text: [Themes: sci-fi, LGBT, female protagonist]
  
  You heft the ray rifle in your arms as you lead the way along the trail through the jungle. Esmeralda is right behind you and you're glad. You're also glad you listened to her advice. The thought of that creepy old woman and her giant robot fills you with a cold sense of dread.
  
  The path ahead is less mist-shrouded than earlier in the day, probably as a result of the afternoon sun burning some of it off. You nervously scan the trees but find nothing unusual. You and your robot's footsteps are almost drowned out by the chittering of the insects and the incessant croaking of the frog-bats.
  
  Then suddenly there is a shrieking off to your side.
  
  You stop and look around. "Did you hear that, Esse?"
  
  Esmeralda comes up to your side and surveys the jungle. "Yes, Sandra. It sounded like some sort of animal. It might just be a frog-bat that's been caught by one of the creeper snakes. Best to just ignore it and keep on walking till we get to the boat."
  
  "Okay...I guess...It sure sounded like it was in pain, though." You resume walking.
  
  An ever louder, shriller shriek pierces the air.
  
  You stop again and look off to your right. "It came from that direction. I'm going to go and check it out!" You run off the path and zigzag through a small copse of trees.
  
  "Young Lady!" calls Esmeralda. "You come back here this instant!"
  
  You ignore your tutor's demands as the creature screeches out in pain for a third time. You climb over a fallen log and crouch down at a cluster of bushes in a meadow.
  
  In the middle of the bushes is a kind of crude trap consisting of metal wire strands crisscrossed into a spiderweb pattern. Struggling in the center of the wires is a salamander-cat about the size of a puppy. The membranes that stretch between its for and hind legs have been torn in places on the wires as a result of the creature trying to escape the trap. It looks up at you with its beady reddish eyes and starts mewling pathetically. The poor thing looks like its crying.
  
  "Young Lady!"
  
  You jump at the sound of Esmeralda's voice behind you. "Don't sneak up on me like that, Esmeralda!"
  
  "We need to go. Now."
  
  You look back at the salamander-cat struggling in the sharp metal wires of the trap. "This poor animal's struggles to escape are destroying its membranes! We can't just leave it here, Esse. I bet you Mama Helena and her lousy robot set this trap."
  
  "All the more reason for us to get away from this island."
  
  The salamander-cat looks up at you with a sad face that's somewhere between that of a toad and a rhesus monkey. It's eyes are watering with tears.
  
  "I can't just leave it here, Esmeralda."
  
  "Mama Helena probably eats these creatures all the time, dear. Its webbing is torn, anyway. Do you think it'll last long in the wild if you set it free?"
  
  There's a loud roaring sound nearby. It almost sounds like a helicopter.
  
  You and Esmeralda look back in the direction from where you came. There, rising from a cluster of trees, is Chaucer. He's hovering in the air with the aid of a auto gyro rotor above his head. He rises higher into the sky till he's at the level of the treetops, then he begins descending at an angle...in your direction.
  
  "When the Hell could Chaucer fly?" you ask. "Where did that rotor blade come from?"
  
  "Apparently, the robot has retractable gear. Let's not stand here speculating about it, though. We must leave now!"
  
  You're inclined to agree with Esmeralda. But you look down at the pathetic salamander-cat struggling in the trap and wonder if you just couldn't free it first.
  
  > say "We've Got a Little Time Before Chaucer Reaches Us and I've Got a Ray Gun. I'm Saving This Creature!"
  You nervously glance back at the approaching Chaucer before you fall to you knees and stick your hand into the sharp wires of the trap. A stabbing pain makes you immediately pull back a now-bleeding hand.
  
  "Here!" says Esmeralda. "If you insist on freeing that creature, I'll help." She crouches on her metal haunches and reaches an arm into the trap. Her steel claws quickly snip the wires . She then gently removes the salamander-cat and stands up and looks at you. "We're seriously pressed for time, my dear! Use your ray rifle on Chaucer this very instant."
  
  You turn around to face the descending robot, point your rifle at his head, and fire. A bright blue beam of energy hits Chaucer in the face. The robot swerves in a leftward curve to get out of range of your gun.
  
