However, deep inside the labyrinthine bowels of the massive stone Citadel, a beautiful woman rose smiling and naked from a silver bathtub, the soapy water dripping off her long limbs and full breasts.
Servants stepped forward with soft towels and began daintily drying off her alabaster skin. Primly, almost absentmindedly, the Lady Ward Amanda Coultier nodded approval at their gentle attention.
Torches of pitch and wood lined the stone block walls, but those were only for emergencies. Chandeliers of electric lights hung from the oak rafters, filling the spacious room with illumination so bright that most visitors to the Citadel of Novaville considered it magic.
“It’s a foolish plan,” her brother, Richard, said
from the other side of a folding lacquered screen.
The deputy ward was sounding extremely concerned. “Chances of success are very small.”
The heiress to the Citadel ran strong fingers through her long silky hair as a young female slave stroked a soft towel along her inner thighs, then even higher, drying the woman everywhere.
“I agree, dearest brother.” She laughed. “There’s no need to be so gentle, little one. I am not made of crystal.”
The girl bowed. “Yes, Lady Ward.” But her administrations became even more careful.
Spreading her arms wide, Amanda allowed the other female slaves to dry her arms and towel her cascading blond hair.
“It won’t work,” Richard repeated, louder than before.
“Perhaps,” Amanda agreed, “but more importantly, would Father approve of me trying?”
There came an unseen sigh from the deputy ward.
“Well, yes, of course. Cowards cannot rule a ville. But consider the danger!”
Anger flared in Amanda’s face for just a second, distorting the visage of beauty into a feral mask.
“Oh, my dearest brother, you know they must die and as quickly as possible. Who better than I to accomplish the task?”
“So when will you leave?” Richard asked. “This afternoon? Tonight, under cover of darkness?”
“All in good time, brother. All in good time.”
RYAN AWOKE to the sound of splashing. Popping a stick of MRE gum into his mouth to remove the sour taste of sleep, he checked out the starboard blasterport. The tank was lumbering across a shallow stream, the water foaming over its fifteen tires. Then he noticed the vehicle had been organized while he slept, the spent shells from the .50-caliber and the rapidfires stuffed into boxes and tucked under seats. The rest of the supplies were piled on seats and strapped into place for ease of access. Everybody else was awake and sitting at their posts.
“Good morning,” Doc called out from the driver’s seat.
Stretching, Ryan swallowed the gum and returned the greeting. “Where are we?”
“Just a mile or so from the skyscrapers.” To Ryan’s expression he added, “We thought you needed the rest.”
“I did,” he agreed, as the smell of breakfast filled the air.
“Go eat,” Krysty said, sipping coffee in the gunner’s seat. “We already have.”
“Thanks.” He found J.B. warming some rations in an aluminum frying pan held over a small campfire, made out of what appeared to be slats from a packing crate, the bits of wood stuffed inside a brass 75 mm shell. The shell was shoved through two large wooden slats in a cross pattern, which kept it from tumbling over.
“My idea,” J.B. told him. “Jak did the carving.”
“Nice job. MRE rations, I see,” Ryan said, squatting on his heels.
“Yep, powdered eggs, dehydrated bread, artificial butter, bacon, jerky, coffee, no sugar, the usual crap.” J.B. added another sliver of packing crate to the flames. “Doesn’t taste bad.”
Ryan took a deep breath. “Had worse.” Careful not to spill any, he filled a tin cup with pale coffee and stirred in the hundred-year-old artificial cream powder. He took a sip. “No, don’t think I have,” Ryan corrected, making a face. “But it’s warm, and edible.”
“If you say so. There’s vacuum-packed nutcake for dessert, if you want some.”
“Anything that doesn’t bite me first,” Ryan replied, wolfing his meager share of the fare. Afterward, he used a rag and a canteen to wash the sleep from his face.
Unceremoniously, J.B. shoved the breakfast debris out a window.
Feeling vastly refreshed, Ryan checked his weapons and armed himself properly. “I’ll take over, Doc,” he told the white-haired gentleman at the wheel.