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From: Thinking Horndog <im_a_thinker@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Buying Wholesale 03/04 {Thinking Horndog} (MF mF exhib ScFi) (Swarm Cycle)
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Date: Sat, 01 Sep 2007 13:10:03 -0400
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Chapter 3 of 4.  A Swarm Cycle story.





  
___________________________________________________________________________
_________Ready for the edge of your seat?  Check out tonight's top picks on
Yahoo!  TV.  http://tv.yahoo.com/

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<1st attachment, "=?utf-8?q?Buying=20Wholesale=5F3.txt?=" begin>

Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Buying Wholesale
Part: 3 of 4
Universe: The Swarm
Summary: An experimental large-scale pickup of colonists is mounted in an
effort to boost the numbers of those escaping the Swarm.

Keywords: MF mF oral anal exhib ScFi

Chapter 3

	Things were getting organized in the show ring.  Marines were checking
CAP cards and putting sponsors in the stands while another group was setting
up the same holographic projectors that Meredith had seen in use at the
amphitheater.  SGT Holden had detailed Ed and Mike and six other soldiers to
guard the stock pens -- one of which was where the more or less excess male
population was being gathered.  There was a second pen where people of both
sexes who had no apparent interest in the proceedings were being gathered --
but that pen was bleeding out periodically...

	"Cindy, if you go over there and put yourself on display and don't get
taken, don't come back!" Jack Tillotson erupted.

	"Don't you care about the boys?" Cindy, a dishwater blonde woman in
her early thirties retorted.  "Would you rather they were eaten by those
things?"

	"It'll be all right -- I'll protect you!" Jack swore.

	"Yeah, sure..."  Cindy shook her head.

	"Cindy, please!  I'm begging you!"  If she went up there, even if she
came back down he would be mortified.  He loved her; it would be difficult,
but he couldn't wear that kind of horns...  Maybe if he did some serious
begging...  "I love you!  Please!"

	Cindy eyed her husband sadly.  "If you loved me, you'd peddle your ass
over there and elbow a couple of those hunks aside and get a woman's
attention!  They're much more likely to take us both!"

	"What have I got that is gonna make that work?" Jack asked.

	"Sell her the truth!  You want to get your wife and kids out of here!"
Cindy retorted.  "Make it sad and romantic!"

	"There have to be others..."

	"Not if you get there first!"

	"All right!"  Jack headed for the gate.  Cindy watched him go, sadly.
With him it was all about his fragile ego.  He would try -- and probably fuck
it up -- but to be fair, she would give him a while to make it happen before
she went over and committed the act that would end their relationship...

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

	Lisa gazed up at the stands; Ed told her that there were probably two
hundred fifty guys up there now.  The implication was that she might want to
take her chances in the ring -- something that was NOT gonna happen!  Ed had
already proven to be the guy she wanted -- and he understood about Mindy,
which made things even better.  No, she would stay right here...

	A lot more Marines had surfaced, herding people here and there as
gently as they could; some got stupid, and the stupid got zaps from the little
guns the Marines carried and ended up out cold on the ground.  Like a lot of
herds, that kind of object lesson was plenty for the average member, and
people were cooperating, generally.  Behind her, there were two pens -- one
for guys who wanted to get seen by female sponsors, and one for people who
weren't interested in going -- but Lisa was watching the ring...

	A Marine stood there with a microphone as a somewhat chubby bleached
blonde girl stepped over to the circle in the dirt that someone had drawn to
indicate the holographic projector's focal point.  "All right, guys, this is
-- what's your name, Honey?  Chelsea.  As you can see, she's built for lugging
kids.  CAP score is three point seven -- looks like she's a little weak on sex
drive, but will make a good mother.  Got any kids, Honey?"  Chelsea shook her
head no.  "Hold still -- we're gonna show off your good points!"  Chelsea
wasn't the first girl displayed; already, they'd gotten the hang of spreading
their stance so as to display their pussies.  Chelsea locked her knees and
lifted her chest to make her best impression and the projector displayed the
three hundred sixty degree view.  "All right!" the Marine bellowed.  "Any
takers?"

