A Moon Called Sun
Chapter Four — Mixed Smoke Signals

"Smoke this." The elderly medicine man held out his weathered wooden pipe.

"No, thank you," Trace said, resisting the Seminole's offer. "Smoke it," insisted the old man.

"No, thanks, I don't smoke." Trace sat across from the medicine man underneath the low palmetto-thatched roof of the Seminole chickee. A pleasant breeze of cool air blew through the open cypress-log structure. The two men sat cross- legged, and the breeze stoked the bonfire in the center of the dwelling, warming their knees.

"Smoke it," the old man persisted with a wide, toothless grin. "You will like it."

"What is it?" asked Trace, now curious.

"Smoke it and you will see."

"I really shouldn't," Trace persevered. "The Surgeon General says smoking causes cancer of the mouth, throat, esophagus, and the..." he realized the futility of the statement. "Most people only think of lung cancer, you see." "Your words snake through the grass, concealed from footsteps." The Seminole snorted through a puff of smoke.

"What does that mean?" Trace watched the plume of smoke rising from the old man's pipe as it coiled in the wind and transformed into meandering corkscrews above their heads.

"You are coo-wah in a mud puddle," the medicine man said, laughing.

"What's a coo-wah? A bald eagle or something?"

"No, little cat...mew, mew." The old man took another deep draw from his pipe.

"A cat,” replied Trace, contemplating the insult. "You calling me a pussy, old man?"

"Pussy?" The Seminole thought about the word as smoke poured from his nostrils like two hairy chimneys. "I have not heard this word, but I feel its truth." He slapped a wrinkled knee. "Yes, you are a pussy. Now smoke or remain a pussy in the eyes of the Great Spirit."

"Well, screw that, Shittin' Bull, and pass the damn dutchie." Trace snatched the pipe from the old man's hand and took a heavy drag. "I inhale," he proclaimed, "unlike " and immediately gagged from the fire burning inside his lungs. "Oh, my God..." He choked on the harsh smoke until his eyes began to water. "This tastes like dog crap and hair." Trace was happy to hand the pipe back to the medicine man. "The Surgeon General would shit himself." "General Surgeon is a pussy." The old man chortled as he puffed away on his pipe.

"I should've never taught you that word." Trace wiped the spit off his chin.

As the sun dropped to the horizon, giving up the ghost to the end of day, two Seminole warriors walked past Micco Opa's open chickee. These men carried the body of a fallen brother that was suspended from a long wooden pole. One warrior held the pole in the front, and the other held it in back as they looked straight ahead. Neither man uttered a single sound. The dead Seminole hanging from the pole faced upward and was being held aloft at the feet, thighs, back, and neck by thick, brown leather straps. The body was dressed in a crisp, white shirt, and had a purple handkerchief tied around his neck with another about the top of his cleanly shaven head.

A spot of red paint adorned the dead warrior's right cheek, and a black one was painted on his left. On his chest was a brightly feathered bow tucked into his left hand. His right hand held an arrow and was positioned so to look as though he stood ready to draw the bowstring. The dead man's eyes were open, staring into the twilight sky. The men stopped in front of their chickee and turned in unison to face toward Trace. Their mouths hung agape, exposing their dark purple tongues, but neither man spoke.

"Okay, why are they staring at me?" asked Trace, looking out the chickee at them. "Is it a race thing? I know I'm the only white man in the village."

"No, they fear for the soul of their departed brother," the old Seminole said through the cloud from his glowing pipe. "They see you as an evil bird spirit that will hinder his journey skyward."

"How the heck would I do that?" asked Trace, quite baffled.

"They believe you will steal his bow." The medicine man inhaled on the pipe once again and ruminated through the exhale. "The Milky Way shines brightest following the death of one of our tribe. The path to the City in the Sky will be set ablaze for the traveling warrior, and he will need his bow to protect him from those spirits that would extinguish his path. If you steal his bow, the path will be lost to him."

"I won't steal anything. And I wouldn't screw around with the spirit of their fallen brother either," Trace replied in earnest, fighting against the buzzing in his brain. "Are you certain?"

"Of course, I am. I will fight to defend what he has achieved with his courage on the battlefield and his allegiance to the civilized tribes of human beings. If there is strength in numbers, then my body shall be another arrow for his bow. Go ahead, tell them."

"I do not have to tell them. You have spoken for yourself." The old man flashed a gummy grin. "They will carry him on to his sacred To-hop-ki without worry."

The Seminole warriors closed their mouths, faced forward, and continued their journey to the grave of their fallen brother.

"Wow," Trace muttered under his breath. "I'm not sure where that shit came from."

"It came from within, where wisdom can blossom if the spirit nourishes the soil."

"Perhaps...or perhaps it came from whatever you put in that pipe, you old coot." "Perhaps," said the old man. "Now drink this." He held up a tin cup. "Ah, Christ." Trace reached for the cup with a tinge of apprehension.

"Black drink is good for you. It will help purge your soul of evil."

"Yeah..." Trace sniffed the beverage but couldn't get himself to drink because of its revolting musky aroma. "I'll purge all right."

A young Seminole brave entered the chickee and waited for the elder to acknowledge his presence. Trace kept quiet, having grown more familiar with their customs. The brave remained a few feet away, with his hands clasped in front until the old man finally chose to speak to him.

"Istonko, Nokosi Chitto," said the medicine man without looking at the younger man.

"Istonko, Micco Opa," the young man replied as he lowered his hands to his side.

Trace studied the brave, whose hair was shaved close to the scalp, except for a perfectly manicured strip that ran down the middle of his head. The inch-thick band of black hair extended from his forehead across the top and all the way back like a Mohawk. The Mohawk eventually evolved into a long tail of coarse hair off the back of his head and tied together with colorful red and blue beads. Overall, it was pretty hip for the nineteenth century.

