“Thank God you two are here,” Carson said with palpable relief. “I mean, I'm glad you're alive of course. But even more than that, your arrival astronomically increases my chances of having an intelligent conversation at last.”

“Can we talk?” Dave asked, indicating Brittany.

Carson muttered, “It's okay up to a point.” To Brittany he carefully enunciated, “Excuse us.”

He led Dave and Santana off to one side and whispered to them. The three of them returned to confront Brittany with beaming, over-bright smiles. Brittany felt uncomfortable and out of place.

“This is Ms. Brittany Pierce,” Carson said. “She's taking care of me.” The words came out tinged with an almost malicious sarcasm. Brittany blinked. “See?” he gestured toward the kitchen counter. “She managed to get her hands on a phone so I could let you know where I was.  And she brought me some natural food. She even cooked us all dinner.”

“Dinner,” Santana echoed, and trotted lithely into the kitchen to see, her heels clicking against the floor. “I am starving. I can't wait to gets my eats on. Mmm, peaches,” she said, immediately picking up a bowl and spoon. Smiling at Brittany she ate with brisk little animal bites. Her smile, different from Carson's, provided warmth and genuine interest. “I'm Santana Lopez, by the way. And the big hulking brooding mess over there is Dave Karofsky.”

Going after her – she felt attracted to her – Brittany said, “You're from Mars.”

“Yes, that place was a drag. We gave up and decided to give Earth another try.” Her brown eyes sparkled at Brittany. “This building sucks. It's exhausting to even think about wading through all that abandoned trash and junk on the roof every day. Nobody else lives here, do they? We didn't see any other lights.”

“I'm glad you left Mars,” Brittany said solemnly. “If you didn't, I wouldn't have met you.”

Santana smiled around the bite of peach in her mouth and swallowed slowly, eyes boring into Brittany's. It reminded Brittany of the way cheetahs look right before chasing down their prey. It made her shiver, but it stirred a pleasant feeling within her, too.

“You're sweet,” Santana said and Brittany beamed.

“Yes,” Carson said flatly. “Brittany is special isn't she?”

“She's sweet,” Santana growled, voice laced with a dark tone. “And if you don't have anything nice to say, you can just shut your pie hole before I ends you.”

Dave stepped between them. “Calm down. We need to stick together now. Especially now.” He fixed first Santana and then Carson with a grim expression. “They got Azimio.”

The joy Carson first exhibited when he saw his friends at once melted away. “Who else?”

“They got Cassandra July,” Dave said. “They got Brody and Roz and then just a little earlier today they got Rachel.” He delivered the news as if, perversely, it pleased him to be telling this. As if he derived pleasure from Carson's shock. “I didn't think they'd get Rachel. Remember I kept saying that during the trip?”

“Yeah,” Santana said softly. “You agreed with her that she'd be the big star. Getting to sing on Broadway and getting to live her life in the spotlight. You thought she'd be the safest of all of us.”

“But you were wrong,” said Carson coldly.  “So that leaves – ”

“The three of us,” Santana said with apprehensive urgency.

“That's why we're here.” Dave Karofsky's voice boomed out with new unexpected warmth. The worse the situation the more he seemed to enjoy it. Brittany could not fathom him in the slightest.

“Oh God,” Carson said, stricken. 

“They had this investigator, this bounty hunter,” Santana said, “named Shannon Beiste.” Her lips dripped venom at the name. “I hear she looked like a beast, too. It's hardly fair being forced into a fight with someone like that. And Azimio almost got her.”

“Almost got her,” Dave echoed, his smile now immense.

Brittany glanced around at the three companions. All of them, she thought. They're all so strange. As if a peculiar and malign abstractness pervaded their mental processes. She searched through her limited mental files to find a word to describe it, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

“So she's in the hospital, this Beiste,” Santana continued. “And evidently they gave his list to another bounty hunter, and Azimio almost got him, too. But it wound up with our boy dead. Then he went after Rachel. We know that because she managed to get hold of Cassandra and she sent out someone to capture the bounty hunter and take him to the Mission Street building. See, Rachel called us after Cassandra's agent picked up the bounty hunter. She was sure it would be okay. She was sure that Cassandra would kill him.” Santana ran a hand through her hair nervously and added, “But something went wrong on Mission. We don't really know what happened. Probably never will.”

Carson asked, “Does this bounty hunter have our names?”

“What do you think?” Santana practically spat at him. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Dave moved forward as if to step between them again, but Santana took a deep breath, dropped her tense shoulders and said softly, “Sorry, Carson. This whole thing just fills me with rage. He has our names, but I don't think he knows where we are. Dave and I aren't going back to the apartment we had downtown. We crammed as much stuff into the car as we could and figured we'd just move into this building now.”

