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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier  ©2000
			Chapter 4

Charlie had a headache.  Not a bad headache... more like a hangover.  Not a bad hangover... more like—Charlie's memory returned in a flood.  She'd been up in the ruins  Two figures had rappelled into the canyon and someone had grabbed her and put her in a sleeper hold and...

Eyes closed and without moving, Charlie took stock of her situation.  She was gagged... something large and pulpy and... Yuk!... oiled leather.  She could smell it, and especially taste it.  Her wrists were bound behind her back and her ankles were also bound.  Something thin... possibly more leather.  She seemed to be still wearing her panties and tank top, but her boots and socks were gone.

Charlie could hear a mewing noise somewhere behind her.  It sounded like Teri, and she was close.  Charlie cautiously opened her eyes... and focused on a wall of sandstone.  She was on her side, facing a large rock.   Early morning, she guessed, not quite dawn.  She slowly turned her head and looked up.  The large rock was, in fact, the base of a cliff.  Charlie flinched when a hand gently touched her bare shoulder.  She was turned on her back, and found a young stranger peering down at her, a redhead, her pretty face worried and concerned.  The stranger had fair skin—Like Jamie, Charlie thought—with countless freckles, but she was much taller, and was a teenager, a kid.

The redhead held a finger before Charlie's eyes.  "Can you focus?" she asked quietly.  Charlie glanced at the finger, then into the redhead's blue eyes.  "You're okay," the redhead said with quiet relief.  "Just go with the flow," she whispered, and "don't give her an excuse to do anything to you."

Charlie frowned. 'Her?'  Then, Charlie glanced to the side and her frown deepened.  Teri was indeed nearby, dressed in panties, but apparently having lost her tank top.  Her friend was gagged with a leather pouch and strap.  Which must be my situation, Charlie surmised.  However, Teri's bonds were more stringent and elaborate than Charlie's own.  The archeologist was buckled in a tight, leather harness, with stout straps circling her body from throat to ankles.

"I'm going to have to put you in one of those," the redhead said apologetically, then stood and rummaged in one of three identical duffle bags.  She produced what Charlie recognized as a leather mitten-binder, and a clear, plastic, zip-lock bag full of... leather thongs?  She opened the bag, and Charlie could smell the aroma of wet rawhide.  The redhead selected a thin thong, closed the zip-lock, and returned the bag to the duffle.  She then quickly and nimbly laced the thong through the grommets of the mitten.  "Please don't fight me," the redhead said as she approached Charlie and rolled the petite prisoner onto her stomach.

'Resistance is futile', Charlie mused, only the joke didn't seem terribly funny in the current circumstances.  Her eyes locked with Teri as the redhead tucked Charlie's unresisting fingers into the mitten and tightly laced it closed over her hands and wrists.  Charlie saw that Teri was definitely scared, but still in control. I guess she's figured it out, Charlie thought, that if they wanted us dead... we'd be dead.  I wonder if she's figured out the rest, she mused. Whoever 'they' are, they're well equipped, know their business... and we probably aren't going to be doing any escaping any time soon.

The redhead had returned to the duffle and was pulling out a tangle of straps.  She stood and came towards Charlie.  The redhead was indeed a beauty, Charlie noted, with just a lingering trace of adolescent gawkishness, but very much a poised young woman... poised... and sympathetic.  "I won't make it too tight," she whispered and set to work.

A strap went around Charlie's neck and was buckled closed.  It was thick and wide, more a posture collar than a belt.  The redhead added other straps across Charlie's breasts, waist, thighs, knees, shins and ankles.  She worked quickly and efficiently, tightening the straps and adjusting the central connecting straps.  The harness was one-size-fits-all, so in Charlie's petite case that meant a lot of excess leather.  The redhead doubled the straps' free ends and tried to neaten things up as best she could by tucking them back through their buckles.

Charlie noted that the redhead was wearing tights, a close-fitting jacket, and a climbing harness, all in shades of dark olive and brown, military in hue, but not in design or style.  Charlie also noted that true to her promise, the redhead hadn't made things too tight... just inescapable.  She looked at Teri and found her friend gazing at her with sad, frightened eyes.  Charlie glanced at the redhead.  Their captor's back was momentarily turned.  Charlie looked back at Teri and winked.  Her friend glanced at the redhead's back, then back at Charlie and nodded gravely.  Brave Ter, Charlie thought. I'll get us out of this... somehow.

