by Van ©2022
		Chapter 8

Heidi padded to the bathroom allegedly attached to her not-allegedly and in fact undeniably luxurious Modern/Asian/Tropical bedroom... cautiously opened the door... and confirmed that the space beyond was, indeed, a bathroom.

So far so good.  "Beautiful Jane," the mysterious bikini-clad 40-something woman who'd appeared soon after Heidi woke up had been truthful... so far.

The bathroom's decor matched the main bedroom and there were the usual face-basin and mirror, commode, glass-enclosed shower stall, and bathtub, and the tub was large, sunken into the floor, and had built-in ports that strongly suggested water jets.  It was big enough for two... or three if everybody got chummy.  Heidi relieved herself, took a drink of water, brushed her teeth (and yes, the bathroom came fully stocked with all the usual toiletry products and equipage, like toothbrush, hairbrush and comb set, cordless blow-dryer plugged into a recharging stand, and various sizes of hanging or stacked towels of various sizes, all in very pretty, subdued, tropical colors and compatible with the rest of the decor.

Next, Heidi padded to the shower, figured out the digital control panel, and enjoyed a refreshing shower.  She'd briefly considered taking the sunken mega-tub for a spin (a swirl?) but in the interests of brevity, opted for the shower instead.  Grumble.  Her stomach kept reminding her that breakfast was waiting.  Stepping from the stall she toweled herself dry, then blow-dried and brushed her hair.  It felt very good to be squeaky clean from head to toe.  Then (without bothering to wrap the damp towel around her naked body) she padded from the bathroom and into the alleged walk-in closet.

She opened the door... and once again Beautiful Jane's veracity was verified.  It was a largish, narrow space, with a triptych of full-length mirrors at the far end, a bar with hanging clothes, built-in cabinets, and a rack of neatly paired shoes.  Yet again the decor was unchanged, with subdued metal hardware and richly stained wood paneling and cabinets.

As for the clothes...  Heidi slid the hangers apart and made a cursory survey of the roughly two dozen outfits, all high quality (and probably expensive), all in her size, and running the gamut from formal gowns, to cocktail dresses, to lightweight sundresses, to casual skirts, shorts, and blouses, to rugged-but-tasteful hiking outfits.  And hanging from a hanger at the far end of the rack, all by itself, was a black string bikini, and the hanger included a black hair-scrunchie.  Obviously, this was the "swimwear" Beautiful Jane had suggested would be appropriate breakfast attire, and she'd made it easy to find.  Grumble.  "Okay-okay-already," Heidi scolded her stomach as she donned the bikini.  It wasn't difficult, and thanks to the infinitely adjustable string-ties, she achieved a perfect fit.  Heidi then pulled back her freshly washed, dried, and brushed hair and used the scrunchie to enforce a sleek ponytail.

Heidi admired herself in the three mirrors.  "It'll do," she decided (with a smile).  There were racks of shoes, all feminine and obviously expensive, but Beautiful Jane had been barefoot, so Heidi decided she'd remain barefoot as well.

"All-rightie-then..." Heidi purred, smiling and posing a final time for the mirrors...  "Breakfast!"  Grumble!

Heidi padded from the closet, used the door Jane had used to exit the bedroom, and found herself outdoors, on an open walkway shaded by a roof/canopy of blue canvas-like material stretched over an elaborate wooden framework.  The air was hot and humid, but an ocean-scented breeze kept her cool.  There were more of the coconut palms, flowering shrubs, sandy beach, and turquoise and blue ocean she'd glimpsed from the bedroom's window-walls.  Gulls and other seabirds dotted the cerulean sky, chattering and scolding one another as they soared and wheeled.

And as it turned out, Heidi's bedroom was actually a cabin, or maybe a cabana.  Whatever.  In any case, it was a small(ish) standalone building, and one of a cluster of several, all spaced apart and sharing the network of covered walkways.  Other women were present, varying in age, hair color, and skin tone, but none were particularly close.  And now that Heidi noticed, they were all probably older than herself and were dressed in a variety of outfits, all appropriate to the tropics and similar to what Heidi had found hanging in her closet.  That said, roughly half the women were wearing bikinis, like Heidi, but in a variety of really pretty colors.  Heidi was the only one she could see in basic black.

