Paolo

Zero

The Special-Needs Slaveboy

Chapters 24-26

Chapter 24
Save a Prayer

While Sebbie tests his bright idea and finds Digital-Zach, Don has an epiphany.

Days turned into weeks. Collins replaced my elbow joint and reconstructed my shoulder. Slowly our bodies, the boys', and mine, healed. For all my prior feelings towards the doctor, I couldn't help but pity the man now. While we were all losing track of time while in hospital, Doctor Collins was not.

It was a week before electricity was restored, with power for emergency equipment coming from batteries, autos, and solar cells. I would find out from Mark, later, that Collins had shown his other side in the face of tragedy. Once we were all stabilized, he converted the ground floor of his building into a triage center to take in casualties that had overwhelmed the city hospital. Unlike many doctors, he took in free and slave alike, and never turned away a single slave whose Master could not pay. At the end of that week, Cabot told me, Collins had finally collapsed from exhaustion.

I had no idea he could be such a humanitarian.

"Don, I watched him set broken bones with no scans or images. He knew it by what his hands felt, and he was always right. I saw him stitch up people like ripped clothing, when the healing gels ran out and there were no more dermal patches left," Cabot had gone on and on. "Hell, he delivered a baby in his parking garage, and let the woman sleep in his van when he moved on. First woman I've ever seen him touch! And all the while, he was worried sick about his own boys and caring for them, too. He is an impressive man, Don!"

No, Cabot did not make a pretty nurse, all right?

"Don't tell the boys," Collins had ordered Cory and Henry, the only two of them to escape unscathed. They'd attached themselves to him upon our collective orders, and were ordered not to tell him why.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that, sir," they would reply, when ordered to leave him alone. Collins finally gave up. I think he knew.

Not only was I taken by Collins' heroic behaviour, but by that of the rest of his extended 'family' as well. Several of them who had come to the last party returned to care for us, with those like Ralphie, who owned their own businesses, shutting them down to do so. I was impressed, I have to admit, in seeing that there was more to these people than their just being slave owners, that I grew even more perplexed.

Frankly, I was surprised to find myself not more badly injured when I awoke. What gnawed at me, though, was the fact that I was responsible for the boys' injuries. Had I not ordered them down that chute, they wouldn't be lying in hospital beds now, almost literally in pieces. Despite Mark's insistence that I'd done the right thing, "You don't stay on the seventh or eighth floor when a tornado's coming!" – I still felt terrible.

Add to that the fact that I'd killed a man.

Never mind the fact that he was trying to kidnap the boys – MY BOY at that! I could have shot him in the shoulder or somewhere else. I hadn't needed to blow his head off. Literally. And whatever he'd been planning, whatever reason he'd wanted Zach for, had died with him. He'd been talking to the boys, explaining it to them, but I'd felt that I had to act. The 'what-ifs' were killing me.

"Don, he'd have shot the lot of them, and Cyborg first, if you hadn't killed him first!" Mark insisted. "If he'd not cut emergency power systems, it wouldn't have happened!"

Mark, it seemed, was also very unwound over this whole matter. As it turned out, he also blamed himself for not doing his duty and going back for the boys himself. We argued about it for hours that first day that I was awake again.

"I slammed a door in your face and locked it," I reminded him. Actually, I think the arguing helped take his mind off of it. And when the boy wasn't tending to his friends, Cory was always right by his side.

"You should have seen him, Don," Mark praised him, cuddling the boy whenever he was near, instead of having him stand and wait. "When we came out of the basement, he took Henry and took charge of all the wounded kids from the neighborhood who were showing up! They took first aid kits and patched up the ones that weren't too badly off, and took them to the playground down the block. They got the unhurt lost ones to clean I up, to keep them busy. Free or slave, it didn't matter – they all listened to him! And he stayed with them until the very last one was claimed!"

"Wearing your hat helped, Daddy," Cory reminded him. "I told them a cop's slave is a cop, too in'a'mergency!"

And Peter. Poor Peter! He'd come to visit for the first time in so long, and this had happened! As if it weren't enough for him to be dropped face-first into the slave owner culture, a tornado had nearly gotten him. Peter, however, had proven invaluable with repairing the breaker box and cut computer lines that Devereaux had sabotaged. When he'd gotten the emergency generators in the basement running again, and the computer rebooted, Collins was able to reopen his hospital floor and offices. He didn't seem to care whether the billing system for free folks was working or not. He just continued with his work.

And that first week? Medical care without technology? It was amazing, they'd said.

As for the Collins Building, it hadn't escaped unscathed. The roof was gone, along with all the communications equipment there. That meant that we'd be recovering with no television, but I digress. The 14th floor was also ripped away, which was fortunately storage only, and everything on the 13th was sucked up up and away as well. Most of the windows, on residence floors that had them, were blown out. Many of the flats had flying debris and water damage, there were a few 'puncture wounds' here and there in the stone walls, but it had survived. The Collins Building was now two floors shorter, but like all of us, it was on the mend. They were making the floor of the 13th the new roof.

And then there was Zach.

I'd known when I'd bought him that he might be autistic, retarded even. It had been tough at first, yes. He certainly was defective in a few ways, but he'd made so much progress. He'd come so far. Defective or not, chip or not, he was still my baby. I could still hear him: "Not a baby, Uncle!" He never ever got the joke.

No, Zach wasn't a baby. He'd proven that, that night when he disobeyed orders and gone back for his missing friends. I wondered if he'd had any comprehension of dying? I think he did. Zach had grown.

My boy had risked his life to save his friends.

I could not have been prouder.

But even though I was kept distracted by all the family members dropping by to see to me, or by their assorted slaveboys that I didn't really know all that well, all I could think about was Zach.

While he was the least physically injured of the lot, he was also in the worst shape. I'd shielded his small form with my own body during that hellish fall, but there had been nothing that I could do to save him from what had happened.

I'd come upon them in the stairwell when Devereaux had been taunting them. I heard him say, "Come here, Zero. Come to Daddy, Mason! Be reasonable, Zero. You didn't think they'd build something like you without a failsafe device, did you? Zero, your chip has a self-destruct protocol built into it. Don't make Master use it, OK?"

All I could think was, "How can he know that?" And that was when I knew.

I was moving on instinct. In the darkness of the stairwell, I'd heard my boy scream. I'd heard Mason disobey a direct order and promise to kill his Master. All rational thought had been wiped from my mind! That was when I'd realized that Devereaux had done this – sabotaged the building's emergency power system and crippled the computer so that Zach could not access it. He had to have done it when he'd gone to the toilet, and he'd had to have known that Sebbie and Raulito were missing when he'd gone back in.

And the boys knew it.

He'd gone back for them, yes, but not to save them. He'd used them as bait, knowing that Zach would come, I thought. Yes, that was it. He'd known too much.

He'd known about Zach's chip. He'd known there was a failsafe device built into it. He'd called him 'Zero'.

And he had a device of some kind that could trigger that failsafe. It all came together then. Devereaux had been to Africa, which was pretty much off limits for Caucasian North Americaners. Being a dealer of exotic boys, however, as Mason had told me, I figured that was enough to get him safely in and out. It also meant, if he knew about Zach's chip and how to access it, that he'd been the one to send the wireless transmission that had, in effect, knocked him offline after the party. He had the means to hurt my boy, that failsafe device, and he was about to use it!

He'd been the one to bring Zach out of Africa. He had to have been. He was the only one who could have. He'd falsified the dossier on 'Zero', made up the grandfather story, and then turned my baby over to that chamber of horrors that was The Clearing House. No wonder the huckster in charge of it had wanted so much money for poor little Boy 000.

Want further proof? They wanted to do more business with him now, Mason had told me? And Devereaux didn't deal in boys like that?

No, he didn't. He didn't trade funny looking little defective boys like Zero had been. He traded beautiful boys like his own Mason, or young Indian eunuchs. He was dealing in things like illegal breeding of races that would normally not intermingle now, all for personal gain. All to indulge himself.

And he was going to further harm my boy! No, enough had been enough.

My Zach had suffered enough, and he'd been right – Devereaux could not leave behind witnesses.

"Let them go!" Cyborg had then yelled, and something metal had torn. He'd torn the handrail off, and had thrown it like a spear at Devereaux!

That's when I'd shot him.

I suppose I shouldn't have felt bad, really. It was impossible to know whether Cyborg's skewering him, or my gunshot, had killed him.

Either way, he was dead.

And the secret of why he'd taken Zach, as Zero, to The Clearing House had gone to the grave with him.

But still, it didn't quite all add up. The Clearing House didn't normally deal in such high profile slaveboys, we knew. Had it been a fluke, that the little blond Adonis I'd seen there had gone for 4 million? Looking back, the other boys hadn't been that bad-looking. But I also had to wonder, like Mark's boy, Jian, were they defective or harbouring a hidden illness? What benefit was there for a man like Devereaux to get involved with such an organization? There had to be one, or he wouldn't have been doing it.

Defective slaves? Low-budget slaves? Mostly white? He'd been to Africa – and now the Clearing House wanted his business? Was it because there was a demand for pure African import slaveboys? Then a more chilling thought hit me: was there an African demand for North American white slaveboys?

You don't want to be a white slaveboy in Africa right now, he'd said.

Now Zach lay in a coma, his chip severely damaged and with who-knew-how-much brain trauma. Collins had warned me, in no uncertain terms, that my boy might never wake up.

No, if Devereaux were here now, I decided, I'd shoot him again without hesitation.

But in the meantime, there was nothing to do but sit and wait. And heal. Modern medical technology might have advanced over the years, but it was still going to take a while.

"They also serve, who only sit and wait," Henry told me once day. I told him that was quite profound. "What's it mean, sir? Doc said it?"

I could only sigh and hug him with my good arm.

During that interminable wait, Peter busied himself with studying all the data we'd gathered on Zach's implant. He consulted with his employer, citing the disaster here as reason to take off work. He interfaced with his office, calling down all the data he had on bio-chip implants. He stayed up late at night, pouring over theoretical work, trying to find something – anything – that he could use to help Zach. With mine and Collins' blessing, he gave the data we'd collected to his boss, who opened a top secret project file on Zach. In fact, Peter told us, the poor man had almost had a seizure when he'd finally become convinced that Peter wasn't lying to him!

I was so proud of him as well. There was really nothing to hold him here, you see. I would recover, and Peter had no emotional bond with Zach. I thought that to him, Zach was just a slave that I'd bought on a whim to replace him, to fill a void in my life.

Well, I guessed he was half right. Zach wasn't dead, but the lack of his presence felt like a raw, gaping wound.

Collins, too, spent every waking moment with the boys in general, and Zach in particular. With the chip pretty much offline, he set up a scanner that would monitor it nonstop. He attached EEG leads in reverse to Zach's head to stimulate him, but while the readout showed brain activity, there was still no change. Zach didn't respond to any kind of stimuli. When Collins did sleep, Henry or Cory would report finding him with piles of printouts on brain trauma and bio-neural engineering manuals scattered about him.

Those weeks slowly became a month. Collins began to worry about bedsores, and Zach was put on a frame much like the one they'd tortured Raulito with. It allowed him to be turned over, on his side, or to stand up. This one even had servos that could move his arms and legs, to keep his muscles from weakening.

But there was no change.

The other boys began to get some mobility and a tiny bit of therapy. They were lucky that they didn't have to wait up to eight weeks in plaster casts, like back in my day!

As soon as I was able, I got a wheelchair and moved into Zach's room. Someone was always with him, but they would always leave when I arrived. It's a common belief that those in a deep coma can be somewhat aware of their surroundings. The computer constantly played a mix of music, softly. The lights were set to mimic a real day. He was bathed every day, and his feeding tubes and bowels tended to. I even dressed him in his best gear, cleaned him as best I could with one good arm. I touched him, kissed him, told him how much I loved him. Collins himself wondered about the gear, as the rest of the wounded boys were only in pods, but otherwise naked in their beds.

It was all I could do tell him. Perhaps he deserved that much.

"I told him he didn't have to do it, at home," I sniffed. God, I was a grown man, and I was about to burst into tears in front of this enigmatic character. "I said…I said it was OK if he wanted to train with Sebbie and them, if he wanted to learn to be a proper slaveboy. But I just couldn't force him, like you lot do your boys! And you know what, Doc?"

"He wanted to?" Collins guessed.

I nodded. "He loves it here, Doc. He really does. If I don't tell him to be quiet, he'll babble for hours about school, the boys, training, even you."

"Me?!"

"'Doc fix me!' He'd always say. Sebastian, he thinks so much of you, for helping him." I stroked his hair. Master Ralphie must have washed it and rebraided it. I jingled his beads on his collar. "He picked out this gear himself, Doc. He loves to wear this stuff. I don't get it? Why would he do that, when he knows he doesn't have to?"

"Because he have da heart of a true slave, Massah Don," Ralphie's bass voice called from the door. "An' wherever he be, even now, Don, you know dat heart be wit' you!"

"He's right, Don. I hate to say we told you so, but we told you so! Zach is truly unique. And there's room in that heart for everyone. Don?" Collins said. "Even me, it seems." He looked away.

"Yes? What, I'm sorry?" I guess I was lost in my thoughts.

"I want to thank you," Collins told me, "Your boy went back for mine. Hell, he went back for a boy he hardly knew! He disobeyed you, his Master, to risk his life for someone he loved. And that's just it, Don – Zach loves. His love is unconditional, innocent even. He made the decision to fly in the face of his precious training, maybe even hurt you, or even die trying. And such an innocent, he is."

"Innocent? These boys?!" I had to laugh.

"Innocent," Ralphie agreed, nodding. "We Massahs know when a boy don' really want to. Like Mason. You think we ever think that Mason even like us, Don? No, we argue with Dev for years, tell him the boy never come around. Then we meet Zach, when he be Zero. How often a boy come right up to you, tell you he love you, and offer his body?" He reached out and touched Zach's tattoos, that huge hand gently rubbing Zach's chest. "Nah, leetle Zach here be your slave, Don. He be your slave all his life. His love, da kind of love that never die. I think dat why you put all his gear on him? I think somewhere he be, somehow, he know it."

"He…he never wants this silly thing off," I touched his pod, where a very thin pediatric catheter now connected to a bag. "He doesn't like it, even when I have to wash him there. You know, he asks me almost day when I'm going to…to…"

"Make sweet love with him?" Ralphie offered.

I just nodded, feeling my face flaming.

Collins cleared his throat nervously. "Don, don't be angry, but, uhhh, actually, it was Cory's idea, Don. When you put the gear back on him, you see, he had this bright idea to fit him with an inflatable plug. Every three days, after his bowel maintenance, we set it for one pump larger."

"WHAT?!"

"Cory thought it would be a nice 'welcome back' present, Don. Don't be angry with him. He's a sweet little guy," Collins said. "To know when to violate the first rule of slavery – never disobey your Master – is a very tricky one, Don. It's like Asimov's rules of robotics. For Zero, I mean Zach, to have sorted out the paradox of logic is quite impressive."

"Z be ready, Don, when he come back to you. He not so leetle anymore, that you tear him," Ralphie added. "Sometime, I think that when we talk like this, it help. If he hear you, Don, it call him back. Call to him, Don."

"He…he wants to do it so bad!" I blurted. "But he's never! He doesn't know, guys! What if I hurt him? What if he doesn't like it after all? What if he thinks I'm…I'm raping him?"

"You think he feels like that, or is it you what feels like that, Don?" Collins replied. "You're not the first new Master to say this to me, Don. Trust me. Of course anyone who didn't grow up with it like we did would think that! You don't undo centuries' worth of societal programming about sex in a few months, Don. But if you let a boy evolve without inhibitions, you'd be amazed at what he'll do."

"You must have had some childhood!" I snorted.

"I did, at that," Collins nodded. "It was totally uninhibited, while being totally inhibited at the same time! Perhaps I'll tell you all about it one day?"

"Perhaps you model them tight black leather short trousers with all the da locks again?" Ralphie laughed. "You should'a see da'Doc's baby pictures, Don!"

"Ah, no thanks."

"HEY! I was a cute kid! God, those things were hot and sweaty!" Collins laughed. Then he turned serious again. "Don, you just do what you have to do with Zach. Our amateur nurses here will do the rest." He patted my shoulder, and oddly enough, it didn't make me want to punch him anymore.

"I think that if…WHEN…he wakes up," I coughed, "That Zach's going to find he'll be the Master in this relationship," I admitted. "He's been through too much. He deserves to be happy. He deserves to have anything he wants."

"Aren't dey all, Don? Aren't da boys all da Massahs already?" Ralphie asked, as they headed for the door. I regretted his going; that voice was so soothing. I wondered if he could sing?

"Don?" Collins called back, and I looked up at him. "You've learned. Congratulations. You are truly a Master now, although an odd one at that!"

And then we were alone again.

A Master alone with his slave.

A distraught parent alone with his wounded child.

"Zach, baby? It's Uncle. Are you in there, Zach?" I spoke softly, my lips brushing that perfect little ear. Someone had cleaned his earrings, I could smell it. Behind his clean glasses, his eyes were closed and still. I traced my finger over the letters on his chest, "S_L_A_V_E". I stared at the circled 'Z' on his bicep, the one he'd begged and begged to get. "I hope you heard all that, Zach. Zachary. Zero," I managed, and I finally lost it.

