I threw a couple of kavassas into the money bowl.
The vendor, a cheery, overweight man, who obviously ate way too much of his own product, assembled my snack and placed it on a disposable paper plate. "You like selsum on your gerfürter?" he asked.
I shook my head, took it from him and bit into it. It was soft, succulent and really bad for a body - just like I remembered. Something soft and warm oozed from the corner of my mouth and dribbled down my chin. It's a fact but, wherever you go in this place, they always put too much somato sauce on your gerfürter. I mopped my mouth with a tissue and crossed an almost deserted Capsolum Parkway - at six kilometers, the longest street in the city. It runs north/south and has a wonderful center divider planted with trees and flowers running the entire length. A city ordinance bans advertising boards, but they pop up occasionally, like when a new attraction opens its doors.
My home town, Masgána, which means 'Desert Place' in my language, is one of Scethos' largest cities, with an indigenous population of around a quarter of a million people. Millions come here every year, from all over Scethos and beyond, for a month, a week, or a couple of days. It's kind of like 'Las Vegas', I suppose. Most of its income derives from people doing things they're not very proud of and wouldn't admit to in polite company. It never had any industry that got up and left; nor was it a financial capital that went broke. It's just one enormous fun palace, and it's always been like that. The only place that rivals it for the range of sinful pursuits it offers is Arcadia; but that's way out on the Sagittarius Arm of the Galaxy, in the Lagoon Nebula. And who wants to go there? I mean, a three week trip home would give a person way too much time to reflect on their own stupidity and shortcomings, like the sum of money they lost, or the girls, boys, 'its' and 'things' they dallied with. Trust me, it's far better to be poured into your seat for a short flight home by one of our excellent personal helpers, then hit the office a day later and start saving for next year.
I was in the southern part of the city, where I grew up. It was made up of residential housing and the kind of stores and amenities that catered to the needs of the locals. The tourist traps were further north, starting around Hihlin Street. The people who lived there, and all the way to the northernmost edge of the city, called the Parkway, 'Ea Strypan' [Place of Plunder], which sums up its purpose pretty well! Where I lived, we called the Parkway, 'Ea Mica' [Place of Friends].
It was two in the morning, local time, and freezing cold!
I shivered.
You know, I have a wide range of attire in my wardrobe - leather, rubber, silk, lace, vinyl, whatever you like, not to mention my shoes and boots - but nothing I possess keeps me warm on nights like these. There's fur, I suppose, but I'm not allowed to own any, what with Alethea being against the fur trade. So I walked a little faster and finished the rest of my gerfürter in two bites. 'Darn,' I thought to myself, 'why do I always fancy another one? Should I go back and get another? My stomach said, 'Yes', but my corset said, 'No'.
I entered one of the countless side streets that join the Parkway and looked for one of my old haunts. For a while, I thought I'd chosen the wrong street. I stopped and looked around. Finally, I spotted what I was looking for on the corner of an even narrower street, running at ninety degrees to the one I was on. It was called, Fredico's Bar and Review. I made 
my way to the door, anticipating the pounding music, the excited chatter and that wonderful smell of freshly cooked rees and benas I remembered so well, but the lights were out and a sign said it had been closed several years ago by the Department of Public Health. I was overwhelmed with sadness, which is strange, really, coz Fredico's was always a dive. The walls and white moldings were tinged with brown - from the smoke of ten thousand cigars - and had never been cleaned in the thirty years it had been open. The live music was provided by artists who had never quite made it, but were going to, and soon. The menu had a dozen items on it, most of which were 'off' that day, but rees and benas was always available, coz Fredico could make up a batch on Monday and keep serving it and topping it up all the way through to the end of the week - and it always tasted the same.
Funny how the mind works? To a teenager, with too many hormones coursing through her veins, lots of energy, a sexually curious mind and way too much innocence for her own good, it was 'heaven'. I guess, returning home, after so many years, is like looking at yourself in a mirror, every few years or so. You don't feel different on the inside, but you are on the outside. My memory had painted Fredico's with crystal clarity. It was the best place in the galaxy, with a big rainbow over it and sprinkles. Yet, what was standing in front of me, right now, was 'yuck', to the power of ten! Seeing this place, not as I remembered it, but as it really was, brought me up sharp. My memories were just events, emotions, impressions and feelings frozen at the time they occurred. I realized I needed to start treating them as such.
So, what to do?
That was easy! Go find Muki!
