II ARTFORK

Actually, it couldn't have been better planned. NamastFinger was dead. It hit ArtFork harder than he thought. He was staggering like a sub-aquarius after returning to FX6FEE. The Sub-aquariuses have been known to dive into the depths of other dimensions and come back completely exhausted. They have mandatory rehab. It takes them almost three shcandeens to regain their memory and almost a whole quintan to come back to life. It's perhaps the most demanding profession and requires a special physical constitution: The Navel. Without the navel, one doesn't stand a chance. The navels proves to be the only possible way to find the lost inner balance. Nine of the fifteen skeletons that have ever returned from the depths of the sunken dimensions have died. All of them with the navel survived. Following the announcement of RPZ82, a class is being taught at the training base on how to grow a proper navel while maintaining important physical fitness. In particular, the breasts, shoulders and arms in general are needed, unlike the legs which are not needed at all when penetrating the dimensions, something the swimming team from Zhenshusheyhoolia wondered about. The division leader felt aggrieved that his swimmers with their huge legs failed the entry tests. So theA-QUA-RIUSsub decided to introduce premature studies, where a panel of experts looks at the physical constitution of new entrants to this truly bizarre sport.

ArtFork himself once considered TheA-QUA-RIUSsub, but in the end the universe decided for him and cast him in the complex case of theA-QUA-STOKE bottlers, AOQ for short. And so today he's a private eye, please. That way, lest anyone think ArtFork might as well call himself the detective, because in NastreenXCaemino even the private eye can't work without a classical detective education. But that windup with bumfing was not even close to ArtFork´s heart. He preferred it when he tightened the belt of his light brown coat and bumped his dark brown hat on the root of his snout almost to the red round-rimmed Koleym (Koleym was a Fickan guitarist, but he was famous throughout Moushramee, which few, if not the only one, managed to do), mounted the fa and rode up the rail lines to the very end of them and beyond, where only he and a select few of The HajinBa magazine knew it.

ArtFork has been a free contributor to this magazine for several quintans. Hajin was a zone beyond the end of the rail lines, where the plastic cards were no longer useful and where you gave your life to the crap. A Bacish thrac is a big bug. But I guess just like it doesn't do everybody any good to sniff through a snuff slide of Valen tobacco, it doesn't do everybody any good to get stung by the Bacish thrac, or "the Ba" for short. The Ba has a long snout, very narrow, with which he pierces the eardrum of the right ear, from which slimy tongues come out, looking for a way to the brain, which he beats with the poison. A substance that influences thought, action and behaviour. Few feel the urge, the vast majority go mad. But it's the only protection the Hajin Zone has against the space tourist invasion. The Bacish thrac will devour its victim, if it disintegrates internally first. Otherwise, you can explore the beauty of Hajin in peace. And Hajin, that's a Fican treasure. And every month, The HajinBa magazine publishes the best of what's happening across the border of the everyday life of a fican fickaner. Fickaners or ficans, that's what they've always called the inhabitants of FX6FEE. Even ArtFork was the fican.

Even the JibhaainHuleer, the MarkerPlacer and the Devaheer. And the detective. And the private eye. But most importantly, he was the one who lost a fellow NamastFinger. That dragged him along like a shadow. A shadow longer than the shadow of JibhaainHulu Chapel, tall enough that its very top penetrated into the dimension of Moshquenseer.

The killer of NamastFinger, look... that's him, he used to hear ArtFork quite often, whether he came for a smaarcocktail or The Heshvin budupesh. He's slowly learned to live with it. But he'll never accept it. A classic detective scam of subickers. Not only did he lose his best friend, but he's got her death on his hands. Yeah, right. If you don't know who did it, blame someone without evidence. It's a good thing justice has its fingers on FEE and ArtFork got off scot-free. Now he's just hanging around looking for the killer of NamastFinger. That doesn't sit well with ZhaBeyMeem. He's been pissed at him since the first time he showed up in Devahee.

But ZhaBeyMeem is a small man. The problem is, he's one of The Djiboutian Sharp-Philist rebellion. And MahammuFlaytra just got shot. "Fuck, one never has peace here. What the fuck is a fucking Bacish thrac doing in Zhenshusheyhoolia?" ZhaBeyMeem barked, pulling out a high pressure rod and aiming it into a roar of screams and pain. The Ba had already mowed down two or three ficans.