  "That's not going to hold Chaucer for long," continues Esmeralda. "Let's run."
  
  You see little to argue with there and start running for the path, Esmeralda, now cradling the injured salamander-cat in her metal arms, right behind you. You briefly glance back and see Chaucer is flying around in a series of random arcs, obviously still dazed at being hit in his photo-cell eyes. But you also note all the burn marks peppering his body and realize he's probably had many confrontations with armed humans and always come out on top. You and Esmeralda press on, taking advantage of situation for as long as it lasts.
  
  The salamander-cat in Esmeralda's arms starts screeching out a strange call that for all world sounds like an old police siren.
  
  "Esse, why's he --or she -- making that noise?" you yell over the den of the little creature.
  
  "Never mind that," replies Esmeralda. "Just keep running till we reach the boat."
  
  You decide it's best to head your robot's advice, but the injured salamander-cat's siren-like wailing is becoming maddening. To your shock, the salamander-cats up in the trees suddenly begin to return their comrade's calls with a similar screeching, which soon drowns out the croaking of the frog-bats. It all starts to build to a crescendo as more salamander-cats add their voices to the chorus. (You wish you could drop your rifle and slap your hands to your ears, it's getting so noisy).
  
  Finally, you and Esmeralda make it to the shore and the welcome sight of your crude boat.
  
  "I never thought I'd be happy to see this miserable skiff again!" you yell over the screeching salamander-cats.
  
  "Just get in," says Esmeralda. "Here." She hands you the salamander-cat, which you awkwardly drape across one shoulder, as you're reluctant to let go your ray rifle.
  
  To your chagrin, the little creature persists in calling out shrilly, now in the vicinity of your left ear.
  
  Esmeralda steps into the boat and uses to the crude wooden oar to put the craft into the waters. She quickly rows till the slim coast recedes to a ribbon-like outline around the island.
  
  You try to shush your injured salamander-cat, but it persists in making its siren call, which its compatriots still on the island insist on responding to. You also notice your hand is getting blood all over the front of your dress. You open your suitcase, fish out a white stocking with your good hand, and wrap the garment around the injured hand. "Hey," you tell the screeching salamander-cat, "we saved your life, little one. Could you be a dear and show us some appreciation by shutting up?"
  
  The salamander-cat persists in its shrill call, and you suddenly feel a headache coming on.
  
  Esmeralda has managed to row the skiff away from the island, which is now moving off to the side.
  
  "Glad we're away from that place," you say. "Too bad this creature's membranes are damaged. I'm beginning to wish it could just hop off the boat and swim away. Maybe I should put my fingers in my ears."
  
  "No," says Esmeralda, "keep your hands on your rifle. I hear Chaucer's rotor. He's coming this way."
  
  > Final Showdown
  "What do we do, Esmeralda?" you ask. "We're out in the middle of the water. Chaucer could just swoop down on us and pick us off."
  
  "My dear, I suggest we row to the shore of the Malayavich River. That way we could at least have the cover of trees."
  
  "Good, idea, Esse. If you could just row us in the right direction..."
  
  "I'm doing that as we speak." Esmeralda's strokes become firmer and faster and soon you see that the boat is almost hugging the shore.
  
  Soon your skiff makes land and you and Esmeralda scurry into the jungle. The salamander-cat is driving you crazy with its persistent screech call and you look to Esmeralda. "Do you think I should just let this little one lose here, Esse?"
  
  Esmeralda glances at the salamander-cat clinging to your shoulder. "It's peculiar call doesn't distract me, but I understand how you humans might find that noise unnerving. I leave that decision to you, Sandra. But I don't think the creature will survive long on its own in the wild. Not with its membranes torn as they are."
  
  You look into the salamander-cat's beady red eyes and see a forlorn expression on its face. "No, I can't leave it to its own devices, Esse. I'm taking it with us. I just wish it'd give its lungs a rest."
  
  Esmeralda recommends the two of you find a dense cluster of foliage to hide yourselves in. You agree and follow her as she leads the way. Soon she finds a dense copse of trees surrounding a small meadow overgrown with tall, tall grass and you and she crouch down among the long, green blades and wait for Chaucer. You hold your ray rifle to you and scan the open spaces between the leafy treetops.
  
