DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
		Jackie Silberston — in — Helpless in Seattle by Van ©2006 Chapter 5

LATE MORNING
MaxMara STORE
PACIFIC PLACE MALL
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, USA

---

Anne's cheeks were flushed and her face was glowing.  Her breathing was deeper and a little more rapid than usual, as if from recent exercise.  Her eyes were wide, her expression distracted, and her motions jerky and rather clumsy, without the natural grace and athletic poise her friends knew to expect.  None of these effects were severe, of course.  To a stranger, she might look like she was coming down with a cold.  She was certainly too young to be suffering from hot flashes.

There was a cause for her condition.  Before leaving Brie and Naomi's house, while still helplessly bound, her friends had dressed her in a pair of "Bug Bloomers", a new variation on the "Charlie Belt".

The first Charlie Belts were chastity belts of steel, leather, and/or plastic, designed and fabricated by Eve.  They were built at Margo's order, but now there were many variations in the Inner Circle's toy chest.  Details aside, what made a belt a Charlie Belt was the millions of TIKLER beads lining its crotch.  TIKLER beads are the tiny, nerve-stimulating devices invented by Charlie Paretsky; perhaps her greatest invention to date.  When activated, they mimic all the stimulatory properties of a vibrator, but are silent and non-mechanical in their action.  In fact, the only indications they're going about the business of teasing and tantalizing any neural receptors in their close proximity are countless subtle, red and green flashes of light.

The new "Bloomer" version took advantage of Charlie's most recent achievement: the miniaturization of TIKLER technology to the nano-level.  The resulting TIKLER-encrusted fibers could be woven directly into cloth, or, as was the case with the panties Anne was wearing, woven together with strands of virtually indestructible synthetic microfiber.

Anne's Bloomers were white, and skintight.  They resembled "granny panties", conservative knickers of a cut far too generous to be fashionable.  An alternative description might be "bicycle briefs", spandex shorts designed for cycling.  They were slit through the crotch (for sanitary purposes), but that was evident only if the wearer splayed her legs or the observer was nosy to the point of being a perverse nuisance.  Pockets of material, rich in TIKLER nano-beads and reinforced with braided wire, cupped and trapped Anne's labia and clitoris.  Additional wire bands reinforced the lace encircling her thighs and waist, preventing the removal of the garment.  A string of tiny, wafer-thin batteries around the waistband provided enough juice for more than ten hours of continuous, full-power stimulation.

And speaking of juice...

Naomi had insisted on a test of the panties during the drive to the mall.  Anne had squirmed in the passenger seat of Naomi's car, dressed in a fashionable suit (jacket and short skirt), silk blouse, pantyhose, and heels.  Her wrists were bound together in front by two pieces of jewelry cleverly disguised as a wristwatch (with a rather substantial, cuff-like band), and a matching cuff-bracelet.  The car's lap and shoulder belt were buckled over her arms and joined wrists, and a white hankie was thoughtfully stuffed in her mouth to muffle her moans and sighs.

Naomi, dressed in an outfit similar to Anne's, timed things quite well.  Anne's first orgasm of the day had erupted just as they pulled into a downtown parking structure.  Naomi took her time taking the ticket from the pedestal.  Anne knew the cashier, in his booth at the exit lane, had a distant, but unobstructed view of both Anne and Naomi.  There was also a video camera, positioned straight ahead and focused on the car, and its monitor was probably in his booth.

Anne struggled to maintain her composure.  Waves of TIKLER-generated pleasure rippled through her sex.  She made sure her voluntary gag was completely inside her mouth and invisible, and kept her body as still as possible.  Her captor's gloating enjoyment of her predicament was icing on the cake.  The boom blocking the entrance to the garage finally lifted, Naomi slowly pulled forward, they were out of the camera's field of view—and Anne exploded in a series of shuddering and squirming struggles, moaned through the gag, and glared at her tormentor.  Finally, she spat out the cloth.  "You rat!  Stop the damn program or I won't be able to leave the car!"

"Now, now," Naomi cautioned her friend.  "Continue your cranky attitude and I'll find a secluded spot, pop you in the trunk with a real gag, set the controls on 'roller-coaster-ride-from-hell', then go into the mall and enjoy a nice, leisurely, solo breakfast.  After an hour... or two, I'd come back and then we can go shopping."

