Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 07

This Marduk problem was genuinely irritating, though. It was like it wasn't even there when she was trying to fix it, only when it caused problems. She was just spinning her wheels until she could find it, but then, that was the problem. Even Jericho threw up his entirely theoretical hands and shrugged.

Kanaria leaned back in her chair and settled in for the long haul. She couldn't see any end in sight for this particular problem, even as her fingers practically blurred into invisibility as she typed, long lines of code spreading across several screens. Every now and then she would catch just the barest edge of something wrong in the system, some phrase she hadn't programmed or concept in Jericho's heuristics she'd never seen before. But the moment she focused in on it or ran a diagnostic program over it, it vanished. An A.I was basically a whole mind, constrained by a rigorous set of standards and laws to limit it to a manageable form; like any mind it could be squirrelly and unreliable. This made working on one such a joy, at times.

Her back teeth ground together in that absent way they did when she was irritated at work. A very rare frown graced her elfin features, dissatisfaction writ large in her eyes. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. She sighed.

Kanaria knew how the rest of her crew saw her, and for the most part they were right; she generally was a nice, sunshiney person. But sitting here, working on a computer... It wasn't that it brought out the worst in her, but it did bring out something different. It didn't precisely anger her, but it did put her in a different mode of thinking, made her capable of beating down any problem under a wave of steely, vaguely bitter resolve. It worked, that was what counted.

That was the way she had been trained, really. At least, how she had started out, how the spark of interest had been ignited. It was precisely how her mother had always done business; grumpily, and with a healthy dose of acid sarcasm. Kanaria couldn't quite match her mother's blind hostility towards those who would interrupt her, but that was no surprise: Riza Syfte had had years to perfect her particular brand of mild irritation, until the day she died, in fact.

But, no. No, no, no... Shouldn't be thinking about that. Kanaria's frown deepened; where had all that come from? She hadn't thought about Mother for years, it was best not to, and...

No, no, no! Circuitous thinking would end up doing more harm than good. Her hands were already shaking, so hard she had to stop typing. Damn it all...

Hands clenched into fists, and unclenched just as quickly, forcing the tremors down through sheer force of will. She breathed deeply, rhythmically... If she wasn't careful, if she let her mind wander too much, it'd still go down some upsetting paths. Intellectually she knew what would happen, but her brain kept strolling down the same roads, going to the same places, the same memories. And making her suffer for them.

'Marduk, Marduk...' She whispered to herself, foot tapping an agitated beat on the floor. Her hands returned to the keyboard, 'What are you? Where do you keep going?'

She typed, she worked, laboring fruitlessly for an hour or more before her will gave out. She sighed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in surrender and pushing herself away from the desk. It wasn't worth wasting her time on one little glitch that only showed up every now and then and was mostly harmless. Jericho was high maintenance equipment, and he deserved more attention than he had been getting since this freaking Marduk issue.

That stupid little error code could just be a nervous tic for old Jericho, and that'd be the end of it. Goddamn A.I's, man...

Wait...

She froze, as if moving even slightly would scare off the thing she thought she had seen. The screen directly in front of her was larger than the rest, and currently displayed line upon line of Jericho's base code, and as she moved to one side she had seen...

Her eyes narrowed as she cast around the characters, like lines of disciplined insects. Something there, something intelligible in the chaos. She had seen it, only for a second; words, properly legible words that shouldn't have been there. Her eyes dashed through the code, and...

There!

'What?' The words were there, and then they were gone. So fast she couldn't even be sure that they had ever been there. 'What?'

She started typing again, faster than ever. That... that couldn't have been right, could it? That made no sense! Jericho was a highly advanced artificial intelligence, not a bloody instant messaging client. His code wasn't party to Easter eggs!

Near the bottom of the screen, Kanaria could have sworn the code had played host to the words: 'You're completely alone, huh?'

'What?'

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

'Well, that's quite a story, Mr. Hackett.'

Sander tilted his head to one side, taking in Christina's confident, unworried smile, 'Alright, I'll admit: That is not the reaction I was hoping for.'

