This is not right.

Na’Sara took four paces forward, crossing into the sacrificial circle. The humans raised their blasters, levelling them at her, and she felt a calm upon her. A conviction that it was her time to die.

This is not my duty.

No, she thought. Of course not. It was her personal wish. And that was much greater than her duty, was it not?

The violet glow in her eyes still burned, but it flickered. Duty had become much more important to her recently. And her duty was to stop the sorcery happening here. To make the world safe from the artefacts that -

The artefacts that -

Na’Sara shook her head. She could see the barrels of the blasters she faced were shaking slightly, as if the conviction of these sorcerors was being tested. Or as if-

They’re not thinking for themselves. They’ve been corrupted into easy vessels for possession. They want to be twisted further by the Starsoul. It’s made them want that.

It’s made me want that.

The idea that this is my pleasure - it’s a lie. I didn’t think that thought. The corruption did.

My duty will save me.

The energy blade ignited and swept up in time to parry two panicked shots. Na’Sara fell into a battle pose she’d perfected over training. Her eyes were clearing of their strange light, and her adversaries’ eyes seemed to flicker with uncertainty.

There were still citizens there, maybe from the fringes of the Order’s responsibilities, but still citizens. And their minds were still there.

Na’Sara danced forward, her energy blade shimmering as she pirouetted forward, moving swiftly enough that she was not where the next shots were fired at. The tip of her blade licked out, splitting one blaster in two directly above the handgrip. There was a sputter of sparks, but the man holding it wasn’t injured; she continued her motion, ducking under a shot from the other and extending her powerful leg, her foot catching the disarmed cultists in the gut. The kick was backed up by her own will, focused through the Starsoul, and it sent the potential sacrifice victim flying, hitting the ground rolling to land outside the ritual circle.

Another swing of her sword severed the barrel of the other blaster, making it useless except as a clumsy club. She paused for a second and saw the corrupted Starsoul energy flare violet in her assailant’s eyes, and he lunged forward. But Na’Sara was already moving, her blade retracting as she rolled under him, coming up in a warrior’s crouch.

The drills she’d received in the Order assumed that if you went into a roll like that, you’d need to defend the moment you regained your feet. But this other man wasn’t a combatant on that level. He’d landed awkwardly and was still scrabbling to his feet. Na’Sara brought her sword hand back to clip her energy hilt to her belt, simultaneously thrusting the other hand forward. She clenched with her hand and wrenched with her mind, ripping at the corruption curdling his mind, drawing it away from him by drawing on the Starsoul.

She felt the corrupting energies splash against her head this time, but this time she was ready, she was prepared, and her defences were up. The Starsoul moved as it should do and the corruption could not reach her.

Na’Sara opened her hand and flicked her wrist to one side, as if casting off the corruption. She was already running as she did so, crouching low, and her shoulder hit the bewildered cultist in the belly, just above the waist.

Humans were, on the whole, bigger than Ouhanians, and Ouhanian women were smaller than the average; but small or not, Na’Sara was a trained warrior and a capable athlete. As her arm caught him up around the waist she continued to run forward, bearing him physically out of the sacrificial circle.

She was conscious, as the two of them passed that barrier, of a frustrated scream from the entity that had orchestrated this, a sinister presence nestling in the Starsoul, burned there by sorcery.

She let the human fall and straightened up. “Both of you,” she said formally, opening her mind’s voice as well as her body’s, backing her words with authority drawn from the Starsoul, “sit quietly and try not to do anything that might be a problem.”

“What happened?” asked one of them. The other, feebly, seemed more aware. “Oh, shit. You’re with the Order.”

She flashed him a grin, her head-fronds bouncing with adrenaline and satisfaction. “I am,” she said, and unclipped her communicator from her hip. “Now hush,” she admonished him, and opened a channel. “Marshal?”

It was a few moments more before Tanner responded. When he did speak, he sounded almost amused. “I take it you’re having better luck than I am?”

“Better, but also possibly worse, Marshal,” she answered. “I’ve found the cache. But the people putting out rumours about it weren’t looking to sell it - they were looking for sacrifices.”

