The war had done great misfortune to most, but not Fletcher. Fletcher owned water at the edge of the desert which made him rich. It wasn't the price he charged for the water that brought him fortune. He gave water to anyone thirsty enough to drink. Everyone that had fled the city and trekked as a refugee across the dry arid waste in hopes of reaching safe haven was thirsty. Fletcher dealt in water. That from the ground, he gave free of charge.
      Fletcher's wealth was evident. He had his servants in their cars that roamed the sand flats seeking survivors. Their politeness was immediately evident to those that fled the terror behind them, arriving with fresh cool water for all they spotted. Their arrival, though often met suspiciously at first sight, was soon welcomed with open arms and open throats when the offer of free water was made. Everyone was allowed to drink their fill. They made quick friends in Fletcher's name.
      By giving away the water, Fletcher became rich. Fletcher dealt in water. Neither the water he gave away or sold was pure. The water that he gave away was heavily laced with a drug that induced unconsciousness. The servants, which always drank first from the water, were given their daily counter-agent to this drug. It showed no symptoms of drowsiness for almost twenty five minutes, until moments before it hit the intended victims. This always allowed everyone to slake their thirst and the driver to be on his way when the refugees fell to the sand, bereft of consciousness and defenses.
      Fletcher had lucked onto this formula from one of the victims of his old formula. His old formula was not so effective. It had a taste, didn't work as quickly from the onset of drowsiness, and it cost him servants. Many were shot, both in the spotter crews and collection crews. Often, not everyone would get the chance to drink, and often these were the toughest of the group that let the others drink first. It also didn't have the counter-agent that let the spotters drink first in an act of good faith. Not everyone would drink in blind faith, as very few fleeing the city trusted anyone or anything that did not first prove their trustworthiness.
      But Fletcher was lucky. His spotters found the old biochemist and his daughter near death of dehydration. They drank greedily, and his notes proved to be a true source of wealth, as did his daughter. She brought a good price, being sound of health and generous of figure.
      The water that Fletcher sold was even less pure, being some one third other compounds, or perhaps a bit more, since the desert tended to dry the human body of its precious fluid. Fletcher was a slave trader. He was also a master at mental conditioning. The knowledge that he had picked up in his time in military intelligence gave him a knack for getting people to do as he wished, or as others wished. The drugs he used in conditioning were the ones he had used for a long time. He cared to try no others, not being one to tamper with success, only failure.
      The location of his mini-dome was no accident. His spotters ran routes between the Tehachipi Mountains to south of Barstow. His dome sat above the entrance to an underground facility that was a part of the old Edwards Air Force Base. His well was a pipeline from the Los Angeles Aqueduct that was dammed north of the former town of Mojave. His slave market was called The Pride of Lost Angels. He was his biggest client and got the pick of the refugees, filling the roles of spotters, collectors, and service/maintenance personnel and special services in the entertainment field.
      All those he captured were treated to his methods, though seldom by him. He had subdued and trained a crack staff of medical administrators that were superb at bringing his captives into prime health and obedience. The healthy men were sold as laborers, intelligent men as administrative servants. Handsome young boys were saved for his clients with kinkier tastes in pleasure. Attractive women filled harems. The less attractive filled positions in kitchens and house keeping. The rest were used for their protein, which was scarce in the desert in this time of war. There were no complaints that the non-human food sources were saved for him. There were never any complaints in his service.
      Fletcher never left the area of his dome. He had traveled extensively in his earlier life, and one in his occupation stayed within his defenses or perished. Fletcher's defenses were quite sophisticated, the best that prewar high tech military specs could offer. He never took chances, though his defenses permitted him a reckless air that earned him a reputation that allowed him to charge more that other slave traders charged. It was not just the premium in health and obedience that made Fletcher a very wealthy man. He put on a very good show, and this prestige had its price tag, much as a label on prewar clothing added to the cost of the garment.
      Yet, except for the circle of those that bought from him, his presence was virtually unknown. Those fleeing from the city had no call for alarm, since none that ran across his spotters ever talked to others about his practices. He even did a little advertising, sending a percentage of his servants back over the San Gabriel mountains into the war-torn city for friends and family and to announce a safe route of escape to those they met.
      Fletcher had it figured down to the last detail. His intelligence services in the city knew exactly where to recruit. He would arrange group escapes, bringing out the prime refugees for a price. Once through the mountains and across the dry aqueduct to the north, they were given rest and plenty of water at prearranged temporary transportation depots. They would get on the trucks and pass out, self-loaded onto the trucks for delivery.
      Fletcher processed some two hundred and fifty people a day on the average. Most of those fleeing carried their portable valuables with them, spicing the pot. He had a huge stockpile of precious metals, jewels, and weapons in his underground vaults. Added to that was the profit of the sale of the slaves. He collected coming and going.
