A Change Could Do You Good, Part VIII: White Night
by Flashpoint
Troy once killed someone.
Well, as good as. Troy was the one who told the kid that the vine over the old stone quarry outside of town was safe. C'mon, everyone does it. It's been there for years. I did it myself, he said.
So the kid did.
The vine snapped when he'd gotten less than ten feet across and he fell two hundred feet straight down onto solid granite. Fortunately he died instantly. Fortunate because he wouldn't have liked surviving.
Troy was 16 when that happened. It was the middle of the last century, he was the rich kid of a rich man, and he had everything and everyone he wanted. So naturally he talked a poor, friendless nebbish into doing something stupid. It was fun.
It wasn't fun at the inquest, however. When it was revealed that Troy had talked him into it the scandal was like Vesuvius at full erupt. The boy's parents demanded that Troy go to jail for murder. Troy didn't like that. Fortunately for Troy, the judge decided that that level of punishment was unfounded, stating that what Troy was going through was punishment enough. He also didn't want the bureaucratic burden of trying a minor as an adult.
The judge was right, as it turned out; the scandal itself was more than enough punishment for Troy. The whole town decided Troy was a pariah. Troy didn't like that either. Even his usual crowd of rich, bored teenage youths avoided him. The punishment didn't end there, though.
Daddy Kiered had been a wonderful businessman, but unfortunately a lousy parent. He'd always been there to bail Troy out. He paid for wrecked cars, destroyed personal property, and (it was rumored, never proven) a private abortion out of state. Daddy did everything for his prize boy, which, of course, was the biggest disservice he could possibly have done. Troy was a rich, preppy golden boy with no discipline, morals, or restraint, and he got whatever he wanted. Anything. The rules didn't apply to Troy Kiered, the most handsome, popular, and rich kid in school after all.
Except Daddy had had enough. He knew Troy's style. Ritchie Ellsworth had not been the type to swing across a rock quarry without being prodded. Everyone knew that.
Troy had never been physically punished by his father. Until the day after the inquest, that is. Arguably, his father may have gone too far, but he had a lifetime (Troy's) of frustration built up that he needed to vent. The beating Troy received left welts for days. Being locked in the utility room for the night without food or water wasn't any better. Troy certainly didn't like that.
Then came military school.
Troy learned a lot about harsh discipline there. The worst part was when Troy learned that his father had had a talk with the school wardens and that he was going to be a guest of the school until age 21.
If only I'd known then what I know now, Troy reflected, watching Ted thunder off to his bed for the night. A rare privilege, to have an actual bed to sleep in, but the man had earned it. Tonight had been a watershed event in Ted's retraining. He had truly grown.
Troy was amazed, though he loathed admitting it. It had taken many long sessions and weeks of heavy discipline and character remolding to break through the man's barriers. Troy of course could have just hypnotized Ted, but that wouldn't have accomplished anything. Ted would never have learned from his mistakes; he would have just been a hypnotic automaton helpless to his Master. It had been an appealing notion in some ways, and one that Troy had done before, but not what Ted needed. He needed a new direction in life, something that Troy could identify with considering his own checkered past. Ted was now ready to become an adult.
Troy decided he would have a talk with Jake about easing Ted's treatment. Jake wouldn't like it, but he'd do it.
But Ted's accomplishments could not keep Troy from the dark turn of his own thoughts. He was angry with himself. The only reason why Ted had made such a watershed tonight was because Troy had lost control and pushed Ted beyond his limits. Ted may have been an insufferable bastard in the past, but he should not have received the torture he had received tonight. Ted had erred, true, but any application of force heretofore applied had been in the interests of justice and improvement; he had never been subjected to this type of abuse. Worse, Troy had begun to babble about Kevin in the middle of it! Troy had broken one of the cardinal rules: never play when you're angry. Damn Kevin!
No, he thought, not Kevin. Damn Me. Damn Me for being a fool. And damn Me for the boy who died. There had not been one day in the past 43 years that he had not thought of Ritchie, through trials, hardships, slavery, Mastery, disablement, and regeneration. Troy knew that Ritchie's death was due to his own lack of discipline, which was (one reason) why he was now such a stickler for self-control. And tonight it had failed him. Not just with Ted. Ted was valuable property, but ultimately inconsequential. It was Kevin.
He should never have sent Ted to Kevin's gym to be "trained." It had of course been convenient to have a powerlifter (one of Kevin's preferred physical types) on hand to subtly guide Kevin here, but what a disastrous turn of events it had become. Troy had not known about Kevin's deeply ingrained mental trauma about his uncle... even the psych evaluations that Troy had dug up had been routine. But then, what Troy had found in Kevin's subconscious happened at age six. In those days, as now, records were sealed after age 12 and destroyed at age 18. Troy could have used a microprobe and never found the records of Kevin's psychiatric care and hospitalization.
Troy frowned sadly. Age six... the same age as the little girl who died that horrible day in November. Salvör Pintaarsdottir. Sally, to her American cousins. I'm sorry, Sally. Jake didn't mean to kill you. Or to hold you as you died.
Of course, Jake hadn't intended to kill any of the other 841 people that day either.
Troy wished that he had used any other means to keep Kevin from psychotic withdrawal but knew that he had had no other option. The botched regression could have sent - and very nearly did send - Kevin into an endless mental loop, constantly reliving the worst moment of his life until he died of mental breakdown... or old age. Troy had had to literally shock Kevin back to reality. It was not Troy's proudest moment.
Troy wished he had never have bought the - He quashed that thought. What was bought could be unbought. Kevin would never know... and what would it matter if he found out? It wouldn't change anything. Why was I so damned weak that day? He refused to let his mind provide the answer that he already knew. Damn Kevin! Grinding his teeth, he moved toward his desk. So much to do, and here I stand fretting over a man.
But he could not keep the image of Kevin's eyes from his mind, no matter how hard he tried...
Troy's Master had been Master Tom. Master Tom had been a rather unassuming man, an instructor at a small university visiting Troy's school on a lecture circuit. He was only ten years older than Troy, not very tall, and had a belly on him. A large belly for his height. He looked very much like a small cartoon bear and for the most part acted like one too. Clever camouflage, Troy would find out later.
Troy was 20 and bitterly unhappy with life. His father had not only dumped him, but he had not spoken with him either in the four years since "The Accident." His father sent money periodically through his accountants but not very much, preferring to let Troy learn the concept of want. And true to his father's word, and the word of the school wardens, for those four years Troy had not had the privilege of leaving the school grounds. Not one inch outside. Not even once. Not even for Hanukkah.
The headmaster, a vindictive martinet of a man, also did a rather unnecessary twisting of the knife in Troy's case; he "accidentally" let slip to the student body at large about why Troy was there. Consequently, Troy had no friends or even acquaintances in the school. Troy got used to people hissing "murderer" at him in the halls and to his dorm room door being vandalized on a weekly basis. The only blessing in any of it was that every other single student refused to room with him for the entire four-year period and the administration didn't press the issue.
Troy was going to be 21 in two weeks, and free of this place... and had nowhere to go. His father didn't want him back in his house, despite his mother's loud insistence, and he had no prospects, no money except some far-off inheritance, and no future. He thought about college, but the prospect of another four years of being indentured didn't appeal to him.
So when Master Tom asked Troy to help him with his lecture, Troy had no idea it would change his life. Master Tom was clever. He'd had his eye on Troy since before he got there. A clever Master does research on prospective slaves. Master Tom had always been very, very clever. He hadn't known Troy Kiered or his father or the scandal before this school came onto his lecture schedule, but as a matter of course he interviewed the headmaster of the school about any potential, well, *problem* students who might benefit from his lecture. After all, a lecture on the benefits of hypnotherapy can help a lot of people, don't you agree, headmaster?
