But Fortiss and his efforts still could not
Purge the caverns of quite all their ills,
And some of the more lecherous cartels
Who stopped at nothing and would stoop as low
As was required to suit the tasks at hand
And therefore had such magnitudes of hearts
That would not show for e’en the Hubble’s scans
Did still exist, half-buried in the sands
That covered the basalt of desert seas,
And hidd’n in the proverbial woodwork.
One such organization had an agent
Who overheard Fortiss one cooler night,
When he and Goodfellow and the lady
Sat at the bar, sipping their import brews,
Speak of his wife and daughter, back on Earth,
And reach into his vest and then produce
A photograph of them, well-worn from use
As he had tak’n it out, like any man
Who truly loves his family might do;
The agent slithered home, and had a plan.