were. Their hair was either black or brown and either straight or curly. Their faces were flat and round and their large eyes solid red with black dot pupils. Piddlings had only three digits per extremity and all of their cultures were primitive. The Penumbrans used them as cheap labor, as they did many of the lesser races.
The Piddlings gawked at Nefarious upon seeing him in their slum. When he nodded at them, they smiled or laughed. They cringed and scurried away whenever he strode within reach of them.
Nefarious purchased food and drink he did not recognize from a Piddling vendor, asking him, “Do your people actually find this green liquid and brown paste delectable?”
“Milord,” the timid little creature rasped and bowed, “I cannot provide what is worthy of your palate.”
The towering Mystic sipped the green liquid. He nibbled the brown paste. He concluded, “I like it.” The little alien vendor smiled and bowed. The war hero politely refrained from mentioning that he was comparing his meal to the countless bugs and slime he had eaten on other worlds.
As day darkened into night, Nefarious ducked into an alley and sought a secluded spot in which to sleep. He unstrapped his gear and tucked it behind himself. He held the scabbard of his short sword and nestled. He laughed at himself, realizing, “I am at war again.” He was soon asleep… yet ever vigilant.
Nefarious awoke to the gentle light of morning. He returned to the vendor from whom he purchased last night’s supper. Other Piddlings were at the booth enjoying what was clearly their breakfast. Seeing what they were eating, he asked, “The same green liquid and brown paste?”
The Piddlings chuckled. The vendor explained, “Your supper was our breakfast.”
“Then why was it my supper?”
“It tastes better.” The patrons nodded.
“I would like my serving, please.”
“Yes, milord.”
Nefarious risked returning to the district of his own people, to the Confederate Post Office. He had a letter to send to the local administrator’s office. His message was written as if to the administrator himself, but it would be read first and only by his secretary Miss Amity. “Mr. Good, you have mail,” the clerk informed Nefarious.
“Thank you.” Nefarious checked his post box… and found a flyer advertising an establishment called “Morality’s Cabaret.” It was on the fringe of the district. Someone had scrawled the words “WAR HEROES WELCOME” in bold blue letters. “We shall see,” Nefarious accepted the cryptic challenge.
Concubines of the Seen Unseen were the Many of One, human females cloned from one woman and endowed with her formative memories. Their eyes were white-within-white with black dot pupils. The women had eyebrows but were bald and their forms hairless. Their smooth, supple nudity danced on stages, some of them swinging on poles. Patrons of various races enjoyed exotic drinks and food as they ogled the dancers. Barefoot Concubines in sleeveless dresses with miniskirts served as waitresses: most of these skimpy uniforms being blue but others red or green. A female of the Mystics sang while males of her kind played accompanying instruments. A dance floor for patrons was an intermingled crowd of races dancing in their particular ways. Fully armored Delvers armed with maces worn on their belts stood along the walls as guards. Unarmed Mystics patrolled as vigilant bouncers. “Mr. Good,” a robed male Mystic greeted. “I am Wanton Morality. Welcome to my cabaret.”
Nefarious nodded. He mentioned, “A message implored me to come here.”
“The message was mine. Please join me.” Mr. Morality brought Mr. Good into a somewhat secluded room. A naked Concubine danced atop a small, round stage in the middle of the room. The two Mystic males sat and watched her. The little human bent over and winked at Nefarious from between her legs. “Mr. Good, do you find her comely?”
“She is female but of an alien species. It would be unnatural for me to mix my blue blood with her red blood.”
“Mr. Good, she is a clone. Her very existence is unnatural. Do you find her comely?”
“Yes.”
The two watched as the bald, naked little human female continued to dance for their pleasure. Wanton Morality uttered, “Prisoners of war made spoils of war.”
“Mr. Morality, why have you called me here?”
“To enlighten you.” Nefarious arched an eyebrow. Wanton explained, “As your comrade, I wish to dissuade you from your folly.”
“Mr. Morality, are you in league with the Arcane Artisans Guild?”
Wanton laughed. He explained, “We are veterans of the same wars. I would not have you murdered by the likes of those cowards.”
“Mr. Morality, I am bound to a covenant with a Concubine of the Seen Unseen.”
