"The Road to Hell": Potential Original Sci-Fi Univ

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"The Road to Hell": Potential Original Sci-Fi Univ

Post by Steve » 2005-02-08 05:42am

Over on Spacebattles, for a time we had The Great Game Story Debate (Story Debates being SB equivalents to the ASVS/SDN STGODs). It was a sci-fi setting, part round robin fiction and part country-controlling level RPG game, with the players making up their countries and even alternate timelines and tossing them into a single universe with star-faring Mankind.

Though a few others contributed to bits and pieces of the universe in question, the vast majority of it's material was developed by me. Recently I had some thoughts on fiction set in this universe. Those who developed material for it are fine with me using it, and tonight I had a stroke of inspiration and put together what would be the intro chapter to one of the stories. I'm also posting this crappily-drawn map to show you the basic layout of the universe in question.


Here's the story material itself.


I'll note that this wasn't actually what I had in mind when I started putting the scene together. Things would've ended differently. But I decided to take a new route.

Opinions are desired, though I imagine nobody will bother posting them anyway. :P 8) :wink:


A desert wind blew through Skikda, the signal of an incoming sandstorm so typical to the planet of New Algeria, twin of the lush planet called New Morocco that was one rotation further from the system's star. Skikda's population went about their business, pedestrians clad in heavy robes and face scarves while canvas-covered jeeps with sensitive IR viewers zipped through the streets.
Skikda was on the large al-Butani plain in New Algeria's Northern Hemisphere. The attempts to terraform al-Butani to the same levels of habitability as the other desert plains on the planet had failed. Skikda and the handful of neighboring hamlets and villages around it might have been abandoned if not for the plentiful resources in the nearby Benley Mountains. Miners working for off-world corporations mined the raw resources, which were shipped out of the dedicated commercial spaceport in nearby El Fadih, with some trickling through the smaller private spaceport in Skikda. Skikda was a favored spot for the miners, who often came in during their weekend holidays to celebrate another week of hard work.

Though an Islamic theocracy by law, the Emir of New Algiers never enforced sheriat as vigorously as the clerics desired. There were purist movements that demanded his overthrow, but the Emir was well protected as a vassal of the Sultan of New Morocco - who himself was a vassal to the ruler of the New Hedjaz, King Husayn ibn al-Abd'ul-Allah VI, Head of the House of Hashem and Supreme Caliph of Islam. As such, alcohol flowed freely in the taverns of Skikda, as did the gyrating bodies of exotic dancers who often doubled as prostitutes for the enjoyment of miners with the dinar or British pounds to pay. Most of the dancers and prostitutes were not free women but slaves bought from the markets of Fez and Algiers. Mostly Arabic and Berber women, with a handful of foreigners kidnapped by pirates raiding the local spacelanes (with the occasional unlucky tourist). Caucasian women sold well, especially if they had accents from Britain - British women were so rare due to the power of the British Empire - though Israeli women were the most valuable of slaves well worth more than their weight in gold and the mere handful in captivity throughout the Caliphal States were in the private harems of the great regional lords and merchants.

Skikda was a favorite port of call for the kinds of cargoes that weren't fit for being transferred through the efficient foreign-hired security at El Fadih Spaceport. Alcohol, drugs, and various other taboo products were brought in by smugglers, who sometimes left with holds filled with pilfered material from the mines or with filled bank accounts.
It was in a warehouse near Skikda's Spaceport that Hachim al-Bahari conducted some of his business, buying slaves for his tavern and brothel as well as fine wines for himself and cheap liquors and beers for his usual customers. Hachim lived wealthier than he really was, always wearing fine robes and seating himself in piles of colorful and lush pillows, usually with a nude slave girl of his personal harem (which really consisted of any of his slaves he took a liking to for the moment) seated beside him to smile and otherwise distract his usual clients. This time, however, he had no slave girl, as his favorite - an Arabic girl named Sagirah - had died of illness and he had not yet picked one he wanted to bring from the tavern to the warehouse.
Hachim's two bodyguards allowed a sandy-haired Caucasian into his office. Fabian Comeau was a Corsican in his fifties - which to a 20th Century mind would look to be in his twenties due to anti-agamic treatments - and a long time sailor of the stars who now had his own private vessel, the forty thousand ton Melanie (supposedly named after his first lover). He was dressed modestly, in a brown leather coat with a blue cotton buttoned shirt underneath and dark brown trousers. Fabian's ship was settled in one of the larger berths outside, one of the largest starships capable of planetary landing. "Ah, Comeau. It has been too long since you last came to Skikda." Hachim gestured to the pile of pillows opposite him. "Have a seat, my friend."
"Heading into the Caliphal States is always a risky prospect, Hachim, you know that." Fabian's voice had the slight hints of a French accent, though it had degraded from years of heavy English use to the point that even Fabian was now thinking and speaking in English as habit. "And I've been busy elsewhere."
"Too busy to visit for these past three years?" Hachim shook his head. "I missed your company. I trust, though, that this is not merely a social call?"
"I have ten standard crates full of diamonds mined straight from the Sierras on New California. They're your's for a million pounds per crate."
"Ten million pounds? That is a rather steep cost, my friend. How about a quarter million per crate?"
"I'm not taking anything less than a million, Hachim. It's a lot of money, but not completely out of your reach, especially as I know you can line up buyers. And we both know how many sheiks like to make fancy diamond-studded things for their wives and concubines." Fabian looked back to the door. "Let me show you something I brought along to help smooth out the deal."
Hachim nodded and Fabian went to the door and motioned for something to be brought in. Hachim's eyes widened from the pleasure of the sight. Fabian had with him a young lady, a Caucasian brunette, who had a very lovely body. She had a jeweled sash around her waist and nothing else, save for the gold necklace around her neck attached to the cross between her beautiful breasts and the golden chain and shackles that bound her wrists together. The chain looked to only be a foot and a half to two feet long, and was every bit as functional as it was ornamental. She had all the aspects of a well-maintained slave girl. The brunette settled into his lap, allowing Hachim to put a hand on one of her breasts to see if it was artificial or not (though there were natural ways to augment breasts in the 29th Century that made the use of artificial implants rather moot). He was clearly delighted by what he felt, even as the girl sipped an arm around his neck and clung tightly to him. "Very good, Fabian. What is she? A harem girl to one of the regional sheiks who had to sell her off?"
"Not quite," Fabian stated, being entirely truthful. "Now, we were debating the price you were willing to pay?"
"The only way I could personally give you ten million pounds is if I sold off most of what I own, my friend. It can't be done. I can, however, pay you half a million for each crate. That's all I can afford"
Fabian smirked at him. "I'll tell you what. You pay me half a million for each crate now, and a quarter million for each after you find your buyers."
Hachim put his hands together for a moment. "That is a fair price. It shall be done. And what about this lovely blossom of the desert?" He stroked one of the brunette's thighs, drawing a pleased giggle from her.
"She's a gift. I have nowhere to keep her, and where I go, they would declare her free and I'd lose on the investment." Fabian smiled at the girl and stood up, even as she stroked Hachim's cheek lovingly. "Enjoy her."
"Oh, I will." Hachim looked to the girl and added, "I will indeed."
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-08 02:52pm

Hachim's tavern was located as close to the main transit station as he could possibly get it, a multi-storied building in which he also lived. He had a lush harem chamber on the second floor, adjoined to an office from which he could also walk out to an upper balcony viewing his own small auction room, from which he sold slaves he either no longer needed or the ones he bought. After returning he watched such an auction, his new gift seated beside him the entire thing for him to fondle and grope at his leisure while she was occasionally granted sips of his fine wines and some grapes to eat. After the successful auction Hachim retired to his harem with his new acquisition.
She was a healthy girl and spirited too. Sprawled out naked on Hachim's lush bed, she would playfully pull against the restraints Hachim placed her in for the purpose of giving her a thorough physical examination, which consisted of gentle touching of the curves and contours of her body amongst other, more intimate places, where his idea of touching made her moan and breathe faster. Of course, he untied her afterward, for being rather overweight he preferred having his harem girls on top of him.
She sat up on the bed with Hachim while he sipped at his grape wine, a New Kerkyrean beverage from the Hellenic Republic. When it was finished he intended to have sex with the brunette, and she seemed to understand that as she laid against him, kissing him on his neck. "What is your name, girl?"
"Sara."
"Where are you from? Lisea? Scathford?" An amused grin crossed Hachim's face while Sara sat behind him to rub his shoulders. "Gilead?"
"I'm from Plymouth, actually."
"Oh really? I've heard that Calvinist girls make the best slaves once you break them in properly."
"It's not much of a change, really."
Hachim almost responded, but he decided to let her rub at his shoulders for a little while longer. He smiled lazily, enjoying this as he enjoyed the pleasures of any other day.
Without warning her hands passed to each side of Hachim's vision. The golden chain binding Sara's wrists together became wrapped around Hachim's throat. He tried to gasp as she pulled back and cut off his windpipe. The wine glass was quickly discarded, falling noiselessly onto a pillow, and his hands brought up to the chain to try to claw it loose. "This is from Fabian, Hachim. You see, he was good friends with Bergiano, you know, that Italian trader you had murdered last year? This is for what you did to Bergiano and his daughter." Sara kept the pressure up on Hachim until he stopped struggling. She put her fingers against his throat. When she didn't feel a pulse she stood up off the bed and immediately brought out the key she had been hiding under her tongue the entire time. After freeing herself of the gold chains, Sara took one of his sheets to make into a bag and emptied the contents of Hachim's personal cabinent into it, making sure to take his small 9mm gun for herself. Checking to make sure it was loaded, she moved as silently as possible out of the room. Hachim did not keep bodyguards at his harem door but outside of his office. Sara did not head there, though, but over to the window, she she opened with a small grunt of effort. The sand storm that had whipped through earlier had dissipated, giving her a clear vision of the hovertruck parked under the window. The man in the back was dark-skinned and handsome, wearing the traveling robes that were common in Skikda. He tossed a line up and Sara caught the weighted end of it, tying it firmly to the table near the window before slipping out down the rope, the bag in tow. When she reached the bed of the truck the man gave her a small kiss on the cheek and handed her a robe. "Shame you couldn't bring that jeweled sash. You looked good in the slave get-up, Sara."
"Don't get any ideas, Gil," she replied teasingly while draping the robe around her nude body. "I just want to get back to the Melanie and wash Hachim's dirt off." After quickly securing the bag the two got into the cab of the truck and drove off.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Mayabird » 2005-02-08 03:29pm

Ah, very cool. Is this universe an analog of the 19th century? I want to see more of it.
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Post by Shroom Man 777 » 2005-02-09 04:56am

Please, put paragraphs. I'm interested in an Islamic sci-fi story, since we don't see much Muslims in sci-fi, except on the Riddick movies.
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Post by Steve » 2005-02-09 11:54am

Shroom Man 777 wrote:Please, put paragraphs. I'm interested in an Islamic sci-fi story, since we don't see much Muslims in sci-fi, except on the Riddick movies.
There are paragraphs. I put spaces between them when a paragraph ends close enough to the end margin that it'd be hard to tell it had actually ended.