He was beginning to think that he'd been given the wrong kind of captive. Either that, or the Doctor had made a larger impression of the ersatz noblewoman than he had realized. She was entirely languid in the face of suddenly being transported to an alien world. Maybe she thought it was a hoax, or that she'd be able to escape.

As Sander had talked, spilling out the pertinent details of his life, he had seen her cool assuredness slip once or twice, true concern showing in her eyes. But it was clear that she would keep up her composed attitude for as long as she possibly could. Frankly, it was a little irritating, from Sander's perspective.

Good thing he knew he could tear down her little façade real quick. He tried not to grin too widely at that.

'So, the Doctor led to the death of your wife, and you're out for revenge,' Christina said, crisp English accent making each word somehow richer. 'Alright. I only met the man a few times, perhaps I don't know him so well. It's entirely possible he isn't as altruistic as he claims. But what does that have to do with me, pray?'

Some evil fire stoked in Sander's heart. From this point on this exchange became pure gravy, and the darker parts of his soul rubbed their hands together in a cartoonishly villainous manner at the prospect. The two of them stood, practically at opposite ends of the cell, as if a standoff was imminent. Sander was comfortable in the knowledge that he had a magic bullet that would completely shut Christina de Souza down.

'If you run with the Doctor, you get hurt. I'm going to demonstrate that fact to you,' Sander gave her a pointed glare, then grinned nastily. 'Over the coming weeks.'

'Why not attack the Doctor directly?' Christina asked archly, cocking an eyebrow. 'If you're out to get him, then get him. I'm sure with all... this, you could kill him easily.'

'I don't want him to die,' Sander growled. 'I want him to hurt. He strikes me as a man that wouldn't really care if I tortured him, so long as his friends remained safe. So, here we are.'

Again, there was that tiny flicker of fear in Christina's eyes, which was soon extinguished as the ass kicking, jewel thieving, ennobled femme fatale persona took control, 'You're going to torture me? Well, I can't have that. Don't misunderstand, I'm all for rough play, but I'm not exactly interested, if it's with you. I'll be going, now.'

She groped at the belt encircling her hips, hands closing on empty air rather than the weapon she presumably had stored there before getting teleported. Not for the first time, Sander noticed the dark, figure hugging nature of her attire; on a normal person that would be cause for questions. But Sander knew what "Lady" Christina did for a living.

'Any weaponry or sufficiently troublesome devices you may have had with you have been removed already, milady,' Sander smirked triumphantly. 'Sorry, but this ain't my first time at the rodeo.'

'Clearly,' Christina spat, all her diction and composure rapidly vanishing under the thumb of her highly advanced new enemy. 'What happens now, pray? Do you have a plan, or did you just want to gloat some more?'

'Both, shockingly. Ha ha, you're too easy,' Sander sang, smiling. 'Seriously though, you may have noticed the collar around your neck?'

'Can't say it's escaped my notice, no,' Christina's finger ringed the device. 'Highly amusing, almost kinky.'

Sander nodded, 'Oh, definitely kinky! That, milady, is a fourth generation Hackett-brand Command Collar. And you're not here to be tortured, you're here to serve.'

She seemed to almost enjoy the verbal sparring she was currently engaged in, 'Serve? Me? I think not, Mr. Hackett. A lady like me? It would be unbecoming.'

Sander found his will to play this game quickly eroding under Christina's irritating overabundance of confidence. He had hoped for fear right off the bat, but he supposed he could instill it easily enough, 'I wasn't exactly asking, Christina. The Collar isn't just for show. It's symbolic, yeah, but it's also packed full of wetware designed just for you. I can make you do what I want, real easy.'

'Oh, so you're persisting with this idea that you've transported me through time, are you?' Christina scoffed. 'Space, I could believe. I've done that before, but time travel is an impossibility, friend.'

'Oh, come on!' Sander had to laugh. 'Swarms of giant metal space-stingrays flying around on a desert planet and you're a skeptic? Flying bloody bus, and you're a cynic? Man fades away in a blue box, and you'll disbelieve that you aren't in your own time period anymore?'

'Aside from this rather unimpressive room, you haven't really offered me much proof that anything you've said, outside of teleportation, is true. I-'

'Actually, you know what?' Sander shook his head. 'I absolutely don't have to play this fucking game with you anymore, since I properly have the upper hand in this scenario, okay? So, Command: Shut your trap and sit down, Christina.'

