Hardship Troopers

She was thin and toned; her tight skin concealing a body wrapped in stringy muscle, probably a result of the aforementioned hard-chargin' life; one that lacked superficial luxuries and senseless wants. She seemed like the type that only got what she absolutely needed out of life and had to fight tooth and nail to get even that. Her arms and midriff were always bare and she always wore dungaree-style work trousers.

Done intentionally or not, Maximillia's dungarees always managed to perfectly accentuate her rear end, which was surprisingly supple and voluptuous. Most skinny girls weren't gifted with the natural ability to tow a full load around back, but she was more than well-endowed in that department.

Maximillia's chest wasn't nearly as stacked as her backside, but it didn't matter. It actually added to the charm of her pleasantly unique physique. She wasn't a typical, orthodox girl and didn't seem to realize one bit that she could really work her body if she wanted to. Cam knew it was a sick and misogynistic thing to admit, but he thought to himself how she could do porn if she wanted. He knew it wasn't the most noble thought, but it was a reasonable one.

There was an enormous market for hardcore virtual reality data-streams where the user could have any sexual experience they wanted in a first person perspective. Sex, on demand, with any man, woman or alien imaginable; living, dead or even fictional. The digital constructs were indistinguishable from reality.

A girl like Maximillia, if she ever considered a career in that racket, could rake in a fortune. A man, or woman, so willing, could direct her to do anything they wanted. It's no wonder that the erotic VR data-stream industry was booming and was even lining the pockets of digi-pirates and unlicensed construct artists. A young human male, infatuated with his mom's hot friend, could order up a VR sex fantasy that would make Caligula blush.

But, even though her scarred, inked and supple body was a perplexing enigma to most heterosexual men, it was Maximillia's face that was the most intriguing. For some reason, she tried to be ugly, but just couldn't pull it off. Between her flawless, silky-smooth skin, her perfectly sculpted nose, her full, engorged, pouty lips and her narrow, dark eyes, she was unbearably and mysteriously engaging.

One day, Hamolde brought Maximillia around for formal introductions with Cam's department. Cam saw that, when she met everyone else, she was visibly less than enthusiastic, which didn't bode well for him. Like he expected, when they officially met, she didn't bother reciprocating when he offered his hand for a handshake. She downright looked bored and uninterested. She barely looked at him, and for the brief moments she did, it was more with indifference and even a tinge of mild contempt. How embarrassing. He was certain that he involuntarily shed that crimson shade that exposed his humiliation.

Cam was always a bit nonplussed around beautiful women, but not so sheepish that he couldn't make eye contact and put together a coherent sentence. For Cam, though, it was really hard not to stutter in Maximillia's presence. She was almost hypnotically attractive, but also an unapproachable, inaccessible, armor-plated bitch with no patience for kindness, which she took as weakness. He figured she already didn't like him so he was in a hole that'd already been dug for him that he needed to find a way to crawl out of.

The fact that the terminals were always buggy, especially in Cam's department, made him realize that eventually he'd have to have a face-to-face with Maximillia. When he did, it'd be because he needed her help and she'd have to be inconvenienced because of his inability to help himself. It'd be like trading in an organ without anesthetic or showering in pig blood and throwing yourself into a cage with a hungry, predatory carnivore.

It'd be a sneak peek into oblivion, but it was something he knew he was going to have to experience at some point.

Strangely though, the fact that a confrontation was forthcoming and inevitable was actually nervously exciting. He was afraid of the moment, but knew it would be unpredictable and volatile. Maybe he'd actually crack her armor a little and see a twinkle of humanity in there. That or she'd get to know him a little and that would increase her level of contempt for him from mild indifference to severe loathing.

It was going to happen, though, so why bother to worry?

CHAPTER 2

Descent Into Darkness

Cam woke up on a Third Day, middle of the six-day work cycle. Groggy as hell, he drug himself out of bed. He was still riding the tail end of a bender, courtesy of a few rounds of shots at Anchorpoint the previous night. He pulled himself into the shower, then got dressed and knocked back a can of Purient, which was a slurry of six Arcean fruits and veggies, "all in a delicious stew of vitalectable flavors and energy!". At least that's what the unsolicited REM sleep transmission advertisements said.

