Table of Contents

1. ALIEN - book length - entered January 8 to 24, 2005. A space alien is exiled to Earth, taking over the body of an Afghan-Canadian woman in a state of clinically dead. The two sides of the personality, Afghan and Alien, then duke it out for dominance amidst a backdrop of misadventures.

2. GREEN LAKE - novella length - December 2 to 11, 2004. Adventures of an Afghan-American US Air Force officer 1,000 years in the future.

3. TIME CORPS - book - October 27 to November 22. A young woman of today is thrust 10,000 years into the future. Her struggles to cope are both personal and professional.

4. ROMANCE - short story - October 13 to 16. Set aboard a space ship.

5. JAMILA - novella - October 1 to 9. Lily, a total outcast, decides to end it. Two surprise visitors, one an Afghan, change all that.

6. DARK CHRONICLES OF NOORIA - book - August 30 to September 29. Say hello to Nora, a sweet 10-year-old from the Lilac Valley Indian Reserve. Get to know her through several episodes. Then come along for the ride as she plunges (as an Afghan) into a chilling nightmare, a surreal Dantesque horror that no one on Earth deserves, no matter how bad. Don't read this before sleeping.

7. IRIS - short story - August 26 to 28. An Irishwoman joins a contingent of Afghans, through time travel.

8. FARZANA - novella - August 11 to 25. A 10-year-old white Canadian girl freezed to death in a savage blizzard, gets a second chance at life as a 10-y-o Afghan.

9. SOAP (OPERA) - book - July 26 to August 10. Imagine just how eccentric and marginal a number of foreigners can be. Join them, there is nobody "normal" in this story, as the long-suffering Afghans discover.

10. VIGNETTES - short short story length - mostly published July 24, 2004 and prior, mostly under 1,500 words.

This is a work of imagination, along the lines of historical fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It is not autobiographical. Certain historical events did occur, similar to how described here, but not with the characters named herein. As for any friends who think they see themselves portrayed, it just is not so.

Profanity - sometimes unavoidable in military situations, stars *** used.
Violence - minimal and necessary to story line.
Sex - adult relationships alluded to, some pick up activity, no sex scenes.

This blog is neither for nor against any political party, religion or ethnic group. Sole purpose is entertainment.

Alien 16

My 2-i-c slides next to me, "so he hit on you!"
"Yes."
"And?"
"I like him, we exchanged e-mail addresses."
"I suggest you hang on for dear life. Better than 99% of what floats through speed dating."
"You're preaching to the choir."
She laughs, I join in.

After 3 e-mails, the roof caves in. He's the lead story on the web. Mega-airport contractor gave him a quarter billion dollar kickback. Prime Minister and contractor are in jail, some 25 filing cabinets full of evidence against them.
I groan. What is this thing about men? Why am I so star-crossed? He seemed like a decent chap, had me totally taken in, must be charisma.
In despair, I glance at the calendar. All too soon, back to speed dating.

To make matters worse, by now the Gorgons are barely hanging on by their fingernails. They've truly had it with soaking heat, bugs, deadly boredom. By now, the Guyane Prime Minister has safely passed the rest of the balanced-budget legislation. Loans are paid off, bank accounts fattened.
The girls are going stir-crazy. Lotta drunken incidents. Three stabbings in one weekend, drunken arguments. The Guyane Police arrest some 5 dozen in a rum-bar brawl, turn them over to me. By now, cells are full with more serious cases, so I put the lot on things like KP.
As the calendar crawls with the speed of molasses in January at the North Pole, I realize I'm 3 days to end of tour, to handing over to the Behemoth Highlanders who will relieve us.
Just one more police meeting. The long-winded officer is off on vacation, so we wind up one hour and ten minutes early.
Cheerfully I set out for a good browse at the newsstand. But I never get there.
I see the same familiar girl of 8 with the same pistol. This time though, it goes off, with the trademark sound of a beamer. I black out.

Gradually I come awake. Looking around, this would be the AAW sickbay in Peshawar, Earthside. Oy!
Later in the day, Nilofar and Amira come to visit.
Nilofar grins awkwardly, "scared the daylights outa us, yes you did. Just fell asleep over a big mountain of paper. More like hibernation. Couldn't wake you up. Have wierd dreams?"
"That would qualify as understatement of the year."
Amira lowers her voice, "you mean, bout your planet."
"I was only joking, I'm an Earthling."
"No way, you were talking in some pretty strange language. Between the staff here, we know em all. Didn't resemble nothing."
"Fever talk."
"Nope, far too regular for that. You are the alien," statement of fact, not a question.
"So, what next, report me? Shoot me?"
"Heavens no, we like you, you're one of us. Covered for you. One of the girls swore up and down you were talking in Armenian."
I laugh.
"Rest, couple days we go back to school."

We hitch a ride with some foreign NGO women in a Hummer. The girls are quiet and subdued. Soon as we exit, it turns to frivolity.
Amira grins, "reckon you gotta lotta good stories."
"Yep."
"We-ell?"
"Later. Wolves in these parts. Let's haul ass, story time tonight."
We gather our bags, start.
Nilofar gasps, touches my shoulder, "what's this? Wasn't there a moment ago."
"Para patch and Gorgon regimental flash."
"Cool, and this?"
"Col insignia."
"You had what 2 battalions?"
"Three. Riots and such. Let's roll. Tell you later."

I watch my class file in for first day. In electroshock, my eye fastens on that same girl.
"You, up front."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell me what happened, quick."
"They stole you. We wanted you back. Drew names, I got the mission."
I whistle softly, then "class, welcome back from holidays."

Alien 15

The foot misery has a silver lining. By the time we take up station, nary a soul feels like resisting my health regime.
I book an appointment with the MO, along on the tour, regimental. With barely concealed contempt, she hears me out, "Col (emphasis), you just do not understand my position. Yes I gave you a break last time, due to the tragedy in your life. You got it made now, promo. And do you have any concept just how much that rescue of you from Earth cost? Think national budget of Guyane."
I blush.
"Don't think you can waltz in, seek an escape from your duty as a citizen. Ever read news? Even our Prime Minister is in speed dating. No one is above the law."
Ouch!
"Look on the bright side, maybe this time you find a peach instead of a lemon."
Yeah, pal, I think, don't ever come asking for favors from me.
"Why not just sit down, call up the speed dating website?"
"Don't hafta til I get back. Any luck, our tour is extended. You'd see a lotta feet."
Laugh, "now get off that lazy ass and find a boyfriend. Everyone else seems to manage.
I find a quiet corner, sip tea, ponder. What really hurts is she is right.
My 2-i-c sits, "heard the rumor?"
"Which? Gotta be a hundred."
"Tour is being lengthened, from 6 months to a year. Show of support to our Guyane allies and friends."
I laugh at the rich irony.
"Guyane Prime Minister herself asked for it. She ah has some rather difficult budget legislation to do yet. Feels more comfy with us around."
"Get it offa site? Or just heard?"
"Just rumor, not on a site."
Would that be cool revenge on the MO!
An hour later, it hits the web, in the interest of comradely aid blah blah.
MO stands behind me in the cafeteria line, "you have more influence than I thought. Still, I'm not backing down, no exemption even if you drag this tour out to 5 years. Hope you know what you're doing Col. Any extended tours usually lead to more psy problems. You'd hafta use that influence to get us another six-pack of counsellors."
"Rather hard to obtain. Perhaps you could dust off a few med school books."
"You are a pig! Swine! Disgrace to uniform. If duelling were still allowed, I'd call you out on the field of honor."
"The world has moved along from those days. Would it help if I told you I had no part in getting it extended?"
"To the word pig, we can add 'liar'. I wanna transfer outa this regiment."
"Granted, soon as I get a replacement."

MO's parting shot was pure spite, spread the rumor I personally was responsible. Only it backfired. See, 3/4 of the girls on this gig are on the ragged edge of bankruptcy. This tour has now been defined a red zone, triple pay, because of the riots. Previous tours, all you got was a cigarette allowance.
Everywhere I go, it is to a hero's welcome. My RSM (Regimental Sgt-Maj) hugs me, "thank you Col, get back, I buy that new car."
Our new MO is mega-happy to be here, large student loan.
When we need 2 more counsellors, it proves easy to find.

I am notified I will be decorated, Order of Merit, on the recommendation of the Guyane PM. She's rather impressed I pulled it off without shooting. That's not the way the Empire usually handles riots. Pleased as punch there were no more deaths, she also demanded the Gorgons get a unit citation.

Over 90% of my various forces have Class A passes, entitling them to be offbase any time they are not on duty. Some specialties, you just cannot allow. And I do not like my odds of getting any respect if I give myself a Class A when some of my girls can't get it.
They know we hafta put on a good show. So, if they do get stinko and beat the tar outa each other, they are careful to do so on base. Passes are for things like ice cream, picnics, shopping, breeze by the seawall and the like.
So, the only time I'm away is visiting my various contingents and meetings. Weekly I must show at the Guyane Police committe meeting. I have no authority, simply liaison so the 2 forces don't trip on each other's feet.
My driver drops me at GPHQ, then heads out on other errands. As it happens, the notoriously long-winded officer is away ill, so we conclude almost an hour early.
There's a newsstand a block away. I take out a shawl, reasoning it covers my shoulder rank markings.
Just before I get there, a young girl, maybe eight, points a toy blaster at me and says, "bang."
I grin, wave, enter the store. Somehow her face looks familiar, but I soon forget that. See, after 2 tours here, lotta faces look familiar, the capital city is only a large town.
I choose the current issue of Caribbean Contact. Do not let the pulpy paper nor the fact it is published by the Caribbean Council of Churches throw you off. It has the best newsmagazine style writing in the region, giving depth to shallow web stories.
Even pulpier paper and smelly ink, The Worker, the Opposition paper.
Womens Era from our India, fun fabulous stories, a hoot.
Canefield, the publication of the sugarworkers union.
Checking my watch, I still have time. In our world, novellas rule, mostly, 60 to 100 pages. After all, people are busy. I choose 2 pulpies published in Guyane and head for the cashier.
A minute later, I'm back at the gate of GPHQ. The guard says cheerfully, "Col, I would advise to skip the shawl. Only brought attention to yourself. See there's endless different people with endless different rank symbols floating around. You would only be noticeable if you were white."
"Thank you for your kind advice."
"If you want something, wear a straw hat. You'd be just totally invisible in that crowd."
My driver pulls up, I catch a ride back with 2 officers coming back from another meeting.
A young Lt grins, "looks pretty lurid and pulpy, Col."
I laugh, "my eyes are tired of memos, needed a change."
Laughs.
"All the same, next time might want to take a bag. We are supposed to appear prim and proper."
"Read you five by five. Wilco."
"Is this one fab tour or what! Paid off my student loan, half of my car loan. Is it true you extended it?"
"Come on, that's only a rumor. Field commanders don't make those decisions, generals and politicians do."
"But you did, in an indirect way. Fact the Guyane PM was so hugely impressed with the Gorgons. Impatient to get back?"
"Nope, speed dating awaits."
"I hear you. Bites bigtime. Government should shut it down."

