#stowaways

From “Behold Him! He is the Martian!” in Tales to Astonish #25, November 1961. Stan Lee (?) plot, Larry Lieber (?) script, Jack Kirby pencils, Dick Ayers inks, Stan Goldberg colors, Artie Simek letters.

Stowaways

The Surrendering Stowaways’ POV

We waited until everyone was disembarked from the AirArabia flight we had stowed away on, and only two flight attendants remained: from their ID badges we deduced the senior one, probably the crew manager, was called Salma, and the other, more junior, stewardess, was called Jalima. We didn’t try to push by them or escape: we were glad just to be in the UAE. I strode forward and said boldly: “My friend and I are Syrian nationals, and we wish to claim asylum in Dubai! Ladies, Mohammed and I are happy to surrender ourselves into your custody!”

If the two impeccably turned out women were surprised by our emergence from one of the rest rooms, they didn’t show it. “You mean you are stowaways?” asked Salma matter-of-factly. I paused, a little taken aback. “Er, I suppose so, yes, ma’am…” I replied a little uncertainly. The crew manager sighed and Jalima smiled. “Another set, boss.” she remarked. Salma nodded. “Let’s get them tied and put them with the others.” she replied. “After that, the whole lot of them are the Emirati police’s problem!” Jalima nodded. “Ok, boss.” the stewardess said and went to walk down the aisle towards the rear of the plane. “At this rate we’ll be running out of restraint equipment!” she commented. Salma laughed at this and still had an amused expression when she turned to look at us. “You may as well put your hands behind your backs while we wait, gentlemen,” she told us. “it’ll save time.”

imagine the spanish coast guard’s surprise finding 3 stowaways sitting on the rudder of a ship after an 11 day voyage from nigeria

The stacks of whatever's lodged in each and every corner of this interior kind of served as placeholder furniture. Not too shabby, but what in god's name could be in them? He'd be guessing until the ride stopped if he thought hard enough.

Leaning against Johnny wasn't too bad a position. Better than lying down, anyway. At least one of them caught the sleeping bug, which by the way was amazing for this man. He could sleep through an atomic bomb three countries away yet still come up dumbfounded. But with Johnny out of commission, Daniel had more to ruminate.

No vehicles, lost wallets. The only identification he and Johnny had on were old student IDs from high school. So that's nice. Long as they kept their hands clean of crime, they wouldn't need a reason to prove anything to The Man.

They won't know what happened miles back, anyway. Harmless shit, but thrilling.

The tracks weren't pleasant tunes like Idol or Bowie (which played in his head upon reminder), but they accented the scenery in front of him: a moonlit sky painted over with deep blues, streaks of cerulean, and an excess of stars that didn't compete against artificial lighting. Must be nice to count sheep to, finally sleep to.

Daniel tilted his head up to Johnny, came to greet the underside of his blond lashes of reasonable length. And then he studied the slit his mouth made, opening a few centimeters shortly after. Kissing it again and again and again. Unfiltered, brash commentary. He spat on a bar hooligan once, he said, and so many other things.

He slowly woke and looked down at him.

"Can't sleep?" Johnny asked.

"Can't sleep," Daniel repeated.

A free arm stretched out and flexed fingers. Two popped in the process. "Got to dream about some slender babe out in that meadow right there." Pointed to the only open space in front of them.

"And?"

"He wore a flannel. Red. You might've stolen this from him, actually," with a complementary tug of the said sleeve that brushed his thigh.

"Ever catch his name or?"

"Beats me. But hey," the hand that covered Daniel tugged on his earlobe, then caressed it in between thumb and index, "me, I'm cuffed to you. Don't gotta worry. Unless we, you know, find Shelly Duvall by the next county. Say bye bye."

Daniel nuzzled against his clavicle. Planted a kiss for whatever measure, too, and it worked. He spoke against the fabric of his thin shirt. "You're delusional, and I'm sleeping."

From the Ottawa Citizen on May 28, 1946:

Stowaway Total Jumps To Seven

HALIFAX, May 28 - (CP) - With the stowaway total jumped to an unofficial seven, all were believed accounted for and still aboard the Queen Mary today when the giant liner sailed for New York to complete her Atlantic crossing.

Special guards, posted right up to sailing time, were said to have uncovered two more unofficial travelers - both men- during the 24-hour stop here. Four men and a woman "about 30" were reported to have been flushed out from hiding places en route." [sic]

All will be taken back to Britain after the Queen Mary discharges some 500 remaining civilian passengers in New York and picks up a return load, ship's officers said.