Her legs practically folded beneath her as she collapsed onto the bed, mouth snapping shut in an instant. Her eyes flashed bright with fear and surprise.

'That's right, bam, motherfucker!' Sander crowed, poking her in the chest. 'Command Collar's not just a name, dear Christina. Actually, I think you'll find it's pretty much one giant fuck you to every idea you had about the primacy of your own mind. You are mine, now. There's no escape, there's no rescue coming... To the rest of the universe, there never was a Lady de Souza. I didn't just teleport you, I fuckin' erased your presence from history. You're here, and nowhere else, ever. Isn't that fun?'

He actually waited, paused for her to say something. It was particularly mean of him, he knew, but damned if this woman didn't kind of deserve it. The exploits of Christina de Souza, back in her own time, had been pretty well publicized by this point, and if there was one historical figure Sander had always wanted to slap some sense into, it would have to have been the woman who would steal incredibly valuable artifacts from museums, for fun.

Sander was many things, but he was very rarely pointless, and the idea that this woman would squander her gifts larking around nicking things was incredibly frustrating to him. But then, not everyone could spend their life in constant battle against an immortal alien enemy, could they?

'Oh, right,' He giggled, finally. 'I guess you can't say anything right now, can you? Just so you know, the Collar is attuned to your brainwaves. It takes the order following the command word, and introduces a few new signals to make sure you're nice and obedient. Since we're talking about it, Command: Do not attempt to remove or otherwise disengage your Collar. Ever. Neither will you attempt to cause harm to my person, or to anyone aligned with me. Understood?'

He dropped heavily to the bed beside Christina, clicking his tongue, 'I might be being a bit flippant about all this, but things have sort of swung in my favor here, haven't they? Oh, go on, I'll allow you to speak. What's on your mind, eh?'

'Nothing much,' Christina said, voice dripping acidic sweetness. 'Just how much I'm going to enjoy killing you when you inevitably screw up.'

Sander grinned, a terrible, energetic thing, 'Oh, you're going to be fun to break, I can tell already. No reason to delay things any further, I suppose. Command: Take off your clothes.'

There was an indignant cluck from Christina as the Collar went to work, compelling her to her feet. She froze there, staring daggers at Sander, as he waited. And waited. The seconds dragged on as Sander returned her venomous glare with an impassive one of his own; soon, Christina's hands began to shake.

'Resisting the Collar?' Sander raised an eyebrow. 'That's fine, but don't expect it to last. It'll just keep ratcheting up the pressure until you buckle. The thing about technology is that it's kind of persistent.'

As he predicted, it wasn't long before her resolve was swept away under the inexorable machinations of the Command Collar. Her hands slipped to the hem of her tight black shirt to lift it, and she spat, 'So, this is what you do, is it? You're all alone, and you kidnap women to... what? Rape them?'

Sander chuckled, and nodded, 'Basically, although I never said I was alone. I have a girlfriend here who'll probably expand your mind in some interesting ways. And there's also six others here, so you'll be kept busy.'

He paused for a while, leaning back to enjoy the view as Christina silently, helplessly, stripped off her clothes. The body beneath them was healthy, vital even; tightly muscled in a way that wasn't at all surprising, given the amount of running her "job" must entail. Everything curved in the right places, things were smooth were they should be... Sander nodded in approval.

When she stood naked, he spoke again, 'I've noticed your marked lack of respect, given that I literally hold your life in my hands. Not exactly clever, when you think about it. I'll have to teach you, I think. Kneel.'

She did not. Of course she didn't. Sander sighed, rolled his eyes.

'Command: Kneel,' He said, in a bored tone of voice. 'Honestly, I would have thought... Never mind, just know that you'll be punished for that later.'

'Punished, hmm?' Christina said tartly, adding way too much venom for a girl who was naked, on her knees and at the mercy of a man with no particular interest in her comfort. 'How very predictable.'

'I don't intend to make things easy on you, Christina,' Sander said. 'That would sort of defeat the purpose of keeping you. Now, I'm not going to order you to say it, but I want you to call me Master, okay? Will you do that?'

