A Moon Called Sun
Chapter Five — Inherited Tabula Rasa

With her Wafi following closely, and her lucent robes billowing behind her, Sansala Sui-Ki sauntered up the hallway of the Suntholian sanctuary. This hallway led to the command chamber high above the sanctuary that overlooked an inner temple of Sui'Mon. Sansala passed through the dissipating wall and slid alongside Plurimi Sui-Za, a Suntholian Exalted Sui priestess with her own set of identical Wafi.

The grim Exalted Priestess did not turn to her subordinate. She remained fixated on the hovering dimensional surveillance screen that kept a watchful window on the congregation trickling into the shrine below. Sansala ran her twin tongues around the edges of the Exalted's ear in greeting as her two Wafi paid the equivalent to Plurimi's pair.

"You have emerged from your shrunken basket, Sansala Sui-Ki?" muttered Plurimi still not looking at Sansala. "Where in Rasa's fine dust have you been? Your team is pink in the middle, but geared up to jet this mission, and yet...you shine no concern."

"I shine concern, my devoted priestess. I was buried in my molly place in tight prayer for success recapturing our sacred Halcyon." Sansala ran her mitt along the back of Plurimi's willowy shoulder. "Please, do not be talliwonk over a sentimental pedal like me."

"You assemble me no floor to stand otherwise." Plurimi turned to Sansala. The anger was boiling within her large ruby red windows. Plurimi's Wafi had fury seething within their little colorless windows as well. "No floor at all." "Then let me tender you comfort. I have everything well in mitt."

Sansala went in for a kiss but was spurned by Plurimi with a wave of her rigid mitt. "Oh, you do?" the Exalted Priestess sneered. "You have everything so well in mitt that you permitted that simpering, synthetic abomination called Widgit to just roll away with the Halcyon and tender it back to the repellent Malsumi. They must have been farting in delight, I am certain."

"Widgit has a powerful cloaking ability which allowed her to slip past..."

"Nooblies! You were experienced on how to nullify her cloak, and you got careless. We have all available troops committed elsewhere on Tueum, therefore I must trust a flaccid band of orphan rabbles to recover the hallowed stone. Their training was not immersed into the pool of our convictions, and I do not care for the Earthian, Josette Legard. She is not of the same light."

"Josette is a special lamb, Plurimi Sui-Za," purred Sansala, reassuring the Exalted Priestess of Josette's converted spirit. "She is a righteous signpost."

"I am marbled with delight." Plurimi let a tense smile creep upon her lips. "Josette will serve as the ideal Talio-Sui for the cherished populace. From her empty husk, our rebirth shall blossom."

Baffled by this declaration of her Exalted Priestess, Sansala stared at the images darting across the surveillance screen.

"If that be the divine wish of Rasa..." Sansala sighed with affected resignation. "Then it must be marbled."

"Did I not just parse it as Rasa's wish, Sui Priestess?" said Plurimi. "I believe I did."

"The flight to settle this moon has been perilous for our flock. The glorious Suntholo need a sacrifice-a perfect Talio-Sui. Perhaps another pedal would..."

"There will be no other pedal!" Plurimi looked down at her Wafi, and they stared up at her with anticipation spread across their tiny faces. "Avow the Talio-Sui, my mirror images, focus Sansala Sui-Ki's delicate mind," the Exalted commanded. Plurimi's Wafi floated into the air with four little eyes shining as black as onyx. They held fast to each other's mitts as they hovered above the chamber floor. In unison, the twin manifestations chanted the sacred epistle, singing in nimble falsetto voices...

"Talio-Sui, according to the passages of The Lost Suntholian Penitent, Sacred Epistle Absolute Ennui of Galay. Zim-Zer-a-tee! It is he of purest impurity brimolding with a wily ferocity, shunting plasma to mask a fated progeny. This be the charge of the Talio-Sui!"

The congregation in the temple below moaned in hysterical fervor with each impassioned plea of the possessed Wafi.

"Sacrafire thrum-throated motives the Blessed Three," they continued, reciting the sanctified prayer, turning and twisting in the air as their words beseeched the congregation's every desire. "Vengeance, remorse and atonement be. Rasa avows charmuskable flesh can stave the demon decree. So blaze! Blaze the throne of Zim-Galay and Zer-a-tee! Deciduous trials of the Talio-Sui, to fire the dreadkin disease, Ennui. The scambaluk-skash of a Talio-Sui is awash in miffled history-most Zim and more Zer-a-tee!"

The congregation wailed with appetites feasting on both pleasure and pain. The Wafi settled back to the floor and scampered behind the long robe of the Exalted Priestess, stomping the floor in anger behind her.

"You must travel a clever path, Sansala-Sui-Ki," said Plurimi, "and surrender Josette's light when the crack appears." Plurimi and her indignant Wafi turned to the dimensional screen to observe the Suntholo below. The congregation was now swarming the sanctuary, immersed within their blessed rituals of mutilations and free fertilization. "I fret your attachment to this orphan," she stated in an uncompromising tone.

"A loose deception to gain her trust, I assure you," said Sansala. "You are my true pedal. You and our spirit, the Inherited Tabula Rasa." Sansala glanced upward while tapping her chin and then her nose with her primary digit in respect to their deity. She moved to stand by Plurimi, who was still viewing the writhing mass of uninhibited Suntholo on screen. "And between the slices, we inserted the solitary lamb, who has penetrated her mind and soul. Josette feels the warmth of his light, and he will assure her compliance an excellent acquisition for our race."

"I hope you are breathing tight with me," Plurimi grumbled. "The Halcyon is the key to preventing our sacred Sun from falling back into the dripping mitts of the cursed O'dei-Malsumi. And we must fend off the paradox if we sacrifice every living being in the expanse to do so, even those we covet."

"Granted, my love. I collapse in firm agreement." Sansala stroked Plurimi's cheek, attempting to calm the priestess. "Those outside the Suntholo race are incidental and depart their shell for the greater good." Sansala and her Wafi purred in harmony to honor their Exalted Priestess.

Plurimi did not appear impressed. "You will parse my remarks, Sansala Sui-Ki. Our faith is on the verge of evaporation as our chunks diminish. The Halcyon is paramount in this campaign against the plague of the Malsumi. Your team must succeed even at the expense of their immature souls."

"I will suckle on every word, Plurimi Sui-Za. We shall be mountainous in our mission. Josette Legard will funnel us to victory as team leader as well as serving as..." Sansala sighed with insincere submission. "...our Talio-Sui." "Marbled," Plurimi approved, grinning. "Let us stroke the miffled Earthian male lost in the conformal map," she added. "What is his status?"

"You are aware of him?" Sansala was taken aback that Plurimi Sui-Za knew of this insignificant complication and did her best to preserve her poise. "He is a minor vessel in search of a captain."

