The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Kim, what a nice surprise!” Victor said.

“I had a day off.” Kim replied. “I wanted to see you.” Victor led her into the house, with his hand at the small of her back, just the way she liked it, and Kim purred with pleasure.

“Kim, this is Penelope.” Victor said. “She’s staying with me until further notice.”

“Some kind of trouble?” Kim asked through a haze of arousal.

“You might say that.” Victor replied. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He disappeared into another room to take the call. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” Mr. Andersen’s voice said harshly over the phone. “My acrorectophobia’s acting up. Bob me if necessary.” Click.

“What the fuck?” Victor muttered. Suddenly it dawned on him. Acrorectophobia was a joke-word Mr. Andersen had read on the Internet, meaning “fear of assholes in high places.” And the last comment meant that he expected Victor to help him lose any tail that might get pinned on him. “Something’s up.” he said to himself. He extended his consciousness, brushing Marie’s mind and issuing a compulsory summons. She appeared at the door twenty minutes later with two friends in tow, hurrying them into the house while they demanded to know what was going on.

“Any idea why I just felt the need to be here?” Marie asked after spending two minutes hugging Victor tightly.

“I’m sorry, but something’s come up and I’d prefer you to be here rather than out there with whatever-it-is.” Victor said.

What’s going on? Penelope asked.

I’m not sure. Victor replied. “Ladies, I think you’d best be getting downstairs.”

“What about you?” Kim asked.

“I’ll keep an eye out for Mr. Andersen. He’s coming over.”

“Sounds like some party.” one of Marie’s friends muttered.

“She doesn’t know the half of it.” Zak said, appearing beside Victor. “You’ve drawn attention to yourself, Vic, old boy. Let’s hope you’re as creative as the fellows who wrote those lovely comics of yours.”

Shit.

“Deep shit, I’m afraid.” Zak replied.

“Never a dull moment.” Victor said, stepping outside. He pulled a gun from the glove compartment of Marie’s car, but found only four bullets in the chamber, and no refills anywhere. Fine. he thought. He pulled out a folding chair, sitting with the pistol in his lap, and extended his consciousness outward, scanning for any hostile minds. He found them on highway 84, heading east, matching course and speed with Mr. Andersen’s car but staying just out of sight. Searching their thoughts, he found that there was a tracking device on Mr. Andersen’s car, which Victor quickly removed. This forced the pursuers to reveal themselves to keep the tail on him, which sent the elderly executive into evasive action. Soon Victor had a firm picture in his mind. Four cars and two helicopters. It was a simple matter to snap the alternator belt on the lead car, the brake line on the second one, a battery cable on the third and a fuel line on the fourth.

“Not bad, for a human.” Zak said. “I only wish I could have given you a better effective range.”

“You did fine.” Victor replied. “Now, if I know Mr. Andersen, he’s going to turn down the nearest county road to try to lose the choppers. That’ll also ditch the one with brake problems, and that lead car will only be a concern until their battery burns out.” He decided to accellerate the process, telekinetically moving the switches to activate the car’s CD player and air conditioner. Sure enough, Victor saw through the driver’s eyes that the battery indicator needle was now descending at a visible rate.

“We’ve got a problem.” the driver said. “I think we’ve lost our alternator!”

“Damn it! Radio for assistance!” said one of the other men in the car. Victor disconnected the internal workings of their radio.

“It’s dead!” The driver reported, then swore under his breath.

“Control? This is Agent Hooks via cell phone, we are under telekinetic attack!” one of the agents in the back seat said. Victor destroyed the cell phone.

“I guess there’s no more need for subtlety.” he said, insinuating his image and voice over the agents’ perceptions. By reflex, the agents pulled their guns and opened fire. Agent Hooks, in the back seat, was the only one who managed to avoid being killed by his comerades.

“Damn you, Phillips!” the man exclaimed, unbuckling his seatbelt and diving for the steering wheel.

