Forced into the wider world, Sascha must learn to make his own way. But should he take the easy route, acting as people expect him to act, being who people saw him to be? Or can he grow into something more, his own Sascha, without further diminishing the current Sascha.

A Shootist Disarmed
by Arcie Emm

You may wish to see prior Shootist stories:

1. The Shootist
2. A Sylph Protected / A Shootist Avenged

Thank you very much to Puddintane, Renee M, and Stanman for reviewing this concoction for me.

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, as his ship’s sensors collected more data, those plans grew less ambitious. He determined that it held an abundance of minerals, yet few were rare and those were buried under deep seas. He had found a water planet, where the only livable space was islands, none of them large enough to hold a decent sized city. Bitter at his discovery’s apparent uselessness, particularly to himself, the pilot named the planet Pyrite, fool’s gold.

His judgement 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 unimaginative 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 passed in an eye-blink to the planet, but lasted 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, these companies operated ten day shifts before removing a miner for four days of R&R, which posed a problem for the frugal employers, where to send them. Transportation to nearby settled worlds seemed a reasonably priced option; however, it came with complete loss of control over the men. Instead of arriving for transport back to the asteroids, many ended up in jails, hospitals, or somewhere lost in drunken stupor. 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 perfectly.

Crews descended upon the planet, chose likely islands and built facilities. By the time any of the miners showed up, there was already 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 for recreation and entertainment on what would otherwise have been an ordinary miner’s R&R haven.

These more wholesome activities kept the port from taking on the dingy and run down atmosphere so common amongst its kind. Soon people other than the miners started choosing Pyrite 23 as a place to visit. First came the management of the mining companies, and then those seeking adventure upon its seas.

Yet these advantages could not keep the planet going when the asteroid mining operations dried up. Pyrite 23 depended upon the operating funds from the mining companies, the money spent by the miners, and the fees paid by the few adventurous tourists. However, instead of allowing the planet to again fade into 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 recognized the temptation that the seeming availability of beautiful women offered to men, who hoped, though usually failed, to get lucky in more ways than one, even though they usually failed. Old school thinking perhaps, 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, as he tried to decide at whom to look.

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 feminine richness in which they lived, 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 her beauty had a warmth to it, though somewhat cool 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, and 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’d danced as a chorus girl at Flickers, a small casino pulled down twelve years ago. From Flickers she had moved to larger casinos, until she’d reached Siren’s Cove, where they’d 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 had children of her own, they contracted to use her natural mothering instincts, first for the dancers but then, over the years, for all who worked at the casino.

Very much upper management now, she only rode the tram in order to allow employees to approach her with their problems, which was not happening on this particular day. Everyone 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 test of wills that everybody knew she’d lost. They also knew that today was the start of the new marketing gimmick dreamed up by the winner, and that Ms. Ellene rode along to judge its impact, harshly from all appearances.

Nobody would call her a prude, she had spent much of 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 as the girls made their way to and from work, away from any real protection. She cared less that many of the girls wore similar things on their own, Siren‘s Cove‘s had no responsibility for those bad decisions. However, the casino did have responsibility for what she saw today as the tram crossed the chain of four islands housing the majority of the planet’s single women. Every time she spotted another example of what that smarmy pervert, Elston Dinwald, claimed would ‘showcase’ 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 new outfits numbered amongst the casino’s most beautiful, so none of them needed the garish styling of a tasteless pimp to showcase their beauty.

The new 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 and 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, the new ‘genius’ decided to make them sexier by cutting away additional material to show more skin. Even worse, they’d garishly emblazoned ‘Siren’s Cove’ in large, glittery silver lettering across the back of each girl. They embarrassed her, making her wonder how much of a bonus they’d had to pay 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, since the new outfits were so over-the-top as to minimize their actual allure. 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 neckline 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 and Ellene wasn’t any different from most. As much as she hated what the seasoned employees were wearing today, she had some confidence that most of her girls could handle the additional burden of their outfits. She felt much less confident about the pretty, little miss on the platform, proudly perched atop high-heeled boots like some junior member of the streetwalker sisterhood. Despite a personal history that had shocked Ellene to read, the child had the survival instincts of a lemming, seeming always willing to follow someone over a cliff.

Instead of the scowl she had directed at the previous bonus seekers, Ellene gestured for the girl to come towards her. Proving herself at least somewhat aware of the need for self-preservation, the girl hesitantly approached, nervously, saying, “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 completely 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 these are 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 them are wealthy and powerful. These people sometimes 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 out a hasty answer before processing what Sascha had 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 had both overlooked the most important factor, perhaps not surprisingly, since neither of them were treated as a valuable resource like Sascha and the girls. They did not live on an island that had restricted access like those on the employee tram route. As Sascha had said, nobody would see her, well at least not the dangerous perverts she had feared, nor even the regular perverts the casino catered to and that 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.”

Ellene quickly stifled an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle.

***

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. But she did not explain the reason for her cheery mood. Still stinging from the lost argument, she eagerly anticipated the next quarterly review. By then multiple ‘advertising’ bonuses would have been paid and she could ask Dinwald how the fact that no one likely to be a potential customer had actually seen the girls in their expensive new outfits had 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. Honest affection had not been something he had 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. Their view of him was only slightly improved after seeing his exploits against the pirates, though, as he had learned when he overheard 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 itself 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 own 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. He actually thrived, his temperament, appearance, and years as personal slave to Prince Fallan made him a skilled server. Quickly he found himself recruited to work at better quality bars and this appreciation of his skills, skills that had always seemed secondary in importance, provided a boost to his confidence. He grew independent, less frightened, more ready to believe that 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. Also, despite appearances, his mindset mirrored most teenage males and fantasy was a common habitant of his thoughts. However, he had a major advantage in making his fantasies a reality, since he expected to play the role not readily obtainable for most.

When he finally took back his own sexuality from the lingering insult he was working in his third bar, one that catered 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 he 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 procedurres, 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 23. 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 then 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. Combined with his wide-eyed sexuality and pre-existing expertise as a server, she felt that 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 after Joice’s professional crew had subjected Sascha to a battery of tests, both physical and mental. The results determined 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, combing through records, mined from poorly secured systems on Darson, determined Sascha’s birthday, which showed him to be just under nineteen standard years old. They assigned him the next step, choosing a last name, since there was none documented at his birth. He decided against taking the name of someone from his past, believing it might either be unfair to the person whose name he assumed or bring back bad memories. He reviewed fictional characters instead. This sparked a memory of his last wonderful moments with Foster, when he’d pretended to be Captain Keleesa Shronsdottor. So he became Sascha Shronsdottor.

The last step, his gender, proved more difficult 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 this would be dishonest, she asked 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 mannerisms, but he thought that it was 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, his sense of humour often responded 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 the fact that his first exposure to civilization was on 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, which resulted in the casino management eagerly extending his contract, after probation, even expanding his role to include two exotic duties. 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 one of those exotic duties, the public and less dangerous of the pair. 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, who 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, gestured for Sascha to stand in a 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 in 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’s brusque attitude, Fara treated his nails like those belonging to any other siren, despite their chromatic treatment. After painting them with a quick-drying, pearlescent lacquer, Fara had him place each hand, fingers spread wide, into a mould with a thin, yet tough, membrane at the bottom. Folding the top of the mould 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 overdone 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,” he nodded.

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. He felt the expected moment of panic as it blocked his breath before he could breathe again. Satisfied with its operation, Sascha shoved a filter into each delicate nostril, and 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, which turned the man into a Flen-blob which reached out to grab him around his tiny waist before carrying him to the largest tube and thrust him through its hatch, 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 fin, before in began to creep 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.”

He waited as the outer ring of tanks containing ordinary sea-life were lowered to expose the siren tank, listening 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 gracefully folded the length of his body into a vee like that of a leaping pike, straightened, and fell, diving smoothly back into the blue of the tank, oblivious to the oohs and ahhs of those whose eyes were drawn by the flamboyant costume and motion in 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 endeavour, 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 had, used it as an excuse to explain away, not overcome, lack of success. It triggered his competitive spirit, which had won him his horrible victory over those lost brothers, and so he returned, night after night, until his entrance was as smooth as drawing his pistols. Next he discovered the secret of tank, that one needed to let it do the work, flowing along in the 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 the 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 the preferred sirens for the Cove.

But for Sascha, it felt natural, little different than being caught in the currents of the powerful Prince Fallan. Just as when he’d been 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 brought about a lazy twirl. A flick of his tail caused 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 would be watching, potentially hundreds of spectators.

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 every doubt 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, more importantly he needed it. It was bad enough to be the result of an 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 could have expected the interesting two months that followed.

Despite his initial expectations that his male self would appear, 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. The latter being 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. He always made mistakes, leaving him confused as to what he had done wrong. It was almost 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 these words were a compliment, he secretly took it as such. It was, after all, a strange validation of 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 its shallowness. Flen’s main desire was get the siren into bed, not into a relationship. Nor, Sascha realized, did he want one. Maybe that explained why he and Flen, unlike he and Terese, were still friends with favours.

