Chains in Mind Read online

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re James Elgin?” John asked. “We haven’t met, but I’ve heard reports about you from the IT department. Good work on that QXS system. Of course, things are different for you now.” John’s glance took in James’s simple clothing and defeated expression. “There’s still work to do, though, serving Ms. Watson.”

  Susan had realised early that it was too easy to become unobservant about your servants: it was a dangerous habit that she meant to avoid. She was an intelligent and perceptive young woman, and she watched the boys carefully. James seemed a little overawed: before yesterday, he wouldn’t have expected to meet the big boss of Sallis and Company, let alone on equal terms; but yesterday had changed everything. It really was all different now.

  John took a breath, and considered where to begin.

  “The thing is, Ms. Watson feels that the male-female balance at Sallis and Company is unsatisfactory: at the moment, men and women are in more or less equal numbers at most pay-grades, and have much the same workloads, and she feels that this is very unfair on the women, because they deserve better.” John swallowed. Momentarily, a grimace flickered across his face, but then his expression was again carefully neutral. His conditioning was fixated on Katherine Watson herself, and did not cover women in general; but she was his mistress and he would never contradict her.

  “Ms. Watson doesn’t want to bring everyone into the kind of situation that you and I are in. One reason is security: it would be very difficult to keep the secret tight. Instead, she wants to arrange things without the employees knowing any particular secret that they could divulge. The idea is to promote women, and demote men, and have rock-solid performance reasons for doing so.

  “That’s why we need you. At the moment, when contracts and clients come in, they’re handed out as jobs just as the manager thinks best. But some jobs have a much higher associated revenue, a much higher chance of success, and a much lower level of effort, than others. What we need is for you to write a computer system that is apparently fair, but in fact parcels up all the most tedious, low-rewarding, work, and gives it to males, and all the very visible and profitable work and gives it to females, based upon heuristics as to which parts of which contracts will be in which category.” John broke off for a moment, looking very unhappy. His company, the company he had built up over many years, was being corrupted, possibly ruined. But you can’t argue with your own personal goddess: it was going to happen just as Ms. Watson had told him. He cleared his throat.

  “Then I have to claim to have received complaints from female employees that the managers are discriminating against them in allocating work. I don’t have to name names: no one will think it odd if I keep that confidential. Anyway, after a week or two for ‘consultation’, I can introduce the new system, to make things less ‘subjective’ than leaving it to an individual manager’s judgement: after all, a computer is entirely ‘objective’, is it not? I want to stress that you have to write this system so that it looks fair, when you look at the apparent choice criteria. Any comments, so far?”

  James sucked his teeth as he thought it over.

  “Uh, I think I can do something,” he said at last, “but if someone complains and there’s an investigation from the Equal Opportunities people, or someone like that, then it won’t stand up to detailed scrutiny.”

  “Understood.” John nodded. “But that won’t happen. If someone has a problem they’re likely to come either to me or to the union rep. - and the rep. is also one of Ms. Watson’s slaves. And there are key people on our side within the Commission itself. If we can’t persuade troublemakers to let it go, then as a last resort, we’ll co-opt them with the full treatment. To be honest, I don’t think even uncontacted members of the Commission are very focussed on discrimination against males.”

  John had recovered himself, and the two slaves were now speaking about the proposed trickery and deception with an odd air of detachment: just as if they were discussing the most normal business practice. Only their eyes still showed some disquiet. Whatever they thought about it personally, it made no difference: they were just obeying orders; they couldn’t do anything else.

  On the practical issue of getting away with it, James was still unsure.

  “But still, it’s going to be pretty noticeable, isn’t it, that something’s wrong?”

  “Well, there’s one more thing: there are going to be subtle mood-changers in the air conditioning system that vents into the male and female toilets. Nothing very obvious: just making the women more self-assured and assertive, and making the men more accepting, less confident. Mistress thinks that will be enough.”

  “Okay.” James sat forward, decision made. “Do I have access to your databases from here?”

  John gave James access codes for all areas of the company systems, and they began discussing technicalities, as John called up information on the screen. After an hour, Susan was getting bored. Much more of this and she might as well be an employee. She had confidence she could learn the details if she needed to, but right now that wasn’t important: the males would handle them. She stood up. Instantly, the boys broke off the discussion, and stood as well. She shook her head:

  “Keep working,” she said, and wandered off, threading her way through the piled furniture to the door. The kitchen was two doors down, and Thomas was there.

  “Coffee, in the library,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am. Immediately, ma’am.”

  She headed upstairs. The library was opposite Katherine’s study, and she stuck her head round the door.

  “Hi.”

  Katherine looked up from her desk:

  “Hello, Susan.”

  “I was taking a break. You want a coffee?”

  “Sure.” Katherine stood up and walked over; the two women went across the corridor to the library.