	And that's where the trouble manifested itself again.  A dozen hands
went up and there was no viable method of sorting out who wanted Chelsea the
most.  "This isn't working," Ed observed.

	"Yeah.  No money," Lisa agreed.

	That was the problem -- or, at least, one way of looking at it.  There
was no way to separate the mildly interested from the very interested.  At an
auction, you give up something -- money -- to pay for the stock you buy; here,
nobody had any money, so everyone was on an equal footing.  Nobody had a
budget; nobody had anything to lose.  The only differentiator was the fact
that some guys needed six women and some only needed two -- and that just
wasn't enough.  Gunny Phelps -- Ed's platoon sergeant -- called his colleague
in the sales barn, "We got trouble down here -- everybody wants everybody."

	"Same here.  Every chick we put up starts an hour-long argument,"
Gunny Sinclair agreed.  "We need something that'll make them think..."

	Ed was watching the mess unfold.  "There has got to be something..."

	Mindy popped up with, "Momma always tells me, 'If you take this, you
can't have that...' or 'If you do this now, you can't do that later...'  I
dunno..."

	It was the most Mindy had said at one burst since Ed had known her; he
wanted to take it seriously, but couldn't see how it helped...  "Thanks, but I
don't see what we're gonna tell them they can't have..."

	"Other girls?" Lisa blurted.

	"Huh?"

	"If you get this one, you can't bid on the next one..." Lisa was still
working on it.

	"Someone would have to keep track," Ed mused.

	"AIs can do that," Mike grunted.

	"Agreed," the AI interjected.

	Ed shifted to comm.  "Sarge, we've got an idea."  He explained
quickly.

	"Might work -- or at least narrow things," SGT Holden agreed.  "Good
work, Colon -- I'll bump it up the chain."  He called Gunny Phelps.  Phelps
passed the idea to Sinclair, who said, "Hang on -- we've got an expert here."
Turning to the auctioneer, he laid out the idea.

	"Yeah, that ought to fly -- gives them something to think about,
anyway," the man agreed.  "Then when you get it down to two or three you can
make 'em pay for the rights to get up close and personal with the girl --
which ought to sort things out..."

	Two minutes later, Gunny Phelps was briefing CPL Smith, the impromptu
auctioneer at the show ring.  Smitty put the plan on the PA, "Okay, this isn't
working, so we're gonna try something new.  You're gonna bid -- and you're
gonna pay with the right to bid on the next girl -- or the next five, or
whatever.  Then it comes down to the question whether you want this chick bad
enough to pass up being able to bid on the next fifteen -- any one of which
could be better -- get it?  If we come down to a pissing contest, then we'll
take it over there and whoever is left pays -- oh, I dunno -- twenty-five
options to feel her up and argue with the other guys who are interested.
Worst case, we go by how many slots you have to fill versus how many you have
total.  Got all that?  Okay, who wants Chelsea here bad enough to pass on the
next two?"

	Everybody froze, then a half-dozen hands went up, some very tentative.
"I've got two, how about five?"  Everybody stopped again to think, and the
group narrowed to three.  "I've got five, who'll give me ten?"

	Somebody yelled out, "Can I see the video again?"  Smitty waved at PFC
Compton, who cycled the holographic projector to again display Chelsea's
charms at several times life-size.  "Yeah, I'll go ten," the man confirmed.

	"Anybody else?" Smitty asked.  "Going once, going twice, sold to --
hold up your CAP card to be scanned, Sir! -- sold to Mr. Frederickson for ten!
Next!"

	"Shit!  It's working!" Ed grunted.  The next woman went for ten, and
the third for fifteen -- and in the process Mr. Frederickson got reminded that
he couldn't bid for another eight rounds, which helped the whole thing sink in
for others.  About that time, the auctioneer took over at the sales barn.

	"Works like gangbusters!" Gunny Sinclair told Gunny Phelps.  "Great
idea!"  Things were finally rolling...

