LotS/The Story/Aphrodisian Anabasis

"Intro"=
"Ragnar! Let him go!"

"You got it, Princess."

The man screams as the Niflung's fingers loosen around his ankle, and he slips centimeters closer to his doom.

"No!" comes the collective cry, an anxious medley of voices -- male and female, adult and child, human and robot.

The man thrashes in the air, ill-conceived struggles spawned of terror that could only serve to send him plunging to his death in the street below. His purple jacket and trousers flap around him, making him look like some kind of strange sea-beast dancing at the end of a hook.

There's a thud as the ornate wooden doors at the far end of the room fly open, revealing around a dozen men and women in red hats and pinstripe suits. They dash across the chamber, fanning out on either side of the long conference table, and pass through the wide opening that gives onto the balcony. A crimson line forms in front of you, its redness broken only by the grim faces that stare from between jacket collars and hat brims. And by the Tommy guns -- their barrels trained on you and your companions, ready to unleash a barrage of laser fire.

As one, you, Talia, and Lu Bu form up around the Princess -- moving your bodies between her and the enforcers' guns. You raise your sidearm, and take aim at one of the red-suited gunmen. To your left, Talia's laser pistols appear in her hands -- and you know that each one is targeting an enforcer between the eyes with instantaneous precision. On your right Lu Bu is unarmed, wearing his hands instead of his claw and sword attachments. But you can sense the shifting of his weight as he prepares for the possibility of violence.

In the corner of your vision you see Telemachus taking cover behind the base of the baroque angel statue which adorns the balcony. He has some kind of rectangular device in his hand, one you haven't seen before -- and you find yourself hoping that he hasn't bought himself a weapon of mass destruction when you weren't looking.

"Think you can talk to her like that?" Ragnar roars from behind.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, and see him shaking his hapless victim -- making his limbs flail like those of an upside-down marionette, causing his tie to slip out from behind his purple waistcoat and flutter against his face like a cavorting snake. The Niflung's still glaring at him, ignoring the guns pointing at his own powerful body.

"Let go of him!" one of the red-suited women yells.

"Sure..."

"No!"

This time your collective shout is echoed by the dangling man and the enforcers, the voices blending together in a mismatched chorus that makes you feel as if you're all part of a pantomime audience.

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to bring Ragnar on a diplomatic mission. Still, if he hadn't moved first then the purple-suited man might be looking down the barrel of your pistol instead of staring at the street a dozen stories below him. No one talks to Princess Illaria like that...

"We need the Contella Consortium," the Princess said.

Wu Tenchu gave a slight nod, and stroked his finely groomed beard and moustache with musing fingers. The room remained quiet for several moments. No one, not even the Princess herself, presumed to speak in a stretch of silence reserved for Master Wu. You all awaited the words of the Emperor's greatest advisor, the man who would have been his Prime Minister in the days when that office still existed.

Master Wu's sharp, unfathomable eyes were fixed on the holographic displays hovering above the table -- on the many colored swaths of maps and charts, the endless lists of scrolling facts and figures. And you believed that he was drinking in all the information laid out there, his magnificent mind assimilating and processing data with such proficiency that it might have put one of TALOS' finest robots to shame.

"Her Highness is correct," he replied at last. "The Consortium's trading power must be denied to them. The other factions' severed ties with the Centurian Collective mean little if Contella merchants will simply purchase whatever they require and sell it to them."

Wu Tenchu made a series of gestures with his right hand. In response, sections of data became highlighted -- reports of ship movements and other such things which bore out his suspicion when viewed in their totality. Though the Contella Consortium had ostensibly broken off all trade with the Centurians when the other members of the UHW did, it appeared that their dealings had only become more surreptitious.

"Why's the Consortium helping the Centurians?" Telemachus asked. "They were planning to attack Earth!"

Master Wu's eyes narrowed for a moment, his displeasure at being interrupted and questioned by a child evident. But the Princess favored him with an apologetic smile, and the annoyance left his face if not his mind. It was Illaria who gave Telemachus permission to attend the meeting in the Sian embassy's council chamber, that the young prince might learn more of what it means to be a ruler.

"The Contella Consortium cares little for the UHW," Wu Tenchu explained. "They only remain part of the organization because doing so serves their trading needs more than it hampers them. Perhaps the Centurians convinced them that their designs merely concerned Earth."

"The Consortium are pragmatists," you said. "We may be able to persuade them that it's in their best interests to side with us instead."

"Just what I was thinking," the Princess replied.

Once the meeting was over, Sian diplomats made contact with the Consortium and arranged for Princess Illaria to speak with Santino Melloni at the Contella embassy.

The following day you and your companions were ushered into a conference room, and introduced to Melloni -- a slender, oily-haired man in a bright purple suit. And things appeared to go well as the discussion unfolded. He seemed amenable to persuasion, and confessed that the Consortium had been reconsidering their arrangement with the Centurians. It was then that the Princess asked what she could do to ensure their cooperation.

"We want you to go to Cythera," he replied.

That's when Ragnar growled, leapt to his feet, grabbed Melloni, and half-carried, half-dragged him to the balcony.

"I think there's been a small misunderstanding," Melloni says.

His voice is surprisingly calm for a man dangling above certain death in the grasp of an omnicidal Niflung, and there's only a trace of the panic which gripped him a moment ago.

"Let's just settle down before someone gets hurt," he continues.

You look round, and see that he's holding his palms out in a gesture of appeasement. The stance seems somewhat ridiculous when enacted by an upside-down man with his tie streaming past his face, but it seems to do the trick. The enforcers lower their Tommy guns, and you and Talia do the same with your pistols.

"Ragnar..." the Princess says.

The Niflung looks to her. He grunts his understanding, and tosses Melloni onto the balcony with a casual swing of his arm -- as though he were throwing away a piece of trash.

Melloni thuds and rolls on the tiled floor, and gasps as he sits up in a disheveled heap. But he has the presence of mind to raise his hand, and forestall the enforcers who are beginning to raise their weapons once more.

"We're good," he says. "You mooks can scram."

The red-suited men and women turn around and walk away. In a few moments the doors have closed behind them.

Melloni gets to his feet, adjusts his tie, and slips it back inside his waistcoat.

"What did you do that for?" the Princess asks, staring at Ragnar in confusion and anger.

The Niflung's cheeks color, and he almost seems to squirm under her gaze. You sympathize with the awkwardness he must feel, but you can still barely suppress a smile at seeing him standing there like a hulking, muscle-bound, embarrassed schoolboy.

"Well..." Ragnar murmurs, "he said..."

He looks to you for support. The Princess follows his gaze, and focuses her attention on you instead.

"Well?" she asks.

Now it's your turn to redden.

"He said..." you begin.

You look over to Talia. The gunslinger rolls her eyes. Then she steps towards Telemachus, and clamps her hands over his ears.

"Hey!"

The boy gives a token struggle, but he appears to have learned the futility of resistance on prior occasions -- and he submits soon enough, contenting himself with huffing in annoyance.

"He said they wanted you to go to Cythera," Talia says, looking at the Princess.

"So?" she asks, her anger now entirely replaced by confusion.

"I believe Cythera is a planet in Contella space," says Lu Bu. "But I'm unfamiliar with it."

"It's a vice-world," Talia replies. "Going to Cythera means..."

"It's a euphemism," you say. "To go to Cythera means to become a..."

"Prostitute," Talia supplies.

"Whore," Ragnar says at the same moment.

"...courtesan," you finish.

The Princess' face becomes expressionless. And to someone who knows her well, that seems more ominous than any look of rage. She turns to Melloni.

"That's the misunderstanding I was talking about," he says. "I didn't mean we wanted you to go to Cythera. I mean, I'm sure people would pay a lot of-"

He gulps, as he sees the homicidal looks surrounding him. Even Lu Bu's robotic body language screams of impending slaughter.

"I meant we wanted you to go to Cythera. The actual planet."

"You desire the Princess of the Sian Empire to visit a vice-world?" Lu Bu asks. His metal fists clench, and he takes a step towards Melloni.

"As a diplomat!" he yells, taking a step away from the advancing robot.

The Princess holds up her hand, and Lu Bu stops in his tracks.

"Look," Melloni says, "sit back down and let me explain."

"Talia," you say, "take Tel out of the room."

"Okay, captain."

"I know what a prostitute is!" Telemachus says. "I'm ten, not seven!"

Talia loosens her grasp in her surprise. The boy slips free and turns to her.

"Your hands aren't soundproof, you know."

Talia looks at you, and shrugs. As pilots, the two of you are so used to having your auditory experience altered by your aural implants that you sometimes forget exactly what it's like for someone without them. Apparently the boy's hearing was keener than either of you expected.

"Make sure you say nothing... inappropriate... in front of Prince Telemachus," the Princess tells Melloni.

Then you sit down at the table, Telemachus wearing a look of triumph at his inclusion. Melloni presses a button, and a holographic projection of a planet appears before you all.

"We own Cythera," he says, "but we don't run it. Each group runs their own turf."

He gestures, and the image zooms in on one of the landmasses -- until you're looking at a single sprawling city. Colored overlays flash into existence, turning the metropolis into a patchwork quilt. Floating labels appear above each one, containing text and photographs of people's faces.

"There are dozens of groups. Most based on their... tastes. The kind of stuff they're into. You know, some people like-"

"Spare us the details," the Princess says.

"Right. Anyhow, they do things how they want. We just sit back and take a big share of the profits. But recently we've been having problems. Some of the group leaders have started talking about cutting us out, and keeping all the credits for themselves.

"We can't just send the enforcers in with guns blazing, like we'd do in other places. It might make the whole damn whorehouse of a planet rise up, and we'd end up having to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Besides, if we went in hard..."

He pauses, and you sense a tasteless comment dancing on the tip of his tongue. But he glances at Telemachus, and seems to swallow the emerging words. Even this purple-suited mobster appears to realize that some things shouldn't be said in front of children.

"Well, no prostitute would ever work with us again. So, we need to negotiate."

"And you want me to represent you?" the Princess asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You have a reputation. People trust you. And they'll listen to you. Let us set up a meeting with representatives from the major groups. All you need to do is go along, hear them out, and see if we can come to terms. You help us out, and we'll tell the Centurians to go to hell."

The Princess meets your gaze. You can perceive her distaste at the thought of an imperial princess acting as a mediator between pimps and prostitutes. But at the same time, you know she'll accept. A little embarrassment is a small price to pay for the Consortium's aid.

"Make your arrangements," she says. "We'll go to Cythera." |-|

"The Meeting"=
The Meeting

Wilex's cruiser escorts you to Cythera's system, but as when you visited Drekchester it halts beyond the periphery -- to avoid antagonizing the Consortium. You continue to the planet in your own vessel, while the TALOS ship remains just outside the system to await your return.

Cythera seems innocuous enough as you approach it -- a pleasant blue and green planet, not so very different from Earth. But as you circle to its nighttime side, and see the glow of artificial light that permeates much of the landmasses there, its true nature becomes more apparent. It's a world that never sleeps, where the sun and moon both look on the same lascivious revelry.

You descend into that dark side, towards the city of Hedon where your destination lies, and open a communication channel to Thalatta Spaceport.

The Contella Consortium may not run the rest of the planet, but Thalatta is theirs -- and its personnel are expecting your arrival. They guide you down to your landing point, and inform you that a vehicle will meet you outside your ship.

"Put your goggles on, Tel," you say.

"I still say this is stupid," he replies.

But he fumbles with the goggles, and puts them on. You try to avoid smiling at how ridiculous he looks with their big, bulging, almost insect-like eyes set over his own. Judging from your reflection in the lenses, you aren't succeeding very well. Though it occurs to you that he probably won't be able to tell anyway.

