This is the nineteenth chapter ex twenty two of a novel about present
day slavery and gay sex.
The Dahran trilogies are composed to date of 6 novels:
Trilogy one:
The Changed Life
The Reluctant Retrainer
The Market Offer
Trilogy two:
The Special Memories
The Dahran Way
The Dahran Rebuttals (this novel)
Keywords:
authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, submission, gay, sex
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
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Chapter 19--The assumption of supremacy
I am, if anything, predictable. It would not therefore have taken Sherlock Holmes to work out the time I normally leave the Bank on Monday to Wednesday afternoons when I am at work there. It is always at four on the dot, and Faisal with the Rolls parked in the curved entrance is a dead give-away.
As I came through the automatic doors, I saw Faisal hop out of the limousine to open the back door. I was surprised to see my local Police Captain, whose duties are those of the Western Road area walking up to me.
Before I could say a word, he looked me in the eye and said `Sir Jonathan, put in place at your Palaces immediately the same procedures as you had against the northern raiders and do not lift them until I tell you.'
He had neither greeted me, shaken hands nor excused himself. It was over in eight seconds and unless someone was watching those entering and leaving the Bank, it could have well been mistaken as two people passing each other in front of the Bank.
The Police Captain walked away immediately and got into a police jeep, to my left, to be quickly driven away. I had not had time to say hello' to him, even less to say goodbye.'
I regard the Captain as a good friend. He and some eighteen of his colleagues and his deputy had spent one of their afternoons with me at the Lime Palace, in the gym, sauna and swimming pool in the aftermath of baby Jason's kidnapping and the twenty of them had dinner with me that evening, when I also presented each of them with John Grisham's latest thriller and an envelope with ten thousand euro each inside the fly-leaf. The Police Captain had got fifty and his deputy twenty.
Now, he was warning me of danger. But what?
As I returned to the Lime Palace that afternoon, I mused on the attributes of both power and danger. When you meet real power, there is no mistaking it. It is not just strength in any of its multiple forms. It is not just the ability, or capacity to act in authority but a blend of understated characteristics which throb in the person who holds that power. Power in such a person is, like blood circulating throughout the body, not immediately visible, but so vital that it soon becomes apparent. Many who hold such power allow it to be identified and, without exception, exercise it.
I have seen it in the Sheik of Dahra, a ruler of absolute authority, a benevolent despot in the true original Greek sense of the archon, whose rights there are none to dispute or challenge, but who has it invested in him by birth, by oligarchy and by the very society itself, which places trustingly itself in his hands. The king, who is supreme, can do no wrong--long live the king!--they once used to say.
As for danger, the greatest danger, whether it was that of which I had just been warned or not, is the unknown, the unprepared for, the unforeseen. For some reason not yet known to me, I was facing into danger and I had been warned. The Police Captain was nobody's fool. Had he been in a position to say more, he would have given me chapter and verse.
In the case of slaves and their Masters, there is a false assumption, that the Master can do all, that the Master is all powerful. Wrong! The Master certainly has the control of the lives of his slaves in his hands, but he must exercise that control with sanity and logic. In a fit of madness or in the worst of scenarios, he could kill all his slaves. He would then have no power left over them. By selling them off, likewise, he would cease to have control over them. Power depends on the flow-lines of life.
That is one of the reasons why I rarely sell my slaves. Yes, admittedly, I sold a Scot to Fiona Tuttle; seven I transferred to my Head of Household at the Lime Palace, Aziz al-Aziz and two to my nephew. But, heavens save us, out of in excess of seven hundred slaves that is not bad! By not selling them, I was stating even better, in fact, my authority and power over them--not just a warning that this might happen to them but also a display of the musculature of power itself-- there to be exercised when needed.
The assumption of supremacy is however right in one aspect--power must be exercised and must be seen to be exercised, otherwise like a flower without water, it will wither. In other words, power not exercised, atrophies.
One of the facets of power is that you can reward or punish. Rewards in my Palaces take many forms. One is promotion from the ranks of slave to that, first of assistant overseer, then overseer, then Manager and then Head of either Household or Stables.
Of the first twenty five slaves whom I had acquired, all but two had been promoted.
Of these two, one was Randy Tait who was in charge of Dr. Yves Fournier's surgery and the hospital ward and now also in charge of the new assistant Doctor Miraldo Coelho's calendar.
It was only when visiting the hospital one evening that I realised that Randy had all the power without the title. He had a staff of four slaves, who rotated as nursing aids in the hospital ward, a daily cleaner and now a trainee on the computerised appointments book for the two doctors. And even with all that work, he still sought nothing and managed to find time to worship the ground that Yves Fournier walked on.
The second slave who had not been promoted, yet again did everything around my dining-room was Bob Conrad. He had been sent at one point temporarily to the Aloe Palace on various jobs, but always seemed to end up back looking after me when dining matters were involved, a sort of maitre d'hotel.
