“Will you turn that damned thing off?” Fu Tichi demanded, as the sword accidentally burned through several ropes and guy wires, threatening to topple the main mast.

“Oops, sorry sir,” the lad apologized and flicked a switch, causing the blade to vanish into the sword’s handle. The little gnome tossed a small bag to Fu Tichi – it jingled payment for their passage – and urged his steed toward the gangway.

“Aw, do I haveta go down there?” The teen whined.

“To train for your destiny!” The rider insisted, digging in with teensy spurs. “To become a great unwitting tool… I mean master of the Puissance! To learn infinitive eloquence. To learn yodeling, also. To learn how to nag someone unhelpfully, even after-death. To boldly go—”

“Yeah yeah,” Fu Tichi interrupted. “Watch your step, kid. You might trip and… oops.”

With a shriek, the boy toppled over the side. We all hurried to look down.

“Well that’s a retief… I mean relief,” Nuts murmured. And we all sighed with gladness to see that he was all right, having broken his fall by landing atop his rider.

“Master!” the lad cried, prying the flattened gnome off the gleaming candy monolith.

One of the hooded ones threw off its heavy robe and cowl, revealing a costume that consisted of breathing tubes, pouches and other plumbing, obviously well-suited to this waterless, sugary terrain – a dessert-suit, I realized. Moreover, it clung to a well-proportioned, womanly form. Others down there followed her lead, likewise tossing aside their outerwear and clustering around the boy, consoling him for his loss… while using hands and eyes to get the measure of his muscular form. And yes, emphatically, all of them were of the same gender.

“You said femen?” I enquired of Coalshack.

“Yes. Long ago their ancestors came out here to dwell with the worms, in desert purity, far from the dangers and distractions of city life.”

“To escape zombies and vampires?”

“To escape men,” Commander Nomlin interjected, with sudden demmie insight. “And I have to admit it sounds tempting,” she added, casting me an arch look. And I felt sure that the mercurial demmie meant it. At that specific moment.

“Only then I have to ask,” she added, “if there are no men, how do they—”

“Reproduce?” Professor Katske was only too glad to explain. “Oh they do keep a few carefully-selected males around, accepting qualified volunteers from time to time. Give them special hero-training, in exchange for services. This young fellow is due for some interesting revelations.”

Under our gaze, the gathered femen stripped the youth of his profane and un-dessertly former garb, doing it with apparent relish, while their leader intoned:

“And we shall call him My’dibs, for he who crushes parasites by accident!” And the others nodded, chanting his new name three times.