Spiralling through the tank, Sascha decided to draw on those favours, it having been some time since his last fling. A few hours later, though, 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 seem 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. He found his hair wand, using it until his hair shone before curling 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 donned a beautiful lingerie set before he stepped into a short, ruffled, ivory coloured, lace underskirt that matched it. Over this he fastened an even shorter, deep purple, velvet overskirt, cut away, in the front, to show most of the lace beneath. Then he pulled on a midriff-baring, bell-sleeved, lace shirt over which he fastened a cap sleeved, bolero jacket of the same purple velvet. Dressed, he pulled on polished black, synth-leather, stilleto-heeled 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.

Sascha stood up to check 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. He shook his head to clear such thoughts and 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 for 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, 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, chose 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 studied the stage. Forty metres in diameter, it had empty space ten metres across in the centre, where a holographic world would be displayed, displaying the match’s progress, for all to see. The rest of the stage consisted of six colour co-ordinated wedges, with privacy barriers between white, black, green, yellow, red, and purple. In each of these a team would be located, one member at the front of the wedge, visible to all in a cockpit chair, as complex and confusing as Foster’s on the Lady Tramp. Meanwhile, the rest of the team would be located in the private team room at the fat end of the wedge, where they would act as general staff for the player in the cockpit. He, and his colleagues in colours matching their wedge, would stand in between the two positions, ready to serve both, while on display for all, and hoping the heated plate on which they stood would keep them warm in the air conditioned arena, despite their manner of dress and long periods of inactivity.

At the bottom of the spectator seating, Sascha crossed the short distance to the steps, clearly outlined with distinctive purple lights, that led up to his assigned section and climbed onto the stage. It being his responsibility during the match, he performed a quick check to ensure that everything was perfect, even though others would have checked it multiple times.

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 that 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 his first night he served them, initially at The Pearl but later, after they’d effortlessly seduced him, in their magnificent suite. Now, whenever they visited Pyrite, they treated Sascha as their favourite toy. 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 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 he knew the cost to enter a Conquest match. Each entry fee was significantly more than he made in a year, even with top bonuses.

Agreement reached, no ravishing, each found their place. Verissa moved 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 their having extracted his entire life story within hours of their first meeting, he knew little of theirs beyond likes and pleasures. He knew 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, everything from a Prince and Princess banished from their home 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 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. It seemed others saw it differently, however, betting them to be first out. He guessed the size matters crowd was behind that betting, ignoring the defences and self-sufficiency of Purple’s territory.

Personally, he thought the sprawling mass covered in red appeared to be the weakest, almost an amateurish, position. Curious, he checked to see who played Red and was 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 and an aggressive player. 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 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 was trying to figure out the trap.

Duty diverted him from studying the game, since he was 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.” He consulted the data feeds accessible from his console, “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, but delivered a snack to Verissa. Based upon the appreciative way she squeezed his thigh, just below his skirts, she 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, which was 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, followed by reinforcements. White reacted by rushing forces towards the border with Yellow while 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 of the bettors seemed to be ignoring the possibility of a trap. Smarter money did notice Black’s supply lines stretching and its forces thinning out the length of the advance. For a time, Dailmbruk had the best odds, both to win and be first out.

As the black arrows pierced 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, evidently having made a secret alliance with Red, suddenly launched attacks upon Black’s home territory. Dailmbruk faced a difficult decision, whether to push through, hopefully defeating Red, or retreat and defend his territory. He made the wrong choice. His attempt to pull back left his troops spread out even more, his transports started running out of fuel and fell behind. The pursuing Red units gobbled them up like one snake eating another, so very few of Black’s forces made it home in time to encounter 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 joined 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. 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. Soon the Purple team joined Sascha, this time Ventar claiming 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 their protests, having decided that recent foes could not instantaneously become a united force. Thus, their alliance became little more than a non-aggression pact, and the two were forced to defend their own territories without close co-operation. This favoured McIddon, both because he had prepared a better defense, something required by 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 decided 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, can we take the treat back to our room now?”

“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. He took a back way to escape vid requests, and soon found 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 nearly impossible to rise. Sighing, he repeated his preparations of the prior day, but 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 and found it empty, none of the other players and staff having been quite so prompt.

He went through the same checks as the prior day and was cleaning the team room table, when he felt someone grasp him around the waist and he gave 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.”

Not averse to Ventar’s game, Sascha looked over his shoulder, eyes peeking 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 now here is my captive wench who greets 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’s 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 any such 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 our 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, Sascha watched the beautiful woman leave the room and spared a thought for the appropriateness of capitulating so easily. The he decided, 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, what 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 the start when 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 was 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, McIddon 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, but 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 and the attack finally bogged down and collapsed.

During the attack, Sascha noticed how slowly Red and Green reacted, delaying relief to their ally. Not a surprise, since it did not hurt to have an alliance member weakened, something understood by all and which 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. 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, since it was not 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 since the break was 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 analysed 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 might 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. As it turned out though, 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. Eventually, the three players found themselves locked into defensive positions, driving the bored 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, which was 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 countdown, 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.”

...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 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. He knew what would happen in the match, but had never 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 had decided that his overtime was maxed out for the shift. Frowning, he decided to head home, regretting that he had nothing other than the stupid romper. Opening the locker, however, he saw that someone had replaced hideous thing.

Looking at the new outfit, he guessed that either Ms.. Dupensk or Verissa were behind the switch, as both liked to see him as the innocent. One because she wanted to protect him, the other because she enjoyed playfully despoiling that innocence. Eagerly though, he accepted either role, the specific version of innocence to portray depended upon the audience. Fortunately the answer as to who wanted him so costumed became obvious when he spotted the new, black, high-heeled shoes at the bottom of the locker. Those were pure Ventar, who, being less complicated than his companion, always seemed satisfied by short skirts and high heels.

Dressed, he saw the result would suit both temperaments, as he naturally pulled off the cute, but sexy, look Verissa adored. And the short charcoal jumper dress over a black sweater with knee high stockings would definitely please Ventar, although he decided on a hair band instead of braids, side tracking the inevitable handlebar joke from the man. Satisfied that Verissa and Ventar would be satisfied, Sascha checked again for messages. Finding none, he headed towards the sport’s book to wait for contact.

Since it was early afternoon, the place was nearly empty, so he could focus on his food and a semi-final game, in the Valent Sector Sphere Hockey Champions’ League, between the Holken Fener Renders and the Sigline SuperNovas. Not a game in which he held rooting interest, as his own team, the Aliston Guardians, was in the other semi-finals, instead he cheered against the Renders, long time rivals of the Guardians. As with the Conquest match, his cheering provided little benefit, as the Renders opened up an early lead, extending it during the third period. Combined with the lack of contact from his hoped for dates, he decided to give it up as a bad day and go home.

Since the employee shuttle did not run between shifts, he headed for the casino’s main transit station, amusing himself by guessing each group’s destination. Although no guess proved necessary for the three youths around his own age who loudly declared their intentions to hit the Solintarno Isle Park. They only got louder, well, two of them, when they noticed him look in their direction.

Solintarno Isle Park was an amusement park tailored to those not old enough to gamble in the casino, even if they could work there. Sascha loved the place and went as often as possible, though with a busy work schedule he had not been there in more than a week. So when a tram, heading in the Park‘s direction, arrived, he found himself considering boarding. Watching the three youths, he noticed the noisy two rush to the back, leaving the third member to plunk down in a seat near the entrance. Hardly having time to think, ‘he’s cute,’ Sascha moved towards the open door.

Holding the door open for two men following, Sascha slid into the seat beside the youth, his short dress riding not-so-carelessly higher on his thighs. Not satisfied with the morning’s tryst, nor how things had ended with the blondes, Sascha decided to take matters into his own hands. And noticing the boy’s quick peek at his legs before returning to the game on his personal console, he realized Verissa was right; innocence definitely had its attractions. Waiting until they were away from casino’s station, Sascha looked at the game his seatmate played. Recognizing the holographic images in Fargonworld, a game he had spent hours playing himself, he none-the-less asked, “What’s that you’re playing?”

Flicking him a nervous glance, the youth said, “Fargonworld.”

The question, added to Sascha’s nearness, destroyed the rhythm with which he flicked his wand about the display. His fighter, battered from all sides, soon crashed to its knees and onto its face. Pursing his mouth in frustration, the youth restarted the game, trying to casually ignore the beautiful girl beside him. However, Sascha did not want to be ignored and decided to become an active spectator; offering unwanted advice, squeaking surprise at monsters, bouncing in excitement, and so forth. The act, conducted at his brainless best, proved great fun for him, but incredibly distracting for the youth, as shown by the string of deaths that followed.

After another, which resulted in a muttered curse, Sascha asked, “Is it hard? It looks hard.”

Still looking down, the game player said, “Kind of, but I’m usually better at it.”

“Oh? Oh no, am I distracting you? I’ll move to another seat?”

