Prisoner of War

[magbeam]

(Closed for myself and save_marla.

The precise reasons for the Third World War have been lost to history. No doubt the worldwide economic crash of the early 21st century had much to do with it, along with the marked increase of anti-Americanism caused by the flexing of its imperial muscles, the clash between the sole superpower and its rising rivals, the split of the Western consensus, and perhaps most of all by the rise of international tension in the globalized world. India, Russia, China, Indonesia, North Korea, Iran, and a host of South American and Middle Eastern allies found themselves in a shooting war against the United States and NATO, Israel, Pakistan, Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan. The war itself was short and ended in what was a strategic stalemate; yet very quickly it was realized that all the nations of Earth were the losers.

Perhaps it was due to the heights it had found itself before the start of tensions, but the United States quickly found that it was unable to bluster even itself that it had emerged unscathed. The economic crash had wreaked havoc in the economy prior, but the post-war collapse of Indian, Chinese, Japanese and European investment and the destruction of electronic equipment from electromagnetic blasts had resulted in a full-scale depression. The loss of markets – food, fuel, and goods – in Europe and Asia made a short-term recovery impossible, while the aftereffects of the nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons used in the war started the manifest itself. The nations of the Asian Alliance had not had many compared with the West, and even fewer hit their targets, but even those were enough. Crop failures and food animal shortages arose from blights and global cooling, while entire human populations died off or found themselves sterile or prone to damaged offspring.

The administration had not been well-loved before the war, and it came to no one's surprise when Congress impeached the president and vice president afterwards. When they refused to step down, the start of national civil strife – already primed by the emasculation of the government and the widespread civil unrest the war and its aftereffects had caused – was not long in starting. Within a decade, the United States – already crippled and cut off from the wider world it had helped destroy – had, for all intents and purposes, forever dissolved into a miasma of rival petty states, each grappling with their neighbors to preserve their own small bastions of civilization.

* * * * * * *​

Imperial Californian National Guard Detention Center
Near the Texan border
The early 2100s

“Well, Colonel?” the State Police Interrogation officer asked to the man in the National Guard uniform as he left the cell housing their captive.

“Nada,” Colonel Cathcart answered to Detective-Lieutenant Fernandez. “Still nothing. She refuses to defect, collaborate, give us anything of any use.” He avoided the glance of the trooper as he sat down. The Po-Po reported directly to the Office of the Emperor himself. That alone would be enough to give Cathcart the creeps, never mind his deviously pinched face.

“Fuck,” Fernandez said without mirth, sitting down across from Cathcart. “Oh well. I doubt it would have been anything useful anyways, especially now. Those fucking cowboys will be a decade licking their wounds after that whupping.”

You're one to talk. I bet you were a hundred miles from the nearest Texan incursion. I was right there in the thick of it. And I'll never see my son again. But Cathcart was careful to hide his thoughts. It was dangerous to voice such criticisms to a Po-Po – and in any case, Cathcart would be a hypocrite to say that he didn't share any of the other officer's self-satisfaction.

After the Apocalypse, California had been better off than most states. Self-sufficient in food and energy; lightly hit by the enemy weapons; surrounded by the natural defenses of mountain and destert and sea. Silicon Valley was mostly intact and one of the last acts of the Washington government had been to relocated several thousand 'strategic resources' – intellectual and important refugees – from the allied nations to California, where the climate was similar and they had kindred souls. The state had limped along for several years, pretending it was just a passing phase, until the remains of the north Mexican army had tried to annex the state. Governor Franklin Norton had smashed the Mexicans, and a joyous referendum had made him emperor in return. The House of Norton had remained in power, guiding over the only true remnant of Western civilization ever since.

The last few years had saw the greatest threat since the Apocalypse. Texas had been hit worse, had more ecological problems and less technology, but like their mythological ancestors, oil and grazing lands had proved their salvation. The Christian state had come closer than anyone else to reunifying the West and Heartland; yet even the amassed army of the Greater Republic of Texas, nearly two hundred thousand Rangers and cowboys and militia, had been turned back at Tolucca Flats by an Imperial army led by none other than Joshua II, Emperor of America, Protector of Mexico, Governor of California By God and Man Proclaimed.

Now, the Texan threat was nearly over. No peace had been proclaimed, but the cream of their army had been smashed, reports that their president herself – with the population crash, even the fundies had to allow full equality if they were to survive – had been killed, and the lands back East and North that they had taken might be feeling a tad...feisty. No, there was still war between California and Texas, but little to fear now.

Which was probably why the Po-Po wasn't so worried about their prisoner's lack of speaking. Normally, a major in the Texas Ranger Military Intelligence Service would prove a vital catch. Now...what information she had that the Battle of Tolucca hadn't already made obsolete likely would be so by the next time the Texans invaded. Californianians wanted peace and to be left alone; leave the work of a counter-invasion to the rebellious states in their Greater Republic.

Detective-Lieutenant Fernandez tapped his chin. “It is a shame about our guest, the major. A week ago, what she has in her head would have been invaluable. But as it is...” He flipped through his notes on the prisoner, looking over the section on her statistics and background. “Perhaps there is a way she can still...help us.”

“Lieutenant?” Cathcart asked. The man might be a Po-Po, but Cathcart still outranked him, and this was still his facility. The Po-Po looked up, as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud; he thought to himself for a moment as if to consider whether or not to speak to this inferior National Guardsman, then smiled.

“As you know, Colonel, no deal has been made with the Texan government on POW transfers – and with the state of things now, probably won't be for years. And even though we won, our losses were...considerable. And even we can't just throw citizens away as a luxury.”

Thinking of his son, Cathcart could only nod, uncharacteristically silent.

“In light of such matters, the Emperor himself has approved of a certain...ah, alternate social rehabilitation program for prisoners of war. And shall we say that, ah...our major here meets the major requirements to be enrolled in this program. For her own and the greater good, of course.”

Having a horrified inkling of what that meant, but not wanting to know anything else, Colonel Cathcart was only too eager to sign over the release forms for the captured Texan major and wash his hands of her. Within an hour, Fernandez, along with two state troopers, entered her cell, hauling her out into a waiting electric van for the two-hour trip to the innocuously-named Camp 307. Only after they were locked in and the journey started, with the major securely locked into her seat, did Fernandez finally give any indication he heard her. Smiling chillingly, he turned from the front to stare at her after an outburst.

“You should feel very fortunate, Major. To think you could be spending the next decade or so in prison or in menial labor with your compatriots. I assure you, where you're going, the labor will be anything but menial.”

 

[save_marla]

Lulamae cursed them until her voice failed her and she spat up dark bubbles of blood. There was no harm, now. They had failed, motherfuckers – show ‘em what cowgirls are made of... She swallowed blood, and fought a cloying wave of nausea. They’d pulled some of her teeth in their impatience for her secrets – this after the beatings and the methodical breaking all the fingers on her left hand. But she’d told them nothing. She smiled nonchalantly at the hot shot leering at her from the front seat, and raised her good hand as high as the restraints would let her, to flip him the bird. Then, lowering her head, she succumbed briefly to blessed oblivion, where there was no pain, and no fear.

