[ WP ] The reason she never called you back was because she was abducted by an alien civilization . She adapted , grew , and lead a rebellion to overthrow the tyrant that ruled there . Today she just texted that she wants to go out again .

She looked good. No, she looked *damned* good. Her texts had been the ramblings of a lunatic, and I'd agreed to the dinner out of the sort of morbid curiosity that makes people gawk at car wrecks. It's not every day that you get a message from a woman you have n't given a second thought for over a decade. I was intrigued. When that message was an incongrous, articulately written babble about alien abduction, intergalactic war, and slave revolts, I was fascinated. 
 
 Whatever had happened to Renee, I was worried for her, and, if I am entirely honest with myself, I had to see the carnage for myself. I do n't know quite what I had been expecting. Perhaps a frizz wild hair, thick glasses, acne and aluminum foil. Perhaps the haggard eyes and almost hidden bruises of an abused woman, making an escape from more mundane evil in both body and mind. Perhaps she needed help, and did not know who to reach out for. I did n't know, and I suddenly needed to. 
 
 We agreed to meet at an upscale restaurant for dinner, the sort that requires a suit jacket. An odd choice that sent the first ignored trill of unease down my spine. Probably no aluminum foil, then. No financial worries, either. Then why the preposterous stories? 
 
 She had arrived before me, and had already been seated. When the waiter lead me to the dimly lit and inviting back reaches of the restaurant, I saw her waiting with a bottle of champagne already chilling beside the table set for two. She was tapping absently at her phone, but looked up when I entered. Jesus god, she was gorgeous. Renee had been lovely, when we were 20 year old juniors in undergrad, flirting during lab. She'd had a curvy body caught between gawky and athletic, no-nonsense fashion taste, and a smile that lit up the room. She'd worn her blonde hair long then, as now, but always up in a simple ponytail or bun except on special occasions. It was down now, a cascade of shining white-golden waves that would make Vidal Sassoon murder her for her secrets, and I felt a strange, primal urge to touch it, just once, shiver over me. Her curves had filled out, and the length of bone that had been gangly had given her an almost supernatural elegance any movie star could only dream of. The dress she had chosen, a gunmetal grey, sleeveless number that had to cost more than some cars, was made of some material that gave off a soft glisten in the dim light. It reminded me of the shine of water on a black river rock, or the back of a whale just beneath the ocean surface. It accented her every feature. Her skin shone with the sort of radiance that only truly happy and healthy people, or photoshop masters, can attain. She worr makeup, a heavy but tasteful smoky eye that made the pale blue of her eyes, so pale they almost seemed lavender in some light, as striking as the band of thumb sized diamonds draped around her neck. The part of my mind responsible for things like recalling my own name was busy trying to recall if I had ever seen her wear makeup or jewelry before. When she smiled, her smile still lit up the room. 
 
 `` Sheridan!'' She exclaimed warmly, rising from her seat as the waiter pulled out my chair. 
 
 `` Renee, you look... amazing.'' I returned her smile, trying to mask my shock. She laughed, a rich, honest chuckle. 
 
 `` You too!'' She lied. Ten years and a dissertation had been unkind to my physique, and my hairline. She reached out an arm, and we shared a brief, friendly hug. It was n't until I pulled away that I noticed the two rhino-sized men that had materialized out of the shadows, their faces set in grim anger, and their hands brushing back their coats in the universal gesture of `` I am about to shoot you with the gun I am carrying concealed ``. I stumbled back a step, and made an incoherent squawking noise. 
 
 `` *E Ji! *'' Renee barked, her voice sharp and imperious. Lunk and Thunk the Bruiser Brothers stopped moving towards me, but they did n't take their hands out from under their coats. Their small dark eyes watched me with steady distrust as Renee snapped out a curt order in a language I did n't recognize. The second of the ignored trills of unease rippled down my arms. I speak nine languages. I might not be able to catch every word in Farsi or Pashti but I know the sound and the feel of the tongues. This was a language I did n't recognize. At all. 
 
 `` I'm so sorry, Dan.'' Renee said, and actually blushed. Her left hand fluttered at her side, stilling itself in the middle of the rote, nervous smoothing of her skirt. Some things do n't change. She shot a half angry glare over her shoulder as Lunk and Thunk retreated to stand quietly by the back door. No wonder I had failed to notice them. They stood so still they almost did n't seem to breathe. Renee flapped her hands at the table, a helpless, hapless gesture that was all the undergrad I'd known. `` I got champagne? Come on, sit. Let's order.'' I was still staring at her goons. Renee had goons. How did Renee have goons? 
 
