EXTRACT FOR
Gateway To Hell
(Ted Edwards)

Miss Strachy was in there, now carrying a clip-board and dressed in plain black; still a two-piece, but in stark contrast to the multi-hued dresses of the girls who'd assembled. All the dresses were very similar to Janie's, but it seemed that the colours had been chose to match individual hair and complexion, for there were no such clashes.

      It was a much more glamorous group that it had been before ??" there was only the original group present ??" because all had been made-up to the same level as Janie herself. She wondered just how many had had a visit from one of the other hostesses and if they'd acted in the same way as number fifteen. Certainly there was a lot more frowning and a few puzzled and concerned looks, though how much of that was due to experiences similar to her own and how much to the way they were dressed, plus the pressures of knowing that one was under scrutiny was hard to guess. Certainly, those girls who had chosen to sit in the easy chairs ??" not many ??" were having a hard time of it, continually tugging at the hem of their dresses to stay modest. Not that it mattered, given what Miss Strachy said.

      "Be so kind as to be seated where I can see you."

      There was some hesitation. One girl - one that hadn't been with Janie's group on the train, a brunette with glorious hair, moderate boobs and fantastic legs - actually protested. "I can't sit in that chair with this dress and no panties!"

      She had a very good point, Janie saw. With the length of those legs, she'd be practically naked from the waist down! But the protest, which had several girls moving towards the protester in support, met with an icy glare and an even icier tone of voice.

      "What is your number?"

      There was eye contact, but it didn't last long. The red-head succumbed quickly. "Gl? Thirty-five," she mumbled.

      "Do you wish to remain as a Hostess Trainee?"

      There was a minute paused. "Yes."

       The voice practically crackled. "How do you address me girl?"

      The red-head flinched. "M? Miss Strachy. I? I'm sorry, I forgot."

      "Obviously." The black eyes held her for a moment then moved to the others who were still standing, one or two of whom were beginning to edge towards chairs. 

      "We make rules," she snapped, "for very good reasons, one of them being that we wish to see whether girls are ready to accept guidance and instruction. Or, to put in another, rather unfashionable way, discipline. It is plain that that is, in some of you, lacking. Do you see any men present? Do you imagine that I am some sort of pervert?" The eyes returned to bore into the unfortunate number twenty-two. "Well?" she demanded.

      The head dropped. "No, Miss Strachy," she mumbled.

      There was no response; the eyes did it all. Humbled, driven by that icy stare, the unwilling ones, Janie one of them, moved to chairs and sat. And began that same futile exercise of tugging at the hem of the dress; she simply couldn't help it. Miss Strachy stood for a moment, still glaring then lifted the clipboard and jotted a note. With the pen still poised over the clipboard, she moved with an unconsciously easy grace, to the end of the line, standing back a little. Not for the first time Janie realised that, despite the severe clothes and the way that her hair was pulled back, the woman was really very attractive. If she'd? Then she saw what was happening and a stab of terror struck her. Oh, God! She was checking to see if anyone was wearing panties!

      It was true. Miss Strachy was moving slowly, checking every woman present from head to tail, nothing escaping that eagle eye. She stopped in front of a blonde thee of four chairs down from an agonised, panicking Janie. The girl's face was flaming bright red, just as was her own, Janie knew. She knew why, too.

      "What is your number?" said the chill voice.

      The girl swallowed, tried to speak, swallowed again finally managed a croak. "It's too shor?"

      "Number, girl! If I want a discussion , I'll ask for it!"

      "S? sixteen."

      "Sixteen, who?"

      "S? sixteen, Miss Strachy."

      "Take them off."

      "What?"

      "Take them off, here and now. Or walk out of that door and out of the programme."

      Janie thought that the humiliation of watching the girl stand, strip off her panties and drape them over the back of the seat while fighting back tears was bad enough. She soon found that actually doing it was infinitely worse. She wanted the deck to open beneath her and let her tumble to oblivion as she teetered on one leg and pulled that guilty thing off, trying to avoid the eyes of her companions who were doing their best not to look at her. One more girl after her received the same treatment before the dominating woman was back in front of them, the clipboard in one hand by her side.

      "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, I can get on with what I was going to be saying some minutes ago."

      Janie face burned anew and she squirmed in the seat. The movement brought fresh air on to flesh that that she thought all too exposed, deepening that blush. She knew that Miss Strachy had seen that reaction, but nothing showed on her face.

      "We have taken on some passengers specially selected for this training exercise. Quite soon, they will begin to call for hostesses, indicated by the lamp over the screens." She half-turned to indicate the globe as she had earlier. "The hostess number will appear on the screens along with the area where that girl is required. I know that I've said this before, but it bears repeating. When you see your number appear, check the location on the map of the ship and make your way there at your best speed and without delay." 

      Now the corner of her mouth curled up slightly. "I noticed that some of you have trouble with the high heels that we ask you to wear. Don't feel bad about that, but do be careful how you go. You must not," her eyes grew flinty again, "in any circumstances take them off. You must appear at your best at all times." She looked around the group, slowly and deliberately as if challenging them to question her. None did. She nodded, a gesture clearly intended for her own use and with a private meaning. "Some of the passengers will be deliberately awkward to handle; you must do your best to deal with that calmly, patiently and politely. You must also bear in mind that you are dressed? provocatively. That, too, is deliberate, since we wish to test the way in which you carry yourself I such circumstances. Remember that the passengers will be reporting back to us and behave accordingly. I know it feels as if you're being thrown in at the deep end, but believe me, it's the best way, it really is. That's all. Good luck."

