The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been four days since the crash, and the Princess Nanissa still had not awakened. If the condition of her crown when the humans had found it in the shuttle’s wreckage was anything to go by, her head wound had been severe, though it seemed to be healed now. Two of the Princess’ young ladies-in-waiting, Annima and Camilkoita, stood silent vigil, their blond and white hair cut in identical styles—straight, with bangs and ends so square they could have been cut with a die-cutter.

“Scat, you two.” the human called Howard said. “You’re still recovering, don’t forget. I’ll watch her for a while.”

“One of us should be here...” Annima said.

“You won’t be any use to her if you kill yourselves disobeying the doctors’ orders.” Howard said, pointing toward the exit and inserting compulsions in each of their minds to go and rest. He pulled up a stool and began the massage therapy that had been prescribed. An hour into it, he had done her feet, legs, hands and arms and was working on her abdomen when his hand slipped and brushed her right nipple. Her EEG showed a spike where there had only been a shallow parable before.

“Do that again!” the chief medic called from his office.

“That’s supposed to be her line!” Howard responded. Despite thoughts of being executed by the Hthulman Royal Guard for his presumption, he complied, massaging her breasts. The erogenous stimulation seemed to be doing the trick, as some of the almost-dormant lines on the display began to move more animatedly. He withdrew one hand from a breast and tried her crotch. Her breathing and heart-rate quickened, and she began to moan. Howard used his telekinetic ability to mirror the stimulation of one breast on the other. The Princess’ eyes snapped open and she shuddered through an orgasm, staring directly into Howard’s eyes.

Who am I? she thought just before losing consciousness again. Her graphs showed a normal sleep pattern, so Howard desisted the stimulation therapy—and “therapy” was what he was going to call it if anyone asked.

“Good job, Howard!” the medic said, emerging from his office. “I guess all she needed was incentive.”

“I heard her thoughts just before she passed out again.” Howard said. “She thought ‘Who am I?’”

“Well, maybe her memory will come back on its own. Maybe she’ll need help. Maybe it was written on the brain cells you had to regenerate entirely. Who’s to say?”

She awoke the second time when Howard returned with lunch. She gave him a tremulous smile, to which he responded by gently grasping her hand. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Lost.” she responded. “Who am I?”

“I’m told that your name is Nanissa, and that you are Princess of Hthulma.”

“Na...nissa? H...thul...ma?” she asked. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t seem familiar.”

“Well, if the others are lying, then they’re very good at hiding that fact from a telepathic scan.” Howard quipped.

“Others?”

“The other survivors.” He caressed her face, brushing her short, pink hair out of her eyes. “I’ll fill you in as best I can. Let me know if I jog anything loose, OK?” He took a deep breath and released it before he began. “As I understand it, your planet was attacked and conquered by a race known by other species as the Despicable—we have some experience with them, by the way. The royal family tried to escape, but you were pursued and attacked. In hyperspace, you were put into a shuttle and launched separately so that your parents could buy time for you to get away. The shuttle was attacked in hyperspace and emerged near Earth, where we cushioned your crash and rescued the survivors, yourself included, and brought you and the remains of the shuttle here.”

“They...fired weapons in hyperspace?” the Princess asked. “That doesn’t seem very smart.”

“Apparently the Despicable have weapons that can be used effectively and safely—for them—in hyperspace.” Howard said. He stood up. Nanissa clung to his hand. Fear was prominent in her mind. Howard scooted the stool closer to the bed and put the food on her tray. He’d get more food for himself later. Right now, the princess needed it more than he. She tasted the meat and mashed potatoes and, radiating pleasure, dug in ravenously. Now that she was eating on her own, Howard deftly removed the nutrient IV and healed the puncture from the needle.

Nanissa sighed happily and sank back against the pillows as she finished the meal. The medic came in and introduced himself. After a few routine medical questions, during which she confirmed she still didn’t remember anything before she had awakened under Howard’s skillful fingers. The medic left them alone for a while, then Howard sensed the other Hthulmans approaching.