Just that the mini-chapter had that large paragraph at the end. Heh, probably should've split it up now that I think about it.

As for an Islamic sci-fi story, well, the focus of this one if I continue it is going to shift away from Muslim-occupied areas and to another site.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-10 03:38am

And another update.

Five hours later, the Melanie had made the transit to hyperspace toward the New Hedjaz to reach the main hyperspace route to Lisea, from which they intended to travel Rimward. Inside the small cargo ship the thirty-man crew were holding a little party to celebrate their haul in selling off the diamonds, as well as Sara's haul from Hachim's cabinent. His fine wine was now in every glass as the crew raised toasts to Sara, sitting at one of the tables clad in a blue halter top and knee-length white shorts. Gil sat beside her and Fabian across. Fabian held his glass up and said, "To our dear Sara, the galaxy's most convincing harem girl!" Everyone laughed as the toast was consumed. "Hachim had a lot of junk, yes, but there were some jewels and trinkets that will get some small gain. Plus the fact that the bastard took those bad diamonds for five million. I told you all that he couldn't resist Sierras!"
Everyone laughed. Sara sipped at her wine, looking across the way as Fabian's First Mate and occasional lover Martina gave her an amusing, maybe jealous look. Martina - a blonde-haired Gilean and freed sex slave who still dressed like one on occasion - had usually been the one to do such acts, but Hachim knew her, so Sara - the girl from Plymouth - had been called upon to "get naked and act like a sex kitten", the ship's Engineer's Mate Uwe Strauss had joked.
For two years Sara had served with the Melanie, after they had been her ticket to freedom following her daring desertion from the Plymouth Navy. They had trained her to operate any system on the ship. She wasn't getting rich doing it, but the crew had more spirit than it had money. Sometimes they were smugglers and sometimes they were legitimate, but they were always willing to go anywhere and do anything to have some fun and earn some cash. It was as different from the stuffy military living Sara had endured earlier as day was to night. She loved every minute of it, all of the daring escapes, the clever trickery, and the swashbuckling spirit of the Melanie.
When the meal was over, Gil brought Sara back to the room they shared in the living area. Soon they were naked and Sara was pinned against the wall, delighting in the excitement of sex with her lover. It was another enjoyable element to her new life, adding to the wonder and joy of it all. Gil had swept Sara off her feet almost from day one, and the two greatly enjoyed their physical relationship even if neither was quite willing to claim it was actual romantic love.
After Gil and Sara had finished having sex they slipped into their small bed, so small they couldn't quite sleep side by side, so Sara always slept half-draped over Gil, a hand on his strong chest while her head lay beside his. The native of Kingsville on Lisea was a former football player and had been served in the Lisean Navy, one of the foes of her own Plymouth. Often Sara delighted in how enraged her parents - those traitors who had taken the word of her lying teenage lover over her own - would be to know how much she enjoyed loving a Lisean man. Calvinist Plymouthites hated Liseans greatly, considering them sinful and decadent, ungodly people, and only Devenshire was hated more fervently for it's practices of slavery. But Sara was no longer a faithful Christian girl, having suffered too greatly at the hypocrisy of Plymouth, and she lived for herself now.
Gently moving a hand over Gil's neck and chest, Sara leaned up and kissed him. "That was wonderful."
"Yeah, it was." Gil suddenly smirked. "Say, you got those gold wrist chains anywhere? Next time you can put those on and we can..."
Sara broke out giggling and interrupted him. "I gave those back to Fabian. I have no need for wrist chains to know what enslavement's like, remember?"
"Yeah, though that kind of enslavement wasn't exactly the wrist-shackles-and-silks stuff either." Gil pulled her a little closer and whispered in her ear. "But you have no idea how much that belly jiggle you did turned me on."
"I couldn't have done it right without you." Sara laid her head beside his. "It's been a long day, Gil. You've worn me out and I'm ready to sleep."
"Same here, baby. Same here."
They both closed their eyes and were soon asleep.


Inside Fabian's private quarters, Martina was laying upon his bed, her shirt unbuttoned and open to show off her large breasts. She laid on her side and looked irritated as Fabian was reading something on his computer monitor. "Fabian, dear, I liked Bergiano too, but did you really have to kill Hachim?"
"Yes."
"You realize we'll never be able to go back to the Caliphal States now? Hachim had friends, Fabian, and they will kill us if they find us."
"Then I'll have to make sure we're not caught, oui?" Fabian smirked as he kept reading, not caring that Martina was ready for him to come to bed.
"Dammit!" Martina sat up and punched a fist down. "Why must you do this?! Everywhere we go you piss people off! Do you have fun barring entire regions of space from us?!"
"There is plenty more space, my dear," Fabian said, wagging a finger as he finished typing something in. "Besides, it's fun. And I thought that's why you came aboard in the first place? You were tired of laying around and being fucked all the time when there was a galaxy to explore."
"Not so much of that galaxy to explore when half of it wants to kill you, Fabian. I'd rather be back on Gilead in that brothel, chained up and everything else they used to do. At least I could enjoy sex and not have to worry about whether there's some pirate attacker or warship waiting for us at the next junction!"
"Oh, you worry too much, Martina." Fabian quit typing something on the computer and stood up. "But you'll be happy to know that you'll be coming home very soon."
Martina narrowed her eyes as she watched Fabian retrieve a bottle of champagne and remove his shirt, revealing a torso that, while not hunky, was certainly not unattractive to Martina's tastes. "What do you mean by that?"
Fabian looked at her and poured a glass of champagne for her. "Our next stop, my dear, is Gilead."
Martina's eyes widened. "You idiot! If Quao finds out we're back...."
"That's the beauty of it, my lady. Quao doesn't know that we're the ones who warned the British about that shipment of slaves he was trying to send to New Morocco. We can still do business with him." Fabian handed her the champagne and sipped at his own glass before sitting on the bed and coming close to her. "He has some rare alien sculptures from the ruins on Ekess. There's a buyer for them, a noble from Devenshire. We're to get the shipment to Haakon in the Crossroads two weeks after receiving it at Gilead."
"How? It'd take two months to head back out by the Expanse to get back to Britain." Realization dawned on Martina's face. "Oh my God... Fabian, you're not going to go through Devenshire or China, are you?"
Fabian smiled at her. "I've got Frantiska crunching the numbers now for using the Springfield-New Tarsus-Jacksontowne hyperspace lane."
"You're going to cut through the Outback?! And through Plymouth and Devenshire?! After what happened last time we went through Devenshire?! And the entire Plymouth Navy is looking for us to get back Proctor!"
"Oh my dear, you worry too much." Fabian drank from his champagne and patted Martina on the knee. "I haven't been caught yet, and I'm not about to. We'll get the delivery done in record time. And then I think we'll take a small vacation on Stavanger. See the Odin Mountains. What do you think?"
Martina considered the champagne for a moment. "Sounds good, Fabian." She seemed a little distant, though that disappeared a moment later. "Sounds real good." She accepted his offer of a short toast, after which they finished their glasses. Fabian removed her shirt completely, his hands moving sensually over her shoulders and arms as he did so, after which he groped and kissed one of Martina's breasts before pushing her back on the bed.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-11 04:09am

Clad in a sleeveless tank top and baggy shorts, Sara was manning the helm when the time came to make the transit back to real space. The Melanie made the transit with a slight jolt, as was usual, and Sara's attention was immediately on the proximity scanners. Gilean Space Traffic Control put them on a course for orbit and landing at Quanzhi, a port city on the southern continent of Gilead across the Pendleton Ocean from the Primitive Zone. Sara set the auto-pilot after maneuvering the ship into position and let it go. She felt a hand touch her bare shoulder and looked up at Fabian. "Sara, my dear, you are in for a treat. Gilead is one of the known galaxy's most beautiful planets. Quanzhi is sub-tropical and on the ocean, very romantic, and it's clubs offer a great deal to young ladies wanting some fun."
Martina sneered at that from her seat. "Yes. Just watch where you walk in some places. The local tong likes to kidnap pretty young girls so they can sell them as slaves." She noticed Sara give a bewildered look to Fabian. "Oh, don't worry. It doesn't happen much at Quanzhi, and we won't be staying long anyway. Though you really should go to the Lotus Club and have them give you the house special."
"House special?"
"It's very fun." Martina smiled wickedly at Fabian. "They tie you onto a rack and a mechanical phallus with a condom made of Gilean silk fucks you. Gilean silkworms make just about the softest silken material around. It's very pleasing."
Sara blushed, a little bit of the old Calvinist prudishness showing. "I imagine so. I take it you've been there?"
"I used to be a sex-slave at the Lotus Club. When I wasn't on display, they offered me to the higher-paying customers." Martina winked at Fabian. "Then my Corsican hero came along, paid up the rest of my contract, and here I am."
"On display?"
"Don't worry about it, Sara, we probably won't have time for that anyway." Fabian smiled down at her. "We're going to land at Quanzhi's small spaceport and pick up some cargo, then be on our way. Martina, go ahead and take Gil and Sara with you when you go and sign for the stuff."
Martina frowned. "I could do it alone, you know."
"Yes, but I want Gil to learn some more about paperwork, and Sara here is shaping up to be a good Third Mate when Old Jonesy retires."
Martina sighed. Sara tried to hide the smile on her face. She was happy that Fabian trusted her like that so quickly. But Fabian took pride in her, Sara had noticed. He took pride in all of his "accomplishments", the people he converted to his love of freedom in the stars. "I hope I can do well."
"Sara, my girl, with all you've been through, and all you've done," Fabian knelt down by her and put a hand on her back, "you remind me of, well, me. When I was that age of course. Now, let's see you pilot this lady to a soft landing and you three can go and get the cargo moving."
"I'll do my best," Sara promised.


