Willing Slave Unwilling Master

Hey all, sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I hope to have chapter 11 with you in a more reasonable time-frame but I can't make any promises. Once again a big thank you to curiousvisitor for his assistance with proofreading.

Enjoy.

— — —

Dan

Blinking against the harsh white light that assaults my vision, I come piece by piece back to reality. I have the strangest sensation of a great amount of time having passed, while simultaneously feeling like I've been sedated just moments ago. I try to rub my eyes, only to find that my wrists are cuffed together.

"Rose?" I say in a crackling voice.

There is no reply, not that I expected one. Of all the times to have a coughing fit... Well they would have found her anyway, no doubt. But at least she could have had a fighting chance, had fate been just a little less cruel. I just hope she's okay. I mean, regardless of anything else she's still valuable property, right? That should give her some level of protection, though I doubt it will grant her much kindness, especially given the treatment we have received thus far.

The ceiling slowly comes into focus. I was expecting dull concrete, perhaps even metal bars, but instead, I am greeted by a gleaming checkerboard of clean white tiles and light panels. Throwing my weight forward I manage to sit up without the use of my bound hands. Twisting myself around, I perch on the edge of the low plastic bench I had been laying on. Someone must have taken it upon him or herself to dress me in a bright orange jumpsuit which stands out in a stark contrast to my otherwise perfectly white surroundings.

Other than what seems to be a combination of toilet and sink in one corner, the room is empty.

"Hello?" I shout into the still air.

I wait in silence, my ears pricked for any kind of movement outside of the cell, but there is nothing. Sighing heavily I prepare to get up, shivering as my bare feet touch the cold floor. Great; they could have at least left me some socks.

It takes me a few attempts to propel myself onto my feet, a move I regret immediately as my legs buckle beneath me. Unable to brace myself with my hands, I crash headfirst into the wall. Groaning I rest my cheek against the cold tile, desperately trying to shake the pins and needles from my legs.

"Fuck!" I hiss between my teeth as feeling slowly returns. Where the hell is everybody? Aren't prisons supposed to be guarded? Isn't that the point?! Where are the bastards?

"Hey!" I yell, walking like a clockwork robot over to the door and slamming my fists repeatedly against the cool metal with a series of satisfyingly loud clangs from the handcuffs.

"Anyone?" I kick the bottom of the door, sending a searing pain coursing through my toe. "Argh!"

Suddenly the upper section of the door phases, turning transparent yet remaining stubbornly solid. A black armored enforcer stands directly in front of me, his or her face hidden behind a blacked out visor. Despite not being able to see their expression, I instantly picture a sneer.

"Step away from the door." Judging by the voice, the enforcer is female, not that that is much comfort.

I do as I am told, still supremely unsteady on my feet.

There is a clunk followed by a low hiss as the door gently swings open. "You know what you have on your wrists?" the woman asks, holding up a small black triangle, not too dissimilar from the key fob for Dad's car. Oh stars, what have they done with the car? I don't think my father would have too many sleepless nights knowing his only son was imprisoned, but knowing his beloved car was impounded? Perhaps I'm safer in my cell.

"Handcuffs?" I reply, trying to steady my voice.

She presses a button on the fob and pain unlike anything I have ever felt before courses through my body. The bloody cuffs must act as Tasers. I crumple to the ground in a heap, the electricity continuing to course through me for what feels like years, even though it is probably only a few seconds.

"Motherfucker," I groan, rolling onto my back as my body continues to twitch. "You could've just told me!" I yell, glaring at the women in the doorway.

"We find a practical education works best for our clientele," she says without a hint of emotion. "Now get to your feet and follow me."

"A little help?" I say, trying to roll onto my hands and knees, a task made all the more difficult by the cuffs and spasms.

In response she holds up the little black fob in a suitably threatening gesture.

"Fine, fine!" I snarl, "Just give me a second."

In possibly the most undignified manner possible I manage to get to my feet, my legs now sufficiently awake, even as my arms continue to spasm. The dispassionate woman at the door gives me a quick once over before taking a step back, waiting for me to leave the cell.

I hobble into the corridor, which, like the cell, is a tribute to all things clinically white. There are no windows, so I have no way of knowing where I am or even what time it is. I feel a sharp prod in my back and getting the hint rather quickly, I start to walk forward past cell upon identical cell.