She had not told them anything - her daddy would’ve been proud. Mae was ready to die at their Camp 307. If it wasn’t a prison or a labor camp, she supposed they were taking her to be executed. She lifted her head and smirked again. Men had always found her a challenge, with her tangle of dark curls and her stubborn ways - but it wasn’t often they felt the need to resort to such drastic measures, to restore their damaged egos.

But she was ready. Her pain was over, and they had nothing left to take from her, except her life.

She opened her eyes with some reluctance, and twisted her bruised face into a grin. Winking at the smug bastard in the front, she drawled innocently, “Are we there yet?”

 

[magbeam]

Fernandez could only smile at her audacity. Excellent, excellent. He had known she was a fighter when they had had their little introduction at the interrogation cell. That spunk would suit her well, here. She would serve for a long time.

"I'm afraid we have a ways to go yet, Major," he said with a smile matching her own, albeit with rather less gaps. "And were I you, I would not be so eager to arrive there. But I forgot, impatience runs in your Texan blood. It's why we were able to slaughter you like so many of your prized steers. But there, there, Major," he said, patting her hand - her shattered hand - in a gesture that was deceptively consoling, and enjoying the scream of pain that even she was unable to contain.

The next few hours passed amicably enough, with Fernandez going over the new weekly and his guest passing in and out of consciousness. Finally, they passed through a series of gates in fences and walls, the last arch fitted with a sign at the apex:

CAMP 307​

And beneath it, almost as an afterthought:

For the Greater Good​

"Ah, now we are here, Major," Fernandez said, frowning as he realized she had slipped out of consciousness again. Reaching over, he casually slapped her awake, repeating his message and adding, "You should believe what the sign says, Major. You will be helping the entire human race here."

The truck stopped, two privates swinging the back open with three doctors in white lab coats and clipboards waiting. "Major Lulamae Johnson?" the foremost one asked, looking at a chart.

"That's her," Fernandez confirmed, jumping out the back of the truck. "Detective-Lieutenant Jake Fernandez. And she's all yours," he said, signing off on several forms. At the doctor's hand motion, several soldiers jumped into the back of the truck, unbuckling Lulamae and, ignoring her taunts or cries of pain, hauled her out, strapping her onto a gurney that was waiting. One of the other doctors leaned down, pressing a hypospray into her neck. A faint hissing sound told that the sedative had been shot into her bloodstream, although it was more to calm her down than to stop the pain.

Two soldiers started wheeling her into the nearest concrete bunker, marked "Inmate Intake" over the door. The inside was like a hospital, sterile and white a linoleum. Other than a small numbers of doctors and nurses and soldiers, Lulamae only saw one patient, a dazed-looking woman in a short white gown being escorted by two soldiers and a nurse into an exam room.

Lulamae was wheeled into a minor operating theater, where over the next hour or so the doctor's set her shattered hand - enough to allowed it to eventually heal, even if it would never be quite as useful again - and capped the areas where her missing teeth had once been, more to speed the staunching of the flow of blood into her mouth than to make anything happier to her.

"Make a big fuss in the future, and Doc here'll remove the rest of them," one of the soldiers, the only officer in the group, spoke to her, the first time anyone had addressed her since Fernandez in the truck. The doctor in question merely nodded absently, before replying.

"Now that that's all set, please strip her for the intake physical." Looking down at her, he smiled without emotion. "Just a quick checkup, Major. Nothing to worry over."

 

[save_marla]

She grit her teeth to bite back the scream that ripped from her throat at his touch. Cradling her broken hand in bitter silence, she wondered if the pain would ever end. Body and soul were battered beyond recognition, even to herself – his cruel jab hit home, reminding her, as if it were ever far from her tortured mind, of her devastating failure. Not in this war – FUCK this war – so many were dead. So many had rushed with her valiantly, steadfastly, to this one-sided massacre. Lulamae clenched her fists to keep the bloody memories at bay, sick at heart for the families who would never see their sons and daughters again – and for what? Her skull thudded dully against the headrest and she breathed slowly. Yes, she was ready to die. It would be a kindness, for them to end this defeated despair of the spirit. There was no mortal pain that could compare…

She flexed her hands out of their tight fists, forgetting for one vital instant the shattered bones in her left, and was rewarded by a blinding paroxysm of red agony.

Amend that - she had time to concede, before she blacked out again.



The bastard woke her in time to see the sign over the gate. “Too easy,” she muttered bleakly, turning her face away from the windows. For the greater good – right. The madman Hilter had probably had the same justification tattooed somewhere on his pasty white fanny.

His enigmatic comment stuck in her craw, however. Of course he would think her death an improvement upon the human race, but – as an ominous warning, it was rather disappointing. The van stopped and she watched warily as they opened the doors, and was surprised to see - lab coats. Apprehensive as the soldiers entered the van to collect her, throwing a few clumsy insults at them, scanning the terrain and the layout of the stark cement buildings – she had no idea where she was, she had not seen anything on their maps that looked familiar to her now. Lulamae allowed herself to be pushed down onto the gurney and strapped in place – fucking control freaks men were, she could still walk! She flinched away from the shot, but they were not deterred, and she felt the drug washing a false calm over her body.

She didn’t like the perspective, staring straight up from the gurney, immobilized so that she had to struggle just to lift her head. Looks like a hospital, smells like a hospital... But what did she expect a death factory would be designed to look like – a barber shop? Too many grunts milling around for a hospital – that would tip anyone off. And just one patient, that she saw – no one she knew – looking more dead than alive, anyway. A man on each arm, like the belle of the ball, with a nurse striding importantly ahead of them. Where were they taking her?

They wheeled her into a room and she was surprised again when she realized they were set on patching her up. Their doctors worked silently and she steeled herself against the pain as they re-set her broken bones – even went to the trouble of fixing her teeth. Lulamae felt stirrings of old fear that had curdled in her belly when she was led into the interrogation room – only it was a darker, more troubling trepidation she felt now. Why fix her up, just to kill her? Her mind stumbled along through their drugs as she attempted to reassess her fate. Were they testing biological weapons, chemical weapons..? She barely registered the officer’s warning about her teeth, concentrating on keeping her eyes open and taking in what she could, of the room.

They let her sit up, and she did so shakily, examining their work on her hand – might play piano again, hard to say – but straightened up at the doctor’s order, that she be stripped.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice not as commanding as she would have liked, with her dry lips and cotton mouth.

They ignored her, the officer moving closer to comply, and Lulamae shied away from him, keeping her eyes on the doctor. He was the tooth-puller here. “What is this?”

Nothing to worry about. In her experience, people rarely actually said so, when it was the truth. The officer put his hands on her, though she fought to keep him off, and swiftly stripped her of the simple pajamas they had issued her. She continued to stare at the doctor, insistent upon his acknowledgment, and repeated, “What is this place?”

