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Subversive Materials

12

Note: Although this scene revolves around a government sex slave program, it contains little direct depiction of either sex or mind control. If that is an insurmountable problem for you, this might not be the story for you.

*****

"Do you know why you are here?" the administrator asked her.

"Because somebody couldn't take a joke," Betty sneered. She knew she shouldn't antagonize him, but it was either that or break down in tears. The Purity of Information Office, they called it, naming it the first, last, and greatest bastion of freedom and harmony. All a lie, a filthy, disgusting lie, and she refused to bend in the face of tyranny.

"Really now, Ms Ellison, such antisocial behavior does not become you. Surely you can do better than that."

"If you know so much, then why don't you tell me."

"Very well. Do you know what this is?"

He set a thick pamphlet on the table and pushed it forward. Betty's blood ran cold.

Of course she recognized it, she'd been the one who wrote it, a scathing expose revealing the mayor's corruption. Shady deals with his friends and relatives, pilfering the city's funds like they were his own personal piggybank, a vast web of extortion and intimidation. After months of research she had lain those out for all the world to see, in sixteen double sided pages that should be enough to convince even the thickest of heads how dirty the government was.

How had they caught her? She had been so careful.

This was bad, real bad. Betty thought she was here for an offhand joke she had made about the administration. It wasn't the smartest idea, the sort of things her parents had warned her against, but she hadn't let that bother her. She was a student, the most they would do for an ill conceived joke was a stern talking to. At least for her first offense.

That book, on the other hand...

Her eyes drifted to the room's second door. An ominous slab of metal meant to intimidate anyone who wasn't already on edge when called into the Purity of Information offices. As for what was behind that door, that had been another abomination her pamphlet had railed against. The processing creche.

It had been a medical device, once, and though it had failed to live up to its promise, it had still seen some use in elective surgery. At least, until people had discovered the inevitable side effects. Then the government had stepped in. Not to ban it, but to use those side effects for their own twisted ends.

Five minutes would inflame the body's erogenous zones, leaving a user abnormally sensitive and horny for the rest of the day. Twenty minutes would do all that, but also leave the subject docile and pliant for the next week. Thirty minutes got what the government euphemistically called a "Joy Bringer". A lurid, filthy minded slut who was good for little more than fucking. A full hour would not only magnify the effects, but make them permanent.

She wanted to say something sarcastic, but bravado failed.

"I don't know what that is," she trembling told him. "But that title looks antisocial and I want nothing to do with it."

"Funny," said the administrator. "I would expect that its author should be quite familiar with the contents."

"I have no idea what you're-"

"We have witnesses."

"That's impossible."

She had been so careful, there was no way they could have traced those back to her.

"Come," he said, rising from the desk where he had been seated since the moment she arrived. He beckoned her forward, and she reluctantly followed. The administrator pulled aside the blinds along the far wall, revealing a pane of mirrored glass looking out into the waiting room.

"Do you know who that is?" he asked her.

"Old Pe- Old Man Ron," she said, practically spitting out the words, almost using the name all her classmates called him.

Old Pervy Ron, was what they called him, and every girl in town knew exactly who he was. That disgusting, lecherous man had been a staple of the downtown for as long as she could remember, spouting lurid filth at every girl who walked past him with a pair of tits. Since she was practically still a child, she had been forced to endure his crude comments every time she wandered the downtown with her friends. She'd never heard of him doing more than talk, thankfully, but what he said was bad enough.

It was a mystery why he was tolerated. He had no connections, no friends or relatives in high places, and having drank away every cent to his name, no money either. Even after all her research, all the corruption she had uncovered, she still didn't understand why the government tolerated him.

The old perv didn't need to do more than talk. Everyone knew that the man was a regular at Opening Paradise, the seedy, government backed brothel on the edge of downtown. No one knew what he did for a living, or where he disappeared to when he wasn't screwing whores and harassing women, but somehow he could afford to visit with shocking regularity.

Even when he was so broke he could barely afford the cheapest of liquors.

