Authors' Note: The "Tom Sharpe" reference in this chapter was inspired by IronRaven's "Botosphere: Introductions NEST." If you find this chapter more brilliant than usual, we've collectively voted in a new contributor. Eowyn's Halfling has been inspiring us for months and now she's in on the dialogue and especially roommate mannerisms.

Hope you enjoy!

"Do you think they're in there?" Lisbeth asked, glancing up from the Klingon TOS.

I pressed one ear to the door, but other than the usual dull hum of electronics and the slight rattle of the heater, I couldn't hear anything. No dialogue, no typing. Leo wasn't listening to anything by Thalia and no one was quoting movies, so I doubted Cam was in there.

"If they are, they're being unusually quiet."

Lisbeth punched in a number on her phone and a moment later, our dorm room phone rang. There was no answer, but that wasn't surprising. Leo had a whole manifesto on not falling for such low-tech spy enablers as landlines and I couldn't remember the last time we'd actually used it.

I tried to come up with something about which Leo couldn't keep his mouth shut. Claiming Han shot first or Taco Bell was the best Mexican food in town was going a bit far, but I could probably get him good and pissed with one well-placed line. It would either get a verbal response or get me punched. Instead, I went for the quote he couldn't resist. "Richard Nixon's personal checking account is in here! Who do we give his money to?"

"The National Organization to Legalize Marijuana!" he shouted back.

"Busted," I crowed, while Lisbeth facepalmed. Inside, we could hear the sounds of scuffling, followed by a loud "OW!"

"That answers that," she said, "but do I want to know?"

"We'll have a movie night once we're back in," I said in explanation. To Sam and Leo, I said, "We've brought a negotiator. Don't make her go all aggressive negotiations on the door."

"Lisbeth, tell them we're not interested in pursuing a diplomatic solution," Sam called back with surprising calm for a guy who had just been threatened with a lightsaber reference.

"They're good," she said.

"We're not getting the RA involved and you're the only female we actually LIKE spending time with," I pointed out. "It was either you or Dean Nightingale and this is a little below her pay grade."

"I'm flattered, and I won't tell Katie," she said. "Sam, Leo, if you have something to say, you can say it to them and you will say it in English. No Spanish, Spanglish, Pig Latin, Klingon, or binary."

Actually, binary would be a fun challenge. But we'd have to try that on a day when the stakes were lower and we had a few more hours to spare. My shirt was getting more rank by the minute. Lisbeth edged away from both of us a bit, so it wasn't just me either.

No answer came through the door to her demand. She pursed her lips, considering the situation, and appeared to come to a decision. She dialed the dorm phone again and this time, Sam and Leo's presence already confirmed, it was answered.

"Look, you may not be happy with Sharsky and Fassbinder right now, but denying them access to clothing and soap is bordering on inhumane-to both them and anyone in the general vicinity."

Both of us gave her looks of wounded pride, but she waved us off.

"Uh-huh...just think of like what a hotel would provide...ugh, seriously?...ok, whatever." She snapped her phone closed and addressed us.

"I'm in under a banner of truce," she told us. "Clothes and toiletries. I don't think I can get you laptops, though."

"Clean underwear and maybe a shirt that doesn't smell like the bushes on campus would be a good place to start," I said shrugging a little.

She cleared her throat a bit awkwardly and said, "You have to walk to the end of the hall and back while they let me in."

We both stared at her in disbelief. She flushed a little. "Yes, its stupid and your roommates are acting like elementary schoolers screaming about cooties, but you can take the high road, at least until you have socks that aren't capable of standing and walking around on their own."

Grumbling, we walked towards the end of the hall where the Break Glass In Case Of Emergency axe was and then turned back around. We sullenly leaned against the wall as we heard indistinct voices from the other side of the door.

She returned through the forbidden portal after a longer-than-anticipated interval with a stack of cleanish clothes, toothbrushes and one stick of deodorant.

"Ew, that's not something I'm sharing," I declared, pointing at the Axe deodorant that was most definitely not mine.

"It was this or nothing at all. At least you got two toothbrushes."

