"Bring more amsec," said Tabood, flipping coin before his buggered strumpets, fard like clowns. Heels of hire clicked as dutiful castanets. He sat his chair like a debauched king, a play of light dancing between legs flesh and paid, between mechanicals diabolically tainted by minds made rich in the perverted commerce, and gulped the sweet fruit to drown what could not be drowned."Sir, we have the coordinates.""Set course and notify command. Open channel.""Yes sir."_______Back on Kulmyk:Like an airborne snake, the whip uncurled, uncoiled, releasing energy like a devil's finger, furrowing the living flesh as blood tasted dank air; and the pale stone wall appeared as crimson speckled egg, cold in sweat, unspeaking, sentient as the unborn. Tom ground his teeth in the echo of snapping pizzle."Shame of the matter . . ." Whip cracked above his head, as if a token of mercy. " . . . Tabood has spoken, without the first lick of leather. Imagine that."Tom's face tightened as if words were knobs, each a twist to stretch skin over bone as a drummer might in tune."We have the coordinates. And, we have you. So, you might ask yourself, what is the measure of your pride?"Tom spit blood upon the blurry floor. His mind swimming in pain both sharp and dull, his back aflame as his chest throbbed, seeking release where no release would be quartered."All men break Tom. You will break too. Not because you can offer us anything we don't already have. Do you understand?"Tom defecated his reply, the floor a mixture foul of sight as of smell, his breathing labored as a horse chained before the carnifex, nostrils steaming in the dark cold."The question, Tom, is do you want to suffer, break and die; or do you want to break and die quickly. You see, you will break. You know that Tom. You know all men break. All men Tom. And you will break too.""Fuck you.""Tom, you know, I really didn't want to do this and I can't say I will take any pleasure from it either, but I don't have all day. You ain't the only business needing attention."The door opened and Tom's jaded eyes, once crusted slits, became wide. "Enough!"The door closed and the young boy removed. "Thank you Tom. Now tell me what you know and we'll avoid anymore unpleasantness. For the record Tom. For the children. The children must know the truth."Tom spoke. Then he spoke no more as the walls turned their red eyes closed.
Ariel: Running around Bravo like a kid in a new house. Touching everything. Playing with everything. Skipping down the corridors and singing to herself.Em and Trev: Waiting for the operation to restore Em's sight as children on xmas eve. He is just itching to give her the earrings to match the dress, and, for the moment, the joy of Em, as the sun to night, shines bright.Kyra: Torn between desire and obligation. Kieran told her, "to whom much is given, much is expected." She is tired, weary and in need of a vacation. Although she would not admit it, she is tired of being strong, tired of being "the one" that everyone looks to for help. She is also terribly conflicted with what her "gift" is meant to be. John's request puts her back in harm's way, or more to the point, puts her in a position of more death and destruction, from her hands. Death is death, and no matter the cause, the idea of more killing is more than she can bear at the moment. She longs for a walk on the beach with Papa.John: Not himself. The memory of Cait and the future of Ariel color every perception. The brotherhood has framed the argument for a return to Kulmyk such that he cannot say no, or at least has not found a way to say no without losing every last sense of who he is and the feeling sits nauseous in his gut. To return without Kyra is nothing less than martyrdom. To return with her, based on their last exchange, seems unlikely. Only the urgency of events stave off depression.Tom: About to break under torture.Tabood: About to be apprehended. About to walk the same plank as Tom.The Hood: Fears of a secret cabal solidified. Paranoia grows in step with ruthlessness.The Brotherhood: Waiting on John's decision.Von: Knows something is amiss. Kyra won't answer her comm. Neither will John or Rog for that matter.Dr X and Mairi: Exploring their options for Em and the operation.Rog and Yul: Enjoying their new found privacy. Doors locked. Comms turned off.Taren: Uneasy in the presence of so many Kulmyks. Uneasy with the whispers of their request.
"John, we've got no money," repeated Kyra."Well, I don't want to over-dramatize the situation, but we either find something of value or, quite literally, my arse is Tabood's.""Put Von on.""Afraid it is as he says, literally.""What the frail does that mean, literally?""You know how, ahem, your peaks of motherly nourishment glow blue?""Yeah.""Well, Tabood's agent glows reddish-orange.""Okay.""And it increases in temp, like a poker," added John."What?""I shiott you not. The damn thing is a physiological wonder. Only known species to wield, excuse me, a heat seeking missile.""And you find this amusing? I mean, it is your arse.""Some things are so absurd as to induce hilarity. Besides, the damn thing is so big, he would split me in two before the heat fried my insides. Can you imagine?""I can't even imagine we are having this conversation," said Kyra. "Not now Trev.""Look, I know I'm full of clichés, but my arse is on the line. Rock and a hard place.""You're making me laugh.""Glad you find this funny.""What Trev! What?""I think I've got a solution."