Muki introduced me to the alternative side of life when I was 'twenty'. She was a lifestyle Dominant who gave training sessions three times a week at a club called, 'Sa Yi Geekoa', ['Live Your Dream'], on the east side of town, where most of the drinking and adult clubs were to be found. Though she charged by the hour, when she closed the door of the club behind her, she was still in character. She lived life as she played, and insisted people in the real world took her as they found her - or else! She was like Alethea, in that respect! She was a lot older than I was and had seen way more of life than I had. I was lucky with Muki. She was the genuine article. She took time to understand me and, once she was sure she did, she took me under her wing. I was always more than a little rebellious. Rebellious, not in the sense that I refused to follow instructions, but that I constantly sought clarification. It was a hard time, filled with crippling self-doubt. I constantly questioned what I was doing, what I was feeling. I over-analyzed my actions and responses, rather than just letting go and immersing myself in the relationship. In the end, I guess we outgrew one another; or I outgrew her. I don't know which, exactly. She told me, one day, she was releasing me. I cried and begged her to reconsider, but she was adamant. With my purse stuffed with the severance pay she gave me, I hauled my bags out into the street and left, even more confused than when I first met her.
I had a lump in my throat as I pressed the annunciator button on her door. It was slow in opening and I was half way down her driveway when it did. I half-turned and saw someone silhouetted in the hallway light. I trudged towards the door. I barely recognized her. She'd put on weight! Her hair was less lustrous than I remembered and her clothes were run of the mill, 'lady of the house', rather than 'Mistress of my Dreams'.
Her eyes widened. "Sashi? Is that you?"
I gave her a poor excuse for a curtsy and replied, "Yes, Ma'am."
She invited me inside.
The house was simply decorated, though quite large. She ushered me into her lounge and settled me in a comfortable chair. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked.
"May it please you," I began.
She interrupted me with a strangely weak laugh. "Oh, come now," she soothed, "we don't need to stand on ceremony."
That simple sentence set my mind to question whether any of the memories of my time with her were even real. I don't know if a human mind can suffer a checksum failure when it compares what's in storage to reality, but I came as close as I ever want to. My first thought was to ask, 'What happened to you?' My second was to make my excuses and run! "Can I have some juice?" I asked.
"So, you still don't drink alcohol?" she asked, smiling, as she got to her feet and walked over to a large cabinet, lined with rows of bottles and glasses. A refrigerator was fitted into the lower half. She opened it, pulled out a carton and poured me a glass.
I sipped the juice slowly, watching her over the rim of the glass.
"How have you been?" she asked.
"Okay, thank you for asking."
"Do lighten up," she said, reaching for her own glass.
Since when had our relationship become a democracy? "Are you not...."
"A Dominant?"
"Well. Yes."
She placed her glass on the side table and meshed her fingers together, seemingly deep in thought. Was she trying to let me down gently? "What about you? Still sucking up?"
I managed to hide my resentment at her accusation. She'd been my life, for crying out loud! Being a submissive - her submissive - was the only thing I aspired to being, back then. And, to have it dismissed as just, 'sucking up', was so demeaning. "I suppose I am."
He eyes twinkled. "So, you never grew out of it?"
"Her name is, Alethea," I said, forcefully.
Muki clearly realized I been hurt by her remark. She held out her hand and waited for me to take it. I hesitated, but I took it. "I'm sorry, little one," she said, softly. "I assumed it was just a phase you were going through. It's not uncommon."
"No," I said. "It wasn't and I didn't. Grow out of it, I mean."
"And Alethea is your Mistress?"
"She prefers the term, 'Domina'," I told her.
"So, you're... What? On vacation?"
"I needed some time to myself," I replied. "I've been traveling a lot, recently, and I figured coming home would be good for me."
She released my hand. "Is she with you? Alethea?"
"No. She dropped me off on her way to cover an election scandal on 'Fersettia'. She's picking me up in a few days."
She gave me a sly smile. "She lets you out of her sight, does she?"
"It's not a live in kind of relationship," I told her. "I'm an investigative reporter. In fact, I work for her."
She looked impressed. "Who'd have thought it? My little girl, all grown up."
I talked with her for another hour. We parted with a hug. I knew I would never see her again. I was comforted by that knowledge. It meant my memories of our time together would never be challenged, again, by the reality of who she'd become.
