Newswoman Tanya Everson appeared on the screen.  “On the world stage today, middle eastern strongman Bloodstone vowed never to relinquish power in his home country of Magogistan—this in the wake of two weeks of pro-democracy demonstrations in the capital city of New Babylon.”

The screen switched to male co-anchor Bill Drake.  “An explosion rocks the downtown area today as resident supergals All American Girl and Skygirl battle two well known villains.  Find out which ones after the break.”

As the television screen switched to a commercial for cholesterol lowering drugs, the house telephone on the kitchen counter rang and Linda got up to answer it.

“Hello?  Yes.  And whom may I say is calling?  Who? Hipp?  Hippo?”  She put a hand over the receiver.  “Do you know a Hippy somebody?”

Stella jumped up and pulled the phone from her hands.

“Hello?”

“Stella?  Who is that foolish mortal?”

“Hi, Daddy.  That’s just my room-mate.  I can’t believe you called.”

“What does she mean by pretending she doesn’t know me?”

“Never mind about that, Dad…”

“All of Greece knows the legend of Hipparion.”

“…cholesterol doesn’t just come from what you eat. Family history, exercise, and the machinations of power-hungry supervillains can all play a part…”

“Can you turn that thing off?”  Stella asked Linda.  Then she turned her concentration back to the phone conversation.  “Look, Dad.  First of all, you’re not that famous anymore.  Secondly, I don’t live in Greece.  I live in Chicago.”

“The land of the Skraelings?”

“No, Daddy.  Home of the Cubs.”

“Hmm.  The Cubs is not a name that would inspire much fear in one’s enemies.”

“Yeah, well their home record was 35-46—not exactly fierce.”

“Your mother told me that you asked after me.”

“Yes, I did,” said Stella.  “I didn’t think you two talked.”

“We bumped into one another.  What did you need—a magical weapon or the answer to a riddle, perhaps?”

“Um, no.  I just wanted to… where did you bump into mother?”

“It was a sort of a… religious festival… event… party.”

“What kind of religious festival event party?”

“It was a Bacchanal.”

“What is wrong with you people up there?” wondered Stella. “Is that all you do?”

“Make war, make music, make dancing, make love—what else is there in life?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe enjoy a quiet evening with your family.”

“What was it that you required, Stella?”

“I don’t need anything,” she said, exasperated.  “I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and, you know… tell you ‘I love you’.”

There was silence and after a moment Stella thought she had lost the connection.

“Are you there, Daddy?”

“Um, yes.”

“Well, I’ll let you go then.  I know you probably have a murder or an orgy to go to.”

“Stella, be sure to let me know if you ever need a weapon or anything.  I have this new magical armor…”

“Yeah, thanks Dad.  Goodbye.”  She dropped the handset onto the base stand of the phone.  “Thanks a lot.”

“So that was your father?” asked Linda.

“Yeah.”

“He has a nice telephone voice.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice that you are still able to talk to your dad.”

“I suppose.”  Stella got up.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

She made her way toward her bedroom and its attached master bath and a moment later the sound of running water could be heard from the rear of the apartment.  Linda busied herself cleaning the already clean kitchen.  Then the phone rang again.

“Do you want me to answer that?” called Linda.

“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Stella called back, and then continued under her breath.  “You’d think you’d remember by now that I don’t have super hearing.”

“And you’d think you would remember that I do,” said Linda, who stared at the phone undecided as it rang again.  When it rang a third time, the sound was followed by a click and the answering machine message.

“This is you-know-who,” said Stella’s recorded voice. “Leave me a message; maybe I’ll call.” Beep.

“Stella, baby!  Irving here.  I’ve got to say it—fantastic, fantabulous, phenomenal, and lots of other f words—good f words.  Not the bad ones.  That was beautiful, my mega-powered babe.  First, you save the city from a really big bomb.  Then you rescue skyslut, who was lying helpless in the middle of the street in front of God and everybody.  Nice.”

“Skyslut?” said Linda.

Turvey Trading Card Co.;

Windsor Street, New York City;

“All American Girl, right on time.”  The blond secretary in the grey blazer and gold-framed glasses smiled up at her. “I’ll tell Mrs. Dearborn that you are here.

