"How can you tell the difference?"  Rale asked, squinting into the glare shimmering off the indigo water.  Kari's flying boast, the Salem Albatross, had arrived from the Aboria mainland on its twice-weekly circuit.  While WaterWings was it's last stop, many wealthy clients arrived on the huge PBY Catalina because of the Undernia's inter-continental flight connections. 

"Luggage.  Working stiffs buy cheap, practical luggage.  However, a guy on salary and commissions has an image to maintain.  His bags cost more because they're supposed to look like they cost more." he said.  They were supposed to be repairing the gutters on the main guest hut but when his mother said the Salem was coming in early, Lucas could not resist slipping the binoculars into his toolbox.  With the spring season beginning, this was the first influx of the summer's big tippers. 

"What about them?" Rale pointed.  A large bear struggled down the gangplank, followed by a suntering rabbit-feline mix with a floppy hat and sunglasses.  Through the lens, Lucas saw the bear was already sweating in the tropical sun. 

"That is a gen-eu-wine oppressor of the masses and his trophy mate.  Their bags look the same as the office serf's stuff but are real leather."  Two young canids strode off, duffel bags over their shoulders.  "Those are military types on vacation." 

"Their luggage again?" Rale said peevishly.  His brother was hogging the binoculars and everyone was almost off the plane. 

"Partly.  Nobody buys that dark green canvas stuff unless they're travelling poor or had it issued to them.  The tip off is their physique.  Incredibly buff but not muscle-bound.  I can see the shine off their deltoids from here." 

"Talking about seein', how about givin' me the glasses?"  Lucas smirked, figuring he had teased Rale enough, and handed them over.  The sleek otter boy adjusted the lens width and peered through them.  He caught a hulking badger-type squeezing his broad shoulders through the narrow hatch.  One of the uniformed stewardesses offered her hand to steady him but he totally ignored her.  He stumped self-assured down the down the gangplank, the metal and wood flexing under this pace. 

"Hoo-wee!" Rale whispered, "I've died and gone to a better place." 

"What?" 

"Nutz.  I must still be alive 'cause you're here." he said, sarcastically, "She's somethin'..." 

"Let me see."  Lucas grabbed the glasses, ignoring his younger brother's protests. 

She was something!  Almost pure lioness, with a slinky muscular built that towered over six feet.  She stepped off the flying boat like a goddess rising from the sea to survey her realm.  A billowing white outfit floated about her like winged cherubs.  Her luggage was an old fashion carrying trunk with gleaming brass corners and hardboard sides.  She lifted it herself, refusing the porter's assistance with a friendly smile. 

"Rale, we're almost done up here.  Run down to the office and see who she is."  The young boy was instantly down the ladder and running through the jungle growth.  No one ever noticed him in the office, especially if he kept to the corners and decorative plants.  Even his mother had a hard time smelling him if the wind blew from inland.  He slipped in the side door leading to the Hooch walkway. 

The badger was still registering.  Rale disliked him immediately, despite how Mom said never to judge anyone.  He was polite but in a tight-lipped way.  His eyes and body language radiated an ice-cold tension.  He had seen plenty of high-ranking military types at WaterWings but never anyone as wary as he was. 

"Thank you vary much, Mr..." Sylvia Slipsunder said, taking his registration card, "Moulinet.  That's a very musical name." 

"It was my mother's." he said.  His tone was so neutral, Sylvia could not tell whether he took as a compliment or an insult. 

"About payment, we received your advance yesterday so..." 

"Here the rest." he said, flicking out his cashcard. 

"That's not necessary.  You're booked for a week and we can settle then." 

"I might be leavin' early. Just so there's no hard feelings." 

"As you wish.  Also, I'll need your passport for a moment."  The badger's head came up, his black eyes suddenly hard and empty. 

"Why?" It was an order, not a request. 

"Just a precaution." Sylvia said.  Her smile softened the firmness in her voice.  "We've had problems with solders going AWOL and hiding in Happenstance.  This way, if the authorities fly in, we can show them who is staying here with having to bother our guests."  The badger paused then shrugged and handed over his passport.  Rale slipped into the rear office as his mother imprinted the card and photocopied the passport.   When she passed both sheets through the keyhole window onto her desk, he was close enough to read them. 

"You're in cabin #12.  As you requested, its isolated but fully equip and you're still be close enough to scent when dinner is being served.  Would you like someone to help with your bags?" 

"Naw, just have 'em show me ta to go."  Rale held his breath.  If his mother sighted or scented him, he would be alone with that creepy badger in tow. 

"Oh, you can't miss it.  Head out the side door and keep following the path to the right." With a curt nod, he grabbed his bags and strode into the morning light.  His departure caused the tension in the air to abruptly dissipate. 

"Something tell me that male could use a vacation." the tall lioness said. 

"You could say that." Sylvia sighed, pulling out another registration slip, "Sorry to keep you waiting." 

"You not worry, ma'am.  I be in no hurry." she said in a voice as deep and rich as Concordian chocolate.  Rale watched her strolled up to the counter, her height making his mother suddenly seem shorter. 

"You must be Ms. Mbaya." 

"Shaneika Mbaya.  But most people call me Asali.  It means `honey' in my lands." she said, flashing a brilliant set of fangs. 

"Asali then.  You're the first guest we've had from Nyumba Dola."  It was a classic understatement.  The Dark Continent across the ocean from Undernia had suffered a hundred years of invasion, exploitation, and betrayal.  When the native population threw out the last colonial power during the War of the Eastern Sea, everyone hoped it would rise phoenix-like from the ashes.  The reality was that, once free of their oppressors, the various tribes and national factions were free to attack each other. 

Decades of bloodshed were slowly and stubbornly suppressed only by the diplomatic skills of the OSL <Organization of Southern Lands>, a group championing democratic self-rule.  Only recently had the newly renamed continent of Nyumba Dola reopened its boarders to the outside world.  Its initial exports were students who filled the Freeland universities at their homeland's expense.  Some graduates formed the civil service while other returned as business males and females.  The Freelands expected to be quickly fleece these genteel foreigners in their colourful robes.  However, the Nyumbians had been trading between continents when the Freelanders were still hunting with stones.  Nyumba Dola remaines a mystery land where few visitors are allowed beyond the popular tourist zones. 

"Hopefully, I'll be one of many more coming your away.  Me Government has just announced that we'll have a pavilion at the '67 CIE <Centennial Independence Exposition> in Steelborough."  Asali handed over her identification then began to fill in the registration with a practised copperplate script.  Sylvia turned to the photocopier, scanned the passport, and checked the copy for clarity.  Rale saw his mother blink at the result. 

