Ventured (2 of 3)

Ventured

zorkmeister

Disclaimer:

This story is just that, a story. It is a work of fiction and nothing at all to do with the real world or how to treat people in it. All the characters within it are adults. It contains descriptions of nonconsentual sex and other nasty things that should not be read by anybody under the age of 18.

Feedback always appreciated at: zorkmeister@hotmail.com

* * *

Part Two

Striding purposefully onwards, she proceeded towards Engineering. As if piloted by unseen hands, her body moved of it’s own accord following the instructions it had been given.

With her consciousness emptied of extraneous thought, she was merely the Creator’s vessel.

And it felt good.

It felt right.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Blankly, she looked through the images flickering before her eyes, aware but not aware of the faint visuals and words that overlaid her view of the long corridor stretching out before her.

Absorbing them.

Venerating them.

Pictures of her Owner.

Visions of her Mistress.

Images of her Creator.

Placid and docile in the delirious nightfog of servitude, her vapid not-thinking mind bathed delightedly in the warm pool of strobotronic conditioning, absorbing all.

Wanting nothing.

Feeling nothing.

Caring nothing.

Every part of her ravenous, sex-slick body was being steadily mawed and pawed by the all-consuming blackness that gripped her. And she loved it. Her monomaniacal, thoughtless, greedy animal hindbrain, always hungry for pleasure, was ecstatic. It never wanted this to end.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Whispering in her ears, the voice murmured endlessly. Repeating truths, reminding her of just how obedient and controlled she was.

Telling her that she was no longer a person with a mind that made decisions on her own.

Telling her that she was less than a human being. A mere humanoid.

That she had no personality. No individuality.

That she was a slave.

A drone.

An Automaton.

Automaton two thirty-seven.

That was what she was. Automaton two thirty-seven.

Now and forever. Automaton two thirty-seven.

No need to think. Automaton two thirty-seven.

Endless irresistible pleasure. Automaton two thirty-seven.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Subsumed by the synth-rubber suit where thousands of invisible electric fingers teased and tantalised her tightly wrapped body, keeping her so deliciously aroused, she was safe. Wanted. Loved. Her servility and submission was being rewarded. Because she was a slave. Owned by Mistress. And the Creator’s constant caresses reassured her that this joy would never end.

Completely immersed in her pleasurable waking dreamstate, Automaton two thirty-seven was a slave to her simple animal-brain, agreeing that the formation of independent thought needed to be prevented. It would only disrupt the stream of pleasure that she craved. This endless rapture must go on at all costs. Her thinking Fenisha-mind needed to be controlled. Strictly. The hypno-conditioning would to do that. Every whispered murmur, every flicker washing over her eyes bit like the hard steel of a surgeon’s scalpel probing deep into the dormant grey matter, slicing away another tiny piece of the useless Fenisha-self in order that a new, better, slavebeing could replace her.

The Creator had made her into Automaton two thirty-seven. So she was Automaton two thirty-seven. And received pleasure because she was Automaton two thirty-seven.

As Automaton two thirty-seven, all she had to do was... Serve...Obey... Worship...

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Approaching were a pair of obsidian figures, their legs scissoring in perfect syncopation as they marched steadily towards her.

She drank in the sight of these droneslaves, bodies sheathed in heavy rubberised-black, their mirrored faceplates completing their complete objectification.

Anonymous. Faceless. Brainwiped. Deindividuated. Robotized. Dehumanized.

Just like her.

Licking her lips, she leered at them, her yearning slit spasming with glee at the sight of these pieces of humanoid chattel.

Sexy.

Hot.

Like her.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Images of the Creator would be faintly visible in the masks of the other Automatons as they gazed at her in return. The voices in their ears would be telling them that they were lobotomized droneunits with Designations and Functions that defined all that they were. And ever would be. Throbbing and pulsating beneath the thick slavesuits, their docile bodies, slick with arousal like hers, would be eagerly responding to the Creator’s erotic ministrations, Worshipping Her for Owning them.

As she did.

Shuddering as the invisible embraces of her Mistress rippled over her body, stroking her like a pet, rewarding her urges, the tendrils of joy reaching deep into the innermost parts of her womanhood, Automaton two thirty-seven knew that she was nothing more than a piece of rubberized property-flesh enrobed in addictive cumslutfuckbliss.

That was good.

She was a good slave.

And Automaton two thirty-seven liked being a good slave.

Not thinking. Serving. Obeying. Worshipping.

Just as the Creator had made her.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The pair of Automatons, her sisters in servitude, were now just metres away.

The apparent physical uniformity of the pair dissolved; the left hand drone, one eighty according to the red digits on her collar, was slightly taller and curvier than her shorter companion, number one-twelve.

She was now close enough to discern her own image, distorted by the contoured reflection of their mirrored visors.

Mewling softly with desire, she beheld her own body dipped in fetish-black, her former identity obliterated by the shimmering convex glass carapace that now covered her face, signifying that she too was nothing more than a will-dead Automaton.

Yes.

She was just like them.

They were just like her.

Not people.

Numbered humanoids.

Slaves.

Automatons.

Maintaining their steady pace, passing in the corridor, they made no acknowledgement of her presence.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The empty passageway opened up once more as Automaton two thirty-seven continued her journey.

Legs propelling her forward, she basked in the aftermath of this fleeting encounter, surrendering to the erotic sensations that danced over her pleasureslick body as she fixated on, and adored, the images of the Woman dancing before her staring eyes.

Owner... Mistress... Creator...

She was responsible for this.

All of this.

One eighty and one-twelve had been people.

Before...

Just... just like she... she had... been?

But then they had been Converted.

That was good.

It was good that they were brainwashed Automatons.

