“This is war, and you have to decide; are you women, or are you the enemy?” Uda Con.

Shoulders slumped, Chic walked through the tents. She stopped between the last two tents, knowing the cage was just to her right. How could she frame her apology to Faith? Without warning, the tent to Chic's left opened, and a steward backed out, pulling a difficult bag.

Chic recognized her immediately. She did not know her name, but it was the steward who brought Holly word of the call to arms. “Excuse me,” said Chic.

The steward jumped and spun to face Chic, a look of guilt in her eyes. “Oh!” said the steward. “What do you need? Wait. You're Holly's sister. You never saw me.”

“I need help,” said Chic. Then, she asked, “Are you running away?”

“We all have our problems,” said the steward defensively. She stepped close and whispered, “Cut a girl a break. I'll be honest. I'm with pups. If the Queen finds out, she'll lock me up.”

“Why would you get locked up?” asked Chic.

The steward got closer, her whisper a shrill hiss in Chic's ear. “There are only harnessed males in Shravner.”

“Oh,” said Chic. “Oh!” she placed a hand over her mouth.

The steward nodded. “I set him free; I go now to meet him.”

“I'll say nothing,” said Chic, pulling the steward into a sympathetic hug. “But, I need your help. Come and see.”

Faith looked up as the tarp was thrown back. Two furry faces peered inside. “The alien,” said the steward with a nod.

Chic said, “We all want to leave. Can you help?”

“Only the Queen holds the key,” said the steward. “But, here. Try this.” The steward removed a long hat pin from her cap and pressed it into Chic's hand. “I wish both of you the best.” She raised the bag with difficulty and stumbled from the camp.

The trio peered over the bushes. The door lowered slowly on its chains until it rested on beaten earth. An overfed General marched out, sword held over her shoulder in a braggadocios manner. She stopped, facing away from the bushes. Then, came the Queen, ponderous in her brass armor. The Queen stopped and faced the gate. A slender Emissary rushed out, kowtowing, and smiling.

Extending her arms to the south, she said, “This way, Selfless Dowager.”

As the Queen and the General followed the Emissary, Sposh whispered, “All the heavyweights.”

Marken said, “Look! Now's our chance.”

Besh pulled Marken back, saying, “Don't. Every soldier has a sword.”

Sposh added, “And every point is a sharp point.”

Besh said, “You can't run into the unknown when all you know is that it's unknown.”

Marken complained, “That makes no sense.”

Sposh whispered, “Makes sense to me.”

Marken, sighing theatrically, said in lament, “Oh, lady. Your fool is here.”

Chic pressed the hat pin into the lock, seeking what she knew not. Faith knelt behind the door watching every move with heightened anticipation. “Anything?” asked Faith.

Chic's frustration dropped in a heavy sigh. “I thought I felt something. It was there, then it wasn't.”

“Here. Let me try,” said Faith. She reached through the bars and took the pin. Pressing her body and face into the bars, Faith contorted in her attempt to wrest freedom from a stubborn lock. “I think I've got it," said Faith,” looking hopefully into Chic's eyes.

Instead of hope returning, instead of esprit de corps, Faith saw fear touch the fuzzy face of her accomplice. Chic backed away as a sharp rap on the bars startled Faith, causing her to drop the pin. Faith looked up into the dour face of an overweight General, her sword slamming the bars repeatedly.

The General asked in a small but masculine voice, “Going somewhere?”

While Uda Con walked to the door of the cage, the Emissary shuffled to a safe distance. Uda peered into the cage with a fat smile, and asked, “Comfy?”

Faith gripped the bars and thrust a scowl into the Queen's face. “I don't know what your game is,” said Faith, “but I'm a better asset freed than caged.”

The Queen straightened and drew a hesitant Chic into a matronly arm. Turning back to Faith, The Queen smiled a painfully slow response. Then, turning serious, Uda Con said, “I admire courage. I do. However,” she dropped her arm from Chic's shoulder, and turned, allowing the world at large to fall within her private domain. When she returned a piercing gaze to Faith, the Queen said with a straight face, “There is something you need to understand.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Faith bravely. “And, what's that?”

The smile returned to Uda's combed face, her incisors dominant over a double chin. “You're one of us, now,” said the Queen. “Your ship has gone. You're now a resident of Shashr and your Queen is here, in person, with an offer.”

Gaping, Faith asked, “Gone?”

Uda Con turned from Faith to look at a cowering Chic. “You girls need to face the facts,” she said. “This is war, and you have to decide; are you women, or are you the enemy?”

There was a long stunned silence until the General's sword rapped the cage. “Answer the Queen!” commanded the General.

