Page 242 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Alexandra
Surf’s Up
“Oh!”Igasp,nearlyface-planting into the shiny purple backsides of the two Robo-Nibs. I’d forgotten they were still posted outside Big Belly’s room. I mean, I can’t be expected to remember every minor detail—not when I’m out here bossing it up with grace, charm, divine authority, and a dangerously high cut in my robe. The full package. TheLexiage.
The Robo-Nibs, of course, do not respond. Because they are, as established, giant purple pricks. Worse? They don’t evenmove.I’m forced to wedge between them like two terminators giving birth to the latest Barbie—Divine Daughter Edition.Super rare collector’s item. Comes with a too-cute Toddaccessory and future dominion over the bone-through-the-noses crown.
Ahh, I can almost see it now—the smug evaporating off Bitch Brick’s stupid face when I’m declared the victor. How delicious it’ll be.
Just Surfer Bro left. A shudder tickles my spine. I remember him, half-draped in strange alien women like venereal disease had taken physical form and started accessorizing. Andcoral.Ugh.Coral? In his hair?Who does that? A horned-up Surfer Bro with commitment issues and no access to elastic, that’s who.
Maybe I should cover Todd’s big eye and wee earholes. His little heart’s too pure for this seaweed circus.
I glance at my Chug Bug, draped across my shoulder like a divine lead scarf. One eye closed. Croaking gently. Chunky. Oblivious.
He’ll be fine.
I tap my wrist console, casting a cool blue glow across the sandy marble corridor. The map flickers up. I pause to check it, nose buried like a bloodhound on the scent of imminent, juicy, victory steak. The Nibs scuttle around me in a huff, like cranky toddlers up past their beddy-bye time. Most are decked in purple-gold plastic like they’re heading to avery aggressiveround of laser tag. Others wear ceremonial robes and head-framing discs that make them look like floating quarters.
Absolutely ridiculous, the lot of them.
I sigh with relief—Surfer Bro’s quarters are close. Still, I keep my face buried in the map, partially for navigation, mostly so my eyes aren’t corrupted with their terrible fashion choices.
Mmm. Wonder what color I’ll repaint the marble once I’m in charge? The statues and murals definitely need updating. Maybe heroic depictions of Todd battling demons with his righteous stink clouds. I mean, it kind of makes sense. With my face—obviously touched up—replacing the twin suns.
A blessing, really.
I practically skip down the corridor until I see them.
Two more Robo-Nibs. I grimace.
Guarding a door. Just like before.
Déjàvu? No.
Intimidation tactic? Probably.
Annoying?Absolutely.
I don’t even need my console’s blinky bonk to tell me I’ve found Surfer Bro’s lair.
Now... how does this work again? Speak “friend” and enter? Offer them a Snickers?
I shuffle forward sheepishly.Baa.
The Robo-Nibs swivel their helmets toward me, gears whirring. I freeze like I just got caught trying to smuggle a forbidden water bottle through airport security.
“Uh... morning... gentlemen. I’m here about a surfboard,” I murmur, flashing a shaky grin. “Just gonna... squeeze through...” I grunt, shimmying between them like I’m wedging through prison bars—not to escape. To enter. Because that’s who I am, apparently.
“That would be... the biggesthelp,” I wheeze, lungs flattened like a balloon in a stampede. I pop out the other side like freshly squeezed orange juice. Her Royal Pulpiness.
The Robo-pricks, naturally, do not move. Do not speak. They’re content to nearly squash me into delicious grape wine—vintage twenty twenty-five.
I smooth my robes and glance over my shoulder to make sure Todd hasn’t pooped in protest on their shiny dumb helmets.
The door looms ahead. Surfer Bro’s quarters. The final test. The last challenge. The ultimate cringe. My heart thunders against my ribs as I step forward—
WHACK!