The redhead turned back around and knelt over Charlie.  She reached down and ran her fingers through Charlie's tousled locks.  "Try not to be scared," she whispered.  "I'll do what I can to—"

"I told you not to talk to them," said a husky voice.

A husky voice that Charlie recognized. The bitch that grabbed me! Charlie thought.

The redhead started and scrambled to her feet.  Approaching from the direction of the camp was a slender, athletic brunette.  She was dressed in dark gray tights, a climbing harness, and a black vest.  Charlie's SAARI equipment case was under one arm, the rolled up sensor net under the other.  The brunette was very beautiful, her hair long and straight, her eyes piercing and dark... and cold, Charlie thought... cold, like Kat's.  She moves like Kat too.  Charlie sighed through her gag.  Great... a professional.

The brunette walked to Teri, smiled down at her, and pulled something from a pocket of her jacket—a folding knife!  No! Charlie tried to scream.  She wouldn't just...

The brunette smiled at Charlie, and with a pair of deft cuts, sliced the sides of Teri's panties, jerked the ruined garment free, and tossed it at the redhead's feet.  "In your mouth," she ordered.  The redhead started to say something, but the brunette stopped her with a glance.  "The number three target being absent means there's a free harness set available," the brunette observed, "in case you can't do the math.  Would you rather make the trip back in the front with me," the brunette asked, pointing at herself, "or in the back with them?" the brunette finished, pointing at Teri and Charlie.

The redhead swallowed nervously, knelt and picked up the remains of Teri's panties, shook them to dislodge as much sand as possible, and carefully stuffed them into her mouth, her freckled cheeks red with humiliation, her eyes narrow with resentment.

"Taste good?" the brunette asked with a taunting smile.  The redhead glared, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.  The brunette shifted to Charlie and cut off her tank top and panties, then tossed the panties to the redhead, who caught them in midair.  The redhead stuffed them into her now bulging mouth, continuing her angry stare.  "Good," the brunette purred.  "You're not stupid—just disobedient."  Charlie watched as the brunette unzipped a side pocket on one of the duffels and produced an inch wide roll of matte black tape.  "Fish lips," the brunette ordered, and tossed the tape to the redhead, "just like you've been taught."

'Fish lips?' Charlie thought.  The redhead snapped off a six inch strip of tape, pinched her cheeks together with her left hand, and stretched the strip across her mouth with the right.  The first strip was followed by several more until the redheads lips were held in a permanent, figure-eight pout.  Oh... fish lips... the John Willie pout, Charlie thought.  The brunette made a circular motion with one hand, and the redhead plastered the free end of the tape roll across her mouth, held her hair atop her head, and wound the roll repeatedly around and around her head, until she had given herself a tight cleave.  The redhead continued winding, now positioning the layers of tape to cover her pouting, cleaved lips and mouth completely.  She used all of the tape, then tossed the remaining cardboard roll to the brunette.  Charlie noted the amused, predatory glint in the brunette's eyes.  A kinky professional, she decided, amending her earlier assessment.

The brunette tossed the roll into one of the open duffels, then walked towards the redhead.  The redhead took an involuntary step back, but with three fluid paces the brunette was behind her with one arm through the gagged teenager's elbows, pinning her arms behind her back.  Holding the still angry redhead close, the brunette straightened her prisoner's straight, red locks, then tightened her grip and pinched and held the redhead's nose.  The teenager's eyes went wide, and she struggled in the brunette's grasp.  The teenager's feet shuffled and danced as the strangely silent drama continued.  After several seconds the brunette released her hand.  The redhead, face flushed, inhaled deeply through flaring nostrils.  Charlie could clearly read the continuing humiliation and frustration on the redhead's now stringently gagged face.

"Do I have your attention now?" the brunette asked, and again began straightening the redhead's tousled locks.  The redhead nodded.  "Gooood," the brunette purred.  "Now, you're going to plug their ears and hood them—" The brunette indicated Charlie and Teri.  "—then tighten all their straps 'til they're as tight as I'd want them to be, and get them up the cliff."  The redhead's nostrils flared and she clenched her eyes closed as the brunette allowed her free hand to roam across the redhead's body and breasts.  "For the trip back, you'll tie your ankles together, tuck your hands through your climbing harness, and I'll cuff your thumbs for you.  Then I'll secure your shoulder belt, of course."

