Page 7 of Grumpy Alien Boss

CHAPTER 7

OLIVIA

T he numbers blur together on my laptop screen as I scroll through another financial report. My eyes ache from staring at spreadsheets for hours, trying to make sense of the rainforest acquisition.

"This makes no sense." I shift on my couch, the leather sticking to my bare thighs. "No minerals, no oil, not even good lumber. Why level a hundred acres?"

My finger traces the edge of the red scale on my coffee table. The same scale I plucked off Darwin's collar before he... No. Focus.

Another search leads me to a locked V-Truth file. The same damn roadblock I keep hitting. My teeth grind as I type in another combination that fails.

"Fine. Let's see what the tinfoil hat brigade has to say."

Three conspiracy sites and two alien blogs later, my cursor freezes over an image. My breath catches. There, held between grimy fingers, sits an identical crimson scale.

The photo belongs to some guy named Hurst Popenga. His website "Who are the Reds?" splashes across my screen in garish comic sans font. The scale in his photo gleams with the same iridescent sheen as mine.

"Holy shit."

I click through his rambling posts about red-scaled aliens. Most of it reads like the deranged manifesto of a basement dweller, but he has more photos. More scales. And they all look exactly like mine.

My fingers drum against the scale on my table. The one Darwin tried so hard to get back during lunch. The one he claimed was "nothing important" even as his eyes never left it.

A new tab opens and I type "Darwin Rook background" into the search bar. The usual puff pieces pop up - Forbes profiles, Wall Street Journal interviews, charity galas. But nothing before his arrival in the US.

"Okay, let's dig deeper."

Immigration records show he came from Munich at age twelve. Listed as an orphan from Sankt Maria's Home for Children. My German's rusty, but Google Translate helps me wade through old newspaper archives.

"What the hell?"

Sankt Maria's shut down right after Darwin turned eighteen. A suspicious fire gutted the building months later. The article mentions "total loss of records" and "investigation ongoing" but nothing after that.

My phone buzzes. A text from Darwin himself: "Working late tonight. Need anything before I go?"

The scale catches the light as I turn it between my fingers. Red. Iridescent. Definitely not plastic or metal.

"No thanks, all good here!" I type back, my hands shaking.

The coincidences pile up in my mind: The missing background. The mysterious V-Truth files. The scales. The rain forest demolition that makes zero business sense.

I hold the scale up to my desk lamp. Light refracts through it in ways that seem impossible, creating patterns I've never seen before.

"Who are you really, Darwin Rook?"

The question hangs in the air of my silent apartment. I set the scale down next to my laptop and stare at the growing collection of open tabs and dead ends.

I have to know. Whatever it takes.

Sleep evades me as I toss and turn, my mind racing with possibilities. The scale sits on my nightstand, catching moonlight through the window. Every time I close my eyes, I see Darwin's face, those intense red eyes that sometimes seem to glow.

"This is insane." I grab my phone and pull up his schedule. "Jersey office tomorrow at 8 AM."

The helicopter pad sits on top of Rook Tower. Security's tight, but I know the rotation schedule by heart - I created it. A gap exists between shifts at 6:15 AM.

My fingers fly across the screen as I compose an email to the office manager.

"Meeting with Klein & Associates, 9 AM. Will be unreachable until noon."

There. My absence explained.

I set three alarms - 5:30, 5:35, and 5:40. No chance of oversleeping. The helicopter has storage compartments under the seats. Not comfortable, but big enough for someone my size.

"You better be worth all this trouble, Darwin Rook."

The scale gleams as I set it on my dresser. Whatever secrets he's keeping, I'll find them tomorrow. My hand shakes as I program the alarms.

"Time to get some answers."

The alarm pierces my dreams at 5:30 AM sharp. I silence it before the backup alarms can blare, already wide awake from a night of fitful sleep.

My hands shake as I button up my blouse. The scale sits on my dresser, catching the pre-dawn light. I slip it into my pocket and order my ride.

The streets of Manhattan blur past as we speed toward Rook Tower. My driver, sensing my mood, stays silent.

The express elevator whooshes up ninety floors. My stomach drops as the numbers tick higher. At the top, I step out onto the helipad observation deck.

New York spreads before me, a tapestry of twinkling lights slowly fading as dawn creeps over the horizon. Pink and orange paint the clouds. Any other morning, this view would take my breath away.

