GENWiki

The Imp Copyright © 1993, Ed Davis All rights reserved

       "She did it again, Sir."
       "Which she, Fred.  We have a rather large selection of shes around
    here.  And what did she do?"
       "The Imp, sir.  She snuck out again, with that last group."
       "Good Lord!"
       "He's here, sir.  In Emergency Receiving.  A bus load of Seventh Day
    Adventist's missed a curve.  Seems there were several decks of playing
    cards, two very raunchy books and a fifth of scotch whiskey in the
    luggage.  Some of the folks wanted assurance that they had passed
    through the correct gates."
       The tall man ran his fingers through his wavy blonde hair and
    smiled.  "Boys will be boys.  At least they weren't Church of God.
    They would have insisted on sending the poor man elsewhere."
       "It seems the luggage belonged to one of the women, sir."
       "Well... I hope he's not too rough on her.  He's begun to let all
    the things people say about him go to his head.  But then, he's young.
    Maybe I'll send him back again.  He could stand a bit more humility.
    Do we have an opening in Watts, or Iran, or Lebanon?"
       "Certainly, sir.  New born or fully developed?"
       "Neither, right now.  But if he keeps getting a big head..."
       "Yes, sir."
       "In a woman's bag, you say?"
       "Yes, sir."
       The amused smile faded and was replaced with a more pensive look.
    Fred could see that The Boss, as everyone called Him, was still
    thinking about the Imp.  She had done this sort of thing before and had
    generated all sorts of disruptions.  She had caused friction between a
    king and his most trusted knight, led an army into battle, and
    generally raised hob with carefully laid plans for thousands of years.
    Now, in her fully actualized state, there was no telling what trouble
    she would get into.  Fred sat quietly, fully expecting one of the rages
    that make oceans dry up and continents vanish.
       The Boss frowned once and turned to leave.  "She certainly is living
    up to her name.  This must be her ninth or tenth trip this millennia."
    The frown evaporated and the world was spared.
       "Did anyone get wind of her intentions before she left?"
       "Her roommate said she was talking about kicking butts and taking
    names, what ever that means."
       "She's been reading those shoot-em-up police stories again.  Well...
    Don't we have a group who need a strong lesson in morality?"
       "Yes, sir.  We have what is called The United States of America.
    They have slipped a little, here lately."
       "Well, let her get settled, and remind me in a while.  Maybe I can
    nudge her in their direction.  She takes instructions rather poorly."
       "How long, before I remind you, sir?"
       "Oh...  a year will do.  She'll be acclimated by then.  What does
    she look like, this time?"
       "Her roommate said she was a twenty year old female, and what they
    presently call a fox.  In my day it was a flapper.  Strange isn't it
    sir, how they use such unusual names to signify beauty?"
       "Just a phase, Fred.  Just a phase.  You certainly didn't look like
    anything that flapped."
       Fred flushed slightly, recalling his last trip.  He had always
    thought he had been a Hot Mama or at least a Tootsie.  Oh well, if he
    just hadn't gotten involved with that bunch of ruffians he might still
    be there.  Not to worry, he chided himself.  You can go back, someday.
       Fred ended his remembrances when The Boss turned again to leave.  He
    stopped at the entrance to the Dispatch and Acceptance area and
    addressed the chief dispatcher again.
       "Keep me posted, Fred.  We don't need her shot full of holes like
    you were."
       Fred blushed furiously.  "Only one hole, sir."  He was very
    sensitive about the way he had returned.
       "Yes, Fred.  But what good is a beautiful young woman with a big
    bullet hole in her tit?  You really need to be more careful."
       Fred nodded.  He had been so ashamed of his wounded body he had
    asked for and received a complete change.  The other body had been left
    behind.  Ashes to ashes...  Fred mused.
       He watched as The Boss left the area, but failed to see the
    transition from handsome blonde man to rotund, dark skinned man with a
    nose to rival Jimmy Durante's.  The Boss took the corridor leading to
    the Jewish pavilion.  He didn't mind changing forms, and thankfully
    these were not Orthodox Jews.  Then, He would have had to put up with
    an itchy beard and one of those scratchy black suits.  The many
    faces...  and all that.
       Fred was amazed as usual with The Boss's ability to juggle thousands
    of problems at the same time.  He had a feeling, however, that this
    most recent expedition of the Imp's would try even His patience.  He
    returned to his work, managing the incoming and outgoing souls.  The
    pages of the thick book of records turned easily at his mental command.
    Fred smiled his pleasure with the new system.  Turning pages by hand
    became a real strain after two or three hundred years.  The only thing
    better would require occasional service, and IBM was still only world
    wide.  Something for the future.

