A Moon Called Sun
Chapter Nine — The Devil to Pay

"Dad? What the hell is going on?" Trace sat on the deck of The Joey while pressing a clean rag against the vicious bite mark on his chest-a goodbye kiss from his ex-girlfriend. "This is fucked up." His ass bounced as the boat skipped across the wake. "Crap!" Trace was jostled again and almost fell over onto his side but kept his balance. His wound, though no longer bleeding, hurt like a mother. "You can't be...here."

"Why can't I be here, Tracie?" Burt asked as he maneuvered the boat. Trace could only see the back of his head but detected a perceptible smile in the man's tone. "I feel the wind against my face and that vibration in my nut sack, so I must be here!"

"But you're dead...I scattered your ashes." Trace ran his hands through his hair. "This isn't funny anymore, you assholes!" he screamed at the sky. "Leave my dead father out of your kinky role-play, you freaky motherfuckers!"

"I see you inherited my colorful vocabulary," Burt said dryly. "Your mum was afraid of that. You've got to forgive my obscene existence back on Earth, Trace. I regret the way I acted. Ah, it's good to finally be able to say that to you." "You don't talk like Burt," replied Trace. "You're too effusive."

"Oooh, big word that one...effusive." He laughed. "I've changed a lot since we saw each other in the ICU. Geez, what an awful place to piss off in. I always hated hospitals. You know something? I wish I could've died on Captiva. I love the west coast, you know? Down on the beach, watching the green flash of the sunset with your darling mother holding my hand and whispering to me in that comforting voice of hers. Yeah, that would have been perfect. I should have died before her. My life was never the same after she left me."

"How do they know this about my family? About Nikki? This doesn't make any sense!" Trace wanted to stand, thought better of it, and remained seated. "Wait, don't tell me. I know." He snapped his fingers. "I've been probed. That's it, isn't it? Aliens are always running one up some poor schmuck's ass, and I know how much you alien fucks love to push around a healthy turd!" he shouted.

"You're right," Burt said, smiling.

"I am?" Trace felt the blood leave his cheeks. "I was just kidding. Oh, my God! I've been cornholed by aliens?"

"For one thing, Tracie," Burt replied, "in this dimension, you are the alien. And for another thing, intelligent species have better things to do than gawk up your pooper. They don't bring people millions of miles across multiple dimensions just to stick a finger up their ass. Got that?"

"Yes, sir." Trace said. "When you put it like that, it sounds stupid."

"Ya think?" Burt laughed.

"But you still haven't explained your presence here. How can my dead father be standing in front of me and driving my...our boat?" His ass smacked down on the deck once again as they crested another big wave, and Trace grunted from the impact.

"Well, this may be kinda tough for you to understand Tracie, but..." Burt paused.

"You're not really my father," said Trace, catching his breath again.

"Oh, I'm your dad all right. In certain aspects, I'm your father, tried and true. And you'll be happy to know your backdoor is just as pristine as it was the day you were born. At least I hope it is. Ha!" Burt throttled back a bit, slowing The Joey to handle the rolling sea. "It's your soul that's been probed, son, and they know all about you."

"What? You mean my mind?"

"No, I said your soul. Tracie, once a person comes into contact with the Halcyon, their memories, their essence, their very being becomes public record for the universe. That's how they learned about me, about Skiff and The Joey, and all about your snack-happy little girlfriend back there. Hell, they even know what you liked to eat for lunch when you were eleven, or when you had your first wet dream."

"I'm not even sure what a Halcyon is," Trace admitted, his brain swooning from the information overload, "but this whole ordeal sounds very intrusive."

"Hey, another big word! Yeah, it's a gut-buster, isn't it?" said Burt. "And everything they know will be turned against you inside the trials. That's how the bastards roll. Twisted fucks." "What trials?" Trace scratched his head.

"The trials of the Talio-Sui." Burt looked at him, his eyes narrowing with intensity. "Trace, for some reason, they picked you as their Talio-Sui. That's why they created me to test you. I'm a physical composite of your father with tangible and intangible particulates arranged per your intuitive specs-an artificial construct of the Halcyon's matrix. But I exist in this dimension only for you, Talio-Sui. The worst part is, while I'm here, the memory of me on Earth has vanished. It's all according to universal law, you see. Because I'm here, I'm no longer there."

"Even if there isn't a place such as here," Trace said, parroting the baffling expression of the cagey osprey.

"Exactly!" Burt bellowed forth his distinctive laugh. It was a hearty laugh that Trace remembered all too well, like a foghorn blasting from deep inside his father's gut. Burt's laugh was easily isolated in a crowd of thousands and was everything Burt. "Very good, Tracie! You're the fruit of my looms after all."

"I don't feel so good." Trace plodded to the captain's chair, where his father sat steering The Joey. Bracing himself against the bounce of the chop, he held onto the back of the chair. Skiff, with his tail wagging happily, watched Trace make the move, but remained diligent at his post on the bow. "So my entire life, everything that I've come to recognize as natural law no longer applies...not in this dimension anyhow. And this Halcyon that you speak of allows me to commune with my dead father."

"Yep," Burt said, pleased. "A smidge redundant, but balls-on, nonetheless."

Trace's attention was drawn to Skiff, who was licking his crotch without a care in the world. "And I guess it also allows me to understand what Skiff is saying too."

"Nah, that's the translator behind your ear." Burt tapped his head just behind his right ear. "You can understand many species now. Pretty cool, huh?" He chuckled. "He who has ears to hear, let him hear!"

"Good night, nurse," was all Trace could say as he felt the small bump underneath the skin behind his ear. "It is kinda cool. Do you think it's cool, Skiff?" he called to the dog.

"Yep," Skiff snorfed, without removing his snout from his squeaky-clean balls.

"Skiff, give it a rest, for God's sake," complained Trace.

"Okee dokee." The dog stopped licking, leaving the fur on his crotch a wet matted mess.

"Well, then," said Trace. "I guess I'm onboard."

"First-rate,” replied Burt. "And once you accept the fact that time no longer exists, that the space around us doesn't exist, and that even reason itself no longer exists...well then, you will learn to view reality as it is and not just as it appears to be. That's when everything makes perfect sense, you see? That's how you beat the trials of the Talio-Sui." "Well, damn. I have no choice but to accept it."

"Excellent, my boy!" He clapped his hands together a couple times. Trace always admired his father's gusto. "I'm proud of you for not holding onto those deep-rooted principles of practicality. You've really surprised me, Tracie." "But why are you even here, Dad?"

