NationStates Jolt Archive

Some days it does pay to get up. It pays in blood, vengeance, and the oh-so satisfying humiliation of your enemies.

C30492B-13 woke and stretched. The man was waiting.
"Come," he said. She came, eagerly.
"Get in the box and go to sleep," he said, holding out a bottle. "The long sleep." She took the bottle, and lay down in the box. As he shut the lid, she was already unconscious.

When she awoke, she felt a strange swaying and bobbing sensation. It was dark, and the box was stifling. She could breathe the stuffy air. The box opened. A man handed her a new bottle without saying a word. She took it, and went back to the long sleep.

She woke again with a jolt. Her box had struck something suddenly. She inhaled sharply, keen hearing picking out rough voices. Her box moved, unevenly lifting up, then it dropped onto something with a clatter.

"If you'll sign this here, I'll be glad to go back to work," the uneasy voice of a Treznorian cargo master said. "Thanks."

A slow shift and a deep engine rumble kept her company for the next half hour, then her box was lifted and placed gently onto a flat surface. It opened.

"Oh, this one's awake already." A man stared at her uncertainly. "I thought they were all still asleep."

"I think someone dropped my box," she said helpfully. "I am not hurt."

"Ah, good." He looked uneasy. "Well, come this way." He picked up a small keychain out of her box, fumbling with it for a moment. She followed him as he led her off.

Somewhere else:

"She is still alive, and her nation thrives. She enjoys the adulation and attention of many, while I sit here in darkness. She took him from me, and she will pay for that!"

Bob regretted his question immediately, and decided that now would not be the time to bring up the fact that the lady in question was not actually the one who had imprisoned the gentleman in question, who was sorely missed by both Bob and his less than wholly sane superior. After all, when he had still been around, she had still been - well, if not entirely normal, at least logical about these sorts of things.

"My apologies, milady. I should have known better than to question your wisdom."

A steely stare answered him.

"Perhaps, then, I should bring you the distribution and sales figures for the Somber Night Falls project?

A nod.

"Yes, ma'am, right away. May she suffer an eternity of torment at your hands, ma'am." Perhaps not the best chosen words, on second thought, but he discreetly exited before any further disapproval could be communicated. Perhaps she would take his meaning well enough without considering it a veiled insult.

Enough about what happened there for now, OK?

The Angstian executive was talking to the man who had opened her box, holding a funny key chain attachment. "She is beautiful. And you say she'll do whatever I want her to?"

"It will be her heart's desire to do as you please."

C30492B-13 stared at the Angstian executive. He stared back.

"This man will be your master, Mr. Huber-"
"Please, just call me Thomas. My wife will kill me..."
"Only if she finds out, Thomas."
"Do you take credit cards?"

The two men stared each other in the eye. Computerized records. Of course not, the executive thought to himself.

"Well, I don't have cash on me right now... meeting tommorrow... leaving Tuesday afternoon... how about I pick her up Tuesday morning and pay you then?"

The port of Kivaj Rekhai was quiet this early in the morning.

"Look," Redaka Istaru said, "I don't see why you think we can find anything better here than in Kel Rayat. The brochure said the markets there were much bigger."

"I'm telling you, mon," the sailor said, "There be this one mon, he can get you a perfect matched set! They like nothing else you find in Szraion, and if you don't find it in Szraion, well, mon, you outta luck. Look, here's da mon I was talking to you about. Hey, mon, I bring you a customer!" The Szraion dealer stopped ignoring the sailor, turning to greet the two men as old friends.

"Hey, hey, what's this? A respectable businessman? My good man, I never thought I'd see the day when I was glad to see, Jacob. What's your name, sir?"

The Rejistani executive hesitated a moment.

"That's alright, I understand. Come inside and we'll talk."

Not fifteen minutes later, Redaka was astonished.

"A matched pair of blonde elves? You've got to be kidding me." The ears are probably fake. Still, it's a wonderful opportunity... and they are so... obedient. Wow. Expensive, but y'know, I think I deserve a little decadence.

The blonde elves, apparently perfectly identical, smiled sweetly in unison.

"And they... well... um... that is, do they..."

"Yes, we do," one said. "In fact, we love to."

Mr. Koelb frowned. The wealthy Knootian was faced with a dilemma.

"You don't have a name?"
"You can call me whatever you want to."

He was unsure what to call his newest toy. She seemed unnaturally biddable and even eager to do whatever she wanted him to do, but what was he to call her? Finally, he settled on a name..

"From now on, answer to Kristin."
"Yes, my master."

In many seedy slave markets, brothels, and acquisition agencies around the world, a fairly standardized product was beginning to show up. All highly obedient. All virtually identical, but for an ultraviolet tattoo with a number on it on their foreheads, infiltrating the high end of the sex trade. At least a hundred have already passed through Kivaj Rekhai, making a certain sailor and his onetime drinking buddy very rich men. Perhaps some have noticed the slow explosion; for those willing to put down heavy amounts of cash, there is usually someone who knows someone who knows someone who can arrange for you to buy one. Or, in some rare cases, in a flamboyant and dramatic exercize in illegitimate expenidtures, more than one.

#tag#

"Kristin, why don't you dress up in something? I'm expecting company. Go do your hair or something." Mr. Koelb waved her away.

She frowned, looking in the mirror. Pulling her hair back into a bun and putting on one of Mr. Koelb's old jackets, she pranced in front of the mirror.
http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gif
Hm. So severe looking. I think I should wear it down after all. I know, I'll curl it!

Mr. Koelb walked back into the bathroom. "On second thought, it's probably best you just stay in the bedroom while I have visitors over. They'd ask questions."

Iraqstan, Führer Carlos's residence:

"Führer, I have found the most wonderful gift for you. If I may show you, Führer?" The anxious underling, daring to come disturb Carlos, seemed very confident that this prize would readily overcome any irritation at being interrupted.

OOC: Suffice it to say, the game is afoot. Now is the time for people to start digging things up, buying elf love slaves, panicking, strangling intelligence agents, etc etc. I'm sure I haven't covered all the assorted filthy rich interested in buying them, nor the seedy merchants willing to sell them... and perhaps keep one of their own... I will answer some OOC questions, and continue to develop plotlines as people move it forward. Feel free to take over operation of characters from your nations as I introduce them; after all, you know better than me how they act in your societies. :D As a matter of fact, this does have backplot links to some earlier RPs, which will show more clearly over time, but not having previously participated is no bar to anybody new jumping in - it's a broad and open RP with plenty of loose ends for you to snag on your way in.

"Iraqstan, Führer Carlos's residence:

"Führer, I have found the most wonderful gift for you. If I may show you, Führer?" The anxious underling, daring to come disturb Carlos, seemed very confident that this prize would readily overcome any irritation at being interrupted.

Looking up quickly from the mat on the floor Carlos glares and reaches slowly for his pistol. "You dare interrupt me...." Standing quickly Carlos takes his pistol and motions to the door. "This had better be good. If it's not, I forsee another grave in the backyard major. You'll dig it yourself and then I'll bury you."

Nodding to the major Carlos shows his intent to follow....

*tag*

The major showed a great deal of confidence.

"My apologies for interrupting you at your prayers, Führer," he bowed deeply, "but ... well, you must see."

He led Carlos into the entrance hall. Standing there in a scarlet gown, wearing a glittering diamond necklace, and looking regal even with her hair down... was... her.

"This is the man I was talking to you about," the major told her.

He told me he was not my master. My master wishes to be called the name and title of "Carlos" instead of ever "Master." And he also said... The elf looked up brightly.

"Oh." She looked him in the eyes and stepped forward. "Hello Carlos."

She leaned in to give him a big sloppy kiss.

"What shall we do, Carlos?"

The major stepped back nervously and crossed his fingers for luck.

[tag for possible further postings]

<tag>

[Tag for imminent posting]

Samara Neja had her booted feet up on the desk, flicking idly through the panel that contained data on the latest possible aqquisitions. It was always deemed wise to take a look through the higer priced ones, on the offchance that someone interesting would appear on the lists. These were picked out of the inventories she obtained from her contacts by an AI, cutting millions down to a few dozen. She raised an eyebrow at the elf who came up, no name, an anonymous contact, and a price: several hundred thousand credits, equivalent. The interesting thing was that the elf in question appeared to be Sirithil nos Fëanor.

'This can't be real,' she thought for a moment, 'a clone perhaps.' Her eyes were drawn to a tiny note at the bottom, more available on request it read - 'definitely clones'. The connection trace for the inventory left a rough location. Still, this was an exceedingly interesting development - certain people must be informed of it.

The sailor was having none of it.

"I told you, mon, I do da marketin', and you do da sales. Dat's de way it works 'round here."

"Look, I passed on some tips and pics to some old buddies in the meat market. No harm done, and it'll boost business."

"Business was good enough, mon. The g-men'll be coming."

"You can't be serious. We're just reselling sex clones."

"Look, mon!" The sailor whipped out an ancient magazine. "They clones of an old pop star, mon, the RIAA is gonna sue us to pieces when it leaks out. Squint real hard, mon, and you'll see it. I didn't notice it until I smoked up a bowl or two watchin' da girls out in da warehouse, but don't they look just like her?" The ancient and faded picture of Britney Spears waved in the light evening breeze. "I mean, minus the plastic surgery, mon. I'm taking my half of the cash and leaving, Ray."

"You have to at least introduce me to your contact in shipping is, Jacob... don't just leave me here."

"You got a hundred girls in da warehouse from a Treznorian scow last week, mon, you're set to go. Bet you haven't finished selling 'em when the g-men come. I'm not going around digging him up, no time, gotta live my life. I'm going back to the open sea."

"Very well, I'll dig him up myself. Good luck, Jacob. Catch a good berth!"

The sailor did stop at the warehouse.

"Hi girls!" He tromped over the corner, picking out a very specific one. She'd struck him as most distinctive, for some reason. She was one of the round-eared ones - about half were, although everything else about them looked the same. He'd made it a habit to talk to her... it was confusing to be dealing day in and out with a gaggle of girls who all looked alike.

"Alright, girl, I have a present for you." He pulled out a brunette wig. "We're taking the boat out of town. Nasty fellas come looking for me, I'm not around."

As the two left the warehouse, she turned to him. "They'll expect you to take a boat out to see. Everybody knows you for a sailor."

"Good point, chickie, good point."

"Head over land west... towards the SLAGlands." She smiled. "Didn't you say that was what lay west by land?"

Meanwhile, Ray prepared his sales pitch for the next prospective customer that came along. Jacob hadn't had to hunt them down lately; instead, the rich and bored passed word quietly to each other, and they looked for Jacob and Ray.

Redaka Istaru was not just interested but fascinated. Everyone would be, even if most men would never admit it. He asked the man if in case they would come to an agreement, the transactions could be highly discrete and prefereably be done in Matix kali.
If his family would ever find out.... They'll never will! His family had never found out about his short affairs, the RejisIRS never found out about the 'extended possiblities to improve a balance'. He interrupted his thought and waited for the response of the dealer.

OOC: Matix is a smaller city next to the rejistanian economical capital KaMaRi kali.

OOC:
They clones of an old pop star, mon, the RIAA is gonna sue us to pieces when it leaks out.
Oh man, I laughed so hard when I read that I choked on an ice cube!

If "g-men" means the government, then what remains of it in Kivaj Rekhai probably wouldn't do anything. The Citadels, however...

Kel Rayat

As usual, Aurelian was drunk, as he had been most of the time since returning from Lavenrunz. Whether it was a reaction to that undignified experience or simply the young man's new-found habit Domitian didn't know, but the Seneschal - always sober - didn't like it.

But then, he didn't like most things about Aurelian. His father, now ... there had been a Heart worth serving. But Aurelian was a dissolute fool, and would rapidly drink himself to death at this rate.

"My Heart!" Domitian said, glaring. "It appears we have a problem."

"Wha'?" Aurelian grumbled, looking up from the bevy of ... abundant females at his feet. "Got no prb'lems, got chicks! You should try it sometime."

Domitian's glare could have cut rock. "My Heart, the demand for special trade items is declining. Even some of our regular customers are going elsewhere! We are being undercut by outsiders. I believe they are in Kivaj Rekhai."

"Well, then, don't bother me!" Aurelian shouted. "Get Antonisz to deal with it. A score of Hands should so, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, my Heart," Domitian agreed, making his retreat. That had gone better than he'd expected, all told; the last time he'd tried to get the Heart to attend to his duties, Aurelian had thrown a bottle at him.

A score of Hands, then, up the coast to Kivaj Rekhai. A Voice, too, to deal with the Kivaji. Maybe a few Fists, to provide heavy support...

The Docks, Kivaj Rekhai

There was more to being a member of the Miltasz Rekhai than simply guarding the aging Rekha, it seemed; they were also tasked, in the sad decline of the Vasz Rekhai, with providing him with mistresses.

Augustisz didn't like that job - it degraded his office and that of his lord, and he was something of a romantic - but the barracks had drawn straws, and he'd lost.

Lost was his word, of course; they said won, being less firm in their honour and more eager to ogle the products they obtained.

Dissolute barbarians, Augustisz thought, as he made his way down the hill from the Kel Rekhai, descending into the underworld of the docks and the mazelike alleys which wound through the district.

He was attracting a fair bit of attention from the lowlife scum who dwelt in this hellhole, he knew, but a Miltaszi coat was still worth something, and they wouldn't readily attack it's wearer.

Or so he hoped; he'd done burn-outs of neighbourhoods where Miltaszi had been killed before.

Finally he reached the warehouse where, according to the informative little rumors which carried such things through Kivaj Rekhai, such things as the Rekha wanted could be obtained. He'd seen a few of the products obtained from here at the Domna Julia's party last month.

"Excuse me!" he called, and knocked on the peeling wood of the warehouse doors. One should always be a gentleman, after all.

The freighter Merchantile Prowess bobbed gently in the mild swell lapping against Britmattia's southeastern coast.
An observer overhead would immediately note the smaller fishing trawler alongside the freighter, and the sealed crates being moved down a hastily rigged gangplank from freighter to trawler. The observer also would notice the distinctive olive and orange colours of Kipling Massiv Industries marking the uniforms of the trawler's crew.

Captain Rogeré Oglivey watched his men scramble up and down the gangplank, heavy crates hindering their progress, and cursed mentally. The damn board should have sent a freighter to collect these bloody things, whatever they are, they need a crane. He looked nervously to the horizon, then back at his radar operator.
"Crane, anything?"
Crane shook his head without looking around. This was no comfort to Oglivey, the damn Coastguard anti-smuggling boats were too bloody stealthy for comfort.
A shout from the deck attracted his attention, his foreman was waving to him "Captain, we've loaded the lot. Men are stowing them now sir."
Oglivey nodded curtly. "Get the gangpla," He was interuppted by a splash as the freighters crew pushed their end of the gangplank overboard.
The foreman cursed, ran over to the end still on board the Merchantile Prowess and shoved it over the side.
Oglivey muttered. "Damn cowards. Alright, helm, full speed to port."
"Aye Aye sir." The helmsman pushed the engines to full and the trawler drifted apart from the freighter. The drift apart went smoothly until a yelp came from the radar operators station...

Commander Mark Drummond grinned like a shark at feedingtime and shoved the throttles on his ISPC to full. He thumbed the radio. "Good job on the spotting Radar, and Guns, get prepped." He switched to the command frequency "Righto, I want Alexei and Dianne to follow me, we'll take the freighter, Rupert you're with Leah and Emma on the trawler. We're weapons hot if they fire or refuse to stop..."

Oglivey stared at the small boats bouncing toward his trawler and started to cry. The corporation's poor decision had just coast him his masters ticket. The ISPCs mounted two waterjets and a small cannon, they were essentially a seagoing fighterplane, too fast to be swatted quickly, and too dangerous to ignore.
Crane eyed his sobbing Captain and sighed. The Gaulliettes were always too emotional about things. He reached for the radio and flipped to the standard coastguard frequency "This is the Merchantile Prowess, we're coming about Coastguard, no resistance will be offered." He switched to general quarters "Engineering, shut the engines off. Everyone else stand down. The Coastguard have us."

Meanwhile, the freighter was attempting to make a run for it. The ISPCs zoomed around it like angry hornets, demands to stop blasting over their P.A and radios. The freighter ignored and kept heading towards open ocean. The lead ISPC, Drummond's, released a flare of angry red tracer in front of the bigger ship. "This was your final warning, come about or we will open fire."
A figure stood up in the bow, tube on his shoulder, and a rocket wooshed out. The ISPCs scattered, and the rocket blume a plume of spray out of the sea. The rocketeer however, disapeared in a fine red mist as Drummond's gunner blew him apart. The freighter's radio finally squawked a surrender.
Drummond grinned, and gave instructions for both ships to head to the Coastguard Holding Bay on Muir Island. A good days work.

OOC I was going to write reaction from govt in this post, but it was longer than I thought :/

Melissa Townsend stepped into the warehouse nervously. It was a dark and seedy area, as much as anyplace was, in Griffin, capital of the Federation. Nearby, the loud noise of the Griffin International Transportation Hub was a dull roar.

Melissa had no idea how they had gotten the shipment through the ITH Customs, but that wasn’t her concern. She knew this was about as illegal as it could be. But her husband would be so happy. So, so happy. And that was what she wanted.

She lifted the briefcase. Heavy. Extremely so, in fact. Precious metals usually were, as the Federation had no hard currency. Everything was electronic. Supposed to help cut down on crime that way. And it did, to an extent. Of course, the Electronic Intelligences monitoring everything for the Government helped to an even greater extent.

The briefcase was filled with gold. Some jewelry, some in other forms. With the precious stones inside it as well, it was worth millions. As was needed for this, considering the risk to all concerned.

But she had the money. Or, more specifically, her husband did. But he hopefully wouldn’t be mad she’d spent so much of it when he saw that which it was she’d bought him.

Melissa was young, beautiful, and very, very, human. Her husband was Charles Townsend, Vice-President of Destiny Computing, one of the largest companies in the Federation, a massive computing firm, that served both the private and government sectors. He was older than she, but not overly much so, as age wasn’t as big an issue, with the Life Len Treatments. Twenty years wasn’t as much as it would have been in a country without Life Len.

“Hello, Ms. Jackson.” The voice from the darkness startled her. Jackson was the name she had given. She slowly turned to face the voice, and saw a scruffy looking man standing there, broad shouldered, slightly aged, a little overweight. “I assume you’ve come to pickup your shipment?”

“I, ah, yes, that’s right.”

“Well, let’s see the money.” His accent was not from anywhere in Dor Lomin, not that she had expected it to be. She extended the heavy briefcase.

“It’s not exactly what you requested, but I hope it will do.”

The man frowned, and taking the briefcase, cracked it open. Looking inside, though, he smiled. “Oh, this will do nicely.”

“The shipment?”

“Of course.” The man turned, and opened the large wooden case in the corner, in the shadows. The ‘shipment’ stepped out, still absurdly beautiful after traveling many, many miles, without being made up, and being drugged.

The elf was over a foot taller than Melissa’s five foot six frame, and was dressed in a simple white sleeveless shift, down to knee level. Melissa felt a surge of something, lust perhaps. She’d never been one for entirely heterosexual relationships.

The elf looked confused, as if she’d been expecting someone else to be there. Melissa turned back to the man. “She’s biddable? Does what she’s told, no questions?” The man nodded. “Good.”

She started towards the elf, walking around her, fingers trailing over the skin, in the hair, matted from travel. “What do you do?” she asked the elf.

“Anything you want, Mistress.” Melissa felt a surge of power run through her.

“And what do I call you?”

“Anything you want, Mistress.” Melissa smiled at the elf.

“Strip.” The elf divested herself over the shift, shivering slightly in the cold air, as it caressed her bared skin. Melissa ran her hands over the elf’s back, sampling the smooth skin.

The man, the shipper, in the corner shifted uneasily, watching the elf.

“Kneel, with your knees apart.” The elf did so, kneeling on the cold, hard floor of the warehouse. Melissa simply smiled. “What do you want?”

“To please my Mistress,” the elf responded simply. Melissa knelt in front of the elf and touched her, and the elf moaned softly. Melissa smiled, and standing, turned to the man, as if she were about to say something, and then turned back to the elf.

“Kiss me,” she commanded. The elf took Melissa’s hand, brushing it aside as she stood. She bent down and kissed Melissa passionately, deeply, for a long moment, not backing off until Melissa broke the kiss with a soft smile.

She turned to the man, who was obviously uncomfortable now. “She will do perfectly.” Turning back to the elf, she said, “Get dressed again. We’re leaving.”

OOC: Rejistania: sorry, didn't see your thing. Well, I did see it but I didn't realise it was adressed to the Szraioni slave dealer guy. Here's a post.

The Docks, Kivaj Rekhai (some time earlier than my last post)

"I think you misunderstand me, good sir!" Demetrisz told the foreign buisnessman. "I do not sell these offshore - this is a dangerous buisness, cutting into Rayati markets, sir!

"I simply take them from ... another place, and sell them here, you see? You give me money, I give you women, we are all happy, no? I cannot get them to this Matiksz kali for you. My sources do not go that far, sir!

"However, I know people who know people, you see ... I could put you in touch with men who can get these women to your city, yes? For a small fee, of course..."

The eyes of Menelmacar were everywhere.

In nations around the world were agents; in a veritable net across the skies were the Elenpalantíri satellites. Like their namesakes, their gaze was ever-watchful; earth, shadow, cloud, flesh... none of it was an obstacle.

Something of this nature, a product this... dangerous? Had to be sold covertly, of course... but word had to circulate somehow, and there were MISSION ears in the right places. There was an increase of traffic in Kivaj Rekhai; there was whispering in dark places...

And Menelmacar saw, and heard.

"WHAT?!!!"

"Yes, milady," Serendis reported. "Clones of you, passing through the Szraioni port of Kivaj Rekhai. There is simply too much intelligence to deny the possibility. By all accounts, they are absolutely obedient pleasure slaves, and we believe at least a hundred have sold."

"I suppose I should be flattered," Sirithil muttered. "Burn that miserable hole down to the bedrock. I've had enough."

"Milady... we have no evidence suggesting the government is responsible. This is... a clandestine organization. Organized crime, most likely. A heavy military response is unadvisable, though I certainly understand your anger."

"No... no, Serendis, you're right. I put this in your hands; do what you need to do. This ends, though it must be done right; and I encourage you to do whatever you must to... liberate these women. Bring them here. And find me the people behind this, and bring me their hearts."

"What will you do with the clones once they're here? You cannot simply kill them."

"No, I can't. They're people... they're just people that look like me. Well, that's a bridge that will have to be crossed when reached; in the meantime, you have your orders."

"Yes, milady," Serendis nodded; she bowed, and withdrew.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

{Tag}

A darkhaired man in his mid twenties, formally clad in the Britmattian dress uniform, was lead into the Customs and Excise warehouses on Muir Island.
Owen eyed the crates displeasedly.
"Lindsey, I appreciate you trying to explain all the different agencies under your aegis, but why am I in a warehouse on Muir Island? It's cold and I'm missing the rugby."
A darkhaired woman who looked to be in mid middle age, swathed in a thick coat against the cold, frowned.
"I wouldn't have brought you out here for no reason. Nicholas and I discussed this, and we decided you needed to be informed and overview things yourself. Take a look at the contents of the crate." She pointed at an unlatched crate a few metres away.
Owen shrugged "Alright. I take it this is the cargo from KMI's latest little flirtation with lawbreaking? Sounds like we need to behead another CEO."
By the time this statement was complete, he'd reached the crate. Opening the heavy lid with ease he peered inside it.
"By Eru! What, what on NS is this?"
Lindsay walked to his side. "According to the crew of the freighter, and the KMI purser we picked up and beat the truth out of, they're perfect elf sex slaves. These are all in stasis. Apparently KMI was going to use them as bribes/gifts for contracts overseas."
Owen looked aghast "That's disgusting, as well as highly illegal. I want whoever was responsible from KMI on the Rättvisa Field tomorrow. And," he looked back down at the sleeping form. "Get hold of someone who understands deprogramming people. Jenny Sadler from SpecOpCom might be able to help with names. Ah hell. How many are there?"
Lindsey nodded "48 your Majesty. All test as genetically identical, pure Noldorin, elves. KMI even broke that law."
Owen closed the lid on the crate. "I'm going to make a messy end of whoever it was. This kind of despicable crap doesn't happen within my Kingdom. And now, I get to go and ask John how one delicately broaches to a superpower's head of state that someone is cloning her for sex slaves. Should be fun, especially when you've been historic enemies with her..breed. I leave them in your capable hands Lindsey."
Owen stalked out of the warehouse, the two Utlänning bodyguards who'd been leaning at the door trailing after him.
Lindsey blew out her breath. Owen as King was a lot more of presence than Owen as Earl. Now, to work..

OOC Bear in mind we don't know Siri knows.

Owen sighed. After much deliberation with various of his Ministers he'd decided to call the Elf Queen himself and explain. Except then they'd realised no one knew how to get hold of her. It'd taken contacting the Drakkies, who'd come back with a contact number that'd get Owen to the Menelmacar govt. He sighed again. No time like the present. FUCK I am going to make that KMI ass pay tomorrow.
The vidphone dialed, and Owen prepared to be the first Britmattian Head of State to talk to an elf in nearly 1300 years.
"Hello?"

OOC Fun Fun!

tag

He lay on her side, slowly stroking her... She was asleep... And beautiful.

Who would have thought the product is as good as they said it is...

But there was something missing... He enjoyed her, yes... But the problem was that she enjoyed him as well. Even if he hit her until she bled, she still enjoyed it...

It was boring.

He almost felt bad doing it... Yes, he enjoyed his position, but... If thats the reaction...

No, It wasn`t the same.

I have to call Frank... He will be able to do something with her... And i may get back some of my money...

[ooc: Or, in other words, Tag, until i find a way to do it a bit more complex.]

OOC: *tag* for observation purposes.

Redaka thought about politely correting him, since it annoys him always if names are pronounced this strange. But well, it is not at least important. He wanted to posses one of this women. They are elfs, blondes and whites and all of this attributes only increaesed his desire. "Oh well. it is no problem, you bring me please in touch with this persons and I'll pay your prize. Of course all without any data, that could be tracked." He smiled a bit.

Owen sighed. After much deliberation with various of his Ministers he'd decided to call the Elf Queen himself and explain. Except then they'd realised no one knew how to get hold of her. It'd taken contacting the Drakkies, who'd come back with a contact number that'd get Owen to the Menelmacar govt. He sighed again. No time like the present. f--- I am going to make that KMI ass pay tomorrow.
The vidphone dialed, and Owen prepared to be the first Britmattian Head of State to talk to an elf in nearly 1300 years.
"Hello?"

OOC Fun Fun!
OOC: Yay! New diplomatic contact!

IC:

"Fëanor Palace switchboard... Britmattia? For the Lady? Britmattia... Britmattia... hold on a moment."

The operator pulled out a small padd containing an atlas, and another one with the diplomatic files... The latter didn't /have/ anything for Britmattia, save 'No contact. Not overly friendly.' and a date of last contact... thirteen centuries previously. Well, this was surprising. It was probably also very important.

"Hold on a moment, your majesty... I'll put you through..."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
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The Docks, Kivaj Rekhai

"Yes yes, very good!"

Demetrisz checked his pocket watch; It was 1325, or thereabouts. Clockwork wasn't as accurate as Citadel silicon. But the Kivaji smugglers were reliable; they'd be drinking, right now.

"Yes, follow me, sir. I shall take you myself!"

They exited the warehouse, and Demetrisz locked it behind him; it wouldn't do for any of the slaves to wander out, or for the criminal lowlife to wander in!

The main hangout of Demetrisz's contacts was Flavia's Box, a seedy bar near the waterfront. As usual, the booze-soaked occupants gave him and his customer quick scans as they entered; nobody would want to see Miltaszi in here, after all.

Spotting someone he knew, Demetrisz led the foreigner over to a wall seat, where a scarred man in a sailor's oilskins was nursing a flagon.

"Julisz!" he said. "This is a buisness partner of mine. He has ... cargo ... to get offshore."

"Wha' sorta cargo? Those fae (OOC: Szraioni for "elven") girls you run?"

Demetrisz nodded. "They must get to Matiksz Kali in Rejistania."

The smuggler pondered. "Those guys don't like my sort. Or your sort. That'd cost ... thirty, forty thousand denarisz? You got that sorta money, mister?"

Serendis was meeting with a few of her MISSION Agent-Commanders, discussing the clone situation. "What do we know about these Szraioni?"

Ataralassë nos Fithurin, who had coordinated the Mornahossë counterattack in the Lavenrunz hostage crisis, had done her homework. She spoke up. "A thousand years ago Szraion was known as the Kivaji republic, milady. At one point they forgot to pay the army. Naturally, the army revolted, burned the Kivaji Fora, and set up the Vasz Rekhai, which is Szraioni for General's Rule.

"A few centuries later the Rekha made the same mistake and forgot to pay the garrisons. They revolted. The garrisons banded together with merchant guilds in each city for a mutually beneficial alliance; the army got funding, the merchants got protection and enforcers. Eventually, they all went to war with each other. There are six Citadels, plus Kivaj Rekhai; Kel Rayat and Kel Szrkhast are the most powerful. Kivaj Rekhai has the Rekha, but he's powerless outside the city and getting old.

"Eventually someone discovered cybernetics, which started something of an arms race there, and this is the pinnacle of their military capability. Most of the rest of their technology is fairly standard Atomic Age - though they don't actually have nuclear power. The military is broken up by Citadel; there are no space assets."

Serendis nodded. "Kivaj Rekhai is where this travesty is occurring. So, essentially it's not a country so much as seven competing city-states?"