“Here come some of your loyal subjects.” he told her. Annima and Camilkoita entered first, followed by the advisor, Lekisam, who bore more than a passing resemblance to Exedore from Robotech. The next to enter was Nanissa’s body-servant, Sarit, a female with robin’s-egg blue hair in a top knot growing from her otherwise clean-shaven head, so long that it almost brushed the floor as she walked. Sarit wore a loincloth by tradition and a bikini top to avoid offending or tempting her human hosts. The last to enter was General Ronnik, the only military man to survive. He was eight feet tall if he was an inch, with short, silver hair in a stripe from his forehead to the nape of his neck, and a musculature that would put many bodybuilders to shame. All of them crossed their arms over their chests and genuflected, but there was no recognition in Nanissa’s eyes. The princess clung to Howard’s hand as they tried to explain about her past. Sarit remained silent until everyone else but Howard was gone, murmuring worriedly among themselves.

“Mistress, the person they described may not seem like you, because they only knew the public you.” she said. She placed her hand on Nanissa’s free hand. She swore Howard to silence since it was obvious the princess wasn’t going to let him go, then seated herself on a spare stool and began to tell the story about a realistic young woman, with flaws, foibles and anxieties, who got into mischief and got frustrated with her parents. The story seemed to amuse Nanissa, but she still didn’t connect the person described with herself. The medic came and shooed Howard and Sarit out of the infirmary so Nanissa could rest. Howard sent mental assurances that she would be safe, and instructions on accessing the infirmary’s voice-address system. She waved a sad farewell to Howard, and ordered some music to stave off the silence.

Mandy met Howard at the door to their room, kissing him fiercely and drawing him inside. She pulled his clothes off—hers were already gone—and pushed him to the bed, passion burning in her eyes. She lowered herself onto his cock and moaned, shivering with a minor orgasm the moment he was fully engulfed. She began to ride him like a cowgirl on a bronco. She climaxed again when he stiffened in preparation for ejaculation, and screamed his name to the ceiling before going limp on top of him.

“I’m happy to see you too, Mandy.” he quipped as he ran his fingers through her lava-flow hair. She laughed softly and began to kiss him lovingly on his chest, neck and face. He felt the warmth of her psychically as well as physically, and also her desire to simply be with him for a while, before someone else came along to interrupt them. He took her hand and planted a kiss in her palm, closing her fingers over it and delighting in the soft moan she gave him in return. With the other women involved in their own routines for the next few hours at least, he figured he had time to indulge Mandy’s desires.

Damon had brought his report to Victor in person, rather than transmitting it to his terminal and hurrying on to the welcoming arms of his girls, so Victor put aside the IRS hate-letter he had been reading and turned his full attention to the report, which showed the increased activity in the system since the Princess’ crash—almost all of the new traffic from known Despicable designs, and incoming. The ships were quick to hide themselves, but the Foundation’s secret probes, shuttled into orbit and released to take up positions around the solar system, had caught them as they came out of hyperspace. He reached into his desk and pulled out a CD, which he handed to Damon.

“What’s this, sir?”

“A present for our visitors from Penelope.” Victor said. “Bounce it off Scout Drone 061 to the enemy flagship on a tight beam relay. It should distract them nicely for the next few days.” He caught Damon’s smile as he took off for the communications and monitoring room.

The Despicable knew their prey was here. Ships jumping into and out of hyperspace left a signature that could linger detectably for months, unlike the races who used “space-fold” technology, where the entry and exit points were detectable for a scant few hours before fading away entirely. His mind worked on ways to make them go away without an open space war that would be visible from the ground.

