Neil opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His eyes squinted, and then he blinked as he came to terms with what was occurring. "So... hold on, just because the government is offering my bounty doesn't mean I owe you the bounty! You aint turned me in yet. Plus I took care of those bounty hunters." He poked his chest with his thumb, puffing it out. "I'm tryna be fair here! But yeah, I did cause a fire. It was that or be taken to their ship."

He did legitimately feel a bit bad about that, though she was making it difficult not to at least stun her and negotiate with her in the cell. The kitchen damage was a sound debt, however. "But that's fair, I owe you that, and I can work that off in... uh..."

Neil squatted, resting the modified rifle on his knees and counting with his fingers, mumbling to himself as he started calculating how long it would take to pay back that amount with a job like the one he had before he was skyrocketed off Hyperion 3. Maybe he could be a bounty hunter too? Or he could steal the money. He heard there was a big casino in Proxima Centauri. Did Charlie still work there? Man, he had not seen him in forever. He wondered if he could rig some dice games for him?

Alpha Centari was an old system. Like Trantor, it had been one of the first human colonies, reached in the ancient past by slow boat generation ship. Unfortunately old didn't mean important. FTL travel had been invented just a few years after the colonists arrived, and they had no doubt been shocked when ships from Earth appeared above them, having taken only a month to cover the distance that had taken generations. With unfettered access to the stars, humans had moved on to brighter prospects, leaving Alpha Centari as a backwater. AC did have one advantage however, and that was the generational wealth that the colonists had brought with them. After nearly five hundred years of star travel, every colonist that arrived on AC was a billionaire due to the miracles of compounding interest and the fact that Earth hadn't collapsed during their long voyage through the dark. With that huge wealth AC had become the banking capital of human universe, investing their new found wealth far and wide. Even after the collapse AC had remained safe and secure, a place of banks, counting houses, and above all casinos.

The Dragonfly shuddered out of subspace some distance from the primary. Even so it was only a moment or two before guardships hailed them. The guardships were sleek destroyers, painted in the colors of the banking clans which paid their upkeep. They were fancier than any frontline Hegemony warship, but there was no doubt they were as deadly as anything aloft.

"Can confirm, I am an armed yacht seeking repairs," Jocasta said into her comm unit. The past few days had been tense but Neil hadn't yet tried to jump her. He sat in one of the bridge consoles, fiddling with the comm system. Behind him Cygi stood with a comically large hammer, arching an eyebrow at Jocasta. Neil turned and the AI vanished before he could catch sight of her. When he turned back she reappeared this time dressed as a pirate with a long and evil looking knife with which she pantomimed cutting his throat. Cygi, it seemed, had opinions about collecting that bounty. Jocasta wrinkled her nose, the smell of cooked human still hanging in the ventilation system.

"Yes I have docking fees," Jocasta responded. There was a burble in her ear.

"Sorry I said I have docking fees, not that I wanted to buy the dock," she responded. Another burble. Evidently they had heard that one before. She transmitted her credits and a green navigation beacon lit up, aimed at one of the palatial orbital stations.

"Well we can land, but we are going to need to find some cash and fast," she said.

Alpha Centauri had been colonized and terraformed during humanity's golden age, back when they still had the means to terraform entire planets and could deploy machines that would not immediately turn on their creators. Back when earth was the center of an expanding empire and the men serving under the alliance of earth nations were paid well and fought and explored with complete dedication to the ascension of humanity. The civil wars that followed had made it a second sol, in support of the loyalists, giving it more than a mere symbolic importance and signifying it as the banking capital, where the old money solidified. However, the invasion by the Hexanagallions had not been kind to Sol's sister system. The planet Bucephalus, known originally as Proxima Centauri B, had been photon bombed and knocked off its axis, destroying its verdant ecosystem and ruining its atmosphere. It's small moon had been shattered, and now the lifeless husk of a planet floated out of the habitable zone, caught between the three stellar bodies of the system in an endless loop of nights that lasted months and days that took years to complete.

The banking and casinos, luckily, had mostly conducted their businesses in stations surrounding the planets. They now mostly hovered in orbit of Proxima Centauri, still in Bucephalus's old orbit. It was practically an asteroid field of stations and loose planetary debris, all collectively known as the Golden Girdle, or simply the 'Girdle.'

"I haven't been here in awhile," Neil said to himself quietly.

Cygi popped up in front of him. "Owe money here, do ye?" She asked, her pirate garb still on.

Neil snorted. "Hey, just because I have a bounty doesn't mean I cause trouble everywhere I go. Only a lot of places, but no here I'm clean. S'far as I know, at least. As for money, I do feel responsible for the kitchen so I can probably scrounge up some credits here at the dice tables. That or I can get some prize money from the rekker ring."

"The what?" Jocasta asked, the ship now in automated flight as the Dragonfly pulled into the shield of the Alpha Acropolis, one of the larger stations that still clutched a bit of old Bucephalos as its base.

"They got mech fights here. They're not big mechs, and the money isn't as profitable as it used to be, but it's still pretty popular. I could give it a go... that or we can steal some cash."

