As she brought the ship in to dock, Na’Sara focused her inner thoughts on quelling the odd queasiness she felt.

That unsettled discomfort was a feeling she was becoming far too used to. Over the past four or five years, it hard returned more and more frequently, always when her duties as a slave to the Shadow Order clashed with her ostensible duties to the Order, the galaxy, the Starsoul, or latterly to her deputy and student, Vasir.

Vasir had become her deputy late, at nearly eighteen, the Marshal she had worked under previously having died in the process of saving a city - or the parts of it that mattered; the living and breathing citizens, who had been able to escape. Vasir had been sent with them, unwilling, and had in time been guided to Na’Sara, in hopes the Ouhanian Marshal would be able to support her young human aide in recovering from the memory.

Na’Sara now understood fully just how much effort Marshal Tanner’s compassion for her had required of him; it had seemed like simply her due until now, when having to train a member of the Order herself made it clear how much time her old mentor had invested in judging the right times to support, to critique, and to push.

Doing what was right for their missions sometimes involved pushing Vasir further than the young woman was ready for, even after three years working together. That always made Na’Sara queasy. But what was really uncomfortable, often, was simply fulfilling her duty to the Shadow Order.

Na’Sara had learned about the Shadow Order only after she had first joined it, although ‘joined’ suggested that she had had more say in the decision than she’d actually had. The fact of the matter was that, through a combination of chemical drugging absorbed through her Ouhanian head-fronds, massage-based stimulation, and mental manipulation, she had been in a state of high suggestibility, a hypnotic trance, when she was introduced to the concept.

She was only dimly aware that hypnotic suggestion had been involved; indeed, her Master wanted her to be completely unaware.

Nonetheless Na’Sara was, at least sometimes, conscious that she had been manipulated. Her brush with corrupting artefacts of sorcery, not long after her Master had begun his stealthy and subtle takeover of her mind, had only been defeated by her own innate mental resilience, and by her determination to think only her own thoughts. This experience had taught her, too, how to identify thoughts that were not her own.

In this way, whenever one of her Master’s pre-programmed triggers was activated and the compulsion unfolded in her mind, Na’Sara recognised the compulsion for the interloper it was, only for this knowledge to fade again once she had complied with her compulsion and her own thoughts resumed. Thus far, these brief windows had given her no opportunities to push back and had, indeed, really only underlined how helpless to disobey her Master she had become; all the same, some part of her subconscious was confident she would, in the near future, find a way to defy him.

The rest of her was profoundly disgusted with that idea.

She shut the engine down and checked each of the docking seals in turn, then tapped the ship’s comm. “Vasir, are you ready?”

“Ready, Marshal.” The pause before answering said it all; Na’Sara loved interstellar travel, loved to feel the shifts as they passed in and out of real space with her psionic senses. Vasir didn’t have the same attitude at all; her own psionic sensitivity manifested as an unpleasant spacesickness. Na’Sara had become accustomed to taking her time about disembarkation so that her junior wouldn’t be seen by those they might soon have to exercise authority over until she was recovered.

“Let’s get to it, then. Meet you at the airlock.”

“Right, Marshal.”

Vasir was there before Na’Sara, having hurried to make it. Na’Sara admired that about her; she had responded to a concession on behalf of her own dignity by ensuring she was always punctual, always where her Marshal might need her to be. It spoke of a determination and an iron will Na’Sara considered a vital trait for a member of the Order, even if she wasn’t always sure why she felt so passionate about it.

“What’s the mission here, Marshal?” Vasir asked. Na’Sara hesitated before answering.

“We’re here in an advisory role,” she said eventually. “A recent change of governor was followed up by news that local law enforcement had been permitted to become corrupt. Which led to a request to the Order to help resolve this.”

“Are we… fighting the police, Marshal?”

