SCIFI-BABE.COM - Sashi's Visit to Saith and Dara (Merged)

"All Trussed Up With Nowhere To Go."

In the bustling marketplaces of 'Saith' and 'Dara', everything has a
price - including humanoids of all species and sexes. Sashi reports:

So, there I was on Montanera, visiting the twin markets of Saith and Dara, where you can really shop till you drop, in every sense of the word. If you can't find it here, any merchant will tell you, you can't find it anywhere. Ask one of them for the most unusual thing you can think of, and they will either have it, know where to find it or, failing that, will have someone make it up for you. To all intents, I was there to visit Tomaso Greer, a manufacturer of items much sought after by devotees of the art of "tightlacing", to get measured for a drop dead, over bust, lace and leather corset with chrome steel stays. In truth, however, I was there to investigate the more unsavory side of business on Montanera: the traffic in humanoid slaves. Now, don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoy exploring all aspects of my submissiveness with a very strict Master or Mistress in a very dark dungeon, but it's always been based on a consensual agreement between two free adults, and happens not nearly often enough. *grin* That's definitely NOT the case with these poor souls, however.

Well... how in heck was I going find out more about this without becoming either very dead, or at best an unwilling slave, I asked myself? The answer turned out to be Tomaso Greer, purveyor of the finest 'restrictive' clothing and 'bad girl toys' in the known universe.

Having located his imposing premises on the corner of 'Simsim' and 'Figaroa', painted all shades of green and adorned with potted plants, I was soon standing, butt naked, in the back room while a measurement unit lasered my most delicate regions to build up a topographically perfect replica of my gorgeousness. It was while I was standing absolutely still, so that the laser wouldn't accidentally remove even the tiniest piece of me, that I happened to overhear Greer talking on his communicator. It seems the individual on the other end of the call was endeavoring to place an order for some pretty exotic restraint equipment and was haggling over the price. Greer was understandably becoming more and more irritated as the price was seriously in danger of heading to the wrong side of 'cost'. Greer isn't a greedy man, though he does love his food - to such a degree in fact that he would totally benefit from using one of his own products. I doubt, though, that there's enough Yarma skin (a bit like leather) in the galaxy to make one large enough to fit him. And as for the laces? Well.....

Oops, I digress.

So... Greer is talking with this person and asking questions like, "How many females?", and "Are there males, too?", and "How long will they be kept restrained?" Anyway, I'm pretty quick in the smarts department, and figured he was likely talking with someone who had slaves to move somewhere, and didn't want to risk them getting free. It couldn't have been a sex-show manager, coz they expect the performers to bring their own stuff. No, this was a professionally run outfit. They needed a large number of similar restraint items and weren't interested in buying 'cheap', coz it would be passed on to the buyer anyway. He - Greer kept calling him, 'Sir' - was most likely an agent, or middleman, who was simply trying to maximize his cut, hence the haggling.

Phew! Not bad for a blonde, huh?

Anyway, I called out to Greer as soon as he made the deal - cost plus 'ten' - and hung up the communicator. "I was thinking of getting some of that stuff, myself?" I said.
"Stuff?" Greer growled, obviously still annoyed at the low level of profit he was making.

"You know," I said, smiling sweetly, "tie me up and paddle my rear end stuff."

"Ugh!" was all he managed, before presenting me with a very large catalogue from which I was to choose the design for my corset. Three of them made me positively dizzy, and I had a real problem making my final decision, so I chose all three.

Unlike with the caller, Greer stood to make a very tidy profit, indeed. I don't have to haggle, you see, coz Alethea always picks up the tab and writes it off against expenses. Greer, therefore, treated me to one of his famous hugs. Breathless, and thankful that his grip hadn't crushed my spine and internal organs, I retreated to the safety of the nearest changing room to get dressed. While there, I casually called to him through the curtain and asked how I might meet this customer of his, so I could learn more about the use to which he proposed to put Greer's products. "You could always deliver the goods, yourself," he said. "At your own expense, of course."

"Okay," I chirped. "When will it be ready?"

"It's in stock," he replied. "I'll have a clerk make up the order and pack it for you."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he said.

Tomorrow eventually came, after a long, sleepless night spent wondering if I was making a humongous mistake in trying to sneak myself into an organization based on the cruel, heartless, exploitation of individuals who'd quite literally been kidnapped from hearth and home. Like I said, I'm pretty quick at picking up on stuff, but even Greer could have figured out that if I screwed up, I'd probably wind up in the foundations of a new office block in downtown Saith, or Dara... or both!

I walked into Greer's shop and asked for him, only to be escorted in silence through to the back by one of the assistants, who showed me a very large - like this was TOTALLY HUGE - package. I was to take it to the address on the slip of paper she was handing to me. Paper? Oh well...

"Can I get a little help?" I enquired.

"Ask the cab driver," came the reply. The word, 'bitch', was unspoken, but it was definitely there, right at the end of the sentence.

"Fine," I said, between clenched teeth. "Why don't I just do that?"

The cab arrived after only a few minutes, and the driver was really helpful. Like momma used to say, a carefully timed and well executed butt wiggle goes a long way. I also made sure he got to see plenty of thigh as I boarded the vehicle. Seemed only fair!

It took nearly an hour before we drew up in front of a well proportioned, and obviously expensive, split level bungalow way up in the hills, overlooking Saith. 'This is pretty high profile for complete scum bags like these,' I remember thinking. Maybe I was wrong about them? Maybe they really were legit?

The cab driver had deposited the package on the driveway, so I still had to drag it something like twenty yards, and then haul it up four steps to the front door. My spiky heels were skidding on the gravel, I was breathing hard coz of my corset, my back hurt, and the package just kept getting heavier and heavier. I was about to call it a day and simply leave the package right where it was when the door opened and a deep, silky voice said, "Help you?"

I turned and answered, "Oh, yes, please."

He smiled broadly and I noticed he had incredible teeth. "With you dressed like that," he said, "it has to be from Greer's place". Then he laughed. "I had no idea he dressed his staff in his own products. I thought he'd be too mean for that."

"This is my own stuff," I protested.

"You mean you dress like that all the time?"

"Why not?" I replied, defensively.

He nodded, like he'd finally figured out where I fitted in his personal concept of the way society should be run, and said, "You can call me, 'Phoenix'."

"I'm Sashi."