  The jungle starts swelling with the siren calls of the salamander-cats and you nervously consider the possibility that your salamander-cat's whining will give you and Esmeralda's hiding place away. After a while, the ululation of the creatures becomes almost hypnotic and you begin to feel a deep exhaustion setting in.
  
  But then you hear what sounds like the chopping sounds of a helicopter blade, and you know Chaucer is near. The leaves ripple and the tree branches sway as the evil robot hovers into view. He circles overhead, apparently not yet aware of you and Esmeralda's presence. Than his golden eyes darken in hue and he swoops down out of the sky.
  
  In desperation you fire your ray pistol up at him and a blue beam slashes across his carapace front, leaving a black streak on his metal hide and the smell of burnt ozone in the air.
  
  Chaucer aims one of his arms down at you and Esmeralda. That's when you realize the arm ends not in a pair of claws, but the barrel of a ray gun.
  
  The salamander-cats explode in a cacophonous chittering and then suddenly they all leap into the air from the tree branches they'd been hiding in, gliding on their membranes like flying squirrels, and swarming over Chaucer like a dark cloud. Sticks begin falling from above, several of them bouncing off you and Esmeralda's heads. To your shock, you realize the creatures are bombarding Chaucer. There is a loud sputtering sound as the fallen sticks get caught in Chaucer's rotor blades. The robot's rotor cuts out suddenly and Chaucer plummets thirty feet before slamming into the ground. There's a burst of orange light as the whole side of his body explodes, spraying shards of hot metal in all directions.
  
  Esmeralda tries her best to shield you with her metal bulk, but your arms and legs flinch at the touch of smoldering steel shrapnel.
  
  It's another five minutes before Esmeralda disentangles herself from you and you slowly stand. But for the sound of smoldering of flames, the area has become deathly silent. Even your salamander-cat has grown mute. Your arms sting from all the debris as you step to the center of the meadow.
  
  There lie the remains of Mama Helena's killer machine. The side of Chaucer that impacted the ground has blown off, leaving a large jagged hole exposing his guts. Beyond the flickering wires inside his body is a plastic tank leaking a dark green foamy liquid. And beyond that, held in a kind of fetal position by metal braces, is the shriveled, burnt form of a man!
  
  You step up closer and see that he has a mangled, desiccated face with tubes running into one nostril. His eyes turn out to be yellowish puss oozing out of raw, red sockets. You notice there are cables and wires running into his skull.
  
  "Esmeralda," you ask, "is that really a man in there?" You look to your robot who scuttles to your side.
  
  "I'm afraid so, Sandra."
  
  Exhaustion suddenly sets in and you wonder how you could feel so sapped of energy. Then a wave of dizziness washes through your skull. You fall to your knees. Eyelids heavy and breath labored, you still manage to ask one more question. "Did...did Mama Helena actually put Father Chaucer's body inside her robot?"
  
  "No, my dear. Father Chaucer was the robot."
  
  > At the Ursuline Academy
  You open your eyes at the caressing touch of a soft hand on your brow. Margaret Sullivan, brownish-ginger locks outlining her bubbly Irish features, smiles down at you. You sit up and look around. You're on a bed in a dorm room. Margaret sits on the edge of the bed in a blue blazer and matching skirt. Behind her, an arched window frames a view of the circular fountain in the central courtyard of the Ursuline Academy.
  
  "Margaret...how did I get here?" you ask.
  
  Margaret gently laughs. "I'd think that would be pretty obvious to you. Esmeralda, your robot, brought you. She came up to me when I was in chapel and told me you were here, so I figured I actually had a legitimate reason to play hooky today. She's out, but she should be back soon. She went back to your boat to get your things."
  
  "Do you know what happened to me?"
  
  Margaret gives you a compassionate frown and places a hand on your shoulder. "Yes. Esmeralda told me everything. Sandra, I'm so sorry about your parents. That must have been a terrible experience."
  
