Surefoot 48: Immaterial Girl

She felt the fiery gas shoot up into her brain, burn away at the insides of her nasal passage even as the chemicals soaked and branched out and raced along her nerves. She coughed and sputtered, and when she collapsed into a hacking fit, Hazaak Sur released his hold on her and stood nearby. "The First Burn is always the worst, Immaterial. Makes you feel like a supernova has burst inside you, and that you're plummeting into Infinity. But then comes the Wallow, as that warm, mellow feeling soaks into you. And soon, very soon, anything bad you might have been feeling gets cast away into a remote corner of your mind."

She lay crumpled on the floor... understanding now exactly what he meant.

Distantly she heard him take another sniff.

Distantly she felt him lift her up and guide her back to his bed for more.

And she wondered then what the fuss she had been feeling centuries before had been all about.

*

NOW:

"ZIR!" Peter yelled, racing up to the stone dais where his friend and Squad Leader had stood seconds before... but now, only her combadge lay, twisted as if having gone through a faulty transporter, its delta pointing in the direction of Nguyen and Jexa.

The other cadets in the chamber had rushed up now, barely avoiding Stalac as he rumbled closer, accessing the tricorder bolted to his side and scanning the area.

"Wh-What happened to her?" Peter murmured.

An ashen-looking Jexa stared at the combadge. "It... It disintegrated her..."

"Don't say that!"

As the panic rose and spread among them, Stalac's rumble grew suddenly in volume and vibration, until it sounded like the roof was about to collapse. "Quiet! There's no trace of carbon-based matter residue! Zir wasn't disintegrated!"

Peter's heart threatened to leap into his mouth, and he dropped to one knee, needing to look away from the combadge. "She wasn't? Are you sure, Buddy?"

The Horta rotated in place, aiming his tricorder in every direction. "Very. Living beings leave very distinctive traces even when struck with the strongest of energy beams. I am detecting none of that here."

Tori was kneeling next to Peter and Stalac now. "What the hell are you detecting, then?"

After a moment, the Horta replied, "Bizarre... Chronitons? Yes, it's chronitons!"

*

Nearby, or not, Zir drifted in a fog, bobbing, feeling very much like she did the first time she entered a pool at Starfleet Academy, and was wading along, wondering when the shallow end would give way to the deep end... and then finding out the hard way when the floor suddenly disappeared from under her, leaving her with no footing and drawing her under the water. The panic rushed through her, and she lashed out, now as she did then.

Until she realised that, unlike then, she wasn't drowning. She wasn't breathing, but she wasn't drowning, or suffocating, or anything else.

Calm, she reminded herself from one of Kami's sessions. Focus. Your Centre is the centre of the Universe, and you are in full control. And it all starts with your decision to focus.

So Zir focused. And with that, she felt like she was moving along, going... where?

What was going on? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was getting hit by that strange alien beam of energy, and then she was here... it was like she was...

A ghost. A spirit.

Gods... Was she dead?

She moved about, calling out, not even sure she was hearing her own voice.

Niles... if she was really dead, she would hate herself for wasting so much time with him, with not giving herself to him.

Her people had ancient mythologies about afterlives, and divine judgements from those whom the dead have helped or harmed while in life. Her studies at the Academy told her that such beliefs were common among hundreds of races and cultures in the Galaxy. And it was typically driven by an instinctive need for self-importance and self-assurance, a need to believe that there was more to existence than life, as well as a cultural need to enforce desired traits usually classed as 'good'.

Zir never gave it much thought. Or at least, chose not to. It was all backward superstition, and in her efforts to fit in with the thinking of the Federation and Starfleet, she saw it as an interesting cultural study. Nothing more.

And yet, here she was, invisible, insubstantial, in some sort of Netherworld, facing... what?

"Retribution, Immaterial...

Pure, naked retribution..."

*

THEN:

She stayed in Hazaak Sur's quarters, the door to the outside always locked, never leaving, never seeing anyone except for the occasional crewman who brought in meals for him and her; very soon, she realised they had orders to ignore her, and not speak to her. He left her for long hours at a time, occasionally returning to eat, to sleep... and of course to screw. There was never any notion of love being involved.

