 
### Kaman's World

By Bartholomew Thockmorton

Copyright 2011 Bartholomew Thockmorton

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment; but it may be shared with friends, family or acquaintances as long as it is maintained in its entirety. If you are reading this book and enjoy it, please check out my other works by visiting the link below. Thank you for respecting the hard work of Bartholomew Thockmorton. May your days be long and merry.

Smashwords: <http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Thockmortonterritory>

This work is dedicated to Mama, who gave me my life-long love for the entire Superman family. I miss you.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Thockmorton Territory

Chapter One

As Betty Elizabeth Tabatha Hinderken entered the Oasis Seaside Bar and Grill, she was challenged in deciding which struck her harder, the oppressive heat or the relentless glare. She stepped fully inside, allowing the sliding doors to close.

Before her, the stark white sand, reflecting harsh, artificial sunlight, extended into the distance, changing to soft gradations of gray on her left where the waves rolled gently onto the beach. The water, covered with light, frothy foam where the waves churned, started out crystal-clear, revealing silvery minnows and small, darting fish patrolling the shore, the color soon changing to incremental shades of baby-blue with increasing depth, at last shifting to deeper and deeper hues, stretching to the artificial horizon. Betty wondered just how far the real water went and where the holo-cast began. The small children playing in the shallow surf with minimal adult supervision gave strong indication—no young ones would ever drown in this playground of the mind.

Overhead, delicate clouds cast swift shadows sailing across the beach, mixing with the smaller silhouettes from the wheeling gulls filling the air with their cries. Sandpipers skittered back and forth in time with the waves, pausing to peck up occasional tidbits there exposed.

Island palms, their fronds swaying, rustling in the pleasant breeze, started a dozen meters from the water, spotting the beach sparsely at first, but becoming thicker in their groupings, establishing the bounds of the shore from the inland proper. Nestled within the leaning trunks, the shaded, thatched-roofed bar, bamboo stools lining its counter, stood surrounded by tables of varying sizes, each with its own umbrella of fronds supported by a central pole, each also swaying to the gentle caress of the wind. Most of the tables were occupied with colony citizens or tourists of all ages.

Betty reached into her shoulder bag, donning florescent-pink-framed sunglasses, tiny, dancing flamingo's protruding along the outside edges. She already wore a broad-brimmed hat, bikini, beach shirt and sandals. For any unprepared patron that might enter from the mall's corridor on a whim, a walk-in kiosk to the right of the doors offered swimsuits, sunglasses, hats, towels, beach-toys, chairs, vid-discs, mellow-vapor and just about anything else a tourist could want or imagine. But the prices were...well... _astronomical_ ; regulars from the colony knew to bring their own.

She selected a table with abundant shade seeing as how they kept the heat cranked as high as possible to guarantee guests would order plenty of cool refreshments. As soon as she sat and placed her bag on the sand next to her chair, Marty leapt from within and scrambled into her lap. Nearby patrons watched curiously, trying to figure out what the small creature actually _was_. Marty reminded people of many things, but more than anything else, he most resembled a member of the polecat family—the honey badgers, ferrets, meerkats, coatis, minks, skunks, mongooses and martins—hence the name...Marty. Even this small animal fell prey to Betty's game of assigning fanciful names to everything around her.

Where most folks went astray was trying to identify Betty's furry companion as some creature indigenous to Old Earth. It was a useless endeavor, for Marty (or even his most remote ancestors, for that matter) hailed not from mankind's home planet...not even from the Terra system. The two-kilo ball of furry energy was in actuality the first true, bona fide, honest-to-gracious, believe-it-or-go-to-Hoboken _alien_ ever brought back by a System Searcher. Which had quite a bit to do with the fact that Betty and her husband, Sam, were the first, and to date, only search team to discover an Earth-normal planet. Christened Xanadu (by Betty), the world lay slightly more than 2000-light-years distant, and had made them wealthy beyond all dreams of avarice.

First, they were granted full title to their exploration vessel, the Bucket-of-Bolts, or B.O.B., for short. Including the lander, the Flipper-Doodle, hard-docked to the top of the main vessel when not in use. Plus four shuttles: two large vessels housed in the B.O.B.'s interior bays, and two smaller craft in the Doodle. The entire compliment built by the Cranston Corporation, the most powerful business entity in the Oort cloud, and assigned to qualified crews via a system-wide lottery. But along with the vessels came a cash bounty of ten billion credits—something the initial exploratory fleet of twenty-three ships had competed for fervently until Betty and Sam discovered Xanadu.

A young server hurried over to Betty's table to take her order, but pulled up short when he caught sight of Marty, standing and extending his nose, testing the air at the man's approach. Betty placed a reassuring hand on the animal's head and looked over the top of her glasses.

"I'll have a Banded Bomber, please."

"Very good, ma'am. But I'm afraid you can't bring that...whatever _that_ is...in here."

"What? _Marty_? But why ever not?"

When the young man pointed back towards the bar, Betty followed his gesture, looking everywhere for whatever he was indicating. After a few moments, she noticed the small sign posted beside the shelves of exotic liqueurs: " **NO DOGS OR PETS ALLOWED** ". She mused at the insipid ambiguity of the wording...were not dogs _pets_? She could not imagine the reasoning implied...but she also pretty much did not care.

"That's all right," she said, picking up the small creature and rubbing her nose to his. "Marty's obviously not a _dog_...and he is also not my _pet_!"

When the man stood awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot while casting nervous glances back towards the bar, Betty took off her sunglasses and sighed in exasperation.

"Look, I'm here on business...not vacation. I don't have time or the patience for this nonsense. I have the permits and the clearance to take Marty anywhere I so please...so be a good boy and fetch my drink...pretty please?"

"Same old Betts! Causing grief and trouble wherever she goes!"

The woman turned around to see who had spoken, even though she was sure she recognized the voice. Betty was right, of course, and jumped up to hug the elderly oriental gentleman. He also wore a swimsuit and a loud, colorful Hawaiian shirt, covered in great whites leaping, crashing through waves, clutching struggling surfers in their maws. But his head was uncovered, showing the light, gray hairline in full retreat from his brow. Betty gave the man a strong, sincere embrace and gestured to a chair.

"Kaman Wantanabe! You no-good dog! How the hell've you been...sit...sit! What'll you have?"

"Bring me two of what she's having," he told the server. "And some sandwiches...one of each kind you got! But make sure you put it all on her tab!"

The fellow moved away, but not without repeated glances to Marty and the woman.

"Betty, I can't tell you how good it is to see you again...after, what? Seventeen months? And you and Sam actually _did it_! You're the first! A whole planet! Damn girl! Wish it had been me and Kiro...but if it had to be someone else, I'm glad it was you!" While he gushed over Betty, Marty approached, sitting before him, as if patiently waiting to be noticed. And Kaman _had_ been noticing, from the moment the animal looked at _him_ , but caution overrode his curiosity. He had been paying particularly keen attention since the moment Marty laconically yawned widely, displaying a mouth-full of needle-like fangs.

"So this is your stoat, huh? The visitor from Xanadu? Cute little squirt..."

"Go ahead, Kam...you can touch him! He loves it when you scratch his chin."

Tentatively, the man began to rub Marty's head, and as he did, the small animal slowly crept into his lap, snuggling there, at last rolling over and exposing his belly in open invitation to scratch there too.

"What a remarkable little fellow," Kaman said as he playfully tickled Marty's neck and chest. "Who would imagine he's a wild animal...and they've found no others?"

"Not a one! Damnedest thing the biologists have ever seen...said the planet appears to host some sort of insane, upside-down, runaway trophic cascade. In fact, Marty seems to be the only carnivorous mammal on the whole world! Crazy huh?"

"I think you named the planet well...that's what I think!"

"So where's your brother?" continued Betty. "Working on your ship?"

When Kaman looked up slowly, Betty could not mistake the sadness there, even though he tried not to show it. She immediately made one of those intuitive leaps so ingrained in her nature, realizing what must have happened and quickly placed her hand tenderly on his shoulder.

"Oh, Kam...oh, god, _Kam_...I'm so _sorry_. I didn't know...when?"

"Little over a month ago, Betty," he replied, trying to smile bravely so as not to increase the woman's discomfort. "We were doing surface surveys on a planet about 400 light-years out...a landslide caught us by surprise. I jumped out of the way, but Kiro...he was too close." He stopped for a moment and let his attention return to Marty. "It was fast, thank heavens...he didn't suffer."

"Good afternoon folks! I'm the on-duty manager...and how are we doing today?"

Betty and Kaman looked up to find a dapper-dressed gentleman standing before them, his hands clasped in a neutral, non-offensive manner. His smile conveyed sentiments that he was genuinely unhappy to intrude...but, of course it was his job, you understand. Behind the manager, the young server stood uncomfortably, trying not to meet the hostile glares of the other nearby patrons. He unconsciously rung a bar towel over and over in his anxiety, obviously wishing he could be anywhere but there.

"I'm ever so sorry to be so insistent in regards to our 'no pets' policy...but the owner is not—how shall I put this? —an animal lover...let us say. I'm afraid I'll have to insist..."

Betty held up her hand patiently. "Hold that thought..." She reached into her bag, and withdrew her wrist-communicator. Unlike her husband, and most colony members, Betty eschewed any and all cybernetic implants, so she had to resort to external devices for such mundane chores as talking to someone elsewhere. Keying a series of codes, she detached and inserted the external speaker in her ear to insure privacy.

"Claire? Betty...no, no, nothing's wrong," she gave Marty a pat when he came over to check out what she was doing. "Sure...yeah, I haven't forgotten! Yeah...we'll be there...I _promise_...look, I need a favor. You know the Oasis? Isn't it though? Yep...yep—that's it! Marty...yeah...no, no...I need a wipe and swipe... _now_ actually... _exactly_! Try to set a record! Bye!" She dropped the radio back into the bag and folded her hands, all the while smiling sweetly at the manager.

"What the heck's that all about?" asked Kaman. "Claire? Wait a minute...not Claire _Murphy_? As in the _Cranston Corporation_ Murphy?"

"Claire _Louiston_...she's married now, remember? I was maid of honor at the wedding!"

"Dang! Really? You always did manage to surprise me at every turn..." Kaman stopped when he saw the woman's attention was elsewhere.

The manager now had a hand to his ear...closely listening to a voice only he could hear. The call lasted but a few short moments. Suddenly, it was over, and he looked at Betty in puzzled disbelief. "You...you _bought_ the _Oasis_?"

"Yeah, man!" she replied, leaning over and playfully slapping Kaman on the arm. "Claire's good! Her speed even surprises _me_! Of course she owns the corporation that owns the entire colony. You know what that means now, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, of course...I'll clean out my office immediately..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" interrupted the woman. "You're employment status hasn't changed...just your _employer_! Now prove to me you're smarter than you're acting...get behind that bar and take care of business!"

The man smiled and gave a slight bow, then quickly walked over to the bar, went behind the counter and lifted the " **NO DOGS OR PETS ALLOWED** " sign from the back wall. Holding it up for Betty to see, he pointed to it while raising his eyebrows in askance. When she nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, he leaned over and dropped the sign into a large trash receptacle on the other side of the counter.

When the woman turned back to Kaman, she noticed the waiter, mouth hanging open, still standing there. She cleared her throat loudly, and when she had his attention, motioned for him to move along.

"Well," she frowned at him. "Do you work here, or what?"

The young man stammered a muddled apology and hurried away to get their order.

During this entire time, Kaman sat quietly, watching Betty with the slightest of smiles. Now he leaned forward, picked up Marty, returning him to his lap, and resumed stroking his head. "Being filthy rich is great, isn't it?"

"Hell yeah it is! But don't get the wrong idea...it hasn't really changed my life...just the way I live it!" She actually succeeded in keeping a straight face for about five seconds, then they both burst into fits of laughter, drawing inquisitive stares from some of the nearby patrons. Marty opened one eye to see if anything was important enough to require his attention, but deciding everything was normal, went back to dozing.

The drinks came shortly thereafter, and just as Kaman had ordered, a platter with over two dozen different sandwiches came with them. That and an unbelievably large bowl of all sorts of diced fruits and shelled nuts. They both dug in, and after they had their fill, Betty carried the platter of sandwiches from table to table, offering other citizens to take their pick. When the sandwiches were gone, she decided that wasn't enough and announced to all present that for the remainder of the afternoon, any and all food items ordered were on the house.

The elderly Searcher watched it all in wonder, marveling at the joy and surprise the young woman brought to all. When she at last returned to their table, he again turned serious, telling her it was about time to get down to business.

"Okay," she said. "You mentioned you had something important to share...what's the buzz?"

"Kiro and I were onto something big when that landslide hit us," he said. "I was just a little to one side when it started, jarring loose all that debris."

"You can't blame yourself, Kam. Your brother wouldn't have wanted that. How long did it take you to dig him out?"

"You don't understand, Betts...I didn't! The whole upper side of that mountain came down at us!" He paused to take a long pull on his drink and signaled for another when it was drained, even though he had yet to touch his second glass. "I stayed there for another two-weeks trying to get him back...almost got myself killed a couple of times when all that regolith kept settling! Finally called it quits...and came on back to the colony..."

"And you called me for help? Figured Sam and I would lend a hand for old times sake? We'd be glad to help you get him back, Kam!"

"No, Betty...no," he said, hanging his head in resignation. "I'm quits...Kiro's gone. I've already turned the ship back over to the corporation...told them they could go to the next name from the lottery..."

"Oh, Kam! No! You've worked too hard to do that...it's not what Kiro would have wanted..."