Because the novellas had less lurid covers than those back home, I was misled into believing they might have some - gasp - plot and less - gasp - sex. I soon discover the only difference is the skin color of the book characters. Presumably the more sober covers are a sop to the large and devout religious population here.
About once a fortnight, I manage my little getaway, buy papers, but no more novellas.
I get e-mail, our Prime Minister is coming. My thoughts go berserk. Is he one of those sticklers? The paint-every-rock-white variety?
As I re-read and reflect, I realize it is not possible. First, I do not possess one litre of paint. Second, even if I bartered for it, it would get here too late. Third and most important, my Regiment would hate me.
It is a meet-and-greet, designed to boost his sagging popularity in the polls.
I'll just show him around, we have nothing to hide except the stills. I know where most are, not places a well-dressed PM would venture.
But as always, life loves to throw a wicked curveball. From the moment he gets off the plane, I can tell he has the hots for me. There are rules on fraternization during field duty, but he's hoping to connect when I return home.
I show him the layout, let him choose. One of the sites he selects is too near a still, so I casually remark snakes there are bad and he picks another.
After he pins the Order of Merit on me, we are relaxing in the mess.
He starts tentatively, "you've ah read about me on the web of late?"
"We all know it is a lot of hyperbole."
"Very kind of you to say, but it happens to be true hyperbole. Yes I - shame of shame - am enrolled in speed dating."
Serious face, "well, can't beat that for quality control. You'd be able to spot any lack of proper service."
He laughs, "it's awful. I the person would abolish it today. Can't, 3/4 of the Cabinet is pro-speed dating. Look, I'm aware of rules on fraternization. But, how about I give you my personal e-mail address?"
I laugh easily, "sure, why not?"
He grins, "utterly amazing, nary a soul believed you'd pull it off. Cabinet was sweating blood, imagining a fortnight of bloodbath. Tell me, every campaign has an irony. What was it?"
"Sir, we had zero ability to sustain patrols. Yes we looked good in armor, but no waterproof socks. Meaning foot rot in one heckuva hurry. Good job the rioters didn't know that."
He starts to chuckle, "you have greatness in you. One day, you'll make General."

Alien 14

After buying two tops at the mall, I get an espresso. I see a stern-looking older Afghan woman headed toward me. Looks like a uniform. The Afghan within vanishes, hides in a corner, "on your own pal."
Without asking permission, she sits. Scornful look, she opens my bag, looks at the 2 tops, "heard you got your name changed legally Shauzia."
I nod.
"No criticism, who would not? All that family scandal. Been awhile. Why don't I see recognition?"
The Afghan within is unhelpful, in battened-down-for-the-cyclone mode.
"Ma'am, your face does not ring a bell."
"Figgers. All that soft living, smooth skin, nice legs, flattering top, lotsa bucks. Tends to slow the aging process."
Not to mention what the Doctor told me.
"You are a coward, shoulda stayed. Oh no, run off to Canada, all that fat living, probably new boyfriend every fortnight."
I shrug, "lotta empty tables."
Easy laugh, "good, you're starting to dislike me, maybe jog your memory."
"I dislike anyone rude, white or Afghan."
"Oooo, touchy touchy. Ever think of travel, exotic places?"
"Done it."
"So what was it like, commanding a Canadian contingent?"
"Has its moments."
"Ever command squad size?"
"Riflery instruction."
"Ah, so how does it feel, to be miles from nowhere, no one to pass the buck to?"
"You do your duty, avoid the psy mumbo-jumbo."
"Haven't changed, you're as rude and obnoxious as ever. I like that."
I sense what she's trying. If I don't make a reaction, she fades, some kinda obscure rule.
"But then rude and obnoxious would be absolutely perfect for Revenue. You'd fit with the crowd."
I shrug, "some are, some aren't, you get freedom of choice."
"And which do you choose?"
"Not your concern."
"Oooo touchy, touchy. So tell me, why do you think I'm here?"
I stand to leave. My mistake, presumably the reaction. She snaps her fingers and I feel dizzy.
When it clears, I'm sitting in an obvious mess, attired like the others, in blue and white uniform.
Smile, "enjoy the chow. Tomorrow, you and me, we travel."

Next morning she joins me at breakfast, "I'll pin these on, Lt bars. Here's your duffel bags."
"You are guilty of kidnapping."
"Nope, just called up your reservist status."
Again, still, the Afghan within contributes zilch.
"You actually gonna sit there, bald-faced deny ever seeing me or being here?"
"Yes."
She draws out a file. The photo, though years younger, is obviously the Afghan.
"You are taking charge of a school."
"A school?"
"Don't gimme that, it's what we do, AAW (Association of Afghan Women). Let's roll, we're hitching a ride with 2 foreign NGO women."
I look out on bare moonscape, see the jeep. We climb in the back.
She grins, "we'll drop sleepy head at the turnoff. I'll ride resta the way with you."
The passenger turns, posh Brit accent, "I really admire you, so sweet you volunteered to take over that school."
What do you say to that? During the 3 hours it takes to cover 50 miles, she natters on and I nod vacantly.
They stop, change drivers and dump me, I'll hafta walk 3 miles down the goat-track.
Now, I'm ticked, "you come outa that corner now. What in blazes is all this about?"
"Reason I never told you, never thought the reserve status would be reactivated."
"I've heard that line before."
"Guess you have. Get that ass in gear. Wanna be out after dark? There's wolves."
"Good! Let them eat us up!"
"Oh shut up, you and your theatrics and hysterics. Now get in gear."

The students have gone for the day, teachers show me around. Not much to see. 6 rooms, 5 of which are classrooms, all with holes in roof. The sixth room, teachers live together, least it has an intact roof.
Nilofar, Tasmina, Bobogal and Amira regard me with amused contempt.
Nilofar asks, "first time roughing it?"
"Nope, 2 tours, Canadian Army."
Obnoxious look, Tasmina says, "come on, cigarettes, booze, handheld computers, internet, TV dinners, satellite TV, subscriptions, gourment coffee and a partridge in a pear tree. We mean real roughing. Didn't you notice, every one of those 4 foot by 4 foot blackboards has a huge crack?"
I don't like the cut of her jib, "I've filled more forms than you've marked kiddy papers."
Amira says soothingly, "probably have. Ain't gonna help if we hate each other. Like tea?"
"Yes please."
After supper, nothing to sit up for, nothing to read or watch, no real light to do it. So we crash early.
Amira laughs, "give us a story. Not a real one, make one up."
"I'm a space alien."
"Cool, we're bored to death with each other's stories. Tell us about it."
"Well, our society has some rather different social mores...."
As I wind up, Tasmina says, "hey look, sorry I was rude. You tell a good story, wild imagination, good stuff on sex."
Amira groans, "may be a good story. Ain't nowhere in the entire universe like that."
Night after night, I wow them with stories on speed dating, prison, friends, tropical tours, barroom brawls, stills, dope, registered boyfriends, and bizarre laws. In no time, we are all friends.
One night Amira sums up, "anyone as sex-obsessed as you, means one of two things. Either you got non-stop action night and day in Canada or totally struck out."
Tasmina gently admonishes her, "don't paint her into a corner. She gets depressed, stories dry up."
"Look I'm really sorry. Please, give another story."
"I never told you yet how I met the professor and how we broke up."
"Do tell."
It leaves them howling with laughter."
Amira chuckles, "most story tellers slip, change details, you never do. Why not try writing a novel? Got lotsa free time on weekends."
"Not wise, they have secret police watching Earth. Don't like to see their info in print."
"You just keep getting nuttier. But we like you, all the same."
It's fun, every day face 45 eager little girls. Never seen such hard workers.
This school does not have summer vacation, but winter, when you just cannot heat it.
As I sit in HQ in Peshawar over a mountain of paper I feel dizzy.

I wake up in a sick bay back home.
My CO visits, "curious what happened? Vanishing to Earth like that."
"Just a tad."
"Certain revolutionaries stole a beamer, practised on army types. They're now caught, in Siberia."
"So, why did it take so long to find me?"
"My friend, you do move about. 12 timezones away from where you should be. Do you have any concept what sort of computer firepower is needed to track DNA over those distances?"
"A lot?"
She laughs wickedly, "half the computer power of the Defence Department. Still, the Empress just would not give up. You were the last lost sheep. Had to be brought back into the fold."
I nod.
"Here is your speed dating card, set for day after quarantine."
I groan, "MO said I was exempt."
"Well, she can reexamine you. Things are looking up. You're now a Colonel. About to take 1st, 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the Gorgons touring. Don't want you to lolly gag. Got you a computer so you can start the process while still in quarantine."
"Yes ma'am, where to?"
"Where else? Guyane."

Day after day, I sift info. Two days before my release, the newsite has it big and bold. Mega-riots in Guyane. Gorgons will hafta roll, ready or not.
MO certifies me ok for duty, a jeep picks me up.
The officer meeting is the tensest I have seen.
Intel Officer begins, "up to now, we have always been simply guarding Empire bases. Never legally operated on soil belonging to the Guyane government. This is different. Their government is asking for our help and rather desperately. 50 police dead, Legislature is now burning down."
Grim looks on all.
She continues, "so Col, your take?"
"Job One, secure the capital city. The Guyane Police have nothing but single shot rifles and pistols. When rioters see Gorgons in full battle armor, carrying evil-looking blasters at the high port, thing might cool a bit."
"Col, airport is in ruins, have to go in para style."
"So be it. Means we get to wear Para patches. That itself cuts ice."
"You seem remarkably unworried Col."
"As of now, we are Imperial Paras, an enormous threat. Add in light mortars, heavy machine guns. It isn't an organized revolution, merely citizens angry at the Guyane Anti-Inflation Act."

We see the Legislature smoke 400 miles away. Still, all it takes is to land. Not one shot is fired, either at us or by us.
For the next week, we patrol quiet streets, then hand over to the Guyane Police."
It was an impressive show, 1,700 Gorgons parading around, on TV. We looked invincible.
We weren't. Not one waterproof sock in the entire Regiment.
We had zero ability to sustain patrols for a long time. But the world didn't know that, nor the rioters.

