A Moon Called Sun
Chapter Seven — God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut

Planet Tueum's Moon Called Sun, No More Damn Timelines.

Trace awoke naked on a warm floor in a windowless room with rippling walls of brilliant copper. He was extremely drowsy, but for the first time in so many days, his head didn't hurt, and there was no pain anywhere in his body. Wiping the drool from his chin, he tried to stand, but could get only as far as sitting upright...well partially upright.

"Baby steps Trace, baby fucking steps," he encouraged himself. At least he was vertical...well, somewhat vertical. "Good night, nurse." He ran his fingers through his hair.

Gradually, the ambiance of the room changed from copper to a more vibrant shade of green. Trace felt even better. In fact, he felt terrific. Now he was able to stand and stretch his limbs, although his legs were still a bit shaky. Rested but wobbly, Trace stumbled over to one of the rippling walls for a closer inspection. Tiny bubbles of light effervesced inside the green wall like gummy soda pop. He simply couldn't resist touching it...for jerks and squirts. Reaching out his right hand, Trace put a single finger against the undulating surface. He found it surprisingly supple and springy to the touch. Even after he pulled his finger away, the wall bounced back and trembled in slow, rhythmic waves. "Feels like Jello." Trace laughed nervously. "Looks like lime. Too bad. I always liked Berry Blue."

"What is Jello?" The words thundered behind him. Trace jerked his head around. Sitting cross-legged on the lime green floor was the Seminole medicine man from Wakala, Micco Opa, who smoked his trademark wooden pipe. "Istonko, Coo- wah," the elderly man said through his familiar gummy grin.

"Well, istonko, Micco Opa," replied Trace, quite happy to see the kindly face of his old friend. "This is a welcome surprise." Trace joined him on the floor and sat cross-legged as well. "What are you doing in this Jello mold with me?" "Again, what is this Jello you speak of?" Micco Opa held out his pipe.

Trace grabbed it and drew in a hearty puff. The smoke hit his lungs but didn't burn as it had before. In fact, the smoke felt quite unremarkable and almost...make-believe.

"Hmmm? Oh, it's a cold dessert made from fruit flavored gelatin that's congealed in a bowl." Disappointed in the smoke, he returned the pipe back to the Seminole.

"Sounds terrible," Micco Opa stuck out his tongue in distaste.

"No, it's pretty good, especially with some whipped topping and pineapple..." Trace trailed off.

"What's wrong, Coo-wah?"

"This isn't 1818 anymore, is it?"

"Nope," said the medicine man, chuckling. "You must release your concept of time, Coo-wah. Time does not exist in this dimension. Numbers themselves do not exist here. I will show you." Micco Opa demonstrated his point by sketching an imaginary number in the air with his crooked, arthritic finger. Trace watched as the numbers the old man outlined with his gnarled finger manifested as delicate wisps of silvery vapor that dangled in front of their faces. When he was done, the numbers 1818 were left suspended before them. However, the numbers were only fleeting and fell to the floor like loose pieces of tinsel falling from a Christmas tree. "You see? Numbers cannot survive on a plane without boundaries." Once hitting the floor, the numbers melted into a small puddle that evaporated away. "Numbers do not exist, so time does not exist."

"Time doesn't...exist? Impossible." Frustrated, Trace ran his fingers through his hair once more. "Time is a building block of our existence, is it not?"

Micco Opa enjoyed a lingering rumination before choosing to elaborate. "What is existence, Coowah? Not what you think it is, not anymore," he declared. "And time? Time appears as an arrow to human beings. It always looks to be moving forward in a straight line from the past, penetrating the future...but this is just an illusion. For time is a creation of our own false reality. It is a lie!"

Holding the bowl end of the weathered old pipe between his fingertips, the old man pointed the soggy stem at Trace's forehead. "It is a way for us to break the moments into small pieces and make sense of them..." He then aimed the pipe stem at Trace's heart. "...and embrace them. But once you let go of this belief, you come to understand that everything you desire to achieve is all part of one giant moment that you are living in the now and not just moving toward. That is when you will find your mind unchained from the dungeons of time."

"So...I'm not in Florida anymore. Hell, I'm not even on Earth." Trace stood up to study a gelatinous wall again. "But I must be somewhere, even if on another plane of existence."

"Yes." The old man smiled visibly impressed with his assessment.

"Well, where the fuck am I then? Tralfamadore?"

"No. You are in deep shit, Coo-wah." The Seminole chortled through another big puff of smoke. "Up to your neck in the stuff."

Trace remembered the necklace of pure white beads Hialeah had given him that night on the beach, but quickly discovered his chest was bare.

"Damn," he said, disappointed the necklace was gone. "Hialeah?" Trace turned to the old man. "Where is Hialeah?"

"Pretty Prairie is here as well," replied Micco Opa. "She is alive and well protected."

"Thank God." Trace sat back down on the floor and crossed his legs. "What about Skiff? Where is he?"

"Your effa is here too." The old man inhaled deeply on his wooden pipe. "As is the other you brought over with you." "What other?"

"The old soldier belonging to General Sharp Knife Gumpaste, a disagreeable fellow who smells like kono."

Recent memories flooded his mind, and Trace suddenly recalled what happened just before everything went blank. One of Jackson's soldiers, Corporal Gumpaste, had a gun against Hialeah's head, but Trace grabbed the man's arm, and Skiff had bitten into his leg. Then...there was a pop and a flash, followed by a profound blackness full of stars.

"Then I woke up here wherever here is," Trace grumbled.

"You awoke in a related cluster on an inhabited moon that orbits the planet Tueum," Micco Opa announced, finishing Trace's figurative question with a literal response. "The inhabitants call this moon Sun...or so the word is interpreted as Sun."

"A moon called Sun," said Trace. "Sure, why the hell not?"

"Please, tell me more about this planet called Tralfamadore," Micco Opa said.

"What? No, no, that's from Kurt Vonnegut...he wrote these books...never mind. Micco Opa, how do you know all of this?" Trace reached out to take hold of the old man's shoulders, but his hands passed right through him as if the Seminole were made of the same smoke billowing from his pipe. And, for a moment, Micco Opa existed only as swirls of grayness caused by the sweep of Trace's passing hands.

"Simple," Micco Opa continued to explain as his tenuous form reassembled itself from Trace's forceful manhandling. "Because they want me to know."

"They...who?"

"They who control the key. They who are responsible for everything that has happened to you on this journey, Coo-wah."

"Why don't you call me Coo-wah-chobee?" Trace's thoughts returned to Hialeah.

"The Breathmaker ordained Pretty Prairie as the only human being with reason to call you Coo-wah-chobee. You still have much to do for the rest of the tribe to proclaim you Coo-wah-chobee." He puffed and ruminated. "Besides, to me you will always be the great pussy, Coo-wah." Micco Opa laughed in his usual phlegm-laden cackle, offering up his pipe again.

"I let her down. I didn't mean to deceive her." Disinterested in the smoke, Trace pushed the wet, discolored pipe away from his face.

"Her heart is hurting, but it is not broken."

