A Shootist Disarmed
by Arcie Emm
You may wish to see prior Shootist stories:
1. The Shootist
2. A Sylph Protected / A Shootist Avenged
Chapter 1 - Ms. Dupensk
Bursting forth from Transition, the exploration ship detected a
habitable planet, causing her pilot to begin dreaming about spending
his discovery bonus. Drifting closer, his ship's sensors collecting
more data, those plans grew smaller. He determined it held an abundance
of minerals, yet few were rare and those were buried under deep seas.
He had found a water planet, with the only livable space being islands,
none large enough to hold a decent sized city. Bitter at his
discovery's apparent uselessness, particularly to himself, the pilot
named the planet Pyrite.
He proved correct, few paid attention to his find. The main reaction
coming from the clerk at the Interstellar Discovery and Charting
Partnership while drafting the official chart entry, when he cursed the
predictability of exploration pilots and officially designated the
planet, Pyrite 23.
Its brief flirtation with civilization over, the planet returned to
obscurity. The next period of forgetfulness passing in an eye-blink to
the planet, but lasting over nine centuries for humanity. Not until
another, more fortunate, exploration pilot found a nearby band of
asteroids, dense in rare minerals, did Pyrite 23 find a purpose, at
least to the mining companies intending to exploit the new find.
Recognizing how loneliness, danger, and the emptiness of space could
prey on a miner's thoughts, the companies operated ten day shifts,
before removing a miner for four days of R&R. Which introduced the
question, where too send them, for the frugal employers. Transportation
to nearby, settled worlds seemed a reasonably priced option; however,
it came with the loss of control over the men. Instead of arriving for
transport back to the asteroids, many ended up in jails, hospitals, or
somewhere drunk. The second option involved contracting pleasure ships.
This solved the control problem, but at greater expense. So whenever
possible, they found a relatively close, uninhabited world, then built
and operated their own facilities. Pyrite 23 fit those requirements.
Crews descended upon the planet, choosing islands, and building
facilities. By the time any miner showed up, there existed a frontier
port, complete with bars, dance halls, theatres, inns, restaurants, and
brothels. Yet unlike most such ports, usually on planets that were
empty due to inhospitable weather, beasts, pests, or foliage, Pyrite 23
did not require a protective dome. The temperate climate of the islands
made the outside enjoyable, opening unusual opportunities, on a miners
R&R haven, for entertainment.
These, more wholesome activities, kept the port from taking on the
dingy and run down atmosphere so common amongst its kind. Particularly
when others, beyond the miners, started seeing Pyrite 23 as a place to
visit. First the management of the mining companies, then those seeking
adventurers upon its seas.
Yet these advantages could not keep the planet going as the asteroids
dried up. Pyrite 23 depended upon the operating funds from the mining
companies and the money wasted by the miners. However, instead of
returning to obscurity, an entertainment conglomerate purchased the
entire operation. With free rein upon the planet, they built resorts
and theme parks, often spanning multiple islands. Yet, the massive
casinos proved the biggest draw, turning the planet into a destination
for the masses. And like that first pilot, most who broke free of
Transition had dreams of fools gold.
Not all. For those who did not seek short-cuts to wealth, lucrative
employment contracts existed. Particularly for attractive women,
management recognizing the temptation this offered men, hoping, though
usually failing, to get lucky in more ways than one. Old school
thinking, but nobody denied the profits. Thus the passengers aboard the
Siren's Cove Employee Transit Tram could cause a visitor from Darson to
go into seizures.
Even the more worldly would find it difficult not to gawk. So the
casino minimized the gawking, here where nothing could be earned, by
keeping tourists off the employee trams. As for male employees, most
grew used to the sights, preferring to spend their commute like anybody
else, anywhere else in the universe. This day, like most days, the
tram's passengers, male or female, engaged in sleep, reading, or quiet
talk with seatmates. All except one, who sat upright, alone, and stared
fiercely out the window at the passing seas.
Like many of the tram's passengers, she required a second look. That
look would show her older than first glance implied, but that her
beauty had a warmth to it, though cooled at the moment. A frequent
visitor or a fellow employee would think her a dealer, probably in one
of the more expensive rooms, until she stood, showing her height,
leanness, and grace, then they would recognize her as a dancer,
probably in one of the stage productions. At one time, they would have
been right. Nearly twenty years before, when Ellene Dupensk had first
arrived on Pyrite, she danced as a chorus girl at Flickers, a small
casino, pulled down twelve years ago. From Flickers she moved to larger
casinos, until she reached Siren's Cove, where they recognized talents
of greater worth than those of a showgirl.
She provided a calming influence over her often high-strung colleagues,
being a natural peace-maker, problem solver, and confidante. So despite
never having children of her, they contracted to use her natural
mothering instincts, first with the dancers, then, over the years, to
all who worked at the casino.
Very much upper management, she only rode the tram in order to allow
employees to approach her with their problems. Something not happening
on this day, everybody saw the anger in her eyes and knew the cause
behind it. The disagreement between her and the new head of marketing
having served as recent grist for the rumour mills, a disagreement that
everybody knew she lost. Just as they knew that today was the start of
the new marketing gimmick and that Ms. Ellene rode along to judge its
impact, harshly from all appearance.
Nobody would call her a prude, she had spent her time on stage wearing
nothing more than a headdress, heels, and a smile. Nor did she complain
about the costumes her girls wore at the casino, despite how little
most covered. But both situations occurred under the watchful eye of
casino security. Not when the girls made their way to and from work,
away from such protection. She cared less that many of the girls wore
similar things on their own, Siren's Cove's earned no responsibility
for those bad decisions. However, the casino deserved responsibility
for what she saw today, as the tram crossed the chain of four islands
housing the majority of the planet's single woman. Every time she
spotted another example of what that smarmy pervert, Elston Dinwald,
deemed as showcasing the beauty of their female employees, Ellene's
teeth clenched a little tighter. She admitted Dinwald and his staff had
done a fine job of choosing candidates, each girl wearing one of the
outfits numbered amongst the casino's most attractive, none needing the
styling of a tasteless pimp to showcase their beauty.
The outfits were hideous.
Dinwald had started on the right track, the rompers and mini-dresses
were the same as those worn by the waitresses in the casino's premier
nightclub, The Pearl. They hugged curves, but she had always liked
them, particularly their colour, a deep midnight blue. If they had
stopped there, she would have dismissed most of her fears. Instead,
some genius decided to make them sexier by cutting away additional
material to show more skin. Even worse, they garishly emblazoned
Siren's Cove, in large, glittered, silver lettering, across the back
of each girl. They embarrassed her, making her wonder how high were the
bonuses required to convince the girls to wear such eyesores.
So ridiculous were the outfits, she found herself questioning if she
had blown everything out of proportion. Such thoughts were brushed
aside as they pulled into the next station and she spotted the dark
haired girl waiting to board in a too-tight romper, complete with a
belly button exposing neck-line and a bottom that gave only a half-
assed effort at coverage.
