Lights dimmed in the garish nightclub except for those illuminating the stage. A disembodied voice proclaimed, " And now the Palace is proud to present the featured act of the evening, the most erotic spectacle ever seen by mortal man!"

Two stunningly beautiful young women entered the stage, a statuesque blonde, identified by the announcer as Candy, and a willowy brunette named Heather. Their costumes were a welcome change from the tawdry lingerie worn by the dreary strippers, most of them Skraelings, who had humped and bumped their way through previous acts.

Tennis skirts extended just inches below the juncture of their elegant legs. Halter tops color co-ordinated to their skirts revealed taught, trim midriffs, while bobby sox and athletic shoes enhanced their fresh, youthful appearance. The impression was of two wholesome girls, just past their teens, prepared for a sports outing. Others might have found their charms reminiscent of high school cheerleaders, flashing glimpses of lithe limbs and blossoming female mysteries. The dichotomy of modesty and temptation was overwhelmingly provocative.

The audience erupted in boisterous, vulgar and deafening applause, dwarfing anything heard earlier. However, the reaction of two men seated near the back of the smoke-filled club was dutiful at best, just sufficient to avoid undue attention. They were not risking their lives inside System territory just to watch a striptease show. The younger of the two was stocky, clean shaven, dressed in jeans and a sport shirt. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. In response to the thunderous applause he leaned closer to his companion and commented, "Seems like White women are still the most desired creatures on Midgard, huh, Trebor?"

Trebor, a whip-lean man fifteen years older, sporting a short, neatly trimmed beard, replied, "Yeah, what few of them there still are."

As the raucous noise subsided, the sound of sensuous music could be heard. The two girls on stage faced each other within touching distance, and began to undulate in a provocative sexual dance, synchronized to the music. Their incomparable charms were blatant and undeniable. Equal in beauty, yet with complementary differences, they formed the ideal blend for visual erotica. The voluptuous Candy was the epitome of classic Nordic beauty. Her long shimmering tresses, the color of ripe, yellow wheat, swung freely around her shoulders. A trim waistline accentuated the matchless symmetry of her hips and breasts. Golden skin and flawless geometric curves of calves and inner thighs projected that effect which causes a man to literally ache with need and desire.

She was Aphrodite, goddess of love, sex and wanton lust, reincarnated in the flesh, reborn to command, perform and orchestrate primordial pagan fertility rites.

If Candy was the essence of Aphrodite, then Heather was a Vestal Virgin. Short brown hair framed a delicate face. A cute nose and expressive eyes proclaimed demure modesty. Her slender figure mirrored the nubile form of a nymph, just past puberty. Each exquisite inch declared the passion of first sexual awakening. She was girlish innocence, fearful yet eager, an irresistible invitation to be ravished and deflowered.

Looking deep in each other's eyes, the curvaceous pair began to flirt. With hands resting intimately on each other's hips, they performed in suggestive oscillation the primeval siren song of invitation and consummate carnal lust. To music they parodied the timeless amatory game of domination and submission, or seducer and quarry, of hunter and prey, that generates and underlies intense sexual arousal. Enhancing the fantasy with the allure of the illicit, the blonde goddess revealed herself as a sexual predator. Her hands roamed the velvet-smooth contours of Heather's bare sides and back, then strayed elsewhere, as if by chance or accident, brushing lightly over breasts and flanks.

Impertinent fingers undermining inhibitions while retaining deniability.

The lissom Heather played her role flawlessly, appearing unsure whether to welcome, or resist, the tantalizing and pleasurable caresses once forbidden to another of her own sex. She trembled in eager but apprehensive anticipation of increasingly intimate intrusions on sacrosanct female anatomy. Like a delicate exotic bird, hypnotized by a swaying cobra, the lovely image of innocence submitted to the immodest familiarity and impudent violation of maidenly decorum.

The young man sitting with Trebor asked, "Do you think they really are lesbians?"

"No, Eric, it's highly doubtful," Trebor declared.

"I agree," said Eric, "but why are you so certain?"

Trebor pondered a moment, then expounded, "Men are programmed by nature to be voyeurs. A beautiful woman's body, performing the primal choreography of sexual temptation and arousal is the ultimate aphrodisiac. But men are also programmed to be jealous of other males. So two women performing together doubles the erotic effect with no threat from another male. These girls are paid to please a male audience. In this age, it's doubtful they had many inhibitions to start with, but if so, drugs probably overcame them. I'd bet my life savings that what we see is just an act."

"That's exactly my guess," Eric agreed, and then kidded, "What life savings?" Trebor only grunted in reply. Eric's question was reasonable, though. It was common knowledge that Trebor donated most of the plunder from his raids into System territory to needy Kinsland families. So it was doubtful he had any substantial savings. To date, unlike other KD veterans who had already captured a wife or more wives plural, Trebor had never taken time off from guerrilla warfare for the pleasure of female company. Instead, even as they spoke, Trebor's eyes roamed the room, and the younger man followed his example.

Pretending interest in the show, they circumspectly surveyed the crowd, hoping to spot the owner, one Sidney (Sid) Cohen. KD sympathizers in the Denver area had fingered Sid Cohen as a likely target for retribution and plunder. In addition to the Porno Palace, Cohen owned a chain of pornographic bookstores and theatres. Reliable sources reported that Sid was also a major cocaine distributor who used that drug to procure and control his stable of striptease dancers. Because the stars of Sid's stable were White women, he was a logical target for retribution. Past experience had shown that men like Cohen usually kept substantial sums of cash in their homes, hidden from tax collectors. Invariably the pervert could be "persuaded" to reveal the location of his money, and when necessary the combination to a safe.

Cohen didn't appear to be in the club at the moment, so the avenging duo settled back to wait for closing time.

"What percent of the guys in here would you say are White?" Eric asked his comrade.