       Darkness greeted The Imp.  The sliver of moon did nothing to
    brighten the velvet blackness of the western Maryland forest.  She knew
    she was standing less than a hundred yards from a major highway but was
    hidden from any passing motorists.  Wouldn't do, she grinned, to drop
    in on these folks suddenly.  They tended to group such arrivals under
    the broad umbrella of Visitors From Outer Space.  She smiled and
    brushed a few autumn leaves from her short, auburn hair. She was
    impatient to begin and strode purposefully toward the highway.
    Baltimore was waiting, two hundred miles to the east.

       Ronald Hall, one of the few remaining independent truckers after the
    most recent round of fuel cost increases, eased his big Kenworth into a
    lower gear and sat back in his seat for the slow descent of the long
    grade.  He didn't mind complying with the Maryland law requiring slow
    speeds on mountain slopes.  He had no urge to ride a sixty thousand
    pound roller coaster down an eight mile plunge to disaster.  He liked
    living too much.  His constant concern was the rising cost of fuel.  He
    was slowly being forced out of the trucking business.  His wife,
    Jennette, held a steady job and they made ends meet.  They both enjoyed
    the times they had together, but both wished they could travel together
    all the time.  Their children were grown and they had planned a life of
    contented wandering wherever the loads took them.  His frustration grew
    with each passing month, as the cost of fuel crept ever higher.
       "Be thankful we're healthy and the kids are doing well.  Our time
    will come."  Jennette would say.  Her words soothed him, but each time
    he refueled he cursed the circumstances that kept them apart.
       The high beams probed the darkness and suddenly illuminated the form
    of a young woman standing alongside the road.  She was waving, as if
    she knew his truck.
       "Where did you come from, little lady?"  Ron asked the distant
    figure, as he applied his air brakes and eased onto the shoulder of the
    road.
       The Imp climbed onto the big truck and smiled through the open
    window.  "Thanks for stopping.  I got dropped a little way back and
    need a lift."
       "Come on in.  I'm goin' to Hagerstown.  Where you headed?"
       "Baltimore, but I can catch a bus out of Hagerstown."
       Conversation flowed easily, as miles slid under the truck.  The Imp
    learned first hand that Ron Hall was a good man.  He had not ignored
    the fact that her jump suit fit like a second skin, or that she was a
    well developed woman.  Her good looks and deeply exposed cleavage
    simply did not tempt him.  The thought crossed his mind and The Imp
    almost blushed when she read his thoughts.  He decided that he wouldn't
    risk hurting Jennette over a quickie on a Maryland mountainside.  She
    sure looked good, though.
       Hagerstown, nearly as dark at two in the morning as the forest she
    had left three hours before, marked their reluctant parting.  He shook
    her hand and wished her well.
       "Thanks for the lift, Ron.  And for the good wishes.  I'm sure
    you'll find a way to start traveling with your wife, real soon."
       "Well, that's real sweet.  You just be careful in Baltimore.  There
    are some mighty ugly people there."
       "I'll be fine.  My Father taught me some special tricks."
       The young woman smiled and stepped down from the truck.  The middle
    aged man felt his smile lingering longer than he expected.  She was
    that kind of person, made people want to smile.
       From his driver's seat, Ron could not see the tiny trickle coming
    from the passenger side fuel tank.  The Imp had been a little careless
    when she ordered the tank to keep itself full from now on.  It was her
    first effort at interference in many years.  The Kenworth seemed to
    sparkle, as it passed under a street lamp and two small dents in the
    left fender popped out.  The Imp smiled at her handiwork and waved to
    the man and his air horn.  She knew he would accept her gift and begin
    to travel with his wife.  She was glad.  They would only have three
    years.  The Boss had plans for them.  They had discussed the idea of
    giving the two good people a short period of mortal pleasure, when they
    had planned her trip.  Everyone knew He worked in many mysterious ways,
    they just did not know how well planned the mysteries were.
       A teenager, cruising the darkened streets way beyond what should
    have been his bed time, honked his horn at the image of feminine
    abundance.  His horn relay fused and within minutes a police officer
    had him pulled over and answering some very pointed questions about his
    breath and the late hour.
       The Imp walked the three blocks to the small Greyhound station and
    bought a ticket.  She rested on one of the wooden benches and feigned
    sleep, hoping to snare a mugger or purse snatcher.  Her efforts were
    wasted.  Hagerstown was too small for a full-time mugger.
        Baltimore, like all large cities, was both modern and aged.  The
    wealthy lived in the new and shining parts, while the poor eked out
    their existences in the battered sections.  There was a common ground,
    however, based on a white powder, pills of various colors, and a green
    weed like substance.
       Vincent Cararro, one time supplicant to J. Edgar Hoover's
    organization, was the pivot point around which the major sales of
    certain substances were hinged.  He had decided years earlier that
    being on one side of the law was the only way to live.  He had simply
    changed sides.  He gave up his quest to be an agent for the F.B.I.,
    when he discovered the wealth waiting in the sale of certain powders,
    tablets, and grasses.  His beginnings were humble but he soon became
    another American success story.
       Vinny worked the streets for two years while building his customer
    list and the staff he needed to feed their demands.  He risked
    everything on one gigantic purchase, betting on the greed of his
    suppliers.  His demand to meet The Man was eased by the size of the
    purchase.  Besides, The Man liked to see youngsters with the courage to
    improve themselves.  The initial meeting led to more encounters and
    eventually to Vinny meeting The Man's family.  Marriage into the Family
    was almost predetermined.  Margerete was attractive and undemanding.
    Vinny still had the freedom to visit his girls.  He stayed away from
    the house her father had given them, for days at a time.  Life was
    good.  Vinny bought his drugs at a fraction of the street price and
    sold them to local businessmen for thousands of dollars.  The quality
    of the women he visited improved and his clothes reflected the latest
    fashion.  He never missed a Sunday in church.  He and Margerete were
    front row Catholics, she constantly and he at least on Sundays and
    holidays.  Vinny was content.