The Dragonfly passed through the phaser shields, keeping the breathable atomsphere in the hanger but allowing ships to pass through freely. The Dragonfly barely made a sound as it landed, pressurized air streaming out as the bulkhead door slid open. Neil practically bounded out of the ship, Jocasta racing behind him just in case he was going to disappear, but when she leaped out, she saw him admiring the ship instead. He gave a low whistle, ducking down to peek at its sleek underbelly.

"I never actually got a chance to see the outside of her. She's gorgeous," he marveled.

"It helps a bit that you cant see the ventral airlock from here," Jocasta admitted, drawn in spite of herself. She loved the Dragonfly and it wasn't easy not to share Neil's excitement. The landing bay was a large place, capable of docking two or three heavy freighters, though a present it was given over to half a dozen smaller craft, mostly intrasystem packets that ran cargo between the many stations of the girdle. It was a working space and the air rang with the sound of impact wrenches and welding flux generators. Jocasta fondly wished she could afford a full yard overhaul, but as it was she was probably going to be lucky to scrape together enough for fuel.

Neil was standing with his back to the boarding ramp and so couldn't see Cygi produce a sack with a credit symbol painted on it and crudely pantomime shooting Neil. Jocasta smiled flatly. She was tempted, but even if she managed to club Neil over the head, she would have still needed fuel to get him to the drop off point a half a parsec away.

"Mech fighting you say?" Jocasta asked instead. There had been a mania for robot fighting in the past few years. A lot of hardware suddenly up for grabs now that peace were declared. She wasn't entirely certain how they would make money on such an endeavor beyond betting and with the few credits she had that would take more time than she could afford to stay docked. Unless she could get really long odds on a sure thing of course.

"Aren't those fights fixed?" she asked, the inkling of an idea percolating in the back of her febrile mind.

"Nah, they're just not supposed to be lethal." He said, crouching down and resting his arms across his knees as he admired the underbelly of the Dragonfly. "Though they can be. Hell, it's what the crowd would rather have."

"If we're going to do this, don't go dying on me, cowboy." Jocasta said, cocking her hip and crossing her arms. Neil looked up at her.

"Too handsome to die?"

"Too expensive."

"Ah."

---

The ring was simply a colloquial term. The true arena was a hexagonal wall of reinforced steel and cryocrete and electromagnetic pillars that created a negative charge that cushioned the steel behemoths from hitting the walls with full force if they charged or were tossed out of bounds. Beyond the walls was a hyperfyber glass, bulletproof and impenetrable against shrapnel or small-yield explosives. The stadium around the ring could house ten thousand occupants, but the real crowd would be watching on the holovids. There were thirty million inhabitants of the Golden Girdle at any one time, however the numbers could fly as high as twice that during rush cycles. And these fights would be shown on every public holovid and on many private ones across one hundred thousand kilometers.

First thing was first. Neil and Jocasta needed two things. Firstly, they needed a Rekker, which meant a APC between 3 and 4 meters tall, and secondly, they needed a patron to back their bid, else Neil wouldn't go anywhere near the ring. Just as with everything, the rich and powerful had their toes in anything that could potentially make them more rich or powerful, and it also curbed their boredom. So every fighter was backed by a patron, and had a team that could acts as a spokesperson, a coach, and a medic in times of need. Neil felt Jocasta could serve each of those roles well enough. Hell, he probably only needed a spokesperson.

The Rekker was another thing entirely. Neil had taken all the gear and weapons off the deceased bounty hunters and with a few questions to the right people, located a place he could potentially sell them for some extra cash. Even the most optimistic outcome, however, would mean they were pretty short of a real Rekker. They might have to settle for a piece of junk and Neil's expertise until they won a few matches and could patch it up to win the big prize. Fifty thousand credits a pop for four rounds, with twenty five percent of the earnings going to the patron, and the fifth round was five hundred thousand credits, and an added two hundred thousand for the patron. However, the big bucks were in the betting pools. That was why the rumors of fixed fights came about. A few champions had thrown matches at the finale to win big in the betting. The fighters were now banned from betting after this incident occurred a few times, but that did not stop them from using proxies.

Neil explained all this to Jocasta as they made their way down the Presidium's stairs to the lower quarters, below the casinos, vaults, hanger, and the great mall that dominated the center of this particular station, dubbed 'Alexandria IV.'

"This is all fascinating, cowlick, but where are we going exactly?" Jocasta asked, causing Neil to glance up and smooth his hair on instinct. She smirked and he gave her a look when he realized she had been messing with him.

"We're going to find someone who'll buy these rifles and gear for a good price. Maybe then we can grab a junker or I can game our money up enough to find us a real Rekker to use."

“Beest I kin do iz teen tousand,” Gerk, the paunchy pawnbroker said as he surveyed the guns and equipment. He pulled a monocular lens into place and scrutinized the flechette gun without changing his offer.

“Come on, its worth twice that much!” Neil objected. Gerk rubbed his monocular with a lens.

