very good. you give me so much at one time.

Brunch at the saloon, with the grrls: Colette, Jo, Miraj, and myself.

"'My dear woman,' he cried, 'I write from DICtation!' Well, of course, it was all over pretty quickly after that."
Jo's dishing on how she was able to take care of Wynn without chipping a nail.

"Brilliant. And not one shot fired through the whole mess."
"Well, shit, Jo. If I'd known Wynn was gonna be that easy, I would've finished him off myself."
"Carey, dear, I'm not sure that you've got quite the right equipment for that. It wasn't exactly a women's touch that he was looking for..."
"Right, of course."
"No wonder they won't let Jo carry a gun in this town. She's packin enough heat as it is! Ha ha!"
"You would think that any self-identified woman would have the right to defend herself no matter where she goes. Goodness knows she's sure had the need to, ever since the dawn of Homo sapiens. She wasn't nothin but a man's property up until a coupla centuries ago."
"You know why? Cuz that was the only protection a woman had. If there wasn't a man to claim her and fight off the other men, she'd get violated all the fuckin time. There would have been no end to it."
"Women are still violated all the time."
"Yeah, but think about it this way: a man respects another man's property, or he'll risk getting physically hurt. A woman all alone, what kinda chance does she have? How's she gonna defend herself?"
"Do you think that's all because women were perceived as the weaker sex? Cuz you know, technically speaking, there's a wider spectrum of physical strength within male humans than there is between the sexes."
"I think it was partly an evolutionary thing. If women weren't treated as though they were more delicate then perhaps they wouldn't have survived long enough to reproduce and raise their young."
"True. Women had to survive childbirth and breastfeeding in order to raise the next generation. They required more care than men did, even if it was mostly women taking care of women."
"Is that why it took us so long to learn how to fight?"
"Seems like there's a lotta people who still think we're the weaker sex. Right, Carey?"
Everyone's suddenly starin at me but I've lost track of the conversation.
"What? A woman's right to bare arms?"
"Yeah, sleepy head. Are you with us?"
"Of course. Of course! A woman has the right to dress any way that she chooses."
"Even if she chooses to adorn herself with a Model 1 Smith and Wesson?"
"Huh?"
"C'mon, Carey, we're trying to have a discussion. Get with the program."
"The thing is," Jo arches one eyebrow, as nonchalant as ever, "and I'm speaking from a privileged position here, ahem. I think that most male aggression is directly related to his penis. He's angry because he can't get it up. He's angry because it's up and he doesn't know what to do with it. That's why there's so much emphasis placed on a woman's physique. Women have to look sexy so that a man can get it up. If he can't get it up then he can't have sex, and if he can't have sex then what kind of a man is he! See what I mean? Then he's going to blame problems on everything but his own penis. If he can't get it up then it's the woman's fault. If it's up and there's no woman interested in having sex with him then there's obviously something wrong with women in general. And on it goes..."
"The thing is, Joe," I've stopped disassociating, and I'm about to giv'em a lashing, "why should we have to get violent? Dammit. Why can't we be pacifists? We shouldn't be punished because we don't know how to fight. Why should we have to learn? We have every right not to defend ourselves. We have every right not to be attacked in the first place. Why should we have to change our behaviour when we're doing nothing wrong? You see?"

"Y'know, sometimes I get so flushed. It's interesting. Do your palms ever itch?"
I awoke to the sound of Colette's voice. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, smoking something in a long cigarette holder.
"You do realize this is a non-smoking room? No tobacco smell. That's a pretty nice consideration for the business traveler."
"Carey, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don't plan it, don't wait for it, just... let it happen. Could be Gauloises wherever you feel like smoking, a catnap, or two cups of good, hot, black coffee."
"I'd take you up on the coffee but that would be your second treat of the day, wouldn't it?"
"When was the last time you treated yourself?"
"Huh?"
"Tomorrow afternoon we're gonna meet with Mirj and Josie at the saloon, and we're gonna drink cosmos, AND we're gonna plan a day together at the spa. Got it? Think of this as a team-building exercise."
I'm covering my head with a sheet, wishing it was all just a dream. I don't even hear Colette leaving but by the time I decide to get up and at'em, she's gone.