"Well, come in.... Sashi."

"What about the package?"

"Leave it," he replied. "I'll have someone bring it in." He opened the door wide and gestured I should walk inside. I hesitated just long enough for him to feel the need to smile reassuringly - showing me those wonderful teeth, again - and shove me gently in the back.

Teetering on my five-inch heels, I stumbled through the doorway and into the most beautifully decorated room I had ever seen. Slave master or not, this guy had amazing taste! "Sit," he ordered. I sat. "Something to drink?" he asked, moving towards a trolley on the far side of the room.

"Soda, please," I replied, wondering if I should have put a 'Sir' on the end.

"Nothing stronger?"

"Soda is fine."

"As you wish," he said, walking back across the room with a drink for himself in one hand and my bottle of soda in the other. He handed it to me without a word and sat opposite in an expensive looking, leather recliner. "So, why did you come here?"

My mind was churning. Crunch time! Ball on your own seven-yard line. Second and six. Defense showing 'blitz'. I had a boyfriend once who spoke like that all the time. I still have no idea what the heck he was talking about but, at that moment, it seemed appropriate somehow.

He looked slightly annoyed. "Well?"

"I've known Tomaso Greer for absolutely ages," I replied, at length, "and I wanted to help out."

He nodded, like he might have just, possibly, believed me - for a nanosecond, maybe. Then he laughed, sipped his drink and leaned forward. "That, my leather clad princess, is the biggest load of....."

"But, Sir...." I began.

He sat back and placed the empty glass on the floor next to his chair. He intertwined his fingers and raised his hands, brushing his lips with his thumbnails, deep in thought. "Perhaps you should go? Before things become too....." He paused, for effect. "Permanent."

To buy some time to think, I smiled sweetly, and reminded him that his merchandise was still outside on the driveway. He got to his feet and pulled a communicator from his pants pocket. Turning his back on me, he placed a call, spoke briefly to some minion or other, then rang off and sat down again. "Someone will bring it in," he assured me. "Now, where were we?"

"You were kind of offering me a permanent position," I replied, helpfully.

"Just so," he said. "So, you intend to stick around, do you? Despite the danger?"

"Danger?" I asked, sounding as innocent as I could.

"Well, perhaps 'danger' is the wrong word? Perhaps a more appropriate one would be, 'discomfort'." He gave me that smile again, and went on, "You see, the position would involve a certain amount of ... discipline."

"Oh, I'm v..very d..disciplined," I stammered. "You should see my panty draw. Black on the left, colored in the middle, and white on the right."

Most guys seem to find my sense of humor quite engaging, if not downright funny, but my host clearly wasn't amused. He got slowly to his feet and made another call. "You're hired," he said as he hung up.

That was it for me. 'Two minute warning'. I was out of that chair and heading for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, little one?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised that I should consider doing such a thing, me being a lowly slave and him being a Master and all.

"I thought you might want references. I was just going to get them."

His thumb pressed a button on the communicator and I heard the door lock click home. "Not necessary," he said. "I'm very impressed with your..." He waved his hand up and down in my direction, "... attitude. So impressed, in fact, that I'll take you on trust."

He reached out and took my arm, pulling me after him and through the door at the rear of the room. A few yards had us at another door. He opened it with a click of another button on his communicator and dragged me inside. From the panel on the right side, which had a vertical column of buttons, I figured it was likely an elevator. It was. He pressed the lowest button and my stomach moved upwards - despite my corset.

After a few seconds, my trembling legs bent slightly as we stopped abruptly. The door opened to reveal a dimly lit, stone-clad walled room, with lots of chains and things. He pulled me towards a wooden chair, with a high back and arms. "Sit," he ordered. I sat. Thirty seconds had me strapped into that chair so tight I couldn't so much as twitch a muscle. He smiled, clearly satisfied with his handiwork, and headed for the lift door.

"Aren't you going to gag me?" I asked, with as much humor as I could manage.

"Why would I want to do that?" he enquired.

"Most Masters seem to want to do it," I replied. "Maybe coz they don't want to be interrupted."

"You can make as much noise as you like," he replied, smiling. "No one can hear you down here." He stepped inside the elevator, and said, "But, I like your style."

I'm not too keen on the dark. Leastwise, not dark dungeons. I mean, rats and other creepy crawly things live in dungeons, don't they? "Is it bedtime already?" I asked, trying to keep him there, and the elevator door open, so the light would shine on me a little longer.

As an afterthought, he slipped a hood over my head. It had no eyes, only nose and mouth holes. He stepped behind me and tightened the laces. He then patted me on the top of the head and said, "Sleep tight, little one. You've a busy day tomorrow."

I heard the elevator door close and sighed.

After about ten minutes had crawled by, anyone standing there in the dark would have heard a voice whispering just one word, "Help."

It was probably the longest - what am I saying, of course it was the longest - night I have ever spent in my life! My captor was obviously in no hurry to visit his latest acquisition, and it was almost midday - not that you could tell what time of day it was in this awful dungeon - before I heard the elevator door open. "Good morning, little one," he said, brightly, as he removed the hood. "I trust you spent a comfortable night?"

"I've had better," I said, grumpily. "I need to pee."

He didn't respond as he began the lengthy process of releasing me from the chair and helped me to my feet. My back was so stiff from sitting all night, so he had to walk slowly to the elevator with me.

"What's happening today, Sir?" I asked.

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"You said, I'd have a busy day tomorrow, Sir. It's 'tomorrow', so I was wondering...."

"Oh, that," he said. "Why, you're going on a long journey."

My mind was racing! "Journey?" I repeated. "Journey where?"

"Training camp," he said, in a tone that suggested I should have known.

"Training camp?"

I guess my repeating everything he said finally got to him. He took hold of my arm and twisted it... Hard! "Be quiet!" he growled.

"But...."

"You'll need training before you go to your new home. A lot of training, most likely." His eyes narrowed to slits. "Plenty of time for a split lip to heal."

My heart sank. There could be no doubt, now. This guy was up to his beautiful teeth in the slave trade. More importantly, his was the responsibility for preparing the new 'recruits' for their prospective owners. For 'preparing', read 'conditioning'. For 'training', read 'learning how to please your Master or Mistress' - pandering to their little foibles and kinks. And you could have bet your rear end that the learning process would involve the imposition of some seriously strict discipline, with the severest punishment imaginable meted out for the slightest transgression. Apart from the fees he would receive from the owners, which would likely be considerable, having charge of the training and punishment of novice slaves would be a real bonus for Master Phoenix. I thought about that. Nah! It was the money that was the bonus. He liked hurting people! That part he did for free!