Naomi was kidding, of course, and they both knew it, but Anne stifled her complaints, for the moment.  They found a parking place, Anne's wrist bonds were released (and thus magically transformed into expensive and attractive accessories), and they entered the mall.  Of course, all during breakfast and their initial window-shopping, she'd kept a steady stream of "tickle-charges" pulsing through Anne's panties, at a near-subliminal level.

Resistance, to coin a phrase, was futile.  Anne knew the Bloomers' control program was loaded in Naomi's palmcom/phone, and she could trigger any one of a series of "fun" and/or "interesting" routines off the menu on the device's tiny screen; but Naomi's TESSERACT signet ring acted as security.  Only she could operate the controls.  Even if Anne somehow managed to get her slightly sweaty hands on the palmcom, it wouldn't respond to her manipulation of the keys (however frantic or desperate), or her voice.  Ultimately, Eve was in control, to prevent a real public incident, but Anne was very much not in control—and that was the game.

MaxMara was one of Anne's favorite stores, and as usual, the outfits on the mannequins in the window looked promising.  They entered the store and almost immediately Anne found a blouse she liked.  It was pearl-white silk with long sleeves, a plunging front, and pointed collars.

Naomi took the size-ten from Anne's hand and replaced it with a size-eight.  "Go try that on, why don't you?" she suggested.

"Too small," Anne muttered, reaching for the size-ten.  "Hey—eep!"  A pulse of TIKLER energy had coursed through her sex.

"Be a good slave and do as you're told," Naomi purred.  Her palmcom was in her hand, her finger hovering over the tiny keypad.  "Follow Mistress' orders to the letter... or I'm afraid you'll have an 'incident', and you won't be able to show your face in this place again for months."

"Bitch!" Anne hissed under her breath, but her poorly suppressed smile proved she was actually enjoying the game.  She headed for the changing rooms with the size-eight blouse.

The booths all had swinging doors and only protected the customers' modesties from shins to shoulders.  They opened onto a common lounge area with a sofa and raised platform flanked by full-length mirrors.  At the moment, Anne and Naomi were the only occupants.

"Strip to your pantyhose," Naomi ordered.

Anne glared at her friend, but went into one of the stalls and removed her jacket, blouse, heels, and skirt.

"The bra as well," Naomi demanded.  "In fact, hand it over."

Anne removed her bra, a sheer demi-bra in "nude", and handed it over the door.  Naomi carefully folded the skimpy garment and tucked it in the outer pocket of her purse, then sank into the couch.

"Play with your nipples," Naomi said.  "I want to see them pop."

Anne shivered.  (The bloomers were still teasing her sex, ever so slightly.)  "Naomi!" she complained in a whisper.

"Do it," Naomi warned with an oily smile, "or I'll have you writhing on the floor."  She lifted the palmcom and waggled it from side to side.

"Bitch," Anne whispered, and pinched and teased her nipples until they were firm and erect.  In her already excited state, this required very little effort.

Naomi stood and peered over the door.  "That's right.  Very nice.  Now, on with the blouse, and do up all the buttons."

Anne donned the silky garment, and, as ordered, closed the buttons, one-by-one.  The blouse hugged her waist and strained against her firm breasts.  The details of her nipples were clearly visible through the stretched fabric.  "Happy?" she demanded, a blush coloring her glistening cheeks.  "I told you it's too small."

Naomi made a show of examining Anne's body.  "Hmm... I'm not sure.  Let's get another opinion."  She turned her head towards the changing room door.  "Oh, Miss?" she called.

"Naomi!" Anne hissed.  "No!"

A salesgirl appeared.  She was a cute little thing, in her early twenties, with a slight built, auburn hair in a short, pixie cut, a freckled complexion, and big green eyes.  She was dressed in a short skirt, blouse, tights, and heels, all in black.  "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes..."  Naomi read the salesgirl's name tag.  "...Megan.  I keep telling my friend this blouse is a size too small, but she just won't listen.  What do you think?"  She opened the changing room door, and there was Anne, in her pantyhose, panties, and too-tight blouse, trying her best not to fidget and blush like a naughty schoolgirl.

"Uh, it is tight across the front," Megan agreed.

"Could you bring us a size-ten?" Naomi asked.

"Certainly," Megan answered, and hurried towards the racks.

Naomi continued holding the door open.  "When she returns," she said, softly, "keep the door open, and make sure sweet little Megan gets a good look at your tits."

