The Voyages of the Penelope and the Yydryl

~*~ Pranzo ~*~

Ship’s massive kitchen dwarfed Silo and Newman who hefted the ginger-cat bag bulging in lumpcious form atop one of the shiny silver mile long counters.

‘So what is it were making again?’ Silo asked her stomach rumbling.

‘Bruschetta. It’s Italian for ‘yummy’.’ He laughed and tried to tuck a curl behind her ear but it just sprang back against his thumb.

‘Oh it is not! What is it really?’ She swatted his hand away.

‘Brew-sket-tahhh.’ He mewed dumping the contents of the bag gently onto the counter.

‘You oaf, I don’t want to know how to say it I want to know what it is. Looks like tomato salad to me.‘ She snorted catching a plump red tomatoes with one hand, a large purple onion with the other before they rolled away.

‘Watch’a and learn ‘Zee wonderz of zee produce!’ Newman’s atrocious parrot of Shears accent and lurid wink made her laugh.
‘Bruschetta is a great appetizer, or light lunch made with tomatoes, hot peppers, onions, garlic, basil and some other stuff. To call it a ‘tomato salad is blasphemy!’ He crowed.

‘Pardon me.’ Her sarcasm got her ignored. It was her stomach growling that made him laugh.

‘Now youz leezten and learnz’a!’ Newman began.

(cont.)

~*~ Bruschetta ~*~

‘Very good Silo! 8 medium sized red ripe and firm tomatoes reduced to small little chunks...’ Newman eyed the contents of the bowl she held up for him to examine. ‘And I see you cut them over the bowl and not on a board as not to lose all the juices.! Very nice!’ He chuckled when she grinned.

‘Now you thank me for doing the hard part.’ His eyes still leaked water from chopping the onions. ‘Add to your chopped tomatoes these 4 sweet purple onions also chopped small.’ Handing over his own dish he bent over to rummage under the shelves while Silo stirred the mixture together in the larger bowl with a wooden spoon.

‘Why are you teaching me how to make this?’ Silo said to his rear end that stuck up in the air as he rummaged under the shelves. Her mouth went dry.

‘Because someday you’re going to make this for me without my help and you‘re going to bring it to me in my room where you’ll feed it to me from your own fingers letting the olive oil drip down my chin where you’ll catch it with your...’ His voice grew dark and smoky while her eyes blinked like a baby owls waiting for him to go on. To her disappointment he didn’t. Instead be banged his head on the upper shelf and swore.

‘Found it! The Olive oil and vinegar!’ Handing her the bottle of Extra Virgin Oil he rubbed at the growing red spot where he’d hit his skull.


‘Now drench the tomatoes and onions in olive oil. It’s up to you how much you use but it’s best when it’s soupy and juicy.‘ After she’d covered the mixture with 1/2 a cup of oil he stopped her.

‘Next you need some red wine vinegar to make it even soupier!‘ He monologue over his actions not trusting her with the red wine. Too much would ruin it, too little it would taste flat. He figured 1/4 cup was good.

‘Once the olive oil and red wine and stirred in well add enough sugar to suit your taste, Then comes my secret! A chicken bullion cube. A big one.’ He smacked a kiss on her bare shoulder. She used the excuse of stirring the ingredients not to hit him with the spoon.

‘3 teaspoons of sugar should be enough but again - it’s to your taste.‘ he added the snowy white crystals.

‘What’s a bullion cube?‘ She asked watching him unwrapped a inch and a half by half inch yellow cube of dry bullion from it’s shiny metal wrapper.

‘It makes soup when you add it to water but I also use it in cooking. CindyMars keeps a bunch of them in her cabin, she loves the stuff.’ He smiled adding the cube to a 1/2 cup of boiling water and stirring until it disappeared turning the water yellow. He left the dish to cool.

‘Last but not least! Wa-la!’ Like a cheap magician Newman’s fingers sprouted a head of garlic dramatically sniffing the bulb he raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. ‘Heaven this stuff!’ He winked. ’And I like a lot of it so we’ll use two huge cloves, remove the papery cover then crush and chop them.’ She liked watching his thin wrists swivel holding the knife, his fingers at work over the pungent while cloves.

‘What about the basil” She asked almost shyly.

‘I like to add that last. I dunno why. It probably doesn’t matter, but, I do.’ Dumping the cooled bullion water over the whole mess Silo waited to see what he’d do with the basilica leaves.


‘Where’re the scissors?’ Newman’s head swiveled looking for the utensil. Silo handed him a small kitchen pair. Newman held the leaves in a thick pile between his thumb and finger snipping leafy green herb into fine slivers letting them drop into the bowl.

‘So, now, tell me what we did and how we did it. Last thing I want is you bringing me sub par Bruschetta one day.’ Slowly stirring the mixture Newman waited.

- ‘8 fresh red ripe firm tomatoes.’ She smiled when he nodded.

- ‘One onion purple and sweet - to every two or three tomatoes.’ Without hesitation she continued ticking off the list in her head on her fingers one by one.

- ‘Dice them up over the bowl so you don‘t loose the juice and add a 1/2 cup of olive oil, a quarter cup red wine vinegar, 3 teaspoons of sugar.’

- ’Then, a big chicken bullion cube dissolved in a 1/2 cup of boiling water - but let it cool before you mix it in.’

- ‘Use scissors to sliver 6 or more large fresh basil leaves into the bowl!’ She nipped the air with the silver utensil and did a little dance.

Nodding as she got the ingredients right Newman crossed his hands over his chest and frowned. ‘What did we forget?’

‘The hot peppers?’ She ventured wondering why he’d had her pick them if they were not going to use them.

‘Bingo!’ Newman grabbed her and wheeled her around under his upturned arm in a quick spin.


Back with the scissors Newman snipped the hot peppers into tiny pieces and like the basil let them fall into the bowl.

‘Stir please.’ He motioned to the wooden spoon with his chin. She stirred.

‘I like a lot of hot peppers. I normally use 4. But, since this is your first time let’s start with one. Now taste.’ Newman spooned the dripping mixture into her mouth and waited for her reaction.

‘Newman, I’m not...joking...’ she said while chewing, ‘this stuff is marvelous!’ Reaching for another taste he swat at the back of her hand with the spoon.

‘Speak to me first of hot-ness oh wise one! You want more jalapenos?’ When she nodded he continued with the scissors until 2 whole fresh jalapenos had fallen into the mixture snip by snip.

‘Stir...and taste...’ He waited before beginning on another hot pepper. When her eyes watered up this time he knew they’d added enough.

‘That’s...great!’ She coughed wiping the tears away.

‘Now what? We just eat it like this?’ Silo help up a spoon ready to dig in.

‘If you're on a diet, which I hope you’re not, you can eat it just like that. But since I like some meat on the bones of my women we’re going to eat it with toasted bread!’ Tweaking her nose Newman stole the bowl of Bruschetta out from under her and popped it into the cooling unit before searching for bread.

Knife poised over the long crusty loaf, ‘You want it sliced thick or thin?’ His eyebrows raised.

‘Thin...’ Her eyes crinkled.

‘Good choice, I was going to slice it thin anyway,’ he laughed and ducked the kitchen towel she threw at his face. ‘Once it‘s cut we‘ll brush it with olive oil, a little sea-salt then bake it until it’s golden brown. It shouldn't take too long with the oven on about 350.’ Filling a cookie pan with thin slices of the day old bread Newman watched Silo drizzle the oil followed by a shower of sea salt.

‘There! Now I’ll pop it into the oven and all we’ll have to do it wait.‘ His eyes never ceased to smile.

‘What do we do while we wait?’ Silo asked expecting something outrageous. Newman didn’t let her down.

‘I’m going to teach you how to kiss.’ He whispered and turned away to shove the cookie sheet covered with bread into the oven.

Before he could turn back to waggle his cooking mitt covered hands at her all monsterish with teasing - She was gone.

~*~ Tabs ~*~

Rushing down the hallway on the heals of her escape Newman pleaded for Silo to stop. He hadn’t meant to push her. To scare her. She should have known he was only teasing about the kiss.

Silo refused to stop until they reached CindyMars quarters.

‘Open the door.’ She panted unconsciously crouched on the balls of her feet in full combat mode.

‘You know I can’t do that Silo these are her private....’ He started but the look in her eye read murder from a pace away. That and he had been in CindyMar’s room earlier and Silo knew it.

‘Thank you!’ She growled ducking under his arm and into the room as soon as Newman punched in the security code and the doors slid open.

‘Where did you find those bullion cubes?’ Hand on her hips she spun in place here eyes darting here and there searching.

