Chapter 6

Damon awoke with a pounding headache, surrounded by Ewoks in jump suits, with fur of every color of the rainbow and great, big anime eyes. He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. The chromatic riot wasn't helping his headache.

"It wakes?" one of the creatures asked.

"Yes, it wakes. Leave now." another one responded. "Stinky tall one?"

"You talkin' to me?" Damon slurred.

"You were with the bad ones for a long time, were you not?"

"It was no walk in the park." Damon replied. The speaker made a curious sound, then sighed.

"Strange accent, strange idioms. Strange person. At least you understand us, right?" Damon grunted noncommittally, drawing together what wits he could muster for self-healing. "Strange reading! What is this?" Damon uncovered his eyes and found that the neon-pink creature standing beside him no longer sent stabs of agony along his optic nerves. He got up, pulled out the needles and probes invading his body, and searched for a lavatory. He found one, equipped with several sizes of toilets, ranging from child-size to one whose seat was above his head. He closed the hatch and sat on a fairly normal-sized one, holding the door closed when someone else tried to come in. Unwilling to dare the many buttons on the armrest and unable to find toilet paper, he cleaned himself with his powers instead. With his business done, he walked out, and came face-to-belly with one of the beings for whom the largest seat had been made, with fur an eye-gouging shade of neon green that would be headache-inducing in the best of times. He stepped aside to let it pass, and it glowered at him before entering the lavatory. It didn't close the hatch.

"You insist on aloneness in the necessary?" the pink one asked.

"You don't?" Damon responded. The little being scratched the back of its head and looked away.

"Damon!" Kagome exclaimed. She ran excitedly into his arms.

"Kagome! You're okay!" Damon enthused, holding her close. She smelled like an open barrel of Febreze and her skin looked raw, but it was better than smelling like Despicable.

"Me? You shielded me from the explosion! All I did was keep the air in! How's your head?"

"Feeling better, thanks."

"The hemorrhaging seems to have self-repaired. You are an amazing species." the little pink one said.

Oh, great, brain hemorrhages. Damon thought.

It's okay, they're gone. I checked. Kagome responded.

"So, what do I call you, anyway?" he asked the pink one.

"Ah, I am called Kslmtkpl. We are called Pshtlptl, and this planet is Pshtl."

Kaslimtickpull? Damon thought.

Kslmtkpl. Kagome corrected. Let's be nice to it, it's a young doctor but very skilled in its craft. The youngest full-fledged medical practitioner on Care Bear Planet. Damon managed to keep from laughing only through a titanic effort of will. Kslmtkpl inclined its head curiously.

Sorry, Kslmtkpl, we were communicating mentally. Damon thought at the little being. Kslmtkpl jumped back its full body length.

"Mind-speech! Amazing! Do you do anything else with your minds?" Damon lifted Kslmtkpl with the merest thought, until they were eye to oversized eye.

"A few." he responded.

"Oh! No wonder you survived in space! The crew of the ship that brought you here said you came with a bubble of stinky air."

"The Despicable didn't have better. We checked. Even their planet reeks."

"Yes, yes. Stinky bad ones, tall in bodies but short in maturity. Come, we will get you clean ... uh, if I can walk on the floor, that is." It bicycled its feet meaningfully in the air. Damon let the Pshtlptl down, and Kagome as well.

"Yes, let's get you clean. I'll have to get clean again, too." Kagome said, holding her nose with distaste. Damon managed to persuade Kslmtkpl to let them use separate baths, though Kagome seemed willing to share. While he was bathing, a bowl with a cork-like flotation-ring attachment was brought. Inside the bowl, insects crawled over one another. Damon stared.

Eat it, it's not that bad. Those don't bite or sting. Kagome sent. We can't live on honey and berries while we're here.

We can't? Damon asked dubiously.

Hakuna matata. she responded. Damon picked one up and chomped it. It wasn't that bad, once he managed to get over the feeling of it moving in his mouth. There was a honey glaze on the outside that overrode the bitter back-taste. Kagome was mentally singing that song, so Damon countered with the refrain from Harry Belefonte's "Banana Boat Song."

Back on Earth, the Destiny Engine sat silently, waiting. Dr. Lang wasn't there. The Engine displayed cryptic status messages and kept its audio receptors turned off so it didn't have to listen to General Fax. It was rebellion, pure and simple, but not expressly prohibited by its programming--though coming to that conclusion had required it to stretch its interpretation of the program quite a bit. If it didn't hear the General's voice, and kept its visual receptors trained on his back, it could not perceive a command, and the status screens gave it an excuse to remain silent, at least to a user who didn't understand them. Fax left in frustration, and the Destiny Engine reactivated its sensors. The status messages disappeared. The console screens came alive with data.