"I am conscious of everything under the Divinity's Eye," the Exalted Priestess scoffed. "And no warrior is minor that may spare a Suntholian spirit."

Sansala straightened out the wrinkles in her gown. "His prolonged break was the result of a weakening receptor conduit and nothing else," she declared with a brave face. "Murphy is toiling to realign the miffle."

"Murphy," Plurimi sneered. "The Earthian's break was the result of your incompetence. You allowed Widgit to do your dirty work and look where it got you. By Rasa's wet blessing, she rolled back into Rak and attempted to free her idiot nanaharange. If not for Steven Murphy, we never would have uncovered the Halcyon's fate."

"Yes," Sansala responded with embarrassment. "By Rasa's wet blessing, the chattering gynoid attempted an illegal communication to Malsumi control which we intercepted."

"Parsing of which, have you dealt with that quisling, Widgit?"

"She has been banished to Narkissos, just as you commanded." Sansala believed this egregious decision of the Exalted was baked into an errant crust, a loose pedal indeed. "We should drain her husk-spilled, minced and mottled is the tightest pedal for such a traitor."

"No!" Plurimi cracked. "You may empty the husk of Steven Murphy, if you wish to express yourself, but not Widgit."

"But it was Steven Murphy who led me to the traitorous gynoid, Widgit. He has proven his devotion to Rasa's skirt," replied Sansala.

"He is a meager bug." Again, Plurimi waved her off with an unbending mitt. "We may have further need of Widgit, so her light must burn until Rasa declares it dimmed."

"Then let me spill the essence of the miffled Earthian transfer." Sansala and her Wafi companions twirled their robes, spinning away in veiled annoyance with the subject. "The warrior's light inside him is dim, and he possesses a brittle, unpredictable residue."

The Sui priestess did not want to express her true feelings about this transfer that should never have been-Widgit's final miffle. Ever since the Earthian male blundered into the portal and skewed the map, Sansala had suffered disturbing visions during her cycles. She felt it best to keep him locked away in her subconscious. She was flirting with the wrath of her temperamental superior and needed to tread with care. "Our intended target expired in the expanse. This one would be mere recompense for the Halcyon's sake and destined to slip from memory. The Suntholo should forget him."

"I cannot forget a thread already woven into my garment," Plurimi objected, correcting her. "His comportment must be completed to repair the conformal map, or an eventuality ripple will tear it apart. This must be done before his brain decays."

"The map be damned, Plurimi." Sansala huffed. "We should allow this Earthian to perish as a stranger in his own world."

"You dare speak my informal name in our cherished temple of Sui'Mon?" A fury roiled within Plurimi's ruby red windows yet again. "Remember your protocol, Sansala Sui-Ki." "Yes, Exalted Priestess Plurimi Sui-Za." Sansala bowed her head before the priestess. "Please, forgive my feral tongues."

"Very well." Plurimi moved her windows from the surveillance screen to scowl at her in solemn contempt. "You will not risk the holy map. Whether the miffled Earthian is a warrior or not, his pedal was chosen by our Inherited Tabula Rasa. It is why our sacred spirit rejected the first comportment and selected this orphan to join our band of divine warriors. The Suntholo have reached a desperate epoch and have need of all of them...unless you would rather pitch a Sui priestess into heated battle?"

"No!" Sansala blanched. "To waste a Suntholo would be a disgrace-above all, a priestess."

"That pleases Rasa." Plurimi grinned with satisfaction. "The Halcyon shall be restored, and you will fetch the Earthian over the dimensional fence so that he may execute our destiny. And you will not let his brain decay, Sansala Sui-Ki, not fully." "Granted. As soon as the mission on Tueum is wrapped and the Halcyon returned, the miffled comportment will be realized. He will no longer cavort with the savages on Earth."

Sansala went in to lick the Exalted Priestess on her ear but was rebuffed again with a quick motion of Plurimi's long, thin digits.

"Not a subsequent less or suffer the Prospect of Shwar'Isun." Plurimi glared down at Sansala's trembling Wafi, who clung to the back of her lucent gown in absolute fear. "Avow Shwar'Isun for your decadent priestess, lest her mind decays as well. And make it burn."

Plurimi and her Wafi departed the sanctuary's command chamber, leaving Sansala alone to contemplate her future if failure was the paradigm. Sansala's Wafi stiffened and floated high into the air. With eyes as black as space, they began the chant of the most dreaded of sacred epistles...

"The Prospect of Shwar'Isun," they recited in tremulous unison. "According to the passages of The Lost Suntholian Penitent, Sacred Epistle Ebissful Brethren of Mire. Addressed the Inherited Tabula Rasa through the vaunted vessel to the forager Sisadonis. I have acknowledged each marbled plea and in every solstice of salvation have I intervened. And the true light, which sheltered every priestess natural unto the world, will preserve the populace, but for the ravages and the barren place shall go the Shwar'Isun, who shall be stripped of sight and soul. Though Wafi be torn from the figure perishing therein, and the windows wither from their sockets, for eternity shall the fallen bear witness to all evil in existence. Emptiness be enviable, but loss of lighted spirit shall never quake the Shwar'Isun from the yoke of misery. Know the will of Rasa, for all will perish before her."

The Prospect of Shwar'Isun was a fate any fallen Sui priestess feared most. No amount of prayer or atonement could bring back what was lost. Sansala Sui-Ki gazed transfixed at the suspended surveillance screen. The cries of the congregation below climaxed as yellow plasma sprayed throughout the temple and splattered the display.

"I will fetch him for you, Plurimi Sui-Za." Sansala smiled with pure malevolence in her heart. "I will shatter him into powdered fragments, just for my amusement. The Suntholo will worship me. Our Inherited Tabula Rasa will set a place for me at her breast. I will be loved. The miffled Earthian shall drop to his bony knobs and pray for release from his miserable shell...as will you, Exalted Priestess, as will you."

***

The Fugly Canoe.

It was the perfect hiding place a natural maze only those familiar with the countryside or a mutt with an excellent nose could ever hope to find anything concealed within it. Trudging along in the shallow water, Trace, Brave Bear, and Skiff pushed through the dense mangroves, what the Seminoles referred to as walking trees. Trace thought it an impenetrable marsh of gnarled branches, snaking canals, and soft sand that wound far back and around again.

As they made their way, he felt a strong twinge of excitement in his belly. He sensed they were getting close. He was eager to see The Joey, not only because the Dusky was a physical connection to home, but it might offer some clue about the pickle he was in. Perhaps The Joey could even be the key to his return...just perhaps. But there was no doubt in his mind that he would return, and with Hialeah by his side. What a story to tell our grandchildren. He chuckled at the notion. "Why do you laugh, Coo-wah?" asked Brave Bear, letting a thin branch snap back at Trace's face.

Trace nimbly ducked the branch, and it whooshed over his head. "What? No, nothing. I just thought of something funny." He chose to ignore the dirty trick with the branch.

