“Hmp.” Hua tilted his head, then tilted it again, as if trying to help the idea trickle down through the whorls of his brain until it reached some part with sufficiently low alcohol saturation to be able to process it. “I suppose I hadn’t considered that angle,” he conceded. “Yes, certainly it’s not something to be rushed into, not without considering the rami—uh, ramica—rafimications,” he finished with a firm nod. “But there are other reasons for people to enslave slaves, slaves—to own slaves. It’s worth thinking about, at least.”
Parrec-Sut was rapidly losing patience. Devna hastened to grab the brandy that sat next to her on the bar and pour—no, on second thought, she just handed Hua the horn-shaped bottle, which the human accepted gladly in the middle of a sentence that trailed off once the bottle reached his lips. Soon enough he lost his train of thought, and soon after that he lost consciousness as well, sparing Devna from having to tend to his appetites any further for the night.
Sut’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, suggesting that he was listening to a prompt in his earpiece from one of the Three Sisters. Naturally, Devna knew, they had been watching the exchange from concealment in order to assess Hua’s worth as a potential ally. Once he had received their instructions, he patted Devna’s shoulder. “Good move, Dev. You may have just saved this partnership—assuming he’s forgotten all about this conversation by the morning.”
“I’ll make sure it stays forgotten, Master.” She smiled up at him, appreciating his sincere praise.
He smiled back, then slapped her cheek just hard enough to serve as a reminder of his authority. “You’d better.”
Under Parrec-Sut’s watchful eye, Devna summoned a junior male slave who helped her carry Hua to his bedchamber, where she undressed him and lay alongside him, on call for him if he should wake in the night and desire her services. But he was solidly unconscious, and she was left with plenty of time to think.
What if Orion hormones could be made more widely available? What if there were no longer anything special about her—or about the elites who ruled the Syndicate and, by extension, the Orion race as a whole? What would happen to their authority if they were robbed of that monopoly on erotic power? If the playing field were leveled, might their control be broken, their subjects freed from domination?
The thought intrigued her, until she began to consider it from a different angle. What would happen to the rest of the galaxy if other humanoids gained the power of irresistible seduction? Would not all humanoids then be just as enslaved as she was?
Devna remembered what she had said to the Starfleet agent last year: that freedom was an illusion, that any perception of a free state of existence was just another dimension of entrapment. It seemed the principle still held.
Still, every once in a while, it was nice to hope.
Thamnos estate, Rigel IV
“I hope the accommodations are to your liking, Garos.”
Dular Garos looked around the suite that Retifel Thamnos had proudly shown off to him. It was indeed even more lush and impressive than the hotel suite in Kefvenek that he had recently vacated (lest the RTC or Starfleet trace certain compromising communications back there—and since he expected Rigel II to become a rather dangerous place in the near future). The technologies the suite offered, however, were less advanced than what he was accustomed to on his own ship, Rivgor—which only threw the pervasive air of decadent excess into sharper relief. As did the presence of several cowering serfs—all female and underdressed—whom Retifel had shown off as if they were part of the suite’s furnishings. Perhaps the Thamnos eschewed higher technology for it would render serfs redundant, leaving them fewer people to dominate and bully.
Still, for all her willing complicity in her family’s abuses, Retifel was at least an agreeable conversationalist, so Garos put a smile on the Zami mask he still wore (albeit with some cosmetic alterations made since leaving Rigel II). “They will serve me quite well. I appreciate the gesture.”
The ginger-wigged Zami smiled knowingly, taking a puff on her narcotic stick as she leered toward the servant females, misunderstanding his comment. “Oh, yes—they will submit to whatever services you may demand of them. However, ah, exotic those demands might be.” The females fidgeted, avoiding his eyes.
Garos concealed his distaste for seeing females diminished in this way. At least Orion females, even the nominal slaves, had their pheromones to give them an advantage. “That will not be necessary, Retifel. I seek no companionship besides your own.”
Her eyes widened, and he could see she was controlling her own reactions just as tightly. “Oh! Well. I’m very flattered, Dular, but—well, I am married, and . . .”