by John Ringo
* * *
When they reached the plane it was already warmed up. With the copilot's help they got Anastasia's luggage loaded, and boarded with a last wave to Wangen.
"Have a seat," Mike said, waving the girl into one of the front seats. "After we take off we can get a bite to eat and chat. I need to make a call, right now."
"Very well, Mr. Jenkins," the girl said, nervously. She fumbled with her seatbelt for a moment and then got it closed, cinching it down firmly.
"Call me Mike," Mike replied. He pulled out his sat phone and called the embassy in Tbilisi.
"Lieutenant Timmons, Duty Officer, U.S. Embassy to the Republic of Georgia, how may I help you sir or ma'am?"
"Hey, LT, this is Mike Jenkins. Is Colonel Osbruck around?"
"No, sir, he's gone home for the day."
"Any chance you could call over to the Ministry of Defense and ask if I could borrow a helicopter sometime late tonight. I am really not looking forward to riding back to the caravanserai tonight."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said. "I'll give them a call for you, sir."
"My sat phone number should be on the embassy rolodex as much as you guys call me," Mike said. "Call me back if you can scare something up. Sorry to dump this on you."
"Boring night, sir," the lieutenant said. "Glad to have something to do. And it lets me practice my Georgian."
"Thanks, LT," Mike said. "Come on out to the house some time, I'll feed you some real beer. I've even gotten some decent steaks laid in."
"Will do, sir. Thank you."
"Take care," Mike said, cutting the connection just as the jet began its rollout. "Ever flown in a corporate jet?" he asked Anastasia.
"No," the girl said, clutching the arms of the seat.
"They take off at a pretty high angle compared to an airliner," Mike said. "And they fly higher. You can get a pretty good view from forty grand."
"Forty grand?" the girl said, uncertainly.
"Forty thousand feet," Mike said as the jet turned onto the threshold. "Less turbulence up there."
"We are going up to forty thousand feet?" the girl squeaked nervously.
"Anastasia," Mike said, gently, "have you ever flown before?"
"No," she said, panting slightly.
"It's all right," Mike replied, sighing as the jet started to roll. "Just lean back in the seat and we'll be up and level before you know it." He leaned back into his seat as the jet rocketed forward. Corporate jets were designed for higher acceleration on take-off than jetliners and Hardesty was a former fighter pilot; he liked to squeeze every bit of performance out of the plane. They pushed down the runway at what Mike figured was about three Gs and then the plane pointed up at about a thirty-degree angle.
"Is this normal?" Anastasia said, in a frightened tone.
"When Hardesty is flying," Mike said. "Don't worry, he's really good. We'll stay like this for a while and then it will feel like we're falling for a bit; that's when he slows the engines down at altitude. Don't panic at itl it's perfectly normal."
"I will not, Mr. Jenkins," the girl said, struggling to be calm and composed.
"Please call me Mike," Mike said, hitting the intercom. "Barring that, Kildar. Captain Hardesty?"
"Sir?" the pilot replied, happily.
"As it turns out, Miss Anastasia has never flown before," Mike said. "So let's not get into any acrobatics. And give us some warning when you level out."
"Is she okay?" Hardesty asked.
"She will be," Mike said. "As long as you tell us when you're going to level out."
"Will do, sir," Hardesty said.
"There," Mike continued, cutting the connection. "He'll warn us when we level out."
"What is this you said," Anastasia asked. "The term, Kilder?"
"Kildar," Mike said, sighing. "It's what the land owner in the valley is called. Sort of like sheik or baron or something. Anyway, if you can't handle calling me Mike, call me Kildar. Mr. Jenkins . . . isn't my real name anyway. And don't ask what the real one is."
"I won't," Anastasia said, looking over at him.
"Mr. Jenkins," Captain Hardesty said over the intercom. "Preparing to level out."
"Not a big deal," Mike said as the whine from the engines dropped and the plane seemed to drop a bit. He saw the girl's reaction and reached out a hand. "It's fine and normal. We'll be level in a bit."
