Foreword

 

The collar fit tightly on her throat.

It forced her to keep her head up to breathe. She kept trying to raise her hands to it, but something was holding them behind her back. She knew it was a neckcuff-a slave collar that extended down her back and held her arms behind-but still she kept trying. The violence of her capture had put her in a state of shock; in her dazed state, she just continued to twist and jerk as if persistence would allow her escape. It was a fantasy, of course; slaves didn't escape the Persian neckcuff...ever. Once the wicked device was in place, it subdued even the most defiant and determined offender.

Which was surprising given its simplicity-a single strip of coarse leather that extended from the neck to the middle of the slave's back. Skilled Persian leatherworkers cut the material so that the top wrapped around its victim's neck and the bottom around his or her wrists. Experienced blacksmiths added metal loops and buckles, and the Persian neckcuff was ready for use. There were more elaborate versions, ones that included, for example, an integrated leather belt for encircling the ribs or an integrated gag strap that held the tongue down, but these were mostly for punishing the most recalcitrant.

88 knew about neckcuffs, but the burning pain on her ass filled her mind, leaving her confused about why her arms wouldn't work. As the fog cleared, however, she became more aware of her bondage and why she was cuffed.

She had not planned to run; she had panicked and fled in fear when the homeguard officer selected her for the harvest. She knew there was no escaping them-the soldiers had every farm road and path blocked-it had been an impulse, and irrational response to a situation she never expected. Nor had she expected the violent response her running sparked.

A cowboy on a white and brown pinto had sprinted after her like a rodeo rider after a steer. She had not gone a hundred yards before his lasso dropped over her legs, slamming her hard on the ground. Stunned, she watched in horror as the man's horse settled back on his hind legs holding the rope tied to its saddle pommel taut. The man sauntered over, pulled her arms back hard, and wound a strip of rawhide around her wrists. Running his hands down her bare legs, he raised her ankles and tied them to her wrists. The scattered applause of nearby soldiers sickened her; they considered his performance-chasing down runaway slaves-entertainment.

Stupidly, she lay on the ground in her hogtie thinking it was over-the cowboy had foiled her shortsighted escape attempt and that was the end of it. She didn't remember, or perhaps was too shocked to recall that the hated Florida homeguard prided itself on its consistent cruelty toward slaves. Its motto, "all resistance has consequence," said it all.

The consequence for her was another brand. A soldier knelt on her back as she lay in the grass, pulled down the farm shorts they all wore, and burned a tiny "R" on her ass cheek. Her screams echoed across the field as he held the branding iron on her skin. She writhed wildly when he removed it trying to shake off the pain. They would use the horror of her branding as a deterrent to those farm slaves waiting in line for inspection. Sometime later, another soldier released her from the hogtie and walked her to a shed where he cut off her remaining clothes, belted on the neckcuff, and chained her in the women's coffle.

She didn't remember much of what followed her branding, only that everyone involved in the process functioned as if it was routine, as if the harvest, even the branding of runaways, was all very ordinary.

She glanced back at her bare ass for the first time. There was a bright red "R" after her registration number...the runner's "R." She knew about the R-brand, of course, everyone on the farm knew that they would be branded a runner if they tried to escape. It was a permanent reminder to all future masters that the slave had bolted once and might do it again. There were no second chances for a slave in the Southern Region. The Persians didn't give second chances, not to slaves.

She had been branded before. The homeguard soldiers who took eight years ago had burned the number "K733-G488" into her ass. One of the old-timers on the farm had explained to her that the "K733" identified her genetic group-in her case, the farm town and region where she had grown up. The Persians would never allow her to couple or breed with another K733. Understandably, they didn't want insanity in the slave population. The "G488," he explained, was simply her branding sequence. The overseers on the farm had abbreviated it "88" which was the name she was known by now.

"Abby," she whispered softly, staring defiantly at her slave number. "Abby!"

Abby was the name her parents had given her. The name she secretly called herself sometimes to remember them. There would be little opportunity to remember them anymore, she thought. A pleasure slave wasn't allowed private thoughts. She didn't know how the Persians accomplished this, but she had little doubt that they would.

 

Chapter 1 - Invasion

 

There had not been any warning...none. One minute the world was at peace-or at least not involved in a world war-the next minute a dozen cities were burning. People knew they were under attack, but no one knew how it had been done, why it was so widespread, or who was responsible. Everyone thought one of their traditional human enemies had attacked them.

The following day the real attackers broadcast a shocking message simultaneously on all the world's electronic media. It was simple-surrender or die. To underscore their serious intent, they burned another city every hour following the broadcast. People panicked and fled, which caused even more death and devastation.

The media was quick to label the worldwide attack as the long-dreaded and long-anticipated alien invasion. The NY Times went a step further and named the invaders "Thorians" after the Norse god Thor, who used lightning and thunder to rule. The name stuck.

Nations mobilized their defensive forces of course, but there was no one to fight. By the time their scientists realized that the energy beams immolating Earth's cities were coming from the Moon, it was too late. Desperate mobs were storming their capitals demanding that their government "make it stop" immediately and by any means necessary, which they did by surrendering.

The Thorian's terms were harsh but again, simple-disband all central governments and obey the human rulers they would select to govern; abandon all technology invented after the year 1000; and pay them an ongoing tribute of rare Earth minerals. The surrender talks, which strangely were conducted electronically and in English, were over in one day.

This led many scientists to theorize that the Thorians themselves were still thousands of light-years from Earth and only their robots and their weapons were in place on the Moon. They further speculated that this lack of physical presence, and the Thorian demand that people obey the human surrogate they select to rule implied that the Thorians had solved the problem of space travel by using the teleportation of inanimate objects.

In other words, they knew how to decompose, transport at faster-than-light speed, and reassemble their robots and energy-beam weapons. The sub-atomic particles used to accomplish this, scientists said, had already been discovered. It was all theoretically possible with only one hitch-no organic material, such as a flesh-and-blood Thorian body, could survive the teleportation process.

People generally accepted this theory after a while, although it was no help in freeing them from the yoke of the Thorians' oppression, which came from their human surrogates. Cleverly, the Thorians selected surrogate rulers who had a long-standing, pathological hatred of the people they were to rule. For example, they chose Iranians to rule America; Germans to rule Russia; Indians to rule Britain, Zulus to rule South Africa, Israelis to rule Iran; Saudis to rule Israel; Chinese to rule Japan; and Uyghurs to rule China.

The main job of this new ruling class was to mine the raw materials, the rare minerals, the Thorians demanded as tribute, which would have been easy if not for the Thorian's prohibition against the human use of modern technology. Given this, the new surrogate rulers had no choice but to create authoritarian states and "homeguard" armies to enforce their rule. The primary role of the new armies was to enslave the labor they needed to deliver the tribute the Thorians demanded. This was the same approach the Egyptians had used to build their pyramids and the Romans had used to build their civilization.

Thus began Earth's Post-Modern era, a time people called the Thorian Age.