That fact bothered him, as if they’d purposely tried to copy a place familiar and comfortable to him. He didn’t want to feel comfortable here.
This facility lay deep underground, like the re-initiation room. He could feel the fresh air being pumped in, and this room did have huge picturescapes hanging on the walls, unlike the stark re-initiation room. The quarters contained three picturescapes, all desert images, all motionless at the moment. But he saw the control buttons on each frame.
He didn’t feel any different, physically or emotionally, other than the pain and being tired. Nor did he notice any differences as far as his thought processes went.
Hopefully, that meant he remained his own person and hadn’t been converted. He pushed to his feet and plodded into the bathing room.
Stopping in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection. He wasn’t exactly sure how the conversion process worked. His eyes looked the same. Light blue. No signs of evil or madness. He almost laughed at the thought that he’d be able to spot anything wrong in his own eyes. How could he know for certain, one way or the other?
His blond hair looked a little darker. Probably just needed a wash—the sand blew continuously on the surface, making everything in its path gritty. He checked his hands.
Fingernails hadn’t grown. He stuck his tongue out. Not green or forked or anything. No fangs. He knew these checks were foolish. Agents weren’t minions or Egesa, and a person’s genetics didn’t change after a conversion, but still he felt compelled to check.
Just in case.
He wasn’t yet brave enough to check his cock. Once he felt on firmer emotional ground, he’d make sure everything remained functional. He remembered getting injected. Damn that minion bitch! He shuddered at the memory, hoping he hadn’t suffered any permanent damage.
Still studying his face, he dragged his hands down his rough cheeks. He needed a shave, but didn’t see any gear on the counter. Only a glass sat on the sink. He filled it with cool water and drenched his throat. The liquid felt good going down.
Maybe he could find a subtle way of asking how they determined a successful reinitiation. A definitive test must exist.
He tried his voice again, but still nothing came out. Between his throat, his head, and his aching cock, he felt like shit. Regardless, he needed to move on to the next phase. He needed to find Halah.
* * * * *
A blast of water hit her. “Ack!” Halah turned her back, trying to shield her body.
Assholes . She held the rags they’d dressed her in against her body, trying to prevent them from being ripped off her from the pressure.
One of their Special Transport Agents or Prison Pilots must be coming. Hose baths were only given when a ranking Marid came to the moon looking for a new slave.
When the guards weren’t around, she’d asked a few questions of one of the other women, who seemed more talkative than the rest.
Some of the slaves actually vied to be chosen when an Agent or Officer appeared, the woman had said. Halah could understand why, she supposed. From what she’d heard, regular clothes were provided, hot food, a real bed. Perks.
Still, she wanted none of it. She’d rather rot in this cage, eating dried tecarra beans the rest of her life, than give in to some bastard’s sexual demands. No matter her situation, her training as a Warrior still ran deep. Neither Daegal nor the Egesa had turned her yet, only enslaved her. Only—probably not the right word.
Enslavement made her torture complete. Why they hadn’t forced a re-initiation on her, she didn’t know. Apparently, they didn’t give much credence to females. Even though several females held a top position in their society. Interesting actually. And confusing. Even after all the time she’d spent on Marid, she still hadn’t been able to figure out their society or its rankings. Maybe someday she’d discover the reason.
But regardless of the reason for
This facility lay deep underground, like the re-initiation room. He could feel the fresh air being pumped in, and this room did have huge picturescapes hanging on the walls, unlike the stark re-initiation room. The quarters contained three picturescapes, all desert images, all motionless at the moment. But he saw the control buttons on each frame.
He didn’t feel any different, physically or emotionally, other than the pain and being tired. Nor did he notice any differences as far as his thought processes went.
Hopefully, that meant he remained his own person and hadn’t been converted. He pushed to his feet and plodded into the bathing room.
Stopping in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection. He wasn’t exactly sure how the conversion process worked. His eyes looked the same. Light blue. No signs of evil or madness. He almost laughed at the thought that he’d be able to spot anything wrong in his own eyes. How could he know for certain, one way or the other?
His blond hair looked a little darker. Probably just needed a wash—the sand blew continuously on the surface, making everything in its path gritty. He checked his hands.
Fingernails hadn’t grown. He stuck his tongue out. Not green or forked or anything. No fangs. He knew these checks were foolish. Agents weren’t minions or Egesa, and a person’s genetics didn’t change after a conversion, but still he felt compelled to check.
Just in case.
He wasn’t yet brave enough to check his cock. Once he felt on firmer emotional ground, he’d make sure everything remained functional. He remembered getting injected. Damn that minion bitch! He shuddered at the memory, hoping he hadn’t suffered any permanent damage.
Still studying his face, he dragged his hands down his rough cheeks. He needed a shave, but didn’t see any gear on the counter. Only a glass sat on the sink. He filled it with cool water and drenched his throat. The liquid felt good going down.
Maybe he could find a subtle way of asking how they determined a successful reinitiation. A definitive test must exist.
He tried his voice again, but still nothing came out. Between his throat, his head, and his aching cock, he felt like shit. Regardless, he needed to move on to the next phase. He needed to find Halah.
* * * * *
A blast of water hit her. “Ack!” Halah turned her back, trying to shield her body.
Assholes . She held the rags they’d dressed her in against her body, trying to prevent them from being ripped off her from the pressure.
One of their Special Transport Agents or Prison Pilots must be coming. Hose baths were only given when a ranking Marid came to the moon looking for a new slave.
When the guards weren’t around, she’d asked a few questions of one of the other women, who seemed more talkative than the rest.
Some of the slaves actually vied to be chosen when an Agent or Officer appeared, the woman had said. Halah could understand why, she supposed. From what she’d heard, regular clothes were provided, hot food, a real bed. Perks.
Still, she wanted none of it. She’d rather rot in this cage, eating dried tecarra beans the rest of her life, than give in to some bastard’s sexual demands. No matter her situation, her training as a Warrior still ran deep. Neither Daegal nor the Egesa had turned her yet, only enslaved her. Only—probably not the right word.
Enslavement made her torture complete. Why they hadn’t forced a re-initiation on her, she didn’t know. Apparently, they didn’t give much credence to females. Even though several females held a top position in their society. Interesting actually. And confusing. Even after all the time she’d spent on Marid, she still hadn’t been able to figure out their society or its rankings. Maybe someday she’d discover the reason.
But regardless of the reason for