"Why have you disturbed my smoke with Coo-wah?" the elder asked of Nokosi Chitto.

"Coo-wah?" The brave chuckled. "Hialeah would like Coo-wah to join us for rabbit if Micco Opa would release him."

"I do not hold him captive," Micco Opa scoffed. "He may leave when the spirit takes him."

Trace had to say something. "Look, fellas, I'm not cool with this whole Coo-wah chestnut. Couldn't I be Screaming Eagle or Blue Thunder? Steel Cowboy, maybe? You know, something more suitable for a James Bond type. Or even Big Fish. Is there a tribal headquarters where I can apply or something? Who approves these things? Who?"

The two Seminoles looked at him with confusion written across their bronzed faces.

"Coo-wah's words dance on the wind again," said the elder.

"For example," Trace crossed over to the brave, "What does Nokosi Chitto mean?"

"Brave Bear,” replied Nokosi Chitto. "Strong and fierce."

"Yes, and that's what I mean," said Trace. "That's fresh! Coo-wah sounds like a dessert topping."

"How about Kono?" suggested Brave Bear.

"What does Kono mean?" asked Trace, somewhat suspicious.

"It means small animal with a terrible stink." The brave smiled broadly. "It has stripes of white, like you."

"You mean a skunk. You're calling me a fucking skunk?"

"People run from Kono," Brave Bear said, laughing. "As they run from you."

"You can shove Kono up your ass, Care Bear," snapped Trace.

"Stop!" Micco Opa appeared annoyed by the whole exchange. "Only the Breathmaker can choose his human name, until then...he will remain Coo-wah." He gestured out beyond his chickee. "Brave Bear, take him to Pretty Prairie before her rabbit goes cold."

"Yes, Micco Opa." Brave Bear flashed a devious grin. "Wise Owl Chief."

"Okay, Wise Owl Chief," said Trace as he walked out with the brave. "I see how it is." Wise Ass Chief, more like it!

Trace left Micco Opa's chickee with Hialeah's brother, Brave Bear. They headed down to the other side of the village where the siblings lived. Night had fallen, and the evening chill made the air dry and crisp. A large shooting star lit up the night sky.

"Did you see that?" Trace said with childlike enthusiasm. "I know, I know. You'll tell me it's the spirit of your fallen brother traveling to the City in the Sky and...yadda, yadda, yadda."

"The Great Spirit has set him free." The young brave kept on walking and would not turn back to address Trace. "I do not know the prayer of yadda-yadda-yadda. I hope it means you wish him well on his journey." "That's just what I meant...Godspeed and all that rigmarole."

"It is good you have learned something of value before you go, Coo-wah."

"Well, before I do," remarked Trace, "I'd like to learn the whereabouts of my damn boat."

"Your damn boat is hidden among the walking trees. I do not know why you want it back. It is a terrible canoe-hard to row."

"Yeah well, if you take me to her, I'll show you just how fast she'll row." Irritated, he kicked a small rock into the bushes next to the path.

A second brilliant meteor darted across the sky, snagging Trace's attention. The stars shone brighter than he'd ever thought possible. "That's an amazing sky," he commented while gazing at the heavens.

Before long, they came upon the modest hut of Hialeah and Brave Bear. Trace could smell the aroma of her simmering stew wafting down the path. It smelled delicious. He was happy to have his appetite back because it meant he was well again. The realization dawned on him that his ravenous hunger was the product of having he'd been out cold for several days. He vaguely remembered Hialeah checking on him from time to time, bathing him and whispering in his ear. He awoke under the care of Micco Opa, the village medicine man. After spending several more days in recovery, Trace had become acquainted with this tribe of Seminoles. Now Trace grew anxious. He longed to see Skiff again, and the scent of food also brought forth another neglected sensation-hunger.

They entered the chickee that, unlike most of the other tribal structures, had been completely walled off with palmetto fronds, animal hide, and other various materials. Hialeah stood over the fire at the center of the chickee while stirring the stew in a small cast iron pot. And next to her, Skiff was begging for scraps, of course, typical of Skiff and perfectly canine, after all.

"Istonko, Brave Bear," said Hialeah. She focused on her cooking but must have seen them enter with her peripheral vision. She didn't turn to greet them and continued to stir, not allowing the stew to boil over from the high flames beneath it. Trace knew she resisted looking in their direction...or rather, his direction. "Istonko, Trace-with-no-last-name."

"Istonko, Hialeah," he and Brave Bear replied in comical harmony like a well-trained class of kindergarteners. They shot each other a quick glance. Trace smiled as Brave Bear scowled.

"Skiffy!" Once Skiff saw him standing inside the doorway, he ran over with his bushy tail wagging vigorously. The dog stood on his hind legs to give Trace a big, sloppy kiss. "Hey buddy," said Trace as Skiff licked his face. "I missed you too." After a few seconds of rekindled affection, Skiff hopped down and scampered back over to Hialeah to resume his begging duties. Persistence was a gift given to all dogs.

"He has a fondness for rabbit," remarked Hialeah through her knowing smile. Using a wooden spoon, she removed a chunk of meat from the pot and blew on it so it would cool. "He is a wonderful effa and deserves all the bounty we can offer him." Until Skiff could tolerate it no longer, she handed the drooling dog the cooled piece of cooked rabbit, which he devoured in a hasty swallow. "The next step is to taste the meat before swallowing," she said as she bent down to pet his head.

"I see he's bonded with you," observed Trace. "As well as your cooking."

"Yes," replied Hialeah. "His belly is now as full as his heart. And how about his human companion? Does he desire a full belly?" She ladled some stew into a wooden bowl.