"Give it up, Hinderken! The old fool's washed-up _and_ out...ain't worth a bucket of warm spit!"

Once again they turned to see who intruded on their conversation.

"For crying out loud," groaned Betty in renewed annoyance. "What the hell is this...butt-wipe Wednesday?"

"Is this a friend of yours?" asked Kaman. "Would you talk to Betty like that if Sam were here?"

The man gave a dismissive, snort of a laugh. "If that turd was anywhere around, I couldn't handle the smell!"

"What do you want Struther?" asked Betty. "It's not like you to waste your time talking to me."

"Shows you just how wrong you can be," replied the man. "As much as it grates my 'nads, I just thought I'd congratulate you...didn't notice Want-a-backbone here...or I woulda stayed away." Despite his words, the man sat opposite the others. "Matter of fact...I have a favor to ask. Concerns that new planet you found."

Betty looked at the newcomer as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "You can't be serious! Struther...is this your idea of a joke? Time to lay off the mellow-vapor...why on Earth...or anywhere else, would I do you a favor?"

The young man sat calmly, oblivious to Betty's unveiled sarcasm. He leaned way forward, taking a handful of nuts from the fruit bowl, and began nonchalantly tossing them into his mouth a few at a time, while waving at a server to come take his order. Unknown to all, these three actions would momentarily become the locus of events gone outrageously awry. Unfortunately, Betty's good mood and relaxed state of mind did not allow her to key into the one thing that could possibly turn this quiet afternoon into a disaster of unfortunate consequences.

Here we must digress somewhat and take one or more steps back from our observation of these events. It should be mentioned that one critical element of this scene has gone unmentioned for some moments, and thus has most likely been subsequently forgotten...and Marty should _never_ be regaled to such a position. For one of this creature's remarkable traits is that he's most keenly attuned to Betty's mood and state-of-mind—Sam's also, but he is not present, so he fortunately does not play a part in the unfolding tableau.

Betty's sudden swing in temperament has not gone unnoticed by Marty, who has been sitting calmly in Kaman Wantanabe's lap, enjoying a good tummy scratching. But sensing his mistress's sudden annoyance places him on alert. He rolls himself upright in such a smooth, fluid motion, Kaman doesn't take notice. Nor is the elderly man even remotely aware that his kind demeanor and gentle touch has somehow granted him the gift of acceptance by Marty...and this acceptance establishes an emotional bond bestowing certain privileges, whose importance Betty and her husband have shared with no one and has, until now, remained known only to them.

Now Marty tenses ever so slightly, his stealth and determination characteristic of all carnivores whose intensions are masterfully masked until the last moment; Struther, seconds away from finishing his first handful of nuts, most of which he still masticates, prepares to lean forward again, unaware he is now a target; the waiter, tray loaded with several iced drinks and bowls of chips, approaches behind Kaman; and Betty, to her credit, experiences an instinctive glimmer that _something_ is amiss, and suddenly grows alert in response to her emotional tether to her diminutive companion.

Marty's eyes narrow to mere slits as he focuses his concentration on the man Betty so dislikes.

BAD MAN!

The projected thought is as powerful as it is unquestionable as to the source. Kaman's hands jerk away from the bristling creature he suddenly realizes is coiled like a spring in his lap, the tiny feet twitching excitedly, the claws extending into his pants, establishing a firmer launch platform. Betty also jerks rigid, her head snapping around, her full attention centering on Marty. The server takes one step closer, and Struther, popping the last of the nuts into his mouth, leans way forward again, one hand reaching for the bowl, the other beckoning to the waiter.

"What the _hell_?" cries Kaman.

"Marty! _No_!" cries Betty simultaneously.

" _Huh_? _What_ —?" mumbles Struther, turning towards Kaman, the partially chewed peanuts in his mouth garbling his words.

And Marty launches—closing the short gap in a hundredth of a second, a furry missile barely registering as a blur. He aims for the web of flesh between the man's left thumb and forefinger, connecting with such speed, that for an instant, the needle-sharp teeth stabbing downward and through are completely unfelt, but _only_ for an instant. Then Struther, frozen in shock, feels a burning, stinging sensation shoot up his arm, bringing whole new meanings to the concept of agony.

Now, like a large boulder dropped into a pond, the action starts at this table and rapidly spreads outward in expanding rings.

Struther jumps to his feet, eyes wide as he stares in horror at the small animal dangling from his hand; and Marty is fastened to that hand as surely as if he were part of the flesh. The man does not fall backwards only because his center of gravity was placed so far forward as he leaned to grab more nuts from the bowl. He cannot understand the sudden searing pain crawling up his arm...the creature biting his hand is not exactly a tough concept to grasp, but the teeth should only inflict localized pain, not the sensation that rages through his arm like molten magma flashing and flowing within his bones. Through the shock, Struther opens his mouth and suddenly inhales deeply as his body reacts in a reflex that will culminate in an involuntary shriek of surprise and pain—at least, that's what was supposed to happen. But the partially chewed nuts in his mouth are sucked backwards by this violent inhalation, lodging in various locations within his windpipe, effectively closing off that avenue.

"Glacik—clokg—chargl—" The man's eyes grow even wider as he realizes he cannot breath; his free hand clutching his throat while he begins thrashing the other back and forth in a vain attempt to shake loose Marty.

Meanwhile, Kaman too leaps to his feet, but _his_ center of gravity shifts backwards and he comes up under the waiter's tray, his head crashing there, catapulting the tray, and its contents, over the man's shoulder and onto the occupants at the next table. Chips rain down everywhere and the two children sitting there scream in surprise and alarm. Their mother lets out a loud, startled whoop as several ice cubes and a goodly portion of one of the drinks goes down the neck of her loose blouse, causing her to _try_ to stand, but she gets tangled in her chair's legs and falls backwards, colliding with the waiter.

Betty attempts to dive across the table and grab Marty, but she misses when Struther starts to thrash about ever more wildly. But Betty's dive _does_ cause Kaman to jerk backwards even more, where he and the server fall into, and all over, each other. They wind up on the ground in a thrashing tangle with the mother with the ice cubes down her back.

"Faikg—glork—gask—" Struther now staggers frantically about, refusing to go down, his face turning a deep shade of purple, his bulging eyes all but popping from his head. Despite choking, he still manages to swing his arm, and Marty, in even greater arcs, causing startled patrons at other tables to duck, or leap aside to avoid the animal. One older man is not fast enough and receives a slap from Marty's tail as it goes whipping past. Now Struther begins spinning roughly around in circles in an added effort to dislodge his tormentor.

Eventually, even as his panicked gyrations began to diminish from lack of oxygen and the effects of the venom to which he has been exposed, Struther at last manages to rid himself of Marty. With a final snap of his arm, born of a desperation bordering on the Herculean, Struther flings the small animal high into the air. However, Marty does not come loose because he is tired of hanging on, or because he decides the poor man has had enough. No, he finally comes free because the rips in the flesh caused by Marty's teeth as Struther flung him hither and yon have resulted in a crescent shaped chunk of meat tearing loose from his hand. Struther staggers one or two more steps, and as his eyes roll upwards in their sockets, he fall to the ground, face pointed to the artificial sky above, his mouth puckering and convulsing in imitation of a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

The episode would have been exciting enough even if it ended here. But we mustn't forget Marty, who reaches the apex of his flight and falls towards one of the tables of customers fortunate to be far enough away to avoid what has so far transpired. Or at least they _were_ until Marty was flung in their direction.

Here we must pause to introduce Miss Sophia Larsen, native to the Madeira colony and local president of the MCPTA. She has taken a day off from her weighty responsibility in finding fault with every teacher having the unfortunate distinction of having one of Miss Larsen's children, or a child of her closest friends, to which the woman claims many, as one of their pupils. At her table, she and four members of her inner posse have been fervently discussing the current, complete disregard many of the afore-mentioned teachers have for the latest fashions, both in body sculpting and clothing. For as it so happens, Miss Larsen, in addition to being a self-proclaimed expert in the field of adolescent education, also holds herself in the highest regard as a fashion maven and trendsetter for her friends and others to emulate. Currently, she has joined a fashion-movement which expounds the adoption of excess weight in order to better display a more Rubenesque figure. This, along with a Nuevo-retro hairstyle known, for apparent reasons, as "The Beehive".

She had just begun to list the faults of her youngest son's elementary school teacher when the disturbance across the bar began. However, since it was so far away, they had at last returned to their earnest discussion at about the time Marty was on the downside of his incoming airborne trajectory. He hits the frond-umbrella with such rattling force, the ladies below look upward just in time to witness Marty's head come poking through the fronds. Marty gives them a wide, apologetic grin...but to Miss Larsen and her friends, that grin appears nothing less than some ferocious showing of red-stained teeth by a wild animal possessed by primal bloodlust. So when the weakened fronds give way, and Marty comes plummeting down, we can well understand the ensuing panic. Especially when Marty falls full into Miss Larsen's copious hairdo, sinking into the soft layers piled so high above her brow.

But, it doesn't end there...oh, no, not at all. Marty, so completely snarled within the hairdo, well realizes that struggling will only entangle him deeper, not to mention cause who-knows-what kind of distraction to the poor woman below, delicately parts the front of the beehive, peeks outwards and chooses this moment to spit out the bloody, crescent-shaped piece of flesh so recently part of Struther's left hand. It is indeed unfortunate this ragged slice splats full on the forehead of one of the ladies opposite Miss Larsen. Now, as if on some unseen director's cue, all present collectively inhale so deeply, it is surprising other nearby patrons do not pass-out from lack of oxygen. At the end of this synchronous intake, the ladies release what they have gathered as a simultaneous shriek. The force and sincerity impacts all present within a fifteen-meter radius, and everyone within this territory covers their ears, cringing at the imagined horror that might precipitate such raw, emotional release. This shriek manifests itself as nothing less than the collective consciousness of over two-dozen frightened souls standing in a crowded theatre yelling, "FIRE!"

Here we can retrieve the earlier-used analogy and say this is where and when the second large boulder falls into the pond. Although some of the water has been sloshed out by the first such event, there is still enough remaining to start another rippling round of spreading excitement.

After their first collective scream, the ladies turn in all directions and tear off as if the devil himself were on their heels, still caterwauling, but at least not together. Miss Larsen, looking up into Marty's down-turned face, leaps to her feet, unbalancing the small creature. His feet futilely scramble for purchase on the lady's scalp, but he has been shaken too far forward, and slides past her forehead, plunging into the open portion of her dress, into the waiting cleavage between her ample breasts. Now, like the poor bull of legend, Miss Larsen, in full-blown panic, begins to plow through _everything_ in her way...and even though she is not in the proverbial china-shop, she still leaves a wake of considerable destruction through the tables and guests unfortunate enough to be in her path.

However, her flight is mercifully short. Before she has covered ten-meters, she runs full into one of the palm trees and careens back on the soft sand, having knocked herself stone-cold unconscious. From the folds of her dress, Marty appears between her knees, shakes his head, and sprints back towards Betty's table.

Betty has not been idle during this time, for actually less than 60-seconds have passed since this entire escapade began. It was but short moments before that she made her grab for Marty, missing due to Struther's frantic struggles. During the next dozen or so seconds, she has been kept off-balance by panicked, jostling patrons. But now that she has her senses and balance back, her attention is on Struther, lying on the sand, eyes rolled back and exhibiting but the feeblest of twitches about his lips. Betty jumps to the top of the table, shoving drinks and fruit bowl aside, and without hesitation leaps high into the air towards the downed man. She lands on top of Struther, her elbow slamming with the full weight of her body into his diaphragm, just below the ribs. There is the distinct snapping sound of bones breaking, and Struther convulses, his head and legs lifting off the ground...and with a loud woofing, cough-like bark, expels a wet geyser of spit and partially chewed peanuts high into the air. He coughs raggedly several more times, but at least he is breathing, and that's all that Betty cares about at the moment.

She rolls off the convulsing man, sits upright and looks over to Kaman, also sitting on the sand, at last untangled from the waiter and the woman. Betty shakes some sand from her hair and smiles.

"I can't believe I was once actually married to this asshole..."

Suddenly, Marty appears before her, sits on his haunches and regards Betty with a wide grin.

Fun!

"Well...I'm sure glad _you_ think so!"

Chapter Two

"Holy frijoles!" roared Sam, his laughter coming over the ship-to-ship radio clearly despite being several thousand kilometers distant. "Sounds like total pandemonium!"

"Yeah," replied Betty, fighting the giggles. "But without the pandas!" She sits at the controls of her shuttle, the "Puddle Popper", piloting it back to the Flipper-Doodle, where Sam waited. The Oort ball containing the Madeira colony lay far astern even though she left the docking bay scant minutes before. Betty was anxious to leave the colony as far, and as quickly, behind as feasible—she longed to get back out into deep space...back to the frontier.

"So let me guess...the Peacekeepers showed up—"

"Hell, yeah," she interrupts with a snort. "Must have been _twenty_ of them! That someone hit their panic button doesn't surprise me; what _would_ is if there was anyone there that _didn't_!" Betty referred to the channel on all colony communicators, whether cybernetic or external, that placed an automated distress call to all nearby Peacekeeper offices once activated.

"Wow, kiddo...you don't do anything half-way. I'm glad I wasn't there! How's Struther?"

"They thought he was dead! You should have seen him...lying there stiff as a goat's pecker; eyes wide-open...staring at the holo-cast of the sun! I'll bet his retinas are scorched." She joined Sam in renewed, uproarious laughter. "And that bite out of his hand! Like he was bleeding _to death_! Marty must have mixed some sort of anti-coagulant with that venom!"

