Dahran

The Seventh Desert by Gerry Taylor

This is the second chapter (ex twenty two) of a novel about present-day slavery and gay sex.

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 2 -- The overlaps of business

`Sir Jonathan, a Mr. Zabian al-Kibbe to see you. He doesn't have an appointment.'

At the Bank, we use a common receptionist, who keeps the appointment diaries of all the Partners and Managers. She was on the line and the man wanting to see me was the Lebanese General Manager of one of the Bank's clients, Farouq al-Hamdi, an international Dahran businessman who had sold me some slaves.

`Send Mr. al-Kibbe up immediately.'

`Yes, Sir Jonathan.'

I had last seen Zabian out at the opal mine, which he managed for Farouq, some eighty miles down south. It was a hellishly hot site for anything, most of all for anything approaching physical effort or manual work, yet some two hundred and fifty slaves worked the mine twelve hours a day, seven days a week.

The ever impeccably groomed General Manager came into my office suite.

`Zabian, how are you? It is good to see you.'

`Sir Jonathan, good to see you too. I am well, thank you and very busy. I had some business with our local bank in the capital city and I thought I might drop by and see you as well.'

I knew that Farouq al-Hamdi dealt with the local Bank of Dahra, but had used our bank for his machinery leases six months previously.

`You are always welcome. May I offer you something to drink or can I prevail on you to stay for lunch? It is the least I can do after your hospitality the last time at the mine.'

`No, Sir Jonathan, I can't stay. I just dropped by to see if you were interested in a number of slaves, not exactly like the others you have bought from us. Just a number I want to place.'

`I am sure there is always work to be found at my Palaces. How many are you talking about?'

`Twelve, fifteen perhaps. I and two of the Managers want to find them good Masters.'

`I don't quite follow, Zabian. Those whom I have bought in the past are at the end of their usefulness for you at the mine, but still more than useful for me on the farms. What is different here?'

`Farouq is putting the opal mine up for sale.'

I looked at Zabian in surprise, who continued, `You may know of his business interests in both Pakistan and India. He has been building a major cotton plant in India which will effectively make him the new number one in cotton in the sub-continent. The partner -- a consortium, in fact -- which he had in the venture had to pull out, and rather than seek another partner, Farouq is going it alone. He needs cash and is selling off his various assets, including the mine. The fact of this invasion taking place at this time could not have come at a worse time for him as various investments have plummeted.'

`But the mine is profitable and doing well?'

`Yes, indeed, very well. The new equipment we have leased is all in place and working like a dream.'

`So what is Farouq selling exactly?'

`Lock, stock and barrel, Sir Jonathan. What remains of a nine hundred and ninety-nine year lease on the mine, two hundred and fifty or so slaves, the mine's holding company and the sales subsidiaries. The lot. I have to raise a hundred million dollars in the sale for him--that's why I am going to our local bank at the moment. The bank is going to contact a number of potential buyers. And then, I shall start looking for a new job.'

As we were speaking I was looking at the fire-opal signet ring on my little finger, Farouq al-Hamdi's gift to me. Its reds and oranges flickered in the midday light. I felt that time had slowed down. I looked at the house martin, my sign, on the gold of the signet and I studied my symbol, engraved on the fire opal itself. Somewhere on a distant Olympus, Clio, the Muse of change and development sighed and History adjusted her chronicled step.

The invasion of Dahra the previous day was not going to create a favourable climate for Farouq's disposal of assets. Fire-sales, as they are described in commercial terms, never are. I thought to myself that he must be under considerable financial pressure to even contemplate the selling of any Dahran related investment at that time.

`Zabian, we are going to have lunch. Cancel your meeting with the Bank of Dahra and come tell me about this opal mine you're selling for Farouq.'

Ninety minutes later, I was the owner of one opal mine in the wastelands of the Seventh Desert. I also asked Zabian al-Kibbe to stay on as General Manager.

`These twelve or fifteen slaves you were talking about earlier on, Zabian, who are they and why were you trying to sell them? Or are you now still trying to sell them?'