The closest two women were dressed for hiking, in boots, cargo shorts, tank-tops, and with light day-packs.  One of them, a redhead (who was not The Evil Peyton Frazier), gave Heidi a friendly wave.  "Looking for the pool?" she shouted.

"Uh, yeah!" Heidi shouted back.

The women pointed, Heidi padded a couple of steps in the direction indicated... and now that her cabana was out of the way, she could see a large, multi-storied building, not far away.

"It's on the far side of the lodge," the second women shouted.  She was African, with very dark skin and closely cropped black curls.

"Thanks!" Heidi shouted, and the redhead and African waved and walked away.  Heidi waved back.

The "lodge" that supposedly was between herself and breakfast—Grumble—was, in a word, tropical, like the cabanas.  Heidi decided it was a cross between a "native" long house and a Frank Lloyd Wright mansion, with solar panels on the roof, a tower studded with satellite dishes, and a multitude of balconies with hanging plants.

Heidi made her way towards the lodge.  She passed a couple of sundress-wearing women, both of whom smiled and nodded, and she returned the gesture.  Both women (like all the others in sight) were, indeed, older that herself, and were quite obviously fit, with athletic, curvaceous figures.  The bikini-wearers (who weren't Heidi) appeared to be headed for the beach, with the exception of one (a thirty-something beauty with nut-brown skin, long, straight, gleaming black hair, and rocking a chili-red bikini) who was was ahead of her and padding in the same direction, so Heidi discretely followed her down the walkway... towards the now looming lodge... around to the far side... and there was the promised pool.

And what a pool!  It was very natural, anything but poured concrete and straight lines.  It was more like a semi-improved pond or small lake, surrounded by a patio of closely fitted irregular flagstones partially shaded by a grove of palms and a gigantic banyan tree.  The brown (Hispanic?) woman paused to thoroughly drench herself under a shower built into the teak frame of a flowering arbor, then ran and dove into the pool, joining three other swimmers.  Grouped around the pool were the usual lounge chairs and a few cafe-tables with chairs, all in teak with colorful-but-subdued cushions.  Further from the pool were shaded, gazebo-like shelters with more tables and chairs, and seated under one of them were Doc and Jane.  They'd seen her first and both were smiling and waving.

Heidi waved back, then padded around the pool to join them.  Beautiful Jane (the Truth Teller) was still wearing (barely) her blue bikini, while Doc was wearing (barely) a white bikini, equally skimpy and revealing.  Doc and Jane rose to their bare feet as Heidi drew near... and the last few yards Heidi accelerated into a full sprint and flung herself into a full embrace of her Major Professor.

Lori was not generally ebullient in her interactions with her students, but this was a special and hopefully unique occasion.  She returned Heidi's squeezing hug with equal enthusiasm.  She also joined her student in shedding copious tears.

They were safe!  They were rescued!

The hug lasted for a minor eternity... then they both took a step back, holding each other's hands and smiling.

"You're okay?" Heidi inquired, and Lori nodded.

"And you?" Lori asked.

"Peachy," Heidi answered, then turned and gazed at Jane, who was also smiling (and was beautiful)... then turned back to her beloved Doc and made a show of looking around at the pool, the lodge, the cabanas, and their tropical surroundings in general.  "What's up, Doc?"

Jane erupted in a veritable fit of melodic laughter.

Lori, on the other hand, wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks and favored her student with one of her notorious disappointed-but-tolerant wry smirks, but clearly, she was also amused.  There was a consensus among a certain segment of the Professor's undergrad students that her prim and proper English demeanor was actually a façade, that underneath Doc was actually a "saucy minx."  Secretly, Heidi conceded that there was merit to their position.

"Quite a bit is up," Doc finally replied.  She gestured to the table, which was formally set for three, complete with elaborately and decoratively folded napkins atop each plate.  "Please, join us."

