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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier   ©2000
			Chapter 14

The waiting was getting difficult... for Janet, but especially for Kat.  TESSERACT had competent investigators sifting tenuous clues in cities across North America (although most of the effort was centered in the states of Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona).  With low level leads (all they had at the moment), most of the work was being handled by Eve Cerveau and her computers, sifting Inter- and Intra-nets, correlating information and assigning priorities, routine 21st Century police work.

Janet and Kat could be waiting anywhere, maybe even following up on a few of the local "leads" themselves, but Kat had decided they should wait where they were, a few miles from Old Woman Attcity's place.  The semi-amateur nature of the abduction had convinced the TESSERACT Agent the case would break locally.  (Of course, in the desert Southwest, "local" meant "within a few hundred miles".)

"It's a hunch, okay?" Kat had said defensively.  "You know about hunches?"  Janet did indeed know about hunches.  She also knew most cases either broke immediately; after many, many man-hours of mind-numbing hacking and legwork... or they never broke at all and simply turned cold.  Janet could tell it was the last possibility that was tormenting her new partner, the thought, the dread of waiting out here in the desert for a call-to-action that would never come.

Janet at least could pretend she was contributing to the investigation.  Using the Hex-Rover's excellent workstation and communications link she had made several suggestions to Eve, attempting to help the TESSERACT employee coordinate the investigation.  (Excellent suggestions perhaps, but Janet had yet to discover an avenue Eve was not already pursuing.)

Kat... all Kat could do was practice, practice one or more of the forms of unarmed combat of which she was expert; practice with her rather exotic gas-powered flechette weapon, practice with one or more of her blades... then practice again... then practice some more... and still Eve hadn't announced she required their assistance.

Janet finished cleaning and stowing the gear that comprised the Hex-Rover's compact and ingenious kitchen.  Lunch had been excellent: a smoky cheese Janet had never tasted before, thick slices of ham, pocket bread, apples, and coffee.  She closed the last hatch cover and secured the latch, then climbed out of the Hex-Rover and looked at the sky.  Rain to the West, she decided, maybe today... tonight for sure.  Kat was perhaps twenty yards away, beginning a series of slow stretching exercises.  Prelude to yet another round of practice.  She's a strange one, Janet mused.

Years ago, Janet's uncle had told her that one of the tasks of the path she had chosen would be to study the belagana, to understand them.   'You can't just assume whites are crazy', he had said, 'but nothing they do will make sense if you don't learn what balance means to them'.  Good advice, but the work of a lifetime.  Her days at the University, at FBI Advanced Law Enforcement Training at Quantico... it had been hard.  Belagana had to compete over everything, and if they didn't have an enemy to battle, they'd do it with friends, or themselves.

Janet watched Kat stretch and flex, then transition into a series of rapid martial arts moves.  How can you have the discipline and patience to get that good, Janet wondered, yet not have found a path of harmony?  What's after you, Katherine Mayfair?  What's chasin' you?

Just then, Kat stopped in mid-move, slowly came erect, and spun on her heel to face Janet.  Her right hand to her ear, Kat listened... then nodded.  Simultaneously, a low alarm bleated from the area of the Hex-Rover's stowed workstation.  By the time Janet had unlatched the cover and unfolded the station's large, flat screen, Kat was at her side.  The display flickered to life.

Eve Cerveau smiled from the screen.  "There has been a critical development," she explained.  "Last night TESSERACT Headquarters received a very brief call from a mobile telephone.  The connection was severed at the point-of-origin before any meaningful information could be imparted; however, voice analysis establishes with near certainty that the caller was Charlotte Paretsky."

"Last night?" Kat growled.

"It took time for the routine, seemingly meaningless event to rise to the cognitive level required to ascertain its importance."

"Okay, okay," Kat said impatiently, "so what have you got?"

"The call has been traced to a mobile telephone installed in a black four-door Humvee owned by one Victoria McQuade; formerly number three on our list of nine primary suspects, now number one on a list of one."

"Why aren't we rolling?" Kat demanded.  Janet sat patiently, waiting for Eve to finish the briefing.