Most Therians spoke the Common Tongue whose origin was hotly debated in academic circles.  Flavoured into a hundred colourful accents, it allows most of the planet to easily understand each other.  However, a scattering of other languages had also come out of Time's mists, surviving in isolated pockets.  Nyumba Dola was one of these lands and Sylvia stared upon a passport that made little sense. 

The basic information of name, age, residence, and identifying features were bilingual but the rest exist only in Asali's idiom.  For example, she worked as a "mwanamgambo" for the "Askari Walinda Nyumba".  Sylvia discreetly flipped through the pages, finding Ms. Mbaya had travelled around the globe on dozens of short trips.  Even more interesting, several trips did not have exiting stamps.  A call to Constable Coldwater in Fairport might be in order. 

"Many thanks." she said, turning back to the lioness. "I've put you in cabin #8.  You've got a good view of the bay and the patio areas but you're still far enough away not to be bothered.  Do need a hand with your luggage?" 

"Oh, you needn't worry about this trunk?  I packed light this trip." she said, casually picking it up.  Sylvia noted how the muscles rippled under her tawny pelt. 

"Well, you'll need someone to show you the way..."  Rale appeared as if he had come up between the floor planks. 

"Hi, Mom.  We're finished redoing the roof.  Got anything that needs doing?"  Sylvia sniffed to see if Rale was really of her flesh and not a changeling. 

"Ah... Show Ms. Asali to cabin #8.  No sidetrips, no cute comments about the other guests, and hightail it back here.  You got that?" 

"Sure, Mom.  This way, Ms. Asali."  She paused in the doorway. 

"The flying boat I came in on.  It makes a mid-week trip through here, no?" 

"That's right." Sylvia replied.  Asali grinned and turned away. 

She was almost twice his height but she matched her stride to his own.  He described in detail the local features, what was served at mealtimes, what activities and diversions were offered at WaterWings.  She took it in with a happy air, listening as if his every word was important.  Living as a pseudo-fauve on Buck's Rump Island across the bay, Rale found such attention distracting.  Normally, only his family cared about him and it had nine members, excluding her mother's numerous mates.  When Ms. Asali fixed her gold-brown eyes on her, his mind went blank, his glib patter faltered, and his pace slowed.  By the time hey reached her cabin, he was totally enthralled with her. 

"I believe it is your custom to pay the guide." she said, unlocking the door 

"Aw, its nothin'.  Just hope you enjoy your stay." 

"In my lands, custom is very important." she purred, "and I not want to be uncivilized.  Unfortunately, I've only this for now."  From her pocket, she dropped a newly minted coin into his hand.  Rale stared at the glinting 5 shilling piece bearing the portrait of a majestic lion mix.  It did not matter that he not know how much 5 shillings was or that he could not spend it.  It was the only Nyumbian coin in a thousand leagues and he owned it. 

"Wow!  Super wow!  Thanks, Ms. Asali!  This is so killer." 

"You be welcome.  A question, if I may." 

"Anything!" 

"There be a boat to Fairport any time soon?" 

"Three times a week.  Tomorrow morning at eight, in fact.  Just be on the dock." 

"Many thanks." she grinned, winking at him as the door closed.
 
 
 

Janet, the eldest of Sylvia's brood, waited as the inter-island tender came puffing into view.  Rale and Lucas had already pestered her with information about their guest.  When they found their sister was going into Fairport, they begged to tag along.  Janet firmly said no and was prepared to be thoroughly unimpressed with Ms. Asali.  After all, she was half tiger herself and the largest one in the family. 

When the object of their attention arrived on the dock just before departure, she was slightly taken aback.  The diaphanous outfit had been replaced with well-worn khaki.  Ms. Asali was polite to everyone but quietly business-like and could obviously handle herself around boats.  On the ninety minute ride into port, she found an isolated nook and curled up with a bookpad. 

Nestled in a sheltering bay, Fairport is a compact port of 6000 people.  Its difficult not to run across most visitors several times a day and Janet's itinerary seemed to follow that of Ms. Asali.  Both went to the bank upon landing, the lioness finding her way with only a few pauses.  While Janet deposited the resort's receipts, Asali was talking to the manager, converting a roll of bills into local currency.  While Janet paid bills at Sweetland's Chandler Shoppe, she could see Asali buying at catnip sweets and shampoo at the drygoods store across the lane.  Later, she was nibbling and reading at Paquito's Bistro, a scarf around her head against the noonday brightness, ignoring the traffic her beauty was causing.  Several local Romeos tried to strike up a conversation but she politely refused.  Janet smirked in sympathetic sisterhood when she finally reached over the railing and easily picked the largest one up by his belt buckle. 

By the time the boat arrived back at WaterWings, night had fallen and the sky was a starry maelstrom.  Lucas was waiting, his border collie colouring rendering him almost invisible amidst the hoarding hut crates.  Janet got off first and grabbed him by the elbow before Asali descended the gangplank. 

"Did you see..." he began. 

"Yeah, I saw.  Come with me." she ordered.  Lucas flicked an uneasy ear.  Janet was the most pragmatic of them all and almost impossible to rile.  He quietly followed her up to the office where Sylvia waited.  There, Janet outlined their guest's circuit: bank, shopping, lunch, sightseeing the Mariners' Church and Lookout Point, dinner, and a movie with popcorn at the town's tiny cinema. 

"Sounds normal." 

"I was bored stiff.  Thank the Goddess Fairport is tiny or I'd have looked a fool traipsing around without her seeing me.  You owe me another trip." 

"You'll have it." Sylvia said calmly, "You see Constable Coldwater?" 

"That was the only interesting point of the day." Janet said, her voice growing quieter.  "Coldwater was having a fit.  Had to hang around half an hour before I could see him."  That she waited at all was unusual.  Abelard Coldwater was a full-blooded wolf, as were most peace officers, sent out ten years ago by the mainland to control the contraband trade.  With five deputies, he had patrolled 15000 islands and 1000 square leagues of open ocean.  However, the winter storms had kept the pirates and smugglers in sheltered waters and crime had been fairly dormant.  "Talked to Winterhay, his horsy-faced deputy." she went on, "He said they'd just received a communiqu‚ that a master criminal was in the area.  Coldwater was ordered to watch for any suspicious newcomers and report back.  Winterhay didn't have many details beyond they had escape from Nyumba Dola with millions in diamonds.  They'd also killed two people getting out." 

"What did Coldwater do when you showed him that photocopy?" 

"Just about swallowed his tongue.  He put an immediate call into the Therion Police Registry.  They put him on hold because Nyumba Dola isn't connected to the system." 

"You're kidding?" Lucas said. 

"Ten minutes later, the TPR comes back." 