“If necessary,” she said evenly. “A badge of office isn’t what makes us what we are. It’s our drive to sustain and uphold the principles, the spirit underlying the law. And we have to watch ourselves for that. Sometimes…” She didn’t exactly shrug. She didn’t exactly not shrug, either. It was important to underline, to a nervous student, that the spirit of the law was the naturally correct way to think. It was also important not to appear casual - cavalier, Tanner called it, though Na’Sara didn’t feel she knew that word properly, nor did most nonhumans - about conflict with legal authorities.

The idea of the lawman was good; too often, unfortunately, the people in those roles were not.

“My hope is we’ll be able simply to see which of the upper echelons can commit to a brighter, better future, through our connection to the Starsoul, and the others will be removed from office,” she said, then paused. “But you should, all the same, be prepared for violence. The kind of person who will abuse power does not like to have their power taken from them.”

Vasir nodded. “Does the Order ever do this?” she asked, and Na’Sara considered how to word her answer.

“In theory, we examine ourselves and each other constantly,” she said. In practice, of course, if that were so my slavery in the Shadow Order would have been discovered long ago. “It has been known for this to go wrong, all the same,” she conceded. “Which protocol would rather I not tell you so early.”

Vasir nodded again and fell silent.

A groundskiff was waiting for them.

*

The Starsoul was all the warning Na’Sara needed. Her energy blade was sweeping left to block the distortion blast before she consciously registered movement from that side; she went into a backflip as soon as she sensed Vasir’s movement behind her, with her student rolling under her as they effectively exchanged places, having avoided incoming fire as they did so. Na’Sara saw one of the lawmen was in cover beside his groundskiff; she gestured and the door swung open with sudden fore, sending him stumbling into the open.

They hadn’t even made it to the authorities yet; lawmen - presumably ones that shouldn’t be - had been waiting for them, and clearly they disagreed with the upcoming reforms. Na’Sara didn’t feel queasy at all as the fight rolled on; instead her intention was to make a statement. This first group would, if she had anything to do with it, be the only group to challenge them.

She brought her energy blade around at the perfect angle, knocking a blast out of its line and sending it into the exposed lawman’s pistol. In the distortion blast’s area of effect it ignited, sparking and sputtering in blue flame, and he threw it from him in a panic. Na’Sara, feeling the Starsoul guide her, sidestepped as Vasir pirouetted, kicking a loose stone from the ground to catch the disarmed man in the temple, knocking him to the floor unconscious.

Na’Sara was delighted by how well she and her student were already working together. The Starsoul connected them, allowing them to act in harmony on a level that made them the equal of a great many more fighters who couldn’t tap into that instinctive awareness.

She hadn’t had this with Tanner, and sometimes she worried that might mean she was doing something, instinctively, that she should not be; that perhaps she was leaning too hard on her through the Starsoul, imprinting on her.

It never occurred to her that the interaction might look completely different when you were the veteran rather than the novice.

She broke cover, sprinting forward toward the main group of lawmen, and felt more than she saw that Vasir was following along close behind her. The Starsoul granted clear awareness; the routes they ran were strange, erratically dancing from one direction to another, but the result was that they simply were never lined up with a gun barrel; that whatever shots were hurled their way missed.

When she was just a few yards shy of them her feet came together, briefly, and she launched herself into the air, leaping like a prize athlete, spinning as she came down, her energy blade seeming to strike out in all directions. Vasir had leapt just after her; the one vulnerable place for Na’Sara, her back, was quickly covered by her student.

The fight lasted only seconds longer. A couple of the fighters had fallen, but most were stunned, routed, or surrendered.

Na’Sara straightened up and smiled, her queasiness still gone.

*

Na’Sara’s belly felt unsettled once again. Their audience with the planetary governor had been reasonably straightforward, and the first wave of meetings with law enforcement had been, largely, positive. They hadn’t made her uneasy at all.

But now the commands given her by her Shadow Order master when she’d first alerted him to her destination had to be attended to.

They had taken some time to arrive; she’d received them by a transwave narrowcast shortly after they dropped out of hyperspace. Na’Sara had read them and immediately forgotten them until an opportunity to carry them out had presented itself.

