Chapter
XI
Visions
Cale couldn't remember much about how sunsets were supposed to look. Such memories of Earth were faint, and he couldn't claim to have seen many true sunsets back on Vusstra. Just the word itself was serene; deep down it inspired an awe, and a puzzling image – was it a memory or a dream? – of watching such a spectacle in his mother's arms, eons ago. It was ridiculous – silly – for him to believe he might actually have a memory like that, but even so the image stirred a feeling of enamored beauty and peace.
This sunset was anything but beautiful.
Storm clouds crept down upon the valley, swirling lecherously overhead with all the poise of a flock of scavenging birds. The storm cast a smokescreen in front of the sun, a ball of tainted red dripping and gushing onto the horizon, tinting the dirt and sands a horrible shade. Black shadows festered and gnawed at the dunes and fields, almost swallowing the two figures still standing there amongst the withering foliage. Their dark silhouettes stung backlit against the sun. His eyes watered to fight the glare; he had been watching them all afternoon.
Cale Tucker was too proud to admit that he felt very lonely and out of place. Maybe it had been right of Taylor to react so venomously towards his old nickname. The name seemed to refer to someone else, to a time long gone. He couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much, this change. Sure, of course he couldn't have expected Taylor not to change, but… watching Taylor and Dover in the field, he couldn't help but feel as if he had had a brother stolen away. Whenever Taylor stumbled, Dover was there – like a flash – by his side to steady him, before Cale could so much as think of budging. Despite all his good intentions, Cale found himself mustering scorn towards Dover – which seemed mutual. Dover saw right through Cale, dismissing him as brash, especially after Cale told them about the bet. That news Taylor had taken sullenly; Dover just laughed. The master of the farm acted only grudgingly towards Cale whenever they happened to clap eyes. This wasn't too often, as he seemed to have other things on his mind besides a cavalier visitor. Even the mistress appeared to look upon him now with a scathing eye, flitting between her perch and the inside of the manor. Cale realized – too late – that she had overheard the gamble Cale and her husband had made. She was so inconspicuous and polite he hadn't so much as given her a thought.
The only one who showed any sort of friendliness towards the straw-haired stranger was the boy Cody. Frequently he would prowl up and just stare at Cale, blanched round face sometimes melting into a nervous smile. In the sunlight, Cody's thin hair gleamed almost silver, and his curious mix-matched eyes sparkled with vivacity, like a breath of life amidst a cemetery of cold, dead looks. As ordinary and commiserable as the poor boy was in his dirty tunic and calloused feet, there was an aura of mystery to him Cale couldn't quite place. Perhaps the same intrigue lured the boy to Cale.
Cale had been standing watching the field, sweatshirt flung over his shoulder, sun beating down on his face. Out of the corner of his eye Cale could still catch the boy's gaze, blue eye and green eye watching him from the shade of the porch. It had been close to ten minutes now and it was starting to get on Cale's frayed nerves. He tilted his head and gave Cody an awkward smile, squinting. "Hey."
The boy shrank down against the deck with a little whimper, but non-the-less raised a pockmarked hand and wiggled his fingers in greeting.
Cale stifled his laughter, afraid of seeming in any way condescending. "What's your name, kid?"
The "kid" blinked, startled, eyes darting back and forth. "C-Cody," he whispered, as if divulging a secret.
Cale nodded, and made as if to offer his hand, then thought better of it. "I'm Cale."
Cody pawed forward, sitting up a bit. His face scrunched up at the name. "What's that?"
"No, it's a name… Cale."
"Kay-el?"
He chuckled. "Close enough."
Cody's soft cheeks bobbed into a grin.
Cale leaned back against the porch railing, taking a valiant stab at conversation, and perhaps finding out more about this strange kid. "'Cody'… that's a cool name. Did your parents give it to you?"
The grin faded from the boy's face, his fair eyebrows knitting in confusion. "'Parents'?"
"Yeah, you know, like Mommy or Daddy?"
Cody paused, young mind working furiously. He looked up to Dover and Taylor in the fields and pointed. "Like uncles?"
Cale glanced over, shifting his shoulders. "Uh… sorta…"
The boy gave Cale a puzzled look. "Are 'parents' good or bad?"
"Well… good, usually. Definitely good to have. They care about you and want you to be happy." Cale frowned, memories crossing his mind. "Not all parents are very good at it," he mumbled.