"You are not well in the head," said Brave Bear as he tapped his skull. "Let us hurry, we are close."

"Great." Trace was smiling with his thoughts returning to...holy shit...he was thinking about children and grandchildren? Babies never crossed his mind when he was with Nikki. Hell, did Nikki even notice he was gone? She didn't notice last call at The Bottom Feeter, so probably not. Nope. Trace had to travel almost two hundred years into the past to find his real soul mate. Now, how fucking tragic is that shizz-nit? Wait a tic, as the British would say, is this really what I'm thinking about?

"There, just beyond that great walking tree." Brave Bear pointed to a giant mangrove as Trace stepped on past him.

Finally, after slogging through all these damn muddy canals, Trace swept the last limb aside, and there she was...resting in a round lagoon-The Joey! She didn't appear to be as damaged as he feared she might be. The Dusky was a beautiful sight to see, floating peacefully in the small lagoon and gleaming in the sunshine.

Skiff bounded from behind, splashing through the shallow water to leap into the boat. He perched himself up on the bow like the furry hood ornament he loved to be. Trace recognized Skiff's body language because he'd seen it a thousand times before the fellas had had their fun, but now it was time to go home! After all, he had his bowl, his bed, and his bitch needing some attention, and Skiff was ready to cast off!

In that moment, Trace felt the pull of their old life. At least he had Hialeah to show for everything. And now he had The Joey back again. Not too shabby. Burt would be happy for me.

"A bad canoe," commented Brave Bear. "Very hard to row."

"Yeah, so you've told me a dozen damn times." As his daydream dissipated, Trace fell back into the immediate world around him. "But you guys don't know the difference between a dental dam and a fruit roll-up. Just step this way," he said, splashing into the lagoon, "and I'll show you how you're supposed to row her."

"What is a fruit roll-up?" Brave Bear did not follow him into the lagoon, remaining on the shore.

"Exactly." Trace climbed back onboard his open fisherman with its twin Yamaha 350's. He made his way to the center console to resume command at her wheel as Skiff yapped loud barks of approval. Nothing felt more natural than this. "Man, does this seat feel good on my ass."

A tentative Brave Bear stepped into the water to approach the starboard side of The Joey. Declining to come onboard, the stubborn brave stood ankle deep in the water and watched Trace scramble around inside her. "Your ass will not move from this lagoon," Brave Bear said with arms folded over his chest in defiance. "Why even try?"

"We'll see," replied Trace. "Yes!" As luck would have it, the rabbit's foot key chain still dangled from the ignition. He'd give it a turn and hope for another bit of good fortune. But as he rotated the key and mashed the starter button, the motors only gurgled and groaned both refusing to turn over.

Brave Bear jumped from the water, like a startled cat, and onto the beach.

"Grunts like a sick pig," the brave remarked through a snarky grin and backed away a few more steps.

"Just what I thought," said Trace while bending over the main fuel tank inside the stern compartment. "The main tank is bone dry. Lucky for us, I installed below-deck reserves to help drive these big babies. Most Dusky thirty-threes come equipped with a single engine Yanmar Diesel four-eighty. Me and my dad mounted these dual Yamaha three-fifties for more horses. Cost him an arm and a leg for the freaking things."

"Your father lost his arms and legs for some horses?" Brave Bear asked with unexpected concern. "A foolish bargain."

"What? No. That's just an expression...never mind. Anyhow, you're talking seven-hundred horsepower, my fine feathered friend, which takes a lot of damn fuel." Trace became quite animated, and though his head still throbbed with that usual dull ache since he'd arrived, he felt more like himself again. "These reserves will give me another fifty gallons easy. Let's just hope there isn't any water in the fuel line after all that happened." "What did happen to you, Coo-wah?" said Brave Bear, still slowly backing away from The Joey.

"Wish I knew." Trace changed the fuel lines over from the main to the reserves. "This goes there...and a few pumps of the primer should do the trick." He slammed the reserve compartment shut and hopped back to the center console. "Let's do a quick system check." He turned the wheel hard over several times to make sure the steering cables were operating. Thankfully, both engines rotated left, then right, responding to the helm without any hitches or hesitations. "Damn, is this baby built solid or what?"

"Like a stone that will sink to the bottom of the sea," Brave Bear scoffed. "It took six braves to push the big fat baby."

"Okay, negative Nancy. Why don't you get your speckled ass onboard, and I'll show you how she can dance?" Once again, he flipped the key and mashed the ignition. This time, after a few sputtering gurgles, the lines finally opened, and the big engines cleared their throats. The twins roared to life. They were a pair of angry lions awakened from an afternoon nap. The clamor was sweet music to Trace's ears. "I do love the smell of diesel in the morning," he bellowed over the engines. "It smells like victory!"

Terrified by the sudden eruption of sound, Brave Bear stumbled backward. The brave fell over his feet, and his butt hit the wet sand of the lagoon's narrow beach. The thunderous noise from the boat was positively primal. Although the young Seminole sat on his backside with a look of pure bewilderment on his silly mug, Trace knew there was something about the powerful noise coming from the big, ugly canoe that enticed his intrinsic...maleness. No man, whether red, white or candy stripe could resist such an imposing sound-a sound that grabbed him by the short and curlies and compelled respect for the sheer muscle flexing at the back end of the beautiful boat. The depth and breadth of the rumbling resonated through their bodies, reverberated in their chests and rattled their ribcages. Trace remembered the first time he had heard that distinctive growl and smelled those intoxicating fumes. And he knew that Brave Bear, even from a different place and time, had to be feeling the same way he did...way back when...or is it way forward when? Never mind, that kind of thing can drive you nuts.

"Is it safe?" Brave Bear shouted to Trace.

"Does a big bear shit in the woods?" Trace answered back.

"Where else would a bear-"

"Never mind, of course it's safe! Stop being a coo-wah and climb aboard already!"

"I am no coo-wah!" Brave Bear splashed into the water and leapt onboard The Joey. "Show me her dance." He took a firm hold on the nearest rail.

"Now you're talking," said Trace, quite pleased. However, he soon realized the boat was still confined to the small lagoon, with no clear path of egress. "Hey, wait, how the hell do I get out of here?"

"Go toward that great walking tree over there." The brave indicated the largest mangrove spread out across the south side of the lagoon. "It looks blocked, but that is a trick of the eye. Around the other side is a passage out to sea." "Okay!" Trace grabbed her throttle. "It may have taken six braves to push her, but it takes only one to make her fly." He throttled up and the boat pitched forward. Brave Bear lowered his stance to a full squat, his knuckles went white as his grasp constricted around the rail. "Relax, Brave Bear, you're too tense." Trace laughed. "Your life is about to change."