"Correct, milady. In fact, most of them would be rather pleased to see one of their counterparts destroyed. It's doubtful they would ever be in agreement long enough to all point their forces at one target. In this case, Kel Rayat had the previous upper hand in the slave trade; Kivaj Rekhai seems to be stealing their market now with these clones. Naturally, the Rayati are almost certainly rather annoyed. I think this could present an opportunity." She sat down again, looking proud of herself.

"Excellent work. Try to get in touch with the Rayati Kelraikh, and see if we can work out some sort of pact for dealing with this matter. And get someone into Kivaj Rekhai; some direct investigation would be wise."

"Yes, milady."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
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"I think this additional cost can be paid." answered Redaka. They don't need to know, that he belongs to the biggest industrija'ny in Rejistania, because he guessed, that this would raise the costs. "How are you planning to get her into the country?"

"I got a boat, mister," Julisz said, "Do I look like some Citadel augman with a Wing in my back pocket? 'Tis a good boat, though - custom-built in the Kivaji yards, couple o' kays from here. I can get anything anywhere."

That, of course, was an overstatement par excellence, but the Rejistanian would know that.

*tag!*

He didn't know what an augman is, but well, comparism don't matter here.
"Second question is, where to dock. I don't want her to get caught by the police or the coast guards."

The operator picked up the line; Owen's holographic image appeared, projected on a two-dimensional plane rather than a three-d image - the projector could only work with what it received in terms of data, of course. "Fëanor Palace switchboard," she answered.

Owen nodded. "Yes. My name is Owen Warwick, I represent the government of Britmattia. I'd like to speak to the Elentari, we've run across something that demands her attention, so if you could link me through to her that'd be most helpful."

The operator nodded. "One moment please," she said; she pressed a button, and Owen's videophone image of the well-dressed Elf faded to a simplified Menelmacari crest, consisting of the daggerstar and the olive wreath only, rotating against a black field; the audio track played a truly beautiful, soothing choral/winds melody which was probably the Menelmacari idea of hold muzak. Meanwhile, the operator dug out the diplomatic file datapad, looking up Britmattia; no previous diplomatic contact. Overall disposition, not overly friendly. That alone told her this call was important. A glance at a holographic map of the world, with a trace marker flashing serenely over Britmattia's capital city of Royesse, told her it was authentic. The fact the file said Owen Warwick was their current king... well, that was something. She pressed another button. "Milady... the king of Britmattia for you. It seems important." Sirithil blinked a moment. "...put it through." A moment later, the elf reappeared on Owen's screen, the music fading softly rather than abruptly ending. "I'll put you through, your majesty."

Another hold; only about twenty seconds, though, before Sirithil herself picked up. "Hello?"

Owen fingered the collar of his House uniform. "My Lady Elentari, I hope this call didn't come at an inopportune time. I felt it was important that I get to you with this information as soon as possible." he said. "Essentially, earlier today one of our Coast Guard patrols intercepted a foreign freighter shipping clones of yourself into Britmattia. The crew of the freighter have been interrogated, as have the importers."

Sirithil nods slowly, listening.

"They didn't give us much, other than informing us the clones are designed as sex toys, and that they were shipped from Sraizon, a nation we know virtually nothing about." He paused and sighed. "My Lady, I assure you that this... act... will not go unpunished. We've apprehended virtually everyone involved on our side of things, but there are more people involved overseas. We felt it best to inform you and allow you to take action as you saw fit. The clones are no longer slaves of course, and we're attempting to remove their programming. I've declared them citizens, but to be honest I'm a little stumped as to what to do next. We've had no contact with elves for more than a millenia. Other than the Dragons, none of our citizens have had any extensive contact with your people, and I've decided, as this will obviously have to change, to lift our restrictions on elven contact. So my Lady, this call's second purpose is to establish diplomatic relations with you, and any other Noldorin realm you may introduce us to."

Sirithil nodded a bit. "I'd heard about the clones, actually," she said softly. "My intelligence network had informed me; now, however, we are certain, and for that I thank you. If it would be possible for them to be transferred to Menelmacar, we would greatly appreciate it; if this is not viable, I'd like to send some people to look the clones over, and to question your prisoners, under your supervision of course - we would not want to contravene your laws. A greater understanding of the methods of their creation and distribution would help in investigating this matter. Further, majesty, I'd like to thank you kindly for opening diplomatic contact, for Menelmacar is always most pleased to establish lasting new friendships."

Owen made a wry face. "Transferring them isn't an option, my Lady, they are citizens now, it's my job to look after them, and I believe keeping them settled while we work on establishing normal lives for them will be best. Menelmacari scientists are however welcome to visit the hospital we have them in at present. I'm not going to let them become slaves, or lab rats. They're just children really, which is what makes it so vile. However, as I said Menelmacar is welcome to examine them, elven psychologists would be appreciated especially. The crew of the freighter are yours if you want them, they're somewhat battered and subdued, so they should ante up information with swiftness. The importers are a corporation of ours who I am going to..discuss.. things with tomorrow. I'll deal with them, any further information I extract will of course be turned over to you."

Sirithil nodded. "That is more than adequate." She smiled. "I thank you again most kindly."

Owen shrugged. "Anyone would do the same. Thank you for your time, my Lady."

"And you as well," Sirithil replied. "Tenn'enomentielva, Owen Warwick."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
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OOC: I really should post much more, but it's a busy day for me, and I can't really sit around and write out nearly as much storyline as I've worked out and is appropriate to the current stage of the thread... so bear with me. I'll put out more later, and there is enough for people to work around with. Fortunately, I don't have to manage everything that's going on in here. Small note: Not many of the clones get shipped from Szraion. Most clones arriving in Britmattia will have come from Treznorian ships - a fact you should be able to dig up in not too much time, provided your investigators do well on the ground.

C30492B stirred in her sleep, coming half awake at Mr. Koelb's touch. She had always been a fairly light sleeper, although she lay still and left her eyes shut, stirring slightly as though still fully asleep. He probably wouldn't want her to bolt upright - if he wanted her awake, he would surely try harder. My master is stroking me again... he must be thinking. I think my master likes me... She drifted back off to sleep, almost purring like a cat with contentment.

Szraion, Kivaj Rekhai:

Jacob had not been entirely honest with Ray, as a matter of fact.

"Dominaria" frowned. The omens were ill, and it was not like Jacob to miss an important business lunch meeting regarding the highly lucrative trade that had sprouted up virtually overnight. Actually, it was like Jacob to get stoned and sleep through a lunch meeting, but Jacob had been looking antsy at their last two face to face meetings, and her nephew Marcus had told her he'd seen Jacob out by the docks looking for jobs. Something had been eating at the man lately, and he must either have bolted or been planning for it. It's a pity that he'd never introduced Dominaria to his business partner - he should know what was going on.

On second thought, if Jacob was bolting, perhaps it would be a good idea to lie low for a time. Her suppliers probably would simply brush it off as a momentary oversupply if they even thought to wonder why she hadn't ordered any more batches lately. Business had been stellar lately, and she had plenty of money to rest out a well earned vacation.

Elsewhere, near the borderlands:

Jacob loomed over the plastic surgeon, an ominous bulk of muscle developed from years loading and unloading cargo vessels posing an unconscious unspoken threat to the plastic surgeon. The tall couple had tromped in and badgered his secretary for an immediate audience.

"Well, I'd like it done really quiet. Her daddy never really approved of me - and if he spots her, well, I don't like getting shot at." But I really don't like getting sued for unauthorized use of a copyrighted face. "So we've come to you for help. Cosmetically speaking, I want him to not really be able to recognize her when you're done. I'm pressed for time, there's a hefty bonus for clearing your schedule out."

As the large sums of cash being waved under his nose posed a more important threat - to the surgeon's loan payment schedule, at least - the doctor seemed amply willing to do the job, even when Jacob quietly asked for a couple unusual operations.

"I'll be waiting and watching." Jacob reflected over some of the past days' conversation.

"They'll be looking for a sailor involved in the slave trade, and if they catch Ray, they'll know that you're with me. Understand this: You have no master. I think posing as eloping newlyweds will help our disguise."
"I have no master? But, Jacob, aren't you-"
"No. You don't have to do what I say. Just do what you want. I took you along ... well, I guess I feel guilty, and I didn't want Ray selling you off to some rich perv... I guess I supposed I'd try and make up for it some."
"Is that why we never-"
"No, no, it's not that-"
"You don't like me?"
"I like you a great deal, or I wouldn't have taken you out of the warehouse. You're like a big shiny beacon helping point them to me."
"We should fix that then."
"I guess we should."

He had begun asking her about her past, and teaching her, and he had been steadily growing more disturbed and cursing his quick desire to get rich in a hurry off an opportunity to good to be true... which he was increasingly sure it had been. Now, waiting outside the operating room, he mentally reviewed everything he'd ever heard about the SLAGLands. I've never been there before...

Elsewhere:

"The reports from our independent agents in Brittmattia are not pleasant. Something's gone wrong." She spoke to the wall, back turned to him, high collared cloak shielding most of her from view.

"Yes, ma'am." I read those reports... they didn't say that much. Milady is completely paranoid. "What would you have me do, ma'am?"

"Bring me Mr. Spiner. He has some explaining to do and I have some new orders for him. Most if not all of the shipments that ended up in Brittmattia were run through his department, and he needs to learn some new procedures."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get ahold of him straightaway, ma'am."

Open Ocean, Early Rising Jomsviking
The Early Rising Jomsviking, long ago one of the largest whaling ships in operation, now long retired and bought many years ago by a mysterious eccentric, floated in the water. Now heavily modified, it served as the mobile base for his operations - in large part legitimate if not particularly profitable shipping, with occasional smuggling, to finance his other projects. In the bridge, a man talked to himself.

"She's moving remarkably fast. I'm glad I don't work for her anymore, but perhaps the time is right for the market in high end slaves to be exploited... and my own project in that regard is nearly clever. Her ideas were brilliant - nearrly as brilliant as the ones she stole from me while I did work for her - but cloning elves requires too much expense. Not to mention political hazard. Perhaps it's time for her to have some competition. I see here that she has bypassed the Kel Rakat markets... I shall send an envoy. Let's see how well her elven sex slaves do on the markets when she's faced with competition from a less expensive quarter... and the genius who set up much of her project."

The man paused, and looked out a porthole at the ocean, so calm and magnificent, and forced himself to take a deep, soothing breath.

"Besides, it's time I started making loads of cash off the markets. I deserve it."

OOC: Augman = Augmented man. A cyborg.

"Well," Julisz told the foreigner, "You gimme half th' payment now. I take th' cargo t' Rejistania, an' anchor some ways offshore, inna nicely deserted spot, a' a certain time. Then I ship the cargo in wi' a motor launch. You're waitin' to pick the cargo up on the beach. You gimme th' other half o' th' payment, I give you th' cargo, an' everyone's happy, no? Th' Kaesr can avoid any customs boat afloat, mister!"

The Field was frosty and gloomy, the faint light of dawn barely staining the horizon. But then it was always dark and cold on the Field.
A woman clad in the somber clothes of a Marshall strode out onto the Field, a hefty dwarf in prison guard uniform trailing her with two identical swords slung over his broad shoulders.
The woman stopped in the centre of the Field and stood, arms crossed inside her black robe, white striped cowl shadowing her face. The dwarf laid the swords on the ground and adjusted his trousers.
"Grotty morning for it ma'am."
The cowl bobbed in a nod. The dwarf nodded. "Mind you, s'pose it's tradition eh? Sorta atmospheric type a fing, know what I mean?"
The cowl bobbed again. The dwarf nodded back again firmly. He looked round at the sound of a motor, a black van with the Ministry of Justice crest painted on the side had pulled into the Field. The front doors opened and a skinny prison officer with his hat pulled down got out, walked around to the back and unlocked it. A bruised looking man, still clad in a Kipling Massiv uniform stepped gingerly out, took a look at his surroundings and screamed, collapsing at the warden's feet, clutching at him. The warden swore and stepped back. "Piss off, you brought this on yourself." He dragged the man upright and hustled him over to the Marshal and the dwarf, then let him drop. The man curled into a ball and sobbed. The dwarf looked down at him, then at his fellow guard. "Mornin Reg."
The skinny warden sniffed, and dabbed at his nose with a startlingly orange handkerchief. "Morning Doin. How's the Mrs?"
Doin grimaced, tugging at a black beard, "Same as ever Reg, same as ever. And your better half?"
Reg shrugged "Same as ever."
Doin nodded, then looked round at the Marshal who was signalling at both men.
The two guards looked at the Marshal, then to where a figure in featureless black armour was striding across the field, dragging darkness in it's wake. Both guards grimaced, then headed off to the van.
The Marshall waited til the figure had arrived, scooped up a sword and was standing at parade rest before speaking. "Kevin Alexander Kipling. You have been found guilty by your own admission of importing slaves into Britmattia. This is a capital offence in it's self, but you further worsened your crime by the fact that these slaves are all children, and intended for sex with their owners. This is rape under Britmattian Law. Therefore, this Marshall sentences you to trial by combat with the King's Champion. May Eru have mercy on your miserable soul." The Marshall kicked the remaining sword at Kipling and withdrew from the field.
Kipling got to his knees and crawled toward the Champion "Please, oh God, please have mercy, please! I beg you!"
The Champion neither moved nor spoke.
Kipling grovelled more "I can buy you anything, I can get you anything, please!"
"Pick up your sword."
Kipling cringed back "Please!"
"Pick it up."
Kipling, sobbing, scrabbled for his sword, and got to his feet. He stared at the featureless armour, ashen-faced. "P,p,please!"
The Champion didn't move.
Kipling sniffed and wiped his face. "I...oh DIE!" He charged at the Champion, blade held high.
The armoured form piroutted out of his way, kicked him in the knee, shattering it, wringing an agonising scream from Kipling just before the Champion's blade neatly beheaded him. The Champion was still again before the body hit the ground. He wiped the sword clean on Kipling's uniform and picked up the head, which was stretched in a rictus of agonised terror. The Marshall walked back onto the field, avoiding the pooling blood and turned the corpse over.
"In the King's Name justice is Done. Let that be a lesson to you."
The Champion, Kipling's head dangling from one armoured fist, strode off the field as the two guards headed on to clean up...
Later
Owen jammed Kipling's head down on the spike over Criminal's Gate. He joined two rapists and a murderer, the fifth spike unfilled. Owen looked the head in the eyes for a moment, nodded, straightened and strode down the stairs leading down the wall, still wrapped in the anonymity of the Champion's armour...

OOC Moral of the Story : "Don't fuck with the Britmattian Justice System."

"One condition: If you get caught, you don't know me, I don't know you! Is you accept? If yes, we reached an agreement and I'll give you the required lilek."

OOC: lilek is a word for lil'kansu or simply for money.

"Mister, I don' know you," Julisz pointed out. "Tha's always part o' th' deal. D' we have one? A deal, tha' is?"

((Argh))

"I just wanted to be sure. Ve, we have one!" He said a short phrase in rejistanian ('Valid, In the name of god Suruy') before he reached out his hand to shake hands on the deal. After that he handed the man the approriate amount of money. "See you in Jistaveda"
(Jistaveda is a province of Rejistania, which is covered by rainforests and has no coastal city worth mentioning.)

Walking slowly behind the major Carlos idly checked his pistol and eyed the surroundings closely. Stopping in the hall Carlos fails to cover the surprise riding on his face at the sight before him. "This.... what is this major?" He whispers darkly as the elf kisses him.

Stepping back he turns to glare hatefully at the major. "Explain yourself now." He utters darkly his face showing his intentions entirely. Stepping closer to the major Carlos brings the pistol into view and snarls softly. "I want a good explanation for this and where you got it Major. What you tell me now may decide your fate."

Walking slowly behind the major Carlos idly checked his pistol and eyed the surroundings closely. Stopping in the hall Carlos fails to cover the surprise riding on his face at the sight before him. "This.... what is this major?" He whispers darkly as the elf kisses him.

Stepping back he turns to glare hatefully at the major. "Explain yourself now." He utters darkly his face showing his intentions entirely. Stepping closer to the major Carlos brings the pistol into view and snarls softly. "I want a good explanation for this and where you got it Major. What you tell me now may decide your fate."

The major gulped and began to improvise quickly. "I -er- she wanted to see you and I thought you'd be pleased about that news? Führer, I swear, I am not worthy to stand in her way! Don't shoot me please!"

Meanwhile, the elf pouted. "I thought you'd be happy to see me here, Carlos. You don't look happy."

~ A few days later ~

"So.. we have a deal?"
"Yes." The man who answered was short, bust obviously fairly strong. Despite his numerous implants (or perhaps because of them), he had a face that looked, in one word, brutal. So did the rest of him, for that matter.

The businessmen on the other hand seemed to be scared. He almost felt pity for his love slave... She adored him, despite all his heinous acts... Despite his brutality, despite the 'games' he played with her.

This was the reason he couldn´t tell her. He simply couldn´t. Although he was sure she would love to follow his orders and work for this... this mons... this man.

He looked around and saw her there, standing, waiting for his orders, always smiling, despite the fairly visible traces their last 'game' had left in her face.

"Well..." He hesitated, felt the sickness inside of him... "I`m gone for a week or two, and this man here..." He pointed at his 'partner', "Will take care of you. Follow his orders as if he was me. I will return soon..." He gulped, sweating. What am i doing? Why?

"Well... I will be back soon..." He kissed her, then left, for another moment looking after her, then leaving, his heart pounding.

After all, it was damn good to f*ck that elven bitch...

The other, short, but seemingly brutal, man was walking towards her... touched her, stroked her cheeks, his eyes looking at her... not looking human, not looking at a sentient being, but rather...

The eyes of a machine examining a product.

"I think you will be very productive, bitch..."

Samara wandered through the streets of the port of Kivaj Rekhai, understanding the docks to be the area most likely for the slave trade. She was flanked by two large men, stepping perfectly in time with each other, both were carrying a black briefcase each, and their heads drifted from side to side almost mechanistically. Finally she caught sight of her destination, and paused. "Wait here," she said to her companions, standing around the corner, and marched out toward the warehouse, confidently.

<tageddy>

Melissa looked over at the elf sitting next to her as the hovercar sped along towards home, guided by slight adjustments, but its onboard computers doing most of the work. She asked, after a moment of silent study, “So what all do you do?”

“Anything Mistress wants me to do.”

“Is that so?”

The elf nods. “Yes, Mistress.”

“What are you called?”

“Whatever Mistress chooses to call me.”

“I think I’ll let my husband decide that.” The elf’s eyes widen, but she says nothing, as if waiting for permission. “If you have something to say, feel free to say it around me, unless I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The elf pauses, as if this was difficult. “So there will be a Master as well, Mistress?”

“Yes, there will be.”

“More to serve, Mistress. I will be most happy. Thank you Mistress.”

Melissa involuntarily responds, “You’re welcome.” A habit of training.

The hovercar slid into the garage of the three story Townsend residence, about nearly three kilometers above the ground.

-----------------------

Charles Townsend was coming home at six-thirty. He was hungry, and hoped dinner was ready. It had been a long day at the office, and there was a good bit of work he needed to do after dinner.

He stepped into the living room, and stopped dead in his tracks. His wife was with someone else, on the sofa. But it wasn’t another man. Nor was it even a woman. As his eyes took in the sight before him, it was a she-elf that his eyes registered, and one of extraordinary beauty at that.

The blond elf was underneath his smaller wife, mouth locked on hers, while their hands roamed each other’s scantily clad bodies. The elf noticed him first, but there was no sign other than a widening of her eyes, while her mouth remained hungry on his wife’s lips.

The eyes were red.

After some moments, Charles finally cleared his throat. “Um, Mel, what…” His voice trailed off as his wife looked at him, a look on her face he had only seen a few times since their honeymoon. Pure, carnal lust.

She slid out of the elf’s embrace, and the elf dropped to her knees on the lushly carpeted floor, in a posture of perfect submission. Melissa walked over towards Charles, hips swaying provocatively, barely covered by the sheer white chemise she wore. She wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him deeply, surprising him, but he gave in readily, dropping his briefcase to the floor as her legs hooked around his waist. When the kiss finally broke, and Charles caught his breath, he indicated the elf. “Who is that?”

Melissa smiled. “Whoever you want her to be, my love.”

“Really?” Charles had by this point forgotten all about dinner, with his scantily clad wife wrapped around him, pressing against him.

“Yes, my love. She will be whatever, whoever you command her to be, and do whatever we ask her to do.”

Charles eyes widened at this. “Well, we’ll have to think of a name later.” He looked at the elf. “To the bedroom. We’ll be right behind you.”

The elf stood. “Yes, Master.” She looked so happy to see him.

Charles kissed his wife one more time, and then, with her wrapped around him, walked towards the bedroom.

OOC: Dude, I agreed to smuggle sex slaves for you. You said nothing about "Siri clones" or the like. Next time, come clean or don't bother asking me to RP something with you. I'll go with this due to the attention this has received thus far, but I am not happy at OOC surprises like this.

IC: Guglielmo Sarlucci eyes his mark smugly. Hook, line and sinker. He waits patiently as the white-haired executive looks over the merchandise.

"You guarantee she's human? She won't transform into some hideous monster and suck out my brains while I'm plugging her, right?"

Guglielmo snorts derisively. "She's a clone, not alien. Guaranteed one hundred percent no transformin' or brain-suckin'."

The man nods slowly, never taking his eyes off the woman as he makes a slow circuit off her. "And you say no one else has one, right? She's the first to enter the country?"

"Brand new off the ship. I came straight to you. I know how you like your little...pleasures," Gugliemlo replies honestly. Greedy bastard. Always wants to be the first with the new toy. That's no problem to me, Mister Corporate CEO. Your gold is as good as anybody else's.

The old man finally takes his eyes off the woman and focuses instead on the seller. "What about the government? You've run a lot of contraband past the border, but slavery is a first. How can I know the Emperor will turn a blind eye to this?"

"Relax," Gugliemlo advises, gesturing soothingly with his hands. "I got it covered. The government knows everythin' I do. I haveta give 'em a cut, after all. The Emperor gets his share from this. You got nothin' to worry about."

The old man nods again, a little more sharply this time. "All right, Sarlucci. You haven't steered me wrong before. I'll take her. How much?"

"Two million."

"Come off it, man! She's just a woman, clone or not. I have three mistresses that don't cost me that much!"

Gugliemlo turns to the woman in question, who is watching them blankly. "Michelle, strip and show the gentlemen what you can do."

The clone obeys quickly, skinning out of her skimpy outfit before dropping to her knees. A moment later, there are no further protests.

"I-is she...can she use a...whip?"

Gugliemlo quickly stifles a laugh. Wait 'til I tell the boys! "Uh...I'm sure you can teach her."

Demetrisz was not happy. Julisz's cut out of the money the Rejistanian buisnessman had paid had been substantial, and one of his usual onsellers seemed to have done a runner.

And now there was someone knocking at the warehouse door, with the sort of force which meant someone in the armed forces.

Oh shit, have the augmen found me already? he thought. Aloud, he called "Come in!" cautiously.

The major gulped and began to improvise quickly. "I -er- she wanted to see you and I thought you'd be pleased about that news? Führer, I swear, I am not worthy to stand in her way! Don't shoot me please!"

Meanwhile, the elf pouted. "I thought you'd be happy to see me here, Carlos. You don't look happy."

Flicking a glance at the elf he waves his hand "Be quiet." He snarls and turns his attention back to the major. "You think me a fool major? Even I can tell this isnt the real her. Where did you get her?" The gun the major notices isnt aimed at him so much as held at the ready should the desire to kill someone become needed again.

The gravitic frigate MIS Lenwacú hovered over the waters off Szraion, at a relatively low altitude of three thousand feet; she sat just outside the line marking international waters. She was not here to threaten, or even to watch, only to relay, for the Szraioni had no satellite receivers, and thus Menelmacar required to tap into their radio network... to make a call. Aboard, Agent-Commander Ataralassë nos Fithurin of MISSION dialed the necessary number; theoretically, she thought, this should get her put through to Aurelian, the Kelraikh of Kel Rayat.

-----

Aurelian woke with maddened imps trying to hammers spikes into his skull. "Oh, shit," he moaned, "What the hell did I drink last night?" Eventually the hammering in his head resolved itself into the ringing of a telephone system, held by an aggravatingly sober Seneschal Domitian. "My heart, a message for you," he said. "From a foreign vessel!"

"Gods burn it," Aurelian swore, "Give it here, then. Oh, Gods!" He put the reciever to his ear, and spoke. "Hello? Who th' hell is this?

Ataralassë blinks. Interesting greeting. "Er... good morning. I'm sorry if I've waken you," she said in a prim, delicate voice. "I understand you have some problems involving some competitors up the coast."

"Urgh." Memory returned of last night, drinking far too much with several lovely ladies. Domitian had said something to him ... what had it been? Something about the Kivaj Rekhai. Stealing their customers, that was it. Godsburnt historical hangovers! "Yeah," he said, "So what? Who are you, anyway?"

"I represent the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar; my name is Ataralassë nos Fithurin. The Lady Sirithil is most... distressed by these events, due to the nature of the slaves being trafficked. The Lady wishes to arrange for... a joint operation in removing these criminals."

"Join' op'ration? Got men going there, dear. Domitian, we have guys going there, right?" He looked to the Seneschal, who nodded, and renumerated the forces he'd arranged last night. "A score of Hands, two Fists, and a Voice, my Heart."

"Good," Aurelian said. "D'we need these funny foreign guys ... chicks ... whatevers t' help us?"

"Elves," Ataralassë volunteered helpfully, over the line.

Domitian considered. "It can't hurt, my Heart. Though I doubt there will be enough of the Kivaji thieves to warrant it." Aurelian turned back to the telephone, and told the fae (ooc: Szraioni for elf) on the other end, "Yeah, why not. If y' want t' kill some o' them, you're welcome. Bu' don' get in th' way, Hands get cranky if y' get in th' way."

Ataralassë nodded. "Actually, we need them alive, if that's at all possible. This operation, we believe, extends beyond Kivaj Rekhai; we need to determine how far it goes. We require the slavers and the slaves, unspoiled; in return, if you wish to expand your aggression to the leadership of the city, it could be arranged."

Aurelian wasn't so hung over as to understand the basic wrongness of that idea. "Can't be done, lady," he replied. "Kill the Rekha? If we did that, Kel Virasz would close the dams on the Vaij, cut off our water supply. Very ba' form, killing other people's puppets. An' you wan' th' dealers alive? Do you no' understan' basic buisness, elf-chick? They cut in on our buisness. For that, they die. En' of story!"

Ataralassë nodded. "You might have a point there. I'll tell you what; you give us a chance to question the dealers, and then we will gladly return them to the tender mercies of your judicial system."

He looked at Domitian for approval, and the Seneschal nodded. "Yeah, that'll do. You tweak 'em 'till they squeal, then we plug 'em full o' lead. Bu' justice has nothing t' do wi' mercy, darlin'!" He paused a second, as the maddened imps of overindulgence hammered a thought into his brain. "Say, why do you wan' these slaves, anyway? I mean, they're slaves. Y' can get several dozen easily down a' th' yards."

"Because they are clones of the Lady Sirithil, Kelraikh," Ataralassë responded smoothly. "You can see, I'm sure, why this is of prime importance."

"Oooh." Aurelian saw, indeed; dollar signs and other more graphic images, mainly. He'd heard of the Lady Sirithil. But this fae girl wouldn't have a ship offshore if they were going to let him keep the slaves (although that was his right! it was unfair...). "Yeah, I see. So, we go in, grab the slaves, you make the dealers squeak a bit, and then they get the good old six shells?"

"Quite right."

"Ri'. That's tha', then. My guys'll meet your folks at..." - he struggled to recall the layout of Kivaj Rekhai - "The northmost dock. Oh-eight-hundred sound good?"

"We'll be there."

"Good," Aurelian said. "Anything else, dear?"

"Not right now. I'll see you in the morning." She gave a smile that could be heard in her voice.

"Yeah," he slurred, still too hung over to remember it would be a Voice, and not he himself, that would be present. "In th' morning."

Ataralassë hung up then, turning to an aide behind her. "It's a go," she said. "Oh-eight-hundred. Assemble a team."

"Yes, milady," the aide responded, withdrawing.

-----

"We could have done better," Domitian told Aurelian. "Refused to allow them into Kivaj Rekhai. Taken these slaves they're so concerned about and sold them back." The aging Seneschal shook his head. "Too late now. I'll arrange for the team to get there. You - try to sober up, my Heart."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

Samara opened the door, smiling malevolently. She was hardly the stereotypical 'G-MAN,' she was approximately five feet nine, sporting a mane of dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a somewhat 'cold' expression fixed on her face. She was however extensively cybernetically augmented, that much was ture. She unceremoniously sat across from Demetrisz. "I understand you are selling these," she said, passing a printed copy, for anonymity a low technology solution was used, of a Sirithil photograph to him, "I represent a major concern in the market, and we are interested in bulk purchases. Firstly I'll make an offer on six of them now, and we'll be interested in as many as you can get after that. But I would like to inspect your stock first."

She said it all without pausing for breath, cutting off any attempt to interject until she had finished, very rude, but what you would expect in this business.

Charles had called in the next morning, utterly exhausted, and told his secretary to cancel all appointments for the next few days. He was ‘sick’ and would be out of contact until after the weekend.

His secretary responded with a “Hope you feel better soon, sir!” before hanging up. Charles had smiled, as he certainly did plan on feeling better soon. But after they discovered if the elf could cook, as well.

Some hours later, it was discovered the elf could cook, and quite well, and that she enjoyed doing things with food other than cooking it as well. As Charles lay, resting between the elf and his wife, he considered how lucky he was.