       Outside the Greyhound station, a pimp, black of skin and slow of
    wit, invited The Imp to "See Baltimore with Me, Baby."  She agreed,
    needing time to get accustomed to the streets and the feel of the city
    after having just arrived.  The glossy Cadillac, its chrome sparkling
    in overabundance, moved through the streets like a well fed lion.
       The Imp listened to the ages old pitch the pimp was making and
    nodded at the appropriate places.  He was practically beaming at his
    good fortune.  With this one he moved out of the twenty dollar a toss
    bracket, into the world of three or four hundred dollar tricks.  She
    was a smooth piece of material and looked green as grass.  She was
    speechless with all the big city wonders he was flashing on her.  Now
    all he needed was a good meal inside her belly and him in her drawers.
    Tomorrow or the next day she would be anxious to help him.  His fantasy
    knew no limits.
       "How about if we eat, Baby?"
       "Certainly."
       "You gonna' need a place to stay, got enough bread?"
       The Imp nodded.
       The pimp flinched.  He liked the ones who showed up broke.  They
    were easier.  This one might be tougher, but she was worth the effort.
       "Why not save your cash, Baby, and spend the night with me?"
       "I wouldn't want to put you out.  You might not have room for the
    two of us."
       "No Baby.  I got lots of room.  You can have your own room, even.  I
    got anything else you might need, too."
       "Well...O.K.  But, only if your sure you are ready for what might
    happen."
       "Baby, you won't be no problem at all and what ever you wanna' do is
    fine with me."
       The Cadillac swerved into the left hand lane and the pimp rushed
    toward his apartment.  He would eat after he had a chance to get this
    one in bed.  She seemed more than ready.  The screech of tires signaled
    their arrival.
       The apartment was small and contained one bedroom.
       "Where is the room you promised me?"
       "Right there, with me to keep away the cold."
       The air in the shabby room seemed to crackle for an instant and the
    pimp wondered what was going on.  He could smell the ozone in the air,
    as he moved his hands to his ears, against the sudden noise.  He felt
    much more hair than he should have.  He looked into the cracked mirror
    over the mantle and nearly fainted.  The face of a woman looked back,
    an unbelievably ugly woman.  The face followed all the moves he made.
    That ugly broad in the mirror was him.  He jerked his head back toward
    the woman he was planning to seduce and found the room empty.  He
    searched the apartment.  He was alone.  He stripped, having difficulty
    with the unfamiliar buttons and snaps.  He looked down toward his toes
    and saw breasts, if anything that baggy and small could count as
    breasts.  The belly below the first discovery was fully rounded, in
    fact looked uncomfortably pregnant.  But pregnancy bulged a woman's
    belly and this mass of wrinkles was far from smooth. The legs holding
    the hideous mass erect were like black pipe cleaners.  The pimp rushed
    to the bath room to view the entire mess in the full length mirror.
       He recognized the lunch he had eaten earlier, as he flushed the
    results of his sudden sickness.  He was still himself, inside.
    Whatever the hell that meant.  Except now he looked like a fifty cent
    chippy from the Grey Panther gatherings in the park.  "Oh God, what did
    I do?"
       "It wasn't me.  Ask The Imp."
       The pimp didn't hear the reply, she was busy being sick again.

