"Go out alone? How big a fool do you think I am?"

"I don't have all night to go into detail on a subject like that. But I know you're not so stupid as to recognise the kudoes you could receive for capturing the resistance leader single-handedly. A victory like that will be a pleasant garnish for your inevitable political career following the end of the War. Think you can remember all that?"

Rikk turned and started towards the bedroom door, hearing Strasser activate his pistol, stopping as the man spoke again. "I can remember, Lizard. Remember much. I remember breaking you in the camp. Remember you howling with utter despair at how Ilsa had betrayed you. You love her - as much as any animal can love a human. Most bizarrely of all, you made me believe that. And now you expect me to believe you could betray the woman you love so much?"

"Love." Rikk looked back at him, glad that Strasser couldn't see the feelings his throat always showed. "You monkeys give that emotion entirely too much power over you. Love is not all you need, it's not all around you, and it's not true or endless or undying. It's painful, and brittle, and rapacious in its hunger. It leaves nothing standing in its wake. And you are welcome to it. Now shoot me, or let me go."

Strasser said nothing further.

Rikk departed.

*

The hours had moved quickly; she spent most of them in the adjacent dressing room, choosing a dancing outfit, with the help of Simone and the other two girls who subsequently arrived to get ready. She politely refused their offers of drinks or pills to help steady her nerves, applied and reapplied her makeup, used the tiny toilet in the corner.

She heard the sounds of revelry from the Green Room, men laughing and shouting and chanting. She rose once, then again, though it wasn't her turn yet. She saw herself in the full-length mirror: a gaudy broad-shouldered red and blue leather jacket with tassels, over a front-clasped bikini top, red cowboy chaps held together with some old-fashioned Velcro, boots and a red Stetson hat.

Oh God, she felt like throwing up.

Simone walked in, thumbed towards the open door. "Go on, girl, they're all warmed up for you!"

Ilsa held her breath and stepped out, seeing a dozen or more drunken burly men, and one or two women, clad in the desert beige camouflage uniforms of Coalition troops but minus their helmets, the crowd whooping and hollering as she emerged. She stepped forward tentatively, feeling the heat and collective sweat from them hit her like a blow to her gut, and she moved to the furthest pole away from them, letting her body take over, ignoring the heavy smoke in the air.

She clung to the pole and began swaying around it, gyrating her hips in time with the throbbing bass, her body complicit in a crude pantomime of arousal. She felt so many eyes on her, felt more exposed than when she'd worn less material serving drinks downstairs. But the bouncer was in the background, watching, and she felt some comfort from that as she cast aside her jacket and hat.

The second song started, and she moved to another pole, along the long axis of the catwalk. She was closer to them now, felt their hands reach out to touch her, but she moved away, feeling her skin flush bright pink and nearly trip over in her boots. More hands touched her bare legs, and she made an exaggerated motion to avoid them, looking over at the bouncer, silently wishing he was closer as she peeled off her chaps and threw them aside, then unclasped and threw her bikini top into the crowd, starting a fight for it. Wishing more that this was all over now. Just another few minutes.

Movement near her feet caught her eye, and she looked down to see an unkempt, sandy-haired man staring up with a predatory gleam, a folded-up banknote perched like a cigarette between his fore- and middle finger. He flicked it in the direction of her crotch, offering it in exchange for a closer look

She decided not to bother. She wasn't in this for the tips, and when her third and final song thankfully started, she turned away from the man, moving with a swift intensity as if she could force the song to end more quickly, stroking her breasts at no one in particular, teasing her rouged nipples to erection. Another few seconds, she'd slide off her panties, fling them away and depart in the confusion-

Hands grabbed at her legs, this time holding onto her. She stopped dancing, cursed and kicked out, looking up to see the bouncer swiftly enter the crowd.

Only to be overwhelmed by four or more drunken soldiers, submerging him in a storm of boots and bottles.

Ilsa called out, her voice lost below the music and the triumphant cheers of the soldiers as they carried her off the catwalk completely, restraining her spread-eagled limbs, as others ripped off her panties and slipped off her boots. Oh God, oh God this can't be happening.

The man with the banknote was between her legs now, grinning at her. And Ilsa recognised him at last, the officer who had first stopped her in the street the night before, who had searched and taunted her.