Trebor considered for a moment, then replied, "Maybe twenty percent."

"That's what I estimated," the younger man agreed, adding, "This audience sure mirrors 21st century America: eighty percent Negro, Mexican, Oriental and mixtures."

"Yeah, and still the media calls them minorities," Trebor snorted.

While they had been talking, the action on stage increased in intensity. In the ancient, time-tested manner of all of her sex, Heather presented token resistance to Candy's amorous intrusions, knowing instinctively that female favors too easily obtained are seldom deeply treasured.

These subtleties were beyond the comprehension of the boorish spectators, who nonetheless responded with wild approbation to the unfolding drama.

Candy was always the aggressor, initiating each new step in the unveiling of feminine privacies. The coquettish squirming of Heather's supple body betrayed a growing urge to taste the honeyed fruits of verboten pleasures. The disrobing each of the other proceeded with artful elegance. Heather's saucy breasts, although less prominent than Candy's buxom mounds, were ideally proportioned to her slender figure, and equally stunning. Pert nipples projected in arousal from tempting aureolae, begging silently to be touched, savored and tasted.

The effect of such incredible beauty, enhanced by duality, now revealed in natural splendid glory, was so arousing of fundamental, primal lust that the crowd moaned collectively in awe and desire. Eric seized the moment of relative quiet to comment, "Damndest thing I ever saw."

"And hopefully their last such performance here," Trebor growled. "But you said it's all an act," Eric protested, assuming Trebor's comment to mean the two girls' life expectancy had just been shortened to hours at best.

"It is an act. I was speaking of those White girls exposing their goodies to Skraelings."

The conversation still left Eric unsure of Trebor's intentions. In the past, his comrade had been absolutely ruthless in exterminating White male race traitors, but he had been forgiving of wayward White women unless their treason was exceptionally blatant. Trebor often said that defense of the race was men's responsibility. Wayward women should be captured, taken to Kinsland, re-educated and impregnated. Indeed, such was now standard procedure for KD.

On stage, the girls' repertoire changed from subtle and suggestive seduction to shameless crudity, much to the delight of the vulgar spectators. Heather abandoned the last iota of modesty, the last pretense of inhibitions. In the throes of passion she sealed her own debauchment, inciting the blonde femme fatale to molest her writhing body, teasing with thrusting pelvis and coquettish wiggles of her shapely derriere.

Candy explored every inch of the captured brunette's charms with hands now devoid of tenderness. It was closer to rape than love. Her hungry hands violated the once-demure girl's charms with the most intrusive of indecent liberties. Soon the brunette's exquisite body was writhing in apparent rapture, punctuated with moans of ecstasy, concluding with the involuntary convulsions of intense orgasm.

The show was over. The girls separated and waved to the crowd, responding to thunderous applause. A cascade of wadded-up cash was thrown at the stage. As the girls retrieved the money and their clothes, a short, frizzy-haired, middle-aged man bounded onto the stage.

"That's Cohen," Trebor said. The menace in his voice was palpable. With a hand-held microphone, Cohen exhorted additional applause for the girls. Finally he and the strippers exited the stage, into what appeared to be a dressing room. The lights brightened and bouncers began hurrying customers out of the club.

Eric and Trebor blended in with the crowd, then ambled casually to their car. A little over two hours earlier, they had maneuvered the innocuous dark-colored 4-door sedan they were using into a spot at the back of the parking lot belonging to Sid's Porno Palace. They had picked a place affording unrestricted sight of both the side and front entrances to the building.

As always when KD operated inside System territory, they drove a stolen car and kept a supply of purloined license plates in the trunk. With the advent of computerized identification capabilities in almost all police vehicles, no member of the resistance dared to submit even to routine stops by the authorities. They stole the kind of vehicles least likely to draw attention, made certain that headlights, tail lights, brake lights and signal lights were in working order, and obeyed all traffic laws.

On those rare occasions when a KD soldier was nonetheless signaled to pull over, whether by sirens, lights or bullhorns, they had no option but to fight. The standard procedure was to immediately stop, jump out with an assault rifle, and totally neutralize the enemy, then either change license plates or abandon the vehicle. There was no sense trying to outrun radios or helicopters.

In the back seat under a blanket were two backpacks containing emergency rations, water and first-aid kits, in case it did become necessary to abandon a vehicle. Also hidden under the blanket were two .308 caliber rifles and ballistic vests. The vest had custom-made pockets for extra ammunition clips, both for the rifles and for the 9mm handguns concealed on the KD raiders' bodies.

Trebor unlocked the driver's door while Eric used his own key to enter the passenger side. All members on a mission carried keys to all vehicles in case of separation or the death of the driver. As always, the dome light was disconnected to allow surreptitious entry and exit at night. After donning the vests beneath outer clothing, they relaxed, affecting that curious air of apparent unconcern so common to combat veterans, but their watchful eyes were ever alert for police, for anything unusual, and especially for the emergence of Sid Cohen from his gaudy night club. Eric, despite his youthful appearance, had participated in numerous raids over the last six years. His companion's looks were equally deceiving. Dressed in grey slacks and a blue pullover sweater, he could easily pass for a doctor or college professor. In reality, he was one of the most feared and respected KD in all of Kinsland. Proficient in the most functional of several martial arts disciplines and absolutely ruthless with enemies, his exploits were legendary.

Eric was still curious about Trebor's intentions regarding Candy and Heather. Passing time while they waited for Cohen, who undoubtedly was counting the night's proceeds, he broached the subject in an oblique manner. "If we are going to stop those girls from performing again, how do we get their addresses?" he queried.

"Mr. Cohen will tell us." The menace in Trebor's voice had not diminished one iota when the subject was the porno king. A few years earlier, Eric might have shuddered when considering what awaited Sid Cohen in the near future, but now he was inured to the enemies' fate.