The sensation of change stopped after only a moment and Anastasia nodded.
"I had not wanted you to know I hadn't flown before," the girl said, unhappily. "I'm sorry I showed my emotions like that. It was unprofessional of me."
"You handled it fine," Mike said, then chuckled. "Sorry, reminded me of a guy I knew in jump school."
"What is that?" Anastasia asked, curiously.
"Where they teach the Army to jump out of planes," Mike said. "You have to get cycled through it for SEAL training, even though you spend the rest of your time free-falling. Anyway, was this guy in the stick I was in that had never flown in a plane before he went to jump school. He did all five jumps without landing, so I don't know when he actually landed in a plane."
"Do you . . . jump from up this high?" the girl asked.
"No," Mike said then paused. "Okay, I know one group that did, but it was a special case. Most jumps are under fourteen grand, fourteen thousand feet. That way you don't have to use oxygen. High altitude is twenty thousand to thirty. Very, very few people have ever jumped over thirty thousand. Go ahead and look out the window," he said, unbuckling and getting up to cross the plane. "It's too unreal to feel high," he added, pointing out the small window.
Anastasia looked out for a moment, then turned away.
"It still looks very high," the girl said. "And very big."
"It's a big world," Mike said, gently, sitting down next to her and taking the window seat. "I take it you didn't do a lot of traveling in the harem?"
"No," Anastasia said. "Or before. I grew up on a farm in Russia. A scout for Otryad saw me at a fair and arranged the marriage with my parents. I went from the farm to the household and have been there ever since."
"May I ask how old you are?" Mike said, carefully.
"Twenty-six," Anastasia said, closing her eyes. "I have been from the farm to the house and occasionally to Samarkand. I was a girl in the harem until I was seventeen. Then I was brought into training to be a manager. I took over as assistant manager at nineteen and full manager at twenty-one. I have managed his harem ever since."
"And never been in a plane," Mike said, a touch angrily. "Has Otryad ever traveled?"
"Yes," Anastasia said. "But it wouldn't be . . . right to take his women with him. It would be unseemly."
"Not to me," Mike said. "If I have to travel, you can figure on coming with me. Unless you really don't want to."
"Oh, I would like to," the girl said, breathing out finally. "I have wanted to see the world. But I'm afraid of it as well. I have been . . . inside for so long. Not only in a house, but like being trapped in a cage. Like the tiger in too small a cage, I pace and pace, but if the door is open, I'm afraid to walk out."
"Well, the door in my house is always open," Mike said. "I'm hiring you, not buying you. You're free to go any time. You're a full adult and have some training in people management if nothing else." He saw her fearful expression and sighed in exasperation. "That's not kicking you out, damnit. I'm just saying you're free to be whoever you want to be. If you don't like working for me, I'll find you another job. The door to my harem is always open. For one thing, I don't think of the girls as just mine. I have people who work with me, friends who visit, and if the girls want to mess with them, they can feel free. For that matter, four of the girls currently in the house are rented hookers. They are, very specifically, for the comfort and support of the trainers that who quarters in the house. The rest of the girls . . . I'm not so sure."
"If you would take my advice," Anastasia said, diffidently, "they should not be given to other men. Girls of the hareem are no
t whores. There is a great deal of difference, in the head if nothing else. They may be gifted to subordinates as wives, especially as they age. This is traditional in Uzbek society at least. But they should not be passed around like . . . sweetmeats at a party."
"I'll keep that in mind," Mike said, grinning. "And, yes, that's exactly what I wanted you for. How much are you supposed to get paid, by the way?"
"I had a small stipend from Otryad," Anastasia said, shrugging. "To buy clothes and jewelry. And he would give me gifts."
"That's it?" Mike asked, shaking his head. "Well, that won't work for me. The girls get that. I'll figure out a salary. He said something about education. You can read and write, right?"
"Yes," the girl replied. "And do mathematics. I can read and write in Russian, Uzbek, Arabic, German and English. For that matter," she continued in not badly accented English, "I can speak all of them as well."