Cody drew closer to the railing, wrapping his fingers around the bars. "Does Kay-el have parents?"
His eyes drifted away, shoulders drooping. When he spoke it was more solemn. "I did. A long time ago."
The boy doted on these words, trying to sift their meaning in his new friend's tone of voice. "Maybe they went to Heaven?"
Cale snapped back to Cody in surprise. "What?"
"Heaven," Cody repeated matter-of-fact, pleased to apparently know something the stranger didn't. "Do-ver told me abou' it."
The tension and surprise drifted away. "Oh… maybe…"
Even after all these years, Cale had never really thought twice about both his parents as dead. His father he had taken for lost, a deadbeat who had left him all alone and forgotten – but not dead. Well, it was possible. After all, he hadn't seen his father since he was five. A lot of time had passed since then. Too much time. Now, looking, at the sunset, he returned to that thought – a lingering possibility he had pushed out of his mind. Perhaps it was time he gave up on that hope, that flickering light that burned in his heart ever since that gold ring was slipped on his finger thirteen years ago.
An orphan, he thought, watching the inky silhouettes move towards him. That's what I am. I'm an orphan, surrounded by orphans.
Why that was comforting, he didn't know.
God, what a lonely world.
Electricity was in short supply on this dusty drip of a planet. A clanking, spitting, mess of a contraption referred to as a "generator" trickled only a penny's worth of extra power, most of which was directed to the equally dilapidated manor. Whatever was left – which was hardly enough to prick a finger on – was channeled to a sorry excuse for a light bulb hanging mournfully from the ceiling of the slaves' quarters. The light bulb, long out of its prime, sputtered and coughed like a diseased firefly.
Cale had to duck his head to keep from running into it. The space was cramped, stuffier than usual with three grown boys crammed into it. The blood rushed out of Cale's face as he spotted the stains on the bunk and floor. Cale turned back to Taylor – and the light bulb smacked right between his eyes.
Cody giggled as Cale swore under his breath, clutching his temple. The three-year-old swung up to his usual bunk, face lit with mirth. Cale looked over to him from beneath his hands.
"Thank that's funny, do you?" he grumbled, smiling anyway. Cody shook his head, curling up with his back to the bunk railing, but he was laughing into his knees.
Taylor raised a brow at Cale from the opposite side of the bulb, a smile tugging at his lips. He shook it away, collapsing onto the bunk below Cody. Propping his chin on his palm, he glanced up at Cale. "You can have the bunk above Dover's."
As if on cue, Dover stepped forward and patted Cale hard on the shoulder with a wry grin. "Might as well write your name on it, buddy. It's gonna be yours for a looong time." Laughing he sat back on the other bunk, arms behind his head.
Cale shot Dover a sarcastic "hah hah" and vaulted up to the remaining bunk, the wood creaking from the strain. Up here the air was thicker, and dust caked from ages of neglect. Nose wrinkling, Cale kicked his shoes off, sending them tumbling to the floor. Trying to get settled he looked below, where Taylor was pulling his shirt off over his head, flinging it aside. Cale winced to see the scars that littered Taylor's chest, and the soiled bandages wrapped tight around his side. Taylor grazed the wound with a tender finger and hissed with pain, yanking his hand away. The pendent strung around his neck thunked against his breastbone. Cale eyed it curiously.
"Where'd you get that? You never told me about it."
Taylor glanced up in surprise, eyes flickering. Compulsively he wrapped the necklace in his hand. "Someone… gave it to me," he replied, voice soft.
Cale leaned against the railing. "Really? Who?"
"… It doesn't matter." Taylor looked away, still clutching the necklace. For a moment his face simmered with pain.
With a sigh Cale folded his arms. "If it doesn't matter, then why do you wear it?"
"Don't bother with that stupid necklace," Dover grunted. "I tried to beat it off him a week after he got here. My right eye was swollen shut for days after that, damn thing," he laughed.
Cale snickered. "All the fuss, you'd think it was his girl or something."
He was the only one laughing. Taylor's face had suddenly paled, and Dover shifted uncomfortably on his bunk. A sickening gloom crept on the little shack as the smile faded from Cale's face. He glanced down at Taylor in apprehension, who was pulled together on the bunk, staring out the dark window.
Cale sucked on his teeth, gaze unfocused. When he gathered the heart to speak again, his voice was softer, almost sympathetic. "So tell me about this girl."