"What did they tell him to do?" 

"Nothing." 

"What?" their mother asked pointedly. 

"Absolutely nothing.  Don't question her, don't visit her, and definitely don't go near her.  Further instructions will be coming, they said and hung up.  Coldwater sat there, stunned."  Their mother's ears went flat.  Coldwater had a fearless reputation.  He once rescued a kidnapped child by jumping through the thatched roof and shooting three criminals dead.  It was not his nature to avoid danger. 

"Momma, what are we going to do? 

"Exactly what Constable Coldwater is doing.  Nothing.  Asali may be from Nyumba Dola but we've no proof that she is a crook or a killer..." 

"Mom, have you seen the muscles on her?" 

"Have you seen the muscles on me, butt biscuit?" his tigress sister asked, "I haven't killed you yet either." 

"Silence!" Sylvia spat, "Ms. Mbaya is our guest and will be treated as such!  Until I hear from Coldwater, she is a law abiding and fully paid-up visitor.  Also, this conversation doesn't leave this room!  Do I make myself utterly clear?" 

"Yes, Mom." 

"As you say." 

"Now, its late.  Lucas, you turn in.  Your sister and I still have to settle the day's accounts.  And not a word to Rale." 

"All right." he nodded and padded off into the clear night.  Sylvia waited until her son was well out of hearing range. 

"Janet, head off too.  You've had a long day and I can finish this cash up by myself.  Tomorrow morning, I want you to go online and find out what language they speak in Nyumba Dola.  See if you can find a translation dictionary." 

"What's that?" 

"It tells what words in another language mean in Common Tongue and visa verso.  See if you can find out what that stuff on her passport means." 

"First thing, Mom."  They nuzzled and Janet headed off after her brother.  In an hour, Sylvia had finished the accounts, blew out the lamp, and shuttered the office.  A freshening wind was coming off the sea and sweeping up the sharp hills.  She strolled through the darkness, the tossing palms blotting out the heavens' glory.  Half way to her hut, Sylvia stopped and inhaled the clean, salty air before heading back down the slope. 

Normally, the hooch would still be in full swing but it was early in the season and none of the more jovial groups had arrived yet.  She let herself in, relocking the door and not turning the lights on.  Slipping behind the bar, she knelt and spread her palm against the liquor locker.  Most of WaterWings was reliably low-tech.  The exceptions were their communication rig, the office safe, and their food and liquor lockers.  A laser-thin blue glow scanned her hand followed by the dull click of the opening lock.  From the locker's cold light, she pulled out a bottle of special reserve whisky.  Leaving the door open, she took down a highball glass, splashed in two fingers of amber fire and drained it in one motion.  Throwing in an ice cube, she refilled the glass and locked the bottle away.  Under the blazing constellations, she hugged herself and stared into the sea's unfathomable darkness. 

It had been ten years since she had a drink.  Not since the night that Rale's father had died, never knowing she was pregnant, never having seen his only son.  Tears welled up, much as she hated them, hated the feeling that she could not cope.  She was fiercely proud of her independence, wearing the fact that her brood had multiple fathers as a sign of her liberty.  One reason why she opened WaterWings was to offer others the opportunity to live as free as she did. 

Now danger walked amongst them and she did know what to do.  The authorities were in distant Fairport and only she stood between whatever happened and her family. 

"Why shouldn't trouble come to paradise?" she sighed aloud, "It's like expecting the bull not to chase you across the farm because you're a vegetarian.  Guess I'll just have to see what the morrow brings."
 
 
 

That dawn and the next two came washed over WaterWings bright, clear, and without incident.  Ms. Asali was her usual charming self, always polite with her flashing smile.  In fact, she was almost too charming.  WaterWings had known more than its share of beautiful people but she was different.  Taller than most Therions, she did not radiate an erotic pulchritude so much as an aura of power.  When she strode down to the fresh-water pool with only a towel over her shoulder, every male would suddenly freeze and watch.  At dinner, she would happily eat the hooch's biggest steak like she was killing it.  Her early morning run down the length of the island and back became a social gathering for those males who could slip away to watch. 

The one with the best advantage for this daybreak ritual was Lucas.  His hut was built on knoll overlooking the resort and, while venerable to the winds, had a great view of the beach.  It was there, on the third morning, that Janet found her brother holding his binoculars and erect penis.  Smirking, she silently sucked her teeth until he had worked himself into an explosive state before barging into the room. 

"Mom wants you to check the taps in cabin #9!" 

"Ack!" Lucas almost dropped the binoculars as his reproductive system launched into its eruptive actions. 

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Did I catch you in the middle of something?" 

"Janet!  Get the fuck out!" 

"Don't worry.  I'm only staying a second.  Cripes, you guys are messy. Its all over the wall." she said, taking the binoculars, "Amazing how small it get afterwards too.  No wonder you're all one-shot wonders." 

"Aw, shut up!" 

"You're wasting tissues.  There wasn't that much." she said, looking out the window with the binoculars.  Asali was completing her run and, at 80X power, her sweaty tawny form filled the lenses. "We females, on the other paw, we can go all night and hardly perspire.  Mom and Kari are proof of that." 

"You don't like Ms. Mbaya 'cause you're no longer the only feline female on the island." 

"Stop thinking with your dick, bro.  If I was gay or bi, I'd be doing the same thing you are.  Got to admit, when she goes running, you can almost hear the jungle drums." 

"Why then?" he asked, pulling on his work shorts.  Janet frowned, handing back the glasses. 

"Because I'm half tiger. I know that look and scent.  She's not on vacation..  She's hunting and the Goddess help her prey when she finds it." 

"You're talking animal." Lucas spat, using the direst of insults.  Janet merely smirked. 

"Don't kid yourself, bro.  The Goddess didn't give us claws and fangs so we could open beer cans easier.  Our ancestors had to kill to eat and some of them liked it.  She's one.  Stay away from her." Janet said from the doorway, "Mom's putting breakfast on soon.  Don't forget the taps in #9." 

"Yeah.  Sure.  Right." Lucas frowned.  He went to the window and leisurely watched Asali at the outdoor shower besides their pool.
 
 
 

In WaterWings's insular surroundings, simple amusements can take on a heighten importance.  Chess or shuffleboard, laughingly dismissed at home, are played with the fervour of a knife fight.  Considering the accepted lack of clothing, other more social, interactions also took place.  Only a computer could keep track of what transpired in private.  Sylvia recently toyed with having only gay or bi visitor weeks in an attempt to keep the pairings to a dull roar.  However, one of the most important pastimes engaged in was gossip.  Curiously enough, much of it was about the only guest who had nothing to say. 