‘In her food prep area? Why?’ Truly stunned Newman realized this wasn’t about the kiss.

‘Because I’ve seen them before that’s why! Now please, just show me where you got them!’

He led her to the back of the quarters, opened a storage space and produced a small tin labeled ‘Hershey’ - The cocoa CindyMars used to make her famous cake.


Prying the little round silver top free from the can Silo spilled the contents out over the counter. Her eyes went wide. ‘That’s not chocolate powder!’ She whispered snatching at the dozen or so cubes turning them over in her finger.

‘Chocolate? What are you talking about?’ Newman was serious now all levity from their cooking fest having fled.

‘Newman you found them!’ Silo squealed and threw her arms around his neck giving him a fast hard hug. ‘Look!’ Holding up two yellow cubes Newman noticed they didn’t quite look the same as the other squares.

‘This isn’t chocolate and it isn’t a bullion cube! It’s two of CindyMars teleports!’ Her eyes shining with tears Newman instantly knew what she meant.

While making plans for taking Adam away from the Yydryl Silo had suggested using the teleport system CindyMars had used for eons to move silently and quickly throughout the galaxy and beyond. Chumley had reminded her those teleports was used up long ago - one reason he was sure CindyMars had not returned to Ship. But Silo insisted CindyMars promising there were a few left. For emergencies. But after a day of searching they'd given up to focus on a more conventional way of travel - using a Tumbler.

‘This is what we were looking for!‘ Her voice cracked, ‘And you know what this means don’t you?’ Silo help up one square pocketing the other in the silly apron Newman had forced her to wear.

‘Yes.’ His eyes glowed, ‘We can take Adam and go as soon as Ship gives us the ok.’ His eyes grew misty like he was still cutting onions. ‘And it means we can come back any time we want too.’

‘If Ship hadn’t of asked us to wait...’ They thought and smiling shared the word playing at both their minds, the banner phrase they’d been living under throughout the last three years of their time together on and off the Yydryl.

‘Serendipity!’

.......................................~Bisley Deeps~.......................................

They had been down here too long and Valve Twenty-Three knew that, he also knew that
Tumbler I knew it. The cavern that they had blundered across in their half-assed excavation
was huge, the initial hole had suddenly revealed -what seemed a bottomless abyss and due
to Mr. Jordan's sudden disappearance, Valve and Bernard IV had decided to explore it.
Just a little.



"Ah'll wager a sea resided here at some time" Valve muttered to the box-like Droid that
waited near the Engine Room door, Bernard hated the dark and though his regular task of
checking the main conduits of The Yydryl brought him into some gloomy places, this cavern
was not of his liking. Akron hit the lights and pale circles flitted across the cave walls.

"They'll be wondering where we are" Bernard IV responded with a tone of impatience and
continued monitoring the radar-screen.

.................................

He'd been down here too long and Victor Kershner knew that if he was to continue to run
his many business ventures, then it was time to ascend. Also, it was night time here in Bisley
Deeps, Victor always struggled with the wee-small hours before dawn.
Something to do with the cryogenics -he reckoned.

He was a big man and not just in stature. He stood nearly seven-feet and to someone who
didn't know him, they may see him as fat, that would be a mistake.
Victor had always been a big man, big bones and big muscles. Bisley Deeps was so-far
removed from the places Victor was used to and he would often wonder if his physical health
was suffering because of it.
Granted, the gravity of Khalamzadar IV gave him a slight edge when dealing with the riff-raff
that frequented his residence, his business interests brought him into the dubious circles of
killers and thieves.
But business-is-business and he was top-dog around here.

Was he hiding? A large hand would stroke his bald-head during that thought and he would
know that sleep would evade him for the rest of the night.
Before the cryogenics and before Earth made him the most-wanted man in the solar system,
Victor Kershner would never have been seen as someone who would ever hide from anything.

The arms deals with the United States Military, the invasion of India and the 'clearing' of
Mars' surfaces of The Rand Corporation... Kershner had pulled the strings to bring about
more power and wealth for himself to a point where those that he did these 'favours' for
began to see him as a hostile force.

The end of his time on Earth was all due to that long-dead asshole General Ramey. Ramey,
Shaw and that damned creation of his.

The nightlight came on as he rose from his creaking bed and the laser-driven hologram of a
long-haired creature in a red dress glowed eerily on the small cabinet beside him.
The Boy In A Dress, the strange Being that had caused him to leave the Earth and begin to ply
his skills across the cosmos.



That and to take the 'Big-Sleep'

For most of his waking hours, Victor Kershner ran his organisation without a thought of the
eyeless-freak in the high-heels and when one was dealing with the back-stabbing scum of
this sector, it was judicious to have a full focus on the task at-hand.
But it was these times... these quiet, dark times that the murderer of BIAD's creator would
ponder on whether the Man/Girl was still alive. The slowly-rotating light caused a glint of
the small-metallic object hanging from his wide neck, the souvenir of those bad-old days.
A Cufflink.
.................................



"There are lights down there" Bernard said to Valve and noted the depth that they had
reached, two-miles down and still descending, Akron flicked his lights towards the area
where they hoped the cavern floor resided and with the Foundry-Droid whispering "well,
let's go look-see, huh?" Tumbler I slipped further into the darkness.



.................................
Victor Kershner stood on the balcony of his bedroom and looked out across the sleeping
Bisley Deeps and up into the darkness of the cavern. Dressed in his usual black clothes and
'Preacher' dog collar, he mused at the faint light that glided towards his quiet haven.



"Looks like we've got company" the big man muttered and went to wake Craddock.

~*~ Volare! ~*~

‘So, you ready Jeni?’ Newman asked quietly laying a hand on her shoulder. She went pale, visibly shaken. For all her courage? Saying goodbye to her sisters and hugging Moriah goodbye had taken it’s toll on her bravado, but not her resolve.

‘How long until we’ll return to the Yydryl?’ Her eyes pleaded for an answer but she only licked her lips and with a little smile playing at the corners of her huge lipid eyes assured him she was fine and turned back to Adam. Holding tight to the drugged and bound man seemed to restore some of her equilibrium. Adam needed her. At the end of the day? That’s what mattered.

Silo slipped into her quarters shutting and locking the door behind her joining the trio clustered around a mound of supplies.

‘Ship gives her blessing. We’re ready to go.’ Not meeting her friends eyes Silo focused on the teletab.

‘Closer everyone...and hold on to everything you can. I’m not sure if this thing will work teleporting things we’re not touching. And make sure to have a good tight grip on each other too.’ She added in a rush.

‘Did you say goodbye to Ship and Chumley for all of us?’ Newman’s question made their hearts swell. Leaving the Yydryl wouldn’t be easy for any of them.

‘Yes - not that he noticed. Chum‘s all gaga over his new appearance. He‘s got arms, legs, hands just like Ship...but I can tell you about that later.’ Grabbing the bags at her feet Silo made sure everyone was carrying as much as possible and Jeni had a good hold on Adam.

‘Newman, put your arms around me.’ She met his eyes briefly over the top of Jeni’s head. The love shinning from her deep violet iris’s nearly toppled him to the floor.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He winked.

Silo whispered something over the tab. The darkened room exploded with light - millions of tiny stars showing down trailing sparks that went out one by one by one.

..................................~Nuthin' But A Family Thing~...............................

Death limped slowly over to where Pandora lay half-naked on her lavish bed and nodded
in agreement. "There are many benefits to your plan -my dear, but if you recall, it was you
who approached my brother with amorous thoughts" The deep voice vibrated through
the luxurious chaise and the frowning-female that had broken the Reaper's heart let
out a deep breath.



"I couldn't help myself, the bastard's will was too strong" Pandora hissed and looked
away into the darkened surroundings of Death's Library. The tall robed-figure that had
barely survived Nenothtu's rage, watched her eyes for any clue to what had really
happened.

An eternity slid by before the night-haired beauty spoke again.

"You must help me... you loved me once and I will show that you can love me again"
Pandora whispered and rose from the silken-sheets. Without care of her nakedness,
she walked past her once-darling and sat at the oddly-fashioned Vanity Table.

The water-stained mirror showed an angry woman, a woman scorned and a vixen
who wanted revenge. The bone-twisted frame of the large cheval glass was adorned with
hanging Kraffen-chained necklaces of diamonds and brilliant Terrinpols.

The table that held the window of reflections groaned with the weight of bottles and
jars of strange-coloured balms and creams, Pandora's secrets lay within those vials of
magic.