One more problem for the pile. he thought with a mental sigh, picking up the IRS letter again. They were angry at him for pouring all his assets and income into the Foundation, out of their reach. The action didn’t set well with him, but all the taxes he’d paid when he’d married Inet and gained control of her considerable assets had been earmarked for classified projects in that year’s budget—specifically, the various agencies that acted as the eyes, ears, legs and fists of the Supernatural Threat Department. That was why he had structured the Foundation the way he had—as a kind of charitable commune, where members pooled their earnings in the Foundation, and in turn were free to use what they needed, within reason.

The Foundation was growing. The early graduates of the training program had gone into space for further study, so there was room for new trainees, but that wasn’t going to keep. He hoped it would work long enough for construction to be finished on the new Tower.

A scratch at the door alerted Victor to the arrival of one of the other guests. He opened the door with his mind, and K’chktktk scuttled in, with wool sweaters and heating pads strapped to its body. Victor reached into his desk again and pulled out a couple of plastic spoons to converse with the insectoid in its own language.

“Message from hive. This one leaving soon. Much gratitude.” it said. Victor clacked the spoons together rapidly to form his reply.

“This one hopes new home planet found soon. Also, predator-caution. No-good swarm near.”

“No-good?” K’chktktk asked—No-good being its kind’s name for the Despicable. “Where it?” Victor opened his laptop, accessing the main computer system and calling up a solar-system map, with many red dots indicating the positions of the Despicable ships. Even as K’chktktk watched, four more flag-class vessels jumped out of hyperspace. The insectoid clenched and unclenched its four three-clawed palps as its vestigial wings buzzed aggressively under the wool and its six legs drummed an instinctive warning against the floor. The spray nozzles at the back of its abdomen emerged, though it held that in check. The last thing Victor needed was to have his laptop melted. It repeated the sounds for “bad” almost twenty times. “Why it here?”

“No-good stole planet. Queen, queen’s mate, queen’s offspring, queen’s special workers and soldiers escaped. Queen’s offspring crashed here with some workers and one soldier.” Though K’chktktk’s species had a word for princess, it was far more complex than he could manage with the spoons.

“No-good’s prey fly away with this one.” K’chktktk suggested.

“This one will speak with them, tell them of K’chktktk’s generous offer.”

“Big honor, depriving No-good.” it replied with amusement. “This one return to warm room now.” It posed its claws in a farewell gesture and left. Victor’s watch beeped, reminding him that it was time for him to head down to the station. He emailed Lekisam a quick message about the offer before heading out.

Kanna Kazuki huffed. She could swear she’d passed the same copier at least twice before. Her boss—her real one—had assigned her to dig up some dirt on Victor Phillips in order to garner some ratings. The cute little foundation he ran from the top three floors of his space-ship motel was a ripe little target.

Kanna personally would have preferred to topple only bad giants—corrupt corporations, or a high-profile pedophile priest—but her boss was jaded, stating that everyone had something to hide, and with a little effort, a real newsperson could simply pick a target and destroy.

The implication was that if she couldn’t find the dirt on Victor Phillips, she wasn’t good enough to work there. Now, she was lost in the cubicle farm, staring at the copier like some little lost bimbo and wallowing in self-disgust.

“First day?” a friendly voice asked. She turned in its direction and found herself unable to pick her jaw up off the floor. There, in the flesh, was Victor Phillips himself! He seemed shorter in person, but there was an unmistakable charisma that she couldn’t quite pin down or define. His gaze bored into hers, as if he were reading her very soul. She felt guilty, but imagined she saw some unspoken forgiveness in his eyes. She shivered as her body responded to his nearness. He reached out and gently closed her mouth with one finger. He waved his hand in front of her eyes, and she managed to shake off the spell.

“Uh...yeah...first day, I mean.” she stammered. D’oh! Stupid! “Uh...I could have sworn I passed that copier already.”

“Probably, we only have one on this floor.” he said. “Somebody threw the other one out the window when it choked on one last-minute project too many.” She laughed a little—too much and she would have looked like a giggly airhead. He escorted her through the maze until they were on the other side.

“I think it’d be easier if I went around next time.” she admitted.