Mr. Moulinet seemed the kind of person incapable of having a vacation.  While the other guests sported with abandon, he quickly fell into a rigid pattern.  At eight o'clock every morning, he would stump out of his cabin in a pair of baggy blue shorts with a towel around his short neck.  Two cups of coffee, two sugars, no cream, were consumed as he frowned through yesterday's death and titillation on his newspad.  A swim in the bay followed, where he would plod out to Buck's Rump and back with a surprisingly robust stroke.  A light vegetarian brunch was succeed by an afternoon nap beside the pool.  Afterwards, he would wander the island with a grim determination then wash and semi-formally dress to dine alone.  Evenings consisted of drinking two gin and tonics, limes quartered please, while watching the sky fade to star dusted blackness followed by lights out at ten o'clock. 

A couple of guests had given up engaging him in dialogue.  From his one word answers and non-committal grunt, it was obvious that he considered females as airheads and most males as not much better.  Only Sylvia tried a concentrated attempt that conversation and the results were surprizing.  Once he realized she was a serious entrepreneur, Mr. Moulinet was a fund of business knowledge.  There was nothing concerning Truenorth finances, inter-Freelands currency exchanges, or commodity futures that was beyond his grasp.  Just when she pegged him as a high-level broker, their talk revealed his predatory insights into the workings of the law.  As this dull badger spoke in correctly phrased sentences, Sylvia got an uneasy feeling.  Mr. Moulinet spoke of hostile take-overs, quasi-illegal acts, and the control of entire economies without the slightest emotion. He would quietly speak of violence and loss as if mulling over yesterday's weather.  In the end, Sylvia excused herself, leavi! 

ng him to his lonely meal. 

On the third day, he deviated.  Bored of laying around, he ran his finger down the offered activities during his morning coffee.  He instantly dismissed each offering until "skeet shooting" elicited a grunt. 

"Hey, kid." he said to Rale as the young otter mix passed on the beach below the patio. 

"Yeah, mister." 

"Says here that this place offers skeet shooting." 

"Yeah.  We have the equipment set up on that ridge." Rale said, pointing to one of the knife-edge hills dividing the island.  "Its a hike but the view is great.  Get a hold of my collie brother.  He'll take you up." 

"Get him now and there's money in it for you."  Rale was back in three minutes with Lucas in tow.  "You got skeet shooting?" he repeated to the resort's handymale while flipping a coin to Rale. 

"Sure.  I'll be free about noon if that's alright." 

"Fine." 

"However, our policy is to have more than one shooter if possible.  If you wish, I'll post a notice to see if anyone else want to go." 

"You do that.  I'll be at the office at noon." he said, going back to his newspad. 

Several guests, especially the military canids, expressed interest when the notice went up.  However, once they learned who was going, everyone refused.  Only Mr. Moulinet was at the office when Lucas showed up with the resort's shotgun carrier and a chain of keys around his neck. 

"Looks like its only going to be you and me." he said.  The badger grunted, harkening a slight grin. 

"Not quite.  I be interested in trying this." Ms. Asali purred.  She strolled in the doorway, clad in a snug pair of shorts with a canvas bag slung loosely around her shoulder. 

Moulinet turned, his eyes hard. 

"You can shoot?" he asked bluntly. 

"Done some hunting in my time." she smiled.  "Even used a shotgun a couple of times.  Skeet can't be that hard." 

"Meaning you've never shot skeet?" 

"I be thinking this is a male thing you feeling." she chuckled without humour, "You strike me serious, Moulinet-ba.  Care to wager?"  The badger revealed a cruel grin. 

"You want to put money on this.  Cash to the winner then.  One hundred Truenorth dollars?" 

"Do I look like a carhop?  I meant a real wager.  Winner asks whatever they want, looser grants it with a smile.  Still interested?"  Moulinet cast his black eyes down the length of her perfect form. 

"Accepted, Ms. Mbaya." 

Although gambling was illegal on the Happenstance Islands, Lucas had seen guests wager hundred of times.  Once, a party of politicos drunk from their government expense accounts, each wagered a thousand dollars while racing gecko lizards.  This was different, a wager between carnivores, with stakes he did not understand.  He coughed softly, catching their attention. 

"Shall we go?"  They turned, as if suddenly realizing he was there.  For the first time in his life, Lucas was glad he was more canid mix than rabbit.  It was an appalling feeling. 

His unease faded once they were hiking in the open air.  Their path was the oldest of several that wandered the island and easy to follow.  Its steepness required the trio to climb in single file.  Little was said, even when they paused to admire the spreading landscape below or catch a drink from the numerous hillside streams.  Asali seemed to be truly enjoying herself.  Moulinet was dower as ever.  Both seemed to be in as good shape as Lucas who walked these hills every day.  In an hour, they had crossed the divide and come out on a cliff jutting from the sea.  Along the edge, a railing and shooting stand had been built.  Further back, a sturdy wooden stood, securely padlocked. 

Lucas undid the door and unwrapped the skeet launcher from its oiled canvas bag.  Malehandling it outside, he slid the launcher into its mounts bolted to the shooting platform.  From stacks of interlocking skeets in the hut, he brought out two armloads and dumped the first eight into the unit.  A dozen cranks of the launching spring and it was ready.  One of keys around his neck opened a hidden keybox in the hut and one of its keys unlocked the carrier.  Inside were a pair of six shot 12 gage shotguns and a new box of fifty double-odd buckshot shells.  Lucas check both guns, loaded them, and set the safeties.  The badger took his, fitting it smoothly into his shoulder and checking the sights.  The lioness, acting like she was holding a sewer pipe, mimicked his actions. 

"As the challenger, you may go first." he said.  She nodded, and stepped up to the railing.  Clicking off the safety, she carefully assumed a spread-leg stance and sighted down the barrel as if she was going for a twenty-meter golf put.  It was almost painful to watch her rock back-and-forth on each foot. 

"You can be pitching it now." she said through clenched teeth.  Lucas pressed the firing button, the launcher silently whipping a clay disk high over the cliff.  She fired, staggering herself backwards and missing the whirling disk.  Frantically working the pump, she followed the skeet as it fell.  Bent over the railing, she finally shoting again.  Far below, Lucas saw the disk break into three pieces.  "I must be rusty." she turned grinning, "Better luck next time." 

"Madam, luck has nothing to do with it." Moulinet spat, taking her place.  He paused a moment to take in the stunning view.  A three hundred meters above the indigo sea, the island stretched out on either side in shades of verdant green and brown.  Instead of the leeward side's sandy beaches, sweeping jungle-clad hills dove down to the water.  A line of craggy rocks marked the violent boundary between land and water.  Even from this height, the shoreline churned a tormented white. 

