Gabrielle woke into a most irate mood. Her cocktail dress was disorderly, her head throbbed, and her husbands were draped around the bedroom. Scowling, she stripped the silk dress from herself and incinerated it. She placed on a simple traveling suit, some canvas-coloured pants and a navy blue sash covering her torso. Her midriff was still visible, and the sash was by no means conservative in its presentation, but that suited Gabrielle fine. If she met a male along the way, she didn't want to be without the choice of seduction.
Eve greeted Gabrielle as she left the bedroom. *Hello, Mistress. You intend to visit the deLuna Memorial?*
"Yes Eve. I must contact Fi. She's... well. She's waiting. For something. I don't think she'll ever find it, poor woman, but still. I must see if I can assist her."
*Your will is my command, Mistress. I shall accompany you. Whatever you encounter at the garden may not be transmittable to the Omnioculus. It would, therefore, only be in our best interests to have me venture forth with you. And should you meet someone you cannot deal with, I'll be sure to have them... incapacitated before you can be harmed.*
"Hmm. Very well, Eve. Follow me closely." She traced her fingers through her hair. Gabrielle's hair was raven black, and it flowed freely to her waist, straight and slightly reflective. It was a nervous tick that made her fiddle with her otherwise unorganized hair, and Gabrielle knew it. What was making her feel so defenseless? So skittish?
It was the fact that she had been poisoned. The Omnioculus had warned of the potentially harmful side effects of the Gran Canarian liquids, but Gabrielle hadn't paid any heed. When next she met Mr. Reginald, she'd show him just how much she appreciated the attempt.
Reggie had spent the morning in his small den in the basement of the Veranda Incognita. He had conferred exhaustively with the computer V-Max, and had then dialed up the Episkopos of the TAZ for a subsequent conference.
The image on Reggie's Holovid was somewhat disconcerting. Malaclypse was floating at the center of his beloved Geode, but his orientation to the interior kept changing. One moment he would be upright, and the next he would be "upside down" in relation to his surroundings. Reggie chose to ignore this optical illusion as he continued speaking.
"So, you concur with V-Max that this is most probably the old Weishaupt gang making yet another appearance?"
"Meh," said Mal. "Weishaupt, Merovee, Gruad.. whatever lineage they claim, the portents still indicate a strong likelihood. Whether they claim to be sent from Atlantis, Ingolstadt, or a bloody nosey satellite in Sol's orbit, it's pretty obvious to me. 'Omnioculus' indeed! That alone shows that they still imagine themselves omnipotent. Thud, if Sirius used paper currency they'd be trying to get their bloody symbols and slogans stamped all over it as well!"
"But why, Mal? What do they hope to accomplish after all these centuries?"
"Why did Eris appear and gobsmack me, my old friend? It certainly wasn't just so we could spend our days yelling 'Kallisti!' to Her and and each other as we flit about Sirius. The Hodge and the Podge must continue to rub up against each other. That is the Universal truth of it. The only question remaining is whether the rubbing is done with loofahs or beam weapons..."
"I suppose you're right." sighed Reggie. "What do you propose we do about it then?"
Malaclypse hesitated for a moment, distracted by a small Scrubby which swam by and playfully nibbled at his ear. "For now, old friend, I propose we do nothing atall, atall. The fact that the "DeLavancys" have been observed by our lads in Rheinland, Liberty, and even bloody Alpha indicates that our Mrs. Gabrielle and her cohorts are still 'testing the waters' of Sirius. How can we plan if our arch foes have yet to devise a plan themselves? We must remain open to contingencies until more cards are dealt."
"Sounds illogical enough to be the Will of Eris, I suppose. Very well, then.. we continue business as usual."
"Five tons of Flax, Reg. Now, I hate to open old wounds, but this may be pertinent. Do you know if Mrs. DeLavancy was successful in her attempt to commune with the 'other side'?"
Reggie jerked, as if hit by an electrical shock, but answered immediately. "I don't know, Mal. One moment they were here, sniffing about, and the next they were gone, without a 'by your leave'. I suppose their customs regarding hospitality are as different as their other strange mores."
