"Lovely."

My red pen danced angrily across the manuscript. The no talent hack whose tripe I was reading was showing his idiocy. Laser swords. Again. Another throw back to that overwrought vehicle starring a tin can with respiratory problems. I crossed out the offensive phrase with such force I nearly broke through the paper, then scribbled "Agh!" in the margin. I think that will convince him to call the thing something else. Or, maybe be daring and come up with a new weapon. If you want to get something published in this town, laser swords aren't the most effective way of getting my interest. Enduring idiocy is the price of success in the world of editing. Being a respected fiction editor in New York City might look good on your checking account, but if I have one more encounter with a laser sword, I will spontaneously combust. If the fumes from my pen aren't going to finish off what few brain cells I have left first, of course.

"Mr. Aaron?" the intercom on my desk crackled. I sighed.

"What is it, Doris, I'm busy in the kitchen," I said around my cigar. "In the kitchen" was my lingo for butchering derivative fiction.

"There's, uh, someone to see you."

"I don't do walk in revisions."

"I think you should make an exception on this one, sir."

“It’s late, Doris.”

"I know. But you have to see this one for yourself."

"Fine, fine, let them in," I muttered. I returned to earnest, imitative text before me. I was just preparing to slash another laser sword from existence when the door opened and footsteps padded up to my desk.

"Excuse me," a soft voice asked. In no mood for games, I glanced up.

"Yeah, what…" I trailed off as I saw just what I was dealing with. Sure, it was bipedal, but the rest was severely surplus in that department. It had the legs of a horse, a thick coat of white fur, two large feathery wings anchored to its back, a modest pair of breasts, a long flowing tail, and two large slitted eyes. The thing was wearing a long, ocean-blue cloak with violet trim, and standing at attention with its arms behind it back. I raised an eyebrow.

"I don't do cosplay," I said bluntly. I returned to work.

“'Cosplay?'" she asked.

"Yeah, you know, furries, dressing up, crap like that," I said without looking up.

"I'm afraid I don't know what that is. Your language is very confusing."

"My language."

"Yes. Perhaps I have not made clear why I am here," the weirdo said. "I am Ta'nom, representative of the Aa'kai Republic."

"Uh huh," I nodded, deciding for no good reason I can recall to oblige her. "And, why are you here?"

"I have heard on respected authority that you help people on your world develop stories dealing with extraterrestrial beings?"

"I guess you could say that," I said, taking a puff from my stogie.

"Then perhaps you can help me complete my mission. I am here on behalf of my government to look into opening a relationship with your world. An exchange, if you will, between our two peoples." Oh, good. This stuff again. If there was one thing as bad as the fucking laser swords, it was the hippie, sugary sweet Star Trek BS. I leaned back in my chair, taking my soggy cigar stub out of my mouth.

"It's been done, sweetheart."

"It has?" she frowned. "Strange. I thought your planet was ignored because it is populated by impaired grunting hominids that like killing each other."

"Yeah, that argument's been done too," I added. "Look, kid. There has to be a bigger reason why you've come here. Now, obviously, you really care about your little story idea, since you actually came dressed up."

"But, this is how all diplomats dress," the furry stammered.

"There's gotta be a bigger reason why these 'Aa'kal' of yours have come to Earth. World peace, a cookbook, a hyperspace bypass... you gotta give me something more, all right?"

"Well, our objective is to share knowledge that would improve your living standards and put an end to your needless hard—"

"Oh, come on, that's boring!" I cried, jumping from my chair. "Nobody wants to read about peace on Earth, goodwill towards men! When aliens come to our little mud ball, people wanna see 'em blow stuff up."

"Blow stuff...?" Ta'nom repeated.

"Yeah, you know, explosions, catchy one-liners, America showing who's boss by kicking rear, everyone going home happy, that kinda thing," I said.

"Perhaps I should ask, to avoid an incident, then. What is the standard way of "blowing stuff up?" she asked.

