Space Patrol!. Sarah Nicole Nadler

City of Lost Angels

      “So what's the plan?” Stephanie whispered.

      “Um, wing it?” Lissa suggested. The two of them were seated on the far couch as Anubis and Mr. Bilderbus arranged for transportation to the city center. After much arguing and a tiresome amount of debate, Anubis had agreed that a sample vote of at least one thousand humans would be sufficien to determine whether to ratify the contract or not. Since neither GTC nor the President had the means to ask every human on Earth even a simple question, Lissa had suggested this pseudo-democratic solution.

      “That's your plan?”

      “Do you have a better one?” Lissa pointed out.

      Stephanie groaned quietly, “Great. The fate of the planet in the hands of a math geek and her faithful sidekick.”

      “Woah!” Lissa held up her hands, “You're way more than my sidekick.”

      “Yeah, well anyway,” Stephanie brushed her long black hair off her shoulders, “Just get out there and tell them like it is. Act like you're me and you should be totally fine.”

      “Thanks.”

      Mr. Bilderbus shuffled over, “I am entrusting this vote to you, Ambassador Lissa,” he tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace, “I...er, I'll stay here and watch over things while you're gone.”

      She frowned, puzzled. Why stay here? He's the President, for Google's sake! Before she could suggest he come along, she and Anubis were ushered out the door, leaving Stephanie, Mr. Piff and the others behind.

      From the moment they left the Tower, Anubis set things into motion so quickly Lissa had little choice but to follow him, hoping when the time came she would be able to convince enough people to vote her way. They stepped out of the Tower and onto Alamada Street, taking a left on 1st. When they reached Main Street they stopped and Lissa watched Anubis to see what he would do.

      “People of Earth!” he cried.

      He stepped up onto a planter before City Hall, flowers bobbing gaily below him as he looked on at passersby in the early Monday-morning traffic. Gesturing grandly with his black scepter, Lissa thought he looked like a character from some dark medieval Egyptian history flick.

      “The godth of your ancestors descend upon you!” the alien roared. It was not so much his arrogant manner as the lisp that captured the attention of Los Angelinos on their way to work. People began to turn and look.

      Anubis went on, demanding that Earth bow before the might of the Galactic Trade Company.

      Lissa watched the reaction of the crowd. Some onlookers thought it was a new Hollywood stunt—something for publicity of an upcoming blockbuster was one woman’s suggestion. Her friend shrugged, sipping a caramel macchiato on the go as her stilettos beat out a staccato on the pavement. They hurried on toward Hill Street and the County Municipal Court.

      Still Anubis persevered. “Heed my words, Earthlings!”

      “Did that dude just call us ‘Earthlings?’” A teenage boy nearby wondered aloud, “What is this, the 80s?”

      “Your leader is at this very moment deciding your fate,” Anubis cried. “Will you be slaves and refugees among the ruins of your once-great civilization? Or will you join us as proud Company clients and travel the starth, um, stars! What is your vote?”

      He paused majestically as though expecting a standing ovation. Lissa saw a triumphant glint in his eye. He was going to rebuff people so they voted against her proposal! So that was his plan. She waited to see what the Los Angelinos would do.

      “Are you for real?” A gangster stepped up to the pedestal where Anubis posed. His dark face was twisted into a show of extreme skepticism, and he tore his sunglasses off with a gesture that was decidedly East L.A. His jeans were crisp, clean, and at least three sizes too large for him. A long gold chain swung ponderously over his broad chest as he put the jackal- headed werewolf in his place.