Chapter 1

Lyle McFadden wasn't in a celebrating mood on this particular evening. After all, his wife Madeline kept snapping at him about the way that he looked at other women. Well, since he was a 6.3 and not getting any action at home, why wouldn't he look at others? That was especially true given how they were dressed.

Lyle knew that he was probably stuck on Earth fighting the dickheads when they showed up, and he wanted to live a little until then. There was no point in suffering until the very end. Naturally, he stopped caring about even whether it was wrong to pursue other women. Life was much shorter than once it seemed to be.

The fact that he hadn't done enough so far was partly due to bad luck. The sexiest women all seemed to go to the high CAP earners, leaving the rest to scrape for what they could take. Even then, the pickings were leaner due to those volunteers who had large harems and picked unattractive or plain girls for their concubines. Worse still, many girls turned men down flat when they had low CAP ratings.

Oh, there were always some girls who liked the freer attitude about sex in general, but they often treated men like Lyle as practice for sponsors. Then there were the female volunteers, but Lyle considered it unlikely that they would care much for him. His loyalty score was high, but his libido was average and his aggression extremely low. In fact, that was the main reason that he struck out so much with girls. He was so timid that he didn't impress women. He suspected that Madeline chose him because she wanted a doormat, a milksop.

Well, tonight, he would give it a try. He had forgone beer in favor of Irish whisky, a much stronger and bolder choice than his usual fare. The bartender looked pale when he heard the man's order, having met him before enough times to know that this was not a guy who usually drank hard liquor.

Lyle had enough courage to try a pickup line. Women supposedly hated those, but he had seen a few work on occasion, and he couldn't think of anything original. He was, after all, a man who barely passed English because of mediocre or unimaginative essays. Why couldn't he be strong, virile, and charming, like his brother Martin? His kid brother was now in the Navy, off fighting the Saarm while Lyle was still on Earth quivering in the presence of his despicable wife. Even Lyle's sisters and cousins were happy concubines, serving Martin and Mark, his brother's best friend. His ex-girlfriend Mary was a concubine herself, and had urged him to go along with her, but he had foolishly let his wife scare him out of it.

He just had to find a woman still here who didn't mind his attention. He felt his eyes focus on a busty cocktail waitress in a miniskirt and long, light brown hair. It was risky to make advances to such a woman who had probably heard them before a million times, but he had nothing to lose. After all, she could just dismiss it as an attempt to get better service. He decided to try it, since he didn't notice the number of abnormally tall patrons of both sexes and failed to recognize the signs in general.

"Hey, if you don't mind a nosy question, how is it that you haven't been picked up yet?" he managed to seem creative in spite of himself.

Instead of turning red with anger or embarrassment, the lady just smiled at him and brought him another shot without him verbally asking. Since he wanted one anyway, he didn't protest. When he downed it in a gulp and then grabbed his own throat in brief pain, she laughed and winked at him.

"You know, I could ask you the same question, buddy, especially with such a gift for sweet talk," she spoke softly and seductively.

"Well, to start with, my wife... ," Lyle stammered.

"Forget her. If she's afraid of surviving, that's her problem. There's no need to let her drag you down with her. That is what you meant, isn't it? I gather that you're not a sponsor, but there's another way to go. Trust me, compared to women like her, there are female sponsors who would be very good to you. Besides, if you were still willing to listen to her, you wouldn't be here. You want desperately to find someone else, don't you? You want an escape. She has no right to hold you back, hon.

"As for me, I still hope that I will get picked up. I certainly want to. I'll bet that both of us are better catches than your wife, and she is just envious that some of us might have a chance of survival. Want another drink? You seem like you could use more. The next round is on me. I admire your improved taste in booze. Whisky is an acid test for me. A man who can't stand it isn't able to deal with me, either. I give a little pain but a lot of pleasure, just like good firewater. But enough about me," the babe encouraged him.

"Thank you. I'm even more attracted to you than before. You've certainly helped motivate me to think of life after Madeline. I'm Lyle," he replied, eyeing her breasts and curves. She was not thin, but she had a figure that would make any red-blooded male look in her direction, married or single. She wasn't plump, either, and her golden tan was quite sultry by anyone's standards.

"I'm Katrina, but you can call me 'Kat'. All of the regulars do. Guys like you are why I really love my job. I enjoy the attention, but I always hope that some fellow will dare to actually try with me. Most either make half-hearted and hopeless attempts to get my number or just back off out of fear. You're the first man since I've started here to have the nerve to make a serious advance. I'm impressed, Lyle," the hottie answered him.

"Thank you, but how do I know that you're not getting me drunk to take advantage of me?" Lyle joked with her.

"You don't. You'll just have to find out, won't you?" Katrina answered him while copping a feel.

Lyle tried to hide his bulge, but that only drew attention to it, and the waitress started to fondle it. The bartender, who was also the proprietor, looked jealous and very annoyed that his help spent so much time on a single patron, but he didn't stop them.

It was just as well that no one made a scene, because the outside view went abruptly gray and the tall customers suddenly announced their true purpose. The leader was a powerful former contractor who looked like the high school linebacker that he had been. His hair was a salt-and-pepper color that belied his otherwise young and forceful appearance.

"Alright, I am Gunnery Sergeant Ron O'Hara of the Confederacy Space Marines. The members of my team will now scan the bar for all volunteers in this place. It's too small for me to do a roll call. However, I expect all volunteers to immediately start looking at possible concubines. To those of you here who don't qualify for sponsorship, bear in mind that this is your one chance at this location. I can't promise you for certain that there will be another chance to let someone pick you. I recommend that you don't let pride get in the way of saving yourselves and your families. To those who don't get picked, I give my regrets in advance.