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4. Verity

She saw He.

It was in another time though, a few years ago when they were together, when He was called Zor. Zor had been an honourable man, a man of true standards. Let's face it, to have been able to resist the wiles of the all-powerful Astra, even surrounded by the Pink gas; well that was quite an achievement of self control.

Darcy's vision blurred for a few moments (okay, probably about 30 minutes), as she slitted her eyes, looking out through her thick dark lashes, falling into a world of hot sweaty fantasy. Her mouth dropped slightly open and her breathing changed as she remembered his wondrous masculinity, smiling slyly to herself as she noted mentally that he, the one and only Zor, had wanted her, but not Astra. She allowed her body to remember, felt his rippling muscles under her fingertips as he carefully lifted her onto the bed and pleasured her every nerve ending. She could taste the sweat. She could smell his aftershave. She could feel his hot, throbbing...

ahem, well... Darcy quickly opened her eyes and shook her head to clear those thoughts from her mind. She decided that this form of thought, the yearning for a man whom she would never see again, was all for naught and not particularly good for her. But that word "throbbing", well, it kinda lingered there, attempting to overtake all...

Meanwhile, back on Planet Ken, He was browsing through a travel magazine, trying to decide which path He should take through the galaxies to get back in Darcy's (somewhat voluptuous) company. He flipped through to page 68 and saw a brightly coloured advertisement for a specially priced trip to Planet Prostheticus.

His mind went crazy immediately; the hand flew back to his crotch and rested with a sense of uselessness in the empty heatlessness there.

'Maybe that emasculating experience in the Faret Zone was actually a blessing!?' he thought excitedly to himself, 'Now I can choose just the right size, width, angle... the possibilities are endless!! And Darcy will never want to dive into a toilet again!"

He quickly realised that 31 August was upon him already, and that He had exactly three minutes to make that booking before the day was ended (days on Planet Ken were approximately 9.5 Earth hours), or all hope would be lost.

He leapt from his seat and stumbled clumsily over various oddly shaped furnishings (with sharp corners designed to hurt when stumbled over). After bumping his head rather savagely on the large marble dog which stood proudly with one paw raised in the middle of the living room (he still wondered who must have put it there - one day he'd arrived home from work and there it was, but these were not questions which should be asked on Planet Ken, so he'd never discovered the answers), He then grabbed the Telecommunications Device from inside the carefully temperature controlled Telecommunications Oven (he never knew why the device had to be preheated, but again, it was a question which should not be asked) and proceeded to dial the number listed in the advertisement - 555-PROSTHETICUS.

His heart began to beat rather too rapidly and He felt a sharp pain in his left arm as He realised with a dark feeling deep inside that the voice He was hearing was a recording, and that He had been placed on hold. He struggled to retain consciousness while He waited, watching the seconds disappear on the digital clock which had been implanted on the inside of his left eyelid.

The little green lights played havoc with his mind. It seemed as though those seconds were passing far too quickly, almost in unison with his runaway heart beat...

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5. Scott

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