"Nothing more to say?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No, Sir."

You know, I swear Phoenix looked disappointed that my feisty nature had apparently deserted me, leastwise for the moment. It hadn't of course, but I had to have time to think. That meant I dare not antagonize him further. A sore bottom is okay when you're playing, but it kind of distracts a girl when she's plotting her escape from a psychopath like Phoenix. They may be crazy, but they're usually very smart. Nature has a way a balancing things out like that.

"In that case," he said, "we'll get you fed and watered, first, then crate you up for shipment."

'Crate?' I'm thinking, 'I'm to be fed and watered like some farm animal, and then I have to climb in a crate? Oh, puh...leese!'

Why a crate, you might ask? Well, it's simple. The two markets might well make a fortune catering to the millions of bargain hunters who descended on them from all parts of the galaxy, but that didn't mean the city fathers would overlook the possibility of raising some additional revenue. By levying a small tax, four percent or so, on all purchases, they easily financed all the civic improvements they desired. To collect the taxes, there were customs houses at every entrance to each of the two cities. I would therefore have to travel inside a crate, suitably restrained and silenced, of course, with the appropriate paperwork, naturally, so I wouldn't draw the attention of the customs inspectors to my plight. I think it was at that point that I fully realized just how much trouble I was really in.

Phoenix might have taken all kinds of trouble looking after the interests of his clients, but where the merchandise was concerned... Well, all I got was a small bowl of some kind of porridgey gunk and a bottle of mineral water. I was then instructed to pee. Phoenix didn't let me out of his sight the whole time, which was kind of unnerving. Next came the part I wasn't looking forward to: the crate. My mind had conjured up all manner of ways I could have been prevented from crying out and moving about. When I saw what Phoenix had prepared for me, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. The crate was made of some kind of thick gauge plastic. The lid could be held shut with eight lockable latches, while inside was three inches of soundproofing. He told me to get inside - which was pretty difficult with my corset and heels - and then sit down. There was far more room inside than I needed. I could even lie down, albeit in the fetal position, if I wanted to, and someone had taken the trouble to put some bedding inside. Phoenix handed me a face mask. A tube was attached to it as well as an air bottle. "Put this on," he said. I looked at the straps, adjusted them, slid them over my head, wiggled the mask to settle it snugly over my nose and mouth, and took an experimental breath. I've been in stranger headgear than this - in the public interest, of course - but I was pleasantly surprised to find it was fairly comfortable. The air was pretty good too. "Enjoy the ride," he said, as he slid the lid in place and locked it. The next sensation I felt was that I was floating. I was obviously being carried out to a transporter of some kind. There was a jarring thud as the crate was placed inside the vehicle. Then silence.

A short while later, we started to move, but without any of the usual vibrations and bumping. I assumed it was because they were using an air cushion sled attached to the tractor unit, instead of the more normal wheeled variety. A lot of merchants use these cushion sleds, now, especially those involved in the antique porcelain trade. The roads outside the cities aren't too smooth, and delivering an eighty-seven piece tea set, when the customer paid for a ten piece one is not the way to stay in business for long. With more and more merchants opting to use these sleds, the administration had kind of given up bothering to maintain the road system altogether, preferring instead to invest the money in art museums. swanky government buildings, an imposing Governor's mansion - that kind of stuff. I guess that means that air cushion sled manufacturer shares will be the ones to invest in over the coming years.

I have no idea how long we traveled, or in which direction we headed. What I do know is I spent the entire time wondering if the air tank I was breathing from was big enough, and if the next breath I took would be my last. 'No,' I repeatedly told myself, during each fresh intake of air, 'he needs me alive, or I'm worth nothing.' Mind you, there are those to whom a recently deceased investigative reporter would be a very enticing prospect, indeed; and I don't mean as part of a healthy, varied, diet.

Anyway, like everything else in life, the journey finally came to an end. I felt the same floating sensation, followed by a bump as the crate was put down. As the lid was unlocked and removed, my first thought was, 'Where in hell am I?', followed by the totally unnerving realization that I wasn't even on the same planet! Don't ask me how, but I was certain I was on board some kind of ship. For a person attempting to escape from the clutches of someone like Phoenix, being on a spaceship can seriously limit one's options. I mean, where could I go? To escape didn't just mean getting away from 'him', it meant getting away from the ship. Even if I managed to steal a lifeboat, navigating interstellar space isn't like cruising the Santa Monica Freeway. You don't get signboards telling you the Ventura off-ramp is coming up in one and a quarter miles, so you'd better start moving to the right-hand lane. You need some serious navigational hardware and one other, significant piece of equipment: you need a propulsion unit capable of getting you home.

For those that don't know, lifeboats are designed to survive a catastrophic failure of the cruise/cargo ship they were jettisoned from, and to keep their occupants alive - but in the vicinity of the now defunct cruise/cargo ship - until help arrives. Why do they stay close to where they were? Well, because the cruise ship would be broadcasting its position continually, in case of just such a contingency, so leaving the area would be stupid, space being slightly bigger than Kansas, and all. Oh, and they also have very powerful beacons, which are automatically activated when they're launched, so they can be easily located. They don't, therefore, make a very good choice as a means of escape when, (a), you have a long way to go to get home, and (b), you don't want anyone to find you while you're trying to get there.

I was in my small cell, eating some more porridgey stuff and sipping my mineral water, when Phoenix entered and leaned against the wall. He watched as I dragged my spoon around the plate to collect the last little bit, and sucked it noisily.

"Some information for you," he said. "First of all, this will be your room for the duration of your stay. Second, the length of your stay here will depend entirely on your ability to absorb and act on the instructions you will receive. Finally, any breach of regulations, or failure to accept instruction, will result in the worst imaginable discomfort for you and a real thrill for me." He glared at me, and went on, "Do you understand."

"Yes?" I replied, staring at the floor in front of his feet.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Yes, Sir," I mumbled.

Without another word, he turned and left.

