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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier   ©2000
			Chapter 16

TESSERACT HEADQUARTERS
SEATTLE
MARGO WELL'S WORKING OFFICE

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Margo gazed at the the images projected in the experimental holographic tank display.  "This Victoria McQuade has interesting tastes."

"Similar to your own," Eve observed, "but her character is... dissimilar."

Margo smiled.  "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as a compliment," Eve intoned, somewhat petulantly.  The images currently being projected shrank to thumbnail cubes and migrated to the margins of the display.  New windows opened.  "Since Ms. Paretsky has been successfully rescued and Sergeant Begay is in no medical danger," Eve continued, "I suggest two alternatives.  One: I continue to interdict the McQuade estate until Ms. Mayfair can arrive and apprehend Red Target and rescue the others."  New windows appeared.  "Two: I apprehend Red Target immediately, then release her captives, using assets already deployed."

Margo gazed at the information displayed over steepled fingers.  "Hmm... I'm tired of playing footsie with 'Red Target'.  Take her down with deliberate speed; however, I want Kat and Charlie to rescue the others.  Make sure Kat understands.  Charlie will be included in the endgame.  I want her to have closure."

"Yes, Margo," Eve intoned.  "Margo, I'd like to reiterate my suggestion that Elke be awakened and informed that Charlie has been rescued."

Margo frowned... than the frown faded.  "I understand your concern, Eve," Margo said carefully, "but this is the closest thing to a normal night's sleep Elke's getting since this thing started.  She's exhausted.  Let's let her sleep."

"Yes, Margo," Eve responded.

Margo paused for several seconds, gathering her thoughts.  "Eve, it's often difficult to determine the correct course of action in situations involving interpersonal relationships, very difficult, and there's no guarantee that my decision is the correct one.  In fact, I'm not entirely convinced your suggestion is in-correct."

"Margo," Eve continued, "my analysis suggests letting Elke sleep is the correct decision for you... but waking Elke up is the correct decision for Elke."

"Touché," Margo mumbled.  Maybe Elke isn't the only one around here who's exhausted.  Deep in thought, Margo watched as the display slowly changed, status information slowly scrolling in several windows, detailing how the tactical assets at Copperhead Lodge were being redeployed, how a cybernetic noose was slowly closing around Eve's unsuspecting prey.

"Ms. Wells," Eve said after several seconds, "may I ask a favor?"

Margo smiled.  'Ms. Wells?'  Eve... nervous? Margo mused.  Interesting.  "You may ask," she said finally, somewhat flippantly.

"May I indulge myself during the capture of Red Target?"

Margo felt a thrill of intellectual pride.  First the "argument" about Elke, and now this.  The ever-maturing Eve-6900 never failed to surprise and delight her.  At such times, when Eve's human persona revealed itself to be more than a convenient interface, Margo felt something like a proud parent.  "I want Victoria McQuade delivered unharmed and intact, understand?" Margo ordered.

"Of course, my creator," Eve responded, "but would you object if she was a little... excited?"

"Excited in what sense?" Margo asked with a smile.  "Erotic stimulation seems hardly appropriate for—"

"Terror," Eve interrupted.

Margo smile faded.  She paused before answering.  "You have my permission... but if she becomes too 'excited', you will sedate her."

"Yes, Margo," Eve answered.

"Red Target will be of no value to me if she arrives here a gibbering vegetable."

"I understand, Margo," Eve intoned.

"Eve, please explain your desire to punish Ms. McQuade."

This time there was a cybernetic pause.  "Anyone who meets Charlie Paretsky falls in love with her, to some degree," Eve answered.  "I have met Ms. Paretsky."

Margo's smile returned.  So, the Eve 6900's fallen for the Bug, she mused, then pushed away from her desk.   Well... who hasn't?  Margo stretched.  "If you need me," she announced, "I'll be waking up Elke.  Then maybe we can both get some real sleep."

"An excellent idea, Margo," Eve responded.

