The Dark Son

by

Lara C. Hudson

Reefer Mal wasn't in the mood for a scam. When Drago called him and said he had an

offer Reefer couldn't refuse, Reef was in the middle of his weekly tantric meditation, and

the virtual coitus-interruptus pissed him off. "Give me three good reasons why I should

believe your ugly ass." He watched on his monitor as his sometime colleague's

asymmetrical face bounced and squished.

"Credit for days, Reef. Easy money. More than you could imagine, man! I can't say

much over the uplink, but it involves a certain notorious big bad dude who needs to share

some of his wealth." Drag wheezed gleefully. "Really, man, you'll want to be in on this.

Meet me at the Observatory in an hour."

Reefer unfolded his supple legs, forgetting for the moment his pretense of yogic

asceticism, and leaned closer to the monitor. "I don't know, Drag. Your plans suck.

Why should this be any different?"

"Because this is a sure thing, dude!! I'm telling you, Reef, just meet me at the

Observatory. You won't be sorry."

Reefer hung up on the misshapen man. Ugh, he thought darkly. Drago.

The unfortunate had his right eye sucked out by a hybrid pet, a furry, gray chimpanzee

with a long elephant-like nose. The mutant TriMonks, the latest thing from Smithereen

Gene Toy, Ltd., were master acrobats, their powerful nose serving not only as another

swinging, agile arm but as a kind of suction cup, enabling the new breed to hold

themselves up by placing their noses on a surface and inhaling. Drago had apparently

tugged on the thing's snout with a bit too much bravado, and the TriMonk retaliated with

one profoundly impressive suck. Instinct, in its perverse manifestation, made mincemeat

of Drago's face. Now there was simply a hole where his eye had been, with loose,

wrinkled flesh around it and a few scars that made the twenty-two year old appear

weathered and worn.

Sometimes Drago would fill his eye socket with bizarre trinkets - a protruding chess

piece (usually the king), bite sized candies with a "Pick Me" sign painted in blue on his

forehead, a rosebud, a video projector - Reef thought Drago's 'Hole Art' was gross.

"Just get a glass eye for fuck's sake, Drag, you look nasty," Reef would repeatedly tell

him, with absolutely no effect.

It didn't help that Reef himself was maniacally breathtaking. Engineered with water-

blue eyes, thick black hair, long, sinewy muscles, and a member of exceptional girth in

his pants, the contrast between the men was laughable.

This big brother shit doesn't suit me at all, Reef thought as he casually adjusted

himself. Ever since he met Drago two years ago, the guy wouldn't leave Reef alone.

Reefer Mal was Loner Number One, a self-loving celibate, a deeply spiritual and violent

man, and he did not take well to tag-alongs or tailcoat-riders.

Drago was both.

Yeah, yeah, so the guy was surprisingly hooked into San Francisco's criminal subculture

and had made Reefer a bit of credit with a few of his half-baked scams. He remembered

that sloppy episode last May, when Drago got word of a drug deal, a Cherry transaction

happening in Noe Valley. He called Reef to help him.

Reefer remembered It had been a beautifully warm, sunny day, when he and Drago found

the dealers high up in the little valley, near Grandview Avenue, where steel high-rises

towered precariously at the top of the hill and rambled downward like a staircase of some

surreal, mechanical god. "Okay, so Reef, here's the thing," Drag babbled heatedly, the

eyebrow above his empty socket convulsing up and down, "the element of surprise is our

friend, man, and we have to, like, pounce on them, man, and -"

"Did you bring gas masks, Drag? Maybe some gloves?"

"Uh...well, I think my driving gloves are in the transport, but -"

"Your driving gloves are fingerless, Drag." Reef stared at him, utterly unsurprised.

Reefer reached inside his kevlar backjacket and pulled out two masks and two pair of

gloves. Drago talked his mistake to death. "Shit, man, shit, I knew I forgot something!

Reef, you're my number one hombre, man, oh thanks for this, what would I do without

you, dude?"

"You'd die, Drag." Reefer Mal slipped gloves over his long fingers. "Just put your

damn mask on and let's do this."

The newest love-drug barreling through the San Francisco underground, Cherry was

irresistible, and its dealers couldn't keep a professional distance from the product. A

Cherry high was multiform; amphetamine, depressant, aphrodisiac, pain-killer,

hallucinogenic, all crushed into a fine, reddish looking powder smelling faintly of Sweet

Tarts and bathroom cleaner. So potent was the new narcotic that if left in one's pocket,

one's skin would absorb it through the cloth; if placed within a meter of one's face, one

would inadvertently inhale it; if you merely touched it, forget about it, you're already in

the stratosphere. The sun's ultra-violet rays amplify the effects of the drug, and if one

was crazy enough to attack dealers in broad daylight, a thief could make a killing.

As they approached the top of the avenue, Reefer could see there were three dealers and

two junkers. The initial victim was a junker, his nose already beet red from inhaling a

sample of the dealers' stash. His eyes fluttered as Reef came up from behind and kicked

him in the lower back, sending him careening down the steep hill.

With no time to waste, Reef flew at the biggest dealer, a gluttonous black dude with

wildly red eyes. Reefer screamed like a banshee and jumped, pulling both legs up to his

chest, and forced his patent leather boots into the dealer's throat. He, too, rolled down

the hill, a bit more slowly, because he was fat and kept getting caught on curbs. He

whinnied like a bitch whenever his whale-like body hit the parked transports blocking his

descent.

Reefer spun around. The other junker had run off, and the two dealers held Drago under

the armpits, his gas mask dangling like a garter belt off one of their red fingers. Drago

looked like a happy wet fish, and his face grew more crimson by the second. "Ah, shit,

Reef, what happened? I'm all fucked up..." He tipped his face toward the sunlight,

unaware of his human crutches, and giggled.

One of the dealers whacked Drago's face with the useless mask. "Come and get your

bitch, stealth boy."

When will I learn? Reefer reprimanded himself silently, "That highhead don't

mean anything to me," he mumbled through his mask, "but you do. Gimme Cherry, you

fire engine fuck junks."

The dealers laughed and threw Drago to the ground. One stepped on his spindly neck

while the other stood on the back of his thighs. "Take it from us, then! Pop our Cherry,

Jackie Chan!" they laughed in unison.