Protests to the contrary, mothers often feel more protective of one
child over the others. Ellene acted no different. As much as she hated
what they wore, she had confidence that each of the prior girls could
handle the additional burden of their outfits. Less confident did she
feel in the pretty, little miss, on the platform, proudly perched atop
high-heeled boots like some junior member of the streetwalker
sisterhood. Despite a history that had shocked Ellene to read, the
child had the survival instincts of a lemming, seemingly always willing
to follow someone to her doom.
Instead of the scowl, which she had directed at the previous bonus
seekers, Ellene gestured for the girl towards her. Proving somewhat
aware of self-preservation, the girl hesitantly approached, nervously
asking, "Hello Ms. Dupensk, you wished to see me?"
"Hello, Sascha, won't you take a seat?"
"Umm...okay. Thank you?"
"Tell me about your new outfit, it's not your normal style."
Glancing quickly downwards, as if she had forgotten what she wore,
Sascha said, "Oh, it's not, but Mr. Dinwald offered me a bonus to wear
it on my way to work. To advertise for the Cove."
"Sascha, you know, just because Mr. Dinwald asks you to do something,
doesn't mean you have to do it."
"Yeeeah, I guess. Is he going to ask me to do something that you don't
want me to do? I heard that the two of you were having a disagreement
about something."
Reminding herself that they had not hired Sascha for her brains, Ellene
said, "We were disagreeing about the outfits, I do not think they are
appropriate for you and the others to wear."
"Oh? Oh! Why not?"
"Do you think they're appropriate?"
"Don't tell Mr. Dinwald I said this, but they're kind of tacky. I like
the Pearl's version better, they're nice"
"Very true, and also rather skimpy."
Giggling Sascha replied, "Not when you compare it to some of my work
costumes."
"Well yes, but casino security makes sure that nobody bothers you when
you are wearing those."
"Nobody bothered me today, Ms. Dupensk."
"You can't be too careful, Sascha. So many visitors come from off
planet who we are unable to screen. We can't keep out the scum. And
worse, some of th wealthy and powerful, don't believe the rules apply
to them."
"But when will any visitor see me? I came directly to the station from
my apartment, got on the tram, and will get off at the employee station
at the casino."
Ellene almost blurted an answer before processing what Sascha said.
However, as the girl's itinerary bludgeoned its way into her thoughts,
she suddenly realized the meaningless nature of the argument between
her and Dinwald. They both ignored the most important factor, not
surprising, since neither of them were treated as a resource like
Sascha and the girls. They did not live on an island that, like the
employee tram, had restricted access. As Sascha said, nobody would see
her, well at least not the dangerous perverts, she feared, nor the
regular ones, Dinwald hoped to attract. She laughed at the silliness of
the entire affair.
"Ms. Dupensk?"
"It's nothing, Sascha, I guess it's okay for you to wear Mr. Dinwald's
outfits. Just don't wear it when you go out."
"Oh I wouldn't do that, people would laugh."
The grin upon Ellene's face caught the staff, in the casino's offices,
by surprise, all of whom had planned to tread quietly when near her
that day. Yet she did not explain the reason for her mood. Still
stinging from the lost argument, she eagerly waited for the next
quarterly review. By then multiple bonuses would have been paid and she
could ask Dinwald how nobody seeing the girls in their outfits affected
his marketing strategy.
Petty yes, but maybe others would think twice before messing with her
girls.
Chapter 2 - The Tank
Sascha also began work with a smile on his face. Even if Ms. Dupensk
thought him a silly fluff-head, who could not look after himself, it
made him feel special to have her worry about him. Caring had not been
something much experienced in his life, even his time with Foster now
seemed more a case of shared need.
He felt happy that chance had brought him to this place.
Never could he have foreseen such a positive result, during that grim
period alone aboard the Lady Tramp. Nor had rescue brought immediate
joy and happiness, as many of the crew aboard the Commodore Tony Blaus
had initially looked upon him with suspicion, until they reviewed the
video, stored in the Lady Tramp's systems. Though only slightly
improving their view of him, as he learned when overhearing a female
crew member, assigned to guard his quarters, refer to him as a
psychopathic cock-ornament.
Those words confirmed the fear that had manifested when Lieutenant
Bandle first broached the idea of escape from Darson, that he would be
disdained by real women. As a result, the week on the Blaus caused more
self-torture than the months alone on the Tramp.
Delivered, along with the ship, to the civilian authorities on the
nearby planet of Aliston, Sascha underwent another round of
investigation before being released, with his possessions (little more
than clothes), to an organization supposedly meant to assist refugees.
Pathetically underfunded, they offered only bad advice for the scared,
new arrival. Advice similar to his plan to find a man to look after
him, though more liberally applied. He may have taken it, if not for
the stinging memory of the crew member's slur.
This, in combination with a lack of opportunity faced by all refugees,
led him to taking a waitressing job at a dive, charmingly named The
Monkey's Left Nut, where they limited his exploitation to the number of
hours he worked. The owner's wife keeping her husband far away from
little Sascha, who served their customers dressed in his fantasy
wardrobe, the sole remnant of his time as Foster's companion.
A nervous and confusing period for Sascha, forced into the world, no
longer locked away in the bubbles that had served both as refuge and
prison. But he survived, as he had survived harsher challenges. Thrived
even, his temperament, appearance, and years as personal slave to
Prince Fallan making him a skilled server. Quickly he found himself
recruited to work at better quality bars and this appreciation of his
skills, ones that had always seemed secondary in importance, provided a
boost to his confidence. He grew independent, less frightened, to
believe a Sascha could exist as an individual, not just an extension of
some man, be he kind like Foster or a maniac like Prince Fallan.
So he ignored ample opportunities to become someone's companion. Yet,
despite appearances, his mindset meshed with most teenage males,
fantasies were a common habitant of his thoughts. The only difference
being he pictured himself in the role of the partner usually missing
from making most young men's fantasies true.
When he finally took back his own sexuality, from the lingering insult,
it happened while working in his third bar, one catering to navy
officers, Sascha proved fortunate in his choice. He chose the Blaus
security officer, who had led the boarding party that found him on the
Lady Tramp, someone who had played an important role in a number of
fantasies since the encounter and who Sascha felt deserved a reward.
However, as eagerly as he desired the reward, Ensign Deng Hikona did
not do so under false pretense, letting Sascha know he just wanted a
good time. Appreciating the honesty, Sascha preceded to provide an
extremely good time, before sending an exhausted ensign back to the
ship at the end of his leave.
In the months that followed their friendship grew, but the relationship
never took on a feel of permanence, need, or love. Instead they based
it on games and play, mostly revolving around Sascha's flat and bed.