"And after we get the girls' addresses?" Eric persisted. "Then we make sure they never again display their charms to Skraelings."

"Okay, damn it how?" Eric knew that Trebor was being obtuse on purpose, his way of teasing a younger comrade. The question was, would the girls be captured or executed?

Trebor pretended to ponder for interminable moments, then opined, "I reckon those two could make some fine babies for me."

"Alright!" Eric enthused. "It's about time you did your reproductive duty." Eric had no interest in the pair for himself, as his heart was set on a high school girl that Trebor had agreed to help him capture. KD informants had picked her as a likely candidate. She was a pretty girl, unfortunately bewitched by universalist poison. Her teachers, parents, the media and every influence in her life had taught her that it was okay, even preferable for White girls to date and mate with Skraelings. She would have to be saved from her own folly before it was too late.

By quarter after two, 15 minutes past the closing time set by Colorado law for establishments serving alcoholic beverages, the parking lot was empty except for the KD raiders' car and an ostentatious limousine parked directly outside the side entrance to the Palace. Soon the door opened and a hulking brute of a man of undiscernible racial origin emerged, followed by Sidney and, to the raiders' surprise, by Candy and Heather. The huge man, whom Eric promptly dubbed "the freak", was apparently a chauffeur and bodyguard. Deferentially he opened the rear doors for the other three, then took his place in the driver's seat.

To the KD men, Sidney looked ridiculous, like a vain peacock, with tight pants, an open shirt and abundant gaudy jewelry adorning his pudgy body. From a distance the girls looked like teenagers, dressed in designer jeans and silky blouses.

The limousine pulled out onto Federal Boulevard and headed south, past sleazy bars, seedy motels and all the ugly effluvium of early 21st century American cities. The raiders followed a half block behind. It would be tricky keeping their quarry in sight without being spotted, but since their contacts in the Denver area had not been able to locate a private residence deeded to Sidney Cohen in the Denver County records office, this surveillance was necessary.

The limousine turned west on 6th Avenue, then south on Wadsworth. "Ah," Trebor murmured, "Jefferson County, the Gods are with us." Jefferson County sprawled many miles west of Denver, all the way into the mountains. Their route home would be relatively uncomplicated.

Eric figured that after Trebor's comment, it would be a long night. Despite Trebor's meticulous planning for guerrilla raids, he also seemed to believe in omens. If he said the Gods were with them, they probably were, or perhaps fortune just favored the bold.

Meanwhile, in the limo, all was not bliss. Even though this was payday for the girls, meaning they would get a week's supply of cocaine and several hundred dollars in cash, their workday was not over. There was still the private performance that Sidney demanded on payday, once a week.

Sidney was not happy either, even though he looked forward to debauching the two White girls. The club had not been fully packed, and receipts were down. He blamed it on the two girls who were holding out for higher pay before they would agree to duplicate the most raunchy acts he required of them in private performances, including oral sex and copulation with simulated male sex organs. Well, tonight - he vowed to himself - they would pay for their obstinacy or no pretty white powder. Whipping naked women while they were tied up in fully exposed and helpless positions was his favorite sport.

The freak turned into the exclusive Green Gables subdivision. Now, late in April, immaculate lawns were just turning green as spring came late in the mile-high city. Palatial homes on huge lots stood up to one hundred yards apart, separated by trees, shrubs and privacy fences, making each residence resemble a secluded estate. The limo turned onto a long driveway, lined by bushes. The quartet, preoccupied with their own thoughts, never thought to look behind them where an unobtrusive sedan eased sedately past the driveway entrance. Nor did they know that the car stopped just yards from the driveway, out of sight behind shrubbery.

"This cheap car stands out like a sore thumb," was Trebor's first comment.

"Why don't I get out and reconnoiter on foot. You can go somewhere and come back in fifteen minutes," Eric suggested. There was agreement. Eric disappeared behind bushes as Trebor headed for more innocuous surroundings. It gave him time to reflect.

It was the knowledge that the beauty of the White Aryan woman might soon disappear from the earth forever that drove him to fight. Yet, despite all he had done to preserve their images, he had not enjoyed the favors of a woman for over fourteen years. He had no illusions about Candy and Heather. Because they were so remarkably beautiful they would be good breeding stock, but little else, at least until after a long period of re-education and discipline.

The last remaining young White women in System territory lived in hedonistic luxury undreamed of by the British monarch two centuries earlier. Drugs, cars, television roles, money and adulation were dumped in their laps while the inventions of White men, from washing machines to microwave ovens eliminated labor. Women do not voluntarily give up such pleasure and luxury no matter how earnestly White men might plead. That's why abducting them was the only recourse. Undoubtedly this pair was even more spoiled and selfish than most. He would have to be harsh and ruthless with re-education and discipline, which wasn't his nature with women. Yet he could not bear the thought of their genetic beauty not being passed on. He sighed deeply and headed back to meet Eric.

Just short of Cohen's driveway, Eric flagged him down. "Yeah, the Gods are with us," he enthused. "It's a huge ranch-style house with an attached 4-car garage. The freak started to leave about five minutes ago, but he had a fatal accident." Eric tapped his knife and grinned, while Trebor chuckled. Eric continued, "The upstairs is dark but I can hear music at the windows. There is a little bit of light, apparently from a basement stairwell. I think they are in the basement. No dogs. There is a burglar alarm system. The back yard is surrounded by a privacy fence. Let's do it!"

Moments later the two silent avatars of vengeance crept silently around the exterior of the immense garage. Trebor carried a canvas kit filled with tools and meters. Both were armed with 9mm handguns and razor-sharp knives.

Eric kept watch through the windows and around the perimeter of the yard while Trebor did his magic with the alarm system. Being a former electronics instructor at Red Rocks College, bypassing alarms was no problem for the elder raider, requiring only time and patience.

