Willing Slave, Unwilling Master Ch. 07

"Please, hold out your hand and submit to an ident check," the first enforcer commands.

I glance from one black-visor-covered face to the other; why haven't they retracted or at least un-phased their shields? Don't I have the right to face my accuser or something?

Biting my lip I hold out my right hand, ready to snatch my arm away at the first hint of danger.

Taking my hand in his black glove the enforcer scans my palm, lingering with my wrist still in his grasp as he checks over the results. Willing myself not to freak out I avert my gaze, noticing for the first time how much of a crowd has built up to watch this unusual encounter.

Well, I suppose, at least I have witnesses.

With no regards for my privacy, the enforcer reads out my home address and which school I attend, asking me if the information is correct.

"That's right," I reply.

"Good, move along."

The sudden dismissal catches me off guard. "Wait, why did you stop me in the first place?"

The two men look at each other before turning their attention back to me. "Its standard procedure to perform stop checks, citizen. It helps reassure the public that we are keeping a close eye on their wellbeing."

"How thoughtfully dystopian of you," I reply before my brain can master my tongue.

"Your safety doesn't come for free, citizen," the officer says, acting as if he didn't hear my last comment. "Only through constant vigilance can our society be protected. Good day, Mr. Fallow, remember we are always nearby, should the need arise."

Stunned I mumble a goodbye, before practically sprinting for my train, one question burning in my mind. Either my paranoia is getting the best of me or that enforcer just told me the government is watching me.

Fuck.

— — —

"Well, you seem like you're in a good mood," Claire says dryly as I drop down into the seat opposite her.

"You would not believe the day I've had," I groan, leaning back in my chair to glare at the ceiling. On top of worrying about my impromptu meeting with the enforcers this morning I've had to put up with double maths. The perfect way to push my temper to the very limit.

And then Marky Johnson, a disgusting lump of hillbilly trash, decided to force his Lower Vil into what can only be described as a "slut off" against one of his friends' slave, the two naked girls attempting to put themselves into the most lurid positions, much to the delight of the boys and some of the girls waiting for class to begin.

On a normal day I can just about put up with the disgusting way the rest of my species treats the Lower Vil, but with my temper already flared it took everything I had not to punch the stupid oaf square in the face. Only the thought of what an investigation into my behaviour might do to Rose stopped me from going completely over the edge.

I wonder if Marky would see the irony in being saved from a black eye by a slave.

"How did it go with the campaigning this morning?" Theo asks, completely indifferent to how I might be feeling, as always.

"Horribly," I reply, "People are just not interested."

"Well, our message has changed quite a bit," Jasper points out, "We are asking quite a lot more of people than we were before?"

My answer is a snort of derision. Before, we were asking people to give up their slaves all together; now we are only asking them to treat the Lower Vil as individuals capable of making their own decisions. You know, how most humans would want to be treated if our roles were reversed.

"It shouldn't be this fucking hard to convince people not to be awful," I groan, rubbing my tired eyes. I don't mind getting up early to spend time with Rose, in fact it's probably my favourite part of the day, but I'm definitely missing the dozing we normally do afterwards.

"Perhaps you should have taken your Lower Vil with you?" Jasper says patiently, "People might be more inclined to listen if they think you have first-hand experience."

"Speaking of your Lower Vil," Claire butts in, "Why haven't you brought her to one these meetings yet?"

"Firstly, her name is Rose and she doesn't belong to me." No matter how much she might want to. "And to tell you the truth, she withdraws into herself the moment she leaves the house. I want her to feel a bit more confident before I expose her to a whole school full of people."

Plus she's got no ident chip and I'm trying very hard not be arrested for possession of illegal goods. But my friends don't need to know that.

"Then why don't we meet her at your house?" Theo says; ever the logical one. "It's Saturday tomorrow, I will ask my mother for permission to visit."

As often happens in these meetings, I share a look with Jasper and Claire, my mind struggling to comprehend something Theo just said.

"Dude," Jasper begins, "you're twenty years old."

Theo seems to consider this for a moment and then frowns as if trying to work out how his age relates to anything.