"So, indeterminate. Well, we must assume that they've learned a great deal about us, even if she did not contact the spirit of Fiona. I may just have to arrange a "chance encounter" with our Mrs. Gabrielle myself, Reggie. She may have claimed to be an 'acquaintance' of your late beloved to take you off guard. She will have no such endearing ploy to offer me."
"Very well, Mal. We must assume that FnordNet is compromised, due to my foolish decision to give Gabrielle a tour of Shasta. If we learn anything more, it must obviously be shared in person. I'll be in touch."
"And I'll be about, doing my own testing of the waters, Reg. We've nipped these particular buds before.. we can do it again. Kallisti!"
Malaclypse and Reggie sat in Reggie's plush office on the "penthouse" level of Freeport Six, the temporary headquarters of Waverly LLC. Until Pueblo Bonito was completed in Bafflin', all the operations of WLLC and Laughing Goddess Bakeries were centered here in Tau 29.
Malaclypse had an unnaturally troubled look on his face, which was not surprising to his old friend.
"So, your 'chance encounter' with Mrs. DeLavancy was rather unsatisfying, eh? Why am I not surprised!" chortled Reggie.
"Laugh all you want, Reg. Of course she wasn't about to give away the keys to the kingdom. She obviously knew who she was dealing with. Her recalcitrance was to be expected. What little I did learn merely confirms what we suspected."
Reggie's smile slowly slipped from his weathered features. "So, they are here, in Sirius. We can assume their ultimate purpose and goals. But, we have learned little as to their plans. You could have told me this over private comms, Mal. You must have other reasons for meeting me here. Spit it out now, before you choke on it."
Mal sighed. "Reggie, we have made a grievous mistake, and we need to rectify it. I've asked Sylvia deLuna to meet us here to discuss something very important, but I wanted to share something with you first.. something rather unbelievable, if there can be such a thing when dealing with the 'other side'."
Reggie leaned forward, cocking his head to one side in a questioning gesture. He unconsciously reached for his pipe, knowing that this would take the added perception its content provided.
"Reggie.. I had a revelation, in the form of a vision... or actually a dream, I suppose. But this dream was so detailed and.. bizarre, that it could only be an omen from Goddess herself." Mal took the proffered pipe from Reggie, and took a deep toke himself before continuing.
"In this dream, I was transported to a place where I was confronted by an old friend. He took the form of a small leprechaun, complete with green suit and rumpled hat. There were other presences as well. Two vague female forms could be seen as well, reclining in the distance on two huge toadstools. And, there was a cow..."
Reggie started at the mention of a cow, remembering his own experience on Gran Canaria. Just then, the door chimed, and their newest Fnordette, Sylvia deLuna, floated into the room. "Ah, you're just in time, Sylvie. Mal was about to recount some 'holy revelation', and I think it concerns you."
-----------------------
"Malaclypse! We need to have a serious talk", said the leprechaun. The visage sat on a small toadstool, a long-stemmed corncob pipe clenched in teeth beneath a bulbous red nose. The figure's legs were crossed, and one felt-booted foot swayed to and fro in time with his words.
"You and Reggie meant well, I'll grant ye. But ye've meddled with things on another plane, and done so without the consent o' those ye meddled with. I'm about to tell ye the truth, Mal, so help me Goddess, and I advise ye listen."
Mal had the strange feeling that he knew this small leprechaun. And obviously, the leprechaun seemed to know him. He watched fascinated as the being took the pipe from his mouth and used the long stem as a pointer. "Ye see those two lovely ladies over there, Malaclypse?" He indicated two tall, round toadstools, each occupied by a being. One of the beings gave off a golden, shimmering glow; while the other's radiance seemed muted.. somehow tainted. Mal knew instantly who the two beings were, and suddenly realized what plane he had been transported to. He also noticed a cow grazing underneath the toadstools.. and realized what it represented as well.