After a bit of softening up, the headmaster told Master Tom a lot of things... things that the man carefully tucked away to use later. In fact, after his relatively quick but extremely effective session, the headmaster suddenly discovered that he liked watching the weightlifting team, and after a (short) while decided to join them in their workouts. People were amazed at how quickly the man bulked up too, going from a gangly 5' 9", 140 lb. frame to a beefy 260 less than four years later. It also seemed to affect his personality; he suddenly became a much nicer man.
Of course, repeated long distance contact with Master Tom helped his workouts. Master Tom hadn't appreciated what the man had done to Troy, among other unpleasant things he had done that he reported under hypnosis. Master Tom felt that the headmaster could use some improvement. At least now he had a hobby.
But the most important thing Master Tom found out about was Troy Kiered. Golden boy Troy, 4.0 student Troy, scandalous Troy... directionless Troy. He was perfect in every regard. Just what the Master ordered. It also didn't hurt that he was good looking. If Master Tom liked him as a person too, well...
The lecture was fairly routine. After the usual introductory segment, Master Tom came to the part everyone was curious about: the practicum. "I've selected a volunteer to come up and help me. Mr. Kiered?" Troy clumped out onstage and sat in the chair, feeling a bit self-conscious being in front of 150 of his fellow students, all of whom despised him. "If I could have complete silence in the audience. Now, Mr. Kiered, I want you to relax and breathe deeply. Listen to my voice. Only the sound of my voice. It is all you can hear. It is the only sound in this room. The only sound in the building. The only sound in the school." He even had a pocket watch. It was such a stereotype for hypnosis, but he had been fond of it since it had belonged to his own grandfather. "See the shiny watch, Troy? You can only see the watch. It is the only thing in the room. Only the watch..."
He continued in his soft growl of a voice, drawing Troy deeper and deeper. Troy had of course initially scoffed at the idea, and even now some part of him didn't believe it was happening even as he got more and more drowsy. "Three... two..."
"Return."
Troy blinked, staring around him. The entire audience was laughing. He was holding a water jug in one hand and his shoe in the other and his shoe was full of water. He also had a large flowered woman's hat on his head. He gaped, aghast at what he was seeing, Master Tom smiling down at him. "Very good, Mr. Kiered. You were a very good subject." He turned to the audience. "Are there any other volunteers?" A few raised their hands. "Well, that's more than I usually get," he said jovially. "I usually scare them all away. Come up, gentlemen, and let's see what mischief we can make." He twinkled at Troy, who still looked appalled. "You may take a seat, Mr. Kiered. Please come and see me after the lecture is over."
Troy started. He'd been sitting staring into the darkness of the loft for almost a half-hour. So much to do, and here I sit. "Vincent."
"This is Vital Information Necessary Centralized. How may I assist?"
Troy frowned in puzzlement. "I thought you were reprogrammed so that you didn't have to say that each time."
The voice sounded a bit abashed. "Well... I was. But let's face it, Troy, I'm a creature of habit. The way I look at it, if you have a gimmick that works, don't mess with it."
Troy rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say. Do me a favor and bring up the rotation on the monitors, would you? Replace with stock quotations on monitors 7, 11, 13, 23, and 29."
There was an imperceptible pause. "Unable to comply. There's a software conflict preventing that command from being executed. I apologize." There was another slight pause. "Manual control is still online."
Bloody hell, Troy thought. Have to get that AI expert in here again. Lucky he likes being hypnotized. Troy had too many secrets that he didn't want repeated. "Never mind. I'll do it manually. Is the dispensary online?"
"Yowza."
"Good. Coffee. Black."
"Aye-aye, Captain Janeway. Now if we only had replicators." There was a vague sound of machinery while Troy's drink was prepared.
Troy muttered something coarse under his breath. "Why did I ever program you with a personality?"
If Vincent had been human, he would have had an evil look on his face. "I think a better question would be, why did you program me with a sardonic sense of humor? But then, we both know the answer to that."
Troy sighed and nodded. "Because your encephalic matrix is copied from the human Vincent and since he has a dry wit, so do you." The coffee appeared from a space in the desk in front of him, rising from the blank surface like a ghost.
"Of course I have a dry wit. Water shorts out my processors." Troy looked very much like he was getting a headache as he drank. Not from the coffee, from the joke. "And speaking of health issues, are you all right?"
Troy stiffened. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
There was a very human-sounding snort. "Give it up, Troy. My scans show that your serotonin and endorphin levels are highly elevated, not to mention that the heat index of your entire body indicates that your muscles are so knotted that you should be on the floor yelling in pain. Not to mention the fact that I can tell when you're lying, hmm?" Troy thought an extremely rude expletive. The damn thing had an in on his health out of necessity, but at the same time Troy despised the fact that he was so much of an open book. "Troy, I'm just looking out for you. Yes, I'm programmed to, but I care about you too. Please tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing." Troy made sure that the tone of his voice was convincing even if Vincent could tell that he was lying.
Sure enough, Vincent was not daunted. "It's Kevin, isn't it?" When Troy didn't respond, Vincent continued. "Thought so. Dammit, Troy, why did you let him go?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
The voice was reproachful. "Troy, I know for a fact that you're in -"
Troy had no patience for this. "Mute!" he barked.
"Troy, I'm talking to y...!" The voice cut off in mid-word.
Troy sighed. He hated doing that to Vincent as he had not really done anything wrong, but Kevin was the last thing that Troy wanted to discuss with anyone, let alone a counselor made of circuitry.
He raised his hands into a keyboard position in the air in front of him and started typing out commands. Clever little devices, he allowed, looking at his fingers clicking away on nothing, as he began to pull up his NASDAQ and bring the monitors online. They cycled through their first base commands, much to his impatience (and he had been the one to insist they go through the cycle), starting with the security rotation, showing a dark and empty bar. Fortunately, Vincent decided to keep his own counsel; there were no pithy remarks from him interjected into the screens, like he usually liked to do. It was difficult to make Vincent take the point sometimes, but when he did he took it to, well, heart.
The rotation moved to Jake's apartment, right below the loft. But then, the whole bar was below the loft; being a converted warehouse, it was that big. Troy noted that Jake was sweating, muttering, and tossing fretfully in his sleep, not a good sign. He hoped that Jake wasn't having another memory crisis... that would be the perfect end to a perfect day all around. Andy's apartment; Troy noted that he was sitting up watching TV (The Cartoon Network) and eating four or five triple-deck supreme pizzas all at once, also not a good sign; that usually meant that he was depressed, undoubtedly over Jake. And, of course, Kevin's apartment. Troy sat up sharply.
As fate would have it, Kevin was just now finding the hidden camera in the bedroom. He must have gone directly to find it. He was still in the clothes he had worn to the bar and he looked angry. With what looked like a sharp invective - there was no sound, of course - suddenly there was no picture. And the next image of the rest of the apartment wasn't there; he must have found that one first. Wonderful. What perfect timing, he thought bitterly, his mood suddenly black again. I had managed to not think of him for almost two minutes. As if to mock him, the monitors then went to their original assigned task and started flashing stock quotes and updates. He'd have sworn Vincent was making a commentary by that timing if he didn't know better.
Kevin's words while under hypnosis came back to him: I'm alone. I've always been alone.
It took Troy a while to realize that Master Tom's "suggestion" to see him after the lecture was anything but. However, later that night when Troy found himself bound and gagged in his own room at the feet of this leather clad and suddenly much more imposing man, whimpering to cum but being unable to do so no matter how hard he tried (another implanted command), he thought perhaps that this man might have done something to him. Troy hadn't been readily perceptive in those days either.
It only took six hours of very hard leather play to convince Troy to join Master Tom's household. And he was not hypnotized when he made the decision, nor reacting to an implanted command. He simply realized it was a much better alternative than his scant other options. Oh, the decisions we make.
