Black powder and lace
copyright 2011 Faeriemage
When the entire universe is stacked against you, all you can do is change the game.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not my usual fare, and in fact is quite a bit off the beaten path here at BC/TS, all things considered. I am one of those people who would love to write a historical fiction, but am entirely too anal to be able to take it up.

Enter Science Fiction, or a specific sub genre called 'After the Fall.' This is not in any way a post apocalyptic story. These types of stories are usually focused on what happens centuries after man loses technology, and usually are set on other worlds, ones on which man was not specifically meant to live.

Many of the greats of 'Military Sci-Fi' have written in this genre, something that I am not. I am a dabbler into military history myself.

This genre, however, allows me to get into something I'd like to do, without the need for exhaustive research, or being left with that disquieting feeling that I have missed something. I am one who takes the view that the people who were there, even the unnamed masses, have stories. This does not keep me from reading, and enjoying, historical fiction. It does, however, keep me from writing it.

I like to be able to know what all my characters have done, are doing, and will do. I like to be in control. With a completely fictional setting, this allows me that freedom to create.

In this case, I am using a science fiction back drop to create a twist on an era that is long past on our own world.

I am writing this story for me. Comments are always welcome, and will be appreciated, but I am aware that this sort of story will not be everyone's cup of tea, and it may be that I completely fail at it. It will be a learning experience either way.

If there is a huge uproar of distaste I can stop posting this, but that will of course depend on what all of you think of this humble offering.

---

The only light in the dark alley was produced by the dim glowing points of the matches as they hissed away in their clamps. As the men awaited their prey, they adjusted the length minutely every couple of minutes.

The veterans made sure that the damp of the fog wasn't affecting their powder.

The long bore muskets that they were using were heavy and almost six feet long. This created a problem for the men trying to use these weapons. Since the time between pulling the trigger and the ball being ejected from the end of the muzzle was measured in seconds, they needed to either be steadied by a second man, or rested on a fork, when you had time to set up.

The men had been standing there for almost an hour, and their forks were placed and at the ready.

Their officer felt a sneeze building in her nose.

This was something noteworthy in itself. Not the sneeze. That was normal for the officer, and something that her men though funny. She was the only person they knew who always sneezed when they fired their weapons.

No, what was amazing was the fact that she was a woman, and that her people had no clue.

"Sir, how much longer are we going to wait here in the cold for these smugglers?"

"Keep your voice down, Sergeant!" she said in the tenor tones that she affected whenever she was in uniform.

"But sir, I'm cold…"

"Sergeant Sikes, if you keep talking I'm going to kick you so hard that you'll forget how cold you are."

There was a round of chuckles at this. Not so much because the short officer would do it. No. They'd seen her carry out corporal punishment before.

More it was the fact that Sergeant Sikes was acting for their benefit, and the officer, and her men, knew it. Sikes was a master at pitching his voice so that no one he didn't want to hear him could possibly hear him.

The officer hadn't mastered that trick yet, but she was new to the platoon. New to the musketeers. Sikes though her a decent enough bloke, and a much better officer than many he'd broken in through his years of service. Sure, she was small, and skinny, but she knew where to hit a man to get him moving, and usually just had to voice a choice word or two to do the same.

The rest of the men looked at her diminutive size and saw nothing more than the dandy they took her for. Impeccable grooming and a habit of taking baths at every opportunity did nothing to lessen this image that they had.

Tension mounted when the sound of tack jingling at the open mouth of the alley alerted the men to their quarry.

The officer smiled, her teeth shining in the near darkness. At this time of the evening, she doubted that it could possibly be anyone other than her prey, but she would make sure, just in case.

"In the name of the king, stand to and prepare to be searched for contraband!"

The scrape of swords being pulled from their scabbards was unmistakable, but still the officer held her fire. The men began to charge, trying to get past the thirty feet separating them before the slow firing weapons could discharge.

As soon as they blocked the alley, the officer said in a calm, quiet voice, "Fire."

Hell was unleashed on earth. The sulfur stink permeated the alley, and the officer sneezed, twice.

One of her men yelled out, "God Bless," to general snickering, through which they lay down their muskets, some more forcefully than others, and drew their swords.

