L A S T D R I N K "Pour me a drink, Srina," ordered Greg Tomerson. "And while you're at it, pour one for Mr. Heller." "Yes, Master," said Srina obediently, her voice laced with a thick alien accent. She meekly went to the wine cabinet, and took out a bottle of Venus' Finest. She poured two drinks in elegantly crafted wine glasses, and took them over to her master and his business associate. "Your drinks, fine sirs." "Well trained. I like that in a slave," said Greg. He accepted his drink greedily, like a man who had been deprived of water for weeks, and settled back in the overstuffed chair. Philip Heller laughed loudly, staring rudely at the beautiful woman. To her credit, she didn't show any sign of discomfort. He turned to Tomerson. "Where'd you get her?" "Bought her from a trader on D'lor Seven. Cheap, and young. These cat women are becoming the norm in the modern slave trade," said Tomerson. Indeed, Srina was a cat woman with dark black fur, and a delicate tail. Her ears were pointed and on top of her head, and her nails more like sharp claws. She had a full mane of black hair, and piercing green eyes. "Yes," said Heller, "I have noticed that. In fact, I've been thinking of getting a feline-girl myself sometime. In fact, if they're all as pretty as Serlina here, I might even buy two!" Tomerson ignored the mispronunciation of his slave's name and said, "Well, Mr. Heller, I called you over to discuss security here on Sonso Two." He abruptly re-noticed Srina. "Srina, dear, you may clean anything around the house that needs cleaning," he dismissed her. Taking into account the vastness of his mansion, she would certainly be busy for a while. "Now Tomerson, I'm sure you know that Sonso Two has the most formidable security system for quadrents around. No invasion force has come through yet." "But the Katerain!" protested Tomerson, quickly reminding himself to keep calm. No professional financial giant acted like an amateur when his concerns weren't taken seriously at first. He stared at the holo-image of a waterfall that rested on his desk. It calmed him. "Oh, yes. The Katerain," said Heller, as if the statement were self-explanatory. "They took over three moonbases in the Trioma quadrent in the last six months. And yes, the Trioma quadrent is only a short shuttle voyage away. But don't let it get to you. Those moonbases weren't even vaguely related to Sonso Two. In fact, they were minded by Oxytytes. You know how trusting they are. Probably didn't have any security system, let alone a decent one. We're far superior." Tomerson curbed an overwhelming urge to shout. Heller was the average stupid zillionaire. He thought he was so damned superior, didn't think anyone could invade anywhere he lived. The Katerain were an unknown race, who had appeared a few years ago. They travelled all over the place, and supposedly wore full uniforms that prevented indentification. They were conquering territory at an alarming rate, and although many had challanged them, they hadn't been defeated. The other thing that bothered him was Sonso Two's location. It was the only human-populated moonbase for lightyears around. Not one ship in the Terran Fleet could possibly save the colony if it was conquered. But Heller didn't seem to see that. No, all Heller was seeing was the inside of the luxurious office, where potted plants of exotic origins sat on exquisitly carved shelves and one-of-a-kind paintings adorned the walls. Not as fancy as his own office, perhaps, but close. "Listen, Phil." Tomerson's use of his guest's first name showed that he meant business. "The Katerain are a huge threat. If you think our security system flawless and then they trash it, we don't get a second chance. So if you want to save your own ass, you'd better make sure every single aspect of this base is perfect. Am I being clear?" "Transparent," Heller acknowledged, succesfully managing to insult the young businessman at the same time. "But don't go thinking you're getting off any better, Greg. You'd better contribute to our efforts too, or I'm really not gonna be too happy!" Heller's threat seemed lame on the surface, but the undercurrent of implied violence was enough to make Tomerson ease up. Maybe he'd gone a bit too far. After all, Heller was a respected public figure. "Okay, Mr. Heller. I'll do my part if you do yours. I just don't want Sonso Two to be Katerain territory by the end of the month." "Understood. I'll have my men step up security. We'll allow the usual authorized imports, and keep our regular export contracts. But until the Katerain are no longer a threat, no alien -or human- shall be permitted to land here. Will that be satisfactory?" Tomerson tried not to show his relief; it was more than he'd expected. He said, calmly as possible, "That will be fine. Now I have an appointment in a few moments with Andrew Larson. He's getting me a good deal on a few hundred slave feline-girls." "Got any buyers?" "They're in demand. I say I can sell them for three times the price." "Good business," said Heller appreciatively. "And I guess I'll have to buy one from you, to