Death's cowl showed nothing but blackness as he decided that the Keeper of Lost Hope
would say no more and so, he sidled over to the large stone lecturn.
Boy In A Dress, the the fallen-brother that had disgarded his mantle as OverLord Of Hell on
a no-account planet just to be with his puny carbon-based 'friends' Death caressed the
smooth surface of the plinth as his mind wondered on the idiotic act.

To make matters worse, the Man/Girl had laid with his own love and now a price had been
paid.

The Book Of Souls lay open and has Death's bony-finger followed the scrolling revelations
of who had passed over, a name swam forward to halt the Reaper's perusal.

'Darling' that was all that written, just 'Darling' with a curling tail of the 'g' implying an impish
personality. Death twisted the sackcloth-hood and gazed at the temptress at the table.
"They have lost one of their females" the tomb-gravelled voice informed Pandora and this
brought those venomous eyes to stare via the mirror.

"Is it Silo13...? Is it the Bio-Wraith?" Pandora spat and rose from her resigned posture, the
faint-light from the single candle made her lips shine like washed-cherries.

"Dress yourself..." Death snapped and moved away from the chipped-stone pillar, even
though his heart was nothing more than a husk, a forgotten thing wrapped in spider-web
and moth nests, the pain of his betrayed-love still brought the foreign-taste of copper-spit.

"...We have cold dishes to serve" came the order and received an agreeing nod from his
coal-haired cohort.
Slipping into a verivan-silk skin-hugging one-piece with tiny shards of Duranium placed to
indicate the constellation that Neno's home resided, Pandora strode towards the red-laced
adorned crib and lifted the quiet baby,
"Daddy needs to pay" she cooed.

...........................................~Back-Tracking A Little~.......................................

"I was in Muroc, yes... and what I saw told me that we are no longer alone
in the galaxies" the man with the out-of-place shoulder-length hair assured
the moderator of the radio show.

Gerald Light's eyes showed that his admission to being with Dwight Eisenhower's
entourage at an Air Base in California was a proud statement, that or he'd been
drinking before coming on-air.
Sadly, it was the latter.

The Disc-Jockey offered a half-smile and told the listeners that they would return
after these messages.
It was 1965 and Gerald Light was dying.
......................................................

It had been 1954 and the colourful mystic that boasted about out-of-body-
experiences being a normal appendage of reality, was enjoying a cold swim in
the Motel pool.
The rains were busying themselves further East and the black-haired author and
Lecturer pondered what the future held for him.

His routine was to take a morning dip whenever he had the opportunity and after
finding the letter on the dirty carpet at the foot of his motel room door, he now
followed that routine with less enthusiasm than usual.

An unusual desert wind hustled around the chipped-paved area that served as a
patio for the residents to rest on canvas-chairs and with it being mid-week,
Gerald watched the dust-devils cavort across the cracked Mojave Desert -alone.
The dry sound of skittering-sand shifting across the metal table where his 'pick-me
-up' waited, reached Gerald's ears as Beetles scampering over his coffin.

"I should write again" he muttered to himself and let his emotionless stare track the
dancing demons.
A passing Room-Maid may wonder if the sad-looking middle-aged man with the
unusually black shoulder-length hair sitting like a rebuked school boy in the shallow
-end of a dirt-flecked swimming pool on an overcast Wednesday -may have received
some bad news.
The letter... the letter was the bad news.

He had returned from his visit of Franklin Allen's home, the palatial house that was
still a poor-cousin of Allen's employee's alcazar residence - that of Mr. William Randolph
Hearst.
Gerald could have stayed there, Franklin had plenty of room and at times, the Reporter
seemed to enjoy Light's strange beliefs and odd manner.
But the loneliness of the bottle called for him to find a forgotten place, a location where
he could sulk and wallow.

Stepping out of the water into the cool air, Gerald lumbered to the table and his drink.
The water-rings had spread on the letter that fluttered like a trapped bird beneath the
tall glass of Scotch and ice.
Maybe he should let it be hurled away across the desert?
Maybe he should follow it?

President Eisenhower would be in Palm Springs on Saturday and the letter reported that
Gerald Light should be there too. Franklin Allen was also 'requested' to be there and without
an explanation, the epistle that held the White House Seal and showed Ike's signature, told
him that Muroc Air Base would be their final destination.

The glass continued to hold the letter from a journey into the stunted branches of the Joshua
trees, but now sat half-empty... or half-full to some.
Gerald sighed through his teeth and felt the false-warmth spread across his body.
The young Mexican-girl with the stained apron and moon-face brought another glass and without
any verbal exchange, shuffled back to the one-storey building called 'The Desert Rest'
Gerald Light sighed again and turned his gaze back to the desert.
Boy In A Dress gazed back.


......................................................

"...And we're back with our guest tonight, Mr. Gerald Light" the Presenter mumbled into the
microphone. "Mr. Light...? Did you actually see aliens?" he said with a faux-tone of interest.
The room that was comprised of multi-holed boards on the walls and a large window that offered
a view of a sweet-young thing in an alarmingly low-cut mohair sweater playing with switches and
moving vinyl records from one place to another.
"Eisenhower, myself and several others did have contact with a race from the stars" Gerald said
and felt the familiar feel of a thick-mucus-filled throat, he needed a drink.

(Continued Below)

(Continued From Above)

"I need a drink" Gerald Light whispered as the long-fringed creature with the insane grin and the
red dress leaned against the rusty fence of the patio, he maybe needed two -he corrected.
"I am Boy In A Dress... I think I've taken a wrong turn!" the Man/Girl said lightly and his long-red
nails clittered on the paint-peeling railings. Gerald snatched the tumbler and poured the firewater
down his throat.
"You will need this..." BIAD said easily and Gerald's eyes widened behind the glass as the demon
with no eyes caught the escaping letter with his hair. "...You are the only qualified person to deal
with what is coming" he added.

The scudding clouds passed over the pair and headed towards Las Vegas, there was rain in those
clouds -Gerald thought as he finished his scotch.
......................................................

The Radio Show went poorly and only two listeners rang in with questions. Gerald Light was
now reduced to being one of the crazy folk that saw little-green men around every corner.
The latest news of Ranger 8 crashing on the Moon had brought some interest in what may be
out there in space, but Gerald knew that the subject of life from elsewhere was rated alongside
Carnival freaks and seances.
Vietnam was now centre-stage.
......................................................

"I don't have much time..." Boy In A Dress said and leaned over to pass the letter back "...But I
will visit again tonight" he said and noticed the dark-haired man staring at his cleavage.
"Don't be fooled Mr. Light, what awaits out there will shock even you" the weird Being warned
and in the blink-of-an-eye, he vanished.
The fourth scotch and ice made the 'visit' of the monster from the Mojave seem a little easier to
accept and for the rest of that dull Wednesday, Gerald pondered what the evening would bring.


......................................................

"Another?" the Barman with the boxer's nose asked and twisted his features to show it was an
obvious question. Gerald Light nodded and thought about what the Boy In A Dress had told him
on that quiet night in 1954.

..............................................~Gerald Gets The Goods~.........................................


The lights had just come on in the small town in the Californian desert, the evening had
crept in and began its cooling process and the ground-hugging structures would be grateful
for it.

April in the Mojave was sprinkled with Pacific storms coming in from the ocean and
time-slowing heat. May and June would be less kind and Gerald Light knew he would be
flying back to New York by the time the baking sun came a-calling.

The only Gas Station in the town sat next to the only Motel in the town and the only
Psychic in the town sat in one and watched the other. He was watching for the visitor.
The bottle looked on from the kidney-shaped table near the window. Gerald had fought
the Devil that sneered from within that dark bottle and failed. Now with the Booze-Monkey
sitting comfortably on his shoulder, he watched for the Boy In A Dress.

From the Motel-Manager's Office on the otherside of the parking-area, a radio pumped out
Johnny Ray's 'Such A Night' and Gerald breathed in deeply at the irony of it all. He glanced
at the bottle of scotch and licked his lips, "Gimme a break" he hissed and smiled in the dark
room.

Boy In A Dress came trip-trip-trapping across the Gas Station's forecourt around nine o'clock,
the high-heels clicked like an empty pistol and the sound brought the grizzled Manager of
The Desert Rest to his doorway for a look.



Gerald smiled in the half-light that shone in from the Gas Station and imagined the bitter-old
guy arriving at the conclusion that the weird-guy in No.38 had a call-girl visiting.
With a sniff, the Pyschic wondered if an extra couple of bucks would go on his bill to keep
the Manager's mouth shut.
Call/Girl -Man/Girl... again the tired-man who knew that there was more than just this reality
smiled to himself.