"You bitch!" Anne hissed, still blushing.  "You have no right to—"

Megan had returned with the size-ten blouse on a hanger.  "Here you are," she said, handed the blouse to Anne, then took a step back.  "Will there be anything else?"

"Yes," Naomi answered.  "I like the pearl, but do you have the same blouse in dove gray, or ivory?"

Meanwhile, Anne had hung the new blouse on a hook, unbuttoned the size-eight, shrugged out of it, and was puting it on its hanger.

"Uh, we have it in ecru and fawn, in addition to pearl, but not dove or ivory," Megan said.  Her eyes were on Anne.

"Oh," Naomi answered.  By this time, Anne was donning the size-ten.  "Come out here and show us," Naomi ordered, and pointed to the platform.

Anne shot a withering glare at her friend, then padded to the platform.  The unbuttoned blouse fluttered as she mounted the single step.  Blushing furiously, she fumbled with the buttons until all were closed; then, concentrating on her reflection, and not Naomi's, and especially not Megan's, she gazed at herself in the mirrors.

"A perfect fit," Megan opioned.

"I agree," Naomi purred.  "Don't you agree, Anne?"

"Yes," Anne muttered.

"Excuse me?" Naomi asked.

"I said yes!" she blurted, then smiled at Megan.  "This is much better.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," Megan answered.  "Should I return the size-eight to the rack?"

"Yes, please," Anne answered, and returned to gazing at her reflection.

Megan retrieved the blouse from the changing room, then returned to the main store.

As soon as they were alone, Anne turned and glared at Naomi.  "Look, you," she growled, "enough is—erp!"

Naomi had tapped a key on her palmcom.  "Mind your place, slave," she whispered, "or you'll find yourself making a scene at the cash register.  Get dressed... you shameless hussy."

Anne stomped back to the booth, unbuttoning her new blouse as she went.

Just then, Naomi's palmcom began to warble a musical tone.  She tapped another key and held it to her ear.  "Hello?  Hi, Eve.  What's up?"

Anne continued dressing.  In short order she was stepping from the booth, fully clothed, the new blouse on its hanger in one hand.  Naomi's palmcom was back on her lap.  "That was Eve?" Anne asked.

Naomi nodded.  "Her Majesty has forwarded new instructions.  She accepts Narelle's evaluation and wants Jackie on the next reasonably available flight to Cairns.  Eve says that's a TESSERACT cargo flight out of SEATAC, around 4 PM tomorrow."  Naomi's smile broadened.  "Oh, and Margo authorizes containerized travel, if you can talk her into it."

Megan returned, holding two blouses on hangers.  "Here are the fawn and the ecru," she announced, a smile on her devilishly cute face.

"Oh, take all three," Naomi urged her friend.  (Her finger was poised above the keypad of the palmcom.)

Anne glared at Naomi, then smiled at Megan.  "Just the pearl and the ecru," she said.

Megan smiled and took the pearl blouse from her hand.  "I'll take these to the register, okay?"

Anne nodded, and Megan left.  "I guess we ought to go to the campus and talk to Narelle."

"No hurry," Naomi said.  "Eve is already handling all the details, as usual.  We'll visit Victoria's Secret, first.  You need to pick out a really slutty set of lingerie for the Trickster—maybe something in red, with a corset.  We'll find something for you, as well—something to bring out your inner-whore."

"Bitch!" Anne muttered, and headed for the register area to pay for her new blouses.

AFTERNOON
TESSERACT HQ CAMPUS
THE BIOSPHERE

---

After taking the horses for their romp, Jackie returned to the "Ponygirl Stable" and released Narelle from her cell.   It had occurred to her, while exercising the horses, that although Narelle's steel costume might be incredibly erotic... (And, to coin a phrase, HOT!!)  ...but it was not designed for rolling around in prone or semi-prone positions, even on soft surfaces.  So rather than taking her "Cat-Pony" prisoner back to the comfort of the bed in either Narelle's quarters or her guest room, as she had originally planned, Jackie decided to limit her fun to "making" Narelle provide a little upright entertainment, someplace in the stables.  The last thing Jackie wanted was to cause her mentor any pain, and the thought of unsightly bruises on Narelle's firm, smooth skin—especially if they were caused by Jackie's thoughtlessness—was repugnant in the extreme.