"Well, if you wanted to be paint-by-numbers, -and if you do you can kindly remove yourself from my office now- you need a big, big armada of ships. Then, painstakingly synchronize yourself over landmarks in major cities, and let loose with the death ray. Don't call it that. That sucks, and it's as bad as laser swords."

"Why would we ever want to destroy your heritage?" Ta'nom asked with a crooked eyebrow.

"Because that's what people wanna see, kid. There's plenty of stuff in Europe, some stuff in Asia, for ya to waste. People love blowin' this place up. There's lots of things to blow up. Like, say, the big pointy building in the center of town over there. See it? That big tan and silver one," I insisted, pointing out of my lovely vista office window.

"Yes, I can see it. It is odd. Humans are quite bizarre, wishing such horrifying harm on themselves," she replied.

"It's showbiz," I said simply. I took a quick puff from my dying cigar, now having worked myself into a mad frenzy over this idiot newbie. My eyes were bulging from their sockets and I could feel my voice shaking as my arms made wild gesticulations, threatening to take out anything that got too close to me in the process. "Makes people feel big! Our world is so important aliens come out of their way to kill us! We're ethnocentric and proud of it!"

"I see."

"Well, if you don't like that one, you could always find a less violent way of doing it," I said.

"But, I am here to open a peaceful dialog. Surely you can give me advice on how to do that?"

"Well, first off, why are you in this town, kiddo?"

"Your United Nations seemed to be a good public forum, based on our research."

"Nah, that's old hat. Everyone lands in front of the UN. You need to have something new to spice one up if you want to make it work." I felt my eyes light up. "Okay. I got it. Walk with me, walk with me," I said to myself, pacing the room. I realized the furry was following me. "No. No. You stand still, okay?"

"Very well," she frowned. "You had a proposal?" "Yeah, I do. I got it now... you're a tourist."

"A ‘tourist?'”

"Yeah, someone that's here to see the sights. You land somewhere lousy, like, Jersey, you come in for the sights, Times Square, Central Park, all that crap, and you send back a rave review to your planet, and soon everyone wants to come to check this place out. And we follow this brave young park ranger and his drop dead hot partner as they race against time before you turn Earth into a spaceway-side attraction. Kinda hokey, I know, but it's what appeals to the people. It's got action, romance, adventure, the works, and everything good."

"We do not wish to burden your world, only open relations with it," Ta'nom said. "We do not want to inconvenience you."

"Yeah, that's what you say, until you start leaving your soda rings lying around, and they start choking, I dunno, maybe pandas. Yeah, that's it. Pandas. Everyone loves pandas. Do you love pandas? I sure do. It'll have a heartwarming tale about conservation and the environment. And the government learns the true meaning of recycling. Perfect. Hugo assured, I'll bet you."

"I'm afraid you don't understand my mission, Mr..?"

"Call me 'Steve,' kid."

"Mr. Steve," the furry insisted. "I just want to talk to your leaders." I frowned as my rush wore off. I sat back down, putting my cigar back in my mouth.

"All right, fine. Where do you go from there?"

"Well, if I were unable to meet with your United Nations, I suppose I would try to consult your planet's most powerful leader. Do you know who that would be?"

"Well, that'd be the President of the United States. You're there now. But, there's no way you'd be able to see him." "Why not? Surely all I would need to do is go to his residence and—"

"Be shot? Yeah, basically."

"Why would I be shot?" the furry asked. She looked annoyed. "Secret Service tends to get a little trigger happy when a bizarre looking creature tries to get into the White House." I smiled with a note of sarcasm.

"Perhaps I could appeal to the general public? Surely they would—" "Beat you to death? More than likely."

The creature frowned. "Is there nothing I can do on this world to reach out that does not result in my death, Mr. Steve?"

"Sorry, kid. Your story just ain't gonna work," I shrugged. "People won't buy it. We don't think anyone's going to come by unless they're coming for resources or armed with a cookbook."