He padded to the bathroom to get a drink, shushing the elf’s insistence that she do it for him, and when he returned, he found his wife and the elf wrapped in passionate embrace, hands roaming freely. After a moment of watching to prepare himself, Charles rejoined them in the bed.

OOC: Treznor, I had no idea it made such a difference to you... I simply gathered the impression that yes, Treznorian merchant captains would be willing to look the other way and ship sex slaves, particularly if they could be left in the dark enough to have plausible deniability. If it really bugs you, I can rewrite the Treznorian ships out for another nationality in the same role.

And now, what you've all been waiting for...

Why your mother doesn't approve of "evil henchman" as a career choice.

"Mr. Spiner... I'm hearing disturbing reports about possible security leaks in your field of operation."
"Not true! I've kept utmost secrecy!"
"What's this ... about Britmattia? Security issues, Spiner. We don't tolerate security problems like yourself."
"Ma'am, please, my main shipping partner's contacts have provided ample assurance that their contacts had made a solid deal through a confidential broker with K-corp officials to trans-ship and market securely and anonymously. They said that K-corp ruled securely over the Britmattian economy and could arrange further matters untracably and very profitably."
"Other corporations and coherent organizations are never to be trusted. Their loyalty is always for sale, and they have resources with which to trace back to see who they are really dealing with."
"But, ma'am, I assure you, everything was done with the utmost caution, and it's working wonderfully."
"I don't think so. As of this moment, you're fired."
"But-"
"Shut up. You will tell us everything about your operations, including all the little things you've failed to previously mention to us."

*click*

"I think you'll find reason to reconsider your decision to fire me."

Shots were fired. When the air had cleared and the lights turned on again, she was holding Spiner by the throat against the wall. She was smiling faintly, and a gun lay on the floor. The handle had been crushed.
http://www.itv.se/boreale/gamespotter/images/zerowing.jpg
"You have no chance to survive. Make your time pleasant by not resisting the interrogators downstairs, you've not got much of it left." Spiner slumped, unable to even gasp as fear and oxygen deprivation began to go to work. She let his unconscious form slip to the ground.

"I want you to get everything he knows out of him. I want everything he knows about his contacts - how he gets ahold of them, who they are, what they know. If he's cooperative, grant him a merciful death. If he isn't, I'd like to personally oversee his torment. Track down all his contacts and terminate them ASAP. In the mean time, Mr. Spiner's attempt at renegotiation of his contract has disturbed me. Send one of the psychological rejects to my screaming room. I'll want to..." She paused, and licked her lips. "Work off some tension."

"Yes, milady." The acolyte bowed deeply.

Elsewhere... namely, the borderlands...

Jacob spoke quietly. Nobody else was around, but paranoia had become an instinct by now for the two of them. The green-haired girl in front of him seemed an awkward clumsy stranger, barely recovering from surgery. She didn't speak a word aloud.
"It's called Capoeira. It was developed in a place called Brazil, many years ago, by slaves seeking their freedom. My father taught it to me."
That seems... appropriate, somehow, Jacob. But why would they want to be free? Being free seems to mean running and hiding an awful lot, not to mention going through a whole lot of fuss. That plastic surgeon was a pain.... I'm not sure if I like being free. Slaves have security, after all.
"Being free is the most glorious thing of all. I've begun to realize that even more talking with you about how you grew up... Anyway, it is traditional for a new Capoeirista to be given a new name."
I have no name.
"You do now, Lepress."
Lepress? That's a funny name.
"It will suit you. For now, we will move slowly. As you become acclimatized to your new spinal column and enhanced reflex system, we'll work on getting your speed up."

The Early Jomsviking, not that far off the Szraion coast.

"Hello, I'm calling to try and get in touch with the main mover of lovely ladies in Kel Rakat. I mean, Rayat, sorry, I'm not from around here. I have a business proposition regarding some high end competition of his moving in on his revenue stream. I'd like to schedule a personal meeting, if that would be possible."

OOC: Treznor, I had no idea it made such a difference to you...
OOC: Um...you're selling clones of Sirithil and probably other powerful and temperamental women. ICly, that doesn't make a difference to the ship captains unless they find out. OOCly, it has a huge impact on my RP. It's a tiny little detail worth mentioning because there's a massive difference between selling sex slaves, and selling clones of the leader of a nation reknown for threatening nations with invincible gravship fleets over small issues.

Having said that, I am not withdrawing from the RP. Just requesting a little more forethought and consideration when you rope people into these things in the future.

OOC: The Early Jomsviking may be noticed by Szraioni trawlers, if it's close to shore. Just a heads-up.

Warehouse, Kivaj Rekhai

What, Demetrisz thought, Is the point of having on-sellers if the customers still come straight to me?

Still, he put a smile on his face, and was as polite as he could be.

"Yes, miss, I have those in stock ... they are very popular! Very popular indeed! Six ... six I have, but more, miss" - Demetrisz spread his hands, palms up, and shook his head - "Is not possible. I am a seller, not a supplier, miss! I take the product from ... another person, I sell the product ... however many I can sell is entirely dependent upon how many I am supplied with, and I have many customers, miss.

"But yes miss, you may examine the products. This way!"

This warehouse had once been devoted to a less nefarious purpose; holding cattle for transport throughout the Emerald Heights. The holding pens were still there, though now they held a different sort of livestock.

Demetrisz led the foreigner past the various different humans to the pens which held the "special" products, the elves.

"These are the ones you want, miss," he told her. "You may sample first, if you wish."

Kel Rayat

Once again, the Mind of the Citadel wired into the Rayati telephonic switchboards diverted the call to the Citadel itself, and a more sober Kelraikh Aurelian Rayat.

"Domitian!" he said, "By all the burning gods, find out how this information has leaked so fast internationally and have the leak plugged, will you?"

To the master of the Early Jomsviking he said, "That problem is under control, thank you! ... A buisness proposition? Of what nature?"

Samara took a glance at the others as she went past, they could be useful in the long run. She glanced at the trader again, "I don't think that will be neccessery, my tastes run in different directions..." there was a chilling intonation there, and she briefly reached out and stroked the hair of one of the elves, she felt no compassion for them, it was not in her nature, "they look perfectly satisfactory. I assume they're well trained," she added, thinking, 'A fault which will need correction.' She briefly picked out six of them, the ones that matched the original most exactly of those there, "I will pay you six million Melkorian credits in cash for them, as for the rest, perhaps you could get in touch with your suppliers and arrange to purchase more, or put me in touch with them." She doubted he'd actually do the latter, it made no business sense, no matter, when she actually tried her tastes on him, he would tell all.

She tapped a button on a watch-like device around her wrist and the two men outside finally turned the corner, walking toward the office, with briefcases of the fairly anonymous currency in their left hands.

OOC: The Early Jomsviking may be noticed by Szraioni trawlers, if it's close to shore. Just a heads-up.

Kel Rayat

Once again, the Mind of the Citadel wired into the Rayati telephonic switchboards diverted the call to the Citadel itself, and a more sober Kelraikh Aurelian Rayat.

"Domitian!" he said, "By all the burning gods, find out how this information has leaked so fast internationally and have the leak plugged, will you?"

To the master of the Early Jomsviking he said, "That problem is under control, thank you! ... A buisness proposition? Of what nature?"

OOC: By all means, let the ancient and heavily modified whaling ship be noticed by Szraioni trawlers. I mean, seriously, it's a rather large ship, rather easy to notice, and it's not doing anything of the sort you'd expect a former whaling ship to be doing. The Early Jomsviking's behavior and appearance could very briefly be described in two words: Distinct and suspicious.

"I am glad to hear the problem is under control, but I have a possibly more profitable solution than proposed thus far. The... ahem, products of my competitor sell at a very high regard in large part due to being raised and trained by experts, with a high degree of control over product appearance. I can offer you models that are better trained - in fact, several better trained models that are no less pleasing in appearance. I suspect my wholesale price to you will be no higher and most likely lower than what my competitor will offer - if they even do. They have, after all, an agenda of their own. Can I arrange, perhaps, a small meeting to display my wares to you or your purchasing agent and negotiate a deal?"

Commander Revert was speachless. He was in the Alliances Headquarters (or Comandament, as it was called in revan), reading the report received from Revterr's ambasador in Szraion. He failed to read it last night, so when he woke up this morning he found people marching outside the perimeter defences, asking for actions against slavery. The same was going on outside the fences of the ground,air,marine,even secret forces's headquarters, not to mention the regional and the allied parlaments. Well, when he allowed TVRev's reporters to fly with his diplomatic teams, he should have thought at something like this.
Of course "this" was the unthinkable. RevTerr have just recently open herself to the world, but the other nations in the Emerald Heights helped her a lot in understanding what was going on beyond the Smarald Sea. Well, actually, it helped him to rule over a country that for so many yars feared the outsiders. The plain truth was the best policy, so TVRev reporters were sent along the Diplomatic Corp to record and broadcast uncensored images and informations regarding the neighbours. All civilised...all a bunch of swell guys... Untill now. Last evening show "Welcome to Szraion" blew up the "heaven is green" picture and gave the human rights activist a chance to earn their payroll. In the early 21'th century, a state of slaves.... Soon there will be another state of slave, and so on...
Our sources , said the ambasador, refering at the drunkers that the diplomatic corp manage to meet, or at the persons smoking drugs at the end of the "welcome to our country" party told us, however, that there is a new "product" on the market, coming from somewhere else, thus meaning that there is another state that is (lacking another word) producing slaves. Great! "another state of slaves"!!

Crist Dragh, the Minister for Exterior, was watching commander's reaction. He received the same report, but he have read it yesterday, so he was prepared for the crowd outside the Comandament.
I know that you are not here for the report, Crist.
Yes, Commander. I arrived at 8:30 at the ministery, but we had already 200+ request for a tourist visa in Szraion. And this although they knew that there is no Szraion ambasador in Revterr, to establish formalities.
They saw how we did with the rest of Smaralzia. We had the agreements via internet, you flew to their capital city and made the formalities, they fast-forwarded to their Parliament or their ruling body and in a few days and TREC had the lines booked for two weeks in advance -both ways-. All the countries won from trade -at least-.
Commander, TREC will have those lines full again, and all the other companies will. It is illegal to have slaves in Revterr, but we cannot enforce it outside.
I'm thinking, Crist... I'm thinking....

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Varly Vij,Ambasador,Kivaj Rekhai,Szraion<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Matei Revert,Commander,Roman,Revterr>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Good morning, ambasador. As you now, TVRev's show made RevTerr go crazy about human rights world-wide. There will be talks in the parliament about this, but this is nothing of your concern. You will be notified, of course, when the first revterran will arive in Szraion, but, with all those groups wanting to address the Parliament, and all those associations with enough signature to make them "worthy" of seeing me or Crist Dragh, it seems that it will take time.
Meanwhile, you are to continue to investigate the situation. Later today two doctors from FSR will arrive with diplomatic imunity, as attachees to the Revterran embassy in Szraion. They will have aditional instruction for you. Please allow them to carry on with their mission.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

OOC: Err... What? There's long been an illicit slave trade on NS, as for this stuff about a 'state of slaves' neither the states of TJ or Szarion are behind this.

"So, would you like to get some new clothes today?"

"Yes, Mistress," the elf responded eagerly.

"Well, if you are a good girl, and help Mistress carry all her things when she shops, I'll buy you something new."

"Thank you, Mistress." The elf squeel with glee, and kissed Melissa deeply. Melissa stood stock still, surprised, and the elf broke off, and assumed the posture of submission. She spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I forgot my place."

Melissa smiled. "I believe we have time for you to make it up before we go. Does that make you glad?"

"Yes, Mistress." Melissa reached out, smiling down at the elf, and slowly pushed the shoulder strap of the elf's chemise free.

The two did not leave for three hours.

Signing off on the orders to arrest the poor major Carlos looks up at the elf standing in his office. "Now what am I going to do with you?" He mutters to himself silencing her reply before she can speak.

Picking up his com he begins a hasty message.

To: Sirithil nos Fëanor
From: Carlos Quil'Raya
Subject: An interesting situation.

My lady,

I dont know if it has become aware to you or not but it appears one of my bumbling idiot intelligence operatives has procured from an unknown source a clone of you. He tried to pass her off as the real you, but obviously you are not so submissive in person.

I have the major at fault in the racks at the moment, awaiting a decision from you as to what I should be doing in this situation. The clone I have no idea what to do with. I will transport her to you if you so desire it other wise, well I might find myself having to bury the body and that is something I dont want to do.

I await your reply.

Sincearly yours,
Carlos Quil'raya.

Transmitting......Transmission Complete

Sitting back he stares up at the elf and chuckles softly. "This is quite interesting..."

Sirithil blinked as she read the dispatch... there were just clones popping up all over the place, it seemed. She quickly wrote back.

Carlos Quil'raya:

I thank you for promptly bringing this matter to my attention; I am most appreciative indeed. Indeed, I would like to, er, take custody of the clone. Most definitely do not harm her; your officer, on the other hand, do with as you see appropriate.

I will send a vessel to pick up the elf early tomorrow.

Sincerely,

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

Reading the reply Carlos smiles and looks up at the elf. "Your going some where much better my dear. Off you go, go on go get some rest." Smiling as the elf departs he sighs and sends off his response.

Sirithil nos Fëanor

As you wish I will have her ready for departure tomorrow, I would also like to ease worry an state that I have not touched or used this elf in any way or form. She has been an interesting surprise and one I thought quite odd.

She has had the best treatment possible and the run of a palace with guards I know wouldnt touch her. You can inspect her for yourself when she arrives. As for the major consider him dead, if you wish I can record it for you and deliver it with the elf.

Until we speak next.

Carlos.

Standing up Carlos walks down to the dungeon and smiles softly at the chained and racked major. "You did bad, major and you know how I deal with failure, relax you have atleast one more day to live. I promise you this though. Your death will be painful and be with you for eternity." Turning Carlos ignores the blubbering pleas from the major and leaves the dungeon.

It was the third day.

It was hard to know what she was thinking, it was hard to know what she was feeling...

Perhaps, perhaps her former master had been hell... but compared to this, he was like heaven.

She could rarely sleep, twenty, sometimes thirty men per day...

She got food, yes. Soup, cold, more water than anything else...

My master will take me back, soon, soon...

The doctor left a while, perhaps the quarter of an hour ago. She hadn´t really understood him when he talked to her masters replacement. Something about 'Perhaps three more days' and 'bio recycling plant'...

She felt ill, yesterday, she spit out some blood... Her last 'customer' enjoyed his knife in her... luckily, the wounds hadn´t been too dangerous.

My master is testing me. He wants it, and i will fulfill his orders... I shall not betray his trust in me...

Another day, another day in paradise...

Every move meant pain to her, every move a titanic efford...

The door opened.

"Hello, my dear..." His knife sparkled in the sun shining thrrough the window...

Oh, happy day...

Looking out of the window, she saw him. Her master, wallking along the street...

He´s back, he will take me back...

But then, he walked away, not throwing so much as a glance at her, at the window...

When will you return and embrace me?

---

Outside her tiny 4m*4m room, out on the street, a pair of eyes looked up. He had been there, yesterday, and he had been fairly surprised...

Perhaps... no, this was most definitely worth checking...

OOC: RevTerr: Some things you should know: If you've got an embassy in Szraion, it will be in Kivaj Rekhai. Otherwise you'd need multiple embassies; Szraion is less a single nation than several sharing the same culture. Your people can move freely within Kivaj Rekhai, but if they try to get outside the city openly they'll be picked up by Citadel forces at the borders of the city-state.

Getting people into Kivaj Rekhai is easy; for the Citadels, it's hard.

Ctan: Aside from this whole thing, the economy of Szraion is based upon slavery. That's why it's so easy to trade the things in Szraion. FYI, 1 Denarisz = 0.33 US Dollars.

Anyway...

Warehouse, Kivaj Rekhai

"Six million Melkorian credits?" Demetrisz asked. "Miss, I'm afraid you don't understand. I sell these for good Szraioni denariszi. Three million per product. If you do not like that, well... you will not get such a good deal elsewhere."

Kel Rayat

This guy, Aurelian realised, Is offering to sell Rayat these cloned women, for cheaper than ... whoever it is ... is selling them up North in Kivaj Rekhai.

"Dock at the East Wharf sometime, then," he said. "Bring your products. I shall have a Voice greet you there."

The Gulf of Szraion

The Rayati trawler was an ancient, creaky thing, held together by rust and patches. It groaned uneasily through the water, it's dragnets scouring the seas for the fish that formed the basis of Kel Rayat's agriculture.

Then the radar pinged, and Sevrisz Rayat, Minder-Hand aboard Trawler No. 52, returned to full operational status.

>> Item: Radar blip, northnortheast, distance; thirteen kilometers. >> Command: Check listings...

He did that, looking through the sheafs of paper, and discovered that there were no other Rayati ships authorised to be in this area. Other vessels should have been chased away by the patrol submarines.

>> Command: Hail...

"Unidentified vessel! This is Minder-Hand Sevrisz Rayat, aboard Rayati Trawler No. 52. You are not authorised to be in this area!"

Northmost Wharf, Kivaj Rekhai (the next day)

The morning breeze was brisk, making the long black coats of the twenty Rayati Hands flap around their legs like ragged wings. They stood entirely still, arms folded. The radio waves between them were a constant mess of status updates, unchanging.

"This is a complete breach of custom and treaty!" Augustisz protested, "The Pact of Ruvisz forbids the Citadels to bring cyborgs into Kivaj Rekhai!"

Augustisz had a bad feeling he knew why the Rayati were here, and he didn't like his premonitions. The Rekha has one of those elves!

The Voice, Octavisz, turned to regard the young Miltaszi member, flanked by the pair of Fists.

"That shall be quite enough, thank you!" he said in a horribly cheerful tone. "We do not want your comments to upset our partners who are now coming in to dock. Kivaj Rekhai citizens have infringed upon Rayati buisnesses, and thus those citizens and their assets must be liquidated!"

Warehouse, Kivaj Rekhai, The preceeding day.

She took a breath in and released it as a low, almost inaudiable hiss. In her mind's eye a rapid calculation was done from data held, cybernetically of course, on current currency exchance rates. "Acceptable," she hissed after a moment's delay, then she tapped the watch again and the men outside paused, then casually leaned against the walls of the warehouse, free hands in their pockets. Frustrating that there'd have to be an electronic trail, but unavoidable.

Griffin ran through the security scanners placed throughout his massive body again. The city bustled inside him, and around him.

He was the city, after all. Guardian and Protector, Watchdog and Reporter.

In theory, nothing escaped his notice, but in practice, Griffin knew somethings did.

But this was interesting. Elf... no data identity. No genetic memory chip...

Wait... DNA match... If Griffin could have cursed, he would have then.

Lady Sirithil. Behavior does not match known characteristics.

Analyzing....

Failure. Match does not compute. Analzing....

Melissa Townsend. A stream of information flowed by.

But an unregistered sentient, with DNA match on Lady Sirithil, in her company.

Report filed to Cortana at Intelligence Division...

Awaiting instructions....

Federation Police... Unregistered Sentient Alert...

Melissa Townsend... Current Location: Residence.

Griffin felt the police responding in under a minute. Not being registered was a fairly serious crime...

OOC
When I wrote those threads, I was the only one who actually was against that slavery part. I felt that someone should be, and that was how RevTerr would have reacted. But by the time I actually posted them, 3 more pages appeared (and I'm sorry to say, I haven't read them yet). So now I'm more or less playing my own role-play, because in my NS country slavery is "something bad". And I have a leader who is pressed on to do something.
PS: I'm also curious about how you guys thought that those clones will react.

IC

They looked like two normal doctors. Both middle sized, both bald men, both in mid 50's. Each with a suitcase, each with a confident smile on their face, they looked like two doctors going to a conferince about new dental care techniques. In fact, they where experts in pschiatry and general medecin, and they worked in the RevTerran secret service, FSR.

Of course, the situation changed in the few hours. TVRev made some diggins and found out that there's long been an illicit slave trade on this planet, situation wich made the "free-those-people" marchers to go home defeated, and those who wanted to close the borders to the outsiders to announce marches for tomorrow. But that was in the other part of bthe continent.
Here the doctors where shown into one of the rooms, where two boxes awaited. Inside there where two gorgeus young girls, looking so innocently at them while asking Are you my master?
These are your pacients said the ambasador.

OOC: Most of the nations here are against this entire thing.

The leaders of my nation frankly don't care, though the one in charge quite likes elves and indeed quite likes Sirithil herself, and have no intention of letting this particular trade continue, Samara Neja, is should you care, a senior agent of the cryptocracy that runs the nation. Sirithil herself is of course, not a fan of clones of herself being sold as slaves, the FSP govenment is against slavery also. How will the clones react? Well, they're brainwashed rather extensively, and they've known no other life, so I suspect their reaction to slavery would be; "Well, what else would I be?"

OOC: My apologies for not making it clear earlier... I personally (along with, ICly speaking, Tahar Joblis as a nation) positively detest slavery, RevTerr... as one of these little bits should make clear. So much to post, so busy... I need to get ahold of either Mallberta or SLAGLands soon to continue the Jacob/Lepress subplotline, unless Szraion wishes to interfere before they try to jump the border in a hurry. Ctan, you are mostly correct, their extensive brainwashing is a strong determining factor in their behavior. I'm going to need a couple volunteer nations to claim nationality for the below.

The major, faced with a quick decision, decided that feigning extreme incompetence would be best, and tried his best to stick to a story that he had no idea, and who was he to refuse the request of someone he had earnestly believed to be the Lady Sirithil? Demotion would be, of course, certain, but perhaps he could stay alive... unfortunately, this tale of extreme stupidity did not seem to be appeasing Carlos in the slightest.

Der Angst. Something has just snapped.
Either my master wants to get rid of me and hates me, or these men have something over him. In either case, I can stand this no longer.
The elf suppressed a feral grin. Must have patience... I should pick a very opportune time to strike back at these men... before I die, but when they least suspect it. I must escape.

Early Jomsviking, outside Szraion:
Kel Rayat
This guy, Aurelian realised, Is offering to sell Rayat these cloned women, for cheaper than ... whoever it is ... is selling them up North in Kivaj Rekhai.
"Dock at the East Wharf sometime, then," he said. "Bring your products. I shall have a Voice greet you there."
The Gulf of Szraion
The Rayati trawler was an ancient, creaky thing, held together by rust and patches. It groaned uneasily through the water, it's dragnets scouring the seas for the fish that formed the basis of Kel Rayat's agriculture.
Then the radar pinged, and Sevrisz Rayat, Minder-Hand aboard Trawler No. 52, returned to full operational status.
>> Item: Radar blip, northnortheast, distance; thirteen kilometers. >> Command: Check listings...
He did that, looking through the sheafs of paper, and discovered that there were no other Rayati ships authorised to be in this area. Other vessels should have been chased away by the patrol submarines.
>> Command: Hail...
"Unidentified vessel! This is Minder-Hand Sevrisz Rayat, aboard Rayati Trawler No. 52. You are not authorised to be in this area!"

"Agreed. We'll be over to shore in a little while with a sample." As he hung up the secure line, a blinking light noted an incoming intercom from Comm.
"Rayati trawler radioing us, south-southwest, about seven mile off. Repeating message." Dr. Leyaki paused, listening to the message.
"Punch me through on the same frequency. Sevrisz Rayat, our apologies, us simple merchants didn't know that this was a restricted area, this is our first time visiting Szraion. Would you be able to direct our launch to the East Wharf and inform our helm of the total range of restricted waters?" Punching back to internal intercom, he continued, back in captain mode. "I want a sampler prepared and the Jennifer Sue yacht readied for launch along with two presentational assistants, one of my secretaries, and a full crew. Figure out where we can keep this lug so that it won't piss off anymore Szraioni fishermen."

Tahar Joblis.

"Court is now back in session. If you please, summarize your case for the jury." The spokesman for the adjudication panel glared visibly. "I hate show trials, and if you can keep straight to the facts of the matter without any extemporaneous commentary, we'll all appreciate it."

Several members of the jury nodded quietly. It had been quite a trial, and arguments had run hot.

"Your honors, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client neither bought nor sold any slaves in Tahar Joblis, nor did he force the alleged slave in question to do anything which she was unwilling to do; everything that passed between them was a matter between consenting adults. Surely you do not go around prosecuting domination and submission fetishists? Tahar Joblis is said to be the land of freedom and sexual liberty, and my client and the lady in question acted no differently than should be expected of any domination/submission pair. The lady in question has expressed as much from the witness stand. For that matter, the Act cited by the prosecution is clearly outdated, having been on the books for the better part of a millenium. The last time anybody was charged under the statue in question was hundreds of years ago. This is ludicrous!" The foreign attorney, replete with expensive suit, stood out in the court like a sore thumb. After having contacted several Tahar Joblissan legal experts, the accused had decided to utilize his own attorney to run his defense.

The main prosecutor stood. "People of the court. The Slave Restriction and Restitution Act of 1662 clearly bars the importation of slaves bought at other ports to Tahar Joblis, defined as any slave paid for in a foreign port and not subsequently freed of slavery, and any debts recurred before or during such time period. The lady in question has testified that she is his slave and that he did pay money to purchase her from a third party in a foreign port. She also testified that, at the time the two of them disembarked to begin their tour of Tahar Joblis, she had not been freed of her bonds, which we in the prosecutorial stand understand to be psychological in nature."

"Anything else to add before the jury recesses? Speak now or forever hold your peace." A solid hundred seconds of silence followed the spokesman's words. He then slammed his gavel down, marking the end of arguments. He continued. "Before the jury recesses, I would like to remind everybody that the penalty prescribed by the Slave Restriction and Restitution Act of 1662, namely execution by exposure, drawing and quartering, shooting, soaking the remains in formaldehyde, and public incineration, is no longer practiced by the Tahar Joblissan justice system. Comparable sentences available include seizure of all assets available to Tahar Joblis and such nations as are signatories to extradition treaties with Tahar Joblis, lifetime imprisonment, and/or forcible lifetime exile; in such cases as this, where the statuatory punishment is unavailable for application, after the jury has deliberated and decided on the matter of guilt or innocent, a private consultation with the adjudication panel by the jury is recommended before sentencing. The jury is hereby recessed to deliberation."

The courtroom, packed to capacity, erupted into conversation, a wall of sound hitting the jury as they filed out of the room. The trial had, in spite of a lack of publicity, attracted a dramatic amount of public attention from Tahar Joblis. This was highly unusual. It was rare enough for the capitalistic rich of other countries to come to public attention for their activity in Tahar Joblis... let alone to be arrested for charges not heard in a Tahar Joblissan courtroom in generations.

Mother gave you lots of advice that you ignored, didn't she?
http://www.itv.se/boreale/gamespotter/images/zerowing.jpg
"You have no chance to survive. Make your time pleasant by not resisting the interrogators downstairs, you've not got much of it left." Spiner slumped, unable to even gasp as fear and oxygen deprivation began to go to work. She let his unconscious form slip to the ground.
Dr. Jekai watched this on a small screen in choppy resolution from the point of view of Spiner's tie. His attempts to figure out how Spiner exited and entered the compound had been foiled by the man's paranoia, but the bugs on his clothing functioned for as long as he stayed within the compound. Desparately, he punched a red button. And frowned.
"Someone set us up. The bomb didn't work."
"What? You say the bomb didn't work, or the transmitter?" Dr. Mirkai was dismayed.
"I checked the transmitter this morning - after all, we were hoping to force him to get us out of here tomorrow. Those cultists are creeping me out, and you never know when she might just snap on you these days. Like that." Jekai gestured to the screen. "Bad mojo. Either Spiner had another surgeon take it out while he was topside, or Dr. Calamari betrayed us."
"I have a bad feeling about this.

Tahar Joblis: About to get some bad publicity. So much for becoming a popular tourist destination for more of the decadent rich...

"After deliberation by the jury and consultation with the adjudication panel, this court finds the accused guilty of slave importation and sentenced to seizure of all tracable assets and forcible exile from the territory and holdings of Tahar Joblis."

In the corner of the courtroom, the bailiff played with a blond strand of hair. My teacher will be quite interested in this, I think. There is something strange going on here...

Thomas bent over his drawing as his parents screamed down the hall. The house was well-built and well-insulated so he couldn't really make out what they were saying, but he knew it all the same. It was about that new elven "maid" his father had brought home last week. Mom didn't like this "Jennifer" from the start, although Thomas couldn't understand why, at first.

It wasn't that Jennifer walked around naked. That wasn't uncommon in Treznor. Thomas had read in his government class that during the early years of the Empire, the Emperor had decreed that nudity was compulsory. Nowadays it was a matter of personal choice, and a lot of kids at school complained about the dress code that required uniforms. Thomas didn't much care if people went naked or not; ugly was still ugly.

Thomas had just learned last night why his mother objected to the new maid. He'd stumbled in on his father having sex with her, and she was calling him "Master." Thomas was only fifteen, and he didn't know a lot about sex yet, but he knew enough that there was something pretty weird going on. He withdrew before they noticed him and watched through the door until he heard his mother's voice and scurried to the safety of his room.

His mother's voice took on a particularly screeching pitch, and he winced in sympathy. Tonight was particularly bad. He wondered what had set it off this time. He sat there for a moment, his curiosity warring with his better judgement before he finally gave in and opened his door to listen closer. He found Jennifer with her back to him as she peered around the far corner of the hallway. Unbidden, his mind flashed back to the memory of his father kneeling behind her...

"Hey!" he whispered urgently. Jennifer jumped and gave a cute little squeak of surprise. She looked around to see him and her eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry, Thomas! I didn't mean to pry, it's just that...I..."

"Come in here," Thomas ordered. He wondered what he was doing, but his voice almost cracked with excitement. Even better, Jennifer obeyed him instantly without a whisper of argument. He closed the door behind her.