Hikona also learned that Sascha loved sports, a remnant of growing up
on sports-mad Darson. There the sporting vid-channels often served as
his sole company, providing opportunity to dream about playing the
games himself. So, Hikona introduced the black haired vixen to sphere
hockey, passing on his love of the Aliston Guardians as the two
attended games whenever the Ensign could obtain tickets. And when
Hikona learned how excited Sascha tended be after a game, particularly
a win for their team, he grew very proactive about finding those
tickets
Yet Sascha gained more from their time together, learning that he did
not need to be subservient in a relationship. It also offered him
freedom from further pursuit, as no one seemed inclined to horn in on
the security officer. The frequency of their bed play, since the
Commander Tony Blaus was based on Aliston, even led Sascha to seek
medical attention to see if anything could be done to heighten his own
pleasure, reversing the negligence of Darson's surgeons. There were
procedures, and though he never would be an easy partner to please, it
definitely made things more enjoyable.
Thus life seemed fairly good, though static, when a finder, Joice
Felit, approached him, selling him on the wonders of Pyrite. Near the
top of the finder business, Joice freelanced for all the large casino
chains. If one needed something obscure, maybe a cask of Delingern
Wine, a Benflogian elephant, or a Frudilal dance troupe, they contacted
Joice. But the bulk of her business involved recruiting girls to work
in the casinos, finding them and acting as their agent. In Sascha, she
and her crew saw great opportunity. Artificially created though much of
his beauty may have been, the work was extremely high caliber, the
type found only amongst the wealthy. Combining this with a wide-eyed
sexuality and pre-existing expertise as a server, meant she felt he
could induce a bidding war amongst her clients.
Here Deng proved a true friend, recognized the opportunity for Sascha
and pushed him to accept, which he did after Joice's professional crew
subjected Sascha to a battery of tests, both physical and mental. The
results determining he had the patience, attitude, appearance, and
skills to wait upon the most demanding of clientele, the rich and
powerful. A healthy auction followed, ending only when Sascha decided
he liked the saucy wench costumes of Siren's Cove better than the slave
girl costumes at the second casino.
As important as finding him a job, Joice's crew established his
identity. An info-tech combed through records, mined from poorly
secured systems on Darson, determining Sascha's birthday, proving him
just under nineteen standard years old. They assigned him the next
step, choosing a last name, none documented at his birth. Deciding
against taking the name of someone from his past, believing it would
either bring back bad memories or be an unfair assumption, he reviewed
fictional characters. The led to his remembering his last, wonderful
moments with Foster, while he pretended to be Captain Keleesa
Shronsdottor. So he became Sascha Shronsdottor.
The last part proved more difficult, his gender, and led to a
disagreement between Sascha and Joice. In Sascha's thoughts, he saw
himself as a sylph of Darson, a feminized male, not a female, nor did
he feel ashamed of that fact. Joice listened, but felt it would be
easier to forget his past and to accept that most worlds would
designate him as a female. When he argued that to be dishonest, she
questioned why someone who had taken the name of a sex goddess and wore
a pretty, pink dress to the argument would want to be considered male.
He did not deny that he appeared hyper feminine in his appearance and
manner, but he thought that due to nurture, not nature. Sascha accepted
his situation, more importantly he allowed himself to enjoy it, but
believed he would have taken the masculine path, given the choice.
Still, he found himself unable to satisfactorily explain this belief
and finally agreed to Joice's plan.
However, for the rest of the trip, curious as to why Sascha thought of
himself as male, Joice observed her find more closely. She noticed what
Ivar Bandle had seen the first time he met Sascha, aboard the royal
launch, an artificial aspect in the sylph's femininity, though less so
after months on Aliston. At the same time, she found his interests and
sense of humour were stereotypically male. Though he giggled rather
than laughed, it often occurred due to the crudest jokes. Nor could she
ignore his interest in sports and gory vids. And while Joice knew women
who held these interests, they were more common amongst the men and
boys she knew. As a result, when Sascha received his identification it
held both his birth and current sex, a compromise he readily accepted.
Arriving on Pyrite, Sascha appreciated having first dealt with
civilization upon Aliston, otherwise the crowds, sights, and sounds of
the holiday world would have pushed him into sensory overload. Even
with that exposure, Sascha eagerly accepted mentoring services from
Joice's company to help him manage. It left him further in her debt,
which provided incentive to work extra hours, resulting in casino
management being eager to extend his contract, after probation, even
expanding his duties to the more exotic. Yet it also turned him into a
bonus addict, which would have made it difficult for him to turn down
Mr. Dinwald, even if he had not seen the flaw in the man's plan.
Checking the assignment console, his smile grew larger. Instead of
slinging drinks, the console showed him assigned to an exotic duty.
This morning he would be one of the sirens that gave the casino its
name.
Hurrying to his locker, Sascha wiggled out of the ridiculous outfit and
into a thick robe, before catching the employee tram, beneath the huge
casino. Reaching his stop he wandered into the special effects shop,
returning greetings, the loudest from a large man who shouted, "Hey-Ho,
it's my lovely Sascha Doll. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Hiya, Dickie, I'm on siren duty."
"Ah-hah, a fortunate day to be a visitor at the Cove. Okay, into the
canister."
"There's no need, Dickie, I'm feeling good."
"So you may say, but I am happier to hear it from my toy."
Sighing in resignation, Sascha stripped off the robe, ignored the
expected, good natured whistles of appreciation, and climbed into the
med-canister for a claustrophobic, health check. When the canister
popped open with an all clear signal, he said, "I told you so."
"Well when it comes to your safety, I trust my machine more than you.
After all, it won't be earning a healthy bonus for a morning as a
siren. Now over to Niessa, she will get you ready for the tank."
Niessa, an older lady who had worked at the casino for years and
seemingly found little joy in her job, nodded quickly in greeting and
gestured for Sascha to stand in stall where she coated his body with a
water resistant, sparkling spray, meant to reflect the light off his
curves while submerged. Waiting for it to dry, Niessa gathered
specialized makeup and accessories before having him sit on a chair.
Beginning to work with his long, black hair, she muttered to Fara, her
assistant. "Start on her hands."
Smiling, as if to make up for Niessa, Fara treated his nails, despite
their chromatic treatment, like those belonging to any other siren.
After painting them with a quick-drying, pearlescent lacquer, Fara had
him place each hand, fingers spread wide, into a mold with a thin, yet
tough, membrane at the bottom. Folding the top of the mold down, he
felt a splash of heat that melded it to another membrane, encasing his
hand and leaving him with webbed fingers, perfect for swimming and
realism. Fara then helped him on with his tail. Created from high-tech
rubber, it appeared unspectacular, yet Sascha knew the mottled
colouring would glisten in water and , like the webbed fingers, it
would help him swim, though once strapped on, coming to his knees, it
made him hopeless on land. Meanwhile, having finished his hair, pulling
it back from his face with mother-of-pearl barrettes and fake pearl
strings, Niessa painted his face in the over done look common for
performers.
