RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.11 HEADS WILL ROLL

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.11 - HEADS WILL ROLL

By Steven Novak

Scattered around you are the bodies of the Martians you’ve just dispatched, their normally gray fresh singed and burnt from the blasts of your laser pistol. The room smells like a barbeque. It smells like day old fried chicken.

It smells oddly delicious.

In ten seconds the Janitor King or the reinforcements for the corpses sprawled at your feet, or possibly both, will undoubtedly come rushing through the door. Your first thought is to use the light transporter that brought you here in the first place to get the hell out. It’s a perfectly reasonable plan. It makes complete sense. Plus it would be easy. It’s also the best chance you have for survival. It’s exactly the kind of plan you would have jumped at fifteen minutes ago.

Too bad this isn’t fifteen minutes ago.

Things have changed dramatically since the former “King” of Mars asked you to come with him and allowed you to log into his data cube. You aren’t the same person that woke up buried beneath Malloy’s underpants just twenty-four hours ago. You aren’t the same confused and fearful schmuck just trying to survive.

Sure, you still don’t fully understand what’s going on, but you think you might have the answers tucked safely into the pouch around your waist. You’re done running and you’re through being scared. If the bodies of the chicken-smelling Martian corpses at your feet prove anything at all, it’s that whoever is about to burst into the room should be scared of you, not the other way around.

Kneeling down, you snag a second pistol from one of the Martian corpses, and then a third from another. You grab a nearby rifle and toss it over your shoulder as well as a few percussion grenades, and a laser-knife – which you slide into the loop on your belt. After arming two of the still smoking pistols you point them at the still-closed door. Let them come and get you. Let them try. It’s about time you stopped searching for answers like an idiot and started trying to make some instead.

It’s time you grew a pair.

What comes next is mostly a blur. A group of Martian reinforcements blasts their way into the room and starts firing. Your body moves even before your mind has time to formulate anything remotely resembling a plan or a maneuver. This is muscle memory at its finest and most dangerous.

In no time at all the room has become a mass of laser beams, wild debris and billowing clouds of grayish black smoke. You’re sliding, and firing, and spinning, all while shooting holes in the chests of the attacking Martians at an astounding rate. One of the Martian guards manages to get close enough to take a swing at you with a four foot long laser-sword. You dodge the wild strike by dropping low and blast a hole in his stomach with one of your pistols.

Your other pistol takes off his head.

You’re moving too fast for the Martians to handle – your shots are too precise. Behind you something explodes. A severed Martian arm smacks you in the back of the head. A fiery torso slides across the bloody floor beside you, spinning like a top and spraying blood in every direction like a sprinkler. You ignore it.

As the Martians begin retreating into the hallway outside the room, you instinctively follow. They aren’t getting off that easily. No one is getting off so easily – not with you – not ever again.

Hoisting the corpse of one of your attackers into the air, you use the Martian’s body as a makeshift shield and continue to press forward. With your free hand you start firing into the crowd of reinforcements crammed into the tight quarters of the hallway. Though it’s difficult to get an accurate count through the smoke and the noise and the explosions, you think there might be thirty of them.

A Martin head explodes like a balloon inflated just a bit too far. A chunk of Martian brain bounces off the side of your ear like a NERF ball soaked in cottage cheese.

Better make that twenty-nine.

It takes you less than ten minutes to dispatch the remaining twenty-nine Martian guards, and the fifteen or so that swarm in afterward. A half an hour after that and you find yourself holed up in a modestly sized room in one of the Martian slums on the outskirts of the colony. You rented the place under a false name and used some Zircons you stole from the uniform of one of the corpses during your firefight.

You’re nibbling on some dinner you purchased on the way over – it's chicken. The gunfight left you very hungry for chicken. Go figure.

With a bit of creative tinkering you manage to connect the data cube the Janitor King gave you to the room’s rather crummy and remarkably simplistic Martian Television set built into the wall. The thing is so old it doesn’t even offer a brain interface – so old you’re surprised it even turned on. There’s absolutely no reason these two things should ever work in conjunction with one another, but making them do exactly that seems almost laughably simple to you all of a sudden.

You chuckle audibly; a lot of things seem simpler these days.

In no way prepared for the sudden jolt of information, the viewing screen of the ancient television begins to hum as the contents of the cube pop onto the monitor. The interface of cube and this antiquated bit of Martian technology isn’t likely to last long, and when the circuits are fried both contraptions will likely be useless.

You only need a few minutes though – five at the most – five measly minutes and you’ll have your answers.