"I'm here to fuck you up, numb-nuts." Steering with his right hand, Burt reached back and put his left on Trace's shoulder. "That's what a dad is for, ya?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I guess the question is...why am I here, necessitating for you to be here?"

"Ah, well, forgive me for underestimating your question. You're a deeper thinker than I remembered you to be. I always thought you were about drinking, fishing, and fucking. You've matured in your critical thinking skills, I see." Burt returned his hand to the wheel.

"Can the crap, Burt. I want to know how the hell I got here."

"Oh, that's easy to explain." Burt mopped the ocean spray off the top of his balding head with a white handkerchief pulled from his pants pocket. "They've been snatching suckers from all over the cosmos since Christ was a corporal. You see, for them, it's been the ol' proverbial blink of an eye, because they've had the Halcyon for just a short while. And holy Mary, mother of Jesus, they suck at it. They need more practice and can make a mess of things." Burt chuckled. "All this time on Earth, we've been blaming any mysterious disappearance on stuff like spontaneous combustion or ball lightning or sometimes even the supernatural. Ya know? Whatever's handy at the time. It's always something that can't easily be explained."

"Dad-again, if you are my dad," said Trace. "That doesn't explain how I got here."

"Actually, that's a funny story. You weren't meant to be here." Burt's internal foghorn blasted as he laughed out loud again. "It was supposed to be another guy, a U.S. Coast Guard, in fact." Burt had difficulty talking through his bouts of boisterous laughter. "But you interfered with his comportment and skewed the conformal map. You were a big ol' mistake!"

"What the hell is so funny about that?" Trace asked.

"I just realized something. It's not the first time you were a mistake!" With the back of his fat thumb, Burt wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "It's kind of your lot in life Tracie always an accident."

"Dammit, is everyone in this dimension a total dick?"

"I'm sorry...forgive me, son." Burt sniffled. "Ah, that was delightful."

"Would you stop talking that way? Good night, nurse, just be Burt! It'll help me accept this new reality if there is some sort of familiarity associated with the old one."

"Yeah, sure, of course." Burt thought for a moment. "I mean shit yeah! Better?"

"Yes," said Trace. "That's better." And sure enough, he did feel somewhat better. "Now, explain the Coast Guard guy. Why him?"

"Well, first of all, they only comport inconsequential but skilled beings through the conformal map," explained Burt. "The Guardsman was a decorated ex-marine, served in the Iraq War-all warrior. They loved him. But here you come, intrusive as hell, and you bounced him right off the confo, snuffing him out in the process. The real mind trip is that this collusion sent you flying across dimensional lines. They had to track you down to comport you for recompense." "Recompense? You mean...like payment?"

"More like repayment. Either those boneheads find you, or they risk the map being skewed indefinitely and turned to dog shit. Luckily, you didn't bounce too far. Even luckier, you landed back on Earth, cause that made it easier to track your bioform residue." Burt slowed the boat. "But what a clusterfuck, huh?"

"I just can't believe I'm here," Trace scratched his head. "Because of some totally random accident with that Guardsman."

"Ain't nothing random about it, Tracie," replied Burt. "The universe is trying to set things straight again, and it's using you to do so. Someone in their hierarchy must know that, and it must be eating them up inside. You're not as inconsequential as they thought!"

"What the hell does it mean to be inconsequential?"

"Many things...lack of family ties or political connections. Basically, anything that would produce a dimensional ripple is avoided. The Guardsman you bumped off the confo was an only child, both parents deceased, dead wife, and no children."

"I remember now...he kept saying his wife was dead," remarked Trace.

"Yeah, sure, she died from Hodgkin's. He was perfect for them. Plus, there is always some intrinsic quality to the individual as well, like the guy's war record, which they find irresistible."

"Their, them, they." Trace had regained his sea legs and was comfortably balancing on the deck of the rocking boat. "Just who the hell are they?"

"The Suntholo of course," said Burt.

A distant explosion thundered in the air. The remote rumbling was followed by a shrill whine that escalated in both pitch and passion. Trace heard an object scream overhead, immediately followed by an enormous detonation of water just off their starboard bow. Seawater showered down on them and produced rainbow prisms scattered in the mist around The Joey.

"Nuts!" Burt yelled out. "Here they come!" He punched the throttle and The Joey rocketed forward.

Another loud shot rang out. This time, Trace followed the path back to the source of the thunderous clamor. Unfortunately, it was much closer than he realized, and closing fast. "What...the...fuck?"

Trace stood mystified as he stared at the massive sails billowing in the wind and slapping against three towering masts. A hundred yards astern and cutting through a bank of fog that rested just above the surface of the sea, a large wooden battleship flew the Union Jack-the flag of the British Navy. The old sailing ship, bearing the moniker HMS Penguin, had two iron cannons mounted on her forecastle aimed dead ahead at The Joey. Both guns belched stalks of heavy smoke from the salvos already fired at them.

"The British?" Trace muttered, just as another powerful explosion sent seawater skyward, rocking The Joey. "The British are coming?"

"Don't look at me, son!" Burt said. "This is all you!"

"Cats!" Skiff scrambled off the bow with his tail tucked under his body. Unable to get purchase on the wet surface, the dog's legs flailed underneath him, and his claws frantically scraped against the deck. It was pure Looney Tunes as Skiff ran in place. And the faster he churned his legs, the more he floundered, going nowhere. Finally, he succeeded in rolling himself through the little hatch and into the step-down compartment below the center console-his usual hiding spot. "Okee dokee," came a muffled bark from inside the storage well.

Well, Skiff did always hate any loud noise thunderstorms, fireworks. And now Trace could add cannon fire from a Royal Navy brig-sloop cruiser to the list. Who could blame his old buddy on that one? Its sails engorged with air, the HMS Penguin gathered speed as sudden gusts of wind lashed at the once calm sea.

"They wanted me to deceive their Talio-Sui." Burt pushed the engines to their maximum power. "But that ain't gonna happen. They may have created me, but they can't stop me from being your father! The Suntholo underestimate Earthians, Tracie. The Halcyon may have allowed them to learn a lot about us, but it also let me learn a lot about them, and I have other plans! Yet another colossal screwup for the almighty Suntholo!" There was another volley of cannon fire followed by towering fountains of water that exploded in the wake behind the speeding boat. "Ha!" Burt exclaimed. "We can outrun your iron balls eight days a week, ya pinheads!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Yeah!" Trace chimed in. "Ya got nothing on the twins, you assholes!"