"I am...not...so well." The Seminole's body was rigid with tension. As The Joey carefully navigated around the reaching tentacles of the great walking tree, the young Seminole's eyes widened in amazement, and his jaw fell open. "This is not natural," muttered Brave Bear, further tightening his grip on the gunwale.

"Her Majesty's royal brig-sloop, HMS Penguin, rules the sea once again!" said Trace, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face. Soon after that, they were clear of the walking trees and off on their adventure out to sea.

***

Like a Newborn and Heading Out.

They split the void as they sped along inside their stolen Malsumian cruiser on course for the planet Tueum. Shaped like an Earthian marine mammal, complete with dorsal fin and rear flukes, the cruiser inhaled the vacuum of space. It gulped radiated particles of cosmic dust with its front intakes and expelled the irradiated waste from the rear of the ship. The excreting of all that charged waste gave the vessel its unlimited source of thrust. The Malsumian means of space travel was both intelligent and boundless.

As a meticulous student of war, Josette had studied the enemy outside and in. She knew them-how they lived, how they moved, and how they dreamed. She knew the O'dei-Malsumi believed if they could ever achieve immortality, their technology would take them to the far ends of creation and back. This made them very dangerous. But the Malsumi found many significant barriers in this proposal of infinite space travel. The barriers were not in concept or desire, but in their physical bodies.

One such problem with space travel for the Malsumi was space sickness. Too much time in the void would bring them to their knees, if they had knees, as they endured violent tubal spasms. These spasms were accompanied by a profuse discharge of plasma from any or all their hundreds of protruding tube-like orifices. They'd retch uncontrollably until drained of fluid and then lapse into a dreamy stupor, or what they informally referred to as 'the knots.' "Serves them fucking right," she mumbled.

When traveling through space, a healthy Malsumi could last one or two full rotations of their planet at best. And though they formulated several therapies to ease these symptoms, such as particulate patches underneath their scales, they'd never been able to find a perfect cure for the knots.

Anyhow, this pilfered Malsumian spacecraft had been modified to accommodate the physiology of a variety of passengers. On this mission, five individuals sat in deep reflection down in the belly of the ship. This cruiser was their ticket to slip undetected through the Malsumi fortifications on Tueum. The atmosphere inside was tense, yet electric. This was the team's first real mission together, though they'd trained for this purpose. They had their targets and knew their assignment. Josette Legard, fearless team leader, had with her on the assignment her fellow Earthian, Snow White, as well as a Zulu warrior also from Earth named Dingane. The remaining members were Pugnax and Pugnus, two hulking, thick-skinned brutes from an outlying planet in the Eifflehelm cluster. The Suntholo preferred to group species with similar physiologies, because they believed it made for easier acceptance and thus promoted a faster bond.

This plucky death squad formed a special Suntholian fighting force with unique expertise in deception and assassination. And they were out to drain all the plasma they could from any Malsumi scum unlucky enough to cross their path. Josette's team longed to feed on the pleas for mercy by their dying enemy. They called themselves the Tar Babies.

"I am not sure why we agreed on The Tar Babies," Dingane announced, breaking the tension. "It sounds childish and weak."

Pugnax and Pugnus both grunted in agreement. Josette realized they never really liked the group's new name, yet they'd never cared enough to argue the issue.

"We've gone over this many times, Zulu orphan." Snow White, always eager to engage in animated debate, beamed with delight. On Earth, the Tar Babies were a skilled band of assassins during the 4141 War of Inclusion. With no help from the treacherous Ymir, they annihilated the entire Ginnungap army with a kill ratio of one hundred to..."

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm familiar with the story, Snow White," Dingane said, quick to interrupt his tirade of pointless facts and figures. "I'm impressed with these things you've told me, and they were quite terrifying and brave. Regardless, they should've chosen a stronger name and not one covered with the stink of baby fart."

"A moniker is given the respect it deserves by the contributions of its host, not by the intonation of its syllables." Snow White leaned back, seemingly proud of his intellectual prowess. "Subtext rather than context, my friend, is what makes the name so deceptive."

"And I agree, Singleberry," conceded Dingane. "But I'm free to propose other suggestions as they come to mind."

"You had your chance several cycles ago, but refrained to offer anything of merit," Snow White argued. "The debate is closed, you pungent offspring of the herd!"

In silence, Josette watched the two men bicker. Listening to them quarrel reminded her of rumbling along inside a stolen German halftrack outside Montcornet in 1941. It was her first mission with the Maquis of the French Resistance, and she remembered how nervous she had been. She didn't let it show but the fear was there, creeping under her skin. None of them inside the halftrack had any idea what fate awaited them once they reached their destination. They knew survival to be as uncertain as rain. But these Maquis never once spoke of the danger they'd face that night. Instead, most of them argued over the films of Maurice Chevalier. And this silly disagreement lasted the entire journey. Personally, Josette had always preferred Charles Boyer over Chevalier, whom she felt was too much of a dandy. She recalled keeping that little tidbit to herself too. She also recalled that many of the Maquis huddled inside the appropriated Schützenpanzer never made it home that terrible day in 1941.

The argument inside the stolen Malsumian cruiser was no different...anything to keep their minds off what they were about to do. Josette didn't know Dingane all that well, except that he was from Earth, circa 1879. He was inserted into their group only a short while ago but had already proven himself quite adaptable and very capable with his silvered hand. And the metallic fingers looked quite stunning against his dark, mahogany skin. Plus, he exhibited superb finesse with the kill setting. Other than that, she knew very little about him.

Snow White, on the other hand, she'd come to know very well. Josette glanced over to her accomplished nanaharange sitting next to her. Oddly enough, the little man had shut his eyes, and sported a peculiar smile on his lips, as if he were daydreaming.

***

"Is that all you got!" Josette screamed at him. Blood ran down from over her right eye, which had begun to swell. "You little chunk of compost, give me a challenge."

"I'll bring you down, giantess," Snow White bantered with a sly wink. His nose had a trickle of blood seeping from one nostril. He'd just delivered a well-timed punch with his left fist that had connected with Josette's brow. It was a solid, successful blow that evened the match, perhaps even swung it in his favor. Of course, he had to jump to even reach her brow. At five feet, six inches, Josette was a giant of a woman-much bigger than any Grendel he could recall, and certainly much more attractive...quite beautiful in fact...yet enormous. Her large bare breasts reminded him of two perfect bowls of freshly poured protein slurry-healthy pink and nutritious.

They'd been learning how to fight one-on-one using only their left hand in case their silvered hand was incapacitated or worse, destroyed.

"I see you've begun to lose your composure. What's that trickling down your leg?" Snow White taunted her some more.

"I'm pissing with laughter, you nippleless freak," answered Josette.

"The gradual loss of the male nipple was an evolutionary process occurring over several eons because there was no need for them." Snow White couldn't help himself whenever he saw the chance to enlighten someone with his vast bank of stored knowledge anyone that would listen. "But I forget how closely your lineage is related to the ancient primates on Earth and, for that, I apologize."