And the grin, the expression in his cold eyes, told her that he'd recognised her as well. Just over the music, he told her, "Hey, darling, nice to see what you finally look like under the travelling clothes."

She tried to scream, but someone covered her mouth, as others spread her legs wider, and the blonde man was reaching for the buttons on his trousers. "We've paid heavy for your Jewish ass, bitch, and we're gonna get our money's worth."

She shook her head uselessly, her eyes saucering. Oh God, Rikk, please help me-

Something happened just out her line of sight, and for a second Ilsa dismissed it as just a few of the soldiers fighting amongst themselves.

It wasn't.

The ones holding her abruptly dropped her, and she hit the cold, sticky floor with a gasp that almost took her breath away. But almost before she'd hit the floor, she'd seen a huge robed figure leap over her prone, naked body and slam the blonde soldier against the nearest wall, a dark green tail emerging from behind to wrap about the soldier's throat like a python.

The music had stopped, as had the soldiers' cheers, as all eyes fixed on the blonde man withdrawing a short, wicked looking blade from a hidden slide on his belt buckle.

"Drop it, dickhead," Rikk hissed at him, in a voice lethal in its quiet assurance as his tail tightened around the man's throat. "Now!"

But the blonde man, his face beet red and bulging from the pressure, raised it towards Rikk's chest. "F-Fucking L-Lizar-"

CRACK!

Ilsa blinked, not sure of what she'd just heard. Or rather, too sure.

She watched as Rikk flung the body aside like a coat, his tail then snaking down to pull Ilsa behind him as he turned to the others, extending the claws on his hands and hissing with a wide open mouth. Rage narrowed his pupils to slits as he snarled, "Show's over, you fucking gibbons. Go back to the barracks for a circle jerk before I lose my temper." When no one moved, he shouted, "WELL?"

The soldiers had pushed themselves as far back as they could go, shock and terror etched on their faces, as Carl the bouncer, injured but still conscious, staggered out of the way. Ilsa drew her knees up to her chest, her mind froozen, unable to make her body do anything more than watch.

Then she saw one of the men churn up some courage and lift one of the discarded chairs, his face reddening with growing, alcohol-fuelled rage. "He killed Greenstreet! Kill him!"

He charged. Others joined him.

And Rikk roared as he stormed into them, using his limbs and tail with swift, decisive, merciless force, cracking bones and spilling blood and making men scream. Some had the presence of mind to escape, or help their injured comrades to escape. At least four others weren't so lucky. Ilsa watched every second, watching this living engine of destruction, a predator, a side of him she'd never seen before. She sought some remnant of the caring, gentle soul she'd once loved. Still loved. But she didn't find any.

When it was over, and Rikk faced her, Ilsa closed her eyes and trembled uncontrollably, fully expecting him to kill her as well in some alien berserker fury. She jumped as he returned to her, but to her surprise lifting her up and gently cradling her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. "It's over, Ilsa. It's over, maideleh." More loudly now he barked out, "Simone! Get Sam, tell her Plan B! And get some help for Carl!"

The following moments were a blur to her, darkness and light, heat and cold air, the sounds of sirens drawing ever nearer like a storm. She was uncertain of anything, except that Rikk was holding her, protecting her. She clung to his robes, buried her head in that space where his arm met his torso, wanting the rest of the world to go away and leave her alone with him.

*

"Here."

He was setting her down in a dark, stark room lined with several crates and boxes, and a window shuttered but still letting in some streetlight through tiny slats. She shivered, still nude, until he stripped off his robes and wrapped her in them. Ilsa accepted them gratefully. The shock was wearing off, and she glanced around, seeing food, clothing, weapons, transmitters and other devices. "Where are we?"

Rikk was now clad in simple black kilt, and as he moved to the edge of the roof as if drawn to the sirens he heard, his tail swishing behind him, she saw several cuts and ugly dark bruises on his arms and back. "A safe house, on the Boulevard D'Etienne, not far from the club." He looked to her now. "Are you okay?"

She started to reply - then stopped herself. Resentment within her was boiling now, boiling into anger. She rose to her shaky feet, wrapping the robes tighter about herself. "Why ask? Didn't you say you gave up on caring about me a long time ago? Why so concerned now? I thought you wanted to make me suffer! Or did I hear wrong?"