He brought her seductive silks to wear and make-up and jewellery to adorn herself with, and she would wake and dance and sing for him, pleasure and tease him, until he let her have some V, and then they'd retire to his bed.

Hazaak Sur remained crude, heavy and blunt as a hammer, and with some appalling bad breath and body odour that no amount of hints on her part could get him to acknowledge and do something about it. He was far from being the man she imagined as the one who would be her first lover.

But, sometimes, just sometimes, as they lay together after he had spent himself, and she remained curled up against him, he would tell a story about his past, or make a joke about the antics of a member of his crew that day. And she would warm to him. A little.

It was bizarre: that he could make her do things with him that were unthinkable weeks ago, sexual acts that would surely make her father's heart stop if she knew what his daughter was doing. But it was only in such moments as their talks, when she felt truly intimate with him.

Occasionally, though, Hazaak Sur would remind her of her status in his eyes, such as the time she had asked him for something to read. He laughed at that. "Women are good for only one thing, Immaterial - stay focused on that!"

And she would laugh at his weak joke, and go back to secretly re-reading the databooks she had brought with her. Her father had secretly taught her how to read, and to know about the world, in order to secretly help him in his business, none of his business contacts and customers suspecting that she would know what they were talking about when Papa wasn't around. He never realised how much this learning would spark a hunger in her for more... and would ultimately, ironically, drive her away from him, and their world.

At the beginning, she would often return to her possessions, and look through her images of her family, and end up crying, until Hazaak Sur showed up early one time, and yelled at her viciously for ruining his mood, so she forced herself to stop.

Her life became a haze, alternating between sex, sleep, food and Vraxoin.

It didn't change until she stumbled upon the Federation text she had found in his quarters.

It was on a datarod at the bottom of a drawer filled with junk, and idly she checked to see if her reader could access the contents. And it did, revealing numerous volumes of material of Federation origin, nothing censored by Orion authorities. Much of it she couldn't comprehend: technical manuals, business memoranda, production reports...

But then she found something called the Articles of the United Federation of Planets.

It was some sort of... constitution for them, an illustration of their government. Much of it was a complicated description of the organisation of their Council, how often Councillors from member worlds were meant to convene, and how it passed articles and amendments and things she didn't have the education to identify.

But it was the Articles themselves that captured her. The beliefs they espoused. Simple, but clear.

Gods...

Every Orion she had ever known who had talked of the Federation and Starfleet all said the same things: they were kafirlirs, weak, mongrel races who interfered in the affairs of the Orion Empire. Once, when she asked what made the Federation different, she received a smack for her impertinence in even asking.

She read them, over and over. Memorising every word.

Now she understood why.

She had heard fragmented rumours about their beliefs, their passions and ideals. But now, she saw it all spelled out, clearly and inarguably: the civil rights and liberties that the Federation guaranteed to all sentient individuals living under their jurisdiction.

All sentient individuals, regardless of gender, race, religion, caste, sexual orientation...

And they hated slavery! It was not considered part of the natural order of things to them as it was to Orions, but an abomination! And they gave their military Starfleet permission to do anything necessary to abolish slavery everywhere within their sphere of influence!

They were everything her own people weren't.

She read and reread and re-reread it all, took in every precious, incredible word.

If she had had any doubts before about what she had been doing, they had evaporated. And soon she would be with them, free...

Soon...

How soon?

On a thought, she went into the hygiene chamber, staring at her reflection... or more specifically, the length of her hair. It dropped down over her chest, the tips a couple of uyims past her nipples, something it definitely didn't do when she first boarded.

She knew the ship had stopped more than once, even landed somewhere, to judge from the occasional announcements over the intercom from Maatoz, Hazaak Sur's Chief Adjutant, though she didn't have any idea about their itinerary.

How long had she been there?

The chroniker in the Shipmaster's quarters gave her the ship time, but not the date. But she had been keeping track in a notebook she kept in her bag. She counted the marks: five, ten, fifteen, twenty...

