RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.7 CONTINUE TO THE HILTON

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.7 - CONTINUE TO THE HILTON

By Tomara Armstrong

You stare blankly at the map. Choices, choices.

I’m really not hero material, you think. You remember the time you were sitting in counting class and little Sally Baker smashed a spider on your desk – you passed out and three kids from your class had to carry you to the school nurse.

After debating it, you bite your lip and decide to go for it. You don’t technically have to be the hero to follow the three musketeers and Bob in the car in front of you, right? You could just absorb some of their information and seek out a “real” hero later.

“I guess I’m going to the Hilton, then.” You glance around the compartment for something—anything— you can use, but the only thing you find is a travel blanket and a pillow. You strip off your NOSSA regulation hat and shirt and stuff them under your seat. You slide the Team Earth hat onto your head, tie the blanket around your neck forming a makeshift cape, and shove the pillow case into your pants— just in case you need it later.

You sit and wait, watching as Cydonia looms closer. The city is massive. You have to give the Martians some credit; their architecture is amazing. Skyscrapers tower over you on both sides. They appear to be of smooth stone–-no seams or imperfections, just solid polished rock. Now that you think about it, you’re pretty sure you read somewhere that the city was created from the top down. Cydonia was carved out of the Martian soil, like an archaeological dig site on Earth; years of gradually peeling away each layer, creating the city using grids and complex math.

You consider using the sensory device in your car to further research this impressive city, but there is no time. The shuttle car pulls into the Hilton, and you prepare to exit the automated vehicle.

You watch as Malloy and company leave their car. You try to follow, but trip over your cape and stumble out of your car. Luckily, no one was paying attention. You follow them through the giant glass doors into the grand lobby of the Hilton.

A small grey-haired woman bumps into you and sneers; you are apparently in her way. The blue dog in her arms starts to bark and growl at you. You rush quickly into the bar off the lobby in hopes of not drawing any more attention.

At the bar you watch Malloy’s crew in your peripheral. They are standing in the lobby discussing something.

“Can I get you a drink, buddy?” The bartender appears in front of you.

“Uh, sure…” you say glancing at Saleen, who is clutching the front of Bob’s shirt, her face mere inches from his. “Whatever you’ve got.”

The bartender pulls a green bottle etched with Martian deities off the shelf, grabs a tall shot glass from under the counter, and pours. “You a super hero?” he asks as he slides you the drink.

“Nah… I’m training to be one though.”

“Really?” The bartender asks without a fraction of interest.

“No…” you say staring into your shot glass. “Not really.”

The bartender walks away, and your attention focuses on the large hologram above the bar. While stats are scrolling across the bottom of the image, sportscasters Chuck Hern and Gus Johnston are exchanging harsh words over who is going to win the game tomorrow: Team Earth or the Martians. They are at each other’s throats, and a mediator steps in. While the mediator is trying to break up the brawl, he is taking blows to the nose and mouth. He’s bleeding all over the place.

More than half of the people in the Hilton lobby are pressing into the bar to get a view of the sportscasting madness. They are pushing up behind you a little too closely. You turn your head and stiffen. Peter Tan is standing right next to you.

The hologram begins to flash “technical difficulties” and the crowd begins to disperse, but Peter Tan is still standing beside you. You keep your head down and avoid looking at him. He takes a seat at the bar beside you and catches the bartender’s eye as he taps the counter. “Nice cape,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say as you rise from your seat and head toward the lobby. You don’t see Malloy, Saleen, or Bob anywhere.

You head toward the reception counter, when someone taps you on the shoulder. “Hey, you dropped this,” says an all-too-familiar voice.

You whirl around and Peter Tan is holding the pillowcase you conveniently hid in your pants. You see the recognition on his face, and take off at a sprint.

You breeze past the reception area and through the kitchen with Tan on your heels. Weaving through the dining area, you notice a garbage chute. Surely Peter Tan wouldn’t go down there, right?