“Maybe, but you’ve got to learn it eventually.” Victor said. “Don’t worry, Kanna, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Oh, Kanna, there you are!” a female voice called.

“Oh, Desiree, is this yours?” Victor asked. Kanna turned and found herself looking into the eyes of her supervisor, the station’s daytime female anchor Desiree Cooper-Leonov, whose wealthy husband was even more mysterious than the seldom-seen Zak Starborn. The woman looked good for a mother of twins.

“Well, that’s what the big boss told me.” Desiree said. She then turned her full attention to Kanna, who felt as if someone were running fingers through her head. The sensation was disconcerting, but Victor put his hand on her shoulder, and it went away.

“Let’s not try to frighten her, okay, Dez?” Victor asked.

“Sure, Vic.” Desiree responded. “Come on, Kanna, let’s get some work done. And don’t worry, everyone gets lost in the cubicles on their first day.”

“Really?” Kanna asked, doubtfully.

“Well, everyone who works on this floor and decides to try cutting through them, anyway.” Desiree amended. Kanna didn’t have much time for further reflection. Desiree put her to work immediately, warning her that the “higher-ups” had installed keychecks to keep people from surfing for porn on company time.

How had Victor known her name? The thought came unbidden to her mind as she walked to her car at the end of her shift. She saw Victor pull out of his own space and decided to follow him. Not too surprisingly, they ended up at his spaceship hotel. She didn’t see what code he entered when he went inside via the employee entrance. She parked across the street and pulled out her binoculars. She saw two more employees enter their codes...codes, not code. Each one was unique, which probably meant that even if she found one out, the system would notice the duplication and sound the alarm. Well, there were other ways to get into a building. Kanna had a feeling that the Pan-Galactic Hotel would hold more of Victor’s secrets than the television station.

Nanissa’s hand sleepily crept toward Howard’s place in the bed. Finding it empty and cold, she let out a soft whimper before opening her eyes. He’d been gone a while, from the feel of things. How much time would they have left before she was forced to leave him? A pang of regret stabbed her heart, and she hugged his pillow against her, clinging tightly to the feel of his body against hers, the feel of him inside her, body and mind, sharing as equally as they could of each other. Some memories, she realized, could bolster one in the lonely moments.

Don’t fret, sweetheart, I’m on my way home. his voice said into her mind, warming her from within and giving her the strength of will to get out of bed. She showered, shaved her legs and brushed her hair. Would he like it if she grew it longer? She wasn’t expecting him to come home with yet another girl in tow. There was something eerily familiar about this girl, however.

“Hello.” she said, emerging into the living room with a robe on.

“Hello back.” the girl said.

“Nanissa, this is Roberta Sawyer, a professional impersonator.” Howard said.

“Impersonator?” Nanissa asked. “What does she impersonate?”

“What does she impersonate?” Roberta mocked, in an almost dead-on mimicry of Nanissa’s voice and tone.

“Well, until the last election, she used to impersonate a certain state senator’s daughter. Basically, a decoy for kidnappers and terrorists.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Some jobs are worth the danger.” Roberta said.

“You’re both the same body type, and you have roughly similar facial features, so I think with her talent for mimicry, my talents can do the rest.” So saying, he seated the two females side-by-side, placing one hand on Nanissa’s head and one on Roberta’s.

Nanissa regained consciousness alongside a girl whose face and body were identical to her own, but the hair was still different. For that, Teddy took over, using scissors to clip Roberta’s hair to match Nanissa’s style. Then Howard’s other women were doing something in the sink. Howard took Nanissa to the cafeteria for something to eat.

“Your Highness!” Ronnik called. Nanissa plastered a smile on her lips for appearances’ sake. “Isn’t it wonderful that we’ll be leaving soon?” Nanissa stopped trying to smile.

“I like it here.” she said. “Besides, isn’t the enemy up there?”