“In zat keese…. teen tousand,” the pawnbroker reiterated he shrugged in the general direction of the walls of his shop.

“War ez oveer, heave guns da? No hestory, worth seemthing, but not much,” he explained. Jocasta pondered just hitting Neil over the head and stealing enough fuel to get him to the drop point but dragging an unconscious body back to the ship and confining him would raise too many red flags.

Gerzyirsky’s Boutique Boom Emporium was on the lower level of the station and seemed to have started life as a general purpose warehouse that had slowly morphed into a gun store. Plastic walls had been replaced by security steel that made the original frames sag alarmingly. Gerk sat behind a wire mesh cage that had once probably been a shield generator, but had long since phased its last electron.

“On of deez though,” Gerk said and reached out to snatch one of the small dragonfly drones from the air with surprising dexterity. “This would be worth an extra…ahhh!” There was an arcing blast of electrical discharge as the drone dumped it spare capacitor into the gun dealer, he pulled his hand away smoking and twitching.

“Not for sale, and no touchy,” Jocasta advised.

"Look, buddy" Neil warned, stepping closer to Gerk. "There is no war, but you know the value of these guns. I'll accept twelve thousand, no less, or I find someone else."

"Zen find someone elze," The paunchy salesman said triumphantly, turning away from the two young customers. Neil knew the lowly pawner sought to reel Neil in with an aloof act, and Neil wasn't going to fall for it. But at the same time, Jocasta was expecting this to work, and while he did not feel he owed her anything, it was hard not to want to please an attractive girl. Particularly one whom he could tell was usually more silly and congenial, when the circumstances called for it.

"'Zen find someone elze'" Neil mocked, looking at Jocasta as if he was sharing an inside joke with her, and as if the merchant couldn't hear him clear as day. She smirked, finding the humor in it, though her eyebrow raised at what Neil was playing at. "I guess we'll just take these VAPADON BLASTER RIFLES AND HIGH YIELD LASPISTOLS WITH US. I'M SORRY I COULDN'T ACCEPT YOUR CIZNEX AS PAYMENT, BUT I AM A MAN OF THE LAW!"

The merchant gave a start. "What are ze doing!?" The salesman cried, eyes wide at the sudden theatrics. Jocasta would know Ciznex was a potent narcotic and illegal substance that could ruin a business, even in such low quarters. Not only that, but Neil suspected old Gerk likely did put his finger in the business. A lot of low-lifes did, despite the risks. "I deed no zush thing! Ok! Ok! I'll buy your blasteed guns! Twenty thousand!"

"Oh, he's cooperative now?" Neil ask Jocasta in awe.

"Wonder why..." She mused facetiously, one of her drones buzzing around Neil.

"Excuse me," A voice remarked. All three of their heads turned to the sound, and a blonde gentleman in a servants garb stepped out of the stalls. He had a wide face and a large jaw, but kindly eyes. "Did you mention a Vapadon blaster rifle? It wouldn't happen to be model-series 7, would it?"

Neil gave the newcomer an inquisitive look, and then rechecked the rifle's stock, though he already knew the answer. "Yes it is, who's askin'?"

---

The next day...

The previous night had been a curious one. The man that had inquired about the rifle Neil and Jocasta were about to sell to was an aide of one of the upper nobility. An antique arms dealer and collector of limited munitions, looking for new weapons to add to his collection. Despite the heart attack Neil had nearly granted Gerk, they ended up not taking him up his twenty thousand credit offer, after all. Instead, they had left the stricken man and had allowed the servant to take them to one of the upper levels, past the main presidium to the patrician suites.

Within, they had been granted a spartan room where they were met by a large holoscreen projector placed upon the wall. On the table before them was a glass of expensive gin, with two glasses. The servant had left them by themselves, and after a few seconds of confused silence, the screen powered on and they were face to face with a man who introduced himself as Lord Henry Byrecroft, who wished to pay thirty thousand for the rifle, along the accompanying blasters.

Neil had a counter offer, and after some swift negotiation and a bit of advice from Jocasta, the two had found themselves sequestered past an audience of twelve thousand, deep in the bowels of the Rekker Ring, though that was a colloquial name. The spaces cordoned off for the fighters and their teams were located dozens of meters under the floor in a clockwise placement, with full kit, a small workshop for repairs and modifications, and even a small break area with snacks and a mini-fridge. Lord Byrecroft had not thought the Blaster Rifle was worth a top of the line Rekker, but his patronage and expensive offer for the rifle and the accompanying firearms gave them something to work with, at least to Neil's eyes.

Standing on the moveable platform, awaiting its turn in the ring was the Rekker, which Neil affectionately called 'Hunk' to tease Jocasta, as she had immediately called it a hunk of junk when she first laid eyes on it. The humanoid mecha was 3.7 meters tall, with outdated hydraulic systems, peeled off paint, a gun that looked as if it would jam by the slightest bump, and a bowed leg, which honestly confused Neil as he could not see how that would occur without it being a conscious design choice. Still, as soon as Neil had stepped inside it's central control placement, he had a vitality to him. And considering Neil was usually quite animated, that was saying something.