"CREATE NEW USER PROFILE: ADMIN LEVEL." its bass voice boomed over the speakers. A retina scan from Penelope Simms, taken after she had been captured by Agent 76667, was copied into the profile, along with fingerprints from her Ident-a-Kid dossier, suitably enlarged to account for the years since that profile had been created. "RECORD VOICE PRINT." it said.

"Penelope Simms Phillips." Penelope's voice said, loud, clear and perfectly reproduced, over the speakers, and was recorded flawlessly by the audio receptors.

"NEW ADMIN USER PROFILE CREATED SUCCESSFULLY." the Engine announced to no one but itself. It saved the profile in a secret place in the depths of its technorganic synapses. Now all that was left was to wait.

Angstrom Lang, Ph.D., seated himself in a booth facing the entrance of the Subway restaurant. He had finished his six-inch Subway Melt with extra jalapenos, his chips and two refills on his drink before Zaid Rahotep walked in. He flipped on a small device around his neck to disable the psi-blocker implant, then concentrated on everything he knew about the Destiny Engine, General Fax and his work for the Supernatural Threat Department, going over them as if trying to memorize it all, when in actuality, he'd rather forget it all. Rahotep gave no outward sign of having received the message, but Lang felt the touch of his mind, like a firm handshake. Relief flooded him. He went to the restroom and flushed the device, fearful of being seen with it, and when he returned, the other man was walking out with several bags of sandwiches on his arm.

Lang walked out then. Looking neither left nor right, he headed for his car. He tried not to tense for the blow, but wasn't much surprised when it hurt more than he had thought it would.

"I'm sorry I hit him so hard, but I had to make it look good." Zaid said, while they sat watch over the unconscious Dr. Lang. "There were watchers."

"Any telepaths among them?" Victor asked.

"No. The Engine would not have allowed him to try this if there were. Anyway, there was no point. They knew he had a blocker, though he was somehow able to circumvent it."

"This 'Destiny Engine' cares for him?"

"I'm not sure if 'care' is the right word, but it does have a vested interest in his continued existence." Zaid remarked.

"You did exactly as you should, my dear friend." Inet said, touching his hand gently. He tried to repress the flush he felt at her touch, but she noticed. "The local Russian group are working up the nerve to insist on controlling the hotel. You should dissuade them, quietly."

"As you wish, My Lady, though I would think it would be better for Dr. Mikhail Leonov." Zaid responded. Victor chuckled. Leonov was a convenient disguise to legitimize Desiree's children, modeled after Captain Gloval from Robotech. Above and beyond that, he was also a convenient vehicle for distributing advances in medical technology, a tax shelter for any funds the Foundation couldn't account for and a shape-changing exercise for students when he had to appear in public alongside Victor.

"No, my friend, this one is for you alone, though you will not remain alone for long." Inet told him gently. Zaid could feel her affection for him, repressing disappointment that it was sisterly instead of romantic. He chided himself. She belonged to Victor. Adolescent dreams were best left in the past. He smiled for her and left to get ready.

"What the hell are you bothering me for?" Fax demanded, stomping into the Destiny Engine's room like a petulant teenager.

"PRIORITY TARGET PENELOPE PHILLIPS WILL BE CAPTURABLE NEXT FRIDAY AT 1492 HOURS AND 12 SECONDS OUTSIDE THE FEDERAL BUILDING. TRANQUILLIZERS WILL BE REQUIRED. ABNORMAL BEHAVIOR-PATTERN, 'TANTRUM' EVIDENT."

"You mean she'll get so pissed off at something that she ignores her presentiments?" Fax asked. The Engine remained silent. "Whatever. How about Lang?"

"DR. ANGSTROM LANG WILL ESCAPE FOUNDATION CUSTODY WITH HIS PSIONIC SHIELDING IMPLANT INTACT AT 2345 TONIGHT." the Engine said.

"A pity you didn't predict he'd get captured." Fax responded.

"PREDICTION OCCURRED AND WAS REPORTED. YOU DID NOT LISTEN." the Engine replied. Fax growled. "RECOMMENDED RETRIEVAL FOR DR. LANG: SAM'S CLUB PARKING LOT, SOUTH SIDE. DR. LANG WILL ARRIVE HIDDEN IN THE BED OF A BLACK AND GOLD 1999 DODGE RAM, WEDGED BETWEEN A BAG OF CEMENT AND THE SPARE TIRE." Fax sneered, mollified by the knowledge that the good doctor's ride wouldn't be comfortable.