Four hours and one slightly bumpy landing later, Sara was wearing a more modest white blouse and gold-tinted knee-length skirt when she, Gil, and Martina left the ship to meet with the dockmaster. They were only going to be on-planet for a few hours, but even then Sara had decided to err on the side of caution given what Fabian and Martina said about the nature of Gilead's black market.
Most of the men who handled the incoming cargo were Asian-descended. One of them, who identified himself as Fai, led the three crewers into one of the warehouses and to a prepared table. A number of papers were brought up for Martina and meals were offered to them. Martina refused the sweet-and-sour sauced chicken, but Sara and Gil accepted and began eating it while Martina and Fai went over the manifest papers. Sara thought it a particularly boring necessity. Most of the goods were labeled as cheap plaster statuettes being delivered to a buyer in the Crossroads as a cover for the priceless artifacts that were being smuggled in, since there were international laws about such things. She quietly ate the offered plate, enjoying the richly-prepared food while Martina and Fai went over the paperwork, making sure she understood all of the particulars and signed all the right forms for customs. Sara spent most of the time thinking about Fabian's remarks about her becoming the new Third Mate. She never expected to climb that quickly.
She noticed Gil looking at her and smiled. She wasn't quite sure how appropriate it'd be if the Second and Third Mates were sleeping together, but the Melanie was a civilian ship after all. The others on the ship had all taken their relationship in stride, after all, after a few got over the jealousy of not getting her first. Gil had taken a few bites and pushed the plate away. "Not going to finish?"
He shook his head. "No, I had some lunch already. And I want to pay attention to this. You should too, y'know."
Sara sighed and nodded in agreement. She put her attention back to Martina and Fai talking. They were boring, though, and Sara's mind began to wander. She strangely felt her eyelids become heavy. Her body seemed tired and weak, and not just from boredom. Sara tried to stay awake, tried and tried, but finally the pull was too much and she slumped against the table, everything going black.


Gil was watching Martina and Fai finish up the paperwork when he noticed Sara slumip over. He nudged her in the ribs. "Sara, no time to doze. Wait until we're back on board." When she didn't respond, he looked over at her. "Sara? Sara?!" He pulled her back and she slumped backward, forcing him to catch her. Gil put a couple of fingers to her neck to check her pulse, which was still there. "Sara, wake up, c'mon!" He shook her a little, but Sara's eyes remained closed. He looked back to Martina and Fai, who were simply staring at him. "What's wrong with her?" She's...." Gil blinked. He was feeling weak for some reason. His eyelids were slightly heavy and he had the sensation of wanting sleep. "What... what's going on?" He looked down at the food on the table - his incompleted portion and Sara's empty plate - and back at Fai. "Martina... Martina! It's drugged!"
Martina looked at Fai suspiciously. He merely smiled. Gil was unarmed, but he knew Martina habitually carried a sidearm. "Get the bastard! We've got... got to get back to the ship!"
Gil watched Martina go for her gun. Fai didn't move before she had the gun out, after which he stood up. He started to get up, however, when he saw she was pointing it at him. "What? What's going on here?"
"A change in plan, Gil. Good night."
Gil was staring at Martina, his mind hazed, when Fai came up from behind him and pressed a patch against his neck and held him in place. Gil struggled vainly, sapped of his strength by the drugs that were now growing even stronger in his system. He lapsed into unconsciousness after about five seconds.
Martina re-holstered her gun and called up the Melanie to inform them that she was taking Gil and Sara to dinner to celebrate Fabian's decision to name Sara the new Third Mate. After she was done, Fai brought out a radio and barked an order in Chinese, after which four men entered the warehouse. "Escort Miss Edlund and the prisoners to Lord Quao. We'll continue operations here." The men split into pairs, using plastic tie straps to bind Sara and Gil's wrists behind their backs before carrying them to one of the transport companies' dark vans. One of the men took the driver's seat, Martina in the passenger's seat, and the van drove off.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Zaia » 2005-02-11 01:03pm

Gah! Everytime I go to finally catch up, you add more! :P

Quite sexy, Steve. Rowr. ;-)
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Post by Chmee » 2005-02-11 01:13pm

Shroom Man 777 wrote:Please, put paragraphs. I'm interested in an Islamic sci-fi story, since we don't see much Muslims in sci-fi, except on the Riddick movies.
Track down a used copy of George Alec Effinger's "When Gravity Fails" and its two sequels, "A Fire in the Sun" and "The Exile Kiss" .... cyberpunk set in a squalid, noir-ish Islamic city of the future. Marid Audran (street punk, drug addict, detective, personality-module abuser, and right-hand man of the city's top crime lord) is one of my favorite characters ever.
[img=right]http://www.tallguyz.com/imagelib/chmeesig.jpg[/img]My guess might be excellent or it might be crummy, but
Mrs. Spade didn't raise any children dippy enough to
make guesses in front of a district attorney,
an assistant district attorney, and a stenographer
.

Sam Spade, "The Maltese Falcon"

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-12 02:13pm

Sara awoke with a cough, an overpowering smell filling her nostrils and making her want to gag. When her eyes opened, she found herself on her knees inside a somewhat large room, with green carpet embroidered with Chinese-style dragons. She tried to move her arms but found she couldn't. Her wrists were bound behind her back. She started to look around when a weathered hand took hold of her. An Asian man, well past a hundred and looking rather old, looked her over. "This one is new?"
"She joined the crew two years ago," a familiar voice said. Sara looked up to see Martina standing behind the old man. "Her name is Sara Proctor. She's from Plymouth."
"Another of Comeau's castaways." The Chinese man snorted in amusement. "For a smuggler, Comeau has an annoying sense of morality. And it's cost me enough already."
Sara looked beside her to see Gil, bound as she was and glaring hate at Martina and the Chinese man. "What's going on here?" Sara looked back to Martina. "Martina, what's happening?"
"The bitch betrayed us!" Gil shouted, earning him a smack on the back of the head by a guard.
Sara stared at Martina, who knelt down in front of her. "I'm sorry, Sara. But I like breathing too much to let Fabian get us killed." She moved to the side so Sara could see the Chinese man, standing tall and erect in silken robes. "This is Lord Quao. He used to own me when I was a slave. Now he's paying me a good deal of money to help him get revenge on Fabian."
In the large room, there was a computer station with a large wall monitor, which Quao now turned his attention too. It showed a diagram of the Melanie. "It is almost time?"
The man at the controls nodded. "Yes, Lord Quao. The devices will be going off at any moment."
"Devices?" Sara's heart began to plunge into her stomach. "What...?"
"Gas bombs. Something that the authorities will figure came from our reactor coolant system." Gil's jaw was tight as he glared at Martina. "Am I right?"
"You always were the smart one, Gil," Martina cooed in her sultry tone.
"I'll fucking kill you!" Gil struggled against the guards holding him down. "You're a dead bitch when I get my hands on you!"
Martina was about to reply when the young man at the controls said, "Lord, the devices have set off."
"Excellent." Quao stepped beside Martina and all watched as the diagram began to blink red in several cargo compartments. Sara watched with horror as it spread quickly to the rest of the ship. "Have they begun countermeasures?"
"Just now, Lord Quao. But it's too late. The poison is in the ventilation..."
The computer aide was interrupted by a beeping sound on Martina's thigh. She took her personal phone out and looked at it. "Fabian calling to warn me. How noble." She dropped the phone down and stomped on it, smiling at Quao. He smiled back and returned his gaze to the screen. Within moments of this, the entire ship was filled with red. "Life signs in the ship are dropping.... gone. There are no survivors, Lord Quao."
Sara's jaw dropped in horror. Fabian, Uwe, Matilda, Jonesy, they were all dead. Just like that. Everyone who had helped spirit her away to freedom was gone. "Oh God," Sara whispered, barely able to breathe as her eyes teared up. Gil kept glaring hate at Martina while Quao walked up to both of them. "This just leaves the two of you." Quao reached into his robes and brought out a small laser pistol. Sara watched him put the gun to the back of Gil's head and pull the trigger before Gil could say anything. There was a brief flash of light around the barrel and Gil slumped over, the back of his head darkened and smelling of burnt flesh. Sara began to cry and didn't respond to the feeling of cold steel to the back of her head save to close her eyes and await the end. Everything was happening too fast. Betrayal, the loss of her friends and saviors, and now her lover. Tears streamed down Sara's cheeks as she waited for the crime lord to pull the trigger and end it all.
After a few moments passed, Sara felt the metal pull away. She looked up and saw Quao walk around. Martina stared at him. "What are you doing?"
Quao looked at Martina. "This one was not with the crew of the Melanie when Fabian betrayed me. It would be unfair to kill her for a crime that was not her's."
Sara stared at Quao, as did Martina. "So what? You're going to let her go?"
"Oh no, I can't do that now. Besides, even revenge has it's price, and I paid a fair amount of money to have it. I would like to recover some of that money." Quao looked back at Sara and then to the guards flanking her. "Take her away and put her on display. Tomorrow she will go to the slave market in East Port."
Martina smirked. "Selling her to the primitives? I think she's going to start wishing you lasered her head by the time they start on her."
Quao merely shrugged as Sara, still paralyzed by the trauma of what had just happened, was carried off. "And now it's come time to deal with you, Martina."
Martina drew in a breath and grinned. "So, how much was revenge worth to you, Lord Quao?"
"A great deal, Martina." Quao returned to his throne-like chair. "And your reward will be a great one, I promise you."
Crossing her arms, Martina walked up toward the throne. "How much am I getting?"
A rather sinister grin crossed Quao's face, making Martina's blood freeze before he replied, "Your life."
Powerful arms grabbed Martina from either side and held her arms together long enough to slave bracelets on her and bind her with a chain between them. "What.... what's going on?!" Martina struggled against her assailants, who might have very well been made of solid rock for how futile it was. "I helped you! I gave you Fabian!"
"Yes. You did. But as I have said, I am a fair man, and while the girl was not a member of the crew when I was wronged, you were." Quao leaned forward in his chair. "Because you were the one to tell me, however, I will spare your life." He waved her and the others away. "Put her on display. Tomorrow she goes with the other girl to East Port."
At that, Martina was dragged away from Quao, screaming obscenities and empty threats at him while Quao nibbled on some nearby grapes.