 

[magbeam]

"Why?" The captain frowned, his sun-tanned brows furrowing. "'Cause we told you, you stupid cunt. And you're in no position to argue." He stepped up to take care of business, and when his hand wrapped around her shoulder and Lulamae shook him off, he raised his hand, ready to smack some docility into her. Too many of his friends had been stampeded under cowboy hooves, figuratively and literally, for him to take much guff from one who was supposed to have been beat already.

However, before the captain could bring his arm down to finish, the doctor's hand shot out with surprising quickness, grabbing his wrist. "No no, if you please, Captain MacAndo," he said softly. "Please do keep in mind that unduly injuring any of our residents will not only mean more work for me, but quite probable reassignment for you. Situations that neither of us would like." The doctor removed his grip from the captain, who after a moment's hesitation, lowered his arm, glaring at Lulamae. No, there would be no unduly harm to her. But he would get his time with her soon...

Two more soldiers, a man and a woman, approached Lulamae, completing the task of stripping her from the bright-green pajamas (deliberately chosen to make blending in difficult in the chance of a prison escape), the velco snaps crackling as the seams were pulled open and away, revealing her naked body, covered with a combination of old scars and new wounds, sustained both before and after her capture by the Californians.

"All in good time, Major, all in good time," the doctor assured her tonelessly as Lulamae continued to ask what was going on. "Just a checkup to make sure you're healthy. Please place her on the chair, corporal." Several other soldiers came to assist their compatriots in hauling the struggling Lulamae over to what resembled a gynecological exam chair on steroids. All gleaming metal, they laid her in it, its contours almost molding to her, hugging her to keep her in. As three soldiers held her down, the nurse started buckling the restraints, around her ankles, wrists, knees, waist, and neck, leaving her almost totally immobile.

As soon as she was restrained, the doctor worked at some controls, the chair lowering her flat on her back and swinging her knees up and out. As the soldiers watched with various levels of amusement, the doctor and his nurse performed a very thorough physical exam on Lulamae, focusing on the reproductive aspects. Her breasts were measured and palpated, a cold speculum and several pairs of gloved fingers invaded her lower orifices, fingers pressed her from the outside in and inside out, and through a variety of swabs and catheters almost every type of bodily fluid was taken.

"There we are," the doctor said at the end, handing his sample containers to the nurse. "We'll get those down to the lab, they'll be processed overnight. Certainly in time for your first...session. Now Major, if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions. The labwork will be able to tell if you're on any chemical contraceptives, and we'll be inserting a hormonal monitor soon anyway, but can you tell me when you expect your period to start? It's the nineteenth, in case you need to know."

The doctor continued to smile at her familiar, repetitive question. "Why Major, you're so paranoid. All this free healthcare and still so hostile? This is simply a...more upscale prisoner of war camp, for special cases such as yourself. We just want you to be comfortable. But seeing as several years will likely past, at the minimum, before any prisoner-transfer agreement is reached with your country, and holding several thousand enemy combatants is quite expensive...Wars, as you know, have a cost that goes beyond money. Human lives are much more precious than they ever were before, yet we continue to throw them away with the same abandon. It does not take a genius to know that that path lies ruin. Camp 307 is...the first step in a plan to try to turn that trend around."

For the first time his smile had emotion - cruel enjoyment.

"Tell me, Major, have you ever wanted to be a mother?"

 

[save_marla]

She stared at the ceiling, allowing them to strip her without too much fuss. Chewing on this new information – she wasn’t to be harmed. Even by her buddy here, the big teddy bear. As the soldiers turned her body between them, she caught the captain’s glare and winked at him cheekily, mocking his impotence. Though, to be honest, it made her uneasy to realize that the doctor had such authority, here.

They seemed satisfied, to see her stripped down to nothing – she could tell by the pleased snap one of the soldiers gave the remnants of her pjs, to shake out the wrinkles. Lulamae remained unperturbed. She had never been ashamed of her taut body, and was in fact proud to show off her battle scars to these pussies. Let them look at her and see a real hero, unafraid to bleed for what she believed in.

She didn’t like the look of the chair, though, and fought again in terrible earnest as soldiers surrounded her and forced her down into it. One lay his whole weight against her naked body as the nurse strapped her in, laughing and jeering as she squirmed beneath him. They seemed excessively concerned with keeping her still, she noted, as she felt straps tighten against her skin in a dozen places. When she was fully restrained they let her go, and she wasted time testing her bonds as the doctor adjusted the chair, positioning her at an alarmingly vulnerable angle. Lulamae felt a cold dread settling into her stomach as she felt her knees being spread wide.

She closed her eyes and kept them closed throughout their intrusive examination, too troubled to demand an explanation. She tried not to hear the sniggering comments of the soldiers in the room, tried not to feel the sick humiliation creeping up her spine as she felt herself being pried open and poked and prodded, and samples taken for their inspection. Lulamae forced herself to concentrate instead on her own breathing, taking in the deepest breath she could manage, then exhaling completely, until her lungs deflated. Repeat as necessary. This would end soon.

The doctor shifted and straightened up, and she opened her eyes, her face a mask of perfect calm – though her eyes felt a bit wild, even to herself. She could scarcely hear him over her pounding heart, and she fought the rising panic as he stepped away and she was left with her legs gaping wide and meaningless. She heard his question, but it didn’t make sense – anyway, she would tell them nothing. She struggled again, just to close her legs, but the stirrups held her relentlessly open. A pathetic whimper escaped her lips before she could stifle it, and she slumped back in the chair sullenly, ashamed of her weakness.

She listened to his cordial explanation– his tone was very reasonable, but – he was not letting her up. He was telling her things she already knew about the war, she didn’t understand how it explained anything. The devastating loss of lives – how could they expect to reverse the trend?

She stared at him. His sardonic final question confirmed her worst fears, and the pieces fell abruptly into place, jarring her. She gasped for breath, then shook her head violently, as far as the neck restraint would allow.

“I won’t be your brood mare,” she answered him, her voice hoarse with emotion. “You may as well kill me, because I’d rather die.”

She wouldn’t humiliate herself further by struggling again, but she glared at them fiercely, her body charged with adrenalin as her panic rose again – she couldn’t stop them – but she would not acknowledge such defeatist thoughts. She turned to find the brute of a captain and fixed him with a hateful smirk. “Though I’d die of sheer embarrassment if I popped out a freak like you, MacAndo. Your momma couldn’t afford a coat hanger?”

 

[magbeam]

The doctor, John Barnes, looked down at Lulamae, the same smile still on his lips, as he walked around to a position where he could look down into the major's face. She was scared. They all were, no matter how tough or battle-hardened they were and no matter to what lengths they went to hide it. It was strange, in a way, given that, on a deep level, a woman's primary evolutionary impulse was to have children. And yet his patients - he much preferred that sterile, impersonal term to women or bitches - all hated it, at least as first. In his more contemplative moments, Dr. Barnes liked to think of it as just him doing his duty to correct that strange turn of events.

