"Think 'Office Space' with aliens... Sci-fi satire at its best. At once thought-provoking and laugh out loud funny..." – Frank G. Wilkinson, author "The Golden Age of Flying Saucers: Classic UFO Sightings, Saucer Crashes and Extraterrestrial Contact Encounters" [Excerpt] "We misjudged the Pimps. They did a great job on the Romans, all right, but then they kept right on going. They spread their Way like a cancer into every corner of your Earth, with their gambling, their prostitution, their addictive drugs... Then they started selling knockoff Rift technology to anyone willing to pay their price. The whole Metaverse came rushing in, influencing the Chameleons..." "Chameleons?" Mark echoed. He stood and moved to the bar. He needed another drink. "I'm sorry," Lori said from the sofa. "It's not very flattering, but that's what we call you. Because of the way you imitate whatever's around you without asking why... Or what or who. It's as though you have no style of your own. You borrow whatever's handy. Look at your own life. You almost destroyed yourself imitating contradictory species - Managers and..." "So I'm a true Chameleon?" he asked. Lori rubbed her eyes. She smiled. "Yes, Mark," she said. "You're pure. There are less than a million of you left in the whole world. You're an endangered species. That's why I'm here, why I was after you at WorldWide. We're collecting as many of you as we can convince to go with us. We're relocating you. To our Earth. You'd be happy there, Mark." Lori stood and began to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt. Then she knelt, resting a hand on Mark's knee. She smiled up at him. Mark felt all resistance crumbling... "But we're still bound by our Law, Mark. We can still take only those who throw off the yoke of servitude for themselves. You did that today when you walked out on Marsha Masters' offer. I'm very proud of you. You chose Love over Ambition. You're real Slacker material." "I'm a Chameleon," Mark said, his tone sharp. He looked away from her face and forced himself to listen for the inner alarm. It was still ringing, clanging frantically in the distance. It got louder as he focused on it, as he gathered his will. Lori stood and moved back to the big window. The sun had set. The streetlamp on the corner had come on; its soft pink glow filtered past her slender frame into the room. "Of course you are," she said gently, her back to him. "But in our world, you'll be a Slacker. You'll have only Slackers to imitate. That's what Chameleons do, Mark. They imitate. You shouldn't take it personally." [End Excerpt}