She'd lost count, couldn't even recall when she'd last updated it; she had stopped marking at some point, after a particularly... rough time with Hazaak Sur, and a particularly strong dose of V he had given her when she began questioning them about their ETA to, uh, Sentinel, uh... what was the name of the colony again?

Yes, Sentinel Minor IV. And he definitely said it was only six weeks away from the Orion homeworld. How long had she been onboard? How long did she have left?

The minutes felt like hours before he finally returned. "We have a fine dish being prepared for us tonight, Immaterial: Tiburon pork belly-"

"How soon until we reach Sentinel Minor IV?" she demanded, standing before him.

Hazaak Sur regarded her. "Excuse me, girl?"

"How far away are we? I want to know."

He grinned, revealing the red jewel embedded in one of his molars. "Are you looking for an excuse to get spanked again? I knew you'd develop a taste for that-"

"Answer me! We had a deal, we shook on it!"

The Shipmaster shrugged. "We're three weeks from Sentinel Minor IV at our current position. There, satisfied?"

Three weeks? They were only halfway through the journey? It couldn't be. She shook her head. "I want to see proof of where we are- I have a right to know-"

His smile dropped like a stone, and his huge hand swung out, sending her toppling to the floor.

Her head rang, and past the pain she heard him move around her, getting something from his wardrobe. "Clearly I've been too lenient with you, girl. Letting you wallow in your delusions. Letting you believe you still had any say in your life.

Brainless little cuksir.

You became my property the moment you stepped onboard."

Then he was back, grabbing her by the hair and lifting her up and moving to his desk, slamming her upper half onto the surface and forcing her down, pinning her arms behind her. She struggled, but couldn't break free, could only watch in terror as he opened a black box, fishing through the contents.

All the while, Hazaak Sur continued talking, almost casually, drawing out a palm-sized metal plate with a triangular symbol on one side, and controls he worked on the other. "No, Immaterial, you're not going anywhere. You're staying with me until I'm bored with you. Then I'll sell you to one of my crew. And he'll sell you to another. And then another. As the only slave onboard, I'm sure you'll get to know all my crew in time. And they'll know you. Again and again."

She watched the symbol glow bright red and hot, becoming recognisable as Λ, the Orion pictogram for Slave.

And then she recognised the tool, and what he was going to do to her.

His hold on her increased as she doubled her efforts to break free. "N-No, please, don't- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't don't DON'T-"

But he ignored her, pressing the brand against her right cheek, her flesh searing and smoking and sending a hammer of pain through her as she screamed...

*

NOW:

"Chrontions?" Jexa turned to her squad's Science cadet. "What are chronitons, Elia?"

The Betazoid female Elia Dyshen frowned in concentration, her deep black eyes narrowing. "Particles with intertemporal signatures, notably present during incidents of time travel and temporal phenomena."

"Time travel?" Peter echoed. "You mean Zir's been transported somewhere through time?"

"Not necessarily," Tori countered. "Chronitons are also a by-product of cloaking devices, experimental phase shifters-"

Peter glanced around. "Cloaked? Is she close by, just cloaked?"

"If it was just a case of her being invisible, I think she'd have made her presence known by now," Stalac pointed out. "I think the best way to work out what happened to Zir is to examine the projector machinery."

He started slithering towards the Arch, but Nguyen spoke up. "Wait, Cadet! We need to leave this equipment alone, and inform the Starfleet base of operations on Donatu about what's happened!"

Peter rose to his feet, flushed with anger. "We can't wait! Zir might need help, wherever she is!"

"But we don't want any more accidents happening!"

"Oh, now you're being careful! Where was this attitude a few minutes ago when Zir had to save your lives?"

"You need to calm down, Cadet," Jexa told him sternly. "And go get some air. Leave." After a moment, she added, "That's an order."

Peter stuck his chin out. "I'm not going anywhere until we get Zir back."

The squad leader's snout bristled, as she became aware of all the cadets witnessing the confrontation. "I gave you a direct order, Mr Boone! Now, are you going to walk out of your own free will, or do I have to have you physically removed and confined to one of our runabouts to face charges of insubordination?"