Sharsky grabbed a tshirt and sniffed like he was in a fabric softener commercial. "Praise Pacman for laundry day!"

I rolled my eyes at him for invoking the old tech gods. My shirt had been worn once since I last made a trip to the basement, but it didn't have any stains and the jeans were actually clean.

"Go change," she ordered. "You'll feel better when you've freshened up."

"I don't think it'll help much."

"No," she deadpanned, "but life seems so much simpler when you're fixing things."

I saluted her for making an unprompted Star Wars reference, even if it was from the dumbest of the movies, and jerked my head towards the bathroom.

"Come on," I muttered to Sharsky. "We'll come back when we don't look like scruffy-looking nerf-herders."

Five minutes later, I had to admit it did feel good for my teeth to not be fuzzy anymore, and being able to breathe through my nose without passing out probably helped my chi or something. I wasn't going to cleanse my aura, though.

Sharsky was still trying to comb his hair with his fingers, but I headed back to the negotiating table.

Lisbeth was standing with her arms crossed, looking like she'd had a pretty heated conversation with our roomies in our absence.

Sam had opened the door a crack, and he was talking to her through it. "We thought they'd go to the lobby! And when we didn't find them there, we assumed they'd crashed with you like before. Why else would we have sent the pizza to you?" Seeing me, he slammed it shut again.

"That was progress," I commented. "What made the difference?"

"Feminine wiles," she said grumpily.

"I gotta get some of those," Sharsky decided. "Do they sell them on Amazon?"

Lisbeth glared at him for a second but decided not to dignify him with an answer. "Sam and Leo say that they won't let you back in until the terms and conditions have been signed." She waved the Klingon Manifesto for emphasis.

"Yeah, well, I have some commentary on that."

"Keep it clean," Lisbeth said. "I'm resigning as mediator if you go too far."

"Don't worry," I said. "I just want to clarify some things."

"They said it's non-negotiable," she pointed out. "I'm working on that."

"Screw non-negotiable. Either they misspelled this word or they said something about farms. Common Klingon typo for newbies."

I suspected they'd meant to say DaDa about our behavior, but they had written Du'Du'. I needed clarification or modification at the very least.

Lisbeth knocked on the door. "Is there a version that all parties can look over without a dictionary and may I please get a copy?"

A minute later, the English version got slid under the door and Sam called, "Only because you asked nicely, Ms. Borg."

"HA!" Sharsky said triumphantly. "That WAS a typo."

Actually, at first glance, there were some things on the original that didn't match up to Lisbeth's version. We had the Eyes Only copy and that was the one to keep an eye on.

"Thank you. And look," she commented. "They've got a place for you to sign on the dotted line."

"No way," Sharsky said. "I'm not signing point number twelve."

Lisbeth took a deep breath in through her nose and slowly let it out through her mouth. "I have a history paper due by midnight tomorrow. You can try to negotiate the specifics if you want, but I've got to at least put a dent in it. Call me if things escalate again, okay?"

"Okay," Sharsky said, "But I'm going to make those Cheddar Bay Biscuits for you once we're back in."

"Yeah, we owe you," I agreed. "I'll fix any grade you want for anyone you want, no questions asked."

She smiled a little and nodded. "Try not to let it get to 'door buster' free pizza before you reach out again." To Sam and Leo, she added, "And remember - keep an open mind!"

...

"You're a fire hazard," April informed us. Our RA was normally apt to talk to us like preschoolers, but with us endangering lives, she looked ready to breathe fire or spit poison.

We were sprawled out across the hallway, trying to figure out some of the finer points of Leo's Klingon grammar. His Klinglish was even worse than his Spanglish.

"Hello to you, too," I said.

Sharsky discreetly slipped the TOS under the door. "And if the dorm bursts into flames, we're not going to be sticking around to be a hazard to anyone but ourselves."

"Still." She nudged Sharsky's leg with one toe. "Clear a path. Or put your housing payments to good use and go inside."

"We're locked out."

"And I have a master key."