Marty, lying on Betty's lap, raised his head and opened one eye at the mention of his name. But seeing his assistance wasn't required, or that there was no food, went back to dozing.

"Aw jeez, I hope he doesn't need a tetanus shot..."

"Who?" cried Betty. "Struther or Marty?" They again howled with laughter.

"Betty, I have you on radar and visual," came the soft, feminine voice of the ships' computer. "I am prepared to bring the Puddle Popper in when you are ready."

"Go ahead, Charlie," she replied. "I have visual on the Doodle."

Charlie took control of the shuttle, steering it towards one of the bay-doors opening at the small ship's approach. Betty grabbed Marty from her lap and headed back towards the hatch.

"But what the hell did you tell the Pee Kays?" asked Sam. "I mean...Marty's permits don't give him the latitude to go around biting people...even if they _do_ deserve it!"

"Yeah, you're right," Betty climbed into the airlock and dogged the hatch. "I tried to tell them it did...at least when someone attacks me! Only problem with that...Struther was just sitting there! Good thing the Cranston security team showed up with those lawyers!"

Once inside the Flipper-Doodle, Betty let Marty leap to the bay's floor and run beside her as she headed for the control room. She stopped for a moment in one of the side rooms, changing into a clean shirt. In moments, she and her husband were kissing passionately while Marty ran about their feet, chattering excitedly.

"I still don't get it," said Sam, giving Betty one last hug before returning to the main control panels, plugging the cerebral-interface cable into the socket behind his right ear. "How did Claire know you needed help?"

"That woman thinks of everything," she said, sitting next to Sam. Marty immediately reclaimed her lap. "Little did I know she had been watching us since I asked her to buy the Oasis for me...no, no, don't ask, I'll explain later! The attorneys had papers showing I was untouchable, seeing as how you and I are the sovereign rulers of an entire planet and enjoy full diplomatic immunity!"

Sam started to speak, but the woman had a hand over his mouth before the first word could be uttered.

"And said papers gave legal proof that the Peacekeepers had no authority within the Oasis as it had been registered as our defacto _embassy_!"

"Incredible, honey...you and Claire are amazing! But what about Marty? Is he perhaps listed as some official political emissary?"

"Better...since the survey teams have combed Xanadu from pole-to-pole and found no others like him, Marty is one of the most valuable... _and_ most protected critters alive! He is documented as a "sole survivor" of his species! Neat huh?"

Sam shook his head in wonder as he and Betty shared a few last chuckles. "All right...enough...so what about Struther? He _is_ going to recover...right?"

"Yeah...of course he is! But the med-techs there couldn't snap him out of it! After they'd all stood around for a while scratching their heads, they finally asked me if there wasn't _something_ I could do. So I asked Marty...and he went over and bit Struther _again_! Right in front of everyone!"

"And he woke up?"

"You got it! Sat right up, looked at Marty and scrambled backwards like a crab in a blind panic. Damnedest thing you ever saw!"

"What about Wantanabe...why did he want to see you?"

Betty reached into a pocket and held up a small data-card. "He said this would explain everything!"

***

Sam and Betty leaned excitedly over the control room's plotting/projection table. A holo-cast of a desiccated planet slowly turned while they studied the details. Beside the globe, a small-scale projection of the solar system displayed the sun and other planets, along with an asteroid belt. The scale was such that nothing was shown beyond the outer-most planet.

"It's a main sequence G sun," said Sam. "Ten planets...normal asteroid belt, nothing really unusual."

"You mean other than the fact the planet is almost a billion years older than Old Earth! The sun's older and brighter than Sol too. That's probably why there's no surface water...oceans have all boiled away via upper-atmospheric disassociation."

"Yeah...but look at these readings! Atmospheric mixtures are hardly uniform even though the surface-pressure is still about Earth-normal. Notice how the concentrations of oxygen, nitrogen and water vary wildly? There also appears to be a correlation to geology...wonder what that's all about?"

"By the way," said Betty, suddenly changing the subject. "How did your meeting with the Navy go? Are they going to give us a couple of warp-doors or not?"

Sam exhaled deeply while running his hand through his hair. "Bad news there...I thought they were being stingy because they wanted to release the technology slowly. But then I talked with Doctor Lewiston and found out that not only have they refused to make the doors public, but they've also taken back the ones they gave to Claire! That's why she and Doc haven't been back to Mars for a while...no warp-doors!"

"But why? I thought those would be incorporated into the Leviathan as well as throughout Claire's company to assist with the colonization of Xanadu! What made them change their minds?"

The Leviathan was a 50-kilometer Oort ball the Cranston Corporation had spent ten-years, and a large portion of its resources, converting into a monstrous, mobile base from which to initiate a "hostile" take-over of competing mining operations in the cloud. Sam's last tour-of-duty in the Navy had been an assignment where he helped the Inter-system Navy's special-ops group commandeer the Leviathan as well as removing Claire's stepfather as head of the Cranston Corporation, then placing her in his stead.

"Can't tell ya, honey-bunch...I even tried contacting Admiral McNally. But for some reason, he's never replied to my calls."

"Well...I thought that was the hold-up with the B.O.B.—the installation of the doors! If we're not getting any, they should be done with our ship! We can use it to check-out Kaman's planet!"

"That's what I thought, too. But according to the dock-master, they encountered some problems...said the B.O.B. won't be ready for some time yet! When I pressed him for specifics, all I got was the run-around!" Sam paced for several moments, then continued. "What about you? What could they tell you about Marty?"

"Well the lab-boys thought he was the bees-knees! Ran all kinds of tests on him...at least the ones he'd allow..."

"How so?" asked Sam.

"Well, you can forget about drawing a blood sample! Marty did not like that at all! Did you, you scoundrel?"

Marty had raised his head to look into Betty's eyes at the repeated mention of his name. Now, he did not return to napping, but began paying closer attention to Sam and Betty since he was the topic of discussion.

"But he didn't mind the x-rays and ultra-sounds," continued Betty, stroking Marty's head. "Seems he has at least four sets of glands in his cheeks and tongue, perhaps more, that secrete an entire host of peptides! He apparently mixes and matches all kinds of combinations: single chains, tripeptides, pentapeptides...all the way up to decapeptides...and all sorts of side chain protecting groups! N-terminal protectors, t-boc'ers, protein-chains...even peptones and proteose mixtures—"

She abruptly stopped when she noticed Sam's blank stare and his mouth hanging open.

"Sorry...I got carried away. Let's just say he's capable of cooking-up quite an unbelievable array of organic, molecular soups!"

"And medicines?" asked Sam. He and Betty had been badly injured when the B.O.B. collided with a comet in the Xanadu system; Marty had healed their wounds with but a bite.

"Well, what we call medicines...antibiotics, for example...and after what he did to Struther, seems he can concoct venom and neurotoxins too! But, there's something else I've just discovered..."

She paused in her explanation, reaching into her belt-pouch, withdrawing her utility-blade. She held it up for Sam to plainly see, then flicked open the locking blade, turning it deftly in her fist so the tip pointed downward.

"You're not going to believe this..."

She placed her left hand, palm-down, on the table's wooden surface. Suddenly, to Sam's surprise and horror, she stabbed her hand with the knife, the blade thunking solidly into the tabletop. She hissed at the pain, her jaw clenched tightly and her eyes narrowing to slits. Sam started forward in alarm, but Betty waved him off after releasing the knife. Marty watched placidly as blood slowly seeped around the blade for a moment, and then stopped.

"It's not nearly as painful as it looks," she said, reaching out with her free hand to rub Sam's arm in reassurance. "It's mostly getting past the self-preservation inhibitions that's hard-wired into the reptilian part of our brains!" She again firmly grabbed the knife, yanking it from the table. After wiping both sides of her hand with a rag, she held it palm-out for Sam to examine. There was no cut, no puncture, nothing to indicate the hand had been skewered moments before.

"Betts...how on earth did you figure _this_ out?"

"When I was with the lab-boys and med-techs...while they were studying Marty, I off-handedly mentioned Marty's...little talent..."

"Oh, man...how much did you give them? You didn't tell them about..."

"About what? How he saved your life and the way my arm's compound fracture completely healed in less that 24-hours? No, I caught myself in time, thank goodness! But, they wanted a blood sample from me, and they broke three needles trying to pierce my skin! You should have seen the spike they wound up using! I've never seen a needle that big...it looked like something you'd use on an elephant—"

"Excuse me, you two," interrupted Charlie. "But we have an incoming call from Cranston headquarters...from Claire Lewiston, and it's encrypted! Shall I answer it?"

"Put it on the side-screen, over here, Charlie," instructed Betty.

The viewer activated, showing Claire seated, and her husband, Doctor Lewiston, standing behind her.

"Betty! Hi, Roy," said the woman. The man beside her nodded in greeting. "Thank goodness you guys answered! Where are you?"

"Nowhere near Madeira or the shipyard," answered Betty. "You know Sam...or Roy...whatever you want to call him! We're parked _way_ out here."

"Well...I hope you've got your engines warmed-up..." said Doc, leaning in over Claire's shoulder. "You need to get out of here el muy ass friggin' pronto!"

"Let me guess," said Betty. "Someone's looking for us?"

While Betty talked, Sam moved to the main control panel, plugging in and continuing to bring the mains fully online.

"In the worst way," continued Claire. "Suddenly, the Inter-system Navy is _very_ interested in you and Marty!"

"I can't imagine why," said Sam. "Besides, I thought Betty and I were now royalty!"

Claire smiled before answering. "That legal mumbo-jumbo don't mean squat to the military! You and Betty know that! And if I had to guess, which I'm not, whatever they found in your wife's blood sample lit a fire under somebody!"

"As far as Marty," said Doc. "Our boys reviewed the security feeds from the Oasis...I'm betting you know what they found! The military has access to those tapes also! There's no way we can prevent that!"

"What is he talking about?" asked Sam, still working the board.

"I know exactly what they saw," said Betty, giving Marty a gentle shake. "This scamp hit Kaman and me with one of his brain-blasts before attacking Struther! Doesn't take a genius to see we reacted to him before the excitement even started!"

"I'm not sure what this is all about," said Claire. "But even _we_ noticed that! There's obviously something special about that little guy! But if the Navy gets their hands on him, you'll most likely never see him again! Best get going!"

"I hate to interrupt again," said Charlie in his masculine voice, meaning he was primarily addressing Sam. "But a Naval battle-cruiser just warped to within 1500-kilometers of us. They'll be here in thirty!"

"Gotta go!" cried Betty, leaping into the co-pilot's chair. "Charlie! Give us the longest jump the engines can manage! Any destination that's out of here! Just try not to put us in a star or something!"

Charlie cut the message from the Madeira colony as the Flipper-Doodle vibrated slightly as it got under-weigh.

"Charlie, do you still have a connection with the B.O.B.?" asked Sam.

"Affirmative...warp in fifteen!"

"Do a complete memory-dump—all systems—and scramble the access-codes," instructed Sam. "Don't leave them anything to work with!"

"Roger-dodger!"

As the Flipper-Doodle accelerated, a warp-hole opened before them. The vessel entered, leaving the bounds of normal space, instantaneously leaping nearly 175-light-years across the Orion spiral spur.

Chapter Three

"Well...now we know why McNally wouldn't return your calls!" Betty paced the control room, staring at the floor as she walked. "I'm not too worried about them using _me_ as a guinea pig...but Marty would never cooperate! Eventually they'd come to the conclusion he wasn't worth the trouble and could more easily be examined dead!"

"Killing the golden goose? Come on, Betty! Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic?"

Sam sat at a table on the mess deck, sipping coffee while Betty paced about the control room, forward and two decks above. He watched her on one of the monitors. She was so keyed-up and angry, he had removed himself from her company. To be near her when she generated so many jagged, negative emotions had become almost too painful for him—better to stand back and let the storm named Betty blow over. Before him, a slice of apple pie lay half-eaten. They were five-hours into the 12-hour waiting period before they could warp again.

"Am I?" she asked, glancing at the monitor. "You saw that ship! If we hadn't leapt, they would have snagged us with a tractor-beam for sure!"

"Wouldn't have done them any good...with our propulsion shield up, they wouldn't be able to board us! Or even hold us, for that matter. The Flipper-Doodle has _way_ more power at her disposal than any old class-four cruiser!"

Betty hissed a string of curses to the air. "Well, it's a cinch we can't go back to the cloud...and we certainly can't make for Xanadu! That's the first place they'll look for us!"

"Then let's just go to Kaman's world...might as well check it out while they look for us...unless they have the coordinates for that too."

"I doubt it," she replied. "For some reason, he didn't register the planet...and slicked it from his ship's computer! Kaman was pretty sneaky when he gave me that card! Like he knew they were watching us! I'm not sure why...Kaman's a _very_ old friend, and I'd trust him with my life...but, let's not forget about his drinking... _habits_...and I get the distinct feeling he didn't tell me the whole story..."

"Now, don't go paranoid on me, kiddo! That way lies madness. However, you may have a point there...but what's to stop them from finding old man Wantanabe just to see if he might know something concerning our whereabouts?"

" _Now_ who's being paranoid? No...as far as they know, I was just meeting with an old friend for a few drinks. Besides, that ruckus with Struther has pretty well muddied the waters around there! If I know Kaman, and I've known him for a _long_ time, he'll have gone to ground after so much attention!"

"Then it's decided! Once the warp-capacitors recharge, we'll head for...did he have a name for that world, I mean besides the star's catalogue number?"

"Not that he mentioned," she replied. "Hell—let's just call it Kaman's World!"