Still very amused but back under control (and beautiful), Jane pulled back a chair for Heidi to sit, then Jane and Lori resumed her former places.  Jane lifted an insulated carafe and poured hot, dark, steaming coffee into the cup at Heidi's place.  Meanwhile, Doc lifted a teapot, replenished her cup, then added milk from a small pitcher.

Just then, a woman pushing a teak cart laden with covered serving dishes approached.  She was tall, in her late 20's or early 30's, and might have been the twin of the brown-skinned woman Heidi had followed to the pool, and was wearing a bikini in a pleasing floral print and a long, whisper-thin sarong loosely tied around her waist.  Her long black hair was pulled back and held by a narrow band of fabric matching her bikini (what there was of it).

"Ah, Lahela, perfect timing!" Jane gushed.

Grumble.  Heidi's stomach concurred.  Polynesian, Heidi decided, ignoring her salivating mouth and smiling at Lahela.

Shortly thereafter, Doc was politely but enthusiastically enjoying a Full English Fry-up of Irish bacon, sausages, sunny-side-up eggs, black pudding, baked beans, sautéed tomatoes and mushrooms, and white toast.

Jane was enjoying something she explained (in response to Heidi's curious stare) was a "Moco Loco," white rice covered by a hamburger steak, smothered in brown gravy, and topped with a pair of fried eggs, all sprinkled with chopped scallions.

Meanwhile, Heidi (and her stomach) were enjoying scrambled eggs (with a little cheese), perfectly sautéed potatoes (with diced, caramelized onions and a hint of minced garlic), bacon (American bacon, aka "streaky bacon"), and white toast with butter and what appeared to be (and tasted like) genuine Marionberry preserves (just like at Sacajawea's, Heidi's favorite burger joint and greasy spoon restaurant near the Lewis & Clark campus).  Everything was, in a word, yummy!

They were all about halfway through their plates before conversation resumed.

"So..." Heidi said, then popped half a piece of bacon into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.  "What about the bad guys, Peyton and Kassidy?"

"Your kidnappers are being dealt with," Jane answered, her lips curled in a sardonic smile.  "Once their disposition is finalized, I'll be able to tell you more."

Heidi frowned.  "Uh... okay... I guess."  She turned her gaze to Doc.

"I know nothing more than you," Lori told her student.  "Let's agree to let the, uh, authorities handle the criminals."

Heidi turned back to Jane.

"That's me," Jane chuckled.  "I have a badge and ID card back in my room, both stamped 'Authority', or something similar.  Remind me to show it to you later."

Heidi resumed eating.  Everything was very... mysterious... also luxurious, tropical, and delicious.  I'll get all demandingly inquisitive later, she decided.

"The real news concerns Ms. Frazier's trove of stolen and/or looted documents and artifacts," Lori said with a broad smile.

Heidi raised an questioning eyebrow as she shoveled more food into her face.  (Everything really was delicious!)

"It's all being donated to the University," Doc beamed, "and I'm going to lead an international team of scholars to study the collection, and you'll be a part of it, Heidi."

Heidi smiled, then heaved a sigh.  "After I complete my coursework and successfully defend my dissertation, of course."

"Before," Lori beamed.  "In fact, immediately.  We'll have to carefully work thought the details, but I suggest you more-or-less shelve your current doctoral research and refocus on Toland of Consett and his 'newly discovered' writings.  There's enough material there for dozens of dissertations, and I have every confidence the results of your portion of the research effort will make your reputation."

Heidi continued eating.  Truth be told, she wasn't very far along with her current dissertation work, and starting over wouldn't be much of a challenge.

"As I said, we'll go over everything in detail," Doc reassured her student.  "For now, I've already been on the phone with the Dean and you're presently on an extended research sabbatical, retroactive from the beginning of the quarter.  We agreed to bend the rules and all your current classes have been properly dropped,  They won't even be listed as 'incomplete' on your academic record."