"What were they saying?" he asked as she stood demurely in the center of his room.

"They were arguing about me," Jennifer said sadly. "M-your father wishes your mother to share me with her, but she is upset. She called me ugly names, and is clearly unhappy with me. I don't understand, Thomas. I only wish to please. I do everything that I'm told. Why is your mother unhappy with me?"

Thomas had no good answer to that one. "It's...uh...complicated, sorta." Then a thought struck him. "Wait a minute. You do everything that you're told?"

"Yes, Thomas. That is my purpose. It fulfills me and makes me happy." Jennifer's strange red eyes were guileless.

"Kneel down on all fours, like you were with my father last night," Thomas ordered. Jennifer promptly obeyed.

Here Thomas hesitated. Would he be discovered? He cracked open his door and heard his parents clamboring at each other as stridently as before. They'd be at it for hours longer, if history was any indication. He closed the door again and looked back at Jennifer. A familiar sensation swept over his body, and he reached for his buckle. Jennifer watched him silently, showing neither approval nor disapproval.

Thomas didn't notice when his parents stopped shouting. Neither did he notice when the door opened. All he heard was his father's voice, oddly strained.

"Oh my gods..."

Sirens screamed in the gathering dusk, as armored police vehicles tore through the sky, towards the tower where Melissa Townsend lived.

Only two, with four officers of the Federation Security Service inside them.

Standard Patrol. Especially when it wasn't busy.

Which it hardly ever was.

But there was an illegal, or lost registration, at least, in residence with Melissa Townsend, wife of Charles Townsend.

So the police were going to find out.

-------

A few minutes later, the four officers were standing in the garage of the apartment, trying to get Mrs. Townsend to open the door.

"Mrs. Townsend, please open the door. We have confirmation of an illegal in your residence."

"NO!" Melissa screamed at them over the comm. She was freaking out now that she'd been caught. "You can't take her from us! We paid good money for her! And we treat her properly. We're nice to her. Tell them!"

The elf's voice is heard, slightly scared. "Don't take me from Master and Mistress. I love them. They're very good to me."

The policemen looked at each other. "Paid?!" one of them whispered. Enslavement of a sentient being was a capital crime. Indentured servitude was legal, but the elf would be marked properly.

This was going to be a problem, apparently. Just then, Melissa yelled out again. "Don't come in. We're armed, and we'll shoot!"

"Shit." One of the officers lifted his hand. "I need a special team at the Townsend residence. One, possibly two or three armed suspects. Highly unstable situation."

Five minutes later, the windows of the tower blew in with enough concussive force to send the police officers in the garage stumbling. "Hell, someone got a bit over eager with the flashbangs."

Upstairs, barricaded behind a pile of furniture, Melissa and elf were crouched, armed.

A police officer in full battle armor stepped into the room. Civilian weapons were not going to do anything against that. "Ma'ams, please surrender quietly."

"No!" Melissa shouted. "Shoot them!" she screamed at the elf, who immediately complied, opening fire. The guns spoke, and little blobs of metal whined off the battle armor, as the police officer raised his arm, and an electrical discharge lanced out, stunning the two women. As the shooting stopped more officers came into the room, and bound the unconcious women.

A unit was already dispatched to pick up Charles at his office for questioning.

North Wharves, Port of Kivaj Rekhai, Szraion

The Menelmacari GS-1/T Vilyulairë (Skywraith) transport dropship skimmed low over the rolling waves towards the city, flanked by a pair of GS-2/A Lomefion (Nighthawk) assault gunships. The vessels passed low enough, and at an obscenely high enough speed, that the air disturbance of their passing left wakes on the water below the bladelike forward curving horns of their wings.

The dropship entered the harbor as if the place was owned by the nation whose sigil was emblazoned on her galvorn armor; the two gunships peeled off, up and to either side, circling the port facility twice on opposite coaxial trajectories before heading back out again. Slowing, the Vilyulairë rose slightly, setting down on the northernmost pier, turning 180 degrees even as she landed, to face back out to sea. Every movement made by all three craft was tight, precise, graceful, even elegant, their pilots striving for perfection in their work.

It was precisely eight o'clock.

The ramp lowered, and an auburn-haired, sapphire-eyed Elven woman wearing a galvorn armored vest and carrying a monosword and plasma pistol stepped down, approaching the two Szraioni officers. "Voice of Rayat Octavisz, Miltaszi commander Augustisz, I am Agent-Commander Ataralassë nos Fithurin of MISSION..." She bowed her head, ever so slightly, as twenty Mornahossë, slender but deadly, wearing shimmering black body armor of finest galvorn, every inch of them the finest and most skilled and professional of soldiers, marched down the ramp, taking up a perfect formation behind her, four ranks of five each. "And I bring you the might of the Noldor."

Presidential Palace, Sirithilia, Iraqstan

A similar dropship, same basic model but different variant, was setting down outside the palace at about the same time, half way around the world. Here, however, it was a diplomatic ship, a GS-1/D Vilyulairë, rather than a transport. It could only carry a few people, but it would do so in absolute luxury.

Here, rather than the dreaded Mornahossë, was a single representative of the Prefecture of State, who stepped forth to bring greetings to the Iraqstani officials who, presumably, would be present to greet him.

"The Lady Sirithil sends her blessings to you all. I have been sent to return the clone, the Sirithiliel, to her rightful home, and to pass on the Lady's kindest thanks for the aid of Iraqstan in this matter."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

Standing in a crisp military uniform Carlos fidgets nervously as the dropship lands, looking over his shoulder he smiles softly at the elf there who simply dressed in a white gown looks stunning in the daylight.

As the representative stepped forth Carlos bowed his head slightly, his guards doing like wise. "It is with great honour that I return to you the clone. I trust relations will not be hampered with the fact some of my people thought it wise to buy this clone.

If the lady wishes I will devote what's left of my intelligence division to tracking down the rest of the clones. But for now, I release the Sirithiliel to you." Taking the clone's hand in his Carlos leads her forward and with a final squeeze of her hand he whispers. "your free now, these people will treat you with great respect, better than I have. Dont be sad be happy." The elf who looks mortified tears running down her cheeks steps forward.

"Take her with my blessings and tell the Lady that she is welcome here any time she wishes."

OOC: RevTerr, a note: If those clones are in the RevTerrian embassy, you would have had to have bought them first.

Trawler No. 52, Off Szraion

"The approved approach path is twenty kilometers due south, Early Jomsviking," Sevrisz informed the foreigners. "Running directly east from Kel Rayat to fifty kilometers offshore, where the exclusive economic zone of Kel Rayat ends.

"The East Dock is the easternmost wharf of the harbour at Kel Rayat."

North Wharves, Kivaj Rekhai, Szraion

A credit to his training and his augmentation, Octavisz displayed no emotion as the fantastic craft landed on the wharf.

Augustisz, however, had no such advantages, and gaped openly. It stopped his complaints momentarily.

Octavisz bowed stiffly, politely, and was followed - a noticeable moment later - by the Miltaszi officer.

"The might of the Rayati, Agent-Commander," Octavisz replied, indicating the Hands and Fists behind him. "And Miltasz Rekhai officer Augustisz Flavisz, representing Kivaj Rekhai in this operation.

"Shall we go? I have surveillance of the location where the slaves are being held, and I believe that the dealer has just arrived."

Mönchengladbach, Der Angst

The small shuttle dropped from the hangars of the dreadnought MIS Olórin, of the Tenth Menelmacari Imperial Gravitic Battle Fleet. The vessels had hung in the sky over the capital of Der Angst for years, changing only when one or more went out on a patrol over outlying sectors, or when fleets rotated in or out. Ostensibly, of course, it was for 'defense' following the attempted communist revolution back in the day. Really, Der Angst was quite capable of defending itself if need be; the ships were here because despite owning a stake in each of them, Menelmacar trusted the associates about as far as they could throw the Olórin, a vessel a kilometer and a third in length.

On board the shuttle was Silmaethor Isilindir, from security, and several of his friends from the afternoon shift watch near engineering, and they were headed down into the dark human city for some... relaxation. There are, after all, Menelmacari who can slum with the best of them.

They landed their shuttle, activating the security systems and paying for the parking place, and together they went down into the city... not the nicest of neighborhoods, this. Yet even passing through the most depraved and desperate of Mönchengladbach's denizens, they were unmolested; all knew the Menelmacari uniform, and none had any desire to provoke a visit from the Mornahossë or the wrath of the ships.

Laughing and joking together, they made their way up a street containing a certain brothel (though they didn't know this), looking for somewhere to drink, their regal, cultured voices (regal despite the fact that none were nobles and only Isilindir was an officer - the rest were enlisted men) bringing a touch of class to this most desperate labyrinth of the downtrodden.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
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Damnit, what the hell are this frikkin elves doing here?
No idea. But the timing couldn´t be worse.
Lets wait until they are frikkin gone. They catching a glimpse of that thingy in there wouldn´t be good for us...

They were still discussing the matter when a scream could be heard, following by some sort of... fight in the target location.

What the fuck is going on in there?
No idea. Lets move.

But even before the four men could do a step, a women, the object, to be correct, stormed out of the cheap brothel, naked, countless signs of (even here) illegal torture and 'games' visible on her body... her pointy ears clearly visible.

Damnit.

In the brothel, the cries of a... a man can still be heard, looking closer, the elf seems to have blood on her lips...

Cover her.

The four men are around her, quickly, the very moment the owner of the brothel, a very brutal looking, short men, storms out, seeing them... And the group of Menelmacari nearby.

Shit.

"Great Elbereth, look at that!" one of the enlisted Menelmacari pointed; Isilindir looked up as the Lady Sirithil herself (nah, couldn't be!) burst out the front door of a brothel barely a quarter-block up the street. She was naked. And she was hurt. And she looked a mixture of angry and afraid, and very, very alone.

The Elves glanced among one another, and without discussion, the decision was made.

"That's as far as you come, pimp!" rang out Isilindir's voice; all five Menelmacari were armed with blade and gun, though none had drawn - yet. "And you four - let her go."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

The leader of the four, a tall, blonde man with perhaps a little bit too much weight, just blinked. Around them, several dozen seemingly uninvolved just... stared.

And the rather brutal looking men in front of the brothel stared as well.

But not for long, since he made a decision, quickly.

The attack came, quickly. It´s a strange thing with telepathic takeovers. You can feel it, feel it coming, but you cannot do anything against it.

Menelmacari are strange beings. No real offensive capability regarding this kind of... well, warfare, but considerable defences. However, even the strongest will fails when attacked with highly sophisticated attack algorythms, uploaded into the brain, aiming at altering the mind, it´s electromagnetic configuration...

So, faster than the elf suspected it, within mere seconds, his defence was broken, defeated not by the sheer power of the attack, but by the details, tiny things, little algorythms, programs for the mind...

And suddenly, unlike his comrades, he raised his weapon, aimed at the four men surrounding the naked woman...

The men in front of the brothel knew this was going to be his only chance.

However, he common sense sort of failed, and he draws his gun...

The four men surrounding his 'precious' seem to be kind of irrelevant, still looking at the elves (both, the soldiers & the Siriclone), and they are obviously kind of confused...

Easy kill, fools.

But suddenly, he sees something at the very end of his field of view. He looks closer, and realises that he made a mistake... At least one of the elves seems to realise why one of his comrades kind of... well, 'snapped'.

And he isn´t fast enough, the shoot already ringing in his ears, then he feels it hitting his body... the heat of the plasma burning him, burning through his chest...

Then he collapses.

The elf that was going to shoot at the four just a moment ago suddenly stops, then collapses as well, babbling incoherently, nothing that could be understood...

The four, however, of which two already drew their guns to fire at the elf, stop, now realising what was happening...

Usually, they would have been able to 'link in' in the connection between the owner of the brothel & the controlled elf, however, considering the sheer mass of such connections even in this small place, it was unlikely they would actually find it in the chaoos of different connections all around them.

A corpse near the front door of the brothel, an elf babbling incoherently, another with a gun in his hands & two others, Angstians, with guns in their hand, two others looking around, confused...

Thats the result of 6.9 seconds on a random street in Mönchengladbach.

The corpse of the pimp lay smoking... most of it barely recognizable, having been horribly scorched with coherent starfire, and one of the Elves hauled his fallen friend to a shoulder.

Isilindir lowered his weapon, but did not holster it; with the other hand he gestured to the four with the clone. "Now let her go," he said again. "This one is not for you."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
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The leader of the group looked slightly confused, but quickly regained confidence.

"Erm... I think you´re wrong. We were actually here to rescue her..." He looked at the Siri- lookalike, who simply stood there, sort of confused, but also angry. It didn´t exactly look like she was going to submit easily. "Rather than playing cowboy & indian while on vacation." He steps forward. "Just because she`s an elf doesn´t mean it`s your jurisdiction." Then he reaches into one of his pockets (The Menelmacari would probably have been nervous about a weapon there, but then, weapon implants in the body weren´t that uncommon in DA, and they knew that) and handed them his orders. It was from Soldats, regarding a possible case of slavery (One of the few things illegal in DA. Lifelong contract may be legal, but slavery isn´t... although the border between the two is a very large gray area) and an investigation during the very special circumstances... Looking at the object of the investigation, it was perfectly clear what this special circumstances were.

"Since we´re sort of interested how this could happen, and in what she knows, and so on, we`re sort of... well, inclined that she stays with us."

In this moment (The men crying inside the brothel could still be heard... although his cries were now more female- like) the Siriclone begun fighting against the two 'agents' holding her, screaming, definitely going to run...

"On the other hand, your assistance in bringing her to the next hospital might be useful...

Isilindir nodded slowly, and put his weapon away. "I will come along, then." He glanced to the elf carrying his mentally-injured comrade. "Bring him along, I'm guessing the locals know more about whatever happened to him than we do... you two, return to the shuttle." All business, Isilindir is, especially when off-duty time takes such a... special twist.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

"The First District Court is now in session. All rise for the Honorable Judge Mayhew, presiding, the Government vs Melissa and Charles Townsend."

Everyone rose, and then was seated after the judge.

"Melissa and Charles Townsend, you have been charged with the following crimes.

Treason, in that you violated the terms of the Menelmacari-Federation Alliance, by participating in the use of the Lady Sirithil's personal image in a commercial venture for which she did not receive just recompense.

Treason, in that your illegal actions were contrary to the existence of said Alliance.

Enslavement of a Sentient Being, in that you bought and paid for the service of a Sentient Being, without contract or other manner of protection of the serving.

Rape, in that the Sentient Being was given no choice in the matter of your sexual involvements with her.

Brainwashing, in that the Sentient Being was psychologically conditioned to respond in a subservient manner, no matter what was done to her.

Conspiracy to commit Criminal Activities, in that the funds with which you enslaved the Sentient Being, undoubtedly went to the funding of more criminal activities.

Cloning of the Sentient Being without the Sentient Being's permission.

Cloning of a Sentient Being with the intent to Enslave."

The judge's expression looked confused for a moment, and the he continued. "And driving while under the influence of a mind altering substance while in the commission of criminal activity." The judge looked at the two for a silent moment. "How do you plead on these charges?"

Melissa and Charles looked at each other, and then in silent agreement, looked back at the judge. "Guilty, Your Honor."

The judge's expression turned, if possible, even more grave. "Let it be recorded as such. As you have chosen to waive your right to a trial by jury, due to your plea of guilty, it is my place to set the penalty for your crimes.

For the crime of driving while under the influence, thirty lashes in the public square.

On the two counts of Illegal Cloning of a Sentient Being, punishment waived.

For Conspiracy, punishment waived.

For Brainwashing, death.

For Rape, death.

For Enslavement, death.

For both counts of Treason, death.

The manner of execution is to be hanging, immediately following other punishments. The sentence is to be carried out at the earliest possible date." Melissa had let out a short cry with each pronouncement, but the results were hardly unexpected. "As for the she-elf, she will be remanded to the custody of the Federation Government, for them to decide what should be done with her."

--------------------------------

Hands bound, stripped of their upper clothing, Melissa and Charles were strung up side by side in the public square, the whipping posts within sight of their eventual destination.

Two impassive guards stood nearby, bullwhips coiled neatly in their hands, uniforms immaculate. The two criminals wer bound with their hands above their heads.

The sound of leather softly striking the pavement. The gentle scuff of a boot. The whistle of leather through air. SNAP! Melissa cried out, but Charles held his tongue.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

The count was slow, and Charles finally cried out on the fifth lash. Melissa was by this point sobbing as the whippings continued.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

By this point, both of their knees had given out, and they hung suspended by their bonds from the tops of the whipping posts.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

Thirty.

The lashing was over. The two were given lose shirts to wear, if they chose, to cover their bloodied backs, and to decently cover them as they died. Bound, the two kissed one last time as they were led to the nooses, which were slipped loosely over their heads, knot tied by their ears.

The trapdoors under their feet gave way, and with a sickening, wet crack, they died, slowly spinning on the ropes.

--------------------------------

D'ron looked at the elf in his office. She really does look like Sirithil. Exactly. "So, what am I do with you?"

"Whatever you want to, Master."

Shit. She's not fixed yet. Hmm... "What is your name?"

"My old Master and Mistress called me Sithi, Master."

"Don't call me Master."

"Yes, Master. Master, may I ask a question?" D'ron nodded. "What happened to my old Master and Mistress?"

"They aren't coming back, Sithi." The elf looked slightly sad at this. "I've got to decide what we're going to do with you now, Sithi."

"Yes, Master."

D'ron pressed a button on his desk, summoning the guards in. "Take her to a room. Sithi, anything you need in the room, just ask someone, okay?"

"Yes, Master."

D'ron squeezed his eyes shut in frustration briefly, then fixed his gaze on the guards. "I shouldn't have to remind you that Cyrano knows everything that happens in Imperial House."

"Of course not, Mister President."

"Good."

<TRANSMISSION Opens: MF Alliance Encryption>
<TO: LADY Sirithil nos Fëanor, Menelmacar>
<FROM: IMPERIAL President D'ron Smith, FSP>

Lady Sirithil,

It has come to my attention that there is currently a slave trading operation ongoing which seems to involve psychologically prepared clones of yourself as its primary business. If you wish or need Federation assistance in shutting down this despicable operation, feel free to ask, and we will be only too happy to provide it.

As for the specific matter of my concern, we have accquire one of these elves, and wish to know if you have any insight on what may be done with them. We can mindwipe her, and retrain her into a functional member of Federation society. Or we can deliver her to Menelmacar. The choice is up to you. If you wish her delivered to you, we can put her on a diplomatic shuttle and bring her up there. No need for you to send people to pick her up.

With warm regards, your friend,

http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/miniflag.jpg
D'ron Christopher Smith, Imperial President
The Federation of Sentient Peoples (http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/)
Federation Roleplay Policy (http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/rppolicy.html)

<TRANSMISSION Terminates>

"Ok, then." The men turned, and nodded to his three companions. They nodded back, apparently they were talking in their usual silent voices, something foreigners tended to see as fairly... creepy.

He indicated that Isilindir should take the clone`s hand, to calm her down (At least he hoped it would work, with another elf), and one of his own men to help the sort- of mindwiped elf.

Two stayed behind, to deal with the corpse and the brothel in general, reinforcements would come soon enough. He himself joined Isilindir and the Siriclone, using his internal communications (ooc: NOT telepathy) to ask the regional command for a ride to the next hospital...

That two will need to rest first... damnit, i hate it when it becomes that complicate...

Isilindir nodded. He shrugged the outer jacket of his uniform off his shoulders, and draped it carefully over the clone, giving her some decency, while gently taking one of the clone's hands in both of his own, and looking into those lovely crimson eyes. Damn... she looks exactly like the Lady... "It's all right, now, milady," he said softly. "You'll be all right. I promise..."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

Isilindir nodded. He shrugged the outer jacket of his uniform off his shoulders, and draped it carefully over the clone, giving her some decency, while gently taking one of the clone's hands in both of his own, and looking into those lovely crimson eyes. Damn... she looks exactly like the Lady... "It's all right, now, milady," he said softly. "You'll be all right. I promise..."

The elf's psychological programming (and extensive training) had not covered what to do in a raging firefight. However, she recognized that tone, and she wasn't stupid. That was a strong tone of "reassurance," clearly deliberate. The last time she had heard that tone was when Master had discarded her to the mean men.

Obviously, "reassuring" speech was not to be trusted, but unless she figured out how the ... weapon Isilindir had used worked, she would have to rely on guile to see her through to a chance to escape. The weapon used by Isilindir seemed much more dangerous than the knives she had already had firsthand experience with being hurt by.

And what, she wondered to herself, was with this "Milady" stuff?

OOC>Guys, you are moving way too fast for me. By the time I get to write down a post, a new page have "emerged". Thank god for the fact that most of those stuff I wouldn't know anyway, since it would be godmoding. However, it is a interesting bedtime story. Thanks for the patience <

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Matei Revert,Commander, Roman, Revterr<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>>>>Crist Dragh, Minister-Exterior,Roman, RevTerr<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Anca Nita, Admiral-FSR, Roman, Revterr<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Varly Vij,Ambasador,Kivaj Rekhai,Szraion>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The medical report will folow shortly, but doctors said you shouldn't expect much now.
The two slaves we mannage to acquire, are so alike and, at the same time, different. They were "renamed" (I don't want to say "
designated") Ana and Bella. Ana was brought to us by one of the local bar owners, as a gift to his new clients. It is not "ours", however it is "our to use". It seemed it is a local young girl, approximatively 16 years old. She does not remember much about her youth, entering "production" at about ten years old.
Bella, however, seems not from Szraion. It was sold to us, at a surprisingly high cost, expecially because it was "someone famous to play with" (although the seller was to drunk to tell us who). The seller was carefully approached (drink, drugs, money, promises,etc) by our liason officer, so no papers where signed.
Both girls continue to say that they are "to please the masters", that this was their duty and there is nothing else, they don't know what a childhood is, and they are master's property. We will continue to interrogate them. We kind of received them along with two boxes, but we found accomodation for them at the embassy. It is worth noticing, however, that they would sleep anywhere.
On the other hand, as you probably know already, TREC have completed the arrangements for a direct passager and cargo line between Tepro and Kivaj Rekhai. Other transport company are sure to follow.
We are planning a "connection" (it is difficult to explain the term) toward the Citadel and to the other Szraion states, but we are deffering from attracting attention toward ourselves, at least until the modification to the embassy are completed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

OOC: A good way to get into the RP would be to inform Lady Siri that you have a couple of her clones. ;)

~Siri

OOC: Sh! It's by far not the only way! :P Everybody in the thread is a fitting target for interaction. Revterr, feel free to respond at any point. There are many different substorylines tangled in this thread, and most of them are moving along at there own pace. I'll try my best to accomodate all posting rates as best as I can.

Some time ago...

IDFI had traced a route from the IsnCo Spaceport to one of the small-time hotels in Tek; the clone was ridiculously subservient. Once extracted (a simple matter, considering the fact that refusing an IDFI order is considered unthinkable by most), the clone was taken to Barad Arta - an IDFI installation to the north-east of Tek, capital city of Ma-tek, and secondary capital of the Empire.

Now, two Human IDFI operatives stood before the desk of the Fifth Sub-Commissioner of the Imperial Defense Forces; the clone of the Lady Sirithil stood between them, a ridiculous smile on her face.

Gently, the Nenyan Sub-Commissioner probed her mind; he was a powerful empath - and a weak telepath, to boot. He stimulated her pleasure centres gently, to disguise the vague discomfort that a Deep Scan can provoke...

...and scowled. "Not Sentient," he decided.

One of the operatives echoed, "Not Sentient?"

"Not Sentient," confirmed the Sub-Commissioner quietly, pausing a moment. "Executive Council orders are clear; if any discovered clones are Scanned, and it is determined beyond reasonable doubt that they are not Sentient, they are to be immediately and humanely terminated. Terminate it; the abominable beast has no rights." He paused, considering for a moment. "Use a microwave blaster to incinerate it. It won't feel a thing."

* * *

Now...

Rialla peered at the machine that stood, limp, before her. "It does look like me," she noted softly, "very good craftsmanship. And they're not Sentient?"

"Not in the least," the Rivette MI Corp CEO confirmed, "although they can do a fairly good imitation. They simply lack the available neural complexity of, say, the Sarah Avatar. They can learn, however, in a limited fashion. Only certain areas of learning capacity can be stimulated; the brain unit is locked up tight. They can learn what their owner prefers, or doesn't like, or the sounds that stimulate the owner best; they can even detect minute muscle contractions. - Majesty, I must confess some confusion. If it is not beyond my station to ask: why do you want these provided to the market?"

Rialla smiled slightly. "Image," she provided quietly.

"Image," the CEO of Rivette, Scrom Dejure repeated back without understanding, slowly... and adding, "I see."

She clearly does not.

"How many are ready," Rialla asked flatly, peering at the near-flawless machine recreation of her physical form.

"Twenty-five thousand," Scrom replied softly. "They can be shipped to stores immediately, if you wish. I would-"

"No," Rialla said softly. "Advertise them. But do not sell them. And prepare other ranges; not based on my likeness, but based on other willing models. To be sold at a lower cost."

"You have the backing of Rivette," the other woman informed her softly, "especially considering the profit this will earn us."

"Especially that," Rialla said with a grin.

"Shall I...?" Scrom gestured to the RiallaDoll.

"No," Rialla said softly, "leave this one here, for now. It offers... amusing... possibilities."

Scrom allowed herself a low chuckle, relaxing in the plush chair in which she was seated in the small office inside the ITC Headquarters building. She cocked her head slightly, considering... and then in a soft voice questioned, "Semir?"

"No, no," Rialla said quickly, raising a hand and smiling at her childhood friend, "nothing like that. However, I think it might bring me a small amount of amusement if Semir sees... double."

Rialla grinned.

* * *

Within minutes of the meeting between Rialla and Scrom Dejure of Rivette MI Corporation, the order was sent out: Rivette was to buy advertising time on every network it possibly could.

Every network. It was to saturate the media with news of these new, authorized sex toys of the Empress Rialla ux-Rihad II of the Empire of the Eternal Dawn; it was not to show the dolls themselves - but merely fuel rumour.

And then, once rumour reached fever pitch...

Rivette would pounce on the market. And rip the new market that those subterfuge-based Siriclones had created to shreds.

In the mind of a clone...

IDFI had traced a route from the IsnCo Spaceport to one of the small-time hotels in Tek; the clone was ridiculously subservient. Once extracted (a simple matter, considering the fact that refusing an IDFI order is considered unthinkable by most), the clone was taken to Barad Arta - an IDFI installation to the north-east of Tek, capital city of Ma-tek, and secondary capital of the Empire.

Now, two Human IDFI operatives stood before the desk of the Fifth Sub-Commissioner of the Imperial Defense Forces; the clone of the Lady Sirithil stood between them, a ridiculous smile on her face.

Gently, the Nenyan Sub-Commissioner probed her mind; he was a powerful empath - and a weak telepath, to boot. He stimulated her pleasure centres gently, to disguise the vague discomfort that a Deep Scan can provoke...

...and scowled. "Not Sentient," he decided.

One of the operatives echoed, "Not Sentient?"

"Not Sentient," confirmed the Sub-Commissioner quietly, pausing a moment. "Executive Council orders are clear; if any discovered clones are Scanned, and it is determined beyond reasonable doubt that they are not Sentient, they are to be immediately and humanely terminated. Terminate it; the abominable beast has no rights." He paused, considering for a moment. "Use a microwave blaster to incinerate it. It won't feel a thing."
Randomville, Bigtopia

Even here, in this most mocked and belittled of nations, the steaming reek of slavery had spread. The Randomville P.D. had received tips about a shipment containing a smuggled slave... and a clone of Lady Sirithil of Menelmacar at that. They had traced the would-be slaveowner to a house outside the city, and there had been a brief but tragic shootout that had claimed the lives of the master and of two of the police officers.

Eventually the police burst into the house. It was empty, they found, until they reached the bedroom, where they found the elf; she was extraordinarily beautiful, even in the throes of her suffering - she was sprawled out on the bed, twitching, convulsing, her eyes crazed; she was clearly quite mad.

"No... no! EOTED... no! Sentient, Master, I'm sentient... please... no! Believe me, Master... Please... don't kill me!" She let out a long and agonized scream... and then fell motionless, the life fading from her beautiful eyes.

This of course confused the officers, for everyone knew that EOTED had been sunk beneath the waves, that the barren sea off Tareldanorë was known now as simply the Dawn Wastes. But a job was a job, and the officers wept as they filled out their reports, gathered their evidence, and waited for the coroner to arrive to clean up the tragedy.

The autopsy found the poor elf had huge amounts of a powerful hallucinogen in her system, almost to the point of overdose. Her fantasy, whatever it had been, had been equally powerful, real to her in every possible sense; it had been a dream from which she could not awaken. When in her fantasy she had been, presumably, shot, she believed such so thoroughly that her heart had simply stopped.

A brief diplomatic exchange later, and the body was on its way to Menelmacar, as requested by the Lady Sirithil.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

Collateral Path

"Sleep well, Sirithil."

Sirithil's owner was less than imaginative. That would have gotten him into a lethal scrape with the Menelmacari, had they had more than a fairly cursory net in Port Harcourt.

Actually, the Territory Co-Prosperity Sphere didn't have a solid grasp of the insane complexities of the major Nigerian trade hubs. Not even through their contacts in the African drug cartels.

"Be well, Lord Marco. I love you very much." Drifting off, calm.

So Marco Andretti had named himself Marco Giuliano for his stint in the Port Harcourt area, named his smuggling organization Giuliano Import & Export, named his sex toy Sirithil and persuaded her that Lord Marco was a better name than Master.