"My, you do have spirit, don't you, Major Johnson?" he asked, reaching down to paternally stroke her cheek before grabbing her chin, turning it back to look up at him. He liked to use their formal ranks and titles even in this situation...especially in this situation. As the months wore on and the formerly resistant soldiers turned gravid and broken, he liked to dangle the final remnants of their dignity in front of them, to show in contrast just how far they had fallen.

"I have no doubt that you would prefer death, Major. You'd be surprised, or perhaps not, how many of your...compatriots spout similar words when they're first informed of their duties. But, unfortunately for you, we keep a very close watch on our investments. After all, children are the future of this great state. At least, your children will be, Major." The doctor released her chin, making a signal to the nurse who headed off out of the room. As the others were occupied, Captain MacAndo came over, gloating down into Lulamae's face.

"You just might die of embarrassment, then, little cunt," he laughed. "'Cause guess who's got first dibs on, ah, 'rehabilitative interfacing' with you, cowgirl? Yeah, take a good long look. I'm sure they'll take after their old man." He moved to pull away as the doctor and nurse returned with another woman between them, then leaned back in for a final whisper. "Did I mention they use fertility drugs there? Don't worry, I'll have you plenty loosened up by then." The he pulled away, the doctor and nurse back over. Between them was the woman that Lulamae had seen being ushered in between the soldiers earlier. Up close, she still had the vacant stare she had had earlier, and was showing the telltale signs of an early pregnancy.

"Major Lulamae Johnson, I want you to meet Sergeant Bethany Griers. She has been a patient of this institution for several years know, since the Battle of Reno. She used to be just as, ah, difficult to work with as you are now. In fact, during her second pregnancy, she managed to injure herself enough to cause a miscarriage. I won't tell you how, of course, and needless to say that we've since removed the situation, but that was only the latest and most egregious incident that Sergeant Griers caused us. And so, since she was unable to see reason or be a proper patient and caring mother, we were forced into rather drastic behavioral modification..."

At that, the nurse tilted Bethany's head down, far enough so that Lulamae could see the remains of a circular scar that ran around the front part of her skull. After a few seconds - enough for the image to sink in - the nurse pulled her back up. As compliant as a puppy dog, Bethany quietly followed, out of the room. The doctor turned back to Lulamae, a sad frown on his face.

"A drastic case, to be sure, but I make sure to show the dear sergeant off to all of my new patients. I promise that as long as you behave, no harm will come from you, and who knows? Someday we may actually get an armistice, and then you could actually see your home again. We might even let you take home a kid of your own as a parting gift for your troubles." Doctor Barnes laughed. "But if you persist in making trouble for yourself and us, well...Well, enough dark talk. Let's just install your hormonal monitor and then you'll be out of this horrid examination chair."

The hormonal monitor was a small, plastic cylinder with a protruding tip that the doctor worked into her vagina, the end nestling just into her womb. He stated that it was to monitor her ovulation and then tell when it was 'time.' A small, waxy nugget - a suppository of fertility hormones, he stated - was pushed into her bottom, already starting to dissolve and be absorbed by her bloodstream. Her legs were unstrapped, with soldiers holding each one, as a leather thong-type attachment was locked around her, providing a means to keep the monitor in place, and also with a rough knob around the area of her clit, something to keep her occupied at night, the doctor explained. Her clothing was next, consisting of a loose pair of bikini-type panties that went over the 'thong' and a gown that ended mid-thigh, both made out of a loose, thin, almost translucent material made from recycled paper. At the end of it, Lulamae was standing upright, several soldiers on either side of her, holding her.

"These soldiers will be taking you to your quarters now, Major. You'll be sharing them with one other patient, a, ah, Lieutenant Jane Hoon. We'll fetch you in the morning for your first rehabilitative interfacing with the Captain here, and then later in the day, your first session of psychoanalysis. See, Major, it's not so bad," he offered with a cold smile. "Now, until then...enjoy your stay, and good night."

The soldiers with an orderly leading them took Lulamae across the compound, to a bunker marked 'Patient Housing.' Inside, through a dark hallway, they finally ended before a door, opening it to reveal a padded room, like an insane asylum. Two low, padded cots, built into the wall, as well as an intricate toilet at the end were inside. One of the beds was occupied already, by a very pregnant woman in a similar manner of dress as Lulamae and lightly restrained at the ankles and wrists to the bed - for her own safety, the orderly explained, as Lulamae was tied down similarly. With that done, he promised that they would return in the morning for her sessions, and then left them in the dark.

Once they were gone, the other woman sniffled. "You're new here? Well, don't worry," she offered with a voice of false bravery given away by her soft sobs.

"It's...it's really not so bad..."

 

[save_marla]

She didn’t like him touching her, she decided, trying to twist her face out of his grasp. Strange, how this gesture bothered her even more than when he’d been poking around down below. She averted her gaze, keeping her eyes downcast and fluttering demurely. Her bravado remained intact so long as they couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. The captain was easily distracted, but she worried about the doctor, always watching her, inscrutable. He had seen something, and was looking for it now, in her face.

Lulamae released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as the doctor stepped away and Captain MacAndo moved into his place. She quickly adopted the requisite sneer – show no weakness, to this one – he must never believe she’s afraid of him.

She focused on his face, not his words. If she started listening to them now – the conviction in their voices as they predicted her bleak fate – she would succumb to panic and despair, putting her at a distinct disadvantage. Stay strong. Give them nothing. Now is not the time. Her jaw stiffened with these thoughts, and she managed a hard grin, which she flashed at MacAndo. “And I’m sure it’ll be the best three minutes of my whole life, sugar,” she gushed. Then the doctor was back, and her smile faded.

He had the girl with him, and she couldn’t ignore the girl. A firm round belly she hadn’t noticed at first sight protruded unnaturally on the slim girl’s frame. Her face was slack and unlined, her eyes lost. Sergeant Griers, he said her name was, but the girl did not react to her name. Lulamae could not imagine the state this woman must have been in, to find a way to hurt herself in this place, under their constant supervision, badly enough to miscarry. And what had they done to her, as punishment?

She grimaced in horror and turned away from the sight of the sergeant’s scarred forehead. This was their discipline, to cut out the offending gray matter. And pregnant again! This was their greater good, the sick, sick bastards! The doctor managed to look regretful as the girl was shuffled out of the room, and then his searching eyes were back on Lulamae. She didn’t even bother to hide her fear from him, this time, and felt at once fully naked under his gaze. Her stomach clenched as he allowed his thinly-veiled threat to trail off, unfinished, and ducked between her legs again. Whatever he had seen in her eyes, he was satisfied. There was no need to state the obvious.

He was all briskly cheerful business, again, and she tried to flinch away from his touch – Don’t touch me – more horrid, now, his cold fingers up inside her. The hormone monitor dug into her cervix, an ache deeper than anything she’d ever experienced. She squirmed uselessly again as she felt the pellet being inserted into her anus, and whined softly in frustration at her own helplessness.

