Creasha's star, Earth's star, is 4.2 light years from its nearest star neighbors.  For those of you who will probably not travel more than a light minute during your entire life (the vast majority of us), and therefore may find it difficult to visualize, or even fathom, try and picture it this way:  If Sol were reduced to one inch in diameter and the rest of the universe proportionately reduced along with it, those nearest star neighbors would still be over five hundred and thirty miles away.  Can you imagine that?  Stars smaller than pingpong balls with five hundred and thirty miles of nothing crammed inbetween them.  If Creasha's planet, Earth, were reduced proportionally, it could roll freely through a straw as thin as a horse hair.
          For the traveling space cadet, only near the center of a galaxy, or in a theater production, are stars packed close enough to appear like blurry road signs being passed on a sunday drive; and, even then, only when traveling well beyond the speed of light.
          If you would now extrapolate, remembering that Sol is not an inch wide, but actually wider across than the distance between Creasha's planet and its only natural satellite, Luna, you might begin to realize the vastness of even this very small part of one of the enormous galaxies that are scattered like dust throughout the cosmos.
          Yep, the cosmos is a pretty big place, yes it is, and stars are very far apart.  Yet, in spite of these great distances, and the time and dangers it would entail to travel from one star system to another, there are, and always have been, many creatures ready to face the challenge.  Their reasons for wanting to do so range from the noble and lofty to the common and base, from a desire to acquire and share knowledge and love to a desire to gain control over others and reap profits for personal gain.
          A few space cadets have been motivated to travel the time and distances of space by reasons not found between the noble and the common, the lofty and the base.  Their derailed motivators can be found rusting off to the misty sides of common reason.  They might call their reasons spiritual.  They might not bother to label, or even consider, them at all.  They might simply act.  Or they might, like, say, one lone Molluscian traveling from Chelon to Boze at three-fourths the speed of light, believe they are being possessed by the Black Goddess of Confusion, and that it is this black goddess who is dictating their actions, not them.
          So it was for our lone Molluscian.  Because Creasha had sublet its brain without allowing it to move out, it was experiencing things at a faster pace, and with more clarity, than any Molluscian before it.  It wasn't ready to deal with these sudden bursts of lucidity.  It spent the first forty artificial days and forty artificial nights starring out the viewport of its cabin at the vacuous desert of space.  It didn't eat during this time.  It was biblical about its situation.
          All the while, its thoughts were slowly mixing with, and being dominated by, those of Creasha; a.k.a. The Black Goddess of Confusion.  Thoughts like: Who am we? and Who are I? were slowly settling into an ever present consideration as to how it might safely escape itself at the end of its/her/their four year trip.  How would it occupy its mind during those long years was a first time consideration for a Molluscian, had it been its own consideration.  But of all the thoughts plaguing this poor Molluscian, not including the occasional sappy, squeaky wailing of some kind of Earthling creature called a sedaka, the most confusing were those of being a black female Earthling; brief moments of thinking of itself in plural; understanding instruments and mechanisms that were completely unfathomable before its assignment on Chelon, then suddenly not understanding them again; being nervous; being hungry for a food that is not in any way compatible with its primitive digestive track; and, lastly, remembering recent adventures it/she had shared with a Bozer it/she was almost sure it/she had not seen in nearly forty years.  Oh, except for that time on that ship the Chelonians detained in order to take something from the blue creature, the Bozer.  Things were very puzzling for this descendent of clams and snails.
          Eventually, these confusing thoughts that were occasionally sprinkled with diamond-like, crystal clear realizations of this or that, along with that strange nervousness and hunger, and that horrid wailing of the sedaka, forced our lone Molluscian's mind to clam-up and bury itself in the muddy bottom of involuntary reflexes.  It crashed.
          It was then that Creasha began to analyze the memories of her Molluscian host.  She burrowed into its lentil-sized mind like the scholarly earwig.  She was particularly interested in its memories of the incident aboard Jawper's ship, and Jawper's use of the small device.  Through the watery blur of the Molluscian's eyes and mind, Creasha saw her lover disappear into what had to be the shadow of that huge foam sombrero.  She experienced the short-lived emotional response on the part of the Molluscian to the lost of the Bozer, followed by its taking of the sombrero as a memento, and realized that Jawper might be near.