      At first, he had used the proceeds to equip his fortress with the best furnishings to be had, both for operations and comfort. But he now had only to replace parts and purchase supplies, and that took only the tiniest of fractions of his income. He had more wealth than he could ever spend. Yet he kept on with his practices, enjoying the prestige and lifestyle of a highly successful businessman more than the gains of the business.
      He enjoyed receiving the world's wealthiest men and women that came to him for quality manpower. His guests knew better than to pull something over on him. Too many had had their throats slits by the merchandise they purchased later. His ability to program the human mind was well respected, and he reveled in this respect. He always showed his guests the best of times when they came to visit to discuss business.
      He kept hundreds of the best available sex slaves for his private collection, and it was a true honor and a true pleasure to be invited to his underground fortress for a business visit. He felt himself to be an artist, and the opinion of his guests concurred. They often paid a premium for special programming that they got to sample from his private collection. For a special price, he often sent visitors away with pieces of his private collection, preferring to keep the catalog stock fresh by rotation, never letting the group get too old or bored over the years.
      Fletcher personally oversaw the arrival of all captives, selecting the special prospects for his special needs. Even after the big war, when the government collapsed, the City of Angels still drew the visually angelic on past reputation. His experience had given him a practiced eye in spotting hidden beauty and false beauty. He was supreme judge of flesh and ability in the current world.
      Thus his fortress held the world's most beautiful array of willing flesh. This was a fact of which he was extremely proud. He cared not overtly of the pleasures that they could offer. He had worn himself thin of such pastimes early on in his business, and now his pleasures came more in the reactions of others in his accomplishments. This is not to say that he refrained from sampling his products, but the act had become more a thing equivalent to eating and sleeping. It was just one tiny facet in his complete lifestyle. His work was far more important to him.
      He was a man that knew the weaknesses of others and how best to exploit them. He was also a man that knew his own weaknesses and how to augment them to where they were no longer weaknesses. He enjoyed his life and intended to keep it the way it was, no matter the cost.
      Thus, he was ready for any contingency that might occur. Any and all, that is, except for one. Her name was Katrina.
      There were a percentage of captives that did not fully respond in the prescribed manner to his treatments. It was sometimes a simple matter of body chemistry. Sometimes, it was a matter of strong will and training. Sometimes, it was human error in the programming of his assistants. Thus, a percentage of the prime candidates were sent to the scrap heap to be served along with the rejects as protein rich nutrition.
      Katrina was one such reject from the labs.
      Katrina arrived in one of the paid treks out of the city. The guide had accepted the all jewels that her parents said that they had saved to get her out of the war stricken environment. She was beautiful of face and well figured. She was smooth of skin and fair of complexion. Her hair dazzled in the desert sunlight when allowed to fall freely. In short, she was the most beautiful woman that Fletcher had ever seen, and he immediately chose her, even in the dirty clothes and hat that hid her assets well, when she was brought into receiving.
      He followed her progress personally, taking time away from his usual routine to do so. For her, he had personally designed the ultimate in programming of which he had available. He planned for her to worship him with every ounce of her soul. But she didn't take. Every attempt at programming failed miserably, leaving her no different than the moment that she realized that she had been made a slave. She hated him and refused to cooperate. She ignored him, even when his anger got the best of him. She resisted by ignoring his existence, hitting his psyche accurately where it hurt the most. Yet he was so taken by her beauty that he refused to discard her. He was determined to find a way to make her love him. His ego could accept no less.
      He often neglected his visitors after she arrived. He had ceased to care about his business and reputation. His clientele overlooked the slighting, figuring that he had his attention on some special new product in the making. But word spread, and the visits began to fall off, with those planning to drop in deferring until they heard that he was back in stride. Fletcher was not even aware that business arrivals had dropped off.
      Those that did arrive found bargains to be had, since he had ceased supervising the arrivals of the captives. Many prime stock that would have gone to his private collection was now fresh on the open market. Thus the private visits dropped off and the attendance of the auctions rose proportionately to the time he spent with Katrina, trying to make her love him. There were a few successes, and they proved temporary. She rejected all the mind controlling drugs that were administered to her, either immediately or shortly thereafter.
      He spent over a month trying everything that he knew, and she still rejected him in silence and total disregard. He then decided to try more conventional means. He radioed that her parents be brought out of the city by the fastest means possible. Guides were instructed to find them and tell them that their daughter had paid for their evacuation. But try as they might, the guides could not locate them. Three days passed until word was sent back that they had discovered that her parents had been killed in an insurrectionist raid. The reports stated that she had no other family in the area.