The antique battleship fired again, but it was more than pedestrian mortar and gunpowder this go-round. It wasn't balls of iron screaming from the barrel of her guns. Broad ribbons of dazzling silver energy scorched across the gap to bear down on the little speedboat. The hair on the back of Trace's neck stood on end as he felt the intensity of a silver beam pass inches from his face, singeing his eyebrows. The ribbon shattered the windshield on the console and melted the aluminum tubing that surrounded the thick acrylic shield. Molten metal spilled over the instrument panel, and Burt fell away from the console. His bloodied face was riddled with shards of broken windshield. "Christ, almighty," said Burt. "They flipped the script, Tracie."

Trace helped his father off the gunwale. Without the throttle locked, The Joey slowed again. "You okay?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah fine, fine," Burt said, but his confidence rang hollow. "Take the helm. You've got to get us out of here before they broadside and unleash all hell upon us."

Burt's hands were burned and blackened from the violent blast. Trace sidestepped him to take the helm and punched the throttle forward. There was a dull thud from the step-down well under the console. Most likely Skiff had lost his footing and had fallen against the hull.

"You okay, Skiff?" he called down to him.

"Good," was the muffled reply from underneath the console. "Good."

"That dog has a head of cement." Trace had no idea where he was heading, and the instrument panel was useless. But right now, it was more important to put distance between them and the HMS Penguin. All he had to do was drive...fast. Another long ribbon of silver burned a hole through the hull somewhere near the stern. Sharp pieces of laminate and fiberglass pelted his back. Trace jerked the wheel from side to side to zigzag the boat, denying the Penguin a clean line of fire. He wouldn't make that mistake again. But as fast as The Joey was, the big battleship kept pace. "Impossible! Where do I go now?" he screamed back to his father who was trying his best to get to his feet. "This makes no fucking sense." "You're not in Hillsboro Beach, Tracie," said Burt. "So, stop thinking that way. Think about the way out instead."

"The way out, huh? And where is that, Dad?" Trace asked. "Because if there's a way out, then I'd surely like to know where the fuck it is!" The salty spray stung his face, and he didn't care for it one damn bit.

"It's right there." Burt pointed over to the port side. "That's your way out."

Trace looked out to the horizon and saw only water and waves, and waves and water. It was no more than endless, empty sea to the portside, to the starboard, to the bow, and stern. "I don't see anything." "Look harder, ten o'clock." Burt smiled. "Remember, stop looking for it to make sense and just look for it."

Trace slowed the boat to follow the imaginary line of his father's finger. He carefully scanned the horizon off the portside but still saw loads of nothing...only an infinite expanse of blue ocean and perhaps...some odd breaks in the waves which were a little curious. Nothing to write home about.

"What do you see?" Burt asked him.

"Nothing really, but some...nah..." Trace hesitated. "Can't be."

"No, son, tell me exactly what you see out there," Burt pressed him.

"Well, I see several odd breaks in the waves over there."

"What about them?"

"The chop is small everywhere else, but there's a patch of ocean a couple hundred feet away where the waves appear to be slamming against something solid, but nothing is there. It doesn't look right."

"Yes, you're getting close." Burt grinned. "Concentrate on that spot."

Trace focused harder on the irregular section of waves where they rose much higher than the waves around them and fell apart in the most unusual rolling pattern. "As if the sea was crashing onto shore," mumbled Trace. "But there is no shore."

"You bet there's a shore, and its right over there," said Burt. "It's Narkissos, also called the Island of Mirrored Glass. That's exactly where you must go, Tracie."

Another ribbon of energy ripped apart the nav lights on the bow, and sparks erupted from the blown sockets. The HMS Penguin was almost on top of them. "They're going to blast us to bits! We'll never make it, Dad."

"No, we won't," Burt said. A mischievous smile spread across his father's blood-spattered face. "But you will."

"What are you saying?"

"I can't leave the boat, Tracie. I exist only on this elemental plane. I'm not real beyond the boundary of The Joey, and I'll dissolve if I try to step past it." "Dad?" Trace felt the burn of unexpected tears running down his cheeks. "No."

"You must get off the boat and stay under until the time is right." Taking the helm from his son, Burt yanked the wheel hard over. The Joey circled around to face off against the HMS Penguin. "I'll be the diversion you need to swim ashore." "No, Dad!" He grabbed his father's arm. "We can outrun them. I know we can. We built this boat together. She's too fast for them! We can do it," he pleaded.

"Maybe back home she is, but not here. She can't beat them...not on this sea. This is the only way, son." Burt pulled the throttle back to slow them down. The HMS Penguin halted fire. "You have to find a being named Widgit who lives on Narkissos, banished there by the Suntholo. She can help you find what you're looking for."

"But I don't know what I'm looking for," said Trace.

"That's because you really haven't been looking, have you?" Burt laughed heartily again. "You've been a pawn, Tracie. It's time you became a player."

"Please, Dad, there must be another way." Trace grew desperate realizing that there was, in fact, no other way, and that his father was right...his father, real or otherwise, was always right. Either Trace made it out alive, or no one would. This was to be a very brief reunion.

"Remember, stay under." The big man stared at the large wooden battleship looming over them. "They'll think you're dead. When the dust settles, you can swim ashore. You must find Widgit. She'll lead you to The Pillars of Rak." "What are the Pillars of Rak?" asked Trace.

"It's where you'll find your destiny, what the Suntholo are keeping from you." Burt put his hand on the throttle. "Promise me you'll look for Widgit."

"Okay, I promise. I'll find Widgit." Trace wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Good, now it's time for you to grow a pair."

"Skiff!" Trace called to his dog. "Come on boy, let's go!"

"Hell, no," said Skiff, sticking his pointed head out the hatch. "Good dog, stay dog."

"What? No stay! Come!" implored Trace.

"He can't go with you, Tracie." Burt looked at his son with compassion. "This version of Skiff exists only on this plane as well, and he must stay on the boat with me."

"Ah, fuck that. I don't care what version, he's my damn dog." Trace went to grab Skiff by the collar, but the dog darted back inside the step-down well. "Come on, Skiff! Come!"

"No go," Skiff answered back from behind the closed hatch. "Good dog, stay dog."