          Wait!!  A memento?!  Of what?  Working as a strong arm for those lipless Chelonians?  Not likely.  Then she began to review, as though she were that Molluscian, those forty-year-old, lust laced memories of its trysts with her partner Jawper.
          Wow!  Hot stuff, she thought.  This was a very shocking revelation for our young Earthling.  She would have paused to take a breath had she lungs to breathe with.  But, alas, she was no more than a shadow of her former self.
          It was not that Jawper had been, was, and always would be promiscuous that had shaken our Black Goddess shadow.  No, indeedy.  What shook her ebony pillars was that this Molluscian could be so intensely tender and caring.  That this hard-rubber thug, this meat-brain, this dumb-dumb, this one hundred and fifty kilo sumo sushi could be so lovingly responsive; that was what caught her by surprise.  That it could be such a...   ...such a turn-on.  Wheeew.
          Like most sharp thinking humans, Creasha was an intellectual snob, a cerebral chauvinist.  She consistently took credit for a brain the universe had given her; as though she herself had shaped it from clay.  She looked down on less intelligent creatures for not having been smart enough to have chosen to be born with a more efficient brain.  She had never considered that these shallow minds might be able to share love as deeply as the more intelligent creatures she so admired, and/or envied.
          It was that quick thought of Envy, Hate's cousin, that turned her mind toward Chelonians.  As intelligent as they are, she thought, they were incapable of avoiding the total destruction of their mother planet.  Their greed for short-sighted profit-taking blinded them to the poisoning of its atmosphere, its streams and oceans, the destruction of its forests.  They had the intellect necessary to constructed an entire planet to flee to when the stupidity of their cupidity had turned their planet into a toxic hairball in Nature's throat, but they were incapable of seeing it coming; blinded as they were by Greed and its ally Rationalization.  It's true that no creature will deny, or fail to fear, the Chelonians' intellect, but, at the same time, most creatures would not want to live with their inability to love.  They, Creasha thought, could never let loose the way this Molluscian had.  They are rigid and structured.  They fill every second of their lives with productions, plots, schedules, and schemes; possibly to avoid becoming introspective.  Who knows?  Existential evaluations might be more than they are capable of enduring.  They are each trapped within a carapace of avarice, an all encompassing hunger for the acquisition of wealth and power.  This myopic and singleminded approach to life has eliminated the adventures and revelries inspired by being in awe of sentient's place in a cold and disinterested cosmos.  In spite of the Chelonians' great intellect, Creasha would rather be a dim-witted Molluscian with a full spectrum of emotions than a Chelonian who will never know the joy of giving and receiving love.
          And so it was that Creasha discovered where Jawper most likely was, where she and her host were, that she had actually succeeded in directing her host toward Boze and orbit 24-DF, and how she might extricate them all from their predicament.  She formulated a plan.  The first part of her plan was to wake the Molluscian.
          As the Molluscian dug itself out of a silty sleep, Creasha, like a Zen master, or a beauty queen, concentrated on nothing.  She did not want to confuse the Molluscian again; scare it into its muddy-bottomed retreat.  However, she did want to be on guard for key thoughts on the part of the Molluscian so that she could direct its actions.  A very difficult rope to walk.
          Slowly, the Molluscian opened its eyes, looked around its room, examined both sides of its tire-rubber hands, and began palming its body as if to assure itself that it was not a black female human.  It shook its head vigorously.  Standing, it began a series of stretching exercises.  As it pulled and stretched its muscle ridden body this way and then that, tying itself into a seemingly inextricable Gordian knot, only to spring back to its original configuration, it began to consider the very strange dreams it had had while sleeping.  How could a dream, it wondered as it stretched, be more clear and real than being awake?  And how could it dream of being a different creature?  It remembered dreaming of those sexual encounters it had had with the Bozer that disappeared.  But why did it dream that dream so often?  And why did it dream of being a black female human with that same Bozer, those dreams that included feelings of having bones, breasts, fears, and weaknesses.   And what about that hat?  HAT!!