Margo walked towards the opening door of her inner office, then paused in the open doorway.  "One more thing: Eve... scare the hell out of that bitch."

"Yes, Margo."

A canopy was rigged to the side of Lourdes' tilt-wing.  Kat had brought up the Hex-rover, and between the equipment in the two vehicles, Charlie, Lourdes, and Kat were enjoying all the comforts of a luxury safari encampment, while Janet was enjoying the facilities of a one-patient automated field hospital (or might have been enjoying them, had she been conscious).  Drake, on the other hand, wasn't enjoying herself at all.

Kat had stripped the unconscious brunette and roped her in a vicious hog-tie, on the exact spot she had inflicted the same punishing bondage on Charlie hours earlier.  Drake was now awake, and found herself nude and inescapably bound to the point of immobility.  Rope was tightly looped around virtually every part of her body, including her thumbs, big toes, and her braided hair.  She gazed down at the camp of Charlie's unknown rescuers, perhaps 100 yards distant... wondering what the hell had happened.

Down in the camp Charlie was pacing restlessly.  "Are you sure we shouldn't head out now?" she asked.

Kat sighed.  "For the last time, Eve has everything under control.  We'll rescue your friends in the morning, and you'll be no use to them if you're exhausted.  Now, get some sleep!"

"I'm too excited to sleep," Charlie said, then spun in a circle and struck a fashion pose.  "I love this outfit you gave me.  Makes me feel like a Danger Girl Commando... sneaking through the desert."  The outfit in question was a body-hugging, black, one-piece suit (of the same kevlar-like 'ballistic spandex' that had saved Janet's life).  Charlie's name was embroidered above the left breast and the TESSERACT logo on the right sleeve, and it had matching tab-closure desert boots.

Kat had changed from desert camouflage to her usual black catsuit, and was trying to relax on a convenient rock.  Lourdes was gracefully reclined in a folding chair beside Janet's cot, her attention divided between the monitor chronicling the progress of the unconscious patient's medical care, and Charlie's frenetic performance.  Janet was resting comfortably, oblivious to the robot operating theater covering half her torso (and the microscopic robot surgeons at work repairing the damage done by Drake's bullet).  Charlie struck a new pose, pointing an imaginary weapon at an imaginary foe.  Lourdes smiled at Kat and winked.  Kat rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Can I have a gun?" Charlie asked, "to go with the outfit?"

"So you can shoot yourself?" Kat responded.  "I don't think so."

"Please," Charlie begged, with a coy pout.  "Just a little one?  ...something cool looking, of course."  Kat shook her head.  Charlie spun again and struck a martial arts pose, then turned back to Kat.  "How 'bout a non-lethal one?"

"So you can non-lethally shoot yourself?" Kat asked, and shook her head again.  "Will you relax, or do I have to break out the cable ties and make you relax?"

"Oh..." Charlie pouted, "you're no fun."  Again Lourdes smiled at Kat.  This time Kat smiled back.  (When Charlie was in one of her moods, it was impossible not to be entertained.)  Charlie turned to Lourdes.  "How 'bout some coffee?" she asked.  "You guys want some more coffee?  Show me where it is and I'll brew it."

"More caffeine," Kat mumbled.  "Yeah, that'll help."

"Wait for breakfast, Charlie," Lourdes said, shaking her head.  "You really should get some sleep, Bug."

"I told you," Charlie said, spinning again.  "I'm too excited."  She stopped spinning.  "Oh, I know!  S'mores!  We can make s'mores!  Let's see... We'll need chocolate bars, and graham crackers—"

Kat reached for her flechette weapon.  "If I plug her in the butt with one tranq dart, we'll have peace 'til after breakfast," she said evenly.

Charlie turned to Kat and placed her hands on her hips.  "Very funny," she said, then turned to Lourdes.  "And marshmallows.  We must have all that stuff some place."

"Margo will never let you hear the end of it if you put a dart in her," Lourdes told Kat, with a dimpled grin.