"Where am I?" I ask, preparing myself for another jolt of electricity. Is this how Rose lives her life, with the spectre of pain always over her head, nervous about asking even the most basic of questions? Stars, no wonder making a choice is so hard for her.

"No talking," is the only answer I get from the enforcer.

Having no wish to test her patience, I continue on in silence until at last we reach an open door. She jabs me again, forcing me inside. The room could be another cell, if not for the table with two chairs facing each other. One a simple metal construction bolted to the floor, the other a plush leather affair. It doesn't take me too many guesses to work out which one I am supposed to use.

"Sit."

I do so without complaint, half expecting something to happen, though not exactly sure what.

"Hands," the enforcer says, pointing to the white table in front of me.

I slowly move my hands onto the table top, only half surprised when suddenly the handcuffs clamp onto the surface. Tentatively I try and pull away, not in an effort to get away, only to confirm what I already know. There is no escape.

"Someone will be with you shortly," the woman says with a distinct lack of anything close to tenderness before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

"Wait-," I manage to say, before the door slams behind her. I swear under my breath, the cold metal seat already causing me to fidget. I hope Rose is being treated better than I am.

———

It's impossible to know how much time has passed since I was first brought into this room, but it feels like a long time, made even longer by my fear for Rose slowly building in my chest like rising floodwater. Even if by some miracle I manage to get out of here, I have no legal claim to her; I have no way of rescuing Rose. Hell, I don't even have a photo of her!

My near manic worry is interrupted by the opening door as a middle aged man walks into the room with an almost irritating air of confidence. Wearing a crisp black suit and with his dark hair carefully parted he looks like he could be some jet-setting millionaire. Is this my lawyer?

"Ah, Mr. Fallow," he announces with a disarming smile. "How gracious of you to join us."

"I didn't really get much of a choice," I mutter, remembering a little too late that this man might have one of the little black zap boxes on him.

"Ah, what choice do any of us really have, Mr. Fallow?" he asks rhetorically, sitting down opposite me before continuing in the same pleasant tone. "I have one or two questions for you."

"Where's Rose?" I ask.

He raises an eyebrow, "She's safe, you needn't worry about her anymore."

What the hell is

that

supposed to mean? "I want to see her; I'm not answering any of your stupid questions until I see her."

"Mr. Fallow, words have not yet been invented to describe quite how much trouble you are in. You have broken the law, threatened the peace and have been an overall enormous pain in the arse."

"What?" I shake my head. "I haven't broken any laws. I demand to see Rose."

"Why?" the man asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Why what?" I reply, trying to keep my temper in check. Thus far my interviewer has been fairly good about the whole not electrocuting me thing, but I can't let fear get the better of me now, not if I want to see Rose again.

"Why do you want to see the slave so badly?"

"What kind of question is that?" I reply, not quite able to keep the glare from my face. "I care about her, I want to make sure she's okay!"

"But you must understand that she is no longer your property, her wellbeing is a matter for the Department of Inter-Species Relations," he eyes me critically.

"Yeah? And how much does your stupid government department care about her? You don't even think of her as a person, she's just a slave to you people. But she isn't to me, and I will be dammed if sit here and answer your pointless questions without at least making sure she is being treated humanely!" I'm not quite sure at what point I started yelling, but I'm suddenly very much aware of the fact, a deathly silence fills the room as I finish speaking.

The suited man watches me for a long moment, his emotions hidden. Without speaking he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a fob.

"No, wait!" I say, tensing in preparation for a fresh wave of pain.

Raising an eyebrow he clicks the remote, instantly freeing my hands. "Very well, come along."

"What?"

"Mr. Fallow, your school records show you are not, as so far as the system can tell, mentally challenged. And yet, you seem to be incapable of keeping up with the most basic verbal instruction." There's no meanness to his voice, in fact, if anything he sounds amused.

"Sorry," I say, not entirely sure why I am apologising after being insulted. "I'm not having a great day. What I meant is, why are you taking me to see Rose? Wait, you

are

taking me to see her, right?"

He sighs. "Yes, Mr. Fallow, I am. Now, I could give you a full answer, one that I'm not entirely sure you would be able to comprehend. Or we could go and visit your ex-slave. What will it be?"

