AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, as Pathie Zimbogous would say…"Bloody Hell!" :) The month of April had been a horrifically chaotic one, mostly due to the requirements of the educational system, so I was left with very little time to work on this contribution. Yes, it IS another "micro-chapter." (Please don't send the lynch mob. :) ) However, I can assure you that the following chapter will pick up directly where this one left off. And yes, I WILL try my best to shorten these waiting periods.

Leave a comment or two, if you so desire. 

Chapter Sixteen

"There it is: our final destination."

Pathie Zimbogous, peering inconspicuously from underneath a sewer lid, observed the home of the Malukian survivors. The building's appearance is as simple as it comes: two stories, three circular windows, and an integrated garage shed, all within the confines of the simplest rectangular structure ever to grace the albino's eyes. To him, it was barely a house: it was more like a cheap summer cottage. But then again, a typical Malukian home, regardless of regional culture, would probably stand out like a disco guy at a biker bar.

"They did an excellent job of repairing that building," Pathie said, recalling that he had blown a humongous hole through their entrance the previous night, "It's as if nothing ever happened."

Moments later, his small companion, Bullet the squirrel, joined the scout in his view. The four-legged female showed a surprising amount of control, though the irregular twitching of her body clearly communicated her urge to prance around in the grass like it was a gift from the gods.

The squirrel's dismal expression telegraphed the obvious question. "No, not quite yet," The scout answered, "I need to make sure you understand the plan."

Bullet nearly screamed in frustration. "Pathie, we've gone over this stupid plan almost ten times!" she complained, obviously irritated from traveling through tunnels of putrid filth for a good chunk of the afternoon, "I make a surprise visit and keep them distracted while you sneak in and grab the Estrox-46 from under their noses! There, I said it! Can I go outside now? I need to wash up BAD!"

"Excellent," Pathie replied, "Now hold still for a moment."

"What for?"

"You'll see."

Uttering a soft command into the MPSD, the mentioned device bathed Bullet in a quick flash of energy. At first, Bullet did not notice any significance of this…but the change became obvious the moment the squirrel tried to speak.

"Cheep? Cheep-Cheep?! Cheep!"

"Relax, Bullet," Pathie assured, "All I did was remove the translator. You have your native tongue once more, though you'll still understand me for at least a few more minutes. You have to understand: If you approached them speaking their language, especially in such a fluid manner, they'd instantly suspect something. Besides, if I am not successful I don't want you to pay for it. I wouldn't want your friends in the forest to lose their sole protection from the dominant race."

Bullet softly nodded.

"Bullet," Pathie continued, after pausing for a moment, "This will most likely be the last time we talk to each other. So I wanted to say…Thanks. If I am successful, the remnants of the Malukian race will forever remember your assistance.

"Now go. And be sure to make yourself presentable," the scout added with a smirk.

Bullet returned the modest smile before scurrying out into the suburban terrain. With a deep sigh, Pathie closed down the sewer lid as he floated back down to the subterranean corridors of rancid waste. He rested against the legs of the ladder that led up to the surface, just like he did against the massive trunk of bark the night before.

"Computer, activate mirror."

Six dots hovered in front of him, aligning into a hexagon before the reflective surface materialized in its area. At once, the scout saw his grotesqueness. The large, grey-colored eyes gleamed with moisture, for the whites of them were stricken with a sickly shade of red. His albino skin protruded bumps of severe acne, making his cheeks resemble minefields. Last, but not least, an examination of the teeth revealed enamel saturated in yellow tartar, as well as blood-red gums. And need be mentioned the chaotic mess of his short, silvery hair?

Heh, it's just like being a teen again…only older. Agh, I must've caught half of the planet's bleedin' diseases down here. At least Bullet was nice about it.

"Computer, inject me with the maximum dosage of G-PAB."

A few warning bleeps. "Confirm injection of General-Purpose AntiBiotics?"

"Yes, of course."

"Even though you've had three administrations of G-PAB already?"

"It's not my fault my fault that the gas mask couldn't handle the strain! Give it to me!"

"As you wish."

The icy sensation of the medicine gradually flowed throughout his blood vessels, encompassing him in a state of blissful calm.

Sigh…if only G-PAB was derived from the Estrox-46 instead of our own natural chemical…this wonder-drug could've squashed that terrible plague well before the death toll rose dramatically. But then again…nature finds a way…

As the medicine continued its work, the scout's mind wandered onto other subjects:

Those Malukian survivors…I wonder how much Estrox-46 they have stored in that building. They must have quite a bundle. That blonde girl I encountered didn't have any signs of sickness. None. That woman…that beautiful, golden-haired woman…perfect…if only I could turn back the clock…I could've been her hero…

Actually, I shouldn't fantasize like that. Surely, there will be other women when I get back, right? That's right…there will be other women…even though…they'll pale…in comparison…to her…

…

Dammit, Pathie! Get a grip! The only reason she keeps popping up in your head is because you feel sorry for hurting her! What's done is done! You blew it! You'll never have another chance with her, just like you'll never have a chance with anyone else! Get over it!

"G-PAB administration complete," the MPSD chimed.

Now, if only G-PAB could vanquish irrational emotions…then I could actually focus on what's important. It doesn't matter that my life is completely screwed. What matters is saving my race from extinction. Nothing else. To hell with my social life.

The scout once again looked into the mirror. All blemishes were gone, leaving behind a countenance of perfect structure. But the white-hot flames of resolve burned in his searing glare.

He rose from his resting spot. "To hell with my social life!"

"Computer, deactivate the mirror and activate the cloaking device. It's about time I got what I came for!"