I sat in silence, staring at my feet for simply ages. It's strange how stress affects your mind. I was in so much trouble, yet I could still notice the leather on the heel of my right boot was scuffed. I licked my thumb and rubbed it. The normality of that action distracted me, numbing my mind, momentarily, against the terrifying reality that was to become the rest of my life. I undressed myself, like I was sleepwalking. As I lay down on the hard cot and covered myself with a threadbare and far from clean blanket, for the first time in long while, I began to cry.....

You remember I said that night I spent tied to the chair in Phoenix's dungeon was the longest of my life? Wrong! That first night on the ship was even longer. Just like before, Phoenix appeared to be in no hurry to visit with me. In fact, it was a full twenty hours since I'd arrived on the ship before the door slid open and he entered, carrying an armful of clothes. He threw them at me, and went back outside to collect a tray. There was a bottle of mineral water and more of that awful porridgey gunk. I didn't care, though. I was so hungry I'd have started in on the blanket if Phoenix had left his coming for another few hours.

Wrapped in the blanket, with the tray on my knees, I emptied the bowl in under a minute, then opened the bottle and took a sip.

"When you've finished," he said, absentmindedly running his finger along the weld between two of the inner hull plates, like he was quality checking it or something, "put these on."

Just as he turned back to face me, I stood up and the blanket dropped to the floor. He quickly turned away from me and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said. "Make sure you're ready."

Slightly confused by his strange behavior - like, he's a Master and he turns his back in apparent embarrassment on a naked female slave? - I examined the clothes he'd brought with him. I say, 'clothes'. There was in fact just one item of clothing: a sleeveless shift, that reached about mid-thigh, and a narrow strip of red leather for a belt. There was nothing else. No spiky heels, corsets, opera length gloves or such, so I assumed we weren't talking 'fetish' for my up-coming training session, just good old fashioned, 'on your knees and worship this, bitch', servitude.

Phoenix was as good as his word, and returned just as I was knotting the belt. "Follow me," he said.

"Where are we going, Sir?" I asked, desperately trying to establish some kind of empathy with him. I mean, he was the only person I'd had any contact with since leaving Greer's place, and I badly needed a friend. Oh, come on, I hear you saying! How could I possibly imagine Phoenix becoming even remotely friendly towards me? Well, weirder things can happen. Trust me. I should know! Many 'Dominants' can be very protective of their 'girl', or 'boy' for that matter, once they're convinced that she/he has accepted the rightness of that dominance. In other words, that they always wanted to serve a Master or Mistress, but hadn't quite realized it yet. The only flaw in my reasoning was my original thinking that he liked hurting people. And, let's face it, his actual job was preparing people - of both sexes as far as I knew - for a life of sexual slavery. He wouldn't be too successful at that if he had a tendency to get too close to one of his protégés every now and then. Besides, he might not even like girls.... or boys for that matter. He might be into horn-faced lizards from Lindar, for all I knew. In the end, it all got so complicated that I stopped thinking about it and trudged along beside him in a kind of daze.

We walked for several minutes, before turning a corner and approaching the door of a small room. I don't know if it was based on my innate optimism, rather than actual fact, but I still had this quiet, nagging suspicion that something wasn't right, here. I'd first had it when Phoenix had reacted so strangely when I dropped the blanket, and it was further reinforced when we entered the small room and I saw there was none of the usual paraphernalia one would expect to find there: like chains, handcuffs, and other things to tie a poor, defenseless girl to. In fact, it was entirely empty.

For several seconds, we stood facing one another. He seemed totally disinterested in me, and showed no signs whatsoever of starting in on whatever it was I'd been brought here to do... or learn. Almost in desperation, in an attempt to elicit some kind response from him, if only to say, 'No, not that, this', I knelt down in front of him and looked at the floor, like the good little 'submissive' I was supposed to want to be.

"For goodness sake, get up," he said, irritably.

"But, Sir, I thought....."

"Oh, do shut up," he snapped.

"Should I do something else, maybe?"

He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet. "Listen," he said, menacingly, but softly, like he didn't want anyone outside the room to hear, "I don't want you to do anything. Okay? Not a single, damn, thing."

"But..."

"Zip it!" he repeated.

"You mean you don't want me to ....?"

"To?"

"You know.... Thingy?"

He grinned. "No. No thingy."

I have to confess, I was sort of insulted by his lack of interest. What girl wouldn't be? Is that a contradiction or what? Maybe that's why guys don't understand us? "Can I ask you something, Sir?" I asked.

He sighed heavily. "Sure. Go ahead."

This was it! I was gambling everything on this next question. Like my ex-boyfriend might have said, 'You're two points down. It's the last play of the game. You're looking at a forty-three yard field goal to win.' Do you go home a hero, or do you never go home? I took a deep breath and went for it. "You're not really a Master, are you?"

Just as Phoenix was about to answer, there was a noise outside. He turned to look out the door, before turning back to face me. He was clearly distracted as he replied, "No, of course I'm not. I'm a revenue inspector."

"A what?" I asked, grinning broadly.

"A revenue inspector." He looked both concerned and annoyed, as I was now laughing out loud. "Will you please keep the noise down," he shouted in a hoarse whisper. "Someone might come."

Well of course, the double meaning of that last phrase just made matters worse. I slid down the wall, clutching my stomach. "You have no idea how scared I've been for the last two days," I said, after my giggling had subsided. "I cannot believe you did this."

"I thought you might be working for Greer," he said, by way of an explanation.

"Greer? You mean, Tomaso Greer?"

"Of course. He's one of the ringleaders."

"And you thought I was one of them?" I asked, incredulously. "Little me? That's crazy!"

"Come on," he protested. "You were dressed like some kind of dominator. Why shouldn't I think you were 'on the team'?"

"You mean 'dominatrix'," I corrected. I thought for a moment. "Okay, I take your point. But, just for the record, I'm not one. K?"

With my future looking a lot more secure, I was able to think clearly again. "Just a minute. If you thought I was a dominatrix, working with Tomaso Greer, how come you locked me up in the dungeon. And, if you're not in the business, so to speak, how come you even had a dungeon in the first place?"

"We don't have time for this," he protested.

"We have time for you to convince me you're on the level," I insisted.

He looked curious. "We do?"

"Absolutely."

His left eyebrow raised a little. "And why, pray, do you feel the need for me to prove I'm what I say I am?"

"Because we have to get off this ship. "And that means we have to depend on each other." He looked blank. "You know, trust each other?"