"I am repositioning assets and refining the intelligence picture.  Victoria McQuade's primary residence is a large, isolated estate at Copperhead Canyon, Arizona.  (A window opened on the screen and resolved into a large scale map centered on the Four Corners area.  Small house-shaped icons began popping onto the map.)  "However, she has smaller residences or commercial properties in Tucson, Phoenix, Flagstone, Taos, Santa Fe, Las Cruces—"  Kat and Janet exchanged a pained glance.  "Denver, Steamboat Springs, Aspen, Vail, Moab—"

"So the problem is still choosing a destination," Kat interrupted.

"Exactly," Eve answered.  "Link analysis confirms the call was routed from a repeater in the Four Corners region; however..."  Eve's image froze on the screen.  "Development," Eve announced after several seconds.  The map window was replaced by a slightly shaky aerial view of several square miles of rather uninteresting desert terrain.  Then the image centered on a dry wash, zoomed in, the resolution processed into reasonable clarity... and suddenly the image was very interesting.  A black, four-door Humvee was revealed, doors open and apparently abandoned.  "The vehicle is only a few miles from the lower approach to the Copperhead Canyon estate," Eve said.  "The engine is cold, and there are no human heat signatures in the immediate area.  I am dispatching a tactical asset package to the estate, and will begin a spiral search outwards from the Humvee.  I suggest you reposition to the Copperhead Canyon area while I continue analysis and gather intelligence.  I am developing an optimum route and you should be ready to depart in a few minutes."

"Excuse me," Janet mumbled, left the Hex-Rover, and walked about ten yards into the desert.  She stood with her back to vehicle, then sat on the ground.  Kat could tell she was saying something, but it was too far for her to make anything out, especially in the quickening wind.

"What's that about?" Kat mused.

"Sergeant Begay is singing a hunting song," Eve whispered in Kat's earpiece.

"What?" Kat demanded.

"She is focusing her energy on the task ahead," Eve explained.  "Such songs have something of a religious element, but they also serve as meditative exercises.  A fuller explanation would require me to impart considerably more information about Navajo culture.  Here is an English translation of the song Sergeant Begay is singing:

"In shoes of dark flint I track the enemy warrior,
In armor of flint I slay my enemy.
With Big Snake Man I go, tracking the warrior.
I usually slay the enemy men and enemy women.
Tracking Bear I go, taking enemy scalps."

Kat listened to the quiet chant with respect.  'Meditative exercises' she understood.  Preparation for battle she understood.  Kat stowed the workstation, then moved to the Hex-Rover's driver's seat and fastened her shoulder/lap belt... and waited.  After a few minutes, Janet slid into the passenger's seat and fastened her belt, but said nothing.  Kat turned the key and the nearly silent engine hummed to life.

The heads-up display projected on the inside surface of the wind shield flickered, and a map was projected.  "Here is the suggested route," Eve announced, "however, be advised there is a high probability of substantial precipitation in the extended target area over the next twenty-four hours."

"We'll have to watch the arroyos," Janet said.  "They can flash, even if the storm is miles away."

Kat nodded, and the Hex-Rover surged into motion.

Charlie slowly opened her eyes.  It took her a few seconds to remember where she was.  She was thirsty, and hungry, and sore from sleeping on a "bed" of sandstone... but (considering her circumstances) she felt oddly refreshed.  She had no idea what time it was, but from the dim light, it must be close to sundown.  A small patch of desert landscape was visible under the edge of the slab shielding her refuge, but she could see no distinct shadows, nothing to give her a real time-hack.

She stretched and yawned, then blinked.  A bar of light, carrying with it long deep shadows, had passed over the desert.  Clouds, Charlie mused, and it is late in the day... maybe.  She stretched again, and slowly dragged herself from her "cave."  Charlie grimaced.  Sleeping on rocks: not recommended, she decided, but she did remember to thank her hosts, the pictographs on the stone ceiling.  Bye Bambi's Mother.  Bye Mighty Hunter.  Bye Spiral Dude.  Thanks for the shelter.