As I attempted to exit the saloon, I realized someone was leaning against the doorway. The night had become so dark that I couldn't determine who it was until I stood next to her: Josie. I decided that I ought to rely on my rudimentary Spanish.
"Fue capaz de deshacerse de Wynn?"
"Si, senorita."
"¿Cómo lo hiciste?"
"Con amor."
Perfect. Jo is a true professional, though never accepted as such. "¿Dónde está?"
"Te dejaré saber."
I knew Jo well enough to understand that this was all I would get from her at the moment. "Tenga cuidado. Buenas noches."
"Buenas noches, senorita."

Back in the saloon, I was speaking casually with Miraj. He had been planning to become assistant manager by and by, under the present man. And if he did secretarial work for the manager, it was because "no sensible man rejects wantonly the confidence of his superiors."

Did I see it? I saw it. What more did I want? I had to laugh. Miraj tells me, "Carey, you are of the new gang - the gang of virtue. The same people who sent me specially recommended you. Oh, don't say no. I've my own eyes to trust."

I nearly burst out into laughter again. "Don't you read the Company's confidential correspondence?!"

He hadn't a word to say. Meanwhile, figures strolled about listlessly, pouring water on the glowing candles at our table. The sound of hissing followed, smoke rising. Were they closing already? I am surrounded by indefatigable men and yet, they were all succumbing to the night quite willfully. What time was it?

A man with a black moustache passes our table, speaking loudly, "Serves him right. Transgression - punishment - bang! Pitiless, pitiless. That's the only way. This will prevent all conflagrations for the future. I was just telling the manager..." The moustached stranger pauses and turns around to stare at Miraj, who in turn, appears crestfallen that he's been noticed (even without the glow of our candle). Still staring at Miraj, "Not in bed yet," he says with a kind of servile heartiness. "It's so natural. Ha! Danger - agitation." Then the stranger vanishes into the gathering darkness. Indeed, I began to feel that it was time for us to head back to our rooms. Miraj did not acknowledge any such need.
"God, would you listen to yourself?"
I assumed he was speaking in response to the moustached stranger. Miraj continues muttering to no one in particular, "We really aren't that concerned."
Looking at me now, he says, "We simply must get the girls together."
Of course, I agreed.
"But before we do, there's something you need to know."

I am curious. What could it possibly be? "Is it Joe?"

"Joe? No, no. Nothing going on there that we haven't already sussed-out." Miraj gives me a wink. "It's the General; how he came to be promoted to the rank of officer, and then a senior commander to some fortress here."

Could this be something new? "By all means, carry-on, Mirj."

"There was a chief, rather peaceful fellow. In fact, I believe he was a pacifist of sorts: encouraging non-violent protests and the like. One night someone set fire to a fortress. The General was stationed there.

At this point in time, he was just another young soldier, though he was cunning, very cunning. The hostile tribes were being blamed for the incident. A month after the event, the General was drinking tea with the peaceful chief. This was just another friendly chat, like several they had shared before. This chief believed in the power of dialogue, especially with his enemies. He arrived for tea suspecting nothing, for he hadn't really known the General very long.

What he didn't realize was that our General had convinced his superiors that he knew who had set the fire. Our General had his regiment surround the tea room where the meeting was to take place. When the chief arrived, our General publicly accused and upbraided him. Right there on the spot our General delivered a most detailed reprimand and in conclusion shot the chief, killing him instantly. Thus began the long career of our illustrious General, for he was immediately promoted."

"That hardly seems shocking, when one considers the environment..."

"No. What some find shocking is the report that the General set the fire himself and then perished in the blaze."

"I see."

"This is all just to give you an indication of the man with whom we are dealing."

I try remain unsurprised, for I've heard so much mythology with regards to this man.
"I understand. They say there is no trade with which he is unfamiliar."

"Yes. The General is a joiner, a cobbler, a shoemaker, a painter, a gilder, a locksmith and... "

"He learned all of these skills while in prison."