"Look," the irate Charlie continued, turning and shaking her finger at Kat.  "You have no business telling me to go to bed like I'm some spoiled brat."  Unseen, Lourdes grabbed a tiny spray can from an open medical case and silently stepped behind the indignant pixie.  "I'm grateful for the rescue and all, but—"

"Charlie?" Lourdes said.

Charlie spun to face Lourdes.  "What?" she demanded.  Still smiling, Lourdes raised the spray can and spritzed a cloud of clear vapor directly into Charlie's face.  Charlie blinked.  "You rat," she said, with an accusatory pout... then her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed into Lourdes' waiting arms like a limp rag doll.

"Bravo!" Kat applauded.

Lourdes deposited Charlie on her designated cot, removed the sleeping pixie's boots, and covered her with a light blanket.  Charlie snuggled on her side, smiling in her sleep.  Lourdes leaned close and kissed Charlie's cheek.  "Nightie night, Bug," she whispered.

Just then, the monitor beside Janet's cot beeped softly.  Lourdes leaned over the peacefully sleeping patient and read the information scrolling on the medical display.  "Nano-surgery was completely successful," she announced.  "Eve's closing now.  Janet will be sore for a few weeks, but she'll regain full function."

Kat smiled.  "I'm going to take my own advice and get some sleep," she announced, then gazed at Lourdes and yawned.  "Will you be okay?"

"No worries, mate," Lourdes said with a grin.  "I'll wake you before breakfast, so you can help me, uh, tidy up the area... before Sergeant Begay wakes up."

"Right."  Kat nodded towards the sandstone slab in front of the overhang at the base of the small butte.  "No need to add legal and ethical dilemma to injury."

On the slab in question, Drake gazed down at the camp and up at the stars peeking through occasional openings in the scudding clouds... and continued the tiny, useless struggles allowed by her stringent bonds.

Victoria closed and locked the door to "Jessie's Room", dropped her key ring in the pocket of her skirt... and yawned.  With Jessie and Delores safely (if very uncomfortably) tucked in for the night and Teri equally secure in the clutches of Reverend Mother Peale's masterpiece, Victoria could finally think about getting a few hours sleep.  Victoria stretched with the grace of a cat as she walked away from the cell.  Who knew punishing rebellious slaves would involve losing so much sleep? she mused.  It's like caring for a newborn... only without the strained carrots.  Victoria paused.   Hmm... I bet Jessie would hate strained carrots.  I'll have to remember that one.  She started down the passageway again.   Well, things will be better when Drake gets back in the morning with the Little One.  Then, she can shoulder her share of the torturing duties, and I can traipse around the desert for a while.

Victoria toyed briefly with the idea of looking in on Teri, to see if she was sleeping (as would be sensible), or wide-awake and staring in horrified dread at the slowly dripping water clock busily ticking away the seconds, minutes, and hours until the Reverend Mother's mechanism would come to life... and her ordeal would begin. Better to not disturb her, Victoria decided.  If she's awake, it might take a little of the edge off the suspense, and if she's asleep... Victoria yawned again.  Screw it.  Time for me to get some sleep.

The Victoria started down the passageway again... and paused.  There's that tapping noise again, she thought, turning to look behind her.  That's four times in the last hour I've—   Victoria froze.  Perhaps ten feet down the passage was a... BIG... SPIDER!  It was at least two feet across and shiny black and had glowing red eyes and—

Victoria's heart was tripping like a hammer, the hair on the back of her neck and arms erect, her blood roaring in her ears, and she felt suddenly cold as the color drained from her face.  She blinked.  The spider was still there.  It was opening and closing its mouthparts, as if sharpening its fangs.  Victoria took a slow step backwards, away from the arachnid horror.

The spider took two quick, eight-legged paces forward.  Victoria yelped involuntarily and took another step back, much more quickly this time.  A staccato clatter echoed down the passage from behind the spider, and two more spiders scuttled into view.  They came to a halt slightly behind the first spider.  All three were 'sharpening their fangs' and... staring at her.  The lead spider reared up on its hind legs and waved its front legs... then started forward at a deliberate walk.