Twenty minutes later, the Aryan duo were inside the house, standing in the biggest kitchen Eric had ever seen other than in a commercial establishment. The music, if that's what one could call the primitive noise, was not as loud as they had earlier estimated, but still sufficient to mask any slight sounds of their movements.

As Eric had surmised, the little available light emanated from a stairway to the basement. They inched down the stairs. At the bottom, a partially open door revealed opulent decadence beyond anything they had imagined. Except for one corner of the large room which contained an open communal shower and hot tubs, the entire floor was covered in snow-white, deep-plush carpet. Pictures, too obscene to be called art, interspersed with floor-length mirrors, decorated the otherwise maroon-colored walls. The centerpiece was a bed that must have been custom-made for orgies. It was close to ten-feet-by-ten-feet-square, with video cameras mounted on posts at the corners. Hooks for restraints were strategically placed above and around, a shelf on the headboard held whips and sex toys, while the ceiling above was another mirror.

The KD raiders did not of course know about Sid's vow to debauch the girls with the ultimate in submission. Nor did they know how desperately the girls were hooked on nose-candy. Evidently though, their addiction was sufficient that they had decided to co-operate, for they were both naked, one of them in restraints, the other in action. Turning the spectacle from raunchy to ridiculous was the sight of the depraved Sidney, himself naked, except for gold necklaces, bracelets and rings, with a pot belly hanging over withered legs. He was orchestrating the action with a whip of several short thongs.

The girls were too stoned to notice Trebor and Eric as they approached the scene. Sidney, whose back was to the door, was too engrossed. The first inkling the Porn Palace owner had of impending disaster was sudden and total. With a running thrust kick to the right kidney area, Trebor propelled the absurd looking degenerate onto the bed, where he landed across Candy's back. For a moment there was astonished silence except for the music and an anguished moan from Sidney. Heather's eyes were the first to focus on the KD raiders, and she let out a panicky scream, which she quickly choked off as Eric's 9mm turned her way.

"Nobody makes a sound unless you're asked a question, understand?" Eric's voice left no doubt in anyone's mind that obedience was advisable. Both girls nodded, but the moaning Sidney failed to acknowledge the order. Trebor reached over the bed and butt-stroked the creep in the nose with his gun. A howl of anguish was followed with assurances that the command was indeed understood.

Trebor grabbed a handful of the gold chain around Sid's neck and yanked him from the bed, holding him erect at arm's length.

"Okay, first things first," he began. "You," his gaze fell on Candy, "untie her," he gestured toward Heather with his gun hand. "And you" - each time he spoke there was emphasis on the word you - "how do we turn off that damn racket you call music?" He yanked on the chains. Sniveling Sidney pointed to a control panel on the nearest wall. Heather was now released, and Trebor pointed at her with the gun, "You turn off that noise."

Terrified despite her stoned condition, Heather scurried to obey. The resulting silence magnified the effect of Trebor's menacing voice. "Now you two sit there," he gestured to the nearest edge of the bed. Making no effort to cover their nudity, whether because of shock or the effects of cocaine, they quickly obeyed.

"Alright now, Mr. Cohen, where is the money you brought home?" Cohen started to deny that he carried money home, but was interrupted when Trebor drove a knee into his naked groin, nearly smashing his testicles. For long moments the disgusting creature lay on the floor holding his crotch and whimpering.

"My patience is running out Sidney," Trebor warned.

"In there," the oily degenerate gasped, pointing to a door at the far end of his playroom. Without a word, Eric strode to the door and disappeared from sight. A moment later, he returned with a briefcase which he flipped open on the bed. Inside were perhaps two or three thousand dollars in cash, along with some documents.

"Sidney, Sidney, Sidney," Trebor intoned. "I am disappointed in you. I meant all the money you have brought home."

"That is all," Cohen gasped in a last effort to keep his ill-gotten wealth.

"Okay, if that's how you want to play it," the implacable raider warned. Several broken fingers, a lot of pain and two minutes induced total co-operation. Sidney revealed the location of a hidden wall safe in the same room from which Eric had retrieved the briefcase. And, of course, its combination. Under Trebor's watchful eye and his gun, the three captives remained absolutely silent while Eric went to check the veracity of Sid's confession. Minutes later, he returned, saying, "Yep, a real haul."

Without further ado, Trebor holstered his gun, pulled his knife and in one swift move cut Cohen's throat from ear to ear. Blood spurted from his severed jugular vein, splattering in gruesome abundance over the naked legs and torsos of the stunned girls. Reflexively, they jerked away from their seated positions, gagging at the sight of blood, which to their civilized eyes was a new experience.

Never even glancing at Sidney's still-quivering body, the KD raiders proceeded methodically about their business, each doing what was necessary with a minimum of discussion. Eric stripped a pillow of its case, dumped the cash from the briefcase into it and left for the other room to fill it with the contents of the safe.

Trebor turned to the girls, "Go wash all that blood off." He pointed to the communal shower. As is known to all who experience life-threatening situations, action eases fear. Paralyzed by what they had seen, Candy and Heather regained their co-ordination as they engaged in the familiar routine of showering.

Under the sound of running water, Candy whispered, "You think they're gonna kill us?"

"No, why would he tell us to shower just to kill us?" was Heather's logical response.

"Maybe they intend to rape us?"

"Could be, that's the least of our worries. It's not like we are virgins or something."

"Sometimes rapists torture and kill women."

"Will you shut up with the kill stuff, it scares me," Heather scolded.

"Well, just what do you suggest we do?"

With the practicality of an experienced, worldly woman, Heather declared, "I suggest we fuck their brains out, or whatever they want, however they want, as long as they want, until we get a chance to escape." They agreed on strategy. Finished showering, they attempted to be as sexy and alluring as two nude women can be, as they approached Trebor. However, if they thought their charms would control the situation, such hopes were rudely dashed as he brusquely ordered them to get dressed. The bewildered women exchanged confused glances as they struggled into their clothes. So far there appeared to be one man who could not be manipulated by sexual offers.