  "Yes." You swing your legs off the bed and let them hang over the side. "It was one of the worst experiences of my life. But what I meant was why did I pass out? Did Esse tell you about Mama Helena and Chaucer?"
  
  "Oh, yes. She told me everything. She'd considered taking you directly to the nurse's office to have your wounds tended to, but she figured you'd want to talk to me first. I went ahead and used a wet washcloth to clean your wounds. I also used an antibiotic and some bandages I keep for when I get any scrapes or scratches when I go exploring the wilderness around the school."
  
  "Huh, I'm surprised my robot didn't just take me straight to the nurse. Guess she was actually trying to respect my wishes for a change."
  
  "As to how or why you passed out...Esmeralda thinks that Mama Helena woman put something in your tea. Obviously not to poison you, but simply to incapacitate you."
  
  "Of course she wouldn't want to put any toxins in my body. That'd spoil the meat."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Esse didn't tell you? We found a human bone that had cuts in it. You know, like what you'd expect if that crazy old woman was butchering human corpses to eat them."
  
  Margaret's eyes widen. "Wow! I know she said something about Chaucer. That he'd been a priest here. Years ago. There were always stories about Father Gerald and his disappearance. What Esmeralda told me, though...that's just insane."
  
  You glance around. "Hey, Margaret, did Esmeralda have a salamander-cat with her? I saved him from one of Mama Helena's traps and--"
  
  "Yes," Margaret interrupts, smiling. She gets up from the bed and steps into the bathroom. When she returns, she's cradling your salamander-cat in her arms. It's wrapped in a towel like a swaddling infant and it's leg membranes are covered in bandages secured with surgical tape. "Here you go!" She hands the little creature to you.
  
  You cuddle the salamander-cat and smile down at it. "You fixed it up. Thanks."
  
  Margaret sits beside you. "It's a he. I checked. Esmeralda said that this little guy saved you two's lives."
  
  "With a little help from his friends. You know, these creatures must be more intelligent than we'd initially given them credit for being. How else would they have know how to disable a flying robot? Well, maybe robot's not the right word. Anyway, I should give this little fella a name."
  
  "Something heroic."
  
  "I'm going to call him Periwinkle."
  
  "Ooh, there's a name that will have villains quaking in their boots!"
  
  "No need for sarcasm, Margaret." You look down into Periwinkle's glistening red eyes, then up at Margaret. "You know, I missed you. I thought I'd come here to see if you could help me."
  
  Margaret laughs under her breath, staring down at the wooden floor. "You want me to pick up a ray gun and help you finish off the people responsible for...Well, you know. If you missed me so much, why didn't you even say goodby to me before you left?"
  
  You sigh and place a hand on her shoulder. "I wanted to, Margaret. Believe, I did. But Xavier, our butler, came in my father's auto gyro and spirited me away before I could even get a chance. It wasn't my choosing. It was maybe three hours after my last confessional with Father Michael that he came."
  
  Margaret looks into your eyes. "What did you tell Father Michael? Was it about us?"
  
  "No! I don't think you'd still be here if that were the case. Just that I liked girls instead of boys. I would never implicate you in a confession. Apparently, he didn't respect confessional confidentiality."
  
  "Don't worry. He's not here anymore. The higher ups in the Church moved him out pretty fast after a nun complained about him."
  
  "For what?"
  
  "He had tried to force himself on her."
  
  "Good Lord! Well, I guess he certainly was no one to criticize me, then."
  
  "I think they just reassigned him to another parish. They certainly don't won't any bad publicity. But, Sandra, why did you confess to Father Michael, anyway? Do you think what you feel is a sin?"
  
  You chuckle humorlessly. "No. I mean, I don't think it is. It's my upbringing. Guilty conscience. I suppose that's why I'm out here trying to avenge my parents."
  
  Margaret grips your arm. "You should seriously just consider reporting all this to the proper authorities, Sandra. You're a sixteen-year-old girl; you don't need to be doing this. It's dangerous."
  
  "It is. By the way, I suppose there's no way I can stay here?"
  
  Margaret grins. "Pretty sure my roommates wouldn't take kindly to me harboring a fugitive, no. But I think there is someone nearby you and Esmeralda can stay with. At least for the the time being."
  
