Four

 The Shade Tree – two days later

Jean Barrett had been enjoying a late morning with nothing to do, and so was still in her narrow bunk when the comm panel in her cabin buzzed in the two-tone note that indicated a call coming from off-ship.

“Damn,” she muttered as she rolled over and stood up, stretching. “If that’s Gomp in the slammer again, I swear…” She stabbed the panel’s contact. “Shade Tree,” she snapped. “Who’s calling?”

“Shade Tree,” a voice came back, distorted by the range; it obviously came from Tarbos’ surface. “This is the Open Arms Hotel in Mountain View. I need to speak to your commander.”

“Open Arms? I’m Captain Barrett,” she replied. “I’m the commander of the Shade Tree. Why are you calling?”

“Captain,” the voice rasped, “Do you have two crew members, Saskia Miroslava and Michiyo Watanabe?”

“I do,” Barrett replied. “They’re not on the ship at the moment; they’re down on the surface on shore leave.”

“They seem to have skipped on their bill, Captain. We haven’t seen them in two days, their room has not been entered, and they don’t answer their personal comm-codes that they listed on check-in.”

“What? Are you sure? That’s not at all like either of them.”

“Sure as can be, Captain.”

“Give me your address,” Barrett said. “I’ll be down this afternoon. I want to talk to you.”

The voice rattled off an address in Mountain View, within a kilometer of the seashore; Barrett recognized the neighborhood. “Very well. I’ll see you inside of four hours.”

She snapped the contact, ending the conversation, and sat thinking very hard for a few moments.  Then she reached for the comm panel again, tapping in Hector Gomp’s personal comm code.

“Gomp,” she snapped as soon as the call went through. “Where are you?”

“Mountain View, near the beach, north side,” Gomp’s sleepy voice came back. “Why?”

“We’ve got a problem. Can you meet me at the bottom of the Skyhook in, say, two hours?”

“Just a sec, Cap’n.” Faintly, Barrett heard a rustling of cloth, a female voice raised in inquiry, Gomp’s deeper voice murmuring a reply. Despite herself, Barrett smiled.

After a moment, Gomp’s voice came back. “Yeah, I can be there. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Barrett said. “Sassy and Mickie from Engineering are down there somewhere – their hotel called, claimed they’ve skipped on their bill.”

“Sassy and Mickie? No way,” Gomp said in surprise.

“That’s what I told the hotel.  But they’ve gone somewhere, and I want to know where.”

“All right,” Gomp said, “I’ll be there. Two hours.”

“See you then.”

***

The Brookes

None of the girls in the featureless compartment had any idea of how long they had been held there; from the intervals at which food and water were shoved through the door, she judged it to be about three days.  Fortunately one of the girls had discovered a panel on the wall that rotated out to reveal a small toilet, which was fortunate since none of them had been allowed clean clothing.

As near as Sassy could figure, it was close to time for another meal, so she wasn’t surprised to hear faint sounds outside the room’s single door; she was surprised when the door crashed open.  A tall, pale man with straw-colored hair looked in at them.

“Stand up,” he snapped. “All of you.”

The six girls stood up, slowly, cautiously.

“Relax,” the man said. “Nobody is going to hurt you, as long as you behave and do as you’re told.”

“Who are you?” Sassy asked.

The tall man shrugged. “You can call me Mister D,” he answered.

“Where are you taking us?”

“That, you’ll have to wait and see. All right, in single file, follow me. No funny stuff.”  He stepped back from the doorway.

“Come on,” Sassy said to the other girls. She walked into the corridor and turned to follow ‘Mister D’ where he walked away down the dingy, poorly lit passageway.  A small, squat, pockmarked man cradled a carbine in his arms beside the door, presumably to guard the rear of the little progression; he leered openly at the upper curves of Sassy’s breasts, revealed by her dirty bathing suit. She shivered at the look.

“In here,” the tall man indicated another doorway. The six girls filed in to find a fat, bored-looking woman behind a counter; shelves and cabinets lined the compartment behind her.

“Give Jane here your sizes,” Mister D ordered, “Undergarments, coveralls, and shoe sizes. Then, go through that door back there – there are static-jet showers and teeth cleaners. Get yourselves cleaned up and dressed, then form back up out here. Got me?”

All six girls nodded.

“Good. Don’t stand there staring at me. Get moving.”

Sassy had always disliked the static-jet showers aboard the small, chronically water-short Shade Tree, but today, the buzzing, tingling feel of the shower was one of the most welcome sensations she had ever known. She emerged from the shower feeling better than she had in days.

The package of clothing she had been handed was disappointing.

Beside her, Mira Toler echoed her sentiments. “These coveralls,” she said, holding up a dull gray garment, “they feel like paper.”

“How about these shoes? I guess you’d call them slippers.” Sassy examined the footwear carefully; they were flexible plastic, designed to fit either left or right foot.

“At least there’s clean underwear, and it feels like cloth.”

The bra and panties provided were cheap but clean and comfortable.  All six girls dressed quickly and filed back into the outer compartment.

“There,” Mister D said. “I bet you all feel better.” He sniffed the air like a large dog. “You do all smell better.”

“Thanks,” one of the girls muttered.

“You’ll be taken back here for clean coveralls and a shower every other day until we get to where we’re going.”

“Are we going back to that cell now?”

“Yes,” Mister D said evenly, meeting Sassy’s gaze with eyes as gray as gunmetal. “What else?”

“Could we have something to read, at least?”

“Something to read?”

“Yeah, something to read. What could it hurt?”

Mister D looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well,” he said, “I suppose so.  Why not?” He turned to the squat man, who still stood in the doorway cradling his carbine. “See to it. Find them a reader and some book chips.”

“Yessir, Boss,” the squat man said slowly.

“All right. Back to your place, girls. Supper will be in a few minutes. Hester, take them back.”

Dotsero watched as the girls filed out under the steady gaze of the guard.

“Not a bad looking bunch,” he commented after the last of them had filed out.

“Better than usual,” Jane commented from behind the counter.

“Tarbos is always good for pretty young girls.”

***

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