“No, no, don’t do that. Umm...I mean, that’s okay, you don’t need to move. I was just killing time on the way to Solintarno Isle Park.”

Offering a big smile at what he considered to be the correct answer, Sascha said, “Oh, that’s a fun place.”

The lines of communication opened, the boy shut down his game and turned his head, his glance roving over Sascha’s body in that fashion so common to most men or boys. His look settling halfway between Sascha’s breasts and face, allowing him to pretend to focus on the latter, though giving opportunity for darting glances at the former, he asked, “Are you going to the park as well?”

Unconcerned with his seatmate’s sneak peeks, Sascha could have smiled at the hopeful tone in the question. Instead he tried to lure his target into making the next move. “I’m actually heading home from my shift at the Cove. I hadn’t planned to stop anywhere.”

“You work at Siren’s Cove? What do you do?”

Though not the desired ‘Wanna go to the park with me,’ interest was better than dismissal. “I do a few things, mostly waitressing.”

Looking closer at Sascha, almost in recognition, he said, “You know I think I saw you working. Though, I’m not sure where.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Maybe at the Conquest Arena?”

“Bleh, Conquest! That’s all my dad cares about.”

At almost the same moment, the two figured out the answer. The youth, fighting a blush, realized that when he had last seen Sascha, she was gloriously naked. Sascha, in turn, felt no embarrassment. Quite the opposite, he felt thrilled to finally meet one of his imagined spectators, particularly one so cute. Excitedly grabbing one of the boy’s hands in both of his own, Sascha said, “You saw me in the tank. What did you think? Did you like it?”

“Umm...you were very beautiful. I’d never seen anything like it.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s really quite a lot of work and I never know if I’m doing a good job. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Yeah, I liked it a lot.”

Smiling, even happier at the validation and the lack of struggle from his target to regain control of his hand, Sascha said, “I’m Sascha by the way.”

“Hi Sascha, I’m Crissum, but everybody calls me Cris.”

“I’ve never met anybody named Crissum before, can I call you that?”

“Sure, I guess. My parents named me after the founder of Nalcon, my home planet. How about you, Sascha, where are you from? Guessing not here.”

Sascha liked to get the truth out early on in a potential relationship, being warned by Joice that if he planned to stick with the truth, he should tell people in public, instead of waiting for privacy. “I’m from Darson, I’m a sylph.”

This moment always felt like gambling on one of the machines in the casino. Push the button, then round and round go the wheels, where they’ll stop nobody knows. Would there be anger, excitement, confusion (amongst the less worldly, who had never heard of Darson or its unique customs), or sympathy (which hated, as it tried to give lie to the belief that he should like himself). In this instance, he received what he considered the jackpot, amazement. “Wow, I never would have guessed. I once saw a docu-vid about Darson and none of the sylphs were as pretty as you.”

“Their owners were probably not as rich or organized as mine.”

Crissum’s nose wrinkled in disgust at this, but it did not bother Sascha, since it seemed directed at the prince, who he felt worthy of all types of disgust. “I’m surprised you were freed?”

“I wasn’t, I escaped.”

This, of course, led to a description of what had happened with the platoon of Dawson’s Bunch. Like most of the times Sascha had described his past, his audience appeared fascinated by his tale. Crissum particularly found the violent aspects intriguing and asked many questions. Sascha did not mind, it was better than those interested in the sexual part of his past. Besides, the youth had not reclaimed his hand, letting the former sylph continue holding it clasped between his own atop his short-skirted lap. The telling of the story kept the two entertained as they passed multiple stops, the tram slowly emptying as passengers reached their destinations. At the stop prior stop to Solintarno Isle, the father and son, sitting behind them, left the tram. The seat did not stay empty for long; the two other boys, who had been with Crissum, moved forward to occupy it.

“Hey, Crissie, introduce us to your friend.”

His seatmate did not quite snatch his hand away from Sascha’s grasp, but it proved a near thing, as a wary look appeared on his face. “Her name is Sascha, she works at Siren’s Cove. Sascha, this is my older brother, Tithen, and his friend, Dooger.”

The one identified as Dooger just leered, leaving Tithen to speak. “Heya, Babe, what are you doing with the dweeb, when you could be hanging with Doogs and I?”

Snorting laughter at this, his companion agreed quicker than a puppy dog. “You bet, Tithen, we could show you a real good time, Babe.”

“I think not, boys. I’m quite happy with Crissum’s company.”

“You work at the casino, do you, Babes? How much is Crissie paying you to be his friend?”

Such an insult, from someone he already disliked, had no ability to sting, but Crissum blushed a deep red and blurted out. “I’m not paying her anything.”

“Can’t afford her, ehh?”

“I rather doubt any of you could afford me, if I were for sale. But keep your fantasies in check, I’m just enjoying your brother’s company.”

With this, Sascha and Tithen shared a mutual glare. Fortunately the tram pulled into the Solintarno Isle station before anything more was said. As it stopped, the two stood and looked at Crissum, his brother asking, “You coming with us? Or are you going to go and play princess with your new friend?”

Starting back, as if slapped, Crissum said, “Shuddup, Tithen, I’m coming. Bye, Sascha, I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Umm...bye, Crissum.”

Watching the three leave, Sascha struggled to hide his surprise. He could not understand why Crissum would take the comment about playing princess, probably due to the next island being a pre-teen girl haven named Princess Island, as such an affront to his masculinity. After all, the fact that Sascha had done everything except straddle his lap and stick his tongue down the boy’s throat, to show interest, should have acted as balm to wounded masculinity.

Sometimes Sascha struggled to understand men just as much as he struggled to understand women.

Chapter 5 - Pursuit

Shaking his head, Sascha found his inability to get his itch properly scratched almost funny. It seemed cosmic justice sought to pay him back for all the times he induced someone else’s itch, intentionally or not, and had not satisfied it. After all, it hardly seemed natural for him to have faced all he had faced during the last day. Starting with his initial intentions concerning Flen, Sascha had dealt with the man’s quick absence, the arrival of Verissa and Ventar, their unabashed flirtation, his morning tryst with Ventar (which had hinted and teased, rather than satisfying), their casual dismissal of him, finding the nice but naughty clothing, before happening upon the yummy Crissum, only to have him pulled away by a bullying brother. It left him horny. And as a final joke, in his pursuit of Crissum he now found himself further away from home and his silver friend, than when he left the casino.

Thinking about transit routes, he realized that after Princess Island, the tram would continue on to Adventure Island, currently under renovation, before reversing course back toward the Cove. At the last island he would catch a cross route tram. But at Princess Station he instinctively left the tram.

This decision occurred when Sascha realized the only remaining passengers, beside himself, were the two men who had boarded behind him. Suddenly remembering them from the crowd in the Arena, during the Conquest match, he found himself thinking of Ms. Dupensk’s warning, about the rich and powerful. He decided he did not want to be alone with them.

For he knew Ms. Dupensk was correct, an underground movement existed amongst the rich, who sometimes kidnapped girls working in the casinos. What she probably did not realize and it would be outraged if she did, was that, like all forms of entertainment on Pyrite, the casinos sanctioned and monitored this activity. Anybody interested in his own, short-term, slave girl, only needed to be filthy rich and to have heard the rumours. Hinted desires would bring forward casino fixers, to negotiate the cost of an attempting capture. A fee, including factors such as; the popularity of the girl, her skill at evading capture, the length of captivity, the number of hunters, and possibly a reputation surcharge. If the two sides agreed to a contract, the customer could initiate the hunt at any point during the next week.

All hunts were subject to simple, standard rules. They continued until the hunters captured their prey or the girl made it to her home island. Nor could the girls enlist security, although if the hunters could run afoul of it on their own and ifapprehended, the girl had an easy escape. A hunt was a cat and mouse game where the hunted tried not to be caught alone, something made particularly difficult by the stations, near the islands on which the girls lived, being those used the least.

Unlike Ms. Dupensk, Sascha knew all this, because being a siren was not his only exotic duty. He’d also signed on to become one of the hunted, a decision he now regretted, despite taking home fifty percent of the contract fee for being the prey during five previous hunts which had proved unsuccessful for the hunters and very profitable for him. Yet he worried about getting caught and did not plan to renew his prey contract when it came due.

Experience, and a course conducted by the casinos taught him what to do when hunted. As a start, you surrounded yourself with people and evaluated the situation. Specifically, you confirmed you were being followed, that you did not imagine it. If yes, you formulated a plan.

The fact that the two men followed him off the tram with the same speed as they had followed him on, implied yes. Still, he did not jump to conclusions, even if the two stood out like wolves amongst kittens, they might just be waiting to pick up their daughters. It made for a crappy day to run only to find out no hunt had occurred and that your account had not grown. Having happened to Sascha twice, he did not plan to make the mistake again. So he used a trick taught during the course, he found a reflective surface in which to study the two men, watching as they pretending to look everywhere, but at him. Next, while still looking in the reflective glass of the Princess Night Show advertisement, he looked for one more thing, for final confirmation.

There it was. The flickering light of a vid-drone.

