Page 48 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"No!" Smith's voice gurgles as his form starts to solidify.

I grab Smith's semi-solid mass and heave him toward the pizza oven. His body sloshes and squelches as I stuff him inside. The door slams shut with a satisfying clang.

Sam jams a metal rod through the oven door handle. The screams fade to a wet gurgle, then silence. The acrid stench of burning shapeshifter fills the restaurant.

"Ugh, I'll never get the smell outta the upholstery." Sam pinches his nose, waving at the air.

"We really stomped him, didn't we?" The pride in my voice sounds hollow even to me. A seasoned Vakutan warrior saved by a human with a bag of flour.

"What do you mean, we?" Sam crosses his arms. "I did all the heavy lifting. Some days Sam Marella serves up Chicago's finest pizza pies. But today? He's serving up the whoop ass."

My scales flush hot with embarrassment beneath my holographic disguise. But he's right. Sam Marella, pizza maker and science fiction enthusiast, did what an elite Vakutan operative could not. He saw the threat and acted without hesitation. The songs of my people celebrate such deeds.

"You know, Sam, on my world we have epic operas celebrating heroes. Your quick thinking would make an excellent third act."

"An alien opera, huh?" Sam scratches his chin. "Better than getting my picture on the wall at Luigi's for fastest pizza toss."

The oven door rattles. We both jump, but the metal rod holds firm. The bubbling sounds inside grow quieter.

"Sam, could you get Selene? We need to talk."

"Sure thing, Space Ranger." Sam winks and disappears into the back.

I deactivate my holographic disguise while I wait. The kitchen's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on my red scales. The familiar scent of oregano and basil mingles with the acrid smell of burnt shapeshifter.

"Sam, what's so important that—" Selene stops mid-sentence. Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my God."

"Please, sit down." I gesture to the steel prep table. "There's something I need to tell you both."

Sam pulls out chairs while Selene stands frozen. "Honey, sit. Our daughter's dating an alien. How cool is that?"

"Cool?" Selene's voice rises an octave. "Our daughter is dating a... a..."

"Vakutan." I bow my head. "My real name is Varak."

"I knew it!" Sam pumps his fist. "Just like Star Trek. You're probably part of some galactic federation, right?"

"Actually, even though aliens are real, Star Trek was a work of fiction?—"

"Yup, totally one hundred percent real." Sam nods sagely. "If I didn't need to be here running the restaurant, I could make Starfleet captain in a year."

"Starfleet isn't—" I catch myself. No point arguing. "That is, of course you could. But right now, I have to know if you've seen Aileen? She might be in danger."

The front door bursts open and bodies pour through. A dozen Latino gangbangers flood the restaurant, their colors marking them as Los Lobos. They leap onto counters and tables, fists pumping in the air.

"Los Lobos kick your ass!" They chant in unison. "Los Lobos kick your face!"

My combat training kicks in. I shift into a defensive stance, ready to protect Sam and Selene.

"Los Lobos kick your balls into outer space!"

Sam grabs a rolling pin from the counter. "Not in my restaurant, you don't."

"Wait a second." Selene's hand catches Sam's arm. "Haven't you noticed they're not tearing the place up, they're picking up the mess you guys left?"

She's right. Between chants and aggressive posturing, the Lobos are sweeping broken glass and righting overturned tables. One gangbanger carefully hangs a fallen picture frame back on the wall.

A female Lobo with electric purple hair stalks toward me. Her face inches from mine, she locks eyes and shouts:

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