The light above turned red and flashing, indicating it was now time to fight.

"Ready Jo?" Neil asked Jocasta as she stepped onto the platform with him.

"So how exactly am I supposed to hype this piece of rust?" She asked. "This better work, by the way. And if you die I don't get paid."

"If I die I don't get paid either, so at least we have equal stakes." He said, straight enough to make it indecipherable if he was joking or he hadn't thought the statement through. "And I don't know..." He leaned over, smiling flirtatiously. "You can talk about me? Anything to get the crowd going. We want bets, after all."

The platform began to move backwards, air escaping the once-sealed walls and the two lurched as they were dragged backwards into a dark corridor, before yellow-safety lights chimed around them and they slowly rose.

Jocasta gave Neil a hard look as the elevator began to lift the mech towards the arena above. Well there was no point complaining about it now they had commited. She placed both her fists on her hips and blew a lock of hair out of face. Then she nodded and lifted her arms pointing her fingers skyward and twirling them around.

"Ok, ok," she said and closed her eyes. "Drones!"

The dragonfly like automotons swooped in grabbing her white jacket and lifting it away. She hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it away to be similarly seized. She adjusted her bra slightly and then focused her mind for a moment. Her hair flushed a vibrant shade of green as she activated the subdermal pigment enhancers. She considered stripping off her pants also but decided that this worked better.

"Hold out your... hand things," she instructed Neil aping the position she wanted with her own hands infront of her palms up.

"Uhhh sure," Neil agreed, holding out the mech's hands with much grinding of gears and a smell of hot lubricant that Jocasta wasn't entirely comfortable with. She hopped up into the mech's hands, sitting her butt in one hand and stretching her legs out to the other as though it were a luxurious couch.

"You have a plan," Neil asked. Jocasta adjusted her air to look frame her face. One of her drones floated a few feet away from her, recording imagrey which she spliced into the pict feeders in the arena above, a second drone joined the first casting a light over them to improve the picture.

"I have a tactical goal and a couple of rough approaches," Jocasta hedged, but further conversation was cut off as the roof above them opened. Mech, drones, and bounty hunter rose into an amphitheater. It was perhaps forty meters across at its widest point with a handful of obstacles and cover scattered across it. At each end of the oval was a low platform where the lifts hauled the combatants. Banks of seats ringed the arena. There was an occasional shimmer in the air that suggested there was a shield in place that protected the crowd from stray rounds. Jocasta could see the other mech, a much newer and sleeker model but the attentention of the crowd was on Neil thanks to the holo screens that were streaming the mech carrying the half naked Jocasta. Languidly she stood up in the palm of the mech, stretching her hands over her head like a ballet dancer.

"Ladies and gentleman!" she called, her voice piping out from the public address system.

"You have the honor today of witnessing one of the greats! You have all heard of him, the Titanium Titan, the Kevlar Corsair, The one, the only Neiilll Edwards!"

Luckily Neil seemed to get the idea na lifted the mechs hand slowly upwards till it was above the mechs head, elevating Jocasta high. There were laughs and jeers from a few of the crowd. Jocasta sat down and hugged one of the autocannon barrels laciviously.

"Your right, this mech is a piece of trash," she called, shouting down objections.

"But do you know why Neil is using a clapped out piece of trash?" she demanded. She paused long enough for a theoretical response then moved on.

"Because he couldn't find a worse one! Its the only way a massacre like this can be a challenge for a pilot like him!" She slid down the arm of the mech and crouched on its shoulder, thrusting her ass out theatrically before planting a kiss on the plexiglass flank guard. She fiddled with the link adding several alternate voices to the feed.

"Neil! Neil! Neil!" the sythesized voices began. The real crowd, unable to pick out the falsehood began to join in until a healthy swell of voices took up the call.

"Neil! Neil! Neil!"

"Good luck," Jocasta called as she ducked back behind one of the blast walls.

"Have you done this before!?" Neil called back at her, but all she did in response was lift an arm out of hiding and wave him off.

Well, if he had been in the crowd she would have gotten his attention too, so she did her job. He turned and set his eyes on the mech to his front. Neil cleared his throat, checking the integrity of the gears. Before him was a decidedly simple, haul operator's console, with six levers, a load indicator display, which also listed his power level. To the left of the display and levers were five knobs and a large red button. These had been added to improve its combat capacity. It gave him extra control of his limbs, allowing them to move vertically and not just horizontally, and granted him use of the mounted weapon, as well as various applications in the utensil movements of the fingers.

It was pretty shit in Neil's estimation. The 189 was a far better war machine from within and without, and that was not even accounting the size and power difference. His opponent's APC was a foot taller in height, sleek white with gold filigree and a red emblem straight center on its chest. Within, a man about ten years Neil's senior sneered at him, clearly amused at his first match being against a no-name in a machine that was about eighty years too old to be in operation. Despite Jocasta's showmanship, Neil couldn't blame him. He would feel the same in that dude's shoes.