I caught a taxi back to my hotel and placed a call to Alethea - 'shore' to 'ship'. I half expected her to come on the line and demand whether or not I knew was time it was?, but the answer phone sounded like it had kicked in, instead. I wasn't sure if her ship was still in range, and whether I was talking to her answer phone and not some 'wrong number', but I left a message, anyway, saying I was okay and that I'd see her upon her return to Scethos. I took a shower and slid into bed, my thoughts crowded with images of Muki, sort of blended in with those of Alethea. I sighed, rolled over, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
The following morning, I got up, showered, dressed in what, for me, was a fairly low key dress and matching low healed boots, and made my way to the dining room. I selected eegasomez [scrambled reptile eggs] and two slices of huma [toasted bread]. I washed it down with a large cup of croa [coffee], gathered my purse and headed out into the morning sunlight. Today, I had decided, I was going to go 'uptown' and do some shopping.
I caught a taxi close by the gerfürter vendor. Another man was serving - the day shift, I imagined. We rolled along the crowded Parkway for something like thirty minutes, by which time we'd reached 'Parkway' and 'Tami Sheka', where the sinful city really got its sparkle going! I got out, paid the driver, and walked west. At night, this street is so brightly lit it can be seen from high orbit. During the day, with the lights turned off and the benches occupied by the stretched out bodies of sleeping homeless people, for whom nine a.m. is the middle of their night, 'Tami Sheka' looked drab and tired, like a ten kavassa hooker, intent on making her way home to a warm bath and a soft bed.
Growing up, I'd hardly ever seen this place during the daytime. I'd had school, followed by my time with Muki. I'd seen it, maybe, a dozen times before today, and I'm sure it looked better than this. I crossed the street and sought out the shopping mall. It was packed, even at this time of day. The entire universe was represented in the diverse racial origins of the shoppers. I wanted to get presents for Alethea, Clarissa and Georgina - her two she-male maids. I kind of bridled at the idea of getting one for Tanis, the 'Vermillion Girl' from Seraphina's Sky Palace, but I decided it would be mean not to do so. Though what I should get for her was pretty difficult to figure. Mind you, Alethea's no easy mark. She lacks for nothing. I thought about having myself delivered to her, wrapped up in shiny paper and a huge bow. I giggled. Nah, she'd say I was overstating my value to her, or something equally derogatory. The Mistress of the put down, is Alethea.
I headed for Burgis' store, off 'Sheka', on 'Suzaki', hoping I'd find inspiration among the endless racks of 'bad girl' toys and fun time equipment. He never disappointed, though his restraints tended towards the overly ornate and were often so complex they came with an operator's manual.
Inside, the air conditioning was running full blast, raising goose bumps on me and hardening the nipples of the dozen or so naked bodies being fitted with various types of immobilization hardware by their doting owners. Burgis was everywhere at once, adjusting this, pulling that, advising on the fit of this butt plug or that thong strap. It helped that, hailing as he did, from Poula Borialis, nature had seen fit to grant him four arms and three eyes. Business was clearly very good! Burgis was at least fifty kilos heavier than I remembered him. His yellowish skin glistened with perspiration as he tugged hard at a suspension harness, trying to get its snap lock to snap and lock - a feat made all the more difficult by the fact that the female the harness was intended to suspend shook with laughter every time he touched her inner arm. He demonstrated to the confused customer what the harness was supposed to look like, when correctly installed, and strolled over to serve me.
I flashed the plastic and bought a pair of 'thumpers' for Clarissa and Georgina. These are butt plugs which contain a randomly timed mechanism that sends a weight thumping against the base, with obvious results. For Tanis, I bought some beautiful ankle bells, made of gold. For Alethea? Well, that's a kind of secret for now. Suffice it to say, having an almost unlimited credit limit certainly helps. It's also incredibly convenient that the Supernova Gelt Card is accepted at all good retail outlets, anywhere in the galaxy.
When I left with my gifts, the customer was still struggling with the giggling, writhing girl. I couldn't help but imagine a 'No Sale' sign flashing on Burgis' register as I crossed the street and headed for the Flower Market.