Heidi's smile returned.  "That's good."  Scholastically, they still had a lot to talk about.  She was keeping an eye on their surroundings as they ate, and noted a gorgeous, bikini-clad, dripping wet brunette had climbed the ladder from the pool and her place taken by two newcomers, one Asian and the other a tall blonde doing a very credible Viking shield-maiden imitation.

"Marsopa Cay is one of several rest and recreation resorts affiliated with my organization," Jane announced, obviously noticing Heidi had managed to pry her attention away from her now nearly empty plate.  "You'll both be our guests for the next few weeks while you recuperate from your ordeal, work out the framework of your new academic endeavors, and begin curating and studying Ms. Frazier's collection.  Then, you can return to Lewis & Clark and resume your studies."

"The preliminary plan," Lori explained, "is to either build a new building to house the collection or add an annex to the F.E. Campbell Library.  Jane assures me funding won't be a problem."

Heidi held out her cup to be refilled by Jane, then took a sip.  Obviously, there were a ton of questions that needed answering, but for now, she decided to sit back, enjoy her full stomach, and revel in not being kidnapped, naked, and bound and gagged.  Maybe later, after the obligatory half-hour wait to prevent stomach cramps, she'd give the pool a try... or bask in one of those comfy-looking lounge chairs... or stroll down to the beach and take a dip in the ocean.  She made a mental note to add the identity of the surrounding waters to her list of questions.  With a name like "Marsopa Cay," her money was on the Caribbean.

Lori refilled her tea cup, added milk, took a delicate sip, then sighed, smiled, sat back, and closed her eyes.

Doc looks pretty good in a bikini, Lori mused, for an old lady.  She's no Jane... but then... who is?  She shifted her gaze to the Jane in question, and blushed.  Jane was smiling directly at her.  "Uh, any chance of seconds?" Heidi inquired.

Lahela had left, but the cart was still there and within Jane's easy reach.

"How 'bout some fruit?" Jane suggested, lifted the lid from a covered bowl, and ladled a portion of chopped cantaloupe, honeydew melon, papaya, mango, and... a few varieties of fruit Heidi didn't recognize into a small bowl.

"Yes-please," Heidi gushed, and accepted the bowl.  Her place setting already had the appropriate spoon.  The fruit was delicious, and Heidi had to admit that she didn't really need any more eggs and greasy bacon.  She spooned the cool, sweet, yummy chunks into her mouth and chewed and swallowed at a leisurely pace.

Many questions.  So many questions.  But for now... life was good, and Doc seemed to agree.  In fact, Heidi was sure she agreed.

Peyton Frazier awoke to find herself hot, sweaty, and sore all over... and she was wearing some sort of long dress... or... ball gown?  Also, her waist was being squeezed by a corset!  Why the hell am I wearing a corset? she wondered.  And there was more.  A lot more!

For one thing, she was tied up!  Her arms were folded behind her back with her wrists crossed and raised slightly past the horizontal.  Rope pinned her upper arms against her sides, in the process squeezed her breasts together from above and below, and more rope yoked her shoulders.  And now she was sure her ridiculous and overly voluminous costume was a ball-gown—an off-the-shoulder number with a full train and way too many petticoats to be comfortable in this much heat and humidity.  Not counting the ropes of the box-tie, her shoulders were bare and the upper halves of her rope-framed boobs revealed, nearly to the nipples!  But while the gown's waist, corset, and torso layers of the underlying underclothes were tight and close-fitting, the skirt and its many layers of underskirts were loose—or rather they would be if bands of rope weren't lashing her legs together around her thighs, above and below her knees, and around her ankles.  There were way too many layers of cloth.  The skirts were practically a sleeping bag, repeatedly cinched with bands of hemp, but puffy in between the bondage.  Way too much frilly fabric.  Her right foot was bare, but her left was still wearing a dancing slipper.

Peyton had to admit that what she could see of the silky, frilly gown was very pretty, in shades of salmon-pink with white lace trim.  It was a little ripped, torn, and soiled, but before whatever had happened to her with all the rope it had to be quite a look... very Disney Princess.  Her eyes popped wide as she finally came fully awake.  I've been kidnapped, dressed in a ridiculous Victorian costume, tied up—"Mrrrf!"—and gagged!  Something silky and substantial was stuffed in her mouth and was being held in place by a very tight band of folded cloth.  Peyton kicked and struggled, testing her bonds, and in the process, the left slipper slipped from her foot and joined its mate on the floor of her cage.