They gave way to Elvin, one of the hardware techs. Taking the siren's
naval ring, he offered a barbell, in exchange, from which hung a
decorative seashell and contained sensors to measure the stresses upon
a body. Elvin also attached tiny speakers just inside Sascha's ear
canals, synching them with receivers integrated into dangling, seashell
earrings. These would allow Sascha to listen to music or receive
commands; in return his communication would be limited to 'um-hums' or
'uh-uhs' picked up by the subvocalizer patch the tech attached to his
throat.
At Niessa's wave, Dickie came over to check Sascha's almost non-
existent costume. Judging it satisfactory, he asked, "Everything good,
Sascha Doll?"
"Yep."
Helping Sascha back into his robe, Dickie handed him a pouch and a
bottle, containing a nutrient enhanced liquid meant to combat potential
dehydration, before speaking to the muscular man, sitting by the door.
"Okay, Flen, Sascha's ready. Take her to the West entrance tank."
"My pleasure boss."
"I'm sure it is."
Grinning in response the man stood and sauntered over to Sascha's
chair, scooping him up with a moan. "Gah, someone needs to go on a
diet."
Used to this mode of travel and the accompanying complaint, Sascha
said, "Oh dear, it must be terrible to grow old and lose your
strength."
"Old am I, well you just wait until my back goes out and you fall down,
flopping about like some fish out of water."
At the groan that this drew from the room, Flen said, "Thank you. Thank
you. I'll be here all week, don't forget to tip your waitress."
"Not if you hope to keep your job you won't be, Flen. You have a siren
to deposit."
"Righto. On it boss."
Leaving the room, he settled Sascha into the passenger seat of a cart,
before jumping into the driver's side and zooming off through the
tunnels. Arriving at a vaulted door, Flen scanned them into circular
room with a conical bottom of a large tank for a ceiling and filled
with numerous water tanks, air tanks, tubes, and piping. Leaving the
cart, Flen hurried about checking the equipment.
In turn, Sascha began his final preparations. Finishing his drink, he
took the dreaded rebreather from the pouch. Specially molded to snuggly
fit within the cavity of an individual's mouth, most found it triggered
their gag reflex, and so it weeded out the majority of siren
applicants. Removing the inner workings, he checked to see that it held
a brand new oxygen stick, supposedly good for five hours. Opening wide,
he fed the rebreather into his mouth. Feeling the expected moment of
panic as it blocked his breath, before he could once again breathe.
Satisfied with its operation, Sascha shoved a filter into each delicate
nostril, then waited for Flen to finish his checks.
Seeing the man approach with a dropper in hand, Sascha tilted his head
back for the final step of his preparation. Eyes wide open, he felt
Flen squeeze a drop of liquid into each eye and tried not to blink as
is spread out, oozing across his entire eyeball, offering a protective
coating against the water and chemicals in the tank. It also left him
with blurred vision, apparent as he watched a Flen-blob reach out to
grab him around his tiny waist, before carrying him to the largest
tube, thrusting him through its hatch, and settling Sascha upon a
perch.
Reaching to find expected handholds, Sascha heard the clang of the door
dogging shut, followed by the sound of rushing water. Soon he felt its
weight moving his tail, then creeping up his legs. A bit cooler than
the surrounding air, he acclimatized quickly. Immersed, he felt
cocooned away from the world, something hardly impacted as he heard
Flen ask, "Sascha, is everything a go?"
"Um-hum."
"Very well, three minutes to start."
Waiting as the outer ring of tanks, containing sea-life, were lowered
to expose the siren tank, Sascha listened to the music coming from the
speakers in his ears. This music would be his main companion through
the next hours, smooth and calm he knew it would often seem he floated
in its notes as much as the liquid around him.
"Ready, Sascha?"
"Um-hum."
"Ok, then. In 5...
"4...
"3...
"And...
"Go!"
The hydraulics in his seat, blasted him upwards into brightness. Up,
up, up, and then he felt air caressing his body. Slowing, seemingly
coming to a stop, he piked, fell, diving smoothly back into the blue of
the tank, oblivious to the oohs and ahhs of those whose eyes were drawn
by the changes to the tank.
Hundreds of attempts had gone into perfecting that entrance. Many late
nights, hours after full shifts, spent at the practice tank, leaving
his entire body sore from crashing down in a splat. Yet in spite of the
pain he enjoyed the endeavor, as it kept him from running home, to his
little apartment, immediately after a shift. The practice tank offered
one of his main social outlets, where they did things, which he always
enjoyed, rather than talking about things, which often left him feeling
stupid.
During those nights of practice, amongst operators like Flen, wannabe
sirens like him, or those who already were, Sascha discovered what it
meant to be a siren. First, after more than a week of practice, he
learned that nobody expected him to be perfect. Failure did not find
him banished as had happened to his brothers, instead everybody assumed
the new girls would struggle. Still he did not like it and felt others,
who had practiced longer than he, used it as an excuse to explain away,
not overcome, lack of success. It triggered his competitive spirit,
which had won him to horrible victory over those lost brothers, and he
returned, night after night, until his entrance was as smooth as
drawing his pistols. Next he discovered the secret of tank, one needed
to let it do the work, flowing along in its currents, created by the
jets of air shot into the tank.
As with the rebreather, this was a go or no-go step on the path to
becoming a siren. Most could not stop trying to conquer the tank,
swimming where they wanted as opposed to accepting where they were
taken. And that required a tremendous amount of energy, giving lie to
the five-hour guarantee on an oxygen stick. It also took great
strength, strength that left an applicant muscled, not soft and curved
like preferred sirens for the Cove.
But for Sascha, it felt natural. Little different than being caught in
the currents of the powerful Prince Fallan. As with the prince, Sascha
knew not to fight, being bashed too and fro. Best to accept that he did
not control his destination, to focus on what he controlled, the manner
in which he arrived. In this he chose grace and elegance, recognizing
how much those surrounding him, many who had little of their own,
appreciated it. He accepted the conditions of the tank, even relished
them once he realized its lack of malicious intent. Often he felt he
could float within the tank forever, drifting along in its currents,
flowing to the music piped into his ears. A simple twist of webbed hand
bringing about a lazy twirl. A flick of his tail causing him to tuck
and roll, moving from one current into another. An arch of a back, a
twist of hips, a spreading of arms, each and every movement stealing
brief control away from the currents in the tank. Immersed, just as
when playing games of violence in a Havoc Simulator, but without the
pounding of his heart. Sascha found it peaceful, even knowing an
audience of potentially hundreds could be watching.
Thus it required a special vanity to be a siren. In the tank one was
laid bare for all to see. To judge. To want. A siren needed confidence
in her appearance, for doubting made her less desirable. And what is a
siren's lot, if not to be desired? To tempt. To promise. Swirling and
twirling gracefully about inside the tank, Sascha wondered who watched,
who wanted? Was he young or old? Was he handsome or not?