Ever been to the Flower Market in Amsterdam, Holland? Yes? Well, picture that beautiful place, times ten. On Scethos, we have access to the entire galactic quadrant, and more! There are Cycads from Tesselmon, Palm Spikes from Arthros - thirty meters tall, if they're a centimeter, with 'Shipping Not Included' - tens of thousands of flowering plants and shrubs, cut flowers and dozens of species of carnivorous plants, including the voracious Tensi Raptoria, which can extend its normally curled stems a distance of four meters to catch an unwary rodent. Many of the flowers for sale cannot survive an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere, and are grown in hermetically sealed display cabinets, with their water and nutrient supplies built into the base. As soon as you turn the corner, onto 'Grasse Square', your nose is assailed with a pungent and totally overpowering scent. Some of the flowers are so subtly scented you have to push you nose into them. Some have no scent at all, while some catch your attention and waft you off to any place your memory can recall. My favorite has always been Nyctanthes arbor-tristis [Night-flowering Jasmine, also known as 'Tree-of-Sorrow', or 'Tree of Sadness'], from Earth. I've never found its match, even here. Alethea has two outside her house, off to the side of the patio. It's such a joy to have dinner under the stars, all the while breathing that delightful scent. I passed a group of them and my thoughts turned immediately to 'home'. But not yet! I still had things to do.
Having dropped my presents off at my hotel, and changed into more sporting attire, I took another taxi to the Heliport. You're probably thinking, 'Helicopters'. Well, you'd be right, sort of. The Heliport is the main terminal for one of Scethos' most less popular attractions: the personal VTOL backpack. I'm sure you remember Gobbi's description of his airboat ride on the Tum-Emosak rapids, and the complete lack of instruction he'd received before putting his life in jeopardy. Well, the instruction the customer gets at 'Jemai's Hover Delights' is equally limited. The backpacks are pretty heavy, and come with a small, battery powered motor, a GPS display, a parachute - in case the battery runs flat - and a pair of two meter blades that whir away a few centimeters above your head. A helmet is optional - and not even recommended, for some reason - as is a helmet camera, for recording your final, breathtaking plummet to the ground for posterity. I took everything, including the recommended and prohibitively expensive 'Personal Injury and Accidental Life Termination' policy. It cost me the equivalent of a weeks stay at the best, five star hotel on Alethea's home world of Ganymea! The 'instructor' tightened the straps, handed me the controller - a wireless contraption which does not come with a wrist strap and can be dropped very easily, with results I do not need to relate - pressed the 'On' switch and ducked just in time to avoid his own decapitation.
How often we see this kind of endeavor enacted on the silver screen, accompanied by the cry, 'Up, up and away'? As I was jerked off my feet, just one word escaped my lips, "Sheeeee...t!"
Soon, I was buzzing over the broad grasslands to the south of the city, where large herds of Bufaloofa still run free and on to my destination, the 'Likelak' [Crystal Lake]. I managed to land on my third attempt, killed the motor and wrestled myself free of the back pack. It had only been a short flight, but my neck had this strange, numb feeling - like I'd been operating a jack hammer or something. I suppose it was the vibration from the motor, running through my spine for the twenty minutes I was airborne. I sat down, opened my packed lunch and took a sip of juice. In the distance, a large flock of flamingo-like birds was wheeling and diving, wheeling and diving, before deciding, almost as one - how do they do that? - to come in for a bumpy landing. Soon, the lake was a mass of purple plumage. They swam around, squawking raucously, then, as one, took off again. I ate half a sandwich and lay back, luxuriating in the warm sunshine.
I suppose I must have drifted off, because I was woken, a hour later, by two boisterous children and their equally noisy parents. Why is it that people have to park themselves next to you, even when there are acres of free space available for them to spread out in? Are we really that gregarious? I sighed, gathered my belongings and walked off a dozen meters. After ten minutes had passed, I grew tired of the endless screaming of the children and the frequent exhortations of the parents that they should, 'Shut the fuck up' [my expletive], wriggled into the backpack and switched the motor on. With one last look around, to make sure I had everything, I started the motor. 'Up, up and away!' I fell to the ground. The backpack continued to rise for a moment, then returned to earth with a whoosh and a thud. The whirling blades rotovated the grass for several seconds before shattering into a dozen pieces. Without air resistance, the motor now raced out of control, threatening to self-destruct. I pressed the 'Stop' button on the controller which, remarkably, I'd managed to hold on to. An 'on the spot' investigation I'm sure the N.T.S.B. would be proud to claim as one of its own concluded the crash was caused by pilot error. Simply put, I'd forgotten to fasten the crotch straps before taking off. Silly mistake, really, but entirely consistent with the minimalist approach of the pre-flight instruction. It was going to be a long walk home!
