War Prize Ch. 01

She heard Gunny say behind her, "Sir, I could bundle this up so you can take it to him, if you want?"

"Yeah, Gunny, that might be a good idea. How long should I tell him? That this will take?"

"Well, Sir, he's ordered that other thing, and since this isn't this one's first time it'll take a little bit longer. An hour? Rough estimate. Maybe a little less?"

There was shuffling off to one side, and she realized that she'd moved a few feet, deeper into the tunnel that was this building. The track holding her up was now also dragging her forward. There was a matching track in the floor, she now saw. She was stopped just before her feet made it to that track.

There was more movement behind her, but she paid it no mind. Her head felt different, with so much less hair weighing it down. Her arms were starting to hurt. She pressed up on her toes to relieve some of the strain. The man, Gunny, came toward her as she heard other footsteps fading away. He stood at the end of the track in the floor, still mostly looking at the tablet in his hand. The laser wand was in the pocket of his shirt.

The overhead track lurched forward and she tiptoed until her feet met the lower track. Then the strain on her arms lessened, her heels met the floor and a set of metal cuffs rose up out of the ground and snapped around her ankles. That's when she noticed that there were actually two tracks, running in parallel. She looked up and saw it was the same overhead. Each of her limbs was fastened independently.

Processing, the Lieutenant had called it. She'd been a prisoner at this camp for months. She'd been processed before. But never like this. Never in building like this one. She looked around, but there was nothing to see. Ahead of her, the track curved out of sight into a smaller completely opaque tunnel.

She turned to regard the invader standing to her left, who continued to swipe and tap on his device. He no longer seemed to notice her nudity. He didn't look at her with the same sort of lust or amusement that she'd so far been subjected to.

He finished and looked at her sharply, "Wow, lady, who'd you piss off? How many times have you tried to escape?"

She said nothing. She turned away from him, looking down the track. She would not give them the satisfaction of caring enough to reply.

The tracks lurched forward in tandem a few feet. It was an odd sensation, gliding along and yet restrained. The bottom tracks split, moving her feet apart until they were slightly past her shoulder width. The upper tracks moved also, spreading her arms wider, and cinching up. Her heels were still firmly on the lower tracks, but now there was more stretch in her arms and back. She got the sense that something was being calibrated.

Her motion stopped, and she realized the man had walked with her, and still stood at her left. He cleared his throat as though to get her attention, but she maintained her focus ahead.

"Ok, then," he said. "Listen, some of this you'll have heard before. But some. Lemme double check." There was a pause. Then he uttered, "Huh, that's new." Another pause.

He cleared his throat again. When he spoke next, it was with a formal tone and clear enunciation that told her the interaction was being recorded. She was being watched, or someone was going to review it later.

He intoned, "You have been presented for processing as conquered chattel, designated an enemy non-combatant of the New Gallatian Empire."

She snorted.

He broke his character for a second. "Snort all you want, lady, you people lost."

He resumed his professional tone. "You are now designated Slave-Consort. This designation supersedes any previous designation made during any previous processing sessions. I am prohibited from delineating any measures imposed upon you for tracking, monitoring, punishment, or other behavioral assessment or modification. You will receive identification when processing is complete. You will be restrained at all times during processing. Any attempt to resist processing or effect escape will be met with severe punishment. However, due to your designation, lethal methods are prohibited."

He tapped on the screen. "I don't know what you did, but I've never read an orientation speech like that before."

She felt him step closer to her. He stopped, and she knew he was staring at her. She slowly turned to meet his gaze.

He had folded the tablet against his chest, and was looking at her frankly. "Usually, I'm supposed to ask if the chattel has any questions. That wasn't even an option for you. It's like they knew you wouldn't say anything anyway. I can't decide if I should be impressed or feel sorry for you."

He looked down the line, toward where the tracks curved. "I'll be following along, making sure nothing goes wrong." He turned back to her and tilted his head. "Yell if you need something. Or if something really hurts. None of it is supposed to." He shook his head slowly. "But. I don't know. This one thing. Good luck, I guess."