From Sirithil's perspective, Marco's lack of imagination was probably for the best. From Marco's perspective...

She wakes up, moving smoothly before she's awake, showered with blood, crouching beside the bed, trembling

The machete takes the blonde, mutilated steroid-man across the chest, slicing him open, door smashed open behind him. Leopard-forms in dirt-smelling coveralls behind him, pouncing as one of them rides the dying giant to the bed.

Silk sheets spattered with steroid-man's blood and tripe as the animal-people wrestle her Lord Marco and break his arms and legs. He's hers like she is his. This is a bad thing.

"Please stop hurting him."

The animals just hyena-laugh, keeping an eye on her as they break and smash. As Marco gurgles and begins to expire, she keeps trying to beg for his life. Then the leader rounds on her, grabs her long hair and pulls her up.

Unapologetic, the short compact woman bends the Elf back, throat ready for the blade, as devoid of malice as a farmer taking an axe to a chicken. Then she stops. Sniffs the air.

Slams Sirithil against the wall. Feels her up, rough and professional and completely devoid of sensuality.

"Who are you?"

Marco gurgles on the bed. Begins to expire. Conditioning takes over.

"I am Sirithil, Mistress, and I am yours."

Hyena laugh. "Hell no, whore." A backfist makes her see sparks. Rough hands, the woman sniffing her like a dog. When she looks at the woman again black eyes bore into hers. "Listen!"

Silence, as the others begin to miraculously care for Lord Marco.

She waits. After a bit she can't wait longer.

"To what, Mistress?"

"You'll know. Are there more like you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

The blow takes her unaware. The killers leave for the country inside two minutes. They carry information and two unconcious people; one Elf, one Dominon citizen whose lack of imagination would have gotten him killed in his homeland sooner or later.

Fëaelen gestured for the Elentári to take a seat, "Would you like a drink?"

Sirithil nods a bit. "I would love one..."

"Any preference?"

"A nice wine, perhaps?" Fëaelen smiles, stands wanders through one of the doors, which takes on a strange characteristic green effect, and comes back a moment with a fairly expensive Menelmacari wine, two glasses she then pours a glass and offers it to Siri. Sirithil smiles, and she accepts the glass, sipping from it happily. "Thank you."

The C’tan pours herself one and leans back, "It’s no problem. Quite, I take it you're aware of the little trade in clones of yourself that's sprung up?" she asks.

“Yes, I'm aware." It was hard for her not to be. Roughly four other countries, plus her own spies, had brought it to her attention.

"I was wondering what you plan to do with them."

"I'm not sure. I mean... I couldn't just kill them, after all. They're people too. But they are a security risk."

"I expected as much, and aside from any you plan to use as body doubles," she holds up a hand, "a guess, I would be happy to keep them here."

Sirithil nods slowly. "Would they be happy here?" she asks.

"I would try to make them as happy as possible, certainly space concerns would be negligible, I'm already having a wing built for such a purpose, until then I have more than adequate guest rooms. I was thinking that perhaps you could recruit some of the more devoted of the Sirithilists to keep them company?"

"That would be good," she says, "the clones would be cared for... and I'm sure the Sirithilists would have a hard time finding a more fulfilling task." She smiles, and hugs Fëaelen... or is about to, until she changes her mind for some reason and kisses the other on the cheek instead.

About half an hour later the six clones were led into an opulent room and Samara gestured for them to sit on a large couch. There they waited for almost ten minutes before they were attended to. Another elf entered, tall and dark haired, her was hair intermittently braided and cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. She was wearing a silver circlet and a long white dress, made of some mysterious silken material. She looked at the clones with piercing brown eyes, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "I am Fëaelen nos Ancalimë"

"Are you our Mistress?" asked on of them.

"For now," she replied, almost amused.

"Do you have names?" she asked.

"No Mistress," they replied, in unison.

She looked them over again, and approached them closer, "Then we'll have to give you some won't we?" she said. "Let's see, Isillóm Sirithiliel, Alatádae Sirithiliel, Laurëlóm Sirithiliel, Nimdae Sirithiliel, Telpëdae Sirithiliel and Tellóm Sirithiliel," she said, patting each on the cheek as she named them, they smiled happily and innocently. Fëaelen smiled, and pointed them back to Samara, "She'll take you to your rooms," she said.

http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/iimperium/feasig.JPG

Fëaelen nos Ancalimë (http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/iimperium/feaelen1.jpg)
Confederate spokesquendë for elven affairs, (Additionally and secretly Shadow Ruler of the C'tan Confederacy, Hidden executive of all states, colonies, holdings, and protectorates therein.)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Matei Revert,Commander, Roman, Revterr<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>>>>Crist Dragh, Minister-Exterior, ,Imnsvale<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Anca Nita, Admiral-FSR, Roman, Revterr<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Varly Vij,Ambasador,Kivaj Rekhai,Szraion>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The building have been secured. Automatic response systems are in place. Jaming system is online. Evacuation gear is ready. The embassy is ready to be openned.
We have sent greetings and information messages toward the other states composing Szraion, concearning the opening of this embassy and the fact that it will "serve" all the Szraioni states. We have not received the response, however it is too soon for that.
Our "guest" have been granted a day of rest, mostly because the testing of the jaming system was damaging the scaners. Beside, the doctors said that the girls need a time to accomodate with no one to ask for sexual things to them. It is clear now that Ana was not "brainwashed" or something like that, but it was given to slavery by her own parents.
It seems that there is a sort of search for slaves resembling Bela. More informatives we know about (and probably even more we know nothing about) are "working" on it.
I'll keep you informed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

<TRANSMISSION Opens: MF Alliance Encryption>
<TO: LADY Sirithil nos Fëanor, Menelmacar>
<FROM: IMPERIAL President D'ron Smith, FSP>

Lady Sirithil,

It has come to my attention that there is currently a slave trading operation ongoing which seems to involve psychologically prepared clones of yourself as its primary business. If you wish or need Federation assistance in shutting down this despicable operation, feel free to ask, and we will be only too happy to provide it.

As for the specific matter of my concern, we have acquired one of these elves, and wish to know if you have any insight on what may be done with them. We can mindwipe her, and retrain her into a functional member of Federation society. Or we can deliver her to Menelmacar. The choice is up to you. If you wish her delivered to you, we can put her on a diplomatic shuttle and bring her up there. No need for you to send people to pick her up.

With warm regards, your friend,

http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/miniflag.jpg
D'ron Christopher Smith, Imperial President

<TRANSMISSION Terminates>
Spire Office, Central Tower, Fëanor Palace, Vinyatirion, Menelmacar

Sirithil blinked as she read the dispatch. A mind wipe? she thought. That will not do... it is tantamount to murder. Of course, D'ron and I have had this discussion before, and having it again is unlikely to change anything... oh well...

She quickly prepared a response.

<Quantum-Entanglement Comm Initiated>
<Silver-Prime Encryption Protocol Engaged>
<TO: D'ron Smith, Imperial President, Federation of Sentient Peoples>
<FROM: Lady Sirithil nos Fëanor, Elentári, Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar>

I thank you kindly for your vigilance in this matter; any aid you could provide in helping to track down these slavers would be most appreciated. I also thank you for your consideration in contacting me before determining the clone's fate; I would prefer her to be transferred to Menelmacari custody, as I would with any others you might unearth in future.

I look forward to meeting her, and also to hearing from you again.

With sincerity and friendship,

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

<Encryption process complete>
<QE Comm terminated>

Sithi watched as the men led her across the blustery tarmac towards the waiting shuttle, it's lethal black lines, over run with a sword and star motif, frightening her.

It was, of course, an unarmed Eagle-class diplomatic courier shuttle, but the elf had no way of knowing that.

The sleek craft stood high over her head as she walked between two Federation Security Officers, one female, one male, out of the Imperial House, where D'ron had been keeping her, and onto the pad normally reserved for the Forbidden Honor, which was in its underground hanger at the moment, one hundred meters below their feet.

Camoflagued security emplacements tracked their movements as they walked swiftly towards the gleaming opening in the hull, a backlit open hatch, a crew member standing inside, shadow revealing her gender.

"Welcome aboard," she said as the three climbed aboard. "Strap in, we're cleared to take off in less than a minute."

The three got seated, and with a whine, the antigrav lifted the shuttle from the tarmac, and then, sound vanished as the drive field engaged, and they boosted towards Menelmacar, drive flickering blue as it cut through the night sky.

OOC: My apologies for not moving things up as I should've... it's been a busy long week and I've had to deal with entirely too much paper-shuffling. I've got plenty more lined up for next week, but I may as well post for a change of pace. As noted previously, yes, this is an open RP. Only if you start posting in violation of RP ettiquite or assuming things that you shouldn't (feel free to ask me about anything privately or in this thread if it relates to the RP and you need more info) and there is plenty of room for more nations to jump in at any time.

Kel Rayat!

The Early Jomsviking had moved out to the edge of the lane, waiting for its launch to return. The hulk couldn't hide too well from passing shipping, but the crew was trying their best to keep it out of close inspection range of random passing traffic. Rumors of a former whaling ship lurking around Szraion could impede some of their operations significantly.

Dr. Leyaki waited uneasily, his secretary on his left, his presentational assistants on his right, and eight modest figures clothed from head to toe in large trenchcoats and big floppy hats standing around. Come on, where's this "voice"... He uneasily shifted his briefcase from one hand to another. Now, I wonder what price my former coworkers are selling their elves for... if I guess wrong, this may impair my bargaining position and my potential profit margin here.

Tahar Joblis: Island of Intrigue.

The bailiff knocked on the cave wall and waited. After several minutes, the stone slid open, and he strode confidently into the darkness, not flinching as the door shut behind him. After a long stairway down in the complete darkness, he stopped.

"Master Kaznug'al, your student comes with interesting tidings."
"Interesting tidings make for interesting times; interesting times are a curse. Come, Larry, tell me these tidings."
"There was a trial topside. A man was convicted of importing a slave into Tahar Joblis. I thought she looked a little familiar, so I checked through the Codex. She looked a great deal like Sirithil nos Feanor, but her aura looked like that of an untrained youth. I ran a genotype analysis on a sample from her, and it says that the slave, in spite of her round ears, is an elf."
"How unusual. Have you brought this to the Justice Department's attention?"
"No. She followed her 'master' off of Tahar Joblis of her own accord, or I'd have tried to bring her down for you to take a look yourself."
"That is fine. If it were the real lady Sirithil, I think I would have known. Your sight has been adequately trained. Perhaps this is a ploy by the Menelmacari cabal, perhaps not. We shall see. Did you bring a personal effect of the so-called 'slave' with you?"
"Yes, I brought a hair with me."
"Very good. Try to find out what you can topside. While you're down here, we may as well continue your last lesson..."

Elsewhere...
She was feeling satified as she headed from her "screaming room" to the shower. Enacting her personal retribution on that woman by proxy was always so satisfying, even when the business end of things was faltering. Rumors of other people finding ways to cut into her market were somewhat disturbing, but that was an inevitability, along with everything else in her plan for vengeance. This time had been particularly fun.

Dr. Mirkai looked a little uneasy. He usually did, these days, but particularly seeing her smiling seemed to do it. "Dr. Mirkai, how lovely. I trust you're making exemplary progress, or did you come to complain about a lack of young research assistants again? No matter, we can discuss it later." She smiled at the doctor, and turned to the guard, snapping imperiously.

Dr. Mirkai didn't like the security guards. They were all fervent adherents to the cult founded around her for her purposes years ago. Since then, the cult had taken on a life of its own, and even though Dr. Mirkai had seen the files on how the initial cult members had been trained and impressed with their belief, he trusted them less and less over the years. There was no telling what they were really up to, and the conglomerate corporation they'd founded hadn't engaged in making and brainwashing new cult members since Project Harem Whore had moved into full production phases... yet there always seemed to be new ones. He'd caught some of them sniffing around his lab equipment, too.

"Milady," the guard bowed deeply. "Your wish is my command. I will see to it that the screaming room is made immaculate and the body appropriately disposed of."

"Good." She purred to herself, strutting to her private bath to wash the blood out of her hair, not sparing another thought to the guard or the rather messy state of her "screaming room."

Somewhere else.
OOC: Pick a nation... :)

Mara and Mara smiled. Master was proud of them and Master was throwing a party for them! How lovely. Master was always so nice to them, spending extra to have links installed so they didn't even have to talk to each other for the little shows Master liked them to put on for him and sometimes a client of his.

"Mara-mara! Dearies, unfortunately, the party is off. However, I'm going out of town this weekend with my brother and my neice will be visiting over, so I want you on your best behavior. Stay inside and don't get in trouble, and make sure she doesn't do anything rash. She isn't supposed to be throwing parties while I'm out."

Mara and Mara looked at each other mischieviously. "Best" behavior? Master's neice will be so happy...

Unfortunately, Master didn't seem to have any idea what he'd really just asked them to do. Pity, pity. Either that, or Master had an awfully dry sense of humor. Knowing him, it just had to be the former.

Borderlands, Szraion:

"Dangit, the border is closed. Maybe we should just try leaving through port in Kivaj Rekhai after all..."
And risk being recognized? Jacob, you always told me that the folks there were nuts. We should try Kel Rayat or maybe even Kel Urkhei. Pose as foreign visitors. Put your hair up in a turban or headress, pale out your face a bit, and you'd look a Persian - or maybe even like a caucasian trying to look Arabic. Provided you can lose the accent.
"And pick up a new one. Not a bad idea, but that might be hard. Misdirection and money can work fairly well, and you're already well disguised... although we'd still be noticed." Jacob had yet to mention 'copyright violation' or 'lawyer,' but the two concepts along with their natural conclusion, 'lawsuit' and 'not being rich anymore,' weighed heavily on his mind.
Jacob, you could let me do the talking... Lepress stuck her tongue out playfully.

OOC: Tahar Joblis: A note. It's Kel Arkhei, not Urkhei; it's just the font on my map makes it look like a U instead of an A.

Docks District, Kivaj Rekhai

The Rayati Hands moved to cover the entrances of the warehouse, aided by the camerabots the Voice, Octavisz, had planted, and covered by the hulking, armoured Fists with their machine guns.

Octavisz closed his eyes, checking his forces on the radio links and the cameras. All clear. Opening his eyes again, he drew his own handgun, and signalled the troops to go.

OOC: Menelmacar, your Mornahossë are there too, remember?

East Dock, Kel Rayat

Nerva was one of the many cousins of the Heart, and a moderately good Voice; with the conditioning and programming given Voices, it was next to impossible to be a bad one.

"Doctor Leyaki?" he asked, his Szraioni lending the name a harsher pronounciation. "I am Nerva, Voice of the Citadel. You are to follow me."

The pair of tall, black-clad Hands flanking him fixed their unchanging glowers onto the foreigners, backing up his words.

The Eagle-class shuttle grounded in one of Fëanor Palace’s docking bay, in the heart of , Vinyatirion, and the hatch whispered open, and out stepped the two Federation Security officers and the elf, Sithi, as her Master and Mistress had called her. The guards glanced around, looking for someone to take the elf to, though their orders were not to leave her side until she was with the Lady Sirithil. Sirithil had, of course, been notified the shuttle was inbound, and she made sure to be in the landing bay awaiting its arrival. She watched as the small black vessel maneuvered into the cavernous space of the hangar, setting down gently in the middle of the deck. The guards spot the Lady Sirithil's unmistakable, until now, anyway, features and walk forward, the elf looking around them as she came forward as well. The female guard, senior of the two, spoke. "Greetings from the Federation, milady. Might we present to you, well, you, to an extent."

Sirithil smiles. "And greetings to you; welcome to Menelmacar, however brief your stay will be..." She trails off, amazed at what she sees. "Incredible..." The Lady steps forwards, approaching the clone, tilting her head to one side inquisitively. "Truly remarkable."

The elf examines the other elf as she approaches. The fact that they looked exactly alike had yet to register with her. "Are you to be my new Mistress now?"

"I... I suppose so," Sirithil says with a smile.

The elf smiles back, brightly. The guards look at each other; they knew how eager to please the elf was, and the male guard arched his brows ceiling ward. Extending a data chip to Sirithil, the female guard spoke again. "Milady, we've fulfilled our duty. With your leave?"

Sirithil takes the data chip with a nod. "Dismissed," she says. "You'll have clearance to leave our airspace, with our generous thanks." The guards nod, and turning smoothly on their heels, reboard and the shuttle takes off with a soft whisper of displaced air. The elf looks expectantly at Sirithil, awaiting instructions. “Come with me," Sirithil says, very gently, offering the clone her hand. The elf takes Sirithil's hand silently and walks after her.

Sirithil smiles gently to her. "My name is Sirithil," she says. "What's your name?"

The elf takes a few steps before answering, head bowed slightly. "Whatever Mistress wishes to call me."

Sirithil ponders. "Well, we'll need a beautiful name, then, won't we? Ninquëdae... Ninquëdae Sirithiliel."

Ninquëdae smiles broadly. "Thank you, Mistress."

Sirithil leads her through the corridors of the palace. "Do you have any questions you'd like to ask?" she says.

Ninquëdae shakes her head. "Not right now, Mistress."

"Did they tell you where you are?"

Ninquëdae starts to shake her head, and then stops. "They told me they were taking me home." She looks overly confused by this, as for her, home was wherever she was told it was.

Sirithil nods. "This country, where we are, is called Menelmacar," she says. "It's a sort of homeland for our people... that is, Elves. People like you, and I." She stops next to a window, indicates for Ninquëdae to stop with her, revealing a panorama of towers and spires, trees and waterfalls, and lofty mountain peaks surrounding all. "This city is Vinyatirion... the Eternal City."

Ninquëdae looks out the window over the city, an expression of awe on her face. While not as high as the towers of Griffin, from whence she had come, these were a thousand times more beautiful. "I'm going to live here?" she asks, voice full of wonder.

Sirithil nods. "That's right," she says. "You can live here as long as you like."

Ninquëdae smiles happily. "Thank you, Mistress."

"You're very welcome..." She leads her on down the hall, to her own chambers.

Ninquëdae follows, soft shoes padding silently on the floor of the hallway.

The rooms themselves are spacious, luxurious... the Townsends' apartment a hovel by comparison. "Come, child, sit with me..." Siri takes a seat on a soft couch. Ninquëdae smiles, and curls up, her head in Siri's lap. Sirithil gives a soft, maternal kiss, to which the younger clone responds with a soft sigh Sirithil strokes her hair gently for a while, and then says, "Could you get some wine, please? Feel free to pour yourself a glass too."

Ninquëdae smiles, and gets up, returning to the couch a few minutes later with some wine, and two glasses, and sitting, she pours, handing one to Sirithil.

Sirithil offers a toast. "To you, my dear."

Ninquëdae completes the toast. "To all of me's."

Sirithil laughs. "There may be others that look like you, Ninquëdae, but you, and they, are all unique, wonderful people." Ninquëdae smiles happily, as they both take a sip of the wine. "Good choice of wine," Siri says, turning the bottle to glance at it, and stroking Ninquëdae's hair with her other hand.

Ninquëdae looks into Siri's eyes, and touches her cheek gently. "You look like me... and all the others... they look like me too. Why?"

"Well... some people got a hold of my genetic material, Ninquëdae, and they used it to grow... copies, I guess. So in a way, you and the others are my daughters. But though you look like me, your memories and thoughts and personality are your own.” Sirithil continues stroking Ninquëdae's hair while discussing all this.

“Why did they do that?"

"I don't know. I still don't know who they are. When I find out, though, I'll be sure to ask them."

Ninquëdae sits quietly for a moment. "What happened to Charles and Melissa?"

Sirithil sighs softly. "They're.... they're dead, child."

"Dead?" Her lip trembles. "But... but... I liked them. They were nice to me." Ninquëdae begins to cry, dropping her wine glass to the floor.

Sirithil cuddles her close. "It's all right... well, no it's not... but..." Siri sighs, and just cuddles Ninquëdae, not wanting to tell her not to cry, lest she obey.

Ninquëdae cries for some time, sobbing into Siri's shoulder. Eventually, she looks up. "Why are they dead?"

"They... they broke some laws, dear. Some... some big laws."

"But nice people don't break laws. What did they do?"

"Sometimes nice people break laws," she says. "They... they committed treason, actually. And smuggling."

"Oh." Ninquëdae isn't all that educated, though. "What is that? And how did they do it?"

Sirithil sighs, and reminds herself to have Ninquëdae go through some educational courses anytime Siri is away. "Treason is when you betray your government; smuggling is when you bring illegal goods into a country. I'm not sure of the details, in their case."

Ninquëdae sighs softly. "Oh." She snuggles in the embrace of Siri's arm, close up to her. "Who killed them?"

"Their government did," Siri says softly. "There was a trial... they pled guilty." Sirithil reaches out, getting Ninquëdae's glass from where it fell, and refills it, offering it to her 'daughter'. Ninquëdae takes the glass, and sips it in silence. "Would you like to tell me about them?" asks Sirithil.

Ninquëdae sits silently for long enough it seems like she's declined, and then speaks. "I met Melissa first, in the warehouse, after I got out of the box..." her voice trails off.

Sirithil blinks. "Warehouse? Box?" she asks.

Ninquëdae nods. "That's the first thing I remember, was waking up in a box. It was really loud outside, and it was jounced around for a while, before it got set upright. It got opened, and there was Melissa. I think it was a warehouse, anyway."

Sirithil nods. "Go on... could you rub my ears, too?"

Ninquëdae’s face noticeably brightens at the request, and begins to run her fingers lightly over Siri's ears, moving closer as she does so. "Well, Melissa talked the man for a while, and then she took me home. She gave me a bath, and nice clothes, and she made me feel really good. And then Charles got home, and then fun really started." She giggles. "We didn't stop for a long time, then."

Sirithil chuckles politely. "Go on."

Ninquëdae continues rubbing Siri's ears. "Well, for about four days, it was just the three of us. I'd cook, and we'd do fun things, and we watched holofilms and went swimming in the pool. Then Charles had to go to work, and Melissa took me shopping. That night, before Charles came home, the men with the guns came. I tried to fight them, with Melissa, but there was this one, huge and scary, body the color of the night sky." Her voice gets smaller. "That was when the pain started. And when I woke up, I never saw Melissa or Charles again." Sirithil turns around and eases Ninquëdae into her arms, cuddling her close. Ninquëdae moves into Siri's embrace, shuddering slightly. "I don't remember much after that, until the flying thing that brought me here."

Sirithil nods a bit, stroking her gently. "It's all right, Ninquëdae... you're safe now, and nobody will ever hurt you again. I promise."

Ninquëdae smiles shyly at Sirithil. "Thank you." She lowers her head to lie against Siri, and closes her eyes, as Sirithil continues stroking. Ninquëdae lies in Siri's lap for a long time, her breathing as even as if she was asleep, but then she looks up at Siri. "Should I call you Mistress now?"

Sirithil blinks a bit... she hadn't really thought about that. "I'm not sure," she says. "I guess you can call me whatever you like... Sirithil, Siri, Lady Siri... mother..." She trails off. "Whatever would be more comfortable for you."

Ninquëdae thinks for a bit. "I like Sirithil." She smiles. "It sounds like what Charles and Melissa called me, a little bit." To herself, she mumbles. "Sithi.... Sithi."

Sirithil nods. "Sirithil it is, then..." she says, not mentioning that the Townsends probably based the name 'Sithi' off her own. "What did you cook for them?"

Ninquëdae smiles a little more. "I cooked a lot of things. Charles was a fan of steaks, and Melissa liked fish. But they had so many things to cook. And they let me eat whatever I wanted."

"Well, you can eat whatever you like here, too," she says. "And you can go wherever in the palace you like, as well, for the most part."

Ninquëdae smiles brightly and hugs Sirithil. "Thank you, Sirithil."

Sirithil hugs back. "I'd like to try your cooking sometime," she says. "I also have a library you can look in... it's always good to learn."

Ninquëdae blinks slowly, confused. "Library?"

"It's... a place of books. Records. Knowledge."

Ninquëdae smiles, embarrassed. "I can't read, Sirithil."

Sirithil frowns. "That won't do at all," she says gently. "Would you like to learn?"

Ninquëdae nods. "But not tonight. I'm tired."

"Okay..." She gives Ninquëdae a gentle, maternal sort of kiss. "Come with me then... I have a room for you."

Ninquëdae rolls out of Sirithil's lap and stands silently, waiting to be shown the way.

Sirithil takes her gently by the hand and leads her down some stairs to the next floor, and down a short hallway, to one of the guest rooms; it's quite large, actually, probably moreso than the Townsends' bedroom was, with high ceilings and luxurious furniture and a very soft bed, and a stunning view of Vinyatirion's southwestern quadrant.

Ninquëdae looks at the bed, and then looks around the room, obviously searching for something, as is quite evident in her crimson eyes.

"What are you looking for, child?" Sirithil asks gently.

Ninquëdae looks at Siri. "Where are the others?"

"The others?" she asks.

Ninquëdae nods slowly. "I've never slept by myself before."

"Well... the others aren't here yet... would you like me to stay with you until you fall asleep?" Ninquëdae nods, and strips off her clothing quickly before climbing into the bed, looking at Siri, obviously somewhat nervous about spending the night on her own. Sirithil climbs into the other side of the bed, and gently puts an arm around Ninquëdae. "It's all right... nobody can hurt you here. This place... it is the safest place in the world." Ninquëdae curls up under the covers, safe in Sirithil's arms, and eventually, slides into a peaceful sleep.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Varly Vij,Ambasador,Kivaj Rekhai,Szraion<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
<<<<<<<<<<<Crist Dragh, Minister-Exterior, ,Imnsvale>>>>>>>>>>>>

Greetings, Ambassador! The diplomatic tratatives are over. Your embassy will be opened starting from tomorow, at 09:00, your time. The first tourists will arrive at 11:00 o'clock (your time) through an TREC ekranoplane. You are to greet them at the docks.
Be advised that all the tourists have been briefed about Kivaj Rekhai. They were informed that we cannot guarrantee their safety. You are to stand by for any trouble, but be advised that they know they are on their own. They even signed that it is not our responsability. Our responsability is Trec, since is the national transport company, but, anyway, "look" for our tourists.
About the internal situation: it was voted that any revterran citizen in a foreign country will have to obey that country's laws, event if they contradict our laws. There are thousands of complaints already (especially because Szraion), and Commander Revert expects a national vote on this. Meanwhile, the revterrans can...use slaves while in Szraion, but they cannot bring them anywhere there is revterran property (including onboard TREC's ships). This law applies only to the of duty personell. Those on duty while under RevTerran flag, are not to use slaves. That's right ambassador. There is no way we can stop them being wrong.

Meanwhile, you (actually, the contact who brought it) are to buy Ana. If you have a problem with owning a slave, you are hereby granted the right to represent me or commander Revert in this tratatives. The commander thinks that we will have more freedom to move while she is ours.
We are expecting a report from those doctors. It will be a classified one, and FSR will prepare the information for the public.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In 3 different places, 3 people bound by their function as head of The RevTerr Alliance where interesting in the same thing: a medical report, sent by their delegation in Szraion. The first have just finished a fund-rasing dinner at a reabilitation center, and was going home (if the Alliance's Headquarters, "Comandament" could be called home). The second was watching the report while on a plane, returning from a conference in Imnsvale. The third person have already read the report. However, not everything there could be spilled out to the press.


Ana was born approximatively 16 years ago, but is unclear where. Her parents where probably slaves, and he inhireted their status. She does not know how to read in any language, and her math skills are just the basics. She can remember a woman in her early life caring for her. This woman was later replaced by a group of them, probably because she or her mother was sold to a brothel. She can remember being used in sex-plays since she was six-seven years old (she does not know the time), taking part in both gay and normal acts. As we said she was cared for by the girls in the brothel until she was aproximatively 10 years old, when her status changed after a sort of gang fight/a police raid/a slaves-taking raid (we are not sure, she can remember being interrupted in a sexual act by some peoples, the client being shot repeatedly after resisting "arrest" and she being rendered unconstiouns). After this episode she remember being "used" by several other people (including an old man she was assign for carring by the buyer). Approximatively 2 years ago she was bought by the bar owner we "picked her out" and sent to take care of his mother. There she learnt to count, but after a year the woman died. She retourned to her owner, who used her as maide and sexual toy for his 17 year old son.
Medically speaking, she is in no danger. She has two broken ribbs, a wound at her left foot's kneecap, a missing middle finger at her left hand and many knife stings and bytes on her chest and face.
Psihically speaking, Ana is used with her status. Although it seems unfair to her, she dare not to question it because last time she did she got her ribbs broken. Her intelligence tests show normal results, our psichologicall test show normal responses, except for the obedience factor, wich is high.

The first thing Bella remembers is being pulled out from a box. She lack any memories before that moment, moment she cannot trace back in time. We have no way of determine her age (our test show a hard-to-believe 18 months). She enterred Szraion through a boat, along with a few other like her, and she was imediatelly picked up by the one who sold her to us. She lived in a cave since then, with little contact with the outsides (her master told her that evil elves will take her away). Apparently something happened at the top of Kivaj Rekhai, something that scared him into selling her to us.
She does not have any wounds except a contusion on the back of her head and some minor genital wounds. However, her appearence is slightly strange: her ears are pointy, and her skin is paller that normal. We guess that she is an elf, a semi mitical race, supposingly having some magic powers. It is unclear whether she is an elf (if something like this exist) or a some sort of "human copy" (the term is clone) "made up" to look like this.
Psihically speaking, Bella had hard time adjusting to a five days break in her sexual life. She sees her role as to obey every order, and even in the role play test she would end up pleasing someone in EVERY way she is asked to please. She cannot imagine living on her own, because her bigger passion is to please the others. She is the perfect human toy. We tried some neuro (de)programing, but the results where inconclusive. Her intelligence tests show aberrant results: she will learn anything that will phisically please the master, but she failed to lear to count in due time, even to please us. However, at the spealling tests she scored high, because that would please us. The obedience factor is incredible high.