"Yes, that was before he became a soldier. Did you know how he came to be a prisoner in the first place?"

I shake my head, though I know very well how the General had become a convict in his early life. I'm curious to find out what exactly it is that Miraj feels the need to share with me.

"He was of noble origin, had worked in government service and had been something of a prodigal son to his sixty-year-old father. But his behaviour became thoroughly dissipated, he had become embroiled in debt. His father tried to exert a restraining influence on him, tried to make him see reason; but the father had a house and a farm, it was suspected he had money, and - the General murdered him in order to get his hands on the inheritance.

The crime was not discovered until a month after it was committed. The General, who was just a young man of twenty, informed the police that his father had disappeared. Then he spent the next month in the utmost debauchery. Finally, in the General's absence, the police discovered the body.

He made no confession. He was stripped of his nobility and government service rank. Then he was sentenced to twenty years' deportation and penal servitude. He was approved for parole after serving five years on the Moon. The agreement was that if he remained here he would be granted some leniency. The administration was pleased with all of the skills he had taught himself. Then he began to serve in the convict battalions back on Earth. He returned to the Moon as a soldier, tried and true, and well, now you know the rest."

I'm still not quite sure what Miraj is getting at, here. Is this supposed to lead up to some sort of blackmail?

At that moment, two figures appear in the entrance. They literally waltz inside the saloon. Even in the dim light, I know exactly who it is. As always, the General was unmistakable and Colette was sporting a dazzling smile, complete with a bit of tumblewire sticking out the corner of her mouth. Then I am suddenly within the throws of the General's continual pontification.

"We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed and a flag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers - to take care of the custom-house clerks, presumably. They were just flung out there, and on we went...-I remember it, but I can't explain..."

Had the General arrived for a grilling? Did he already know who was dead and who was alive, and how they got on? My position was no better. I could tell him, in fact, I repeat to him several times that the situation was "very grave, very grave". I inform him that Dr. Hubbleworth and Chester had been transported to proper beds within our secure medical facility. There was still no trace of Wynn or Joe. When I explained this to the General he said he was "very, very uneasy". Certainly when he finally did sit down he fidgeted around on his chair a good deal. Next thing he wanted to know "how long it would take to..."

I interrupted him.

"How can I tell?" I said. All this talk seemed to me so futile, but I did not try to stop him.

By this point, it was so pitch dark that we listeners could hardly see one another. For a long time already the General, sitting apart, had been no more to us than a voice. There was not a word from anyone else. Everyone around us might have been sleeping, but I was still awake. I listened. I listened, on the watch, for a sentence, or a word, that would explain the uneasiness inspired by this General's narrative which seemed to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night air. Yes - I let him run on and think what he pleased. I did, while he talked fluently about "the necessity for every man to get on. And when one comes out here, you conceive, it is not, of course, to gaze at the moon. Ha ha ha heh haheha ha."

He was becoming confidential now, but I fancy my unresponsive attitude must have exasperated him at last, for he judged it necessary to inform me he feared neither God nor devil, let alone any mere woman. I tell him I can see that very well, but what I really want is a certain quantity of silicate crystal. He changes his manner; becoming very cold, and simply carries on with the narrative he'd already begun...

"In that same year, the Indian Branch became its own department, with inside staff including the superintendent general, chief clerk, accountant, and clerical staff, and an outside staff comprising 460 field workers responsible for the implementation of policies directed at Indians. These outside workers were called Indian agents, and were invested with tremendous authority over the reserves and the people with whom they worked."

By this time I could hear Miraj snoring, and Colette was nowhere to be seen. I decide to call it a night.

Doc is waking up. He mumbles something like, "I want to start off slow, ask for a 60-ouncer at first... Then I'll work my way up."
Now I must remind him where and when he is.
"Doctor Hubbleworth! Do you know what planet you're on?"
Trick question.
"Trick question, Carey. I may be dumb but I ain't stupid. We are smack dab in the middle of Crater Lake: one of the thirteen restricted hamlets on the moon."
"You got it, Clyde. In fact, you used to be the Chair of this town's Substance Education Committee, that is, until you started abusing your privileges, so to speak. Do you remember the events that brought you to this particular hospital bed?"
No reply at all. Well, it would all come out in time.