"Rose," I reply at once.

"Hmmm... Perhaps there's hope for you yet." He gestures to the door.

Not daring to dither in the doorway, I step out into the hall where three enforcers stand at attention. I feel something icy in the pit of my stomach as I notice they are all armed, not with little black fobs but rail-rifles. I have never seen a gun in real life, they are tightly controlled as per the peace treaty, but apparently there are some branches of government that are permitted to circumvent that. Where the hell am I?

The stage suited man quickly joins me and I fall into step beside him, the three guards silently following us. We continue on to the end of the corridor where we are met by a pair of large elevator doors, which open as we approach. I follow my interrogator into the relatively small space with a tinge of panic, suddenly being completely surrounded. Breathing hard I look around, searching for some distraction. My gaze falls on the numerous buttons hinting at just how massive this complex must be.

"Where are we?" I ask as the doors slide shut and we start to ascend.

"Oh," he seems a little taken aback, "This is the Department of Inter-Species Relations, well, one of the many buildings that make up the department anyway."

"Why does the Department of Inter-Species Relations have a jail in the basement?"

"Well, Mr. Fallow, the typical use for a prison is to lock away those who have broken the law. The only difference is that here we deal exclusively with those who break a law that would threaten the peace treaty, like yourself, for example."

"I haven't threatened anything!" The enforcers around me shuffle uneasily at my raised voice and I make a conscious effort to lower the volume as I continue. "I've never hurt Rose or any other slave, I've been campaigning to free the Lower Vil for years! Just ask my school, they will tell you."

"We are well aware of your extracurricular actives, Mr. Fallow," the man says, bouncing on the balls of his feet as the elevator comes to a stop. "And as honourable as they are, did it not seem prudent to you to inform the authorities that a Lower Vil in your possession didn't have a mandatory Ident chip as required by the peace treaty?"

Biting my lip I consider my answer as we walk out into a sunlit corridor. Taking my first look outside since being arrested I am surprised to see a snow-capped mountain range on the horizon, interrupted by the sea of gently swaying golden grass that stretches out seemingly forever.

"How was I to know she didn't have a chip?" I reply at last, not quite making eye contact in case I give myself away.

"Surely your friend, the vet told you when he was examining her?"

I clench my fists, that motherfucker! He reported us? "The rat bastard..." I growl under my breath.

To my surprise, the man besides me laughs, the sound not too dissimilar to a hyena. "No, Mr. Fallow, you were not, what is the expression, grassed up, not by the vet anyway; the equipment he was using on the other hand..." he trails off with a broad smile.

Suddenly realising I have been caught in a lie, I shut my mouth. I'm going to need to be a lot more careful about what I say from now on. I suppose it should have occurred to me that the scanner Andrew used to examine Rose would have been connected to the internet, and by extension to the government. But why the hell would the powers that be need to keep track of the medical procedures being performed on family pets?

"Just take me to Rose," I say quietly, "Once I know she's okay..."

"Your wish is my command, Mr. Fallow," he replies, stopping outside a door and pressing his right palm against a glass panel. A green light outlines his hand and the door unlocks with a click. Nodding at me he pushes the door open.

I expect another cell, or perhaps an interrogation room, but I find something quite different as I rush into the room. It is almost like a small movie theatre with two rows of chairs facing a huge window looking down on a truly horrific scene. Rose, clearly unconscious, lies on a thin floating table, barely wider than her back, her arms raised up above her head like some kind of horizontal crucifixion. A thin blanket covers her legs but her chest is bare and surrounded by an intricate metal cage that acts as a framework for hundreds if not thousands of wires and tubes, each buried cruelly in her chest from all angles. Tiny floating drones dart around her like bees diving down seemingly at random to adjust a tube or reposition a needle.

"What have you evil bastards done?" I yell, my vision blurred as blood rushes to my face. Without thinking, without even pausing to consider the consequences, I swing my cuffed fists in the general direction of the suited man's face.

Pain courses through my entire hand as my knuckles meet not soft flesh, but the steel wall of his repulsion field. Technology that can deflect high calibre bullets is rather nonplussed when met with a weak though impassioned, double handed punch and I stagger back cradling my right hand in my left. I look up to see my intended target smiling and the barrel of one of the enforcers rifles pointed at my face.