I called 'Jemai's Hover Delights' when I reached my hotel, told them where they could find the wreckage, agreed to 'eat' the security deposit, and took a long, hot bath. I can't say I was surprised that I hadn't been listed 'overdue'. I imagine those little helicopter thingies are falling out of the sky, every day! The person I was talking to didn't even ask if I was in one piece. I sat on my balcony afterwards, breathing in the scent of a nearby tree. The sky was turning orange, with gray streaks, like the burning embers of a camp fire, high up in the stratosphere. It was beautiful!
For the first time, in a long time, I felt relaxed. But I also felt alone. Not panicky or depressed alone. Just alone. My frequent trips, to this part of the galaxy or that, always tended to place me apart from other travelers. I guess writers are observers first and traveling companions second. I added up all the stories I'd written and all the places I'd been to get them. The total came to 'eighty'. Eighty journeys in four years, some of them lasting for weeks. Then, I added up the days I'd been home during that time. Less than a hundred! 'Is this what my life will always be like?' I wondered. Then again, I'd been lucky - blessed, even! I'd seen things most people would never get the chance to see. I'd done things most couldn't imagine. I'd seen the best of humanoid behavior and the worst. Some of it made me laugh. Much of it tore my heart out!
I ate alone that evening, watching TV, but not watching it - if you know what I mean? There was some news report about tourist numbers being 'up', this quarter. Another report described how a couple with two children had almost been killed by a falling VTOL backpack. I blushed, laughed nervously, changed the channel and caught the end of a program on animal smuggling. It wasn't about the beautiful creature I'd seen at the 'Explorer Club', but it had the effect of calling her to mind. This was my last night on Scethos but, I figured, I had time to go to the club and take a look around. A plan of action was beginning to take root in my mind. "But, first, some surveillance is called for," I said out loud as I turned off the TV and grabbed my coat.
I returned, a couple of hours later, with a hand drawn map of the outside of the club, the location of the animal pens, and the security company which watched over them. I yawned, took a shower and fell asleep with a smile on my face. There'd been no word from Alethea.
The next day was to be my 'act like a tourist' day. I got myself all gussied up in my best leather corset dress, thigh boots and opera gloves, gunked up my eyelashes with Ari's Long Lash and hit the streets. For the true tourist, there's only one place to visit before lunch - and I translate - 'The Camel Stop'. It's a hangover from the days when merchants used to travel the old trade routes with a hundred, sometimes two hundred, pack animals, called drumadids, laden with the riches of the East. Spices, silks, treasure stolen from ancient temples... All the things the inhabitants of the growing city of Torgoram, to the west of Masgána, could need or desire. In time, Torgoram would become the capital of Scethos. Masgána was just a way station then: a watering hole, where the merchants and their weary beasts could rest up before the last leg of the journey - and the most dangerous - the climb over the Pass of Mists which, as its name suggests, was so high that it was covered with clouds most of the year.
These days, the 'Camel Stop' is a sprawling development, covered on the outside with a million lights, dominated by an immense sign featuring a drumadid, whose legs appear to move as banks of lights turn on and off. Inside, the longest bar in all Masgána, with a kilometer of shelves, holds every alcoholic beverage known to humanoid-kind. There were fourteen bartenders on duty. All were wearing hover boots which enabled them to travel from one end of the bar to the other in under four seconds - five, if they were carrying a tray laden with drinks. Waitresses, similarly outfitted, swerved between the tables, dipping to this side and that as they deposited fresh drinks in front of the patrons. Memorabilia from those bygone days is on display in innumerable nooks and crannies, including a stuffed drumadid by the name of, Imanuz [Giant], which is reputed to have carried almost four hundred kilos of baggage one time. The last time it carried any baggage, in fact. It died - heart failure, I think - shortly after reaching the rest stop. There's a large stage, complete with swings, poles and fake trees, for the arboreal striptease. An Olympic sized swimming pool is the venue for an aquatic dance group from Alpha Nethea III, featuring an assortment of squid-like creatures. The in-house entertainment runs day and night. There's always something truly weird to see there. The owner of the 'Camel Stop' is Mylor Grifin. He's the great, great, great, great-grandson of the last man to place a barrel of water in front of a thirsty drumadid. Mylor Grifin is rich! So rich, in fact, that he owns his own planet, and runs the 'Camel Stop' by a remote viewer set up. It's noisy, crazy, and truly amazing! I loved it, and settled myself at a table, off to the right of the stage. I picked up a 'communicator' and ordered a drink. A few seconds later, a waitress zipped by with my glass of wine. She looked back with a brief smile as I thanked her. A swerve to the left, a sashay to the right, and she was twenty meters away, dipping and dropping off another drink.