"Pull!" he said, smoothly assuming the stance.  The disk shot out but he waited.  Sure enough, twenty meters out, the wind surging up the cliff caught the skeet, lifted it slightly.  Moulinet compensated, reducing it to fragments with a effortless shot. 

"Pull!" he shouted again, destroying the next bird with swift vengeance. "Three time champion of the Savannarado International.  Twice grand champion at the Sweetwater Invitational Shoot.  I regularly get 270 out of 300 birds at my home club.  Are you sure you don't want to change our wager, Ms. Mbaya?." he gloated with troll-like mirth. 

"I made my bed, I lay in it." she said, "Besides, we're not finished yet."  Asali's next two sets were identical.  She got both skeets, either by nailing them with feline swiftness as they came out of the launcher, or by waiting until they began to fall.  Moulinet's expression betrayed disgust at her amateurish shooting.  Time to cut off this bumbling display. 

"Ms. Mbaya, so far you're loosing by only one shot.  Care to raise the stakes?" 

"Sure," she said loudly, "Double or nothing on the next shoot." 

"Multiples?" he said as Lucas reloaded their guns.  She nodded.  He strode up to the platform, noting there were three skeets left in the launcher. 

"Switch to continuous." he ordered Lucas, "Pull!"  The clay disks hurled out with lightening speed.  Moulinet caught two with snap shots.  The third drifted far to the left, catching the updraft.  It wobbled erratically, shifting course repeatedly.  Moulinet's breath snorted as he followed it with singular concentration, the shotgun barrel wavering gently.  At the last moment, he fired, the disk cracking into spinning detritus. 

"Good shot." she said, clapping, "You be proud of that'n." 

"Beat that." he smirked.  While Lucas refilled the launcher, she hooked her bag over the railing and assumed a comfortable stance. 

"How many do you want me to set it for, Ms?" Lucas asked. 

"Leave it the same." she said, carelessly. 

"Ms. Asali, its on continuous.  There are eight skeet..." 

"Just do it." she said, staring outward.  Moulinet openly grinned.  She did not realize there were only six shells in her shotgun. 

"Pull!" she said, easing on the safety.  The launcher sprayed clay disks into the sky.  The lioness dropped the shotgun and reached into her bag, pulling out two silver-plated .45 automatic pistols.  The guns opened up with a thunderous roar.  Lucas froze.  Asali, Yowling at the top of her lungs, blew away every skeets then started on the spining shards.  Every round found its target.  The air filled with smoke, clay dust, and brass casings. 

The silence after the last volley was painful.  The folage moved without making a sound.  Casings rained on the platform like tinkling chimes.  Asali tuned with a satisfied grim, the automatics smouldering lazily loops.  Moulinet had not moved. 

"Beat that!" she said.  The badger blinked then, licking his black lips, breathed again. 

"Impressive." 

"Damn right I be.  Nobody has had the guts to point guns at you for better than twenty years.  Bet you wondering who's better, you standing with a shotgun and me with two pistols." she grinned, savouring their stand-off, "Well, you safe.  Otherwise, I can't collect my wager." 

"Which will be?" 

"Two things.  First, we have dinner tonight."  Moulinet raised his broad head in amusement. 

"Delighted.  I'll be at your cabin at six o'clock sharp." he said, in a droll voice. "And your second request?" 

"A private meeting tomorrow morning with yourself and Jack Flash." 

"Afraid I've never heard him.  Is he an acquittance of yours?" 

"Don't you mean: would I recognize him by sight or scent?" she said, the massive pistols coming up to frame his portly body, "Jackson `Flash' Slipway is flying into Fairport this afternoon.  Tomorrow, he's coming here to see you before flying out on the Salem Albatross.  Your brief conversation will be about potash." 

"Our dinner engagement promises to be very interesting, Ms. Mbaya.  Conceding for the moment what you say is true, why would either of us want to include you?"  Without taking her eyes from him, Asali put one pistol in her bag and pull out a small leather pouch.  She tossed it to him with a smooth underhand.  He undid the knot, pulling open the mouth.  The sight inside made him chuckle, then break out in a knowing, raucous laugh. 

"Now, I am impressed.  You've bought yourself a seat at the table.  What Jack says is up to you." 

"Fair enough." she said, slipping the bag over her shoulder, the pistol never wavering, "Until this evening them."  Walking backward down the path until the first bend, she swiftly vanished into the wind-tossed greenery. 

"Do...do you wish to continue, Mr Moulinet?" Lucas finally said. 

"Not today.  Think I'll wander back alone then take a nap.  As for tonight..." he signed, "the possibilities are endless."
 
 
 

The return of the Goddess herself could not have distracted Lucas the next morning.  Rising as the skies warmed from adjure to burnished gold, he stuffed what he needed and a few granola bars into a haversack.  Slipping out quietly, he quickly climbed to a lookout on the island's north face.  While the unremitting winds played with his folded ears, Lucas scanned the inland strait between the WaterWings and Fairport.  By lashing his binoculars to a support stick, he was able to clearly see the channel into the tiny port.  After half hour and a slowly chewed bar, he was rewarded with a red-and-white speck rounding Bearcat Point into open sea.  Hastily packing up, he ran down the paths to the WaterWings' dock.  The Fairport Inter-Island, and Jackson Flash, was on the way.  After last night, there was no way he was going to miss this. 

It only took him thirty minutes yesterday to lock up the skeet shooting site and hightail himself home.  His mother listened without comment, one ear twitching, to his story.  At its conclusion, she went nuclear. 

"Who the fuck does she think she is?" Sylvia shouted, "Bringing a couple of automatics to my island?  I don't know what kind of game that lion bitch is playing but it stops here!" 

"Are you going to call Constable Coldwater?" Janet asked, arms crossed, her tigress muzzle set. 

"Afterwards.  First, Mbaya is handing over those pistols.  Coldwater can escort her brown butt back to Fairport this afternoon." 

"You sure you want to face her alone?" Lucas asked.  Not having his sister's feline brass, his ears were down and his shoulders up.  Sylvia's soft eyes sparked fire. 

"This is my island, damn it!  I've kicked the asses of every pirate, drunk, and banker who threatened my family, this place, or me!  Buggered if I'm gonna start rollin' over now!" 

"Is this a bad time?" 

Everyone turned towards the smiling Asali.  The vibrations radiating around the room was singeing the woodwork but she stood casually leaning in the office doorway.  Her pelt glowed from a freshwater swim and thorough brushing. 

"My son says you've brought a pair of pistols here." Sylvia barked.  Asali's grin got even wider as she held out the massive guns. 

"Just what I wanted to talk to you about.  Could you put these in your safe until I leave?"  Sylvia glanced at the armament resting in the Nyumbian's palm and went white hot. 