      No one had a chance to ask a question; before anyone had drawn breath, she was gone, leaving behind a stunned, uncomfortable silence and twenty pairs of eyes staring at the closed door. That lasted all of ten seconds before the red-head who'd challenged the length of the dresses twisted round in her seat to face the rest of them. "I think," she said indignantly, "that that's a bloody chee?"

      Boing. Boing. Boing.  'Passengers please note: the line has been crossed. I repeat: the line has been crossed.'

      "What??" started the red-head.

      And then the light over the pedestal lit, flickered then stayed lit, while the screens below went mad. Another stunned silence, followed by a surge of bodies as girls pushed themselves out of chairs towards the screens.

      "Ouch!"

      "Sorry!"

      "I've forgotten my number!"

      "Oh, there's me! Where's E deck?"

      Jamie found that if she stuck her elbows out she could fend off some of the jostling bodies that were tending to topple her. Then she saw her number, right at the top of the screen. '43 ??" B Deck, Suite 3.'

      B deck? That was up, wasn't it? Qualms, concerns and the memory of humiliation forgotten, she fought through the throng to the map of the ship on the wall. 

	"You are a real piss-taker, Pris!"

	She tossed the clipboard on to a chair and unbuttoned the jacket of her suit, grinning at the speaker, a well-built, good-looking man in his early forties, dressed in a sweater and slacks. There were others present in the Owner's Lounge, all in uniform, notable among them a grey-haired man with four stripes on the dark-blue of his uniform. All were sitting looking at the bank of screens that covered one entire wall of the lounge. One showed the pandemonium that had broken out in the Hostess' Lounge; others showed cabins both empty and occupied. 

	She pulled off the jacket and tossed it on to the chair where the clipboard lay, moving her look to the captain. "Who's driving?"

      "I thought I'd give the steward a go." He glanced at the screens, then back to her. "I fancy the second one you caught wearing knickers."

      "Someone do me a gin and it, please. You would, you randy old goat. She's the youngest of the lot; just about seventeen at a guess. And stop drooling; it makes you look old!" Someone handed her the drink she'd asked for. She thanked him and looked back to the first speaker. "What was that, Pluto? Or was that Bluto?"

      He laughed. "I said that you're a real piss-take, sweetheart. 'It's the best way, it really is'! And they bloody swallowed it whole!" 

      She squirmed with pleasure. "But isn't it such fun?" taking a sip of her drink she, moved to his chair, nudged his arm away and sat on the arm-rest. "Well, they aren't exactly classical scholars, are they? Not one of them picked up on the name of the ship."

      "I'm not sure I'd have known that Avernus was the name of the gates of hell if you hadn't told me." 

      She sniffed. "Pearls before swine! I don't know why I bother." She turned to the captain. "I think it's time we changed the name, by the way."

      He shrugged. "It's easy enough, as you know. Just change the registration. Pity, I quite like 'Avernus'; it does suit us." He glanced at her male companion, who had slipped his arm round her waist in a gesture of easy familiarity. "Will that mean that you'll be changing your name too? You can hardly be king of the underworld without a realm, can you?"

      The man known as Pluto snorted. "Not bloody likely! That's my trade-mark! Anyway," he glanced up at the woman sitting at his side, smiling, "it was my name that gave Priscilla the idea for the ship's name, remember." 

      She put her hand on his head and tousled his hair. "Not me, lover: one of the Council with a classical education. Funny how many of Britain's great and good took a first in classics and honours in depravity."

      That got a laugh. As it died, the captain looked down at the screen that showed the girls clustered round the ship's plan, just inside the Hostess' Lounge. "D'ye know," he said thoughtfully, "I fancy a flutter on that one on the Virgin Stakes."

      There was more laughter, this time a spontaneous bellow from the officers, quickly silenced when he turned to glare at them. But he couldn't quieten the guffaws of the owners' representative or her companion. It took her some time to find her control and she had to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, careless of what that did to her make-up. "I thought we'd given that up as a bad job ages ago!" she half-choked, the laughter still in her throat. "Are you serious?"

      His eyes took on a dogged, slightly defensive look. "I just fancy her for a virgin, that's all."

      She snorted and almost broke into laughter again, but held it back. "You just fancy her, that's all! All right, it'll cost you a hundred dollars? and I'll give you a hundred to one against. Oh, and if, by some miracle you do win, you realise that you won't be able to have her, don't you?"

      "I won't mind that so much with ten thousand smackers in my pocket. And yes, I did know that you have a standing order for virgins, but I can't see the attraction, personally."

      "That's because you aren't an Arab, my dear Captain. Or a Burmese ??" isn't that Myanmar now? - war-lord, or a Borneo sultan. They'll bid each other to the ceiling if a genuine virgin comes up. And I won't mind paying you that bet in the circumstances, I promise you! I?"

      "Hey-hey! Someone's for the rubber pants!" called one of the officers, who'd been watching the progress of crew-members who were busy searching the cabins of the newly-arrived girls. One of them was grinning up at the spy camera with a mobile phone in his hand and a grin on his face. 

      Priscilla looked over. "There's a few of them due; in fact, I've a damned good mind to give them all a taste for being thick. What's the cabin number?"

      "F sixty-two; number forty-three, I think."

      She grinned at the captain. "That's your virgin, Captain. There's one part of her won't be virgin come bed time tonight! Tell you what, if you win your bet, you can lay half a dozen on her."

      "Is that extra?"

      "Greedy sod. Yes, all right."

      "In that case you're on! Why should the crew have all the fun?"

      "You get your share. In fact, I'm thinking of cutting your salary to compensate for wear and tear on my slaves. Ah! I see that our birds are beginning to fly the nest! Let's just settle back and watch the fun, shall we? Let them find out just what sort of hell the good ship Avernus has led them into!"