When the multicolored woman suggested they leave, Nick stumbled forward in a drunken stupor, nearly body-checking one of the men in front of her. She was thankful that he hadn’t noticed. Not unlike Nick, everyone else had seemed to have eyes only for the vibrant woman and the ship ahead of them. Nick herself had still been double-crossing either side of the war on reality and dreaming; she couldn’t decide if she accepted what was happening as real or not. There were a few times in the past she lapsed into a lucid dream, and this entire episode of discovering a supposed alien had felt no different than the one time she had a lucid dream involving the entire movie cast of [i]Les Miserables[/i]. 

There was a different sort of emphasis on the “les” part that time. 

 	Before the world below them had vanished entirely, Nick had looked back at the people still watching. Up until her last few moments of consciousness, she remembered wondering if this would end up on the news. Ma would be one of the first to know; she would probably call Nick, telling her all about it and not letting Nick hang-up or getting a single syllable in. Would this be the moment in history when humans became fully aware of an alien presence, or would it be yet another viral Youtube video? 

‘[i]Maybe no one will ever know.[/i]’

 	That was Nick’s last thought as she collapsed into what she assumed was a seat. 

[center] ~*~[/center]

 	Whether it was turbulence, poor posture or something else, Nick awoke when the abrupt jolt of falling gave her a heart attack. Bleary-eyed and panicked, she sat up straight. Nothing made sense in that moment; nothing could be comprehended – it was all just useless data being uploaded to her mind that found no importance to her. For that microsecond of fleeting fear, there were no thoughts in her head or general curiosities. It was just uncertain terror. 

 	And then she saw Qyx. 

 	Ma once told Nick about her father. He was a good man who died young. Ma liked to remind Nick that she shared many qualities with him – the untimely and insensitive humor being one of them. The other trait Nick inherited from her dad was the ability to sleep off drunkenness in a power nap and not feel any pang or tinge of a hangover. So when Nick came to, the clouds that blanketed her brain filtered out through her ears and the cogs in each lobe began to run normally once more. 

 	And when she saw Qyx, it hit Nick like a bullet. 

 	“Oh, Jesus…” Nick whispered to herself. Her heart skipped a few beats and her eyes went wide. That dawning realization as to what she had gotten herself into nearly made her pass out. Both of her knees felt unglued from all of the rattling, and her hand couldn’t help but cup her mouth that insisted on hanging open in shock. Icy roots had snaked along her body, slipped into her nervous system and froze every bit of her, fastening her to the chair. “Oh, sweet fuckity Jesus,” was the only other thing she could manage to force out in a flimsy gasp. 

 	 A man had just finished bowing his head towards Qyx, spouting out some formal words of gratitude. He was holding a plant – nope, he was holding a marijuana plant, and Nick was wild enough to know it but dumb enough to not know what to do with it. 

	Yep, the man was holding drugs. 

 	He was speaking too properly for anyone normal. 

 	They were all looking at the pretty, orange lady.

 	She was “the hero”. 

 	They were told they were going to outer space. 

 	‘[i]Ho, shit… is this some cult?! Oh, damn… Oh Christ, Nick… you goofed hard this time,[/i]’ Nick thought as she glanced wildly around the room. She continuously shook her head slightly, the disbelief amounting to something unbearable. Was it normal to feel so hot? 

 	The many times she watched those detective shows dealing with psychotic criminals taught her one thing: don’t draw suspicion. So when there was a slight lull in the conversation and she felt the pressure riding heavy on her shoulders, she spoke and hoped the waver in her voice went undetected. 

“Indeed – uh, thanks, hero. Shit’s – um, [i]this[/i], ‘scuse, is a grand opportunity I am… pleased to partake in. My condolences,” she announced. Within the confines of her overactive mind, she wondered if “condolences” was the right word to use, and immediately she knew her cover was blown. “I’m Ni –” [i]’Don’t give them your real name![/i] “– chelle… Pratt.” 

At least her obituary would be an interesting one.