She'd watched him the whole time. Was it his youth that caused him to treat her like a real person? Was he new in his job? She couldn't fathom it. She decided it was all a trick, to get her to trip up, to make her break the one vow she'd been able to hold on to. She was still looking at him when the tracks moved forward, smoothly taking her into the tunnel and around the corner.

She felt the lower tracks spreading farther apart. Now there was real tension in all of her limbs. She moved toward a pair of columns that flanked the tracks. As she passed between them, there was another pair of columns about five feet away. The tracks stopped, adjusted her position slightly, and then thick plastic walls descended around the sets of columns, sealing to the floor.

There was a puff of air against her face, and then more laser lights scanning her. When they stopped, she heard a hissing sound and felt the air pressure increasing in the chamber. It got harder and harder to breath as the air pumped in, constricting her chest movements. Just when it might have been unbearable, the increasing stopped. It held at that pressure for several seconds. There was another puff of air, more laser lights, and then a humming noise. Instantly the pressure dropped.

She took several full deep breaths as soon as she was able. She started feeling woozy, not quite dizzy, not quite sleepy. But now all of her limbs felt loose, and she couldn't see as clearly.

'Some kind of gas,' she thought. 'To keep me docile.'

Then another puff, stronger, on her face. She raised her head and blinked rapidly. The air pressure normalized. Though she no longer thought she would pass out, she still felt off, unable to concentrate, unable to think clearly. The plastic walls retracted into the ceiling, and the tracks moved her down farther into the bowels of this center.

About ten feet later there was another set of columns. This time when the plastic chamber settled down, a metal mask came down with it, protecting her face. She was washed thoroughly with foam and hot water. Automated cloths brushed softly against her skin scrubbing and removing all the hair on her body. She was rinsed off with warm water, and a then warm air flowed over her, drying her skin. She hung there, hating how calm she felt. Hating that her hatred was leaching out of her. She noticed that her skin felt good, no longer itching and caked with weeks' worth of sweat and muck. She noticed the stirrings of gratitude.

'Bastards,' she thought. 'I will not. I will not be grateful for clean skin. For a simple act of decency that is required by any treaty. I refuse.'

She bit her lip; she clenched her fists. The arm restraints began vibrating, whirring what she believed to be a warning that pain was imminent.

She wasn't in the mood for pain. She loosened her fists, wiggled her fingers to show her compliance. The mask moved off her face, and another, longer puff of air greeted her. Soon enough she was drowsy again, her eyes fluttering, but uncomfortable enough that she remained awake.

She felt strange pinch at her right buttock. When the plastic chamber retreated, her limbs were repositioned again. Her legs almost closed, and her arms now allowed to hang loose at her sides. She almost fell, but was caught by a seat of some kind that had risen up between her legs. She was carried past the second set of columns.

Suddenly she was very thirsty. Her mouth seemed parched; she couldn't remember the last cool drink of water she had. Her travel stopped, and in front of her appeared a tube attached to a clear large container.

There was a squawk, and Gunny's voice came from a speaker somewhere above her. "It's just water. We've found that something about this process makes people dehydrated. Drink as much as you want."

His invitation seemed sinister, but she was so very thirsty. A drop fell from the tube, landing on her chin. The moisture called to her. She tried to move her hands, to guide the tube to her mouth. But the chains that had loosened to allow her arms to fall had somehow become solid and prevented her movement. But as soon as she shifted on the seat, stretching her neck, the tube adjusted its position, and she was able to clamp her mouth around it and suck.

She drank. She drank like she'd been denied water for days. Maybe she had, she couldn't remember. So much was becoming cloudy, hard to focus on. The water tasted fine, and it was cold enough to truly be refreshing. She sucked, hard, and filled her mouth. She swallowed and swallowed. She thought she'd drain the container. But at some point, her stomach was full and she realized the container must connect to a much greater supply. Sated, she let go of the tube, and it retracted back into the ceiling. There was another puff of air. Her drowsiness increased. Her arms were again raised, but not quite as high, and she travelled on.

