The BLTS Archive - Range War Epilog
by R. Schultz (cousindream@msn.com)

---

Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount and ViaBorgCom.  This is not
Trek.  Berne International Law says this story is mine.  Paramount and
ViaBorgCom can go take a hike.

Feb. 2002, 6,500 words long.

Warning: None unless you're a Republican who can't stand the thought
of poor people both thinking, and having sex.  Special Western Era
assistance for this story from Saklani.

Posted to CaFF, a group of writers of Internet fiction.  Archived at
the CaFF TrekSmut site, and later to the ASCEM.  May be archived
elsewhere, but please notify.

---

Not much doubt of it, I thought.  I definitely look like something the
cat drug in, and after he chewed on it a little - a lot - first.  I
shook my head and deliberately looked away from the bedraggled bandage
covered figure in the saloon mirror.

Of course I now looked at the large painting of two naked nymphs
reclining around a woodland pool.  Very realistic, I thought.
Excepting the tapered long ears.

At some point in my life a younger me would have been mightily upset
by such flaunting of feminine nakedness.  Today it failed to offend
me.  Actually I thought it rather pretty and subdued.  The naked
female creatures calming rather than immoral.

Actually the entire saloon and bordello was both garish and pleasing.
Red wallpaper and clean waxed wood underfoot.  Drapes everywhere to
make even the nosiest night sound subdued.

Miss Selma Nine ran a classy palace of flaunted sin.  In the
Restaurant waiters wore little red jackets, as did the bartenders.
The menus were in red holders, and red rugs were everywhere.

The one jarring note were the two excellent polished wood coffins
propped beside the big front windows, inside.  Mr. Tom Paris lay in
the one, a real satin shroud covering him south of his hips and
pillowing his head.  Eyes closed, he held his trusty Sharps rifle
across his chest.

Another coffin stood next to his, where Belle Anna Torres looked so
peaceful and finished with life.  There, her hands across her chest, a
pistol in each hand.  I suspected it were white silk which held and
comforted her mortal remains.  The Mortician had probably despaired of
ever selling these two fancy and expensive coffins, and must have
fairly danced to see them leave his shop.

The papers in Denver and Cheyenne said each had slain a hundred Kazon
before they perished.

Did it matter?  They had won my war for me, and had met Jesus by now.
I prayed He had welcomed my heroes with open shining arms.

I continued to the swinging doors, intent on finding some cool air.
It was nice to be given room and keep here, besides being economical.
It was luxurious not to have to cook up my own victuals for a change.
Not to mention I felt incredibly sinful to have as a bedroom one of
the Presidential Suites.

Such a beautiful and firm bed, soft sheets, rugs underfoot and a
little corner behind Chinese screens where I could relieve myself.
Plus another nook with a mirrored  table and stuffed chair where I
could put on my make-up.  Iff'n I owned any.

Always with a red pattern to everything.  I had sat naked on the
little red chair, looking into the mirror.  Imagining myself as an
over priced and over-painted hussy.  A thirty-dollar soiled dove
preparing to further ensnare some rich and important male.  Another
helpless virile man, submissive before my painted and irresistible
charms.

The bubble burst when I recollected I was a fifty year old widow.  I
knew my modest financial condition, not to mention my owning free and
clear a good farm did much to make me appear more appetizing to most
males in this state.  I dearly wished, though, that the male of the
species hereabouts would think foremost of sinfully misusing my
willing body than they would of my bank balance.

The heart of my dismay lived down the hall right now.  Tonight Mr.
Harry Kim had tippled more than he should have, and he no doubt
smelled and snored.  Yet every time I saw him today I wanted him back
in my bed.  As a husband or not, but surely the Lord would be a mite
forgiving of an old woman's lustful sins if they end in marriage.

My one ear near shot off'n, two wounds on my right arm and one in my
right foot which I had not even noticed.  A hole in my left hip and my
left hand and wrist broken by passing bullets.  Doctor Emil Howard had
patched me up as well as he could, but I still looked like something
the cat drug in.