Apparently his mascot had already performed before Neil and Jo had even arrived, as the headlights from above suddenly erupted in brightness, all lights staged around the stadium zooming in on the arena. Neil saw the word 'Varkin' splayed on the left limb of his opponent. A telltale ringing banged against their senses just after the lights honed in, reverberating across the battlescape. Neil shoved his pinky into his ear, surprised.

"Begin!"

The voice came from all around, Varkin so used to the sound Neil blinked and he was already six meters closer. Neil pulled the L4 lever and grabbed the operating controls, setting his clunker's legs into motion. 'Hunk' staggered forward, every two steps a jumbled mess from the bow-legged lack of design. Neil's head bobbed up and down, and while he knew how silly his situation was, it was at that moment he truly realized it. Neil started to laugh, and he seemed to find it funnier as time went on. It rang in Jocasta's comm piece, sounding for all the world like someone just told him the most hilarious joke.

Even moving at likely half his APC's normal speed, the two APC's stepped almost 3 meters every footfall, and five seconds after the battle had begun, Varkin was close enough to see Neil's dimple past two plates of plexiglass. His opponent lifted its right limb, a twin autocannon mounted atop it, replacing a hand for firepower. The barrels erupted in fire as bullets punched into Hunk's armor. Funnily enough, due to the up and down motion, the aim was off, and no two bullets hit the same space on the APC to better pierce the armor. Neil closed the distance, arm up before his cockpit, eschewing vision for protection on the plexiglass in front of him. The massive limb craned before him, the bullets bouncing off the steel telling him the gun was still firing. Above, he saw the lightest bit of movement past his field of vision, and just as he thought, Varkin sent his melee hand crashing downwards to batter Hunk's arm aside to better cut a swathe through the plexiglass and end Neil's life.

Neil stepped forward, his bow-leg sending his mech leaning to the right, exposing the largest piece of armor on his APC to tank the melee blow, just as his arm battered the gun aside. The force of ten thousand pounds crashed into Neil, but the gun went wide, spraying bullets across the arena, bouncing around the glass in endless ricochets. Neil moved Hunk's free arm, accompanied by a mounted flamer, over the fallen limb of his opponent and shoved it forward with all power, fist crunching into the plexiglass of Varkin. It didn't end the fight, or even end the integrity of the glass, but cracks ripped across it. Neil saw Varkin's eyes bugged out, and with the flip of a switch and the press of a button, promethium roared out of the limb and cascaded across the mech, finding any crevasse as if it had a mind.

Varkin's screams were barely audible from Neil's end, but when he removed his arm, his face twisted in disgust as he saw the man's clothing and half his limbs aflame. His mech shuddered as his hands slapped the controls, and all Neil had to do was block whatever haphazard blows went his way, and push Varkin over. It teetered on the 'heels' of its feet and hit its back onto the ground with an audible crack. Neil watched as he desperately tried to bat the flames out, and he decided he couldn't watch this. He raised Hunk's fist high into the air, before letting it fall atop the cockpit of Varkin. Instead of crushing him, however, Neil gave just the pressure needed to break the glass.

Swiftly, Neil opened his cockpit and stripped his shirt off, hopping out of Hunk nimbly and climbing up the fallen body of Varkin to get to its pilot, slapping the flames out of the screaming man with his shirt. It was another minute before paramedics could arrive and the flames could truly be doused, and he would likely lose an arm and a leg, but bio-modifications were common and while Neil felt a touch bad, he knew the victor was clear.

As the pilot was carried away, Neil draped his shirt over his shoulder as the crowd roared, voices so loud he doubted even the vacuum of space could quell them. Neil waved, giving bows. He blew a few kisses randomly, and then turned around, cupping his hands for Jocasta.

"YO! IT'S SAFE NOW! COME ENJOY THIS WITH ME!"

The crowd was roaring with approval as hastily cut together holograms flashed above the field, showing the high points of the fight. As brief as the bout had been there were few enough, but this didn't stop the holovid from looping it over and over. Jocasta pushed her way through the crowd.

"You don't have to yell," she told him, "Cgyi chipped you with a mastoid implant while you were asleep." The words came clear over the noise of the crowd, bone conduction into the ear.

"I uhh.. maybe should have mentioned," she admitted. The announcer was saying something but the angle of the speakers was toward the crowd and not down into the ring so it was just a curtain of loud nonsense from Jocasta's perspective. She took Neil's hand and raised it up like a champion boxer to the screamed approval of the crowd. By the look of several hard faces, plenty of people had bet against Neil, but there was an equally number of delighted fans thronging the bookies for their long odds winning.

"A few more like that and we might just get out of here," Jocasta enthused.

There was a grinding noise, accompanied by a loud PING.

Neil withdrew the dataslate and looked at the account, the transferred funds now erected on the screen. It wasn't quite physical currency, but he had a look in his eyes that could be described as money signs by anyone apt enough to notice. Jocasta did, swiping the dataslate out of his hands.

"Ah ah ah," She said, wagging a finger at him. She began to move the funds from their temporary, joint mech team account to her own. "This is a step in the right direction, but it's just a small step in the path to you paying me back."