"Oh, but we don't have to get off the ship."

"We don't?"

"Of course not."

"Would you care to explain that?"

"Sure," he said. "Because we're en route to meet some dealers."

My happy state of mind was starting to evaporate, "You mean slave traders?"

"To quote you," he said, "'absolutely'."

"And my role in this, is?"

"Just look at the floor, say nothing, and we'll be fine," he said.

"We will?"

"Sure," he said, confidently. A few minutes later, as we re-entered my cell, he said, "It wasn't my house."

"What wasn't?"

"The house you came to," he explained. "It wasn't mine. We busted the couple that lived there a few days ago. I took the guy's place."

"Wouldn't Greer have noticed?"

"They never met, according to the guy we arrested," he said. "Just used intermediaries."

"How did it get started then?" I asked. "Did the guy just call Greer out of a clear blue sky, or was it the other way around?"

"Usual way," Phoenix replied. "Mutual acquaintances, common interests.... This is a dirty business, Sashi." He smiled. "But then you'd know that." I nodded. "Everyone involved is going to strive to maintain anonymity."

"Do you think Greer sent me to you as potential merchandise?" I asked.

"Possibly?"

"But you initially thought I was one of the bad guys?"

"Yes," he answered.

"So why, then, like I already asked you, did you drag me downstairs and lock me in that room all night?" I persisted. "And then, to cap it all, why'd you put me in that box and ship me up here? And why did we just walk the whole length of the ship to an empty room?"

"Why did you get in the box?" he countered.

"Because I thought you were a real master, dummy!" I snapped. He looked offended by that last remark, but I figured he deserved it.

"Okay," he said. "When you first arrived, all gussied up in your finery, I thought you must be a dominat..."

"Trix?" I interjected helpfully.

"Well, I only really got into this thing a couple of weeks ago, so I was a little slow in realizing that if you had been a dominat... rix, you would hardly be struggling with the box yourself. You'd have had a couple of slaves with you to do all the manhandling, and would likely have been screaming obscenities at them for being so lazy. Yes?" He looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "And, besides, you'd hardly have come in a cab. So, I had to assume that Greer had duped you into bringing the order to me, so I could then feed you into the system, so to speak."

"But if you're not part of the system," I asked, "why go through with the evil master routine? Why not just turn me loose?"

"And have you casually stroll back into Greer's establishment and say, 'Okay. I delivered that box. Now what?"

"Would that have been so bad?"

"Do you honestly think Greer would have accepted that I, a professional slave mentor, would have turned you down? Why, the fact that you're a natural blonde...."

"You noticed?" I asked, remembering that despite his embarrassment when I dropped the blanket, he had still managed to take a second or so before turning his back.

"I noticed," he replied, with a slight smile. "As I was saying, the simple fact that you're a natural blonde would be grounds for me to charge a client enough to make both Greer and myself very rich men. Couple with that the fact that you are, let's face it, pretty good slave material, had I refused to take you in charge, Greer would had known something wasn't right. We'd have lost him, the clients.... everybody."

"So, tell me," I said, "how come a revenue inspector is hot on the trail of slave traders? What I mean is, why not a cop, or the military?"

"Greer's activities fall under our jurisdiction," he replied.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I don't follow."

"We're intending to prosecute him and his associates for underpayment of customs duty," he explained.

"For what?" I cried.

"Not paying the correct tax on shipments destined for off-world clients, and originating from his or his associate's establishments."

"You're getting him on tax evasion?"

He nodded vigorously. "It's a very serious offense."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," I said. "It's just not what I expected."

"Do you know," Phoenix said, obviously outraged at the depth of Greer's anti-social behavior, "he's been shipping crates containing people, with documents that claim the contents are leather and sporting goods?"

"The sonofabitch!" I said, supportively. "Is there no limit to his perfidy?"

"It would seem not. Livestock carries a four percent higher rating that do sporting goods."

"Livestock?"

"People are living creatures," he explained, like the good little civil servant he was, "being exported as a commodity. That makes them, 'livestock'." He looked extremely serious, as he went on, "Greer's staring at a 'twenty' stretch for this."

I was so angry, I wanted to hit Phoenix on his rear end, but what would that have gained me. Nothing! And to be pragmatic, whether Greer and his cronies were going to be busted for the nasty pieces of work they are, or for failing to pay the right level of tax was irrelevant. What counted was they would be off the street for a very long time. It wouldn't fix the problem, of course. The trade in sex slaves would carry on, if not on Montanera, then somewhere else.

"One last thing," I said.

"And that is?" he asked, that eyebrow raised again.

"The empty room. You never explained why we went there."

He hesitated for the briefest moment. "So we could search your clothing for 'trackers' and hidden recorders."

"But, you were 'Master', as far as I knew. Why not just do it right there, in front of me?"

"It just didn't occur to me to do it that way," he replied.

"Too many years as a revenue inspector," I suggested.

"Probably," he conceded.

I nodded. "Sneaky is always best, I guess."

A few hours later, proximity alarms went off as we approached another ship. "Now remember," Phoenix said, "look at the floor....."

I jumped in, "Say nothing, and we'll be fine."

"Good girl," Phoenix said.

I ignored the patronizing tone, and concentrated on the up-coming encounter. "How many traders are we meeting?"

"Five or six, I think."

"Do you have backup?" I asked, nervously.

"Backup?"

"Help," I replied. "You know, to even up the numbers."

"I don't need backup."

"But they're 'slavers'," I reminded him.

"This is an information gathering exercise. No need for trouble."

"You mean you're not going to arrest them?"

"Of course not," he replied. "They are not citizens of Montanera. We have no jurisdiction, here."

"And what information will you be gathering?"

"Why, how many units they expect to ship back to Montanera for sale in the markets of Saith or Dara."

"Units?" I cried, unable to contain my anger any longer. "Goddamit, Phoenix, these are people we're talking about. Right up until the moment they were snatched from their homes, they were wives, mothers, daughters, sons, sisters and brothers. Then, after a few weeks in the tender clutches of a 'trainer', they become 'livestock', 'merchandise' and 'units'."

