Cara had known the dangers when she signed up for the Cosmo Corps. She had known, accepted, and faced them with the stoic bravery of a true space heroine. Even now, amid the gravest peril of her career, she stood tall and unyielding in the face of it.

Tall was, perhaps, an overstatement. At just under 1.6 meters in height, she held the dubious honor of being the shortest of corpswomen. Normally, the platform-heeled boots of her patrol uniform added the better part of a decimeter to her stature. But she didn't currently wear those boots--nor any footwear--and she felt starkly diminutive confronting a crisis in her bare feet.

Unyielding might not have been the most apt description, either. True, she had no intention of yielding anything to her captors. But also true, worry weighed heavily upon her as she watched her stalwart squadmate, Zoe, succumb to the most harrowing interrogation she had ever seen.

Zoe sat upright in a contoured chair, with her legs outstretched before her and all four of her limbs restrained by plastisteel bands. Her patrol uniform, blazer gun, wrist comm, and all other gear had been stripped from her, along with her boots and socks. She squirmed and struggled in her seat, kicking uselessly with her bare feet.

A streamlined apparatus not unlike a helmet covered her head. It was not part of her corps uniform, but was instead an extension of the chair she sat in. An eerie glow emanated from inside it, pulsing in time with an incessant, insect-like buzzing that it produced. Beneath the helmet and behind closed lids, her eyes darted back and forth, up and down. She alternated between disquieted moaning and mutterings of no!, stop!, and please!

It was a horrifying sight for Cara to behold. She had never seen Zoe give in to anything or anyone. But now, the staunch corpswoman faltered before the power of their captors. And if Zoe's will was forfeit, Cara didn't know how she would ever be able to resist when her turn came. And she knew it would come all too soon.

As Cara nervously pondered the fate of herself and her companion, Zoe suddenly gasped and stiffened. Then, the beleaguered corpswoman sighed, sagged in her seat, and remained still.

"Zoe?" Cara called out. "Are you okay? Zoe!"

A guard leveled his rail pistol at her and curtly shook his head. Cara glared at him but said no more.

"She is ready," said a technician who stood beside Zoe. "She will tell you everything. She will obey."

Cara bristled at the statements. But the guard's weapon stayed trained on her, and two more turned to cover her, as well. Like Zoe, she had been stripped of all outer clothing and gear. And though she could easily overpower three guards in a fair fight, fair would be the last thing any struggle she initiated now would be. So she stood still, fuming and scared, but hoping for the chance to fight another day.

A leader moved to stand over Zoe. He asked her questions, requesting details of the Corps ranging from sensitive to secret. Zoe answered without hesitation. Her voice droned on in a sleepy monotone, without any sign of care or emotion. When he had all the information he required, the leader then gave several orders. Zoe quickly and thoughtlessly acknowledged and affirmed each command.

Once satisfied, the leader issued a final command to his own staff. In response, the technician triggered the helmet to raise up from Zoe's head and the plastisteel restraints to retract back into their housings in the chair.

Now free--at least physically--Zoe opened her eyes. She stood up and faced the leader, who with a gesture indicated Cara. Blank-eyed and slack-jawed, with arms raised like a storybook sleepwalker, Zoe walked over to her companion.

Cara couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing. She knew what brainwashing was. And she knew that corpswomen had been brainwashed before. But she had never witnessed the results of it firsthand. Nor could she have ever imagined that Zoe--strong, capable, iron-willed Zoe--would fall victim to it.

"You will follow me," Zoe said.

She walked back to the interrogation chair and, with a simple point to it, indicated that Cara should sit.

It was now or never, and Cara knew it. She steeled herself for the fight of her life.

And then, she stopped cold, slumping in defeat. She had seen a guard hand Zoe a rail pistol. And as casually as one might brush an errant lock of hair away from one's face, Zoe had placed the weapon to her own temple.

"We can both die, or you can comply," Zoe said as simply as she might have said the sky is blue.

Despondently, Cara sat in the chair. The restraints immediately closed over her arms and legs, and the helmet lowered over her scalp. She heard and felt the machine powering up. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and scrunched her toes. Knowing there was no way she could win, she would nonetheless fight. She was an officer of the Cosmo Corps, a tried and true space heroine. She would not give up. She would not surrender.

She drew in a deep breath and held it, as the  helmet shone its eerie light over her face and began its mind-numbing buzzing.

Then, suddenly, with a sputter and a descending whine, the machine died.

A torrent of questions flew from the technician's mouth, while accusations spat from the leader's. Cara tentatively opened her eyes. The previously well-illuminated room was now lit in red hues, which she knew signified emergency power.

"What the hell is going on?" the leader bellowed to no one and everyone at the same time.

"Your main power systems have been disrupted," Zoe said, compelled as she was to respond to her master.

"What? How?"

"I sabotaged them before entering this facility. Or, I tried to. My ionic discharger seemed to malfunction, and I deemed my efforts a failure at the time. However, I believe the problem was temporary. Once the discharger completed a diagnostic and self-repair cycle, it returned to its previous programming, which was to sabotage this facility's power."