"There's a lot I desire," Trace said, playfully flirting with the squaw, "but a bowl of that awesome stew will do for now."

Brave Bear grunted as he snatched the bowl Hialeah had intended for Trace.

"I desire for my sister to stop this madness." The brave sat cross-legged near the fire and slurped his stew in a snit.

"Nokosi Chitto, do not be rude." Hialeah filled another bowl for Trace. "A guest should always be served first."

"A guest is invited." Brave Bear snorted through another loud slurp of his stew. "Isn't that right, Coo-wah?" Brave Bear flaunted a big, fake grin.

Trace took the stew from Hialeah. "I thought we were going to chill on the Coo-wah business." Juggling the warm bowl from hand to hand, Trace sat next to Brave Bear.

"It seems wise Micco Opa bestowed a designation upon you, Trace-with-no-last-name," Hialeah said with a giggle. "But I do not feel Coo-wah is suitable."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Trace. He blew on his spoonful of hot stew and watched the steam swirl in the light of the fire. "At last, someone is on my side."

Trace took a bite of the cooked rabbit. The meat was tender and moist, and seasoned with something like onion. The broth itself was salty and nourishing. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten.

"Holy smokes, this is amazing, Hialeah," he said between mouthfuls. Before long, his bowl was empty. He hadn't realized just how famished he had been. "That was delicious."

"I am pleased you like it...Coo-wah-chobee." Hialeah turned her head sheepishly.

"No, Hialeah!" Brave Bear slammed his bowl down onto the dirt floor and stood to confront his sister. "You cannot call him that." A dribble of stew ran down his chin.

"I can, and I will." Hialeah got into her brother's face. "Micco Opa started with coo-wah, and I completed it," she said with calm determination.

"What am I missing?" Trace looked up from his bowl.

"Micco Opa is a senile old man and much too tolerant. But when Micco-Nuppe is told, he will never allow it." Brave Bear stepped off from his sister. "The fascination with this peculiar white man has gone far enough. His dark magic is not to be trusted!" Her brother stormed out of their chickee.

"Wow," commented Trace. "I'm sorry to cause so much trouble."

"My brother has a big temper and a small memory,” replied Hialeah. "He will come around, so you must not worry." She sat down next to Trace. Skiff came over to lie in front of them, and Hialeah caressed the dog's long, silky snout. "Coo- wah-chobee is the perfect name for you. I believe Chief Crazy Alligator will be pleased as well...and tolerant."

"Hialeah, what exactly does Coo-wah-chobee mean?" His appetite quite satiated, Trace finished off the last bit of stew and placed the empty bowl at his feet.

"It means panther, Trace." Hialeah remained focused on Skiff. "You are the panther."

"Panther?" He felt proud of the new name she selected for him. "I like that...panther. But why did Brave Bear get so angry?"

"Because of what it means to our people," she explained. "You see, when the Breathmaker, the father of all things, created the earth, there were many different living things he wanted to put there. But the Breathmaker cherished the panther, Coo-wah-chobee, first among all his creations. Coo-wah-chobee would sit beside him and he would pet the panther across its soft furry back. And when the Breathmaker touches certain things longer than normal, his powers flow into what he touches, granting that creature infinite strength. He told the panther, 'Coo-wah-chobee, you are majestic and beautiful. There is something special about you. When the earth is complete, I would like for you to be the first to walk upon it, because you are the perfect one to walk my earth.'

"When I found you on the shore, you asked why I was helping you. I said there was something special about Skiff. Well, there is something special about him. And after he led me down to the beach...I discovered it was you. There is something special about you, Trace-with-no-last-name. You are to be the perfect one to walk upon the earth."

She stopped petting Skiff. And, for the first time since she found him lying flat on his back on the white sand beach beyond the dunes, she gazed deeply into his eyes. Trace couldn't help but stare back at her, hypnotized by her arresting beauty.

Without realizing who first instigated the move or exactly when it even started, their lips were already touching. Hialeah's mouth tasted both sweet and salty, most likely from the dinner she'd been preparing. Just like the stewed rabbit, her lips were moist and delicious, and Trace hungered for more. As their mouths opened to the most intimate expression of desire, they pressed their bodies together so tightly it was possible to feel the other's heartbeat. Trace experienced a charge that sparked between their lips. He pulled back from the kiss in a weak attempt to behave himself.

"Hialeah." He was trying so damn hard to ignore the pounding in his chest. His heart was telling him this was so much more than simply wanting to bang this luscious Native American chick. "You don't really know me."

"I have always known you, Coo-wah-chobee, since the day I was born." Hialeah stood. Her dark eyes were enticing him, twinkling in the firelight. With a seductive, mischievous half-smile, she slipped the garment off her body and let herself be totally exposed before him. The smooth, sensuous lines of her body were appropriately curvaceous, and her flawless, light brown skin glowed in the warm light of the fire.

It seemed an eternity that she remained motionless, permitting Trace to drink in all she was offering. He was exhilarated by this strong, yet delicate female offering herself to him. Trace felt the blood leaving his face and rushing to settle between his legs. He remembered back to the illicit glance of her backside while they escaped through the tangle of underbrush. He remembered how he desired to see more of her but was forbidden. But now...now, here he was, staring at the same untamed, glistening place on her body that at one time was unreceptive...and this time, it longed for him.

"Wow, I'm used to a landing strip," he blurted. "But I can dig a hirsute kind of girl, if it's a localized thicket." Trace reveled in the fact that he was more than just welcomed by Hialeah but was desired by her. Why did that mean so much to him? And really, had he ever felt this way about a woman's body...or even about a woman for that matter?

Hialeah knelt to be close to him again. Once near, she took hold of his hand and placed it over her caramel-colored nipple. "I have been waiting for you to come home to me," she whispered.