       The Imp walked down the street smiling and singing a line from Peace
    In The Valley.  "...and I'll be changed, changed from this fool that I
    am."

       Monday dawned soft and warm.  Vincent Cararro drive his burgundy
    Lincoln Continental carefully and headed for his office.  He nodded and
    waved to his neighbors and friends in the plush suburb where his wife
    and children lived.  He still preferred the spicier flavor of the
    streets.  He disliked the tiny tit and tight ass attitude of the people
    who lived behind the stone walls of their palatial estates.  He slowed
    for the light at the corner of Barthalemew and Walden and watched with
    mild interest as the sleek looking woman walked across Walden.  Her
    full figure was accentuated by the plunging neckline of her shimmering
    jumpsuit.  No tiny tits there.  Her full breasts moved with a
    sensuousness that turned his mild interest into the beginnings of an
    erection.  He was startled, when the car behind him honked with
    impatience.  He jerked forward awkwardly and raced down Walden to the
    first turnaround.  Tires screeched and several people wondered why Mr.
    Cararro would behave in such an uncouth manner.  The Lincoln dashed
    back to the intersection to find the startling vision of femininity
    walking down Walden.  Vinny muttered a silent prayer that no one else
    would pick her up, and waited impatiently for the light to allow him
    access to the road he had just traversed.
       "Need a ride, Miss?"
       The Imp looked him over, she wanted to be sure she had the right
    man.  Lots of people in the area drove maroon Lincolns.  He looked like
    the images she had seen yesterday and his sleek smile looked like he
    needed a lesson even if he were the wrong one.  She was not, after all,
    on a strict schedule.  She smiled and leaned down, affording Vinny an
    even better view of her unzipped cleavage.
       "I wouldn't want to put you out of your way."
       "No problem, where are you headed?"
       "Downtown.  I'm looking for work."
       "Climb in, I'll have you there in no time."
       The Imp opened the door and slid into the plush interior.  Her arm
    touched his on the armrest and neither of them moved to break the
    contact.
       "What sort of work do you do?"
       "Model.  At least that's what I did back in Omaha."
       "You been in town long?"
       "Just got in.  Haven't even found a place to stay yet."
       Vinny smiled like an undertaker who was witnessing a seventeen car
    pile up.  He knew this was going to be a good day.
       "I might be able to help you with both problems.  I have friends in
    the modeling world and my company manages a lot of apartments.  Why
    don't you come along with me and let me see what I can do?"
       "That sounds like a lot of bother for you.  I don't want to put you
    to all the trouble."
       "No trouble.  In fact, I insist.  You can rent one of the apartments
    we manage and if you find a job, we can celebrate together.  Unless, of
    course, you have friends in town."
       "No.  No friends here.  In fact, you are only the second person I've
    met in this big place.  The first was not the best experience for me.
    I hope you're more sincere and more of a gentleman then he was."
       "My intentions are nothing but honorable.  An apartment and a job
    and you can go your own way.  Unless, of course, you decide to let me
    help you celebrate."
       Traffic built and driving took Vinny out of the conversation mood.
    He despised the traffic and would have worked at home, if his wife
    hadn't been there.  He went into the office only to keep up a front for
    neighbors and the Internal Revenue Service.  He also had three
    secretaries who helped distract him when he was bored.
       Like a roller coaster, the streamlined Lincoln dove into the
    darkness that signaled a parking garage.  The narrow passageway led to
    a stall marked V. Cararro.  Vinny pulled smoothly into the parking
    place and switched off the engine.  He turned to the young woman and
    smiled.  "Shall we go up?"
       "I suppose so, I really don't want you to be put out."
       "That is silly.  I'm glad to help a stranger to town."