Knowing Maximillia was going to be at work, that there was an off chance that he might cross her path and an even more distant possibility that she'd look in his general direction, he spent more time than usual in front of the bathroom mirror. He sculpted his dark hair into a fancy curl of a horn. That particular hairstyle was all the rage with young men his age back on Arcean. He knew his chances were infinitesimal but someone forgot to inform his hormones, which were notoriously stubborn.

If anything, he just wanted to look presentable enough that he'd feel slightly less exposed and vulnerable in her presence.

Cam rolled into the office, keeping an eye out for Maximillia. He hadn't seen her yet but knowing she was either in the vicinity or would be sent a tingle down his spine. It was a tingle born of both excitement and dread. He felt like, at any moment, Maximillia could pop up and shank him in the ribs with a rusty screwdriver. She was that terrifying, but her ass was also to die for so it was a definite internal conflict.

He hadn't felt this kind of social anxiety in regards to a woman in a long time. Women never were a huge priority in his life. He'd had lovers in the past, human and alien alike, but he was never the type of guy who was always "on the prowl" just guided around by his rocket. He wasn't a party animal, an exhibitionist or even a mildly extroverted thrillseeker. Sure, he had drinks at Anchorpoint from time to time, but even that was mostly a solitary recreation.

Cam was a very introspective person, his mind always off in deep thought. He was more an intellectual, a philosopher more interested in ideas than people, a far cry from adrenaline junkies or social vampires who needed to be constantly stimulated, bombarded with attention or praised to be sustained. His mellow, disciplined upbringing kept him on the level and he never really strayed from the path. Girls like Maximillia were more alien to him than, well, female aliens.

As he sat down to his main terminal, it activated automatically, the environmental sensors detecting his presence. The system booted up as it always did. He did recall, though, that the terminals had been acting up for weeks. Just little symptoms of bugginess; the occasional delay in response time, the occasional missing data file, the need to reboot ever so often. Nothing major or catastrophic, but slightly annoying in the least and ominously foreboding at best.

He never worried about the buggy systems because he knew he could always call on Hamolde to fix the problem. Now, though, was a different situation. More complicated than the terminal situation was how to approach the new technician, should things go awry.

Then, hours into the day, it happened. At first the system chugged and Cam wasn't able to access recently archived cargo manifests. Then, it would take longer and longer to process simple requests, like deleting a file or searching an index. It got to the point that he realized it was now a detriment to his work. He knew he wasn't qualified to meddle with the system.

He inhaled deeply, knowing clear and true the task at hand. Willing himself out of his chair, he moved into the hallway. Hamolde's old workspace was just down the hall and, in the past, whenever Cam needed him, he could just stroll on over and ask for help. For the first time ever, he was dreading having to approach the tech workshop.

Cam rounded the corner into the large cubicle but found it empty. He sighed, breathing a momentary sigh of relief but he realized his problem wasn't solved. He needed to find Maximillia. He noticed the access panel leading into the sub-basement at the far corner of the room was ajar, a forbidding red glow emanating from below.

He approached slowly, peeking in, then stepping inside and proceeding downward. The sub-basement was illuminated by a series of emergency lights that bathed the pipe-infested chamber in a neon red wash. It was designed like the innards of a centuries-old battle submarine there; nothing but pipes and thundering rattles and mysterious clangs and pings reverberating throughout. Very disorienting.

Carefully, he moved forward, eyes darting to and fro, until he rounded a corner and saw her there, sitting at a small table in the dark, furthermost corner, drenched in the crimson lights, turning her light skin a demonic red. There she was, Queen of the Underworld herself and mistress of her domain. The atmospherics certainly didn't help bolster Cam's steadily dwindling courage reserves.

She was quietly reading a book, a bottle of andalarian scotch and a shot glass conveniently next to her. As far as Cam could tell, she hadn't noticed him yet. Or maybe she had and hadn't bothered to acknowledge his presence. Looking at her, he was actually frozen, unable to speak. His brain was glitching just as bad as the terminals in his office. To him, she looked like a coiled grass serpent. The kind he remembered finding in the fields near his home on Arceus. When coiled but not quite prepared to strike, they were harmless, but when approached and provoked, they could kill with a single bite.