Eric had retuned with a pillowcase full of cash. "Think we should look the house over for valuables?"

Trebor looked at his watch, then mused out loud, "It will be daylight in an hour and a half. Figure a little over an hour to the turnoff, what the hell, give it a ten minute look-over. I'll have to keep an eye on these two." Eric bounded up the steps, while the girls heaved sighs of relief. It seemed they weren't about to be killed anyhow.

So far neither man had spoken to the girls outside of brief commands, one of which was to keep silent. So both of them were afraid to initiate a conversation with their ruthless captor. They sat silently on the bed, hoping that the quiet man would say something to reveal their fate, and at the same time dreading what those words might make known. Seemingly endless minutes of fearful suspense dragged on in absolute silence. Finally Candy could not take it anymore.

"Can I ask something?" she ventured timorously.

"May I ask something," Trebor corrected her grammar.

"May I?" Candy repeated, feeling like a chastised school girl.

"Okay, but first hand me one of those sheets off that bed." As Candy and Heather removed an oversized sheet from the huge bed, Trebor reflected that sometimes a woman looked as good dressed as undressed. These two looked good any which way.

Candy handed him a sheet and he sat down on a chair opposite the bed. He pulled the knife from the sheath and began to cut the sheet into strips.

"What's that for?" Candy asked.

"To tie you up with."

"I guess that means you won't let us go?"

"That's right."

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes."

"You won't kill us, will you?"

"No." Trebor's short replies weren't very reassuring.

Candy tried a new approach. "Are you gonna make love to us?"

"Can't make love unless you're in love," was all Trebor replied.

"While Candy and Heather were digesting that in their minds, Eric returned. "Not much we can use, but he did have a .45 caliber handgun and four boxes of ammo in his bedroom."

"Okay then," Trebor said, "here's what we do. I'll drive, one girl sits in the front seat with me. The other sits in the back with you. With these strips we tie the girls together so neither one can jump out if we catch a red light." Trebor addressed the girls, "You saw what happened to Sid. Can I assume that you won't do anything stupid and get the same?" Shuddering, they both vowed co-operation.

Eric had Heather carry the pillowcase filled with money and held her slender wrist firmly in one hand as they exited the house. Trebor similarily kept a tight hold on the blonde. They re-arranged the gear from the back seat, tied the women together and proceeded toward home.

The sky was barely beginning to lighten behind them when they turned west on the 6th Avenue freeway. After an abrupt rebuff of further conversation, Candy and Heather remained silent, lost in fearful contemplation of their future. The effect of the cocaine was wearing off and the result, as usual, was heightened paranoia.

They reached the intersection with Interstate 70 in Golden, got on it and began the ascent into the foothills. Suddenly it dawned on Heather. "Kinsland!" She gasped the word out loud. "You guys are KD." The KD was as well known outside Kinsland as inside, but, of course, they were demonized endlessly in the System press. Every child in America outside Kinsland was indoctrinated from toddlerhood with gruesome tales of kidnapping, torture, rape and mass murder in Kinsland, and by KD operatives everywhere. KD were the bogey men with which mothers threatened disobedient children. Candy and Heather naturally believed every word of System propaganda, so now they were even more terrified.

Some twenty miles west of Golden, Trebor slowed thr car to a crawl, then eased down an exit ramp, dodging huge potholes in what remained of the asphalt surface.

The System kept the major east/west interstates open through Kinsland, even though repair crews had to be accompanied by armed soldiers with air surveillance overhead. They had abandoned all attempts to keep entrance or exit ramps in repair over ten years ago. State and country roads were also in total disrepair. At the bottom of the ramp, Trebor turned north, still traveling between ten and fifteen miles per hour, depending on road conditions.

By six o' clock, even the girls were tired and they had only been awake since noon the previous day. Trebor and Eric were nearly asleep on their feet, having been awake, and often under tension for twenty-four straight hours.

"I've got to go to the bathroom," Candy complained.

"Me too," Heather chimed in.

"Just a few more minutes," they were advised. Sure enough, a few minutes later Trebor stopped the car and moved some underbrush artfully concealing car tracks leading away from the road. The tracks wound out of sight among a thick forset of Ponderosa pine trees. They left the road, replaced the brush, and wended carefully through the dense forest. Within a half mile a log cabin came into view, snuggled so closely among towering trees that it was invisible from the air, except from perhaps a helicopter whose pilot knew exactly where to look.

"Okay, you can untie yourselves now, the outhouse is out back of the cabin. And forget about running away. There's nothing but bears, mountain lions, snakes and forest for twenty miles. And you would be lost in ten minutes."

"An outhouse?" Heather queried.

"Yeah, you said you had to go to the bathroom."

"Oh." Realization dawned on the 21st century city girl. "Come on, Candy, I gotta go."

Trebor and Eric retrieved some foodstuffs and extra blankets from the car trunk and trudged to the cabin's front door, their ever-present rifles slung over left shoulders. Inside the cabin, which was a first station on a trail for supplies and people going in and out of Kinsland, was a stack of foldup cots which sufficed for beds, a wood stove for cooking and heating, and a supply of various clothing and other essentials. Eric looked out the back window to make sure the girls hadn't decided to run off. Candy was waiting outside the door of the one-holer outhouse. Trebor picked up a bucket and went out to get water from a nearby spring, while Eric stepped out to chop some kindling for a fire. So when the girls hesitantly opened the back door of the cabin a few minutes later, it was empty.

"Well, that was a first for me, how about you?" Candy referred to the outhouse.

"Yeah, me too. Did you see all those spider webs? I thought I'd get bitten on the butt!"

