"You're really doing it," Friday said.

I was wiring up the various four-dimensional gateway openers. I was on my back, on a rolling mechanic's platform, low to the ground, that I'd learned as a lad was called a Creeper. Mine had a drink holder; I'd been down there a while.

The array of devices were bizarre indeed. Steampunkish things, brass and ivory and glass. Organic squirming masses of green fibrous tentacles. The Queen's Mean Machine, a pewter beating heart the size of a mini-fridge. So many.

"How are you hooking them up?" He asked, carefully inspecting them without touching.

"With my hand, and tools, and Monster Hands. None of them run on anything like electricity, right? All just soul energy. I can get them to come to life by myself, but not open a gateway. I think it's very difficult to do, and I was going to ask you about it."

He pulled up a biped chair. "They had these things on the other side, huge metal rings made of batteries and copper tubes, and they would spin and go zzzzzz and burn out, catch on fire. Only one use."

"Do you know how many they had? I think not many, or they'd be doing it more."

"I think they ran out. Not that they couldn't make more, of course. But they got Schmendrick and it was kind of a hail mary, I think. I'm certain they're working on more of those things, to open more doorways here. But they're out of ammo right now."

"They think they're racing against time, trying to get more doors open. To grab more of us and force us into this."

"Probably."

"It won't matter. None of it will." I was smiling. "None of it."

He frowned. "You don't have to do that. Look crazy, I mean."

"Do I look crazy? No I don't. I'm full of jollyness and high spirits."

"Sure. I don't know if my mom and my sister are okay. I hope so. I hope this helps. Everyone, not just us."

I slid out from under the various alien machines and looked at him. Friday, whatever his name really was, seemed okay. Moral, empathetic. Heroic. Useful. I said: "You're going into politics."

His eyes went wide. "What? Oh no you don't."

"You say that now, but you can help all of Humanity–"

"No. No no no. All of us, my entire family is just going to disappear. Live in a hole in the ground somewhere. Like what YOU want to do, but never end up doing it."

"I don't want to live in a hole, Friday. That's absurd. I want to surf all day, eat all night, get up and repeat. It's all I've ever wanted."

He looked around, gestured expansively at the elaborate machinery, the vibrant life in the dome. Pointed at the Gardeners drifting about, the Cazadores lurking in the bushes. The dangerous Bees. Art Deco, building what might have been a blunderbuss that could mount on his shell.

"I got sidetracked," I said. "I'm easily distracted. I think you're a leader. All those Humans will need you."

"Nope. You just want someone to do it besides YOU."

"You're selling yourself short."

"Not a chance." He grinned.

I sighed. "Pretty please?"

"NO, Owen. You're not just talking about the ones on this side, don't think I'm not aware of that."

"You're condemning Humanity to chaos!" I said dramatically.

He shrugged. "It'll be chaos they can handle, for the first time ever. I'm not your new President. King, Pope, whatever."

"Chicken." I clucked at him.

"Whoever does it will be the most hated man in history. Especially if he saves them. Not interested."

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"Me neither. I'll be surfing." But I frowned.

Later I was lurching back to my room. Cassie was in hers, covered with los Cazadores as she slept in the Human-style bed next to Armand. He snored majestically. So did several of the little Cazadores around him. At first I thought Cassie was having a nightmare, making small frightened sounds.

I called to her from the doorway. "Cassie. Just a dream."

She sat upright, looking at me with wide, wet eyes. She'd been crying. "Sorry," she said.

"Oh sweetie," I said, ran to the bed and hugged her. "We'll get her."

"I know," she said into my armpit. "You stink."

"That's true. I'm fundamentally unappealing. You're not, though. You're a natural leader."

"NO, Owen. Mister sneak." She shoved me away. "Oh sweetie," she mimicked.

"But you'd be so good at it–"

"I appreciate the thought but I'm not going Galadriel for you."

"Damn," I said, sitting on the floor. "Mandy'd hate it, and she's not as good at Cassie things. And I'm much worse than she is."

"You just want to go off by yourselves and fool around."

"So that's a no from you?"

"Definitely. And Armand too, want me to wake him up and make sure?"

"No, I like Armand too much to ask him."

"You are a jerk, sir."

"Maybe Gary?"

She coughed out a laugh, and it seemed like her tears had ceased for a little while. "We're getting her back?"

"Oh yes."

I was in bed, alone. No Cazadores or Armands or whatever. Gazing at the alien ceiling; the moonlight reflected from the ocean allowed for it. The breeze coming in, I never took it for granted. This wasn't Earth. It was better.

"Hey," a whisper. "Awake?"

"Yeah, what are you doing up?"

"Sleepwalking." It was dark aside from the square of moonlight on the ceiling. I was very attuned to Mandy, I'll have you know. I could hear the hiss of her thighs rubbing together, the little slaps as she knelt. Slaps? "Is it ready yet?"

"I think so, by tomorrow."

"You're sure you'll be okay?"

"No sweat. I have the strength of TEN doofuses."

She took my hand. Shoved it out of the way, felt for my face, grabbed it. Leaned over and kissed me hard. I ran my hands through her hair, so clean and soft and smooth.

Ran my hand down her back. The skin of her back was uninterrupted. Just skin, no desperately-clinging dress or gown.

She kissed me, her lips hot on mine. That was a lot of bare skin she'd brought in here…It was startling. I had to confirm: my hands roamed.

Confirmed.

She chuckled evilly. The connection between us flared, burning with pent-up lust. I savored her amused gloating: she liked my reaction, my startled joy at the touch. Did this mean…?

She didn't want to, I could tell. She was full of anger; not at me. And worry. And fondness, affection; those were for me. Nervousness. Superstitious dread: If we do anything before the next Phase, then it'll go wrong, I know it.

This was a thing someone did when they were nervous. Mandy was nervous; so I didn't ask if she wanted to be the President of Earth.

And she was still quite skittish. Enjoyed teasing me, of course, and I confess to loving that. But skittish. I think I was as well. Neither of us had gotten over … very much.

All that skin. I carefully, slowly embraced her with both arms, awkwardly as she knelt. All that skin. Beautiful Mandy.

She pulled away. "Was that out loud?"

"No. Beautiful Mandy, what about it?"

"I've been getting called Beautiful Mandy by the Radio, and it's because of you. The guys say it too. Knock it off."

"Impossible."

"Never been called…anyway, there's a new one. Strawberry Mandy. Care to explain?"

I grinned in the dark. "I'm betting you're doing it right now. Round and red."

"That's what it means? Owen you…these things get around to the guys, you know. Gary called me Strawberry today and I thought he was doing his farmer thing, but I remembered he's never seen a strawberry."

"So are you blushing, Strawberry Mandy?"

"I'll do the teasing here. Go to bed, you sarcastic giraffe."

I made a show of grabbing as she fled, making a theatrically disappointed yell. She snickered. I heard her bare feet on the floor. I didn't look; I wasn't supposed to.

Claws on the stone floor outside, a single Cazador walking by in the corridor.

It was Husband. "Why are you red? And naked?"

I heard her feet padding away, and Husband Schmendrick chasing after her, demanding to know about her nudity and color.

Good luck sleeping after that.

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