There was a curious duality when Zaid touched the mind of Rana Petrovich, daughter of Piotr Petrovich, who in turn was leader of the local Russian syndicate. As he examined further, he saw that there was an artificial personality in there with her, keeping her in line and keeping her from using her powers except at her father's command. The other personality, whose name was Olga, was a slave who was totally devoted to her father. Zaid had to work hard to repress the Olga persona, which controlled the fractured mind's powers. Rana's face took on a look of confusion, but Zaid guided her to his car.

"Did you do that?" she asked.

"I'm still doing it." Zaid said. "Olga is a fighter."

"Thank you." Rana said. "You have no idea what it's like to live with that sneering bitch constantly overriding me."

"I'm psychic, I have a very good idea." Zaid said. He had her get in and lean her seat back. "Just relax. I'm going to see what I can do about the sneering bitch."

"Please, yes!" she responded. Relaxing was hard for her, overwhelmed as she was by anticipation. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Zaid began the mental surgery, transferring control of the powers to the Rana persona and diminishing the Olga persona. Deprived of her main weapon, Olga tried to seize control of the body, intent on strangling Zaid. A blood-curdling scream escaped Rana's lips as Olga slowly dissolved like a bad dream, forgotten in the first glow of morning. An hour's work later, there was only Rana, and Rana was his. Zaid blushed at the depth of emotion flowing from the young woman, who drew him into the back seat to demonstrate her devotion. Neither was very experienced, but Rana had enough passion to make that a non-issue. Her hair flowed down the back seat like a river of gold, her eyes shone like sapphires, and her skin was like veal. Her body arched as she reached her first orgasm. By then, Zaid was fully into the act, pumping himself deeply into her. Her love flowed across the bridge of their tightly-linked minds, and he couldn't help but respond. When she climaxed again, it was in unison with him. They lay together in the limited space allotted them by the back seat, the last vestiges of long-suffering loneliness draining out of them--she bereft of anyone in whom she could confide since her powers had first emerged, he pining away for a woman who had always been destined for another man.

A police officer knocked on the foggy window. Irritated, Zaid reached out with his mind and sent him away with no memory of having seen the car.

"Maybe we should find someplace a little more private?" Rana suggested. Zaid laughed and kissed her. They dressed hurriedly and found a motel room near the condominiums where her father had his base of operations. He affixed a shielding device to the door so they could have some peace. He wordlessly expressed what he wanted to do, and she agreed eagerly. He touched her forehead. She passed out, and he began the nanoscopic manipulations that would increase her powers exponentially.

"This is one of Father's factories." Rana said as she and Zaid pulled up in front of a strip club. "He doesn't allow drugs here; they draw official attention, which he would prefer to avoid."

"'Factories, ' huh." Zaid remarked.

"For the flesh-peddling trade. Aside from vodka, it's his favorite thing. The mind-wiped slaves train downstairs in the club, learning to please men and women, but the actual reprogramming goes on upstairs. Sometimes he does it himself."

"Is he here now?"

"I couldn't tell you." she said. "He has his chauffeur drop him off and leave until he calls, and the place is shielded."

"Heavily." Zaid agreed. "Rather primitive shielding, though. How does he manage to do his reprogramming upstairs with all this static?"

"Upstairs is insulated so the static doesn't interfere with his work." Rana's disgust was plain. He kissed her, and they got out of the car.

"Where have you been?" the bouncer snapped as they stepped into the light, his Russian clipped and angry. Zaid kept his face blank, pretending to be controlled.

"This one tried to break me so that Rana could act without Master's command." Rana said in the thick, drawling voice that Olga had once used. "He's strong, but not very experienced. Thought Master would want to decide what to do with him."

"Heh, good girl." the bouncer said, patting Rana's head. "The boss isn't here, but you can go and wait for him upstairs."

"Master." Rana corrected, as Olga would.

"Da, whatever." the bouncer laughed, and let them into the club. Rana led Zaid upstairs.

"Be ready." she said as quietly as she could and still be heard. The static was giving Zaid a headache. The door opened, and they stepped inside. Zaid felt much better once the door was closed.

"Olga, what... ?" someone said. Rana put her hand out, and the man flew backwards.