After being removed from Quao's "throne room", Sara was brought to a side room. Blades were used to cut away her clothes until she was naked. Anklets and bracelets were placed on her ankles and wrists, and a collar around her neck with a tag that had a lotus emblem on it. Sara was brought to a shower next, thoroughly doused with water, and pulled to an air-tight door. On the other side of the door was a covered alcove with a hook high on the wall, a pair of chains and latches hanging down from it. The latches were fitted into slots on the bracelets they placed on Sara, suspending her arms directly above her head. The men who brought her in immediately retreated from the small chamber.
For a short time Sara simply stayed there, her arms hurting from being held up, and she continued to weep. She was finally starting to recover from what had just happened when new fears of what they were going to do to her crept up.
By this time there seemed to be a smell to the room. Not so much a smell as the feeling that the air was "hot" somehow. She started breathing faster and her heart picked up it's beat. She even began to sweat. Sara didn't quite understand why this was happening. As her body tensed up from the heat in the air, she felt an euphoria coming on. Something she had only felt before with Gil. She started imagining those moments with Gil, the fun and the pleasure they had together.
After a few minutes of this the electro-tinted glass was altered to allow light to pass through. Sara saw through the glass a lush room filled with men in varying stages of undress, being massaged or tended to by half-naked girls, mostly Asian and Caucasian. A few men noticed her and smiled before walking on to be assigned attendants. Sara tried to control her breath and think. This was what Quao had meant by being "on display".
There was something in the air. Now the air-tight door to the covered alcove made sense. Aside from providing her with air, the chamber's ventilation system was probably being pumped with a gaseous aphrodisiac that was making her aroused. Sara moaned at the feeling in her body, the growing desire for sex of some kind. She weakly struggled against her chains as the sensation grew over the next few minutes, growing so desperate she was fully willing to do it herself if just to release what she felt inside.
Sara's beating heart was now drowning out much of her thought, at least until the milling crowd thinned enough for her to see an alcove opposite her. Martina was in it, naked and chained as she was. A cold, mirthless grin crossed Sara's faced, something she'd never done before but now could not help at seeing the traitress betrayed herself.
But that didn't change the fact that Fabian, Gil, and the others were dead, and now Sara actually was a slave. Who knew what would happen to her? If not for the arousal of her body, her heart might have actually felt cold from the terror of an uncertain but very bleak future.
As her body continued to crave some kind of sexual release, Sara lost track of time, until finally the feeling subsided and was replaced by another, lighter feeling in the air that made her sleepy until everything was black.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-12 03:56pm

There was a slight rumbling around her when Sara woke up. She tried to move and found that her wrists were bound above her head like before, this time a hook on which a chain linking her bracelets together was set. It was a large box chamber they were in, hot and stuffy, and Sara looked around and saw that there were a few other young women, some looking as young as sixteen, around her. They, like her, were all naked save for the anklets, bracelets, and collars. Some were weeping and all looked generally frightened and pained.
"Nice to see you're awake, sweetie."
Sara recognized the sultry tone of the voice beside her immediately. She turned and glared at Martina, not taking the slightest bit of delight in seeing the traitress in the same position she was. "You were one of the lucky ones." Martina looked at her briefly before looking away. "You slept through it all."
"Slept through what?"
"What do you think those girls are crying about?" Martina's voice was as haughty as ever. "You slept through the guards raping about half the girls here."
Sara quickly looked around again. "My God..."
"Oh, go ahead and talk about God. We're on the road to Hell as it is," Martina said.
"What do you mean?"
"They're taking us to the Primitive Zone, Sara. The Primitives aren't very nice people." Martina looked up at the ceiling of the car.
"So, what are they going to do to us?"
"Probably torture and rape us for kicks. Sex-slaves exist only for the pleasure of their masters in the world we're heading to, Sara."
Sara just stared at her. "And just how do you know?"
"Lord Quao threatened all of the slave girls in the Lotus Club with it. Said if we were disobedient, he'd sell us to the Primitives."
"I thought slavery on Gilead was consensual?"
"Oh, it's supposed to be." Martina scoffed. "But the planetary government passed laws about respecting the primitives' lifestyles and the Confederacy's government has other things to talk about. This kind of thing is off-limits to them. So the planetary people have a nice little bureaucracy to rubber stamp all of the slavery contracts to ensure they're consensual, and I'm sure a lot of them get a nice little bonus from their customers if they look the other way at forged and altered contracts."
Sara looked to the girl opposite her - an Asian girl of some loveliness who was weeping - and a cold smile crossed her face. "I'm sure you regret this shit now, don't you?"
"I should have never trusted Quao," Martina muttered. "But I don't regret what I did. Fabian was going to get us both killed, Sara. The people he kept pissing off aren't very nice, and we could've ended up a lot worse!"
"What? There are things worse than what you say is going to happen to us? Because I'm having a damned hard time thinking of one!" Sara looked away from Martina and looked around her, then up at the hook. She got a brief idea of how she might get loose, but when she tried to move her legs up she found she couldn't. She looked down and saw that her anklets were attached to chains as well. "Dammit," Sara muttered, looking around to try and find a way to escape.
Not too long after, the rumbling stopped. Martina let out a breath. "Well, here we go," she muttered.
"What?"
"The hydrofoil stopped. We're in East Port now. Take a good look when we go through town, Sara." Martina's voice was broken and strained. "Because you'll probably never see a technological city again."

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-13 10:01pm

The trip through East Port was on the slow side due to the traffic. Sara, Martina, and the others spent the entire thing in a cage built into the back of a truck, their wrists bound behind their backs by chains attached to their bracelets and a similar chain bridging their anklets to limit their ability to walk. Everyone remained silent, save for some of the girls weeping to themselves.
At the end of their voyage was a building near what looked to be an electric rail line. They were brought to a cargo area where the girls were all chained together, Sara in front of Martina and fifth in the line. They were led out together, guards with electric prods shocking girls who didn't move fast enough. In the next room they were seperated from one another in an order from first to last, each girl brought through a following chamber.
Inside this chamber was a hook hanging from the ceiling as well as a single chair. The men in the room, all Quao's people considering the lotus symbols on their uniforms, forced Sara to hook the chain linking her wrists onto the hook to hold her arms above her head, while below her a mechanism latched onto the chain holding her ankles. Held like this, powerful water jets hit Sara from all sides, making her cry out from the shock of the impact and the slight pain it caused as the jets moved up and down her body. After this was done and she was dried off, a perfume was applied to her body by one of the room's occupants. Recording instruments swept over her, recreating a 3D diagram of Sara's body and the statistics, such as exact dimensions.
She was seated in the chair next, where one of the men gave her four shots into the left arm, presumably to make her immune to local pathogens. From there she was made to exit the room, and on the other side a tag was hung from her neck and she was put into a line. Within moments a couple of the girls in the front were taken out to the next chamber, from which Sara could hear a great deal of talking.
Behind her, the door opened again and Martina was led out. "So, I wonder who will buy us? The Amazons, the Al Faranis, the Normans..."
"You know of these groups?"
"Lord Quao has dealings with most of them. Occasionally he'd entertain their leaders. Even had me put with an Amazon leader one time. Closest I've ever come to being raped by a lesbian." Martina suddenly cried out in tandem with an electrical crackling sound and a harsh order in Chinese. Sara didn't have to ask what it meant. She kept her face forward, her heart tremoring as a thousand horrible possibilities raced through her mind.