They unstrapped her and dressed her, and she did not look at the doctor as they led her out, though his cruel pleasantries made her skin crawl. Lulamae followed them to the room in silent state of shock, and allowed them to fasten her wrists and ankles to the bed. It felt so good to lie down, the cot was the softest place she’d laid her head in months – so tempting, to just close her eyes and go to sleep. Her mind was numb and still, except for one corner of her brain, busily forming simple mathematic equations – how many years of fertility did she have left? How many babies could she bear in that span? How many years would she live after menopause, and what would they do with her when she could no longer reproduce? A girl could worry herself into a coma, if she paid any attention at all. Good thing she hated math.

A voice, low in the darkness, interrupted her non-thoughts. Lieutenant Hoon lay dismally pregnant on the other cot, offering her feeble reassurances. The sound of her weeping was more than Lulamae could bear, and her answering tone was sharper than she intended.

“I need you to keep it together, Lieutenant,” her own voice wavering with emotion. She would not stop to calculate how long it had been since she’d been on chemical contraceptives, how many days it had been since her last period.

“Tell me what you can. How long have they been doing this? How long have you been here?”

The suppository melted and oozed out of her rectum, but would not be pushed out. Lulamae squirmed to keep from dripping a puddle on the mattress, and lowered her voice. “Has anyone ever escaped? Please, tell me everything you can.”

 

[magbeam]

At the tone of Lulamae's voice, Hoon's sniffles stopped, the sounds of her trying to straighten out on the cot, as if coming to attention horizontally, coming across the room. She might have not been in the military for a very long time, but camp discipline had done its best to keep - and increase - her subservience to it.

"I, I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'll try to, to keep it together. Name's Julie Hoon, Ma'am, Second Lieutenant, Ninth Howitzers." Julie didn't even know the newcomer's rank, but her life at the camp had taught her that it was much, much better for her to assume anyone and everyone was superior to her. After all that they had done to her, too, it wasn't really that hard to believe.

"I'll try to tell you everything I can...Um, what year is it? They don't let us get any news or contact from the outside world. Don't want us to remember there's anything out there..." When Lulamae told her the date, Julie despite her promises couldn't stop the large sob that came from her mouth.

"It's...that late? Oh God. Oh my God. I...I've been here four years, then, over that, Ma'am. When I came there were a few women who'd been here at least that long. This...this is my third. My third kid, the third kid they've raped into me, you sick fucking bastards!" she suddenly screamed, her stunted demeanor suddenly vanishing at the realization of how long she'd been caged here like an animal. How much of her life had been spent on her back with enemy soldiers and cold instruments between her legs.

"Sorry...sorry about that, Ma'am, I just...Four fucking years..." Her voice trailed off in the dark, silence falling for several more seconds. "Those other women are still here. Still...still putting out bastard spawn for them. It, it never ends. I've never heard of a woman escaping, and where would we go? Every once in a while I'll stop seeing someone I'm familiar with, usually older women. Probably too old for those fucking Frankensteins even to force another kid out of-"

Julie's voice abruptly stopped as the door to the cell opened, a nurse highlighted against the burning brightness from the outside. Another figure was behind her, holding a tray.

"Now, now, Major Johnson, to shame. Stirring an expecting mother like that when you know she needs her rest. Quite a troublemaker already, aren't you? Well, one in the oven will sap that from you, let's hope. Now, let's see...Ah, here we are." The nurse picked up a hypo, pressing it to Julie's neck.

"No, no, please..." the lieutenant said, her voice mumbling off as she fell into sleep. The nurse turned to Lulamae, another hypospray in hand, pressing it to her neck.

"There. Sweet dreams, you'll need your strength for your big day tomorrow..."

Lulamae was awoken by the pressure of another hypospray to her neck. With the lack of windows or clocks in the cell or hallway there was no way to tell how much time had passed. Julie was gone from her cot, and at Lulamae's question, the doctor present only patted her cheek.

"Lieutenant Hoon is in therapy right now, after her outburst last night...Quite troubling, really, but we'll get her through it. Don't worry about her, especially since you have a big day yourself. But first let's get you cleaned up and fed."

Lulamae's panties, as they were, were taken down, the hormonal monitor checked as a catheter was inserted into her urethra and another fertility drug suppository was inserted. Meanwhile, the nurse tried to open her jaws and, when foiled, pinched her nose until Lulamae was forced to gasp for air. A jaw spreader was swiftly inserted and cranked open, leaving her mouth defenseless for when a thick, phallically-ridged tube - the better to humiliate her with - was pushed down past her gag reflex, to regurgitate her breakfast of nutritious paste into her stomach. The spreader was pulled out and the traces of paste wiped away from her chin and lips where it had dribbled out, before was was lifted up and strapped down onto a gurney.

Wheeled out of the Patient Housing Ward across the camp, they entered another bunker-hospital:

Insemination.

She was brought into what looked like another exam room, but one with a tile floor and waterproofing, as if everything could be hosed down. She was strapped down into the exam table, the hormonal monitor removed with the rest of her 'clothes' as she was strapped down. Once more, a nurse tried to open her jaws, this time with the force of a male nurse's aid when Lulamae refused; this time, a ring gag was pushed in. The table was tilted backwards so her head was down, as the nurses rubbed an ointment that caused a warm tingling wherever it touched across her privies and breasts.

When that was done, she was left alone in the room for a few minutes, before the doctor entered to once more smile down at her. "Hello again, Major. Good morning. I trust you rested well, at least after that incident? You'll have to watch that temper of yours, Major. Remember my warning. I must say, it is refreshing not to have to deal with that lip of yours." His fingers went down to trace the gag. "It must be frustrating for you, though, I'd imagine. To have your voice stripped away. It's what makes you a human and not an animal, in a way, isn't it? Now your organ for voice is reduced to just a...gaping hole."

There was a knock at the door to the room, and the sound of it opening. From her position, Lulamae couldn't see who it was, but she could hear the doctor saying,

"Ah, and good morning to you, Captain MacAndo."

 

[save_marla]

She hated this. The hiss of the hypospray interrupted her thin dream state, and reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Grumbling irritably at the doctor looking down at her, “Y'all are giving me hickies all over, from that damn thing...”

Lulamae eyed Lieutenant Hoon’s empty cot as they stripped her down again. Therapy. The image of Sergeant Griers’s scarred hairline rose in her mind, and she shuddered. She hadn’t even introduced herself, last night.

She voiced a protest as they pushed a catheter up inside her, and again when they inserted another slimy suppository up her anus. Without warning, the wiry bitch of a nurse tried to force her jaw open, savagely pinching her nose shut until Lulamae relented and let them prop her mouth open.

She thrashed against the young doctor who held her as the nurse relentlessly pushed a tube down her throat and began pumping mush into her stomach – a helplessly queasy sensation. When they released her, she lost a brief struggle with her gorge and choked up some of their gruel, but they only wiped her clean and then secured her to another gurney.

Her mind reeled, frantic emotions stirring just under the surface. Was this to be her life, now? They wouldn’t trust her to do anything for herself, preferring to control when she slept and woke, when she ate and peed, and God knew what else. Unless it hindered their actions, she was immobilized, not even permitted to walk from one room to the next. Did they realize what unbearable torture it was, for an independent woman, to have even the simplest functions taken away from her?