Moments before the firefight you were smart enough to transfer the contents of the NOSSA surveillance cameras to the data cube. You need to finish watching the video you started earlier.

You chuckle to yourself again. In a weird way the Janitor King was right – turns out it does hold the answers to all your questions.

Quickly coding the transmission to the night in question you watch the screen carefully and notice the all too familiar forms of Saleen and Malloy entering quietly into your quarters back on Earth. With a wild static-buzz the camera shifts to the room's interior and follows the pair as they make their way past your couch, into the kitchen, and then through the door leading to your sleeping quarters.

The screen turns to static once again.

The television you’ve interfaced with is starting to overheat. The information is far too large for it to handle. It’s falling apart quicker than you imagined.

It won’t last much longer.

The static on the screen morphs into a twisty distorted image that stretches dramatically, leaving the feet of Saleen and Malloy on one end of the screen and their heads on the other.

With one hand you smack the side of the Television with your palm, “Come on you piece of junk. Hold together for a minute more!” Instantly the image clears.

You can hardly believe what you’re seeing.

Saleen and Malloy look to be standing alongside your bed. Not only that, but you’re standing right beside them – at least the you that’s dressed in black with dark make-up smeared across your face.

Even weirder than that is the fact that there seems to be another you lying sound asleep beneath the covers.

Like shaking a Frisbee loose from a tree, or the act of smacking that last bit of ketchup from the bottom of the jar, the bizarre image knocks loose the confused memories hidden previously within the folds of your brain. Immediately everything comes flooding back.

You’re not you.

You were never you.

Before the television screen overheats and fizzles out with a puff of smoke, you watch as Malloy fires a laser pistol at the you that’s snuggled under the covers with a stupid grin on your face. The blast opens a hole in your chest so large there’s barely a chest remaining when it’s over.

You were the secret weapon all along.

It all makes sense now. It’s all so clear. That’s why Big Boob Bob seemed to feel such a kinship with you. That’s why he was always winking at you and smiling knowingly. That’s why Malloy was so pissed and confused when you escaped. That’s why your memories have felt so disjointed, and uneven, and distant - they aren't even your memories.

You’re not an accountant. You were never an accountant.

They used the likeness of the accountant to get you into NOSSA and onto the transport to Mars.

Lifting your hand to your face you watch as it begins to morph into a shimmering, slimy blob of gelatinous goo. A moment later it transforms yet again into something more closely resembling a Martian hand, and then again into its original form.

You’re not you.

You’re nobody.

You’re a machine that’s gone haywire – an overheated television that’s burnt out.

The plan was for you to assassinate president Womack with the help of Bob, and then the pair of you – and a few others like you – would replace the Martian presidential cabinet and take over rule of the planet.

The plan failed.

They tried to use you. They tried to turn you into something you apparently had no interest in becoming.

No, you’re not you. You’re everybody. You’re anybody you want to be. And you’re going to make them pay.

Less than a week later, back on Earth, Tan’s body washes up in the sewage system underneath NOSSA headquarters. A day afterward Richardson’s laser blast-riddled corpse is discovered in stretched out in his bedroom. Only fourteen hours after that Saleen’s Amazonian-esque body is found stuffed into her modest locker in the NOSSA training center. Quite a few bones were broken and rearranged in order to get her in there, and it takes a day and a half and a laser-cutter to get her out. Only a day afterward, the NOSSA headquarters are burned to the ground. An investigation brings to light the fact that the company was neck deep into illegal experiments with Mutagenic Cell Alteration – which in layman’s terms means you.

A month later Malloy’s body is discovered in seedy hotel down south. He knew you were after him and had been on the run for some time.

While staring down at the corpse the investigating officer pulls the bed sheets covering him away from his body and is taken aback for a minute by what he sees.

He calls over the first officer onto the scene, “Was he like this when you found him?”

“Yep, exactly.”

“What the hell happened to his junk?”

“Dunno…guess someone cut it off.”

THE END.

RETURN TO CHAPTER 1

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.7 "TURRIBLE" NEED FOR ENLOMS

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH. 7 - "TURRIBLE" NEED FOR ENLOMS

By RaShelle Workman

The sight of Malloy sends a stabbing pain to the back of your eyes. You’d like nothing more than to jump on a shuttle and get far, far away, but the saying ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ seems to be appropriate right now. You need to find out what the hell is going on so that you can get back to your exciting life as an accountant. The three stooges are obviously heading in the direction of the bar to get Bob. That gives you a few minutes to assess what you have to work with. So with one throbbing eye on Saleen, Peter Tan and Malloy, you grab your wallet and open it. You’re shocked to discover all that’s in there is your ID and thirty zircons.