Faith closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Well,” said Faith. “I do have to pee. Let me out, and we can talk.”

The Queen reached up and dropped the tarp across the cage. She turned to the General and said flatly, “General Spesfic.”

“Yes, my Queen!” answered the General in overloud zeal.

Uda said, “Let me know when she decides.”

Faith called loudly, “Alright! Alright! I'll join. Just let me pee.”

Besh, Sposh, and Marken sat in a tight camp, surrounded by protective bushes. Only their heads were visible. Sposh looked at the two alien heads and turned away. He said, “This is too weird. Floating alien heads. This invisibility plays with my mind.”

Marken sighed. He said, “My love languishes in chains. Caged, and beyond reach. I will scale the Queen's walls and find my love.”

Besh said, “She really doesn't like you.”

Marken narrowed his eyes on Besh, and replied, “Yet.”

Sposh turned and said, “Love is worth saving.”

Besh said to Sposh, “Tell us more about this war.”

The shackles were cumbersome. The chain was not nearly long enough to accommodate both a long and a short stride. Faith and Chic, chained at the ankles, shuffled through the west gate to the stack of crates. Holly followed them, spear in hand.

“Are these really necessary?” asked Faith.

Chic turned at the stack to look at her sister with sad eyes. Holly said, “You did this to yourself. You have fifteen crates left. Finish and you can take a break.”

Faith and Chic lifted a crate between them. The balance was off; Faith had to stoop slightly. Stuck in a world of beavers, thought Faith. Stuck in a war between the sexes. Chained, she would surely get blisters. She looked into Chic's eyes and was stung by guilt. Faith's foiled escape cost Chic a heavy price. She had played on Chic's sweet nature. The poor thing didn't deserve this.

Marken asked, “So, why haven't they started yet? It's been a long time.”

“The catapults,” said Sposh. “Those unlucky enough to draw loading duty must do so with care. Catapults are used once. Rope is put in first to keep the Nerfels from sticking. Eight Nerfels are placed atop the rope. To make it extra slimy, packets of Nerfel eggs are squeezed over the Nerfels. They pray the wind is at backs, but if they touch it, even with a finger, they'll stink for a week.”

Besh said, “So Nerfels are sticky and stinky.”

Sposh nodded. “Just being downwind will make you heave.”

Marken asked, “So, why doesn't the other side simply jump aside?”

Sposh extended a hand from the cloak and scratched beneath an ear. “Well,” he said. “The bucket is designed with a spring so it snaps to one side. The worst of nightmares flies at the enemy in expanding lines of doom. They can hit up to sixteen men at once. It's so vile that the stricken fall screaming and writhing in agony. It's so sticky, it's hard to remove. The hair must be shaved off. It smells so bad your eyes swell up and you can't keep anything on your stomach.”

“Ouch,” said Besh.

Nodding sagely, Sposh replied, “I would hate to be on the front line. It's intended to thin the ranks, so, all the screw-ups get put out front.”

Marken asked, “When is this war to begin? It's already the middle of the day.”

Sposh sighed and sadly shook his head. “It shouldn't be much longer.”

“Then why must we wait?” asked Marken. “When they busy themselves with war, I say we sneak in and search for Faith. We've looked elsewhere; she must be with the Queen.”

Besh said, “I'm not saying I don't agree, but think about it. We'll be walking through who knows how many armed soldiers”

Marken countered, “We're invisible; does that not give us the advantage?”

Sposh said, “It could be a while before the medics get through. Then there are the insults.”

“Okay, Okay,” said Besh.

Suddenly, a noise came from the trees. The trio looked up as a Shashian steward stumbled across their small camp. The steward, on noticing three floating heads, dropped her heavy bag and fell to her knees. She gasped but did not scream. In quick gestures, the woman touched her breasts, then her eyes, then her breasts, then her lips. She said in a fearful voice, “Fallen mothers, give aid!”

Sposh asked, “Are you a Queen's steward?”

Wide-eyed, the steward replied, “I've been told not to speak with ghosts.” Then, she bowed her face to the ground and muttered, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to walk on graves. Please let me pass.”

Sposh said, “Silly female, we're not ghosts.”

“You're not?” asked the steward, rising slightly, and peering dubiously.

“No,” said Sposh opening his cloak. “We wear these to hide.”

“Oh,” said the steward, rising fully. “Are you with the Pope? I just want to find my boyfriend and go far away.”

Marken opened his cloak and asked, “Have you seen a female alien like me?”

“Oh. Yes,” said the steward. “But, she's nothing like you. She was in a covered cage behind the camp. I gave a pin to the sister of the Grand Stewardess so that she could pick the lock.”

