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The aliens were approaching with the sort of determination you'd expect from aliens wearing shiney metal-looking jackets and plastic trousers. Above all, however, it was probably the shoes, clanking determinedly down the corridor, that did it. Those or the things in their hands, that, had he been asked, he would have to admit looked quite a good deal like something you'd feel comfortable holding, pointing away from yourself, and uncomfortable on the end that happened not to be pointing at the person or thing holding.
"What are those things they're holding?"
"Ehm... I think they might be books."
"Books?"
"Erm... yeah." She looked lovely in the soft light of the tracklighting installed in each of the recesses off the corridor (Installed after it became apparent that people were hiding from the sentries in the darkened corners of the ship's corridors, and coming around after they'd passed and hitting them with the metal bars also left behind each of the support beams along the corridor. Now they had tracklighting, and the metal bars were replaced with leopard print pillows. When asked why the bars were replaced with anything at all, as, to the best of anyone's knowledge, the bars never really served any purpose, but as a weapon to be used against the sentries, the ship's first mate launched into a monologue about the virtues and subtleties of throw-pillows, a personal passion of his for some time, his secret ambition to become an interior designer, with a focus on pillows, betrayed by his fervour.), it threw a warm glow over her regulation extremely tight spacesuit. Grey with maroon stripes didn't usually suit many people, but on her it looked all right.
"With triggers?"
"Well, the err... pen, book, is mightier than the... ehm..." The footsteps clanking down the corridor continued clanking.
Even pouting she looked attractive. Especially when she was pouting. And, not wishing to inspire that state himself, he figured it was imperative that he concentrate on it when someone else was causing her to pout, even if it meant not paying all that much attention to anything else, really. Which generally inspired more pouting, and, figuring that since he'd gone and ruined the non-him-inspired pouting session, he might as well sit back and admire.
He had met her two days earlier.
The aliens, upon reaching the recess in which they were hiding, didn't care.
The captain of the patrol pointed at the couple leaning back on a few pillows against the wall of the corridor, and ordered one of the rearguard to continue marching up and down the hall, mostly for the clanking effect.
disclaimer:
To be continued...
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes. blubber.