	Things weren't smooth, by any means; in a bunch of cases, three or
more sponsors were willing to go to ridiculous lengths for a particular
hottie, so the side area where sponsors paid fifty options (they settled on
fifty to discourage bidders) to go to do road tests and conduct a second round
of bidding.  A couple of times, Gunny Phelps had to wade in and adjudicate,
usually based upon how many slots a sponsor had versus how many he had to
fill; a guy with one slot available out of two was going to win such
arguments, since the one girl was going to be a lot more important to him than
to a guy who was going to have four and has two openings left.

	Then there was the other end -- total embarrassment for a woman who
could not collect ANY bids...  "C'mon, guys!  You've GOT to ship with
SOMETHING, and you can always modify her to taste!" Smitty cajoled the first
time it happened while one particular heavy, saggy-breasted thirty-something
fake blonde (the pubes gave her away) sniffled in shame and humiliation.  "The
scores say she's a good fuck...  Are you performance-oriented, Honey?"  The
crying woman nodded.  "Okay, anyone want to test-drive?"  It was decided that
women who could collect no bids on the first pass would be allowed to
volunteer to demonstrate their skills for the remaining audience (if there was
one) and things moved forward.  As time went on, turndowns happened regularly,
which more or less guaranteed a second round for some of the women, at least.
When you factored in all of the variables -- reductions in the numbers for the
fact that while the overall population might be even OVER fifty percent
female, ten percent of them were children and five percent (present at the
fairgrounds) were over child-bearing age.  Even a married sponsor with a
minimum CAP needed one additional concubine (which took two out of
circulation).  Requirements for four or six -- or the very occasional eight --
women virtually ensured that the vast majority of the available female
population of the fair was going to find themselves a concubine to SOMEBODY,
especially when you figured in abstentions.

	Shipping wasn't the usual ninety second exercise, either.  Sponsors
filtered to the transfer point basically one at a time as their orders were
filled.  The platoon sergeants tended to monitor the transport terminuses --
and they gave the advice, "Why don't you test drive that before you are stuck
with it?" on a regular basis.  The fair had provided a couple of nice tents
with cubicles and mattresses in them for assignations, but that led to a
tendency to relax and hold the cubicle after sex, so the Marines moved the
mattresses outside to locations adjacent to the transport terminuses.  It was
a lot more public, but they were there for testing, not romance -- and it
worked, from several perspectives -- not least being some embarrassing returns
to the available pool for a few women...

	Nowhere was better than this venue to make it obvious that CAP testing
was heavily weighted in favor of traits exhibited most often by males; the
ratio was 80/20 or so.  But the flip side was the quantity of females being
shipped as concubines, which more than made up the numbers.  The situation
allowed the female sponsors to conduct more normal meat-market operations in
the male holding pens, rather than the auctions going on for females...
Locally, Ed figured he had two hundred fifty or so males vying for the
attention of thirty-eight women -- which was a LOT better odds than a standard
pickup!  Women tended to pop over directly into the sevens, too, which
TECHNICALLY meant four slots -- but usually ended up as less...

	Hilda Billings wasn't exactly huge -- more the tiny wren type -- but
she had a lot of drive and a LOT of intelligence!  Today was her day, and she
was seizing it like a pit bull!  "How many of you assholes are married?" she
demanded.  A shitload of hands went up.  "How many of your wives are over
there on the auction block?"  That got similar numbers -- which made it a poor
selection criterion.  "How many of them aren't here at all?"  That got a
smattering -- maybe twenty.  "Walk away, boys," she told them.  "How many of
you REALLY want your old lady with you if you can swing it?"  Maybe sixty
percent of the previous pool raised their hands.  "How many don't?"  The forty
percent answered.  "You that don't can hit the bricks, too -- no loyalty,"
Hilda declared.  That left maybe forty.  "All right!  You're my pool!  I've
got four slots, but two men are more than enough!  I'll make time for
pregnancy, but I won't have time for motherhood -- if your old lady is a piss-
poor mom, don't even bother...  Line up here and sell me!"

	Jack Tillotson took a swing -- and missed.  "My wife is a good mom --
we've got two boys..."

	Hilda's eyes narrowed.  "Boys are a lot of trouble, aren't they?"

	"Well, some, but..." Jack backpedaled.  "They're more likely to..."

	"Succeed?" Hilda filled in for him, glaring.  "You're right, of course
-- but I don't have to like it.  Where is she?"

