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Hunt and Seek By Christopher Leeson _Introduction: For more than a decade fans have been asking us to do another Tiresias story. Alas, all my ideas were novel-sized in scope and there has never been a good time to start another novel, not while the mega-epic of Eerie Arizona is a work in progress._ _But we have always agreed that the premise behind that particular universe deserved more development. Consequently, we have come up with a new take on the Tiresias universe, one that seems to offer more possibilities for shorter-length stories._ _This story introduces the world of Vedar. Vedar may be the planet Tiresia as it might have developed in an alternate dimension, one where its technological development had not been retarded. The Earth adjacent to Vedar would, therefore, be alternate to our own, not literally in our reality, but very like our modern day world. (For that matter, the Earth of Tiresias was not our reality, as seen in its political references). To keep this first story within bounds, we've have had to limit the information provided about Vedar. Hopefully, there will be more tales in which the marvels of this planet will emerge in a natural and measured pace._ _Now, on to our story..._ *** They were in a downtown lounge and the evening crowd was no larger than one could expect in the middle of the week. Two women were carefully looking about, scanning faces in the subdued lighting, while trying not to be to obvious about what they were doing. Suddenly, the plainer of the pair perked up. "That's the one, Mara! Oh, he'll be perfect!" She had addressed the blonde seated at the opposite side of the table. The latter turned her head and regarded the twenty-something male toward whom her companion had briefly nodded. Mara frowned thoughtfully at the sight of him. "That one?" She shrugged her bare shoulders. "If you say so, Clara." The drab one smiled faintly. She knew that Mara vor Carnovon always took her recommendations seriously. Mara, in fact, knew the strength and weaknesses of her team, and was never dismissive when they spoke to her about matters that they knew something about. She may have been an expert Hunter, but Clara was the team's accredited Seeker. Now that Mara appeared to have a new objective, was able to commence a new hunt, she seemed to come alive. Clara smiled. "You really enjoy playing the seductress, don't you, Mara?" Mara's thoughtful expression changed to one of tolerant amusement. Unattractive people like Clara thought too much about sex, as far as she was concerned. They were always imagining that their more comely friends were getting more and better sex than they were. Why should Clara be envious, though? As far as Mara knew, the Seeker wasn't one who hungered for male companionship. When Mara herself had first been assigned to Earth, she started out dead set against having relations with men. There actually had been no company mandate telling her that she must. Her department had simply given her an assignment and had left it up to her as to how to carry it out. But she had read many company reports before arriving on the Planet Terra, and capturing men by luring them into a trap during the course of seduction had become a tried and true method. Now, after having clocked thousands of hours as a woman, the idea no longer seemed so repellant. Mara had occasionally found it necessary to have sex as a woman and would have freely admitted that the expedient was useful in her line of work. But to have sex for pleasure? No, that wasn't part of her nature. Not yet. And she hoped to be retired back on Vedar before it ever became part of her nature. Mara glanced again at her partner, who seemed to be waiting for some sort of answer, as silly as her question had been. "No, Clara," Mara replied, "I was just thinking about how to best make contact with that man." She smiled again. "We've run up a fine score lately, haven't we? Taking back another Earther so soon should get us an outstanding bonus." Clara shook her head dejectedly. "Yes, we've done well. But I might as well drawing the salary of a manual laborer, for all the good that money deposited in a bank on Vedar does me." "So go home and splurge some of it! You've worked hard and earned yourself a good time, and none of us knows for sure whether we'll ever live to reach retirement." Clara shook her head. "You know what I feel about inter-dimensional travel. It stresses the body, and I want to keep it to a minimum. I especially don't want to get 'change-fatigue' before I can go home to stay." Mara smiled again. Clara -- Clarar Ulikool of Tegema -- had never shown any great sense of adventure, a remarkable trait in one who had crossed the inter-dimensional barriers. She was always fretting about the dangers of the crossing, based mostly on fictional reading, and especially about "change-fatigue." The syndrome did exist, but it was rare. It was mostly a subject for plays and books. If Vedar had had motion pictures, it would have been exploited there, too. Living creatures passing back and forth between the dimensions of Earth and Vedar changed physically, and in an amazing way. What was male on one world was female on the other, and vice versa. Why? Science couldn't explain it. They spoke vaguely of "alternate realities." Religion had its theories, but they didn't hold much water, not with skeptics like Mara -- Marar vor Carnovon. The changing process, while traveling back and forth, seemed to be easy and automatic, but in rare cases it would stop working. That was called "change-fatigue." A person might