"And he kept you locked up in a harem," Mike said, shaking his head. "What a fucking waste. Pardon my language."
"The master need never apologize," Anastasia continued in English. "In fact, it is a sign of weakness that the girls will exploit."
"Hmm . . ." Mike said, thinking about that one. "I think we might have some differences in approach and we'll have to see how it works. For one thing, this harem will not be entrapped except by situation. And I'm not going to be married to any of them, or you for that matter. On the other hand . . . Western militaries handle their soldiers differently from most of the militaries in your area; had you noticed that?"
"Not really," Anastasia said, frowning. "I do not associate with soldiers."
"You're going to be associating with a bunch of them as early as tomorrow," Mike pointed out. "But in developing nations, the troops are treated like dirt and the officers don't even think about talking to them as equals. In American militaries officers, good officers, treat their subordinates like humans that have their job to do. Officers have the job of making or expanding decisions for their unit and they give the troops their orders. The troops have the job of expanding on those orders to the limit of their position and ability but they don't see the officer as God or something. They treat him with respect and the good ones with admiration. But they don't hesitate to bring up alternatives if asked and if an officer has screwed up, he'll admit it and work on ways to change that."
"And this is how you would treat the girls in your hareem?" Anastasia asked, frowning. "I'm not sure how they will respond to that."
"I don't understand any of their responses," Mike admitted. "I thought when I brought up them staying as . . . concubines they'd freak. Most of them looked as if they wanted to get on their knees and give me a blowjob right then and there."
"I think I can explain that, at least," Anastasia said after a pause. "They were girls from small farms in the area, yes?"
"Yes."
"And they had been sold by their families to be whores," the girl continued. "The house you live in is much like that of the sheik, you said. They had been taken from their small farms, where they had to work very hard for very little good in their life. They had very little of their own, maybe only their clothes and those are usually from older sisters, and they lived in a place that was very . . . rough. They had thought they would be whores, to be used by any man who had the money and sometimes in very bad places. Instead you offer them security in what to them is a palace. I can understand it very well. I was sad, very homesick, when I had to leave my family. But to live with the sheik was . . . paradise." She stopped and shrugged at his expression.
"My greatest fear in life was what I would do when I grew too old to be with Otryad anymore. He had discussed finding me a husband but anything would be a step down from being his hareem manager; I was not going to find a rich husband, you understand, not in Uzbekistan. I would be the wife, maybe not the first wife, of someone less important than Otryad. My . . . status was not high enough to get better. I was not a virgin, among other reasons. Otryad is very good about sending his women out into the world; he tries to find them husbands and if he cannot he sets them up with money of their own. But he likes young girls; I was only still in the hareem because I was a good manager. But Darya was old enough to take over while still being younger, and fresher, than I."
"Well, I didn't see the rest of his hareem," Mike said, using her term. "But if he was kicking you out of his bed he was an idiot."
"There are women aplenty in the world to a man with money," Anastasia said, shrugging.
"Not many that are as good looking as you," Mike said, then frowned. "Okay, except among the Keldara, I'll admit."
"These are your retainers?" Anastasia asked, curiously.
"I don't know what to call them," Mike admitted. "I hate just calling them tenants. I suppose retainers is a good word. The men are generally pretty damned handsome and the women are fucking outstanding. The beer's good, too. Great place to live. Not that I wouldn't mind going back to the States some time. But, for now, the valley's a good place to live. I'm doing good work there, getting them up to speed on modern farming, I got them equipment so they could retire their horse teams, and I'm training them so they can defend themselves. Not much of that, yet. That's why I'm hurrying back; training starts on Monday after this planting festival."
"You will be training them?" the girl asked, curling up in the seat and leaning forward to listen.