"What girl?" Taylor muttered, still staring out the window.
"You know… the one you lost."
He tilted his head down, his long bangs once again obscuring his face. "… There's nothing to say. She's dead." Memories were surfacing in his mind, images he tried so hard to lock away. Letting one escape was like releasing a floodgate. Taylor bit back the sparkle in his eyes.
Cale tread carefully, picking over his questions and thoughts. "Well, she wasn't always dead. What was she like when she was alive? Was she pretty?"
"… Yeah, she was."
"Ohh… did you ever… you know…"
"It wasn't like that," Taylor snarled, hair spinning as he shot a choleric glance up at Cale.
In defense, Cale raised his hands apologetically. "I know, I know, just joking."
He lowered. "Well-"
"Did you love her?" Cale interrupted.
Taylor gaped, face blanching. A hint of color stained his cheeks as he hid his face on his knees. There was no simple answer he could put into words. Dover glanced over with one eye, mildly interested.
"When I first got here," Taylor began softly, chin on his knee. He seemed to be speaking half to himself, eyes staring off somewhere past the foot of his bunk. "The pain never stopped… no matter how hard I tried, it never went away, never… I was so scared… I wanted to die… so bad… just to end the pain. I couldn't take it. But Melody… she was always there… whenever I was hurt or afraid. When I saw her face, the pain just… disappeared. She keeps me alive."
The room fell into a contemplative silence. Cale sat lost in thought, Taylor lost in memory, and Dover lost in a search around the edges of his bunk. He patted around with his fingers until they closed on a small roll of paper. Pulling it out with a thankful sigh, he leaned around the end of his bunk and grabbed a lit candle from a shelf. He held the paper up to the tiny flame until it caught, the ends curling with a wisp of smoke. Setting the candle back, he stuck the paper between his lips and leaned onto his bunk again – only to be struck square on the shoulder by Cale's shoe.
Dover coughed and spluttered, snatching the paper from his mouth. Taylor was eyeing the paper roll with loathing. "What's your problem, Taylor?" Dover croaked, rubbing his shoulder.
"Put it out. You know I hate that shit," Taylor mumbled, turning his back on Dover to coil up on the mattress.
"What are you, my mother?" he retorted, putting it back to his lips and taking a puff.
Cale leaned over the edge of the bunk to look down at Dover, coughing at the smoke. "What is that?"
"It's a cigarette," he answered, voice slightly strained. At the blank look on Cale's face, Dover rolled his eyes and jerked the cigarette towards the window. "Do you know what grows in those fields?"
"You mean what doesn't grow in those fields?" Cale replied, thinking of the withered-looking plants. "Not a clue."
"Tobacco hybrid. It's a mild drug, but very addictive. Master probably had a stash of it brought over from Earth just before the damned planet went down the drain. It musta been a pretty lucrative business then, or at least it was 'round here. Wasn't always just the three of us. He used to be filthy rich, I bet, before the market tanked. When I was first brought here as a kid there were over a dozen of us, all in those empty buildings rotting out back." Dover frowned at his cigarette, which had already almost burnt up. He smothered it on the edge of the bunk frame and continued. "Then they all just started disappearin' left and right… turn up dead or sold… and one-by-one the quarters were abandoned and the fields went fallow, until there was just a handful of us. Taylor and Melody were the last additions before it all went to heck." He finished with a sigh.
Cale grimaced. "Sounds rough."
Dover snorted. "You don't know the half of it, white-horse boy."
Smirking, Cale nodded over at the opposite bunk, where Cody was fast asleep. "What about him?"
"Who, Cody?" Dover looked up at Cody's bunk, then over at Taylor, who had settled with his back to them, breathing shallow. "Didn't Taylor ever tell you how Melody died?"
"He mentioned it… something about rape."
Dover shook his head. "Well, that's just part of it. She had an infection, a pretty bad one. Damn unsanitary out here, and Master refused to get medical help for her when she gave birth to Cody… his own son, poor bastard," he groaned. "She died a couple weeks later. Pretty much destroyed Taylor. Master refused to have anything to do with the kid, but the Misses just loved him. She kept him in the house until he stopped teething and he was turned back to us." Dover paused, folding his arms and sinking down. "This life is all he's ever known… and at the rate things are going…. all he'll ever know."
A moment passed as this all sunk in. A question flitted through Cale's mind, and before he could stop himself at the absurdity of it, he voiced it. "Dover, is it? How 'come you call Taylor that and not Tai?"