Which probably wouldn't work now that they'd changed the locks on us. "And that's not a problem. Major roommate clash."

"If you have pocket change, I've found the vending machines are chock full of peace offerings."

"We don't need Twizzlers. We need something more polite than a battering ram. And we're NOT breaking another door down."

"I'm glad you've learned something from our chats. Now, want to talk to me about your major clash?"

"No."

"Want me to talk to Mr. Spitz and Mr. Witwicky about their feelings?"

"I'd like to see you try," Sharsky snorted.

"We don't want to get anyone else involved. We're in negotiations, but they're peaceful ones."

"Okay, but if you're not in your own beds tonight, I'm going to have a chat with all of you."

"We'll see what we can do."

That seemed to satisfy her, and she continued on down the hall.

The paper slid back under the door, this time with Sam's chicken scratch reply. Yes, they did indeed mean that we had to give them the right to check our internet history on demand.

"Ha'DlabH," Sharsky muttered under his breath.

"Bless you," said a passing student absentmindedly, picking his way between our legs.

"That's going too far," I agreed. I drew a line through Sam's clarification and counter-offered in Klingon, "You can search our internet history on demand for attempted 'Buzz' access."

"Besides," Sharsky said morosely, "GI Jamal probably already put keyloggers on everything."

True, but that wasn't the same as giving Leo and Sam carte blanche on snooping into our entire lives.

That edit was returned under the door with a note "codicil approved."

"How long has it been?"

Sharsky checked the clock at the end of the hall. "Fourteen drafts and three hours."

"We're wearing them down. The first three drafts took half an hour each. Now they're just nit-picking. What's the next thing we're contesting?"

He read, "Sam and Leo get dibs on the first and second servings of any and all shared take-out."

I sighed in frustration. That one was just Leo being douchey, but three hours and several languages into this thing, I would have signed off on anything short of being Leo's butler. Like Lisbeth said - high road. "Okay, fine, whatever, as long as they don't short the order on purpose. What else is left?"

Grimacing, Sharsky wrote "We agree." Then he said, "Just the big one. 'The Buzz is completely off-limits for conversation. Non-negotiable. Break this one, and Imma get so cholo on your 'o'Du' y'all's gonna wish you were ya muertos, cabrons.

"Do'Ha," I muttered. "Very unfortunate. Leave Splangon out of this, viejo pendejo."

I kinda got where they were coming from on this one, but Buzzspeak was practically its own dialect now and it'd be like trying to speak English without using words of French origin. It wasn't just like not mentioning an ex-girlfriend. We'd slip up for sure. "That one's gotta be negotiable," I said. "We gotta have a three-strikes rule or something."

Sharsky nodded in agreement and wrote in Klingon, "We agree in principle. But what if one of us makes some comment about a pretty ponytail being as hot as Biker Chick or something on accident? Three strikes?" He slipped the paper back under the door.

We waited impatiently, and Sharsky muttered, "This would have gone so much faster in Google Docs."

"Not everyone signed up to beta that, and besides, you know Leo don't trust Google. It's already a worse Big Brother than the NSA."

After a few minutes, the paper reappeared. "You get three strikes if you slip up in front of Sam or Leo. Slip ups in front of anyone else is an actionable offense."

"What's the 'action' in 'actionable offense?'" I wondered.

"And what about if we slip up in front of Cam?" Sharsky added.

I gestured toward the paper. "Write both those questions down."

After a few minutes, we got our answers. "The 'action' is Sam and Leo get moved to a different dorm. And you won't slip up in front of Cam because he won't be hanging out at the dorm anymore."

"Well that's a bluff," Sharsky grumbled. "They're not gonna forbid the bodyguard from being near his primary."

"I give it week."

"Week? They're going to cave in four days, tops."

"Dude, this isn't Name that Somethingorother with the 'I can be a nerd in six notes or less.' I give it a week, but I say we let them give it a week. Let everyone cool off and realise we're all in this together like some high school drama. Then we'll hug it out..."

"Giant alien robots don't hug."