I realize now that I've neglected to describe Joe's walking stick in detail, and it is quite deserving. It's a wonderful example of reuse, you see. He took a length of PVC tubing and reinforced it with some of the tumble wires that he'd found floating around. The end result is quite sturdy, yet pliable. So that I do have enough time, while supporting Chester, to wonder what has become of Wynn. Surely, if I were to finish Chester off, right here and now, I would have to contend with Wynn. Presumably, he would want to prevent me from killing Chester right here and now, so he should be turning up right here and now to stop me. And yet, he is nowhere to be seen. I can't help thinking that Wynn has snuck around the back of this hut (Dr. Hubbleworth likes to refer to it as his 'cabin') and come across either the Doctor himself, or Joe. I really ought to investigate, however, I have this human being to support and I don't quite know what to do with him.

I have dragged Chester's limp, passed-out body into the building beside the Doc's hovel. It is another apothecary's shop, where Miraj is accosting a clerk.
"Anything, ideally, with opium in it will do...? Alcohol to keep it in solution of course... perhaps some formulation that would go well with the Daffy's Elixir of which we plan to purchase..."
Miraj is a first-class agent, young, gentlemanly, a bit reserved, with a forked little beard and a hooked nose. I wonder what he's working on here. He seems to be covered in blood. I wonder to whom that blood belongs...
"- eeh, how many cases was that again,...?" Dr. Hubbleworth has suddenly appeared from behind a glass cupboard in which various instruments are dustily jumbled. Apparently, the Doctor has somehow been attending the exchange despite the fact that he too, is covered in blood. Furthermore, it looks to be his own as there is a scalpel protruding from his left shoulder. That must be the work of our customs officer. The Doctor raises a finger.
"'Strangers heed my wise advice: never pay the retail price.'"
He passes out upon the floor. I hesitate a moment and then I drop Chester on top of him, relieved to have found such an opportunity.
"Perhaps they have fought each other to the death, or near death, as the case may be."
Miraj winks at me, remains cheery, "In that welcome event," making a carefree motion in the air with his handkerchief, "a hundred cases should do the trick, for this time out, anyway, - Now as to that oahpiated article we're discussing, -"
"Aye, we call it Laudanum, Sir - compounded according to the original formulae of the noted Dr. Paracelsus of Germany. Preventive against a variety of ailments, sir? -Excellent anti-costive properties, - given the uncertainty of diet, -"

The Doctor is attempting to raise his index finger from the position that he holds upon the floor, mumbling, "The commissioners know all too well about Daffy's Elixir, and the uses tis put to."

Miraj is more than willing to finish this request on the Doctor's behalf. For just a moment I felt I belonged still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling did not last long. There was a touch of insanity in this proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the performance. I longed to return to my position back at the saloon where I felt I had at least the capacity to make more sense of the world. The problem with Miraj is that he tends to be stand-offish with the other agents.
"Miraj, it's so good to see you. How did you find yourself in the company of this fine surgeon?"
"Why HE approached ME in the vestibule of this fine establishment. Can you imagine? The state he's in... Then he asked me to his room, which was in the main building of the station..."
"Insatiable appetite, this old gent. I happen to know that he'd only JUST finished dining with a young man in his cabin a few moments ago."
"... and I perceived that this young aristocrat had not only a silver-mounted dressing-case but also... The business entrusted to this fellow was the making of bricks -so I had been informed; but there wasn't a fragment of a brick anywhere in the station..."
"The making of bricks, you say."
They were all waiting -for something. Who was I to interfere with their particular variety of uncongenial preoccupation, or occupation, as the case may very well be? There is an air of plotting about this place, and nothing can cure it. The only thing that ever comes to them is disease, of one sort or another. The philanthropic pretense of this whole concern, regarding the human condition, their talk, their governance, any show of work, was all subsumed by a singular desire. To reach a trading-post where silicate crystals were to be had so that they can earn a percentage.