  "Really? Who?"
  
  "My girlfriend."
  
  "What?" Your skin prickles and your blood courses hot through your veins, but you take a slow, deep breath and try to maintain your composure. "Well, I see you've moved on, then. I'm...happy for you. But wouldn't her parents object to her taking in a young lodger and and a robot?"
  
  Margaret laughs. "That's not likely. She's in her thirties."
  
  > Less-Than-Ideal Accomadations
  The prospect of living indefinitely with Margaret's new girlfriend hardly fills your heart with joy, but you realize there'd be no place for you at the Ursuline Academy, short of you telling the nuns what happened to your parents and pleading for sanctuary--which would surely mean they'd contact the authorities and end your mission of vengeance. So you swallow your pride and let Margaret contact her significant other, a woman by the name of Patricia Brightman, an art dealer and gallery owner living in the neighboring city of Virgil. It's around 5:30 in the afternoon that Patricia shows up. She's tall and gaunt and wears her chestnut-brown hair back in a pony tail and is dressed entirely in white: dress, jacket, gloves, and high-healed shoes. Margaret had said she was in her thirties, but she almost looks like she's at least forty-five.
  
  "So," Patricia says taking your hand, "you're the little scoundrel who's gone ahead and taken the law into her own hands."
  
  "My parents were murdered. I was perfectly within my rights to defend the homestead and kill the invaders responsible."
  
  Patricia smirks. "This isn't the Wild West, girl. If it wasn't for Margaret begging me not to, I would have called the authorities before even coming down here."
  
  You quickly pull your hand from hers. "They attacked our home and killed my mother and father and were in the process of robbing us. It's obvious I had to do something."
  
  Margaret intercedes. "Now, let's not start off on a bad foot. Patricia, Sandra has been through Hell and needs some time to sort things out. I'm sure she'll contact the authorities herself when she feels the time is right. Right now, she's just being a bit of an amateur sleuth in the hope of following up on some leads that I'm sure will be of great help to the Law when she does get in touch with them."
  
  Patricia smiles good-naturedly. "We shall see. Very well, Miss Sandra. You and your robot can follow me out to my car and I'll take the two of you with me to Virgil. I do need to let you know, though, that only the first night at my apartment will be free. After that, you'll need to come up with some means of payment if you're going to continue staying with me. I'm sure, given your background, that won't be an issue."
  
  "Um," you say, "I really don't have any cash or checks on my person. All I was able to find in my father's safe were his gold coins. But I'm sure they're collectables and must be worth something."
  
  "They are," says Esmeralda.
  
  "Oh, Esse? What do you know?"
  
  "Only that they would fetch a good price on the rare coins market."
  
  "Well," says Patricia, "If that's the case, I can show them to a coin dealer I know and then split the difference with you."
  
  Everything seems settled until you grab up Periwinkle in his blankets and hold him up to Patricia. "We need to bring him too. He saved me and Esmeralda on our way over here. Now his membranes are damaged and he needs our help."
  
  Patricia frowns down at the creature. "What is that thing? A frog-bat?"
  
  "No! He's a salamander-cat. Frog-bats look like amphibian bats. Salamander-cats are more like amphibian flying squirrels."
  
  "Well, whatever it is, it's ugly and wild and I don't want it in my apartment. It can't possibly be house-broken, so it's bound to shit all over my carpet and upholstery. You should return it to the wild where it belongs."
  
  You hug the creature to you. "We can't release him into the wild. He'll die. He's permanently maimed. He can't swim or glide from tree-branches anymore. A predator would most-likely kill him."
  
  Patricia scowls. "If it's like a squirrel than it can run up a tree. And I'm not letting you bring it into my apartment and that's final!"
  
  Margaret comes up to your side and takes Periwinkle from you. "Sandra, I'll just put him among the hedges where Esmeralda first placed you when she got to the academy. I promise to check on him twice a day and bring him food and water."
  
  You stare down at the tiles of the floor and slowly exhale. "Okay, then. Thank you, Margaret. Esse, let's go."
  
  > Considering of Options
  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."
  