Wasn’t it...?

Yes... of course it was good!

Becoming a lobotomized slavedrone was good.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Sighing happily, Automaton two thirty-seven strode onwards, her mind sinking once more into the blank, submissive pleasure that her hindbrain desired.

Ten paces later, another aberrant thought slowly broke through the soft, wet cloud of sex-drenched bliss.

Different than the rest.

Stronger.

More insistent...

Who lay beneath the rubber suits?

The question hung unanswered before her, taunting her docile complacency. Unlike the previous heretical thought this one didn’t vanish. It lingered, clinging to the surface of the rational part of her brain like a barnacle that had attached itself to the underside of a ship, stubbornly resisting, determinedly clinging on as wave after wave sluiced past.

More thoughts slowly emerged through the thick mist, further disrupting her serenity.

One eighty and one-twelve. She must have known them... before. Whoever they were, they’d served together for years on the same ship. Shared both danger and laughter. She’d probably reported on them to her superiors, filling out files, recording incidents, noting suspicions, recommending reassignments, directing further surveillance...

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The memories of a former life felt hazy, distant, unreal, as if she was observing somebody else from afar doing these things. She felt as if she was floating, a disembodied entity without the willpower to do anything except watch, an ephemeral ghost of what she had once been.

Then another memory appeared.

More vivid than the rest. Stronger. Burning through the comforting mist that blanketed her mind.

Naobi!

She gasped aloud, shocked. The steady rhythm of her stride broke down before she came to an abrupt halt.

Automaton one-twelve looked like Naobi!!

The same shape, height...

Was it really her? Naobi Akume?

Was Naobi really now nothing more than a faceless, anonymous humanoid drone, pulsating with arousal, fanatically devoted to her Creator.

Just... like... she was....?

No...!

No!!!!

With another sudden shock, she realised they had been due to meet... today?

The first batch of Bellerophon crew on leave in Caelum Nova should have staggered back last night, hungover, leaving the rest of them free to run wild in Reineport. While the others would have thronged the bars and clubs of McKay Street she should be in her lover’s arms.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

Breathing, she concentrated, dispelling the last wisps of viscous thoughtfog that clung to her brain.

Was one-twelve really Naobi? Could that be possible? How had they gotten to her? Was her love really one of them now?

Fear suddenly gripped her, washing away the last traces of bovine docility. Naobi... reduced to a hollow shell... an empty husk with no thoughts of her own... now nothing more than a living zombie...

NO!!!!!!!

With sheer force of will, Fenisha fought the rising panic. She had to stop. She needed to think clearly and stop giving in to this cascade of catastrophe. Slowly, determinedly she somehow managed to summon her reserves of logic and attempted to analyse the situation.

Ok, she breathed deeply, there were at least a dozen crewmembers who bore a physical similarity to Naobi, particularly if they were dressed in slavesuits. Doubtless it was probably one of them. Had to be one of them. In her last message, Naobi had said she was rostered on prisoner transfer flights somewhere in the desolate wilderness of Caelum Nova. There was no possible way she could be on board the Bellerophon.

No, she exhaled with relief. It wasn’t her.

Naobi was safe.

Smiling behind the mask, she blinked the tears away, relief pouring through her.

Wait...!

Her veins turned to ice water. Reality returned with horrifying vengeance.

Goddess!!!!!!

What the hell had she been doing???? She’d been walking around in a blissed-out daze, entranced, completely vulnerable, her brain switched off... thinking that she was... an Automaton!

Anything could have happened!

Gasping, a jolt of adrenalin coursing through her body making her tremble, Fenisha suddenly realised how lucky she had been.

The Imprinting orgasm, combined with days of constant stress, tension and lack of sleep, had shredded her mental defences, leaving her wide open. Then the subliminal images, the seductive voice and the erotic ministrations of the bio-reactive suit had all combined to lull her into a deep hypnotic trance.

And she had fallen for it.

Hook, line and sinker.

Fenisha felt her breathing speed up as a new wave of panic threatened to engulf her.

She suddenly became fully aware of the oh-so pleasurable full-body sexfondling of the midnight-black slavesuit. It almost felt as if it was a living creature, some sort of hideous monster wrapped around her. Fenisha was nothing but helpless prey trapped in it’s clutches, her life-force being slowly broken down, her essence dissolved and digested by this revolting parasite who wanted to absorb her completely.

Even now, images of the stern Asian woman she had exploded for were blinking compellingly, the mellifluous siren song trying to anaesthetise her consciousness. Afterwards her treacherous, depraved, primordial hindbrain would take charge once again. It didn’t care if she was an Automaton — it had simple needs; pleasure and sex. The Creator promised endless supplies of both. And if the complex, rational part of her mind, where her identity and personality resided, had to be sacrificed, then so be it.

Soon, she’d sink helplessly back into the waking wet-dream, her body submitting eagerly to the living rubber as her infected cerebellum forced her thinking mind to listen and watch and believe that she was a slave.

That she needed to be a slave. Wanted to be a slave. Must be a slave.

Moaning softly, Fenisha had never felt so utterly and completely alone.

She was a nothing but a weak, fragile and very frightened individual. How could she possibly resist being dominated?

The Creator was too strong. Part of her brain had already betrayed Fenisha. The rest would soon follow. Her rational-thinking cerebrum wouldn’t be strong enough to resist a twin-pronged attack from within and without. Already the Creator’s compelling, hypnotic eyes projected inside the faceplate seemed to be burrowing into her mind, scrutinising her, penetrating her, knowing everything, sensing how weak she really was.

Trembling, Fenisha felt fear.

Afraid of what might happen next.

And afraid of the part of her that wanted it to happen.