          Creasha centered her concentration.  HAT.  SOMBRERO.  The Molluscian turned to its closet.  MOVE.  OPEN CLOSET.  With apprehension, and even fear, it moved toward the closet.  Like most creatures, it didn't want to let out of the closet ghosts it had taken a lifetime putting into the closet.  It didn't want to, but it was driven by thoughts and emotions: hope, reunion, love.  It opened the closet door.  There was that huge sombrero.  PICK IT UP.  The Molluscian pick the sombrero up.  PUT IT ON HEAD.  As the Molluscian was about to put the sombrero on its head, Creasha's concentration wavered.  The Molluscian, feeling the return of the Black Goddess of Confusion, threw the sombrero across the room.  As the sombrero spun slowly, like a science fiction flying saucer about to land and invade the peaceful town of Molluskville, its shadow crossed that of our lone Molluscian's.
          "Creasha!"
          "Jawper!"
          "Burble!"
          Burble?  Yes.  The Molluscian had a name.
          Burble, feeling the sudden intrusion of yet another mind, dove for the bed, covered its head with its arms, and forced itself back into that safe and muddy bottom of involuntary reflexes.
          With Burble's mind closed as tightly as a frightened clam, Creasha and Jawper rejoiced in their reunion; a reunion made possible by the crossing of the sombrero's shadow over that of Burble's.  When these shadows mixed, as it were, Creasha and Jawper became as close as close can be; in a two dimensional way, that is.
          "Oh, Jawper, it's been so long.  I've been so worried, so scared.  I was lonely here with only a mollusk's mind for diversion."
          "Lonely?  You can't imagine lonely.  I was...  Well, I don't know where I was.  Actually, I think I'm still there.  For the longest time there was nothing but my thoughts and time.  Then, suddenly, your mind appeared as though wishes and hopes had become reality.  All that time alone, I couldn't help but think about our last conversation.  How I...  Oh, Creasha.  I now think that you may be right and that Dreamsters may be wrong.  Having only my mind and time was not much of a reality."
          "But, Jawper, I have come to the opposite conclusion.  Having shared thoughts with this Molluscian, Burble, you called it? and having to entertain myself within the amalgam of our minds, I now believe that the workings of the mind might be the only reality conscious beings have; the only thing we have to share with one another.  It's the only reality we can truly say is ours.  And, Jawper, you had only your mind and time.  The Dreamsters have each other.  I had this Molluscian you called Burble.
          "I was so frightened and lonely, Jawper, after I was forced to use the device.  Then, as time passed, and I learned that I was sharing my consciousness with that of Burble's, well, I became aware of what it is that the Dreamsters enjoy; that closeness so many humans have tried to enjoy through love, friendship, mysticism.  Because you and Burble had once been lovers, I was able to review its memories of those moments and feel your presence.  My loneliness diminished then, Jawper, and I was able to work out a plan."
          "Oh, Creasha, I am so glad to be with you."
          "I'm glad too, Jawper."
          They hugged each other with an intimacy only shadows can know.  Their minds swam naked in a pool of memories and emotions.  They reveled in a colloidal consciousness of love.  Creasha and Jawper began to melt together like snowflakes in spring; like Shadow's thoughts.
 

          Chelonian vessel 73-FH was within two years of orbiting Boze when its only Molluscian passenger made its first exit of its cabin.  Those passengers who were not in a state of suspended animation, the middle of a protracted sleep cycle, or isolated because of an environmental need that ran contrary to ordinary, were immediately made aware of the Molluscian's actions through 'common cord' (a universally agreed upon open telepathic window).  They all found the Molluscian's presence to be somewhat surprising.