***

Thirty-four hours later, the Flipper-Doodle orbited Kaman's World at an altitude of 300-kilometers. Earlier, Betty had launched several satellites, starting a mapping survey of the planet; their database from the card holding little more than the planet's coordinates and general system data. Now, with detailed maps, there was little more they could do from orbit.

"Might as well get to it," said Betty, joining Sam in the control room. She wore a lightweight suit despite the surface pressure registering Earth-normal. An EVA downside required little more than an oxygen mask, much like the type worn by mountain-climbers on Old Earth, or tourists determined to make the long slog all the way to the top of Olympus Mons.

"Want to do a general fly-over?" asked Sam. "Or head straight for the site where Kiro was...ah...lost..."

"No sense mincing about! Let's get down there and see what kind of retrieval job we're facing!"

Sam adjusted drive-parameters, nosing the Doodle into the atmosphere. The drive-shield flared furiously as the ship plowed downward at well over 40-thousand kilometers-per-hour. He and Betty had decided earlier that sub-sonic speeds were unnecessary while in the upper layers of the troposphere, as there was little life below to risk startling with sonic booms. Especially in the transition zone between the rocky foothills and open desert targeted. In minutes, the surface was close enough where large details of the landscape were discernable without using the vessel's scanners. Sam finally slacked-off velocity when their approach came within a dozen klicks of the LZ. They could easily pick out their destination without checking the coordinates. Sam slowly circled the area at an altitude of several hundred meters, affording a closer inspection.

"Good god," said Sam in hushed awe. "What in the hell _is_ that?"

" _That_ is a really good question," replied Betty. "The way Kaman told the story, I got the impression a friggin' mountain collapsed on them!"

"Well I've got news for you kiddo... _that_ is no _mountain_!"

"That's for sure...kind of the opposite, in a weird sort of way. Set her down over there...no, on the _other_ side of that dune...let's not take a chance on that hole being unstable...we'd have a hell of a time digging the Doodle out of there!"

Sam set the ship down on the other side of a series of small sand hills a good four hundred meters to the side, and within the hour, he and Betty stood at the edge. Before them, an immense pit spanning no less than fifty meters lay surrounded by an amphitheater-like arrangement of dunes. The sun, almost directly overhead, cast no shadows from the sandy hills or within the cone-shaped hole before them. The sides sloped sharply downward almost to a point, but not straight from lip to bottom. Twice, flat terraces interrupted the descent, providing narrow ledges completely around the cone-shaped depression's interior.

"I can tell you this, right now," said Betty, standing with hands on hips, close enough to see all the way to the hole's bottom, yet far enough back so as not to tempt an edge-collapse. "No way is this a natural phenomenon! And what's with those two flat rings?"

"I may be nuts, Betts...but they look like inspection walkways!"

"You're not nuts, dear! What were Kaman and Kiro doing down in there? And how could Kiro get buried?"

"You're not thinking of going in there are you?" asked Sam, moving closer and placing an arm around her waist, as if to hold her back. "I don't mind telling you how nervous this... _whatever_ this thing is, makes me!"

"Don't be a worry-wart," she replied, removing her oxygen mask and giving an exposed portion of his cheek a quick kiss. "That's what they made spider-bots for...Charlie! Are you getting all this?"

"Indeed I am," came the feminine voice over their helmets' earphones. "How many and what do I need to bring?"

"A dozen will do...for now. And this is what I want..."

***

Sam sat in the shade of the pavilion pitched by Charlie's drones, sipping a glass of iced-water while watching Betty inspect the gantry erected near the pit's edge. Careful experimentation by the globe-like, half-meter bots with six flexible tentacles for legs had proven the periphery surprisingly stable; not once did any portion of the rim collapse, no matter how close the spider-bots tested for strength. On the contrary, the verge proved quite cohesive, even when several hundred kilos of bots gathered there. Apparently satisfied with the construction, Betty returned to the shade of the tent.

"Charlie, how's Marty doing?" she asked.

"He's been quite anxious, Betty," came the reply from the nearest spider-bot, pausing in its activities to address its mistress. "I finally turned on the main screen and pointed most of the cameras in this direction. When he saw you and Sam, he climbed into the co-pilot's chair and has since been enjoying the show."

At the news, Betty relaxed somewhat; Marty's distress when she began to leave the ship without him had been both touching and hard to bear. The lovable creature had been her constant companion almost from the moment she found him, or when he had found _her_ , as Sam liked to point out. On the ship, he followed her everywhere, that is, when she wasn't _carrying_ him...which she did, most of the time. He had made such a scene, running about and mewing a pathetic, keening whine the first time she entered the shower, leaving him outside the stall, that she had finally relented and allowed him to join her. The only time he understood his presence was... _unnecessary_...was when she and Sam shared an intimate moment. But afterwards, he always promptly joined them, claiming what became his customary spot on Betty's side of the bed.

When she and Sam suited-up, strapping on their hip-tanks and rebreathers, obviously about to embark on an excursion outside the ship, Marty had grown very excited as he fully expected to be included in the adventure. However, when he finally realized he was to be left behind, his alarm and antics had proved quite distracting. But there was nothing to be done for it. They had no cage or pet-carrier to put him in, and they doubted he would cooperate for even a second if they did: above all else, Sam often reminded Betty that the little fellow was, after all, a wild animal...and a head-strong one at that.

The one trait that never failed to startle and bewilder both Sam and Betty was the inexplicable bond Marty shared with them. Within days after he first came into their lives on the planet Betty christened Xanadu, they realized an incomprehensible two-way emotional conduit existed between them all—Marty could "tune-in" to their emotional state, and lately, to a growing extent, they realized they could also sense _his_ mood, especially when it shifted unexpectedly. It wasn't that he was telepathic to the extent he could actually _talk_ to them, as an animal, he obviously lacked language, but his clear, concise thoughts came through as piercing images easily succeeding to such an amazing degree, he just might as well be communicating with words. Marty's ability to convey surprise, joy, aggravation and, yes, sudden anger, made him seem indispensable in their daily routines.

Sam could certainly appreciate Betty's relief that Marty had calmed down. The little fellow's alarm when the hatch closed between them had almost brought both of them to tears. He knew Betty would concentrate on the task at hand and work faster, and with greater competency, without having to worry about Marty.

She slung a small, lightweight backpack of tools and instruments over her shoulders and slapped Sam's boots for emphases. "Come on, lazy-bones! I need you to spot me while I'm down in the hole."

"I still don't like this," he grumbled. "Just send down a bot...let them do all the work!"

"Not going to have this conversation again, lover-boy. If we're going to get Kiro's bones out of there, one of us has to go down! And I weigh a lot less than you do!"

He followed her in resignation, knowing further arguments would only delay the work needing to be done. If Kiro's body was indeed buried in that hole, they were going to have to figure out some way to bring it to the surface.

Betty quickly attached the gantry cable to her body harness, checking the straps and buckles for snugness and proper adjustment. Sam manned the controls, playing out slack as Betty advanced to the edge, preparing to back downward. But first, she turned in the direction of the ship, partially visible between two of the lower dunes. Smiling broadly, she waved to Marty, knowing he was watching her every move. With a final glance, she began her descent.

In the Doodle's control room, Marty lifted his head, ears snapping erect when his mistress waved. But his elation quickly changed as he watched Betty backing over the edge and into the immense pit. He had decided early on that he did not like the mysterious hole, and now that his mistress was disappearing into it, he leapt to his feet, hissing in alarm. Turning to Charlie's nearest inboard camera, he stood on his rear legs, chattering excitedly.

"What's the matter, little one?" asked the computer in a feminine voice. "Betty's just taking some instrumentation into the hole...she's in no danger whatsoever. Let me show you." Charlie accessed and activated the camera atop the gantry, the view screen switching to an image of the woman reaching the upper-most ring, one of the spider-bots descending with her. "See? There's nothing to worry about!"

In the hole, Betty motioned for Sam to give her additional slack so she could move about on the terrace. She stamped her feet several times, testing the strength of the flat ring. She was already puzzled by the stability of the slope she had just descended. She had expected the sand of the hole's sides to crumble and shift beneath her feet, but to her surprise, the sand moved only slightly, and instead of sliding, she was presented with crusty crumbling, as if the sides of the pit were coated with some manner of binding solution giving structural support; hardly a condition that would give rise to any sort of landslide. The bot was forced to plant its flexible, tentacle-like legs with some determination, for breaking the crust proved necessary, or it would otherwise have tumbled to the bottom.

"What is with this crust?" Betty asked rhetorically. Sam knew she didn't really expect an answer. "The sides obviously do not exceed the angle of repose...but we're talking _sand_ here! What happens to the stuff the wind blows in? Where does _that_ go? Where _can_ it go?"

At the pit's edge, Sam remained silent, closely watching Betty as she reached the second ring, approximately three-quarters the way to the bottom. But his composure was shaken when Betty suddenly detached her safety line.

"Betty! What the hell are you doing? We agreed you'd stay harnessed!"

The woman, hands on hips, looked upward. "No worries, Sam! The hole's stable!" She stomped her feet several times in way of demonstration. "Kaman lied to us...no way can this stuff cave-in!" She turned and walked around the pit's circumference, waving a scanner she had withdrawn from her backpack. "Strange...there's one heck of an electromagnetic field down here! I'll have to discharge the static electricity before I grab that cable again." She stopped abruptly when she glanced to the bottom. Where moments before had only been the slightly rounded, almost flat bottom, now appeared several dozen green, grass-like appendages, waving about as if moved to and fro by some unfelt breeze.

"Oh, _crap_!" she cried, quickly turning and running back towards her cable. "This is no _hole_! It's a _pit-fall_!"

Suddenly, as if mocking the woman's carelessness, the entire area began to quiver as harmonics began climbing in time to the building ground-vibrations. Sam staggered about, struggling desperately to maintain his balance. His efforts forced him backwards, away from the hole's edge, and he lost sight of Betty. But even though the low rumbling had increased to deafening growls from beneath his feet, he could still hear his wife's panicked cries for help.

Just when the quaking and howling seemed to have reached its peak and couldn't possibly get any worse, it instead redoubled in intensity, throwing Sam violently to the ground, as a gargantuan geyser of sand shot skyward from the hole's center, throwing the world into a dark, choking miasma of dust and thunder.

Chapter Four

Marty stood in the copilot's chair watching Betty with an intensity borne of his excitable nature. Even though he had calmed somewhat when Charlie changed cameras, allowing him to follow his mistress when she climbed into the hole, he remained agitated despite the computer's reassurances. When Betty detached herself from the safety line, Marty had begun shifting his weight between his legs, almost dancing in place as his apprehension grew. And when the ground-tremors began, the creature stood upright on his rear legs, watching intently as the gantry, and the camera, swayed wildly.

The over-head camera showed Marty what Sam could not follow when he was thrown back from the pit's edge: at the height of the localized quake, the hole's bottom opened, revealing a featureless, black shaft almost three-meters in diameter. When the explosion of sand suddenly rocketed upward from the orifice, obscuring the view in swirling clouds of dust, Marty shrieked in alarm and leapt from the chair, sprinting out of the control room.

Without hesitation or deviation, the small, furry blur streaked to the nearest airlock. Once inside, he again stood upright, staring intently at Charlie's observation camera, chattering excitedly.

"But the outside atmosphere is oxygen-deficient, little one," said Charlie, trying to reason with the creature. "You won't be able to breath properly!"

Marty redoubled his verbalization, squeaking and chattering as if he were talking to the computer. But, then of course, he was.

"I see, are you certain?" responded Charlie. "If you are quite sure then...all right, I understand. But if I can be of assistance, be sure to give me notice!"

At this, the inner door swung shut. There was the slight hiss of equalization, and then the outer hatch opened, the glare of the desert sun filling the lock with brilliance. The moment the door was out of his way, Marty shot outward with such force, he had covered ten-meters before his tiny claws touched the sand.

***

As soon as the quaking subsided enough for him to regain his feet, Sam sprinted to the hole, desperately looking for Betty, shading his eyes with his hands against the glare off the still swirling dust. In scant moments, the air had cleared enough to reveal the pit in its entirety. Below, the descent cable stretched downward, disappearing beneath the sifting sand halfway to the bottom. But, of the woman and spider-bot, there wasn't a hint or trace.

"Charlie! What happened to Betty?"

The reply came from the nearest spider-bot as it scurried over to join him. "Well, she's evidently been swept down that hole by the blast of sand!"

"What the hell does that mean? She's buried down there?" Sam took a step towards the pit, then turned to the gantry, then again back to the pit. He stopped in confusion, his hands to the sides of his head, trying to squeeze some sense there. He knew he should be panicking in concern, but for some unexplainable reason, he knew Betty was safe...at least for the time being.

"The clue came in Betty's shout of alarm," replied the computer. "She said it was a pit-fall. That makes sense, in a way."

"Explain!"

"If we assemble the bits of what we know, this construct appears to be a trap to entice animals—whether or not any remain is academic—to stumble into the pit. Those wiggling appendages we witnessed act as a lure...imitating tasty vegetation of some sort, perhaps. Once the animal reaches the bottom, the entrance opens and the blast of sand acts as a lubricant, washing the creature, or _creatures_ , to whatever waits below."

"Are you saying something just _ate_ her?" Sam's voice lacked conviction; he did not believe for a second that his wife had been harmed in such a manner. Something within his consciousness fostered the belief she had simply been transported below ground. But _why_ , and for what _purpose_ was, for the nonce, unknown.