Even now, the poisoned segment of her brain that wanted to coerce the Fenisha-mind back into waking trance was growing stronger, reasserting itself, the pleasurable sensations starting to corrupt and cloud the fragile sense of self she had fanned into existence.

Maybe, the treacherous, primeval part of her mind urged... it was for the best?

After all, being a slave wasn’t so bad, was it? Just let go. It would be so easy to surrender to the pleasure and stop thinking. The voice would tell her what to believe and who to love. That was what Fenisha wanted, wasn’t it? To love. And be loved. That was important. Fenisha needed that so badly. She’d been alone for so long. Fenisha wanted to share her life with someone special. To have a connection with another living being who understood everything about her. Here was her opportunity. Fenisha just had to lower her defences and let Her in. Give up fighting. A lifetime filled with contentment, happiness and love was Fenisha’s to take. All she had to do was surrender. Then she’d be free! Free to do what she was told. Free to love!

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Serving and obeying and worshipping wasn’t too much to ask in return for being set free... was it? Serving and obeying were similar to what she did already. In her job other people told her what to do and she did it. It was the same. No big difference. She’d done it all her life. This would be the same, but better! Because she’d be allowed to worship. Worship was just like being in love... only much better! And she’d never grow tired of it. This kind of love would never fade or grow dim over time. She’d love and love and love... and be permitted to explode with devotion over and over and over again... which would make her loveworship even stronger... because that was how love worked... as a slave...

Drooling, she saw herself being escorted by the pair of Automatons she had just passed. They’d place her back on to the Conversion Table, one-twelve strapping her in as she stared vacantly up into the humanoid’s mirrored faceplate, dripping with arousal and need, thinking of... love... only love... before the machinery set to work turning her into a will-dead thrall... a gleaming Implant drilled deep into the rational part of her troublesome brain... snuffing it out... her animal lusts triumphant... cumming again and again... climaxing... orgasming endlessly... Serving... Obeying...Worshipping... her Owner... her Mistress... her Creator...

STOP!

She screamed in the deserted corridor, clenching her fists, willing the terrifying-arousing thoughts away.

NO!!!!!!!!!!

She had to stay strong.

Gritting her teeth, she glared at the flickering imagery in her mask, clearly seeing the stern features of the woman who wanted to destroy her.

They were just pictures, Fenisha told herself. Images of a deranged lunatic who desperately wanted people to love her. A power-obsessed narcissist, unable to cope with the reality that she was not an immortal, omnipotent divinity, but merely a frail human being. One with major psychological issues.

The woman’s face stirred something else. She dredged through her hazy memories, recalling something Naobi had said about... her? A scene played out in Fenisha’s mind. Snuggled up on the couch after their passionate lovemaking, Naobi pointing her out during a newscast they’d been watching together, gossiping and laughing about the Doctor who had once been a high-flyer before her demotion and exile to Caelum Nova...

What the hell was her name?

Doctor... something?

Frukk! Doctor...

Xi!

Yes! That was it. Doctor Xi!!!

Smiling victoriously, Fenisha immediately felt stronger and more in control. The process of putting a name to this distant, imperious figure instantly diminished her power.

Xi was no Goddess, no immortal deity with sorcerous powers! She was a failure.

This was just the latest sociopathic freak in a long line of megalomaniacal freaks that humanity seemed to throw up periodically. And like every other dictator or cult leader who demanded absolute devotion from their followers, the same psychological traits that had caused her ascent would lead to her downfall. It was just a matter of time.

Consciously, she concentrated on the words murmuring in her ears, telling her that she was an obedient slave, a numbered Automaton, brainwashed to love the Creator...

She laughed aloud, the sound reverberating inside her domed faceplate.

Just words and pictures. That was all. Ridiculous.

There were no magical powers contained within them.

They only had meaning if she chose to let them have meaning. Otherwise they were just the demented rantings of a maniac.

Fenisha snarled back into life, fully. The cowardly part of her primitive mind simpered for mercy as she roared defiantly, before growing quiet and small once again.

All this conditioning was designed for lobotomized drones with thought-terminating Implants speared inside their heads, who had been surgically altered to become semi-mechanized Automatons.

But she didn’t believe. She didn’t have an Implant telling her what to think or believe. Her mind was her own.

She wasn’t one of Xi’s slaves. And never would be.

The midnight-black bio-reactive gel fondling her wasn’t some evil, monstrous creature. It was just an inanimate substance used in stasis pods during extended interstellar journeys to prevent muscles wasting and withering away. During the trip to Terra Munifica she’d been immersed in it, emerging two months later refreshed and feeling strong. Obviously Xi had warped the technology to keep her creatures horny and compliant, but it wasn’t a sentient parasitic lifeform that wanted to control her. It was just synth-gel responding to electronic impulses. That was all it was. Nothing more.

Taking a few more deep breaths until she was satisfied the storm had passed, Fenisha considered her position. Luckily the corridor was still empty; no-one had observed her anomalous behaviour.

Ok, she focussed, her plan had been to pass unnoticed as one of them in order to escape. She saw no reason to revise it. Getting the hell off the Bellerophon as quickly as possible was the priority. This was about survival.

Her survival.

Survival meant Naobi.

Survival was Naobi.

Mind clear, the sense of futile helplessness dispelled, she resumed her determined march along the deserted corridor until she came to the elevators that gave access to all Decks. Located just before them was a large glazed panel overlooking the massive Launch Bay that spanned the entire width of the Bellerophon.

She stopped and took in the vista before her.

