text: You're sitting in the passenger side of Patricia's '88 Murano, a sleek black roadster with the body of a 1930's racing car and a tinted bubble dome for a windscreen. Patricia is at the wheel and Esmeralda is in the backseat. The road is a thick white line of asphalt cutting through green swards of grass that were once thick jungle.
  
  "I haven't been to Virgil in a while," you say, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
  
  "Yeah," replies Patricia, "my father practically built that town. Or maybe I should say he rebuilt it."
  
  "How so?"
  
  Soon the first line of modular concrete buildings comes into view. Some of them stretch high into the shrouding mists, looking for all the world like stacks of wooden building blocks with windows.
  
  "See those?" asks Patricia. "Those are Edisons. My father introduced them to Venus. Just pour cement in molds and then fit the pieces together. It's a rapid way to build up a city. Before, this was just a pathetic collection of aluminum and tin structures."
  
  "Edisons...You mean Thomas Edison, the inventor of the phonograph, right?"
  
  "The idea was originally his, but it was people like my father who had the where-with-all of applying such building techniques on a large scale. Almost overnight Virgil became the majestic gem you see before you. My dad started doing that back in the 60's, bringing cement made from Lunar soil along with the molds for office buildings and houses. The hicks in this town should at least have erected a statue of him in his honor. Ingrates."
  
  "Huh. You must get invited to a lot of parties," you say with thinly-veiled sarcasm.
  
  "Dear, I'm the one who throws them. And every smooth-talking sycophant tries to get an invitation. They know I have money, the parasites."
  
  The car goes deeper into the heart of Virgil. Sleek, organically curved cars and trucks pass by in all directions and men, women, and children dot the sidewalks, and you suddenly realize you haven't seen this many people in a long time. Patrica pulls her car onto a two-lane ramp that spirals up the side of a tall, column-shaped skyscraper that looks like it could be the central axis holding up the heavens. Rows of windows whisk by as the car cruises up to a multi-leveled parking garage atop the building. Patricia stops the vehicle on the uppermost level, parks in a secluded alcove with an elevator door in the wall in front of the parking block.
  
  She turns to you. "Here we are, Miss Acosta," she says in a flat tone.
  
  "Do you live in one of the apartments below?" you ask.
  
  Patricia laughs. "No. You seem to have forgotten who my father was."
  
  She guides you and Esmeralda through the elevator door and takes you up to the rooftop penthouse. The building's entire circumference makes up her home, a vast ribbon window curving around the outer rim and giving a panoramic view of an ocean of gray clouds with the tops of neighboring skyscrapers jutting through like islands.
  
  The whole place is decorated in an angelic white (carpets, upholstery, walls, countertops) which, combined with the cloudy view, makes it feel like a gross parody of Heaven. Against one of the living room walls is a sleek, white, organ-like device with an oval screen above its keyboard.
  
  "You have an oscilliotron!" you say excitedly.
  
  "Don't even think of touching it, girl," Patricia snaps, placing her handbag on a couch. "If you behave yourself, though, maybe I'll play something for you later. Jefferson!"
  
  A six-foot silver cylinder on treads rolls into view. It has an egg-shaped head with a round red eye on its "face" and two spindly arms with claws like Esmeralda's. "Yes, Madam?"
  
  "Show these two to one of the guest bedrooms." Patricia looks to you. "If you want something to eat, there's plenty of food in the kitchen, Sandra. You can help yourself. I've got to go check on my gallery. Margaret's going to be doing a show there in about a week."
  
  "She is?" you ask, surprised.
  
  Patricia looks at you like you're an idiot. "Yes. If you have any questions, ask Jefferson. Just don't bother trying to make conversation with him. He's an early 60's model that my father used to own. Not too bright, and I've never had his circuits upgraded. But he can respond to basic questions and commands."
  
  "Oh, pre-Martian influence then."
  
  "I gotta go." Patricia steps out, leaving you and Esmeralda to get situated.
  
  After Jefferson shows you and Esmeralda to your room, you take a shower and make a sandwich.
  