 `` Why do you have goons?'' A complete idiot asked, using my voice. Renee blinked, and looked up at me with an expression of utter chagrin. 
 
 `` I- they... They're my bodyguards. It's... oh, god, it's a lot harder in person than over text.'' She smacked herself in the forehead with her palm. The inch-wide diamond bracelet on that hand slid to her elbow. `` This is n't working like I planned. Just -- ugh, just sit down, and I'll explain.'' I think I must have still been staring, because she went on, with a little more force `` They wo n't hurt you. Sit down.'' 
 
 I sat down and stared at the long, skinny breadstick things, displayed on the table like a sad but tasty bouquet. They seemed the safest thing to stare at. I plucked one from it's vase/cup/thing, and nibbled on the tip in the long, uncomfortable silence. 
 
 `` So... I'm sorry I never called.'' Renee said, in the soft, worried tones of someone seeking forgiveness they are unsure they will receive. I jerked my head up to meet her eyes. 
 
 `` No! No, you do n't have to apologize! I was an ass, joking about your internship with professor Burke like that. I understand why you would n't want to see me ah-'' 
 
 `` No! I did! I wanted to call, I just-'' Renee interrupted, and then trailed off. She looked down, studying her bread plate. `` I suppose, from my message, you think I was lying, or crazy or something? Tinfoil hats and a house full of cat pee?'' She huffed a sad little laugh and then met my curious gaze. 
 
 `` Pretty much, yeah.'' I admitted. `` You seem... good, though?'' It was n't quite a question. 
 
 `` I am.'' She grinned, and the light in her eyes was fierce, for a moment. Her lovely features seemed to harden, bolstered by pride, by private knowledge. `` It's been a long road, and we are n't done yet, but yeah, yeah I'm good.'' 
 
 `` So why the story?'' I asked, snapping the breadstick between my teeth. I watched her eyes, watched the sparkle of a secret dance there. She leaned across the table. 
 
 `` Because it's true.'' She clearly believed it was true. Would I? 
 
 `` Hello, and welcome to Jean Toulude, sir. The soup this evening-'' our waiter interrupted, with all the timing of my own attempts at dance. `` A creamed carrot with Harissa and a Belgian cheddar croute.'' Two additional waiters placed wide bowls of steaming, amber broth in front of both Renee and I, but I could not tear my gaze from her. What was her game. Her expression was not quite smug, not quite playful. 
 
 Sherlock. She had the face of Sherlock Holmes, just before he explained the mystery to a baffled Lastrade. I was fairly certain of my role, now. The waiters left. She took a small spoonful of her soup. I waited. She set her soup spoon down with a delicate chime of porcelain. 
 
 `` I am here, Sheridan, not as Renee Kurzwalter, undergrad, American, nobody. I'm here in my official capacity, to recruit you for a job.'' 
 
 `` Your official capacity?'' 
 
 `` As the Battle Commander of the Sixth Fleet, Regent Protector of Sol Unaffiliated, and Hand of the Empress, Renee din Arweghnfarr al Jin'hadagh Kurzwalter.'' I blinked. 
 
 `` That's a mouthful.'' 
 
 `` You have no idea.'' She groaned, and raked her fingers through her hair. Something rational in my popped, and ran giggling off to the far corners of my mind at the sheer absurdity of this conversation. 
 
 `` So, should I be calling you...?'' I trailed off. She took a sip of soup and flicked a careless hand, the gesture making her diamonds sparkle. 
 
 `` Renee, please. Earth is not part of the Protectorate, so, please... just Renee.'' 
 
 `` Okie dokie then.'' I laughed. `` So, a job, eh? What does the, eh... Emperor?'' 
 
 `` Empress.'' 
 
 `` Right. What does she need with a Neurophysicist?'' I asked, and took a few casual sips of my own soup. It was quite good. Renee nodded, swallowing soup, and spoke a few more words in that chillingly alien tongue, and gestured to Lunk. She watched my expression, Sherlock's magician's sensibility glittering in her own eyes. And now the big reveal. Lunk stepped forward, and *kneeled* to Renee, so deeply that his ham of a head was almost in her lap. Renee reached out to the back of his head, like a woman petting a particularly big, ugly dog. Then she did something strange. Her thumb brushed along the crease where his ear and skull joined, and there was a small mechanical click. 
 
 Slowly, she drew her hand back from her goon's skull, and in her fingers was a... thing.
