Humanity’s big moment. And a moment was how long it lasted.

They’d run. Lt. Courtland – the Ironman himself -- had been the first to break, flinging from him the state-of-the art translator they’d brought to this meeting place with such care, his boots driving deep into the mud with each stride so that he lurched from side-to-side in an agonizing effort to put distance between himself and It.

Lt. Desroches had hesitated a second longer, staring into the writhing mass of filaments as if somehow this would help her find a point of correspondence, a suggestion of a face. Then she shuddered and whirled to follow Courtland.

Lt. Smith, the one who’d barely made the final cut for this mission, the one considered the weakest link, remained the longest. This had more to do with his complete conviction that his legs wouldn’t obey him than any desire to stay within reach of that thing. His paralysis left him with the alien’s first tentative reach in his direction.

***

"So I tell the Colonel: You pick the partner; we just do the music."

Nance’s pale eyes gleamed through her ragged fringe of bangs. "And what did he say to that?" Her fingers continued to search for a disk among the piles of post-it coated pages layered on her desk. The keyboard balanced on her lap shifted with every movement as though trying to save itself from falling to the floor and being lost among even more piles of journals and clippings. For a company listed among the top five software producers, the office of its CEO and resident genius looked a great deal more like a newsroom from the early fifties than the site of executive splendor.

Henry Fergus, graphics whiz and sales rep, when he wasn’t fussing over hardware, dropped his voice into a fair imitation of Colonel Dunwithy’s growl. "Your so-called ‘music’ sent three of my best officers into therapy! Why should I pay for that?"

"To which you said…"

Henry flopped into the swivel chair that doubled as a printer stand the odd time they needed hardcopy. "You know what I said." Two fingers tugged a folded check from his pocket. "You pay for it, because it worked."

Nance, Dr. Nancy Vzcinza to those who were not her friends, pushed her hair out of her eyes for a moment. "Henry. Driving people crazy is not what we do here."

"No?"

"No. They do that all by themselves." She found the disk she was after and dropped it into the drive, fingers now jabbing at keys. Henry glanced around in vain for the mouse. She’d lost it again, he bet, or was using it as a footpedal. "We just.." tap tap "…illustrate…" tap tap tap "…the circumstances." Tap.

He kicked off his shoes, thinking nostalgically of the days not long ago when he’d made all his sales calls in sandals. Even better, when most of his business contacts had been over the vidphone. He’d really loved putting on that shirt, tie, and jacket over his bike shorts. Pants and dress shoes. The cost of success.

"So what’s up?"

She looked up from the screen as though startled to find him still there. Henry was used to that. He blanked out the world himself when there was a glitch to track down. "Last minute upgrade for the new theme park in Australia."

He whistled. "Way to make those bucks. We can retire soon." Which was a joke. Nance had no clearer concept of how much the company – and they – were worth these days than he did. There were people on the next floor who kept track; annoying people in suits who drove better cars than he did and who routinely forgot to tell new staff that he and Nance paid their salaries. That always messed up the lunch-hour softball games.

And retire? Just when they could at last actually own the best systems for themselves? Just when they could do what they loved doing all day long? Being paid for it was, was –

"Convenient."

"Pardon?"

Nance looked innocent. "Convenient that the park wants this particular upgrade. I’ve been wanting to play with it a bit more."

Henry winced. Nance’s idea of playing usually involved roping him and anyone else still breathing into the VR chamber at ungodly hours. "What did you have in mind?" he sighed, slipping down into a more comfortable slouch – interested despite the likely unpleasant consequence to his own workload.

***