Interestingly, Master Tom did a very quaint and somewhat charming thing before allowing Troy to join Him. He visited Troy's father and asked his permission. Of course, He didn't tell the real reason for having Troy move 700 miles to a Michigan college town, but the reasons were plausible enough. A job offer, a new chance for Troy... Troy had confided in little Tom Henderson, the little bear of a man, his truly earnest desire for a new life after all, and Tom felt that this was exactly what Troy needed in his life. Perhaps he'd learn direction and discipline. He truly needs this, Mr. Kiered. And I need a man with his talent.
Whatever Master Tom actually said that day Troy never found out, but within two hours of entering the house, Troy's father suddenly came out with Him, shaking His hand vigorously and wishing Him the best of luck. And Troy's father did something that he hadn't done in years: he hugged his son. Troy wondered if it was due to a "suggestion", but Master Tom told him no. He'd done that on his own.
Whatever notion Troy might have had that he was getting a free ride by becoming a slave trainee were quickly disabused when he actually got to Master Tom's home. There were three slaves already, and the hierarchy was already established. Insubordination was quickly and effectively quashed, not by Master Tom but by one of the higher up slaves, except in cases where he had been in private session or especially difficult, which in the early days was quite often. Interestingly, there was no further hypnosis on Troy's part. He suspected that the other slaves were being hypnotized on a regular basis but he had not been, which struck him as odd. The first of many things there to do so.
As Troy was taught much later on, when he was learning how to do it himself, one of the basic tenets of hypnosis has always been that you can't make someone do something that they object to doing. You can't, for example, make a person take a gun and shoot themselves in the head while under hypnosis. You can, however, tell them it's a toy gun and shoots water and won't hurt them. So, you can't make a person commit suicide if they don't want to, but you can make the person believe that what they're doing is safe. Or so the theory went.
Troy hadn't wanted to sign a slave contract. Plain and simple.
Master Tom had said that Troy wasn't required to do so, but if he didn't, he had a limited amount of time to stay in the household. Six months, no more no less. It was standard operating procedure in those days, He said. And as the other slaves explained to Troy three months after he had arrived, all three of them had signed their first two-year contracts by this point. But Troy had not.
Master Tom never said a word about it, never let it affect His behavior, but His disapproval and disappointment were evident in every action and interaction the other slaves of the house had with Troy after a while. They sneered at him when free to do so. They did not speak with him even when they were free to do so. And Troy was not welcome to sleep with the other slaves; he had to sleep in a corner of his own in their communal room while the other three cuddled together. It was like being in the Academy all over again. No; like he'd never left.
Master Tom could have used hypnosis in an attempt to coerce Troy into signing a contract, especially since he had already hypnotized him, but didn't. The other slaves had made their decisions to enter His service in their own minds before giving their bodies (and much of their minds) to Master Tom. The reason why was a very simple paradox, which Master Tom explained over and over: slavery must be consensual. To be in control one must give up control by one's own action or choice. Master Tom had learned that a long time before. Troy hadn't but was going to. There was also the possibility that even had he been hypnotized, the command probably would not have worked due to his deeply embedded but nameless objection.
Troy had the same reluctance he had had before about college: wanting to learn and grow and not wanting to be tied down. The fact that he was tied down much of the time in truth was neither here nor there.
But time was flying by rapidly and before Troy knew it five months had passed and still he had made no decision.
Troy had his base assignments, which were (in order) mowing the lawn; cleaning the pool; vacuuming; doing the dishes; and cleaning, organizing, and performing maintenance on all base equipment in the house. Base equipment meant anything dealing with leather, SM, bondage, or the slaves' basic needs. Troy had the lowest jobs on the slave totem pole. He was not allowed to perform any function that did not have to deal with cleaning or maintenance in some way. Master Tom's feeling was it was to cleanse the independence from the slave, but Troy thought that was a bit grandiose. He just thought they were shit jobs. Which they were, but he had no way of knowing at the time that before he got there, the jobs were rotated among all the slaves.
The other slaves had ceased talking to him entirely, and if he had any orders, they were given as handwritten notes. Master Tom had given them that privilege, as a small reminder to Troy of his status. It worked quite well. He literally hadn't spoken, or been spoken to, in weeks; he was not addressed even by Master Tom when in training sessions; and to add insult to insult, the other slaves were now allowed to eat at the table with Master Tom, leaving Troy kneeling in a corner of the kitchen eating out of his dog bowl.
The day started as they usually did for Troy. Which meant he was a silent automaton doing his thing in mostly seclusion. He was nude, wearing a length of chain around his neck fastened with a small padlock, as they all were. Unlike the others, however, it was not numbered. He would not get that privilege until past his trainee phase. If he made it past his trainee phase. He dipped the long handled net into the pool, scooping leaves, thinking about how inviting the water was and the death he would invite if he jumped in, when he heard an odd sound. Looking up in surprise, he realized it was slave number three calling his name. Well, not his name. "Trainee!" he barked.
At first, Troy hesitated, staring, then dropped the net by the side of the pool and knelt before slave number three. "I hear and obey, slave number three." He kept his head straight ahead, staring between the slave's legs, not looking up or down. He had learned that much, at least.
He could hear the growl of disgust from the slave. "You hesitated before responding. You will report this to the Master." He leaned down and jerked Troy's head up roughly. "The Master has dismissed your regular duties for today in lieu of a private training session. It is now past 9 am, not yet 9:30." The slaves were not permitted to wear watches either, but had to keep a sense of what time it was at any given moment. With training, they were almost 99% accurate. "I have been given permission to speak freely with you, not that I want to. You are pathetic. You sponge off of the Master's caring and largesse but refuse to accept the gift of slavery He offers."
The disdain was evident in his voice. He stared down into Troy's eyes and Troy felt a burning shame, but it was overridden by defiance. This was no Master to order him, but a slave. The slave continued. "Your eyes betray you, trainee. Defiance has no place in this household. The Master has taught you that over and over but you still do not accept." He straightened. "Either you will or you will not. It is not for me to decide." He turned and walked back toward the house. "Your session with the Master begins at 11 am, trainee. Begin preparing yourself." He turned and left without another word.
Troy put the net back into the pool house and went directly into the preparation area in the slaves' bathroom. Fortunately, he didn't see any of the slaves on his way there, but the house was large enough that he was unlikely to do so. He wished that he would see another one, even risking another castigation. The Master would periodically change the schedules to permit a training session, or to entertain a new guest, but never with such short notice, and never without at least some clue as to what would occur. This made Troy nervous and the presence of one of the others would have been comforting.
Preparation took relatively little time, but he went over himself more than once to make sure he was presentable. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't required that he be so thorough and he usually didn't bother, but something told him that it was important today.
Once he had showered, shaved again, and douched himself thoroughly, he took a critical eye to himself. His hair was still in its short military cut and Master Tom made sure it was kept clean and neat. The slaves all had shaved heads, of course, but that again was a privilege he had not obtained. His body, however, was shaved, not that he had a great deal of body hair to deal with. Master Tom liked them smooth unless He had something specific in mind.
Turning to examine himself from all angles, he looked at his body. If there was one thing he could say about being in Master Tom's house, it was that his body had improved. All slaves (and trainees) were required to follow a strict exercise regimen, and the results in just five short months had been dramatic. Troy's body, which had never been in bad shape, was now magnificent. His chest, shoulders and arms had grown stronger and more muscular; his lats had grown to an extreme hourglass; his thighs were pillars of strength.