The lights dimmed and three female, 'whatever the hell they were', entered stage left. They were a strange mixture of animal and humanoid. A pleasing mix, as it happens - or they probably wouldn't have been entertaining the masses at the 'Camel Stop'. Music was piped through a dozen speakers, each fitted with a holographic projector. Each note seemed to have its own color, its own pattern. It was hypnotic and totally beautiful. As the music increased in tempo, the dancers formed a circle, entwining their long tails in the center. They whirled faster and faster, arms flailing, heads thrown back, lips snarling. By the time the music had finished, the projectors had produced an image of, presumably, the male of the species, resplendent in all his huge, hairiness and snarliness. We all thought the act was over, but it wasn't. Without warning, the holographic creature roared and leapt at the crowd. People panicked before realizing it was just make-believe. The light grew brighter and the audience clapped, whistled, or passed out, either from shock or because of the amount of liquor they'd consumed.
The 'girls' sprinted off the stage, to be replaced by a giant, six armed, reptilian juggler, from Vaerasque Prime. He was extraordinarily adept considering his size and managed by the end of his act to be juggling six patrons at once. The audience sat, spellbound, their eyes drawn to his incredibly long fangs, embedded in an equally long snout. A book was being run on whether or not he would eat the patrons he was juggling the moment he stopped. I should have taken the bet! The music stopped, the juggler dropped five patrons and was clearly about to consume the sixth when a stage hand rushed on and deposited some species of wriggling thing on the stage. The juggler let go of the jugglee and threw himself after the poor creature which had obviously been thrown in front of him to forestall his consumption of the jugglee. I think it's what they do on Earth at the end of a greyhound race, to stop them fighting among themselves. Anyway, there was a really loud snap, followed by a long slurp, as the 'sacrificial rabbit' was killed and eaten. The audience erupted! Many got to their feet. Some fainted or threw up. The bookmaker cleaned up but, then again, he was probably a 'regular'. An ambulance was called for the discarded jugglee, who'd sustained a broken leg and several, painful contusions. I don't know if he sued. I think he should have!
I ordered another glass of wine and waited, with baited breath, for the next act: the arboreal striptease. The lights dimmed, once more. A spotlight hit the far side of the stage just in time to illuminate a tall, graceful creature, covered with ginger hair and a long, swishing tail. There was a murmur of discontent from the audience. This was, apparently, a new and untried act. I was half-expecting a shepherd crook to appear from off-stage and yank the creature off by her neck. But she persevered and the crook never appeared. Slowly, in time with a truly discordant piece of music, which I recognized as being in the vogue on Demosynthia, the hairy beast ascended the fake tree, wrapped her long tail around one of the fake branches and hung upside down. As the music droned on, she removed her hand - or, rather, the hairy glove that had seemed to be her hand - revealing her pinkish-mauve skin. Next came the other hand, then the arm, and the other arm. After several minutes, she was hanging there, butt naked. She performed a back flip with a half twist dismount and took a bow, surrounded by her discarded 'skin'. A few members of the audience started to clap. She stood there, motionless, for several seconds, then reached behind the back of her head and pulled at something. Her skin literally fell off her, in one piece, revealing a body covered with ginger hair. She stepped clear of this second skin and raised her arms, in triumph. The audience went wild! As she extended her right leg to begin her pointed-toe exit from the stage, I noticed she had the largest, most pendulous pussy lips I'd ever seen. They were bright red, as was her anal slit. I stood up and clapped myself to exhaustion. I needed another drink after that!
I paid my bill and left the 'Camel Stop' before the aquatic dance routine began. I'm not a great lover of Calamari!
Next stop, the 'Explorer Club', on 'Mashu' and 'Parkway'. Its theme is space exploration. Like no one had to cover vast distances to get here. But it's popular! Popular, because its principle attraction is an unusually 
beautiful temptress called a Coxiavor Specla, from the wastelands of Epsilon Tymia III. She'd been at the 'Explorer Club' for almost a year, since her capture by a White Hunter type, name of Bingaman Cox, who'd heard of her strange allure. 'She was wild and savage,' the billboard said. 'Untamable', another boasted. One of the waitresses confided in me, as the beautiful creature began her performance that, after her capture, her mate was to be seen wandering his territory, stopping every now and then to give out a forlorn howl. She said they mated for life, according to some local environmental group, who'd been trying to raise sufficient funds to purchase her and return her to her home world. The owners of the 'Explorer Club' named a price, shook hands on the deal, then increased it two fold when the environmentalists came with the previously agreed price. They'd gone through this cynical routine three times, so far. I dabbed my eyes with a napkin and checked my mascara. I totally looked like a panda!