	"Over there," Jack replied, pointing to the other pen.

	"Why there?  Why isn't she out trying to get her kids a ride?" Hilda
demanded.

	"I wouldn't let her..."

	"You wouldn't let her."  Hilda's expression said it all.  "Next!"

	Cindy could tell that Jack had blown it from a hundred feet.  Sighing,
she decided she would let him bounce off one more woman before she headed for
the gate.  After that, the stubborn bastard would just have to take his
lumps...

	Jack, having subsided visibly, muttered, "Actually, I begged her to
wait and see what I could do..."

	Hilda stopped talking to the next guy.  "What was that?"

	"I... begged her to wait.  If I screw up, she'll go -- and I can't
stand the idea," Jack related miserably.

	Hilda eyed him.  "Don't go anywhere -- we're not done yet."

	The next ten minutes were godawful.  Jack watched, sweating, while
Hilda went through her other applicants -- positively settling on one guy.  In
the meantime, two other women examined him -- and passed.  But Hilda came
back...

	She glared up at him, hands on her hips.  "You're an idiot," she
announced, "but it might be fun to house train you.  Question is, how smart is
your wife?  She married you, which isn't a good sign, but..."  Se eyed him for
a moment.  "Does she like girls?"

	"Sorry?"  Jack was afraid he understood her.

	"Does she lick pussy?  Has she ever slept with a woman?"

	Jack turned dead white.  He opened his mouth to provide the obvious
answer -- that one that would salvage his pride -- but he knew better.
Finally, he managed a toneless, "I don't know."

	Hilda actually smiled.  "That's the first intelligent thing you've
said all day.  Go ask her -- and bring me her answer."

	Cindy was halfway to the holding area for volunteers, having finally
given up when she watched what appeared to be Jack's third strike.  "Jack, I'm
sorry, but I can't stay here and watch aliens kill the boys to salve your
pride," she told him, assuming that he was trying to cut her off.

	"I-- There's a woman..." Jack stammered.

	"What?"

	"I might have gotten someone.  Maybe."

	"Jack, I was watching, you know..."

	"Then you saw her come back, right?"

	"Who?"

	"The little one."  Jack pointed.  Hilda was obviously observing them,
hands on hips.

	Cindy blinked.  "Okay.  What does she want?"

	Jack took a breath.  "She wants to know if... you've slept with
girls."

	Cindy looked at Hilda and looked back at Jack.  "What did you tell
her?"

	"I said I didn't know."

	Cindy looked Hilda's way again.  "What else did she say?"

	"It was pretty embarrassing..."  Jack related -- word for word, after
some prompting -- everything that had passed between himself and the small
woman.  Cindy spent a lot of that time with her eyes fixed on the small woman
fifty feet away -- who was looking back just as fixedly.

	At the end of it, Cindy pursed her lips and told Jack, "I'm going to
give you two answers to take back.  You can try the first one -- but I'm
betting it won't work."

	"Okay..."  Jack eyed his wife in some trepidation.

	"Tell her I can if that's what she wants."

	"Okay..."  It wasn't terribly palatable, but Cindy was certainly being
clear about what lengths she would go to for the lives of the four of them.
He turned away.

	"Jack."

	He stopped, without looking back.  "Yes?"

	"If that doesn't work, the short answer is yes -- I did a couple of
overnight rug-munching parties with sorority sisters in college before I met
you.  I know my way around..."

	"You never told me," Jack mumbled, his voice colorless.

	"It didn't seem politic," Cindy replied gently.  "Besides, once we
were going together, it wasn't anything I needed to continue."

	"Okay."  There really wasn't any other answer.  Head down, Jack
trudged off.

	Hilda was waiting, visibly impatient.  "Well?"

	"She says she can if that's what you want," Jack muttered.

	"That wasn't what I asked, Smart Guy.  I asked if she was experienced.
That's a one word answer," Hilda turned the screws.

	Pride was going to get him killed -- AND Cindy, AND the boys!  Calm
settled over him.  "Yes."

	"Took you long enough.  Between us, we'll make a man of you yet!  Go
get her," Hilda directed.  "I've got to go collect the other knot head."