  Sitting on the kitchen counter and munching on your corn beef and rye, you look to Esmeralda. "The mine isn't far from here, Esse. Maybe you and I should go there."
  
  "We'd probably have to walk," Esmeralda points out.
  
  "I can use the exercise, I'm sure."
  
  "My dear, after all the excitement you've had recently, wouldn't you just like to stay in and get some rest? I've been observing the clouds outside and they seem to be turning dark."
  
  > say "I Need to Check the Mine As Soon As Possible!"
  You and Esmeralda are able to find an umbrella in one of Patricia's closets. Not surprisingly, it's white and you wonder if this woman likes any other color, or maybe if she just thinks she's that angelic. The trip down the elevator takes ten minutes but you and your robot eventually make it to street level. From then on it's just a long trek across several blocks till you two reach the road going east from the city limits. The clouds are getting increasingly dark but the rain doesn't seem to be ready to start falling, fortunately. You and Esmeralda walk on the side of the road, occasionally seeing a car go by.
  
  "I guess it wouldn't be a good idea to hitch a ride, would it?" you ask.
  
  "No, dear," Esmeralda replies.
  
  You sigh. "Yes, Miss Esmeralda, I shouldn't be hitchhiking. How many miles do we have to go, anyway?"
  
  "I'd say about another two. We'll know we're near the mine when we can make out Vulcan's Forge over the treeline. It'll be shrouded in a mist, but I'm sure you can recognize the silhouette of a volcano when you see it."
  
  "Can you just carry me?"
  
  "Why, Sandra? Are you're legs getting tired?"
  
  "They will be soon."
  
  "Very well, dear, but carrying you in my arms will draw undue attention to us."
  
  You chuckle. "At this point, I no longer care."
  
  Esmeralda squats down on her four legs, extending her arms out. You place yourself in their cold, cradling embrace and Esmeralda resumes walking.
  
  After about fifteen minutes of this, you suddenly get an idea. "Esse, how fast can you run?"
  
  "You don't want me to shorten the length of the trip by going at my highest velocity, do you?"
  
  "Of course. You're stronger than a human so it stands to reason you're faster too."
  
  "Oh, very well."
  
  Esmeralda's spider legs pick up in a trotting motion...and you soon discover, to your dismay, that even you could outrun her!
  
  "Oh, damn your lousy design, Esmeralda!" you grouse. "You can't use a ray gun with your claws and you can't run fast with those rickety legs of yours."
  
  "You'd almost think I was made for more academic pursuits."
  
  "Yeah, they just gave you superior strength for the Hell of it."
  
  A lime green car shaped like a torpedo suddenly pulls up from behind you and Esmeralda and stops at your side. The opaque windows roll down and you see a round-faced old man with silver hair, Victorian spectacles, and a handle-bar mustache at the wheel. Riding shotgun is a cute little blond boy who looks like he's ten. The old man looks at you and smiles.
  
  "Hi there!" he says in a Southern accent. "You two doing okay? It's not everyday I see a young girl being carried on the side of the road in a robot's arms."
  
  "Uh," you say, embarrassed, "My robot was just giving me a lift, so to speak."
  
  The old man chuckles in a grandfatherly way. "My, my. At first, I was afraid there'd been an accident...well, either that or that the robots had finally decided to rise up against the Human race. You two need a ride?"
  
  "I don't think that will be necessary," says Esmeralda.
  
  "Okay, then. I was just checking."
  
  The dark windows roll up and the vehicle speeds on ahead.
  
  "Why'd you do that?" you ask. "He seemed nice. And he had his grandson with him."
  
  "You don't know if that's his grandson."
  
  You roll your eyes. "Oh, I forgot. Old men in these parts frequently drive around with their evil dwarf assistants, looking for hapless young girls."
  
  After about forty five minutes travel you finally site the mist-shrouded peak of Vulcan's Forge. Soon you and Esmeralda are at the outskirts of the multi-tiered gorge that is the copper mine. Machines shaped like giant metallic centipedes and dung beetles, their controls operated by men in glass-domed cockpits, send up billowing plumes of smoke as they carve out new layers of bedrock down below. You quickly work your way across the narrow path at ground level till you reach the aluminum shack that serves as the main office.
  