One large men's slipper over my bandaged bad foot, a blue ribboned
dainty thing on my right.  A black Chinese robe with golden dragons on
it, and me hobbling about on a pair of crutches.  The robe stunk of
too much Rose water, but it WAS striking.

Outside it was nicer, a faint breeze cooling my brow.

"Can I get you anything, Missus Janeway?"

How can it be that such a large male could move so silently?

It was Bruno Chell, foremost of Miss Nine's bouncers and night
watchman.  For all his size, he was a peaceable minded man, ideal for
gently tossing rowdy customers out the door just hard enough so they
don't really get hurt much.  He worked here, and earned his wages,
thank you, but he knew the Bible.

He wore a sawed-off shotgun in his hip holster, and I suspect a
derringer or two.  The girls in Miss Nine's bordello thought him a big
lovable hound and loved him accordingly.  I suspected more than one
took only a few dollars from him and gave him something interesting to
remember.

"Can I help you, Missus Janeway?" he carefully asked.

I wondered what to ask.  There were wood benches down each side of the
front of the "Borg Palace", but each one seemed filled with a
celebrant from the Wake, sleeping off their free whiskey.

"I was going to sit out here and cool down some before I returned to
bed," I sadly explained.  "But all the benches out here seem to be
filled with those who couldn't get much further."

Bruno looked at me with a faint smile on his lips.  "Do you want to
sit in a cool breeze for a while?  I think I can accommodate that.

"First off, though, do you mind if I carry you for a little while?" he
asked.  "Seeing as how you aren't in any condition to be climbing'
stairs, carrying you would be the only solution."

That sounded like an odd kind of fun.  Being carried .... where?

"Where are we going, Mr. Chell?"

"We're going to go up on the roof.  Miss Nine's girls go up there
during a hot spell.  They have pallets and everything up there, all
the creature comforts.

"Hold tight to your crutches," he warned.

With no more ado, he bent and slung my pain filled body over a
shoulder.  Remembering to duck when he came to a doorway.  Otherwise
I'm sure I'd had gotten my brains spilled out somewhere inside the
depths of the "Borg Palace".

On the third floor he pulled down a smooth working and mostly silent
folding stairway.  I suspected it saw much use.  On a hot summer's
night many of the girls must escape until the cooler open air on top
of the building relaxed them.

Without actually stepping out onto the roof, Mr. Chell sat me down,
steadying me until I was able to stand on my crutches and feet.

"I'll come by the stairway fairly often, now," he explained.  "Just
give me a call, no need to shout, when you see me at the bottom of the
stairs.  I'll see you get to your room for the rest of the night."  He
then disappeared, leaving me to find my own way.

There seemed two large sheds in the center of the immense roof, one
with the doors open and darkness and oddments visible inside.  A dozen
women were collapsed on blankets, proving high-flyin' lives of sin
don't mean the girls forgot how to sleep hard, as need be.  Most of
them were probably raised sleepin' on a blanket or hard cramped
crowded beds.  Eight chairs and rocking chairs were visible.  Most
importantly a cool breeze riffled my moist hair.

Obviously I could spend the night.  An outhouse was in a far corner,
and I could see a small pile of overturned chamber pots.  All the
comforts of home.  By the way the girls were sleeping, obviously the
night cooled things down to the point where they rolled themselves in
comforting blanket warmth.

A nearby bundle in a large weathered rocking chair was now seen to be
a blond woman with a fairly large child in her lap.  My heart strings
tugged at the sight of her innocent waif.  I knew I should never be
able to become accustomed to the loss of my two beautiful girl
children.

I sat in another large grayish weathered rocker, next to her, and
admired her girl.

"Do you want to hold her?" a spectral whisper said to me.  The
mother's eyes were open, awake, almost smiling.  I held out my arms in
supplication, and a mumbling seven year old was transferred to me.  As
all seven year old's, she was thin and trusting and full of
unquestioning love.  Obviously her mother was raising her well.

As I breathed in her familiar girl's scent of sweat, honest dirt and
lilac water, her mother unrolled a bundle of blankets onto the roof.

