Thread: Asking for Directions {darkangel76 & Alan23}

Galvie had been face down in the dirt many times in his native land. It was, in am ironic sense, reassuring that the dirt of Amerika did not taste any different. Lieutenant Bertram's foot in the small of his back, holding him down, was by no means a totally familiar situation, yet not quite as alien as might be supposed. He'd had a long and chequered life, after all. And to be scorned by an attractive woman for attractive she certainly was, was the lot of all men at some time, even one as handsome and glib as himself. Our jaunt would hardly be pleasant if you were to be my company, indeed! On the other hand, Galvie was not entirely naive about the effect of a moral, meaning psychological, advantage. Sure, his enemies outnumbered him by many to one and were armed and unrestrained, with the power of the Amerikan nation behind them. Therefore, it behooved him to fight back with what weapons he had. Miss... what was it... some constellation of stars? Crab Nebula? No, surely not. Andromeda, that was it. Andromeda something something Hammond. And engaged to some creature called Smythe. Confident and sure in her position of authority... Or was she? For one thing, he had gained a distinct impression that Miss Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond did not, inwardly, share the confidence she had tried to convey. She had seemed nervous, jumpy. And somewhat disconcerted when he'd stolen a glance at her lips. A girl, then, sure neither of her sexuality nor her abilities. And the blush that had flared up during their brief conversation also spoke volumes. A person in control of a situation, secure of their advantage, does not blush. Nor does her lip flutter as if, for a brief second, she is trying to fight back tears. Perhaps this Harry Smythe creature, her intended, was not as ardent as she might have liked. Or even, her feelings for Harry were not as enthusiastic as she had tried to convey. Or perhaps, even, she was not sure of her own womanhood, and viewed the aftermath of the engagement and marriage with trepidation. Could it even have been something far more mundane, almost comical - that the dress she wore, as well as being far from suitable for travel in the wilds, was also revealing in the extreme, and it was causing her disquiet, being as she was, surrounded by such large numbers of males? Well, there was a weakness there, and he'd find it and use it. He deliberately made his body go limp, forcing the two troopers who hauled him to his feet to exert more strength than they would otherwise have needed, and kept a slightly cynical grin on his lean features as they frogmarched him to the special converted tank that would be his own personal chariot for the journey. During the remaining time of waiting for the off, he sat calmly, a vision of the fields and scrub of his native East Texas before him, not even bothering to peer out through the bars of the prison. There were a million and one things to do before the convey moved. The horses to be watered, provisions to be checked, a horse that needed to be shod at the last moment, fussing around the ambassador to ensure she had receptacle, fan, enough to eat and drink. She was a hothouse flower indeed, and this gave him cause for another inward smile. When facing large odds, it does no harm at all to see a weakness in their leadership. Even an army of lions is easily defeated when lead by a sheep. In fact, it was nearly an hour before the bugles sounded to get started, and the long trail of vehicles and horses moved slowly forward, the hooves of the horses clip-clopping on the hard ground, the tanks' tracks grinding and squealing, the shouts of orders dancing in the aether. The tank, like all such beasts, was not designed for comfort, having little or no springing, but he'd sat and slept on harder surfaces, in less comfortable places, and he gave that little thought. He managed to avoid shedding the slightest tear as the military prison faded into the distance, as they passed through the outskirts of the town and onto the main pike. He wondered what cover-story they'd given, to explain such a large concentration of horses and tanks, and such an ornate carriage. Then he remembered that, cleverly, they'd arranged the big football match, New Britain against Maryland, for two days hence, and the presence of a dignitary and two crack army regiments could be explained in the light of that. The few spectators they passed, some dressed in the green and blue favors of the Nova Bretonians and the far smaller group in the blue and yellow of the visitors, applauded, as the convey passed. Galvie wondered what they'd make of seeing a prison-vehicle with a rough-clad assassin inside, but he noted that the troopers of the 7th were careful to form their horses into a screen around his vehicle whenever they went through a populated area. Well, there was the one small advantage he had, and he'd use it. He knew that, during the halt, it would be the ambassador's personal responsibility to check on his security and though this was a sham well-being. They could not, after all, risk him impugning their treatment of him and thus damage the negotiations. He and Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond would meet again when the entourage halted for the evening. He wondered if he could make her blush again.