The East Port Slave Market was a large octagonal theater, each side used by a different supplier, though Lord Quao was the unofficial owner and operator of the entire thing. In the middle was the Pit, where the brokers clamored and bid on the slaves they were shown. Because of the nature of the region, only two of the suppliers focused entirely on male slaves, the others being combinations of the two or females only.
The Slave Market had relatively honest intentions at first. Consensual slaves from the technological world who agreed to be sold for terms to the primitives would be shipped here for auctioning, and at the end of their terms sent back. Corruption had ensured this never happened, at least not in the greater region around East Port. Lord Quao was the local strongman, all of the government officials on his payroll or too scared to speak up about it, and Quao in turn sold slaves with forged or altered contracts and allowed the local leading groups to do as they pleased, so long as they paid their tribute and used their seats in government (even the Primitives were given representation as Gilean citizens, after all) to promote things in Quao's interest. The nature of the local powers of the Primitive Zone guaranteed this arrangement, as all had mutated beyond their initial cliques to become very nasty people, perpetually at war with one another when they weren't terrorizing the other primitive communities and forcing them to pay tribute in precious metals (the nearby Henley Mountain Range had an abundance of such mineral wealth), materials, or slaves.
In the middle of the Pit was the Lords' Room, a raised area with catering, electronic displays, and all sorts of technological comforts, local leaders met for one purpose or another. Negotiations for always-short peace agreements, land disputes, or simply to oversee their brokers as they bought slaves from the market. Each of the major factions had their own area. In the area facing one of Quao's personal auction stages, Henrik Rasgoz sat near a window with a display nearby and a half-naked blonde slave girl beside him, her wrists bound together and attached to a leash now tied to one of the arms of his chair. He fed her a grape with a grin on his face and turned back to the auction save, watching two Asian girls being sold to brokers of Al Farani. "The Al Farani will make wastes of such beauty," he mused to himself. Looking down, he saw his uniform - that of a senior member of the "leader" caste of the Normans - had a few crumbs on it from some snacks he had devoured earlier. He swept them off. "We know how to deal with such lovelies."
"Of course, Lord Rasgoz," was a reply from behind him. A long-bearded Asian man nodded politely.
"You need not suck up to that brute, Jia Xi," a sultry but rather vicious called from behind them both. Stepping up from the Amazon section of the Lords' Room was a woman of some beauty and strength, dark-haired and with brown eyes that could hate with frightening intensity. She was flanked to one side by an older woman, an attendant and slave, and on the other was her daughter, who had long chestnut hair but her present mother's eyes. Save for the slave, who was modestly dressed, mother and daughter wore the militant Amazon style, ankle length dresses and robes that ended at mid-chest and bared their breasts completely, including the prominent scars on their left breasts that were a hall-mark of adulthood. Such attire was forbidden in most of the tech world, which is why the Amazons rarely ventured there - they considered the taboo against bared breasts to be another aspect of patriarchial domination of Human society, which their militant feminist founders had turned away from.
"Lord Quao has charged me with being a proper host to all of the Lords of the Eastern Regions, Lady Athena." Jia Xi bowed respectfully to her. "And my congratulations to your daughter Freya for completing your Rites of Adulthood."
Freya scowled at Henrik as he laughed at her. "Ah, an adult now. So tell me, Athena, did your girl secretly enjoy what you had your whole male slaves do to her?"
"See, daughter?" Athena smiled cruelly at Henrik. "The Normans are what lie at the base of all male hearts. The desire to rape and enslave women for their own pleasure."
"You'll make a beautiful kayira, Athena."
"That's what I was told by General Coxaz before the battle at Mytel. He now works with the others in our diamond mines, a cork between his legs so that he can piss without his genitals. I believe I fed them to my black tigress."
Henrik glared hate at her. "We'll take back Mytel before winter comes, mark my words. And one of these days you will learn your natural place at my feet!"
Freya stepped forward to strike a blow at him for threatening her mother, but Jia Xi stepped between them. "Lords, please! This is neutral ground by order of Lord Quao! You must not fight!"
"We don't need to fight here." Freya snarled at Henrik. "We'll slit this pig's throat when we sack Ar."
"I'll look forward to reminding you of those words when I have you branded," was the haughty reply.
The attention of the others from the powers of the region - the Emir of Al Farani and his escorts, the ruling King of Kalunda - was now on the feuding parties. Jia Xi remained between them. "Lords, I must insist you return to your seats. Lord Quao will not permit fighting upon neutral ground."
Athena smirked and took her daughter's arm. "Come, daughter. I saw a lovely yellow-skinned girl that will make an excellent first maid for you." She walked away.
Henrik returned to his seat, where his slave girl remained tied. He petted her affectionately while looking at the display of the upcoming auctions. He was looking at one of Quao's personal stages when two more girls were brought out. Both were Caucasian, a blonde from Gilead and a brunette of some attractiveness. Henrik didn't really care for her appearance - there were many girls just as pretty - but he noticed that according to her information she was from New Plymouth Colony. "Jia Xi, a moment." Henrik waited for Jia Xi to come up beside him before asking, "This girl is really a Plymouthite?"
"As far as we can tell, yes, Lord Rasgoz. She was even on the news for a short while two years ago, when she was seeking asylum in a foreign consulate after deserting from Plymouth's navy."
"I see." Henrik petted his slave girl again. "Calvinists make good slaves when you give them a little conditioning." He brought up a microphone. "Gal, bid on the brunette and the blonde on Stage 6. Bid on them as one package, starting at six hundred yuan and up to six thousand. If it goes higher I'll give you further instructions." Henrik sat back and watched the bidding begin. The Kalundans and the Al Farani bid on them, but very low, and a late bid by the Stirlins was easily answered, giving him the girls for about twelve hundred yuan. Henrik watched only a bit as the girls were led away to be delivered to his men before calling one of his guards up to deliver his slave girl back to the train. He would go conclude his business with Jia Xi and be gone by the morning.
Last edited by Steve on 2005-02-15 04:30am, edited 1 time in total.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-15 04:29am

After being sold together, Sara and Martina were turned over to men in tight sleeveless leather vests. They were walked over to another nearby building on one of the rail lines, adjoining the rail station for the Normans. They were taken first to a holding area where they were strapped into chairs. The lotus emblem on their collars was replaced by a crossed sword emblem and their left thighs were painted with stylized "k"s, the men explaining that they wouldn't receive the brands meant for slave girls until they reached Ar. Then the men took them out of the chairs and re-arranged their chains, so that the chain linking their wrists was wrapped about their back and thus limited the movement of their arms.
At this point they were separated, Martina taken in one direction and Sara in another. After a short walk she entered a fair-sized room, with a hammock for a bed and a high quality animal skin on the floor, a chair on the right wall from the door with the sleeping hammock across from the door. It was part office, part living quarters apparently. A tall, muscled man of dark brown hair was seated in the chair, a naked blonde girl beside him with her wrists chained together as Sara's were. Sara could see that on her left thigh was a brand, not to different from the S brand for seductress that Sara had once been given on her upper arm in what seemed to be a previous life, and the brand matched the "k" that was painted on Sara's thigh.
"What is your name?"
"My name is Sara Proctor."
Henrik nodded. "Well, you are no longer Sara Proctor. And you will no longer refer to yourself in the first person. You are a slave and slaves have nothing, not even their own names. If you please me, I may let you take a name." Henrik pulled the blonde girl in his lap. "You come from Plymouth. The women of Plymouth are very unfortunate, I've found. Reduced to submission, but not to a natural one but to one enforced by religion." Henrik ran a hand over the blonde girl's hip. "Sata here was once one of you, years ago. She tried to free slaves but found herself one." His hand traveled further down and around her body, tracing out it's curves closely. Her head arced back and she moaned at the touch. "We had to teach her to accept that which is naturally her's. The freedom of the collar." Henrik looked at Sara. "And now you will be taught that."
"The freedom of the collar? What do you mean by that?"
Sata let out a joyous cry from Henrik's continued contact with her, his hand on her belly. "Look at Sata, girl. Look at her enjoy her submission to me. This is the true calling of a woman. Complete submission to men, who love and care for them."
"What if a woman wants to find her own way?" Sara's voice grew in volume. She had heard similar platitudes, after all, and had been raised to be a submissive house wife who cooked dinner and raised children for her husband without any individual desires beyond that service and service to the Church. "Love of freedom is a powerful thing."
"It is. It misleads many women. Which is why it must be conditioned out of them. A woman must be made to accept her need for submission." Henrik stopped long enough to let Sata cry out, seeming as if his mere touch was making her sexually excited. "Keep your eyes on this girl, kayira. This is what you will be one day. Yearning for my approval. Eager for my touch, no matter how rough it may seem. Listen to her and know that you will do the same for me, and for any man who wants you. You will learn to hate what you call freedom and to embrace your true nature."
Sara watched Henrik continue to touch and fondle Sata. After a few minutes he put her down upon the ground and stood up. "Do you see?"
"Yes, I do." Sara's face locked into a smile of defiance. "What I see is a pathetic man who hides behind a great deal of meaningless talk to justify his views of women. To you a woman is nothing more than a toy, a pet, to be played with at your whim. This conditioning is nothing more than brainwashing." Sara's faced turned into a snarl. "I've seen this before, I've had others try to brainwash me and to convince me of what my proper place is, and I've lived through it. You're nothing more than a power-mad fool and you get your kicks by raping women because you have very little real power to decide your fate. So go ahead. But I'm not your pet. I'll suffer what I must until my time comes and when it does I'll slit your God damned throat."
Henrik let Sara finish her diatribe with an amused smirk. "You're not the first to use strong words on me." He advanced toward her, sinister intent in his eyes. "And you won't be the last." Before he could lay a hand on Sara, she spit at him and straight into his eye. Henrik howled in angry rage as Sara kicked him in the foot. She tried to again but was knocked flat on her back by a powerful slap to her face that knocked three of her teeth out. Sara fell back, dazed, and screamed when teeth dug into her shoulder. Sata had jumped to the defense of her master, and despite being bound, she attacked Sara viciously until Henrik pulled her off. He petted her affectionately before sending her away and turning his attention to Sara. She was struggling to get off the floor, but Henrik stopped that by taking her by the anklet chain and dragging her onto the fur in the middle of the room. He stopped only long enough to pull down his shorts before he pushed her legs apart.
Sara began to scream. And she continued to scream for a great while.


Martina had been taken to a room in the loading area of the rail station. The room was filled with boxes and creates, and most ominously, an area of small cages, four feet by about another four feet. Martina was stuffed into one, forced to lay in a semi-fetal position. The cage smelled of perfumes, though not heavily.
Some time later, the men who had brought her returned dragging Sara, who was weeping. She was tossed into a cage opposite Martina and locked in. Sara immediately curled up tightly, hunching her legs together and up to her chest while crying, keeping her back to Martina. Martina looked across at her with some sympathetic pity. "So, our new master had his way with you?" There was silence for a moment. "Yeah, these Normans are like that. They rape you and they rape you until you become a sex kitten who mews and whines for them on cue. It really sucks."
"Shut up!" was the anguished cry from the other cage.
"What, do you think I'm happy? They're going to rape me too!" Martina slid over as best she could to face Sara directly. "Sara, we're in this together."
"I said shut up!" Sara finally looked over her shoulder, her cheeks tear-stroked with a bruise on the left side of her face and a bloodied lip. "This is all your fucking fault! God damn you to Hell!"
"Sara.... Sara, I'm sorry!"
"Bullshit!"
"I did what I thought was necessary to survive, Sara! It's what I've always done." Martina rolled onto her belly. "It's how I got Quao to take pity on me back when I was a kid. Then when I realized that eventually Quao was going to send me off, I seduced Fabian so he'd buy my freedom and take me with him. And then Fabian started pissing off all of our contacts and all of these groups and I.... I decided to continue to survive by turning him over to Quao. I... I should've just quit, dammit." Martina looked across at Sara. "We'll get out of this! I'll find a way!"
"Just.... just shut up!" Sara began sobbing again and blocked out all noise. She turned away and wept the entire night until sleep finally came.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-18 01:06am