Far below, the dozen slab-sided Black-Byrn Iris assault-shuttles the Bellerophon carried were neatly lined up in their parking bays. Beside them were twenty five smaller, but meaner looking, Gladiator interceptor-fighters. Automatons swarmed over the vessels, busily engaged in completing the maintenance that the crew had put off until they had left Caelum Nova. Already, some of the Authority insignias had been painted over, replaced by the same inverted triangle symbol embossed upon her black coated chest.

Cursing quietly, Fenisha suddenly realised how idiotic she’d been. She’d focussed so much on escaping Conversion and passing as one of them that she’d neglected everything else. Somehow, stupidly, she had convinced herself that her desperate escape plan would just work out; that she’d simply be able to steal a ship and fly away to freedom.

Dumb, dumb, dumb, she swore to herself.

Crushed, she looked past the neat rows of vessels dejectedly, infuriated by her own stupidity.

An unfamiliar transport bearing Caelum Nova medical markings had just docked; from the rear cargo compartment, black-clad drones unloaded large boxes and crates, while a line of Automaton passengers disembarked from the front.

Hope surged, her negativity evaporating as quickly as it had descended. This was a new opportunity! Maybe she could conceal herself on board when the Med-Ship returned to the planet?

Suddenly, amidst the sea of coal-black clad figures a dazzling splash of flesh caught her eye. There! Emerging from the Caelum Nova shuttle, a person! Or rather, a face. And another! And two more! Although she was too far away to make out any details, their normality stood out in stark contrast to the faceless, mechanoid roboticism of their companions. Following them with her eyes as they briskly exited the Bay she struggled to discern their identities to no avail.

Who were they? Were they from the planet? The way the Automatons reacted meant they must be part of all this. Yet more psychotic nurses like Ana and Makayla sent to destroy the minds of unsuspecting crewmembers?

One thing was certain; they weren’t drones like the rest.

Concentrating on this new puzzle she set the logical part of her mind to work once more, the traitor within now completely quiet. Beating herself up over mistakes wasn’t helpful. And dangerous. She had to move on and figure out her next move. Fast.

Her plan had been to make for Caelum Nova. But the presence of that Med-Ship complicated matters; it had obviously come from Reineport carrying brainwashed passengers. What did that mean? Obviously Xi had some sort of base in the city. Maybe in Central Hospital itself? The ship would probably return there when it left the Bellerophon. Did she really want to leap from the frying pan directly into the fire?

What else had Xi done? She was obviously insane, so nothing was off the table in terms of what she might try. Who knew what else was happening in Reineport — had she already turned the inhabitants into slaves? How would that be possible? The Bellerophon was a restricitve tin-can floating in space with a relatively small number of people to be Converted... but an entire city? A whole planet? The logistics of would be staggering. And it would take time. Lots of time.

But then again, for somebody like Xi, whose arrogance and sense of superiority obviously had no limits, the sheer audacity of Converting an entire planet would probably be too tempting to resist.

Continuing, more insights unravelled from the thought-thread unspooling in her cooly rational mind.

The Bellerophon must be a key part in whatever twisted schemes Xi had cooked up. Everything she had seen thus far signalled that Xi’s plans were far bigger than just the takeover of this Ship. She must have been plotting this for years.

Then she realised how smart Xi had been. With a comms-blackout and a Pox epidemic to keep prying eyes away, the Authority wouldn’t know about her coup for weeks, maybe even months? Who knows what damage Xi could do during that time. A fleet of the latest Authority Type-K Battlecraft would make short work of the older Bellerophon, but until they arrived whoever controlled this Ship controlled the entire Sector.

The magnitude of the potential cataclysm stunned her. How many lives had already been destroyed to satisfy the vanity of a narcissistic lunatic? How many others would Xi turn into slaves until she was stopped?

The Authority might be a grim, stifling, oppressive regime but it was as nothing compared to Xi’s bleak alternative. Besides, the Authority was slowly dying. Although it had survived the Divisionist threat, the brutal inequalities and burning resentment that were part and parcel of the Colonial system was rotting it away from the inside. Even her role was a symptom of its sickness; a regime that depended on a network of secret police and informers to keep people in line was weak, not strong.

The potential for something new, something better, to come out of the ashes of the Authority was palpable. But Xi was attempting to exploit the fear and chaos of a slowly imploding empire to create a new dictatorship. But this was one where humanity would be reduced to nothing more than faceless legions of dehumanized, mindwarped, Implanted slaves kneeling in devotion, fanatically obedient, frenziedly orgasming in worship before their Living Goddess.

Shocked, Fenisha realised just how high the stakes had become.

Xi had to be stopped.

Stunned, she was still reeling at the knowledge when her wandering eyes happened to fall upon something else.

Of course!

The Probe Ship!

The long, thin, needle nosed vessel was secured in it’s own dedicated cradle at the opposite end of the cavernous Launch Bay. Mainly used for the long-range scientific exploration and the monitoring of cosmic phenomenon, the Probe Ship was a thoroughbred stallion compared to the lumbering shorter-range workhorses that filled the Bay.

A complicated nest of tubes and cables disrupted the graceful, sleek lines of the Probe Ship as it stood in splendid isolation, ignored by the Automaton crew.

Hope returned with a vengeance.

The Probe Ship was the answer!

To facilitate it’s mission of exploration, the course was pre-loaded into the nav-system before the Probe Ship literally blasted off in a ball of flame like an old-fashioned rocket. Minor corrections might be made during flight, but as far as she knew, the two-person crew spent their time focussed on operating the scientific apparatus and gathering data.

All she had to do was point the Probe Ship in the right direction and take off. She’d be too fast to intercept. And the cockpit was accessed through a separate gantry on G-Deck meaning she wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet crossing the Launch Bay!

