The 'Hide in Plain Sight" Trap by Peony D Beckside

 The ‘Hide In Plain Sight’ Trap

Peony D Beckside

I have a friend, Teresa.  I haven’t seen her for a month or so.  She seems to have dropped out of sight.  I have the distinct feeling that I’ll never see her again.  It’s a question really of whether fiction is really fact, and whether I’m paranoid or not.

Teresa and I are in a nearby shopping mall, turning the heads of most of the men there.  Yes, we are both rather beautiful, and have the vanity to recognise that.  As for the oglers, tough.  We both have steady boyfriends.  Teresa has her Bob, and I my Gus.

“There’s an amazing new shop in here, Marcie!  Sells the most divine lingerie!; and perfume ‘to die for’!  Bob took one look at me and lost all control.  Best fuck since I met him.  You’ll just adore their stuff.”

We wander on for a couple of minutes.  I come to a dead stop, my mouth agape.  Surely not!

“You OK Marcie?  Something wrong?”

I’m still trying to catalogue the full implications of what I’m seeing.  The large sign above the shop door is a ‘Kef’, undoubtedly so.  It has the stern upright post with the two curling fronds to the right.  It looks like a stylised letter ‘K’.

Are the stories in the ‘Gor’ books then real?  Are there truly ‘Kur’ slavers?  Have they then so much confidence and temerity to be able to be so open about their activities?  Perhaps I’m being overly dramatic, and that there’s simply some entrepreneur out there who’s also read the John Norman books, and has seen a market for selling sexy lingerie and perfume.

“Tell me, Teresa, that that’s not the shop you are talking about?!”

“Yeah, that’s the one.  Wonderful stock.”

“Tell me that you paid cash for what you bought, that you didn’t use a card?”

“Sure I paid by card.  What’s got into you Marcie?”

“You didn’t give them your e-mail address, did you?  ‘So they could send you your receipt’?”

“Yeah, what of it.  You’re freaking me out now.”

I moan.  I sure hope that it’s not too late for Teresa.

“It’s a trap, Teresa.  A plain ‘out in the open’ snare to catch the unwary.  Whatever you do, never, ever go in there again!  No way am I going anywhere near the place!”

“What’s got into you Marcie?  Why the sudden paranoia?”

I am feeling a little faint.  I drag Teresa into a nearby cafe and order each of us a coffee.  A stray thought comes to me.  Coffee is called ‘Black Wine’ on the other planet, on Gor; if Gor really does exist.

“So Marcie, what is it that’s spooked you?”

“You do know what that sign. The one that looks like a letter ‘K’ means don’t you?  Did you read the John Norman books about the supposedly fictitious world of Gor?”

“No, can’t say I did.  Why?”

I thought ‘supposedly’ until a few minutes ago.  Now, I’m not sure.

“That symbol refers to a certain kind of woman, specifically a female slave, a slave-girl…”

“In the Gor books slavery of women is endemic in the culture of the place.  A kajira, or slave girl is the legal property of whoever owns her, usually a man.  She must be absolutely obedient at all times.  She can, and usually is fucked without a ‘by your leave’ whenever he wishes.  She has no legal rights, no protection, she is officially a mere animal.”

Teresa laughs at me.

“You’ve certainly been reading some weird stuff, Marcie.  It’s probably just a coincidence!”

“No, I don’t think it is.  Whilst most slave-trading on Gor is done between the various cities, there is a market for ‘barbarian girls’; Earth women that is.  According to the books, when they have been ‘broken’, tamed if you like, they are reputed to become superb slave-sluts.”

“Yeah, but that’s just fiction.  What you’re talking about is rather like the so-called 1930’s concept of ‘White slavers’, kidnapping girls and selling them to harems in the Middle East.”

“I thought so until a few minutes ago.  Now, I’m not so sure.  According to the books, there is a whole organisation on Earth dedicated to satisfying that demand for Earth girls.  Such a shop would make an ideal recruiting centre for identifying women suitable for such a slavery, wouldn’t it?”

“But how would they get the girls to this fictitious planet?  How would they persuade them to go?  Flying saucers?”

“Actually yes.  It would explain the prevalence of UFO sightings.  As for persuading the girls, that’s irrelevant.  Yes, the girls are literally kidnapped.”

“You tell a good story, Marcie.  I haven’t had as good a giggle in ages.  I’m beginning to think that you actually believe this ‘bullshit’.”

“I very much hope that it is bullshit, for your sake!  Promise me this, Teresa.  Promise me that you will keep your eyes open.  Watch for people following you, watching you.  Beware of anything strange, any indications that anyone has been in your apartment.  If you see any, get out, get out quick.  Pull-up stakes, and leave for another part of the country, or even abroad.  Start a new life altogether and never try to get back in touch with anyone in this old life.  Even then, you might be too late.”

“You are fucking paranoid!”

“Perhaps, Teresa.  No, actually, I’m terrified!  Shit!  They could be watching right now.  If they are, and they see me with you they might even think that I’m ‘collar meat’ too”

“Collar meat?”

“Slaves on Gor are branded, generally with that same symbol as used by the shop, and they wear locked round their neck a metal collar that they can’t take off.”

“Branded?  Like cattle are?”

“Yes, Precisely!  I don’t want to be carted off to Gor, and have that happen to me; nor should you. I think that you and I shouldn’t be seen together for a while, Teresa.  I think a lot of you, even love you as a friend, but Let’s keep that friendship hidden from now on.  Publicly we don’t see each other at all.”

Teresa takes a huff.

“If that’s what you think, then fuck you.  I think you should see a psychiatrist!  You clearly are delusional!”

Teresa gets up and leaves.  I never saw her again

Bob rang me a few days ago.  He tells me that Teresa is missing; that she’s left all her clothes in her apartment.  Following Teresa’s attitude in the cafe, I’m reluctant to tell Bob what I think has happened to her, but nor do I want to tell him to forget about ever seeing her again.

There’s a suspiciously well-kept van parked opposite my apartment, and a dubious man spending a lot of time sat at the outdoor cafe by it.  I fear that he’s watching me.  Maybe I am paranoid, but I don’t recall leaving my knicker-drawer so untidy.  If I have been put on an acquisition list to be sent to Gor, then I fear that it’s already too late for me to run; but where to run to where they won’t find me?