The executive didn’t keep Stella waiting long.  She didn’t even have time enough to sit down in the chair provided before a smiling woman stepped out from behind her office door.   Dana Dearborn, although well into her forties, was a very attractive woman with long black hair cut across the front in bangs.  Her very businesslike attire extended only to the bottom of her miniskirt, cut well above the knee.  Her platform pumps were definitely on the slutty side.

“How nice to see you again, Stella.  Come with me and I’ll walk you down to the studio.  Andre has it all set up.  I was on the phone with Irving this morning finalizing everything.  As you know, we already have you as part of our Up and Coming Heroesseries and the Chicks Who Kick Assseries.  We thought we’d play a little more to our target demographic this time.  We’re going with Hero Pin-ups.  Irving said you would be okay with that.”

“Why not?  My costume is only a bit bigger than the typical swimsuit anyway.”

“We won’t be doing any nudity.  After all, we’re really aiming at teen boys.  A few swimsuit shots on a beach set and maybe some coquettish poses—you know the stuff, tugging on your lower lip; that kind of thing.”

They passed through double doors and into the photography studio.  A backdrop with a beach picture had been set up and sand toys and inflatable floaties were arranged around it.  A chocolate brown man with a faux-hawk was adjusting the lens of an expensive camera on a tripod.

“Stella!” he squealed when he saw her.  “I have been waiting for you, girl.  You know this just couldn’t be a real pin-up shoot without that luscious bod of yours.”

“Thanks Andre.  You’re always good for my ego.”

“I have two different outfits I’m dying to see you in.  I picked them out myself.  I just knew they would be perfect for you.”

One of the assistants brought out two swimsuits on hangers.  One was an American flag bikini.  While decidedly on the skimpy side, it wasn’t much smaller than Stella would choose to wear to the pool.  The other was a one-piece which, while relatively conservative on the top was cut down to a thong on the bottom.

“This one won’t work,” said Stella.  “I don’t do thongs.”

“I think it would look fantastic on you honey,” said Andre.

“I’ll give you the bikini. I’ll sexy it up by tugging down the side of my bottoms.  Hell, I’ll even do the topless, I’m holding my own boobs thing.  But I have a firm policy against wearing anything that rides up my ass.”

* * * * *

Stella relaxed at the sidewalk café just across the street from Turvy.  She was wearing jeans, a white top, and a Cubs cap and could have been any attractive young woman.  Her cell phone rang just as the waiter staggered out with a tray containing two chicken Caesar wraps, a steak quesadilla, two bacon double cheeseburgers, an Italian beef sandwich, a walnut-tuna salad sandwich, a cob salad, and a French dip.  As he began arraying the food around her, she pulled the phone from her pocket and slid it open.

“Hello Irving.”

“Stella baby!  Irving is so flattered that you’ve given him his own ring tone.”

“I didn’t give you your own ring-tone, Irving.  I just knew you were going to call me.  The Turvy people are pissed that I didn’t wear that suit, aren’t they?”

“Irving is not their people, baby.  Irving is your people.  Irving cares about what Stella cares about, and what Stella cares about is being on the New York Times list, and guess what?”

Stella waited a beat before asking “What?”

“All American Girl is on the list!”

“No fricking way!”

“Yes baby!  You are on the list my sassy mega-girl, and not at one hundred either.  No, you debuted at number-ninety eight!”

“You’re fricking kidding me! Wait, did somebody die?”

“Nobody died.  Well yes, some people did die, but that’s not why you made the list.  You made the list because you kicked the crap out of some power-suited baddies and saved America!”

“Did Skygirl make the list too?”

“Yes, Skygirl did make the list and that is what Irving really called about.”

“Where did she debut?”

“Skygirl is not important. At least she should not be important, but you are making her important by letting her in on your turf.  Chicago is All American Girl’s territory.  Why are you letting her steal your thunder, my girl?”

Stella was silent for a moment.

“Did you hear me, baby? Are you still there?  Is Irving talking to a dead line?”

“Yes, I’m still here. Where is she?”

“She’s number ninety-seven.”