promote a potential booming market." "At the wholesale price, I assure you," said Tomerson. The meeting was coming to a good close. "Thank you. Inform me when your 'cargo' arrives. I must be going now, to update our defences." "Of course, Mr. Heller. I'll save the best for you," promised Greg. Phil quickly downed his drink, picked up his briefcase, and left. Greg sighed, poured himself another drink, and waited for Larson. Srina was carefully dusting and re-arranging delicate china figures on a glass tray when Greg called her. He didn't verbally call, actually, since the manor was so big. Instead, a red light on her bracelet flashed. She hurriedly began putting the china figures down, anxious to press the red button and ask him what he wanted. She had to do it quickly, or risk punishment. But she couldn't just drop the china figures. She managed to put them down gently, but not fast enough. Hot pain seared up her arm, from her wrist up to her elbow. She cursed an alien curse and pushed the red button with her other hand. Soon the feeling would come back to her hand, but for now it was immobile. "Yes, Master Tomerson?" "Srina, that was too slow," said her master harshly, not sympathetic at all to the pain he knew she was in. The bracelet on his own wrist controlled the bracelet on hers, and she could not remove it. "I am sorry, Master Tomerson. What do you require of me?" "Mr. Larson is here. Come pour the drinks," said Greg. "Yes, Master Tomerson, right away." Srina watched the red light dim as the connection was broken. How much she'd like to snap the demeaning bracelet in two.... Andrew and Greg were engaged in a round of polite laughter when Srina entered. She went straight to the wine cabinet, feeling Larson's eyes on her the whole time. "Now that's one good looking feline-girl," said Larson. The comment was directed to Tomerson, as if Srina's beauty was all his doing. "And obedient," added Tomerson. "Got her on D'lor Seven six weeks ago, and haven't regretted it since. I think the entire population of Sonso Two will want one." "Perfect," smiled Larson. "But I think slaves should have more.... appropriate uniforms. I just happened to bring an example with me..." He snapped open his briefcase. "Srina! Where are my drinks??" bellowed Greg. Srina was carrying two brandy sniffers and a bottle of Regil Classic on a fine silver tray, but her master's yell startled her. The tray crashed to the floor, and the bottle and glasses were shattered. "You stupid yetskiza!" growled Tomerson. "Clean that up right away! If I payed you it would come out of your pay!" Srina timidly started off to get cleaning supplies. "Wait!" said Larson. He had found the rather skimpy uniform, and decided that Srina would be a perfect model. Greg instantly understood what Larson was going to do, and decided it was a fitting punishment for his slave. After all, she'd proved herself incompetent after he had praised her so heavily to Larson. "Yes, Srina, wait. I think Mr. Larson would like you to help him out." Srina turned reluctantly, and Larson tossed her the outfit. It was small enough to be a hankerchief. "Well, try it on, Srina. You may change in the closet," jeered Greg. Srina entered the large walk-in closet, pulling the door tightly shut. She emerged in a very skimpy silver bikini-style outfit. It made her feel extremely uncomfortable, epsecially the way the two men looked at her, leering shamelessly. "Wonderful! I'll make it the official slave uniform from now on," promised Greg. "Can she keep the sample she's wearing?" "Of course. I have many more. Now, are you willing to sign a few papers?" Larson pulled a thick sheaf of papers from his briefcase. Greg's eyes cruised through them. The price was cheaper than he's expected! It was definately his day. He signed the papers, being careful to check for small print. "Now, when does my cargo arrive?" "Well, actually, tomorrow." "Well, well, what advance notice you have given me!" "I'm really sorry, Tomerson, but I want to get them here before the Katerain reach the D'lor System. Those mysterious conquerors are getting too close for comfort." The D'lor system contained eight planets, and D'lor Seven was the home of the felinoid-people, who called themselves the Lacmar. However, Terrans didn't respect the name, and referred to them simply as 'felinoids' or 'cat people'. "Good decision. I'll store them in the stables until I sell them off." He turned to Srina. "Clean up this mess, pour me another drink, and clean the stables." When she left to get the cleaning supplies, he addressed Larson once more. "Do they have the control bracelets yet?" "No. The security sytem is working on a more effective model, coming out within the next few months. Maybe you can get a hold of some old models to use until then." "Very well. I'll expect the delievery tomorrow at..?" Larson had been watching Srina leave, savouring how her hips fit the disgusting (in his opinion-beautiful) outfit. Now he switched his attention back to Tomerson and quickly got his thoughts together before answering, "Uh...they'll be here at six p.m tomorrow. A