"Well, maybe they could use one," I suggested. "Either way, someone'll have an epiphany, there'll be a mixed metaphor and we'll grow as sentients. No matter what, this isn't going to be an issue for very long. I can practically hear Sam longing for the good old days of org charts through the door."

"That's some super-powered eavesdropping, but yeah. El Jefe is going to be the heavy end of the hammer, but Alienboy is all about world peace." He nodded sagely. "I give it a week, too."

Since there really wasn't anything left to argue over, I wrote "TochDaq maghom" on the paper and slipped it back under the door.

"We'll meet you in the cocktail lounge?" Sharsky translated.

"The phrase 'Ten-Forward' isn't in The Klingon Dictionary, and neither is 'dorm common room.' We need a little more dignified setting than the hallway to solemnize the treaty, and besides, my butt's fallen asleep."

He nodded in agreement, and we headed downstairs. With it being a Saturday afternoon, the Latin chanters were down there, but thanks to our three hours of Klingon negotiations, the girls were just packing up. Good thing, too. I think my brain might have exploded if I had to try to speak another language today.

It was more than a little insulting when one of them gasped and held her nose when she walked past. We had put on deodorant, after all. Shared deodorant, but she didn't know that. And she didn't need to know. Ever.

Sharsky sprawled in one corner of the couch. "Do you think they're taking the vids seriously?" he asked, appreciating the view of the last girl walking out the door.

"Vids?"

"Of the landing that the Buzzers missed last Thanksgiving. I mean, things were really tense for a while, and if these guys are who we think they are...Well, it's been quiet. Maybe the first three were friends of Alienboy's 'blood brother' and the fourth isn't? And blood brother? What the frack is up with that?"

"That would be strike one," Alienboy announced as he walked into the common room, "if the treaty were already in effect. Since I haven't signed it yet, we'll consider this your final warning."

Sam was missing something, besides the goofy aura that my mom would have gone nuts trying to tweak.

"Where's Leo?" Sharsky asked.

Holding a can of root beer out to him, Sam answered, "Modding."

"Where's mine?" I asked, glancing pointedly at the soda. Sharsky popped it open and took a proprietary swallow before I could steal it.

Sam gave me a Look and didn't dignify my question with an answer. "There was a blow up over something on a thread about Langley, and Leo said you two have wasted enough of his time." He nodded toward the table, pulling a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "Come here. There are a couple of things you guys need to know."

We exchanged a glance - he was serious about whatever he was going to say - and hurried to take a seat.

He sat down and pulled the pen from behind his ear, tapping it on the table a few times before finally speaking. "I could hear you through the door talking about Cam. That part wasn't a bluff. None of this is. This isn't like your mom grounding you for the rest of your life. This is serious. Like all your conspiracy-theory-dystopia control-freaks serious. Military plus special ops plus NotTheToothFairy have ganged up to permaban Cam from ever interacting with you again."

I grabbed Sharsky's medicinal root beer and swigged it, Sharsky-germs be damned. It didn't help settle my suddenly-queasy stomach. It did nothing to calm my nerves, either. Obviously a placebo.

Sharsky didn't actually seem to notice my soda appropriation as he was staring at Sam in stunned confusion.

I took a deep breath and set the soda back down. "How is that even a thing that can happen - he's your bodyguard!"

Sharsky pointed at me and nodded, which I took as a "what he said."

"He's not the only one who can keep an eye on me. There's a whole team, actually, that's been keeping us all safe. The brass are still figuring out exactly how things will shake out, but for now, Cam's been recalled to base."

I was now staring at Sam, stunned as well.

"BUT, he wants you to know, as a final message, that he's okay and not really angry at you."

"Final message," I echoed, dully, the idea really starting to sink in.

"We don't know when or if he'll get permission to communicate directly with you again. I want you to know that he's busted and pretty much the equivalent of confined to quarters indefinitely because of your stunt."

The two of us slumped in unison. Sharsky took a gulp of root beer and then generously offered me a drink as well. Which I took, grateful for the compassion if not the boring version of carbonation.

We looked at each other and then Sharsky said in a surprisingly meek voice, "Can you tell him we're sorry we got him in trouble?"