Halfway out from under the slab, Charlie paused and surveyed the sky.  Grim, dark clouds filled the Western horizon, but the sun still managed to peek through the edge of the roiling mass.  Huge patches of shadow and light played across the landscape, moving with the clouds.  As Charlie watched, a massive, dark cloud bank rolled over the sun, plunging her immediate area into early twilight. Maybe a couple of hours 'til sundown, she guessed, but the clouds change the rules, don't they?  She scrambled to her feet, shouldered her canteen (with a supreme act of will, deciding not to drink 'til true sundown) and looked towards the summit of the small butte. I'll climb to the top now, she decided, look around for that road, and... uh... oh.

Charlie had belatedly looked down, towards the base of the butte.  Drake was sitting on a horse, perhaps thirty yards distant, dressed like a female version of the Man With No Name (minus the serape and skinny cigar), the butt of a rifle propped against her right hip... and staring right at me, Charlie noted.  A chill ran down Charlie's spine, a lump of despair settling in her empty stomach. Well, she sighed, it was a good run, I guess.

Charlie smiled and waved at her mounted nemesis.  Drake returned the smile, cradled the rifle across her lap, and motioned for Charlie to come down.  Charlie held up her right hand, index finger extended; then unscrewed the cap of her canteen... and took a long, deep drink.  She then poured some water over her head, wet her hand, and scrubbed her face.  Finally, she took a swig of water, threw her head back and gargled, then deliberately spit. Yep... a good run.

Drake waited patiently while Charlie capped her canteen and carefully climbed down off the rocks.  The diminutive fugitive sauntered towards her, looking comically waifish in her oversized boots, shorts, and shirt.

"You want a drink?" Charlie offered.

Drake laughed.  "No thanks, Shorty," she said, but removed her hat and tossed it to the wet haired pixie.  "Nightmare could use a little."

"In your hat?" Charlie asked, then started.  "Oh, sorry!  No offense intended."

"None taken," Drake drawled with a smile.

Charlie set the Stetson on the ground, crown down, uncapped the canteen, and carefully filled the hat to the brim.  Nightmare snickered, lowered his head, and drank noisily.  Charlie started to refill the hat, but Drake motioned for her to stop.

"That's enough for now," Drake said.  "I'll give him more after we make camp."

"Make camp?" Charlie asked, handing Drake her hat.

Drake settled the wet Stetson on her head, then nodded at the looming storm.  "It's gonna be a gully washer," she said.  "No need to be out in it, not if we don't have to."

Charlie looked around.  "Where...?"

"You went the wrong way, when you got to the base of this butte," Drake explained.  "If you'd gone that way" (she gestured to the left with her rifle), "you would have come to a pretty good size overhang with a cave in the back, enough to keep even Nightmare here high and dry."  She patted the stallion, then turned his head in the direction indicated.  "You can lead," she told Charlie with a feral grin, the butt of the rifle back on her hip.

Charlie settled the canteen on her shoulder, sighed, and trudged off in search of the promised shelter.  Nightmare and his rider followed closely, at a slow walk.

Routing the sub-orbital cargo drone to the target had proven difficult.  Eve could spoof the commercial radars along the missile's route, but the final plot had been circuitous, verging on tortuous, requiring nap-of-the-earth dynamic piloting to avoid the many military systems operating in the Four Corners area.  Eve might have been able to spoof some of them as well, but not without her efforts being detected, triggering an electronic/photonic hornet's nest in response.  A cybernetic battle with her counterparts in the Department of Defense was a challenge Eve could do without.

The drone finally dropped into the area above Copperhead Canyon, shed enough energy to deploy its drogue... and then its landing chutes.  It settled to earth behind a low ridge, near a lonely stretch of State highway, approximately 200 yards from the upper gate of Copperhead Canyon Lodge.  Site selection and timing had been carefully chosen to ensure the landing would be unobserved, and a wide spectrum of sensors suggested the effort had been successful.