I acted on the warning of danger by implementing the precautions as previously, but also by not causing panic among the slaves. I had a brief meeting with the Managers, this time including Geoff Masters--who did not say a word, but absorbed everything--and with those overseers who had prior military experience. It was not a long meeting as we had guests at the Palace--an irritant but one which could not be excused.
I remedied both matters of promotion that very evening by giving the two last of my very first slaves their white onyx fly-swishes before the assembled slaves and my Managers. I had almost a full table for dinner and when it was over, I called out my Managers, who had been at table, with Alan Young who was back at the Palace for a flying visit and Gus Jennings down from the capital city to give me one of his periodic reports on the sale and market of the Aloe milk-sap and the Aloe purgative.
We all assembled on the veranda overlooking the courtyard as a dessert for over five hundred slaves was brought out of the kitchens which Flavio had miraculously managed to conceal from Bob Conrad, who would have been in and out of the kitchens. I think, however, that Bob may have gotten an inkling of what was going on.
Randy Tait was in a daze, when called from the ranks of the sitting slaves, from among his own group of hospital slaves. While his glances were at me, his eyes were on Yves Fournier and having kissed my hand on getting his fly-swish of authority, it was in Yves' embrace that he cried his tears of pride and pleasure.
Bob Conrad looked stunned and even a little frightened, on being the second person singled out for promotion.
No, Boss, please. I just want to serve your table,' he whispered to me almost pleading. Don't send me away to do something else.'
As I gave him his fly-swish, I said to him, `Bob, you are my maitre d'hotel, as long as you can make that limejuice of yours. Why would you not want to be an assistant-overseer?'
Boss,' he was almost whispering in my ear, Boss, if I am close to you, you may still love me. I don't stand a chance against Dmitri and his blue eyes.'
His eyes were full of self-doubt and pleading.
Bob,' I whispered back, all around would think that I was merely having a brief tete-a-tete, which it was in fact, with a favourite slave, Dmitri has a great set of buns -- not as good as your own, a great smile -- again not as good as your own, great blue eyes - yes, and in time, he will be great for uncomplicated sex, but he does not have and never will have your sense of humour and he will never take the place that you have in my life. Done deal?'
Bob kissed the back of my hand again and blinking a lot, he said, `Thanks, Boss, for everything you do for me and Pete.'
Pete is his brother, whom the Buddy Foundation had been helping get through university back in Canada.
I told the Managers to hold on and to confirm that the various parts of the Palaces would be secure within the hour and every hour from now on until further notice.
My main concern was also the position of the Lemon Palace slaves, who were still not fully trained, but Komil replied that until this unknown danger was past, it was best to continue by day as normal and to put all the Lemon Palace slaves into two of the completed slave quarters buildings.
`They might be a bit crowded, but it won't be for ever' he said.
I saw Geoff Masters half-nodding to himself and when I caught his eye, he nodded back to me. As much as we could do against an unexplained and unidentified danger was being done. The night watches were in position on the roofs of the Palaces and a rota of schedules drawn up very efficiently by Jens Johanssen on his computer module.
It is one of the advantages of having supreme authority in a situation like this danger that decisive action can be taken quickly, at short notice and firmly--trustfully prudent and well-advised as well when examined a posteriori.
There is nothing quite like a danger that does not materialise, a puncture on a smooth tyre that does not occur, a threat that does not happen. I do not say that we were any less vigilant at the Palaces, but even with imminent danger threatened, life must go on. Fields need to be planted, vegetables picked, palaces cleaned, meals made and doctors' appointments met.
However, I put a dent in my regular schedule and asked Gustav Ahlson, if he would fill in for me on Tuesdays and Colin Bowman, the same for me on Wednesdays. In this way, two successive Mondays were my only workdays those weeks.
I put on light cottons and a larger than normal Panama hat and walked the lands of the Palaces. For some reason, our crops of courgettes and herbs were all coming in at the one time and those slaves free in other areas of the Palaces were assigned to their harvest.
Although it was just March, the heat was high, the skies from early morning devoid of a cloud that might have bravely dared to try to hide the sun's face, from a scorched desert and those who toiled on its edges. The fact that the Palaces had abundant water, spraying in computer controlled sequences at non-peak heat hours gave a luxuriant verdure to the lands, which had been carefully reclaimed, deeply dug, fertilised with top freshly burnt phosphates from the sea-weed facility at al-Mera and sheltered from the harsh desert winds of the night by the growing surrounds of trees.
I wandered up and down paths careful to keep out of the way of those working when I came upon the water-guys, Gary and Justin, as they ladled out cooling water to those who had been working for some hours. There was a good level of banter going on. Justin had his straw hat half-on, half-off his head, his freckled body now a golden all-over tan, where the freckles had done an almost all-over act of union with each other.