"I do not believe that to be the case," Charlie explained. "I have an intermittent faint signal from the drone swept down with her. But it is tenuous, at best. As Betty noted, there is an electrometric field of considerable strength interfering with the signal." If Sam had been paying closer attention to the drone, he would have notice it suddenly turn, looking off into the distance towards the ship.

"Oh dear...my apologies, Sam! In the excitement of the moment, I fear I have neglected to mention something quite important—"

Before Charlie could continue, Sam suddenly became aware of Marty's approach. Even before the furry streak was visible, a subconscious pressure impinged on his thoughts, and he knew Marty drew near as sure as if he had been sent a transmission by radio.

Sam turned in time to witness Marty crest the nearest rise, moving with such speed, his legs were mere blurs and he hardly seemed to touch the sand at all. He covered the remaining distance in moments, streaking to the pit's edge, and without hesitation, launched high into the air. The leap was of such incredible strength, Marty reached the center of the hole before his trajectory arced downward, and shot rapidly towards the pit's floor.

Sam watched in rapt fascination, not certain as to the small creature's intention. He wanted to assist in some way, but everything unfolded without time to organize his thoughts, or develop a plan of action. He had almost decided to jump into the pit and help Marty with whatever he planned, when a sudden pressure build about the hole, and before Sam could react, a tremendous force knocked him backwards, lifting him and the spider-bot into the air. And when he slammed into the sand, he lay still, knocked unconscious by the unseen assault.

***

Betty regained consciousness, her ears ringing loudly. She gingerly touched the side of her head where it ached, feeling the protruding lump there. When she sat up, a bot moved to her side, prepared to help her stand if she decided to do so.

"Are you all right, Betty?" asked Charlie, lightly touching her shoulder with one leg. "You had me worried for a second, there."

"I'm okay...I think..." She looked about in confusion, not knowing where they were. Everything around them was draped in dusty shadow, a soft light keeping the darkness from totality. "What...what happened...where's Sam?"

"We appear to have been swept underground, into some sort of tunnel system. I took the liberty of looking about while you were unconscious. As for Sam, I imagine he's still up there, wondering as to where we've disappeared!"

The woman moved about slowly, hissing and wincing as her head hurt anew with each effort. "Ouch...I must have hit my head..."

"I'm afraid that's my fault," replied Charlie, helping the woman rise to her knees. "When we were swept down, I landed on your head. Fortunately, it was only a glancing blow."

"Yeah...lucky me..." Betty gritted her teeth and stood, allowing the bot to further help her. She looked about, straining to penetrate the surrounding gloom. There wasn't really much to see; some sort of small, central chamber, with tunnels running off in several directions. The ceiling afforded enough space for her to stand without having to stoop, but just barely so. Betty looked straight up, hoping to see the shaft from which they fell, but there was not the slightest trace of an opening or passage anywhere above them.

"So...what do we do now?" continued Betty. "Going back the way we came doesn't seem to be an option. Can we get a message to Sam?"

"I've been trying, but that field we detected is stronger now. I had a connection for a moment...every once in a while the field clears and I manage a partial transmission, but a coherent message isn't possible."

"Can you blast a pulse on a tight beam?"

"I could certainly do that, but it would need to be of such amplitude, the power-drain would place me temporarily out of commission. Should I try?"

"No, I might need your defenses..." Betty paused, alternately looking down each of the half-dozen passages, trying to decide which would afford the likeliest possibility of an exit. It was a tough call, for each tunnel slanted downward, quite opposite of where she wanted to go. While she studied on the problem, she rubbed away some of the grit adhering around her mouth when she realized her oxygen mask no longer covered her face. She felt around her waist, but found only a short, severed piece of the hose from her rebreather.

"Your mask got tore off during the fall, I'm afraid," said Charlie. "Fortunately, there seems to be more oxygen down here."

"Well, common sense dictates we stay here...or nearby. But if Sam starts digging with some heavy equipment, I don't want to be right under it...we might get buried."

"I concur...so what shall we do?"

"Let's explore some," Betty replied. "If Sam does decide to dig here, we're likely to get a clearer signal. Besides, we won't go far, agreed?"

"Whatever you say, boss-lady."

***

Marty surfed the sifting sand as it drained downward through a labyrinth of ever-changing channels, altering direction often and without rational pattern. He knew he had taken a wrong turn, as his mental-lock on his mistress grew weaker. In the several minutes separating him from Betty, the shafts seemed to have realigned themselves, draining away the sand and debris swallowed while the entrance port was open.

After a time, he found his way to a larger chamber where there was much more room, but still not enough for Betty to have come this way. Several side-shafts led off in various directions. However, he could not establish a stronger signal, even though he went from tunnel to tunnel, carefully sniffing each in turn. All the passages seemingly offered a promising direction to search, but none stood out as a better candidate than any other.

Marty closed his eyes and reached outward with all his will: he could feel the man above, and he could feel the woman below, but despite his skills, he couldn't establish enough of a connection to guide him unerringly. In the darkness, Marty made a hissing noise Betty or Sam would have found strange and unnerving—Marty radiated anger and frustration. The urgency to find his mistress screamed at his senses, for there were others down here, and these others would prove hostile and dangerous to any and all visitors.

***

Sam woke with a start. His entire body ached as if he had been struck some mighty blow, but he instinctively knew this was not the case. Nothing physical had touched him...of that he was certain. He tried opening his eyes, and the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun made him cover his face with a hand. After a moment's confusion, he realized he was on the ground, lying on his back. With some effort, he struggled to his feet.

"Charlie...how long was I out?"

But there came no answer. Rubbing the sand from around his eyes, he looked about, trying to spot a spider-drone. He had no trouble there—they lay scattered about the site, near the pit, by the tent and around the gantry—all motionless, all unresponsive, all fried. Sam tried to reboot several, but to no avail. He keyed his helmet radio, trying to raise the ship, but this too proved futile. There was no signal, not even the crackle of static. The circuit was dead, and he had no way of telling if the fault lay on his end or on the Doodle.

He removed his oxygen-mask, rubbing the tickle beneath his nose. When he checked the moisture he found there, he discovered his hand smeared in blood. A quick check found he was bleeding from the ears, too.

After a few more minutes of checking about the site, Sam turned and stumbled towards the ship. Hopefully, he could find some answers there.

Chapter Five

Betty sat on a rock looking outward, marveling at what lay before her. She had no idea if each of the passageways would have led to such as this, but the one she followed certainly did. The tunnel had grown taller and widened at a steady pace, always leading downward, ever deeper below the planet's surface. At one point, the descent became so steep, she threw caution aside and slid down for quite a ways on a concave section of stone she found by the side of the trail. The phosphorescent glow from the walls and ceiling, while slight at first, increased considerably during her slide. It was only when she reached bottom that she discovered her curved stone was actually some sort of shell, evidently once belonging to some turtle-like creature. But now the light, while not nearly as bright as on the surface, afforded more than enough to illuminate the impossible landscape.

Although a true feel for the dimensions wasn't possible without something familiar to use as a reference for scale, it was certain the expanse was of considerable proportions. Not too far below her position, strange, spindly, plant-like growth rose everywhere from the cavern's floor, as though fiercely competing over the meager light from above. Further along, the subterranean jungle grew taller with the advent of trunks vaguely resembling trees, but instead of a system of branches with leafy tops, each displayed long, graceful fronds more like gargantuan ferns. There was even an ever-so-slight movement of the air to gently wave the uppermost growth. The vegetation grew ever more lush with distance, and near the limits of the chamber, she caught sight of dappled light shimmering and reflecting from the far wall, clearly indicating water flowed there.

"Well...this is not nearly so bad as I first imagined."

The bot rested on the sand at her feet, its tentacle-like legs retracted within its body to conserve power. It now extended two of them, swiveling its body till the optical orb faced the woman.

"How so, mistress?"

"When those tremors first hit, I feared we had perhaps stumbled upon the lair of some monstrous doodlebug!"

"Ah...are you referring to _formicaleo_?"

"If you prefer the Latin...more commonly know by the Greek _myrmeleontidae_."

"An ant-lion by any other name—"

"Would bite just as quickly! They used to fascinate me...when I was a child, you see, back on Mars! So long ago..." Betty mused. She stared into the remoteness, speaking wistfully. "I had them backwards, can you imagine? I thought the large ends—their abdomens—were their heads, and the pincers were their tails! Imagine my surprise when I learned the truth...that the little buggers simply crawled backwards!"

As she spoke, she slowly unsheathed her combat blade, strapped to her left thigh. She lightly fingered the control studs and the blade's 40-centemeters of memory-steel remolded itself into a thin, tubular cudgel, the tip forming a small, round nub. Satisfied with the design, she carefully placed it on her lap.

"But instead of an ant-lion's slippery pit, we find instead a sophisticated, highly evolved tunnel system whose function is transporting unwary animals to an underground realm of wonders." Her gaze shifted from examining the cavern's far-away details and now focused sharply on the not-too-distant edge of the vegetation spread before them. The Charlie-drone too had heard the furtive rustle of movement within the underbrush, again swiveling its sensors to where Betty stared.

"I can think of several interesting scenarios where selective adaptation might lead to such an environ," continued the woman. "But any such development will likely have striking similarities—gatekeepers, for example—opportunistic vermin taking advantage of the... _uninitiated_ , if you will."

As Betty softly spoke, covert shapes came into view, skirting the transition between deep shadow and visibility, advancing to the fore in increments, preparing to leave concealment and risk exposure only when all the pack's members were in position.

"Betty, if you wish, I can easily disperse them with sonics, or a well-placed laser..."

"No, Charlie! Just hang back! They can't harm you, and I want to gauge their strength and strategies for a reason. Besides, I need you to conserve your power for a little plan I'm working on!"

So the spider-bot retracted its legs and observed Betty and the visitors closely, just in case his assistance was required after all.

The creatures now moved into the open, the element of surprise carried as far as practical. The only thing remaining was dispersal around their intended prey and the coming attack.

***

Marty at last scurried downward through widening tunnels. The treacherously, twisting ventilation shafts, where his sense of direction had for so long been stymied, now gave way to main thoroughfares. He could feel his mistress's thoughts: they were calm and analytical despite the presented threat and possible danger closing about. Marty no longer paused when choosing his path; his course lay open and clear. However, there was no possibility of his reaching the woman before the others put her to task—and for this, Marty's concern for her safety was dwarfed only by his smoldering rage.

***

Sam fumbled through the control room's medical cabinet, looking for the syringe kit. When he found it, he hurriedly injected himself with a large dose of stimulant as well as a powerful painkiller. His splitting headache vanished almost instantly, and he was again able to think clearly.

"Charlie! Just what the hell happened out there?"

"Something as unbelievable as it was powerful, Sam," the deep, masculine voice paused as the main viewer flickered into life. "I'm just getting most systems back online! You've no doubt deduced all the drones deployed outside the ship have been completely and irrevocably destroyed! You have no idea how lucky we are Betty insisted on setting-down at this distance...any closer and we'd be looking at total systems' failure!"

"I got it!" snapped Sam, working the main board, running multiple system diagnostics. "Where's Betty, and how do we get her back?"

"Well...we probably need to take our lead from Marty...observe the viewer!"

Sam watched as Charlie ran back the final minutes of the feed from the gantry-cam. Charlie employed a split screen with the exterior view on the left and a feed from the control room on the right, showing Marty in the co-pilot's chair. Sam watched as the quake hit and the bottom of the pit gaped open, shooting a massive column of obscuring sand skyward. The view immediately switched to infrared and Betty's form morphed into shifting, oscillating patterns of yellows, reds and violets, offset against a background of blobs and ripples delineating areas around her either warmer or cooler than her body. Sam watched helplessly as Betty lost her footing, engulfed by a descending wave of sand, sweeping her from her feet and washing her down the hole, immediately lost to sight. He played witness to Marty uttering his loud, shrill cries of alarm and rocketing from the control room. Charlie skipped footage to where Sam first turned at the creature's approach and watched again as Marty launched into the hole, nonplused by the choking cloud of sand and dust. Then the playback suddenly went dead, only static remaining.

"That's it?" cried Sam, slamming a fist against the main board. "What hit me? And where'd Marty go?"

"We can only assume he followed Betty," replied the computer. "And you were struck by the same thing that cooked the drones—an electromagnetic pulse of unbelievable magnitude! But from the hole, or Marty, I cannot determine!"

"So what do we do now?"

"Why Sam, I thought that much would be clear! We locate Marty! If we can do that, we'll surely find Betty, too!

***

Betty advanced slowly, her weapon at the ready. She wanted to insure some clearance between her and the scattered boulders behind. She might need the room for maneuvering and could not risk tripping over obstacles when the creatures attacked.

There were nine of them. They spread before her, moving with a grace belying their size—each easily massing at least fifteen-kilos and carrying their weight effortlessly. The trained biologist in Betty longed to analyze their physiology, to compare their internal structures to known species. She couldn't decide whether they more resembled canines, or members of the cat family. It was difficult to judge—while their legs and the sleekness of the rib-structures reminded her of greyhounds, the long, curved claws and protruding fangs gave them a distinct feline cast. Their long, tufted ears constantly turned and swiveled, immediately picking up any sound from every quarter. That and the large, yellow eyes remaining unwaveringly locked on her as they shifted first one way, then the other, seeking an opening, a weakness they could use or turn to their advantage.

But, the woman showed neither weakness nor fear. She knew they would sense it, smell it extruding from her pores, feeding on it like any predator would when sizing up their prey. The animal instincts gauging the odds, weighing the risks against the rewards of a clean kill. Of that they seemed confident; they moved closer by the second, no hesitation in their step or doubt in their demeanor.