"All right, you asked for it, boys," Reef bellowed, raising his right hand in the air, "watch

the Master!" Reefer Mal brought his palms together, an image of a twenty-second

century boddhisatva, and went through a kata he created from all the martial arts films he

had studied in his twenty-five years. He shrieked, he jumped, he inhaled, he exhaled, he

kicked, pushed and punched the empty air around him. The dealers enjoyed the show, as

Reef knew they would, and for several critical seconds he entertained the Cherryheads

while studying the angle of the sun slicing through the highrises, humiliating himself for

their vulnerable pleasure to catch a quick glance at his Chronos. Soon they were

laughing uncontrollably. In a moment of their deepest hysteria, the dealers suddenly

found two magnifying glasses pointed at their faces. The sun's focused rays killed any

residual squeaks of laughter. The two began to mumble, swaying back and forth in

renewed junkdom. As soon as Drago was able to scurry out from under them, Reef

yelled, "DragoVideo, please, I've got to get this for my reel! Now!"

Drago reached deep into his eye socket and pulled out a tiny Dragofly. Once released, it

buzzed around and recorded the melee from all angles. How exciting, Reef

panted, who would have thought all those childhood afternoons spent frying ants on

the sidewalk would pay off? This moment of strategic innovation would most

certainly make his reel. Reef drew closer as the skin on the dealers' faces began to burn.

Luckily, Cherry was a potent painkiller, practically an anesthetic, and they were too high

to notice the flesh hanging off their slack jaws. Reefer pointed the beams of light into

the right eye of each dealer. "This is for you, Drag!" The Dragofly came close to Reef's

face.

He winked.

"Ughh, uuugggghghhhh..." The two dealers' right eyes fell out of their homes and

squirted around on the ground for a moment before rolling moistly down the hill. The

dealers fell on top of each other, passing out with a wisp of smoke and a smile.

The job was done. Drago stumbled around, collecting the Cherry from the charred

bodies, while Reef stood in front of the camera, posing like a bodybuilder. He then ran

toward Drago and pimp slapped him with one of the magnifying glasses. "You stupid,

ugly, ass, what the hell happened back there?" Drago tried to crawl away as Reefer

kicked him and ripped the stash from his hands. "Give me the fucking Cherry, I

shouldn't even leave you with a hit to sell, you fucking loser." He sat down and looked

at the stash. If he played his cards right, this would buy him enough credit for at least

two months, maybe more if he didn't snort it all first.

"I'm sorry, man..." Drago stammered, "I was watching you take care of the first guy,

right? Like, getting pointers and shit, and then all of a sudden the other junker tripped

me and then, I can't really re-"

"Shut up, just shut up!" Reef sighed in frustration. He threw about a week's worth of

Cherry back at him. "We earn our keep in Reefer Mal's world, and that's all you get.

You're lucky, Drag, you're lucky. That's all I can say."

Reefer grabbed the Dragofly and stuck it in one of his inner pockets. "Thanks for the

tape. Oh yeah, and kiss my ass."

As Reef sauntered down the hill toward the human swarm at the base of the valley - most

of whom had already taken stock of and dismissed the two junkheads that had splattered

into their realm - Drag yelled, "Thanks, Reef, thanks, uh, I'll talk to-"

"Shut up!" And that was the last Reef heard from the one-eyed gargoyle.

Until today. Man, oh man, when will I learn? Reef thought, hitting his head with

both hands. He had vowed to never deal with Drago again, but he was low on credit, the

Cherry was sold and gone long ago, and his reel was almost done. If he could get just

one or two more scenes, he could count on getting off the planet.

Reefer Mal was destined to explore Kallah. The newest galactic discovery, Kallah was

amazingly diverse, almost as large as Earth, with three distant suns on its horizon, largely

unexplored and undeniably dangerous. Reef heard stories of dinosaur-sized salamander

creatures with tails twice as long as their bodies, rich scarlet oceans, albino flying bat

things that could be ridden like a glider. Shit! Reefer was ready for anything, he

was made for danger, his father was an elite Atlas explorer! His parents spent almost a

year genetically engineering their only son for superstardom. But his parents stuck him

in a foster home when they fled Earth for star-filled pastures.

And then they were gone.

Four years after Kallah Mission 3 was launched, Reefer's parents and their crew

returned. Atlas communicated to the pilot incorrect re-entry coordinates. The huge,

lumbering ship entered too steeply and its force field grouping system failed. The crew

was vaporized. Six hundred dead. Reefer's parents would never come back to claim

their 7 year-old son.

After two missions and numerous lives, this horrific mistake of Kallah Mission 3 seemed

to the world an unacceptable loss. Atlas, the shining aeronautics academy across the

Golden Gate, became the focus of violent public retaliation. Two high officials at the

Academy were assassinated; bomb threats occurred daily; Atlas sent no missions to

Kallah for the next six years. One bomb succeeded in destroying the nursery and all of

its records, thus erasing Reefer's existence, merely one in a sea of lost orphans produced

from the Kallah tragedies.

At the news of his parents' death, after four long years in the sterile, indifferent,

isolating

chill of his foster home outside the walls of Atlas, Reefer ran away and never returned.

With one explosive choice made in anger and fear, Reefer sealed his fate and became a

stranger to the future-fighter society. And now that Reef had grown, he realized what he

sacrificed those many years ago. He was an outsider. A stranger.

A stranger staunchly determined to get back in.

Reef was filling his vid-reel with the very kind of resourcefulness, invention and sheer

balls required to become an explorer. He would use the reel to prove what he had

learned in the eighteen years since his exclusion, he would use it to prove that he was

able to learn, fight and win.

But the reel was incomplete. He still needed an aerial scene, as well as a nighttime,

infra-red combat scene. Then he would be ready to approach Atlas. He would find a

way to the North Shore. He would break the law to get in. He would vanquish those

who tried to stop him. He would stand before the Academy Council and say, "Look at

me, at what you have forgotten, and witness what I have accomplished. I am Reefer Mal,

born to Sagan and Reina Mal of Kallah Mission 3, and I am ready to claim my

birthright." And they would take him into their cosmic arms and say, "Yes, yes, Reefer

Mal, you will go. You will go to Kallah." He dreamt about it every night, his dreams a

heavy crimson, red like those foreign oceans, red like the blood within him, the dreams

as stubborn and steadfast as the rhythm of his furious heart.

But reality was currently kicking his ass. Reefer hadn't really eaten anything the last few

days, he was close to destitute, and he was going to have to deal with Drago once more.

Whatever the scam was, maybe Reef could manipulate it to get one of the two scenes he

needed. Drago was the putty in his hands, the shit on his shoe, and he figured it

shouldn't be too difficult.