I sighed and handed the disappointing root beer back to Sharsky, "Yeah, it was just a blog. We didn't realize how serious this was all going to get. So where do we sign this End User License Agreement?"

Sam put up his index finger Han-Solo-style, holding us back.

"Cam was the first thing. The other thing you both need to know is that you guys are living on second chances right now. There were people who wanted to make you disappear. There were people who wanted to take me out of your life entirely. But Optimust went to bat for you, pretty much shocking everyone."

"I know I'm shocked," I admitted. I didn't think Sam's uncle/alien blood-brother was cool enough to do something like that.

"He did it for his own reasons, but I'm telling you all this so that you don't screw up again. I'm agreeing to the three-strikes rule, but only if you understand that this is real. Real people are facing real consequences here. This isn't a game."

Looking as dejected as I felt, Sharksy said, "We figured that, when we heard that Cam isn't going to be at the dorm anymore."

"We're agreed, then," Sam said and signed the clean copy of our negotiated, grammar-corrected Klingon contract. When he turned the page our way, I saw that Leo had already signed. "Your turn."

...

After The Signing of the Accords, we followed Sam back up to the room. He unlocked the door and gestured us in before him. Sharsky made a beeline for his computer and stroked the monitor, whispering sweet nothings to it before waking up the CPU and immediately logging in to everything.

I turned to Sam, though, and held out my hand. "So do we get new keys?"

Sam shook his head and waved a screwdriver at me, "It's against university policy to install a new lock. I'm putting the old one back on."

I rolled my eyes, of course Alienboy would waste money on a lock that was used for all of 48 hours before becoming obsolete. I left him to his hardware and went to count my Red Bulls in the dorm fridge. Remarkably, mine were all accounted for. Pleased, I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer, before looking over at The Boss.

Leo was in his corner scowling, though I couldn't tell if it was at us or at the thread he was modding. I decided to be the bigger man and made a peace offering, "Leo-need a modding assist?"

It took a moment for his eyes to refocus on me rather than on his screens. He frowned momentarily but then nodded, "Yeah-I'm calming down this fire in the Langley thread-some wacko is saying the US Government is trying to sell alien robots to China. But there's a badly Photoshopped SUV over in the 'Sightings' Forum that I need you to debunk ASAP."

While I started reading through the thread, I also opened a private chat with Sharsky and sent him a message.

Fassbinder: So, how do we grovel appropriately?

Sharsky: Who are we groveling to?

Fassbinder: well, Alienboy is all we have access to right now

Sharsky: and you think buttering up will help?

Fassbinder: What can it hurt?

Sharsky: Well...since they bought us pizza we could return the favor

Fassbinder: Zookeeper's special delivery?

Sharsky: Nah-that's too obvious-does that Chinese place just south of campus deliver?

Fassbinder: No, but the one east of the stadium does.

Sharsky: I'll make the order. Halvsies?

Fassbinder: Yeah, let me know how much I owe you

I nodded to myself, satisfied that we were already on step one of Operation Alien Access. Once we got on Alienboy's good side and Cam was back at the dorm, we'd have to find a way to make things up with him, too. Then we could ask him to take us to his leader.

...

When Lisbeth's usual knock sounded on the door, I leapt up and opened it with what I hoped was not a Thank-God-you're-here grin. "Welcome."

She returned the grin while unwinding her long red scarf. "I hope I am. All quiet on the western front?"

"We're in the middle of behaving ourselves," Sam commented, "if that's what you mean."

"Good." She still checked out the entire room for signs of mayhem, bloodshed, or vandalism. Apparently convinced that we hadn't started any wars since we'd last seen her two days ago, she nodded like a satisfied boot camp instructor on a barracks inspection and shucked her coat. "Got a seat to spare?"

Since this was a peace summit, of course there was. One of the first things we'd agreed upon when contemplating an audience with the Borg Queen was to pick her throne. That meant she got the cleanest of the office chairs. Sharsky gestured to it with a flourish and I addressed a more immediate matter.