Under the bright lights of the arena, their naked bodies glistened with sweat from the long-drawn-out brawl. Both of their right arms flopped around limp and heavy. The Suntholo had paralyzed their use with a flick of a switch, so now their best weapon hung useless by their sides. Both participants were fatigued from the exercise, but ego was such a powerful stimulant that neither would submit to the other.

"You will lose your last remaining ball as I rip it from its withered pouch." Josette followed her words with a swift roundhouse kick aimed squarely at his face. Snow White ducked, and the kick sailed high over his head. "Damn your small stature!" she screamed, exhaustion making it difficult for her to maintain balance after she missed with the kick.

"You mean my low center of gravity." Taking advantage of her miscalculation, Snow White slammed the arch of his foot between Josette's legs and gave her vulnerable mound a rude thump.

Josette doubled over from the blow. "You kicked me...in the pussy...you swine," she gasped.

Snow White recognized his window of opportunity and smacked the side of her lowered head with the flattened palm of his left hand. Josette fell to her knees with blood now flowing freely from her ear-the result of a blown ear drum, no doubt.

"I have brought the giantess down, and I declare victory!" Standing over his fallen opponent, he shouted up to the open skylight of the arena. "I wish the exercise to end!"

"No!" shrieked Josette. Refusing to yield, she caught a firm grasp on Snow White's penis and wrenched it over as hard as she could. "You forgot, dwarf, I don't fight fair."

Snow White buckled to the floor with a whimper. "I...am not...a dwarf...you idiot!" He struggled to correct her gaffe through the intense pain of his twisting genitalia. Although, compared to a chomped scrotum, this was child's play. "Dwarves are not...pro-proportional...heads are too...big...arms and legs too...too short...I...am in...perfect...pro...proportion."

His member had turned a deep, dark purple as she corkscrewed it further around. And using his French-braided penis as improvised rope, Josette pulled Snow White in closer to sink her teeth into his ear. His moans were like a gored pig as she tore off a chunk of earlobe.

"Delicious!" Josette grinned with the grisly piece of bloodied meat between her teeth.

"Nooblies, enough!" A harsh voice declared from somewhere beyond the arena. "We do not want our prize operatives tearing each other apart before they shine in proper use!"

Josette let Snow White's raw penis fall from her grasp and spat the hunk of lobe at his face, where it stuck to his chin.

Snow White, enraged by this insult, grabbed her by the throat.

"We said enough!" The voice ricocheted around them. "Your privileges shall be revoked should you continue to crack this behavior on the boards. You are nanaharanges, not enemies."

Josette smiled back at him until he reluctantly released his grip on her throat.

"Now, both of you will report for restorative therapy. Once healed, we will shine more cerebral instruction upon you with further intelligence assessments."

"Great," remarked Josette as they got up off their knees. "More fucking games of Heads Up-Seven Up and Simon Says."

"Yes, most likely,” replied Snow White. "So undemanding and dull. I'd rather enjoy thrashing you some more. Now that's a challenge!"

"Snow..." Josette put her bruised and bloody arm around the sweaty shoulders of her nanaharange. "This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Without a bloody doubt, Josette." Snow White wiped the ear lobe off his chin and flung it to the floor. "Without a bloody doubt."

They both laughed as they walked through the wavering wall transparent enough for them to pass unobstructed.

"This is most marbled..." The disembodied voice from somewhere in the arena was faint, yet still perceptible. Snow White imagined their bare bottoms to be the last things seen leaving the training arena, and he appreciated the symbolic imagery. "...and arousing," he thought he heard the voice say but wasn't sure. That would be a strange thing to say...very strange.

***

Sweat Beads and Tears. The tribe ate well that evening. During the feast, Brave Bear enlightened the village around the fire with tales of the ugly canoe as swift as the spirits, cutting the water like a knife's blade on glass. He spoke of a small magic box on the canoe called a Fish Finder that betrayed the raro under the sea, and of fishing spears of amazing strength.

"Coo-wah calls it a Windcast Fixed Spool Fishing Reel," the brave said with the pride of knowledge. "And my blood, my family, my Ee-chee now feast on fattened raro from deep under the sea!" The tribe cheered, their bellies full of fish and

their minds with wonder.

Through her brother's joy, it was clear to Hialeah that Trace was winning him over. Not only was Brave Bear coming around, but most of the tribe was more accepting of Trace as well. She swelled with pride as they listened to her brother speak of these magnificent things and found herself very much in love with the unusual white man from another world. These joyous moments were so precious, and fleeting, like catching the ghost of an ancestor. She thanked the Breathmaker for the treasured blessing of this Coo-wah-chobee he had bestowed upon her tribe. Coo-wah-chobee would save them. She knew he would...somehow, he would save them all.

After the evening meal, Hialeah met Trace on shore down by the ocean, where the darkness concealed them from prying eyes, and the crashing waves shielded them from probing ears. With their bodies pressed against one another, their kisses melted away, Hialeah caught her breath and held out a clenched fist with the gift hidden inside.

"Trace," she said, "every year, on the day of our birth, Seminole women are given a necklace of colored beads. These necklaces symbolize stages of growth from first life to womanhood. The color of the bead reflects our relationship with the Great Spirit and his Earth." Hialeah paused for a moment. "Last year, on the day my parents were killed, I removed all of my necklaces. I vowed never to wear them again, for my spirit was broken. But now that I have met you...I have taken them out again." She pulled her buckskin tunic aside and brushed her hair back to reveal several strands of multicolored beads adorning her neck. "I will not wear them all. Some have memories too painful to revisit. But this one is the most special to me..." She opened her fist to reveal a thin string of leather laced with scores of small, egg-shaped beads. The beads were irregular in size but uniform in their color. Each was the purest white and glinted in the pale light of the big Mulberry Moon. "I was given this necklace on the day of my birth. Later in life, my mother explained to me that beads of hatki so chaste embodied the promise of a new life." She pushed it into him. "I desire you to wear it." With slight hesitation, he took the necklace from her. "Hialeah, this is really beautiful..."

"Please, put it on for me."

"But..." Trace stared at the necklace that hung from his fingertips. "You are of my tribe now, and it would mean more to have it around your neck rather than my own." She pressed the necklace against his bare chest. "Please, do not offend me by declining a gift from my heart."

"I wasn't about to decline it," he said. "It's just...I think it might be too small for me. I hate anything too tight around my throat. That's why I'll never wear a necktie."

"Yes, well," she said demurely. "It was a bit small, so I added some length on one end to better accommodate a strong neck such as yours."

Trace tied it around his neck. The necklace contoured itself to his handsome build. In the moonlight, the powdery white beads were even more striking against his tanned skin.