Lulamae blinked in the bright sunshine, and then they plunged into another dim, antiseptic building, and were moving her again from the stretcher to an exam table. At first glance, this room was no different from the other she’d been in – until she noticed several drains in the tiled floor. The sight of them brought out the fight in her again, but they were ready for her now, and forced her down onto the table, locking her jaws wide as they fitted the ring gag between her teeth. Her breath came out in a whimper as they tilted the table back and she felt the nurse’s manicured fingers rubbing salve between her legs and into her breasts. It burned slightly at first, then dulled to a maddening twinge. Then they left her alone in the room, quite confident that she was completely within their control.

She felt the panic rising in her, feeling more vulnerable in the empty room than she had in the presence of her determined keepers. Legs spread wide, with their hormones melting inside her, Lulamae tried to swallow bravely and only managed a hitching gag.

It seemed to her that she felt his arrival before he leaned over her and confirmed it. She felt the heat of him, so close to her naked skin, breathed the dangerous scent of him. The smiling doctor. Fiercely, she fought back the rising terror of her situation as he enjoyed her silent acquiescence, tracing a finger along her wide lips as if to deliberately emphasize her powerlessness. She didn’t like his amused metaphors, and she gurgled a sarcastic (if unintelligible) response, even as her privates warmed and tingled.

The confident rap on the door startled her, and she strained briefly to see who entered, but the doctor’s pleasant greeting stopped her cold. MacAndo. This was happening.

Tossing her head wildly to look up at the doctor, Lulamae grunted and barked up at him, her eyes wide and earnest, trying to engage him. Jutting her chin demandingly – if he would just take the ring out for a second and listen to her! But his answering smile sent chills through her body and strangled her cries in her throat. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore, not wanting to see Captain MacAndo leering over her, though she could hear and feel him approach the table. She listened to her heart pounding, focused on taking deep breaths – anything but give in to the terrible panic.

This was happening. There was nothing she could do to stop them.

 

[magbeam]

"Is the cunt ready?" MacAndo asked, his voice gruff, sounding like he was already eager to go.

"The patient is just about prepared...Remember, Captain, that we are civilized people, and it is the future of civilization itself that we are working to save, here. You too, Major, should keep that in mind. That is is all done for the most noble of intentions." The doctor had turned his voice back to Lulamae and in a second he was standing over her, looking down at her, a condescending sneer on his face.

"Look at her. She's terrified already. Halfway to breaking her. If you hadn't drained her bladder I bet she'd have pissed herself already."

"I think you underestimate her, Captain," the doctor said from in between Lulamae's spread legs. "I think she's a bigger fighter than you give her credit for, and she'll produce fine children for sustaining the next generation of Californians. Now..." Lulamae could feel something cold and greasy being put on her ass, followed by a long, cold thing being pushed in. "This is just a contraction meter, to allow us to know if you achieve orgasm during the session. See, we're not so bad, are we? We care about your enjoyment as well."

The doctor was now in front of Lulamae, taking her chin in hands, guiding her head back into a contoured rest, strapping it down before tilting it back. "And that's not it. The captain is not allowed to have anal intercourse with you, and while he may use your mouth or breasts, he must ejaculate into your vagina. Furthermore, throughout the procedure, a nurse will be here to oversee, and ensure that things do not get out of hand. We aren't barbarians here, Major, and the sooner you realize that the better things will go for you. They could be so much worse for you. Think about it. With that...I will see you later."

With that, the doctor walked out of the room, and no sooner did the door swing shut than Captain MacAndo was before her, unbuttoning her pants, tossing them aside as he forced his penis down her throat, laughing at her distress. "I love this job," he said as he pumped, resisting the urge to hold her nose shut only at a glare from the nurse. "Not because I get all the cunt I want - hookers are cheap enough, even here - but because I get to fuck uppity Texan cowgirls who thought they could get away with killing my friends. You sanctimonious, upright, moralistic...That's why I love this position."

Pulling out of her mouth, it was but a few steps to the back of her, and he was hilt-deep in Lulamae's vagina soon enough. Only a few minutes later he came, spurting into her, pulling out panting. At the sound of Lulamae's gagged attempts at laughter, he joined in, enjoying the confusion it gave her. "You don't think that was it, do you? You don't think you breeder gashes are the only ones given...supplements?"

All in all, MacAndo fucked her almost half a dozen more times, although the last was more for kicks than anything else. As he cleaned himself up in the shower stall nearby, the nurse came over to Lulamae. With the snap of elastic gloves, she pushed something inside the major's vagina, finally coming to rest against her cervix.

"There now, all over for the day. That wasn't so bad, now was it? Just a little cap to keep all the captain's semen nestled up where it'll do the most good...And to be safe, we'll keep you tilted back like this for another half an hour or so. Hmm." The nurse looked over the readings as she pulled the probe from her ass.

"You didn't orgasm in this session. Well, that's fine for now, but soon we'll be expecting you to undergo at least one clinical orgasm a day. Don't worry, we'll help for that if you need it. Now, I bet you're stuffed up back there, aren't you?"

As the nurse prepared an enema for Lulamae, the captain, dressed again came over, playfully smacking the Texan's face. "Thanks for the ride, cunt. Look forward to it again tomorrow." He left just as the nurse pushed the nozzle up Lulamae's rear.

In half an hour the enema was over and cleaned up, and the doctor had returned to help transfer Lulamae over to a gurney, this one with a downward tilt to ensure the captain's 'deposit' would still be pointed in the proper direction. The doctor's face looked down into her own.

"Now then. Nurse Everett says you did well for your first time. It'll get easier, you'll see. And to make sure that it does, we've scheduled you for a visit to the camp psychotherapist. She'll help you...settle in to this new life. Won't that be nice? Get all that worry off of your chest? I'm sure you have plenty to say to that," he said as he reached down to remove her gag.

 

[save_marla]

She eyed him warily – as he moved between her legs, it occurred to her, not for the first time, that she was more afraid of the doctor than she was of the brute MacAndo. She grunted in annoyance as he pushed something cold and foreign up her ass, and tried to twist away from his touch as he positioned her head against the headrest and secured it in place. The whole time she glared silently at him, afraid to do anything less. The rules he calmly relayed to her seemed only to make the whole thing more inhumane, that they tried to maintain the impression of order and civility, about this..

But when he left the room and she realized she was alone with the eager Captain, and only a complacent nurse to chaperone and be trusted to intervene, Lulamae bleated a cry of protest, which was swiftly choked off by the cock he stuffed into her mouth. Though his thrusts were somewhat hampered by the ring gag – he could not fill her throat and stop her breath – the tip of his cock tickled her gag reflexes, making her retch around him, loud in the tiled room. His balls mashed against her chin as MacAndo straddled her face and spat his contemptuous jeers at her.