During the night, they were moved onto the train, which left before dusk on the track for Ar, the main city of the Normans. Sara woke up to feel the slight rumble in the floor under her cage. Martina was across from her again, still asleep. Sara rolled onto her back as best as she could in the confined space, the pain from the previous night reduced by a bit. But the memory was still there, the wound on her soul still fresh.
For a while she just laid there, alone, scared of what was to come. She did not know Martina had woken up until she heard Martina cry out. Sara turned to find a man clad in one of the Normans' leather uniforms opening her cage. He pulled her out by the ankle and ordered her to stand. She merely looked up at him until he brought a prod device to her back. The electrical shock made Sara scream. "On your feet, girl! On your feet!" He shocked her again as Sara got onto her knees, making her cry out once more. She slowly rose, aching from the abuse, and was marched to another car on the train. The corridor of the wood-paneled car was narrow and all on the right side. After moving half the length of the car they were at a door and were brought into a sound-proofed room that took up most of the car's volume. Another man, an older one with slowly graying hair, was checking out some of his things. Glass beakers filled with liquids on tables beside two very ominous looking racks. The guards who fetched Sara and Martina brought to the tables, one on either side of the door, and began latching them into the metal restraints. The chains linking her ankles and wrists were removed after one side was latched in so that they could latch in the other, leaving both in a rough X-shaped binding.
Martina was struggling actively against the restraints, unlike Sara who remained limp against them, and her struggles continued until the wolf-haired man touched a button on a control panel between the two racks. Martina screamed louder than Sara could have imagined, her body twitching with an electrical buzzing filling the room. The man looked to Sara and touched another button.
The pain was simply unreal. Sara screamed until her throat was raw, an electrical current filling her entire body. No pain she'd felt before matched this, an absolute, complete pain that spared nothing, traveling up from her limbs to the rest of her body. She lost track of time for a moment, the pain having consumed her so completely, until it stopped and Sara was allowed to breathe again, panting to recover air.
She didn't get much time to catch her breath. The electrical current returned and kept doing so, never giving Sara more than a few moments of rest. Her body was aching from it. Nothing Sara had ever experienced could meet this in pure volume of pain.
After an undeterminable amount of time the man focused on Martina. As he did so another girl, a slave considering her dress, entered the room with a number of glasses on a tray. She walked over to the table to Sara's right and at the order of the torturer she set a few glasses down. As she did so, the tray in her hand became slightly unbalanced. It tipped over and all of it's glass contents came down, shattering. Glass shards went everywhere, including one that stuck Sara in her right side. The pain seemed magnified considering the torture she had already been forced to endure. She looked to the girl, who slinked into the corner in terror as the man came over with what looked like a black jack and began beating on her. As she screamed Sara saw that there was another glass shard, maybe two inches long at most, by her right hand. Taking her chance, she used her fingers to slide it over so that she could hide it with her hand.
After the slave girl had been thoroughly beaten and kicked out, the man returned to his task. More time passed, and with it more shocking. What seemed like an eternity passed as the man tortured them unceasingly. When it finally ended, Sara's throat was so raw that her screams and voice were hoarse.
The torturer looked at a timepiece and walked over to Sara. "Time for you to go back to your cage for a meal," he said to her in an apathetic, uncaring voice while unlatching her left wrist. As he did so she twisted her right wrist just enough to grip the glass shard. She made sure to feel it's edge to know where it was sharpest so that she would make her one shot count.
Sara watched her tormentor walk around the rack to her side. His hands quickly undid the restraint for her right hand. As soon as it was free, Sara slashed upward with all her remaining strength, ensuring the jagged, sharp edge of the glass was forward. The glass cut through the man's throat with little effort. Blood erupted from his throat as he stared at her, wide-eyed and gagging as the thick crimson fluid flowed down throat and into his airpipe. He stumbled backward, grasping his throat as he watched Sara unlatch her ankles and get off the rack. He would be dead within a few minutes.
The first thing Sara did was pick up a gun-like device on the man's table. It was an electric stun-gun from the looks of it, used for dealing with prisoners. She started to walk to the exit when Martina cried out, "Sara, you can't leave me here!"
"Why shouldn't I?" Sara had a hateful glare on her face when she turned back to Martina. "You're the cause of all this. You betrayed Fabian and the others, you directly caused their deaths and everything that's happening to us."
"Sara, please!" Martina was starting to weep. "Please don't leave me here. Please don't let them hurt me. Please! I'll do anything!"
For a few moments, Sara stood there thinking. Finally she walked up and undid Martina's restraints. Martina got to her feet, looking just as haggard as Sara, and followed Sara out into the hallway.
Sara's first step was toward the rear of the train. Martina grabbed her and pointed in the other direction. "Sara, there's a door right there we could use to jump out."
"I'm not going to leave the other girls here."
"And what are you going to do with them all, Sara? Have them all jump? Do you really think they can survive in the wilds? Hell, can we?"
"With that line of thinking, we might as well go back to our cages." Sara shook her head. "I'd rather be dead considering what they do to women, Martina. So, what do you think? Life as a sex toy and pet, or possible death and freedom?"
"What else do you think?" Martina took her by the warm. "But we should be practical...."
A sudden shout came from the passage to the rear cars. A man had just come around the corner. He saw them and hit a button on his waist that caused alarms to wail. Sara shot him with the gun, a solid beam erupting from the barrel and enveloping the Norman, his body twitching as he collapsed unconscious to the ground.
Martina tugged Sara toward the door. "No time now! Let's jump!"
Sara tried to pull away. "No, we can't leave.... Look out!" Sara shoved Martina out of the way of a stun beam from men coming from the front car. She opened fire and brought him down.
"Sara, we're going to a low bridge now over a river! We can make this jump!"
"I don't want to leave the other girls behind!"
"We have no choice! Now come on, or do you want them to avenge that man you just killed?"
Sara swallowed. The Normans struck her as vicious enough that she'd suffer a cruel end now that she'd killed one of them. And the reasonable side of her was agreeing with Martina. There was no way to save the others. No matter how much Sara wanted to save them all, the only thing she could reasonably do was save herself and Martina.
"I'll cover you!" Sara slipped back toward the door, narrowly evading a stun shot and shooting another attacker, who ducked behind the door. Martina looked out the door and, after a moment's hesitation, jumped. Sara backed up toward the door, holding the stun gun up and firing it at the Norman behind cover. As she turned to check the rear of the car, she saw another figure coming from that direction. She jumped backward out the door just as a beam slammed into her. Sara yelped as electricity arced through her body, making her muscles all tense up. She felt herself go into freefall, having cleared the train, and blacked out just before she hit the water.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Mayabird » 2005-02-19 02:40am

It just gets worse and worse for them.

Are the nominations for the Golden Stardestroyers still going on? I think this could be nominated for the "Torture Scene" category.
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Post by Steve » 2005-02-19 10:31pm

There was a slight chill in her body when Sara woke up. She could feel dirt and grass under her and opened her eyes to see where she was. At first the glare of Gilead's blue-tinted sun was blinding, so she was forced to bring a hand up to block it. Martina was leaning beside her, crossing her arms. "About time you woke up." Martina ran a hand through her wet hair. "I was afraid you'd never come to."
Sara sat up. They were at the base of a slight hill, the rail bridge nearby. "What happened?"
"Oh, you hit the water like a sack of bricks. I had to lug you ashore." Martina's right hand rubbed her lower back. "I feel like shit right now."
"Yes." Sara tried to get to her feet. Her body ached horribly, hours of electrical torture now taking their toll. She looked around. "If only we'd managed to snatch clothes."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's not good for our health if we have to walk around naked." Martina smiled at her. "You're welcome."
"Hmm?"
"I saved your life, Sara, remember?"
"Ah." Sara smirked at her. "Well, thank you. And since you'd still be on that train getting raped if I hadn't unlatched you, you're welcome."
Martina matched Sara's smirk. "Yes, thank you for that. Of course, if I were still on the train, you'd have done something stupid and gotten re-captured or you would've drowned in this river when they stunned you on your way out."
"Point made." Sara looked up at the sky, trying to judge what time of day it was. "We'd better get moving. As soon as they get to their next stop they're probably going to send people after us." Sara looked around. "So, we're on the north side of the bank. Shall we go east or west?"
"The train tracks look like they roughly head east. How about west?"
"And if there's nothing there? We need to find something, Martina. A local village or anywhere that we could conceivably get clothing and food."
"Assuming the yokels don't try to enslave us," Martina reminded her.

"We'll just have to be careful." Sara started thinking again, trying to remember the arrangement of land on Gilead from what she saw as they made orbital approach. "East of here is the sea. West of here is a lot of open land and hill range before you get a desert." Sara started walking up the hill by the bridge to get a view of what was south and north. Martina followed her. "Look there." Sara pointed out past the vast grass plains ahead of them at the horizon, where the caps of mountains were faintly visible. "Mountains could provide some good hiding places. Forest for shelter."
"Yeah." Martina walked up beside Sara. In her hand she had the stun gun Sara had used. "So, what do you want to do with this?"
"Doesn't look that high-quality. It probably got wet and shorted out. Toss it." Sara squinted against the horizon. Across the grass plain, in the direction of the track, she thought she could see something moving. She brought a hand up to her forehead to block out the sunlight at the periphery of her vision.
It was a rider. She could see from the distance that he was clad in a riding jacket and trousers, a lasso at his left side as the stallion he was on trotted along. "Martina, get down. Get back down the hill!"
Martina went to ask why when she noticed the oncoming rider too. The two quickly dashed back down and hid under the bridge supports. The rider came down the hill on the other side of the bridge, looking around. He spotted some tracks near the bank of the river and was moving toward their side of the bridge when Martina suddenly jumped out, the stun gun in hand. Sara was too late to stop her and could only watch as Martina brought the gun up as the rider noticed her and turned. She pulled the trigger and got nothing. She looked at the weapon in a panic and pulled the trigger again. "Work!" she screamed.

"Stun guns don't like water, girl," the rider said with an evil smirk on his face.

Martina tossed the gun to the side and started running toward the river, as if she thought she could swim away. The rider picked up his lasso, which looked to be hooked to something hanging from his saddle, and threw it over her like some cowboy from an Ancient North American Western roping an animal. The lasso settled over Martina's shoulders, binding her arms. The rider pressed a button on the box hanging from his saddle and an electrical buzz came from it. Martina began screaming as she collapsed to her knees. She struggled vainly against the lasso holding her and now circulating painful jolts of electricity into her battered body.
Sara had quickly and stealthily clambered up further on the bridge support and was just close enough to the rider that when he turned, tracking where Martina had come from, she was ready to jump. Sara howled angrily as she slammed into the rider, off-balance as he was, and both were knocked into the river. Sara was on top at first and she brought her hands to the man's throat, holding him underwater with as much strength as she could muster. He struggled viciously, his hands shooting up and grabbing Sara by the throat. She felt his grip close on her wind pipe while his hips began shifting in an effort to dislodge her. Her grip on his throat relaxed.
This act of self-defense doomed him. As soon as Sara's grip relaxed and his airpipe re-opened, he reflexively tried to suck in air... and water rushed in instead. The rider's strength fled as his body angrily protested the water in his lungs, giving Sara the leverage she needed to hold him underwater. His struggling became weaker and weaker until it ceased. Sara let go of the drowned rider and pulled him out of the river.