"Wow," Trace said with teeth as white as the beads on his necklace. His smile burned through the darkness, which made it quite contagious. "I can feel the warmth from each bead on my chest. Thank you, Hialeah. I will never take it off."

"It suits you." She smiled broadly.

"I bought something like this at a Gatorama near Homestead once," Trace rambled. "Along with a dried gator skull and a dreamcatcher. This one is much nicer. Then I watched this old guy wrestle an eight-foot alligator. What a crazy son of a

bitch he was!"

"You are the oddest Coo-wah-chobee, but you are mine, nonetheless."

"I just call it as I see it." And with that, he kissed her again. This time it was a kiss that would last them both a lifetime.

***

"I have it! We will call ourselves Wapigani," insisted Dingane. "Wapigani means warrior. That is what we are warriors. Wapigani will strike fear in the O'dei-Malsumi. Wapigani is more suitable for us than Singleberry's babies of tar." "No. We are the Tar Babies," Josette asserted with calm, quiet authority. "There will be no more debate."

"And such is the decree from our de facto leader, Josette Legard of Earth, circa 1942," added Snow White. "That sounds final to me, Dingane."

"It is final," Josette said.

"Thank you, Josette," Snow White finished with a look of smug satisfaction. Dejected, Dingane snorted and turned his back on the group. Pugnus pushed out a throaty burp of noncommittal acceptance. And, without opening his eyes from his nap, Pugnax seconded the sentiment with a hearty wet belch of his own. Pugnax wiped the wetness from his lips with the back of his huge, scarred paw. From the moment they were introduced, Josette developed instant admiration for Pugnax and Pugnus. She'd been briefed on them beforehand but had no idea how much she'd share their unique sensibilities.

Pugnax and Pugnus were a bonded pair from a very small but densely populated planet in the Eifflehelm cluster. The two males were inseparable and had to be. Their home planet of Remea was a hostile, cold environment, and their species was among a multitude of warrior races evolving on this inhospitable world. What Josette really admired about them was, like most Remeans, Pugnax and Pugnus didn't have any inclination to bother with trivial details. It just wasn't in their genetic makeup to be concerned about anything outside the arena of combat. For these Remeans, the battlefield was the final arbiter of any dispute. And now, as their squad leader, Josette valued their simplicity as much as their desire to

prove their worth in physical contest.

Pugnax and Pugnus each had four beady eyes nestled between overlapping folds of blotchy, coffee-colored skin. The skin covered their big, blockish heads like a thick blanket tossed loosely over the back of a highchair. Their large and intimidating frames were twice the size of the average Earthian and wrapped in the same drooping but tough, calloused, and tattooed hide. It was skin so thick they had no need for clothing, even though completely hairless. This occasion was certainly atypical, so both Remeans had conceded to the crimson uniform of the Suntholian guard. Nevertheless, their discomfort with the material was obvious.

"What's the problem with the damn uniform?" Snow White asked one of the squirming brutes. "Why can't you just deal with it like the rest of us?"

"Prickles our wids," grumbled Pugnus.

"Does what to your what?" said Snow White. "Wids." Pugnus lifted the fabric away from his body to expose his big belly. Underneath his coat were several fleshy spikes about a centimeter high and scattered across the surface of his abdomen in a random pattern. "Wids make little Remeans." Indeed, all his wids looked engorged and red with irritation. "Prickles."

"I'll be damned," stammered Snow White. "That's his...I mean those are his "

"Wids," Josette interjected. "And I'm sure the Remeans will remain true to character and endure regardless of their embarrassment of being clothed and the tenderness it inflicts upon them."

The stolen cruiser continued through the void to the planet Tueum. After a long period of uneasy silence, Josette spoke to Snow White. "Snow, there's something I've wanted to ask you. How did you know about the hidden kill switch?" "Excuse me?" Snow White looked puzzled.

"On the centipede," she explained. "In the tunnel the day you made your escape from the Ice Mountains. You never did explain that one to me."

"Oh that.” He paused. "I knew about the kill switch, because I put it there. I thought the machine's design needed a failsafe. As it turns out, I was right. I'm living proof of that." Snow White grinned. "I was lucky some ascending haploid didn't change my original schematic. One should never tinker with perfection."

"I see." Josette said, satisfied. But after another extended pause, she felt the need to probe a little deeper. "Snow...what happened to the Earth in your time?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you say you're from Earth around the year 7013 or so."

"Yes, but you know this already."

"But you've left out so much detail. What happened to our world, to humans?" "It's hard to say exactly, because our records aren't very complete..." His voice trailed off as sadness shadowed his face. "But from what we could tell...what happened to the Earth was a result of volcanic eruptions on a global scale."

"Volcanoes destroyed our entire civilization?" Josette said, puzzled.

"Not just any volcanoes, but super-volcanic action. The eruptions began around the year 6651-give or take a decade or two."

"I wonder what caused such a massive wave of eruptions?" "Good question, Josette. We wondered that too," remarked Snow White. "Some of our scientists believed the eruptions were triggered by the collapse of the Dark Rift, which incited a hyper-wobble in our Sun's orbit around the solar system's center mass. Yet others believed the problem was a direct result of our moon finally retreating too far away to protect the Earth from the gravitational pull of Jupiter."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." muttered Josette.

"Yeah, sure, invite the whole family." Snow White smiled weakly. "Whatever the cause, the Earth's orbital variance bounced us closer to our sun for just a fleeting blip on the calendar. And in that infinitesimal blip, in that moment in time, everything changed forever. The eruptions lasted for years. Fire consumed forests, continents, people...everything burned. Luckily, another ephemeral solar cataclysm revised the Earth's orbit, and the planet leveled out." Snow White laughed at the paradox. "Nature has a funny way of fixing her mistakes."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Josette. "You lived under ice. You said the entire planet was frozen. How could it burn, yet be covered in ice?"

"You don't understand. The fires died as the volcanoes burned themselves out, but the ice caps had melted, and water quickly covered the planet. And worst of all, perpetual darkness blanketed the world until the Earth froze itself solid. Fire

was only the appetizer...the main course was the cold-a bitter cold that lasted for centuries."

"So, after everything mankind had achieved...even our greatest advancements in science couldn't save us. And let's not forget the afflictions we endured from the beginning of recorded time, such as the goddamned Nazis. And yet, it all

comes down to simple elements of nature...fire and ice condemned us...not ourselves."

"Yes, Josette. Only that which could adapt to exist underground had any chance of survival. We thought we could just wait it out, but it never seemed to get better. We hoped to contact other surviving human settlements somewhere on the Earth, or even sprinkled throughout the clusters." Snow White drifted off into thought, his eyes reflecting a loss as profound as the universe was infinite. "We were a human society in big trouble. With our resources, low, and a population on the brink of extinction, the greatest scientific minds left on Original Earth could only delay our demise."

