A minute later Phil’s face was bleeding from where Tempest had clawed him, and he was doubled over from being kicked between the legs. And now Darla had managed to bind his wrists with a knotted loop of material from her discarded clothes. Tempest looked like she was ready to beat up on him some more.
“No, we’re done now, Tempest,” said Darla, shoving the vicious crone away. “We’ve got the Humpty-Dumpty doll. See? Kurt’s putting it on. Time for you to get weightless, Tempest. Take another hit of gabba. That’s a girl. Curl up with Planet there, Yaaar, nice furry dog. Wavy dreams, sistah.” And then Tempest was asleep again.
“I hope you’re all right, Phil,” said Darla, dabbing at his wounds. “I didn’t viz that Tempest would come at you so giga nasty.”
“I’m sorry, son,” said Kurt. “And don’t worry, I’m not just doing this for you. My life’s garbage, has been ever since I left Eve for Willow. I don’t want to go back to Earth. They’ve already had my funeral! I’m moving on. Into the SUN. Can’t be any worse than this. And maybe Om really will set you back down.”
“Da—”
“And one other thing, Phil. I’m sorry I ever dumped on you for not finishing college. It doesn’t matter. You’ll do fine, whatever you do. You’re a good man. You have heart and soul. And you’re every bit as smart as I ever was.”
Hearing that made Phil feel wonderful. Like a weight falling from his shoulders. “Thanks, Da.” He smiled. “You’re good too. Now please take that suit off and tell Darla to let me go.”
“Sorry.” And with that Kurt pushed himself out through the flaw and disappeared.
“Set me loose, Om!” cried Phil. And the knots around his wrists slipped free. Phil peered into Om’s ever-expanding alla catalog, and there, just where he needed it, was a bubbletopper spacesuit. “Actualize,” he said, and when Darla snatched the first spacesuit, he made another one. And then he was halfway out the hole in Om’s hypersphere, peering out through his imipolex visor to look for his dad.
At first he couldn’t find him. He saw a cross section of the Earth, the mountainous pink curves of Om, the six shiny tendrils leading from Om kata toward Earth, and the great SUN ana everything.
And then way out there, silhouetted against the Divine Light, appeared the brave little figure of his father, moving steadily ana.
It would have been nice to end like that, but now something shocking happened. A jagged beaklike form streaked across hyperspace toward his father. Wobbling his head this way and that, Phil could make out a few more sections of the intruder—each view was fierce and angular, like shark jaws, like a heraldic predatory bird. And then the beast struck at his father and ripped him in two.
Phil groaned in agony, as did Darla, who was next to him now, watching as well. Phil had been wondering if he might retrieve his father, but he now knew there could be no restoration. The hyperspace monster tore his father to bits. It was too sad. Da would never make it to the SUN.
But wait—now Phil glimpsed a final resolution. A form like a tattered butterfly lifted out of the torn fragments of Da’s body. Gently beating its wings, the gossamer shape continued ana, ever closer to the final Light.
Phil passed the rest of the day grieving, looking through the alien alla catalog, and praying for Om to take him back to Yoke in San Francisco. He avoided Tempest, but he had a pretty good conversation with Darla, who was supertalkative from all the snap. Finally he was tired enough to go to sleep.
Babs and Yoke alla-made themselves some nice new outfits for the evening’s outing. Yoke made herself a plush green crop-top and black leather pants with elastic along the seams. Babs made herself a form-fitting red dress with a low decolletage, a white cashmere cardigan, and a funny little red flower-bud of a hat.
Outside it had turned cold, and the wind was picking up. Babs, Randy, Yoke, and Cobb picked their way down the street to the Anubis.
To Babs’s embarrassment, Thutmosis Snooks recognized Randy from thirty feet away. Thutmosis was, as usual, working the street out in front of the Anubis, acting as doorman and barker, inchworming his bulk back and forth, flaunting his stylized pharaoh beard and his striped blue and gold headdress.
“Randy Karl Tucker,” bellowed the shiny gold moldie. “Got some more money from home? Isis is booked solid tonight, but—you’re gonna need your sperm for this, my man—we’ve got six new moldies, three female and three—”
“Hey, damp it down there, Thutmosis,” said Randy. “I ain’t into that kilp no more. This here’s my lady friend, Babs Mooney.”
Babs gritted her teeth, smiled and bowed. “Babs Mooney?” said Thutmosis, peering closer at her. “I’m terrible at recognizing fleshers. Except for the egregious few like our Kentucky Fried Randy Karl Tucker. It’s an honor to have you visit us, Ms. Mooney. Give our very best regards to Senator Stahn. I’m going to comp you and your party.” He gave Randy a soft shove toward the ship. “That means no charge, country cousin, so go right in. Enjoy yourself. And ah, here’s old Cobb again too. Kleopatra’s been talking about you, you dog. What a stellar company this is! And, hmmm, last but not least is little Yoke Starr-Mydol, isn’t it? The moon-maid. No superleeches tonight, I trust? Where’s your friend Phil? His ex recently joined our staff.”
Some passersby were hesitating as if wondering whether to come in, so now Thutmosis started in on them. “Yes, noble pilgrims, you’ve found the good ship Anubis. Come aboard! You’ll be beamed, steamed, dreamed, reamed, and triple-creamed. We got the biggest, juiciest, gnarliest camote nuggets in town. The toughest moldie dicks and the tenderest moldie janes. Take a walk on the Egyptian side. Are any of you gawking fleshapoid hicks experienced? Wonderful. Guess what, my floatin’ friend, we’ve added six, yes six, moldie staffmembers! And an amazing new lady performer as well. Hurry on in and you can catch our all-new stage show featuring the meltingly human Kevvie in a uniquely personal encounter with the bird-headed moldie Haresh. This evening’s second performance is just starting. Pay once out here, friends, and the rest of the evening is cost-free plus standard gratuities.”
“Gratuities like your brain and everything you own,” muttered Babs as she and Randy walked up the gangplank, which flowed with a million colored lights. “You’re lucky you didn’t pick up a thinking cap here Monday night Randy.”
“I know all about that,” said Randy, pulling something out of his pocket. Two transparent, flexing pieces of plastic, a bit like limpware dental appliances, capable of adjusting themselves to fit. “These are titaniplast nose blockers. I brought the two along so’s you could use one too.”
“Can’t we just avoid getting too intimate with any moldies?” asked Babs. “I hope you’re not planning to—”
“All I’m here for is to ask the Metamartians about the allas,” said Randy. “Swear to God, Babs. And to show you a good time. But wearin’ a nose blocker in this kind o’ place is what I’d call a reasonable precaution.”
Babs was intrigued by Randy’s low-life expertise. They stepped off to a quiet corner of the ship’s deck and she let him show her how to put on the nose blocker while Yoke and Cobb watched. You had to half swallow it and then use your tongue and breath to push it up over your dangling throat thingie—over your uvula—and into the back of your nose. And once it was there it settled itself into place. It made your voice sound funny, and for a minute Babs and Randy stood there making honking noises at each other and laughing.
“Hey,” interjected Cobb. “I’m going on down below to look for the Metamartians. See you three later.”
“Thanks a lot for not bringing me a nose blocker!” said Yoke to Randy after Cobb left .