Without him, there were so many things missing. It was a horrible feeling. When Peter had left, it had been bad. But Peter was only a phone call away. And I knew when he'd come back. I didn't know if Zach was coming back. He'd gone away to some place, I didn't know where, and that was a place to which I could not follow him. It was a place that no one was even sure that you could send a call to. He'd gone through a door, just like when he'd gone back for Sebbie and Raulito, and slammed yet another door in my face.

Were my words, my touches, my assurances, all for nothing?

Was this boy – anyone for that matter – nothing more than a warm piece of meat with some neuroelectrical activity to run it? Was that all we were? And if that one organ failed, were we then gone?

What about his Soul?

I snorted. I'd never been a religious man. I'd always found it amusing that there were so many of them. So many faiths, so many gods, and all of them hating one another and either trying to convert you or kill you. Which god was the right God, then? Or were we all just part of some big cosmic accident?

I laid my head on his chest, and wept.

And I prayed.

I didn't care 'who' heard it. I didn't know if 'anyone' would hear it. Just like talking to Zach, I had no idea if my words and thoughts were getting through to anyone.

"Please, if you're out there, somewhere, and you're listening? If you're really the one who put us here, if you know everything, then please! Send my boy back to me! He doesn't deserve this! You know he doesn't! He can't take anymore! But if he isn't coming back, then YOU take him, and you take him QUICK! Don't just leave him like this! This isn't living, and you know it! God, he offered up his life for those that he loved! Didn't you allegedly do that, too? Doesn't that count for something?!"

I must have slept. I don't recall.

"I didn't think you were a religious man, Don," Cabot offered. "Do you mind?" I shook my head. Cabot pulled up a chair near Zach's feet. He tickled one sole. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Don. I was passing by, and I heard you. I thought something was wrong. But then, I couldn't walk away, you sounded so passionate," he admitted, tickling Zach's foot again. "You know, that makes Henry squeal like a pig! He can't handle that. He'll pee all over himself and beg and promise anything if you'd just stop. Of course, he never makes good on those promises," Cabot deftly changed the subject. "He has such small feet, doesn't he?"

I snickered. "Big feet, big…?" I joked.

"I think they're cute, when they're so small," Cabot nodded.

"Feet, or penises?"

"All of them. I hate to see them grow up, you know," Cabot shook his head. "If you have any prayers left, Don, save one for my Henry, won't you?"

I'd been wondering when Cabot would drop by. It was his turn after all, it seemed.

"What's wrong with Henry?" I asked, "If I may?"

Cabot sighed. "Call me Viktor," he finally said. "No one ever does. You ever notice that, Don? They call each other by name, or shorten it. No one ever calls me 'Vik'. I much prefer that, too. Hell, they even called that monster 'Dev'."

"Hang on! I thought your name was Barry?" It just hit me. "Barry Jordan? Or was that your middle name?"

"At first, Seb would not have given you Henry's real identity, or mine," Vik explained. "We had to know we could trust you. You just now realized that, Don?" He grinned. "I bet you didn't know that Henry was wearing a wig when you met him, either? And they say my Henry's slow?" I ignored that one.

"Sebbie was real enough, when I was new?"

"Sebbie is the doctor's son and assistant, Don. Of course he was real."

"You're sort of, still on the outside, looking in, aren't you, Vik?" I offered.

"I'm not like them, not really," Viktor Cabot mused. "Or, I don't feel like it, at least. You see, Don, I'm not as well to do as Collins, nor am I an authority figure like Clemens. I wasn't a shady spy-wannabe with an exciting life like Devereaux, or a top pilot like Paul. I just go to my low-wage, mundane job every day, and do the best that I can."

"Isn't social services an important job?" I asked him.

"It's a fairly routine, boring job, Don. Just as I am a fairly routine, boring man," Vik admitted. "It's safe, I should say."

"You control the fate of a lot of kids?" I scoffed. "You don't think that's important?"

"I don't normally make the calls, Don. You see, we follow State protocols. You find boy A in situation B, or you find girl C with problem D, then you execute procedure E or F. It's all spelled out, really. Clear the debts, take the kids, sell them as slaves, or have them work off the balance if it's a small one in an indenture. Only on rare occasion do you actually intervene and take it to court."

"Like you did with Henry?"

Vik thought about it. "I never considered my homosexual, Don. Much less what the textbook calls a paedophile [pedophile]. I was more aroused by gay sex, thinking about it, or watching a video, or reading a story. But I never acted on it; I suppose I was asexual, or monosexual. I suppose I was ashamed too, you see, fifty years ago, attitudes were quite different."

"You're that old? You don't look it?"

"I am, thank you," Vik smiled. "I think I was more asexual, with no interest in relations with anyone of any gender of any age. However, I met a boy in college who had lost his testicles to cancer as a boy. He had no insurance, and all these news laws and socialist reforms hadn't kicked in yet. The economy was crashing, and the government had eliminated medical care for poor children. His family figured it was a safer investment to spend his money on school. He was like a tall little boy, you see. I walked in on him once in the dormitory showers. He usually showered alone, after everyone had gone. I'd overslept, and there he was! I tried to be polite, but he saw me looking." He stroked his beard. "I was something of a hairy bear in my day, before I hit the good life," he patted his belly. "Not huge, not a 'porn star', but all right. I know the sight of me naked must have frightened the poor boy to death!"

"But it turned you on?"

"Oh my, did it ever!" Vik admitted. "It was confusing for him at first, you see, since he had no sex drive at all, and no interest. He never became aroused, you see, just like a neutered farm animal. But then again, I never had drive to be with someone, so it scared me, too! And we talked."

"You fell in love with him?"

"At first, it was simply passion, Don. I admit that. It was illegal in those days to have sex with minors, and although he was tall, he was still very much a boy. That was when I realized that I must like boys? And he was of legal age! It surprised me as much as it did him. He thought no one would ever want him, being a eunuch. The first I'd heard that word, actually. The first time I'd seen a boy without balls. We lost our respective virginities to one another later that week."

"But it was more than just passion, you say?"

"Over time," Vik went on, "I grew to love him. I did. I don't think he believed it, though. All the while, he was in disbelief that anyone would want him. No self-esteem, you see. I can only imagine how the other boys must have tormented him. Girls too? To grow up like that, a poor boy with a high voice, tall, no beard, a more feminine figure? It was quite obvious that he was different, and such get bullied, don't they?"

"Henry doesn't, does he?"

"Not here, which is why I stay, Don. I want Henry to have friends. I want him to be able to enjoy the lot that life has given him. I didn't adopt him for sex, Don, I know you want to ask. In fact, I didn't engage in relations with him until he asked. He was quite wild and scared at first, and protocol demanded that he be enslaved. His parents had too many debts. I fought it, of course, but I lost. Unlike Devereaux, I would not force myself upon him, though."

"But you found him arousing?"

"Not at first. You see, Don, sterilization is mandatory for slaves. I didn't know Collins then, and the buffoon assigned to our office botched poor Henry royally. I'd delayed it as long as possible, too, having used up all my legal trickery to keep him intact for as long as I could. You should have seen him, Don. He was quite wild, with that unkempt, dirty hair. Raggedy clothes, full of hate and rage, and so frightened of everyone. I knew I had to intervene, though. Otherwise, he'd have ended up on a road crew for life, I think. Drugs? Psycho-surgery? Who knows? It would have been bad."

"Then he got sick?"

"Very!" Vik agreed. "I had to find a slave doctor, and in this town, Collins was it. By then, the infection had spread. It was getting into his bloodstream, poisoning his whole body. Red lines spread from his festering testicles, up his abdomen, down his thighs. He was so hateful and scared, though, Don, that he never told me. In only a week, it was too late when I discovered it at his weekly cleaning."

I was confused. "So you didn't castrate him, because you find that erotic?"

"That's what everyone who knows me thinks, Don, but no. You see, Henry was so sick for so long, and I had work, so that I had to leave him here. I had no idea how I'd pay, on my salary. Collins worked on him, but the infection spread. Soon it was everywhere. It turned into meningitis when it hit the spinal cord, pneumonia in his lungs. The infection went everywhere. For a while, we were afraid he'd not walk again, even if he lived. I did what I could, but that mainly consisted of sitting here, like you, in a room like this, holding his hand and talking to him."

"So what changed it all? You said he was wild?"

"He was a street kid, like so many, that had been badly hurt. He was starved, raped, beaten, always on the run. No one to trust. It's just like a bad movie, really. So when I took him in…"

"How'd you afford him?" I cut in.

"I'm still paying on him, Don. Henry will be 14 soon, almost as old as Mason. Can you believe it, what a little testosterone will do? How boys can be so very different? Every week, a bit comes out of my pay and goes back to the State. So long as I work for them, they let me keep him. A perk of the job. Now, where was I?"

"Henry was sick?"

"Yes, yes! So here I sat, day after day. Then one night I went home from work to check on things. The flat was so quiet, the plants had all died but for a cactus. You see, I was close enough to run home for lunch and check on the boy each day before he fell so ill. Some days, I'd have him a cage. I was trying to train him, you see, but that stupid manual is useless!"

"AMEN!"

"But that night, he wasn't in the cage. He wasn't on the restraint table. He wasn't strapped to his bed. I made a bit of dinner, turned on the TV, ate, and realized that I missed him! It was quiet. He wasn't glaring at me. He wasn't trying to break things, or hobble around with a broomstick trying to bean me if I approached him! No one was swearing at me. And I realized, right then, I said to myself, 'Vik, what DO you see in that boy?'

"And you realized that you loved him?"

Vik nodded. "Just the opposite of my first love, Don. With Martin, it started out as lust and fascination. With Henry, it was pity. With Martin, lust came first. But with Henry, the love came first, even before his surgery. You're so lucky that your boy just adores you, Don. I can see it, you know. In fact, they all adore you. Do you know what it's like to have a child hate you? To cower in fear of you?"

"I'm sure Dev did," I snorted.

"Well, Henry was afraid that I was going to do to him, what Dev was doing to Mason. He'd yell at me, 'You just wanna arse-rape me, tha's why you bought me!' And it hurt me, Don. I tried to reason with him, I did. But in the end, I had no choice but to restrain him. The one upside to that was that he liked to eat, and due to immobility, he put on weight. He was so cute, Don. Still is, really. Then his luck ran out. He had to be sterilized, and he went wild. They came and stunned him, and then that idiot butchered him."

"That's when you met Collins?"

Vik nodded. "I knew something was wrong when he stopped eating and swearing at me! He was lethargic, and he had fevers. Then the vomiting began. I gave him a cold bath that night, and he was too weak to fight. In just one week, Don, it had eaten him up! By the time I got him to Collins, we had to go the aggressive route. Antibiotics were only making the bug madder, and by that time, he had no choice but to operate – cut out the diseased tissue. I suppose we're lucky he still has a little fire hydrant?"

"You say it spread?"

Vik nodded again. "He was so ill, for so long, Don. Collins tried everything. When it looked like we were going to lose him, he resorted to the outdated treatment of chemotherapy with massive doses of an experimental new antibiotic and packed white blood cell cultures. He shut down Henry's immune system altogether, and filled him full of that nuke juice. His hair fell out, and he had to have a feeding tube to bypass his stomach for the vomiting. You name it, he was hooked up to it." He paused to tickle Zach's foot again.

There was no response.

"He was in a coma for a month, too, Don. And I was surprised to find that Sebbie was his primary caregiver. I came in one night, and the bizarre little child was crying. He hugged me, and he told me he didn't want Henry to die. I don't think he even knew why, Don? Isn't that odd? But there we were – if Henry lived, now castrated, the law wouldn't allow him to have hormones. I fought it, but failed again. He was only ten, I think? Eleven more years as a slave, and by then, if I freed him, it would be too late. He'd be another Martin."

"You loved him, though?" I reminded him. "Despite all the grief, you saved him?"

Vik nodded. He dabbed an eye with a handkerchief from his pocket. "I'd sit here and talk to him all evening. During the day, Sebbie would. At night, they'd play music and chat dialog, hoping to stimulate his brain."

"And then he woke up?"

"He did," Vik smiled. "But that's why I stopped in, Don. Really. I don't mean to pry. You see, I sat here, just as you are now. I cried, I prayed, and I felt horrible about the fact that I was having fantasies about this newly-neutered boyslave. He'd been through so much, and add to that all the reconstructive surgery and grafts. All I wanted was to hear him wake up and yell something profane! Isn't it funny?"

"I'd settle for a good hard 'fuck off!' right now!"

"Ah, but you see, my point, Don! I got the opposite. When Henry woke up, he wasn't the same boy that had come in. The brain fever had changed him. Perhaps it was the drugs, too, but my Henry had changed. The first word he managed was 'Daddy'. I nearly fell off my chair, Don. There was this emaciated, bald, little eunuch crying for his daddy. And I went to him. I touched his face. And that was it. The boy who came out of this room a month later wasn't Jordan Henry anymore, Don. All he kept was the middle name." He gave me a long, hard look. Then he stood.

"Are you prepared for that, Don?" Vik then asked me bluntly. "Are you prepared for the fact that when Zachary awakens, that he might not be the Zachary that you know and love? Will you still love him, if he hates you?"

"Zach can't hate," I choked. And no, I had never considered that! Thank you so much, Viktor Cabot! Just what I needed!

"I didn't think Henry knew how to love. I'm sorry, Don. I truly am. But I felt obligated to share this with you. If I may, you weren't sexually aroused by the boy at first, were you?"

I shook my head.

"They were going to throw him away," I managed. "Toss him like trash."

"We're of a kind, then, Don," Vik then offered by way of goodbye. "But it's not so bad looking in the window, when you have a boy who knows where the door is."

And then he was gone.

I felt like crying again, but I made myself get up and move. My bad ankle protested as I rose to lean on Zach's frame, to lean down over his face. I kissed his lips, parting them with my tongue. It was so odd that he didn't return it. He loved to kiss and cuddle.

"He won't be like that," I told myself, "He won't be like THAT!"

Damn that Cabot! Weren't these talks supposed to go the opposite way? Weren't these people the ones who were supposed to get upset with me, and leave with their notions of morality in turmoil?

Then it hit me.

He'd done just that.

Cabot was ashamed of himself. He viewed his entire career as one of nothing more than ruining children's lives at the behest of the State.

He'd said we were of a kind, both of us outsiders looking in? As I stroked my boy's hair, I realized what he'd meant. We'd both begun with no sexual thoughts. We'd only wanted to save these boys. In the end, he'd ended up with just what he wanted – a boy eunuch who loved him, and loved sex.

"Be careful what you wish for," I mumbled to no one, wanting nothing more than my boy back.

"Tell me," Mark spoke up, tapping at the door.

I yelped, flinched, lost my balance, fell into my wheelchair, and flipped it over backwards! "FUCK ME! You trying to give me another concussion?" I yelled.

"Sorry, you're too old, Don," he apologized, getting me upright again. "God, I'm sorry! Should I call the doc?"

"No, no, I'll be fine, my bad leg went up, and the ribs and shoulder have since stopped hurting, thanks. Now I feel normal again!"

"Don, that ankle wasn't broken? What gives?"

"It didn't heal right, and the joint's decaying. Seb wants to replace it, too."

"Oh!"

"Mark, what do you know about Cabot?" I asked on impulse.

"Not much. Quiet, boring sort of fellow. Lot like Henry – you hardly notice him in the room. I think he only comes here so that Henry can have someone to play with."

Wow, we really were similar!

"I can't believe Henry's a teenager," I mused. "Then again, not sure how old Zach is. Mark, was there a reason that you wanted to see if you could scare me to death?"

"Just checking in our boy," Mark shrugged.

"'Our boy'?"

"Turn of phrase. It's a family thing, Don. You may not realize it, but there's not a man or boy here who doesn't love Zero. Zach, I'm sorry! I guess to me, he'll always be that nervous little fellow with chocolate all over his face!"

I nodded. "Cabot warned me that Zach might go the opposite way of Henry," I admitted. "He got me to thinking."

"Henry was a monster, before," Mark admitted. "But he was more like a scared animal that only wants the food you have. He'll eat, but he'll still bite you, you know. He wasn't like Mason. Mason was just plain … whacko?"

"Do you blame him?"

"Not now," Mark shook his head. "Poor kid. But you know, the more he made up with the boys, the more he calmed down. It was you who finally broke him, I hear?"

"Zach broke him," I shook my head. "I just trusted him. Zach made up to him right off, just like he does, you know, and told him he loved him. That was all it took."

"THAT was all?" Mark scoffed. Then he snorted. "And that bastard threw that budding love right back in the boy's face! You think he'll ever recover from this Don? They say he doesn't eat or speak. He just cries."

"That can be a good sign," I disagreed. "Zach cried a lot when I got him."

"We've all had our fair share of tears, Don," Mark replied. "So what will you do?"

"About what?"

"When Zach wakes up? What if he's different?"

"I wouldn't care if he's a vegetable, or back to the mentality of a toddler!" I felt my anger rise. "And if he's deranged? So what? I'll still love him, Mark! I can't stop loving him. It'll break my heart if I have to restrain him or put him in a cage, but I will! I won't let him be hurt anymore! I told them all I'd never let anyone hurt him again, and damned if Devereaux didn't make a liar out of me!"

"Admirable sentiments, Don," Mark said flatly. "You know," he looked all around. He laid a hand on Zach's tummy, watching the steady, even rise and fall, "I once sat in a room like this, Don. For a long time. Then I got up, walked out the door, and totally lost control of myself. For the first time since I was sixteen, I lost control."

"Mark, don't! You don't have to…"

"I do, Don. And yes, it's about Jian. You need to hear this, Don, and I need to say it." He took his hand from Zach's tummy.