After setting the rider down, Sara went to Martina and got her out of the lasso. "For primitivists, the Normans don't seem to mind using technology when it suits them" Sara said as she tossed the lasso away.
"This is so fucked up," Martina muttered to herself, remaining on her knees. "God dammit, this is so fucked up."
Sara didn't say anything. She looked over to the rider's horse, which didn't seem very angry at his owner's death. The horse was just standing there, watching her. Sara kneeled down and forced her tired body to tear some grass and roots out of the ground, which she carefully inspected before standing up. She slowly walked up to the horse, remembering everything she had overheard and seen about horse-handling from that long-past life as a daughter of Plymouth. "C'mere, I won't hurt you. C'mon." Her voice was slow and as sweet-sounding as she could make it. Martina watched as the horse stood there, allowing Sara to walk right up to it. She brought her right hand up to the horse's mouth. The horse sniffed at her offering for a few moments before devouring it. Sara reached down and took some more with her left hand while her right hand lovingly rubbed at the creature's brown-maned neck. "You're such a handsome young fellow, aren't you? Yes. Very handsome."
Martina watched Sara sweet-talk and feed the horse and seemed rather surprised when, after a short time, she seemingly had it's complete loyalty. "You're good with horses?"
"Stansfield Township was one of the no-tech Townships on New Salem," Sara answered. "We had a lot of horses around. My father owned one. Named him Job, after the Biblical Job, because no matter how much he had to go through he was always loyal." Sara turned back to the horse and smiled. "Do you like that name? Hmm?"
For a time all Martina could do was watch Sara with the horse. It was as if she was truly seeing the younger woman for the first time. Or more accurately, what Sara had once been. A kindler, gentler Sara - not the occasionally withdrawn but generally mischievous and humorous Sara that the crew of the Melanie had adored and which Martina had been so jealous over in the recent months.
After convincing the horse to begin eating from the grassy ground around them, Sara went to the dead rider who had been sent after him. With Martina's help she stripped the man completely, retrieving the socks, boots, pantaloons, and tunic he'd been wearing, as well as the outer jacket. Sara helped Martina fashion the jacket into something of a diaper. Martina looked at her quizzingly as she fitted it on. "What's this for?"

"What? Do you want to ride horseback naked?" Sara tossed her the tunic and then began to fit the tough brown pantaloons on.
"Horseback? You know how to ride a horse?"
Sara gave her a sarcastic look as she pulled the pantaloons up to her waist. The rider had been a small man, thankfully, and though it was a loose fit, it wasn't so loose that the pants would come loose. Nevertheless she took the man's leather belt and fitted it on. "I didn't think you'd want to ride on a horse naked, Martina. Even with clothes on it can get rough after a while, and without clothes?" She visibly shivered. "Hell, maybe I should give that idea to the Normans as a way to torture their new slaves. Might make some money that way."
"You want the tunic?"
"Nah. You can have it for now." Sara winked at her and touched one of her breasts. "Mine are smaller. Won't hurt as much. Though as soon as we can I'm going to make myself a bra."
"So.... where are we going?" Martina walked up to the horse and started trying to get on.
"For now? Anywhere but here. They won't expect us to be on horseback until they find this guy. Gives us plenty of time to get some distance and make it harder for them to find us." Sara held the horse by his reins while Martina got on top, groaning as she did from the pain in her body. Sara made a similar sound as she forced her aching body up into the saddle. With skill she hadn't used in a few years, she prompted the horse to turn to the east and break out into a full gallop. Martina yelped and put her arms around Sara's belly to hold on, making the younger woman giggle to herself as they headed off into the unknown.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by fgalkin » 2005-02-19 10:54pm

Me like. Me like a lot.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

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Post by Darth Lucifer » 2005-02-19 11:29pm

fgalkin wrote:Me like. Me like a lot.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
Me too! :D

I have to agree with Shroom Man...you should space the paragraphs a little better, or indent or something. It hurts my eyes to read it after a while, since large sections of it look like they run together. Otherwise, I can't wait to see more! :)

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Post by Steve » 2005-02-23 02:14pm

They had ridden well into the night, finally stopping at the edge of a small area of brush and trees near the river. Using the moonlight to see, Sara sparked a fire and lit a stick with it to see so she could rifle through the packs slung unto the horse. She found a tent and sleeping bag made of leather and cloth, some dried meat rations, and a small map which she left for the morning. Taking chunks of the meat, she gave one to Martina and took the other for herself.
Martina had gathered some chunks of wood, mostly fallen branches and such, and with Sara's guidance laid them on the small fire to create a larger camp fire. While Martina ate, Sara took the electric lasso that the slaver had with him and strung it around them so that intruders would be electrocuted if they tried to approach. She checked the solar-charged power battery again, ensuring it had enough charge to last until the sun came up, and went back to work on studying the contents of the remaining pack.
Sara felt a handle and when she pulled her arm out of the pack, she found herself holding a sword. It was a double-edged European-styled sword, with a leather-bound hilt. She unsheathed it and tested how heavy it was in her hand. The blade was about two and a half feet long, so it wasn't a terribly large sword. "Think you can use that?"
"Are you kidding?" Sara resheathed it. "Still, it's better than nothing." She brought the lasso's battery near the tent and the sword even closer. "With that electrified rope, we should be safe enough to sleep so we don't have to do it in shifts." Working quickly, it took Sara only a few minutes to put the tent up and put the bag under it. It wasn't very big, standing only a few feet off the ground. "Enough room for two in the bag and the tent. I guess it's not just for sleeping."
They finished eating first. Afterward they removed the clothes and placed them nearby. Sara used the moonlight to make sure the horse was securely tied to a nearby low tree while Martina slid into the tent and the sleeping bag inside. Sara didn't answer Martina's smirk as she slid into the bag beside her. Sara put her back to Martina immediately. Each had a pack to use as a pillow, and though it was very uncomfortable their tired bodies ensured that they soon fell asleep.


When they awoke the next morning they had a quick breakfast, eating more of the dried meat with water to drink. Sara opened the map. She pointed to where the rail-line crossed the river, marked as the Higgins River, as she was showing it to Martina. "This is where we got out. That means we're around here." She pointed to a marked forest on the map and then to the growing number of trees to the east. "According to this, if we keep going east we should come out of the forest and into these hills, where we'll wind up.... here." She pointed to a marked city called "Kalunda". "What do you know about them?"
"The Kalundans? They're one of the oldest groups in the Eastern Region. They're hedonists who are very much into bondage sex. Female bondage, actually. I think they took some pages from the Normans and decided that women like to be sexually helpless, though I've never heard of them being brutal about it."
"Should we avoid them?"
"They keep slaves, but they're rather pacifistic and I don't think they'll bother attacking us. Not usually good for the area, but everyone leaves them alone because they're not that important. I think they've got some mercs protecting them, though. Get around the mercs and you have nothing to worry about." Martina grinned while tying the jacket at her waist again. "We could get some nice silk clothes, too. The Kalundans' source of money are their silkworm ranches."
"How do you know so much about them?"
Martina had a wicked grin when she answered, "Oh, their King visited Lord Quao a few times. Once I spent nine hours tied up for the King and his entourage to fuck at their leisure. It was exhausting, but rather worth it. I got to hear them talk about some things and the King? The most stamina I've ever seen from someone with gray hair."
Sara knew Martina was enjoying just how uncomfortable the talk was making her. "Yeah, real interesting."
"They treat their slaves well too. Even let them say no. If push comes to shove, I wouldn't mind being a Kalundan sex-slave." Martina stood. "So, what are we waiting for?"
Sara rolled her eyes and continued on with her preparations.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by fgalkin » 2005-02-23 11:42pm

More! More!

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

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Post by Steve » 2005-03-06 01:47am

By their fourth day of riding, Sara and Martina had come to the end of the forested area. There had been no obvious signs of further pursuit, so they had allowed themselves to relax a little.
Their rations were getting low, however. During the day, Sara took the time to stop and pick some berries from a bush. Martina asked her, "Are you sure those are safe?"
Sara pointed over to where a bird was happily picking at them. "Yes, I'm sure."
After picking most of a bush clean and placing the small purple berries in a bag, Sara got back on the horse and they continued onward.
A few more days into their ride, about a week after their escape, they were setting up their camp for the evening when they heard a loud crying sound from nearby. Leaving Martina with the camp, Sara picked up the sword and walked to find where it was.

After walking about two hundred yards and over a slight hill, Sara found a single cow-like creature on it's side. A wolf-like predator was beside the creature, chewing at the poor thing's ribs. Sara drew the sword and walked to the side, content to let the wolf finish it's dinner and then take what was left.
The wolf's hearing proved as sharp as it's Terran cousin's. It turned from where it was eating and saw her. Snarling and howling, it attacked in an effort to defend it's meal. Sara stepped backward and brought her weapon up, now rather irritated that she hadn't gotten the jacket from Martina before coming. The creature leapt at her as she pointed the tip of the blade at it. Even as the sword plunged into the wolf's belly it collided with her, it's sharp claws raking across Sara's shoulders and sides. It howled from being impaled. Not dead yet, it tried to bite at Sara's throat and it took all the strength she had in her left arm to keep it's teeth away until it expired. She cried out from it's hind legs' claws cutting into her belly as it tried to struggle.
Finally the beast went limp. Sara rolled out from under it, taking a moment to regain her strength. She looked down over her torso and saw blood everywhere, her's and the animal's. It occurred to her that this could make her sick, so the first thing she did was return to the camp. Martina stared at her with wide eyes while Sara pulled the first aid kit out of the rider's bag. Among the contents was a rudimentally first aid kit, which Sara used to clean her wounds and bandage them. She stripped off her trousers and took a quick dip into the river to get the blood off before she came back out and, bidding Martina to come and help, went back to the wolf and other creature. It had expired now, meaning there was only a limited time for what Sara had in mind. First she skinned the wolf with Martina's very reluctant help, then while Martina went to go wash the wolfskin off in the river she started carving into the dead animal for it's meat, recalling how she had watched her father butcher cattle when she was younger. Martina returned with the wolfskin, water-logged but cleaned of blood, and laid it out fur-side down on the ground while Sara cut away chunks of meat and tossed it in. "I'm not sure I want to eat this."
"What, you want to live on berries? Who knows when we'll find more anyway. At least this way we'll have meat for a while."
"Won't it go bad?"
"Not if we smoke it first. Then it'll take longer to go bad. So come on and help."

