by John Ringo
"Have you ever sewn before?" Christel asked, stooping and picking up the pieces of fabric.
"No, ma'am, but Shanea is showing me how," Megan said, gritting out a smile.
"What is this?" Christel picked among the fabric, looking at the way it had been pinned. "This isn't a shirt or something, is it?"
"No, ma'am," Megan said.
"It's more of a breast-band," Shanea interjected. "It's going to be quite fetching, really. I hadn't thought of it, but I think Paul will like it."
"And a short skirt," Megan continued. "Very short."
"We'll see," Christel looked at the other girls who had paused to see if the new girl was going to get a tongue-lashing. "Get into the dining room!" She tossed the fabric on the pillow and put her hands on her hips. "We're here to make Paul happy. We make Paul happy by being pretty. Anything that is not pretty doesn't get worn in here. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Megan said as Shanea nodded her head. "I'll do the best I can."
"Now, go eat," Christel said, pointing. "And don't overeat; half the girls are starting to look like balloons."
* * *
When they reached the table the only spaces were at the far end. The food was brought through the door to the kitchens and then served to Christel first who passed bowls down the table. By the time they got to Megan, Shanea and Amber, who had somehow been driven to their end, there was very little left. The meal was the same that she had been served before, roast pork, broccoli and potatoes. The only pieces of pork left were ends and gristly bits, the broccoli was all gone and there was only a smidgen of potato.
Megan didn't mind, she wasn't particularly hungry, and she gave her servings to Shanea and Amber. But she noticed that several of the other girls had taken huge servings and then eaten barely half of them; as if they were trying to starve the girls at the bottom of the pecking order.
"Who's the skinny brunette by Ashly?" Megan asked, pointing with her chin at a thin-faced brunette who had started to become one of the "balloons" Christel had mentioned. She was sitting next to Ashly and wolfing down a huge plate of food, even though Megan hadn't noticed her doing anything in the afternoon but sit watching Ashly play backgammon.
"That's Karie, Karie Szymonic," Shanea whispered. "She likes to start stuff and then Ashly and the others join in."
Christel was at the head of the table working on a much smaller portion and taking delicate bites. On her right was Ashly and then Karie, across from them was a delicate, birdlike, redhead, who had also taken a small serving. Megan had noticed her earlier doing sewing in the corner.
"The redhead?"
Shanea leaned out to look down the table.
"Oh, that's Mirta. She's okay and Ashly doesn't pick on her because she does the most beautiful needlework. If you want anything nice, you ask Mirta. But she'll want something in return."
"And, unfortunately, I don't have anything to trade," Megan snorted.
"You'll find something," Shanea said.
"When can I stand up and leave?" Megan asked.
"Not until Christel," Shanea replied.
Megan continued to observe the other girls covertly. She caught one absolutely poisonous look from Karie, for no reason she could determine. Ashly seemed to be ignoring her so far. She knew from what her father told her that she should try to establish dominance, but the time didn't seem right. And if she made too many waves there was Christel with the threat of the neural whip. And mind-wipe on the other side of that. Neither thought pleased.
For some reason, her mind kept coming back to the scissors in the store room. Chaining them there was probably to keep the girls from using them on each other. The tiny cloth cutters would be almost useless as weapons, even in a catfight. She doubted that the scissors were secured to defend Paul; he had to have a personal protection field on at almost all times.
Almost. There's one time when a PPF had to come down, and that was during sex; any personal intimacy, really.
Interesting.
But he'd be able to summon it almost instantly. And practically any damage a person could inflict by hand could be repaired by medical nannites.
Almost, again. Her father had not talked a lot about his investigations but sometimes she was able to pry information out of him. Sometimes she had wished she hadn't, one time . . .
She was about . . . fourteen. He had been . . . mean to her for nearly a week. He'd been pressing her, hard, about her boyfriends and what she had been doing with them. Usually he was more than willing to let her do her own thing. As he put it: "I gave you the skills to live your own life and I can't be there all the time. I have to trust you."