"Well, Shamus.. it is you, isn't it?", he turned and addressed the leprechaun. "I know what 'meddling' you're referring to now. Please, go on, old friend. What have you to tell me?"
"Well, sir, the shame of it is, ye've split a spirit asunder. Yon bright glow is none other than Fiona. The muted lass is her fair daughter, Sylvia. Ye took a part of her in that attempt to "resurrect" her back to your plane, Mal; but, ye didn't retrieve but a small piece o' the whole. Now your Fnordette Sylvia, and the true Sylvia, they both have inklings that there's somethin' wrong; but they've no way of knowin' how to fix it."
Malaclypse looked once more at the visages of the two women, and knew in his heart the the little leprechaun spoke the truth. Tears began to flow down his cheeks as he turned once again to the spirit of Shamus O'Shaunessy. "Do you know how to fix it, Shamus?" he pleaded to the being.
"Ye quit snivellin', and I'll tell ya!" laughed the figure. "Ye see, the split occurred because ye did yer little ritual without the consent o' the subject, Mal. And the only way to repair the breach is to have the consent of all concerned." The leprechaun paused as he he snapped his fingers above his pipe, and a flame appeared. He puffed a time or two, and continued. "Now I can tell ye right now that our Sylvia here wants her courage back, and her mother wants her whole again. The question only remains if yer little Fnordette will agree to 'come home', as it were. She must want to be re-united as well."
Mal nodded. "Very well, Shamus. We will explain this all to Sylvia-23, and give her the choice. If she agrees, then we will perform the ritual again, and return that portion of her spirit we stole."
Shamus nodded, and continued. "There's another matter, Malaclypse. You've upset the balance of things between the planes. And merely returnin' Sylvia's courage out o' that animated globe won't quite put things to right again. There needs to be an exchange of sorts to get Sylvia back here in one piece again."
Mal detected a glint in the leprechaun's eye. He looked once more towards the two women seated on the toadstools, who now seemed to be following the conversation. Mal seemed to sense that they were both smiling, and nodding.
"Now, it just so happens that I've become a bit bored with floating about up here, Mal. And, yon Fiona feels a tad bit guilty about that little hole thru me chest back on Canaria. So, I will gladly consent to be the balance. Ye can stuff me into that little titanium globe, and I'll be there in toto.. not just a few bits and pieces. Sylvia-23 can reunite with her namesake, and you'll have patched up this little mess ye made o' the continuum. It's all up to yer Fnordette, Mal. If she agrees, then ye can proceed at yer earliest convenience."
-----------------------
There was a prolonged silence in the office as Reggie and Sylvia absorbed the details of Mal's strange dream for a few moments.
*Umm, I suppose we'd have to perch at that focii above the Plaza again to to this little swap?* asked Sylvia.
"Well, yes," answered Mal, "the energies of the vortex seem to be the means to open the rift needed for the exchange."
"Sylvia, I must apologize deeply for this injustice we've done you." said Reggie. "We had no idea that our selfishness would result in two incomplete and unfulfilled versions of 'Sylvia' on two different planes. If you concur, we will do our best to rectify our shameful error."
*Hey, you guys! Those were some heavy times! You were reacting to a great loss. I can't blame ya for trying to hold onto a little piece of the deLunas. I have had 'feelings' that I didn't really have any purpose here anymore; but I didn't want to make ya feel bad. Now it all makes sense.*
*Soooo,* continued Fnordette Sylvia deLuna, *last one back to Canaria is a rotten globe!*
Shamus Patrick O'Shaunessy, "deceased', had never been known as "Seamus", although that would have been the true Irish spelling of his name. The orphanage that had taken him in at the age of six years recorded his name just as he had spoken it, without bothering to check for correct spelling. The mispelt name had become sort of a harbinger of things to come for Shamus, almost guaranteeing a life full of errors and bad luck.
As CEO of the nefarious London Drugs Inc., Shamus had made the error of being too greedy for power and position. His overzealous treatment of certain other LDInc. employees, including the former CEO, had made him many enemies, and eventually forced him to resign and flee for his life.
