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“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” Dayna declares, looking down on Belkov with distaste.
Vila scoffs. “That wouldn’t be far.”
“You think so?” She hefts up Belkov demonstratively as he struggles, holds him high above her head for a second with a challenging look at Vila (who wants to whistle appreciatively but doesn’t dare to), then tosses the wriggling body into the sand pit ahead, where it buries itself with a muffled thud before emerging in a crab-like frenzy of flailing limbs.
Murmurs of appreciation rise from the crowd around them—all the villagers from the nearby Mecronian settlement gathered to watch the traditional event.
“First placement for distance.” Gambit recites evenly. “Extra points for form and style.”
Three hooded judges in long robes nod at each other in agreement then scribble in unison on their stone tablets, chanting melodiously.
”What about me?” Belkov moans pitifully, spitting out a mouthful of sand.
“Don’t worry. We’ll set you down on a neutral planet,” Dayna tells him, “after the locals you’ve used for entertainment have finished getting theirs out of you.”
“Save me, Gambit! I have always cared for you.”
“I am sorry, Belkov.” Gambit doesn’t sound sorry. “I have found somebody who truly appreciates me. Someone who knows the meaning of chivalry.”
”The word is misused,” Orac bristles. “Our previous interactions were purely technical in nature. The deep computational architecture of your circuits is simply a pleasure to explore.”
“Oh, Orac, you say the nicest things,” Gambit coos. Orac whirrs up with a purring hum, its cyan lights sliding into a glowing spectrum of warm reddish pink.
“End game to Dayna,” Gambit announces a short while later as the competition draws to a close. Dayna bends her neck graciously to receive her prize from a Mecronian elder: a solid gold necklace from a treasure stockpile that had been assiduously hidden from the Federation, adorned with seven genuine feldon crystals.