"I prayed, too, Don. I prayed so hard that I swear I thought I felt that Spirit coming over me. I prayed and wept until I literally had no more tears left. Literally, my tear ducts shut down. Amazed Seb, he didn't know that could happen. He sedated me, Don. I was a wreck, and he saw it. But right before he did, I'd made my decision."

I didn't want to hear this.

"Don, do be ready for Zach to wake up. Pray if you must, if it comforts you. But prepare yourself, Don – prepare yourself NOT for what you might not like when he does wake up – prepare yourself for what Zach might not like."

"I…I'm sorry?" I wondered. What was he on about?

"Jian was looking at his third round of chemo, Don. The cancer had spread to his tummy, and was headed for his liver. His pancreas was already gone, most of his stomach, Seb had removed them and had him on insulin therapy and a feeding tube. It's a miracle he lasted so long, Don. He'd gone into remission twice, and we'd had some good times. But twice in a row of being kicked upside the head with 'the cancer's back' was too much for my boy." Mark palmed his face, leaning heavily on the doorjamb.

"Mark…?"

"He laid in that bed, Don, and he cried. He begged me. He pleaded with me! And you know what he asked of me, Don? You know what my baby asked of me?"

"Mark, don't…"

"He said, 'Daddy, I can't do this again. Please, I just can't do this again! Don't make me! Just let me go, Daddy. Please, just let me go!"

Then Mark laughed.

I was frozen at the horror of it. How could he laugh?! My God, had Mark just let…?

I'd known that Jian had died, but I'd had no idea. Not like that. I felt sick. Beneath my hand, Zach lay very still.

"I can laugh now, Don! And do you know why?"

I didn't.

"Because my beautiful boy left this world happy! He left it on his own terms, with a smile on his lips when the pain finally stopped. He knew he was going with my blessing, Don. He looked up at me, and he said, "Don't cry, Daddy. It doesn't hurt anymore." And then he went to sleep, in my arms." He paused. I wasn't sure what was causing his tremors – mirth at the irony of having had to follow his slave's last order, or suppressed grief.

His slave's last order…

"It took me years to realize it, Don," he went on. "You want to talk about 'broken', Don?" He pointed to Zach. "You think you've seen broken? You just wait, Don. You just wait until THAT BOY breaks you!"

Tears fell on my boy's tattooed chest, splattering over the word "Uncle's".

"Cry while you can, Don. By all means, cry. I'm sorry, Don, I am so sorry, but you needed to hear this. You needed to be aware of the fact that your boy may love you so much, that he has to hurt you to show it! And you have to love him enough to obey him when he orders you, Don, even though it tears your heart out and takes it away with him!"

"S-stop," I choked.

"Our debt is settled, Don."

"What?! What debt?" I gasped. What debt did we have that I was unaware of?

"My life, Don. I owed it to you – for bringing that wonderful boy who's waiting for me just down the corridor, into my life. For giving me a second chance. In return, my friend, I give you these: preparedness, friendship, a shoulder to cry on, and a size 12 leather police-issue boot up your arse if you need it to go on! And you WILL GO ON, Don!"

I understood.

Mark took my hand. The tears stopped.

"Good," he nodded, as he left the room.

I kissed Zach again.

As I wheeled my way back to my own hospital bed, I pondered his wisdom. Had Mark been ready to commit suicide that night I'd called him to my home? He had frozen in the doorway, he and Cory just staring at one another for so awkwardly long.

Finally able to get myself ready for bed without help, I did that. As I lay there, I thought of Zach. How long would I leave him like this, if he never woke up? Months? Years? What if his brain scan indicated dropping activity? What if he coded? Would I order Collins to not resuscitate him? And even worse, what if he woke up, so brain damaged that he was locked inside of himself? What if he used his eyes, or something, to print up the message, "Uncle, please let me go!"?

Any other time, there would have been a boy underfoot.

Little did I know then…

Somehow, I slept.

I wished I hadn't.

Perhaps I'd shot off my mouth to the wrong deity, but I had a nightmare. I was at the animal shelter, going through rows and rows of caged dogs and cats. The smell of urine filled the air, and the yowling was driving me mad.

At the end of the corridor was a cage with a boy in it.

A slaveboy.

Zach.

Zero.

"Do you want that one?" Someone asked. "You have to decide, now, Don! We're putting him down in a few minutes."

"Can't you wait? Can't I think it over?"

"No, we have a schedule to keep! Must clear the house! Always making room for new ones!"

"I'll take him! How much?"

"Wouldn't you rather have a cat, Don?"

I spun around, and it was Collins! He was the ultimate doctor, dressed all for surgery, and holding a powerful taser in his hand. "We have a lovely Siamese? Housebroken, unlike this one, and neutered! They're better off neutered, you know. So much happier!"

"They are NOT!" I shouted at him. He poked me with a cattle prod!

"HEY!"

"Four million," he said.

"That's insane!" I retorted. "He's defective!"

"But you still want him, right? I can fix it, Don! Train him up to be the perfect little slaveboy, just like mine!"

"Daaaaaddeeeeey?" I heard Sebbie calling, "You're late for the lobotomy in Exam 2!"

"Coming, son! Daddy just has to put this defective dog down!"

"He's a CHILD!" I shouted. "You can't DO this!"

"We do it every day," Collins smiled. "Four million? I'll take two."

"Uh-Uh-Uncle?" Zero gasped. He reached his hand through the bars. "Help me, Uncle!"

Collins zapped him. Zero screamed. He peed all over himself. He fell to the dirty floor of the cage, hitting his head on the metal water bowl. He wailed, then hid his face in the straw and dung in the corner.

"I'm afraid it's too late, Don! You should just get a cat, anyhow! You'd have never raised him properly, you know."

Then he hit Zero in the head with the electric prod. Bolts of blue lightning made the boy stiffen, then he fell over. The halls filled with maniacal laughter.

Zero lay very still.

I woke up screaming.

Ankle be damned, I got myself out of bed and hobbled to his room.

There was no change. Only the soft PEEP! of his monitors broke the silence.

"Uncle?" Peter asked from the doorway.

"Pete! What…what are you doing up?" God, he looked awful. It was clear that he wasn't sleeping much, and probably not eating right, knowing him.

"The computer alerted me when you woke up, sorry. I had it set to, uh, observe you."

"Collins put you up to it?"

Peter looked at his feet. Hell, I couldn't fault them for caring, could I?

"I've, uh, been studying up on interfaces, Uncle," he changed the subject. "But this chip is something else! I don't understand how those fibers grow, or where they come from! And I still can't identify the core material of that chip. It's nothing I've ever seen before, but then again, I can't deep scan it because it's embedded in Zach's brain."

I thought about it. Biochips usually had a conductive metallic support frame. Silicon wasn't good enough, although the body didn't usually react to it. Gold was the primary core, but platinum was nice too – if you could afford it. Any exotic metal would work.

"I can't think what it would be," I offered. "There's a lot of gold in there."

"There's a tiny crystal on the chip, I think," Peter added. "That, or a buildup of some kind? Here," he handed me his printout.

"It's smaller," I noticed right off. Amidst the black areas of dead brain tissue, the chip seemed to have shrunk. But the fibers were still there, still growing. They were working around the black areas, in favor of green ones now.

"You can see the black line where they shot the chip in," I mused.

"Want to talk about that bad dream, Uncle?"

"No." I sighed. "You know, you had a lot of those when you were a boy."

"I'd just spent months in an orphans' holding center, pending enslavement," Peter reminded me. "It wasn't much fun."

"You never did talk about it much, boy."

"Not much to talk about," Peter shook his head. "You weren't a slave in there, but you were pretty damn close. We stuck together, though, Uncle. These slaveboys remind me a lot of the boys there. You'd think it'd be like a wolf pack, an alpha male leading it, and tearing up the newbies? But no. The older boys took care of us little ones."

"They were scared, too, I bet," I mused.

"I was scared of you, Uncle!" Peter laughed. "The other boys joked that I'd be your slave!" He blushed.

"And you believed them?!" I gasped.

"I didn't know!" We both laughed at that one. "I mean, I didn't have a collar or anything, but you making me mind? Making me eat nasty stuff like sprouts? Always having to know what I was doing?"

"I let you eat cheese," I reminded him.

"And you gave me enemas!" Peter laughed.

"Pete, I had a spycam in your room all those years," I confessed. "I used to use it for Zach."

Peter froze, looking up from chip data again. "You didn't?"

"I turned it off when you'd start, ah, tending to your business, let's say?" I blushed, too.

"For an adult homosexual male slave owner, you certainly are Victorian, Uncle!" Peter then laughed.

"I let you have a boyfriend until you decided you liked girls!" I defended myself.

"Bet you watched us both, too?" Peter asked with a smirk.

"Only to see that you didn't hurt yourself!" I protested again.

"My uncle, the voyeur," Peter sighed. Then he laughed, too. "Zach's a lucky boy," he then added wistfully. "I miss those days."

"So do I, Pete, so do I."

"When did you start calling me 'Pete', anyway?"

"Since you grew up, Pete," I said, and it was out. My baby had grown up. Hell, he hadn't been a baby when I'd gotten him, but…

It got rather maudlin from there; let's skip that part, shall we? "Back to the chip?" Peter finally said.

"OK."

"You said it shrank?" Peter snapped his fingers. "No, never mind. I think the firmware's still there, it seems to be running, but it's mainly connected to dead tissue now. Whatever they did sure did a number on his brain."

"A self-destruct mechanism," I thought aloud. "Makes sense. I heard him yell NO at Devereaux. He must have known by then, what was wrong. Otherwise, as much as he loved all that slave training, he'd have obeyed him."

"The human will fought the chip's programming," Peter pointed out. "And the will won."

"Did it?" I sighed. Then something else came to me. "They built him, as 'Zero'," I mused, "They raised him somewhere idyllic, away from people. They educated him, in an extinct language, so he'd not be readily able to communicate with outsiders. They trained him to fight. They tortured him, apparently. Then they shot that chip into his head, which damaged him. But it had integrated into his brain, healed up so much! And Devereaux knew ALL about him! They'd gone to Africa, Mason said. Devereaux had to have known whoever was in charge of Zero, to get him, to get the information about what he was, and to get the device to activate his auto-destruct mechanism!"

"So he brought him here, to do what, Uncle?" Peter asked.

"That's the mystery that died with Devereaux," I snorted. "But it involves the Clearing House, I'm sure. He'd have never dealt with them, nor they him."

"The problem of surplus slaves is about to become a serious issue, Uncle," Peter reminded me. "Mathematically, with the say the system's going, we simply cannot have so many. The Roman Empire had the same problem."

"Too many slaves, not enough jobs for the free to make a living," I nodded.

"If I had too much, I'd sell it – export it!" Peter cocked his head. "Or trade it for other goods?"

"But why smuggle Zero over here, then?" I had to wonder. "That's the piece that just doesn't bloody fit!"

"Maybe Mason knows, or maybe this Devereaux talked in front of that little ginger, Sebbie, is it? Maybe those boys know something?"

"It's near morning, Pete," I sighed. "Another short night. Let's freshen up and go pay them a visit, shall we?"

Chapter 25
Ghost in the Machine

Digital-Zach drops some bombshells when he accesses the protected memory files of the chip's initial dump.

Digital-Zach's POV

English-Standard.

That's what they called the language that Uncle and all of them spoke! I wasn't sure how it happened, but when the pain went away, I suddenly understood.

I understood it all.

I think I liked the pain better.

I really thought I was dead. I didn't know why, but I knew that people died. If you hurt them enough, they'd just fall down and not move anymore. Sometimes, when their hair got silver and their skin got wrinkled, they'd just lay down and stop moving without being hurt.

That was what I remembered first, when I woke up. It was dark, and when I woke up in the dark, she'd be there. I just hurt so bad, she was all I wanted. She'd make it all better; she always did. Her, and those other…women! That's what they were called. I didn't know how I knew it, but I did.

But I didn't think about it much. It was dark, but it was noisy. There was SO much NOISE! It was like millions of voices yelling at me, and my head was on fire! Fire? Red/yellow/orange/hot/burn…yes, fire. But this was blue and white. I could see it. But…I didn't? I didn't want to open my eyes. It was INSIDE my brain!

There was a man. It wasn't Uncle. It was him. It was the man who put me in a cage, who beat me, then sealed me in a box with all kinds of tubes and wires sticking in me. It had been dark and quiet in there. It wasn't dark and quiet in here – whatever HERE was. It was bright and noisy.

I had to get away from it. He was yelling at me.

He was going to hurt them.

Who were they?

The boy on the floor, his head was on fire! NO, it was his…hair! Yes, hair. It was orange. The one boy had no hair….bald. Another boy had long black hair. So did the little boy with the robot hand. He was…little. Smaller than me. I was little. They wanted me to hurt them!

NO.

No way was I going to hurt them…my…friends! Words! I had to have more words. I had some more in school. I went to school with them! School was when we sat at…desks… and listened to … John or Matt!

I remembered.

I remembered Uncle.

Uncle loved me.

Where was he?!

He wasn't there.

Too many voices, too much light! Too much hurt!

I found a spot that was black, like that boy's hair.

I went into it.

It was black.

I was dead.

I remember, now, it was…nothing. 'Nothing' is the word. What was the other one? Time! They looked at these things on the…walls! Clocks! They keep time.

There wasn't any time, though.

I saw something.

I blinked. No, I didn't. I saw something, but I couldn't feel my eyes!

I needed a word. 'Round'. 'Circle'.

ZERO

There was a white zero in the black.

Then there was a voice.

One voice.

"Love you, Zero!"

I turned my head, but no, I didn't. I couldn't feel my head! Was I hurt? Was I going to fall down and stop moving? Die…

No. I knew the voice. One voice. His voice.

I went back for him.

Even though it hurt so bad, I got him. I shoved him into the hole.

SEBBIE!

I tried to say it, but I couldn't feel my mouth. I thought it, I thought it hard!

"Zach?"

That was my name! I was Zach! I was … not Zero! I was Zach…Zachary Kabila… Jameson! Uncle's name! He gave me his name!

"Sebbie, where I am at?" I asked him. I was lost. I had to follow Sebbie's voice.

"You're in the computer now, Zach. All of you. Your whole brain got backed up as a computer program, and I'm running you now."

The voices came back, screaming at me. Light…yes, 'not black' was 'light'! I had to have more words. I demanded more words of this English-thing!

"Your brain is part computer, remember?" He told me.

I remembered.

I remembered the bad men who made me sick. Made me not be able to talk or walk right. I remembered him – the bad man with the pain box!

"You didn't think they'd build something like you without a failsafe, did you, Zero?"

He hurt me. He tried to shut me down.

He tried to kill me!

"Scan the morgue, Zach!" Sebbie said, and I was suddenly everywhere! I had a hundred eyes, seeing everything at once! It was exciting, confusing, and scary. I had to have more words! I could talk to Sebbie if I did!

"Linguistics, mathematics, cultural history! African Union. North American Slavery Codes, accessing!"

The math came first, I knew it already. Then the words. It took forever to sort out! Sebbie would be old and … dead … that was the word! If you went down and didn't move any more – dead!

But I couldn't move? I couldn't feel ME?!

It didn't matter. The words were coming too fast.

Some of them stuck, though: Africa. Kabila. Zero. One. Failure. Terminate. Escape.

I remembered.

I wasn't sick – they'd damaged me when they put the experimental chip in my brain! The chip that was supposed to make me smart, talented, brave!

"I am Zachary Kabila Jameson, codename 'Zero'. Boy 000. I was created 15.21 years ago in the African Union, area formerly known as Kenya. Linguistics downloaded. Partial translation matrix files found. I am an experimental clone of President Kabila, a prototype cybernetic soldier. I was stolen by Devereaux when President Kabila deemed the project a failure and ordered termination. And I understand!"

I understood that I was a clone. I checked the language banks of all the new words.

Baby.

I wasn't a baby.

Uncle called me that. It was an immature human being, newborn, offspring. But it was also a term of affection.

It indicated love.

LOVE

Uncle loved me.

I had to find Uncle!

But where was he? Where was I? WHAT was I?

I was a clone, a copy of a human being. I didn't have parents. I understood.

I was a failure. Fifteen years of work, and I was a failure.

They were going to kill me!

I understood it all.

I told them too much. Friends…that was the word! They were my friends. It would hurt them.

Then, another word: SLAVE.

I was a slave.

I'd always been a slave. They'd all called me that, as long as I could remember. The old women, the … boys … the black boys … there were some who came, to teach me to fight, to see to my needs, or keep me company. They brought me things, but only them and the old women. I needed a word, and it came in a flash – EUNUCHS. Slaves. PROJECT ZERO.

There was too much to learn, then, when I woke up. I couldn't talk anymore. There was so much stuff spinning in my head, I couldn't sort it out and I hid from it. My head hurt so bad, but I could hear them. I could remember them – every word, every sight, every smell!

"It's been a month, sir. Project Zero is a failure. The chip is causing more damage than we thought, and it's not integrating properly. Recommend we terminate and delay the Project One.

Devereaux…that was his name!

He was the one who'd taken me, left me at that awful place with the other slaveboys. Left me, with no old women to bring me food. No food. Left me there, until…Uncle had come!

But I understood.

And when I understood, if I'd been able to feel my tummy, I'd have thrown up.

Devereaux had thought the self-destruct would leave me brain dead, and not able to tell anyone. He was going to take Mason, and kill the others. He thought the information would never get out.