Arriving back at the secret stables, Jackie retrieved the riding crop from among the hanging tack, opened Narelle's cell, then snapped the clip of a long, leather training-lead to a ring on the front of her collar.  In addition to the steel collar, corset, chastity-belt, and arm-binders locked on the Aussie's naked form, the prisoner was still restrained by the padded hobbles buckled around her ankles and the ball-gag filling her mouth.  Jackie gazed at her captive, a worshipful smile on her pixie face.  "So beautiful," she whispered under her breath—then blushed when she realized she'd spoken aloud.

Narelle smiled at her young protégé.  The gag made it a bit of a grimace, but the amusement in her eyes was unmistakable.

Jackie was still blushing.  "What?" she demanded.  "You are beautiful... and you're all mine, and you'll do as I say!"  She affected what she hoped was an evil, domineering grin, and led her captive into the main tack room.  She looked around and spotted, of all things, a sidesaddle on a padded wooden stand.  "Perfect!" she beamed, hitched Narelle's lead to a ring on the stand, and set about removing her clothes.

Narelle watched in patient amusement as Jackie stripped to the skin, except for her socks.  The "Evil Dominatrix" stretched, struck a pose for the benefit of her prisoner; then slid her feet back into her boots.

Jackie found a fleece-lined saddle pad and tossed it on the floor, fleece-side up, at the base of the stand.  She then hopped up on the saddle.  "Come here," she ordered, and Narelle shuffled closer.  Jackie reached behind Narelle's head, loosened the buckle of the gag-strap to its first hole, then leaned back in the saddle and splayed her legs as widely as possible, lifting her right leg and bracing the tip of her boot against the the stand.  She crooked a finger in a beckoning gesture, cocked her head to the side, and smiled.

Narelle sighed, in mock disgust, and spat the ball from her mouth.  The slimy sphere came to the end of its strap and bounced once, with an audible ping, against the front of her collar/breast-plate.  "Ya realize you're just diggin' the hole deeper and deeper, don't ya?" she asked.

"Quiet, ponygirl!" Jackie scolded, waved the crop in her right hand in an imperious gesture, then let it drop.  It dangled from her wrist by its leather strap.  "Don't make me punish you," she purred, and pointed at her flushed, glistening sex, so prominently (and conveniently) on display.  "Get to work!"

Narelle dropped to her knees on the pad so thoughtfully provided by her "cruel mistress", licked her lips, and leaned forward.  "You were warned," she sighed, and extended her tongue.

Still basking in the afterglow of what had proved to be one glorious orgasm, Jackie used the specialized "cat-tool" to release Narelle's steel binders from the back of her steel corset.  "There!" the still naked Brit exclaimed as Narelle's arms came free.  "Hold still while I—Hey!—Oof!"

Narelle had seized Jackie, spun her around, lifted her up, and dropped her, stomach-down, on the seat of the sidesaddle.  She was now busy using her former lead to bind the squirming youngster's wrists behind her back.

"Narelle!" Jackie complained.  "Narrie, please!"

"Don't call me Narrie," Narelle ordered.  She used the remaining, very long free end of the lead to bind her captive's arms to her sides, yoke her shoulders, and hitch her bonds between arms and torso.  This pulled everything very tight, dimpling Jackie's skin.

"Anne calls you Narrie," Jackie observed, looking back over one shoulder at her former captive.

"You're not Annie," Narelle huffed, passed the last of the lead under itself at the nape of Jackie's neck, pulled it taut, and tied a flat hitch.  She then grabbed her protégé's bonds and lifted her off the saddle and onto her booted feet.

Jackie watched as Narelle unbuckled the ball-gag from around her neck.  "Why are you being so mean?" she demanded, testing her new bonds with a few energetic twists and shrugs.

Narelle smiled.  She could tell Jackie was still enjoying their game.  If anything, the pouting prisoner seemed more at ease in the role of captive than she'd been as captor.  She popped the ball of the gag into Jackie's unresisting mouth, spun her around, pulled the strap tight, and secured the buckle.  "I've changed my mind... decided you will benefit from a little familiarity with ponygirl tack, even if there is none of it waiting on Gondaloo."

She retrieved the riding crop, used its tip to lift Jackie's chin, and locked eyes with her young prisoner.  "You're a spirited little thing," she purred, leaned close, and kissed Jackie's ball-gagged lips.  "Maybe I'll amend my report," she said, "and tell Margo you need more training... weeks and weeks of training.  That way you can learn what it's really like to be a ponygirl.  You can pull my garden cart, I'll make sure you get hours of daily exercise, and you'll get your very own custom-fitted body harness and restraints—all secured with rivets, of course, so they can't be removed."