"Madeline went off to Denver to marry a storekeeper," the mother said.
"Madeline used to take much of the burden from me when she could.  I'm
Sam, Samantha, the little one is Naomi.

"Madeline was one of our fancy girls, but she was proper clean.  She
left a few blankets on one of these shelves ....  Ah, here they are.
Had ribbons sewn in them, she had a real taste for ribbons, she did.

"Nice gal, sweet disposition, I knew she'd get hitched the first day
she walked through the doors of the "Borg Palace".  You can tell
sometimes they're going to become proper and married someday.

She bent to me, holding out her hand.  "I'm the cook here, if you're
thinking I'm a mite too old and fat and motherly to be one of those
who make their living here otherwise."

She unrolled two blankets with ribbons on the edges, just like she
warned.  The third she left rolled for a pillow for me.

"Here," she whispered, "I'll be honored iff'n you'll cozy up to me.  I
won't mind if Naomi cozens up to you .... you won't mind, now will
you?  I didn't much think so ...."

Sam swept up her child and they laid themselves on their own blankets
for the night.

My exhaustion and recent opium drink conspired to make me seek the
ribbed blankets next to Sam and child.

I slept within a few minutes.  Only a few noises woke me later,
presenting me with a problem.  How to get to my feet so that I could
use one of those chamber pots.

On my stomach I debated my possibilities.

Miss Selma came around the sheds wearing not so much as a ribbon in
her hair.  Nekkid as all get out.

Behind her came a red headed woman; the Bajoran, Nerys Kira I
recalled.  Nice appealing girl, rather sharp in the mouth though.  If
she were to marry, her husband would probably quickly get the
reputation of henpecked.  She was a long way from the mountainous
Bajoran homelands between France and Spain, or from Quebec.

She was right behind Miss Nine and she was as nekkid as her.  As Miss
Nine rummaged in the one shed, Nerys Kira carefully fondled and
caressed the bordello owner's butt.  Miss Nine giggled in response.

Nerys raised one foot to her other knee, proving to me that she could
be even more nekkid than before.

The red headed woman noticed me looking at her, prompting her to
smile, wave at me, and leave herself fully exposed.  She patted Miss
Nine on her unclothed shoulder when she came out of the shed.  Miss
Nine was pulling something out of a supple bag.

With a third moon the something was easily visible.  It was something
I'd heard harem women use on each other, their lives in the seraglio
one of maybe years between visits of the Caliph.

It was dark wood, shiny and curved.   One end had a copy of a man's
erect thing.  It was made to be fitted inside a woman ....

Miss Nine turned to see me now, her face must be turning red to be
caught handling such a thing, and the both of them women naked
besides.  My own face turned red to be watching them in the midst of
something forbidden in the Bible.

Miss Nine was finding her own solace in another woman's arms.  Just as
my own grief didn't stop me thinking about dragging Mr. Kim to my own
bed again.

We are all such sinners, Lord.  It is a wonder sometimes that you
forgive us.

"Miss Nine," I whispered at her and her friend.  "Miss Nine," I
repeated.  She looked funny at me, but it was her smaller friend who
walked - no, sauntered - over to me.  Obviously she was not
particularly shy about flaunting her naked body.  Of course she was a
fancy girl, and obviously a lover of women, so I shouldn't have been
surprised by her lack of modesty.  Still ....

She leaned over me, letting me notice how her breasts swung with her
movements.  I looked away, blushing.  Then swung my eyes forward and
up again, determined not to show my disapproval, or shyness.  I should
not judge.  And I will NOT be looked down on or made fun of because I
was unaccustomed to female nakedness.  I will NOT let this hussy make
me look away.

"I need to use your facilities on the side there, and I am unable to
rise by myself," I explained.  "Please help, I need to take advantage
of one of your chamber pots ...."

She smiled as big a smile as I've seen on a woman, but she bent and
began to help me to my feet.  In a second Miss Nine had a bag slung
around her neck and was by my other side.