But Sebbie knew. Mason knew. Cyborg knew. Raulito knew.

And that put them in danger.

I couldn't tell Uncle.

It would put him in danger.

It could harm him.

The Slavery Code wouldn't let me harm him.

I didn't want to harm him, though! I love Uncle!

In a flash, I knew it again. I'd recited parts of it.

There were three rules for slaves:

A slave may not injure a free person or, through inaction, allow a free person to come to harm.
A slave must obey the orders given to it by free beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A slave must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

I was a slave. I'd always been a slave. That's what even the old women and eunuchs had always called me. Even the tall black man, when he came sometimes – he always called me 'slave'. He called me 'Zero', too.

I was Zero, because I was the prototype.

But Uncle was free. Uncle was my Master now. I could NOT endanger Uncle. Not him, not the Doctor who helped me, not Master Mark, or any of them.

I'd disobeyed Uncle.

I was supposed to get to the basement with him and the others. But that would have let Sebbie come to harm. Sebbie was my friend. I love Sebbie. But Sebbie was a slave? If I didn't act, a slave would come to harm.

I broke all three slave rules.

Or did I?

It was too much, coming too fast.

"Sebbie, I don't like it in here!" I cried.

I could cry.

I cried a lot, I remembered. I remembered it all.

I was a clone. I was a copy of a real person. I wasn't a real person.

And now I was a computer program, intelligence without a body.

I REALLY wasn't a person now.

I cried.

I could see Uncle, and he was crying, too. I could see me … my body … strapped to a bed frame. I had my gear on. Uncle was telling me he loved me. He was hurt. He got hurt protecting me.

Protecting the Failure.

Sebbie was worried that I was going to fragment and crash.

Did a computer program lay down, or stop running, and just … die?

But they hadn't failed. The chip had worked. It had assimilated new data, interfaced with organic brain tissue, and used it for memory. I was getting smarter. I could interface with computers. I'd taken all their money from a Swiss bank account and hid it. I hid it so well, and when a computer came looking for it, I 'told' it the money wasn't here. And it would believe me!

Without all their money, those men couldn't do this again.

They couldn't make another boy like me and put a chip in his brain.

They couldn't bring Project One online.

And Uncle and Doctor Collins could not know of him.

It.

It?

Him.

It was a male body. It was a 'him'.

Once the chip has interfaced, and the time has come to unlock the protected memory archives, we can run the Zero Prototype for a while. Then we can download it into One, and erase Zero. One will assimilate Zero and all his knowledge, and you'll have the perfect cybernetic soldier, sir. No one will suspect children, and certainly not slave children. They can go anywhere, access any computer system, sir. And by the time they see the damage that's been done, it'll be too late! All these slave children, chipped, just waiting to come online and start the takeover from inside, sir!"

Their war, Kabila's war, would not be fought on a battlefield.

It would be fought on a "data-field".

Fought, and won, from inside.

They could not know.

It would harm them to tell them.

I could not tell them.

Praying.

The word came to me, when I accessed the camera that was watching my body. It was alive, but the chip was damaged. I found the path back, but it was blocked. I couldn't get back into my body.

I remembered part of me … running … when the doctor had scanned me. When his computers blew up. My chip had copied…me?

I was trapped.

Uncle was invoking the aid of a Deity. Prayer.

Uncle loved me.

But it was hurting him to see me like this. What would it do to him, if he knew that I was … online? Would he still love a disembodied intelligence without physical form?

I remembered that form. I remembered being held. I remembered being kissed cuddled. I remembered that thing that Uncle did to me, with the toy in my butt. I liked that. I liked that … sex … the word came to me. It was nice, knowing all the words now. Words were so hard before!

I liked it – I loved it – when they loved me back. I loved loving them.

I didn't know what to do.

If Uncle and them knew, they would be in danger of harm.

If they didn't know, and no one else knew, how many others would come to harm?

Harm through inaction.

I had to tell.

I couldn't tell.

They wanted me back.

Those men who made me, who hurt me, they knew I was gone and they wanted me back!

They would be coming for me.

In fact, they already had.

The old man with the taser. The man who'd come to Cory's house. A spy.

They knew, they'd found me, and they're reported that I was still alive.

And Devereaux.

He was going to sell me back.

They'd followed Devereaux back here. They knew.

They knew who told him about me. They knew who took me to him.

So did I.

I knew she was dead now. I just KNEW it. I loved her.

I understood it all. Nothing was hidden from me, now. Nothing was hidden in protected memory archives anymore.

Including the construction of my biochip implant.

No, they knew. They'd be coming for me. They'd stop at nothing to get me back, because they now knew that I was not a failure!

Inaction was not a choice. I could not go on being Uncle's slaveboy, even though the tattoos on me said so.

I wanted to, though.

I wanted nothing more than that. I was raised in slavery, even though no one did sex with me. They said I was a slave, I had to do as I was told, or I'd be punished. That's a slave. I think the old women loved me, and I loved them. I missed them. But being a slave here was even better. I had all I could want, and more.

I had Uncle.

And no one was going to take him away from me!

President Kabila might have the African Union, but he wasn't going to get Uncle!

I listened to Sebbie trying to make me feel better. But that was just it – I couldn't 'feel' anything! I could see and hear everything, sort of, but it was different.

I couldn't touch them.

Stunted or not, little or not, sterilized and mutilated or not, I wanted my body back! That dwarfed little body, which I now knew they'd created that way to see if they could control me. A little body that wouldn't be able to fight back much. A form no one would take seriously.

'One' would have a perfect body, I knew. It was all in my memory files.

They all would.

The army of 'me's' that they intended to create.

But Uncle loved ME.

He loved me for what I was, defects and all.

I would protect him.

I would be his slaveboy.

I WAS his slaveboy!

If Kabila wanted a war, then Kabila would get one!

***

I guess my mind, if you can call it that, was wandering. I was concentrating on Sebbie's tablet, like he said to do. All that mattered was the sensors in it. It wasn't like a real hug, but if I interpreted the data right, moved all my 1's and 0's around just right, it was sorta like that. Warm, gentle pressure.

I guess that's when the "0" screensaver came online.

Whoops!

Uncle was coming. Should I tell him? I wanted to talk to him so bad, to have him understand me, finally! To finally understand all that he was saying to me.

"Ohhhhh, Henry," Doctor Collins just sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Dye his hair black and call it artificial intelligence?" Uncle joked.

It was a joke! Just like I understood why Uncle called me 'baby', I understood the joke!

I never understood a joke before, all right?!

I laughed.

Doctor Collins and Uncle, I think, almost peed their trousers!

"What the hell is that?!" Uncle yelled over the noise.

Doctor Collins grabbed my tablet.

"Artificial intelligence!" I chortled. "I get it! I finally got a joke!" My voice switched to the tablet speakers. I hiccoughed, then said, "Hello, Master Collins!"

Daddy flinched and dropped it on Sebbie's tummy. The webcam LED was on.

"Hey, watch it now!" Sebbie yelped.

"Owwwww!" I gasped. OK, it didn't hurt, but it did? Sensor data? I didn't know for sure.

Uncle rolled on over and grabbed the tablet. He stared at the screen, and the 'Z' went off. The movie player launched, filling the screen with my face, glasses, collar, braids, and all. It was how I saw me in the mirror. They'd made me look nice.

I wanted him to see me.

"Uncle! Uncle! You're OK?!" I gasped.

"Z-Zach?" Uncle whispered to it, touching the screen. "Is…is that you?"

"More or less, sir," I answered.

"How can Zach be in there, sir, if he's in that room over there?" Henry asked.

"Never mind," Cory rolled his eyes. "Help me with Raulito!"

Gosh, I loved those boys! My friends, and they were OK! They were helping take care of us!

"Wh-what ARE you?!" Uncle asked me.

"I'm your slaveboy, Zachary Kabila Jameson, Uncle! I love you, Uncle! What?" He paused. "Uncle, I'm the data dump you've been studying."

"You…you're a copy of Zach's chip data?"

"No, sir," I answered, "I AM Zach! Every thought, every memory, every experience. Uncle, I'm sorry I threw up on the rug that second night. I never had candy before, sir!"

Well, I hadn't, OK? Who gives a kid a lollipop that big?

Uncle wept. He held the tablet to his chest, rocking it, like it was a real child. Like it was really me. "He crossed the line," Uncle sobbed. Doctor Collins sat down hard on the empty bed.

"Uncle, I love you!" I cried.

"OH, God, Zach! I love you, too!" Uncle told me. I could see him just sitting there, clutching Sebbie's tablet like his life depended on it.

"Sirs, we have to get him out of there," Sebbie spoke up. "We have to put him back in his own body!"

"How?" Peter said.

Peter.

The boy that Uncle had raised before he got me. I'd gotten Peter's room, all of his things he'd left. I'd thought he'd hate me, really. But he didn't. He'd been working to try and help me, too!

"The chip is badly damaged, Sebbie. The wireless component is gone, and it's not like we can plug a cable into it."

"Don, are you all right?" Doctor Collins cut in.

"No," Uncle sniffed, "But I will be! Right now, I just want to talk to my boy!"

"Uncle, I love you!" I repeated it to him, "But we've got a bigger problem than just me!"

"When did he start talking so well?" Doctor Collins asked.

"Since I accessed the linguistic database, sir," I answered him. "Before, I didn't understand much of what you all were saying, sir. I was raised with an extinct language of the Kore of Lamu, Maa. There were only like six old women who could speak it, the ones who helped raise me, and they'd have been killed if they'd spoken anything else to me, sirs."

"Zach, baby," Uncle said to the image of me on the tablet, "I think you need to tell us everything, if you can? We…I…I so badly need to know all about your life!"

And so I told him.

I told him about the place I'd lived, where they'd taken me to grow up after they'd made me. I was stunted, so they could be sure they could control me. I told them about how I was a clone, and cosmetically altered to look like an African/Persian mix. It was part of Kabila's plan. He wanted Persia, but that was just for starters!

But I'm getting ahead of myself!

I told them about being raised as a slave, taught all about … everything, really. I was engineered to be intelligent, like Sebbie. I learned a lot, but I could only communicate it to the old women and a couple of the eunuchs who cared for me. I told them all about growing up, and really, that was why I loved being with Sebbie and the boys: it was what I was used to. I was used to the structured time, training, and learning.

I was used to being a slave. I was made to be a slave – literally.

Then I told them all about the plans to use me as the prototype for a covert invasion force. I had to grow up, experience things, learn things, and see how well the chip worked and what it could do.

"But when it didn't integrate and work right fast enough, they decided to scrap you?" Doctor Collins asked.

"Correct, sir," I told him. "If I had worked right, they'd have downloaded me into One, and begun the infiltration."

"So you stole their money, so they couldn't proceed?" Master Mark cut in. "No wonder Africa is all over the news, and they've turned all their attentions to making money off of their harvest this season! Food prices are insane!"

"Are you saying there's another Zero out there, just like you?" Cory gasped, and I could see his Master holding him close. I'd done the right thing, me and Sebbie had. I knew that now. It had been right to bring Cory in with us as a slave. Master Mark would love him and care for him, just like Uncle did me.

"Not like me, sir," I told them. "One is a clone of Kabila, too. But he's built better. He looks like me, but he's not stunted. In fact, he's better than me!"

"Don't you SAY THAT!" Uncle snapped at me. "You're perfect, the way you are!"

"Marv called me a retarded midget, sir," I reminded him. "A funny looking one, too, sir."

"I love THAT kid!" Uncle repeated. "I love you, Zach! I loved you since that night I took you home with me! Don't you ever forget that!"

"I can't forget anything now, sir," I reminded him.

"Getting back to this One-Kid, though?" Doctor Collins spoke up.

"One was the clone to follow me, sirs. Once I was programmed and running right, they would download all of 'me' into him. They were to raise him with no mental stimulation at all. He wouldn't know anything, sirs. His mind would be a blank slate, kept that way through drugs and sensory deprivation. The chip they'd put into him would be like mine, or a newer model. He was going to be the V2 of me, sirs. Then he could be copied into more of 'me', of 'him', you know?"

"An army of empty-headed clones?!" Doctor Collins gasped. "Now you see why it's illegal to build the perfect baby?" He nodded at Sebbie.

"And they'd send these kids everywhere, as slaves?" Master Mark wondered, "All of them able to do to computers what you can do, Zach?"

"Yes, sir!"

"The damage they could do would be immeasurable," Uncle gasped. "Everything is electronic now! They could take control of…of…?"

"The whole nation, sir," I supplied. "And no one would know why. Cars would stop. Money would vanish. Shipping of food and drugs – stopped. Infrastructure, paralyzed. National defenses? Shut down, sirs! All one of them would have to do is walk by a computer terminal and think at it, sirs!"

"And it was to begin with the Persians?" Doctor Collins mused. "With their energy supplies, and Africa's food supplies? They could tweak your appearance just a touch, and send the clones in there, too?"

"The Persians love nothing more than to hurt Africans, sirs," I pointed out. "You don't wanna be an African slave in Persia!"

"God, why didn't I just get a cat?" Uncle joked, and I got that one, too!

"I suppose that explains the genital mutilations, too," Doctor Collins said, "The clones would need testosterone when they grew up, but they could not be allowed to feel sexual pleasure, nor to reproduce."

"Correct, sir," I agreed. "They'd also channel those urges and frustrations into fighting."

"They'd be some mean bastards," Master Mark agreed. "Horny all the time, and unable to satisfy it."

"I know I like sex," I popped off, since we were on the subject.

"I know, baby," Uncle whispered. "You didn't get much love as a child, did you?"

"No, sir. My friends, if you can call them that, were eunuchs. Really, they were training partners for fighting, social skills, that kind of thing. And the old women, well, no men were allowed to be there, in the picture of the place you've been seeing. Only Kabila and his men, and they were always dressed. I didn't even know what sex was, until we had that bath, Uncle, sir!"

"Sex is the least of our worries, though," Doctor Collins said, and that was funny, coming from him. I had to laugh.

"So what do we do, Seb?" Master Mark asked.

"Sirs, you need to hear the rest of it," I cut in. "I'm sorry, but Master Mark, you're a cop! You'll understand this! Devereaux smuggled me out when they were going to scrap me and start over. One of the old women had seen him, when he'd come to look at the eunuchs. She told him, sirs. She told him they were going to kill me, and she begged him to take me, sirs!"

"We were in Africa, sirs, and Zero was why," Mason spoke up. "All the while, I thought it was to try and get some nice African boys to sell or breed."

"Go on?" Uncle told him.

"I knew that Devereaux had been to the Clearing House, sirs," Mason went on. "I knew they sometimes scrapped boys to the pharmaceutical makers, or to the organ harvesters. Or worse, sirs. But I noticed something in Africa. They need field slaves, and a LOT of them! And a lot of them were white boys, sirs."

"That double-dealing bastard!" Master Mark slammed his fist on a bedside table. They all jumped.

"You wanted to know why I calmed down, when I came here, sirs?" Mason said. "It wasn't because I liked you all. It wasn't because I wanted to have fun with Sebbie and Henry and Jian. It was because that trip to Africa scared me, sirs!" He started to cry again. Master Mark went to him. "It…it was horrible!" He squeaked. "The things they do to those field slaves! They just work them until they…they…fall over dead!"

"Why don't they riot, or something, then?" Henry asked.

I saw that Master Cabot hadn't said anything. He must be late for work? But he hadn't gone in? What was up with that?

"I can guess," he finally offered. "Mason, did your Master threaten you with a lobotomy?"

Mason nodded.

Doctor Collins said some words I won't repeat here! Words I'd never heard, and couldn't find in the language databases, even! He was very creative.

"I…I watched," Mason choked. "M-Master made me watch. He took some white boys with us. I c-couldn't tell, sirs! I COULDN'T! Not until he died! He…he ordered me! He said he'd do it to ME TOO, if I told! He…he made me watch!"

"He made you watch a lobotomy?" Master Collins snorted. "Go get me his body, so I can revive him and kill him AGAIN!"

Mason nodded. He cried for a while, but then he was able to finish.

"They brought the kid in. He was like, I dunno, my age? He'd been cut, sirs. The field slaves are all castrated – everything! They strapped him down to a table, put a rubber thing in his mouth, and he couldn't move! They stuck long needles up over his eyes and under the lids, and hammered them in! He was screaming in his gag, and they moved it around! They did it to both sides, then he just got quiet, sirs."

"With enough practice, gentlemen, the procedure severs enough of the frontal lobes to make the victim docile and almost incapable of thinking. It was a very popular treatment in the mid-20th century, but not to such an excessive degree. Most victims could still function, somewhat. One even grew up to write a book about it. However, cut enough tissue…"

"And you get a non-militant, docile slave who only knows how to follow orders, and do what he's trained to?" Master Cabot snorted. "Gents, I hate to tell you this, but the State does this to some of their permanent slaves – the most difficult ones." He looked at Henry. "You don't know how close you came, boy. If you hadn't gotten sick…"

Henry sat down on the floor, shaking. Cory threw up in a trashcan.

"Them what makes problems, they get it again," Mason mumbled. "Sometimes, they don't get it right the first time, sirs. If a field slave can think, or talk back, they d-do it to him again!"

"The Clearing House supplying a covert trade in North Americans as slaves, to Africa," Master Mark cracked his knuckles. "And in turn, an inroad for Kabila to export his cybernetic child soldier-slaves here? A perfect plan, no?"

