This article is part of the The Great Authors Series series.
The varied hues of her Stripe Tricot Scoop Back Tank Dress dress reminded Truk Mestro of the nutrient farms of Iskav. He revved the engine of his power bike and snapped the mask up on his helmet.
"What's your name, beautiful?" asked Truk.
"President Hankem," she said. "My pod has crash landed in this honkytonk hell. I'm just looking for a man to get me out of here. Are you that man?"
"I could be that man," agreed Truk. "How does a bed to sleep in at Patrol Base One sound?"
"Sounds like the sort of thing I could be inside of with you," answered President Hankem as she threw a comfortable and sexy leg around the back seat of Truk's power bike.
"That Tricot Scoop Back Tank Dress will be even more comfortable on the floor of my quarters at Patrol Base One," laughed Truk. "After you take it off and put it there. Your dress, I am referring to, which you will put onto the floor."
Truk slammed down the juice on the bike and it wooshed away from the wreckage of the pod. Neither Truk nor President Hankem noticed the spying eyes of the black robot. The eyes were red and on the robot's arm was the skull face of the Death Destroyers.
Hetter McPheev was an agent of the Central Psychiatry Force based on Jupiter's moon, Ganymede. He wore casual Chambray Shorts with spacious pockets. A crimson singlet and a corduroy over shirt completed the look as he installed nerve clamps on the humanoids. He looked at the prisoners who would be enslaved.
"Soon these humanoids will be addicted to our methods and 'medicine.' There is nothing they can do to stop us."
Just then Wythe Parno emerged from her pod and began to inspect the installation. She was an 11th level Ganymede Psychomentalist and very beautiful despite her hooked nose. She looked at the prisoners and then at McPheev with disdain. Even though she was his subordinate she was very insubordinate in the way of haughty Psychomentalist women in particular.
"Stop us?" she sneered, still looking at him.
"That's right," said McPheev hiding his emotions.
"I don't think these walls could withstand even a small psychic storm," said Wythe with a nod and a shake of her head. "We have to keep them sedated at all times, and force them to wear our lovely Chambray Pocket Shorts."
Hetter McPheev looked at her and she looked back at him. They both nodded and squinted at the harsh horizon, looking in that direction.
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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