Preview Night

              I watched the premiere of “Warehouse 13” and the show, as well as SyFy's new advertising campaign, had a strong influence on my dreams last night.
              The dream started in my home, I had built a wet bar/cat activity center. Problem was, I didn't explain to one of our larger friends that it wasn't supposed to be mobile, and he moved it, breaking off the water and sewer connections for the sink. While I was trying to fix the thing, I noticed that aliens had moved in, they had created an extra-dimensional space under the sink cabinet. I had partially flooded their dimension before being able to shut off the water. They were not amused, and would not accept my argument that I didn't invite them to live there so couldn't have know to prevent the near disaster.
              At that point N came to me very angry. It seems CF, a friend of mine from my teen years had shown up at the house, hoping to see if there was “still any chemistry between us.” N can be a bit jealous, so that was probably not a good introduction. S and C showed up about that time, S with a radio and C running in and turning on the television.
              “The world is turning very strange today,” was the message from both of them. Every radio station was playing Debbie Reynolds version of “We'll Meet Again,” as S tuned across the dial. N dug through some boxes and it played even on N's old CB radio.
              The television was a different story, brown shirted Neo-Nazis were marching 10,000 strong on Washington, from Georgia. They had batons, black eagle on red banners and every “centurion” was armed with a side arm. Oddly, they had chosen to leave the swastika banners behind because “they didn't want to scare people,” according to the commentator.
              I was then flying in an alien craft, having “borrowed” one from under the sink to escape the increasingly hostile wet bar dwellers. I was high over the desert and the other alien saucers were hot on my tail. I pulled ahead of a giant aerial tow truck, causing it to swerve and drop one of its old multi-engined planes off of it's platform. (The platform had about 4 rows three across of all sorts of old aircraft, including one with 8 wing mounted engines.) The Giant Tractor plane was barely making enough headway to keep aloft. The loose plane flipped when it caught the wind and sideswiped one of the saucers.
              I really didn't want a deadly interplanetary incident, so I looped my saucer around, dropped the top and dove after the alien, calling on him to bail out so I could pick him up. The alien punched out and I swooped up and got the saucer rim under him at the top of his curve. I pulled the short green guy into the seat next to me. His damaged craft exploded in a shower of bright purple and orange sparks. “We don't want another Roswell, even if that wasn't us.”
              I showed him the brown-shirts marching on Washington and that they were carrying signs that said “Aliens go Home” and similar. He started chattering excitedly into a red bulb inside a gold mesh on the dashboard. Soon the other aliens had formed up on me, echelon right, and we set course for Washington as well. The alien language coming from the device soon turned into Debbie Reynolds singing the final words of the song “...some sunny day.” And then the big band music started and the song began again. The alien looked very disturbed at that. I could only shrug, “One disaster at a time. I have no idea.” I put up the top of the saucer and our formation accelerated to Mach 10, if I was reading the gages correctly.
              We buzzed the formation and landed in front of them. The aliens had somehow managed to make neon looking signs that said “Hell no, we won't go!” as well as several runes in their native language. The front line of goose-stepping morons stopped and the previously neat formation bunched up and collapsed on itself in the middle.
              “I don't think you're the sort of aliens we were talking about,” one of their shaking centurions finally managed to sputter out. That started an argument amongst the rank and file and soon other centurions arrived to join the debate. The DC riot police arrived and stopped, making a shield wall between the citizens on the sidewalk and the debate in the street. They did nothing else, obviously way out of their element. One of them grabbed me and tossed me in the back of a van, where I was taken to an underground interrogation room. The ware house was sealed off my chain link fence from the makeshift interrogation facility. As I was being walked to the furthest away from the entrance room, a ghostly woman stepped from between the boxes. My escorts didn't seem to notice her, nor the huge ax she hefted over her shoulder as she approached us. At least they didn't notice until I dodged the first attack.
              “Where'd she come from.”
              “Careful, she's got Lizzie's ax!” came another woman's shout.
              That woman was also a ghost, but I recognized her. She was the upstairs maid from my dreamland home. She had a leather sap and reached out with an incredible effort and sapped the other ghost, causing her to drop the ax. I jumped back and stood on the ax with both feet. I could feel it vibrating, trying to get away. The first ghost vanished, not in a melting sort of way, just suddenly not there as if she'd never been.
              “You really owe me for that one.” The maid smiled a truly dazzling sweet smile and then also vanished.
              “Indeed.”
              I realized that if N was going to be jealous of an old overweight friend, this lovely blond-haired, green-eyed, shapely maid would really make her flip.