She gasped and coughed as his cock was removed – a moment’s reprieve before she felt him cramming himself between her legs. Lulamae closed her eyes and lay completely still, determined to endure this with dignity.

I am meat, nothing but dead meat. Meat on meat. It would be no more personal than fucking a corpse on a table.

She snorted in ironic amusement when he pulled out the first time, glistening and flaccid. She deliberately refused to think about what he had left inside her. But her cheer was short-lived when, after a few frantic jerks, MacAndo came alive in his own hand again, ready and eager for round two.

It was slower, this time, and Lulamae stared at the ceiling as he dipped into her holes, sampling her body, seemingly at his leisure. It grew more and more difficult to maintain her composure, and her earlier words ricocheted in her skull as she felt him pound away at her. Like a cut of meat. Her insides ached as he stiffened and came again in record time, but this time she could not find the humor in it.

The nurse watched dispassionately as he took her again and again, his stinking breath in her face, his heartless words ringing in her ears, and his ever-present cock, pummeling the spirit out of her. Of course the men were given supplements – the doctor would not be content to let nature take its course, if he had any say in the matter. Lulamae felt her eyes stinging with tears, in spite of her resolve, as the table rattled with his violent humping. Was this the first day of the rest of her life?

His thrusts were much more violent at the end, jarring her whole body like a rag doll, though it was becoming obvious that another ejaculation was not in the cards. This time was purely spiteful, just to show her that he could do this all day. At last, MacAndo slipped out of her and hit the showers.

Lulamae allowed herself the luxury of tears as she felt the nurse’s nimble fingers working something deep inside her, crooning soothing words in her ear as she tugged on the probe until it popped out of Lulamae’s ass. Silent tears streamed down her face, and she barely registered the captain’s vile farewell, offering up not even a token resistance to the enema the nurse administered so diligently.

Her tears had dried up by the time it was over – cold and drained, her eyes burning and her head throbbing, her insides still quivering in aftershock. She looked up at the doctor with no emotion as he helped the nurse position her on the gurney. Watched him without hearing him, a frightening black rage stirring inside her like a hurricane, gaining force every second. At last he took the ring gag from between her teeth, as she’d hoped he would do.

She paused only a moment to flex the sore muscles of her jaw before she hauled back and spit at him with as much gusto as she could muster. The spray was disappointing – her mouth had dried out considerably, propped open all morning – but, it was the thought that counted.

Her voice splintered with the force behind at, and the sound bounced back at her from the slick tiles, “You soulless, dickless son of a bitch! I swear to God, I’ll kill you!! This is wrong – how can you condone this sick shit, you monster??” She shied away from him on the gurney, repulsed, and imagined she could feel MacAndo’s precious come, slopping inside her. The nurse was hastily leaving the room, and Lulamae raised her voice further, wanting the woman to hear. “Every woman here – and every one of our children, I promise you – will watch you hang for this. Enjoy it while it lasts, doctor.”

With difficulty, she stifled a shudder as the door hushed closed behind the departing nurse and she was alone in the room with him. But it was too late for regrets. She glared up at him furiously, all too aware of her vulnerable position.

 

[magbeam]

The doctor started as the small spray of Lulamae's spittle sputtered into his face, with the nurse's face turning pale with shock. The doctor reached up, wiping the small efflux from his face with his sleeve, as the nurse, giving one final wide-eyed glance to Lulamae, turned and left the room as fast as she could without making it seem like she was running. If she heard Lulamae's pleas and promises through her willing mental shield, she gave no indication.

The doctor merely waited quietly for Lulamae to finish speaking as he finished wiping his face off. When she was done, he stared at her, face neutral for several seconds, before starting to talk, for all the world as if nothing strange had just happened, that it was as ordinary a conversation topic as ever.

"Sergeant Griers. She had a mouth much as aggressive as yours. From an intellectual standpoint, do you know what the most interesting part of her...treatment was? We did not sedate her fully, only a general anesthetic. Therefore, I took much interest in listening to her curses and swearing at us begin to lose cogency as her higher brain functions began to shut down. It was a humbling experience, and a true testament to both Griers' constitution and the tenacity of the human body in how long she was able to continue to make any sense."

The doctor's hand moved down, grabbing Lulamae's chin, turning it back to face him, wanting her to get the full effect of what he was going to say next.

"Naturally, of course, she does not remember any of that; perhaps it's a blessing. You, however, could. Not remember Griers' session, but your own. Griers was...perhaps an unfortunate mistake. We are not Nazis, Major, and we learn from our mistakes. It is now within our capacity to just impair the higher brain functions. Say, leave you with a limited capacity for thought and memorization, perhaps a five-hundred word vocabulary. Just enough to know that you used to be so much more, that you'll never be the woman you once were. All because you continued to antagonize the people who were just trying to look out for your best interests."

The doctor's voice had grown icy, and his face was close to Lulamae's, his hand not quite squeezing down on her. "I assure you, Major, that I take no pleasure in my work here. It is necessary for the future of the human species. Certainly for Western civilization, or whatever remains of it. You should be proud, Major, to have the chance to be a new Eve, and glad that we don't simply toss you to a barracks of angry soldiers and see how long it takes you get impregnated the base, natural way. Even you, Major, must admit to the superiority of this institution over that."

He pulled away slightly, his face starting to smile, as he began to stroke her cheek. "And please, Major...No one has escaped from Camp 307. No one eve will, and none of the children born here even know of their parentage. We actually inform them that their parents were killed in Texan raids. Poetic justice, I think, and one that will not incline them to join in any sort of children's crusade. In a few years, perhaps, we will need another story...Oh, yes, does that surprise you?" he asked, noticing her start.

"Yes, we plan to keep this operation going long after the formal end of hostilities. With modern technology and a body as healthy as yours, Major, you could face up to twenty, perhaps even thirty years of childbearing. We can always use more surrogate mothers once you've stopped menstruating on your own, so you needn't worry on that count. With fertility treatments you might have over one hundred children by the time you are done. Thirty years. One hundred children. Sounds quite a lot, doesn't it?" he chuckled sympathetically. "Quite a long time indeed when forced to contemplate specifics, no longer able to take refuge in vague unknowns or hope that the end is right around the corner. Quite...disheartening."

Done stroking her cheek, the doctor made his way to the intercom, calling orderlies to the room. Before they arrived, he turned back to her.

"You do have quite the spirit in you, Major. It seems a shame to let those genes go to waste reinforcing Captain MacAndo's brutishness. Perhaps once you carry his first set of children to term, we can find a more suitable gene donor. I think your characteristics would match my own intelligence rather nicely. Perhaps one of them would even enter the family business. Ah, splendid, here they are," he said as the door opened and the orderlies walked in.

"Major, these young men will take you to Doctor bar-Mond, our camp psychotherapist. She'll begin your hypnotic therapy."

 

[save_marla]

She could feel her body trembling as he stared down at her, his pleasant expression unchanged even as he mopped the spittle from his cheek. Fatigue setting in - the trembling, it must be. It had been a grueling morning.