truck will bring them around, and I'll make sure they're in uniform." "Good," smiled Tomerson. Yes, this was definately his day..... At six p.m the next day, a big truck lumbered up to the Tomerson Manor. "Pour me a drink, Srina," ordered Tomerson as he went out to sign for his order. No point in having her mixed up with all the rest. If they mistook her for an unclaimed slave, she might spend the night in the stables, and then who would wait on him? There were hundreds of them, huddled together in the truck. The silver uniforms glittered, and Terran guards herded them out of their mobile prison like cattle. "Where d'ya want 'em?" drawled the driver. Greg quickly signed for the order and ordered, "Around the back, in the stables." The driver nodded. "Okay men! Follow me!" The herd of slaves were surrounded by guards and led around the back. They found the stables with no difficulty, and moved the girls in alongside stallions and foals. Those who even attempted to resist were brutally disciplined. Greg Tomerson watched all this impassionately, and when the guards left, he locked the huge iron gates and went inside to activate the force field. No feline-girl worth money was escaping him. Greg Tomerson's life went pretty smoothly for the next few months. He'd managed to sell all three hundred of his first slave shipment, and had established a quick monopoly on the slave trade. Now "Tomerson's Tantalizing Feline-Girls" were being sold all over Sonso Two. The only problem left was the Katerain. He hadn't heard of them since he became one of Sonso Two's most powerful leaders, and didn't know if that was good or bad. He sat at his desk, ready to call up the security report, one he used to check almost hourly, but now referred to only twice daily. But as he called up the files on his computer, his screen blinked a red message: INCOMING MESSAGE. He sighed, pressed a few buttons in rapid succession, and typed, RECEIVE MESSAGE. The screen flashed red and then a silver background appeared, bearing the seal of Sonso Three. Tomerson sat up straighter. A message in bold letters took form against the silvery backdrop. It read simply: HAVE DEFEATED KATERAIN. ARE REPAIRING BASE. CONTACT WITHIN THE WEEK. Greg received a flood of messages after that one. All the other leaders had apparently received it too, and they were in the mood for partying. Ecstatic that what had been the biggest of his problems was over, Greg decided to throw the party himself. He invited all the other successful buisnessmen, including Heller and Larson, who had become close friends. They would talk, drink, and swap success stories. It would be an entertaining evening. Sixty-five men arrived at the Tomerson Manor that night. Fifty-six were businessmen thrilled at being recognized by such a successful man, and hoped to get in good with him and swing a few good deals. The other nine were as powerful as Tomerson had become, and appreciated not having to spend their money throwing a party, even though they had so much of it. "Srina, Lotuza, Zeena, Railia, Poloy, Fieska, bring us some drinks," ordered Greg extravagantly. His other six slaves had cleaned and decorated the house, and prepared the dinner. The slaves were dressed in shimmering gold outfits, and the men eyed them appreciatively. A few of the more brash guests executed low whistles, but when no one else did, they stopped, embarassed. The feline-girls were soon swamped with orders for Oxolop Brandy and Saturn's Rings Wine. An elaborate eight course meal followed. After a few hours, the men began to feel sick. They began lining up outside the washrooms, and doubling over. Only Tomerson felt fine. "Uh, what's wrong with you fellows?" he asked nervously. "My stomach," moaned one. "My head!" protested another. Various other groans became audible. "Maybe he poisoned the food!" cried a particularly insolent businessman. "I had the same meal, and yet I feel quite healthy," said Greg. "I never knew you wanted the whole moonbase so badly!" cried one man. "He's trying to get rid of us all at once!" "I swear, I'm not trying to kill you!" protested Tomerson. "I invited you here for fun!" He turned to one of his closest friends. "Isn't that right?" "It isn't fun to be so ill. And why aren't you sick too?" accused Larson. "Did you make sure that your food was prepared separately?" "I swear, this misfortune wasn't planned!" claimed Tomerson. But his protests were futile. His guests were in pain, and angry. They began marching towards him, smashing empty bottles- and the occasional half-full one- for weapons along the way. Greg ran around the corner and up the spiral staircase. He looked down at the advancing men. Many fell to the ground, but still the survivors marched on. He ran to the master bedroom and locked the door. He suddenly felt trapped, and decided to fling open the doors and hide somewhere else. Too late. The door was buckling as clenched fists pounded it with a steady rhythm. Pound, pound, pound, pound. Pound, pound, pound, pound. It was slowly driving Greg mad. But after fifteen minutes, when the door was just about