          Generally, Molluscians stay in their cabins until their destination has been reached.  They spend their time sleeping, occasionally waking to eat and excrete, occasionally to exercise.  They practically never leave their cabin to socialize, and they have never been know to leave a room to ask a stewart if the ships accommodations included Dreamster class sleeping facilities, and, if so, whether those facilities were being used, by how many, and of what species.  This is exactly what Burble had done.
          Of course, it wasn't really Burble who had done all of these first time things.  It was our Molluscian's body, but it was Jawper who had worked the controls, pushed the buttons, pulled the levers.
          A somnabulant mollusk, with Jawper at the wheel, and Creasha riding shotgun, slowly walked the corridors of level 7.  The Chelonian stewart had said that level 7, door 3, was housing the only Dreamsters class sleeping facilities, and that the manifest listed fourteen passengers: three Bozers, five Oniomanians, five Selenites, and, of all species, a single human registered as Dr. T. Leary.  The skipper and co-pilot of our not so remotely controlled Molluscian was about to discover the secrets and dreams hiding behind door number 3.
          Dreams were what they found behind door number 3.  Dreams so pervasive that Creasha, with her immature telepathic skills, was overwhelmed by their intensity.  It is true that at that point in time Creasha's telepathic acuity had been greatly improved due to her experiences with the Molluscian's mind, and, of course, Jawper's presence in their shadow shanty had served as a jump-start for aspects she alone hadn't been able to get rolling, but the fact was that the soporific viscosity in that room made opium seem like a pep-pill; the telepathic potential was so high that even, no, especially, a non-telepathic creature would have swooned under its effect.
          The room was not decorated at all.  The ceiling, floor, and three of its walls were bare.  Only the back wall had any attention shown to it, and that was simply for the stacking of Dreamster class sleeping cylinders.
          Jawper was immediately able to identify the Dreamster class sleeping cylinders as Agromanian space vessels: small, designed for only one passenger, of course, they were powerful and fast, and included everything necessary to nourish, exercise, clean, and evacuate wastes for, the single-handed cruiser.  There were four empty cylinders.  The Molluscian moved toward one.
          The Molluscian's body climbed into the cylinder.  A clear aluminum-oxide door (sapphire) closed as it positioned itself.  Lights began to sparkle in the air around it as the Agromanian vessel came to life.  The vessel's computers determined the creatures species, size, sex, and nutritional needs.  It began monitoring the Molluscian's vital signs.  It programed itself for the appropriate exercise regiment, bodily rest cycles, feeding and evacuation procedures, and then it began synchronizing itself to the telepathic harmonic configuration and cerebral intensity of its occupant.  It came to a sudden, Molluscian tire-rubber, Sedaka screeching, halt.  It found three, three, three minds in one.
          At this point, to save the Agromanian vessel's integrity and allowing it to adjust itself to Burble's mind alone, Jawper and Creasha placed their minds in that much practiced Zen void.  They made their minds complete blanks, vacuous voids, desolate deserts, by concentrated on the creative and innovative, the sensitive and self-less, the humorous and lighthearted, the non-commercial aspects of the New York art scene.
          This filled the bill completely.  They were virtually nothing and completely nowhere.  The Molluscian's mind was thus allowed to be tuned to, and prepared for, the adventures of Dreamsterland.
          As it slowly opened its cerebral eyes, it found what ever it wanted to find.  It found itself back on its home planet.  It found itself free of the black and blue squatters who had invaded its mind.  It found itself here and then there, this way and then that way, with and without anything it could imagine.  It found itself confused by the ability it had to completely control its surroundings.  It merely had to think of something for that something to happen, or be.  Then it found itself confronted by the fourteen dreamsters.
          The dreamsters were surprised to find an addition to their party; particularly a Molluscian.  They had signed on as a group.  This was often the case.  Rarely do strangers join traveling Dreamsters in mid trip, mid dream.  However, they were a friendly and accepting group: very understanding in regards to the Molluscian's confusion as to where, and why, and how, it was where it was; and to its great lack of experience and brain power.
          It took one day shy of the full two years for the Molluscian to become versed enough in the rules and workings of Dreamsterland to go about its business without guidance, but that one day was one hell of a great day for our calamare companion.