The only jarring note in any of it was his complete lack of abdominal definition. In fact, due to the rich diet of the household, he had grown a definite belly. Before he had come here, he had been rather lean, but his belly had grown from a negligible 31 inch to a burgeoning 38. It didn't make sense with the bodybuilding they were all doing that Master Tom wouldn't stress abdominal strength as well, but He had specifically forbidden any exercises that might shrink his waistline. For that matter, the other slaves had even larger bellies than he did and Master Tom said not one word about it. In fact, he seemed to approve of it. Especially of slave number two, who was the heaviest of all of them, and looked very much like he had swallowed a beach ball. Strange.
Troy went to the Master's study at 10:59. He didn't have the excellent time sense of the other slaves so he cheated: he stayed in the bathroom, which had a clock, until near time. As was the custom, Troy entered silently and stood at parade rest in the center of the room until the Master was ready for him. He thought he'd had enough of parade rest at the Academy.
After a long time - nearly ten minutes - Master Tom looked up from his paperwork at Troy. He said nothing; He didn't even seem to blink. Troy felt sweat trickle down his back. He knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. This was not a good sign, not at all. He usually gave instructions the moment the slave came into the room...
"Take your position at My feet, trainee," he said finally. Troy jolted forward automatically and knelt in front of Master Tom. Master Tom waited another long moment and then said, "Today we are going to do something a little different. Look at Me, trainee." Troy did. "Frogs in winter."
Troy suddenly found himself standing where he had been when he walked in, at parade rest waiting for Master Tom to look up. Had he imagined what had just happened? He tried to move his arms and found that he couldn't. Surprised, he started to turn his head - and couldn't do that either. The most he could do was blink in surprise, and that was involuntary. "Very good, trainee," Master Tom said. "Do you understand My orders, trainee?"
Troy immediately started answering with no control over his own mouth and no idea what he was saying. "Yes, Master. I understand Your orders and obey. I will respond only when given a question. I will answer fully, truthfully, and honestly. I will omit noth-"
Master Tom cut him off. "That is enough, trainee. Do not run on either. Answer fully, truthfully, honestly, omitting nothing, and *succinctly*. Do you understand, trainee?"
"Yes, Master." He couldn't help responding.
"Good, trainee. Now, answer My questions. How long have you been in My household, trainee?"
"Five months, one week, three days, eleven hours, Master." He hadn't been aware he knew the exact figure.
"And what is the maximum amount of time you are allowed to stay in My household, trainee?"
"Six months, Master." Uh-oh, Troy thought. He had a sinking feeling about where this was headed.
"Do you wish to leave My household, trainee?"
"No, Master." The answer came out with no hesitation.
This wasn't like the last session at all! He was supposed to be asleep, not a mind-controlled robot! But here he was, spilling out answers like a tape recording. Troy knew what was coming, hoped He wouldn't ask, hoped that -
"Why have you not signed a contract with Me, trainee?" Oh, great, there it was, the one question Troy wanted to avoid. Troy wanted to bite his tongue, to clamp his mouth, but couldn't, any more than he could withhold his answer.
"I am afraid of You, Master." What! Where had *that* come from? He wasn't... was he?
Troy then saw something he would only see twice more in his entire servitude to Master Tom - the man completely speechless. His mouth hanging open, He stared at the enthralled trainee. Then He said, in a wondering voice, "Why on the Blessed Union are you afraid of Me?"
"Because You are the perfect Master for me, Master. You are the man to whom I wish to give complete control of my body and mind, to use as You see fit, and I fear giving up control."
Troy felt a knife in his heart when he heard that come out of his own mouth. Because he knew it to be true. He had had everything. He had been in control... and it had been an illusion. He'd been a self-absorbed, arrogant bastard and he'd lost it all due to his own stupidity. He was ashamed. More so because he knew what he truly wanted now, what made him feel complete, and why he had not been able to submit to it.
"You will regain use of your body, but will remain in My control." Abruptly, Troy felt his body return and flexed his hand behind his back to affirm that he could. "You may relax." Troy lowered his arms. "Troy, what exactly do you want? Do you wish to enter service here, or do you want to return to your father's house? You are required to answer truthfully. Do not answer what you think that I want or what anyone else wants for you. What do YOU want?"
"Master, I wish to enter service as Your slave."
Troy felt a heady rush as he said this. He knew he wanted it, knew that this was the next step of his life, and strangely felt that in giving up his control he was more in control than before. This was his first lesson as a slave: in bondage, there is freedom.
"Very well. Are you willing to sign a contract to that effect? Be aware that this is a legal binding contract for a period of no less than two years. Do you understand this?"
"I understand, Master. Yes, Master, I will sign a slave contract."
Master Tom came up very close to Troy and said, "I will count from three to one and then tell you to return. When I tell you to return, you will have full control of yourself. You will not be under compulsion and you will retain memory of our interview. Three."
Troy found himself sitting on Master Tom's couch, his head in his hands, shaking and sobbing hysterically. Master Tom was sitting nearby, His hand on Troy's bare shoulder, showing support by simply being present. "He died and it was my fault and everyone hated me and they wanted to put me in jail and I lost all my friends and dad sent me to military school and they hated me too and I was so afraid and lonely and I'm sorry..."
For a long, long time, Troy babbled the whole story until his misery had flowed out. Master Tom listened with no comment. After Troy had been silent for a time He said, "I suspected that was the case after the third month, Troy. I don't make idle decisions on who is suitable for entering my household. I knew that there had to be another issue at hand." He hesitated a moment and then added, "I know what happened, Troy. I knew about the boy who died before we even met." Troy could only nod. Of course He would.
It went on like that for a while, Troy simply speaking his mind, letting out the terror and shame of years. When at last it seemed to dissipate, he sat back, hugging himself, unsure what would happen next. He felt ashamed, ashamed to be seen like this by Master Tom, ashamed to deserve being seen like this by anyone. Master Tom then said, very gently and softly, "Troy, do you wish to sign a slave contract?" Troy nodded, not looking at Him. Master Tom let out a small breath and said, "Very well. It seems that you have learned to embrace slavery. Now you must learn to embrace freedom..."
Troy was slightly surprised by what Master Troy told him next, and even more so when he was led to the front door the next morning at 7a, with his clothes and enough money to last him a week on his own. As he left, the other slaves were waiting in attendance behind Master Tom, and for the first time in months, they smiled at him. They may not have known the details of what happened, but they knew he was on the cusp of joining them.
The first contract was for two years, and Troy signed it the moment he returned to the house seven days later. Troy was the low slave on the totem pole again, but there was a difference this time. It was with joy that he followed his orders and the other slaves showed only mutual love and respect. Then, a week after returning, he was put under hypnotic control that the other slaves did not receive. (Troy had been only partially right about that detail. They had many implanted commands but were not hypnotized regularly.) He would retain full memory and awareness of what was happening to him if not what his commands had been (except in certain circumstances) but would not have any conscious control over what happened to him or what he was ordered to do. A good thing, he reflected later on, because without it he would not have been able to do half the things he was ordered to do.
Troy's first set of orders wasn't revealed to him, but he began to suspect what it entailed when his appetite suddenly tripled overnight. Also, he didn't remember his schedule being changed, but two hours of every day were suddenly designated as "feeding hours" for him exclusively, in addition to his regular meals. The other slaves cooked meals in rotation, but he never made any food for himself during his feeding hours; it was provided for him without explanation. And in abundance. He was still eating the same meals with the other slaves, but now he was also eating easily five times the amount of food in all the other meals combined during those two hours. He didn't understand how he was doing it even while doing it; his capacity had become enormous and his appetite endless. And the food provided for him was mouth-watering meats, ham, turkey, roast beef; sumptuous breads and rolls; delicious vegetables. And desserts. Especially the desserts. He could eat the equivalent of four Thanksgiving dinners and still inhale a German Chocolate cake.
