Sexy Space Babes - Mechs, Maidens and Macaroons: Chapter Twenty One

Truth be told, Mark had expected this little bet to draw more of an audience. In retrospect though he realized that was more than a little arrogant. The party was already rife with the exchange of money and favors both. The match being set up before him was but one act in the ongoing extravagant circus around him.

Still, they’d drawn something of a modest crowd of vaguely interested onlookers as Sabine settled into one of the simulator seats. Simulator seats that hadn’t been hard to locate at all. Indeed, now that he knew what to look for, he could see about a dozen scattered about amidst the other games.

Essentially little more than a padded chair with an attached virtual reality headset, the machines were a far cry from the massive hulking pod he’d enjoyed at Kalia’s estate. Despite that, he had little doubt that they were just as – if not more – expensive devices, as holographic displays with gravity control haptic feedback flared into place under Sabine’s hands as her chosen machine booted up.

Across from her, Sabine’s opponent for the evening was also settling in. An act he watched with more than a little morbid curiosity as the woman in question was encased in power armor. Which meant she was likely the same bodyguard he’d seen at the Livewire when he first met Tazek.

She’d glanced at him briefly when she walked in, but hadn’t wasted any time on conversation before Tazek directed her to her new chair. A chair that, groaning under the newcomer’s armored weight, didn’t collapse in on itself.

“Do you think you can take her?” Mark asked quietly.

Sabine didn’t look at him, eyes instead flickering across the HUD that had no doubt flared up via her new headgear as she manipulated the holographic controls under her fingers.

“Probably,” she murmured.

Mark twitched, as if struck. “Probably!?”

Sabine shrugged. “This plan originally assumed I would be facing Tazek herself, Mark. She lacks the reputation required to call on any pilots that might be in attendance here tonight – and my dossier on her said that she didn’t have any pilots in her employ. She’s a supplier, not a manager after all.”

Mark glanced at the power armored woman. “I assume that’s changed.”

Sabine hummed, as if unconcerned. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Most Krenheim natives dabble in simulated piloting at some point, given it’s the national sport. Hence why I thought Tazek would agree to face me instead. It’s unfortunate that she didn’t, but there’s every chance our new friend might well just be the most avid hobbyist that Tazek has in her crew instead of a professional. It’s likely even, given the woman’s acting as her bodyguard.”

Right, Mark could understand that. “And you think you’ll be better than an enthusiastic hobbyist?”

Sabine scoffed. “I think I’m better than a great many low tier professionals, cheri. I was not chosen for this job on a whim. I was the best option available out of a number of Earth’s best piloting candidates.”

Ok, so Mark guessed she knew how to pilot then. He’d sort of assumed, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

…Though he sort of doubted Sabine’s words were the whole truth. More likely she was chosen from amongst a pool of spies who showed aptitude for mech piloting. And that was almost certainly a fairly small pool of people.

Not that he didn’t doubt she’d be good… but he still couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as he stared up at the screen overhead. He watched as the power armored woman’s feed showed her scrolling through a selection of generic mechs.

The agreed weight tier had been for lights at Tazek’s insistence, which contrary to what one might think didn’t necessarily mean the machines were faster than their’ heavier’ brethren.

Light simply meant that they were limited to a single anti-grav generator. As a result, the smaller mechs tended to be noticeably more sluggish than much larger machines that might possess three or even four anti-grav nodes.

With that in mind, Mark wasn’t too surprised when Sabine’s opponent selected a close range bruiser of a machine, one that had no less than six claw arms in addition to a pair of shoulder mounted lasers. More to the point, she did so without a moment’s hesitation – which suggested a lot of familiarity with the machine in question.

Sabine, by contrast, lingered, her fingers dancing over the controls as she cycled through options, humming as she seemingly weighed each mech’s strengths and weaknesses.

“She’s chosen a close-range design,” Mark murmured quietly. “I think.”

Because six claw arms certainly didn’t suggest long range detail work.

“I can see it,” Sabine said, as she finally selected her own machine – a fairly generic humanoid looking design equipped with a single large laser rifle and a braced shield. “You’ll want to step away now.”