“Damn it!”

“Irving feels your pain, baby.  So why are you letting this chick hang out with you?”

“It’s just… well, it just kind of happened, Irving.  She sort of saved my life and then she was all nice and stuff, and the next thing I know I’m living with her.”

“Irving understands baby. That’s how it was with his second wife. But you cannot let her steal your thunder.  The thunder is yours.  It’s All American Girl brand thunder, with all the legal rights and privileges there-of.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“You’ve got to get rid of…”

Stella closed her phone and then accidently crushed it in her hand.  Tossing the pieces down on the table, she looked at the vast array of food.  She really didn’t feel all that hungry now—maybe just the two cheeseburgers.

Azure Hotel;

Downtown Chicago;

Linda Ford stepped out the front entrance of the hotel. The wind whipped around her. With her left hand she held down her pleated miniskirt and with her right hand made sure that none of her honey colored hair poked out from beneath the brown wig.

“Cab Miss?” asked the doorman.

“No thank you.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m going to walk.”

“Might not be safe this time of night.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, stepping out of the halo of lights around the hotel entrance.

Linda was so happy to be out on the street that she almost started skipping. She turned north up State Street, her oversized Gucci handbag swinging at her side. Once again the brisk breeze blowing in from the lake caught her by surprise. She smiled as she brushed the brown hair out of her face. The smile disappeared however, when she picked up the words of a conversation directly ahead of her.

“If she’s at the Azure, we will have her all to ourselves. All the others are camped out around the Swiss Hotel.”

Coming toward her from the opposite direction were two tabloid photographers. They hadn’t spotted her yet, so she ducked into an alley. Following it till she reached an intersection, she then turned north again into another alley.

Apparently Linda’s plan had worked—for the most part. She had taken a large suite at the Swiss Hotel for no other reason than to mislead the press. Her room at the Azure had been arranged by her business manager and was under his daughter’s name. Though she was now hundreds of yards away from the two men she had overheard, her super-hearing allowed her to determine that she had eluded them. They were still on their way to her hotel.

“Hold it,” said a voice from behind her.

She turned to find a tall, thin man pointing a gun at her.

“Toss your purse onto the ground.”

“You’re robbing me?”

“Throw it down and I won’t hurt you.”

“How really extraordinary. Nothing like this ever happens to me in Kansas City.”

“Throw down the purse, sweet-cheeks. You don’t want to get shot… or worse.”

“I guess you don’t know who I am,” said Linda.

“As long as you’re not All American Girl, and you’re not, I don’t care.”

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to shoot me.” She put one hand on her hip.

The man didn’t shoot. Instead, he rushed forward and slammed the pistol into the side of her head.

“Well, that’s just rude,” said Linda, standing completely unharmed, exactly as she had been. “I can see that this city really needs my help.”

She took a quick, deep breath and exhaled with such force that the would-be robber was thrown across the alley. He landed on his buttocks and stared at her open-mouthed.

Suddenly something going on miles away drew her attention. Her supervision saw spectrums far beyond the range of normal. Usually she just ignored it, but she wasn’t about to ignore this. She peeled off the blouse and miniskirt, rolling down the megamesh sleeves of her costume. Then she pulled the brown wig off.

“Since you didn’t actually steal anything or hurt me, I’m going to let you off with a stern warning.”

“Skygirl?” said the man, now that the symbol on her chest was revealed.

“That’s right.” She stuffed her outer clothes and her wig into her handbag and floated up into the air several feet, where she removed her high-heels and put them in the bag too. “It’s not too late to turn over a new leaf, you know. I haven’t had time to check, but I’m sure there is a twelve-step program available for whatever your problem is. Now don’t let me catch you again.”

She lifted one hand in the air and shot into the sky like a rocket.

Night-time in Chicago;

Just south of O’Hare, off Franklin;

The two black Ford Expeditions sat side by side in the darkness on the broad expanse of concrete. The chemical plant had been closed for years now, and this huge cement bowl that had once been a settling pool had been empty, except for a thin layer of probably-carcinogeous chemicals, for just as long. It was the perfect place for the meeting. Badi looked out of his window. He could see the headlights from the silver panel van approaching. He gave Mudar, in the other SUV, a wave then turned back to Fariq and found him punching numbers into his cell phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing with the Supers was on last night. I’m voting for Airstream.”