       Three hours later, with only a small nudge from Vinny, two modeling
    agencies wanted to use her and one apartment house had a new resident.
    The Cararro's approval was enough to get her started.  The apartment
    manager had taken Vinny's word for a deposit and she was ready to move
    into a furnished apartment.  Suddenly, Vincent was the focus of her
    life.
       Lunch time became a celebration that he promised was only the
    beginning.  They ate and drank and laughed.  They were both pleased
    with the way things were moving.

       The Imp, Madeline Warren to the apartment manager, looked down on
    the bed and the boxes she had just dropped there.  Vinny had insisted
    that she buy some clothes so they could dress in style for their up
    coming evening.  He escorted her to several very posh shops and helped
    her select a red dress that looked like spray paint on her full figured
    body.  The underthings and the shoes were quite ordinary, expensive but
    normal.  She would be dressed in the height of fashion and be escorted
    by a man who was as handsome as he was rotten.

       The Imp walked out of the bathroom and was confronted by a huge
    bottle of champagne and Vinny.  Wrapped in a towel, she was a vision of
    feminine abundance.  The small sprinkling of freckles across her
    shoulders and the tops of her full breasts were frosting on the
    delicate paleness of her skin.
       Unflustered, she continued drying her hair with one corner of her
    towel.  "Well, this is a surprise, Mr. Cararro.  We had a date for
    eight and it can't be later than six thirty.  As you can see, I'm not
    ready to leave."
       Vincent smiled.  "I was hoping we were beyond Mr. Cararro.  My
    friends call me Vinny.  I wish you would."
       "Perhaps later.  Right now I want to get dressed and fix my hair.
    You will have to leave."
       "I could wait out there," Vinny nodded toward the living room.
       The Imp shook her head.
       Vinny left, the apartment door slamming.

       The evening was a whirl of pleasant sensations.  Excellent food and
    drink, followed by three nightclubs with animated dancers, breath
    stealing comedy, and a sensuous stage show to close the evening.  The
    stage show would have been pornographic in Omaha, but in Baltimore it
    was only stimulating.  The Imp knew Vinny was much more stimulated than
    she, despite his hope that the opposite would be true.
       The Imp accepted a kiss at her door and would allow no further
    imprecations from the aroused man.  She wanted him thinking about
    nothing but his passion.

