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 JUST RUN!

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.5 - NO PLAN, JUST RUN!

By Steven Novak

You watch as Bob waddles his way through the bustling crowd of locals, tourists and foreign dignitaries flown in from Earth that have crowded the concourse of the Cydonia Mensae docking station. He comes to a stop at the entrance to the male restroom, and looks over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching him. Ducking behind a pylon, his body molds and twists itself, transforming into something more resembling a lump of shiny, partially transparent clay. A moment later the newly formed blob of sparkly goo morphs itself yet again into a rather leggy blonde with a set of obscenely large breasts shoved into a top so skimpy it might as well not exist at all.

Big-Boob Bob chuckles into his hand and slides into the female restroom unnoticed.

You’d shudder at the grossness of the situation if you had the time – which you don’t.

There are bigger problems at hand than Bob’s pervert tendencies. You need to get as far away from Bob’s oversized chest balloons as you can. You need to tell someone about Malloy, and Saleen, and Richardson and whatever it is they all have planned. You need to warn someone – anyone – of what’s going on.

You may not know the details, but you know someone if going to die and you can’t let that happen.

You need to get away.

You need to run.

You need to run right now.

Your feet don’t wait for your brain, and before you know it you’re barreling full speed through the crowd. You slam full force into an elderly couple doing a bit of window-shopping at a tiny store specializing in an even tinier array of useless Martian trinkets. The old woman’s face mashes against the glass with a fleshy-wet thud. Her teeth pop from her gums like they were shot from a cannon and shoot onto steel walkway below.

To no one in particular you scream out, “There’s going to be an assassination!”

Common sense and reason has long since become a thing of the past for you. People need to know what’s going to happen, and the best way you can think to tell them is to yell it at the top of your lungs.

So what if that doesn’t make sense? You aren’t thinking straight and you honestly don’t care.

You aren’t cut out for this sort of nonsense. That much is painfully obvious at this point. Perverts named Bob that can turn to silvery piles of goo . . . Malloy and his gray-haired dangly bits . . . it’s all become far too much for you to handle.

You’ve only been to Mars once in your life – just after the first Mars/Earth War – and it smells pretty much the same. You never forgot this smell. You’ve always hated it. It’s like an acidy burp after a belly filling night of Mexican food – like guacamole dipped in piss and left in the sun.

You hate this place and you want to go home.

After busting through a group of women and smacking one with your forearm, you knock over a crippled man in a hover chair then grab a ten-year-old boy by the collar of his shirt and hoist him into the air so violently his boots fall off.

Pulling him so close to your face that your spittle begins to puddle on his light brown flesh you scream into his flared nostrils, “SOMEONE’S GOING TO DIE KID! DO YOU HEAR ME? THERE’S GOING TO BE AN ASSASSINATION!”

Staring into your wild eyes and your sweat covered face the boy is instantly reduced to a jittering, sobbing mass.

Someone yells something at you from the left. Another person curses at you from the right. The cripple you knocked over whips his suitcase in your general direction. The father of the child you’re swinging like a sack of potatoes rushes in and tries to pry you loose from his son.

When that fails, he punches you in the face.

Within moments a mob of people has swarmed you, grabbing and clawing and kicking, all while screaming for someone to call the police. Through the wild mess of legs and torsos you spot leggy Bob and his massive jugs watching you from across the concourse and shaking his/her head in disbelief.

You try to point in his direction but no one is listening. Someone steps on your hand and snaps your finger like a stick of space jerky. The crowd is far more interested in beating on you, and they’re doing a mighty fine job of it to boot.

The next few hours are a blur really. Someone’s shoe connected with your temple and rattled your gray matter – after that everything seems hazy and disjointed. You can recall the police arriving – you think. You were cuffed – maybe.

Did Bob mash his boobs in your face and tell you to blow?

No, that couldn’t have happened.

There was a hover ship of some sort. Then you were scanned. At least you think it was a scan. It could have been any number of things really.

Eventually things begin at last to sharpen up and you find yourself lying face down on a steel bench. You’re dressed in a crunchy-stiff one-piece jumpsuit. A nagging pain has managed to settle the curve of your lower back, and getting yourself into an upright position again proves to be a difficult task. Across from you a set of four-inch thick laser bars are humming softly, sparking occasionally with blue-tinted twinges of electricity.

You’re in jail.

A rather beefy Martian emerges from the shadows to your left with a dangerously serious grin stretched across the leathery, gray toned contours of its face.

Reaching up with one of its boney, freakishly long fingers it begins unzipping the orange jumpsuit it’s stuffed into that’s clearly a good three sizes too small.

In a monotone voice it says only four words, “Take. Your. Clothes. Off.”

For a moment, your heart stops.

The alien then adds on two more, “Bend. Over.”

You’re in for an awfully long night.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 5

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 LET SALEEN OPEN THE DOOR

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 - LET SALEEN OPEN THE DOOR

By Richard "RJ" James

Before the door is even fully open, you can smell the stench of Malloy and his sweaty junk. Thankfully, he is fully clothed this time around, but that does little to calm the nerves you feel seeing him again in such a cramped space.

Saleen snaps to attention, throwing in a salute for good measure, as Malloy enters the room.

“Are we ready for the operation?” Malloy’s voice is full of arrogance and male pride. Mayhap that would quickly change if Saleen knew that, when kicked in the giblets, he hit the floor as if he had dropped a sandwich.