It’s speed meant that she would be able to reach Mazzhino Outpost in a matter of hours. Once she got within sensor range of the military base she could make contact and get help. Furthermore, while she knew the theoretical rudiments of flying, other than an hour of practice when Naobi’s friend Yasmyne had let her take the controls that time they had “liberated” a Dart for a joy-ride, she had no practical experience. Landing a shuttle without killing herself would be a major issue. But that problem was solved if she used the Probe Ship; once she reached Mazzhino space and called for help they could send somebody out to pick her up.

But the cables attached to the Probe Ship troubled her. They indicated it wasn’t flight ready. She’s have to discover if it was just routine maintenance or a more serious problem. And the best place to find out it’s status was Engineering, the place where she’d been ordered to report to.

Just hold it together, Fenisha told herself, psyching herself up for the fight ahead. Tough it out.

There was no other choice.

She was committed.

Once she raised the alarm, Naobi would be safe.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

* * *

There were three other figures in Engineering, Automatons seated at the stations where familiar faces, now hidden behind their mirrored visors, had sat not so long ago. Separately, a lone figure, obviously their supervisor, sat at the main control console which she approached. The number eighty-eight was illuminated on her collar.

Looking away from the readout, the faceless figure acknowledged her presence.

“Automaton two thirty-seven, reporting,” Fenisha announced as confidently as she dared.

“Commence Function at station four,” the flat voice of what had once been Senior Engineer Mendoza ordered from beneath the mirrored glass. “Obey.”

Legs wobbling slightly, Fenisha made her way to her assigned workspace, discreetly assessing the trio of Automatons seated in a line before the huge Main Board that dominated the room. Although utterly featureless, she knew these creatures had once been the Eng-Techs she had worked alongside with.

Passing along the row towards the empty seat facing the Board, she was easily able to identify Miatta at station two; her height set her apart from the others. It wasn’t possible to distinguish Rasha from Sharrlien because their body shapes were too similar.

Swallowing the nausea, Fenisha settled into her familiar workstation, relieved to have something to concentrate on and distract her. There would be call-outs that she’d have to attend to in person, but for the most part she spent her working day screen-watching and ensuring the systems were operating at capacity.

Greatfully, she slipped into the familiar routine, scanning her section of the imposing Board, searching for problems.

With difficulty, Fenisha resisted the urge to check on the status of the Probe Ship immediately. It wasn’t part of her bailiwick and she didn’t want to raise red flags just in case Mendoza was monitoring her work.

Taking a deep breath, quelling her impatience and controlling her adrenalin, she focussed on her usual routine. As usual, she first set about scrutinising the readouts for the Primary and Secondary Reactors, looking for any anomalies.

Lost in the dim distance of her consciousness, the soft whisper and the flickering images continued speaking to her as she set to work. By now, she had grown accustomed to the gentle teasing and sexual fondling of her bio-gel wrapped body. But it no longer held any terrors; the arousal was nothing more than a pleasant background hum that had no power over her. As long as her rational mind remained in control, she was safe.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The Reactors looked fine — the core temperature of the Primary unit was on the low side of normal, but that was to be expected as the Ship had spent an extended period in orbit with the anti-matter Drive Units just ticking over.

Raising a gloved hand, she zoomed in on the section of Pipe Conduit that the diagnostic said was partially blocked. Frowning, she traced it to Junction M8194, a critical point in the Back-Up System for the Secondary Reactor. If there was a sudden loss of liquid coolant this particular Pipe was designed to allow the emergency reserve fluid to flood the core to prevent a catastrophic meltdown.

That was a Priority task.

Highlighting the Junction on the schematics, she dispatched an inspection robot to examine the problem, the action appearing on Mendoza’s readout automatically. Unless it was a particularly extensive blockage, the maintenance unit that periodically scoured the Pipes would probably be capable of dealing with it.

A minor hiccup, no doubt. Probably caused by the lack of attention paid to it over the past number of days.

But concentrating on that task had felt good... almost normal. For a few precious minutes she had forgotten about the horrors that surrounded her.

Exhaling, Fenisha returned her attention to the Main Board once more, hunting for more anomalies.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

By now, she had become accustomed to the incessant stroking and caressing of the bio-suit that was keeping her marinated in pleasure without actually tipping her over the edge. Although the voice and images murmured incessantly, they had become a humming background blur that could be safely ignored.

They held no power over her.

She was safe.

Now safely focussed on her familiar work routine, Fenisha started working on something that had been bothering her.

It was odd, she thought, the Automatons were supposed to be docile, obedient slaves with control Implants buried inside them. So what was the point of this continual audio-visual and bio-reactive arousal conditioning?

Why?

Why go to so much trouble?

After all the effort spent creating these lobotomized puppets, Xi obviously wanted efficient labour units able to accomplish sophisticated tasks... amongst other things. That much was obvious. But why make it so complicated...?

Then the answer hit her.

With their brains Converted, thoughts regulated by their Implant, the Automatons were probably bereft of all the background stimulation a healthy mind derived from their natural environment. Thinking, responding and reacting to ever changing situations, both big and small, important and unimportant, recalling memories, emotions... all provided the stimuli needed to prevent atrophy. Without it, the human mind quickly deteriorated. It was the same basic process as sensory deprivation or being thrown in an isolation cell; eventually people went mad.

So the incessant audio-visual and sexual stimulation substituted for that lack.

Plus, psychological factors, such as belonging, a sense of purpose and love were still hard-wired into the brain so Xi had obviously attempted to satisfy these needs by keeping her droneslaves constantly horny and obsessed with her.

They might look like robots, but at the core they still had basic human needs that needed to be satisfied. But these normal needs had been completely warped and twisted so that they now loved what Xi had done to them.