He winced at an unseen injury, then drew closer to her, his voice low. "No. You were right, I did want that. Or thought I did."

Ilsa's face twisted with rage and pain. "And do you think I got enough from those bastards? Well?"

But he didn't respond with rage or pain, didn't give her any aggression. "I didn't want that to happen to you, Ilsa."

"Why not? Wanted to do it all yourself?"

"No."

When they were only centimetres away, she spat at him. "Then why'd you save me, Rikk? Why?"

Now his hands gripped her arms, and he stared with a fierce and frightening intensity he could no longer contain. "Because I still love you, maideleh. Because I never stopped. Even when I tried hating you, I couldn't kill that feeling. Even when I tried hiding, I couldn't escape." He drew even closer, capturing her gaze with his own, his throat near black with emotion, his regret and sorrow and pain all too real and laid out before her. "I am so sorry for hurting you, Ilsa. So very sorry. For what I've been putting you through since you came back. I was so wrong."

Unable to stand up to that now, Ilsa couldn't stop shuddering, so she buried herself in his arms, his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, feeling his tail gently wrap around them both.

She couldn't tell how much time had past like that.

And despite herself, despite all that had gone on tonight, over the last few hours, the last few weeks and months and years, she caught his scent, and felt herself warm with arousal, felt herself tingle. She wiped her face on his hot hairless chest and looked up. "Make love with me, Rikk."

He pulled back his head. "Ilsa, you're- you're married-"

"Rikk, after what's happened, I need to feel loved again, protected, cared for. No one has ever made me feel that way except you, Rikk - not even Victor. And I need to feel it now, kaddishel, or I know I'll never feel it again." She rose up onto the balls of her feet and kissed the fleshy folds on his throat, sucking them in and feeling old, familiar sensations return to them both.

His tail stroked her back through the robes, and he dipped his head to let his tongue dart out and taste her neck, her ears. She giggled, remembered giggling whenever he'd done that before, and felt the huge heart in his chest pound.

The air smelled of smoke and oil, and close, hot maleness, and it soaked into her. She looked up into those loving, bronze-framed eyes; his breath feathered her mouth. They kissed and stroked, and she felt her breasts swell, nipples pressing into the fabric separating their bodies, while she felt his cock growing against her. With one hand and his tail supporting her, his other stroked her hair, his tongue darting out to draw lines along the full outline of her lips, making her shudder in the starlight.

They remained like this for what seemed like ages, but felt like no time at all. Then, with a shrug, Ilsa cast off her robes, never losing his eyes as her hands reached out to unclasp his kilt, letting it drop as well. They moved, then descended to the clothes at their feet, Rikk laying her down upon them, lying beside her, one hand cradling her head, the other stroking her bared breasts. Ilsa reached up and clutched at his shoulders, gasping as his fingertips played and teased her nipples, making them pucker and her pussy cry out. But she sensed his remaining hesitation, and she reached down and guided his hand between her legs. "You remember what I like, don't you?"

His fingers drove down into the curls of her hair, and her sweat slicked his fingertips.

Her sex ached for him, and she thrust her clit forward a fraction, meeting his thumb. Slowly, deliciously he touched her. His fingertips feathered across her clit, and she leaked juices as her labia swelled and engorged further.

Her hands reached down now, touching the top of his shaft, stroking the sheath of skin back and forth. He gasped now, rose above her, his breathing stifled and ragged as he almost lay on top of her, kissing her again, his thick shaft of flesh pressing against the wet cleft of her sex.

But she didn't want more kissing. She parted her thighs and raised her knees. "You always took too long to get that thing inside me, where it belongs."

Rikk hissed, rose to his knees between her legs, wincing at some of his injuries, but still reached under her knees and tugged her closer to him, before lowering himself once more. The head of his shaft pushed at her swollen, throbbing inner lips, slowly but easily gaining purchase.

Ilsa raised her buttocks to the opening of her flesh to his thick hardness, the hair of her bush rubbing against his smooth skin. "Oh fuck, yes!" Her voice seemed so loud in the room.