There was another set of columns, another pause, more flashing lights. Her legs were spread wide, and the seat still present between them also split in two. The halves pressed against her inner thighs, also catching the edges of her labia. A sensation that should have been pain registered as the seat halves pressed into her. Then an extended gust of air onto that skin, some pinching, and then a sudden sharp pain at the front of her vulva. That pain turned into a mild burning as the seat reformed itself under her, and her legs swung back down.

When the seat regained its position, she noticed subtle vibrations moving through the metal, and concentrating near the front of her sex, near the bundle of nerves used for pleasure. The pattern and the intensity of the vibrations changed, and her body began to react. She looked and saw that her nipples had hardened, standing out from her ample breasts. She felt the telltale sensitivity of all of her skin, and found herself bending her knees, pulling herself down onto the seat. She found herself rocking.

'Stop it. Stop it. Stop. Stop,' she thought angrily. 'You can't let them do this to you. You can't react.'

She bit her own tongue, and then bit down hard on the inside of her lip. The pain cleared her head momentarily. That's when she realized that the vibration she felt didn't come from the seat. Something stuck to her, or, her eyes widened as she concentrated, something stuck inside her was vibrating. Not in her vagina, but in the flesh of her mound, very near her clitoris.

She drew in a breath, surprised and scared for the first time. Another gust of air in her face, and hard on the heels of that, a second and a third. Her eyes closed completely, and she lolled, held upright only by her restraints.

When she regained her senses, her metal restraints had been replaced with similar items made from a different, lighter substance, that she soon found was compatible with the magnetic locks the invaders seemed to prefer. She was still on the seat and the pain in her mound was negligible. Now the restraints on her arms swung up, straightening those limbs directly over her head. The seat disappeared, and her legs were pushed under her center, so she was effectively standing again.

She saw mechanical arms swinging down, one holding a chest harness much like the one that had been put on her when she was recaptured. This one had a slightly different appearance, as the back seemed to be more of an open grid than a solid piece. As it swung around behind her, the other arm caught the opposite edge of the harness and together they slipped the contraption around her ribs. It was configured to push her breasts together and up, with the back curving around under her arms. The front halves curved above and below her breasts, and the two open circles would connect together at her sternum.

There was a sudden shift in the hum of the tracks she stood on, and then the chains which were connected to her restraints moved in opposite directions. Her body was pulled tight, then tilted down face forward. She was kept moving until her head was slightly lower than her backside. Once she was in the correct position, with her breasts hanging down, the front of the harness was closed and locked in place. Now something grabbed at the back of the harness, temporarily suspending her.

The restraints on her limbs and this harness were not painful. They were snug and clearly measured specifically for her body. She took a deep breath, and found it noticeable, but not restricted. When she was moved again to stand, she saw that her breasts were now made very prominent, more closely conforming to these invaders' juvenile standards of female attractiveness.

She felt betrayed by her body that her nipples were still erect, and that she felt the automatic stirrings of arousal in her sex. She looked up, unseeing, thinking about fate.

'Slave Consort,' she thought. 'I guess I know what that means.'

The last step in the process was the fitting of a metal collar around her neck. This also was snug, but not constricting. At the end of the line, the ankle cuffs disengaged from the track, and she was dragged a foot or two back on to solid ground.

The Gunnery Sergeant stood in front of her, tapping on his tablet screen. He glanced at her restraints, tugged on her collar and the bar at her sternum, and once more ran the light emanating from the cylinder over her. He treated her with a clinical detachment that spoke to practice evaluating the end result of the processing.

Finally, he squatted down in front of her, holding the laser light near her sex, and again tapping on his tablet screen. When he stood, he looked at her again, actually looked at her, seeming to recognize her personhood. He made one more tap on his screen and the chains holding her arms moved. Once again, her arms were folded behind her back, locked in place, and then connected to the harness around her chest.

There was movement, and that's when she saw the Lieutenant from the squad that had recaptured her. He walked to stand at Gunny's shoulder. They exchanged looks.