Malloy catches your eye and the smug smile slips from his face as if it was greased.

“You!” He wheezes, and even at this distance, you catch a whiff of garlic. In fact, the smell seems to be emanating from the man in general.

As fast as you can, you whip out your laser pistol and fire a warning shot that goes just a little awry. Actually, the blast from your laser pistol comes within a hair’s breadth of castrating Malloy. Wafting over the top of the garlic aroma pouring into the room from Malloy, there is the scent of singed pubic hair.

“Right. Now that I have you attention, I want you to listen to me.” The words are having a hard time coming out of your mouth. You are still in a state of shock that the laser pistol worked.

Malloy sidles into the room. Both his hands are covering his crotch, which is still slightly smoking. Saleen crosses her arms over her considerable cleavage and looks down at you with disdain.

“I know what you’re planning and I’m not going to let you get away with it. I’ll hand you over the GBI and let them deal with you.”

“PAH!” spits Malloy, and not just in the figurative meaning either; he actually clears his throat and spits a wad of greenish phlegm at you. The wet lumpy mass splats across your face. As you wipe your face with your arm, you realize that you made a mistake almost as big as being held up with a finger, with or without the PEW sound.

Sure enough you feel a quick flash of heat and the arm that’s holding your laser pistol is now wriggling on the floor. You look down at you arm in shock. Malloy’s voice sounds again, but you miss most of what is said; all you know is it included the words “Galactic Swirly.” Knowing that this cannot possibly be good you turn to run, but Saleen’s strong arms lift you effortlessly from the floor. She drags you toward the bathroom, where you see the fate that awaits you.

The toilet doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned out in a while and again you can taste the after effects of the chicken curry from last night. Your head is forced under the murky water. You can feel the merciless boot of the Amazonian Saleen on the back of your neck.

You struggle with all your one-armed might but to no avail; with the taste of pre-owned chicken curry in your mouth and within kissing distance of a floater lurking round the U-bend you expire and pass from the galaxy… which is really for the best when you think about it. If you could think about it. But you can’t, because you’re dead… in a toilet.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.3 USE THE LADDER

OPTION B - WHAT YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE - USE THE LADDER TO THE SERVICE HATCH

By Tomara Armstrong

As an accountant for NOSSA, you aren’t the sharpest with a firearm, but you have watched plenty of television. You know you must first flip the safety on before shoving the barrel into your pants. You shove a little farther than is comfortable, to ensure zero slippage while scaling the ladder up to the service hatch.

The rungs are a bit sticky, sending a wave of nausea over you. You can’t help but notice the air is thicker above the lake of waste, and attempt to hold your breath as you continue to ascend.

At the top of the ladder, you wiggle the latch and slowly push the door open a crack. The room above is fairly large, and appears to be empty. Feeling safe to proceed, you flip the door open and climb through the hatch.

You carefully lower the hatch door and lock it. When you turn around, you’re surprised to see two small children dressed in school uniforms standing side by side. They are studying you, tilting their heads. “I see you,” they say in unison.

You back away slowly, trying not to trip over your feet. There is something strange about these kids, but you just can’t put your finger on it.

“Do you want to play with me?”

As they move closer to you, their faces ripple and pulse; their eyes flicker. You continue to step backwards as they move toward you. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Do you not like me?”

“Um… “ You scan the room looking for a quick out. “I’m sure you’re great kids and all, but I really must be going.”

“I’m not a kid.”

You watch as the children meld together into a revolting blob and quickly ooze into the form of your naked friend, Captain Harper Malloy.

“Crap!” You should have known it was a shape shifter. All those weeks of taking Possible Threats and Extermination in Academy could have really paid off… if you hadn’t slept through the class. Way to go, you.

Though you are disgusted, you are also surprised at how the shape shifter mimics Malloy’s dangling bits with complete accuracy.

“Is this better?” he asks.

“Not at all.” You frown.

Irritation sweeps over the face in front of you, and the shape shifter quickly changes into a topless cheerleader holding pom-poms. “Better?”

“Not really.” You shrug, eyeing her breasts. “Obviously not real… they could be bigger.”

Her head begins to smoke, and the shape shifter begins to flip through different objects trying to impress you; man, beast, and monster.

You remember the gun delicately wedged between your butt cheeks, and attempt to dig it out without drawing attention.

“Surely you are impressed now,” the shape shifter asks as it takes on the shape of a towering dragon with flashing orange and blue scales. Its gaze is drawn to the pistol you are holding out in front of you.

You shake your head, irritated, and unlock the safety. “Why are you even here?”

“Silly human,“ it says, laughing at you.

The laughing strikes a nerve and you fire a blast from your pistol. It clips the wing of the shape shifter’s current form.

“I AM THE SECRET WEAPON!” he booms.

You are so impressed, you wet your pants. Your hands are shaking and the pistol is growing heavier; it falls to the floor and fires again, ricocheting off the metal in the room and braising your ear.

You clutch your misshapen head and fall to the floor. Tears and snot slide down your face as the dragon hovers over you, his steamy breath pushing your hair into and out of your face.

He waits for you to stop crying, to look him in the eye, but you don’t allow him that. You sit and cry in the puddle you’ve created.

As he descends upon you, you will your body to be tough and gristly. You vow, as the dragon wraps his slick lips around you and swallows you whole, to be the greatest cause of indigestion this shape shifter has ever experienced.

*Burrrpp*

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 3