Alien 13

Ok, so I am not a front-liner, stopping 2 tribes from killing each other, like my famous friend. But 550 will come back healthy if I do my job. How's that for important?
And so, the Afghan and I find peace, friendship again.
But still, I'll go to the Doctor when I get back, get my exemption to speed dating renewed.

My 2-i-c sits, "whew, hot one. Steamy heat just soaks into ya, drains all energy."
I smile wanly, "as if we need any."
"Wanted to ask, how do you feel about my bro? Don't candy coat it to protect my feelings."
"I could understand him getting bored with an older woman, does not upset my too much. But that faithless walking out without saying, that hurts."
"Would you agree that is a sign of immaturity?"
"Yes."
"He asked if I'd talk with you. Been through 2 registered girlfriends, both assaulted him, one put him in hospital a bit. Starting to appreciate how kindness could be a good thing."
"Tell that roach if he were the last man on the planet, why I'd never ..."
Awkward grin, "just maybe that isn't you talking. Maybe the sweaty feet or clingy sports bra or too sweet fruits here or too heavy lunch we had."
I wipe my eyes.
"Come on, what you really need is a good cry. No shame in it, you'll feel better."

Next morning, 2-i-c slides in beside me at breakfast, "just love the early morn, cool."
"Yep."
"Aren't you just a little curious what he said?"
"Nope."
"He looks forward to continuing on with the book."
I blush.
"Come on, admit it, you're interested."
"I do still have some pride you know. Can't just let him walk all over me."
"Ok, I'll reply, say first time I mentioned his name, you gave 2 minutes of solid sailor talk. Second time, just 2 cuss words. At this pace, maybe you will forgive him after all."
Despite myself, I laugh.
She joins in, "that's the spirit. He does need a good lesson. I'll add my opinion of how he should behave. Assuming he wants to keep you."
"Sorry I bit your head off yesterday."

Few days later, 2-i-c gives a grin, "seems he finally understands that yes he might have hurt you. He asked my advice, what sort of atonement would be appropriate?"
"I have zilch for ideas. You have far more knowledge than I."
"No spanks for a whole month."
"I defer to your greater knowledge in these matters. But of course, we are busy people, replies are slow."
And so, the dance starts. She tells me what to say and when. Obvious it is working.

I return from tour. Immediately on disembarkation, I feel violently ill, head for the sick bay.
I awake to hear the Afghan singing.
Still feeling ugly, I snarl, "what you so happy about?"
"Look around."
I gasp, back in the apartment in Canada. First good sign is we still have it, have not been evicted. I check the date and time. Returned to where I was, immediately after returning from my second Guyana tour.
Uneasily I ask, "reckon it was a dream?"
"No way, thousand times the detail as a dream. Gimme your guess."
"Nary a clue. Even if I had transgressed politically, there would still be standard arrest and eventual trial."
"Well, other than sex, glad I'm back. It's home. And a lot freer."
I look out the window a long minute, "so am I. I do admire Earthlings."

Monday at Revenue, the cliques don't form. Everyone gathers around, asking me about the tour. I can see they are proud one of their lowly number is worthy of commanding a Canadian contingent overseas.
After the group breaks up, a grandmother says, "grandchildren were here this weekend. Would you like to see photos?"
"Thank you, very kind of you."
Then a busy young mother, showing photos of the birthday party.
Small, but huge, symbolic, they are starting to accept me.

A week later, the Lt rings. I'd forgotten him in all the hubbub.
"Could we cancel coffee?"
"Yes we could."
"Lemme explain. See she showed the e-mail to a coworker, who has a bro in the army. Was told in no uncertain terms she'd been unfair, painted me into a corner. We're back together."
It breaks my heart to say, "well I wish you all the best."
"Thank you. Still friends? I mean, in case another tour."
"You mean dormant friends, not coffee ones."
"Sad to say, yes, she's a jealous type. But as of the point we climb on a plane, friends again."
After I hang up, I cry my eyes out.

Utterly morose, I stare out the window. After a time, the Afghan says, "don't even think of it."
I blush.
"Come on, you heard the Doctor, frightening amount of coagulant. Probably hafta saw your arm right off."
"Oh gross."
We both laugh.
She sums up, "cheer up, got one friend, me."

Next morning Salima, my bus seatmate looks on the edge of tears.
"Problems?" I ask gently.
"That rat. That dirty lowdown slimy toad. That ***-****, that ******."
By this, I deduce she speaks of boyfriend.
She draws a deep breath, "so I threw him out. Tired of him. Tired of all men. Gonna become a recluse or a lesbian."
"Not wishing to be smart-ass, but recluse is probably less of a problem."
"So what is life like as a recluse? You should know."
I blush, "dreary."
She laughs, "they shoulda given you a medal, making all those smart-ass reservists behave. Any more tours on the horizon?"
"Not yet, but you never know."
"So how do you keep busy? Not go barking mad."
"I have a dual personality, we argue a lot."
She laughs, then looks at me, "you're serious."
I nod.
"So who wins?"
"I usually lose."
"At risk of sounding preposterous, what do you argue about?"
"Clothes, makeup, more personal stuff."
"So, this alter ego is the horn dog, and you the prude?"
"Bit of an over-simplification, not much."
Wicked smile, "if the alter ego, the horn dog, wins all the arguments, then how is it you never get laid?"
I pause a moment, "sounds ridiculous, but it's as if the fates hate me. Every time it is about to happen, something derails it."
She sighs, lowers her voice, "so ah how was it you left your home planet, became an Earthling?"
I gasp.
Smile, "irony, pure irony. The original Shauzia, your alter ego, your split personality was Queen of Prudes. Then you come along, grab that role yourself. So, guess, what happens next?"
I laugh, "gotcha, deathly boring to agree. She took the contrary side, just to argue."
"Took you long enough to figger it out. So, what you gonna do?"
"I'm so tired of me and she of her, we'll switch. Give her the joy of new arguments."

Alien 12

I soon see that my relationship could go south, all the draining my job does. So, on his birthday, I proudly present him with a book on Japanese bondage.
I smile, "you choose the position tonight. Other times, roll the dice, keep it exciting."

Next morning as I face the paper Leviathan again, I truly understand what is so great about field duty. Let's see, with any luck, I can barter some palm pilots for better tropical clothing. I also have an ace in the hole. Some 5,000 cases of lightbulbs arrived while I was away. Hey, everyone needs those.
I join the 2-i-c for morning coffee. Her look says it all, "ah ha, you have him well-trained."
I blush.
"Don't be shy. But you one-upped me, dreamed up an idea of your own."
"That obvious?"
"Yep, do tell."
"It was his birthday, I gave him a book on Japanese bondage."
"Hot stuff, tell me which store has."
"You might be risking a heart attack."
She laughs, "all gotta go sometime. Better way than most."

I show for my first meeting with the Problem Gambling Committee. The chairwoman smiles, "for the benefit of our new member, let's start with a quick discussion as to why we're here. Lt, give us your take."
"Mil salaries are generous. Take away rentals, on or off base, and other essentials. After, everyone from private to general has 2/3 of their income available for discretionary matters."
I nod off, ain't news.
She continues, "so, why are there enlisteds declaring bankruptcy every 2 years? Why a Food Bank on base? Why a bank for children's clothing? Why should there have to be 34 credit counsellors on staff?"
I'm now awake.
"Because of addictions. Gambling is only one. Major, 2/3 of those people on the tour are behind in their bills. Oh I'm sure you are not. But before you fall asleep, think of them."
Ouch!
"So Major, ever gambled in your life?"
"Oh yes, every week they collect a dollar for our group lottery."
The laughter echoes off the walls, they're howling with it.

I show at the Alcohol and Drug Abuse Committee. "Let us now welcome a new member. Tell us Major, you a drinker?"
"No."
"You mean, not at all, not a drop?"
"Correct."
"But you are aware perhaps that some of your colleagues and subordinates are?"
Drily I reply, "they made me aware when 42 did not show for the Guyane tour."
Ripples of laughter.
"Ok Major, your estimate. What percentage of civvies are alcoholics? And mils?"
"I'd say 25% for each."
Loud snorts of laughter.
"If you read your e-mail a little more carefully, you would discover a Department of Health report. 60% of civilians, 75% of mils."
I gasp.
"So, we would appreciate any help you could provide."
What a bunch of self-righteous goody-goodies.
"So Major, upon learning 40 of your battalion were in jail; were you a little shocked? Medium? A lot?"
"Medium."
"Five years ago, 400 out of a Para battalion of 550 showed a week late for tour. That would qualify as a lot of shock, in your view?"
I grin, "well, I'm running a tight ship."
"Not as tight as you might believe. Rumor has it there is an illegal still in your battalion."
Keeping a straight face, "oh that, every frontline unit has the same rumor."
"The MP's actually claim to have confiscated it. It mysteriously disappeared. You ah wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?"
"No."
"Seen your kind before, old line, 'girls will be girls', fun and games. The new generation is tightening up on all that craziness."
"In that case, you will not have an army left. Only thing keeps people in is fun. Any of those girls with a tech qualification could make half again as much money outside."
This stops them a moment.
Then one says, "Major, before this gets out of hand, let's clarify. By fun, you are referring to consenting adults? That is no children, correct?"
"Indeed. Where children are present in a family, I take a totally different view."
"Good, we have some common ground."

The head of the Environment Committee starts, "are you aware, each and every weekend, there are so many beer cans scattered about this base, that if melted down, would add up to a semitrailer truck?"
I think of the Earthling punchline, "gather the rubbers, put tires on it."
However, I know better now than to argue with zealots, I just vacantly nod.

The Ethnic Minorities Committee moots around endless ways of Lt making Capt or Capt making Maj. Not a lotta thought on advancing minority enlisteds. Again, I sense the zealotry, refrain from my view.
I am 3/4 asleep going out the door. Nooria, an Afghan woman grins wickedly, "you're the one who had the big barroom brawl."
"Not I, I delegated the pleasure to others."
"Know who I am?"
I gasp, "of course, the famous Para commander who lost 400 to a week in jail."
"The same. Now let's go for coffee, nice to meet a real person."
And so it was, I started to make a genuine friend, as opposed to a friendly coworker. We chatted for hours, everything from childhood to Earthling experience. Wonderful! And we promised to do coffee weekly. Lotta white folks won't keep those promises, but an Afghan will.
And now, finally the Afghan within starts to feel better, getting friendship.