But he'd been . . . pressing her. He'd gone into what she called "Full Inspector Mode." Who was she hanging out with, were they having sex, what were they like, how old were they, how did they act, how did they treat her? Finally she'd lost her temper with him and told him to mind his own business. And it came out.
There was a predator who had been stalking little girls. Most of them just postpubescent, as she was at the time. He'd sweet-talk them into a little cuddling, not sex, oh no. Then when their shields were down he would hurt them, confuse them, teleport them out to somewhere and keep hurting them, continuously, never letting them get a moment to even think about summoning shields. He'd rape them while he hurt them and then usually kill them. He'd made a mistake with one, finally, and she'd had just enough presence of mind to call her shields and teleport out so they finally understood what had been happening.
He'd gone into some pretty graphic detail, probably to convince her of the seriousness of the threat. She hadn't liked it at the time and didn't really like thinking about it now. But that was the answer. But if she managed to kill Paul, really kill him, brain dead fully, against the fight of his nannites, what would she do then? And how to do it, how to hurt him that badly?
She realized that while she had been dreaming Christel had gotten up without a word and left. Most of the other girls were getting to their feet and filing out as well.
"What about the plates and stuff?" she asked Shanea, who was getting up and taking Amber's arm.
"The servants clear them," Shanea said. "Come on, Ami."
"That's silly," Megan replied, taking Amber's other arm and pulling the girl, who was still eating in very small, fine bites, to her feet. "Why don't we clear?"
"Because we can't go in the kitchen," Shanea replied. "You can't pass through the door and it zaps you if you try."
"Oh." So much for that way out.
CHAPTER THREE
When they reached the main room, they found their sewing scattered all over the place. Her breast band and the other large piece she had intended for the skirt had been cut into ribbons as had the triangular piece Shanea was working on. Karie was standing over the damage with a smirk on her face.
"Oops," the girl said, looking at Megan. "It looks like somebody had an accident."
"Oh, that's okay," Shanea said, getting down on her hands and knees and picking through the pillows. "But watch your feet, those pins could jab into your foot and really hurt you."
Megan looked at the girl, standing there with a vicious smile, and then sensed someone moving up behind her. She suddenly looked to the side where Mirta was watching her from over the piece of complicated brocade she was sewing. The girl raised an eyebrow as if to say: "Okay, what are you going to do now?"
Megan gave her one, brief, hard look, which she was pretty sure Karie wouldn't notice, and then . . . dissembled.
"Yeah, that's okay," she said, at her absolute meekest. "I think there's a pin there on the floor by your feet." She got down on her hands and knees, keeping her eye on the ground, and picked up the pin. "You need to watch yourself, really; you don't want to get hurt." All of this was said in the saddest little humble tone she could manage.
"Pathetic bitch," Karie said, kicking her in the side.
Megan rolled with it expertly and came up on one knee in the most helpless pose possible.
Amber's knitting needle was right by one hand but she knew if she used that sort of weapon she wasn't going to like the consequences. Two of the other girls had closed on her as well and she was just as positive that showing that much ability would make her a threat, to Christel if not to Paul. She was pretty sure she could turn all three into mincemeat, especially if she used nerve and joint techniques. But it would not be a good thing in any sort of long term.
"Oh, come on," she whimpered, holding her hands up to Karie. "Can't we be friends?"
"Like I'd be friends with a pathetic little bitch like you," Karie replied. She darted forward and grabbed Megan's hair, hard enough to bring tears to the girl's eyes. "You think you're better than me?"
"No, Karie," Megan whined. The other two were standing back, letting the leader have the fun. "I just want to be your friend."
"You're gonna be my bitch is what you're going to be," Karie smirked. She pulled aside her robe and thrust her crotch in Megan's face. "Lick it, bitch."
"Karie," Ashly drawled. "Get a room."
"Okay, I will," the girl said, dragging Megan to her feet by her hair and dragging her down one of the corridors. She pulled open the first door and threw Megan into the room.
"Down on your knees, bitch," Karie said, striding over to Megan who had rolled, again, to one knee.