Wait... cage?

Peyton was, indeed, in a steel cage!  Its vertical, gunmetal bars were about 1½" in diameter and spaced something like four-inches apart.  The overall shape was cubical, six to seven feet on a side, with periodic horizontal steel bracing.  The cage's ceiling and floor were also made of bars.  Whoever had orchestrated Peyton's historical costume drama captivity hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide a pallet or mattress in the arrangement.  She squirmed and struggled and managed to sit up and lean her back and bound arms against the unforgiving bars of her cage.  Using only her nostrils and despite her gag, she then managed to blow a few strands of her loose, tousled red locks from her face and focused beyond the bars.

It took a while to make sense of her expanded surroundings... but eventually Peyton decided she was in the hold of a wooden ship, of all places.  This was further reinforced by a barely perceptible rhythmic rocking motion accompanied by the creak of mooring lines.  Light was streaming through a grated skylight, or possibly a hatch cover, as well as a couple of small portholes.  In addition to the vessel's wooden hull and structural timbers, she noted neat rows of wooden crates and barrels, all lashed together with tight rope (like Peyton's arms and legs), presumably to prevent them from rolling or sliding around during rough weather.  All bore stenciled labels, which she assumed were either points of origin or destinations.  The three Peyton could most easily read were SINGAPORE, VALPARAÍSO, and BÅTSFJORD.

This is nuts! the caged prisoner decided.

Just then, the big hatch-cover directly over Peyton and her cage slammed open, allowing direct sunlight to flood the hold.  An iron hook on the end of a thick, stout rope lowered into the hold, and with it came a sailor, her bare feet riding the top of the hook.  She was European, with deeply tanned skin, blue eyes, a very pretty face, and long, sun-streaked brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.  A rather piratical-looking bandana was tied atop her head like a skullcap, and continuing the buccaneer theme, she was wearing a loose-fitting linen shirt with its long, full sleeves rolled up to her biceps and the front open to the waist, as well as a pair of dark but sun-bleached knee-pants.  She was beautiful, fit, strong, and nimble as the proverbial monkey as she bent at the waist and slid the hook through a staple on the top of Peyton's cage (giving Peyton a good look at most of her breasts in the process).  She then planted her bare feet atop the cage with one hand on the rope and her other on her hip, shouted "Haul away!" and rode the cage as it was lifted from the hold.

"Mrrrk!"

Peyton went along for the ride, of course, and found herself... elsewhere.  Once again, her green eyes popped wide above her gag.

Peyton was, indeed, on a ship... a sailing ship!  And she was dressed as a nineteenth-century European aristocrat, bound and gagged, locked in a cage, and dangling from the rope and hook of a cargo crane over the open hatch of said wooden ship!  She didn't know a great deal about such vessels, but this one had three masts and was... big.  Not huge, but nonetheless, substantial.  There were more sailors present, all female and in very casual "pirate uniforms" similar to the sailor still riding her cage.  They were climbing around on the rigging or performing various other tasks on deck.  There was also an officer present, also female, but dressed in a white and in-no-way-piratical naval uniform with black epaulets and was wearing a white wheel-hat with a black bill.  All in all, the scene was very... nautical.

The crane swung around and lowered Peyton and her cage to a wooden dock, and in the process she got a decent look at what was beyond the ship.  She was arriving at what was to all appearances a small and primitive tropical port.  There were sandy beaches, palms, broad-leaf trees, and rolling hills that rapidly built into steep, volcanic ridges and jagged peaks.  As for the port itself, there were warehouses close to the docks, and beyond were one and two story adobe buildings with tiled roofs, but a few in the distance were thatched with palm fronds.  Men and women (mostly women) were shopping at various outdoor stalls or, near the docks and warehouses, loading trucks and carts.  Peyton focused on one of the trucks, and decided it was... peculiar... sort of like a cross between a model-T Ford, a jeep, and a steam locomotive.  The crane continued its stately swing, and—"Mrrrf?"—Peyton found herself staring at an actual castle!