"'Tai'? Huh. He never told us he had a nickname."
"Yeah… I gave it to him when we were kids. Before all this happened."
"Hmm. Well… maybe he wanted to forget it. Some things are better left forgotten," he murmured.
The lightbulb flickered and died.
It would have seemed unremarkable, walking down the same dusty road, hands in his pockets. Unremarkable, except Cale could not recall ever feeling this way before. His head was hung, watching his feet moving down the road. Kicking up dust. Not that he noticed. Detached and forlorn, his soul held back, the world playing by like a film reel. The feelings, however, were no illusion. They smote and fermented at the back of his mind, stirring up anger, stirring up sadness, stirring up dust and cobwebs of memories faded and yellow. He was alone, so alone. Grieving – for what? Angry for feeling this way. Sick of the dust, of the iron taste lolling in his mouth. And frightened. He'd never felt this sort of terror. It was pitiful, the sort of panic a beaten dog might have, ever wary of being struck again. The anxiety of a broken spirit. The fear of a slave.
Visions flashed before his mind, memories devised to replace ones he'd never experienced. He felt the pain of humiliation, so many faces staring, everybody watching. He saw hot summer days in the fields, the sun boiling his muscles until he wanted to scream in agony. It was just a blur of punishments and losses, exaggerated and twisted. The images were all punctuated by a nameless girl, a girl with an innocent smile who laughed and ran. She would appear and all those feelings were pushed aside. The visions, for a moment, didn't matter.
Until she disappeared. Then everything went dark again. Eventually the darkness did not lift, and Cale found himself alone again, walking an empty road, just kicking up dust.
A throbbing pain gripped his left wrist, a tearing and ripping. Cale seized his wrist, hissing, and his eyes snapped open again to darkness. Confusion swept the images out of his mind as he bolted upright and looked around, gaze adjusting. Across he could still see the other bunk bed, its occupants dark and unmoving. A dream. It was just a dream. With a sigh Cale leaned back against the wall, already forgetting what he had seen and felt.
"Cale? Are you all-right?" a voice whispered.
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. Cale looked again to see two black eyes watching him from the bottom of the opposite bunk, curious. "What? Wha… yeah… yeah, I'm fine. J-just a dream is all," he muttered back, running a hand through his hair. "Why are you awake?"
The black eyes winked out. "…I don't really sleep much anymore."
Silence returned to the orphanage. The pain effervesced with the fluttering tendrils of the dream. Cale shut his eyes again – and sneezed from the dust.
Dawn came earlier than anyone might have liked – or, for one, might have expected. Cale lay stretched out on the scrap mattress, blissful in his now undisturbed sleep. It was consoling, innocent, peaceful. In short, it made Dover want to puke.
Thus it came to be that the beautiful dreamer was awoken by the tip of his own shoe colliding with his back. Cale snorted awake, looking wildly over the railing – only to take the opposite shoe to the nose. His response could be noted only as something resembling "Ackfuhit".
"Top of the morning, Your Grace!" Dover crowed, pulling on the bunk. "Wouldn't want to miss your big day, would you, Mr. Hero?"
Cale shot Dover a weary-eyed glare then glanced out the window – which was still dark. "Wha - where's the sun? What time is it?"
"Time for you to get off your pompous ass, O Glorious One," he chortled.
With many a dark thought, Cale pulled on his shoes and shirt and swung a leg over the side of the bunk. Dover stepped back just in time as Cale missed his footing and slammed to the floor.
"Well, that's comforting," Dover drawled. "Guess there's no reason to fret then, with you here to save me and all."
Cale felt blood rise to his cheeks as quickly as he rose to his feet. "Hey listen, I came here for Tai, alright? I don't owe you anything."
Dover just flashed a saturnine grin and shrugged. "Your call. Nobody asked you to do anything. But if it's the spotlight you want, I think you've got it."
Cale sighed. It's too early for this. Change the subject quick. "Where's Tai and Cody?" he asked, eyes darting to the empty bunk.
"Taylor and our illegitimate ward are in the kitchen getting breakfast. They should be back-"
"-now," Taylor finished, pushing past the rickety door carrying two bowls. Cody tagged along at his heels, desperately juggling two bowls as well. Dover swooped down and snatched up one of the bowls just as the boy looked ready to topple.