“Sorry, you don’t have that authority.” Victor replied, removing his psychic presence from the car. With the dead driver’s foot flooring the accellerator, Agent Hooks had no time to make the sharp turn that followed. The car plowed into a large oak tree, and he was launched through the windshield, barely missing the tree himself, and landed in a big pile of sand. He was several hours in reawakening. He tried to walk, but his leg was broken and poking through his skin. He had to crawl to the road and hope he didn’t get run over by some kid sneaking around the speed traps.

“I don’t know if I lost them.” Mr. Andersen said as he parked his car under the carport with Victor’s loaner.

“Who is after you?” Victor asked. The agents he’d encountered psychically had been able to shield their memories, indicating long hours of training on their part.

“Not sure.” Mr. Andersen replied. “All I managed to get out of the one I questioned was that he’s Federal.”

“Not a lot to go on.” Victor replied.

“I know.” Mr. Andersen grumbled.

“Mr. Andersen?” Desiree asked, peeking out of the basement. “What’s going on?”

“I talked her out of leaving.” Victor whispered by way of explanation.

“Ah, the ‘emergency vacation.’” Mr. Andersen mused. “We’ll be down in a moment, Desiree. I think it’s safer if you stay there for the time being.”

“Uh, yessir.” Desiree replied, disappearing once more down the steps.

“Phillips, you dog.” Mr. Andersen chuckled. “I’ve seen that look in a woman’s eyes before, but it’s been a while.” He was laughing quietly now, his broad shoulders bobbing up and down in his mirth. “Well, one mystery solved.” he said, sobering up. “Too many more to go.”

“True.” Victor replied. “Starting with who sent those suits after you.”

“Can I help?” Penelope asked.

“Who are you?” Mr. Andersen asked.

“Mr. Andersen, this is Penelope.” Victor said as the little girl shook hands with the elder gentleman.

“So, the government’s after you, too?” Penelope asked. “Join the club, Mr. Andersen. I’m a hacker specializing in defending regular people’s rights. What are they hunting you for?”

“Apparently, to get to Vic here.” Mr. Andersen replied. “Though I can’t imagine why.”

“I can.” Zak’s image said, appearing in a chair. Mr. Andersen jumped. “Sorry, old bean, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who are you?”

“The psychic projection of an extraterrestrial being whose name contains only one syllable we can pronounce.” Victor said. “So that’s the syllable we use for a nickname. Zak.”

“Oh, okay, I’m beginning to understand now.” Mr. Andersen said. “The government’s power-jealous, so it made it a punishable offense for any American citizen to have contact with extraterrestrials or their vehicles, for fear that someone might trade their sister into slavery for a starcruiser and fly it to Washington or something.”

“Even if slavetaking races DID come to Sol III to trade, rather than simply conquering the planet, they would hardly be so daft as to give away their cruiser for slaves. More likely a shuttlecraft, but it would require a great many individuals to be turned over. I think one of the smaller urban zones would have to be emptied to pay for a shuttle, and of course the one making the trade would have to capture the other humans himself...”

“Zak, he was talking about government paranoia, not rational thinking.” Victor said.

“Ah.” Zak replied. “So sorry. I do tend to ramble so.”

“So is this how you make contact with other species?” Mr. Andersen asked.

“Oh, no.” Zak replied. “I wasn’t even supposed to make contact at all, only observe. You are, after all, a pre-hyperdrive species. However, I was captured by covert agents of your government and had to effect an escape. I encountered Victor while attempting to evade recapture, and learned more about your culture from him in twelve hours than we had learned in twelve years by passive observation of your broadcasts.”

The sound of helicopters interrupted the conversation. Victor stepped outside, questing outward with his mind. The two choppers cleared the trees and opened fire, carving twin lines of bullet holes on either side of him but failing to harm him.

“Was that a warning shot?” he asked no one in particular.

“Victor Phillips, stay where you are!”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” Victor remarked. Flexing his mental power, he disassembled the helicopters in midair. The pilots glanced about themselves in confusion as they found themselves hovering amidst the flying pieces of their vehicles. Victor tossed the pilots into the lake and reassembled the helicopters.

“Wow, that’s some trick!” Mr. Andersen muttered.