"What do you mean?"

"You can still find your path to the City in the Sky, Coo-wah." Micco Opa inhaled. "Hialeah can guide you there once you reclaim her wild heart. Be warned, her spirit can be used against you."

"How do you know?" Trace grew more anxious the more he questioned his friend.

"As I told you before, because they want me to know." Without warning, the old man began to fade away, flickering like the jump and stutter of a reel of film melting from too much time next to a hot lamp. "Remember, Coo-wah, nothing is as it appears. You must look beneath the surface with the courage to find the truth. See you in the afterlife, my friend."

"Where are you going?"

"I must speak with Kurt Vonnegut and learn more about this Tralfalmadore." Micco Opa dissolved, his laughter fading out with him.

Trace was alone once again. "Yep, he's right. I'm in deep shit." He reached up to feel something implanted just under the skin behind his right ear. Whatever it was buried in there, it irritated him. "Deep, deep shit."

"If by deep shit you mean big trouble, that depends," someone said behind him.

Trace turned, hoping that Micco Opa had reappeared. He was still very curious about who they really were, and he had so many more questions. But it was not Micco Opa, as he'd hoped. Where the old man once sat, a new man now stood a muscular young man, and quite short, with a bald head and the strangest silver hand.

"Who are you?" Trace inquired of the small stranger.

"Who I am is not important." The man held up his silver hand and directed the reflective fingers at Trace. "May you find warmth and awareness in whatever days you have left."

"What does that mean, little man?" Trace asked of him just before an electrified ribbon of silver left the man's fingertips and pumped him with enough high voltage to paralyze his system. Trace fell to the floor in a helpless, naked heap. "It means there's a lot in store for you, big man. And it's me who shall deliver you to your destiny, for I am Snow White the Magnificent!"

His world then lapsed into instant nothingness.

***

Beyond a Moon Called Sun.

"I want to you to swallow witness." Sansala hurried them along the snaking corridor of the lodging complex where Josette resided. The disapproving Wafi fell behind. "We must rate up."

"Why the rush?" Josette jogged down the winding passage, trying to keep pace with Sansala who was gliding along gracefully like a swan. As they turned a corner, she caught an unexpected glimpse into another room with its wall not fully solidified and translucent enough to see through.

Josette slowed to get a better look inside. A naked life form of toadlike appearance crouched in the center of the sparse, yet brightly lit room. The only other thing inside was a small, shiny box the size of a toaster attached to the toad via three opaque tubes inserted into its back. Brackish fluid gurgled through these tubes. Josette couldn't tell whether the fluid was coming from the box or out from the creature itself. The man-sized toad had three bulging eyes with only one that was fully open. The other two were half shut and glazed over. The thing looked stoned out of its amphibian mind.

Taking hold of her arm, Sansala cut her observation short and kept Josette moving along at a brisk pace. Josette noticed something a little unusual with the priestess as well. Sansala's wispy blond hair was a much fuller and very silky looking, more than usual.

"Did you do something different with your hair?" she asked.

"What?" Sansala appeared puzzled. "Oh! Truth be unfolded, I happen to be cycling which amends the texture of my pelt. Such a sensitive event, I am confident you sympathize." Sansala kept pushing her down the passageway. "Yes...of course I do." Josette was sorry she'd asked.

The Wafi falling even further behind were whimpering aloud in obvious discomfort at the distance between them.

"Nooblies." Sansala reduced their pace and allowed the Wafi to catch up to her. The little duplicates smiled broadly as they took a firm hold on Sansala's robe.

"A little separation anxiety, perhaps?" Josette whispered, chuckling. The Wafi furrowed their tiny brows in scorn of Josette's remark.

"Try to keep pace," Sansala said with motherly annoyance.

"Where are we going?" Josette noticed that Sansala's eyes had become a bright turquoise-a lovely shade she'd never seen in her teacher's eyes before.

"To a gift most captivating." Sansala flashed her restrained half smile that was indicative of someone not quite comfortable with the act of smiling. "Bringing you to a sacred temple that a foreign pedal, such as Josette Legard, has never before tasted." "But why me?" Once again, Josette found herself running alongside the flowing Sansala. "And in such a damn big hurry too?"

"Because you are so munkun molly to me, Josette. I have packages of moistness never felt for anyone outside my own species...so beautiful and strong of spirit. I believe you may force what I expose to you down into your celestial nucleus. Perhaps, even revel in it. Let us make it to the next conveyance platform before it cracks away. Oh, I approve of your fresh pelt as well, my lamb. It shines most stimulating to my marbled senses."

"Thank you. I'm flattered, Sansala," Josette responded with restrained humility. She'd heard these pleasantries before, but never fully trusted them. Just before she was hauled from her quarters by the impatient Suntholian, Josette had pulled her hair back into a tightly wound bun that was nuzzled into the back of her head. Her new hairstyle sharpened her facial features, and she felt this touch of severity contrasted nicely with her naturally softer appearance. It was more suitable to a warrior of her status, yet still maintained a touch of femininity. "Very flattered," she repeated.

"You have earned these respects, Josette." Sansala continued to hurry them along. "You are flourishing in victorious conflict. The recent assault on the hydro depository was inspirational. Not only did you miffle their supply, but you rested their research by destroying several conversion prototypes. The Malsumi may depart their shell from dehydration before mounting the next attack. At just outcome, I must parse."

Finally, they had reached a secured egress at the end of the corridor in the lodging complex. Sansala Sui-Ki and her Wafi, along with Josette, stepped through the shielded cavity and out into the open vastness of the moon called Sun. Josette felt the pressure of the limited atmosphere outside push against her body. But the discomfort didn't last once they stepped aboard the hovering conveyance with its pressurized anti-vacuum. As soon as all were aboard, the oval platform launched itself outward and floated smoothly across the moon's craggy surface.

Josette knew from prior exposure that these platforms were balanced on a thick cushion of magnetized energy. Illuminations under the moving conveyance gave the ground beneath them an eerie luminescence that left remnants of glowing rock and soil trailing far behind. Josette was in constant wonder at the stars around her. She'd never get used to such terrifying scenery.

"...not to mention your most mountainous triumph." Sansala was still talking behind her.

Josette wasn't paying much attention as she studied the landscape hurtling by. The platform picked up momentum. To Josette, they remained motionless while watching a hyper-real panorama of moving scenery fly past them at incredible speed. The whole ordeal was breathtaking.

"Josette!" barked Sansala, her Wafi angrily clapping their little mitts.

"Excuse me?" Josette broke from her trance. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was unfolding the sacred Halcyon you recovered." Sansala sounded curt. Josette knew it wasn't the first time she had drifted off into the far reaches of her own mind. She also knew Sansala detested these spells of attention deficit she often suffered. "Your recovery of the Halcyon," the priestess persisted, "will amend the track of this conflict. You captured it with so little effort." Sansala was giddy with childish glee. "We are delighted with your success, treasured pedal." "It wasn't so successful." Josette breathed a heavy sigh. "You forget we lost three Tar Babies."

"What in Rasa's fine dust are Tar Babies?"