During his tenure with LDInc., he had met a certain Reginald Waverly, who later took pity on him, and offered him a position as Courier for the 1st Bank of Flax. 1st Flax had turned out to be a front organization for a group of radical cultists, the "Free State of Fernando Poo". Shamus eventually embraced the Discordia precepts of this cult; but only after being forced to participate in the destruction of the 1st Flax bank ship, and the faked "suicide" of Reggie Waverly in the California sun. Shamus' small courier ship had for a short time carried the largest fortune in Sirius.. the assests of the FSFP.
The FSFP had mysteriously disappeared, to be replaced by a group known only as "[~V~]", which stood for "Veranda Incognita", the Waverly plantation on Gran Canaria. The stolen assets of 1st Flax's countless shareholders were earmarked for a grandiose project. The Discordians had planned to purchase the Baffin and Coronado systems in conjunction with sympathizers in the then Colonial Remnant, led by President Orrin Dymas and Ambassador Nicholas Gideon. Waverly and the mysterious spiritual leader of the Discordians, one "Malaclypse", had planned to spend enormous sums to physically move two small planets to the empty systems for future terraforming and habitation. One of the two was Bora Bora, in the Hudson system.
However, as luck would have it, two things changed those plans completely. First, the two Colonial leaders and a small group of loyal followers abruptly decided to leave Sirius for political reasons. This effectively killed the joint effort to purchase the empty systems.
And second, a new threat arose, not only to Shamus, but indirectly to the Discordians on Gran Canaria and the entire Sirius civilization. A strange golem of a being known as Dr. Artifice had kidnapped the well-known Kusaran Ambassador, Fiona H. deLuna, as well as Malaclypse, Reggie, and several other notorious Sirius figures, and taken them aboard a huge spacecraft, the Ska Ralla.
The first event made the move of Bora Bora to Baffin both futile and useless. The second event made it the most crucial piece of real estate in the entire Sector. A rush effort by the Discordians boosted Bora Bora above the Sector's ecliptic, and towards a new target positioned in the Omega 49 system. Shamus became the first and only man to pilot a small planetoid. He lifted from Bora Bora just as it screamed past Gran Canaria on a collision course which impacted and completely destroyed the alien vessel Ska Ralla.
A good day's work, right? Well, Shamus' luck once again failed him. He landed on Gran Canaria and proceeded towards the Veranda Incognita for a good hot bath and a cold drink, only to find that the Plantation's laser defence system had been activated during the crisis. He found this out in a most spectacular way... he died.. with a neat, cauterized hole exactly where his heart had been only seconds earlier.
Shamus Patrick O'Shaunessy, "deceased", mulled these events over as he awaited yet another event he had just placed in motion. He "sat" in a triangle with two other "deceased" beings, awaiting the actions of "living" individuals on another plane of existence. Shamus mused and wondered if his luck would change for the better this time.. and not just for his own sake, but for the sake of the two other beings who waited with him.
Fiona looked at her astral home, the vortex pinnacle where she had been chained for those last few months. Shamus, that poor man who had been shot and killed when the Veranda's defense grid had been set to OVERKILL, still sat on the ridiculous toadstool. And beside them all, meowing, was the form of a cat.
The Uli Rouge, never one shape for two long, still might reside here, Fiona thought. This was where it was born. can something ever rid that from it?
"Mother... will the ritual work? Will I be whole again?" Sylvia asked, a slight quiver in her voice.
"As I told Gabrielle, dearest, no. Nothing can fuse a soul back together. Nothing. Eris herself, Egrezy'Hais himself, neither could put you back together again. Forever, you shall be two, split apart by the good intentions of a man and his chi. And Shamus over there, well... I doubt he knows. Or cares. If he can hear us, he'd only tell Malaclypse after the deed is done. I believe Shamus wants a body back so badly, he'd be willing to do almost anything for it."
The Uli Rouge, now a penguin, waddled over to the two deLunas. It hugged their knees, and a little strand of aetherly string tied around them, connecting to the stomach of the penguin. It laughed, as much as a penguin can laugh, and waddled away, the string growing longer and longer. Sylvia opened her mouth, but Fiona interrupted.