  The shelves lining the room were filled with nineteenth-century books that neither of them had read: they had come with the house. They made a good effect, though, the orderly ranks of spines with gold lettering, their colours faded by time. Perversely, the library was at the front, that is to say, facing South, and so got full sun: a large wedge of sunlight was on some of the books now, no doubt making them fade faster than they would have in a North-facing room. Poor planning on someone’s part, Susan mused.

  Katherine and Susan sat down side by side on a large chesterfield sofa, twisting to face each other.

  “So,” Susan said, “I think I’ve got the gist. Subtle airborne drugs reinforcing the management changes, with insurance in the form of our people in key positions, ready to block anyone who wants to complain.”

  Katherine smiled and nodded, and Susan continued:

  “What’s not clear to me, though, is why you want to do this. What’s the plan?”

  Thomas arrived, with a tray. He had guessed that Katherine would want coffee as well, so there were two cups. He served the ladies with quiet efficiency. There was some shortbread that he had baked just that morning, and the two ladies took a piece each: it melted in the mouth. Katherine flicked her hand to dismiss him, and he bowed his head and melted away, as a good servant should. Thomas had been a head chef with a staff of twenty under him, his exalted position the reward for many years of hard work and struggle; but now he just did the housework and the cooking for the ladies with the same dedication he had used to give to his career. Katherine smiled in satisfaction at owning him.

  “Well, it’s not really my plan, at all: it’s Patricia’s,” she said.

  Susan raised her eyebrows. Patricia was the source of this wonderful new life. It was she who provided the nanomachine doses and the drug solutions for the aerosols. It was she who had set the parameters to determine which women could be invited into the charmed circle, and what attitudes needed to be fixed in them, artificially if necessary. Susan had only met her once, bu
t she had been charming, complimenting Katherine on her choice of companion.

  “Patricia feels,” Katherine continued, “that we’ve been marking time somewhat. You’ve only been here, what, a year? But I’ve been living this life for three years, and Patricia has had essentially the technology that she’s got now, for four. And what have we done? Not much. This is a pilot project, to see how easy it is to change attitudes among a wider population. After we’ve tried it, we’ll evaluate, and see where we go from there.”

  Susan shrugged and nodded agreeably.

  “Well, okay,” she said. Susan remembered her own time in that office. It would have been much better if the male staff had known their place. She warmed to the idea. Yes, the women should be in charge, and the men should be underlings or less. It could happen. She could help to make it happen.

  “I’d like to get involved,” she said. “Wouldn’t it help to have someone actually with those women, showing them how to behave? Otherwise, you don’t know how they’ll react to the new conditions.”

  “Well,” Katherine thought it over, “I suppose so. Yes, I think that would be a great help. I’ll talk to Patricia about it. She’s coming over this afternoon.”

  “Oh, is she? I did wonder why you were wearing that dress. It’s nice.”

  Katherine had chosen a knee-length black dress, flared from the waist, with white trim. Although simple, it seemed rather more showy than she usually selected when spending the day at home. She smiled to acknowledge the perfunctory compliment.

  “Are you going to change? She’ll be here around four,” she said.

  Susan thought about it.

  “I don’t know. Is it really necessary?”

  “No, no. I’m sure she won’t mind either way. Her clothes are always very sharp, though.”

  “I remember,” Susan had noticed Patricia’s designer labels at their only meeting.

  She put down her cup. “Maybe I should get back, and see what the boys are up to,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Katherine thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. You can let John out when he’s finished: I don’t need to see him.”

  Downstairs, the boys were where Susan had left them. She smiled and gestured them to sit back down, as they had automatically risen to acknowledge her. All the men at Sallis and Company would become underlings. No more ‘sir’ this and ‘sir’ that. She recalled her first meeting with John again, and on an impulse, she sat down on his lap.

  “So, daddy,” she said, putting on a little girl’s voice, and leaning her head to one side. “what has the big, important, company boss-man been up to while I’ve been upstairs?” She put a hand on his jacket, and ran her fingers up, under the lapel, until she was turning up his collar at the back of his neck. His face started to flush.

  “Uh,” he said.

  She opened her mouth and ran her tongue over her top lip. Her skirt was so short that her thighs, covered with only the sheer whisper of her tights, were resting on his trousers.

  “Oh please, sir. Surely you can simplify it enough, even for a little bit of fluff like me to understand,” she coaxed.

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no ma’am.”

  There was no right answer. His chance of coming up with a coherent summary of the technical details, in these circumstances, was negligible. She could feel him go tense and rigid with trepidation, underneath her: if he touched her without permission, if he so much as laid a finger on her, then he would probably be flogged until his bones showed. Talking of bones, she could definitely feel a swelling underneath her thigh, not even his current panic could prevent that. It must be many months since his last relief. She let his silent confusion continue a few moments longer.

