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Take Us To Your Leader

by The Inimitable Pooh Bah

Date: April 25, 2001

Rating: PG

Summary: Things are getting mighty strange in Zane's neck of the woods. Fluff.

Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to James Cameron, Charles Eglee, and/or FOX.

Feedback: poohbah@gray-eyed.com

Website: http://www.gray-eyed.com/

Archive: List archives and by submission. Do not archive or repost without permission.


Zane peeped warily out the window, not quite sure what to make of the vehicle on his lawn. It wasn't Lydecker and his humvees. It wasn't a hoverdrone, though it looked kinda like it. It wasn't Syl and Krit out joyriding. . . . Zane decided to investigate.

The itty-bitty green aliens marched down the space craft's gangplank and stared up at Zane. "Take us to your leader!" they demanded.

"Sure," Zane agreed nonchalantly--he'd read plenty of sci-fi novels, so he knew how this worked. He pointed to his hotrod Mustang. "Get in."

The aliens loaded their ship (it was small enough, and they didn't want to leave it lying around) into the trunk and piled into the back. Zane put his puppy dog in the passenger seat. And they were off!

A few days and many highway miles later, they arrived at Zack's place.

Zack answered the door in his pajamas, hair tousled, face stubbly, motion slow and groggy. He regarded his visitors suspiciously as they filed into his living room. He wondered if somebody had drugged him while he was sleeping, and vowed not to so much as snooze for the next week, just to be safe.

"Ta-da!" said Zane. "That's my leader! His name is Zack, and he's a total wet blanket."

The aliens looked Zack over and fell to the floor giggling.

Zack decided he definitely needed to figure out who doped him up. He started his quest by dialing Syl's last known phone number. Not surprisingly, it had been disconnected.

The aliens regained their composure. They stood up and marched over to Zane, who was currently hunched over something on Zack's living room floor and working industriously.

"Deceitful earthling!" they cried, whipping out their little ray guns. "What kind of leader is that?!"

Zane looked up from his project. "Come again?"

The aliens saw their ship laid out in pieces in front of Zane. "Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!!" they screamed in rage. "Prepare to be vaporized, destructive earth creature!"

"Woah, woah," said Zane. "Just hold on a minute, and I'll put it back together."

The aliens regarded him skeptically. "And then will you take us to your real leader?"

"Um . . . Wasn't this guy leader-y enough?" Zane looked over to Zack, now on the phone arguing with Krit about whether or not Krit possessed the necessary intelligence to drug somebody. "I guess not," said Zane. "I'll take you to the next one up, don't worry." And as he reassembled the extraterrestrial transmission, Zane wondered how Jondy would react to a visit from a bunch of green men. He had no worries, however, about whether or not the aliens would be suitably impressed.


Zane awoke with a start. He was in his own apartment, spread out over his own sofa, the proud owner of an elephantine headache and a mouth drier than the Sahara. He looked around the room, not quite recalling the reason for his regrettable state.

The coffee table was littered with crusty dishes, used shot glasses, and a bottle of hot sauce. On the floor nearby, Millie ruffed softly in a canine dream. The TV was extolling the virtues of the Ab Roller in a cheesy late-night infomercial. The two armchairs across the room were occupied by Krit and Pike, and Zane was in no condition to tell which of the twins was which.

Zane pondered the evidence and made a few educated guesses. Never again would he watch X-Files reruns after having Krit's moonshine and Pike's bear-meat chili for dinner.


[ END ]


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