The whine of a high-speed hand dryer yanked Alejandro from sleep. He climbed off his makeshift bed and peered through the crack in the equipment storage locker’s door.

 

Fellow toilet cleaner Tevez was standing with his hands poised above the air-dry machine like a concert pianist preparing to play. He gently lowered his digits into the narrow aperture. Immediately, his lower arm glowed and disintegrated. Tevez’s whole body turned to sparkling dust that was sucked into the dryer’s mouth. The machine switched off and the men’s room fell silent.

 

Alejandro rubbed his eyes, ventured out and approached the hand dryer. The Guatemalan fingered the silent machine gingerly. It was still warm, but there was no indication that the dryer had just swallowed his colleague.

 

“Hey you! You know Tevez?” came a shout from the doorway.

 

Alejandro eyed the state cop and instinctively backed away. “Yes, sir.”

 

“You seen him?”

 

“No, sir,” replied Alejandro, glancing involuntary at the dryer.

 

The cop eyed Alejandro suspiciously. He was one of the officers who liked to bait the airport’s immigrant workers.

 

“When did your shift end?”

 

“Midnight.”

 

“That was almost two hours ago!”

 

“I, I fell asleep,” said Alejandro.

 

“Really.”

“I was very tired after doing another double shift, sir.”

 

“You know the rules. After finishing your shift, you leave the airport. This is a place of work not a fucking hotel for wetbacks!” said the veteran cop.

 

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

 

“You got that right. Come with me.”

 

Alejandro knew that resistance was pointless.

 

 * * *

 

“Here amigo. Looks like you need this.”'

 

Alejandro looked up from the workers’ locker room bench and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee offered by the Honduran.

 

“Heard you got canned. That’s tough. You got a place to go?”

 

“Si, but how do I pay the rent?” said Alejandro, fighting back tears. “Jose, I think I’m going out of my mind.”

 

“How so?”

 

Alejandro glanced up at Jose Hernández’s kindly face. The middle-aged cleaner was a fixture at the airport; the go-to man for immigrant workers. Alejandro recounted the events leading up to his sacking.

 

“Am I going crazy, Jose?”

 

“No,” replied the Honduran, toothy grin sending deep lines across his weathered face.

 

“I’m screwed,” said Alejandro.

 

“Don’t think like that. You have it all ahead of you, Alejandro. I’m gonna fix you up with a fresh start. Okay?”

 

“You can do that?”

 

“I’ve been here a long time, amigo. Now, let’s go before you get into more trouble.”

 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Jose.”

 

“No need. We’re brothers.”

 

They walked through the airport’s maze of corridors before the Honduran stopped at a heavy gray door. He stared into a small wall screen and the door opened with a sharp click.

 

Inside was a rectangular room. At the room’s far end there was a ramp that led to a large, open doorway. The doorway was jet black, as if no light passed through it.

 

“Take a seat,” said Jose, gesturing to an odd-looking wheelchair with heavy panels for armrests. “More coffee?”

 

“No thanks.”

 

The older man pulled up a chair opposite and eyed the Guatemalan. “Alejandro, I need to tell you something and my words will come as a shock. But please do not worry, everything is going to be okay. Do you believe me?”

 

The younger man nodded uncertainly.

 

Jose explained in measured tones that what Alejandro saw in the men’s room earlier was no hallucination. Tevez was on the run from the police. They had discovered that the Mexican lied about his past to get a green card. The fugitive had to escape fast, and used one of the airport’s transporters to relocate to another airport hub.

 

“What do you mean, transporters? Relocate?”

 

“We have them in every one of our airports, mainly for such emergencies.”

 

“Jose, I don’t understand.”

 

The Honduran paused, then patiently explained that airports like this one function as deployment centers for an alien race that is secretly occupying planet Earth. The aliens recruit immigrant workers to help them run the invasion.

 

“This a joke, right?” grinned Alejandro and attempted to vacate the wheelchair but discovered that he was secured by invisible bonds. He tried to cry out, but no sound came out of his mouth.

 

“Sorry Amigo, it’s useless to resist,” said Jose, and waited until an exhausted Alejandro surrendered to the invisible shackles.

 

He told the younger man that each immigrant worker plays host to an alien invasion agent. Tevez hosted one of the most senior agents, hence had to escape to avoid attracting attention.

 

“You are wondering what I mean by playing host, right?” said the Honduran. He moved closer to Alejandro who made a futile effort to recoil. “I want you to look deep into my face Alejandro as if you are staring into my soul. Can you do that?”

 

The younger man stared into the Honduran’s face and saw another one below the surface. The phantom face was not malevolent, but it was alien, inhuman. Alejandro tried to yell but remained mute.

 

“It’s genius, Alejandro!” continued Jose. “No one notices us workers because we are invisible anyway. So, the invaders hide within us. They hide in plain sight!”

 

Each of the airport’s immigrant workers hosts an alien agent in this way, explained Jose. “We become one with them. They are so superior to us, Alejandro, I’ve never known such peace. When they take over our world everyone will be treated the same, no matter what color you are or where you are from. Imagine that amigo!”

 

Alejandro twitched and Jose patted his shoulder in a fatherly manner.

 

“It’s time for you to be joined with your agent, Alejandro. Everything is ready.”

 

Jose wheeled his young friend up the ramp towards the yawning black doorway.