“I guess that's a good idea,” Brittany said. “In horror movies the bad stuff always happens when the group splits up.” She looked toward the window for a moment pensively. “I don't think I've seen a horror movie where the group sticks together, but it has to be better than when they split up and get killed, right?”

“You're brilliant,” Santana says with a smile, reaching over to touch Brittany briefly on the nose. “And adorable, too. We should move in with you.”

“Move in with a chickenhead?” Carson said and his nostrils flared. “No way. I am not going to live with a chickenhead.”

“But you said before – if I could get you the phone – that you would…” Brittany stammered.

“I lied,” Carson said cruelly. “I was using you to get the phone so I could call my friends. But I never had any interest in moving in with you. And I certainly wasn't going to sleep with you.”

Santana's eyes widened, “A girl this hot offered to sleep with you and you said no? I thought Dave and I were the gays of the group.”

“I'm not gay,” said Carson forcefully. “She's – not my type.”

“Look at her,” Santana said, waving her hand up and down in front of Brittany's body. “She's everyone's type.” Brittany ducked her head and blushed, remaining silent.

“Unlike you and most of the other Neanderthals the world seems to be made up of, I'm actually attracted to a person's intelligence rather than to their body. So no, a chickenhead is not exactly my type.”

Santana scoffed, “I think you're foolish to be a snob at a time like this. Bounty hunters move fast. He may be over here before the night is over. There could even be a bonus for him if he gets it done by – ”

“Fuck, Santana, keep your voice down. And dammit, close the door,” Dave said, rushing to the front door of the apartment with long strides. He slammed it shut with one blow of his hand, then locked it. “I think we should all move in here for now. That way we can help each other. Stick together, like Brittany said. I've got some electronic components in my car, junk I ripped off the ship. I can use it to rig up an alarm system that that will warn us if anyone comes to the building. What do you think, Carson?”

Carson rubbed his jaw with one hand and sighed. Training his eyes on the ceiling he said, “It's obvious that the false identities didn't work out, even Cassandra's. Of course, Cassandra put her head in the noose like a total idiot by bringing the bounty hunter to the Mission Street building. That was a mistake. And Azimio, instead of staying as far away as possible from the hunter chose to approach him, probably thinking he's so smart or at least so big that he would be able to take the bounty hunter out. We won't do any of that. We'll stay put.”

“I agree,” said Santana. “I think,” she sucked in her breath noisily, holding the attention of everyone else in the room, including Brittany. “I think that there's a reason why the three of us are still alive. I think if he had any clue as to where we are he'd have shown up here by now. The whole idea in bounty hunting is to work as fast as hell. That's where the profit comes.”

“Not to mention that's where the ‘staying alive' part of it comes, too,” Carson said dryly.

“And if he waits,” Santana continued, ignoring Carson, “we slip away, like we've done before. It must be that he has our names but no location. Poor Rachel, stuck in the Gold Coast Theater, right out in the open. No difficulty finding her.”

“Well,” Dave said stiltedly, “she wanted it that way. She believed she'd be safer as a public figure.”

“I told her otherwise,” Santana said. “I don't think she really believed she'd be safer. But she'd risk anything to be a star.”

“Yeah,” Carson agreed. “I told her that, too, but she didn't listen. I also told Azimio not to try to pass himself off as a W.P.O. man. And I told Cassandra that one of her own bounty hunters would get her, which is quite possibly exactly what happened.” 

“I think,” Brittany interrupted, “you are right to stay here.” Her voice broke with hope and tension. “I think it would be terrific, Santana – and all of you – if you l-l-lived with me. I'll stay home a couple of days from my job. I have a vacation coming. I'll stay home to make sure you're okay.” And maybe I can visit Artie again. He was very inventive. He could probably design a weapon. Something imaginative, that would slay bounty hunters…whatever they were. She had an indistinct impression, glimpsed darkly, of something merciless that carried a printed list and a gun, that moved machine-like through the flat, bureaucratic job of killing. A thing without emotions, or even a face. A think that if killed got replaced immediately by another resembling it. And so on, until everyone real and alive had been shot.

Incredible, she thought, that the police can't do anything. I can't believe that. These people must have done something. Perhaps they emigrated back to Earth illegally. We're told – the TV tells us – to report any landing of a ship outside the approved pads. The police must be watching for this. But even so, no one got killed deliberately any more. It ran contrary to Mercerism.

“The chickenhead,” Carson said to Santana, “likes you.” His words startled Brittany out of her reverie and she realized she had been staring at Santana for all of that time. She looked away, embarrassed.

“Don't you dare call her that, Carson,” Santana said. She gave Brittany a look of compassion and of interest. “Think of what she could call you.”

Carson said nothing. His expression became enigmatic.

