Pieces in Play

CAPTURE TEAM:PT 1: PIECES IN PLAY

Logan, a newbee on our capture team, and I both in police uniforms returned to our forward operations center in our police squad car. It had been a good haul.

"Modern technology had simplified the art of rounding up defaulting debtors," Logan exclaimed.

Only hours earlier, we had arrived in River City, with three new members on our team, Elm and Logan, according to their files, recently indentured as servants in Institute Security. Also new to the team was Mary. Inseminated and demoted Mary had been in a previous mission in River City, whose leader had deserted. On arrival, Elm, prissy in a woman's chic business suit, was placed in the Reception Cell to demonstrate intake procedures for hens. Now, the reception cell would be filled with repossessed indenturees.

"From non -- performing loan to inventory in one evening," I replied as I watched, wrists cable tied behind them, female indenturees paraded one at a time from the capture van through the heavy doors into the reception cage.

Felicity was one the many girls -- we called them hens -- whose faces were streaked with torrents of tears etched through their mascara. Felicity had been caught entering her car with her stone -- faced friend Bliss. "Last time I take a ride from you," snarled Bliss when we identified her as a delinquent debtor, though not one on our list.

"Quick thinking, Logan," I congratulated Logan who decided to check Bliss' status, "though looking at these two indenturees facing servitude," I sighed, "I doubt they appreciate it." I sighed.

Felicity's fearful face reading the condemnation on Bliss' made heart wrenching melodrama, but by now I suspected these recoveries were intended only a launching pad to a greater purpose my twin sister Jenny the team supervisor had in mind.

Jenny was the brains. What did she say about planning? First and foremost define the objective.

At the gate to the reception cage, we freed the female indenturee's wrists. Taking each indenturee's jacket or wrap, we ordered them to kick off their shoes, heels, clogs or sandals before we admitted them to the cage. "Better take any belts, scarves or ties," I cautioned Logan. "You deserve to be proud. Your first mission went so flawlessly successful we collected not only all the delinquent debtors on our list, but you nailed a few others that just happened to cross our path."

Shepherded into the reception cell, many of the hens squawked that they didn't realize they were delinquent. "I was only a month late," Bliss complained, "They always let me go a few days late."

I chuckled as the other hens teased Bliss. Tearful faces turned to giggling and teasing. "A month late? Better get thee to a doctor, Drama Queen," the jeering mass taunted Bliss. Grimacing in disdain, Bliss shook her head.

Locking the gate, I snickered under my breath, "And the bumper crop belongs to The Institute." Turning to Logan, I observed pedantically, "They're taking this in relative good humor while weeping promises to clear past due payments." Did Felicity made those promises that night? I'm pretty sure she did. Her stoic partner Bliss did not grovel and plead.

At each pledge to set matters right, I smiled politely. In a pleasant tone, I promised to deal with that request during in-processing. The key to control was wearing a reassuring face. To keep each indenturee calm and co-operative, I had to promise the protest would be considered and alternatives explored.

Inside the operations center, I met my sister Jenny. I hugged her. "It's been a good haul." I held her close to whisper, "Even so, though the property is valuable, I suspect our mission is more important than simple repossessions of past -- due debtors." Pulling back, I noted her changed outfit, "faded lime green nursing scrubs?"

"Management of people is an art of exercising power by assuming recognized symbols of authority. As team leader," Jenny reminded me, "I've opted to maintain a persona in dealing with subjects, one which encourages co-operation rather than resistance. I am an RN. The Institute allowed me to finish my schooling after I was indentured. The haul?"

"The haul? Twenty, 16 heifers, four bulls," I told Jenny.

"Nice," Jenny congratulated me, "Young healthy debutants draw impressive fees when the Institute markets them as surrogates."

"Or," I added, "personal companions, courtesans, nursing assistants, governesses, tutors, domestics."

"Or performers in the clubs," Jenny added. "Who can say who is less lucky?" Jenny dismissed the thought of the future these girls faced, "What use is freedom? Freed these girls would just give their charms away."

I noted that the slender female a newcomer to our team Elm held naked in the female holding cell had settled down.

"While you were out, I explained to her the importance of her part in tonight's problem in obtaining information on other indenturees and runners at large. To remain in Security, an indentured servant, like Elm, who bound herself to Institute Security, must be prove to be an asset in the execution of the mission in the role assigned to her. Second rule," Jenny smiled as we inspected Elm, "Identify your assets and apply them to the task at hand where they'll be most productive."