Reefer Mal ascended from a lotus position and glanced at himself in the mirror. His

thick black hair fell around his shoulders, his dark olive skin pure and smooth, his ice-

blue eyes shimmered in the cool darkness of his chambers. The Academy will drool

over me, he thought hopefully, and I won't have to worry about credit ever again.

I'm going to be a star.

He pulled on the tightest, blackest clothes he could find and headed for the Observatory.

High upon Twin Peaks, the Observatory was the hot spot of underground life in San

Francisco. Originally constructed in 2101 to be enjoyed by the general public - families

with annoying little runt children, ignorant tourists wanting a good look at those darn

bridges they always saw on Postvideo, high class jerkies reinforcing the belief that their

place was above others - all that ended within the first year of the Observatory's

existence. The Sang Society bought the structure outright, offering the city three times as

much credit as it took to build the place, and turned it into a watering hole for those who

dared to patronize it. The Sang Society was said to be one of the last vampire clans in

California, and over several years its constituents turned the Observatory into a secret

thing. The cylindrical body of the structure remained intact, the huge blocks of merlot

colored marble run through with tiny cracks reminiscent of veins. Rumor was that the

vampires dwelt in the marble cylinder and that the structure penetrated the ground for

half a kilometer, where their society slept in safety and stone. The cylinder supported the

club on top, called the Dome. Once a pristine white, the original dome was replaced

with a translucent black one, like the eye of a giant bat staring, envious and blind, toward

the heavens.

Day and night, the Dome was alive with the dregs of the Bay Area. Reefer liked going

there, if not for anything but the Observatory's aesthetic qualities, its absolute hardness,

the smoothness of its skin, the clarity of its intent. Inside was something else, surely -

motley and perilous - and still, Reefer felt no fear in the diverse field of others in the

Dome, the others like him, so skilled and mangled in the art of survival.

Music pounded through the Dome as Reefer walked through sweaty, gyrating bodies

toward the tables around the rim. As he broke through the dance floor, something small

and cold brushed by him. It was too dark; Reef's irises expanded but still could not

discern what it was he'd felt squirm around his left side. He nonchalantly turned around.

Nothing but tribal junkers thrashing their heads to the music.

Then he saw the gargoyle. Ugh.

Hey, Reefer, man, over here!" Reef watched Drago making a scene. He laughed

incredulously as he walked toward Drag, drawing ever closer to the deep chasm in his

face. There was nothing but a big bluish marble in it today.

"Hey, man, thanks for showing up, uh, I wasn't so su-"

"What's up, Drag? Why am I here?" Reef sat down at the high, narrow table facing

north, surveying the distant Haight District. He looked again toward the center of the

Dome and saw a small body recede into the far corner, just to the left of the dance floor.

Its eyes seemed to jump from Reef to Drago, and back again. Little black eyes.

Drago looked around with the subtlety of a rabid boar. After scanning the room

repeatedly, he sunk and leaned in toward Reef. "Oh shit, you're just not going to believe

this shit," Drag squirmed, "so I got a source who tells me that Atlas has created these

new embryonic Bub-L-Sats, they're like artificial wombs that orbit the Earth. The

general population has no idea they even exist - they're used for cloning, since it's illegal

here - and they're rented out to, you know, high officials and judges and politicians and

those kinds of people, you know, people with enemies, people on somebody's shit list - "

"Yeah?" Reef grew curious.

"Okay, so here's this, so do you know who has his only son incubating up in one of those

Sats?"

"Just fucking tell me, Drag. Cut the suspense crap."

"The head of YakuzaInternational, man! Sacho Taiyo, he has his fucking kid up there!

Dude, can you believe that shit? So Atlas owns and regulates the all the Bub-L-Sats,

right, they're in charge of monitoring the progress of all the kids for the nine months of

fetal development, blah, blah, anyway, so turns out that Sacho Taiyo's first-born son was

killed a year ago, some macho hydrocycle race, you know the story, and the embryo up in

the Bub-L-Sat is his son's clone, and now the heir to his fortune."

Reef pushed back from the table. "What are you proposing?"

Drago's eye glistened. "Okay, this is bigtime. This is the plan. We fly an inter-spheric

ship and we go up there and hi-jack the Bub-L-Sat and-"

Reef exploded with laughter. Imagine, this moron trying to pull off a space heist!

But beneath the hysteria grew a meticulous plan. He looked again at the small being in

the corner far behind Drago. The eyes looked strained, agitated.

Drag continued over the patronizing din. "Come on, man, just hear me out! Now, we

just need to attach with the Bub-L-Sat so we can retrieve the internal womb, and we

leave the rest. Then we have real fucking ransom property! I have dispensable credit, I

have the serial code and location of the Taiyo Sat, and security on these things is

practically nonexistent, man! Atlas can't do shit until they send somebody from the

surface after us, see? Window of time, dude, window of time! I already got a ship - I

just need a pilot, Reef, you know, someone who can get through the Sphere without

freaking out..."

Reef was suspicious. All this detail? All this preparation? Not Drago's usual amateur

style. "Who's funding this heist? Surely not you..."

"Uhhh...," Drago stammered, "well...it's an interested party it's not like I can-"

Reefer grabbed Drago's shoulders and dragged him closer to his face. "Drag, you think

I'm going to risk my neck for you if I don't know who's behind this?" Drag shook a

little. "Ya know, this thing smells. And so do you. Bye bye."

"But Reef! Don't be like that, man!"

Reefer reached the edge of the Dome and descended the large spiral staircase leading

into the sanguine cylinder, toward ground level. It was then that the little creature from

the corner revealed himself. It was no vampire, but a boy, a dark, skinny boy. His hair

was thick and luminous like Reef's, but his eyes were almond and nearly coal-black and

he looked hard, white and rigid. As the staircase circled downward and Reefer strode

toward the exit, the boy shouted from the Dome's portal.

"Reefer Mal, don't leave!"

Reef continued his descent. "Who the hell are you, boy?"

The skinny kid followed. "I am the son of Sacho Taiyo."

"I thought you were supposed to be dead."

"No, I'm not the first born. I'm a a bastard."

Reefer stopped. "A bastard, huh? Well, aren't we all?" Reef looked the boy over.

"Yeah, I can see the resemblance...I take it you hired Drago?"

"Yes."

"You poor son of a bitch. Good luck." He began again to leave.

