Out of the sky, there was a ship. It wasn’t there and then suddenly it was. It was incredible—nothing at all like Star Trek or any of that sci-fi channel rubbish. It looked almost exactly like a weather balloon, except it had weird writing on the side that I assume was the name of their ship, like how we paint on names of boats. Or maybe it was just the brand name of their manufacturer.
Burbank picked up a signal on the communicator which started off first as a bunch of tooting but evolved into something that sounded identical to English. I nearly shat my pants.
“Give us back our publishing house!” I shouted.
Burbank rolled his eyes. “They can’t hear you.”
But then the alien voices said, “You will get back your story-makers when we get what we want.”
“What do you want?” I asked the weather balloon.
“They can’t hear you,” Burbank said again.
The aliens continued. “The human prisoners will be set free as soon as you spread our stories through your flattened tree market.”
I frowned. “They want us to chop down trees?”
Burbank narrowed his eyes. “No, they want a book deal.”
Burbank picked up a signal on the communicator which started off first as a bunch of tooting but evolved into something that sounded identical to English. I nearly shat my pants.
“Give us back our publishing house!” I shouted.
Burbank rolled his eyes. “They can’t hear you.”
But then the alien voices said, “You will get back your story-makers when we get what we want.”
“What do you want?” I asked the weather balloon.
“They can’t hear you,” Burbank said again.
The aliens continued. “The human prisoners will be set free as soon as you spread our stories through your flattened tree market.”
I frowned. “They want us to chop down trees?”
Burbank narrowed his eyes. “No, they want a book deal.”
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