  The tall, handsome black man who sits behind the metal desk wears a foreman badge on his jacket. He recognizes you and asks about your father.
  
  "Um...he's taking a sabbatical right now. I wanted to ask you, though, about a Jay Kelley. I believe he's a foreman here."
  
  "Dear," he says, pointing to the badge, "he no longer holds that position. Didn't your father tell you? Jay resigned several weeks ago. He didn't even give his two weeks notice. Damned foolish decision if you ask me."
  
  "Did he say why?"
  
  The foreman smiles and shakes his head. "Not one word as to why. Pretty strange of him, I must say."
  
  You suddenly have a sinking, dejected feeling inside your chest. You look at the floor and sigh.
  
  "Okay," you finally say. "Well, thanks for you time, anyway."
  
  As you stand and head for the door, the foreman says: "Give your father my regards. We all miss him here."
  
  With a heavy sense of defeat, you lead the way out of the copper mine. Esmeralda willingly carries you back to Virgil. Unfortunately, maybe ten minutes out from the mine, the dark clouds dim to an almost black hue. Soon raindrops begin pelting your head and you're forced to open the umbrella. You're at least happy to learn that it's wide enough to give you and Esmeralda almost complete coverage. But then the winds pick up and the rain begins to slant in from an angle. You're soon soaked. Beyond you, the road ahead is blurred behind a curtain of shimmering gray.
  
  "Oh, Esse," you moan, "I wish you had tried to talk me out of coming all the way out here."
  
  "I did, dear," Esmeralda replies.
  
  The gray landscape is suddenly lighted by two bright white high-beams. A car, which you soon realize is green, comes up to where you and Esmeralda stand. The windows roll down and you see that it's the grandfatherly old man and the little boy. The boy is busy cutting out shapes from a piece of black construction paper with a pair of scissors.
  
  "Well, hello again, you two!" says the old man, his round face pulled into a wide grin. "Me and my nephew, Oliver, were just coming back from a neighboring town where we get him his supplies."
  
  The little boy looks up from his cutting and smiles. "I like to make shadow puppets."
  
  "He sure does. This young man you see before you is a true talent when it comes to the fine art of shadow puppet theater. He's been putting on little plays for the past two years now."
  
  "Sounds interesting," you say.
  
  "But that's not why I stopped just now. Are you folks sure you wouldn't like a lift? We're heading back to Virgil and I'd be more than happy to drop you all off anywhere you want once we get there."
  
  You look into Esmeralda's glowing pink eyes. "It is kind of wet out here, Esse."
  
  > take the Old Man Up on His Generous Offer
  "What the Hell!" you say. "I'd be more than happy to accept a ride from you, Mr...?"
  
  "The name's Andre Hausner. You of course already know the name of my nephew here."
  
  "Hey," says Oliver.
  
  "Im Sandra and this is Esmeralda," you say.
  
  "But come around," says the old man. "The back doors are unlocked so you two can just step inside."
  
  "Come on, Esse," you say, dropping out of your robot's arms and heading for one of the passenger doors.
  
  "I'm not sure about this," says Esmeralda.
  
  "Oh, don't be that way!" You fold the umbrella up, open the door, and slide in.
  
  "Very well," says Esmeralda. She pulls open the other back door and steps in, folding her front legs into her hind to fit.
  
  "And we're off," says Andre Hausner, putting his foot on the accelerator and driving the car forward.
  
  The windshield wipers moan like banshees as the vehicle plies its way through pelting rain.
  
  The continuous wall of gray, combined with the relentless percussion of raindrops on the metal roof, begins to bring your spirits down further. What a wasted day today has been, you think.
  
  "Do you want to see my shadow puppet play?" asks Oliver, looking back at you.
  
  "Um," you reply. "Maybe not today. We've got somewhere we need to be, Esse and me."
  
  "It's The Princess and the Goblin."
  
  "Oh! Well, that's nice. I used to love reading George MacDonald when I was about your age."
  