to collapse, the pounding stopped. Greg waited for it to start again, but it didn't. He waited, shivering on the bed, for fifteen more minutes. Finally, he decided it was time to do something. He turned the knob, but the door wouldn't open. Panicking at the thought of being trapped, he applied all his weight to the door. It moved an inch, then an inch more. Finally it was open enough so he could squeeze through, The first thing he saw was the reason he had been trapped; men lay against the door in a heap. Bodies lined the hallway. He checked a few pulses. Dead. Now he was worried. Who had done this? His safe mansion suddenly seemed a lot less safe. Someone had poisoned sixty-five men... and that someone could be anywhere. He entered the main room again, and suddenly noticed a shortage of slaves. That figured, as feline-girls were non-violent. They had probably been terrified by the fighting, and run off to hide. He rolled up his sleeve to push the blue button, which would alert all of them. But his hand stopped halfway. A dozen terrified slaves would only add to the confusion. Besides, they weren't warriors, and wouldn't be able to defend him anyways. He suddenly wished that he'd hired armed guards, but he'd always felt so safe, right up until that evening. A cold, irrational fear materialized in his stomach, and he went to the phone. Dead. He checked the security readout. All the security systems around his house were on, as usual. Good. No one had gotten in or out. He would be safe until morning. The communications operator would have already noticed his dead phone lines and automatically made a note to leave it for four hours. If, by then, he failed to call in and say everything was fine, security forces would be notified. He felt a bit better, knowing he was at least secure. Maybe the slaves had served food that had gone bad and hadn't known it. Since he hadn't eaten much compared to the others, it was a possibility. But there was always the possibility that someone had meant for it to happen. Some unimportant unknown, hearing of the party and deciding to take care of the competition? Dissatisfied rebels? The more extreme ideas bounded about in his mind, growing bigger and more terrifying every time he thought of them. Now he sat down heavily, and reached for his wine. He poured himself a drink, something he hadn't done for himself in a long time. He took one sip, then two, but could not not take more. No, he felt the eerie feeling of being watched, and sprang to his feet. A war cry sounded. He turned to the left, then to the right. Where was it coming from? It sounded again. The inhuman battlecry of enraged warriors. And then he saw them. Twelve warriors in black uniforms. They didn't have weapons, which scared him even more. What sort of warriors were confident enough to attack unarmed? "Who are you? Why did you kill all my guests?" he asked. "We are the Katerain. We do not need to explain our actions," said one of the warriors coolly, a voice modifier changing the speaker's tone enough to prevent Tomerson from knowing even if it had been a male or female who had spoken. "But you were defeated at Sonso Three!" he protested. "Silly man. We conquered Sonso Three, and sent you word of our own defeat. It was perfect. You became overconfident, and we were ready. We had already slowly filtered our forces here, even with your pathetic security measures. Now we are ready to claim this colony. Of course, we owe most of our success to you. After all, you so helpfully gathered almost all of the most powerful leaders here, making it so convienient to dispose of them all at once." "But why didn't you kill me?" "We already have. You have taken two sips of the poisoned wine. Soon you will not be able to stand up, let alone stand in our way. Sonso Two belongs to the Katerain." Tomerson could feel his stomach begin to knot. "Tell me something, before I die. Who are you, and how did you get through the security system?" "Easy." The Katerain removed their masks, and familiar faces sneered at him. "Yes, it's us. Your humble slaves. The ones you didn't pay, or treat decently," said Srina. She was obviously the leader. "You actually brought us here, in huge numbers. Maybe you weren't aware that your slave population almost outnumbered your Terran population?" She laughed. "All you cared about was power and wealth. And now you have killed your planet's population. Our cloaked ships are waiting to land here, as soon as all you Terrans are either enslaved or killed." Greg Tomerson felt very, very sick, and only partly from the wine. He had worked so hard to protect the colony from the Katerain, and all that his efforts had done was aided the enemy. "Pour me a drink, Srina." He couldn't stand the thought of the slow death that awaited him. Srina smiled. "Of course, Master." She poured a full glass, and he swallowed it greatfully. The poison entered his system at an alarming rate, and his vision blurred. "Thank you, slave....," he gasped. He died, and Sonso Two died with him. THE END (obviously, in this case) SAUCE00Last DrinksEoanyaMiSTiGRiS20941015