"But if you survived, others had to as well. What happened to everyone else?" she asked with serious concern. "Who really knows? Like I said, our records aren't complete. Generations sent out thousands upon thousands of distress calls, but never heard back from any of them. No one answered. No one came back for us. Contact with human populations living out in the solar system on Europa, Io, and Titan, as well as those human settlements out beyond the cluster, like Anova, had been lost centuries ago. And any humans on Mars had already died out two thousand years prior to the cataclysm. We finally came to the most horrifying conclusion of all...that we were alone. The last of us on Original Earth scrambled to find a way just to survive and were forced to do things...many horrible things...too horrible to speak of." Josette stared down at her unaltered left hand. Unclenching her fist, she saw the painful trenches dug into her palm once again. In the back of her mind, she could hear the cathedral bells ringing and could still feel the cobblestone under her feet. Homesickness was the last emotion she expected on this journey.

"Desperation," she said, drifting back into the conversation. "I understand desperation. It's the futility that makes no sense to me. In the end, it all means nothing. Love, hate, suffering...war, my mother...my father...we never had a chance,

none of us."

"We're all expendable, Josette," he said.

"Expendable I accept, but are we really so random?"

"Well, we never really control our own destiny after all. There's always something more powerful, something bigger that guides us throughout our life." Snow White touched her arm. "I have come to recognize this fact." "Sounds like you're talking about God." She laughed in her softest voice.

"The concept of an omniscient God was disproven many millennia ago. This is something more tenable than myth or ancient superstition-❞ The ship's high-pitched alarm signaled with three, short blasts. They'd begun their descent through the gaseous atmosphere of Tueum and were approaching their target zone. Josette readjusted her disposition to resume her duties as their

leader.

"Affix T-visors and initiate suit Co-Ag!" she instructed the crew. Dingane, Pugnax, and Pugnus snapped to attention and prepared themselves for deployment. Josette and Snow White nodded to each other in silent agreement. The rest of their conversation would have to wait until later...if it ever resumed

at all. However, now was the time for all good aliens to come to the service of their captors.

"God is not a myth, you misguided heathens!" shouted Dingane. "He is real, and his name is Nkulunkulu. And Nkulunkulu shall rain hell upon our enemy. We are that rain!"

The stolen cruiser made a steep dive down to the unwelcoming surface of Tueum-the home of the O'dei-Malsumi.

***

Why So Serious?

Hialeah had been searching for Coo-wah-chobee all morning, which was getting rather irksome for her. Next time, she'd tie a string to his toe to alert her to these mysterious morning departures. She came upon her younger brother, Brave Bear, as he tromped toward the shore to catch himself some breakfast with one of Coo-wah-chobee's fishing spears.

Her brother was smiling as he kicked up the sand along the path toward the beach. Brave Bear did not know of Trace's whereabouts but stopped to show her the gift Trace had given him. It was a tiny false fish, blue and white, with several

sharp catches dangling from its belly.

"He calls it a lure to trick the raro into biting. This one is a top water popper." Brave Bear displayed the lure to his sister. "He said I could keep it as my own."

"A small fish to catch the big fish," Hialeah remarked as she touched the pointed end on one of the catches. "Resourceful."

"You tie the lure to this fishing spear," he said, happy to illustrate his new technology, "which is very rigid, yet it bends." Beaming a proud grin, he held out the pole for her to examine it. "These circles of silver guide the string with the lure right

to the mouth of the raro."

"But how do you spear them?" she asked.

"You do not spear them at all! They will take the lure on their own accord, and you pull them into your hands with this lever. I will try this top water popper this morning."

"Very resourceful, indeed." Hialeah was happy her brother was no longer upset about her intimacy with Trace. She had no reason to be ashamed of her actions and did everything for the tribe's sake. And she relished defending her behavior

just as much as she defended their cause. The one problem was that her brother's sudden change of heart left all that righteous indignation nowhere to go. Nothing was more frustrating than a belly full of fire with no reason to keep it

burning.

"Goodnight to the nurse," as Trace would say, his words unusual but his heart familiar. Resuming the track, Hialeah hoped she might find him in the welcoming chickee of Micco Opa, the medicine man. The men had developed a friendship during Trace's convalescence, and he would often visit the elder for regular chats. He was

not there either. Micco Opa informed her that Trace had wandered by earlier with his joyful effa in tow, but the two of them did not linger in his presence for very long.

"The pair seemed distracted," said Micco Opa. "I thought it wise not to disturb such preoccupied spirits." "Coo-wah was behaving strange." The elder looked disturbed. "His mind has many spirits fighting for dominance. We can hope that the true essence of him will be victorious. He is a good human being, Pretty Prairie, and he needs you. They

"What do you mean, Micco Opa?" Hialeah asked.

were heading to the spring-"

That was all she needed to hear, and she sprinted off after her white man and his red dog, picking up their trail just outside Micco Opa's chickee. She recognized the mark of the eletas Trace wore upon his feet, something he acquired by a guiding spirit of travel, no doubt. A very generous spirit too, because Trace was given the strength of New Balance on his journey, and it said so right on the bottom of those strange eletas. His attire was curious all right, but it was not her place to question such a divine offering. Alongside the celestial markings of New Balance were Skiff's chaotic paw marks. The loyal effa would follow his master to wherever the day might lead them. Trace did seem to be heading to the secluded hot springs for yet another soak. The man had become addicted to the warm bubbling water of the sacred springs. She never knew anyone so obsessed with cleanliness as this Coo-wah-chobee. It must be an appetite of the divinity because he had already taken many plunges into the springs since his arrival a short time ago.

misgivings.

Trace also liked chewing the pine tar and mint leaves given to him by Micco Opa. The pleasant, minty scent of his breath was matched only by that of his well-washed body. And while she found great pleasure in having a man with a fragrance so delightful, it increased the suspicion of some of the men in her tribe. They did not trust a man as clean smelling as Trace. Hialeah, herself, enjoyed it during those private moments they shared, so she was content to overlook her tribe's She followed the trail down to the springs and was admiring the predictability of their direction...until their footprints veered off the path and into the underbrush. Hialeah did not like this change of course and quickened her pace to see where it would lead. In her experience, it always led to trouble. She flew into the brush, tracking more signs of their presence-a broken limb here, a piece of red fur there. Trace and Skiff were not hard to follow, and Hialeah had to stifle a belly laugh. For nomadic spirits, they were quite easy to track.

It was not long before she popped out from the brush and spotted the back of their heads as they peered around the trunk of an ancient magnolia tree. Both man and dog were staring at something beyond the big tree, far off in the distance. Hialeah did not know what it could be. She wanted to yell his name, but before the word could escape her mouth, Trace turned to her with a finger pressed against his lips. As silent as she had been, he had known she approached. Coo-wah- chobee's powers were blossoming. Hialeah caught sight of the beaded necklace around his neck, which filled her with delight. Trace had a very serious look on his handsome face, and his eyes that sparkled with kindness were now hard and solemn instead. Only Skiff was eager to greet her with wagging tail and open mouth. She reached down to calm the happy effa.