"I didn't know you could carry two! Are you getting bigger? Come here, you, let me see…" Dover exclaimed all in a rush, tugging Cody by the sleeve. Cody smiled as Dover turned him about, looking him over. "I think you are! You need to stop getting taller, you'll be bigger than me soon. Might just have to slug you for that." Dover tapped the boy on the shoulder and Cody burst into giggles.
A hint of laughter lit Taylor's face as he handed Cale a bowl. "Here… best I can do…" The glow faded.
Cale looked down at the bowl, and for a moment had to decipher what exactly he was seeing. The substance in the bowl was one of the foulest colors he had ever seen, and had pretty much no smell – either aroma or odor. He found it hard to describe except as indescribable.
"Uh… thanks. I think. Do I want to know what's in this?"
"Best not to ask," Dover replied from his seat on the bunk, voice garbled through a mouthful of the pasty substance. "Been eating it for years… you stop caring." He swallowed, and his face suddenly broke into a grin. "I hear it works great as shampoo, doesn't it, Taylor? Oh man, the look on your face, it still kills me…" Dover choked with laughter.
Cale raised a brow as Taylor sighed, poking at his bowl, still standing. "… We won't bring up all the ways Dover tormented me when I got here. The list just keeps going," he grumbled.
"Aw, come on, I was just messing with you. You would have made fun of yourself, too, if you saw how piss scared you looked all the time-"
"Just shut up and eat, alright?" Taylor snapped. "This is going to be a long day."
Cale frowned down at his "breakfast", paling. Can't disagree with that.
"So what exactly is wrong with this thing, anyway?"
Cale stood surveying the archaic junk of machinery, hands on his hips, the blades of the windmill spinning against the overcast sky. The sun never rose, its rays hidden behind a thick layer of crabbed storm clouds. A deathly breeze shook the crooked bones of the skeletal windmill. Cale rubbed his hands together, the metal ring chilling his palm.
The slave master came up next to Cale, arms folded. "That, Mr. Tucker, is for you to find out. I didn't agree to give you no hints 'bout it."
Okay. Great. "Well, do I at least get tools to work with or something?" Cale asked, hands dropping to his sides.
The man barked a laugh. "You can work with your bare hands for all I care. Tho' I don't doubt one of the whelps will help you, no matter." He turned his head. "You! Who told you to stand there?" he bellowed at Taylor, who was standing at the edge of the field watching them.
Taylor stepped back. "No one, sir, I-"
"Shut up and go get the toolkit, then get to work, there's nothin' to stare at!" he roared. For a moment, Taylor didn't move. "NOW!" Taylor took another step backwards and ran off. He stood watching, then shook his head, chuckling. "Slow, that one," he said to Cale. He winked. "But nothing a little rawhide couldn't fix." He walked away, laughing to himself, calling over his shoulder: "You have until twilight."
Cale glared at the slave driver's retreating back, teeth gritting. "Don't worry. I won't need the extra time," he hissed, out of earshot. He turned back to the task at hand, taking in the situation. One glance told him he was working with simple machinery; craning his neck to take a look in, he could see the mechanisms above that should turn a pulley, leading down to what seemed to be a sort of pump and generator. The bottom of the windmill structure was boarded off to protect the machinery, and a series of pipes came out from any side, quickly hidden in the dirt and sand. Cale put it together as some sort of makeshift irrigation system, long out of order.
Taylor came up just then, a packet of tools under one arm. He looked about anxiously, handing the heavy toolkit to Cale. "Are you sure you can do this?"
Cale tried to give a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I can fix this… I just need a little time."
Frowning, Taylor searched his friend's face, a ghost's face lost to memory for four years.
"… Why are you doing this? This is bullshit," he bit out, breathing increasingly erratic. "You think this is a game, that you can just play around with this. Like you can charge in and everything will be better. How much of what you're doing is in the interest of us? Or are you, once again, just thinking of yourself? Trying to help your guilty conscience?"
Cale blinked, mouth ajar, the toolkit clutched in one hand. "No… I…"
Taylor shook his head, holding his arms. "Just… if you're going to do anything… then just get out of here. Alright? This is your last chance. Don't do this. You don't owe me anything. You already saved me once… you can't save me now."
Cale set his jaw, eyes narrowing. "I'm not leaving."
He stood staring for a moment, furious. "Fine," Taylor spat, then with a growl of frustration walked away. Head down, slumped, broken, as always.