Flat tummy emphasized the prominence of Elm's bare mound descending between her legs like a decorative ball on a Christmas tree. Skin blanched white focused attention to her vaginal lips. Elm's chubby cheeks projected dejection as she clutched the bars of the cell. "Indenturing yourself in security services," I called to mind Jenny's favorite expression, "carries with it many benefits, attached to the necessary, though unpleasant duties we perform."

Inspecting Elm with a clinical eye from Elm's freshly painted toe nails up her rectangular to her marshmallow sized boobs, Jenny elaborated, "Management is the art of utilizing the assets assigned."

Walking away from Elm alone in the cage we called the hen house, I observed, "Poor Elm. It was her first mission. I think rummaging through the clothing seized from repossessed indenturees Elm expected to go out on a glamorous undercover mission. I don't think she expected to be ritually stripped and searched in a practice drill and then caged naked to chat up repossessed indenturees."

"I place people where they serve the mission best," Jenny snapped.

Only a few hours earlier my sister Jenny, the team leader, and I walked around the nerve center of our recovery operation in the basement of an old house in the college town of River Bend. This Victorian spired mansion set back from the street and protected from public view by high hedges looked more like a forbidding haunted house than the beehive of a recovery mission on to repossess defaulting debtors and runaway indentured servants.

Earlier when Jenny and I had carefully plotted the round up, Jenny explained, "If you do make it into the officer corps of our security service, you must carefully plan a mission. Return to the First Principle," Jenny paused for emphasis, "you must understand the immediate as well as long term objective. Upon that basis, your task is assessing the target and assembling the pieces of the puzzle."

"And the clue is?" I dared to prod Jenny.

"Immediately," Jenny declared, "the clue is the presumptuousness of your quarry. Imagine the pretentiousness of an 18 -- 19 -- year -- old debutant here in River Bend who gets a notice that they qualified for a car loan. They run out and buy it. Miss three payments, they're in the bag. And you follow her through her car."

Catching the delinquent debtors in their car proved to be the easiest way to perform a body execution. Passersby assumed it was a routine traffic stop and did not interfere.

The apprehension of dark-haired Felicity and her friend Bliss later that night was fairly typical. I spotted Felicity while Felicity proudly showed - off her shiny sports car. Presenting her license without argument when I approached her vehicle, she meekly protested that she had done nothing wrong. "I haven't even started the car."

Her jaw dropped when I read her name, asked her to verify her identity and ordered her out of the car. "Leave your purse on the floor," I requested, "We'll see to it."

On the passenger side, watching Felicity's wrists secured by cable ties behind her back, Bliss snickered, "Now, you know why the cheese in the mouse trap is free."

I probably would have let Bliss go but quick-thinking Logan decided to check her identification. "Though not on our list, Bliss Berke has been declared delinquent on her loan. Shall we take her?"

Felicity was among one the many debutants with smeared mascara marched into the stage in the reception cage; stone faced Bliss showed no reaction.

Noticing Felicity neatly coifed, 5' 5'', long legged, Jenny appraised her, "she'll fit in well among the Institute's most valuable acquisitions: young, intelligent and appealing. She'll be one of the more attractive Surrogates. An asset on the inventory makes for a healthy balance sheet."

"From debutant presented to Society," I quipped, "to merchandise presented for sale."

"Hmm," Jenny described our function, "Degradation is our task. Control is the key to our success."

Earlier showering with me before I changed into a uniform, Jenny carefully felt the bar code on my butt as she clarified our position, "Subordination is our objective. It is accomplished through humiliation, hurt feelings, tears. Degradation is the key. Tonight, you will be in charge. Are you up to it?"

"And the key to resolving," I dared to challenge Jenny, "the puzzle on everyone's mind. The team is abuzz with the puzzling LT Bernie, the leader of a capture team who run off with an indenture. The mission was otherwise a success." I needed to see if I could pry the inside story from my taciturn twin.

"Once there was easy credit and liberal bankruptcy. Now, gluttony has its price. Some people -- free people mostly -- equate repo capture teams with slavers," Jenny, her expression was serious, paused to reflect, "Actually the people we take to fill the terms of their indenture are already enslaved to their own excesses. Just ask Father."