Eric entered carrying an armload of kindling. He dumped it into the wood box next to the stove and said, "Would you get a fire started and cook some breakfast please? The supplies are there." He pointed to a box on the kitchen table.

"Uh, well, uh, okay," Heather stammered, unwilling to admit she wouldn't have the faintest idea where to start.

Between them the girls figured out how to remove the heavy metal plates covering the fire bin on the wood-burning cook stove. "I guess we shove wood in here," Candy whispered. But after they did so they found that matches wouldn't set the kindling on fire.

Trebor entered with a bucket of fresh water and looked with amusement on their ineptitude. "Come here," he signaled and led them outside. "These are pine needles at the bottom of the fire bin. Then a layer of cones, and then wood on top of that. Then you set the needles on fire. And be sure the chimney damper is open." Together the city girls accomplished the task, feeling an unusual sense of achievement as they listened to the crackling flames.

"Now, about the food." Heather got back to reality. In the box were eggs, powdered milk, sugar, salt, whole wheat flour, dried fruit and a few other staples."I guess we had better ask them what they want, huh?" Candy asked. "Yeah, I guess so, and probably how to cook it. They probably think we are pretty stupid."

Outside, Trebor and Eric were fastening a camouflage tarpaulin over the car. Candy ventured to speak first. "You guys probably think we're pretty dumb. We wanted to ask you what you wanted for breakfast, but actually we don't know how to cook worth a damn."

"But we can learn," Heather threw in, eager to please, considering the danger they were in. Both girls figured their lives depended on pleasing the KD raiders, and they were ready to pull out all stops in being pleasant and accommodating.

"They belong to you," Eric said, as he resumed tying the tarpaulin down. They belong to you - the four words implied a lot to both Candy and Heather. Images of a harem or being sex slaves flashed through their minds. Or, even worse, slaves without sex. Like all druggies, their greatest panic was that they would be unable to find a supplier of cocaine. At any rate, it was clear that the older man, Trebor, was who they had to please.

"Well, Basic Cooking 101, I guess," Trebor grumbled and headed for the cabin, his captives in tow. Soon the aroma of flapjacks, frying eggs and fresh brewed coffee, enhanced by the smell of burning pine wood filled the cabin.

Suddenly Trebor signaled his neophyte cooks. "Look here," he pointed out a window. Not twenty yards from the back door, a doe and her fawn were foraging. The girls watched, evidently somewhat entranced by something they had never seen before.

"How old is the baby?" Candy asked.

"Oh, probably a couple of months." The fawn imitated its mother, never going more than a few seconds before surveying the area for potential enemies.

"Are you going to shoot them, or don't you like deer meat?"

"We never shoot females, especially if they have little ones, unless we are starving. The females of every species are its greatest treasure," Trebor replied.

"Oh," said Heather, filing the answer away in her mental computer for later digestion.

"Does that mean women, too?" Candy asked eager for confirmation that Sid Cohen's killer didn't plan the same fate for her.

"Good women are treasures, too," was all he said, with the accent on 'good'. It was a bit ambiguous, but Candy resolved that whatever 'good' meant, that's what she would convince Trebor she was.

The subtle meaning of the exchange was not lost on Heather either. Nor did she forget that all women are in competition with each other. She would have to be at least equally as 'good' as Candy.

Both of the girls were surprised at how good the breakfast tasted, despite the cracked platter, tin cups and unipurpose so-called silverware. When they finished eating, Trebor told Candy to help Eric set up cots, advising that they all needed a nap. Then he had Heather load the dirty dishes into a large pan.

"Come along, I'll show you the spring." He led the way some twenty yards upslope behind the cabin.

As Heather dutifully rinsed off cookware in the clear cold water, she ventured to ask, "What did your friend mean when he said, 'they belong to you'?"

"'Belong to' means 'belong to'. You got a problem with that?" There was a hint of belligerence in his reply.

"Uh, well, it just sounds kinda funny to own people." Heather was careful with her words, not wanting to antagonize her captor.

Trebor expounded in some detail. "Sid Cohen owned you, body, soul and mind. He established ownership by getting you addicted to cocaine. I killed your owner and captured you, so now you have a new owner. That's how it's been done for a million years. Just be happy that most Aryan men treat their women with dignity and respect, if and when they have earned that respect. If not, he disciplines them."

Heather realized there was some truth in Trebor's words. She hadn't thought about it as "being owned", but Sidney had certainly controlled her life. While sex was to her just a way of manipulating people, or gaining advantage, or enjoying pure physical pleasure, she could see that Sid had been using her more than she had been using him. Even now, the idea that she might be deprived the seductive high of cocaine bothered her more than the abrupt abduction she had just experienced.

Meanwhile, back in the cabin, Candy was prying Eric for information. She too wanted clarification of Eric's comment 'they belong to you', so she asked what was meant.

"Just what I said," was his succinct reply.

"You mean we are supposed to be his slaves?" Candy asked.

"His wives, eventually, I imagine, although you have a lot to prove and learn. But slaves is a good term for now."

"Oh." She thought about that for a moment, then asked, "How come you don't want one of us? Do you think we are ugly or something?"

"No, you're not ugly, but I've got another girl on my mind right now. Besides, it's long past time that Trebor took some mates."

"Do all the men in Kinsland have more than one wife?"

"Most of them."

"Why?"

"For one thing, monogamy is a synonym for castration and racial suicide. For another Kinsland has the only good White men remaining, so they must breed prolifically."

"Monogamy is castration." Candy was truly puzzled.

"Sexual lust is the mother of battle lust, and battle lust is the mother of nations. The sexual lust of the males of a race that wishes to survive must be fired to a fever pitch and never be slandered, weakened or misdirected," Eric expounded.

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Heather and Trebor.

Before stretching out on the cots for a four hour nap, Candy whispered to Heather, "Boy, have I got some things to tell you."

"Me too," was the response.