"We evil bastards are re-growing your slave's lungs, Mr. Fallow," he pauses long enough to lower the guard's gun with a single finger. "I believe, the term is ma-ha-ha," he says, imitating a cartoonish evil laugh.

"Stars, are you always this fucking smug?" I curse, my hand throbbing painfully. "Why the hell would she need her lungs re-grown, what did you do to her?"

"Mr. Fallow, I have kept up my end of the bargain. Your Lower Vil is alive and well, in fact, I would venture she's in a lot less pain than you are right now." He gestures to one of the soft looking chairs on the front row. "Now, I believe you agreed to talk," he speaks calmly enough, but there is a subtle hint of malice behind his words that wasn't there a moment ago.

I sit down, my gaze fixed on Rose who remains completely motionless. What the hell have I gotten her into?

"She will be quite alright, Mr. Fallow," the man says, taking the seat beside me.

I nod, not trusting myself to answer. Was Rose really sick enough to need a new pair of lungs to be grown? I mean, she was coughing up blood, but surely things weren't that bad? And anyway, I've never even heard of a pair of lungs being grown inside a person before. Normally replacement organs are grown in a lab before being transplanted, which means whatever they are doing to allegedly save Rose is completely cutting edge.

"She doesn't look alright," I point out.

"Oh come now, she's much more likely to leave this building alive than you are."

I stare, waiting for him to laugh, but no amusement seems forthcoming.

"Who are you?" I ask, not quite ready to tackle his previous comment.

"You can call me Mr. X," he replies.

"Your name is Mr. X?"

"No, but that is what you can call me," he says, a smile playing at his lips. How can someone go from comforting to issuing thinly veiled death threats in the space of a few sentences while remaining so completely likeable?

"Right," I say uneasily, "Well, what do you want to know?"

"Tell me, Mr. Fallow, do you know the purpose of the government?"

"Err," I falter at the unexpected question, "well, I mean the government represents the people, they are the ones we elect to pass laws and look after the hubs," I shrug.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Fallow. The purpose of the government, its sole purpose in fact, is to uphold the peace treaty. All other considerations are secondary to that goal. Which is where your Lower Vil becomes a problem; she is an illegally bred, genetically engineered, undocumented threat to this entire planet."

"Genetically engineered?" I say, staring open mouthed at Rose.

"Oh yes, I believe so. Would you care for a drink, Mr. Fallow?"

"What? No," I pause, "I mean, yes, water please." Shaking my head I look at him. "Whatever has been done to her; is it curable?"

"The effect can be treated; as for the root cause, I'm afraid we are both stuck with that." He holds up a finger, before gently cupping the side of his face, "Lucy, a glass of water and my usual coffee, please." I hear no reply, but he inclines his head slightly, turning once again to me.

"Tell me, Mr. Fallow, what are you willing to give up for the girl?"

"I would die for her," I say, sitting up straight and giving Mr. X a hard stare.

"Well, that makes things much easier," he says, nodding his head approvingly.

Have I just condemned myself to death? Or was that always on the table and he's simply happy to know I will accept my fate? He's unlike anyone I've ever met; I mean who even is this Mr. X? He uses a star-dammed code name like a spy, but acts like an enforcer and dresses like a model. And it's not just the way he presents himself; he seems to be able to slither between friendliness and hostility like a snake, leaving me feeling perpetually uneasy.

But it's the treatment of Rose, or at least whoever he works for's treatment, that I find most confusing. If she really is all the things she says she is, why hasn't he just gotten rid of her? I mean, he says she's a threat to the planet, yet claims to be helping to treat her. Perhaps the fact that he hasn't just killed her outright gives me an opening; maybe there is a way out of this. But I need to know more, starting with exactly who this mysterious Mr. X is.

"So you work for the Department of Inter-Species Relations?" I ask, already knowing the answer but trying to sound conversational.

He grins, "Correct; we ensure that in all human-alien interactions the peace treaty is upheld." There is a shuffle by the door and a girl wearing a simple white dress walks into the room, carrying a silver tray laden with drinks. I almost mistake her for human, but no, she is a Lower Vil. Like Rose, she has none of the scales of an older generation of slave, rather a simple pattern of dots in roughly the same position as Rose's Maze markings.