ATTACK OF THE CLONES

By Canadibrit

Artie was speeding. It wasn't something he often did, nor was he particularly good at it, but all the same, he was barreling along a street that couldn't have been more residential if it tried at something like sixty miles per hour, muttering under his breath. The few times he got enough volume to be coherent, he could have been heard to say, "Oakwood. Freakin' *Oakwood*!"

It was a bit of a long drive, and the one-day-only offer was a murderous one for the drivers -- deliver your pizza in thirty minutes or you eat free for a year. Needless to say, the driver who brought that loss on Pizza King would be ousted from their job on the toe of the Royal Wingtip. And yet the Lawndale-based pizza place had taken an order from an address in neighboring -- but not very closely neighboring -- Oakwood, and had given the unenviable task to Artie. They were *trying* to get him fired, he began to realize. It was a conspiracy! "A conspiracy, I tell you! Like the aliens," he muttered under his breath.

Actually ... if he could make this delivery on time, ensure a good reference, maybe he should check Oakwood out. After all, the drive from his mother's house in Lawndale to an Oakwood pizza delivery place would be an easy one to make, if he started early enough. And he would be well away from the alien love-goddesses. They'd already stolen his skin and he shuddered to think what *else* they might remove from him if he stayed in town much longer. Particularly when he considered that the new skin must have a tracking device in it somewhere.

Now, where was that stupid house? Scanning his map, he found Pendlehurst Drive, a little cul-de-sac a few turns off the main road. All he'd have to do is turn off onto Tate for a few blocks and he'd be there, with about a minute and a half to spare.

5 Pendlehurst Drive was a mid-sized house with an oversized driveway and more than its fair share of front yard. Artie collected two pizza boxes from the back of his car and frowned with disgust. Whatever the customer was putting on these, it stunk to high heaven. He'd been at this job for years and seen some fairly strange tastes, but he'd *never* encountered a stench like this. What human being...?

His blood ran cold. Indeed, what *human being* would want to eat something that smelled like that?

Not his problem. He would just drop off the pizzas, collect the cash, and be gone before any ... *thing* could get hold of him again. If he didn't end up as alien fodder, he couldn't afford to get fired. He jogged up the walk and rang the doorbell. Thirty seconds to spare! Now that was some decent work.

The door opened. A fairly tall red-haired woman stood there, looking down at him with an utterly blank expression that Artie thought he recognized. "Can I help you?"

"Pizza, ma'am."

"Oh. I don't think I ordered any pizza..."_She seems lobotomized!_ Artie finally had it. _She looks just like those people from "When Brain-Suckers from Alpha Centauri Attack"!_ The woman, finally having retraced the tracks of her train of thought, said, "That might have been the kids. Just wait there a minute."

_Leave the pizza,_ shrieked Artie's good sense. _Forget the money, forget the job -- do you want to end up like *her*?_ But he was too frightened to move, so he did what the woman asked and waited. Was mind control at work here?

"Andrew dear? Did you order a pizza?"

"Yeah, Mom!"

"And what do you know about that?" Artie went pale -- he *knew* that voice. "We're in the dough ... so to speak."

Two figures entered the front hall of 5 Pendlehurst Drive. One was a short red-haired kid in blue and black. The other...

Artie's mind finally snapped.

"ALIEN LOVE GODDESSES ARE *EVERYWHERE*! RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Dropping the pizzas, he ran for the delivery van, jumped in, and roared off. "Clones!" he raved. "Alien Love Goddesses are *clones*! They'll overrun! The media must be notified!"

Meanwhile, AP looked at Lynn. Her face was usually a closed book, but surprise had made her a little more accessible. She turned and looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. "I expected a bad reaction to his being late and probably losing his sorry excuse for a job, but this is ridiculous."

END