And, Fenisha realised, it meant that her shipmates weren’t actually brain-drained husks. If they were all just interchangeable zombies then one Automaton would do as well as the next at any particular task. But they had taken care to categorize and Designate her, assigning her to the task she was best suited for. She had a specific skillset and Xi had ensured that she was being used properly. The years of learning, the repetitive muscle memory, talent, the ability to understand all the nuances and layers within a particular situation and formulate an appropriate response... a crew able to do all those things were needed to keep a Battlecraft of this size and complexity functioning.

Since she had no cylindrical device lobotomizing her, that probably meant the Implants were generic units. It was undoubtedly simpler to produce lots of one-size-fits-all units, install them, then blast the wearer with standard programming to make them compliant while leaving useful parts of the rational-brain intact.

That meant that some part of who they had been before Conversion remained.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The knowledge provided was some degree of comfort, at least. Perhaps they could be rescued, freed from the mind controlling technology? Returned to some degree of normality?

Or was it worse?

Maybe they’d be better off as blank slates. Perhaps they knew they were trapped, constricted, being forced to obey commands they revolted against, silently screaming inside an impregnable mental prison that would never release them?

Shuddering, the knowledge provided further impetus to escape.

This nightmare needed to end.

* * *

“Attend, Automatons,” the familiar voice of Captain Zhelikko insisted in her ears,

“This is the Primary Servitor,” the Captain announced through the speakers pressing against her head. “The Creator has assigned this one to command Her Slave Ship Subjugator. Servitors two, three and four will serve as senior commanders. Obey them.”

Fenisha continued to look at the Main Board as she digested the words. Obviously, the Captain had been Converted. She had no idea what a Servitor was, but it was obviously another form of mindwarped slave.

The people she had glimpsed disembarking from the Medical Transport, she suddenly realised, must have been the Captain and the senior officers — they’d obviously been brainwashed elsewhere. Probably on Caelum Nova.

“At present, approximately one third of the crew remains unConverted,” Servitor-Zhelikko continued, her voice quivering with emotion, “but operations are ongoing to remedy this.”

The fervour dripping from her every word was clearly evident.

“Until then, we will continue to bring the Creator’s Slave Ship to full operational readiness. Once fully crewed, we will commence active duty in support of Her plans.”

Fenisha couldn’t suppress a small shudder at the words. She didn’t want to imagine what those plans might be.

“Serve the Owner!” Servitor-Zhelikko proclaimed, ending her broadcast. “Obey Mistress! Worship the Creator!”

Turning her attention back to the Main Board, Fenisha processed what she had just heard. She had formed the impression that this speech was more about a newly minted Servitor-slave eager to publicly profess her new-found faith rather than an attempt to inspire her mindtwisted crew. Not that it mattered. Certainly, based on that speech, if Automatons appeared to be cold, emotionless, will-dead robots, then Servitors seemed to be fanatical cultists.

Fenisha wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.

* * *

“Attend,” a loud, clear voice briskly cut through the speakers accompanied by the shrill alert tone. “Condition Red. All Automatons report to their battle stations. Prepare to intercept target.”

Still seated before the Main Board, Fenisha watched the power-flow schematics change as the anti-matter drives quickly rose to maximum. With a twinge of professional pride, she noted that the transition was a smooth one, pleased by the progress she had made over the past few hours readying the system.

Apart from watching her section of the Main Board, Fenisha was not required to do anything else. Alongside her, the former Eng-Techs silently monitored their sections, making minor alterations as necessary.

A short time later the all-clear tone sounded, the alert had ending.

The power-flow changed once more as the reactors powered down, the anti-matter drives returning to normal.

“Automatons two fourteen and two thirty-seven, attend,” Mendoza’s voice trilled causing her to turn away from the Board. “Report to the Landing Bay. Obey.”

Turning, she saw Miatta rising from her seat and quickly joined her. After wrapping their tool belts around their waists, she set off towards their destination, having to work hard to keep in step with taller woman’s longer stride.

Even though her face was invisible, Fenisha felt the fierce intensity that radiated from Miatta as they marched onwards.

Of all the people she worked with, she had got on best with the lanky brunette with the easy laugh and chirpy demeanour with an apparently endless supply of lewd jokes which she was always ready to share.

In fact, she had become suspicious of Miatta. Her bubbly nature had led her to wonder if it was all a facade designed to lull people into dropping their guard. Perhaps Miatta was another covert informer? Who knows how many undercover people they had on board the vessel? Maybe she was assigned to spy on her? That would be just like Tranquility — ever since the Divisionist War, the Authority had become increasingly paranoid.

But now?

Miatta was gone. It seemed as if every aspect of her warm, gregarious personality—her very humanity—had been erased and wiped clean.

A mechatronised drone now inhabited her body.

Fighting back a sudden urge to cry, Fenisha pressed on.

A short time later they were in the Bay, walking towards an expensive, top-of-the-range civilian Yacht which lay becalmed. Automatons were swarming over the vessel, dragging out the terrified occupants. Clearly visible on the side was a name; Polomina.

The two pilots were easily distinguished from the passengers; expensively and fashionably dressed and drop dead gorgeous thanks to extensive cosmetic treatments, they screeched and squealed as their guards removed them from the stationary vessel. Everything about them oozed privilege and entitlement. Obviously from the elite of Caelum Nova, they were unused to being treated this way. Only one stood out for being slightly older than the others, her eyes much more alert, hunted.

The final two to emerge were identical twins; slender beauties with waist length blonde hair with purple highlights that contrasted with their impossibly smooth, dark complexions.

Restrained by their guards, another Automaton appeared carrying an injector. Working systematically, the number ten efficiently sedated them one after another, the screams of fear fading.

Slumped in the arms of their drone guards, the women’s superficial glamour vanished.