Casino management would not be living up to their nature if they did not exploit all opportunities offered by the hunt, finding more ways to extract money from their wealthy guests. Therefore, for those who desired and could afford it, a live feed of the chase was made available to draw them in, and to encourage them to bet on the outcome. Each participant (prey or hunter) would have a drone hovering overhead so Sascha knew that everything he did would be observed; he could only hope that rules would be followed and his hunters could not access the feed.

Deciding to not yet appear to have knowledge of the pursuit, his attention turned to transit system routes, which he had studied extensively, as did any prey worthy of the role. Sascha knew the simplest route involved waiting for the tram’s return, taking it back to the casino, and using the employee tram, at the next shift end; however, that would result in the cancellation of the hunt and unhappy casino management.

Knowing the station offered no escape, he headed towards the park entrance. Flashing his monthly all-access pass, he moved into the saccharine sweet world of Princess Island Park. A place of high pitched shrieks, giggles, lace, pastels, and over-the-top girlishness, inside its domain Sascha understand how Crissum could see it as a threat to his masculinity. Whereas he, judged for many other things, would never need to live up to such a male standard, which seemed to sap some of the fun from life. Thus he could wholeheartedly immerse himself in the fantasy of the place, even if his experience had proven princes less than charming, and had visited a few times. His knowledge offered him advantages over his followers.

In fact, he already knew the first part of his plan, getting off the island. But not yet, he needed to see if any more henchmen would show up, plus he wanted to see how uncomfortable these two would become, in a place they would never visit on their own. Moving through the crowds, he reached his first distraction, the stables, with their bio-engineered unicorns. He adored the softness of their fur and, despite his skirt’s shortness, soon found himself astride one, reminding him of his prior problem. His dalliance with the unicorns benefited his followers, who were replaced by two women, barely more comfortable than the men. This forced Sascha to re-evaluate his plan, as it showed the seriousness of the pursuit and took away some of his simpler tricks for escaping. Deciding to force them to underestimate him, he decided to wallow deeply in the syrup of the island.

From the stables, he led the short procession to the Faire, stopping along the way to watch and tip a puppet show, harpist, and a group of singers. Buying a Berry Blast, a pink, frothy concoction of ultimate yumminess he joined the line in front of a tent, ignoring the two women curiously trying to figure out what went on inside.

There, a lady dressed as a medieval serving wench greeted him, taking in his appearance with a sneer on her face. That sneer infected her vocal chords, as she asked, “What can we help you with, Young Lady?”

No longer the type to wilt under this judgment, Sascha answered with limited truthfulness. “I might try some rides and would like to get my hair braided so it doesn’t tangle.”

Looking at him, trying to sniff out a lie, the lady finally turned and called out. “Linda, customer for you.”

Linda turned out to be a pretty, though a bit plump, redhead, who guided him back to a seat, before conspiratorially whispering. “Great excuse.”

“It’s true, my first time here I learned what could happen to my hair if I don’t braid it.”

“I bet. It’s so thick, but I bet it gets tangled something awful. So, are you telling me that you regularly dress like this, not just to fulfill somebody’s fantasy?”

“Well, actually, I got stood up.”

“You? Maybe there’s hope for us normal girls after all.”

“Normal? I bet you’ve never been stood up.”

“Nice of you to say and so very right. Ribbons?”

“Yes please. The most luscious, dark pink you can find. I did not expect to visit and I feel a bit like a crow.”

“Now we can’t have that, can we? Want the matching barrettes? Of course you do.”

Linda’s hands moved with the speed of experience, Sascha enjoying the gentle tugs. Though less convenient, it always felt much nicer to have his hair styled by a person, rather than a machine. Soon, looking in a mirror, he saw how much younger he appeared, before using the mirror to look out of the tent at his followers, barred entry by the judgmental proprietress. Smiling, he gave Linda a large tip, then sailed through the exit on the opposite side of the tent.

Using this exit was the real reason behind getting the braids, providing an opportunity to test if a simple ruse would allow him to slip his trackers. Looking about, he saw none of the four waiting for him, nor any others of their ilk. But he did not take this as proof of escape and skedaddle for home. Caution was still necessary, instead he waited to see how quickly they found him, checking their efficiency and attempting to find additional members of their team. So he walked to a booth selling costume jewelry and began browsing. It proved a short wait before he spotted hunters, this time a men and women paired together, casually strolling along the street towards him.

That impressed Sascha. His separation had only lasted for a short time. Even worse, they did not look desperate, they had known exactly where he to find him, implying someone else watched, someone he had yet to identify. Probably someone not wearing a suit, like the others, thus harder to spot. Nor did it help that he always drew lots of attention, any of the gawkers could be another hunter.

Buying a pair of large, hoop earrings, matching his new hair adornments, he replaced his old pair, dropping them into his bag, along with the discarded hair band. Then he got underway, heading in the opposite direction from which the couple had come, spotting the second pair further along the street, pretending to look at unicorn pictures. Sascha dawdled, stopping often, but buying nothing, before reaching another tent, similar to the first. This time when he exited through the back, now with a pink flower painted on each cheek, a pair of hunters waited, not falling for the same trick. This current crop of hunters seemed more skilled and organized than most who had followed him in the past. Yet he did not panic, instead he tried the two door test once more, this time exiting with ten glistening pink nails, to learn that their short term memory could not be criticized.

Seeing the two share an eye roll as he studied his nails in the sunlight, he felt a moment of kinship with his hunters, wondering if he wallowed a bit too joyfully in the syrup. However, the moment quickly passed, as he reminded himself of their purpose. Besides, time had come to look into escaping from the island, though not all the way home. That, he still needed to plan.

Near the edge of the Faire, he entered a souvenir shop, disguised as a peasant hut. Unlike the prior booths, this store sold the true rip-off items, things branded with the park’s emblem and name. Sascha knew exactly what he wanted, but browsed while waiting to see if anybody would follow him inside. When nobody did, he looked for something to buy which would hide his real purpose in the shop. His face lit up when he spotted the silliest, gossamer, faerie wings, finding a pink pair large enough to fit, he took them to the bored till wench.

As he handed over the wings, Sascha asked, “Is the Swan busy this afternoon?”

Sighing, as if terribly put upon, the wench checked the schedule for the Swan Boat, before stating. “Some seats are available for the 4:00 time slot. You should not have trouble reaching it in time, if you want?”

“Yes, please, can you book me a ticket?”

Worried at how long this was taking, Sascha felt lucky that nobody entered to check things out, though he noticed some impatience on their faces as he returned outside. Hooking the wings over his shoulders and hiding the hooks under the straps of his jumper dress, he checked the time, 3:20. Plenty of time, the park being on one of the smaller islands, for him to reach his destination, even at the dawdling pace he had established. If he timed it right, he could board the Swan, and not leave them time to react.

The Swan, actually a large boat in the shape of a swan, sailed between Princess and Solintarno Islands. Big, slow, and stable, even on windy days, it and similar barges offered many all the exposure to the seas they wished to experience.

With the two couples shadowing him, Sascha drifted towards the harbour, pausing now and then, but never for long. Getting close, he saw one of the Swans (there were four in operation at any time) dock ponderously. Knowing it would be at least ten minutes before the boat would begin moving, he purchased a bag of feed and leaned against the seawall and tried to coax some real swans closer with the contents of the bag. Pleased with his success, he glanced at the orderly line boarding the boat. Still he did not move, not even when it shrunk to only a few passengers. Not until he heard the final boarding call did he move in that direction, drawing a start from the couple nearest him.

Scampering down the gangplank, pulling his ticket from his purse, he arranged an apologetic smile on his face, and, drawing heavily upon the credit afforded pretty girls, said, “Oh I’m so sorry, I was feeding the birds and wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t hold everybody up, did I?”

Annoyance drained from the boat operator’s face, though not from those of most of the irritated passengers. Ignoring them, he waited for the operator’s head-shake before finding a seat across from a little girl, complete with pig-tails, face-paint, and faerie wings. Sharing a grin with her, Sascha said, “I like your wings.”

Flashing a triumphant look at the teenage girl beside her, who showed no affects of Princess Island, the little girl said, “I like yours too!”

Not wishing to start another sibling conflict, Sascha shifted his attention to his pursuers, watching the operator explain that, no, he did not have tickets for sale, that they were available at the kiosks, and that another Swan would be heading out at the bottom of the hour. Feeling the waiting passengers’ growing hostility, the two finally gave up, trotting along the seawall away from the Swan. Not long after, the boat found its way out into open water and the boat’s operator give permission to move about the Swan.

Sascha did not need further permission before hurrying to the toilets below deck. His drink had made its presence felt, but, with women in the chase team, he could not use the park’s public restrooms. He be caught alone too easily, drugged, and coaxed to go along with them.

Relieved, he headed back on deck, moving to the back of the boat to watch for pursuit, something easily achieved at the slow pace the Swan travelled. Few craft were about and none traveled along the same path as the Swan. Yet he did not feel confident about shaking off his pursuers, so as they reached the three quarter point and he spotted a hydro-foil speeding from behind Princess Island, he guessed who were its passengers. He was correct.