The brunette released the redhead, produced a bandana from somewhere, and tossed it to the glowering teenager.  "Tie that over your gag," she ordered, "like a bandit mask."  The redhead shook out the bandana, folded it once, point to point, then tied it over her nose as ordered.  The bandana was turquoise with a subdued thunderbird motif in ochre, magenta, and black.  "My, what a stylish desperado," the brunette teased.  "Now, get to work! "

Janet trudged down the slot canyon, fifty pounds of framed pack riding high on her back.  She paused, reached for the canteen clipped to the backpack's padded waist belt, and took a swallow.  It was late afternoon, and she knew she was about two miles from the pocket valley, the Ancient One's ruined houses, camp, a swim, and hopefully, that sweat lodge she'd been promised.

It would be good to rejoin her companions.  She liked the pair.  Both were smart and friendly, and good people.  They were University/Academic types (at least Teri was) but they didn't treat her with the condescending, patronizing, political correctness most of that sort used around "Native Americans".  Doc (as Janet had dubbed Teri) knew a lot about the Dineh (as you'd expect, given her profession), and Charlie...  Well, Charlie was Charlie.  Janet had only known the little Mouse a few days, and already the petite dynamo had charmed enough information out of her to reconstruct Janet's clan relationships for three generations.  Janet was usually closed mouth, especially among belagana, but to her surprise, she'd opened up to Charlie.  Yes, belagana or no, Doc and Mouse were good people.

Yes, Janet mused, good people, and together the two women were even more amusing.  Janet knew they had roomed together in college, but that alone couldn't explain the way they bickered and joked. Janet was content to sit back and enjoy the show. They were so different (Charlie impetuous and chatty, Teri careful and reserved), but at some level that seemed to intensify the friendship.  Yes, it would be good to get back.

Janet continued on her way, noting almost unconsciously the tracks beneath her feet: three pairs of boots heading towards the valley (Charlie's tiny and narrow, Teri's wider and one size up from Janet's own), and one set returning (her own.)  The stretch immediately before her was broken by the tracks of a rattler.  Janet remembered her uncle teaching her how to read such things, to see them with more than your eyes, to hear the story they told.  She could tell that in the case of the rattler—Janet froze in place.

There was a strange odor in the still air of the slot canyon, something that didn't belong—burnt nylon.  She eased off her pack and leaned it against one of the canyon walls.  Teri would know better than to be burning trash at an archeological site, and besides, if she could smell it this far from the valley, it had to be more than a little trash.  Janet unzipped a side pocket on the pack and pulled out her holstered M9 Beretta.  She clipped the holster to her belt, drew the weapon and checked its 15 round magazine, then returned it to the holster.  She then clipped a pouch of two spare magazines to her belt and zipped the pack closed.  Janet usually wore jeans and a cotton shirt when not in uniform, but in the mild heat and indirect sun of the canyon she had shifted to khaki shorts; a dusky rose, hennley T-shirt; and hiking boots.  Her badge and ID case were in her left back pocket.  She pulled her hair back and tied a folded, navy blue bandana around her brow, then started carefully forward down the slot. If Doc and Mouse are burning trash, she thought grimly, I'm gonna make them very, very sorry... for scaring the hell out of me.

Janet looked up at the darkening sky.  Moving quickly but carefully, it had taken her most of an hour to work her way to the pocket valley.  There, she had found what could only be called orchestrated chaos.  The expedition's tents, sleeping bags, backpacks (excluding Janet's, of course), and everything else, had been piled together, covered with brush, doused with cooking fuel, and set ablaze.  The fire had burned down hours before, but its smoldering embers continued adding to the eerie layer of noxious smoke trapped between the canyon walls.  Conspicuously missing were any sign of Teri, Charlie, or the SAARI equipment.  Conspicuously present were some highly unusual tracks.

There were two pair of some sort of flexible athletic shoes, different from the expedition's boots.  More interestingly, there were several wolf tracks, or rather, what Janet could recognize as the tracks of someone pretending to be a wolf.  The distribution of weight on the pads, and the uniform spread of the pads themselves, with no variation from step to step, suggested a deliberate hoax, probably accomplished with some sort of strapped on appliance.

The tracks, human and "wolf" were all bipedal... but that fit the hoax.  Someone was trying to make it seem as if the camp had been visited by a witch, a Navajo wolf... a skinwalker.   Whoever had done this had apparently reasoned that the next person to discover the camp would probably be Dineh, one of The People.  If that happened while the tracks were still visible...  Already uneasy to be so near the ruins, a place of death, a traditional Navajo would have shunned the canyon forever, and rumors of witchcraft in the area would have spread like hungry crows.