What the hell happened to the rest of it?

Frantic, you search the rest of your pockets. There’s a piece of gum, a yellow g-string, two pieces of lint and a bit of what you think is a pretzel. Realizing you have no idea when you last ate, you shrug, toss it into your mouth and start to chew.

“Not a pretzel,” you gag, spitting it out. “How much to the Hilton here in Cydonia?” you ask the holographic media guide. With the edge of your shirt you try to wipe the taste out of your mouth.

You don’t even want to think about what it could have been.

Bee-Boop

“It is 20 enloms to the Hilton Cydonia.”

Bee-Boop

Well that’s four times as much as I have, you think.

Looking around for some cover to follow Malloy, Saleen and Peter Tan, you see a bunch of really tall guys. Trying to remain calm, you realize who they are. It’s Team Earth, the number one basketball team on your world! You remember hearing something about an exhibition game—Earth vs. Mars—some scheduled entertainment during the convention. You’d wanted to get tickets because your favorite players, Charles Barclay, Michael Jardin and Shaquille O’Nell were going to play. And now, as luck would have it, you’re four feet away from them. They appear to be heading in the direction of the bar. Putting the gum in your mouth, you duck behind them.

Peering between the bodies, trying to casually touch one of the players and still remember your life is in danger, you watch out for the three stooges and Bob. They pop out of the bar, two Peter’s arm in arm. A couple of the basketball players take notice of Saleen, whistling and so forth. You think your life is over for a moment because you see the evil grin spread over her face as she starts to walk over. But Malloy stops her.

“No Saleen. We need to find that meddling jerk . . .”

It’s still easy to hear the four of them talk. They’ve stopped in the street. All of the basketball players could have too, if they’d wanted, but they could not care less. A shoe shop has caught the attention of the players. Michael Jardin’s new shoes are on display in the window and the rest of the team is giving him grief about it. You’d love to listen, but instead eavesdrop on Malloy and the others.

“ . . . and big mouth Bob here seems to think we should head to the Hilton, so I guess we’ll start there. Right Bob?”

One of the Peters morphs into Malloy and nods. “That’s what I’m guessing sir and I am the secret weapon. I was programmed to know everything.”

“Shit, I didn’t realize a program could be so cocky, especially since you let Wallace get away,” Saleen yells, smacking him on the back of the head.

Bob morphs into Saleen and says, “I know you have a personal, intimate knowledge of my programmer and you don’t think I can be cocky?” He copies her evil grin and smacks the back of her head.

“I’m gonna kill him. Right after I kill you and if he’s told you so much about me, then he knows I’ll do it, the son-of-a-bitch!”

You watch as Malloy and Peter trip and fumble over themselves trying to keep Saleen off the morphing mutt. You also appear to be spewing bubbles from your mouth. It seems the gum wasn’t gum.

No damn way! What the hell happened the night I hit my head?

You spit out the “gum,” and use your shirt to wipe out your mouth again. Then you turn your attention back to the three stooges and Bob.

“Knock it off Saleen,” yells Malloy, purple-faced. “You may be able to kill the programmer, but we need this mangy secret weapon. Now c’mon, let’s go.”

Malloy, Saleen and Peter Tan start to walk away, but Bob doesn’t move. He morphs into you and gives you a wink. Smiling, he rapidly morphs into Charles Barclay and then Malloy before following after the others.

What the hell?

“Hey, that was me,” Charles Barclay says.

“Was that a Martian?” Michael Jardin asks.

There is a lot of talking, laughing and butt smacking as the basketball players head into the bar. You follow knowing you need money and fast. The team sits down at various tables and you suddenly have a plan. It doesn’t matter that you’ll look like an idiot in front of your favorite players; your life depends on this. Getting down on all fours, you start to search under the tables near them.

Sure enough, within seconds, Charles Barclay says, “Hey, did you lose something?”

Trying not to turn red, you say, “Yeah, I lost my twenty enloms I need for the shuttle.”

Pulling out his wallet, he says, “Oh, that’s turrible. Just turrible. Here’s a hundred. You’d better hurry.”

“Oh, really. I cou—”

“Just take it and hurry,” he says

“Thanks Charles. Good luck on the game,” you say, running like mad to catch the three stooges and Bob.

You see Malloy get on a shuttle car. You climb on the one behind them, making it right before the doors close. Watching for them, you buy a ticket that’ll take you to the Hilton and a Team Earth hat and then have a seat. While staring at the backs of Malloy, Saleen, Tan and Bob’s heads, you think about what Bob did. Was he trying to tell you something? Was he still drunk enough to be helpful to you?