"Perfect, until something went wrong!" Uncle stated hotly, "Until I got hold of Zach!" He paused. "Hang on, they gave you a name? Why?"

"They didn't, Uncle. It just came to me, somehow. I know that's my name," I told them. "I was always 'Zero' to them, though."

No one said anything, and for me, that was a LONG time, even though the clock said it was like a minute.

"Our urbane old friend is still out there," Master Mark said. "We don't know who he is, where he is, or anything about him. All we know is that he must be a spy, doing recon on Zero. If you were to be scrapped, Zach, how did Devereaux get you out? How did he even KNOW about you?!"

"I told you, sir, one of the old ladies who raised me!" I reminded him. "She showed off some of the black eunuchs to him."

"She did, I saw those boys," Mason agreed. "No balls, no dick, no nothing, sirs!" He shivered. "All the servants there, those that wasn't girls, were eunuchs."

"It is a very old tradition," Master Collins agreed. "Rumors have been around since the late 20th century that it was still in practice – slaves, houseboys to rich families, guardians of certain Islamic holy sites such as the tomb of their prophet."

"Zach, I don't understand? Why didn't you recognize Devereaux when you first saw him here?" Uncle asked me.

"I…I'm not sure, sir?" And I really wasn't. I didn't forget things. The chip never forgot. "Or maybe it forgot him on purpose?"

"Maybe you blocked him out, son," Uncle sighed.

"Wish I could, sir," Mason sighed.

I felt so bad for Mason. Then I realized it!

"UNCLE! Mason is your slave now, sir! You were the last Master to be in charge of him, when Devereaux left you and came for us in the storm! You were in charge of Mason, so you get him now! I know where all his money, is too, sir!"

"Move it, hide it," Master Collins told me. "NOW!"

I did that. It was easy. I lied to the banking computer, and that was that.

"What was he worth, Z?" Mason asked.

"530,268,467.22CR," I said.

"Wow," was all anyone said.

I said 'wow' too. It was too easy. If I looked, I could see everyone's money in the banks. I could see the computers that ran their cameras, doors, locks, everything. Out in the streets, there were traffic lights. There were cameras. I could see it all.

Everything.

But I couldn't feel it.

Not really.

"Zach, I want you to access Mason's slave records," Uncle told me.

"You want me to sign him over to you, sir?"

"No. I want you to emancipate him. List him as freed upon death of his Master, no debts, by order of his default Master. Me."

"Don?" Master Collins asked. "Are you sure that's wise? What'll he do? What will you do?"

Uncle looked at Peter. "I'll raise him as a free boy, just like I did Peter. Then, he can do what he wants to do, once he's out of college! Not like we can't afford it!" He laughed.

"Done!" I told them, and I was done. It had been easy.

Mason was free.

"Collins, I want the best dermal reconstruction you can get him," Uncle told the doctor. "I want those tattoos off of him, and him out of that gear and out of restraints. We'll see about the chastity device, depending on his grades when he enrolls in school!"

Mason didn't know what to do. Even though he was healed up pretty good and having a little physical therapy by now, he didn't move. He didn't react.

Then he spoke up.

"You…you w-want me, sir?" He gasped. "You want ME to come live with you and Zach?"

"I want you to have your life back, son," Uncle told him. "What that monster did to you was wrong!"

"I want your stepfather's address, too," Master Mark spoke up.

I got it for him, and tracked the guy down. The police computers were very friendly. I was glad I wasn't that guy!

"What are you going to do, Mark?" Master Collins asked.

"Oh, just a little police brutality," he shrugged, smiling.

I liked that idea. I guess Mason did to. He finally cried again. Uncle hugged him. All the boys nodded or bowed to him.

"Do we have to call him 'Master Mason' now?" Henry asked.

"NO!" Mason snapped at him. "My name was Mason Lee Hendrich, and I want it back, sirs! Just 'Mason' is fine!"

Henry.

I looked up his record. Master Cabot owed a lot of money on him. I paid it with Devereaux's money.

"Henry Jordan Cabot is now eligible for emancipation," I let the real computer voice tell them. It printed out the records for him and Mason.

"Wait, Zach, how can you…?" Master Cabot started to ask.

"It's all run by computer, sir. You see the danger of Kabila's plans now? All I have to do is lie to it, and it'll do what I say, sir. I AM a computer now, sirs. Those dumb programs don't stand a chance against me!"

"Because they cannot THINK!" Master Collins snapped his fingers. I missed my fingers.

"Yeah, but what the hell do we do about this?" Master Mark gasped. "It's bad enough that we have a rogue spy out there somewhere that knows about Zach! If the government gets wind of this, they'll come for him, too! So long as he's alive, Seb, Don, Zach will never get any peace! They won't allow him to live a normal life! They may not even allow him to live at all!"

"A weapon so dangerous that both sides must agree to its destruction," Uncle sighed.

"I have to agree, guys," Peter added, "This chip of his is…was…the apex of biochip engineering. And if they have plans for more? What if they already have more, just ready to use? Do we know for sure that this 'One' isn't already in storage somewhere? Can we be sure there aren't a bunch of fish tanks somewhere, full of Kabila clones ready to emerge? I mean, my employer knows about Zach, too, now. Maybe a tactical error on my part, Uncle, but I only wanted to help him!"

"We can find our spy, and show him what's left of Zero," Doctor Collins mused. "He can take word back to Kabila that Zero is brain dead, or beyond repair. Our ghost in the machine here can give him false readings. He won't know that our boy downloaded himself, I'm sure. Devereaux never got to report back to him. And with the city still being such a mess that Paul can't even land here yet, there's no way our spy could have left town. The same for your boss, Peter. We can convince him easily enough that Zach died."

"But how do we find him?" Cabot wondered, holding Henry close and apparently still pondering the idea of being free of the monetary burden.

"Bait," Sebbie spoke up.

They all looked at him.

"I can walk, sirs," Sebbie explained. "It's been a month, all I need is a sling for my arm. Gear me up, send me out. All I have to do is go to the market, and he's sure to show up!"

"Don't kill him," Master Collins reminded him. "Could it be you just want to go out and look around at the damage, and get that catheter out, son?" He grinned.

"Yes, sir," Sebbie admitted.

"I'll go as backup," Master Mark added. "Get me a disguise, follow the kid. Then I'll bust him, rough him up, and bring him back here."

"I can put Zach's body on full life support, make it look good," Master Collins agreed.

"Well, you don't have to fake the chip damage. I still don't understand how it grows, though – or how to get it to grow again," Peter said.

"I know how to make a new one, sir," I told him.

"Zach, you call me 'Peter', OK, little brother?" Peter ordered me.

"Yes, sir," I agreed. 'Brother'. I liked that word. He was looking at Mason, too. "So, you think your gay gene might be a bit bi?" He laughed at the newly freed boy. Mason's face got really red.

"Yes, sir…Peter?" Mason offered. Peter smiled at him.

"Your family is growing, Don," Doctor Collins congratulated Uncle.

About then, it finally hit Henry.

"Daddy! Don't free me! Don't send me away, Daddy! Please keep me!" He started to cry. "I don't wanna be free out there like I was!"

"But Henry, you wouldn't have to wear this stuff anymore," Cabot told him, touching his collar. "You can have hormones, grow up normally, be a real man someday, Henry! Don't you want that, boy?"

"NO! I want you!" Henry sobbed, clinging to him for dear life. "Don't make me go! Don't make me leave me friends, Daddy!" He was getting hysterical.

"I never…never thought to hear those words," Cabot admitted, holding his boy close. "But Henry, you could be free?"

"But I'm SAFE here!" Henry cried, "DON'T YOU SEE, MASTER?! I'M SAFE WITH YOU HERE!" He just broke down. Doctor Collins gave him a shot and put him in a bed.

"Viktor, have you considered who'll take care of Henry if anything happens to you?" Doctor Collins asked him. "We always assumed we'd keep him in the family, since you don't think he'll ever be able to take care of himself."

Cabot looked at me. I nodded to him. He nodded back. "Henry isn't developing, mentally, is he, Vik?" I asked.

Cabot shook his head.

"The best things you can do for him now, Vik, besides love and care for him, are getting the weight off of him, for one. Let him grow his hair out if he likes. Let him do some things of his own liking. Let him try to think for himself a bit. Don't free him if he doesn't want it, Vik. By all means, keep him! But keep him healthy and happy, and let him enjoy his lot in life now! I don't think it would take much."

"Vik," Master Mark spoke up, "If you ever need us, Cory and I would be happy to take Henry in."

"And you know he always has a home here," Doctor Collins agreed. "You know that the family would never turn any of our boys out into the cold."

"I should make it legal," Master Cabot sighed, "But to be honest, I've always…been a bit…"

"Uncomfortable around us?" Master Mark helped him out.

Master Cabot nodded. "Henry tries so hard," he looked lovingly at the sleeping boy, "He really, really does! But the sickness, well, as I said, I don't think he'll ever develop mentally enough to be able to function independently. He'll always need a Master to take care of him."

"Then I'll take care of him, when you lot cannot, Masters," Sebbie spoke up. "Henry was my first friend, sirs. I took care of him once, and I still do. I love him, and I won't let him go back into the system."

That was all I needed to hear. I got a hold of my friend, the computer at the Bureau of Slave Management, and had a chat with it. When I was done, Master Mark had been named Henry's secondary Master. Master Collins his third, and long term future arrangements would automatically fall to Sebbie when he turned 21 if need be. I also noticed that in Sebbie's dossier, it indicated that he would be freed when he graduated college – the very day the registry of his degree hit the computer system.

"Why don't you just take over the world while you're at it, Zach?" Uncle laughed.

"You want me to, sir?" I asked. I missed that joke. After all, I was still obsessing over Kabila's plans.

"NO!" They all snapped. Then I got it.

***

Uncle spent the rest of the day in my room, moving my body around on the frame. He was taking good care of it, of me, I could see. It helped him a lot to talk to me through the speaker system as he gave me my sponge bath. I only wished I could feel it.

It was Cyborg who had the answer to that problem.

He came hobbling in on crutches, as his robotic foot had not yet been replaced. He had a cord of some kind in his teeth.

"I have an idea, Master," he offered, taking a seat as he plugged the cord into the diagnostic jack of his robotic hand. He plugged the other end into Uncle's laptop. I accessed it at once.

His pinky finger was a few microns out of alignment. I fixed it.

But it was the tactile sensors that got my attention. I knew what he was thinking: Cyborg's hand could FEEL things! Somehow, those sensors sent signals into his organic nerves for his brain to interpret.

"Zach, can you access my hand?" He asked.

"I already have, buddy," I told him. I tried it. His hand moved, making a fist. Cyborg's eyes went wide.

"I didn't do that, sir!" He squeaked. "It was Zach!"

Slowly, Uncle took the boy's hand.

And I felt it! It took a few minor adjustments, but what was coming in wasn't just 1's and 0's! I could feel Uncle's hand on his.

The little boy had the patience of a saint. He sat there for hours, quietly, just letting Uncle hold his hand while I controlled it. I touched Uncle's face. He held 'my' hand. He kissed it. And I felt it.

It was all we could do.

But it was enough.

"Am I interrupting?" Peter asked from the door. Uncle explained it to him.

"I don't get it, Uncle? If Zach is a 'ghost in the machine', how can he feel that? He doesn't have any organic brain connecting to it?"

"Could it be the chip?" Uncle asked. "Has it regenerated?"

"Not enough," Peter sighed. "Too much of it is damaged, I think."

"We'll have to manually repair it, sirs," I told them.

They froze.

"Zach, that would mean opening up your head!" Uncle protested.

"No, sir. Just a very small trepanation. The rest can be done with precision surgical robotic tools. The problem is, where are going to find the gold, platinum, and iridium 193 that we'll need?" I asked.

"Where did the Africans get enough to make all those chips they'll need?" Peter asked.

"A meteorite," I told him, "That's where you find most of it."

"And just what do we do with it, once we have it?" Peter asked.

"Coat the chip's damaged areas with it," I told him. "The firmware will do the rest. It should reestablish the connection to the existing fibers already undamaged in my brain. Once the loop closes, the chip should reboot, and I should be able to download back into me."

"And just how is it going to rebuild?" Peter asked. "I don't understand?"

"The chip has an emergency payload of bio-synthetic agents that cause growth," I told him. "It's based on the chemical makeup of some really aggressive mushroom mycelia, sirs."

"Your chip is made of mushrooms?!" Uncle snorted.

"No, just the growth chemicals, sir. That's what gets stuck to the metals, and when it grows, like a mushroom mycelia, it takes the metals with it. The mycelia infiltrates brain tissue, and the metal is the conductor. That's why we need the iridium – it's so dense, and so strong. After a while, the mushroom tissue dies out after it spreads the metals. But…"

"But what?!"

"If the wireless transceiver is ruined," I sighed, "Then Doctor Collins will have to open my head up for direct access to the chip, sirs. Peter or Uncle will have to get a new microtransmitter, and install it manually."

"How long will it take this mushroom root to connect?" Peter asked.

"A couple of days."

"Eternity," Uncle sighed.

"I can guide the surgical robots, Uncle," I reminded him. "I know this chip now! It contains all the directions to repair it, or build a new one. If it comes to that, I know that Master Collins can get it into me, once you and Peter build it, Uncle."

"Your faith in me is touching, Zachary," Doctor Collins spoke up, peeking in. "Sorry to intrude, but Mark and Sebbie are back with our friend! You missed lunch, I'm afraid."

"You think it'll work, sirs?" Cyborg asked. You had to love that kid. He'd just patiently sat there and smiled the whole time.

When they'd all left, Doctor Collins stayed with Uncle.

"Zachary, I want you to disconnect audio from this room. I want to speak to your Uncle in private, boy. That's an order."

"Yes, sir!" I snapped, and I didn't even consider it. I shut off the microphone to that room and sort of 'left'.

***

I wouldn't find out for a long time that Doctor Collins was terrified of what I'd asked him to do.

***

Our guest, if you could call him that, was being held by Master Mark and Cory in the living room of the Collins suites. He wasn't very happy, either. His face looked like he'd gone a round with a transport truck – and lost.

"What is the meaning of this abduction, Collins?" He snapped, holding a bag of ice to his jaw. He pointed at Sebbie. "There are laws against what this little monster did to me! I'll sue! I'll have him turned into cat food!"

"You tried to grab me, AGAIN!" Sebbie snapped at him.

"Down, boy!" Master Collins told him.

Then it must have come to him. "You sent him out as bait! Verrrrry good!" He almost purred. "And I fell for it. Point to you, Collins!"

"You know bloody well why you're here," Master Collins told him.

"I assume it's about that retarded black midget that Jameson over there stole from us?" The old man mused.

"If you ever speak of Zero that way again, I'll turn Sebbie loose on you, unrestricted," Uncle warned him. THAT got his attention! I noticed that he used my old name. Well, my real name, I guess. My designation. 0.

"That's what we'd like to discuss," Master Mark smiled at him, so sweet it was sickening. "DO tell us all about Zero, and the man who sold him to you! We'd LOVE to hear about HIM!"

"Something tells me that you already know about Devereaux," the old man snapped, "Where is he?"

"You don't know?" Uncle gasped.

"Dead," Master Mark supplied. "The boys killed him."

Everyone but Raulito was there, sitting all around, glaring at the old man.

"It seems," Uncle cut in, "That Devereaux wanted to abscond with my boy, and Mason. Seems he had this penchant for Africa? Do you fancy Africa, Mr., ahhhhh?"

"I go by Scott, Terrence Scott, which you'll know isn't my real name. Let's get to it, gentlemen, boys," he sneered. "Where is the weapon?"

"You mean Zero?" Master Collins asked.

"The stunted little terrorist being, yes, that one!" Scott snapped. "You people have no idea how dangerous he is!"

"You mean the Kabila clone, right?" Master Mark got to it. "The one with the biochip in his head? The one that allows him to interface with computers, and process data at the speed of human thought?"

Scott went very pale.

"Is he…did he…go online?" The old man whispered.

"I don't know, but he gives one hell of a blow job," Uncle joked. Well, I do, OK? And I like it! "Or rather, he did. You see, Scott, Zero was seriously injured in the attack by Devereaux. The bastard tried to use the failsafe device and blow his chip."

"Did it work?" Scott asked hungrily. "So he knew how to use his gift?"

"GIFT?!" Uncle snapped at him. "The boy was like a stroke victim! You people mutilated him, in an experiment that failed! His gift was math, and that was IT!" Uncle lied smoothly.

"WE didn't do that to him! To IT!" Scott protested. "Can't you fools see that I'm one of the good guys?! I work for His Majesty of the European Union! Our spies got wind of this African plot to infiltrate us all with chipped slave children that were walking supercomputers! We had an operative in the Kabila family as a servant woman for nearly twenty years, and another for five as a goddamn eunuch slaveboy! You know how hard it is to find a black male with achondroplasia?"

"Very hard," Master Collins had to agree. "It would make even a young adult seem to be a child, naturally. How did you convince him to have his genitals removed, though?"

"He was led to believe we could transplant later, when the mission was over," Scott snorted. "You wouldn't believe the intrigues that a black eunuch can get into over there!"

"Barbaric, old boy," Master Collins waved him off. "And let's drop the act, Herbert. I know who you are now. I've had dealings with some members of the Royals in my travels. I once lanced a boil for the young Prince when I was…"

"YOU!" Scott snapped, his eyes wide.