"Can I take your coat?"

On my best behavior, I even found a hanger for it so it wouldn't go on top of anyone's laundry pile or bed. Once we were all settled in on various surfaces, Leo formally said, "Thank you for coming."

Lisbeth looked around the room suspiciously. "Did somebody die?"

"Almost," Sam said.

Sharsky quickly added, "But we won't be ordering Chinese from that place ever again."

She blinked in alarm. "Okay? All Chinese food or is there something toxic about lo mein?"

"Crab rangoon," Leo said mournfully. "It was hell."

I nodded gravely, recalling yesterday when I'd had to call in sick to Cami, and not even been able to enjoy my day off.

"The reason we invited you over was to say thank you," I said, picking up our appreciation gift to change the subject before someone went into detail about projectile bodily function.

There had been some discussion over wrapping. No one wanted to figure out how much paper would be needed to do the job right, so we immediately decided that a gift bag would be more appropriate. I vetoed anything with sparkles or unicorns-the girl recited Shakespeare, for crying out loud-but we couldn't give her something generic. The compromise was a brown paper bag and a very large pink bow.

Eyebrows arching in surprise, she said, "Thank you."

At Sam's encouraging nod, Lisbeth removed the semi-wadded Kleenex (unused!) that was the closest thing we had to tissue paper and removed our olive branch: a slightly-scuffed, but perfectly functional doorknob, with keys.

"You shouldn't have," she deadpanned.

"It's a promise," Sam explained. "This was our weapon of war." I rolled my eyes at the dramatic phrasing. "Some people would bury it, melt it down, something to get rid of the temptation to change the locks again. But this is our proof that we are never going to lock each other out again."

"Metaphorically or otherwise," I added.

At first she'd looked ready to roll her eyes at our gift-giving style, but now she seemed to catch on to how profound the thought actually was. She held it up for inspection and then smiled beatifically. "That's weirdly moving."

"That's our style, for better or for worse," Sharsky said.

It hadn't been his idea in any way-he had been in favor of muffins and mouse pads-but I didn't say anything. Peaceful coexistence involved our local pastry chef, after all.

"And that's why we're here," Leo finally spoke. "It's for better or for worse, but we're gonna try the better thing for a while."

"Not for a while," I corrected. "This is never going to happen again and I think we're all committed to that."

In very picky terms and conditions, that was 97% true.

"So..." Lisbeth looked at everyone, "everyone's made peace about...what happened." Her tone was half questioning as she looked at me and Sharsky.

Sam glanced at us as well and, probably for the first time, wondered what we told Lisbeth had happened.

"Whatever you think happened, it probably wasn't that," Sam hurriedly explained.

"Then what was it?"

Sam and Leo exchanged an uneasy look before Alienboy said, "There were...concerns about safety. For everyone. We've hammered things out now, though. We want our apartment to be a safe space for anyone and everyone."

Lisbeth skeptically folded her arms. "They aren't dangerous, you know."

"Hey!" Sharsky protested.

"Not on purpose," Sam admitted, "but loose lips sink ships. They put some things online that could have caused real problems. Well, actually, did cause real problems. That's why we had to intervene."

Lisbeth looked slightly lost, obviously trying to reconcile what Sam was saying with what we'd told/not told her. I tried to recall what we'd said, but could only remembered some vague rambling about showing Sam something.

"So..." Leo said, "where do we go from here?"

Lisbeth muffled a snort and then said, "Well, how about just doing something fun together? Go out to eat?"

"NO!" we all chorused.

Lisbeth looked taken aback for a moment and then seemed to realize, "Right, food bad." After thinking for a moment, she grinned, "Movie night! Kenneth Branagh's Henry V."

We all looked at each other with trepidation, but then I shrugged, "Sure, your place or ours?"

"Mine, since office chairs are not the best for movie watching."

As we gathered all our necessities and followed her out of the dorm, she smirked and said, "And I'll have mercy on you and make it only Much Ado About Nothing."

I sagged in relief, that was a much better play and not just because there was more skin.

...