Then you remember something so important that you’re shocked to realize Bob may have been trying to tell you something. President Manuel Womack’s daughter is married to Charles Barclay. Was that the where and when the assassination was going to happen? At the game.

Pushing a button on your left arm rest, an invisible drawer opens in front of you. Inside are two tiny sensory buds to be used for complimentary movies, music, local news and international news. You place one below each of your earlobes. Immediately a holographic image pops up. Using your mind, you scan the news until you find information about the game. Your mind tells it that’s the information you’re interested in and the volume comes up. It takes thirty seconds to find out the game is tomorrow and where it’ll be.

Next you look for the map of the shuttle service and find out that the game will be held at the Genesis Convention Center. It was built for this game—in honor of the peace treaty between Earth and Mars. The stop for the GCC is two before the Hilton.

After that, you check the Entertainment news and see if it’s possible to find out where the basketball players are staying. Bingo, they’re staying at the Plaza. At least that’s what the Gazareos Star says. That’s one stop before the Hilton.

You have a choice to make.

Do You...

A. Continue to the Hilton and see what Malloy, Saleen and Peter Tan have planned?

B. Get off at the Genesis Convention Center. Getting there before they do may give you an edge?

C. Get off at the plaza and try to hang with the basketball players?

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO USE THE BATHROOM

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 - MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM

By MJ Heiser

Looking into Malloy's face again was not something you wanted to do right now. Despite the fact that this time he would be clothed (and you would therefore be saved the sight of his naked nastiness), there's little doubt he will recognize you, and having both him and Saleen the Overwhelming Amazon united against you wasn't a pleasant thought.

"I -- I have to go," you stammer. You clap your hands over your stomach and work hard at making your face turn green and queasy.

"What?" Saleen asks.

You don't give her even a second to object. The security system beeps, giving Malloy clearance to enter Saleen's quarters. You scramble in your best impression of a diarrhea-addled duck walk towards the bathroom. You let the door whisper shut behind you, and let out the breath that had been growing stale in your lungs.

From the main chamber of the living quarters, you hear Malloy's entrance.

"Saleen."

"Malloy."

"I thought I heard another voice."

"Er . . .yes. In the bathroom."

"Ah."

"Is everything ready?"

"Of course. Our spies are set."

"Their disguises and credentials are immaculate."

"A little self-praise, Saleen?"

"Perhaps."

You realize you've put yourself in the unique position to get to the bottom of this mystery. You almost wish you could see them as they talked and conspired about offing someone important.

"It's deserved, I suppose. So, what about the person in your bathroom?"

Uh oh.

"I checked the security clearance. There was no native error."

"Did you check your own intuition?"

"What are you implying, Malloy?"

"Saleen, my trip to the infirmary was due to sabotage. I have a General Alert issued for the person responsible."

Saleen doesn't sound impressed. "Unless you waited until five minutes ago to issue the General Alert, the security clearance would have caught it."

Malloy's voice takes on the measured tones of someone speaking to a mental deficient. "I. Was. In. The. Infirmary."

Damn it.

Several seconds tick by in pure silence, and once again, you forget to breathe. You wonder what's going on out there. Are they typing communications into their wrist sets? Are they creeping up on the door to the bathroom, laser pistols drawn? Or maybe -- please -- have they shrugged it off and decided they should just sit down and watch some 5D space tube?

"Hey in there," booms Malloy's voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

Nope, not watching space tube.

"Hey," you say, trying to bury your voice in a groan of defecatory effort.

"You've been in there a long time, friend," he growls. You can tell he's trying to be playful. The thought of Malloy being playful is as ludicrous as the thought of a slug being swift.

"Oh, yeah," you say, deciding to play this to the hilt. No telling what madness drives you to whip down your pants and sit on the can. "I'm sure it was the cafeteria grub today."

"I think you should open this door so I can, you know, check you out, make sure you're okay."

"No, no, I'll be fine -- you two should just go on." --With your devious plan for assassination.

"I don't think so. Either open the door or I'm going to blast it in."

"Wait, wait!" you stammer, only now realizing just how bad an idea it was to pull your pants down. You rise to your feet and try to pull them up, but your hands are trembling too badly to get a good grip.

"Three . . .two . . ."

"Hold on a sec!" you grunt.

