Aliens Don't Dance

  #

  Once they were back at their tiny studio apartment, the base from which they’d been running this operation, Gary sat in a torn green armchair and exhaled heavily. He popped a little yellow pill, then relaxed his muscles and felt his limbs begin to stretch and grow and become supple.

  Within a few minutes, he had reverted to his true form – a tall, slender humanoid with pale green skin and large dark eyes. His sense of smell was heightened and the room felt cooler and drier as his biology adjusted.

  The medical treatment required to keep him looking like an ancient human was temporary, but somewhat painful. Returning to his disguise meant taking the blue pill, which always made him vomit for ten minutes after the transformation.

  But even knowing he’d have to endure that to blend in again, he was willing to brave it for just a couple of hours of being able to exist in his native shape.

  “One day remain,” said Diane, now speaking to Gary in their standard form of speech.

  “Prepared.”

  “No room error.” Her voice was sharp.

  “Comprehend.”

  “Prove. Recite plan.”

  “Enter ball. Find Harrison, dance. Implant nanomites. Egress. Signal.”

  “No!” barked Diane.

  Gary bowed his head, his eyes closed. “Verify. Verify. Neglect verify.”

  Diane shook her head. “Ever neglect verify. Do not neglect tomorr.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Gary wiggled and stretched his toes and closed his eyes. He had to remember to verify a successful implant before making his escape and signaling for the return journey. Why could he never remember that part?