Seconds after the drone landed, hatches popped open and a variety of robots rolled, whirred, and scuttled into the desert.  Some retrieved and stowed the drone's chutes.  Others unpacked and deployed flexible, interlocking panels that doubled as solar power collectors and active camouflage.  Yet others buried themselves in the sand, establishing a defensive perimeter of robot sentinels, armed with active and passive sensors and a variety of non-lethal weapons.  The basic design was based on an area interdiction and reconnaissance package that TESSERACT had developed for the DOD years before.  Airborne micro-remotes, buffeted by the gusting wind, surveyed the route form the landing site to the Lodge and determined there were were no security systems that could not be easily circumvented. Route secured, a convoy of cargo-bots departed towards Copperhead Lodge, looking for all the world like a collection of small, desert boulders balanced on balloon tires.  Packed with a variety of surveillance robots, to be deployed when they reached the McQuade residence, the cargo-bots disappeared into the dust swirling across the desert floor in advance of the looming storm.

Meanwhile, Eve continued to add uplinks and information streams to and from the newly established base, transferring as much of a copy of her "presence" to the locale as possible. As the uplinks multiplied, Eve was able to directly access the various sensor packages and remotes deployed to the area.

Simultaneously, the three airborne reconnaissance drones circling high over the area began climbing, struggling to get above the turbulent air of the storm front and away from the towering thunderhead.  One by one, the drones secured their sensors, ending aerial surveillance until the storm had passed... but just as the third drone was about to power down its array, four heat signatures were detected, not far from the Hex-Rover's projected path.  Quickly evaluated as probably two humans, a horse, and a small fire, the signatures were nestled against the flank of a low butte.  The turbulence was too great for Eve to process a visual image, but she did amend the Hex-Rover's information package, suggesting that Kat and Janet might want to make a side trip to investigate.

Beef stew, canned or otherwise, wasn't exactly Drake's favorite; but it made for a quick and easy trail meal, and she had to admit, the new Dinty Moore stuff wasn't bad.  She stirred the small steaming pot balanced between two rocks over half of the small fire she had made near the lip of the overhang.  Her coffeepot occupied the other half.  Drake poured herself a cup, blew on the steaming surface, and took a cautious sip.  Good stuff, she sighed.

She leaned back against her saddle and bedroll.  Nightmare was watered, fed, and bedded down, tethered to a trail line stretched across the back of the sheltered grotto.  He might get a little antsy when the storm broke, but Drake knew he'd settle down, and was smart enough to be glad he wasn't out in it.  She glanced back over her shoulder at the pinto.  "Ain't that right?" she called.  "It's good to have a dry camp on a night like this, eh boy?"  The stallion coughed and bobbed his head, reacting to her voice.  "That's right," Drake laughed.

Drake turned her attention the the front of campsite.  "How 'bout you, Shorty?" she asked.  "You lookin' forward to the storm?"  The question was rhetorical, as Charlie was gagged, and therefore unable to answer.  She was also naked and stringently hog-tied.  Ten yards from the edge of the fire, she was well away from the protection of the overarching slab sheltering Drake and her mount.  Bound with rawhide, ankles crossed and knees splayed, arms folded and tied at the small of her back, Charlie's ankles, wrists, waist (and crotch), upper torso, and the strap of her ball-gag were linked by tight wet bands of leather, leaving her with her body bowed and balanced on her stomach, rocking slightly whenever she tried to move.  The position was hideously uncomfortable (or so Drake had been led to believe by the whimpered begging of her previous playthings), and would only get worse through the coming hours of darkness.

Drake smiled, remembering their arrival at the campsite.  She'd had the diminutive fugitive gather firewood as they'd made their way around the base of the butte, and Shorty had dropped the meager armload next to the fire pit.  (This grotto had provided shelter for travelers for time out of mind, probably even before the Anasazi.)

"Where you want me?" Charlie had asked, knowing she wasn't going to be given the run of the camp.  Drake had pointed to the exposed slab of sandstone.  Charlie had sighed, and as if on their own, her hands had gone to the top button of her shirt.  She'd then stopped and turned to Drake, the obvious question on her dirty, pixie face.  Drake nodded and Charlie had unbuttoned the shirt, shrugged it off her shoulders, and tossed it aside.  She'd then unbuckled her shorts, stepped out of them and pulled them over her boots (not difficult as the shorts were so large), and tossed them atop the shirt.  Another questioning look, another nod, and she sat on the warm stone, pulled off her borrowed boots and socks, and tossed them aside as well.  She'd then sighed and looked up at her captor, legs crossed, hands resting on her thighs, naked, vulnerable, and seemingly resigned to her fate.