The phone rings. Doctor asks blandly, "ah Major, could you drop into my office at 3:00?"
Now when a Doctor says that, you know what most think. Terminal.
I stare out the window and suddenly I'm cheerful. Yes, what has my life become?
Boyfriend is so bored, he's probably 2 days away from leaving. Oy, then back to speed dating.
Army? Come on, I'm legally a Reservist, get all the garbage gigs, just like on Earth.
My one and only friend is now a week away from heading out on a one-year tour to a real red zone.
Doctor smiles, "at first, I didn't want to call. Ran the tests through 3 separate techs. Unanimous, you my friend, are almost immortal."
I gasp.
"Let's forget the physics mumbo-jumbo of transmission. Bottom line, 1 in 28 million odds and you hit the jackpot. Immune to any disease, will not age. Only violence or accident could kill you. But it would have to be heavy duty. You have a frightening amount of coagulant. So, instead of a single bullet, think maybe an Uzi clip."
I groan aloud, then I cry.
She hugs me, "I've never before had to tell anyone. Assumed you'd be happy."
"Doctor, my boyfriend is so bored, he's 2 nanoseconds from leaving. Then back to the utter humiliation of speed dating. My one and only friend heads out on a one-year tour. And you know what happens to reservists."
Helpful smile, "I can help in one regard. Give you an exemption certificate to speed dating, you are in a clinically depressed state."
I get home and he's gone. The Afghan is even more morose than me, drains what little energy I have.

Somehow, the whole thing falls into place. This time, less turmoil on the tarmac.
A dozen got into a fight with sailors, ended up in the naval brig a while. But there is professional courtesy. They forget charges, drive them to the plane on time. I give the MP's 3 cartons of cigarettes, token of my gratitude and that ends it.

The Afghan loves it and so do I. Endless round of friendly bull sessions, with all ranks. I never once need to show the iron fist of authority. As with Earthlings, the vets put lotta social pressure on the newbies to toe the line healthwise.
Gradually my view changes. Yes, I strike out with men. Yes, my friend is away. Yes, in her type of job, forget heart-to-heart e-mails, she's busy, not like me, made of time on tour.
But still, 550 people come home healthy. The Medical Officer is proud as blazes of me.
Of course I know where the still is hidden. Make a point of never going there. Why be a party pooper?

Alien 11

A stocky MP Sgt pushes her way through the throng, "bad news ma'am, we go short 40."
I gasp, "forty, what happened?"
"Well ma'am, big barroom brawl, civvy cops holding em."
I shrug, "girls will be girls. They'll just hafta come when they get out. Do you know what started it?"
"Ma'am, that bar is immense, students and mils. Some of the uni crowd starting calling em dykes and thing got serious."
"How serious?"
"150 in hospital ma'am."
"How many of those are ours?"
"None ma'am."
I grin, "appears they paid attention in unarmed combat class."
MP breaks out laughing, "D&D like that, ma'am, they'll get a week in jail. Be there soon enough."
The Lt in charge of our 3 armored cars pushes in, "bad news ma'am, one is in the shop, totalled motor."
"Oy! What is the prognosis?"
"Ma'am, not likely we'll get parts, it's that old."
"Perhaps you could get cannibalized parts from another unit. Get on the web. I have plenty of palm pilots to barter with."
Huge grin, "on it right away, ma'am."
Another MP pushes in, "sorry to say ma'am, you go short 2. Last night, caught in the act the girls running the illegal still."
I groan aloud. There goes morale, with the camp dry. "How ah caught are they?"
"Sad to say ma'am, very caught. Seems the Chaplain was there."
I laugh, "sure hope not as a customer."
"No ma'am, still was hidden in back of the Chapel building."
"Well do your duty then. I'm sure they'll get 30 days."

As the immense boxcar with wings lifts off, I know how the Earthling Major felt, joy. Yep, rest will catch up later.
Lt says, "pleased to say ma'am, found parts. Car will be on the next cargo plane. Cost 120 palm pilots."
"Wonderful job Lt. Good bargaining too, thought it would cost lots more."
I see her proud look, "thank you so much ma'am. If it is not an imposition, could I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"The ah Earthling mil? Bad as us?"
"Lt, please get us each a coffee. I have a few amusing stories."
We chat the rest of the flight.
As we see the steaming tropics below, she grimaces, "ma'am, can almost feel that foot rot. I will take to heart what you said."
"Thank you so much for your support."

A week later our 40 grapplers arrive, with a surprise. Stole the still, hid it in gear.
And so, with no evidence against them, the other 2 arrive next plane.
My hand shakes as I read the e-mail. Following the arrest of my registered boyfriend for illegal activities, the registration is hereby cancelled.
Surely it must be political, he has a fat professor salary, sold 6 novels for lucrative amounts. Surely not an economic crime.
I call up the newsite, there is his smiling face, a headliner story. World-famous author and renowned professor was caught in the act siphoning parking meters. A search warrant found 16 tonnes of coins in his basement.
I laugh, but the Afghan is outraged.
"We-ell," I try, "I was right on one thing - he is eccentric. Right on another - non-political."
Acidly she replies, "keep at it. One of these years, you'll get the level of social skills of a 12 year old girl. So, when is he out?"
"Immaterial. An army officer cannot have as registered boyfriend a convicted criminal."
Seeing the story still on my screen, my 2-i-c sits, "how in Hades can you laugh at a time like this?"
"We-ell I was right on one thing - he is an eccentric."
This sets her laughing, then, "hey, initial reaction is to laugh maybe. If it hurts later, you might wanna talk."
"It hurts now. Look at my batting average with men."
"Get on the web, find your own."
"Looking like this?"
"Don't send a photo til after you establish rapport."
Next two days, I surf. Nary a soul is looking for a registered girlfriend. After all, there's plenty of help finding that. You guessed it, all are looking for action on the side, either one night or longterm.
2-i-c asks, "how's surf?"
"Lousy, all cheats."
"Look, we been friends a bit. Could I ask you something personal?"
"Depends how personal."
"My little bro is just finishing grad school, meaning his exemption is about to run out. I was thinking, well he does hafta learn anyhow, better he learn from someone kind."
"And what makes you think I'm kind?"
"Go on, you're as laid back and fun loving as it gets, except health issues. The girls all worship you, better than mosta those sticks-in-the-mud. So, his e-mail address?"
"Not seemly, you could maybe e-mail him. Try not to be too cruel describing me. Would he have a prob with the racial difference?"
"Some would, he would not. So, how about it?"
"Sure, he's gotta be better than what's in speed dating."
"He's a nerd, geek, does that bother you?"
"Long as he isn't 100 pounds overweight, covered with acne."
"Actually not bad, just 30 pounds overweight."
It starts friendly, soon goes south.
In his view of the world, anyone lacking a Masters in computers is a lesser being. He royally trashes each and every opinion and idea I venture.
After a half dozen e-mails in each direction, I simply give up.
Sometime later, 2-i-c asks how it's going. For answer, I show her the e-mails.
"Ah now you see what I mean, lot to learn. He's gonna get lotsa spanks starting out."
"I would think more than just the start."
"Keep an open mind. If after you get back, he's grown up a bit, give him a chance."
"Way I feel right now, he would not sit for a month. Maybe he needs a nerdette."
"Nah, what he really needs, bout 6 months of daily spanks."
I blush.
"Ah ha, hit a nerve. You'd love to do that."
Sheepishly I nod.
"So why not?"
"I want respect, not someone who acts like I don't have 2 brain cells."
She sighs, "you're a strange one. Only one way you get respect outa men nowadays. Spank it into them." Grin, "gimme that handheld."
In no uncertain terms, she writes what "I" would do. Then presses send, before I can even argue.
My answer comes back in half an hour. He will happily accept as many spanks as I choose, provided I do so topless.
"Co-ol," 2-i-c grins, "made the connection. He finds you exciting."
Alas, it proves not to be. I send a friendly e-mail, trying to get things back on track. After a week of no reply, I resend, just in case. Still, no answer.
Gradually I realize his reply was just cheeky bravado.

"We-ell," 2-i-c smiles, "he's gonna start learning right quick. Got himself a registered girlfriend now."
A month later, he e-mails her, asks her to put in a good word with me. She shows me, "so, what in reply?"
"Only way that moron comes crawling back, I tire my hand out on him every night for a week. That is just to make up for all the rudeness. Then we start fresh."
His polite reply, he agrees to my terms, wishes me to be his registered girlfriend.
I am perplexed as to how to reply. 2-i-c uses a digicam, gets 2 dozen shots of me swinging topless, chooses the hottest 3. The caption, "I will be kind and provide you means to distract yourself from the pain."
It works, nerdness is gone.
She smiles, "here's your strategy. Keep your threat, spank every night for a week. But erotic weight, not punishment weight. End of a week, he'll be totally hooked on you."
Our tour proves completely uneventful. Only one social disease, minor enough it is not reportable. So, despite the rather shaky start on the tarmac, the Gorgons came through.

I keep up the pace for a week. 2-i-c is right. It's wonderful to be a citizen in good standing, not have the dating nazis on my case.
But the army, oy, am I in for a rude awakening! My 2 Earthling tours ended when I handed over to the Major, slunk home. I had zero concept of what he did after.
Paper from the tour. Paper for the next tour. Routine paper which stacked up. I'll be back 6 months, then tour again. Hafta fit in a month of vacation.
To top it off, I have been named to Committees. Ethnic Minority (obvious reason, I'm one); Environmental; Base Permiter Security; Alcohol and Drug Abuse; Problem Gambling; Tropical Health.

Alien 10

The lawyer examines the Justice offer carefully, "I see what they are up to, covering backside. Reason they offered so much, don't want your story public knowledge."
I nod.
"Your choice, whether to take or not. Still, if it does go to court, lot less money, more grief, legal fees."
"Would you take it if you were I?"
"Irrelevant. Not I losing 20 years of my life, stuck in a way too big body. Might fight for no reason other than revenge, your choice."
"My experience is revenge does not work, I'll sign."

Being this size and being fit from lotsa walking Earthside has definite advantages out on these maneuvers. I've got prodigous strength and endurance compared to most of my battalion.
I sit with my 2-i-c over coffee. She asks for details of my 2 Earthling tours. At some point she decides I pass, "where we're going is remarkably similar. Suddenly I'm glad you're on this tour."
"Thank you."
"So tell me, how is that boyfriend working out?"
I pull a face, "hafta put thrice the spanks in that it is worth."
Sympathetic look, "I hear you sis, same with me. Why are women only honest in groups of 2?"
We laugh.
She grins, "oy! That speed dating. Lotta them should be shot! I mean staff and male clients."
"You ain't whistling Dixie."
"Anyhow, I hear what you say on sanitation. We will grind it into all officers to be sticklers."
"Thank you so much for your support."
The Afghan is largely refraining from picking on me. Probably a combo of culture shock and getting some.

