Deep Space
The Dead Zone
Aboard ISS Belfast Windfall

"And why," inquired Arella, "should I take it upon myself to provide such an engaging charity for such a bumbling disappointment as yourself?" Mack suffered twenty minutes of this harassment trying to interest her in another dinner at The Lunch. Finally, she agreed. "Very, well, you circuit paste. If you can't find within your simple mind a reason for me to grace your humble table, I shall have to do it for you. I'm bloody well famished. I accept." She smiled. Dinner was indeed modest, but the dancing was better. The music hung in the air with Arella's perfume: "Some men have insight, some are gran-ite, some-knights in armor bent on chivalry…She's as sweet as Tupelo Honey, just like honey, from a bee."

Elan
Ifsh Plains

Halura stood among the planted young. They would never see the Eshbllr Colony. No, they would remain planted in the precious soil of Elan for a lifetime. Here they would meditate, perhaps in peace, seasons folding into years until the day they bore headfruit and passed on the delicate seeds of a new generation. Halura looked skyward. Coreward Plowshares was now beyond his control. He thought for a moment of the Thrynn. The changes were subtle, invisible, really, but they would manifest themselves. The Humans grew stronger with each passing day. The term 'New Empire' was, in all honesty, a misnomer. They were still frail. The Humans knew precious little of the magnificent empire that had been theirs. But the potential was there. The Elowan saw it. The Thrynn felt it. The Humans were engaging it. In the fullness of time, the three would be united again, and things might be safe, if only for a while. Halura had the patience to wait. It began to rain.

Deep Space
The Dead Zone
Thrynn Frigate Kryssthoggr

Captain SshT'k had at least one advantage. Yssk, the chief engineer, was on his side. Kryssthoggr was as much Yssk's playground as it was a naval vessel. He knew, for example, of the pressure hull between the ship's outer armor and the internal bulkheads. It was possible, even, that he knew that an adult Thrynn in full combat gear might just manage to crawl around the pressure hull with a weapon. It was possible that ambitious young officers out for glory might know about these things, too. They just might adopt appropriate countermeasures. But then, pressure hulls aren't very glorious. They're cold, too. Somewhere on the port side of the Kryssthoggr, a Thrynn captain, well past his prime, lit a blowtorch. He started to cut through the inner bulkhead.

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Next: "The Fourth Moon"

Biggs Hilsfar will never play an overweight cop named T.J. Hooker. He will never grow a goatee, nor will he shave his head. Biggs will call nobody 'Numbah Wun.' And most importantly, he will never wear spandex. He's that good.

"Hilsfar & Company: Because I See You Are a Trader of Distinction"