Star s*x-4
696 Words
By the time the Fair closed for the day, alien hordes rushing the doors like school kids on the way to summer vacation, Team Earth hadn't made a single deal. They hadn't fibbed up the slightest nibble of interest.
The four teammates slouched around the booth, shaking their heads and sighing. Aliens paraded past on their way to the exits, but none of them paused or even glanced over.
"No one can say we didn't try our best," said Mahalia, pushing alien freebies from other booths into a box. "It wasn't meant to be."
Blakey slumped on a folding chair with his lumpy bald head in his hands. "One good thing about the end of the world," he said. "When we go down in history as incompetent moron failures, at least there won't be much history left."
Strayhorn sat bolt upright, staring at the alien masses as they trooped past. "We'd better be on our way." His voice was cold and flat. "We're done here."
Dinah sat beside him and watched his face. He looked stern and impassive, unmoved...but she had a feeling that a lot more was going on inside.
He had failed to save the human race. How could that not tear him apart? How could that not destroy him?
"Well," said Mahalia. "How about a little clean-up music?" With a flick of her wrist, she popped a digital music player from the hip pocket of her red jumpsuit and laid it on the table. She pressed the surface of the thin, silver device, which was about the size of a playing card, and it started giving off music.
Jazz music, which was what Mahalia listened to the most.
"Come on." Mahalia tapped Blakey's shoulder. "Let's find a cart to haul this stuff back to the ship."
Blakey sighed. "Might as well," he said, and then he got up and went with her.
That left Dinah and Strayhorn sitting together in the booth. A trumpet ballad filtered from Mahalia's player, its slow, sweet notes adding to the melancholy mood.
Strayhorn rubbed his eyes, then placed his palms flat on the table. "I failed," he said. "It was up to me to save the world, and I couldn't do it."
Dinah laid her hand on top of his. It was the first time she'd ever touched him outside the line of duty. "Please don't give up," she said. "There must be something we can do."
Strayhorn didn't pull his hand away. His gaze remained fixed on the aliens parading past. "We can beg, maybe," he said. "But these people out here don't seem too inclined to charity."
"Then we'll change their inclination." Impulsively, Dinah cupped his chin and turned his face toward her. "Trust me, Alec. We'll do it together."
Then, Dinah surprised herself. Before she could think better of it, she leaned up and kissed Strayhorn on the mouth.
He didn't resist. In fact, after the first moment, he actively kissed her back, pressing his lips against hers.
The rest of the universe faded away. Heart pounding, Dinah reveled in the feel of Strayhorn's lips, the smell of his skin, the long-delayed contact between them.
The kiss went on and on, and Dinah wished it would never end. Nothing else mattered--not the crowd of alien lifeforms in the hall, not the impending doom of humanity, not Team Earth's failure. Not what would or wouldn't happen next.
For Dinah, it was a perfect kiss, a heavenly moment. She might never have broken the spell if not for the overwhelming new feeling that came upon her--the feeling that she was being watched.
Guessing that Blakey and Mahalia had returned to the booth, Dinah opened her eyes...and jumped. The kiss broke, and the perfect moment ended.
Dinah had been right about being watched, but not by Blakey and Mahalia. Instead of two pairs of human eyes, dozens of alien ones were trained on her and Strayhorn--eyes of all shapes and colors and sizes, eyes on stalks, eyes of crystal, eyes with wings.
For the first time all week, a crowd had gathered around Team Earth's booth at the Worlds' Fair.
"What the hell?" said Strayhorn. "What's going on?"
Dinah thought for a moment, then grinned. She thought she understood the situation. "Congratulations," she said. "We've finally found something they want to see."
And then she kissed Strayhorn again.
- Writer