A night of .... differences.  I was very much aware of the feel of
naked femininity through my shift, turning bright red to understand I
could feel naked nipples against my arms.  Yet Miss Nine was kind
courtesy herself, lightly touching my arm with her surpassingly gentle
hand, and guiding me across the roof to her wooden outhouse.  She
placed a new chamber pot under the seat and helped me without seeming
to give thought to her ministrations or her nakedness.

She stood outside the door and talked in a low murmur to me.  "I did
not mean to offend you," she stated.  "This place is largely a world
of women.  We are accustomed to viewing each other in our nakedness,
since we are all women together and our .... our business calls for
much revelation between us."

"You do not offend," I replied.  "Just surprise.  I do not mean to
place difficulties in your life's path.  Please forgive me."

I wondered when and how she had acquired that jagged scar above her
left eye?

She digested that for some seconds.  Then she astounded me.

"When I heard from Belle Anna Torres that she was riding out to your
homestead, to fight for you," Miss Nine explained, "I thought you and
her were lovers.

"When I heard she was dead," she said, "I was enraged at you for
placing her in harm's way, for letting her die in a cause not her own.

"I drove out to your homestead that night half ready to kill you in
revenge.

"Instead, when I saw you lying there, I half-way fell in love with you
myself, Missus Janeway.

"Can you forgive me that sin?"

She deeply sighed, continuing.  "I have by now come to realize my
error in thinking you another lover of my Klingon girl.  Can you
forgive me?"

I was struck dumb.  Having finished my activities, I opened the door,
and a Miss Nine, now wearing her own robe, helped me to my feet.
Behind her I also saw Nerys Kira in another robe, understanding she
had brought clothing for Miss Nine.

"I ....," I began, looking up into the unexpectedly gentle face of
Miss Nine.  "You owe me no apology.  I let your friend, your lover,
die.  I shall be contrite for that lapse for the rest of my life, Miss
Nine, and I humbly beg your pardon for what happened."

Selma Nine ran a few fingers through my auburn hair, and I felt not
repelled but close.  Did I see tears beginning to pool in her eyes?
Like they were in mine?  It had only been hours since I gave Belle
Anna Torres a kiss, or held her dying flesh

"Belle Anna was a beautiful, beautiful woman, she was full of kindness
and goodness and love, I know that, I believe that, I must believe
inside my heart that she sped to the arms of my Lord.  I watched her
die, and I can never forgive myself her death.

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Miss Nine?  After what
has transpired, I dearly need all the forgiveness I can get.  Please
give me yours?

"I am sorry I have taken Miss Torres from you."

Seven took me in her arms then, pressing my head between her large
soft breasts.  Eventually Miss Kira joined us and we all had a good
cry together.  It felt oddly right to do that.

---

The sight of six carriage's coming from the direction of Fort Morgan
failed to surprise me.  It was Miss Nine with a passel of her fancy
ladies.  Well, almost all were employees of her emporium of sin.
Samantha Wildman, the cook, and daughter Naomi were also passengers.
Folk like Bruno Chell drove a carriage, then assisted the ladies in
getting down.

One carriage driver, Nerys Kira almost brought tears to my eyes, for
from her dark boots to wide-brimmed prairie hat and a deerskin jacket
in between, she suddenly looked like Belle Anna Torres come back to
life.  I had to shake my head to lose the resemblance.  I wonder how
much of the striking attire was her own idea, and that of Miss Nine's?

Besides Mr. Chell, the other drivers were Mr. Lessing, the Negro, and
his cousin Tuvok, and other males.  One was Mr. Harry Kim, who tipped
his bowler at me, then unhitched the horses to place them in my new
sod and wood frame stable.  Take care of the horses first was always a
good rule to follow.

Hampers were unloaded from the Landau's, and Baroque's, as expected.
It was Sunday, the day of rest, and this was invited company.  It was
going to be a day enlivened with picnics.

Miss Nine was dressed in men's trousers and boots, prairie hat and
men's shirt.  Yet still looking the quintessential embodiment of
pretty woman.  We hugged, patting and making glad cries, until a
chattering Nerys Kira could join us.  She loved to natter, her mind
always being outpaced by her mouth.