Betty was impatient, already tired of their confidence, their ignorance at just who presented the greater threat to whom. She abruptly stood from her defensive crouch, dropping her hands to her sides and turning her hands palm outwards.

"Well come on then, you bastards! Show me your best!"

As if the goad signaled the start of some primal competition, the beasts sprang at her in a staggered formation, the first wave intending to wound, throwing her off-balance, and the remainder to seize what opportunity presented itself.

Betty stepped to one side in a blur of motion, taking three down her right side. Her weapon hissed through the air, slappity-snapping outwards twice in rapid secession, two of the passing creatures suddenly yelping loudly in surprise and pain, landing in wobbly motions, their senses scrambled by the blows to their skulls. The others were already in motion, too slow to grasp or gauge the significance of first blood going to their prey. But even though the attacks were mere fractions of a second apart, the woman's speed proved greater; she moved into position for the counter-assault even before her attackers became aware of the danger.

She pressed the advance, allowing them to come to her even as she closed on them. Their eyes flickering about, trying to register position and distance, their bodies unable to match Betty's fluid motions, moving at and past them, her body spinning in whirls, her club dealing swift, punishing blows to their shoulders, heads, paws, hips, tails and whatever else passing within reach. In a matter of moments, the first sortie played through, and while the creatures wrestled with the impossible concept of a superior prey, or the contradiction therein, the woman had turned and passed back through their scattered ranks before their minds grasped their initial failure.

Now the pack stood, or lay, in complete disarray. Although the wounds were not presented with the intention of maiming, or dealing mortal damage, they were crippling in the sense they fell on nerve centers, or to the tenderest spots judged most compatible to known creatures' weaknesses.

At some unvoiced signal, the creatures quickly gathered into a defensive knot, backing slowly, presenting a united front against the possibility of further counter-attack. They backed into the foliage, effortlessly blending into the shadows, and as quickly as they had first appeared, they were gone without a trace or hint of ever having been there.

"Well! That was certainly entertaining," said the spider-bot, moving to Betty's side. "I must replay that later for Sam. He would be proud of you!"

Betty made a slight, dismissive hiss as she sheathed her weapon. "You think _that_ was impressive...you should see Sam in a bar-fight! Now _that's_ amazing!"

***

Marty paused at the edge of the fungi forest; he could sense Betty's victory even though she was quite far away—it was a testament to his speed that such a distance separated them. His confusing sojourn through the ventilation networks resulted in his current position on the opposite side of the immense cavern, the alien jungle lying between him and his mistress.

He sat on his haunches, contemplating how he had misjudged her abilities, and how his assistance was required much less than he would have ever guessed. He looked about, trying to decide if his trip would be lessened if he skirted the jungle, following the jagged circumference of the chamber, or if he would reach the woman sooner if he went straight through the tangle separating them.

He made a spitting growl of a noise in his frustration. If he could have put his feelings into words they probably would have been: " _How the hell did I get way over here_?"

Chapter Six

The Flipper-Doodle hovered several hundred meters above the pit-fall. Sam had placed the vessel there in hope of using sensors to probe the depths below, but everything he tried resulted in the same manner—complete failure. All attempts thus far proved insufficient in reaching through the seemingly impenetrable interference-field below.

"Well _that_ didn't work," Sam fumed, pacing the control room. "What do we try _now_? Gamma-rays?"

"I don't think that would be wise," replied Charlie. "As far as we can tell, Betty is alive and well. Your mental-connection with Marty implies as much. But hitting the barrier with a GRB might work too well!"

"Yeah...you're probably right. But why won't the main sensory array work? They function by gathering and focusing _gravitrinos_ for crying out loud! They can pass through a light-year of _lead_! How do you block gravitrinos...or _any_ neutrino for that matter?"

"Perhaps it isn't _what_ we use...but _how_ we use it..."

"Thanks for the clarification, Mister _Mud_! Whet the hell does _that_ mean?"

"Well, you are absolutely right about the gravitrinos. There's not suppose to be _anything_ that can block them! After all, they oscillate in and out of normal space! If they didn't, there wouldn't be such things as warp-holes! Maybe we just need more of them...more than this system's sun can produce...and tighten the focus..."

Sam abruptly stopped pacing and looked to the nearest camera. "Sounds like you have an idea, Charlie! All right, spit it out..."

"I was just wondering," began the computer. "What would happen if we..."

***

Betty and the spider-bot picked their way through the clearing they had come upon but minutes before. It was a welcome change from the taller vegetation they had been pushing and slogging through. The going was much easier for the bot, of course, it was smaller and able to pass easily through, and below, the taller tangles and between the thick trunks of the trees and shoots of smaller plants.

But, the effort was different for Betty. She had to push through much of the inter-locking foliage forming barriers proving impassible much of the time. It wasn't long before the woman correctly surmised the forest was rather different than those found on the surface—of Mars, Old Earth and Xanadu, that is. There were no tropical climes on Kaman's World. Any approach towards the equator here led only to vast expanses of sand dunes and desert. The lack of surface water made the planet all but uninhabitable, except for those regions more towards the temperate latitudes. But even those lacked trees, savannahs or grassy plains.

However, those characteristics were also absent here in this cavernous world below the surface. Everywhere, the dim, low-light conditions fostered growth of another type. For these plants could not rely on photosynthesis for their food production. Instead, like mushrooms and other varieties of fungi, the food chain here began with whatever organic matter fell to the cavern's floor, be it plant material or animal flesh. And as evidenced from the creatures patrolling the jungle's edge, on whatever leftovers from animals falling prey to higher forms. Additionally, in this world, some process as yet unidentified produced the oxygen in the air, and cycled the carbon dioxide levels below harmful concentrations. This different type of ecosystem life cycle gave rise to myriad smells of decay and mustiness.

Even this field challenged Betty's ability to compare the plants to known species. Instead of grasses, the growth appeared nothing less than giant, enlarged mold—the type found growing on bread, for example. Tuberous stalks of tough, spongy material sprouted all about them, reaching not much above Betty's hips. The colors ranged from dingy browns to cancerous purples, and throughout, the stalks were mottled with zigzagging patterns sometimes found on common mushrooms. At the stalks' terminus waved fist-sized bulbs, open on top, and covered in sticky sap that adhered everywhere Betty touched. Before she had covered half the distance to where the taller growth began anew, she was covered with goop containing the plants' spores and bits of loose, slimy tissue.

But, the woman doggedly stayed her course. She did not want to risk passing beyond the channeled breeze carrying the particular smell that had immediately caught her attention only minutes before. Its distinctness led her towards one particular portion of the cavern glowing with more brightness than in her immediate surroundings. What the brightness meant, she had not the slightest clue. But, she was certain the smell was as alien to this environment as her presence. Above the fecund odor of the forest, above the smell of rot and decay, wafted the nasal tang of smoke, leading her ever onward.

***

The Flipper-Doodle streaked through the last vestiges of atmosphere and accelerated sunward. In the equipment storage hanger, Sam leaned inside the maintenance hatch of one of the System-Accentuation-Radar-Analyzers, as Betty called them, "Saras" for short.

"Charlie...are you certain this is going to work?" asked Sam, his hands full of wires as he rerouted several of the probe's critical functions. "I like blowing up stuff as much as the next guy. But, unless we're successful, Betty's likely to have our heads! Well...mine anyway...even if it does do the trick!"

"We'll just have to hope she's in the mood for a timely rescue," replied Charlie. "Besides, you two have enough credits in the bank to buy thousands of replacements!"

"Assuming our account hasn't been frozen, you mean! What if the Navy locks us out of everything?"

"Well, I wasn't going to bring it up. No sense courting black clouds before the storm..."

Sam crawled out of the access hatch and motioned to the spider-bots standing by.

"Go ahead and close her up Charlie. I've finished the hard wiring, now it's up to you to do the reprogramming. If we did the numbers right, we'll be in position to launch within the hour!"

***

Marty sat in utter disbelief, staring first to his left, then back to his right. If exasperation could be made tangible, the little creature would be absolutely buried in it. Ever since he had performed his noise-dive through the capture sphincter he had paralyzed with his bolt of mental energy, and wound his way through kilometers of ventilation passages, his luck had been of the kind only found within the imagination.

The stream blocking his way was much too wide for him to jump, and the strange _trees_ in this horrid cave weren't trees at all. Besides, he had earlier tried to climb them as a way to bypass some of the thickets of tangled... _whatever_ this stuff was, and had been covered almost immediately in the most repulsive goop he had ever encountered. Along with more pollen and bits of slimy, decaying plant matter than he cared to think about.

At least he _was_ closing with his mistress, and would be at her side within a couple of hours, _if_ he could figure a way to cross this water. He would have swam it, as a last resort, but even that option was denied him—the current, although not exactly _raging_ , still moved at a clip that would have transported him much farther downstream that he cared to be carried. So he needed to pick a direction and push forward hoping the water would narrow, or present some as yet unimagined opportunity for crossing.

Marty allowed himself the momentary luxury of ferociously rolling about on this bare patch of ground in a continuing effort to dislodge the remnants of sticky pollen still clinging to his matted fur, then turned to his right and ran upstream.

***

Betty at last stepped from the fungi forest and into the large clearing between her and a nearby protruding section of the cavern's wall. Before her, several fair sized logs had been positioned around a ring of stones circling an ample fire. Forked sticks on either side of the flames supported a horizontal spit on which roasted some small creature bereft of its fur. In the cave's wall on the other side of the fire, an opening hinted of sanctuary within, and protection against whatever threat might approach this way. Last, sitting on one of the logs and directly facing Betty, sat an old man in dirty, tattered clothing, sharpening the end of a crude spear with a large pocketknife.

The man sat frozen, staring in utter disbelief at Betty, as if refusing to believe his eyes.

"By Roshi's rampaging rheumatism, either I'm dead or have finally gone stark, raving bonkers!"

"Bonkers?" replied Betty. "Is that some obscure euphemism you dredged up from some old vid-cast? You were always crazy, Kiro...so you must be dead!"

Kiro Wantanabe let out a whoop of pleasure, and leapt to his feet with such enthusiasm, Betty thought he might bowl her over in his excitement. He dropped his spear and knife as he rounded the fire-pit and embraced her, slapping her on the back, laughing as he called her name over and again. Betty returned his hug and held him tightly as his laughter turned, by degrees, to unrestrained sobs mixed with joyous murmurings of welcome.

"Oh, god...Betty, I had all but given up hope of ever seeing another human being! Bless you! Bless you, girl!"

Betty gently held the elder gentleman as his sobs continued to rack his body, allowing him the emotional release necessary to bring him back from the dark edges of insanity that had threatened to overwhelm the man during the long weeks of isolation and helplessness.

While off to one side, the lone spider-bot crept out of the forest and into the glow of the fire. Its batteries were all but exhausted and it needed to shutdown to conserve what power remained. It selected a spot near one of the logs, in the hope it would be far enough away to avoid being tripped over, plopped to the ground, retracted its legs and slipped into hibernation mode.

***

Sam checked the readings from the scanners one last time before turning the ship for the return trip to Kaman's World. Launching the Sara had gone off without complication and it now orbited in lock step with the planet despite the ten million kilometers separating them. He knew the distance was overkill as far as the margin needed to insure the planet remained untouched by the coming explosion. But, since some serious hard-radiation was involved, he simply wanted to make extra certain the safety factor would surpass the figures Charlie had provided by a couple hundred percent. They had plenty of time, and there was no need to rush any step of the procedure; that way, everything would go smoothly and nothing would be overlooked. The only thing remaining was making sure they were in position when the probe initiated the feedback overload of the onboard warp-engine and AG generator.

"Charlie, what's the time remaining?"

"Relax, Sam! We have a little more than three hours to get into position! But, we might as well line-up into position as soon as safely possible. That way we can calibrate the long-range sensor array for the graviton burst."

"Understood," replied Sam. "If this doesn't work, Betty's going to wring our necks! She'll probably do it anyway...she hates it when I break equipment!"

"Well, when she's back onboard, just blame me!"

"Hell, Charlie, I was going to do that anyway!"

***

Marty stopped for a moment, letting all the night's noises impinge upon his senses. He wasn't having much success trying to figure out why it had gotten dark in this large cave: there was no sun, and he was far underground, so...just how did it get dark? He just couldn't process such abstracts. He would have to wait till he reached Betty; she wasn't far off, and he should reach her before too much longer.

He had reluctantly slowed his pace as the darkness descended. Not that he needed light to find his way, but as the gloom had deepened, the forest came alive with the sounds and calls of all types of new creatures. Even when there had been light, Marty often spotted animals out and about, as well as birds of all sizes, along with other flying creatures moving about in the upper reaches of the cavern. There was no shortage of insects and higher orders of life in this strange environment. But with the dark, the whole place had seemingly come alive with noise. And there were dangerous creatures about, large ones that obviously shunned exposure during the periods of light—night hunters. Marty could feel them moving out there. Some of them were also aware of him, but they kept their distance; something about Marty spooked them. Of that he did not mind, it gave him more time to concentrate on the matter at hand—finding his mistress.

***

"This is just too bizarre," said Betty. "How in the world does it maintain a diurnal cycle? How can it measure the time upstairs?"

"I've been trying to puzzle that out for weeks, Betty. This is only a small portion of the local complex...an antechamber, if you will. But throughout the entire system, a circadian rhythm is measured, day-in, day-out."

"You keep referring to "it", like you're discussing a single organism."

"The cave-system, yes! If you discount the life forms scurrying about, the animals and insects, and we might as well throw in the plants, too...the entire cavern seems to be some sort of live creature itself!"