"No, dearest, I have absolutely no idea what just happened."
---
Gabrielle looked at the database she had accumulated for Sirius. The FnordNet had been rather invaluable, as had the hidden wreckage of Ska Ralla. If that Bora Bora planet hadn't rocketed the debris off into unknown parts of Omega 49, Gabrielle doubted if she'd ever have found anything worth mention. Indeed, the Zoners or Junkers, or those damned Mollys, would have stripped it dry.
A little mailbox started to flash. She had mail?
Opening it, Gabrielle received a piece of mail from several months ago. It was from F.H.dL.
The scene aboard the small shuttle was familiar. It hovered above the deLuna Memorial Plaza, at the exact focal point formed by the three crystal obelisks below. The natural vortex at that point on Gran Canaria's surface was amplified to the extent that an exchange of.. information.. and of consciousness.. was possible.
Once again, the ritual that had allowed a small part of Sylvia deLuna's "essence" to be brought back from another plane of existence had been repeated. The goal, as dictated by Malaclypse's "revelation", had been to return F-23 Sylvia to the realm where she existed, incomplete; and to substitute in her place the willing and complete essence of one Shamus Patrick O'Shaunessy.
Reginald Waverly and Episkopos Prime Malaclypse stood above a small pedestal which held the titanium transponder, or "F-unit". V-Max droned from the Veranda below, *Vortexual energies have returned to normal levels. Logs indicate inter-dimensional energy transfer completed.*
Finally, the transponder's audio interface crackled to life, breaking the tension inside the shuttle's compartment.
*Well, hello, Mal. Reggie. I see you got my "message". Oi, Mama Dis. If you call me one of yer "Fnordette babies", I'll be havin' an issue. Shamus will do!*
"Hello, Shamus." said Mal. "It's been awhile. We have a bit of catching up to do. We're all quite interested in what it's like 'over there'. I'm sure you don't really sit around on toadstools.. heh."
*That'll have to wait, Squire. We have a problem. It seems that I'm not alone in here. It would appear that Sylvia and I are gonna be 'sharin' a room', so to speak. For some reason, that part of our transfer plans has failed, mates...*
A heart-rending sob escaped Reggie's lips, as he grabbed Malaclypse roughly by the shoulders. "Damn it, Mal! I knew we shouldn't have meddled with the dead! I felt it from the beginning! You and your bloody hunches and plans. I should kill you where you stand for what you've done to the deLunas! And I should kill myself for creating this wretched Plaza! None of this would have happened...."
Mal wrenched himself from Reggie's grasp and turned to a console attached to the F-unit. He observed the readout for a moment, and then rubbed his face with his hands. "I don't understand, Reggie. Sylvia wanted to go back! The transfer should have occurred! Something prevented it. I don't understand..."
*Maybe I can help with that, Gents.* interrupted Shamus. *We were all workin' under a false assumption. Just because we all willed this to happen doesn't mean we could fix the problem. Fiona somehow knew it, and tried t' warn me. I wanted to come back so badly that I ignored her warnin'. That's the bad news..*
*The good news is that 'our' Sylvia is takin' it better than could be expected, and 'we've' come to an accommodation. It appears that I'm gonna be sportin' the kind-hearted and pure 'conscience' that I was lackin' in my past life. I'll be steerin' this globe, and she'll be whisperin' to me if I start steerin' in the wrong direction. We're thinkin' that the two parts can actually be greater than the whole. Now will you two buck up and make up and quit blubberin'?*
Reggie and Mal stared at each other for a moment, and Reggie finally sighed.. "Very well, then. Eris has dealt us one stinky hand, and I suppose there's nothing for it but to play it. But I intend to start dismantling that bloody Plaza immediately, so that we'll never be tempted.."
*No, ya won't, Reggie. That'll serve no purpose now. The link you created to the other side was made from a pure and eternal thing. It's called love. You'll not sever that link, my old friend. It has purposes we don't know, and may never know; but it's not your place to break that link. You go down there right now, Reggie, and i guarantee that you'll know what I'm sayin' is the truth. You'll feel it.