BIAD tapped a long finger-nail on the door, the idea that it wouldn't be No.38 had never
occurred to him and since he had first slipped away on that day in the Utah laboratory, he
knew that '38' would be the key to a lot of his future.
The scuffed door with that number on it opened and a gaunt face appeared.

"Just who are you?" Gerald whispered and analysed the odd-creature smiling at him.
The faded-orange curtains were closed and the small bedside lamp struggled to make the
room feel relaxed. The whole scene seemed seedy -BIAD would call it, if he knew what
seedy meant. "I belong to another place... another place in time" the bare-shouldered
stranger said has he walked to the doorway that led to the bathroom.
Gerald Light glanced at the quarter-full bottle and wondered what the evening held for
him.

Even though the man who was respected for his writings enjoyed an easy life, his beliefs
were doubted by the average man-in-the-street. That had always galled him.

He had felt that another 'somewhere' waited just out of sight and if one wished to call it
The Astral Plane, Out-Of-Body Experiences or Beyond The Great Veil, Gerald felt that he
had tapped that 'somewhere'... had tasted the other-place.

It had only been recently that the Government and especially the Military -had shown an
interest in his work and now, the letter from The President seemed to show that his skills
as a mystic would be called upon.

"Listen to what I am about to tell you, Mr. Light... time is precious and I have so-little of
it" BIAD said solemnly. Gerald sucked in a deep-breath and wished that he smoked.
"On Saturday evening, you and your President will be taken to Edwards Air Base..."
The struggling clairvoyant took it well really and that quarter-full bottle stayed quarter-full
as BIAD told his tale.

As the crazy-faced creature that had browsed the well-thumbed magazines on the table
with his hair, that had peeked through the faded curtains and implied that he had eyes
-had left the Motel room, the stranger known as BIAD had turned to the drawn-featured
Gerald Light.

"Whatever happens, you must discover where they took the alien known as Mucklebones"
the Man/Girl whispered. "She's been down here a long time and she needs to get back"
The Gas Station lights caused the Boy In A Dress to become a silhouette and the man from
Room 38 looked out at the dark shape with the magic hair.

BIAD said one more thing before he left and it was this that Gerald now muttered to himself
in the year of 1965 and in a smoky Bar on the Nevada state-line.
"Jenkins must drive to Odgen... NOT Provo"

Dugway was not far from here -he thought and stumbled to where his car waited.
It was snowing again.

............................................~The Crook, The General And Me~......................................

All that Boy In A Dress had to do was to make it to Jenkins' car, all he had to do was
to keep low, keep the vehicle between him and the Sentry-Post and the bare -shouldered
creature standing behind the Maintenance Shed in the snow -would be free of this place.
That's all he had to do.

The Guards at the East Gate would change at 7.01pm and during the minute that clipboards
were ticked and information was exchanged, BIAD would leave small high-heel prints in the
whiteness all the way to the Janitor's car that sat near the the only building that BIAD had
never been in, Warehouse 38.

Twenty-yards east and those footprints would stop at the trunk of Jenkin's battered sedan.
That's all he had to do.

......................................................
The flurries had kept up all afternoon and after the Scientists had done their tests
inside the Reactor Room, Professor Shaw had assured his colleagues that the unconcious
subject that hung bare-chested from the test-table would be up-and-about for more torture
by the next day.
Well, maybe he didn't quite use those words.

Charles Shaw chewed his pinky-fingernail and made a silent prayer that the lad would
make it. There was a whole new world out there for him to explore and with seeing Ramey
talking to that big-bald gangster-type, he would be relieved when he heard that
BIAD had gone.

The General was hardly ever at the facility these days, the Government inquiries about
spending, the regular trips out to Oregon -or somewhere in the NorthWest and the jaunts
with the same stranger down to Fort Hood -Texas, Charles sometimes wondered what would
become of the Dugway Proving Ground.

......................................................
If Boy In A Dress hadn't gave-in to his need to clean things, he would have never known what
General Ramey and the Scientists were aspiring to do. If Boy In A Dress hadn't given-in to his
need to clean things, it may have been that Professor Charles Shaw may never have been
murdered.
Damn them dirty windows.

There must have been about thirty of them in the gloomy warehouse, the odd blue
illumination from above made the sight of the 'BIAD-bots' seem even-more surreal.
Hair, nails and maniac-grin, the hermaphrodite held his breath as he oggled the waiting
machines in their short dresses.



......................................................
The snow was getting heavy and that was a good sign, the East Gate seemed a remote
place and Jenkins was hoping that the Guards would just rush him through as normal.
The thermos-flask was empty and he didn't dare switch the heater on, he breathed through
his nose and hoped again.
This time -he hoped that the kid was close.

......................................................
General Ramey moved his cigar from his right hand to his left and shook Kershner's huge
mitt, he would take twelve of the automatons and the deal would take place on Sunday.
The long Nissen hut housed thirty-eight of the Boy In A Dress Drones, capable of performing
all of the functions the organic original could do, but without the hassle.
It was the organic-part that the scientists had struggled with.

The crag-faced Officer's breath plumed in the still air of the warehouse as Kershner perused
the standing machines, as his large shadow passed each one, the blind-faces looked up and
smiled.

"I take it that the grinning is necessary?" Victor Kershner growled and offered a brooding
glance towards the General waiting at the end of the first row. Ramey cleared his throat
and fumbled in his pocket for his lighter.
"It's off-putting and the feature would make it difficult to perceive what they are thinking"
the answer came from behind the swirling cigar-smoke, Kershner shrugged and said nothing.

......................................................
"I am Number Thirty-Eight..." the metallic-skinned robot cooed and leaned closer to the
cracked pane of the window "...I don't have much time -as my superiors will be here
shortly" BIAD nodded and whispered "I understand, but you don't really have superiors.
They're just people who like to control others" and imitated the smiling machine.
Snowflakes peppered BIAD's hair as he stood near the semi-circular building, he knew he
should be on his way to Jenkins' car, but the idea of these steel look-a-likes being kept
in a grungy warehouse played on his feelings.
He wanted to help them escape.

..........................~Throwing Snowballs At The Moon?~.........................

The stupid-kid was heading for the landing strip and that could only mean
one thing -thought General Ramey and rubbed more dirt from the window
with his coat sleeve.
The snow was coming in from an angle now, the wind had picked up and
even though there were no flights today, the cold-eyed General wondered if
a small plane may just slip-in and pick up Shaw's freak of nature.
A plane with a Ruskie aboard.
Maybe it was time to bring the final decision foward a little.

......................................................
BIAD lay on his back in the trunk of Jenkins' car and thought about the letter
that No.38 had asked him to take, the folded envelope was now jammed down
his dress and we'll leave it at that.
"It's a love-letter..." the Droid had said softly and with a husky-tone that wasn't
lost on the Man/Girl at the window. "...Somewhere out there, a fellow-artificial is
waiting and he is waiting for me"
Boy In A Dress had merely nodded and plucked the envelope from the crack in
the glass.

......................................................
"There's only thirty-seven" said Victor Kershner and brought his hairless brows
together to imply that the statement could also be perceived as a question.
The wide-shouldered man didn't do usually business this way, but when dealing
with the Military, it was always wise to show a level of trust and show-up personally.
That's because he didn't trust Ramey.

The last transaction at Fort Hood would testify that this ribbon-adorned, cigar-chompin'
thief held no favourites. The inventory was correct, it was just the amount of actual
weapons in the crates were... shall we say dubious?
True, Kershner was only buying twelve of these things, but if Ramey said there were
thirty-eight and one of the big-busomed robots were missing, then who is to say the
flinty-eyed career man wouldn't pull-a-fast-one and attempt to short-change him again.

The General breathed in deeply and looked away from the window, the big-b*stard was
dragging his feet on the deal -he thought and urging the cigar embers alight, he smiled
snake-like at the huge shadow waiting in lesser shadows.
"The eggheads are always runnin' tests on these things, don't worry about it" he rasped
and hoped his relaxed gait would sell his lie, yet somewhere in his dark thoughts, he
wondered where the trumped-up 'Sally-does-what-you-want' doll had gone.
The left-side of his brain also pondered on that grinning devil out there in the snow.

......................................................