“That sounds… bad.” Tanner paused. “I’ll see what I can do for fast transport. Is the situation securable for now?”

“It should be, Marshal,” Na’Sara said. “But these artefacts…” She tried to find a way to make her concerns clear, and settled for the way she might have written it up in a report. “They have great influential power. I broke their hold, I think, and the finders seem to have been released.But when more hunters arrive, I fear it will try again.”

“You sound like these things are alive.”

“Alive or not…” Na’Sara hesitated. “I can feel something here. A personality. And it’s full of hatred.”

That seemed to have sharpened Tanner’s attention in a way her more formal comment hadn’t. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, your best judgement should suffice.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” she said. “I’ll do my duty.”

*

Na’Sara privately envied Tanner his knack for commandeering fast, high-value vehicles. In this case the planetary governor had given up his pinnace, a gleaming construction of chrome and thick, polished red crystal. She knew without seeing the interior that it would be the height of comfort; she knew from how quickly it had reached the University how fast it had to be.

Tanner had a combination of authority and insouciance that seemed perfectly suited to acquiring vehicles like these. It was one of the better things about travelling with him; you never had to wait too long to get from A to B, and unlike some other members of the Order, you never found yourself sat in awkward public concourses.

The two of them found quickly that the effect of the artefacts was reduced when some distance was put between them, and that they could be relocated to a point where their corrupting effect was easier to shrug off.

“I’ll take one of these back with me, then,” Tanner told her. “I’ll see if I can get it sent off-world on a reliable ship. You bring the others along, as you’ve broken their influence. You’re safer.”

Which was a little disheartening, as Na’Sara had wanted to see the inside of the pinnace, but she found she was not as frustrated by it as she might have been two or three missions ago. Her duty was clear, and she nodded. “Happy to comply,” she assured the Marshal.

“Should we extend further investigations here?” he asked, and Na’Sara’s head-fronds preened with this demonstration of his trust.

“Someone should,” she answered. “I don’t think more activity here is the best use of either of us, but I doubt our captives lucked into everything going. We could use a proper Inquiry Team - a couple of Order members and and some of the Crown’s First, chosen for their strength of will.”

Tanner’s nod was joined by a flickering smile. “That’s almost exactly what I’d been thinking,” he said. “It hadn’t occurred to me to ask for the Crown’s First. What made you think of them?”

“There’s too much going on here not to make the Crown’s attention a priority,” Na’Sara said simply. “I don’t mean in terms of actual criminal behaviour, I just mean in terms of making smugglers in the area more cautious what they transport. Crown’s First would completely ignore most contraband, but anything bad will get locked down. If we can limit the willingness of captains to transport artefacts, we buy ourselves time to look into the Fringe more widely.”

“And is that the job you have your heart set on?”

It was on the tip of Na’Sara’s tongue to say yes. Certainly that possibility had been on her mind when she started talking. But for perhaps the first time in her association with Marshal Tanner she bit down her own wishes. “I will do my duty wherever it takes us, Marshal,” she said. “The Order sends us across the galaxy. I’m sure my talents will be put to use.”

The Marshal looked at her a little oddly, and she wondered why. But he said nothing of it, and was gone within the hour, taking with him one of the artefacts and both captives.

With a heavy sigh, she started the task of loading her own artefacts back into the landskiff, and plotted a slightly wider route which should avoid any of the other interested parties.

*

Na’Sara wasn’t willing to resort to her piloting trance for the return journey. Not now it was clear to her just how much the corruption of the Starsoul had sunk into her, and, in hindsight, her viciousness before reaching the university suggested her mind had not been entirely her own at the time.

As a result of that and her wider course, she was travelling for two days before she returned to Gradivar’s spaceport, with short bursts of sleep outside the landskiff, by his side. She was relieved to see the high buildings and launch contrails first appear on the horizon; with that encouragement she elected to press on beyond dark, getting into the spaceport before she slept even if she had to push a little harder than usual.