Sascha never considered that nobody watched. In this, if in little
else, Sascha had full confidence. Long had he grown used to men looking
at him with hungry eyes, since before the prince had brought him to
Taling. Now, no longer surrounded by Fallan's goons, he had grown used
to the propositions that followed those gazes. He expected it, even
enjoyed it. But then he needed too, bad enough to be the result of a
experiment driven by arrogance, how much worse if that experiment had
been botched? Yet he would never have guessed that he would next be
caught by another of the other wannabe sirens, Terese Compte, or
expected the interesting two months that followed.
Despite initial expectations that his male self would exert itself, he
found himself very much the girlfriend in their relationship. Liking
her as much as he did, that seemed a small price to be in her company
and her bed, something he really enjoyed, finding her body absolutely
fascinating, even though so similar to his own. But he also found
himself baffled by her. He could not read Terese, so different than the
obvious natures of the men who had been in Sascha's life, and he always
made mistakes, leaving him confused as to what he had done wrong. It
had almost been a relief when Terese had broken it off, telling him
that she wanted to be with a soft and beautiful woman, not a soft and
beautiful man. And though not dense enough to believe that compliment,
he secretly took it as such. Proving strange validation to his
remembered argument with Joice.
The relationship over, it had not taken long for him to be seduced by
Flen, who cut a swath through the casino's siren population, into which
group Sascha had graduated. With Flen it seemed natural, easy, maybe
because of its shallowness. Flen's mainly desired get the siren into
bed, not into a relationship. Nor, realized Sascha, did he want one.
Maybe explaining why he and Flen, unlike he and Terese, were still
friends with favours.
Spiralling through the tank Sascha decided to draw on those favours,
being some time since his last fling; however, a few hours later, when
he exited through the hatch at the bottom of the tank, that thought no
longer lingered at the front of his mind. Not that anything else had
pushed it aside, he had just achieved the state most sirens referred to
as being blissed-out, when thinking did not seen important. By the time
Sascha regained his senses, once more sitting in Niessa's chair being
divested of his costume, he found Flen already gone. Disappointed, he
considered what he should do when he noticed Dickie approaching.
"Back with us, Sascha Doll?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure, Dickie."
"Excellent, I was wondering if you have plans for the evening?"
"I was just trying to decide. Are you offering, because I would say
yes."
"Dear me, I doubt my heart could handle it. Nope, someone else put in a
request."
"For me?" Sascha squeaked, eyes wide open.
"Don't give me that false modesty, Little Miss Popular. You know all
the floor captains compete to get you in their crew. Today it's Kalen,
he sent me a note to check if you are willing to work overtime."
Kalen ran the Conquest Arena and Sascha always enjoyed working that
room. Not only did it require minimal work, but he found the game
fascinating. The problem was that a match could take hours, even days,
and required stamina from both those who played and those who stood
around looking pretty, when not fetching drinks or food. Shaking his
head, Sascha said, "I wish I could, but after my stint in the tank I
couldn't manage."
"Not a problem, the match doesn't start until this evening. You have
time for some shut-eye first."
"Oh? Okay then, can you tell Kalen that I am free?"
"Can do. Now scoot and get some food and sleep."
Chapter 3 - Conquest
Vacating the sleep chamber, one of many lining a wall of the change
room, Sascha rubbed sleep-filled eyes and shuffled towards the shower
area. Bypassing his preferred water showers, he settled upon the vibra-
shower, knowing water would not wash away the sparkling spray from
earlier. Finished, and in no hurry, he stopped at the canteen before
returning to his locker. Finding his hair wand, he used it to make his
hair shine and to curl its ends. Then, precisely following the criteria
set forth in the waitressing guide, he made up his face, highlighting
the result with large, gold hoop earrings.
Ready to dress, he stepped into a short, ruffled, ivory coloured, lace
underskirt, after donning matching lingerie. Over this he fastened an
even shorter, deep purple, velvet overskirt, cut away, in the front, to
show most of the lace beneath. Matching this he pulled on a midriff
baring, bell sleeved, lace shirt over which he fastened a cap sleeved,
bolero jacket of the same velvet. Dressed, he pulled on polished black,
synth-leather, stilletoed boots, around whose tops he tied, with black
ribbons, purple boot cuffs. Lastly, he took a purple, pirate hat,
girlishly festooned in lace and ribbons, swept his hair away from his
face and settled it upon his head.
Standing up, Sascha checked his appearance in the full length mirror
near his locker, sparing a moment to wonder how different his life
would be if real pirates were no more than the fetishist's dream he
portrayed. Shaking his head to clear such thoughts, he locked on the
smile expected from the Cove's servers and strutted out into the noise
and lights of the casino proper.
In this outfit, the casino wanted him to be seen and he posed in
numerous vid shots, before stepping into the quiet emptiness of the
Conquest Arena. Waving to the men, surrounding Kalen, who looked
towards the entrance, Sascha surveyed the room. He stood at the top of
a circular room with theatre seating, for a thousand spectators,
circling a round stage at the middle of the room. There, up to six,
competitors would compete in a game as unique to Siren's Cove as its
sirens, world domination. Based upon a model developed centuries before
by the Texlaxian War College and constantly tweaked by the members of
Kalen's team, each competitor, often accompanied by a full staff, would
choose a territory and through good government, force, guile, and
diplomacy attempt to defeat their opponents. Amongst true aficionados,
territories were assigned months in advance, allowing opportunity to
prepare, before coming to Pyrite to conduct the endgame, here in the
Arena.
Descending to the floor, Sascha climbed the steps, trimmed in purple
lights, onto the stage. He found himself in a walled in, wedge shaped
area that would be his responsibility during the match. Thus, he liked
to ensure everything was perfect, even though others would have checked
it multiple times.
First he tried the lift, in the middle of the wedge, which would take
anybody below the stage, to the facilities. Next he tested the heated
plate, upon which he would stand, hopefully keeping him warm, despite
his manner of dress and long periods of inactivity, in the air
conditioned arena. Checking the enclosed room, at the fat end of the
wedge, he found it tidy, well stocked, and ensured every console at the
table worked. Finally, he wiped down the cockpit chair, as confusing as
Foster's on the Lady Tramp, at the front of the wedge.
Patiently he waited for the competitors to arrive and greeted his
colleagues, five women dressed as he, each in a different colour,
before Kalen yelled out. "Okay people, ten minutes to start."
Smile in place, he watched the wedge's entrance. That smile grew bigger
when he saw the couple who appeared. Dressed in matching, purple
jumpsuits, the blonde pair were absolutely gorgeous, a perfect
combination of genes and body sculpting. Towering above Sascha, even
with his heels, the man lazily drawled. "Looks like someone is happy to
see us."
