Well, pistachios aside, DanPar was asleep, and Crash Boy was determined to be unhappy no matter what I did, so I put him in a backpack and got to it!
So here we go!
“It’s not just the face,” James said, looking down at the interplanetary
passport in his hand, “it’s that you made me Swiss.” The face in question had a
list of things right about it. Brown eyes, blonde hair, pear-shaped face. The
large beard and thick glasses, however, were added on to mask the fact that the
card’s creator had based the face on description alone.
“Buck up, rock star,” the man in goggles responded with a large helping
of patronization, without looking up from his computer, “you are Swiss.
Maternal side. That’ll be three hundred.”
“I’m as Swiss as a freaking Dorito is Mexican. Besides, they speak, like,
twenty languages there! Can’t you change it really quick? Just the nationality.
Please. I’m in a rush.”
Rolling his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, the man in
goggles repeated, “Buck up, rock star. You said you knew five languages. That’ll
be three hundred.”
Great, James thought. That’s what I get for bragging about my
programming skills to a guy called “Dot EDU.” He took the money out from
his wallet, and put it on the man’s monitor,
stealing a glance at the screen. Divided into four quarters, he saw two
security cameras, a chat room, and some shoot ‘em up videogame.
He stood there for a second, and figured the silence meant he was good to
go. Walking through a small corridor, he saw a sign above a shredder, reading:
Nostalgia gets you killed.
Shred everything. ↓
It took him a second to get the
hint, before reaching into his wallet, pulling out his national ID, and dropping
it in the slot. No more James Gideon,
he mused. A few minutes and miscellaneous rewards cards later, he went up the
stairs and opened the door above him, coming out of a farmhouse’s storm
shelter.
Like after a matinee show, the daytime seemed out-of-place. The only two
lights James recalled were the man’s computer screen and a string of Christmas
lights. The guy was like some sort of shut-in vampire.
Suddenly, a car door slammed. James looked up, fearing that he was followed
by his boss’ goons. He went pale as, beyond his worst nightmare, his boss walked
towards him, her eyes piercing into his. “Crap!” he exclaimed. “Oh, crapping
crap!” His mind went through every possible scenario, but there was no
civilization for miles around. Including
Count EDU’s lair, he thought grimly.
“James,” she said, sounding unexpectedly sympathetic. She nodded to the
storm shelter “Is he still in?”
“Huh? Dot EDU? Um, yeah.”
“Great. Now listen, either I give you a ride to the spaceport and no
explanation, or I give you an explanation and a hasty funeral in the cornfield.
Okay?”
“I don’t...” James’ mind raced. After being on the run for days, nothing
was making sense. What had he missed? “What are you doing?”
“Same as you,” she laughed, opening the shelter door. “Getting the hell
off of this planet before we’re out of time.
Staring after her, he thought, Who
does the bogeyman hide from?
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