"Skiff is watching us," Trace joked awkwardly.

Skiff wagged his tail, happy at the mere mention of his name.

She pulled him down onto the mat and kissed him hard on his mouth. "Let him watch," she said, catching her breath with confidence. "Let me teach him how to savor his food."

Hialeah lifted Trace's shirt to lick across his abdomen, taking her time circling his navel. Trace felt the pangs of pleasure race through his belly. He reclined and let his mind relax as her hand began to explore the inside of his pants. Hialeah did not seem disappointed in her Coo-wah-chobee's obvious enthusiasm. As the night wore on and they both found happiness multiple times, neither of them would be disappointed. Exhaustion swept over the lovers and in each other's arms, they drifted off to sleep.

***

Windows to the Soul.

"Remove the custody glove from your weaponized mitt," instructed Sansala Sui-Ki. "Once the weapon has been activated, and with your mitt pointing toward the targeting orb, you will connect your thumb with your primary digit." Josette removed the protective flexi-glove she wore on her right hand. Sansala's eyes were more brilliant blue than they were only a few moments ago, if that were possible, and they distracted her. She controlled herself enough to aim her weaponized hand to the far end of the oblong exercise room. As she brought her metallic fingers together, she felt an immediate surge of power throughout her hand that tingled all the way up her arm. A small arc of electricity sparked between her thumb and index finger. Once the fingers made contact, a brilliant ribbon of silver energy discharged from the tips of the other three non-touching fingers. The charge released smoothly, with no recoil, and the ribbon streamed down the long narrow room until it disintegrated the hovering orb in a blinding flash. Her new weapon was garishly effective.

"We activate the weapon in battle scenarios, so there will be no chance of accidental misfires-rolling over while resting, case in tip," said Sansala. "If you glisten with worry, then commit to the glove as a precaution. There is no shame in the protective glove. All immature pedals wear them."

To Josette, this new sensation was pure, powerful, and incredibly arousing. "Amazing," she exclaimed, still experiencing a tingle throughout her body all the way to her toes. "I like this weapon. I like it a-" She froze, stunned by Sansala's eyes. The alien's large optical jellies had changed their color and were no longer the hypnotizing sapphire blue. The tall female now had eyes of deep violet with thin lines of pink curling in the center to form an iris. Perhaps it was an effect of the odd lighting inside the exercise room...or maybe the adrenaline pumping through her veins caused her own eyes to play tricks on her. Josette wasn't sure.

"Your...eyes?" She pointed to Sansala's face with her weaponless hand.

"What about them, dear lamb?" Sansala affected a peculiar coyness while her Wafi snickered in that damn silly way of theirs. Their behavior only confirmed Josette's suspicion that something was amiss. "They're no longer blue."

"Very perceptive, Josette. Yet, you appear startled. Sometimes I forget the subtle physiological diversities of our species. That is my loose miffle. I should have warned you my windows will regulate according to my...disposition." "Windows...really?" Josette was fascinated by this new revelation. "And what does it mean when they turn purple with little pink lines?" "That I am most enchanted with my molly Earthian pupil." Sansala was obviously playing coy once more. "We must restart your mitt training." "Yes, of course." Josette decided to let the episode drop and carry on with the lesson. But this adventure got more intriguing with each novel twist.

"The weapon has self-guided targeting," Sansala instructed, resuming the exercise. "The ribbon is attracted to the radiated energy of your intent object," she explained. The Wafi, apparently still mistrusting her, stayed hidden behind Sansala's long legs. On occasion, they'd feel comfortable enough to snatch another quick peek to gauge Josette's progress. Yet they preferred to be safely tucked away for most of the drill. Sansala ignored them, as usual. “And wherever you shine is the targeted energy, marbling it a guaranteed connection."

And with that, Josette could kill more efficiently than she ever thought possible. She felt keyed up with the potential of it all. "I could decimate hordes of Nazis with this thing!" she exclaimed, salivating. As she gazed upon the opulent silver infused onto her hand, she trembled with anticipation. What a glorious surprise she had in store for nasty little Adolph and his motley crew of miscreants. "I want to know more."

Sansala smiled back at her. "Taste the connection between your thumb and transitional digit." The Suntholian extended her ring finger to demonstrate. "But hold them secure. Do not crack them until I tell you to do so." Without hesitation, Josette brought her thumb and ring finger together. The power throbbed within her hand once again, but the sensation was far less intense than before. Josette was somewhat disappointed that the tingle was not as noticeable as it was when she discharged the dazzling, silver ribbon of death.

Suddenly, from the three non-touching fingers, a sphere of vibrating transparent energy radiated outward. The sphere was a small, clear membrane, like a bubble of soap forming around her weaponized hand. But the longer she held the two fingers together, the more the soap bubble expanded around her. Within seconds, it had swallowed her right arm and kept growing until it encompassed her waist as well. Josette could feel the crisp, radiant field of the membrane's boundary as it crawled across her chest and up her naked throat. The bubble finally stopped swelling just as it enveloped the rest of her body and covered her head.

Josette could see Sansala through the walls of the energy bubble. But the alien's slender form was distorted like looking through the thick glass of a soda bottle. Sansala spoke to her, but the audible vibration of the protective energy muffled the voice outside the field. "Till...dim...yooo..." Josette thought she heard Sansala say. She could see her teacher's lips moving. "Wet...jam...so..." but the words were hard to decipher. "Let... them...go!" This time she distinctly understood the screams outside the sphere. Josette separated her two fingers, and the membrane of energy dissipated around her-popping as a proper soap bubble should.

"I should have warned you the energy field would disrupt your translator." Sansala looked displeased. "A miffled nooblie of your blessed host."

"Mistake," said Josette. "You mean your mistake, correct?"

"Parse it as you will, orphan."