Narelle let the crop dangle from her wrist, used one hand to take a firm grip on Jackie's bonds, and the other to caress the captive's glistening sex.  Jackie whined through her gag and fidgeted in place.  "Is that fear in your eyes, Little One?" Narelle whispered.  "Hmm... maybe I will keep you."  She started for the door, taking Jackie with her.  "Let's get you outfitted, shall we?"

LATE AFTERNOON

---

Jackie stamped her booted feet and sighed through the rubber bit strapped between her teeth.  Narelle had made good on her threat—the outfitting part, anyway.  The jury was still out on the weeks-of-ponygirl-training.  Of course, Jackie knew she wasn't really serious about that part.  She wasn't really going to be kept a pony-prisoner, 24/7, Narelle's work-slave and pleasure-toy... was she?

Her costume was real enough.  Not especially restrictive—just a collar and body-harness—leather cuffs on her wrists, joined in front by several inches of chain—and a head-harness with bit-gag, blinders, and a decorative ostrich plume.  Her booted feet weren't even hobbled.  However, every element of the costume was either padlocked or secured with locking buckles.  In addition, Narelle had dragged her to her current location—a rock garden near the stables—and had stretched a pair of leather leads from the back of her collar to convenient lashing points, several yards apart.  The tethers were too taut to allow her to sit.  She might have been able to kneel, but the ground under her feet was strewn with rocks, all rather sharp, hard, and unfriendly.

"The lesson for the day is... patience," Narelle said, kissed her forehead, gave her a rather infuriating, gloating smile and wave, and simply walked away.

That was hours ago... at least two, possibly three.  Patience, indeed, Jackie mused.

Just then, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel path.  A figure dressed in a stylish business suit rounded the turn, emerging from behind the rock wall at Jackie's back—and it was Anne!

Jackie blushed bright crimson, and used her hands to cover her sex.  The chain prevented her from shielding both her sex and her naked breasts.

"Well," Anne said, with a friendly smile, "here's something you don't see every day."  She walked a slow circle around the fidgeting, still blushing captive, ducking under the tethering straps, as required.  "Did Narelle do this to you?"

Jackie mumbled a half-hearted response through her gag.

"Oh, silly me," Anne chuckled, stepped behind the prisoner, and released the head-harness' gag-strap.

Jackie pulled the bit from her mouth.  "Thank you," she muttered.  "I thought that was locked!"

"The gag?" Anne responded.  "No, it simply has a fancy catch."  Actually, the gag had been locked, but Anne's TESSERACT signet, with its Inner Circle transponder codes, was all the key that was required.  Anne suppressed her growing amusement, continuing to play innocent, as planned.

"Oh," Jackie continued.  "Anyway, yes, it was Narelle.  She... Oh!  She won't get in trouble, will she?  Please don't get her in trouble!  We were just playing, like Margo and Lady Brightman."

Anne laughed.  "Like Margo?"

"At Brightman Hall," Jackie explained, "when she visits.  You know... games?"

"So," Anne said, her expression suddenly serious, "the rumors are true—Margo does play bondage games."

Jackie nodded, gravely.  "It's just a game."

"Well, as long as it's all in fun..."

Jackie nodded again, the bobbing plume of her head-harness adding emphasis.  "It is.  All in fun."

"Okay, then," Anne said.  "We won't say any more about it.  And it's best not to mention any activities Margo might indulge in with her friends: past, present, or future."

Jackie blushed anew.  "That trusted position thing we talked about," she mumbled.  "Sorry."

"No problem," Anne responded.  "Now, what I came to tell you is that you've been cleared to move on to Gondaloo."

"Super!" Jackie exclaimed, then sighed.  "I'm not looking forward to the long flight, but I suppose there's nothing for it."

"Oh... I wouldn't be so sure," Anne said.  "There is an alternative."

THE NEXT MORNING
THE BIOSPHERE
(NEAR THE LOADING DOCKS)

---

Anne and Narelle gazed down at the transport module.  The latest iteration of an already mature TESSERACT technology, this version was quite a bit smaller and less sarcophagus-like than earlier models.  Inside was Jackie, dressed head-to toe in a spandex bodystocking lined with millions of TIKLER beads.  Her hands were in articulated sensor-gloves.  Her head was in a VR helmet, with a hi-definition screen over her eyes, surround-sound earphones over her ears, and a sensor-gag with integrated feeding and breathing tubes in her mouth.  There were also waste-handling and sensory modules nestled inside her sex and rear.  Countless straps held her in the human-shaped cavity of the encasement, and the soft padding had already filled with expanding gel, embracing every square-inch of her helpless form.