“I'll go start rigging up the alarm,” Dave said. He started toward the door, striding with amazing speed for a man so heavy. In a blur he disappeared out the door, which banged back as he flung it open. Brittany then, had a momentary, strange hallucination. She saw briefly a frame of metal, a platform of pullies and circuits and batteries and turrets and gears – and then the solid shape of Dave Karofsky faded back into view. Brittany felt a giggle rise up inside her. She nervously choked it off. And felt bewildered.

Santana turned to Brittany and said, “I want you to know that we appreciate your help, Brittany. You're the first friend I think any of us have found here on Earth.” She glided over and patted her on the arm, the pats slowly changing to gentle rubbing. 

“Do you have any pre-colonial fiction I could read?” she asked Santana.

“Any what?” Santana glanced inquiringly at Carson.

“Those old magazines,” Carson said. “No, Brittany. We didn't bring any back with us, for reasons I already explained.” 

“I'll g-g-go to a library tomorrow,” Brittany said, pulling out plates and dishing up the dinner she had prepared. “And get us some to read, so we'll have something to do besides just waiting.” She set the full plates around the table and gestured to her guests to sit as she grabbed forks and napkins for them.

“This is good,” Carson said, his detached and remote tone not at all matching his words.

“What's the matter?” Brittany asked, sitting at the table and picking up her fork.

“Nothing,” he said morosely.

“I know you're worried – ” she began.

“It's a dream,” Carson said. “Induced by drugs that Dave gave me.” He exchanged a significant look with Santana across the table.

“P-pardon?” said Brittany.

“Do you really think that bounty hunters exist?” Santana asked.

“But you two and Dave said that they killed your friends.”

“Dave Karofsky is just as crazy as we are,” Carson said, gesturing toward himself and Santana. “Our trip was between a mental hospital on the East Coast and here. We're all schizophrenic, with defective emotional lives – flattening of affect, it's called.”

“We have group hallucinations,” Santana added.

Brittany looked from one to the other and said, full of relief, “I didn't think it was true.”

“Why didn't you?” Carson swiveled to stare at her intensely. His scrutiny was so thorough that she felt herself flushing.

“B-because things like that don't happen. The g-government never kills anyone, for any crime. And Mercerism – ”

“But you see,” Carson said, “if you're not human, then it's all different.” Santana sucked in a sharp breath and glared at Carson.

Brittany didn't understand Santana's sudden ire. She said, “That's not true. Even animals – even eels and gophers and snakes and spiders – are sacred.”

Carson, still regarding her fixedly, said, “So it can't be, can it? As you say, even animals are protected by law. All life. Everything organic that wriggles or squirms or burrows or flies or swarms or lays eggs or – ” He broke off, because Dave Karofsky had appeared, abruptly throwing the door of the apartment open and entering; a trail of wire rustling after him.

“Insects,” he said, showing no embarrassment at overhearing them, “are especially sacrosanct.” He gathered up the trailing wire, which led to a complex assembly. Smiling his discordant smile, he showed the assembly to Carson, Santana and Brittany. “This is the alarm. These wires go under the carpet; they're antennae. It picks up the presence of a – ” He hesitated. “A mentational entity,” he said obscurely, “which isn't one of us four.”

“So it rings,” Carson said, “and then what? He'll have a gun. We can't fall on him and bite him to death.”

“This assembly,” Dave continued, “has a Penfield unit built into it. When the alarm has been triggered it radiates a mood of panic to the – intruder. Unless he acts very fast, which he may. Enormous panic. I have the dial turned all the way up. No human being can remain in the vicinity more than a matter of seconds. That's the nature of panic. It leads to random circus-motions, purposeless flight, and muscle and neural spasms.” He concluded, “Which will give us an opportunity to get him. Possibly. Depending on how good he is.”

Brittany looks from face to face, wondering if she would sound stupid to ask what seems like such an obvious question. Finally, she said, “Won't the alarm affect us?”

“That's right,” Santana said to Dave. “It'll affect Brittany. I don't like the idea of her running around in a panic and possibly getting hurt. She's just trying to help us.”

“It's fine,” Dave said dismissively and resumed the task of installation. “So they both go racing out of here panic-stricken. It won't do any permanent damage to her. And the bounty hunter won't kill her; she's not on their list. But it'll give us time to react.”

“You can't do any better than that?” Santana asked.

“No,” Dave answered. “I can't. But we should all figure out what our next move should be. How we can work together to incapacitate him.”

“I can get us a weapon tomorrow,” Brittany said. “From the guy who gave me the phone. I think – I'm pretty sure he had weapons, too.”

“Are you sure that Brittany's presence here won't set off the alarm?” Carson said. “After all, she may be a chicken head, but she's still, you know.”

“I've compensated for his cephalic emanations,” Dave explained. “Their sum won't trip anything. It'll take an additional human. Person.” Scowling, he glanced at Brittany, aware of what he had said.

“You're androids,” Brittany said.