The queasiness had returned when her orders bubbled back up from the part of her mind she largely didn’t know about. However, discomfort was no reason not to obey. There was never a satisfactory reason not to obey her Shadow Order master. She had to comply.

“I think we deserve a reward,” Na’Sara said, and there was no trace in her voice of the internal conflict she felt so vividly. “Don’t you?”

Vasir hesitated. “Our job is not yet done, Marshal…”

Na’Sara barely contained a frustrated sigh. Humans… either they were so impatient to get a treat that they would skip the work they were meant to do beforehand, or they had such a guilt complex about enjoying themselves that they put themselves through whatever ordeals before they could let themselves.

That idea was literally alien to the Ouhanian mind. When Na’Sara had the opportunity to enjoy herself, she’d do so if she possibly could.

She didn’t want to let her Master down. She was programmed to comply. Perhaps she should push Vasir?

“Oh, no, but it’s been a long day. Don’t you want to unwind?”

“I’m quite happy to spend the evening preparing for tomorrow, Marshal,” she said. “Or failing that, getting a head start on the paperwork.”

Which was enough to make Na’Sara smile; she’d followed Tanner’s lead in passing the paperwork over to her student just as soon as she could possibly justify it. But this was not what her Master wanted. So she would have to properly push Vasir.

She reached out to the Starsoul, gathering her own emotional energy and infusing it into the area around her; spreading a veil of excitement, happiness, and compliance. The biggest difficulty was in shrouding what she was doing, in ensuring that as this emotional energy seeped into her student’s receptive soul, it appeared to Vasir to be her own mood changing on a whim, not something being deliberately done to her. Na’Sara could not imagine that Vasir would take this well if she were to realise.

“Are you sure?” Na’Sara’s voice was teasing, amused. She was doing everything she could to hide her intent, her actions, even her queasiness from her student; it seemed essential to her that Vasir have nothing she might suspect.

She watched as her student’s expression clouded for a moment, eyes crossing in bewilderment, before a warm, vacant smile spread over her lips. There was a vagueness to her eyes, or almost all of her eyes; Na’Sara could just about see a part of Vasir that still saw (and possibly thought) clearly at the heart of the fog within her eyes.

“I… well. If you think so, Marshal…”

“Good,” Na’Sara smiled, even as her stomach curdled. She was so close, now, to once again betraying the Order for her Shadow Order master. “Come on, then. I know just the thing.”

Vasir followed dutifully, her eyes glassy, her smile unmoving, but her motion lively and excited. An onlooker would only notice anything wrong if they were close enough to study her face.

*

There was something strange, Vasir thought, about how quickly a lighthearted mood had settled upon her. She followed Na’Sara through the streets of the city, back toward the spaceport, and there was a spring in her step. She was looking forward to her treat.

It was almost nostalgic; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been simply happily looking forward to something new, without any worries about anything else, without fear of judgement from one of the Marshals training her, without the minor worry that being invited to accept a reward was somehow a trap. But none of that was present in her mind, none of the fears she’d picked up in her youthful training.

Na’Sara and others had told her, when she was being taught how to maintain her energy blade, not long before she left the Ecole and became an active member of the Order, and many times since, that these tests, these traps, this judgement were for children; that now, as an adult, she had moved beyond them and been shaped by them, but the weight of so many such moments still shaped not only what she did but the internal dread with which she did it. With Na’Sara, just a couple of months ago, she had finally felt able to admit that these doubts still lingered, and her mentor had sighed, and nodded, and admitted that it had taken her several years to truly believe that there wouldn’t be trouble.

And yet, today, in an instant her mind had accepted the idea, was now at peace with it. And part of that peace meant that it did not occur to her to wonder at just how strange that was.

The further they got from the city centre, the easier it was for Vasir to accept her upcoming reward. Anything in the heart of a planetary capital would be perilously expensive, and at the Ecole, Vasir’s tutors had emphasised the dubious nature of expensive indulgences. Spaceports, though, were much the same the galaxy over; they were often pricey, but not on anything like the same level, the cheap hotels of the galaxy.