"They were my team," answered Josette. "Quaint, but immaterial," said Sansala, smirking.

Sansala's remark reminded her of the very words Josette had uttered while safe inside the protective bubble in the tunnels of Tueum. The ugly thing she said as she watched Dingane being torn apart by the centipedes from Snow White's Ice Mountains. "Admirable, but foolish," Josette repeated aloud. She had grown to regret her misplaced sentiment. Dingane's actions were not foolish at all. Sacrificing himself for his mates might have been the greatest act of bravery she'd ever witnessed an act her father would have understood and admired. "They died recovering your damn rock." Visions of the mangled Zulu trapped in the jaws of the mechanical centipede and the Remeans beating back the hordes of mutated women, the Grendels, flashed across her mind's eye, making her shudder.

"A disappointing carnage," replied Sansala. "But draining the Malsumi Hector Jimenez in the process was a mountain of a bonus. I believe you parse it as confection with more confection. I could not have prayed for a moister outcome. The nuisance that Malsumi cracked us was a loose, loose pedal. Your success was astonishing, Josette."

"Of course, it was." This was another thing causing her fits of restless sleep-the demise of the Malsumian leader, Hector Jimenez. His passing didn't satisfy Josette's core belief of honorable death in combat. She struggled to wipe the death of this Malsumi from her memory, but it held fast to her consciousness. Why couldn't she simply push this particular death from her mind like she'd done with so many others? And why would a dishonorable O'dei-Malsumi take the name of an Earthian to honor him? This was most perplexing. "Whatever happened to that hunk of glowing rock anyway? Will it help us go back home?"

"Patience, fresh cherub. The Halcyon is being plunked to its appropriate employ. It has already awarded dividends for the Suntholo...as well as yourself. Trust my parcel." "What do you mean?" asked Josette.

Sansala gazed out to the horizon. "It is marbled out here, is it not?" And just like that, the priestess had changed the subject.

Josette looked out beyond the moon to where the rotund planet of Tueum hung in the starry sky. It was a massive purple ball dangling on a string and wore a scarlet halo of reflective rock around its bulging midriff. Storms of toxic gas could be seen swirling across its vast perimeters. These volatile storms elicited a stained-glass mosaic of color throughout the noxious atmosphere. Just beyond Tueum existed the crown jewel of the cluster-the Divinity's Eye Nebula. The ancient nebula cast an infinite, crimson spider web through space that wrapped the galaxy in a blanket of lustrous gas clouds and twinkling stars.

"It's the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life," said Josette.

"I am intimate with the sensation." Sansala's eyes flashed red before returning to their previous brilliant turquoise. "Very intimate."

Josette ignored the flirtation and remained silent as their platform zoomed on through the valley of Sun. The outline of a triangular, pyramid-style formation arose in the distance far ahead of them. On top of the pyramid a tall, sharp spire stood silhouetted against the crimson hue of the nebula. The whole scene took her back to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Amiens at home. Hell, she could even hear those big bells ringing at dusk.

Josette surmised this tiny pyramid to be their destination, especially after the platform bore to the right and head straight for it. The structure's triangular form became larger by the subsequent as they approached. To their left, Josette spotted a group of crumbling columns that jutted up from a shallow crater several meters away. She'd never been this far out on the surface of Sun, and this was all new to her.

"Sansala," she said, pointing to the columns, "what's that formation over there inside that small crater?"

"You are blessed with keen windows, Josette. Those are the Pillars of Rak. Rak is a hallowed site for the Suntholo. As evidenced in the passages of The Lost Suntholian Penitent, the Pillars are where our Inherited Tabula Rasa first appeared to Rak, the consummated host. Rasa became visible to Rak as a blue fin tussling through puffs of celestial dust and proclaimed this moon our newborn shrine." Sansala looked upward as she tapped her chin and nose with a single finger in respect to their deity. "The Pillars of Rak is sacred to us...as is the Halcyon...and the two shall blend as spirals of color intertwined within a faultless mineral, opening the gateway to paradise."

"Interesting metaphor," replied Josette. A speckled, lobstery creature stirred up a plume of moon dust as it skittered out of the way of their conveyance. The animal had been disturbed by the pulsating cushion of magnetized energy emitted from the platform. The back half of the lobster thing was tagged with a luminescent mark, and the bright glow from its rear end could be seen just under the soil where it finally settled. "You said newborn shrine? I was under the impression this was your original home. So how could it be newly born?"

"Yes, well...newborn is a figurative phrase." Sansala corrected her.

"Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't." Something else occurred to Josette as she watched the Pillars of Rak shrink into the horizon behind them. "If that's such a sacred place, why are there no defenses protecting it? Why are there no defenses protecting us right now?"

"Nooblies, Earthian. We have veiled defenses surrounding the Pillars...and the lodging complex where you lay your pretty head to rest, as well as scattered throughout this plain we are negotiating." Sansala was smug in her retort. "Do not disregard our artistry of camouflage. Similar to the T-visors you garnish in battle, our automated defense turrets are hidden by radiant energy, blending into the environment. They are activated by the visual differences in physiology. The enemy would never know what thumped them if they ever cracked a single slime-covered appendage on our soil."

"Automated defenses can be unreliable, Sansala," Josette added. "Why no manned turrets as a safeguard?"

"We did post galactic orphans, like yourself, on many of our defensive battlements. Yet, there has not been a direct assault on Suntholian soil since I was a budding analemma of the flock. The Malsumi have lost their will to fetch the fight in our pied-à-terre. We no longer parsed it prudent to waste our resources standing idle on top of defensive buttressing. Not when we could thrust warriors in the battlefields of Tueum to exterminate the Malsumi for good." "Seems like you're leaving yourself vulnerable for invasion if the Malsumi ever got wise to this tactic," replied Josette. "Why not post a Suntholian?

"Who are you to question Suntholian stratagem?" Sansala spat at Josette, but quickly composing herself once done. "Automated turrets will suffice...precious single."

After a lingering silence-filled journey through the plains of Sun, the platform decreased its cruising speed as it drew near to the pyramid.

"Marbled, we have arrived at our destination," said the priestess.

Josette was spellbound by the giant pyramid that had, at a great distance, looked as small as a teaspoon of sugar on the horizon, but now had grown to tremendous proportions. And the closer they got, the more it towered over their minuscule platform, the more pervasive it became, and the more it suffocated the landscape around them.

Finally, they came to a full stop. Josette noticed there was no clear method of ingress. There were no doors, no windows, and no openings anywhere on the building's smooth, glassy exterior.

"How do we get into the confounded thing?" Josette, having grown weary of this subservient role forced upon her on this godforsaken rock, was tired of asking question after question. "And while we're at it, tell me where I can piss once we're inside. God help me if I urinate in a sacred vase." Josette turned to see Sansala's reaction.