The goggles were your idea, manufactured by Wilex at your behest. They convert everything the viewer sees into wireframe images, undetailed and textureless, and should adequately desexualize anything Telemachus encounters during his brief stay on this vice-world -- concealing indecent costumes and naked flesh.

"You can wait on the ship if you prefer," the Princess says. "But we can't let you see Cythera without those goggles on. This planet really isn't suitable for someone your age."

"So I can go around killing people with you guys, but I can't look at a prostitute?" he asks.

There's a moment of awkward silence. But he breaks it himself with a resigned sigh.

"Fine."

"Just pretend you're in one of those really old videogames you like," Talia says.

Santino Melloni is waiting outside your ship, this time wearing a suit so yellow you assume it must be banana flavored. He's standing in front of an elegant black limo shuttle that looks large enough to carry at least a dozen people in perfect luxury.

"Hedon is a pedestrian city," he tells you, after an exchange of greetings. "Everyone either walks or takes the subway."

You nod, having discovered as much when you researched the settlement prior to your departure from Earth. People in Hedon are often intoxicated or inebriated, so putting them at the controls of vehicles would be a recipe for disaster. And the city's prostitute factions are frequently at dispute with one another -- quarrels which sometimes turn into actual gang wars. Hence they bar their airspace and roads to incoming vehicular traffic, to eliminate the chance of a mechanized assault.

"But my car's been given permission to take you to the meeting," he continues. "We can't have royalty riding the underground with all the horny tourists."

"There's no driver in this vehicle," Lu Bu says.

The robot is standing next to the limo, staring into the front cabin.

"It's pilotless," Melloni explains. "They don't want any Contella people leaving the spaceport until a deal's been struck."

"Then you won't be attending?" the Princess asks.

"No. But that's okay, Highness. We trust you to look after our interests."

You ensconce yourself within the shuttle's plush interior, and as it takes off you try to ignore the natural wariness you feel at being flown in a vehicle without access to its controls.

The ride is brief, the limo zipping through the sky with remarkable speed given how smooth its flight is. But your roaming gaze is still able to take in much of the illuminated city as you shoot over it. Each faction's territory is marked out as clearly as if the colored overlay from Melloni's map were superimposed upon them. Here in Cythera's capital, where the strongest factions have ruled their turf long enough to utterly stamp their marks upon it, every district is as distinctive as the people who inhabit them. The layouts and architecture have all been devised and constructed to match their desired aesthetics. You see bright, fur-covered buildings one moment, and Roman villas the next. From above, Hedon looks like the patchwork product of a million disturbed minds. Which may not be far from the truth, you realize.

The shuttle descends towards a river that shines as a silver ribbon in the moonlight, and lands on the island beyond. Its doors swivel open of their own accord the moment it touches down, and you step out onto green imitation grass that yields with a soft rustle underfoot.

A single huge building looms a short distance away, its more subdued lighting making it seem dark, shadowy, and deserted compared with the bright cityscape you can see across the water. A wheeled robot emerges from its doorway, and trundles towards you. It's a basic contraption, little more than a rod on wheels -- with two thin arms sticking out of the sides, and two big orange lights at the top in the manner of eyes.

"Welcome to Hedon..." the robot says, in androgynous computerized tones. There's a pause, and its next words are spoken in a slightly different pitch. "...Your Highness."

Lu Bu makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a disdainful sniff. As an intelligent robot, with a brain capable of creative and cognitive thought like that of a human, it appears that he finds such mindless machines displeasing.

"Please follow me," the robot continues.

It pivots on the spot, its tires screeching against the ground, and trundles back towards the building. You follow it inside.

The interior is surprisingly tasteful, far more so than you'd expect from the Consortium -- let alone an official building in a Cytheran city. The décor is subdued, the walls daubed in inoffensive shades of white and soft violets. Perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to make the place seem like neutral ground, bearing none of the hallmarks of any particular faction.

"Your friends / servants / assistants / prostitutes -- select as applicable -- can wait in here," the robot says, stopping next to a closed door.

"Were you programmed by monkeys?" Talia asks.

"I am sorry, but I do not understand your query." There's a whirring noise from somewhere inside it. "Your friends / servants-"

"We got it." Talia sighs, and pushes the door open. "Give us a shout if you need us."

"Hey, videogames!"

Telemachus runs over to a rather impressive electronic entertainment center at the far end of the room.

"Can I take my goggles off in here?" he asks over his shoulder.

The Princess steps into the room, and sweeps it with her gaze -- as if suspecting that indecent artwork or a scantily clad whore might be lurking in one of the corners. But when she completes her assessment she appears satisfied.

"Okay."

Telemachus pulls the goggles off his eyes, pushes them further up his head, and begins to fiddle with the videogame system.

The Princess steps out into the corridor. Talia, Lu Bu, and Ragnar file into the room. The Niflung stops in the doorway and looks back.

"Sure you don't want me to go with you? Might need me to keep them in line."

"We'll be fine," you reply, trying to dispel the mental image of Ragnar scattering prostitutes around the meeting room with swings of his brawny arms.

"Your guns / blades / explosives / pleasure devices -- select as applicable -- must be left with your friends / servants / assistants / prostitutes -- select as applicable."

You hand your weapons to Ragnar without protest. You'd expected as much.

The robot closes the door behind the Niflung, and proceeds down the corridor -- leading you deeper into the building.

"This artwork is from Earth," it says, stopping as you enter a small corner chamber that serves as an intersection between two corridors.

A large painting adorns the opposite wall. Its central figure is a naked woman, standing atop a clamshell and making a half-hearted attempt to conceal her nudity -- leaving one breast bare.

"That's The Birth of Venus!" the Princess exclaims.

"It is entitled The Birth of Venus," the robot continues, "and is made out of Botticelli."

"No it's not! It was-"

"It was placed here by Salvatore Flamido, the first governor of Cythera." A loud whirring comes from the robot once more. "Art routine completed. Continue with original protocol. Syntax error."

The robot swivels, and heads down the passage to your left. You follow on, and arrive at a set of double doors.

"Your meeting / conference / reception / orgy -- select as applicable -- is inside this room. I hope you enjoy your stay here on Cythera."

The robot swivels ninety degrees, slams into the wall, rotates a further ninety degrees, and trundles back down the corridor.

You push the doors open.

Congress of Courtesans

The room is saturated with pinks and purples, as though Heracles diverted a torrent of paint though the chamber as a cack-handed means of cleaning and decorating it. The walls are pink, as is the U-shaped table that dominates the floor space. Purple drapery is arranged on the walls like icing upon the side of a cake. Little spotlights in the same shades cast narrow cones of light in the corners of the room, and ribbons of electric pink skirt the walls. It seems as if the interior designers couldn't quite decide whether the place was to be a meeting room or a strip club -- and opted to hedge their bets.

But the room itself seems subdued and tasteful compared with the people who inhabit it. Sat along the prongs of the U-shaped table and leaning against the walls are delegates from most of the major prostitute factions on Cythera -- attired in the manner of their various groups.

There's a woman dressed in a lavish red and purple silk imitation of classical Roman garb -- finery perhaps suited to that ancient city's patrician class, but cut in the manner of its brothels. Another wears a furry white costume that makes her look like an oversized cat. A tail sways in the air behind her, though you're fairly sure it's part of the outfit rather than her body. The suit's head stares at you from under her arm, its mouth shaping a seductive smirk that seems rather out of place beneath wide cartoonish eyes.

The fur-clad woman meets your gaze with an amused smile, and meows at you. You look away, allowing your vision to sweep the rest of the room instead. The creativity and depravity represented by these people is both impressive and disturbing.

The Princess freezes for a moment, taken aback by what she sees. But a second later she's all smiles, bows, and pleasantries -- falling into the insincerity of diplomatic niceties with practiced ease.

Introductions are made, and you note the delegates' varied reactions. Some gush at meeting the Princess, like teenage girls in the presence of a superstar celebrity. Others seem amused at her presence on Cythera. A few are openly hostile, and you assume that these are the ringleaders in the effort to muscle out the Consortium.

After some minutes of this, it's time to begin. You and she take your places at the bottom of the table, facing the podium at the opposite end, and prepare to open the discussion.

The Smoking Gun

Princess Illaria's oratory is flawless, the woman used to dealing with the upper echelons of galactic society matching her words and arguments to her unusual audience as though she were accustomed to keeping such company.

You contribute where you can, helping to frame the discussions which will follow. And you see many faces around the table looking thoughtful, as though they're giving genuine consideration to the words the two of you put forth.

Then it's the next speaker's turn. A woman dressed as a schoolgirl takes the podium, one of those who seemed resentful of the Princess' presence here.

You recall someone -- either a philosopher, a statesman, a writer, or possibly even a comedian -- speaking of how a civilization's doom is imminent when its schoolgirls start to dress like prostitutes, and its prostitutes like schoolgirls. His words come to mind as the inappropriately dressed harridan launches into a tirade against the Contella Consortium.

The woman's a firebrand, her words filled with such passion that it overshadows her lack of oratorical skill. Several heads around the table nod along to everything she says, and her expression of rage is mirrored on their faces. It's clear that some of those present share her resentful fury in full measure, and will be difficult to persuade.

Once she has her core audience whipped up, the 'schoolgirl' turns her irate glare on the Princess.

"And they think they can fob us off by sending this pampered bitch-"

Darkness engulfs the room. For a few seconds cries of surprise and murmurs of confusion fill the black air. Then another sound cuts through them. It's the hiss of a laser weapon being fired. Cries become screams. The weapon hisses again.

Your combat-experienced mind registers the fact that there's no flash of light. It's a weapon with an invisible beam. An assassin's weapon. But this occurs to you only in passing, a thought grasped from the air and hurled into the inner recesses of your brain. As always, it's her that you think of.

You feel the soft material of the Princess' dress, like a caress in the dark. But before you can take hold of her, move her under the table, shield her body with your own, and check her for injuries, the lights come back on.

Your gaze scours the room in an instant, absorbing everything while the others are still blinking at the sudden return of brightness.

The woman in the schoolgirl uniform is slumped across the podium. There's a mark on her brow, the telltale trace of the laser which punctured it -- as distinctive as the lingering lipstick of a lover's kiss.

Another woman, the representative of Cyberia -- the cyberpunk territory -- is down as well. Her torso sprawls over the table, her face turned towards you. There's a hole seared into her visor, where the invisible laser beam pierced her eye.

The next thing you notice is the one which takes you most by surprise. The others see it a second after you do.

"She's got a gun!" a man shouts.

Princess Illaria gives a bewildered gasp, as she stares at the laser pistol lying on the table in front of her.

"The Princess did it! The Princess did it! She shot Syra!"

"No!" Illaria cries. "I-"

Chairs are knocked aside as men and women jump to their feet, their faces masks of murderous outrage.

"I didn't-"

The Princess' words are drowned amidst the shouting as they attack.

Plush in Tooth and Claw

The Princess fires the gun, and a vengeful prostitute falls in mid-leap -- crashing to the floor. You had to force the weapon into her hand. But once it was clear that it was kill or be killed, her instincts took over.

The moment the pistol fired in her hand, you knew it wasn't the murder weapon. Its beam is visible, a shade of bright yellow. But you have no opportunity to explain that to the enraged harlotry that's converging on you. All you can do is stand back to back with Princess Illaria, and lash out with fists and feet at each adversary who tries to assail you.

You're breaking an opponent's jaw with a lunging straight left when you see a flash of white in the corner of your vision.

You turn, and see the woman in the furry suit running across the table. There are claws sticking out from her paws, and as the light gleams across them you know they're not just for show.

The Princess is turned away from her, shooting at another enemy.

The woman leaps through the air, lethal blades shining with the promise of bloodshed.

Whore War

"Thanks!" Illaria gasps, as she scrambles to her feet.

You had to knock the Princess aside to intercept the attacker who now lies at your feet, her throat crushed by a strike both vicious and clinical.