suddenly find himself locked into the same sex on both worlds. His shape might be either the right one or the wrong one, but he would keep it permanently. If the unlucky traveler didn't like it, his only viable recourse was surgery and hormone therapy. But there was another hazard that trippers had to deal with, one that was more common and more threatening than change-fatigue. This was "personality-drift." Soul-Searchers -- Vedaran psychologists -- described a condition similar to the Terran "alternate personality disorder." It tended to develop in persons who had lived for too long in the opposite sex. Soul Searchers held that men and women were biologically programmed to think differently. They saw things differently. Their minds were structured along dissimilar lines. Their reactions to stimuli were not always the same. The change of sex was not just physical, but it had an instinctual aspect, too, and these instincts tended to become stronger the longer one stayed in the opposite sex. Gender-linked personality traits could start to be held over, even with one back in his original sex. That is, a new, unified, personality would begin to form. These alternate personalities usually emerged subtly, under the radar, and then began to "take over" in the course of a fairly short interval. It was slavers, scouts, and xeno-cultural researchers whose business most often took them across the dimensional barriers. But of them all, a slaver could least afford personality drift. Any significant change of outlook could ruin him or her, occupationally. One never knew what sort of personality would surface. A slaver had to be able detach himself from the suffering of his victim, or else he couldn't do his job. Who had ever heard of a sympathetic slaver? With the march of years, Mara had begun to worry that she was experiencing certain disconcerting impulses arising from within herself. Already Mara's personality wasn't exactly the same as Marar's. It wasn't that women were more softhearted than males; some women were as cold as serpents and excelled at slave training. But once the company found a man or woman who made a good slaver, it was rare that any random change in him would make produce a better one. Even increased brutality wouldn't be viewed as positive. The whole matter was a touchy subject with the company. Even to mention one's concerns to a house-based soul-searcher might get a slaver confined to Vedar for a long period, for tests and observation. This was all about money and there were no bonuses to be won in therapy. Mara shook her head. Wanting to think about something else, she opted to tease her companion. "If change-fatigue happened to you, Clara, would you prefer to stay as you are, or would you get a bio-makeover?" The other woman squirmed. "I don't want to think about it," she replied. Mara tried not to smile. No doubt Clara supposed that she was being asked whether she would choose to become an ersatz male. That hadn't been the blonde's question at all. Mara was, in fact, curious to know whether Clara had ever considered becoming prettier as a woman, especially if she had to remain one. She easily could improve her appearance. Marar had often admired the results of advanced cosmetic surgery. Many vain Vedarans -- including many natural-born women -- resorted to it. "Let's talk about something else," said Clara. "How are you going to do it?" "Do what?" "The capture!" The Hunter gave a careless shrug. "Oh. The usual way. I've had a good run making like Gwen Verdon in _Damned Yankees_." The dark-haired girl sniffed. Living on Terra had acquainted Clara with a great deal of its popular culture. "Be careful; Lola fouled up and got into trouble with the boss." Mara tossed her shoulders. "Don't worry. A one-woman man like Shoeless Joe doesn't come around every day. Sexual frustration is the norm on Planet Earth." Clara sighed. "It's so easy for you. I wish..." She stopped herself short. "No, I didn't mean that." "Mean what?" "Nothing." Mara knew that some persons believed that lurking godlings -- what Earthmen would call spirits or fairies -- often eavesdropped upon human conversation and punished foolish wishes by making them come true. The Hunter was tempted to increase the teasing, but this was not a good time to bait her Seeker. Clara was very sensitive, especially if she considered that she was being personally mocked. Her temper could flare, and this was no place to make a scene. Also, maintaining a good rapport was a must. Without a willing and enthusiastic Seeker, Mara would not know what man on Earth would translate into a beautiful female on Vedar. A conventionally handsome man didn't necessarily make a conventionally attractive woman. Surgery could fix a mistaken selection, but the company wanted only the best merchandise brought home. The situation was very like the market for cultured pearls on Earth. The trade in such wares was not nearly so lucrative as it was in the natural variety. "I hope the guy turns out to be a hormone-driven lecher," the Hunter stated suddenly. "That will make this short and sweet." "You talk like you want to dislike the person," Clara observed. Mara paused. She was usually more secretive than this, but the cat, it seemed, was now out of the bag. "Of course." "Why? What difference does it make?" Mara regarded her colleague jocularly. "With that attitude, you'd make an excellent slaver." Clara shook her head. "It's not for me. What you do is too risky, and it would be hard for me to adaopt a new persona. I'm a poor actor." That was true. Clara easily got tongue-tied when nervous. She didn't have an