Zak, do you want to explain it or should I? Victor thought.

“I’ll do it.” Zak’s image said. “You go console the mothers of your children.”

“It’s confirmed then?”

“Yes, sir, most definitely.”

“Very well. Proceed to plan Epsilon.”

“Yes, sir!”

Kim awoke to the sound of the bench press rattling and moved downstairs to investigate. She smiled when she found that it was only Victor exercising. He was dressed in cut-off jeans and a sleeveless undershirt, and was pressing what looked like two hundred pounds. She knelt at his right knee and waited. When he finally finished, he sat up, gently cupped a hand under her chin, and brought her to her feet.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Yes, but I don’t mind.” Kim replied, letting waves of arousal flow down the rapport he’d forged with her the night before.

“You shouldn’t be naked outside the bedroom.” he said. “Mr. Andersen’s here, don’t forget.” At his mental command, an extra-large T-shirt flew into the room and onto Kim’s nude body. She put her arms through the armholes herself.

“I’m sorry, Master, I should have remembered.” Kim said in Chinese. “I shouldn’t be calling you Master while Mr. Andersen’s here, either, should I?”

“Probably not, at least in English.” Victor replied, pulling her close. “How’s this for a consolation prize?” He kissed her then, and she melted against him.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this whole poly-sexual thing.” Mr. Andersen said, striding into the room. Startled, Kim backed away, blushing brightly. “I hope everyone you hire for us isn’t going to be your breeding bitch, Vic. A whole bunch of women having maternity leave all at the same time...”

“I know, sir, that’s why I’m going to do some...more normal testing, starting tomorrow.” Victor replied.

“Glad to hear it.” Mr. Andersen said. “Hiring all one gender is never good.”

Hours later, Victor was searching through the local college newspaper when he found an article entitled “PROGRAMMING EVIL.” Just below the title was the byline Zebulon Lycos. Hooked, Victor read on, and discovered it was a scathing beratement of the writers of the Klez, Melissa and I Love You viruses and the F.B.I.’s Carnivore program and other such snoop devices.

“I think we’ve just found the next Stone Phillips.” he muttered to himself.

“I would have said John Stossel, but Stone Phillips is good too.” Zak’s mental projection said.

“Weird name, Zebulon.” Victor continued. “Still, I guess there can’t be too many Zebulons on campus, so he should be pretty easy to find.”

“You sure don’t look like a Zebulon.” Victor said, catching the young man’s attenton. Maybe “man” was too strong a word. The youth wasn’t too much older than Penelope. A grade-skipper, then?

“That’s your opinion.” Zebulon replied.

“Oh, I actually knew a guy named Zebulon once.” Vic said, intrigued rather than daunted by the youth’s firey nature. “He dated my sister in between stays at the county jail. Knocked her up just before he went to the state pen. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. My name’s Victor Phillips. I read your article, ‘Programming Evil.’ Powerful stuff, that.”

“You could just send fanmail.” Zebulon suggested.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to be a very young John Stossel for a TV station in Waco.”

“Wow, liked me THAT much, did you?” Zebulon asked, quirking a smile. “A lot of my pieces get pulled because of stuff like that, you know.”

“I understand completely.” Vic replied. “A lot of people can’t handle the truth, especially if it’s about themselves or a sponsor.”

“And here you’re willing to take the Eminem of journalism under your wing?” Zebulon asked.

“Well, Zeb—can I call you Zeb?—it’s like this, okay: the station’s getting ready to flush the lazy element out of its system, and we’re looking for people with a good work ethic to fill the void...”

“Is my age going to be an issue?” Zeb asked.

“How old are you?”

“Almost fifteen.”

“You’re legal, kid.” Victor replied. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Zeb laughed.

“Fourteen months ago you would have been up the minor tributary of sanitation sans ulterior mode of locomotion.” Zeb remarked.

“Nice use of big words, kid, but we don’t pay you by the syllable.” Vic replied. “So, anywho, let’s talk about your job skills, shall we?”

“180 words a minute, extensive experience with Internet search engines, and I even wrote an Internet spider-program that searches unsubmitted sites, too.”