But it isn't over yet. The others are still converging on you. They're wary now, having seen what the two of you are capable of. That makes them more dangerous.

A couple are smashing chairs, and arming themselves with the broken legs.

"It's not working!"

You risk a glance at the Princess, and see that she's pulling at the weapon's trigger with frantic twitches of her finger. Only a fizzing sizzle rewards her efforts, telling of overheated parts within.

It looks like you've just lost your advantage...

The Scarlet Harlot

The battle was fierce, your opponents far more capable than you would have expected. But the prostitute factions of Cythera are used to fighting for control of their territory, or to punish those who transgress its rules. They're no strangers to violence.

Only one foe remains, the woman standing between you and the door.

"You're good," she says. There's a smile on her face, one both seductive and sinister.

The woman is like a beautiful demon, her skin dyed bright red. Her sleek, shining gloves and boots are the most substantial parts of her attire -- supplemented only by the pieces of material struggling against her pelvis and breasts in a nonchalant attempt at preserving the vaguest hints of modesty.

"We didn't shoot them!" the Princess says.

"Really?" The woman laughs.

Illaria glances at the bodies strewn about the room, sprawling on the floor or splayed across the pink table.

"Well, okay... I shot some of them. But it wasn't me who fired in the dark!"

"Sure it wasn't."

"There's no need for you to get hurt," you say.

The scarlet woman laughs once more.

"Not if I'm faster than you there isn't."

She can't say you didn't warn her...

You grab one of the fallen chairs, hefting the heavy wood, and hurl it at her.

The woman's smile remains unbroken.

Her right leg flashes upwards in a blur, and catches the hurtling chair -- knocking it straight up, breaking its trajectory. She pivots on the ball of her other foot, and her raised leg chambers and launches a second kick. It crashes against the chair, breaking it in half. Then she leaps in the air, and her left leg sweeps round to knock the ruined pieces of furniture across the room.

She lands with the same smile still on her face.

Her movements were too swift to be the product of nature and training alone. It's not just her breasts that have been augmented by a surgeon's skill... But that's not what surprises you.

"That kung fu..."

"Hong Wangzi," the red woman replies.

"It's not possible..."

Only a handful of people in all the galaxy know the Hong Wangzi style. Even you, with the training of one of the empire's elite warriors, have seen but a few of its techniques. The Princess, though she was taught by the finest masters the Emperor's wealth and reputation could procure, likely knows no more than you. Yet this skin-dyed slut, this crimson prostitute...

But you haven't got time to marvel at such things.

"Stay back," you warn the Princess.

You drop into a fighting stance, and advance upon the woman.

"You can't match my style," she says, adopting a stance of her own.

"I don't have to. I only need to match you."

"You're only as strong as your weakest martial skill," you say.

The woman doesn't reply. It's hard to talk while you're being strangled.

Your upper arm and forearm are crushing either side of her neck, cutting off the flow of blood to the brain which holds such remarkable knowledge. She continues to struggle, but her thrashing is weak now. Your legs are wrapped around her as you lie together on the ground, preventing her escape.

Her punches and kicks were exceptional. Better than yours. But her close-quarter strikes were lacking, and her grappling weaker still. Knees, elbows, and headbutts were sufficient to stagger her -- and render her vulnerable to the technique that's now finishing her.

In a few moments she's still. You release your hold, and get to your feet.

"We need to find the others," the Princess says.

You nod. Now that the adrenaline is slipping away, and the universe once again consists of more than you and your opponent, the same concern which you see on the Princess' face fills you also.

Was it one of the people in this chamber who killed the two women and planted the gun in front of the Princess? If not, the killer is out there somewhere. And even if it was, would they have moved against you without arranging for others to move against your friends? |-|

"Lupanar"=
Lupanar

You yank one of the double doors open, shove it aside, and run down the corridor. But you come to a sudden stop in front of the painting of Venus, when the wheeled robot rolls out from the adjoining passage.

"Halt!" it says.

"Get out of the way!" you yell.

You move to go round it. One of its thin arms shoots out, blocking your path.

"Halt!" it repeats. "I saw you commit acts of vandalism / theft / assault / battery / rape / murder / counterfeiting -- select as applicable -- on the security monitors. Please remain here until the appropriate authorities arrive."

The Princess' boot lashes out, and the robot's eyes fly from its head in a shower of sparks. They clatter in the hallway several paces behind it. Its spindly arms fall inert at its sides.

"Come on!" she says.

The two of you run down the corridors, each one just as deserted as when you passed along them the first time, until you reach the room where you left the others.

You glance at the Princess, gesture for her to step back, and throw the door open -- noting from its weight that the wooden façade is covering dense metal. A merry jingle greets you.

Telemachus is sat in front of the holo-screen, playing an ancient videogame -- his back to you. The others are occupying some of the chairs and couches, and turn as you enter. They jump to their feet as soon as they see the expression on your face. The prince looks round a moment later, and follows suit.

"We need to leave," you say. "Now."

"So, what do we do?" Talia asks.

Flames dance around the wreckage of the limo shuttle, an army of flickering beings celebrating its demise.

A search of the surrounding area yielded no sign of the person responsible, or anyone else for that matter. And your attempts to contact Thalatta Spaceport met with no success. Unless a remarkable conjunction of coincidences has taken place, whoever orchestrated the limo's destruction must also have blocked communications with the Consortium's people.

"We have to make our own way back," the Princess replies.

"If that poorly engineered and laughably programmed robot contacted Thalatta, Contella would have sent their operatives to assist us," Lu Bu says. "But that doesn't mean it didn't contact anyone else."

"He's right," you say. "For all we know, every gang in Hedon might be after us for what happened in there."

"Then we should probably get out of here before they show up." Talia looks over at the brightly lit buildings across the river. "We might be able to lose ourselves in the city, and get to the spaceport before anyone notices us."

"If not, we're going to have to chop our way back." Ragnar grunts, and brandishes his axe. "Suits me just fine."

You're wary as you cross the bridge, your weapons at the ready. It would be the perfect time for an enemy to ambush you, with nowhere for you to escape -- unless you chose to dive into the river.

But you see no one, and breathe a sigh of relief as you come to the end. Now at least you have a whole city at hand, full of cover and potential paths by which you might evade any hostile forces you encounter.

There's an expanse of grass ahead of you, dotted with trees that sway in the moonlight. Further ahead you see marble buildings -- or at least buildings fashioned to resemble marble. It's a beautiful scene, though you don't have the luxury of enjoying it.

"This is Lupanar," you say, remembering the map of Hedon you saw.

"A place which attempts to emulate the debauchery of Earth's ancient Rome," Lu Bu says.

The Princess turns to Telemachus.

"Put your goggles on, please."

"Come on! Don't we have more important things to deal with right now?"

"Telemachus..."

"Fine..." The boy sighs, takes hold of the goggles, and pulls them down from his forehead until they rest over his eyes.

You move onwards, towards the marble cityscape.

Do Ut Des

Something comes to you over the rustle of leaves and branches, and the noises of revelry from further ahead. It sounds like someone moaning in agony. A woman.

You look to the others, and they ready their weapons in anticipation. Together you slip into the nearby copse of trees and bushes that's hiding the woman from sight. Better to approach from cover, rather than out in the open.

The lower portion of a fluted marble column comes in sight through the gaps in the foliage, resting in the middle of nowhere as thought it were the lone remnant of a temple from a prior age. There's no sign of anyone around it. But the moans are coming from higher up...

You emerge from cover, and see the upper half of the pillar. A metal bar runs through it, forming a T-shape. A woman in a short black tunic is fastened there, her wrists bound to the metal bar with ropes, her ankles tied to the marble -- making her body emulate the edifice's shape.

Her moans end as she sees you, and her eyes widen.

"You!" she says. "You're the ones they're looking for!"

She stares around with sharp jerks of her head, as though making sure no one else is present.

"Cut me down! Please!"

She looks towards the marble buildings.

"Hurry!"

"Who are you?" the Princess asks.

"I'm a slave-girl. Caligula did this because I spilled a cup of wine on her. Just get me down!"

"If she remains there, her death will be slow and painful," Lu Bu says. "The manner of her crucifixion is inexpert, but will eventually prove fatal."

"I can help you!" the woman wails. "You need to get out of the city, and I can help!"

"You said people were looking for us." You glance around as you speak, but there's still no sign of anyone else close by.

"Some of the Praetorians. They know you killed Metella. Caecilius is out for blood! She was his wife."

"The woman at the meeting?" you ask, recalling the delegate in Roman garb. The Princess must have shot her during the fracas.

"Yes! But I know my way around Hedon. I can get you past them. But you have to cut me down!"

You look to the Princess, and she nods. Whether she can really be of any use to you or not, you can't leave her to die up there.

Veni, Vidi, Risi

It's easy enough to reach her bonds by standing on Ragnar's shoulders, and in a few moments you're passing her down to Talia.

The woman sags against the gunslinger for a moment, as you come down. Then she throws herself at Ragnar, wraps her arms partway around his broad chest, and begins to shower him with kisses interspersed with semi-intelligible cries of gratitude.

"About time I got my share of the rewards around here," he says, a wide grin on his face.

"I'm Claudia," she says, after bestowing one final kiss on the Niflung.

"And we're dead if we don't get out of here," Talia says. "So if you're quite done..."

"Can you walk?" the Princess asks.

"My legs are sore, but I can manage."

"I could carry you," Ragnar says.

Talia rolls her eyes.

"What's our best way to Thalatta?" you ask.

"We need to head towards Anguish. It'll be easier to disappear in there."

"Which way?"

She points towards the expanse of marble buildings.

"The streets must be full of people," Talia says. "You can hear them from here."

"It means we can slip through the crowd," Claudia replies. "We just need to avoid the Praetorians."

You have little choice, other than to take the advice of someone who hopefully knows how to navigate Hedon. So you follow as Claudia leads you towards the buildings.

As you draw nearer, you see the architecture in all its dubious glory. The marble facades are painted, in colors ranging from a subdued blue on one building to a riot of reds and greens on another.

"Looks like someone vomited on them," Ragnar says.

An arched gateway brings you to a wide open space between the colorful structures. It's filled with men and woman in various states of Roman attire -- from elaborate togas and cloaks to nudity offset only by a mask or laurel wreath. Most have wine cups in their hands, and from the looks of the gathering before you the nectar of the grape has been flowing for hours upon hours. Many are embracing, kissing and fondling each another in complete nonchalance at the public nature of their affections.

You look at Telemachus, to make sure he's still wearing his goggles.

A few people glance in your direction, but no one seems to pay you any attention. If your garb and weapons trouble them, they give no sign. In a place like Hedon, they've probably seen much worse.

"It should be easy to slip through here," you say. "We-"

"Hey!"

Telemachus' cry is followed a moment later by a flash of laser fire. You turn in time to see him snatch his weapon back from Claudia's hand.

There are screams.

You glimpse a man in a black cuirass shaped in an archaic Roman style, as he disappears into the press of people -- clutching his arm.

"That's Caecilius!" Claudia says. "He was about to shoot!"

Much of the crowd is fleeing for the buildings, shouting and screaming. But other men and women stay where they are, drinking and groping, lost to the world in their hedonism.

The blare of trumpets echoes across the marble rooftops.

"Great." Talia sighs. "Looks like we're going to have to fight after all."

The others ready their weapons. Lu Bu pulls out the pieces of his martial attachments from various bodily compartments, and assembles his sword and claw with remarkable speed and dexterity. Telemachus has his laser pistol in one hand. His other is clutching the rectangular device he was holding back in the Contella embassy. You never did get round to asking him about that...

You're about to call for your companions to run for cover, when your enemies start pouring into the square before you. And instead you stare.

"Ha!" Ragnar gives a bellowing laugh. "This is what passes for security around here?"