easy manner with people. And no one knew better than Mara that not all captures were easily made. She preferred to avoid elaborate ploys that could go wrong in a dozen ways, or directness that had no finesse, such as calling in additional teammates to stage-manage violent kidnapping actions. Instead, she would simply walk over to her intended prey and speak to him. The aim was to fascinate him, hinting at a sexual adventure that might happen, as long as he acted while she was still in the mood. If the target consented to go home with her, she usually found it easy to administer a sleeping drug and take him back to Vedar in a trans- dimensional capsule. There, the natural -- unnatural? -- process of reality-shifting would translate him into a girl -- an especially beautiful girl, if the Seeker had evaluated the target properly. And Clara had never failed to make a proper selection. The nearness of prey always had an energizing effect upon the Hunter. She was focusing now. Clara could almost feel the energy crackling in the air. Mara was making no more than the subtlest of physical movements, manifesting just a slight change of expression, but she had already caught the man's eye and, apparently, aroused his interest. Well, no surprise there. Clara had noticed him looking toward their table several times already. In fact, just about every man in the room had been stealing glances at Mara's clear skin, bouncing curls, and curves. That her team leader was a beauty was no coincidence. The Ludnican House deliberately picked hunters who would shift into attractive members of the opposite sex once on Planet Terra. A senior Seeker had selected Marar. The former had assured the company's personnel chief that the promising young employee would become a stunning female, should he be sent to across the barrier of worlds. Attractive people, for obvious reasons, tended to be more effective in the work of non-violent capture. Mara was now projecting her invitation across the room with an off- centered smile, one that becomingly emphasized the left corner of her mouth. Her eyes were simultaneously telegraphing sultry sensuality. She had the gestures down pat. The Seeker thought that the man _did_ look interested, but he seemed uneasy, too. Just when a sexually aggressive man would have come over to introduce himself, he seemed to lose his nerve and look away. Mara scowled prettily at the fellow's pretended fascination with the colorful liquor labels behind the bar. 'Damn these Earthmen!' she thought. Why couldn't they act like the men did in their own classic movies, always ready for the sweet diversions of a one-night stand? Had the stronger sex changed so much since the days when movies were black and white? What, exactly, was it that made an appalling number of Terran males afraid of girls? Mara hoped her perceived prey wasn't homosexual; this was the West Coast, after all. Gay men taken from Earth tended to become lesbians on Vedar, and that placed them at a lower market value. Men seldom wanted pillow slaves who would reject them. But, more importantly, many city-states of Vedar considered tribadism a crime and inflicted judicial enslavement as punishment. As a matter of form, well-to-do ladies rarely bought pillow slaves openly. There was a market for domestic servants, of course, but it was the exciting, sexually-trained wenches that brought the high bids. It just wasn't cost-effective to send people all the way to Earth and maintain them there, only to bring back low-rated prey. Mara worried that the young man, seemingly so ill at ease, might leave at any second. To better evaluate this person as a target, she had to talk to him, up close and personal. The sleek blonde therefore gritted her blue-white teeth and rose sinuously from her chair. Clara watched the Hunter approach the bar with a temptress's hip movements. The Seeker shook her head; the Mara was a fine female impersonator. She could only wonder how much of it was an act and how much was her true character. On Earth, even the strongest personalities would begin to take on the instincts of the opposite sex, and sexual preference was the most problematical of these. Just then, the brunette saw the young man on the barstool glancing back toward their table, only to find his line of sight blocked by Mara's deep cleavage. He lurched in surprise. "I think I've seen you around here before," the Vedaran Hunter remarked breathily. Her eyes were reflective in the chandelier lighting, like matches held up to inflammable tinder. "Buy me a drink?" she asked. The startled lounger replied, tongue-tied, "Uh, yeah, sure, M-Miss." Mara was still smiling. She could afford to be bold when accosting an American. Unlike a Vedaran, one of their tribe would not throw a forward woman over his shoulder and whisk her away to a night of pleasure -- or, even, if he had the opportunity, place the hussy into the befitting life of a pillow slave. "What would you have?" the stranger asked. Mara shrugged. Doing so made her hair bounce, and she knew how irresistible that could look. "What are _you_ having?" she inquired. "It certainly has the bouquet of a man's drink." "Scotch and soda," he replied. "It's rather strong," he added apologetically. "I'm rather strong, too," she told him. "I think it will suit me just fine." The stranger ordered the drink and it came swiftly. The Hunter received it, expressing appreciation with her teasing eyes. As she raised the glass and sipped, Mara took her companion's measure. This handsome man only lacked the self-confidence to have any woman he wanted, she thought. But instead of