"How is that possible? What evolutionary pressure could steer such selective adaptation?"

"You're kidding, right?" asked Kiro. "Have you seen outside? Of course you have! The surface has been dying for hundreds of millennia! Look, let me show you something..."

He stood and motioned for Betty to follow, leading her over to the nearest portion of the cavern's wall. He took his pocketknife and proceeded to scrape away at the stone surface. Only, it turned out not to be stone at all. Below the crust of dirt, dust and lichen residue was a layer of dark, spongy material. Kiro took Betty's hand and made her feel the layer, testing its texture and cohesion.

"I see what you mean," she said. "You've been here long enough to form a hypothesis?"

"What kind of scientist do you think I am?" he mock-sternly asked. "Of course I have a theory!" He motioned her back to the fire, offering her another piece of meat from the spit.

"Imagine, if you will, this world several hundred-thousand years ago: the surface is drying, the bodies of water are disappearing, the atmosphere is slowly changing—becoming oxygen deficient. Now think of caves, _large_ caves, like back on Old Earth...they give shelter and protection to many different forms of plant and animal life! Bats and birds first come to mind! And their droppings, and dead—young _and_ old—support a rich culture of insects below! We've seen this played-out many times!

"Now imagine this planet...as the outside world struggles to adapt to the planet's onset of advanced old age, something like a...slime-mold, perhaps...grows in such a way to cover an entire cave, maybe exposed as the underground rivers and seas recede. Now think what might happen if this mold, or slime, or some microscopic community organizes and maintains an interior environment preserving an ecosystem in which other life forms could survive! Each and all supporting the other! Of course, the system has to learn to continue in a dimmer world, as the phosphorous cannot produce enough light to support photosynthesis...but you've seen this place! You're a biologist like me! It's not so hard to come up with a couple dozen scenarios to explain all this!"

"Wow, Kiro...I see you've given this some thought," said Betty. "Couldn't you have found something better to do with your time?"

Kiro looked at the younger woman in surprise and disbelief for only a moment before bursting into laughter. She joined him as they shared the moment of light-hearted emotional release. He had been speaking almost non-stop since her arrival, so happy was he to again share human companionship.

They continued talking into the night, about anything and everything, unaware that something large, and _hungry_ , moved towards them, slowly and carefully closing upon their camp.

Chapter Seven

With the Flipper-Doodle in a 200-kilometer, synchronous orbit precisely above the pit-fall where Betty had disappeared almost 15-hours earlier, Sam sat anxiously at the controls. There was nothing left to check or perform; it was down to a waiting game. Waiting for the planet to rotate into a position where the sun, the Sara, the hole and the Doodle all came into alignment in a sort of syzygy between objects, instead of celestial bodies.

"How much longer, Charlie?"

"For heaven's sake, Sam! About five-minutes less than when you asked me last time!"

"Why can't you give me a count-down clock on one of the monitors?"

"Because it will drive you crazy! Will you please relax already? Timing is not _that_ critical...we can be off several minutes one way or the other!"

"So how much time _is_ left?"

Charlie gave an audible sign of exasperation. "About 15-minutes, Sam...15 short minutes."

***

Even the thickest portions of underbrush-like growth now parted before Marty. The cavern wall approached rapidly as he streaked unwaveringly for Betty and the man she had found there. Marty felt the large predator ahead of him; it would reach his mistress precious minutes before he could—and there was nothing to be done for it.

Although Betty had proved more than capable of dealing with the small animals she had encountered when she entered this the cave, the one that approached her now would prove a greater threat than he was comfortable having her confront. But he was still some distance off, and that though drove him onward even faster.

***

Betty and Kiro still sat before their fire, the evening meal long finished. Kiro had returned to sharpening his spear and the woman watched as they continued discussing this underground miracle.

"So you met one of those welcoming committees, eh?" asked Kiro. Those fellows are everywhere around the edges of the forest. They're not much of a threat, but you don't want them taking you by surprise! If you stay more towards the center, you can avoid them all together."

"Why do they shun the jungle's interior?"

"Oh, you're just humoring an old man, now! Think about it...why would any small predator avoid prime hunting territory?"

"Because there's bigger predators out there?"

"See! You knew the answer all along!" said the man, gently nudging Betty with his elbow.

She knew Kiro would be hard to fool. She had been watching him closely for quite some time, noting how he never took longer than several minutes at a time without carefully scanning the darkness outside the fire's glow. This meshed with how he added fuel to the flames several times an hour, keeping it much larger than apparently needed. And she had added these observations to the size of the woodpile, enough to keep a good fire stoked all night...that and how it was clearly evident one of his favorite pastimes over the last weeks had been clearing brush around the camp's perimeter, pushing the forest ever back, a little each day, giving him more room to defend against...what?

"Do these other guys attack in packs?"

"Thank, god, no!" he replied, placing the spear on top of the small stack beside him on the log. He immediately picked up another blunt, two-meter shaft and began sharpening that one also. "I'd be long gone even if they came in pairs!"

"So when is he...or _she_ going to attack? He's out there, you know...watching us. Must be puzzling over how there's two of us now!"

She watched Kiro closely, saw him noticeably pale even in the low, flickering light. Whatever was approaching had him scared. Betty stood, unsheathing her blade, this time leaving it in its intended configuration.

"Don't worry, Kiro...I'll handle him tonight! You just take it easy and back me up if he gets an advantage on me!"

"Betty... _listen_ to me now! I know what I'm talking about! You're going to need a lot more that that toad-sticker for this brute!"

"No worries, Kiro! I've grown quite a bit since we last met...and Marty's out there, also. He's a ways off, but he'll be here soon!"

"Well, I hope that little fellow is everything you've told me...oh, god...he's here!"

The man had stood while talking, shifting his grip on the spear he held. He tried to grab Betty's arm and guide her back behind the protection of the fire, trying to keep the flames directly between them and the beast, but the woman avoided his grip and moved around the fire, placing herself between the man and the nightmare advancing from the edge of the jungle.

At the sight of the monster, Betty momentarily quailed in confusion and terror. She tried to understand how this cavern could possibly support such a predator, even if it _was_ the only apex feeder, or even if it turned out to be the only one of its _kind_ , which it wasn't, how could this interior world hold enough prey to keep this beast fed?

It glided over the ground with a grace that belied its size and power. Bands of corded muscles writhed and bunched with every movement as it flowed fully into the clearing, the brush closing silently behind it. Its large, yellow eyes seemed to glow and shimmer as they locked on the woman, as though it was unaware, or completely unconcerned, with the man's presence.

Within ten-meters of Betty it stopped, its four powerful legs aligned for any sudden movement it decided to make, its full concentration riveted on her, and as it sized her up, she watched in horror as the animal actually began to drool, as if imagining how sweet her marrow might taste when it crushed her bones between the teeth that appeared as daggers lining its great jaws. It resembled the animals she had encountered earlier in the day only in the vague way in which a shark resembles a whale. Even as it stood stock still, the claws, each as long as the woman's hands, seemed to impossibly grow even longer, sinking into the soft ground, securing greater purchase, tensing for the attack just moments away.

Now, even though every fiber in her being, every instinct in her soul and from within her subconscious, her vestigial connection to mankind's deepest ancestral roots to the mindless primitive, called for her to flee from this terror, this animal of unimaginable power, she felt Marty's thoughts touch her mind, and his strength became her strength, and his resolve became her's, and she stepped towards the waiting beast.

If the great creature could possibly show surprise, it showed it now. Its head jerked erect and its body seemed to relax just the tiniest fraction. It almost appeared to smile, watching the frail, slight, defenseless creature in front of it move closer, welcoming its death, offering itself as helpless prey to the majesty of its killer.

In that moment of opportunity, with the thought of an instant kill coursing through every sinew of its being, it withheld and contained its cresting blood lust no longer, and with the release of every bit of coiled, muscular power, in every ounce of its tremendous frame, the massive monster gave voice to its thirst and hunger, launching itself across the clearing towards its prey as the entire cavern reverberated, shaking with the irresistible power of its roar.

***

Sam fingered the controls impatiently. He and Charlie had counted down to the final seconds, and it was now time to see if their gamble would succeed.

"The probe's about to open the warp, Sam...get ready!"

A little more than ten million kilometers from the far side of the planet, the Sara activated its warp-generator and a hole in normal space opened before it. Simultaneously, the other end of the warp opened a hundred kilometers above the world's dayside. But instead of moving into the warp-hole, the probe fed all its power into the feedback loop now connecting the warp-generator's circuits to the AG field generator Sam had installed. After a moment's delay, the Sara's mass increased exponentially, trying to convert itself into a black hole. Of course the mass proved woefully inadequate, but it was a good try, and as the overloading circuits routed even more energy inward, the probe blew itself apart in the form of a fair-sized gravity-bomb.

In the ensuing miniature, man-made supernova, a seething, subatomic soup of gravitons absorbed the writhing sea of free electrons, giving life to an explosion of gravitrinos streaking outwards, a substantial portion coursing through the warp-hole, and spewing from the hole's exit, shooting down to, and through, the planet's core.

At the same time, Sam activated all scanners onboard the Doodle, all dialed to maximum sensitivity, concentrating the focus on the wide spray of gravitrinos zipping through the world and the targeted area below. Charlie had further tweaked the sensitivity of every circuit to as full a degree as possible—it was the sensory equivalence of creating a microphone capable of recording a pebble hitting the ground from a distance of a thousand kilometers. All circuits open, Sam and Charlie waited for the data to materialize.

While moments earlier, Marty had stopped in his mad dash through the fungi forest, acknowledging the obvious—he just couldn't reach Betty in time. The large beast was about to attack and his mistress would have to face him on her own. He calmly sat and reached outward with his thoughts; the predator would have proved no match for Marty, but he was too far distant to attack the beast himself. However, if he could act through his mistress; they shared a love and connection far surpassing the physical distance separating then. Marty was certain it would work, and quickly set the plan into motion.

Their consciousness had been firmly linked every since he had followed her to this insane underground world. He simply reached a little harder, probing her mind, and with unspoken thoughts, touched the deepest parts of her core being, asking permission to mentally join with her. If not for their close bonds, the merging would have been nigh impossible. But for them, it was less than child's play...and in that instant, their thoughts were one and the attack could proceed.

After her few steps towards the creature, Betty stopped, standing motionless, opening her eyes and locking onto the beast, now more than halfway through its leap. Marty did not need to explain what to do, it came instinctively to the woman, sprang outward from the depths of her soul, and together, she and Marty looked upon the beast as one, and projected...

_BAD ANIMAL_!

Suddenly, an unseen, irresistible wall of will and mental force slammed into the large predator. With unimaginable violence, the creature was crushed by the energy ripping through every portion of its body at the speed of thought: bones snapped like twigs, organs split asunder, and the heart pulverized by the mental cyclone tearing it apart. In that instant, the creature was hurled backwards, crashing to the ground at the edge of the forest, rolling again and again, forced back into the brush, coming to rest motionless and devoid of life.

Later, Kiro Wantanabe would be unable to recall anything of the encounter. For even though he stood behind the woman, the physic feedback also struck him, knocking him senseless.

How Marty and Betty's mental bolt managed to merge and combine with the simultaneous arrival of the gravitrino shower would perhaps forever remain a mystery. For without some outside, independent means of measuring this existential oddity, there was no one to put the two together. Certainly not Charlie; when the wave of insubstantial subatomic power reached the Flipper-Doodle, every activated circuit onboard sizzled and fried with the induction of a hundred-trillion electron volts... _per cubic centimeter_.

This, of course, slicked the core programming of the Doodle's main computer, and the cybernetic entity known as Charlie ceased to exist—as least as far as the Doodle was concerned. Fortunately, on the Puddle-Popper and the Lilly-Pad, the Doodle's two shuttles, an extension of Charlie still resided, so the "death" of the computer's artificial intelligence would remain a debate for philosophers and persons imbibing mellow-vapor.

As it was, the Doodle's use as a starship ended instantaneously and irrevocably, and Sam and Betty were down another vessel.

In the cavern, Betty helped Kiro to a sitting position and poured him a cool drink from his water-skin. When Marty appeared from the jungle's edge, Betty ran to meet him, and he leapt into her arms, licking her face in greeting. After hugging him fiercely, she held him high in the air, looking into his eyes.

"Well now...that wasn't very hard was it?"

And before Marty broke the remnants of their mental connection, came the silent reply: _No...no it wasn't..._

***

Betty and Kiro were busy with some campsite chores shortly after the next day began, and didn't see the warp-hole open over the forest, or the Lilly-Pad fly through, moments later. Sam located them without difficulty and soon landed their smallest shuttle to one side of the camp's clearing.

Betty met Sam as he exited the craft, hugging him as she whooped in excitement. When they kissed, Marty jumped about at their feet, anxious to be included in the reunion. When Kiro ambled over, Betty motioned for him to join the group hug.

Since Kiro had nothing in the way of personal effects, and the spears were less than unneeded where they were heading, they immediately boarded the Pad, preparing for take-off. Betty had protested at first since even the shuttle's warp-capacitors needed 12-hours to recharge, but Sam asked in puzzlement why she wanted to hangout in this tiny side chamber when they could do some exploring in the nearby, main cavern.

To this, Betty needed not feign ignorance, as she really had not the slightest clue to what her husband was talking about. Imagine her surprise when Sam flew the shuttle but a short distance and entered an unseen, immense cave that could have held the smaller section a couple of dozen times over.

"Kiro! Why didn't you tell me about this?" chided the woman, playfully punching his arm.