Jenkins bumbled up to the Gate House and wound-down the window of his car,
the young soldier with the severely-cut hair watched the dented-clunker slow to a halt.
"You're late Jenks..." Blake said easily as he approached the snow-burdened sedan with
his clipboard "...A U-bend playing up?!" he snorted and slid the board towards the smiling
Brit.
Jenkins nodded to show that he appreciated the humour and scrawled his name on the
snow-dotted paper, the wind was picking up and the flakes were coming-in sideways.
"I've got two blocked karzies to see-to before I get me-supper" he said loudly and felt his
armpits suddenly become damp as a puzzled expression came over Blake's face.
"What the hell is a karzy?" the young man sneered and offered a pair of questioning eyebrows.

"Oh... er, that's Limey-speak for toilet" Jenkins smiled weakly and stretched his neck to
imply he was tired. Blake shook his head and waved the crazy Englishman out of the East
Gate.
The crazy Englishman was still sweating as he pulled onto the road that would take him to
Provo, Professor Shaw had reasoned that this town was the best option to get BIAD away
from the cruel experiments.

Nobody saw the small red-nailed hand lift the trunk-lid slightly open and drop the photograph
onto the gravelled track, the same-nobody saw the wind blow it into a snow-filling culvert.



(Continued Below)

(Continued from Guess-where!)

Number 38 could see why the stranger who looked remarkably like herself and her fellow-
droids -had suggested the escape route across the landing-strip, the fence that encircled
the Proving Ground slipped behind a struggling growth of pine trees and with the falling
snow, it would give the newly-freed automaton time to scale the barbed-mesh.
Using her 'false-skin' filter would also confuse any wandering grunt -she gambled and neared
the delapidated barb-wire boundary.


"So the lunatic-child of the good-Professor has decided to leave, huh?" General Ramey said
and forced himself not to reveal his panting. The exertion of running after the red-dressed freak
was a fairly-new feeling as he hadn't exercised since 61.
The 'not-very-nice' feeling of Kershner nearing his shoulder brought the gun-pointing Ramey
from his enjoyment of putting down the animal that was so-called 'indestructable'

Kershner must be also stifling his laboured-breathing Ramey thought and the cold temperature
has stopped any perspiration on his bald head. Yeah, that must be it -he urged himself.
No. 38's focus was on those thin trees and so, when a snow-hidden length of wire tripped her,
the human-looking Droid collapsed and giggled at the new event.

"See the monster...? that was the original that Shaw found" the General hissed over his shoulder
towards Victor Kershner, the next few seconds would show that any doubts on his strength would
dissipate like the rolling report of his pistol -Ramey smiled to himself.

"Was...?" the big man in the dark attire questioned and the General squeezed the trigger.



......................................................

Number 38 lay still and quickly ran diagnostics to discover what had gone wrong, it would
be a few seconds later that the whirring-robot heard the small-wee voice.
"Lay still 38... you will be okay" the old-wise sound assured and the grinning snow-covered
Droid did as-asked.

"....like I said, you can bombard the organic-queer with gamma rays and nerve gases, but put a
bullet in his neck and the game is over" the General smiled lop-sided and Kershner saw his
pencil-thin moustache twist like a rearing catapillar.
Another shot rang out and the prone Boy In A Dress twitched once more and then nothing,
Ramey sighed his contentedness, he hated that bare-assed thing.



The crunching -footfalls of the receding men sounded to The Splitter like shovel-fulls of soil
being dropped on a coffin lid, No.38 was still active, but doing what she was asked.
"They'll be gone soon and you can be on your way" he whispered and wondered why he
would whisper when he was in the robot's head. Ten minutes ticked by.

With only the wind offering the odd-gust, the female-assigned-No.38 sat up and scanned the
area. "I can't see you" she stated and ran Two, Six and Eight testing modules on her sensors.
The Splitter -also known as Yeneth, slowly faded into view and waited for the shapely- tin drum
to scan his appearance.
"Nothing" No.38 said with a stunned tone and The Splitter reached up to pat the confused Droid
on the shoulder.



"We have a long way to go together and there's a lot to learn..." the Grey Time Mechanic said
with a smile, his big eyes shone with pride at the beginning of 38's journey. "... Also, Gerald
will be needing assistance" he said cryptically.

Nenothtu ran ahead of the pack through the ankle deep sludge of the swamp the Starwolf rested in and slipped the mooring lines that held her from sinking. Sslar, in true Xang Cat fashion, didn't much care for the swamp sludge, and tried to gingerly pick her way through, shaking first this paw and then the next with each step to try to free it of the clingy mess, and only meeting partial success. Throughout the ordeal, Tibbs sat atop Sslar white-eyed, despairing that with every shake of a paw he might be dumped into the goo himself. BIAD, bringing up the rear, picked his way daintily through the viscous mess as if he were strolling the catwalk.

After slipping the moorings, neno ran to the hatch to fling it open, only to find it locked against him. "Damn" he muttered under his breath, but realized he had told Margo to lock 'er down, and she had done just that. "Good girl" he mumbled as he jammed his thumbprint against the access plate and the hatch whooshed open.

Ascending the gangway ladder two rungs at a time to the upper deck, neno was startled to see Margo lounging in one of the cockpit chairs, still in the altogether. "Thought I tol' ye to git some clothes on, woman!" he growled.

Ignoring the growling part, Margo simply responded "Why neno! You'd think you had never seen a grown cyborg naked before!"

"I reckon I have, but we've got company on the way up. Mebbe THEY haven't, y'know?"

Not to be deterred, Margo reasoned "Well if they haven't then they won't know what they're seeing, and if they have, well, then I can't be corrupting them, so either way no harm done."

"Yeah. You can try your logic on poor ol' Tibbs as he's clutching at his chest and falling to the deck, or you kin git yer damned clothes on like I tol' ya!"

"Spoil sport" Margo chided as she headed for the bunk to get dressed.

"Tease" neno shot back at her while scanning the readouts for the mystery tumbler.

As Margo was getting dressed she called forward from the hallway "Nope. A tease won't make good on..." but nenothtu cut her off. He could see where that was going, and this wasn't the time for it.

"I don't see no tumbler bearing down on us. Where'd it go?"

"Into the ground" she said.

"it landed?"

"No." Margo replied. "INTO the ground."

"It crashed?"

"No" Margo said. she was getting tired of this word game. "INTO the ground. There's no debris field, no crash, it just hit the ground and vanished."

"Tunnels all over the place in these city ruins" neno observed. "probbly hit a soft spot and fell through. That'll be the end of it, likely." By then Margo had finished dressing, and sat in one of the other cockpit seats pouting.

BIAD poked his head around the gangway hatch and remarked "It's sealed up again" in that casual manner of his before getting lost in an old nautical painting hanging over the captain's bunk just aft of the cockpit.

"Aiight Margo. Time for another flying lesson" neno said. "I want you to take 'er up and park right over that tallest spire sticking up out of the city ruins through the treetops."

"That's kind of intricate. Why can't YOU do that?" Margo asked.

"Because I'm going to be hanging from a spider rig underneath the boat." neno replied.

...................~The 60's... If You Remember Them, You Weren't There~..................

Gerald Light looked at the back of the bald-head of the man driving the struggling
car and then at the odd creature in the passenger seat, the Man/Girl that had visited
him at the Motel room -so many years ago.
The snowstorm had hurried on northwards and left central Utah to it's own devices,
the three occupants of the car hoped that they also would be left alone to get to Ogden.

How he had actually flagged the correct car down on that road to Grantsville -was
something that still stuck in Light's craw, maybe his Spirit-Guide was back with him
-he mused and felt for his hip flask.

"Time is a strange thing..." Jenkins commented and glanced in the rear-view mirror,
"...the twists and turns of it all, huh?" and offered a small smile at the shadowed
figure in the back seat. Gerald raised his eyebrows to show that was truly puzzling,
but said nothing.
It was when the wide-grin of Boy In A Dress turned to him and those very-red lips
opened to speak, that Gerald's wool-gathering fell away like the drifts at the roadside.

"So I actually came to see you in a desert Motel in 1954 and asked you to help me in
another place and in 1965?" BIAD asked touched his hair as if he wished to comb his
fingers through it.
"Even though to some, my account may seem a little odd to the average man-in-the-
street, I assure you that a Being -such like yourself did visit me in that place..." Gerald
spoke in his 'Lecture voice "...and it's only due to my unique insights into the different
planes of reality, that I could deal with that incident"
Light felt it prudent not to mention that fact that he was drunk again on that particular
day.
BIAD nodded slowly and looked over at the middle-aged Englishman at the wheel,
Jenkins glanced again into the rear-view mirror and showed features that doubted
the older man in the back-seat with unnatural-black hair.
The eyeless hermaphrodite gave-in to his wants and began to pull his red nails through
his own black tresses, Gerald's eyes narrowed slightly and remembered what those strands
could do.