"No, please, wait! I understand that you have inter-spheric skills, and I need a good pilot

for this mission. I'll pay you a hundred thousand credit."

Reefer stopped again and looked at the dark creature. This boy couldn't have been more

than sixteen, and Reef could sense the abandonment and determined malice barreling

through his bones. The kid was probably a veritable nut-case, someone filled with wrath,

a danger to those around him. No wonder he couldn't find anyone but Drago to help

with his pitifully vengeful scheme.

Where did you get that kind of credit, boy?"

"Sacho pays my mother to hide my identity."

"Shit, must be hard," Reef said with little emotion.

"Well, Sacho's gonna pay, and he will have to recognize me, once the clone is in my

hands."

Reefer watched him closely. "What's your name?"

"Kurai."

An alarm went off in Reefer's brain, he heard the golden bell of opportunity chiming

through its tissue. No doubt will Atlas be plagued with death threats when the kindred

embryo of the Yakuza Boss is stolen, Reef deduced, no doubt Atlas's

Commander in Chief, Ikos Rez of the High Council, will have to pay for his academy's

devastating carelessness.

Reefer decided. He would help the hateful boy steal the embryo. Then, once safely

back on earth, he would turn in both Kurai and Drago, return the Yakuza heir, prevent

the Academy Commander's certain demise, and consequently save the fucking day.

Who knew today would be so blessed, he whispered to himself. I'm going to

go to Kallah. I see my dream on the horizon, like a tornado. It bleeds into me. I feel it

pulsing in the soles of my feet.

"Okay, Kurai, I'm willing to talk. Let's go find Drag." Together they climbed the wide

cylinder, Kurai's thoughts on blood and rejection, Reef's on this pure and true miracle of

opportunity.

One thing Reef learned for sure, this kid Kurai was loaded. When Reefer first saw the

ship he was to pilot for the mission, he almost came in his pants. A War Viper, Siam

class, not only inter-spheric but inter-stellar, and proven to be the fastest ship in the

sky.

The Viper was shaped like the head of a snake, its body narrow at its venomous nose and

gradually widening toward the back. Slick and translucent, milky and hard like frozen

smoke, the filmy Aerogel flesh revealed the ship's inner guts, its weaponry bulging like

poison sacks from under its nose. Reefer jumped in and sat in the pilot's seat, laying

nearly flat in the center of the ship's reptilian head. He ran his hands along the control

panel and laughed in hot anticipation.

Reefer jumped down from the Viper. As he walked in a circle around the war ship, he

asked Kurai, "How could anyone with so much credit be so obsessed with a petty,

personal vendetta? And isn't your Daddy himself indirectly funding this kidnapping?"

Reefer snarled under his laughter. "Look at the luxury around you, boy! Look at what

you have! Do you want to give all this up?"

"If it meant that my father would remember me, yes. Yes. I'll make my father remember

me with this."

"Okay, you want it, you got it. But I want my money now."

"Fine."

This kid's crazy! he thought. Reefer, so young when his parents' were taken

from him, had grown numb to what he had lost. The pain was far away, like some burnt

out sun, and his parents had grown to legendary proportions in his mind; he harbored no

resentment but the most solid reverence for them. And who was he to be caught in the

web of the prisonous past? Reefer Mal was a man of the Here and the Now, a man who

made things happen, and he couldn't stand people like Kurai, stupid and spoiled and

scarred.

Perhaps I'm the best thing that could have happened to this kid, Reef convinced

himself. He'll be taught a lesson he'll never forget. And maybe he'll grow up.

Three nights later, with the dark boy, the one-eyed slug, and a hundred thousand

unmarked credit in the vault on his wrist, Reefer Mal launched the Viper at 01:30 hours.

The ship was a predator; it ripped the sky open with vicious velocity. Reefer contracted

all his muscles against the G's that threatened to flatten him, his ball sack and the back of

his brain squishing tightly against the seat. He had difficulty turning his head to see that

both his passengers, strapped in close behind him, were weeping like little girls.

The Viper pushed through the atmosphere four minutes later. It was an incredible sight;

Reefer watched outside as watercolors swept over the ship's Aerogel body - aqua, cobalt,

slate, coal. The adrenaline in the Viper seeped thick like steam on the sightscreen, and

Reefer gave one or two cowboy yelps during the spheric exodus. Once in the tranquil

airlessness of space, Reefer spent the next hour flying toward the Bub-L-Sat, slowing the

Viper down with its retro-burners, and witnessing a sunrise reach, like the hand of God,

over Mother Earth.

The Viper floated slowly through space about fifty meters away from the Bub-L-Sat as

Reefer asked Drago to the back of the ship, where he proceeded to knock him

unconscious, pull the sticky black marble out of his eye hole, and remove any and all

DragoVideo equipment. He then pulled Drago's lid up, inspecting his good eye for

retinal monitors. He smashed all but one Dragofly, squishing them under his leather

platforms, and stuck the last into his backjacket, to use for the planned 'rescue' scene of

the bouncing baby boy.

When he returned to the control panel, Reef found Kurai sweaty and much too anxious to

get the job done. "You have to chill, Kurai, you're looking a little green."

"Yeah, well, I never fucking intended to go up with the two of you," he barked thinly, the

zero gravity making his frightened face puffy, "if you hadn't almost walked out of the

Observatory and I had to fucking stop you-"

"Oh, so it's my fault you crapped your panties? Maybe if you weren't such a pussy boy,

you could handle yourself up here. Don't tell me you've never been through the Sphere."

Kurai said nothing, but held his stomach and tried to float away by kicking his legs. Reef

turned back to the control monitor and began his approach. "Now just chill, and watch

the Master."

Reef pulled in close to the Bub-L-Sat. He had never piloted a trans-lock sequence, but he

thought fuck it, turned the Viper around and backed in, aligning the ship's

standardized portal with the identical one at the satellite's core. He then programmed the

ship for an auto-lock and waited. Thirty four seconds later, the clunk of a lockdown was

heard and the portal hatch hissed open, revealing the quiet orbitant womb.

Reefer was the first to float into the chamber of the Bub-L-Sat. Before entering, he

pulled the image scrambler out of his pocket and remotely surged the video monitor.

Inside, he discovered that Sacho Taiyo's son was going to be 'born' in eleven hours.

Reefer scanned the readouts on the child's monitor, noting that the womb water was

programmed to drain that day, and that the child, for all purposes, was as done as it could

be. Complete. And ready to eat, puke and shit interminably.