Anne was in one of her seemingly endless collection of business suits, and Narelle was in her gardening coveralls and Wellingtons.

"I'm a little surprised you could talk her into it," Narelle remarked, her eyes still on the sealed module.

"Actually, she jumped at the chance to get her VR indoctrination before arriving on the island," Anne explained.  If all was going as planned, and Eve would have informed them if there had been a technical problem, Jackie was well into the specialized VR programs designed to teach her how to interact with the system and control her actions in gaming situations; programs which also taught the system how to calibrate its feedback routines to best serve Jackie Silberston.

"By the time she wakes up in Oz," Narelle said, "she'll be a VR veteran, able to hold her own."

"Low experience level, of course," Anne added with a smile.

"Of course," Narelle agreed, "and we all know what happens to nubile young newbies in VR games tailored for the Inner Circle.  Just out of curiosity, once the orientation workup is finished, what'll be her first experience?"

Anne smiled.  "Generalized Sword and Sorcery, as a young amazon warrior on walkabout, exploring The Greene Wood."

"And her first encounter?" Narelle asked.

Anne's smile broadened.  "That would be telling.  You can wait for the edited video version of the story, like the rest of your Sisters, if Margo clears it for release."

Narelle laughed.  "Poor Brit-Bit.  There are all sorts of nasties in that forest."  She turned and gazed at Anne.  "And speaking of Margo, I had a new message waiting for me when we got back from the restaurant last night."

"From Margo?"  Anne frowned.  "Odd that I didn't get one, too.  What did she want?"

"To give new orders, of course."

"Orders about what?" Anne asked.

"About this!"  In one fluid motion Narelle seized Anne by the elbows—pinned them together, behind her back—pulled a form-fitting plastic face mask from her pocket—and clamped it over Anne's mouth and nose!  "Sorry, Annie," the blonde Aussie whispered in the struggling lawyer's ear.  "Orders are orders."

Anne kicked and squirmed, forcing mewling noises through the mask and her captor's hand.   She was trained in self-defense, like all of Margo's Inner Circle, and she tried every break-away she'd been taught—but Narelle's skill-level was more advanced.  Her captor knew all the counter-moves.

Sickly-sweet, slightly acrid vapors filled Anne's throat and lungs.  She struggled for several more seconds... then... finally... her eyes rolled up in her head and she went limp.

Narelle lowered Anne to the floor.  The mask had a pair of elastic straps, which she stretched over her prisoner's head.  She settled one below her ears, and the other above.  As long as the mask was in place, Anne would remain in dreamland.  Once it was removed, she would wake in half an hour, with no ill effects.

Narelle reached into her right boot and pulled out a pair of myoplastic cable ties.  She crossed Anne's wrists behind her back, and used both padded ties to bind them there.  The ends of the ties shriveled and fell away as the myoplastic tightened and the ratchet mechanisms fused.  A third tie was used to bind Anne's crossed ankles.

"Eve, you'll see that Jackie gets to the airport, and monitor her all the way to Oz, right?"

"Of course," Eve's disembodied voice answered.  "Doctor Seaton will be meeting the 'shipment' in the TESSERACT hanger in Cairns."

Narelle gazed at Jackie's encasement with a sad smile.  She had never been to Gondaloo.  Until now she'd had no real excuse to visit, personal or professional.  But now things were different.  She might pop in during her next vacation... which would be her first vacation since entering Margo's employ.  In any case, it would almost certainly be a long time before she next saw Gondaloo's new Riding Mistress.  "Hooroo, Brit-Bit," she sighed.  "Take care of yourself."  She shifted her gaze from the module and back to Anne's bound, unconscious form.

"Would you like me to send a robot to transport Ms. Clayton?" Eve suggested.

"No thanks, I got her."  Narelle lifted Anne and slung her over her left shoulder.  "She ain't heavy—"

"—she's your Sister."

"Too right!" Narelle laughed, and carried her precious burden away, deeper into the Biosphere.

Locked in her life-sustaining module, Jackie awaited her departure on the next leg of her adventure.  But that was in the real world.  In the Virtual world of TESSERACT games, adventure continued, unabated.