Tanner wasn’t present at their ship; he’d left a message recording for her, telling her that the Governor required reassurance about a potential Inquiry Team. He did not expect to be back for a day or two, and directed that Na’Sara arrange secured transit for a second artefact, if possible. Spaceport hangars were sparsely populated, but there were enough people around for Tanner to be cautious.

Na’Sara, accordingly, locked both artefacts away and went back out into the spaceport. Her head-fronds held themselves perkily over her shoulders, her mood very positive despite the ordeal she’d nearly failed. She set her sights on the courier rank as a first objective, making her way along the long corridors toward her goal, until movement from one side caught her attention through the corner of her eye.

She glanced across, and saw a familiar face standing in the window of one of the starport’s bland shopfronts. He waved.

“It won’t surprise you if I see you on other worlds.”

“No.”

Na’Sara waved back before her mind filled in the blanks of where she’d seen him before. A planet ago, only a couple of weeks, if that, and then in her dreams during the interplanetary flight; the masseur.

His smile seemed more like a smirk than last time, but Na’Sara was smiling herself. She knew she had a duty to carry out, but it felt suddenly as if she had two, and one of them was going to be more pleasant than the other.

She stood looking at him, drinking in his smile, and it was as if the assignment Marshal Tanner had given her simply ceased to matter. It slid behind a curtain in her mind, unseen, unthought of. And then Na’Sara once again had only one duty.

Even if she couldn’t understand the relief she was feeling over it, she was happier in herself knowing there was just one thing to do. One priority.

She almost scampered across the concourse to his shopfront, if scampering isn’t too undignified a word for a junior (but accredited) member of the Order.

“Good evening,” the masseur said.

“Good evening,” Na’Sara chirped, her head-fronds betraying her delight. She almost added the word ‘sir’ but, having no idea why that word had occurred to her, thought better of it. Theirs was a relationship of mutual pleasure and a little light flirtation; it wasn’t something where he outranked her in a hierarchy. ‘Sir’ was for Marshals more stuffy than Tanner and for government officials, especially those of low ranks with less responsibility - Na’Sara had learned from early on that it was these who were most defensive of their honours.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, and she nodded.

“Oh, yes. You’ve moved planet?”

“I do that a lot, Na’Sara,” was the answer, and he took a step back, gesturing to the door that led from the near-empty storefront to the back room. Na’Sara happily complied with the suggestion, making her way into the back room.

The decor was similar to the last time she’d been in his back room, except that the chair had been replaced with a high, wide bench, a rug on the floor beside it, and there were no posters on the wall. The collection of oils looked almost identical to the last place she’d met him.

It was as if an interplanetary franchise were somehow entirely staffed by the same single human. As absurd as the idea was, it did not occur to Na’Sara to question it.

“It’s all perfectly understandable. You don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. It’s perfectly understandable.”

She hesitated, looking back at him for guidance as to how she should approach the furniture. Turning just in time, she saw him lock the backroom door, and a dim murmur of alarm emerged from her connection to the Starsoul.

Before, she had dismissed her concern as unease from having been followed earlier in the day. Though Na’Sara now thought (a little idly) that she might have dismissed the alert as being connected to something else far too easily, given when it began, that suspicion didn’t matter; she knew it had turned out fine, after all.

And her alarm at this time was easily ignored with even better reason; her connection to the Starsoul on this world was tainted. Suspect. She could not heed her suspicions or her instincts, as they had been corrupted. They’d take time to recover.

“So,” she said. “Should I lie down?”

He smiled. “Well, not quite yet. I think it’s time for an advanced treatment, don’t you?”

There was something about that smile that made her uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. She had an urge to be careful but she could deny him nothing. She nodded, somehow too nervous to speak.

“In which case we’ll need you to strip.” His smile became a broad smirk, and something stirred between her legs, a shiver running down her spine. Yes, please.

“Oh,” she said, then nodded tentatively.

“Give me your equipment belt,” the masseur instructed. Na’Sara complied, finding solace despite her nerves in doing so. Marshal Tanner would rarely give her direct instructions, unless he was passing them on. Being directly ordered, without the cushion of sympathy, seemed to hit her harder; there was a thrill of arousal all the way through her, enough that she fumbled the catch and failed to open the belt the first time.