Still calm, the woman called the charge, "For the King and Fleese! For the Musketeers!"

Two rows of muskets five men across had shot ten musket balls into the packed mass of humanity charging at them. Two had curved into the sides and pancaked against the walls, leaving smears of lead behind. One had fallen short, as the powder had become partially fouled.

Seven reached their targets and tore completely through the front line, lodging into the one behind.

Blood poured into the street making the slick cobbles even more treacherous for men now forced to jump over their comrades. A number failed and went crashing into the ground. From seven shots, fourteen men were wounded.

One of the men at the rear lit the flares they'd kept for this point, and a blinding magnesium light shown from behind the king's men. The officer pushed past her men and charged into the fray. It was over the moment that they lit off the flare, but didn't end until the enemy stopped moaning.

A ragged cheer rang out, and Sikes sought out his officer.

"Well, Lieutenant Handel, it seems you've brought us through safely after all."

"Not without your help, Sergeant."

"A good officer knows how to use his NCOs, but a great one knows to let them lead. You have the makings of a great one."

"Sergeant Sikes, get your ass back in line and let's get back to the barracks."

Those who heard the interchange laughed, and Sikes called out to them in a parade ground bellow.

"Alright you momma's boys. Collect your kit and form up."

"The sergeant's cold and wants to get home to his fire and blankie!" one of the men called out.

"Bearings, if you make one more comment, I'll make you march back to your bunk naked."

When Bearings, a natural born exhibitionist if there ever was one, began to strip, Lt. Handel called out.

"Bearings, if you don't stop stripping, I'll bury you in the latrine."

The laugher was a little more raucous at this, and Bearings stopped stripping.

"But, sir."

"Bearings, what did I tell you about making another comment! Strip!"

The laughter was uncontrolled at this point, and even Lt. Handel joined in.

Sikes walked over to the officer and whispered, "Are you really going to bury him in the latrine?"

"Only up to his neck."

Sikes snickered and clapped the young officer on the back.

"Gather your gear, Bearings, or it comes out of your pay," called Lt. Handel.

Bearings grumbled at this a bit, put his boots back on for the march back home, and saluted as best as he was able.

While they stood there in their lines, Lt. Handel searched the bodies. She cut the crests from a couple of the men's tunics as evidence.

"Sergeant, take a couple of men and secure the horses. Take ones who can ride this time," she said with a smile.

Sikes called out a couple of names and they went to get the wagons to bring along.

"March!"

Lieutenant Mar Handel wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with her. She knew that the men around her could easily become aroused at even the tiniest bit of the proper scintilla of flesh showing. She felt no stirrings at all seeing the naked Bearings marching in front of her.

She found the naked male body to be a bit repulsive. Not that she found the female body any less so. She just never felt herself aroused by anyone. No quickening of the heart, like her sisters had talked about. No blood flow to the nethers like the guys.

Nothing she could pinpoint.

Mostly she saw it as something to get in the way of her goal of leading a regiment into war some day.

The boys began a marching song, one that would have made her blush a few short months ago, but only made her smile now. She let them have their fun. There'd be time for discipline tomorrow.

"Hey, Mar. You up?"

"I just got to sleep, Wil, can't it wait?"

Having people share her room with her required more care than she would otherwise have needed, but being an unmarried officer she was forced to live in the barracks with her men. She only had to share with two other junior lieutenants, but it was a hassle never the less. She had to make sure never to get undressed in their presence. They thought it a bit peculiar, but everyone has their peculiarities.

"It's after nine o'clock."

Mar let loose a profanity or two and leapt from her bed. She quickly donned the uniform jacket she'd hung at the foot of her bed and did up the buttons.

She'd have to skip the farce of shaving this morning, hoping no one would notice. Men seemed to miss little things like that regularly, a fact she didn't mind, but not something she could rely upon for the long term. Eventually someone would notice that she never needed to shave.

"Sikes already dismissed your men, and the Colonel said that they would have light duty today. He's like to see you however."

More profanities as her boots refused to go on her feet. Eventually, her sleep deprived mind realized she was attempting to put them on the wrong feet and fixed the problem.

