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looked positively cyanotic. Damn near purple, in fact.
    Fuck ‘em, she thought, tugging plain white panties up legs that were too long to be so chubby and stepping into a pair of wool socks. She’d just have to be careful not to close her eyes or someone might call a code on her.
    It occurred to her that the pain had finally left her legs sometime during the night.
    Too bad it had ridden a bullet straight to her brain. God, if it wasn’t one damn thing it was another. She sighed at the injustice of it all as she scrambled into ultra-thin long underwear and a set of scrubs. Once all her jewelry was in place—there was a limit to how much personal armor a girl could stand to leave off—she plopped large horn-rimmed glasses onto her nose. Contacts were out of the question, with her eyes already killing her.
    “Hmm.” Changing her mind, Monica slid the glasses off and tucked them into her breast pocket, then pulled open the top drawer of the highboy and rooted through her 20
    Alien Overnight
    underwear until she found the rigid plastic case containing her prescription sunglasses.
    She hadn’t worn them in months because there was nowhere to go and no way to get there, out here in middle of the great frozen north. Blowing a few specks off the lenses, she slid them on. Ah, much better. Now she could approach the window without breaking into a cold sweat from the pain.
    She stepped to the bedside table and frowned to see the alarm on her clock turned off. Man, she must have been totally zonked to do that and not remember it. Then again, it had been a hard night, filled with bizarre dreams.
    Erotic dreams.
    Monica sank to her knees beside the bed with the intention of reaching underneath for her clogs, but… wow . She’d finally had her first erotic dream, and man, had it ever been a doozy. Heat trickled down her belly even as she sucked in a tremulous breath of dismay. Oh shit — please tell me you didn ’ t dream about him! She had to work with the commander every day now, since her sudden transfer three weeks ago.
    Maybe it had been Lieutenant Shauss. Yeah, that was it. That guy was everywhere she went these days, and he always seemed to be watching her, so whose fault was it if she was getting strange ideas?
    Not hers, that was for damn sure.
    Furious knocking made her jump.
    “Hey, Gothchild! You in there?”
    Shelley’s voice was reassuring in its teasing concern. Sliding into her clogs, Monica shook off the feeling of impending disaster and grabbed her keys before throwing open the door.
    “I decided to give bankers’ hours a whirl,” she joked with a sheepish smile as she stepped into the hall and headed for the evaluation clinic. After a couple of steps, she trod harder, trying to shove her feet further into the clogs. God, why did it seem like her heels were hanging off the open backs? Maybe these new socks were too thick—she’d have to change them at lunch. Assuming she got lunch. God, she’d better get lunch.
    After missing breakfast, it felt like her navel was kissing her spine.
    “Even bankers go to work earlier than this,” Shelley scoffed. “By the way, that’s a charming shade of lavender you’re wearing today.”
    “Bite me.” They’d spent enough free time together that Shelley had seen her sans camouflage before, but apparently not often enough for her to resist commenting on it.
    “And nice glasses. You tie one on last night or what?”
    “Or what.” At Shelley’s look, she added, “I’ll tell you about it at lunch, okay?”
    “Fine, but you owe me. Your boss came into the clinic looking for you and stood about this,” she held her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, “close to me, thank you very much.” Shelley shuddered. “I don’t know how you stand spending so much time around them, and I sure as hell don’t get why you’d want to spend the next ten years living among them.”
    21
    Robin L. Rotham
    “Pansy,” Monica dissed with a grin.
    “You bet your ass, and