Mark didn’t disagree as he stepped back. Nor was he the only one to do so. There was a wide berth forming around both seats, as no nearby party goers wanted to be caught up in the machine’s gravity powered haptic feedback system.

He knew that because there was a fairly large warning sign on a post nearby about that exact possibility – with small print exonerating the hostess or manufacturer of any culpability in the event of an injury from someone standing too close during operation.

Not exactly the sort of thing one would normally expect to see at an upscale party, but that was his human side talking. The Consortium – and by extension Krenheim – clearly held different opinions. Clearly the locals thought that any party without an implicit liability waiver just wasn’t a fun time.

Cyberpunk-Vegas strikes again, he thought as the crowd’s murmurs swelled with a low tide of anticipation as the first arena started to boot up on screen.

Though the first shot had barely been fired – by Sabine – before a figure made herself known. Which was rather impressive, given they barely reached his chest.

 “What in the void are you doing here, Mark?” Kalia said casually, eyes fixed on the ongoing battle as Sabine strafed her opponent. “Talking with Tazek of all people? Letting yourself be used as a chit in some bet!? Who even is that woman? Someone from your homeworld?”

Mark winced a little at her words, not least of all because part of him agreed with her. “Ah, Kalia, it’s lovely to see you again. I’ll be honest, I didn’t really expect to see you here tonight.”

Kalia’s eye twitched, a muscle jumping beneath her red skin, before she exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing with a visible effort.

“For all my mother’s patience with my refusal to claim her corporate crown is wearing thin she still adores parading her ‘piloting champion’ daughter around these events,” she muttered. “Playing along with her desires helps me push the deadline forward on her demanding I stop piloting entirely.”  She paused, a series of conflicting emotions flitting across her features. “My fiancée’s here too. He… enjoys this sort of thing, so I try to make time now and then.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up, a jolt of surprise slicing through his nerves like a knife. He’d known Kalia had a fiancée, but knew vanishingly little about him. He’d never seen him at the mansion, and both Saria and Tenir had been surprisingly hush hush on the topic. Not that he’d pushed much. His boss’s personal life wasn’t any of his business after all.

Still, he could admit to a little curiosity as his eyes scanned the room, searching for a solitary male. Only to be disappointed. Every man in sight was tethered to a woman’s arm.

He turned back to Kalia. “Actually, my surprise mostly has to do with you being at this party in particular rather than parties in general. It makes Krenheim seem like a small world.”

Kalia cocked her head towards him, horns glinting. “Krenheim has a rather standard gravitational mass for most species. With its gravity it would be a rather ideal colony were it not for the lack of a breathable atmosphere.”

Mark shook his head. “Ah, no, I meant it as an Earth idiom – basically it’s a bit of a wild coincidence running into you here.”

Suddenly, she grinned.

“Oh, I caught your drift, Mark. I was just toying with you.” She glanced up at the screen, where Sabine was now trying to dance around the other mech’s lunges. “It’s less Krenheim being small for a colonial city and more the gladiator circuit being something of a cozy little clique. The industry is large, but truth be told there are vanishingly few names in forward facing roles.” She paused. “Horelia also pointed me in your direction.”

Mark frowned. “Ah, I suppose she wanted you to give me permission to cook for her?”

“And ‘borrow’ some of the ingredients from my estate. I believe she’d already sent a runner,” Kalia drawled.

Well, Mark could think of worse ways to spend a chunk of this evening than whipping up something small. Assuming he didn’t get dragged out the door in the next few minutes if Sabine lost this match.

Something that was…

No, he had no idea how the match was going. Sabine seemed to be whittling away at her opponent’s armor from range, but the power-armored pilot seemed to be getting closer and closer with each pass.

“Now, I played along, so don’t sidestep my original question, Mark” Kalia said, eyes narrowing slightly as her words drew him back to the present. “Why are you here tonight? Letting yourself be a betting chit for… that woman?”

Her gaze flicked toward Sabine with a disdainful sneer, the word dripping with venom.

Mark hesitated as he pondered whether or not to reveal the truth.