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

	And so the day wore on.  H Hour had been at ten-thirty local, and it
had taken a good hour to get things organized, during which time the outside
world became aware of the situation at the fairground.  By noon, there were
news crews from five networks camped in the parking lot, talking a lot about
things they knew nothing about -- but they weren't the only ones, by any
means!  The police already detailed for traffic control on the approach roads
had to be reinforced and reinforced again as people surged to the fairgrounds
to see if they had any possible shot at getting in on the bonanza.  Common
sense said that nobody had a shot -- and common sense was DEAD WRONG!

	CPT McPherson was committed to filling a thousand pod transport -- and
he was short about a hundred thirty-five sponsors.  That being the case, there
were games being played by the small detachment outside the fence.  Okay, so
maybe they were cherry picking -- what's your point?

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

	Charlotte McIntyre didn't collect a lot of serious male attention.
Oh, she got attention, all right, but it was seldom long-term.  She was a big
girl -- almost six feet, and husky -- and when she pulled her hair back in a
bun and put on her Smokey Bear hat and Deputy Sheriff's uniform like she was
today, she could look pretty striking -- and pretty forbidding, despite the
fact that she was pretty easygoing.  Right now, she was patrolling the edge of
the parking lot -- not to keep people from going up to the interdiction field,
that was a lost cause -- but to keep more idiots from trying to drive cars
through it.  Certainly, she sympathized with those desperate souls; she was
cursing the luck that had her off-shift from another detail when this circus
started.  If she HAD been on the detail...  She sighed -- there was no help
for it; she was going to watch another extraction from outside...

	"Corporal McIntyre!  Good to see you!"  A tall individual carrying a
PDA or something wandered up, smiling.

	Charlotte frowned.  "I don't know you -- and I'm not a Corporal."  She
eyed him suspiciously.  What was he, some kind of TV producer?  Some other
flavor of perp who thought she could get him behind that wall?  Shit, if she
could do that...

	"Funny, that's not what this says," the guy said, holding out the PDA.
Charlotte glanced around suspiciously and took it from him, handling it as if
it were a bomb.  Nothing happened, so she took a look at the screen, which
said:

	McIntyre, Charlotte R. E.
	Rank:  Corporal
	Unit:  B Co., 2/7 Confederacy Space Marines
	Status:_?_

	"I'm going to mark you as present for duty, if that's all right with
you..." the Marine smiled.

	Blood rushed everywhere in Charlotte, leaving some areas pink and
others white.  Her eyes teared as a wash of emotion overcame her.  'I'm gonna
hunt dickheads!  OMIGAWD!'  "Now?  Here?"

	"Now.  Here."

	Charlotte got a grip on herself, took a step back, and snapped a
parade-ground salute.  "Reporting for duty, SIR!"

	The Marine grinned.  "Relax, Corporal -- shit, you outrank me!"  He
took the pad from her hand and clicked the screen with a stylus, then selected
'Present for Duty' from the list.  "The duty assignment is provisional, until
you get back from training, but we DO have a hole in Third Platoon..."  He
stepped in close, "Do you have anything in the way of a personal entourage
that you need to chase down to ship out with you?  We don't generally give out
chances like this, but..."

	"No."  Most of the guys she met on duty were getting tickets -- or
cuffs.  If she just HAD to ride the pony, there was a select group of
colleagues -- two, in fact -- that she might undo her bun for...

	"You're gonna have to fix that, then," the Marine told her.  "We'll
transport you inside and you can choose your four strap-hangers.  Want some
advice?  Get at least one woman -- you won't have time for motherhood.  Guys,
well...  you won't have to go far."

	"Chase dick on your own time, McIntyre!"  SGT Jensen DEFINITELY wasn't
on Charlotte's short list.  He was an egotistical smartass -- and he had the
smell of crooked cop about him.  Charlotte hadn't caught him yet, but she
suspected that he was the reason that pot never seemed to last until trial in
the evidence locker...

	"You're one short, I'm afraid, Sergeant," the Marine muttered.
"Corporal McIntyre just put on a different uniform."

