Alaistair Archibald - Questor

He waved his cigar in a contemptuous manner at the display of bovine passivity from his captive audience.

"Anyway, the main trouble with both those control methods is that they don't last too long, and they don't make a permanent change in men's minds. We at Haven have raised the ancient techniques of subliminal suggestion and surgical brain Pacification to an art form. In ancient times, they used to slice through the connection between the two halves of the brain in an attempt to provoke docility; can you believe that? The result of this first attempts at surgical brain modification produced placid morons with no more willpower than you have now.

"We at Haven developed a far superior method. We discovered that a simple electronic implant could automatically control the levels of dopamine, serotonin and the other cerebral neurotransmitters, turning even the most animalistic criminal into a happy, rational and useful member of society. Were the governments of the world happy at this unprecedented advance? Did they hail us as the saviours of mankind? No! They took this as their rightful due, sending us increasing numbers of malcontents and incorrigibles in an attempt to ease the stench of rebellion from their cesspits of cities, without the least word of thanks."

Grimm heard a faint, double thump as first Crest, and then Xylox, succumbed to the massive dose of sedatives within them, surrendering to the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

Armitage continued, in full, indignant flight at the base ingratitude shown to his beloved Haven by the old-world authorities, and he would not be balked.

"The final triumph was ours, of course. The politicians and bean-counters of the world were blasted into radioactive dust, while we survived. It wasn't easy, by any means, but the constant, miserly penny-pinching of the powers-that-were had already driven us well down the road towards complete self-sufficiency long before the first bombs fell. The last laugh was ours."

The last sound Grimm heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of Armitage's satisfied chuckling at the memory of Haven's final victory over its old, despised masters.

****

Thribble, safely ensconced in a small underworld bubble only fractions of an inch away from the mortal frame, had heard every word of the Administrator's self-indulgent monologue. With his demon eyes, he had been able to peer through the thin veil that separated him from Haven, and watch in increasing despair as one after another of the human adventurers had lost consciousness. After Grimm succumbed to the narcotics he had taken, only the white giant was left.

The minuscule netherworld creature saw it as a tribute to Tordun's mighty physique that the swordsman had resisted for so long; he guessed that even a maddened bull would have collapsed long before, after such a huge pharmaceutical hammering. Even so, the muscular human lost his battle in the end, and Thribble felt desperately alone in a strange world.

Armitage carried on his valedictory oration to the genius of the men of Haven long after the human titan surrendered his consciousness. When he finished, he clapped his hands, and a pair of white-garbed men entered the dining hall.

The taller and older of the men, bald-headed and rail-thin, addressed the Administrator in business-like tones. "Do you want them prepped for surgery, Administrator? I can have a surgical team assembled by tomorrow night."

Armitage gave a languorous yawn, and he made a show of inspecting his immaculate fingernails. "Not just yet, Terrence. I think I'll start them off with the standard Loyalty subliminals, just to be on the safe side, but I certainly don't want to mess with the brains of these two mages just yet. Remember the General's reaction when I told him how we botched the job on that first couple of Illusionists? The fellows were fully sentient, but they couldn't cast even the simplest of spells.

"I don't want to tinker with the Questor's brains at all; we don't want to damage them. I think the General would be very, very grateful to have a Mage Questor in full working order. From what I've heard, these fellows are absolutely lethal. I think I'll pit them against each other, to see which one comes out on top; we can dissect the loser, and the General can have the victor. We don't want them fully Pacified, but you can give them maximum subliminal conditioning."

Terrence nodded. "As you wish, Administrator. What about the others?"

"I want the little one with the pointed ears left as he is for a while; a new sub-species should be studied with care, and I don't want to assume too much about his brain before I let you hack it apart."

The Technician snorted. "You make it sound like butchery, Armitage. We're a little more refined than that."

"As you will, Terrence." Armitage sighed and flipped his hand in a dismissive manner. "Nonetheless, you will leave him alone for the moment; is that clear?

"The big albino should make a good addition to our security forces if he's properly prepared; you can have him tomorrow."

"And the girl? What about her?"

"Keep your hands to yourself, Terrence!" the Administrator snapped. "She's mine, and mine alone. Anyone who touches her will end up as a happy, moronic broom-pusher: even you, old friend."

The Technician raised a roguish eyebrow.

"As the Administrator desires," he said in an arch, knowing voice.

Armitage sighed. "You are a dullard at times, Terrence!" he snapped. "We're in desperate need of fresh female genetic material. Spermatozoa are created every day by males; females are born with their full lifetime complement of eggs, and that's the cause of all our problems; we don't have the military force to take women from the townships by force, and inbreeding has weakened our genetic line. This girl is a gift.

"I just want to be sure that tampering with her neurotransmitters doesn't affect the various fertility hormones as well; it's as well to be prudent."

Terrence's partner, a short, rotund man with wispy, greying brown hair and a scrubby beard, spoke up: "Who gets the first crack at the girl when you've finished studying her, Administrator? I presume it's not going to be by lot."

"Never you mind who's first, Deeks!" Armitage snapped. "Don't worry; your zygotes will be joined with hers in good time."

"In a bloody test tube!" came Deeks' heated response. "I'm a man, not some damned robot, Armitage! I have desires; I have physical needs, like any other man. I'll bet you won't be standing in line to give a sodding sperm sample!"

Armitage raised his hand in admonishment and lowered his brows. "That's quite enough, Mr. Deeks. You seem ill at ease, and I fear you may be in need of some behavioural modification; for your own good, of course."

The Technician paled at the implicit threat in Armitage's words. "I apologise, Administrator Armitage, for my loss of temper. I will carry out your orders as required."

Armitage took up his cigar and puffed smoke into the rotund man's face. Deeks turned red as he tried not to splutter.

"Thank you, Mr Deeks, Mr Terrence," the Administrator intoned. "That will be all. Remember: maximum subliminals for the mages, standard dosage for the rest. The giant can undergo full Pacification tomorrow, but wait for my word about all the others."

The slender Terrence and the barrel-like, sweating Deeks nodded in unison. "It will be as you require, Administrator," Terrence said.

The tall man touched a stud on a band wrapped around his wrist. "Team B, kindly take the new visitors to their guest quarters from the Dining Hall. They have been subjected to Stage One Pacification; gurneys will be required. That is all."

Thribble watched as the dormant bodies were wheeled out of the room on padded, metal trolleys, and he felt a pang of demonic angst.