"Trace!" His father ordered him. "Go before it's too late."

"Skiff, please!" Trace yelled at the hatch. "Don't make me come in there!"

The battleship HMS Penguin had closed the gap and was turning broadside to aim her entire armament down on The Joey.

"Trace, there's no more time!" said Burt.

"Go!" barked Skiff. "Skiff love Trace."

Realizing the futility of it all, Trace stood up straight. "I love you too, Skiff."

"Good dog?" The dog asked through the closed hatch.

"Yes, you are," Trace turned to face the portside. "Stay dog, good dog, very good dog."

"Happy dog." That was the last thing Trace heard Skiff say as unremitting ribbons of silver began blistering the sea around them. The HMS Penguin had fully broadsided, and the ocean erupted with violence. Trace turned to his father. "Dad-"

"No need, Tracie," Burt interrupted him. "You know my feelings...no matter what dimension." Burt smiled at his son. "I'm sorry I'm not the touchy-feelie type drove your mom batty, but it's how I was raised. Now go!" Trace dove off The Joey and found himself in the cold drink once more. And from under the surface, he saw the boat's propellers churn the water. He knew the twins were being gunned and were responding like they always did...with confidence and power. Trace couldn't remain under for very long. He needed to know what was happening above. He breached the surface of the ocean, allowing only the top of his head to peek out as he tried his best to remain concealed behind the waves.

Burt was commanding The Joey with her engines wide open. The big man looked regal at her helm. Trace was proud of his father as he watched him charge toward the HMS Penguin. The battleship was firing hundreds of silver streams at the speeding boat from her multiple guns, but was unable to hit such a small, swiftly moving target. The great ship was indeed unleashing hell, but The Joey navigated the barrage as if it were a mere stroll through Candyland. Skiff, of course, had resumed his place on the bow, with his tail wagging in anticipation, and his long tongue flapping in the wind. Burt turned back to Trace and flashed the biggest, shit-eating grin across his wide, corpulent face. "I miss you, Dad," said Trace, hoping somehow his father could hear him.

In an instant, the gap between the two vessels closed, and The Joey slammed into the massive sailing ship. The HMS Penguin ignited upon contact with a tremendous, blinding detonation. Shielding his eyes from the force of the blast, Trace reeled from a shockwave that pummeled his chest even underneath the waves.

Embers of burning wood fell around him, dimpling the surface of the sea like raindrops. Both boats had disintegrated. There was nothing left of The Joey...nothing left of Burt or of Skiff. Once again, Trace was left alone to suffer the death of his father and the loss of his friend. It was almost too much for him to bear but bear it he would.

After a few minutes of floating on the alien ocean, with debris from the collision scattered around him, Trace caught his breath and began treading water toward the odd breaks in the waves...on the way to the shore of Narkissos, the Island of Mirrored Glass. There he would search for the being called Widgit.

***

The Vacant Vessel.

"You emptied her," proclaimed Squumata Sui-Bo without emotion.

"Excuse me?" Josette turned to the Suntholian Sui priestess standing behind her on the moving platform.

"You emptied her," the priestess repeated.

They'd been zooming across the open plain of Sun and bearing down on the Pillars of Rak. Josette, formulating a plan for locating Snow White, had forgotten the priestess was even with her on the oval conveyance. "What do you mean?" asked Josette.

"You have drained the vessel of Sansala Sui-Ki." Squumata smoothed down her short blond hair with two thin fingers. "What remains of the High Priestess, a discarded husk, adorns the breast of Rasa-all because of...you." "Excuse me?" Josette repeated, her anxiety kicking up a notch. "Why would I do such a thing to my blessed Suisong?"

"A pointless pedal." Squumata was obviously toying with her. "A Suisong itself is a blessed companion. You parsed her a blessed, blessed companion. Are you nervous, Earthian?"

"Why should I be nervous?" Josette said...nervously. Again, from the corner of her eye, she kept a close watch on Squumata's Wafi. It wasn't the priestess that worried her as much as those creepy little bastards clinging to her ass. Wafi could be unpredictable, and she still didn't know the full extent of their power. The tiny clones didn't flinch. "Nervousness reflects guilt, and I have nothing to feel guilty about."

"Oh, I am tight on that end." Squumata's petite mouth turned upward in an awkward smile. "I have no doubt you juddered in your righteous deed-rejoicing as you spilled the life-force from Sansala's unsettled pot."

Josette's muscles tensed as she prepared to defend herself yet again. "Excuse me?"

"Calm your thinker, Josette Legard," said Squumata. "I am relieved. In fact, I am light molly over this intel. This is tighter than I expected."

"Relieved?" Josette was confused. "You aren't angry?"

"My box I not talliwonk over such an advantageous spill. I prayed for Sansala's emptiness, and you delivered it to me like a fragrant kiss from our Inherited Tabula Rasa."

"But what about all that 'good grace of imperious light that shines on her milky thighs' crap back at the temple?" Josette still couldn't find it in her heart to relax.

"Nooblies!" Squumata produced several odd sounding squeaks, as if holding in a string of painful sneezes. "Mere pretense for the sake of appearances. Did you forget where we rooted? Sui'Mon was not the place." She looked upward, tapping

a finger to her nose and chin as she did. "Sansala Sui-Ki hindered my progression up Rasa's skirt at every turn. She was a torment, and this is more than ideal. It is moist. The most miffled crack of the Suntholo is gone, and my mitts are

unsoiled."

"Well, she's not entirely...gone," confessed Josette.

"What does that leak suggest to me?" Squumata's voice dropped an octave.

"I didn't really kill...or rather spill her life-force as you put it."

"My understanding flops, Josette," the priestess blanched. "My Wafi sensed her departure. What happened?"

"It was the departure of Sansala's Wafi they sensed. Sansala herself is not lifeless." Josette glared back at her. "I merely blinded her."

"But that is..." Squumata's voice trembled, "the Prospect of Shwar'Isun."

"However you parse it is fine with me. The bitch deserved it," Josette said, smiling.

"Oh, yes I can," said Josette. "And I did."

"But you are tainted...an unclean..." Squumata stumbled over her words, seemingly dumbfounded by the news. "Shwar'Isun is not your right...you cannot..."

"This will wither on the vine for you, Josette Legard." The priestess stiffened.

"And why is that priestess?"