The dying man who had wrote the infamous letter announcing that he, President
Eisenhower and several prominent businessmen -had entertained a visit from aliens
from another world, spoke in lighter tones as he continued.

"You appeared out of nowhere and asked me to tell you to go to Ogden and not Provo"
he answered and thought he could taste blood, his damned lungs were playing-up
again. The part about the Gray that he had encountered, Gerald kept to himself, the
grizzly-old bitch had escaped and that was all that counted.
"Well, I'm certain we haven't met before" the Man/Girl said softly and turned back to look
out at the snow-rucked road, the smile faded into a look of puzzled-concern.

The Salt Lake stretched away into the night and as Gerald peered out at the 'Dead Sea'
he recalled the visit from Boy In A Dress and the request to discover an alien called
'Mucklebones' and it's whereabouts.
..........................................................

Muroc Air Force Base -1954.
Gerald waited at the side of the airstrip and shivered in the February evening, Franklin
Allen, Edwin Nourse and Bishop MacIntyre waited with him.
The small plane that droned into view supposedly carried President Eisenhower and
Gerald wondered why such an illustrious set of people would be called together in
such a clandestine way.

The Mystic-cum-Clairvoyant knew that the event had something to do with an 'Earth
-shattering' revelation and though his Tarot cards, rune pebbles and the small pouch
of bones that he had acquired from a Inuit Medicine-Man -had forecast that his future
would change for the better. Gerald frowned as the last of the sunlight passed over the
horizon and watched the light aircraft bump softly onto the tarmac.
..........................................................

As the city of Ogden blazed it's streetlights to show the fleeing trio that since the trapper
known as Miles Goodyear established it in 1846, the citizens had welcomed one-and-all to
it's streets, Boy In A Dress, Gerald Light the Seance-King and Jenkins the getaway-driver
trundled down Main Street without such optimism and parked in front of Peacock's Cafe.

"I have no information that will assist us further" the deep voice from the rear-seat said
as the sedan's engined ticked in it's cooling.

The front-seat passengers said nothing.

(Continued Below)

(Continued From Above)

"Mr. President, may I introduce you to our guests who will help in evaluating how the
next couple of hours will impact on today's society..." Colonel Ingram said as Ike placed
his overcoat over his forearm, the temperature had dropped, but Mr. Eisenhower knew
that first-impressions counted and so, watching the pilot push the small plane's door
closed, the President ignored the cooling Californian evening.

"Are the Aliens here?" he asked easily without looking at the fawning Ingram, even though
Ike wore a civilian suit, the uniformed-Colonel gave no indication that he held sway in the
small party.
Apart from the soldiers that made-up a corridor towards the waiting men, the Muroc air
-strip was a desolate place and so, Dwight Eisenhower wondered where the damned-
creatures were hiding.

This would be his second interaction with these Beings and after the fiasco at Carswell
in '48' he wasn't enthusiastic about dealing with them again. Ike held-in a small smile as he
saw the three waiting men with solomn-expressions.

Colonel Ingram snapped to attention as he and his President came before the people who
would get the message out to the rest of the world... that the aliens were here.
..........................................................

Boy In A Dress leaned slightly on the hood of Jenkins' car and watched the stranger that had
waved frantically on that lonely road from Dugway -walk away from the lit-window of the
cafe front, Gerald Light had accomplished his task.

"Where will you go?" BIAD had asked him as the sick-looking old man had struggled out of
the car, the Man/Girl thought he spotted blood on Light's bottom-lip. The Mystic now turned
to the smiling young-creature and tried to force the pain he was feeling away.

"Don't worry yourself -good Sir, I believe that the forces that hold this universe together will
reward me for my actions this evening... I will be safe" he assured the red-dressed oddity
with a kind voice.
Jenkins had gone inside the Peacock cafe and was getting three coffees, the Janitor was also
eyeing a bar of Hersheys for the kid.

Gerald glanced at the small man through the plate-glass window and then stepped close to
Boy In A Dress, the old man carried his pain well -BIAD thought to himself.
"I need the letter..." Gerald whispered "...it's important" and stifled a cough, the etheric -
Being that had intoduced himself as 'The Splitter' had insisted that he would obtain it and
now, Gerald was hopefully accomplishing the final-part of the quest.

BIAD said nothing as he pulled the warm-paper from his cleavage, Gerald had the decency
to not watch the action and kept his eyes on the wide-mouthed face.

And so, the stranger with the long-black hair and the Scotch-smelling breath, walked away
into the darkness and BIAD nodded at the fading figure in the gloom, he wasn't sure why and
then whispered "thank you"

Jenkins looked down the Main Street of Ogden also and kept his eyes on the shadows that
lay there as he passed BIAD a hot coffee. "We better be gettin'-gone' he muttered and went
to the driver's-side of his car.

The dented-car reversed and coughed it's way towards whatever the future held for the enigmatic
Janitor and his passenger. As the blood-red rear-lights slipped around the corner, Gerald collapsed
against into overgrown waste ground with his own coughing fit.

"Take me, if you wish..." the mystic croaked and reached for his flask, cold breath billowed out in
his endeavours. "...You are the Reaper that holds all in those ivory fingers" Gerald pronouced the
'R' with a deep-rolling.
It seemed that what colours existed in those stunted-bushes and struggling saw-grass, began to
fade as he gazed around at his surroundings
"It's time" were his final words and he lowered his head to prepare himself to die.



The Splitter looked on from the shadows among the foliage and as Death did has Mr. Gerald
Light suggested and a low-rattle came from the oratory-enjoying clairvoyant, the Time Mechanic
stepped forward and plucked the creased-letter AND the bag of future-telling bones from the dead
man's pocket.



Gerald Light, the man who had seen the dimension-shifting craft and lifeforms from another
world, who had watched his peers look-on in awe at the scene of a magical-type of technology.
Who had convinced President Eisenhower to go to the people with the news that first-contact
had been made -and then to see certain elements thwart that revelation.

The Mystic that held audiences in rapture with his lectures about the after-life and enjoyed the
trappings that came with the fame... died. Just died.

The Splitter bowed once and then slipped out of the reality, Droid-38 was still waiting in the
snow further West and he had a letter to deliver.



Boy In A Dress' promise to Call-Me-Kenneth was coming true.

Margo was aghast. "You're going to WHAT?"

"Hang from a spider rig."

"Underneath the boat."

"Yes, underneath the boat! Can't very well hang ABOVE it!"

"And you want me to drive - and to hover it."

"Yes. And don't smack me into the building. I can do that well enough myself" neno observed.

"You're crazy" Margo accused.

"So? I can't get killed. What's the problem?"

Margo rolled her eyes at him before replying "Killed or not, it's a long way down from up there, and that fall couldn't leave any pleasant results. It'll hurt at least, and probably leave some marks."

Nenothtu shrugged, and turned to leave the cockpit and get the spider rig ready for the descent. he never saw the concerned look Margo shot his way as she muttered "The man is crazy. Just nuts. There isn't any hope for him at all."

==========================================================================

Several minutes later, the Starwolf hovered over the tallest spire in the ruined city with Margo nervously at the helm. Nenothtu dangled at the end of a cable tether suspended from a cargo gantry of the Starwolf lowering himself incrementally towards the spire.

Reaching the roof, neno was chagrined to find that there was no access to the building from there, either, that was not locked and sealed. "We'll see 'bout that" he mumbled as he unfastened the cable from his harness and refastened it to an access port in the rooftop that was sealed with apparently millennia of rust, dirt, and crud. He ran the cable through a metal loop in the hatchway apparently made for such things, and re-snapped the snap link back around the cable, forming a loop.

"Lift, Margo. There's gonna be some resistance, and probably a sudden give, so be ready for it to happen and counter it so's ye don't fly off into the wild green yonder."

"Lift?" Margo queried.

"Yes, dear. LIFT. We're snatching a door off it's hinges so I can get inside the building. Starwolf seems the most convenient for that, since I never brought any 'splosives down here with me, and you're driving Starwolf. See how that works? I've tied off the cable to the entry. You just apply lift and pop the top."

"Won't it break something?" Margo asked.

"That's the whole point" neno replied. "We MEAN to break something - in this case, an entry way into this building."

"Can't you just set that plaque on the rooftop without going inside?" Margo sounded concerned. She seemed not to like this idea even a little bit.

"Sure I can" neno said "and probably WILL, but I'm going inside regardless of all that. This is the tallest building around, probably has an excellent view for miles, and may ver' well make for a grand base of operations here. I need to go in and check that out, see if it will work."