She flinched away from him as he described his clinical interest in watching Sergeant Griers’ painful deterioration at his hands. She fought not to imagine, but then could not keep from imagining the terrified struggle to retain what intellect remained, each time the doctor intervened. To stare up at that coldly pleasant face as he noted her reactions for his research -

His firm grip turned her chin back, to make her look at him, and Lulamae felt the naked horror in her stare as she opened her eyes.

Her stomach cramped into a hard, tight knot as he coolly detailed how he would do things differently, when her time came. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she tossed in his grip – there had been some infinitesimal solace in the knowledge that their worst punishment at least offered oblivion. It might even be the preferred alternative to this bleak life, if it became unbearable. Now he promised her a life of misery, of painful longing memories and throbbing regret. She recalled how she had bristled at her helplessness – he offered her true vulnerability as an option, if she continued to make trouble.

His fingers pinched angrily into the hollows of her cheeks – he only touched her face, unless he was fiddling with his monstrous endeavor - unlike MacAndo’s rough fondlings, the doctor made his touch extremely personal. His tone was sharper than perhaps he realized, as he defended his methods as a global solution and touted its sophistication in this brutal world. Lulamae dared not even breathe in defiance, and only when he pulled away did she quietly, shakily, exhale.

He seemed more collected, now, confident – he had seen her fear and decided it was good. He touched her face gently now, as he chided her for her arrogance and assured her with a smile that escape was impossible. And he would not be stopped, this was no longer a war effort, but a personal mission. Her skin crawled as he estimated the duration of her child-bearing years, and her brain tripped over his flawed calculations – one hundred children in thirty years was impossible for one woman –

The doctor left her side abruptly, and Lulamae strained to lift her shoulders – she didn’t like him out of her sight. She heard his brisk instructions in the empty room, and then he returned to smile down at her, still in high spirits.

His words, at first, did not make sense. He was making fun, a cruel jab at her situation – her future with MacAndo. Her body grew cold by degrees as she realized what he was proposing, offering his courteous logic for a match with him. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, seeing his body for the first time, wondering what he would do with her...

The door opened and his manner shifted as he moved to usher the orderlies into the room. Lulamae barely registered his introduction to the men who stepped up to look at her. A paralyzing fear had frozen her blood to ice as she made sudden sense of his hundred children. The hormones – they were counting on multiple births. She parted her lips and began to moan, with the screams of Lieutenant Julie Hoon echoing in her brain, her stomach roiling. Hypnotic therapy, oh yes, they wanted her brain, and they would have it, one way or another.

Her voice gained volume, but her cries were largely ignored until she grew so loud that they finally moved to silence her. There were penalties for inconveniencing them.

 

[magbeam]

The two orderlies started at the sound of Lulamae's moaning - the sure sign of those who were newly-assigned to 307 - while the doctor made no outward response, at least at first. After several moments, however, he crossed to a cabinet, returning with a ball gag that he fit over her mouth, cutting down her cries to an acceptably-low volume.

"A rather vulgar method of preventing speech or sounds of any type, to be sure," he spoke as if giving a lecture while he tightened it around her face. "But effective, and in the end, that is what matters." When he was done, he again took Lulamae's face into his hand, tilting it up to look into his eyes. "I would suggest that you regain control of your voice, unless you wish for that to become one more of your bodily functions that we regulate. I don't think you would enjoy having numbing injections administered to your larynx. Of course, we would not want to risk fetal defects, so perhaps simply cutting the vocal cords would be the best long-term solution. Something to think about, Major, for when Doctor bar-Mond asks you questions."

He patted her cheek tenderly again. "After all...to not be able to speak is to not be human, is that not so? And if you force us to remove that human aspect of you, perhaps you won't be able to convince us you're responsible enough to keep your cognitive human aspects as well...I will read Doctor bar-Mond's report on your discussion with her with great interest, Major, and I will see you tomorrow." The orderlies took their position at either end of her gurney, and Lulamae was rolled out of the Insemination facility, across the hot sun to another of the underground bunkers, this one marked "Mental Health." She ended up outside a door marked "Dr. Rachael bar-Mond, Psychotherapy" that, when opened, revealed a plush, comfortable office setting.

A third orderly brought up a wheelchair of sorts - one with firm neck, wrist, ankle, knee, and abdominal restraints. Removing Lulamae from the gurney, the forced her into the wheelchair, strapping her down with one of the male nurses pushing his fingers inside her, ensuring that her diaphragm - sealing its precious cargo - was still in place, snug against her cervix. That done, they wheeled her into bar-Mond's office, leaving her facing the desk and locking the wheels in place so, even if she had the chance or ability, Lulamae couldn't shove herself into any trouble. The men left, and in several more long minutes, the door opened and Doctor bar-Mond entered.

bar-Mond appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with reddish-brown hair and a face that must have once been rather cute, and still maintained its attractiveness despite a minimum of lines. She looked at Lulamae for a few seconds, cocking her head, before introducing herself.

"My name is Doctor Rachael bar-Mond. I will be your primary mental health-care provider here. Believe me, I know what you're going through, how hard it is on you. I, when I was much younger than you, spent a time behind Texan lines when your countrymen attempted to seize the San Fernando Valley. What they did to me might not have been clinical or on purpose but it did leave me with an unwanted child I hated almost as much as the father, whoever he was. So, trust me, I know what you're going through better than anyone else here. I also know why we need to make sure that that never happens again. Better to soldiers in this environment than what I went through. So while I might not be sympathetic, I understand."

She put on a pair of glasses, flipping through the clipboard of information that one of the orderlies had left on her desk. "Ah. You're the major who's been causing all the ruckuss." She put the notes down, walking in front of the seated Lulamae.

"You're probably somewhat scared now. That's why you're here. We're not monsters. We don't want you scared, or uncomfortable, or wasting your time and ours in futile and possibly dangerous escape plans. True, we could lock you up to a bed, or dope you up, or cut out your brain, but those are not very humane or practical. Although I'm sure my colleague has told you about his attempts for the latter. His little experiments. I, too, am working on an alternative. It's the luck of the draw that you got chosen to be used by me first. Lucky for you, Major, because I guarantee there's fewer side effects than being lobotomized."

bar-Mond backed up, sitting on her desk. "You see, I'm hoping to develop a means of hypnotically implanting commands in our inmates. Nothing huge, just suggestions that make them more amenable to motherhood, breeding, the necessity of this project. Sap their will a bit, make them a bit docile. I've had...mixed results so far. But for it to work, my patients need to want it to work. I figure that that's easy for you, Major. A mouth like yours, you'd probably end up like Sergeant Griers sooner rather than later. But if this therapy works, it'll make you fit in like you've been here all your life. For your own good, really. But it's your choice. We, of course, wouldn't dream of assigning you to an experimental medical procedure without your consent."

She smiled ironically, before leaning over to work on removing Lulamae's gag. "So, do you agree that having this harmless little procedure done is preferable? When I remove this gag, I expect only to hear a verbal reply. Any other unsavory actions you commit, I will take as an answer in and of itself, and not one I think you'll like."