Betty had heard the stories, of course, about how he hounded Tab (real name Tabbitha, but she would literally kick your ass if you called her it) the time she'd been sentenced to work the brothel's front desk. He'd been by every day, or so the story went, sometimes twice or more, each time telling her exactly what he would do to her when she screwed up again and was sent to the back rooms.

In lurid detail.

For years, Tab had been a terror and a psycho, but after that week she had gone as straight and narrow as anyone ever. Gone was the drinking and the fighting, and her posse of delinquents had been forced to shape up or get ditched. It had been a welcome relief to Betty, who had never been on good terms with the nasty bully, but it was impossible to ignore that haunted look in her eye.

"I don't think that's entirely fair," the administrator said, "Thirty seven is hardly that old, though I'll admit he wears his years poorly. Hard living and substance abuse have taken their toll, alas. But to answer your other question, Mr Ronald Simmons has been quite useful in corroborating our own records. Records involving a certain copy shop."

"Bull shit!" she said, "We made sure to-"

Betty shut up, but it was too late.

Stupid! If they had the proof, then Old Pervy Ron wouldn't be here waiting to testify, he'd have simply done it and gone back to his usual pastime of ogling schoolgirls.

"You used forged copy cards, yes," he said. "Quite ingeniously done, I'll admit, but forged or not they still left a timestamp in our system. It was simply a matter of finding someone who could identify who might have used the shop during that timespan. Your timing was clever, sneaking in when the shop was momentarily unattended, but futile, in the end. It always is."

"Every word in that booklet was true," she said quietly, "You know that, don't you. The sort of people you are working for."

"Oh, absolutely," he said. "Every system has a certain degree of wastage and inefficiency, that much is true, but it beats the alternative. I believe that a smart girl like you would have recognized that in time. I like to think that we might have been coworkers some day, had things gone differently."

"I would never help you."

"Perhaps," he said, "An academic point, at any rate. You had such a bright future, Ms Ellison, a shame that you had have thrown it away."

Thrown it away, what was he-

"No," she said, recoiling in horror, "You can't possibly- there's been a mistake!"

"No mistake, I'm afraid. The sentence has been passed in absentia. All this, you see, is just a matter of procedure."

"But if the sentence is already passed, then why is he-" Betty trailed off, as creeping awareness and horror grew within her mind. "No! No way. You can't!"

"I'm afraid so, Ms Ellison. For his lawful cooperation, Mr Simmons has earned the right to be your first assignment as a Joy Bringer. I hear he is quite excited by the prospect."

She shivered, all but retching as she imagined the prospect.

"Never! I would never touch that that filthy creep."

"Feel free to tell yourself that, Ms Ellison. I imagine that it is some consolation in the time before your processing. Not that it will change the final result in any way."

"But why!" she sobbed, "When Tab tried to have her ex boyfriend crippled, you only gave her a week up front. For her fourth arrest!"

"Of course," he said, "Although she was fortunate that her plan failed. Had she succeeded in injuring him, ther week would have instead been spent in the back."

"But you're talking about giving me-"

"Life, yes," he said, and she gasped. It hurt. Even if she'd known already, it hurt to hear him actually say it.

"It's not fair," she cried, "I never hurt anyone. It was only words on a paper."

"Oh, Ms Ellison, you still don't understand the nature of your crime. It seems I have overestimated you. Or perhaps underestimated the naivete of youth. Miss Tabitha hurt but a single person. You, on the other hand, have attacked the integrity of society itself. In effect, you have hurt everyone. Clearly, you can see how it is worse to attack each and every member of our glorious community than to attack one lone individual."

"But every word was true!"

"Which makes it all the worse. Lies are easy to discredit. Truth gets people thinking, asking questions. We can still bury it, to be sure, but it is more difficult, and resources are sadly finite. Questions lead to unrest, which brings about disorder, a breakdown of the system we have so carefully maintained. Do you know what happens when that fails? Chaos, anarchy. That is what you were doing, Ms Ellsion, attempting to destroy the lives of each and every person in this city! For that, you must be punished."

"But I was trying to help people, make their lives better."