      Thus failing to gain controlling leverage over her, he decided to break her. He felt that after all the effort that he had invested, he was willing to have her as simply obedient, rather than desirous of him. He strapped her down and started with the strobes, allowing no visitors to her except himself. The only break that she got from the flashing lights in her eyes and ultrasonics in her ears was when she was fed and when Fletcher took his frustration out on her sexually. He was careful not to bruise or mar her body. She responded as if he weren't there, but he could tell that he was getting to her in her subtle body language.
      After several visits, he started using the subliminal sound treatment, rather that the audible ones. These were from recordings that were played at just below her hearing level, telling her that she was worthless, clumsy, unattractive, and stupid. The language was designed to hit emotionally, using terse and derogatory words and inflection.
      Two days later, he began to use electrical stimulation at uneven intervals. The shocks were high voltage and very low current. They were painful and disorienting. He began to notice more progress in her. Thus he changed the nature of his visits to that of a caring friend. Whenever he arrived, all stimulus ceased, and he was very kind to her, doing all he could to make her comfortable, short of releasing her from her bonds. He fed her good food, caressed her in a brotherly fashion, stopped having intercourse with her, and spoke to her in gentle tones and loving words.
      She started paying attention to him for the first time, asking for mercy. He stated that he had no real control over what was being done to her. He claimed that he would stop her treatment were it in his power to do so. She softened toward him even more in the days following. She finally reached the stage to where he felt that she was sufficiently broken. He carried out a charade of helping her escape, freeing her from the bonds and hiding her in a special chamber inside his personal area of the fortress.
      Here, he left her alone for long periods of time, locked in a small unfurnished room, promising to get her to the outside when he could make adequate arrangements. When he arrived, she was hungry for company, and she started treating him with little signs of adoration. These he dismissed to concentrate upon the contrived dangers of her predicament. The fear responses she showed placed her willingly in his arms for the first time, looking to him for deliverance from trouble.
      With his success beginning to show, he again turned his mind back on business, and saw what shambles had emanated from his neglect. He jumped in with both feet, and soon had the situation back under control. He had to go through the market to see what he had overlooked in not being there to glean off the best of the arrivals. He had a mountain of records to review and gave himself to his work, trying to catch up on months of neglect to duty. He lost sleep, but he gained the insight of what he had done, as happens in many cases where infatuation is not rewarded quickly enough.
      He envisioned a schedule for the near future, based upon the time it would take for him to finish catching up on his work, on her projected progress, and on the time it would take to get word out that he was back in the saddle and ready to throw a huge party for all his clientele that wished to show, with special door prizes as an incentive for attendance. He planned on using the occasion to unveil Katrina.
      During his visits with her, he expressed problems with getting her successfully out of the underground compound. He began to speak of a plot to overthrow the ruler and take power himself. He gave such an emotional speech that she initiated intercourse with him for the first time. He saw the starvation for company and fear of capture taking the toll of her will power. After their romp, he began to promise the things that he would do for her after he gained control of the fortress. He promised to give Katrina her freedom to move about the compound, dress in beautiful clothes made just for her, enjoy company of others in happy times, be happy with the only man in the world that cared enough about her to help her. The talk so imbued her with hope that she initiated a second round with him. He was thrilled to have such a beautiful woman want him so.
      He left her there for three more weeks, coming to her with stories of troubles and delays and worries. It kept up her fears, but she encouraged him with her physical and emotional attentions, urging him to be careful, but not give up in the face of difficulty. He knew that she saw him as her only chance.
      He finally arrived one day and opened the panel to the hiding place with impudence, telling her to emerge. He was there with a dozen supporters behind him, all programmed to hail him as hero and comrade. She emerged only with intense assurance. The isolation had apparently taken its toll on her mind. She was very shy and hid in Fletcher's shoulder. He cleared the room except for the seamstress, and she started measuring Katrina for clothes that were already made, well in advance.
      The woman vanished, and he spent fairy tale hours with her in the confines of the bedroom. She had spells of doubt that shattered her elation at freedom, but he was ever vibrant and promising, that the doubts melted from her demeanor until they rose again when he gave her too much time to think. They celebrated as deep-felt lovers in the new found glory that he had so carefully orchestrated. That, more than anything, seemed to quell her doubts.
      Her dresses arrived, and he began introductions of those that helped him seize the thrown of power. All played their part in the drama that allowed for the carefully constructed truth to emerge in a favorable light. He was careful not to introduce anything that would contradict, but the impact of it was kept out of her presence by programming.
