Daniel C
Mark Zuckerberg had known better moments in his life. Being tied with seaweed inside a moisty cellar several miles below sea level could hardly be called a particular acme, especially in the light of his recent status as Governor of Planet 363c, as the extraterrestrials called earth. The most annoying thing was that he couln't even remember what had happened: he'd been at the verge of finishing off his duty when something had hit his head with incredible force, followed by a lengthy period of blackness that had finally dissolved in this uninviting chamber. Also, his orb was gone.
The dungeon was rather spacious, but that was all that could be said about it. Except for the granite bench that he was both sitting on and tied to, there was no furniture to be seen. The only light came seeping in through the corroded bars, and it could hardly be called light, but rather some kind of syrupy liquid that, not very succesfully, attempted to pass as light. He couldn't even see what was in the dark alcoves that spread on both side, though presumably there was nothing at all. And then there was the seaweed bending his arms into an unnatural position. Mark had never known there was seaweed so strong you couldn't break it. He figured it might be stronger than the bars, that seemed like a single blast could break them like match sticks. Maybe that was why he was tied in the first place.
Suddenly a controlled rumble arose, the light grew brighter and less viscose, and before he knew a woman stood on the other side of the bars. Her appearance instantly made the memory of his three hundred and thirty two girlfriends fade into mere insignificance. Using his telepacy, the only instrument that was left to him -apparently the orbs were still obeying him- he noticed, with something that, in different circumstances, could have been a shock, that the lady was just like the extraterrestrial, and like himself, that her thoughts, as well, were not limited to the borders of her own cognition.
"Good morning Mark. My name is HRM Azalia VII, daughter of Neptune XLIV, son of Tristan XVII, descendant of the great Neptune I; by the grace of the gods, Atlantis, and all living creatures below sea level; countes of Crete; duchess of Santorini; defender of wealth, prosperity and all maritime matters; et cetera, et cetera."
He later couldn't remember wether she actually spoke the words or just sent them to him directly from her mind; it didn't really matter anyway.
"Good morning. My name is Mark Zuckerberg and I demand to be released immediately. You have no right to detain an American citizen."
Mark himself was impressed by his articulate reaction, and, when he felt the amazement take possession of her body, he also felt a great stroke of satisfaction. Even a luminous fairytale queen wouldn't be able to abase him, Mark Zuckerberg, Governor of Planet 363c.
"You committed -or were on the verge of committing- a crime on our territory. We have the right to detain you."
"I never did anything illegal. And anyway, there is no reason to keep me in these degrading circumstances. If you'll ever release me I'll utter a former complaint at the UN and..."
"Listen, Mark. We both know why you're here. Let's no longer turn around the point. We cannot let you go as long as you are intending to hand down our planet's faith to the wims of a capricious alien species."
The incorruptable equilibrium on her face started to get on Mark's nerves. "Of course, that's what I've been doing. Surrendering to some evil alien planet. Do you know how hard I've been working, all these years, to preserve the very balance of this planet? When I came into office all those years ago this place was a total mess. There were wars, and crises, and terrorist attacks. It was a mess. The only thing the extraterrestrials asked from me was to restore peace and tranquility here. They wanted nothing in return. Okay, I'll grant things aren't ideal yet. The financial crisis was hard to foresee. But I did my best, and gradually, things are improving. So who are you to claim what I did was wrong?"
"I don't only claim so, Mark. I know. I know because we've been in the same position. For millennia we carried out the extraterrestrials' orders. We brought balance to this place - just like you. But when we were finally done - when the world was at the verge of reaching absolute tranquility - they showed off their real intentions. Mark, it is not too late to see your errancy. You couldn't know in the first place, so I won't hold anything against you. But you must choose now. If you decide to join us, you can be of invaluable importance. You may even signify the difference between slavery or independence for the billions of inhabitants of this planet."
At that moment, Mark might have cracked - he might have fallen for her symmetrical face and crystal voice, were it not for two reasons. The first one was the recollection of the extraterrestrial, the ease and impeccable gentleness with which he had always discoursed. The thought that such a being would have any sinister schemes was simply absurd. The second reason was a sudden cramp cannoning through his back, in between his arms that were twisted by the steel seewead strings. No enlightened being would keep him, Mark Zuckerberg, in such conditions, however esthetically perfect her face might be.
"I can feel that you will not join us then, Mark. So be it. We cannot release you. I'll send someone down to bring you some food - and to discharge your arms a bit."
A silence followed while Mark waited for her to go away while she didn't go away. As the second clustered together in minutes, he felt a peculiar voltage rise in between him and the lady, through the bars, through the opaque light rays.
"Or maybe I'll fix that last thing myself."
She put out a silvergreen key from somewhere beneath her garment. The door creaked open with a sound that hung in the air for more then seven seconds. When she finally resurrected her face, Mark could see it. Feel it. She had been living alone without any youthful male company for thousands of years.
"Let me ease those skeins for you. They're cutting into your skin."
Mark had read the Odyssey. Circe. Calypso. He had to be cold-blooded. The potent vegetable fell of his wrists. In a second, he elevated them, turned around, had her pinned against the wall.
"What are you doing? I wanted to..."
"I've just discovered the only way to outmanoeuvre a telepathic being. Thank you for the insight. I cannot stay to finish the deed, unfortunately."
"You're a..."
"I've got better things to do than stay in this subaquatic township serving as the object of a queen's bottled up passions. Why not try a gigolo? They're very cheap these days."
And with the vigour of his 28 years, Mark headed through the exit, slammed the grille, and turned back the key that was still sticking out. Leaving the queen in a well-deserved bewilderment, he mounted the mossy stairs, while in his head an orchestra was playing the Captain Jack Sparrow theme. Freedom. It had never tasted this way before.
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