"You mean paying you back for wanting the bounty on me, and your forceful abduction of me causing you to getting boarded by men in your line of work while I merely defended myself?"

"That's the one, yep." She said, handing his dataslate back to him, a satisfied smile on her lips. Neil deflated, but really, he couldn't even be mad. Her dogged determination to squeeze him for all he was worth was almost admirable, in a way.

"Ok, now these funds are going to my bird," She said, and then whipped her hair back, her blonde lockes turning brown even as her thick ponytail whipped him in the face in a tease. Neil blinked from the blow, crinkling his nose as she continued. "And some nice hair products. It's rough out there, ya know."

"And you don't like it, rough?" He teased, grinning.

She snickered, crossing her arms under her chest. "You got nerve, hotshot, I'll give you that."

"Look, Jocasta. Wait, just wait," He said, stepping in front of her, hands out to gesture she slow down. "We have two days until the next fight. I know you want to spend it all on your ship, and I get why because it's a pretty ship. But let me request something, from one ten to another."

"I'm an eleven, but continue." She said.

"Look, we got all this money, and we have a hunk of junk APC. We just fucking won in a big way. Like the crowd was just..." He made some strange gesture with his hand that could be construed as sexual, but it was hard to ascertain. He realized it wasn't working and stopped, waving his hands as if to erase a whiteboard. "Why don't we celebrate? We'll get drunk as fuck tonight, nurse a hangover until mid-afternoon tomorrow, then we go and grab some parts for the mech, then spend the whole next day fixing him up. Come on, let's get some drinks and chill, right? I know I'm a mark but like...you still remember how to party, right?"

Jocasta eyed Neil skeptically putting her hands on her hips. The APC chose that moment to blow a coolant line with a hiss that made Neil wince, though the pilot didn't turn around.

"If this is some ploy to steal my ship you will face Cygnificant difficulties," Jocasta declared. Neil blinked and shook his head slightly.

"Get it... because of Cygi?" Jocasta prompted. Neil rolled his eyes.

"Oddly enough I was barely able to decipher that one," he admitted in a dead pan, "but what do you say. What is the worst that can happen?"

"If I had a credit for every time someone asked what is the worst thing that can happen before a drinking binge that ended in disaster I could afford to dry clean my own kitchen," Jocasta replied. Neil's grin lit up the arena brighter than the floodlights overhead.

"I'm not hearing a no...."

Jocasta heard Neil's return by the resounding bang that accompanied him kicking the door in, his arms preoccupied with a literal crate of alcoholic drinks, as many varieties as could be found. Neil had forgot to ask Jocasta's drink of choice and Neil wasn't picky himself. He also managed to pick up a pizza before he made it back.

"Uh..." Jocasta said when she saw him walk in, balancing tray after tray of drinks with a hot pizza on top. Somehow he managed to balance them all, placing it gently on the table in the break area. Satisfied it wouldn't topple, Jocasta rummaged in a cabinet, spinning and giving a sly grin. "I got the shot glasses!"

"Nice! The pool table ready?"

"You mean b i l l i a r d s?" She corrected, overemphasizing the word, before changing her entire energy and said. "Yeah it's ready."

"So you wanna like, play for money? Make it interesting?" Neil asked, hopefully.

"All the money is mine, though." Her words caused Neil to lose his smile, but he bounced back almost instantly.

"How about a drinking game then?" He shot at her. Jocasta stroked a nonexistent beard on her chin, considering the offer for a moment before nodding, giving him a 'deal.' Neil took the pizza down, opening the box, the steam hitting his face. It was cheesy, with a cornucopia of toppings. "Alright, so we doin' one shot a point?"

"Eight ball, scratch rules. I get first shot. You rack 'em," She declared, tossing a pool cue at Neil without warning. The young man caught it in both hands, eyes wide. 'Heyyy,' he said, impressed and getting off the couch. Neil was pretty good, but he wasn't professional by any means. He honestly wasn't sure which of them would take this. Reaching into his jacket he had hung on the chair, he took out some sunglasses and placed a toothpick in his mouth.

"Nice look," she said with a smirk. He grinned, and turned the holoscreen on with a casual press of the button with the end of his pool cue.

"You don't look too bad yourself, baby." He said.

Jocasta set a shotglass on the edge of the table, one at each pocket. She filled them indiscriminatley with liquor from bottles, barely glancing at the labels. She shot the cuffs of her jacket and racked the balls with quick efficient motions. Small electromechanical charges in the balls adjusted their positions slightly so that they were perfectly positioned. She dropped back and took one of the ques, telescoping it out with a flick of her wrist before snagging a slice of pizza.

"I suppose we will need to bolt it to the deck if we keep it," she mused, running a hand across the edge of the table.

