Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #22 January 2016 | Page 16

to perform a blood ritual to the Great Architect.
That’s what had happened to Joe Biden Prime. He
hadn’t been in on the cleanup or cloning, different
department. But, he had heard about it through backchannels.

She glided out of the bedroom to fetch his
drink. He wondered if she’d be recycled when he died.
Would they just replace her head and farm her out to
some Captain of Industry or Political Hack?

It was on these occasions, when faced with his
own mortality—such as the threat of being chopped
up and eaten by blood crazed Senators—that he had
regrets about swapping Bettie for Bettie-bot. As usual,
he then would check out her large, sag-free chest and
punch his regret in its metaphorical face.

Great, he thought, one of those people. Never
fuck around with other dimensions, kids.

“I hope they like the tits.”
General Hargrove decided on his dress
uniform, the one with the built-in, one-use teleporter.
By the time he finished dressing, Bettie had
He had seen how the teleportation devices were grown returned with a glass of Glenfiddich, neat.
and didn’t find the process particularly appealing;
a room of exploding goats was a bit off putting.
“Thanks, baby.”
However, the Reticulan’s bio-technology worked and
more than one of his operators had been able to extract
“You’re welcome, honey.” She gave him a
himself from a tight situation because of it. Although
peck on the cheek and left to perform some household
he wasn’t really expecting lethal trouble at a private
task.
dinner with Capitol Hill power brokers, it had been
known to happen.
Okay, Hargrove thought, let’s get this over
with.
“Well, this is why I get paid the big bucks.”
*
“What was that, honey?” His wife walked
into the bedroom as he was pulling on his pants. She
General Hargrove’s driver pulled up to the
had the firmly voluptuous body of a top-of-the-line
front of Senator Richards’s house. Hargrove noticed
Stepford drone-wife upgrade. She also had the same
the small Masonic insignia on the gable. He also saw
dully affectionate gaze and slight smile that had been
the Symbol of the Many Tentacled One worked into
her only expression for the last twelve years.
the stained glass over the door.

“Nothing Bettie. I have that dinner to go to I
told you about.”
“Of course dear. Would you like a drink before
you leave? Or something a little more physical.” She
placed a hand on his bare shoulders. He still noticed
how she was a little colder than a person. He didn’t
mind; he just noticed.
“Just a drink, I’m afraid. I can’t be late.”
“Of course, dear.”

“Lieutenant Grossman, stay alert. I might need
an extraction.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hargrove stepped out of the car. As he did so,
the front door of the house opened, and a man wearing
a tuxedo stepped out. Hargrove knew he was more
than just hired help; he could make out the bulge of a
shoulder holster.
“Sir,” the well-dressed goon said, holding the
door open.
Once inside, the general made a quick
assessment of the possible escape routes in case the
teleporter failed. Using the front door would mean

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