Before immediately dismissing the idea.

 “She’s an ex of mine,” he admitted, his voice low. “From Earth. We… met up again on the ride over here.”

Kalia glanced at him, as if expecting more. “And?”

Mark shrugged ‘helplessly’. “And I… don’t know. She’s always had a way of… talking me around to her way of doing things. Even though I told her we were through. She asked me to come out tonight as a favor. For old times sake. She said I’d be helping her out. And, I dunno… I agreed, but I didn’t know things would turn out like this.”

It was a struggle not to giggle a little at the horseshit he was spewing. Though it got easier after a moment’s thought, as he realized there was a kernel of truth to his statement. He just had to mentally switch the notion of a toxic ex to that of a lingering sense of duty to his homeworld. That notion made the whole story a little less amusing.

Still, his words did their work as he watched Kalia’s expression soften towards him as he went from risk-taking moron to victimized moron.

Which again, wasn’t great for his self-esteem, but the whole evening had battered it enough that he really didn’t care at this point. He was playing the cards he’d been given and he was playing them to the hilt.

He watched as Kalia’s fists clenched, her tunic rustling as she straightened, her voice rising with indignation. “Well, I don’t know how things are done on Earth, but you shouldn’t have to endure that nonsense here on Krenheim.”

She lowered her voice. “I know there’s at least two women who’d treat you better than this.”

Mark shrugged, playing up his role. “Well, Sabine said this was the last time she needed me for… something like this.”

Kalia scoffed. “It’s never the last time.”

Mark… found he didn’t disagree. And not just in the context of Sabine as an ‘ex’. Would she really let him go after he helped her with this?

No, probably not. Not so long as he could be useful.

Which was why he was going to have to put his foot down.

He’d agreed to one last job out of his residual loyalty to Earth. So it was going to be one last job.

-----------------------

Jelara felt the simulator seat under her creak as her ‘mech’ leapt backwards, the chair’s grav-unit imitating the sensation of her being forced back into the ‘cockpit’.

…The whole thing was definitely a step up from her home rig. And as an open air-unit, she could only imagine how much it cost.

Enough that she was definitely more than a little worried that her suit was going to break it. Especially as she threw her mech into another dive, and felt the gravity press down even harder to mimic the motion.

Fortunately, it held as she continued darting across the digital battlefield provided by her HUD.

Her opponent was good - very good. Jelara could admit that. Her movements were sharp, and her shots were precise.

With that said, there was a certain ‘rawness’ to her style, a hesitancy in how she maneuvered her mech that suggested she hadn’t quite mastered the machine’s quirks.

Jelara had seen it before. Quite often, given the way she practiced. It was a trait one didn’t often see in real life, but saw all the time in online simulator matches.

It was the trait of someone accustomed to cycling through multiple mech variants regularly rather than committing to one design.

A sort of ‘mech dysphoria’.

And Jaleara had none of it. Oh, her simulator experience was certainly vast, but she stuck to one design and one design alone when practicing online.

All of her experience came with this mech. A mech that had certain rather startling similarities to the design that was currently sat in her warehouse.

As a result, she knew this machine inside and out. Its acceleration, its tolerances, the split-second lag in its reaction speed, every idiosyncrasy was etched into her memory like it had been carved from stone.

That edge was her ticket to victory, even if her opponent hadn’t realized it yet. Her opponent thought she was winning.

And she was, but only because Jelara was underplaying her hand. All in the name of lulling her foe into a false sense of security.

At which point, Jelara would finally close the distance.

And the match would be over.

 Her gloved hand flitted over the control, executing a deft sidestep as a laser’s beam seared past. She countered with her own shoulder mounts – low powered comparatively – but they were enough to make her opponent slip back behind her shield. And that was enough, as the Ulnus once more closed the distance, hemming her opponent in.

And yet despite her looming triumph… she couldn’t help but feel off.

Through the simulator’s peripheral feed, she caught sight of Mark standing nearby.

And he looked hot.

She’d never really been a fashion gal, but she knew when a guy looked good. And that suit was doing all the right things for her. So much so that part of her wanted to thank whoever had undoubtedly forced the tomgirl into it.