Whatever this was would therefore likely be pleasant but ultimately disposable, and a potentially fascinating insight into the likes and dislikes of the Marshal she had been assigned to.

All the same, when Na’Sara turned from the road and approached a door, Vasir was surprised by how seedy the building looked. When the Order came to a door like this, it was usually to speak with victims or potential weaknesses.

But when the door opened and the human male behind it smiled at Na’Sara with obvious familiarity, everything made sense. This was obviously somewhere Na’Sara had found on a previous visit to the planet. Somewhere she’d enjoyed enough to return to; one of those obscure, tucked away places that were never quite successful enough to find a better location.

She followed them both through into a back room dominated by a chair; a great clinical construction of shining chrome and clean leather, infinitely adjustable, with headrests, armrests, and footrests, right in the centre of the room.

“Marshal?” she asked softly, more curious than worried.

“Massage!” Na’Sara smiled broadly, standing very close to the man, who had a thin smile of his own. There was something about the way he stood that Vasir found vaguely unsettling; ramrod straight, as if he were bleeding tension.

“Massage?”

The man nodded. “I’ve been helping your Marshal unwind for a while now,” he said. “Massage is a great way to do it. Would you like to begin?”

“Oh, I’m sure I can wait until the Marshal-” Vasir broke off suddenly, her eyelids fluttering. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell silent for a long moment as Na’Sara renewed her mental push through the Starsoul.

When Vasir spoke again, her gaze had returned to its typical eyeline and there was no indication she was aware that time had passed.”Yes, of course. That way you and the Marshal can get reacquainted while my mind is elsewhere.”

It didn’t sound, even to Vasir’s ears, like the kind of thing she’d ever say, but it had now escaped her lips and so she accepted it. She walked over to the chair, and found that as she did so, her movement took on the drifting, lazy quality of a luxurious dream.

“Ah,” the man said, just before she sat, and she hesitated. “I’m afraid your robe should be removed.”

There seemed to be no reason not to in the dream logic by then dictating his actions; She shrugged off the heavy fabric robes, standing revealed in the padded athleticwear that protected Order members beneath it; a bodystocking which stopped between shoulder and elbow and halfway down the thighs, a piece of black, shiny material, heavily ribbed, that otherwise conformed almost perfectly to her athletic body.

The masseur smiled and passed by her to the collection of bottles at the side of the room. He loitered there for a moment and picked up a bowl, into which he mixed oils from two or three of the bottles. Bringing it back across the room, he unfolded a panel at the side of the chair into a tray, where the bowl was placed.

The masseur dipped the fingers of one hand into the bowl and let the oil warm between his palms, stepping behind her. From behind, his hands came round for his fingers to rest on her temples, where they described firm, slow circles at first. The pressure of his hands sent a frisson of pleasure through her scalp and, now warmed, the oil aroma had many more layers to it, notes of scent she hadn’t noticed at all without body warmth behind them.

Something in the way his touch felt against her temples told her he was wearing gloves, even if they’d just looked like bare hands when she first looked at him. Probably, Vasir thought, this was so nothing in the chemicals he was using would be absorbed into his skin.

The logical next question - why was it okay for them to be absorbed into her skin? - somehow didn’t occur to her.

“That’s good,” the man breathed softly. His voice was low, gentle, but confident; he knew what he was about, and he was clearly enjoying himself. The tension she’d seen in his body was gone now, dissipated, a clear sign that now he’d started he was happier. Her nose and her mouth were alive with the scents and even the flavours infused into the oil. Her body was alive with the masseur’s skilled hands; teasing, probing, stimulating, her mind alive with his touch more than her own thoughts.

*

Na’Sara walked around slowly to watch Vasir from in front, curious to see what expression might be on her face, how it would look. In the presence of her Master, there was no unease, no uncertainty; in his presence, the Order was the irrelevant factor, the authority to be disregarded. Her natural inclination to work for the betterment of the Galaxy and the enrichment of its citizens through the Starsoul was just her own inclination; obedience to the Shadow Order was a programmed compulsion, and therefore much more important. The conflict didn’t feel balanced in her Master’s presence.