We...you,' he corrected himself, have some thirty five actual employees at the mine, Sir Jonathan. The slaves I mentioned are, let me say, comfort slaves for the staff who are away from their families for two weeks at a time. They look after the staff, their quarters, their needs. They have been good slaves, faithful slaves. I did not want them either going back into the mine itself where it could cause problems or onto the general market where they will not fetch much. Even now with you as a new owner, I would prefer to see them placed elsewhere.'

Send them to the Lemon Palace. I am sure that Yuriy Obov can find them farm work which will not be as hot as working near the mine. As for the staff, find out how many want to stay at the same salary; find the staff other comfort slaves' as you term them. Recruit new staff if you have to replace some.

`As for yourself, draw up a new contract for your present salary plus 5% of the yearly profits. No bonuses, no perks, just plain salary and profit sharing. Then let the staff know that they too will have 5% of the profits divided equally among them. Again no bonuses, no perks, just basic salary and profit sharing.'

Zabian open his mouth and closed it again as if he had lost his voice. We shook on the deal and Zabian al-Kibbe finally said `Sir Jonathan, this is one deal you will not regret.'

`Show me the past five years' figures, Zabian and what you want to do for the next five. Send the paperwork to my lawyers and we can have it signed, sealed and delivered this very week.'

Both of us left the lunch very happy people -- Zabian, clearly at the prompt sale for his former boss and his stated happiness at landing the same job with me, at better employment conditions for himself than he had previously and also for his staff to boot. And I was happy at having a very sound business the value of whose product -- the opal -- never lost its price on international markets.

What I was not expecting, however, was the phone call early the following morning at the Bank from Karim al-Kibbe, one of Dahra's few criminal lawyers and son of Zabian with whom I had done business just the previous day.

`Sir Jonathan, sorry for disturbing you. Would you be free to come to see me at the Courts Building? I cannot go to see you. The request is from the highest level.'

In Dahra, the highest level is the Sheik himself.

I had Faisal, the Bank's driver, run me across the city to the city's Courts Building. Karim was waiting for me, protected from the heat under the portico of the building, and as the Rolls drew up, he came out into the sun and opened the door of the car before Faisal could get to it.

`Sir Jonathan, thank you for coming so quickly. Let me show you inside and out of this heat.'

I followed Karim inside out of heat which had become a scorcher of a day even though it was only April. The Courts Building was refreshingly cool and we walked down two corridors. Karim appeared to know where he was going as he set a brisk pace. He did not seem in the mood for small talk and I indulged in none with him. Barely beyond his mid-twenties and yet he was one of Dahra's most respected criminal lawyers, respected simply because there was such little crime in Dahra and he seemed to represent, according to the scuttlebutt I had heard, about one third of the cases of criminal law in the entire country.

Stopping for a second outside a closed double wood-panelled ceiling-to-floor door, Karim knocked and entered. I followed.

Inside what looked for all the world like a Board-room, with a long highly polished table and high-backed comfortable chairs, was a number of people, one of whom I recognised by sight. It was the female Judge in the former criminal case against two American missionaries, James Scott and Daniel Saxon, who were now my slaves at the Lime Palace. The Judge gave no sign of having recognised me.

`Your Honour, may I introduce Sir Jonathan Martin. Sir Jonathan, Her Honour, Khalila bint Omar.'

`Sir Jonathan, please be seated and thank you for coming here so quickly.'

She did not stand up, but merely indicated a seat on the other side of the table from her. Her voice was firm and well modulated, speaking clear and precise Arabic.

`We have a delicate matter to resolve,' she continued almost in the same breath while I settled myself down.

`I do not think you know criminal lawyers al-Abdulla and al-Othman.'

I had not been offered a handshake by Her Honour, she being a woman and such being local custom, but the two lawyers stood and shook hands with me across the table. They were, it turned out, the other two thirds of the criminal lawyer fraternity of Dahra.

`Karim? Have you explained anything to Sir Jonathan?'

`No, your honour, as you requested.'

`Thank you.'

There was a moment's silence as if the facts in the Judge's mind had to be marshalled. She was looking at a legal document, and then joined her hands, pressing her delicate fingertips together to form a small steeple. She then addressed me. I felt as if she were weaving some hypnotic spell with her voice and eyes, such was the power of authority in both.