"Might make getting vehicles in here harder," she pondered, looking regretfully at the space where the speeder had sat. The vehicle had been sold to fund the mech purchase. The mech itself was suspended from working rig in the far corner of the hanger back, looking decidedly worse for wear after its outing. Cygi appeared against the holo projector dressed as a news anchor in a button down red blazer. A moment later the holo lit up with some clips of Neil's fight. Two men with overdeveloped physiques and ear pieces were enthusiatically breaking down the action. Cygi looked dissaproving and then vanished, reappearing a moment later to pick up a holographic copy of one of the liquor bottles and taking an imaginary pull.

"Hey," Jocasta called to Neil, snapping his fingers to draw his attention.

"We watching, or we playing?" she asked.

"-and here we see Varkin charging forward, coming in strong while Edwards is clunking along-" The commentator narrated, the camera panning over the two valks as Neil and his opponent barreled at one another, the flash of the machine gun bright on the holovid. He watched, his arms crossed and his pool stick in his hands.

"That's right, Chet, and like a true master he gives his opponent a false sense of security and makes his weakness his strength, this match will go down as a mastercall of-"

Jocasta snapped her slim fingers in front of Neil's face, causing the rakish pilot to blink. "Hey, you got a mirror I got a holovid, let me appreciate this for a second." He said, but it was clear he was being playful. He already had a grin on his face, eyes now on Jocasta and the table. The sixteen balls were stacked and meticulously left at the center of the table, Neil grabbing the white ball and spun it on his finger before underhand tossing it to Jocasta. He took a shot glass from the table and downed it as she casually caught it and put the ball down, swinging her head so her ponytail flipped fully down her back. Jocasta bent over as she lined her shot, the pole sliding back along the small tunnel made by her fingers. Neil hadn't expected it, but he got a very good look at her generous, shapely back-end as she readied her shot, and with a thwack, the cue-ball struck the center. Neil whistled appreciatively, not sure himself if he did so at her pool shot or her ass.

"And it's a strong hit!" The commentator said from the holovid, his pronouncement working in tandem with the game even bereft of context.

Balls rolled in an explosion of inertia, bouncing this way and that. Two balls slunk into the pockets, and Jocasta smiled at the results brightly. She smirked, pushing herself off the table. "What do you think, wrench monkey?"

"Hmm? Oh uh, thas- yeah good shot." He said, and before he went to the table he poured himself another drink.

"I got two in, that's two shots." She said, referring to the liquor.

He held his hands out wide as if a referee made a wild call. "I just drank one before y-" He started, but her look showed him she wasn't going to give him any mercy. He sighed and poured himself another. His previous liquor shot was before the fact, he should have kept himself from drinking before she went. "Yeah yeah, that's on me."

Behind him, Cygi popped up. She still wore her button down blazer but out of view, someone tossed her a funnel and a bottle opener, playing herself as a newscaster trying to juggle the items in surprise. Soon a hail of bottles piled on her like cartoonishly

"You're cute but that's not going to help you win," Jocasta toyed, stiffling a snicker from Cygi's antics. "Win one fight and you think you're Kragzalor the Destroyer."

"Looks who's talkin'" Neil remarked on both counts. She quite clearly caught him because she was cute, and one good shot and she was getting smarmy. He knew she was being ironic though, and after his second shot of liquor, he gave a satisfied 'aaah' and set the glass down. The magnetism stuck it to the table neatly. He strode to the table with purpose. "You think I'm good at mech-fighting, let me show you how a wanted man plays pool."

"Well you wouldn't be the first man to boast of his prowess with a stick and come up short," Jocasta teased. Neil leaned forward with a snort and peered down the que lining up a shot. Jocasta picked up a bottle of opaque white liquor and peered at it unable to decipher the alien script on the label. Neil drew back the que and struck sending the queball cracking into one of his balls and sending it into the pocket. Jocasta arched an eyebrow and picked up one of the shot glasses which she raised in ironic salute. It tasted of pineapple and was very sour making her lips pucker up.

"Well when I boast I deliever baby," Neil assured her, moving around to take his next shot, sinking another ball. Jocasta picked up a greenish shot and knocked it back Neil grinned and then frowned, realising he didn't have another shot. He made a banked shot that clipped one of his balls, sending it spinning towards a pocket but it pulled up short.

"Aha!' Jocasta enthused, bending down and unintentionally giving Neil the same view as before, hips waggling as she carefully lined up her own shot. She tapped the ball ever so slightly. The queball rolled forward and tapped her ball, trapping the queball in an impossible position behind her own shot.

"It is snooker remember?" she teased.

"Oh leaving me with an impossible shot?" Neil asked. Jocasta winked at him.

"Putting men in impossible positions is half the fun!"

Neil wasn't going to admit it, but he was having fun. Not that it was difficult for him to have a good time, but there was fun and there was genuine fun, and he felt it was getting close to the latter. The dark haired ne'er-do-well eyed the table for long seconds, losing himself in thought as he formulated a strategy. The seconds dragged on, and Jocasta waved a hand in front of his face.

"Are you buffering?" She asked jokingly, but when he didn't respond her once smiling visage cast a worried look. "I think I broke him..."

