The ride to Walloon took a number of months—not as long as to go from Ansonia to XKJ10. Now that Hunter had money, he'd upgraded his personal flying apparatus. It was a faster boat (one equipped with a turbo time driver) and he could afford high-octane. Suspended animation came and went without event. The two spoke little during the flight. Marla's mind was focused on one thing, and it wasn't snappy patter. Hunter, for his part, spent most of his air time on the cell phone, concentrating on his booming business.

Once on Walloon, they disembarked onto a tiny pad allocated to private jets. They walked up to the gate together, and by the time they had reached the point of separation—the point when somebody should mention getting together sometime while here—Hunter pulled at Marla's elbow.

"So when shall I collect you?" he said.

"I don't know," Marla answered. "I've got to hitch a ride to the Textile Planet and then I have no idea how long I'll be there. Will you be here long? On second thought, I can make other arrangements. I don't want to tie you up."

"What exactly are you going to be doing?"

"I have to get Saddle, if she's still..."

"Did it ever occur to you that..."

"Don't even think it!"

"What? That your friend, uh, Saddle is it? is okay?"

"That would be the worst thing," Marla said. "If she's okay, she's dead."

"Aren't you being a little dramatic?"

"Oh and you know everything about the Textile Planet. You're the one who had amnesia, brain experimentation, water bath therapy. You're the one who got shot in the gut."

"I thought that was an accident."

"Listen, I owe you...I don't know, more than money, Hunter. I owe you at least the respect of hearing your opinion, but I just can't. Nobody that hasn't been there can possibly understand what goes on there. I need to do this, that's all there is to it. And I've got to get going, catch a ride. I'll be alright; I'll find a transport back to XKJ. I don't want you to worry about that. My head's too full right now to try and get this formal goodbye done correctly; I apologize for that. What else do we need to do here? Hunter, what else do we need?"

"Eppie, Marla, Eppie, relax. No pressure from me, Babe. You do what you like, I just don't want to see you get hurt is all."

Marla hung her head to the side and rolled her eyes. "I'm being dramatic?"

"Okay, forget it. But if you're hitching a ride somewhere, we need to find you an amicable pilot. Let's see who's here."

"You don't need to do this, Hunter."

Under his breath he said, "Yeah, right," as he walked to the dock monitor at the side of the gate area. Marla followed behind and watched him insert his captain's token into the meter. He then held his barcode up to the scanner and the screen opened with a question mark. He leaned forward to speak into the sound collector.

"Haulers in dock," he said.

The screen responded with a scrolling list of numbers and locations. Hunter waved over the halt patch and slowly perused the list with the up and down buttons, mumbling as he read through names and arguing with himself over the merits of each possibility: "Never heard of it, never heard of it, Tick, yes. Uh, no, wrong trajectory. Nope, never heard of it, no, no, ah. There's one. Bigger Hughes. Semi-private gig going to the Textile Planet." He turned to Marla. "Got anything against psychedelics?"

Marla looked up at him and with a half-smile answered, "I don't think so. Psychosomatics maybe, but never psychedelics."

"C'mon." He grabbed her by the elbow to pull her forward. At one point he put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze like Dad helping out because the kids at school are so mean and, and... She couldn't help but be moved by his gesture. Despite the fact that time was money and Hunter was losing a million a minute, he'd helped her out with a mission that seemed impetuous at best and insane at worst. She put her own arm around his skinny waist and they shuffled quickly onward.

Eventually they had to separate to maneuver through the throng in Walloon's terminal to get to the gaming room next to the bus depot. A wave of something—d...jˆ vu or nostalgia maybe—hit Marla along with the ever-thickening green smoke. The dreaded monitors blared out their news, reminding her of Charney and the fact that she had been sure it was the dark guy, Trest, that had killed him. She knew now that it hadn't been him, but who it was, was a new mystery more frightening than ever. She stopped just inside the doorway as the clanging and buzzers of game boxes, the whooping and weeping of the players, hit her. A drunk behind her bawled at her to move on.

Hunter turned around and scowled at her, indicating she needed to follow him. He turned back to the room and spotted his target at a far box where a short woman with a bleached bouffant and plastic ear bangles thrust from the hips with every pull of the lever. She stared into the box, oblivious to the confusion of bells and gamblers and monitors surrounding her until Hunter clamped her on the shoulder.