  "Why not stop by our house and see it, then?" asks Andre. "I'm sure you and your robot wouldn't be getting home any later than if you'd opted to walk in the rain. And I can make you some hot coco, Sandra. I'm sure that'd hit the spot on a day like today."
  
  "Really, we should be getting back."
  
  Oliver pops open the glove compartment and pulls out a dart gun and a small, squarish metal device. Reaching behind him, he jabs the device into Esmeralda's torso. There's an electrical buzzing sound and Esmeralda's pink eyes suddenly go black.
  
  "Now it's your turn," says Oliver, smiling. He points the dart gun at you and pulls the trigger.
  
  You feel a lancing pain as a sharp, quilled dart impales your shoulder.
  
  You try to scream but soon feel woozy and tired...
  
  You groggily come to at the sound of Andre talking with Oliver. The room you are in is a grimy light green. You realize you're on your back and a rubber sheet is under your naked skin. An operating lamp with three blazing bulbs hangs over your head. You attempt to get up but are shocked to realize your whole body is numb and motionless.
  
  "No listen, here, young man," says Andre, "I don't want you screwing this up like you did last time. We can't have the donor feel pain. It's enough that you've got her conscious so she can watch your little play."
  
  "I got to set the screen up so she can see it!" says Oliver. "She said she loves George MacDonald."
  
  "Boy, you ever want to be serious about Anesthesiology? You got to make sure the donor's not going to feel anything."
  
  "I'll make sure she's not feeling pain, Uncle. But let me set up my screen."
  
  "Be quick about it, then."
  
  You wonder where the voices are coming from, but soon a dark head blocks the light from the surgical lamp and you realize it's Andre.
  
  "Sorry about that, my dear," he says, smiling. "Here, let me turn the lights down a bit. Oliver'd never forgive me if you couldn't see his shadow puppets."
  
  He reaches up and adjusts a knob on the lamp and the lights dim till you can make out his grandfatherly visage more clearly. As your eyes adjust to the now-dimmer light, your realize he's wearing a white surgical smock and has a face mask tied just below his chin.
  
  "There," he continues, "that'll make things easier on your eyes, Sandra. Oh, and don't bother trying to talk. You're in a state of paralysis. There'd be no way you could ask me a question even if you wanted to. If you want to know what's going on, though, I'll enlighten you. See, Sandra, I'm a doctor. Retired officially. I was a medic in the Martian Wars back in the day. But the U.S. Space Navy's stipend isn't enough to pay all my bills, you understand. So I figured I could use my skills as a surgeon to fulfill a need."
  
  Oliver comes into view behind Andre. He's struggling to set up what appears to be a large cardboard box with a gray plastic screen on its front. He adjusts it on a raised metal tray near the foot of the operating table you lay on. When he's finished with his adjustments, he turns on a light inside the box and the screen glows with an off-white radiance.
  
  Andrea glances back at his nephew, smiles, and slides the mask over his mouth and nose. "He's a talented little boy, Sandra, but he just needs to make sure he gets his priorities straight. Anyway, you're here so I can harvest your organs. There's a lucrative black market for fresh organs, you see, so I thought I could help fulfill the demand. Oh, and don't worry about your robot; there's a use for her parts too."
  
  Andre pulls up a wheeled tray and starts sorting through scalpels. He takes a particularly large scalpel gingerly in a rubber-gloved hand and holds it above you.
  
  "Now," he continues, placing the scalpel between your breasts and applying pressure, "this shouldn't hurt a bit. Oh, and Oliver looks like he's about ready to start his cute little puppet play."
  
  You feel a sharp, hot pain in your chest.
  
  The glowing plastic screen behind Andre is suddenly filled with silhouettes of squat little goblins cavorting about. Oliver makes funny voices for the goblins as he begins his play.
  
  All the while, you are now in the most excruciating physical pain you've ever felt in your entire life! It feels like the whole inside of your chest is on fire. Just kill me! you think. You want to scream...but nothing will come out of your mouth.
  
  The goblins hop up and down on the screen, oblivious to your suffering.
  
  The End