pouncing, he hadn't even offered her his name nor asked for hers. "My name is Mara," she said. "Like _Mara of the Wilderness_," he replied brightly. The Vedaran didn't understand the reference and her brow wrinkled bemusedly. The man explained, "A low-budget adventure movie." The girl beamed polite amusement, but remained quiet, as if waiting for him to say something more. "Oh, Stewart Lindstrom," he said. "Like Stewart Granger?" Mara responded pertly. "That's a real man's name." She leaned closer. "Everything that's ultra-male excites me." Stewart tensed slightly. Mara wondered whether she was coming on too strongly. "Been around here long?" the man asked, with what, for him, was probably a valiant effort. "In this club? For too long. I was hoping to find someone to escort me to a place with more possibilities." To her satisfaction, the wheels in Stewart's mind now appeared to be turning. "Is that your -- friend, over there?" he asked. Mara glanced back at Clara. "That's my secretary," she lied. "The poor thing doesn't get out much. If we ignore her, she'll take the hint and go back to her hotel." "That's nice," Stewart replied absently. "Ah, where would you like _someone_ to take you?" Mara allowed herself a strategic pause. "Back to my place. My family has real estate nearby, in Hillsdale. Fully furnished." She described a posh suburban district where locked gates and high fences kept out the "little people." She didn't mention that guild slavers actually ran the gated community and that no one thereabouts would be helpful to authorities later on, should they come around looking for a missing person. "You said that you've seen me before. I never noticed you around, and, believe me, I would have." "That was just a pickup line, " Mara admitted. "I'm not often in town. I only came over because you're the handsomest man in the room." She lifted her glass. "I always have to have the best of everything, men or jewels, or else my day is a failure." She took another sip and waited a space, to see if her Paris Hilton channeling would encourage him. His sluggish reaction, unfortunately, made her doubt that it was having the right effect. Rallying quickly, she added, "I've learned that if a person sees an opportunity, he has to take it. He might not get another." 'An unsubtle invitation,' Mara thought. If a woman of Vedar had spoken to Marar that way, she would be have instantly become an object of his contempt. On Terra, though, people could understand nothing if it were not presented blatantly or coarsely. Mara flashed another smile, remembering the last Vedaran lady, infatuated and sex-besotted, who had actually begged Marar to make her his slave. He had ordered her to strip, and then had taken her swiftly, demandingly. Afterwards, over the next couple weeks, he had efficiently oriented her to the life of a pillow slave, teaching her that slaves could deny a free man nothing. Finally, the slaver had watched the former lady being sold in the marketplace, a naked, chokered, and tattooed wench. The bid price had been large, for the rakes of her acquaintance had each wanted to have their way with her. Some were still furious for having unsuccessfully courted her, in the hope of getting their hands on her fortune. Still, Stewart had made no reply to Mara's last statement and she felt frustrated. He still wasn't holding up his end of the seduction. Mara persevered, angling to make him relax by means of small talk. The standard vamp act wasn't working, so she nimbly shifted tactics, trying to come off as the girl next door. A little chitchat in that vein seemed to set the prey somewhat at ease. "I'd love to see your place," the Stewart said at last. _"Huzhar!"_ thought Mara. When the two of them walked through the front door a couple minutes later, Mara didn't look back at Clara. She didn't have to. The Seeker knew the game. She would take her own vehicle back to Hillsdale, and, once there, would help Mara wrap up the capture into a neat package -- should any help be needed. *** As the chauffeured limousine approached the six-bedroom house in Hillsdale, Mara stole another glance at Stewart Lindstrom, sitting beside her, edgy with excitement and anticipation. She herself felt oddly unenthusiastic. Where was her old thrill for the hunt? Was her mood another sign of personality-drift? She hadn't managed to work up any dislike for the Earthman, but instead was feeling something that was deadly to a professional slaver. Sympathy. Stewart's life would soon change horrifically, and she would be to blame. Mara couldn't even tell herself that she was sacrificing the life of an enemy soldier to some great cause. She only did what she did for pay. "Why are you looking so sad?" Stewart asked. "It's nothing. I'll perk up when we're alone," Mara replied. They reached the closed neighborhood and went up to the entertaining room. Mara made things cozy for Stewart and teased him until he accepted a glass of Champaign. The drink contained a drug powerful enough to lay him out flat in minutes and, then, with the help her team waiting in the wing, she loaded him into a ready capsule. Anticipating the launch, Mara had changed her clothes. The cocktail dress would look ridiculous on the man she soon would become, once back on Vedar. Clara arrived at the compound belatedly, delayed by traffic, and, as usual, had found little to contribute to the endgame. Mara briefly greeted her and said goodbye all at the same time, before climbing into the capsule. This was carefully sealed by the techs and was, at good speed, launched. There was no visible movement; the mechanism faded