"What was that?" asked Josette.

"That was a shielding sphere. The sphere will protect your essence should you need such defense. The recipe is mental clarity and concentration, as well as choosing the correct digital combination. As you have experienced in training, each combination has a different appliance the shielding sphere of the thumb and transitional digit, the paralyzing weapon of the thumb and median and, of course, the fatal spirit ribbon of the thumb and primary digit." "What about the thumb and the pinkie?" interrupted Josette. Acutely aware of Sansala's instant confusion, she held out her smallest silver finger. "This digit, I mean," she added.

"Well, if not guarded, and you compressed those together," Sansala said with a devious grin, "you will detonate. Mere subsequents are enough to spill the essence of every soul in your vicinity."

"Subsequents?" Josette was puzzled with this expression, but the look on Sansala's face indicated it was just another misinterpretation by the translator. "Ah, you mean seconds. If I pressed them together for a few seconds, then I...detonate." "Again, parse it as you will, treasured single." Sansala stroked Josette's hair with her long, thin fingers. "You have such a luxurious pelt, Josette." And softly purring like contented kittens, the Wafi stroked each other's tiny head just as Sansala was doing to her. "The tone of each fiber is resonant, and your pelt resembles the nebula itself."

Josette felt the attention of the beautiful alien both uncomfortable and...enticing.

"Sansala," she said, clearing her throat, "I see your hand is without this silver weapon. How did I get so lucky?"

"The weapon is an unsolicited filament of the O'dei-Malsumi-a vile, abhorrent life form subsisting on the adjacent planet of Tueum." Sansala grimaced as if the words deposited a bad taste on her double tongues. Her eyes briefly flashed an intense red before returning to the previous violet and pink. "The O'dei-Malsumi are a hideous species whose lust for conquest is matched only by their malice."

The Wafi sobbed uncontrollably and stomped their toeless little feet in a righteous fury. Josette struggled to ignore the demonstrative Wafi, though, it was becoming more difficult with each emotional outburst. The way they wallowed in such melodramatics was incessant to the point of being irritating.

"But why would the O'dei-Malsumi do this?" Josette asked. "And to me?"

"Josette, the O'dei-Malsumi pleasure themselves by violating the sovereignty of every sentient being they encounter. They seize orphans from all the known galactic clusters. They fetch them back to Tueum to mutilate without compassion. I know this is hard for your species to absorb, but ruthless beings exist in the universe. These beings value hatred, greed, and oppression. They operate by the constraints of those unholy defects."

"No," Josette replied as she stared down at the mirrored fingers on her right hand. "I think my species would absorb that quite easily...but I still don't understand what would be accomplished by bringing me here." "Nooblies, the answer lies before your windows," continued Sansala as she caressed the head of her pupil. "Operating within the shadows of their own bloodlust, the O'dei-Malsumi relocate species from across the clusters to fight their war against the loving Suntholo. Once they have you, they break you. They disfigure you and position you to wage an unjust war. It is a coward's existence and will be their downfall in the finish."

"Then how did I end up with the Suntholo?" Without realizing she'd even done so, Josette had rested her head against Sansala's shoulder. Thankfully, the Wafi had also calmed themselves and rested their heads against one another as well. "Blessed be to Rasa that we lighted upon you." The alien wrapped her slender arms around Josette and held her securely. "We cracked their vessel as it attempted to jump between planetary borders and intercepted their illegal transports aboard. The Suntholo liberated many poor souls, just as we did, my finest pedal, Josette Legard. Many of them corroded, unable to acclimate, while others survived. Galactic outcasts, all of them, but worth saving. After we heal them, we reform every victim of the wicked O'dei-Malsumi."

"Reform? Why not just send us all back to where we came from?" asked Josette.

"You are a curious lamb, which is moist." Sansala laughed while her Wafi giggled along with glee. "Suntholian ancestors denounced any perverted technology of this kind. At first, we refused to replicate it, because it shined so repugnant to all laws of decency. We refused to build it until we became unable to build it. The Suntholo lost the desire and then the ability. I am afraid we do not possess the gift to send you back to where you came from, Josette."

"I'm stuck here," mumbled Josette. "With the rest of the outcasts."

"Perhaps not, Earthian." Sansala stared into Josette's eyes. "If we can fix a pedal, we can train a pedal. And a trained pedal will snuff the O'dei-Malsumi plague before they crush the Suntholo race from existence. This is their ultimate objective...to empty our husks and expel the light of Rasa from our sacred moon of Sun."

"I don't understand why this moon means so much to them when they have a whole planet of their own."

The alien heaved an extended sigh. "Why does a species consume a morsel which does not taste good to them? Because they have the proper implements and feel entitled to dine. However, the brainless urchins underestimated the peaceful nature of the Suntholo. We will not drop to our knobs and genuflect to an ugly, soulless culture not when we have such essential pedals to assist in our glorious mission." Sansala was visibly frustrated. "Their sinister nature is difficult to absorb, but we perceive the danger, and so should you, Josette, for its shade is darker than dark."

Her Wafi were wringing their tiny hands repeatedly, trembling with ambiguous hysterics.

"This particular Earthian has fought long enough, Sansala," said Josette, recoiling at the butterflies in her stomach from gazing into the large, multi-hued eyes of Sansala Sui-Ki. Such a clash of emotions was foreign to her, and she labored to preserve any self-control. "It's not my planet and not my war. Why the hell should I fight for it? Just let me go. I'll fend for myself."

"And go where, cherished orphan? You have stumbled into the same fate as all the other dislocated souls alone in a cosmic wilderness. There is no escape in the vastness of space where the lost shall suffer the leisure of a lingering conclusion." Sansala seemed quite determined to win Josette's compliance. "Still, if we acquire the Malsumi technology, how could we not fetch you home? Each and every one of the displaced will be restored to their home clusters. We can exploit the Malsumi's fiendish device and reward you for your assistance. Reflect on it as repayment for your services."