“I’d be stupid not to hire you.” Victor replied with a laugh. “By the way, where’d you learn to be so scathingly insulting without resorting to cursing and name-calling?”

“Even the Mensa sector of AOL is not above the occasional flame-war.” Zeb replied. Victor laughed.

“Well?” Victor asked.

“He’s a little young,” Mr. Andersen replied, “more than a little controversial, he seems to have a problem with authority...” Victor sighed, sitting back in his chair. “It’s about time we were able to compete with Bill Maher. I’ll set up an audition, get some of our idea men working on a premise, get the legal department started with his contract negotiations. He’s a little young, but he’s old enough to legally work in this state, so that’s old enough for me.”

Victor chuckled. Mr. Andersen was good at making people think he was going to say one thing when he was really going to say something else. Kim came out of the bathroom looking a little queasy.

“Are you alright, Kim?” he asked in Chinese.

“I did not feel good, Sir.” Kim replied in the same language. “I think I may be pregnant. This is the second morning in a row this has happened.”

“There are saltines in the kitchen, I will get herbal tea for you later.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Kim responded.

“What’s all this?” Mr. Andersen asked.

“Personal business.” Victor replied.

“Whatever you say, Vic.”

DANGER

Victor steeled himself in response to the premonitive terror just before the psychic assault came crashing down on him. He was able to deflect the first barrage almost harmlessly. It took his assailant a few seconds to gather for another strike, in which time he made ready for a counterattack. Locking into the frequency of the second assault, he sent as much anger as he could muster down the line of transmission, battering back at his foe. He extended himself outwards, scanning the memories of everyone he could reach within the time he had before his enemy recovered, finding as many painful memories as he could, be it injury, death, grief, loss...anything. Gathering the memories into a psionic dagger, he thrust it forward, amplifying the accompanying emotions as he stabbed the mind of his foe. Within moments, he was tuned in to nothing but the psi-static of a catatonic. He withdrew back into his own body, opening his eyes once again. He was on the floor. Kim and Mr. Andersen were kneeling over him.

“What happened?” Mr. Andersen asked, helping him up.

“Psychic attack.” Victor groaned, clutching his head. “Almost caught me completely off-guard, but I had a bit of warning.”

“It was Penelope.” Zak’s image said, appearing at his side. “She has a great deal of precognitive potential, activated by the evolution process. It is rare. I will have to consult with someone as to how to proceed.”

“You do that.” Victor grunted, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.

“There is something else.” Zak stated. “I am having difficulty scanning young Zebulon.”

Well, at this range... Victor began.

“Physical distance only affects my telekinesis, Victor.” Zak responded seriously. “My telepathy is unimpeded except by very strong blocks.”

Meaning...

“I wouldn’t trust him fully until we know more about him.” Zak finished.

“What happened?”

“He knew.”

“Was he watching?”

“No. He was warned moments before the strike. Operative 642113 is nullified.”

“Warned? By whom? A mole?”

“Unknown.”

“Have everyone scanned.”

“Affirmative.”

“Zeb, hi.” Victor said, extending a hand. “Just wanted to congratulate you on your new job.” Zebulon accepted the hand, and Victor noticed he felt unusually cold and hard. Impulsively, Victor used his other senses, the ones that let him understand machines.

“What’s wrong?” Zebulon asked.

“I think I just figured out your secret.” Victor responded.

“What secret?” Zeb asked fearfully. Victor gave the hand a gentle twist, heard a click, and retracted his own hand. Zebulon’s hand came off smoothly, just as it probably did during his regular maintenence.

“That secret.” Victor declared.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Zebulon whispered, glancing fearfully around in case Mr. Andersen should walk in. Victor quested forward with his mind, scanning the silicon depths of Zebulon’s harddrive, where he found that the youth had originally been designed as an infiltration/assassination device, but his superior combination of hardware and software and certain influences during his training/testing phase had led him to the conclusion that killing was wrong, and so he had fled, and was being hunted even now.

