Patchouli and pot compete with the sharp tang of sweat as Sylvie helps set up the tent.
“Hope the stakes hold in this damned sand.” Will mops his forehead with a ratty bandana.
Amy passes around barely cold beers. “Area 51, baby! Bring on the extraterrestrial beings.” She stretches out on the scrub grass and points binoculars at the sky.
Will flops next to Amy. “E.T. phone home.”
Sylvie makes sure to laugh before she activates her implant and ‘phones home.’ Her eyes move rapidly behind sunglasses as she logs her latest report on humans and their search for alien life.