However, behind her, Sansala Sui-Ki had raised her arms high over her head with her long, lean fingers splayed apart. Those exquisite mitts with their seven thin fingers were spread as wide as they could physically reach and threw a latticed shadow at Josette's feet. Yet stranger still, the birthmark on Sansala's left forearm, the No Parking sign, slowly rotated under the alien's translucent skin. The delicate scar running through the middle of the birthmark didn't move, but the spot around it spun in tight circles. That is, until the scar began wriggling like a worm on hot pavement, and the Suntholian's enormous eyes glowed ruby red as they fixated on the giant pyramid in front of their platform. Sansala's Wafi, with their eyes shut tight, stood on either side of her, one to the left and the other to the right. Their tiny mitts in the air and their stubby fingers opened out, they shivered and quivered and quavered about. Legs trembling, the possessed Suntholians, if Wafi could be called Suntholians, shook their hands convulsively as if playing tambourines while chanting in unison, "Sui'Mon, Sui'Mon, Sui'Mon."

It was the first time Josette had heard the Wafi speak anything other than the incoherent whimpering or incessant giggling they were so fond of annoying little creeps.

A massive symbol gradually materialized on the side of the giant pyramid. It was the same mark on Sansala Sui-Ki's arm but on a colossal scale. Josette estimated the symbol on the pyramid to be at least fifty meters across. And like the one on Sansala's forearm, the large circle rotated as the thick line through its center squirmed in place.

Sansala and her Wafi ceased their gyrations and shut their mouths once the symbol was visible. The emblem on the building stopped spinning, and the wriggling line through its center straightened to form a perfect spike that split the circle in two. The whole thing divided at the spike, and the building came apart. The pyramid opened before them. A strong flurry of cool, refreshing wind rushed over their platform when the doorway finally allowed them access into Sui'Mon. "Haven't you people ever heard of a doorknob?" Josette said as the levitating conveyance continued into the temple.

Sansala lifted a long, slender arm, waving it in an arc, announcing, "Behold, Josette Legard, the Blessed Suntholian Temple of Sui'Mon."

Once inside, the most spectacular structure in the universe was unveiled before her astounded eyes. It was even more magnificent than the Eiffel Tower on the Champ De Mars Josette had climbed one holiday in the spring of '27. All through her young life, she thought nothing could top the Tower in its scope and sheer brilliance of engineering. But now...now she realized just how naïve she'd been and how unimpressive by comparison Eiffel really was. Their insignificant oval floated through the breezy expansive interior, and Josette stood alone in silent astonishment. It looked like a thousand galaxies were collected and released inside Sui'Mon. Countless prisms reflected color all around them and bounced dynamic light from every surface. And once her eyes grew accustomed to the changing spectra of light, she saw countless walkways wrapping around the perimeter of the inner walls of the pyramid. There were also multitudes of hovering skywalks crisscrossing the open area of the temple, weaving a wonderfully organic tapestry of alien architecture. On these elaborate walkways and floating skyways, hosts of Suntholians, some with their own set of Wafi and others without, busily negotiated the numerous levels ascending and descending within the expansive structure. And through the porous walls of Sui'Mon, happy Suntholians disappeared and reappeared at will, bouncing in and out from any number of chambers throughout the great edifice.

The building itself soared to a height of a thousand meters. The highest point on the inside of the pyramid was just an indiscernible ball of brightness. This gave the impression of great distance, like a star viewed from an orbiting planet. The sprawling floor of the pyramid, most likely a liquid, rippled and rolled as if someone periodically dropped a pebble into a large, black pond. This liquid floor was dark as midnight with a glossy sheen that accentuated its movement. This gave it an oily texture. The waves in the liquid floor were as precise as clockwork-slow and steady, perfectly spaced, and with an elegance that could be achieved only through expert manipulation of the elements. Life, movement, and light abounded inside the building, so much so that the entire structure took on a sentient life-force of its own-orga and mecha connected to the house in which they resided.

"Merde," was all Josette could say.

"Impressive, is it not, Earthian?" Sansala placed her hands on Josette, gently massaging her shoulders.

"Each to his own taste." Josette tensed up from the public display of affection.

"There is so much I want to put into you, Josette."

Their conveyance finally came to a stop next to a walkway with an excised gap that matched the platform's oval shape. They were still quite high above the bottom of the pyramid, but nowhere near the top-most likely a third of the way up the structure. Josette found it all dizzying, and her private world was spinning. She wanted off, needing to feel something solid under her feet again. Without waiting for an invitation, she jumped off the transport and onto the walkway. Very soon Sansala and her Wafi glided up alongside her.

"I'm not feeling well." Josette's stomach felt queasy. She was embarrassed by what she perceived as an unexpected weakness of character. Nothing should ever shake the foundation of a warrior. "I may vomit."

"Oh, I can minister to your discomfort." Sansala tilted her head forward and, on cue, the Wafi approached. The tiny replicas levitated themselves until even with Josette's torso. With eyes closed and heads also bowed as in prayer, they placed their little mitts upon her stomach. Instantly the queasiness dissipated, and the dizziness along with it. Josette felt perfectly well again. The Wafi pulled away from Josette's midsection and floated back to the floor to resume their natural position by Sansala's side. "How do you feel?" asked Sansala.

"Terrific, of course," Josette replied. "But what's new? You always make me feel better. Hell, I don't even have to piss anymore. There isn't a day that goes by when you don't fix me, appease me or tease me in some way." "What is a day?" questioned Sansala with a devilish smile. "I lost the expression."

"You're kidding me, right?" Josette was taken aback by this question. "A measurement of time...twenty-four hours in a day...three hundred sixty-five days in a year-along those lines. It's how Earthians know when we are rather than where we are. We've already discussed Earthian timelines before, remember? Surely you didn't lose our conversation regarding the Renaissance."

"Fascinating." Sansala grew evasive as she took Josette by the arm to lead her down a suspended skyway crossing to a corner of Sui'Mon. "You must tell me more about this theory of measuring indefinable concepts. It is so barbarically linear just delightful, Josette."

At that moment, Josette had the inkling that something was far more different with Sansala than she first suspected. And not only with Sansala's hair, because the priestess even smelled different. Sansala usually had a distinctive aroma like buttered sweet potatoes-subtle and pleasant. The smell always reminded Josette of a time when her mother enjoyed cooking for the family. She'd appreciated Sansala's aroma because of its reminiscent properties. But now the alien emitted a muskier scent..., more astringent and unrefined than before. It was subtle and not unpleasant, just different.

"Where are we going, Sansala?" Josette grew restless with this endless journey.

"Inside here, glorified object." Sansala guided Josette through an opaque wall and into another immense chamber. "All you have to do is open your mind."

***

Splice the Main Brace. "Ease on up, my cherished pedal." Sansala ushered Josette into an opulent theatre that bustled with elegant Suntholians, all smartly dressed in their finest charmeuse robes of pure Anovan silk. Every gown was custom-made and personalized with meticulous embroidery of golden thread depicting the exploits of their Inherited Tabula Rasa. "Ah, the lesser shall never pass by any occasion to overdress and underwhelm," Sansala remarked with a smirk. "Nevertheless, shadow me." Inside the theatre, there were descending rows arranged in a semi-circle that surrounded yet another pool of murky liquid on stage far below them. There weren't any seats in the large hall. Each level was lined with several plump cushions, big enough to sit upon. The colors of the cushions alternated with one entire row of cushions being black and the following row all red-black then red, and so on. The pool of liquid below, which was the focal point in the theatre, had the same dark oily sheen and consistency as the pool in the lobby of the pyramid, but on a smaller scale, roughly ten meters across.