I reached for the doorknob to head to work when it swung open. Sam stood on the other side, his over-gelled hair almost crackling with electricity as he shook with fury.

"YOU BUGGED ME?!"

I blinked in alarm. "How did you..?"

He glared. If looks could kill, I'd be dead. "After the Droid of Death, they installed metal detectors at the library, and this," he waved the lapel cam in my face, "set the slagging thing off!"

I glanced over my shoulder to SOS Sharsky. He was modding something and either didn't realize what was happening or was ignoring us. I turned back to Alienboy. "We just wanted to cover any security issues now that Cam's gone." I shuffled my feet.

"So?! It's an invasion of privacy! And I've survived two actual alien invasions that both involved random tech showing up at my house. You guys nearly gave me a heart attack! Get rid of any other security cameras in this room or I'll… I'll…" He yelled something incoherent before throwing the lapel cam on the floor. He stomped his shoe on top of it before storming off. I shut the door behind him and looked mournfully at the remains of a camera and transmitter that had not exactly been cheap.

Sharsky glanced at me from his computer. We made eye contact before his gaze shifted to the lintel.

"Do we include the door cam?" I asked, tilting my head in the direction of the cam outside facing down the hallway. That one was one of the more expensive models that allowed us to pan and zoom.

"He said, 'in this room'. Don't ask, don't tell," Sharsky answered.

...

Sam's screams of "FASSBINDER!" jolted me awake. Glancing at the clock, I groaned. It was six in the morning.

Pulling myself together with motivational affirmations about becoming an alien's BFF, I ambled into his room, wincing at my bare feet on the cold floor. "You bellowed?"

Sam glared at me from behind his laptop. He was still in bed and probably toasty warm, the jerk.

"What the frag is this?" he demanded and then read, "'Lenny and Joad: Comparing and Contrasting Economic Suffering in The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men.' Did you write another of my papers?"

I yawned, trying to wake up enough to get what he was freaking out about. "Yeah? You liked it last time."

"You hacked my laptop? Again?!"

"Um...yeah? You liked it last time?"

He threw his pillow at me. "Don't do it again! I'm revoking your implied consent!"

Clearly, Sam wasn't appreciating this attempt to make things up to him, either. I turned around and wandered back to bed.

...

Fassbinder: Dude-we've struck out three times on Operation Alien Access, what do we do now?

Sharsky: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fassbinder: You're so helpful

...

Sharsky was in the middle of a raid when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Grumbling under my breath about modding interruptions, I opened the video feed to the doorframe cam. The sight of a grandpa in a veteran's ballcap left me blinking in confusion. He was bald like me, but very much white.

"Wrong dorm," I shouted, not bothering to get up.

The knocking came again. I sighed and got up to open it. The angle of the doorframe cam was not great for gauging much more than heads. So my first good look of the guy convinced me that he was military unconvincingly trying to look civilian. This meant he had the really wrong dorm.

"We've seen the recruitment booth in the student center, we're really not the military types." I said. The ROTC cadets had also been extra loud in their morning jogs around campus this week too. I had no idea why the military was on such a big recruiting kick this week, but I was ready for it to be over.

Stepping forward into the room, his gaze swept it once and then he turned his beady little eyes on me.

"Excuse me?" I protested. "Can I help you, grandpa?"

"The better question is can I help you. And you don't have the genetics to call me 'grandpa.'"

This was just...really weird. "Look you've got the wrong dorm…"

"You're Nadipati Fassbinder. Samuel Witwicky is your roommate."

I froze in shock.

"I know things you want to know." Leaning closer to me, he said, "I know...individuals you want to know. And you know things I want to know." Smirking, he walked over to my computer and helped himself to the office chair.

Sharsky finally realized our territory had been invaded in real life and pulled off his headphones. "Dude, who are you?"

"Tom Sharpe. And you're Joseph Sharsky. Or Elrondion13 when you're playing that stupid game."

Sharsky rocked back like he'd been slapped, though I wasn't sure if that was because Creepy Grandpa had apparently stalked us or because he'd insulted World of Warcraft. There were grounds for both.