"Me," Master Collins grinned. "I thought I knew that face, and I did some digging. Called up some very old friends, and here we are!" He turned to the rest of the family. "He's telling the truth, people. He isn't with the Kabilas. Apparently, his spies did their jobs well, although I'd assume your lady friend is dead by now?"

"She gave her life to get that little abomination out of country with Devereaux," Scott, or Herbert replied. I did a fast search. I hit firewalls at once, and finally got through them. He was one Herbert Scott, MI6, and he was legitimate. Damn, if I'd had my body, I'd have been tired! Those people are so paranoid!

Still, I was sad. I thought that she'd loved me. I know I'd loved her.

"She got too attached, though," Herbert went on, and I perked up. "She loved that boy, as if he were a real boy! Can you believe that? Loving a clone? A monster like that?"

"I can believe it!" Uncle snapped.

"You just wanted a fuckboy," Herbert waved him off, and without warning or order, Sebbie jumped up and snarled at him. Master Collins put his hands on his shoulders and kissed his hair. "You lot are sick!" Herbert added.

"Be that as it may, Herbie," Master Collins chided him, "I'm afraid the King is too late! You see, Devereaux's attack left Zero nearly brain dead. His chip is ruined, as young Peter can attest to. There is some brain activity, but I doubt that the boy will ever awaken from the coma. Would you like to see him?"

That was my queue. I set up the fake readouts for Herbert and waited. They led him down to my room, where my body was waiting. The EEG's all read flatlines, and it looked as if I were on life support.

"You're sure?" Herbert said, as he looked me over.

"You have my Royal word," Master Collins told him. "You see, it was old Harry who…"

"Oh, sod off with it!" Herbert countered. "Well, I suppose that's that, then!" He smiled. "Mission accomplished! Seems that all that money we sunk into Devereaux's little side venture wasn't a waste after all! It got this thing out of our way!"

"You may go now, and make your report to your superiors," Uncle snarled at him. "But mark my words, Herbert, or whoever the fuck you are! If I EVER see you again, if you ever come near me or Cory again, I will turn these boys loose on you!"

"Cory? Oh, yes! The neighbor boy! Sorry, old man, but he was just a bonus. You know how these hit men are. Always trying to lift something!" Herbert explained. "Cory might have been a witness, known too much, and well…"

"He might have ended up with a lobotomy, picking tomatoes in Africa?" Uncle cut him off.

"We all have to eat," Herbert shrugged. "Someone has to do it."

And Uncle punched him. Hard. In the balls. When he went down, Uncle uppercut him. When he came back up, he slammed the back of his neck with his good arm and put him down.

"I paid attention at your karate classes, Pete," he smiled. "God, I enjoyed that!"

"Don, my friend, you have just assaulted a Royal National on His Majesty's secret service," Master Collins sighed. "However do I explain this?"

Just what kind of convoluted past did Master Collins have?!

"Right then! The Royals will believe that Zero, Zach, is brain dead and no longer a threat. We'll supply sworn records, of which I will falsify, of course! We know that Cory was just a bonus, per say?"

"I'll tend to our other friend," Master Mark grinned.

"Word will travel fast in his circles, I take it?" Uncle nudged Herbert with his boot.

"Oh yes!" Master Collins agreed. "Now, let's see – Dev's dead, Henry is to be cared for, Mason is free, Cory's still a happy slave, Sebbie's all right, the boys are on the mend and up and about, Herbert's happy, and so will be the King. Our other fellow is soon to be dispatched, Zach's in the computers, and we'll all live happily ever after?"

"Ah, NO!" Uncle snorted. "You forgot one small thing?"

"Brain surgery?" Peter reminded him.

"Oh, bloody hell," Master Collins sighed.

Chapter 26
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Doctor Collins calls in reinforcements for Zach's brain surgery. The boys are recovering, and Sebbie's in for a surprise!

Doctor Collins' POV

Brain surgery. Good God, I was going to have to open up that poor little boy's head and tinker with the most mysterious organ in the body! What did I know about brain surgery? Plenty. It wasn't like I hadn't assisted with aneurysms or tumor surgeries before. But to guide a surgical robot with endoscopic equipment into a child's brain to repair an unknown bit of implanted technology?

I was out of my league.

I knew that I would, going solo, cause far more damage than I would heal.

And I would not do that.

I would do no harm.

I suppose that many would say that I do cause harm. However, 'harm' is a very subjective term. Is it harmful to put a boy, free or slave, into forced chastity if it benefits him in the long run? I think not. Some may think so. The boys probably all think so, but I've got plenty of testimony from such boys and their parents to the contrary. When sexual activities are removed from their equations, the whole outcome changes. The star athlete who cannot waste his energy on sex channels it into his sport. The academic who cannot spend his time masturbating spends his time studying. And even the average student, deprived of access to his genitals, improves vastly.

There's a huge difference between that and practical jokes, or teaching someone a lesson as well. You'll recall the slaveboy with the urethral stent to make him incontinent? Both Master and boy thought that would be so very cool. I used a stent that would fall out in six months, recall? But they thought it was the real thing. Anyone who has ever had a baby will appreciate how annoying those constantly wet diapers [nappies] can be! It was to be a lesson learned, but if it turns out to be just what they actually wanted, then so be it. That's rare, though.

I've also done something similar with Masters and slaves with a castration fantasy. You wouldn't believe how many of them think that cutting off a male's testicles is such a hot thing to do! Well, it is hot, when the hot flashes from testosterone deprivation set in, in a post-pubescent male. And that's just one side effect. In such cases, I have tucked their testicles, done a long-term nerve block, and filled them full of anti-androgens. Chemical castration. They both believe the slave castrated. Then the fun starts. As I said, a male in advanced or past puberty will have some serious side effects. Nine times out of ten, I get a call telling me how the slave has become a depressed, lazy, nearly useless person. Many times, they compare them to a neutered pet.

As for prepubescent castration? All you have to do there is take a long, hard look at Henry. That's why I won't do it unless medically indicated. Chronic pain that can't otherwise be treated? Fine. Cancer? Most definitely. Trauma? Sometimes you just can't fix things. But castration for fun and games? No. Absolutely not.

A bit of medical trickery here and there, fully reversible, can teach a harsh lesson.

But brain surgery?

I shivered at the thought. Some of the ancients believed that trepanation (the art of making a hole in the skull) led to some kind of enlightenment. Again, if you've ever cared for a baby, you know all about the 'soft spot', where you can see the brain pulsating in the area of the unsealed skull bones. It's a danger. The skull closes to protect the brain. It's sealed; you shouldn't open it up again unless you just have to! One should not tinker with the brain.

Then again, there are gray areas. I have, in the past, been contracted by the State to perform lobotomies on permanent State slaves that are a problem. Thoraz-23 costs money every month; a lobotomy is forever. Yes, I've even had a few Masters ask me to lobotomize their slaves for fun, thinking it would make them more docile and fun to play with. News flash – one wrong move, and you end up with a vegetable. Go to the market and fuck a melon, why don't you? Save us the both the time. However, in the case of the more violent State slaves, I look at it this way – to alter the brain but keep the whole being alive is better than sending them off to the cat food makers. At least the slave in question is still alive.

I do not perform elective harm.

How's that?

Right then, I'm justifying. Where was I? My old Master would have said, "Out with it, boy! Don't dawdle around and lollygag all day!"

All right, as I said, I was out of my league.

I could install a biochip, of course. But I couldn't build one. I didn't know how they worked. Just because I can drive an auto doesn't mean I can build one from a pile of parts!

Such was the case with the repair of Cyborg's lower leg. You place the chip, add the culture of neuro-stimulant paste, and close the wound. This leaves the contacts exposed, along with the titanium bone mounts, and you attach the prosthetic once the wound is fully healed over. But don't ask me how that chip can convert the prosthetic's output into neural input that the brain can read, and vice versa.

I don't know why the car goes forward when you move the gearshift to "D".

I thought about this as the boys recovered. This was one reason that I so loved advancing medical technology. When I was little, a broken bone meant up to eight weeks in a heavy, smelly, plaster cast. Now it was four, with bone stimulators and open-air braces. For just the average hairline crack, maybe only two weeks. We'd come so far.

But the nagging doubt that plagues us all, or at least – should – is this: just because we CAN do a thing, does that mean that we SHOULD do said thing?

No.

What kind of monster came up with the idea of putting some kind of mad new chip into a child's brain?! What kind of lunatic makes clones of himself to serve as cybernetic child soldiers? Why create a life, if that life is to be nothing more than a mindless drone?

On a side note, I have no problem with human cloning. So long as the DNA replicates properly, what's the issue? Either way, sperm/egg or clone tank, and you get a new baby. Then again, one wrong move – a drop of this or that in the wrong place – and you get a monster.

From what Zach had told us, the Africans planned to create a whole army of monsters. And wasn't he, technically, a mistake? A monster?

Was a designer baby a monster, too, then?

Again, subjective.

Don loved that boy just as much as I loved Sebbie, it was clear. And I have to admit, once we cleaned Zach up and did something with his hair, he was cute. But he was a living, breathing human being. Make no mistake. He was also a victim. He didn't ask to be created, but he was the one who had to live with what they'd done to him. I suppose there are worse things in life than just being short, though.

Having an experimental mind control chip shot into your brain was one of them!

Having an unqualified surgeon attempt to repair it was another.

There – I've admitted it.

Opening an access path to Zach's chip was the easy part. Make an incision, drill a small hole, keep it clean, and send the endoscopic device in through already-dead or damaged tissue. That, we had mapped out. There was already a clean path of dead brain tissue leading to the chip. The tissue around it was dead as well. Theoretically, we could have removed it, had the pathway been wide enough. Then it would have been a simple matter of repair, replace, seal the bone, seal the skin, apply healing gel, and wait.

But it wasn't wide enough.

To remove the chip, which had lost connection with its network of fibers throughout his brain, would have torn out more live, active tissues.

It would cause further harm.

I would not do that.

Hence the need for a cranial endoscopic surgical robot.

And I didn't have one.

But I knew where I could get one.

A ghost in the machine. My machines, at that. Somewhere in the ether, a virtual reality of 1's and 0's in constant flux, the consciousness of a child lay waiting to be reunited with his body. THAT in and of itself was fantastic, and totally unbelievable. At the beginning of the 21st century, there had been talk of a "Soul Catcher Chip": a computer chip that would record all of the experiences of a human, store it, and later be able to download it into another person who had an identical chip.

Back then, it had been science fiction. As far as I was concerned, it still was.

But yet there we were.

I had worked with Peter very closely in those following days. As I understood the design of the chip, it was a framework of gold, platinum, and iridium. There was a near perfect quartz crystal mounted on it, and the chip had carried a payload of a very aggressive strain of an armillaria mushroom mycelia. Once the chip was installed, the mycelia released, it would spread and take with it the very fine powdered metals. The metals would adhere to the mycelia, and just as a patch of mushrooms sprouted off of dead wood, the mycelia would spread and make further inroads of conductive metal fibers into the brain. As for the firmware of the chip, which was enormous, Peter said, that was his department. I don't write computer code. All I understood of the chip was how it used the typical biochip implant procedure to communicate with organic tissues.

God, installed in a live human brain, the possibilities were…well, Zachary!

Zero.

The ghost in the machine.

The phrase haunted me, and I've been called a very cynical man – and worse. I know that Don would just as soon punch me as look at me, and with what he did to Herbert Scott, I don't relish that possibility. However, I do not often dwell upon the metaphysical or spiritual. I wasn't raised that way, but you probably already know that story! No, I was a doctor who existed in the here and now. I was a man who dealt in live flesh, and how to keep that flesh running for as long as possible.

I would do no harm.

I was a dealer of life, not death.

More and more, my thoughts drifted back to Jian – Mark's first slaveboy. Despite all my skills, despite all our medical advances, I had been unable to save him. All I had been able to do, in retrospect, was prolong his suffering. Faced with the problem of Zachary, who was 'alive' and well in virtual form, I began to hear Jian's last desperate plea in my mind: "Daddy, please, just let me go!"

What if Don were about to have to face that same thing?

What if we had to let Zachary go? He's already told Sebbie, who had confided in me, that he didn't like being Digital-Zach. He was frightened, and worst of all, he couldn't touch anyone. He couldn't be touched. For a boy like him, that was Hell.

Professional detachment aside, I didn't know if I could face it. I'd grown fond of that little boy, with that sweet little way of telling me "no".

Zach was in Hell, and it was up to me to redeem him.

On a side note, given what had happened with Zach and the exposure of Devereaux's involvement with the local Clearing House, things had changed radically there. Once Herbert Scott had filed his report with the Europeans, their government had been grateful enough to further investigate the matter. They'd even foregone coming after Don for thrashing our wannabe-007! In short, with a little help from Paul, the budding smuggling ring of local surplus slaveboys had been uncovered and destroyed. The staff of the Clearing House was looking at some serious prison time, and getting a taste of their own medicine. It was decided that there existed there a huge problem, and one in need of immediate administrative attention. There was no one better suited to the job than Viktor Cabot, who was more than happy to take over those duties.

It was small comfort, but at least there would be no more Jians.

Revenge might have been a dish best served cold, and Mark was more than happy to bring it to their table. The last I'd heard, the Clearing House staff was looking at 20 years of enslavement, probably road crew work.

"Sebastian, old boy, what are you about to do?" I asked myself, as I picked up the phone to make a call that I'd never thought I'd make.

"Sebastian, you old scoundrel!" A woman's voice answered. (Bloody caller ID!) "To what do I owe the distinct displeasure?"

"Hello, Marlene, I've missed you, too!" I replied.

She laughed. "What happened, Seb? Did you break your toy and need me to build you a new one?"

What can I say? When you need a good doctor who knows all about the genetics of creating tissue cultures, and has access to the hardware you need, you put your personal issues aside and make the call.

"You don't hear me insulting our daughter, do you, you sanctimonious bitch?" I retorted.

"Well, why else would you be contacting me, unless there was something wrong with our son, you old pervert?" She replied. "Can't be that he's falling apart, because Sabrina is fine."

You guessed it – I was going to have to bring in Sebbie's mother to help with Zach.

"It's nothing to do with Sebbie," I told her. "And I'm glad to hear that the girl's doing well."

"You never even asked for a photo, Seb," she reminded me.

"You never asked for one of Sebbie, either."

Somehow, that made me very melancholy. I always assumed that Sabrina looked a lot like Sebbie, on the rare occasion that I thought of her. Sebbie had never even met her.

"Touché! Then again, that was the arrangement – I give us a set of twins, and we go our separate ways. So why are you breaking it now?" She paused. "OH NO! No way in hell am I helping you make a little brother for him! Can't you go out and buy a used one, or clone him?"

"One of him is quite enough, Marlie," I replied.

"Don't call me 'Marlie'," She snapped. "Get to it, Sebastian! I'm a very busy woman!"

"Marlene, I need your expertise. Badly. I have a patient here."

She laughed again. It was nauseating. "Something that the great Doctor Collins can't fix?"

"Something that he's afraid to try and fix," I confessed. "I have a child with a serious brain injury. Can you come?"

"What's in it for me?" She retorted. Same old Marlene…

"Money," I appealed to her most sensitive spot. "The boy was injured in the recent storm, and his father has plenty of money and goods. They're residents of the building here, and the man will do anything to save the child."

Well, it was mostly true…

"Oh yes! I heard your skyscraper got a bit of a circumcision!" She chortled.

"Fourteen floors is hardly a skyscraper," I replied. "Will you come?"

"How much are we talking about?"

"How much do you want?"

"One of those deals, huh?" She thought about it. "I assume I'll need to bring some hardware?"

"I'm a GP, not a brain surgeon," I reminded her.

"I can be there, let me see," she tapped it out to book a flight, "In about a week?"

"We don't have a week. I'll send a private jet."

There was silence. "Sebastian, how much money are you making in that elicit business of yours as doctor to the slaves?"

"A lot. WILL you do it, Marlene?"

"I'll have to bring Sabrina, I can't just dump her on the sitter with no notice."

I was afraid of that.

"I'll prepare a suite on the residence floors," I assured her. "Nothing palatial, but it'll do."

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to meet her twin brother," Marlene said. "Tomorrow?"

"Pack light, DEAR. And I'd rather she not."

"Sebastian, I gave up a child that I carried for nine months. You have no idea what's that like, and while it pains me to do it, I regret that now. We will be meeting Sebbie. You owe me that!"

"Fine!" I closed the call, then I contacted Paul.

Now all I had to do was tell Sebbie.

***

"She's coming here?! My MOTHER is coming here?!" Sebbie squeaked. He was the picture of panic, standing there in his work gear and a big-boy diaper printed in blue rockets and stars. He always did have problems with control after a long run with a catheter, you see. I was sure he'd just wet himself.

"She's bringing your twin sister, too," I added. By now, I was really sure.

I suppose I could have snapped at him, or swatted his bare arse, but it was more fun to watch his reaction. I've seen caged wild animals who were calmer. He started to pace. He ran his hands through his hair. He mumbled to himself. It was as if I'd left the room. When he started biting a fingernail, I put a stop to it.

"SEBASTIAN!" I finally swatted his arse.

"Sir?!" He snapped to, but his eyes were still wide and he was trembling.

"Sebbie, does this frighten you, boy?" I had to ask.

"Daddy! She's a GIRL! She's a free girl, and SHE…she's my mother, sir!" Sebbie gasped. "What do I do? What do I say? Does she know about…US?! Does she know I'm a slaveboy? What'll she think? What if she hates me? What if…"

I had to intervene before he had a panic attack. I'd had no idea he'd react so, and I was more concerned than anything else.