"Then I'm no more than a mercenary for hire, no matter how you reflect on it."

"That expression does not translate but I parse your meaning. Understand Josette, the Suntholo would be rectifying an injustice and restoring the natural order of the universal expanse. That is reward for everyone." Sansala's reply betrayed her impatience. "Would this not serve all who have been abducted?"

"I suppose it would do just that." Josette resigned herself. "I have no choice."

"Not unless you wish to roost with the Suntholo forever." Sansala squeezed Josette close against her body. "It would be a privilege for you to dwell within me."

Josette held her breath while she considered the proposition. Her intuition nagged at her. Something about what Sansala said didn't ring true. Yet, she couldn't help but think it all made horrifying sense as well.

"I'll fight your war, Sansala Sui-Ki," she said, exhaling her reticence. "But you must promise that I fight for more than my own freedom. If what you're telling me is true, then I fight to defeat the imperialism of these O'dei-Malsumi. I fight for the freedom of all the galactic outcasts, Earthian and otherwise. Can you promise me that?"

"I can promise you that and so much more." Sansala smiled, and her eyes transformed again becoming an effusive pink in the center, except for a wispy silver halo outlining the edges. "This shines desirous spit and shall remain a tight pedal between us, Josette Legard."

"Then get on with my training." Josette pulled away from Sansala to address a new target orb which had materialized in the back of the exercise room. "I'll teach the Malsumi a lesson in civility they'll never forget."

"Rasa quaffs!" Sansala clapped her hands together. "All the galactic orphans stripped of their sentient liberties, as well as the honored moon of Sun, owe you a solemn light of gratitude. We yearn for marbled success in your righteous mission." The Wafi applauded politely with feigned enthusiasm.

"Yeah, fucking fantastic, praise be to sweet Rasa." Josette realized the aliens weren't conversant in sarcastic wordplay and her snarkiness was a wasted gesture. "Now, I yearn for more target practice." She shook her right hand to stimulate blood flow and extended her arm outward, ready to demolish more hovering targets.

"Of course, my molly pupil!" Sansala came up behind her to lay her hands upon Josette's shoulders. "But first," she whispered, her sweet breath tickling Josette's ear, "I have a sacred marble for your contentment. You will shine with delight from this gift. The Suntholo have rehabilitated a spouse for you, saving him from the abyss as well."

"A spouse?" Josette lowered her arm and faced Sansala in disbelief. "That's barbaric. I will refuse such nuptials."

"Nuptials?" Sansala seemed somewhat puzzled herself. "No, nothing like that. Wicked translator. I would be enraged at the idea of forcing a mate into you. This pedal is to be your nanaharange...your working associate."

"You mean partner?" replied Josette, relieved. "He'll be my partner."

"If that is the correct Earthian term, then so be it. Your missions are dangerous, and you will need him. You must ignore his size. He is small but robust."

"I'll need him, you say?" asked Josette, now more perplexed from another wrinkle in the fabric of her new life.

"Yes, precious one, and find pleasure in his brilliant association."

The wall behind Sansala silently dissipated, revealing a small person who stood at the ready with fists on his hips. Josette peered around Sansala. The stranger's body was silhouetted by the bright light of the hallway. She couldn't make out his features until he took a step forward into the targeting room. Josette was quite surprised by the new partner the Suntholo had obtained for her being barely taller than those damn Wafi!

Naked from the waist up, the muscular young man was extremely short-maybe a meter and a half tall but proportional. He came without the enlarged head and stubby arms typical of those on Earth afflicted with dwarfism. This male was healthy, pale-skinned, and wore a shielded flexi-glove on his right hand too. Josette, staring at his hairless, non-nippled chest, grew instantly curious about this truncated male. Like the rest of his diminutive body, his head was bald, and he bore the smoldering look of steely determination in his hazel eyes. It was a look of confidence, but most disturbing of all, it was a look of secrecy. "Hello," he said in a deep voice that contradicted his small stature. "I am Snow White. May you find warmth and awareness in your new days."

"Does he not have the most enchanting windows?" Sansala urged, grinning.

"Enchanting." Josette was filled with anxiety over this little man...her nanaharange.

A Wicked Sandman. "Ah, shit!" Trace was jolted from his sleep. He sat up on the mat of straw within Hialeah's chickee, shaking from his horrific dream-a dream already forgotten. His eyes were slow to adjust to the darkness, and the smell of sex lingered in the air. "What is it, Coo-wah-chobee?" Hialeah muttered in the dark next to him.

"Nothing. I had a bad dream. I'm fine now." Happy that Brave Bear hadn't returned and that the hut remained their exclusive domain, he rolled over to kiss her on the lips. "How about another go?"

"Yes, please," she responded.

Just as their lips were about to touch, the darkness lifted to illuminate the disfigured face of the Guardsman lost that horrible day that seemed so long ago. The face lying beneath him was bloated and blue from his time under the waves. The eyes, milky white, oozed seawater producing clouded puddles in the dirt. The Guardsman puckered his distended lips for a kiss, and the brine poured from the corners of his mouth as he did.

"I told you," the Guardsman gurgled, reaching for an embrace, each mutilated finger on his hands a gangrenous stump. The scent of decomposing flesh overwhelmed Trace's nose. "It isn't natural." The dead man drew back his lips, displaying the fanged teeth of a vicious beast. "Kiss me." The Guardsman opened his maw and ripped into Trace's throat-

"What the fuck!" Trace bolted upright drenched in sweat, even on a cool night such as this one. His dream had doubled up on him-something he thought happened only in movies. But goddammit, that was a real bitch of a nightmare. It was scary dark in this world without the soft glow of electronics or humming streetlights. He felt around blindly, until finding Skiff's warm body nuzzled against his leg.