`Sir Jonathan, this past weekend a large number of foreign persons engaged in an illegal act here in Dahra.'

The Judge was referring to the invasion. Why she did not say that clearly I could not quite fathom. But then legal people rarely state things clearly to the lay ear.

`These criminals were apprehended and brought before the Court yesterday and today. There are forty two criminals in all.'

She was referring to the mercenaries from the invasion. The figure tallied with the number of prisoners that the Police Captain had told me that had been taken.

`All forty two have been found guilty of the crime committed and all have been sentenced to death this morning by majority verdict of the Court.'

There was now a distinct chill in the air. What did this majority verdict mean? Majority verdict? Three Judges sit in criminal cases. Two had voted for the death penalty, one had not. Suddenly the penny dropped. It was the Sheik himself, who had been the third Judge and who had voted against the death penalty. The Judge's voice broke through my reverie.

`All forty two criminals have now pleaded for mercy and the Court, today, is considering those pleas.'

I could follow all of this. This was the same forty-eight hour procedure which had occurred in the cases of James and Daniel. What I could not understand was why I was here in the Courts Building. I found that I was to be quickly illuminated.

`Sir Jonathan, if the Court follow through on any sentence, we normally like to have a unanimous opinion in criminal cases. Equally so, if we grant mercy in an act of Dahran clemency, we like to have a unanimous opinion.'

The Judge was being economical with the truth. The two Judges who had somehow voted for the death penalty were now trying to back-pedal for some reason, or the Judge--the Sheik--who had voted against it, if I read the situation rightly, held some trump card which the others did not possess. This was judicial politics. It was not justice that I was listening to.

`It is possible to have a unanimous opinion on clemency, but if such occurs the penalty will be imprisonment or slavery for life. Imprisonment for life here in Dahra is not an option for such a number. Our prisons can hold twenty on remand for a week at the maximum. We are therefore faced with the option of slavery. However, as these criminals are violent and trained militia, they cannot be enslaved and given to normal citizens or owners with impunity. There would be the distinct possibility of one or several of them hurting their new owners. We are seeking here, an owner who might have a facility where such slaves could be contained and the name of the Lemon Palace has been mentioned, specifically some compounds built there.'

At this, the Judge nodded in the direction of Karim al-Kibbe, who was diligently studying the document on the table in front of him.

Her Honour had stopped speaking. The silence in the room was tangible and the only noise was the soft swish of a ceiling fan.

`Your Honour, the Lemon Palace is some months away from completion. It is to be my new home. Yes, I have facilities there to handle this number of slaves, even criminal slaves. Those who have passed so far through my training procedures, while they have been criminals, even violent criminals, hardly any of them to my knowledge have been trained militia as you seem to imply. May I ask a very straight question?'

`Please do, Sir Jonathan.'

`These criminals who have been found guilty...'

I was being careful to use the phraseology being bandied about.

`...are they regular soldiers, mercenaries, terrorists, or what?'

Her Honour looked at the two lawyers and at Karim.

One of the lawyers, the farthest from me, cleared his throat and said, from what we understand from our clients, Sir Jonathan, they are all mercenaries or private contractors' as they keep referring to themselves. They were recruited for a job, to be given thirty thousand US dollars, three months' pay it seems, and when this job was finished, most would be going on to some other conflict elsewhere in the world.'

I nodded my thanks for his explanation and directed my next questions to the Judge.

What happens, if I say no', your Honour? Indeed, your Honour, what happens, if I say `yes'?'

If you say no', Sir Jonathan, the Court will seek an alternative owner or owners and I would ask you, merely ask you, not to discuss this matter ever again with anyone. If you say `yes', you will immediately become the owner of forty two slaves, former criminals. You can employ them any way you wish. The Sheikdom of Dahra would not wish to insult you by paying you a fee for accepting them, but we would merely wish to be assured that these criminals would never again be a threat to the safety of the state.'

`I understand, your Honour, and so it should be. You mentioned the Lemon Palace, my future home.'

`Yes, because we understand that you have a training facility there,' her Honour replied.

`If I had another, perhaps, more secure location, would there be an objection to that, at least until all the slaves or any one of them were deemed by me or my Overseers to be no longer dangerous.'