The medical report ended with the original output of those tests. The two men reading looked over them, marking something here and then, for further information. In a separate note, the ambasador said:
We bought Ana. No papers signed, just a formal agreement (recorded through a hidden camera). The tourists arrived safely and they where shown to a hotel and a brothel. No incidents yet.

OOC: Bump, yes, I will post up a whole bunch more later when I have time... just a small note, I have no idea where Ana came from at this moment ... as her story is inconsistent with the Siriclones thus far. Hmm. Perhaps I should cook something up.

OOC: Ana is just a typical run-of-the-mill Szraioni slave girl. I've discussed it with RevTerr via telegram and I don't have a problem with it.

(Edit: Oh dear, I seem to have left out a rather important word there. Sorry. No worries here! Everything's fine!)

OOC: Ana is just a typical run-of-the-mill Szraioni slave girl. I've discussed it with RevTerr via telegram and I have a problem with it.

OOC: You do or you don't?

OOC: probably this is my fault.
Ana have been bought from a local Szraioni (I hope this is the correct form from "people from Szraion). Szraion's economy is based on slavery, so it was easyer to aquire a "normal" slave than a clone of lady Sirithil. I hoped that it was made clear by that medical report. Ana is not (and it was never intended to be) a typically Szraion name. It just how it is called in our reports.

Bella *is* a Siriclone. It is just that Revterr never had contact with Menelmacar or with Tahar Joblis, so the ambassador does not know about the hole deal you are RPing about (I don't believe in that "my security eyes are everywhere"). He (and the top of RevTerr) think that Bella (again, designated name) is a elf (and they wonder what is that) and they have a hard time figuring out the cloning process, or the mental "deprograming". Bella (like, as I understood, all the Siriclones) has been brainwashed (thus the gaps in her past), but Ana wasn't.

There where some things I posted and that where wrong, accordingly to Szraion. He TG me, and I hoped I fixed all of them.

A few days later, at the hospital:

"So... she will make it, yes?"
Yes." The man in white nodded. "However, It will take a while for her... a months or so, to recover."
"I see... However, we need our information a little faster." The woman who answered was fairly small, about 165cm high, with pitch- black hair. "Is it possible without... ah... long- term damages?"
The doctor looked at him for a long moment. "Well... thats a good question. We do not exactly know how it looks there, in her head. We got a bit of data, but it ain`t detailed... You may trigger something..."
"Damn." The woman pondered it for a moment. "But we need the iformation. We already started a full investigation regarding the... 'issue', but so far, no results. I want to know more. So, doctor, do we get clearance for a long term deep scan?"
"Well..." The doctor hestated for a moment. "Yes."

Revert finished reading the report while the car was entering the Headquarter's parking lot. He got out, entered the building and told something to one of the asistants. By the time he got to his sleeping room, Crist Dragh was already waiting on l
the line.

Crist?
Yes, commander.
Have you read the medical report from Szraion?
Yes.
Can you arrange for those girls to get a diplomatic passport? I would like to get them here.
Commander, are you sure that is wise?
I don't know Crist. But we cannot let them there. Sooner or later someone will enquire about some slaves sold to the revterran embassy. We will have our ambasador in a awfull position.
I understand that. But the people might not understand how come our diplomatic corp owns a slave.
You know that information it is clasified. We will arrange for them to enter the Caretaker system.
That could work for Ana. But you saw Bella. Star Trek is a big hit nowadays in RevTerr, and Bella looks too much like Spock.
Bella will be sent to Cristin, in one of those secret labs. Our psichiastrist will have a hard day trying to..deprogram her.
Commander, doesn't Bella have the right to a life? On Cristin she'll be isolated.
Crist, according to the doctors, if one of the caretakers would ask Bella for a blowjob, he would get one. Now, it is her right to blow whatever (or whoever) she wants, but not because she was mentaly programed to do it. And if we see there is nothing we can do...I don't know, we'll see then.
I will see what I can do, commander
When do you arrive?
I'll be in Roman tomorrow morning.
See you then.

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The Rivette logo returns to the screen before the end of the commercial.

Senior Government Official Jaxom de Saint-Exuprey examined his package. Three of the much vaunted SiriClones.

The length of their hair, the color of their eyes, the curve of their smiles. His eyes roamed more freely, up the legs that simply went on forever, higher, higher.... indentical, down the most intimate details.

He turned to a servant. "Dress that one in fine clothing, leathers if we have them." He pointed to one. "That one in fine clothing as well, though not leathers... a skirted outfit of somesort, I'll be taking her with me soon." He indicated another with this statement. "The third is not to be touched until I return from my trip."

"Yes, master."

****************

Some time later, Jaxom examined the two he had directed be dressed. The first was in white leathers, tight, hugging every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Crimson leather detailing and accessories finished out the outfit. The second was in a long blue skirt, slit to show leg when she moved, midrift bare, and short sleeved low cut cropped top exposing ample cleavage.

"Excellent. Send the one in leathers to Reaven. Secretly. I'm sure he'll enjoy it."

OOC: There where some things I posted and that where wrong, accordingly to Szraion. He TG me, and I hoped I fixed all of them.
OOC: A couple minor notes.

1. Elves mature at fifty, so Bella has to be at least that old.
2. The brainwashing hasn't diminished their learning capacity or intelligence in the least, and being Sirithil clones, they have plenty of both. They're simply very, very biddable.

Otherwise, pretty good post.

~Siri

OOC: Noted. I won't modify my post, but I'll let the doctors figure that out.

Ten Days Previous

Thomas Mifflin, production supervisor for Fealty Arms Limited, and also known as FIST092, though no one in the Confederacy knew him by such a designation, except for FIST091 and 093, opened his mail. Standard bills and nonsense bulk mail... and a special sales offer from Ballantine Products, an international mail order company.

Mr. Mifflin:

We have the deal of a life time for you. Have you ever seen the Lady Sirithil, Empress of Menelmacar? Her stunning beauty, and delicate elven features? Then we have what you want. SiriClones. They are the wave of the future of pleasure and service. They are trained properly, and eager to please. 'Tis a fine offer for members of the Arda Alliance, and we wish you to do something about it. How many people can say they've slept with the Lady? How would you like the be the first in your town, your district, your nation? Act now!

092 blinked. Someone is selling Clones of the Lasy Sirithil, and C-ID wants me to check into such trade in Arda, and if possible, disrupt it. Shit. This'll blow my cover for sure. He deleted the message along with the other trash.

Now

Jack Houghton pulled the hover van into the rest area, checking his proxmity radar, watching to make sure no one was too close. A car pulled into the rest area behind him, but keeping the proper distance.

He was driving this delivery up to the Imperium, to deliver a present from Senior Official de Saint-Exuprey to Foreign Minister Reaven. Apparently, this gift was alive. A large box, with holes punched in it, wrapped in bright red shiny paper, with a black bow on top. From the lack of noise, he could only assume that whatever it was, was tranquilized. Especially since the lid of the box seemed to be able lift right off.

Turning off the truck, he locked it, and went inside to use the rest room and get a cup of coffee. Long distance deliveries kept trying to put him to sleep.

092 watched as the man went inside. His contacts had had no trouble allowing him to figure out and track the movement of SiriClones into Arda. Apparently, there were only three so far. Two in the posession of Senior Minister de Saint-Exubrey, who had sent a third one by truck as a gift for Minister Reaven. The one he was intercepting. Prevent the spread of the clones, his orders had said. He parked next to the truck and got out. And with a series of special tools, was inside it quickly. He lifted the clone from the box, careful to leave nothing that could identify him. He dropped in his note to Reaven, and tossed his special position-based explosive into a dark corner of the cargo area. Elf in arms, he quickly got out, resealed the truck, and got into his car, and vanished, headed back towards home.

Houghton, now working on his third cup of coffee walked back out the truck. Inside, he started it, and drove back out into the stream of traffic northward.

At Angband, Melkor's Imperium

Having driven for three days, Houghton was finally at the gates of Lord Melkor's capital and domain. Depositing the gift on the grav pallet at the diplomatic entrance, he drove away.

A kilometer from Angband, the bomb hidden in his truck bed read it position from an LA military satellite. It exploded, ripping the truck to shreds in a red-gold explosion that obliterated two other civilian vehicles. It looked for all the world like a hydrogen fuel cell failure. An accident.

Jefferson, Lost Americans

092 had managed to retrieve the clone, and had stashed her in his apartment. But he didn't know what to do with her. She hadn't woken for nearly three days after he retrieved her, and when she had, she was hungry. For a few days, he could continue to feed her, but soon the computers would begin to recognize that he was buying extra food. Food that a single man living alone shouldn't need.

And so, every night he held her in his arms as they slept, as she was scared to sleep alone, but other than that, he did nothing to her, trying to encourage independence, and it slowly seemed to be working.

But he had to get rid of her, or they would both be dead.

Reaven's gift

In the bottom of the now empty box lay a note.

Jay -

I hope you enjoy your gift. This box should have contained a SiriClone Sex Slave, but Lost Americans' Internal Security isn't all they think it is, and the Lady would be most upset with the thought of you sleeping with her in any incarnation. Don't blame Senior Official de Saint-Exuprey. It isn't his fault.

- Someone who doesn't belong here

The Aelosian vessel landed near the strange lonely smuggler's city. a place where many things were at sale, even lives, after obtaining the clearance necessary to land. After the platform opened, a handful of guards clad in the ceremonial armor of the House Hyral Honor guard spreaded over the landing pad, watching the surroundings.

The ShadowPrince came out of the transport, surrounded by everyside by his personal guard. The tall and handsome elf checked the environment with a quick glance, his cloak floating in the light breeze, all his body covered by the exquisite eldar armor.

"Should we send the message, Sire?", asked one of the guards, by his uniform a high ranking official. The Prince just nodded as response.

The officer walked to the comm console and issued the message prepared, in the code of the clone traficants. "We're here to buy some of your Eléntari Sirithil nos Fëanor clones, or Siriclones. We will be generous as this affair is critical to our ruler and to our nation. Please answer as soon as possible"

OOC: My apologies, I've been very busy of late. Yes, we're still open; yes, there is more to come. I thank all of you for your patience and encourage anybody who wants to jump in right here to come right on in... there is plenty of room.

"Milady has prepared a most holy High Communion for us. Tell the brethren." The guard talked quietly to his neighbor. "The prepared one can wait until next week's services. Our Lady has been generous."

"Has she asked-"

"She put Jax in charge of cleaning up the room. No worries. How goes our missionary work abroad, brother?"

"The Captain seems pleased. He is holding on telling the news officially until the next general briefing on security, but I saw him smile when Sargeant Jax handed him the latest bulletin from Crumpkin."

As the egghead drew nearer the exit and their post, the guards shared a look with one another and shut up

Dr. Mirkai gave them an uneasy look as he passed, flashing his ID scan by habit. One of them nodded to him.

"Blessings upon you, Dr. Mirkai."

The doctor passed uneasily, not replying.

East Dock, Kel Rayat:

"Ah, hello Mr. Nerva." I wonder what a "voice" does. I hope he has authority to make a deal. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice." He hurried to follow, entourage only a few steps behind him. Those fellows are somewhat creepy. Muscle, shall I guess? "Now, would you mind enlightening me on the local customs?"

And not very far away...

Jacob, who is that? Why are those bulky guys dressed in black.

Jacob muttered quietly. "Hands. Don't antagonize them, we're tourists, remember?"

Yes, I remember. I must say, I'm surprised nobody has commented on the makeup job yet. To me, your face looks very greasy. You sure they won't recognize me?

"You look lovely, dear. And quite distinctively green in this crowd."

Jacob shrugged. Looking like a white guy dressed up as a harem guard from Arabian Nights hadn't seemed like such a bad idea, but he could guess that a couple well over six feet and easily identified as not native Szraioni would scarcely be able to avoid notice in Kel Rayat. With any luck, large amounts of cash would find them a berth somewhere before too many questions were asked. Most was concealed in the false bottom of his briefcase, but a lifetime of living in the underbelly of one waterfront city after another led him to be less trusting than that.

It surprised him how much could be readily packed into a turban. Maybe he'd start wearing them more often.

Hopefully, the cover of very wealthy tourists with worldly sums of cash on hand... not all of it Szraioni, by a long shot, either... would hold for long enough.

Jacob hadn't been to Kel Rayat in several years, but he had a good idea as to where to go to find ships that just might be taking on passengers.

"Remember what we talked about."

Our cover stories, yes. Have no worries. She swirled her deep green hair around a finger and smiled.

Tellóm's mind...

Not worthy, for mine is the "face of evil." He told me so, told me the shorties would never tell me the secrets, but he would. Fear the demon who gave me my face, for she is purest and most devious evil. She cannot be trusted, can this one?

Her mind flitted, uneasy at being among company resembling herself and uneasy at this naming of her.

"Should you someday find yourself face to face with her who mirrors your face with thousands of years of evil, and know her, then perhaps you would be able to redeem yourself and the sin you were born into." An echo of a slap shimmered across the face. The secrets probably never told these others here. This strange one is attractive, I must admit, but is she... one of them?

Images shown to her poorly in a sketchbook; demons upon the world, who consorted with the most dreaded one of all...

She moaned aloud quietly. There is nothing, I am nothing, the devil, the death, nothing inside, and I cannot tell a soul should I doubt...
shudder...

Elsewhere:
OOC: Come on, volunteer anyone? Oh well.

"Uncle! You bastard!"
"What, dearie?"
"Those horrid girls... they ... they..." She shuddered, and spat at him. "I hate you!"

Tahar Joblis.

The bailiff frowned. Kaznug'al wasn't happy, and what they'd been able to find out was starting to bother him.

"Maybe..."
"What?"
"Maybe it's time for us to bring in outside help. I know a few people in Foreign Investigations and Tracking..."

Elsewhere in Tahar Joblis:

"Excuse me. If the commitee doesn't mind the interruption?"

A quick glance around the room. "By all means, but it had best be worth the interruption." The facilitator/subchair waved her hand at the attache.

"I was running analysis on our security samples, and I noticed a small problem." The technician pulled out a chart. "According to this chart run off the secure sample, she is a baboon."
"A baboon? But that's impossible!"
"There has obviously been a breach of security."

Aboard MIS Lenwacú, off the Szraioni coast:

"Milady, would you look at that..."

Ataralassë gaped as she glanced at the holo. "That's an Aelosian shuttle!"

"Yes... and they're bound for the warehouse..."

"What are our men doing right now?"

"They should just be handling matters as we speak... Shall I contact them? Tell them to abort?"

"No... let the Aelosians come," Ataralassë replied with a fiendish smile. "The slavers will be... pacified by the time they arrive. And then when they do, we will get some answers from the Sindar, as well."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

OOC:
Aelosia: There's a problem with that. Yes, I suppose you could land, but prior arrangement for that would be hard to get. When a Citadel Wing wants to land at the Kivaji Aerodrome, it's arranged beforehand through writing; this is because electronics are illegal in Kivaj Rekhai. No matter how often you broadcast, all you're going to get is static.

If you want to send a message in Kivaj Rekhai, you write it down, seal it, and pay a messenger to take it where you want. They charge extra to go into the dock district, seeing as how it's a major crime spot. And if you give your letter to an unregistered messenger, they may give it to someone who pays more.

I should really write some kind of guidebook to Szraion, I guess...

Tahar Joblis: Do you want a Rayati shipmaster to take Jacob and the elf on board or something?

Voice = diplomat.

Anyhoo, on to the IC stuff! Yay!

East Dock, Kel Rayat

"Customs are of no importance," Nerva assured the foreigner. "This is the Lower City, we shall not be here for long. You have an appointment with the Heart, no? Follow me, I shall take you to him."

Above the docks and the streets cut into the red cliffs of the harbour was the heart of Kel Rayat, the massive Citadel which towered above the sea below. Hundreds of years ago it had been a simple garrison fort, but over the intervening centuries the Hearts of Rayat had added to it, turning it into an impregnable fortress.

From the Chamber of the Heart Aurelian Rayat, the Kelraikh Rayati, held court (still looking somewhat under the weather from last night's bender). Beautiful women surrounded his throne; this was Kel Rayat, of course, and it would be unpatriotic not to display the Citadel's most famous attractions.

That Unlucky Warehouse, Docks District, Kivaj Rekhai

Octavisz signalled go, and the first Hand kicked in the back door of the warehouse, covered by the second. The next pair dashed in, and through their eyes the Voice saw cattle pens, filled with a different sort of cattle.

Behind the original pair, the other Hands filed in, finding no resistance; suprisingly so, in fact. The women in the pens said not a word as the Hands secured their wrists behind their backs, and directed them to stay where they were.

With a pair of Hands guarding the slaves, Octavisz and the Elves entered. The Hands went ahead of them, entering the cavernous second chamber of the warehouse and finding nothing but further pens and slaves.

In the warehouse's small office, however, they found what they sought; Demetrisz the slave dealer, cowering under his desk. The Hands picked up the trembling man and dragged him out, ignoring the sudden dampness of his trousers.

Octavisz allowed himself a small smile.

"My elfin friends and I have a few questions for you, little man..."

Mose Atengco reflected on just how boring an assignment this was, and cursed the fact that he happened to be the most qualified deprogrammer around. It would be that much easier if the clones had been conventionally brainwashed, as that way it would be pretty simple to undo. As it was there was nothing but the programming there, so he'd have to work within it. The tall, dark haired human brushed off the suit he was wearing, and adjusted his glasses, which he didn't need, but they provided part of the image. He opened the door to the last of the clones - Tellóm quarters, and walked in.

"Hello Tellóm," he said, taking a seat in the spacious room - 'bigger than mine' he thought reproachfully, "I've come to ask you something... What do you remember about your past before you came here?"

OOC: Szraion, it's all up to you; a Szraioni or foreign shipmaster giving them a ride is a fine possibility. So are many other things, like con men, getting noticed by Rayatian officials curious about what these weird tourists are up to, running into Dr. Leyaki during their search, etc. Purchasing a small vessel with hard cold cash is also a possibility that Jacob finds good.

"Impressive place you have here." Dr. Leyaki swallowed to hide his nervousness. Slave trading is a bigger business than I thought. My various overseas proxy corporation investors and shareholders are going to love the latest financial reports.

"I've heard that you've been facing some competition lately from the cutting edge of new top-end sex slave productions. Not that," he hastily added, "you would ever have cause to fear for your bottom line from such, given the wonderful quality of your wares and competence of your salesmen, but never fear regardless, for the market has brought superior expertise to your bargaining table, rather than that of Kivaj Rekhai." Dr. Leyaki paused to bow deeply in a dramatic fashion, indicating himself. "Dr. Leyaki, at your service. If I may?" He waved to his presentational assistants, who quietly whispered to the eight modestly cloaked figures.

"Allow me to introduce you to my wares. Unlike a certain nameless competitor of mine, I offer eight models, each line genetically optimized and each unit trained and raised to utter perfection."

"My elfin friends and I have a few questions for you, little man..."
A prospect that scared the crap out of him; he hadn't been sure on some level whether the fact that Jacob had never told him how to get ahold of Jacob's contact down the line was a good thing or a bad thing, in the end, but judging by the fact that this fellow didn't look like he was about to pay for the merchandise, he was in for it. And now they would think he was hiding things from them...
OOC: Just a small IC footnote reminding of some of the things that the end-dealer in Kivaj didn't know after Jacob went poof. Feel free to run the panicky creep accordingly.

"Hello Tellóm," he said, taking a seat in the spacious room - 'bigger than mine' he thought reproachfully, "I've come to ask you something... What do you remember about your past before you came here?"

"Oh, nothing." After a pause or question back, she continued. "Nothing important, anyway. I used to be smaller, as you can guess." She shifted uneasily. He wants my secrets... I can't tell him, can't, he probably is a servant of the demons... She held a thought in check. Must obey Master/Mistress, must keep secrets from the demons, must obey, must keep secrets...

She closed her eyes and kept herself from screaming. Was not ordered not to distract the crap out of this fellow by Mistress...

"Surely you aren't interested in my past, milord?" She reached out with a finger suggestively, sliding his glasses up across his face and leaning in seductively.

I hope this works to distract him... She wasn't, for the moment, entirely sure what she would do if it didn't.

This was, for the record, noticably different from the blank stares and general vapid lack of particular cooperation or desire to talk much about their pasts without being directly ordered to spill the beans from the other clones he'd interviewed... at which point things tended to stay relatively uninformative with them, at least so far. Progress is rather slow when the subjects feel no compunction against lying and are happier to tell whatever tale they think Mistress wants to hear rather than what lies in their own self-interest. Frustrating, but at least there was some progress, and the clones were not hostile and violent.

After fifteen minutes of static, the ShadowPrince waited until someone appeared to welcome him. The guards, visibly nervous was trying to establish a perimeter around the ship, covering their lord.

"We need a messenger, find one", said the noble to one of the soldiers...

The Chamber of the Heart, the Citadel, Kel Rayat

Aurelian shot an almost imperceptible look at Domitian, who shot one back.

"By all means, Dr. Leyaki," he replied, "Show me your wares. Your proposition is most interesting indeed, and I'm sure that my unfortunate competitor's products don't hold a candle to them ... so let me see them, no? We shall see how well they compare to the home-grown Rayati produce."

His harem giggled, and clustered closer to the throne.

Kivaji Aerodrome, Kivaj Rekhai

It seeing very little international traffic, the Kivaji Aerodrome lacked the usual facilites of it's foreign kin, with little in the way of embarkation lounges, traffic control, and the like. However, there was an office of the Urban Mail Service - little more than a prefab hut, really - off in a far corner of the grassy field.

OOC: Aelosia: This being in an area of the city catering to the Citadels, the Urban Mail Service guys speak only one language, which is Szraioni.

Tahar Joblis: I'm happy with whichever of those you prefer. Bear in mind, however, that Szraioni ships have Hands aboard to make sure the crew stays in line abroad, and ships sold at Kel Rayat are done so *only* by the Rayati, who protect their monopoly fiercely. Third-party ships are sold to the Rayati, who then sell them on.

Atengco was very tempted to lean forward that little and kiss the beautiful, golden haired elf, but he managed to restrain himself, ((Don't you love random number generators?)) besides, there was something different this time, this one was - hiding something. It was hard to believe, but she was hiding something from him, there was something just a little unconvincing in her eyes - 'beautiful red eyes, shining like twin rubies - no, must not think like that. Dammed seductive elf.' There was something else, too, she didn't trust him, she was afraid of something here. He reached up, hesitantly, and re-adjusted his glasses.

"Please Tellóm, I'm very interested in your past. And I think you have more of a past than the others - why don't you tell me about it?"

Revterran secret service, FSR, had a special compartment dedicated to media watch. In this departament, each agent has a channel to watch, and, in the eventuality that something important appears, to report to the Watchman on duty. Of course, rarely something important arrises, mostly because the main broadcast company is TVRev, and as soon as they know something, a reporter will arrive to the Comandament to take the leader's opinion. Democratecly speaking, RevTerr was a lame "power to the people" country, but they have a wise commander.
That commander was the guest of honor on an RTV talkshow. The other revterran television network, belonging to a welty mine owner in the city of Radu, had no way of conquering TVRev while concearning the news, but it did broadcasted interesting movies. The agent on duty was barely watching the interview, paying more attention to his helmet. There was a football game on the radio..
Commander, I know we have a minister to deal with these kind of things, and I'm sorry he isn't here, but surely you can tell us about government expensises,
What about them?
Well, if we look at the numbers, we can see that our "Come see the the southern star" program did...
"GOOOL!" announced the helmet, and the agent was sunk in a dispair. 3-0. Good. For the other team. Bad! "Well, life is life", said, and retourned to the RTV talkshow.
Yes, but, three MAReV Diplomat for an embassy, that was expensive for our budget. I understand, diplomat protection and stuff, but those are expensive cars.
They are heavy armured cars, made by our own car factories...
"This will become a political talk show". After all, Radu was not happy when Revert got elected.
We'll take a brake for the news headline, and then we will be back!

Good evening ladies and gentleman, this hour news concearn our embassy in Szraion. Our surces told us that one, posibly two slaves are enroute to RevTerr, on board a TReC transporter, with diplomatic imunity. These images.."

"Get the admiral!!!"

..recorded with a hidden camera by our undercover reporters show a strange pair coming out of the ambasador's car and entering the ekranoplane.

On the set, Commander Revert saw the same images being broadcasted through all of RevTerr.
We had our ambassador in Szraion, mister Varly Vij on the line, but we suddently lost conection. We will try to reestablish it in time for our Night Journal, wich will start in one hour, right here on RTV.

Who spoke? Revert's mind was on the move. But he had no time for that, Varly Vij had a family who will be soon contacted by these vultures. He activated his PAD and sent some instructions. Some one will soon arrive at missis Vij's house. MediaWatch surely have told Anca Nita about this.

...And we are back, ladies and gentlemen, we have tonight with us Commander Revert, telling us about governamental plans with the winter and their outputs. We where discussing about our embassies, commander, and how much we are spending with them. And suddently, look what our ambassadors are doing..
Suddently, huh? Revert couldn/t help it. This was all so arrange!
As you know, I am not monitoring every embassy's activity. Our ambassadors are very qualified men and women, and, except for the reports, I have no contact with them.
Commander, you told us that owning a slave is imoral, and you appeared in front of RevTerr to say it is illegal to bring slaves in our country.
Wrong! I said that is illegal to own slaves in our country, and that we are working at a national poll to see if they can bring slaves here to free them. However, I don't see any slave. I see two women boarding a TReC transporter and I hear a reporter saying that they where slaves. I have all the confidence in ambassador Vij that he complied with the instructions received from Roman.
...that meaning that you or Minister Dragh ordered him to buy them?

You're good...
Buy what?
The slaves...
Which slaves? I saw no slaves! I saw two girls boarding an ekranoplane. That's it! You are saying that they are slaves, but for me they are two girls boarding an ekranoplane. What where they doing in our diplomatic car, I will find out soon enough. If they are slaves, I will find out in the morning, when that ekranoplane arrives
How come you know when the Szraioni ekranoplane arrives?
I found out before we got back on the air.
But..
No! I answer twice the same questions. I will make no more comments on this matter. You can either change the subject, or fill the time with comercials.
Ok, commander, have it you way. About the satellite...

"Sire, none of the messengers seems to understand us" said the first attendant to the ShadowPrince.

"Then find me a translator, quickly, pay anything, but quick, out there is a Menelmacari vessel!", answered the Prince, looking really pissed.

Who spoke?? Revert asked his comunicator, while the car was leaving the studio.
We don't know yet, sir. came admiral Nita's answer. Crist Dragh has been informed and he is speaking right now to the ambassador. I have someone at mister Vij's house, speaking to the familly. They agreed to our protection, so the Police is on the set.
The girls?
I've arrange for the folloing...

Krater was flying low above water hurrying toward the revterran city of Tepro, on the Eastern coast. It was a regular trip between Szraion an RevTerr, but this time, it was to be different.
In the cockpit, the pilot, the navigator, the electronist and the securiter where gathered around a small caracter by the name of Rast Ly. Special agent Rast Ly, from the FSR.
I would really want to tell me what is this all about, Agent!, said the Pilot.
I am sorry, but I have to invoke...
...yes, I know, the paranoic amendament...
Paranoic or not, you are to remember that this conversation is clasified. I was not in the cockpit for the duration of this flight. And you will standby to release the "belly launcher" on my mark. Clear?[
Yes!
Good! Continue with the course. said the agent and left.
Is that slave, I tell you!I have been offered ters of thousands of ters to confirm that I have a slave onboard. The pilot was really pissed off. The ambassador wanted a slave home and I have to carry it for him.

On the back of the ekranoplane, in a couch, the two girls where each entering a small 2/1/0.5 m box. It really looks like a coffin with a pointy head thought the agent, but smiled encouraging to the dark girl. In a few minutes, a trap will be opened beneath the ekranoplane, and the two boxes will be jettisoned out.

And while Krater moved along, with a reliefed agent and a frustrated crew on board, an UBoat emerged to pick the boxes.

Package received, Commander! They will reach Ceahlau in the morning.
Great job, admiral! The plan is to be resumed after they reach Ceahlau base.
It shall be done
Order a full FSR investigation concearning the leaking of some secret information from the our embassy in Szraion. I want to know who spoke and why. There will not be any action against him at this point. I just want to be know that FSR is capable to serve higher goals than Radu's desire for power. TReC and the ambasador are free to ask for public appologies from RTV unless they want a trial.
Commander, FSR is just serving YOUR higher desire for power.
Touche!admiral. But Radu asked for this power to be given to the commander, and the people aprouved it. Then they've lost the election and I got that power. That poll will be coming soon, and we will know what the people want to do with the slaves. Meanwhile, we have a security leach. Find it, admiral!
Yes, commander!

092, he rarely thought of himself by his name anymore, crept forward. He'd dressed the elf in dark clothing, and himself...

Of course, all that had come after he had interviewed her, to find out everything he could. And he'd found out there were more elves, in the keeping of one Senior Government Official Jaxom de Saint-Exuprey. After that, the rest had been simple.

The morning business class flight to the Dominion of the Dread Lady. The unmarked, unregistered light wieght plastic pistol. Discovering that de Saint-Exubrey had a shuttle that could be used to transport the elves out of the country.

And so, 092 and Michelle, for that is what he had named the elf, crept along in the rapidly falling darkness at the edge of the grounds of the Castille de Saint-Exuprey

************

Inside the grand ediface that was his home, Jaxom de Saint-Exuprey was taking a hot bath. The Lavenrunzian Fleet was leaving soon. That much was obvious from their preparations. He glanced at the clock. The two elf slaves should be about done oiling each other down by now. He was going to have a goodtime tonight.