Boyfriend's performance is so cold, so perfunctory it defies belief. The Afghan is screaming in my ear, demanding I spank vigorously, collect what is due. I tell her to shut up. See usually I am not very intuitive, but this time I'm picking up vibes.
I can see his game. Plays women for suckers. Picks unattractive ones sick of speed dating. Gives a bit at first, then zero. And yes, it often works a long time. Remains a paper relationship, because she is in no hurry to redo speed dating.
I slink out in a state of utter humiliation. I hate him and hate all men. On the Metro home, I start to mellow, as my Earthling experience kicks in. Gay is gay, ain't gonna change that. It is our society that's wrong, trying to force square pegs into round holes.
I know the easy way out. Just never go back, never call, but don't report it as a dissolved relationship.
The Afghan argues half the night. In the end, she chuckles at the rich irony. Me, I came acrosss as an Earthling; her, as a woman here.

Two days later, the plainclothes detective comes calling at my office. I don't buy that Lt Colombo look one bit. She knows more than she lets on. Don't lie, but don't volunteer info.
"Good morning Major, may I ask a few questions?"
"Go ahead."
"You did not visit your boyfriend last night?"
"Lotsa paper, preparing for the Guyane tour."
"Ah yes, officers do. How are things between you and him?"
"I have no time for games. As you are well aware, every woman on the planet feels short-changed. I am no different."
"Did you suspect he was cheating on you?"
"I was away for 3 weeks of maneuvers. I hardly expect he was a choir boy."
Laugh, "quite so. Ever suspected he's a homosexual?"
My flinch gives it away, "I once had a vague feeling."
"So, why did you not report it?"
"It was the vaguest of feelings, then gone."
"Fair enough, read the news this morning?"
I wave at the stack on my desk, "I'm afraid I have little time for such."
"A club was making under-the-table money renting out to the homo crowd after hours. We ah had a number of minicams, graphic evidence against over 1,500 men. Last night we arrested the lot."
I gasp.
"We won't need your testimony in court, a vague feeling is nothing compared to what we've got."
"Thank you."
"Still, you do have a legal obligation now. Speed dating."
"In one week I climb on a cargo plane, gone for 6 months. Can't it wait til I get back?"
"Sorry, law is the law. Look at the bright side, 3 sessions, maybe find someone.
I know better than to rile an overzealous cop, so I grin, "yeah, never know, could get lucky."
"That's the spirt. Now next time you get a vague feeling about homos, run for your life. You got off lucky, could have had to testify in court."
I blush.
As she leaves, I check the speed dating card. Groan aloud, my humiliation is now total.
One of those dates is the unit social. And no, your speed dating timeslot is carved in stone, cannot be switched.
"Ma'am, a few minutes of your time?"
"You look awful. Sit down, tell me all about it."
I have no choice, give the whole story. Only one thing I hold back, the level of my "vague suspicion".
She sums up, "no problem. Everyone knows you can't switch a speed dating sked. As for the fact he is a homo, cops haven't released that list of names. So your breakup could be for any reason. Case could be years in the future, and then it's just one more name on a long list. Still, you have learned something?"
Blush, "yeah, because I am unattractive, I compromised more than I should. Should have reported it as a dissolved relationship."
"Good, now I won't preach. You're doing a great job."
I sit morosely, stare out my office window. If the CO had been livid, ranted and raved, screamed at me, it would be easier to take. Less guilt.
What can you do? As a Major here, I have less freedom than I had as an Earthling government clerk.
Nuff of that, they pay me big bucks to lead a battalion, back to earning em. I pick up the court martial report. Oy vay! Now I gotta find 8 bodies, in correct specialty, to replace. I start to sift through lists.
An hour later, e-mail comes through. Effective immediately, no mil personnel will wear uniform to speed dating.
This will put pressure on me, I look better in uniform.
Curious, only one other place you can't wear uniform - political meeting. You can and do show up in bars, coffee houses, live theatre, cinema, weddings, funerals and even strip shows in uniform.
Kinda funny, why change everything over one person?
I fuss with my civvies, do my best, which ain't good.
I get the shock of my life, seeing a dozen sister officers in mufti at the Metro station.
We end up in a lecture room at speed dating.
An older woman stands, "you are about to discover ways and means of spotting the homo. Since it is a taboo topic, we will start from basics."

The unit social is cancelled, no one says one word about it. The power of a taboo.
Somehow I feel better, as in misery loves company.
At speed dating, I get a shock, seeing my former body. Right down to the scar over the right eyebrow when a cousin attacked me, the cooking scar on one hand, the gouge on the other from repairing a reserve jeep.
It is not my voice, more like a computer voice.
I ask his occupation. Sgt, Army Corps of Engineers.
Specialty? De-mining.
I ask what he thinks of pace of sex. By the book, the sex-ed class pace.
But what if I wanted more? In a voice conveying zero emotion, he informs me that is the standard amount. If I wish more, then I am probably a pervert.
I keep him busy talking, so he won't ask about me.
On the Metro home, my mind runs riot. There was not even one flicker of emotion in anything he said. Is he a real person? If not, why in speed dating?
Do you suppose, experimental model? Group of woman scientists creating men more to their liking? Who knows?

Next morning, I check the alpha list of my contingent, thank heavens he's not on it. Check the engineering platoon list, ditto. I don't do an alpha search on his name, probably a tracker on that.
I call up Justice archives. Average amount awarded in court for cases similar to mine, is one quarter of what I got.
No wonder they paid so much, did not want the question arising in court as to what happened to the former body.
I push it all aside, with 680 billion people on our planet, do a few robots matter?

Last evening of speed dating before I depart. His tweedy look says university prof and probably a bit eccentric.
He waves a hand vaguely towards the admin area, "buncha morons, waste of time. Rather be in a coffee house at a poetry reading."
I shift uneasily, "the ah political side?"
"Not on your life, pure nonsense. So what do you do? I'd guess army officer."
"Right in one. Just about to leave on tour."
"I'm a lit prof. Tomorrow, come with me to a coffee house. See the Shakespearean company is based here. This is their off-season, do dress rehearsals to keep in practice."
"I'd love it."
We talk most of the night after that. In the morning, fill out forms making us registered boyfriend and girlfriend.
We exchange e-mail addresses and then the whirlwind of pre-departure swallows me up.

Alien 9

I send a very polite reply, stating such a pace might be nice for special occasions only, and detail what normal life would look like.
I never get a reply. At first I'm crushed, soon realize he perceives me as a bore. All talk and flash clothes, but no action.
The Afghan is philosophical about it all, "had to do what was right. I knew odds were this would happen."
I see the Lt, tears in his eyes, "come, let's go have coffee."
He shows me the email. Not a Dear John, an ultimatum. Abandon the tour now and come home or you and I are through.
"She has no inkling, no understanding," he states flatly, "no concept of mil life whatsoever. To abandon for any reason other than medical would ruin my reputation."
Sympathetically, I reply, "had a sorta Dear John myself. Anytime you wanna talk."
"Should look at the bright side," he asserts, "for a reserve unit to get back-to-back tours is an immense honor."
"How is sanitation going in your platoon?"
"Like a charm, don't hafta do beans. Old vets put social pressure on the newbies."
"Still, keep an eye open, odd person who doesn't buy into social pressure."
"Gotcha Major. I know there are rules about fraternization. But uh after the tour is over, like to go to a coffee house?"
"It would be my pleasure."

The tour proves uneventful except for one social disease, serious enough it hasta be reported. Still, in perspective, gather that many people in Canada for 6 months and you'd get one or more, sheer law of averages.
I return, hand over command and bury myself in my apartment. Lt and I won't do coffee for a bit, he's gone to visit his mother in his hometown.
I go to bed with a fever. As I awake, it's to the Afghan's frantic chatter, "where in the name of Hades are we?"
"This ain't an Earthling sickbay."
"Oh no, back in your planet?"
"This is a prison sickbay. Authorities will get to us in due course."
The nurse shows, "that nose will be sore for several hours."
"How so?"
"Needed minor plastic. Your lawyer will be here soon."
Same legal aid lawyer, huge grin, "case is ruled ultra vires. You walk as soon as the 30 day quarantine is over."
"How'd it happen?"
"Ever heard of loss of dignity calculation? Understand the concept?"
"Yes to both."
"They used obsolete rules, the 15%, someone forgot to reprogram the template when the law changed to 5%. Since you suffered a 7% loss of dignity, it was beyond their legal powers."
The Afghan doesn't understand a word of this. I'll translate later.
"I'm confused, how does a plea bargain end up so?"
"Empress tightened the strings, felt DoJ was being abusive with exiles."
I start to laugh, soon stop as my nose hurts.
"So here I am, stuck in a way too big body, just cuz DoJ screwed up?"
"They're offering $1.8 million in damages. See a civil lawyer first."
"Can you recommend some names?"
"Glad to. I would also remind you of the law, better find a registered boyfriend within 30 days of your release."
"Looking like this?" I gasp.
"Here's your speed dating card. 3 evenings a week, compulsory til you find someone."

I lie back, explain to the Afghan. She's a welter of emotion, culture shock and thrill of being at Sex Central, or so she thinks. We've barely done when my next visitor, a general, shows.
She sits, smiles proudly, "I always make a point of checking up on the rare few who return. Unreal, nobody on either planet manages that. Two totally mind-numbing bores of tours, pulled off without problems. Matter of fact, your reservist status has been reactivated. Once the medics are done with you, have we got a tour for you!"
I groan inwardly, but keep a straight face.
"We need a battalion commander for an upcoming tropical tour. Very akin to what you did."
My ears pop up, maybe this is my escape from tedious society.
"Mind you, we expect you to find a proper registered boyfriend first."
As she closes the door, I groan aloud. Oy vay!
The 30 days in sick bay sounds like a drag, but isn't. My time is filled teaching the Afghan language and culture.