I chuckled. Father's excesses led to Jenny's life and mine too as indentured servants. Good fortune blessed us with assignment to the Institute's Capture squad. "But why did Bernie, an officer, desert his post and run from his indentured servitude during an highly sensitive mission here in River Bend, eh--Jenny?" I dared to pose the question that echoed throughout the Institute's Security Division. "He dared to run off with an indenturee -- not a particularly entrancing one short and slim."

I could tell Jenny was thinking over the question but chose to leave it go unanswered. I could sense Jenny doubted who could be trusted -- including me. I knew not to expect any preference.

Earlier prior to rounding up delinquent debtors Jenny and I toured the forward operations center. "Yes," said Jenny, "our immediate objective is subornation of the detainee through degradation." Our immediate attention was drawn to complaints from the hen house, our nickname for the female holding cell.

Behind iron bars in the hen house, one member of our team was confined naked. Petite, small breasted Elm, seemingly an unlikely candidate for the elite security team, complained about the cold. Commenting on Elm's slender physique, I, directed an impersonal evaluation to Jenny, "The vetting process at the Institute in Security training is strict enough to suggest she should be capable of putting up a fight."

"Plucked of her feathers--forced to undress, she's short and slender, in the altogether, slight of chest, marshmallow breasts --sufficiently pert to induce a leader to desert," Jenny remarked.

"The kind of girl that enticed LT Bernie to book up and desert?" I queried.

Passing by Elm's cage, Jenny elided over my question and took no notice of Elm's complaints.

"Part of management," Jenny explained, "is to put personnel in the position in which they can make their greatest contribution to the overall mission. Admission to the Security services," Jenny looked to me, "is a privilege which often carries with it an obligation to perform unpleasant duties."

Returning to the Forward Operations Center from the round -- up, I conducted an inspection of the Operation Center with Jenny. Clenching the bars, Elm grimaced as Jenny and I paused in front of the Hen House. "Voluntarily indenturing yourself for security services is a matter of choice," Jenny observed as she gave Elm another once over focusing on her painted toenails.

When I questioned, "Painted toenails?" as if Elm were an inanimate object, Elm looked away in disgust.

Simply shrugging her shoulders, Jenny ordered, "Detainee turn the other cheek for me, dear." Turning about face, Elm bent over to present her butt with contemptuous wiggle.

I laughed. "A four-leaf clover tattoo!" I exclaimed. That's a no-no in the Institute Security. Penalty may be shaved head and off to auction."

"I have permission from the Institute to select personnel for," Pausing to reach between the bars to feel the outline of the clover, Jenny drew a deep breath, "undercover work," she rolled her eyes in amusement, "and to attire them appropriate to the sport. Besides, a thorough scrubbing in a warm bath ought to remove the tattoo." With a slap on the butt, Jenny indicated to Elm to right herself.

"The sacrifices we make for the agency," I remarked with mild sarcasm.

"Soon I expect," Jenny observed, "Elm should have company in misery. Plucking the debutantes of finery is more than pure nastiness. Stifling their resiliency, the natural state of total undress makes it hard to fade into the landscape, diminishing the prospect of escape."

Later, in processing the captured indenturees, Jenny, at the conclusion of my interview, whisked away the detainee to Logan for confirmation of identity. Jenny, a clean white lab coat over her faded scrubs, standing by, Logan barked an order to surrender all valuable, money, piercings, and jewelry. "Serge--eh," Logan looked at Jenny, "Nurse Jenny will hand you a tray to deposit your valuables."

The metal tray echoed with pings when the indenture dropped her rings, wrist bands and watch into the tray. "Don't I get a receipt?" the indenture asked.

"Piercings too!" Jenny commanded. To the indenturee's tears, Jenny would plead, "Please it's late I don't need a stage actress' award-winning performance."

Two years ago, when Jenny recruited me into the Institute's Security Service, she warned me of the pathetic scenes I'd be a part of. Snickering "better their heart ache than yours," Jenny cheerfully assured me, "After a while the tears will all run together."

Closing an interview with a later indenturee, I held open the prospect that the Institute might review her college program and determine the possibility of release, I terminated the interview and summoned Logan.

Depositing her valuables in the same box her predecessor had used, the indenturee complained, "Aren't you supposed to itemize my stuff? I would like to get them back when I'm released."