Cam knew he had to say something. He inched forward and with his most delicate, unthreatening voice, he broke the silence. "Umm, hi. Uhh--Maximillia..."

Her eyes slowly drug over to him while the rest of her body didn't move a centimeter. He winced, trying to salvage the slowly tumbling situation. "Yeah, I--I hate to bother you but I've got a little situation in my office."

"Max." she said cryptically.

Cam didn't know what she meant. "Uhh, I'm not sure I underst--"

"My name..." she interrupted. "It's just Max. Saying Maximillia just wastes your time and my time. It's Max. Saves time on syllables." With that, she turned back to her book.

"Okay, Max. I--I was just saying that I was having some issues with the terminal in my office." he stuttered.

She sighed loud enough for him to hear and laid down her book, turning those fiery eyes back onto him. He gulped, trying not to wet himself as she stomped past him and up the stairwell.

Max swept into Cam's office, as if she knew exactly where she was going. She did. As Cam followed behind her, carefully not to breach her personal bubble, she stopped short of the terminal and sat in his seat. Her fingers danced on the holographic keyboard that hovered in space before her, her digits moved as if possessed, just typing up a swarm of text on-screen. She entered commands so fast and the data was scrolling upward at such an insane speed that he could barely keep up.

Cam considered himself computer literate, but apparently Max was on another level altogether. Within moments, she'd breach the internal operating system of his terminal and was punching in complex coded program lines, silently diagnosing the system. She finally stopped, analyzing the data on the screen. Cam couldn't decipher what it all said, but he read her face, watching for every muscular twitch and reflexive nuance.

Max finally looked over at him. "When's the last time you defragged this terminal?"

"I--I" he stuttered.

"The data core is jammed full of crap diagnostic files, outdated archive materials and undeleted core-scan records." she said, just staring at him.

Cam felt so imasculated. There she was, this lithe, stringy muscled, bare-armed tat queen just drilling into his soul with her mesmerizing dark eyes. His mind was spinning, desperate for a retort, any retort. "I--I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Clearly, she knew that no response he'd give would be sufficient. Max had him over a barrel and was probably revelling in the feeling. She rolled her eyes and sighed, quickly tapping the holographic keys. The screen flashed green and emptied to a blank slate. She pushed away from the terminal and walked away, exiting the room.

Cam exhaled, attempting to scoop up the last remnants of his self-respect. He realized that she was more of a handful that he initially thought. She was ferocious. The look in her eyes showed no patience for weakness. She came off as a flawless piece of organic engineering incapable of even the slightest fault or indecisive pause. Every choice she made she made without even a momentary delay and every choice seemed to be the right one. She commanded that terminal as if inhuman, as if in direct digital control of it, from mind to motherboard. In short, she terrified him.

Thankfully, the terminals in Cam's office held and he wasn't forced to endure another emotional ball-kicking. The other people in Cam's department weren't so lucky. Archie, Marti and J'Ahnatharius all felt the brooding cynicism and overall unpleasantness that was Max. She actually wasn't nearly as aggressive, impatient and agitated with them as she was with Cam but they certainly sensed that negative aura and vibe she gave off. Hard to complain, though, when her actual work on the terminals was so effectively fruitful.

When it came to brass tacks, Max was a workhorse and tackled a faulty terminal the same way a mechanic would get a hoverbike out of a salvage heap and back into the air. She was focused, laser-like, on her objective and didn't sway and swerve until the job was done. When the job was done, she walked. No banter, no chit-chat, no witty or humorous observations about the state of modern politics, sports or entertainment. It was strictly business, and when she was done, she returned back to the dark and cool confines of her subterranean abode.

Cam would walk by her open bay workshop but she was never in there. Her seat was vacant and her desk empty. He could see the ominous red glow welling up from the sub-basement access panel, though, and he knew she was in there somewhere, like a black widow clinging defensively to her web just waiting for an unwary traveller to wander by and be snatched up. He held his breath every time he crossed her workshop, lest she hear him and come scrambling out after him.