	"So the rumor mill was right, then?" Jensen smiled nastily.  "The
Marines have come for our little Carlotta?  Whose bed are you gonna feather
there, Carlotta?  Carlotta the harlot..."

	"That would seem to be enough..."  The Marine tossed the PDA into the
air and managed to hit SGT Jensen about three times before it came back within
reach.  Jensen went backwards over a car hood.

	This drew the expected response from local law enforcement -- about a
dozen guns came out.  "STOP!" Charlotte yelled.

	LT Bartholomew came over at the run, gun still drawn.  "What the Hell
is this?"

	"It's called assault on Confederacy personnel in the performance of
their duty," the Marine said icily.  "Permit me to introduce myself; I'm PFC
Wittenauer, Confederacy Space Marines!"

	"I don't see you as being the subject of an assault," Bartholomew said
carefully.  The charge was the most regularly invoked of a series of eight
"crash landings," offenses that Confederacy Marines had immediate and complete
jurisdiction over -- and the penalty...

	"I wasn't," PFC Wittenauer replied.  "Corporal McIntyre, here, was.
SGT Jensen seems to think that being female is an actionable offense.  Since
the assault was only verbal, I figure he's been adequately punished," he
continued, eyeing Jensen as he appeared slowly over the hood of the car he'd
vaulted, "Unless he wishes to appeal..."

	"McIntyre is a Deputy Sheriff," Bartholomew rejoined.

	"Not since about three minutes ago," Wittenauer replied.  "You've got
a hole in your TO & E, Lieutenant -- sorry."

	"Stand down, people!" Bartholomew barked.  "I don't have to like
this..."

	"No, you don't," Wittenauer agreed.  "Corporal?"  He turned away.

	"Fuck THIS!" Jensen growled.  Reaching for his sidearm, he yelled,
"Halt!  You're under arrr--!!"

	ZAP!  ZAP!  ZAP!  Wittenauer somehow converted a quarter-second delay
into a fast-draw contest -- and shot not only Jensen, but two others who were
raising their guns!  Suddenly, there were six more Marines present, too -- all
of them armed.  The sergeant in charge eyed Bartholomew, "I thought we were
here to help each other..."  Turning to Wittenauer, he asked, "Kill anybody?"

	"Not if they're healthy, Sarge," Wittenauer replied.

	"You've got a discipline problem," the Sergeant told Bartholomew.
"Make sure that comes out at the disciplinary hearing when you bust your
sergeant back to whatever is at your bottom end -- and I recommend that you
not detail him to cover pickups -- might be unhealthy for him."  Turning to
McIntyre, he added, "I hope you're more stealthy around alien dickheads than
the local ones, McIntyre.  Let's go..."  He led the others off toward a spot
nearby where someone had set up a transport terminus.

	Bartholomew watched them leave, taking one of his own who he had
already marked for promotion with them.  "Call for the paramedics -- and for
more backup!" he barked.

	SGT McPherson waited until they were inside the interdiction field
before ripping a wide strip of PFC Wittenauer's hide from his ass; it wouldn't
be good relations to let the local yokels see such things...  Five minutes
later, Charlotte was standing outside the men's gathering pen at the side of
the amphitheater, wondering, 'What should I be looking for in a man, for
Christ's sake...'

	Actually, the first pick turned out to be not so hard; while she stood
there at the edge of the display area, a slight, balding fellow in eyeglasses
wormed his way to the edge of the group and gazed up at her in honest wonder,
"Wow!"

	Charlotte eyed him warily.  "Wow?"

	"Wow."  The guy nodded.  He didn't seem capable of following the
exclamation up; he was still just... gazing...

	"What's wow?" Charlotte frowned.

	"You!  You're...  Wow!"  The guy couldn't seem to be any clearer about
it.  But there was open admiration in his face...

	Charlotte glanced around.  Most of the other males in the vicinity
were eyeing her warily, as if they worried that she was trouble on the hoof --
a not-unusual reaction.  Guys tended to be threatened and repelled by her size
-- and her profession didn't help at all...

	Finally, the guy asked her, "What are you doing inside here?  Aren't
all of the cops outside?"