Urad drew up beside Peter and the rest of their squad, standing a head above them all, purposefully making the knuckles in his huge hands audibly crack. "If you wish to try and have my friend removed, Comrade Squad Leader, you will have to also try to remove me."

"And me," Stalac added with an angry tremor.

"And me!" Tori declared, stabbing a finger in their direction.

"And me," Astrid finished, more calmly not less determinedly.

The Miradorn twins, Security cadets for the other squads, started moving in, presumably to try and enforce Jexa's threat. But now Niles suddenly spoke up, breaking his usual quiet composure. "Stop this! All of you! Zir's in trouble! One of our own! Whatever has happened to her, wherever she is, she needs help! And she's not going to get it if we don't all put aside our pride and whatever else, and all work together!"

That seemed to take the growing tension from the group.

Jexa drew up her full height, glanced at Nguyen and announced, "Francis, return to the runabouts and report what's happened to the local Starfleet offices. I'll have the Engineering and Science cadets examine the Arch technology to get a better idea of what it can do... something we should have done before foolishly powering it up."

Then she looked up again, raising her voice. "And everyone else needs to head back up! I want a search of the immediate perimeter of the site! Squad Leader Dassene may have been transported nearby, injured and in need of aid! Flight Ops cadets, utilise the sensors in the runabouts for a wider search pattern!"

She looked to Urad and Astrid, sounding more sympathetic now. "I know you want to stay, I understand that, but you're of more use heading uptop to assist. If we learn anything further, I promise we'll let you know."

Peter looked to his friends and nodded. "Go on, I'll keep an eye on things here."

Urad and Astrid nodded back and departed.

Jexa looked to Peter and Niles, and for the first time, Peter saw something... genuinely selfless in the Squad Leader's expression. "We'll get her back. Wherever she is."

*

Nearby, and not, Zir drifted, no longer seeing or perceiving her friends or the Donatui chamber. Instead she drifted through a fog, drawn to the voice that seemed to call to her. "Here, Immaterial... come to me..."

She knew it, and didn't know it.

She didn't want to know it. But she was so alone, so alone here, drowning in nothingness, and instinctively reached out for a lifeline-

The fog drew out, hardened into lines, lights, familiar roundels in the walls, sounds and smells that raised her hackles- no, no she couldn't be here again-

Hazaak Sur's quarters, just as she'd last seen them...

A huge green hand shot out of nowhere, clasping around her wrist, dragging her into the view of a huge, hulking figure: drenched in black-green blood, one red eye fixed on her, the other eye missing, leaving only a gaping socket, the mouth opening as bile dripped from the sides of his broad, bleeding jaw.

She screamed.

He laughed.

*

THEN:

She lay there in the dark for the longest time. Waiting. Waiting.

Finally, slowly, carefully, she lifted up the large, sweaty arm draped over her, just enough to slide herself to the edge of the bed and down to the floor, before resting the arm on the mattress. She lay on the floor, listening to him grunt and snore, before finally settling down again. Then she rolled over to where she had left her clothes before the lights had been doused. Hazaak Sur's quarters were in total darkness, but she had spent enough time here to know where everything was by now.

She rose and padded into the hygiene chamber, closing the door and switching on the light to retrieve the shaving kit and opening it. She unscrewed the round disposal case she found, checking the cotton bud inside, tentatively confirming it was still wet, and hoping it would be enough for her purposes.

Reluctantly she looked up at her reflection, at the brand she now wore on her face, unignorable. Few slaves she'd ever seen on Orion were branded there, unless an example had to be made to them, to remind them permanently of their status. To break them.

And for her, it appeared to have worked. From that night on, she was good, and quiet, and fearful, and obedient. She did what he wanted, without question or complaint. She kept his quarters clean and poured his drinks and massaged his feet and shaved his scalp and pleasured him in bed.

She gave him nothing to suspect that he hadn't reduced her to a meek and willing slave.

As she prepared the cotton bud, she realised that her sweats had begun, and she wished it was from nerves rather than withdrawal symptoms. She had waived off taking too much V when it was offered tonight, needing her head to be clear, but now her mouth was drying, her insides felt itchy, and her head pounded. But she ignored all that for now, to focus on the task at hand.