"Wonderful, we did not lose the event. Let us drop our wilting foundations onto a fleshy cushion." Sansala escorted Josette down the access ramp into the center of the auditorium. "I prefer the crimson. So beautiful."

There were many Suntholians who registered surprise at Josette's appearance in the hall, followed by rampant murmurs of disbelief. The translator behind her ear buzzed with activity, and she clearly heard her name bandied about. This was both disconcerting and somewhat embarrassing. Judging from their reactions, it was not standard procedure to escort an alien inside the chambers of Sui'Mon. She assumed only a Suntholo of Sansala Sui-Ki's stature could get away with such a sacrilege inside their temple.

A petite but no less attractive Suntholian approached them in a hurry with her Wafi clinging to her flowing gown. With eyes of rich goldenrod and focused on Sansala, the Suntholian opened her undersized mouth to reveal her twin tongues in deference to the High Priestess. She ran these tongues around one of Sansala's lobe-less ears in ceremonial greeting. The unfamiliar Suntholian wouldn't look at Josette as she waited for her Wafi to pay respects to Sansala's pair in kind. "It jams my husk with delight to see my beloved High Priestess, Sansala Sui-Ki," the smaller Suntholian said in a subservient tone.

"I know it does," Sansala replied rather dismissively. "How may I sustain you, my well-mannered priestess, Squumata Sui-Bo?" "Please absolve my boldness but is it wise to bring an impurity into the blessed theatre?" the Suntholian, Squumata, said with perceptible disdain. Sansala's posture stiffened. "You realize who roots here, do you not? This is the celebrated Josette Legard, Earthian of the Tertian cluster."

Josette detested being discussed in third person.

"Granted, I do swallow Josette Legard of the Tertian cluster." Squumata Sui-Bo still would not acknowledge Josette and never took her eyes, which were turning a bright canary yellow, off Sansala. "She has lighted as the Suntholo's supreme warrior. Yet, she is not natural to our convictions. Despite the accolades, it is a disgraceful crack to convey such an impure pedal into our temple." Squumata smirked. "I should wither away rather than to see you incur the wrath of our Exalted Priestess, Plurimi Sui-Za."

"Remember your dispatch, trifling priestess!" barked Sansala. "I shall convey any pedal I desire into this theatre or any other space of Sui'Mon. Your disrespect is a mountain of concern to me and, therefore, to the Exalted Priestess as well. I shall tickle Plurimi Sui-Za with the narrative of this outrage."

"No, I beg you." Squumata Sui-Bo blanched, and her eyes went dark amber. "I was not right in my top. Please absolve my venomous lapse, my most molly treasured sage. I shall skulk away in righteous disgrace and hunger for your compassion." The lesser priestess slinked away with her trembling Wafi hugging her legs.

Others in the room must have heard the skirmish and opted out of any further confrontation. Josette guessed that, from this point on, they'd simply pretend she didn't exist to avoid any unpleasant humiliation. She found herself grateful for this silly pretense. "Decent and moist." Sansala continued into the theatre. "We will park our bases in the center row." Sansala led Josette further down the inclined aisle to a middle row of the theatre. Once there, they walked well into the row until reaching two overstuffed cushions at its center. Sansala lowered her modest bottom onto the large pillow, gracefully folding her long, lean legs beneath her as she did.

Josette followed suit. The big red cushion was plush and luxurious. Better still, she felt an unmistakable pulsation coming from inside the confounded thing. It was a gentle sensation as if a million microscopic hands were massaging her undercarriage. It was the most comfortable pillow she'd ever felt, and Josette wished to take it back to her quarters inside the alien lodging complex. Hmmm, I wonder... "Would you like to knock back a drop?" Sansala stroked Josette's cheek with a finger. "Perhaps an inspirational refresher to quench your thirst?"

Josette, intrigued by the entire scene inside the theatre, was lost in her amazement and feeling quite frivolous by now. "Sure, why not? Have you a cognac? A VS or VSOP will do. I'm not picky, I just need a stiff drink." She smiled back at

Sansala.

"Stiff? I am impressed you appreciate the concepts of fluid rigidity." Sansala furrowed her wispy brow. "I cannot wax your demand for a cone-nack but I will have them fetch you a unique domestic instead." The priestess raised her hand to catch the attention of Squumata Sui-Bo, who still cowered in a far corner of the theatre. "I know you will swallow pleasure from such an unfamiliar refresher."

"Yes, High Priestess?" Squumata asked meekly as she approached them.

"Fetch me two chilled shoes of Azzomolese," she commanded without directing her gaze at Squumata.

"Two shoes, my beloved Sansala Sui-Ki?" asked Squumata. "Are you dry?" "Have you lost your logic as well as your reason?" Sansala's eyes flashed blood red. "Fetch what I command!" The incoherent noise inside the theatre abruptly hushed. Josette recognized a general look of sympathy from around the room for the chastised Suntholian priestess. Although, there did seem to be those who took obvious delight in Squumata's embarrassment from such a harsh reprimand.

"Yes, my higher-value priestess, two shoes." Fearing further crushing reprisals, Squumata hurried off with her timid Wafi chasing after her.

The theatre lights dimmed and rose in rapid succession as a soft chime rang several times to signal something was about to begin. Josette experienced a tinge of real anticipation, not to mention a special tingling caused by her cushion. She had loved the theatre. Even as a child, she loved a night out for a show. A bit of culture is a very good thing, her father always said to her as she admired the rich, red velvet stage curtain and clutched a show programme in her tiny hands. There was nothing like it.

Josette watched as the mingling Suntholo hurriedly occupied the empty cushions throughout the theatre. Soon every fattened pillow was filled with a narrow Suntholian butt-except in the row she and Sansala occupied. All the remaining cushions in their row were left untouched. Sansala, with her Wafi standing behind her, and Josette next to her were the sole inhabitants of the center row. Josette wasn't sure if this was done out of respect for Sansala or disgust by her presence. Most likely, disgust, she concluded. Screw them all.

Just as the lights lowered, an ice-cold tube was thrust into her left hand, by whom she didn't see but presumably it was Squumata Sui-Bo. In Josette's estimation, the tube was comparable to a Churchill cigar in width, length and girth, but felt frozen solid. Holding it vertically, which she assumed was the correct way to handle it, since it was proffered to her that way, she admired the sleek shape-wider mouth at the top, tapering down to a sharp point at the bottom. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she could see the line of a thick liquid close to the rim. She struggled to discern any color in the contents but whiffed a heady sweetness wafting out from the tube.

