won countless awards for my work.
My research is groundbreaking but unappreciated here for some reason. What about
you? Russian rocket program not as good as Moscow would have us believe?”
“The program is world class. It’s not the reason I was
rejected,” Sid said with clenched hands, head jutting out from his corded
neck.
Ashley held up a hand to stem the flow of testosterone, then
dropped it since they couldn’t see her. “Guys, we’re on the same side. The
aliens are the enemy. It hardly matters why they dumped us in here. We’re
scheduled to die soon. Clock’s ticking. Let’s put all your considerable
intelligence to work on getting us out of here. Go!”
No one moved or looked like they were thinking hard. Real life
needed a script worse than a movie did. Then everyone would do what she imagined
they should instead of making fun of her... Or beating her up... Or waiting in
an unmarked police car at the corner of Hollywood and Vine for a celebrity to
drive by going a teeny bit over the speed limit.
Profiling, plain and simple. L.A. cops never bothered to pull
over people who looked like felons. No, they kept an eye out for something
profitable. A story in the making, complete with contraband pictures snapped by
camera phones and sold to rags before the celeb hit booking.
And thanks to that bad luck, she’d landed in alien jail.
Natalie pursed her split lips and grimaced as the wounds
cracked open. “What do you think we should do, Ashley?”
“I don’t know. Overpower the guards maybe when they come to get
us? There are five of us and usually four or less guards. We weren’t handcuffed.
All we have to do is get all their tappy things so they can’t zap us.” She
filtered the plot through her internal editor and warmed to it. “Sam said the
doors are operated by reading the octopus and—”
“Who’s Sam?” Sid interrupted.
“ He is.” Ashley pointed to the
opposite cell and met Sam’s eyes. They trapped her, holding her gaze. A foreign
and unexplainable heat flushed her cheeks. Flustered, she added, “There’s an
alien across the hall from us.”
Chapter Five
Dr. Glasses turned and then grunted. “I can’t see. Has
he been listening to us this entire time? How do we know he’s not a spy?”
Ashley snorted. “Because he’s in jail? Why would anyone be here
on purpose if they had a choice? So, as I was saying, we’ll have to knock one of
the guards unconscious when they come to take us to recycling and bring him with
us. We let the scanner read his octopus and when the doors open, make a run for
it.”
Freddy whistled. “Wow.”
She almost preened—the idea was pretty good—until he
continued.
“You’ve watched too many cop shows. Nothing is that easy. What
if the scanner doesn’t work if the guard’s not awake? Plus, they blinded us. Why
would they hesitate to do so again? Even if your plan works, what chance will we
have of surviving on an alien planet none of us know anything about?”
She’d adapted the idea from a science-fiction movie, not a cop
show, but she wasn’t about to correct him. Deflated, she laced her fingers
together so she wouldn’t punch him right in his not-so-handsome-anymore face.
“Look, I’m trying. You come up with something if you don’t like my
suggestion.”
“It’s useless,” Dr. Glasses cut in. “Accept the inevitable,
talk to your god and make your peace. That’s the best use of your time now.”
His studious and exalted manner had disappeared, and without
his glasses, he was nothing more than a pudgy middle-aged man who liked frogs
better than people and had some vendetta against her. He was sorely mistaken if
he thought he could tell Ashley V what to do.
Quiet weeping echoed in the cell. “I want to go home,” Natalie
said between sobs. “I miss my animals.”
Ashley crawled to her and drew the shaking woman against her
shoulder. Natalie topped her by at least six inches, making the gesture of
comfort awkward, but
My research is groundbreaking but unappreciated here for some reason. What about
you? Russian rocket program not as good as Moscow would have us believe?”
“The program is world class. It’s not the reason I was
rejected,” Sid said with clenched hands, head jutting out from his corded
neck.
Ashley held up a hand to stem the flow of testosterone, then
dropped it since they couldn’t see her. “Guys, we’re on the same side. The
aliens are the enemy. It hardly matters why they dumped us in here. We’re
scheduled to die soon. Clock’s ticking. Let’s put all your considerable
intelligence to work on getting us out of here. Go!”
No one moved or looked like they were thinking hard. Real life
needed a script worse than a movie did. Then everyone would do what she imagined
they should instead of making fun of her... Or beating her up... Or waiting in
an unmarked police car at the corner of Hollywood and Vine for a celebrity to
drive by going a teeny bit over the speed limit.
Profiling, plain and simple. L.A. cops never bothered to pull
over people who looked like felons. No, they kept an eye out for something
profitable. A story in the making, complete with contraband pictures snapped by
camera phones and sold to rags before the celeb hit booking.
And thanks to that bad luck, she’d landed in alien jail.
Natalie pursed her split lips and grimaced as the wounds
cracked open. “What do you think we should do, Ashley?”
“I don’t know. Overpower the guards maybe when they come to get
us? There are five of us and usually four or less guards. We weren’t handcuffed.
All we have to do is get all their tappy things so they can’t zap us.” She
filtered the plot through her internal editor and warmed to it. “Sam said the
doors are operated by reading the octopus and—”
“Who’s Sam?” Sid interrupted.
“ He is.” Ashley pointed to the
opposite cell and met Sam’s eyes. They trapped her, holding her gaze. A foreign
and unexplainable heat flushed her cheeks. Flustered, she added, “There’s an
alien across the hall from us.”
Chapter Five
Dr. Glasses turned and then grunted. “I can’t see. Has
he been listening to us this entire time? How do we know he’s not a spy?”
Ashley snorted. “Because he’s in jail? Why would anyone be here
on purpose if they had a choice? So, as I was saying, we’ll have to knock one of
the guards unconscious when they come to take us to recycling and bring him with
us. We let the scanner read his octopus and when the doors open, make a run for
it.”
Freddy whistled. “Wow.”
She almost preened—the idea was pretty good—until he
continued.
“You’ve watched too many cop shows. Nothing is that easy. What
if the scanner doesn’t work if the guard’s not awake? Plus, they blinded us. Why
would they hesitate to do so again? Even if your plan works, what chance will we
have of surviving on an alien planet none of us know anything about?”
She’d adapted the idea from a science-fiction movie, not a cop
show, but she wasn’t about to correct him. Deflated, she laced her fingers
together so she wouldn’t punch him right in his not-so-handsome-anymore face.
“Look, I’m trying. You come up with something if you don’t like my
suggestion.”
“It’s useless,” Dr. Glasses cut in. “Accept the inevitable,
talk to your god and make your peace. That’s the best use of your time now.”
His studious and exalted manner had disappeared, and without
his glasses, he was nothing more than a pudgy middle-aged man who liked frogs
better than people and had some vendetta against her. He was sorely mistaken if
he thought he could tell Ashley V what to do.
Quiet weeping echoed in the cell. “I want to go home,” Natalie
said between sobs. “I miss my animals.”
Ashley crawled to her and drew the shaking woman against her
shoulder. Natalie topped her by at least six inches, making the gesture of
comfort awkward, but
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