Because she knew he’d never have picked it out himself.

Unfortunately, she was pretty sure she had some idea who had picked it for him – and that person was the same one she was currently trying to stomp on her boss’s orders.

The radio in her suit crackled, as Tazek’s voice slithered through. “What the fuck are you doing girl? She’s walking all over you!”

Jelara frowned. “This one has it in hand, boss.”

The woman on the other line scoffed. “You better, because if you don’t, my ass is on the line for very fucking expensive business deal. One I sure as shit won’t be able to squirm out of with all these yucks watching.”

“Of course, boss.” Jelara nodded.

“And I’ll have missed out on nailing that girl’s boytoy too.”

And a moment later laser fire danced across her shoulder as Jelara twitched, dodging just a second too late as she caught her boss’s words. The holographic terrain tilted for just a moment, before she wrestled the controls back under command and slipped behind the building she’d originally been aiming for.

“Careful!” Her boss hissed. “If this is the best I can expect from you as a pilot, you’d be better served selling me that hunk of chunk you’ve been building now.”

Jalara’s entire body pulsed.

“That’s right. This is your debut girl, even if you’re not in the cockpit of your machine. Don’t fuck it up.”

Unbidden, Jelara’s gaze switched to her external sensors.

To the many very rich women watching her. Judging her.

“They don’t know this one’s name, boss,” Jelara said.

Tazek chuckled. It wasn’t a nice thing. “Win and I’ll make sure they do – it’ll be useful for both of us when you get that mech running. Lose and I’ll definitely make sure they do. So don’t!”

The threat hung heavy, a blending-stockade positioned beneath her.

She had to win!

…Even if that meant Mark would be going home with her boss.

She mentally jolted herself. What did that matter? They weren’t ‘together’. And Mark was a grown man. One who’d gotten tangled in this mess of his own volition.

…Because he wanted to help ‘Earth’. To free it from occupation.

She ignored the pang of… understanding she felt.

After all, Mark wasn’t the only one who’d felt the boot of the Imperium.

He definitely wasn’t the only one fighting back.

Even if her own fight was different.

Still, as she continued to pilot, the thought of him alone with Tazek churned her insides.

It wasn’t jealousy. Far from it.

No, it was more the fact that the smuggler had a quiet reputation for being ‘rough’ with her bedmates. Nothing too far over the line, but it certainly danced on it. Jelara knew because she’d had to help clean afterwards once.

And only the once, thankfully.

…Did Mark know what he was getting himself in for? Had that woman – the other human – told him everything? Did she even know about Tazek’s appetites?

The Ulnus felt her flesh roil even as she shook her head again, fingers tightening on the controls.

He wasn’t her responsibility – he was some offworld rube she barely knew. A pity project who’d ended up being a good lay.

And he’d survive.

Likely maybe even learn a lesson about being too trusting.

Her mech’s laser hummed, targeting her enemy’s weakened joint. There was an exposed powerline there, one that ran a little too close to the surface.

It was a weakness her own mech had sported until last week. And she’d been ignorant of how to fix it until that Pesrin showed up.

That Pesrin who showed up because of Mark. Because he’d asked her to. For no other reason than because he could.

She gritted her metaphorical teeth, refocusing on the kill shot. Once she got that powerline, her opponent would be limping and she could close for the kill.

Losing wasn’t an option - pissing off Tazek would tank her sponsorship chances. Tazek would make sure of it.

Void, she’d probably also be out of a job.

No, Mark wasn’t her problem.

---------------------

Mark stood watching the match with bated breath.

Fortunately, Sabine seemed to be winning. She’d managed to keep her opponent at bay all match while whittling her down. All the while she’d only received a little leg damage.

He was so focused on the match, that he didn’t notice when a new figure sidled up beside him to replace the now missing Kalia.

The alien, a lean Nighkru with luminescent tattoos tracing his neck, flashed Mark a polished smile, as he clung to a woman’s arm – a Shil’vati who was watching the match raptly.

“You must be Mark,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk, extending a clawed hand. “I’m Lirath, Kalia’s fiancée. I thought I’d finally introduce myself to the newest member of her staff who’s been causing such a stir.”