“Congratulations,” said Carson dryly. “You got in on what – the fifth clue.”

“Shut up, Carson,” hissed Santana.

Brittany didn't care that they were androids. It made no difference to her. “I see why they want to kill you,” she said. “Actually, you're not really alive.” Everything made sense to her, now. The bounty hunter, the killing of their friends, the trip to Earth, all these precautions – even what Puck was saying at work earlier today.

“When I used the word ‘human',” Dave said to Carson, “I really fucked up.”

“It's okay, Dave,” Brittany said. “It really doesn't matter to me. I mean, I'm a special. They don't treat me very well either. Like for instance, I can't emigrate.” She found herself babbling. “You can't come here; I can't – ” She calmed herself.

“I wondered how long it would be,” Santana said to Brittany, putting an arm around her and pulling her close, “before you realized. We are different, aren't we?”

“That's what probably tripped up Cassandra and Azimio,” Dave said. “They were so goddamn sure they could pass. Rachel, too.”

“You're intellectual,” Brittany said. She felt excited again at having understood. Excitement and pride. “You think abstractly, and you don't – ” She gesticulated, her words tangling up with one another. As usual. “I wish I had an IQ like you have; then I could pass the test, I wouldn't be a chickenhead. I think you're all so very smart, so very much better than humans in so many ways. I could learn a lot from you.”

Santana smiled and pulled Brittany closer.

After an interval Dave said, “I'll finish wiring up the alarm.”

“She doesn't understand yet,” Carson said in a sharp, brittle voice, “how we got off Mars. What we did to get here.”

“You mean what we couldn't help doing,” Dave grunted.

Santana said, “We don't have to worry about Brittany.” She looked into Brittany's face and smiled. “They don't treat her very well either, as she said. And she's not interested in what we did on Mars, are you Brittany?” Brittany shook her head no. “See. She knows us and likes us and an emotional acceptance like that – it's everything to her. It's hard for us to grasp that, but it's true.” To Brittany she said, “You could get a lot of money by turning us in. Do you realize that?”

In horror, Brittany gasped, “But they would kill you!”

Twisting, Santana said to Carson, “See, we can trust her.”

“If she was an android,” Carson said, “she'd turn us in about ten tomorrow morning. She'd take off for her job and that would be it.”

“But Brittany wouldn't do that,” Santana insisted. Turning to Brittany, she took her hands in her own and stared deeply into her eyes. “You're a credit to your race. You're amazing.”

“I'm overwhelmed with admiration,” Carson said flatly. “And we imagined this would be a friendless world, a planet of hostile faces, all turned against us.” He barked out a laugh.

“I'm not at all worried,” Santana said.

“You ought to be scared shitless,” Dave said.

“Let's vote,” Carson said. “Like we did on the ship, when we couldn't agree on something.”

“Obviously, I think we should stay here with Brittany. I doubt we'll find any other human being who would help us. Brittany is – ”

“Special,” Carson said nastily, as if the very word were fouling his mouth.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Santana shouted fiercely, spinning toward him with fists raised. “I will end you!”

“Quit it!” Dave yelled. In the silence, he said, “I vote we kill Brittany and hide somewhere else.”

“Well I say we stay here,” Santana said, stepping in front of Brittany protectively. “She's one of us, now.” She turned looked at Carson with pleading eyes.

“Okay, fine,” Carson said, annoyed. “Just stop staring at me like that. I vote we make our stand here.”

“You're just caving to Santana, and she's obviously smitten with some ridiculous crush – ” Dave said.

“No,” Carson cut him off firmly. “I'm just being rational. I think Brittany's value to us outweighs the danger of her knowing about us. Obviously we can't live among humans without being discovered. That's what killed Azimio, Cassandra, Roz, Brody, and Rachel. That's what killed all of them.”

“Maybe they did the same thing we're doing,” Dave said. “Trusted a human being they thought was different. Special, as you said.”

“Oh please,” Santana said. “Can you really imagine Rachel Berry confiding in and trusting anyone. Or Cassandra or Roz, for that matter? No, that's ridiculous. They got themselves killed because they – ” She gestured. “Walked around. Sang from a stage. We trust – I'll tell you what we trust that screws us over, Dave. It's our goddamn superior intelligence!” She glared at Dave, her chest rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths. “We're so smart, aren't we Dave? Carson? Especially you, Dave. You're doing it right now!”

Carson said reluctantly, “I almost can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually agree with Santana.”

“So we hang our lives on a substandard, blighted – ” Dave began, then gave up. “I'm tired,” he said simply. “It's been a long trip.”

“I hope,” Brittany said happily, “I can help make your stay here on Earth pleasant.” She felt sure she could. It seemed to her a cinch, the culmination of her whole life – and of the new authority which she had manifested on the phone that day at work.