"Of course I know they're people," he protested. "I'm not indifferent to their plight. But you have to understand, I am a revenue inspector, and my task is to establish the degree to which Montanera tax legislation is being flouted, and to recommend how the situation can be remedied. Of course....." He stopped talking as the door opened and, presumably, another tax inspector entered. Phoenix moved closer to the newcomer and spoke with him in a whisper. At length, the other inspector left and Phoenix said, "We're now alongside their ship." He went to the bed I'd slept on and knelt down. As I watched, he pulled a box out from beneath it and opened the lid. He rummaged inside and stood up holding two pairs of cuffs, connected by short, heavy, metal chains. "I think you should put these on, for the purposes of authenticity."

I held out my wrists.

Soon, I was hobbled and cuffed, and Phoenix was in the process of buckling a collar around my neck. He attached a leash to a ring in the collar and gave it a sharp tug. "Very realistic," he said, smiling. "Shall we go?"

The hobble chain meant I could take only twelve inch steps, so I struggled to keep up with him as we made for the airlock, where, apparently, we were to meet the slavers. As we approached the last door in the corridor, before we would reach the airlock, I caught a faint trace of a scent. My nose twitched. It wasn't a pleasant scent - sort of musk, but with body odor, three week old garbage and bad breath thrown in. It yanked an image from my memory. 'Tingar-Tanga'. My eyes rolled up and I let out a sigh. "Oh boy," I mumbled.

"Sorry?" Phoenix asked as he held the door open for me.

"You know these guys are 'Tingar-Tanga'?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Well, I hope you're wearing nasal filters, or you have a real strong stomach."

"We'll be fine," he assured me, as we stepped through the door and were confronted by six of the most unsavory looking individuals you could ever wish to meet. Four feet tall, bug eyed, hairless heads, greenish-blue tinge to their lumpy-bumpy bodies. Oh, and of course, they were all butt naked with highly ornate sheaths fitted over their 'thingies'. Their mothers probably loved them, though.... Well, maybe?

Phoenix strode up to the one at the rear. Always the leader, the one at the rear. Gutsy little somebitches, the Tingar-Tanga. "Welcome," he gushed, gesturing to an open door, off to the right. "We have much to talk about." As he was moving out of sight, he looked at me and said, "Just wait here, little one. We'll be just a short while."

"Yes, Sir," I said, slipping back into character.

Phoenix was good as his word. They reappeared a few minutes later, clearly the best of friends. Pleasantries were exchanged and two of the Tingar-Tanga peeled off and headed towards me. "Accept this gift with my gratitude," Phoenix said, handing the keys to the cuffs to one of them.

"Gift?" I screamed.

"These... er, gentlemen, will be taking you to meet your new Master," Phoenix said, trying hard to look sad at loosing me, "after a small amount of attitude adjustment, of course." He smiled.

"Why are you doing this?" I moaned. "I thought you were one of the good guys."

"Why else?" he replied. "Money. More money than I could make in a lifetime of tax regulation enforcement." My look of disgust must have gotten to him. "I'll still be a revenue inspector," he said, "at least for a while yet. There's a lot of fraud going on out there. This money will be kept safe in an off-world account, until I decide it's time to retire. Call it my personal pension provision, if you like." He took hold of my left hand, palm upwards, and dropped two small cylinders onto it. They were nasal filters. "Here, I'm not entirely without conscience."

The door closed between us. I was on my own again, and that little voice in my head was back. 'Help', it cried. But no one was going to hear me out here.

While my new captors were escorting me, with a lot of arm waving and shouting - they also have a particularly annoying habit of screeching loudly when they think you don't understand them - I took the opportunity to slip the nasal filters in place. To those of you who never met the Tingar-Tanga, although they smell really awful, it's nowhere near as bad as the inside of their ships!

I've tried to analyze my feelings as I was driven onwards by repeated prods in the small of my back. I think, truthfully, I was really, very annoyed! K? That was unfortunate for the individual who was walking behind me, continually prodding me. He was - you probably guessed it - the leader of this little band, and went by the grandiose title of, Porta Esario Venti Emoh. I'll just call him Venti Emoh. Suddenly, without warning, I spun around, raised my right foot as far as I could, which was only about a foot because of the hobble chain, and brought it crashing down on his toes. He screamed and screamed. Four of his shipmates clutched their bellies and started laughing, while the other one came towards him, looking really sympathetic. Venti Emoh slapped the sympathetic one on the ear - a particularly sensitive part of Tingar-Tanga anatomy - proving that being nice to someone, especially a Tingar-Tanga, isn't always reciprocated. Anyway, this 'sympathetic' guy walked purposefully across the bridge and slapped one of the four happy chappies. This one slapped the guy next to him, and so on. Finally, the last one of the four to be slapped walked over to me and slapped my rear end - coz he couldn't reach my head, presumably. Maybe I should have said that Tingar-Tanga society is very structured, with a clear hierarchy, based on, of all things, the size of one's 'thingy'. Because females don't have a 'thingy', we are obviously the bottom of the pile - hence the lowliest male slapping my rear end. With that, I turned right around and stamped on Venti Emoh's foot again, and the whole round of head slapping, followed by my rear end getting swatted began again. Venti Emoh was incandescent with rage. What I'd done, in effect, was to claim that I was superior to him, by initiating the process. No way could he live with that, but neither could he refrain from the instinctive need to reassert his superiority over the others. After I'd kept this round-robin farce going for a minute or so, I sat down and waited.

Venti Emoh barked several orders to the second in command - the 'sympathetic' one - who then repeated those same orders to the third in command, and so on until the sixth in command tried to get me to make the course calculation and fire the engines. Because much of their technology is borrowed, I could probably have done what he asked, but no way was I going to help. I shrugged and tried my best to look helpless. He looked really put out. Obviously, he wasn't happy being at the bottom of the sociological woodpile. Despite not wanting to make matters worse, I burst out laughing, again, as he turned back, with a vicious snarl, to the control panel.

I was left alone for a fairly long period of time, so the crew could get the ship under way and have a meal. I was actually offered some of the food, but only after the males had helped themselves to all the best bits, of course, and in strict order of rank. Like the people themselves, it looked and smelled dreadful. I had my filters in, but it would probably have tasted pretty dreadful, too, so I declined. I did have some water, though. It was slightly murky and tasted stale. As I sipped it slowly, the germ of an idea came to me.

