John Ringo - Emerald Sea

She got up and walked to the door, expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily. On the other side was a corridor lined with other doors. One end ended in a blank wall, but there was light and an open area at the other end. And female voices.

She walked down the corridor uneasily but was surprised at the sight that greeted her. There was a high-ceilinged chamber at the end, with slits near the roof to let in light and several corridors leading off of it. There were several women in the chamber, lounging on pillows strewn around on the floor. Some of them were sewing but most were simply sitting, talking in low tones, or playing board games. Some of them were just… sitting. They seemed vacant. They smiled happily all the time, but didn’t talk or play the games. They just sat and stared at space, as if fascinated by the walls.

All of the women were dressed… scantily. Most wore robes like the one she was wearing, their legs slipping out revealingly at the open bottoms, while a few were wearing camisoles and panties or even lighter lingerie. All of them were more well-fed and healthy looking than any but the most successful of the post-Fall women that she had known. They were all also, even by the standards of the time, very good looking.

“Ah, our sleeper awakes,” one of the women said, getting to her feet. She was a tall, thin brunette wearing a camisole outfit and high-heeled strap-sandals.

“Where am I?” the girl demanded. “What… what is this place?” She had a sinking feeling that the answer was evident.

“Well, food and a bath first,” the woman replied. “I’m Christel Meazell, by the way. And you are?”

“Megan,” the girl said. “And I want some answers.”

“As I said,” Christel answered, smiling brightly but clearly in no mood for back talk. “First some food and a bath. I suspect you’re starved and you definitely need a bath.”

Christel led her down one of the corridors and into a long room with a table occupying most of it. Christel clapped her hands imperiously and in no more than ten seconds a woman came in bearing a platter heaped with food. The woman, who was much older than those in the chamber and not nearly as good looking, slid the platter dexterously onto the table and laid out the plates and cups she had carried.

There was roast pork, hot from the oven. Mashed potatoes. Hot loaves of bread. Butter. A huge bowl of steaming broccoli. Gravy. Spring carrots. Megan’s mouth watered at the sight.

“Sit,” Christel said. “Eat.”

Megan started to sit down and then looked at her still dirty hands.

“I hate to eat this as filthy as I am,” she admitted.

“Eat first, then a bath,” Christel said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t gorge yourself and then throw it all up.”

“I won’t,” Megan said as both of the other women retired from the room.

She carefully served herself small portions of everything. The bread was succulent. The carrots were heaven. The broccoli was ambrosia.

None of this kept her from scoping out her surroundings. The door at the end of the room clearly led to the kitchen. One of the other corridors, at least, was going to lead out of what was clearly a prison. On the other hand, she was being fed and there was the promise of a bath. She also suspected that there was more than one layer she would have to penetrate. And she had no idea where she was. The “old man” had clearly used power to knock her out and then ported her here. Wherever “here” was; it could be anywhere on earth. Whoever the “old man” was, he had power. Which meant he was either a member of the Council or in their employ. Which meant escape, if even possible, would be problematic at best.

Better to reconnoiter the territory rather than make a break and fail. Gather information. Interrogate, carefully. Get the lay of the land.

Lay of the land. That had a bad ring to it because if this wasn’t a harem, she was a kraken. Thus far, even given the Fall, she’d managed to avoid spreading her legs for anyone, much less someone not of her own choosing. It looked like her luck had run out.

Even though she’d eaten hardly any of the food she was full and knew that if she ate more she probably was going to spew everywhere. Especially given that last thought. So she took a sip of the wine that had been brought with the food and went back to the main chamber to find Christel.

“Bath next,” Megan said. “Then you’ll answer my questions.”

“You’re fitting right in,” Christel said, getting to her feet. She led Megan down the same corridor and opened a door on the opposite side from the dining room.

The “bath” was sumptuous and occupied most of the wing. There was a long, deep pool, with water running into it in a waterfall and then spilling out the far end. There were showers along one wall. Heaped towels. Soft soaps. A vanity with various ointments and cosmetics. And more of the light, silk robes in various colors.

“Dive in,” Christel said. “Shower first, then the bath. Wash thoroughly .”

“What about… feminine needs,” Megan asked, insulted. Did she think she wasn’t going to wash her butt or something? Then she realized that the older woman recognized the dirt as a mask and was warning her not to try to use it here.

“It’s not your time of the month,” Christel replied. “I checked.”

“You checked !” Megan said, angrily.

“It’s my job,” Christel said, coldly. “Now take a bath and we’ll discuss the rest when you’re done.”

As soon as the woman was gone Megan stripped out of the robe, dropping it in a hamper, and turned on one of the showers. The water ran hot quickly and she gratefully started working off the grime of months. She washed her hair three times before it finally felt clean . When she was done she glanced at the baths and then shrugged. There was no need for them after the shower and she wanted answers. But she knew that she had better pretty up so she sat down at the vanity. Her hair had gotten long since the Fall — it was easier to just let it grow — and dropped nearly to her butt. This was the first time she’d seen a mirror in a long time and she was surprised, and shocked, at how much weight she had lost. Even her breasts had shrunk.

She had never gone for the standard “look” pre-Fall, which had been for a skinny, buttless, breastless, waiflike body that was more boyish than anything. She had a natural hourglass shape, with rounded buttocks and high, firm breasts. Which, it appeared, had just led her into serious trouble.

“Good news,” she muttered at the stranger in the mirror. “You’re fed, you’re bathed, and you have clean clothes to wear. Bad news. It’s because you’re about to be raped.” She flexed her jaw and for just a moment saw an echo of a parent in her blue eyes.

“So, what would Daddy do in this situation?” she asked, then paused. First of all, he wouldn’t say something like that aloud; there was every likelihood that there was at least intermittent monitoring of the harem. And what he would do was gather information and then when he had a good plan, escape. He’d stay alive , whatever that took. Her eyes teared for just a moment and then she shook her head. What he wouldn’t do was start crying because he was afraid he’d never see her again. He’d just go on. And hope for the best, planning for the worst.

She shook her head again and then stood up, donning one of the robes and wondering if there was some way to at least get panties for God’s sake.

“Time for the briefing,” she said. “Let’s get out there and slay ’em.”

“You clean up quite well,” Christel said.