"Okay, I'm really awake this time." He patted the dog across his soft, furry back. Skiff lifted his chin and wagged his tail in half-sleep before plopping his head onto Trace's naked thigh. The whiskers on the dog tickled his skin, but this made Trace feel better. "Ssshhh," he whispered, hushing Skiff but more to soothe himsel He didn't want to wake Hialeah either, who was und asleep on his other side and snoring softly. "Okay, we're okay. All of us are fine." Still very troubled by his nightmare, he settled down between his old dog and his new woman.

Trace was relieved the horrible vision was only a dream. It was, perhaps, the most disturbing dream he could ever recall, but it was just a fucking dream.

"What the hell was that all about?" His mind raced, and he knew he'd have trouble relaxing. "I need a soak."

Trace would lie awake the rest of the night, studying the molecules swirling about the darkness till the sun cut through the cracks of Hialeah's palm-frond-encrusted chickee. No matter what he did to distract himself, his mind had refused to

surrender even a second of sleep to his weary body.

***

Time Transfixed.

Hialeah awoke the next morning, refreshed, and giddy for the first time in her young life, almost forgetting the turmoil that existed for her people. Once she realized Trace and Skiff had departed the chickee, she dressed quickly and set out to find them. She was not going to let him get too far from her protection while he was still so vulnerable. There were many in her clan, like her younger brother Brave Bear, who did not trust Trace. They believed him a mischievous spirit sent to

cloud their judgment. Hialeah understood her tribe's apprehension, even if it was based in superstition. Everything about him was a mystery. This was not a good time for him to appear on the beach near their village without any explanation. His appearance was too out of the ordinary to be accidental and must foreshadow trouble for the Seminole people or so they believed.

This was an uneasy time for the human tribes. They had become a people ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. General Jackson, Sharp Knife as her people named him, was forcing them from their homeland to make way for more white settlers. These settlers were encroaching upon their sacred grounds faster than wildfire and just as impossible to extinguish.

First the Spanish, Hialeah recounted. And now...what do they call themselves?

Her people were destined to fight an infinite foe, and while the Seminole numbers dwindled, the number of white men appeared without limit. With every dawn, a new shipment was deposited on their earth. Soon, Hialeah feared, the Seminole would have no choice but to head south for the big water to live in the swamp. She hated the swamp with its biting insects.

Hialeah knew Trace was more than what her people perceived. Just like the great brave Osceola, he was born of the whites as one of them. But he was so much more. He was a gift bestowed upon them by the Breathmaker himself. The tribe would soon realize how special he was and what he could do to help them even if she had to convince them of that fact. Trace was their Coo-wah-chobee too, after all.

"But where is our savior now?" she asked aloud. Hialeah decided to follow the path most traveled down to the hot springs.

It was another beautiful morning in a long line of similar Wakala mornings. For Hialeah, this morning represented new hope for her people. She was sure Trace would save them from the Sharp Knife. And once there was harmony again, they

could marry as free human beings.

The first order of business was finding Coo-wah-chobee. He favored the springs. A good place to start.

***

Trace relaxed his naked body into the warm, fizzy water of the secluded spring. Thousands of tiny bubbles tickled his balls, and it was manna from heaven. He loved the spring for its soothing, meditational-and yes-holistic qualities.

"Holistic? Really? Is that what we're doing?" He chuckled. Lately, these private trips to the spring were the only occasion when his thoughts slowed to almost normal levels, and the buzzing in his brain diminished. The fleeting serenity gave him a chance to unravel this fantastic riddle, both logically and objectively. He'd ponder it for hours while enjoying the bubbly magic of the hot spring.

"Ah, nature's hot tub," Trace said as he slid deeper into the water. As usual, his thoughts drifted. "Okay, Pooh Bear, think, think, think..."

And though his theories flowed from one wild idea to the next, his mind would always come back around to one consistent truth. And it was the same thing every time...or the same person that is... Hialeah. Trace recognized he was losing his mind, but the thought of her presence made him hopeful for their future...which was basically his past.

"Good night, nurse, this is confusing," he said to himself. "I'm not used to being a damn optimist. I don't know how to do it."

With his head resting on a smooth rock, Trace closed his eyes to let the calming water of the spring massage his mind and body. After only a few seconds of peace, there was a loud screech from above that broke the silence like a fart in church. His eyes popped open. It didn't take long for Trace to spot the big hawk circling overhead. Screeching again, the hawk looked down and made eye contact with him. Trace smiled up at the dignified bird.

"Hello, hawk" he called. "Nice to see you today."

"Osprey!" the bird squawked. "How many times must I remind you that I'm an osprey? Hawks are an inferior genus."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Hello there you big, beautiful osprey!" Trace saluted with pseudo-admiration.

"Why, hello, Trace!" The osprey's feathers puffed with pride. "Enjoying the springs again, I see."

"Yep! It feels amazing, as usual," replied Trace.

"Brilliant!" The bird dropped lower in the sky, continuing to fly in languid circles. "Is the red beastie about?"

"Skiff? No, he's off chasing chipmunks. It's safe to land."

"Wonderful. One can never be too careful." The large bird settled on a tree branch just a few yards from the spring. "You do love a good soak, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," agreed Trace. "It helps me think. Think, think, think, as Pooh Bear would say."

"I'm not acquainted with that particular bear," the osprey said while preening his glossy brown wings with his sharp beak, "but he sounds most agreeable to me."

Trace laughed. "Yes, he is."

The bird stopped grooming to look at Trace with a quizzical gleam in his bright golden eyes. "May I ask what you're thinking so much about?"