"In a most thoughtless and ill conceived manner, I'm afraid," he paused and shuffled the papers on his desk.

All for show, he barely glanced down them.

"Speaking of which," he said, "I would like to return to a statement you made earlier, perhaps inadvertently. You said that 'we' made sure. We. More than one person. I would like very much to know who else was involved."

Emily. They wanted her to give up Emily. They'd planned this all out together. Betty with the investigation and writing, while Emily had masterminded production and distribution. It had been her card that had fooled their systems and let the two print anonymously, and it was Betty, not Emily, who had screwed up and been recognized.

A spark of hope bloomed within her. Maybe they would let her go, if she informed. Perhaps this wouldn't be the end.

All she had to do was betray her best friend and every single principle she had ever held.

"I misspoke," she told him. "I did this alone, entirely by myself. There was nobody else involved."

"How noble," he drawled, "but really, Ms Ellison, it is far too late for you to start considering those hurt by your actions. Instead, you should think about your own fate. If you were to cooperate in naming your accomplices, we would be prepared to show leniency in your sentencing. Say, only a single year, rather than life."

"There was nobody else."

"A shame. Do you know how the process works, Ms Ellison?"

She shook her head.

"I'm told that in many respects, it feels much like a set of compulsions. Despite claims to the contrary, your rational mind remains intact. it is your instincts and reflexes which become utterly scrambled. Although your preferences will remained unaltered, you will find it quite impossible not to conform to expected behavior. Your body, on the other hand, will be quite responsive to Mr Simmons advances. In a way, you will find his affections quite enjoyable. Perhaps, in time, you will even come to desire them. If this fate does sound appealing, then I suggest that you cooperate. A year is not so long, after all. Yes, you will have to repeat your final year of schooling, but after graduation you will be free to continue on as if nothing ever happened. Nothing more than a bad memory."

"What is wrong with you people!"

"Would you care to clarify, Ms Ellsion?"

"Pervy Old Ron is a filthy disgusting animal!"

"That is true," the administrator said, "He is quite reprehensible."

"Then why do you allow it? You keep talking about order, and society, but then you leave people like him free to make our lives miserable. Why?"

"I'm disappointed in you, Ms Ellison. You are a clever girl, think about it."

She shook her head, tears blurring her vision, but a notion did come.

"He's an informant," she said, "A spy."

"Clever," he said, "but inaccurate. Oh, he certainly does provide us information from time to time, but rarely anything of use. No, he serves a much baser purpose. As an example."

"An example? He gets away with being a disgusting menace, and you call it an example."

"Call it a contrast, Ms Ellison, if you will. The average citizen has only to look at him to see what they must strive not to be. A shabby, alcoholic failure with no respect or status. Whose only solace is to shout crude and degrading epitaphs at women he could never hope to have. They work that much harder, lest they end up like him. As for a menace? There are hard and fast limits to our latitude. Limits which have been well explained to him. Of course, he and his ilk do serve another important purpose, and make no mistake, there are certainly worse than he. Our Relief and Relaxation Centers-"

"Brothels," snapped Betty.

"Call it what you will. The point is, that they are staffed by those who have broken the laws and bonds of society. It gives pause, to know that breaking such rules means catering to the carnal whims of 'perverts' such as Mr Simmons. A fact you might have considered before undertaking your own indiscretions."

"So that's how it works, huh? All that high minded talk about justice and order, but in the end it's just a way for filthy perverts like you to get their rocks off."

"I'm hurt that you would make such a suggestion," he said. Funny, he almost did look offended.

"I, personally, would never patronize such an establishment. Such places are beneath me, and I have no interest in the preprogrammed passions of a Joy Bringer. Mr Simmons, on the other hand, has no such compunctions. Are you sure that you do not wish to inform on your accomplices?"

"There were none," she insisted, just a bit weaker this time.