“Why would I?” Victor responded. “We’re in the same boat, you and I.” He handed the hand back to Zeb, who reattached it to his arm. “We are the tigers, and our friends in the government are hunters trying to wipe us out, thinking that they’re making the world safe for the regular villagers.” Zeb smiled then, a smile of relief and friendship.

“So what happens now?” Zeb asked.

“I want to know...can you build a CPU similar to your own?”

“Why not ask me to make you a filet mignon while I’m at it?” Zeb replied. “I can do it, but I’ll need the right materials. Why?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got an idea for a little science project.” Victor replied cryptically.

“There is a problem.”

“We seem to have a surplus of those today.”

“Target Phillips has been seen with another target, one of the machina created by Project Zebulon.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Positive, sir. Zebulon Unit Number 5 has been located, and has aligned himself with Target Phillips.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“We have reason to believe that the extraterrestrial who escaped and evolved Target Phillips is still in telepathic contact with him. It may have been he who warned the target before the attempted attack. Further, we are having difficulties reading the thoughts of the women with whom Target Phillips has been mating. Perhaps he is teaching them to block, or installing his own blocks.”

“This is getting out of hand. We must accellerate the operation.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

The subordinate departs, leaving the superior, an aging general, alone with his thoughts. He turns to face the window, and pulls on the cord to raise the shades, revealing a face like an evil Cotton Hill from “King of the Hill”. Steepling his hands, he brings the tips of his index fingers to a spot between and just above his eyes.

“Putting down that combat-meditation cult was one thing.” he grumbles. “An artificially-evolved superhuman is something else entirely. If Victor Phillips is any good, he must certainly be on his guard now. The failure against Mr. Andersen and the two failures against him will leave him with no choice but to realize that someone is after him, and wonder who. He will undoubtedly attempt to have the girl or the robot find out who is after him.” He spins around and taps the intercom button on his desk. “Maximize security to the computer systems immediately.”

“Yes, sir!” the voice on the other end replies. He taps the intercom off and sits back in his high-backed leather chair.

“I’ve spent too long protecting the world from superhumans and aliens to be shut down by some Jack Shit from a TV station.” he mutters. “If I thought I could make use of that Kevin Shadows that Zeta Squad has been watching all month, I’d do it, but he’s too idealistic, and if he became aware of our surveilance of him, he’d certainly disappear.” He sighed, turning toward the window again. “So far Phillips is on the defensive. We have to keep him there.” He withdrew his pocketwatch, opening it to reveal a picture of a beautiful young woman. He stared at it for several minutes before putting the watch back in his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have this. When he joined up, he was supposed to have abandoned all personal items. Everything else was issued to him by the government. His wristwatch was high-tech, with so many fancy gizmos that there almost wasn’t room for the timepiece. He’d kept the pocketwatch secret, however, hidden away in his pocket, only rarely taking it out to remind himself of the young woman whose memorial was contained therein.

Penelope sighed, gazing into a locket containing a picture of her parents when they were first married. She tried to concentrate on the happy times she’d had with them, but the memories were always interrupted by the grisly deaths which had ended her happiness. She curled up into a little ball on her bed, clutching the locket to her chest.

“I wish there were something I could do.” Zak said.

“How about letting me grieve in peace for starters?” Penelope snapped. Zak’s telepathic projection stepped back, surprised. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just...”

“No, you are right to be angry.” Zak said. “I should not have intruded. This is your personal pain, and you need to deal with it in your own way.”

“Please, Zak, don’t go.” Penelope whimpered. “I...I need someone to talk to. I...I can’t deal with this on my own.”

“I am unsure of what I could possibly say that would help, my own parents died when I was too young to remember them. The staff of the science station where they had worked in life cared for me throughout my childhood, until I was old enough to begin working there. But...I will try.”

“You’re an orphan?” Penelope asked, looking the projection in the eyes.