We were friends, not demanding the other change or alter their lives.
Those in town who looked down their noses at me and turned their backs
on me should read their Bibles more.

The two .... girls? .... went off to care for horses, and before I
joined them I stopped to greet Mr. Noah Lessing and his cousin Tuvok
Lessing.  Mr. Tuvok was a powerful good carpenter, and being a Negro
was glad to get steady work at a decent price.  The worker is worthy
of his hire; Thesallonians.

I had a large stable up, and two sheds for my farm equipment.  My
house had two rooms finished and covered, and it would eventually have
two more.  Covered with sod brick, more for the insulation come snow,
than anything else.

Bruno Chell sometimes worked for me as well.  It were fortunate the
near nine hundred in gold pieces Bruce Hirogen paid his Kazon had been
given me.  At the end I'll have just bare enough to pay a few workers
to harvest my wheat.

First off we got the horses put up and fed.

Mr. Noah Lessing delighted in my wheat.  He loved to sit by its
ripening glory and read those portions of the Good Book which referred
to wheat and bread.  Today Noah, his cousin Tuvok, and I, sat against
the cottonwoods under which my husband and children lay.  Noah read
from the Book of Job for us, and I felt closer, my Lord, to thee, and
much comforted.  My afflictions and losses did not feel any less
hurtful, but I felt I could more easily put my life in His hands.

The stables were bereft of Selma and Kira, and most of the horses
looked perfectly content.  Evidently I had spent more time in Bible
studying than I thought I had.

When I got up I put out cold cornbread, ham, hard-boiled eggs and pan
chicken for the men folk.  No one objected to the presence of Negroes
eating near white folk, so I felt good about inviting the Lessing's.
They were good Christians, they worked three times as hard as most of
the odd-hire men folk I'd seen in this neck of the state, and they
certainly praised and smacked their lips in appreciation of my pan
chicken.

Naomi, with her strawberry-blond hair visible, was sidling near my
apple pies.  So I sent her off to get her mother's permission and cut
her a nice wedge in anticipation of her gaining such approval.  It was
a picnic day.

The noises of women greeted me long before I came near what I
considered ‘my' swimming hole, there in the Penance River.  The river
might be cold as a Kazon's heart, but everyone seemed to be enjoying
being in it.

My clothes left me, including my button shoes, it all becoming a neat
pile by a Willow near the bank.  Similarly neat groupings of women's
clothing dotted the entire bank here.  No fancy clothes, just dresses,
shifts, light bodice's, summer clothes.

Before I lost my courage I ran and dived into the river, being
immersed before my body realized how frigid the river was, and began
protesting in vehement tones.

I broke for air, swam from bank to bank thrice and finally allowed my
teeth to chattter like a Latin musical instrument.  I spotted a very
goose-bumped and naked Sam Wildman, and swam by to say hello.  We were
both pleased to see Naomi re-appear, with a single smear of apple pie
filling on one cheek.  She was naked and swimming to us in a second.

Of all my visions of what life on the frontier would be like, yea
these years past, none of them included the sight of a few dozen naked
as all get-out young women enjoying frolicking in my river.

The ways of the Lord are sometimes very involved and confusing.

Suddenly I was held about the legs and I had been turned topsy-turvy.
When I came upright for air, and to spew water from my nose, I
realized I had been waylaid by Nerys Kira.  This, of course, called
for swift, exact and vengeful action.

My goals, however, were for nothing.  No sooner was I gaining on that
laughing red-head than I was pressed to the bottom of my river.  I
again came up for air, looking about for my attacker.  This time I
realized Selma Nine had intervened to dunk me once more.
Unfortunately for Miss Nine she couldn't swim worth a lick.  With a
whoop of triumph, and with Selma shrieking in protest, I tackled her
about her legs.  She went under, just as Kira pulled me over again,
head over tea kettle.

Naomi joined in, of course, then her mother, then Nicoletti, then a
dozen of the others.  The river rang with cries of outrage, fits of
giggling and triumphant or dismayed shrieks.