Eagerly nodding his head, Sascha remembered his place. Dipping a
curtsey he said, "Vel Verissa and Vek Ventar, so good to see you once
more."
"Likewise, isn't it Verissa?"
Almost in a purr, the female answered, "Yes, Love, it is always good to
see our lovely, little Sascha."
Lovely, little Sascha shivered under their combined admiration,
reminded how absolutely in lust he was with them. Just like the first
night serving them, initially at The Pearl, later in their magnificent
suite, after they effortlessly seduced him. Now, whenever they visited
Pyrite, they treated Sascha as their favourite toy and anxious to keep
them happy, the casino willingly freed him up, providing ample
opportunity for play.
"In fact I have half a mind to say dash it all to this silly game and
take Sascha back to our rooms and ravish her. It's been too long since
I had the chance to give a good ravishing."
"Poor Ventar. But as tempting as that sounds, think of all the work we
put into preparing, the amount it has cost us to enter, and the
possibility that Dailmbruk will think he won."
"Gah, we can't let that happen, Verissa. Sorry, Sweets, playtime will
have to wait, you understand though, don't you?"
"Umm...okay?" Sascha answered, having no idea who Dailmbruk was, but
knowing the cost to enter a Conquest match. Each entry fee being
significantly more than he made in a year, even with top bonuses.
Agreement reached, no ravishing, each found their place. Verissa moving
to the cockpit seat, Ventar to the room, and Sascha to his plate, after
serving the others a beverage.
Waiting for the other, larger teams and the small group of spectators
to settle in place, Sascha wondered about the mysterious duo. Despite
having extracted his entire life story, within hours of meeting, he
knew little of theirs, beyond likes and pleasures. Nothing of where
they came from, the basis of their wealth, not even the relationship
between the two. Nor could he find anything out, either through info
searches or gossip, though he learned everybody found the pair
fascinating and most had pet theories, ranging from the trashy to the
inane. Every thing from them a Prince and Princess banished from their
planet for incestuous love, to clones who happened to be inter-sector,
master criminals.
Sometimes he wished they would take him along when they left, allowing
him to answer all his questions. But in wiser moments he knew he would
lose his new Saschaness by entering their orbit. Better to bask in
their light only for short periods.
Distracted from his thoughts by the countdown, Sascha turned to look
over Verissa's head, into the open space at the centre of the stage.
There, when a bell rung to start of the game, a holograph of a globe
appeared, each contender's territory showing in a different colour.
Briefly surveying the globe, Sascha looked at the betting boards,
ringing the stadium, to see if his thoughts meshed with those betting
on the game. Specifically, he studied Purple's position, which in spite
of loyalty, appeared only in the third best position for victory.
However, it seemed others saw it differently, betting them to be first
out. He guessed the size matters crowd were behind that betting,
ignoring the defenses and self-sufficiency of Purple's territory.
Personally, he thought the sprawling mass covered in red appeared the
weakest, almost amateurish, position. Curiously, he checked to see who
played Red and felt shocked to see General Bellon von Lurech's name, a
top Conquest player and mercenary general. Normally he liked a small
territory, at the start, from which he could make quick strikes with
mobile units, expanding into lands developed by his opponents.
Two teams identified, he quickly scanned the others. Yellow was
McIddon, the Nalcon ambassador to the League of Planetary Systems, an
aggressive player. While Green was Professor Ack-chong of the Pring
University, McIddon's opposite, known for patiently waiting for
mistakes, upon which he could capitalize. The last two were new, one
proving to be the afore-mentioned Dailmbruk, with Black, and an Isode
Keling, with White. Everything seemed normal, except for Red, which
meant the general controlled the pulse of the game, everybody else
trying to figure out the trap.
Duty diverted him from working on the question, being summoned to the
back room to prepare Ventar a snack. Still he listened in while the
pair tried to guess Red's intentions.
"What's he up to?" Ventar asked.
"Maybe he overshot?"
"Not bloody likely."
"You're right, the old fox would never screw up that bad. It's
definitely a trap, but I can't see it?"
"And who's going to spring it? My money is on McIddon or Dailmbruk. Of
course whoever does, will either be first out or win."
Placing Ventar's snack beside him, Sascha unconsciously spoke. "It's
like he is testing a theory."
Turning Ventar asked, "What's that, Sweets?"
"Oh sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted."
"No, it's okay, Verissa and I are just going round and round, maybe
your thoughts can straighten us out."
"Well it's strange that the general is doing something new. It's like
he's testing something out and doesn't care if he wins or loses."
"Ventar, check to see if the General is between contracts." Verissa
said.
"Will do. Yes, yes, he is. Why?"
"See if you can find out who has been courting him. Maybe he's
conducting a feasibility test, before committing to a hire."
"Interesting, I'll get right on it."
Sascha did not stick around to see what Ventar learned, instead,
delivering a snack to Verissa. Who, based upon the appreciative way she
squeezed his thigh, just below his skirts, seemed pleased with
something more than the food.
The next hours proved why the Arena seats usually stayed empty. Purple,
Green, and Red were content to wait upon Yellow, Black, and White, all
of whom jockeyed for position, feinting in all directions. The
excitement sapped from the game, Sascha spent his time trying to ignore
the cold, noticeable in spite of his heated position. Thus he, and
apparently Isode and her team, missed the first significant move of the
game, when McIddon followed through on a feint and crossed into White's
territory, reinforcements following. White reacted by rushing forces
towards the border with Yellow, Dailmbruk, as if inspired, pounced on
the opportunity offered by Red.
The betting boards came to life, the two attackers receiving the
majority of the action. Then, as White slowed Yellow's advance and
Black pushed deeper into Red's territory, more money flowed in
Dailmbruk's direction, many people ignoring the possibility of a trap.
Smart money did notice Black's supply lines stretching and its forces
thinning out the length of the advance and, for a time, Dailmbruk had
the best odds, both to win and be first out.
As the black arrows, piercing deep into the glowing red, all else
seemed to pause. Those with money riding on or against Black held their
breath whenever those arrows approached a natural barrier, unsure if
Red's defense would finally stiffen. Then, just before crossing into
the heartland of Red's territory, Black ran into well dug in troops -
the available variables designating them fresh, fully provisioned, and
with high morale. Furthermore, Purple and Green, proving to have an
alliance with Red, suddenly launched attacks upon Black's home
territory. Dailmbruk faced a difficult decision, whether to push
through, hopefully defeating Red, or to retreat and defend his
territory. He made the wrong choice, attempting to pull back left his
troops spread out even more, transports running out of fuel and falling
behind. In turn, the pursuing Red units gobbled them up like one snake
eating another. Few of Black's forces made it home in time to welcome
defeat at the hand of the two invaders.
As the last black markings were wiped off the globe, Kalen made an
announcement, "With the first contender eliminated from the match, we
will now take a one and one half hour break. That is one and one half
hour. Please do not be late. We will start without you."