Dover stood waiting by the slaves' quarters. Taylor glanced up at him, hollow black eyes seething out of the shadows. Dover smiled as Taylor drew near. "You know who he reminds me of?"
Taylor scowled, not bothering to look back. "Who?"
"You. You're both completely delusional."
Concentration was hard to come by as the hours passed. Quite possibly the only one doing their job was Cale, who hadn't so much as twitched in his attention. Mechanics was what he was best at and he knew it well. Yet tensions were still running high, and many an empty disagreement broke out from the anxiety punctuating the crackling air.
It was clear to Cale, as time went by and the sky rumbled, that the damage was worse than he thought. He tried to start simple with repairing the snapped pulley, but that only led to locked, rusty mechanisms. Tearing at the sprockets and gears was scraping his hands raw. Reassembling the gears only led to disassembling the clogged pump, mucked with stagnant, moldy water. Even if he could overcome the disgusting chore of cleaning out the pipes, for the life of him he couldn't get the generator to budge. A lot of the hardware was warped in places from exposure to the sun. The generator seemed to run from the turning of a series of pistons, all of which had welded to the casings, bone dry of oil. It didn't take long for Cale, short as his temper was and increasingly aware of the time, to become annoyed and desperate. With evening coming on, Cale switched to his last resort: he kicked the crap out of the machine.
Uncontrollable, Cody sat watching at a distance, wringing his hands. When Dover came by, Cody looked up, round face plaintive. "He'll make it, won't he?"
Dover looked out over the field, watching Cale collapse in front of his work, head on his hand. He frowned. "I don't know."
Cale took a deep breath, again muttering reassurances. "I can do this… I just need to relax is all… relax…" But he found it harder to relax as it became harder to see. He was close, so close, he knew he was. There was something missing, something he was overlooking. Struggling with it became listless; his hands fumbled. Even bypassing the circuits was hopeless. What am I missing?
Out of the corner of his eye he could see lights starting to flick on in the manor. It was beginning to drizzle. Cale rubbed at his arms, glancing up at the sky, miniscule droplets stinging his eyes. He learned against the windmill, exhausted, eyelids drooping. Time was almost up; it was ticking down already. No, I can't quit. I have to prove this. His eyes closed. I… can't…
"… fail."
He opened his eyes. Everyone stood staring at him where he sat slumped against the outside wall of the shack. He blinked around, shivering in his soaked clothing. It was past twilight, and there was a morose gloom over the group. Taylor's hung face was cast in shadow beneath his hair. Cody clutched at Dover's leg looking frightened. Dover's expression, for once, was completely empty. For a moment Cale wondered if he had died and this was his funeral. But then why did it hurt so badly?
Cale looked up at the smug grin of the slave master standing beside his wife. "Well, Mr. Tucker, time's up. How did you do?" His wife smiled.
He drew a deep, rattling breath. "I… I didn't… I couldn't get it to work. But I can. There's something missing with the generator. If I… if I just had a little more time…"
"That wasn't part of our agreement, boy. You told me you could have it running before twilight and you couldn't do it."
"No! I need more time! Please, just, give me more time…"
"Bet's a bet. Maybe next time you won't barter with your life. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough that it's not such an easy thing to just… throw away."
Cale stared blankly at him. This can't be happening… I can't believe this… A flash caught his eye, and all attention turned to the mistress.
Between her dainty fingers she held up a circuit board, crudely torn away. The metal and wires glimmered in the yellow light filtering from the door of the shack. Her cold blue eyes shone as she looked at the missing piece.
Her husband squinted at it, his composure shaken for a moment. "What is that? Where did you…"
"That's it, isn't it?" Taylor growled, head tilting up and bangs falling away. "The piece Cale is missing? You took it, didn't you?" His fists clenched.
The mistress grinned, and then her flowery lips sank into a pout. "I am sorry, boys," she cooed. "But I just couldn't have him stealing you away." At the last few words her eyes flashed a sinister glance towards Cale.
Cale scrambled to his feet, staring at the circuit board in disbelief. "What? That… that's not fair! That's cheating!" He looked to the amused face of the slave master. "Did you know?"
"Well… I knew she might… favor the chattels," he purred.
"Then you tricked me!"
"You could say that." He shrugged, grinning.
Cale shook his head violently. "No, no way, then, the bet's off, I want another chance…"
"You don't get another chance!" he snapped. "Game's over. Face it… you lost."