You gain speed and dive in through the swinging door.

Down, down, down you fall into a steamy room full of decay and rot. You’re pretty sure Peter Tan isn’t following you down here. You aren’t sure how you are going to get out, either.

You wade around in the shin-deep sludge looking for an out. There is an intercom device on the wall with several unlabeled buttons. A loud and extremely annoying voice booms through the device, “I got you at last, dirtbag!” Malloy laughs maniacally as the room begins to whir and buzz. “Let’s see you get yourself out of this one!”

The room starts to shift and grind against its edges, closing in on you quickly. You’re going out with today’s trash.

You begin pushing the buttons on the intercom; the walls are still moving closer. You scream into the device. “Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!”

But it’s no use. You are seconds away from being a pancake, and all you think is: Sooo not the hero.

The End

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 7

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.5 ENJOY THE HILTON

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.5 - ENJOY YOUR STAY AT THE HILTON

By Nina Bau

You watch as Bob disappears into the men’s room. The temptation to run is strong, but you’re not sure where you’d run to. You don’t have any evidence and you don’t even know who the target is in Malloy’s plan. You decide to play along a little longer, and if you get to soak in one of the Cydonia Hilton’s massive massage tubs in the process, so be it.

Bob ambles out of the restroom and wordlessly heads towards the shuttle station.

“What about that drink?” you ask.

“We can order something at the hotel. Saleen will be expecting to hear that we’ve checked in, and you know how she is when she’s kept waiting.”

You nod, mustering up your best been-there, that-bitch-sure-is-crazy look.

The shuttle ride through the city is pretty uneventful. Bob drums his fingers against his leg, occasionally allowing them to morph into a taffy-like consistency and stick to his pants. No one but you seems to notice. The other passengers are busy drinking in the sleek buildings and seductive lights of downtown Cydonia, Mars’ largest city.

The lobby of the Cydonia Hilton looks like it was dipped in gold. A night’s stay in a place like this would cost you a month’s salary in zircons.

“Be right back,” Bob mumbles, and heads in the direction of the public restrooms.

This guy has a bladder like your 95-year-old grandfather.

Moments later, a buxom redhead sidles up to you and slips her arm around your waist. She’s wearing an emerald green slip dress and matching, impossibly high, heels. You’re confused, but going with the flow has kept you alive this long.

“Let’s go, love.”

She gently steers you in the direction of the registration desk. The young clerk behind the counter does a classic double-take at your new companion. You glance over your shoulder, looking for Bob. He’s still in the bathroom.

“Welcome to the Cydonia Hilton.”

“Reservation for the Blanks.”

The clerk types on a keyboard, consults the monitor and then he smiles.

“Ah, yes. The honeymoon suite. Top floor. Do you need assistance with your bags?”

“No,” the redhead purrs. “They’ll be arriving later. Show them up when they do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The clerk slides your… spouse?… a room keycard.

“And please make sure we’re not disturbed otherwise.”

The redhead grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in for a long wet kiss.

The clerk gives you a salacious wink.

In the elevator, you ask, “Where’s Bob?”

The redhead morphs into Bob.

“Right here.”

Vomit gathers in the back of your throat.

Once in the suite, you can barely appreciate the plush carpet, fully-stocked bar, and dazzling view.

“Was that kiss necessary?!”

You wipe the back of your hand against your tongue.

“Yes,” Bob replies, grabbing a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice and brushing aside rose petals to plop down on the king-size bed. “The devil is in the details, my friend.”

Bob gives you the once-over.

“You know, you sure don’t act like any assassin I’ve ever worked with.”

Oh, crap.

“Well, I just don’t like things sprung on me, is all. I’m a professional, you know. And that was all… very… unprofessional.”

“Uh huh. I’m wondering if maybe Saleen and Malloy made a mistake.”

You’re starting to take all of this doubt personally.