"Madam!  In my office!  Please!" she snarled.  Asali strolled inside, her tufted tail dancing.  The door slam could be felt across the island.  The pair stood outside for a moment while their mother's voice raged within. 

"I haven't heard Mom so ticked off since I sank the runabout in Sheephead bay." Lucas said. 

"She WAS angry.  Now, she's scared." Janet said flatly, "Come on.  I've got something to show you."  She lead her brother back to her hut.  It was beyond the office, away from the public areas, along with their communication rig.  Unlike Lucas' pit of chaos, the room reflected her maturity and need for order.  In one corner, overlooked by huge conservation posters, was her prized possession: a fully accessorised DataMaster 7000 computer.  Janet fired it up while Lucas sat backwards on a neighbouring chair. 

"After Asali came back from Fairport, Mom asked me to do a search for anything about Nyumba Dola and what they speak." 

"Like a translation dictionary?" 

"Bingo, little brother.  There are a couple online that translated most of the headings in her passport.  Its the usual height, weight, and pelt colour junk plus some stuff about her tribe and family compound.  As for the information beside them, that is more problematic.  Some of it identifies groups or places where the newest information we have is thirty years old.  For other items, I had to dig deep into the Intelligence Community reports and most of that stuff is equally cryptic.  Some of it is plain untranslatable." she said, rapidly speeding through webpages as she spoke. 

"So I tried plugging her name, tribe, occupation, anything, into various search engines to see what showed up.  All of it was junk until, last night, I tried a speciality engine used by police forces." 

"And?" Lucas said, excited. 

"This is what came up." With a flourish, she leaned back as pages of text scrolled onscreen. 

"Its indecipherable." 

"Not quite.  Feed this through a translation sprite and every forth or fifths word comes out.  They're military and police action reports meant for distribution only within Nyumba Dola.  See the date?  All posted on the same month.  Somebody forgot to insert the blocking code against search engine scans into these pages." 

"So what.  Does it tell you anything?" 

"Apparently, Nyumba Dola has had problems with terrorists factions carrying out shooting campaigns against the local farmers.  Some of the translated passages show that the fighting has been pretty fierce.  However, what really got me was this hit on Ms. Mbaya's name." 

An image scanned down on the screen, the words "Shaneika Mbaya" appearing under it.  Asali appeared in camouflage fatigues and goggles, a bandanna pulled away from her dust-covered muzzle.   A modified .50 calibre machine gun dangled from one hand while bandoleers of bullets crossed her chest.  Around her hips were the two holstered pistols and a cluster of grenades.  She stood before a burned out shack whose walls were riddled with gaping holes.  At her feet was cremated body, its wrists and ankles tied together with wire.  Even digitized, she stared out with the eyes of hell.  Her pelt was so tight, her skull was a death's head. 

"Holy Goddess!" Lucas exclaimed, "She's a Nyumbian terrorist!" 

"And ready to rock-and-roll.  That little display earlier was a taste of what she's capable of." 

"Mom's seen this and she still is taking to her without Coldwater and a SWAT team?" 

"Credit everyone with some brains." Janet sneered, "She's here alone for a reason.  To meet Moulinet and this Jackson Slipway.  She's also broken no laws and isn't wanted for anything.  Coldwater confirmed that when Mom called him yesterday." 

"So we're not doing anything?  We've got a friggin' killer staying with us and that doesn't bother you?" 

"Sure, it does but she's leaving tomorrow.  Until then, cross your fingers and knot your tail. 'Cause if shit happens, it ain't going to be pretty." 

The bizarre really took hold at the dinner.  Their mother had nothing to say about her shout-fest with Ms. locked-and-loaded.  Everyone, except Rale, shot glances around the table as Sylvia passively ate.  Finally, over desert, Janet broached the subject. 

"Ms. Asali is very pleased with our resort." Sylvia said, "Even gave me a deposit for a week's stay next year.  Unfortunately, she has to leave tomorrow when Kari comes through." 

"What about the guns?  What Janet found?  The reports of a diamond thief in the area?" Lucas sputtered. 

"The guns were a misunderstanding for which Ms. Asali has apologized.  She doesn't know anything about a photograph of herself armed.  As for her having any diamonds, Lucas, I'd give your imagination a rest before you do something silly." 

"But..." 

"The matter is closed.  Anyone for seconds?"  The Asali Affair was instantly lost before Rale's clamorous gluttony. 

Twelve hours later, fresh from the north lookout, Lucas was on their dock.  He glanced up to the Hooch's patio.  Moulinet's heavy build was still hunched over his newspad and second coffee.  Asali was nowhere to be seen.  Lucas turned back as the boat slowed skirting Buck's Island.  Two of the small crew, all well known to him, were ready on the deck.  Captain Fisher came in so smoothly that all the deckhands had to do was step off with the lines and snug the little ship tight. 

The first two off were a honeymooning couple that had decided to stay overnight in Fairport.   The third was one of the military wolves that, having got roaring drunk at Paquito's Bistro, spent the night in Coldwater's establishment.  The crew chuckled amongst themselves as he gingerly shuffled himself and his massive hangover off the dock.  This being the "cargo run", they sorted out his mother's packages from the stores piled in the bow hold, passing them to Lucas through the forward side-hatch.  As he was accepting the last case of tinned mushrooms, a passenger stepped onto the dock. 

Jackson Slipway was as lean and hard as an icy wind.  Possessing a lynx's short grey-black pelt down to the ear tuffs, he wore a monogrammed summer outfit and stylish sunglasses.  He took off the shades with a casual air, the cold grey eyes analyzing the resort in seconds.  He looked like a male constantly expecting a nasty surprize. 

"Jack darling!"  The lynx went feline sharp, one hand easing under the loose shirt covering his belt.  Asali climbed out of the water using the ladder beside the ship.  Stark naked, she gave her pelt a swimmer's shake then strolled over to him. 

"I'm not sure..." he said, his voice light but taunt. 

"Asali.  Asali Mbaya.  We meet years ago in Derria but no wonder you don't remember.  We were both drinking at that little Burnside Street pub that you like.  Now, Jack, no need for that foolishness." she said brightly, gesturing to his ready right hand, "Moulinet is heading to his cabin now.  I take you there and, when you're finished his business, I got something of interest for both of you."  His eyes raked over her towering figure. 

"As what?  The morning's entertainment?" 

"Jack, you be a rogue." she chuckled, coming carefully closer and lowering her voice, "Moulinet doesn't want trouble, Flash.  Get your fucking ass in gear and act like a tourist."  Ever so nonchalantly, she revealed a set of dagger claws and a muscled arm with a meter-long reach.  Jack slipped on the sunglasses and brought his hand back into view. 