"Although the irony of Sansala's condition warms my coil..." Squumata inhaled deeply. "...the Sacred Epistles do not tolerate such sacrilege, and I must rise to my High Priestess. Even as I detest her face, I must defend her honor. What a pity. I

did sense a glorious light in you."

"Well, then," Josette said, ready to dispense with the meaningless semantics, "by all means, let's get on with it."

Their moving platform came to a sudden halt. Squumata's eyes turned a deep, dark red, seething with rage. And yet, the furious princess made not a single move at her. Instead, she stepped aside to let her Wafi come around to the forefront. The foul little duplicates floated around Squumata's fluttering dress and advanced on Josette.

The mark on Squumata's forearm, the same street sign tattoo Sansala had possessed on hers, twisted underneath the Suntholian's translucent skin. Her Wafi began rocking back and forth with their beady eyes shut tight. Josette could feel the hostility brewing in the atmosphere around her, blanketing their small hovering oval with despair. Never before had she felt such tangible menace not even outside the train station in Paris.

Why not jump off this damn conveyance while it's stopped? she pondered. Then again, how long could she last inside the unforgiving vacuum of Sun? Rak's crumbling old columns were in the distance just ahead, but without the Co-Ag suit, the pressure would crush her before she made it there on foot. Still, nothing could be worse than farting lead on this damn platform!

Resigned to take her chances, Josette turned to jump. Merde a Dieu! But before she leapt off the conveyance, she was seized and held firm from escaping. Her senses were jolted by a powerful charge that surged throughout her body. Stiffened with pain, Josette collapsed, paralyzed by the voltage flowing within her nervous system and short-circuiting her internal wiring. After a few agonizing subsequent jolts, the attack was over, and the damage was done.

Face down, Josette could barely swivel her head around in a weak attempt to confront her attacker. And though warm blood now pooled in her eyes, she could perceive the two tall figures towering over her. Both Wafi had grown to the same size as their sadistic Suntholian master. Their saucer-sized milky-white eyes were saturated with controlled fury. Josette couldn't move a muscle as her brain overflowed with popping flashbulbs. The dwindling margins of her sightline wavered like filaments of tinfoil, and her ears rang, possibly from ruptured eardrums.

Not again! If only she'd jumped a subsequent sooner, but her hesitation had doomed her. Good night, nurse! Good night, nurse? Such an unfamiliar expression, one she had never uttered before. Where did that come from? The Wafi reached down for her with their great mitts stained a dismal blue and throbbing from the considerable power inside them. Still unable to move, Josette closed her eyes to wait the inevitable crushing of her gray matter into a fine powder. The last German soldier she killed at the fuel depot crept into her thoughts. She envisioned his blissful expression as he fell in love with her...just before she slit his ignorant throat. But this time it would be the warm rush of her own blood and not that of a stranger's running down her breast.

Au revoir, mon amour. Josette believed the sentiment might help ease the transition into her own afterlife.

"Hold, my guardians!" shouted a squeaky, almost infinitesimal voice from somewhere behind the Wafi's evil clutches. Then silence.

Josette opened her eyes to discover the Wafi frozen in place with their mitts only millimeters from the tip of her painfully broken nose. And just beyond those pulsating paws, a shrunken Squumata Sui-Bo, no bigger than a toy poodle, struck a pose of righteous arrogance. Unable to control herself, Josette fell into hysterics, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of the diminished Suntholian.

"You're so tiny!" Josette howled. "Look at those little hands!"

"Yes, well..." Squumata became visibly shaken by Josette's reaction. "Shrinkage occurs as our Wafi are forced to protect us. As we sublimate our power, they expand, and we must minimize." Josette's boisterous laughter must have rubbed the priestess wrong, and she squealed, "Stop that irritating noise!"

Josette's arms tingled as sensation found its way back to the nerve endings. She rolled onto her side and doubled over with more laughter. "I just wet myself!" she cried. Weak but more mobile, she clutched at her convulsing stomach. Tears fell from her cheeks and mixed with the drops of blood on the conveyance, diluting them into puddles of bright pink. Josette hadn't laughed like this in years, and it felt resplendent. Even if she was going to die out here on this wretched moon...it was good to laugh again. "That's the funniest goddammed thing I've ever seen."

"All I must do is deliver the final parcel to my Wafi to resume their attack," said Squumata with an unnatural calm, "and you will never touch the Pillars of Rak."

Josette's amusement waned. "Yeah, is that so?"

Squumata moved in so close that Josette could smell the Azzomolese that lingered on the Suntholian's breath. "That...is... so. You will perish on this moon like all the other worthless, galactic outcasts just a forgotten, vacant vessel." "Fine by me," Josette said, smiling. "Fuck your precious Pillars, fuck this moon, and fuck your Inherited Tabula Rasa."

Squumata quietly and deliberately backed away. "Before I empty your pitiful husk, you will acknowledge Squumata Sui-Bo as the pedal responsible for spilling your spirit, and not Sansala Sui-Ki. This will be your concluding image. I am the sponge of your last breath! I alone hold the power..."

A distinctive ribbon of silver disintegrated Squumata's small head, and a soft spray of glittering plasma filled the space around the conveyance like mist. Squumata's decapitated body stood motionless for a subsequent or two before stumbling off the edge of the platform. The headless little priestess hit the surface below, sending up a tiny mushroom cloud of powdery moon dust. Her Wafi, still arrested in their movement, wailed in anguish before fading from existence- their mannish screams fading away with them. In that instant, Josette was alone on the oval.

Still in considerable discomfort, she dragged herself to the rim of the conveyance to observe the carnage below. Within subsequents-

No, enough of that crap! Josette told herself. I'm still thinking like them! No more Suntholo mistranslations! Within seconds, several fat speckled lobsters skittered out from beneath the soil and began shredding Squumata's remains. The dead priestess was minced and mottled. Holding chunks of flesh in their oversized claws, the lobsters eagerly crammed bits of Squumata into what must have been their hungry mouths...Josette couldn't really tell.

"Now that's what I call...a miffled nooblie." She rolled over onto her back as the stout little spacecraft, Oviri, hovered above. She could feel the warm, gentle pressure of the ship's thrusters pushing against her skin and found it soothing. Snow White had saved her. Merde. Now he's really going to get a swelled head.

The Oviri landed next to the platform, but she blacked out just as her brave little nanaharange emerged from the underbelly of the ship, calling, "Josette!" as she fell...

***

Call Me Widgit.