“Listen, I can get the job done! I’m going to assassinate the shit out of… um… him…”

“Her.”

Gulp.

“Right. I meant her… and then we’ll see who’s the mistake. I’m an assassin for God’s sake. Don’t question me!”

You’re raising your voice, but you don’t care. You start waving your arms around to let him know you mean business. Bob looks both suspicious and amused.

“Fine. I won’t question you…”

You relax. Acting like a crazy person worked. No one likes to fuck with a crazy person…

“… after you lay out the plan. I need to know you can handle this. My ass is on the line if you can’t.”

… except Bob. Apparently, Bob likes to poke crazy with a stick.

“If you insist, Bob!” You sneer, giving him a look that says you’re offended, but you’ll tolerate his little game.

“We don’t want this peace treaty signed. And I’m going to assassinate her to make it look as if the aliens’ supreme leader did it… and then… I’m… we’re….”

Before you can come up with any more, the door to the suite blasts open and half a dozen heavily armed men enter. The letters G.B.I. are in white reflective letters across their bulletproof vests. Quicker than you can say, “Oh shit,” one of the men aims a large black pistol at Bob and fires.

Bob stiffens and then goes limp, champagne bottle still gripped in his hand.

The agent that fired the shot speaks into his wrist.

“The shifter is down. I repeat, the shifter is down.”

“Don’t move!” Another G.B.I agent shouts at you, but it wasn’t necessary. Your hands have been frozen in the air from the moment they burst into the room.

The clerk from the front desk saunters into the room. He has a gold shield hanging from a chain around his neck.

“You’re a cop?”

Thank, God! You’re saved.

“Special Agent Tudeski, actually. And we heard everything, Blank. We’ve been waiting a long time to catch the elusive Shadow Assassin. Not quite what we expected though.”

You’re almost offended.

“Oh. No. There’s a mistake. I’m not an assassin!”

Tudeski reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small item that looks like a garage door opener and presses a button. Your own voice fills the room.

Listen, I can get the job done! I’m going to assassinate the shit out of… um… him…

We don’t want this peace treaty signed. And I’m going to assassinate her to make it look as if the aliens’ supreme leader did it… and then… I’m… we’re….

“I can explain!”

Reflexively, you reach for your identification, forgetting that you’re not carrying any. The agents take this as a sign of aggression. They fire simultaneously.

Your body is filled with hot searing pain. Your bowels release. And then you die.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 5

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.5 WALLACE, THE ASSASSIN

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CHAPTER 5 - WALLACE, THE ASSASSIN

By Tomara Armstrong

Saleen moves in slow motion toward the door; her long stride and gangly arms cut through the atmosphere like knives. You grab the bill of your cap and pull it down low on your brow, broaden your shoulders, and step into the shadows as Saleen opens the door.

“Captain,” she greets Malloy. “Feeling better?”

“Yes! I just heard on the radio… that ASSHOLE who damaged my goods is floating in the septic pool. Marinating… until someone is willing to fish the SLIME out.”

You see Malloy smile, probably for the first time ever, as he plops down on the leather sofa in the middle of the room. “Ugh,” he grunts; he then grimaces and rubs his junk.

You close your eyes and try not to laugh, but your shuffling feet draws Malloy’s gaze.

“There you are,” Malloy grunts. You give him an exaggerated nod. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on the transport headed to Cydonia!”

You look at Saleen. She shakes her head,.“The conference starts in a few days, and the world’s leaders should have already started checking in.”

You wipe your hands on your pants, nod, and begin to make your way to the door.

“Hold it!” Malloy demands. You freeze, staring at the door a mere five feet away. With a deep breath, you pull your cap down lower and spin around to face the captain. “Good luck, soldier.” You nod, swing around equally fast and practically sprint out the door.

As you tunnel through the labyrinth of halls and corridors, you see a couple of people dressed in the same uniform you have recently acquired. “Hey,” you say to them. “I… uh… was assaulted by that intruder… was knocked out... I can’t remember how to get to the transport.”