	Charlotte blinked -- he hadn't put two and two together, apparently --
and neither, from the looks of things, had several others present!  "I was
already inside..." she lied.

	"Why aren't you...?"  He waved at the amphitheater stage, where women
were still being auctioned off.

	Charlotte turned to look; she'd taken the whole thing in,
peripherally, but it didn't apply to her.  Besides, it would have been a waste
of time, undoubtedly...  That was the tack to take here, she decided.  "I'd
just embarrass myself -- no one would bid on me."

	"You don't know that!" he exploded.  "I would!"

	"I can't imagine why," she retorted, now thoroughly engaged.  "Does
insanity run in your family or something?  What on Earth are you seeing,
anyway?"

	"I can't explain it," he replied seriously, "You're just so...
robust..."  He glanced around.  "I'm wasting my time here, too, but I figured
it was worth a shot.  When they drop the barrier, maybe we could -- I dunno --
go out to eat or something?  Or are you working?"

	Charlotte stood there in slack-jawed shock!  The guy just asked her
out on a date!  He really wasn't hard to look at; obviously, he wasn't the
gymnasium type, but...

	"Uh, sorry," he backpedaled, "I didn't mean to be pushy..."

	"No, it's fine -- I don't get many offers," Charlotte tried to get her
legs under her.  "What do you do for a living?"

	"I'm in the analysis department at," he named a local stock trading
firm.  "I do options analysis for the brokers."

	"You're not a broker?"  Why didn't he claim to be one?  How would she
know the difference?

	He shook his head.  "Too much excitement and stress.  I like to look
at things at one remove, not sit sucking Maalox and worrying about whether I
guessed right," he explained.

	"Can I see your CAP card?" she asked.

	"Sure."  He glanced around; there were about six women patrolling the
perimeter, wandering in to ask questions of the other guys in the group.
Maybe if he got seen showing his card one of them would wonder why -- not that
they had anything going for them other than the fact that they were leaving...
Deputy McIntyre, here, was probably a better choice -- too bad...  Well, she
was still talking to him -- maybe he could still wangle a date, after all.

	Charlotte eyed the card.  David Findlay, five point seven, despite
some pretty low scores for competitiveness and ambition.  High responsibility
index...  Very supportive.  Sexual scores were promising, but they were all
unrealized potential, severely limited by shyness and self-doubt...  "Well,
David -- you don't mind if I call you David, do you?  These scores are pretty
impressive.  I'm surprised that you're not over there at the auction!"

	David grimaced.  "I'm afraid I'd be useless in actual combat, although
I might be okay at doing engagement analysis."  It didn't appear that having
Deputy McIntyre handle his CAP card was having the half-hoped-for result --
but then, he'd have lost the opportunity to continue enjoying her company --
and for nothing, no doubt; chances were that whoever looked would move on and
the whole thing would have turned out to be an unwelcome termination of a
pleasant conversation.

	"Well, we can't all throw spears," Charlotte retorted.  "Look, I don't
want to ruin your chances, but..."

	David snorted.  "I have none.  One second."  He circled around to the
opening in the rail of the collection area and came out.  "I wonder if any of
the food vendors are open?"

	Charlotte realized that she'd gone 'way too far.  "David, I haven't
been totally honest with you," she confessed.  "You made assumptions that I
never bothered to correct."  She fished out her CAP card and handed it to him.

	His eyebrows went up.  "Why?"

	"Why what?  Why did I lie to you?"

	"No, why did you bother with me?"

	"You took me so by surprise," she confessed.  "I just couldn't put an
end to it."

	"But you have now..."  David visibly deflated.

	"I hope not," Charlotte replied.  "I just thought we should move
forward more honestly."  She turned to him, "I have three more slots to fill,
but I think we should look at a couple, don't you?"

	David's eyed blurred.  "Yes," he croaked, "that might be a good
idea..."

	"Most of the couples are split and working independently," Charlotte
observed, taking his hand.  "Perhaps we should look at the women and backtrack
on their husbands?"  She led him off toward the amphitheater auction.  "We
should probably concentrate on women with children..."

	David merely nodded; speech was impossible.  He would follow his
Amazon wherever she led...

<1st attachment end>


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