Exhausted, Trace felt around for the shore. Finally, through the saltwater he felt something firm beneath him. It was hard and cold-like glass. Whatever it was, it was solid enough that he could stop swimming.

He strained to pull himself up onto the alien shore of Narkissos. His breathing labored and his body burning from exertion, he crawled upon the slick beach and collapsed, fatigued but happy to be alive.

"Dad..." Trace mumbled. He managed to get up on all fours and glimpsed his reflection on the mirrored shore. His face looked drained, weary...and old. A mask of black washed up onshore underneath him and obscured his reflection. He picked it up to examine the geometrical markings on its face. The silver trim of the strange pattern shimmered in the light, irritating him. Trace was too damn tired to care and tossed the mask aside without further thought. Falling back down onto his stomach, he closed his eyes. Just a couple more minutes of rest...just a couple...

Listening to the waves softly lapping against the glass and feeling the coolness of it against his cheek, Trace fell asleep...

"Wake

up."

"Huh? What?" Startled, he opened his eyes.

"Go ahead. Wake up." Trace lifted his head, realizing we was no longer on the mirrored shore but inside a dark square box of a room. A small amount of light seeped in around every edge of the room, creating a bright outline that connected each corner of the box with the other. It gave the illusion of being inside a three-dimensional drawing of a perfect cube-a cube with glowing white borders.

Where the hell am I now? Sitting on his butt, Trace waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and with help from the illuminated edges, he could make out some detail. First thing he noticed was his clothing. He was dressed in a strange metallic jumpsuit with a raised black stripe across the top of the shoulders and another around the middle of the waist.

Wait...black? No, not black. He got to his feet.

The more his eyes absorbed the minimal amount of light from the glowing borders, the more color he could distinguish. The stripe wasn't black after all. No, it was purple in color. After further examination, he realized there were no zippers, buttons or snaps anywhere on the garment, and he wasn't sure just how it had been put onto his body.

Feeling claustrophobic from the notion, he tugged at the collar of the jumpsuit but found no give in the material whatsoever. It startled him. He pulled at the collar once again and got the same damn result. It was an extremely tight weave. Not that it felt uncomfortable, because it didn't. In fact, it felt like a second skin, though somewhat cold and silky. It really bugged him that the jumper lacked any elasticity at all. He pulled even harder on the collar and then worked the sleeves, but

it resisted each time.

"Good night, nurse," Trace marveled as he struggled with the sleeve.

"Forget it," a ghostly voice ordered from the darkness. Trace looked around but detected nothing. He knew he heard a voice and could only scratch his head in puzzlement. Must be imagining things. And considering what he'd been through lately, it wouldn't be surprising if his mind played tricks on him. He was a modern-day Dr. Doolittle after all, conversing with his dog and even that stupid hawk...no, wait...osprey. Trace continued to yank on the metal fabric of his new outfit.

"You'll never get it off," the mysterious voice said more forcefully.

"Okay, who is that?" Trace scoured the box in which he could see well enough, even in such low lighting. Yet he found nothing inside the cube with him. He was alone, accompanied only by his active imagination. "Come on, Tracie, keep it in

the road."

"That's absurd," replied the voice. "A road is a chunk of amphibious feces that floats upon the surface rather than sinking to the bottom."

"Who the fuck is that?" Trace knew he wasn't imagining it this time. That voice was real. "You're pissing me off!"

"Oh," said the voice. "I forgot I'm still veiled. Up here. On the ceiling." Trace focused his attention on the top of the black box. There, materialized out of thin air, was an unusual creature the shape of an enormous fried egg, sunny side up. It was pasted to the ceiling and hanging upside down. As it came into view, several stout limbs poked out in quick progression through the edges of its fried egg frame. This continued until twelve pudgy appendages had fully emerged. Each limb tapered to a rounded point as they wiggled and waggled at erratic

intervals.

Could those be arms? Or maybe legs? Aside from the freshly formed tentacled feelers, an orbicular dome inflated from the center of its plump, pale green body. This bulging dome was stippled with hundreds of small tapioca-like globules that vibrated rhythmically, like an infant shaking a rattle. All those tapioca blobs shook in specific patterns to create rattling sounds which Trace's translator interpreted as language.

"Hello there, buddy," it said, sounding quite friendly.

"Buddy?" Trace was bewildered by the expression. Did this thing have the same associations as humans?

"Hmmmm," rattled the creature. "Too familiar right out of the gate, I guess."

"Who...who...?" stammered Trace. "Who am I? A fairly unimaginative question, but a suitable one, I guess." The organism puffed out its fleshy body and, with a squish and a slap, it peeled its arms off the ceiling one by one. Suction allowed it to stick to the ceiling, and it popped

and slurped as it moved along at a brisk pace. This odd peeling and slapping locomotion enabled its progress across the ceiling and then down the wall of the box. It moved remarkably fast for such a squishy-sounding thing. About halfway down the wall, the creature simply dropped to the floor and landed with a hearty splat. It squished over to Trace, who remained astounded by what he saw.

"I am WilsIx DrasGynoeci IxTarastea from the planet Hubria in the Astrometis Cluster, and you are pleased to meet me!" The thing held up two of its foremost feelers in greeting.

Trace judged the thing to be at least four feet across from tip to tip, and substantial in girth. Hesitant to touch it, he delicately took hold of just the very tip on one of its plump, handless arms.

"I am Trace...Jackson, and I'm pleased to meet you...Mister..."

"Mister? Really? Mister?" All the globules rattled nonstop. "I'm not a mister, you moofty. Far from it! I'm a fully functional gynoid molded in the finest female form in the multiversity. And, might I add, you shake mitts like a flaccid goovala. You

should work on that."

"I...I will." Perplexed, he studied her more closely. "What's a gynoid?"

"Some call it a synthetic organism while others call it an artificial life form," she rattled on. "But I call it perfection."

"Oh, yeah, I get it." Trace let go of the rubbery feeler and the release of suction made a popping noise as the arm slapped to the floor. "Like an android."

"I'm nothing like an android!" she snapped. "I'm a gynoid."

"Sorry. I didn't mean any offense," said Trace, really wishing he had some hand sanitizer. "But what's the difference?"

"There's a big difference," the gynoid answered with conviction. "I've never heard of an android. And if I've never heard of a thing, then such a thing does not exist."

"Okay, I see.” Trace conceded the point, realizing he wouldn't get far with this...gynoid. "How long was I out?"