"Lead on, my dear." he said.  Asali flashed her fangs and, looping arms, promenaded off the dock.  Moulinet was waiting in the seclusion of cabin #12.  Dressed in loose shorts and lounging in a recliner, the old badger looked like a retired factory worker rather than Therion's twelfth richest investment banker. 

"You're looking good, Moulinet.  Sun must agree with you." Slipway said, not putting down the case or moving from the door.  "Who's the bitch?" 

"My passport says I'm Shaneika Mbaya from Cape Kasanga, Nyumba Dola.  I was `Fast Williams' Uadilifu's student until his ticker gave out last year." Asali said, drying herself with a towel then wrapping it around her waist, "Since then, I've pull three of my own jobs, all lavender clean dips.  I've never been printed, posed, or popped by the coppers." 

"Charmed.  What's she doing here?" 

"Albertini sent her." Moulinet said, "Talked to him this morning.  He vouches for her."  Slipway took off the sunglasses and stared hard at Asali dropping ice into a trio of glasses.  Nothing crooked happened in Truenorth larger than shoplifting where Don Albertini did not get his cut.  Since taking control twenty years ago, he had perfected money laundering into an art by having Moulinet invest everyone's swag into thousands of numbered companies.  Today, Albertini stylishly lived like the first-world dictator that he was. 

"So she's bent.  Why here?" 

"Slipway," the badger said, grunting himself out of the recliner, "I'm the one with the money here.  Shut up and do the deal."  From a side closet, he pulled out his suitcase and opened it on the table.  Asali wandered over with three scotch on the rocks as Moulinet lifted out his carefully packed clothing.  Reaching under the lock, an index claw lifted out the lining, revealing two piles of colourfully printed forms.  Moulinet riffled the bonds with a practised thumb before handing them to Slipway.  The lynx checked the pages again then glanced up to Asali. 

"If Albertini really sent you, what are these?" he asked. 

"Why?  Would you shoot me otherwise?" she asked.  The snub-nosed .38 revolver appeared in his hand as if by magic. 

"Right between your big brown eyes." 

"They be unnumbered Undernian treasury bonds, cashable anywhere without question.  At one hundred thousand apiece, you've exactly four million dollars in your hand." 

"You're good." he snorted. 

"For all our sakes, I hope so." she said, sipping her scotch.  Slipway placed his suitcase on the table, opening it towards Moulinet. 

"One hundred and twenty seven thousand shares of Consolidated Electrical.  Add this to what you've already got and you'll own the company." 

"You're sure nobody has detected their theft?" 

"Positive.  Even if the owner died tomorrow, her greedy relatives would keep the will in probate court for years.  It'll be decades before that safety deposit box is cracked open." he said, exchanging the elegantly engraved piles with the treasury bonds, "Long before then, Consolidated Electrical and the secrets of superconductor technology will be all yours." 

"Thank you, Mr. Slipway.  A profitable morning for everyone." the badger gloated, "Now, Ms. Asali, you have a proposition for both of us?" 

"Have either of you heard of the robbery that took place at Gold Flats in my lands?" 

"The police bands are buzzing about it.  Somebody had the cajones to attack one of their armoured convoys heading for the coast.  Blew the hell out of it, killed everyone, then vanished into the desert with a ransom in raw stones.  Half of the Home Guard is running after them.  The Nyumbian Diamond Consortium is offering a killer reward." Slipway said.  Asali smirked then crouched momentarily, reaching under her towel.  She straightened, holding a clear, flexible tube between her fingers. 

"The Home Guard will find nothing." she said, pouring a rainbow of stones onto the table, "The diamonds were stolen before the convoy left Gold Flats.  The attack was a diversion allowing me to get everything out of Nyumba Dola.  Still has to kill two fools who got in my way. 

There is a quarter of a million dollars there.  I've another seven pounds of stones and the cutters to shape them.  However, I need someone who can fence diamonds around the globe without attracting attention." she said, glancing at Slipway, "And, considering it will take a decade to disperse these stones without flooding the market, someone who has the cash to finance the operation." A simile went to Moulinet.  "In return, I get 20% of the final gross." 

"Twenty percent!  Get real!" Slipway laughed, "You've got brains and audacity but we'd be lucky to get 40% of this swag's value.  We're not giving you half of the profit." 

"My brains and audacity says these stones are uncut, unscanned, and untraceable.  Any diamond house in Alban would give me 75% of value on this lot alone.  Once our initial costs are covered, my people will sit on those rocks until hell freezes over.  Think hard about your next answer.  Are you two in or not?"  Moulinet's grin said everything from his end.  The lynx frowned but his eyes kept massaging crystal rock on the table. 

"When and where?" he said, subdued. 

"One stone goes with Mr. Moulinet for Don Albertini to examine.  You can have the rest as a sample for your distributors.  I'll give you an email address where you can contact me in one month's time.  Details for payment and the next shipment will be through Mr. Moulinet's office at that time." Asali paused, glancing upward as the sound of the Salem Albatross coming in on her first pass. "With that, I thank you.  Excuse me but I've yet to pack." 

"Then you've be flying with me to Undernia?" asked Slipway. 

"It seems so." 

"Well, enjoy yourselves.  I'm catching the boat to Fairport tonight then onto Truenorth." said Moulinet, raising his glass, "Until next month, everyone, confusion to our enemies."  Each person clinked their glass and drained it.  Of the three, Asali had the biggest smile.
 
 
 
 

Jackson Flash craned his head to stare out of the PBY Catalina's tiny starboard windows.  The engine was idling, filling the air with noise and vibration.  The owner of the resort was standing on the dock, holding onto the massive wing struts, and yelling instructions to the female pilot.  Slipway sighed, wondering when they were finally going to get this monster airborne.   He turned back to Asali who had claimed the aisle seat due to her long legs. 

"Neat trick hiding the gems.  Any chance you could show me how?" he said, giving out with a smile. 

"Sorry, loverboy.   I never fuck my partners.  It takes the edge off their concentration." she said, gesturing to a wolf male coming down the aisle from the cockpit, "Excuse me but is there a head on this plane?" 

"Yes, Ma'am.  In the front but you'd better hurry.  We're about to take off." 

"Thank you." she grinned. 

"You're welcome." he said and continued to the rear.  Asali got up and, grabbing her carrying trunk, eased forward between the other passengers.  Seconds stretched into minutes and still that damn engine roared outside.  Slipway slumped in his seat, staring blankly out the window. He was so fixed on watching the lupine co-pilot walking back from the resort office he did not notice Asali's return until she was standing in the aisle.  Turning, his muzzle and mind went blank.  Before he could speak, she bent over, touching his neck.  He sat, staring blankly at the next seat, while she continued back to the exit.
 
