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Anyway, everything is great now. We wander wherever we please, as long as we return to the pit to sleep. When nobody is looking, we sneak into the royal palace courtyard and put on a wrestling show for the girls.

And the nights! Ah, the nights!

Don’t turn entirely green with envy, Hankus. At least leave your nose the familiar red.

Jed

SPACEGRAM

To: Jed Michaels, Ryttuk, Eros

FINE WORK. RETURN IMMEDIATELY. WILL MEET YOU AT MARS. MAYBE YOU CAN PERSUADE SOME OF THE GIRLS TO ACCOMPANY YOU THAT FAR. AM SENDING THE WRESTLERS TO SATURN.

HANK

ROCKET MAIL (First Class)

To: H. E. Horrocks,

Cosmopolis, Earth

Dear Hank:

Go to Mars, the man says. I can’t go anywhere. The elders caught us giving a rassle when Aliana was away and we’re in again.

These flower roots taste terrible.

Jed

SPACEGRAM

To: Jed Michaels,

Ryttuk, Eros

YOU BLUNDERING BABOON, YOU’RE FIRED.

HORROCKS

ROCKET MAIL

(Free, Royal Frank)

Royal Palace, Eros

To: H. E. Horrocks,

Cosmopolis, Earth

Dear melon brain:

I gather from your last message that you wish to discharge me. I accept the offer, fat boy. In fact, under royal Eros precedent, which I made up three minutes ago, we will even pay for your message. However, the words “you blundering baboon” do not seem a necessary part of that message, and their cost will be taken out of the first bit of business that the royal house of Eros decides to honor your puny little corporation with.