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In a flowing gown, she goes to the ball.

And yes, I did say sexed up skittles. Not just because the farmers were of every color under the rainbow, but they were also covered with hardened carapace that looked faintly bug-like, exposing rubbery flesh between armored plates. Their bellies and thighs were mostly exposed, giving the men chances to show off their rocking abs and the women to show off their astounding titties.

Their eyes were pure black, and their mouths were small and placed underneath non-existent noses. Instead of nostrils, they had long whiskers, which were all twitching upwards at our arrival. And now, our arrival was pretty dang impressive.

At the front was Princess Tzali. Not Ali, you may ask. No, no, no. She had dressed herself in a reasonable facsimile of her old battle armor, which made her look like a walking geode made of spikes and lens flares. Her face was concealed behind hardened crystal plates and her fingers were clad in intricate, articulated gauntlets. Don't ask me how PsiCom had managed to recover enough of her armor (which I had kinda accidentally shattered when we first met) for her to rebuild it. But the end result was intimidating as fuck. And behind her came us.
First, Opal and Ebony and Tycho. Each of them was dressed in a no shit gold bikini with tassels and bits of silk to cover their lady bits. They had each gotten five hours of marching through a jungle to get over the discomfort of having their psychic powers stripped down to nearly nothing, and were now dealing with the...other indignities. And in them, we could see the three reactions to wearing a gold bikini. Opal was having fun selling herself as a beautiful slave girl. Ebony, her taciturn clone, was looking bored. Tycho was shooting glare-daggers at me and Magnum.

But while the three girls of our Lance were in bikinis, at least they had their powers.

And weren't currently literally dying.

See, both Magnum and I were dressed in mindless guard uniforms. That meant thick boiled leather with obsidian knives at our hips and those wooden club-swords that were used by ancient peoples across Earth. The edge came from obsidian tips. And yes, the bizarre nature of the Doyen technology, where they had both faster than light travel, spaceships and planet destroying super weapons, but had never invented a better sword than stone and wood was still making my head boggle. Well, the part of my brain that could think past the fact I had marched five miles through a jungle, in a world with nearly 90% humidity, in leather armor.



My head wobbled slightly as Magnum stood to my left, looking as impassive as a statue carved from stone.

Fucking Magnum. Showing off. I tried to stand taller and ended up nearly falling over backwards onto my ass. Meanwhile, the girlfriend was doing the standard Doyen greeting.

Your headman, her telepathic voice echoed in my head, booming loudly. Reveal them.

"M'lady, he-" A farmer holding a hoe in shaking hands started. Tzali flicked her fingers and a telekinetic hand closed around the farmer, then lifted him into the air. He squalled and kicked his legs, his eyes bugging.

Don't waste my time, Tzali said and I nearly added my own pee to the puddle of sweat gathering in my leather kilt.

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