“Put that away, you idiot.”

“I’m serious. He deserves to win. The judges are fools.”

“Put it away. The Armenian is here.”

Fariq stuffed his phone back into his pocket as the panel van came to a stop forty feet away. Badi got out and Fariq followed him. Mudar and the others climbed out of the other Expedition, all carrying Uzis. The Armenian, Tufenkian, got out of the driver’s side of the van and stepped over.

“He says your deposit is in the bank. The goods are in the back. Trade me keys.”

Mudar started to hand over the keys to his Ford, but Badi held up a hand to stop him.

“I want to look at the goods first,” he said. “Then you can leave.”

Tufenkian nodded his head toward the back of the van. Badi walked around and opened the silver double doors. Sitting inside were six large metal boxes labeled General Dynamics. Climbing up next to them, Badi flipped the six latches to open the first box and looked inside. There it was—a Red Eye IV anti-aircraft missile. And he was now the proud owner of six of them.

Leaning out of the van, he called to Mudar. “Trade keys with him. We’ve got what we want.”

“Good,” said Tufenkian, heading for the SUV. “I’m out of here.”

“Don’t go too far,” said a female voice. “I’m going to want to talk to you about your boss, after I finish with these guys.”

Badi and the others all turned toward the voice. The compact figure of a twenty-year-old blond girl stepped into the beam of one of the Ford headlights. She was practically naked, wearing only a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top, both blue with white stars. She could have been a college student who got lost on the way to spring break, except for the white boots and gloves. They were straight out of the superhero catalog.

“A super!” shouted Badi.

“It’s All American Girl,” said Fariq.

“I don’t care who she is; shoot her!”

Mudar was the quickest, bringing his Uzi to bear and spitting out lead at full auto. The girl was quicker though, leaping into the air and flipping over his head to land just behind him. She kicked Mudar in the back and sent him flying face first into the Ford’s windshield. As Siraj fired at her, she ducked, and the bullets instead hit the other ford, killing the Armenian, who had gotten halfway into the driver’s side door.

The girl flipped around like a top and hit first Siraj and then two of the others, knocking them out. It was the kind of move that would have gone over big on Dancing with the Supers. But she stopped right in front of Fariq, with her back to him. He pulled the trigger and hit her in the back with twenty or so 7.62mm Teflon coated rounds. Most of them bounced directly back at him. She winced in mild discomfort and turned around to look down at his bullet-ridden body.

Badi didn’t wait to watch her kick the crap out of the others. He ducked back in the van, opened the crate and pulled out the Red Eye IV. Jumping to the pavement, he found her looking right at him, standing with the limp form of Sajit in her right hand.

“Die!” he shouted and pulled the trigger.

The really humiliating thing about it was that he would have missed. The rocket would have gone right past the left side of her head and continued on until it hit one of the skyscrapers rising up in the distance. But she reached up and grabbed it right out of the air and looked at it, still spraying out rocket propellant. Then it exploded. Badi threw up his hands to protect his face from the blast, but he was knocked down onto his back. He jumped up, his ears ringing, to see the girl standing right where she had been, apparently unharmed.

Suddenly Badi and the super were bathed in a circle of light from a news helicopter drawn to the sounds of gunfire and explosions.

“It’s all over,” said the blonde, tossing aside what was left of Sajit like a ragdoll. “The only question is whether I turn you over to the cops or deal with you myself.”

“Go to hell, All American bitch!” he shouted.

“Fine,” she said, and reaching behind her, she ripped off the front end of the closest Expedition.

The last thing Badi saw was the oval Ford symbol, along with the rest of the fender, part of the engine, and the front drive train flying at him, along with that stupid personalized license plate—FARIQ31.