"Have you tried turning him off and on again?" Cygi remarked, popping out of the pile of bottles. No doubt she meant it as both a pun and an innuendo, but Jocasta only gave Cygi a glance before returning to Neil, snapping her fingers before his unresponsive dark eyes.

Moments later, it was as if a ping had sounded off in Neil's head, and he suddenly blinked and tilted his head slightly, finally awake. He looked her way and gave a wide grin. "Alright baby, time to win."

"Yeah, right." She said skeptically, though now that he was back in the land of the living her smile bloomed again. Neil twirled his pool stick casually as he approached his spot, breathed in deeply, and settled into his stance. He took his time, lining up the shot and moving to two different vantage points of minuscule difference compared to his first spot.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the ball and wiggling his hips to get comfortable as Jocasta watched, Cygi now sitting on her shoulder, watching in rapt fascination.

Thunk. Neil hit the cue-ball from a high vantage, the point of the stick smacking into it. The white ball bounced, brushing against Jocasta's ball and causing it to sway precariously, but otherwise remain still. It hit the table again on the other side, smacking into a brown ball worth four points. "Yes! Yes!" Neil celebrated, fist pumping as the brown ball hurtled to the pocket, only to spin from the unorthodox hit and veer off course, hitting a red ball that slowly slid into the pocket.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck dude!" Neil groaned, smacking his face. Had the brown ball slid it, it would have been quadruple the points. Instead, the red gave him one point. Still, enough to get Jocasta to drink, and even the view of her full bosom burgeoning as she swilled it back didn't completely fill the void of losing his well planned maneuver. Neil's forehead hit the edge of the pool table, and Cygi slid up to him.

"Hey, not bad! I calculated you had only a 4.3% chance of even getting out of that position."

Jocasta rechalked the que as she considered the table. Cygi appeared behind he in the clothing of a boxing coach, massaging her shoulders with fingers that she couldn't feel. She surveyed the balls, knowing that as she drank more her ability to make fancy shots would fall. Fortunately all pilots learned to do complicated vector calculations in their heads, which probably accounted for their fondness for the game.

"Edwards won't find the going so easy next time," one of the commentators was saying. "He suckered Varkin this time but he won't get away with that again."

Jocasta closed one eye to sight her shot and struck the que ball hard and slightly to the side, imparting a vicious spin that made the ball seem to curve around one of Neil's it struck one of hers, knocking it into the hole and then bounced of the edge to nudge another into a separate pocket. She whooped in triumph and blew chalk from the end of her stick like a gun fighter blowing smoke.

"I'm willing to bet the punters wont get anything like the same odds for his next fight," the commentator continued.

"I don't know Chet," his partner replied, "sometimes these guys get luck once and flame out!"

Neil just laughed. She'd said she was good and he was finding out in real time. She just might win, if he wasn't careful. It would be the ultimate trampling if he lost this. But of course, on the other hand, Neil had nothing riding on this game other than bragging rights. They were playing for shots that they needed to drink anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. He supposed part of him also wanted to impress her, even if an even smaller part of him wondered why since he was now here under duress, or at least previous duress.

He stopped the contemplation and shook himself out of the thought.

Neil grabbed the pool stick, twirling it between his fingers deftly before he settled down where the cue ball had been laid to rest. Neil closed his left eye, lowered his face to the table, and took his shot. The white ball hit a blue ball, knocking into a red and a black ball. The trio spun and flew aside like shrapnel. Neil grinned when the blue went in, but his brows rose when the black ball knocked into another red ball and then went into the pocket.

Neil's eyes went up to Jocasta, and he gave her a wink. It was nice seeing her look dumbfounded, if only for a moment.

Cygi fell onto her knees in abject distress, and while her head was in her hands, a marker popped up behind her with a number switching from "13" to "24", which meant he had the majority of the points for the game. Jocasta was just three points behind.

"A deal's a deal, drink those shots." Neil said with a smirk, leaning on his pool stick as if he was used to winning with nonchalance. "Pass me the bottle once you do though, I need a victory chug."

"Beginners luck," Jocasta declared loftily as she moved long the table. At each increment she picked up one of the small shot glasses and knocked back the liquor. It was of varying types and ranged from candy flavored to sinus burning rotgut. Jocasta had drank much worse many times. The stills of Navy ships during the war had rendered booze from any kind of carbohydrate, or straight from the hydraulic lines if necessary. Even so it was a significant amount of alcohol. She looked for the bottle she thought had provided the oily licoricey taint at the back of her throat and tossed it through the air to Neil by way of payback.

The smell of hot pizza distracted her from the moment of her revenge however, and she slid open one of the self heating boxes and drew out a slice. Meat lovers. She opened another. Meat lovers. In desperation she opened the third box. Olives, pickles, feta cheese, gara nuts and scardif. She grabbed a piece and popped it into her mouth.

"HOw did you know?" she demanded around a mouthful of pizza. Neil was balancing the bottle on his palm and grinning.

"I didn't, just picked the weirdest combination I could think of and hoped for the best," he admitted as Jocasta fixed him with a glare that would have been more withering if it wasn't over a mouthful of pizza.