And slowly, his cock began to thrust into her, his claws piercing her as they gripped her sides. She felt every ridge of his bulging cock as it plunged deep into her swollen pussy, ripples of delight running across her skin like ants. He kept still, his extraterrestrial biology allowing his penis to do all the moving for him, the shaft pistoning into her, never trying to fill her with his full forty-plus centimetre length. Then he slowed down, withdrawing slowly until only his cockhead was inside her, before sliding back into her again, his tail wrapped around her, holding her still.

Her arms around him, her excitement building, she slapped him. "Faster, Rikk. please."

Rikk, breathing more rapidly, quickened his thrusts to an urgent gallop.

"Yes," she moaned, "Harder!"

He pumped into her with abandon; she felt herself on the edge of orgasm, wanting to share one with him again. He cried out, his cock swelling inside her, spurting, spurring her on, her cries mingling with his as she came, her back arching beneath him, her legs wrapping around him, clinging to him fiercely. It subsided, then rose again, quickly followed by another, like pearls on a string. Her nails scratched his arms, making her gasp, "Sorry- sorry-"

"For what?" he whispered beside her ear, mystified.

"N-Never mind."

They lay in that position for the longest time, until he softened and withdrew, still holding her. She closed her legs, trapping his come inside, as he made a weak effort to wrap the rest of the robes around her, caressing her.

She wanted to sleep now. Keep this moment of utter bliss and contentment alive forever.

But she couldn't, any more than she could keep a candle flame lit forever. "Rikk, what will happen to the club, to Sam and the others?"

He slowly sat up now, using his tail as support from behind as he stared at nothing in particular. "If Sam follows Plan B, she'll close the place completely, give everyone a month's pay in hand out of the petty cash, activate a virus to wipe the records clean, and make herself scarce. When the soldiers return, they'll find some bodies in an empty club. With my DNA on them." He grunted. "Think it's time for me to leave Casablanca for safer climes."

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Rikk, I'm sorry."

He turned to her, reaching up and stroking her face. "It wasn't your fault, it was mine." He shrugged. "Besides, I was getting sick of. crawling in the dirt."

"What are we going to do now?"

Rikk dropped his gaze. "First, we get these cuts and bruises patched up. Then we get dressed. Then we're going to meet up with the Resistance."

Her heart raced. "Victor? Did you see him? Talk to him? Is he okay?" Then she saw his expression, and her hopes felt tarnished, poisoned. She couldn't believe what she was going to say, but it still emerged. "Rikk, maybe we can- we can-"

Now he took his hands in hers. "Maybe we can remember that you're going back to Victor where you belong."

Ilsa paled. "Rikk, no-"

His expression narrowed. "You've got to listen to me. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If you don't get back with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."

She nodded, accepting the truth even as much as she was hating it. "But what about us?"

"We'll always have Casablanca. We didn't have, we lost it until you came back." He stroked her face gently. "We got it back tonight."

Tears flowed again; she felt like she'd cried more in the last two days than in the previous thirty-plus years. "Rikk-"

"Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world of yours- of ours*. Someday you'll understand that." He bent forward, licked her cheek. "Here's looking at you, kid."

She'd lost her strength to argue anymore.

Silently now they dealt with their injuries and dressed in fresh clothes. Before they left, Ilsa had a sudden thought, then turned to Rikk. "Can I have a weapon?"

He stared, then nodded, handing her his own beamer.

She smiled gratefully, watched as he picked up a human snub-nosed revolver. "A bit old-fashioned for you, isn't it?"

He grunted. "Bite me, yenteh." Then he stopped, looked to her. "No. Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time."

The anguish they felt when they finally parted was almost too much to bear.

*

They'd used the tunnels below to make it to the outskirts of the old airport, emerging into a fogbound, abandoned hanger. Ilsa shivered and squinted into the darkness, listened but heard nothing but distant aircraft. "Rikk, are you sure we're to meet them here?"

He nodded warily, checked a small datapad in his hand. "I have scanners surrounding this area. Everyone who's supposed to be here. is here."

Footfalls, echoing in the vast enclosure of the hanger, drew nearer. Three figures approached slowly, cautiously, one of them raising and activating a handlight that illuminated Rikk and Ilsa, making them blink. Rikk peered past the light. "Sam? How'd Plan B go?"