Astrid brought the Maxxim Starcraft 170 down on the runway at LAX. The 170 was a sharp, if unusual looking aircraft. Designed by Astrid’s father, the 47-foot plane featured a long pointy fuselage with a small canard wing just behind the nose. The main wing was at the back of the aircraft, and carried twin turboprop engines, with the propellers facing rearward. These were known as push-props. The cabin, which could accommodate up to nine passengers, now seated only Penelope and Sabrina Scacchi and their carryon luggage. Astrid was, of course, up front, along co-pilot Don Herron.

Herron stayed with the plane, while the three young women disembarked and made their way into the LAX Private Terminal. Astrid was surprised to see her friend from France waiting just inside. Océane Feuillée was about an inch taller than Astrid and quite thin. Her pleasant face was framed in short black hair, cut in a cute little wedge. She reached out and embraced Astrid in a tight hug.

“Hello, Océane,” said Astrid. “I thought we would have to search for you.”

“You’re Miss Scacchi told me where to come.”

“And here she is. Océane, Sabrina Scacchi. Sabrina, Océane. And you remember my Aunt Penelope.”

“Oui.” The three women shook hands.

“So what is the big secret?” asked Astrid.

“Let’s find a quiet place, and I will tell you all about it.”

“I’ve reserved one of the private rooms here,” said Miss Scacchi. “It’s just down the hall.”

The small private room, enclosed in glass, was quiet and featured comfortable chairs. Astrid sat down next to Océane, and the other two sat across from them.

“So what’s going on?”

“I’ve been working with my friend Adeline Petit. She is a graduate student with my father, and she has been working on a special project for the past three years. So I decided to help. She is studying dolphins and their communication. It would be wonderful if you could create a device to translate their language to ours.”

“Of course that would be great,” said Penelope. “It’s not possible though.”

“Maybe it is,” said Astrid. “I’ve read about some work along that line that an engineer from Google was doing. It’s simply a matter of finding out what sounds are associated with what actions and objects.”

“You make that sound easy,” continued Penelope. “There could be millions of nouns and verbs to sort through.”

“Adeline has thousands of sounds recorded and identified,” said Océane. “She just needs the program and the computer. And it would have to be portable… and waterproof.”

“Is that all?” said Penelope.

“I think it can be done,” said Astrid. “What’s more, I want to do it. Where is she working? Hawaii?”

“No. She’s at a very small, uncharted island, in French Polynesia. It’s fifty miles east of Tahiti. She calls it Mokupuni Nai’a.”

“Dolphin Island,” translated Penelope.

“I didn’t know you spoke Tahitian,” Astrid remarked.

“I do, but that’s actually Hawaiian.”

“All right,” said Astrid. “I want to help, but why the hush hush? Why couldn’t you tell me all of this over the phone?”

“There’s more to it,” replied Océane. “Something is hurting the dolphins. There have been mass strandings every year for at least the last three years.”

“That’s horrible,” said Miss Scacchi.

“It is,” agreed Astrid. “But it happens all around the world. Why the secrecy?”

“We think it may be caused by the United States navy and their sonar. Adeline is afraid they will try to stop us from reporting it.”

“Well, I don’t think we really need to worry about nefarious Navy agents stalking us, but let’s agree to keep this all between us until we can figure out what’s really going on.”

“My flight leaves for Papeete Fa’a’ā in two hours,” said Océane.

“I need a while to get the necessary computer equipment together,” said Astrid. “Then I can fly the Starcraft out and meet you.”

“You can’t Astrid,” said Miss Scacchi. “Your mother said you must have an adult with you and I have to be back in Maxxim City by Monday.”

“I’ll go with Astrid,” said Penelope. “We’ll get you a first class ticket back home.”

“You don’t mind?” Astrid asked her aunt. “This may take weeks.”

“What? You need weeks to create a device to talk to another species? You must be slipping.”

Astrid laughed. “All right then. Let’s get Océane to her flight, get a ticket for Miss Scacchi…”

“Call me Sabrina please, Astrid.”

“Okay, but if my mother get’s mad, it’s your fault. A ticket for Sabrina. Then you and I, Aunt Penny, need to go to the computer store.”

The local police had removed the robber’s hoods. They were all women in their early twenties. Andrews stood looking at them for a long time. When he found Ep!phanee standing next to him, he realized that he had almost forgotten she was there.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I don’t think they even shot in our direction, did they?”