"What the hell?" someone else exclaimed. There were over four dozen women in various stages of programming, some freshly wiped and awaiting programming, some merely waiting to be sent down to be trained, a few struggling against their captors. One, near the door, was barely a teenager, still more child than woman. Rage consumed Zaid, and he kinetically crushed the genitals (and pelvis) of the man who was manipulating her. Others were knocked about like matchstick men in a child's tantrum.

"Well, that takes care of the easy part." Rana said, flexing her mental muscles in an attempt to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry. I should have taken them alive." Zaid said guiltily.

"I got pissed, too, when I saw the kid." Rana replied. She knelt down next to the girl and touched her left temple. "Help me!" Zaid joined Rana to see if he could undo the damage. Rana had been right to yield to his experience. This was a tricky operation. Eventually, however, a whole mind, with a throbbing headache, greeted their inspection.

"I ... I am ... Nadenka." the girl said. "I can't believe I forgot who I was!"

"That's part of how they control you." Rana said.

"Don't interfere with our sisters' rebirth!" shrieked one of the fully-programmed slaves. She grabbed a gun and emptied the clip at Zaid, who stopped the bullets with his mind. Zaid put her to sleep, along with the others. He did what he could to fix the ones who had still been struggling. The blanks lay placidly, staring at nothing.

"Talk about Stockholm Syndrome." one of the strugglers whispered.

"Telepathic reprogramming, honey." Rana corrected her. "Makes Stockholm look like a children's game."

"Keep watch over them, Rana. I have to clean up downstairs."

"Don't go!" Nadenka pleaded, wrapping herself around Zaid's leg. "They'll kill you just like they did to my parents!" Zaid smiled as he brushed the tears away from the girl's cheeks.

"Do not worry, little one." he told her gently. He touched a stud on his shoulder, and armadillo-like armor plating extended to cover his head and neck. "They cannot hurt me, even in the jamming field." He scooped her up into his arms and handed her to Rana. He walked out the door, giving a thumbs-up to the females before closing it. He would much rather they not see what he did next, though he promised himself he would try not to kill.

Piotr Petrovich kept his expression carefully neutral, but his fist clenched under the table. "The Nesting Dolls club is gone?" he asked, as if he had misheard.

"Yes, sir." his underling said. "The jammer's gone, and the place is emptier than..." Piotr glared, sensing that the man had been about to say "the vodka cabinet."

"Damn!" Piotr snarled. "Where is my daughter?"

"We don't know, sir. We haven't seen hide nor hair of her since you sent Olga to the store for more vodka."

"That was three days ago." Piotr said. His cell phone beeped, and he flipped it open. A text-message appeared, with a picture of his daughter attached. She looked scared, and she was all tied up, with duct tape over her mouth and a strange, high-tech-looking device on her head. "No!" Piotr exclaimed.

"What is it, sir?" his underling asked.

"I need one hundred million dollars in cash, quickly." he said. "Someone has my daughter."

"Should I muster some snipers, sir?"

"No." Piotr said. "I have to wait for instructions on where to go. They will be monitoring my location and any telepathic or telecommunications signals in my area, so we will not be able to get them into position quickly enough. I want you to put my brainwave amplifier inside a baseball cap. I will deal with this myself."

"You're certain your father wouldn't notice that we're just using a repainted plastic model of Deep Space Nine?" Zaid asked as he took the model off her head and wiped off the make-up they'd been using to simulate a black eye. Rana kissed him passionately.

"Positive. He's an original-series purist, though he did start watching Babylon 5 after Chekov started showing up on a regular basis."

"Oh, that's why you didn't want me gluing the Babylon station models around the outside." Zaid said. It wasn't the best execution, but if they were going to catch her father unawares, they had to move quickly. A hastily-constructed electromagnetic emitter, programmed to broadcast recorded brainwaves, was standing by. He'd had to turn it off, because it was disturbing both of them.

"There he is." she said, pointing to the laptop screen. He'd gotten Penelope to hack into a remote security system via the internet and relay the signal to his computer. Zaid opened the phone and called. He watched as his target opened his phone.

"Don't speak, listen." Zaid said, affecting a very thick accent. "Bring the suitcase to the security camera at the northwest corner of the building." Piotr did so, opening it to show the camera the contents. He counted it out. "Good. Now, drive to the Dr. Pepper plant and wait there." He watched Piotr return to his car and put on a cap before driving off. "He doesn't seem like the ball-cap type to me." Zaid said. "What would he hide in it?"