*Now, my wee conscience and I have a new ship to purchase and outfit. I may have been a smuggler, courier and trader in the past, but I'm hearin' that this TAZ outfit may be in need of a few more 'teeth' these days. I'll be rejoinin' this little granfaloon of yours with the ability to bite, gents. Can we get on with livin' now?*
Reggie still seemed in shock and deep in thought; but a small smile crossed Mal's face as he turned to the shuttle's cockpit and began the short descent to the Veranda's private landing field.
The doorbell to the Veranda rings. The echo can be heard throughout the house. A noise that perks ears and makes heads turn. Not many use the old thing. Most know to just wander in and make themselves at home.
A couple men stand there in front of thh door. One wears black. The other in blue. Their uniforms match, and are trimmed in white. Talking among themselves, they wait for someone to answer the door.
"Man, I'm tellin you. Nobody is gonna answer that thing." The man in blue states, as he motions towards the door. "I'm goin in. This place is huge. There's no way any9one heard that. You prolly gotta go in and talk to someone at the desk. Come on Keith."
The man in blue opens the door and wanders in. Looking around he sees the decore is fine and well kept. There is the smell of fresh bread wafting from the hall to the right. Ahead is a large room, a staircase can be seen leading somewhere.
"He-hello?" The man called Keith says into the room. "I don't see anyone Sven. You sure we can be here?"
The other man, now named as Sven, looks at his friend. "Hey that TAZ guy Cid said we'd be welcome. All we'd have to do is talk to Mal or Reggie. Tell them Cid sent us. He said it might be a bit quiet. Something about being so far out, people don't take the time to stay anymore. Used to be a resort or something. Come on, what's the worst that could happen?" Sven turned and walked on down the hall following his nose for the smell. "There's food cooking this way, come on. People will be there. We can get this figured out."
The man in black, followed his friend. A bit hesitant. But the smell finally got the better of him.
Reggie viewed the control panel as the last docking clamp indicator flashed green. He looked briefly out the viewport at Lanzarote Station, and then walked towards the ladder descending to the cavernous holds of his whale.
He watched as yet another load of plutonium was offloaded, overseen by a score of very competent but nervous technicians. Automated loaders scurried about, removing the plutonium to the highly guarded manufactory located in a secure part of the Station. There, the technicians on payroll to Waverly LLC would continue to mix the plutonium with the local deuterium, fashioning and consructing very specific "tools" for very specific jobs.
Other auto-loaders were busy staging crates of gold for the short trip to Gran Canaria. However, on this trip, Reggie's cargo would include some other items as well. A dozen technicians were busy loading equipment and supplies required in the fabrication of thermonuclear devices. Those same dozen technicians would also be accompanying Reggie, and would eventually end up in the Newcastle system, where they would assist certain parties in the further construction of multiple devices once known as "WMD's".
Also being loaded were half a dozen smaller devices, which were carefully concealed and shielded within the cargo of gold being loaded for the short trip. These smaller devices, with a yield of less than a kiloton each, would be going no further than Gran Canaria, their final destination. The technicians would oversee their placement and arming before continuing on with the Oro.de.Veranda to a remote corner of Newcastle.
Reggie sighed as he watched the last of these smaller devices carefully loaded aboard, and the last of the technicians trotting off to the huge ship's crew quarters. He had agonized for days over the encrypted transmission he had received from Malaclypse. He had wanted to scream and rant over the orders he had been given. He had laughed maniacally and uncontrollably over the cosmic irony of those orders. And, finally he had realized that they were completely necessary.
Reginald Asmodeus Waverly once again resigned his haunted and tortured soul to that necessity, and turned towards the flight deck of the Oro.de.
