Page 17 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"Ah yes, because a seven-foot alien digging through Chicago's subway system won't attract any attention at all." Teletran's holographic head rolls its eyes. "Need I remind you that Veritas Command explicitly forbade any excavation? The risk of triggering whatever infernal device the Grolgath planted is too high."

"But we don't even know what we're looking for!" I slam my fist against the window. The reinforced glass holds. "A bomb? A portal? A temporal displacement device?"

"Which is precisely why random digging would be unwise."

"Then what do you suggest? That I keep playing human and wooing Aileen until-"

"Until what, sir? Until you get what you want? The property or the girl?"

My reflection glares back at me from the window. The ridges on my face bunch together in frustration. "I need to hit something."

"You might get your wish, Sir. I have picked up Grolgath activity a short distance from shore in Lake Michigan."

A grin spreads across my face, showing my pointed teeth. "At last. Some real action."

I press my palm against the DNA scanner hidden behind a fake Picasso. The wall slides open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing my armory. Racks of weapons line the walls - everything from particle disruptors to quantum phase rifles.

"The Mark VII jetpack, sir? Or shall I ready the stealth variant?"

"No time for stealth." I grab the Mark VII, its familiar weight settling against my back. The neural interface connects with a click, sending a shiver down my spine. "Give me something with punch."

"The P90 plasma rifle then. Though might I suggest-"

I've already yanked it off the rack. The weapon hums to life in my hands, plasma coils glowing that beautiful shade of blue that means 'death to my enemies.'

"Straight to the roof," I order as I step into the private elevator. "Override all safety protocols."

The elevator shoots upward fast enough to make my scales ripple. The doors open to reveal Chicago's nighttime skyline spread before me like a glittering carpet of stars.

"Target coordinates locked," Teletran says through my neural link. "Though I should mention-"

I ignite the jetpack. The familiar rush of acceleration pushes against my chest as I launch into the dark sky. Wind whistles past my facial ridges. Below, millions of lights twinkle - offices, homes, streets full of humans going about their lives.

They'll never know about the war being fought in their midst. Never understand that their very existence hangs in the balance. The Grolgath would reshape their entire timeline if given half a chance.

But that's why Veritas exists. Why I'm here, soaring above their city with enough firepower to level a city block. To keep their simple lives simple. To preserve their timeline.

Even if it means they can never know the truth about Charles Varakian, or what really lurks beneath his human disguise.

Lake Michigan stretches before me, a vast expanse of darkness broken only by the running lights of boats. The wind whips past as I soar over the water, my jetpack's blue flame reflecting off the waves below.

"Three hundred meters to target," Teletran chirps in my ear. "Fishing vessel 'Lady Luck' dead ahead."

The boat comes into view - an old trawler with rust-stained sides. Five figures move on deck, their movements too precise, too coordinated to be human fishermen.

A flash of green scales in the moonlight confirms it. Grolgath.

"Well, this should be fun."

My jetpack's exhaust trail gives me away. Energy bolts slice through the night air, their distinctive whine mixing with the sound of waves slapping against the hull.

I bank hard right, the plasma rifle steady in my hands. "Is that the best you can do?"

Another volley forces me into a barrel roll. The lake spins above and below as I dodge their fire. My finger finds the trigger. Blue plasma erupts from my weapon's barrel.

The first Grolgath disappears in a flash of light, nothing but ash drifting down to the dark water. Their disguises flicker and fail, revealing their true forms - tall, thin, green-scaled bodies twisting as they try to track my movement.

"Two o'clock high!" Teletran warns.

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