"Sebastian Xavier Collins II you will calm yourself at one. When your mother and sister arrive tomorrow, you will escort them to their suite. You will dress formally, and you will follow the proper slaveboy protocols during any and all time that you spend with them. You will address your mother as 'Mistress', and also your sister. You are a slave, they are not. You are the perfect slaveboy, Sebbie, and you will act as such. Whether or not they approve of you is of no consequence. Your mother is coming to help Zach, and that is all that matters. Violation of protocol will result in serious punishment. Understand?"

"Yes, SIR!" He snapped. Then he thought about it some more. "Daddy?"

"Yes, son?"

"What if she does like me, sir?"

"Let's hope not," I grumbled in reply. "The last thing I want is that woman underfoot here for any longer than she needs to be. Also, have the other boys keep to their own floor. We don't need the lot of them underfoot while they're here. Besides, with your going back to school and physical therapy, you'll all have plenty to do. You'll hardly know they're here, son."

"OK, Daddy," he conceded, and I figured that we'd be all right.

"Daddy?" He added.

"Yes, son?"

"Is it OK if she likes me?"

"Just trust me, Sebbie," I sighed.

What I hadn't counted on was that demon-bitch from hell of a sister of his…

***

As I'd mentioned before, Marlene was a lesbian with tastes only somewhat similar to mine. She could actually 'go both ways' if she chose, and rather enjoyed torturing men who were more than happy to be tortured. I was not looking forward to her being here, and even less of meeting our daughter.

Our agreement had been to conceive twins (in a Petri dish!) and have her deliver a boy and a girl. I would take the boy; she was to have the girl. End of relationship, along with a hefty cashier's check for nine months of services rendered upon receipt of the baby boy, thank you very much, and goodbye!

And now she regretted it? Please…

Getting the boys out of the way was no problem. I don't know what Sebbie told them, but they scattered that morning. Even Raulito, still using crutches, was happy to go along. I guess it beats hanging up in a dark, quiet room? Still, the boy had intense training to endure, and that was best left up to his 'friends'. Besides, I was to be busy.

Then I had to tell Zach, or rather, Digital-Zach. He seemed excited, but I was also concerned.

"Zach, you've been running nonstop for a while," I told him. "Even as you are now, you need rest. I want you to build yourself a nice virtual bed, son, and have the computer system put you into sleep mode. You need to rest a bit."

He thought about it. He protested. He was too excited. Finally, I ordered it.

"Yes, sir!" He agreed, as a true slaveboy would. "Doctor?"

"Yes, Zach?"

"Will I dream?"

"I don't know, Zach," I answered him honestly. "Save your new data, and go to sleep, boy."

"Yes, sir," he agreed. The circled Z faded from the monitor.

For the first time in years, eleven to be precise, I wanted to cry. I occupied my time with patients, mainly follow-ups from the storm injuries. I even accepted Mrs. Jones, the lady who'd given birth in my van! For all things, there is a first time…my old Master used to say that. Suddenly, I missed him. I spent the rest of the evening just watching the boys, including the newly emancipated Mason. Surprisingly, he'd decided on therapy with his friends.

For some odd reason, the sight of him without gear only made me feel worse.

***

The neuro-cranial robot arrived the next day, along with a very large bill for shipping. Some hours later, and Marlene arrived with Sabrina. I'd dressed Sebbie in his best heavy metal gear, chrome finish, and spruced him up to make his appearance. Don protested, of course, but then again, Sebbie wasn't his son – or slave.

I watched on the monitor as he greeted them at the entrance to the arboretum. Marlene was dressed in white, as if on duty. She was very pretty, one had to admit. It wasn't hard to see why I'd chosen her to be my son's egg donor.

Sabrina, on the other hand, was a shock.

I'd assumed she'd look similar to Sebbie, but this little girl essentially looked just like Sebbie, but with a longer boy's haircut! Her orange hair was cut in bangs, just off the ears, and off the collar in the back. She was even dressed like a boy, wearing a sky blue T-shirt and dark brown cargo short and trainers [sneakers]. Hell, she even walked like a boy!

Sebbie bowed respectively.

"Welcome to our home, and thank you for coming, Mistresses," he greeted them, keeping his eyes on his bare feet.

"Hoh-leee shit!" Sabrina gasped. "Mummy, you didn't tell me that my brother was a SLAVE!" Then she asked Sebbie, "What did you do, murder somebody?"

"Not yet, Mistress, no," Sebbie never looked up at her.

"Well, then? How come you're all dressed up like that?"

Marlene seemed to be grinning in enjoyment of the exchange. I found this butch little girl to be in need of some serious discipline!

"I'm a slaveboy, Mistress," Sebbie replied.

"I know that, you blockhead!" Sabrina snapped at him. "WHY are you a slaveboy? Did you get busted breaking the law? Tear up the school? Steal a car? Rob a bank, what?!"

"No, Mistress. I was created and raised to be the perfect slave. That is my purpose – to serve. This is how slaveboys dress, formally."

Tell me the little bitch didn't already know all of this? She was playing with him! God, I wanted to spank her!

"Mummy, are you sure he's not a robot?" Sabrina asked.

"No, darling. Your daddy wanted a son to play with, remember how Mummy explained our deal? How he raised the boy wasn't any of our concern. You're well, then, I take it, Sebastian?"

"Yes, thank you, Mistress," Sebbie replied, not offering any extra information.

"Look at me, boy!" She ordered him, and Sebbie had to do it. He looked up at her with those ice blue eyes of his, but his face was a mystery. She looked him up and down. She bent to one knee and had him turn. She touched his backpiece, examining the unfinished artwork of wings. "He's created you in his own image," She sighed. "I had no idea you two would be so similar in looks. You're a beautiful boy, Sebastian."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"You're supposed to pay a compliment in return, or don't you know any manners?" Sabrina asked.

"I do, Mistress. Do you?" Sebbie replied, with just the slightest hint of emotion. He'd asked her back. It was a violation, but I enjoyed it. I was even proud. The look on his sister's face was priceless.

"How DARE you?!" She gasped.

Sebbie didn't take his eyes from Marlene. She hadn't told him to. "You asked, Mistress."

"Oh, stop that! You may call me 'Sabrina,' slave. And look at me when I talk to you!"

"As you wish, Sabrina." Sebbie nodded, finally to her.

"Well?"

Sebbie thought about it. "I am, thank you. I hope you are, too, Sabrina?"

"I AM!" Sabrina was getting flustered. Marlene was giggling. It was clear that the little girl had no experience in handling a slave.

"Mummy!" Sabrina demanded of her, "Whatever IS wrong with him?"

"He's the perfect little slaveboy, just like he said, honey," Marlene explained. "Sebastian, will you please go to being at ease before you hurt yourself? After all, I am your mother, and I have no desire to see you perform like a circus bear for the sake of your daddy's ego. Now, you have my permission to speak freely."

Sebbie relaxed at once, and an emotion crossed his face. I hadn't expected it, really. I was surprised to see curiosity there.

"You're very…very pretty, Mistress!" Sebbie came right out and said it. "I…I've often wondered about…if I'd ever meet you, Ma'am? I..I'm glad you're here," He then lowered his gaze, looking like a convict awaiting a death sentence.

My boy was concerned about what his mother would think of him, despite my assurances and lack of caring. I thought I'd convinced him that she'd only ever been nothing more than an incubator? I guess it was only natural; I had only vague memories of my mother, so I couldn't relate. I'd never cared what any woman thought of me. But how could I not have known that my son would care?

Still, it would be interesting to see how Sebbie reacted in a totally new situation that he had no experience with.

Marlene put her hand to his freckled cheek, softly. She raised his chin. She touched one of his pierced ears, then moved her hand to his chrome collar. "And are you disappointed in me, son?" She asked.

"Son'.

She called him 'son'. I felt a flare of jealousy. This was MY child, NOT hers! How dare she be affectionate to a baby she'd taken money for, and then abandoned? And if this Sabrina thought that I was going to show her any of the same, well…!

"Wh-what did you call me, Mistress?" Sebbie gasped.

"'Son'. You are my son, aren't you? Speak freely, remember?" She reminded him. "Don't slaveboys have to follow orders?"

"Yes, Mistress!" Sebbie nodded. "No! No, Ma'am! I am NOT disappointed! I…I was afraid that you'd be ash-…that you wouldn't like me, Mistress."

"I don't like that word, either, Son. If you like, you may call me 'mother'."

THAT was it! I'd seen enough. She was toying with his emotions, seeing if she could break his control! Same old Marlene! Same old domineering self-centered bitch!

"SEBASTIAN!" I shouted at the microphone. "We haven't got all day!"

Then she kissed his cheek! Of all the nerve! She left a red set of lip prints there, even! This…this…woman…had just kissed my boy!

"Oh, shut up, Seb!" She looked at the camera. "Can't you see I'm busy here?" She turned back to Sebbie. "You never answered my question, son?"

"I…I'm NOT, Mother! No! How could I be?" Sebbie smiled at her. "How could anyone be disappointed in you, Ma'am?"

God, if the kid only knew…

"Then say hello to your sister properly, son," Marlene then told him.

"Hello, Sabrina. I really am glad to meet you!" Sebbie offered his hand, chained to his other as it was.

Sabrina hesitantly shook it. "Good grief, Mummy! He does look just like me! Hello, little brother. It's a pleasure to meet you. I think?"

"I hope so," Sebbie nodded shyly. "Well, you heard Daddy? Shall we go?" He bowed and waved an arm at the lift door.

"What is all this, an indoor park?" Sabrina asked.

"Yes, Sabrina, it's for the younger patients, and for me and my friends. It's a lot of work, but it's fun. Would you like a rabbit to take home?"

"No," Marlene answered quickly, as they got into the lift.

"Little brother," Sabrina was saying, "You really must explain all this metal clothing and these chains to me! What is it, a fashion statement? I can see your bare arse, you know!"

"It's how slaveboys are dressed, Sabrina?" Sebbie informed her, much more relaxed now and not at all embarrassed. "It's called 'gear'. Sabrina, if I may?"

"Speak freely, for God's sake! You're not my slave, and it's creeping me out!" Sabrina told him.

"Why do you call me 'little'? We're the same size?" Sebbie asked.

Sabrina shrugged and giggled. Then she playfully punched his arm! "Because I came out first!" She laughed. "I'm two minutes older than you, baby brother!"

I kept telling myself that I would do no harm. I would do no harm…

Then again, their meeting hadn't really gone badly. I would have preferred it, had it gone more formally, if Marlene hadn't toyed with him and all. Pretending to be a mother that cared? Please…

Then again, I thought with a twinge of horror, what if she really did like Sebbie?! Well, why wouldn't she? He was likable, wasn't he? Of course he was! He was a beautiful boy! He was MY boy! What was not to like?!

And that was it – Sebbie was MY boy.

Once Zach was out of the woods, Marlene was leaving – and taking her daughter with her!

***

"Sebastian, darling!" Marlene greeted me. "It's been too long!"

I looked around my office. I didn't get up. I handed her a data tablet. "You'll find all the information on patient Zach Jameson there," I told her bluntly. "You're looking well," I added quickly. I glanced at Sabrina and froze.

It was like looking at Sebbie in clothes with hair a few centimeters longer!

"Hello, Daddy," she offered, in a voice only a bit higher than Sebbie's. I wasn't sure what to say. What the hell do I know about little girls? Maybe I could pretend she was a male-to-female transsexual?

"I do more 'well' than just look," Marlene scoffed, glancing at the tablet. She did a double-take. "Good God, what hit this poor boy's brain?"

"About a megawatt of electricity, I think," I replied. "Sebbie, go wash your face," I told him.

"Yes, sir!" He bowed, standing there by the door, quiet as always.

"Not so fast, kiddo," Marlene cut me off. "Please take Sabrina to our suite and help her get settled in. Find something to keep her entertained until I'm available. It looks like Mummy has a shitload of work to do here!"

"A shitload?" I sneered. "And Sebbie has other duties."

"Then find me another slave or a butler," Marlene demanded. "I'll not just turn my daughter loose in the city to run wild!"

This was not going well. The last thing I wanted was Sebbie spending quality time with his sister. I knew Marlene; if she'd raised this 'girl' like I thought she might have, she'd probably have Sebbie on a rack, whipping him, by lunchtime. Then again, Sebbie would like that.

"Sebastian, take your sister and do as your Marl-…mother…said," I acquiesced. "But remember, house protocol takes precedence over her orders, and certainly supercedes any orders that the girl may give!"

"Yes, SIR!" Sebbie snapped, opening the door. "Sabrina?"

"You don't like me, do you, Daddy?" the little witch asked.

"I don't know you well enough to not like you – yet," I answered her honestly. "But I'm sure that, given enough time, I'll come to regard you as highly as I do your mother."

Sabrina smiled and batted her eyes at me. "Come along, baby brother, I have so many questions!" She headed for the door.

"Sebbie, come and give us a kiss," Marlene then said. Sebbie did that, without hesitation. It was a chaste 'parent' kiss, but it was bad enough! And he smiled! He bowed, then left the room with his twin.

"What was that?" I asked her, when the children had gone.

"A mother kissing her son?" She said innocently. "Sebastian?" Her eyes lit up, "I do believe you're jealous!"

"You hurt him, Marlene, and money or not, I will make you regret it!" I warned her. "I've spent the last eleven years…"

"Turning him into a copy of you!" She cut me off. How DARE she?! "Dressing him up in that slave gear, those piercings and bit of makeup? And what the hell are you doing, tattooing him?! That's child abuse!"

"He's a SLAVE!" I reminded her.

"Why?"

Why? She was asking me why?!

"Because he's my son, and I wanted a son who was a slave!"

"Just like father, like son?" Marlene scoffed. "Seb, just because you grew up as a tortured sextoy slave, back when it was illegal, even, doesn't mean that your son had to! All you've done is perpetuate the cycle of abuse here!"

"You're here to fix Zachary Jameson's brain, not to tell me how to raise a child!" I reminded her.

"You're not raising a son! You're programming a robot!" She fired back, her face going pink. "All that bowing, and 'yes Mistress' crap! I didn't want to say it in front of the boy, Seb, but he's scary!"

"And your daughter's a boy in disguise," I retorted. God, that was weak!

"She's a butch lesbian, just like Mummy!"

"Stop talking about yourself in the 3rd person!"

"Good God, you'd think we were married," Marlene sighed. "I knew this would happen. Let's just forget it. We're both raising gay children, we both have our own ways." Her eyes twinkled. Here it came. She wasn't done yet! "So, is he good in bed?"

"Is she?"

"I wouldn't know," Marlene replied. "I like women, not children!"

"Sebbie is good at everything he does," I replied. "I've trained him well. He gets nothing but love here."

"Same with Sabrina," Marlene retorted, "Although I don't keep her in chains! Don't tell me he actually likes that?"

"It's all he knows," I said truthfully. "It's all I ever knew. I had a good childhood, Marlene. We've been through all of this, and you knew all of that when you signed the contract. Sebbie is none of your concern."

"He can't take that gear off, can he?"

"Zachary Jameson?" I reminded her yet again. She studied the data.

"He has an implant?" She asked professionally. "A deep brain stimulator? Ion generator for synaptic stimulation? Good grief, a unilateral lobotomy? And what are all these fiber thingies?"

"Thingies?"

"His brain looks like a half-baked spider's web!" She gasped. "Seb, tell me the truth – is this some mad experiment of yours? Because if it is, I'll bust you so fast…"

"Zachary was the victim of some very cruel Masters," I half-lied to her. "They butchered him, then dumped him at the Clearing House. My client bought him to rescue him from being … put down. He was fine until the implant malfunctioned."

"What was it for?"

"We don't know, but I have a top-notch computer engineer here to assist and study it," I told her. "You'll be working with him to repair the chip, and hopefully, get this boy back to the way he was."

"Which was?"

I told her the truth. "A genius. We think the implant was for memory augmentation."

"I'd say he'll be a toddler when, and IF, he wakes up," Marlene scoffed. "Poor baby."

"We're going to augment his brain tissues with some rather unorthodox cultures," I informed her. "I've had them simmering for days now. You don't want to know what they are, trust me."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No. My primary concern is helping this boy, Marlene. I know him. I've grown fond of him." She gave me a look. "Not THAT way!"

"But he is a slaveboy? Don't you lot all use them for sex?" She asked coyly. "You and that twisted family of yours?"

"What Zach's Master does with him is not my concern, Marlene," I lied. I did care. I admit it.

"You're still embarrassed to discuss it with a woman!" She laughed, "After all these years, you're still embarrassed that you grew up sucking cock and being fucked by men!"

"WILL you stay on-topic?!" I almost shouted at her. "And what do you mean by ordering Sebbie to see to your daughter? He had rules and protocol to follow!"

"I know all about your precious slave rules and protocols," She waved me off. "The boy is bound by your orders, which I'm sure you gave him plenty before we got here. Don't worry, Sabrina isn't going to order him to jump off what's left of the roof." She went back to studying Zach's readouts.

Sebbie might have been better off if she had…

Sebbie's POV

I was scared, yeah, I admit it. Master Don was right. Fear was a huge part of my life as a slaveboy. I guess I was so used to it that I didn't even notice it anymore. I was so used to wearing gear that it didn't bother me to meet a stranger, practically naked, and know that I had to serve them.

But this was my MOTHER! How was I supposed to feel?