Down on center stage, a boundary of orange lights popped on that outlined the dark, viscous pool. These lights flashed in sequence, creating the illusion of a rolling circle of bright orange dots. They continued this sequential blinking until the oily liquid began to ripple and flow in synchronization with the flashing lights. Eventually, the pool became active with systematic waves that grew bigger with every rolling burst of orange. It was an effective production as both light and liquid were building to a mutual climax. And with every wave of the oily liquid, the Suntholo would sway, and their Wafi would moan along with a jarring cadence. Josette remembered her thirst and raised the shoe of Azzomolese to investigate the alien beverage. She still couldn't make out its color, but still smelled a sweet, distinctively natural aroma-something similar to...rose petals. Rose petals? Yes,

that has to be it. She brought the tube to her lips for an exploratory sip. The Azzomolese was cold, very cold, and her first tentative taste revealed an unexpected burst of honey. Josette marveled at the simple, evocative flavor that enticed her senses with childhood memories of bread and honey picnics. But before she could revel in those happy memories for much longer, the essence of honey was chased away by the tangy-sweet quality of berries...perhaps even strawberries, which had been a favorite of hers. As a little girl, she nurtured her strawberry garden every summer. Sadly, just like the honey, the succulence of those plump, juicy strawberries waned on her tongue as the refresher evolved. It transitioned to a smooth, buttery consistency that coated her palette with the boldness of chocolate laced with the subtle, yet unmistakable undertones of tobacco and burning leaves. Merde, I may not ever crave another cigarette, she thought as she savored the memories evoked by the refresher. But, putain! They taste good.

Josette was wrong in initially labeling this shoe of Azzomolese-there was nothing simple about it. She delighted in that first smooth swallow until it ultimately finished with another brief flourish of honey-a period at the end of a sentence both intimate and provocative. Her head spun from this liquid billet-doux. It was delicious, complex, and way too familiar for comfort. But how could this be possible? How would they know these things about her?

"All my favorite things," Josette proclaimed. "Jesus Christ, this drink is amazing."

"It is a delicious refresher," whispered Sansala. "It reminds me of existence back on..." the priestess let the memory depart before disclosing anything pertinent about her past. "Tell me, who is Jesus Christ?" she asked. "An Earthian I should

keep an open window on, perhaps?" "Oh, just an acquaintance of mine," she swallowed a bigger mouthful of the refresher. No reason to get him mixed up in this madness. Josette felt a rush of euphoria wash over her and grew especially curious as to what would happen inside this grand Suntholian theatre. Something that deserved an aperitif as special as Azzomolese must be significant. "Sansala, what kind of performance will we be watching?" she asked with excitement.

"Performance?" Sansala grinned with that disconcerting half smile of hers. "Well, I guess you could parse it a performance. It will stimulate and entertain."

"I don't understand." "Cherished one, this chamber is the Sui'Mon Harmonic Inner Theatre. We shall be watching the trials of the Talio-Sui within this sacred consign. It is our holiest ritual that must be satisfied so that a lighted victory over the wicked can flourish." Josette giggled as a suitable acronym for the Sui'Mon Harmonic Inner Theatre flashed in her mind...S.H.I.T. She loved those private, indecent little thoughts she'd have on occasion.

Sansala glared at her with displeasure in her 'windows.' Josette tried to suppress the amusement burgeoning in her belly, as well as another small orgasm budding in her crotch. "Sorry, it's the Azzomo-whatever. It's making me giddy." "Yes, that shines apparent," said Sansala with condescension. "If you fail to tolerate such a refresher, then perhaps you should measure it with more care."

"Oh, I'm just fine and dandy-chin-chin." Josette clinked her shoe of Azzomolese against Sansala's and took a heavy sip despite the Suntholian's bewildered gaze.

The ring of orange lights below stopped their sequential flashing and brightened all at once as an immense wave of black rose from the pool on stage. The giant wave towered over every row of plump cushions, ready to reach out for the spectators beyond the proscenium. Josette was sure it would drench the entire audience in a thick layer of oily ooze, and certainly be a horrible mess, possibly toxic.

"Fuck me." Josette's cushion wasn't far enough back, and she'd be doused with the viscous gunk right along with the rest of these lunatic Suntholo, even if she tried to run. The magic of live theatre could be dark, but merde, was this taking it way too literally. Yet why wasn't anyone else in the S.H.I.T. reacting to this impending catastrophe? Were they so goddamned arrogant to think they couldn't be completely slogged just like the impure Earthian from the Tertian cluster in their

midst was about to be slogged?

Josette jumped from her cushion to move from under the tsunami of black. She was ready to run until a hand lightly touched her thigh.

"Sit down, Josette," Sansala said with a demeanor quite calm, considering the circumstance. Josette was stunned. To her surprise, no one was hit by so much as a single drop of sticky glop. Everyone inside the S.H.I.T. remained clean and unflinchingly cool-a big bunch of smiling idiots staring at a frozen wave of liquid, solidified into a big black, bubbling wall. Images flickered on the broad side of the solid wave-wall before them, faint at first, gradually becoming sharper as the blackness filled with dynamic moving pictures.

Nique ta mere! Josette laughed in relief as she sat back down on her pulsating cushion. "Now, this is cinema!"

Scores of spacecraft, presumably piloted by Suntholian operatives, streaked through Tueum's gaseous atmosphere the solid black of the liquid screen was teeming with ships of every size and designation. Josette was in awe of the enormity

of the invasion fleet. There had to be a hundred cruisers swarming the planet's surface like surging pods of resolute porpoise.

"Molly rings of salt," Sansala said, happily. "How I do covet the reruns."

"What's a rerun?" Josette resigned herself to asking another tedious question.

"Before the trials of the Talio-Sui, we will swallow the record of our latest success on Tueum. You will enjoy it because this assault was managed by your Earthian nanaharange."

"Snow White?" Josette was suddenly filled with dread. "Snow White led the attack?"

"Yes. He is a molly warrior almost as valuable as you."

"As me?" Josette experienced a pang of jealousy. In concerted precision, the spacecraft opened fire on enemy combatants slogging through the muck of Tueum. With surgical skill, hyper-charged ribbons of multicolored energy pelted the surface, sending chunks of rock, sludge, and body parts spurting and splattering across the liquid screen. Clouds of seeded plasma from Malsumian bodies, as well as fluids and tissue from any non-Malsumi, exploded from the ground like fireworks. It was a massacre.

The Wafi inside the amphitheater emitted a full-throated yodel in unbridled excitement.

"Mountainous," sighed Sansala, brimming with smug self-satisfaction. "Pure and marbled."

Safe inside the sanctum of the Sui' Mon Harmonic Inner Theatre, the audience observed the battle play out before them on the vast blackness of the liquid wall center stage. The Wafi sustained their deep-throated yodels as their masters sat in silent joy and watched the record of the lopsided skirmish on Tueum. Josette was acutely aware of the Suntholian eyes around her glowing yellow in the darkness of the theatre...all were the same.

On screen, the armada of cruisers had landed. Suntholian troops, comprised of species from around the universe, raced onto the open plain of Tueum, most brandishing a silver appendage out ahead of them. With an abundance of proficiency and a lack of restraint, the Suntholian mercenaries sliced and diced any resistance they encountered along the way.