With her focus on the drama, she hadn’t noticed that another figure was observing the scene from the sidelines.

“Captives subdued, Servitor,” she heard the Kendyll-Automaton report.

Hipfher was dressed in a tight one-piece uniform that resembled a standard slavesuit but without the hood, her dark hair scraped tightly back against her scalp.

The Servitor gestured to the guards who dragged the twins toward her, holding them upright as she inspected them.

Satisfied, Hipfher began issuing orders. “Take the prisoners to the Conversion Chamber immediately,” she snapped at the Automaton. “The pilots will be added to the crew.”

“Yes, Servitor,” droneKendyll agreed readily.

“Once these five have been Implanted,” Hipfer went on, indicating the passengers, “they are to be segregated for Specialism Imprinting. Which i will oversee.”

“It will be done, Servitor,” Kendyll’s voice responded firmly, directing the group away. Turning towards them, Hipfher looked at them coldly for a moment. The bottomless, fanatical intensity of the Servitor’s deep, dark eyes terrified her.

“Ensure the Yacht is fully powered down before being stowed away,” Hipfher commanded before leaving.

* * *

It had been a standard shift — at least that hadn’t changed. Four new Automatons had relieved them; doubtless Yato-Unh, O’Bryan, Ztith, and Hecsgios lay behind the featureless visors of the drones who had taken over.

Exiting Engineering with the others, they had been instructed to report to the Mess, a prospect her stomach welcomed. The elevator whisked them back to E-Deck and discharged them in the familiar corridor. A quick peek through the glass viewport reassured her the Probe Ship remained in place as she marched in step with the others.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Her time working on the captured Yacht had allowed her to fully access the Flight Maintenance System without arousing suspicion. As she had suspected, the Probe Ship was still out of action. While it was fully powered and fuelled, the overly-complex and temperamental fight computer was throwing another one of it’s periodic hissy-fits and was being rebooted. Quickly working out the maths in her head, Fenisha had figured out it should be ready by approximately seventeen-hundred hours tomorrow. In the meantime, she’d already plotted the direct course to Mazzhino. Once the Probe Ship’s computer was working again, it would load the data automatically, enabling her to leave immediately.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Frustratingly, she had to wait.

A whole day. No, less than a day.

But until then, her only option was to keep her head down and try to blend in as best she could.

Just then there was a blur of movement from a side corridor... a figure moving at speed... unable to stop... crashing into the small group, bowling them over like skittles.

Stunned, Fenisha found herself sprawled on the floor, pressing down on a vaguely familiar looking woman. Struggling to free herself, the woman, Zelena Prohknova, screamed frantically, desperately trying to pull herself out from the tangled mass of limbs and bodies she was ensnared in.

“Seize the resistant!” a stern, demanding voice boomed through the speakers in her turtleneck-hood. Her companions complied instantly, grabbing hold of Zelena who was desperately thrashing against them. Seeing there was no choice in the matter, Fenisha cursed silently to herself before grasping one of Zelena’s arms.

Slowly the group got to their feet, dragging the helpless Zelena with them. Her once-fair hair was a matted, tangled mess, her uniform ripped and dirty. She’d been in hiding, Fenisha quickly surmised. Sobbing uncontrollably, the helpless woman wailed with fear.

They were obviously hunting down stragglers who had managed to evade Implantation. Hating herself for the thought, she was guiltily pleased to see that she’d made the right choice after all.

“Automatons, bring the captive to the Conversion Chamber,” Makayla’s voice instructed through her earphones.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Holding on to the terrified Zelena, who collapsed into incoherent, burbling terror as they half-walked, half-dragged her onwards, the small group made their way towards Conversion as commanded.

The black medic was waiting for them to arrive, gesturing for her Automaton assistant to sedate the now frantic captive.

“Very good,” Makayla’s pearly teeth flashed wolfishly, her short-cut fair hair and skimpy white medical uniform contrasting with skin the colour of warm sable. “I’ve enjoyed this hunt!”

After a cursory examination of Zelena the twisted nurse ordered them to place her on the table, which they did, securing her limp form into the waiting indentation. Above, the fiendish machinery awaited yet another victim.

Task complete, the group lined up to await further instruction. Seated beyond, heavy cables now plugged into their foreheads, the passengers and crew taken from the Yacht earlier stared through the line of drones as they underent initial programming. Now naked, bald and Implanted, all their expensive glamour and entitlement had been stripped away. Shuddering slightly, Fenisha quickly turned her gaze away from the group, repulsed by the sight.

Makayla continued her scrutiny of the semi-conscious Zelena on the table as they waited in silence. Turning away, the nurse looked them over, her gaze roving over the line of taut, attentive bodies.

“Ah, two thirty-seven,” Makayla eyes sparkled as she read her Designation number, a fresh smile contorting her face.

Swallowing, desperately trying to keep calm, Fenisha remained still.

Makayla’s predatory grin grew wider and wider with every step the nurse took towards her.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

“It was thanks to your tip about the Coolant Pipe that we caught this last straggler. Quite the chase...” the twisted medic smiled sardonically, “and you were in on the kill at the end. Perfection.”

Oh no!!!

Head spinning, she suddenly realised that the blockage had been Zelena! The maintenance robots dispatched to scrub the conduits must have driven Zelena deeper and deeper into the maze of pipework until she triggered a security sensor. The Automatons must know who was missing from the crew and were looking for them. Makayla had obviously been monitoring, or maybe even directing, the search.

Disorientated, desperate, lost, tired, frightened, a panicked Zelena had probably stumbled through one of the larger vents, suddenly finding herself fully exposed in the corridor.

She hadn’t meant...

No!!!!