Word got around quickly cementing Max's reputation as a skilled and knowledgable technician, but also as someone with whom you should not fuck. Days went by without Cam so much as seeing the back of her shaved head. Part of him was thankful because he feared that the next time he did he might accidentally make eye contact with her and be turned to stone. She'd almost become a mythological figure in her own department. It certainly was an psychological conflict for Cam because, while she was terrifying, part of him also wanted to impress her.

Weeks passed and every encounter Cam had with Max was less than positive. Every time they exchanged glances, she looked wryly unamused at best and mildly repulsed at worst. He started to wonder if he'd unintentionally insulted her somehow with something he'd said or done that could've been construed by her as offensive, no matter how trivial the comment or action. He couldn't think of anything, though. He was always polite and never projected himself as arrogant or obnoxious. Actually, he carried himself with a natural, unforced modesty. So, he was stumped. Whatever it was, it seemed her disdain was unequally directed at him.

Darwinism doesn't fail, though, and Cam's futile mental make-up was evidence. She was definitely dangerous but also prime mating material. Sure, he was certain that after copulation she'd probably devour him headfirst, but the logical mind rarely dictates the procedure and execution of a young man's will, especially when a hot piece of ass is involved. Unfortunately for Cam, she was a hot piece of ass. Toxic? Yes. Venomous? Yes. Worth a climb? Probably. He certainly wasn't going to test the waters, though. Not quite yet, anyway. Before diving into that pool he'd have to constantly check the temperature. A toe at first, then a hand, then up to an ankle, a knee, then a full-blown dive. That's what he wanted to do, against all prevailing wisdom.

He had no plan but he was intrigued by Max. She was a puzzle, an enigma. Cam was a nice guy, the type that always wanted people to like him. Some would consider that a flaw, but he always went out of his way to help others. In Max's case, she didn't seem like the type that needed help. She seemed the type that would vigorously deny help. He wanted to find the weak part in her armor, but where and how?

****

A week had gone by after Cam's last flaming dud of an encounter with the department's token queen bitch, Max. He'd swept up most of his manhood and his self-esteem was almost at one-hundred percent again. The day was going well. Shipments were coming and going smoothly. He hadn't received a call from corporate in awhile and the proverbial train was chugging without incident.

He realized around the middle of the work shift that he hadn't eaten anything and was getting a tad peckish so he strolled on down to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was completely automated; a few gyro-powered service automatons would roll and whir around the cafeteria, serving anyone who requested assistance. Other than that, food was stored in self-serve automats that patrons could buy by simply asking for an item. The voice identifiers would recognize the customer and automatically deduct the funds from their corporate account.

Cam walked into the cafeteria to find it mostly empty, save for the aforementioned service automatons and a scattered few employees who wandered in from other departments. He went up to one of the automats, the only one that served fresh Arcean salads and stood before it, eyeing his choices. Seeing as that the cafeteria was almost empty, he felt free to take his time.

He leaned in, looking through the glass at the colorfully prepared dishes. Cam literally stood there for minutes, carefully analyzing each salad. Why not? He was caught up on his work and was in no hurry to jump on the first thing he saw. Finally, he heard a sigh, then, a sultry voiced growled. "Taking forever."

Cam looked over his shoulder and there was Max, arms crossed, an unimpressed look of spite on her face. Her standoffish pose certainly didn't help, either. After a moment he stepped aside, giving up his spot by conceding defeat and waving her in. She didn't offer a word of gratitude, just pursed her lips, unmoved.

With his tail between his legs, Cam wandered over to another kiosk, ordered a burger and chips, accepted his purchase through the food slot and grabbed a tray. As he turned around, he noticed Max taking a seat at a table in front of him, her salad mocking him. They made eye contact only momentarily before Cam glanced away and walked past her. He crossed the length of the cafeteria and sat at the table near the entrance, the one that happened to be the furthest from Max. He sat with his back to her, not a move of disrespect but of intimidation.

He thought to himself, wondering aghast, at how this tight little package of mascara, tattoos and bare skin could have such an effect on him. Maybe it was because she didn't give off any hint of characteristics common in basic, normal socializations. She offered no reciprocation of decent civility, no interest in superficial social interactions and not even an acknowledgment of the feelings of others. It's as if she wanted people to know that "the rules" didn't apply to her and that everyone should feel foolish for wearing the social masks they did on behalf of their perception of interpersonal relations.