'Oh, no... I shan't.'

'Never say I didn't give you a chance, then,' Sander gave a lopsided grin. His eyes rolled skyward and he whistled as his zipper descended, In the three intervening years since losing Amy, Sander had spent some time upgrading the wetware that had been installed in his head in order to control his mechanical left eye. Well, obviously he hadn't done that himself, given that he couldn't operate on his own brain, but he had arranged to become more of a cyborg. One of his older biotic enhancements allowed him a greater degree of control over some of his more... intimate reflexes.

Specifically, if the mood struck him he literally could go all night now, although he found it intensely frustrating to do so, and when he fished himself from his pants, he was already hard and raring to go.

Human biology was really nothing more than a series of buttons and channels. Once you found the right buttons to push to get things flowing down the correct channels, everything else became pretty easy.

'Oh, I think I see where this is going,' Christina eyed Sander's cock distastefully. 'I will just bite you, surely you know that.'

'You will do no such thing,' Sander said. 'Because you are under a standing order not to harm me. And if you could actually resist the Collar, you wouldn't be naked on the floor, would you? Last chance: Show me you're willing to play at respectful, call me Master and maybe I'll let it go.'

'No,' Ice tinkled off of that single word.

'Fine,' Sander shrugged. 'Command: Open your mouth.'

Christina's jaw fell open, and certain parts of Sander's body started sending messages up the channels to his brain: Hey, we want to hang out in there, boss.

The fingers of one hand wrapped through Christina's dark hair, gripping tightly. Without fanfare, or even any indication that he was going to do anything, he forced her head forward, plunging his length as deeply as possible into the warm, wet confines of his new captive's mouth.

Sander grunted in satisfaction as he forced himself deeper, over her tongue and down to plug the back of her throat. Her teeth scraped the underside of his cock, but she was unable to fully close her mouth, or even struggle against him overmuch. Soon, his length was entirely buried in its new favorite place, Christina's nose pressed against his pelvis. She choked and gagged around him, the wet-sounding pulsations of her throat squeezing his shaft so wonderfully, and he felt her tongue working against his underside.

It interested him to note that her hands had come up in the first moments of the assault, and now were frozen, raised up to his chest as if stopped before they could push him away. He needed to find whichever engineer had come up with the prototype Collar, and hug that genius son of a bitch.

Sander let Christina choke and shudder for a few moments longer, before pulling his dick entirely out of her mouth in a single stroke, resulting in an audible slurp that was oddly sexy. His hand still gripped her hair tightly, the unspoken message being that there may be a repeat performance.

'Now, imagine how much I must have enjoyed that, new slave,' Sander growled. 'How much longer do you think I can keep that up, hmm?'

'I don't know...' Christina snapped. 'A minute? Minute and a half, at most?'

'Oh, it's a joke at the expense of my sexual prowess!' Sander nodded thoughtfully. 'I never imagined that a slave of mine would ever use one of those!' If sarcasm had physical form, Sander would have been salivating it.

'I am not your slave!' Christina hissed savagely. Sander merely grinned.

'Yeah, you totally are,' He said, pushing her forward again. Once more, his prick hit the back of her throat and stayed there as Christina gagged like a champion. He held her down for longer, savoring the sensation of her soft, cultured tongue against him. Guaranteed this wasn't the type of treatment her mouth was used to.

Eventually, he pulled her away again, 'All you have to do is say Master, girly. Else I keep gagging you until you do. It's no problem if you want to resist now because frankly I enjoy it. What do you say?'

Wordlessly, apparently not wanting to give Sander the satisfaction, Christina shook her head. Sander shrugged, with a tiny noise of complete disinterest. His hand tightened painfully in her hair, her mouth was forced over him again, and events proceeded as they had in the past.

For quite a while, he choked her with his cock, tugging her away periodically to see how it was affecting her. In these moments, a single raised eyebrow was all she got, and often a single shake of her head was all the answer he received in return. A cycle was established; choke, release, question, choke. Christina grew progressively more disheveled; her throat was raw and painful from the repeated invasions, her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her lips and chin glistened with saliva. The hate in her eyes grew from merely dark, to full blown apocalyptic.