"About my purpose in life." Relaxed again, Trace closed his eyes. He welcomed the shade of his eyelids, although he could still perceive light and shadows through them.

"You don't know your purpose?" The osprey sounded amused. "That is very curious." Trace reached under the water to scratch his nut sack, which prickled from the effervescent bubbles. "Well, I had a good idea, back when everything made sense in my world. But here in this world...it eludes me. It's like those puddles of water

that appear on the highway when you're driving on a hot day. But as you get closer, they disappear-just a mirage-no splash-leaving you disappointed. That's how I feel about my purpose."

"What's a highway?"

"Never mind." Trace sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"But, Trace," exclaimed the bird, "one's purpose in life is simple."

"And what's that, shrewd old bird?" Trace opened his eyes to stare at his clever friend. "I can't wait to hear this nugget of wisdom. Tell me, what's my purpose?"

"To live it, of course!" The osprey flapped his powerful wings and launched himself into the air once more.

Trace laughed loudly at the pure simplicity of the bird's logic. "Where are you going now?" he asked.

"Sorry to rush off. I do enjoy our little chats. Someone is hiding in the bushes, and it could be the red beastie. A bird can never be too safe. But don't worry. We'll converse again during your next soak. Goodbye, Trace!" And before Trace could

reply, the osprey disappeared into a single puffy white cloud floating in the clear blue sky.

Trace had known there was someone hiding in the bushes, and it wasn't Skiff. It was the same someone who had hidden in the bushes the last couple of times he'd ventured down to bathe in the springs. There was no danger, so he allowed himself to be secretly observed, but....

"Enough is enough." His chats with the hawk-osprey-were special, and he didn't care for the interruption, not to mention this was getting fuckin' creepy. "You can come out now," Trace said, peeved. There was a soft rustling in the bushes, but no one dared show their face. "Istonko, Nokosi Chitto."

Brave Bear emerged from the brush with a sheepish look on his face, muddling his usual expression of self-righteous anger. Little by little, the brave approached Trace in the spring.

"Coo-wah," he grunted.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Brave Bear." Trace chuckled as he closed his eyes again. "You want to join me in this spring, don't you? I'm sure you need to wash, especially with all that sap on your hands."

Brave Bear folded his arms as he stood above Trace. "Why were you talking to yourself?" he asked with anger.

"I wasn't talking to myself,” replied Trace. "I was talking to the osprey."

"So, now you speak to birds? Impressive for a white man." Brave Bear's voice was chock full of skepticism. "I did not see any bird." "Maybe you weren't watching anything beyond this spring, and you missed him." Trace opened his eyes to see Brave Bear staring down at him. "This isn't the most flattering view of you, Brave Bear. I can see inside your chickee, and it looks a

little crowded in there."

Brave Bear jumped off the edge of the spring and away from Trace. "I do not know what you mean, Coo-wah." "Oh, I think you do," Trace said, snickering. "Trust me, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody does it. Why I bet even old Micco Opa has doffed a feather from time to time. I'm flattered to be an object of such... let's say interest. Maybe I

should call you Peeping Bear-you little perv." Brave Bear remained silent for a second or two, as if trying to decode exactly what Trace had said to him. "What is a perv?" he asked, his present confusion replacing his customary anger. "No, I do not care what it means! I do not admire you in

any way, Coo-wah. I was digging for koonti root in the mulberry."

"Yeah, sure. I know what you were doing in the bushes, and it wasn't digging for root. Maybe watering the plants. You take yourself too seriously, Mister Peepers."

The young Seminole sat down next to Trace's arm outstretched on the rocks. The brave now looked more troubled than angry. "Trace...I am ashamed of what I was doing in the bush." He looked up to the sky. "That is not how a warrior

behaves."

"Hey, I won't say a word to anyone." Surprisingly, Trace felt bad over his ribbing at Brave Bear's expense. Hell, he even felt a little hypocritical too. "And thanks for calling me by my real name, Brave Bear. That means a lot to me." "You are a fool, Coo-wah, I forgot myself."

"Wait a tic, I wasn't the fool rubbing one out in the shrubs," said Trace now regretting he'd even slightly sympathized with the brave.

"I should cut your throat for such an insult." Brave Bear's words were aggressive, but his slumping posture wasn't. He just sat there staring up at the clouds. "You are lucky Hialeah cares for you, or I would do it right now. If you say anything to anyone, I will disregard my sister's foolish heart. My tribe does not accept these... behaviors."

"Don't worry, I won't spill your dirty secret." Trace sat up in the bubbling water with his skin looking pruned. "In fact, I'll carry it to my grave. But on one condition."

"Who are

you

to set conditions?"

"I'm the man who bones your sister." Trace grinned at this proposal. "And the man who knows the real you. Isn't that right, Spanky?"

"I will not pretend to understand what you just said," groaned Brave Bear. "Tell me your condition."

"It's simple. Just take me to where you've hidden my boat."

"That is all?"

"Yes, take me to it, and I'll show you something that will really tickle your pickle." Trace hopped out of the spring to grab up his clothing. "You want me to leave. Well, my boat is my way out." Our way out, he kept that thought to himself.

"Now, turn around, you naughty little Seminole."

"Your words offend me." Brave Bear jumped up. "Goodbye, Coo-wah," he said as he stomped away in a huff.

"Wait! I'm sorry to have rubbed you the wrong way," teased Trace.

The young Seminole paused on the trail in mid-sulk. "Follow me," he grunted.

Now very excited, Trace threw on his clothes and ran off to follow Brave Bear into the mangroves. He was on his way back to The Joey at last! Somewhere along the way, Skiff joined them on their journey, though lacking a chipmunk. Skiff

didn't seem to really care and was happy just to tag along.