          However, while all this was happening, Creasha and Jawper had slipped so deeply into the depths of their thoughtless trance that they were not even aware of time.  They were so lost in their thoughtless, New York void that they missed a number of opportunities to have an exceptionally good time in Dreamsterland; and that's not mentioning the many opportunities they missed to negotiate their release.  After all, that was the plan: Get the mollusk into Dreamsterland; present yourself after the mollusk mellowed-out substantially; and then convince the beast that it had better things to do than bludgeoning a black Earthling and a blue Bozer that just happened to step out of its shadow.
          However, when creatures allow themselves to slide into the black void of thoughtlessness, they might make fine politicians, but they don't make self-navigating entities.  And so it was for our two heroines.  They released their grip on the reins of self-determination by slipping into that dark and desolate void.
          If it weren't for the three Bozers that happened to be spending their time in Dreamsterland while on their way home, Creasha and Jawper might have never been awakened.  The Molluscian, Burble, would have never thought to wake them.  It would never have done anything dynamic enough to jar its guests to consciousness.  In fact, Burble had decided to have its mail forwarded to its new address in Dreamsterland.  It didn't want to leave.  It had decided to become the first Molluscian lobby working in behalf of The Society of Dreamster.  Its hopes were to introduce Molluscians to the pleasures and powers of being in Dreamsterland, and thereby add their support and efforts in convincing The Keepers of Irrefutable Facts to recognize Dreamsterland as a legitimate plane of existence.  It was during the Bozer's interviewing of Burble for membership in The Society of Dreamsters that they realized the Molluscian's lack of singularity.
          It became clear to them after Burble had been accepted as a fully fledged member; just before they taught Burble the secret handshake, but after the sharing of the secret numbers, flavor, sound, and color.  When they were fully convinced that they understod the nature of the Molluscian's guests, they and the first Molluscian member of The Society of Dreamsters made their own plans.

          Planet Boze is not a great deal different from Earth.  It has just a bit more mass, but is slightly smaller, than Earth.  Three out of every four square surface measurements are covered by shallow freshwater oceans.  It is one of the rare examples of an eco-system in which carnivores never evolved.  It is populated, as Earth is, by seven fully sentient creatures.  It is named after the most technological of those creatures.  In spite of their being the most technological, and therefore the most organized of the sentient creatures of Boze, Bozer's have never had a system of government that has lasted longer than twenty-three minutes and forty two seconds.  Boze has never hosted a war.  Aggressive courtship is as close to violence as any Bozer has gotten.  It is for this reason that Boze has become the most popular tourist attraction in the galaxy.
          One of the most popular of the Bozer attractions is a quaint little bed and breakfast sharing orbit 24-DF with three other satellites. Surprised?  No?  You shouldn't be.
          Only minutes after Chelonian vessel 73-FH collected from its passengers an approaching Boze fee, an entering orbit around Boze fee, and then a release you to your oh so precious freedom fee, our Molluscian and its new-found Bozer, Oniomanian, and human friends secured a large lounge and the use of a holo-projector and sound amplification system at that quaint little bed and breakfast mentioned earlier.
          When they had everything set and arranged, Burble stood in the middle of the lounge and proceeded to follow the directions its Bozer friends had given it for the waking of troublesome and thoughtless guests.  Its friends left the room to stand behind a door until needed.
          Burble followed the directions perfectly.  First it thought this, then it thought that, then it thought something all together different to this and that.  Then: Wha-la.  Creasha and Jawper spoke to one another.
          "Creasha."
          "Here, Jawper."
          "Are you alright?  Let me in."
          "Here.  Yes, I'm alright.  And you?"
          "I'm fine," answered Jawper.
          "We blew it, didn't we?"
          "It would seem so."
          Then Creasha asked rhetorically, "I wonder where we are, and how long we've been thoughtless in Burble's mind?"
          Jawper responded.  "It's difficult to say, sweet Creasha.  Even though our experience of time has been nil, it could have been months, even years."