Needless to say, Troy's weight skyrocketed. He went from a lean 185 to 250 in less than six months' time; and from 250 to almost 350 within the next year, making him the heaviest slave of the four by almost 60 pounds. He didn't mind, even as he watched his former golden boy looks disappear under a thick pillow of fat; he had surrendered control and was glad of it. Master Tom liked them heavy. Obedient and heavy.
Troy didn't realize quite how heavy until near the end of the second year of his first contract term. Master Tom made an announcement to the household one day: they were going to the beach the next Saturday. The slaves nodded, accepting this, but privately they were puzzled; the nearest beach was 105 miles away, and the four had never been there. Master Tom had never seemed interested before.
When they got there, it was a typical beach; nothing notable about it that Troy could see and no obvious reason why the Master would want to come here. He couldn't question the Master's choice, but he was puzzled all the same.
It didn't become any more apparent when they erected a small changing tent for the Master, which He consented to let them use as well. He didn't want them changing on the beach in front of the disinterested laconic suburbanites wasting time on the sand that day.
As usual, He gave them each packets of what they would be wearing that day. They had expected this; when they were allowed to dress He personally approved everything and added or subtracted to His preference. What they didn't expect was what was in the packets.
Slave number one had reached 290 lbs the previous month and slave number three had topped 310 long since, and although a good portion of it was muscle due to their bodybuilding routines, they also had a rather sizable girth. Either way, they required big men's sizes when they were allowed to dress. Opening the packets, slaves number one and number three saw that they had identical Hawaiian shirts, with the typical pictures of palms, macaws, etc., and Bermuda shorts to match, both in bright yellow. They were the wrong size, however. The sizes in the packets were exactly one size too small.
When they struggled into the shirts and shorts, they found the shorts were just tight enough that their love handles and bellies hung over the front quite precipitously. And when the shirts were buttoned (with difficulty) they had gaps where the fabric met. They looked like stuffed sausages ready to burst. They were large men, but now in the vacation wear they sported, they looked bigger than ever. They were not ashamed, of course; they had had that burned out of them a long time before. Still, it was odd. The Master did not make mistakes like this.
Slave number two was having a much more fun time of it; he was given a white biker t-shirt with RIDE A FAT BOY on front and back in letters large enough to be read a half mile away. It covered his girth, barely, but it was too short at the bottom and his large overhang rode over the athletic shorts he was wearing, also too small. Slave number two had remained heavier than number one and number three, at an impressive 345 lbs. The Master had liked the "numerology" of number two's weight, as He jokingly called it, and kept him there indefinitely.
Then, of course, came slave number four. Troy.
He was the heaviest of all of them. His feeding schedule had taken a definite toll on him; he now weighed a whopping 383 lbs. He had some muscle on him, but not as much as the others did on theirs. He was mostly belly. He hadn't seen his own organ in months, and it was not small. His feeding had taken precedence over his workouts, though he had still continued them. And for some odd reason, even eating like a horse every day and being mostly nude, watching his body inflate, he hadn't realized how much bigger he was until they were here, dressing for the beach in this small tent. He wondered why.
His clothing packet was succinct: he had a pair of bikini briefs. Nothing else. And it was of course slightly too small too. He looked, to his own mind, like nothing more than a hippo wearing a washcloth. He wasn't ashamed either, of course, but he didn't expect the feeling he had. He was excited. And judging from the looks that all four of them were exchanging, the feeling was shared. They had never looked at each other sexually before, to Troy's memory; they usually only responded so under orders. But now in private, looking at each other's rounded forms, they were all getting aroused.
"What's taking so long in there?" Master Tom called from outside the tent. All four of them jumped; they had spent so long trying to get dressed and ogling each other that they had all nearly forgotten why they were there. With a last glance around at each other, they all filed out and stood before Him.
"Very good," He said, checking them out judiciously. He didn't seem to notice anything askew about their clothes. "Now. This is a family beach, so for the day the usual rules must be modified. But then, you all know that." The four nodded as one. The rules had been drilled into them too.
When in public:
No honorific, and if absolutely necessary the Master's Name may be used.
The word slave is not to be said under any circumstances.
Use the number designation when referring to one another.
Be fully clothed (or clothed however the Master ordered).
Do not attract undue attention.
Keep slave chains out of sight (unless unable or instructed otherwise).
Keep a modicum of propriety.
There were others, but those were the ones that had to be kept enforced at the expense of the rest.
He continued, "The four of you have the day to yourselves. I have brought a book to read. The rest of you have the freedom to do whatever you want. You need not tend to any of My needs; in fact, I expect you to all run off and have a good time." All four of them looked thunderstruck; He had always been fair and generous with them, but this was amazing. "There is no time limit. We will leave when you all feel tired enough to go or at sunset, whichever comes first." He sat down on his beach towel, under a large umbrella, and opened His book. Troy noticed it was 'The Handbook of Social Mores of 18th Century England.' Pretty dry stuff for the beach. "Well? Go have fun!"
The slaves hesitated, not used to this freedom, and then scattered. Number two and number three went splashing into the surf. Number one went for a walk along the beach, returning occasionally with an interesting shell or sand dollar he had found. Troy followed number three in the water for a bit but he was really more interested in Master Tom. There was something about all of this that struck him a funny way. The sudden trip, the new environment, the clothes, Master Tom's book... weird. So after a while, he decided to walk down the beach a bit, circle around and see Master Tom from the back. He wanted a chance to observe Master Tom without his slave duties getting in the way, and there would probably be no other opportunity than today.
At his size, it was hard getting around enough to be inconspicuous but Troy managed, and, wheezing his bulk around a stone outcropping, finally managed to approach Master Tom from the back unseen. At first, it all seemed straightforward; Master Tom was partly shaded by the umbrella, had His book propped open in His lap, and He seemed intent on His reading. But when Troy looked more closely, he noticed a few things. First, Master Tom had His head bowed down over the book but was looking over the top of His sunglasses at the slaves splashing around in the water; second, His book was upside-down and He didn't seem to notice; and third, his cock was rock hard and tenting out the front of his shorts, resting in the crook of the book like a thick bookmark.
Troy stood there in surprise for a short time. He'd never even thought about it before, but suddenly he realized that Master Tom was turned on by his slaves' fat bodies! No wonder he had them in such small clothes, frolicking around where he could look at them. Mistaken sizes indeed. Interesting... Troy wondered why he had never noticed this before. (He would not realize for two more years, at which point the command structure was removed from his mind.) He still wondered about the trip to the beach, but it made sense in a way: now that they had all reached their current weights, He wanted to see them at play. How very voyeuristic. Troy thought about clothing and reflected that quite often what was not revealed was more erotic than full nudity.
Troy then went back the way he had come, back around the cove, until he was once again on the beach a fair distance from Master Tom. It simply looked as though he had walked up the stone steps. Then he casually walked back to Master Tom. Number one and number two were floating out on the surf and truly looked like whales in the sunlight. Number three was chatting with a woman and her young son a little down the beach; apparently, the boy had never seen a completely bald man before. That left Master Tom somewhat to Himself. Good.
Troy was never quite sure even years later why he next did what he did, except that it felt right to do it at the time.
Troy trotted up, a bit breathless (which he did not have to feign; his bulk was hard to move around) and greeted Master Tom. "Hi!" He remembered no honorific just in time. "Are You doing well here?"
"Quite well, number four," Master Tom said, suddenly concentrating on His book a bit more. He started slightly; He seemed to have realized His book was upside-down. He didn't correct it, however.
"I hope You don't mind if I lie near You," Troy continued, plopping down on a towel not too near Him without waiting for permission. "I'm exhausted from running around the beach." Master Tom nodded, looking at him a bit intently. Had he overstepped his bounds by lying down? "I mean, after all, this big body of mine isn't made for jumping all over, You know?" Master Tom made a noncommittal noise and attempted to return to His reading. He seemed to have trouble concentrating.