I hadn't had so much fun in .... years?  Since before the War?

There were two teenage fancy girls who crawled onto the bank in
surrender, I had forgotten their names.  They never talked, they had
no friends, not even each other.  They were lying to one side of me,
and for the first time ever they were smiling, calming a fit of
giggles between each other.

We became a trio, drying, warming in the summer heat, flapping at
insects.  Talking.  It was like watching a dam break.  I kept my face
calm, but inside I was the tree uprooted and washed away.....

Miss Nine saw us, but she stayed back, her eyes bright to see her two
youngest fancy girls finally talking.  It was like hearing the same
story in an echo room.  The same pregnancies and abandoned children,
the same father's who should never have violated their girl's trust.

I gave them no scathing words from the Good Book about their  sinful
work in Miss Nine's elegant bordello.  I did not tell them to seek
other work.   What other work was there for them?

It was a pair of stories I'd just as soon have never heard.  It was a
pair of near-identical stories told to the nearest soul they could
find that they could treat as their long absent mother.

We came late back to the meadow by my new house.  We had taken another
dip in the river, letting the icy water cleanse more than our bodies.
They were beginning to smile now; they felt the better to have told
someone else of their pathetic sins.  Our hairs were wet, my soul was
gray, I kept light words and encouragement on my lips.

Nine and Kira had a few bottles of wine, and their faces were full of
laughter's.  They made us picnic with them, their hands were busy upon
us, their smiles carefully searching our pains.  They fed us baked
potatoes and buttermilk, raspberry preserves and bread from the town
bakery, and slices from a chocolate cake that had become lop-sided in
its journey to my farm.  They gave too much wine to the girls and left
them to doze away some of their pain.

I got more than mildly tipsy from the wine myself.  Nine had found a
buggy wheel to lean back against, watching her girls be just ordinary
girls for once.  I'd left a good bottle of whiskey by my house door,
expecting the men folk to have a snap or two.  The girls passed the
bottle around and finished it.

As I sat down in front of Nine, my body between her un-lady-like
splayed legs, my back found the softness' of her breasts and her arms.
I needed comforting.  Nine brushed fingers through my hair, pulling
out the snarls, touching my neck and ears and arms.  She kissed my
neck and my ear, but it was not an untoward gesture.  I was
comfortable enfolded by her tall warmth.  I desperately needed the
touchings of a friend.  She hugged me.

"What will happen to them?" I asked.

I felt her shrug.  "They will be shot by their boyfriends.  They will
get hitched and lead normal lives.  They will end as drunks, dying in
the gutter.  They will take cocaine and be found one morning cold and
lifeless.  They will catch a disease and die of it.  They will miss a
step at the top of the stairs and break their necks.  They will find
religion and die in genteel poverty.

"Do you wish the full list of futures they might someday possess?"

I shuddered, then cried.  Nine kept me with her, hugging me closer,
kissing my neck and head, once holding my hand up to her lips.  I
wiped my eyes on her sleeve and she gave me a small useless frilly
kerchief to blow my nose on.   It was a loud honk.

Nine continued brushing my hair.

As was customary with me, the wine and exhaustion and tears put me to
grateful sleep.

---

When I awoke after my short nap, Mr. Kim had settled down next to me.
Apart from a few words, I had neglected him in a dreadful way.  He
obviously forgave me, because the first thing I realized he was doing
was pushing a fancy box of chocolates with creme fillings into my
hands.  It was large, wrapped with a bright matching red ribbon, come
from Chicago, and must have cost near two dollar, probably at Loewe's.

Now that he had returned to Fort Morgan from Cheyenne, I knew he had
been going out of his way to greet me and say hello and make his
presence known to me.  I was still a little tiffed at the way he had
left Fort Morgan so promptly, months ago.  Still, I had known he was a
man who had already journeyed much in his life.  You cannot hold men
to be other than they are.  At least not until they'd made their own
decisions.  In this case, you had to let them get to the point by
themselves where they wanted to settle down.