They point to the right and you take off down the corridor, following the bend. There are three transport cradles, but only one pod door is open. As you close in on it, the scanner reads Cydonia.

You step into your transport pod and red lights are flashing. You push the large green button to signal you’re present and ready for take-off with five minutes to spare. You stare at the lights and whirling gizmos of the control panel and try to absorb all of the information you’ve just been given.

You are apparently on your way to Cydonia to assassinate some world leader, and you have no idea who it is. You can’t even fly a transport. You start to laugh and shake your head, “Me, an assassin.”

“Pretty funny, huh?”

You jump as you notice a man that resembles your Uncle Ernie buckled into a seat in your pod. He’s eating potato chips and has a trail of crumbs and grease down the front of his grey sweatshirt. “Uh,” you fumble.

“Yeah you don’t look like an assassin to me either.” He tips the yellow bag on its side and pours the remnants of greasy potatoes into his mouth. “But that’s ok… we can help each other out,” he crunches.

You continue to stare at him as he dusts his hands off on his sweatshirt and extends one toward you. “I’m Bob.”

You take his salty hand, “Hi, Bob. I’m…. I’m …” You’re trying to remember who you’re pretending to be, but you’re drawing a blank.

“Wallace, I know… The assassin.” He digs in the bag beside him on the floor. The doors lock, and the pod lights begin flashing again.

“So I’m the assassin. You are… the pilot?”

“Nope.” He pops the cap on a Diet Coke and takes a long swig. “Auto pilot. You should buckle up.”

“Oh.” You sit down and strap yourself into the seat next to Bob, still wondering about his role in this mission. You watch as he digs around in his bag.

“I’m the secret weapon,” he says as he continues to dig.

“Come again?”

He turns and looks at you with a seriousness you hadn’t noticed before. There’s a flicker in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches. “I’m… the secret weapon,” he says.

Bob smiles as his face melts into an unrecognizable blob. His body shifts, twists, and turns, settling into the lovely form of Saleen; dark eyes, big hands, and all. She winks at you and quickly molds back into regular old Bob. “Oh,” you mouth as Bob returns to his bag on the floor.

“Parcheesi?” He produces a board game and sets it up between the two of you. “We have about half an hour until we land on Mars’ surface. I’m blue… you?”

“Uh… green.”

Bob is very good at this game, and in the 25 minutes you have been in the pod, he is one roll away from winning the whole thing.

“Bob, is there a plan? I have a bit of a head injury… it’s coming back to me… slowly,” you lie.

Bob laughs. “We should be docking at Cydonia Mensae soon. We have a room booked at the Hilton, but we will have to take a shuttle into the city from the dock.”

You nod and consider your possibilities of escape. You are no assassin, so that option is definitely out . . . but what about Bob? How can you ditch this guy? If you ditch him, will he go and finish the job?

You don’t get the chance to think about it too long; the pod begins to slow and bumps to a stop. The hatch opens and the cab lights begin to blink red, signaling your arrival. “Welcome… to Mars,” a female voice booms over the loudspeaker, “Remember dock number 4-5-3-7-1 Cydonia Mensae. Grab a drink at… the Terminal, get your Martian souvenirs at… The Hot Spot… Refuel at…. The --”

“Let’s go,” Bob pushes past with his bag over his shoulder, “I need a drink.”

“Me too.”

“First I need to take a leak.” Bob heads toward the men’s room. “I’ll be right back.”

You look around the dock, trying to come up with a plan.

Will you...

A. Run. No plan, just go-now!

B. Grab a drink with Bob and challenge him to a drinking contest in hope of getting him drunk and ditching him?

C. Go along with Bob. Enjoy a free hotel stay at Cydonia's luxurious Hilton - you need a vacation, so let NOSSA's corrupt pony up while you figure out how to be the hero?