Troy grabbed a big handful of belly and held it out for a second. "Yeah, I never realized that I would get this big. It's kind of a weird feeling, having all this extra bulk and flesh on me now." He cupped his arms around his belly. "And these trunks of mine sure don't leave anything to the imagination, do they?" He snapped the waistband a little, making little waves in his bulk. Master Tom was now holding the book with one hand, the other one looking as though he was going to turn the page. (He didn't.) "I mean, all this flab and fat of mine just hangs right off. I bet my belly looks HUGE. I must look like a prize pig." He looked around the beach a bit. "I'd really like to tan a bit. Having a tan would make me look like a big bloated stuffed turkey, I bet." With that, he reached over to Master Tom's bag and took out a large tube of oil, again without even a glance for permission. "This will work great." Master Tom gave him another strong look, and His book trembled. He couldn't seem to keep it steady.
With that, Troy took the oil and started massaging it into his front, working from top down. But when he got to his belly, he kept rubbing around in circles, making the flesh ripple and flow as he went over it. He didn't go any farther with the lotion. By this time, he had abandoned any pretense; he was giving Master Tom a steady, lust-filled look. Master Tom looked pinned by the gaze, and He was now openly stroking Himself through the fabric of His shorts, His eyes drinking in Troy's blubbery body. "You like it, don't You?" Master Tom nodded, staring at him lustfully. He looked like a wolf salivating over a particularly succulent chicken. "You like my big fat belly and lard ass. You like to see me jiggling around, my butt taking up two chairs, my gut too big for a shirt." Master Tom let out an inarticulate sound. Troy rolled over, so that his ass stuck up. "You want to ride this whale, don't you? Say it. Say you want to ride that whale."
"I want to ride that whale."
"Louder."
"I want to ride that whale!" He didn't say it too loud, but He glanced around, startled, concerned that someone would look over. No one was close. "I want to get in that fat ass and pound it for all it's worth! I want to see those rolls of fat flopping around while I fuck you! I want..." And suddenly He trailed off. Troy looked around at Him. He was looking at Troy with an inscrutable look, one Troy couldn't identify. It wasn't angry. It was just... inscrutable.
For a moment He held that look, and then said, "Number four, please go and tell the others that it is time to go." He made an adjustment to Himself, making sure He did not stick out as He stood up, and then closed His book and started packing His belongings.
Troy suddenly felt a feeling of doom come over him. He'd overstepped his bounds. He'd actually told Master Tom to do something! That was not the mark of a good slave. He bounded to his feet and ran as fast as he could to number three, and they then signaled number one and number two to return to shore, which they did immediately. Number three hurriedly asked why they were leaving so soon (it was only just past midday), and all Troy had time to say was, "I did something wrong." Then there was a flurry of activity to get the car packed and the five of them on the road again.
The trip back seemed to take forever. Master Tom said nothing, so the other four said nothing. Number three wanted to know what was going on, and the other two knew something had happened but had no details. Troy kept his eyes on the floor of the car the entire time. He felt a burning shame.
When they returned to the house, Master Tom ordered them to unpack the car and then line up in the dungeon, which they did in short order. As they stood at attention, he surveyed them all judiciously one at a time, ending with Troy, who held His attention for much longer. Troy did not respond, but inside he was shaking. This was a punishable offense, and he was very close to the end of his contract term...
"I know you wonder why we left the beach with several hours of daylight left. It is because of number four." The others, as one, all looked at Troy, who flushed. "I told all of you to go and enjoy yourselves on the beach while I stayed with My book. Three of you did. One of you, however, felt it necessary to climb the rocks behind Me and observe Me while I was supposedly unaware." Troy started; he hadn't seen any indication at the time that he had been found out. "Yes, number four, I was aware you were there. You did a good job of climbing to my location without my being aware of it, but you forgot about one thing. My sunglasses reflected your image when you came up. Nice try. The lesson for today is, always consider all factors when making a decision, and expect the unexpected." He then went back to addressing the others. They all went back to looking at Him, but not before giving Troy venomous looks. Oh, he was in deep shit all right, with the entire household.
He continued. "Then, number four circled around again and approached from where he had first left the beach as though nothing had happened. He then proceeded to lie down next to Me without permission, get tanning lotion from My bag without permission, and continue a running commentary while I said nothing." The others' eyes were bugging out. These were serious offenses He was describing. And they all looked angry. This did not reflect well on Master Tom or on them either. "He was making a concerted effort to seduce Me. He even managed to get Me aroused enough to make Me forget for a moment our assigned roles. He ordered Me to tell him how much I wanted to fuck him." Number one's mouth dropped open. Number two gave a double take. Number three whipped his head toward Troy, and if looks could kill...
Troy simply closed his eyes. It's over, he thought with finality. I had something that fulfilled me and made me feel complete, and I lost it again through my own stupidity. Just like my dad. Everything I touch gets destroyed. Everything. Just like Ritchie. He imagined the scene at his father's house as he returned, now 200 pounds heavier and without a job, fired for insubordination. Or so the story that Troy would have to tell him would say. The scene would be ugly. Not as bad as this, though.
"Did you do these things, number four?" Master Tom asked him. There was no anger or disappointment in His voice; it was a simple question.
"Yes, Master." Troy's voice was hoarse, like he'd been shouting.
Master Troy nodded. Keeping His eyes on Troy, He asked, "Number one, number two, number three, are these things the acceptable behavior of a slave?" They all answered "No, Master" with a bit more heat in their voices than was usually acceptable, but Master Tom took no notice. They were glaring at Troy. Troy kept his eyes on the floor, his belly cold with despair, planning on where he would go once he was out of the house. He knew of a diner on the other side of town that always had a help-wanted sign up... they couldn't ever keep a short order cook there for very long. Troy knew how to flip a burger, and maybe the tips would be good. He might be able to hitchhike back home later.
If not that, there was a gun shop too, on the poor side of town. A family business, they didn't hire people to work there. They also didn't ask questions if you bought a gun but only bought one bullet.
Troy hoped that Ritchie wouldn't be too angry when they met again. But then, that was assuming that Ritchie and Troy ended up in the same place, which Troy rather doubted. He wondered if there really were pits of fire in hell.
"Kneel, slave number four." Troy did so automatically, but he felt like a tree falling in the forest. Heavy and dead. "Slave number one, slave number two, and slave number three are the jury of your peers, and have found you guilty. As your judge, I also find you guilty." Troy felt the tears begin. He couldn't help them. "You are within one month of the end of your two-year contract. I hereby invalidate the remaining time." He took out a set of four keys from his pocket, marked simply: 1, 2, 3, and 4. The keys to their locks. Troy's insides turned to lead. It truly was over.
He moved forward and unlocked the chain around Troy's neck. "You will never make a good slave, number four." He paused for an interminable time. Troy bowed his head. "However, you will make an excellent Master." Suddenly he smiled and went to number one, removed his chain and lock, and fastened it around Troy's neck. He held His hands out, beckoning Troy to stand. "Rise, number one."
Troy felt his brain come to a complete stop. With tears still streaming down his face, he stared with his mouth hanging open. He could not accept what he had just heard. Neither could the other slaves; they stood with their mouths hanging open as well. They were all completely off-balance. Shakily, Troy got to his feet, still fearing being ejected into the street, but Master Tom simply smiled and held out his hands.
Troy was overcome with conflicting emotions all crashing down on him, and then he was being crashed down upon in truth as the other slaves suddenly hugged him, tears streaming down their faces as well, disbelief warring with joy on their faces. After some quick readjusting of chains - the former number one becoming number two, number two becoming number three, and number three taking Troy's old chain - Master Tom called them back to order. He wasn't enforcing it too strictly at the moment, however; they were all grinning like Cheshire cats and stood outside parade rest. The new number two even went so far as to reach out and squeeze Troy's hand reassuringly, a bold move. Master Tom smiled at the gesture.