"Please don't hurt me," Megan whimpered.
"I'll hurt you if I feel like it," Karie said, catching her up by her hair again. "I won't hurt you, much, if you lick me till I come."
Megan whimpered again and then leaned forward, placing her left hand, lovingly, humbly, on Karie's thigh and then driving a knuckle-punch upward into the girl's crotch.
Women are very nearly as sensitive in the crotch area as men and, like men, it tends to take their breath away when struck there, hard. It certainly does so when followed up by a rock-hard fist to the solar plexus.
Then Megan really got to work on her.
"Mustn't make marks," Megan whispered as she pinched the base of the bully's nose then drove another fist into the woman's gut.
"Don't want anyone getting upset," she added, slamming one open palm into the girl's right kidney followed by another to the left.
After the second kidney strike, Megan realized that she was letting her bad out just a little too much and wrapped the sadistic bitch up in an unbreakable hold that included some very nice joint work.
"Having fun?" she asked Karie, who was whimpering softly and half unconscious from the pain. The last kidney punch had probably been over the edge; the girl was likely to piss blood for a week.
"Moan," Megan said.
"Wha . . .?"
"Moan!" Megan whispered, fiercely. "Like you're having fun with your new girlfriend." She increased pressure on the elbow joint until she felt sweat bead out on the other woman's body. "You're having fun with me right now, aren't you?"
"I don't . . ."
"Moan!" She gave the elbow an extra twitch and what came out was a gasp followed by a moan.
"I can take the whole lot of you, but I have no reason to want to," Megan said, softly. "But you need to know that Megan's the top bitch. Say it: Megan's the top bitch."
"Ooooooah!" Karie moaned. "I can't . . ."
"Say it," Megan snapped, bearing down on the wrist this time. "Megan's the top bitch."
"Megan's the top bitch!" Karie gasped.
"Now moan like you're having the orgasm of your life."
"Oooooaaaahooooo . . ."
"Lousy acting," Megan said, standing up by pressing a nerve point in the girl's shoulder so hard she gasped. "When we go out there, your acting had better be better. You'd better have a big happy, I-just-came, post-orgasm smile on your face. Moan."
"Ooooohhh . . ."
"Better. I'll be crawling. Don't think you can get your mad out because I'm on my hands and knees; you really don't want me to show you how mean I can get. Who's the top bitch?"
"Megan."
"Moan."
"Oooooohhhh . . ."
"Very good. Much better. I think you like this too much. Who's Megan's bitch?"
"Karie?"
"Bingo, moaner. Let's hear a low, growly one this time."
"I . . ."
"Loud!"
"Ooooooaaaagggaaaa!"
"Good. Now, fast pants, moans, and then orgasm gasp . . ."
"Ah, ah, ah, ooooo . . . ooo . . . ooooh, AAAAAH! Oh, my God!"
"Good. You're good at faking it."
Karie suddenly lashed out a leg and tried to sweep Megan's out from under her. Megan jumped lightly over the leg and landed with both knees in the girl's back, driving the wind out of her lungs. Then she hit nerve points a couple more times, lightly, to get the point across. With each strike the woman let out a moan of pain. Close enough to pleasure for anyone listening in the hall.
"You can't beat me, you can't sneak up on me, and all of you together if I was asleep and stone drunk couldn't take me," Megan said in a feral whisper. "Now get on your feet, be a good little bitch and I'll quit hurting you."
As Karie stumbled up Megan drove her heel into the girl's stomach.
"That was for calling me pathetic." Megan smiled broadly. "Now you can really get up. And, remember, big smile. Oh, I almost forgot." She stood still for a moment and then slapped herself as hard as she could, once on each cheek.
"You hit in the face?" she asked Karie.
"No," the girl said, looking at her wide-eyed. "No bruises."
"Nothing Paul might not like, right?" Megan snarled, working her jaw from the slaps. "Who's the best bitch?"
"You are, Megan," Karie said.
"And who's Megan's bitch?"