Gunny said to the Lieutenant, "SC-002."

From his pocket, Gunny produced a thin strip of metal, which she felt him affix to the collar just below her right ear. There was a brief acrid smell of some epoxy and she believed her collar was now marked with the identification she'd been given.

She rolled her eyes. 'Call me what you want,' she thought. 'It changes nothing.'

Gunny shrugged, the Lieutenant tapped something on his wrist tablet, making the telltale swiping gestures that indicated he was writing a message. She looked past them, at the opening of the building. She still felt disconnected, and drowsy. She hoped they didn't have far to walk.

Then the Gunnery Sergeant stepped close to her, there was a hiss and a sharp pain at the back of her neck, just above the collar. The world went black.

++~~++~~++~~++

She awoke on her back, laying on a cot. She opened her eyes, looking around as best she could without moving. She was in a large tent. She could see a support pole, and along one fabric wall was a long table with some equipment and a few chairs. She heard breathing and shuffling. She could make out the form of a man sitting at one of the chairs, dressed in the invaders' typical camouflage. She lay still, listening for anything else that might give her clues to her situation. But she heard nothing to indicate other people, only the low whine of a generator, and the various discordant noises of the camp outside.

She shifted on the cot, noting that she was naked except for the restraints. Her legs were spread, and she soon realized that her ankles were chained to the foot posts of the bed. Her hands were folded across her stomach, and chains extended from her wrists to her feet. She attempted to move her hands, and found another chain connected her wrists to the brace at the front of the harness. She was surprised when her attempt to sit up was successful. Her breasts shifted and jostled in the harness and the chains rattled softly.

The man turned to look at her, and her heart jumped in her throat.

'No!' she thought. 'It can't be. That can't be Him. He's gone. I saw Him die.'

The man looked like her Mate, her Partner, to whom she had dedicated herself since she was old enough to make the decision. Then the man turned more fully, and she saw it must be a trick of the light. There were similarities, but those had to be a coincidence. Just an unlucky combination of genetics, and more evidence that at one time their two peoples had not been enemies.

The man stood and she saw the differences. This man was taller than Him, and broader at the shoulder. This man's eyes were brown. This man's hair was darker than His, but also had wisps of grey at the temples. He must be older. She looked at this man for a long moment, her heart pounding and a strange sensation of familiarity washing over her.

She shook her head, clearing the sensation. She closed her eyes and fell backward. She heard the man approach, felt the air currents change and the slight heat from his body as he stood next to the cot. He didn't speak.

She felt fingertips, brushing down her body. She felt a hand on her breast, a thumb roll across a traitorously erect nipple. She felt the fingers gliding down below her crossed arms. She felt the mass of his shape shifting as his hand traced around her navel and then the backs of his fingers stroked her lower abdomen. He stopped before reaching her mound, moved his hand to circle her hip bone, and brush her flank. She held herself still. She refused to move, refused to respond, to even so much as move her eyes under their lids in his direction. She kept her mouth closed with her lips pressed together tightly.

She knew he would take her, eventually. She understood, at some point he would have her, use her, and likely discard her to the whims of his men.

She sent up another silent entreaty to the feckless gods. 'Let them kill me quickly.'

She almost flinched when the first words the man spoke were, "I'm not going to kill you, Essie."

He continued idly stroking her lower stomach. "I'm not going to kill you Essie. If we do this right, it won't even hurt more than you'd like." He stopped his movements, and she felt him shifting slightly away. "I'll explain, when you're feeling more like listening."

The man's voice rolled over her. She heard something familiar in it. Not so much in the tone or the timber, but in the attitude. She'd heard similar statements from Him, when He was training her, when she was learning what He needed and how He would give her what she needed.

'It's impossible,' she thought. 'They can't know. They can't. There's no way. How could they? This has to be coincidence. It has to be. He must say this all the time. That's it. He just assumes. He thinks he knows. Or, no, he doesn't care. That makes more sense. Because these people, they're all horrible. None of them. They don't know. They can't understand.'