Drake had taken her time with the binding, enjoying every knot and hitch as the wet leather slowly robbed her prey of motion, speech, and finally comfort.  She knew the leather wouldn't have a chance to dry and shrink, given the coming downpour; but then, it wouldn't soak and get slack either.  Drake had then bundled Shorty's borrowed clothes and tossed them into a deep crevice near the camp, then busied herself making camp.

That had been an hour ago.  Sundown was less than an hour away, and Drake guessed the rain would arrive a little sooner.  Drake took a sip of coffee and gazed at her prisoner, savoring the way the wet leather bit into Charlie's white flesh, the way her toned limbs strained in their bonds, the way the wind from the approaching storm lifted the little captive's short, raven locks.  She's a brave one, Drake mused, a thrill of delight passing through her body as she watched Charlie suffer.  She'll be my special one, Drake decided. Red seems to like the other one, the archeologist.  Why else had she singled her out, Drake reasoned, made her watch our fun?  She could have just left them both down in the dungeon.

Drake took another sip and raised her eyes to the horizon.  Rain was already falling behind the far ridge, maybe eight miles away.  Yep... soon.  Her gaze returned to her straining victim.  When we start back tomorrow, I won't make her walk behind Nightmare, like Jessie, Drake decided.  She'll ride, face down, draped over the saddle, over my lap... and I'll spank her pert, dimpled, little rump... and fiddle with her twat 'til she squirms and cums... then spank her again...  Drake shuddered in sadistic anticipation.  It'll be a long trip back... and a good test for Red's new sunblock.  And speaking of Red...

Drake leaned forward, stirred the stew, then reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out her phone card.  She moved the stew off the fire with one hand, and speed-dialed with the other.  Drake frowned as she resumed stirring her supper.  It was taking an unusually long time to make the connection.  Her frown faded when Victoria finally answered.

Charlie turned her head the inch or two the thong tied to the back of her gag allowed, trying to follow the conversation.

"Hey, Red," Drake drawled.  "I caught myself a midget.  She's undersize, but I'm gonna keep her."

Charlie felt her cheeks burn.  Cut these damn thongs and I'll show you who's 'undersize', she fumed.  ...right after I run away into those rocks as fast as my stubby little legs will carry me.

"Yeah, we'll spend the night out here and...  Huh?...  No, we found a dry spot; Nightmare and I did anyway.  Shorty's gonna enjoy Mother Nature in all her wet-ass fury..."  Drake laughed.  "No, she won't shrink," she said, "at least I hope not...  Okay, see you tomorrow, Red."  Drake folded the card and returned it to her pocket... then stared out into the desert.

Charlie followed her gaze (as best she could).  The storm was marching across the basin, sheets of water pounding the rocky terrain... and ahead of the main storm, a dust trail was heading towards the butte, straight towards the butte.  Still miles away, Charlie couldn't make out any details, other than that the approaching visitor was a vehicle of some sort.

The cavalry! Charlie wished, squirming in her bonds.  Oh please be the cavalry!

Drake pulled out her phone card and speed-dialed, her eyes never leaving the dust trail.  Several seconds later she folded the card and returned it to her pocket.  "Damn storm," Charlie heard her mutter.

The first huge drops were starting to bombard the butte, falling in light irregular sheets, blown about by the gusting wind.  Charlie felt like she was being pelted with marbles, big, wet, stinging marbles.  Out in the desert, the main storm had overtaken the dust trail, obscuring all behind a curtain of falling water.

Charlie heard Drake rummaging around her saddle; then she stepped back into view, Colt on her hip, rifle in her hand, her hat low on her head.  Lightning lit the desert with an actinic flash, followed almost instantly by quite possibly the loudest noise Charlie had ever heard in her life.  Her ears were ringing, and she could smell the pungent odor of ozone.  She couldn't see him, but Nightmare was making his nervousness very clear.  Then Charlie saw Drake dart across her limited field of vision, running away from the camp and into the rocks.

She's setting an ambush! Charlie realized... and knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it... nothing but serve as bait.