"Not day-to-day," Mike said. "But I'm going to be out there for specific items. I'll probably have to lead them in some of the stuff they're going to be doing. So I'll probably show up for each new item, prove I can do it, and then retreat. If I demonstrate my ability when they're just getting introduced to it, it should look like I'm such a fucking master they won't believe it. Take running; I'll probably lead the first run. After they're fully trained, there are probably a few that will be better than me; they're mostly younger for one thing. But if the first time they go out, the Kildar smokes them, well that will stick in their mind. The Kildar can run, the Kildar can ruck, the Kildar can patrol and the Kildar can shoot. That way when we go out to actually do something, they'll be confident in my abilities, even if by then some of them are better than I am."
"It sounds like it's a good thing I'm an expert in massage," Anastasia said, smiling.
"Oh, I'm pretty dialed in," Mike said. "I've been working out since I got there; the muscles are as good as they're going to get with all the damage. I won't mind having somebody to help me get out of bed in the mornings, though."
"You have trouble with that?" the girl asked
"Bad joints," Mike said, shrugging. "Mostly a legacy of beating them to death on the teams. Any time I stay still for a long period of time, and I don't move much when I sleep, they freeze up. So getting out of bed is a pain. It passes after a while. Mostly," he added, rubbing one elbow absently. Ever since getting caught in an unpressurized wheel well on a mission he'd had trouble with that joint. "So, I hate to ask about the sex thing, but where are we on that? From one point of view you're an employee. As far as I'm concerned, you could be married to someone else and do your job . . ."
"I think not," Anastasia said, carefully. "You are my master."
"Be careful with that term," Mike said. "That has a very specific meaning in sexual relations. Unless you meant it that way?" he asked, glancing at her.
"You are the master of the hareem," Anastasia said, cautiously. "But, yes, I'm aware of the meaning of the term. I don't know you well, hardly at all . . ."
"I don't even know your last name," Mike said. "Is it Otryad?"
"I have not been married to Otryad for more than twelve years," Anastasia said, frowning. "My last name was changed to my maiden name when I divorced: Rakovich. He keeps four wives, as the Koran dictates. All the others are concubines. He marries and then, when it is time to get a new wife, divorces and keeps the girl in his hareem. This way he can approach families with an offer of marriage."
"Personally, I've got problems with that," Mike said, his jaw working. "B
ut that's his society."
"He is not unpleasant about it," Anastasia said, sighing. "But it is hard, knowing you are but a temporary addition to his household. However, you are the master of the hareem and my job is to manage the hareem and provide you with sex in addition. I do not have a problem with that, in fact I look forward to it; you are very beautiful."
"That's the first time anyone's said that to me," Mike said, laughing. "Be aware, I'm used to either dating for sex or buying hookers. I'm not sure how to handle this relationship."
"Try not to treat me as a whore," Anastasia said. "Think of me as a wife whose job is very specifically to provide sex. But . . . I have needs," she added, carefully.
"I'm generally considered decent to good," Mike said, glancing at her again. "But I tend to be a bit rough by preference."
"Rough is good," Anastasia said, sighing in relief. "Very rough is very good."
"Really?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "How rough?"
"As rough as you can manage," Anastasia answered. "Do you know the term masochist?"
"You're serious?" Mike said. "In that case, we need to negotiate carefully. Rough is a very broad term."
"The rougher the better," Anastasia said, looking at the floor of the plane. "Otryad was not . . . rough enough. And there was never enough sex with so many girls in the hareem. I was lucky towards the end if I had one night a month with him. And he was never strong enough with the whip."
"O-kaaay," Mike said, with a whistle. "I can see where this is going. I don't have a bondage dungeon set up yet but it can easily be arranged."
"That would be wonderful," Anastasia said, delightedly. "I had access to the internet, yes? I saw some of the bondage dungeons on there and they excited me very much. I would love to have you take me to a bondage dungeon and treat me roughly as a slave to be trained."
"But you're already trained," Mike pointed out.
"I could be bad," Anastasia said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "They had a terrible time with me at first; I was often bad just so that I would be beaten. When the hareem manager then, that was Shahla, realized what was going on she was very angry. After that I was good, just so that I could be properly beaten from time to time. Shahla was very good with the whip; I miss her. After she left Otryad had to do it and he never really had the same touch."