Men were at drill. Some marching in perfect formations. Some loading, firing, and reloading to the cadence of the drums. Each motion part of a complex dance. A dance that quickened her heart like none she'd ever known before this life of sweat and honor.

She was the master of this dance, and it always…

She sneezed as the smallest whiff of powder smoke reached her.

"Good Morning, Lieutenant Handel!" the troop firing called out in a sing song upon hearing her sneeze.

Her expression hardened, but she didn't have the time at the moment to lay into them. A command appearance with the colonel was more important.

The colonel's adjutant, Captain Briant, a man even more foppish than Mar, looked up as she entered the antechamber.

"Ah, Mar. How pleasant to see you here!"

There were rumors floating around camp about Cpt. Briant's…predilections…and Mar suppressed a shudder. If he were turning his sights on the too pretty Lieutenant of muskets then Mar would have to watch herself. Even he wouldn't accept a sheep in wolf's clothing like her.

"I was called in by the colonel, Captain."

"Then go right in, Mar."

She glared at him, but he only laughed.

"Ah, Mar. Come in. Have a seat."

"Colonel," she said as soon as she was seated, "I haven't done anything wrong have I? My unit has completed the task given to us admirably. The wagons and horses have been added to the train. The contraband is under guard…"

"Relax, Mar. This isn't a punishment, unless you consider lace and petticoats to be a punishment."

Mar blanched a little, and allowed her confusion to peak through. Could he possibly know…

"A dance, Mar, a formal ball. What did you think I was suggesting?"

Mar began to laugh. "Sorry, sir, It was a long night. For some reason I thought you might be suggesting I parade around in one of those confections."

The colonel began to laugh, "that, Mar, is one of the funniest things I've heard all day. Imagine requiring one of my soldiers to march in that. Talk about a punishment to humble even the most crass among us."

Mar smiled politely at his comment.

"No, Mar, a dance. I was thinking to reward your action last night. Got your report by the way. Reading between the lines I can tell that you greatly underplayed your part in that. I have it from good authority that you led the charge? Well, I expected you to be a lead from your bunk type…pleasantly surprised I must say."

Mar colored and allowed a bit of her anger to peek through. The colonel had been on the edge of calling her a coward, but without a more specific statement…

The colonel glowered at her. "You know how I feel about dueling between the ranks, Lieutenant. And need I remind you that I have survived more than ten times the duels that you have."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I should have thought a bit more carefully before making my statement. I know you are not a coward, Mar, and I saw your duel with Lieutenant Hicks. He never even knew he was dead. Letting your men charge in is not a statement of cowardice, Mar. It is just a statement. A pitched battle is not a duel, and I wish more of my men would understand that. This time it worked out for you, but I truly wish that you would use that head of yours for more than just holding up your hat next time. I meant it as a hope, not a suggestion of anything you lacked."

The shock on Mar's face was evident.

"You…want me to send my men in first?"

"Mar, your men are more easily replaced than you are. Back to more important matters. On Thursday there is a dance. My adjutant always seems to neglect his duty at these, and I thought to give you an opportunity to accompany me."

"His duty?"

"Stay sober. Dance with the ladies. And make sure I leave before I make a complete fool of myself."

"Sir…"

"Before you say that I could never be a fool, realize that I am an old campaigner and I know a feint when I see one."

Mar genuinely smiled at this.

"Just wear your best uniform and we should be fine. Who knows, you might even wheedle your way into a patronage. Heaven knows some ladies like a man who is prettier than they."

Mar marched into the hall a step to the left and a step behind the colonel.

"Colonel Leftbridge, at last!"

The man, one Lord Amherst, was wearing a parody of the colonel's regimental uniform. Not intended to mock, more intended to flatter. It was something Mar's father would have called borrowed honors. The woman standing beside him had Mar's sympathy. Mar could hear the slight creaking of her corset as she attempted to breathe.

Mar was so glad to be rid of those for what she hoped would be forever.

The ladies in the room wore confections of silk and lace, and for a moment Mar felt a longing to be back there among them. To be pretty and desired. The moment was pushed aside. She wanted more to command men. To be on the field of battle. To achieve glory by the sword, and one day, to possibly die by the sword. The prattling of the other women about flowers and woodland animals that went on at one of these social gatherings used to bore her to tears.