“Not to worry, our newfound allies are bringing their entire species with them. Well, what’s left of it after the Despicable blew up their planet, anyway. But it’s a lot of ships, with lots of firepower.”

“Isn’t the presence of aliens on this planet a secret? The humans have satellites, after all.”

“Our allies will de-fold between this planet and its primary. They don’t turn many satellites in that direction, and the fleet will just look like sunspots to the few satellites that are turned that way.” Ronnik looked so confident that Nanissa managed to put on another smile.

“Are you going to have cooled quarters?” Howard asked. “K’chktktk’s people like it hot—in the hundreds and hundred-tens.”

“I’m told that they’re modifying a walk-in refrigerator for our use.” Ronnik said. Howard whispered bits from a song called “Living in the Fridge” into Nanissa’s mind, and she laughed, mock-glaring at him. “Howard, are you certain you cannot come with us? Your presence could bolster Her Highness as she presents our case before the Republic of Sentient Worlds.”

“Sorry.” Howard said. “But, I’m sure we’ll find a way to keep in touch.” Eventually, they managed to finish their food and get back to Howard’s rooms. Nanissa gasped in shock as she saw herself sitting on a stool, having her hair dried with hot air. Roberta smiled and winked. Then began the practice sessions, where Roberta worked at getting Nanissa’s character right, matching tone and inflection with what Nanissa was saying. It was slightly irritating, but Nanissa put up with it because Roberta was giving her hope—the hope of getting to stay on Earth.

Roberta went to sleep in another room while Howard and the girls were together. His hands stroked Nanissa into a frenzy of passion, and his cock filled her just right, as if she had been made for him. He was in her mind, touching her deep inside her self. The wall of fear was still there, still impenetrable. He backed off, stoking her body to new heights of pleasure and soothing her mind in her secret places. Safe. Warm. Loved. She shook with the force of her orgasm, and he was still touching her as consciousness slowly faded to black.

Kanna approached the Hotel as stealthily as she could in broad daylight. She might not be able to gain entry via the employees’ door, and she might not be able to get into the employees’ area via the front entrance, but where there was a will, there was a way, and Kanna had enough will for two. She lit the twisted-together fuses on the two rockets that would carry her grappling hook to the roof. In due course, it took off. The upper-level winds cooperated just as she’d hoped, taking her hook over the lip of the roof and giving her a firm hold when she pulled on it. She clicked her gear into place and turned on the battery-operated motor of her winch. No one would expect such a bold attack as this! The winch carried her up twenty stories, and she managed to pull herself over the wall. Luck was with her, as she was screened from the roof garden by evergreen trees. Peering through to see if the coast was clear, she got the shock of her life.

An organic-looking space ship stood on the roof, with insectoid aliens fidgeting around as if they were cold. Humanoid beings with strange hair colors and styles said their farewells before embarking. A pink-haired girl lingered, kissing one of the assembled humans—not Victor, though Mr. Phillips was present, along with an orange alien with forehead slits instead of a nose. She froze as Victor turned his eyes in her direction, but they passed on without a blink of notice. Relieved, she crept slowly to the rooftop door, but found herself trapped—the elevator she came to required a key. She turned around to leave and try another avenue, but Victor was standing there, in her way.

“Come and say goodbye to our friends, Kanna.” he said, offering her his hand. Not knowing what else to do, she took it, and was introduced to four of the bugs, Howard Farrell, Arnold Turner and...Zak Starborn? The hologram he turned on briefly matched the image she’d seen of the reclusive benefactor of the Foundation.

Her boss would never believe this, so she decided not to tell him. She’d stepped into something bigger than the ratings war between two television stations, and somehow she sensed that Victor was on the side of the good guys. The bugs’ ship closed its hatch and launched into the sky on a pulse of energy—not a noisy and wasteful blast of rocket fuel. The light blue of the ship blended quickly into the sky, and it vanished.

“She’s certainly got a strong determination to get at the truth, Vic.” Zak said. “Not many human females would climb up the side of a twenty-story building in pursuit of a story.”