Looking skyward, as if beseeching some God for help, Sascha spotted the vid-drone that followed him. Knowing that, after his little maneuver with the Swan, nobody would think he did not know about the hunt, he decided to mug for the vid. Looking directly at it, he smiled, and shrugged his shoulders as if questioning, ‘What’s a girl to do?’

The approach of the hydro-foil did answer one question, how they had found him so quickly after he had first given them slip. With the dark suited foursome, he saw a blonde woman, dressed like a tourist in a sundress. He remembered seeing her about Princess Island, including at the booth where he bought his earrings. However, their appearance did not change his plans. Sascha intended to leave the Swan at Solintarno Island, and while they searched for another dock, he would hurry across to the transit station, and catch the first tram for The Zoo. At that major hub, he would switch to a tram heading for his home. With luck, he could run ahead of them, maintaining his lead the rest of the way.

Ensuring he would be the first off the Swan, he hardly waited for the gangplank to be in place before informing the boat operator he planned to stay and hustling across, making for one of the railcars which cris-crossed the island stopped not too far away. Through less than impeccable manners he reached it before it started moving. Then he could only wait, silently encouraging the car to go faster and to ignore stops.

As it approached the station he heard an announcement for the tram he wanted. Jumping off and breaking into a run, he dodged those climbing the stairs, only to reach the platform in time to see red lights of the tram pulling away. Clenching his fists, he twirled in a circle, bringing it to a stop with a stomp of a high-heeled stamp and a frustrated growl. So close to perfect, he only needed to have arrived seconds earlier and he surely would have escaped. Now he had to wait a full eight minutes, and knowing his day‘s luck, probably longer, before the next tram would arrive. The delay would eat into his lead, maybe causing it to completely disappear. Annoyed, he sat on a bench, from which he could see all entrances and waited.

A few minutes later he spotted a familiar figure descending the stairs he had recently used. It was not who he expected, though, and when the new arrival approached, paying more attention to the console in his hands than where he walked, Sascha coughed to draw his attention.

Startled by the noise, Crissum looked up from Fargonworld, his eyes growing wide as he spotted the new version of Sascha, blurting out. “Sascha? Hey, I thought you were heading home?”

Patting the bench, in invitation, Sascha said, “I was, but decided to go play princess. Speaking of which, where’s your brother and Diggles?”

“Umm...it’s Dooger. I don’t know, they dumped me. By the way, I really want to apologize for them, they’re bozos.”

“Then you should have come with me, like I wanted. You could have been my prince, while I played princess.”

“What? You wanted me to come with you?”

“Of course, why do you think I put on the show?”

“When you were a siren? How did you know I was watching?”

“No, no, on the tram. You know, the brainless twit act. What’s that you’re playing? Eeek, a monster. Kill it, kill it. Ahh, too bad. Is it hard? All that.”

“Well I just thought that...umm...”

“That I was a brainless twit?”

“No, I just assumed you were like that normally. But why?”

“Why what?” Sascha asked.

“Why me?”

“Well, because you’re cute and don’t seem to be a loudmouthed idiot like your brother and his friend. Then when I saw you playing a fighter in Fargonworld, instead of drecking out and playing the magicker, I thought you must be interesting.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the character I played, for the last three months, when playing the game.”

“Then why did you ask what it was?”

Sascha didn’t immediately answer, his attention drawn to the station’s entrance and the two people running down the stairs. Helplessly, he watched his lead evaporate and knew that he needed a new plan.

“Sascha?”

“So, Crissum, are you heading back to Siren’s Cove?”

“Yeah, I was just talking to my dad, he said if I was all alone I should come back.”

“That’s too bad, because I don’t feel like going home and was kinda hoping that you would spend time with me.”

“I would really like to, Sascha, honest. But my dad seemed fairly insistent.”

Once more considering the straddle and tongue down throat method of convincing, Sascha settled on a slightly less devastating attack. He again grabbed the boy’s hand, leaned into him, and wheedled. “Please, Crissum? I really like you and would like to show you around the park. Besides, if you came with me, you wouldn’t be all alone and I know you would have fun, ‘cause I know all the best places. Please, Crissum, can’t you check with your dad and see if you could stay a little longer. Please?”

Shell-shocked by the all-out, pleading assault. Crissum barely regained his wits before he used his console to contact his father. “Hello Dad, it’s me. I was wondering if it would be okay if I stayed longer at the park.

“No, I didn’t find them, but I made a friend who wants to show me around.

“Her name’s Sascha. She works at the casino. We met on the tram earlier and just ran into each other again.

“She was the siren in the tank when we arrived.

“Daaad, how couldn’t you notice?

“She’s also as a waitress, like at the Conquest match, maybe you saw her there?

“Okay I’ll ask. Umm, Sascha, my dad was wondering what colour you were wearing at the Conquest match?”

Fascinated by the one sided conversation, Sascha took a moment before answering. “Purple, I looked after Team Purple.”

“It was purple, Dad.

“Dad! You better hope Mom didn’t hear that.

“Umm, okay, thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to come home.

“Okay, I’ll be back by ten.

“Yes, I have enough money and I’m sure Sascha knows places to eat.

“Okay, Dad, thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

Sascha asked, “So you can come?”

Seeing Crissum’s nod, Sascha popped to his feet, pulling the youth to his, and said, “Oh goodie, we’re going to have so much fun.”

Chapter 6 - Solintarno Park

Not relinquishing his hand, even with Crissum on his feet, Sascha guided him towards the park entrance, using him as a buffer against the glares of the winded arrivals. Reaching sunlight, Sascha turned his head to look at his companion, spent a moment enjoying being only a little shorter than Crissum, and asked, “So Crissum, anywhere specific you want to visit?”

“I am in your hands, completely.”

“And literally.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Good thing too, I worked hard enough to get you to notice me.”

“I noticed you. In the tank, on the transit platform at Siren’s Cove, and when you boarded the tram I hoped you would sit by me, but was scared you would.”

“Scared, of little me?”

“Big time. I don’t know how to explain it, but before you were almost too perfect. You dressed young, but it seemed like a costume for a role. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“Kinda? But I’m not scaring you now? You seem so much more talkative.”

“Yeah, you’re less scary. With the pigtails and flowers and stuff, you seem more real. I like that. Plus, I‘ve always had a thing for girls with wings.”

“And apparently, those with tail-fins.” Sascha said with a smile.

“I swear, I hardly even noticed the tail-fin.”

This made Sascha laugh. Not the fake laugh expected whenever Prince Fallan had made a joke and which he still used, whenever on someone’s arm. Instead, he laughed for real, always finding that naughty humour tickled his funny bone. He wished he could have Crissum all to himself tonight, just for fun, without the nuisance of hunters. But that wasn’t to be, so he decided to make the best of it. Gaining a semblance of control, he asked, “Want to try some rides?”

“Sure.”

“Scary ones?”

After a quick pause, Crissum said, “Of course.”

“Great, let’s head for the Thrasher, it’s the perfect place to start.”

The choice took the pause into account and his own preference, the Thrasher, despite its name, ranked a step below scary. But the best thing about it were the seats, which wrapped you tight, either as an individual or as a couple, something Crissum liked as much as he, as hugged together they whipped about at high speeds. They enjoyed it enough that they rode it twice more. From there, they moved to the Plinkole, the Zip-Tight, and finally a roller-coaster, the Whirlygig, all with the same seats as the Thrasher. Soon they acted no different than any of the young couples waiting in line, the boy standing behind the girl, with her wrapped in his arms, keeping her warm, wink wink, nudge nudge.

Though none of the other couples, outside of a few with bodyguards, were trailed by five adults, four in suits and one, probably in need of a warming hug, wearing a sundress. Yet she, like her companions, was a professional. None left their post, though they did slump on benches, relieving sore legs and feet. Through all the rides, they waited, and pretended not to watch.

Their plight drew no sympathy from Sascha. Every time one sat, he convinced Crissum to move on, making them rise and follow him to another ride, where he would sit, cuddling with Crissum.

Finished with the Whirlygig, the two were once more on the move. Crissum having let Sascha know about his state of starvation, the pigtailed one headed for his favourite diner. During this walk, Sascha spotted a new form of menace, the approach of Tithen and Dooger. Worried about their affect on his new friend, Sascha decided to sink his hooks deeper into the youth. He asked, “Crissum, would you do something for me?”

“Hmm...what’s that Sascha?”

“See that bench? Could you sit for a moment?”

Looking curiously towards the bench, Crissum shrugged and walked towards it, Sascha ducking out from under his arm, causing him to protest. Ignoring this, Sascha pointed at the bench. Following directions, the youth sat and looked questioningly at his pretty companion, who moved forward to kneel astride his lap and plant a kiss on his lips. A kiss quickly accepted and returned, with more expertise than Sascha would have expected. Coming up for air, Sascha murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you on the tram.”

“Fortune Sascha, why didn’t you?”