We chatted, I asked about Cheyenne, he was curious how I was doing as
a farmer by myself.  Which was an awful polite way of asking if I had
any other males sniffin' round.

Miss Nine had given him a third-floor room for the week, for which he
was grateful.  He could be thrifty when necessary.  I had to smile to
myself that he were surrounded by willing comely females, but he was
here with a real box of creme-filled chocolates from Chicago.  It was
senile me he was come courting for.

He was asking, honest as daylight, if he could come around my place
more often.  Visit me.  Talk to me.  Court me.

There!  He'd come right out and said it.  He wanted to court me.
Which meant he had seriously thought about marriage and not in a
negative way, either.

I was very hard reining in my emotions at that point, relishing his
attentions.  Remembering his sweet younger body.  Not at all sure if I
could remember how to play this courting game.  Realizing I was all
feverish and worked up.

Mr. Kim explained how he had been free labor for his Father, back on
their spread in New Jersey.  He had enlisted mainly to get away, and
lied about his age at the recruiter's.  Going in a round about way he
was saying to me we could farm together here, it was a possibility, he
wasn't no city slicker unused to hard work.

It was hard to remember it was only afternoon.  This had been a full
day already.

It was about that time I realized I had been hearing the arrival of a
pair of horsemen.  It was Marshall Chakotay Pointe, and his deputy Mr.
Carey.

They were dressed in what were obviously their proper black
Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes.  Unlike their usually calm thin smiles,
they were glowering at each other like they was sworn lifelong
enemies.

They come directly to me, their eyes trying to cut vicious wounds in
Harry Kim's hide.

They each very politely said Hello to both of us, then sat themselves
down on either side of me.  Mr. Carey didn't care much that Mr. Kim
was between him and me.

All was explained when I realized both lawmen were proffering me
presents.  Each was giving me a big gaudy box of creme-filled
chocolates with a ribbon around it.

Today was a hundred and twenty days after John Bee died.  I'd said
somewhere when asked that my mourning would be four months.  I had
things to do.  My official period of mourning was now over.  Unless I
wanted to make it six months, or a year, though out west here a year
was considered a mite excessive.

No wonder so much glowering was going on.

I had three men come-a-courtin' on my hands.  Or sitting in my new
farmyard, I should say.

I was sitting there flabbergasted and incredibly pleased with myself,
when another carriage came to my farm.

It was Doc Emil Howard, and he had come a-courtin'.  With a big gaudy
ribbon-bedecked box of creme-filled chocolates in his hand.  Yup.  I
had four identical two-pound boxes of expensive chocolates in front of
me.

The first thought I had was that I was REALLY going to eat like a
ravenous pig that night.  Week.  Maybe a month.

My second thought was a thinking frenzy on how to send four courtier's
home today without anyone laying an ambush for the other three.

My third thought was to wave Naomi over and have her take one of those
boxes to my guests and let them have a special treat.

My fourth thought was to make sure I told Naomi not to have anything
from the box except what her mother let.

My fifth thought was that I'd better have her Mother come over and
take charge of the box.

My sixth thought was how desirable I felt.  Four men come a'courtin'.

My seventh thought was how I'd like all four strong and presentable
men naked in my bed.  Or better yet on the pasture grass down by the
river.  Me naked too.  Lots of growling and moaning as they all four
rolled me from one end of the prairie to another.  Fresh grass smell
in my nostrils, and the sound of my river and four passionate men loud
in my ears.  Crying aloud as their men's hands touched my quivering
body all over.

I felt warm.

---

Nine and Kira stood back, judging their work with a critical eye.
They both smiled at each other, then nodded their heads.

"How do I look?" I asked.  Definitely had a high-pitched quiver in my
voice.

For answer both women broke out in a fit of giggles.  While it
normally pleased me to see either woman in such a state of high good
humor, I thought; not now, please!

I had forgotten about their mirrored alcove.

By cocking my head to the side, I could look square at my rear.  Then
I look to my front again for a variation of the same spectacle.

Let me describe myself.

From the front I could see a small woman in a crimson corset and
bodice.  My large breasts were contained, tamed and pushed up. My
nipples were both prominently displayed and roughed.  I touched them
and they felt hard.