"But you aren't out, you are in. What an idiotic thing to say-almost as stupid as wanting to keep yourself on a stinking chunk of road."

"Unconscious, I mean," he said a bit irritated. "How long was I unconscious?" The gynoid twirled about the room, spinning her fat feelers like a bored schoolgirl would spin her ruffled skirt. "I don't know that. How would I know that? You were already asleep when I came upon you on the shore. I brought you here to this recharger. I use these stations to repower my cells when I feel rundown, and I figured it would work for you. I was correct as usual because your bony hump is awake and alert." She finished her spinning by performing a perfect cartwheel. All her feelers flew end over end until she nailed the landing with a flourish and alighted on the tip of just one of her arms. "Wide awake, now, isn't it?" She thumped back down to the floor. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." He looked around the glowing box. "So, this is a big battery charger, huh? Fascinating."

"You get fascination from the most mundane things," she said, rattling with laughter.

"There's nothing mundane about any of this." Trace touched the bump behind his ear again. "For example, I can I understand your rattles because of this little bump under my skin."

"Of course, you can, you silly protein pack. That little bump is the Galactic Systems Translator implanted in that big ol' noggin of yours. It translates all recognized languages throughout the galactic network and dynamically learns new languages not already in its extensive index. It's guaranteed to compensate for poor grammar, as well as adjusting sentence structure and converting idiosyncratic verb conjugations. All manufactured on Hubria, you know, which is my home. A beautiful piece of technology-very classy. I have one embedded in my linguo-cortex. Otherwise, you might as well be speaking Gibborien bunk. I wouldn't know what the starch you were saying!" Her tapioca blobs rattled in laughter.

"Well, it's still unbelievable."

"He who truly hears has something to believe."

"Now you sound like my father," Trace replied with sadness.

"Hmm..." She contemplated for a moment. "That appears to be a touchy subject, so I'll let it float away like a barb on the faint solar wind."

"You talk like someone from Earth." Trace smiled weakly. "Funny you should say that, because my former commander was from a place called Earth somewhere in the Tertian cluster. Never heard of it before, but then patafomp! It rattled everywhere. Earth, Earth, Earth! My departed Earthian commander was a true warrior of the Malsumian Reclamation Partnership. Many Malsumi in the MRP claimed his name in tribute after his subtraction." She seemed a little sad in her rattlings as well. "I very much miss the noble Hector

Jimenez."

"What happened to him?" he asked. "I'm glad you asked, T. Jackson, because it shows compassion. H. Jimenez was slain by the duplicitous Sansala Sui-Ki who came to him under the pretense of a truce. He was snuffed out as he dropped to his knobs alongside the Suntholo to pray to their false deity, the Inherited Tabula Rasa. Bunk, deceits, and drivel! Their dogma will be their downfall, I always rattle. Anyhow, the priestess poisoned my commander with a tome of the Lost Suntholian Penitent which she presented to him as a gift. The binding was laced with liquefied wrathis, so decay was underneath the wrappings, not accordance. I squished by his side as they took advantage of Hector's enthusiasm to seek a peaceful solution-the evil spalunks!" She slapped several of her arms down on the box floor. "He was an exceptional pack of protein, and I am humbled by his virtue, which is an honor, coming from such an exceptional gynoid like me."

"I'm sorry to hear about Jimenez." Trace sat on the floor next to the outlandish gynoid. "Do not be! After the draining of H. Jimenez, I was forced by the Suntholo into their warren of ill-repute for immediate reprogramming. Imagine! The Suntholo thought it possible to brainwash a gynoid. A gynoid! Carps, the arrogance to think I'd become just another Suntholian lackey is lush. Oh, I pretended they'd succeeded. I rattled in so grateful for my rescue and offered my extensive expertise with the mysterious and powerful Halcyon. The Suntholo were totally mucking it up in every cluster and needed guidance. They must've thought it quite satirical to place me in charge of the Tertian cluster, H. Jimenez's home cluster-the evil spalunks!" Once again, she slapped several feelers onto the floor in anger. "I dutifully accepted the blessed assignment and approached the Halcyon like a venerable old cell master...although I hadn't the slightest clue how it really worked."

"You faked it?" asked Trace. "Yep, I faked it," she rattled back. "Genius! I vowed to make them miserable for what they had done to H. Jimenez and deliberately miffled many a transfer in my charge. I wanted to humiliate them, make them suffer. I was careful to mind the

ripples, but most of my miffles have gone on to fight for the MRP. Rattle me some satire, Earthian."

The gynoid held out a tentacle in Trace's direction. However, he ignored it.

"Was I one of your miffled transfers?" Trace asked. "I know I was a mistake, but-"

"Carps, you could've been my masterpiece, but who knows? I kept up the pretense until I could sneak away with the Halcyon tucked safely inside my receptacle portico and tender it back to the rightful owners. The Suntholo did have a

particular fancy for Earth...like their favorite flavor of dimple sap."

"I really wish I was back on Earth...especially with "

"Well, this is your lucky solstice!" she exclaimed. "If you're from Earth of the Tertian Cluster as was the celebrated Hector Jimenez, then I must accept you. And because I have an opening, I've decided to let you be my new best friend forever.

You're most fortunate, T. Jackson." Each one of her twelve feelers pointed straight up and shook in wriggling spasms. "Okay, that's enough." She slapped them to the floor again.

"Thank you." Trace cheered up, if only from her odd sense of enthusiasm. "Come, squish with me. I wish to quit this malacca recharger." Resembling a bottlecap unshackled from a bottle of pop, she rolled over to a corner in the little black box. "Let me expose you to the finery of Narkissos before blackout descends

upon us as rainfall on Purnuvian nuptials."

"Then it's a win-win for us both."

"Well, yes...okay." Trace followed her to the corner of the box. "There's someone on Narkissos I need to find anyhow, so the sooner I get started on this new chapter, the better."

The gynoid tapped a junction where three of the bright outlines of the room intersected in the corner. Once touched, the little black box came apart, opening up as all the walls separated from each other to fall away like thin pieces of painted

cardboard.

In an instant, Trace and his gynoid companion stood outside and looked out on the reflected landscape of Narkissos. They were smack-dab in the middle of a large glass city chock full of tall, mirrored buildings all glimmering with light. As impressive as the buildings were, they were dwarfed by a backdrop of clear, acrylic mountains.