Both girls stole surreptitious glances at their captors, particularly at Trebor, noting his lean figure and flat belly. Candy had heard Heather say, "I love a flat-bellied man" often, as she ridiculed either Sid Cohen or one of the pot-bellied spectators watching their act at the Palace. What the girls did not know as they grudgingly admitted to themselves the sexual magnetism of their new "owner", was all through all the eons of time, women have adjusted to their captors, and usually come to love them. It was simply a reflection of all nature, where the hen, the lioness, the mare, or whatever submits to the superior male who has earned through competition the right to breed. Neither did they yet know that jealousy of a sister wife was unnatural and unnecessary.

A few hours later, they were again in the car, prepared to resume their journey.

Several times the girls had heard one of the men refer to someone named Wotan, so in an attempt to curry favor as they traveled slowly toward the northwest, Heather asked, "Who is Wotan?"

"Wotan is the major god of the White man's most common indigenous religion," Trebor explained.

"What's 'indigenous'?"

"It means naturally belonging to, in this case a religion that protects the White race."

"So why haven't I heard of it before?"

"You have! Wednesday is named for Wotan, Thursday for his son Thor, Tuesday for their comrade Tyr, and Friday for Wotan's wife, Frigga."

When Eric noted a System airplane at high altitude, Candy asked, "Aren't you worried about getting bombed?"

"Not anymore. We used to get bombed every day, but now they know we will sneak into their territory and kill a few big-shot politicians or whatever if they do, so its a standoff. They used to shoot missiles at us too, but they were heat-seeking. All they hit were our decoy fires."

"You lived like that for years?" Heather was amazed, and wanted to know why.

"Because this is the only place remaining for White people. The American government has almost exterminated our race."

"My teachers said KD wanted to enslave the whole world."

"How could we do that when there are few White people left and the government has the planes, bombs and missiles? I'll show you how America lies when we get to our maps and reference books," Trebor explained.

For hours they traveled deeper into the forested mountains. Often the men pointed out wildlife: deer, elk, raccoon, a porcupine and even a black bear. The once-exploited wilds were making a determined comeback under the care of nature-oriented Kinslanders.

Shortly before dark, they arrived at what once must have been a charming tourist village. Now over half the buildings were bombed to rubble. "What happened?" asked Candy.

"System bombing raid, was Eric's terse response.

In the center of what remained of the village, Trebor turned off the crumbling highway and they crossed a wooden bridge over a small stream. "just a few minutes to Mathewsville," he announced. The girls in the back seat looked at each other. Then Candy asked, "Are there people in Mathewsville?"

"Yes, it's a Kinsland community," Trebor advised.

There was hurried whispering in the back seat, then Candy asked, "Can we, I mean may we talk to you before we get there?"

"Go ahead, talk."

"I mean alone, please?" Heather chimed in, "Please!"

The men looked at each other, then shrugged their shoulders as if to say, why not? Trebor pulled to the side of the primitive roadway, parked, and Eric got out, saying he would take a little walk.

"Let's stretch our legs too," Trebor suggested. He exited the car and leaned against the front fender, arms crossed. The girls pressed close on each side, still determined to use their sexual charms to get on the killer's good side.

Heather asked, "Are we going to be staying in Mathewsville?"

"Yeah, at least for a while."

"you won't tell people what we were doing at Sid's house, will you, please?" Candy added, "We aren't gay, really, I swear."

Trebor pondered carefully before answering. "First of all the word is queer, not gay. Gay means happy. Queer means a male homosexual. In Kinsland no queer would dare let it be known. Secondly, there are damn few true lesbians among Aryan women. You were putting on a show for the man that owned you. I don't doubt that the sex was enjoyable, but a man was still at the root of things. Finally, there is no reason for anyone in Kinsland to know more about your past than you wish to tell them. Many of our women in Kinsland were captured in System territory have sexual histories as interesting as your own."

"Thank you," both women chimed. Then Candy asked, "How about Eric?"

Trebor assured them his comrade was no gossip. But then, sensing that his captives were getting a bit too comfortable for so early in the game, he added, in a stern tone, "For your own good, though, you better be aware that I own you, and if you displease me, you are mine to punish or dispose of. Just think about Sid Cohen's fate if you get any ideas of escaping, flirting with other men, or being snotty. Do I make myself clear?"

Both captives managed to suppress shudders of apprehension as they profusely expressed willing compliance.

Eric returned and the last leg of their journey resumed. In the back seat, Heather whispered in Candy's ear, "Do you know what the phrase 'fuck for your life' means?"

"I do now," Candy whispered back.

Mathewsville never did "come into view" in the traditional sense of those words. Trebor just suddenly stopped the car beneath a huge Ponderosa pine and killed the engine. Cleverly concealed in dense forest, Candy spotted a cabin. Heather espied another, then another. As they would find out, there were a couple of dozen rustic homes, cabins and former mobile homes within a few hundred yards, and dozens more within a few square miles.

People approached from all directions, and their captors seemed to be extremely popular. Shouts of "Hailsa Kinsmen" reverberated throughout the clearing. Candy and Heather stood uncertainly beside the car, feeling conspicuous in their impractical garb. All the women they saw wore sweaters of jackets as protection against the rapidly cooling mountain air. At this altitude the temperature dropped quickly as the sun disappeared behind mountain peaks. Already they were getting goosebumps on their bare arms.

The women they saw were unusually pretty, and many were pregnant. Most noticeable was the throng of White children. Outside Kinsland they had never seen more than a handful of White children together unless they were outnumbered many times over by colored kids.

"Who are your friends?" someone asked.

Trebor signaled his captives to join him and introduced them by name.

"They will probably be staying with me," Trebor informed the crowd, then added, "I hope you will make them welcome."

