Previously on Blade Walker: the earth is inhabited by extraterrestrials, and humans are an endangered species. Blade Walker (human) and Alícia (alien) have been freed from mind-controlling insects by an electromagnet in Rick’s scrapyard. The previous episode is here.
Alícia was always herself,
and now I was me again as well,
following my path of faux pas.
But I wasn’t a shallow as I used to be,
because I had a secret.
Much like humans, the mind-controlling mites
themselves were not of one mind,
and there was a small splinter faction,
shunned by all right-thinking insects,
who thought humans were cute.
Before their untimely electromagnetic
eradication, they’d schooled me in my interactions
with Alícia, Cyrano-style, told me
where to go for coffee, as well as making
some more robust suggestions.
Following the mites’ advice,
I played the sympathy card with Alícia,
in the hopes that she was an empathetic
“As you know, we humans are almost extinct,
and the extant exemplars must be nurtured
and cared for. There’s a Café Économique
just up the street. I’m thinking, you and I,
spiced Moroccan Coffee and cheesecake.”
Rick switched off the magnet, and climbed down
from the crane cabin.
“Not you Rick, just Alícia.”
Before Alícia could reject my invitation,
a cloud of magnetite mites swarmed
down from the inactive electromagnet.
The magnetic field had only trapped them,
and now they were free.
I was running as fast as I could,
but I was stone-cold last in the race.
Rick was in the lead with Alícia close behind,
and the angry whine of the insects
was getting louder.
Instead of watching my steps,
I was formulating a theory
of Alícia at dinner—falafel
and fetta with sprigs of alfalfa—
when a fateful goanna
emerged from the foliage
in front of me.
I stumbled and fell, and the mites
caught up with me in an instant.
When they were right above me,
and I could see the ruby gleams
sparking in their multifaceted eyes,
I offered up a prayer to the Golden Penguin,
petitioning her to stop the mites
from having their way with me again.
Although I was less than a devout follower,
the Great Waddling One took pity on me.
The insects had vengeance on their minds.
They ignored me, and made a beeline for Rick.
We watched mite-controlled Rick disappear
into the distance, running back to the scrapyard.
“Poor Rick,” I said, trying to sound sincere.
A theory of Alícia, evolved by the visual evo engine, my software that seeks unimagined realms.