“No.”

The police took both their statements and then released them. They climbed back in the car and the driver took them to the Royal Continental. Neither of them had much to say along the way. Once at the hotel, Andrews met briefly with Wright to fill her in and then he went to his room to begin filling out the inevitable paperwork.

When the Science Police officer opened the door to his assigned room, he decided that a major mistake had been made. Instead of the simple room that he had been assigned in the other hotels, and which had suited him just fine, he found a spacious suite. He stood at the entrance of a large central room with features of both a living room and dining room. A roaring fire was already burning in the gas fireplace next to a fully stocked bar. He realized for the first time that he was shivering, having been out in the pouring rain for most of the evening and not having had the chance to dry off.

He walked to the fireplace and held out his hands to warm them. He stayed in that position until the front of his legs became unbearably hot, and then he turned around and warmed his back. Just as his back was becoming too warm and his front was feeling once again cold, Ep!phanee walked in from the bedroom. She wore nothing but a gauzy nightie through which her tattoos were clearly visible.

“I don’t think I’m really in the mood,” he said.

“In the mood for what? Don’t worry. I know just what you need and I’m going to take care of you.”

“I didn’t realize that you were the ‘taking care’ type.”

“Of course I am. Look how well I take care of myself. First you need to take off those wet clothes. Portland isn’t like the Caribbean. If you get a little rain on you there, it dries off in minutes. Here, you’ll catch pneumonia.”

“It does kind of sink right into your bones,” he replied as he began peeling off his still damp clothing.

“You need to get into the hot shower,” she said, stepping behind the bar and filling two shot glasses from a whiskey bottle. “First have one of these.”

When Andrews came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a very fluffy complimentary robe, he found Piffy seated at the table with a pot of hot coffee. She had already poured him a cup. When he sipped it, he found that she had laced it with more whiskey.

“I think you need to get right to bed,” she said.

“I have paperwork to take care of.” He went to his luggage, which was sitting just inside the door and found his portfolio, bringing it back to the table. Halfway there he stopped and looked back at his luggage. “What am I doing in a room like this anyway?”

“I had you upgraded. If you’re going to be with us, you’re going to go first class all the way. It’s one of the perks.”

Andrews sat back down at the table and began filling out the seven forms necessary when an agent discharged his weapon, all of which required long written statements and all of which were sandwiched with carbon paper and other sheets so that they were produced in triplicate. When he finished the second, he stopped to warm up his coffee and noticed for the first time that Piffy was no longer in the room. He found her, once he was completely done, sprawled across one side of the bed, her bare, very white bottom staring at him from below her nightgown hem. The California king was large enough though that once he stripped off his robe and climbed in, he didn’t notice her presence the entire night. When he woke up, she was gone.

“Good morning.” Ruth walked into the bedroom carrying a tray. “Come on, sit up. I’ve bought you breakfast.”

“I could just get up.”

“No. You need breakfast in bed after the day you had yesterday. You need to be pampered a bit.” The tray contained two eggs, two strips of bacon, hash browns, a waffle with blueberries, milk, and a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know if I can eat all this.”

“Just eat what you want.” She pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down to watch him eat.

She was already dressed for the day, wearing hip-hugger bellbottoms and a halter-top, both of which resembled the Union Jack, white platform shoes, and a red headband holding back her dreadlocks.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he replied

“I’ve hardly seen you in three days.”

“Well, we’re together now. Do I get to spend the day with you?”

“Actually, we’re supposed to meet later this morning and work out the schedule, but Piffy thought you needed somebody to pamper you this morning.”

“And you thought you would be the one to do it?”

“I jumped at the chance.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m a big boy.”

“You’re telling me,” she said with a sly look. “Now don’t dawdle. Eat your breakfast.”

Andrews finished, though he had only a bite of his waffle, before even thinking to look at the clock.

“Good grief, it’s after nine.”

“Don’t be in a rush. The other girls won’t be up for at least another hour and our radio-vid interview isn’t until one.”