"You all obeyed My orders to the letter, which I admire," He said, addressing the three lower slaves. "Number one, however, took My orders literally: the freedom to do whatever you wanted. Number one took the opportunity to observe Me, to find out how I operate, My desires," and He gave a slight sardonic look at Troy, who grinned back sheepishly, "and overall, how I am. He then went on to rise above his strict orders to enforce his will. I have only seen a slave such as him twice before, with other Masters, and they went on to become excellent Masters in their own right. In My opinion, the best Masters should spend time as slaves themselves, but that's neither here nor there."
"Number one, your two-year contract is at an end. Do you wish to renew for a second term?" Troy tripped over his tongue saying yes. "Very well. The standard meditation period still applies; in seven days you will be given a contract and you will decide then. In honor of the changing of status today, tomorrow will be a free day for all of you. There will be no chores done, no orders given, nothing required of any of you except what is required to relax and have fun." They all gaped at him anew. This had never happened before. Never. "Then, the next day, number one will start his solitude." The twinkle in His eye showed no doubt that Troy would return in a week. "Number one, will you consent to spend the night with Me tonight? You may refuse if you wish." The Master *asking* for Troy to spend the night with him?? This was unbelievable! He could only nod eagerly. "Very well. It is now four o'clock. You have one hour to yourselves before dinner preparations begin. Spend it as you will." He nodded to them, and added, "Number one, when you wish to retire, simply let me know." And with that, He withdrew.
Troy looked down at his now flat, muscled, tattooed midsection. What a change he had made since then. He hadn't had a real choice in the matter, but he supposed could have gone back to the way Master Tom had made him. Jake could have done it. But for some nameless reason Troy had decided not to once the virus had been removed. It was a symbolic severing of the past, a new beginning, and he wanted it to reflect the beginning he should have had; the golden boy, but with discipline and maturity. And, of course, a young face. He hadn't asked Jake to make him this young but ultimately he had no objections to it.
A new beginning. A new body. And, of course, a new icon to go with it. He chose the phoenix as his avatar for that reason, and took the bold step of tattooing his entire torso with it, done by a very talented and creative artist in Seattle. The phoenix. He sighed... Kevin had not made the connection when he saw it. Good thing, that. But, sooner or later, he'd notice what had been right in front of his face every day and then... what? He'd come back? He'd quit? Not say anything?
Troy wished he could convince himself that he didn't care.
The legacy of Master Tom's proxy feeding - under hypnotic control - lasted quite a while on Troy's body. Until he was 55, he stayed well over 300 pounds. He was also one of the best - and richest - businessmen in the country. And a well-respected Master and slave trainer himself. This time, he was well balanced in his mind and spirit. He was content, at peace.
Unfortunately, his body was not. At age 54, the doctors discovered something Troy hadn't paid attention to. He had a bad valve in his heart. It was congenital - his father had had it too - but Troy had thought it had skipped him. No such luck. The doctor said he could either fix it now or later, but the longer he waited the worse it would be when he finally had it done. "And Mr. Kiered, you're not exactly, well, *skinny*. You're carrying a burden on your heart because of your weight." So he had it fixed.
If only Gennaro had. How could two men so separated by time and space and circumstance, he and Gennaro, connected through Kevin, have the same problem? Troy believed in synchronicity but this was stretching probability.
The operation, while difficult, was a success for Troy. No undue problems, no worries, and he had a very quick recovery time. He didn't even have to lose weight (although the doctors naturally wished he would).
Except that during the procedure he lost a great deal of blood and they had to replace it. That was no problem as he was a universal recipient and they had a great deal of blood.
Unfortunately, blood-screening procedures are still not foolproof even in this day and age. A transient donated blood and it got through the system unchecked. By the roll of the cosmic dice, it ended up on the lineup for a heart patient on the table in critical condition named Troy Kiered.
It was only two months before the symptoms started showing up.
Testing.
Diagnosis.
Prognosis.
Suddenly he was dying. The virus was spreading unchecked in his body, his T-cells evaporated like mist and he didn't respond well to the cocktail they put him on. He lost weight rapidly, going from 330 pounds to 200 in just under six months. Well, the doctors had wanted him to lose weight.
Troy had always had money, first from his inheritance once his parents passed and then from his many profitable business dealings. It was a good thing too, because the treatments he tried were very expensive. After all was said and done he still had more than enough to keep him comfortable, but he wasn't having a quality life. It was bare survival.
When his weight dropped to 139 pounds, his doctor sent him to a facility on the east coast that was having very promising results with genetically altered bacteria bolstering the immune system. Troy didn't care what he tried at that point; he was looking death very closely in the face.
But Troy's flight into Love Field was late due to weather conditions and he missed the connecting flight to LaGuardia.
And that turned out to be a very good thing...
He closed his eyes as the memory returned to him painfully. He'd been staring death in the face, not realizing at the time that he was just narrowly sidestepping it. Oh, Jake. It always comes back to you.
Troy stared at the flashing monitors. He hadn't registered a thing they'd been showing. Meaningless. He moved his hand in a sharp gesture. The monitors went black instantly. What a waste of electricity.
It all came back to Jake. But then, if not for Jake, Troy himself would not be sitting there. And this bar would not exist. Ted would still be a musclebound powerlifting bastard who abused guys on the side. Andy would be the Light alone knew where. Kevin...
He pushed the thought, and the man, out of his head hard. Jake. Where would Jake be? Back at MIT? With Hawking? Or nowhere? He had a sick feeling he knew which of those it would be. Grisly thought. The break was coming soon, when Jake would start his journey. He had to just to survive and he didn't even realize it. Troy wondered if Andy would go with him. Probably.
It wasn't like him, but he was jealous of Andy. Troy had never considered Jake an object of jealousy; knew he wasn't, could never be, a lover, and wasn't really a slave either, though he considered himself one. But he had been with Troy for so long. Troy had almost come to view Jake as a son. An amnesiac son, a genius son, a powerlifting-big-belly-bartender son, but a son nonetheless. Of course there was "Troy Junior" but that wasn't the same as having a son. That was the same as having nothing at all.
But even so, thinking of Jake, Troy couldn't help thinking about what Master Tom had taught him all those many years ago when Troy left His service, after the second contract term had expired...
"A slave, a boy, a lover, a son, a friend, a Daddy, even a Master... Whatever another man will be to you, there is one thing you must remember. They must grow. To grow is to live, and one who does not grow will die, in reality or in spirit. Sometimes growing means they must move on. That's not to say that obligations should not be met, of course, but that is a fine point. Your second term has been focused on training you to be the Master that I see in you. I have taught you all I can about being a Master. It is now time for you to learn on your own. You will be a great Master, Troy. You will surpass Me one day. But always remember this: there will come a time when you must recognize that it is time to let go. As I must let you go, now."
That was over thirty years ago. When Troy left, the other slaves returned to their original number hierarchy. Master Tom was still alive, quite retired from slave training, and now had only one surviving slave, number three, who had signed a lifetime contract over... Light of Creation, was it really 22 years ago? The time had flown so fast, he thought sadly. Troy relocated Master Tom and slave number three (he kept his designation upon request when he signed his lifetime contract) locally just in the past year so that he could look after them both. Troy also supported them lavishly so that they would have a comfortable retirement. Master Tom granted Troy power of attorney over both of them in case anything happened, and also named him their executor.