Eventually, Venti Emoh came back and stood in front of me, slowly moving from foot to foot. I started to get up, but he motioned to me that I should stay seated, so my head was below his, I guess. Their vocal chords are slightly different to ours, so, for instance, when they pronounce an 'r', it sounds like they're clearing their throats before spitting. It was with considerable difficulty, therefore, that he told me I was to be taken to the Casalmara system, where I would be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"Oh, well that's okay then," I said, grinning broadly - knowing full well it would upset him.

"You arrrrrgh happy with thissss?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Of course I am," I replied. "For one awful moment I thought I was going to have to stay here."

He now looked extremely annoyed, like he suspected I was making fun of him. "What wong, here?"

"It's a bit...." I hesitated, savoring the moment. "Well, if I have to be honest, you're not really important enough for me to take you seriously... as a Master, I mean." I then gave him a sweet smile, stood up and did a little curtsy, before sitting down again.

"Yooooooo beeeeeech! I glad yoooo not stay heeerrrrgh." He stamped his feet, and called out to the others. When they arrived, line astern, in order of rank, he slapped the second in command.... Well, you know the rest.

It was only after they had left, in line astern, in order of rank, that I realized how much of a chance I'd taken with Venti Emoh. Challenging his authority was not the smartest thing to do - considering I was bound hand and foot - but I was certain that I had managed to convince him that he really should go with Plan 'A', like he originally intended, rather than keeping me for himself. Score one for our side!

Two days later, we arrived at the outskirts of the Casalmara system. There was a lot of activity on the bridge as orders were passed down the ranks, ears were boxed and noses tweaked. A fight even broke out between the fourth and fifth ranked Tingar-Tanga. All eyes were on them while they slugged it out for a few minutes, before Venti Emoh arose from his chair, walked over and tapped them both on the shoulder. The two stopped swinging at each other, immediately, and he then proceeded to slap their ears, simultaneously. With order now restored, Venti Emoh returned to his chair and barked more orders, which were, as normal, passed down the ranks. It really is the most inefficient way to run a ship, let alone a society, and I sat through the whole sequence of events with a broad smile on my face, which I quickly removed whenever Venti Emoh looked in my direction.

I won't bore you all with the events of the next six hours, because, in essence, they were just like the previous twenty-four. Orders, slaps, fights, slaps, orders....

Casalmara was growing larger and larger in the view plate. We were about three hours out, when we were contacted by their approach control and ordered into a polar orbital descent pattern. This momentarily overwhelmed the command structure on board our happy little ship, as Venti Emoh barked his orders, 'number two' got the approach vectors back to front, passed them to 'number three', Venti Emoh corrected 'number two', who then corrected 'number three', by which time 'number six' had already fed the incorrect figures into the inertial navigation system. With only seconds to spare, before we would have swung through ninety degrees and pile driven ourselves deep into Casalmara, 'number six' input the correct vectors into the navigation system and executed them. I have to be honest, here, and confess that I was smiling through the whole crazy sequence of events, because I don't speak good 'Tingar-Tanga', so I had no idea we were so close to being dead.

We touched down at Ular Dicti, Casalmara's principle spaceport, where we were met by a representative of the auction house handling the sale of... well... me, I guess, as well as a few hundred others. Venti Emoh grew very excited as he spoke with the rep., who was looking at me the whole time. From what little I could understand, I think he was telling Venti Emoh that I would fetch a good price. Once the conversation was over, the representative handed Venti Emoh a small metal disc - proving I was his 'lot' in the sale - and beckoned me over. My ankles were still hobbled, so I waddled over to him as best I could and followed him down the loading ramp and into a waiting transporter. In no time at all, I was sitting on a wooden bench, in an underground assembly room, with one beautician busily combing my hair and another rouging my cheeks and applying lipstick to my lips. The woman doing my face expressed dismay at the poor quality of my shift, but said there was little she could do about it at such short notice, so she just slipped a knife under the neck and cut it off me.

While I sat there, being beautified, the room was filling up with females from several species... and males of course. The two women working on me were joined by a least twenty more, moving among the merchandise, preening and fluffing as they went.

"Twenty-seven-five, it is," the auctioneer cried. "Take her away."

A finger prodded me, dragging me from my reverie. "Stop it, you stupid Tingar-Tanga twit," I snapped, turning to face my tormentor. It wasn't Venti Emoh after all. It was the agent who'd greeted me on my arrival. I was being told to climb the stairs to the display platform.

On stage, a handler removed my hobbles and wrist cuffs, then pulled my arms behind my back and stuffed them into an arm binder, which pulled my elbows together, and made my boobies stick out like a pair of torpedoes. My collar was removed so my long neck - a very big plus point, apparently - could be seen clearly.

"Humanoid female, fine breeding stock," the auctioneer began. "Strong teeth, good skin, submissive..." there was an 'oooh' from the crowd, "... natural blonde..." another 'oooh', "... has only completed a very basic level of training. Who'll start me at fourteen, eh?"

Well, I had absolutely no quibble with the humanoid female, strong teeth and good skin descriptors; but 'good breeding stock'? How the heck did he know?

I dare say you'll find this a bit strange, but I had no idea who purchased me. As I'd stood there, pouting and wiggling my rear end, like I'd been told to, all I could see was a sea of faces, some humanoid, most not. Every now and then, a head was nodded, or a limb or auction list was raised to indicate a bid. The price went up, fast, until it hit twenty-nine million Ortanotes - about two hundred and forty thousand dollars. I found out later on that I scored more than the previous girl coz of my blonde hair, even though she had me on the basic training thing and was, reputedly, far more submissive than I was thought to be. I was led away, once more hobbled, to wait for my new owner in a large blockhouse behind the display platform. The handler snapped a chain attached to the wall behind me to the collar which was once more around my neck, and left me alone to await my fate.

I must have fallen asleep, because I came to with someone shaking my shoulder. "Wake up, girl!" There was a short pause. Then, "Wake up, dammit!"

"Whaaa..." I mumbled, keeping my eyes firmly closed.

My shoulder was shaken again - more violently this time. I decided to meet this impatient individual half way by opening my eyes but remaining soundly asleep. "Who the heck are you?" I asked, as I found myself staring into a pair of pale green eyes, set in a darkly tanned, well traveled face.

The mouth smiled. "I think you'll find I'm your new owner," he said. He brushed a lock of my hair away from my right eye. He must have noticed my curious expression. "Just checking you have two. Buyer beware and all that! You know how dishonest these slavers can be?" He smiled again. "Good, both there, and both green. I like green, as it happens."

