@swapnessdorguns1972
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Registered: 10 months, 2 weeks ago
She knew from her father’s dinnertime conversations that the fleet would be monitoring the transmissions from the planet as they approached. That, however, could be millions of messages and transmissions. Whatever message Sta-ie-che sent had alttuber.com to be something that would stand out amidst the electronic clutter of the planet. The deejay, standing next to her, startled at her outburst, said, “Man! You are really in character. What are you supposed to be?” Sta-ie-che replied, “I am a pleasure dancer from the planet Turillia. Our contact ship crashed and I am the only survivor. If I don’t get a message to General Wi-cho before the fleet arrives, they will destroy this planet. We were hit by meteorites, but our emergency beacon thought we were shot down and sent a message saying that we were attacked.” The young man started laughing. “So what do pleasure dancers dance to?” he asked, pointing down at his control board. Let me watch some of the other dancers,” she replied. “I have to think. It has to be just the right tune. The existence of this planet depends upon me winning this contest.”
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