“Something this good needs to be timed perfectly.”

“Well, well, well. It looks like Crissie found his little friend again.”

Looking past Sascha’s shoulder, a thrilled Crissum said, “Oh, hey, Tith and Doogs. Yeah, Sascha and I ran into each other again, we’ve been hanging out and having fun.”

“We saw.”

“Ehh? Oh yeah. How about yourselves? Having fun?”

“Bleh, this place is boring. We’ve been looking for you, so we can head back to the casino.”

Sascha sensed the lie, knowing Tithen just wanted to ruin his little brother’s fun. Happily, Crissum also recognized this and said, “You guys go one without me, I’m going to stay here with Sascha.”

“Cris, Dad said we were supposed to stick together. He’ll be mad if we leave without you.”

“Don’t worry, Tith, I talked to Dad, he said I can stay until ten.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he told me to have fun.” Smiling, he offered Sascha a quick peck on the lips, before saying. “Lucky me.”

Unsure of how to answer this, but recognizing the difficulty of combating the distraction in his brother’s lap, Tithen said, “Come on, Doogs, let’s leave Crissie with his little friend.”

Watching the two walk away, Sascha offered a another kiss as reward. Crissum accepted it as his due and said, “The perfect timing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to lose you to the bozos again.”

“Fortune, was I that dumb?”

“Yes, Crissum, you were that dumb. But forget that, I really need to stand. I should have looked for a softer bench, this one is killing my knees.”

“Wait, Sascha.”

“What?”

“Well it’s just, well...geeze.”

“No need to explain, it’s not like I’m wearing armoured panties.”

“Oh Fortune, this is so embarrassing. I’m really sorry, Sascha.”

“Why? It wasn’t you who straddled my lap like some common tart.”

“You’re not a tart. What are we going to do?”

“Well it’s not going to go away if I stay here, is it?”

Barely holding back a groan, Crissum said, “Not a chance.”

“And I can’t kneel here longer or I won’t be able to get up. I know, I’ll stand in front of you, and you sit until it goes away.”

Doing just that, the waiting began until Crissum finally said, “Sascha, quit staring. It’s never going to stop if you keep watching.”

“Ooops, sorry about that, Big Boy.”

“Sascha!”

Turning away, ignoring both the youth and his grumpy looking hunters, he said, “You’re too much fun, Crissum.”

With this new arrangement, they soon reached the diner, each vanishing into a different, cubicle sized restroom. In no hurry, locked in the room by himself, Sascha took his time, checking his appearance and considering possible escape plans. No solution appearing, he joined Crissum, sliding into the booth beside him. “What you getting, Crissum?”

“I don’t know. How about you?”

“A shake and some chips.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah, but you should get Platter B. Everybody says its the best.”

Recommendation accepted, they placed their orders. While waiting Crissum said, “Sascha, don’t turn around, but look into that mirror. Do you see the couple, in the booth by the door? I think they and two others are following us.”

Not surprised by Crissum’s discovery, his followers having grown sloppy, he wondered how he to answer. Settling on a modified version of the truth, Sascha said, “Actually there’s five of them, but the blond lady in the sundress blends in better than the goons and goonettes in suits.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they’ve been following me around since Princess Island.”

“They have? Why?”

“Likely because their boss wants them to snatch me for some reason. That happens on Pyrite sometimes.”

“That outrageous. Sascha why haven’t you told security?”

“Tell them what, Crissum? They haven’t done anything and likely whoever they work for is rich enough to turn any accusation back on me. The best thing is to not get caught.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m not sure, I’m still trying to formulate a plan.”

This revelation caused a quiet meal, both spending their time in gloomy thought. Finally Sascha said, “Let’s just forget it and have fun. Besides, following us around is wearing them out.”

Crissum accepted the offer with wan smile, but that was good enough for Sascha. Noticing that the other table had ordered food, he nudged his seatmate to hurry and finish. The timing, though not perfect, left the hunters time for only a few bites before Crissum finished, so the two on their way before their followers gained much sustenance, causing Crissum to smile nastily.

Deciding to let their meals settle before returning to the rides, Sascha steered them to the games area, where they cheered each other to loss after loss, lack of skill being no match for the rigged nature of most of the games. Finally Crissum said, “Fortune, I don’t think I am going to win anything. If I want to get you something, I should just buy it.”

“We’re having fun, what more would I want. But yeah, these are rip-offs. Ready for more rides?”

“Scrunched in tight with you? Yeah, I think I could handle it.”

“Is that so? Then it’s time for the Mega-Wheel!”

Hard to miss, the Mega-Wheel towered into the sky, serving as Solintarno Park’s signature ride. Though most of its fame was due to its unofficial name, Make-out-Wheel. Based on how fast Crissum agreed, Sascha guessed his companion knew about the ride. Planning to play their part in keeping the wheel’s reputation alive, they eagerly waited in line, Sascha wrapped in the accustomed hug.

Once on the ride, they conducted experiments. They determined how much space they really needed in the cage, and how long each could hold his breath. It was a sort of experimental biology where they made discoveries, some together, like their shared preference for Crissum’s tongue in Sascha’s mouth, but others as individuals, such as Crissum learning how nicely Sascha’s breasts filled his hands and Sascha realizing the bib of his dress provided an annoying impediment to roaming hands. Fortunately Crissum curiosity led him to discover how much less protection the skirt of Sascha’s dress provided his thighs. And, like the best scientists, they repeated their experiments, returning three, then four times to the Mega-Wheel’s cages, verifying prior findings. Sascha found himself wishing the wheel would get stuck, with them on top, so he could take their experiments to the next level.

While thinking this, a plan popped into Sascha’s mind. So, when once more on ground, he said, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Come on, Sascha, let’s do the wheel again.”

“Please, Crissum. It’s my favourite place in the park and I really want to show it to you.”

“Okay, I guess. Where we going?”

“Pidwad’s Holoporium.”

“Pidwad’s?”

“Yeah, it’s the owners name. He’s kinda, I don’t know, unique?”

A genius who had never grown up was a better description. Pidwad, an insulting nickname of his childhood that he adopted with glee, had arrived on Pyrite soon after reaching adulthood and made a fortune before the casinos realized how often he won. When they did, he found himself approached by three large men informing him that he was banned from gambling on the planet; however, the good-natured manner in which he accepted the ultimatum charmed them and soon he found himself co-opted into the electronics division of the corporation owning Siren’s Cove, among other interests. When he left their employ, he opened the Holoporium, which consisted of theatres (large and small) for transporting people to other times and places.

Sascha had discovered the place by accident, wandering past one day and spotting a sign advertising combat simulators. His interest tweaked, he found going inside. Instead of the Havoc Simulators of his past, these simulators were based upon holographs. Sascha tried it out and found that all the moves came back, the comfort of having pistols in his hands returned, and he felt the rush of exciting energy. Sascha was instantly hooked, not just on the simulators, but on Pidwad’s in general, becoming one of those who lurked around the main counter. It provided Sascha a masculine offset to the feminine world in which he usually lived.

Admittedly not the most testosterone laden place, Pidwad attracted those who, like himself, were smarter than they were physical, but that suited Sascha. And the oddball group accepted him, first in awe at his appearance and his abilities in the simulator, then because they liked Sassy, their half tomboy, half girly-girl, champion of the simulators.

Thus he accepted the good natured ribbing about his appearance when he arrived at the Holoporium. Forced to introduce his date, he tried to ignore Pidwad’s scowl. It was not jealously, Pidwad had a gorgeous wife and knew Sascha saw none of the Holoporium denizens with the same eyes he saw Crissum. The look resulted from spotting the vid-drone, something he had done the one other time Sascha came in, to use a restroom, during an earlier hunt involving female pursuers. A few days later Sascha learned that working as a vid-drone operator had soured Pidwad’s view of his employers. He thought it pushed exploitation, so prevalent on Pyrite, too far, and worked hard to convince Sascha not to renew that clause of his contract.

Ignoring the scowl, Sascha pulled Crissum into the main hall of the building, a place crowded by the non-oddball customers, whose purchases funded the establishment. Letting his companion gawk for a moment, at the people and the doors leading to holographic simulations (only a few combat oriented), Sascha looked for a seat. Ignoring tables, he found them a semi-private booth. Keying in a drink order, he barely waited for those drinks to pop through the table before mimicking his peers and climbed onto Crissum’s lap to resume their pursuits from the Mega-Wheel.

The position also allowed him to sneak peaks out into the common area. It took some time, but finally Sundress and Shoulders appeared, awkwardly pretending to be a couple, and took one of the open tables. This served as Sascha’s next cue.

Wiggling from Crissum’s grasp, he stood outside the booth, and said, “Let’s visit one of the holograph rooms.”

Crissum did not argue this time, just glanced meaningfully downwards, causing Sascha to snicker and ask, “Ooops, did I do that? Okay, you wait for things to calm down, while I go pick a room for us.”

A few minutes later Crissum found Sascha at the menu console. “What did you find, Sassy?”

