“Huh,” came a familiar voice. “That’s one little chicken that won’t ever make it out of the egg.”

Bpoo appeared from behind the spaceship. She was finding it hard to walk in her skin-tight silver spacesuit. She’d gained a lot of bulk since their last meeting. She reminded Siri of a big balloon baby wrapped in tinfoil. Despite her weight, she left the ground and floated in her personal zero-gravity zone. She removed one of her gloves and lowered the zipper at her chest. Siri recognized the scene. It was Jane Fonda’s erotic striptease from the beginning of Barbarella. The Fonda version had been one of his most memorable soft-porn moments in cinema, but he really did not want to watch the Auntie Bpoo interpretation through to its climax.

“What’s all this supposed to mean?” said Siri.

“You should know. You’re the host.”

“Barbarella,” said Siri. “1968. Is this a new test?”

“No, I just took a fancy to the costume. You know I’m naked underneath?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. But I’m going to have to stop you there. Our relationship is about to change. I don’t have to put up with your idiosyncrasies anymore. I realized something the other day that explains everything about you. I understand why you’re such a grump.”

The spirit guide dropped to the ground like a suet pudding.

“You really know how to hurt a girl,” said Bpoo.

“All these exotic locations, all the symbolism, all the drama and acting and cross-dressing, I get it now.”

“I doubt you’re that clever.”

“No, you’re right. It should have occurred to me a long time ago, back when you were still alive and making do with three dimensions. I should have seen it then.”

“Are you telling me the offspring of a celebrated shaman has finally had an insight? The wait has been excruciating. Oh, Great Seer, what can you tell me?”

Sarcasm was rampant in the otherworld.

“The dress-ups,” said Siri. “The tutus and stilettos and halter tops, the entire wardrobe that doesn’t fit you. Clothes that you hate wearing. You have no choice, do you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? I think most of your life, even into death, you’ve been stalked.”

“Gibberish.”

“The phibob found your weakness a long time ago. Somewhere back in your history when you were still a normal, polite young man with a real life, maybe even a career. The malevolent spirits decided to turn you upside down by visiting you in your dreams as a succubus. She became your lifelong nemesis.”

“You should stop now, little doctor,” she said.

Her spacesuit was liquefying and dripping off her like leaks in a gargantuan thermometer.