“Seventy Blentite warships just appeared in orbit!” reports the lookout for the Fleggish colony security. Talks over weather control on the nearby moon had gone badly. The Blentites demanded more snow. The Fleggish demanded more rain. The Blentites offered to buy the Fleggish half of the moon. The Fleggish responded that it was their moon and the Blentites would have to buy the whole thing or go back to Beerbele. They had been allies against the girls, but dividing the spoils of war was messier than winning them. “They are opening fire!”

“Ground-based defenses are online. Stand by,” replies the head of security. Nathaniel had ruled a peaceful galaxy for only a few months. Every girl and sports fan had been subdued. Girl play was outlawed. Sports was heavily regulated. The Cheeraliens had all been rounded up and executed. Now, without a common enemy to unify them, the boys were reverting to their competitive ways. Old jealousies were returning. New leaders were emerging. Friendships and tribal distinctions were being redefined.

Several missiles accelerate upwards and explode, radiation blinding Blentite sensors and scrambling their computers. More missiles follow. The Blentites simply drop bombs indiscriminately, guided by gravity alone to the surface. The large cities are missed, but the toxins kicked up into the air will wreak ecological havoc for years to come.

Five thousand light years away, Nathaniel reads reports. About 25,000 planets had officially seceded and joined the Anti-Primate League. Made up of an alliance of Zleesnits and Nops, spinning Top Crabs, Bears, Raccoons, Tyrannosaurs, Dromaeosaurs, Pelycosaurs, Stegosaurs, and others, they allege that during the Boy-Girl War and after, primate races were unfairly given better missions so that they would ultimately control more resources when the girls were defeated. Nathaniel had attempted to hold peace talks, but no agreements were reached. In the meantime, many thousands more planets were at war with each other, both sides claiming to be friends of Nathaniel and begging him for help. The entire hierarchy was unraveling. He sighs.

It has been years since Katie invented sports and sparked the three-way war raging across the galaxy. Allison has been losing badly and her forces are confined to just four pockets along the edge of the galaxy. Katie is losing too, but just barely. Katie has two opposite quadrants of the galaxy, joined in the middle by the central galactic bulge. Nathaniel has the other two quadrants. He invades and takes the center, dividing Katie’s forces and detonating all his superbombs along the perimeter to keep her from easily retaking it. Then, all of Nathaniel’s bomb factories explode at once. Allison had long been collecting information on their locations and had waited until she had found them all before destroying them. With her new advantage in firepower, Allison starts to make a comeback. Soon, Allison has twenty percent of the galaxy, Katie has thirty percent, and Nathaniel has fifty percent. The war drags on.

Nathaniel steps off his ship into the tunnel locked around the ship’s door. He is on T’n’fer’prey to meet Boss Zack about something important he could not say through normal channels. “So what is it?”

Zack takes off his sunglasses and rubs his eyes. He has clearly been under a lot of stress. “Yo, Nate. I got to tell you about the mindwhip.”

“What is it about the mindwhip that I had to come here to hear about it?” Nathaniel asks.

“Right. I’ve been using them – millions of mindwhip machines. I lock onto random brainwaves to cause pain without telling who the minds are or how far away they are, dig?” Zack summarizes.

“I know. I’ve read the reports. You say you can tell apart the minds of boys, girls, adults, and animals and are careful to only target girls,” Nathaniel recaps.

“Right bud. That’s right. That’s how I roll,” Zack says.

“So what’s the problem?” Nathaniel asks.

“There’s a fifth psychomorph, bud,” Zack says.

“A fifth psychomorph? Is it new?” Nathaniel asks.

“We first saw them seven days ago – a bit like a boy-girl mix,” Zack says.

“Well, that’s interesting. They might make good allies if we could figure out where they are. Are there a lot?” Nathaniel asks.

“That’s the bad news. Their numbers are growing fast. They used to be boys and girls. Individual girl minds we locked onto began to change, so we started scanning boys too. The new way is taking over, Nate. I don’t know how many boys around you might have been affected already or how many will soon transform. That’s why I couldn’t send you a message. It might have been intercepted,” Zack says.

Nathaniel scratches the feathers on his head. “Show me the data.”

The boys are winning. They now control sixty-five percent of the galaxy, including Candy and Gruezhe. Girls are dying by the trillions. Nathaniel has been promoted to vice president, second only to President Bobot. His duties include overseeing invasions while Bobot sleeps.

One night, Nathaniel is skimming through reports from the latest invasions when he is interrupted by an urgent message from the other end of the galaxy. “Everything is pink! I’m pink! The controls are pink! The stars are pink!”

Within forty-eight hours it becomes apparent that the girls have made a new weapon. This new energy wave spreads not only through matter, but travels through empty space at 100,000 times light speed. It will cover the galaxy in one year.

Boys inside the pink zone are unable to fight. Some kill themselves. Some blindfold themselves or tear out their eyes. Those who can take it continue to resist the girls, but with no supplies coming in it is only a matter of time before the girls will win.

The energy field only allows pink light, making both lasers and trazers impossible. Hammer-Face ships equipped with machine guns are sent in, but the girls of the area are better prepared, already having projectile weapons.

Peter, the new head of the Girlbusters, brings his report to Bobot and Nathaniel. “There has been a restructuring of power in the girl government. With the other leaders dead or isolated by boy forces, a girl scientist named Miss Bossy has assumed power.”

“Got it,” Lassie says, her three-meter-long hair flowing around her in zero gravity.

“Setting course to the nearest black hole,” Kissy responds.

The object gripped by the robotic arm is hot and dances with strange energies. This is a boy superbomb of the latest design – capable of taking out up to one hundred star systems at once.

“Wait. Something’s different about this one. The readings are all off. It’s losing energy,” Lassie says.

“Why would it do that?” Kissy asks.

“Maybe it’s a dud. I can’t even establish a countdown prediction based on the buildup curve. There is no buildup,” Lassie says.

The ship arrives in orbit around the black hole. “We’re here. You can drop it,” Kissy announces.

“Hold on. If this is a dud, we can study it and reverse-engineer it,” Lassie suggests.

“Or it could be a trick. Do you want to risk the fate of every star system within twenty light years on a hunch?” Kissy asks.

“It just cracked into four pieces,” Lassie says.

“What?” Kissy asks.

“The bomb just spontaneously broke apart. It can’t reach critical mass now. Power levels have dropped to almost nothing. It’s no threat,” Lassie says.

“So, what do we do?” Kissy asks.

“Set a course for Tarrat,” Lassie says.