 
 

The sky had faded from light turquoise to a star-studded ultramarine without Lucas noticing.  Under the harsh light of the equipment shack, he had dismantled and cleaned WaterWing's backup water pump.  When the main pump blew out last winter, the pressure dropped dramatically.  Fixing the backup was one of those annoying jobs whose only saving grace was it kept you from even more annoying work. 

"At last, I found you." Janet said from the doorway. 

"Dinner ready?" he asked, carefully fitting the turbine housing together. 

"Not for a while.  Mom wants to see us in the office right now."  Lucas threaded on the nuts, finger tightening them until the new gel-seal bulged slightly. 

"Something hit the fan?" he asked. 

"Don't know.  She said get you and come pronto." 

"Alright." he said idly, wiping the excess gel-seal from his fingers.  They headed down the path, walking quickly in moonlight.  The office shutters were closed, making the air inside slightly heave when they entered.  The door to Sylvia's inner sanctum was open and she was working at her desk in a pool of light. 

"You wanted to see us?" Lucas said then halted.  Asali was standing by the far window, almost invisible until she stepped into the light.  She was dressed in a crisp dun-coloured uniform, duty bars and badges on her chest and shoulders.  The insignias were in her indecipherable tongue but were impressively shot through with gold and crimson thread.  Despite her ever-present smile, the effect was arresting. 

"Kids, may I present Major Mbaya of the Nyumbian Home Guard."  To emphasise the contrast, Asali snapped to attention, giving the pair a colour-guard salute before relaxing again. 

"Habari, children!  Hujambo?" she said, "Your mama tells me you think I be a diamond thief." 

"Ah, well, like, um... yeah, we did." Lucas said. 

"Good!  It be a sad day when a  young malaika can see through an elder's subterfuge." 

"I take it you're not a diamond thief." Janet said, groping for the obvious. 

"Hardly." she laughed, "I use to be in charge of undercover security in the Gold Flats regions.  Lots of gold and diamonds there.  Lots of thieves too.  The bigger bands say they liberators, fighting for rights of the poor.  Funny how these freedom fighters keep killing the poor and only stealing everyone's wealth." 

"That explains your photograph." Janet said, "You were chasing terrorists." 

"Yes, your mama told me what you found.  Bad business that." she said, her muzzle darkening, "A mwizi captured and burned one of my people to prove his power to the local tribes.  We fell upon that fool like the Goddess' vengeance.  I be happy to be away from that work." 

"So what were you doing here?" 

"Infiltrating a meeting of criminals.  Your badger guest, Moulinet, is the banker for several very powerful criminals.  Slipway, the lynx, is a professional safecracker.  Organized crime has been trying to steal superconductor technology for years.  Moulinet has been buying controlling shares of Consolidated Electrical, one of the few companies with the knowledge.  Slipway was hired to steal the final shares not in government hands. 

I was sent because Nyumba Dola is an unknown quantity.  With the right cover story and backup, I could be anybody.  My people faked the diamond robbery then flooded the TPR with warnings of a master female thief in the area with millions in hot gems.  While my two wolf companions kept track of Moulinet and Slipway, I had to get into the meeting.  Happily, skeet shooting was my invitation. 

Afterwards, I told your mama who and what I was.  She redirected your communications dish so when Moulinet called his boss to confirm my identity, he was really taking to Cape Kasanga." 

"So you stopped them, then?" Sylvia said.  Asali laughed. 

"No, I made sure the stolen shares were real and that the exchange happened." 

"But I don't understand...?" Janet said. 

"Do you think Truenorth or Undernia would ever give my people superconductor know-how?  to them, Nyumba Dola is expendable." Asali said, her voice deepening, "Twenty years ago, Moulinet bought a Thikaville bank then used it's letters of credit as collateral for his schemes.  Slipway was one of his accomplices.  My tribe lost everything and my people were globally reviled as fools and bandits.  I vowed to make those two pay someday." 

"But they got away." Lucas said, "Slipway left on Kari's plane.  Moulinet is on the boat to Fairport." 

"Where Constable Coldwater will apprehend him with thousands of stolen shares.  I gave Slipway 40,000 volts to keep quiet until my wolf troops take him off in Libertyville.  Truenorth will try Moulinet and his boss in military court for industrial espionage.  Undernia will get Slipway's testimony incriminating everyone.  We get the money and the pleasure of dropping Jack Flash into a hyena pit.  None of them stand a chance."

Out of the darkness, an deep mournful bellow was heard.  It echoed around the hills like a sea monster's primeval cry.  Asali leapt to her feet, dashing out the door without a word.  Sylvia and her children recovered and ran after her.  They arrived on the dock behind the tall lioness who cupped her muzzle and cried out. 

"Adili-umuka!"  Only moonlit silence answered her.  She frowned and again cupped her hands. 

"Kifua chake lilikuwa kimeumba!"  After a moment, a great boom reverberated around the bay.  Guests appearing before their cabins and on the Hooch patio.  Far out in the bay, the water suddenly surged up then broke into a roaring froth.  From the churning wake, a black conning tower rose up, sheets of water pouring from it's stabilizer planes.  Waterwing's visitors prattled and pointed as the surface parted before the submarine.  Throwing up a noisy chop, it majestically eased closer to the dock as submariners readied an inflatable raft on the bow.  From the resort's lights, everyone could see the golden sun of Nyumba Dola blazing on its side. 

"Time to go." Asali said, turning back, "Children, wish that I was taking you.  You must visit my land someday for I can show you such wonderful sights." From inside her tunic, she pulled out a vividly coloured scarf.  "Sylvia-ba, a momento until next time." 

"Habari, Shaneika!" one of the sailors in the raft called out as they came along side.  Asali grinned then leapt softly into the tiny craft.  With seasoned skill, they returned, packed, had vanished below in moments.  As the great dark ship slipped backwards into the bay, Sylvia gasped. 

"What's wrong, Mom?" Janet asked.  From the heart of the scarf, Sylvia shook out a pebble.  In the palm of her hand, the diamond burned with moonlight. 

"That can't be real?" Lucas snorted. 

"Trust me, bro.  Glass don't shine like that!" Janet said, "Mom, that's worth a fortune.  We could buy this entire island all over again!  You'd never have to worry about loosing WaterWings." 

"I know." Sylvia said, closing her fist around the cold firesprite, "I wonder." 

"Wonder what, Mom?"  Lucas asked. 

"What Asali meant by `next time?'"  They turned, looking out, as the bay's surface rippled and grew still again.