  “What’s the matter, daddy? Don’t you like me?” She pouted and ran his tie through her fingers. Her feet were off the floor, and she swung her legs like a child, making her backside rock back and forth on his lap.

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he croaked.

  “Oh, so that is the matter: you don’t like me?”

  He had nothing to say: ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ were both wrong. Even to say that he did like her could be taken as gross impertinence from a servant. He groaned inarticulately. Not so clever with words, now, she thought, with satisfaction. She squirmed on his lap, making him tremble with delight and dread.

  “Haven’t I been a good girl? Don’t I get a kiss?” She put a caressing hand on his shirt and brought her cheek within an inch of his lips. His face was now bright red, but a question was not permission: he didn’t move.

  “Whatever you want, ma’am.”

  “Well,” she said, now sounding like a little girl sulking, “if you could concentrate for just a moment, perhaps you could at least tell me whether you’ve finished talking to Jamie-wamie,” she suggested.

  “Ma’am, yes, we’ve finished,” he managed.

  “Good.” She stood up, suddenly brisk and business-like. “Then you can go.”

  His mouth opened and closed, without words. Her abrupt change of manner had left him agonised with unsatisfied need, she was delighted to see.

  “Yes?”

  “Ma’am, doesn’t Mistress want to see me?”

  “She says not,” Susan told him, casually. He looked deflated, defeated. Obviously, he yearned to see Katherine. Susan shrugged:

  “Come on,” she ordered, and headed back to the cart, and to George, who was still waiting where she had parked him, outside the back door. She mounted, and got John in position, to run beside her, back to his car.

  She couldn’t wait for the experiment to get under way, she thought, as she flourished her whip, and set her two charges in motion.

  Chapter Nine

  Katherine sat in her study, looking over accounts from half a dozen companies the size of Sallis and Company. When you could search out the most talented businessmen, single for preference, and take all their assets and force them to work single-mindedly, simply to make more money for you, then getting rich was easy. There was still some work to do, though. It was a little like a big win on the lottery: you still had to look after your investments. Really, it was no problem at all, compared with the benefits that she got, but still it was a chore.

  She leaned back in her chair and stretched. The desk was against the wall, but just to her right a tall window gave views over the rear grounds: she watched the top branches of some beech trees, three hundred yards away, well beyond the lawn, bending in the breeze. It was a good idea to get Susan more involved. It was time.

  Katherine trusted her absolutely, and knew how capable she was, but still she wasn’t quite twenty, so this last year, Katherine had more or less left her to soak, to wallow, to immerse herself in the delight of owning slaves. It was a lot to get used to, and Katherine had been interested in how she had moulded George. It was his bad luck that Susan seemed to have some genuine, if eccentric, feeling for him, she thought, amused.

  Susan wouldn’t be happy to laze around forever though, and was already showing signs of boredom. The project at Sallis and Company would be a good start for her. She could oversee it: go in undercover, if necessary, and act as an example to the other women.

  Decision made, she reached for the phone.

  “Patricia? It’s Katherine. You’re still coming over this afternoon, to see James, and talk about the ‘Sallis’ thing?”

  She paused to listen.

  “Lovely. We’ll expect you for tea at around four. Patricia, I was thinking of involving Susan more in this little venture. I think she’s ready for something to do, and she’s very sensible, very capable: I showed you the reports. That’s right. Yes, that’s what I think. Okay, then: see you this afternoon.”

  Katherine put the phone down. In fact, she was a little worried about the whole project. Involving so many people: if something
should slip! But Patricia was sure it would be alright, and Katherine couldn’t gainsay her. Suddenly, she felt the need for reassurance. James would have been her first choice, but his work was important, and she didn’t want to interrupt it. She got her remote control out of her pocket, and pressed the button that would send an electric shock through Hubert’s groin.

  In a few moments she heard the sound of running, and he appeared. It was his job to guess which room she was calling from, or suffer the consequences of responding too slowly, but at this time of day, he could easily predict that she would be in her study.

  “Yes, mistress?”

  Katherine waved a hand over her shoulder. “Massage.”

  Hubert knew what to do. He stood behind her chair, and put his big hands on her shoulders, kneading them. After a while, his hands moved down to her upper arms, and then onto her front, her stomach, avoiding her breasts. He was not taking liberties by doing this: this was exactly what she wanted, to be comforted by his arms around her.

  “I love you, mistress,” he told her, using his calmest, deepest voice, almost like a lullaby. “You are beautiful, beyond measure. I will do anything, anything, for you.”

  It was an artificial creation, she knew, but it was also true: he wasn’t lying. She put her own hands over his, holding him in position. After several minutes, she sighed peacefully.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now, you can nuzzle my feet for a bit.”