  > take Esmeralda's Advice and Rest Up
  You take a shower and then lay down on your bed, thinking it will probably take a while for you to lose consciousness. You open your eyes. It's darker than you remember and there's a low rustling sound outside your room. You get dressed and step through your bedroom door and walk out into the hall. Through the ribbon window you can see the sky is now a dark indigo. Rivulets of water drip down the glass pane and sheets of rain sway like layers of gossamer between the mist-shrouded skyscrapers.
  
  You quickly go through the penthouse till you find Esmeralda in the living room. She is holding a large coffee table book open in her arms and turning the pages.
  
  "Esse," you say, "it looks like you were right to discourage me from going on my quest to the copper mine. Hey, what's that you're reading?"
  
  "It's a book on rare coins," says Esmeralda. "I think I recognize one of these gold coins as the kind that you took out of your father's safe."
  
  "Oh? What's the book say about the coin?"
  
  "1907 Indian Head Ten dollar Gold Coin. They have real gold. It says here that each should fetch a price of a few million dollars."
  
  "Oh, wow! That should definitely fund our mission."
  
  "Maybe you could afford the services of a private investigator. Then you wouldn't have to be going out and risking your own life so needlessly."
  
  "Esse, you're not human, so you can't possibly understand the importance of family. I've got to do this."
  
  "Dear, I understand the importance of family a lot better than you realize. I've been your tutor and your companion for years now. And I was always close to your parents."
  
  It's several more hours before Patricia gets back.
  
  When she steps in, you run up to her. "I just found out some great news, Patricia! Well, it was my robot who discovered it. But, anyway, the gold coins I gave you..."
  
  "Yes," says Patricia. "You'll be happy to know I was able to go to a coin specialist after I finished at the gallery. He bought the coins off of me." She pulls a wad of dollar bills out of her purse and hands them to you. "Here's your half."
  
  You take the money from her and count it. To your dismay, you find that there are only seven hundred dollar bills.
  
  "Um, I think there must be some mistake," you finally say.
  
  "No mistake. He's a respected expert on rare coins. I've worked with him before. Here, I'll get Jefferson to make us dinner."
  
  Patricia walks off.
  
  Your whole body goes cold.
  
  Esmeralda sets the book down on a table and steps up to you. "Are you all right, my dear?"
  
  "She robbed me."
  
  > Periwinkle
  The green woman with the vine hair is pounding her fist on the worm creature's front row of fangs as it devours her feet first. The creature itself is snaking off of a giant gray hand whose other "fingers" chew on blue, red, and golden children.
  
  "Well," you say to Esmeralda, "it seems Margaret's love of the morbid and bizarre hasn't diminished any."
  
  The two of you are standing in a long green hall with blue carpeting on the floor and Margaret's paintings lining the walls. The roof above your heads is a segmented skylight with palm fronds swaying above the glass panes.
  
  "I'm assuming these paintings are an attempt at Surrealism," Esmeralda suggests.
  
  "Yeah, she'd been working on an illustrated dream journal when I was still a student at Ursuline. Guess she's got some skeletons of her own locked away in the cellar. Would you say she's closer to Max Ernst of Salvador Dali?"
  
  "I'd say Ernst."
  
  "Well, maybe that's for the best. My paternal grandfather'd always told me Dali liked Franco."
  
  "Yes, I remember. The fascists were why he'd left Spain."
  
  "I hope they get back soon. I want to ask Margaret if she'd be willing to come back with us to Lozano's Island."
  
  "May I ask, Sandra, how she could be of help if she did? She's still in school right now. I doubt she'd be willing to spend days in a small skiff being tossed by waves."
  
  "Semester Break is coming soon, though. She'll have more time in a few weeks. Besides, that lecherous woman she's with might be able to get us some faster transportation. It's the least Patricia could do after short-changing me on my dad's coins."
  
  You step over to another painting. A powder blue baby with an enlarged cranium seems to be wailing a silent scream as the top of its bald head hinges open like a trapdoor and a shriveled old man with blood-shot eyes and a wicked grin climbs out.
  
  "Wow!" you add. "I almost think Margaret needs more help than I do. What is with these creepy images? She actually dreams these things?"
  