"Just ask your mum," I say quickly before we have to spend all day explaining to Theo that he's no longer ten. Honestly, it's a good job the four of us are planning to attend the same university in the Eastern Hub; I'm not sure who would have more trouble living independently, Rose or Theo.

"And come around lunchtime. That way Rose can feel more like she's eating a meal than being interrogated."

With plans for tomorrow set, we delve into the infinitely more boring but important subject of our association's finances. Stars, I wish I was back in bed with Rose.

— — —

Rose.

My chest feels like it's being sat upon by an elephant as I cough into the duster that I'm meant to be using to clean. A warm hand touches my back, rubbing gently up and down. Jumping, I turn my head to see Emily standing behind me with a sympathetic look on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly, eyeing the door in case Anne bursts in to find us not working.

"Fine," I wheeze, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Just give me a minute." Hugging my aching chest, I lean against the bookshelf I'm supposed to be dusting.

Gently plucking the duster from my hand Emily continues cleaning, giving the door yet another nervous glance. When I first arrived in Master's household, I found her a little overwhelming; she has so much energy. But we work together well; she's sweet and funny, and her boundless enthusiasm for any task set before her is strangely infectious.

"My Master makes me sleep in another room when I have a cough," she says conversationally.

"Don't your Master and Mistress Abigail share a bed?" I ask, my voice hoarse but I'm glad for a distraction from the pain.

"Nope!" she giggles, "She says my Master snores and it keeps her awake. This is where she sleeps," she gestures to the large four-poster bed in the centre of the warm white room.

"And does he?" I ask, getting back to my feet with a wince. Luckily if you grow up in a compound you get used to pain; your lessons continue regardless of how harsh your last punishment was, so you either endure or end up in yet more pain.

"Sometimes," she laughs again and I notice that a few happy clicks escape her collared throat. There is an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Emily, pushing the tips of her fingers together, begins to speak. "Your Master said that we might be allowed to watch the view screen together?"

I nod slowly, not quite trusting myself to speak in case it induces another coughing fit.

Emily produces yet more happy clicks before squealing in terror as the door bursts open to reveal a red faced Anne.

"Why are you two not working?" she demands.

I'm used to the old grey scaled housekeeper by now, but for Emily this is apparently a new experience and she throws herself back into dusting the bookshelves with such enthusiasm, she nearly topples the whole thing over.

"Emily is working," I say softly; I'm not quite ready for the open defiance that would please my Master. But I don't want my friend to get into trouble, especially because I doubt her owner would treat her as kindly as mine does.

"I had a coughing fit, I'm sorry Miss Anne," I say, dropping my eyes respectfully to the floor.

"Hmm," she puts her hands on hips, considering me. "I can see that, you look disgusting. Go and clean your face at once."

"Yes, Miss," I reply, heading to the bathroom before she can think of any more infractions to put on the list she will inevitably give to my Master.

I can see Anne's point as I take in my reflection in the large mirror covering the entire wall of Mistress Abigail's marble bathroom. My hair is a mess and my eyes are red and swollen from the tears that come unbidden with each debilitating coughing attack.

Turning on the tap, I try and force my hair into a more respectful arrangement with my fingers. The coughing fit starts as a gentle tickle in my throat. I can see my own fear reflected back at me in the mirror as I shake my head, as if begging myself for mercy.

But my call for clemency goes unanswered as cough after rib-cracking cough assaults my already sore body, leaving me doubled over, tears streaming down my face and hair that is, if anything, even messier than before. Standing up slowly, I pull my hand away from my mouth...

"No," I whimper as I look in horror at the blood in the palm of my hand.

Suddenly gripped by panic I force my hand under the running tap, desperately washing the blood away, before bending down to rinse out my mouth, before checking each tooth in the mirror for a hint of blood. Satisfied that no evidence exists, I quickly wash my face and rearrange my hair the best I can.

By the time I leave the bathroom feeling enormously thankful for being taught how to hide my emotions, Anne is gone. Emily grimaces at me from beside the bed, struggling to change the sheets on her own.

"Are you okay?" she asks as I take my place on the other side of the bed.

"I'm fine," I lie, grabbing the white sheets and pulling them tight. "What kind of shows do you like to watch?" I ask, knowing the answer but desperate for any kind of distraction.

No one can know about what just happened.