At the announcement, Verissa bounced from her chair, scooped Sascha
into a hug, and planted a kiss upon his lips. "Sweets, not only are you
gorgeous, you're brilliant. General von Lurech was testing a strategy
for a backwater planet called Syble, where his potential employer,
Trelifur, is set up very similarly to how Red started the game. When I
approached him with this guess, I learned Professor Ack-chong had also
made the connection and together we bullied him into an alliance."
"And kicked Dick-head Dailmbruk's ass." Ventar laughed, as he arrived
and gave both a victory kiss.
With his laughter still ringing, the three split up. Verissa and Ventar
joining the remaining competitors for a first class meal, while Sascha
and his colleagues retreated to a warm break room, where they sank into
comfortable chairs, and gratefully removed boots. Even Sascha, with his
surgical enhancements enjoyed the massager built into his chair's
footrest, as he ate the lunch provided. Then he closed his eyes and
relaxed, not being interested in discussing the game or anything else.
The break proved too short, soon an arena staffer popped her head into
their room to announce that they had five minutes left. Sighing, the
five remaining pirate wenches pulled on their boots, touched up their
appearances, summoned their smiles, and headed back to the stage.
Barely arrived, the Purple team joined Sascha, this time Ventar taking
the front seat.
As the match restarted it became apparent that the alliance stayed
strong, resulting in a pause as McIddon and Keling, after forming their
own alliance, protested the variables defining the strength of that
alliance. But Kalen's team of judges proved unresponsive to protests,
stating recent foes could not instantaneously become a united force.
Thus their alliance became little more than a non-aggression pact, the
two defending their own territories. This favoured McIddon, both
because he had prepared a better defence, something required with his
style of play, and because the alliance decided to deal with the less
experienced player first.
White put up an admirable defense, dragging things out longer than
expected, but her attackers stuck together and they proved too strong.
Approximately four hours after the break, the second player exited the
game. Having dragged things out long enough to give McIddon a stay of
execution, the judges deciding to end the game for the night, to resume
the next morning.
As the other teams filed from the arena, the purple members looked
between each other and Sascha. Ventar, as was normally the case, posed
the question on all their minds, "Verissa , now can we take the treat
back to our room?"
"Well she is awfully delectable."
"Delightfully so."
"But we really should get some sleep."
"Probably."
"After all, we have to get up early."
"Damn, sometimes I hate how you're always right. This game better end
tomorrow, because if I have to wait another night I may burst."
"Agreed."
Decided, Ventar smiled sadly at Sascha and said, "Night night, Sweets,
see you bright and early tomorrow."
Sharing their disappointment, Sascha wished them good night, tidied up,
and headed back to the change room, taking a back way to escape vid
requests, soon finding himself in the dark isolation of another sleep
chamber. In the morning, his struggles to wake proved the wisdom of
their prior night's abstinence. Bypassing slumber for a playful romp,
no matter how delightful at the time, would have made it near
impossible to rise. Repeating his preparation of the prior day, he
found a slightly different variation of his uniform in his locker. The
hat and boots were the same, but this time he wore a ruffled lace
minidress, over which he fastened a purple, brocade corset, not nearly
as rib crushing as it appeared. Dressed, he quickly strolled through
the quiet casino to the Arena, finding it empty, nobody having yet
arrived.
Going through the same checks as the prior day, he was cleaning the
team room table when he felt someone grasp him around the waist,
causing him to give a startled shriek. However, he relaxed when he
heard Verissa, amusement in her voice, say, "Unhand that wench, you
ruffian."
Not letting go, Ventar disagreed. "No way, I caught her, she's all
mine."
Joining the game, Sascha looked over his shoulder, eyes peaking from
beneath the brim of his hat, to ask, "What dost thou have planned for
me, cruel sir?"
"Gah, not you too. First that evil harridan, standing there smirking at
my plight, offered me no relief last night."
"Poor boy, I thought he would sprain his wrist before he could fall
asleep," Verissa said, the amusement even more evident.
"And then, here is my captive wench, greeting me, while so fetchingly
posed. First wiggling her attention getter at me, then piercing my
heart with eyes and voice of false innocence. Burst, did I say last
night? Nay, it will be a veritable explosion."
"We can't have that, it sounds messy. You know, it still quiet out
there. If Sascha is willing, and based on the lack of desperation in
her escape attempts, never mind the actual non-existence of those
attempts, that appears to be the case, you may have time to defuse the
situation."
"Wondrous Verissa, forgive my earlier harshness, you are a veritable
Goddess of Love? Or do you taunt me with lies?"
"No, Ventar, as you well know, it's possible. Don't think I didn't
guess why you dragged me from bed, earlier than necessary. You knew
Miss Diligent would already be here."
"Bah, I plead innocence, Fate brought us together, Fate I say. And one
must never question Fate, so if it demands and Sascha is willing?" At
this question, Sascha, who already had grown glassy eyed from the man's
roaming hands, lazily nodded agreement. "And yes she is, proving Fate
loves the pure of heart."
"You mean, Sascha?"
"Mock not the hands of Fate. Will you join us?"
"No, I think not, I will go speak to McIddon, who will surely approach
with another desperate plea to break our alliance. Besides, us goddess
types need time to enjoy are pleasures, unlike you barbarians."
"Jealous?"
"Desperately. Now you two have fun, but don't take too long."
Ensuring that the room's windows were darkened, Verissa slipped out to
the sounds of rustling lace and Ventar's saying, "No, hold there,
Sweets, don't turn around. Fate brought us together in this fashion for
a reason, let's not go against his will."
Regretfully watching the beautiful woman leave the room, Sascha spared
a thought for the appropriateness of capitulating so easily, before
deciding, based upon the casino's tacit approval of his relationship
with the pair, that it would be okay, as long as he did not keep Ventar
from the restart. Besides, he had trouble thinking with eager hands
reaching under the ruffled skirt of his dress. Sometimes Sascha liked
to be manhandled, in fact had wanted this since his shift in the tank.
And few beat Ventar in the art of manhandling, as proven when he jerked
Sascha's panties down his thighs.
That thin barrier removed and knowing what was about to come, Sascha
still let loose a mewl of surprise at the sudden thrust that tilted him
forward on the rockered toes of his boots. Then another and another,
causing Sascha to grasp for purchase, with splayed fingers, upon the
smooth table top. Yet, even in his eagerness, Ventar was never a greedy
lover. Attuned to the body below him, he knew that though perfect for
giving him pleasure, it treated Sascha with less kindness. Soon he
settled into a rhythm that brought forth whimpers of pleasure and would
leave his captive happily exhausted, a tempo where they easily lost
track of time.
Thus the countdown clock had almost reached eight minutes before Sascha
noticed time ticking away. Suddenly their tryst had a rapidly
approaching deadline and despite his enjoyment, he knew he needed bring
it to an end.