“Yes.” Zak replied. “I used to despair because I had no biological parents to do family-things with. I was shared by seven families on the station who had raised children before, but no longer had dependent children living with them. I often wondered what it was like to have parents, to wake up in the same bed every morning, to see the same loving, smiling face each day, to be able to keep large or numerous toys like other children I knew. I used to resent my foster families for trying so hard to save my life that day. I used to resent them for trying to be parents to me, when all I wanted were my real parents. I used to resent them for what I thought was fake parentalism. One day, however, I caught an infection which settled in my hearts and resisted all the attempts by my immune system to counter it. My hearts failed, and I was placed on an artificial pump until one of my foster-parents volunteered to have one of his hearts cloned for me. They made three clone-hearts from his DNA and, since his organ type was the same as mine, my body did not reject them. I never did figure out how to properly thank him, but I realized something that day. Despite our lack of actual genetic bonds, my foster-families cared for me just as they would one of their own children.

“I realize how alone you feel at this moment, young Penelope, but it does not have to be thus.” Zak continued. “Reach out, let your needs be known, instead of hiding them within yourself. Do not wall yourself away from those who care for and about you. I realize you are hurting, but solitude only makes it worse. Trust me, I know this much for a fact. Your isolation has already touched the hearts of almost everyone here. You can take your pick if you like.”

“Thanks, Zak.” Penelope said. “You’ve been a big help.” The alien smiled, and faded away to allow Penelope to absorb the import of what she’d been told. “One thing though...” she began, and Zak reappeared beside her. “If they had the technology to clone you some new hearts, why didn’t they use your DNA?”

“I had no unaffected cardiac cells left.” Zak responded. “Cloning new hearts from my DNA would have required cloning my entire body and then transplanting the hearts from the clone to my own body—a procedure which my people had outlawed before your sun had planets. Once the hearts of a clone begin to beat, it is considered alive and granted certain unalienable rights, including life, liberty and the pursuit of spiritual fulfillment.”

“Oh.” Penelope said, mulling that over for a moment. She smiled gratefully at Zak’s image and left the bed to join the rest of the group.

“Here is the CPU you wanted.” Zeb said, handing Victor a device the size of an audiocassette box. “The parts you procured were a big help.”

“That was fast.” Victor remarked, accepting the device and examining the various connectors.

“You realize that our pursuers are going to trace the parts.” Zeb said.

“They already know we’re here.” Victor said. “That puts us at a disadvantage. It’s hard to get a lock on any of the minds within the installation, but I can sort of ride with someone just as they’re going in and switch to someone else already in the installation if the one I’m with maintains eye contact long enough. I can’t actually DO anything from there, except watch, but it’s more than they’re giving me credit for. I’ve learned that they know you’re here and on our side, and their engineers are scanning your schematics for a weakness they can turn into a weapon.”

“I figured they’d catch up to me eventually.” Zeb sighed. “If there are any mechanical weaknesses in my design to be exploited, however, I fail to see them.”

“That may be the problem.” Victor said, extending his consciousness to scan Zebulon’s programming. “I thought so. Your programming is set up to maintain a schizophrenic separation between your digital consciousness and your built-in self-diagnostic subroutines. They’re set up to warn you of damage, but prevent you from examining yourself and correcting built-in weaknesses.”

“I still cannot fathom how you know this.” Zebulon said.

“I’ll explain it some time. Right now though...” Victor furrowed his brow. Zeb’s body twitched convulsively as detrimental aspects of his program were altered. When the young machine finally picked himself up off the ground, he felt more...self-aware, than before. “There, now. Physician, heal thyself. I’ve got work to do.”

“Thank you.” Zebulon said, beaming with joy. “You have no idea what a gift you’ve just given me!”

“Go on, kid.” Victor grumbled, levitating the disassembled/reassembled helicopters across the little lot until they were sitting next to Marie’s car.

“A robot.” Zak sighed, his image appearing beside him as he set to work. “I never would have guessed without being there in person. Mind if I ask what you’re doing? You’re rather difficult to read when you’re intensely into something.”

“So much the better, at least as far as our enemies are concerned.” Victor responded. “Just watch.” In moments, the three vehicles had disassembled themselves. They then began to reassemble around the levitated CPU. The helicopters’ armor reshaped itself to match the fiberglass shapes of the car’s chassis and affixed themselves to the frame, the jet engines and auxillary fuel tank filled the cargo space of the trunk, weapons installed themselves here and there, and bulletproof glass from the helicopters replaced the car’s windows.