I heard one of the slaves call in English--it being before noon, `Over here, Gary,' and the water-guy took a bucket and a cloth and went over to the slave who had called him and proceeded to wipe the slave all over with the cloth, which was dripping with water. It was somewhat extraordinary to look at, one slave washing down another in the midst of the greenery, the sun beating down. The slave being washed down had his eyes closed and his arms outstretched. I did not recognise him, but I thought he looked like one of the slaves I had received from my neighbours, when they had come to visit me the first time. I made a mental note to read up on my slaves.
Someone saw me and shouted, `The Master' and work stopped and slaves began dropping to the ground to make an obeisance.
`Continue on. Continue on' I shouted back so as to stop the unnecessary act out in the middle of the fields.
Justin was handing out ladles of water as fast as he could dip them and I went over to his barrow and started to give him a hand from the other side of it. The slaves seemed to be a little shy about coming around to my side as if the protocol had not yet been established. But soon, Justin's line divided into two and I was ladling out as well as the next.
`Looking for a permanent job, Master?' Justin joked from the other side of the barrow.
`Just lending a hand, Justin. Just a hand.'
One of the slaves, the second last in my line was perspiring profusely, as he had been raking up vegetation and not just cutting the courgettes off the plants. I told him to wait after he had taken his drink and he looked decidedly nervous.
When the last slave had taken a ladle and a half of water and gone back to his drill, I asked Justin if he had a second bucket, which he handed me over the barrow, a cloth hanging on its side.
I proceeded to wash down the slave, who now had gone from quite nervous to quite surprised. His body tone was good. The skin was unblemished. There was practically no fat and his musculature was solid. As I did his arms, he held them out, as I had seen Gary's slave do and I wiped his forearms and upper arms, underneath and finally his armpits. He gave a little jump when the cold cloth touched the hair in this pits, but he gave a little smile and a laugh and a very soft `Sorry, Master.'
`What is your name?'
`Konrad, Master. Konrad Niemoj.'
He wasn't one of my neighbours' gifts. He was of the al-Mera slaves I had bought to balance out the numbers of the first EU-slaves, who had arrived.
`Do you always work on the farms?'
`Yes, Master.'
He was not volunteering any information. He looked about thirty or so.
`Hard work?'
`No, Master, just hot work. But soon we will be going in for English and Arabic classes.'
He was right. It was about half-past ten.
`You don't need English classes, Konrad. You have very good English.'
`I have only some words, Master, but I am learning a new word every day. I had no English or Arabic when I came here. Now, I can speak a little.'
`More than a little, Konrad. But we have not spoken before have we?'
I was ashamed to admit it to myself. I could remember having seen him, but could not remember ever having actually spoken to him. My washing of his body was almost over, yet I did not want to stop, so taking another wetting of the cloth and wringing it out, I started to wash his lower belly and down to his fine tackle, which hung amid a damp wet bush of light brown pubic hair.
You spoke to me, Master, over two years ago when you gave me my necklace and you said, Well done' and then again we spoke when I asked you to allow me have Zenon Okopny as my buddy.'
The slave remembered the two words I had spoken to him two years previously. He remembered getting his necklace from me. He remembered asking me for his buddy. I remembered the name Zenon, as it was the last on the list that day and having disappeared from the list of the unattached, he had gone from my mind.
`Where is Zenon now?' I asked.
`Over there, Master. He is trying not to look at me talking to you,' the slave said, with a shy smile.
I saw some slaves in one of the drills and as I looked his head bobbed up and looked in our direction. As he saw me looking at him, his head bobbed down immediately.
`Does he need to be washed down?'
`No, Master, he does not perspire as much as I do, but he does like to feel the cool cloth on his back.'
`Well, let us go and see what he has to say.'
`Master, don't go into the drills with shoes on. The soil and the water will destroy such beautiful shoes. Can I call Zenon here?'
`Konrad, don't worry about my shoes. Just think, what Zenon will say when you tell him that you told the Master he just had to be washed down like you.'
`Master, you are joking. That would be a lie.'
I looked a bit surprised at this Konrad Niemoj. Surely, there was not a second slave in the Palaces who refused to tell a lie. Ben Trant was more than enough.
I took up my bucket and walked down a drill parallel to where Gary was still doing his own wash-down job on yet another slave.
`Zenon, Konrad here tells me that you like having your back washed down.'
`Yes, Master.'
`Turn around.'
I slowly washed the slave's back and his companions in the line grinned among themselves at his embarrassment and discomfiture, at not knowing what else Konrad might have said. I took my time. I looked at the slave and I could not remember him either, yet here he was two and a half years later, working happily in my fields, an unknown, in a land unknown to him.
I resolved to check up on what Tommy Saunders and now Geoff Masters, might have been doing for both of these slaves back in Poland, or wherever they had come from. Such lies within the powers of supremacy given to a Master in Dahra.
End of Chapter 19
To be continued . . .