The mil sends a driver and I'm lodged in a BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) room. My days are filled with the sheer insanity of trying to cobble together a supplementary reserve tour. I soon have lotsa respect for the Earthling Major, it's worse than I thought.
My evenings are even more insane, thrice weekly riding the Metro to the Speed Dating Center. Wanna know how serious it is? Don't show, don't fax in a med certificate and the cops show at your door, take you there.
Each time, sit and talk with 12 different men, 7 minutes each. Short interval between, to mark the scorecard on your palm pilot.
Quite frankly I am totally unimpressed with what darkens the doors. Them, act like I'm a zoo exhibit.
As you can very well imagine, it soon gets boring repeating the same tiresome Earthling story. So, for fun, I invent others. One time I'm a cannibal from our Africa, educated by missionaries. Another, nomad from the towering heights of our Afghanistan. Head hunter from New Guinea and so forth. Within a month I've invented 2 dozen stories.
The Afghan thinks it's a huge hoot. I'm actually starting to like dating evenings.

I've only managed to scoop some 250 chest protectors, but I need 550. But, I have received some 17,000 palm pilots, a tad more than I need, so I dip into the world of mil cyber barter.
You see, the pilot out-and-out stole. Barter is legal, long as you keep a receipt, can show which unit you got it from. A half-dozen at a time, my armor rolls in.
People are just as hard to find. I hafta sift through 14 battalion lists of supplementary reservists.
My CO calls me in for one of those motherly chats. No, not barter, she knows about that, thinks I'm doing well. The topic, my lack of dating success.
"Look ma'am, with all due respect, if you were a guy, would you want me?"
"Perhaps try a kind tone. See maybe he's had an abusive girlfriend, would like someone kind."
"I ah .."
"Look, just don't tell people you're a New Guinea headhunter."
I gasp.
"My brother thought it was a huge joke, couldn't wait to tell me."
I blush fiercely.
"So downplay all this Earthling nonsense, come across as kind and gentle. Unless, he says he likes lotsa spanks, then play up those strong arms. You gotta find somebody. Not fitting for an officer to be without. Or legal."
"Yes ma'am, anything else?"
"Look, don't take my sermon too hard. Other than your social problem, you're doing great."

He looks almost hynotized, staring at me.
Timidly I ask, "what do you do?"
"Stockbroker. Just love a woman in uniform. So you like to spank, spank, spank?"
"I would be willing to accommodate you."
"Whaddya think of quantities of sex?"
"Over the long term, I believer the sex-ed classes are right."
"Well I think you are hot hot hot. Wanna try one of the practice booths?"
After we emerge, we fill out the forms making us registered boyfriend and girlfriend.
I keep it by the sex-ed class, ride the Metro to his super-luxury condo thrice a week.
I decide to avoid any emotional intimacy. Come on, anyone as rich as that, shouldn't be in speed dating. Now if I'd never been an Earthling I would not have spotted it. He's gay. Reason he wants me, mils are away all the time.
And him, probably thinks I don't spot it. Gay knowledge in the general population here is zero, it is totally taboo.
I decide to test my theory. I phone, tell him I'm skipping a night, splitting headache. No question, his tone is glad.
And so, I manage to either have a headache or be utterly tired or be facing the paper demon 2 out of every 3 times.
He asks me when I'm going on tour.
"When I defeat the 582 pounds of paper on my desk."
We both laugh.

Alien 8

I ring the door buzzer, let in the pilot. Soon as I see her face, I can guess.
Happy smile, "going home, taking Slave Boy."
I raise an eyebrow, "isn't that akin to taking coal to Newcastle?"
Laugh, "you only think so. See, back when you were my boyfriend in junior high, I took you for granted, just assumed that's how life was. Being East Indian was a factor. No one was racial, I was welcome in group activities, but just never found a best friend, a pour-your-heart-out girl. And so, missed what was happening in society. You, that medical variant of autism, had even less chance. With me so far?"
I nod.
"When I first started having problems with men, I thought it was just me. Then, made a best friend in the Air Force, another East Indian. Got talking for real saw the parallels. In our culture, sex is far more of a fiction than a fact."
My jaw drops open.
"Here's the sum total of my Air Force experience. See any time 3 or more are gathered, endless talk of endless sex, everyone feels they hafta lie. Only honest in groups of 2. Then she'll tell you her boyfriend gets spiteful, won't give for a whole month, endless headaches and the lot. I wish you'd seen the vid, you'd understand."
"Ah, not meaning to be smart ass, but what is the difference between spanking men back home and S&M with Slave Boy?"
"With him, you get your money's worth after in bed. Back home, you don't."
"So that's why you wanna take him back? He's special?"
Huge smile, "yep. Now are you dying of curiosity to hear the legalese? On the surface, it appears you and I suffered identical punishments, exile to Earth. Yet, in your case, it was a plea bargain, a choice you made to accept, not a Court Order. In my case, an automatic appeal went to the Empress, who found 2 flaws."
"You lucked out, what were the flaws?"
"They had a list, 382 pages long of stuff I'd stolen. On it, one particular laptop. Turns out this one was actually in the repair shop, I hadn't stolen it, casts a doubt on the rest of the list. Other flaw, loss of dignity."
Nonplussed, I raise an eyebrow.
"The Constitution guarantees you must be given a proper chance to make a living in exile. Tech skills, ID, the lot. Fine print covers dignity. See they cannot guarantee a similar income level, Earthlings are far poorer. They do have an obligation to place you in an approximate level of dignity."
"How would you measure that? Especially difficult across cultures, isn't it?"
"Now back home, you were a Level 2 bureaucrat. So they take Earthling Level 2 salary as the baseline. They can give you the same or more. But if they do give you less, it cannot exceed 15% less. In your case, coming down to Level 1, 7% loss of dignity. In my case, coming down from mil officer to dishwasher, it exceeded the 15% allowable."
"I am happy for you my friend. Glad it worked out."
"I don't forget my friends. You laid it all on the line, huge risk, harboring an illegal immigrant. I see you are not getting enough, so I offer a way out of this quandary."
"How so?"
"Ran into my first boyfriend. He is deathly bored with that sweet hometown girl, begged me to take him back. Told him no, going back home, which he thinks is India. He begged for your phone number."
I gasp, "you ah didn't?"
"Certainly not my friend, your call to make."
I recall my agreement with the Afghan, "unseemly for me to call him. But if he phoned, invited me for coffee, I'd go."
Wicked grin, "gotcha, make him sweat to get it, he'll appreciate you more. You should know how I trained him, so we come across as equivalent."
"I'm all ears."
"Every day after work, minimum of an hour of oral. I mean every day of the month."
I gasp.
"Not hard to train him to do that. 3 sessions Saturday, 3 Sunday. I allow him relief once a fortnight, very generous."
A warm hug and she's out the door. The Afghan is so happy she's bouncing off walls.
The phone rings a half hour later. I don't have caller ID, but assume it's him.
My heart sinks as I hear my former CO, "back in action. Officer meeting, 9:00 Saturday."
"I'm not an officer."
"You are now. Be there. Another expense paid tropical vacation awaits. HQ was hugely impressed with your achievement health wise."
I groan aloud after I hang up, ask the Afghan, "so what do I do?"
"Go for coffee with him, give him your mil email address. Exchange steamy emails."

Quietly the Major starts, "right, lets start with philosophy. Reserve units, endless gripes, feel they're trailer trash, get obsolete equipment, low-class assignments. Pointless to argue, it's all true. Sometimes though, wise to point out the background. We all know Canada is in a state of bankruptcy and denial about same. There are only 4 cities in the whole nation where one can find a job without knowing people: Edmonton, Calgary, Toronto, Vancouver. Our government of course will not admit this, either at home or abroad, so they seek out low-cost ways of meeting their numerical troop commitments to allies. Most of our allies don't resent this, they're quite happy to see someone doing the penny ante stuff, happy it isn't them. I leave it up to each officer's concsience how much or how little philosophy to talk.
"Now the serious business. The Highlanders have been accorded a rare honor. It is almost never that a supplementary reserve unit works out. Usually flops. But this one surpassed all expectations. No court martials, no company punishment, no drunken stabbings, no excess of drugs, no vehicle accidents, 100% healthy return.
"Not too surprisingly, they want an encore. Seaplane base, New Amsterdam, Guyana, landside security."
Ooohs and ahs.
"Myself, won't go, complications of surgery. I'll assist in planning. Shauzia Khan will be Acting Major. One full company plus one armored car, car and people on loan to us. If there's anyone here who can't handle this, fine, I'll let you stay home, name someone else."
Lt is first to speak, "it was a spectacular tour Major, I have full confidence in the leadership choice."
One by one, they agree.
Major grins, "rest, as they say is details. Shauzia, if you would examine this map."
"Looking at these contour lines, one place only that's logical for an armored car. Give the rural Guyanese way of day travel and home at dark, any heat signature after dark is likely up to no good. Not necessarily sabotage, maybe smuggling. Still, we only worry about any heat signatures headed toward us, rest are the problem of the Guyana Police."

I dress to devastate, leave 3 blouse buttons open, my most dangerous skirt and no panties. As I sit, I calculate the most cruel angle. No question, he's totally hooked on me.
I tell him I don't believe in sex on first dates or such, we'll exchange emails. I'll be very busy in Guyana, only one email a week on average.

As it turns out, our armored car has a destroyed motor. In terms of parts, it is an orphan, no parts made or stocked anymore. It will be towed into position, a fortified nest for 2o mm cannon and machine guns.
A further memo confirms the 20 mike-mike is beyond repair, so it'll now be a machine gun nest.
Next I hear from the bean counters in HQ. Armored car is scrubbed, it'll be donated to a museum.
Medical Officer informs me things are bad, change of rules reduces the number of people available. Only way we get more bodies, we hit up a neigboring city unit.
It's a nightmare, jury rig reorg and lotta refresher courses, but we finally tip the scales at 235, our promise to our allies.
We-ell 234 actually. As we wait on the tarmac, a city police cruiser rolls up, arrests one of our number for the break-in at the local Food Bank. Sad!

First several days I deploy my forces, attend to everything from who gets what accommodation to duty schedules to fruit purchases.
Then I check my personal email. Long letter, in very graphic detail of what the pilot so briefly summed up.
It's insane. Get that much sex and there's no time for anything else. Don't get a lotta walking in the air, health will suffer, especially considering the lousy air in the Revenue building. Or reading, don't do any, mind turns to mush.
I think back to sex-ed classes, it wasn't just the teacher asserting those limits, it was backed by research.
Next several days I argue with the Afghan, who wants the excess. Finally, she caves, agrees I should ask for a more sustainable pace in my email to lover boy.

Alien 7

The pilot insists I join them. I've noticed a rule with Earthling men, when not wearing a tie, can really only leave the top button open. Her new squeeze has 3 undone, the better to show off his slave collar. Still, they are consenting adults, so it's not my place to dictate. Still, that doesn't mean I hafta be friends, so I finish my coffee quick, vanish.
As always, management has other views, "shoulda hung around, maybe he has a coworker."
"Go on."
"If you ain't tried it, don't knock it."
"And you have?"
Chuckle, "take the Lt, how frantic he was. Paddle him, you'd get double, triple the energy."
"Sure and die of a heart attack or blown veins, take you with me."