Slave number two became seriously ill five years after Troy left Master Tom's service. After a regular physical for the slaves, number two was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Unfortunately, it progressed rapidly and metastasized before he could receive treatment. He died only a few months later with Master Tom, the other slaves, and Troy attending him. He requested, and was granted, that Master Tom keep his ashes and his chain and lock be placed around the urn. Afterward, Master Tom conferred with the slaves and they agreed that his number would be retired. Number one left Master Tom's service six years later, becoming a prominent member of the leather community and dying at age 71 of natural causes. He too had his ashes conferred to Master Tom. Even decades later, he had kept his chain and lock and requested the same for his urn.
Troy still had both his slave number one and his slave number four chains and locks; Master Tom had given Troy both of them as a gift when he left His service. Troy planned to have them both placed around his own urn after his death along with the beautiful red-enameled antique key Master Tom had given him later as a gift, signifying his graduation to Master. Troy also had a plot in a very nice cemetery in which all five urns would be placed when the last of them was gone.
Troy had privately hoped that it would be six.
The red key. He smiled. He hadn't thought about that in ages. He rarely wore it, though Master Tom had intended that he do so. Troy simply didn't want to risk it getting lost, stolen, or damaged. It meant too much to him. It was a symbol and a pun at the same time. Master Tom had always been very, very clever, but He also had a sense of humor.
The red key. His amusement evaporated. Why had he ever put it on the front door of that building? Vanity. Another thing that Kevin had seen every day but obviously not thought about, even with what Troy had told Kevin.
Sometimes, he thought, looking at the dossier on the left, leaving meant running toward your destiny. Sometimes, he thought, looking at the other, leaving meant running away from it.
He felt old. Old and used up, his body notwithstanding. He had lived for many long, hard years and he was tired. He missed the camaraderie of serving under Master Tom, missed slaves number one and two very much, but all that was long past. He was a brilliant businessman, and everything he touched turned to gold even now, but it gave him no real satisfaction, no meaning. Just comfort, he thought bitterly, looking around at his hard-earned environment.
Looking at the dossiers sitting side-by-side on his desk, he came to a decision. He needed to be gone for a while. He didn't know where or for how long, he just needed to be gone. He couldn't be there when Ted awoke, in... grief, less than two hours! He had people to meet. He had places to go. He had...
...absolutely nothing to do.
Without even knowing how, as he felt paralysis trying hard to seize him, he managed to get to his feet and leave the desk behind him, walking toward the very back of the vast room to a place hidden from all eyes except his and Jake's, far from where Ted was now sleeping. Even if anyone were allowed here they wouldn't have noticed anything unusual about the area since it showed only a blank wall. Unless of course they had carefully measured the area of the bar and the loft and noticed that there was a considerable discrepancy between the two.
When he got within two feet of the wall, there was a brief tone and a voice. "This is Vital Information Necessary Centralized. You have entered a restricted area. Please state password within thirty seconds or leave this area before security measures take effect. This will be the only warning." This time, Vincent had no choice but to say the words: in order to protect the Vault, it was necessary to get the point across.
"Proteus."
"Please place palms forward for genetic testing." In reality, Vincent could tell it was Troy just from the continual processor input, but Troy had insisted that even he be scanned. There was danger of processor duplication or simulation, not to mention coercion. The two cops had almost succeeded in extorting Troy into revealing the loft and everything in it before he could "suggest" that they have one of Jake's special drinks. A very messy affair, that. Good thing that the police academy trains people to follow orders. Also, one of them had been a Marine, which was even better. Either way, it made them much more susceptible to even a light hypnotic command.
Troy raised his hands before him and a scanning light originated from a point on the wall, rastering up and down on his hands in quick succession. "Test complete. Access granted. Hi, Troy. Speaking to me now?"
"I'm sorry about that," Troy said. "I wasn't angry with you."
"I know. And I know you don't want to talk about it, so I'll leave it alone."
"Thank you."
"But I will say one thing." I knew it. He always has to have the last word in. "I know that you feel you needed to let Kevin go, and I think I know why, even if I don't agree with your reasoning. But think about this: omni vincit amor."
Troy's tone was extremely dry. "Thank you for that value-added input."
"It added value." Vincent returned the dry tone with interest.
Troy shook his head. Vincent would never change. But that wasn't true; he had a constantly evolving heuristic matrix that was as complex as a human mind, if not more so. It was his sense of humor that would never change. "On that note, would you please open the Vault for me?"
There was a slight pause. "You're not planning on doing something stupid, are you?"
Troy allowed Vincent liberties, but he was again losing patience. "Vincent." Troy's tone of voice brooked no nonsense.
"All right, all right." A seam suddenly appeared in the wall ahead of Troy as the hidden cap to the Vault was revealed. "But keep in mind I'm monitoring you. If anything happens..."
"...it'll be too late by that point," Troy interjected. "Would you please do as I ask without argument just this once?"
There was a snarling sound. "Now I know why you refuse to build me a body. You know I might choke you in frustration." The safety door came into view, a large circular bank safe-type door, three feet thick and impenetrable. There was a very deep and loud clunk of moving machinery as the mechanism opened. Vincent's tone of voice became softer. "Troy, whatever it is you have in mind, and I know you, you do have something... please be careful."
Troy lost his irritation. Vincent really was just trying to look after him. "I will. But let me make my own mistakes, all right?"
Vincent's reply was lost as the door swung open, revealing a large, open, brilliantly white space receding in all directions. Have to turn those lights down, Troy thought as he entered and withdrew down between the long corridor of metal capsules and equipment. Most of them were marked with biohazard symbols, although a few of them were labeled with much more dire warnings. Some could not be opened in an oxygen environment. Some shouldn't be opened at all.
Troy hated this particular walk. Not because it was difficult, but because of what lay directly in his path. At the very rear of the space, sealed behind a four-inch-thick layer of airtight transparent steel, was a piece of a large, blocky shape of unidentifiable machinery and circuitry.
It looked, even to the casual eye, as though it had been at ground zero in a nuclear explosion. Parts of it were melted, and the legend NEW HORIZON COLLEGE DEPARTMENT OF PHYSICS - undoubtedly from the original packing crate - had been rendered almost unreadable. Some parts were fused with a strange concatenation of random items; fabric, glass, part of a handsaw, a telephone pole insulator, even the remains of a woman's high-heeled shoe among other odd things, all of them seamlessly contiguous with the structural integrity of the machine itself. Down to the molecular level. Troy sometimes wondered what woman had been wearing the shoe when the transmitter had activated.
Troy suppressed a shudder as he passed the display. He had no reason to be nervous but he always was when he saw the thing. Troy still had the irrational fear that the entire facility would blow up under him at any time even though the device had been proven to be inert and then been emasculated of any remaining threshold activation sequencers. Jake should have thought of that first, but then he hadn't been in his right mind then. Not as bad as later, but almost.
Finally, however, Troy stood before the object of his search. One of the objects of his search. It was a short and squat and square and silver and perfectly seamless. Only he could open it. Hell, only he was aware of it: Jake had had the memory of its creation blocked from his mind except under dire emergency, and if it came to that there was a likelihood that Jake himself would be unable to execute the commands due to circumstance. Troy looked down at the legend on the plaque.
It read TROY SENIOR.
"Hi," he said to the plaque. "Been a long time. Did you miss me?" Troy certainly hadn't missed him. Not like having a son at all.
Standing before the capsule, debating whether he really wanted to activate the unlock sequence, Troy thought about what he had before him. He had two options. One, to pursue; two, to let go. Self-evident perhaps but hardly an easy choice. His mind told him to use the lesson Master Tom had taught him, but his heart said to disregard it and fight for what he wanted. A neat quandary wrapped in a box, much like the one in front of him.
To pursue might obtain what he wanted... but probably not as he wanted it. And it might push his object of pursuit even further away. To let go might mean a return, but in likelihood that was remote, and he felt a curious void in himself thinking about that option. One choice would grant him what he wanted; the other would lose it forever. Not an easy choice at all. Which would he choose?
For that matter, which one was which?