      She slipped into the role uneasily, not of the circumstance, but of her own lack of self-esteem. He encouraged her the whole time. He began transforming her into a woman that matched her exquisite exterior. He instructed her of her position, of her duties at his side in meeting clients. He knew that his absence would spark comment of reappearance, and he worked his way through her mind that would let her accept whatever was said. He taught her the language and the meanings of certain phrases that were bound to be spoken in greeting. He told her that a new operator of a market was said to reappear on the scene after an absence, that it was the title that was addressed, like an old friend.
      With her head filling with so much so quickly, he set experienced members of his collection to train her in grace and style. He showed up periodically to refine her approach. He soon had the woman that he had desired when he first laid eyes on her, and it was only a few days until the party. He was confident that everything had finally gone according to schedule.
      His clientele began arriving, some predictably early, not wanting to miss anything that happened at the party. They were quick to take to sampling his new products and ogle over the special door prizes that they weren't allowed to touch. One could only touch after they were awarded, and only with the new owner's permission. Things got into full swing as the appointed arrived. The compound filled with arrivals ready for a good time. It was the most festive event to occur on the coast since before the war started. Buyers were arriving from all over the globe.
      At the proper time, Fletcher displayed his new collection. He had gone to great pains to organize a special series of guided escapes, free of charge, to good looking young men and women from the city. All were told that someone they knew had paid for their trip out of the city. The labs had been busy refining new programs and training for the collection. It was the pinnacle of his endeavors. Gathered together, they made the on-looking crowd drool in delight.
      While they were all so very appreciative of fine beauty and grace, Fletcher unveiled Katrina. Her simple entrance was a show stopper. She had spent two hours in preparation under the care of his finest make-up artists. She was flawless, elegant, exquisite, commanding. She was beauty beyond what this combatant world remembered tasting. She joined him at his side, and he made a public comment about everyone seeing why he had not been more available before. The crowd broke out in applause, everyone there using the act to vent the intense jealousy and envy that each felt.
      Fletcher simply bowed. When he stood up, Katrina turned to him and moved to kiss him before all eyes attending. Her hand slid across his stomach and disappeared inside his coat. This simple act made everyone squirm in stimulated desire. She kissed him in the manner of a lover that owes all, withholding nothing. Then he spasmed, and she backed away. Her hand came out of his coat, bloody, trailing his intestinal tract. From the depths of her cleavage came a small devise, drawn by a golden chain around her neck. She pressed the dual buttons, and the fortress ceased to be a fortress, turning into a mass grave of fiery destruction.
      Explosive charges that were stored in the various armories all went off at once, resulting in a crater that simply caved in after the ground had shaken violently, something that was expected to happen often in that part of the world. Radio communications ceased among the spotters, collectors, and guides. Receiving no instructions from their command, they returned to the crater as programmed. Thus arrived the only attendants of the funeral.
      In one brief moment, the world had lost half of its rulers. Almost every leader for the insurrectionist nations had died in that detonation, as had many of the movement's local leaders.

     

      In San Francisco, Terry Wright sighed. He looked up at the two men sitting before him in his basement. "Gentlemen, the project is concluded. All went as programmed. The time to act is now."
      "You are sure of this?" asked one of the suited men.
      "Yes. I lost contact completely in a flash of pain. Katrina is dead. She did as programmed. I must say that this has been the most unpleasant experience of my life. Tell your director that I expect to be called on no further ventures in the future. You have used up your markers with me. I am to be considered no longer available for any duties."
      "Don't be too hasty in such matters."
      "Gentlemen, I do not call my decision hasty. I have been monitoring her for almost three months. During that time, I have been deeply scarred by the contact. She was programmed to endure, I wasn't. I suffered as much as she did, if not more. I am fully human. She was a genetic construct. You built her for a purpose. I resent that very much, creating a thing as beautiful as she was for the sole purpose of being abused. I suffered that abuse."
      "I had no idea that her good looks would get to you."
      "It wasn't her looks, you dimwit. It was her mind. She was the most beautiful person that I ever encountered. Her mind was so pure and unselfish and so giving. You will never have any idea of what she gave up to do your bidding. Maybe it will decide the war. I don't feel that it was worth it. I resent it like hell. So don't ever let anyone in your group contact me again. I am through with you. No more. Never again. Now get out of here before I lose my temper. I'm already mad enough to kill you. Leave and don't come back. I am paid in full. Good-bye, forever."
      "I'm sorry that you feel this way."
      "I'm sorry that you don't feel at all. Out."
      The two suited men left the basement. He heard the front door shut. The first of many tears began to escape his eyelids and run down his cheeks. Be that she was artificially human, he had lost the one true love he had ever really known. Katrina would only live now in his memory. Everyone would intentionally forget her except Terry. He would never forget, no matter how he tried.