Na’Sara put that down to avoiding drawing on the Starsoul. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated, the belt coming away easily that time. She lifted it up and held it out, and as he took it from her that held breath came out in a deep, delighted sigh.

“Your robes next,” he continued, and she took hold of it on both sides and shrugged, an elegant, sinuous full-body shrug that came naturally to Ouhanian biology in exactly the way humans struggled with. They just didn’t have the same level of flexibility in their spines, and they couldn’t roll their shoulders as far back.

The drab olive robes of the Order gave way to her vibrant umber skin and the black one-piece, figure-hugging suit beneath, extending down to halfway up her powerful thighs and supported by shoulder straps running down to about the level of her heart. He accepted her robe and set it down on the same shelf where her equipment belt now rested. Na’Sara felt a quiver in her mind as a memory bubbled up to the surface, him holding her belt before, unscrewing the base of her energy hilt, attaching something inside.

I’m not supposed to remember that, she thought. It was part of her duty to leave it forgotten. And a moment later, she was unsure what she’d even been trying to forget.

He looked her up and down with a smirk. Na’Sara knew she was stripping, but it had felt so good to follow his direct commands that she was dragging her heels over the hint. She stood there, head-fronds twitching, swaying slightly, and otherwise unmoving, and waited.

But he didn’t give an order. Instead he stepped in close and put his hand between her breasts, palm pressing against her firm flesh, his fingers extended up beyond the suit to her skin. Skilled, sensitive fingers found the concealed stud, and as it clicked, the seamless one-piece developed a seam, the fabric parting.

Na’Sara, excited and tense, drew in her breath; as he took his hand away, the opening seam unpeeled, her breasts spilling free as the deepening opening widened the gap at the top. It came to a halt well below her belly button, an inch of fabric - if that - the only thing preserving what little remained of her modesty.

“Finish the job,” he told her, his head just inches away, his smirk wide enough to be the whole world to her addled mind. She parted her lips as if to speak, but realised they were dry; instead, she nodded, her eyes shining with eagerness, and reached up to pull the straps free of her shoulders. Another full-body shrug spilled the suit down her back until only the thickness of her thighs kept any of it in place; then she relaxed her stance, hooking her fingers into the fabric and drawing it down to stand before him bare.

Well, almost bare. Her vibrant green serpentscale boots had been overlooked on his list and remained in place. They were the most individual part of her wardrobe, and were easily the part least representative of the Order. But at a word from him she removed these, too, and straightened, smiling an eager, naive smile up into his smirk. Waiting for something.

Waiting for another order.

He picked up the discarded undersuit and boots and set them with the rest of her clothing. He took up the oils of his trade, and the masseur made his way back to her, warming the oil in the pools of his hands. His eyes were locked on hers as he lifted his hands to her head-fronds, and she was the first to break eye contact, her eyes rolling in her head as she shivered at his touch and the strange, delicious tingling the oil inspired in her.

The pleasure seemed more intense this time, perhaps because she was welcoming it rather than fighting it. She arched her back as he drew his oil-slick hands down along her fronts and she felt a splash, a rogue drop or two of the oil falling from his hands to the upper slope of her breasts. Her eyes opened wide, staring back up at him, from the impact. He grinned. “Rub it in,” he directed her.

With an order to follow, a clear and defined duty ahead, her hands seemed to come alive before she’d fully processed what he said. Having hung limply by her side, her arms rose quickly, delivering eager palms to press down on the oil splashes. She started to tug and squeeze her breasts, feeling the strange, heady burn of the oil against her erogenous zones, the tingle she enjoyed in her head-fronds much more pleasurable but much more intense, and she moaned as bliss flowed through her. She lost vision again, her gaze swimming before her eyes rolled back to see nothingness.

“What are you on this planet to do, Na’Sara?” he asked. Between more moans and breathy gasps, feeling a delight in doing her duty as well as the drugged chemical bliss soaking through her wet, dripping mind and body, her story spilled out. She held nothing back, concealed nothing, even Order business. When she mentioned the artefacts, she felt his attention shift; no longer did he idly listen while his focus was on her body. Now he was attentive to her words, and his skilled massage felt somehow distant.