"Why did you have to lie?" I whisper, pressing my hand against the glass. The scale burns in my pocket, a constant reminder of Darwin's secrets.

The helicopter sits ready on the pad. I check my watch - 6:12 AM. Perfect timing.

I slip inside, searching for a hiding spot among the cargo compartments. My fingers brush metal that suddenly... ripples. The entire interior shimmers like heat waves off hot pavement.

"What the-"

The helicopter dissolves around me. In its place stands something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Sleek chrome panels line the walls. Strange symbols pulse with inner light across what must be control panels.

My hand hovers over one display. The characters shift and swirl, unlike any language I've ever seen. The pilot's seat looks sized for someone much larger than a normal human.

"Oh my God." The truth hits me like a physical blow. "Darwin isn't human at all."

My trembling fingers fumble with my phone as I snap photos of the alien controls. Each click of the camera feels deafening in the silent craft. The pulsing symbols cast an eerie blue glow across my screen.

"Come on, come on." I angle the phone to capture the oversized pilot's seat.

The screen freezes mid-shot. I tap it. Nothing. Hold the power button. Still nothing. The image of the alien controls remains stuck like a digital ghost.

"No no no." I jab every button combination possible. The phone stays dead, mocking me with its frozen display.

A mechanical whir cuts through my rising panic. The door I entered through slides shut with a pneumatic hiss.

"Hey!" I rush over and press my palms against the seamless metal. No handle. No control panel. Nothing but smooth, cold surface beneath my fingers.

Heavy footsteps crunch on the helipad gravel outside. My heart leaps into my throat.

I dive behind one of the massive passenger seats, making myself as small as possible. The leather creaks as I wedge myself into the gap between seat and wall.

The footsteps grow closer. Closer. A shadow falls across the craft's window.

My hand clamps over my mouth to muffle my breathing. The dead phone digs into my hip where I've shoved it in my pocket.

Metal scrapes against metal as the door slides open. My heart pounds so hard I worry he'll hear it. Darwin's polished shoes click across the deck plating as he moves to the console.

A soft beep, and my phone buzzes back to life in my pocket. The frozen screen clears, showing the photos I managed to take.

"You might as well come out." Darwin's voice echoes in the confined space. "Whoever you are, I'm not going to hurt you, but I must insist you do not share the digital records of this craft."

My legs shake as I stand, gripping the seat for support. The morning light streams through the windows, casting strange shadows across Darwin's face.

"It's me, Mr. Rook." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "If that is your real name."

The air around Darwin shimmers like a desert mirage. His human form melts away, revealing something both terrifying and beautiful. Red scales catch the light, gleaming like rubies. He towers over me now, his bone ridge casting shadows across features that are somehow still recognizably Darwin.

My hand flies to my mouth, but the scream stays locked in my throat. The scale in my pocket seems to burn against my leg, a physical connection to the truth I've suspected all along.

Those late nights when his shadow looked wrong on the wall. The way his eyes caught the light. How he always knew when someone was approaching before they entered the room. It all makes perfect sense now.

His reptilian features soften, becoming almost gentle despite their alien nature.

"Olivia, I should have known it was you. It is difficult to keep secrets from one as shrewd as you are."

My mouth feels dry. "What... what are you?"

"My true name is Dar. I am a Vakutan warrior." His voice remains the same rich baritone I know, even in this form. "We are locked in an eternal struggle against shape-shifting aliens called the Grolgath."

He explains about a galactic war spanning centuries between various alien races. The Grolgath want to alter Earth's timeline, make humanity choose the wrong side in some future conflict.

"So you're... you're one of the good guys?" The scale in my pocket seems to pulse with warmth.

"Yes. I use my business enterprises to fund an organization called Veritas. We protect Earth's timeline from Grolgath interference." He gestures at the alien craft around us. "This technology helps us track their movements."

My head spins as I process it all. Aliens. Time wars. Secret organizations. And Darwin - no, Dar - at the center of it all.

"That's why you destroyed the rainforest." The pieces click into place. "There was something there. Something alien."

"A Grolgath base, yes." He nods, the bone ridge catching the morning light. "We couldn't let them maintain a foothold so close to population centers."

"And now?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Now you have a choice, Olivia. Join us. Help protect humanity. Your skills, your determination - Veritas needs people like you."