“Well Ah’ll be doggone.” Marie said, staring unabashedly as her car was rebuilt before her eyes, without tools. No matter how many times one was told something, mere words could never prepare them for actually seeing it with their own eyes.

“It’s still a work in progress, I’ll need some frog-light motors for a few of the options, but...what do you think?”

“It could use a paint job.” Marie responded. “Ah guess you’re nervous about another army team tryin’ t’ git at us if they cain’t git you?”

“That’s the general idea, yeah.” Victor said. “I also figured out how to make some extra money.” With that, the remaining helicopter pieces came alive and reassembled themselves into a new form, combining with cast-off fiberglass and assorted bits and pieces from nearby to become a pair of airboats. “All they need is a pair of cages, but aside from that I think they’re saleable.” Marie punched him in the arm for the pun. “Ow! What’d I say?”

“You can be a little dense sometimes.” Zak remarked.

What do you mean? Victor demanded mentally.

“Kiss her, stupid.” responded the extraterrestrial.

“Yeah, kiss me, stupid.” Marie said, pressing her lips to his, though he quickly recovered and took the upper hand. Zak’s image faded as the pair slid into the backseat of the car, their lips never separating.

Victor sipped his coffee, catching up on his regular duties via email. Kim sat on his lap, content simply to be there. Victor took pleasure in Kim’s contentment, in the happiness he could sense radiating from her like warmth from a pair of electric socks. He had to admit, it certainly made the tedious work go faster. In no time, it seemed, he was done, and ready to devote his full attention to Kim. She squealed with glee as he levitated her to the bed. The adoration in her eyes as he joined her was not to be missed. At Victor’s mental command, the door closed, and they enjoyed complete, uninterrupted privacy.

Later, as Kim slept the sleep of the carnally sated, Victor lay beside her, wondering who his enemy was—trying to associate a face with the general dread that he felt when he was alone with his thoughts. They could shield themselves, or had shielding of some kind—and yet those he cared about were vulnerable. Kim, and Desiree, and Marie, young mothers-to-be, mothers of HIS children, were unprotected. He caressed Kim’s placid face, and realized he had a duty to do more than just shield their physical bodies with fancy machines rebuilt from military hardware. He set about building walls around Kim’s mind—walls that would yield only to him. Even as he finished work on Kim’s mental shields, he realized he could never let his own guard down. A foe with telepathic agents could make agents out of anyone. He kissed Kim on the forehead as his work was completed, and allowed himself a measure of satisfaction in her blissful sigh before tying on his robe and heading to the back porch for some air. Extending his consciousness outward, he scanned for any hostile minds, or even the signature he was learning to recognize in a shielded mind—those showed up almost as holes in the surrounding mental ambience. Nothing. He quested toward the source of the last attack—the base he’d penetrated only through trickery since then. No one came or left, and he got no input, other than a strange metallic taste in his mouth whenever his thoughts tried to penetrate the shielding.

Mechanical? he thought.

“That would be my guess.” Zak’s image commented, appearing at his side.

I wish I had a sanctuary like that. Victor thought, hating himself for the bitter twinge of envy he felt.

“It could be done with your planet’s technology, given your friend Zebulon’s knack for obtaining parts.” Zak replied. “I will have Penelope inform Zebulon of what you need. You have other business to attend to.” When Victor seemed recalcitrant, the extraterrestrial put an illusory hand on his shoulder. “Everyone needs a place to feel safe, and you shall have yours. I know what I’m doing.”

“Thanks, Zak.” Victor said.

“Vic?” Desiree asked sleepily. She was dressed only in a nightshirt he had given her, barely covering her bare crotch. Victor discarded his depression, scooping the woman up in his arms.

“That’s the spirit.” Zak’s image said as it faded from his mind.

Alone at last. Victor thought as he carried Desiree into the room she had chosen to occupy.