Dawn was just starting to break as Lady Tregart marched up the front steps of the blockhouse. Six armed eunuchs walked behind the woman, blasters on their hips and longblasters in their hands. Every person on the streets and in the courtyard smiled and waved at Tregart, and tried not to look at her plump, smooth-faced guards.
Stopping in front of the great iron-bound front door of the blockhouse, Sandra was pleased to see the sec men on duty had lost their haggard look of starvation. They were both terribly thin, but their eyes were no longer dull, and they stood straight with strength in their bodies.
“Door,” she commanded, waving an impatient hand.
The two sec men lost their smiles and hurried to open the thick portal. They stood well aside as the woman and her entourage strode into the throne room.
As the crowd of ville folk parted in front of her like wheat to the wind, Sandra scowled darkly. Now what the nuking hell was going on here?
The throne room was packed full of people moving around piles of wicker baskets filled with bread, cans of predark food and entire wheels of gray cheese. There was a table stacked high with barbed arrows and dozens of longbows.
A second table was filled with bottles of shine in every color imaginable. Gallons of shine! And nestled in a small wicker basket, one lone bottle of predark liquor, resting on a silk cloth. Sandra lifted the container to marvel at the raised design on the glass. Incredible! The label was faded to nothing more than a suggestion, but the seal around the cap was intact.
At first, she didn’t know what to make of this display of treasure. It was the wealth of a ville! Then comprehension came and she realized it was the wealth of several villes. So they had all paid, eh? She smirked with some satisfaction. She knew flying the Angel over the neighboring villes would strike terror to their hearts!
Then Sandra corrected herself. No, terror of me.
“Welcome, my daughter!” Baron Tregart called, waving a hand. “Over here!”
Placing the bottle of liquor down, Sandra turned to approach the head of the huge room.
Sitting in his throne, her father was in his robes of state, the heavy velvet cloak edged with ratty white fur that had seen much better days. Moved back inside again, the two wooden thrones were side by side on a raised dais. But now the splintery platform was covered with soft rugs of animal skins, and surrounding the elaborately carved chairs were a dozen iron braziers, the red-hot coals sending out waves of heat that drove away the chill of the night.
Covering the entire wall behind the thrones was a huge tapestry. Alternating layers of red and white stretched across the fabric, except for the upper left corner, which was a blue box filled with stars. The tapestry was burned in a few small spots, and there were several bullet holes, but its bright colors still seemed to fill the throne room. Some of the wrinklies claimed it was the symbol of what had once been America. To Baron Tregart, it was a priceless heirloom of the old days. Sandra Tregart considered it merely a decoration, and a rather poor one at that.
Stopping at the foot of the dais, Sandra gave a small head bob that served her as a bow.
“It seems that news of your machine has spread to the other villes,” Baron Tregart said, smiling, stroking the head of a dog sitting by his side. Another dog lay the foot of the throne gnawing and slobbering on a wet bone. “All of this just arrived from Black Rock and Boar Head as tribute to the authority of Thunder ville!”
“Did it now?” Sandra muttered. That was when she noticed a line of people across the room. Dressed in rags and wearing heavy chains, the backs of the men were covered with old scars, and the bellies of the woman were sagging folds of loose skin, their fat breasts heavy and distended.
“Breeder slaves,” Sandra said in disgust, shying away slightly.
Still smiling, Baron Tregart waved that aside. “Of course we shall set them free,” he declared. “Thunder ville does not condone slavery!”
Surreptitiously, Sandra looked sideways at her armed eunuchs, but they didn’t seem to find any glaring holes in that declaration. Her mother had been right, males only heard what they wanted and ignored everything else. Especially the truth.
“They also sent us a dozen horses. With saddles!” the baron added eagerly, leaning forward in the throne. “Wealth, my daughter! Riches beyond imagination!”
Coldly, Sandra scanned the crowd of excited civies and somber sec men to find Zane. The sec chief was leaning against the granite block wall near the iron door that led to the private apartments of the baron and baroness. The big man was unshaved, his hair tussled and unruly, but the blaster in his hand gleamed with oil as he slowly rotated the cylinder checking the black-powder load in the weapon as if he was about to go into battle.
“Report,” Sandra ordered crisply.