The rugged mountain range was littered with boulders of glass and crystal of all shapes and sizes. And Trace could see a million reflections of two solitary souls who appeared lost among another million reflections. Even among this homogenous crowd, he never felt more alone.

"Yeah, right, how I love mysteries of the horizon. Crap. I'll never find the one I seek in this fucking funhouse." He sighed. "No matter where you take me Miss...Miss..." He was having difficulty recalling her complicated name and felt

embarrassed by his blunder.

"Bug nuts, T. Jackson, don't strain your cords," she rattled. "Just call me Widgit."

Blood Displacement.

It had been a while since the room turned green. Kneeling on the floor next to Josette, Snow White hadn't left her side as she slept. She was still recovering from her encounter with the rogue priestess on the conveyance platform in the valley

of Sun. Sansala had told him to keep a close window on Squumata Sui-Bo. In her infinite wisdom, the High Priestess knew the lesser wasn't to be trusted, and her suspicions had been confirmed. Luckily for Josette, he followed them out of Sui'Mon, or she might not have survived. Although, who could tell with someone as unpredictable as Josette Legard?

Ah,

Josette.

If there ever were a heaven in mankind's history, she was a natural-born citizen. He kissed her lips as tenderly as he could. They tasted so sweet. He kissed them again, even more softly than the first time. He didn't want her to awaken, just to think she was being accosted in her dreams...although the thought did briefly cross his mind.

He pushed it away as soon as it came to him. He wanted her but held out hope that she'd want him just as badly. She was so right for him-it was only natural the feeling be mutual. Josette's single flaw was being too damn tall. He could work around that slight imperfection. Perhaps he'd design some levitation boots for himself based on the conveyance technology the Suntholo employed to travel across the surface of Sun.

He allowed himself to survey her. Although he'd seen them many times before, he couldn't help but stare at her exquisite breasts. They inspired him. He watched the way they moved...rising and falling with each delicate breath she took. He'd never seen a pair so symmetrical and wrapped in such faultless, unblemished skin. There wasn't a scar, tear, or bite mark anywhere to be found on either one. Her breasts were healthy and round, and they blended flawlessly into a smooth, flat

abdomen.

It was fitting that Josette was from old Earth-from a time when the planet was still young and beautiful. She was a pristine landscape all to herself-a terrain of rolling hills that cascaded down into a narrow, flat valley below. And her luxuriant plain was bordered on both sides by a curving horizon, channeling the eye to the forest of auburn between her long, lean legs. This type of body hair was still a novelty to him, as his people, even the miserable Grendels, were hairless in this region as well as everywhere else, but that only made her even more exotic.

Yet, the principal element of Josette's beauty was always the deception beneath it. Yes, she was physically superior in just about every way, but she was also willful and dangerous-a perfect queen for his people. Listening to her low, steady inhalations as she slept, Snow White realized that Josette had already taken his breath away a long time ago. He bent down to give her one last, lingering kiss-just one more before she awoke. Her lips were so very sweet-

"What are you doing?" Josette said in a sleepy voice.

His lips still touching hers, Snow White opened his eyes to find her staring back at him. He snapped away. "You're awake," he said, embarrassed. "Um, feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. Sleepy..." She sat partially upright, resting on her elbows. "But better." "Good! Great. I'm glad to hear it." Snow White backed himself closer to the dissipating wall behind him, feeling the need for an expedient getaway. "Well, I should go check on the Oviri...don't know if I fully disengaged the particulate vacuum,

so I should..." He backpedaled out of the restorative chamber. "...check it."

"Snow..." she said with eyes still half closed. "Don't leave."

"Okay." He halted in his tracks. "I won't."

"Come closer," she said with a sultry drowsiness that added a mysterious undertone to her voice, further arousing him. "And kneel down beside me."

Snow White did as he was told.

"I want to ask you something," she said.

"Yes." He tried his best to conceal any biological sign of his desire.

"I watched you interrogate the prisoners...in the caves on Tueum." Her speech was slightly slurred. "Why did you kill Adonis? The beautiful man who fought for the Malsumi. You...cut him in half. Why?"

"Do you remember me telling you about the human settlement outside Earth's cluster on a planet called Anova?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, virtually exhaling the word.

"And how, after the cataclysm, we sent distress calls into the void, hoping that Anova would somehow answer them?" He brushed some hair from her mouth.

Josette's frown was comically exaggerated, but Snow White knew this was from the euphoric aspects of the restorative chamber magnifying her emotions. He cleared his throat, knowing exactly whom she meant.

"I remember."

"That prisoner, your beautiful man..." Snow White felt a tinge of jealousy. "He was Anovan. Your Adonis shared a common ancestry with you and me Earth's ancestry."

"Then why did you kill him? It doesn't make sense."

"Let me finish. I asked him why Anova didn't hear Original Earth's calls for help."

"And why didn't they?"

"But they did. He told me they heard them all, each and every one of them." Snow White gritted his teeth. "However, Anova chose not to answer. For the sake of their own safety, they let us perish." Snow White stared at the rippling bright

green

floor

of

the restorative chamber.

"Take off your uniform." Josette's eyes opened. She licked her lips. "Please."

"Excuse me?" Snow White stood up.

"I respect you, Snow White." Josette's smile oozed sensuality.

"I respect you too, Josette." His heart was pounding through his chest. "This is not necessary."

"Yes, it is...for me. Now,

do

as

I ask."

"But I thought my lack of nipples bothered you?"

"I can look past it. Now, I will ask only once more...take off your uniform."

Snow White could no longer feign resistance. He wanted her in so many ways and wouldn't let this golden opportunity slip through his silvered fingers. He stripped off his uniform in one movement, eagerly awaiting her next command. She let

him squirm for a bit, standing in place before her... undressed and very much ready to perform.

"You

know what I always appreciated about you, Snow?" She flashed a devilish grin.

"No, what?"

"For a little man, you aren't very little, are you?" Josette giggled as she stretched her body out on the chamber floor.

"I guess not." Snow White felt exposed and awkward.

"And definitely not split in two...thank God for that."

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. Now, come...lie on top of me. I want to feel you."

Again, he did as she commanded and lay down atop her beautiful body. Arching her back, she moaned with pleasure as he slipped inside her.

"After we finish, do you agree to take me somewhere I need to go?" she asked of him.

"Where?" He considered her emerald eyes-eyes that matched the color of the room.

"The Pillars of Rak."

"I do." At that moment, he would agree to anything she asked of him.