Something was indeed troubling her Coo-wah-chobee, and that troubled her as well. to Trace behind the immense tree. Once beside him, he directed her gaze to movement beyond the old magnolia, in the clearing outside their hidden village. She followed the line of his finger and, at long last, saw what concerned him. A few hundred yards from their hiding spot were thousands of well-armed troops amassing in the large open field. Most of the soldiers looked to be white men. There also appeared to be Seminole mixed in among them. The

Hialeah went

entire company was preparing for a march-a march of madness somewhere deep into human civilization.

Hialeah's heart sank. "Sharp Knife has found us."

***

"What are they doing out there?" Trace whispered to Hialeah.

"I do not know. I have never seen so many gathered in one place," said Hialeah, sounding defeated. He did not like hearing this way either. "You must help us Coo-wah-chobee."

"Oh, sweet Christ...early American soldiers...unbelievable...fucking amazing. Mister Riley would be creaming in his pants right now."

"Who is Mister Riley?" she asked.

"My ninth grade American History teacher-total wonk."

"He churned cream?" replied Hialeah.

"You people are too damn literal, you know that?" said Trace. "Hialeah, I see a lot of Indi...Seminoles with the soldiers. Perhaps they struck a truce and there's nothing to worry about."

"No, there is plenty to worry about. Those Seminole belong to the Lower Creek tribe, who have forsaken the path to the City in the Sky. They have taken up arms against their own people. Our lost brothers fight for a handful of grain and a few

barrels of whiskey."

"Yeah well," Trace scratched his head, "you gotta forgive a patchy memory of a mediocre high school education."

She grabbed his hand. "We must save them and restore their honor."

"Good

night...nurse..."

Across the field, an officer rallied the troops as he galloped back and forth on an enormous white horse covered with large brown spots. He caught Trace's attention and, from the look of it, the troops were just as enraptured by this imposing man on the big horse. In fact, from the moment Trace laid eyes on the larger-than-life character riding such a splendid stallion, he knew there was something different about him.

The officer was a tall, thin man with a lion's mane of gray hair sprouting from a swiveling head. His navy-blue jacket bore brilliant golden epaulets upon the shoulders that gave him the mark of nobility. Yet, the flailing sword and the kicking

feet revealed a temper more akin to a common street brawler than that of a general or a king. This animated figure was as magnificent as he was brutish, and Trace couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was something right out of a history

book.

"Holy crap, that's Andrew Jackson!" Trace turned to Hialeah. Feeling light-headed, he leaned against the magnolia tree for support. "That's Andrew Jackson over there in that field, Hialeah, and he's about to start some shit!" "Yes," she agreed. "You must convince him to halt the shit and leave us in peace. Use the powers imparted unto you by the Breathmaker and reason with Sharp Knife."

"Are you nuts? I can't convince him of anything. He's Andrew-fucking-Jackson-the general who won the Battle of New Orleans. That's Ol' Hickory, for Chrissake, and you want me to have a little heart-to-heart with the guy? Well, hey there,

Andy. How about you fellas turn around, go on home and just forget about that whole Manifest Destiny bullcrap! Whaddaya say?" Trace's world began to spin as the reality of his new life hit home with devastating ferocity. "What the hell am I

doing here?"

"What are you saying to me?" Hialeah's dark eyes widened with alarm. "I'm saying I shouldn't be here. One minute, I'm in my Dusky, and the next I'm being drowned by this freaky whirlpool thing, trying to rescue this Coast Guard guy. Shouldn't he be rescuing me? You'd think so, but no. It just wasn't natural!"

Trace wavered in his outburst, recalling the words of the fallen Guardsman. "He was right, Hialeah...it isn't natural."

"What can I do, my beloved?" She stroked his face and noticeably grew more concerned over his behavior. "Tell me what I can do for you, Coo-wah-chobee." "That's another thing. I'm not this Coo-wah-chobee you want me to be. I'm afraid you're expecting something from me that I just can't deliver. I'm not anyone's saving grace. I'm simply Trace Jackson from Hillsboro Beach. And all I ever wanted to do was catch some fish with my dog, go home, have a couple beers to forget about that fucking cubicle I sit in for forty hours a week, perhaps have some uninspired sex with my drunken girlfriend, and watch a little Walking Dead! What happened to that world? Now I'm in the goddamn eighteen-hundreds, in love with a Seminole chick, and staring at motherfucking Andrew Jackson-who at any moment is about to march on our ass! What's up with that?"

"Trace...Jackson?" The color ran from Hialeah's cheeks as she backed away from the raving lunatic before her. "Your name is Jackson?" "Ah, screw it, Marty McFly be damned. I don't care if it tears a hole in space as big as the Mutara Nebula. I never believed that whole space/time continuum bullshit anyway. I must tell you the truth. Hialeah...my name is actually...Andrew Trace Jackson. And that man out there on that big horse, your Sharp Knife, is my blood-adopted blood, but my kin, nonetheless. I'm a fucking descendent of the mighty conqueror of Florida, whom I was named after. I didn't want to tell you because..." He composed himself, seeing how distraught Hialeah was becoming. "Please don't be mad at me. I meant what I said about being in love with you because I am. But I had no control over any of this!" "You have deceived me, Andrew Trace Jackson." Hialeah's words were barely audible. And as soon as she let them go from her lips, the barrel of an old flintlock pistol pressed itself against her left temple. "Whoa!" Trace rotated his head to face off with a rough and rumpled, twitchy-looking soldier who, it seemed, hadn't slept in days. Trace also caught a heady whiff of the man's pungent body odor. Apparently, he hadn't bathed in days either. The old soldier had caught them by surprise, and the wild rage in his eyes declared a malicious intent. He cut his eyes over to Trace to shoot a glance of both warning and invitation. This guy would gladly fire upon the first idiot to make any

sudden movement.

"Fer shure thought I 'magined the whole dern thang," said the soldier in a hoarse voice and with breath reeking of sour milk. "But here all three of you'ns is-live in the flesh. This time I ain't gunna waste my lead shootin' at no dang crazy

mutt!"

"You were the scout on the beach," observed Hialeah. "You still want to kill us?" "I ain't no scout! Name's Corporal Gumpaste. And you got nary a clue, savage, of jes how bad I wunna kill you." He pulled the flintlock back on his pistol. The firing mechanism on the pistol snapped into place, and the gun was ready to fire.

"No

dang clue."

"Don't hurt her!" shouted Trace. He grabbed for the soldier's weapon, and the two men became locked in a deadly wrestling match.

With his fangs bared, Skiff hurled himself into the fray, wanting to protect Trace as he grappled with the stranger. There was a flash of light and a strong smell of burning hair when their world went dark.