The Dark Side of Saturn: Weird Alien Temptation (Adventures in Space) by Jordan Jones Page A
Authors: Jordan Jones
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moon, which wasn't occupied by the drug-freaks. The moon was the only object besides Earth whose ass-end wasn't covered in weirdos. Even Venus and Mercury were half-covered in converts.
"My brother went to Saturn," she said. "I asked him what he did in sunlight, and he said he followed the shadows. The real dark side was a carnie's dream."
"So the dark side changes?" I asked. "With the rotation of the planet?"
"Yeah, they live in ships that hover them over to the night life of Saturn."
"They must really hate the sun," I said.
"They're vampires, now. It makes me so upset, thinking of how my brother can't stand our star."
"They say it interferes with their insanity."
The purple lights of the space station restaurant flickered and dimmed. The piano was going to play.
"I love this place," she said.
The trickling rhythm of high-notes came upon us. Then a spacey racking of the lower keys (the piano drop) gave me a strong sense of Terran honor. The hippies weren't going to bring me down tonight, unless some of the assholes showed up. In that case, I could always kick their tripping ass.
"My brother told me he sometimes regrets the first hit of acid he dosed. Then he corrected himself and said he wishes it had been a stronger hit," she said. "The converts are all very strange."
"What do you expect? Their society is based on psychedelic drugs," I said. The alcoholic drink I had ordered for us to share was nearly depleted. I motioned to the robo-waiter to bring us another. It fetched it without me saying a word.
"Yes," she said. "Very strange. But what other drugs do you think they--" She stopped herself. "I mean, what other things do you think keep them together?" She turned her face down.
"What do you mean what other drugs do they do? That's what you meant to say, isn't it?"
"No! It was misspoken."
I smiled knowingly. "I know they don't have sex-enhancing drugs." Here came my signature wink. Gotcha, girl!
"I'm serious! How come they don't fall apart as a society?" she asked.
"They're slaves to the Weird Aliens. Speaking of which, here are our Fingers."
We rarely killed Weird Aliens and definitely didn't eat their actual fingers, as was the law. Our dish was actually a fried crustacean that had been around for ages known as soft-shell crab. The name was chosen by a television chef who lost his children to psychedelics, and it stuck. They were the perfect, crispy space meal. Freeze-dried Weird Alien Fingers were excellent, too.
"Can you imagine what it must be like to have a religion based on psychedelic drugs?" she asked. "I mean, think of how delusional they must be."
"The Weird Aliens make it seem fun to converts like your brother," I said. "Why are you thinking about all of this? Thinking about the war is not recommended by the commanders."
"I don't know," she said, popping a Finger into her mouth. "It's just a natural curiosity."
"Your interest in the solar system's wildlife is far-fetched, at best."
She scowled and dipped another finger in the accompanying Weird Alien Blood (21st century ketchup, a rare sauce).
"Maybe you should take an interest in the hippies you plan to carelessly shoot down." She stopped eating. "What if you killed my brother?" Her voice was shrill and annoying.
"Just remember, he's not in contact with reality."
"I grew up with him!"
"He'd kill me first if I let him," I said.
"But the hippies are peace-loving!" Her shoulders squeezed together in panic. "They think of the Party Foul as a sin! Can you imagine why they fight? They're trying to protect their way of life!"
My night of love-making was slipping away. "Hey, I wouldn't kill your brother, okay?"
She stopped freaking out. "How do you know?"
"I didn't score very high on the test tonight. I can't even kill a simulation hippie." It was my turn to gather pity.
She wiped her teary eyes. "Darling, I'm sure you could kill a hippie. They're terrible at war."
"The Weird Alien ship flies for them. The artificial intelligence is
"My brother went to Saturn," she said. "I asked him what he did in sunlight, and he said he followed the shadows. The real dark side was a carnie's dream."
"So the dark side changes?" I asked. "With the rotation of the planet?"
"Yeah, they live in ships that hover them over to the night life of Saturn."
"They must really hate the sun," I said.
"They're vampires, now. It makes me so upset, thinking of how my brother can't stand our star."
"They say it interferes with their insanity."
The purple lights of the space station restaurant flickered and dimmed. The piano was going to play.
"I love this place," she said.
The trickling rhythm of high-notes came upon us. Then a spacey racking of the lower keys (the piano drop) gave me a strong sense of Terran honor. The hippies weren't going to bring me down tonight, unless some of the assholes showed up. In that case, I could always kick their tripping ass.
"My brother told me he sometimes regrets the first hit of acid he dosed. Then he corrected himself and said he wishes it had been a stronger hit," she said. "The converts are all very strange."
"What do you expect? Their society is based on psychedelic drugs," I said. The alcoholic drink I had ordered for us to share was nearly depleted. I motioned to the robo-waiter to bring us another. It fetched it without me saying a word.
"Yes," she said. "Very strange. But what other drugs do you think they--" She stopped herself. "I mean, what other things do you think keep them together?" She turned her face down.
"What do you mean what other drugs do they do? That's what you meant to say, isn't it?"
"No! It was misspoken."
I smiled knowingly. "I know they don't have sex-enhancing drugs." Here came my signature wink. Gotcha, girl!
"I'm serious! How come they don't fall apart as a society?" she asked.
"They're slaves to the Weird Aliens. Speaking of which, here are our Fingers."
We rarely killed Weird Aliens and definitely didn't eat their actual fingers, as was the law. Our dish was actually a fried crustacean that had been around for ages known as soft-shell crab. The name was chosen by a television chef who lost his children to psychedelics, and it stuck. They were the perfect, crispy space meal. Freeze-dried Weird Alien Fingers were excellent, too.
"Can you imagine what it must be like to have a religion based on psychedelic drugs?" she asked. "I mean, think of how delusional they must be."
"The Weird Aliens make it seem fun to converts like your brother," I said. "Why are you thinking about all of this? Thinking about the war is not recommended by the commanders."
"I don't know," she said, popping a Finger into her mouth. "It's just a natural curiosity."
"Your interest in the solar system's wildlife is far-fetched, at best."
She scowled and dipped another finger in the accompanying Weird Alien Blood (21st century ketchup, a rare sauce).
"Maybe you should take an interest in the hippies you plan to carelessly shoot down." She stopped eating. "What if you killed my brother?" Her voice was shrill and annoying.
"Just remember, he's not in contact with reality."
"I grew up with him!"
"He'd kill me first if I let him," I said.
"But the hippies are peace-loving!" Her shoulders squeezed together in panic. "They think of the Party Foul as a sin! Can you imagine why they fight? They're trying to protect their way of life!"
My night of love-making was slipping away. "Hey, I wouldn't kill your brother, okay?"
She stopped freaking out. "How do you know?"
"I didn't score very high on the test tonight. I can't even kill a simulation hippie." It was my turn to gather pity.
She wiped her teary eyes. "Darling, I'm sure you could kill a hippie. They're terrible at war."
"The Weird Alien ship flies for them. The artificial intelligence is
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