"You don't remember me do you?" said Tabood, his eyes rolling in his sockets like dry ball-bearings."Can't say that I do," said John."I suppose one don't care to remember the frailable. You know you need them, and you use them, use their life, take it like a man takes a breath, and you choose to not know, not remember.""What is he talking about?" asked Von."I have no idea.""Shut up. We're on gun law now. And I got the gun. You, old man. You know what this slag is?"Von didn't answer."Ask anyone what a Kulmykian is. You'll get one answer--heartless, gutless filth. They think the universe is their bitch, a bitch grown tired and weary from rape and pillage. Even these common whores here will tell you." Tabood motioned. Two metallic heads, one ruby-red, the other primrose-dawn, legged over. "Ask them."Still no response from Von.Muzzle to nose, cold blue metal shoved under Von's ruddy equine nose. "I said frailing ask them."John nodded.Von spoke. Tabood crossed his arms. Lights neon reflected off his living armor. His eyes narrowing in satisfaction. The ruby-red whore lifted her squamata, and voided her bladder. Von appeared unimpressed. Tossing her shiny metallic locks back, she stood, turning her bare back to Von, and where neither words nor bladder could convey, the scars of a horrific quirting spoke in gouache welts purple and red as if worms aboded under her skin. Von scratched his head. It didn't itch."You've made your point," said John. "What do you want?""If I were a creature of karma, I'd turn you in to your own kind. I understand they would feed on your flesh like weak acid. If I were Kulmykian, I'd frail you in your arse right here, right now for the downtrodden to relish. But I'm not Kylmykian nor do I believe in karma.""Spit it out. What do you want then?""Coin."
Jeweled warts glistened upon a worn face of lamellar scales. Taboodja, of eye aubergine, had a plan. Frail John. That was the plan. Simple. Few moving parts. Little to complicate. Just frail the golden boy. Payback was a damn sweet motherfrailing slit of a bitch worn loose from wear. The thought of frailing John, prostrated before heathens and heaven alike, in his cold sphinctered tight arse, a public frailing, before the jaded and bejeweled split-tails, delighted his diseased imagination like warm rancid milk in a goat's bowl.
Tabood stood and measured his leathered tumidity with satisfaction. Looking about, the kaleidoscope of debauchery drifted before his dull eyes, whores and more whores, dancing as hips upon mirrored glass, money sucking sluts with painted smiles, bodies on autopilot, minds long since jettisoned. The lude smell of obscura drifted in the air, poor grade mixed with home brewed. Lights gaudy, stacked like a bad dream, beamed, flashed and buzzed ware and trade in the eternal night of moon life. Drum ribbed children slumped and scattered under weight not seen, their smiles stolen in the wicked commerce, laid bare upon days without end, of tunnels alight with the grin of a soulless master, black of heart, whip of hand; the doors of their souls locked, the windows of their eyes blackened by the faint hand of hope.Work the rock. Work the hard place. Make the deal. Play the game. Party of the first part dead. Party of the second part desperate. Work it lubeless, work it with jagged rusted prejudice. Into the neon night Tabood smiled in yellow fangs foul with yesterday's substance, pores blistering with milky teeming pus, rank of smell like three day butchered meat.Tabood picked his neglected nails, spitting refuse as chaff. He had the time of one with all the cards, the visage of a plan weighed and sorted and sorted and weighed. Snorting through his moist purple snout, casting virus-born phlegm upon the dirty silver metal planking, he hacked up a vile custard of hue chartreuse, wiped clean with the back of his golden burnished scaled hand.John looked at Von quiet as church before those of bended back and crooked knee arrive. "Tighten your shiott."Leather strained by din of hand prepared. Weapons, cold cocked, ready to frail the shiott out of innocent and guilty alike. Fear confessed, now or later, before no bean frailing counter. "Shiott secured," said Von."There is nothing here worth the weighing if weighing deign upon the moment. This place is no place.""I see what needs not what wants."John stopped, the circus of light and slut tight on their smell. "Is that some kind of Zing shiott?""Nope. I got a hide long for the tannery. And I mean to keep it that way.""I think I'm beginning to see why Rog likes you. Now--""Look, this ain't my first rodeo. You lead, I'll follow. And if you frail it up, I'll pull your arse from the fire before the crew can sniff your Kulmykian bacon.""Really?""No, not really. But it sounded good didn't it?"John smiled. Von didn't. His scalp begin to itch under eyes fixed of intent not pure from the right of the broadway. A bolt of orange tinged the air as John and Von parted as pages of a book left and right."Pick yourselves up. If I wanted you dead, you'd be." Tabood stood above the fallen pair trying hard to suppress the smile behind his large purple oculars.
“Where we headed,” whispered Yul, having slipped into the only room of expulsion on the troop transport. Rog, in midstream and of brow furrowed in thoughts past, misfired his agent of masculine surrender. “Damn.”“You know,” she rasped, her nails pristine blue, palms outward, hands rising flamingos, tracing his ribs as smoothly as moonlight over hill and dale, “I could make it worth your while.”Rog reached behind his head as a diver might, delts as dunes of shadow and might, his bruised fingers spreading over her yearning head, his chest expanding rippled steel. “Steer the ship, if you think you can handle it.”Eyes intent dove as bird of prey into refulgent cisterns sparkling grey. “Been too frailing long.” Yul looked out the small window, inspiration in three moons. “Take me, there.”Like a weathered cowboy at the end of a long day, leathered chaps warm from hard use, hat cocked with a grin, muscles lathered in honest labor, asking twice not needed.--“Quite a sight isn’t it,” said Kyra, as the three moons came into view.John smiled, his eyes unable to see beauty in anything.“What does the slate say?”“What?”“The slate. What does it say,” she asked again.“Oh. Taboodja.”“What?”“Taboodja. Here look.”“Taboodja. What does it mean?”“Don’t know.”“Well?”“Huh?”“Power the slate.”“Oh. Yeah.”“Well?”“Says we dock on Pad 9 and asked for Taboodja.”Kyra looked sideways at John.“What?”