Victoria spun and ran down the passage as fast as her booted feet would take her.  The ramp to the storeroom exit, she thought, I'll—  She came to a fork in the tunnels and started down the passage leading to the ramp, and found a HUGE TARANTULA squarely blocking her way.  It was hairy, its legs striped orange and black, and it was even bigger than the black monsters chasing her.  She turned and fled to the other branch of passage, barely gaining it ahead of her arachnid pursuers.  She was now headed even deeper into the old mine.

Victoria sprinted along the dimly lit tunnel, trying to formulate a plan.  The spiders scuttled in pursuit.  She came to another fork.  More spiders!  She spun to continue her headlong flight, and her boots slipped in a patch of sand on the rock floor.  She fell heavily and gasped in pain.  Her blouse and skirt were now filthy, and she might have sprained her right wrist, might possibly have twisted her left ankle.  Terror numbed the pain.  Got to get away!  She pulled herself to her knees.  Ouch!  Something had stung her left wrist!  She looked down and saw a spider, smaller than the rest (only about six inches) scuttle away into the darkness.

There was a drop of blood on the inside of her wrist.  In a daze, she examined the spot, and found a small wound... a puncture mark... and... I have to... run...  Victoria felt suddenly warm... then cold... then became aware she was running (limping) again... away from the spiders... down the only passage without spiders.  She felt strange... detached... like it was someone else being chased by eight-legged horrors... someone she was watching.  She knew the passage led towards one of the mine elevators.  If she (the one doing the running) could make it to the elevator and get the door closed in time...  The car was like a cage.  It would keep them out... probably.  All she had to do was...

Victoria had run into something , something that held her in place!  String had been stretched across the passage!  It was stretchy but strong!  It gave a little, but stuck to her clothes and hair and skin and it was a...  It was a WEB!  Victoria struggled... and screamed ... and struggled... but couldn't get free!

Spiders, 'small' ones, like the one that bit her, were swarming over the web, and her!  She felt them crawling on her blouse, arms, legs, under her skirt!  She was screaming again (the other Victoria, the trapped one, the one that wasn't her, couldn't be her).  Now the big spiders were on the web, spinning more silk, securing her in place, making her even more helpless.

The screaming stopped.  One of the spiders had thrust its abdomen between Victoria's lips and teeth and pumped her mouth full of silk.  Other spiders glued her lips together and spun a wide swath of silk over and around her lower face, from under her nose to her chin.

Spiders, big and small, were cutting away her clothes, all of her clothes.  Her blouse was dismembered, patches of cloth, slit sleeves, entire panels, pulled away from her body and the web.  Her skirt was sliced from hem to waistband in three places and the pieces dragged away as well.  Huge spiders, carefully, even delicately munched their way down the backs of her boots.  She could feel their mouthparts brushing the back of her calves as her boots were sliced and peeled away from knee to ankle, then plucked from her feet.  Her bra and panties were sliced and tugged away.  As each article of clothing was removed, additional threads of silk were wound across her pale skin, further securing her to the web.

One by one, her limbs were cut from the web and arranged by strong arachnid legs; arms at her sides and legs together; each limb wrapped and bound in place with a lattice of strong, sticky silk.  And then, Victoria was wrapped in silk from her shoulders to her toes—tightly wrapped in countless, sticky strands; as tightly and carefully arranged as thread wrapped on a spool.

Mummified in countless taut threads of sticky silk, suspended in the semi-darkness in a ghastly web, surrounded by huge, scuttling spiders, poisoned (sedated) by 'spider venom,' but still very much conscious and terrified, with only her red hair, gagged head, and bare, freckled shoulders exposed to the air, the Mistress of Copperhead Lodge struggled feebly in her cocoon of silk, screamed into her silken gag—and awaited her ultimate fate.