"I can see that clearly now," the woman fumed. She crossed her arms. "Perhaps the Foreign Ministry was confused about reaching out to this planet. You seem a violent and illogical species.”

"That's usually the moral of the story," I replied. I sat back down and I put my feet up on the desk. "It's basically all been done, sweetheart."

The furry frowned. "A pity. I had always wanted to reach out to a new world. My mother helped my people with the first contact of Kaljex, and I always loved hearing the stories she told me when I was but a hatchling..."

"Well, sorry, I can't really help you. You really can't be too original anymore."

"Based on what I have heard tonight, I suppose it is so. I must thank you, however, Mr. Steve, for your assistance in this matter."

"You're welcome," I said briskly. I picked up my stack of manuscripts again. "You know, I can't necessarily approve of your little dress-up here, but it shows you have drive. If you come up with a more original idea, come by again sometime. Preferably in normal clothing, if you wouldn't mind." Hoping she got the hint, I returned to my work.

"I shall keep that in mind," she said with a nod. She reached into a pocket on her cloak. "I would like to give you this for your efforts." I heard a sudden humming sound. I looked up to see the cosplayer holding a cylinder with a beam of light coming from it. No. Oh, fuck no. My hands clenched around the manuscripts.

"Oh, CRIPES!"

"What is it, Mr. Steve?" she asked, utterly confused.

"You have a laser sword. A freaking laser sword. Why do you people keep coming up with this?! It's been done! It's been redone! In fact, it's been redone a million times! George Lucas beat you to the punch, and redid the punch a million times, why can't you accept it! It doesn't even make sense with Lucas! Are you trying to be realistic or edgy? I mean, imagine what would happen if I went into battle against a knight with a flashlight in my hand, because basically that's all it is! I'd get my back end handed to me! Am I going to blind him with it or something?!" I panted a little, my cigar now on the desk. Seeing it was now worthless, I ground it out. Ta'nom blinked, scowling.

"This is merely a Staff of Enlightenment! A symbol of thanks and friendship! I thought at least you were a civil human!"

"I'm an editor for fiction in New York City. I ain't what you call 'civil.’"

"To Flern with you and your planet! I will let someone else try to talk sense into you. I should never have looked in your 'phone book' to find you! I thought your being at the top meant you were wise!"

"Uh huh. Learn alphabetizing," I said with an eye roll.

The furry growled. "Very well, I shall leave. But, before I do, I shall give you a little sampling of what you proposed I do!"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," I replied, returning to work. I expected a door slam, but none came. I glanced up quickly to see if she was still there, and she was not. I shrugged to myself, and then reached into my desk for a cigar. After that discussion, I could use a fresh one. I turned my chair to face the dusk skyline of Manhattan, lighting a match to my Cuban. Just as I was taking my first puff, an odd sound greeted my ears from above. As I looked on in shock, a gigantic silver disk flew directly over my window, bearing south over the city. A beam suddenly lashed out, striking the pinnacle of the Empire State Building. The spire atop the skyscraper shuddered as the beam struck its base, a shower of sparks and wrenched steel thrown in the air. It canted slightly, then toppled slowly from the Empire State and fell onto Fifth Avenue. The craft then sped off over Long Island and disappeared. I blinked slightly as the chorus of car alarms and crunching metal from the toppling spire reached my ears. I calmly reached for my cell phone and dialed my lawyer, keeping my eye on the scene. I waited as the phone rang.

"Martin Fleece," a voice said politely.

"Hey, Marty, it's Steve. I gotta question for ya."

"Shoot."

"Can the city sue me if I convinced an alien to blow off the top of the Empire State Building?"

The phone was silent for a moment.

"What?"

"You heard me. Can the city sue me for that? Am I speaking Klingon? Am I gonna get hell for it or not?"

"Blow off the top of the... Steve, I think you need to get some new pens, the fumes are getting to you. I mean, I'm looking at it now and—what the hell happened."

I arched an eyebrow at the still smoldering skyscraper.

"Let's just say I met someone who can't take a critique very well."