"Great. Just great. The womb is going to drain, and we're going to end up a bunch of

bitch mothers, man. We have to feed it, change its diapers I'm not a baby-sitter, people!

Kurai, you're its brother, you're going to take care of it."

Drago finally floated into the womb chamber, rubbing his empty socket. "What

happened, man?"

"Dude, you passed out in the Sphere. Don't you remember?" Reef said casually.

"Uh, I guess, but-"

"Drag, go back to the Viper. There's a black case behind my seat. Get it and bring it to

me."

Drago obeyed and when he returned, handed the case to Reefer. Reef pulled out a pulse

reactor and programmed it to the exact rhythm of the child's heart. He attached the

reactor to the monitor. "Come here and hug your baby brother," Reefer hissed as he

picked up the internal womb, a micro-planet still filled with vital fluid, and pushed it

toward Kurai. He then attached his image scrambler directly to the recording camera,

ensuring that the video transmission would be unreadable for at least a few hours.

Reefer spoke. "Listen, we're currently in a load of shit. If the Academy is monitoring

the baby closely right now - and you can bet they are - there's a very good chance they

already suspect something's amiss up here. But there's just as good a chance that because

of the initial image failure, they may assume that the other failures occurring in the Sat -

the fact that all organic data has disappeared except the heart rate, for instance - are

caused by a glitch in their monitoring system on Earth. But I'm pretty certain that, as we

speak, they're sending a ship up here to retrieve the baby. So I would suggest you keep

doing what you're doing - stay out of my way, keep your mouths shut, and we all might

get back home alive."

Reefer crawled into the pilot's seat and began boosting the force field grouping system.

"And re-entry is much worse than exodus, so try not to soil yourselves. Got it?"

The two useless criminals nodded spastically. As they floated back into the Viper, the

baby kicked within the womb, and as the ship separated from his only home, the child

swished in the heated presence of his kidnappers.

Reefer had to stash the baby at his place. Kurai still lived with his mom, and Drago

didn't really live anywhere in particular. Reef blindfolded his accomplices and drove the

Viper west, high above Geary Street, until he reached 41st Avenue, where he turned

north and flew through the dense fog toward his lair. He pressed a button on his Chronos

and a chasm hissed open in the seemingly solid, impenetrable ground. Down into the

earth he piloted the ship until the narrow tunnel opened up into a cave.

This was the first time others had seen the temple of Reefer Mal.

"Don't touch anything, all right?" he said distractedly as he set the ship down and took

the blindfolds off Drago and Kurai. As the hatch opened, the scent of incense and wax

flooded their noses. The two visitors stepped into the room and gaped at the candlelight,

the soft velvet and silk pillows, the gold weave tapestries, and the picture of Sagan and

Reina Mal covering the entire west wall of the cave. Drago ran over to Reef's monitor

and watched for any news about the kidnapping. The spherical womb grew heavy in

Kurai's arms and the boy placed it carefully on a beanbag in the corner. He walked over

to the west wall and stared at the image. "Who are they?" Kurai asked, the sullen timbre

of his voice now distant.

"They're my parents. They're dead."

He spun around and looked at Reefer. "Oh. Sorry."

Reefer walked toward Kurai and stopped by his side, staring at his kindred. "Yeah,

well they left when I was three and died when I was seven. I don't really remember

them." He walked away and slipped off his driving gloves.

Kurai followed him. "I just..." he stopped, struggling to find words, "I want to thank you

for today. I mean, I know I wasn't much help...and Drago spoke the truth. You can do

anything." He looked doubtfully at his baby brother, then at the images of Reef's

parents. "Yes, Reefer Mal, thanks. I..."

Reefer heard the fear in Kurai's voice. His patience waned. "Do you know what you're

going to do," he barked, "now that you have your brother? Have you thought about what

you've done? I mean, there are better ways to get your father's attention."

Kurai began to pace, his youthful energy and inexperience getting the better of him. Reef

could tell the boy was in over his head. Was it despair that kept passing like a shadow

over his face? "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," he kept repeating as he walked

back and forth. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and began weeping hysterically. His

shoulders shook with the burden of loneliness. His tears wet the floor.

Reefer was shocked. Instinctively, he ran toward Drago and knocked him out again - he

didn't know why he did this, exactly, but it seemed to be out of respect for Kurai's

present vulnerability - and walked slowly back to the center of the cave. He suddenly

noticed how truly childlike the kid was: his thin, boyish arms, his small feet, his hands,

his smooth, ivory face. He looked up with such sorrow, Reef had to look away.

Kurai rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I just want my dad back, Reefer.

Do you understand? I had him once, he loved me once, and I want him back."

Reefer loathed the emotion rolling around the room. It pushed itself through his cells; it

muddied his intentions. He couldn't help but feel a strangely visceral sympathy for Kurai

who, like himself, carried loss in his soul. Tortured and tormented. The poor kid wasn't

yet strong, and Reefer now realized that this kidnapping business was a monolithic

mistake.

Reefer approached the boy, bit his lip, and lay down beside him. "How old are you,

Kurai?"

"Fourteen."

What a fucking day. "Okay, listen to me. You're too young, too angry to be a

competent criminal. This thing is too damn personal, man! Maybe not today, maybe not

tomorrow, but eventually your anger will betray you and the Yakuza will eat you for

breakfast. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Kurai squeezed out between two heavy, tearful breaths.

So listen. This is what we're going to do."

The Kallah Dream recessed like a dying apparition, fading away in soft shrieks and sepia

tones.

Reefer sighed. "You're going to be a hero, all right? You're going to save your baby

brother from the evil hands of Drago. You hear what I'm saying to you? You're going to

tell your dad that when you heard about your poor baby brother, you just had to find him.

This is your big moment, and if you play it right, Sacho will be indebted to you and your

newfound compassion for him. And I'm going help you. And all it's going cost you is

another three hundred thousand credit. Do you hear me?" Kurai nodded. "And if you're

really lucky, your father might actually believe you and even thank you for what you've

done. And that's more than you deserve."

Reefer got up and looked closely at Sagan Mal's image. "Just because someone is your

dad, doesn't mean he's going to stick around. That's life, so stop crying about it and start

doing something for yourself. Be a fucking hero! Be powerful. Be a chip off the old..."

Reefer stopped, lost in the image of his father. He turned away and walked over to the

baby. He leaned over and read the time index. It wouldn't be long now. "Help me get

Drag into the Viper. I'll be back in an two hours. I'll pick up food and diapers. Watch

your brother. I'm locking you in."