First would come the one he had used, 'Joanna' he had named her. But she would be a warm up for the night's main event. When he broke the other clone, Nicole, in for the first time. He could already feel the way his body thought about the possibility. He closed his eyes. Just a few minutes more in the water...

************

092 slid to a halt. The imposing building was across fifty meters of clear ground. He turned to the elf. "Stay here until I come to get you," he whispered. She nodded, warned earlier not to speak. 092 had dyed her hair black for this, because the meter of golden tresses was hard to hide. 092 pushed her deeper into the shadow of the bush, and then slipped into the darkness, headed towards the only building larger than a shed on the grounds.

************

Jaxom has quite enjoyed Joanna, but he knew she was quite skilled with her mouth and legs already. But thirty minutes of him had left her whimpering and bruised on the floor next to the bed.

Nicole was now straddling his knees, her pretty face screwed up in concentration as she wrapped her tongue around.... Ah yes. Whoever trained these elves had done an excellent job.

After a few minutes under the elf's skill, he felt he was ready to proceed. Pulling her head up by the ears, yanking her off of him, he tossed her roughly on her back on the bed and pulled her thighs apart forcefully.

************

092 had the gun out. He had killed the ten people who should have been here with his bare hands, but he wasn't taking any chances at this point. He nosed around the door to Jaxom's bedchamber with the gun.

************

So crimson... so like blood... Those were Jaxom de Saint-Exuprey's last thoughts as a mortal man. A 10 millimeter bullet slammed into the base of his skull and tore his head apart in an explosion of gore.

************

de Saint-Exuprey's personal shuttle roared of into the night, carrying a precious cargo of three elves out of the atmosphere. 092 has set the whole thing on autopilot, and it would contact the first Federation Military vessel it saw. 092 watched from the landing pad until the winking red dot of the drive field disappeared from view.

************

Thomas Mifflin watched as the plane circled Devras International Airport, a sight he has seen a number of times from the air. It was almost like home. Assuming there was a home for those such as he. What was his real name again? He couldn't remember.

But he was fairly sure he could disappear for a long time in the Dominion. Many of his setups in the Confederacy would continue to provide information, even without him.

But he would need money to disappear...

"Please Tellóm, I'm very interested in your past. And I think you have more of a past than the others - why don't you tell me about it?"
Uh oh... come on, work... "Well, really, I don't like to talk about my previous master. Mistress would be unhappy!" She turned a benign smile towards him. "Besides, if all you really want to hear about some story about waking up in a crate and what my master liked to do with me, I'm sure it wasn't the least bit unusual." The others, for the most part, hadn't offered that information up. Not much of it, anyway. "I'm bored and lonely. Surely you can spend a little time for play and not just talk talk talk?"

She wasn't quite sure that ploy had completely failed yet. She desparately scanned across her recollections of everything she'd seen in the room, trying to think of anything that could distract this man from his duties as... well, maybe even a servant to demons, she didn't know for sure.

Kel Rayat:

The green woman loomed over the Rayati. "We'd like to purchase a small yacht. Nothing too ... gaudy," she said, waving her arm at the dock. Her hoarse voice sounded as if it had been abused for some time; in truth, it had not been used for some time. "Nothing like slumming off the the blue yonder to relax after city-hopping. I want something relatively quick, not too noisy, and small enough for the two of us to not get lost in it. Nothing native, please, no offense, but we've just seen Szraion. What do you have on hand?"

The couple in question seemed tall enough to find each other in the battleship Yamato of olden days. Maybe the somewhat greasy looking fellow in the turban was half blind; that would explain why they thought they'd need a small boat.

Elsewhere in Kel Rayat:


Dr Leyaki flushed, and then turned to his samples, now dropping their cloaks one by one to reveal perfection and splendor in eight distinct packages.

"Model 1." He waved, and a tall lithe redhead stepped up, very lightly freckled, very pale, and with innocent blue eyes.
"Model 2." Blonde, buxom, and also fairly tall, with bright blue eyes and a naturally tanned complexion.
"Model 3." Medium, dark of hair, and a medium brown of skin, and oh so perfectly proportioned.
"Model 4." Petite, with blue eyes and brown hair.
"Model 5." Very petite, and oriental; her eyes almost shone gold beneath the brown.
"Model 6." Gleaming dark African skin with sharp dramatic hourglass curves.
"Model 7." Remarkably similar to the Siri clones, if somewhat shorter and a little less severe of features.
"Model 8 - specially engineered for increased endurance, lower maintainence, and superior pleasuring capabilities by yours truly." The last was nearly jet black - not the so-called black of the darkest natural humans to step out of Africa, but the very black of night, with a hint of green underlying it. Relatively short, her silver hair and soft lavender eyes would stand out of a crowd on any template; let alone one so smooth, so well sculpted, and so distinctive.

"Each model has been carefully selected on a combination of tested genomes, optimizing natural biddability, trainability, health, and beauty under a broad selection of cultural parameters available within our research. Unique serial number is labelled in a discreet tattoo here," he turned the first model around, tracing a finger across the left cheek of her shapely rump, "Visible only under ultraviolet scan."

"Each has been trained to be the consummate high end service unit - love slave, if you will." Dr. Leyaki beamed at Aurelian Rayat. "As is easily demonstrated."

The Docks, Kel Rayat

"A small boat, a small boat," the elderly Rayati boatseller wheezed. "Small boats are down this end of the docks. Follow me!"

Hobbling along, the old man led the two foreigners down to the far end of the docks, where the smaller vessels were kept. There was no particular order; sailing yachts were berthed next to speedboats, and there was even, incongruously, a large wooden canoe bobbing at anchor.

"Not Szraioni, hmm ... this one is not Szraioni."

"This one" was also possibly the most expensive boat at anchor here, sleek and white, looking like some millionaire's toy.

"The boat can reach speeds of 300kph," the old man said, "And is quiet, too!"

The Chamber of the Heart, Kel Rayat

"Impressive," Aurelian said, remembering to exhale. "Very impressive indeed, Dr. Leyaki. I'm sure you won't mind if I retire to test these products, no? In the meantime, I believe that my Senekhal has certain questions for you regarding the financial side of this enterprise."

There was no real question in his voice; who, after all, refuses the most powerful Kelraikh of Szraion? Once the Heart, his concubines, and Leyaki's samples had departed, Domitian rose from his seat at the right of Aurelian's throne.

The Senekhal was past middle age, his hair a venerable silver, but there was still a sharp intelligence in the deep hollows of his eyes.

"You do good work, Leyaki," he said. "I think you've already convinced the Kelraikh; or if not he will very soon be convinced, no? I at that age was not so different.

"But you must also convince me, good Doctor, and at my age I am not so influenced by pretty women. Speak to me of price, of quantity, of shipping; these things have the greater beauty, in my eyes."

Jax bowed. "Highest Lord Praetor, blessed of the prophets, I come unto thee bearing the gift of heaven. Our Lady has granted us a communion of the highest order, blessed by her own hand." He gestured to a sealed box, unmarked.

"Blessed be, Jax. The congregation thanks you for your service, and you will be commended at the services this coming Sunday." The captain frowned. "At ease, Sargeant. I've had a disturbing report that some of the scientists have been considering escape. We picked up several coded signals in Complex A earlier; the signal pattern is a general match to eighty percent similarity to cortex bombs that we've been toying with. The security grid has been experiencing difficulties in some of her pet scientists' residence wing, and I'm betting the two are related."

"I want you to get to the bottom of this, Sargeant."

In some nation, a church, not too unlike other churches in outward appearance...

"...and let the flesh of our Lady's enemies be rent by Her wrath, and let our enemies be her enemies, for She is great and terrible. Let the minions of she whose red eyes hunger for human blood be forever foiled, and Paradise unfold upon the faithful. Oh, Lady, hear our prayer!"

"Amen!"

"May the Lady grant us health and wealth. May the Lady grant us long life. May victory come to Her faithful."

"Amen!"

"And now, please open to hymn #7 in your books as we begin this communion."

She who died twice inside
To live again, shall forever glide
And said she
As she passed to her soldiers round
"This is the flesh of my enemies, eat it,
This is the blood they will spill, drink it,
For you will bathe on the Plains of Justice,
In a righteous light divine...

The priest and his assistant stood at the front of the line, tearing and handing out thin strips of rawhide to the parishoners, along with drops of wine from a decanter held high.

Kel Rayat, East Docks:

"How much does it cost?" The green woman frowned. "And what else do you have on hand in a similar range? White is not my favorite color, after all."

Jacob frowned and signalled Lepress. Boat looks OK from outside, but need look inside, too.

"Oh, and could we have a closer look around this one? I prefer to inspect it in entirety before making any decisions."

Kel Rayat, Chamber of the Heart

"By all means, milord." Dr. Leyaki waved to his presentational assistants. "We are, among other things, a respectable multinational shipping corporation. Alfred, portfolio number seven, please?"

The assistant offered the Senekhal a slim folder.

"As you can see, we have ready access to secure shipping. We essentially base our operations in international waters shipside; this does, unfortunately, limit both cost efficiency considerations and overall production rate. We can anticipate turning out roughly four hundred units per year, but due to the lag time involved in this business, adjusting this rate and the mix of models (as well as introducing new models) is on a turnaround time on the order of years."

"We are willing to negotiate a bit on pricing..." Dr. Leyaki frowned. He was willing to go about down to [~$1M/unit] quite readily if pressed with competitive figures, but with any luck, he could negotiate a wholesale price of at least twice that. It depended on what his old associates may have been pricing... with his luck, he may have to cut a relatively narrow margin of production costs vs. wholesale costs to pay back on the research and setup costs, and simply count on a long term profit.

"We understand that it is a relatively small quantity, but should we find such a business partnership agreeable, it may be possible to expand operations at some point in the future into land-based facilities in Szraion to increase production and reduce overall costs. A low quantity, however, avoids the problems of potential market flooding and allows the retailer - namely yourself - to control pricing closely."

The Docks, Kel Rayat

"Hmmph! There are other colours, miss, but they're not so good, yes? Yes, yes, you can look inside it, sir."

The interior of the boat was as luxurious as it's exterior, possibly more so.

"Cost..." the old man appeared to do quick mental calculations, factoring in the apparent wealth of the prospective applicants with the actual price the boat was worth. "Twenty-two million denariszi (OOC: About 7 million USD). This boat, it is worth the cost!"

The Chamber of the Heart, Kel Rayat

"I see," Domitian replied. Dollar signs (or their Szraioni equivalent) were flashing before his eyes. "Yes, should this go well I'd be most willing to provide on-shore facilities."

And possibly control the means of production as well as the market, Domitian thought.

"I believe that your competitors are selling their product for three million denariszi, Dr. Leyaki. I'm sure we can come to some more profitable arrangement, no? After all, we both want your competition gone."

Sharks would have fled at the Senekhal's predatory grin.

"You might want to consider diversifying your range of the more exotic products sometime," he suggested, "Like that black-skinned one. It's the exotics which will catch the eyes of the jaded nobility up in Kivaj Rekhai or the neighbouring states, you see."

East Dock:
Too high. Ask lower, ask MRM. Jacob folded his hands and poked around the cabin silently.

Lepress nodded. "I could get a racing toy like this one elsewhere for less than that. 10 million denarisz, perhaps? Or do you have something a little more ... rustic looking?"

"Hrrmph." the old man scowled, looking upset. "Yes, yes, there are less expensive boats too! If you wish to row yourself, they can be very cheap."

He hobbled off down the wharf to an older boat, covered in fading green paint.
LepressJacob examine the boat together.

"So tell me about this floating refrigerator, then. Does this one also fly?" The green woman was clearly unimpressed.
"This is only six million denariszi, but it is not quite so nice! Top speed of fifty knots. It will get you places, yes, well, but not in such comfort."

Fast enough, Jacob signalled. OK price. Closer look.

"For six million denariszi and a used vessel, I expect it to not be entirely ill-accommodated. Let's take a closer look; I have trouble believing it's really worth that price." Lepress walked out onto the dock for a closer look, Jacob and the old man close behind.

"Is of course worth that price!" the old man exclaimed, leading them aboard. The boat was not in excellent shape, but good enough; it was still functional, and had no visible damage. The Rayati salesman was obviously, however, overcharging; when one has a monopoly, that's easy to do.

Engine checks out OK.

"Perhaps we could consider 4 million denarisz in cash up front?"

The old man scowled, bushy eyebrows contracting to form a single white line across his forehead. "Five million," he snapped.

"Throw in a fresh paint job in a slightly darker shade of green right now and you have a deal." Lepress tried her best to look haughty. "It simply wouldn't do for any boat of mine to have a poor paint job."

The eyebrows contracted further, and the old man's glare could have cut diamond. "I am not a painter!" He protested. "Add five thousand for the paint. I cannot hire men to repaint the boat with air, miss!"

Not a bad deal. "Very well. Five million and five thousand, with a nice tidying up and a fresh paint job, ready by this evening. We have a deal."

"Paint does not dry that fast, miss! All the money in the world cannot change that! It will be painted by tomorrow, no sooner, yes?"

Lepress sighed. Tommorrow is too long. "Tommorrow? Very well, then, we'll skip the paint job then. Four and a half million denarisz in cash for the boat, was it?"

Jacob pulled out four and a half million denarisz from voluminous pockets, holding out the bundles of bills in front of the old man.

Seeing the price rapidly going downwards, the old man decided not to argue further; explaining this to the officials in charge of his sales would be hard enough.

"Done," he said, holding out an expectant hand, thick with varicose veins and liver-spots.

Lepress, after a moment's hesitation, shook it firmly and passes the money over. They then walk towards the boat with their suitcase. Still glowering, and muttering impolite things in Szraioni, the old man hobbled off as the unusual couple ducked to avoid bumping their heads on the way into the boat.

Chamber of the Heart:

"3 million denarisz? Preposterous! Given their situation, they couldn't possibly sustain sales at that price!" Dr. Leyaki nervously chewed his lower lip. I can see how it would be possible, actually... He shook his head, and paused, hearing the Senekhal make his suggestion. "Not bad ideas, mind, but I'm not particularly interested in trying to eliminate my competition, just competing. I suppose with an outlay of 3 million per unit on the wholesale, I could manage to develop a few more exotic model designs over the next couple years without running into cash flow problems. It takes a considerable amount of work to make truly excellent and original models."

Dr. Leyaki paused. "Of course, if I'm concentrating my efforts on research, and you wish us to start expansion into secure ground facilities within the next year or two (assuming that we maintain a mutually profitable relationships), you would probably have to absorb much of the cost of building ground based facilities for the time being... cash flow issues."

Good Evening ladies and gentlemen, I am Randy Quaid, Welcome to the Evening News!

RevTerr want to help the slaves, but it can't! This is how commander Revert described the results of the national poll on the so-called "Slave Issue". The poll itself was very criticised, since too many of the revterrans failed to pass the trick questions. This is how, although most of us consider that slavery is bad to society, half of us won't mind owning a slave or two. However, asked if they would vote a law allowing slaves in RevTerr, 85,2% of our population said they won't. The option of "importing" slaves from Szraion and free them here was also rejected "as it was", the main reason being an unballance in the workforce.

Finally it all came down to Minister Crist Dragh's ideea: let's change nothing! At the gates of our embassies and behind them on our diplomatic territory, every one, even a slave in his country, will be treated as a citisen. They will have all the rights to shelter and/or azylum any foreign citisen has, and their requests will be processed accordingly.
This situation offers an oportunity to those who can afford an addoption. Since after owning a slave you can do what you want with him (at least in our continental neighbour, Szraion), one could addopt a former Szraioni slave and turn him into his family. Asked about this posibility, Minister Dragh said: That's true, but after the addoption, (if the request will be accepted, that is) the former slave will be a free citizen, so addopting them for sex or anything of that sort will be out of discussion

Crist Dragh failed to say what is the law our ambassadors will follow in dealing with slaves and their requests. He just said that we will deal with that when the time comes. He also failed to come up with a way to deal with the genetically created (meaning "build to please") slaves, the nsnet is full of. However, no one could blame him, since the poll's ipoteticall question "What should we do in the case of clones genetically created/ireversible brainwashed to please?" received 40% of "Don't know/Won't answer". Commander Revert admitted that the Headquarter was not ready for a non-ipoteticall question like that and said that a law will be passed "as soon as we figure out what to do"

As for the slave requests, the commander said we will follow the common sense

Well, Commander, this will, in time, solve Ana's problem. How about Bella?
I don't know yet, Crist. To allow those living puppets admiral Nita showed me from NetWatch would mean to raise again some spirits. I have that report from Cristin, here, concearning Bella. She isn't as dumb as we though she is..
Or as young as we thought. I've read it too. Although I doubt that she is over fifty, I trust our scientists.
The point is that we can say that the eagerness to please was a result of her childhood, almost an illness, if you'd like.
Isn't this a bit too far?
Probably it is. But we will have something to start with when someone will want to adopt a Bella-type of slave.
I doubt that this possibility will appear. Ambasador Vij says these slaves elfs are not so common in Szraion. Actually he says he could not find any other information about this, except that there is another state interested in them. Informations concearning the name or the reason of that state are contradictory...
...so we have nothing to work with.
Commander, Bella could be turn into Crist smilled a valuable member of our society Revert smiled too, remembering the line from Radu's Party electoral speach. What about that really dumb sex-clones the nsnet is full of?
No one asked for a licence to sell them in our country, and our post service does not have a contract with any country that produce them. We have a hard time figuring out where those countries are located so we are safe for now. There are a few senators who are gathering signatures to subject a law to the parliament on this matter, and we will wait to see what are they up to.

Cristin is an island north-east of the main RevTerran island. Remnants of a former continent, now it is the center of revterran science. Here there is a section for every type of science known to RevTerr, and most of what is done here is secret. RevTerr is, more or less, a North-Koreean type of democracy.
In the Psychiatry sector, assistent-psychiatrist Ral Niro was looking outside the main window, to Bella, playing in the park. Every deprograming methods they tried failed to turn Bella into a "normal" person, and the assistent suddently understood Commander Revert's desire to keep her secret. Ral felt (again) those butterfly in the stomach (and not only in the stomach), watching Bella laying on the grass. Damn, she was beautifull. What if...
Ral, you are starring again. The voice of Doctor Meredin came from somewhere very far away from Ral's mind (but from only two meterrs away from his body)
Well, err, I was thinking of something.
Go on...
We have to try to wake up the self awarness inside her, right?
Wrong! I dissaprouve doctor Lipsa's opinion that she has no self awaress. I tell you boy, that girl is sentient and you know it.
Do I?
And you want to be a psychiatrist some day... Listen Ral, do you think you could love a cow?
A what?
A cow, an animal, whatever....
Well, if it looked like that....
Don't mock me boy, although you've hit the jackpot. Meredin started to speak faster and faster: We are both men and we are alone now, so let's have a men talk. Look at her! You want her?
Err...
Yes/No/I don't know/I don't want to know. And be honest!
Yes
Do you love her?
I won't...
...Yes/No/I don't know. It's a private discussion, it won't appear in you record, and even if FSR has bugs in this lab, I'm the head scientist and I chose my team. Whatever your answer is (and I already know it) you will stay in the project. Meredin was all but screaming: Now, do you love her?
I think I do. I know where you are getting. I love my cat, but that's an animal. Idon't love her like I love my cat, I love her like I love my girlfriends.
Good Meredin's voice was now calm. Keep that to yourself, and make her love you. Not like a cat love it's masters, but like a girlfriend loves you. When you will achieve that, she will be free to exit that garden and have a normal life. The storm was over. Now, I think it is time for her math lesson. But wait! We started this conversation with you thinking of something...
Yes, I was, actually. I was thinking, we have to let her do whatever she feel happy to do, right?
Within some limits.
Of course. But she won't brake those limits anyway, since it won't "please the master". What if one day she comes to us saying "I want to get laid!"?
Well, the sexual instinct is a normal human instinct. In this case, however, I'll probably call Commander Revert, for instructions.
I can imagine a phone talk like

Headquarters, how may I help you?
I would like to speak with Commander Revert.
He is not available, may I take a message?
Yes, tell him that his slave want sex!

The Chamber of the Heart, Kel Rayat

Domitian nodded; that was reasonable enough.

"If you plan to sell at the same price as your competitors, then your selling point is your product and not your price. Not that that should be a problem for you; you already offer several more models then they do, or so my operatives report.

"Should this enterprise be profitable, I'm sure that that covering the costs of land-based facilities shall be no problem. Should it not be so profitable ... well then, we would have to reconsider. Hopefully we will not need to do so."

Domitian nodded; that was reasonable enough.

"If you plan to sell at the same price as your competitors, then your selling point is your product and not your price. Not that that should be a problem for you; you already offer several more models then they do, or so my operatives report.

"Should this enterprise be profitable, I'm sure that that covering the costs of land-based facilities shall be no problem. Should it not be so profitable ... well then, we would have to reconsider. Hopefully we will not need to do so."

"I believe we have an arrangement then, provided the Kelraikh finds my wares of acceptable quality," he said with feigned confidence, proceeding to wait nervously for the Kelraikh to return.

His lack of confidence wasn't rooted in the training of his "wares" - that, he was confident in - but the Rayati. These people were distinctly in control of this place, and the sooner he was happily ensconced in his work and his organization, the better. Powerful people made him nervous, and for a very good reason...

OOC: Semi-bump light post. RP is still open, although I have plenty of story left to spool out in this thread already... :wink: By the way, on the note of this subplot, anybody particularly think their nation would make a good next stop for Lepress and Jacob?

The couple began setting out in the pale green yacht. Jacob knew his way around ships, and this one was hardly difficult to manage. Destination was quite the question... for now, away was a good enough destination.

Lepress was feeling quite the urge to sunbathe as soon as they got out of Szraioni waters. The new green skin tint wasn't entirely cosmetic... nor, for that matter, was the new cyberware. Jacob wasted no time scrubbing the greasy makeup off his face as soon as he'd laid in a course straight out of the area.

Fortunately for Tellóm, Atengco's willpower was rather limited, "I'm sure I could spare some time for play," he said with a brief smile.

[ooc: Should have posted here *way* earlier. Well... Now I do.]

The two men entered the room with the clone in it, the clone herself still accompanied by the menelmacari elf, giving her some sort of... secure feeling, although there wasn´t much of it.

Heck... thats the one?
Yeah. She just did *chop*, and the man was... well...
Ok. Have to be careful, eh?
Yah.

They nodded to the Menelmacari, then sat down on a pair of chairs near to the bed the clone was in.

The clone might have seen them as somewhat... threatening. They wore black clothes and gloves, only the sunglasses were missing, possibly to prevent a complete stereotype.

"We´re from The Enforcers, private security agency. Our... services have been requested regarding the clone issue. While we`re currently in the process of checking transports etc. for hints of the origin of the clone, and while we have fairly good evidence regarding her... 'abuse', we would still like to collect more data... We already got a tissue probe of her, due to the standard medical examination... Perhaps we can find out something about her origin, due to some details in her DNA and or tissue... the way she was grown, what kinds of devices were used, etc..

In any case... We want to know more. Even the things she has in her subconcious, to gain some information about its origin...

I doubt you have any problems with use doing a deep scan on her?" One of the two looked straight at the Menelmacari near the window. He didn´t like to 'ask'. He wasn´t used to asking for such... normal procedures, but his superiors had demanded it, to prevent 'hurting feelings'. Always this complicate things... He really, really didn´t like it, since this was most definitely their jurisdiction...

But well, he couldn´t help it.

ooc: Well TJ ... if you're looking for a place to disappear, have lots of cash to blow, and needing folks that money can buy ... y'all can take a stroll through the Dominion. Lots of places to dock at - penninsula after all, and a large island, not to mention all the smaller ones. Sure, things are running tight right now, but as you're no military threat (and have cash) I'm sure you could manage to blend in. There's the Mob aspect and everything, if you really want to delve a bit. At any rate, no, no idea what I'd be getting into, but figured it'd make sense as at least a temp refuge or something.

OOC: I suppose I may have lost most of your attention spans in the past few weeks; I have been rather busy of late. Nevertheless, I have more story to spin, and it will come out eventually. Astoundingly enough... it's still open!

There. Deep. Hidden within that which was hidden from the world, and hidden from even her eyes. Perhaps.
The fervent roar of the massed congregation was stunningly loud to Jax, for the first time standing before it instead of within it. Holding his arm high, he called to them, and they to him. Bringing the shining knife down to his side, he felt a nervous drip slide down the inside of his bicep.
"From our Lady to our lips, blessed be this communion. Take this as the flesh of her enemies, to be rent and torn; take this as the tears of slaves bound by chains of pride; take this, and blessed be."

Jax shook his head, willing himself back to the present and the incongruously quiet table. The Lord Praetor's quiet recitation of the Blessing of the Communion in the small dining hall could barely have been more different than his, and the smooth short sermon that had preceded the Blessing had a degree of sophistication - and frankness - the congregation never heard in church. The audience was much smaller, much more sophisticated, and spiritually more advanced, of course, but the contrasts came as a surprise to even his long-faithful self. The captain was truly a remarkable man, and Jax would be mulling over this night for a long time.

For now, though, he would enjoy the meal and the company, raising his crystal glass to greet his neighbors in an unspoken toast, and sipping carefully at the pale lavender wine, lightly salty.

"Jax," the lieutenant to his right quietly muttered to him, "I daresay you may receive a full commission soon."

He flushed. I suppose he is right, he thought, pausing in midbite to savor a chunk of succulent meat and consider a modest reply to the officer. The highest of high communions was, he had heard, sometimes the occasion of some small secular business as well - considering the intimate and influential circle involved, it came as no surprise.

Fortunately for Tellóm, Atengco's willpower was rather limited, "I'm sure I could spare some time for play," he said with a brief smile.
Tellóm was vastly reassured by Atengco's melt. She had been truly worried there. Now, of course, it was clear, her secrets would remain, as she moved to engage him in the most distracting activities she had been trained in. The secrets whispered to her to kill the man in his most vulnerable moments, but she was too unsure. Too unsure of how to kill, and also unsure as to the nature of demons and their lackies.

Of course, were there any hidden security monitors in the room, or if anyone stumbled upon the unusually involved "interview," or even if Atengco, mulling over it the next morning, recognized how dramatically her deliberate - one might even say subtly aggressive - behavior went against the observed grain of her training and the behavior patterns seen in her sisters. In the mean time, Tellóm's confidence would remain justified as she put her keen observational skills - honed to better serve her future owners from an early age - to use in finding out about these who might be demons, or servants of demons.

The realm of her highness, the Dread Lady Nathicana. A port city on the peninsula.

They were an odd couple, the ones with the pale green yacht. It wasn't just that they were both well over six feet tall, or the fact that the woman was a strong shade of green, with dark green hair. They had arrived in port with no cargo, workaday clothing, and large sums of outlandish money - much of which they would be taking to the exchange houses. Their relatively sparse paperwork was a deficiency they hoped to correct, with the aid of that money.

It might be handy to sell the yacht, but they weren't considering it as a high priority as they pulled into port, preparing to face the customs officers a state like this one might offer. Jacob felt confident that their lack of contraband would help score points with any honest official. Bribable officials would be even easier to manage. Well, perhaps some of what Lepress now wore within her might be contraband, but surely any customs inspector willing to look that deeply would realize how awkward resale of those would be.

The Chamber of the Heart, Kel Rayat, Szraion

Aurelian Rayat sauntered back into the Chamber of the Heart, followed by his concubines in various states of undress.

The smile on his lips, and the sigh of contentment that issued from them as he sat back down on his throne, marked him as pleased with Doctor Leyaki's products.

Centuries ago the first Kelraikh Rayat had been a general, and despite the bad habits his descendants had picked up over the passing years, the wolf's smile he gave Leyaki had not changed an iota. It was, however, a sated wolf.

"We have a deal, Doctor Leyaki," he said. "We have deal indeed. I trust you've discussed the particulars with my Senekhal?"

Open seas. A freighter that had, in the past, plied the port of Kivaj Rekhai for some quiet business...

Captain Vittorio yawned. Calm seas, beautiful weather... I love the sailing life. He peered across the ocean at the bow of his cargo ship, mesmerized by the regularity of the waves as they broke across the slow moving vessel's prow. What's that, over there? Is that some sort of customs vessel? The distinct lines of a hydrofoil craft were recognizable at a distance; Vittorio had run enough illicit cargos recently to have made studying them a habit. Well, today I have nothing to worry about. That woman in Kivaj Rekhai hasn't sent word for any more of those special "live shipment" boxes; I don't even have any drugs on board. Those boxes give me the creeps... they look like coffins. He shuddered. That was some good money, though. I wonder if maybe I can find another market, get back in touch with that "Badger" fellow, and ship some more off on my next run...

The craft was approaching more quickly than he'd realized; it was smaller than he expected, and that was throwing his distance off. He felt vaguely uneasy as they signalled him to stand by for an inspection.

At some level, he had to have noticed that there weren't any coast guard markings or recognizable flags on the ship, and this unease crossed over to the crew... who quietly checked personal weapons on their own in furtiveness born of paranoia. Piracy on the open seas never was truly eradicated, and crews with less than entirely lawful records in particular felt far more comfortable with a few reassurances on board.

The lone man climbing up the boarding ladder was unarmed, a fact that reassured Vittorio a great deal.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "I was wondering if we could talk in private for a moment." He waved a manilla folder in the air. "My apologies for interrupting your journey."

Curiouser and curiouser. "Oh, certainly. It's no trouble, really." He waved the crew off as he walked down the deck with the stranger.