"You don't need that... we have Starwolf for a base of operations..."

Kali. Morrigan, and Harvey the Big White Rabbit! neno thought. Women! Can't live with 'em, and can't talk to 'em either! "Starwolf: this is your CAPTAIN speaking... got that? Your CAPTAIN - the guy who says what to do... do what I just told you to do, or I'll fire the lot of you and hire another crew!" It was an empty threat of course - the "flight crew" really consisted solely of he and Margo at the moment, and he'd hired neither, nor could he fire either.

Margo picked up on that "Can't fire slaves - you've got to sell us." But she proceeded to do what he'd said, merely balking to lodge her protest.

"Sell you hell! I'll trade you in on two economy sport models, if you don't get the lead out and pop this door!" The cable went taught as the slack was jerked out of it, and neno barely had time to dive for cover before the tighened line popped the access panel out of the roof and swung it wildly around like a mace at the end of a medieval chain. Adjusting channels, neno had BIAD reel in the cable and attached door to unfasten it and lower a cargo net at the end of the cable. A net was much softer if it was swung into you, and a lot handier for retrieving spoils.

Entering the building, neno found a stairwell running downward, apparently for roof access only for a long gone maintenance crew. Easing down the stairs, he found a doorway on the landing at the bottom. The door wouldn't budge when he pushed, but fairly flew open when he leaned back and kicked it in the center. It had been locked, but was of flimsy construction, such that applying sudden pressure to the center of the door flexed it enough to pop the bolt out of the jamb.

Nenothtu entered the room on the other side, and was mildly surprised to find the room was well lit via sunlight blazing in through unbroken windows. It had apparently been, at one time, a room in a suite of living quarters. The place was unkempt, as if a bachelor had lived there. "Odd that a man could live in the penthouse, and not be able to afford a maid" neno mumbled into the dusty echoing room.

He explored the suite, finding mostly bits and pieces of disused technology from the civilization that once was, together with some more primitive sorts of low-tech. There appeared to not be much there that was usable to him, although at one point during his time marooned on the planet, he would have killed to get his hands on it. He was in a bit better shape now.

In one room, neno found a grisly sight. A very large window in the room looked out over the expanse below, giving a wide view as he suspected it would, but it also illuminated the mummified husk of what had once been a relatively recognizable humanoid. The former occupant of the suite lay in repose in a cot, as if he had simply laid down there and gone to sleep, never to reawaken. The man - for neno had no doubt it had once been a man - had been dead so long that even the smell of death had vacated the room. Long gray hair and a long gray beard showed that the man had died at an advanced age, but there were no clues as to his identity that neno could read. Neatly stacked on a desk against the opposite wall from the cot were a stack of books. Nenothtu perused them, and found that they were handwritten volumes on what had once been blank pages, but had been filled over what appeared to have been years, perhaps by the very mummified hand that now lay in estate for all eternity.

Neno gathered the books even though he couldn't read them, and packed them into a sack that he had found in another room, preparing them for transport. Just because HE couldn't read them didn't mean that no one could, and information was often the key to any number of mysteries. Leaving the room, neno said to the mummy "I'll not disturb yer rest any further, old timer. If you lived long enough to get that gray hair on this rock, you earned all the rest ye can git" then he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him to re-seal the tomb, and headed back to the roof, sack of books in tow.

Neno had no way of knowing, but if he had been able to read the books, he would have found them titled "Journals of Rebo - the Chronicle of the fall of Khalamzadar", written as the planet died by the last living man there, and before it came back to life a much wilder place.

=====================================================================

Back on the roof, neno set the claim plaque beacon on the rooftop and prepared for ascent by clipping the cable back on to his harness and dropping the bag of books into the cargo net, There was nothing he could do to re-seal the destroyed door at this point, but he planned to return later and close of the penthouse chambers permanently. The old timer, whomever he had been, deserved the rest of eternity as a reward for the horrors he had endured.

Touching his earpiece, neno said "raise me up and git me the hell outta here. Ain't nothin' but a charnel house down here."

...............................................The Life And Times............................................
An excerpt from papers discovered on Khalamzadar IV.

I sat on a seashore and watched the sun come up.

The eternal-jungle and it's treacherous swamps sat behind me and enjoyed the view too,
but out here on the sands, this was my place... and I guess, only for a short while.
I remember the feel of the cold-sand between my bare toes and the occasional breeze that
made my ears roar like the sounds from Cribber-shells, I will remember that until my dying
day.

The many miles between where I write this now on this desolate beach, have hardened
me and until today, I thought that any whistful thoughts had been driven out during that
terrible journey.
But I'll remember this seashore and I will remember these feelings.

Salt, the smell of airborne salt and drying kelp, it's the unwritten sign that tells you to go
no further and to accept that there are larger distances and unimaginable perils that you
-the last person in the world, would be swallowed whole without no one to mourn your
loss and cry out your name. I guess a poet would say I would be found wanting.
Best to just sit and watch it pass you by, huh?

'Did you fish? Did you hunt among the shallow pools for any marooned creatures that
waited for the tide to return?' I hear you ask. Yeah, I fished and I ate heartily when the
bonfire crackled loudly and the myriad of stars watched from overhead.

But this was a morning and in my heart, I felt it was a Savanday morning, when the work
that had driven Euzkala to it's extinction was slowed, when for one day, a man could cool
his jets and take some time away from that hideous technology.
A time to take stock.

They said that we -as a race had no relatives... no branches in our evolution and that meant
that we were special. The men-in-the know said that and I remember that it made us feel
stronger.

With that strength, we struck out across this land and eventually, placed a confident boot
on the same sand that lay between my toes, the toes of the last of the Euzkala.
You see, I know the truth now... I've arrived at the answer to why we obliterated everyone
on Euzkala. Because of that damned sea.

We were unique. We looked for anyone out there, we really did... but the vastness of space
showed us that we were alone and ergo, special.

Our best scientists and theologians worked tirelessly to come up with an answer to where
everyone was, religeon offered possibilities and around and around we went.
Then when he had wrestled enough with that quest, we turned on ourselves and now I
sit alone, watching the eternal movement of the waves and knowing that the water that
nudges driftwood further ashore held the answer all along.

Maybe it isn't just the pea-green monster before me? Maybe it's also that jungle that
seethes and watches behind me? Whichever and whatever, I know that it's all about survival.
There's no special, there's no uniqueness and there's no 'One'
It's just about getting by.

The sea rolls on, it can be polluted, it can even be frozen -from what I've heard, but it
will go on. From time-to-time, the coastline may change as the waters peck away at the
rocks and soil. But that sludge and gravel will show-up somewhere, it will form itself into
another headland or atoll and the sea will go on.

I bet that when the high buildings and speeding machines held sway across this land,
somewhere, somewhere that horrible jungle was moving along and getting by.
Maybe just as a single weed or ground-hugging vine, but I bet the bastard was with us
all the way.

Genocide... the final glorious crown of a superior race.

They quarantined us, did It tell you that? Like a rabid-dog that still has it's name-tag dangling
from it's mangy-neck, they looked on with guns at the ready.
We had dared to think as ourselves above others, we had stopped getting along and wanted
more, we had also sealed our doom. The surrounding planets knew a tight-leash was in
order.
The shambling husks of The Unholy became less and less and those that could only look
on as an arrogant species consumed itself, would begin to sigh with relief. It was over.
But the sea rolled on.

And now?
Yeah... now, there are tall spires protruding from that brooding forest, high places that a
man can see the dangers coming, maybe I'll make my way there and rest awhile.

…….Loose Ends and Open Doors…..

When Redbeard had been first brought to Khalamzadar by The Splitter, he had protested furiously. The race of Red Giants had long since left the place, infested as it was with enormous serpents, poisonous plants, brackish water and sucking mud. It was hellish.

He'd had no right to protest, however; his crime had been of such immense proportions that no other sentence would have seemed just. Now, as he enjoyed an aerial view of his prison, he grinned. If only that damned female had actually been barren, as she'd claimed. But no, she'd lied; and his daughters (naturally, he thought, grimacing, oh, no, of course no sons for the mighty Red Giant champion) were linked forever with that race of witches. Those "mystriarchs" that ultimately held the key to the existence of every other race in the universe.

For, there could be no progeny at all without females, and every male of every species knew it. Besides, they were so damned right all the time, in the end. There was no arguing it. Males alone would have annihilated one another within a blink of an eye, but females perpetuated the existence of the sentient ones. There was no escaping the biological drive to reproduce, as distasteful as it might be to the vessel OR the seed.