After they'd taken quite a bit, around seventy pounds, they lugged it back to the campsite. It was nearly dark and they quickly started a fire. Taking sticks from a nearby tree, Sara rigged them into a spit and began to cook the meat, bit by bit, over the flame. They ate the first portions while smoking the next. It took some time to finish it all. By the time Sara finished, Martina had already slipped into the bag to go to sleep. After she finished storing all the meat away, Sara set up their defense and slipped into the bag beside Martina.


After the next day's riding, it was found that Sara's wounds had begun to heal. Fortunately the cuts had not been too deep, though they would probably require stitches to heal fully. After checking the map, Sara believed they were, at most, only two days out from Kalunda. She still seemed reluctant to actually enter Kalunda, fearful the Kalundans would enslave them, but Martina argued successfully that they had no real choice now that Sara had been injured and needed to have her wounds sewn up. She also insisted the Kalundans did not enslave by force like the other societies but always gave a choice about it, even to the ones they bought off the market. Sara didn't quite share her optimism, but given her need for stitches she decided she didn't have much choice.
They finished dinner, set up their defenses as usual, took off what passed for their clothes and slipped into the sleeping bad as they'd done for the past week. Sara laid down on her back, not wanting to lay on her wounds, and closed her eyes.

She had little chance to get to sleep before she felt Martina's arm come over her chest and grip her breast. Sara pushed the arm away, but it came back. She felt Martina's weight shift toward her and felt Martina's hand work it's way down her belly to between her legs. Sara's hand reached down and gripped Martina's wrist. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Just trying to make you feel good, Sara." Martina kissed her on the cheek. "You've saved my life. I... I wanted to return the favor by making love to you."
"You can return the favor by helping me keep both of us out of trouble."

"Are you sure?" Martina, not to be dissuaded, used her free hand to begin massaging one of Sara's breasts. "It'll feel good. I'm very good at this, you know. And I can make you very happy."
"Yes, you like to brag about it. But if you want to make me happy, you'll take your hands off my body and keep them off." Sara opened her eyes and glared at Martina. "I don't want to make love with you, Martina. I'm not a lesbian and I have no intentions of becoming one. I'm not attracted, at all, to you or any other woman. Now, I want to go to sleep. I suggest you do the same."
With that, Sara closed her eyes again and felt Martina's weight shift. She was surprised to hear Martina make no flippant remark, but then again, she shouldn't have been. Sara remembered that Martina prided herself on "surviving", but to Martina that meant using her body and sexual favors to keep others happy so they would support and protect her. She had no concepts of sex as anything more than an act of pleasure, and thus a service to be given for favors. Feeling rather disgusted, Sara slipped off into sleep.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by darthdavid » 2005-03-06 02:53am

Must... Have... More...!!!

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Steve
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Post by Steve » 2005-03-07 04:15am

For hours during the next day, Martina said nothing as they rode along the river. This suited Sara perfectly fine, as she was still tremoring with anger in how shallow Martina had been with the stunt from the previous night.
These thoughts dominated Sara's mind until she noticed something in the distance. She brought the horse up toward a hill with some bushes and dismounted. Martina looked at her in confusion while Sara fished in the riding satchel for an item she'd seen earlier. She finally found the looking glass and walked up to one of the bushes, using it as cover to look.
In the distance, she saw a group of people gathered behind some debris and what looked like wagons, holding what she imagined to be crossbows while horse riders clad in bloodstained skins circled the group. "Martina, get off the horse and get the lasso ready." She put the looking glass away and drew the sword.
"What are you going to do? You're no fighter!" Martina stared at Sara as she slipped off the mount and caught the traveling bag after Sara shoved it off.
"I've got to help them somehow. I'll see how many I can get to follow me. Use the electric robe to try and trip them or snare them or something." Sara gently kicked the horse's sides with her feet and prodded it to take off into a full gallop, leaving a very frightened Martina behind.
As she rode in Sara realized they probably would have been better off just avoiding the fight. But then again, the attacking brigands were on horseback. They may have very well hunted them down as well. Better to deal with them now, with the benefit of aid. Sara brought her sword up as she took aim at one of the riders as he was putting an arrow in his bow. One of his compatriots noticed her coming up but was shot dead by a crossbow. He finally noticed her but was too late. Working entirely on impulse, she slashed the sword at his neck. The blade went through flesh cleanly enough, but it was too dull on the edge to go through bone and the blade instead scraped off the edge before coming out the other end, leaving the rider with his head partially removed - he fell off his mount almost instantly. Sara grimaced from the pain in her right arm and turned back to see four rather angry horse riders looking her way. She pulled the reins so her mount would change direction back toward the hill. The others began to chase her. She turned back in time to see two string their bows and the fourth getting shot in the back by one of her new unknown allies. She turned back toward the hill and kept her eye on it, hoping that Martina was ready with some kind of trap. As she came up the hill she saw an arrow fly just over her right shoulder and thud into the ground ahead of her. A second arrow graced her left arm, drawing blood.

After Sara came between two of the large bushes, Martina knelt in the shadow of one and braced herself and against all of her survival instincts, kept her position until the other hoof sounds were at their loudest. Then she pulled as hard as she could, turning the electric rope into a trip wire. The first horse chasing Sara was so fast that Martina was pulled face-down to the ground by the impact when it's front legs got tangled with the rope. The rider was caught under his mount, screaming from a broken leg before the other rider's horse came through and crushed his skull at full gallop.
Sara had turned now and was coming back. The second horse's rider was trying to restring his bow on the fly, but just as he took aim Sara's sword cut into his neck, this time not closely enough to hit his spine but enough to sever his carotid artery. Blood spewed from his throat, making Martina scream while the rider tipped off the horse and fell to the ground to drown in his own blood. Sara brought the sword up again despite the searing pain in her right arm and shoulder.
Before she could even gallop toward the third and now final rider, he fired an arrow that pierced Sara in her right rib. The pain drew a scream from her. By all rights she should have been out of energy but the adrenaline in her body kept her going. This rider was more cautious than the others, quickly restringing his bow. But before he could fire, Martina jumped to the side of his horse and bit into his ankle. He growled and turned the bow toward Martina, it's arrow pointing directly toward her head.
Sara came up beside the rider and drove her sword through his back and heart. He cried out and toppled over on top of Martina, who yelped. Sara looked down at the fallen form and then looked to the arrow shaft embedded in her right side. She dropped her sword and put both hands on the shaft, trying to pull it out while screaming from the agony of the arrowhead ripping her flesh. Before the arrowhead came out, the shaft broke. Sara discarded the broken wood shaft and, after a moment of looking at Martina, toppled over and fell unconscious.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

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Post by Steve » 2005-03-07 07:22pm

Sara could still feel the arrowhead lodged inside of her when she woke up. Some of the blood on her body had been washed off, though, and she felt like she was lying on cloth of some kind instead of the hard ground. When she tried to sit up, she found she couldn't. Her wrists had been tied together to something under her head and her ankles were tied down as well. Becoming frightened, Sara began to wrestle with her bindings, crying out from the pain in her side.
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. "My Lady, you must remain still," a young girl said to her. Sara looked over to see a half-naked Asian girl, wearing blue silk trousers and a brassiere of the same material, kneeling by her. "You have been injured, my Lady."
"What's going on?! Where am I?!"
She heard a sound, as if a tent covering was being moved, and saw two figures move in. One stood by the door while the other, an older man, walked up with a pair of tweezers. "Let me go!" Sara demanded.
"Lily, get me some more ether!" The man pointed to the distance and knelt by Sara. "Courage, young lady. Courage." The soft tone in his voice made Sara think of a doctor trying to soothe a patient.
The soothing did little good when the man stuck the tweezers into Sara's flesh. The pain was incredible. Sara couldn't hold back the urge to scream. She felt the tweezers inside of her and tried to struggle against her bindings while the doctor tried to grip the arrowhead in her side. The pain only grew worse when he found it and pulled it out, a second hand holding a cloth to Sara's side to stop the blood. To Sara it was little better than torture. She cried for him to stop.
The girl, Lily, returned to the doctor's side with a cloth in her hand. At his direction, she placed the damp cloth over Sara's nose and mouth. She continued to struggle while the pain lasted. It did end, and as the numbness filled her Sara felt herself slip back into sleep.


After the surgery was finished, Doctor Ezek Rastman stood back and allowed Lily to finish cleaning the young woman tied to his cot. "She will survive, Your Majesty."
The young man standing beside Ezek nodded. "That is good to hear."
"I can tell you that she is no Amazon." Ezek pointed to his chest. "She doesn't have the scar."
"Oh, I knew she was no Amazon." The younger man walked up to Sara's side, opposite of Lily. He put a hand on Sara's shoulder and watched her continue to sleep peacefully. "She looks too gentle and friendly to be an Amazon. And no Amazon would have come to my rescue anyway."
"She didn't know who you were, Majesty."
"Which makes her deed all the greater, doesn't it?"
"I will point out the mark on her thigh."
The young man moved the covering sheet away enough to see the stylized "k" on her leg. "She was to be a Norman slave. But I see no scars on her. No signs of Norman conditioning. She must have escaped." The shine in the man's eyes grew as his gaze settled upon Sara's face. "Beautiful and strong enough to escape the Normans and kill three Stirlins in battle." He touched Sara's cheek. "Strange that I have so many women to choose from and this one has immediately stolen my eye so greatly."
"You want her as a slave, Majesty?"
"She'd make a beautiful one, wouldn't she?" Noticing Ezek's expression, the young man shook his head. "No, do not worry. It would be against the law to have her enslaved, and I would be ungrateful anyway. She would have to choose to be one."
"Majesty, I suggest we let her rest. Her wounds need to heal, and given the condition of her and her compatriot, they have been on the run for a while."
"I agree. But Doctor, do this for me."
"What, my King?"
"When we return to Kalunda," the King said, smiling, "have her roomed in the Palace. One of the best guest rooms you can find. She has saved my life and many others. She deserves only the best during her stay."
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia

American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.

Admin of SFD, Moderator of SDN, Former Spacebattles Super-Mod, Veteran Chatnik

darthdavid
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Post by darthdavid » 2005-03-07 07:29pm

Finally something good happens for them.

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