There was absolutely no doubt.  It was a castle, with crenelated towers, massive stone walls, and a moat!  The outer walls were sloped inwards, with regularly spaced embrasures bristling with cannon.  Set in the wall was a gatehouse with its drawbridge lowered, massive timber gates gaping open, and spiked portcullis raised.  She could see a pair of guards manning the gate, both female, wearing brown, tan, and green uniforms, and holding some sort of rifles.  Other women (and a few men) in various 19th Century civilian outfits crossed the bridge and passed in and out of the gate.  Most were carrying things.

And then—Thud!—the cage landed on the dock, the sailor nimbly climbed atop and unhooked the hook, then rode it back to the ship.  At the same time, a different sailor, another ship's officer with two stripes on her epaulets, and two soldiers in castle uniforms were focused on the cage and its bound and gagged occupant.  All four were female. 

Peyton noted that the soldiers' outfits were antiquated in design, mid to late 19th Century European, but looked fully functional and too comfortable to be historically accurate, with neatly rolled-up sleeves, open collars, and made from fabrics appropriate for the tropics.

One was clearly an officer, in brown riding boots, tan jodhpurs, a brown blouse with green trim, and a brown Sam Browne belt with a handgun holstered on her right hip.  Each of her green epaulets bore a pair of diamond-shaped gold pips, and atop her head was a green wheel hat with a brown visor and a dull gold badge emblazoned with what Peyton recognized (to her utter astonishment) as the stylized rook or castle chess piece that was the La Roque logo, a fashion brand as successful and world famous as Gucci or Prada.

The other soldier was enlisted.  Her boots were more-or-less modern combat boots, and her uniform consisted of brown knee socks, tan cargo shorts, and a green blouse with brown trim.  Three downward-facing chevrons were sewn on her upper sleeves.  She was a sergeant.  Her broad-brimmed hat was brown, with a bronze La Roque badge pinned to the front.  A peculiar looking carbine was slung across her back and a wooden truncheon dangled from a loop on her belt.

The ship's officer (a strikingly beautiful African, by the way), handed a clipboard to the castle officer (who might be Arab, or possibly Indian), flipped through the pages, pulled a pen from her breast pocket, signed the bottom sheet, and handed the clipboard back.

"Any trouble?" the castle officer inquired.

The ship's officer smiled.  "This one?  Are you kidding me?"

Meanwhile, the sailor produced a key and unlocked Peyton's cage, swung open the gate/door, knelt inside, and began untying her ankles.

"Rumor has it she's a bad one," the castle officer stated.

"I read her summary file," the ship's officer replied.  "Morally and ethically, she's a piece of work.  But as a physical threat?"  She shrugged.  "A novice Action Directory Cadet could handle her."

Her bonds reduced to her inescapable box-tie—"Mrrrk!"—and her gag, Peyton was hustled from the cage, onto the dock, and a noose dropped over her head.  Her dancing slippers remained behind in the cage.  The sailor pulled Peyton's tousled red hair free of the rope and tightened the noose, then tossed the end to the castle sergeant.

"We'll take full precautions, nonetheless," the castle officer said, smiling at Peyton's gagged, frightened face.  She then shifted her smile to the ship's officer.  "A bunch of us are going to Ariel's tonight around sevenish.  It's Jamaican Brown Stew night and Dua Lipa will be singing a set.  You should join."

"Sounds good."

The officers exchanged salutes.  Then, together with the sailor, the white-uniformed African turned and headed for the ship's ladder.

Meanwhile, the castle officer stepped close to Peyton, smiled, then took a firm hold on her gown, directly over Peyton's left breast, and gave it a firm downwards jerk.  The pink fabric ripped and dangled over the lower ropes of Peyton's box-tie.  Her left breast and most of her right, including the nipple, were now exposed to the tropical sun.