Long black gloves were laced above my elbows.  My legs were in black
button shoes stretching above my knees.  In addition I wore a pair of
opera net hose kept up by four garter straps descending from the
corset.

Between my corset and my stockings I wore nothing.

I could see a garter strap stretched across each fat quivering
buttcheek.  In front another pair stretched across my belly and
thighs.  I blushed deep red and thought myself incredibly beautiful at
the same time.

They had worked for ....  For a long time giving a curl to some of my
auburn hairs, rubbing oils and exotic Asian scents into my crowning
glory.  A dozen ribbons, more, hung in my hair.

My face was carefully painted and colored, smoothed and prepared.  My
face was now that of a twenty-year-old fancy girl, set to enthrall a
saloon full of the largest and most rowdy imaginable crowd of drovers
just off a state-wide cattle drive.

A stranger's kohl-daubed eyes fluttered at mine, signaling the
possession of unimaginable delights.  I felt as if every one of those
cattle drivers would have gladly paid fifty dollars for an hour's
pleasure.

I had to stare at my .... lower parts.  Nine and Kira practically had
to hold me down to control my agitation as they ....

I guess it was as Nine said, and for once I was dearly and fervently
hoping it were true, if I wanted to look like a forty-dollar whore, I
had to go through the entire ....  I had to look the part.

So they trimmed me.

Not much I guess.  But I looked different from the last time I saw
myself in the altogether in a mirror.

Still beet red in my face, I carefully turned to my ....  My fellow
conspirators.  My voice was a mousey squeak when I asked: "Do I look
convincing?"

Kira licked her lips at me.  "Me, I would pay fifty dollars to take
you to bed and ravish you.  You look worth it."

Nine touched one perfect painted cheek with a caress of what I
realized was deepest regret.  "I would pay a thousand and keep you a
week."

I was suddenly hugging them and they were hugging me.

"STOP!" Nine shouted.  "Kathryn Janeway, you expensive whore, you, you
WILL NOT cry!  Not after all the work I've put into that face of
yours.

"Now go, wanton!" she said, pointing at the door.  "Go forth and earn
purses of gold for the both of us!

Always remember!  With you goes the honor and more importantly, the
reputation of the "Borg Palace"!  Across five states and Dakota and
Wyoming Territories we are known for possessing the prettiest, most
ravishing, cutest and most sexy women a man may hold.  Provided he has
the gold to pay for the earth-shaking pleasures only my girls may
deliver."

I think she panted slightly after that speech.  I couldn't tell.  My
ears were ringing and I was still blushing.  I hoped my entire body
wasn't burning into a bright pink.

Nine opened the door, and both Kira and Nine chastely gave me a light
buss on the way out.

Outside Nicoletti and one of my teenage girls were holding a fantastic
rich light blue silk kimono open for me, helping me into it, belting
it and patting me on the shoulder.  Ahead Bruno Chell, in his best and
most colorful bouncer's clothes, including a dark red leather vest,
patiently waited for me.  Looking behind himself now, he smiled a thin
loving smile of support and regard in my direction.  He too touched a
shoulder.  And then we were off.

I was surrounded by people I had come to regard highly, these past few
months.  Suddenly I felt a lot more confident.

Two flights of stairs, and then I was facing the door of my first ....
client.  Nicoletti took the wrap, and all retreated.  Leaving me alone
to face this .... next step.

I knocked,  Knocked again, then opened the door wide, immediately
stepping inside.  As the door was firmly closed, I turned to a
goggle-eyed Mr. Harry Kim and finally spoke to him.  The man I would
make my next husband.

"Well ....  Hi there, cowboy!  I understand you're looking for the
most beautiful and absolutely the best and most exciting fancy saloon
girl in the entire Wild, Wild West?

"Can I see the fifty dollars first?"

I think the part where I hooked one foot onto his cane-bottom chair
was the best part.  I didn't fall neither.

I hope Harry understood I had made my choice as to which of my four
men I wanted to court me.

---

The End

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