The stranger pulled out a photograph and passed it to him. "Ever seen this man before?"
"No." DEFAULT REGISTERED STATE = 0.
"This one?"
"No." BIOMETRICS STEADY, STATE = 0.
"Ah. Well, how about this one?"
Vittorio recognized the fellow best known as the "Badger." I knew that was too profitable to last... His heart jumped into his throat before he remembered he "No." BIOMETRICS ELEVATED STRESSED, STATE > 0.
"Have you seen a ship like this in the past week?"
The picture showed a large cruise liner with a bright red hull.
"Of course not." Vittorio didn't think he'd ever seen a ship that shade of red. As the man tucked the picture back in the folder and closed it definitively, he spoke again. "Would you like to take a look around in the cargo hold?" I have nothing to hide.
"I would love to."

Fifteen minutes later...

The stranger walked back on deck by himself, nodding to the suspicious glares of the crew as he ambled down the boarding ladder.
"All clear, folks, no need for me to delay you any further." The glares didn't let up, but the man didn't let it bother him as his ship pulled away. They'd doubtless notice the dead captain soon on their own, and the ships had barely parted by two hundred fifty yards when the sea erupted beneath the cargo ship, cracking its hull open. 66mm rockets hammered the cargo vessel and machine gun fire from the apparently unarmed hydrofoil raked across those crew members on deck; it would soon sink, and none would survive.

Belowdecks:
"Mayday, mayday, we're un-"

Aboard the "patrol vessel":

"He appeared to have no knowledge of Spiner, but he seemed to have done previous business with Spiner's contact in the area, rest his soul."
"As expected. Let's move."

The Chamber of the Heart, Kel Rayat, Szraion

Aurelian Rayat sauntered back into the Chamber of the Heart, followed by his concubines in various states of undress.

The smile on his lips, and the sigh of contentment that issued from them as he sat back down on his throne, marked him as pleased with Doctor Leyaki's products.

Centuries ago the first Kelraikh Rayat had been a general, and despite the bad habits his descendants had picked up over the passing years, the wolf's smile he gave Leyaki had not changed an iota. It was, however, a sated wolf.

"We have a deal, Doctor Leyaki," he said. "We have deal indeed. I trust you've discussed the particulars with my Senekhal?"

Dr. Leyaki flushed. "Yes, we have. If you will excuse us, I believe I have some work to do aboard my ship. We'll keep in close touch, and I look forward to having a productive relationship with you."

Cold sweat ran down from his armpits, tickling his ribs as they trailed down. He felt nervous, for some instinct deep within him sensed the wolf shining through the Kelraikh. Something about an affinity with sheep.

Tellóm was vastly reassured by Atengco's melt. She had been truly worried there. Now, of course, it was clear, her secrets would remain, as she moved to engage him in the most distracting activities she had been trained in. The secrets whispered to her to kill the man in his most vulnerable moments, but she was too unsure. Too unsure of how to kill, and also unsure as to the nature of demons and their lackies.

Of course, were there any hidden security monitors in the room, or if anyone stumbled upon the unusually involved "interview," or even if Atengco, mulling over it the next morning, recognized how dramatically her deliberate - one might even say subtly aggressive - behavior went against the observed grain of her training and the behavior patterns seen in her sisters. In the mean time, Tellóm's confidence would remain justified as she put her keen observational skills - honed to better serve her future owners from an early age - to use in finding out about these who might be demons, or servants of demons.


Tellóm, like her genetic sisters ((Who I'm assuming aren't having the same 'problems.')) had practical run of the place. The lower levels were restricted, and if she tried to enter those, the doors simply didn't open. The highest levels were particularly palatial, though her apartments weren't exactly modest.

The inside of the mountain structure was simply astounding in its ostentation. Long corridors were decorated with marble statues and intricate murals. The vaulted ceilings were decorated in a complex pattern of blues turquoises and gold leaf tracing. Doubtless among any explorations of the place she undertook she would find many vast galleries, containing everything from huge ornamental gardens and indoor woods to art galleries containing precious artworks from dozens if not hundreds of cultures.

If at any point, she explored the lower levels - somehow gaining access, many of her beliefs would be set into stone by what she would find there.

Everywhere she stumbled in on, briefing rooms, lounges, the apartments of various other inhabitants, she was quietly and even affectionately shooed out of if she wasn't supposed to be there. Everyone showed her considerable affection - they knew about the Sirithil clones and generally regarded them as sort of mascots, harmless and sweet creatures. There weren't many elves around the place, but there were a few here and there.

In many of these rooms the wouldn't be bothered at all, as she was presumed to be quite safe, a harmless, brainwashed clone who would never think of betraying them. As such, if she wandered in on all but the most classified activities, she would be glanced at, perhaps with a few brief smiles, little waves or friendly words of greeting, and then everyone would return to their business, for the most part ignoring her entirely.

Among the places of interest she would possibly enter without anyone interfering (as they were deserted) were command and control centres for the Confederate - it would be some time before that name would change - Internal Security Agency, and the Centre for the Prevention of Terrorism, both of which, though she probably didn't know it contained records relating to a certain prisoner of the ISA who would be of great interest to those who had created her - the prisoner of interest was easy enough to find in the records, as his serial number was #000-001. The ISA tended to process its prisoners quickly, resulting in either execution, parole to particular towns composed solely of ex-prisoners, or unconditional release, but this particular man - or rather elf, had been there, confined in the high security facility of Vogal-Procor for many, many years.

Other places, with less of an irony factor that she might have visited were medical facilities, large vaults of foodstuffs, wines and other items, and the uppermost levels of the place, which she wouldn't - surprisingly - be shooed from, as their occupant (who technically owned her, and certainly would in her mind) had no problems with seeing her if she wanted to see 'him' (or 'her.') Said occupant would indeed easily qualify as a 'daemon' though she wouldn't be able to tell that at first glance - at least not most of the time.

Unfortunately for her, hidden, and highly sophisticated, monitors had indeed recorded her behaviour. On reflection, and looking over that footage, Atengco began to feel that there was something slightly wrong, different and aggressive about her behaviour. It was most strange. For now they'd do nothing about her but watch though.

Tellóm, like her genetic sisters ((Who I'm assuming aren't having the same 'problems.')) had practical run of the place.
OOC: A justifiable assumption.
Tellóm was, in her subtle fashion, taking what she considered to be full advantage of having the free run of the place to gather information. Unfortunately, she had little comprehension of what sort of advantages she could be taking; in spite of exposure to classified material in quantity, she had little interest in matters of national security. She had, however, decided that - as so much of the information she could garner from overheard conversations was difficult to clarify without revealing the measure of her curiousity - that she needed to look through the written "files" people mentioned so often, which apparently were full of information.

This presented a small obstacle; Tellóm was barely literate. Her training had not prepared her for detailed analysis of written work, and her previous owner hadn't encouraged her to read much. It wasn't something she had anticipated being useful. She also didn't want to reveal her sudden interest, and the deserted command centers were nice, quiet, and generally free from interruption.

Thus were the circumstances that found Tellóm covertly filching reading material and bringing it back to the command centers to pore over, puzzling over unfamiliar words in the quietest hours of the palace, next to those oh-so-interesting files.

Perhaps soon she would find out that these interesting files were right nearby, and be able to actually get into them. In the mean time, her light fingers would be lifting a second, less interesting collection of information to nearby, secreted about the command centers.

She was extremely curious about the resident of the upper floors, but didn't wander up there on her own. Instead, with a few careful comments, she nudged her sisters into making visits, pumping them for information with a subtlety that few without intimate knowledge of their mutual training would be able to match. And what she was hearing only made her more curious... and warier.

OOC: You may want to clarify the nature of what she is hearing, of course. And whether or not she might get into the files someday.

The reports that she received were generally very mixed, sometimes there was no one around at all, sometimes a man, about six foot two with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, who generally seemed to make time to talk to them. Sometimes Fëaelen, whom they’d all met before was there, and once, a different being was there, a creature that Alatádae glimpsed, walking somewhere, glowing with a soft, almost beautiful golden light, it had been a great figure. Beyond that she didn’t see much else, as she left rather rapidly in order to avoid being seen.

Of course, events once more conspired to favour Tellóm’s investigations. It was rather encouraged that she learn to read, and indeed – though she’d not been observed by anyone, except perhaps the increasingly suspicious Atengco – supplied with a large variety of reading materials taken from a large library.

Doubtless she’d get into the files she wanted to look at eventually – although the computer systems were secure, there were, hidden away, great vaults of paper copies of much of it, archived in strict order of their creation, and fully indexed. Given the natural talent that most elves had with languages, and her progenitor was no exception, Tellóm would eventually learn of them, and begin to look down there.

---------------------------------

Atengco however, after two days of monitoring her received a visit, from ‘the boss.’ The tallish man observed by Tellóm’s innocent spies took a seat.

“Sir,” said the psychologist and general clone observer, “About number six.”

“Yes, Tellóm,” said the ‘demon.’

“Yessir, I have some concerns about her…”

“Don’t bother. I’ve read your reports. Stop bothering her.”

“Sir?”

“I have a little suspicion that her ferreting in the files may eventually come to benefit us,” he said, “That’s why I upgraded her access to them in the first place.”

ooc: after getting clearance...

The elf was seemingly... unused to this kind of action. However, he nodded, not knowing that the two men had forgotten to mention certain details... Like, that this kind of scan could be risky... They weren`t used to the minds of elves, and it was far from impossible that there would be some... nasty results.

A loss of her memory would, for all practical reasons, be annoying as hell, that much was certain. However, that wasn`t exactly a worst case scenario. The two men knew the damage could go much further... mental illnesses, and certainly not the ones you consult a psychologist for. And if it would go really bad...

Well, while frying ones nervous system tends to kill the victim within about a minute, it was at leat a painless death... Although the two wondered what this people thought while dying without feeling... anything.

The clone was certainly nervus... Understandable, after all, this men in front of her were of the same kind that had tormented her just mere days ago, and it would take a while (If it was possible at all) until she could even begin to trust them...

But she didn´t really have the opportunity of struggling against it, they were in her mind long before she realised what was happening.

Bit after bit, they took her mind, examined it, disassembling it into smaller and smaller parts, looking at each one in great detail...

She struggled, but only for a while, until she was unable to do anything, until her mind was nothing more than a list of things, of memories...

However, it wasn`t pleasent... Well, it never is pleasent, but in this particular case...

Soon, they discovered the first, the more recent things, the owner, her second owner, the deeds they did to her...

One of the men suddenly pulled out, vomiting. Nobody said anything, the reason was fairly... obvious.

Now the second part was to be staged, finding out who was responsible... and where it happened.

[ooc: Yours to decide what they find out. I assume that they *have* some defences implemented, considering the customer]

---

Southern DA, Jhalavar harbour

The area was... scary, to say the least. Although crime was officially non- existing... Well, it didn`t mean to much, now, did it?

Walking along the empy piers, they watched for possible threats, mainly bioengineered animals that tended to escape the labs that produced them. Luckily, there were non of them.

There were two men walking, one a fairly large one with a face like a bulldog, his head shaved. A tattoo on his left hand featured a black dragon with oversized teeth. The other one was medium sized and, compared to the first, fairly well clad.

"F*cking stupid weather... Always rain. ALWAYS!"
"I hear ya."
"Anyway... You`re sure the source is correct? I mean... it was a bit easy, don`t you think so?"
The smaller one of the two looked up. "Yes. But it is the best source we have. Nevermind it being risky... Acquiring the clone..."
"Orders from higher up?"
"Yes. Guess they`re a bit... megalomanic. Perhaps they want to exchange the real Sirithil with a clone, should the opportunity arise..."
"Well... I wonder if I`m allowed to have a bit of fun..."
"No. Oh, there it is. Wonder if he lied or has the information, perhaps even the product itself..."
"He is reliable..."
"For Knootian shit, yes. But this stuff is a few levels higher up..."

They stopped talking when they entered a presumably empty container to their right, soaked to the skin. Inside, a group of people was already waiting, their leader a tall, blonde woman looking kind of like a cockbiting bloodgoddess.

[ooc: Your decision if they just lied, have information, or a clone ;)]

OOC: Post will be forthcoming. Yes, time to bring some new information to light. Dang, I didn't even realize I'd let it slide for this long :shock:

The reports that she received were generally very mixed, sometimes there was no one around at all, sometimes a man, about six foot two with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, who generally seemed to make time to talk to them. Sometimes Fëaelen, whom they’d all met before was there, and once, a different being was there, a creature that Alatádae glimpsed, walking somewhere, glowing with a soft, almost beautiful golden light, it had been a great figure. Beyond that she didn’t see much else, as she left rather rapidly in order to avoid being seen.

Of course, events once more conspired to favour Tellóm’s investigations. It was rather encouraged that she learn to read, and indeed – though she’d not been observed by anyone, except perhaps the increasingly suspicious Atengco – supplied with a large variety of reading materials taken from a large library.

Doubtless she’d get into the files she wanted to look at eventually – although the computer systems were secure, there were, hidden away, great vaults of paper copies of much of it, archived in strict order of their creation, and fully indexed. Given the natural talent that most elves had with languages, and her progenitor was no exception, Tellóm would eventually learn of them, and begin to look down there.

Tellóm continued to ply her sisters heavily for information. She was getting very suspicious of this upstairs figure, which seemed... well, not quite natural by description. She continued to scrupulously avoid personally investigating the matter, trying to avoid suspicion.

As she started to run out of places to hide her material within the briefing room, she started to try and find more places to hide... looking through everything she'd dug up to help her. That was when she discovered the hardcopy archives. Finding times to sneak down there unnoticed was difficult, but once she did find her way down in there, she was floored. She nearly forgot to return until too late to sneak about without being spotted, but her paranoia remained strong.

And what she had found there so far matched in some ways with what that guard had told her. In some ways, it didn't match up. She was puzzling over this for now, starting to realize that the computers held the same files in a much easier to sort through format, but having difficulty figuring out how to put all the pieces together and use the computer system. Using computers was another element scarcely touched upon by her training.


Now the second part was to be staged, finding out who was responsible... and where it happened.
The probe continued without any sudden changes; it slowly grew more difficult to pry clear memories apart the deeper they drove; however, the initial stages had gone very smoothly. If anything, her natural defenses had been severely weakened, and her mental structures organized into a consistent organized pattern.

As they probed deeper and earlier, the memories began to take on a sameness and a surreality they had difficulty understanding. The last steps of her training were relatively clear, dealing with explicit sexual techniques practiced on mannequins and dolls, linguistic orientations, and brief training in ettiquette of her probable destinations - held in some complex in which the Sirithil clones had lived in compact groups. Beyond that, it faded into endless indistinct reiterations of strange scenes in indistinct surroundings, changing groups of similar looking clones, controlled basic indoctrination and education - held in a variant of Elvish to begin with. Occasional encounters with uniformed security personnel - many sporting obvious cybernetic modifications and with long disdainful stares - and one or two glimpses of elusive short fellows with long beards around the edges of scenes in her earlier memories. The earlier memories take place in a different place than the later, more easily distinguished memories - faint hints of sulfur and rock permeate the smells of the early creche, and the smell even lingers around her early isolation in a distinct individual cell with a screen, a toilet, a shower, and a pad.

After her training, she was taken to a sea-smelling place - a vast warehouse - given a bottle of water, and told to lie in a coffin shaped box and go into a deep trance. Then, unloading and reloading - several times awakening in one warehouse, eating, getting checked over, and sometimes living normally for several days before reshipping; finally, then, the actual sellers and resellers who treated her as merely a human commodity rather than livestock that needed to be allowed food and water between boxing and trans-shipping. Some of her memories showed that not all arrived intact; a captain packed the boxes too closely, and several suffocated in their sleep. She remembered hearing the fellow in the warehouse cursing upon finding out that the "ignorant fool" had packed the cargo wrong, costing him "millions of dollars."

The terms bore no meaning to her at the time.

[ooc: Your decision if they just lied, have information, or a clone ]
OOC: I'd say a clone... and some information. And they might be getting very jumpy, because the people involved are pretty secretive... and some of the people trans-shipping have disappeared recently. A few have turned up dead. Get ahold of me over AIM or IRC to discuss details on what your fellows are trying to find out and we'll work something out.

There was much to do still, and there was another problem for Tellóm in the near future. There were strange things afoot, at least seemingly. They’d all been asked nicely to move to new rooms in another part of the palace.

Regardless, the day after her discovery of the hard copies, she had a rather unpleasant surprise. As she wandered through the dusty archives, neatly filed in hundreds of cabinets, as high as the ceiling, all in seemingly endless aisles, she was abruptly made aware that she wasn’t alone by a dim light on in the distance, one that she hadn’t put on.

At the far end of the aisle there was a man, sitting down, reclined in a lightly constructed chair, behind a small round table, at which there was another chair and on which was a plate of something and a pair of cups. He was a human, at least from his rather broad build. He was however, quite tall, about six foot two, with a long mane of brown hair. He was dressed quite plainly, a grey, unadorned suit.

With a soft click nearby, she could hear the door locking, and a moment later the man, quite possibly the entity from upstairs, called out, “Ah, splendid, Tellóm isn’t it? I was wondering when you would arrive. Please, come here, sit down…”

There was something strange about his speech, almost primal, more than ever before she felt a compulsion to obey this man.

At the far end of the aisle there was a man, sitting down, reclined in a lightly constructed chair, behind a small round table, at which there was another chair and on which was a plate of something and a pair of cups. He was a human, at least from his rather broad build. He was however, quite tall, about six foot two, with a long mane of brown hair. He was dressed quite plainly, a grey, unadorned suit.

With a soft click nearby, she could hear the door locking, and a moment later the man, quite possibly the entity from upstairs, called out, “Ah, splendid, Tellóm isn’t it? I was wondering when you would arrive. Please, come here, sit down…”

There was something strange about his speech, almost primal, more than ever before she felt a compulsion to obey this man.

So she did, nervously, every instinct in her body screaming warnings at her. Danger!

"Wondering when I would arrive where?" She stared him in the eyes innocently as she took her seat. "I was just out taking a little nighttime stroll to better learn the way around this place. I'm afraid I may have gotten a bit lost down here." He can't know about it. Well... maybe if he is one of the demons I was taught of, he might know then. What she had been told about demons and evil had not included any specific enumerations of the powers a demon might have.

"My apologies, I forget my place. Was there something you wished from me, master?" She sat up on the edge of her seat, the obedient erotic slave to the core again, assuming the familiar role to cast away any suspicions in his mind or her own.

He smiled at her a little, “Rather an odd time for a stroll isn't it? And of course, you’ve been getting lost down here quite a bit lately,” he added, pouring steaming tea of some description into the cups, and looked up at her again, “and in a way you could be correct about the ‘demon’ idea, though ‘angelic’ tends to be considered a more appropriate description for me around here.

"As for what I want from you, I want you to look at my hand for a moment,” he held up his hand, showing off finely trimmed and manicured nails, palm facing her, two fingers extended, his thumb resting on the nail of his ring finger, which mounted a surprisingly elaborate and clearly elven ring displaying a family seal of some sort, showing a large silver four pointed star surrounded by several sparkling diamonds. It was a gesture really, a prelude to the impending telepathic ransacking of her memories, but such gestures generally served to make people think that he was more limited in his abilities than he truly was.

Zwoll, Lavenrunz:She had a bad feeling when the john led her to a van with three other clean cut men, dressed roughly alike, and none of them eying her with more than a cursory interest. The money seemed too good to be true, and now she felt it probably was. She inhaled to scream, and his hand clapped into her mouth as she was brusquely shoved into the van. Her screams were muffled by the door closing behind her, and hands roughly tore at her clothing. She stopped resisting, hoping against hope this was just a bondage game, they were overeager clients, and they really would pay her, and she'd be all right in the morning.

Her heart thumped, disagreeing with her hopes. She could not, however, figure out what they were doing to her ears...

He smiled at her a little, “Rather an odd time for a stroll isn't it? And of course, you’ve been getting lost down here quite a bit lately,” he added, pouring steaming tea of some description into the cups, and looked up at her again, “and in a way you could be correct about the ‘demon’ idea, though ‘angelic’ tends to be considered a more appropriate description for me around here.

"As for what I want from you, I want you to look at my hand for a moment,” he held up his hand, showing off finely trimmed and manicured nails, palm facing her, two fingers extended, his thumb resting on the nail of his ring finger, which mounted a surprisingly elaborate and clearly elven ring displaying a family seal of some sort, showing a large silver four pointed star surrounded by several sparkling diamonds. It was a gesture really, a prelude to the impending telepathic ransacking of her memories, but such gestures generally served to make people think that he was more limited in his abilities than he truly was.

She did not spare his hand a glance. The words ran across her like rain, and her panic crushed her compulsion to stay put and obey the master. With a fierce wrench, she lunged, hands outstretched, knocking steaming tea over herself and possibly him. It had to be a demon, it must, it must, there were no angels in this world.

There is only darkness, suffering, pain, OBEY YOUR MASTER kill kill kill the demon servant of Her who is the font of all evil...

Zwoll, Lavenrunz:
"She will do." The priest was smiling as he waved at the naked, trussed, and gagged whore, her bleached hair pulled back to reveal ears pointed with wax, eyes bleary and tearing.

The archives in the palace basement:

Tellóm collapsed as the fractures in her mind spread, her lack of combat training on clear display as she tried to kill the "demon" with her bare hands, rather unconvincingly. She stood little chance of success in this enterprise, and her mind was a glittering kaleidoscope striking a wall during a laser light show.

Zwoll, Lavenrunz:
She felt most brutally violated, but had no strength left to resist when they dragged her to her feet. Blinded by the opaque contacts, bound, and gagged, she stumbled into the light. There was singing, a massed congregation, a strong voice speaking to them about a Great Lady, She who died twice inside.

"May She rend the flesh of our enemies as we rend the flesh of hers! May they suffer a thousand deaths and a thousand embarassments, may She grant us their wealth to spend and their health to destroy. And the Lady did say, this is the flesh of My enemies, eat it, and this is the blood they will spill, drink it!"

The naked whore's face was thrust forward as an assistant pulled back her head, showing her pointed wax ears for all there to see, and her red contacts. A line of pain crossed her throat as the priest cried out, her muffled scream falling upon the faithful with all the apparent impact of a feather.

The congregation filed up towards the bloody alter on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Only the faithful, tonight, and the exits were being watched. Guarded, even. All would partake of this communion who were here, or the rest would know the reason why. A charcoal grill and a great collection of knives saw use as the ceremony continued, lasting for several hours.

When it was over, the faithful filed out, moving more slowly on fuller stomachs and some consciences perhaps a bit heavier, and their minds turning away from the ceremony towards their lives and their prayers. The priest and his closest four assistants cleared away the last, packing altar, hymnals, candles, knives, charcoal, and other assorted adornments that had turned the deserted warehouse into a temporary temple, leaving only the hideous spattered bloodstain on the bare concrete.

Her nails raked across his face as she tried to claw him, revealing trace lines of startling silvery brightness as she broke the 'skin,' healing back to the way it was before a moment later. He deftly caught her and cast her back, at the last second restraining himself to just forcing her back onto the table, as opposed to his more usual reactions. As he did, he casually sifted through her surface thoughts.

Not good.

Without even a gesture, other than a moment's eye contact, he sent the elf to sleep. Now, this wasn't a normal thing for elves, but it could be done, by setting off the right cues. Her struggling stopped after a moment, and she fell, limp, upon the table, into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-----

When she woke again, she was in a large room, white, daylight streaming from a window, artificial, not that she could tell, in one wall, and illuminating the wide bed she had slept on, relatively soft. She'd been injected with any number of tranquilizers, and adrenaline counter-agents, and other more esoteric chemicals designed to keep her calm. Even so, beneath the white sheets, delicately and subtly patterned as though it were the wing of a vast swan, laid over the occupant, her left wrist was bound to a chain anchored to the centre of the bed by a soft leather lined manacle.

Sitting to her right - just a little out of her reach - was the same 'demon-man,' looking... serene, dressed in flowing white robes this time, regal almost, edged in gold and purple. He couldn't pass up a mystery, and had waited. He smiled a little at her, "Good morning Tellóm, how are you feeling this morning?"

When she woke again, she was in a large room, white, daylight streaming from a window, artificial, not that she could tell, in one wall, and illuminating the wide bed she had slept on, relatively soft. She'd been injected with any number of tranquilizers, and adrenaline counter-agents, and other more esoteric chemicals designed to keep her calm. Even so, beneath the white sheets, delicately and subtly patterned as though it were the wing of a vast swan, laid over the occupant, her left wrist was bound to a chain anchored to the centre of the bed by a soft leather lined manacle.

Sitting to her right - just a little out of her reach - was the same 'demon-man,' looking... serene, dressed in flowing white robes this time, regal almost, edged in gold and purple. He couldn't pass up a mystery, and had waited. He smiled a little at her, "Good morning Tellóm, how are you feeling this morning?"

Purple purple demon death KILL ME evil sins LET ME FREE
She stared at him blankly for a moment.
empty
"I've had better."
KILLTHEDEMON run run run KILL ME KILL HIM
She blinked, trying to get up, finding the drugs and the bindings disabling.
trapped like a rat mouse labs tests death unworthy weeded out expunge the mistake
"Demon...." she whispered, flinching away from the light.
burning

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but then if all mornings were equally good, there would be no good mornings. Yes..."

He paused, and smiled at her, "Demon, demon, a big demonic demon..."

"And yet... the demon's yet to do anything remotely unkind to you..." the demon leaned back and stopped smiling, "So, how bad can he be?"

He listened to her mind, subtly trying to tease secrets from her mind, subtly, carefully 'Fascinating, "LET ME FREE," progress of a sort I imagine. "unworthy weeded out expunge the mistake" - humm.... More,' he thought, listening to the silent song of her mind.

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but then if all mornings were equally good, there would be no good mornings. Yes..."

He paused, and smiled at her, "Demon, demon, a big demonic demon..."

"And yet... the demon's yet to do anything remotely unkind to you..." the demon leaned back and stopped smiling, "So, how bad can he be?"

He listened to her mind, subtly trying to tease secrets from her mind, subtly, carefully 'Fascinating, "LET ME FREE," progress of a sort I imagine. "unworthy weeded out expunge the mistake" - humm.... More,' he thought, listening to the silent song of her mind.

OOC: More like fevered screaming than silent song, but your choice of metaphor.

Her eyes slowly opened all the way, red glinting softly around artificially dilated pupils. She narrowed them again against the light. Too bright to be looking at with dilated pupils. A heavy wordless fog of depression settled over her mind.

She came mostly awake
I can't do anything right. The fog swallowed the words as she instinctively took in her surroundings. A mechanical chatter.
Bondage Game, with Drugs, Single Manacle. Condition: Blue. Master is playing role D.

"Oh, you have indeed been nice to me. It's been awfully ungrateful of me to say bad things about you! How can I ever make this up to you?" Her voice dripped with implied wickedness, and she radiated sincerity from every pore. "I've been such a bad girl! You should punish me, you know."

DA

The information they got was... Impressive, yet not overly useful. Still, a check for the images they had got, pieces of names, locations... Should work. As in, having at least some results...

The clone herself seemed to withstand the procedure surprisingly well... Her mind, indoctrinated, orderly, was easy to work with... And could withstand the pain of it surprisingly well.

Still... The two men doing the work knew that it would take more than just 'a while' to have some actual results... Leaving the clone in the care of the hospital, they left, preparing for the hard part of their work... A part they didn't really want to do... What they had seen, here, had been enough, and they didn't want to know more.

However, they didn't exactly have a choice.

Jhavalar- Harbour

The two men entered, so far, nothing was going wrong.

I bet she has a metric fuckton of defences in her head.

Yeah. Well, we're here to buy... Not to mindrape them. Yet.

Their discussion stopped when the women (Looking fairly... threatening, even the strong one of the two hesitated) stepped towards them. Incidentally, despite looking fairly scary herself, she was seemingly nervous... Not to mention the tendency of her guards to aim their concealed weapons at everything in sight.

Well, they sure aren't the easy going kind.

What did you expect? Not the safest business.

Point.

"You're here to buy, right?" She inquired, her voice cold, a promise of violence.

"Yes. One."

"Very well." She nodded at the answer of the small one, turning around. "Bring her in." And her guards obeyed, rather eagerly.

"Well..." The small one looked at the clone. "Looks like the other ones, I guess."

The woman sighed briefly, which was just another term for 'What did you expect, genius'. Or other such terms, probably less nice. "If you want something exclusive, you're free to abduct a SHODAN avatar."

A chuckle. "Only mass produced junk for the masses, hm?"

"I can chain her again to sell her to the next brothel, if you prefer that. Buy or leave. NOW."

"Ok, ok. Here is the money." The small one nodded to his partner, who gave the money to one of the guards. "It's good."

"Very well then... have fun." A smile. "As I'm sure you will have, gentlemen."

"Oh, right... I hope she hasn't been touched? I hate second hand products..."

"Not since..." She looked at her clock. "A couple hours ago."

The small one muttered something about unreliable traders, but in the end, he seemed to be satisfied. So were the woman anhd her guards. "Oh, right... Who do I ask for... More?"

"You're free to find out. Not from me, though. Good bye." With that, she was gone.

And? The small one looked at his partner, questioning.

As we expected. Completely impossible to get through. I marked a few of them, though. Should be able to find them again, eventually.

Good. I wonder what is gong on with this... Rather nervous, she was.

The large one shrugged. In this business, you're usually fearing for your life. Anyway... We got what we wanted. They will die within the next few days. Well, hopefully. And we just earned quite a bit of money. Reminds me... Are we gonna...?

No.

Bah. He shrugged, again.

Moments later, they left as well.

What would follow was... Training her.

Training her to be what she was.