Sharsky gave me a baffled look, and I shook my head. This guy was bad news. His aura would have sent my mom screaming into the hall.

"Look, Grandpa Tom Sharpe, sir," I said a bit pointedly, "you've given us name, but no rank or serial number, and all we know about your turf invasion is you want to trade intel."

It was the best I could do to read Sharsky in on the situation without a direct route. Sharpe's expression didn't change. "We both are party to information about Sam Witwicky and his 'associates' and I happen to know that you have taken pains and gone to great lengths to, unsuccessfully, hear what I have to offer. I assure you our arrangement can be mutually beneficial."

It wasn't just the Luke at Jabba's Palace-esque speech that raised my hackles. This guy was treating Sam, and Cam by extension, as bargaining chips and that just wasn't cool.

I glanced at Sharsky again and at my frown he gave me the slightest nod to indicate that he was with me. We needed to shut this down.

"You think I'm nothing but talk," Sharpe said.

It was weird to hear someone approaching denture cream age say so, but I shook my head, dude was missing the point. "We have no reason to enter into any kind of exchange with you."

Mr. Sharpe brandished a jump drive. "Allow me to show you some reasons." He moved to plug the jump drive into my computer, and something visceral made me lunge forward and grab his arm.

"Get out," I growled, a surge of adrenaline running through me. No way in hell was he plugging his unvetted tech into my computer. Just to be safe, I flipped the master power switch for all my equipment. I'd lose my unsaved work but it was worth it to be sure.

Sharsky subtly moved his chair into the gap between our desks to body block access to his machine and grabbed his old corded mouse and let it swing like a vaguely-menacing pendulum for use as a possible ranged weapon.

Sharpe took a beat to process our response and probably gauge how effortlessly he could kick our afts. He deliberately looked down at his arm and then up into my face. I let go, but didn't retreat to a safe distance. There could be no question of him being closer to a power button than I was, even if he couldn't do any harm in the computer's current state.

"I think you should leave, sir," Sharsky stated, sounding like a diplomat who carried poisoned darts in his briefcase.

Sharpe made a sudden move or just an unexpected one. He rose to his full height, straightened his very broad shoulders, and headed stoically for our door.

"Good day, gentlemen," he said as he shut the door behind him.

Sharsky looked at the mouse in his hands and deflated. "I really wanted to use this thing. It would have made a great bolas."

"Yeah, sure, Wicket," I said, waiting for my heart to stop racing. A horrifying thought made my heart jump again. "Sam! We need to warn Sam about this guy!"

Swearing in a mix of English and Klingon, Sharsky dropped his weaponized mouse and dove for his computer.

Since mine would take forever to boot back up, I followed him to read his email to Sam over his shoulder. "Get screen caps from the doorframe cam. Send him photos. Maybe he'll recognize the guy."

Sharsky nodded and pulled up the feed, scrolling back and forth through the video to try to get a good pic of our mysterious visitor.

Thinking about him reminded me of our other recent mysterious visitors - Optimus and the hive-mind triplets, who were very likely Optimust and BikerChick. "What if this is one of the Buzz guys?" I said. "You know, like Sam's blood brother?"

He paused and glanced up. "Could be, but who?"

"He was military - you could see it in the way he walked, like G.I. Jamal with a little less menace."

"So that narrows it down to Survivor, BringtheRain, and BrassEagle."

"NotTheToothFairy and Conslayer, too."

Sharsky nodded and then snorted to himself. "Probably NotTheToothFairy."

I tilted my head, considering. We had absolutely nothing to go on in terms of pics, but I was having a hard time putting a face that grizzled to someone who seemed obsessed with cannons. Of course, for all we knew, NtTF was the hive-mind triplets. "Let's ask Sam when we send the screen caps."

Eventually Sharsky was able to get a decent still of Creepy Grandpa, complete with partially-closed eyes, and emailed it to Sam. Then I texted him, telling him to check his email.

He texted back just a couple of minutes later. "No, that's not NtTF. And what did I say about cameras?!"

I swore and my heart rate kicked up again.