Sposh said excitedly, “That's my wife! Chic!”

Marken leaped to his feet, startling the steward. “She was well?” asked Marken.

“Yes,” answered the steward.

“You've been helpful,” said Marken. “Go and find your boyfriend. Live a happy life together.”

“I can go?” asked the steward, looking to Sposh.

When Sposh tilted his head away from the war, the steward jumped to her feet, grabbed the heavy bag, and ran into the trees, spilling effusive thanks as she stumbled away. Marken turned to Besh. His eyes were wide and wild.

Marken said to Besh, “You see, my friend. Fortune favors the amorous.”

Sposh jumped up and joined in Marken's elation. His smile was all-encompassing, meeting that of the alien in united purpose. “My Chic,” said Sposh. “My lovely wife.”

Sposh ran from the small camp, Marken close behind. Besh, with a shake of his head, rose to follow. He had no one to tell, so he told himself, “I can't believe we passed that cage. Twice.”

Sposh and Marken knelt in their cloaks behind the bushes; ahead, there were three crates remaining. Stewards sat on them. Besh knew where his friends were by the feet protruding from each cloak. His own held tightly around him, Besh knelt between his friends. The west door was down, but the camp was still.

One of the stewards said, “I wish they'd get it over with.”

The steward beside her replied, “Generals sure love to milk it. I have a male in my tent and a key in my pocket.” She raised her voice and said bravely, “Let's move it.”

Her neighbor, with an embarrassed smile, elbowed her friend and said, “Not so loud. They'll put us on the front line.”

A General emerged through the door, slender and hard-eyed. She said, “I can put you on the line for slacking. Bring in a crate.”

The stewards jumped to attention, then to task, lifting a crate, and following the General inside. Marken, eager, led the way to the south end of the camp. Sposh stumbled over Besh with apologies. When Besh arrived, he could see the gaping faces of his friends, but no cage. Marken sputtered without saying a word. Sposh turned to Besh with troubled eyes. Marken, with a growl, stormed toward the opening in the Queen's quarter.

Besh ran after him; one reckless moment could give them away. At the bushes, Besh encircled Marken with his arms, turning their backs to the crates. Their cloaks were open dangerously in the front. When Marken inhaled to complain, Besh pressed a hand over his mouth. At that moment, the stewards returned.

One complained, “He better be there when I get back.”

The other said, “Then, you'd best hurry.”

When the stewards carried a crate inside, Besh loosened his hand. Marken fell to his knees with a catch in his throat that was all but a sob. “My love. My love,” he said softly. “Where have they taken you?”

Sposh said as he joined them, “They must be inside.”

Besh said, “I agree.”

Marken turned to Besh; his face was close. He said quietly, but with adamant determination, “With you, or without, I go in before they close the door.”

The stewards returned for the final crate. It was time; pulling cloaks tight, three men slipped unseen into the stronghold of the Queen. Immediately to their left, Besh, Marken, and Sposh took quick cover behind crates stacked high. The stewards dropped the crate and made haste to leave. A soldier marched to the door, leaned her spear against the wall, and turned the wheel that raised the door. When the soldier marched away, three men exhaled.

Besh whispered, “While we're hidden, let's take a moment to look; see what we can see.”

Peeking over the low end of the stack, into a busy camp, they saw a canopied riser, prominent above wall level. Further down was a tent with guards at the entrance. Center of the Queen's Quarter stood a large striped tent, the size of which obstructed a clear view of the eastern wall. Soldiers were positioned strategically and were busy at the southern end of the fortification. Tents along the southern wall, likewise, obstructed a clear view of the eastern wall. A cage was not seen.

Besh whispered, “If they're here, they're somewhere along the eastern wall. Finding them and getting out with them are two different matters.”

Marken whispered back, “Can we climb the crates and jump over the wall?”

Besh answered, “We'd be spotted. Trying to jump might injure the women. We'll need to lower the door and sneak out with them.”

Sposh said, “There are soldiers everywhere.”

“Right,” said Besh. “We'll need a distraction.”

Conversation, though whispered, was paused when four Generals walked up to the crates. One was heard asking another, “Will you sit with the Queen?”

The other answered, “I can see well enough from the east bastion. The rest of you, well, you can draw straws.” There was laughter.

A third voice said, “Let's check the seats.”

After the Generals left, Marken said, “I can set fire to one of the tents; keep them busy at the other end.”

Sposh said, “We can cut some of the guy lines. I don't see any torches.”

Besh said, “Let's take a breather. Give me some time to look in my bag. I might find a distraction.”