"Bigger Hughes, my love!" he shouted above the din.

She barely looked up to acknowledge him and continued with her virtual dice. Finally her play came to an end when the box announced "Next!" in a whiney, mechanical voice.

Bigger Hughes then turned to Hunter and, with all the eloquence of the lady she'd been born, jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist to give him a sloppy hello.

"Hunter, Darling!" she yelled. "Man, do I love you!"

"Me too, Bunny, but you're not getting any money from me just the same."

A number of bettors paused for half a second in their play. They started to look up momentarily at the noisy couple, but kept their glance to themselves at the last second, maintaining their attentions on the matters before them. Marla stood with her back to the pair, transfixed by the scene just above the door, her thoughts moving sluggishly, ever slowing, until time and motion stopped completely. She watched the monitor there without hearing Bigger Hughes and Hunter patter good-humoredly in the far corner. After they both threw back their heads and laughed, Hunter took notice of Marla and let Bigger Hughes slip to the floor. He led her toward Marla, and just as they reached her, the sound of their voices hit her.

Hunter was speaking to Bigger Hughes. "I can't give you money, but I can cancel your previous debts."

"Ah, Hunter Baby. You saying you got no cash?" Bigger Hughes said.

"That's what I'm saying," Hunter answered. "What I got is a friend."

"This your friend?" Bigger Hughes asked, pointing with her thumb towards Marla. "The one in the fog?"

Marla remained rooted in her spot, transfixed by the newsfeed above the door. She neglected to introduce herself.

"That be her," Hunter said.

Bigger Hughes swung her head to Hunter and stood with her hand on her hip. "I'm supposed to risk my numerals on that barnacle?"

"You and me are squared."

"How much I owe you?"

"More'n you got, more'n you'll make this quarter, more'n you'll lose next year. It's a pretty sweet deal, Short Stuff." He looked down benevolently at Bigger Hughes with his eyebrows raised.

"Is it got a name? Can it talk? Does it have to be resuscitated in the morning? Or watered? Parle it ingles?"

"Eppie!" Hunter called. He grabbed Marla and pulled her through the door. "What's wrong?" he asked out in the hall.

She said nothing but shook her head slightly as if trying to fathom the situation. Finally she turned to Hunter and looked him dead in the face. "I'm scared," she whispered.

The plea, like a pathetic cry from the whelp to its mother, went straight to the heart of Bigger Hughes. She wheeled around Hunter's frame and stepped between him and Marla.

"What you got, a tick on your neck? Somebody after you?" she asked.

Marla stared at the four-foot woman—all nose—standing in front of her, but said nothing. Having moved from stupefaction to petrifaction only moments before, she found herself unable to articulate anything. Or even comprehend for that matter.

Bigger Hughes, on the other hand, moved easily from cheerfully animated to animatedly cheerleading in the matter of a second.

"Because I can get you in and out of a hair crack faster than a dust bunny moves under the couch," she said. "And quieter too. Just tell me what you need, Honey. I got the car, the oil, the crankshaft, and the shop manual. We're set. What do you need?"

"Uh," Marla managed.

"Eppie, meet Bigger Hughes, one of the best smugg...pilots in the vac. She specializes in specialties, if you know what I mean." Hunter stood behind the strange little woman.

"Special assignments," Bigger Hughes nodded with eyebrows raised as if that would help Marla understand she smuggled drugs for a living. "C'mon," the little woman said, as she linked her tight small arm with Marla's limp one. "Let's go get a drink, Hunter's buying."

Hunter followed behind as Bigger Hughes led Marla Gershe around the corner and into the mass of people on the food court.

Following a round of rye and two of gin rummies at a quiet little strip club, Marla finally relaxed into the atmosphere Bigger Hughes easily created. She even laughed as Bigger bragged incessantly with professorial ease about big name clients, close calls with the authorities, and lots and lots of gambling coups.

After the third round, the three came to an agreement as to Marla's need for undetected entry onto the Textile Planet, Bigger Hughes' need to be free of debt, and Hunter's need to get back to his business of transporting millions in goods and people to XKJ. True, none of the parties fully understood each other's circumstances, but the needs were somehow all agreed upon. Hunter gave his enthusiastic and drunken farewell to the women so he could see to his need. Marla and Bigger resolved their more urgent need for a restroom, and afterwards left for the Textile Planet to satisfy their bigger needs.