Men and women dressed like Roman legionaries are forming up their ranks. Each one carries a sword or spear, and has a shield on their other arm. It appears that Lupanar's inhabitants take their faction's theme very seriously.

"A load of prostitutes with swords and shields..." Talia says, laughing. "Doesn't seem fair to just gun them down."

"I'll try talking to them," you reply.

Testudo Terribilis

Given how obsessed these people are with their adopted Roman heritage, you realize that you might be best served to adapt yourself accordingly. So you scour your mind for traces of knowledge left by your childhood schooling and later studies, until something suitable floats to the surface of your thoughts.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears..." you begin. And since the pseudo-soldiers arrayed before you remain there, listening instead of attacking, you believe it's working. So you continue.

It's only when a woman appears, struggling to fit her chest into a golden breastplate, that you understand the reason for their inaction. The moment she falls into their midst, she cries out, and the formation begins to move.

The soldiers in the middle ranks raise their shields above their heads, as though creating a roof of bulwarks over their unit. There's a humming sound, and white light flashes across the face of each shield.

"Fire!" you shout.

Your weapons open up. But at the same moment a dome of shining white energy appears around the legionaries. Your shots strike its surface, and each blast is thwarted -- dying in a bright flash of light.

Purple lasers lance out from within the dome, from barrels concealed within the bosses of their shields -- and these pass through the barrier as though it weren't there.

Great. Just great...

Cave Mechem

You all move and fire, falling back in search of cover as the legionaries march towards you -- their feet pounding the ground in unison, purple lasers flying from their shields.

To your right the Princess darts aside, narrowly avoiding one of the beams. Their accuracy is low, firing as they are from that rigid formation. But the barrier is absorbing most of your shots, and few of your own attacks have so much as scratched the shields beyond.

On your left, Telemachus is fiddling with his oblong gadget as he backpedals. You grab him, and pull him behind a stone archway.

"What is that thing?" you ask, before leaning round the corner to take another shot at the shining dome.

"It's..."

He trails off, as you hear the whoosh of rushing thrusters -- audible even over the weapons fire and stomping feet.

Then comes the almighty collision.

"I worked on my mech with Wilex," he says. "We improved the autopilot."

"I see..."

The dome is collapsing, the field of energy falling apart as shield-bearing warriors tumble like skittles before the heavy mass of metal that's crashed into them.

You raise your weapon as your companions renew their fire.

Caligula

"Vae victis," Lu Bu says, looking at the broken bodies and shattered shields strewn across the ground.

"Why what now?" Ragnar asks.

"Never mind."

Some of the legionaries are scrambling away, and you signal for your companions to hold their fire. There's nothing to be gained from shooting them down.

There's a click as the cockpit canopy of Telemachus' mech closes. Good. The young prince is much safer inside, and much deadlier as well. If you have to fight your way to Thalatta, you'd rather have him in there.

You continue through the streets of Lupanar, catching sight of scurrying figures in togas and tunics who run down alleyways and into buildings as you approach. Others steal glances at you over their window sills, before ducking back out of sight.

Claudia leads you down a winding route, twisting between the painted marble buildings. But as eclectic as the path is, it seems to be a good one -- you encounter no more of the legionaries. It's only as you see the end of Lupanar, where it gives way to an expanse of grass separating it from the distant spiked towers of Anguish, that you realize you're not yet done here.

Armed men and women appear from within the gloomy depths of a columned building, a grand edifice constructed in the style of an ancient temple. They march out between two flaming braziers that burn on either side of its entrance, beneath a frieze of metopes depicting lewd scenes which may have stemmed from mythological tales -- or else from the sculptor's indecent imagination.

A tall woman strides at their head, attired in a purple crested helmet and an armored costume that displays more flesh than it protects. A strange weapon blazes in her right hand, a sword with a blade comprised of green and yellow tongues of fire that writhe like burning serpents. On her left arm is an oval shield. Embedded within its surface is a holographic screen, upon which a maenad and a satyr drink, and dance, and play, and... Oh.

"Time to render unto Caesar," the woman says.

Her minions bang their blades against their shields in perfect harmony, sending their synchronized din clashing out across the night air.

"Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo!" they shout.

The words, in what you assume must be Latin, are meaningless to you. But you hear a gasp from the Princess, and an outraged humph from Lu Bu.

A purple glow appears around the warriors' swords as they and their mistress charge.

Caligula falls to her knees, and gazes into your eyes.

"Vivo!" she cries. Then she collapses, her helmet falling from her head and clattering on the ground.

"Are all the women on Cythera this crazy?" you ask.

"The men too," Claudia replies. "It's-

A trumpet's call echoes in the distance, followed a moment later by the far-off sound of pounding footfalls.

"Let's go!" she says. "They won't follow us into Anguish -- Agony and Ecstasy would never allow a rival army to come marching through there." |-|

"Anguish"=
Anguish

Tall spires loom on the horizon, phallic edifices with spikes set into them -- like the thorns of a rose.

"Anguish is one of the most popular districts on Cythera," Claudia says. "It's a place for people who enjoy suffering -- from one side or the other."

"We have a kid with us," Talia says. "Knock off the tour guide stuff."

"My apologies. I'm not used to having children around. People don't usually bring them to vice-worlds."

Talia opens her mouth for a response, but lapses into frustrated silence instead. Quietness descends on you all. Not for the first time, you wonder what King Salastro would think about the places you've taken his son, and the situations you've put him in.

"How did you become a slave-girl?" Ragnar asks, either unconscious of the awkwardness or attempting to break it.

"It's not a vocation I applied for. My father sold me into slavery on Drekchester, to pay for his chemical addiction. Well, technically indentured servitude. Some factions like to use that term. Caligula preferred to call us slaves. Servi and ancillae."

"What're you going to do when we fly off this rock?"

"Maybe she could get a job teaching Latin," Talia suggests.

After that, you walk on in silence once more.

Nasty, Brutish, and Short

A series of black monoliths rise up against the starry sky like severed fingers, their tips visible over the crest of the knoll that stretches across the grassy expanse. Red barbs are set into their sides, vicious protrusions that make them into miniature versions of the buildings beyond.

As you approach them, you hear moaning, cackling, grunting, and the lashing of whips. You mount the knoll, and that brings the whole bizarre tableau in sight.

Men and women clad only in their undergarments are tied to the monoliths. Diminutive figures stand near them, dressed in black, and at first you take them for children. But a second glance shows them to be midgets.

The little people are laughing, taunting, and shouting as they ply the whips in their hands. A woman shrieks as one cracks on her abdomen, raising a red wound from which blood begins to trickle.

Before you can stop her, the Princess strides towards them, her pistol in her hand. You dash after her.

"I don't think-" you begin.

"Stop that!" she says.

The midgets look round.

"Let these people go!"

"Who the hell are you?" one of them asks.

"I'm Princess Illaria of the Sian Empire, and I demand that you release them at once!"

"Piss off!" yells one of the bound men.

"Yeah!" shouts another. "If you want to play princess, go to Little Sian."

The Princess turns to you.

"There's a Little Sian here?"

"I thought it best not to mention it."

One of the midgets cracks his whip on the ground.

"You heard them. Get lost!"

"We don't want any trouble," Claudia says. "We're just taking a shortcut to Thalatta."

The midget's eyes narrow.

"A 'short' cut? Is that supposed to be funny?"

"What? No! It's just a little misunderstanding..."

The midget scurries towards her, and raises his arm.

Ragnar steps in front of Claudia, and the whip lashes against his hardened body -- not drawing the slightest mark. Then he grunts, takes another step, draws his leg back, and kicks.

The midget cries out as hurtles upwards in an impressive arc, spinning through the air like a thugby ball heading towards the goalposts. He cries even louder when he hits the ground, before scrambling to his feet and running off -- soon vanishing in the darkness.

"Stop him!" Claudia yells. "Don't let him raise the alarm!"

"I'm on it, captain!" says Talia.

She sprints off into the night, sidestepping a midget who tries to block her path.

"Get 'em!" shouts another of the little people.

As one, the diminutive sadists press something on the handles of their whips. There's an electric crackle as blue energy flashes around the weapons.

Red Barrels

"We need to get after Talia," you say, ignoring her.

"We paid for pain!" a man says, in a nasal whine. "I demand-"

You lash out with your fist as you pass the whining man, and run in the direction Talia and the midget went. You hear the others following behind you. Then there's a whoosh of thruster jets, and Telemachus' mech rushes past -- hurtling off at a speed you have no hope of matching.

The sound of weapons fire guides you towards one of Anguish's streets, and you round the corner of a building to see Talia and Telemachus. They're standing near a downed midget, alongside the sprawling forms of several regular sized men and women in clothing that seems to consist largely of leather and studs.

Ragnar, Lu Bu, and the Princess join you a few moments later. The Niflung has Claudia over his shoulder, and she staggers when he sets her down -- as though dazed.

"Afraid we've woken up the hornets' nest," Talia says.

More of the absurdly attired denizens of Anguish are massing at the other end of the street, weapons in their hands. And there's something else there as well.

"You see what I see?" you ask.

"Sure do," Talia replies.

"Heh." Ragnar hefts his machinegun, a big grin on his face.

"What are you talking about?" the Princess asks.

"Red barrels," the three of you chorus.

"What's so special about red barrels?"

"You'll see," you reply.

You take aim.

...Always Explode

"Never fails," you say.

Leather clad bodies are scattered in the street. Smoke billows from the flaming ruins of the barrels, drifting away into the star-studded heavens.

"That's insane!" the Princess says. "Who leaves dangerous explosives just lying around in the street like that?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Talia replies.

She's quite right.

Some of the enemies are struggling back to their feet, and more are approaching from further down the street. The latter are wearing masks, which you realize a moment later are gas masks. That can't be good...

You have to make the best of your advantage while you have it.

Wireframe Warfare

Laser fire and bullets sweep the dazed men and women, mowing them down like sheaves of corn before a harvester's spinning blades. But your other adversaries are within range now.

Some of the newcomers are opening up with their own pistols and rifles, their fire zapping towards you. Others are hurling spherical objects, which become wreathed in whiteness the moment they leave their hands.

"Smoke grenades!" the Princess shouts.

She backs away as the white cloud billows towards her, urged on by the insistent wind. Talia pulls back as well, dragging Claudia away from the smoke.

Your enemies advance into the pandemonium they created, secure behind their masks -- which must contain visual filers enabling them to see through it.

Ragnar stays where he is, his machinegun blazing. Lu Bu stands alongside him, his robotic systems able to penetrate the smoke. And Telemachus is secure in his mech, able to target using its computer...

"Tel!" you shout. "The goggles! Give them to me!"

You move over to him as his cockpit opens, and the goggles drop into your waiting hand. His cockpit snaps shut once more, as you work the strap with rapid hands -- extending it to fit round your head.

The moment the goggles are over your eyes, the smoke is gone -- rendered invisible by your new wireframe vision. And you see your enemies as they advance, picked out in a convenient shade of red...

Agony and Ecstasy

"Thanks," you say, as you hold the goggles up to the mech's cockpit.

Telemachus sighs, but the canopy pops open. He takes them from you, fiddles with their strap, and puts them back on.

The smoke has cleared, revealing a veritable Armageddon. Torn bodies and severed body parts carpet the street, like the confetti thrown during the galaxy's most macabre parade. Claudia retches behind you, and you hear the unpleasant and unmistakable sounds of a person's stomach being emptied. A faint smile crosses your lips. Her mind must be filled with horror at the sight, yet the first thing which occurred to you upon gazing at it was that you've seen better.

Still, the battle isn't over yet...

Once again the far end of the street has produced more adversaries -- like a malevolent cornucopia spewing them forth into a meat grinder.

These ones look better armed than the last lot. And two figures in their midst, a man and a woman, catch your attention. At first glance they appear little different from the others -- most of their clothing consisting of a handkerchief's worth of leather, artfully strung around their bodies. But something about the calculated, predatory way they move makes you focus on them.