"Your first month or so will be quite busy, of course," he continued as though she'd said nothing. "There will be the usual uptick in traffic, of course. Novelty is always desired, and you are quite the attractive young lady. Then your classmates, of course. I wonder, were there any advances you turned down, any amorous pursuits that you have discouraged? Be assured that you will meet again under very different circumstances, as well as any number of classmates who were simply curious. Then the teachers, of course. There is always a great allure in that forbidden fruit."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Come, can you truly tell me that you have never noticed any whose attentions followed you more closely than was strictly appropriate? Whose gazes lingered longer than they ought? If not, then you will soon discover which those were. This stage, you might expect to last around six to eight months before you are nothing but another Job Bringer to them, and of no further novelty. Now tell me, one last time, that you had no accomplices."

She almost broke. It was horrific, everything he was saying, and she wanted more than anything to avoid it. But she couldn't. All she could do was drag her friends in, and she was better than that.

"I worked alone," she said, her voice soft.

"You are to be commended, I suppose, for your loyalty. However misplaced it might be. By this point, Miss Almer had long since named her collaborators, yourself included."

"Emily!" Betty screamed. "If you've hurt her I'll-"

"You'll what, Ms Ellison?" he asked, and Betty had no answer for that save for an ugly glare.

"Really, now. There's no call to get indignant, especially someone who gave you up along with fourteen other accomplices who took deliveries of the subversive materials. To her credit, she tried to claim that you were an ignorant dupe, tricked into your role as copyist and nothing more. Obvious rubbish, of course, the textual analysis was clear. All her deception accomplished was to lose whatever amnesty she had earned. Which means that we have another half hour or so until the processing creche is free."

"What?" Betty gasped as she realized what he mean, instantly leaping to her feet. "You let her out of there this instant!"

She rushed past the desk, pounding against the metal door as she tried to force it open. Her best friend was in danger, and she had to do something, anything to get her out of there before it became permanent. The door was stuck fast, however, bolted shut and all her efforts were for naught. She turned, her furious eyes locking onto the nonplussed official as she prepared to leap at him.

A sharp buzz rang through her head, and just as she was about to throw herself at him, all of her muscles gave way. She fell, slumping to the floor as she tried desperately to fight against the induced lassitude that had swept through her body.

The administrator stood, fixing his plain black tie as he closed the distance to her in three easy strides.

"Really now, I thought you better than this. Surely you could not expect to succeed."

"Had..." the words slurred in her mouth. Movement, even of her jaw and tongue, came only with the greatest of effort.

"Had to try."

"Indeed," he said, "and now you have tried, and you have failed. I wonder what it has gotten you."

"At least... remember that I made the effort."

"Yes, memory. A potent motivator. On which note, I would like to make a proposition. There are slightly under thirty minutes remaining before your turn comes. Although I do not, as a rule, employ the services of a Joy Bringer, you have not been processed and are still an attractive young woman. We could sit here in silence for the next half hour, if that is your wish, but I offer you a more engaging way to pass the time."

She turned her head to stare at him, utterly incredulous.

"Why... I...you?"

"Why should you lie with me, the man who is going to blithely carry out your sentence? I will tell you why, Ms Ellison, but first, I would speak with you in more civilized terms. Can I have your assurance of cooperation, if I remove the suppressor field?"

She hesitated.

"Might I remind you," he added, "That I could just as easily leave you on the floor until your time comes. But really, is that how you want to spend your last minutes of freedom?"

In the end, she nodded, offering her grudging compliance. The effects dwindled to nothingness, and she rose onto shaky feet, rubbing at her elbow where it had hit the floor on her way down. Slowly, feeling began to return in her aching limbs, but she still felt unsteady enough to take the proffered chair when it was offered.

"Am I supposed to thank you now?"

"If you wish, Ms Ellison, but regardless, I shall now answer your question. There are two reasons why you should accept. Quality, and choice. To put it mildly, I offer you the chance for one last coupling with a man of class and quality."

Betty scoffed.

"Think of me as you wish," he said, "but the men in your immediate future-and there will be quite a number of them- are much more likely to be of Ronald Simmons ilk than of my own. I say this with no particular hubris, but I am the best that you shall have for quite some time."

"And the second reason?"

"Choice, Ms Ellison, because of choice."

"You have got to be kidding me."

12
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