“Everything your father has said is true, my lady,” Zane said in a clear voice, holstering the piece. Pushing away from the wall, he strolled closer. “The horses are in good health, and the saddles are all aged leather, not green that will shrink. We even fed some of the bread and cheese to the dogs…” The animals perked up their heads at that, and turned to face their master. When no orders were issued, the beasts went back to nosily sharpening their teeth on the mutie bones.
“No signs of poisons or tox chems yet,” Zane finished, sounding almost disappointed at not being betrayed.
“And these…” Sandra said, sweeping a hand across the line of chained slaves shivering on the bare floor.
“Useless,” Zane stated bluntly. “Utter drek sent to make us feel sorry and set them free. In a month they’ll eat ten times the tribute that was sent to us and weaken the entire ville. The men can’t be trusted to walk the wall, and the women.” The sec chief made a sour face. “I’d rather bed the horses.”
“Yes, we must set them free,” Baron Tregart said, rising to his full height in the throne. “You there, guard! Remove those chains!”
The slaves looked up at that, their faces a mixture of fear and disbelief. Only one male slave took a full second before reacting with a hopeful smile. Sandra noted that, and marked the man’s position. So that was the game, eh?
“Hold!” Sandra’s voice boomed as she raised a hand.
The sec man walked toward the slaves stopped in his tracks, and looked first at Lady Tregart, then the baron, and then Zane.
“You heard Lady Tregart,” Zane said ominously, crossing his arms.
“What? You dare to counter my orders?” Baron Tregart roared, standing from the throne. “I am the leader here, Daughter, not you! This is my ville!”
“Then defend it properly!” Sandra snarled, pulling out her blaster and firing.
A male slave cried out as his chest exploded in blood. Reeling backward, he slammed into the wall, dragging several other slaves along with him. His head hit the granite with an audible crunch, and the man went limp, sliding to the floor while leaving a gory trail behind on the wall.
The other slaves began to wail in terror, and the ville folk in the throne room talked excitedly among themselves at the unexpected chilling. Then everybody went silent as Lady Tregart fired again. The chained man shook violently, and went still.
“What is the meaning of this?” the baron demanded, walking to the edge of the dais. “Have you gone mad, Daughter? What possible harm could—”
“Harm?” Sandra shot back. “Watch and learn, my baron.”
The last two words were said dripping in sarcasm, and the crowd grew nervous over the woman’s open defiance of her father.
Walking to the corpse, Sandra turned it over. “See there,” she said, ripping the garment off. “Look at his back!”
Shuffling closer, Baron Tregart scowled in disbelief, but there was no denying his own sight. The flesh was clean and unmarked. Without a sign of scar or welts.
“But…how…” the baron started, only to stop in confusion.
“He was a spy, my lord,” Zane said. “Sent by our new ‘friends’ to learn what he could, and then escape to pave the way for an attack.”
“Attack?” the old baron whispered, all of his earlier show of strength and vitality gone in a heartbeat. As they watched, the baron seemed to age in front of their eyes, growing weaker by the heartbeat.
“Invasion and enslavement!” Sandra shouted across the room to the crowd, who immediate responded in murmurs and grumblings.
Drawing their blasters, the sec men moved closer to the trembling slaves, while the ville folk stepped back, giving them room to move freely.
“The other barons would dare?” the baron asked softly, putting out to a hand to steady himself on the armrest of the throne. “But I gave them my word! The tribute in exchange for their safety.”
“Honor means nothing to animals.” Sandra spit, holstering her blaster. “Now do you see, Father? Now do you finally understand that there can never be peace with any other villes? We are alone. We stand, or fall, alone!”
The old man lowered his head to his chest, his aged-spotted hands tightening on the armrest. For several minutes nobody in the throne room dared to speak, and there was only the sound of the crackling torches and the faint jingling of the chains of the terrified slaves.
“I have been a fool.” Hugh Tregart spoke slowly, facing the woman. “I didn’t want to believe that the America of my mother was completely aced. No more than dust blew away in the wind.”
“We can bring it back, Father,” Sandra implored, kneeling on the steps. The position brought a wave of pain from the fresh stitching in her leg, and the woman forced herself to give no sign of discomfort. “I can bring it back and give it to you. Let me, Father. Let me save our people.”