The adults all understood exactly what Trebor's words meant. First of all, because the girls were staying with him, neither one belonged to Eric. And because he said 'probably', that meant they still had to pass medical tests. Early 21st century technology had created home testing kits to check for incurable diseases, especially those which were sexually transmitted. The community had the kits and tests were immediately given to captured women considered to be at high risk of infection. The results took only minutes and thus a captive's fate was quickly decided. Incurables were given a lethal injection, believing it to be medicine, and they quietly went to their graves.

A tall attractive woman about Trebor's age approached the girls. "If you'll come with me, we'll get some warm clothes for you," she offered. They looked at Trebor for confirmation. "Good idea, and Greta, would you show them the way to my cabin afterwards."

Greta, the girls and half a dozen other women departed. Candy and Heather were peppered with questions about the System world, especially fashions and morals.

One of the cabins was a storehouse for the entire community. Primarily of clothes, but also of bedding, tools and household needs. Soon the girls had a practical wardrobe conforming to the rest of the community.

Meanwhile, the men outside were full of questions for Eric and Trebor. Signs of System military units, new advances in police technology, and information from KD sympathizers were topics of vital interest to Kinslanders. To say nothing of the vicarious thrills they got from Trebor's unique tongue-in-cheek descriptions of his raids.

Loaded with necessities and guided by Greta, Candy and Heather arrived at Trebor's cabin while the raider was still occupied elsewhere. Greta showed them how to light a kerosene lantern, saying, "We are careful about use of kerosene since it's hard to get." Wishing the girls luck, Greta departed, leaving the two to investigate their new domicile.

This cabin was made of logs and had a wood-burning stove for cooking and heating. An old fashioned double bed with a metal headboard stood near a back wall. A wire strung across one corner of the open cabin served as a clothes rack. Some towels and clothing hung on it. The furniture, including a rocker, was mostly unfinished.

"Well, welcome to hell." Candy let her feelings run free now that they were alone.

"Yeah, I know, but we better get busy like good little slaves do, he could be here any minute."

"You're right," Candy sighed. They hung up their clothes next to Trebor's and started to arrange their new belongings as best as they could, given the meager number of shelves and cupboards.

"You think he will want sex tonight?" Candy speculated.

"Who knows, who cares, let's hope so if it keeps him happy."

"Damn, there's not even a shower or a bathtub. How can you have sex without a shower afterwards?" Candy moaned.

"And I've got to pee," Heather added. Taking the lantern they explored a path behind the cabin and found an outhouse.

After they returned, Heather asked, "You s'pose we're all sleeping in that bed? She pointed. I guess so, it's the only one there is."

They heard footsteps and quickly rose to meet Trebor at the door, their surly attitude miraculously transforming to fake solicitude and cheer.

"Hi, we've been waiting for you," Heather greeted. She realized the words sounded phony but nothing else cheery popped into her head. Trebor's demeanor was courteous but hardly warm. He carried extra blankets and a sleeping bag in his arms.

"Hi to you, too. I guess this is about as far from luxury you're accustomed to as is possible, but we are gonna make it considerably more livable.

Until I get some partitions built, I'll string some wire and we can hang up sheets or blankets for a little privacy when you need it. I'll get a bathtub in here tomorrow. We'll have to fill it the old-fashioned way, water heated on the stove. Now if you two will get a fire started in that stove and heat up a can of stew, we can have a bite of something before bedtime. Tomorrow I'll show you where the pump is, but tonight I'll bring in water. The big tub there is where I keep water for washing and cleaning." He pointed to a large galvanized iron laundry tub. "I keep drinking water in a bucket with a lid. We're working on a water system, so in the future it should get easier." He grabbed a bucket and went outside. As the girls built a fire, which they now knew how to do, they could hear the creaking of an old-fashioned hand pump.

"Christomighty, it's pioneer days," Candy groaned.

"Dammit, Candy, I don't like it any better than you, but bitchin' doesn't help either of us."

"Oh, so what are you, Trebor's little slave?" Candy spat the words out like sour poison.

"If I gotta be," Heather challenged.

Candy thought a minute and the hostility drained out of her. "Okay, I'm sorry, I guess it's just getting to me. Yesterday we had life by the ass, and now this."

"I know, but we've gotta help each other through this." Heather was for the moment the stronger or more composed of the pair.

Later, eating their evening meal, Trebor told them that the community nurse would be by early in the morning to give them a medical checkup. Afterwards as they washed the dishes, he installed a curtain made of a sheet at one end of the cabin so everyone could take a sponge bath in relative privacy. He told them to share the bed, that he had a sleeping bag and the floor was just fine. Dutifully they made a token protest that it was 'his bed'. "An Aryan does not treat his women worse than himself," Trebor pronounced. Then his women had a pronounced effect.

In bed, in the darkest room they had ever experienced - the quietest, too - Heather whispered, "You know, under different circumstances, I could like that guy."

"I've gotta be honest, I could too," Candy admitted, "but we gotta get out of here. I can't live like this."

"Me neither." Absorbed in their thoughts, not the least of which was desire for cocaine, they drifted off to sleep.

In his sleeping bag, Trebor had a lot on his mind. This "taking mates" business was a major project, bigger than he had realized. He was reluctant to establish any real rapport with the girls until the medical tests indicated they were "keepers". He had no illusions about their conciliatory attitude. Their smiles were contrived, motivated by fear and self-interest. There was construction and addition to do on the cabin, and re-education for his captives. But he reminded himself that other KD raiders had gone through the same troubles, so it wasn't an impossible task. As always brutally honest with himself, he recognized the rewards. Sex with these beauties was something special to contemplate. The philosopher in Trebor had never ceased to be amazed at what men will go through to get between a pretty woman's legs, and now he had to include himself. Oh well, he reminded himself, the die was cast, too late to change course now. As always, fatalistic acceptance of what the Norns declared was a switch allowing him to sink into contented sleep.