Mark’s eyes flicked over the newcomer, then to the woman he was with and the way her hand was resting possessively on Lirath’s arm. As he watched, her gaze drifted over him with mild curiosity before moving back to the match.

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said. "Uh… does Kalia mind you showing up with someone else on your arm?”

“On his arm?” The Shil’vati laughed, even as she kept watching the match.

Lirath laughed too, though the chuckle faded as he caught the earnest furrow in Mark’s brow, realization dawning.

“Oh, you’re serious,” he said, before clicking his fingers in a strangely human way. “Right, you’re a human, which means you're monogamous, aren’t you? Like Milrets.”

Mark had no idea what a Milret was and the man’s tone gave him no way of knowing whether it was a positive comparison or not. Given it was an animal, he was inclined to say no, but the other man’s tone came across as rather warm.

It actually reminded him of Vrenal a little – if altogether more… formal.

The Nighkru waved a hand dismissively, the woman at his side smirking. “For most species – and you as well now you’re out here - a man’s expected to keep a few women.”

Right, Mark felt like kicking himself. For all that he liked to think he’d acclimatized to ‘alien’ life, there were still moments of disconnect.

“My bond with Kalia is more of a business arrangement between our families than anything else,” the Nighkru continued. “My other girls handle the romantic side of things.”

“As well as other things,” the Shil’vati chuckled, making the Nighkru’s silver skin darken slightly.

“Not out here, Nemel,” he gasped, acting for a moment like a blushing maiden.

Though Mark’s mind was more elsewhere. Mostly on the idea that Kalia was apparently in a loveless and sexless relationship.

…That had to suck.

Hardcore.

 “So, does Kalia have other men too?” he asked casually. “If it’s just business and you have… others.”

Lirath’s smile vanished, his eyes narrowing into a scowl.

“No, of course not,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. “As if I’d tolerate that kind of disrespect!”

“Of course. Of course,” Mark said, raising his hands. “I’m sorry if I offended. I’m still new to… space.”

A blatant lie, but truth be told, Mark hadn’t really encountered many males on Earth and only two out here in space. And there were a lot of small cultural nuances to the whole harem thing that he still didn’t really know. At least, outside of the Imperial model – which as far as he was aware gave men significantly less ‘freedom’.

He’d certainly struggle to imagine a Shil’vati woman being forced into what was essentially celibacy for an arranged marriage – while her spouse porked five other women at will.

A pang of pity for Kalia stabbed at him, the idea of that stoic facade hiding a life of unreciprocated expectations.

Whatever else might have been said was interrupted as a ripple ran through the crowd watching the match. Sabine’s opponent was down, a shot having gone clean through her cockpit.

Mark had to resist the urge to cheer as the screens started to fade to black, Sabine’s victory announced in thick white lettering.

Which was why he was thrown as the Shil’vati woman at Lirath’s side frowned. “That one in the armor took a dive. She had her. Then she decided to do something stupid.”

Mark paused, elation giving way to confusion as he glanced up at the tusked woman. “I mean, are you sure? It seemed like she just lost to me.”

Lirath scoffed, a bored drawl escaping his lips. “Nemel’s a three time championship winner. If she says the Ulnus took a dive, they took a dive.”

Mark ignored the way the woman grinned and hugged the Nighkru closer as he turned to regard the armored figure, who was just now unplugging her suit from the simulator – and being lambasted by Tarek as she did.

“That’s an Ulnus?”

“Oh yeah. No doubt. That Roach’s armor’s from the Eighth First Contact War or I’m a duchess. A regular being couldn’t even fit in it without being turned to jelly,” Nemel said disdainfully.

Suddenly, Mark had a sinking feeling. Because he could think of exactly three reasons why a random Ulnus would throw a match they were apparently about to win.

And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t lucky enough for the first to be responsible for this outcome.

“Right, nice meeting you. I think I need to go talk to my friend,” he muttered.

Kalia’s fiancée might have said something in response, but Mark didn’t hear it. He was already striding over to Sabine.