I just knew I shoulda stuck with Mars. These other goddamn planets got about as much interspecies awareness as them early humans. I'd bet ten right now that not one of the paunchy officers lining the Venus gate like a bunch of guard dogs read the interspecies manual. Limestone-loving little shits.

"Its a stomach.", I tell them. They think my stomach is a security violation, dear lord.

It is about as much use as dear ol' Dobby the Doberman back at home, with his ultra-friendly disposition and hug-me eyes. Dobby would help out any robbers himself if they bought him those expensive treats. Makes a whole lotta sense now, considering Lana imported him from Venus. Looks like their people ain't much better than their dogs.

"You tellin' me that you carry around a bag of acid to digest food?", the big guy says. He's green and impressively ugly. Impressively stupid, too, it seems.

"I don't carry it around. Its a part of my body. Evolution, yes?"

The part of my mind that is not occupied with cursing every microscopic aspect of Venus(a very, very small one. About the size of the average Venusian brain, I am sure.) is torturing me with visions of the craters I had booked, cloudy blankets and gorgeous views. If Venus does one thing right, it is hospitality.

I try not to think about how I learnt that. Thinking about Lana never leads up to anything good, Luckily, I have loads of practice not thinking about her.

"Oh, sure. A bag of dangerous acids is a part of your body. One hundo percent sensible. Exactly the sort of thing evolution would go around supportin'", its the lean guy asking for a punch this time, with an expression I decipher as snooty on his slimy little face.

Idly, I wonder if Venus is so good at hospitality because all the big brains went into tourism. Not even the average Venusian could be this mind-numbingly stupid.

"The acids aren't exactly open to the elements, all right? And I'm sorry humans are too tough for your delicate little Venus-bred sensibilities, but we gotta eat a couple more things than Venus limestones."

Their piggy little eyes narrow. Venusians are surprisingly sensitive about limestones. Well, good riddance. I am surprisingly sensitive to perfectly ordinary parts of my body being banned from the airport.

"What's wrong with the limestones?"

"Its not about the goddamn limestones."

"Its always about limestones.", this time it is a wide girl in the back, prissy ears perked up. SHe looks young, as Venusians go.

"Not this time. Right now, its about the fact that I booked a perfectly good crater for the night, I've got light years of jet lag, and I'm about ready to punch everyone here in their fat, ugly faces.", I said. Or, well, I thought. The words never did breathe the carbon dioxide of Venus's atmosphere.

Look at me now, Lana. Never let it be said I couldn't control my temper. Anger issues, she used to say. Hell of a woman. She would have gotten through here in a second , though, serpent-tongued snake as she was.

"Look.", I tell the guards tiredly. "I cant exactly detach my stomach because you dont like it."

"Yes you can.", Miss Its-always-about-limestones is back with her crap. "I've got a limestone for that."

A new wave of exhaustion crashes over me.

"Do you.", I ask, "Do tell."

She pulls out of the considerable layers of scales lining her frame a limestone-long and thin and green. Its kinda pretty, really, relative to the average limestone. Not that that's high praise, because most limestones shared with their planetary neighbors this trait of astonishing ugliness.

Huh. I hadn't expected her to actually have the thing on her. Venusians were usually all talk when it came to limestones. The thing doesn't look very trustworthy, anyway.

"You're supposed to eat it." she adds helpfully.

I take the limestone. This is exactly why I disapprove of these one-jun peddlers on the street. The thing could be poisoned for God's sake.

"Yes, Doge, eat.", says the punchable lean guard.

"Its Doug."

"Earth names are so hard to remember.", fat dude complains.

Funny, that, considering the average Venusian name sounded like a keyboard smash. I'd give you an example if I could remember one. khnenfjoweurngkd sounds like it would exist somewhere, so lets go with that.

"Anyway.", I tell them, exercising reasonable safety precautions which clearly only exist on earth, "I'm not going to eat that. It could be poisoned for all I know. It could shrink me to the size of a thimble."

Rumor has it that happened to a Martian once. Cunning creatures, these Venusians.

"It's green, human. Its perfectly safe. Now eat, or leave.", fat dude is competing hard to get first place in my black list. Do Venusians get awards for being inconvenient pain-in-the-necks?

I eat the limestone. That little piece of A-level decision making was conducted by the part of my brain still dreaming of cloudy bedsheets , and blows right up in my face thirty seconds later. A small, hard piece of something makes itself comfortable at the junction of my throat and palette with no warning at all.

I lean over and spit out. A very small, very stomach shaped thing drops out. It sets up all the alarms the Venusians had just switched off again.

I am getting a very bad feeling in places where my stomach ought to be. It feels like something should be churning, but the organ up to doing it is currently resting innocently on the concrete, about the size of my pinky.

"What the hell.", I say flatly. God, this day is just getting better and better.

Venus version of the devil picks up my stomach before I can digest everything that just happened. Digest. Huh. Thats funny. Maybe I am in shock.

She tucks into her purse my stomach. My brain is breaking a little bit and I think it would be really nice to not have to think right now. I wonder if she would have any limestones for that.

"You can have this back when you come back out. You'll be just fine if you dont eat anything, dont worry. Do drop in, won't you?"

The guards have their filthy Venusian hands on me, pushing me through the gate. A dollop of self preservation kicks in, and I turn. I'll need my stomach back someday, after all.

"I don't know where your house is!"

"Oh, darlin'. I don't do houses."

The Venusian smiles, wide and pretty, and suddenly she is about as Venusian as I am. She winks, trademark Lana wink, the same one she gave me in three hundred first-motels-from-the-planet's-centre, the ones she always took. The ones I used to take with her.

I remember why I stopped.

My world falls through.