"Trust me, Betty," he replied, in an earnest, sincere manner. "If you thought the predators back _there_ were bad-asses, you don't _even_ want to see the ones in here!"

Even the jungle was bigger, thicker in this larger complex. The terrain held a series of hills roughly bisecting the cavern, and there were even a couple of lakes below with streams running between them. In the ceiling, at regular intervals, appeared objects that looked for all the world like skylights. For from them shined genuine sunlight, channeled down from the surface by some, as yet, unknown mechanism.

Betty's awe left her speechless for much of the time, and as far as Sam was concerned, it was just another routine day on the job as a System Searcher. During the necessary wait, Sam filled them in on what had transpired in the period after Betty's disappearance, along with the news the Doodle was now nothing but so much scrap. Betty kept her own council regarding her time below ground, and seeing her reluctance to tell Sam of the dangers, Kiro also kept certain things to himself.

As far as how he and Kaman became separated, he had only this to say: "Bloody hell! As usual, that sorry mutt was as drunk-as-a-skunk! I could have fallen into the sun and he would have been none the wiser!"

So the hours passed in idle conversation as they flew over every section of both chambers, allowing the shuttle's onboard scanners to record data until they could warp to the surface world.

Chapter Eight

Doctor Samuel Lewiston entered the bar, slowly looking through the low lighting for the pair he was supposed to meet there. This mining outpost was one of the most remote in the entire Oort cloud; people came here when they didn't want to be found, or have too many people ask the wrong kinds of questions. Business here usually played out via cold cash, or whatever sort of barter system could be agreed upon.

He spotted them towards the back of the room and made his way through the tables to where Sam and Betty sat. He took the only seat, his back to the patrons and the entrance, but he trusted Sam to keep a lookout, and knew the man's intentions were completely honorable.

"I guess it would be useless to ask if anyone followed you." said Sam.

Betty not so gently punched her husband on the arm, giving him a scolding frown. "Don't mind him, Doc," she hissed. "He's been watching too many detective vids!"

Lewiston had to smile. He'd only known Betty for a couple of years and Sam for but a short time longer. But they were the most devoted couple he knew. In this age of open marriages as well as no guilt, and little commitment, they were a throwback to a by-gone age a thousand years past.

"Glad to see you two have returned! We had no way of contacting you and even less of an idea as to where you had gone. Ah...where's Marty, by the way?"

"Why do you ask," said Sam, quickly blocking the punch Betty threw at his shoulder. "Is somebody still looking for him?"

"Not at all," replied Doc. "And that's the strange part! Not too long after you disappeared, Claire and I did some checking, and it was as if you two never existed!" As he spoke, Marty popped his head up over the edge of the table. Of course he was lying in Betty's lap—where else would he have been? Doc could have sworn the little animal gave him a big smile, but Marty always did have that effect on people.

"What do you mean, Doc," asked the woman, pushing Marty's head back down. "Is it some kind of ploy...a ruse to catch us off-guard?"

"That's what we thought, at first. But then we started poking around. First, we checked into the lab where they got hold of your blood... _nothing_! Not a single record! We even had some of our agents do some routine questioning around that particular facility...still nothing! They didn't even recognize your name...and had absolutely no idea who Marty was!"

Sam and Betty exchanged questioning looks, but held their peace, letting Doc continue.

"We finally got hold of Admiral McNally, met up with him when he was out here on official business—even managed to have him and the Misses over for dinner. You won't believe this, but Randal seemed to have no recollection of your doings since your retirement from the service! He was even surprised when I told him you were _married_! And that you two were System Searchers!"

"Doc...what the hell's going on? He was at our _wedding_ , for crying out loud!"

"That's the thing, Sam...it's as if all records of you and Betty have been slicked...erased everywhere! Claire and I just can't figure it out!"

"Xanadu's still ours, right?" asked Betty.

"Oh yeah...no problems there. And I registered Kaman's World for you, just like you asked...no hitch there either! You _sure_ you want to name her that? Yes? Well, it's done. You two will be richer than me and Claire if you keep this up!"

"Well, that's good news," said Sam, handing Doc a data card. "Here, we'd like you to make these mods to the B.O.B. They might have to stretch the hull a bit! Use as much of our funds as you need...spare no expense, you'll find all the specs there.

"Oh, and before I forget...the Flipper-Doodle is dead in the water, so to speak. You'll find her orbiting Kaman's World...they'll have to tow her back here...fix her up too!"

"What about you two?" asked Doc. "Still going to lay below the radar?"

"For the time being," answered Betty. "We'll be in touch, but don't look for us...cause you'll be wasting your time!"

"Roger that," Doc made as if to stand. "Anything else?"

"Oh, yeah! Sam, you almost forgot!" said the woman. "Give him that package...and that other thing, too!"

Sam reached down beside his chair and handed Doc Lewiston a small box and another data card.

"The box holds Charlie's backup AI program," said Betty. "Make sure it's installed on the ships! We lost him back on Kaman's World...there's a small portion of him on left on the Puddle-Popper and the Lilly-Pad...but only because the shuttles were shut down when...aw hell! It's all on that first card Sam gave you!

"That second data-card is another business detail...something other than the ships...it has our seal and all...could you take care of that too?"

"You know I will!"

Doc finally stood, cradling the box under an arm. "You guys take care now...Claire sends her love."

The man turned and retraced his way through the room. When he reached the entrance, he turned one last time, but the table in the back was empty, and there was no sign of the two people that were there but a moment before.

***

Kaman Wantanabe sat at his usual table in the Oasis Seaside Bar and Grill. Before him, several empty glasses lined the table. He glanced again at his pinky watch, the time he had been given in the cryptic note delivered the day before had come and gone, and no one had showed up.

He sighed in disgust and drained the last of his drink, wondering if he should order another. He decided against it and slowly stood, tossing some change on the table.

"Good, god, old man! You always were a suck-ass tipper!"

Kaman froze and his face went pale at the voice. He turned in astonishment and sure enough, there stood his dead brother. He took faltering steps, covering the scant distance separating them. Then reached out, hesitating at first, afraid this might be an apparition, or a sign he had at last grown senile.

But, Kiro stood there...somehow, someway...it _was_ Kiro.

With a wail of unrestrained joy, the elderly gentleman burst into tears, grabbing his brother, hugging him as though he might disappear like some ethereal wraith, or a ghostly memory. Patrons at the nearby tables looked fondly at the elderly men, obviously meeting again after some long, unknown separation.

After a period of sobs mixed with stammered greetings, both sat down, questions pouring forth as freely as the tears. As Kaman finally accepted this was not a dream or some illusion, his server approached, and with murmured apologies at the intrusion, handed the old man a data-card. A note attached read:

Dearest Kaman,

Here's the deed.

I'm keeping the planet, you can have the Oasis!

Love,

Betty

The End

Thockmorton Territory

Oh, what shall we talk about today?

The above story is third in a series that began with **The Last Load**. If you haven't read that novella, you might want to check it out! There's a link to my Smashwords page at the front of this book. If you missed it, it's on the copyright page...the very _first_ page, so it can't be too hard to find!

Of course Betty isn't in that one. It mostly concerns the trials and tribulations of Doc Lewiston, and how he meets his future wife, Claire. Admiral McNally is also a major character, and he is mentioned several times in this yarn. (Samuel) Roy Hinderken plays a small part in the story as a guest-star, but it's a small role.

The second story in the series, **Throwing Snowballs at Xanadu** , (originally entitled: **Throwing Rocks at Paradise** ) mostly dealt with Betty and Sam discovering the first Earth-normal planet outside our solar system. Some folks might say that's a mundane sort of story, since the current state of science fiction often deals with fantastic civilizations, aliens of superior intelligence everywhere you look, and seemingly under every stone you might overturn on just about any world you might land your rocket ship upon.

Therein lies the problem that has actually turned some people _away_ from sci-fi, in my humble opinion: the sky seems to be the limit and just about anything goes. And that's _exactly_ the problem...people simple have gotten away from the true heart of science fiction. What they are actually reading is science-fantasy. Period. That and the fact once you've vacationed in Paris, a stroll to the corner store seems rather dull.

By no stretch of the imagination is **The Dragon Riders of Pern** science fiction...never was, never will be. Nothing wrong with those stories, heck, I've read them many times myself! But, seriously...dragons in a sci-fi tale? I mean, _really_.

Now, don't get me wrong, sci-fi in its purest form can get fairly mundane and boring, too. But at its heart are stories where human beings exist, live, adapt and use science extrapolated to some extent, often extreme.

I like stories that get back to the basics. Sometimes, the far-flung novels get to be too much for me. A good example is Frank Herbert's Dune books. Loved the first one! One of the smashing classics, to be sure. Second book was also a tremendous work, but something in the back of my mind began to nag me. When the third one came out, the cover picture of Paul as a giant worm just killed it for me. I've never read that one and I cannot imagine anything that will ever make me go back and read it, either. I'm sure it's another classic, but I'll likely never know. I just hate to see good, carefully constructed characters slowly _de_ constructed—all for the sake of money.

Truth be told, I don't read many fiction books, these days...maybe I'm just getting too old and too tired. One of the reasons, of course, is I don't want anything influencing my writing. If there's something in one of my stories that reminds folks of some other recent book (or series of books), I want it to be _by chance_.

Here's a good example: many, _many_ years ago, I began working on a series in which an American solder is terribly wounded in battle, but is rebuilt using science, and this fellow becomes sort of a secret weapon for the government....well, you get the idea. It wasn't too long after I'd started writing this great series when along came a show on the telly...something called **The Six Million Dollar Man** and...

See what I mean? Simply distroyed it for me. I threw my completed pages, the outlines, the story plots, and title list...basically everything about my idea in the garbage.

Life is like that. Wasn't it Homer that first said "there's nothing new under the sun"? And I don't mean that Simpson fellow either!

Something I _do_ indulge in is movies! And hasn't there been so many good ones lately?

I love all the films Marvel Entertainment is turning out! The Thor and Captain America movies were just smashing! I can hardly wait for the Avengers film coming the summer of 2012!

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Wife recently bought me the Green Lantern DVD. Whoa...what is it about DC characters that makes the movies so...well...hate to say it... _bad_? And for the love of heaven, will they _ever_ make a decent Superman film? Let's hope so. Here's a hint for them: DON'T PUT LEX LUTHOR IN THE NEXT ONE, YOU TWITS!!! And YES, I meant to yell! Christ on a stick! Why not let A. Moore or Neil G. write it? Neil's recent Doctor Who script was crack on! Grow a brain, you nimrods!

Anywho...back to the real world.

The point about all my rambling is I try to write simple, fun stories that folks will not mind taking a delightful afternoon and spending it with Betty, Sam and Marty. And I do fancy Marty! He is so much fun...of course you could argue that he makes my stories science-fantasy...and you'd be right! Fancy that!

I came across an article a year or so ago that bemoaned the fact that so many blighters fancy themselves writers, these days.

Not too hard to figure it out, mate...computers have made writing, and rewriting, and rewriting, and over and over again so much simpler! I mean, when I was in college, all we had were typewriters! Gads! For all you seniors out there, remember those? And while we're at it...why are you old farts reading my stuff? Go back to your AARP magazines, for goodness sakes!

But, I digress...

Writing something completely new and refreshing is sometimes hard work, and I simply wish to do my best to insure my stories are untainted. And as you can probably tell, I love having fun with words!

But allow me to complain in earnest, for a brief moment. Not too long ago, I had entertained the idea of sending one of my stories off to one of the big-name science fiction magazines still littering the literary landscape, and visited their website first to print a copy of their guidelines. Nothing surprising there: one-inch margins, 12-point courier, double-spaced and all. But I paid particular notice to the description of the type of material they wanted "we like our stories to be blah, blah, blah", and so on. And, of course there's the "buy a copy of our magazine so you'll know blah, blah, again".

Well, imagine my consternation, if you will, when I purchased a copy of said unnamed magazine, read it cover to cover, and discovered...wait for it...THAT EVERY STORY IN THE BLOODY MAGAZINE VIOLATED THEIR SUBMISSION GUIDELINES!!!

Did I send my story to them? No, I did not! Because...and I know you can guess this part...why send them a story that _exactly_ conforms to their stupid guidelines just so they can send me a rejection saying that they cannot use the type of story I've submitted? And you KNOW they'd do it, too!

Screw them!

And for all those paying attention, you have most likely noticed the circulation of all those magazines falling year after year. Those that haven't already folded, that is.

So tell me, if fewer and fewer of the reading public are buying their rags, and more and more folks are sending stories to the NY traditional publishers, what does that tell us?

Maybe:

1. The only folks buying their publications are those with the intention of sending them a story!

2. There are more people writing than reading!

3. Nobody is even reading _this_...what I'm writing! So I can say all sorts of bizarre things

such as: "The end of the world is upon us because women have been let out of the kitchen" and, "All Mexicans should be sent back to Canada, where they came from"!

See? I said it...and the world's still here! But we all know the real reason why the world's about to end, don't we?

Because we let Wendy Pini write and draw all those blasted elf comics! That's why!

My life's never been the same since I learned Valiant's Eternal Warrior was nothing but a rip-off of Barry Sadler's Casa: The Eternal Mercenary series!

See where being well-read gets you?

Peace! Love! Dove!

Oh, one last thing before I shuffle off! If we could get our mitts on a working time machine, and went back a few years, kidnapped Peter Jackson, held a loaded banana to his head, and gave him the choice of either eating five-pounds of broken glass or including Tom Bombadil in **The Fellowship of the Ring** , which do you think he'd pick?

Just wondering...
