“That gorram river was crossed when you killed my friend,” Simon said, and returned to Simon-time. In Simon-time he wiped a tear from his cheek as he stepped across the room to the rigid Man In Black and used the saltwater to write a word of mourning on the man’s forehead. The kug, in Simon-time and Earth-time and no-time tensed, knowing the signal was soon to be given.

Simon gave it. The kug ripped into the Man In Black’s body, and he died.

And then he died again.

And then he died again.

In Earth-time, the seventh time the dead man died, he thought about his mother, and the eighteenth time he remembered his pet hamster he had when he was three, and by the thirtieth time he died all the dead man could think about was how he didn’t want to die, and that was all he thought about ever, every time he died, until Simon brought back what the kug left behind for interrogation.

The kug stepped away from the puddle of dead man on the hotel room floor, and looked at the couple on the bed.