Lying on the weight manifest in her transport papers left Bigger Hughes room for her usual contraband shipment and the 65 kilos Marla cost her. Down below the fake floor of the pilot's pit, Marla remained in the fetal position for two weeks. Most people would have a hard time with this, but Marla, dusted with the contents of white paper packages all around her, found the time easy.

The two women became friends, probably because they had to, considering their proximity to each other. When the ship was boarded mid-vac by a couple of members of the Transit Authority, Bigger Hughes allowed Marla out for a stretch. The boys were getting paid off, and nobody else'd be sniffing around while they were there. Might as well make it an official party. Everyone got looped, and the boys eventually flew off sideways to the nether regions. Bigger Hughes, used to navigating with crossed eyes, never missed a beat and docked the rig half a day early much to Marla's chagrin. Her fear slipped past the ether haze of the upper lip powder and into her soul. There it remained throughout the landing and eventually settled in her knees, which trembled and threatened to fail her.

Fortunately Bigger Hughes' egotistical overconfidence won the day.

"So where to from here, Big Girl?" she asked, as the two debarked.

"Uh," Marla stammered. "I have to get to Harper's Mills. and I completely forgot to borrow some cash from Hunter. You got anything?”

“You kiddin’? Tell you what, though, look up my friend, Bob Ricketts. He'll get you fixed up."

"Uh, yeah, I know him, but he's a bit steep. I got papers this time," she flicked her left earring, "but no money. I get the feeling he doesn't let anyone off easy."

"Ricketts?" Bigger Hughes laughed out loud. "He's a tulip. Ever notice how he hides in the shadows and talks real soft?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Listen, the clue to Ricketts is to push him around. Talk loud, bluff your way. He's so weird he gets over because people think he's evil. He's not. He's just weird. Talk loud, demand your money back or special treatment or invoke my name. He gets scared at all that fine wire. Play the piano, man. He'll respond."

"Wire?"

"Yeah, tap dance under the hood. It's just percussion."

"I can't begin to understand what you're saying."

"Just be forceful. We're not talking assertiveness training here. What you want is balls out aggression. Don't be shy."

"That sounds like it would work for you; I'm just a little creep myself."

"Bullshit! Keep in mind he ripped you off. He owes you his first rugrat. Haven't you ever in your life been mad at getting the short end? Role play, baby. Stanislavsky. Be there in the moment. Get yourself hot and then blow off point blank at the man's half-baked face."

"Are we talking music or acting?"

"Whatever it takes." Bigger Hughes lit up a stogey. All she needed now was a monocle and a derby and the picture would be complete. "Who're you mad at, Eppie?"

"Mad?"

"What's buggin' you and whose fault is it? Everybody's got a beef."

"You don't seem like it."

"Me? I'm mad as a hatter that never got over it. I learned the trick: got in the moment and stayed there. Get mad, Girlfriend. Who is it? Old boyfriend screwing around, sibling rivalry, Junior High in general?"

Bigger Hughes pulled the cigar out of her mouth and stood on her tippy toes to speak into Marla's ear. "Ever been fucked in the ass by a hot poker?"

Marla looked down at her. Images of too many torturous water baths gave way to rusty, oil showers and a woman with a hand broken by a loom.

"Maybe."

"Not maybe, Darlin'. Absoeffinlutely. You got the shaft, didn't you?"

"Yeah, so what? Everybody takes their turn."

"Not the Ricketts of the world. They take it from anybody that worked for it. Ever seen his office?"

"It's modest."

"Sure it is, because he's got no taste. Look at the worms that work for him. Little cubicles a mile from the water cooler and no windows. He's in a 20 by 20 with a view of the liftoffs. He doesn't even work for it. They do. Rake it in for him, in fact. He squeezes them just like he squeezed you. What'd Ricketts ever do for you, that nasty bastard? You're in trouble and he takes advantage. Total scum. He needs to be wiped!"

"How do you know all this?"

"He's a pal, we do lunch occasionally."

"Yeah, well he pretty much pulled me out of a jam. He's worth it."