"Welcome to Damosel Island," the officer purred, then spun on her booted heels and set off towards the castle at a brisk walk.  The sergeant turned and followed, Peyton's leash snapped taut—"Mrf!"—and she had no choice but to pad in their wake.

Kassidy opened her eyes... and found herself staring into the white glare a bank of bright lights.  She squeezed them closed... blinked until they adjusted... then cautiously opened them again.

The overhead lights were an array of compact spotlights on a rectangular steel frame set in a concrete ceiling.  All were focused on her body... which was naked.  Also, she was spread-eagled on a table, or framework, or possibly an armature of four long, narrow extensions, one under each of her outstretched arms and full-extended legs.  There was a similar narrow surface under her torso and head.  Everything was padded, curved, and followed the contours of her anatomy with comfortable precision.  Nonetheless, the various parts of the "table" weren't very wide and Kassidy realized she would fallen off the thing long ago if not for the medical-style restraints tightly buckled around her ankles, thighs, waist, upper-arms, and wrists, holding her firmly in place.  She wasn't going anywhere.

In addition, Kassidy realized she wouldn't be lodging any complaints anytime soon.  Firstly, she had no audience.  Secondly, something pliable and substantial was plugging and filling her mouth and a panel of something, probably rubber, was tautly stretched across her lower face from under her chin to just below her nose and from ear-to-ear, and it had been applied properly, tight enough to make her cheeks bulge.  She was gagged.

Just then, a steel panel set in the wall directly between and well beyond her splayed legs revealed itself to be a door by sliding into the wall—Snick!—and admitting a pair of very beautiful, very fit and decidedly graceful women.  Both were wearing black boots and skintight catsuits.

Shades of Star Trek, Kassidy mused, or maybe Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The black-clad woman on Kassidy's left had long, sleek raven-black hair pulled back in a swaying ponytail and was Asian, or possibly mixed-race.  A sprinkling of freckles graced her nose and high cheekbones.  Her brown eyes were almond shaped and her expression was... neutral at best.

The woman on Kassidy's right was a redhead.  In fact, she was a ginger, with even features, a peach-pink complexion with a superabundance of freckles, and green eyes.  The aforementioned ginger hair was cropped short in a curly pixie, and like her Asian companion, she was not smiling.  Both women were in their late 30's or early 40's, and from the way they moved, Kassidy could tell they were not just graceful, but were highly trained athletes—dancers, acrobats, or martial artists.  Kassidy's money (for what it was worth) was on martial artists.

Both women gazed down at Kassidy for several seconds.  Kassidy tugged on her bonds and gazed back.  She didn't bother trying to force any noise past her gag.

"This is the one all the fuss is about?" the ginger purred.

"Preliminary investigation reveals she's had several years of training in taekwondo, karate, and jiu jitsu, and at least a little hojojutsu," the Asian answered.

"And her status is that of an extra-national convict?"

The Asian nodded.  "With a twenty-to-life sentence from the Great Mother's judicial subcommittee."

"Why extra-national?"

"She has outstanding warrants in at least three countries," the Asian answered, "but the chances of conviction are considered marginal, at best, and her most recent felonies can't be handed off to the American authorities without exposing Sisterhood means and methods.  So..."

"She remains our problem," the ginger frowned.

"Mental evaluation and rehabilitation will proceed, of course," the Asian said, "but for now, she's classified as a Level Three, and will serve her time as a sparring opponent for senior cadets and agents rotating through refresher training... with full precautions, of course."

"Of course," the ginger nodded.  She then leaned forward and (for the first time) smiled into Kassidy's gagged and glowering face.  "Welcome to the Action Directorate Academy, Convict Roth," she purred.

And with that, the ginger and Asian spun on their heels, strolled to the open door, made their exit—Snick!—and once again, Kassidy was alone... naked, bound, and gagged.

The spreadeagled prisoner was short on details regarding what had happened back at Peyton Frazier's mansion or how she'd come to find herself at the "Action Directorate Academy"... but one thing she knew with near certainty:  Kassidy Roth was well and thoroughly screwed.