"Fix it! Fix it now!"

Both Zoe and the technician said at the same time that circuits fried by an ionic discharger couldn't be fixed. Zoe stated the fact calmly, while the technician fearfully over-explained the situation.

"My plans require two brainwashed corpswomen," the leader said seethingly, after hearing as much about disrupted power systems as he could stand. "But I only have one. That won't do. At all. Find a way to brainwash the second one. Now!"

Flustered and unsure, the technician began a futile attempt to restore power.

The sharp, rhythmic tapping of a stiletto-heeled gait sounded from an adjacent room. All eyes--except Zoe's glazed over ones--turned to watch as an icily imposing woman walked toward them.

"Maestra," the leader said with a nod. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No, but there is something I can do for you. While your stooge flounders uselessly with his equipment, I will provide you with what you need."

"How?"

"I will use the old way."

"Will that work?"

"I don't fail."

"No, you don't. Very well. Proceed."

With a cold, cruel grin, Maestra walked over to stand beside Cara, the clack of her heels evoking the snapping of a predator's jaws. Cara glared up at her new antagonist.

"You will tell us everything. You will obey," Maestra said to her subject.

"Never!" Cara said.

Maestra snorted dismissively. Then she raised up her hand and showed a strange item to Cara: a spring-wound metronome consisting of a round pendulum that swung back and forth upon a delicate handle, the motion of which circulated a brightly colored spiral embossed on its face.

Cara's gaze was immediately drawn to the pendulum, the likes of which she had never before seen. Despite her predicament, she found herself curious about and strangely drawn in by it. Very quickly, it captivated her.

But then, realization struck her. She understood what was happening--she was being hypnotized! Maestra hadn't been kidding when she boasted of using 'the old way.' Well, no old-fashioned parlor trick was going to ensnare a skilled, savvy corpswoman. Without further ado, Cara closed her eyes and turned her head away.

"Nice try, but that won't save you," Cara heard Maestra say. "You, move behind her. Take her head in your hands. Press there, there, and there."

The soft padding of bare footsteps made its way to Cara's ears, followed by the feeling of pressure at her temples, beside her eyes, and above her ears. The pressure increased, causing her to wince and open her eyes. She stared up into the empty gaze of Zoe.

"Look here, girl," Maestra said.

Cara balked at the pejorative, but the pain inflicted on her head by Zoe coerced her into obeying. She looked back at the spiral-emblazoned, swinging pendulum.

"You can't look away."

Back and forth the pendulum swung, while round and round the spiral swirled.

"You can't look away. You don't want to look away."

Back and forth, round and round.

"You don't want to look away. You can't fight. You don't want to fight."

The metronome's constant, cadent motion, amplified by Maestra's commanding intonations instigated an insidious lulling of Cara's mind and an irresistible numbing of her will.

"You can't fight. You don't want to fight. You want to relax."

Back and forth, round and round. Over and over.  And now, the pressure from Zoe's fingers eased from aching pain to gentle, soothing massage.



"You want to relax. You are relaxed. And you are sleepy. So sleepy."



Back and forth, round and round. Over and over. Gentle and soothing.



"You are relaxed. And you are sleepy. So sleepy. Sleep. You must sleep."



Back and forth, round and round. Over and over. Gentle and soothing. Back and forth, round and round. Over and over. Gentle and soothing. Back and forth, round and round. Over and over. Gentle and soothing.



"Sleep. You must sleep."



Cara's eyes fluttered. Her lids grew heavy.



"Sleep now."



Cara sighed almost inaudibly, as her eyes closed and stayed shut.



Maestra lowered the metronome.

"You will submit. You will serve. You will obey."

She spoke the words again and again, as Zoe continued her pacifying massage. Finally, she waved Zoe away and repeated the commands one last time.

"You will submit. You will serve. You will obey."

"I will submit," Cara said in the same sleepily droning voice that Zoe now spoke in. "I will serve. I will obey."



"You can now brainwash her as thoroughly as you did the first one," Maestra said to the leader. "She will tell you everything. She will obey."



"Excellent work. You will standby in case I need her trance deepened and her suggestibility heightened."



"Neither will be necessary. But, yes, I will remain here."



The leader nodded his approval, then turned his full attention to his newly prepared thrall.



"You will tell me everything. You will obey."



"I will tell you everything. I will obey."



The leader asked Cara questions, in the same vein as those he had asked of Zoe, but tailored to her own knowledge and expertise. She answered them swiftly and truthfully. Then he issued her commands, dictating the thoughts, beliefs, and memories that she must now have and the actions that she must now take. She accepted all that she was told, wholly and without compromise.



With their minds now stripped as bare as their feet and molded into unquestioning obedience, and with their beloved Cosmo Corps no more than a deeply buried dream within their psyches, Cara and Zoe faithfully served their master and carried out his nefarious plans....