Reefer Mal piloted the Viper toward Bernal Heights, where most of San Francisco's riff

raff resided in the old, broken Victorians still clinging to the hills. He wasted no time in

finding an abandoned flat, its blown-out bay window serving as the perfect docking bay.

What a shame to waste this ship, Reefer thought sadly.

He placed a MemorySmear wafer under Drago's tongue. Soon, Drago would awaken, an

innocent with a wild headache, the amnesiac martyr sacrificed for the absolution of the

Yakuza's dark son. Reefer wished his sometime colleague the best of luck and left after

bombing the ship with GenoCide vapor. He was never there. And he was outta there.

The baby was born that night. Good, healthy lungs on the little thing, for it screamed like

hell. Over the next four days, Reef and Kurai watched the monitor as news of the

kidnapping spread throughout the city. With the baby sucking on a bottle and Reefer

sucking on a beer, the three watched a tired looking, depressed Sacho Taiyo walk from

his black transport into the white halls of Atlas. They watched the kidnapper's ship

discovered at a black market auction, sold by an anonymous source, with the Bub-L-Sat

equipment still inside. They watched Drago's flat ransacked by Sacho's well-dressed

thugs, his DragoVideo collection seized, scanned and destroyed. They watched the

interrogation of the one-eyed man, confused, bloody and struggling to make sense of the

scrambled mess that comprised his memory of the last several weeks. They watched the

interrogators coerce him into admitting that he took the baby to the Observatory, a place

he appeared to have mentioned at some point during the hours of questioning. They

watched four of Sacho's men search the Dome, then disappear down into the wine-

stained cylinder, from which they never returned. They watched YakuzaInternational

curse the Sang Society for sucking their men dry, and pray that the same fate had not

found the child. They watched Sacho announce, with a voice broken by betrayal, a

reward for anyone who finds his newborn son, Tsuki Taiyo.

And when the news wasn't on, Reef taught Kurai how to be a man. Penetrating

discussions of family ensued. Envy and revenge were put in check. Diapers were

changed. And changed again. Plans of reconciliation generated hope. Kurai spoke of

his mother. Reefer spoke of Kallah. Bonds of loyalty strangely grew. Kurai laughed

once. Reefer experienced remorse. And regret. The baby cried. Kurai cried. Reefer

drank beer. The three became a wayward family, thrown together by crime, desperation

and a common permeating loss.

And at the end of the fifth day, the three emerged from Reefer's home. The men dressed

in black, the child draped in plush, scarlet velvet. They crawled into Reef's transport and

launched northward out of the cavern and into the city. It was twilight, and fog slept like

a silken sheet over the voluptuous body of San Francisco. Reef's transport glided silently

above the blanket of mist as he traveled toward the great white sphere north of the

Golden Gate.

The Academy glowed whiter than the moon, all marble and glass, its great orb resting

upon the back of a colossal sculpture of the god Atlas, the great Titan condemned by

Zeus to support the very heavens on his shoulders. The orb was huge, its diameter

spanning almost seven hundred meters across, and Reefer's heart beat faster as he drove

by the stern mouth of its sculptural male support. The transport disappeared against the

giant face.

It was dangerously quiet that night. Reefer decided to pilot the transport away from the

Academy and search for a place to land on the coast of the North Bay. The palms of his

hands sweat. Will he be allowed to enter with Kurai and the child, he wondered, or will

he be put out again, ignored by the only world to which he belonged?

He set down two kilometers from the great white structure. "Kurai, it's time."

"Yes."

They draped their long black cloaks around their heads. It was night now, the wind

picked up, and the two conspirators moved through the fog like Arabian ghosts, silent

supernatural saviors bringing the king to his kingdom. The air danced magically around

them, the heavy fabric that covered their bodies answering the wind with swoosh and

swirl, and when they reached the expanse of white marble that spread itself below the

feet of the looming sculpture of Atlas, they looked up at the white orb resting upon its

back. They stepped onto the marble stone, three dark dots in a sea of heavy cream, and

approached the right foot of the giant man, where they saw an entrance carved out of the

sculpture's big toe. The high, narrow doors breathed open to let them in.

They entered the foot and walked inward toward the heel. Looking up, Reefer lost sight

of the ceiling, the walls infinite, pushing upward farther than the eye could see. There

was no one there, no man to greet or stop them, and Reefer tried to discern the location

of hidden recording devices. He could find none.

He walked to the center of the great hall, beckoning for Kurai to follow. He sat Kurai

down with the child and, circling them, shouted from the bottom of his soul. "I am

Reefer Mal, born to Sagan and Reina Mal of Kallah Mission 3! I am here with Kurai

Taiyo, the unrecognized son of the esteemed Sacho Taiyo! We have found and returned

the kidnapped child! He is here," he pointed at the heavy velvet, "and he is safe!"

Suddenly, the wall furthest from the entrance hissed upward and eight Academy

Enforcers barreled into the hall. They were twice as big as Reefer and deadly efficient.

They dressed in midnight blue and wore tight mesh cloth over their faces, reminding

Reefer of those mighty ninjas from his martial arts films. The soldiers' movements

seemed to be inter-choreographed, emanating from a single source, like one great being

dividing itself again and again, spreading a blanket of wrath to the very corners of the

hall. Four of them went for Reefer. He did not fight, but allowed the soldiers to pin him,

and he watched as the others tore the baby away from Kurai. They threw Kurai to the

ground and stuck a sublaser torch in his cheek.

Kurai was placid and managed to speak despite the painful pressure. "Please, I must see

Sacho Taiyo. There is a lot to explain."

The child cried in the arms of the soldier. He held the baby clumsily and spoke into his

Chronos. "Commander Rez, we have the child. The boy requests a meeting with Boss

Taiyo." He listened as the Commander answered him. He turned toward the center of

the room. "Take the boy and the child to Cell 626. And you," he pointed at Reefer, "you

are requested to appear before the Commander in Chief. Follow me."

Kurai looked at Reefer, his surrogate father these many days, and smiled weakly. He

turned away as the soldiers dragged him and his brother deep into the Academy.