After valuables clinked as they were dropped into the box, Logan ordered, "Now, I need you to remove all your outer garments."

Partially undressed the indenture bore a sad look as she handed her top and skirt to Jenny who turned them inside out, stretched the material, and felt along the seams. "Hey easy on the fabric. They're paid for." The Indenturee pompously announced, "I would like to wear them again."

Turning my back, I needed to chuckle. Upon default and reduction to servitude, the indenturee owned nothing, not even the lint on her garment. Her person and property became Institute property.

I'm sure Felicity like the others, was downcast looking at her stocking feet when she sat down next to my desk. I wore a face. I maintained a congenial demeanor to draw Felicity out as I had done with the others. "I need some information to see if we can arrange your release. According to our records your next of kin is your mother."

"No don't tell my Mom. She'll kill me," Felicity screamed. Upon examining the nude photos of the previous capture team, Bernie, the officer -- in - charge and the indenturee Brigit suspected of running away with Bernie, Felicity paused at Bernie, "Impressive. Looks like a guy ... soliciting co-eds and some guys for porn shots." Shaking her head, Felicity expressed uncertainty and denied knowing how we could contact him, "I'm unsure."

Handed over to Jenny, Felicity undressed grumbling, "I actually was offered money to do this." I caught Jenny's eye. An electric charge surged between us.

Logan as Jenny went through Felicity's clothing, quipped, "Do twins have a magical bond to message each other, instantaneously?"

"Last female?" Jane asked. At my nod, Jenny decided, "I'll take her out here. Logan," she turned her attention to Logan, "Go help Cliff. Get the Men ready for their physical examination." Jenny waited for Logan to disappear behind the entrance door. "Now," Jenny exclaimed with a girlish giggle, "just us girls, Sweetie." Addressing the indenturee, Jenny politely requested, "Sweetie, lift your left foot."

The indenturee balanced herself on one foot while Jenny held the left. After inspecting the left, Jenny asked to see the sole of Felicity's right foot.

Struggling on one foot, bracing herself against the mirror with one hand, Felicity complained, "I doubt that pornographer would have required this much acrobatics."

Jenny shone a penlight into each ear. Then with a familiar slap on the rump, Jenny told Felicity, "Bend over, spread your butt cheeks." Noticing the bar code etched into Felicity's butt, Jenny remarked, "Hmm, we're seeing more girls taken in already bar coded. Hmm, saves us the trouble."

"A lender can insist on coding a debtor, particularly with high dollar purchases like a car." I took a deep breath. "Too bad," I commented, "We can't insert tracking devices on the person when they take out the loan."

"It'd make capture too easy. That wouldn't be good for us in Security," Jenny opined as she felt the ridges of the bar code emblazoned into the flesh over Felicity's right hip, "Branding iron, not a tattoo."

"The finance company told me tattoos are too easy to remove," Felicity interjected, "It hurt but I already sanding there naked and I wanted the car."

With another pat on Felicities butt, Jenny ordered, "Ok Jane, Logan has already gone to deal with the guys. Jane, could you read the bar code?"

Gently feeling the ridges in the bar code, before I took a scan with penlight, I explained, "Nice job, but it must have hurt when they said, `Hold still. This won't take hurt a bit. It'll be over in a jiffy.'"

"Yes, it wanted that car," Felicity pouted. "I only had the damn thing for a couple of months. I knew I was falling behind with my payments. Man, a couple of nights work in porn, damn!"

"Identity verified," I noted, "Felicity Bogan, age 19, Sophomore River Bend College, car loan purchased by Institute, declared in default--one day into the third month."

"My luck," Felicity complained, "caught after I turned down a porn director who could have brought me current."

I continued, "5' 5", 125 pounds, brunette, hazel eyes, 32 -- 28 -- 30, no scars, no tattoos, birth mark on lower abdomen, photos taken. 15-day notice sent."

"15-day notice," laughed Felicity, "you mean the tissue paper that read 'pending surrender or reposition you may not do any act which would impair the value of our collateral, injure your person, engage in sexual intercourse, participate in hazardous activities, use drugs or alcohol...' I thought it was a joke."

"Hmm," Jenny, examining the photographs taken of Felicity when she took out the loan, declared, "Quite the debutant!"