`An even more secure location, Sir Jonathan?'

`Yes, your Honour. Yesterday, I bought an opal mine which is some eighty miles south and very isolated.'

I was now looking at Karim who was staring intently at me.

`You have not spoken with your father?' I enquired of him.

`I haven't spoken with father for a week,' Karim responded.

`Yesterday, I bought the al-Hamdi opal mine. Technically, I have still to sign some papers, but the deal is done. Speak with your father as to the detail, Karim, if necessary. But if that were a suitable location for the Court, then we can agree to a deal. I would not, at the moment, be willing to have such violent criminals permanently close to me or to my slaves. I can have them trained in basic slave procedures at a slave centre, but once trained, I would prefer to have them far away from my ordinary slaves.'

`Your Honour, the opal mine is in the Seventh Desert,' one of the lawyers--I think it was al-Othman--commented.

`The Seventh Desert!'

`Yes, your Honour, the Seventh Desert.'

Her Honour had raised her hands and separated them as if to impart a blessing. The lawyers likewise, even Karim. I was lost, quite lost, as to what was going on.

Karim say my look of incomprehension.

`This force of mercenaries invaded in the south, expecting support from the southern tribes. There was none. The leader and most of the mercenaries were killed on the beaches south of al-Mera. Now, those who have survived will be punished in the south, in the Seventh Desert, adjoining the desert of the very tribes and family they thought would rise up and help them and where they met their fate. It is kasama. Kismet as you say. Destiny!' Karim answered, filling me in.

I did not see it that way. Fate for me operates differently. Bad planning, bad judgement, bad everything, can only lead to one thing. Failure! And that was precisely the only destiny that the invasion venture was fated to have and did have.

`Your Honour, if that is all, then we are agreed. If it is alright with you, please have the necessary papers given to Karim al-Kibbe here who will forward them to me.'

Her Honour looked at me and then at the three lawyers.

`Thank you, Sir Jonathan, for your co-operation. Congratulations, Mr. al-Abdulla and Mr. al-Othman, on securing the clemency of the Court of Dahra for your clients. I shall inform my colleagues on the bench. This case is now closed.'

With that phrase, Her Honour rapped the table with her knuckles as if they were a gavel, gathered her papers, and with a bow of her head from the neck to her legal colleagues who reciprocated from the waist, Judge Khalila bint Omar withdrew.

It was my imagination, but I thought the room, large and all that it was, actually got warmer after her departure.

When I contacted Zabian al-Kibbe, I cannot say, in all honesty, that Zabian al-Kibbe was overjoyed at my news, but neither was he unduly unhappy.

`You do not seem too put out, Zabian?'

`No, Sir Jonathan, I am losing fifteen slaves to you and I am gaining forty two. The bargain is on my side. These criminals may be such and more in the outside world. We do actually and have had, a number of criminals here in my time. But at the opal mine after a twelve hour day, there is no time for rebellion or anything else but rest and sleep and the knowledge of another day's work. I have just the work rosters waiting for these new slaves to sap any ideas of disobedience. However, Sir Jonathan, for this type of slave, I would recommend one thing.'

`What is that?'

`I would recommend that each be half-gelded as a statement of the power of the owner and as a warning of what to further expect in the case of major disobedience.'

My silence on the phone must have appeared negative to Zabian, because he said after some seconds, `It is just an idea. Half-gelding does not take away their strength, nor sexual drive, but it is a great incentive to obedience.'

`You have done it at the mine before?'

`In five, no six, difficult cases.'

`I agree then. I shall have the forty two transferred to the slave centre at al-Qatim. I know the vet there, Dr. Haniff. He can do what is needed.'

Zabian's fifteen opal mine slaves, deeply bronzed, trim and lean, were delivered to the Lemon Palace two days after the handshake on the mine's purchase. Zabian al-Kibbe was efficient and business-like if anything. It would leave the mining operation temporarily short until the newly acquired criminal-slaves were transferred to him, which would take about seven weeks in all, two for the medical tests and five for their basic training as slaves.