  Esmeralda cocks her metal head at an angle. "Sandra, I think you'll want to save the rest of this conversation for latter. I hear a car pulling up and it sounds like Patricia's."
  
  "Oh, well then I guess I should save any snide comments about Miss Brightman for another time."
  
  "Good behavior is the order of the day."
  
  Soon Patricia (attired in all white) steps in, a rather forlorn-looking Margaret slowly following. Margaret is wearing a sunny blue dress with flowers, but her frowning face is turned down. Then you notice a white towel bundled in her arms.
  
  She sees you, steps passed Patricia, and holds the bundle up to you.
  
  "Sandra," she says in a sobbing voice, "I'm sorry to tell you this...but Periwinkle..."
  
  "What is it?" you ask, coming up to her and looking down at the towel in her arms.
  
  Wrapped like a swaddling babe is Periwinkle. His eyes are closed and he seems very, very still.
  
  "Oh, my God..." you continue. "He-he's not..."
  
  Tears fill Margaret's eyes as she nods ascent. "It was the thunderstorm we had yesterday. I was stuck in my last class when it happened. I'm sorry. I should have made an excuse to leave so I could check on him. When I did get out, he was like this." She wipes her eyes with the back of one hand. "I thought that sense he was an amphibian, he could handle some rain. Please forgive me."
  
  You take the bundle from her arms and stare into Periwinkle's little face. "No, don't blame yourself, Margaret." You glare at Patricia, who gives you a stony look. "You weren't the one who wouldn't let him have better accommodations."
  
  "It's unfortunate," says Patricia, "but your pet wouldn't have faired any better if you'd left it in the wild."
  
  You feel your face turn hot. Beneath the towel, one of your hands clenches into a fist.
  
  > hit Patricia
  You turn to Esmeralda and hand her Periwinkle's remains. "Can you hold him for a minute?"
  
  "Yes, dear," she says, taking the swaddled, dead salamander-cat in her claws.
  
  "Thanks." You turn back to Patricia. "This is for Periwinkle."
  
  You swing your arm and land your fist on the side of Patricia's head. She recoils from the blow, gasping.
  
  Margaret screams. "What are you doing, Sandra?"
  
  You glance at your ex-girlfriend. "What I should have done yesterday."
  
  "Sandra," says Esmeralda, "you stop this vile behavior at once!"
  
  "In a moment, robot."
  
  Patricia is holding the side of her cheek with one hand and staring at you with shocked, angry eyes. "How dare you, little girl!"
  
  "Little girl?" you say, chuckling dryly. "I'm the same age as Margaret here."
  
  You slap Patricia full across the mouth, sending her tumbling to the floor.
  
  "And that," you continue, "is for dating a minor, you old pervert!"
  
  Margaret grabs your shoulders and pulls you away from Patricia. "Sandra, stop it! You're not making things any better!"
  
  "Here, Margaret," says Esmeralda, handing Periwinkle's body to the girl. Your tutor looks to you with blazing red eyes. "I cannot allow this madness to continue, Sandra."
  
  A cold metal claw clamps onto your arm and tugs you off your feet. You skid your knees on the carpet and then feel your chest crushed in a viselike grip. You realize that Esmeralda's arm is now wrapped around your torso.
  
  "Let me go, Esmeralda!" you scream.
  
  "I'm sorry to tell you that your quest for vengeance ends today," she replies.
  
  Patricia slowly stands and looks at you with utter contempt. "Well, you little criminal. You've just messed with the wrong person. Hope you like staring at bars, dear. And Virgil has their own police; we're not like all the hick Venusian towns that have to wait for the Marshal to show up. I'm going to go make a call now."
  
  She walks off.
  
  "Esmeralda," you say, "release me. I need to go."
  
  "No," says Esmeralda, her steel arm still clamped over your ribs, "I can't let you get yourself into any more trouble, Sandra."
  
  Margaret takes Periwinkle's remains and leaves.
  
  You feel your heart sink. You haven't felt this alone since that horrible day on Lozano's Island. You close your eyes, wishing this was all just a nightmare from which you could wake.
  
  The End