some veins.

“I promise you Patric, its worth it” said Gethyn jabbing the syringe into Patric’s arm and pumping the blood into the vein in a single swift motion.

Patric looked at his arm nervously, clearly awed by what he’d done and nervous about the burning feeling that was beginning to slip up through his veins like a snake.

Gethyn found that his instinctive distain for humans no longer applied to Patric, the feeling being replaced by a motherly protective instinct. He wrapped himself around Patric, hugging him tightly in a gesture of reassurance.

“You’d better find somewhere to hide, you are going to be feeling pretty rough very soon. By nightfall the base will be ours, I’ll return and tend to you then”

Patric nodded glancing toward the shop’s stockroom and then back at his arm where the puncture wound had already become inflamed looking like a nipple sized hornet sting.

“Fast acting shit I see”

“Yes, very. Now get yourself settled while you can still walk. I have to mix the grissecon ink and get started.”

“Nnnh, fuck that hurts...now that I’m ‘one of us’...ahh!..mind telling me. How ’ we’ are going to win?” grunted Patric, his arm beginning to look marbled as the Wreaththu blood began its cancer-like replication.

Gethyn crouched down pouring the precious grissecon fluid into the pot, mixing it with the ochre until it formed a brown goo mottled with raspberry-ripple like strands of glowing ultra-violet.

“I haven’t a clue how it works. My mission is to paint this stuff at various points around the base. I do know that when its active it will make the humans a lot more.... Cooperative. The word for exactly what it does isn’t found in any human language. I guess you could say its a sort of psionic weapon” replied Gethyn, dipping his finger into the ink and tracing the first of the patterns stored in his head. There was no point distressing Patric by telling him it was magic.

“Psionics? <cough> that’s science fiction!”

Entirely focused on getting the design right, Gethyn didn’t look up. “Like I said, the military have no idea how to defend against this. In three days you’ll understand. For now, go sit down before you fall down”

“Yeah, maybe I should at that.”

* * *

General Pelton glared at the Wreaththu, who sat calmly cross-legged in the middle of the hastily cleared basketball court that served as a cell.

The room was totally inadequate for its new purpose, the prisoner had to be tethered to a steel support column and guards had had to be posted actually in the room in order to prevent any dash for freedom.

So far, the Wreaththu had submitted to every test that the HomeSec interrogation team had been able to devise. Several truth serums and non-violent interrogation techniques had already been used. So far the prisoner had not uttered a single word.

Physically, the Wreaththu was close to optimum for its species he’d been told. That fact alone blew the ‘lethal mutation’ theory that they’d been sent to test.

Of course if the interrogation led him to believe that the entire continent had been over-run he still had operational control of the George W’s cruise-nukes. Certain members of the Continental Emergency Committee had pulled in a whole load of favors to ensure that he’d have the opportunity to make that decision. All it needed was the right pretext.

“General!” called a voice from the door.

Pelton frowned at the lack of proper military discipline and glanced up to see the culprit, one of the white clad scientists, bustling over with a sheath of hardcopy.

“You have to see this General!”

Pelton gave the scientist his hardest glare and took the printout from him. The printout consisted of row upon row of the letters CTAG in various combinations.

“Aside from the fact that it’s a genetic scan this doesn’t tell me a thing” he growled handing the paper back forcefully enough for the scientist to have to struggle to hold onto the wad of paper.

“This is the prisoner’s DNA swipe, it is divergent on 72.6% of the key mammal phylum markers and 100% divergent on the normally accepted homo sapiens sapiens specific ones!”

“What does that mean..in English. Assume I know nothing about genetics”

“Chimps are related to humans right?”

“Ok I understand that”

“Chimp and Human DNA are roughly 98% identical, the difference in that last 2% is the bit that grows the chimp or the human.”

“I understand that.”

“In this Wreaththu, not only are all the genes that would say ‘chimp’ or ‘human’ utterly different, so are another 60% of his DNA! General, based on this gene count, a duck-billed platypus is more human that this guy is!”

General Pelton glanced sharply at the boy-shaped creature.

“We’ve dissected Wreaththu before. Why hasn’t this been mentioned?” he asked

“Because this one is different. All the others were infected humans, they still have the deactivated human DNA strands in their blood. This one doesn’t. I want you to see something.” said the scientist walking excitedly toward the prisoner.

“Guards! Cover the prisoner!” snapped the General, following.

“Stand up please” said the Scientist to their captive.

Without saying a word the androgyn stood up, arms crossed across his naked chest, managing to look deceptively cute and vulnerable.

“See anything odd General?”

“Cut the crap Doctor, just tell me.”

“No belly button. This creature never had a mother in the human sense” explained the scientist.

He was correct; the curvaceous slightly defined six-pack had no umbilical scar at all.

“Well? Is he correct Wreaththu? Are you an alien or some sort of clone?” demanded the General

“It took you long enough to figure that out, mate. I’m 100% Wreaththu me, no human blemishes at all” replied the creature sarcastically, pulling his loincloth aside to reveal his obscenely alien genitalia. “See!”

Suddenly, General Pelton found that a whole load of odd things about the spread of the Wreaththu infection were falling into place. All the technology failures, the loss of the satellites, the disrupted weather patterns, the way new infestations of Wreaththu could spring up in areas thought to be clean. Aliens!

It would be easy now to just justify launching the missiles. If Wreaththu were provably alien then the gloves could finally come off and their ‘rights as citizens’ could finally be ignored.

The Wreaththu’s head snapped up so looking directly at him. Hatred and recognition flickered across The Wreaththu’s face before he managed to return it to an impassive mask.

An icy fear ran up the General’s spine. The Wreaththu knew! Somehow it knew about the nukes, but that shouldn’t be possible, telepathy was a myth.

“Doctor, Guards, Wait outside for a moment. I want to speak to the prisoner alone”

“Yes Sir!”

Pelton waited until the two marines had departed then turned on the Wreaththu.

“You have a choice Alien. Either talk now or I can arrange for a more aggressive interrogation. You aren’t the first Wreaththu we’ve had a little chat with. You tend to think yourselves immune to pain. I can assure you; you aren’t.”

The Wreaththu showed no surprise or fear, instead arranging itself into a meditation pose, focusing its attention on a small river-smoothed pebble that had been found in a small pouch tied to its belt along with a lethal looking hunting knife and some dry tinder (both of which had been confiscated).

Wreaththu were known to be mystics tending to venerate nature spirits or other such nonsense. The guards had been ordered to leave the stone with him so that the interrogators would later be able to gain advantage by threatening to destroy it (if it looked like the Wreaththu thought it was sacred or something).

“Answer!” hissed the General

Without his willing it, his body took a lurching step toward the Wreaththu, desire causing a sudden and painfully hard erection.

He clenched his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms so that the pain would distract him. Resisting the alien creature’s power wasn’t easy, but with proper military discipline it was possible. Pain was the key; it was a secret he’d learned long ago during the winter retreat north from San Francisco.

“That was a mistake” he hissed, turning around and walking away. “Guards! Get back in here! I want a rifle aimed at that creature’s head 24/7”

As soon as he was at a safe distance and could no longer detect any of the rogue emotions he let out a shaky breath. Seducing human males was something that all Wreaththu tried as a default tactic. This one had almost gotten to him, alluring in ways he’d not noticed and had thought he was resistant to.

The creature might be powerful, but it was still a fool, revealing its ability that way. Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of tactics would have held back for a better opportunity. Reassured he straightened his uniform and marched toward his office.

Carn settled back into his meditative pose, reassured by his ability to influence the humans around him even without the runes.