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."