The paper work with the lawyers for the purchase of the mine and two hundred and fifty odd slaves actually took only three days to complete; the bank transfer from my account in the Grand Caymans to Farouq's account at the Bank of Dahra, five minutes. Such is modern business and it all went smoothly.

When I informed Zabian al-Kibbe that all was in hand, I hoped that he was right as to new levels of obedience being found in half-gelded slaves, but I kept my fear to myself as at times a Master must.

`Zabian, for the moment, I shall have them trained in basic training at the slave dealers and then with you in about six to seven weeks. Their papers will be sent to you before they are transferred to you.'

`Sir Jonathan, their absence will leave the mine's operation slightly under par.'

`At the moment, yes, but in two months' time, Zabian, you will have forty two extra bodies, a surplus of twenty seven on your numbers. You can then do what you have to do. The mine is a business operation. Also, if you have any more of those new production techniques you wish to introduce or even try out to improve efficiency at the mine, just let me know how they work out. But, in this, Zabian, you are the man on the spot and you make the necessary decisions.'

I felt it was best to end on a positive note.

Although I did enquire discretely at one time, I never did get to the bottom of the judicial politics, or even national politics, on the issue of the forty two slaves. It may have been a question of face saving all round. It may have been a question of some foreign government influence. It may have been that the Sheik in his old age simply wanted to be merciful. Somehow, upon reflection, I doubted the last point. Maybe the other two Judges were singing out of judicial key, I don't know. But on all of these thoughts, I am only second guessing the intentions of others.

During April of that year I saw Dmitri Soliduk, the Russian slave, in my bed more than any other. Maybe we hanker after our first slaves. I don't know. But he combined the slim qualities of Ross Wells, now my head of English teaching to the slaves; he exceeded the height of Bob Conrad, my head of table and he outdid Yuriy Obov himself for his bedtime stamina and Slavic good looks.

After the first few sessions, he became more relaxed and would actually smile when I came into the bedroom suite, standing there at perpendicular erection, his beautiful nipples awaiting arousal, and the thin blond hair of his pubes damply combed.

`Why do you do that,' I had asked him one day about combing his pubes.

`Because no one else does it, Master, and I want you to remember me as being different from the other slaves. I am here to give you enjoyment. But to give you enjoyment, I have to be here. To be here, you have to leave orders for me to be here. To give orders, you have to remember who I am.'

I had looked at him. Dmitri Soliduk had worked it all out. He should have been a philosopher. The slave with the combed pubes! I would never forget him. I never did. But it was not for his fashion pubic statement, that I had him in my bed. He was exceedingly handsome with an abundance of erogenous zones around his hips which were always a delight to explore either on my own or with another lover in the bed.

My favourite companion for a two-some with Dmitri was always Jan Korda, the young `thumbscrew tester' as I called him, whom I had bought from the Khan supermarket. Jan's tongue is dangerous when on the loose. The first time I had him in bed with Dmitri, it was because I spotted him on the stairs as I went up to my bedroom suite. There he was with a duster pretending to be busy dusting the banister at nine o'clock at night!

`Jan, what do you think you are doing at this hour?

I was really waiting for you, Master,' he replied looking at the duster and making a grimace with his face. I was hoping you might not have anyone lined up for the night. But I saw Dmitri going up a while back and he has not come back down.'

Yes, he is with me tonight' I said and immediately saw the look of disappointment in his eyes. Why are you not with David tonight?

I had given him and Zoran Stepkov as body slaves to my nephew David Tuttle to help him in his building work on the Lemon Palace and they had expanded to being his playmates each night.

`Zoran asked me to leave him alone with Master David tonight. Master David is still shy about two being present when he is being fucked. So, I thought...'

`...that being thrown out of one bed, you might jump in another? Eh?' I said with a smile.

`Yes, Master, but without a duster!' he riposted with a grin.

`Come along. You will be there to please Dmitri, because it is his night, not yours.'

I draped an arm over the young Slovene.

`Just one suggestion, a hint really, Jan, lick Dmitri's bellybutton and his hip bones and be prepared to hold him down.'

`Yes, Master. All night long if I have to,' he said with a grin as he held the bedroom door open for me.

End of Chapter 2

To be continued