“I had rockets on my hook and a winch on my belt.” Kanna admitted. Victor laughed and drew her against him. She felt a thrill of desire flow through her, but held herself in check. “Anyway, nobody’ll ever believe this story.”

“Well, your boss won’t, anyway.” Victor said. “Or the one I’m about to tell you. By the way, Howard, nice job with Roberta’s disguise.”

“You knew?” Howard gasped, then shook his head. “Never mind, I guess that’s not too surprising. But do the Hthulmans know?”

“Sarit does.” Victor said. “That’s why she slipped out of the ship while I was introducing Kanna here—to be with her true mistress. It’s going to give them fits, but I’ll smooth that over with them when they call asking about her.”

“Um, what?” Kanna asked.

“We’ll get to that in a few.” Victor promised.

“Mistress?” Sarit asked, poking her head into Howard’s room. Nanissa sat up in alarm. “Don’t worry, Mistress, they’re already gone. I think they were fooled by your double.”

“You weren’t?”

“Even accounting for your memory loss and your apparent aversion to the title of Princess, Mistress, you are still you, and she is not.” Sarit said.

“I remember now.” Nanissa said. “Howard broke through the wall of fear in my mind...the wall I put up to protect myself, because I knew the Despicable were after me. Subconsciously, I guess I thought if I wasn’t ‘me,’ they wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Then...you are healed?”

“There are still gaps and blanks, but then I did get a nasty crack in the head.” She showed Sarit a picture she’d drawn of her parents. Tears of joy flowed down Sarit’s face. Nanissa held her close. “I’m glad you decided to stay, Sarit. With what my parents told me about the Despicable, it may not be safe on that oven of a ship, for me or anyone who tries to protect me.” She leaned her head toward Sarit’s, who eagerly accepted her Mistress’ invitation. Their lips pressed together. Sarit allowed her Princess to draw her to the bed without resistance. Her loincloth found its way to the floor, as did the top she wore. The Princess’ silken robe joined the rest. Her hands were massaging Sarit’s chest, and then one slowly snaked its way down her torso to the moistening cleft between her legs. Sarit moaned and began to return the favor. Nanissa was already very wet. Their fingers found each other’s favorite spots, their mouths gently pleasing each other’s chests. Eyes locked, and they thrust their fingers into each other in unison, each feeling the upwelling of bliss as one. They kissed again, and Sarit became aware of another presence in the room. “Relax, he’s very good.” Nanissa whispered, licking her own juices from Sarit’s fingers. Sarit panted as Howard disrobed. Smiling, Nanissa took hold of his penis and gently guided it into position. The head penetrated, and he was gently easing inside her. Sarit winced as her hymen broke, but Nanissa and Howard assured her that the pain was only momentary. Then, there was only pleasure. Howard linked minds with Sarit and Nanissa, and together the three moved toward mutual release as one. Her mind awash in ecstasy, Sarit blacked out. When she came to, her lovers were napping on either side of her, fingers entwined with one another. Sarit relaxed and allowed herself to sleep as well.

General Smite allowed his security personnel to escort him to the waiting armored car. After what had happened to the Director, he was taking no chances. The man had been ninja phobic, stemming from a prank that had been pulled on him during World War II. Several of the ninjas from that combat-meditation cult he’d ordered annihilated had caught him by surprise, herding him away from his bodyguards and chasing him through the dry, hot country in shifts until he finally fell for the last time.

They’d run him to death.

Other commanders in the Supernatural Threat Department had gone missing, only to be found later—or what was left of them. Those with phobias were made to face their worst fears before the end. Those without went missing, and were found later in various conditions. One had only been discovered when a pig farmer had found his dog tags lodged in the throat of one of his animals. That was a lot of manure to sift through. All the dead personnel had been replaced, and Smite knew that the Department had his own replacement waiting. He had every intention of making the man wait a long, long time.