So there below him now remained Mercy, his last surviving offspring, and now he'd finally abandoned her once and for all. He looked at the stump of his blown-off arm and cursed the child. She'd always been hot-headed, but at least at the last moment she hadn't betrayed him. The exposed flesh had already begun to putrefy, so he jammed it into his enormous mouth and sucked. The only thing that could stop the putrefaction was his saliva. It worked both as an analgesic and as a stem-cell stimulant. Within a few months, he'd have vestigial fingers again, though he doubted they'd have bone, which would render them nothing but dangling fleshy polyps. Useless.

"Hmmmph!" he said out loud. Then he began pondering where he should go. He was fairly certain this transport had to have come from a mother ship of some kind; so he dialed the knobs looking for a frequency – any frequency – that would lead him to a permanent escape. He wasn't particularly concerned about the others that had gone to ground from Cecilia. He knew they were nothing but Tena-bait, and wouldn't likely survive a fortnight.

*********************

In the ruins of the northern city, Ben and his rag-tag team had just entered at the main gate, and were now hungry and tired. Wild remained unconscious, but at that point Ben could not have cared less whether she hurt or not. He did need her to survive, at least until he found a way to alert Ship that Cecilia was hijacked. He sent Brittle ahead to try every door he came across, and they walked for perhaps two and a half miles before finally they found a warehouse with enormous doors that had been only loosely chained together. Gert easily squeezed through the gap to look for some kind of ramrod, or bashing tool to break the chain, but no one else could fit.

Mucklebones had decided that pouting was in order, and she sank down with her back to the warehouse wall and put on her monocle, no longer concerned with whether or not she was keeping up appearances of hating technology. She thought about that day so long ago, centuries before, when she'd been exposed to the President called "Ike" on Earth.

What those U-mans had done to her was insufferable, and now here she was, behooved to count on Ben, Brittle, Gert, and now Wild. She missed Tibbs, and neno. Muckles grinned to herself as she viewed the Starwolf's interior from Tibbs' button-cam, wishing it had audio. But it didn't, for all her wishing, and she had to be content to watch the goings-on without hearing the accompanying sound track.

She saw the ship jolt as it pulled the top off of the spire's support, but then….nothing. She wondered what was going on, and then found herself wishing that she had accepted the ear-bud and mike that the soldier had offered her on her happy escape from Earth. She'd been too bitter, though, like a petulant child holding a grudge (well, who could blame her, really?). So now here she was, in unimaginably different circumstances but still with U-mans as her "keepers". And her thoughts began to turn dark.

Then the view in the monocle started to swirl and twist, in kaleidoscopic fashion, spinning into a blur of colors, until of a sudden she saw the wraiths, Margot and Dag, semi-transparent and floating in a red fog. "Sister," she heard in her head. "Sister, you must persist. You mustn't let Wild die of shock, she is the last of us, the final hope. You must take up her training without us, ensure she is initiated and ready for us to help guide her…." This was Margot talking. Beside her, Dag stood listening, a peaceful and serene look on her face as she smiled to see her friend Mucklebones again.

.........................................~Down Among The Dread Men~.........................................

James Craddock was already awake, Kershner rarely slept these days and the second-in
-command knew that it was always best to be ready when the big man in the black clothes
came to relate his latest concerns.

The fact that Kershner also had the key to Craddock's apartment didn't help either.
"Are we any nearer?" the massive silhouette at the doorway growled and Craddock felt
the burning stare on his back.

The Captain of the drilling-rig had reported in around twenty-minutes ago and that they
had reached the three-mile mark, all the readings told the well-paid group that manned
the expensive machinery would find it easy going for the next few days.
Shrugging on his suit-jacket, Craddock told him so.

"This is costing us a small fortune..." the younger-man said softly as he leaned over the
big desk and picked up the Moge wristwatch "...I can only hope that to own a Shadow
Diamond brings us rewards that justifies such an outlay" James Craddock knew to always
keep his points of view in the treasury area.

The brooding giant that wore a religeous dog-collar for unknown reasons remained stone
-like in the shadows and said nothing, Craddock was good -Kershner thought, but he knew
nothing of faith and superstition.

"Oh... by the way, someone is top-side and messing about in the buildings again" Craddock
offered and checking himself in the full-length mirror, he turned to seek a response from
his boss.

"There's always fortune-hunters picking around up there, it's the ones down here that pique
my interest" came the gravelled-voiced answer. Craddock's pencil-thin moustache twitched
with the information that he had missed and snatched the phone from his blue silk-lined
jacket pocket.

As he barked orders to the sentries around Bisley Deeps, Craddock watched the huge shape
move back towards the door. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR INFERNAL DEVICES, SOMEONE IS IN
THE CAVERN!" the slim, well-dressed Deputy roared into the mouthpiece.
"Get them" he snapped and dropped the small handset onto the cleather skin-lined desk.



Kershner smiled to himself, a rare sight on that granite-face and let the sliding door make it's
'swish' opening-sound.

"If I was in those fancy-shoes of yours, I'd take the ones that are on the surface too..." he
sneered over his shoulder "...Troubles tend to come in threes" and without another word,
Kershner left.



The small light that hovered above the Deeps was one and the bald-headed crime-boss
reckoned that whoever was scrambling about up among the 'spire-buildings' was the second
trouble.

But when would the third interference appear in this subterranean back-of-beyond?
The big man moved off towards his room and pondered what fortunes would come his way
when the fabled Shadow Diamond was found.

..................................~Management And Workers, A Difficult Mix~...............................

"It's a freakin' disgrace... that's what it is" muttered the old-timer called Gilland and locked
off another coupling. Ten hours, ten-straight hours on the rig without a break and no sign
of the next shift showing up.

Treble pay and bonuses aside, Gilland didn't need to be here and what made it worse were
the rumours that some of the Unholy were still shambling about down here.
Jessup -the Second Rigger Boss was not one for having an imagination, but he said he saw
one near the bore-hole yesterday and since then, Gilland had been on ternder-hooks.

'Hell, the chances that any of that zombie mob were still rootin' about were a million-to
-one' he thought and knocked the generator out of gear, Billy Kramer dropped in another
length and away we go again.

Jessup's voice crackled on his shoulder-comm that he was engaging the drive and to step
back, Gilland hoped that they would find the blasted thing and get the hell outa here.

..............................................
"It's a private enterprise, with good benefits..." the smug-looking guy in the grey-silk suit
said and leaned back on the rich-leather chair "...I'm sure you would be a good asset in this
venture" James Craddock said and stroked the thin moustache that reminded Gilland of a
dead caterpillar.

"You see, the minerals and ores that still lay beneath Euzkala are quite rare and now, with
permission from certain parties, we wish to mine those deposits" the young asshole added
with his clean-soft open palms on the desk, Gilland steeled himself and said nothing.

It was Henry Jessup who brokered the deal, he demanded that a Chrysler Pulse-Cannon was
a must in the operation and that security would be needed for keeping the zombies at bay.
Craddock had laughed and assured the two rough-clothed men that Euzkala was clear of it's
'undead' population and the Cannon was something they were looking into.

The pay was good, that part of the bargain was kept, but here in the dark with a Kenner-
Graham sonic drill and a the occasional thug wandering the gantries, Gilland knew that slimy
so-and-so up in his office to the far west of the Deeps had duped 'em -but good.

Billy Kramer saw the old guy spit at the descending rod and said nothing, three miles down
and still digging he thought and leaned to push the Lube-button.

..............................................
"They're digging" said Mut and slipped into his stealth-mode, the yellow craft faded away
and without his lights, the Tumbler could hardly be seen. Valve Twenty-Three leaned towards
the window and looked down on the only activity in Bisley Deeps.

"Well there ain't no Duranium that deep" the squeaking Droid said and looked to Bernard for
agreement, the little Maintenance-robot tinkered with the flickering monitor near the main
console and said nothing... just like Billy Kramer, I suppose.

..............................................
James Craddock listened to the ape that was the Security Team Leader and stared at his
nodding reflection in the mirror, he knew that the strange-light had gone out and he knew that
the floating ship was still up there... he didn't need this dumb-ass telling him so.
"I know and that's why I ordered you you shoot it down, do I have to repeat everything
twice!?" he said loudly into the small phone.



The Security Team Leader that had also been a gang-member only two years ago agreed
with Craddock and rung off, Kershner's deputy thanked the heavens for the small mercy.


The large man in the dark attire watched from the balcony and pondered who was aboard
the intruding vehicle, Victor sighed and waited for Craddock to bring good news.