          "I can't sense Burble."
          "Neither can I," said Jawper.  "It might be in stasis.  I've heard that Molluscians often hibernate in lakes, mud-pools, and ponds.  This couldn't be the limit of its imagination, so it can't be in Dreamsterland."
          "What should we do, Jawper?  I've reached my limit.  I want to be myself again.  I'm going to engage the device."
          "I understand your desire, Creasha, but not yet.  It might be dangerous.  We don't have the slightest idea where the Molluscian is, or even if we are still with it.  It could be at the bottom of a deep ocean.  What then?"
          At this moment, as though the Molluscian were listening to our two heroines, it flashed an image of itself wallowing in a warm mud-pool in the middle of a large empty valley.
          "What was that?"
          "Quiet, Creasha.  Don't think.  If the Molluscian thinks again, merely listen."
          Jawper analyzed the Molluscian's brief thought.  All of its sensory experiences were accessible because of that thought.
          Convenient, wouldn't you say?  Jawper was far from suspecting that a Molluscian could be part of a Bozer ruse.  Much less a certified lobbyist for, and member in good sleeping of, The Society of Dreamsters, secret handshake and all.
          Burble's sensory experiences told Jawper that it was actually in that pool of mud, and that a star of some system was shining brightly overhead.
          Jawper shared this information with Creasha.  They were well aware of the risks.  If the Molluscian was completely submerged but for its nose, and Creasha were to engage the device while this star was high overhead, they could reappear under the Molluscian in all of that mud, or inside the Molluscian's nose.  It would most likely awaken the kraken in either case.  They didn't want that.
          Then, just as fortuitously as before, the Molluscian's mind was jarred by its bodies desire to stretch; or so it seemed.  Jawper realized an arm pulling free of the mud.  It swung through the air and landed out-stretched and straight, palm up, with its fingers pointing skyward.
          Jawper signaled Creasha to engage the device.
          Instantly they were standing tall, ankle deep in mud, next to a sleeping Molluscian's fingers.  They didn't move.  Jawper, with one finger to her lips (oh that sweet onanistic feeling of one's flesh acknowledging itself), signaled Creasha to be silent.  Telepathic communications might arouse the Molluscian.
          Creasha and Jawper stood motionless for the longest time.  They stared at one another, rejoicing in each other's substantiality.  Slowly they moved away from the Molluscian.  Hand in hand, they carefully walked.  Slurping and then slishing, sucking and then ploping, their feet came out of the mud and then went back in.  A distant noise was then added to the slurping and slishing, the sucking and ploping.
          What was that noise? thought Jawper.  They kept skulking their way through the mud.  Where they were heading, they did not know.  They did not care.  They were free and substantial.  They were members, if not in good standing, at least standing, of the third dimensional community of stuff.  That noise again.
          After having spent most of their time either looking at their feet stepping in and out of the mud, or glancing at each other, Jawper and Creasha cast their eyes toward the rise that encircled the mud flat they were walking through.
          "Jawper.  That's not what I think it is, is it?  Their not... ...Molluscians, are they?"
          "I am afraid so, Creasha."
          They were completely surrounded by Molluscians.  Thousands of them.  And they were all making a deep resonant sound.  An ominously dangerous, deep, resonant sound.  The same sound they had heard and ignored earlier.  They were trapped.  Creasha began to feel hungry for Bozer foods.  She couldn't help it.
          Frightened to near insanity, Creasha and Jawper hugged each other and cried as they waited for the end to begin.  Suddenly, however, everything around them faded away.  Our two hugging heroines were left hugging and quaking in the middle of a huge and empty lounge.  Empty but for one vindictive and throughly satisfied Molluscian now laughing at the top of its voice.  Empty but for the three Bozer, one human, five Selenites, and five Oniomanians (now forming a conga line) dancing and singing their way into the lounge and to the music of Neil Sedaka.
     "Ooooooooooooooo I hear laughter in the ray-ha..."
     Creasha and Jawper had made it to orbit 24-DF around planet Boze.
 
 

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