Free War on Whimsy by Liane Moriarty Page B

that would show Greta that she deserved to be the leader.
    â€œHere’s the protest!” shouted Tyler. Nicola’s notepad flew off her lap and onto the floor of the bus as Shimlara jammed on the brakes.
    She looked out the window of the bus and saw a small group of Volcomanians marching along the Blue-5 road, holding placards high above their heads.
    At first glance, the Volcomanians could have been mistaken for Earthlings. They were short and tall, thin and fat, fair-haired and brunette. However, as Nicola looked closer, she saw their red, scaly skin and hooded eyes. She shivered slightly. It wasn’t their fault their skin had evolved that way, but it had to be said, they weren’t the prettiest life- form she’d come across on her intergalactic travels. It didn’t help that their clothing was so drab. They all seemed to be wearing dung-colored, loose-fitting shirts and pants.
    Katie was reading out loud some of the signs they were carrying.
    STOP THE WICKED WAR ON WHIMSY!
    Â 
    VOLCOMANIA, SHAME, SHAME SHAME!
    WHIMSY IS A PLANET OF ART AND SONG, NOT BULLETS AND BOMBS!
    Â 
    DID OUR OWN PRESIDENT ORDER THE KIDNAPPING OF THE UNITED AUNTS?
    â€œStop the bus!” called out Nicola, anxious to take control before Greta did. Shimlara pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the bus engine. Everyone stood up, looking nervous.
    â€œRemember, you’re an Earthling camera crew,” said Nicola. “Look confident, aggressive, and sort of nosy. Like real journalists. They just barge their way into any situation. Oh, and make sure you’ve got your press passes!”
    As Nicola said this she checked that she still had her own pass. It was a large gold card hanging on a black cord around her neck. Nicola was grateful to JJ-11 for finding such authentic-looking passes. Wearing it made her almost believe she really was a journalist.
    Tyler hoisted a movie camera over his shoulder and Sean picked up the sound equipment. Katie had a beauty case full of makeup, while Nicola had her microphone and notepad. Shimlara jangled the bus keys and Greta officiously tapped her pen against a clipboard.
    â€œI’ll do all the talking,” announced Greta crisply.
    â€œIgnore her,” said Sean in Nicola’s ear as they all walked up the aisle and off the bus.
    Greta didn’t hesitate. She walked straight into the crowd of protesters, holding her press pass high, and shouting, “Press! Press!”
    Nicola couldn’t help but be impressed. Who cared if she was irritating? It was worth it to have her on the Brigade. Congratulating herself on this mature response, Nicola followed close behind Greta, holding up her press card in the same way.
    One of the Volcomanians dropped his PEACE, NOT WAR sign by his side and stuck his face close to Nicola’s. She tried not to flinch when she saw his scaly, crocodile skin up close. “You’re not Volcomanians. Where are you from?” he growled.
    â€œWe’re from Earth,” stammered Nicola. She’d hoped to sound like a confident journalist but instead her voice came out like a frightened five-year-old.
    She cleared her throat.
    â€œWe’re an Earthling news crew,” she said firmly. “We’re here to interview you about the War on Whimsy. Are you prepared to answer a few questions?”
    Now she sounded pleasingly aggressive. The Volcomanian actually looked nervous.
    â€œOn camera? Me? On TV?” he said and bit his lip. “Oh, I don’t know. I might say the wrong things. You’d be better talking to my wife. She always has a lot to say.” He grabbed for the sleeve of a woman marching next to him. “Bertha! This is a journalist from Earth! She wants to interview you!”
    His wife, who had what looked like peace symbols painted on her red, scaly cheeks and was shaking an instrument that looked like a tamborine, was shouting at the top of her lungs, “ Peace, not war , hear