Vasir wasn’t responding as urgently and immediately as Na’Sara remembered doing. For a few moments the Ouhanian wondered what was wrong, before it occurred to her that human hair didn’t provide the same sort of direct neural connection as her head-fronds.

Na’Sara considered how her student might best be brought to the same state of thoughtless pleasure, to the point where blissful ecstasy ensured pliant docility.

She slipped back out of her student’s line of sight, tiptoeing close. Master gave her a puzzled look but she smiled in reassurance and kept moving.

Her slender fingers found the seal on Vasir’s armoured bodystocking. She tapped the small button, releasing the non-Newtonian fabric lock, and then tugged it down until Vasir’s breasts were showing, all the while radiating her own happy, dazed compliance into the Starsoul to quell Vasir’s own concern.

The masseur took no more prompting, quickly realising what Na’Sara had intended. His fingertips slid down the curve of the human woman’s jawline, producing a happy shiver, and paused to collect a little more of the drugged oil. This he allowed to drip in heavy splashes across her bare beasts before he reached down and cupped, then tugged, then teased, finally taking the time to massage the drugs into her body.

This was still far from a direct path into Vasir’s mind, but it laid her fully open to pleasure. Na’Sara moved back in front of Vasir, studying her descent, her lip bitten in excited anticipation…

*

“You’re doing so well. Such a good girl, and so happy. The happier you feel, the easier it is to comply. And you want so much to comply, don’t you?”

“….Yes. I want to comply.”

“Compliance makes you happy. You’re so used to taking guidance from the Starsoul, after all. You have plenty of practice complying with the wishes of others. You’ve been trained to it. And Na’Sara trained you well, didn’t she?”

“Na’Sara trained me well. I’ve been trained to comply.”

“So if you simply comply with someone else’s wishes, not the Starsoul, it will still feel fulfilling, won’t it?”

“It will still feel fulfilling.”

“Such a good girl.”

*

Vasir and Na’Sara dreamed.

In their dream, Vasir rose and removed the rest of her protective armour, set it aside along with her energy blade and her tools of office, then crossed to where her Marshal stood, watching, nodding with appreciation, her head-fronds almost dancing with an eager emotion Vasir had never seen in them before.

She took the robe from her mentor’s shoulders, discovering that the Ouhanian was already naked beneath aside from the belt on which her blade and comm were clipped. Na’Sara removed the belt and set it aside, and the two of them pivoted as if driven by the same clockwork to face the masseur.

He had taken Vasir’s place on the elaborate chair, and the two Order members approached him slowly, smiles on their lips and an absence of any thought in their eyes.

Vasir took the role of the junior member, unbuckling his belt and parting his trousers, allowing her mentor the first reverential touch of his cock. This now out in full view, they took up positions on other side of the chair and knelt, still moving at slow, languorous, simultaneous interviews, their palms on their bare, parted thighs, their eyes level with his cock.

He snapped his fingers once, and their lips parted, their mouths shaped themselves into eagerly waiting round Os. Another snap of his fingers and they leaned forward at the waist, their bare breasts brushing against his thighs as if caressing him, and their lips met around the shaft of his cock. Tongues, flicking out below his shaft to find the cock ridge, met one another, and the contact was electric, but they remained still, in position, awaiting only his next signal.

He snapped his fingers a third time and they began to suck his shaft and kiss one another around it. Na’Sara exercised her right as the senior member, lifting one hand from her thigh to cup and caress her Master’s balls.

For Vasir’s part, all that was happening in her mind was the same loop repeating, over and over:

It is a pleasure to comply. I want to comply. I am happy to comply.

*

“Thank you.”

“It was a pleasure to comply.”

“Of course. Still, it was a pleasure best not remembered.”

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

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

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

“No.”

“And you’re not going to notice the little addition to your energy blade, are you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to comply.”

Vasir was conscious, as she gave her answers, of an approving nod from Na’Sara, though she did not understand why.