The whip cracked! It cracked a second time! The creature stretched her long, supple back and snarled. With a skin and form like a cheetah, eyes the color of amber, small, pointed ears and standing on two legs, she moved across the stage in three effortless bounds. The end of her tail twitched from side to side as her trainer 'encouraged' her to jump onto a podium, then throw herself head first through a burning hoop. The performance followed this pattern - whip, jump, whip, roll over, whip, leap - for another five minutes. Once, she lashed out, almost raking the trainer's leg with her talons. The audience 'Ooo'd' and held its breath. The trainer cracked his whip, slicing her across the left breast. The blood oozing from the wound was red! She cowered, growled, and slunk off the stage. I didn't need a body scanner to see her heart was breaking.
I gulped my drink, paid the bill and left, knowing I'd found my next story! I could only hope Alethea would agree with me.
I decided to eat out, that evening, and blew a week's allowance at Goof's, one of the swankiest restaurants in town. The meat was tough to eat, surprisingly, like ten year old drumadid. Not that I've ever eaten ten year old drumadid. It's an expression. K? Fortunately, I get exceptional dental cover from Alethea, because a great smile goes a long way to putting informants at their ease - she tells me - and I was able to chomp my way through the steak pretty well. A diner at the next table noticed the difficulty I was having and suggested I should have ordered the tumaru [like chicken], which was the chef's specialty. I couldn't help thinking Fredico's rees and benas would have been a better choice! The deserts are why people patronize Goof's. I like Sonic shakes, but Goof's are three times as large and come with a side order of sliced fruits and something very similar to ice cream - actually, it's a plant based concoction, but still very tasty.
Before I turned in for the night, I stood on the hotel balcony for several minutes watching a lone Arteroptuk [a nighthawk] making slow turns above the silhouettes of nearby trees as it scanned the earth below for a meal. As I turned to go inside the room, the creature squawked once, then folded its wings and dived. I paused and listened. A soft squeal from below confirmed its attack had been successful.
I decided to spend my last full day on Scethos just walking around my old neighborhood. I suppose some might think it was a stupid idea, considering the let downs I'd already experienced, but it was where I was raised, after all, and that 'pull' never really lets go of you.
I was born in a small, two up and down house on Carthar Street. It was still there, but I didn't bother to knock on the door - my birth mother had died when I was seventeen. I never knew my birth father. But, that's not at all unusual on Scethos. A lot of our men work in the mines on Scethos' moon. It's hard work, undertaken by hard men, who possess none of the 'niceties' needed for family life. I'd never known him, so I could hardly be blamed for not missing him. But, I was curious about him. Before I left Scethos, shortly after Muki had told me to go, I looked him up. I found a few members of his crew. They told me he'd died in a rock fall four years previously. I shed no tears. Just thanked them and left.
The house was different to how I remembered it. But, the gnarled tree still stood in the front yard. I'd climbed that tree from the moment I could walk. I'd skinned my knees, trying to reach the top, and broken my arm when I fell out of it after I had. I loved that old tree and I was glad it was still there.
A few blocks away, I discovered what was left of the old playground - the scene of my first kiss. Simi Josen was a year older than me, really smart, and he gave me up the moment that stuck up bitch of a mother of his found out he was consorting with the child of an single mother. He broke up with me. I told him to, 'Go fuck himself'. He smiled, nodded, and smacked me in the mouth. I kicked him in the crotch. He ran home crying. His mother called the Peacekeepers on me. Mother had to work overtime for a month to pay the fine. Happy days!