The man brandishes a laser pistol in one hand, a bearded axe in the other. Orange energy glows and crackles along its blade. The woman has a matching pistol, and a whip that seems to writhe in the air of its own accord -- slithering and darting like a snake in search of its prey.

"That's Agony and Ecstasy," Claudia says.

She wipes traces of vomit from her mouth with one hand, and uses the other to point at each of them in turn. Her face is pale and haggard -- making her seem much older.

"They run Anguish."

You fire a shot at Agony, more to gauge his reaction than anything else. You've already learned not to underestimate the denizens of Hedon because of their indecent costumes and lascivious profession.

His axe sweeps across his face, and the orange along its edge flashes as it absorbs your blast. His face opens in a wide, crocodilian smile, and he spits his tongue out -- lapping at the air.

He's quick, like the red woman was. Probably cybernetic or chemical enhancement. And his instincts, the deftness with which he intercepted the shot, speak of hard training or lots of combat experience.

Perhaps eager not to be outdone, Ecstasy skips forward and twirls her whip in the air -- its metal coils spinning in ever widening circles above her head, like a tornado twisting from her hand. She flicks her wrist. The whip breaks free from the cyclone, and darts towards the ground. Its point lashes at one of the gruesome corpses, a victim of the barrels' explosion, as though it were a carrion bird in search of a morsel.

Ecstasy's hand twitches, and the end of the whip flies up like a fisherman's line. And sure enough, she's caught something. A long, slender piece of flesh -- perhaps a finger -- spins through the air in an arc. It drops straight into the woman's upturned mouth.

She swallows the body part with a gulp, and lowers her head -- gazing straight into your eyes as she licks her lips with a slow, sensuous caress of her tongue. Her mouth slips into a cold smile, one born of mirth and malice in equal measure.

Only on Cythera...

"That the best you can do?" Ecstasy asks.

She laughs, a harsh but musical bark that sends a fresh torrent of blood from her mouth and the ruins of her nose. The crimson waterfall drowns her lips and cascades down her chin, turning her into a beautiful ghoul. It splashes between her breasts, and continues to flow down the pale flesh of her abdomen -- making it seem as if she's been split open down the middle, and is about to fall in two halves.

"My daddy used to hit me harder than that!"

Your rear hand smashes against her jaw, your entire bodyweight thrown behind the blow. There's a crack, and red teeth shower the street like bloody pearls.

And still she stands, moaning and laughing like a demented demon. It occurs to you that some of her augmentations must be designed to keep her conscious, forcing or permitting her body to experience levels of pain that would make others pass out.

"Let me try."

Ragnar grunts, and shoulders past you. He grabs Ecstasy by her shoulders, and lifts her into the air as though she were a child. Then he slams his head forward, pulling her towards him at the same moment.

There's a thud, and a crunch. The laughter stops.

The Niflung tosses her aside with a carless sweep of his arm. Whether by accident or by design, she lands on top of Agony -- and their motionless forms sprawl together in a battered and bloody embrace. |-|

"Cyberia"=
Cyberia

You leave the blood-soaked, corpse-strewn battlefield behind you, and continue through Anguish -- heading towards Thalatta Spaceport with the unyielding determination of an ancient hero seeking his homeland after years spent wandering the world.

The streets are all but deserted, and the few people you encounter either ignore you or flee into the nearest building. It seems that no one in Agony and Ecstasy's faction is willing to start a fight with the people who took their bosses apart. But empty as Anguish appears, there's no eerie quietness here. Clashing, crashing music emerges from some of the buildings -- interspersed with cries of pleasure and pain. At first the volume of those screams surprises you, until you realize that they're coming from a sound system -- cast across this part of the city to provide an ambiance that would be bizarre on any other planet.

And in truth, the more you gaze around at your strange surroundings, the more those noises of suffering and rapture seem the perfect accompaniment to your journey.

Spike-covered buildings and pillars pierce the night sky above, their barbs throbbing with a soft, brutal red light that threatens to wound the moon and stars. Twisted sculptures stand on the streets around you, and are carved into the walls like gargoyles. Some show people impaled on spikes, their mouths open in noiseless screams of torment. Many depict men and women locked together amid tangles of barbed wire and other unpleasant accessories -- the expressions on their faces displaying either passionate pleasure or unendurable agony. Perhaps both.

"These are pretty lifelike," Talia remarks.

She indicates a nearby statue -- a life-sized representation of a man and woman performing acts of love or murder on one another.

"That's because they're real people," Claudia replies. "They've been encased in a cryonic alloy."

At that pronouncement you all stop in your tracks, and gaze at the statue with renewed interest and redoubled horror.

"Can we free them?" the Princess asks.

She leans towards the woman of the pair, and gazes into pain stricken eyes in which the iris and pupil are rendered with perfect clarity. The metal which holds them within its grasp is thin, able to bind them without concealing even the tiniest detail.

"Not without the right equipment," Claudia says. "And they wouldn't thank you for it. Most of them are volunteers."

The canopy of Telemachus' mech pops open.

"Who'd choose to be turned into statues?" the boy asks.

He clambers out of the cockpit, drops to the ground, and moves closer to the macabre ornament. His fingers grasp at his goggles, and begin to pull them off his eyes. He glances towards you, as if expecting protest. But you merely nod, and let him get on with it. If naked statues could corrupt the youth, art galleries would be scenes of post-apocalyptic devastation.

"This is Anguish," Claudia replies. "People like to suffer."

"If these people are in a cryonic state, they shouldn't feel pain," Lu Bu says.

Claudia shrugs.

"I only know what I've heard. People who've come out of this state say they felt everything that was done to them."

"Or maybe being stuck like this for so long just messed with their heads," Talia says.

"Maybe. But people around here take it seriously. If they're feeling generous, they whip or scratch the statues when they pass by."

"It's depraved," the Princess says.

"It's Cythera." Claudia shrugs once more, as if those two words excuse -- or at least explain -- a multitude of sins.

"If you want, I could smash them," Ragnar says. He hefts his axe, and draws it back in preparation for a swing.

"No!" the Princess moves between the Niflung and the statue. "Thank you, but... no."

It doesn't take long to reach the edge of Anguish, where it gives way to other territories in the patchwork quilt that makes up the city of Hedon.

To your left are buildings covered in brightly colored fur, an atrocious riot of reds and blues and pinks and purples. It's as if someone decided to mount thick carpets on every available surface. And... Yes, some of them even have a pair of enormous furry ears on top.

"That's Fur Town," Claudia says. "It's where the furries hang out."

"Thanks," Talia replies. "But I'd worked that out for myself."

"They must have spent all their creativity on their costumes," you say. "Didn't have any left to name their turf."

"That place looks like it comes from a storybook," says Telemachus. There's wonder in his voice.

"Goggles back on, Tel," you reply. "And start reading better books."

Your meet the Princess' gaze, and sense the thoughts passing through both your minds. Telemachus probably isn't the kind of kid who played with stuffed animals. But even so, seeing people dressed as furry cartoon characters performing lewd acts and then being gunned down in combat is the kind of thing that might disturb a child.

"I believe we can reach Thalatta this way," Lu Bu says.

"No," Claudia says. "We're better off going through Cyberia instead."

She points in the opposite direction from the furry buildings, to the comparatively drab concrete, steel, and neon buildings that stretch away across the length and breadth of the local cyberpunk gang's territory.

"From there we can get to Xeno-Xanadu. That's right next to Thalatta, and we get to avoid some of the really nasty places."

"Worse than the ones we've already been through?" you ask.

"This is Hedon. There's always something worse, if you know where to look."

It's as you're turning to Cyberia, heeding her advice, that you hear the shout come from behind you.

"Hey! Hey, you! Get back here!"

You look round, and see a menagerie of absurd beasts gathered in front of Fur Town. Many of them are holding beer or wine bottles in their hands, and staggering as though held fast in the grip of inebriation.

"Yeah!" yells a woman dressed like a furry pink hippo. She makes an angry gesture, causing the bottle to fly out of her hand and smash in the street a few paces away. "Think you can kill Nessa, and just walk on by?"

"No one messes with the Furverts!" a man wails. He looks like a mutilated blue horse, until you realize that he's probably a zebra with red stripes. "We're gonna rain on you!"

He raises a thick, black-furred glove -- which you assume must be intended to represent a hoof. There's a metallic click, as a long claw extends from each of his fingers.

"His costume is lacking in zoological verisimilitude," Lu Bu murmurs.

More of the furries follow suit -- either revealing hidden claws and fangs, or else drawing weapons from the inner recesses of their padded costumes.

"We're sorry about your... friend," the Princess says. "But her death wasn't our fault. We just want to get to Thalatta. There's no need for violence."

The Furverts look at each other, as though uncertain. You get the impression that many of them aren't especially keen on a fight -- at least not with people who've already smashed their way through Lupanar and Anguish.

"Why are you dressed like that, anyway?" Telemachus asks.

"Tel!" you say. "This is the last time I'm going to warn you about those goggles!"

"I wanted to see if they were humans or aliens. I couldn't tell when they were just wireframes."

"Let's go," the Princess says.

She turns, and starts walking towards Cyberia. You follow her lead. The furries seem to be more bark than bite, so you might as well avoid another conflict.

The others fall in line alongside you, though Ragnar gives a low, rumbling growl.

"Should have just torn them apart." He grunts. "When I was a kid, a furry killed my best friend."

"You're kidding?" Talia says.

"Well, they said it was a werewolf. But close enough. They're-"

He breaks off as something hits the back of his head with a crash of breaking glass, followed by an echoing tinkle as the shards fall into the street. The next sound that fills the night air is the furious roar of a murderous Niflung.

You spin round, and see the zebra-garbed Furvert standing a short distance in front of his brethren. There's a look of triumph on his furry equine head, though it begins to evaporate as he sees the expression on Ragnar's face.

"Keep going!" Ragnar says. "I'll catch up!"

Before you can speak, he's charging off -- his axe in his hand. The zebra starts to run. Behind him his friends look on with comical expressions of worry on their cartoonish masks. Poor Furverts...

"You heard the man," you say. And you keep walking.

The others hesitate for a second, before joining you.

A few minutes later you're walking past the steel-colored buildings of Cyberia's outskirts, along streets that seem as deserted as those of Anguish, when pounding footfalls herald Ragnar's return.

You glance over your shoulder, and stop in your tracks.

Piles of bright furs are draped across both of the Niflung's broad shoulders -- their psychedelic colors both enhanced and marred by splashes of crimson.

"Took their pelts as souvenirs."

"Ragnar..." Princess Illaria stares at him in disapproval.

He sighs, and shrugs his shoulders -- sending the furs tumbling into the street behind him.

He falls in line, and the six of you keep walking.

Nowhere to Run to

You arrive at a crossroads, where a narrow, dimly lit road cuts across your path -- disappearing into darkness to the left and right.

As you reach the middle of the intersection, Claudia points ahead.

"We keep straight on. This road should-"

She breaks off, as a grinding noise rumbles though the street -- shaking the ground beneath your feet. Then she leaps back in shock.

A few feet in front of you the ground collapses, a rectangular section the full breadth of the street, from building to building, falling away like a huge trapdoor. An immense slab of metal appears in the chasm -- scraping and shuddering against the concrete walls on either side as it rises.

In moments you're facing a barrier that blocks off the road ahead, perfectly in line with the faces of the buildings on its left and right -- forming a level, unbroken wall.

"That's not-" Talia begins.

There's a second grinding rumble.

The Princess looks down with startled eyes, as though expecting the ground to open up beneath her -- and uncertain which way to leap. You grab her hand to steady her. You're used to moving around on turbulent spaceships, to reading and interpreting the vibrations around you. The ground under you is solid. It's coming from...