“Sassy plays shooting games with boys, Sascha plays completely different games with boys. Which do you prefer?”

“What did you find, Sascha?”
Ӭ
“I thought so. Do you have a preference between taking a tour of the Texlaxian Imperial Palace or a flight through the Sinlassialle Nebula?”

“Umm...”

“The palace takes twenty-one minutes, while the nebula is only twelve minutes.”

“Let’s do the nebula.”

“Why, Crissum, it’s almost like you’re in a rush to get back to the booth.”

“No, no, I really want to see the nebula.”

Smiling at the protested innocence, Sascha led Crissum to the room set up for the Sinlassialle Nebula show. Like most rooms, at the Holoporium, it only measured 4 metres wide by 6 metres long, and contained two soft, arm chairs. Each taking a seat, Sascha’s hand paused over the controls in the shared armrest. “Umm, Crissum, I lied, I’ve seen both the shows before.”

“You have? Wait, is there a way out? Is this how you’re going to escape from the goons following you?”

Pidwad having told him that his holorooms provided too much interference for vid-drones to record anything, Sascha felt free to explain and more. “Kinda. These rooms have another exit, I plan to escape using one of them.”

Crissum deflated for a moment, before putting on a brave face, and saying, “It’s been really fun tonight, Sascha...”

“Wait, wait, Crissum. I’m not going to run yet, I’m trying to lull them into complacency first. Can you help me do that, please?”

“Ahh, sure. I’d be glad to help.”

“Oh, oh, thank you. You’re so nice to me.” With these words, Sascha stabbed the start button with a pink tipped finger, before sliding out of his chair and onto his knees before the youth.

Watching the black haired beauty, Crissum’s eyes grew wide as hands took hold of both of his knees and pulled them apart. “Umm...Sascha...umm...you really don’t need to do this.”

“I know, but I was naughty, it’s not nice to tease and do nothing about it. Besides, I want too. Don’t you want me too?”

“Umm...yeah definitely, but here?”

“Silly, you don’t really think all these couples come here for holos, do you?”

“Huh?”

“Just sit back and enjoy the light show.”

As if Sascha had planned it, he had, the room suddenly became pitch black, a narrator’s voice saying, “The Sinlassialle Nebula. A natural wonder like none other, is a glorious light show almost beyond the imagination of man.”

With this brief introduction, a blast of light appeared, surrounding the two in the nebula. Though, it only partially caused Crissum’s gasp of surprise.

Twelve minutes later, Crissum slowly returned from his out-of-the-world experience. Looking down, he spotted a smiling Sascha digging in his purse, finding a wipe, and handing it to him. Taking the throwaway, he said, “Umm...on your left cheek.”

“Oops, that would have been embarrassing.” Sascha said with a giggle, before reaching to swipe at the spot with a finger. “Did I get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Goodie. And yummy.”

“Fortune, Sascha.”

“What? Oh never mind, we better hurry up, people will wonder what’s taking so long. Well, not really, they’ll know, but we should make room for anybody else interested in the Sinlassialle Nebula. It’s fascinating.”

Trying to ignore the smirking Sascha, Crissum did just that. After which the two exited, quickly finding empty restrooms to do a better job freshening up. Crissum, finished first, returned to their booth somewhat stunned, hardly believing how great the trip to the park, with his idiotic brother, had turned out. Nobody would ever believe him. Ordering new drinks, he watched Sascha approach, hardly believing he was here with someone as hot as her.

Reaching the table and seeing the fresh drink, Sascha could not stop himself from grinning impishly, taking a sip, and saying, “Yummy!”

“Sascha!”

“Oops, sorry, Crissum. I’ll be good, honest. Hey I know, they have a full-sized Fargonworld unit, how about we go try that for awhile?”

“Good idea. We need a distraction.”

It worked, both were good players, allowing them to monopolize the machine for the better part of forty-five minutes. During which, the other three hunters, in a fit of frustrated unprofessionalism, joined their colleagues at the table in the hall. Noticing this, and deciding he soon needed to vanish, Sascha asked, “So, Crissum, how much longer are you going to be on Pyrite?”

“We’re headed home tomorrow.”

Sascha did not get to express his disappointment, for at that moment Pidwad’s voice came over the speakers. “Miss Sascha. Miss Sascha Shronsdottor, time for you to release your boyfriend and come defend our honour?”

“Crap.”

“Huh?”

“Likely one of the doofii mouthed off, telling somebody that I am the Holoporium’s combat simulator champion, so someone now wants to take me on.”

“Coocool. I want to see that.”

“What, you do?”

“Yeah, maybe if we’re lucky it will be Tithen and you can humiliate him again.”

“Well okay, though it’s probably not him, likely some other bozo. Shall we see who it is?”

“Sure, but one question first. Like Captain Keleesa Shronsdottor?”

“Exactly! You should see, I have a uniform like hers, I even turn my hair blue. You wouldn’t believe how much I can look like her.”

“Oh Fortune, Sascha.” Crissum almost moaned. “Why couldn’t we stay another night?”

“I know. We could have lots more fun if we had an entire day together.”

The smirking teenaged challenger, performing for a group of lapdogs, was a wannabe Tithen. Disliking him on sight, Sascha agreed to the duel, opened the case containing his pistols, which were modified for use in the holo-simulators, and strapped them around his waist. Then he slapped Tweaker’s (another of Pidwad’s disciples) hand away, which was holding the sensor harness, evidently looking to cop a feel whilst ‘helping,’ and said, “Hands off, perv. I can do it myself.”

Unabashed, Tweaker said, “Just helping gird our faerie knight for battle.”

“Funny, hand it over.”

“Sure thing, Sassy.”

“So what’s the run?” Sascha asked, putting on the last of his gear and seeing the kid fully equipped.

“Agnar’s Maze.”

The maze was a starter run Pidwad distributed it to other holoporiums. Sascha had run it once, before realizing he could learn nothing new in it. So he asked, “Really? Don’t you want to do something good, maybe Friklen’s Tomb?”

Frowning at the dismissal of his idea, yet not wise enough to back down when over his head, the kid said, “No, I want to do Agnar’s Maze, it’s my right as the challenger to choose.”

“Well, whatever you want. Let’s go.”

Watching the kid stomp his way towards one of the simulators, Sascha turned to glare at Pidwad for wasting his time. Appearing as unrepentant as Tweaker, the man mouthed, ‘You’ll see.’

Trying to interpret the mystery behind Pidwad’s thoughts, he entered the second simulator. Inside, he performed the stretches he had learned when first introduced to simulated combat, while still Prince Fallan’s sylph. Feeling his body loosen up, Sascha suddenly understood Pidwad intent, he was preparing his champion to run. The scenario would be perfect for that, warming him up, but not tiring him out. Looking around the room, much larger than the one where Crissum had experienced his light show, Sascha took a deep breath and nodded his readiness.

Immediately the room disappeared, in its place he saw a greyish structure, an open door beckoning him onward. As always, he spent a moment amazed by the realism, knowing he would walk through seemingly endless tunnels, twisting and turning, never leaving this single room. Along the path would be defenders, randomly placed, waiting to fire imaginary laser beams at him, calculations and his sensors determining if he was hit. In turn he would take them out with his own pistols, shooting his own beams of light, to be caught by thousands of tiny mirrors, embedded in the wall, used to calculate what he hit. Finally he would encounter the scenario boss, in the case of a duel, his opponent, at least if both of them made it past the defenders.

What made this scenario easy was the quality of those defenders, poor shots and noisy, allowing you to figure out where they were. For instance, as he moved to the door, he heard breathing from the right side. Without even thinking, his left arm reached around the door frame, firing off a burst, drawing forth a shriek of pain. More interestingly, he heard a surprised shout from the left, which brought a repeat from Sascha’s right arm. Waiting a few more moments, he burst into the room, in a crouch, finding he did not need to worry about the first two guards.

The first encounter set the pace for the run. Slowly, steadily, he progressed, dealing with all threats in his way. Reaching and taking out the central control room, he slowed even more, not because of the imaginary defenders, who were now all facing away from him, but preparing for his competitor, who should be around any corner. Yet he did not see him. Then, almost having reached the opposite end of the run, he came upon the first defender he had not killed. Guessing the kid had met a quick end, Sascha still remained cautious, prepared in case of a clever trap, though he doubted his opponent had the patience to wait all this time. Yet you never took chance in a simulator and Sascha did not let down his guard, until he reached empty space, similar to where he started, the simulations end.

The congratulatory hug from Crissum felt nice, but he focussed on the laughing Tweaker. “Okay, what’s so funny.”

“It was pathetic, the kid just ran in firing his pistols on full auto. It’s shocking he made it as far as he did. He hightailed it out of here in embarrassment.”

“Yeah.” Crissum agreed.

Noticing that the conversation had drawn the tired attention of his hunters, Sascha decided the time come to escape. “Very funny guys. Thanks for wasting my time.”