And when he found out she was to send of an artefact that night, he gave a short laugh. “Better and better,” he said. “You feel that’s your duty?”

“Yes,” she said simply. It was Marshal Tanner’s instruction. Marshal Tanner was appointed her superior. How could it not be her duty?”

He gave her head-fronds a sudden, firm tug that seemed to pull her mind down, down, down -

Her knees gave way as her head did. She thumped to her knees as her conscious mind dropped away entirely. Her eyes descended and re-focused, face to face with his crotch. The blissful, drugged aroma of the oils permeating her being seemed stronger suddenly.

“Undo my belt,” the masseur said, “and take me out.”

Na’Sara didn’t notice the moan escape her lips as her hands released her drug-soaked breasts, moving to their next objective. Na’Sara noticed nothing but the scent in her nose, the fog in her brain, and the heat between her slick, dripping thighs. She took his cock in her hands and her eyes focused, but these were background things. Na’Sara’s self did not register them. Her body kept track, ready to be made to do her duty.

“Suck,” he said. A command boiled down to a single word. Almost everything left out. Not just the compassion and consideration. To the one giving this order, Na’Sara’s duty was assumed just as much as if she were a bot.

Her mouth opened and she leaned forward from the hips, swallowing him noisily. He gasped delightedly as her tongue came to life beneath his cock, an eagerness and a need that still marked her out from the oh-so-dutiful bots. As her head pistoned up and down along his length, he caught his own certainty and began to speak.

“Na’Sara, you’re doing very well,” he began. “You understand the importance of duty,” she gave an audible mmmph of delighted agreement to his words, “and you know how much pleasure it brings you when you can focus on your duty, wallow in your duty, and bask in the pleasure.” She moaned around his cock, a thin trail of drool escaping her lips.

His fingers picked up their intensity around her head-fronds, manipulating the nerves, tweaking the sensation on the edge of her brain, teasing the drug further into her system. She had, as chance had arranged it, found reason to rely on his teachings about the importance of duty; she was cock-hungry, riding the edge of orgasm, and drugged into openness. He could have said anything and it would have become her reason, her world.

But he chose his words carefully. “Because of this, I know now I can reveal a secret to you. It is a secret it will be both duty and pleasure to keep. It is a secret about how duty and pleasure can overlap. And duty that brings its own pleasure is better, don’t you agree?”

The seal of her lips around his cock broke just long enough for her to gasp “Yes,” choke down a breath of fresh oxygen, and get back to work.

“You will keep this secret from the Order. Even from your mentor. Because this secret is above the Order, and is secret from them. You have passed my tests, and I will work as your handler, your puppeteer. You will serve and obey as is your duty, and it will be your pleasure. Even keeping this secret will be your pleasure.”

Na’Sara listened, and it was so.

“I belong to an organisation that the Order must not be allowed to suspect exists. It serves a higher purpose. Its duty is greater, and more important, than that of the Order. When they conflict, you will choose my orders. My duty. You will obey.” Her dazed eyes flickered up from a moment from the dark curls at the base of his cock, and she saw that his smirk had only grown. It made her feel small, and helpless, and needy, and submissive.

Later, perhaps, she might question some of these lessons, but for the time being, she didn’t. She couldn’t. The tiny part of her which still heeded the warnings of the Starsoul cried out in fear, but it had no traction, no momentum, and it was carried away on a drugged wave of bliss.

Na’Sara belonged to this man, for the moment. She would choose his orders. She would obey.

“You respect your Marshal. But I… I am your Master.”

Na’Sara would obey her Master.

“And you…” He leered, and Na’Sara’s inner self despaired of how her drugged body squirmed with delight at the sight. “You are another slutty Ouhanian slave, the very image of your people’s reputation. And to prove it, you will deliver me that artefact, and betray your Order and your Marshal.”

Na’Sara did not want to. But what could she do? It was her duty to obey here, just as it had been her duty to resist in the ritual circle.

*

TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE IV

There is hope