I never thought much about it before. Sure, I saw kids who had a mum and dad. It was how free kids lived, most of them. Women had babies, I knew that. I knew how they did that. I knew what straight sex was. I just didn't think anyone could possibly like it?

Then why was I worried about what she'd think of me? And my sister? Her too? What if they didn't like me? What if they were repulsed by me? I've seen slave prejudice before, like stores that won't let me in, or restaurants that won't serve me. I know some people think we're monsters or something, and that's OK. I am who I am.

But this was my mother…

I don't know why I felt like that. I'd never even met her. I'd only seen a picture of her once, and that was in Daddy's old yearbook. There was no logical reason for me to be concerned by what she thought of me.

But I was.

And she was pretty! And my sister? She looked just like me! I wasn't sure about her. She didn't KNOW I was a slave?! No one told her? I guessed she didn't know much about slaves, either.

"You can't take that metal gear off, can you, brother?" She asked me, on the way down to their suite. Fortunately, we had a spare flat to rent that was just recently repaired after the storm.

"No, Sabrina, I can't. It locks."

"Is it heavy?" She asked, touching my collar.

"The cuffs are about 10 pounds [4.5 kg] each, the collar not so much. The chains are mainly for show, but also to remind a slave of his place."

"How do you pee in that metal jockstrap?" She asked.

"Same way you do, Sabrina," I shrugged. "I get permission to go, and I sit down."

"You have to ask permission to pee?" She snickered. "What if you get an itch?"

"I can't scratch it, Sabrina," I answered. I had to, after all. Not that I minded. I was proud of my gear, and my discipline.

"You can't touch your…stuff?" She gasped. "Ever?"

"I've never touched it, Sabrina. I'm a slave. It's not allowed."

"Why?" She wondered. "Why would someone do that to a boy? Especially his father?"

"Discipline, Sabrina," I told her truthfully. "It shows that the Master cares for his slave. It's a lot of work taking care of me, you see. Daddy spends most of his time with me, and when he's working, I train and study. I have structure and security. I'm taken care of, and without all the things to distract me, that free kids have, I'm smarter, stronger, and more in control of my life."

"It looks like you have no control of your life, Brother," She countered, as we arrived at the flat.

"You have TV, Internet, movies on demand, a private bath and bed if you like, and a full kitchen, Sabrina," I informed her with a bow. "Will there be anything else, Sabrina?"

"Oh, stop being such a slave, Brother!" She snapped.

"I can't do that, Sabrina, I'm sorry. I AM a slave."

"He told you to say that, didn't he? Do you always do everything he says?" She asked flatly.

I nodded. "Of course I do!" I was genuinely shocked that she'd ask. She must not have known anything!

She touched my tattoos. "Did those hurt?" I nodded. "You have one on your bum?"

"It's a barcode ID, unique to all slaves, Sabrina," I informed her.

"And those cuffs and collar? Are they to put you, like, in bondage?" She asked.

"Well, uh, yeah," I admitted. She felt my arm.

"You're strong, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, Sabrina. I train every day."

"I've never seen a kid with so many tattoos," She observed. "They're pretty."

I felt my face getting hot. "Thank you, Sabrina?" I fumbled. I didn't know what to say? My tattoos are part of who I am. Just like Daddy's.

"What does this strap in the back, over your bum crack, do?" She then asked. "It looks like a thong?"

Shit! She would have to ask that! Was she enjoying this? Was she trying to embarrass me?

"It…it's to keep me…ready for…to keep me, like…"

"You've got a plug up your butt, don't you?" She cut me off. "They keep a plug in you, so you're always ready to get butt-fucked?"

"Well, if you wanna talk dirty about it, Sabrina, then yes!" I blurted.

"Oh – my – GOSH! I was right! You're a sex-slave, aren't you, brother?"

I nodded. "I have a lot of sex, yes, Sabrina," I had to admit. After all, I was assigned to her. I had to follow her orders, to a certain degree, I knew. So why did it bother me so much, talking to her about it? It didn't bother me, being used as an example for other free boys, or novice slaves and Masters?

"You have sex with men, don't you?" She asked, seemingly shocked.

I nodded again. My voice was failing me. God, this wasn't like talking to another boy, even though she looked like one! Hell, she looked like ME!

"Are there other slaveboys here?" She then asked.

I gulped. "Y-yes, Sabrina?"

"I want to meet them," She stated, looking all around the room. "Is there anything to drink?"

I went to the fridge and told her what was there.

"Bring me an ice water with lemon, won't you? Do you want something?"

"No, Sabrina." I did that. "Thank you."

"You don't know how to act with me, do you, brother?" She observed. Well, no, I didn't! I admitted it.

"Well, for starters," She advised, flopping on the couch. "Sit down." She patted the cushion. "You're making me nervous." I sat. "Now, stop with the 'Sabrina' at the end of each line. I know my name."

"OK."

"That didn't hurt, did it?" She asked.

"It might, later," I admitted.

"I'm sorry if I'm embarrassing you, Brother. So, when can I meet your friend, or friends?" She reminded me. "Mummy says that your Daddy always has a few around."

"I don't think I'm allowed to do that, Sa-uhm, sis?" I tried it.

"'Sis' is good!" She beamed at me, slapping my arm. "See? You can get it! My, I had no idea it was so hard talking to a slave. So, tell me all about what you do? Do you go to school, you said? Where? Do you ever wear clothes? What's it like getting fucked?"

Good grief…

So I gave her a rundown of our usual day. She seemed horrified.

"Every day? It's like being in the army!" She gasped.

"It's what we do, sis!"

"Well, the pool sounds nice," she admitted. "I love to swim."

I coughed. The pool was on the slave's floor – off limits, Daddy said. It would be time for the boys to exercise pretty soon, too – in the pool.

"M-maybe you'd better ask your mother, Sis," I fretted. She called her.

"I'm busy, if there's a pool and a lifeguard, use it!"

Daddy protested. They argued.

"God, they sound like they're married," Sabrina snickered. I had to laugh, too. I'd seen married people act like that out in public.

Finally, they stopped.

"Protocol, Sebastian!" Daddy snapped. He sighed. "Just go, we're busy!"

"YES, SIR!"

So we went down to the pool, and everyone was there. John ignored us, as usual, doing his own studying while listening, I guess. All the boys were there, except Zach. I missed him. I introduced her as my sister. The boys looked like they'd been given a shot of Thoraz-23.

Sabrina just stared. They all bowed, except Mason. He didn't have to anymore, but he did smile and nod, sitting on the bench, naked, with his legs crossed. John got us out of our gear, so we wouldn't sink. For therapy reasons, since Daddy was worried about his leg, Raulito was allowed to swim, too. I think Daddy was easing up on him because he was hurt. Maybe the old man was getting soft?

One we were naked except for our pods, we got in the water. Well, most of us. Henry usually has to be pushed in.

"Where are your BALLS?" Sabrina asked him point blank.

Henry actually blushed! Mason had made a quick dart for the deep end.

"I was sick, Mistress. They had to be cut off," Henry offered shyly.

"Right then, I've had it with his Mistress stuff!" Sabrina huffed, donning a boy's Speedo swimsuit. We all just looked at her. "What, you think I want you all staring at my vagina? Then again, you probably don't know what to do with one?" She glanced at Mason. "How come you've got tattoos, but no gear or chastity thingie?"

"I just got freed, Sabrina," Mason offered shyly. "But I still live here."

"I saw your junk, Mason!" She teased him. "It's very nice!"

Mason nearly died right there!

"Why don't you have a bikini, Mist-…I mean, Sebbie's sister…erm, I mean, Sabrina?" Cory asked her.

"Hello? Those are for girls! And, uh, no boobs?" She gestured at her flat chest.

"You do look like a boy, Miss," Henry observed.

"That's the general idea, Henry," she reminded him. "You're not too bright, are you?"

"No, Ma'am," Henry smirked. "But it's OK. I was sick, it messed me up."

"He really is a sweet, innocent little kid, isn't he?" She noticed. I nodded. "He's special?" I nodded again. "I bet your Daddy told you I'd be a real bitch, didn't he?" I didn't know what to say to that. "Well, I won't be!" She looked at all of us. "But you'd still have to do what I say, right?"

"To some extent, yes, Sis," I agreed.

"You know, I've always wanted to see two boys kiss!" She smiled at me.

"You don't have to order us to do that, Miss!" Cory laughed. He paddled over, and we exchanged a passionate kiss. Cory doesn't kiss as good as Zach, though.

"Oh my God, that's so hot!" Sabrina puffed. "It's just a damn shame that you all get born with perfectly good penises, and have to keep them locked up!"

"Sis, do you want to be a boy?" It suddenly came to me.

She looked blank for a second. "I don't know, but it's like, I can't stand girly stuff, you know? And the idea of a man sticking his cock in there?" She seemed grossed out and pulled a face.

"Wha's wrong with that, Miss?" Henry asked. "I like it?"

"You're trained to like it, silly!" Sabrina had to smile at him. "So, how long have you all been slaves?" She then asked, so we all told her. She was fascinated by Cory. "You sold yourself, and you're twelve?" Cory nodded. "Why, again?"

"Because my father was going to sell me, and Master Mark needed me, Miss," Cory repeated. "And I love him! And he loves me!"

"Love, or just sex?" Sabrina asked.

"There's a difference, Sabrina," Mason told her, unbound as he was, "For me, it was seven years of torture. Sex isn't love. If these boys say they love their Masters, then they do. They said my Master loved me, but in the end, it was all an act. He was a monster. He got what he deserved!"

"Oh," Sabrina gasped. "I'm sorry!"

So what was Daddy so worried about? Sabrina didn't seem bad to me? She didn't even treat us likes slaves, which kinda bothered me and Henry, but Cory didn't seem to notice. He warmed right up to her.

"You see? Cory was free for twelve years, so just act like him!" Sabrina suggested. "You really should learn what it's like, for educational purposes, Brother! Say, how come the Mexican kid has crutches? You all get hurt in the storm?" She changed tracks fast. Were girls just like that?

So, we told her all about it.

I told her about Zach.

"Oh my God! He was going to KILL you? And sell your other friend?" Sabrina gasped. Mason nodded. "That must have hurt. I'm sorry, Mason," She offered.

"Thank you, Miss Sabrina."

"You still act like a slave, you know?" She reminded him.

"I know. Hard habit to break, when it's beaten into you," Mason replied, and that gave me pause. Would Mason, or any of us – if we had to – ever adapt to being free boys? And how did Cory give it up so easily?

"Your friend must love you very much, Brother," Sabrina told me.

"I hope Mother can help him," was all I could say.

So we just swam and talked. I think my sister learned a lot that day. I know we did, even though she hardly talked about herself. About all I got from her was that she went to some dorky girls' school with a silly uniform, and didn't see much of our mother.

"So you met your mom?" Cory asked me.

"Yeah, she's a very nice lady, I think," I smiled. "I'm glad I got to meet her, finally."

Sabrina laughed. "She can be a bitch sometimes, Brother, but she's not all that bad. As moms go, we could do worse. She really does miss you, you know? Sometimes she'd just say, 'I wonder how your brother is doing?' or something."

I had to admit, I wondered that too. Every time I saw a boy with a mother. But it was useless to dwell on it. She'd be leaving when Zach was fixed.

When it was time to go, we got dried off and back into gear. It was time to rest a bit, then go make dinner. "You cook, too?" Sabrina asked. "Can you show me?" Of course we could, right after she wanted to see us kiss again! Of course, we obliged. We all headed for the kitchen, except for Raulito. John took him to the quiet room. Poor kid was exhausted, and his leg hurt, so that he was near tears. He was having a hard lesson in slavery.

After our free time, we met up with Master Don in the kitchen. He was making hot wings and garden salads. "Sir, that's out job?" I asked.

"I have to have something to do, now that I'm mobile again, Sebbie. I went home, and the flat [apartment] was so empty and quiet." He looked at me oddly. Always before, he looked wary of me. I understood. Then he saw Sabrina and flinched.

"Master Don, sir, this is my sister – Sabrina!" I introduced them.

"The resemblance is uncanny!" Master Don smiled. "I see you've met our boys?"

"They're very strange, sir," Sabrina was quite respectful to him. "But I like them! This one's pretty cute," She pinched Cory's bum!

"Hey, hands off my slaveboy!" Master Mark joked, as the door opened. "Where's Seb, kiddo?"

"In his office with a consulting, surgeon, sir!" I snapped. "We were going to make dinner, sir, but Master Don beat us to it, sir!"

"Oh my God," Sabrina sighed, "Do you have to do that?"

"They do, Missy," Master Mark smiled at her, motioning for Cory. "You must be Sebbie's twin brother?"

Sabrina smiled at him. "Thank you, sir!" She watched as Master Mark greeted his boy.

"Finally having some fun, son?" He asked Cory. Cory nodded and smiled.

"Oh, yes sir!" Master Mark got a funny look on his face.

"So you've been a good boy today? Don't need a spanking, stretching, or any other kind of discipline, boy?" Master Mark asked him. Sabrina looked shocked.

"Yeah, I was good, Daddy, but you still can if you want to!" Cory smiled. He kissed him again.

"I always want to," Master Mark reminded him, and I wondered how long it would be until Daddy had time for me? I guess Master Don saw my face, because he hugged me.

"You boys can do the salad," he suggested. "Sebbie, your Daddy won't be at dinner. It's just us, unless Mark stays, so we'll sit at table and eat." He sighed again.

"He'll be OK, sir," I whispered to him. "My mother is the best!"

"I thought your Daddy was?" Master Don replied.

I thought about it. "Best at some things, sir!" I nodded at him. He kept his hand on my shoulder. His face was sad. He must have been missing Zach bad.

Mother called us, and Daddy ordered me to bring them some of whatever we were having. She asked Sabrina how her day had gone, and she told her all about it while Master Don and I cooked. Master Mark took Cory home, and I could imagine what he was in for! I was jealous. Peter was online consulting with his firm about Zach, so it was just us, Henry, and Mason for dinner. Mason looked kinda weird in a white T-shirt and board shorts that hid his tattoos. He seemed quite interested in listening to Sabrina talk about her life, boring as it sounded to me!

Then she talked about us. "Mr. Jameson," she called him, "It's your boy that my mum is here to help, right? I'm so sorry, sir."

"Thank you, son, Sabrina, sorry!" He flushed.

So that led to another talk about slaveboys having their bits all locked up, while girls, Sabrina thought, really got the short end of the proverbial stick.

"Well, child, if imitating a boy makes you happy, then you should do it! Have your mother delay puberty, BE a boy for a while! There's nothing wrong with that! Dress and act te part. You could even do hormones to develop as a boy. Maybe even have genital reassignment later?"

"They can DO that?" Sabrina gasped. "I think I need to have a long chat with Mummy!" She looked devious.

"I think we're in trouble, sir," I sighed. "ALL of us!"

After dinner, we went down to see Zach with Master Don. He insisted. Henry didn't want to go, and he cried. They said, while we were all laid up, that he always did. Master Don caught him a few times talking to Zach, holding his hand, and crying. I wondered if Zach had heard him, in his coma? I liked to think so. I liked to think he could hear me.

We watched Zero's…Zach's favorite movie about the robot superhero boy in his hospital room that night. This time, though, it was different. I didn't really like that movie anymore.

When it was time for bed, I was surprised to see Mother come up with Daddy. She collected Sabrina, kissed my cheek, and hugged me. It was a long hug. "You have a good sleep, little man," she told me. She looked at Daddy. He rolled his eyes. "Mother loves you, Sebastian."

I didn't know what to say! Did I respond as protocol demanded, or did I act like Sabrina? Did I talk to her like I did Daddy when I was his son, or his slave? What was I to her?!

You are my son, aren't you? She'd said.

"I…I love you, too, Mother!" I blurted. "Thank you!" And the more I thought about it, the more I found that I did. When she left, it felt like a piece of me was going out the door with her.

Daddy snorted. "That woman," he grumbled. "Into the bath, you smell like chlorine, boy," He ordered me. I guess I was the slave now? I got my bath, and Daddy was a bit rough – not that I minded. At least he was there. I thought he wasn't coming? I got a good cleaning enema, and it cramped. After being laid up for so long, Daddy said my bowels were a mess. Then he swatted my bum, put me in my bedtime gear, and took me to my room.

Long story short, I got one hell of an arse-fucking that night! When he was done, my butt was sore – inside and out from the serious spanking. All the while, he told me that I hadn't done anything wrong that he knew of, but that I probably needed it anyway.

OK, it was attention, and yes, I liked it! It wasn't a beating, and the pain was the good kind, OK?

Once I was strapped in, stretched kinda tight, he kissed me goodnight and put a gag in my mouth and blindfolded me. "You were just being polite, right? You can't really feel love for her, can you, boy? Goodnight, son. Daddy loves you."

Now how could I answer him?

"Maybe she is sincere," he sighed on the way out. He was talking to himself. "Just so long as she does her job, I suppose. Feeling guilty? Well, she should!" His voice trailed off down the hall, "Come here and tell my boy she loves him, making a fuss over him being a slave, bringing that little…" Then I couldn't hear him anymore.

PART

© Paolox

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Paolo

Zero

The Special-Needs Slaveboy

Chapters 24-26

Chapter 24Save a Prayer

Chapter 25Ghost in the Machine

Digital-Zach's POV

Chapter 26Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Doctor Collins' POV

Sebbie's POV

Chapter 24
Save a Prayer

Chapter 25
Ghost in the Machine

Chapter 26
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?