"What'd he do, take all your money just to provide you with papers?"

"Something like that."

"Papers are a dime a dozen. Every corner tobacco joint in Gatown can do it for a buck three eighty."

"I didn't see any."

"You didn't look. Ricketts told me his scam a long time ago. Sets himself right up on the platform and intercepts any sucker without luggage. Keeps reminding them about the papers and charges 1000% profit. He ripped you blind, Girlie. Well, at least you got a blanket for the smoking section. The tobacco joints are shit cheap, but they don't provide blankets."

"A bl...?"

"He didn't give you a bl...?"

Marla's eyes squinted.

"Yeah," Bigger Hughes said. "Now you're talkin'! Eppie Jones, it has been a pleasure to know you. Maybe I'll go and visit your XKJ at some point. No transports though, Hunter's got the contract. Of course, if I do it on the sly, who's to know?"

Bigger laughed at that. She hugged the unmoving Marla and strode off in a puff of cigar smoke, looking for her contact somewhere in the dark recesses of Gatown's terminal.

Marla watched the enormous amount of space the small woman took up. She could hear Bigger Hughes' boots clicking well after she disappeared around a corner. Her huge laugh as she met someone she knew echoed and reechoed for minutes. The noise from the terminal's central room with its circle of passengers easily purchasing tickets to places like Buxton increased in intensity. The place buzzed, as if Bigger Hughes' presence was felt by all there and the world could now resume revolving now that she was here to serve as the reference point.

Marla turned and passed through the ticket-buying throng and out the north exit. She marched across the alleyway, up the fire escape, and through the broken back window like a woman who knew what she was doing. Like she had a cookie jar stash of millions and a shady background that Ricketts would love. She walked to the broken piano in the corner and slammed a fist down on the keys at the left end which responded with an angry off-key roar.

Banging through the door and wearing her purpose on her sleeve, Marla stomped into the hallway filled with jabbering agents and their assistants. They paused in their ticketing momentarily to regard the red-faced woman, but then continued immediately as they realized it was not they with whom she had business.

Marla strode past Sheldon sitting on Shirley's desk just outside Rickett's office. Just before he noticed the oncoming Marla Gershe, he laughed at a little joke he and Shirley were sharing. Suddenly he jumped off the desk, confronting Marla like a drill sergeant guilty of playing patty cake with Patty's cakes.

"Excuse me," he said. "I don't believe you're supposed to be in here, Ma'am."

"Knock it off, Torpid!" Marla said, brushing him aside. "I'm here to see Shurm."

"Torpid?" Sheldon rushed behind her. "Who the hell are you? You can't go in there. Does he know you?"

"Back off Cindy!" she yelled as she slammed the door to Ricketts' office open.

Ricketts swiveled around in his chair, angered at the intrusion.

"I need a train ticket to Harper's Mills, two returns and two for a bubble ride to Walloon tomorrow. Take it out of my change from the first trip. I believe there was a mistake on my charge. I believe I overpaid." She leaned onto Ricketts' desk a foot from his face. "I never got a blanket!"

"Why, Eppie Jonez, er, Mar Gerzhe, I believe. Am I right?"

"You know you're right. And that's not the response I was looking for."

The man sat back and set his feet on his desk, hands clasped behind his head. His coat crackled like a shower curtain.

"Meko zsaid you'd probably come szniffing around after a while," he said.

"Meko?" All the punch drained out of her.

"Your friend," he said, smiling his chapped smile. "Zhe told me under no circumzstancez was I to fazsilitate your return to the Tegzstile Planet, Girlie."

"I faszilitated my own return," Marla barked, her fire returning. "And what business is it of yours? Or hers?"

"We all sztand to lose a lot if that witch Ivovna findz you here, my dear."

"Geez, that's tough, Ricketts. I've lost everything, what the eff do I care about you?"

"Oh you care. Not about me, but about Mizzy Meko. I'm zhure you care." He laughed a phlegmatic laugh. One of his front teeth had been replaced by a wooden peg. "Meko leads a pretty ztolid life, but not totally impregnable. She took a chancze with you and now zhe'll loze it all. Not that it'll hurt zo bad. Zomeone with as much money as zhe has can get themselves out of any zcrape. But deep down inside, our tough little Meko is fragile. If she thinkz you betrayed her, her little heart will break."

