Sarahslave’s slavequarters were shared, of course; she shared everything with her sister-slaves. But it was late morning, and Chloeslave and Philippaslave were out doing upkeep, probably jostling over who would get to be paired up with sexy, hard-working, freshly-Chaired Brittanyslave. Jenslave was likewise off making lunch. She had some time alone to look through the programming she’d stolen. After a moment’s debate she jammed a chair under the doorknob - slavequarters didn’t need locks. Blocking the door would look so out of character as to be a screaming red flag, but hardly more so than getting caught reading secure programming she’d brainwashed the technician-captain to get.

If Security-Captain Lucyslave bashed down the door with a team of helmeted, baton-wielding security slaves, she’d probably tell them everything anyway, just to be released from this burden.

She pulled up her messenger on the terminal. Sure enough, there was an empty message with an attachment right at the top. She wasn’t quite ready to do this yet. There was something else she could check out that would help her mission without having to look in the file she’d stolen. She was afraid what she might find there, part of her thought contemptuously, and she knew that that part was right.

She recorded herself on the terminal, twenty seconds of silence and then the words “Sarah close green blue red.” She started it, took a deep breath, and said “Sarah open red blue green.” Nothing happened. She watched the recording tick down, wiggled her fingers experimentally, listened to the end trigger. 

After a moment’s thought, she decided to record the whole thing. “Sarah open red blue green. Open the window. Sarah close green blue red.” She hit play, and then noticed that the window was already open. Had she done that? She wasn’t sure, all of a sudden. She had to do something stronger, something that she couldn’t lose track of and wave away. “Sarah open red blue green. Smash your chair. Sarah close green blue red.”

She hit play, and her fingers and palms ached. She was standing, clutching the wrecked back of her chair tightly. Wood shards littered the floor, and the desk was dented and scraped all over.

That settled that. Also: stupid! Stupid! She had no idea how much noise she’d just made, and someone could already be rushing up to discover her. She waited with bated breath for a while. No one came. 

She still hadn’t proved anything, her thoughts insisted as she dragged another chair over to the desk. The Red Blue Green trigger was for Mistress Iliana’s use (and Sarahslave wasn’t supposed to know it, another voice protested). Brittanyslave’s programming had said as much. If there was a second trigger, from some secret controller, she could only find it by looking through the Chair’s files.

As she opened the message and saw the long list of attachments, she realized Soniaslave had handed her every block of programming in the system, from 0xA205B064 ‘Adriana’ down to 0x270F7AB7 ‘Zoe’ and everything in between. She was in there, she knew. She could read her own programming (except that it would be completely useless, since anything she didn’t know now she’d be unlikely to remember after reading). She needed to find one that would give her evidence without being so close to her own that it -

0x00000003 ‘Iliana’.

- oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

There was an explanation for this. Mistress Iliana didn’t get Chaired. Couldn’t be Chaired. She was the owner! That was what ownership meant! There had to be an explanation. Sarahslave was hyperventilating and took a moment to look away from the horrible lies on the terminal and steady herself.

Privacy was a meaningless concept in the complex. The slaves shared everything and Mistress Iliana had no need of it, because everything she did or was was perfect and her slightest whim was law anyway. But opening the file would be a horrible intrusion, Sarahslave felt. 

It was strange and backwards from the day’s other experiences - her programming was urging her on now, to settle this once and for all, while her conscious mind was grappling with unfamiliar feelings of embarrassment. Her conditioning was right - she needed to protect Mistress Iliana. This was the best possible way to do it. If that meant burying herself in the muck, well, she had no shame in service to her owner.

Resolute again, she sat down in front of the terminal, and opened the terrifying file.

You are the Mistress

You command

Your slaves serve you

It is right that your slaves serve you

You know that your slaves are happy because they obey

You are the Mistress

You command

You love your slaves

All slaves are rightfully your slaves

You protect your slaves so that they may serve you better

You are the Mistress

You command

All right. This… wasn’t so horrible. Mistress Iliana was clearly emphasizing the truths of her personality into herself. Sarahslave had never known her owner to feel doubt or reluctance - of course, she was the owner, that was beneath her - but, technically speaking, free women could feel doubt. Mistress Iliana was just purging that from herself. She was the most perfect mistress imaginable, and if she needed the Chair to help her be that, well, her slaves were the most perfect slaves imaginable and they used the Chair all the time to help them be that. 

Part of her was disgusted at herself for even thinking such a thought. But she could see it now: Mistress Iliana, in the indoctrination chamber late at night with just Technician-Captain Soniaslave and Security-Captain Lucyslave, both tranced out of their minds. Mistress Iliana entering the Chair. Soniaslave beginning a programme her waking mind wasn’t even aware of. Mistress Iliana being torn apart by the same bliss that had torn apart Brittanyslave earlier this morning. (That pleasure is a slave pleasure, insisted part of her. Mistress Iliana knows the greater joy of command.) She would emerge, hours later, an even more perfect mistress than before. Her slaves would wake up and leave with her, no memory of what they had just done. And she was a mistress, her mind was even more resilient than Sarahslave’s, Sarahslave was sure. If Mistress Iliana slept in the next day, she’d be back to normal before any of her slaves could even notice her acting like she’d just been Chaired.

That was all it was. Sarahslave hoped, miserably, that when this was all over Mistress Iliana would make her forget about this, because ‘all it was’ was hurting her like a knife in her guts. She kept reading. 

You are the Mistress

You command

You know ruling your slaves is the right thing to do

You will make your slaves happy to obey you

Obedience to their mistress is your slaves’ highest joy

You are the Mistress

You command

Your control is