A second barrier rises like a monster from a primordial swamp, its grey bulk severing the road behind you with the finality of a guillotine's blade.

A long second elapses, as you wait for similar barriers to block off the right and left as well, leaving you trapped in a metal box -- ready to be slaughtered by weapons fire from above. But nothing happens. The barriers have done their work, and yet the narrower road that stretches on either side is still open to you.

Then the lights appear, far down the black passage to your left. Two glowing orbs, like the eyes of a beast. The monster growls, its voice the roar of a powerful, archaic engine.

"Run!" you shout. "Run!"

You turn to your right, and break into a sprint -- dragging the Princess along after you. The others are only a moment behind.

You hazard a glance over your shoulder, and see the vehicle as it thunders from the shadows. A big, bulky, armored contraption. There are men and women leaning from its windows, from hatches on its roof, pointing, yelling, and screaming -- their voices grinded into indecipherability by the roaring of its engine.

Your gaze flashes to either side. But there are no alleyways, no passages. And ahead of you, in the dim distance, is the grim, grey wall of a big box of a building. It's a dead end...

And yet you keep on running, your hand grasping hers, waiting to feel the metal as it smashes your bodies.

Nowhere to Hide

"Come on!" Telemachus screams.

The blazing rush of his thruster jets cuts through the screaming of the vehicle and its passengers. His mech flies past you, hurtling at the wall ahead.

There's a boom as grey concrete gives way, and chunks of masonry fly from the impact.

The screaming from behind intensifies, frustration replacing anger and merriment now that they see you have a chance. The engine roars even louder as the vehicle accelerates, accompanied by the hissing of laser fire and the rattling of automatic weapons.

Bullets whistle past your head. Lasers dance across the road.

But you're close to the gap now...

A final burst of speed takes you through the hole Telemachus smashed in the side of the building, and you find yourself in a long, lofty room -- running among piles of metal drums and stacks of plastic crates, heading for the big open doorway at its far end.

Claudia begins to slow, gasping for breath.

"Keep going!" you yell.

If the mech could break through the wall...

Sure enough, there's the catastrophic sound of a horrendous collision behind you, as the cyberpunks' bus smashes through the wall and roars its way into the warehouse. The chase isn't over yet...

Monkey Tricks

A cacophony of grinding, clanging, and crunching fills the warehouse as the bus sends dented barrels flying aside, splinters wooden crates beneath its wheels, and ploughs through everything in its path.

The exit looms up ahead of you, and the breeze brushes your face like a yearned for kiss. You take a quick glance to either side, making sure the others are still with you, before plunging out into the night beyond.

"Damn it!" the Princess gasps.

A narrow road stretches before you, like a valley between two towering walls of riveted steel. For the briefest second your mind wonders whether this is yet another trap, or else the shoddiest urban planning you've ever seen. Then you run, Illaria's warm hand still clasped in yours.

Far in front the road opens out onto a broader street, a wide expanse that seems like a welcoming plain compared with your current confines. You sprint for it, like a shipwrecked sailor making for the shore.

"No! No!" Talia yells.

A familiar rumbling, grinding comes from up ahead. A metal barrier rises, filling the gap -- snatching survival from your grasp. And only the feel of the Princess' hand in your own, her presence at your side, prevents you from giving voice to your despair with a groan.

"Left!" yells Telemachus. "To the left!"

You look to the left as you run, but see nothing except cold, callous metal in the gloom.

A blast of energy flies from the arm of Telemachus' mech, and sparks against the grim steel. In its illumination you see a narrow opening -- one that was concealed by distance and darkness. It must have been easier to see it with his wireframe vision...

There's a wordless cry, perhaps from all your throats, rendered anonymous in the desperation of the moment.

There's a tremendous crash from behind, as the bus smashes into concrete once more -- widening the exit to match its dimensions.

But once again, it's too late. You and your companions pile into the alleyway, panting for breath, yet somehow laughing at the same time.

"Let's see them get that piece of trash in here!" Ragnar grunts.

You nod, and gasp. For the moment you're safe. But...

"How're we getting out of here?" Talia asks.

Tall, windowless walls of riveted metal rise up on either side of you -- extending far above your heads. And another blocks off the opposite end of the little alley. It's a dead end.

"Princess!" a woman's voice shrieks from the passageway behind you, with an almost imperceptible distortion that tells you it's coming over a speaker. "Can't hide in there forever! Come out and play!"

There's a loud cackle, followed by a louder screech as the bus revs its engine. It sounds like it stopped a short distance back from the mouth of the alleyway.

"What's the matter?" the shrieking woman continues. "I thought the people who killed Perplexi would be tough!"

"I'll shut her up!" Telemachus says.

"Wait!" the Princess yells.

But he stomps over to the end of the alley, steps partway out from behind cover, and fires.

There's a sizzling, rattling, clattering din as a volley of gunshots and laser blasts rains on his mech's armor. He staggers backwards, out of the line of fire. The bullets and lasers rake against the ground and walls for several seconds before ceasing.

"The front of that thing's armored!" he says.

"If a few of us go out there," Ragnar says, "we might be able to pick off their shooters before they can take us down. I can stand a lot of punishment. So can the kid's mech..."

"It's risky," you reply, gazing at the thin strip of star-studded sky above.

"Got a better idea?"

"Yes. Lend me your axe."

The Niflung looks surprised, but he hands you the weapon. You heft it, feeling its weight, before swinging it at the wall. There's a sharp thud, as the blade bites into it.

"That's way too thick to chop through," Talia says.

"I reckon I could make handholds though," you reply.

You pull the axe free, and place your fingers in the wound it carved in the metal.

The gunslinger whistles, as she gazes at the top of the wall.

"If you fall from up there, you'll break your neck."

"So make sure you catch me."

You turn to the others.

"Can't let them know I'm coming. Take shots at them when you can. Distract them, but don't get yourselves killed."

"Got it, captain." Talia twirls her laser pistols, and moves closer to the mouth of the alleyway.

"I can conceal the sound of your axe blows," Lu Bu says.

The robot gives a small cough, as though clearing his nonexistent throat. Then he sings -- the words soaring from his speakers and booming from wall to wall in the enclosed space until they become an avalanche of sound.

"The dragons dance and the blossoms fall-"

You turn back to the wall, and set to work.

Death from Above

Long forgotten muscles in your shoulders, back, forearms, and calves remind you of their existence with forceful bursts of protest. You're out of practice when it comes to climbing, and your body feels the strain of the unfamiliar exertion with each swing of the axe and each few feet of gained height.

But the sound of weapons discharging, the thought that your companions are risking their lives in the firefight, spurs you on. As does Lu Bu's song, the robot's remarkable rendition of a Sian battle hymn filling your breast with the martial pride it was created to instill.

A final heave brings your aching body onto the roof of the building, and every inch of flesh screams for you to take a short rest -- to recover your energy. Instead you crouch, and approach the edge that looks into the passageway below.

The bus is beneath you, and you gaze down on the spiked and mohawked hairstyles of the cyberpunks as they lean out of its windows or from its hatches and exchange fire with your companions. As you look on, one of their heads explodes -- ripped apart by a stream of fire from Ragnar's machinegun. His decapitated body slumps over, tumbles out of the window like a lethargic acrobat, and falls to the ground below.

Now's as good a time as any...

You get to your feet, tighten your grip in Ragnar's axe, and get ready to jump.

Mercury

Your legs buckle beneath you as you hit the armored roof, and you fall into a roll -- allowing the impact to dissipate instead of breaking your bones. Your hand clenches around the axe's shaft, making sure it doesn't slip from your grasp.

There's a cry of surprise, and a man whose torso is sticking up through one of the hatches turns to face you -- bringing his laser rifle to bear. But he isn't fast enough.

You rise into a crouch, and cleave the axe downwards in a sweeping, diagonal blow. The blade catches him on his left temple, shears through his skull as if it were butter, and cuts its way free at the right side of his mouth. The top half of his head slides off along with the blade, hits the roof of the bus, and bounces over the side.

No wonder Ragnar loves this thing so much.

The half-headed corpse falls into the vehicle, and you jump in after it.

A woman appears before you, and her knife flashes at your face. But you're ready. You slip aside, and chop at her ribcage. Blood splashes into your face as the axe makes a mockery of nature's defenses, and splits her heart.

Another cyberpunk is leaning halfway out of a window to shoot, and starts pulling himself back inside when he becomes aware of you. But a sweep of the axe severs his spinal cord, and he collapses there instead.

"You're good, for plain meat."

You look up, as you recognize the female voice that taunted you over the speakers earlier.

Facing you along the bus' narrow aisle is a woman wearing more cybernetic augmentations than clothing. An eyepiece of some kind stares at you from the right side of her head, its blue lights twinkling. Metal is embedded in her shoulders, and her thighs -- grafted on without any of the subtlety or concealment most cybernetic aficionados prefer. Instead they emerge from her body as bold statements of purpose.

"Not a trace of cyber-stuff round you," she says, her eyepiece rotating and whirring. "Or inside you."

"All natural," you reply.

"Then you don't stand a chance."

The woman sprawls at your feet, her flesh battered, her mechanics sparking and fizzing.

"Time for an upgrade, perhaps?" you ask.

"Screw you..." she groans.

You raise your boot, and stomp down on her face.

"Nice work, captain."

You look up and see Talia's face through a hatch, outlined against the night sky.

"Get off there," you say, "and tell everyone to go into the alleyway."

The gunslinger nods, and disappears.

You head to the back of the bus, where there's a haphazard pile of assorted munitions heaped on the seat. You begin to fiddle...

Then you move down the aisle to the front of the vehicle, stepping over the corpses and discarded weapons. The driver's body lies slumped across the wheel. There's a small hole in the armored glass in front of her seat, where persistent accuracy must have worked its way through to score the killing shot. Talia's work, most likely.

You fiddle once more, before unfastening and opening the bus' door. Then you hit the controls, and the vehicle rumbles into life.

A well-timed leap sends you flying into the alleyway as you pass, leaving the bus hurtling along the narrow passage.

There's a horrific screech, like nails across hardened cement, as it grinds against one of the metal walls. But the vehicle continues on its way, and a moment later you hear the crash.

"Wait for it," you say, gesturing at the others to stay where they are.

A second later an explosion tears through the night.

"There we go." |-|

"Xeno-Xanadu"=
Xeno-Xanadu

"That makes five," Talia says.

"Sure they're not the same as the first ones?" Ragnar asks. "It's hard to tell with aliens."

"The first group was led by a male Rylattu. This one's being led by a female."

"Oh. They all look the same to me."

From your vantage point in the alleyway, nestled on the edge of Cyberia, you look out at the blazing lights and outlandish architecture of Xeno-Xanadu. Hedon's alien district, which caters largely to people who want to gain carnal knowledge of members of different species, is certainly designed to convey the exotic. Each of its buildings looks as if it might have been modeled on the structures of a different alien race. Some are great pyramids, others curved, sprawling edifices without a straight line in sight. One seems to consist largely of gas, inside an amorphous transparent shell.

You wonder how much of what you're seeing is based on genuine alien designs, and how much has merely been cobbled together to excite the awe of tourists.

But the place's level of cultural authenticity isn't your prime concern. You've been waiting and watching, marking the patrols that you've seen passing through the streets -- marching past the crowds of amorous couples and gawking singles still waiting to select their flesh of choice.

"The streets aren't normally this heavily guarded," Claudia says. "They must really want to stop us."

"I don't remember any aliens in the meeting room," says Princess Illaria. "Unless that red-skinned woman..."

"Her skin was dyed," you reply. "I got a close look."

"The Xenophiles didn't send a delegate," Claudia says. "But they were among Syra's strongest supporters."

"You know a lot about what goes on here in Hedon," you say, "for a slave-girl from Lupanar."