Andrews spent the morning with Ruth. They ate breakfast and then they took a long walk around the Doric House grounds. Just after noon, he and Wright left and flew to Bloomington, Minnesota to go over the security at the Metropolitan Stadium. That evening’s concert went off, like the one two nights before in Atlanta, without any major problems. Afterwards the band returned to Doric House for one more night.

Having been, for the most part, too busy for dinner, Andrews was just beginning to think about ordering a snack from the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. He opened it, half expecting Ruth with another hot fudge sundae. Instead he found Ep!phanee, still in her costume from the concert.

“Hey lover, what’s up?”

“Good evening. I was just thinking of ordering something from the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Picking up the house phone and asking for a connection, he ordered sandwiches and hot chocolate.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you,” Piffy said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his.

“Really? You didn’t look particularly anxious.”

“I had to let Ruth have a chance to get to know you. And she did… finally.”

“Now you’re back with me?”

“Only for today. Tomorrow, you spend with Penny.”

“I’ve already been with Penny.”

“Yes, I know she snuck into your room for a quickie, but you need to spend some time getting to know her. Relationships aren’t just about sex, you know.”

“Really? So far, that has not been my experience.”

“You sound a little testy about it,” she said, leaning back and looking him in the face. “Most guys would give anything to be in the position you’re in.”

“Maybe. I think it’s one of those ‘be careful what you wish for’ situations. I just get to know you. I like you. I want to spend more time with you, but I can’t because I have to be with Ruth. Now I want to spend more time with her and I can’t. I suspected that this type of relationship would be too much for me and I’m finding out that I’m right.”

“It will get easier once you know all of us and we can work out a schedule.”

“This just isn’t natural. I think men are wired so that they are in love with one woman at a time.”

“Well, of course it’s not natural. It’s not natural that men are almost extinct either. But that’s the way it is. We have to make due the best we can with what we have.”

“Hmm.”

They spent the remainder of the evening talking about less weighty matters—what life was like in the Virgin Islands, favorite places to visit in Europe, and what the weather was going to be like on the west coast. They spent the night together, and for the first time in his life, Andrews shared a bed with a woman without having sex.

The next morning Andrews left Piffy sleeping in his bed while he shaved and showered, but she was gone when he came out of the bathroom. He met briefly with Wright but there was little to discuss. The entire group was treated to a champagne breakfast. Then it was off to the airport again. The dirigible was fueled and supplied and waiting to go. It lifted off as soon as everyone was aboard, flying directly north.

Andrews made a quick inspection of the ship after seeing that his few personal possessions had been carefully stowed back in his cabin. He then went to the bridge and watched the crew at work until he was called away to answer a telephone call. It was from Evan Larkin, the man he had met in Bolingbrook. Larkin wanted nothing more than to talk for a few minutes. Andrews let him ramble on for a while and then confirmed that he had heard the news regarding the arrest of his former fiancé.

“Yes, the poor girl. Elke and Inga are going to see if we can’t get her accepted into a mental health facility.”

“That would probably be for the best. Well, goodbye Larkin.”

“If you’re ever in the Chicago area, give me a call. We could have dinner.”

“Thank you, I will. Goodbye.”

He started back toward his cabin, but was intercepted along the way by Penny.

“Hello beautiful,” she said.

“Hi. How are you?”

“I’m feeling fine. We’d like you to come back to the port side lounge for a minute. The band has something they want to run by you.”

She led him to the lounge where the other three Ladybugs were seated, as well as Alexa Rothman. When he stepped in the room, they all looked up and smiled. He sat down on one of the overstuffed couches, as Penny took the spot beside him, tucking her legs up under her.

“We have something we wanted to share with you,” said Piffy, “before anyone else knows.”

“Oh?”

“We have the Asia tour coming up in two months,” explained Alexa. “It should really be called the Asia-Australia tour, since after Singapore; we’re going south to hit Melbourne and then Sydney.”

“But then we’re going to the enclaves,” Steffie spouted.

“That’s right,” said Ruth. “After Sydney, we’re going to Tasmania, South Island, and then Cape Horn.”

“We were going to wait until the South American tour to do the Cape Horn enclave,” continued Alexa, “but we might as well do it at the same time as the others.”

“That’s very exciting.”