"I am," Karie said in a defeated voice. She wouldn't meet Megan's eye. "I'm gonna piss blood."
"Too bad," Megan said coldly. "I'm sure I wouldn't have enjoyed the recovery from what you were going to do. And this is just between us, right?"
"Yeah."
"And leave Shanea alone," Megan added. "She's my friend."
Megan got down on her hands and knees and headed for the door.
"Big smile. Big shit-eating smile."
"I am," Karie said. "Ashly's gonna eat you alive, though."
"Ashly's got no idea who she is fucking with," Megan replied, then opened the door.
* * *
"Are you okay?" Shanea said when she crawled over and sat down.
"Fine," Megan replied quietly. She looked over at Mirta who was staring at her somberly. The girl continued to stare and then raised one eyebrow. On an impulse, Megan winked. Mirta looked over to where Karie was clearly regaling the other girls with her tale of the rape of the new girl and then frowned and looked back at Megan. Megan just smiled, her eyes cold, and turned away.
"I managed to salvage some of it," Shanea said.
"Well, I think Karie got her mad out," Megan replied, smiling sadly. "So maybe she'll leave us alone for a while."
"Maybe," Shanea said. "But sometimes she decides we need extra training." Shanea looked sadly at the scraps in her lap. "I don't like that."
"Maybe she'll concentrate on me," Megan replied. "I can survive it."
* * *
She'd gotten another piece of cloth and pinned it when Shanea nudged her.
"Time for baths," the girl said. "Almost lights out."
The sun had set long before and the lamps had come on. They were clearly powered but instead of the normal diffuse lighting of pre-Fall these were globes, some of them colored, hanging from sconces set in the walls. They illuminated the area, but not brightly, and Megan had discovered why Mirta sat in the same place all the time; it was where the light of three lamps fell and just about the most brightly lit place in the room. The brightest spot was Ashly's seat and the girl, who had continued to play one game of backgammon after another, glowed in the light.
"I had a bath," Megan said.
"You take one every night," Shanea replied.
"I think I'll put this stuff in my room," Megan said with a shrug, picking u
p the sewing.
"No locks, it won't help," Shanea pointed out. "But I don't think they'll cut it up again. Christel doesn't like us wasting cloth. I don't know why; there's enough of it and more."
Megan took the pile of sewing to her room and set it on the bed, then headed for the bathroom. Most of the girls were in there and the vast majority had already climbed into the long, low bath. Warm water flowed in at one end and out at the other and the pecking order remained; Ashly was having her hair washed by one of the other girls while the far end, which was already filled with oils and soap scum from the upper end, was reserved for Shanea and Amber.
"I think I'll take a shower," Megan said with a grimace.
"I sometimes do after the bath," Shanea whispered. "But you don't want to stand out."
"I think, this time, I'll stand out," Megan replied, glancing over at Ashly. Mirta had just finished washing her hair and gave her a long, considering, look as Megan strode to the showers.
Except for relaxation, she'd never been much of a bather. She much preferred showers; she just ended up feeling cleaner. And since she'd already had one she did a sketchy wash of her pits, toweled off, grabbed a new robe and was out of the room before most of the girls had gotten done with their careful soaping.
When she reached her room she considered it carefully, then dragged the desk across until it was in front of the door. It wouldn't stop a concerted assault, but it would wake her up if and when.
She lay down and considered the day. It had been a long one. And there were probably going to be more long ones in the future. Right now, though, she was very tired. Before the lights dimmed she had closed her eyes and breathed into sleep.
Shortly afterwards, however, her eyes sprung open as the desk scraped on the floor.
She rolled to her feet in a defensive crouch but the movement had stopped.
"Megan?" Shanea whispered.
The lights were down and she was pretty sure the girl wasn't supposed to be walking around.
"What?" Megan said. She stepped over to the door and it was open enough to see that it, apparently, was just Shanea.
"I wondered . . . sometimes when bad things happen I have nightmares," Shanea said, uncertainly. "Would you like somebody to sleep with?"