Remembering the alluring, hypnotic and deadly-dangerous creature that Lieutenant Gala Morell had become, I knew this Spertin-gone-native had a point. Still, I nodded.

“And yet, we have our ways.”

Earl’s sardonic expression seemed to say good luck with that. Without another word, he boarded, looking back at us with a theatrically toothy leer as the hatch closed. I stepped away with Ohm and Guts and Nuts to avoid the shuttle’s backwash, murmuring “Goodbye,” as together we watched our friends… and semi-friends… depart. In moments they were streaking toward a setting sun that reddened the foothills to the west. Soon, they would pass over a sugar wasteland of sparkling dunes and mighty worms, followed by glittering cities of the living and the dead… speeding toward a future that now held perhaps a little more hope than the past.

“Three ones and then three sixes,” I murmured, recalling the oracular dice-roll, when our mission to this planet first began. And yes, things often do turn out all right. In the end.

Alas, it is seldom the end for very long, without there also being a beginning. And it often happens without rest or letup.

That was when I noticed the smug look at the face of Nuts, and heard a clicking-whirring sound. At which point I realized what it was that she held in her arms – the demmie Finder device had morphed yet again, looking now like a cherubic doll with a faux-innocent face, infantile yet fixated in concentration on the puzzle it had been given. And I realized also that my question for the Finder had been solved, and she must have asked another.

“So, what is it looking for, now?” I asked.

“I don’t gotta tell you,” Nuts answered, defiantly.

“But you have to tell him.” I indicated Captain Ohm.

“Yes Advisor,” he answered apologetically. “Though for now it’s – well – confidential. I’d like to tell you, and will, when appropriate, but—”

“—but a promise is a promise. Sure, I get that. Though, are you aware how dangerous that thing is?”

“Yeah, I know.” Despite that, his expression seemed less chagrined than guilty. He nervously avoided my eyes. And, from the look on her face, I was not at all sure I would like wherever our next adventure took us.

So it was that four weeks later we stepped up to the slurry tube… now one of a dozen – with more being rapidly auto-produced in orbit – that were already sucking in sugars from the vast, sweet waistlands then sending down to several cities a steady stream of snacks-for-every-taste-and-appetite. So your neighbor you won’t have to bite, went a popular media jingle, penned by a pair of rising stars on the zombie-pop circuit. (Care to guess who? And yes, I should have signed on to be their manager. Last I heard, their group – the Talking Deads – was killing.)