Tweaker and Pidwad just continued to laugh, only Crissum, who had nothing to do with it, looked embarrassed. That embarrassment disappeared when Sascha asked, “Wanna to check out the nebula again?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

Ignoring his friends, pretending to be mad at them, Sascha allowed himself to be led to the room, where he found himself spared an unpleasant task. Crissum said, “Now’s your time to escape, Sascha. As much as I would like to see the light show again.”

“I’m so sorry, Crissum.”

“This has still been the best day of my life.”

“Yeah, I’ve really enjoyed it too. Thank you so much for understanding. Here, can you take my wings, I think I’m done with them, the bows and earrings too. Time to blend into the darkness, if I can.”

“Trophies.”

“Want my panties, too?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Perv, I think not.”

Handing the wings to Crissum, he placed the bows and earrings in his purse, then threw his arms around the startled youth. Kissing him one more time, Sascha said, “Thanks, Crissum.”

“Good luck, Sascha.”

With this, Sascha moved to the back door, blew Crissum a kiss, and slipped into a service corridor. Play time was over.

Chapter 7 - Flight

Sascha’s first task required him to exit Pidwad’s unseen, fortunately, having tagged along multiple times during holo-servicing and resupply, he knew the way to the loading dock in the basement. Finding the door unlocked proved that Pidwad had expected him to take this opportunity. Door opened, he waited, listened, just as in a simulator, before feeling comfortable enough to slip outside onto the dock below the seawall. In the dark, he doubted anyone could see him from above, but that darkness, along with the time seen above the counter after exiting the simulator, reminded him how little time was left, maybe forty minutes, before the eight minute gaps between trams became thirty minute gaps. He needed to move.

Yet this time he went not towards the transit station, where he had found Crissum, but towards a closer destination, the water taxis. Again he planned to leave the island by water. Sticking to the path, he passed four sets of stairs before climbing to the seawall, just before the water taxi docks.

There he experienced a moment of surprise, spotting the hydro-foil his pursuers had used to follow him from Princess Island. Dodging behind a pillar, he studied the boat, looking for the pilot, finally finding him slumped in the captain’s chair. Hoping that slump meant the man slept, he determining to chance it, though he walked as far past the boat as possible, before approaching another.

Ending his conversation with another taxi-pilot, a man approached, asking, “Looking for a ride, Little Lady?”

Glancing toward the unmoving form on the bigger boat, Sascha quietly responded, “Yes please, can you take me to the Zoo’s transit platform. I’m kinda in a hurry, if that’s okay?”

“Can do. Come aboard.”

Following directions, Sascha found himself in one of the boat’s seats, hoping to escape unnoticed. But when the boats engines roared to life, the pilot of the hydro-foil jerked awake. In curiosity he stood to look around, before noticing Sascha’s taxi pull away from the docks. As they coasted away from the dock, but still lit up by their lights, provided time for the watching Sascha to see the man’s eyes widen in recognition. Yet there was no time to see how he reacted before the taxi-pilot pulled back the throttle, bringing the nose of the boat out of the water and slamming Sascha back into his seat.

Taking Sascha at his words, the pilot made the taxi travel at speeds the Swan could only dream about. It made him truly feel like he fled. He could not help offering an answering grin when the pilot turned with his own smiling question. Taking that as approval, he coaxed more speed from his boat. Sascha did not care how his pigtails streamed behind or how the cold wind tugged at his barely held down skirt and goose pimpled his bare thighs. He felt fully alive.

He was a little disappointed when the ride come to an end, yet he was completely prepared as they pulled into the dock, quickly paid, adding a good tip, and began climbing the stairs towards the station, glancing backward to look for the hydro-foil and upwards in case the tram passed overhead in its tube. The first he spotted, though still well out to sea, but the second he did not, and that filled him with hope. With a burst of speed, he clattered up the rest of the stairs onto an empty platform. He waited, head on a swivel, looking from the approaching boat towards the empty tube in which the tram would arrive. Then, as the hydro-foil slowed, drifting towards the docks, the light, signally the tram’s arrival, lit up. Checking once more, he saw one of the men, it looked like Hooknose, leap towards the dock from the boat. One foot hit plasticrete, pushing the floating dock downwards, the second foot scrambling for purchase, while the first wobbling on its own. No gymnast, he could not maintain his balance, splashing into the water, causing the boat to reverse away so it did not run into him. Choking back amazed laughter, Sascha, turned and trotted towards the approaching lights and boarded as soon as the tram stopped.

Dangerously empty, except for him, it seemed satisfied to sit there, unmoving. Worriedly he watched the stairwell, not even noticing when the tram finally moved. Only when he turned his head to maintain watch did he realize the tram was underway. His focus continued to seek for his pursuers, spotting two of them suddenly stop running up the stairs, looking overhead at the passing tram, while the others helped their drenched companion back into the boat.

The two quickly weighed their options, before turning to bound down back to boat, thinking to follow in the hydro-foil. That did not worry Sascha, since even at the speeds it travelled, it had no chance of keeping pace with the tram. He felt as if he were almost home free.

Now his lone worry was that someone, an unknown, might be waiting at one of the three stops he still needed to pass before reaching his home island. With no control over that possibility, the worry ate at Sascha, causing him to restlessly prowl up and down the aisle, preparing to run for real if new thugs appeared.

The first station was empty, the wait stretching out unbearably long.

The second station was also empty, the wait seeming even worse.

Approaching the third and final stop, he fought against creeping hope, for as the tram flashed into the station, slowing to a stop, he caught a glimpse of a doorway opening, followed by the sound of men running and shouting for the automated tram to wait. Willing the tram to move, he froze, unsure what to do, but knowing he was caught. Hearing the door at the back of the tram slide open, he twisted in that direction, and slumped into a seat.

Hearing approaching feet, he looked up, past security uniforms and into the faces of two officers who kept tourists away from the island on which he lived. One of them smiled and said, “Sorry about the fright, Miss.”

“That’s okay, I’m really happy to see you two.”

“Was somebody bothering you, Miss?”

“No, nobody was bothering me.”

“Good to hear. Umm...I need to check your ID.”

“Sure thing. Let me find it. Here you go.”

“Sascha Shronsdottor? Employee of Siren’s Cove?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my favourite casino, Miss.”

“Yeah, I like working there.”

“Well, sorry to bother you. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you, officer, you too.”

Sascha took a moment to realize he was safe, before reaching into his purse for his vibrating console. Expecting it to hunt control telling him the hunt was over, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Bravo, Lovely Sascha , you were magnificent.”

“Vel Verissa?”

“Aye, I wanted to apologize before my earlier rudeness. I tried to do so earlier, but it was too late. Dailmbruk had already reserved you for your chase, all Ventar and I could do was watch and hope, after all, you are much too precious for him.”

“You saw.”

“Everything except while you were in the holorooms, though I know McIddon was happy that the vid blacked out during that period, after seeing the dazed look on his son’s face when the two of you exited.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Your Crissum is McIddon’s son.”

“Oh no, the Ambassador must be outraged.”

“Not at all, Lovely Girl. Though he did call his son an idiot when he spurned your earlier flirtations, but the Ambassador tricked his son into finding you once more.”

“What?”

“The order to come back to the casino was actually a way of manipulating your meeting, but then you handled things from there. McIddon is a proud father tonight.”

“Fortune.” Sascha exclaimed weakly.

“But enough about them, I really must know. Will you forgive me, Sweets?”

“Of course.”

“Now, Sascha Love, don’t sell yourself so cheaply. At a minimum you should demand that Ventar and I take you out to celebrate your victory.”

Verissa’s gentle tease cast a net over Sascha, in a way Dailmbruk’s thugs would never duplicate. Some dangers he could not deny himself, the golden couple being at the top of that list. Automatically Sascha slid into the role expected of him, petulantly saying, “I don’t know, you were really mean to me. Maybe if you took me someplace nice I would forgive you, but that won’t work ‘cause I have nothing pretty to wear.”

Epilogue

The Onindon High Command was engaged in their daily status meeting, discussing preparations for their invasion of Trelifur. As was often the case, these days, Quartermaster-General Udirl held the floor, updating everyone with the status of provisions, fuel, and transportation, for the three army groups poised at the border.

“Gentlemen, as our charts show, supplies and transport for Army Groups A and C, under Generals Oshta and Umurk, have doubled over the initial invasion plans. Army Group B, will take another three days to reach that point.”

“Yes, at the expense of the home guard.” A disgruntled voice complained.

“Now General Irlin, you are as aware as anybody that we need enough fuel to keep our vehicles moving apace through the deadlands, at least until we get to their refineries.”

“I still don’t like it, General Udirl, but I understand.”

“Very well then, as I was saying. It will take three more days before we can fully supply Army Group B, at which point we can...what the blazes is that noise.”

General Irlin did not need to be told, yet he moved to the window to check anyways. His fears confirmed, he turned to the rest of the High Command, and said, “Drop shuttles. Lots and lots of drop shuttles.”

“What?” Blurted Quartermaster-General Udirl. “But we don’t have drop shuttles?”

General Irlin could only sigh as he agreed, “No, no we don’t.”

The End