I dropped in on Mimti's Emporium. If you want the best, gerfürters, with or without selsem, this is the place to go. He always put way too much somato sauce on his gerfürters, and still does, but, hey, that's half the fun of eating them when you're young. Old Mimti was still behind the counter. He must be a hundred, by now. Incredibly, he recognized me straight away. Bless him! Many's the time I couldn't afford to pay for the groceries, coz Mother had needed to pay some bill or other. Mimti had smiled, patted me on the hand, and slipped a couple more cans in the bag before I left. And, no, he wasn't a dirty old man! He was just a good person. When his wife of thirty years died, the funeral cortège took a hour to pass by the grave site. Everyone loved him and he loved them. You know, it's a fact, but he was never robbed in the entire time he owned the store. I suppose anyone considering robbing him would have to figure they'd wind up good and dead, way before the Peacekeepers caught them. True fact! Totally true!
Damn, that was a good gerfürter!
A short walk along 'Salmaton' brought me to the canal, where Simi, Jowli - his pal - me and Hooma - my bestest friend in the whole wide world, until she started dating Simi - used to walk and sneak kisses and cuddles. Simi's was the first hand to squeeze my breast. His mother broke us up before he hit the treasure trove! Best thing, all around, probably. A girl shouldn't let her secret place be touched by anyone who won't stick up for her and who isn't just as proud as punch that she's his girl. Long before I'd met Muki, I knew I shouldn't give it away! I guess I'd seen first hand where that kind of thinking had landed my Mother. But, I did love her. I missed her when she died. Alethea claimed, when I first met her, I was still looking for a Mother figure to replace her. I might have been, I suppose, but Alethea is the last person I'd wish to be my Mother, quite frankly. And, I don't care how many thwacks that comment earns me.
The area around the canal had changed, though. New office blocks had been put up. 'A New Construction for a New Masgána', the sign said. What it didn't say was someone had slipped some money to someone, the permits got issued and the buildings got built. The sign looked like it had been up there for several years, and the occupancy level was still only thirty percent! They could have built cheap housing, instead; but, hey, there's no money in helping poor people. I walked on and turned onto 'Sycamor'. Simi's mother's house was still there and still smothered in ostentatious knick-knacks. Her frilly lace curtains just begged to be torn down. Her perfectly maintained flower beds cried out to be stomped on. But I was older, now, and I'm supposed to have outgrown those impulses. I limited my assault on her property to the act of stopping, facing her front door and sticking out my tongue as far as I could. I set off walking with a broad grin on my face. Screw Simi! He'd lost the best thing that ever happened to him. Me? I got to live the kind of life I could never have had if I'd I settled down with him. Guess I got the better of that deal!
I saw a few other places on my way back to the hotel. I stopped at one of them: Philo's Eatery, on 'Kilmor'. Over a plate of rees and benas, the cook, Havius, and me relived the days I'd sat in the booth at the back, after getting out of school, drinking the same cup of croa for an hour and a half until my Mother got home. Philo never made a penny off me. But, like Mimti, he was able watch over me, that way - as well as the other 'latch key' kids - and make sure I was safe. Like I said, good people!
My last morning on Scethos dawned cold and wet! It had been raining hard all night, and was still raining as I finished my breakfast and returned to my room to pack. 
All in all, the vacation had done me good. I looked at my 'timer' and figured Alethea should be approaching the planet, around now, so I still had enough time for one last look around the place before heading to the spaceport. I paid my bill, left my bags with the concièrge, then borrowed an umbrella from one of the porters and stepped out into the street. The air was clean and fresh! I breathed deeply and stood watching the nose to tail traffic crawl along the Parkway. Yes, I was lucky! I was very lucky, in fact, to be free of the mind-numbing, 'day in, day out', commute so many people had to put themselves through just to make a living. I watched a couple of people buy a gerfürter from the vendor, went back inside, retrieved my belongings and took a taxi to the spaceport.
Oh, and the present I'd bought for Alethea? I'd retrieved a picture we'd had taken, shortly after the first anniversary of our meeting, and had it professionally framed. It was several years old but the memory of that first encounter was still fresh in my mind. I recall, she'd seemed to encompass everything I like about roller coasters! Abject terror all mixed up with the best time you could possibly have. Mind you, it was also one of the funniest photo-shoots we'd ever done. Try as I might, I couldn't get my right foot to stay still. The heel on my ballet boot was twenty centimeters long [that's eight inches!] and was way too long to permit my toe to touch the floor. We ended up making a hole in the floor so the heel length was a little shorter. I smiled, remembering how Alethea had insisted the heel be wrapped in cloth so the leather didn't get scuffed. Anyway, now you know one of the tricks of the photographic trade.
As the taxi approached the spaceport, I raised an imaginary glass and toasted, 'Here's to many more years of riding that roller coaster!'