The four Enforcers released Reefer Mal. He straightened out his crumpled cloak and

followed them through the cavity in the wall. Before him was a grand escalator. He

stepped onto it and rode for many minutes, unable to see anything but the soldiers'

weapons catching what little light there was in the narrow tunnel. Reefer couldn't tell if

he was going up or down, his senses deprived of all reference, and when they reached the

end of the escalator, he was escorted to a small, white door. One of the soldiers rapped

twice, and the door slid open to reveal a sparse, humble office space, empty of everything

but a table and desk, and on three shelves carved into the wall, vases of strange purple

roses. There, in the center of the windowless room, sat the powerful, slight Commander.

Ikos Rez. The man of Reefer's dreams.

White was the Commander's hair, snow white, cascading down his back in small,

meticulous braids. He wore a purple cloak, mirroring the hue of the roses surrounding

him, with a high black collar that made the man's expressive face seem to hover above

the long folds of fabric.

"Come in, Reefer Mal," spoke Ikos Rez. He glanced at his desk, reading something off

the integral monitor. "Change to holo-image, please," he ordered as the information

metamorphosed into three-dimensional clarity. The hologram was Sagan Mal, alive and

transparent and holding a baby and laughing and speaking to a young Ikos Rez.

Reefer shook by the door.

As the image played, the Commander spoke. Sonic vibrations moved through the holo-

image like bursts of wind. "I knew your father. It was so long ago, now." He watched

the image play out and remembered. "We were both pilots at the time. I helped to train

Sagan before his mission to Kallah. I had been operations officer on the very first

mission to the new planet, and I was only one of seven who came back."

The skin around the Commander's eyes tightened. "On the tenth day of Mission 1, the

rest of my crew were studying a large patch of soil we had discovered in one of the

Kallah deserts. The soil was green and behaved like mud; it seemed out of place in the

arid, orange, cracked landscape. As they dug in and around the area, I watched, from my

ship, as the ground caved in. I saw my crew disappear into a giant mass of worm-like

whips, their girth the size of this desk." He pointed at the oak table, two meters thick.

"It was devastating. There were hundreds of them, my crew, all swallowed in seconds.

We have now classified the alien as Nematoda Gargantua. It was a giant subterranean

invertebrate, and the mud was its saliva. My crew had been standing on its mouth,

essentially." He moved toward one of the vases of flowers and played absently with the

silky, lavender petals. "It attempted to bury the ship as well, but I was able to pulse my

burners into the ground and escape."

His head lowered. "When I returned to earth, Sagan was the first to greet me. He was a

compassionate man, and I remember he hugged me - something I wasn't used to, for I

was engineered and trained to be an explorer, contained and self-sufficient above all - but

in that moment Sagan touched my heart. He knew what I needed and gave it freely. We

became friends. True friends. Brothers."

With the holo-image repeating behind him, Ikos moved closer to the trembling Reefer.

"You were born two years after I returned. It was a joyous time. Reina had left the

Academy to give birth, and Sagan continued his preparation for Mission 3. Reina would

often bring you to the Academy and show you off. You were a beautiful child. Truly.

Your hair was a deep black, so different from your mother's red and your father's brown,

and Sagan nicknamed you the dark sun. He's my dark sun, Sagan would say, spreading

the light of the future throughout Atlas. He couldn't wait for you to grow up and have

you by his side, exploring the galaxy with him."

He paused thoughtfully, then continued. "I experienced nightmares for years after my

mission to Kallah, and I tried to warn both your parents of the dangers there. I appealed

to them to think things through. Perhaps Reina should stay behind with you, I would tell

them. Perhaps it is not wise to go when their child was so young. But they were certain

their mission would succeed. They flattered me, told me that my sacrifice, my

experience, had prepared them for all the perils they may encounter on Kallah. Despite

my attempts, they left you in the hands of the nursery, who placed you and hundreds of

other children in foster homes throughout California. And, as you know, that was the

end of that.

"Sagan Mal, had he lived, might be standing where I am now. He was not so much

younger than I, and he was well respected among the pilot's ranks. He was a good

man..."

Ikos Rez stopped and looked at Reefer. "I remember you," he said with fondness, "and I

always wondered what happened to you. I looked for you for a short time, you know, but

my search was overwhelmed by the violent reaction at the Mission 3 re-entry catastrophe,

and I had to leave the planet. I lived on Saturn Station for five years, until it was safe

enough for me to return." He noticed Reefer's blue eyes. "I have thought of you, Reefer

Mal. But I never thought I'd see you grown. I thought you had perished, certainly, a

child so young and thrown so harshly to fate. And here you are now, before me, in the

most unusual of circumstances."

Ikos looked at Reefer Mal with soft reminiscence. He sighed and returned to his desk.

He pressed something below the holo-image and as it disappeared, a small bench

elevated from the smooth floor opposite him.

He motioned for Reefer to sit. "So tell me, I'm curious, how did you get involved in

this...situation?"

Overwhelmed, Reefer couldn't think. His voice quivered in the small room as he tried to

say those words he'd practiced a thousand times. "Commander Rez, I have been waiting

all my life for this moment. I have known loneliness, I have known loss, and I have

known fear. And I have overcome them. I helped Kurai return the boy for selfish

reasons, because I thought I might have a chance to meet with the great Commander, to

tell him that I am the son of Sagan and Reina Mal, that I am here to claim my birthright."

Ikos said nothing.

Reefer continued. "I cannot say I have lived a morally upright existence; I cannot say I

have always placed the well-being of others before my own; I cannot say that the

necessities of survival have not hardened me; darkness has often been my guardian. But

no matter what I do, or where I go, Kallah is there with me. Breathing on my neck.

Swirling through my fingers. This is my great father's legacy to me. This is my dream.

Every night and every day. My dream to go to Kallah."

For the first time in eighteen years, Reefer's eyes began to tear.

Ikos Rez leaned back in his chair. "I understand. And we will talk of this. But you

haven't answered my question. Tell me the details of your involvement in the Taiyo

case. Please. I owe you my thanks; both myself and Sacho are indebted to your courage,

and I desire to know how you found the child."

Reefer Mal fought back the tears that threatened to expose his treachery. His breath

shallow, he could not speak; he crossed his arms on the desk of Ikos Rez and hid his head

there.

Ikos watched the sinews of Reefer's back convulse with the pain of a lifetime, and

remained silent as the man lifted his head, his face red and wet and maskless, and

confessed his crime.

"I helped the boy return the baby...but only after I helped him kidnap it!"

The words flew out of his mouth. "I had nothing invested in the scam except for the love

of my own skin, and the chance to perhaps save your life from the brutal retaliation of

the Yakuza, to become a hero and go to Kallah because of my heroism. I piloted the

Viper, and I scrambled the image, and I took the baby, and I hid the baby all this time."