My hand shakes as I open the mailbox. What business does Defence have with a Corporal Shauzia Khan?
I rip it open, under supplementary reserve regulations, I am commanded to show for a meeting Saturday, 9:00 am, at the Armory.
"So, what's this all about? How come you never told me?"
"News to me," the Afghan replies, "almost 20 years ago, reservist hitch to finance college."
"Specialty?"
"Tank Corps driver. Still alla them old wrecks are long since cut down for scrap metal."
"So why do they bother? How much time and money would it take to train up to snuff on modern tanks?"
"Got it wrong. They can't afford to field more than about a squadron these days. Regulars, besta the best. This would be an infantry gig."
"You gotta be joking. Since when are 40 year old women infantry?"
"Not crawl down jungle tracks in New Guinea style of infantry, more guard base style."
"I could handle that, 3 summer camps in the reserves back home."

It is none other than my Lt friend at the door at a card table. He checks my name off, "take a chair, you's about to be a tourist. Maybe."
I'm in shock. Surely this is one ill-fated venture. I'm definitely in the top 10% when it comes to looking soldierly. We got 80 pound overweight people here, male and female.
The Major turns on the mike, "testing," goofy grin, "you simply cannot keep secrets such as this, everyone hears anyway. So this is it, today anyhow, who knows, tomorrow maybe a different idea. Tropical tour, Republic of Guyana, naval station, Skeldon, near the Suriname border. We gotta field one company. So look around, means 9/10 of you climb on the plane. Got medical excuses, you won't talk to your Doctor, you'll talk to ours. Monday to Saturday, next 2 weeks, y'all show for refresher courses. Rifle range in the basement, as you recall. The rest as they say is details. Lt, if you would please."
Lt smiles, "before my time. One person here holds the alltime unit record score, won the gold in the big shootout in Ottawa. Well we're short, so she's our instructor. Cpl Khan, step forward please."
It's a shock, but doable, I took the silver for our regiment. Just gotta scope the Earthling rifle.
"Ah sir, I'm a bit rusty. Perhaps a few practice rounds myself."
A private takes me to the basement. After 10 shots, got er aced. These Earthling contraptions are dead simple. I fire off 100 shots from each of prone, sitting, kneeling, standing. Then the private takes the gauge, does my scores and signs as witness.
Soft whistle, "ain't never seen this. Ain't never even heard of this."
Lt drops in, feasts his eyes on my targets, "Monday 0900, you start pumping them through in groups of 5. Can't afford to waste your time, so I'll walk you through the lines."
I'm breezed in to see the Doctor, uniform supply and such.
After, Lt and I sit over coffee. "Wanna thank you for what you did. Things are great now."
"I'm pleased."
"You were pretty darn generous. I realized after, was about one nanosecond from falling for you. Would have taken just one word from you, but you didn't. Decent, honorable, women don't usually behave so."
"I should feel insulted, but I do get your meaning."
"So, friends but no more?"
"Deal."

It all falls into place. Summer 2 and 3 back home, I was a riflery instructor. Same groups of 5, so you can spot flaws quickly.
"#1, don't pull that trigger, squeeze. #3, restart that breathing drill. #5, check that left foot."
It's tedious, but good tedious, not bad tedious like Revenue. I do better even than the Doctor. 93% get qualifying scores. Doctor passed 52% as okay for an overseas trip, 71% if in Canada.
They take phone numbers, email addresses and such and we go home to wait, but be ready to show up next day.
Then we are to show Saturday 9:00. Not definite, just in case.
The day drags out to all eternity, novels, card games, computer handheld games, chat.
At 3:00 the Major, "well ladies and gentlemen, home time, but be ready."
The Lt comes on the run, paper in hand.
"Belay that last order, we roll," wild grin of joy, must be bored to death with his civvy job, "y'all should consider yourselves lucky, limo ride to the airport is free, don't even hafta tip."
Everyone laughs.
The Major signals, waves me over, "one of our Lt's is scrubbed, appendectomy. Here, put em on, you're a platoon commander."
And so 40 Earthlings fall in under the leadership of a space alien, unbeknowst to them.
As I climb into the truck, the Afghan chuckles, "hey, you're acting like this is an adventure. Ain't. Month and they'll be bored to death. Your job, make sure they take those malaria tablets, keep everyone clean, especially feet."
"That bad?"
"Been there, small groupa us accompanied a British unit in Belize a bit. Same climate. Lotta footrot, tropical ulcers. Gotta be strict."

We watch for terrs to show but they never do. Not likely they're afraid of us, more likely they got better things to do with their terr time. This place ain't worth the dynamite cost.
So why are we really here? Low cost way of appeasing our allies, meeting our numerical commitments.
Life is the same as the Saturday in the Armory, endless chat and games.
At first, I get ribbed a lot over my foot obsession. This soon disappears when tropical sores show up everywhere but my platoon.
The Major even recommends me for a Regular Force commission, but could take forever hearing from the Crystal Palace, National Defence HQ.
The Major's place on the surgery waiting list comes up. As he leaves, he names me.
Pronto, I've got 235 Earthlings lined up on parade.
"Tired of the lotta you. Had enough with all this slipshod sanitation. Here on in, Stickler City all the way. Now, everybody, boots and socks off and I mean now."
I walk up and down rows, making notes on my palm pilot.
I overhear griping at first, women go berserk in positions of power. As the feet start to improve then this vanishes and I start to get respect.
Sitting over coffee, Lt grins, "you are the absolute first I've ever seen do that. Reservists are notoriously lax, hating discipline, regimentation. Yet you did it, made it stick. I couldn't do that. Even the Major couldn't. So, how'd you manage?"
"Never underestimate a woman Lt."
"I been watching you a lot. Whole lotta stuff does not add up. Finally figgered, you're an alien."
I gasp, spill coffee.
"Don't worry, secret is safe with me. You're a hero, for bringing these people back home healthy. You must have mil experience back home."
"3 summers reserves, corporal."
He laughs happily, "all the more remarkable. If you were a 20 year vet, a Col, I'd understand. But that's one heck of an achievement for you."
"Thank you."
"Nother thing I spotted, back home you're a guy."
"I was double-crossed. Meant to be a US Army sgt, a man. Techie switched it."
"And you're still less than thrilled?"
I nod.
"Ever going back?"
"Nope, in exile."
"Criminal?"
"Nothing that's a crime here. Lack of sufficient social interaction. Genuine black-badge asocial, one in 10 million."
"Bad luck."
"Not really, I admire Earthlings. Though poorer, there is far more freedom."
"So what exactly qualifies one as asocial?"
"Persistent refusal, after attaining age 19, to live with a registered girlfriend."
"Not gay?"
"Nope."
"Just a loner?"
"Yep."

The health demon whipped, it becomes a magical time. Endless bull sessions, I feel so alive, so accepted.
After 6 months, we turn over to another Canadian unit, come home. I turn over command to the Old Man, turn over the platoon to the now-recuperated appendectomy and walk out as what I started.
Absolutely nothing comes back from stuff the Old Man recommended, not yes, not no, not even receipt acknowledgement.
The loneliness is crashing. The contrast throws my civvy like into stark relief.
During the tour, the Afghan confined herself to the practical, well aware of rules on fraternization. Now, she's back to her old ways, demanding. Oy!

Alien 6

The Afghan and I have a long philosophical discussion, vagaries of luck. If there is a God, why is this God so patently unfair in so many situations?
She sums up, "now lay all this nonsense to rest. Her success is best for you."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Back to basics, see from conversation, we've discovered male-male friendships are same on both planets, superficial, bit of sport and sex, no heavy-duty unburdening. Female-female ones are also same. So, guess what happens when she has lotsa problems."
I groan, "yeah, hours of phone conversation."
"There, now you see why I shy away from deep female-female stuff. So, are we happy things worked ok for your pilot friend?"
"Oh yes."
Laugh, "99% of women are that way, so be careful about any friendships."
"Thanks for the advice."
"If you gotta put up with her, so do I, enlightened self-interest."
"Ah."
"How's this for a plan? Your friend is hot-blooded, gets bored easy. Soon, wanna give that boyfriend the heave-ho, get another. You could simply .."
"Get real, surely she's learned something following her encounter with Justice .."
"No way, prison didn't change you one iota, only my advice did. One day, he's yours."
I laugh, "could be fun."
"We get that and we can kiss goodbye to the silly vibrator."
As it happens, I run into both in a coffee house. I would never dream of imposing, but she invites me over. Obvious she's bored and itchy, him sizing me up.
As I walk away, I realize it's ridiculous. When it happens, he'll get someone more his age.
The Afghan laughs, "you see, soon enough, he's yours."
"Go on, I wouldn't take advantage, sweet innocent little boy."
"How very chivalrous!" scornful tone, "very man thing, chivalry. No woman on Earth wastes time on that crap. He's there, you grab."
"I'm really getting tired of you. So, why not kill me, take over? Easier than all that backseat driving."
"You don't get off so easy, besides I like you. So, we're agreed? He's available, grab him?"
"Compromise. I don't make the first move, too unseemly. If he does, well I go with the flow."
"Deal, I'll hold you to that."