And if by chance a White found the tracks, local belagana lawmen would know enough about Dineh culture to make the connection and focus their investigation on the Reservation... but Janet wasn't fooled.  Skinwalkers my ass, she thought, glowering at the smoking pile of ruined equipment.  No Dineh would ever pretend to be a witch , she reasoned, and no witch (if there really was such a thing) would have any reason to do this... to destroy the camp... to abduct Teri and Charlie.

Janet looked up at the Anasazi ruins.  The wire ladder was gone from the canyon wall, tossed on the fire with the rest of the gear.  The ruins were the last place Janet had to look before she started the long run back to the mouth of the slot canyon, the expedition's wheels, and help.  There were ancient handholds in the cliff, but if Janet was going to make the climb, she had to do it now, before the last of the light faded.

Five careful, deliberate minutes later, Janet was over the lip of the cliff opening and standing in the ruins.  Ten minutes later, Janet had confirmed that the SAARI gear was indeed missing.  From the tracks (one of the two intruders) the hi-tech equipment had been carefully cut free and stowed, and Teri and Charlie weren't present.

Janet sat on a low adobe wall well away from the edge of the cliff, near the center of the ruins.  The valley was spread before her in the final evening glow.  She considered her options.  She'd seen the tracks in the area across the valley, where Teri, Charlie, and their captors had almost certainly left the valley, straight up the canyon wall.  Whoever they were, they were long gone.  Even if Janet could make the impossible climb after them, she'd be alone, on foot, in the middle of waterless badlands.  No, the only choice was to make the long run down the slot, get help, come back with a crime scene unit, and—

A dark, thin rope dropped across the cliff opening, uncoiling as it fell with a dry slither.  The rope began to shake and vibrate.  Janet drew her weapon and dropped behind the wall with one fluid motion.  Almost immediately, a strange, female figure slid down the rope, and with a deft maneuver, swung into the ruin and landed on the sand.

"Freeze!" Janet ordered.  "Police Officer!"

The figure stood in a half crouch with her hands raised.  She was clad from head to toe in a body hugging, one piece suit, with boots, gloves, equipment harness, hood, and goggles, all in desert camouflage.  There was also a stubby, rather exotic looking weapon of some sort slung on a shoulder loop of the equipment harness, and—a chill ran down Janet's spine.  Irregular stripes and patches of the figure's body slowly disappeared, giving the figure a bizarre, wraith-like appearance.  Janet looked closer and could see that rather than having actually vanished, the affected areas had changed color, to precisely match their current background, the still glowing rocks of the far canyon wall.

Active camouflage, Janet thought, photosensitive beads that mimic their surroundings.  She'd heard of it, but had never actually seen it before.  "I want you to kneel," she told the figure, "cross your ankles, and sit back on them."  The eerie, insubstantial figure didn't move.  "Do it now!" Janet shouted.  Gloved hands still raised, the figure complied, kneeling back with her weight on her crossed boots.  "Now," Janet continued, "hands on top of your head.  Fingers interlaced."  The figure did as she was ordered.

Janet carefully hopped over the adobe wall, her weapon never wavering.  She was considering exactly how she was going to disarm and secure her prisoner—when the ghostly figure erupted with impossible speed—launching herself not towards Janet, but at the bare cliff wall!   Janet's body tensed for pursuit as the figure hit the wall running, took two steps up the cliffside, then flipped up, over, and behind the incredulous Officer.  Janet whirled to face her opponent, but might as well have been moving in slow motion.  The figure landed and flowed smoothly into a high, sweeping kick that sent Janet's Beretta flying, and a second, low kick that cut Janet's legs out from under her.  In a moment of surreal clarity as she hit the ground, Janet got her first good look at the mysterious woman's covered face, no longer backlit by the glow of the valley.  The wraith had an almost insect-like appearance, caused by various optics and sensors clustered on either side of her reflective goggles.  Already the suit was adjusting to the darker background of the ruins. The figure spun and dropped towards the fallen Janet like a chindi, an angry ghost.  One gloved hand was striking towards Janet's head, the other hand snapping back in fluid balance, palm open.  Janet began to roll away—there was an explosion of stars—and all went black.