He wiped his face with his sleeve and sat taller. "It was another scam to me, another way

to get ahead, to get what I wanted. I cared nothing for Kurai, I cared nothing for Drago,

or the baby. Everything I'd done had led up to this promise of opportunity. Everything."

He grew pensive, his words slowing to the rhythm of his naked thoughts. His eyes

lowered. "But when we returned from the Bub-L-Sat, I learned who Kurai was. He had

lost his father and was lashing out in vengeful despair. He wanted to hurt his father in

the way his father had hurt him. That is all

"I don't know, I suppose I felt for him! My intentions became so blurred! In the days of

darkness, when the baby was hidden in my chambers, we both realized the terror of what

we had done. Kurai so regretted his actions, he couldn't sleep. But it wasn't his

actions, it was our actions, together. Together..." he trailed off, unable to find the

meaning behind this uninvited disclosure.

Ikos assisted. "So...what you are saying, then, Reefer Mal, is that you began to feel

compassion for this boy. Yes? You saw something of yourself in him, perhaps. You

protected this boy, as a brother would. You devised to come here not as baby Tsuki's

captors but as his saviors, in order to protect Kurai. Yes?"

Reefer sat stunned.

Silence washed the room. Ikos and Reefer, priest and confessor, judge and defendant,

they looked deeply at each other, no secret held beyond them, nothing more to say.

Minutes passed before Ikos spoke again. "Reefer Mal, the Academy found genetic traces

of you on pieces of the Bub-L-Sat equipment in the Viper. Your attempt to eradicate

your presence there failed, I'm afraid. We have been waiting for you to surface

somewhere in the city. You are a clever man - we have yet to learn of your location

during the past week." Ikos brightened. "Despite the circumstances, when your genetic

code was found I camouflaged my excitement at the discovery that you were still alive. I

was afraid that YakuzaInternational would have your head before I could see it. But you

came to me," he laughed ironically, "and you're here now."

"But Boss Taiyo...did he not hold you responsible for what happened? Was he not angry

with you?"

Ikos laughed again. "No, no, of course not. When YakuzaInternational went public

seventeen years ago, the Academy began purchasing stock, and now we own forty-three

percent of their corporation. Of course, we prevent the general public from knowing this

- we don't want to lose our other sponsors, after all - we've set up several dummy

companies to serve as diversions, and on the books, there is no evidence of our

connection. But the Yakuza have been, and continue to be, great supporters of our work

here, they have a clear sense of its importance, they're the primary donors for all of our

Kallah research. They have a profound understanding of our own planet's limitations, of

its imminent exhaustion, and they feel that they have taken enough away from Earth that

they are obligated to give something back. It is a matter of honor for them; it is their

duty.

"We and the Yakuza are not so different. Our long-term goals, our familial exclusivity,

our generational systems are very similar. It is merely our methods of justice that

diverge. We prefer exile as punishment. The Yakuza prefer...other means. But we are

in bed together, as they say." Ikos was unmoved by Reefer's surprise. "On a personal

level, Sacho is a great friend to me. I also have a son - older than you - he and Sacho's

firstborn grew up together. When Sacho's son died, Sacho came to me for consolation. I

showed him the same kindness your father once showed me. He knows I would never

harm him. We trust each other. He is my brother. Do you understand?"

Reefer nodded.

As he spoke, Ikos Rez stood and placed his hands on the desk, leaning toward Reefer.

"We will release that unfortunate petty thief, Drago, now that the child is safely with us.

Sacho and I have known for some time that Kurai was behind the kidnapping. Sacho will

test his son; he is testing him now, in fact. He will ask him for the truth, and if he gets

it,

Kurai will be forgiven." He paused, opening his hand toward Reefer. "As you are

forgiven, Reefer Mal."

Reefer Mal released an ocean of tears. Ikos Rez walked from behind his desk toward

Reef, first laying his warm hand on his quavering shoulder, then bending down to hug

him. Reefer felt the gift of energy penetrate his skin. Reefer Mal, a man deprived his

entire life of a human paradigm toward which to aspire, a man who grew not from tender

guidance but from abysmal solitude, realized the many lessons that lay ahead.

He stood and smiled at Ikos Rez through his tears. "Thank you, Commander Rez. Thank

you."

"And thank you, Reefer Mal. You have learned the first tenet of Exploration Training.

Brotherhood. Brotherhood, compassion, selflessness. If you are going to be part of a

galactic team, you must learn the synergistic qualities of brotherhood. No man is an

island, but a team of men is a veritable universe! You will see. Atlas is now your family,

Reefer Mal. Treat it well. Allow it to trust you. Love it. And be certain that your love

will be reciprocated.

Ikos returned to his desk and touched it. "Enforcer 27, please return to my office and

show our new trainee to his living quarters. And arrange for an Academy tour for

tomorrow at 06:30 hours." The small white door slid open as Ikos turned to his new

student. "Reefer Mal, welcome to Atlas. I hope you find inspiration here."

A smile, so wide Mother Earth couldn't contain it, spread over Reefer Mal's face as he

turned to follow the soldier through the mysterious tunnels leading to his new chambers.

Guessing that his room was somewhere between the great sculptural Titan's left wrist

and elbow, Reefer looked out the small window on the south wall and saw the city

below, and the sphere of the Academy above shone like a white sun on the horizon. He

looked at his sparse, utilitarian surroundings - the long, narrow bed, the mahogany desk

with his first Exploration manual sitting solidly upon it, the closet containing his

Academy training suit, the vase of delicate purple roses on the shelf above his bed - and

laughed quietly as he saluted the Enforcer and shut his door.

Once safely alone, Reefer Mal grabbed his Exploration manual and opened it to a holo-

image of Kallah, which launched up from the page and slowly orbited around his head.

The manual lay on his chest as he sank back and tried in vain to watch the red planet,

unable to keep his tired eyes from closing. He fell into the deepest sleep of his life, the

sleep of the dead, with no dreams. Not one dream, through the whole night, crowding

under the blankets.

His soul stilled in the arms of Atlas.

Reefer Mal had finally arrived.

The End

©2001 by Lara C. Hudson. Lara Hudson is a freelance copywriter/editor and fiction writer. She has written for the marketing and promotional initiatives of various dance companies, musicians, record labels and authors. Creatively, she is most drawn to science fiction as a medium through which to express her voice and explore those eternal truths of the human condition that continue to persist throughout time.