It was mid-morning when Moira walked across the town square of Port Canaria. Her destination was in sight.. a small cafe with tables out front on the broad sidewalk. The large sign above the cafe's door said simply "Sophie's", and was embellished with small renditions of pies, steaming cups of coffee, and what looked like... cabbages? A man in a somewhat disheveled apron sat at one of the sidewalk tables, dozing in the warm suns' glows.
"Pardon me, mate." said Moira. I'm lookin' for some folk, and I heard they come here when they're not out tradin' or proselytizin' fer that Goddess o' theirs.. can ye help me?"
Commodore Puddles started, then opened his eyes to view what was obviously a daughter of Erin.. red hair and green eyes gracing a mature but stunning face. "Well, that depends, Madam.. a lot of folk seek the TAZ, but not always for the most gracious reasons..."
"Well laddy, don't trouble yer wee pointy head over that. I'm lookin' for a very old friend who recently joined the TAZ. He'd be Riley MacKenzie. It's very important that I talk wi' him. I'd also be wantin' to see that dear old gent who helped me once awhile back.. I believe he lives near here.. Waverly's 'is name?"
The Commodore stared intently at the woman a moment longer, and made his decision. "Well, Miss, I haven't seen Riley or the Erinloch in some time.. but if I'm not mistaken, that's Reggie's whale on final approach at the Port now." He pointed upwards.
The woman's haunted features softened, and Puddles was taken aback as she bent down and kissed his cheek. "Thank ye, dear boy! Ye've given Moira a wee glint of sunshine in a gloomy day!" Puddles shook his head and smiled as the woman turned and sprinted back across the square towards the spaceport.
The two men wandered thru hall after hall, following the scents of Cabbage and hot dogs. Other spices, neither could name teased their nose, once even making Keith sneeze.
Sven froze, poised to leap, he spun looking for the noise that startled him out of his attempt to pry the secrets of the odors he smelled.
Keith was just coming up, hand wipiing his mouth. He wiped it on the trouser of his uniform. He flinched when eh remembered he was in dress uniform. The smear could be seen on the hip of his pants.
'Crap, man. You 'bout scared me outta my skin.' Sven said as he quickly assessed the situation. 'Bless you. I think its coming from here.' He motioned to a door.
Pushing his way in he stopped, Keith running into his back. There was a giant kitchen with people working all over, running this way and that. Each carrying a differnt thing or dish of food. Each moving around the next in perfect grace. He stood there watching for almost a minute, captivated. It was like a dance, a ballet of dinner.
He stepped in and to the side so Keith could come in. Neither of them had ever seen a kitchen so large. Pilots their whole lives, they had rarely even spent much time on many planets, unless you count the Space Ports, and the connecting malls and hostels. Most off worlders didn't venture out on the planets.
'Keith, its amazing. Have you ever dreamed there was places like this? I've never seen so much food.' Sven whispered, as if in awe.
Keith moved closer, whispering, 'Look, thats just the dessert. There must be 400 pies there. Everykind you can imagine. Are you SURE that this is the place? It looks more like a Bakery or diner to me.'
'Well, lets find out.' Sven said, boldly walking into the kitchen. ' Excuse me , Could I have a moment of your time? I am looking for a Reggie or a Mal. Can anyone help me out?' He spoke loudly o he could be heard over the clamor.
Pots and pans stopped clanging, knives stopped chopping. Rollers stopped rolling, and cooks stopped cooking. He had brought this beautiful process to a standstill, in a matter of seconds. His intrusion, as it were, was looked upon with disdain and irritaion.
'What makes you think we know these people you speak of?' One of the cooks spoke up. His white hat a bit taller than the rest. The Chef's coat dirty, stains of tomato looks, and pieces of onion were smattered around his chest. He looked back at the workers, 'Get back to work, this meal won't finish itself, now will it?'
Sven stepped a bit closer and held a hand out, 'I'm Sven, I was sent by Cid. We have hired on to recover vessels and equipment from deep space. Also we are free men, not governed by any group. We seek shelter and maybe some of this delicious smelling food. Your staff move like dancers. I am awed. You and all Chef's have a new light in my eyes.'
'I am Keith.' Said Keith as he also shook hands with the Chef.
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