before their eyes like a ghost among flashes and ripples, leaving only empty air. When his mind cleared from the disorienting effects of the crossing, the Vedaran pilot confirmed that Mara had indeed become Marar, wearing Mara's loose -- now snug -- unisex jumpsuit. The restored male regarded the twenty-something woman sleeping beside him in the padded transport chair, wearing a too-large male business suit. Then Marar heard the hatch latch click. The rest was routine. The company aides in the slaving compound took the unconscious captive away to the confinement area, and Marar did the required paperwork in the office suite. Feeling dog-tired, he yawned through a routine debriefing with a senior house staffer. Afterwards, the successful slaver was free to retire to his assigned quarters, and there Marar sank into a slumber of exhaustion. Less than twenty-four hours later, when Marar next saw Stewart, he -- she -- was nude, except for a slave's choker, one that displayed the emblem of the Ludnican House. In a day or two, Stewart would receive the small tattoo that would indelibly mark her as prime chattel of Terran origin. Her chief trainer had already given the new wench the pillowing name of Leeza. Marar thought that it was as pretty as the girl herself. Leeza looked miserable behind the cage bars. They had shackled her to a low-framed tick and she probably believed that she was having a nightmare. Her expression made the Hunter feel even more depressed than before. Did Stewart have children, the slave-catcher wondered? Probably not. In all likelihood, though, he had parents. For how long would they cling to the empty hope that their son was still alive on Earth? His eyes began to burn and he left the pens quickly, hoping that no one would notice their watery redness. Such an unseemly display might put an end to a slaving career. Of what use to the company would be a compassionate slaver? At best, he would be put at a desk job, away from the exciting world of stalking and capturing. The drop in wages would be huge and would inevitably delay his retirement for at least ten years. Outside, Marar found a lonely spot where he could think unobserved. His father had been a slaver, as had his father before him. Considering how long people lived, through the benefit of Vedaran science, three generations amounted to centuries. The slaving profession was in his blood. He was a damned good Hunter and had been a credit to his family. What could he do with his life if he wasn't a slaver and wasn't yet prepared to retire? Marar clenched his fists in determination. Hopefully, this mood amounted to no more than the usual end-of-mission letdown. Slave marketing, everyone understood, was an honorable profession. It was sanctioned by Vedaran antiquity; it had been an acknowledged boon to civilization and had speeded the human race along the road to progress. It was as natural for some people to take slaves as it was for a bird to fly. What slavers did didn't amount to purposeful cruelty; it was just a way of making a living. In fact, it was outrageous even to mention slaving and cruelty in the same breath. Marar tried to tell himself that something even worse might have happened to Stewart, had he been left to the vicissitudes of destiny -- disease, accidents, and certainly the slow decline into old age. Here, he -- she -- might live for centuries, young and healthy, and enjoying a vigorous sexual life to boot. "Do no harm" was a motto for doctors, not slavers. What the off-duty Hunter most wanted -- needed -- was strong liquor to deaden his sense of guilt. Also, he supposed that spending an hour with a beautiful public slave girl would pick up his spirits, as it had so many times before. Both types of recreation could be had at any number of public houses, but Marar and his clique of fellow slavers had their favorite spot. The cheery greetings of his friends took some of the weight off Marar's shoulders. Most of them had been to Earth themselves. That meant that they would be careful with the sex-change jokes. They were, in fact, his kind of people. Familiar faces, familiar voices, had always helped him to reassert his sense of normality. That he had been thinking so much about his alter ego, Mara, worried him. But, yet, why should he fret about what Mara did or how she reacted to things? _He_ was Mara. He was in control. The pair of them weren't two people at odds; they were the same person. One single heart beat in two breasts, alternately. Mara would do what she had to do; he knew very well that she saw Marar's interests as being the same as her own. Mara knew as well as he that the quickest way to get out of the slaving game was to be the best slaver in the house and earn the largest bonuses. It was financial security and financial security alone that could end this mad career of crossing of the dimensional planes. And once it was ended, he would no longer have to see himself as one who spread misery wherever he went. Damn it! He had to stop thinking that way. His eyes had started to burn again. "Master," a tray slave said to him, over the boisterous noise of the public house. Marar got a grip on himself and smiled up at the pretty girl. He offered her his tankard to fill and, on a whim, he decided to take her upstairs. By the time he left the tavern, the Hunter felt better. All around the world-traveler were the sights and sounds that had once been so familiar to a youth growing up. How well the commonplace soothed a troubled spirit. How good it felt to be at home. How good, too, it felt to be a man of Vedar. And, yes, even to be a slaver of Vedar. End