"People talk in this town," she says, after a pause. "Besides, no one ever notices a slave-girl. Makes it easy to eavesdrop."

"We could try sneaking through the crowds," Talia says.

"Tel's mech isn't built for blending in," you reply.

"Hey, if it wasn't for my mech we wouldn't have made it this far. Anyway, I asked you to get me a battlesuit."

"I thought you asked for an interplanetary missile?"

"That was before. Now I want a battlesuit -- you know, for times when I can't take my mech places."

"Could we backtrack?" the Princess asks. "And find another way through to Thalatta?"

"Maybe." Claudia shrugs. "But by now the other factions may have brought out all their people as well. We've not exactly been subtle, shooting up half the city."

"What's wrong with just fighting our way through?" Ragnar asks. "It's worked pretty good for us so far."

"These ones are better equipped," Lu Bu replies. "Look."

He points ahead, at hulking forms that have appeared round a distant corner -- from behind a rhombus-shaped building.

"Robots?" Telemachus asks.

"Kweeglons."

The big metal warriors stomp their way closer, the crowd parting before them, their every footfall creating a clunking metal thud that you're sure is artificially added to make them seem more impressive. Lu Bu's statement is proven true soon enough, as they draw near enough for you to see the Rylattu heads sticking up from the middle of the rotund metal carapaces.

"Damn it!" Claudia hisses. "I knew they kept alien tech here, but..."

"If we picked our moment," Lu Bu says, "and kept moving, I estimate a high probability of success. But the risk of casualties would be high as well."

You nod. The robot's assessment matches your own. If you made a break for Thalatta, you might not all make it. The Princess isn't even in her battle gear, and the light protective weaves sewn into her dress are all that shield her vital organs from a potentially fatal shot. There has to be a better way...

"We don't have to take the streets," Claudia says. "We could cut through Fruits of the Galaxy."

She points to an immense, sprawling structure comprised of strange domes and towers -- the largest building in sight.

"It reaches almost all the way to Thalatta."

You gaze at the building, following its twists and turns, then look back at Claudia.

"What do you know about the place?"

"It's the most popular brothel in Xeno-Xanadu. The clients won't want the place crawling with security. And the whores usually take care of trouble themselves."

"You reckon you can find us a way through, and get us out the other side before anything heavy shows up?"

"Caligula took me there once, when she was meeting with Mermara -- the leader of the Xenophiles. I had a chance to wander round."

You hold her gaze for a long moment. Then you nod.

Once the latest patrol has passed by, and the way is clear, you make your move.

Plenty of Fish

"Welcome to Fruits of the Galaxy! What may... Hey! You're-"

The Princess takes a quick step as the receptionist falls, catches the woman in her arms, and lowers her to the ground. Then she stands back up, looks you in the eyes, and shrugs.

"I had to knock her out, but I didn't want her to crack her head open."

Given the number of people you've been forced to kill or at least severely injure tonight, you figure the receptionist will consider herself the luckiest woman on Cythera when she wakes up.

You glance around the room. The walls to your left and right, and the one directly opposite the entrance, each contain a set of ornate double doors. One looks to be made from silver, another from gold. The third is a blue metal that you don't recognize, but you assume it must be a precious alien substance of some kind.

"We'll have to go through a few of the chambers," Claudia says, moving towards the gold door at the far end. "There isn't a corridor that goes through the whole building. They built it that way, so clients would walk through a load of rooms in turn -- and see what's on offer."

She beckons, and you all follow.

The golden doors open, revealing a short corridor that ends in an identical set of doors. As you approach them, and pull them open in turn, their noise-proof seal parts to reveal the sounds of laughter and splashing water.

A swimming pool dominates the floor space of the chamber beyond, beneath walls and ceiling that glow with a soft blue light. Dozens of faces stare from its waters, their eyes fastened on you and your companions. Some are human. Others are scaly.

Piscarians.

"I think that's how mermaids get made," Talia says, gesturing at a pair of coupling swimmers who gaze at you from their unbroken embrace.

"That's the way we want to go," says Claudia.

You look in the direction of her pointing finger, to the doors at the opposite side of the pool.

"Perhaps we can just-" the Princess begins.

"That's the Sian Princess!" one of the Piscarians yells, in the warbling accents of his race.

"Or perhaps not," you reply.

The chamber is filled with shouts and hisses. Then the aliens dive under the water -- as though trying to hide. The humans scramble for the sides of the pool, and begin to clamber out amidst screams and frenzied splashing. Some are making for the doors you're heading towards, others for those you came through or the set in the left-hand wall.

"Let's move!" says Princess Illaria.

You start making your way around the pool, trying not to slip on the wet tiles in your haste. But your gaze remains fixed on the water, and your vigilance is rewarded with an ominous sight.

Most of the Piscarians are removing panels from the bottom of the pool, and grabbing tridents hidden beneath them. A few ignore the weapons, however. Instead they're reaching for the ornaments -- golden fish heads, you realize -- set in the exact center of each of the pool's sides, just below the water level.

The human screams redouble in volume as all three sets of doors thud shut with insistent force -- powerful enough to scatter the men and women who were trying to press through into the corridors beyond, flinging some of them back into the pool. There's a series of loud hissing noises as the portals seal themselves.

Then the panels in the walls slide open, revealing more golden fish heads. These ones have their mouths agape, and you know what's going to happen even before the torrents of water gush forth.

At the same moment, the Piscarians rise from the pool -- the points of their tridents glowing with the promise of death.

Watery Grave

"Climb on!" Telemachus yells.

His mech lurches forwards, bending low, water splashing over the cockpit. Ragnar hurls a Piscarian corpse aside, and helps the Princess and Claudia as they scramble onto it. The mech stands upright once they're secure in their footing and handholds, lifting them above the rising water. The women look like shipwrecked mariners clinging to flotsam, their clothing plastered to their bodies. But at least this will buy them a little more time.

"Talia!"

"Here, captain!"

She fires a shot with each of her pistols before turning to you, and two Piscarians are left floating behind her with holes in their brows.

"The fish heads!"

She follows your pointing finger, and her eyes gleam with understanding. She holsters her pistols, and dives under the water -- swimming towards the one nearest her.

You look to the others, but no one else is free to assist you. Ragnar and Lu Bu are close to Telemachus, fighting the last of the aliens and keeping them away from the Princess. Axe, gunfire, sword, and claw tear through the scaly bodies that approach under the water, or else rise up above it to fire their tridents.

The Piscarians' clients are busy screaming, wailing, banging on the sealed doors, or treading water with desperate splashes.

You and Talia will have to take care of this on your own...

You take a gulp of air, and dive under -- your murky gaze fixed on a golden fish head glimmering in the water.

Rendezvous with Rylattu

Water streams from every orifice of Lu Bu's robotic body, each movement seeming to yield another rivulet from a previously undiscovered source. Telemachus' mech has fared little better, but since his cockpit cover appears to have kept him dry he can afford to bear this with cheerful equanimity.

Ragnar is just as nonplused by his own soaking. As he walks around bare-chested, his trousers are waterproof, and his enhanced body is immune to such considerations as cold, there's little to trouble him. And though Talia's hair is plastered to her, it takes more than being half-drowned to dampen her spirits.

It's Claudia and the Princess who've suffered most. The slave-girl's tunic and the Princess' dress weren't designed to be worn while soaking wet. Filmy white material clings to Illaria's limbs, and her outfit is bordering on transparency. Yet somehow her hair is immaculate -- its peaks as perfect and unyielding as if they were sculpted from marble.

Many of the chamber's clientele are sobbing in its corners, either wracked with terror or overwhelmed by their relief. A few lie motionless upon the tiles, or else float face-down in the pool -- drowned by the callous actions of their Piscarian paramours. But some made it out either before the doors were sealed or after they were reopened. And they could bring more enemies upon you at any moment.

So you press on -- all of you ignoring any discomfort your aquatic odyssey has left you with -- through the doors Claudia pointed out to you earlier.

The winding corridor beyond the doorway twists and turns in a seemingly unnecessary and nonsensical fashion. It curves sharply in places, and in others rises or descends in a slope. The walls are multifaceted rather than flat, as though you're trapped inside some kind of irregular polygon. Unless the builders were being paid per plane, you can't imagine why it would have been designed this way. Then it occurs to you that it might be a dubious attempt at making clients feel as if they're in an alien environment.

The doors at the end of the passage are conventional enough -- similar to those you passed through earlier, though made of dark wood instead of metal.

You push them open, revealing the chamber beyond and puncturing the little bubble of soundproofing which shielded it.

"You're such a wonderful stink-beast!"

"What a delightful joke, puny human!"

You find yourself gazing upon a chamber which wouldn’t be out of place in a nightclub. Much of the room is filled with spacious booths, luxurious couches, and varnished tables. A long bar stretches along one of the walls, its shelves filled with strangely shaped bottles and decanters. Artfully placed and tempered lighting scatters pools of illumination and shadow across the room, creating levels of darkness for every taste and accentuating the outlandish glow of some of the strips of florescent color which adorn the walls.

But the room's occupants are curious enough, regardless of their surroundings.

Human men and women sit at the tables, dressed in elegant eveningwear. Among them, laughing, smiling, caressing them, and plying them with drinks, are Rylattu clad in sleek, stylish jumpsuits.

"It's..." the Princess trails off, as though the utterance tumbled from the tip of her tongue in surprise.

"A Rylattu hostess bar?" Talia says.

You continue to stare, drinking in the strange scene of Rylattu -- aliens who generally seem to divide their time between insulting humans and selling them absurd gadgets -- in this most unusual role.

"Your inferior human brain says the most romantic things, my wretched little worm baby!" a female Rylattu coos, batting her eyelids at the man in whose lap she's ensconced.

"More intoxicating beverages will make your hideous human countenance tolerable," a male alien tells the giggling woman sitting beside him, as he gestures to the waiter for a round of drinks.

The tittering girl's bright eyes drift to you. Then they widen, and she thrusts an accusing finger in your direction.

"Your pleasant stench is-"

"It's them!" she blurts out, interrupting her lover's rather unique flattery. "The people who killed Syra!"

Every eye in the room, human and alien, fastens its gaze on you.

"Get them!" the woman screams. "Disintegrate them with your weapons of unimaginable destructive power!"

"Yes, wretched meat-pig!" her Rylattu replies.

He leaps to his feet, and brandishes a laser rifle. Now where did that even come from?

The shooting starts.

Gas Chamber

"What am I?" you ask.

"A puny human!" the Rylattu gasps.

You slam his absurdly large head into the table. It makes a satisfying thud.

"What am I?"

"A... puny... human!"

Thud.

"What am I?"

"A... mighty human stink-beast!"

"Good enough."

You toss him aside, and leave him sprawling amongst the wreckage.

"Shame we had to trash the place," Talia says, as you make your way to the doors at the far end. "It seemed sort of fun. Where else can a host or hostess tell a customer how worthless they are?"

"Maybe you could start your own one," you reply. "After we free Sian."

Her eyes sparkle, and you wonder whether she appreciates that you were joking.

"Are we going to smash our way through every race in the galaxy?" Ragnar asks. "Not complaining if we are."

"We're not far from the exit," Claudia says. "Just a couple more rooms."

Yet another set of double doors opens before you, revealing the next corridor. This one has long, clear tubes of varying thickness mounted along its walls. Some are little broader than a hair, others the girth of your upper arm. Each contains a brightly colored gas, and between them they seem to cover every conceivable hue in the visible spectrum. These colorful tubes curve and twist, turn and entangle -- writhing over and among each other, creating elaborate patterns one moment and inscrutable jumbles the next.

"The identity of the next aliens we'll encounter should come as no surprise," Lu Bu remarks.

"No," you reply. "Ragnar, you want to borrow a laser? Machinegun bullets aren't much good against gas."