I don't see the couple til 2 months later. From her blissed-out look, she's getting all she wants. His look is as one hypnotized.
As usual, the views of management differ from mine. "Don't you see? They're headed for the rocks."
"Go on."
"She hasn't changed one iota, maybe 1% compromise with Earthling ways for show. Now you, fool you, think she likes sex. True enough, but she likes the thrill of conquest even more. Soon, she's screaming with boredom and he's dialling your number."
"Go on."
"No, it's true. Meantime, still look just in case. So what was he thinking when he stared at your legs? And rather too much."
"He wasn't."
"He was, drooling. Admit it, he was ogling your legs, way too much."
"Come to mention it, he was."
"Now get off that lazy ass and go to the store. Buy Chatelaine, time to choose more clothes."
I groan aloud.
"Do it."
Pulling on my jacket, I head out the door.
In the store, I meet the Lieutenant. He smiles, "ah, meant to ask you. Suppose you and I could go for coffee, no nothing improper, need advice on my fiancee."
Once we're seated, he launches into his tale of woe. Soon it is obvious, he's the problem. Demanding a lot more than he's giving. Treading on eggshells, I suggest ways he could be just a little more generous. He thanks me for the female perspective, leaves. During this time, in no way did word or glance suggest anything improper.
Soon as we part, the Afghan storms at me, "fool! Vulnerable, easy pickings, take him home, give him a couple BJ's and he's yours."
"That's stealing."
"Forget all that chivalrous nonsense. No wonder you never find anyone."
"Look, I've had enough of you. Put up or shut up, kill me and take over."
"Forget it, time you experienced depression again."
As I crash in bed, feeling wiped, she chuckles, "now stay that way."
I groan, roll over, try to sleep.
Curiously, this time it's nowhere near as bad, learned how to manage it. It's peace and quiet, she can't really pick on me. When she sees I actually prefer it, she stops. But now, the balance of power has shifted a bit. Her threats don't carry the same weight. She switches from order mode to suggestion mode.
As it turns out, I'm wearing one of the seductive skirts when I next meet the couple. Again, I decline to impose, but am invited. Tone is different, she is as itchy as I've ever seen her.
It's a round table and I use my knowledge of geometry to the max. As the table hides from her what I'm doing, I ever so subtly shift position often, calculated to show off.
Before, this would have been against my moral code. But now, I can see I'm not breaking up any happy household. They've already decided, just haven't done it yet. All I'm saying is, when it happens, maybe he'll remember me.
The Afghan is loud in her congratulation after, "proud of you. I'd say 2 days, he's yours."
She's half-way right, the timing. But as always, Fate loves to throw a wicked curveball. He runs into a hometown girl, who scoops him away.
To me, it's wildly humorous, I howl with laughter after the pilot's phone call. The Afghan says I'm insane, need to understand being a woman is serious business, not frivolity.
"Go on, you're just a sorehead. Year from now, it'll seem a funny story. See it on TV, you'd think it's funny."
Silence a moment, "uh yeah, I do believe you're right. Who would have thought of a punch line like that to the joke? You know, I admire your style. Lose and you can still laugh about it. So, accept my apology for when I nagged? Still friends?"
"Yes to both."
"Still, you saw his eyes, form of hynotism. He'll soon get bored with that well-meaning hometown girl, seek you out."
"Go on, just saying that to get me horny."
"Could happen you know."
"Yeah, and we could win the lotto."
"Look at the bright side. Discovered your power and influence. You could not have handled that leg show better if I scripted every move. So, here on in, skirts more often. Hey, not an order, a suggestion."
I laugh, "sure why not? A blast watching him struggle not to cream his pants."
"Even with this well-meaning girlfriend, he's still gonna see you in dreams. Your legs anyhow. That's the power of advertising, no different than cars or colas."
"Sad isn't it?"
"World won't change for you, you gotta change for it."
"I think women are disgusting, both planets. Men too."

I run into the Lt in the store, looking upset. We go for coffee, he takes a ring outa his pocket, "gave it back. Said I better grow up and now."
"What went wrong? Thought things were gonna go good."
Blush, "truth is I BS'd you bigtime. When I talked of things being unequal in oral, I implied I was doing some, just not enough. Truth is, I've never done it in my whole life."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I know, hard to believe. I listen to coworkers, Reservist friends, school friends. I've never admitted this to a soul before."
"I am afraid you simply do not have a choice. Lose this girl, get another, still hafta do it."
"Yeah, you're right."
"Really want her back? Or just joshing me?"
"Want her back."
"Then pick up that cell phone, now!"
Blush, "just one problem. See, never admitted to her I've never done it. So, if I ah well ah gag and choke and cough and hesitate, we're toast. I need practice."
I feel a chill, where he's headed.
"So, you gotta husband or boyfriend who'd be jealous?"
"No." At this point, the Afghan is screaming in my ear to go for it.
He hedges, "look no sex. If you feel afraid, you can even tie my hands. Please, just let me practise so I don't shame myself in front of her."
"Strict conditions. Wait outside my door, I get something tie your hands before you go in."
After, he thanks me profusely, leaves.
Sadly the Afghan asks, "so how come you let him slip away? Why not grab?"
"Think bigger picture. He's getting that commission upgraded to Regular Force. What happens when he shows at socials with a much older wife? Laughed off base. It'd never work. He's best with her."
Moment of silence, "you truly are a generous soul. Lots would just grab, not worry bout stuff like that."
"He would only hate me later."

Alien 5

The pilot blushes, "it all started because I was so sexually frustrated."
It's all I can do to keep a straight face.
"Wipe that look of disbelief. Surely you saw both vids, could compare."
I lie, "anti-viral wiped both attachments, suspected corruption."
"Shame, you see you and I shared something wonderful. Only at the time, I was young, immature, didn't know. Now, it's just never any enthusiasm the men have. Still, anti-viral wouldn't wipe the email, you could have hit accept."
"The Afghan woman and I have come to an understanding."
Wicked grin, "gotcha, girls have alla fun. So, where's your boyfriend? How come you use that silly thing?" points to vibrator.
"Here on Planet Earth is periodic drought. One copes with the means at hand, pardon the pun."
"Yeah, well being so frustrated I started into gambling. Lousy plan. Every girl on our planet does everything to excess. I ah ran up every credit card under the sun."
"So, just declare bankruptcy, everyone else does."
"Enlisteds can and do declare it every two years, some of them. Officers, no way, drummed out."
"So, what did you do?"
"Steal. Everything except weapons, so I'm not a traitor. Paper, underwear, soap, cases of food, palm pilots, handhelds, black marketed it."
"I see and the Auditor General's girls were tracking you?"
Laugh, "yeah, banging on the other side of the locked door as I set the beamer."
I laugh, I don't hate her or anything.
She sighs, "back to practical, got forged Canadian ID. Same height as your average East Indian Earthling and of course, all our noses are same shape as the East Indian Earthlings. What sorta job could I get?"
"Forget cashier, check references, or any other office job. Dishwasher or janitor, you could start tomorrow."
I had expected outrage but she smiles, "co-ol, beats the stockade. Still, couple days, find a boyfriend."
"Little slower here, they're shyer."
"I would die if I went a week without, maybe buy one of these. You don't mind if I stay here?"
"No problem."
"Sweet, how's your job?"
"Lousy, whole Revenue Department is buncha hated outcasts, gobbling up half the economy."
"So, how long you been without a boyfriend?"
"Since I got here."
She gasps, "what happened?"
"Major depressive episode."
"I don't understand, if you can't even find a boyfriend, how is it you like the Afghan woman?"
"Never said I liked her, said we came to an understanding."
"Beaming wipes one, gotta crash."
The Afghan chuckles, "is she in for a rude awakening! So why are women on your planet so oversexed?"
"Why does the wind blow? Why are there tides? Just is."
"Buy her a vibrator or she'll drive you crazy."
"Thanks for the advice."
"Hey I like you by now, did what I couldn't do. Never even complained, just slogged through."
I blush, "nah, you were the hero, me the wimp, woulda done myself the first day."
"And that was the sixth time I took too many pills."
I gasp.
"See what I mean, I admire you. Is she lying, maybe a traitor?"
"If she'd sold arms, you and me would be staring down the snouts of a dozen blasters by now."
"But they wouldn't chase her just over money?"
"Too much medical risk, decontamination. Only do a jump like that for say stealing missiles."
At this point, we hear the whirr, the pilot disappears before our very eyes.
"Ah ha," says the Afghan, "didn't send MP's. Someone expert at computers did an exact reversal, trigger on her DNA, so it won't drag any bystanders."
By now I'm laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"I know one person who could do that. Also, wants revenge on this pilot."
"Do tell."
"You mean I never mentioned the office manager/techie? Well ..."
"What a rich joke!"
"Still buy that vibrator tomorrow."
"That's perverted, unnatural, sickening."
"Just do it or else!"
And darned if she isn't right. As I gasp and sweat and moan, I hear, "told you so!"
As I lie after, she asks, "so, the day you destroyed the handheld. What would have happened if you'd accepted instead?"
"You'd be dead."
"Thanks for saving my life. Still, why didn't you accept?"
"Techie, least I'd get love; Japanese, sex sizzle. Her, like kissing a rubber doll."
"But surely if you knew how she looked as an adult you .."
"You get into too many what-ifs my friend. Drive yourself nuts. It is - live with it."
"Hold on, might this same techie be able to beam you back?"
"Hasta be very fast, as in a clinically dead situation. Original plan was for me to return one minute after transmission. Now, my previous body is toast."
"So we're together, for better or worse. Don't be such a hermit, drop into coffee houses now and again, like tomorrow after work."
As I sit over an espresso, feeling stupid, I ask, "so why are Earthling men so?"
"Western culture has it all wrong, talk of men as the super-hornies. Ain't so, it's the women. Your planet understands this, even if there is inequality."
"Oh."
"Buy Chatelaine magazine, gotta get you offa your lazy ass, get some more clothes. And makeup."
"I'd rather die than do that."
"My friend, remember the siege, I can do that again you know."
"I get your point."
"That skirt there, gotta get one like that."
"That's showing off too much skin."
"Oh grow up, just you're too da**ed lazy to shave your legs."
I blush.
"Right now, get in that bathroom and start."
Wow, is she ever getting pushy!
"There, look nice, tomorrow after work, shopping."
"I hate shopping."
"Women love to shop, get with the program."
I have wild kinky erotic dreams. When I wake up the Afghan says, "you like her more than me."
How do you reply to that? So I don't.
"Gotta lay all that stuff to rest. Today we shop."
"Would it not be easier to just wear sweats and pick up a lesbian?"
"No way pal, don't want the Afghans gossiping about me, I mean more than they already do."
"What do you care what they think?"
She pauses, "ok time to cool the temperature. You see my friend, you are simply socialized into a world of self and girlfriend, not as much sense of family or nation."
"Oh."

"There now, aren't you glad we shopped? Even color-draped properly."
"I'd feel like a prostitute in this. Like I'm only wearing it to snag guys."
"And your point is? Tomorrow for sure, buy a lipstick."
"I'd rather die."
"And a face powder and ..."
Again the whirr. Pilot gives a goofy grin, "my sentence ain't the stockade, it's exile."
I laugh, "isn't everything Justice gets involved in insane?"
She nods, "even gave me back the phony ID. Constitution says I hafta make a living."
The pilot is fast on her feet. Three days, job. Within a week, boyfriend. Some young innocent guy. From the looks, she'll be calling the shots in bed, not Earthling ways. They get an apartment together.
I am burned with envy. It just is not fair. Look how much heavy water my voyage produced so far.
The Afghan is equally ticked, different reason. Hoping for that girl-girl fling with the pilot.