The driver matched the picture his security chief had of the authorized driver for today, and the RFID chip in his hand matched as well. The General climbed into the back of the car and fastened his seatbelt. The car pulled out silently and joined with the military motorcade that was to escort him to his meeting with the Founders. The STD owed a lot to those aliens, despite the fact that they looked like the creature from Predator had had his torso grafted to the neck of an ankylosaur, and then been allowed to choose any further options it wanted. They had provided technology and materiel which the Department used to fulfill its mandate: ensuring the continued supremacy of unpowered Homo sapiens on planet Earth.

Smite sneezed. Was that make-up he smelled? His driver was male, and there was no one else in the car. Something round seemed to float in front of the dashboard lights momentarily. “What the hell?” he asked. “Where are the trucks?” The road before and behind the car was deserted. “Where are we going?” The driver didn’t answer. He sneezed again at the scent of him. Bright lights lit a clearing, gaily-striped tents passing by in a blur as the car moved between them. The car came to a sudden stop, and General Smite was sent forward into the front passenger seat. “I could have sworn I put my...” he began, but the lights under which the car was now parked illuminated the driver’s face—white with red lips and a mop of green hair, a bulbous, red nose dominating the visage as the driver’s head slowly turned toward him, lips peeled back from novelty “Bubba teeth” in a rictus of deadly malice. An evil, shushing laugh came from between those teeth, as the clown in the driver’s seat reached one white-gloved hand toward the General, uncaring that its unruly mop of lime-green hair was askew. Panic took over, shorting out good sense. The General grabbed the door handle and ran, screaming. Anything but clowns! A stilt-legged creature with a death’s-head face and purple pom-poms on the side of its head strode out of one of the tents, a steaming, bubbling pie held in one thickly-gloved hand.

“Wai so selious?” it asked before lobbing the pie at him. He dodged to one side, but a bit of filling touched his hand, scalding him. He continued running. He dug in his heels and skidded to a halt when he came across another creature that looked like it had applied its face with Homer Simpson’s make-up gun. This one was juggling running chainsaws.

“Wanna play?” it asked, tossing one to him so that it tumbled end-over-end. The chain winged him, sending blood gushing from the injury. Screaming, General Smite took off in another direction. Which way was out? The tents all had the same nightmarish, distorted aspect. Two females appeared, and the one in the pink pixie-cut and marionette outfit threw a bouquet of flowers at his feet. There was a sound of breaking glass, and angry bees swarmed out of the flowers, buzzing and stinging, though the females seemed unaffected. The other female, sporting a blue topknot and an outfit that was all Technicolor ruffles and pom-pom buttons, tried to spray him with something that hissed and smoked when it struck the canvas of the tent behind his former position. He ducked into another of the tents, cowering under a table with a floor-length cloth. A flashlight came on nearby, illuminating a heavily made-up, female face from below.

“Hewwo.” she said, waving a flesh-colored mitten at him. She squeaked her big, red, clown nose, and the table was lifted by stilt-legged clowns. General Smite ran away before they could free their hands to harm him. The flap through which he fled opened onto another tent which was equipped like a barber shop. A barber clown picked up a ludicrously oversized pair of scissors and sharpened them on a strip of leather.

“How may I help you, sir?” the barber asked in an exaggerated Transylvanian accent. “A little off the top, perhaps?” He swung the open scissors at the General, who barely managed to duck in time. Clowns stood in the opening through which he’d come, blocking his way and swaying rhythmically in unison.

“Tell me sir, what can you do? It looks like the joke’s on you.” they chanted. He ran. To his left as he exited the tent was another group of clowns, chanting the same thing. He ran away, but encountered another group. Part of him knew he was being herded, but that part had a hard time making itself heard over the physical and mental screams of sheer panic. He squealed like a little girl as a tall and muscular clown with black skin under his white face-paint leered in his face, his breath smelling of Chinese food that had been microwaved once too often. He was getting dizzy, losing blood from his wound. The clowns continued to advance. Maniacal laughter and distorted circus music filled the air. Another clown chased him on a pogo stick, a shrill cackle of delight from her throat stinging his ears. A pie struck him in the side of the face, steaming crust and bubbling filling dripping into his clothes. He screamed, tried to get his clothes off, but his left arm wasn’t cooperating.