As Josette watched the battle progress, it struck her...the Malsumian troops were also comprised of beings from other clusters, which wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that the Malsumi themselves were fighting alongside their captives as well. They were outnumbered by outsiders at least ten to one, but they were putting their potato-shaped bodies on the front lines as much as anyone else in the skirmish. This was odd behavior for cowardly and immoral galactic body-snatchers. Contrary to what she'd been told, the O'dei-Malsumi appeared quite willing to sacrifice their lives and fought with abandon. While being aided by the oddest assortment of life forms from clusters both foreign and domestic, the Malsumi were in the field of battle and dying just the same. The only souls not in the fray were the Suntholo.

"I don't see many Malsumi left alive," Josette whispered, testing her teacher.

"The finest Malsumi is the flattest Malsumi," Sansala answered in the darkness, and her Wafi yodeled, seconding the sentiment. Gaining ground and leading the charge, Snow White struck a fine figure in the crimson uniform of a Suntholian Field General. As he crested a rolling slime-covered hilltop, the little man was confronted by a fat and furry, six-legged beast that charged with its razor-sharp fangs bared in terrible ferocity. The huge beast had a rise of distinctive spines growing out from its fur. The spines were connected by leathery tissue that formed a sail running the length of its back. Rage seethed in its compound eyes that were arranged in rows of three upon the creature's broad forehead. And its big pancake ears were pinned back to its muscular neck as it barreled toward Snow White. "Oh! Most marbled molly," exclaimed Sansala, like a child enjoying her favorite Saturday morning serial. "He has rolled across a mature Carnilogos shining with ferocity. This should be amusing." Josette was appalled by Sansala's cavalier attitude toward Snow White's grim situation. Though her fears were unfounded as the Carnilogos was no problem for Snow White. He easily devastated the charging beast with a brilliant ribbon discharged from his silver hand. The shimmering silver beam blasted through the monster's massive head and split the Carnilogos in half lengthwise from stem to stern. Body fluids and sinew splattered across the liquid screen, and the Wafi increased the intensity of their yodels, relishing the carnage. Josette could practically feel the Suntholo moisten with pleasure as mummers of delight coursed through the theatre. "Ah nooblies, a contest free of contest defeats my interest." There was disappointment in Sansala's voice. "But do not wilt. He will give us a better show as the battle wears on."

With a smile covered in tissue fragments, Snow White appraised his kill and wore more than a bit of pride on his crimson sleeve. "Keep moving, Snow," Josette mumbled. "The smallest hesitation can bring about the biggest disaster." And she was right. A wiry alien with several leafy green extremities that sprouted from its trunkish body sprang from the muck and knocked him head over heels. The small Earthian fell onto his backside with his tiny, booted feet pointing up to the heavens. Dark sludge from his boots was flung into his face to obscure his T-visor.

Josette guffawed at Snow White's oafish misfortune, more from reflex than malice. The Wafi weren't happy with this development and ceased their peculiar yodeling.

The budding leaves of the creeping alien quivered with anger as the rest of its tall, slender body mushroomed from the sludge. As it grew, vine-like tendrils on its trunk reached out for Snow White to seize him by his head, legs and arms. Snow White's silvered hand was incapacitated as his right arm was held up and away from the angry plant. It was an effective attack, because the more the little man kicked against the vines, the more entangled he became. Josette could see the pain on Snow White's face. Although they had no audio of the battle, it was clear he was shouting a string of profanities. And knowing him as well as she did, she knew the words he preferred. "This shines with promise," whispered Sansala. "The tendrils of the Evoo are pronged for tight rule on its victim. My windows are wide open," she squealed softly. "How will he escape?"

Josette knew the pressure of the spiked vines digging into Snow White's flesh must have been excruciating. And to make matters worse, the leaves on the plant were folding over to form themselves into sharpened points.

"Ah yes, those stabbing floras drip with poisonous sap," interjected Sansala. "A capable touch to polish the match." Josette could hear the priestess smiling in the darkness next to her. "This is a very marbled contest." Sansala sipped loudly

from her own shoe of Azzomolese.

The Evoo held Snow White firm, trapping him on the ground, and directed its twitching, poisoned leaf tips at his exposed throat. Josette wasn't laughing any longer; Snow White was in imminent peril, and she feared for the life of her nanaharange. Her Azzomolese buzz evaporated from her brain as dread forced its way in. The empty shoe slipped out of her hand and

shattered upon the floor. Unexpectedly, from off screen, a ribbon of silver sliced the fattest tendril away from Snow White, freeing him. The Evoo writhed in pain in the muck. Josette breathed a sigh of relief as she watched a rough Earthian man with a silvered hand

come to her friend's aid.

"A new recruit," commented Sansala like a proud parent. "A competent pedal." This new recruit of the Suntholo was heavy-set and more typical in height to the Earthian males with whom Josette was accustomed. Much older than Snow White, the man sported a ruddy complexion and a bushy gray beard blooming on his

padded chin that spread up his cheeks like ragweed. He wore a faded, grimy blue uniform not indicative of the Suntholian guard. The uniform looked bulky, possibly woven from wool, and was decorated with chevrons on the arms of each

sleeve-two yellow stripes pointing upward, similar to the tip of an arrow.

"He's a corporal." Josette recognized the designation, but not the army. After shearing away more tendrils, the old soldier reached down, grabbed Snow White's bloodied arm, and hoisted him to his feet. Without delay, the humbled little Field General blasted the wounded Evoo through its trunk with his own

ribbon of silver. The leafy beast fell apart and disintegrated into a fine ash.

The Wafi yodeled with boisterous glee, filling the theatre with the demented noise of their approval and pleasure.

"Zim-Zer-a-tee!" Sansala clapped her slender mitts. "That was molly, was it not?" Wiping the green sludge from his visor, Snow White offered the soldier standing next to him an appreciative slap on the lower back. This time without any hesitation, the two men continued their swath of destruction through the throng of

enemy troops, foreign and domestic.

Josette had grown tired of the whole affair and wished the record to end. And, as if her wish were granted on a whim, the scene on the liquid wall changed. "We are progressing to the battle's lasting effect," Sansala informed her. "They will press their way past the Malsumian defensive porch and infiltrate the command chamber. This will burnish brighter than Rasa's damp knuckle." Snow White, along with the scruffy old soldier and several other members of the Suntholian Interspecies Force behind him, interrogated a line of subdued enemy captives. All the prisoners looked drained and beaten and forced to endure

further humiliation of Snow White's interrogation. There were two O'dei-Malsumi blobs sitting in a sticky pool of their own seepage. Between the Malsumi was a tendril-laden, leafy Evoo like the one who attacked Snow White on the hilltop. A thick sap seeped from underneath several of its wilted vines. Next to the Evoo crouched a squat, bipedal creature with tiny, vestigial wings on its back and covered in large, gray spots on its ashy, white skin. The biped also came equipped with the obscenest looking genitalia protruding from

between its bowed-out legs. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," remarked Josette at the sight of its enormous cock. She moved her eyes away from the monstrous member to assess the remainder of the motley assemblage. As her eyes made it to the end of the ragtag line-up, she stopped on the last prisoner down on his knees. Dressed in only a few pieces of deliberately placed cloth was the most striking human male in the cluster. Adonis himself had been swept into the carnage on Tueum. The man had a body that was athletic and healthy and golden bronze. Unlike Snow White, he looked extremely tall even on his knees she guessed him two meters easy. His symmetrical facial features were strong and complemented his strapping hairless but masculine physique. And, yes, two textbook nipples perched proudly upon his hard pectorals. "Thank goodness," said Josette, enraptured by this Spartan of a man. She carried the hunger of the wolf in her heart and, while she was a warrior, she was also a woman, and God help her-it had been a long time...a fucking long time...on another planet...in another galaxy, for that matter. Her inner wolf was

howling.