“At any cost?” the baron said in a suddenly powerful voice.
Her breath coming fast, Sandra pulled out a knife and closed a hand around the blade.
“Yes, my lord, at any cost.” She spoke the ritual words and pulled the knife free. Blood began to drop from her fist onto the dais. “So I swear by the blood of my fathers.”
“So be it,” Baron Tregart said, rising stiffly. Carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking it, the old man slipped off his purple robe and draped it across the armrest. “I am too old to wage war. I was too old before you were born, Daughter.”
Unable to speak, Sandra stared at her father. Could it be? Was this really happening? Women were forbidden to rule in this ville. Thus it had ever been. Only males of pure blood could sit on the throne.
“The ville is yours, my child,” the baron said, gesturing to the empty chair.
Feeling as if she were flying, Sandra slowly walked toward the wooden chair. Not the one on the right for wives, but the chair on the right, reserved exclusively for the baron. It seemed to loom in front of her as if in a dream.
“Quiet please!” Sandra spoke loudly, her words echoing slightly off the stone walls. “Obviously, the first matter to resolve is what to do with the slaves.”
As the crowd became quiet, the new baron studied the anxious people shivering in their dirty rags. There were many options available, but only one choice.
“This ville does not keep slaves,” she declared at last. “Americans do not keep slaves!”
The faces of the chained people brightened at that, hope flickering in their weary eyes.
“But, my lady, we cannot let them go,” her father said softly. “If one was a spy, there may be others.”
She seemed surprised that he understood that. How odd.
“Yes, I know, dear Father. Zane!”
The big sec man stepped forward, his weapons jingling softly. “Yes, Baron Tregart?” he said, saluting.
“Kill them all,” Sandra ordered calmly, leaning on the armrest. “But make it quick and as painless a possible.”
With that, the slaves burst into hysterical screams, begging for their lives and swearing eternal fidelity to the baron and her throne.
“It shall be done, my lady,” Zane said in a flat voice.
“And save the chains,” she added after a moment. “We made need those again.”
As the sec men pulled out iron cudgels and advanced upon the cringing slaves, Hugh Tregart turned his back on the sight.
“With your permission, I shall go and see your mother now,” her father said. “And afterward, I shall stay out of your way as much as possible.”
“No, I always want you in the throne room,” Sandra replied unexpectedly, shifting position to take the weight off her bad leg. “When I am flying, there must be a Tregart here to rule.”
“But that isn’t the old way,” he started to mutter.
She cut him off with a gesture. “It’s my way,” she corrected harshly. “As the baron, I so command.”
“And I obey, my lady.” Turning, the former baron shuffled across the dais. A sec man opened the iron door for the deposed man to leave, and then locked it tightly behind him.
Done and done.
“Sec chief Zane?” Sandra called, wiggling a finger. “Come here, please.”
“My lady?” he said as a question.
Lowering her voice to a whisper, the baron said, “That was just for the ville folk, and my father. I need those slaves alive, so send them directly to my airfield.”
The man arched an eyebrow. “It will be done, my lady,” he replied.
Watching him closely for any signs of disobedience, Sandra saw none. Good. “And if your men wish to use the female slaves once or twice before delivering them to me,” she added. “I have no objections.”
“By the blood of my fathers, you’re stone cold,” Zane replied in a guttural whisper. “The men probably would have done it anyway, but now that ride comes as a gift from the throne, and buys their loyalty. You know them well.”
“And is their loyalty for sale?” Sandra demanded harshly.
“Not anymore,” Zane said, flashing a grin. “By god, our ville will flourish under you! I look forward to serving you for many years, Baron Tregart.”
Dismissing the sec chief with a gesture, Sandra settled back into the throne and watched as Zane joined his men. The wailing slaves were forced to carry the dead spy in their arms as the sec men drove them out of the throne room. As they departed, the civies began heading off to start their morning chores. Even as some died, life went on for the rest.
Like sheep being culled, she observed in disdain. They were all mindless sheep.
“Oh, yes, you and your men will all serve me well for many years to come,” Sandra Tregart whispered softly, pulling a sharp knife from her belt and testing the edge of the blade with a thumb. “After I have made a few…alterations, that is.”