Makayla had reached out to touch her, her hands tracing the emblem embossed into the black rubberite between her breasts. The nurse’s sparkling brown eyes, flecked with grey, were bottomless pools of evil lust.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Memories of Sub-Lieutenant Parrkh suddenly appeared in Fenisha’s head.

Nausea welled up. The shudder was impossible to stop, rippling through her body as her disgust burst forth. Makayla’s malicious smile only widened, her hard eyes glittering wickedly.

“I see you’re enjoying this, two thirty-seven,” the nurse smirked, mistaking her revulsion for pleasure. Once more, Fenisha was greatful for the mirrored face-plate.

Suddenly, Makayla’s hands shot out and grabbed hold of Fenisha’s breasts, grasping them tightly through the rubber suit, squeezing painfully, causing her to gasp loudly.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

“That’s a good dronewhore,” she tinkled with laughter, obviously pleased with Fenisha’s response to her groping. “I have a feeling that getting better acquainted with your Secondary Function would be fun.”

Ohh, for the love of Goddess... Please... Nooo!!

“I believe that Servitor four,” the black woman began, her eyes twinkling maliciously, “has...”

Just then fate intervened; Automaton guards escorting a new batch of Convertees burst into the room. Sedated, subdued, the crewmembers looked broken already. In what had obviously become a well practiced routine, the new captives were expertly loaded on to the carousel and restrained.

“But first,” the nurse trembled softly, her brown-grey orbs glazing over, hands dropping away, “I must please the Doctor...”

Taking a step away Makayla dismissed the group with a flick of her hand, turning towards the new subjects. Issuing orders. Making preparations to destroy another batch of victims for her diabolical Goddess.

Relieved, Fenisha pivoted with the rest, preparing to leave in single file.

Just then the nurse suddenly whirled around and placed her arm on her shoulder, preventing her departure.

“Stay, two thirty-seven,” Makayla smirked, her sharp eyes unfathomable.

Trembling with fear, she could no nothing but comply as her companions disappeared. Left standing on the sidelines she watched events unfold before her.

The Kendyll-Automaton informed her supervisor that preparations were complete and took her place at the control panel in the centre of the table. At the medic’s command the table began to rotate.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

“Two thirty-seven,” Makayla snapped, summoning her. Gulping, she approached the nurse. On the table, the process of shearing away Zelena’s matted hair was underway.

“You should enjoy this,” the ebony woman smirked, playing with some sort of programme on her Data Pad that displayed a human-shaped icon alongside the number 237.

An acrid burning smell reached her nostrils as the surgical lasers set to work.

“Think of this as a reward for your service, two thirty-seven,” the nurse smiled, adjusting the settings on the Pad from thirteen to eighty-five percent.

The familiar electrical sensations started dancing over her body as the semi-dormant bio-reactive slavesuit howled back into life with sudden vehemence. Gasping loudly with surprise, Fenisha’s body buckled at the erotic onslaught, struggling to fight it.

Meanwhile the visor-display had increased in intensity, the familiar words in front of her eyes blinking with a ferocity that dazed her, triggering the responses that had been Imprinted into her psyche.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Beyond she could clearly make out the outline of Zelena, twitching helplessly as her cranium was sliced open. Gasping softly, Fenisha felt the formerly quiescent animal-side of her brain wakening from its slumber.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Faster and faster the words appeared before her, each flicker merging into the next, the semi-transparent subliminal flashes becoming increasingly solid and more important with every repetition. Her rational-brain was struggling desperately, trying to fight back against this sudden onslaught as the pleasure-slaved segment of her mind started to grow and grow with renewed strength.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Paralysed, as the unseen battle of wills for control of her mind recommenced, Fenisha stared dumbfounded as the facemask and speakers launched barrage after barrage of hypno-conditioning towards her resistant still-thinking brain, weakening her as her body burned with desire. Beyond, she could just make out Zelena having her Implant installed in place, the voice now roaring in her ears.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Zelena was no longer a person with a name and an identity. She was nothing but an unDesignated slave requiring programming. That was good. Wasn’t it? Yes, the zelena-humanoid belonged to the Creator. The new fem-drone would be fitted with a slavesuit and mask before being Imprinted, orgasming as the Owner took her, screaming her devotion as the sexpleasure bound her to the Majestic Will of Mistress. Forever.

Groaning, she stared helplessly through her flashing faceplate, barely registering the attentive features of the black medic observing her.

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The next victim was being readied for Implantation... Ensign Pyrcse... she too must belong to the Owner... her disobedient mind destroyed... consigned to slavery for the rest of her life... cumming endlessly... turned into nothing more than a numbered drone... yessss...

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

Next was Alva d’Farge, a Sci-Specialist... the Owner must possess her... an Implant must be inserted into the living tissue of her brain so that she could become a slaveunit... all individuality obliterated... so that the fem-drone could be reborn as an obedient Automaton that existed to please the Creator... yesssss...!!!

SERVE — OBEY — WORSHIP

The rotation of the table brought a new female shape under the machinery... tall, firm, muscled... a marine... her name was?... irrelevant... this was just another piece of flesh to be Converted... all individuality had to be destroyed... the Creator demanded it... the material must be turned into a lobotomized roboslave with no thoughts except those the Owner permitted... the nameless subject needed to have an Implant drilled into her brain so that her strong body could Serve... Obey... Worship...!!!!

OWNER — MISTRESS — CREATOR

Her whole body was on fire. The fascinating, compelling visage of Doctor Xi filled her vision, dominating her like... like a Goddess she had been born to worship. Beyond, another human fem-unit was being readied for Implantation. The voracious, molten bio-suit was devouring her... resist... have to resist... she had to... try to... hold on... she wasn’t going...