I sat up. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, politely, without thinking, like you do. Then it obviously hit him, and he added, "I think... er, Sashi, is it?" I nodded. "I think you might want to put a 'Sir' on the end of that."

"Oh, of course," I mumbled, "I meant, Sir."

"It's okay. I'm not that much of a traditionalist, but I have just paid twenty-nine million for you. I think that deserves some recognition. Don't you?"

"Oh, yes, Sir." I looked him over. Hmmm, not bad, I decided. Tall. Lean. Not too old. Not too young. 'Well girlfriend,' I thought to myself, 'if you're gonna be sold to someone, it might as well be someone like him.'

"Good," he said, "I'm pleased we understand each other."

He knelt, unlocked my ankle cuffs, and threw them into a nearby garbage bin. He stood and hauled me to my feet. He spun me around and undid the arm binder straps and removed it. As I stretched the kink out of my spine and rubbed my sore shoulders, I noticed he stood more than a head taller than me. Well, that was a relief, I can tell you! There's nothing worse than putting on your best five-inch heels and finding you tower over your date.

As he led me off in the direction of his hired skimmer, I asked if he would tell me his name.... expecting him to say, 'Master', or something. He surprised me by telling me his name was Darvu Funn. I stopped dead in my tracks. "Darvu Funn?" I repeated.

"You've heard of me?" he asked, looking quite pleased with himself.

"No, Sir, not you," I replied, as submissively as I could manage. "But I have heard of a 'Marku Funn'. Is he a relative?"

"My elder brother." He was looking slightly less pleased with himself, now. "Bit of a bad boy, my brother," he said, uneasily - like maybe he was ashamed of the fact that, almost single-handed, Marku Funn had eradicated an entire species of sentient amphibians so he could get his hands on a spaceship full of gemstones he'd found laying around on their planet. (Alethea reported this in: "The Bizarre Effects of Gene Therapy on Tok-Nar.)

I wondered if some of the fortune Marku must have received for the sale of those gems had somehow fallen into Darvu's hands. I sensed I shouldn't ask, but I just had to. "Can I enquire what happened to him, Sir?"

"You mean, like, did he get his just reward for the crime he committed?" he asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't presume to suggest..." I said. Then I thought, 'Oh, the hell with it'. "Well, yes, actually."

"No. He got away clean."

"And you're independently wealthy, Sir, I take it?"

"You want to know if his ill gotten gains paid for you?"

"Sorry, but it's important to me."

"I understand," he said, showing a sensitive side that had me getting weak at the knees. "Be assured, none of my brother's money found its way into my accounts - which are completely empty, now, as it happens."

"You mean you're broke?"

"Broke, Sir."

"Sorry," I said, trying to sound contrite.

"Flat," he replied, opening the passenger door to the small ground vehicle and helping me into the seat - I was still handcuffed, remember. "But I did have enough to get you these." He pulled open the lid of a largish, red and cream colored box that was on the back seat of the skimmer. "Thigh high boots," he said, "with long, spiky heels, in soft black leather. Shoulder length gloves, in the same, soft black leather. Finally, a long, over-bust corset, in black leather, with lace panels." He pulled out the corset to show me. "I think I have the sizes right."

"Oh, I'm sure you have, Sir," I gushed. The corset must have cost a fortune. It was a 'Greer' limited edition of 'one' - it said so on the label, which also had my name on it. Greer might be a low down, money grabbing, slave trading sonofabitch, but he still cut and stitched the best 'leather' in the entire quadrant.

"Well, I wanted you to be comfortable." He showed me a beautiful set of teeth. "Well, not comfortable, exactly. Not in that corset."

I was about to say something truly inane, when an 'LED' flashed 'on' and 'off' in my brain a couple of times. "Excuse me, Sir, but would you mind telling me how come this corset has my name on the label?"

"I had it put there, of course," he said. "I like my girls to be nicely dressed."

"I'm sure you do. But this is custom made."

"So?" he asked.

"It's unique. Based on my own measurements, so it fits me perfectly. No one else."

"And your point is?" he growled.

"It would have taken Greer a couple of days to make it," I said. "And I was measured at Greer's for the very first time, this trip. So...." I watched his face for a few seconds. "So, you had to have known you would be purchasing me at least three days ago, plus the time it would take to bring the clothing here.... say, five days in all." That was stupid! That was just about the time I arrived on Montanera! I said as much to him. To my surprise, he looked really uncomfortable, and shifted in his seat.

"Okay, I admit it," he said.

"Admit what, Sir?"

"Drop the 'Sir'," he said. "You're free to go."

"I am?" I cried. "Really?"

"Really."

"So," I said, "why'd you get all this stuff, and then come here and spring me?"

"I hadn't planned on spending twenty-nine mil' on you," he said. "In fact, I tried to get to you when you first arrived on Montanera, but you disappeared. By the time I found the trail again, at Greer's, you were already on your way here."

"You tracked me to Montanera and then here, you mean?" I asked. He nodded. "Why?"

"I need your help," he said.

"My help?"

"Yes," he said.

"To do what, precisely?"

"They have my sister."

"Who do?"

"The Cor-te-Eva. I need you to help me get her back."

"They're bad honchos," I said. "Very bad."

"I know," he said.

"So, why'd you come after me? I'm not a mercenary. I'm just a reporter. A damn good one, mind you."

"They say they'll kill her unless I get them what they want."

"So, what do they want? Money?"

"No, not money." He looked so helpless. It was all I could do not to reach out and cuddle him.

"Then what?" I prompted, pointing at the collar.

He reached around and removed it. "They want you, Sashi."

"They want me for her?"

"Yes."

"But that's crazy."

"They want you to tell the universe what's happening on their homeworld."

"Like what?" I asked. "Did they say?"

"No," he said. "Just they need you to tell everyone what's going on there." He looked into my eyes. I was certain he didn't lie when he told me, "They gave their word that you'd be safe."

"Well, then, we'd better get going," I said.

"They said you should go alone," he said, nervously.

"I'm talking about going to your hotel," I said. He looked confused. "I need some help lacing up this beautiful new corset. The first time is always a bitch!"

"So, you'll help me?" he asked.

"Call me crazy," I said, "but, yes, I'll help you."

He leaned across and kissed me hard on the lips. "How can I ever thank you?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Oh, I'll think of something," I replied, equally breathlessly.