“Tell me sir, what can you do? It looks like the joke’s on you.” came from his left, so he ran to the right.

“Tell me sir, what can you do? It looks like the joke’s on you.” came from his right, so he ran to the left.

“Tell me sir, what can you do? It looks like the joke’s on you.” came from both sides, so he increased his pace and ran straight through a gauntlet of plastic wrap with something sticky coating it. A fan blew feathers at him as he ran past one gap. He spat and groaned, wiping at his face as best he could with his right hand, and didn’t see the open space full of banana peels. His feet went out from under him. He felt himself being carried forward by a force he couldn’t stop, to a tent post which his legs ended up straddling. Pain took over his world as he impacted with the pole. The marionette girl was floating nearby. No, not floating. She was hanging on strings. One pulled her arm up, pointing her mittened hand at him and she made a ghostly moaning sound. He crawled away, sliding under the canvas and into another tent.

The chainsaw wound throbbed. Darkness encroached on his vision. He tried to get away, tried to crawl further away, but consciousness was ebbing away with the flow of his blood. Can’t sleep. Clowns’ll eat me... his mind insisted, but his body insisted harder.

Careful to move as stealthily as any ninja, with his mind blended into the surrounding mental ambiance, Damon approached the Despicable ship. It was cloaked, but an aperture was visible in the light from the open door, and the landing struts made themselves known by the square dimples they made in the ground. Six Despicable envoys awaited the arrival of their STD contact. A box full of data crystals, probably containing technology to assist the STD in their mandate, lay on the ground between the front feet of the largest—a female, judging from the fact that it had udders instead of balls, and large enough to swallow the largest of her male companions, though aside from those two things, there was nothing else to differentiate her from the others.

Kagome slipped inside the ship, hoping to cause some damage. Damon followed, in case she should run into the Despicable engineer or something. They reached the vessel’s engine room without incident. The sound of the heavy doors closing stopped them from planting the explosive Kagome carried. The engines thrummed, and they were lifting off. The contact must have been later than they thought. They hid themselves. One of the Despicable rumbled into the engine room, its tail smearing a musky scent on the floor as it groused and complained. There was a sickening lurch as the vessel jumped to hyperspace.

We’re in it now. Damon thought.

Nanissa woke from a happy doze, finding herself in the back of the minivan. She was still wearing her dolly-clothes, complete with the strings and the wooden things. Her panties were bunched up around her ankles from the passionate interlude she and Howard had shared when the ninjas had decided to save General Smite for later. Apparently, he really liked her in this outfit.

He was driving. His make-up, quickly applied in the car with the General while wearing the driver’s face, had been meticulously wiped away. Sarit smiled at her when she noticed she was awake. Nanissa smiled back, and pulled her panties up, crawling into the middle seat and fastening her safety belt.

“Where are we?”

“Just past Austin.” Howard replied. Nanissa pulled the thin mittens off her hands and used a moist towelette Sarit handed her to get the paint off her face. He pulled over to the side of the road and sat still. Nanissa began to worry, but she felt him touch her mind reassuringly. With that touch came a fragment of message.

...lost contact with Damon and Kagome...

He sat there, absorbing the news. His face expressed a variety of emotions throughout the exchange, but he made not one peep of sound. Sarit turned on the dome light so she could help Nanissa remove the rest of her make-up.

“What’s wrong?” Nanissa asked, though she had a clue from what she had heard.

“Damon and Kagome are missing.” he said, getting right to it. “We think they were on board the Despicable ship when it took off and jumped into hyperspace.”

“Are they alive?” Nanissa asked.

“We don’t know.” Howard replied.