So as Ventar pulled back for another thrust, Sascha slipped from his
grasp, and, ignoring the man's protests, spun about to take matters in
hand. Ventar's protests did not last long, for Sascha was just as
familiar with his body, as Ventar with his. Crouching, he leaned
forward, and finished satisfying his companion.
It barely left him enough time to freshen up before the match resumed.
Though he did not have to hurry as much as his red-haired colleague in
green, who shared a sheepish smile with him as she scurried into the
break room to deal with the affects of her own morning tryst.
Like every other spectator, Sascha felt curious as to whether McIddon
had forced a crack in the alliance that had disposed of Black and
White. Watching his starting move, Sascha guessed the answer to be no.
But unlike Isode Keling, he did not seek to delay defeat, instead he
tried to once more become a player in the game. To do that, he needed
to break a leg from the triad's stool. So he did what he did best, he
attacked, unfortunately he attacked Purple. Not with malicious intent,
he did not seek revenge for rebuffed entreaties, Purple just happened
to be the best target, being nearest to his own territory. Apparently
Verissa and Ventar had expected this, had prepared for it. Yet McIddon
was the master of the attack and a worrisome period followed before
their defenses held, the attackers finally bogging down.
During the attack, Sascha noticed how slowly Red and Green reacted,
delaying relief to their ally. Not a surprise, it did not hurt to have
an alliance member weakened, something understood by all and resulted
in a drop on the betting boards for Purple. Still, caught between
Purple's defenses and the tardy relief of Red and Green troops, things
were bleak for Yellow.
"With the third contender eliminated from the match, we will now take a
half hour break. That is one half hour. Please do not be late. We will
start without you."
The session had barely taken an hour, so nobody rushed to the lunch or
break rooms. Ventar and Verissa huddled together, completely ignoring
Sascha, trying to prepare a strategy for when the alliance ended.
Because it would surely end, either naturally or induced by the judges,
who would not allow an impasse amongst the three players. They tried to
decide if they could gain more by waiting or acting first.
Verissa asked, "What is the chance that Ack-chong will make the first
move?"
"A little less likely than me taking a vow of celibacy."
"Yes, the idea is laughable. How about Lurech?"
"Possible, but his flanks are still not that strong, he won't want to
expose them in any attacks."
"Also agreed. So either we break it ourselves or wait on Kalen and his
team."
"Well you know how I feel."
Smiling, Verissa said, "Yes, Love, of course I do."
Frustratingly Sascha did not know, but he did not ask, not being his
place to do so. He accepted, as he always did, that though they
welcomed him into their world, he would never be more than a guest. But
patience was one of his strengths and he knew it would not be long
before they answered his question, the break being almost over. Not
that it stopped him from considering that, given the choice, he would
attack, though he did not know who or how. Best to wait and see.
Apparently, based upon the suddenly large crowd, many others wished to
know.
As soon as the match restarted, they provided their answer. The
alliance was over, at least for Purple. With the armies of their former
allies still close, after wiping out Yellow, an attack proved easy to
launch. They did, the bombardments of artillery that had stopped
Yellow, now fell upon Green's troops.
As Green retreated under that bombardment, Sascha analyzed the reasons
behind choosing Professor Ack-chong, instead of the general. Firstly,
it made little sense to attack both opponents, better to focus on one,
doing as much damage as possible. Secondly, while that opponent
retreated, his defenders may fall into disarray, offering an
opportunity the third force could exploit. Lastly, the professor would
never take such an opportunity, while the general might take it. So
Purple targeted Green's forces; however, either they kept good order in
retreat, never providing an opening, or the general decided against
attacking.
The attack gained Purple space and time, which they used to rebuild
resources lost to McIddon's attack. Again the three players found
themselves locked into defensive positions, driving the spectators from
the Arena. It became a game of waiting, each nibbling at the others,
fighting in the lands of the defeated. Stalemate had been reached. Yet
stalemates were not good business for the casino. If nothing happened,
then the Gods, actually a random generator of natural disasters, would
come into play. It would be the moment when Chance, who lurked in all
casinos, joined the game.
The expected count down, to its arrival, began.
Time for the competitors to make another decision. Did they force the
play, stopping the clock. Or did they welcome Chance, hoping it
favoured them. As the seconds counted down, Sascha realized they all
planned to gamble.
The clock struck zero. Chance joined the party, but...
"We will now take a half hour break. That is one half hour. Please do
not be late, as we will start without you."
...of course The Siren's Cove recognized this as an opportunity to
build excitement and to open another book on the game. Soon people,
even those who did not understand Conquer, were betting on Chance.
Gambling on who would be the recipient of the Gods' judgment and
whether they would be fortunate or not.
Again Verissa and Ventar proved anti-social, even to each other, during
this break. Anxiously they waited for the dice to be thrown, ignoring
the drinks Sascha placed beside each purple clad arm.
This time, as the match restarted, neither Ventar nor Verissa sat in
the cockpit. Instead they stood in the open, like the members of the
other teams. Waiting on Chance, which manifested itself first as a
purple glow, then yellow, then red, momentarily lighting up each teams
wedge. Flickering purple, yellow, red, purple, yellow, red, purple,
yellow, red...building tension.
When it stopped, Sascha notice he was basked a purple glow. Immediately
he looked to the holographic globe, hoping Chance had been kind,
despite the hiss from one of the blondes. He saw defenses, that had
withstood attack, now in shambles, destroyed by a massive earthquake.
Turning away from the devastating sight, he saw Ventar watching
Verissa, who icily stared at the globe. Seeing her stand, unmoving like
a statue, the man bustled forward, taking the cockpit, attempting to
steal ward off defeat, as Yellow and Red instinctively reacted to
Purple's misfortune.
During the time that followed, Sascha's attention moved between the
globe and Verissa, then he only watched her, knowing what would happen
in the match, but never having seen this side of her. Frigid, like some
Winter Goddess. Still beautiful, but untouchable, Sascha preferred the
other Verissa.
"With the fourth contender eliminated from the match, we will now take
a one and one half hour break. That is one and one half hour. Please do
not be late. We will start without you."
At these words, Verissa turned and strode down the steps of the stage
and up those of the spectator seating. Barely glancing left or right,
she soon left the Arena. Sascha turned to Ventar, who joined him in
time to see Verissa exit. Offering only a shrug, he gently squeezed
Sascha's hand and rushed to follow his soulmate.
Leaving Sascha all alone.
Chapter 4 - Crissum
Startled by their departures, it took Sascha a few moments to realize
they were not coming back for him. Disappointed, he wondered why things
had gone so wrong? He should be with the blonde couple, about to start
an afternoon of fun, yet here he was, forgotten.
Back in the change room, he checked for messages. Finding none, he
submitted a request for a job, but was rebuffed again, the system
mandating his overtime was maxed out for the shift. Frowning, he
decided to head home, regretting that he had nothing other than the
s