What sane person actually likes the sciences?

Mar brought herself back to the issue at hand as she was being introduced.

"May I present Mar Handel."

"Handel …did I know your father? Strange, I never thought he had a son …"

"My father was many things, and insane was one of them. You knew he dabbled in the sciences?"

The look of shock on Lord and Lady Amherst's faces was exactly what Mar had been looking for. She might as well have accused her father of witchcraft.

"He kept me away from the public eye, attempting to teach me to enjoy his pursuit."

"You poor dear," Lady Amherst intoned, "He didn't do anything …untoward to you, did he?"

"No, Lady Amherst. Nothing like that."

"Well, I think this is enough dwelling on the past, and as you two seem to be our last guests, let me introduce you around."

Lady Amherst took Mar by the arm and all but dragged her off to meet the ladies scattered around the dance.

Ale chuckled as he watched his wife go, "Looks like young Mar might have a patron already, eh Kei."

"Ale, I'm surprised at you! And your wife?"

"Stop right there, Kei. You know that my wife and I have … and arrangement."

Kei Leftbridge grimaced in disgust.

"I see you're still not married, Kei. You are one of my older friends, but until you get to deal with the trials of marriage, don't look down upon how I deal with them."

"How many of your children are yours, Ale."

"The first one." Ale said with a chuckle. "Hence the reason he's the only one who gets anything from me."

"Well, I need a drink after that revelation," Kei said. Ale said that his friend needed a drink after every revelation and the two old friends wandered off to find some refreshment.

Lady Amherst's innuendo was becoming more and more obvious as the night wore on. Mar was doing her best to extricate herself politely, and having no luck.

She looked around desperately for an escape route, and finally spied one. What Mar first noticed about her was her hair. Unlike most of the women around her who had hair varying from dark brown to almost black, the girl's hair was golden. It set off the pale blue of her dress almost as if it were a gem placed upon her head for that very purpose. It cascaded down her back, loose over the pale skin and silk alike.

She turned in that moment, and for the first time Mar saw her face. Her eyes, the color of amber, met Mar's for the briefest moment, and Mar disappeared into them. Then her gaze passed on, unseeing. She was looking around the room, as if searching for someone, and Mar used that as an excuse.

"Lady Amherst, I have just seen an old friend. If you'll excuse me?"

Her heart raced as she approached the unknown beauty. More than it had when she had been standing in that alleyway a couple of nights ago. Mar did not slow down as she approached, hoping that this unknown beauty would play along. Hoping the girl would … something. Mar was confused by her own emotions in that moment, and only knew that she wanted something indefinable from the other person.

She put her arm around the girl's waist and drew her into an embrace.

"If you don't mind, please don't scream out. I'm attempting to escape the attentions of our hostess and I've told her that you're a dear old friend."

"Well, it seems we'll both be useful to each other, then, as I know absolutely no one here, and I was beginning to worry I was drawing unwanted attention." There was a slight lilt to the woman's voice, an accent that Mar couldn't place.

"You would draw attention no matter who you were standing with. It is rare that a woman allows her daughters to be seen in public with loose un-dyed hair. And with that shade? Scandalous."

The girl blushed prettily, and Mar's heart skipped a beat. Mar's smile faded. She couldn't risk this. She knew that any relationship she had would have to be at a distance, but for the first time she felt drawn to another person. It was the hair. It had to be. It was just the strangeness of the hair.

For a moment, the girl seemed shocked by the revelation, but then her face smoothed and she smiled. All of Mar's fears melted in the heat of that smile.

Mar took a step back, and took the girl's hand. "Mar Handel at your service, ma'am." She brought the tips of the girl's gloved fingers to her lips in the merest suggestion of a kiss.

The girl blushed, and Mar realized that she was going to be spending a lot of time trying to get this girl to blush.

"Anhelette, Anhelette Livingston."

"Pleased to meet you, Anhelette. Would you care for a dance?"

Anhelette smiled and gave the slightest of nods. Mar offered the girl her arm, and they entered the complex form of the dance.