SPACESHIP ZOMBIE CRUISE

FILE ENTRY 3.0

Bella Starr

After the tour of the beach and the holographic sun, my group of fifty potential guests for the resort form a long line as they make their way along the edge of the sand. The turquoise water rolls onto the white sand with gentle waves, the sound pleasant to my ears.

We take the escalator up to the main concourse and stay on that level, venturing down the center of the food court. A small storefront has a sign that reads, Chinese Buffet. Neighboring it, stands a German Cafe with a variety of bratwursts on pretzel buns offered as key items on its menu. Sausage sizzles in the kitchen, making my mouth water.

With countless other eateries filling the concourse, I say, "We'll be taking a break to let you explore the food court, the many stores, and all the other attractions below and above us. We'll meet back here in the center of the concourse by this planter with the palm tree." I gesture behind me. "When I return, we'll finish the tour with a history lesson." I offer one of my personable smiles—I've gotten good at my job over the last year. "You're free to roam. Enjoy yourself and don't forget to be back here in one hour."

I'm halfway to the lounge, ready to take my last break as a tour guide, when mid-stride my work tablet blossoms into a hologram. It's an incoming video call from Grayson Flux. The resort manager peers at me, his head and shoulders visible in the holographic display, filling the width of the device, seven inches wide.

"Starr." His voice grumbles with a British flare. "I need to see you in my office... straight away."

"I'm on break." I muster between stutters—shocked. This is the first time Flux has contacted me since I've arrived at Neptune Shores. What could he have to say to me now, hours before my departure?

"What part of 'straight away' do you not understand?"

My eyes bulge. "Oh, I get it, I just don't—"

"Chop chop. Pronto." Flux narrows his gaze. "That means now. Flux out."

The hologram vanishes.

What in Neptune does he want with me? I don't take orders from him. Of course, I'm an employee at the resort he manages, but why does he wait till now to speak to me like he's known me personally all this time? I glance at the device, checking the time. It's 10 a.m. Pacific Standard Time. I packed my bags last night. In two hours, I'll grab my luggage, board the cruise ship and be gone, but technically, he's still my boss for the next two hours.

Near the entrance of the debarkation bay, I spin on my heel, turn around and pace past Nassan Jondu, and keep going.

"Where you headed in such a hurry?"

"Flux summoned me to his office." I never look back.

"Oh."

As I march through the archway into the concourse, my face radiates and my pulse thumps in my ears. If there's one thing I deserve, it's taking my last break in peace. Who is Flux anyway? Just a hotel manager in outer space, not the Chancellor of the Interplanetary Federation.

Flux's office is past the first string of restaurants in the food court, halfway down the expansive corridor, on the left. It has a picturesque view of the beach, two stories below. As I approach, the door slides opens, likely because Flux has given my bio signature temporary clearance. I enter and the door whisks shut behind me.

Down a long hallway, to the left, an opening in the wall reveals a parlor with old style chairs, overly large with gold arms, neck rests, and red cushions. A coffee table sits in the middle of the room with smaller stands and lamps, with a bookcase, too. I imagine Flux and his business associates smoking cigars and sipping whiskey in glass tumblers. I've always heard he smoked. It's unheard of in the twenty-fourth century, but several months ago, the resort manager came within a breath of me in the concourse and I picked up a whiff of his clothes. From that moment, I suspected he liked tobacco, in whatever form he preferred. The rumor is he likes cigars.