Marla said nothing, trying hard to remain impregnable.

Ricketts continued. "Not to mention how zhe'll cut her goonz looze on your zkinny bronze hide. I would zuggezt lining up your plaztic zurgeon today, Honey. Let's not forget the humble beginningz of Rickettz' Travel, Inc. We're a very talented outfit, and Meko iz a partner of exzellent qualities, not to mention money."

Marla slumped into a guest chair on the opposite side of Ricketts' dusty chip-painted aluminum desk. She hung her head.

"Mr. Ricketts," she said, looking up after several moments. "It's not like you think. Meko is sure I want to go back to the Mill, that's why she's worried. But she's mistaken. I have no intention of staying here. I'm leaving tomorrow, in fact. No one, not anyone at Harper's Mills, especially Ivovna, will know I'm here. I can't possibly meet with Ivovna, she wants me, oh I don't know, better than dead. I'm just here to collect my friend, Saddle—you don't know her—and get her out of there, so she can't fall into Ivovna's hands herself."

Ricketts fell into a fit of laughter requiring him to drop his legs to bend over and expel a sizable hack to the floor. His face turned a blotchy red and his jeweler's eye fell to his lap when he sat back gasping for breath.

Once collected, he spoke. "Thisz-is-a-hero-thing?" he asked, laughing and spitting again. "Like in the movies?" He slapped his hand on his ink blotter to get the air back into his lungs. "And you're the hero? Ms. Big Pants, can't figure out how to get off the planet, how to zset up zhop for herself. Had to ezscape to the end of the univerzse to zsave herzself the bitter agony of having no zsoul and you're going to zsave zsomeone? Look to yourzself zsinner, there'zs a big beam in your eye!" And he fell back into another fit of laughter.

Insulted, Marla stood up and slammed her own hand on the desk. "Look Ricketts, I may not be made of stern stuff. No, I don't have what it takes to run a business charging shmucks like me ten times the regular fare just because they gotta get out of town fast, or hiding people's secrets until a better bid comes in, or smuggling happy dust, or even cashing in on the latest science fad, but... " She stopped and thought a moment. "Well, actually, I am doing that, but..."

"But nothing, Girlie, the truth is, you have no idea what you're doing here!" Ricketts stood up and leaned into the desk so his face was next to Marla's. "You made a mess—a trail of disasterzs follows you everywhere: the Mill, Trezst, that albino fellow, Meko'zs zsick to death with worry—one of the finezst business partners I have is a bazsket cazse. And you should zsee what that Zsaddle ...." Ricketts abruptly stopped his tirade. He stepped back and stared at Marla and then began pacing around the room, the coat crackling like a bed wetting sheet.

"You say you want to get your friend out. Your friend Zsaddle, uh..."

"Dent, yes. Saddle Dent. You know her? Of course you know her. You know everything about me. You and Meko both."

"You want Zsaddle Dent out of Harper'z Millz?"

"Off the Textile Planet."

Ricketts pondered the ceiling. "Uh huh."

He walked to the door and opened it. He cleared his throat and very quietly spoke. "Zheldon, we need a round-trip ticket on the Gatown Eggzprezz, one return ticket on the zame and two zpots for tomorrow's afternoon bubble to Walloon."

"Tomorrow?" Sheldon echoed from out in the hallway by Shirley's desk.

"Yezs," Ricketts answered. "That will be fine. My account."

"What?"

"My account." Ricketts smiled and nodded and brought the door to a quiet close. He turned to Marla. "No charge, Honey. But you will keep thizs totally out of zsight, of courzse. I can't afford to get in on whatever that Ivovna witch izs cooking."

"Ivovna won't know I'm here. She can't know, I'll never get out alive if she finds out."

"And remember our little Meko izs fragile. Her heart will zsurely break and zhe'll have to..."

Marla stood full up, her lips pursed in an angry pinch. "Meko would never do anything like that to me."

"No, of course not. But zhe hazs no feeling for little Zsaddle Dent. Nor do I."

Marla scratched at the crease between her lower lip and chin. She decided a retort meant nothing here. "Nobody will know. In and out—quieter than a dust bunny in air."

"Ah, you've met Ms. Hughes, I see."

Post morten

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