Snow White, being of small stature, came nose to nose with the kneeling human. Both men had the same hazel-colored eyes that sparkled with light and life. And though the audience inside the S.H.I.T. couldn't hear what was being said, it was apparent Snow White, and the prisoner spoke to each other by the corresponding movement of their mouths. In fact, they were conversing so closely, she was sure their lips would touch. Josette never had the specific fantasy that just popped into her head, but she was willing to explore the notion. Yet, just as quickly as the statuesque male arrived in her life, he soon departed it. Snow White cut the beautiful man in half with a ribbon of silver. The ribbon sliced into the left side of the prisoner's sleek torso and exited out the right...cleanly

and

efficiently.

The chiseled form of Adonis dropped to the floor in pieces with the upper half falling in front of whatever macabre camera recorded the event. His handsome face was frozen in alarm, and the light in the man's eyes was extinguished as his blood ran red across the ground of the Malsumian command center. Josette's sexual fantasies were snuffed out as fast as the man's life.

Snow White's crew followed suit, massacring the remaining prisoners in the interrogation line. The room was filled with smoke, blood, and plasmoid mist until the scene faded to black, leaving the liquid wall inside the sacred Sui'Mon

Harmonic Inner Theatre dark.

The room erupted as the Wafi yodeled in wild, gleeful ecstasy.

"What the hell was that?" Josette demanded over the din.

"That was a majestic victory for the Suntholian cause, precious one," replied Sansala as she stood to address the room. "Let us praise Rasa for such a glorious result!"

Again, the room filled with the sounds of yodeling Wafi and weirdly clicking Suntholo.

"But why kill them when they had surrendered?" asked Josette.

The jubilant Suntholians and their effusive Wafi were too caught up in the excitement of the victory to even notice the tense confrontation in the center row of crimson cushions.

"Josette, we parsed the intel needed from them," Sansala said with sinister calm. "We have the location of the last remaining Malsumian enclave, and we will cleanse these monstrosities from existence. That is mountainous news."

"But why not take them as prisoners?" Josette wanted an answer.

"Why the flock would we do that?" Sansala sat back on her cushion, looking perplexed by the notion. "Prisoners are a drain on our resources. Captured information is more important than any single light. Those were hollow, insignificant

traitors. What shadowed was a respectable outcome."

"Taking prisoners is what a civilized society does when combat is over, and victory has been attained!" Josette was incensed. "Killing them was not necessary."

"Cool your core, or you will make yourself ill." Sansala smiled again, still reveling in Wafi yodels and the all-around good cheer from her clicking Suntholian compatriots. "Withered withers, you will not ruin this praise for me. I worshiped too hard achieving this magnificent triumph for our Inherited Tabula Rasa. You will enjoy it along with me, and that is not a request, treasured one." Her smile transformed to a menacing glare. "Not in the slightest."

Josette stewed for a few subsequents before asking in a composed tone, "How many troops did we lose in this victorious battle?"

"I believe much of our various forces succumbed for the consecrated cause." Sansala waved an arm with casual attention to Josette, whom she obviously considered her most meddlesome pupil.

"And are those deaths acceptable to the Suntholo as well?"

"Yes, as long as it was not Suntholo who perished." The priestess laughed as she answered. "Josette, you must value such truth-our population has dwindled. The loss of a blessed Suntholian light is a sacrilege. Be satisfied with the knowledge

that supreme Rasa is quite pleased with their sacrifice. There will be a special place at Rasa's breast for all who help us achieve this blessed victory."

"This perfect victory you mean. The one that so pleases Rasa," Josette said, quietly.

"Yes, dear one, you have parsed a most tight pedal." Sansala seemed happy to have finally gotten through to her headstrong prodigy on this point. Josette sank into her cushion. All her life she had sought paradise, but it eluded her still.... The hieroglyphs were on the wall, and the illustrations weren't pretty. This wasn't what she'd expected. Not that she ever counted on meeting an alien race, but if she had, she never would have expected interstellar religious zealots. As beautiful as the Suntholo were on the outside, they were that much darker and uglier on the inside. Josette was alone once more. "Blessed are those in whom grace shines so copiously that love of food does not arouse excessive appetite, but lets them hunger after righteousness," she recited in less than a whisper.

As the room overflowed with joy, Josette drowned in remorse. All she could do now was wait for whatever came next-whatever that might be. "Zim-Zer-a-tee!" the Suntholo in the S.H.I.T. chanted in ecclesiastic unison as images formed once again on the solid liquid wall of blackness down center stage. "Zim-Zer-a-tee!" And the Wafi's yodels peaked in a feverish crescendo. "Zim-Zer-

a-tee!"

"Let every pedal flavored in righteousness and flowing with the light of Rasa consume the trials of the Talio-Sui!" Sansala declared with a malevolent smile. Josette resigned herself to simply watch the fucking spectacle unfold. All went quiet as a solitary figure walked into the image with slow, defiant footsteps. A spotlight projected from above lit the mysterious character on screen in a round spot of unmatched whiteness. Josette wondered where in this absurd galaxy did the broadcast originate from. Hell, it might have been in a chamber next door, for all she knew. Nothing else could be seen around the isolated figure, but its long, lonely shadow. The tall, strapping being wore a shiny metallic suit with a thick purple stripe across the crown of the shoulders and around the waist. She'd seen this suit before... in the Halcyonic holomorph during the raid in the caves on

Tueum.

Recalling the little Parisian café, the day she was carried off into this madness, Josette had to laugh. Nazis seemed pedestrian compared to this lunacy. The person onscreen wore a head covering that concealed the face beneath. The black mask was laced with distinctive luminescent lines that crisscrossed the front in lurid patterns, giving the figure an ethereal visage. Josette recognized the

pattern on the mask. She had stared at it many times in her isolation on Sun.

"The nebula," she said softly. "The Divinity's Eye."

Multiple ribbons of silver jumped up from the floor, twirling around the masked figure like electrified streamers fanned by an army of ghosts. The ribbons surrounded him, wrapping him up and mummifying him with bands of pure alien

energy. The figure struggled against the restraints before collapsing to the floor, helpless. Another chilled cigar-shaped shoe was shoved into Josette's clenched fist.

"Knock back another refresher, cherished one," Sansala whispered in her ear. "You and I have a fine performance to enjoy."