I took a sip of lukewarm vending machine coffee and looked across the table. Doug, a sentient gas who worked as an Agent of Slatt, sat opposite us, cleverly disguised as a sweaty middle-aged man.

"What now?" Doug looked uncomfortable and annoyed.

"I was just thinking about something," I said. “You’re a gas-based life form, right?”

Doug shifted in his seat. He tilted his head and liquid dribbled down his forehead, forming droplets under his fat chin.

"So if you're actually made of gas," I continued. "What’s stopping you from sticking your finger up your nose right now? In your… natural form, you could just float under a doorway, or into an air vent –"

“Hey, that’s right...” I saw a light bulb go off inside Henry's scotch-soaked brain. “Those handcuffs are a joke! You’re ‘argon!’ You can’t be captured, you’re made out of air, for fuck’s sake.”

Doug stayed silent.

"It seems to me that you could have easily drifted your way out of here hours ago," I said.

"No," Doug said, and his lip started to tremble. "I – I couldn't. You're wrong. I will remain silent. I will go to Earth prison for my crimes."

“Oh, leave him alone, Marsh. It doesn’t really matter anymore,” Henry said. “Doug, you’ll be pleased to learn that anise seed isn’t illegal in Los Angeles. In fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't illegal anywhere on the planet."

Doug's eyes opened wide, so wide that a small bit of purple gas seeped out from under his eyelid. "It – it isn't?" he sputtered.

"Doug, you’re not going to prison," I said. "You’ll be free in a few minutes.”

“But-” he started.

“No need to thank us,” Henry clasped a hand onto Doug’s sweaty shoulder; the look that appeared on Henry's face told me that he instantly regretted the gesture.

“You are very welcome, Mr. Dobbins," I headed for the door as Henry wiped his hand on the pants of his track suit. "We'll wait for you out front. It shouldn't take too long."

Doug opened his mouth to say something, but instead of words the noise that came out was a hissing sound, like pressurized gas escaping from a bottle of soda.

Stolen story; please report.

"There's an energy portal in a bar called the Blarney Stone. It's just a few blocks from here. We can drive you," I said. "We'll hop into that and get you back to Council Territory. I know Commander Boarvex is anxious to get you back -”

“Wait!” Doug jumped to his feet as I was reaching for the door handle. “Please, attorneys of Earth," he whispered with tears welling up in his eyes. "Do not make me return to Commander Boarvex and the Slatt Guard!”

Doug exploded into a series of loud, flatulent sobs. "Let me stay here! Let me rot and die in an earth prison," he wailed. After a few minutes of bawling and gassy nose-blowing, our client calmed down and began to tell his story:

"When I was selected to become an Agent of the elite Slatt Guard, I was told it was a great honor," Doug said. "Very few of the Argon race are chosen. I promised that I would make my people proud: that I would pave the way for gas creatures like myself, who are rarely given opportunities in a universe biased toward solid matter."

"Then why don't you want to go back?" I asked.

"Because Commander Boarvex will force me to complete my mission. I would rather die here, on a distant planet, trapped inside a wet and stinking piece of flesh. I would rather face disgrace and decapitation in front of the High Council."

I wondered how it was possible for a gas-based creature to be 'decapitated,' but I kept quiet and let Doug continue.

"As an Agent of Slatt, it is forbidden for me to share any details of my mission. But I don't care. Not anymore. I will tell you everything, Earth attorneys. I will tell you of my unbearable assignment.

"I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about an anti-Slatt rebellion on the planet Grimox, in the Umbrar Quadrant?”

"Actually, no," Henry said. "I don't think we got the memo on that one."

Doug shook his head. “Grimox has always been a problem. Ever since it was acquired through the Ruhm Treaty with the Moxian Planets, it's been a thorn in the side of the Slatt Territories. The ungrateful Grimoxians have a natural streak of independence, they resent all forms of authority. It is a poor colony. Impossible to manage and unworthy of the greatness of Slatt…"

Doug's voice trailed off into a hiss. Lost in thought, he stared at his bound wrists. "I thought I would be protecting our empire. I took an oath to defend the Slatt Territories at all costs. Our training taught us to obey orders, to never question the directives handed down by our wise leaders. I would have gladly, proudly given my life for the Territories. But once I received my first assignment as an Agent, I began to have doubts."

"You were assigned to a post on Grimox?" I asked.

"Worse than that," Doug said. "Oh, so much worse than that…"

"What are we talking about here, Doug?" Henry asked. "And what does any of this have to do with anise powder? Did the Slatt Guard make you bake cookies for everyone on Grimox?"

Doug frowned. "Cookies? Oh, yes. Cookies,” he started to laugh. “Sure… cookies! That’s right. To the people of earth, the scent of anise means sweets: licorice twists, pastries, chewing gum," Doug's laugh escalated into a full-blown cackle: loud, maniacal and unhinged. He tilted his head back and roared, sweat spraying across the room.

"Cookies! Ha! If you only knew the perverse, twisted power that the Evil Seed wields in the filthy cities of Grimox! Oh, you poor, dumb, clueless Earth lawyers! You have no idea! No idea!”

"No," I said quietly, as Doug caught his breath. "You're right. We have no idea. Can you please explain all of this to us?"