John Ringo - Emerald Sea

“The old might be,” Shanea said, picking up one of the needles and trying to thread it as well. After only a few tries she got the thread through. “Try licking it.”

“What?” Megan said, aghast at the apparent non sequitur.

“The thread, silly,” Shanea said with a grin. “Try licking it. It makes the end a little smaller, it slides in better and it stays… firmer.” She grinned again.

“Harem humor,” Megan snorted. “Great.” She tried licking the thread though and it was easier. It still seemed to take her forever to get it though the needle.

“See? Lick it and it goes in easier,” Shanea grinned.

“Shanea?”

“Yeah?”

“Once is funny; twice is annoying.”

“Okay.”

“You were saying Paul is looking worse?” Megan said after an overlong silence.

“Yeah,” Shanea replied after a moment. “He just keeps getting thinner and weaker-looking. Like he’s sick or something.”

“Or wondering if destroying the world is a really good idea?” Megan muttered.

“No. He’s really worried about people, though,” Shanea said. “It’s really all he talks about, how hard it is for the people.”

“Maybe he should have thought about that before he tried to overthrow the Council,” Megan replied quietly.

“Well if Sheida hadn’t fought back…” Shanea said, hotly.

“Shanea, let’s not argue about that, okay?” Megan smiled. “You’re the closest thing that I’ve got to a friend in here. I won’t say anything else bad about Paul, okay?”

“Okay,” Shanea replied, shrugging. “I mean, I wish it hadn’t happened, too. But if Sheida had just seen what he was trying to do…”

“I’m sure she did,” Megan said, as placatingly as she could. “But, really, let’s not argue about it, okay? We can’t do anything about it. And, you’re right, Paul is probably a nice guy. I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

“Well, he is a nice person,” Shanea said. “He’s been very nice to us.”

“Of course,” Megan replied. He gets sex whenever he wants it and all he has to do is give us some board games and cloth. Great guy.

“Dinner time,” Christel announced, as she opened up her door.

“I’m not really hungry, yet,” Megan whispered.

“Eat it while you can get it,” Shanea replied. “Three meals a day, none in between.”

“What about the sewing?”

“We’ll just leave it here,” Shanea said, standing up and touching Amber on the arm. “Ami, time for dinner.”

“Dinner,” Amber replied, standing up and walking towards the dining room. She had a graceful stride and, again, Megan had to wonder what she had been like before.

“Settling in?” Christel asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Megan said, trying to imitate Shanea’s bright vacuousness.

“Have you ever sewn before?” Christel asked, stooping and picking up the pieces of fabric.

“No, ma’am, but Shanea is showing me how,” Megan said, gritting out a smile.

“What is this?” Christel picked among the fabric, looking at the way it had been pinned. “This isn’t a shirt or something, is it?”

“No, ma’am,” Megan said.

“It’s more of a breast-band,” Shanea interjected. “It’s going to be quite fetching, really. I hadn’t thought of it, but I think Paul will like it.”

“And a short skirt,” Megan continued. “ Very short.”

“We’ll see,” Christel looked at the other girls who had paused to see if the new girl was going to get a tongue-lashing. “Get into the dining room!” She tossed the fabric on the pillow and put her hands on her hips. “We’re here to make Paul happy. We make Paul happy by being pretty. Anything that is not pretty doesn’t get worn in here. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Megan said as Shanea nodded her head. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“Now, go eat,” Christel said, pointing. “And don’t overeat; half the girls are starting to look like balloons.”

When they reached the table the only spaces were at the far end. The food was brought through the door to the kitchens and then served to Christel first who passed bowls down the table. By the time they got to Megan, Shanea and Amber, who had somehow been driven to their end, there was very little left. The meal was the same that she had been served before, roast pork, broccoli and potatoes. The only pieces of pork left were ends and gristly bits, the broccoli was all gone and there was only a smidgen of potato.

Megan didn’t mind, she wasn’t particularly hungry, and she gave her servings to Shanea and Amber. But she noticed that several of the other girls had taken huge servings and then eaten barely half of them; as if they were trying to starve the girls at the bottom of the pecking order.

“Who’s the skinny brunette by Ashly?” Megan asked, pointing with her chin at a thin-faced brunette who had started to become one of the “balloons” Christel had mentioned. She was sitting next to Ashly and wolfing down a huge plate of food, even though Megan hadn’t noticed her doing anything in the afternoon but sit watching Ashly play backgammon.

“That’s Karie, Karie Szymonic,” Shanea whispered. “She likes to start stuff and then Ashly and the others join in.”

Christel was at the head of the table working on a much smaller portion and taking delicate bites. On her right was Ashly and then Karie, across from them was a delicate, birdlike, redhead, who had also taken a small serving. Megan had noticed her earlier doing sewing in the corner.

“The redhead?”

Shanea leaned out to look down the table.

“Oh, that’s Mirta. She’s okay and Ashly doesn’t pick on her because she does the most beautiful needlework. If you want anything nice, you ask Mirta. But she’ll want something in return.”

“And, unfortunately, I don’t have anything to trade,” Megan snorted.

“You’ll find something,” Shanea said.

“When can I stand up and leave?” Megan asked.

“Not until Christel,” Shanea replied.

Megan continued to observe the other girls covertly. She caught one absolutely poisonous look from Karie, for no reason she could determine. Ashly seemed to be ignoring her so far. She knew from what her father told her that she should try to establish dominance, but the time didn’t seem right. And if she made too many waves there was Christel with the threat of the neural whip. And mind-wipe on the other side of that. Neither thought pleased.

For some reason, her mind kept coming back to the scissors in the store room. Chaining them there was probably to keep the girls from using them on each other. The tiny cloth cutters would be almost useless as weapons, even in a catfight. She doubted that the scissors were secured to defend Paul; he had to have a personal protection field on at almost all times.

Almost. There’s one time when a PPF had to come down, and that was during sex; any personal intimacy, really.

Interesting.

But he’d be able to summon it almost instantly. And practically any damage a person could inflict by hand could be repaired by medical nannites.

Almost, again. Her father had not talked a lot about his investigations but sometimes she was able to pry information out of him. Sometimes she had wished she hadn’t, one time…

She was about… fourteen. He had been… mean to her for nearly a week. He’d been pressing her, hard, about her boyfriends and what she had been doing with them. Usually he was more than willing to let her do her own thing. As he put it: “I gave you the skills to live your own life and I can’t be there all the time. I have to trust you.”

But he’d been… pressing her. He’d gone into what she called “Full Inspector Mode.” Who was she hanging out with, were they having sex, what were they like, how old were they, how did they act, how did they treat her? Finally she’d lost her temper with him and told him to mind his own business. And it came out.