“Look at the little creature dancing before you. What you behold is the very thing under the robe of she with whom you made a covenant.” The naked little thing feigned a smile as she swayed her hips and waved her arms. “She is selfless, loyal and obedient. All of them are. As the Many of One they are a bold and ambitious Galactic Power. Individually, however, they are cowardly and submissive. Before coming to this planet, I purchased as many of them as I could afford: we had captured so many of them. I offered to sell my slaves to the Concubines for only an eighth more than what I purchased them for. Mr. Good, I bought them for only eight hundred shekels each! The Concubine authorities were disinterested. I lowered my offer to only a sixth more. They remained disinterested, telling me they had no use for the women whatsoever. No use for their own people? What are these clones to us if they are nothing to themselves? My comrade, do not risk your precious life for the likes of them.”
“Mr. Morality, I have shed blood on this matter. Even if you persuade me, my life is in danger regardless.”
“Who did you kill?”
“Guardsmen of the human Simon Fink.”
The prisoner of war slave girl continued to dance as the two Mystics sat in tense, contemplative silence. Mr. Morality eventually asked Nefarious Good, “Do you regret what you have done?”
“I do not. Perhaps I am a fool but I cannot forsake the Concubine Merchant who was so deplorably robbed. Take heed, my brother: she was betrayed by he who robbed her.”
“Yes: so have I heard.”
Nefarious stood and nodded a bow, telling Wanton Morality, “Thank you for being a loyal comrade. Forgive me if my madness offends you.”
“Nefarious Good, you are as honorable in peace as you were in war. I shall not forsake you. Allow me to be your friend that I may best help you to do what is right.”
“Mr. Morality, I shall not allow you to join my peril.”
“I am Wanton Morality. Unlike Nefarious Good, I have powerful friends among unsavory people. I shall dare confess that I am favored by alien gangsters.”
“Mr. Morality, pardon me, but I must refrain from anything truly questionable.”
“Mr. Good, I have no intention of introducing you to my unsavory friends. You shall be the beneficiary of my influence without the blame.”
“Mr. Morality, though I believe in my cause, it is indeed for profit. Allow me to make my fortune alone that it shall be mine alone.”
Wanton chuckled. He mentioned, “I am a veteran of the 27th Legion. We were beleaguered by thrice our number yet we feared not for we were inspired… by you. Nefarious Good, I yearn to do this, for its own sake. I shall ask nothing of you.”
The 27th Legion survived a hard fought battle with the ferocious warriors of the People of the Third Eye. Nefarious and his band slew a coven of warlocks and destroyed the crystalline artifice utilized by them. Apparently, this act was deemed exceptionally heroic by the soldiers of the 27th Legion. The war hero outstretched his arms and bowed, graciously accepting Wanton Morality’s offer.
Aloof Amity sat at a desk outside the office of the Confederate Administrator. She read the letter written to the administrator but meant for her. A robed male came out of the office. He asked his secretary, “Miss Amity, did w
e issue a license of arbitration to Nefarious Good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you remember why?”
“Yes. He had a dispute to settle between alien merchants who do business with our people.”
“Did he elaborate?”
“The names, species and citizenship of concerned parties were mentioned, but little else. I left the application on your desk for your personal review. Sir, you did sign it.”
“I did?” The female nodded. The male tittered. “Miss Amity, please create a special file for all matters pertaining to Nefarious Good. Notify me immediately if this office receives anything from him.”
“Sir, what is wrong?”
“Miss Amity, our citizen and war hero Nefarious Good may be engaging in illicit behavior. It would be best for the namesake of our Confederacy for us to contain any trouble he may cause.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good.” The administrator returned to his office. His secretary tucked a letter into a pocket of her robes.
Nefarious Good and Wanton Morality were having dinner at a table of Morality’s Cabaret. They enjoyed their meal, the dancers and the music. The host waved for a waitress to come to their table. A little Concubine in a sleeveless, blue miniskirt dress hurried over. Wanton commanded her, “Bring a bottle of my favorite.”
“Two glasses, milord?”
“Yes, please.” The bald little human with white irises bowed and departed.
“Your favorite?”