"One!" Malloy crows triumphantly, and with a loud laser shriek, the mechanism keeping the bathroom door locked becomes simply inoperable. The door is wrenched open, and soon Malloy fills the space with his considerable -- but fortunately, clothed -- bulk.

He arches an eyebrow at you. You're standing in front of the toilet with your pants around your ankles. The security shirt Saleen had given you doesn't cover you anywhere near enough. "Well hello, sweetheart," he says, gazing fondly at the place south of your navel before bringing his gun to level with your face.

Your last thought is: Huh. I die with Malloy staring at MY junk.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 THE STOWAWAY'S NEW CLOTHES

Red Planet Stowaway CH.4 - The Stowaway’s New Clothes

By Nina Bau

The guard, sputtering, cussing, and flailing, tries his best to escape the poop soup, but the harder he fights, the deeper he sinks. With a final growl and declaration that your mother should be violated in multiple orifices, he succumbs to his fecal fate.

Before you can say, “Neener, neener, neener,” the approaching footsteps stop right outside the door. There’s no way you can make it to the service hatch in time and hiding in poop is out of the question. You decide to call on your limited acting experience – playing a doomed turkey in a 3^rd grade Thanksgiving play – and hope for the best.

The door opens and the dark-skinned woman from earlier enters.

“I thought I heard something. What are you doing in here?”

She’s tall and athletic, damn near Amazonian. Her dark brown eyes flash no nonsense and you have no doubt that if you don’t tread carefully, you’ll find yourself taking your own diarrhea dive.

“I… um… was... on patrol. Thought I heard something, too.”

“What happened to your uniform?” she asks.

You look down at your ensemble and realize that your black boots and dark slacks are almost identical to the guard’s uniform, except you should be wearing a regulation NOSSA patrol shirt over your white t-shirt.

“I got poop on the shirt? Had to toss it?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

She eyes you up and down. You feel a pool of sweat gather on your upper lip.

“Telling. Definitely. That’s what happened.”

She eyes you a moment longer before sighing and throwing up her man-sized hands in disgust.

“This is unbelievable. First, Richardson gets called upstairs for an emergency, then I find Malloy naked and knocked out in the locker room. I had to slip the guards 40 Zircons just to get them to agree to carry his hairy ass to the infirmary - and now this. I thought Malloy ran a ship locked tighter than a virgin’s knees on prom night. He vouched for you – said that in a command full of alien-lovers, you were one of the few that could be trusted. You don’t want this peace treaty signed anymore than we do, right?”

You simply nod.

“Good. Follow me. We’ll get you another shirt and prepare your credentials.”

You follow her back into the corridor and the locker room. She rummages through several lockers before finding what she’s looking for. Tossing you a security shirt and cap she instructs, “Put this on. Let’s go.”

You do as you’re told, following her back into the corridor and up the metal ladder you noticed when making your Malloy escape. It leads to the upper level living quarters. You approach a door and watch as she presses her hand against an identification scanner. A red light travels up and down her hand before turning green. The door slides open with a hiss.

When you’re both inside, she turns to you.

“I’m sure Malloy went over everything, but you look like the type that needs reiteration. No offense.”

“None taken.”

In truth, she could insult your intelligence, hygiene, and sexual aptitude – you just need to buy some time, find out what was going on, and hopefully escape with your life. From the little you’ve gathered it seems Malloy was a part of a conspiracy to sabotage the peace treaty between Earth and the aliens. This alliance means a great deal to your planet. The aliens are light years ahead in medicine, technology, and renewable energy. But there were plenty of humans who did not trust the aliens and would rather the planet go up in flames than align with them.

“It’s important that the assassination look as if it were at the hands of their supreme leader. There’s no way the International Council will agree to an alliance if the aliens are responsible for the death of someone as important as…”

Before she can finish, there’s a knock at the door.

“Saleen? You in there?”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Malloy!

You’re more annoyed that he interrupted the mysterious Saleen before you could get the details on their sinister plans than you are afraid of Malloy. One kick to the twig and berries and he went down like an intergalactic hooker on a pleasure ship.

“Keep your pants on, Malloy. That is, if you’re wearing any. I’m coming.”

Saleen heads for the door. She’ll reach it in ten seconds and open it faster than that. You have to decide what to do next before she does.

A. Make up an excuse to go to the bathroom before she opens the door, and hope to stay in there long enough for Malloy to leave?

B. Let Saleen open the door and confront them both, threatening to turn them over to the G.B.I. (Galactic Bureau of Investigation)?

C. Let Saleen open the door and hope that Malloy doesn't recognize you in your spiffy new guard uniform, hoping to play it off like you're a part of the plan?