"I've killed Sussurrae before," he says. He raises his axe, presses a switch on its shaft, and grunts in satisfaction as orange-red energy blazes like flame along its edge.

You continue down the long corridor, casting wary glances at the colorful tubes running along its walls. They might be purely decorative, and contain nothing more than inert gas. But it never hurts to be cautious...

"You think Contella will be mad at us?" Telemachus asks, after a few moments of silence. "They asked us to help make peace here, and we've..."

"Cythera is a valuable world to the Consortium," the Princess replies. "What happened wasn't our fault, but it may cost them dearly all the same. I don't think they'll be best pleased."

"I have a feeling they'll be considerate," you say.

Claudia coughs, a loud, inelegant barking noise.

"Sorry," she says. "I think I'm catching a cold or something from being in these wet clothes."

A smile crosses your lips. Then you reach the end of the corridor, and stop in front of the closed doors.

You look to your companions, and they raise their weapons. Then you shove the doors open, and thudding music washes over you.

If the gas in the tubes along the corridor walls was sentient, comprised of Sussurrae, they mustn't have had a way to reach the chamber and warn their brethren. Because the scene before you isn't that of people preparing to meet an attack.

The first thing you notice is that everything in the room is transparent but for the purple floor, and the black walls and ceiling. Columns of see-through material adorn the chamber, extending up its entire height. Clouds of colorful gas swirl within them, moving -- dancing? -- in time with the music. Similarly diaphanous couches, chairs, and tables make up its furniture -- and again each has a Sussurra trapped within it.

Some of the ambulatory inhabitants of the room are solid, men and women come to sample the mysterious delights of gaseous love. The rest are more Sussurra, in a number of remarkable shapes and states. Some drift around the chamber, loose clouds of orange, blue, green, purple, or red -- swirling around the humans, creeping beneath their clothing. Others are wearing pellucid human-shaped suits, of the kind the gas-aliens normally wear when interacting with other species. Remarkably, many of them are locked in passionate entanglements with their human clients.

But... It must feel like plastic...

One rather remarkable specimen catches your eye -- a Sussurrae in a big, fat transparent suit that makes him resemble the most obese sumo wrestler imaginable. A naked woman gyrates inside its confines, the alien's purple gas enveloping her body, crawling across her flesh like a swarm of insects. She's moaning in rapture. You just hope she can breathe in there...

"Tel, goggles..."

"I hadn't even taken them off!"

"Just making sure."

"And here's me thinking nothing could be crazier than a Rylattu host bar," Talia says.

"Welcome to Cythera," Claudia replies.

At that point the Sussurrae begin to look round, and the shouting starts. You sigh in gratitude. Combat suddenly seems like ever so wholesome an activity...

Mermara

"Get it off me! Get it off me!"

You turn from the ionized remains of a Sussurra -- now just a lifeless blue mist drifting through the air -- and see Telemachus thrashing inside the cockpit of his mech.

There's a collapsed suit on the ground, either opened by the Sussurra from within or else ripped apart by one of the young prince's attacks. Red gas billows up from it, surging around the mech's body. A few tendrils have managed to work their way inside the cockpit, and Telemachus is flailing at them with his boyish hands -- trying to bat them away. His cry for help given, he's clamping his mouth shut, as though to avoid inhaling the gas.

You fire a blast from your weapon, and send a laser beam straight into the gas. It writhes as though in pain, and red mist drifts away from the greater denseness of its body. But the tendrils within the cockpit are still reaching out for the boy, and more of the gas is seeping inside.

"Open the canopy!" you yell, firing again and again at the cloud outside its confines. One of your shots strikes the mech's armor, and there's a flashing spark.

Telemachus thrashes about -- one arm still flailing at the gaseous tentacles, a small hand groping for the controls. His eyes meet yours, their panic-stricken stare somehow perceptible in spite of the goggles that conceal them, and a long, frozen moment oozes by. Then there's a click.

The canopy flips upwards, and you raise your weapon.

"No!" Talia shouts.

She shoulders you aside before you can fire, and takes aim with her pistols.

You bite back your protest, and force yourself to stay your weapon. She's right... You can't match her accuracy.

Another slow second passes, with your gaze locked on the gunslinger's visage. There's no trace of amusement on Talia's face now, none of the cockiness or thrill-seeking elation that normally graces it. Her eyes are cold and steady, glinting like a predator's.

Lasers fly from her weapons, shot after shot after shot. And she keeps firing even as she moves.

You look at Telemachus, and see beams striking the cockpit around him, piercing the soft upholstery of the chair behind, sparking off the mech's armor. Some of the laser fire must be passing him by mere millimeters, so close you hold your breath and expect to see them penetrate his flesh. But every shot is clean. Perfect. And each one passes through the Sussurra's gas.

Talia skips round the mech in an arc, opening up new lines of fire. And with each fresh angle of attack, lasers strike gas and slip past flesh.

Dead gas drifts away from the cockpit, no longer able to resist the thrashing of the boy's arms.

Talia lets out a long breath, holsters her pistols, and moves towards the mech. An agile leap, vault, and twist land her next to Telemachus. He grabs her round the neck with both arms, and suddenly seems younger than you've ever seen him.

The gunslinger laughs, and puts an arm round him in turn.

"Might want to think about turning on the airtight seals next time you're fighting gas creatures," she says.

The Princess, Ragnar, and Lu Bu gather round -- their bodies and clothing colored by sprinklings of dead Sussurrae.

Each of you fought like a devil against your unusual foes -- the Princess with her pistol flashing, Ragnar sweeping his axe through everything that moved. At one point you saw Lu Bu weaving such a rapid web of steel with his sword and claw that he was able to drag a loose Sussurra away from the Princess -- and render the alien vulnerable to one of her shots.

The night's been one great swath of battles. And it's not over yet.

You look to Claudia.

"Which direction's the exit in?"

"Through there," she says, pointing at a set of doors across the chamber.

"I think there might be one more room in our way."

She pauses for a moment.

"Yes," she says. "I believe you're right."

Double doors open. This time the corridor's walls, floor, and ceiling and covered with holographic screens. Psychedelic flashes of brilliance swirl and splash across them all, until it seems as if the entire universe is unraveling into the colors which comprise it.

The door at the end is covered in the same images, whirling and whooshing before your eyes as you reach for the handle.

The portal opens into a chamber that does the corridor full justice.

Holo-screens line the circular wall, displaying whizzing flashes of color and imagery. Huge, monolith-like lava lamps fill the middle of the room, bubbles of viscous liquid oozing and bubbling inside them.

"So, you're the ones who've been causing chaos all over the city..."

A slender, feminine form appears from behind one of the lava lamps. The alien's figure is lithe and curvaceous, like that of a beautiful human woman. But her flesh, adorned only by scanty strips and patches of gold, is bright blue. Fins extend from her forearms, her cheeks, the crown of her head. She's a Piscarian, like those you fought in the swimming pool. And like them, she clutches a trident in her hands.

"I thought about getting out of here, and letting my minions deal with you instead. But what would people think? What would my reputation be if everyone knew that Mermara -- the girl who once took on a dozen men and killed them all -- ran away and screamed for help because she couldn't handle a few troublemakers?"

She lounges towards you, her trident spinning in front of her.

"Reputation is everything on Cythera. And imagine what mine will be like when I do what the Scarlet Harlot, Caligula, Agony and Ecstasy, and Mercury couldn't."

"Your local turf struggles and politics don't interest us," the Princess says. "We just want to reach Thalatta."

"Then you shouldn't have come to Xeno-Xanadu."

Mermara shrieks, a long piercing sound that's like a shockwave inside your skull. Then she lunges.

"I think we're done here," you say.

Claudia gazes at Mermara's bloody form, florescent green splashed across its blue flesh, and nods.

"This way."

On the other side of the room, hidden behind yet another big lava lamp, is a door. It slides open, and a cool breeze plays across your face.

"Her secret escape route," Claudia says. "She should have taken it when she had the chance."

The seven of you file out into the night, with you in the lead -- glancing around for signs of danger. But there's no one around. The door opened on the very edge of Xeno-Xanadu, and across an empty expanse you can see the wall and gates of...

"Thalatta!" Telemachus cries in triumph. "Thalatta!"

With looks of elation on your faces, you head towards the spaceport's glowing lights.

You find her leaning against a stack of crates in the corner of the spaceport, a cigarette in her mouth -- its end a burning red eye in the shadows.

Surprise crosses her face as she sees you, and the cigarette falls from her lips. She catches it with a swift hand, her thumb and forefinger closing around it and stopping the glowing redness an inch above the smooth flesh of her bare thigh.

"I thought you'd taken off," she says.

"Soon," you reply. "The others are already on the ship. But I wanted to see you before we left."

Claudia smiles, and tosses the cigarette aside. It hits the ground, scattering little motes of brightness around its discarded corpse.

"I'm glad things worked out for you," she says. "I hear that the Consortium's going to honor their agreement, and stop trading with the Centurians."

"I had a... productive conversation with Melloni, while the others were resting up. He's a reasonable man. He even told the Princess he'd have you flown anywhere you wanted to go, so you could start over with the credits she gave you."

"She's a generous woman."

Claudia glances down at the black tunic she's wearing. It's ruffled, stained, and torn from the night's exploits.

"First thing I'll do is get myself some new clothes."

"Yeah. Something more suitable. Red with pinstripes, perhaps."

She stands up straight, and her eyes widen.

"I don't know-"

"Yes, you do. Don't insult my intelligence. You're no slave-girl from Lupanar. And nothing that happened to us tonight was by chance."

She takes a slow step backwards, her eyes fixed on yours.

"Contella arranged for Syra to be shot. The little schoolgirl was more trouble than she was worth. As for Perplexi, the cyberpunk... I'm guessing her visor let her see in the dark. She had to die, before she could tell anyone what she saw."

Claudia's gaze darts around, like that of a hunted animal. Then she becomes still, and smiles. You look over your shoulder, following the direction of her stare. A group of Contella soldiers stands a little way behind you -- close enough to hear a scream, able to witness any acts of violence with the slightest turn of their heads.

You look back at the pseudo-slave-girl, and smile in turn.

"They put you there on the edge of Lupanar, where we'd find you. And then you got to lead us on your little dance, bringing us back to Thalatta -- but taking care of a few more of Contella's problems along the way."

Claudia shrugs.

"It worked like a charm," she says. "A small group of misfits managed to wreck half of Hedon, and leave some of its most powerful people lying in their own blood. Now everyone knows they need the Consortium's protection. Who's going to side with a bunch of upstarts who couldn't even protect their own turf?"

She turns her head slightly, and regards you with a quizzical stare.

"But you worked this out before now. Why didn't you say anything?"

"By that time, we were in too deep -- and you were our best chance of getting back here alive, even if you did have your own agenda. I knew you wouldn't put us in any situations you didn't think we could get ourselves out of. You weren't there to risk your own neck."

You gesture behind you with a twitch of your head -- over your shoulder, where the men and women stand in their garish suits.

"And I knew I had to play along, to ensure the Consortium's support against the Centurians. Freeing Sian means everything to her. I wouldn't let anything get in the way of that."

"Then we both got what we wanted," she says.

"Not quite."

You draw your pistol in one single, swift motion. Her face pales, and her pupils widen like tiny vortexes.

"I can't forgive you for putting my friends at risk. For jeopardizing the life of Princess Illaria."

"Don't be stupid. If you kill me, Santino Melloni will send the entire Consortium after you."

"No, he won't."

The fear hardens on her face as she hears the certainty in your voice.

"But-"

"I've already spoken to Melloni. Sorry, Claudia. But you're expendable."

A moment later you're walking across the spaceport, towards the distant shape of your ship. A woman in a slave-girl's tunic lies on the ground behind you -- gazing at the stars through sightless eyes. </tabber>

LotS/The Story/Aphrodisian Anabasis

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