       With two weeks of modeling in daylight and fending off Vinny's
    advances during the dark hours, The Imp brought Vincent Cararro to a
    full boil.
       She knew that this was the night.  She dressed with special care and
    waited for his distinctive knock.  A soft smile marked her face.  She
    was enjoying the tenseness she had watched growing along with the
    passion.
       On the mark of eight, Vinny rapped his knuckles on the white painted
    panel of her door.  He stood admiring the new manicure he had just
    gotten and waiting for her to answer.  Tonight, he promised to himself.
    Tonight you loose those fancy drawers, Babe.  Better get ready to
    enjoy.  His visions of the evening's pleasures brought a sinister smile
    to his lips.
       The Imp opened the door and smiled to her ardent suitor.
       "Good to see you, Vinny."
       Vincent stalked into the apartment, deciding in that instant to try
    the strong man routine since his gentle approach had failed.  He fitted
    a look of restrained fury on his face and turned to the wonderfully
    sexy creature before him.
       "You've driven me to a difficult situation.  I have been patient and
    waited for you.  Tonight we will be together, or I'll be obliged to
    make some phone calls and withdraw my support for your modeling work
    and this apartment."
       Vinny waited for her reply.  He knew she liked the good life they
    had been sampling so fully for the last weeks.
       Wordlessly, The Imp reached behind her and slowly unzipped her
    dress.  The hiss of the zipper erased the lines of ferocity from the
    angry man's face and magically replaced them with a smile.  Vinny began
    removing his jacket and never took his eyes from the fantastic form
    being revealed before him.  His excitement swelled the front of his
    trousers.  That reaction seemed to stimulate him even more.
       The Imp had indeed dressed with special care.  She stood before the
    man clad only in a skimpy pair of panties, a pair of almost transparent
    hose and a garter belt that matched her panties.  Her swelling breasts
    were the focus of the now perspiring man before her.
       "Is this what you want, Vincent Cararro?"
       "Yes.  Dear God, yes.  I want you more than anything in the world."
       "Well, at least get out of that ruffled shirt."
       Vinny peeled the shirt from his sweating body so swiftly that
    several buttons popped off onto the floor and rolled under a chair.
       "I've waited for you, ever since I met you."
       "Well, before you get me I want something too."
       "What?  What do you want, money?"
       "Of course not.  I want the list of people you sell drugs to."
       Vincent felt his erection stop growing, he felt his slacks relax
    back down to their normal drape.  This was a bizarre situation, one
    that should have no place between a woman who was nearly naked and a
    man who was swelling with desire.  What the hell did she need with a
    list of his customers?  Forget her list, what she needed was a few
    hours in a big bed.
       "Why don't we talk about that later?"
       Vinny felt himself leave the floor.  He hadn't jumped, the floor had
    simply moved out from under his feet.  The woman was still on the
    floor.  He was several feet above the carpeting, in a room that smelled
    faintly like there had been a rainstorm inside the apartment.
       "What the hell...  What's going on?"
       "When I get the list you can come back down."
       "Why?"
       "My business.  Are you ready to give me the list.?"
       "Not this life time."
       The words were the last thing to pass through his lips, going out or
    coming in.  He grasped his throat and began writhing almost instantly.
    Within a minute his actions were frantic.  His supply of oxygen was
    gone and what little he had held in his lungs was nearly used up.
       The Imp waited patiently.
       Frantically, Vinny nodded his wordless willingness.
       The Imp allowed him to breathe and restated her demand.
       "There is a book, in my jacket pocket.  The names are there.  But
    they are all untouchable."
       "Not from me.  You'll descend in ten minutes.  Do not endeavor to
    follow me or find me.  If you do I'll make you the most miserable man
    since Job.  I would advise you to find a more respectable occupation,
    Mr. Cararro.  I'll be watching."
       Speechless, Vinny watched while the sultry looking woman slipped
    into the skin tight jumpsuit she had been wearing when he first met
    her.  She left the front zipper enticingly low and left the room.
    Vinny watched the clock on the mantle click off the minutes and was
    waiting as his feet gently returned to the floor.  He dashed to the
    telephone and began calling his drug customers.
       After the third call, Vinny realized his mistake.  He had told the
    people that someone, possibly connected with the law, had the names of
    all his customers.  Two of the customers were suddenly terse in their
    replies and hung up.  The third one promised to get Vinny and left the
    phone off the hook.

       Vincent Cararro died in a fiery explosion two weeks later.  The
    police bomb experts said that there must have been twenty sticks of
    dynamite planted in the car.  They were confused, however;  they could
    not figure why the second and third bomb had not detonated.  The
    investigation was narrowing the list of suspects and they expected an
    arrest shortly.  None of the reporters believed a thing about the press
    release, except the part about the other bombs.

       Nearly two hundred doctors, lawyers and prominent business men left
    Baltimore, committed suicide, or died from natural causes in the weeks
    following Vinny's death.  Life insurance company computers discarded
    the data of these deaths, they all seemed unnatural, despite the police
    reports.  Claims went unpaid and unchallenged in the courts.  Drug
    addicts in Baltimore are still having difficulty getting drugs.  Many
    moved away, some reformed, and some died from the agonies of
    withdrawal.  White powder, other than Domino sugar, was very scarce at
    the parties of the affluent.

       The only person who noticed The Imp when she left was a trucker who
    picked up a beautiful woman on The Beltway.  She needed a lift to
    Washington.  He carried her to the outskirts of the capital city and
    continued toward Virginia and the son whom he discovered was suddenly
    cured of the leukemia that had been eating him alive.  The trucker was
    already one of the faithful at his small church and credited the
    recovery with his prayers.  He may have been right.

       The Imp was last seen walking into Washington, D.C. smiling and
    humming.  She was obviously looking forward to her next tasks.

       Fred looked up from his book and noticed that The Boss seemed
    happier than usual.  He was pleased that The Boss derived joy from the
    few glimmers of hope coming from Earth.  There seemed to be a few more
    souls returning as well.  No matter, Fred mused.  There's room for
    everyone.